Chapter Seven
Starting with Vladimir Petrov and his colleagues, the infection rate had doubled at every stage of the virus’s rapid progress. From the initial one hundred and fifteen infected on Vladimir’s first flight from the Ukraine to Moscow, the number was now in the tens of thousands, and growing by the second. It would shortly be affecting millions, as it spread outwards like an unstoppable tide from most major airports.
In spite of being the first place affected, the isolated outbreak at a small Black Sea coastal town went largely unnoticed. It was a small town, separated by the marshes and miles of road from its nearest neighbour.Few people visited the resort now that the base had closed down, so the fact that within twelve hours of Vladimir leaving, the entire town had become a mass graveyard and was crawling with zombies would never be known. Had Vladimir not left, the virus might not have spread far.
The government might have discovered the outbreak and although more people would have been infected from bites, a quarantine zone could have been established and under conditions of strict secrecy and a complete media blackout, the problem could have been quietly eradicated, leaving the government scientists with the problem of what to do with a virus which had become a potential weapon.
In the final stages of its evolution the virus had become the perfect killer.
Within minutes of contact the new host also became contagious, and within a few hours, the subject developed severe cold or flu-like symptoms.
Two to six hours after the appearance of these symptoms (depending on their physiological make-up), the host transformed into a zombie.
If you were unfortunate enough to be bitten by a zombie and survived that initial attack, the virus’s progression was much more rapid. It took between five and ten minutes for the change to take place, and so the cycle would begin again. Unaware of any of this at the time, Tom had his last night of untroubled sleep.
The following morning we had woken to another fine, hot day, so we planned to spend another day on the beach, surfing. After breakfast Becky packed a cool box with drinks and snacks, and I packed the car with body boards, chairs and towels.
The man in the caravan next to us opened his window and shouted to get my attention, “Mate, you gotta see what’s happening on the news, it’s unbelievable.”
The look on his face made me think better of the funny remark I’d been about to respond with. I walked over to his open window and looked at the television, and he turned up the volume.
A visibly shaken news anchor was talking rapidly and urgently, “I repeat, unconfirmed reports are coming in of mobs attacking innocent bystanders at numerous locations around the country. We’re trying to contact the police and the Government for a statement, but so far we’ve had no response. Reports of cannibalism are coming in, again unconfirmed. But please stay with us as we try to confirm what’s happening…” She paused, held her hand to her ear and appeared to be listening to someone through her earpiece. “We can now go live to one of our teams at Central London Hospital.” The screen went blank for a moment, then showed a male reporter standing in the car park of a hospital.
“Hello studio, this is Mark Smith and I’m reporting to you live from outside Central London Hospital. I’m not sure what’s happening, but reports have reached me of people being attacked at random. I’ve seen no actual evidence of this yet, as my cameraman and I were returning from filming in the countryside near Oxford when the call came in for us to head here. The one thing I did notice on the way here is how empty the streets are. The London rush hour just hasn’t happened. I can’t explain it. Also, my car radio doesn’t appear to be picking up any stations.”
“Oh, come on, this is rubbish. It’s not telling us anything!” I complained.
The camera panned out and picked up a few people in the background, stumbling towards the reporter.
The reporter spoke off screen, “I can see some people approaching, I’ll go and talk to them and see if they can tell us what’s happening.”
The camera shook as the cameraman followed the reporter over to a crowd of about ten people. The shot steadied as he stopped and got ready to film the interview. He zoomed in on the nearest person approaching the reporter. It was a man and he was walking awkwardly, as if drunk, but it was the sight of his face that made my blood run cold.
We’ve all seen zombies depicted in TV shows and films. I was always a huge fan of them, especially the hit US show, “The Walking Dead”. So in my mind I had a picture of what a zombie should look like. The reality was far more frightening. His face was grey, pallid and disturbingly blank, dark blood dripped stickily from his mouth and his shirt was torn in several places, revealing horrible looking injuries. Almost absently, I thought to myself, “Oh! That’s a zombie!”
A millisecond later it sank in properly, “Shit! That’s a zombie!”
We watched in horrified fascination as, heedlessly, the reporter walked towards the man, his microphone outstretched in front of him.
The danger dawned on the cameraman much more quickly than on the unfortunate reporter, and we heard him shout a warning, “Mark! Stay away from him!”
Unable to look away, we watched as the reporter thrust the microphone in the man’s face. He never got the chance to speak. The “zombie” grabbed the arm holding the microphone and bit into it. The reporter screamed in pain, unable to pull the arm away. The camera seemed to be frozen on the scene of horror as, for a few seconds, the cameraman was clearly unable to process what was happening. Then the view changed, as the cameraman hurriedly put the camera down. In his haste, he must have activated something, because the camera continued to film, at an angle, with the screen now showing a wider view.
With his free arm the reporter was frantically lashing out at his attacker, who showed no reaction and only tightened his hold. The legs, and then the rest of the cameraman appeared in shot, as he hurled himself forward to help his colleague. There was no sound, (he must have dropped the microphone), but the reporter was soaked in his own blood and his face was contorted in agony, as he screamed silently and tried ever more weakly to free himself.
The cameraman tried desperately to pull the creature away from his friend and we watched helplessly as more “zombies” shuffled unnoticed into view and headed towards the two struggling men.
“Look out!” my neighbour screamed at the screen. We watched, transfixed, as the other zombies literally fell on the two struggling men who, by now, had fallen to the ground. Live on television, we watched as they were literally torn apart and devoured by their attackers.
The view switched abruptly to the studio, as someone had clearly realised that it was too much for people to see. The news anchor sat looking stunned, unable to say anything. The screen went to a commercial break.
My neighbour immediately changed over to BBC One, as that channel offered uninterrupted, commercial-free viewing. The screen showed a message stating that they were experiencing technical difficulties and that normal service would be resumed as soon as possible. He flicked through all the other channels; they all showed the same message.
We looked at each other in shock. What the hell was going on?
I turned and ran into our caravan. The children were still in the playground, waiting for us to tell them when it was time to leave.
“Talking again!” said Becky irritably. “We’re supposed to be going out for the day, and all you do is stand around chatting to people. I saw you ...”
I stopped her halfway through her tirade, shouting, “Just shut up! Something fucking weird’s going on. I’ve just watched someone being eaten alive on TV. I need to find out what’s happening.”
Becky looked at me in shocked silence. We know each other so well she realised immediately that I was deadly serious.
“What?”
“You heard me. I’ve just seen a news reporter and his cameraman being eaten by other people live on the news.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere in London,
I think.”
I turned the TV and the radio on. The TV was still showing the technical difficulty message, so I tried the radio. None of the pre-set national stations were broadcasting, so I started to scan manually. Without turning round I said, “Go and get the kids NOW, darling.”
I managed to find a working station. I didn’t know which one it was, but I guess that was irrelevant. The presenter was screaming excitably.
“Please everyone, just listen. I don’t know how or what is happening. It’s not a joke. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Thousands of people have turned into what I can only describe as … zombies … and are attacking everyone.
Please find somewhere safe. I can see them now out of my window. Until the authorities can sort this out, don’t, for God’s sake, go outside.”
He was rambling and speaking ten to the dozen, which made him all the more convincing. It definitely sounded true; he’d have to have been a very good actor to be faking that.
Becky came in, pushing the children in front of her. They were both looking upset and a little bewildered at having their playtime interrupted by an overwrought mother.
As they entered the caravan the presenter shouted, “RUN! For God’s sake get away … I’m sorry, I can see someone walking down the street below my studio. I can’t get her attention and she’s heading straight for them.” In the background you could hear the sound of banging on glass. “I can’t get her attention. I can’t open the windows here. Hold on, I’ll try to break the glass. Oh God, she can’t hear me!” The banging grew more frantic and then … “Nooooooo!” A few seconds later there was silence, apart from the sound of the presenter retching.
We all stood there, momentarily immobilised by shock. Finally the silence on the radio was broken by the presenter. His voice was quiet this time, hoarse with emotion.
“I’m sorry but I can’t begin to describe what I’ve just witnessed. I can only explain that a crowd of zombies has just slaughtered someone in the street below me. They’re still feeding on the poor woman. Jesus Christ!”
He began to cry, “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “I tried to get your attention but you just couldn’t hear me.” All we could hear then was sobbing, as the man broke down completely.
Becky looked at me, pale as a ghost. “WHAT is going on?”
“You know as much as I do,” I replied grimly. “Ten minutes ago that bloke next door called me over because of what he was seeing on TV, and you’ve just heard what that DJ saw. I haven’t got a clue. But the one thing I do know is this is no joke. It can’t be. It just can’t. But zombies! For fuck’s sake! It can’t be real.”
I saw Stanley smile and look up at me and realised that I’d sworn in front of the children.
“Sorry, Stanley,” I added hastily, “just ignore Dad for a bit. I need you both to stay in the van for a little while. I need to have a word with Mommy.”
I motioned for Becky to follow me outside. The man from next door was standing on his step having a cigarette. His hand was shaking visibly. He walked over as soon as he saw us.
“The TV’s on, but all the channels are just showing an emergency broadcast. It’s a message telling everyone to stay at home and avoid contact.”
I walked over to his window and looked in at the TV.True enough, a text message was rolling across the screen: “National Emergency Message. Please stay in your house. Avoid all contact with anyone. Monitor 1050mz on medium wave for information updates.”
“I’ve just checked the radio and it’s broadcasting the same info,” said our neighbour from behind me.
Becky joined us. Looking up, we saw the children watching us anxiously through the caravan window.
“Tom, what’s going on, why have all the stations stopped broadcasting?”
“Becky, as I said, you know as much as me. But as crazy as it might sound, we have to believe what we’ve heard. Somehow or other, there are zombies attacking people. What we need to know is where they are. We have to take this seriously.”
My neighbour spoke up, shaking his head. “This is stupid. It can’t be happening. It has to be a joke or something. Zombies don’t exist!”
“Well you explain what we’ve just seen and heard then!” I shot back. I would dearly have loved for it to be one big hoax, but somehow I knew it wasn’t. I had a gut feeling.
He looked at me. I could see that he wanted to deny what was happening, but his eyes were full of fear. He wanted to believe it was all fake because he didn’t want to comprehend the alternative. As we stood there, I thought back to a conversation I’d once had with a group of friends at a dinner party. We’d been talking about the latest films we’d seen and the conversation had turned to the number of zombie films that had been released lately.
I’d joked that it was all to prepare us for a coming apocalypse, so that it wouldn’t come as a shock when it finally did happen. I’d laughed and said that we’d be better prepared to defend ourselves, because knowing how to kill a zombie would be an essential bit of information. In short, I’d suggested that all the films were part of a government-sponsored education programme to teach civilians how to survive. Everyone knew, I’d informed them, that you have to destroy the brain to kill a zombie.
I turned to Becky, “Darling, we have to take this thing seriously until we’re told otherwise. Look around! This is no place to be if we’re attacked. And a caravan won’t give us enough protection. We need to get home. I say, we leave the caravan here and go now before panic sets in.”
Becky was shocked. “You can’t be serious!”
“I am! I say we leave the caravan here and get home as quickly as we can. If it all turns out to be nothing, we can always come back for it in a few days’ time.”
“What do we tell the kids?”
I thought about it. “The truth, I guess. Because if it is really happening, we’ll all need to be prepared.”
Chapter Eight
Becky and I looked at each other for a moment, then we both ran into the caravan. The children were sitting there quietly. They knew something was wrong.
I took a deep breath then spoke, “Kids, we’re going to leave right now and go home. We won’t be taking the caravan, so while Mommy and Daddy get things ready, you need to pack your bags with a few clothes and some toys. Becky, pack up as much food and drink as you can, while I throw some of our clothes and some other stuff into a bag.”
It didn’t take long for me to grab a bag and empty the overhead lockers where we kept our clothes. As I was taking the body boards and towels out of the car, I had the first of many strange conversations with myself. “If we come across a zombie, what will I kill it with?”
I hold a shotgun licence and have a number of shotguns at home, so one of those would have been my weapon of choice.
But until we got there and I took them out of my gun-safe, I was going to have to make do with whatever was available. Thinking back to all the zombie films I’d seen, I went and rummaged through the storage locker at the front of the caravan, and took out the broom and a roll of duct tape.
I took the kitchen knives out of the kitchen drawer, and put one in the door pocket of the car. Then I removed the head of the broom, taped a knife to the handle and managed to make a rudimentary spear.
“What on earth are you doing?” said Becky in astonishment, as she emerged from the caravan, carrying a cool box and two bags full of food and bottles of water.
“Making a bloody spear,” I snapped, “What do you think I’m doing? Stanley!” I shouted, “Can you find your cricket bat and put it in the back of the car?”
She put the bags down and sighed. “Is this really necessary?” she asked.
“Darling, if this actually turns out to be true, we need to be able to defend ourselves. So unless you can think of another way, I figure it’s better to be safe than sorry.” With a wry grin on my face I continued, “Twenty minutes ago I was packing body boards. Now I’m making a zombie spear. Let’s not talk about what’s necessary or not
. I think, unless we hear otherwise, normal has just gone out of the window!”
A few minutes later everything had been hastily thrown into the back of our Volvo XC90. Warning the children to be careful of the knife, I put my spear and Stanley’s cricket bat on top of the pile.
My neighbour was still outside, pacing backwards and forwards and chain-smoking.
“We’re off mate!” I shouted. “Look after yourself, and if it’s all a hoax, we’ll be back in a few days.”
He nodded, a dazed look on his face.
As I started the car, I glanced at the fuel gauge. “Shit!” There was only a quarter of a tank. Nowhere near enough to get home.
“Let’s hope the garages are still open,” I muttered. “We haven’t got enough fuel to get out of Cornwall, let alone home.”
As we drove out of the caravan site, it looked as if some of the other families were hurriedly packing their cars. That worried me. “This journey could get interesting. If other people have come to the same conclusion as us about what’s going on, we’re going to have to be careful. People are capable of doing stupid things when they’re panicking.”
As I drove as fast as I dared along the narrow lane, Becky tried to find a working station on the radio.
“See if you can find that channel the TV message was on about, 1050 medium wave, wasn’t it?”
It didn’t take her long to find it. The message had now been replaced by someone making an announcement:
“This is the Emergency Public Broadcast Service for Her Majesty’s Government. We have very little information about the current situation, but this is what we know so far. A global virus has broken out.
Victims initially develop cold-like symptoms but then develop severe psychosis. In other words, they become extremely violent and irrational. Reports are coming in of people being attacked and bitten, and the death toll is rising.”
The voice paused and then continued. “Please avoid all contact with other members of the public until we can discover more about the situation. Do not travel! Stay where you are. We will continue to provide updates when we can. Monitor this frequency at all times. Until then this message will continue to be repeated.”
Zombie Castle Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 3
