Pulling the satellite phone from his belt, Azrael turned it on and rang the number programmed into it.
“Azrael?”
“Smith is dead,” Azrael told Nick. He spoke quietly, well aware that his voice would be a draw for those who craved his flesh.
“That’s good, thanks for letting me know. I’ll tell Jessica. Is it safe for her to sleep now?”
“Possibly, for a time at least. As safe as it’s going to be. There is still one more I need to kill.”
“What happens after?” Nick asked.
“After, I have no idea.” He could have prolonged the conversation with useless small talk, but it was a risk not worth taking. Azrael cut the call and turned the phone off again, knowing that there was nothing more at this moment that he needed to say. He would sit here a few more minutes before heading out, one final mission to complete, one final task to test his skills. And then after? Azrael didn’t even know if there was an after.
Something fell out of the sky, hitting the concrete of the parade ground hard. It was a bird, blacker than it should have been, its body flapping madly. Azrael watched it closely, its undead nature suddenly fascinating to him. It managed to get up onto its feet, but it was clear it would never fly again. A pigeon in a former life, now it had been grounded, the rot setting in too much for its wings to handle. How much longer before its bipedal cousins underwent a similar demise? Would that happen, would they decay and fall to pieces as normal bodies did? Azrael thought not, humanity wouldn’t be that lucky. Mankind would be chased by the dead for a long time coming yet, the evil growing with every day that passed.
He had seen how fast the undead could run, even without a blood supply to feed their necrotising muscles. Some of those he had encountered looked like they had begun to dry out, the skin growing taught as the moisture left the walking cadavers. They shouldn’t have been able to move, and yet they did. But then there were a lot of things that shouldn’t have been able to happen.
Occasionally he had seen a bloated one, the belly distended from the gas building up there, but most followed the pattern of emaciation. Their teeth never grew thinner though, and he didn’t notice them getting any slower unless they were damaged. Right now, a zombie minus its legs was crawling towards the enticement of the fire. Would this be the last one in the area? And was fire an effective means of dealing with them? Watching how the undead seemed drawn to the sound of the flames, he reckoned it could be. Azrael got the answer to one of his questions.
One of the zombies that had rushed into the medical facility came back out, its body burning, any clothes that had been left on it clearly now ash. It moved with a staggered motion, the flesh on it being eaten by the flames. It fell to a knee, part of its face dropping off as its structure began to fail. Even with that amount of damage, it could still keep going. Finally, it fell over onto what was left of its face, the smoke from it mingling with that from the building.
Yep, fire worked.
That knowledge didn’t really help him though, not with eight more hours of streets and fields filled with those things. Azrael strongly suspected that the scent and sound of a fire would be of no consequence if there was a flesh and blood human about, especially one naturally immune like him.
25.09.19
Manchester, UK
Brian had left, not wanting to see Susan like that anymore, not realising the first of the undead was a mere thirty minutes away. Now those thirty minutes were up.
Before the first shot was fired to signal the start of the latest attack, Susan began to writhe on her bed, Florence the only person there to witness her apparent struggle. At first, Florence thought this was just another pointless attempt to escape, only for it to become clear to Florence that Susan was suddenly having difficulty breathing. Not realising it was a trick, Florence pulled the tape off Susan’s mouth, the bound woman taking a large intake of breath.
“That’s better,” Susan said. Her voice was measured, her body suddenly still.
“What was the point of that?” Florence asked, bewildered. “I’m only going to put the tape back on.”
“Oh, I just wanted you to be the first to know.”
“Know what?”
“My children are here, the undead.” The words didn’t seem to make any sense until the gunshot rang out as if somehow predicted by Susan. “Told ya,” Susan mocked with a chuckle. They weren’t really her children you understand, it was just a name she could call them. It helped her own confused mind explain why she could reach out to them. That had been pure intuition on her part, something to try when you had no other options open to you. Like thoughts often did, this notion had just popped into her head. And now they were coming, Susan able to feel the presence of the thousands of undead that had heard her call. Like Smith, she had a measure of control of the actions of the undead, only her powers were far superior to that of a mere man.
When the Code Red then sounded, Susan’s demeanour become very calm despite her bonds, as if she was somehow satisfied. More shots rang out, shouts of alarm continuing to be raised outside, guns opening up. Although it didn’t make any sense, intuition told Florence that Susan was responsible for the attack that was now occurring. Briefly stepping out of the decontamination tent, Florence got a glimpse of two undead at the gate, the bodies there yet to start piling up. She stepped back into the tent to confront the woman.
“You did this, didn’t you?” Florence asked, accusation filling her every word. Could she believe that Susan had some sort of control over the undead? Did that even make sense to her? Yes, perhaps it did. “But how?”
Susan just chuckled. Restrained as she was, she was still technically helpless, even though Susan could feel the numbers that were heading this way, a whole army drawn to the command of her voice. No matter what resistance the defenders put up, the undead would wash over this place like they had so many other defensive positions. All she had to do was lie there and wait and hope Florence didn’t go and do something stupid.
“Don’t do this,” Florence suddenly begged. It surely couldn’t just be a coincidence that zombies were attacking thirty minutes or so after Susan had seemed to call out for them. She was tempted to place the tape back on Susan’s mouth, but something told her that would only make matters worse.
“You should release me,” Susan insisted. “That way, it will go easier on you.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Of course I am,” Susan agreed. “Wouldn’t you be having gone through the abuse I have suffered?”
“You can’t be doing this.” Florence had no reference in her knowledge of medical science for what was happening here. The dead walking was bad enough, but for someone to actually have some sort of control over them? That just descended further into science fiction. And yet the evidence was there. Susan had told her the undead would arrive before they actually did. How could she know unless Susan had actually drawn them?
“And yet here they are. Release me, now. I won’t tell you again.”
The rifle shots changed, the more rapid reports of machine guns firing becoming prominent. Florence didn’t know that the fifty calibre guns were being fired now, desperation requiring the use of the heaviest weapons. They were supposed to be safe here. Clay had promised her that she would always be safe within these walls and that was clearly a lie, just like most of the words that tumbled from between Clay’s fat and useless lips.
She couldn’t stand this anymore, and Florence felt her hands drifting to the restraints around Susan’s right wrist.
“That’s right. Untie me, it’s the only chance you have.”
“But how? How can you control them?”
“I’m not sure I can, but I can feel them being drawn to me. They will get over that wall. Even if you kill me, there is no stopping that.”
“But you will die too if they get in,” Florence warned.
“Somehow, I doubt that.” Susan laughed again, insanity close to being unleashed. “So I will make you a deal.” F
lorence’s fingers were seconds away from releasing Susan.
“What deal?”
“I promise you a quick death.” Florence could tell that Susan was deadly serious. “Let me go, and I will let you go out your own way. You don’t want to live in this world any more than I do. I can feel it.” Florence knew exactly what Susan meant. She could do it too, she had more than enough heroin to create an overdose. One last blissful ride from this nightmare into oblivion. “Tell me I’m wrong, Florence. Tell me you want to try and keep on living in a world where the only thing you look forward to is the opium that nobody is producing anymore. You used it to get you through the last few years. What happens when there is no more?” Florence felt panic start to grip her. “How many days’ supply do you have left anyway?” A week, Florence answered the question in her head. Seven, eight days maximum. “You can finally free yourself of all of this. Or would you prefer to have that end forced upon you by the teeth, gouging you, eating you alive?” More shots outside now. “I’m told it’s a really unpleasant way to go.”
“The walls will hold,” Florence said defiantly.
“No, they won’t, and you know they won’t. But let me sweeten the pot for you. Release my hand, and I will make Clay suffer. Be honest, you want him to be punished as much as I do.” It was true. It was Clay who had used her own addiction to trap Florence into service for him. The things he had made her do. “It will be my gift to you for how you dealt with the man who murdered my child.”
“Clay told you about that?”
“He did, not that any of that matters now.” Florence felt her fingers moving, the straps being undone. With one wrist freed, Susan stretched her arm painfully. Florence didn’t release any more of her limbs, she didn’t have to. Susan would be able to do the rest, was already working on the other bindings.
Florence gave Susan one last desperate look, and then the doctor left the tent.
It was even louder outside. Men running frantically to take up defensive positions. Florence would have nothing to do with that, never having fired a gun in her life. She didn’t intend to start now, and she ran to the mansion, escape the only thing now on her mind. Not the escape from the grounds of Clay’s estate, but escape from what was left of her life.
Rarely had the craving hit her this hard before, but it was there pulling her to where she knew her stash was kept. Perhaps it was because she had been rationing it, the supply Clay had given her regrettably finite in nature. More likely, it was the accumulated stress of everything with the clear and profound sense of hopelessness that now overwhelmed her. This was a moment she had known would eventually come, and she found herself suddenly welcoming it. Heroin had become a means for her to cope with the pressure in her life, and now it would be her escape from the horrors that were about to descend on this place. She cared nothing for anyone still surviving here, especially Clay.
Her thinking wasn’t balanced, and she stumbled through the front door, almost colliding into Viktor who was apparently heeding the call to defend the mansion. The Ukrainian gripped her in powerful hands.
“You have left Susan alone?” There was condemnation in his voice, but Florence didn’t care. “And you released her? Why would you do that?” Viktor had clearly been watching them on the video feed.
“Fuck her and fuck you. She’s the cause of this. If you want to end it, you know where Susan is.”
“What are you talking about?” Viktor actually shook her then, her head lolling back and forth. Maybe Viktor didn’t have any audio in the decontamination tent after all. That surprised her, she had always considered him and Clay to be more paranoid than that.
“The attack,” Florence tried to say, “Susan caused it.”
“You are insane,” Viktor informed her. Releasing her, he smashed her across the face with the back of his hand, sending Florence to the floor. “Susan could not cause this.” Lying there, Florence wiped the blood from her mouth, her eyes just full of pity for the man’s ignorance. Her split lip throbbed, but Florence didn’t care a damn about that.
“Why don’t you ask her yourself,” the doctor said, finally pulling herself from the floor. Any second she expected Viktor to hit her again, but instead, he just looked at her with withering contempt.
“Go to your room and take your drugs like the good little addict you are.” It was meant to be an insult, but Florence took it more as permission for what she was going to do anyway.
“That’s exactly what I intend to do,” she said, walking away, Viktor noticing the worrying confidence in her steps. Florence was suddenly glad she hadn’t killed Susan when she’d had the chance, when she could have claimed to her own conscious mind that it was a mercy. “If I were you, I would put an end to all this,” came Florence’s last ever words. Viktor watched her quickly run up the staircase before he left the mansion through the open front door. The doctor wasn’t his priority here.
Viktor was armed with a pistol in a shoulder holster and a knife hidden in the belt of his trousers. Around his neck he wore a surgical mask which he now donned, latex gloves pulled from a pocket. Suitably protected, he felt he was more than a match to deal with one woman who might still be infected. The other men in the compound were all now engaged in the fight against the undead, a dozen of the creatures raging at the gate.
The undead had come, and this time, they had arrived in force. At first, they had appeared individually, or in pairs, most walking, as if confused by the direction they were heading in. Easy shots for those in the towers armed with the sniper rifles. But they were just a brief warning of what was following.
Now their numbers kept coming. When Smith had called for the undead to come and protect him and his kind, a few stragglers had answered the call. With Susan, it was different, thousands hearing her command. The virus wasn’t sentient, but it was now linked to her, those under its spell coming to Susan’s aid. Viktor didn’t understand this, his present mission being merely to stop Susan from potentially contaminating the rest of the men. He saw Susan as a danger, but not in the right way.
Susan was out of the tent before Viktor got there. She was clearly still human, her naked skin on display for all to see. She had removed the surgical scrubs, now completely devoid of anything but the flesh she had been born into. This wasn’t good, Viktor had to get her back into the tent before too many of the men saw her. Likely most were still oblivious to her appearance, the defence of the gate and the wall nearly everyone’s prime priority.
Susan made it easier for him by walking straight towards him.
“Back in the tent, Susan,” Viktor ordered, pointing in the way he was heading. She smiled at him seductively, seeming to put a sway into her hips. What the fuck did she think she was playing at? Withdrawing the knife, he held it menacingly to reinforce his order. It wasn’t needed, she clearly had no chance against him and his muscular bulk, and she seemed to slow as if sensing the threat he posed. Even with the gunfire, they were quickly close enough to hear each other talk.
“You should let me be, Viktor,” Susan insisted. “Just step aside and let the undead have you.”
“Get back into the tent, Susan,” Viktor insisted again. “If you do not, I will hurt you.” She seemed to consider this, her eyes searching for a reason not to comply. Apparently, she couldn’t find one.
“You’ve already hurt me more than you can know. It won’t happen again.” With that, she turned and ran back towards the tent. This was not what Viktor had expected. Any second she could veer off and head towards the gate like she had before. Then the men would all see her, see what Clay had denied them on so many levels.
Viktor took off after her, still confident that she posed no real threat to him. What could she do? She was naked and unarmed. He killed people for a living, the only thing she was capable of killing was her own liver. Several seconds behind her, he slowed at the entrance of the decontamination tent, wary in case she had some feeble trap planned. He didn’t sense a threat, but that was because he had forgott
en something vital to his own survival. Confident in his own abilities, Viktor stepped through the tent flap expecting to find the woman cowering before him.
He saw her just in time to feel the impact in the side of his abdomen. Viktor staggered backwards, not understanding what had just happened, the sound of the shot seeming to blend in with the surrounding cacophony. Had she thrown something at him? Gripping the knife in fury, he turned his whole body towards her, finally seeing the gun she held in her hand, the one Florence had been given by Clay. Susan seemed to be smiling, which confused him. He had broken her, he was sure of it, but as she fired again, he realised she wasn’t anywhere close to being beaten psychologically. The second bullet hit him in the left kneecap, and he tumbled to the floor, now well aware of the pain from both wounds. He refused to scream, he wouldn’t give her that.
“Do you like that?” Susan asked, almost sounding sympathetic. Viktor dropped the knife and reached under his armpit for his gun, only for Susan to shoot again, this time into his right shoulder. The pain blossomed throughout him, his arm suddenly feeling useless as a strange electrical fire rippled through it. Three shots down, she had three shots left.
“Bitch,” Viktor said through gritted teeth. He had been gut shot, the pain present there not even getting started yet. His right arm was all but useless, and there was no way he would be able to walk, the joint of his knee all but destroyed. Still, he tried to sit himself up, scrabbling on the floor for the knife in some mindless act of defiance.
“Sticks and stones,” Susan said, her face totally serious now. “I want you to know I forgive you for what you did to me. I realise none of it was personal.”
“Fucking bitch,” Victor said again. Even with one good arm, he could easily squeeze the life out of her, if only she would come closer.
“What, you mean it was personal?” Susan looked genuinely shocked. “I’m disappointed in you, Viktor. And I thought we had such potential together.”
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 4): The Dead Page 14
