The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 4): The Dead

by Deville, Sean

  25.08.19

  Newcastle Upon Tyne, UK

  Alenush had lived in Newcastle all her life. She was proud of her Iranian heritage and made her own choice to wear the hijab. It was her visible expression of the devotion to her faith, and none of her friends or relatives rejected her for it. Why would they, it was only a piece of cloth at the end of the day.

  It made her life more difficult though. As an academic at the University, there was nothing but acceptance by the people around her. But out on the streets with her everyday interactions with the great and venerable British population, there was the occasional snide comment thrown her way. Although she gave the external veneer of not allowing such words to bother her, there was no denying the impact hate could have on a person’s psyche. In a way, she understood that a lot of the vitriol that was flung at her was based on fear and ignorance rather than genuine hatred, but when a tall and powerful man calls you a terrorist cunt in the local supermarket, even those of the strongest character would be taken aback by the abuse.

  So when the zombie apocalypse happened, she wasn’t that surprised by what ultimately happened.

  By the grace of whatever Gods were still present in the cosmos, Newcastle was spared Lazarus, with no reported cases of the infection or zombies. The city still fell apart though, in fact, it probably descended into anarchy exactly because there was no infection. With no zombies roaming the streets, the criminal and anarchic elements that exist in every city and every civilisation gained the upper hand. With police numbers diminished, and any military presence farmed off to fight the zombie terror where it was occurring, the streets of this particular city quickly became unsafe for the average person.

  How do you even define an average person? Everybody was flawed and broken on some level, some harbouring thoughts that they never would have acted on given the threat of arrest that such behaviour entailed. She thought she lived amongst moral and decent people, but as Lazarus gripped hold of the country, she quickly saw the way people could reveal their true colours. Some of the men and women she had trusted and worked with for years revealed an animalistic nature that shocked her.

  Alenush had a community and friends to fall back on, but her extended family were in another part of the country. She had come to Newcastle to progress in her career, to become a beacon opposing the falsehood that Islam oppressed women. Now she stood alone in a street that lay in ruins, smouldering buildings and wrecked cars evidence of the previous night’s bedlam. The rioting that had been so prevalent in the days leading up to the collapse of the British State had never really abated in the city across the Tyne. That wasn’t a reflection of the people who lived there so much as it was an inevitable result of the psychological trauma that Lazarus wrought.

  It was foolish for her to come out of the illusory safety of her apartment. But in the quiet of the day, she had heard the heartbreaking cries of a child. She had done her best to try and ignore the sound, but with no electricity in this part of the city, she had nothing with which to occupy her mind. Despite the comfort it brought, her copy of the Holy Koran wasn’t enough to keep the anguish at bay from her thoughts. An act of charity, to help someone less fortunate than her, seemed like the right thing for her to do.

  It wasn’t.

  The day had been cold, so she had wrapped herself up in a thick coat. When she had stepped out onto the pavement, the ground littered with broken glass, she had almost turned around and fled back to her flat. But then the cries had come again.

  “Please, help me.”

  Alenush couldn’t see the owner of the voice, but she could tell the general direction it was coming from. Pulling her arms around herself, she crossed the road that hadn’t seen a moving vehicle for several days. When the rioters had come last night, they had been on foot, and Alenush had watched them from behind the shield of her curtain, their wanton need to destroy terrifying to her. That was made even worse by the fact that two days before, her place of worship had been firebombed with people still inside. There was no safety in numbers, not unless you were prepared to outdo the violence that was threatened against you.

  She felt alone, her means of communication with those she knew cut off, the building she resided in full of strangers. Alenush had even knocked on a few doors. Most hadn’t been opened, and those that were, the words that had spewed forth generally could not be repeated in polite company. This was the problem with the breakdown in civilisation, the way it so easily isolated decent individuals while letting those who lived in the well of violence-free reign to act in whatever depraved manner took them.

  The off-license across from where she lived had been gutted. Stripped clean first, and then sterilised by fire. Its interior was blackened, the flames fortunately not spreading further than the buildings either side. Other areas of the city weren’t that fortunate, several plumes of smoke rising up in the distance. Newcastle was burning, the maniacs ripping the heart out of the very buildings that they lived in. It was as if thousands of people had gone insane.

  The pleading came again, and Alenush turned into a side street. Ahead of her, a small rocking figure sat on the harsh tarmac, knees pulled up, face buried where it couldn’t be seen. The child couldn’t have been more than eleven, and Alenush advanced cautiously. She hadn’t brought a weapon, and even if she had, she wouldn’t really have known what to do with it. She’d never been a violent person, and despite the one time someone had tried to spit at her when she was out with friends, she hadn’t really been exposed to many visible displays of savagery. That was about to change.

  “Hey, are you okay?” she called out to the child. The figure continued to rock, no indication that Alenush had been heard. Getting closer, she now saw that the kid was covered in blood. What had she been through to cause that? Several feet away, she knelt down to try and catch the youngster’s eye.

  “Help me.”

  “I’m here,” Alenush insisted. If she had kept her bedroom window closed, she might not have even heard the tears and the sobs. As much as she wanted to, something about this situation told her not to touch the child. There was a warning that was only being half heard, something about it all that spoke of danger that she couldn’t yet see.

  The child suddenly looked at her. Instead of a face of sorrow, there was a manic grin across her face.

  “You’re so pretty,” the child suddenly said. Alenush didn’t know what to say to that. Yes, she was a good looking woman, which is partly why she had voluntarily taken the Hijab. The eyes of men seemed less lustful, tended not to linger so long. It made her feel safer, despite the anti-Islamic sentiment that it sometimes seemed to promote.

  “Can you get up?” Alenush asked. The girl nodded.

  “Are you a good runner?” the child suddenly asked.

  “What?”

  “How fast can you run?” came the question again. It became obvious to Alenush that the blood didn’t belong to the child. Get out of here, her inner demons screamed at her, and Alenush rose from her crouched position. In the periphery of her eye, she caught movement, her head rotating to see the two boys who had been hiding behind the wrecked van. They were about the same age as the girl, but there was no innocence here anymore, not with the knives they held in their hands.

  Alenush backed up, the sound of a bottle smashing behind her, making her jump. There were three more children behind her, more boys. The urchins seemed to be coming out of every hiding place, nearly a dozen slowly surrounding her. Jumping to her feet, the girl clapped her hands together playfully.

  “We are going to play a game,” the child stated. Alenush rotated in a circle, hunting for a way to escape. This wasn’t going to end well, not if she couldn’t get away.

  “Leave me alone,” Alenush ordered, trying to sound as much like an adult as she could. But the voice came out weak, timid.

  “No,” one of the boys said. All of a sudden, despite their young age, Alenush suddenly found herself fearful that murder wasn’t the only thing on the mind of these
little terrors.

  “You should run now,” the girl insisted. “We will give you a few seconds before we come.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Alenush begged.

  “Because it’s fun.”

  Alenush ran, and this time, it was her screams for mercy that rippled off the surrounding buildings. She didn’t get far.

  25.08.19

  Frederick, USA

  Gabriel lay still, listening. There was nothing else for him to do at present. He needed information, needed to determine where exactly the threats were. He had not been able to establish how the door mechanism worked, or where in the world he actually was. Yes, he had escaped the undead, but now he was trapped, held by some operation being run by the US Government. It was his own fault for letting his guard down, but perhaps some ultimate good could come out of this. John should never have been able to inject him like that, and yet here he was, as if it was all down to some grand design.

  The weariness from fighting Lazarus was only part of the excuse he could make to himself. As much as he hated to admit it, he had been distracted by the events of the past few days. After talking to Mother, it was clear he had lost his purpose in life. Mere survival wasn’t enough for him. Gabriel needed much more than that, he needed a mission to strive for. Perhaps he could find some meaning here. It would all be determined by what he discovered in the next hours and days.

  Lying on his side, he brought his hand up under his head as if to support where it rested on the pillow. In reality, he was carefully removing the carbon fibre rod that was embedded in the outer edge of his ear. Just like Azrael, he had a greater ability to escape confinement than the average Joe. The rod he palmed, virtually no blood escaping the wound.

  The one called Reece and the woman across from her cell spoke to each other frequently. They seemed to be engaged in almost banal chatter, filling the time they had with words that held no real purpose. Gabriel didn’t care about their former lives and didn’t give a damn about their present predicament. In fact, he was considering sleep when one of them said the name that sent a shiver of recognition through him. Gabriel sat up, his eyes falling on Reece. Casually, he turned the pillow over, the blood spots that were there now concealed.

  “What?” Reece asked. The intensity of the man’s gaze unnerved her.

  “You said a name I recognise. You said Azrael.”

  “He saved us,” Lizzy said.

  “Did you see him in your dream?” Reece asked. She hadn’t been to sleep since Azrael killed Smith and the other horsemen, so she had no way of knowing that Gabriel would never be joining them in the dream world.

  “I don’t dream,” Gabriel informed her. “Not since I was reborn.”

  “Are you like my Aunty Sue?” Lizzy asked. Gabriel looked at the girl blankly. “At Christmas last year, Aunty Sue kept saying she was reborn in Jesus’s name.” Lizzy turned to Reece, “it was really annoying.” Her voice sounded tired. The sleep that Reece allowed her was short and broken in duration. Reece herself was feeling the pull of fatigue, and it wouldn’t be long before her own body demanded she rest.

  Whenever Lizzy fell asleep, Reece felt the well of panic growing inside her, and despite the dangers, it pained her to wake the child up.

  “I’m sure it was, honey.”

  “No child, I am not born again. I follow no religion.” Gabriel found Lizzy curious. He couldn’t remember being around children in this way. The last child he had got close to, he had deliberately infected with Lazarus, although he didn’t know that was what he was doing at the time. “I know of a man called Azrael, though. We both received the same training.”

  “Are you military?” Reece felt it would explain a lot of his coldness.

  “No. I fight for no country. In fact, I fight for no-one now, only myself.” Was the Azrael they spoke of the same one that Mother had briefly told him of? They had never met, but his fellow assassin’s prowess with the knife had been well earned according to Mother. How many people in the world had that name? Could it just be a coincidence? No, there were no coincidences, that was something Gabriel had learned long ago.

  Reece didn’t get to question him further.

  The main door to the cells opened, bringing with it a wave of apprehension. Rarely did anything good come through those doors. Carson entered, flanked by two men Reece had never seen before. They stopped outside Gabriel’s cell, the captive standing to meet them. The two men with Carson were both armed with revolvers, one carrying a pole with a loop on one end.

  “I’m told you can handle yourself in a fight,” Carson said to Gabriel, who just nodded slightly. “There are things I need to discuss with you. I am mindful that you are infinitely more dangerous than our other residents here.” Carson opened the door hatch. From his back pocket, he extracted a pair of thick handcuffs.

  “You should just let me go,” Gabriel advised.

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.” Reece was amazed at how respectful Carson sounded.

  “From one warrior to another, it is a mistake keeping me here. My forced incarceration won’t end well for you.” Carson could see the belief that Gabriel clearly had in his own abilities.

  “I will take that under advisement,” Carson said. The words were genuine. The Major had learnt long ago that he could size up the threat an individual posed. He made that assessment now. With what John had also told him, Carson could see that Gabriel was a very dangerous man. “And I respect what you are. Please turn around with your hands behind your back. Move backwards so I can apply these restraints.” For a moment, Gabriel did nothing. His head tilted to one side as if he was considering the request, and then he followed Carson’s order. The metal of the cuffs dug deep into his wrists, but Gabriel made no complaint.

  One of the men with Carson opened the door to Gabriel’s cell. The one with the pole slipped the noose over Gabriel’s head, making it taught enough that it wouldn’t slip off. Gently, Gabriel was dragged out of his cell backwards. Again, Gabriel was passive, no signs of aggression or resistance on his face. That spoke volumes to Carson. This truly was a man close to what Carson believed a soldier should be. Still, Carson was confident he could keep the man under control. He wasn’t any threat so long as everyone kept their distance.

  “We have some questions for you,” Carson said, leading the way out of the detention area. “I’m going to ask that you simply just answer them, so we don’t have to resort to any unpleasantness.”

  “There’s only one promise I can make you, I’m afraid,” Gabriel said.

  “And what would that be?”

  “I’m going to kill you all.” Those words were so easy to say, but only someone like Gabriel would be able to follow through on them. Reece saw Gabriel look at her briefly, and in that moment she thoroughly believed that the threat made applied to her as well.

  ***

  “Do we really think this newcomer has been given a vaccine?” Doctor Lee asked.

  “Yes,” Schmidt said. “Isn’t it wonderful.” They were both in the observation room that held all the camera feeds from the cells. From here, anyone could keep an eye on each and every resident, audio feeds able to be accessed from every cell. They both watched as Gabriel was moved from his cell to the interrogation room. Schmidt’s depressive mood had lifted as information and revelations about their new resident had been delivered to her over a hectic and joyous twenty-minute period. If Gabriel had been vaccinated, as the interrogation of Mother had indicated, he could be the answer they were all seeking.

  Maybe Schmidt could crack this after all.

  “If Gabriel is so dangerous,” Jee asked, referring to Gabriel, “why doesn’t Carson just leave Gabriel in his cell and ask his questions there?”

  “Dangerous. Who says he’s dangerous?” Schmidt had a smug look on her face, satisfied that now they might actually be able to get somewhere.

  “But the information we have from the DIA and the Captain’s field report?”

  “I’m sure
Carson knows what he’s doing. Besides, we need to tell if Gabriel is telling the truth, and that can only be done in the interrogation room.” Schmidt turned to Jee. “What’s the matter? Why are you so worried?”

  “No real reason. I guess I’m just on edge today.” Schmidt put what she thought was a reassuring hand on Jee’s shoulder. Jee managed to hide the shivers that went through her at the very touch.

  “You have nothing to worry about. With Gabriel’s blood, we may finally find the answer to Lazarus.” They had already extracted a sample whilst Gabriel was unconscious.

  “But what does that mean for the others?”

  “Why Doctor Lee, I thought that was obvious. All our work with the residents has been a failure. The only thing we have learnt is that any antiserum that can be made most likely sends the recipients insane. All this talk of nightmares and deserts has been very distressing to me.”

  “Distressing?”

  “Yes, Doctor. It goes against everything I’ve ever understood about science. May I be honest with you?” Schmidt stepped closer to Jee so that she could speak with lowered volume.

  “Of course,” Jee said, Schmidt’s stale breath repellent to her.

  “I regret we ever found any of the immune. I regret that man Smith ever performed his so-called research. These immune have been a distraction to us, taking us down completely the wrong path. I’m certain this man Gabriel will be the cure for all that, if you will pardon the pun.” You just used his name, thought Jee.

  “What does that mean for the immune, though?” Jee knew the answer that was coming, could see the almost vengeful smile that formed on Schmidt’s thin lips.