Rise (Book 3): Dead Inside

by Gareth Wood

  Edging around the zombie on the table he opened the metal door and slipped out to the main room, his pulse pounding in his ears, deafening him to the moaning that started as soon as he walked in. In the main room he located what he was looking for, a metal pole with a clasped hook on one end and a handle grip on the other. He felt calmer just holding it. He also took a pair of handcuffs from a desk, then returned to the room where the dead woman waited.

  She had calmed somewhat in his absence, but as soon as he entered she started thrashing again.

  "This is going to be a problem," he muttered, looking at the thrashing corpse. He grasped her head with one hand and pressed it down onto the table, struggling to keep her still and to keep his own flesh well away from her teeth as he connected the pole to the leather neck restraint. Once it was done he applied the handcuffs to her left arm above the padded cuff. Next he reached over and pulled the knife out of her chest, all the while angling his own arm as far away from her gagged mouth as he could. Blood spurted once out of the wound, splashing his hand and dribbling down her sides.

  It took some wrestling, but he got her turned over and her hands cuffed behind her back. Then he was able to release her feet and neck, and with the help of the pole get her to stand up. The problem was that she kept trying to get at him. She tried to move toward him no matter where he wanted her to go. He was relieved to see that she was just as uncoordinated as all the others, despite her aggression level being quite a lot higher. He managed to guide her to the next room by simply leading the way and having her follow, the pole keeping her a constant six feet away. The main room was large, and the concrete walls had iron rings bolted to them at regular intervals. Once inside he locked the collar to an empty wall restraint with a short length of metal chain, and turned her around to face the wall. He pushed her face into the wall and untied the gag at the back of her head. She would spit it out eventually. Next was the truly dangerous part.

  With her face still pushed into the wall he kicked her legs farther apart. She writhed, trying to turn around, but he held her there, kicking her ankles every time she tried to turn. With his free hand he took out the handcuff key, and tried to push it into the keyhole on the cuff on her right arm. He dropped the key when she reared back, and watched it bounce across the floor to land between the feet of one of the others.

  "To hell with it," he said, releasing her and backing away to the center of the room. "Stay like that for a while and see how you like it."

  He turned in a circle and looked at all the others, their grasping hands reaching desperately for his flesh. Chained to the wall now were the reanimated bodies of five women, four of them reaching for him from where the chains held them to the walls, all of them naked and with heads roughly shaved of hair. They stank of death, and each had a similar injury over her heart. Each of them had but one desire, to consume his warm flesh with rending teeth. The thought made him shiver a little inside, but that was all.

  Nodding in satisfaction that all was well, Alexander stepped out of the room and climbed back up the stairs to his home, carefully avoiding the third step from the top and taking the lantern with him, leaving his pets in the dark.

  INTERLUDE TWO

  UBC Students Union building, July 27, 2004

  "Dr. Girenko!"

  Elena Girenko looked up from the microscope she'd been staring into for the last three hours. The jock, the big blond athlete named Todd, who had proved surprisingly able at fighting the… whatever they were, was walking into her makeshift lab, calling her name loudly. She decided to stop him before he broke something.

  "Over here, Todd," she said, waving a hand from the shadows. She tugged her knitted shawl tighter over her shoulders. There was no power to run heat or lights, though she'd been told there was a generator installed in the basement. Apparently it needed fuel. Why someone just didn't go to get some was beyond her. Were they all simpletons who couldn't manage one little task? Or were they afraid of the… the things out there?

  "Hi, Doc," Todd said. "There's a meeting downstairs, and dinner's in about fifteen."

  Elena sighed in frustration, which made her cough. Her lungs hadn't been the same since the sickness went around, weeks ago. At least she hadn't developed pneumonia. But she had about a thousand more important things to do than worry about how much shower gel was left, or why it hadn't stopped raining in weeks.

  "Have someone bring me something to eat. I can't afford the time to go to one of these ridiculous meetings."

  Todd smiled and walked over to her desk, where she had set up a salvaged microscope and some candles and flashlights in an office on the top floor of the Students Union. She had a number of notebooks filled with scribbled writing, many pencils, and a little bit of salvaged lab equipment, but the majority of the office's contents were administration booklets and files that she hadn't thrown out yet.

  Todd stood there with his hands on his hips, smiling down at her with an expression that surely would have opened the legs and melted the hearts of many of the University bimbos, but had no effect whatsoever on Elena.

  "Actually, you can and you will. The meeting is mandatory. We need ideas to collect more food and medicine, and everyone is coming. Nobody will bring you food. You'll have to come get it yourself."

  Elena was shocked to be spoken to in such a way by a student. And one on an athletic scholarship, at that!

  "How dare you speak to me like that! I'll have you-" She stopped, unsure of how to continue, though her outrage remained.

  "You’ll what? Have me expelled? It's a little late for that, Doc." To his credit, Todd did not look smug. He spoke calmly, but with certainty. "Now come on. The meeting starts right away, and I like my food hot."

  Elena glared at him, but he refused to be intimidated or go away.

  "Doc," he said, "I'll carry you if I have to."

  "Fine!" She got up slowly, wrapping her shawl around her thin shoulders. Elena Girenko was nearly seventy years old. Her hair was white and her face was wrinkled, but before this outbreak her health had been excellent. She was tiny and thin to the point of emaciation, and looked like someone's kindly old grandmother, but her mind was sharp and her students had lived in fear of her acid tongue. She was also one of the foremost virologists on the UBC staff. She studied molecular arrangements that could barely be classified as being alive.

  "You'll have to help me down the stairs," she said. "And this is under protest! I have important work to do!"

  She led the way to the hallway, and then to the stairs. Leaving her work galled her. She knew it could wait, but still hated leaving it.

  Todd followed along like a loyal guard dog, taking her arm when they reached the top of the stairs. She glanced outside when they reached the large windows at the end of the hall, and then immediately wished she hadn't. The view from here looked north along the boulevard, unpleasant enough when the weather was good. Now it was dismal with the unending rains as well as the shuffling crowds of… whatever those things were. Her brain refused the word 'zombie' because it was clearly ridiculous.

  Todd helped her descend, providing polite aid when it was needed. At the bottom she rested a moment while her knees recovered, and then together with Todd walked into the common dining and meeting room where the thirty-one survivors met and ate. Elena's mind drifted, going over the problem. The contagion, whatever it was, transferred via bodily fluid contact, and was apparently absolutely lethal. It was also, so far, undetectable.

  It must be this equipment, Elena thought.

  Her nose wrinkled at the smell of all those unwashed bodies crammed into a single room. No one had bathed properly in the last several weeks. It was pungent, to say the least. But there was food, salvaged from outside, and Elena realised just how hungry she was. She and Todd were the last to arrive, and the bustle of human activity was strange now, unfamiliar. Long hours spent alone in her makeshift laboratory had made her miss the crowds of students and staff.

  Todd, the closest thing this group had t
o a leader, stood in the center of the room to speak while everyone else sat down at tables and chairs and couches, some already stuffing the ration of pasta and tomato sauce into their mouths.

  "Thanks for coming, everyone," he said, and the few conversations stopped. His voice carried easily into every corner of the room. "I just wanted to tell you the newest developments. We should have showers up and running by this time tomorrow."

  There was a cheer at that announcement. Elena wasn't the only one who thought everyone stank, apparently.

  "Thanks to Steve and his team for that. Also, our electricity problem is closer to being solved, but…"

  It was at this point that Elena stopped listening. She finished eating while thinking about the problem of identifying the agent responsible for the outbreak.

  It's just got to be this poor equipment, she thought again, as she continued eating. Trying to identify something as small as a virus using an optical microscope was simply futile. She could, however, see the effects of the agent on healthy cells. Even a single infected blood cell, no matter that it appeared to be dead, could infect and kill a significant number of healthy living cells. So far no anti-virals or anti-bacterial agents had killed the agent without killing the infected cells as well, though admittedly she had very few drugs to choose from.

  "Something on your mind, Dr. Girenko?"

  Elena blinked and looked at the speaker. A pretty, almost gaunt young woman with long dark hair had sat down across the table from her. Elena recognised her, her name was Robyn something. An astrophysics student. At least she was a scientist.

  "I was just thinking. Why do you ask?"

  "Your fork has been halfway from plate to mouth for about a minute now," the young woman said, pointing. Robyn, like all of them, had the haunted and hungry look of survivors. The young woman's clothes were slightly too big on her.

  "Oh," Elena said, and returned the fork to the plate. She supposed she might as well try to be social. "Did I miss anything important? I tend to tune these meetings out after a while."

  "Nothing vital. There was some talk of limiting shower times, and a reminder to stay clear of lower floor windows that aren't blacked out yet."

  "Whatever for? It's nice to have some natural light," Elena said.

  "Yes, but if they catch sight of us, if the dead know we're in here, it puts us all at risk."

  "They're not dead!" Even Elena seemed surprised at the force of her own voice.

  "Excuse me?" Robyn said, sitting back a bit. People at nearby seats were staring now.

  "I said they're not dead. They can't be. If a body dies, it decomposes-"

  "They are rotting," Robyn interjected.

  "-and it doesn't get up again and keep moving! It doesn't! So these people are sick, not dead. It's impossible for them to be dead!"

  The young woman sat back as if stunned. The ferocity with which Elena had spoken clearly surprised her, as well as those able to hear at nearby tables.

  "Doctor," Robyn said to her calmly, "they are dead. You were with us when we fought them. You know they're rotting, that they have no brain activity."

  Elena stood up and fled from the room. This was why she didn't come to these meetings! The preposterous ideas some people had! And a scientist as well!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Mission Safe Zone, September 8, 2013

  "If we're going to do this," Amanda said to Robyn, "let's go somewhere with a good payoff."

  It was the morning of the day following the hangover, and she stood on the opposite side of Robyn's kitchen table, looking at the regional map spread out between them.

  Robyn and Amanda had spent the last hour marking all the places on the map that they had personally salvaged from. Most of those consisted of places south and west of Mission. Since most of the canned goods had spoiled by now and the farms in Abbotsford were able to provide a fair amount of food, the amount of salvage from grocery stores had dwindled to almost nothing. Mostly they went after tools, auto parts, medical equipment, ammunition and weapons, construction materials, and educational supplies.

  "I agree," Robyn said. She stared at the map. "Neither of us has gone east much, have we?"

  "Nope. What are you thinking?"

  "We head up the Trans-Canada and see what we find. The towns up the valley all had RCMP detachments, fire halls, and clinics."

  "Not to mention hardware stores," Amanda said. "And a few libraries, which I bet haven't been looted yet."

  There were a few communities in the Fraser Valley beyond Mission, but they were small and confined their salvage operations to a few kilometers around the areas they controlled.

  "Oh yeah," Robyn said wistfully, looking at her sparse bookshelf. "What I wouldn't give for something new to read."

  "How far do you want to go?"

  "Well, there are safe houses here, here and here," she said, pointing to locations on the map, "so that gives us a three day range, plus however long we take to look around."

  "Avoid Chilliwack!" Amanda said. "I had a hell of a time getting past it on the way here from Alberta."

  Robyn nodded vigorously. The small city of Chilliwack and the region a few kilometers around it was stuffed full of the undead. It lay across the eastern part of the Fraser Valley, and the Trans-Canada Highway went right through it. There were many theories why the undead remained in that one location, but they were all irrelevant at the end of the day. The dead were simply there, and thus to be avoided.

  They spent the next hour discussing gear to bring. They would travel by bicycle, towing a small trailer behind each one. They would bring a cook set, two sleeping bags, food and water for a week, and extra clothes. Most of the space on the trailers was set aside for salvage, and they could tow quite a lot. At the end Amanda put two plastic containers, the size and shape of very large cigars, on the table.

  "What are these?" Robyn picked one up. It had a cap at one end but otherwise was unmarked grey plastic, durable and plain.

  "Euthanasia kits," Amanda replied. "I took several with me when I left Cold Lake. I gave a few to the hospital here, but they haven't caught on."

  Curious, Robyn popped off the cap. Inside was a syringe with a covered needle. The chamber of the syringe was divided into two parts, each filled with a different liquid.

  "If you get bit, and get away, find yourself a quiet place and inject that into a major muscle group." Amanda's eyes were haunted by memories. Robyn wanted to ask what she was seeing, but didn't say a thing. Some things were too private to intrude on.

  "Also," Amanda said, "if I'm bit and can't do it myself, I'd appreciate the help. Once the heart stops, the follow-up is a headshot."

  "What's in it?" Robyn asked.

  "Morphine?" Amanda shrugged. "Fuck if I know."

  "Okay. But only as a last resort. Agreed?"

  "Yeah," Amanda said. She took back the two kits and placed them back in her bag. Robyn saw that Amanda had goosebumps on her arms that faded slowly.

  "Are you okay?" she asked gently.

  "Are any of us?" Amanda waved the question away. "It's just memories. I'm alright."

  The weapons each planned to bring were based on personal preference. Robyn was very happy with her 700P LTR rifle and Colt handgun. Amanda planned to bring her bow and arrows, a Winchester Defender pump-action 12 gauge shotgun, and her Browning. Each woman’s handguns used 9mm ammunition, reducing the different types of rounds they needed to bring.

  Robyn was keeping an eye on the clock. They had somewhere to be at noon, and at eleven-thirty she stopped what she was doing.

  "Time to go," she said, grabbed a light jacket and her keys, and strapped on her Colt. Amanda did the same. They went outside and walked to the highway that crossed over to Abbotsford. The base of the ramp onto the bridge was only a few hundred meters from the house.

  They stopped at the gate, manned by a squad of Guards. The heavily armed men and women nodded respectfully to the two salvagers and allowed them to pass. People had been going out thr
ough this gate often for a very specific purpose, almost since the Wall went up, and the Guards were used to it. Outside the gate, halfway across the river, the salvagers all gathered on the otherwise empty bridge. There were nearly fifty men and women of all ages, all the salvagers not currently out seeking supplies.

  Some were solitary, braving the wastelands alone for whatever reason they had. Others came in small groups or pairs, preferring a little backup while keeping their profile relatively low. The larger groups were keeping to themselves. These were the ones who maintained vehicles and went out with a dozen or more salvagers at a time. They were the ones who hauled in the largest quantities of supplies, made the most noise, and killed the most undead. Their fatality rate was also the highest.

  It had become tradition, whenever a salvager died and the body was recovered, to have a memorial for them, either on the bridge or the town cemetery. If they had been bitten or had reanimated, the body was cremated and the ashes were poured off the bridge into the river. If they had died and not reanimated they were buried in the cemetery. Very few salvagers had ever made it into the ground rather than the river.

  Sheriff Reilly stood in the crowd as well, an unexpected presence at a salvager's funeral. Usually a deputy or two came out to the services, not the Sheriff himself.

  Family of the deceased, in this case only Nick's younger sister Rosemary and her husband Elliot, stood near the edge of the crowd with an old priest. Robyn had met them only once before Nick had come out with her, and she felt Rosemary's stare on her, the young woman no doubt questioning why it was that her brother hadn't made it back. The family resemblance was striking. Rosemary had the same eyes and cheekbones, though her hair was darker.

  Robyn walked over to Rosemary and offered her hand, which the younger woman shook briefly.

  "I'm very sorry about Nick," Robyn said. Elliot nodded while his wife continued to stare at Robyn without speaking. Finally Elliot spoke up, since Rosemary seemed incapable of speech at that moment.