The Infected Chronicles (Book 1): Origin

by Andie Fessey

The repulsive spray splattered onto several of the people sat at the nearest seats.

  “Fucking hell lads, can’t you control your bloody girlfriend?” a heavy-set man sat nearby said, brushing at his leather jacket where parts of the fluid landed.

  “Shut it,” one of officers angrily replied, struggling to prevent the woman from biting either him or his colleagues.

  “Only saying lads for fucks sake,” the man responded.

  Standing, he fetched a packet of cigarettes from his jacket breast pocket, heading to the exit.

  Georgie ran to the officers, struggling to keep their charge in a standing position as her struggling became more violent.

  “Is there anything you can give her to calm her down nurse?” one of the officers pleaded, struggling to maintain hold of her arms.

  “Hold on,” Georgie replied, rushing to one of the doctors at a nearby stretcher, administering aid to a man swiftly falling into unconsciousness.

  Georgie pointed to the officers, now halfway to the ground.

  Asking a nurse to take the stretcher to one of the nearby rooms, the doctor quickly made his way to where the struggling officers held tightly onto the struggling woman.

  “If you can follow me officers, I’ll administer something to calm her down,” he said, before catching sight of the woman’s face and eyes, “Jesus Christ Almighty, forget that. Follow me quickly.”

  He led the struggling officers to a room nearby.

  “Nurse, come with us please,” he barked.

  Georgie quickly followed them.

  Though it, alongside all other hospitals in England, was designated a ‘no smoking’ area, a crowd of people stood outside near the main entrance smoking cigarettes.

  Three more ambulances arrived, followed two police cars.

  The ambulance bay now densely packed, two of the ambulances forced to park on the roadway surrounding the entrance to the hospital.

  “Bloody busy tonight,” the man in the leather jacket said to an elderly woman, sat nearby in a wheelchair, adjusting her dressing gown, puffing on a cigarette.

  “You haven’t got a light, have you?” he asked, rummaging in his pockets for his own lighter.

  Placing her hand in a pocket of her dressing gown, she produced a lighter, passing it to him.

  “Cheers love,” he said as, lighting his cigarette.

  “Eurghh!” he exclaimed, as his fingers holding the cigarette touched his lips

  Looking down, he noticed drying strands of the vile fluid the woman spat, still on his finger tips from where he wiped at his jacket.

  “What’s that love?” The wheelchair bound woman asked.

  “That crazy bitch the coppers had a hold of, was spitting all sorts of crap out of her mouth,” he replied, wiping his hands on his jeans, “I must have got some on my bloody fingers.”

  “Watch you don’t catch anything, this place is full of bloody germs and all sorts,” she replied, retrieving the lighter from his hand, before rolling the wheel chair to the entrance, discarding her cigarette on the pavement.

  Thoughts of enjoying a cigarette leaving his mind, he followed her into the waiting area.

  “Vital signs are low but regular,” the ward Sister said to the junior nurse stood on the opposite side of the bed.

  The nurse looked at the still body of Paula. The veins on her face darkened, creating a faint patchwork of lines, a crude spider’s web covering her skin.

  “Sister, is that normal?” the nurse asked.

  “Stay with her whilst I fetch a doctor,” the Sister instructed, turning away from the monitoring screen and noticing both Paula’s face and her rapidly increasing pulse.

  Entering the corridor, she caught sight of a man in a doctor’s uniform chatting to a security officer.

  “Doctor!” she called, her voice betraying her sense of urgency.

  The doctor ran towards her, the security officer walking slowly behind.

  Entering the room, he quickly made his way to where Paula lay. The nurse remained at her bed side, holding onto the metal side of the bed.

  “Her pulse rate is extremely rapid,” he said, examining the monitor before noticing Paula’s face, “I don’t think.”

  His sentence cut off abruptly, as the machine started to flat line.

  Quickly checking her pulse again, he lowered his head to her face, the veins thick and black.

  He lay his ear next to her mouth, listening for a sign of breathing, staring at her chest for a sign of it rising as she breathed.

  “I need the resuscitation equipment now!” He barked at the ward Sister.

  She made her way quickly to the table stood at the end of the room.

  “Hang in there, you’ll be okay,” the nurse said, leaning over the prone figure of Paula.

  The doctor looked at her, shaking his head slightly, to admonish her or to indicate there was no hope, she could not be certain.

  The Sister returned, pushing a trolley containing the resuscitation equipment. Reaching the side of the bed, she handed the control panel to the doctor, who immediately switched the unit on.

  He raised Paula’s sweatshirt, until it caught on her neck. Glancing around the room and seeing a large pair of scissors on the nearby cabinet, he hurried to retrieve them.

  The nurse removed the backing paper attached to the two pads on the unit.

  The Doctor returned to the side of the bed, cutting open Paula’s sweatshirt and peeling back both sides.

  Her chest was bare, her small breasts as white as the rest of her torso, also covered in the same black web of veins as covered her face.

  Quickly wiping her chest to dry any moistness, he placed the pads onto her exposed flesh, one on her right collar bone, the other below her left armpit.

  He turned to check the screen for any signs of heart rhythm, when the nurse jumped in shock, knocking into the burly security officer who entered the room to see if he could be of assistance.

  The officer stumbled, holding onto her to prevent her from falling.

  “What is it?” he asked, in a thick Scottish brogue, as she moved around him, to place him between her and the figure lain out on the bed.

  “What on earth?” The Doctor exclaimed, frozen, staring into the open eyes of the girl on the bed. Her brown irises swimming in deep pools of blood red scoria.

  He gasped, as her arm grabbed the front of his uniform, pulling him closer, to her now open mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Rory stood as close as he could get to the entrance of the train station.

  Police barricades lay place across the road, and it appeared to him, the whole of the city’s police force, including the transport police, were in attendance.

  He managed to obtain a few short interviews and sound bites from members of the crowd stood there, but the details were scant.

  One of the biggest stories to have ever come my way and I can’t get anywhere near it!

  “Alright Rory,” a voice spoke from nearby.

  He turned to see an unkempt man pushing through the bystanders reach him.

  “Looks like bloody rain again.”

  “Oh, hi Norman.”

  Norman McKellen, employed as another of the Planets reporters.

  One of the longest serving members on the newspaper, he referred to himself as purely ‘old school’.

  To Rory, he was a xenophobic, sexist, homophobic racist, with poor hygiene and a poorer taste in jokes and clothes.

  It’s Mister walking cliché.

  “Managed to get anything good yet?” Norman asked.

  “Not really,” Rory replied, “impossible to get anywhere near the place right now. I’ve never seen so many police in one place before.”

  A vast crowd of the public stood gathered there, but with the police cordon in place, it was impossible for anybody to get near the entrance.

  “I rang the police earlier,” Norman said, removing his camera from the satchel hanging from his shoulder.

  Removing the len
s cap, he held the camera to his face, turning to face the distant entrance.

  “They asked me what the emergency was, so I told them that two girls were fighting over me. The operator asked me what the problem was so I told her. The fat one’s winning,” he said, laughing.

  Rory sighed, staring at the entrance to see if he could see anything, his view obscured by a large, dark police horse, part of the crowd control measures.

  “Can you see anything?” He asked, as Norman adjusted his camera lens.

  “Not much,” he replied, after a few moments, “they have the doors closed up and there are too many police vans in the way. Saying that though kiddo, the driver of the one which just arrived, looks like he’s sweating as much as a fat bird in Greggs.”

  “Those are some of the notes I managed to make when I spoke to my contact at Saint Jude’s station,”Norman said, removing his note pad from his pocket and passing it to him, with uncharacteristic generosity.

  Rory stared at the note pad held in his hand, and then at Norman, staring through the camera lens.

  “There was not a lot he could tell me, as he doesn’t know too much himself at the moment, but at least it’s something to be going on with.”

  Rory scanned the hand-written notes, written in a scrawl which fortunately, he could understand.

  From the notes, he ascertained the police earlier received over a dozen calls from mobile telephones belonging to passengers on the train, heading into the city centre.

  The calls reported a violent altercation occurred within one of the train compartments.

  The alleged attackers reported as appearing ‘sick’.

  Witnessing a woman being attacked by an elderly man, grabbing her and dragging her to the floor of the compartment, a group of students intervened to assist her.

  They succeeded in pulling him from her before he could continue his assault, but he turned on one of the men in their party, biting deeply into his arm, causing a massive amount of blood loss.

  The students and several other passengers rushed into the next compartment, managing to barricade the door.

  At this point it was noted, more people in addition to the elderly man, began assaulting the passengers who remained in that compartment.

  One of the students activated the emergency stop, causing the train to stop half a mile from the station.

  The driver radioed his control, informing them of the situation.

  The police, already informed, were heading to the city centre station, the driver instructed to continue to there, were assistance awaited.

  “No wonder they will not let anybody near,” he exclaimed, finishing reading the notes and returning the pad to his colleague, “thanks for that Norman.”

  “No problem, it may be a while before we get any more details out of this one.”

  The mobile telephone in Rory’s trouser pocket vibrated.

  Removing it from his pocket he glanced at the display.

  ‘Georgie’.

  “Hiya love,” he said, pressing the ‘receive’ button to answer the call.

  “Hi Babe, I’ve only got a minute so I have to be quick,” Georgie reply, in a tone of voice he did not recall hearing before.

  “What is it Love? Are you okay?”

  “Yes Babe, I’m fine, but there’s something going on here and it’s not good. Police have turned up and the place looks like there’s a riot going on.”

  The colour drained from his skin.

  Employed as a nurse at Town Hospital, no matter how hectic or bad things could be there, Georgie only called him if working overtime and may be late home.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, staring the train station entrance as another police van approached from the opposite end of the road.

  He watched several officers in riot gear, jump from the rear of the vehicle, quickly rushing to the entrance.

  “Bloody hell!” Norman exclaimed, “Some of those police are armed.”

  “What was that Love? It’s really loud here,” Rory asked, unable to hear Georgie clearly.

  “I said, we are making our way up to the top floor. There’s a dozen or so of us including a policeman. We can’t get out of any of the exits on the ground floor, it’s scary here, and nobody is telling us what’s going on. Miss you and love you babe, try to be…”

  The call ended, abruptly cut off.

  He stared at the mobile in his hand.

  Immediately he redialled, receiving the cheesy answering machine message which Georgie refused to change.

  “Love, I’m on my way. If you get a chance ring me back,” he said.

  “What was that?” Norman asked, lowering the camera from his face.

  Rory could not hide the look of anxiety on his face.

  “That was Georgie,” he replied, unable to hide his look of anxiety, “said there’s something going on at the hospital, like a riot or something and that they can’t get out so are making their way to the top floor.”

  “What?” Norman exclaimed, staring first at Rory, then the entrance to the train station beyond the police barricade.

  “You don’t think it has anything to do with what’s going on, here do you?”

  “I’ve no idea Norman, all I know is Georgie needs me, so I’m getting my arse over there right-away. I’ll ring Dee up to let her know what’s going on and that you have this covered.”

  “Not a problem, just be careful.”

  Rory patted him on the arm, breaking into a sprint and heading to the side street to his car.

  Reaching the car, he climbed into the driver’s seat, quickly turning the key in the ignition.

  The engine roared into life, he quickly steered the car into the traffic, heading to the ring road leading to the hospital.

  Using the controls on the steering wheel to activate the telephone, he dialled his editor.

  Dee will be fine with me leaving Norman at the station.

  The telephone rang as fear spread through his body.

  What the hell’s going over there?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was late in the evening, when the calls to the relevant people were made.

  Each of them receiving the call, travelled across the capital city to the government building, where they gathered in one of its many meeting rooms.

  Presently, the door opened and the Prime Ministers Secretary entered the room, closely followed by the Prime Minister himself.

  His face gaunt and serious, he made his way to his chair at the head of the long oak table.

  Behind his chair, a bank of monitors of various sizes, covered the entire wall, a huge monitor set in the middle, dominating the others.

  They were all currently switched off.

  “Gentlemen, and, Lady,” he said, noticing Jaqueline Lewis, Director of the Homeland Defence Department, a special taskforce created to address specific threats to the United Kingdom.

  “Thank you for attending here at such a late hour. I appreciate that it is late, but you all know full well why this meeting has been called. We have now received a report from Merseyside Police, regarding the disturbances which have been occurring in the city of Liverpool.

  “Normal reporting protocol has been waived in the current circumstances, which I know that you can appreciate. I have asked Sameer to liaise with Merseyside Police regarding this matter and he will relay any communique personally to me at this moment.

  “Please listen closely to the report we have received, then I want your thoughts on the best course of action to take.”

  He stared across the table, at the bald man, sat upright in full uniform.

  The assembled people around the table turned their gazes to him.

  Sameer Alsaadi, the current Commissioner for the Metropolitan Police Force, stood up and addressed the Prime Minister and room.

  “Gentlemen, and Lady, the report I have here,” he spoke, his gravelly voice resounding around the room as he raised the forms in front of him, “came directly from Chief Constable Rob
ert Bennett of Merseyside Police. Due to the events unfolding in the North West, Robert is too engaged to call us at the moment, as he is overseeing operations, obviously.”

  The Prime Minister nodded at him as a gesture to continue.

  “The following report as mentioned comes directly from Chief Constable Bennett and I shall relay it verbatim.”

  He cleared his throat, then read from the manuscript in his hands.

  “From: Chief Constable Robert Bennett, Merseyside Police Service. To: Commissioner Sameer Alsaadi c.c. Deputy Commissioner Alison Goswell.

  “Good morning Sameer. Please accept the following as an official report regarding the events occurring up here and to pass on to whom-ever requires knowledge of such. My apologies that it is not in the usual format but as you can surmise, things are a bit ‘hectic’ up here to say the least.

  “Hope you and the family are well and I will speak to you when this has all died down. Kindest regards, Robert. The report is as follows.

  “There is no definitive, chronological account of the events occurring in Liverpool, available at this present moment in time. But we can formulate the following rough outline as the events unfolded.

  “This report is only able to portray those incidents which we have been made aware of, and this, married with the fact these incidents are still occurring within the boundary of the city, will subsequently require further updates. These updates will be e-mailed directly to Commissioner Alsaadi for your consideration.

  “We received reports of a violent incident occurring at the Venue, a local shopping centre in one of our suburbs. Two patrol cars were in the area, so arrived well within our response time parameters of the call being received. Due to the incidents which have been occurring throughout the course of the day and evening and still occurring, in addition to prior severe cutbacks we have had to make as a force to hit government targets forced upon us, the later response times suffered severely.”

  “As I said,” Sameer said, stopping reading and glancing to the Prime Minister, “I am reading Robert’s report verbatim.”

  The Prime Minister beckoned with his hands, indicating him to continue.

  “Four officers attended the incident with support from two community Support Officers, who were patrolling in the shopping centre at that particular moment. The officers attended a local store where they were met by the store security officer, who informed them a customer, in an extremely poorly state, was placed in the store security office and an ambulance had been already called.”