Surviving The Virus (Book 1): Outbreak

by Casey, Ryan

  He sat in this uncomfortable plastic chair. His back ached. The fan whirred around this waiting room, doing absolutely nothing to ventilate it. Beside him, he saw more people waiting for meetings. Most of them—without wanting to sound judgemental—looked like lowlifes. Scroungers. People in trackie bottoms. People who stunk of cannabis. People who’d made no effort whatsoever to appear employable.

  And that was just it, wasn’t it? A lot of these people didn’t care whether they got a job or not. In fact, a lot of them didn’t even want to get a job.

  They just came here so they got their benefits.

  Rinsing the system for all it was worth.

  He gritted his teeth, stared at the clock. Half eight already. He’d made sure he got here at seven forty-five so he was nice and early, but this took the piss. He knew punctuality was important. He knew he could hardly complain about someone else being late for him, especially not after what’d happened at the cafe just yesterday.

  Maybe this was karma’s way of getting back to him. Maybe it was just what he deserved.

  But he sat there, and he waited anyway. Stared at the clock. And then at the screen beside it, where some breaking news immediately popped up on the screen.

  “And we go to 10 Downing Street where we have some breaking news just in.”

  A pale, wide-eyed look of surprise on the blonde newsreader.

  “The... the Prime Minister and his wife, Charlie, have been found dead in their home. The nature of their deaths has yet to be confirmed. It’s unclear whether this is some kind of attack, or whether any foul play is at hand. We... For now, we can only report what we know.”

  A stunned silence fell over the job centre waiting room. And then a mutter of various stances. Some people swearing. Others clapping. But most just staring on at that screen, knowing full well this wasn’t normal, this wasn’t right.

  And then Noah’s phone buzzed. He looked down. Saw the message from Eddie.

  Watson’s croaked it! U heard about this bug going down? Check out this crazy chick, think she’s got it.

  There was a link attached to a YouTube video. Some trash Eddie wanted him to open, but no chance was he risking it. He couldn’t go having any close calls today.

  He looked up and saw a woman standing in the waiting room. Smile on her face. Eyes directed on Noah.

  “Mr Kumar?” she said.

  The man sitting to the left of Noah stood. Walked towards the woman, towards his appointment.

  And he’d got here a good half hour after Noah.

  Something wasn’t right about this.

  “Wait,” Noah said.

  The woman frowned. “Is there a problem, sir?”

  “I was supposed to have an appointment at eight. Nobody’s seen me yet.”

  The woman looked down at her list, then back up at Noah. “Um, did you check in at the reception desk?”

  “I didn’t… I didn’t think I had to.”

  “Well you kind of have to check in at reception.”

  Noah rubbed the back of his head. “I had an appointment at eight. Nobody said anything about checking in.”

  “Actually, there’s a sign. At the desk. ‘Please check in for your appointment.’ See it?”

  Noah looked begrudgingly across the room, over at reception, all eyes on him.

  And regrettably, he saw it.

  Right above the spotty lad sitting behind the desk, frowning at him.

  He sighed. “Look. I really need this appointment.”

  “As does everyone else,” the woman said. “Go to the desk. Get yourself in line. And I’ll speak with you soon.”

  The man disappeared into the interview room with the woman.

  The eyes of the job centre remained firmly on Noah. Like he was the idiot.

  And all his thoughts about the Prime Minister’s death and that video Eddie sent drifted away.

  The only problem was this damned appointment.

  He walked over to the desk. Looked at the lad sitting at the other side of it. Skinny. Looked about fifteen.

  “Can I help you, sir?” he asked.

  “Yeah. You heard that conversation I just had then, right?”

  “Can you remind me?”

  Noah gritted his teeth. This guy was fucking with him. “I’d like to check in, please.”

  The guy tapped at his keyboard. “I’m sorry, but you’re late checking in for your appointment. You’ll have to arrange another.”

  “Late?” Noah said. “I’ve been sitting here for over a bloody hour.”

  The guy tapped his keyboard again. “I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to make another appointment.”

  Noah rubbed the sides of his head. He didn’t need this. Not today.

  He resisted every urge in his body screaming at him to argue. “Can I book another appointment for today, then?”

  The kid tapped that keyboard again. “Today is going to be difficult.”

  “Well… tomorrow then?”

  “How about Saturday morning?”

  “Saturday?” It was Tuesday. He didn’t have time to wait around. Time was already running out. “Can’t you do any earlier than that?”

  The lad picked his nose. “It’s a busy place, sir. We can’t just squeeze someone in here or there. We have to…”

  Something happened, then.

  Blood.

  Blood trickled from the nostril of the guy behind the counter.

  A sudden paleness to his face.

  The veins in his neck throbbing.

  He looked up at Noah like he didn’t recognise him. Staggered to his feet.

  Noah backed off a little. “Are you… do you need help or something?”

  But the lad just stood there. Stared at him. Blood pouring from his nostrils. His eyes turning red.

  And then he vomited.

  Vomited steaming blood all over the front of the desk.

  Noah backed away. “Someone—someone get over here! This guy needs some help!”

  He saw people shuffling around. One guy ran over, put an arm around the desk worker as he tried to stay on his feet, stumbling, collapsing to the floor, unable to hold himself upright.

  And as Noah stood there and watched more blood pool out of this man, he remembered what Eddie said about the virus.

  About how he’d dismissed him.

  About how he hadn’t believed him.

  And he felt a sudden urge to get out of here.

  He saw the news change suddenly. The breaking news about the prime minister’s death shifting to the news of the death of another cabinet minister, too. The Health Secretary.

  And then news of a swathe of violent deaths across the globe.

  News of a sudden bloody demise. A wave of psychosis.

  Of rage.

  He turned around and went to run out of the job centre when he saw something flying towards him.

  He didn’t have time to process it. Not properly.

  He didn’t have time to emotionally react to it.

  He only had time to realise exactly what was happening.

  A bus flew off the road.

  Came hurtling towards the glass windows at the front of the job centre.

  And then it crashed into them, and everything went black.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jasmine watched the violence unfold all around her, and she knew right away this wasn’t normal.

  The streets were stifling hot, the morning sun beating down from above. People raced through the streets, desperately trying to get away from some unseen force. Jim Henderson’s body peered back at her from the middle of the road. Blood pooling out of his eyes and his mouth. Half of his skull disfigured, caved in from the fall. One of his legs twisted up in an impossible position, snapped clean in two at the bone.

  Jasmine’s first instinct was to throw up the croissant she’d eaten for breakfast. Her body growing hotter. Her chest growing tighter. Her head spinning as she tried to wrap her head around all of this. The cleaner, Lyra. Those tears of b
lood pooling down her face, dripping from her chin.

  The man in the car beside her, bashing his skull against the glass until it poured blood.

  It felt like a switch had been flipped. A switch had turned everyone violent. Something was in the air, and it had driven everyone crazy.

  And an overwhelming urge filled her body.

  She had to get away from here.

  She had to get back home.

  She had to hide away from all of this.

  She went to turn around when she saw something.

  Lyra. Grabbing a man standing in front of her. Crying. Begging.

  “Let me go,” she shouted, even though she was the one clinging on. “Let me go. Please let me go!”

  And then she fell to her knees, a waterfall of blood pouring down her face, and hit the road in a shaking mess.

  Jasmine stumbled back. Two of her work colleagues, dead, just like that. She didn’t know what’d happened to them. She didn’t know what any of this was.

  She just knew she needed to get the hell away from here.

  Fast.

  She turned around. Raced up the street, alongside the rest of the people fleeing the scene. People were getting out of their cars, caught up in the panic, confusion kicking in. To her right, she saw a police officer trying to maintain order, maintain control, urging people to stay calm. But it was clear the panic had taken over. The panic was infectious. Nobody knew who or what to believe. There were shouts of some kind of terrorist attack. Other shouts of a virus—some kind of outbreak.

  None of it mattered. They were all just details.

  She had to get back to her flat.

  She had to get home.

  She raced further down the road. Heart racing. Her flat was about a mile’s walk up ahead. It wouldn’t take her too long to get there, but in heels, it was a different matter completely.

  She could do with some public transport. A bus. Some way of getting back quicker, so she could gather her thoughts and figure out what the hell was going on.

  She passed by a bus and noticed something.

  On the back seat of the bus, a man lay with his head tilted against the seat. His body shook. Blood pooled from his nose. Dark green vomit oozed from his lips. He was ill. Desperately ill.

  And some of the people on that bus rushed to his aid.

  Others ran off the bus, raced away.

  The fear that this was some kind of infection. Some kind of virus.

  But it all seemed so sudden.

  So instant.

  Jasmine rushed further down the street. No point trying to take any public transport. The roads were at a standstill before this shit broke out. They were especially hectic now.

  So she did something she hadn’t done since the old nights out she used to go on when she actually had friends.

  She pulled her heels off and ran barefoot down the warm tarmac.

  She saw people staring at their phone screens. Heard talks of an outbreak. Of “that Berlin thing.” Some people spoke of a chemical attack. Terrorism. All these voices. All this fear. All this panic.

  She heard her phone ringing. Looked at it. Mum. Unusual for her to ring at this time. Which meant she knew more than her. She knew something was happening.

  She answered the phone. “Mum?”

  “Jasmine, dear? Are you in Preston?”

  “Of course I’m in Preston. Where do you think I’d be at this time?”

  “You... you need to get out, love. You need to get indoors. Something... it’s happening.”

  “Mum, slow down. I don’t understand—”

  “People are dropping like flies. Others are—are getting violent. And the prime minister. The dear prime minister!”

  “You’re not making sense, Mum.” Even though that was a lie. Her mum was making total sense. She was living it. Witnessing it for herself.

  “Just get yourself home, love. The news, it’s advising people to stay indoors and wait for further notice from the authorities. Don’t go putting yourself in danger. Don’t go pretending you’re stronger than you actually—”

  The line went dead.

  Jasmine checked her phone. Out of signal. Shit.

  She thought about ringing her mum back. Telling her she was going home. That she was going to be okay.

  But then she heard those final words her mother uttered.

  “Don’t go pretending you’re stronger than you actually—”

  And she felt resistance growing. Resistance to the suggestion she wasn’t strong enough on her own. That she needed someone to protect her. To look out for her.

  She kept on running down the street when something struck her.

  Barney.

  She stopped dead in her tracks.

  Barney was at doggy day care. Lisa picked him up right as Jasmine headed to work. Took her to her place.

  But Lisa’s place was a good three miles away at least.

  It wasn’t going to be easy to reach. Not if the whole of the city was in this kind of state.

  She stood there in the middle of the Main Street that ran through Preston. Looked back. Heard a cacophony of sirens. Shouting. Car horns. Every now and then, another police car raced past, so close to knocking her from her feet.

  And then she looked up the road, past her apartment block and towards Lisa’s Doggy Day Care.

  She cared about herself. She knew she needed to get off the streets. She knew she needed to look after herself until whatever the hell this was sorted itself out.

  But Barney was her rock. And she wasn’t leaving him behind.

  She took a deep breath, and she walked towards Lisa’s Doggy Day Care.

  She had no idea of the horror she was walking into.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Noah lay in the darkness, and for a moment, he had no idea where he was.

  Something pressing down above him. The taste of blood and petrol clung to his lips. He couldn’t stop coughing, but it hurt to move. He couldn’t hear anything but a loud ringing in his ears, so loud his head felt like it was going to explode. Dizziness. Sickness.

  But something else, too.

  Memories. Fragmented memories of something that’d happened. Something serious.

  The Job Centre.

  The guy at the desk rearranging his appointment.

  No. Something more serious than that.

  He winced as he tried to turn onto his side. He could feel something on his left. Something hot. Burning.

  And as he turned around, his worst fears were realised.

  Flames crept across the floor at the side of him. Broken shards of glass twinkled in that fire. Smoke billowed from it into his lungs, making him heave.

  He didn’t know where he was or what was happening.

  But he had to get away.

  Fast.

  He clambered onto his side. Dragged his weak body across the floor. Shards of glass nipped his hands. He caught his trousers on a sharp piece of metal, felt it tear away the material.

  He kept having flashes of something flying towards him. A car. Or a bus. Or a...

  And then it came to him.

  In a horrifying moment, like a hammer blow to the chest, it came to him.

  The Job Centre.

  The news about the Prime Minister.

  The news about the virus.

  The man behind the desk falling ill.

  And then that bus crashing through the window.

  After that, blackness.

  He threw up, right there and then. Shook. Adrenaline taking over. Shock surrounding him.

  He’d been hit by a bus. Hit by a damned bus.

  And that’s why it seemed so dark. That’s why he felt so suffocated, so trapped.

  He was under the bus.

  He wanted to call out for someone. Wanted to scream for help. He wanted to ring his mum and tell her he couldn’t do this on his own.

  But at the same time, he knew he was on his own here.

  There was nobody helping him.

&n
bsp; He dragged himself further along when he felt something warm in his hand.

  He didn’t know what it was. His head ached. His vision was blurred. He could barely see a thing for the smoke, or the flames edging ever closer, growing hotter.

  But when his vision adjusted, he yanked his hand away, and he let out a gasp.

  It was the Asian man. The man who’d been heading in for his Job Centre interview.

  His eyes stared up into nothingness. His tongue dangled out of his mouth, blood creeping out of it. And even though his body was warm, Noah didn’t even need to check him to know the situation here.

  The man was dead.

  Crushed by the mass of the bus.

  Noah dragged himself further away from that body, and he cried.

  “Keep yourself together,” he muttered. “Just—just keep yourself together.”

  He pulled himself further out from under this bus. Towards the light, masked by the smoke.

  “Come on. You can do this. You can do this...”

  And then he felt something dig right into his knee, and he let out a yelp.

  He spun around.

  A large chunk of broken glass stuck out of his right knee.

  Noah felt sick. Cold. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to vomit. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this alone.

  “Help,” he shouted. “Someone. Please.”

  But nobody responded.

  Outside, he heard sirens. He heard something else through the muffled sounds in his ears, too. Voices. Shouting. Commotion.

  And as much as he was tempted to wait for those sirens to reach him, he got an awful feeling they were driving right by him. That they weren’t going to find him.

  Which meant his life was in his own hands.

  He wrapped his hand around that piece of glass. Put a little pressure on it.

  But just touching it made him cry out, made his head spin, made him want to puke.

  He looked up. Those flames engulfing the bus. He couldn’t just wait here. He had to get that glass out. He had to get from under here. He had to get some help.

  He closed his eyes. Swallowed a bloody lump in his throat.

  And then he wrapped his hand around that piece of glass and yanked it right out of his knee.

  He screamed out with pain. Breathed heavily, tried to get himself under control.