Weep (Book 1): The Irish Epidemic

by Brady, Eoin

  They’ve broken in downstairs. Heart thumping, he remembered that George had found the code for the alarm box while searching the house. He had disabled everything.

  Through the roof window he saw nothing on the road, but that would not last long if the alarm kept sounding. He pulled a chair beneath the window and climbed out onto the roof. Crawling on his stomach so as not to move the tiles, he felt the scab tear. Lying flat on the edge of the roof, he used the gutter to support his weight. The alarm box was a foot below him. His ears rang with the sound. He smashed it with the hammer, confident the noise he made was hidden by its wailing. It whined, quietened and died.

  Fin lay back in relief, his heart racing. What he first thought to be the echo of the alarm ringing in his ear was actually alarms going off in the surrounding houses. All of them. The power’s failing. He heard distant voices, other survivors coming out of hiding to deal with their alarms. They mingled with the shrieking weep of infected.

  32

  Long out of Luck

  Fin raced to finish reading a chapter of a book before it became too dark. He was tempted to light a candle, but being alone with those monsters in his thoughts was better than actually having them for company.

  Just after nightfall, Fin heard the door to the loft stairway open and a moment later a mass of brown, dried grasses and branches pushed opened the hatch. Fin reached for the hammer just as George took off the cloak. He was flushed and sweaty and momentarily terrified to find somebody else unexpectedly in his loft. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “The church on top of Croagh Patrick. What the hell are you wearing?”

  “It’s a ghillie suit, or at least it will be, when I finish it.” He bundled it into his arms and brought it into the bathroom, to hang on the shower railing. “I think it will work, wear the scenery, those things don’t seem interested in smelling the roses.”

  “So become a rose?”

  “Well, more mouldering leaves and damp moss. It works though. I set up on the roadside and just stood there while a few of them walked right past me. Then that helicopter showed up and I was nearly carried away in the crowd of weepers.” George kicked his boots off and put on a pair he kept for the house. They had all agreed not to wear outdoor shoes inside, to prevent the infection from coming in, if that was even how it could be transmitted. George’s feet were only bare for the length of time it took to put another pair of shoes on. He had new shoes he wore to bed, so he was always ready to run.

  “Have you heard from Rebecca? My radio got destroyed in the crossing, Fin said.”

  “She’s fine. Why did you leave her there alone? That was bad form.”

  Fin could hear the derision in his voice and did not deny he had earned it. “I wanted to go, she wanted to stay.”

  “She told me what you found. I think I’d want to put the place behind me as quickly as possible, if I nearly died there. How’s the wound?”

  “I don’t know if it’s red because it’s healing or because it’s infected. Not that kind of infected.”

  “Well, when you’re planning to stab somebody, I doubt the first thing that crosses your mind is having the courtesy to clean the knife beforehand. I mean, my first reaction to being stabbed would not be ‘How rude, your knife’s dirty.’”

  “Did you see the explosion this morning? And the helicopter yesterday? What’s happening?” Fin asked.

  George’s expression darkened. “I didn’t go near town. The explosion and gunfire is drawing the infected from every direction, they’re gathering a horde. That was a good job you did with the alarm box outside. It’s happening all over the place. Power outages. I’ve found another survivor.”

  “Me too.”

  George was taken aback for a second. “How many people are on the mountain?”

  “One living. Two dead.”

  “Infected?”

  “No. What about yourself?”

  “An elderly woman. Near gave me a heart attack when I broke into her house and found her. When I learned what her situation was, I wished I had encountered a zombie instead.” He grimaced at the thought. “I don’t mean that.”

  “Is it safe where she is?”

  “From the dead? Maybe. For now. She did not have an alarm. I disabled the ones on the houses around her.”

  “What’s the issue?”

  “She has problems with her lungs and needs oxygen. Her tanks are dry and all she is going off is a condenser that’s plugged into the mains.”

  Fin let out a long breath while thinking about something to say. “What can we do?”

  A scornful look crossed George's face. “Everything we can. They have things in the camp that might be able to help.”

  “The first helicopter dropped stuff into the grounds. The other one was the sea rescue. When I was there, they told me that people had tried to steal it. Whatever happened there, I don’t think it was good.”

  George rubbed the stubble on his face. He was always clean shaven at work. Taking off his jacket, he revealed an old jumper beneath, far too small for him. Thinking he had been caught out somewhere and wore what he could find, Fin offered him one of his jumpers.

  “No thanks, this is mine. I’m comfortable in it.”

  “Does not leave much to the imagination.”

  “Saving people time then. You’re right, we can’t just bring her there blindly, I have to go and see what’s going on, I promised I would help her. All I need is a few extra hands.”

  Optimism seemed so foreign now to Fin, but he would not stop George’s, if it helped.

  “I’ll go with you.” As much as he hated the thought of leaving the safety of their shelter, he felt keeping his mind active was key. “Can you make a ghillie suit for me and the woman?”

  “Can’t do that, she gets coughing fits. As daft as the zombies are, I bet even they would be curious about a coughing bush. Tell me about the survivor you found on the mountain.”

  “I don’t know that I’d classify him as a survivor.” Fin recounted his time with Malachy.

  George lay on the futon looking through the skylight. “So many people are in trouble and nobody is coming to help them.”

  “Yeah and we don’t even know what happened at the camp yet.”

  “What was it like to kill a man?”

  Fin was not expecting the question. “Worst thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.”

  “You mean you didn’t have to study Irish in school for sixteen years?”

  “Second worst thing I’ve been forced to do.”

  George snorted air through his nose. Humour helped, but it was a weak medicine. “Don’t let it trouble you, you’re alive because of it and he can do no more harm. We can get help for Malachy at the camp, maybe they can do something for him.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything that can help that. I hope I’m wrong,” Fin said.

  “Me too, or there’s no hope for any of us.”

  Rebecca took so long to pick up her radio that Fin and George started devising a plan on getting out to the island. When she answered, her voice was dull and apathetic, she used as few words as possible to answer. Listening to her speak only increased their concern for her wellbeing. Fin let go of the receiver. “Don’t say a word about Malachy, I don’t think she’s in a good space, let’s not give her more bad news.”

  “Sure then we’ll have nothing to talk about.” George told her about the old woman he came across, how they were going to Westport House to find help for her. Fin mentioned meeting the man on the mountain. She did not seem to care.

  “Are you guys coming out here afterwards? Can we go to Achill then?”

  “One thing at a time,” George took the radio. “Fin got into bother on the water on his way to the mountain. I’m not convinced it’s the safest route. We’ll have to talk it out later. Might be that heading into the countryside would be best. Follow a river far up its course to where there are no roads or people.”

  “I’ll go by myself.”
<
br />   “Rebecca, come on, we don’t rush things.”

  “A body washed up on the far end of the island here. It didn’t move, but I made sure it wouldn’t. Makes me wonder how safe these places are. What if a live one – well, a walking one – makes it here? Maybe you’re right. But I don’t have the luxury of time.”

  “You could be right,” George said. “We’ll have a look for a boat when we go help this woman. What have you been up to?” George asked to change the subject.

  “Not much. It feels like I’m just waiting.”

  “We’re all waiting for good news. We’ll all be a while waiting for that,” George said.

  “Did you notice the person parachute into the camp at Westport House yesterday?”

  “Surprised they didn’t drop like a stone with the weight of the balls on them,” George said. “Parachuting over a zombie infested land.”

  “Any sign of the child?” Fin asked.

  “None. I don’t think she’ll ever come back.”

  “You should consider coming back,” George said. “Those islands are a beacon for the desperate.”

  “I found a shotgun here, but there’s no ammunition for it, a few empty casings though,” Rebecca said. “I reckon he was using it on anybody that approached until he ran out of ammo. No point taking it out if he had no shells left. If we had known his actions were hostile and called his bluff, then he would have had two of us to deal with.”

  “Now that you mention it, I found a gun too,” George said. He opened a small hatch into the crawl space of the loft. Their stores of dry food had increased substantially.

  “You’ve been busy,” Fin said.

  “We have to be, just look at the guy on the mountain. All he does every day is gather things like a jumped-up hamster. He’s not the only one. It’s not as if people are going out to replenish what is taken. Nobody grows anything for themselves, towns are supplied by trucks. People have already started to starve.” George took out a long-barrelled rifle. It would not have looked out of place in a museum.

  “Found it in a farmhouse. The gun locker was closed so I don’t have much ammunition for it.”

  “Rebecca, it looks like something out of a War of Independence movie. It’s bolt action,” Fin said.

  “Those are more trouble than they’re worth, you’ll only attract the zombies,” she said.

  George poured a few bullets into Fin’s hand. “I’ve had to swallow vitamin tablets that looked more intimidating than those,” Fin said. “Have you tried it yet?”

  “Not a chance. Rebecca’s right. The sound of that against those things – no benefit outweighs the drawback. On a boat now, picking them off on the shore, that would be ideal.”

  “I think you’ve just created the new national pastime,” Fin said. “The previous owner just left it behind?”

  George licked his lips, smirked and snorted. When he put the ammunition carefully back into the box it rattled about loosely. A few rounds were missing. “It was a cleaner end than they would have gotten at the hands of the infected,” George said.

  “It’s a good find. Let’s hope we won’t need it,” Fin said.

  George locked the gun away. “We’re going to head in, Rebecca. Stay safe.”

  With sharpshooters posted at the entry points to Westport House and light seeping from the world, they opted for the paddle board. Both of them knelt on one. Fin realised George’s aversion to water was far greater than he first assumed.

  “Are you taking the mick?” Fin asked George, who flinched whenever a wave mounted the board.

  “No, I’d deal with a zombie sooner than I would water.”

  “But sure, you came for me in the kayak.”

  “You needed help.”

  Fin considered just how terrified George was of the water. “Thank you.” It did not seem like enough to say it.

  “Got it when I was younger. Family and I were in this small boat doing a crossing into Northern Ireland. I asked the owner how deep the water was. Him thinking he was putting my mind at rest said, ‘You could stand up in it, it’s that shallow.’ And sure of course didn’t I try.”

  “He was lying, I take it?”

  “We were on the deepest lough in Ireland.”

  Fin paddled closer to the shore. “There you are, you can near stand up in that.”

  “So can the zombies.”

  They stayed close to the shore and travelled up the river. Hidden by the pier wall, they were unable to see what was happening outside the hotel.

  “What the hell is making all that noise?” George asked. “It sounds like an army.”

  “Can you imagine if they were all infected?”

  George spat into the water. “I didn’t until you said it.”

  Fin grabbed a rusted ladder and pulled them close to the wall. George held it so tightly that his knuckles were white. “Hurry up,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Fin climbed the rungs and peaked over the wall. There were no infected in sight; people streamed out of the camp in orderly lines, entering the Quay Hotel. Most of the lights in the rooms were on. So much for silence. With all the food Fin, George and Rebecca had taken from the place, there would not be enough for more than half a mouthful for each of those people.

  “What’s going on?” George asked as Fin steadied himself back on the board.

  “They’re moving people into our hotel.”

  “Any zombies?”

  “No, just people and a few soldiers.”

  They paddled around a hilly island, out of view from prying eyes, and hid the board and paddle. Their clothes were destroyed by the sucking mud, but at least they found no other footprints. With torches on, they moved quickly through the woods towards the main road of the camp, completely bypassing the gate. Plenty of people noticed them, but nothing was said. They turned the torches off and walked against the crowd fleeing the camp. The looks they got from strangers were unkind and they decided against asking what happened, they could judge well enough by the faces.

  Moving through the crowd was an unnerving experience; so many people crying, moving erratically. The only discerning difference between them and the infected was that they were not attacking them.

  “Last time I was here the place was a maze of tents,” Fin said. Most of those had been trampled. A new fence installed in front of the house cut the manor off from the fields. It was reinforced with camper vans parked end to end. Sharpshooters fired into the field from scaffolding nests and the baskets of two electrical maintenance trucks. Floodlights and gas generators hummed so loudly that they almost muffled out the weeping and wheezing. Runners ferried ammunition from the house to the shooters.

  “How many are there?” George said. He walked as close to the fence as he dared. The lights were strong but half the field was still in darkness. It would take too long to count the bodies of the dead, a task made especially difficult with so many infected trampling them.

  Putting down the faster ones seemed to be the priority. Fin and George watched as a slower one nearly made it to the fence. A soldier unloaded an entire clip into it. The inner lining puffed out from its jacket like blooming white roses. Bones broke and it slumped down, unable to bare its dead weight. Sinews torn, muscles ruined, but it did not die. It rose up unsteadily, a terrible gash above its right eye, unrecognisable as human. Another soldier put a carefully placed bullet through its skull. It went down and stayed motionless. The soldier that had fruitlessly wasted so much ammunition was quickly relieved.

  “So long as they keep their heads, this place will be safe,” George said.

  “That’s asking a lot. Imagine being up there in one of those nests and thinking about what would happen if the zombies got through or came up from behind.”

  One of the soldiers on the roof of a camper looked down on them with wide eyes.

  “Sorry,” Fin said.

  The remains of a fire by the main gate filled the air with smoke. Some trees still burned, their smouldering red glow mad
e it look like the dead were coming straight from hell. Fin did not want to say it to George but he knew they would not find any help here for the old woman. She was out of time and long out of luck.

  “They’re evacuating,” George said.

  Soldiers manned the barricades, while others were still in the process of reinforcing them. Fin turned away from the light and the field of moving death. So many people. George was slower to look away. His face was pale, his stare distant.

  The house was a hive of activity, mostly people taking whatever was not nailed down to reinforce the walls. A few took things and joined the crowd leaving. Looters should be shot. The efforts of others keep them safe and they use that time to steal.

  “This is our chance,” George said. “Let’s see if we can nick an oxygen tank.”

  None of the soldiers cared to stop them entering; they only had time for the infected now.

  Gunfire deeper inside the house made them stop. “Let’s come back in the morning,” George said. “We’ll only get in the way. I know a place that’s close and secure enough to last the night.”

  Before they made it to the door they were forced into cover when more gunfire came from inside the house.

  A soldier ran into the atrium, sweating and out of breath. “They’re coming through the woods.” He pushed through the stationary crowd. When he slammed part of the door to the house closed, the others sprang into action. Half of the soldiers abandoned their posts and fled. The rest remained with the ammunition.

  Fin and George joined the rush to get out. Those behind pushed into them, clogging up the exit. In the brief breaks of gunfire, Fin could hear the screaming much closer now. The last part of the door was forcefully closed against the swell of people trying to get back in. Bullets ripped through the wood. People screamed at the front of the throng. Chaos erupted, but Fin felt through the crowd and pulled George to him. Together they shouldered, kicked and elbowed their way out. Fin caught the expression on one man’s face change from frantic panic to serene indifference. He unholstered his pistol and was swallowed by the crowd, which parted after the gunshot. He was gone. Some quick thinkers filled the space he left, desperate to find his weapon. The soldier manning the heavy machine gun on top of the stairs roared for people to move. None could hear him. They ran deeper into the house. Fin succeeded in swallowing his panic, until he remembered the castle on the news, swarmed by infected. We’re trapped.