“I’m glad to hear it,” Campbell added. He rested a foot on the chair that Father sat on, the tread of his boot resting right between Father’s legs. “Just know that if I even suspect you are fucking with me, I will kill every last one of you. And I will kill the children first, in front of you, and I will make sure you are fully awake to endure their screams. I will smile as I rip the last vestiges of happiness from your black heart. Look into my eyes and tell me I’m lying.” Father didn’t, he had no reason to doubt the man.
“We will cooperate.”
“I said look at me.” Father finally did, Campbell pointing two fingers into his own eyes.
“I will give you everything you ask for,” Father insisted.
“Yes, I’m sure you will.” Campbell felt a little bloom of excitement grow inside him. He was going to enjoy this.
25.09.18
Frederick, USA
Reece watched the lights that showed the lift ascending towards the ground level. Fifteen floors to the surface held the hope of some kind of respite to the incarceration she had been condemned to. She had no idea how access to the laboratories in this facility were controlled, but she suspected that this lift would not be functioning if the undead had broken out of their containment.
Reece looked at Jessy, who glanced nervously back at her. The weapons they had plundered from the armoury had been abandoned, no use for them now as the metal box rushed them towards the unknown. Only Howell had retained his gun, his uniform his ultimate protection for when the doors eventually opened. Howell was taking a significant risk here, and silently, she thanked him.
Jee leant against the wall of the cabin as if all the energy was draining out of her. Reece was certain that the doctor was also escaping an uncertain fate. Jee might not have officially been a prisoner, but left down there, she too probably would have fallen victim to Gabriel’s killing rampage. Hell, any of them might have seemed a viable candidate for murder, even Lizzy.
Reece could feel Lizzy shivering weakly against her. The kid had been through too much, compounded by the lack of sleep that had been forced onto her. Still amazed by her newfound paternal instincts, Reece rested a reassuring hand on Lizzy’s head, the hair there bedraggled and rampant. Where they were going didn’t really matter now so long as they were out of Schmidt’s clutches. So long as they were together.
-5
-4
-3
-2
-1
The green G finally glowed, and the elevator seemed to hesitate as if it was confused about the task it now had to perform. Howell pushed his ID card against the reader in the lift and spoke into the intercom.
“Howell, Alpha clearance. I have immune survivors from sub level fifteen.” He sounded hesitant, uncertain himself as to what was about to happen. The seconds ticked by, the tension building, Reece expecting the lift to suddenly drop, plummeting them to a sure death below. Instead, the lift door opened, the light outside bright and imposing.
They stepped out into a small room with a thick airlock style door in front of them. Through the window in it, Reece could see uncertain eyes looking back at them. All fully exited, the lift door closed behind, trapping them to the mercy of whoever stood on the other side of that airlock. All they could do was wait and see what those in charge here had in store for them. Whatever Gabriel was doing down below, it was clear to Reece that there was no way he could ever escape now. Maybe that was for the best, the newcomer had possessed eyes that glowered with danger.
“What happened down there, Private?” a stern voice asked over an unseen speaker.
“The last immune that was brought down broke free and went on a killing rampage. The surveillance feeds can confirm that. I think Major Carson is dead, as are most of the guards. The team you sent down are also all dead.” The face at the window disappeared. “I thought it best to try and rescue the rest of the immune, salvage what we could.”
“And Professor Schmidt?”
“I don’t know,” was all Howell could say. There was a pause, as if the owner of the voice was considering what to do. Then the airlock opened, and two soldiers wearing NBC suits beckoned for them to pass through one at a time. Reece felt the relief flow through her.
“You need to pass through decontamination,” one of the soldiers said. As unpleasant as that procedure sounded, it was music to Reece’s ears because it at least meant they would live another day. They stepped out into a short concrete corridor, another airlock at the end of it. Reece wasn’t surprised to have guns pointed at them, but Howell was.
“Surrender your weapon, soldier,” one of the NBC clad men demanded. Howell initially hesitated, finally relinquishing his rifle and his sidearm. It seemed that trust was a rare commodity in this place. When you were dealing with something as deadly as Lazarus, perhaps that was understandable.
***
The tips of three severed fingers lay on the desk in front of her, Schmidt holding her bleeding hand. When the knife had been threatened, she had told herself she wouldn’t scream, no matter what Gabriel did to her. But scream she did, her own weakness surprisingly shameful to Schmidt. She had always thought she was stronger than that. It was upsetting to discover the existence of her own weakness.
As yet, Gabriel hadn’t even bothered to tie her up, confident in his ability to control the much frailer and weaker scientist. Gabriel had the weapons, he had the strength, and more worryingly, he had the will with which to use both on her, despite her resultant pleas for mercy. Schmidt knew she had no chance against him. Holding her damaged hand to try and stem the flow of blood, Schmidt managed to keep the growing desire to vomit at bay. Her face pale, she had almost fainted when he had defiled her third finger, the pain increasing with each wound he inflicted. Unconsciousness would be no escape from this man.
The truly scary thing was he didn’t even seem to be enjoying himself. It was like he was merely going through the motions as if he had done this a thousand times before.
“I trust you are ready to be cooperative now. All you need to do is tell me what I need to know,” Gabriel said, almost apologetically. “There is no help coming here any time soon.” She shook her head defiantly. “Do you really want me to damage you further?” Schmidt didn’t answer. Instead, she just glowered at Gabriel, fear mingling with the indignation that he could do this to her. She was the one in charge here. How had this been allowed to happen? She silently damned Carson for his failure.
Gabriel sighed with frustration.
“I will ask you one more time,” he said, standing up. “Does this facility have a sterilisation protocol?” As he stepped next to where she sat, Schmidt tried to cower away, but it was easy for him to grab her right ear. Slowly he put the knife to it, his eyes never leaving her terrified gaze. “Remember everything I have removed can be sewn back on. There is still the hope that you would be whole again. I’m sure there is another rescue team racing here even as we speak. So why not hold out just that little bit longer.” He pressed the knife so it dug into her flesh. “Watch as a little mound of your body parts grows on the desk in front of you. Prove to me how tough you are. What do you say, Prof? Shall I take the ear and add it to my collection?” She knew he was mocking her, exposing the true futility of her situation again. She had no choice now but to relent.
“No, don’t,” she finally said.
“Thank you,” Gabriel said, still keeping a firm grip on her. He didn’t need to use the knife truth be told, he knew exactly how to rip the ear from the side of her head. “You were running out of body parts there. So is there a sterilisation protocol?”
“Yes.”
“And how is it activated?”
“It can be activated manually, or automatically if there is a containment breach.” The virus they held could never be allowed to escape to the upper levels.
“This is more like it,” Gabriel stated, sounding genuinely pleased. He let go of Schmidt and retreated away from the Professor, finally standing behind the chair he had
chosen. “Can you activate it from down here?”
“Yes,” Schmidt nodded, resigned to any fate that was now to befall her. “But it’s a Last Man Protocol. Once activated, there will be no way for you to get out of here. The lift will be shut down.”
“Who says I want to get out of here?”
“But that’s suicide,” Schmidt implored. Despite his threats of mutilation, had she just made a terrible mistake?
“It is what it is.”
“You can’t do this,” Schmidt finally begged. If Gabriel didn’t care about himself, then he clearly didn’t have any concern for the fate of her. She didn’t want to burn alive down here.
“I can, and I will. You should never have brought me down here.” He indicated for her to stand. “Time to go, Professor.”
“Go? Go where?”
“Why, to meet your children.”
“What are you talking about?” Schmidt tried to stall for time.
“You have the undead down here. And don’t try and lie to me.”
“Yes but…”
“Don’t you think they miss their mother?” He could see panic rising in her. That was good. He wanted her at breaking point, on the brink of desperation when he finally ended her life.
“You can’t be serious,” she blustered.
“I am always serious,” Gabriel stated. He pointed the knife at her. “Time to go.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I won’t. You will have to drag me.” What kind of a threat was that? thought Gabriel.
“Okay,” Gabriel answered. “But the thing I drag will be a bleeding whimpering wreck. Don’t you want to try and keep at least some of your dignity…and some of your remaining fingers?”
“But it’s barbaric,” was all she could say.
“I am what I am. You never really did understand who you were dealing with here, did you?” Gabriel almost laughed at the distress now oozing out of the woman. If this was to be the last person he ever killed, he might as well make the most of it. “And whatever happens, remember that I did warn you from the very start. This is all on you.”
Schmidt stood on shaky legs. Did she really have any other choice?
25.08.19
Leeds, UK
She had worked long shifts as a barista in the past, but never as long as this. Twelve hours, with limited breaks, some of it spent desperate for the toilet. She knew she could ask for a toilet break, but her own self-doubt didn’t want her to seem like she was shirking the responsibilty she had been given. It was only when one of the other servers left to use the lavatory that Michelle had felt comfortable enough requesting to be excused. She never liked to be a nuisance or a burden, which Michelle freely admitted to herself was more of a failing than a strength.
“I’m not your mother,” the soldier she had asked had said. “Just wait till the other woman comes back…and make sure you do too. I don’t want to have to come looking for you.” There had been no humour in those words, just malevolence.
Now that she had been relieved of duty, someone else taking over the task of feeding those who couldn’t look after themselves, she slipped into the main tent, wary of what might happen. But Mitch wasn’t there, which was a blessing to her. She didn’t realise the true damage had already been done, hatred working away in Mitch’s thoughts. He blamed her for his perceived humiliation. She quickly fed herself, and stripping the apron off, she slipped out without saying goodbye to anyone.
The walk home was slow, Michelle’s mind strangled by the fears that seemed to be jumping out at her. Zombies, soldiers, lecherous men who wouldn’t leave her alone. There was also the fear that she was out after curfew, her permission slip held in a death grip. Nobody stopped her though, which surprised her. She was thankful, Michelle didn’t think she could cope with being interrogated by armed men. It was all too much, the tears threatening to erupt after every step, but they waited until she was safely behind the door to her apartment.
Hers? How long would she be allowed to stay here as she didn’t even own the apartment? What did ownership even mean now? Several people had tried to bribe her for more food on the soup line, currency waved as if to tempt her. But what could she buy with it? None of the shops she had walked by today had been open, their grills pulled down, their shelves probably emptied of anything useful. Those guarding her had quickly put a stop to any obvious bribery, and she soon learnt to say no when it was done more covertly.
No. It was a word Michelle had always had such difficulty with.
“Your money isn’t worth anything,” was all she could say, only to see the despair rise in the eyes on those trying to buy their way. If she had been rich, she would have felt depressed, well, more depressed than she was already…what use would that wealth be now? When she had taken her antidepressant medication this morning, she had despaired at how few tablets she had left. All across the western world, millions of survivors were facing the same problem, their mental health dependent on the regular doses of the little pills that promised so much, but which in some delivered so little.
Working in the soup kitchen was the ideal job for her when she thought about it, which was undoubtedly why she had been placed there. It was just a shame the guy running it was such a prick. Sooner or later, she would need to try and make some friends there if possible, while staying out of Mitch’s clutches as best she could.
Michelle still couldn’t believe that someone had come to her defence though, the man with the purple armband like a knight in shining armour. He had been so gracious, so protective. Why had she never had a man in her life like that? She knew why, of course. How could another love her if she didn’t even love herself?
For some, psychological illness can develop over time, especially when it came to depression, the feelings building, the hopelessness forging a new reality that was all engulfing. That was happening to Michelle now, her thoughts betraying her. It was unfair to say she was catastrophizing the situation, seeing as how this was the zombie apocalypse. But sitting alone with only her own inner voice as company, Michelle found herself tearing her own sanity apart.
Thought by thought, Michelle started to steamroller towards a complete breakdown. An hour after getting back to her flat, she was curled up in the corner of her living room, her eyes streaming, the utter hopelessness of everything now owning her. Eventually, she fell asleep like that, which was a blissful, but temporary relief from what was likely inevitable madness. Even in her dreams, her thoughts betrayed her, haunting her slumber with disturbing and violent predictions of her future.
25.08.19
Manchester, UK
Susan, The Woman of Skulls, had returned to the place she most belonged. Down there in the valley, she watched the flight of the immune, relishing their futility. There was no understanding in her mind as to why she felt the overriding desire to kill those who could defy the Lazarus virus. Susan just knew that this was why she had been put here, and there was nothing inside her that would ever doubt that fact. It all made sense in a sick sort of way. The abuse, the addiction and the loss, all shaping her into a vessel to be used by forces completely outside her understanding. At no point did she ever question her new self, just as she never doubted the rise of the sun every morning.
This was the way things were always supposed to be, she was certain of it.
Sat on the rocky outcrop, she could hear the cries of the damned as they fled the horrors that Susan and her kind represented. The one known as Azrael had dealt her a blow, killing the four horsemen that had been hers to command. Merely a setback of course, because already two new champions were forming either side of her, their phantom-like presence slowly solidifying as the XV1 transformed the minds of Clay and Brian. There would be no way for Azrael to reach her human body, not with the legion of undead she had guarding her. He had won a battle, but he wouldn’t win the war.
Brian, she had already forgiven. So while he could never be considered her equal in this place, she held no desire to torment him. He
would come to the realisation, as had she, that the destruction of the immune was the only viable purpose for his existence. Susan had no doubt he would take to the task with the same enthusiasm shown by his now dead brothers. The human race was dead, so it was better for her to help speed things along and avoid all the unnecessary suffering that came with trying to resist the inevitable.
Clay, that was a different matter entirely. As important as his abuse of her had been, Susan wasn’t even close to forgiving the former crime boss. Even now, in his unconsciousness, the zombified rats were gnawing on his body, removing the useless bits while ensuring he stayed alive. Not enough damage to kill, but significant enough to torment his living flesh. Toes, ears, and other useless appendages were all fair game for the ravenous creatures. Without her specific instructions, the rats might very well have left Clay’s body alone. Under her instruction, however, they fed, their bodies unable to devour the small pieces of flesh they nipped from his outer layer.
She may even go one further and invite one of the undead up into the bedroom. Clay would be fully awake to experience having his face eaten off. There was a significant amount of potential with that idea.
Clay’s form in this world was nearly complete, the hunched over figure fitting the subservient nature he now held. Whereas once she was his to command through fear and the threat of violence, now he would feel compelled to acquiesce to Susan’s every whim. Even as he followed the most degrading of her commands, he wouldn’t be able to resist. Nor would he be able to understand the reason for his inability to fight back. She knew this because it was the way of things. For those created here by XV1, the male was always inferior to the female. Susan had no knowledge as to why that was, but she would shortly find out to her own despair.
The air she breathed changed, as if manipulated by unseen forces. A wind picked up around her violently, threatening the stability of where she sat. Normally, Susan barely felt it, surprised by how her body shook now. This was different, feeling as if the whole ground beneath her had become uncertain, cracks snaking across the ground around her. This was something beyond the desert, a threat from the place her body resided in. In the real world, she opened her eyes to the true reality.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 4): The Dead Page 23
