“I don’t give a shit,” the man insisted, “I want more bread.” He didn’t notice the people behind him stepping back, a buffer forming around him. Had he thought the crowd would join him in his demands? They could have. They could have stormed this place and taken as much food as they wanted, but the two soldiers represented the power they didn’t dare go against. And when they had eaten the food, what would they do then? Power exists where people believe it resides, and right now, that was going to be reinforced by a demonstration.
“The lady told you no,” the larger of the two soldiers said. His gun was aimed at the well-dressed man, eyes stern behind the imposing mask.
“Fuck you,” the belligerent man roared, suddenly coming unglued. Michelle had seen this before, anger a tool some people used to force their will on others. The problem is that it often worked for them, so it became their default setting, not realising that when the rules changed, the old ways no longer applied. The rules had certainly changed here.
“I won’t tell you again,” the soldier warned. “Calm down and take your food, or you won’t like what happens next.” The people were scattering now. They knew what was about to happen because it had happened before. Michelle hadn’t, she didn’t really have a clue, and she watched it all unfold as if she was in a dream.
“You don’t tell me what to do,” the well-dressed man said through gritted teeth. Foolishly, he took a step towards the soldier. The bullet fired took him in the centre of the chest, the man staggering, not really believing he had been shot. These sorts of things weren’t supposed to happen. This was England, goddamnit.
Falling to his knees, the man looked at Michelle, his face painted with her betrayal. She should have looked away, but she felt mesmerised by what was occurring. Finally, the life left him, the dead man falling backwards, his legs crumpling awkwardly under him. Michelle had often joked that some of those she had served in her former life needed a bullet, but she never really meant it.
The two soldiers stepped up to the body, their guns held menacingly in case someone else wanted to try their luck. Michelle watched them move to the front of the line, blocking anyone from getting more food, looking over the crowd who milled about nervously. Pointing, the soldiers ordered three people to move the body. Obviously, they were reluctant, but nobody had the guts to resist the soldiers’’ commands, not after that display.
“Well spotted,” a voice said behind Michelle. She turned her head to see Mitch standing there. “Why don’t you take a break,” he said before disappearing into the cooking area. It was clear that he wanted her to follow him. As much as she disliked the man, the shock was already starting to wash over her.
To top off the day’s events, there was another gunshot as the corpse was shot in the head. It was a standing order now, to ensure there was no chance of a zombie returning when you least expected it.
***
With the purple armband on, Andy didn’t have to line up to be fed. Although he had ample provisions at his own home, there was no telling when he would be returning there. So he utilised the new privilege that had been given to him, taking whatever food he liked from the stores so long as it was for his immediate consumption. He could have fed himself at the soldiers’ mess tent, but he still didn’t consider himself one of them, not yet at least. Besides, he would have to queue there, whereas here he could just walk in and help himself.
Sitting at the bench that had been set up in the cooking tent, he sat alone, the sandwiches he had made half eaten before him. He could have asked Mitch or one of the cooks here to make the food for him, but he hadn’t yet descended into that level of entitlement. Andy was more than happy to serve himself, realising that he didn’t need to impose his demands on people who were busy enough as it was. He might have found himself in a privileged position, but he didn’t need to abuse that position.
Some of his fellow purples didn’t feel the same way. There were several he had witnessed acting as if they were some kind of royalty, expecting people to acquiesce to their every whim. Andy told himself he wouldn’t end up like that because he wasn’t anything special, he had just been lucky. Taking another bite, he watched Mitch walk in, a downtrodden woman following in his wake several seconds later. She walked like a victim, prime pickings for the likes of Mitch. Andy had only been here less than fifteen minutes, and he already had the measure of the man who treated the cooking tent staff like his own personal harem.
“Take a few minutes,” Mitch said to the woman. “Sit down, and I’ll get you something to drink.” The woman called Michelle looked shaken, and Andy’s eyes wandered over her, more out of curiosity than any kind of desire. Even with the drab clothing she wore, he could tell she was attractive. Not really his type, but there was something about her eyes that intrigued him. She sat down at another table, briefly catching Andy’s gaze before looking away as if she was somehow guilty of something. Food almost forgotten now, he watched her fight with her own insecurities, her head flitting around like a bird watching for predators, an almost manic expression threatening to break out on her face. Mitch sat down next to her, a little too close, impinging on her space. She would have retreated away, but his heavy hand came down on her wrist while the other put the drink down on the table in front of Michelle.
“Drink that love, it will make you feel better.”
“I’m okay, really.” Michelle looked at the offered glass, the alcohol it contained tempting. But what was the price she would have to pay for that glass? Mitch had made his intentions towards her clear from the start. There would be promises and threats following, she was sure. The other women cast glances over at the pair, the dynamics here holding Andy’s full attention. Andy had a healthy distaste for those who preyed on those weaker than them, so you could imagine the impression he was forming about Mitch.
“Drink, I insist,” Mitch’s voice said with a hint of aggression. Andy took another bite of his sandwich without even looking at it, his gaze boring into Mitch. Here was another bully who was abusing his position. He knew shit like this would happen as soon as he had heard about the zombies on the radio. Some people would take advantage of the situation either by threats of their strength or by trying to manipulate any scenario they found themselves in. Women were included in that, but it would mainly be men. Some men had the strength as well as the prevalence for violence that made them almost inevitable predators. Much of that would be down to their pathetic cravings to stick their dicks in any woman unfortunate enough to cross their path. Some wanted more than that, people who wanted others to feel afraid and powerless, to feel pain even. Andy suspected that there was a bit of both in Mitch.
With Andy in the room, Mitch really should have behaved himself.
“I don’t want to,” Michelle insisted. She tried to stand, but Mitch pounced, pulling her back down to her seat.
“Where is the gratitude?” he said angrily. “After I’ve been so nice to you.”
“Please, I don’t want any trouble.” There was a panicked look in her eyes now. Andy couldn’t tell for sure, but he suspected she wasn’t particularly strong mentally, the kind to break out in hysterics or tears. Shoving the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, Andy chewed slowly, watching the situation develop. He was no hero, something he kept telling himself, but he wasn’t going to let this carry on. Andy swallowed, his hunger satiated but his own anger growing.
Mitch sneezed, moving his head off to the side.
“How’s about you take your hands off her,” Andy ordered from across the tent. He watched Mitch, saw the man’s face drift over to him full of defiance.
“The fuck you say?”
“I said, take your hands off her. She’s here to work, not be pawed at by the likes of you.”
“This hasn’t got anything to do with you,” Mitch insisted. He looked at his opponent and the purple armband Andy wore. Nervousness blossomed on Mitch’s face. He’d looked flushed anyway, but now the redness grew.
“It’s got everything t
o do with me,” Andy said, standing. The newly acquired holster and sidearm became visible, Mitch flashing a cautious look at it. “You’ve got a nice thing going here,” Andy said, gazing around at the cooking tent. “Do you really want to risk all this?”
“Don’t you threaten me,” Mitch demanded. He tried to sound offended, threatening even, but instead, he just came across as nervous, realising the forces he was up against. Mitch was only a green, and greens were very aware that they were supposed to follow the commands of anyone emblazoned with the power of the purple arm or wristband. Andy turned to Michelle, who was now staring back at him.
“What’s your name?”
“Michelle,” she said.
“Michelle, why don’t you get back to your station. I’m sure Mitch here won’t mind.” Mitch was still clutching her arm, but when she stood, he released her reluctantly, leaving her with a generous gift of marks where his fingers had dug into her flesh. Likely that would bruise later. Michelle scurried from the cooking area without a word of thanks.
“I didn’t mean any harm,” Mitch insisted as Andy moved over to him. Andy, stroking his chin as if considering the validity of the words, moved behind Mitch and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sure you were just looking out for her welfare,” Andy relented. “However, I’m sure you can see how it might have looked different.” The dynamic had changed now, Mitch realising the peril he had foolishly stepped into.
“I’m sorry,” Mitch said. Andy patted him on the shoulder and then headed for the exit. Before leaving, he turned slightly to look back at Mitch.
“You need to understand that you won’t get away with that sort of thing, especially not right out in the open like that. There are still too many people like me who find it objectionable.” Andy realised there were other eyes on him, and he scrutinised the three other people who worked under Mitch cooking the food. They were all women, attractive women. Clearly, Mitch had some means to pull strings here. “It would only take one complaint for you to be removed from your post.” Andy winked at one of the women. “Do you understand what I am saying here, Mitch? You don’t strike me as a man accustomed to digging ditches.”
“Yes,” the weak words came. Andy knew Mitch hadn’t understood a word he’d said, not really. Men like him never did. The words would have registered, but the very core of who Mitch was would reject the warning for the pleasures that could come in the moment. Sooner or later, Mitch was going to push things too far, and then someone like Andy would likely be called on to deal with him. But for now, Andy needed sleep.
“Good, because I will be checking in from time to time, just to make sure nobody is getting the wrong ideas.”
Andy stepped out of the tent, his belly now satisfied. He headed towards the temporary accommodation he had been allocated, safe in the knowledge that the Sandman would visit as soon as he put his head on the pillow, there to experience the delights of the desert once again.
***
Mark was exhausted from his shift. They had finished the makeshift bridge, which would allow people to travel from one apartment building to another. On the ground floor, they had started bricking up the unnecessary doors, the residents here soon to learn that they would need to take a roundabout route to get to their apartments. The woman with the koala slippers hadn’t visited him again, and that was a pity. She was just his type, but with regret, he realised he had come across wrong to her. Mark had just been tired, he hadn’t meant to be disrespectful. It actually quite upset him when he realised he had scared the poor dear off. That wasn’t him.
To be fair, it was a concern of little real worth when you considered what else was happening in the world. It was amazing what his mind had bothered to latch onto.
It was still before curfew, so the streets were far from empty. The walk home took him thirty minutes, especially with the small detour he usually took past three of his dead drops. Although his mobile phone wouldn’t be taking any calls, he could use its USB connector to download anything that had been left there for him and those like him.
The first USB point had nothing on it, and neither did the second, the network still in its infancy. The third had plenty, video and audio files. People were secretly recording the world around them for purposes known only to them. Once, such recordings might have gone onto YouTube or Facebook, but now they would filter slowly through only a fraction of the population. On his return visit tomorrow, he would visit all three drop sites and disseminate everything amongst them. That was how information now spread.
There were dangers, though. If the sites were discovered by the authorities, they could become honey pots, traps to draw in the dissenters so that they could be arrested. They could also be loaded with malicious software, but really there wouldn’t be much point to that. There could be no rebellion without risks, so Mark took whatever precautions he could to mitigate those risks. He saw no signs of people watching him, but then he had no real training in how to spot such.
He left the final drop unmolested and made it to his apartment with plenty of time to avoid being caught out after curfew. Inside, at last, he felt as safe as anyone could be. The files he’d extracted loaded easily onto an external hard drive for his computer. Much better to destroy that than a whole PC should that need arise. Once he had uploaded the files from his phone tomorrow, he would delete them from his mobile using special file shredding software. Best to leave little or no evidence of his part in the coming uprising. He was sure the rebellion would come, there was only so long people would accept their oppression.
The problem with revolutionaries is they often don’t realise how delusional they often were.
The first video was nothing he didn’t already know, a badly taken clip of people being rounded up. The second video was a steadier recording, taken from a position of concealment. Again, a mobile phone would have been the recording device, the quality not great. But it showed a steel fence enclosure and the hapless people contained within. Mark hadn’t known about this. So they were rounding people up like cattle. This was why his hopes of insurrection were mere fantasy, and he really should have heeded the warning the video displayed. Most of those who had the mind to spark such an outpouring of resistance had already been isolated and dealt with. The British Army had a long history of effectively dealing with insurgency. Be it Northern Ireland or the Middle East, they knew the tactics that worked, especially when the gloves were off as they clearly were now. Still, Mark had his dreams to cling to, dreams that risked being his ultimate downfall.
The phone he had been given by the city official buzzed, indicating a text message had been received.
Your work assignment has been changed. Please be at stop 23 of the Dyer Street Bus station at 09.00 tomorrow morning for reassignment.
Shit, that wouldn’t give him a chance to upload the files as planned. Maybe he should have gone back today and done it, but he had been worried that might have looked suspicious. He had been careful to place the USB points away from any obvious CCTV cameras, but the surrounding streets would all be covered by such. Everyone out of doors was being watched for any indiscretion, the city’s existing network undoubtedly usurped to help cement the population’s capitulation. There were posters on nearly every street reminding them of such, stating how safe everyone was under the watchful eyes.
Mark knew the capability of the surveillance network, and he knew these weren’t idle threats. Even though the national database would be down, the local one would be just as effective, if not more so. There were a limited number of faces that needed to be watched now, all logged and calibrated. The watchers would know exactly where everyone was just by their biometric face scans and even by the very way they walked.
Then it came, the first seed of doubt that slipped into Mark’s mind. Perhaps if it had come sooner, it might have saved him a whole lot of heartache. Sometimes it was just better to accept your enslavement than fight against an overwhelming force. Mark didn’t let the doubt cloud his th
inking.
Not that it really mattered, for already his face was rising to the top of the pile of those that were of interest to the new powers that be, one of the dead drops already under surveillance. For Mark, it was already too late.
25.08.19
Preston, UK
Azrael felt drained.
He had come all this way, fought against so much, and his mission was now almost over. Sitting beneath a tree on the edge of the parade ground, he watched as the remnants of the undead charged into the burning building. Just when Azrael thought that was the last of them, more appeared, not a single zombie showing any interest in Azrael. He wasn’t going to voice any complaint about that.
He was far from done, though. The Woman of Skulls was still out there, still a very real and powerful threat. She was different from the horsemen, more powerful, more ruthless and utterly determined. Shaped by forces beyond comprehension, Azrael knew she had to die for any of the immune to have a hope of ever being safe in the desert. Azrael was in even greater peril now because she would know just how dangerous he really was and she would come for him with even greater determination. Azrael was likely to become her primary focus.
He had her coordinates, north of Manchester, eight hours walk away. Azrael could almost feel her pull. Would she be able to draw him into the desert as she had with the others? She would surely need to find his ghost-like body in the desert amongst the thousands there first. He still had time…didn’t he?
To his left, Smith’s body lay motionless, the blood still oozing. It would never resurrect, Lazarus stripped from it. Azrael’s bullet would have ensured that even if he had been infected. Would Smith’s carcass be prime meat for the undead though? Probably not, he thought, and as if to confirm this, a zombie appeared too close for comfort and ran right past the offering. Let it lie there and rot then, a symbol of how man had failed. The Earth would reclaim its own soon enough.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 4): The Dead Page 13
