The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 4): The Dead

by Deville, Sean

“Don’t you look at me,” Kev demanded. His voice was louder than it should be, indicating his unstable nature.

  “Kev, quit that shit,” the senior guard ordered. Mark watched mesmerised as Kev backed away, Andy stepping forward to the woman. Waiting for her to get up, Andy said something to the woman that Mark only just managed to hear.

  “You know this is the only way.”

  Mark turned his head around facing forward, his feet digging into the earth. On one of the trees in front of him, a squirrel sat watching them, its nervous legs ready to propel it off at the first threat. Mark looked back at it, suddenly curious as to what the creature had seen done here. He knew he would not beg for his life. That was beneath him, and it wouldn’t do him any good anyway.

  One by one, those marked for death lined themselves up for their last few seconds of life. The end of a gun pressed down on Mark’s shoulder, and he knelt down, unconcerned by the hardness that met his knees. A stone dug into the flesh on his left leg, but it was a minor discomfort. Mark could have lived with that for years if it had meant his life was to be spared. Why wasn’t he fighting back?

  “Come on then Kev, time for you to do your thing.”

  Andy watched Kev as he stepped up behind the kneeling figures. The big near-naked guy shivered but not from fear, the cold having crept into his bones. Kev pulled the revolver from its holster and stepped up behind those he was here to kill. If he was truthful, Andy didn’t like Kev. He was too cocky, too quick to use unnecessary violence. A bully in another time, he was also a man of dubious character. Just because people needed to be killed, didn’t mean you couldn’t honour the sacrifice they were making.

  It was actually an easy thing, killing a man. The problem was often the aftermath, the rejection by one’s brain at the realisation of the deed that had been done. In human history, life had invariably been cheap, it was only the growth in humanity’s science and intelligence that had enshrined the importance of such noble virtues as human rights. That’s what civilisation brought, and when that civilisation was stripped away, the barbarity was wont to return stronger than ever.

  This was the early stages of it, though. There hadn’t really been time to dehumanise those you wanted to kill. The fear of the infection was the blanket under which the newly established authority could do what it felt was required in the shock and awe tactics used on a population still reeling from the demise of much of the country. You didn’t even need to demonise those you wanted to kill, although that helped. All it took was ordinary men, ripped from their lives only to find themselves being compelled to kill their fellow human beings with bullet and bayonet… and perhaps not really even understanding why.

  Kev hesitated again, the hand holding the gun shaking. Not everyone, it seemed, was up to the task.

  “Today would be nice,” Gary said. Andy looked between the two men and shook his head sadly. Taking his own pistol out of its holsterand pushing Kev aside, Andy moved up behind the woman and shot her point blank in the back of the head. Kev and all the other infected individuals flinched, Kev stepping further out of the way so that Andy could move down the line.

  Andy knew he should feel something, but as he pulled the trigger to kill his next victim, he realised he felt absolutely nothing. He was just numb as if he was watching himself perform this terrible act. The second body tipped forward into the trench, Andy already stepping behind his next target. One of the things that separated him from the many given this task was that Andy didn’t need alcohol to help him through it.

  When you didn’t want your victims to come back, shooting them in the brainstem was the most efficient method available, and he did that a third time.

  He left Mark till the last because something inside Andy said that this was the man most able to cope with the wait for death. Think about it. You know the gun is coming, you see the bodies of your fellow forgotten tumbling lifelessly into the pit before you, the evidence of previous slaughter there for you to see, smell and hear due to the few flies that persisted down in the pit. How would you cope?

  And then there was one left. Andy stepped up behind Mark, and for some reason, he felt compelled to say something. This wasn’t a bad or an evil man, just someone who had been washed along by circumstance.

  “Sorry, mate,” Andy said. Mark didn’t look back, just seemed to nod his acceptance of the statement. The gun didn’t jam, no last-second reprieve. The bullet exited the barrel at fifteen hundred feet per second and crushed itself through the back of Mark’s skull. It didn’t matter how big you were when that happened. When that happened, the normal result was for the brain to die from the trauma inflicted upon it. Mark’s consciousness winked out, and those watching considered him dead before his face impacted onto the body in the pit below. Mark’s fall sent the flies buzzing, and Andy found himself concerned that those flies would carry the virus. If they did, how could you defend against that?

  Andy stepped back so that Gary could finish things off. On Gary’s back was a tank of bleach which he now sprayed over the dead bodies, the fine mist penetrating everything down there. It was mainly to keep the flies at bay, and the few that were down there reacted angrily to its fresh application. Eventually, the pit would be full, and the earth that had been dug out would be replaced. There were a few more trips from the school before that would happen mind, Leeds still not stripped of those who threatened it. In the meantime, the pit would be covered by a tarpaulin. There was no fear that curious children would venture here and fall in, because all the children were elsewhere, sequestered away for their own protection.

  Other dead mounds were developing across the city. Some burnt, others buried like this one ultimately would be. If people ever survived this apocalypse, would they dig up these mass graves hundreds of years from now and revel in the insanity that had caused the deaths of so many? Or, with billions being the likely death toll, would nobody even care?

  “You did good, Andy,” Gary said. He didn’t speak to Kev, who stood back, his body showing that he knew he had failed the final test. It would be Kev’s job to drag the body that had been left in the field and reunite it with these here. After that, he was likely to find his purple armband replaced with something not so privileged. You were only allowed to carry a gun if you could be trusted to use it.

  There was nothing Andy needed to say, so he kept his mouth shut and followed Gary out of the copse. They walked together, leaving Kev behind. Kev wasn’t one of them now, he wasn’t even worthy of condemnation. Andy had a strong feeling that, days from now, Kev would find himself kneeling at the edge of a pit with a gun placed at the rear of his skull. Cowards weren’t of any use to this city and its people, but Kev would be one of those who spiralled out of control, becoming a danger to his fellow civilians.

  There was a certain degree of satisfaction in Andy’s soul. He had done the hard tasks asked of him and hadn’t baulked or hesitated. He was a man of the new world, confident that if the city could survive so would he. So he was surprised when, halfway across the playing field, he felt a wave of tiredness wash over him. Maybe it wasn’t surprising with the little sleep he’d had over the last few days. Andy had been running on adrenaline, so it was understandable for there to be a rebound from that. He faltered in his step, his vision blurring.

  “Andy?” Gary asked, suddenly concerned. Andy didn’t hear him, already falling to the ground, consciousness failing as he felt himself pulled into the realms of sleep. The Woman of Skulls had called him, and like all the immune across the planet, she demanded her flock be there for the final reckoning.

  The Desert

  As impossible as it seemed, the heat seemed worse now, the suns at their zenith baking the ground and those who stood upon it. Except for those that came for them. They seemed miraculously unaffected by the environment that existed here. Once they had been five, and now they were three. Three would be enough.

  Any fear that had existed in Jessica had vanished. Now all that remained was acceptance. Kneeling on the groun
d, she turned her scarred head to look behind her, two demons charging across the desert floor, their vile intent obvious for anyone with eyes left to see. The one called The Broken came first, running strangely on all fours like some feral beast. His leash flew free behind him, no longer grasped, untethered against those who were now too tired to run anymore. Some would consider him a victim in his own right, but Jessica sensed the sins that corrupted his being. Despite his appearance, he was perhaps the least innocent of the three.

  The Woman of Skulls and The Reborn had been forged and shaped by forces beyond their understanding, the evil imposed on them. That did not mean that Jessica could offer any kind of forgiveness for what they had so far done, far from it. If she could, she would have struck them down and rid the land of their presence, but she had no power to do that. The acceptance and the resignation rose in her again, and Jessica stood to face her end. There was no point in running anymore. Let it be over.

  The hunched over figure came at Jessica, stopping mere metres away from her. Unable to stand properly, Clay clawed at the hot dirt with his hands, nothing but a dog awaiting the commands of its mistress. The Broken he was called, the voices on the wind told Jessica that. She could see that the name fit him well, not just in how his body was ruined, but also his will and his mind. This was a lesser creature, but still ultimately dangerous to her, the fingers sporting wickedly sharp talons that could rip the guts right out of her body. Sharp as laser-honed knives, he could use them to slice her open or as stabbing blades. Even worse, he could use them to slowly peel the skin from her bones.

  Jessica didn’t expect anyone to come to her aid, but as she stood there waiting for her fate to be delivered, a blackened figure came out of the dust that surrounded her. Azrael, he had found her. Here he was for one final dance.

  “Run, Jessica,” Azrael roared in her mind. But she did not run. What was the point? There was no way she could flee this. As noble as his sacrifice was about to be, it was for nothing. Sensing her resignation, Azrael still pushed himself in front of her, a shield against the evil that stalked the dreams of man.

  “No,” Jessica said. “Let us face them together.” Azrael looked back at her, his face barely recognisable to Jessica under the weight of scars and scabbed flesh.

  “You will die, though,” he pleaded.

  “That will happen anyway. Better to end this misery once and for all and be done with this place.” She held out her hand to him, and he took it hesitantly. Finally, he nodded his acceptance of her wisdom, and together they turned to face the two beasts. Susan, towering above them, stopped her approach, appreciative of their attempt at a last stand, thankful that they had now accepted their fate.

  “Thank you,” Susan said, the words resonating across the desert like cannon fire. “It can be so tedious to chase you all down.”

  “Just do what you have to, murderer,” Jessica said, unsure if The Woman of Skulls would even hear them. Jessica watched as their enemy plucked two severed heads from the spines on her shoulders, tossing them away into the dirt.

  “I need to make room,” Susan said. “Your heads need pride of place. You have caused me much heartache, Azrael. I assume you know I cannot let that pass unpunished?”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Jessica begged.

  “Of course I do,” Susan said, almost confused that mercy was even considered an option. “I have no other purpose.” Clay edged forward, eager to slice into the two immune, but Susan barked an order at him. “Bad dog.” Clay fell to the ground, cowering in the dirt, the words like knives in his flesh.

  “Then kill us and be done with it,” Azrael insisted.

  “You think this will be quick?” Susan asked. “If you do, you really haven’t been paying attention. I’m going to show you agony you couldn’t even imagine.” Susan looked down at Clay, who sensed her attention and looked back at her expectantly. “Dog, bring me one of his eyes.”

  Clay howled in delight and leapt from the floor. He landed hard on Azrael, Jessica flung to the side. The weight of The Broken forced Azrael onto his back, his rib cage feeling crushed by what was now upon him. Clay shouldn’t have weighed this much, an immovable object that wriggled and squirmed with excitement, drooling venom that singed Azrael where it landed. Azrael beat at the thing with his fists, but it was like hitting stone, the only damage done was to himself. A thick, calloused hand gripped his forehead, and Azrael watched in rapidly growing despair as two of the talons were brought up to his left eye. They slipped in, squeezing the orb before ripping his eye clean from his head. The socket dried out quickly, and Clay spat in it, the saliva sizzling in the wound.

  Just the touch of Clay made what he had suffered so far in the desert feel like a mere inconvenience, and Azrael tried to writhe. A useless act, Clay sitting upon him, gazing at the bloodied eye that he now held in the palm of his hand. As The Broken, he felt the sudden desire to eat this flesh, but he knew that would earn him a severe punishment from his mistress. With a sigh, he flung the eye behind him, where Susan plucked it out of the air.

  “Leave the other,” Susan demanded, “I want him to see what I do to him.” All Jessica could do was lie there and watch the abuse happen.

  “I’m sorry,” Azrael said. Jessica suddenly realised he was talking to her. “I’m sorry for everything. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I forgive you,” Jessica whispered, words she never thought she would be capable of. Azrael howled again as The Broken bit into Azrael’s shoulder.

  “How touching,” Susan said, sickened by this display of weakness. The Broken spat the flesh out. It landed in the dirt, steaming, a diseased and gnarled tree taking root, feeding off the human remnants.

  Azrael had caused her so much inconvenience, it was time for Susan to show him what happened to those who defied her. “Down dog,” Susan ordered, and instantly, if not reluctantly, Clay leapt off the body of Azrael, cowering on all fours. Clay sniffed at the poisonous plant that was blooming, unsure as to whether he should even touch it.

  “How can you do this?” Jessica begged. “We have never harmed you.”

  “Never harmed me?” Susan said astonished. “You created us. You and your kind are the reason our souls are damned.”

  “I don’t…”

  “Your blood was used to corrupt us. To shape what you see here. How could you even think you would be allowed to live after that. The virus is pure, merciless. None can be allowed to escape its cleansing fire, and yet you defy the very order of things by your existence.” Although Susan had never met Jessica, she knew everything that Smith had known, the knowledge shared.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Jessica begged.

  “No, it wasn’t. And yet you are still responsible. If not for you, we three would never have been born. Thousands will die agonising deaths because of you. And Azrael…” Susan paused to pick Azrael up from the ground. At nearly twice his height, he was like a doll to her. With steel-like fingers clutched around his throat, Azrael’s legs dangled uselessly. He could have tried to kick her, but that would have been an action in futility. “Azrael will be the one to suffer the most for his defiance.”

  The Woman of skulls caressed Azrael’s face almost tenderly. The flesh there flaked away, bringing fresh bleeding wounds, the scabs and the callouses easily removed. With finger and thumb, Susan squeezed what was left of the skin, and methodically began to peel it from his face. Strip by strip, she removed what was left of his identity.

  “Watch carefully,” Susan mocked, “for I will be doing this to you. I let you keep your eyes for now so you can witness the torment that you have caused.” At that moment, Jessica finally considered fleeing, but she knew she could never outrun The Broken.

  “I didn’t create the virus,” Jessica roared.

  “No, you didn’t. Instead, you let fate control your life, just as I did.” Jessica tried to pick herself up off the floor, but Clay was suddenly there, snapping at her with teeth too sharp to be real, his face contorted into a
mask of pure evil. His message was clear, stay on the ground whilst my mistress educates you. She had no choice but to stay propped up on her elbows as The Woman of Skulls slowly skinned Azrael alive.

  “You loved this man once,” Susan said.

  “How do you…”

  “How do I know? I have no idea. The knowledge is just there, floating with the dust, ready to be read by those with eyes to see. I know so much about all of you,” Susan informed. “The lives you have lived. The heartache you have suffered. It just adds to the sweetness of the task at hand.” Susan grabbed one of Azrael’s nipples, twisting it painfully. She pulled harder, and it came away, a strip of burnt skin still attached, ripping a slice from his chest. The skinning would be slow, it would be methodical, and Susan would make Jessica watch every second of it.

  “I even know where you hide,” Susan added. “Even now, the undead are hurtling towards your door. Your precious protectors won’t stand a chance.”

  ***

  Brian stalked those who were worthy of the death he could deliver. He had killed dozens already, the sheer numbers of the immune requiring speed and efficiency rather than the luxury of taking his time. Which was a shame really when you thought about it, although sometimes he lingered in his task. It was wrong to say that the virus and XV1 corrupted the minds of humanity. On the contrary, it merely stripped away the fake layers, revealing the truth about what humans were capable of. It was a blessing, bringing the ultimate purpose to lives that had for so long been lacking. There was no better life than one lived in the pursuit of an undeniable and overriding mission.

  This might have been a dream, but nobody here could survive the traumas he would inflict.

  The last one Brian had tried to kill had actually escaped his clutches, turning to fragile charcoal and ash before he could get his fingers into what was left of her hair. A single swipe of his hand had sent what was left of her into the wind, adding to the dust that he never inhaled. Another immune killed by the new owners of the planet, the undead. He was not annoyed, there were so many left here to choose from.