The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 3): The Fall

by Deville, Sean

  “There you go,” Smith said. Now on its front, the damaged Stephanie(Z) began to crawl, no thought of even thanking its benefactor.

  “Stop,” Smith shouted; Stephanie(Z) finding itself compelled to follow the orders, the words of which it didn’t even understand except on some primal level. Despite the fire within, Stephanie(Z) could not resist the instructions that had been given to her. A hand patted its fetid head, and further words entered what was left of its brain, releasing it from whatever spell held it captive.

  “Very good, carry on.”

  The feral need took over once again, and Stephanie(Z) dragged itself over to the nearest corpse, a zombie already feeding there freely moving over to make room. There was plenty to share here. There was no need to be greedy.

  23.08.19

  Rising Bridge, UK

  Nick’s convoy stopped in the abandoned petrol station forecourt, which likely hadn’t been open for several days. The shop that would normally sell travellers an array of cariogenic and cholesterol inducing snacks had clearly been ransacked, the windows shattered. That didn’t matter, the occupants of the APC’s had no need for such nutritionally devoid consumables. They had brought their own supplies, which was probably for the best because the shop had been stripped barren of anything that could be eaten.

  From two of the APC’s, armed SAS poured, spreading out to create a defensive cordon. If there were people about, they were clearly cowering in their own homes, the only threat here coming from whatever Lazarus could throw at them. The zombies that had chased them from the Preston Barracks had long been left behind. Nobody was willing to take any chances though, not with a foe that had become so unpredictable and so utterly ruthless. There was no Geneva Convention when you fought the undead, no prisoners, no mercy and no real way of knowing just what they were going to do next.

  The stop had been Captain Beckington’s idea. Despite their escape, they had still brought Lazarus with them, the blood that coated the exterior of the APC’s as deadly as the air exhaled by infected individuals. They had needed to crush several of the undead in their escape meaning the very tracks that sped them on would have the plague in the treads. Blood also painted two of the APC’s, evidence of where the vehicles had crashed into a mini-horde that had foolishly tried to stop the two-tonne beasts.

  “We need to do what we can to clean the gore off these APC’s.”

  Two SAS appeared from the shattered station shop after several minutes of search. One carried bottles of bleach that had been left on the shelves, the anti-viral properties of their bounty seemingly of little interest to the previous looters. The other had as many spray bottles as he could carry, again containing kitchen cleaning solution. While they had no kitchen surfaces that needed to be purged of 99.9% of all known germs, the hypochlorite they contained would work miracles on any particles of Lazarus that their NBC suits would be assaulted by. Now they had the means to clean their vehicles and themselves.

  They had also switched the station’s electricity back on and acquired the code to run the jet wash.

  “Try the fast food joint as well,” Beckington suggested, referring to the burger joint that lived next to the petrol station. Despite being a captain, he was well aware that the SAS had their own way of doing things, so he resisted the temptation to sound like he was giving them orders. Not even their own commanding officer treated them like that. “There will be bleach and cleaning products there.” Two soldiers nodded their agreement and ran off to raid the place that had once tried its best to destroy the arteries of the local population.

  The country had for decades been paranoid about Salmonella, E.coli and Listeria. Now all that was forgotten. Only Lazarus mattered now.

  Beckington was well aware that the situation was far from an ideal stopping point. What they needed was a proper decontamination set up. But such equipment had been left behind in a place that was now too dangerous to venture. The plan was thus to use the petrol station jet wash to clean the detritus from the undercarriage of the APC’s, which naturally risked turning any virus there into an aerosol, the fine mist weaponising something that was already incredibly deadly. Such efficiency could only be risked because of the protective clothing the soldiers were still wearing. The Bulldog APC’s were not just designed to protect those inside from bullets and shrapnel, but also from nuclear, biological and chemical agents. Once the exteriors were clean, the soldiers would have little to worry about. For now, at least.

  Beckington stood by the jet wash as the first APC was driven over. He had suggested this particular petrol station because it was on the way and was relatively devoid of human population buildings around it. The only other human structure within fifty metres was across the road, the sturdy stone structure clearly visible. There would be no sanctuary in that church, but Beckington suddenly found himself concerned by its presence. A soldier made ready to use the jet wash, but Beckington told him to wait.

  “Hold up. I just want to check that church.”

  There was no sound escaping the building, its main door open, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone inside. The last thing he wanted was for them to create a deadly mist that would float across the road and infect unsuspecting worshippers. He was here to try and prevent this shit from spreading. Gun in hand, he ran across the road, mindful that danger could be anywhere in this day and age.

  Outside the front door, a body lay motionless, its skull caved in, the shovel used discarded by the side of the body. Beckington nudged the corpse with his gun, exhaling with relief when there was no movement. He sensed someone behind him.

  “Can’t have you walking off on your own, Doc,” Jeff said with genuine concern. Beckington nodded, he was still a soldier at the end of the day, but also the only doctor.

  The concern for danger was well founded. Stepping through the reinforced oak door, Beckington’s gasmask spared him the oppressive odour, but Beckington was still warned about what was inside. A bloody smear led from the entrance towards the pews, a body clearly having been dragged. He took a step forward, mindful to keep out of the blood as much as he could. Inch by inch, the interior of the church came into view, the chaos there evident for anyone with eyes to see.

  Some of the pews had been pushed over, others forced out of their normal regimented order. Two bodies lay ruined to his left, another in pieces scattered along the aisle. By the alter, there was movement. The vicar was easily identifiable by his crimson-stained white robes. Beckington had no doubt that the vicar was undead because the creature was presently knelt by the altar eating a corpse’s face.

  The Doctor backed up. There was no telling what the level of infestation would be here, the hidden rooms of the church a mystery for what they enclosed. Better to just leave the dead be, and on his departure, Beckington pulled the huge door closed as silently as he could. He wasn’t surprised to find one of the SAS soldiers waiting outside for him with Jeff. Was he now really that important?

  “Undead inside,” Beckington said, and the three men marched back to the APC’s. They would need to be on even higher alert now. Hopefully, the sound of the vehicles hadn’t roused anything in the vicinity, but best not to tempt fate by firing off shots.

  Beckington gave the all clear for the men to start cleaning the APC’s. Then they would disinfect the exteriors of their own suits before once again boarding their rides.

  23.08.19

  Houston, USA

  “I met your husband,” Reece said. She was no longer wearing her deputy’s uniform which had started to stink. The infected weren’t allowed the luxury of showering due to the risk of spreading the virus, so a sponge bath from a bucket was all she could manage. She had been given standard military fatigues with one of the sleeves cut away to allow ready access to the monitor on her arm. The belt with her gun and holster was still around her waist though. They hadn’t taken that off her yet. Her badge was also pinned to the left breast pocket just so everybody knew who she was.

  For the moment, she was
still an officer of the law.

  “So I hear,” Doreen Clayton replied. Even with the mask the middle-aged woman was wearing, Reece could see she was smiling. The mask wasn’t for Doreen’s protection, because she was already infected with Lazarus, but she wore it more out of habit than anything else. “He’s a stubborn son of a bitch, but that’s kind of what I love the most about him.” Doreen grabbed Reece’s arm gently. “Thanks for stopping him getting his damned head blown off.”

  “Hey, it’s what I do.”

  Like Reece, Doreen had been allowed relatively free rein to wander throughout the Astrodome. She may also have been infected, but she was a highly experienced trauma nurse, and thus her services were invaluable to the none infected staff of the hastily constructed facility.

  There was a gnawing tiredness in Doreen’s eyes, but also a determination and a strength that was lacking in many of those who had been brought to this facility. She still had some fight in her, despite the way her symptoms were steadily worsening. Not everybody was as durable, in fact, most of those who were brought just gave up and resigned themselves to their fate. Reece had witnessed it, people just surrendering, seeming to die even before Lazarus had hit its peak within their bodies. She had even heard reports of a massive increase in suicides in the city’s population, those sent out to bring the infected to the quarantine zone sometimes bringing back a corpse instead of a live human. Slowly and methodically, Lazarus was taking its toll.

  Suicide, when you were infected, was also inherently selfish when you thought about it. Unless you killed yourself by eating a shotgun round, you just ended up leaving a ravenous zombie for somebody else to deal with.

  During her brief time in the Astrodome, Reece had seen the best and the worst of what made people human. She suspected though, that as the days progressed, any good here would be swallowed up by the growing desperation about what was happening out on the city’s streets.

  Many of those here had been brought under armed guard, some turned in by their own friends and relatives. Fear of the virus was, for many, a greater motivator than the tattered fibres of human loyalty. The fact people were here showed they had surrendered to the forces sent out to get them, and thus were invariably the least likely to present any kind of resistance. The “sheep” and the law-abiding were easy to deal with. Those with a more belligerent stance to the orders enacted by the state Governor generally ended up on the wrong end of superior firepower.

  Some had been brought here in chains. The criminals and those who resisted attempts to put them into quarantine were dumped into the temporary prison facility where rights and privileges were non-existent.

  The police and the army didn’t have the resources to fight the zombies and mess about with defiance from the local population, so a zero-tolerance policy was implemented. Those who tried to fight back were generally just obliterated by overwhelming force. If you were lucky enough to be arrested, you were dragged away in shackles and forcibly microchipped. Reece had seen that done first hand. She didn’t agree with it, but she understood the functionality of the procedure. The existing prisons weren’t being used because Lazarus was already ripping its way through them, the confined culture almost the perfect environment for the virus to spread. The Harris County Jail, for example, had seen an explosion in infections, the army having to move in to deal with inmates that passed to the other side. Correction officers couldn’t be expected to kill inmates on demand, although some did.

  So far, they had left the dead bodies in the cells. You could imagine how bad that was starting to smell.

  America had always been harsh on its lawbreakers. But under martial law, the criminals found the usual way of doing things null and void. There were no lawyers, no courts and no judges. All that was suspended. There was just cold hard steel and the unforgiving stares of soldiers that would shoot you for the slightest infraction. Those who fell to the whims of justice were separated away from the main Astrodome and NRG stadium over in the Houston Methodist Training Centre. The rumours of the atrocities allegedly going on there were hard to hide or ignore.

  Reece wondered how long it would be before those committing crimes were just shot on sight. She hoped that particular scenario would never happen, but she wasn’t naïve enough to rule it out. And if it happened, it would only take one shift in thinking for that policy to be turned towards those found to be infected. Human rights were rapidly disappearing as a factor for consideration. Now it was all about survival, not of the individual but of the nation. How long though before that sent the population of Texas against the military, a population that was heavily armed and suspicious of the federal government at the best of times? Or would they just accept what had to be done? Reece knew the answer to that.

  Being infected as she thought she was, Reece felt it was unlikely that she would live to see such a descent into tyranny happen. You had to be thankful for small mercies.

  The two women sat across from each at a metal table bolted to the concrete floor. They were in a rest area which had been set up for infected individuals who had volunteered to help. They both wore the arm mounted monitor that was locked on and which kept a constant check on the status of their health. Reece had kind of gotten used to it, but in the rare instances she slept, she had the irritation of having to lie on her wrong side. That aspect hadn’t occurred to her when Doctor Lee had asked her which arm would be best for the device. It was a minor inconvenience that didn’t come close to the trauma of being infected with Lazarus.

  “I worry about him though,” Doreen added. “He will be the first to admit he has a temper. I can keep it under check because he adores the very ground I walk on. With me not there though, I just know he’s going to get into trouble. He’s always been bullheaded.”

  “Don’t you mean if you’re not there,” Reece admonished. “It’s not over till it’s over. Look at me, I’m feeling better with every passing hour.”

  “Honey,” Doreen said with a knowing smile, “I’m not dumb enough to blow smoke up my own ass.” A cough struck her suddenly, causing Doreen to double over slightly, pain racking through her body. “You see, this virus is some end of days shit. If there’s a cure, it won’t find its way into my veins.” Doreen didn’t let on that she figured her ability to help would end in hours rather than days. Her limbs had started aching now, which made movement difficult, and the cough was an indication her lungs were on their last legs. Within twelve hours, it was likely she would be bedridden. Doreen would do what she could to help others until that time came. There was no other way for her to be.

  “I hear you. But there’s always hope.”

  Doreen shook her head sagely. She had twenty years of life experience on Reece. The younger woman still had a lot to learn about the true nature of the human condition.

  “Have you got a man in your life?”

  “I did, once,” Reece said sadly. She looked blankly across at the other people sitting around, saw the resignation and dejection that filled the room. “He died though, in the line of duty.” Doreen leaned over the table to grab Reece’s hand with both of hers. For some reason, Doreen was the first person she felt she could open up to about her lover’s death. Why was that? She’d known the nurse less than a day, and yet Reece felt she would tell her everything if asked. A person like Doreen didn’t deserve this, but Reece was glad she was here. Selfish certainly, but that was the way it was.

  “This life we have been given can be a curse more than it can be a blessing. But it’s all we have, and for me, that’s enough.”

  “I learnt that early on,” Reece admitted. She could see it in the eyes that Doreen had not had the easiest of lives. Reece was about to say something more, to share the ache that had burned into her soul only for the moment to pass. That was when Dr Lee entered the rest area as if drawn by Reece’s need for secrecy and psychological isolation.

  Jee spotted Reece instantly and came over to her. The Doctor looked distracted, as if she had a secret that she desperately ne
eded to tell.

  “Ladies,” Jee said as she grabbed a spare chair and sat down with them. She didn’t wait for an invite. The protective suit she wore was burdensome, and it felt strange for her to be the only person in the room wearing it. She would have preferred to wear the full level A biohazard suit, but that just wasn’t practical. Instead, she wore one designed to protect against Ebola. Designed at John Hopkins Hospital, it had a large clear face screen which gave her more visibility as well as being less threatening in appearance than a gas mask. There was also an easily changeable exterior oxygen supply hanging from the back of her waist, which was what was causing the difficulty in sitting. It also had a built-in cooling system which was a blessing, even with the air-conditioned air of the Astrodome. All the medical staff were similarly kitted out. It was still cumbersome and time-consuming to take on and off, but it gave them the protection they needed to get the job done while allowing them to monitor the patients that needed monitoring.

  As for the army, well they wore their own shit which was as intimidating as hell.

  “When was the last time you got some sleep, Doctor?” Doreen asked. Reece smiled at this.

  “I asked her the same thing several hours ago. I’m assuming the answer is still little to none.”

  “I can sleep when this is all over,” Jee replied. She seemed more serious than normal, her usual jovial nature cut short. Despite her own predicament, Reece felt herself worrying about the Doctor. She wondered whether Jee was taking the mounting deaths under her watch hard, perhaps bearing every one as a personal failure. There was a chance that Jee was too empathic for the job she was being asked to do.

  “I spoke to your husband like you asked,” Jee informed Doreen. “I told him you were still okay.” Doreen nodded her thanks. She had given Jee the number of her husband’s satellite phone previously. It was one of the perks of volunteering to help, getting word out to loved ones where possible.