by Aline Riva
Isolation Z: Book 1
DEAD SEA
By Aline Riva and Nathan D Ward
Isolation Z Book 1: Dead Sea by Aline Riva and Nathan Ward
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
A Kindle Original 2018
Copyright © Aline Riva and Nathan Ward 2018
Cover Design Copyright © Nathan David Ward 2018
The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved. No part of this publication be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Isolation Z: Book 1
DEAD SEA
Chapter 1
The gas and oil rig known as Haven -117 was twenty years old, sat out in the North Sea and had once housed fifty-five workers and been in constant use. But that had been before everything had changed forever, with life as it used to be wiped out in what seemed like a series of news reports, then an emergency broadcast, then that too had gone off air. Now the TV only showed static. Wi-Fi was down, too. Haven-117 had been abandoned, drilling had ceased and the machinery shut down and now the platform was silent and the salt air blew softly over calm seas.
Fifty year old Hayley Crawford was alone on the rig. She had refused to leave when the others had taken flights back to the mainland, hoping to get there in time to save those they loved. Hayley had decided to wait it out. After the broadcasts stopped and the screen turned to static, she knew there would be no point in going back. She had no one to go back for after the deaths of her elderly parents and a failed and childless marriage in her past. She had worked the rigs for eighteen years. Now the platform felt like home more than ever, as she stood there in her boots and blue work uniform, looking to the view of nothing beyond but sea meeting sky. It was a sunlit day but its peaceful beauty did nothing to make her forget the truth. She looked to the horizon as she recalled the events that had changed the world:
News reports of a chemical spill that had infected a water supply. A whole town was dying. Then suddenly, they were not dying but returning. They came back, pale and jerking in their movements, attacking the living. But it was contained, there was no need to panic... that was the story.
Later, as footage emerged of the stumbling dead lunging at screaming victims, images blurred as cameras and reporters fled the carnage, blood spilling on to the lens as the screens ran with it and the crazed creatures shrieked and snarled, their mouths darkened by blood.
But it was contained. That was what they kept on saying. Then news had broken that bites from the infected dead were contagious. Two weeks later, when it was too late, it emerged that the virus first transferred by contaminated water was unknown, incurable and slept silently in the body for up to five days before symptoms began to show. By then people had fled the country, some with bites...it had gone global.
The dead had taken over in three months...
The breeze picked up and the sea roughened a little, the sound of it reminded Hayley she was alone as the wind blew through her short, fair hair. Sometimes the loneliness was hard to live with – it had been six weeks since the others had left. Everyone was supposed to go but no one had bothered to check for those left behind. At the end, it had been a scramble for the flights to get out and get back, hoping life was still there and waiting back home. She was sure it was better to be lonely than dead, or worse, infected by one of those rotting corpses. She didn't want to die that way. This place had water, heating, light and food. If loneliness was the price to pay for surviving, she could accept that and hope she didn't go mad for it. But company – it was a thought that she clung to, even if it was something she feared dwelling on for too long.
Hayley turned away from the view of empty, open waters and headed back inside. Maybe one day a ship would come, then she wouldn't be alone out here. One day but clearly, not today...
Far off on the Scottish coastline, a helicopter swooped away from the land and headed out to sea. The black luxury Agusta A109S Grand was eleven years old and kept usually for leisure flights and the occasional business trip - but not today, as it left the mainland behind, headed out over the vast open water and the sunlight caught on gleaming black bodywork now marred by bullet holes that peppered its side.
The pilot turned around, in that moment her usually youthful and pretty face was creased into a troubled frown as anger brewed in her green eyes.
“In all the years I've flown for you, I've never been shot at! What the hell is going on, Greg?”
He looked at her, shook his head then looked down at the floor. She turned back to the controls and fixed her gaze at the open waters as her temper rose with his lack of response.
“What makes you think it will be any better in Europe? The whole world's turned to shit!”
Behind the pilots area, the leather seating could have taken six but only two men were on board, they sat on opposite sides, trying not to make eye contact. They had once been close friends – until moments before the flight that had taken them out of Britain and up the Scottish coast, each time they had flown low enough to see the ground, chaos had filled the streets, either the dead roaming free or the living fleeing in terror. There were fires, there was smoke, it was like a war zone. And the bullets that hit the helicopter had not come about due to their flight... it had happened before they left, after Greg Fitzroy had stopped off at the warehouse and opened up some crates.
Now he couldn't look Marc in the eye, he had already seen the shock and disgust on his face as he had watched him packing bag after bag of cocaine into two large suitcases that now sat stowed away behind the seating area.
He finally pulled up enough courage to look at Marc Delaney, his best friend since secondary school, the man who had worked for twenty years as his bodyguard as he had enjoyed a lavish millionaire lifestyle thanks to his import business... They were both in their forties now. Life had not always been easy, now seemed like a time for best friends to stand together like brothers, but after what he had seen, everything had changed...
Marc sat there, toned and broad shouldered in his black suit, his raven hair neatly combed. If not for the splash of blood on his partly open shirt, he wouldn't have looked as if there had been trouble on the way to the helipad. It had not come from the undead, it had been from the living – specifically men sent by a guy named Zackary, who knew he had not made the delivery. He had guessed now the shit had hit the fan Greg would run off with the stash – in times like this, valuables would make good currency and drugs was a currency that would always speak volumes... Marc's dark eyes were sharp and penetrating as he fixed him with an accusing look.
“Twenty years,” he said in a low voice, “All that time I worked for you, thinking you needed protection because your business made so much money! I should have known there was more to it than furniture! You must have been laughing at me, believing your lies while you paid me out of the misery of others! How many people have died for you to live off your blood money?”
His words cut deep. Then as Marc ran his hand through his hair and looked away, Greg caught sight of the surgical scar usually hidden by his hair. It felt like a cheap shot, but he was hurting too. Marc had just looked at him like he wanted to kill him.
“My blood money looked after you when you had the tumour,” he reminded him, “No one died that day. My money saved your life six years ago!”
Marc looked at him sharply. It was dangerous to have this much anger running through his blood when he carried
a loaded gun, with the dead rising up and attacking the living and then being shot at on the way to catch the flight, after finding out his closest friend was a drug dealer, it felt like the last thing he needed to tip him over the edge. It would have been so easy to pull his gun from its holster and fire. But instead he looked at the man sat opposite, he was tall and slim and wearing an expensive grey pinstripe designer suit, but he had tears in his eyes. He wasn't sure as Greg blinked them away if it was out of remorse or self pity, but his hands shook as he covered his face, then he raked his fingers through his deep brown hair, then blinked away more tears.
“Please don't hate me!” Greg said desperately as he started to break down.
Marc shook his head and looked away.
“You're like a brother to me!” Greg's voice was tearful now, “You're all I've got... my best friend... please look at me!”
But Marc kept his gaze fixed on the window, watching as the flight took them over open water, saying nothing.
Far out at sea, on calm waters that left no trace behind of the storm two nights before, a small, battered yacht drifted, listing as the vessel slowly took in water. On board and in the cabin, a young woman with long, straight blonde hair sat at a table, sinking her third whiskey as she tried to steady her nerves.
“Don't do this,” said her sister as she came down the stairway and fixed her with a look that said she would have more strength than her forever, no matter if forever wasn't for much longer.
Vicki Harper shivered as she drank some more, it was summer and the sun was high and the breeze was gentle but she couldn't get warm. She put the glass down and her hand shook as she looked down at her pink vest, then picked at the strap. The boat was swaying and she felt it more since the water had started to come in below decks...or maybe it was the booze. But even that wasn't blocking the memory of the night of the storm and her father being washed overboard and her mother reaching for him and a wave dashing her away forever...
“Mum and Dad said we'd be safe, they said if we sailed with them nothing bad would happen...” she swallowed more booze and it went down her throat like fire, “And now what? They're dead and we're sinking...”
Amy watched her younger sister get drunk as her heart sank. Her and Vicki had always been opposite, right down to their appearance, she was shorter with shoulder length brown hair and ten years older than Vicki at thirty two. They had always been polar opposites right down to personality and coping in a crisis and it never showed more than it did now. A thought suddenly hit her and it filled her with the same horror that had played through her mind every time she thought about the loss of their parents, it was cold and icy and filled her with dread:
I don't think my sister will get through this...
Just then, right at the moment the ship listed a little more and she felt vaguely sick, Vicki looked up from the empty glass on the able, jerking her head sharply as her eyes widened in fear.
“I don't want to drown!”
“I won't let you drown,” she reminded her, “and we're not taking a lot of water.. we could reach land soon...I wish I'd learned to sail. I really wish I'd learned before everything went bad back at home...”
Tears stung her eyes and Amy looked away, through a port hole and to the open water as she pulled back on the urge to cry. If she gave up now her sister would lose the last of her will to live. It had been bad before the storm that had taken their parents, food was running low...The idea of sailing off to find a safe place had not gone to plan. They were miles off course now and she didn't know where the storm had left them. She didn't know how to sail, either...
Then she saw it and blinked, turning to the window as she wondered if it was a trick of her mind, wishful thinking perhaps... but no, it was there:
A fishing boat was bobbing towards them carried on the tide, the two vessels were on course to graze past one another very soon and the fishing boat looked undamaged...
“Vicki,” she said, “Get up, I've found a way out of here!”
As the boat drifted closer, the two women stood on deck and watched it nearing, the vessel looked in good shape, it was gleaming white and looked expensive. She hoped this would also mean perhaps it had been carried far out from shore with a stocked kitchen too... If she could get the engine started, maybe it would be easy to steer, perhaps easier than the yacht. Either way, it wasn't sinking and that gave her hope.
The tide coasted it closer.
“Hello!” she called out, waving with both arms, but no one emerged from below decks.
“Maybe there's no one on board,” Vicki said as she shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun and watched as they neared its side, “Maybe it was cut adrift by the storm, it could have been carried for miles...”
“And it looks in good shape!”
As it loomed closer, Amy grabbed her hand.
“Jump with me.”
Vicki shot her a horrified glance.
“Just do it when I say...”
“No way...”
The two ships touched, grazing as they bumped together. Amy didn't wait for the lurch as the listing yacht bobbed back, instead she jumped, heard a scream behind her then landed on the deck of the other vessel as her sister tumbled after her, she let go of her hand as Vicki rolled on the deck, then as she got to her feet she turned her head to see the listing yacht carried away as they bobbed on slowly behind and the fishing vessel stayed afloat and upright. The deck was dry.
“No damage here,” Amy said with confidence as she looked about the quiet vessel.
Vicki had picked herself up and as she stood there a little confidence flowed back helped by the booze and the fact that they were no longer on a boat that was taking in water.
“Hello?” Amy called, looking about the deck, but the only sound she heard in reply was the wash of the sea as calm waters ripped under a July sun that was high in the blue sky above.
She turned for the cabin and went inside, the keys to the engine were in the ignition and turned to Off. As her sister joined her she turned to her and smiled, filled with new found optimism.
“We're going to go below deck and find the kitchen, have some food and then I'm starting this engine... I don't know know which way to head and WI-FI isn't an option but we'll do this for Mum and Dad. We will get through this!”
Vicki nodded and suddenly that empty look of despair was gone from her eyes.
“We'll do it for them,” she agreed, and then they left the cabin and went down the stairs together in search of the kitchen.
“Wow this place has everything!” Vicki said as she saw the magazines on the table and the DVDs on the shelf, there was a stereo and a TV and coffee cups left beside a kettle with jars of tea, coffee and powdered milk. One of the cups had a dirty brown ring at the bottom and a coat of fur growing over it.
“Look at that,”Amy said.
Vicki shrugged.
“So someone didn't wash up... look at this place, it's been left for a while...” she ran her finger along the smooth surface of the table and made a trail through a thin later of dust, “I reckon this boat came loose from its mooring, drifted out...they must have some canned food in the kitchen.”
The boat rode a small wave and a door creaked ajar.
“That must be the kitchen,” Amy said, and walked over and pulled the door wide. It led to a narrow hallway where other doors led off. Blood was dried dark and thick up the wall in a splatter and flies buzzed about the stench.
“Oh shit!”
She staggered back, coughed and gagged. Vicki gave a gasp, her hands flew to her open mouth to stifle a scream as her eyes went wide at the sight of the bloody wall.
“Watch out!”
As Amy screamed those words, Vicki turned to see a large figure in a boiler suit standing in front of her. His skin was dead white, his lips were black and one eyeball hung on a sunken cheek as he bared his teeth and lunged.
Vicki was screaming and struggling as he grabbed her, he had her by the hair, tr
ying to tug her head to one side as he opened his mouth and snarled.
Amy looked about the room, saw a fire extinguisher and reached for it, moving in blur as she smashed it on the head of the undead creature, caving in one side of its skull as bone and brain matter stuck to the weapon and it staggered back. She grabbed her sister's arm and pulled her free, as she screamed and something ripped and then they were gone out the door and on to the upper deck. The undead man looked down at the bunch of long blonde hair he held in his fist, the ends of it trailing blood, then he snarled, dashed it aside and made for the stairway, as brain matter ran down dead flesh and dripped to his boiler suit.
Vicki was pale and bleeding. As the breeze blew back her hair exposing a large patch of bloody scalp, her sister gave her a shake, feeling sure she would pass out.
“You're okay!”
“But that thing...”
“I can handle that thing!”
She looked about the deck, saw a hatch open and a wrench beside it and snatched up the wrench, as the undead creature staggered on to the deck she heard Vicki give a frightened yell and she raised the wrench.
Then another low snarl came from behind.
“NO!” Vicki yelled as a second figure emerged, this was also male, undead and deathly pale with lifeless, watery eyes that were almost white, and its throat was torn out. It fixed its gaze on the two women and sniffed the air keenly and opened its mouth wide, roaring as it advanced and up ahead, the other creature with the caved in head staggered closer.
Vicki slammed up tight against her sister, shaking and sobbing as blood ran down her face.
Amy held the wrench so tight her knuckles were bloodless as adrenaline fired up.
“I won't let them take us!” she vowed.
