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So, a while ago I posted up a chunk of a story. And because I know you all adore every word I write, here's some more of my story. Again, I ask for some feed back because, well, I want the story to be good. Don't worry about hurting my feelings. Years of moderating has long since beaten any remnants of humanity from my dark and evil soul, so saying I suck at spelling isn't going to hurt me at all.
Prologue.
Spoiler:
“Sir, we're not seeing anything.” Lieutenant Adam Cross murmured into the small radio. The ship he'd been ordered to board and search seemed to be dead. There was no sign of the engines' rumble, no sign of power. The ship had a noticeable list to port, the deck beginning to lean left as water filled that side of the ship. For all intents and purposes, the ship seemed to be deserted.
She was a container ship, some kind of cargo hauler. Which made the fact this ship was here, just to the North of Scotland, even stranger. There wasn't any particular reason for the ship to be here. It was too close to Scotland to be heading across the Atlantic. It was too far north to be going along the east coast down to a port. What was she doing here?
Cross looked around the dead, deserted deck. He'd never seen anything like it. Their calls had been unanswered, and so far there was no trace of the crew. No, that wasn't true. Up in the bridge house there were plenty of traces. Coffee cups half full and green with mould. Half eaten snacks on the bridge. An officer's jacket, across the back of the commander's chair. Yet there was no sign of where the people were now. Just remnants of them. Whatever had happened had happened a while ago.
“Say again, Lieutenant?” The voice that crackled across from the Dominion was that of her first officer, Commander Andrew Little. Cross couldn't read the emotion in Little's voice. He never could. “What do mean, you don't see anything?”
Cross pressed the button to reply. “As far as we can tell, sir, the ship is a ghost. There's nothing obviously wrong with her but...her crew is gone. She's taking on water, but I think the pumps could easily deal with it, if they were active. Her engines are dead. Might just be off, out of fuel, or damaged. The back up generator, if it was ever on, isn't now. The lifeboats, bar one, are still in position. She's just...dead.”
There was no reply for a moment. “Alright, then. See if you can get her running again under her own power, just enough to pump her out. Then we'll tow her into port and see if the boys from forensics can't find out what happened. Radio in if you see anything significant or find anyone from the ship, dead or alive. Do you want some of the marines to help you search? They've had almost nothing to do but guard the new engines and weapons, and they're getting bored anyway.”
Cross thought about it for several moments. In theory, there was nothing as yet to warrant a marine unit. Yet by the time there was a problem it would probably be too late to call for them. His head told him, as a responsible officer of the British Navy, there was no point in calling in such resources. His gut told him there was something wrong with this ship, something that had forced the crew off or worse. “Might as well, sir. We'll start for the engine room without them and they can search the ship while we get power back. Tell them to bring the really good torches, the thousand candle rated ones. She'll be dark inside.”
“Will do and good luck. Dominion out.”
Cross sighed. He was rather relieved to have some trained soldiers. As a naval officer he did have some training in fighting, but the marines were better trained. On the other hand, the marines would be completely unable to get a ships engine running again.
This ship just didn't feel right. He'd been at sea practically his entire adult life. He'd learned to read the atmosphere of a ship. The tension of a ship doing something illegal. The calm of a warship operating perfectly and seamlessly. This ship, though, didn't have that atmosphere. Maybe it was because he'd yet to run across any crew members but there wasn't...anything. It made him more nervous than the barely controlled hostility you sometimes got, when people were upset and being interfered with or had something illegal to hide..
Cross looked at the boarding party that accompanied him. “Alright, double check the batteries on your torches. Unless we can get the power running again we're going to have to rely on them and I have a deep and adamant desire to not be stuck in the dark, waiting until the bloody marines march in for the rescue.”
There was a few chuckles, but the men were equally nervous. Still, orders were orders...Cross checked the batteries of his own torch to make sure they worked and...
“Alright, then. Batteries good? Let's set off then. And remember, if you find a body or a survivor approach with caution. Something caused problems on this ship and I don't want it if it was a disease, do you? So be cautious.” Cross approached the first door and opened it slowly. He aimed his own light through and checked the passage ahead before stepping inside. It was going to take time, heading down to the engine room like this, but it would be worth it make sure they didn't run into anything unpleasant.
It was odd, being inside the ship. Bar the odd creak of the metal hull as she was hit by a wave she was silent. The only sound was what the party brought with them, and they were trying hard not to make much noise. Still, the echo of slightly laboured breathing and the clang of boots on the deck were unpleasantly loud in the silence.
The ship was still in a good state, for the most part. She'd obviously been maintained well before whatever disaster had befallen her had stopped her. Apart from small items that had rolled off desks and shelves as the list to port grew more and more noticeable the ship was neat, showing a disciplined crew. It was unusual for a commercial ship to be this well kept and neat. Perhaps the captain was ex-navy. It wasn't until they were several decks into the vessel that they found anything of note.
“Sir, come here a moment.” One of the crew was staring down a passageway. Cross walked over and shone his light down the passage. At the end was a heavy watertight door. Apparently that hadn't been enough. Someone had spent quite a bit of time and effort welding the door closed. Not only around the edges but with several heavy bars of steel across it. Then they'd sliced off the handle. Someone had definitely not wanted that door opened.
“Do we have to go through that door?”
The crewman shook his head. “No, sir. The stairs down to the engines are further along. But someone went to a lot of trouble to seal that door, sir. Shouldn't we inform the commander?”
Cross nodded. “Right. I'll radio him with the details as we go. It looks like that was a way into the one of the cargo holds, I'd guess. Maybe the ship was carrying something nasty, one of those dirty bombs the telly keeps going on about and it went off in there. Would explain a lot. But it'll be fine if it was a disease...airborne one wouldn't have lasted this long in the air. Let the marines check it out. We have our own job to do.”
The crewman didn't look terribly reassured but headed off. Cross managed to get a message back to the ship, but it wasn't easy. The Dominion was on the opposite side of the hull so the radio wave had to go through quite a bit of the ship to reach the commander. Although it seemed harder than it really should have been. The signal was weak, crackling as though there was a big source of power between the party and the ship. Another mystery from a ship full of them. Cross was slowly getting more and more concerned by this dead vessel he didn't even know the name of. The damned name hadn't been visible anywhere on the ship.
They encountered two more sealed doors before reaching the engine room. Both had been treated in the same way, heavily reinforced and sealed completely to bar anyone from entering. Maybe there was another way in, but that wasn't their job.
The engine room was ankle deep in water - but there was nothing obviously out of place. Cross ran a light across some of the read outs. Nothing. No power at all. The engines were dead and cold. “Alright, someone find me the controls.” He pointed at the seaman who'd spotted the first sealed door. “You. Go and check out the fuel. Let's see if they ran out. Everyone else see if you can spot any faults before we start turning things on.”
The engines, from the quick survey, appeared to be sound. There was no obvious problem with any of the ship, and no obvious attempts at repairs either. If something had been wrong surely they would have at least tried to repair the engines? A report came back that the fuel tank was two thirds full. It looked like someone had simply...turned the engines off. Why, Cross couldn't even begin to guess at. Surely having power and light would have been an improvement on almost any situation?
“Keep a sharp ear out,” he told the boarding party. “If anything sounds wrong when I start these things sing out. We don't know why they stopped the engines. It could have been a mechanical fault we can't see. If it is, your ears will be the first warning we get. If they don't work we can always try the backup generator.” With that Cross began to start the engines back up.
He went slowly, pausing after each step to try and spot any problems. Everything seemed to be fine as he flicked switches and hit buttons. The engines were an older model but very well maintained, updated often with newer parts and such. Despite his caution it was still faster to start the engines than he'd expected. Soon one, then the second of the huge power plants coughed and rumbled back into life.
As they did the lights flickered and then returned. Cross could hear dormant machinery that had been sleep awaken one at a time, spreading through the ship, filling it with the hum of electricity and the clank of machinery. It made Cross feel a lot better, even though they still had no idea what was going on. The crewman gave a small cheer as well. The powerful benefit of light on peoples psyche.
“Alright,” Cross ordered, “Let's get the pumps going and get out of here.” Someone else could find out what had happened here. His orders would be complete once the ship's pumps were on. Then it was back to the ship for a meal and a shot of whisky in his cabin. “I'm going to radio the Dominion with a report and try and contact those marines.”
He was able to contact Little relatively easily. Apparently whatever was blocking the signal was somewhere in the cargo area. Since they were below and to the rear of that now the signal was having an easier time getting to the ship, and came through clearly. He told Little they'd gotten the engines back on and used them to restore power. Once the pumps were on they would head back and Little could call in a tug to take her to shore, or send a crew to see if she could sailed in on her own.
Little concurred, and told him the marines had boarded the ship a few minutes ago. It was quite possible that they would run across them on the way back up. Cross could point out those sealed hatches and leave the marines to investigate them.
Another rumbling announced the pumps were going. The ship would soon return to an even keel and, if what Cross had seen so far was any indication, would soon be able to sail under her own power. Nothing seemed damaged. There was no reason the ship couldn't be sailed into port and inspected there.
The crewmen packed up as Cross looked around the chief engineer's little office. It was a mess and now that the lights were on he could see there was a pool of long dried blood on the floor next to the chair, and down the side. He stared at it for a long moment. Well, it wouldn't be the first time an engineer has bled on the deck...but somehow he doubted it. The computer had booted back up and the CD tray was slowly moving in and out as the CD inside stopped it from closing. Cross grabbed it and realised it was a DVD rather than a CD. There were some numbers on it, might have been a date. A log or diary maybe? He slipped it into his pocket. It might be useful.
He decided not to mention to the crew there was blood in the office. They were in a good mood since everything was going so smoothly and power had been restored. There was no point in upsetting them with something they couldn't do anything about, or even supposed to try. Their job was done.
The boarding party began to move back upstairs. With the lights back on and no obvious problems in the ship they moved more quickly and assuredly. The lights had returned throughout the ship and the corridors didn't even feel like the dark, nightmarish tunnels they'd been forced through to reach the engine room.
Suddenly, the leading crewman stopped. Cross frowned as the line came to a halt. “What's wrong, Armstrong?”
Seaman Armstrong pointed up. “Didn't you hear that sir? It sounded like weapons fire from above. I thought I heard something earlier as well, but I couldn't be sure. I swear I heard it this time.” There was silence for a few moments as the boarding party strained to listen. Armstrong looked uncomfortable for a moment. “I swear I heard something, sir.”
Cross shook his head. “It was probably some ill kept machinery going wrong up above, but we'd better be a bit more cautious. Everyone keep your ears open for any more sounds. We might be able to go around whichever area is causing problems. And if it's the marines playing with their guns we'll want to avoid them anyway.”
Armstrong nodded and frowned again. “There? Did you hear it then?”
Cross looked up. He had heard something that time, very faint but it definitely sounded like gunfire. Then it rang out again. Automatic gunfire. What the hell were the marines doing? He grabbed his radio. “This is Lieutenant Cross to the marine party. We heard gunfire. Is there a problem?”
There was a pause and then, “Cross? We thought you and your lot must be dead. We're under attack from persons unknown. They must be infected with rabies or something because they're- what the hell?”
The transmission cut off for a moment. Cross shook the radio and tried again. “Come in, please. What's going on?”
The radio hissed, then fell silent. Cross was about to try again when a new voice interrupted. “This is Captain Desoto. Lieutenant Cross, we've lost contact with our forward men. They ran into some trouble when they found one of those doors you reported that hadn't been as thoroughly sealed as the others. When they opened it they were attacked by the people sealed inside. Where are you?”
“We're still below decks, sir.” Cross looked at this small party. “We heard some gunfire above us and managed to contact your party for a few moments. They believed the opponents were infected with rabies. Do you want us to go and check on them, sir?”
“Negative,” Desoto's instantly replied. “My men can handle themselves. Take a route to avoid the fighting and return topside. I repeat, try and avoid getting involved in the fighting.” Cross wasn't about to argue. He had no interest in fighting whatever was giving the marines such a problem. It wasn't his job and heading back to the Dominion sounded like a much better plan.
“Yes, sir.” Cross nodded to Armstrong. “Let's move to the forward part of the ship along this deck. We'll head back up past the marines, since they seem to be roughly above us. See if we can avoid whatever unpleasantness is happening upstairs.”
Armstrong nodded and headed down towards the ships bow. It was a big ship but much of it was cargo decks with small corridors along each side. Much of the important parts of the ship were in the stern and bow. This passageway linked them, along with a few storerooms between the two. Most of the ship's crew had been housed up in the super structure so there wasn't many signs of life down her, just a long, curved brightly lit corridor and the odd room.
It seemed to take forever to reach the stairs. Even though they were no more gunshots the memory of them was louder than a cannon. That people were so badly infected by something they were attacking armed marines...it was insane. Even rabies didn't do that to people...did it? And how would rabies get on-board a ship? Although it might explain why they were in the cargo hold...peoples with rabies became aquaphopic, terrified of water. It might be why they'd hidden themselves away.
“HELP!”
It was a single, brief scream but it was more than enough to attract Cross' attention. The Lieutenant started to run as soon as the scream echoed down the passage. It was coming from the top of the staircase ahead of them. Cross took the steps three at a time – and was stopped instantly by the sight that greeted him.
One of the marines was laying on the deck, his head back over the edge of the stairwell. His eyes were huge and his breathing was ragged, as he was clearly in shock. That wasn't what stopped Cross however. Three men and a women were biting him on the legs and stomach. No, not just biting him. They were eating him alive. Cross couldn't move. He could barely breath. A part of his mind wondered if his own face looked like the marines now, frozen in shock, eyes wide and panting.
Something rushed by him. He turned, shrinking away, and saw Armstrong dive by with a savage boot to the side of the skull of one of the people attacking the marine. He fell back, a chunk of flesh erupting from his mouth as he crashed into the deck. It was enough to make Cross move. He lashed out with the heavy flash light he was still holding, smashing it into the side of a second man's skull. He was knocked side ways, then snapped his head around. Both of the whites of his eyes were blood red. There didn't seem to be anything in those eyes.
The man stared into his eyes for a moment, then grabbed his hand at the wrist and pulled. Cross yanked back and tried to pull away but the man held him in a tight grasp in his cold, dry, pale hands. It was like being trapped by a machine. Without warning the man pulled even hard, leaning down at the same time to stare at Cross' hand. There was a searing pain. For a moment Cross didn't understand what was happening. Then his shocked brain supplied the answer: the man was biting him!
Fear, terror and revulsion added strength as Cross yanked his hand back again once more. This time it came free. The pain increased and he screamed out. His mind couldn't understand the meaning of the red stuff between his hand and the man's mouth as he yanked his hand away. His hand still held the now blooded torch and he tried a second time, this time hitting the man hard enough to shatter the touch plastic and bury part of the torch in his face.
He fell back with a groan and a loud thump as he struck the deck. Cross hurled the shattered light after him and moved out of the stairwell. The boarding party was beating the attackers to death with kicks and Cross didn't care. Not after what they'd done. Some part of him told him they should be trying to keep them alive, see justice done, or even get them help for whatever disease was racking them.
But he wouldn't stop them. Couldn't. Every time he opened his mouth to try the pain from his hand flared. They'd bitten him. Bitten the marine until he was dead, or almost dead. But what if there was still a chance to save him? They had to get him back to the other marines and there first aid kit, then back to the Dominion herself and her sick bay. He might have a chance.
“Alright,” he said quietly. No response but the grunts of exertion as the crew kept attacking. “I said enough!” That got there attention. There attackers lay on the ground, a blooded mess. Even there blood looked strange. A thick paste rather than flowing liquid. “We need to get the marine out of here. If there's any chance to save him, we need to do it. Now.”
Two of the party picked him up between them. The marine moaned, his head slumped. He was out of it. Which was likely a mercy. There were gaping wounds on his legs and stomach. Cross couldn't imagine how he was still alive, let alone likely to live. But as long as he was breathing they couldn't leave him here. There might be more of those lunatics.
Cradling his hand Cross led the party through the ship. It felt like forever. Eventually, however, they made there way up into the super structure. Cross cracked the door open. The sun flooded into the corridor. Looking outside he realized they'd gone astray. They were on the opposite side of the ship, Dominion blocked by the ship's superstructure. Didn't matter. They could find the marines on the bridge and get treatment for the wounded man. Then they'd take the launch back to Dominion. They'd need to be quarantined, probably, but at least they'd be safe. Even if they couldn't see Dominion now she would be in sight again as soon as they rounded the deck, once they crossed around the front of the ship to the port side.
“Lieutenant Cross?” Cross turned and saw the two crew lowering the marine to the deck. One of them looked up at him. “He's not breathing any more.” Cross walked over and checked the man's pulse. There wasn't one. His chest wasn't rising and falling. Only his eyes stared out into space, still wide open in shock and horror.
“At least we tried.” Cross reached his good hand out to close the young man's eyes when he stopped. There was something strange about them. He could see the blood vessels erupting, one after the other, causing the man's eyes to fill with blood. “What on...”
With a suddenness that was horrifying the marine lurched into a sitting position. Cross dived backwards but Armstrong wasn't as fast. The marine turned and sank his teeth into the seaman's leg. Armstrong screamed and smashed at the marines skull but he wouldn't let go, just kept working his jaws up he reached bone.
A second yell brought Cross attention to the other members of the boarding party. Two more were trying to fight off someone dressed in a commercial officer's uniform as his jaws snapped at them. To the right someone had opened one of the hatches. Most likely the marines. People were coming out of it. Two or three at a time, staggering along, but as soon as each saw Cross and his men the headed towards them with more purpose, a more purposeful stride to there lurching movement, .
Cross staggered back, looking around for help. Looked up. The bridge. The marines were there. With guns. They could fight them off. Even as he thought it he saw three figures staggering out of one of the side doors. Two crew attacking another marine. The man fired into one of them, from the hip, with a pistol. He didn't even notice the bullets, just shuddered with each round and kept biting.
Cross could hear moans and screams from all over the ship. There was only one choice. He had to get to the launch. They had to get to the launch. He looked at his men, fighting these shambling creatures from this cursed ship. He reached his decision. “We have to get to the boats. Come on!” Without looking to see if any were following, if any could follow, Cross set off at a run to the opposite side of the ship. To the boats. To safety.
As he went around the front of the superstructure Cross was forced to avoid several more crew members. If these people had been sealed in the cargo deck how had they gotten out so quickly, spread so far? Whatever disease forced them to attack people made them move slowly, shambling along at no better than a fast walk.
All thought stopped as Cross spotted the marine party. They were still alive! “Help!” he screamed. One of the marines looked over and gestured for him to come. “We need help!” The marine shook his head. Cross looked further along the deck and saw why. Nearly thirty members of this ships crew were staggering along to where the boats were tied up. More of the marines, but desperately few, were firing into them to try and hold them back long enough to prepare the boats and get everyone on.
Cross stopped in indecision. He couldn't leave his men here...could he? He needed the marines, however, and he had to convince them. He ran towards the boat as the line of marines broke and ran, out of ammunition and courage. A few of the shot enemy lay dead on the deck, but only a few. Most were still coming, bullet holes riddling there bodies, limbs missing where a bullet had severed it.
The marines were on the boat before Cross could get there. He could hear the engine of the launch. Starting it up to get ready. Good. No, not good. He needed them to help his men. Surely they wouldn't go without at least trying to save them, as he'd tried to save their fellow marine?
The engine revved louder and Cross felt sick. They were going. Even before he reached the side, he knew they were leaving him here. The crew of this ship was almost on him. His heart sank further as he saw the marines move away, cradling their own wounds.
But there were two boats. The boat he'd come in should be there was well. Where was it? Cross looked along the side of the ship, seeing only a rope to mark where his boat should have been. He looked around wildly. There. Several hundred meters away. His boat was for some reason adrift. But it was close He could swim to it, bring it back, get his men off.
Then he saw the figures in his own boat. Three of them, hunched over something. More of the crew from this cursed boat. They must have gotten the man left to keep an eye on it and the marines had cut it loose rather than risk them getting into their own boat.
Cross laughed bitterly. He was trapped. The Commander wouldn't send anyone else back to help. This ship was infected. By the time anyone did come on board again it would be too late for Cross. Too late for his men.
Still laughing Lieutenant Adam Cross turned and fled back inside the ship he didn't even know the name of...
Chapter 1
Spoiler:
Chapter 2
Spoiler:
Prologue.
Spoiler:
“Sir, we're not seeing anything.” Lieutenant Adam Cross murmured into the small radio. The ship he'd been ordered to board and search seemed to be dead. There was no sign of the engines' rumble, no sign of power. The ship had a noticeable list to port, the deck beginning to lean left as water filled that side of the ship. For all intents and purposes, the ship seemed to be deserted.
She was a container ship, some kind of cargo hauler. Which made the fact this ship was here, just to the North of Scotland, even stranger. There wasn't any particular reason for the ship to be here. It was too close to Scotland to be heading across the Atlantic. It was too far north to be going along the east coast down to a port. What was she doing here?
Cross looked around the dead, deserted deck. He'd never seen anything like it. Their calls had been unanswered, and so far there was no trace of the crew. No, that wasn't true. Up in the bridge house there were plenty of traces. Coffee cups half full and green with mould. Half eaten snacks on the bridge. An officer's jacket, across the back of the commander's chair. Yet there was no sign of where the people were now. Just remnants of them. Whatever had happened had happened a while ago.
“Say again, Lieutenant?” The voice that crackled across from the Dominion was that of her first officer, Commander Andrew Little. Cross couldn't read the emotion in Little's voice. He never could. “What do mean, you don't see anything?”
Cross pressed the button to reply. “As far as we can tell, sir, the ship is a ghost. There's nothing obviously wrong with her but...her crew is gone. She's taking on water, but I think the pumps could easily deal with it, if they were active. Her engines are dead. Might just be off, out of fuel, or damaged. The back up generator, if it was ever on, isn't now. The lifeboats, bar one, are still in position. She's just...dead.”
There was no reply for a moment. “Alright, then. See if you can get her running again under her own power, just enough to pump her out. Then we'll tow her into port and see if the boys from forensics can't find out what happened. Radio in if you see anything significant or find anyone from the ship, dead or alive. Do you want some of the marines to help you search? They've had almost nothing to do but guard the new engines and weapons, and they're getting bored anyway.”
Cross thought about it for several moments. In theory, there was nothing as yet to warrant a marine unit. Yet by the time there was a problem it would probably be too late to call for them. His head told him, as a responsible officer of the British Navy, there was no point in calling in such resources. His gut told him there was something wrong with this ship, something that had forced the crew off or worse. “Might as well, sir. We'll start for the engine room without them and they can search the ship while we get power back. Tell them to bring the really good torches, the thousand candle rated ones. She'll be dark inside.”
“Will do and good luck. Dominion out.”
Cross sighed. He was rather relieved to have some trained soldiers. As a naval officer he did have some training in fighting, but the marines were better trained. On the other hand, the marines would be completely unable to get a ships engine running again.
This ship just didn't feel right. He'd been at sea practically his entire adult life. He'd learned to read the atmosphere of a ship. The tension of a ship doing something illegal. The calm of a warship operating perfectly and seamlessly. This ship, though, didn't have that atmosphere. Maybe it was because he'd yet to run across any crew members but there wasn't...anything. It made him more nervous than the barely controlled hostility you sometimes got, when people were upset and being interfered with or had something illegal to hide..
Cross looked at the boarding party that accompanied him. “Alright, double check the batteries on your torches. Unless we can get the power running again we're going to have to rely on them and I have a deep and adamant desire to not be stuck in the dark, waiting until the bloody marines march in for the rescue.”
There was a few chuckles, but the men were equally nervous. Still, orders were orders...Cross checked the batteries of his own torch to make sure they worked and...
“Alright, then. Batteries good? Let's set off then. And remember, if you find a body or a survivor approach with caution. Something caused problems on this ship and I don't want it if it was a disease, do you? So be cautious.” Cross approached the first door and opened it slowly. He aimed his own light through and checked the passage ahead before stepping inside. It was going to take time, heading down to the engine room like this, but it would be worth it make sure they didn't run into anything unpleasant.
It was odd, being inside the ship. Bar the odd creak of the metal hull as she was hit by a wave she was silent. The only sound was what the party brought with them, and they were trying hard not to make much noise. Still, the echo of slightly laboured breathing and the clang of boots on the deck were unpleasantly loud in the silence.
The ship was still in a good state, for the most part. She'd obviously been maintained well before whatever disaster had befallen her had stopped her. Apart from small items that had rolled off desks and shelves as the list to port grew more and more noticeable the ship was neat, showing a disciplined crew. It was unusual for a commercial ship to be this well kept and neat. Perhaps the captain was ex-navy. It wasn't until they were several decks into the vessel that they found anything of note.
“Sir, come here a moment.” One of the crew was staring down a passageway. Cross walked over and shone his light down the passage. At the end was a heavy watertight door. Apparently that hadn't been enough. Someone had spent quite a bit of time and effort welding the door closed. Not only around the edges but with several heavy bars of steel across it. Then they'd sliced off the handle. Someone had definitely not wanted that door opened.
“Do we have to go through that door?”
The crewman shook his head. “No, sir. The stairs down to the engines are further along. But someone went to a lot of trouble to seal that door, sir. Shouldn't we inform the commander?”
Cross nodded. “Right. I'll radio him with the details as we go. It looks like that was a way into the one of the cargo holds, I'd guess. Maybe the ship was carrying something nasty, one of those dirty bombs the telly keeps going on about and it went off in there. Would explain a lot. But it'll be fine if it was a disease...airborne one wouldn't have lasted this long in the air. Let the marines check it out. We have our own job to do.”
The crewman didn't look terribly reassured but headed off. Cross managed to get a message back to the ship, but it wasn't easy. The Dominion was on the opposite side of the hull so the radio wave had to go through quite a bit of the ship to reach the commander. Although it seemed harder than it really should have been. The signal was weak, crackling as though there was a big source of power between the party and the ship. Another mystery from a ship full of them. Cross was slowly getting more and more concerned by this dead vessel he didn't even know the name of. The damned name hadn't been visible anywhere on the ship.
They encountered two more sealed doors before reaching the engine room. Both had been treated in the same way, heavily reinforced and sealed completely to bar anyone from entering. Maybe there was another way in, but that wasn't their job.
The engine room was ankle deep in water - but there was nothing obviously out of place. Cross ran a light across some of the read outs. Nothing. No power at all. The engines were dead and cold. “Alright, someone find me the controls.” He pointed at the seaman who'd spotted the first sealed door. “You. Go and check out the fuel. Let's see if they ran out. Everyone else see if you can spot any faults before we start turning things on.”
The engines, from the quick survey, appeared to be sound. There was no obvious problem with any of the ship, and no obvious attempts at repairs either. If something had been wrong surely they would have at least tried to repair the engines? A report came back that the fuel tank was two thirds full. It looked like someone had simply...turned the engines off. Why, Cross couldn't even begin to guess at. Surely having power and light would have been an improvement on almost any situation?
“Keep a sharp ear out,” he told the boarding party. “If anything sounds wrong when I start these things sing out. We don't know why they stopped the engines. It could have been a mechanical fault we can't see. If it is, your ears will be the first warning we get. If they don't work we can always try the backup generator.” With that Cross began to start the engines back up.
He went slowly, pausing after each step to try and spot any problems. Everything seemed to be fine as he flicked switches and hit buttons. The engines were an older model but very well maintained, updated often with newer parts and such. Despite his caution it was still faster to start the engines than he'd expected. Soon one, then the second of the huge power plants coughed and rumbled back into life.
As they did the lights flickered and then returned. Cross could hear dormant machinery that had been sleep awaken one at a time, spreading through the ship, filling it with the hum of electricity and the clank of machinery. It made Cross feel a lot better, even though they still had no idea what was going on. The crewman gave a small cheer as well. The powerful benefit of light on peoples psyche.
“Alright,” Cross ordered, “Let's get the pumps going and get out of here.” Someone else could find out what had happened here. His orders would be complete once the ship's pumps were on. Then it was back to the ship for a meal and a shot of whisky in his cabin. “I'm going to radio the Dominion with a report and try and contact those marines.”
He was able to contact Little relatively easily. Apparently whatever was blocking the signal was somewhere in the cargo area. Since they were below and to the rear of that now the signal was having an easier time getting to the ship, and came through clearly. He told Little they'd gotten the engines back on and used them to restore power. Once the pumps were on they would head back and Little could call in a tug to take her to shore, or send a crew to see if she could sailed in on her own.
Little concurred, and told him the marines had boarded the ship a few minutes ago. It was quite possible that they would run across them on the way back up. Cross could point out those sealed hatches and leave the marines to investigate them.
Another rumbling announced the pumps were going. The ship would soon return to an even keel and, if what Cross had seen so far was any indication, would soon be able to sail under her own power. Nothing seemed damaged. There was no reason the ship couldn't be sailed into port and inspected there.
The crewmen packed up as Cross looked around the chief engineer's little office. It was a mess and now that the lights were on he could see there was a pool of long dried blood on the floor next to the chair, and down the side. He stared at it for a long moment. Well, it wouldn't be the first time an engineer has bled on the deck...but somehow he doubted it. The computer had booted back up and the CD tray was slowly moving in and out as the CD inside stopped it from closing. Cross grabbed it and realised it was a DVD rather than a CD. There were some numbers on it, might have been a date. A log or diary maybe? He slipped it into his pocket. It might be useful.
He decided not to mention to the crew there was blood in the office. They were in a good mood since everything was going so smoothly and power had been restored. There was no point in upsetting them with something they couldn't do anything about, or even supposed to try. Their job was done.
The boarding party began to move back upstairs. With the lights back on and no obvious problems in the ship they moved more quickly and assuredly. The lights had returned throughout the ship and the corridors didn't even feel like the dark, nightmarish tunnels they'd been forced through to reach the engine room.
Suddenly, the leading crewman stopped. Cross frowned as the line came to a halt. “What's wrong, Armstrong?”
Seaman Armstrong pointed up. “Didn't you hear that sir? It sounded like weapons fire from above. I thought I heard something earlier as well, but I couldn't be sure. I swear I heard it this time.” There was silence for a few moments as the boarding party strained to listen. Armstrong looked uncomfortable for a moment. “I swear I heard something, sir.”
Cross shook his head. “It was probably some ill kept machinery going wrong up above, but we'd better be a bit more cautious. Everyone keep your ears open for any more sounds. We might be able to go around whichever area is causing problems. And if it's the marines playing with their guns we'll want to avoid them anyway.”
Armstrong nodded and frowned again. “There? Did you hear it then?”
Cross looked up. He had heard something that time, very faint but it definitely sounded like gunfire. Then it rang out again. Automatic gunfire. What the hell were the marines doing? He grabbed his radio. “This is Lieutenant Cross to the marine party. We heard gunfire. Is there a problem?”
There was a pause and then, “Cross? We thought you and your lot must be dead. We're under attack from persons unknown. They must be infected with rabies or something because they're- what the hell?”
The transmission cut off for a moment. Cross shook the radio and tried again. “Come in, please. What's going on?”
The radio hissed, then fell silent. Cross was about to try again when a new voice interrupted. “This is Captain Desoto. Lieutenant Cross, we've lost contact with our forward men. They ran into some trouble when they found one of those doors you reported that hadn't been as thoroughly sealed as the others. When they opened it they were attacked by the people sealed inside. Where are you?”
“We're still below decks, sir.” Cross looked at this small party. “We heard some gunfire above us and managed to contact your party for a few moments. They believed the opponents were infected with rabies. Do you want us to go and check on them, sir?”
“Negative,” Desoto's instantly replied. “My men can handle themselves. Take a route to avoid the fighting and return topside. I repeat, try and avoid getting involved in the fighting.” Cross wasn't about to argue. He had no interest in fighting whatever was giving the marines such a problem. It wasn't his job and heading back to the Dominion sounded like a much better plan.
“Yes, sir.” Cross nodded to Armstrong. “Let's move to the forward part of the ship along this deck. We'll head back up past the marines, since they seem to be roughly above us. See if we can avoid whatever unpleasantness is happening upstairs.”
Armstrong nodded and headed down towards the ships bow. It was a big ship but much of it was cargo decks with small corridors along each side. Much of the important parts of the ship were in the stern and bow. This passageway linked them, along with a few storerooms between the two. Most of the ship's crew had been housed up in the super structure so there wasn't many signs of life down her, just a long, curved brightly lit corridor and the odd room.
It seemed to take forever to reach the stairs. Even though they were no more gunshots the memory of them was louder than a cannon. That people were so badly infected by something they were attacking armed marines...it was insane. Even rabies didn't do that to people...did it? And how would rabies get on-board a ship? Although it might explain why they were in the cargo hold...peoples with rabies became aquaphopic, terrified of water. It might be why they'd hidden themselves away.
“HELP!”
It was a single, brief scream but it was more than enough to attract Cross' attention. The Lieutenant started to run as soon as the scream echoed down the passage. It was coming from the top of the staircase ahead of them. Cross took the steps three at a time – and was stopped instantly by the sight that greeted him.
One of the marines was laying on the deck, his head back over the edge of the stairwell. His eyes were huge and his breathing was ragged, as he was clearly in shock. That wasn't what stopped Cross however. Three men and a women were biting him on the legs and stomach. No, not just biting him. They were eating him alive. Cross couldn't move. He could barely breath. A part of his mind wondered if his own face looked like the marines now, frozen in shock, eyes wide and panting.
Something rushed by him. He turned, shrinking away, and saw Armstrong dive by with a savage boot to the side of the skull of one of the people attacking the marine. He fell back, a chunk of flesh erupting from his mouth as he crashed into the deck. It was enough to make Cross move. He lashed out with the heavy flash light he was still holding, smashing it into the side of a second man's skull. He was knocked side ways, then snapped his head around. Both of the whites of his eyes were blood red. There didn't seem to be anything in those eyes.
The man stared into his eyes for a moment, then grabbed his hand at the wrist and pulled. Cross yanked back and tried to pull away but the man held him in a tight grasp in his cold, dry, pale hands. It was like being trapped by a machine. Without warning the man pulled even hard, leaning down at the same time to stare at Cross' hand. There was a searing pain. For a moment Cross didn't understand what was happening. Then his shocked brain supplied the answer: the man was biting him!
Fear, terror and revulsion added strength as Cross yanked his hand back again once more. This time it came free. The pain increased and he screamed out. His mind couldn't understand the meaning of the red stuff between his hand and the man's mouth as he yanked his hand away. His hand still held the now blooded torch and he tried a second time, this time hitting the man hard enough to shatter the touch plastic and bury part of the torch in his face.
He fell back with a groan and a loud thump as he struck the deck. Cross hurled the shattered light after him and moved out of the stairwell. The boarding party was beating the attackers to death with kicks and Cross didn't care. Not after what they'd done. Some part of him told him they should be trying to keep them alive, see justice done, or even get them help for whatever disease was racking them.
But he wouldn't stop them. Couldn't. Every time he opened his mouth to try the pain from his hand flared. They'd bitten him. Bitten the marine until he was dead, or almost dead. But what if there was still a chance to save him? They had to get him back to the other marines and there first aid kit, then back to the Dominion herself and her sick bay. He might have a chance.
“Alright,” he said quietly. No response but the grunts of exertion as the crew kept attacking. “I said enough!” That got there attention. There attackers lay on the ground, a blooded mess. Even there blood looked strange. A thick paste rather than flowing liquid. “We need to get the marine out of here. If there's any chance to save him, we need to do it. Now.”
Two of the party picked him up between them. The marine moaned, his head slumped. He was out of it. Which was likely a mercy. There were gaping wounds on his legs and stomach. Cross couldn't imagine how he was still alive, let alone likely to live. But as long as he was breathing they couldn't leave him here. There might be more of those lunatics.
Cradling his hand Cross led the party through the ship. It felt like forever. Eventually, however, they made there way up into the super structure. Cross cracked the door open. The sun flooded into the corridor. Looking outside he realized they'd gone astray. They were on the opposite side of the ship, Dominion blocked by the ship's superstructure. Didn't matter. They could find the marines on the bridge and get treatment for the wounded man. Then they'd take the launch back to Dominion. They'd need to be quarantined, probably, but at least they'd be safe. Even if they couldn't see Dominion now she would be in sight again as soon as they rounded the deck, once they crossed around the front of the ship to the port side.
“Lieutenant Cross?” Cross turned and saw the two crew lowering the marine to the deck. One of them looked up at him. “He's not breathing any more.” Cross walked over and checked the man's pulse. There wasn't one. His chest wasn't rising and falling. Only his eyes stared out into space, still wide open in shock and horror.
“At least we tried.” Cross reached his good hand out to close the young man's eyes when he stopped. There was something strange about them. He could see the blood vessels erupting, one after the other, causing the man's eyes to fill with blood. “What on...”
With a suddenness that was horrifying the marine lurched into a sitting position. Cross dived backwards but Armstrong wasn't as fast. The marine turned and sank his teeth into the seaman's leg. Armstrong screamed and smashed at the marines skull but he wouldn't let go, just kept working his jaws up he reached bone.
A second yell brought Cross attention to the other members of the boarding party. Two more were trying to fight off someone dressed in a commercial officer's uniform as his jaws snapped at them. To the right someone had opened one of the hatches. Most likely the marines. People were coming out of it. Two or three at a time, staggering along, but as soon as each saw Cross and his men the headed towards them with more purpose, a more purposeful stride to there lurching movement, .
Cross staggered back, looking around for help. Looked up. The bridge. The marines were there. With guns. They could fight them off. Even as he thought it he saw three figures staggering out of one of the side doors. Two crew attacking another marine. The man fired into one of them, from the hip, with a pistol. He didn't even notice the bullets, just shuddered with each round and kept biting.
Cross could hear moans and screams from all over the ship. There was only one choice. He had to get to the launch. They had to get to the launch. He looked at his men, fighting these shambling creatures from this cursed ship. He reached his decision. “We have to get to the boats. Come on!” Without looking to see if any were following, if any could follow, Cross set off at a run to the opposite side of the ship. To the boats. To safety.
As he went around the front of the superstructure Cross was forced to avoid several more crew members. If these people had been sealed in the cargo deck how had they gotten out so quickly, spread so far? Whatever disease forced them to attack people made them move slowly, shambling along at no better than a fast walk.
All thought stopped as Cross spotted the marine party. They were still alive! “Help!” he screamed. One of the marines looked over and gestured for him to come. “We need help!” The marine shook his head. Cross looked further along the deck and saw why. Nearly thirty members of this ships crew were staggering along to where the boats were tied up. More of the marines, but desperately few, were firing into them to try and hold them back long enough to prepare the boats and get everyone on.
Cross stopped in indecision. He couldn't leave his men here...could he? He needed the marines, however, and he had to convince them. He ran towards the boat as the line of marines broke and ran, out of ammunition and courage. A few of the shot enemy lay dead on the deck, but only a few. Most were still coming, bullet holes riddling there bodies, limbs missing where a bullet had severed it.
The marines were on the boat before Cross could get there. He could hear the engine of the launch. Starting it up to get ready. Good. No, not good. He needed them to help his men. Surely they wouldn't go without at least trying to save them, as he'd tried to save their fellow marine?
The engine revved louder and Cross felt sick. They were going. Even before he reached the side, he knew they were leaving him here. The crew of this ship was almost on him. His heart sank further as he saw the marines move away, cradling their own wounds.
But there were two boats. The boat he'd come in should be there was well. Where was it? Cross looked along the side of the ship, seeing only a rope to mark where his boat should have been. He looked around wildly. There. Several hundred meters away. His boat was for some reason adrift. But it was close He could swim to it, bring it back, get his men off.
Then he saw the figures in his own boat. Three of them, hunched over something. More of the crew from this cursed boat. They must have gotten the man left to keep an eye on it and the marines had cut it loose rather than risk them getting into their own boat.
Cross laughed bitterly. He was trapped. The Commander wouldn't send anyone else back to help. This ship was infected. By the time anyone did come on board again it would be too late for Cross. Too late for his men.
Still laughing Lieutenant Adam Cross turned and fled back inside the ship he didn't even know the name of...
Chapter 1
Spoiler:
It was rather like watching a train crash or a car wreck, or some other horrific accident. Your mind screams for you to look away, to close your eyes, block your ears to the screaming. But you won't. Can't. It was why those strange films, what were they called...sniff movies? No, snuff movies. Snuffing out the life of someone. It was why they were so popular. As desperately as humankind tried to hold onto that tiny thread called life, that thin little strand that kept us here, in the land of living, there was nothing quite so fascinating as seeing that fragile thread be cut. Horrible, yes. It might make you want to vomit, to spew that life giving food all across the floor. But your eyes would stay locked on the horror, on the misery, as people felt the thread of their life slowly parting...and snapping.
Why were people like that? Why was the death of other people so fascinating to them? Here, high above the plane of Hell that the world below had become, safe for now from everything, it was possible to sit back and watch. Oh, it was to learn. They had to know how the things down there behaved in a situation like this. The human things and the...not human things. If you knew how both worked then maybe, just maybe, you could find something that would mean you got to live through the rest of this nightmare. If you so chose.
Of course, it was possible that the things down there were, technically speaking, alive. Zombie was just the word that sprang to mind when you saw them, really. Human beings with chunks of flesh ripped from their bodies, most often at the neck or on the face. Some had an entire limb missing. Their eyes were an eerie blood red, most likely due to whatever process turned them from human being to human hunter. Probably blew the tiny veins in the eyeballs like a hose with too much pressure going through it. Whatever it was, blood filled the eyes and turned them red. Didn't seem to bother them much, really, but it was the last sign before someone turned. Sometimes as little as a few seconds. As the blood spread through those tiny ruptured veins you could almost see it swallowing their humanity.
The eyes were the windows to the soul. How right the old saying was. Once the blood was there then that was what the soul craved: more blood. Blood and flesh and life.
On the street, four stories down, people were running but not screaming. The creatures hunting them used eyes and ears and, yes, probably nose all equally. The zombies followed anyway. They didn't move fast. Probably couldn't. Some were faster than normal. They could stagger along quite fast, considering. But it was pretty rare for a zombie to actually manage to reach a person in pursuit. Rather, the person tended to run straight into another zombie ahead. That was something to keep in my mind. Eyes to the front. Eyes to the side. Never eyes behind.
So, even watching humans being torn apart in a frenzy, hearing their screams reach high up here, was educational sometimes. And the fact that it was impossible to tear the eyes away from it was irrelevant. If he had to watch, he might as well learn.
But there is only so much carnage a human being can watch before even that horrible desire to watch was gone, and he'd reached his limit long ago. There was nothing fascinating about the carnage now, nothing making him watch except his own will. He had to know. He had to know what was out there. He needed every piece of knowledge, every scrap of information if he was going to live his life as something other than a zombie. So he watched. Watched as men, women, children tried to run. Some made it out of his vision. A lot of them didn't. Soon the ones that didn't would be up and hungry too.
Up here, on the fourth floor of what appeared to be some kind of office building, he and his compatriots were safe for at least a little while. If it was only the human zombies out there then it would be relatively easy. But there weren't just human zombies. Although they were certainly the most common thing out in the streets there were other creatures. Animals infected by the virus. Their simpler brains, ironically, seemed to cope better with the infection than a human one. They functioned better, retained more motor control. They were still dumber than the original version, slower too, but faster than the zombies. Faster than a slow human, at that, or an exhausted one.
And there were other things, too. Hadn't seen them himself but the others spoke of them. Something like the zombies but far, far more dangerous. He didn't know if he believed them, really. He couldn't imagine much more dangerous than the things swarming along the streets right this moment. But then, he hadn't believed people with their throat ripped out could stagger back to their feet and try to rip his own throat out, either. Hadn't believed something with a human form could take a shotgun round to the gut and have the upper half fall on the farmer with the gun, savaging him as he pushed him down, still attacking despite the wound. Despite being literally blown in half.
“Marcus.” The voice made him start and turn, quickly, to look at the young woman in the doorway. Samantha. Her seventeen year old face had eyes older than her years, as did every survivor he'd met so far. The undead aged the living, apparently. She was around five and a half feet, her hair clipped brutally short. So was his, now. They'd both seen another survivor, a woman with beautiful long hair, the colour of corn, running away from a zombie hoard. Her hair had been tied but had come undone, snagged on a car door. Even as she freed herself she had time to escape...but the undead grabbed the lovely hair. She hadn't pulled free. Her long, luscious hair had been too strong to snap. They'd pulled her back, screaming for them to shoot her. They couldn't. They had no guns.
Shortly after, without any discussion, the group had cut their hair as short as they could manage.
“We've filled everything we can seal in some way with water and gathered what food is in the building into the kitchen, the one up on the next floor.” She rubbed her eyes. “The cooker is electric, so we can still use it until the grid goes down. Tau is busy sealing the windows with whatever he can find, along with some of the other rooms, so we don't advertise our presence. I think that's all, right?”
Marcus thought for a few moments. It seemed to be. When they'd occupied the building they'd swept the thing, smashing the skull of any zombie still within. The small rooms and narrow corridors of the office building made it suited to ambushing the zombies before they could do much. It was easy to draw them with a sound, along a corridor, while someone stood quietly in a door and smashed them with a hammer to the skull. They weren't smart enough to turn for the doorway. Not fast enough, either.
The only problem had been birds on the upper floor. An open window had turned it into a haven for them. Hundreds of possibly infected birds were perched up there. The floor had been sealed. It wasn't worth the risk. A single bird wasn't much of a danger. They didn't seem to have enough of the virus to transmit it with a simple peck. But a flock could cost eyes, or cause some serious harm. Rip muscles from bone.
Once they'd cleared out the undead they'd locked every door they could on the lower three floors, sealing themselves in. The lifts were jammed open, since they hadn't been able to work out how to simply turn them off. They weren't going anywhere now at least. The problem was, although it kept the undead out, if there was an outbreak it would be hard to leave themselves. Marcus had the idea that using the elevator shafts should be possible, but he was keeping it to himself for now at least. The last thing he wanted was someone deciding it was safe enough now and heading out into the streets again, to return to a home or even an office building not unlike this one. It had happened before.
“No, I think we're good for a day or two.” That was as long as they were likely to stay. Any longer and they would grow slack, let a beam of light slip, attract the zombies somehow. And one always translated, soon enough, into two. And then four. And then eight. Until you had a thousand or more, all surrounding the entrance to whatever shelter you had. All pushing each other in a bid to get at you. It wasn't a good situation to be in.
Marcus picked up his own weapon, one that had once been a door stop of all things. It was a home made thing, a long piece of steel with a brass knob on one end that led into a block of concrete. It was rounded and smoothed, and someone had covered it in tiles, now cracked. The little rubber feet that had been on the bottom to prevent it from slipping had long since come away with repeated blows. It was longer than most hammers and easier and lighter than the sledges some survivors used, better suited to his medium frame. It was still more than heavy enough to crack a skull but light enough to swing for some time before exhausting.
Moving quietly across the floor, Marcus looked into the hallway before stepping out, cautious as always. The building was almost silent, the hum of the still functioning power the only noise. Marcus liked that. Inside it was pleasantly quiet, especially compared to the life outside right now. A relaxing break to allow their minds to heal more than to allow their bodies to rest. If it wasn't for the fact that the circumstances outside were what had driven them into this position...
After a moment he entered the room they were using as living area. It used to be one of the big offices, with twenty or so people beavering away at their computer, grinding out the facts and numbers and excel sheets and pie charts that kept the old world in business. The desks were now piled up against the window as a form of barricade, helping to block out any light they made. While there was still light in other buildings and it wouldn't cause them to be noticed a building with the lights on would be more attractive to searchers.
However, even in this new world the computers still had a use...
In the corner of the room furthest from any possible entrance was Michael. A tall, skinny kid with glasses. He'd taken up sports six months before and so was in good enough shape to run and to run fast. But it hadn't broken his love with the world of machines...and before him was his land. The best and newest computers in the building, seven of them, networked together and re-wired or...something. Marcus had never understood computers. They were a tool, something to work on like the people in this office had. But these...these were something altogether different from the drab, dull machines they'd been.
There were three or four keyboards, and five monitors, all apparently showing different things. Wires snaked from open box to open box, and to the wall of power sockets behind. A case, full of discs, tools and circuit boards sat next to the Michael as he typed away. The images on various screens changed as he read the information and moved on. He could read it far faster than Marcus could, that was for sure. Michael told him it was all to do with scanning a sentence for the key words and reconstructing what it meant from those in less time than it would take to read the whole sentence. Marcus took his word for it.
He coughed to gather Michael's attention. Michael carried a lead pipe, which was sat next to him. Tapping him on the shoulder could have been a bad idea. The younger man turned and beckoned him closer. Marcus moved over and squatted next to him, laying down his own weapon as he did. “Alright then. What have you found out so far?”
Michael shrugged. “Same as the news before they went off the air.” A picture snapped up. A picture from the air somewhere, a lot of wheat fields. A bunch of zombies were surrounding and attacking a cattle herd. “Iowa.” Another image. This one easier to identify. A desert scene showing a group of the undead standing outside the Pyramids in Egypt, locals and tourists finally united. Another image. A barren wasteland with a pack of dogs savaging a woman. “Siberia.” Michael sighed. “So far the only countries that have successfully sealed there borders are Israel, because the terrorist attacks on them made them pretty much seal off there border anyway, Japan because they initiated that quarantine before it could get to them, some of the islands in the Med and Atlantic although they're having issues with infected refugees already...”
Michael brought up several more shots. Images of heavily guarded walls and border stations. Miles of wire fences. “Most countries were smart enough to at least put some plans in place, some kind or barrier. France is gone. There government couldn't seem to get past the idea it was like a normal riot gone over the top, and with the proximity to the UK the infection hit them first. The other countries...some cities are gone. A lot of them are. There's still military, still a government for most of them, but they have no chance of doing anything but reacting. They can defend cities, bigger towns if they're lucky. That's it.”
Another shot. Marcus noticed the writing on sign. It looked like Spanish or Italian, maybe. It showed an old battle tank in a sea of undead. The tank's turret and barrel were all that were really still visible. The zombies were hanging onto the rest of it, trying to find a way in. The tank couldn't be breached by them...but it looked like it was stuck. It wasn't a better way to die in there, just a different one.
Michael clicked again and a map of the world came up. It was mostly red. Red showed unsecured areas, areas that the American Army considered unsafe and over run. Across the globe the vast majority of it was red. Green, safe, well defended areas were few and far between. Michael had over stated the safety of some areas, it seemed. Israel had lost several chunks, while only a third of Japan's islands were still free of taint. Most of the rest of the green zones were islands, with cities that had gotten there act together in time still little green flares in a sea of red. Some really inaccessible areas, such as mountains, were still green too. There probably were a lot more people there than the area could support, but that was an issue for the next few months. Right now they were alive.
A lot of fringe areas had been full of people during the initial panic, but it had led to a startling discovery. Like any hunter zombies followed there food, and there food of choice seemed to be humans. They were easier to get at than most animals, if nothing else. People assumed that areas with a low population would be safer, as there would be less of a chance that an outbreak had happened there already, but as more people showed up more zombies started arriving. They didn't move that fast, thee or four miles and hour, but they moved constantly. Over the course of a week they could move six or seven hundred miles, assuming they still had both legs.
It wasn't clear how they hunted. What was known was that zombies were almost supernaturally good at following large groups of humans. Smaller ones could avoid detection for quite some time, but big ones...well, the more people in a group the more zombies would show up, and from greater distances. Unless already engaged in an attack or stalking humans they would gather in hordes, slowly trailing after the humans until they thought they were safe or were forced to stop to pick up supplies, forage, stop to rest...zombies never stopped.
As a result areas you'd assume to be clear, like the north of Canada and desert regions were as bright red as Florida or Delhi. People assumed they would be protected by the wilderness but it simply added another challenge to survival as the zombies drew slowly closer. It meant that truly safe areas could only be done in two ways...an area a zombie could not, physically, get to such as an island or the top of a mountain. Or behind an area made artificially inaccessible, such as through the use of large walls and plenty of guns. A fortress, in other words.
So far, that hadn't been an option for Marcus and his group. And so they had to settle for option number three...run from temporary shelter to temporary shelter, fortifying buildings well enough to last for a few days. In theory they could do better than that but, currently, they were still trapped within the city. A city was a bad place to be.
At least one had already been bombed out of existence and another had still been burning two weeks after the initial fire had broken out. No one was around to fight the fires any more, but there were still plenty of machines to sort out and start a blaze, plenty of gas in the underground pipes, plenty of vehicles full of petrol. Lots of possible causes and lots of fuel with no way to prevent them or ways to fight the blaze. Cities were death traps waiting to happen.
Add to that, this city, at least, still had plenty of undead in it. That was most likely because it had only fallen the day before. Marcus still didn't know why. He was quite a light sleeper, now, and had the gunfire and screaming as the zombies that had breached the barricades had flowed into the city like a tide. He and the others of the group had been staying in a hostel. They very quickly left it.
The city had only been starting to realize what was happening. Marcus had seen it more than once before, in places where the barricades had held and the people hadn't had to confront the reality of the outbreak themselves there was a certain level of denial. Some truly deluded believed it was a riot, an invasion, anything but the dead returning to life. But a lot of people had deluded themselves into believing that, no matter what happened elsewhere, the zombies would never overrun their barricades, never breech their defences, never be inside their home.
As a result, at least at first, there hadn't been the mad rush, the human herd driven before the undead pack. The only people Marcus had seen had been his own, and groups like there own, people who had been forced to survive outside for some time. And soldiers, rushing to plug the breach. Sometimes, with enough guns and enough good shots even zombies could be forced back, a hole plugged, a gate sealed shut again. Hadn't been like that this time though.
Marcus shook his head and brought himself back to the present. He rubbed a hand across tired eyes. The exhaustion he felt wasn't just physical, he knew. It was mental and spiritual too. Even here, in safety, the only thing that was safe was his own body. His mind was still in the hell outside, planning, remembering, trying to make sure he survived. And as for his spirit...that was a turmoil he wasn't willing to touch. Not yet, anyway. Physical rest would have to be the best he could manage for now.
“Of course,” Michael added, obvious to the fact Marcus hadn't been there for a while, “A lot of countries aren't letting in survivors for fear they're infected. It's helping to keep them going, I'll admit, but it makes it sorta pointless to make a run for them. They can't or won't help us, and they can't or won't let us in. Some of the smaller cities and towns that are still going might well, but unless we can get in touch with them we won't know. And then we're assuming they're on the level and won't be overun and surrounded by the time we get there.”
“Alright,” he said, staring at Michael's electronic empire, looking at the map. “Other countries might take us in. Probably won't. Same goes for the few communities that are still intact. Even if we get there, they might not want to know. So...where does that leave us?”
Michael grinned, white teeth gleaming red from the world map, giving him a disconcerting appearance. “That's the question isn't it? Where can we go that's safe. And I have an idea...” The mouse swung across the screen. Marcus looked for an island, or a town, or something...but it didn't focus in that much. Instead it selected a whole region and then blew it up. Marcus waited for Michael to select somewhere, but he sat there grinning.
“Scotland?” Marcus looked down at him in disbelief. There were no communities in Scotland. The whole area was overrun. It had been the source of the initial outbreak. Before any kind of real resistance could be organized a horde of undead had been sweeping down through Scotland. No one was sure how, exactly, it had happened. Only that reports of riots had led to reports of invasion, then reports of monster that the British Army couldn't stop. They swept right over Aberdeen, Edinburgh, Glasgow...and into Northern England, Northumberland and Cumbria without slowing.
“Crazy, huh?” Michael turned to face Marcus finally. “But think about it. We know the zombies follow the people. There are damned few of those left in Scotland. So, we can assume there will be a whole lot less zombie up there too. As an added bonus there aren't many people. Nothing like Amble to have to deal with.”
Marcus considered it. He was right. Zombies followed people. They weren't enough left to keep the zombies attention. They were all down here now, in the South. Scotland should be clear enough to deal with. They could gather supplies and decide on a more permanent course of action. Choose an island that they knew had fallen and take out the bulk of the zombies from a ship, perhaps. And if it avoided another Amble...
“The only problem with that,” a voice behind them said, “Is getting there in the first place.” Marcus turned to look at the speaker. A tall, middle aged African man who called himself Tau. He spoke English well, with only a hint of his old accent. He had a fire hammer in a loop on his belt, on the big ones the fire brigade used to smash doors. It had a large, angry looking spike on the back of it.
He continued as he moved closer, “We are having a lot of trouble escaping from the city. The roads are liable to be blocked by accidents and jams. Moving on foot is difficult, especially in areas where there have been accidents. We know the dogs are around, too, and the zombies are everywhere now. And that is simply the city. Once we reach the open countryside, what do we expect? We cannot know the numbers, or if humans survivors are still out there. Or how well disposed they are to us. Or what else is out there, now.”
Marcus nodded. “All true, but we have to get out of the city. It's a death trap. We all know that. We need to get out of here, and Scotland looks a better choice than any other I've seen so far. If nothing else it might just buy us enough time to deal with little things like long term plans. And they'll be more resources left in Scotland than just about anywhere else. Not much time for looting and stockpiling.”
Tau nodded, and smiled. “All true, but what I say is true as well. Just because it is the least suicidal option does not mean that it is not a suicidal option. We must consider this wisely and carefully, and take what time we can afford before making any rash decisions. With planning and care there may be safer way than simply running through the streets and hoping to meet as little resistance as possible, hoping that the bridge is intact and the road is clear.”
Marcus and Michael looked at each other for a moment, then Marcus nodded. “We're not moving for another day or two. We'll see what else we can come up with. If we can't think of anything...well, almost certain death is better than really certain death. They'll get us here eventually and soon we might not have a choice to leave.”
Tau smiled. “Indeed. Perhaps if we can think of some unusual transportation, something not easy to block...a boat, maybe, or find a plane or hot air balloon...”
“You can try that later,” a woman's voice called across the distance. The three men turned and looked over at Zahra, petite Arabic woman holding a steaming saucepan in her hand. She was sticking her head out of what use to be a break room. It had a electric cooker and a microwave, though, and that was all that was really needed to transform it into a kitchen for their purposes. As a bonus it was a little one, with no window, so it could be relatively well lit. She waved the pan again. “Food's done.”
Marcus wasn't hungry. Not after what he'd just watched. But he needed to keep his strength up and so walked in with the others for the simple meal. It was dried pasta and sauce from packet, lightweight and easy to carry. You needed water for them, though, and so they were only cooked when they had somewhere to draw more water.
So far the basic infrastructure of the city was still running. Somewhere, a power station was still pumping out electric, and water was still being cleaned and pumped...although as a precaution they boiled the water anyway. With no one left to watch the levels of toxicity and germs there was a chance something unpleasant could get into it.
Still, it was good to be eating hot food without having to keep a constant eye out. Samantha was guarding the only entrance to the floor, waiting for one of them to finish and go relieve her so she could come and eat. Her food would be a touch cold but the peace of mind was more than worth slightly chilly food.
As they shovelled food in, Michael suddenly said, “Y'know...soon we're not going to be able to use the net much any more. The thing's pretty patchy now as it is. It's obvious a lot of the servers aren't being maintained. It's getting difficult to get any kind of sense out of it, let alone news reports and the like. When a city goes it takes a bunch of servers, too, once the power dies. So, if you're wanting anything off the net, tell me soon. Might be the last crack we get at it.”
Marcus looked around the table. After a moment Tau suggested, “Perhaps a list of the remaining safe cities in the country? If we need to, we could use them as way stations as we travel along. Resupply points, a safe place to rest, that sort of thing.”
Zahra added, “And military areas still going too. Although we might be somewhat wiser to avoid those, of course. They might well be under no command but their own, now, and might have a tendency to shoot first and check to see what state you were in later. Even if they are still under some kind of control there resources might be thinner due to any civilians they are protecting.”
Marcus replied with, “Well, ideally we won't have to use either. If we can avoid both for now I'll be happier. Not to sound paranoid but I prefer to deal with other survivors as little as possible. The world's gone to hell. Right now that means people are still adjusting, and some of them aren't going to be adjusting well. Personally I'd prefer to wait, try and gather some information on any other surviving communities before we make contact.”
“Hah,” Zahra laughed, “That could be a challenge. How are we going to find out about other groups without contact?”
Shrugging, Marcus said, “Well, yes. But maybe we could observe them. Contact them on neutral ground. Listen into radio communications and that kind of thing. Get to know them before we walk up to the door and ask for a cup of sugar and seven hundred 9mm rounds.”
That got a small chuckle, but not much of one. They were all still too aware of what was happening outside to find much of anything funny. But it lightened things up a little, and that was good. They were supposed to be having a small amount of downtime, after all. Relaxing should be part of that but it was hard.
Michael looked around again after they stopped. “Alright, I'm pretty much done eating. If one of you guys don't mind going and getting Sammy when you're done I'll go dredge up that info, and see if I can't find us an easy way to get to Scotland. Anything else I should take a look for while I'm wandering the web?”
Marcus said, “Yes, actually. The latest reports on which roads are blocked, which bridges are out, and anything else about road and travel issues that you can find. We'll add them to that big road atlas and that'll help us steer clear of some problems before they can even crop up.”
Michael nodded vigorously. “Sounds good. It won't help with stuff that happened after all the reporters ran away, but it should help us avoid a lot of things. Add it into the planning and...yeah. I can see how that should be good. It'll sure as hell not hurt us. Yeah. I'll get right on it.”
They continued to talk and plan a little but Marcus soon finished his meal. With a nod to the others he got up to go and see Samantha, tell her that she could go an eat. He'd take over the guard until was time for sleep as well. He enjoyed standing guard, as it happened. It gave his mind plenty of time to think and plan. It was usually pretty peaceful as well, which was a nice bonus.
As he entered the landing, though, he saw that Samantha was tensed up, listening as though she'd heard something. She put her finger to her lips, showing him to be silent, and mimed listening with her free hand. Marcus stopped an listened as well. He didn't hear anything. Well, nothing he didn't expect to hear. They were too high up to hear the moans on the streets below and so all he could really hear was the hum of the electrics and the fluorescent lighting.
After a moment Samantha shook her head. “I guess I'm getting paranoid. I could have sworn I heard someone below us a few minutes ago, but since then...nothing. I must be imagining things.” She shrugged and smiled slightly.
Marcus put a hand on her shoulder and smiled too. “We're all wound up way too tight, and it was likely something simple. A broom falling over or something. Even if you did imagine it you didn't go running off that we'd been invaded and you didn't go try and check it out yourself. Seems you did the right-”
They both stopped as they heard a knock from downstairs...and something far worse. Something to give them serious concerns. A single sound. Someone swore.
Samantha and Marcus looked at each other. Someone was inside.
Why were people like that? Why was the death of other people so fascinating to them? Here, high above the plane of Hell that the world below had become, safe for now from everything, it was possible to sit back and watch. Oh, it was to learn. They had to know how the things down there behaved in a situation like this. The human things and the...not human things. If you knew how both worked then maybe, just maybe, you could find something that would mean you got to live through the rest of this nightmare. If you so chose.
Of course, it was possible that the things down there were, technically speaking, alive. Zombie was just the word that sprang to mind when you saw them, really. Human beings with chunks of flesh ripped from their bodies, most often at the neck or on the face. Some had an entire limb missing. Their eyes were an eerie blood red, most likely due to whatever process turned them from human being to human hunter. Probably blew the tiny veins in the eyeballs like a hose with too much pressure going through it. Whatever it was, blood filled the eyes and turned them red. Didn't seem to bother them much, really, but it was the last sign before someone turned. Sometimes as little as a few seconds. As the blood spread through those tiny ruptured veins you could almost see it swallowing their humanity.
The eyes were the windows to the soul. How right the old saying was. Once the blood was there then that was what the soul craved: more blood. Blood and flesh and life.
On the street, four stories down, people were running but not screaming. The creatures hunting them used eyes and ears and, yes, probably nose all equally. The zombies followed anyway. They didn't move fast. Probably couldn't. Some were faster than normal. They could stagger along quite fast, considering. But it was pretty rare for a zombie to actually manage to reach a person in pursuit. Rather, the person tended to run straight into another zombie ahead. That was something to keep in my mind. Eyes to the front. Eyes to the side. Never eyes behind.
So, even watching humans being torn apart in a frenzy, hearing their screams reach high up here, was educational sometimes. And the fact that it was impossible to tear the eyes away from it was irrelevant. If he had to watch, he might as well learn.
But there is only so much carnage a human being can watch before even that horrible desire to watch was gone, and he'd reached his limit long ago. There was nothing fascinating about the carnage now, nothing making him watch except his own will. He had to know. He had to know what was out there. He needed every piece of knowledge, every scrap of information if he was going to live his life as something other than a zombie. So he watched. Watched as men, women, children tried to run. Some made it out of his vision. A lot of them didn't. Soon the ones that didn't would be up and hungry too.
Up here, on the fourth floor of what appeared to be some kind of office building, he and his compatriots were safe for at least a little while. If it was only the human zombies out there then it would be relatively easy. But there weren't just human zombies. Although they were certainly the most common thing out in the streets there were other creatures. Animals infected by the virus. Their simpler brains, ironically, seemed to cope better with the infection than a human one. They functioned better, retained more motor control. They were still dumber than the original version, slower too, but faster than the zombies. Faster than a slow human, at that, or an exhausted one.
And there were other things, too. Hadn't seen them himself but the others spoke of them. Something like the zombies but far, far more dangerous. He didn't know if he believed them, really. He couldn't imagine much more dangerous than the things swarming along the streets right this moment. But then, he hadn't believed people with their throat ripped out could stagger back to their feet and try to rip his own throat out, either. Hadn't believed something with a human form could take a shotgun round to the gut and have the upper half fall on the farmer with the gun, savaging him as he pushed him down, still attacking despite the wound. Despite being literally blown in half.
“Marcus.” The voice made him start and turn, quickly, to look at the young woman in the doorway. Samantha. Her seventeen year old face had eyes older than her years, as did every survivor he'd met so far. The undead aged the living, apparently. She was around five and a half feet, her hair clipped brutally short. So was his, now. They'd both seen another survivor, a woman with beautiful long hair, the colour of corn, running away from a zombie hoard. Her hair had been tied but had come undone, snagged on a car door. Even as she freed herself she had time to escape...but the undead grabbed the lovely hair. She hadn't pulled free. Her long, luscious hair had been too strong to snap. They'd pulled her back, screaming for them to shoot her. They couldn't. They had no guns.
Shortly after, without any discussion, the group had cut their hair as short as they could manage.
“We've filled everything we can seal in some way with water and gathered what food is in the building into the kitchen, the one up on the next floor.” She rubbed her eyes. “The cooker is electric, so we can still use it until the grid goes down. Tau is busy sealing the windows with whatever he can find, along with some of the other rooms, so we don't advertise our presence. I think that's all, right?”
Marcus thought for a few moments. It seemed to be. When they'd occupied the building they'd swept the thing, smashing the skull of any zombie still within. The small rooms and narrow corridors of the office building made it suited to ambushing the zombies before they could do much. It was easy to draw them with a sound, along a corridor, while someone stood quietly in a door and smashed them with a hammer to the skull. They weren't smart enough to turn for the doorway. Not fast enough, either.
The only problem had been birds on the upper floor. An open window had turned it into a haven for them. Hundreds of possibly infected birds were perched up there. The floor had been sealed. It wasn't worth the risk. A single bird wasn't much of a danger. They didn't seem to have enough of the virus to transmit it with a simple peck. But a flock could cost eyes, or cause some serious harm. Rip muscles from bone.
Once they'd cleared out the undead they'd locked every door they could on the lower three floors, sealing themselves in. The lifts were jammed open, since they hadn't been able to work out how to simply turn them off. They weren't going anywhere now at least. The problem was, although it kept the undead out, if there was an outbreak it would be hard to leave themselves. Marcus had the idea that using the elevator shafts should be possible, but he was keeping it to himself for now at least. The last thing he wanted was someone deciding it was safe enough now and heading out into the streets again, to return to a home or even an office building not unlike this one. It had happened before.
“No, I think we're good for a day or two.” That was as long as they were likely to stay. Any longer and they would grow slack, let a beam of light slip, attract the zombies somehow. And one always translated, soon enough, into two. And then four. And then eight. Until you had a thousand or more, all surrounding the entrance to whatever shelter you had. All pushing each other in a bid to get at you. It wasn't a good situation to be in.
Marcus picked up his own weapon, one that had once been a door stop of all things. It was a home made thing, a long piece of steel with a brass knob on one end that led into a block of concrete. It was rounded and smoothed, and someone had covered it in tiles, now cracked. The little rubber feet that had been on the bottom to prevent it from slipping had long since come away with repeated blows. It was longer than most hammers and easier and lighter than the sledges some survivors used, better suited to his medium frame. It was still more than heavy enough to crack a skull but light enough to swing for some time before exhausting.
Moving quietly across the floor, Marcus looked into the hallway before stepping out, cautious as always. The building was almost silent, the hum of the still functioning power the only noise. Marcus liked that. Inside it was pleasantly quiet, especially compared to the life outside right now. A relaxing break to allow their minds to heal more than to allow their bodies to rest. If it wasn't for the fact that the circumstances outside were what had driven them into this position...
After a moment he entered the room they were using as living area. It used to be one of the big offices, with twenty or so people beavering away at their computer, grinding out the facts and numbers and excel sheets and pie charts that kept the old world in business. The desks were now piled up against the window as a form of barricade, helping to block out any light they made. While there was still light in other buildings and it wouldn't cause them to be noticed a building with the lights on would be more attractive to searchers.
However, even in this new world the computers still had a use...
In the corner of the room furthest from any possible entrance was Michael. A tall, skinny kid with glasses. He'd taken up sports six months before and so was in good enough shape to run and to run fast. But it hadn't broken his love with the world of machines...and before him was his land. The best and newest computers in the building, seven of them, networked together and re-wired or...something. Marcus had never understood computers. They were a tool, something to work on like the people in this office had. But these...these were something altogether different from the drab, dull machines they'd been.
There were three or four keyboards, and five monitors, all apparently showing different things. Wires snaked from open box to open box, and to the wall of power sockets behind. A case, full of discs, tools and circuit boards sat next to the Michael as he typed away. The images on various screens changed as he read the information and moved on. He could read it far faster than Marcus could, that was for sure. Michael told him it was all to do with scanning a sentence for the key words and reconstructing what it meant from those in less time than it would take to read the whole sentence. Marcus took his word for it.
He coughed to gather Michael's attention. Michael carried a lead pipe, which was sat next to him. Tapping him on the shoulder could have been a bad idea. The younger man turned and beckoned him closer. Marcus moved over and squatted next to him, laying down his own weapon as he did. “Alright then. What have you found out so far?”
Michael shrugged. “Same as the news before they went off the air.” A picture snapped up. A picture from the air somewhere, a lot of wheat fields. A bunch of zombies were surrounding and attacking a cattle herd. “Iowa.” Another image. This one easier to identify. A desert scene showing a group of the undead standing outside the Pyramids in Egypt, locals and tourists finally united. Another image. A barren wasteland with a pack of dogs savaging a woman. “Siberia.” Michael sighed. “So far the only countries that have successfully sealed there borders are Israel, because the terrorist attacks on them made them pretty much seal off there border anyway, Japan because they initiated that quarantine before it could get to them, some of the islands in the Med and Atlantic although they're having issues with infected refugees already...”
Michael brought up several more shots. Images of heavily guarded walls and border stations. Miles of wire fences. “Most countries were smart enough to at least put some plans in place, some kind or barrier. France is gone. There government couldn't seem to get past the idea it was like a normal riot gone over the top, and with the proximity to the UK the infection hit them first. The other countries...some cities are gone. A lot of them are. There's still military, still a government for most of them, but they have no chance of doing anything but reacting. They can defend cities, bigger towns if they're lucky. That's it.”
Another shot. Marcus noticed the writing on sign. It looked like Spanish or Italian, maybe. It showed an old battle tank in a sea of undead. The tank's turret and barrel were all that were really still visible. The zombies were hanging onto the rest of it, trying to find a way in. The tank couldn't be breached by them...but it looked like it was stuck. It wasn't a better way to die in there, just a different one.
Michael clicked again and a map of the world came up. It was mostly red. Red showed unsecured areas, areas that the American Army considered unsafe and over run. Across the globe the vast majority of it was red. Green, safe, well defended areas were few and far between. Michael had over stated the safety of some areas, it seemed. Israel had lost several chunks, while only a third of Japan's islands were still free of taint. Most of the rest of the green zones were islands, with cities that had gotten there act together in time still little green flares in a sea of red. Some really inaccessible areas, such as mountains, were still green too. There probably were a lot more people there than the area could support, but that was an issue for the next few months. Right now they were alive.
A lot of fringe areas had been full of people during the initial panic, but it had led to a startling discovery. Like any hunter zombies followed there food, and there food of choice seemed to be humans. They were easier to get at than most animals, if nothing else. People assumed that areas with a low population would be safer, as there would be less of a chance that an outbreak had happened there already, but as more people showed up more zombies started arriving. They didn't move that fast, thee or four miles and hour, but they moved constantly. Over the course of a week they could move six or seven hundred miles, assuming they still had both legs.
It wasn't clear how they hunted. What was known was that zombies were almost supernaturally good at following large groups of humans. Smaller ones could avoid detection for quite some time, but big ones...well, the more people in a group the more zombies would show up, and from greater distances. Unless already engaged in an attack or stalking humans they would gather in hordes, slowly trailing after the humans until they thought they were safe or were forced to stop to pick up supplies, forage, stop to rest...zombies never stopped.
As a result areas you'd assume to be clear, like the north of Canada and desert regions were as bright red as Florida or Delhi. People assumed they would be protected by the wilderness but it simply added another challenge to survival as the zombies drew slowly closer. It meant that truly safe areas could only be done in two ways...an area a zombie could not, physically, get to such as an island or the top of a mountain. Or behind an area made artificially inaccessible, such as through the use of large walls and plenty of guns. A fortress, in other words.
So far, that hadn't been an option for Marcus and his group. And so they had to settle for option number three...run from temporary shelter to temporary shelter, fortifying buildings well enough to last for a few days. In theory they could do better than that but, currently, they were still trapped within the city. A city was a bad place to be.
At least one had already been bombed out of existence and another had still been burning two weeks after the initial fire had broken out. No one was around to fight the fires any more, but there were still plenty of machines to sort out and start a blaze, plenty of gas in the underground pipes, plenty of vehicles full of petrol. Lots of possible causes and lots of fuel with no way to prevent them or ways to fight the blaze. Cities were death traps waiting to happen.
Add to that, this city, at least, still had plenty of undead in it. That was most likely because it had only fallen the day before. Marcus still didn't know why. He was quite a light sleeper, now, and had the gunfire and screaming as the zombies that had breached the barricades had flowed into the city like a tide. He and the others of the group had been staying in a hostel. They very quickly left it.
The city had only been starting to realize what was happening. Marcus had seen it more than once before, in places where the barricades had held and the people hadn't had to confront the reality of the outbreak themselves there was a certain level of denial. Some truly deluded believed it was a riot, an invasion, anything but the dead returning to life. But a lot of people had deluded themselves into believing that, no matter what happened elsewhere, the zombies would never overrun their barricades, never breech their defences, never be inside their home.
As a result, at least at first, there hadn't been the mad rush, the human herd driven before the undead pack. The only people Marcus had seen had been his own, and groups like there own, people who had been forced to survive outside for some time. And soldiers, rushing to plug the breach. Sometimes, with enough guns and enough good shots even zombies could be forced back, a hole plugged, a gate sealed shut again. Hadn't been like that this time though.
Marcus shook his head and brought himself back to the present. He rubbed a hand across tired eyes. The exhaustion he felt wasn't just physical, he knew. It was mental and spiritual too. Even here, in safety, the only thing that was safe was his own body. His mind was still in the hell outside, planning, remembering, trying to make sure he survived. And as for his spirit...that was a turmoil he wasn't willing to touch. Not yet, anyway. Physical rest would have to be the best he could manage for now.
“Of course,” Michael added, obvious to the fact Marcus hadn't been there for a while, “A lot of countries aren't letting in survivors for fear they're infected. It's helping to keep them going, I'll admit, but it makes it sorta pointless to make a run for them. They can't or won't help us, and they can't or won't let us in. Some of the smaller cities and towns that are still going might well, but unless we can get in touch with them we won't know. And then we're assuming they're on the level and won't be overun and surrounded by the time we get there.”
“Alright,” he said, staring at Michael's electronic empire, looking at the map. “Other countries might take us in. Probably won't. Same goes for the few communities that are still intact. Even if we get there, they might not want to know. So...where does that leave us?”
Michael grinned, white teeth gleaming red from the world map, giving him a disconcerting appearance. “That's the question isn't it? Where can we go that's safe. And I have an idea...” The mouse swung across the screen. Marcus looked for an island, or a town, or something...but it didn't focus in that much. Instead it selected a whole region and then blew it up. Marcus waited for Michael to select somewhere, but he sat there grinning.
“Scotland?” Marcus looked down at him in disbelief. There were no communities in Scotland. The whole area was overrun. It had been the source of the initial outbreak. Before any kind of real resistance could be organized a horde of undead had been sweeping down through Scotland. No one was sure how, exactly, it had happened. Only that reports of riots had led to reports of invasion, then reports of monster that the British Army couldn't stop. They swept right over Aberdeen, Edinburgh, Glasgow...and into Northern England, Northumberland and Cumbria without slowing.
“Crazy, huh?” Michael turned to face Marcus finally. “But think about it. We know the zombies follow the people. There are damned few of those left in Scotland. So, we can assume there will be a whole lot less zombie up there too. As an added bonus there aren't many people. Nothing like Amble to have to deal with.”
Marcus considered it. He was right. Zombies followed people. They weren't enough left to keep the zombies attention. They were all down here now, in the South. Scotland should be clear enough to deal with. They could gather supplies and decide on a more permanent course of action. Choose an island that they knew had fallen and take out the bulk of the zombies from a ship, perhaps. And if it avoided another Amble...
“The only problem with that,” a voice behind them said, “Is getting there in the first place.” Marcus turned to look at the speaker. A tall, middle aged African man who called himself Tau. He spoke English well, with only a hint of his old accent. He had a fire hammer in a loop on his belt, on the big ones the fire brigade used to smash doors. It had a large, angry looking spike on the back of it.
He continued as he moved closer, “We are having a lot of trouble escaping from the city. The roads are liable to be blocked by accidents and jams. Moving on foot is difficult, especially in areas where there have been accidents. We know the dogs are around, too, and the zombies are everywhere now. And that is simply the city. Once we reach the open countryside, what do we expect? We cannot know the numbers, or if humans survivors are still out there. Or how well disposed they are to us. Or what else is out there, now.”
Marcus nodded. “All true, but we have to get out of the city. It's a death trap. We all know that. We need to get out of here, and Scotland looks a better choice than any other I've seen so far. If nothing else it might just buy us enough time to deal with little things like long term plans. And they'll be more resources left in Scotland than just about anywhere else. Not much time for looting and stockpiling.”
Tau nodded, and smiled. “All true, but what I say is true as well. Just because it is the least suicidal option does not mean that it is not a suicidal option. We must consider this wisely and carefully, and take what time we can afford before making any rash decisions. With planning and care there may be safer way than simply running through the streets and hoping to meet as little resistance as possible, hoping that the bridge is intact and the road is clear.”
Marcus and Michael looked at each other for a moment, then Marcus nodded. “We're not moving for another day or two. We'll see what else we can come up with. If we can't think of anything...well, almost certain death is better than really certain death. They'll get us here eventually and soon we might not have a choice to leave.”
Tau smiled. “Indeed. Perhaps if we can think of some unusual transportation, something not easy to block...a boat, maybe, or find a plane or hot air balloon...”
“You can try that later,” a woman's voice called across the distance. The three men turned and looked over at Zahra, petite Arabic woman holding a steaming saucepan in her hand. She was sticking her head out of what use to be a break room. It had a electric cooker and a microwave, though, and that was all that was really needed to transform it into a kitchen for their purposes. As a bonus it was a little one, with no window, so it could be relatively well lit. She waved the pan again. “Food's done.”
Marcus wasn't hungry. Not after what he'd just watched. But he needed to keep his strength up and so walked in with the others for the simple meal. It was dried pasta and sauce from packet, lightweight and easy to carry. You needed water for them, though, and so they were only cooked when they had somewhere to draw more water.
So far the basic infrastructure of the city was still running. Somewhere, a power station was still pumping out electric, and water was still being cleaned and pumped...although as a precaution they boiled the water anyway. With no one left to watch the levels of toxicity and germs there was a chance something unpleasant could get into it.
Still, it was good to be eating hot food without having to keep a constant eye out. Samantha was guarding the only entrance to the floor, waiting for one of them to finish and go relieve her so she could come and eat. Her food would be a touch cold but the peace of mind was more than worth slightly chilly food.
As they shovelled food in, Michael suddenly said, “Y'know...soon we're not going to be able to use the net much any more. The thing's pretty patchy now as it is. It's obvious a lot of the servers aren't being maintained. It's getting difficult to get any kind of sense out of it, let alone news reports and the like. When a city goes it takes a bunch of servers, too, once the power dies. So, if you're wanting anything off the net, tell me soon. Might be the last crack we get at it.”
Marcus looked around the table. After a moment Tau suggested, “Perhaps a list of the remaining safe cities in the country? If we need to, we could use them as way stations as we travel along. Resupply points, a safe place to rest, that sort of thing.”
Zahra added, “And military areas still going too. Although we might be somewhat wiser to avoid those, of course. They might well be under no command but their own, now, and might have a tendency to shoot first and check to see what state you were in later. Even if they are still under some kind of control there resources might be thinner due to any civilians they are protecting.”
Marcus replied with, “Well, ideally we won't have to use either. If we can avoid both for now I'll be happier. Not to sound paranoid but I prefer to deal with other survivors as little as possible. The world's gone to hell. Right now that means people are still adjusting, and some of them aren't going to be adjusting well. Personally I'd prefer to wait, try and gather some information on any other surviving communities before we make contact.”
“Hah,” Zahra laughed, “That could be a challenge. How are we going to find out about other groups without contact?”
Shrugging, Marcus said, “Well, yes. But maybe we could observe them. Contact them on neutral ground. Listen into radio communications and that kind of thing. Get to know them before we walk up to the door and ask for a cup of sugar and seven hundred 9mm rounds.”
That got a small chuckle, but not much of one. They were all still too aware of what was happening outside to find much of anything funny. But it lightened things up a little, and that was good. They were supposed to be having a small amount of downtime, after all. Relaxing should be part of that but it was hard.
Michael looked around again after they stopped. “Alright, I'm pretty much done eating. If one of you guys don't mind going and getting Sammy when you're done I'll go dredge up that info, and see if I can't find us an easy way to get to Scotland. Anything else I should take a look for while I'm wandering the web?”
Marcus said, “Yes, actually. The latest reports on which roads are blocked, which bridges are out, and anything else about road and travel issues that you can find. We'll add them to that big road atlas and that'll help us steer clear of some problems before they can even crop up.”
Michael nodded vigorously. “Sounds good. It won't help with stuff that happened after all the reporters ran away, but it should help us avoid a lot of things. Add it into the planning and...yeah. I can see how that should be good. It'll sure as hell not hurt us. Yeah. I'll get right on it.”
They continued to talk and plan a little but Marcus soon finished his meal. With a nod to the others he got up to go and see Samantha, tell her that she could go an eat. He'd take over the guard until was time for sleep as well. He enjoyed standing guard, as it happened. It gave his mind plenty of time to think and plan. It was usually pretty peaceful as well, which was a nice bonus.
As he entered the landing, though, he saw that Samantha was tensed up, listening as though she'd heard something. She put her finger to her lips, showing him to be silent, and mimed listening with her free hand. Marcus stopped an listened as well. He didn't hear anything. Well, nothing he didn't expect to hear. They were too high up to hear the moans on the streets below and so all he could really hear was the hum of the electrics and the fluorescent lighting.
After a moment Samantha shook her head. “I guess I'm getting paranoid. I could have sworn I heard someone below us a few minutes ago, but since then...nothing. I must be imagining things.” She shrugged and smiled slightly.
Marcus put a hand on her shoulder and smiled too. “We're all wound up way too tight, and it was likely something simple. A broom falling over or something. Even if you did imagine it you didn't go running off that we'd been invaded and you didn't go try and check it out yourself. Seems you did the right-”
They both stopped as they heard a knock from downstairs...and something far worse. Something to give them serious concerns. A single sound. Someone swore.
Samantha and Marcus looked at each other. Someone was inside.
Chapter 2
Spoiler:
The noises from below had ceased. Not that there had been many to begin with. But in a world as silent as this one even a bit of noise was enough. Marcus nodded his head to the door and Samantha nodded, following him back into the temporary safety of the the office complex. Samantha pulled a doorstop from the fire door and carefully closed it, making sure it didn't bang shut and give them away.
“We need a plan,” Marcus murmured as they walked along the corridor. Samantha nodded. They'd run across the remains of an attack by heavily armed survivors on weaker ones before. The aftermath hadn't been any better than a zombie attack. Maybe it was worse. Zombies had a reason for what they did, but humans had other ways to survive. There was no grantee that these people even knew they were there, let alone trying to hunt them. But it made sense to be cautious until they could find out one way or the other.
As they walked into the kitchen Zahra looked up from washing some of there spare clothes. “What's going on? Why isn't someone on guard?”
Samantha shook her head. “We have some people coming up the stairwell. Dunno if they're hostile or not. Going to plan for it.”
Zahra swore softly in Arabic and fell in with them.
~~~
“We can't attack them. Not until we know there intentions towards us.” Tau shrugged. “We are not monsters.”
“We can't trust them either,” Samantha replied. “Could be they just chose to hide here for the same reasons we did...plenty of floors to seal, plenty of room, few zombies since no one was exactly at work when the city was overrun. But they must have realized that someone had at least been here. They are coming up as silently as they can. They might just be cautious...or they might be planning an attack.”
Zahra paced before the doors, weapon at her waist. She looked more worried than the others. “It is not as though we can simply attack them because of what they might be. What if there are children? Are you willing to kill them because they wanted some place to hide? Or maybe there parents?”
“Of course not,” Samantha snapped, “But are you willing to be raped and killed by some lunatic soldiers who've decided that since there going to die anyway they might as well have some fun before they leave this world?”
“So we don't trust them,” Marcus said, cutting off Zahra. “But we don't kill them either. We don't know how they're armed. If they're cops or army they might have something with more bite than some iron rods and clubs and they might still think loud, noisy weapons are a good idea. Therefore we don't just stand around and watch them wander in. We'll have to set a little surprise of our own up.”
Everyone looked at him. Tau tilted his head to the side? “And what do you have in mind?”
Marcus stood up, picking up his weapon. “Let's set up and ambush. No need to spring it if they look like they're decent. And as for bait...we'll use me.” Marcus smiled. “I want to see these people first hand...”
~~~
They were close enough now that Marcus could hear there rubber soled shoes in the bare hallway. They were trying to be quiet, and doing a good job of it. But the city was almost silent right then. Only the hum of power was really noticeable and the distant yells and shrieks from the last stand of another group of survivors.
Marcus sat in the office they had been using as a living area, his hands folded in front of him as he sat in a plush, leather executive chair, his weapon propped against the table behind him. No one would believe he was completely unarmed so he instead chose to let them see he was and that he was no danger to them. If they were peaceful then hopefully they wouldn't do anything to cause problems.
There was a risk here. They could simply step through the door and riddle him with holes. But Marcus felt that it was unlikely. They would at least want to question him and once they had stepped into the room then they had entered his trap. He was in control, even if they didn't know it. It was quite possible they could kill him but it would mean that they would be dead. And if they killed them it meant they had guns which would be useful to the group so at least his death wouldn't be in vein. Especially since his plan meant the others had a minimal amount of risk.
They paused outside the doorway, trying to get a look into the room. It was lit up, unlike the rest. If they did decide to start shooting Marcus hoped that going from light to darkness would affect there aim. Then again it was equally possible that they would be armed with pipes and metal rods the same as they were.
Slowly, moving with caution, they entered the room. Marcus looked them over. They were dirty and tired looking. Two were men and one was a woman, holding some nasty looking weapons, but Marcus didn't see a gun. The woman had a two handed samurai sword, the taller of the men a medieval mace and the shorter a crossbow. And impressive collection Marcus suspected had been looted from a museum.
They stood, staring at the apparently relaxed Marcus relaxing in his chair. After a moment Marcus gestured to a small cluster of chairs. “Please, feel free to sit. You look tired. After we've had a short chat I'm sure we can find some water and food for you.”
The woman and the taller man lowered there weapons but the man with the crossbow stiffened. Marcus turned his gaze on him. He was about five and a half feet tall with narrow shoulders, red hair and a violently trembling crossbow. Whether it was rage, fear or exhaustion Marcus couldn't begin to guess but all of them made him more nervous. He couldn't help but let his gaze linger on the sharp point of the bolt in the weapon.
“And why should we be trusting you?” The man had a Scottish burr to his speech. It matched his slightly wild red hair fairly well, Marcus had to admit.
“Because,” Marcus replied, “I am not the one who has broken into someone else's hiding placed and aimed a weapon at them when they offer hospitality. I'm not asking for you weapons. Merely for you to sit and tell me what you're doing here. You don't seem to be here to cause mischief so I'd quite like to know what you are here for.”
The crossbow man squinted at Marcus but the woman sighed in exasperation and pushed the bow point down. “Where's the harm in talking to him?” Her voice had a light accent Marcus couldn't place to it. “He's barely even armed and he wanted to hurt us he wouldn't be sitting there asking for our life stories, now would he?”
The red haired man frowned, the plunked himself down in a chair. The others followed one after the other. They kept there weapons close, Marcus noted, a sensible enough precaution. Now he knew they weren't likely to be raiders he had to decide whether to spring his little trap and reveal his people or if it should be kept in place, in case they decided to behave poorly. It was a difficult decision but Marcus decided to place his trust in people. It had been some time since he dared but he needed to start somewhere. Humanity was truly doomed if they couldn't trust each other.
After they had settled into there seats Marcus raised his hand. “In the spirit of trust I would like to reveal my own friends. Please don't be insulted but we felt that it would be a good idea to keep some of us in hiding until we were sure your intentions are good.” He looked around. “It's safe enough. They're friendly.”
Slowly the others entered the room from the various locations they had been hidden in. If the new people had attacked they would have, most likely, been focused on Marcus. That would have allowed the others to come up behind them and disable or kill them without too much of a fight. The element of surprise and stealth should have overcome any superior weaponry. As it was the two sides were equal in armament.
The newcomers were obviously made nervous by the sudden appearance of so many people. It had been one thing to sit down with Marcus, on his own, but another to sit with five people. The woman rested her hand on the crossbowman's wrist as he was obviously made much more tense by this turn of events. Neither group had any reason to trust the other...but it appeared as though both were trying to trust anyway.
Perhaps, more importantly, there wasn't any reason for either of them not to trust.
As they settled Marcus gestured to the group. “Alright. Why don't you start?”
The woman looked at her compatriots and began. “Fair enough. My name is Charity. My friends here are Monty and Ardal. We came here probably for the same reason you folks did...this tower is easy to defend and has a couple of ways to escape from it. Plus the whole areas still got power and water and that's a luxury we haven't had for a little bit.”
“Why did you come in when you saw the barricades?” Samantha was standing behind Marcus and obviously suspicious.
“Thought it was abandoned again,” the young man Charity had called Ardal replied with a shrug. He had a faint Irish brogue to his speech. “We listened but couldn't hear no one. Thought we could rest here with only a little reinforcement. Found a place like this two weeks ago. Someone holed up and died from a bite. Once we dealt with them it was a snug place for a rest.”
“It seemed like this place would be good too,” Charity continued, “Electric, probably running water too. We've gone without when we had to but since this place was handy...well, didn't seem any point in going without again.” She shrugged. “Somtimes it's the little things that help keep you going, y'know, like the idea that there might be hot water for a bath?”
Marcus nodded in smypathy. “After were done we should be able to rustle something up. Plenty of hot water. We just need to find something to put it in. How long have you been out there?”
“Almost since the beginning.” It was Monty who spoke up. “We were camping up in Scotland right at the start of the disaster. Didn't know each other, mind. Seen each other around the camp-site but it was just that. You look over and see someone, maybe nod, but you got your own holiday to enjoy. Well, one day this guy ran into the camp. Looked like a hiker but someone had taken a proper chunk out of his arm. When I saw him at first I assumed he'd been bitten by an animal or something.. Well, he ran in crying about being bitten and dropped, and then...” His eyes flickered over to Charity.
Chairty took the story up in the dead tone of voice that Marcus had heard so often now. It was the speech of someone who'd lost someone dear. “My husband and I were in a caravan close by. So he tells me to run over to our caravan, grab my mobile phone and the First Aid Kit. I do, and come back dialling, but it's taking forever to connect to 999. My husband, Josh, he's pressing a piece of cloth to the man's wound but the guy's gasping like a fish out of water and we both know he isn't going to last the trip to hospital. Then we hear someone else yelling.”
“Aye,” said Ardal, “That was me.”
Charity looked at him. “Was it? I never realized.”
Ardal shrugged. “Not one for yelling most of the time.”
“Well, Ardal had seen a woman staggering into camp. She'd been really well mauled. I couldn't believe she was still standing. I even thought, 'Lord be in Heaven but she looks dead already.' And as I'm sure you've worked out there was more than a little truth to that thought. So someone from the camp runs off to help her, some tall fellow I'd seen around a few times, and as he grabs her he starts screaming. I couldn't see what was happening, 'cos he was a big lad and he had his back to us, but then he fell forwards and we could see the woman was biting into his face. He was giving her a right beating but she just lay on him, eyes closed like it was the tastiest steak you've ever had, mouth going. It was horrible.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. “Then my husband yells. The hiker had died while we were watching the new zombie arrive and he'd turned nice and quick. First thing my husband knew about it was when the bastard sank his teeth into almost the same spot he himself had been bitten. Josh threw him away, sent him tumbling across the ground, yelling and cursing as his arm poured blood.”
Monty took over again. “Well, all hell was breaking loose by then. Some other people were trying to drag the woman off the guy being bitten but she'd gotten to his throat so he wasn't moving. People were screaming and yelling, pointing as more people came staggering out of the woodlands nearby. They were all in the same state as the woman. One man had his arm clean gone. It was horrible. And the smell coming from them...it wasn't like anything I'd ever smelled before. But you know what that's like.”
Marcus nodded. “I've noticed it happens with the older ones. The new ones don't have that same smell to them. Maybe a little rot, but not whatever that smell is.”
The Scot nodded his agreement. “Aye. Well, some of the people were grabbing weapons, or whatever, and starting beating the people attacking us down. But it did no good. A bunch of golf clubs and cricket bats and the like, they just bounced right off most of the time. And more and more were showing up. This was near the beginning, mind, so that wasn't really that many but...they didn't stop and we didn't understand.”
“So,” he continued, “Everyone was panicking and more and more people were getting bitten with ever passing moment. Then this man start yelling that we have to run, find the police, find the bloody army. We just need to get out of there before these bastards take us apart. So, being of sound mind if nothing else I turn and heads for my car...only there's a half dozen between me and there. So me and this big bloke,” he looked over at Ardal, “Found ourselves stranded. And suddenly this big camper van plows up and the door flies open. Charity lived up to her name. We got a lift and got out of there.”
“We got a few miles down the road,” Chairty continued, “Then I switched over with my Josh. The...bite. It had started to bother him. We smothered in in some antiseptic and headed for the nearest hospital. It wasn't a deep bite, really, but I reckoned it was going to need some stitches. I think Josh had already guessed that the bite was going be what was causing those damned things. I think he hoped that maybe the hospital would have some cure or the like, something to stop it. So, we reached the hopital and headed inside-”
Ardal piped up again. “First one we got to was blocked by the army.”
Chairty paused. “I forgot that bit,” she admitted. “There was one fairly close to where the camp was but when we got there the army had quarantined the whole place. Even had a bloody tank sitting in the parking lot! Asked the squady at the entrance and he said it was closed for Quarantine. MRSA outbreak, he said. Seemed over the top but you could see the doctors coming out of one of those tent tunnel things they use in the movies and wearing those space suits, you know, to stop them getting infected. So we moved on to the next one.”
“It was like returning from a trip to the moon,” Monty added, “Everything was so...normal. It seemed like all those attacks had been just some story. But there was Josh, bandage on his arm. He was going pale as well by then. It had taken us a while to get to the hospital. So the nurse come to see him, and looks at his arm.”
“She was worried it might have damaged the muscle beneath,” Charity continued, “So she put him in a cubicle and gave him a shot for the pain. Then she asked us to talk to the police. We'd told her what had happened and she thought the cops should know. So we go into this little waiting room with a PC who was stationed in the hospital, and telling her everything, when we saw someone dragged by on a stretcher. We all looked out and saw the face of the man who'd tried to help the first zombie back at the camp. I've no idea how he'd ended up there but it was pretty clear he'd turned as well.”
“We warned them,” Ardal said.
“Aye, we warned them.” Chairty sighed. “They didn't listen though. We were assured that, although his throat had been badly damaged he was still breathing and that it seemed to be some kind of rabies or dementia. They were going to seal him off and treat any other bitten with standard stuff. I dunno what, exactly, since we don't have rabies over here.”
She sighed again. “My husband, he was a smart man. I think he knew what was happening. Josh knew it wasn't rabies and I think he guessed that the disease wasn't going to be easy to treat so he called us in, talked to us for a while. Told us to go to Edinburgh and wait for him. He'd keep us as updated as he could because the phone network was already playing merry hell. As soon as he got better he would follow us there. I honestly think he knew I wouldn't go if he told me that he didn't think he'd get better, that he'd turn, so he convinced it was better for both of us to do it this way. So I agreed and we set off.”
Chairty stopped, bowing her head. Looking over at her Monty took over. “It was spreading fast, by then. All it takes is one infected person being driven to an area that's not infected by a relative or the ambulance and if they don't know what they're dealing with...well, who did at the start? The government was sending in the army but what soldier wants to shoot what he thinks is a ill wee girl? You don't shoot sick people, right? So they tried other methods and got overrun. The survivors ran, some of them bitten and...ah, hell, you know all this.”
Monty took a sip from a silver flash Marcus doubted held water, then went on. “Well Edingburgh was far enough away from all the problems that at first it seemed fine. Aiden and I owed Charity for getting us away from that initial attack, so we paid for her hotel room and we rested up. It still hadn't sunk in, the reality of what was happening. We thought we'd turn on the news and hear how the government was containing things, how after a few tragic death the disease had been caught, quarantined and sorted out.”
Marcus shook his head. “It didn't work like that though. They had no idea what was going on and kept screwing up, trying what worked with people. Trying to stud the zombies or coral them or put them in a hospital. It never worked though.”
“Not true,” Tau replied, “They got pretty good about a month in. It was just too late by them for them to do anything but slow the advance. Too many of the dead by then had risen up. It was like slowing the tide with your hands.”
Monty nodded. “Aye, it's true enough they got pretty smart about it. But at that point they didn't know a damned thing. So we watched on the news that this thing was spreading. But all the time they never told us the truth, always said it was some unknown strain of rabies or bird flu or something, and that the situation was under control. Then, the third day we were in Edinburgh Charity was out in the street and saw someone staggering along with a bite on there arm and we knew it was time to leave.”
Charity sighed mounrfully. “We started getting packed up, buying supplies and such. It was starting to get obvious that this wasn't a little problem that would soon be dealt with. It was so weird seeing someone I knew was infected in a big, bright city. It was one thing to see one out in the fields and another to see them in a hospital, but a city...that's not where these things happen. So once we had everything we decided we'd set out the next morning, have a good meal and a decent kip in a bed that's not meant for camping.”
“It was during the night that the infection took hold. Always seems that way, don't it? Sun goes down and the problems arise. Well they did that night. Got woken up at about two in the morning when the screaming started right outside. I'd have probably heard it sooner but...it was good double glazing.
“I looked out the window and there four zombies, attacking a young girl. Looked like she was a prostitute. She was dressed like one, anyway. I cracked the window and tried yelling, tried throwing stuff at them but I was all the way up there and she was right there. They ignored me and moved in to attack...”
Charity paused again. “Well, it was pretty obvious once the window was open that she wasn't the only one screaming, you know? So I got my clothes on and went and grabbed these two. We knew the city wasn't going to last till morning because the damned things were already there. By morning they might be n the hotel. We had to leave. Had to leave right there and then. So we packed and headed down. We were just going to walk right out but the desk clerk on nights wanted to know what we were doing. Bloody idiot. We'd already paid up but he thought we were trying to nick the towels or something.”
“Kept arguing till the zombie came through the door,” Aiden added.
Charity snorted. “They had one of those big class doors. I always through the things were, like, bullet proof or something but this wee slip of a girl came crashing through them. Of course the clerk runs over to check her. We try and stop him but he already thinks we're criminals and now that we're evil to leave the poor lassy lying and moaning in a big pile of glass. He picked her up and she got him right in the neck. Went right through his windpipe in a single bite. So we legged it.”
“It was pretty bad on the streets, already,” Monty added. “There weren't any soldiers in the city yet and the cops had no idea what was going on, nor the guns to make any kind of stand. They were trying to fight the zombies in riot gear where they were, setting up those barricades to try and seal off sections of the city from what we saw as we drove. Problem was the infection was already all over. They'd be trying to beat the zombie off with those truncheons, the nice new ones meant to hurt like fury but to not snap bone and suddenly another one would grab them from behind. The riot gear helped though. Gave them a decent amount of protection. They could get bitten on the arm and neck and it was armoured, at least in places.”
“We kept having to stop, turn back from an area that was already blocked by cars and debris or the cops, since they weren't letting people by for obvious reasons. And we stopped for survivors, too.” Monty shrugged. “You can't just drive by kids screaming for help when they're being chased by there own parents, can you? So pretty soon the van was full of people and there were still more out there but we couldn't stop with no room. Couldn't risk them we already had.”
Charity took over again. “When we got out of the city...Lord, the view we could see. There were hundreds of the dead, all converging on the city, from everywhere it seemed. There were hundreds in the least. I've no idea where they all came from, how there could be so many of them so fast, but it was like a tide. They were just everywhere we looked. Everywhere the headlights lit up. We knew the North wasn't any better so we headed down into England.”
"Say what you will about the British Army now,” she added, “But they're efficient. It took us all night to get to the border and half the day to find a way across they hadn't blocked off yet. They were trying to stop the infection at the Scottish border. Qurantine the whole country with another on the line of Hadrian's wall if that didn't work. Some of the passengers we had wanted dropped off, to call there families or to get on with there life. They hadn't realised that the end was pretty well nigh for the old life.”
“It took us a while to get to Newcastle, and that turned out to be a mistake. The whole city was being used as a quarantine centre. All the uninfected had been moved out, some kind of barricade was being built around the city and any area that was being used for medical and army guys. We walked right into the armies hands. Still, it was a relief you know? The government was doing what it could and Newcastle was probably the world's biggest fortress at that point. There were tanks and troops all along the old wall. Surely they couldn't storm by that?”
“Didn't need to storm it,” Aiden added.
“No,” Charity agreed, “But that comes later. We three got billeted to some council house and sealed inside. Food and supplies came once a day and left in this sorta airlock thing on the door. I suppose it was to quarantine all the new arrivals. It had been a hectic few days, so we didn't mind the rest. After a week of giving more samples than I care to remember we were let out, allowed to mingle with other folk in the Metro Centre and city centre. Could only get into the part of the city where we lived with a special pass, though.”
Charity took a deep breath. “And then, one day, I saw a bunch of squaddies walking through the town, looking after someone. It was Josh. My husband.”
Zahra exploded in questions. “How? Did they have a cure or vaccine or something? Was it really him, alive and well?”
She smiled. “Aye, he was alive and well. We couldn't believe we'd found each other. It was so unlikely that we'd both managed to live. As for how...well, the doctors explained to him that only ninety seven out of every hundred people bitten die. One of the three prove to be immune. They get sick but they don't die. They don't turn. Josh was one of a handful that had been evacuated from Scotland and, needless to say, they were doing every damned thing they could to reproduce the effect with a medicine.”
“Did they?” Samantha's eyes were also alight. A survivor? And more than just one? It was better than they'd ever hoped because, now, there was hope. The infected might be saved. They might be able to avoid the infection altogether for themselves. A zombie was dangerous mostly because it's bite carried the virus that turned them. Without that they would be more manageable. Still dangerous, since they tended to go for the throat and didn't stop biting until there victim reanimated, but less dangerous all the same.
Charity shook her head. “I don't know. The city fell before they could, I know that, but they had more people than Josh and plenty of sample's of Josh's blood and stuff. They were even putting them on those transports for islands that were being used for refugees and such, transporting them to other countries so they could work on it. There might be a cure or a vaccine now.” She shook her head again. “I hope so, anyway.”
Zahira laid a hand on Charity's shoulder. “Were you still there when Newcastle was overrun?”
Monty shook his head. “No. They kept moving more and more soldiers into the city and after a while started moving anyone who'd been there for ten days or more to more secure locations. The soldiers seemed to have things sorted for a while, using vehicles to hunt the zombies and that sort of thing. We were evacuated on a train before the vast bulk of the zombies came down from Scotland and swarmed Newcastle under.”
“Of course,” Monty added after a few moments, “We didn't really get all that far. Newcastle was still standing, all right, but zombies were getting past quite happily. The country side was in pretty poor shape by then, that's for sure. Before we gotmore than a hundred miles someone had set up a barricade across the train tracks. It was manned by deserters. The guard on the train fought back of, course, but the deserters assumed anything so heavily guarded was valuable. The train got blasted into scrap by an anti tank weapon. And all the noise drew zombies. After a while a helicopter showed up and they took Josh and some other high ranking types, plus a load of cases, and loaded it up while one of those American gunships,what they called, Apaches suppressed the deserters. Suppressed them! Starting raining missiles on them.”
Monty shook his head angrily. “But, ock, those cases must have been well important. There was not enough room left for us and a whole bunch of soldiers after they were loaded up. Josh was yelling at them to let us on but, well, they weren't taking much notice.”
“And that was the last I saw my husband,” Charity added sadly. “Some idiot with an officers unform dragged him back from the door and sealed it, and we were left with the remains of the deserters on one side, some soldiers around us and ever more zombies heading towards us.”
“We got away,” she continued, “But it was close and a lot of our new solider friends didn't make it that far. They were used to fighting the zombies behind walls and from vans. Mind, we weren't much better. But we were in the mind set that a gun could solve any problem. Eventually we found some transport and started to head down here. Wound up at a few refugee camps, or cities that were still standing, and took a rest. It was like hell. Something you'd see on the news, you know?”
Marcus nodded, careful to keep his expression blank. “Yes. We know.”
Charity looked at him. “Sorry. It's just...we've had to tell this story more than once, and usually to some dim civil servant whose seen nothing but reports. We're not used to other people who are used to this crap.”
Marcus shrugged slightly.
“Well,” Monty said after a moment, “What about you folks? Why are you here?”
Tau smiled pleasantly. “That is a longer tale, I'm afraid. However, the sun is rising and maybe it is time to get some sleep.”
“In a minute,” Marcus said, frowning. There was something that seemed...wrong. It was at the tip of his tongue,but...no,he couldn't quite get hold of it.
Slightly frustrated at the sensation he was missing something, he stood and looked through the thin gap in the window. “What are the conditions like out there? We've in London for a week or so.”
Monty shrugged. “What you would expect, for the most. Are around London is in pretty bad shape now, with so many zombies here now. Must be well over three million, given how many people were in the city.”
“What about the train tracks?” This came from the relatively quiet Michael.
“Huh?”
“Well,” the young man added after a moment, “We were thinking of using the trains to escape back up North. The zombies are following the population and they're all head south. If the tracks are clear enough and the government hasn't set up blockades it should be nice and easy. We might have to get down and walk now and then but, all told, it should be long before we can find another train and keep going.”
The three new comers looked at each other. “Well,” Charity said at last, “We haven't heard about them being blocked. The trains were shut down for the most part near the start,I understand, so bar when they're near a road the looters and like don't bother with them much. I don't see any reason it shouldn't work.”
“We were planning to keep heading South,” Aiden added, “See if we could find a boat or some such.”
Michael shook his head. “There are boats leaving, from Dover and a few other towns, but not enough to get more than a fraction of the people out. And anyone who has a boat or plane or helicopter has likely gone or had it stolen by now. With the zombies moving South again with London gone those ports are death traps. If we head North, though, we might find some ships that no one took before the outbreak was widely known. It's our best chance.”
“Well,” Monty said dubiously, “I suppose it is a better plan than ours but it will be a nervous journey. Not all the zombies have gone South. They'll be enough up North to make life a problem.”
“I know,” Michael acknowledged, “But if we wait a few days I'm sorta hoping the bulk of the zombies will leave the city. And then it will be easier to go grab a train and-”
“We can't wait a few days,” Marcus announced suddenly. His stomach clenched at a sudden realization as he looked out of the window. “That isn't dawn.”
“Pardon?” Micheal blinked in confusion.
“What time is it?”
Tau pulled a small pocket watch from his coat and looked at it. “It is four AM.” He frowned. “Much too early for dawn. So if it isn't dawn then what is the glow?”
Marcus turned, trying to keep his breathing in check. “A fire. London's burning. And no one is here to stop it.”
“We need a plan,” Marcus murmured as they walked along the corridor. Samantha nodded. They'd run across the remains of an attack by heavily armed survivors on weaker ones before. The aftermath hadn't been any better than a zombie attack. Maybe it was worse. Zombies had a reason for what they did, but humans had other ways to survive. There was no grantee that these people even knew they were there, let alone trying to hunt them. But it made sense to be cautious until they could find out one way or the other.
As they walked into the kitchen Zahra looked up from washing some of there spare clothes. “What's going on? Why isn't someone on guard?”
Samantha shook her head. “We have some people coming up the stairwell. Dunno if they're hostile or not. Going to plan for it.”
Zahra swore softly in Arabic and fell in with them.
~~~
“We can't attack them. Not until we know there intentions towards us.” Tau shrugged. “We are not monsters.”
“We can't trust them either,” Samantha replied. “Could be they just chose to hide here for the same reasons we did...plenty of floors to seal, plenty of room, few zombies since no one was exactly at work when the city was overrun. But they must have realized that someone had at least been here. They are coming up as silently as they can. They might just be cautious...or they might be planning an attack.”
Zahra paced before the doors, weapon at her waist. She looked more worried than the others. “It is not as though we can simply attack them because of what they might be. What if there are children? Are you willing to kill them because they wanted some place to hide? Or maybe there parents?”
“Of course not,” Samantha snapped, “But are you willing to be raped and killed by some lunatic soldiers who've decided that since there going to die anyway they might as well have some fun before they leave this world?”
“So we don't trust them,” Marcus said, cutting off Zahra. “But we don't kill them either. We don't know how they're armed. If they're cops or army they might have something with more bite than some iron rods and clubs and they might still think loud, noisy weapons are a good idea. Therefore we don't just stand around and watch them wander in. We'll have to set a little surprise of our own up.”
Everyone looked at him. Tau tilted his head to the side? “And what do you have in mind?”
Marcus stood up, picking up his weapon. “Let's set up and ambush. No need to spring it if they look like they're decent. And as for bait...we'll use me.” Marcus smiled. “I want to see these people first hand...”
~~~
They were close enough now that Marcus could hear there rubber soled shoes in the bare hallway. They were trying to be quiet, and doing a good job of it. But the city was almost silent right then. Only the hum of power was really noticeable and the distant yells and shrieks from the last stand of another group of survivors.
Marcus sat in the office they had been using as a living area, his hands folded in front of him as he sat in a plush, leather executive chair, his weapon propped against the table behind him. No one would believe he was completely unarmed so he instead chose to let them see he was and that he was no danger to them. If they were peaceful then hopefully they wouldn't do anything to cause problems.
There was a risk here. They could simply step through the door and riddle him with holes. But Marcus felt that it was unlikely. They would at least want to question him and once they had stepped into the room then they had entered his trap. He was in control, even if they didn't know it. It was quite possible they could kill him but it would mean that they would be dead. And if they killed them it meant they had guns which would be useful to the group so at least his death wouldn't be in vein. Especially since his plan meant the others had a minimal amount of risk.
They paused outside the doorway, trying to get a look into the room. It was lit up, unlike the rest. If they did decide to start shooting Marcus hoped that going from light to darkness would affect there aim. Then again it was equally possible that they would be armed with pipes and metal rods the same as they were.
Slowly, moving with caution, they entered the room. Marcus looked them over. They were dirty and tired looking. Two were men and one was a woman, holding some nasty looking weapons, but Marcus didn't see a gun. The woman had a two handed samurai sword, the taller of the men a medieval mace and the shorter a crossbow. And impressive collection Marcus suspected had been looted from a museum.
They stood, staring at the apparently relaxed Marcus relaxing in his chair. After a moment Marcus gestured to a small cluster of chairs. “Please, feel free to sit. You look tired. After we've had a short chat I'm sure we can find some water and food for you.”
The woman and the taller man lowered there weapons but the man with the crossbow stiffened. Marcus turned his gaze on him. He was about five and a half feet tall with narrow shoulders, red hair and a violently trembling crossbow. Whether it was rage, fear or exhaustion Marcus couldn't begin to guess but all of them made him more nervous. He couldn't help but let his gaze linger on the sharp point of the bolt in the weapon.
“And why should we be trusting you?” The man had a Scottish burr to his speech. It matched his slightly wild red hair fairly well, Marcus had to admit.
“Because,” Marcus replied, “I am not the one who has broken into someone else's hiding placed and aimed a weapon at them when they offer hospitality. I'm not asking for you weapons. Merely for you to sit and tell me what you're doing here. You don't seem to be here to cause mischief so I'd quite like to know what you are here for.”
The crossbow man squinted at Marcus but the woman sighed in exasperation and pushed the bow point down. “Where's the harm in talking to him?” Her voice had a light accent Marcus couldn't place to it. “He's barely even armed and he wanted to hurt us he wouldn't be sitting there asking for our life stories, now would he?”
The red haired man frowned, the plunked himself down in a chair. The others followed one after the other. They kept there weapons close, Marcus noted, a sensible enough precaution. Now he knew they weren't likely to be raiders he had to decide whether to spring his little trap and reveal his people or if it should be kept in place, in case they decided to behave poorly. It was a difficult decision but Marcus decided to place his trust in people. It had been some time since he dared but he needed to start somewhere. Humanity was truly doomed if they couldn't trust each other.
After they had settled into there seats Marcus raised his hand. “In the spirit of trust I would like to reveal my own friends. Please don't be insulted but we felt that it would be a good idea to keep some of us in hiding until we were sure your intentions are good.” He looked around. “It's safe enough. They're friendly.”
Slowly the others entered the room from the various locations they had been hidden in. If the new people had attacked they would have, most likely, been focused on Marcus. That would have allowed the others to come up behind them and disable or kill them without too much of a fight. The element of surprise and stealth should have overcome any superior weaponry. As it was the two sides were equal in armament.
The newcomers were obviously made nervous by the sudden appearance of so many people. It had been one thing to sit down with Marcus, on his own, but another to sit with five people. The woman rested her hand on the crossbowman's wrist as he was obviously made much more tense by this turn of events. Neither group had any reason to trust the other...but it appeared as though both were trying to trust anyway.
Perhaps, more importantly, there wasn't any reason for either of them not to trust.
As they settled Marcus gestured to the group. “Alright. Why don't you start?”
The woman looked at her compatriots and began. “Fair enough. My name is Charity. My friends here are Monty and Ardal. We came here probably for the same reason you folks did...this tower is easy to defend and has a couple of ways to escape from it. Plus the whole areas still got power and water and that's a luxury we haven't had for a little bit.”
“Why did you come in when you saw the barricades?” Samantha was standing behind Marcus and obviously suspicious.
“Thought it was abandoned again,” the young man Charity had called Ardal replied with a shrug. He had a faint Irish brogue to his speech. “We listened but couldn't hear no one. Thought we could rest here with only a little reinforcement. Found a place like this two weeks ago. Someone holed up and died from a bite. Once we dealt with them it was a snug place for a rest.”
“It seemed like this place would be good too,” Charity continued, “Electric, probably running water too. We've gone without when we had to but since this place was handy...well, didn't seem any point in going without again.” She shrugged. “Somtimes it's the little things that help keep you going, y'know, like the idea that there might be hot water for a bath?”
Marcus nodded in smypathy. “After were done we should be able to rustle something up. Plenty of hot water. We just need to find something to put it in. How long have you been out there?”
“Almost since the beginning.” It was Monty who spoke up. “We were camping up in Scotland right at the start of the disaster. Didn't know each other, mind. Seen each other around the camp-site but it was just that. You look over and see someone, maybe nod, but you got your own holiday to enjoy. Well, one day this guy ran into the camp. Looked like a hiker but someone had taken a proper chunk out of his arm. When I saw him at first I assumed he'd been bitten by an animal or something.. Well, he ran in crying about being bitten and dropped, and then...” His eyes flickered over to Charity.
Chairty took the story up in the dead tone of voice that Marcus had heard so often now. It was the speech of someone who'd lost someone dear. “My husband and I were in a caravan close by. So he tells me to run over to our caravan, grab my mobile phone and the First Aid Kit. I do, and come back dialling, but it's taking forever to connect to 999. My husband, Josh, he's pressing a piece of cloth to the man's wound but the guy's gasping like a fish out of water and we both know he isn't going to last the trip to hospital. Then we hear someone else yelling.”
“Aye,” said Ardal, “That was me.”
Charity looked at him. “Was it? I never realized.”
Ardal shrugged. “Not one for yelling most of the time.”
“Well, Ardal had seen a woman staggering into camp. She'd been really well mauled. I couldn't believe she was still standing. I even thought, 'Lord be in Heaven but she looks dead already.' And as I'm sure you've worked out there was more than a little truth to that thought. So someone from the camp runs off to help her, some tall fellow I'd seen around a few times, and as he grabs her he starts screaming. I couldn't see what was happening, 'cos he was a big lad and he had his back to us, but then he fell forwards and we could see the woman was biting into his face. He was giving her a right beating but she just lay on him, eyes closed like it was the tastiest steak you've ever had, mouth going. It was horrible.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. “Then my husband yells. The hiker had died while we were watching the new zombie arrive and he'd turned nice and quick. First thing my husband knew about it was when the bastard sank his teeth into almost the same spot he himself had been bitten. Josh threw him away, sent him tumbling across the ground, yelling and cursing as his arm poured blood.”
Monty took over again. “Well, all hell was breaking loose by then. Some other people were trying to drag the woman off the guy being bitten but she'd gotten to his throat so he wasn't moving. People were screaming and yelling, pointing as more people came staggering out of the woodlands nearby. They were all in the same state as the woman. One man had his arm clean gone. It was horrible. And the smell coming from them...it wasn't like anything I'd ever smelled before. But you know what that's like.”
Marcus nodded. “I've noticed it happens with the older ones. The new ones don't have that same smell to them. Maybe a little rot, but not whatever that smell is.”
The Scot nodded his agreement. “Aye. Well, some of the people were grabbing weapons, or whatever, and starting beating the people attacking us down. But it did no good. A bunch of golf clubs and cricket bats and the like, they just bounced right off most of the time. And more and more were showing up. This was near the beginning, mind, so that wasn't really that many but...they didn't stop and we didn't understand.”
“So,” he continued, “Everyone was panicking and more and more people were getting bitten with ever passing moment. Then this man start yelling that we have to run, find the police, find the bloody army. We just need to get out of there before these bastards take us apart. So, being of sound mind if nothing else I turn and heads for my car...only there's a half dozen between me and there. So me and this big bloke,” he looked over at Ardal, “Found ourselves stranded. And suddenly this big camper van plows up and the door flies open. Charity lived up to her name. We got a lift and got out of there.”
“We got a few miles down the road,” Chairty continued, “Then I switched over with my Josh. The...bite. It had started to bother him. We smothered in in some antiseptic and headed for the nearest hospital. It wasn't a deep bite, really, but I reckoned it was going to need some stitches. I think Josh had already guessed that the bite was going be what was causing those damned things. I think he hoped that maybe the hospital would have some cure or the like, something to stop it. So, we reached the hopital and headed inside-”
Ardal piped up again. “First one we got to was blocked by the army.”
Chairty paused. “I forgot that bit,” she admitted. “There was one fairly close to where the camp was but when we got there the army had quarantined the whole place. Even had a bloody tank sitting in the parking lot! Asked the squady at the entrance and he said it was closed for Quarantine. MRSA outbreak, he said. Seemed over the top but you could see the doctors coming out of one of those tent tunnel things they use in the movies and wearing those space suits, you know, to stop them getting infected. So we moved on to the next one.”
“It was like returning from a trip to the moon,” Monty added, “Everything was so...normal. It seemed like all those attacks had been just some story. But there was Josh, bandage on his arm. He was going pale as well by then. It had taken us a while to get to the hospital. So the nurse come to see him, and looks at his arm.”
“She was worried it might have damaged the muscle beneath,” Charity continued, “So she put him in a cubicle and gave him a shot for the pain. Then she asked us to talk to the police. We'd told her what had happened and she thought the cops should know. So we go into this little waiting room with a PC who was stationed in the hospital, and telling her everything, when we saw someone dragged by on a stretcher. We all looked out and saw the face of the man who'd tried to help the first zombie back at the camp. I've no idea how he'd ended up there but it was pretty clear he'd turned as well.”
“We warned them,” Ardal said.
“Aye, we warned them.” Chairty sighed. “They didn't listen though. We were assured that, although his throat had been badly damaged he was still breathing and that it seemed to be some kind of rabies or dementia. They were going to seal him off and treat any other bitten with standard stuff. I dunno what, exactly, since we don't have rabies over here.”
She sighed again. “My husband, he was a smart man. I think he knew what was happening. Josh knew it wasn't rabies and I think he guessed that the disease wasn't going to be easy to treat so he called us in, talked to us for a while. Told us to go to Edinburgh and wait for him. He'd keep us as updated as he could because the phone network was already playing merry hell. As soon as he got better he would follow us there. I honestly think he knew I wouldn't go if he told me that he didn't think he'd get better, that he'd turn, so he convinced it was better for both of us to do it this way. So I agreed and we set off.”
Chairty stopped, bowing her head. Looking over at her Monty took over. “It was spreading fast, by then. All it takes is one infected person being driven to an area that's not infected by a relative or the ambulance and if they don't know what they're dealing with...well, who did at the start? The government was sending in the army but what soldier wants to shoot what he thinks is a ill wee girl? You don't shoot sick people, right? So they tried other methods and got overrun. The survivors ran, some of them bitten and...ah, hell, you know all this.”
Monty took a sip from a silver flash Marcus doubted held water, then went on. “Well Edingburgh was far enough away from all the problems that at first it seemed fine. Aiden and I owed Charity for getting us away from that initial attack, so we paid for her hotel room and we rested up. It still hadn't sunk in, the reality of what was happening. We thought we'd turn on the news and hear how the government was containing things, how after a few tragic death the disease had been caught, quarantined and sorted out.”
Marcus shook his head. “It didn't work like that though. They had no idea what was going on and kept screwing up, trying what worked with people. Trying to stud the zombies or coral them or put them in a hospital. It never worked though.”
“Not true,” Tau replied, “They got pretty good about a month in. It was just too late by them for them to do anything but slow the advance. Too many of the dead by then had risen up. It was like slowing the tide with your hands.”
Monty nodded. “Aye, it's true enough they got pretty smart about it. But at that point they didn't know a damned thing. So we watched on the news that this thing was spreading. But all the time they never told us the truth, always said it was some unknown strain of rabies or bird flu or something, and that the situation was under control. Then, the third day we were in Edinburgh Charity was out in the street and saw someone staggering along with a bite on there arm and we knew it was time to leave.”
Charity sighed mounrfully. “We started getting packed up, buying supplies and such. It was starting to get obvious that this wasn't a little problem that would soon be dealt with. It was so weird seeing someone I knew was infected in a big, bright city. It was one thing to see one out in the fields and another to see them in a hospital, but a city...that's not where these things happen. So once we had everything we decided we'd set out the next morning, have a good meal and a decent kip in a bed that's not meant for camping.”
“It was during the night that the infection took hold. Always seems that way, don't it? Sun goes down and the problems arise. Well they did that night. Got woken up at about two in the morning when the screaming started right outside. I'd have probably heard it sooner but...it was good double glazing.
“I looked out the window and there four zombies, attacking a young girl. Looked like she was a prostitute. She was dressed like one, anyway. I cracked the window and tried yelling, tried throwing stuff at them but I was all the way up there and she was right there. They ignored me and moved in to attack...”
Charity paused again. “Well, it was pretty obvious once the window was open that she wasn't the only one screaming, you know? So I got my clothes on and went and grabbed these two. We knew the city wasn't going to last till morning because the damned things were already there. By morning they might be n the hotel. We had to leave. Had to leave right there and then. So we packed and headed down. We were just going to walk right out but the desk clerk on nights wanted to know what we were doing. Bloody idiot. We'd already paid up but he thought we were trying to nick the towels or something.”
“Kept arguing till the zombie came through the door,” Aiden added.
Charity snorted. “They had one of those big class doors. I always through the things were, like, bullet proof or something but this wee slip of a girl came crashing through them. Of course the clerk runs over to check her. We try and stop him but he already thinks we're criminals and now that we're evil to leave the poor lassy lying and moaning in a big pile of glass. He picked her up and she got him right in the neck. Went right through his windpipe in a single bite. So we legged it.”
“It was pretty bad on the streets, already,” Monty added. “There weren't any soldiers in the city yet and the cops had no idea what was going on, nor the guns to make any kind of stand. They were trying to fight the zombies in riot gear where they were, setting up those barricades to try and seal off sections of the city from what we saw as we drove. Problem was the infection was already all over. They'd be trying to beat the zombie off with those truncheons, the nice new ones meant to hurt like fury but to not snap bone and suddenly another one would grab them from behind. The riot gear helped though. Gave them a decent amount of protection. They could get bitten on the arm and neck and it was armoured, at least in places.”
“We kept having to stop, turn back from an area that was already blocked by cars and debris or the cops, since they weren't letting people by for obvious reasons. And we stopped for survivors, too.” Monty shrugged. “You can't just drive by kids screaming for help when they're being chased by there own parents, can you? So pretty soon the van was full of people and there were still more out there but we couldn't stop with no room. Couldn't risk them we already had.”
Charity took over again. “When we got out of the city...Lord, the view we could see. There were hundreds of the dead, all converging on the city, from everywhere it seemed. There were hundreds in the least. I've no idea where they all came from, how there could be so many of them so fast, but it was like a tide. They were just everywhere we looked. Everywhere the headlights lit up. We knew the North wasn't any better so we headed down into England.”
"Say what you will about the British Army now,” she added, “But they're efficient. It took us all night to get to the border and half the day to find a way across they hadn't blocked off yet. They were trying to stop the infection at the Scottish border. Qurantine the whole country with another on the line of Hadrian's wall if that didn't work. Some of the passengers we had wanted dropped off, to call there families or to get on with there life. They hadn't realised that the end was pretty well nigh for the old life.”
“It took us a while to get to Newcastle, and that turned out to be a mistake. The whole city was being used as a quarantine centre. All the uninfected had been moved out, some kind of barricade was being built around the city and any area that was being used for medical and army guys. We walked right into the armies hands. Still, it was a relief you know? The government was doing what it could and Newcastle was probably the world's biggest fortress at that point. There were tanks and troops all along the old wall. Surely they couldn't storm by that?”
“Didn't need to storm it,” Aiden added.
“No,” Charity agreed, “But that comes later. We three got billeted to some council house and sealed inside. Food and supplies came once a day and left in this sorta airlock thing on the door. I suppose it was to quarantine all the new arrivals. It had been a hectic few days, so we didn't mind the rest. After a week of giving more samples than I care to remember we were let out, allowed to mingle with other folk in the Metro Centre and city centre. Could only get into the part of the city where we lived with a special pass, though.”
Charity took a deep breath. “And then, one day, I saw a bunch of squaddies walking through the town, looking after someone. It was Josh. My husband.”
Zahra exploded in questions. “How? Did they have a cure or vaccine or something? Was it really him, alive and well?”
She smiled. “Aye, he was alive and well. We couldn't believe we'd found each other. It was so unlikely that we'd both managed to live. As for how...well, the doctors explained to him that only ninety seven out of every hundred people bitten die. One of the three prove to be immune. They get sick but they don't die. They don't turn. Josh was one of a handful that had been evacuated from Scotland and, needless to say, they were doing every damned thing they could to reproduce the effect with a medicine.”
“Did they?” Samantha's eyes were also alight. A survivor? And more than just one? It was better than they'd ever hoped because, now, there was hope. The infected might be saved. They might be able to avoid the infection altogether for themselves. A zombie was dangerous mostly because it's bite carried the virus that turned them. Without that they would be more manageable. Still dangerous, since they tended to go for the throat and didn't stop biting until there victim reanimated, but less dangerous all the same.
Charity shook her head. “I don't know. The city fell before they could, I know that, but they had more people than Josh and plenty of sample's of Josh's blood and stuff. They were even putting them on those transports for islands that were being used for refugees and such, transporting them to other countries so they could work on it. There might be a cure or a vaccine now.” She shook her head again. “I hope so, anyway.”
Zahira laid a hand on Charity's shoulder. “Were you still there when Newcastle was overrun?”
Monty shook his head. “No. They kept moving more and more soldiers into the city and after a while started moving anyone who'd been there for ten days or more to more secure locations. The soldiers seemed to have things sorted for a while, using vehicles to hunt the zombies and that sort of thing. We were evacuated on a train before the vast bulk of the zombies came down from Scotland and swarmed Newcastle under.”
“Of course,” Monty added after a few moments, “We didn't really get all that far. Newcastle was still standing, all right, but zombies were getting past quite happily. The country side was in pretty poor shape by then, that's for sure. Before we gotmore than a hundred miles someone had set up a barricade across the train tracks. It was manned by deserters. The guard on the train fought back of, course, but the deserters assumed anything so heavily guarded was valuable. The train got blasted into scrap by an anti tank weapon. And all the noise drew zombies. After a while a helicopter showed up and they took Josh and some other high ranking types, plus a load of cases, and loaded it up while one of those American gunships,what they called, Apaches suppressed the deserters. Suppressed them! Starting raining missiles on them.”
Monty shook his head angrily. “But, ock, those cases must have been well important. There was not enough room left for us and a whole bunch of soldiers after they were loaded up. Josh was yelling at them to let us on but, well, they weren't taking much notice.”
“And that was the last I saw my husband,” Charity added sadly. “Some idiot with an officers unform dragged him back from the door and sealed it, and we were left with the remains of the deserters on one side, some soldiers around us and ever more zombies heading towards us.”
“We got away,” she continued, “But it was close and a lot of our new solider friends didn't make it that far. They were used to fighting the zombies behind walls and from vans. Mind, we weren't much better. But we were in the mind set that a gun could solve any problem. Eventually we found some transport and started to head down here. Wound up at a few refugee camps, or cities that were still standing, and took a rest. It was like hell. Something you'd see on the news, you know?”
Marcus nodded, careful to keep his expression blank. “Yes. We know.”
Charity looked at him. “Sorry. It's just...we've had to tell this story more than once, and usually to some dim civil servant whose seen nothing but reports. We're not used to other people who are used to this crap.”
Marcus shrugged slightly.
“Well,” Monty said after a moment, “What about you folks? Why are you here?”
Tau smiled pleasantly. “That is a longer tale, I'm afraid. However, the sun is rising and maybe it is time to get some sleep.”
“In a minute,” Marcus said, frowning. There was something that seemed...wrong. It was at the tip of his tongue,but...no,he couldn't quite get hold of it.
Slightly frustrated at the sensation he was missing something, he stood and looked through the thin gap in the window. “What are the conditions like out there? We've in London for a week or so.”
Monty shrugged. “What you would expect, for the most. Are around London is in pretty bad shape now, with so many zombies here now. Must be well over three million, given how many people were in the city.”
“What about the train tracks?” This came from the relatively quiet Michael.
“Huh?”
“Well,” the young man added after a moment, “We were thinking of using the trains to escape back up North. The zombies are following the population and they're all head south. If the tracks are clear enough and the government hasn't set up blockades it should be nice and easy. We might have to get down and walk now and then but, all told, it should be long before we can find another train and keep going.”
The three new comers looked at each other. “Well,” Charity said at last, “We haven't heard about them being blocked. The trains were shut down for the most part near the start,I understand, so bar when they're near a road the looters and like don't bother with them much. I don't see any reason it shouldn't work.”
“We were planning to keep heading South,” Aiden added, “See if we could find a boat or some such.”
Michael shook his head. “There are boats leaving, from Dover and a few other towns, but not enough to get more than a fraction of the people out. And anyone who has a boat or plane or helicopter has likely gone or had it stolen by now. With the zombies moving South again with London gone those ports are death traps. If we head North, though, we might find some ships that no one took before the outbreak was widely known. It's our best chance.”
“Well,” Monty said dubiously, “I suppose it is a better plan than ours but it will be a nervous journey. Not all the zombies have gone South. They'll be enough up North to make life a problem.”
“I know,” Michael acknowledged, “But if we wait a few days I'm sorta hoping the bulk of the zombies will leave the city. And then it will be easier to go grab a train and-”
“We can't wait a few days,” Marcus announced suddenly. His stomach clenched at a sudden realization as he looked out of the window. “That isn't dawn.”
“Pardon?” Micheal blinked in confusion.
“What time is it?”
Tau pulled a small pocket watch from his coat and looked at it. “It is four AM.” He frowned. “Much too early for dawn. So if it isn't dawn then what is the glow?”
Marcus turned, trying to keep his breathing in check. “A fire. London's burning. And no one is here to stop it.”
I like how you made it also infect animals to, and it seems mutations too from that description of zombies out there being far more dangerous, reminds me of crimson heads! 
I really liked it, can't wait for the rest!
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