Ravage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel

by Iain Rob Wright

  “Is there a phone in here?” Charlotte asked. “I want to try and call my mom. The one in the hotel room didn’t get a dial tone.”

  “There’s no phone,” Shawcross told her. “But there’s something even more important.” He headed over to the cabinet beside the pool table and swept aside the empty crisp packet. He plucked up a TV remote that had been hiding underneath it. The old-fashioned CRT screen, fixed to one of the room’s corners by brackets, flickered to life as Shawcross pointed the remote at it and pressed a button.

  The picture was dim for a moment, but slowly faded in. The news came on, loud and blaring.

  Mike moved up besides Annaliese, a chocolate bar half-raised to his mouth. “Holy cow,” he said before taking a bite. His face wore an expression of utter shock as he chewed robotically.

  Annaliese watched the news report with utter horror. Banners at both the bottom and top of the screen read, NATIONAL EMERGENCY. The anchor-man providing the report looked mortified; not at all like the unflappable journalists the BBC usually placed in front of their cameras.

  “We are getting word from France that Paris has now been declared a quarantine zone. Armed forces are forming a perimeter around the city and are preventing anybody from leaving. There are suggestions from local sources that the UK Government is preparing similar measures for London and other major cities.”

  Shawcross was shaking his head. “This cannot be.”

  “We take you now to scenes outside Westminster, where an emergency government assembly is holding crisis meetings.”

  The newsfeed switched to a camera on location. It showed the full scope of the nightmare they were now living in. There was total silence in the staffroom as they all realised just how much trouble they were in.

  The camera feed was from a helicopter a hundred feet above the Thames. The lens was focused on the spiny structure of the Houses of Parliament. Unbelievably, the face of Big Ben was dented and scorched as if some airborne vehicle – perhaps another helicopter – had collided with it.

  Gathered in the thousands, laying siege to the parliament buildings, were ranks and ranks of infected people. It was obvious that the mob was infected because of their animal-like movements and the collective pitch of their screams. They covered the streets of Westminster like the legions of Hell.

  The camera-feed cut back to the studio and the anchor-man continued reporting. “The Prime Minister, as well as the leader of the opposition, is currently under siege, but he has assured us, through sporadic communications, that the Government is working hard on a solution. Armed forces have been deployed nationwide and all military personnel stationed abroad have been recalled with immediate effect. However, with allied nations also under attack, it remains to be seen whether or not our servicemen will make it home safely.”

  Shawcross collapsed backwards, but managed to save himself by putting his hands against the pool table. He had gone deathly pale and seemed ready to throw up.

  Annaliese rubbed the back of his neck. “Take deep breaths.”

  “Again, these scenes are real. They are happening now. Most of you will have already encountered this devastating attack on our nation, which seems to have emanated from the Southern coastline. We have seen our loved ones, our neighbours, our teachers, our doctors, and even our police officers succumb to this deadly sickness that has sprung upon us overnight. But, if there are people out there still unaware, particularly in the North where the virus is still partially contained, then we urge you to remain indoors. Construct whatever barricades you can to keep your property secure and defend yourselves in whatever way you can. Armed forces are working urgently to regain control of the situation, but the death toll is already in the hundreds of thousands and the number of infected, well… The number of infected has become countless. Great Britain, and perhaps the world, has come under attack by the greatest threat of its history. It is what some religiou groups are calling ‘The End of Days’. We ask you to pray for one another and to remain strong in the way that the people of this great nation always have. Ration your food, defend yourselves, and wait for help to arrive. In the meantime…” the news reporter stared into the camera with tears brimming in his eyes. “God be with us all.”

  The program switched to more scenes of devastation; some were from other countries. The Eiffel tower burned as thousands of writhing bodies moved down the Champs Elysees. German forces flattened the streets of Munich with their mighty tanks. Pictures from the American countryside showed roving bands of militia fighting side by side with Marines. The various scenes made one thing clear: the battle was gradually being lost. The number of infected people in the video footage were countless. Their relentless pursuit of survivors was abundantly clear.

  Mankind was being exterminated.

  By itself.

  Charlotte began freaking out. Clark tried to get a hold of her, but she pushed him away. “I need to find a phone. I need to call my parents. They’ll be worrying about me. What if they’re in danger?”

  “Calm down, sweetie,” Annaliese told her, but the girl wasn’t listening. She was in a full-blown panic.

  Charlotte ran towards the door they had come in through and yanked it open. “I need to get out of here. I need… I need-”

  The bald and bearded man was on Charlotte immediately, having been standing the other side of the door when she opened it. Before she even had chance to cry out, the man was tearing apart her neck and opening up her veins.

  “It’s Tom,” Shawcross yelled. “The night watchman.”

  Tom threw Charlotte’s limp and bleeding body to the ground and snarled. He turned his focus to the others in the room and headed for Clark first. The young lad quickly leapt behind the pool table. Tom readjusted his focus and stalked after Shawcross instead.

  “Get back,” Shawcross shouted as he swung the thick branch he’d brought from the reptile house. He struck Tom on his bald head and sent the rotund man backwards.

  But Tom would not be deterred. Blood dripping down his chin and staining his greying beard, he snarled at Shawcross and kept coming.

  Annaliese could see that Shawcross’s feeble attacks with the branch were not working. She looked around for something better and grabbed one of the pool cues from the table. She held it upside down so that the thick end was furthest away from her. Then she ran up to Tom and took a shot.

  The pool cue snapped as it fractured the man’s skull with an audible crack! The blow would have put a normal human in the hospital, but all it did to Tom was disorientate him. Annaliese had expected the pool cue to break and she readjusted her grip on it. Wielding it like a makeshift dagger, she thrust the cue forward, ramming the tip into Tom’s temple. She cringed as the man’s soft cranium give way.

  This is getting way too easy.

  Tom fell to the floor with the broken pool cue jutting out the side of his head. Annaliese wiped the blood from the back of her hand onto her shirt. It was cold, not warm like fresh human blood should be.

  “Charlotte!” Clark ran across the room and sprawled down beside his already dead girlfriend. “Oh, shit, Charlotte. Don’t worry, babe, we’ll get help.”

  Mike moved up to the lad and pulled him back to his feet. “She’s dead. I’m sorry.”

  Clark shook his head. He seemed to partially accept it, but took on a blank stare that seemed worryingly close to traumatic shock. Annaliese went over and took the lad by his hand and led him over to the room’s sofa.

  “Just take a seat, Clark,” she said to him, “and someone will fetch you a drink.” She nodded to Mike, who took the hint and headed over to the vending machines.

  Shawcross busied himself by dragging Mick’s body along the carpet and then kicking and rolling him through the door back out into the corridor.

  “Is there likely to be anybody else hiding in this building?” Annaliese asked him.

  Shawcross looked around at her and straightened up. “I…don’t know. I would suppose not. Tom was the night guard, but as far as I k
now he’s the only one that works during the AM. And Bradley, of course, when needed.”

  Annaliese sighed. Both now dead. Is this place really so safe?

  Mike returned with a bottle of water and handed it to Clark, who took it with trembling hands. He looked up at Annaliese and then over at Shawcross. “This is so messed up. Charlotte can’t be dead. None of this can be real.”

  Annaliese rubbed his back. “We’re all in this together. It’s not your fault.”

  “We should be safe now,” said Shawcross. “Forgetting about Tom was a lapse in judgement, but there should be no one else. We’re safe, I’m sure of it.”

  Annaliese nodded and then looked around at what was left of their group. “Okay, well in that case, I think it’s about time I finally got to know everybody.”

  “This is Michelle from HR,” said Mike, pointing to a pretty blonde in a blazer and skirt. He then indicated to a skinny man in a tailored short-sleeved shirt. “And this is Greg from Sales.”

  Annaliese nodded to the two of them and both of them nodded back. Then a middle-aged man with a greying moustache stood forward and took the floor. “My name is Alan, but could I just bring something to the group’s attention before we get too relaxed?”

  Annaliese shrugged. “Pleased to meet you, Alan. What is it you want to say?”

  “Well, it’s more of a question, really. What I want to ask,” he turned around and pointed to Charlotte’s dead body, “is what we’re going to do about her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mike’s eyes suddenly went wide. “He means she’s going to come back.”

  Annaliese realised it was true. Based on what they had seen, Charlotte was going to come back.

  And then she’ll try to eat us.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “How should we do it?” Mike asked as he stared down at Charlotte’s body. Her neck had stopped bleeding and her flesh was starting to take on a bluish tinge.

  “Why do we have to do anything to her?” Clark asked, still sitting on the sofa. He was staring into space.

  “We have to,” said Mike. “She’ll get back up as one of them. Believe me, we’ve all seen it. You would have, too, if you’d been with us last night.”

  “I was with Charlotte,” Clark muttered. “And now she’s dead.

  Annaliese shot Mike a worried glance. She didn’t like where Clark’s mental state was heading.

  We need everyone functional and sane if we have any chance of getting through this.

  “Let’s just break another pool cue and ram it in her head,” said Shawcross crassly. “Seemed to do the trick with Tom.”

  “It’s not about doing the trick,” said Annaliese. “It’s about being humane.”

  “There’s nothing humane about any of this,” said Mike. “Maybe Shawcross is right. The pool cue was effective on Tom.”

  Annaliese shrugged her shoulders. “Fine. Should I do it?”

  “I don’t mind,” said Mike. “Do you want me to?”

  Clark leapt up off the sofa. “Listen to you all. You sound like you’re haggling over the last beer in the fridge. You’re about to crack somebody’s skull open; and that somebody was my friend. I should have protected her.”

  “None of this is your fault, Clark,” Annaliese told him again. “Lots of people are dead and none of us are to blame. We didn’t do this.”

  Clark stood beside the pool table and picked up the remaining cue. He rolled the length of wood in his hands, examining it intently.

  “What are you doing?” Mike asked him.

  Clark smashed the cue over the edge of the table, making the rest of the group flinch. The thick end went hurtling across the room and left a dent in the far wall.

  “Let me do it,” Clark said. “I owe her that much.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” said Annaliese.

  “No offence,” said Clark. “But fuck you. She was my friend. You didn’t even know her.”

  Annaliese nodded and stood aside. Her opinion was that performing such a deed could make Clark’s emotional condition worse, but there was also a chance it could bring him closure. You never could tell when it came to people’s minds. They fractured in different ways.

  Clark knelt down beside Charlotte and placed the jagged cue against her forehead.

  “Turn her head to the side,” Annaliese told him. “The temple is softer. It’ll be…cleaner.”

  Clark did as she suggested and turned Charlotte’s head sideways. The wound on her neck opened up wider and a fine spray of blood released itself. Clark didn’t seem to notice. He raised the cue high above his head.

  Everyone in the room turned away, not wishing to see the grizzly deed performed so clinically and yet so brutally at the same time. Annaliese made herself watch, though. She didn’t want to ignore the things that were happening all around her. She needed to retain her humanity. The best way to do that was to witness and absorb it all; not turn away. Charlotte seemed like a sweet girl, and now her boyfriend was about to stab her through the skull.

  The cue in Clark’s hands trembled for a second.

  Then he did it. He brought the spike down hard and pierced through Charlotte’s skull. Annaliese was glad the lad didn’t have to give it a second go. It would have gotten messy.

  She went up to him and placed a hand on his back. His whole body trembled as sobs began to take over him. He was covered in his girlfriend’s blood.

  After a little while, they all decided to leave him alone with his grief. The remainder of the group gathered over in the far corner of the room, over by the television.

  “So what’s our next move?” asked Alan, twiddling with his moustache and looking grim.

  Annaliese looked at the older man and shook her head. “I have no clue. Does anybody have a suggestion?”

  Faces were blank, shoulders shrugged.

  “Then I suggest we just keep our heads down here for a while. Once we’ve rested up, maybe things will be a little clearer. We can find a phone and keep the TV on. I’m sure we’ll know more soon.”

  To her surprise, even Shawcross was nodding his head and agreeing with her. It was clear that everyone was exhausted, and that none of them had slept for ages. Right now, all anybody really cared about was getting off their feet and maybe catching some shuteye. Sleep would probably feel impossible at first, but Annaliese knew how easily it would come once everyone closed their eyes.

  Shock is the body’s way of protecting itself from trauma, and right now what everyone needs is sleep.

  Alan cleared his throat. “I would like to make sure that this place is really safe, before we all settle in for the long haul. We should check out the rest of the building.”

  “I agree,” said Mike. “We also need to move Tom and Charlotte somewhere else. We can’t have them so close by.”

  Annaliese nodded. “You’re right, it’s a health hazard.

  “I’ll organise everybody,” Shawcross said, running a hand through his slick ginger hair. “Things will go more smoothly if we split into groups.”

  She shrugged. “Fair enough. I’ll help Clark with Charlotte’s body. Then we should be able to move Tom as well. We’ll place them in the office we came in through. It’s the least safe room for us to be in now, with the window being broken, so it makes sense to use it as storage.”

  “You mean a morgue,” said Mike, shaking his head as though he could not believe it.

  “Call it what you will, but it’s something that has to be done.”

  “Just be careful,” said Mike. “I don’t want to have to put your body in there.”

  Annaliese smiled. His concern was flattering. It had been a while since anybody cared whether she lived or died.

  Funny how it took a biological disaster to find a friend.

  A buzzing sound from the television caused them all to look up. The news reporter from before was back on and this time he looked even more ashen-faced than before.

  “While it has long been
suspected, reports from the World Health Organization have now confirmed that the dead are indeed coming back to life. While the initial infection causes high fever and uncontrollable rage, it is not until the infected are rendered deceased that the true horror of the situation becomes apparent. When an infected person dies, against all the rules of nature, they come back. The reason some of the infected are slower and less ambulatory than others is because they are no longer living. The only way to prevent an infected person coming back, it seems, is to inflict massive head trauma. Damaging the brain is the only confirmed way to dispatch an infected person permanently.

  The reporter stopped for a few seconds, taking a sip of water and gulping loudly. Weariness seemed to hang over the man like a shroud.

  “As I report these words to you, it may all seem like some kind of sick joke, but the reports are real. This is happening. If you have loved ones with you, enjoy them while you can. If you have a safe place to go, then I suggest you go there. This very well might be the end as we know it. Do whatever you have to do to survive.” The reporter placed a finger to his ear, as if getting a message from an earpiece. “I’m about to be cut off, folks, for saying things that I shouldn’t have. It doesn’t really matter, anyway, because we’re about to go off air with immediate effect. An emergency message will be left to play, but there will be nobody here broadcasting. Reports have come in that small enclaves of military, police and civilian resistance are gaining footholds in certain areas north of Sheffield and that rescue might still be a possibility for some of you, but, for the most part, rescue will not be forthcoming. I hope that some of us make it through this. My name is Ben Hutchinson and this is-”

  The feed went dead, replaced by a placeholder image and a beeping tone. The words on the screen simply read: STATE OF EMERGENCY. FURTHER NEWS TO FOLLOW. STAY TUNED.

  “Is anybody else getting the impression that this isn’t going to just blow over?” Mike asked.

  Annaliese stared at the television screen and held her breath. Then she made a statement that she couldn’t believe was coming out of her mouth. “I think this might be the end of the world.”