Parasite ; Sleeper Cells ; Kingdoms of the Dead

by Ian Woodhead

  “Stop it, you perverted monster,” he muttered, smiling to himself. “You’re supposed to be an academic, a man who can put aside his base primitive feelings.”

  The real reason why he’d like some time alone with that delectable creature would have been to try to use her influence to get that pig-headed husband of hers to remove all the red tape currently stopping his own pet project from seeing the light of day.

  He turned around when the muffled sound of raised voices reached his ears. Tony wandered over to the kitchen window and pressed his face against the cold glass, grinning at the sight of four constables struggling with a fully laden cart. By the looks of it, the axle on the cart was buckled, probably due to all the weight. The lads were having problems dragging the thing closer to the huge steel gates of the recycling complex.

  None of the idiots had thought about unloading the bodies of the captured strays and carrying them over to the entrance. He couldn’t see exactly how many bodies were under the improvised tent fabric, but it couldn’t be more than six. It would only take them a couple of trips.

  Tony sighed deeply. Listen to him, actually believing that those poor kids had any degree of reasoned thoughts left in their damaged minds. Most of them had still been in school when the outbreak almost destroyed the world. The fact that they were able to almost function as humans was a bloody miracle. He heard more shouts coming from further down the street, and groaned at the sight of three border guards making their way to the gates as well. They too were bringing in a cartful of bodies. By the looks of it, the border guards had been busy.

  Both groups served a valuable purpose. The constables stopped the infected masses that refused treatment from the medi-centers, and the guards killed anything moving that ventured anywhere near the capital’s walled boundaries.

  For the first time in weeks, Tony saw that the gates were not manned. This confrontation could get ugly. There was no love lost between the two groups; despite them both performing similar roles, they both believed that their group had more prestige than the other. It was a strange belief, considering most people in Tony’s circle of friends didn’t even notice any of them.

  “Honey, are you ready? I don’t want you to be late.”

  “I’m coming!” he yelled back. Tony picked up his lunchbox, padded out of the kitchen and hurried over to Ellen. “Ready.” He interlocked his fingers with hers and opened the front door.

  As he ushered her out, Tony heard the sound of a single gunshot echo from outside the kitchen window, and distantly wondered who had shot whom. His money was on the gate keepers rushing back from wherever they had been hiding in order to control the situation.

  “Do you know when you’ll be home, Tony?”

  He shook his head. “Not today, honey. Joseph says he has something of utmost importance to discuss with me. He refused to part with more information; he’s probably decided to move the entire department into the new building on the other side of the capital.” It felt a little odd to be thinking of such a banal subject, considering there was a high percentage that a human being had just been shot down directly outside his apartment. It felt weirder to even be thinking about the event. After what had happened to their species, a simple death was just a drop in the ocean to what they had all lived through.

  “Are you sure you’re alright? You look a little pale.”

  He turned his head, distracted. “Sure, I’m okay. I’m just a little tired, that’s all. I guess I overdid it in the new VR simulator.” As they approached the hallway attendant, waiting to let them out into the main building, Tony asked himself the same question.

  “A pleasant morning to the pair of you!”

  He smiled back at the uniformed gentleman who stood by the mesh partition separating the North habitat block from the rest of the building. Patrick Dawson took his job very seriously. His only role in life was to ensure that nobody passing through his gate showed dangerous levels of infection in their blood. It sounded like a very important vocation until you considered there were thousands of old men performing the same role in every large building in the city. Their job was largely superfluous, as every building was equipped with electronic scanners built into the main entrances.

  “I’m really sorry to ask you to do this,” Patrick said, dropping his voice. The man picked up his scanner and waved it up and down Ellen’s body. When the device emitted a gentle beep, Patrick opened the gate. His demeanor totally changed when the device sounded a shrill alarm when the man waved it down Tony’s body.

  For the first time since the old man had started working in the building, Tony felt a tingle of unease towards the attendant. The feeling increased when the man unholstered his pistol.

  “Honey, you really are a silly sausage,” chuckled his wife. “You’re forgotten to take your medication.” She opened her purse and pulled out a small foil strip. “Here you go, you can have my spares. I’ll pick some more up later today,” she said, pushing the strip through the gap in the mesh. “You’d better get these swallowed before our attendant blows off your sexy little head.”

  He snatched them up and dry swallowed them, trying not to shake. When the man waved the wand over him this time, the device didn’t report any ambiguities. Patrick smiled and passed him through. “Looks like everything is fine now, sir,” he said, smiling. “I hope you enjoy your day.”

  Tony managed to nod before his wife grabbed his hand.

  “You should be a little more careful, you know.”

  His shakes were getting worse. He hadn’t forgotten to take his pills, he would never do that. He of all people knew the consequences of not keeping up with the treatment. Tony’s stomach lurched to one side, hoping that this incident was a one-off episode, affecting him and nobody else.

  Chapter Three

  Mortimer Crompton lifted his forefinger, then raised the rest of his digits in quick succession. Each finger revealed a crescent-shaped puncture, already filling with thick, dark blood.

  “That is just awesome,” he murmured, watching hypnotized as his blood dripped down the palm of his hand. His body even registered the pain when he clenched his hand back into a fist and opened it again.

  He padded over to the break in the floorboards and leaned over, watching the nine dead things shuffle about in the remains of a dining room. They had still not worked out that the huge table in the middle of the floor was the reason why none of them could reach the stairway. He grinned. They reminded him of human-shaped balls in a pinball machine, bouncing off each other.

  The amusement factor was the only thing delaying Mortimer from finishing off his mission. He crouched down and picked up a dented tin can. Considering there was nothing else up here, apart from the skeletal remains of a metal bed and a lamp stand leaning against the corner, this would have to suffice. Mortimer squeezed his hand a few more times, wincing as the pain increased. He then grinned even wider, still not getting over the fact that he could actually feel the discomfort.

  Mortimer held the wounds over the lip of the can, watching his life fluid drip into the bottom. He knew that he wasn’t going to get much, but the volume should be enough for what he had planned.

  He wandered over to the large window and leaned out. The footsteps were still there, embedded in the soft dirt. Just two prints that stopped suddenly. They had not continued because the man leaving those prints had simply vanished. While Mortimer was watching, trying to understand how this would work into his plans, the guy, who was being chased by a group of the dead, just ceased to be.

  That didn’t make any sense; how could anyone just vanish into thin air? Mortimer didn’t doubt his eyes. The fact that the mysterious man’s pursuers were under his feet was proof of that.

  The dead things hadn’t sensed him, at least not yet. He didn’t have to turn around to know that his crossbow was looking at Mortimer with eyes of desire, his baby just begging him to allow its smooth bolts to push through their dead flesh. If only he could allow his weapon to get her way. Mortimer
took his eyes off the paradoxical footprints and gazed out towards the dead city. There were none of them in visual range, but that meant nothing. They were there, thousands of them, all waiting for the tell-tale sounds of prey entering their domain. The dead waited, staying more motionless than any spider, until another unwary human wandered into the city.

  The things below him were not going to leave. As soon as their slow minds realized that their food had slipped through their rotten hands, all the things would just slump where they stood. He’d be trapped up here.

  Mortimer sloshed his blood around the tin, knowing that he didn’t have that long before it started to congeal. He needed to use the stuff way before that happened. He spat in the tin a few times before snatching up his crossbow. It was time to go.

  The things below him had already begun to slow down; it was now or never. Mortimer walked back over to the gap in the floorboards and held the tin over the edge. He had to get this dead on. Three of the things passed directly below him. He quickly tipped the container, watching his blood fall onto the top of one of their heads. The reaction from the others was immediate and shocking. They all lunged forward, each one trying to get to the dead thing that had Mortimer’s blood dripping down the side of its face.

  It took him just seconds to take them all out. None of them made a single sound; even the bloodied zombie fell over without any noise. He nodded to himself and hurried down the stairs, eager to get out of this hellhole. Mortimer pushed the door open and collected his bolts before leaving the house.

  That had been a very close call. If any of them had known he was there, the moans would have attracted the rest of them. Within a few minutes, the building would have been surrounded with every escape path cut off. He wiped the gunk off his bolts and placed them back in his quiver. Mortimer passed the footprints without a second glance. There was enough to worry about without allowing unexplainable events to distract him. Right now, he needed to get back to base. His people were waiting for him. He’d been gone long enough already.

  Mortimer stopped by the rusted hulk of an SUV and scanned the landscape. The edge of the city was only a few yards from here; once past the border, he doubted any of the things in here would follow him out. The only setback to that plan was that there was nothing alive ‘out there’—no cows, rabbits, deer, or even pigs. The area truly was a dead zone.

  Desperation had brought Mortimer in here, the promise of a few tins of meat, vegetables, and fruit. He didn’t need a lot, just enough to keep them going for the next couple of days. He flattened his back against the side of the van when he spotted movement to the left of him. He notched one of his bolts and crouched down. A small mongrel dog ventured out from behind a fallen roof beam and crossed the street, heading for the building that Mortimer had just left.

  This was unprecedented. He hadn’t seen a dog for over two years. How the hell had it managed to stay alive? The zombies hadn’t just gone for humans; anything that moved had also been on their menu. It seemed that the dead weren’t that fussy where their flesh came from. What shocked him more than the surprise of seeing the dog was that it looked reasonably well fed.

  It must belong to somebody, that was the only explanation. The notion of a human living within the vicinity of thousands of corpses, all so hungry, didn’t seem all that likely. Then again, neither did stumbling across a plump dog. Mortimer told his mind to cease and desist with question time. The reason didn’t matter. Dog or not, that was meat. He took aim, watching the animal stop to lift his leg and piss on the head of one of the zombies that Mortimer had taken out.

  A cry of fury erupted from a building on the other side of the street. Mortimer fired, then cursed as his bolt missed the dog’s head by inches and thudded into the wooden door frame. He jumped to his feet and growled in annoyance at the sight of another dead thing stumbling towards him.

  Christ, it was moving at a quick pace. Before he could even notch another bolt, the zombie was almost on him. Mortimer dropped the crossbow and reached for his knife, intending to bury the hilt into its foul forehead. The thing kept on coming, its dead eyes fixed on him, growling and snarling like a rabid animal.

  “Come on then, you fucker,” he growled back, crouching down and holding his long blade in his left hand. “Let’s make you truly dead.”

  The zombie skidded to a halt and swung its head to the left, towards the dog. It looked to Mortimer like it had decided to go for a meal that wasn’t armed. He straightened his back, watching in astonishment as the dead thing turned and walked over to the animal, completely ignoring the fact that he was just a few meters from it.

  Mortimer had never seen anything like it before. In all the years he’d been killing the things, he’d never seen one of them break off a pursuit to go after something else. The dog wasn’t moving, even its tail had stopped wagging. None of this made any sense to him. His unreal day then hit a high point when the dog padded up to the zombie, sat down and held out its paw. Astonishingly, the dead thing slowly bent over and patted its head.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Mortimer whispered. The zombie turned around and shambled back towards the building with the small dog close behind him. Mortimer’s brain casually informed him that the dead thing was the same one that had initially confronted the other human; its long, straggly white hair was unmistakable.

  He could no longer afford to gape at the pair, nor could he stay here any longer; the sun was now on its downward slide. He had an hour at best before it got too dark to see. Mortimer picked up his crossbow and paused. The white-haired zombie had yet to disappear; it stood on the opposite side of the street waving at him.

  It took him a couple of seconds to focus on the image, as his sight had suddenly gone blurry. His eyelids grew heavy and Mortimer couldn’t stop them from shutting. As soon as the landscape went black, he became aware of a low monotonic noise, which sounded like someone humming.

  Harsh white light filled his vision when he was finally able to open his eyes. He squinted and slapped his hand over his eyes and waited for the shock to recede. When he moved his hand back, he gasped at the sight of a soft-looking, slightly pudgy hand. What the fuck was going on? This wasn’t his hand! Where were the scars and the hard calluses? More than that, though, his skin looked freshly scrubbed.

  “Oh, there you are, Mortimer,” said a strange voice. “I thought you were never going to come out of that silly contraption. You do know that Martin ate your share of our dinner, just thirty minutes ago.”

  His new view was beginning to gain clarity just as his fabricated world and persona faded. “Oh, my heavens,” he whispered. “That was such an intense ride.” He looked up at the wall clock and saw that he’d been under for over two hours. Mortimer then noticed that his brother was still sitting on his hard wooden chair next to the man’s favorite table. He knew from long experience that it was doubtful that Daniel would have moved away from his precious model making during the time that Mortimer had been exploring with his wonderful new toy.

  Mortimer rose from his armchair, removed his visor, and placed it down on the black leather seat. Back before The Turning, Mortimer had considered himself to be a pretty decent gamer. Unlike the rest of his online buddies, he’d always believed that a good storyline combined with responsive controls would always trump superior graphics, at least in his opinion.

  Thinking back to his progress through the landscape in that incredible simulation, he realized that nothing in his experience could hold a candle to the VR world. What blew his mind more than anything was that he’d actually believed he was there, living in that world.

  “Fuck a dead duck,” he said. “Dude, you really need to try this out.” He watched his youngest brother continue to ignore him whilst hunting through the huge multi-colored pile of Lego pieces scattered across the table.

  He looked down at his large legs, silently wishing that the physique that he’d imagined himself with in the simulation had come with him when he’d come out of it.
r />   “Why the fuck did I come back to this?”

  “It wasn’t your choice.” Daniel selected a grey brick, smiled, and clicked it in place. “Martin unplugged you. He said you looked like a big stupid whale. He also said that you were drooling and that he was going to harpoon you.”

  Mortimer fought down the urge to go kick that brown-haired, lanky, weasel-face fuckwit in the balls. Not that it took much persuading. At twenty-seven, Martin was two years senior to the twins. He also had a nasty knack of getting his own back for any trick that either he or Daniel had ever played on him.

  Of course, the simple fact that his older brother would kick the living shit out of Mortimer if he did try a frontal assault also played a small part in stopping him from going after Martin. Yet again, he wished that he had been able to keep the muscular frame of his game persona.

  “If you go ask him nicely, he might give you back the power supply.” Daniel chuckled to himself. “Although he’ll probably ask you to wear a bib before he’ll part with your precious black plastic box of delight.”

  Daniel could fuck off. Mortimer had no interest in anything that he said to him. Why should Mortimer let an almost grown man who still played with Legos bother him?

  “Martin told me yesterday that he was going to set your Legos on fire.” He picked up his crossbow and calmly walked towards the huge ornate door that led out of the communal playroom and into the brothers’ bedroom.

  He heard his brother’s chair scraping back and slowed down. Mortimer didn’t turn around, despite hearing Daniel catch his breath. He could well imagine what must be going through his brother’s mind. Mortimer made sure that there was no mistaking his intentions by notching a bolt into his weapon. It was odd how this was one weapon that was just the same in the game. Of course, it wasn’t the same one. Now that would be a bit of a mind fuck.