by Wood, Rick
That’s when panic would ensue.
That’s why they needed their new leader in place as soon as possible. The prime minister had fallen, as had the rest of the ministers debating in Parliament with him.
How lucky for Eugene that this happened to be his day off.
She stepped into the lift, punched in the number for Eugene’s floor. Luckily, it was quite high up – this gave her time to consider her words carefully.
“Eugene, there’s been an outbreak,” she tried.
No.
“Mr Squire, there’s been–”
Should she really refer to him as mister?
“Prime Minister Squire, there has–”
But he didn’t know he was prime minister yet.
Or did he? How much was he aware of? Surely he’d heard something? He must have had a text or call from someone he knew.
By the time they were done, the bustling lobby would be empty. Flats would have been evacuated with urgent haste, and people would be travelling to safety. Eugene’s armed escort would have arrived and created a perimeter where those – things – couldn’t get in.
What were those things, anyway?
She’d seen zombie movies. But the idea always seemed so ridiculous. Something that belonged in a comedy more than a horror.
Honestly, if she woke up and found this was all a dream, she wouldn’t be–
“Shit.”
She’d been too lost in thought.
She was almost there.
Right. Time to think. Prepare the words. Get ready.
Stop being the shy little girl who never spoke at school.
Stop being the pathetic little runt who got dumped by guys who would always say, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
Stop being the person she was, basically. Have some gumption for a change. Some courage, which so seldom came to her. Be the person whose voice didn’t break as they spoke, out of fear that they might just upset someone.
She tried her introduction again.
“Mr Squire, I need you to come with me. There has been–”
What?
What had there been?
The lift dinged, and the doors opened.
She paused. Waited. Took in a deep breath.
But she knew she shouldn’t hang around. They had very limited time.
She stepped onto the floor. Felt the soft carpet press against her toes. Was this the best time to wear heels? Were they going to have to run?
She scoffed. Was this really what she was thinking about right now? Her footwear?
She passed a few rooms where the doors were open. Families were frantically packing suitcases. Parents were kneeling beside their children, telling them they needed to be calm. Behind them, the television was playing.
The report had aired. Everyone knew.
It suddenly felt very real.
She could have denied it to herself before, maybe – but not any longer. The news was out, and life would never be the same. The country was under the control of the army, who were recommending that all civilians barricade their homes. Do not try to get to loved ones, do not try to leave your home, do not let anyone in – everyone for themselves.
She reached Eugene’s door. Inhaled. Balled her fist and pronounced a few clear knocks.
There was no response.
Was he okay?
She tried again.
Nothing.
What if he’d been caught? He was the next living person in line to become prime minister; they needed leadership. Surely, he’d be all right?
She knocked once more.
Nothing.
She placed her hand upon the door handle and pressed down gently. The door was open, allowing her to slide it gently ajar. She peered in.
From where she was, she could see the kitchen.
She heard something. A commotion.
Were the infected already in here? Were they being attacked?
She readied herself to shut the door and run, she just needed visual confirmation first, she just needed to be sure; they needed a leader, and if their leader was dead, then they needed to know.
She leant in further, ever so slightly.
That’s when she saw it.
A pool of blood seeping into the cracks between the kitchen tiles. At the end of this pool of blood was Sheila Squire, Eugene’s wife.
Above her was Eugene. Going mad. Hysterical. With a knife. Stabbing. His wife. Stabbing his wife.
She gasped.
Eugene lifted his head and looked at her. Locked her eyes with his.
She turned and ran, only to find herself slam into the large, muscular torso of General Boris Hayes.
“General!” she yelped frantically, so pleased that he was there. “You have to help!”
He raised his eyebrows and pointed his ear toward her, as if to show he was ready to listen.
“Eugene Squire, he – he –”
He raised his eyebrows further, showing that he was waiting.
“He killed his wife!”
Hayes didn’t react. At first. Then he grinned.
She was confused.
Instinct took over.
She turned to run, but Hayes effortlessly took hold of her arm and kept her in place.
Eugene appeared at the door. He wore an apron covered in blood. He took it off, revealing his fresh, clean suit, with a few droplets of red left on his face.
“Eugene,” Hayes said. “We have our test subject.”
Eugene clapped his hands together and cheered.
“Wonderful!” he said. “This way!”
He closed the door to his flat and led the way, followed by Hayes dragging Lucy helplessly behind him.
Chapter Three
Since they knew Lucy was going to die anyway, they evidently didn’t care what she heard – and since she was locked in the boot of the car, she assumed they believed she heard very little of it. Eugene and Hayes still attempted to encrypt most of what they were saying with vague chatter, but every so often a word or phrase would add a little clarity, and each dose of clarity would send a huge tremor of fear through her body.
“…when we released the infection…”
“…we didn’t create what we intended…”
“…there must be a way to still use it…”
For the first part of the journey, she had pounded that metal casing with all the energy she had. Chunks of mascara clouded her vision as her tears destroyed her makeup. It all mattered so little now. Eyeshadow, lipstick, all of it – what did it matter what she looked like when she was going to die under such horrific circumstances?
And that was one thing she was certain of, yet that she could not accept: that she was going to die.
“Let me out! Let me out!” she screamed. She went to say, “Or I’ll…” then realised that she had no end to that sentence. What could she threaten them with? What leverage could she possibly hold? How could she stand up to the acting prime minister and his well-built general?
She had nothing. Nothing but the battering of the bumpy roads smacking her face against her metal imprisonment. She felt blood dripping from her nose. Like it mattered. A nosebleed was nothing.
What must have been a sharp turn sent her flying against the other side of the car boot. She felt the metallic box closing in on her, giving her less space, restricting her. She knew it was the same size as when she had been thrown in, but it felt smaller the longer she was in it.
Sheila.
Oh, God, Sheila.
The image flashed inside her mind with a vague recollection at first, then it imprinted itself like a cinema screen stuck on a reel. It did not go away.
Sheila had been her friend. She’d held her hand through their complications. Eugene had a habit of burying himself in his work to cope with the deterioration of their marriage, and Lucy had ended up being the next best thing Sheila had to a friend. Lucy had always covered her hopeless demeanour and introverted nature with an image of professionalism and false stre
ngth that often meant distraught women would look to her for guidance; but, in that moment, thrashing helplessly against the confines of the boot, she understood how far from reality the image she projected was.
She didn’t care.
She just wanted to live.
The bumps stopped. The engine died. The faint sound of two car doors gently slamming rocked the car and she waited. Waited for what, she didn’t know. Fate. Surprise. Death. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to confront it. She’d rather stay in the boot. At least she knew they couldn’t do anything to her while the car was driving. Now their muffled voices were coming closer, and the key was in the lock, turning the lock, and it opened, the sun behind their shoulders making her squint.
They didn’t even break stride in their conversation as Hayes dragged her out of the boot by her collar, as if he was emptying shopping.
“But have we got any samples yet?” asked Eugene.
“Samples?”
“Yeah, like, anyone whose genes would splice properly.”
Lucy tried to kick her legs up so she could walk on them, but she was being dragged at such a pace that, no matter how much she tried, she could not find her standing. Hayes was dragging her as if it was nothing. As if it was a large sack of potatoes that wriggled in a way that was only a mild inconvenience.
“That’s the kind of thing you need to ask the labbies.”
“I don’t want some convoluted diatribe from a scientist, Boris, I want to know what your take on their progress was.”
She needed to get out of his grasp. She needed to find a way. This was her only way to escape.
She could see the fences they were going toward. They formed a perimeter. Around a building she didn’t recognise, something official, something that didn’t look like people escaped from.
“My take? Those things were killing everything, that’s my take.”
“But were there any that were better than the others?”
Finally, her feet planted on the floor, and she used them to try to run. As soon as she thought she had successfully found her balance, Hayes kicked her feet from under her and sent them flying above her head. Her spine pounded onto the harsh bumps of the cement with a discomforting oomph.
“This one’s a wriggler,” Hayes declared, smirking as he grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up. Her legs dangled beneath her, kicking out, her eyes level with his. “She’s a keeper.”
“Please…” she begged. “Please don’t hurt me…”
Eugene laughed heartily. The kind of laughter that comes after a hilarious prank, or a witty t-shirt on a stag do.
Hayes didn’t look as amused.
“Gosh,” Eugene said. “I always wanted to fuck this one. I really did. Shame, really.”
“We got shit to get to.”
“Righty-o, let’s get to it then.”
Hayes hoisted her over his shoulder, carrying her effortlessly despite her continual belligerence. She bashed against his back and it seemed to do nothing. Kicked, and it didn’t even unbalance him. Shouted verbal abuse, and he just spoke over it.
“So we’ve got London?” Eugene continued, swiping a card on the outside of the fence that allowed them inside. Two soldiers let them in and shut the gate behind them.
“Help!” Lucy beseeched the soldiers, but they did nothing.
“We have London. It’s pandemonium out there.”
“Excellent. Now we hit everywhere else.”
“The rest of the UK?”
“Think bigger, Boris. Think bigger.”
They walked toward the large building, professional, under armed guard, soldiers patrolling the perimeter. They did not enter, however. Instead, they walked the circumference of the building until they reached a large pit.
Hayes threw Lucy into it.
As soon as she landed, she leapt back up to her feet. The landing had injured something, something in the base of her back, but she ignored the pain. She had to find a way out.
And boy, did she try to find a way out.
She jumped against the walls, scraped her fingernails along the surface, but no matter how much of a runup she got, or leap she managed, it did nothing. She was stuck in there.
She paused and looked up at them. Waiting to see what they would do next. Waiting to see how they planned for her to die.
“Right you are then,” Eugene said. “We don’t have all day. Time to show me how this thing works.”
Hayes turned and whistled at someone behind him. Someone Lucy couldn’t see.
Hayes turned back around and winked at her.
Growling. Distant growling, of something inhuman, something animalistic, but not quite. Like the low hum of a lawn mower mixed with the screeching of a cat in pain. Something obscure, out of place. Something that didn’t belong.
Then it got louder. It was more than just growling, it was yapping, grumbling, snarling, snapping, weeping.
She saw it. A soldier held a metal rod with the creature fastened to the end of it via a rope around its neck. It was a person, but not. It had a head, a body, arms, and legs, like a human, but its face had nothing of humanity about it. Its skin was torn, grey, falling off the bones. It limped, falling to one side. A long, bloody slit was painted across its belly.
It wore a soldier’s uniform.
“In you go,” Eugene sang.
They released it, then kicked it into the pit with Lucy.
Chapter Four
Astonished. Proud. Delighted.
Pick any superlative and it would be likely to match Eugene’s emotions.
As he watched the infected individual snap and bite and grasp for that irritating little woman, he couldn’t help but marvel at the job they’d done.
“We can’t stay here for long,” Hayes said.
“I know,” Eugene confirmed.
“We can use this as our place of operations, keep it concealed – but if you’re acting prime minister, you’ve got to do it in a way that doesn’t bring attention to here.”
“I know.”
“After all, this is the place where we plan to–”
“For Christ’s sake, Boris, I said I heard you, I agree.”
Eugene was too interested in watching their creation in the pit below. The cowardly woman was running to every corner of the pit, clambering to be out of the creature’s clutches. Pathetic, really. It was a pit the size of a large grave, and yet she was trying to run away.
Don’t people do stupid things when their life is about to end?
Instinct is a strange compulsion. At times, it protects you. At other times, it makes you look like an utter moron.
“We should probably get you a weapon, you know,” Hayes pointed out. “To keep on you. Just in case.”
“This one,” Eugene said to the soldier behind him, pointing at the infected. “What happened there?”
“He was a soldier. He fought off a bunch of them and they got him. I don’t think he realised what they could do.”
“Silly fool.”
A distant rumble grew closer. Growls from the perimeter. The stench growing ever more prominent.
They were here.
“Eugene, it’s my job to protect you. We need to get you a weapon, and get you away from the fence.”
“I thought it was reinforced?”
“It is, and it will stand, but it’s still not wise to be near it, you at least need a gun or–”
“Fine, fine!”
“The armoury is inside.”
“No, no, in a moment! I want to watch this girl die first.”
Eugene remained glued to the fight occurring below. The infected was now on top of the girl, out-muscling her, its jaw hanging to its face by a thin string of skin, its saliva drooping in heavy gunks onto her forehead.
The rattle of the fence caught Eugene’s attention. He did a double take as he observed it, astonished.
“By God!” he exclaimed, “there are hundreds of them.”
“Eugene, really, we need to ge
t you inside.”
“Yes, yes, soon.”
Hayes looked around, trying to be resourceful, making sure Eugene was protected. He had an idea.
“The soldier in the pit,” Hayes said, turning to the soldier behind him. “Give his gun to the prime minister.”
“His gun, sir?” the soldier asked.
Hayes’ anger boiled to the brim. How stupid could people be?
“Yes, his gun. Give it to Mr Squire.”
“The gun?”
“Yes, the gun that the soldier, now the infected, had. Give it to the prime minister. Now.”
“I…”
“You took his gun, did you not?”
“No, I didn’t think–”
A gunshot echoed.
The infected dropped to the floor, revealing the woman holding the dead soldier’s gun in her quivering hands. She took aim as Hayes took Eugene to the floor. A bullet sliced through the earlobe of the useless soldier standing cluelessly behind them.
By the time Hayes had drawn his weapon and crawled to the edge of the pit, it was too late. The woman had already used the body of the infected as a stepping stone. She was dangling on the edge of the pit, her arms dragging her upwards, reaching, almost there.
As soon as Hayes’ face appeared, she aimed the gun and shot, forcing Hayes to duck out of the way.
“Are you okay?” he asked Eugene.
“What the heck is happening?” came the response.
The woman lifted herself up and hoisted herself over the edge.
Hayes fired.
Nothing came out.
“Bloody typical…”
He recharged his ammo. Stood. Aimed. But, by the time he’d done that, the woman was already standing in front of him with her gun aimed at his head.
And there they stood.
A Mexican standoff.
Hayes with his gun aimed at her, her with her gun aimed at him.
Waiting.
For someone to kill. Someone to die. Someone to make a move, any move.
“Let her go,” Eugene instructed, still on the ground.
“What?” Hayes demanded.
“Look at the perimeter, this place is surrounded. She won’t get far. If we don’t kill her, they will.”
