“I thought she would be safe, safer at least than out there on the street. Florence, what happened?”
“Clay happened,” she said. “He went too far again.” Brian thought that any concern for Susan had long since died. He thought he was rid of her, stripped of any need to be responsible for her welfare. Maybe that was another reason why he had brought her here, to finally be rid of the monkey that was riding on his back. But seeing her like this, carried away from where she had fallen into a pile of zombie guts, Brian realised he had been fooling himself. Florence could sense that he was intent on going over to her, so she grabbed his arm in an attempt to restrain that action. Her slender fingers hardly made it halfway around the circumference of his bulging forearm, but her grip had the desired effect.
“Let me deal with this,” Florence said. “At least it looks like Clay has his test subject now. What better way to test his antiserum than by administering it to an individual who just fell down in a pile of zombie gore.” The last bit was said in a whisper so that nobody else could hear.
“So the bastard does have a cure.” The word bastard slipped out, the first time Brian had ever used it to describe Clay. Florence pressed a finger against his lips.
“Hush now. We can’t let the gang hear about this.”
From the corner of his eye, Brian felt somebody looking at him, and he turned to see Viktor smiling. The supposed butler kept that gaze for several seconds before breaking eye contact and returning through the door of the mansion.
Brian stormed towards the house, the other men gathered around watching him leave. The intensity of Brian’s movement drew their gaze, and they all sensed that whatever was happening here was far from over. None of them said anything, but many of them sensed that lines were being drawn in the sand, that boundaries were about to be tested.
Through the front door now and Viktor was nowhere to be seen. Brian stormed to the stairs which he took two at a time despite his slightly arthritic knees. The second flight beckoned, and he took those, barely out of breath by the time he reached the top. He was in the danger area now, rarely was it allowed for someone to venture to the upper floor without first being summoned. This was Clay’s domain, and you infringed upon it at your peril. As if to display that, Viktor appeared from a side door, his menacing presence merely an obstacle that Brian knew he could most likely plough through if need be. The Ukrainian was dangerous, but then so was Brian.
“I need to talk to Clay,” Brian demanded.
“That’s Mr Clay to you,” Viktor said dismissively.
“Shut your mouth you Cossack cunt,” Brian warned through gritted teeth. “I’m talking to Clay.” Surprisingly Viktor stood aside and pointed at Clay’s bedroom.
“Then please, be my guest.” Brian walked past him, wary of the risk of being felled from behind. But Viktor didn’t follow, he merely stood watching, that wretched half smile adorning his face. The thought occurred to Brian that perhaps Clay was somehow innocent here, that Susan had just overreacted. So he would need to avoid going in all guns blazing. The fury that could so easily build in Brian was restrained, and he managed to push it further below the surface. Outside Clay’s bedroom, Brian stopped and paused. There was a very real chance that his life hinged on how he handled this moment.
Taking a deep breath, Brian knocked on the door.
“Come in Brian,” Clay’s voice said. Brian did as he was told, not entirely sure how Clay knew it was him, although the video camera that guarded the door might have something to do with that.
“Mr Clay,” Brian said as he stepped in. He was still angry, but he was hoping it didn’t show.
“I must be getting senile in my old age,” Clay said, “I don’t remember calling for you.”
“Not at all Mr Clay, I’m just concerned about Susan.”
“And you should be, she clearly isn’t of sound mind. I offered her the chance to have the cure, and that was the thanks I got?” There it was, the defining moment. How he answered that question could determine whether he was breathing twelve hours from now.
“You offered her the cure?” Brian barely noticed that the door to the bathroom was closed. If he had been of a mind to investigate further, he would have found that the door was also locked.
“I did.” Clay stepped up to Brian. “I hold you responsible for this.”
“She’s been through too much, Mr Clay. I’m sure she just got scared.”
“That’s not what I want to hear Brian. I’m sorry for bringing a nutjob into your home Mr Clay is what I want to hear you say.” Brian could feel his jaw tensing, the old fire there. So this was how it was. Years of his devotion destroyed in an instant. Clay seemed to have forgotten it was his idea to bring Susan here.
“What exactly did you do to her?” Brian demanded.
“What did you say?” Clay sounded utterly incredulous.
“I asked you what you did to her. I need to understand why she reacted like she did.”
“You need to consider your next words very carefully, Brian,” Clay said with menace. The two men looked at each other, and Brian knew that he had to back down and turn this around.
“I’m just trying to understand why she would act like that. I’ve never known Susan to be so volatile.”
“Volatile is not the word I would use Brian. Fucking crazy is the phrase that more adequately springs to mind. I gave her everything. Food, shelter, even a chance at the cure. And all I asked in return was a little female gratitude. You know what I mean?”
“Thank you, Mr Clay. Now I understand.” Brian actually seemed to physically relax.
“Understand?”
“It must have been the other night.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Clay demanded.
“If you remember, I told you she was almost gang-raped. Your amorous advances must have triggered something in her.” Amorous advances, where the fuck did he drag that from?
“So you’re a psychologist now?” Clay sneered.
“No, Mr Clay. It just seems to be the only explanation.” Clay seemed to accept that, the crime boss wandering over to the middle window of his bedroom. He looked out, the decontamination tent hidden from his sight.
“Such a shame, though. She could have had a chance.”
“She still can, can’t she? Florence said…”
“Don’t be absurd,” Clay said harshly. “She’s obviously infected. And Florence doesn’t know shit.”
“What better way to test it though,” Brain insisted. “The cure I mean.” He knew he was pushing, probably too much. If he had any sense, he would have just apologised profusely and slithered out of the room on his belly.
“Of course I’ve considered that,” Clay blustered. He hadn’t actually. In the heat of the events, all Clay could concentrate on was the loss of the one thing he could fuck. “But if I give her the cure now, I won’t be able to keep it a secret. Better to let her just turn.”
“I think most of the men know about the cure already,” Brian lied. It was the one card he could think to play.
“That’s absurd,” Clay demanded.
“They are becoming restless, Mr Clay. The attack on the gate has made a lot of them nervous. Watching Susan run from the house like that has got them talking. I’ve heard some of them whispering, the secret of your cure isn’t a secret anymore.”
“Nonsense, unless you told them.”
“It wasn’t me, Mr Clay. Besides, you never told me what was in that case I acquired for you. Look me in the eyes and tell me if I’m lying.” Clay did just that, not realising the actual lie had already slipped past his defences. “But I’ve heard the men speculating. Now that you’ve confirmed everything, it’s clear some of them seem to know more than they should.”
“Then who?” Clay insisted.
“I will try and find out for you. But if you use the cure on Susan, and it works, then that might buy you some time with them. It might also encourage the morale of the men with the knowledge that
you have their safety locked away in your safe. They won’t know how many doses you have.”
“But they will all want it.”
“Not if we tell them it only works post exposure, like rabies shots or something. They would believe that,” Brian insisted. “We’ve shown we can defend against the undead. The only threat to the lie is if the walls get overrun, and then none of it will matter anyway.”
“Hmm,” Clay said, suddenly mulling over the thought that he might face an armed rebellion. As paranoid as he was becoming, that risk hadn’t even occurred to him. Clay had always considered that betrayal would come from an individual, maybe two, not the whole group. His warped mind began to play over a scenario that was unthinkable a moment ago. Also, who was the rotten apple in the barrel? If not Brian, there were only two other people who knew about the XV1…well three if you counted Susan, but she wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone.
“Okay, you can fuck off now, Brian.”
“Yes, Mr Clay.” Brian left the way he entered, surviving for another day. Viktor was still where Brian had left him, a certain degree of surprise adorning the Ukrainian’s face. As Brian walked by his adversary, he stopped. Looking straight ahead, Brian spoke to the man.
“I’m on to your little game,” Brian said.
“Really? I’m thrilled to hear it. And what great crimes am I guilty of?” Finally, Brian turned his head and looked at Viktor. Brian’s face was dark, devoid of all humour.
“I’ve been watching you carefully, and I know what your plan is. Clay might not see it yet, but I do. I’d watch myself if I were you.”
“Funny, I was about to say the same thing.” Brian didn’t say anything else. Instead, he stalked off, Viktor’s eyes burning into the back of his head. When Brian was out of sight, Viktor chuckled to himself. “Never reveal your hand so early on in the game my friend,” Viktor advised the empty corridor. Good, now Viktor knew what measures had to be taken regarding Brian.
Another of Clay’s pawns that would need to be removed.
24.08.19
Jersey City, USA
Gabriel was surprised when his pager went off. In the side pocket of his belt, he felt the vibration, plucking it out with effort so that he could gaze with suspicion at the tiny screen. He had taken it with him more out of habit than an actual belief someone would contact him. Mother had told him her version about how he had been kept in the dark, and he had never expected the organisation that once owned him to contact him again. How could he trust what the operatives of Gaia now told him?
“You have electronic mail.”
Gaia never spoke to its operatives over the mobile phone network. Instructions were usually relayed by the encrypted landline phones they used, or via courier. However, on the rare occasion when urgent information had to be transmitted to someone like Gabriel when they were in the field, the silenced pager was utilised. This in itself did not give information, just to state that they should check the email address only Gaia had access to. No emails were ever sent of course, just saved as a draft file in the encrypted email account which was hosted by an array of clandestine servers that even the NSA would have been unable to find and crack.
Standing in the deserted street, he let his attention drift from the pager as he reattached it to his belt. He would check the emails when he was good and ready. There might not have been anyone around him, but he had no confidence that this area was safe. In the distance, gunfire was a constant feature, and there was evidence of a rushed evacuation of this neighbourhood. This wasn’t a safe place for him to loiter.
The air was harsh and cool, his body still recovering from its successful fight against Lazarus. How close had he come to death? Very was probably the answer to that.
He moved down the centre of the street, discarded vehicles and the evidence of people’s lives scattered everywhere. Every building he passed was marked in some way with orange spray paint. Gabriel was acquainted with what those markings generally meant, an indication that the house or business was empty. There was a large orange X that separated the information into four sections, each informative snippet placed by one of the V’s that made up the X. At the top was the date and time that structure was abandoned, which for this street was yesterday night. The bottom section contained the number of live, dead and zombified victims that were found in the structure. As he walked past, Gabriel saw very few indications of dead bodies, but on several properties, he saw the tell-tale number by the letter Z.
The left side of the X had the military unit identifier to show who had cleared the building. And finally, on the right, there was an indication of any other hazards present. All the properties with a number by the Z had NE in large capital letters. NE, No Entry. Don’t go in because the virus was likely coating every surface, probably still floating in the dust and the very air.
The markings were for military, law enforcement as well as being useful for future scavengers that might find themselves passing through this area. It had been done systematically, methodically with the precision only the military was able to produce, the evacuation going street by street. Today, rescue wasn’t the only thing the military seemed to be efficient at.
At the end of the road, there was a park off to his left, the once lush grass somewhere children might have played, and lovers might have lain during the summer months. There would be none of that anymore, the park now put to another, more shocking use. In the centre, there were ten piles of charred bodies, probably two hundred in total, limbs all intertwined with each other to form bizarre scorched sculptures that only the Devil would have appreciated. Here were all the dead, the victims of Lazarus and bullets. The mounds no longer smouldered, but the conflagrations had clearly been complete, the flesh reduced almost to charcoal. It was unlikely Lazarus could have survived that, and even the rats that scurried out in the open seemed to show only disinterest for the deceased pyres.
Humanity was fighting back the only way it knew how. In doing so, it was starting to strip itself of its own compassion. There would be no burials or ceremony led cremations for the relatives of these bodies to mourn over. The corpses would be dealt with so that there was no chance any of the dead could rise again.
Gabriel didn’t stop walking, his destination generally northwards. Best to get away from populated areas, to do what he could to follow Mother’s last command. To live, to get through this. The virus was now no threat to him, but the creatures that carried it were. As far as he was concerned, the safest place for him would be the forest. He had the tools and the skills to survive out there for years, although there was no telling if the zombie hordes that were gathering would eventually leave the cities to try and strip the land of everything living. Gabriel had seen first-hand how the virus could be passed to rats as well as humans. It was no jump for his imagination to conclude that the other creatures of the planet could fall victim to it as well. That was why he was walking with exaggerated vigilance. Even a stray cat could be a threat to him now.
He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw some remnants of dog in the mounds of bodies. Gabriel didn’t feel compelled to get close enough to confirm that.
Soon, the park was out of sight, his travel quick across the abandoned ground. As he travelled, he saw the same orange spray tags on further buildings, more bodies dealt with in the way that was clearly now standard operating procedure. Gabriel wondered what was being used to set the mounds aflame?. Did the military have the time to build elaborate pyres from wood, or did they just use gasoline and the body’s own inherent flammability? Whatever was being done, it was clearly effective.
The distant gunfire was louder now and definitely seemed to be coming from ahead of him. Not close enough that he needed to be immediately concerned, but he knew that it would be wise to hold up and wait to see how the conflicts around him escalated. Just up ahead, a convenience store had been left with its doors open. As he got closer, Gabriel saw from the orange markings that the building had been deemed body and zombie free, wit
h twelve survivors rescued. It was of a sturdy construction, which was likely one of the reasons people had retreated there when the crisis around them had escalated. It would also be a source of food and water.
An opportune time to top up his supplies and check the email account.
The door closed easily, the reinforced glass of the windows spider webbed and fractured in parts. There were also clear bullet holes, Gabriel counting them. Seven in all, fired into the building most likely. The scene around him told him a little about what had occurred here, and stepping inside, he saw the shell casing of people that had fired back. The fact that the windows were mainly intact told Gabriel that the shots had been aimed at those trying to gain entry via the door. The blood he stepped over confirmed that.
If he had to guess, Gabriel would have said that people had holed up here, only for their position to have been attacked. The defence, he deduced, had been successful.
There were plenty of supplies still left here. Most stores like this were already likely stripped clean, so the defence had probably been by the owners who had decided to defend their business against looters. Admirable, thought Gabriel, who found the use of force one of the only honourable things about humanity. Good for him also because he was able to restock on the supplies he had already used. Water, food, all to help his flight into the wilderness. It didn’t take long to fill up the spaces in his backpack which now felt reassuringly heavy.
Now was as good a time as any to read the email he had been sent. His phone was a Thuraya X5 touch satellite phone, able to connect to the internet and he used it to open the email account Gaia used. There the message sat in draft format, and he opened it expectantly.
“Gabriel.
You have done well, my Son. You have helped bring forth a plan that has been years in the making. Your part is done, however. We urge you to leave New York, to seek refuge wherever it may be found. We release you from your burden.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 3): The Fall Page 32
