“What?”
“I’m not going to kill you.” Father started to protest, but Campbell cut him off. “Don’t get me wrong, you will die soon enough, but we are going to make it as poetic as possible.” On one of the side tables were Campbell’s respirator and gloves, and he donned these now.
“No, you can’t.”
“Oh but I can and I will. As I said, I’m not going to kill you. You will sit here and let nature take its course.”
“You can’t, you can’t leave me like this,” Father implored.
“Too late, I’m afraid. You know what I should do is drag your daughters in here and tie them to you so they can watch each other die.” There it was, the final twist of the knife, the words that finally broke Father. Campbell could see it in the man’s eyes, the torment now complete. “You’re lucky though, not even I’m that twisted.”
“Thank you. Oh god, thank you.”
“I wouldn’t thank me too much. It’s going to take you a couple of days to die, and your wife’s body will have started to bloat by then.” Campbell felt satisfied with the vengeance he had enacted for the whole of humanity. There was no way this man could be allowed to live, and with the crimes he had committed, he wasn’t deserving of a quick death. With the bonds holding him, there was no way he would free himself. Campbell was well acquainted with such a predicament. As a final measure, Campbell taped Father’s mouth shut, so that he couldn’t even seperate his teeth.
Campbell finally left the room then, happy at last with his own sadism. All Father could do was sit there and wait for dehydration to take him, his restraints too strong for his mortal muscles to break. Three days from now, Campbell reckoned the man would probably be insane.
26.08.19
Leeds, UK
Andy had never expected to be used for anything like this. There were no soldiers present, but he was part of a six-man team that seemed to know what they were doing. Already they had performed two raids tonight, the four police with them leading the way. The only other civilian in the team, an Asian guy who wanted everyone to call him Kev, seemed to be enjoying his task way too much.
Most of the unsavoury elements had been cleared out by the army in the first wave, but some had slipped through the net. That was what Andy found himself doing this cold and brisk morning, the street outside the car he was in quiet and foreboding. The team had arrived in two cars, driving up slowly, a distance away from the target’s apartment.
Andy looked at the printout showing the guy’s mugshot. He looked formidable, and Andy wondered if six men were enough to take him down. The last two raids had gone easily, three pairs of wrists zip tied, those arrested now held for later collection.
Arrested? This wasn’t an arrest, it was an eviction of someone who was deemed troublesome and who needed to be removed from the city. Dour-faced, Gary sat in the front of the car, his submachine gun resting across the police officer’s lap. Nobody had needed to fire their weapon so far, and Andy was hoping that their good fortune would continue.
“Our target is a man called Mark Peterson. Surveillance spotted him near one of the known dead drops that we have been monitoring. We go in hard, shock and awe and take him in. Don’t hesitate to shoot if need be.”
“He’s a big lad,” Kev said excitedly. Andy looked at his civilian partner, wondered what story was inside him that had allowed him to have the honour of wearing the purple. There was a malevolent streak there, Andy could see it, but he supposed the same could be said for himself. Intuition told Andy that Kev wouldn’t hesitate to use the gun he had been provided with, perhaps even if the gun wasn’t needed.
“Nothing you can’t handle,” Gary said. The police officer took the hip flask out of an inside pocket and took a hefty swig. He didn’t offer it around. In lighter times, Andy would have questioned the wisdom of mixing alcohol and firearms, but he wasn’t here to question anyone. People did what they needed to do to defeat whatever demons were dragged up by this bubbling apocalypse. “You alright with this, Andy?” Gary suddenly asked. There was suspicion in the words, and Andy just gave a thumbs up. “Then let’s do this.” All the men in the car pulled black balaclavas over their faces.
Gary left the car first, the people in the car parked behind unloading themselves. Andy was the last out of the vehicle. He and Kev weren’t trained for this sort of thing, so they always went into the fray last, bringing up the rear as it were. This time was no different, and the six of them walked quietly across the road, their footsteps hardly audible despite the deathly quiet that enveloped the city. The night before had been scattered with gunshots, even the occasional scream, but there was hardly any of that now. Any zombies were miles away, drawn away from the city for the time being. How long things would stay like that was anybody’s guess.
At the end of the street, a single body swayed from a lamppost. Andy couldn’t read the words on the message that had been draped over the dead body’s chest. THIEF. A warning left several days ago to those who still felt they could break the rules. Those warnings and the rounding up of undesirables had seen the crime rate in Leeds plummet.
Nobody spoke, they all knew their role, the four police officers especially. Those men still had their uniforms, topped up by the padded riot gear they also wore. One of the officers carried a ballistic shield, just in case their target had somehow managed to arm himself. Just because guns were illegal didn’t mean there weren’t any around. The guy with the shield would go in first, protection and a weapon in its own right.
The door to the apartment building was locked, but there was a man inside waiting for them. The building’s concierge opened the door sheepishly, stepping back to allow the armed men to enter. He knew better than to tip off any residents to what was coming for them, lest the hostile totalitarian freight train turn its attention to him and the family he desperately supported. Before he was left behind, the concierge handed Gary a key. They didn’t really need it, the lock pick gun they had able to defeat most locks in seconds, but why not use what you could get. The concierge was left cowering in the apartment foyer, the early hours no trauma to someone who regularly worked the night shift.
The men ignored the elevator, taking the stairs up the two flights. They seemed to fill the staircase with their presence, doom coming to those less fortunate. Despite himself, Andy felt the excitement rising, the adrenaline pumping through him. He could see the attraction of this line of work now, and he caught Kev looking back at him, the security lighting making Kev’s eyes look manic. Or maybe it wasn’t the light. Maybe that was just how Kev was.
There is a danger in waking people up suddenly, especially people who have the potential for violence. They can be disorientated, wrapped up in nightmares that suddenly get congealed with reality. That was why the first instance Mark realised he was in trouble was when his body was jolted awake by the electrical pain that coursed through it.
Eyes snapping open, he had no idea what was happening, his limbs completely unresponsive. Momentarily paralysed, he felt hands grabbing him, flipping his bulk over onto his front, his powerful arms pulled roughly behind him. Before he even could fight back, his wrists were painfully restrained, and a dank hood had been pulled over his head. Mark had briefly seen dark figures in the room with him, but now he could see nothing, his breath catching in his throat. He tried to say something, but that just got rewarded with a severe punch to his right kidney.
“Fuckers,” Mark tried to scream, but that just got him another reward.
“Mark Peterson,” Gary said from memory, “under the powers granted to me by the interim authority and under the sovereignty of His Majesty Charles the Third, your orange status has now been revoked.” Mark tried to struggle again, the two officers holding him down finding him difficult to control even with his arms restrained. “You have been classed as an insurgent and are under detention pending a review of your status.” Gary nodded to the officers, and they lifted Mark off the bed. Standing in the bedroom doorway, Andy saw just ho
w large the prisoner was. Andy stepped back into the corridor so that the captive could be dragged out into the living room where he was deposited on the stained sofa there.
The flat was decrepit by Andy’s standards, and with the occupant now in custody, the officers began to search it. Gary found the phone that Mark had been using to share files via the USB points, and handed it to one of his fellow officers.
“What’s the code for your phone?” Gary ordered.
“Fuck off, pig,” Mark said defiantly. The punch to his chest knocked the wind out of him. Gary got in close, pulling the hood off Mark’s face to expose one eye.
“Look at me,” Gary said. Mark did, the venom in his eyes unable to harm the men who were intent on his detention. “I’m more than happy to do this the hard way. Failure to comply with our orders allows for immediate execution.” Gary stepped back. His submachine gun was draped across his back on its strap, and he pulled the revolver out of its holster. “Do you want to try that again, or am I going to have to ruin a perfectly good apartment?” Andy stood somewhat mesmerised. There was still a part of him that said none of this was okay, that there had to be a better way to keep a city of several hundred thousand safe. It was a small voice, though, in the back of his mind, and it held no power here. Andy wasn’t in any kind of position to judge someone’s guilt, but he was happy for others to take that honour.
“1547” Mark relented. That was wise, the threat to shoot might have been fake, but the risk of further violence used against him wasn’t. Bodies the size of Mark’s were easier to move under their own steam rather than being carried. The hood was lowered back down over Mark’s face.
They waited then, for the officer to search the phone. Kev looking around expectantly. Gary wandered over to the fridge, pulling it open, extracting the beer that he was pleasantly surprised to find inside. There was a murmur of approval as the six-pack was handed round. It was continental beer, something that you were unlikely to find even a week from now. Andy accepted the cold bottle that was thrust at him, the opener that had been found in a drawer following in short order. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he let the bottle rise to his lips and the liquid wash down his throat. Despite its chill, a warmth spread through him.
Was he supposed to feel this good ruining someone else’s life because strangely he did.
“Got it,” the officer with the phone said. He handed it to Gary, who spent a moment going through the evidence of treachery.
“Take him,” Gary said, and Andy watched as a struggling Mark was lifted off the sofa.
“Stop resisting,” Kev said louder than he needed to. He punched Mark in the gut, which managed to cause a grunt to escape from the giant’s lips.
“Easy lad,” Gary said, “don’t want you hurting yourself.” Kev stood back and let the officers take charge.
“What happens to him now?” Andy asked.
“What do you think?” responded Gary. Andy had seen the end result of what it meant to be labelled a Red. Now he was going to see what happened first hand.
***
Mark moved his head around to try and get the measure of the men who had come for him. He could hear them, the authority in some of the voices, the uncertainty in others. They were only representatives of the oppressors, but they were as complicit in the destruction of liberty as the zombies themselves. By the time they had him out of his apartment and were dragging him along the corridor to the communal staircase, Mark knew he couldn’t let them take him quietly. A part of him kept expecting them to just put a bullet in his head, but the less fearful aspect of his mind knew they were taking him in for questioning. Who did he know? What other elements of resistance was he aware of? Where were all the dead drops? Those were all questions that would be asked, and there was no way he could refuse giving the answers that wanted to be heard.
Very few people could resist any kind of torture. It was always said that information gained from torture was unreliable, but that wasn’t the case when it was done properly. Likely they wouldn’t even need torture for him, a decent interrogator could get what was stored away in his head without resorting to violence. Mark had no illusions, there was only one way he was heading, and there was a funeral pyre ready and waiting with his name on it.
The majority of those living in the UK before Lazarus would have been surprised by how quickly Leeds had descended into totalitarianism, but that would only be down to a basic lack of understanding as to how western societies worked. The concept of democracy was not conducive to stopping the zombie menace, so a different, more effective method was needed. The true undesirables of society, those who threatened the status quo had always been dealt with, only before it had been by more covert and lawful means.
Now the thick-soled boot of oppression was the key to winning this, and Mark stood in the way of that. Out of his flat and dragged along the corridor, he waited till the group had passed through the fire door and had begun their descent to the ground floor. Three steps down was when Mark lunged, tripping one of the officers, sending the unfortunate man hurtling down concrete steps. There was a sickening crack as the officer’s arm broke as the body fell. The cry of pain sent Mark’s adrenaline surging.
More arms tried to grab him, but Mark was already moving, just enough vision coming through the bottom of the bag for him to see the steps. He pulled a second officer with him, the policeman needing both hands to stop him joining the fate of his comrade. Together, Mark collapsed with the clinging officer to the bottom of the flight, his body falling on the screaming man, something sharp digging into Mark’s back. With all his strength, he resisted as much as he could, managing to headbutt another face that he couldn’t see.
It was futile, of course.
More hands grabbed Mark, boots kicking him in parts he didn’t want to be kicked. The hood was yanked off his head, and one of the men in civilian clothes grabbed him roughly by the hair. Andy pulled Mark’s head back and placed the end of his pistol right against Mark’s eye.
“Stop this, right now,” Andy ordered, even pressing harder against the eyeball to express how serious he was. Mark gritted his teeth, the discomfort from the pressure turning to undeniable agony. Andy was quite prepared to keep pushing until the eye burst. Mark had caused harm to the men he was with, and that couldn’t be allowed.
“Okay,” Mark relented, but Andy didn’t. If anything, he just pushed more, the finger threatening to slip onto the trigger. It would be so easy. Just one shot to remove another problem. Much easier than killing zombies.
A gentle restraining hand landed on Andy’s shoulder.
“Easy lad,” Gary said in calming tones. Andy looked over his shoulder, the senior officer looking grave but not casting Andy in a critical light. “There will be time for that later.” Andy eased off his captive, allowing others to take his place.
“Fuckers,” Mark spat. The injured man underneath him begged for help, and Mark was pulled off the downed officer. It was clear though that Mark needed to be taught a lesson, and fists began to rain down on him again, Andy looking on in stunned silence at what he had been capable of. He wasn’t ashamed that he had once again nearly killed a man. Andy certainly was surprised that he had let his anger take control of him, owning his actions whilst his rational mind sat aside as if on a fucking camping trip.
Andy had enjoyed it, the thrill of what he was allowed to do growing in him. For once in his life, he actually had the power of life and death over others. It was becoming more and more obvious to Andy that killing Iain had been the best thing he had ever done because it had finally unlocked the man who he had always meant to be. He stood aside and let Gary and another man teach Mark a valuable lesson, Kev occasionally stepping in to put a well-placed boot in. Mark’s resistance had been understandable, almost expected, and they had a man who would need hospital care as a result. Lessons were learnt and administered. Mark wouldn’t be causing more problems for anyone.
25.08.19
Frederick, USA
&
nbsp; The news that a Delta team had secured several hundred doses of an effective vaccine was released amongst what was left of the country’s population on the President’s orders. Morale was more important than bullets, and as the armies of the dead grew despite the best efforts of the dwindling military, those fighting on the ground needed every hope they could grasp at.
Despite the tragedy that had occurred at the base’s lowest level, there was still a considerable amount of scientific talent based at Fort Detrick, so it made sense for some of America’s best and brightest to receive the research that Campbell had secured with the hope of the vaccine going into mass production. Jee, still relieved by her escape, found herself put in charge of a small group of microbiologists who would spend their time checking the validity of the research. With Schmidt gone, saner minds were now in charge of the fight against Lazarus. Although the Professor had clearly been a genius, nobody was really sad to see her go. It appeared Schmidt had developed the reputation in the scientific community as a bit of a nut job.
Nobody seemed able to decide what to do about the immune survivors, however. If the vaccine worked, then there probably wouldn’t be any need for them. They were kept sequestered though, separated “for their own protection”. There was still some hope that the secret to their immunity could be found, but the revelations of their psychic link in the dream world were of little interest to anyone. Virtually all the research and evidence of that had been lost in the lower laboratories sterilisation process. With the bulk of the data salvaged from Father’s servers already in the hands of Fort Detrick researchers, that now became the priority for everyone.
Jee tried to ensure that the immune were still seen as useful, doing what she could to try and get their rights restored. Yet they remained incarcerated. Jee might have finally been placed in the correct position for her skills, but it didn’t give her any more power or say in how the military ran the facility. Now on the surface, it became clear to her that, although excessive, Schmidt’s way of doing things had been sanctioned, even encouraged, due to the desperation of the situation. The President and the people who advised her were intent on results no matter what the cost.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 4): The Dead Page 27
