A World Reborn (Book 2): Global Outbreak

by Thompson, Chris

  Melissa took point, but let her rifle hang at her side while she drew her knife and brought it to the ready; the last thing she wanted to do was start a fire fight with so many Reborn in the vicinity. The back door led to some kind of utility room, which in turn led to a rather average looking hallway. There were a couple of doors on the left and right, and a staircase that led up to another floor. She indicated the stairs and Rochelle nodded. Luckily, she found the staircase led all the way to the roof, so with extreme caution Melissa pushed open the door and peeked out. She couldn’t see any indication of an enemy presence on the roof, but ducked low before pushing the door open wider.

  “Stay here.” Melissa told Rochelle, who nodded again and slunk part way down the stairs. Melissa crept out, moving across the gravelly surface of the rooftop as low to the floor as she could, until she could conceal herself beneath the low wall surrounding it - just in case there were any hidden snipers or Reborn soldiers on nearby rooftops. Although she couldn’t see anyone, it didn’t mean they weren’t there, and Melissa didn’t want to take any chances. As she approached the edge, Melissa sheathed the knife and slowly rose up, peering over the top of the waist high wall. The elevation gave her a far better view of the park area. It seemed that sections of it had been cleared; leaving stumps where trees had been cut down, the lumber dragged off to one side out of the way. Lights had been established too, giving greater illumination for the landing zone of the helicopters. Melissa saw a second helicopter had already landed and as she watched, saw several groups of a dozen or so townsfolk had been gathered together. They were easily identifiable amidst the Reborn as they wore normal clothing. Her gut reaction on seeing them raised the possibility of some kind of recreation of the Money Pit, where the Reborn had fed most of the Seraph survivors to the infected, but as she continued to observe them, she realized this wasn’t what was happening. The helicopter which had recently passed overhead had its side doors open and she saw that some of the Reborn were casually guiding groups of the civilians towards it.

  “What the hell?” Melissa asked herself quietly. As she continued to survey the scene, she became aware of waist high, domed silver objects at the corner of the park and at regular intervals away from it. They were reminiscent of traffic posts but wider and with illumination built in; curiously, they had a green light on top. Melissa slid back down the wall and tried to process what she’d just seen. The Reborn, the Ancillary had repeatedly told her, valued those who possessed the will to survive. Melissa peeked over the wall again and saw that the Reborn were actively helping the civilians into the helicopter. She watched and considered the possibility that these were people who had lived up to the Reborn’s standard and were being taken... where? Away from danger? Melissa didn’t know. She gazed pensively at the devices again and wondered what they might be: larger versions of the same technology as the collar device? It would make sense if they were, after all, should the Reborn succeed there would be millions of infected to control. Perhaps, Melissa deliberated further, they were stronger than the collars, sending out more of the pheromone which neutralized the infected, thereby allowing them to be controlled even in loud environments. It was pure conjecture, Melissa admitted, but it was the best guess she could make given the evidence before her.

  Melissa made her way back to the stairwell and found Rochelle still hiding there.

  “What did you see?” Rochelle whispered.

  “Nothing good. It looks like they’re evacuating some of the people from the city.” Melissa responded just as quietly.

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

  “Yeah, but where are they taking them? The Reborn can’t be trusted. You must’ve seen the video they broadcast from the Seraph; they didn’t care if any of those people had the will to survive or whatever spiel they’re spinning these days.” Melissa responded angrily, starting to lead the way back down to ground level. Rochelle didn’t reply, so Melissa continued down the stairs until they were close to the door they had used to enter the building. Here, Melissa paused, brought her assault rifle to bear, then took one step out of the back door and began to turn. In the moment that followed she felt an immense pain on the side of her head and then Melissa collapsed to the ground, the world going dark as she slipped into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Seven

  Melissa rolled her neck as she opened her eyes. The side of her head throbbed with intense pain, and a warm, wet feeling from her scalp made her realize she’d been struck with some considerable force by something hard, which had cut her and knocked her out. As she slowly scanned her surroundings, she wondered how long she’d been unconscious and, as her brain slowly began to function and memories returned, where Rochelle was. It seemed she was in a basement, with a large furnace facing her on the right and washing machines and dryers on the left. Melissa felt pressure on her shoulders and a sense of weightlessness, which filtered into her consciousness at the same time that her nose wrinkled when she realized she definitely wasn’t in most pleasantly fragrant place in the world. Looking up, Melissa observed what she thought was a relatively new looking metal plate mounted on the ceiling with eight, shiny nuts. Two heavy chains dropped from it; the free ends attached to a set of shackles around her wrists. She had been hauled up and left hanging a foot or so off the ground - like a piece of meat in a butcher shop. Though the pain was severe, her inability to defend herself when her assailant returned - as he or she surely would - prompted Melissa to jostle the chains in the hope they might magically come loose, but all she achieved was to aggravate the pain in her head and increase the discomfort in her shoulders.

  “You’re awake!” Rochelle exclaimed, and Melissa turned her head slightly in the direction of her voice, finding Rochelle with one hand cuffed to the pipes beside the trio of washing machines. Melissa wasn’t sure why she hadn’t noticed her the first time, but assumed she’d been hiding - not to mention her blurred vision, which made it appear she was viewing everything through eyes brimming with tears.

  “What happened?” Melissa demanded groggily.

  “He knocked you out and forced me to go with him. He made me drag you while he... ”

  “Who?”

  “Stop talking!” A loud, aggressive, male voice called out from somewhere above them.

  Melissa heard a door open. The sound drew her attention to a shaft of light which highlighted a staircase that presumably led up out of the basement. A male figure thudded down the stairs. He was wearing a vest and some kind of heavily padded overalls, the top part of which was bunched up with the arms tied around his waist. He was heavy with muscle, making it obvious his job had involved some kind of manual labor before the end of the world. When he neared the bottom of the stairs, all Melissa was able to see at first was the heavy wrench he was holding in his right hand, and then his face came into view. Even though her vision was still slightly impaired, she saw him clearly enough to deduce that he was younger than his voice had led her to believe. Perhaps in his mid twenties, he had a shaved head and his face was grimy - beneath which, he was probably quite handsome, but Melissa’s mind was more focused on the murderous look in his dark eyes. He shared a bellicose look between Rochelle and Melissa.

  “I don’t want either of you talkin’ until I’m ready for it, all right!” He dictated angrily.

  “Who are you?” Melissa asked, ignoring his instruction.

  “I said shut it, Reborn filth!” The man roared, raising the wrench as though he might strike Melissa with it, but she didn’t flinch.

  “Listen asshole, I don’t know who you are or why you’ve strung me up and handcuffed my friend, but we’re not with the Reborn! We’re just trying to get back to our friends so we can get the hell out of here!”

  “Liar!”

  “It’s true! She shot them when we were trapped in the Ultra Value Market!” Rochelle called out by way of back up.

  The man, a half crazed look in his eyes, kept the wrench ready to swing but held off from doing so for the moment.


  “What’s your name?” He demanded roughly.

  “Melissa Jones.”

  “No, no, no...” He started saying to himself, his voice growing quieter as he continued to repeat himself. He lowered the wrench and started to pace aggressively back and forth in front of Melissa.

  “I need... I need to check. I need to check something.” He said, turning and hurrying towards the stairs, taking them loudly two at a time. Once at the top, he slammed the door, cutting off the bright shaft of light from above and leaving them with only the stark light of the single bulb which hung from the ceiling.

  “Do you have any idea where we are?” Melissa asked quickly.

  “In one of the apartment buildings... maybe a street or two from where we were. He made me drag you and held a gun on me until we got down here. I was... I was so afraid.”

  “Is any of my stuff down here?”

  “He took all your weapons upstairs after he chained you up.”

  Her vision clearer now, Melissa looked up at the chains again and then back around the dingy room. Observing nothing new, she looked down at her feet and, seeing some dried blood, could only guess that she wasn’t the first person that this individual had chained up there. Though she had had no success the first time, she jostled the chains again in the hope of shaking the ceiling attachment loose, but as she thought previously, it seemed pretty solid. Trying to pull one of her hands free from the shackle didn’t yield any better results; they were so tight if she pulled too hard, she was more likely to scrape away the skin and make it bleed than slip her hand free. A dark thought occurred: if she was to break her thumb then perhaps she could slip it free, but she was in more than enough pain and the action really wouldn’t do much to help her. Instead, Melissa shifted her left then her right hand and managed to grab the chains, which swung slightly with the movement. She took a few deep breaths and then tried to hoist herself up, thinking that if she was able to climb high enough she could flip, brace her feet on the ceiling and, if she was really lucky, exert enough pressure to wrench the plate free. Just like that, she thought. As the plan crystallized in her mind, Melissa let out a short, derisive laugh.

  “What’s funny?” Rochelle asked bemusedly.

  “There was a time... a lifetime ago, when I’d sit on the floor in my underwear in my flat in England leafing through magazines desperately trying to stop reading celebrity gossip. I’d go shopping online too, trying to decide if I wanted these shoes or that video game, sometimes blowing half my week’s pay and buying both and something else. Now I’m trying to decide if I’ve got enough upper body strength and energy to wrench a metal plate from a ceiling.” Melissa explained. “It’s funny how things change. My fiancé wouldn’t recognize me today.”

  “You have a fiancé?”

  “Had. One of the many aspects of my life that has changed dramatically... and permanently.”

  Melissa huffed a few times and then began to slowly climb, shifting her weight between her arms so she could slide her hands up a few inches at a time. She was weary, but she figured if it didn’t work, then she could rest when she was dead as she didn’t imagine their ‘host’ would be gone long.

  “Do you miss that life?”

  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.” Melissa blurted out in a gasp as she tried to climb a few more inches. “But after Galgambwe, everything changed. I changed.”

  Melissa grunted in exertion and frustration as she tried to move higher still. A little further and she might be able to try flipping... however she might accomplish that.

  “Galgambwe?” Rochelle questioned.

  Melissa held herself steady, catching her breath.

  “Yeah, I was there when the civil war broke out. I came back cold and traumatized... and more than a little bitchy. My fiancé, ex fiancé, couldn’t handle it, and then I found out he was seeing someone else.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. On the days where I could see what I was becoming - an angry, cold hearted drunk - I understood why he did what he did. I could almost forgive him for it.”

  “And on the other days?”

  “On the other days I knew he was lucky I never caught him in the act.” Melissa responded darkly between gulping in air. “And then there was what happened in the Seraph.”

  “Do you think you’d be a different person if the Seraph outbreak had never occurred?” Rochelle asked, her voice surprisingly steady. Melissa wondered why this would be, but suspected that perhaps it was the conversation that was keeping her calm, and if she was calm, then perhaps she’d be in a better position to help.

  “A different person? No. Galgambwe changed me - for better or worse, I don’t know, but there was no coming back from that.”

  “So this is who you are now?”

  Pausing, Melissa looked at her and wondered if these questions had a personal reason; was Rochelle asking because she was afraid she would become a different person if she lived through this? Melissa didn’t know.

  “This is who I am, but that’s not a bad thing. I’m stronger than I was and maybe, just maybe, when this is all over I can find a way back to doing some of the things I used to enjoy. Now, give me a minute.”

  Melissa began to swing her legs back and forth, getting a little momentum going. Once the arc of her swings was high enough, Melissa let out a strained grunt and twisted, shifting her legs up and over her head. She was fully inverted, and could immediately feel the pressure in her head from the blood flowing to it. She braced her boots against the ceiling, tension wracking her body and her muscles burning from exertion. After a few deep breaths she began to push out with her legs while pulling hard on the chains with her hands; using all of her strength to try to wrench the metal plate free and, if not, to damage the chains in some capacity. She let out a loud grunt, her face feeling hot and sweat rolling from her forehead into her hair, stinging the cut where she had been struck, then the grunt became a roar when there was no sign of movement and her strength began to wane; the chains were too strong and the plate too well secured. Accepting it was pointless to keep trying, Melissa let her legs flip down and then wearily clambered back down the chains until she was almost back where she had started, having kept her hands wrapped around the chains to save the shackles cutting into her wrists. Sweat immediately rolled into her eyes, the salty drops stinging on contact.

  “No good.” Melissa stated breathlessly.

  “So, what do we do?”

  “Do you think you can get out of your cuffs?” Melissa asked.

  “I don’t think so.” Rochelle responded, but tried to wriggle her hand free. When that failed, she attempted to wrench away the wall pipe she was cuffed to, but there was no give. “Sorry, I really did try, but I can’t.”

  “Okay.” Melissa puffed out. “Distract him if I give you the signal.”

  “What’s the signal?”

  “Apples.”

  Rochelle looked at her with confusion, but nodded slowly.

  Melissa fell silent and focused on regaining her strength. The stress she was feeling in her shoulders was considerable, and she felt exhausted after her attempt to break her shackles, but it was, ultimately, unimportant. When the man returned she would see if she could try talking her way out of her imprisonment. If that failed, and if she wanted to survive, she needed to be ready to strike; to take down her captor without mercy, just as Conrad had taught her in Galgambwe, and then find some means of escape. She was off the ground, but if she stretched she might be able to reach something which would assist her with one of her feet. In the worst case scenario she would, though she had previously rejected the idea, have to break her thumb, attempt to slip one of the shackles and then, despite the agony she would be in, search his body for the key - assuming she could reach it. Melissa repeated these series of possible events to herself over and over, analyzing anything that might happen, considering all possibilities. Of course, no amount of mental preparation would ensure she would succeed, but until her las
t breath, she would fight.

  A short, silent time passed and then they heard noises from the top of the stairs. Melissa had recovered from the gymnastic movements she had been forced to make, though her head still pounded and her arms and shoulders ached intolerably, causing her to wonder if she would be able to carry out any of the scenarios she had so carefully contemplated to gain her freedom. She still held out a small hope that she could convince him to let them go; her name having appeared to trigger some memory which, when he checked it, surely would prove she was not working with the Reborn. The man came heavily down the stairs, this time a newspaper in one hand and the wrench in the other. He reached the bottom of the steps and strode quickly up to Melissa, waving the newspaper energetically.

  “You’re really her! Melissa Jones, the hero of the Seraph!” He claimed excitedly. “I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?”

  “Just hanging around.” Melissa quipped, but the humor seemed to be lost on him.