Breakout

by Craig Jones

  Then the radio attached to Chris’s belt crackled and Rogers spoke.

  “Open the doors. Repeat! Open the doors. We have a casualty out here!”

  The soldiers hesitated but with a sharp hand gesture, Chris indicated that they should start moving the barricade. He brought the radio up to his mouth.

  “Sir, is this a Romero situation?”

  “You think I’d be telling you to open the door if it was?” Rogers’s voice echoed off the walls of the silent gym. Everyone had stopped and was staring at Chris. “No it is not a Romero situation. It is a people situation. Now get out here. One of them is hurt.”

  The door was swung open and Rogers staggered in, carrying a bleeding man like he was a baby. He lay him down on the floor and began checking for vital signs.

  “Was he bit? Was he bit?” he shouted over his shoulder. I craned my neck to see who he was talking to.

  “No,” said a young black woman as she walked into the gym. She had eyes only for the general and the man he was trying to help. Three other people walked in behind her. One was a tall dark haired man with thick muscles. Another was a short blonde girl, not much older than me, and the last was a middle-aged Asian man with small, round glasses. It was the Asian man who spoke.

  “No, he’s not been bitten. Just shot.”

  Bateman was the last person to enter, and he immediately ordered Chris and his team to close the door securely once more. I had never seen Bateman look so furious.

  “Shut up,” he hissed in the man’s ear as he walked past him. He had his pistol drawn. “You four get against the wall. Garlick, keep them covered.”

  Cries of dismay rang around the hall. Chris brought his rifle up to his shoulder and gestured for the newcomers to move to where Bateman had told them. They raised their hands in surrender and did as they were told.

  “What’s happened?” someone shouted.

  Rogers stood up.

  “It seems our new friends waited until dark to come and say hello,” he said casually. He turned to face the four arrivals. “Your friend is dead. That’s what you get for sneaking up on people.”

  “We didn’t--” the black woman began, taking a step forward. Chris pivoted towards her, and Bateman raised his pistol into her face. She froze.

  “Please! Please?” the Asian man said, the palms of his hands still up in supplication. “We didn’t come at night to sneak up on you. We came as soon as we knew you were humans. We’ve been living in the loft of a house for weeks. When Steve said he’d seen people, we didn’t believe him but now--”

  “Which one of you is Steve?” Rogers asked.

  The four pointed at their dead friend. He was flat on his back with his mouth open. Blood pooled on the floor around him. I could see he’d been peppered with gunfire from his waist to his neck. I hoped Robbie wasn’t witnessing any of this.

  “Oh,” was all the general had to say. “Search them!”

  Chris and three of the other soldiers patted down the four of them and declared them clear of bites and weapons.

  “My name is David,” said the Asian man, his voice breaking, his eyes wet with emotion. “Please don’t send us back out there. Please let us stay!”

  They looked terrified. I had no idea how they could have made it out there for so long, but they had survived. Bateman and Rogers exchanged a long look.

  “You can stay,” Rogers finally said. And then his voice became menacing. “But I’ll be watching you.”

  I had no doubt that he would be.

  27

  The newcomers were obviously upset by the death of their friend, but Davis advised them not to rile the general.

  “You’ve seen what it’s like,” he told them. “You can’t expect to walk out of the darkness like that without a white flag waving high and proud.”

  “We were waving our hands and saying we were human,” Charles, the dark haired man, said aggressively. He was a big lump of a man and his Scottish accent made him seem even angrier than he actually was. “Have you seen how those things act?”

  “We’ve seen them act a lot of ways,” Davis responded. “But if you want to be with us, then let it go. I’m sorry. I’m honestly sorry, but he’ll leave you here in a heartbeat.”

  “But he didn’t even give a warning,” the blonde girl said, exasperated. “He just opened fire.”

  David raised a finger to his lips, asking her to be quiet. He understood that things could easily turn out worse for them and very quickly.

  “You won’t get any trouble from us,” the black woman said. Her name was Carla, and it was in the loft of her house they’d been hiding. Her husband had turned their home into a safe house after the first epidemic, much like Nick had done in Usk, but he’d been caught outside when the zombies struck the city.

  The general was stood up on the main road with Chris Garlick, waiting for one of the motorbike outriders to return with news from the university campus. Bateman and his crew had left an hour earlier to wipe the Romeroes from the front of the science block. There was enough anxiety within our group without the added stress caused by the nature of the arrival of the new people. There was a twitchiness in the air. It was a dangerous enough situation when all of the armed soldiers were watching over us but with half of them gone in the troop transport and on the motorbikes, people were feeling more vulnerable than ever.

  I recognized the whine of my Yamaha R6’s engine as it approached. As one, we crowded together, not wanting to get too close to the general but desperate to know if they’d achieved their goal or had been all but wiped out by the walking dead. Bateman stopped the bike near Rogers, and the decorum amongst the survivors was broken; the group broke rank to crowd around the military leaders as the captain pulled my helmet off his head.

  “All clear, sir,” he reported. “There were thirty Romeroes on the site. There aren’t any more.”

  “And our men?” Rogers queried.

  “No casualties. We were able to take them out without getting out of the vehicle,” Bateman explained. “We disembarked to check the surrounding areas and it looks all clear. I’ve left the men secure in the transport with orders to get the hell out of there of they come under attack, but I’ve seen no sign of any zombies between there and getting back to here.”

  “Any sign of life from inside the building?”

  “There’s a camera above the main door. It was tracking us, so I made it clear that we’d be back with more numbers and advised them to hold their position until we had greater firepower to secure the outside perimeter.”

  “Good, good.” The general raised his voice. “People! You have ten minutes to gather your belongings and get onto the buses. You!” He pointed at the recently arrived quartet. Sheepishly, they made their way over to him. Only Charles met the general’s glare.

  “Do we have an issue?” Rogers asked. Steve had been wrapped in a blanket and dumped behind the gym building.

  “We do not,” Charles said. “We just want to live.”

  “Fair enough. I want two of you on one bus, two on the other. My men will be watching you.”

  “There’s no need. You won’t get any trouble.”

  “I’d better not,” Rogers said casually but with deep menace in his eyes. He looked up at the rest of us, stood watching how things were going to transpire. “The rest of you, the show is over. Let’s move!”

  The journey to the university took just over half an hour. Bateman led the way on my motorbike since he’d already worked out the clearest route through the city center. Charles and the blonde girl, Angela, were directed to our bus, and I made sure Robbie and I sat right behind them. I wanted to find out exactly what had happened the night before.

  “It’s like I said to that soldier, we walked down the drive of the school, waving our arms, showing we were unarmed humans,” Charles told me. “The taller officer stepped out from behind one of your buses and we froze, then the shorter guy appeared and just opened fire on Steve. He’s a complete psychopath!”
>
  “Charles! Be quiet!” Angela snapped. “I can’t go back to that loft. This is our only chance of a proper--”

  “Life?” Charles asked, his face furious. “You think this is going to be any different? Travelling around, sheltering in a different place every night until those things find us?”

  “That’s not what we’re doing,” I told him. His eyebrows rose quizzically. “There’s a train waiting for us at the Channel Tunnel to go to France. An escape route.”

  Angela and Charles swapped a confused look and I was sure I saw Angela shake her head slightly. I guess she, more than Charles, was worried about being ditched by the convoy. As the bus stopped outside the science block, I had a pile of questions to ask them about how they’d survived and what they’d seen, but then Chris Garlick jumped onto our transport.

  “Hawkins!” he called. “General Rogers wants you! Now!”

  I stood up and felt Robbie pull at my sleeve.

  “Will you be okay?” I asked him. “I’m sure I’ll just be a minute.”

  His face told me he wasn’t happy.

  “I’ll sit with him,” Angela said. I didn’t like the idea, but Robbie gave me a short nod.

  “Thanks, I won’t be long.”

  I stepped off the bus and walked towards the huge shutters that were closed over the main entrance to the science block. Rogers and Bateman stood with their backs to me, looking up at the security camera that was pivoted down towards them. Rogers rolled his fingers as he looked up, indicating that the shutters should be lifted up. There was a brief pause and then a click as the internal gears engaged and with a grinding whir, the corrugated metal began to open.

  Rogers turned to face me.

  “You’re coming in with us,” he told me.

  “Why me?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable.

  “Credit where credit is due,” he said. “You’ve given us a great deal of information about the enemy and you’ve never been wrong. Keep your mouth shut until anything these scientists say doesn’t mesh with your understanding of how the zombies behave. Clear?”

  I nodded as the shutters over the front door completed their slow opening and then the inner doors were unlocked and an absolute giant of a man stepped outside. He wore a black uniform, a thick bullet proof vest and heavy boots. He carried a short, snub nosed machine gun. The morning sun gleamed off his shaven head. His face was covered in stubble, and his eyes were narrow and sharp.

  “I’m Sergeant John Redcliffe, police armed response unit. Which one of you is General Rogers?”

  “That’s me,” said Rogers extending his hand.

  “Identification, please sir,” Redcliffe directed. I expected Rogers to explode, but instead he passed his I. D. card to the officer, who inspected it and gave it back.

  “Sorry for the formalities, sir,” he said apologetically. “But we can’t take any risks. I see your men have the area secure.”

  “For now. Let’s make this fast. Are you all ready to go?”

  Redcliffe shrugged. “There’s been a bit of a complication. You’d best come inside.”

  Rogers, Bateman and I stepped in through the double doors into the coolness of the air conditioned lobby. Compared to our living conditions, this place was like a five star hotel. The reception desk was flanked by comfortable looking couches and plastic plants. Fluorescent lights burned brightly from the ceiling. Redcliffe turned the key that lowered the shutters again and then he locked the doors.

  “I can’t take risks,” he explained, and it was clear that both Rogers and Bateman were impressed with his diligence.

  He led us down a labyrinth of corridors. Bateman questioned him as we walked. Rogers’ eyes scoured the facility.

  “This place has its own power supply?”

  “Yes, it was designed to be fully self-sufficient,” Redcliffe responded. “Generator, back-up generator, more food than your whole group would need for a year.”

  “How many of you are here?” Bateman asked.

  “Six in total,” Redcliffe replied. “I was on route to an incident with two of my team members when I was redirected here. The place was deserted except for the scientists. Well almost.”

  “What do you mean almost?” Rogers questioned, suddenly interested in the conversation.

  Redcliffe paused, clearly uncomfortable about answering.

  “Sergeant Redcliffe,” Rogers matter of factly stated. “I hope I don’t have to remind you of the pecking order here. Military general trumps police sergeant.”

  Redcliffe sighed.

  “We don’t need to fight over who has the biggest penis, sir.”

  “Then what did you mean by ‘well almost’?”

  “I mean the scientists have one, sir. A zombie.”

  28

  Redcliffe led us to an elevator and as the cabin descended three levels, Rogers removed his cap and wiped the sweat from his head with his sleeve. This uniform was still splattered with Steve’s blood. It had dried to a deep maroon that looked crusty but he’d made no effort to clean it off. I guessed he wanted to send a message to the rest of the dead man’s friends that he’d kill them too in an instant. I had to doubt that was the case.

  “What the hell are they thinking, keeping one of those things?” he asked.

  No one answered.

  The elevator came to a halt and the door hissed opened. Redcliffe stepped out and into a high tech laboratory. Computer equipment lined the walls and desks with complicated equipment sat in the middle of the room. Another door faced us, a thick looking portal with a keypad entry device, and to the side of the door was a wide observation window. On either side of the door stood two more police officers, armed and dressed the same as Redcliffe.

  “These are my men, Nick Brown and Sam Hart. Sam. Let them know the general is here.”

  The police officer rapped his knuckles on the glass of the door, and within seconds we heard four short beeps ring out and the lock automatically disengaged. It opened slowly inwards, driven by heavy hydraulics. Three people walked out wearing knee length lab coats. There were two women and a short, fat man. When all three were in the lab with us, the man punched numbers on the keypad and the door closed behind them.

  “I’m Doctor Jones,” said the younger of the women. She had shoulder length, ginger hair. She introduced first the older woman and then her male colleague. “This is Doctor Foster and that’s Doctor Jordan. Thank you--”

  “You can dispense with pleasantries, Doctor,” Rogers said, his tone dismissive. “Redcliffe tells me you have one of those creatures down here. Can I ask what in God’s name you think you are doing?”

  “Research,” answered Jordan. “Research to save your life.”

  I felt Rogers bristle.

  “Save my life? I’ve been doing just fine staying alive by keeping those things away from me, not by having them right next to me.”

  “Typical bonehead hard case,” Jordan muttered, and I saw Rogers’ hand move to his sidearm. The police spotted it too and they instinctively lifted their guns.

  Rogers grinned.

  “Now, now, boys,” he chuckled. “Let’s not fall out over some silly little academic. Doctor Jones, I’m guessing you’re in charge here?”

  Jones nodded, her glasses sliding down her nose as she did so.

  “Then keep your boy in check.”

  “Paul,” she said, shooting her colleague a sharp look. “Please?”

  Jordan shrugged, his lips pulled back in a sneer as he turned his back on us and logged onto one of the computers.

  “I’ll ask again. What do you think you’re doing keeping one of the undead down here when. From I’ve heard, you’ve already found a way to wipe them out?”

  Doctor Jones pointed at the observation window.

  “I think it’s best of you take a look.”

  I followed Rogers and Bateman over to the glass and looked into the second laboratory. This room was empty but for a hospital gurney and a single desk with a computer on it. Cables ran be
tween the computer and the gurney, and strapped to the metal table was a naked male zombie. Its wrists and ankles were shackled with two inch think leather restrains. A further belt held its emaciated waist down. The wires from the computer ended in red suction pads that were stuck onto the zombie’s wasted torso, its skin a bluish hue.

  “As you can see, it’s of no threat to anyone,” Jones explained. “We know what we are doing, General. This one is Subject 32 JB.”

  The zombie turned its head towards us, even though I doubted that it could hear us through the thick glass. On seeing us, its eyes widened and the sinewy muscles of its shoulders and chest tightened and strained, and it tried to lunge towards us. The wheels of the gurney moved one inch, then two and finally stopped as the undead specimen became still. Only its jaw continued to work up and down, snapping its perfectly white teeth together as its grey eyes surveyed us.

  I felt like I was torn from the laboratory and deposited back to the shed at the bottom of my garden. Instead of seeing Subject 32 JB tied down on a gurney, I saw my brother, Danny, secured to the rafters of the wooden building, trying his damned best to tell me that enough was enough, that is was his time to die. Once Danny had been tied tight, I’d never felt threatened by him. Especially after I’d used the end of the shovel to dislocate his jaw. It was the same shovel I’d used to dig his grave. But before I’d plunged it into the soil I’d driven it into his mouth and eased his mandible out of its socket with a sickening little popping sound, and then all he could do was swallow but he could never chew. Never bite.

  “Why haven’t you secured his mouth?” I asked before I knew the words were even going to come out of my mouth.

  Doctor Foster turned to me.

  “We have taken samples from every part of their bodies, looking for some sort of insight into why they become what they become. We’ve taken blood, we’ve taken urine but it’s their saliva that has told us more about them than anything else. No surprise really, given the infection is spread through bites.”

  She turned around and beckoned that we follow her. We crossed the room to where an anatomical diagram of the brain had been taped to the wall. She tapped a small almond shaped area near the center of the brain that had been shaded red.