The Z Chronicles

by Ellen Campbell

  Freya stopped, before slowly and fearfully looking down at her wrist in the dull light. There was no longer a small and insignificant scratch, but a larger and deeper tear.

  “No. Please, I don’t deserve this,” she said, before beginning to sob. She didn’t know how it had happened, whether it had been the Frother itself or if, in her own rage, she’d inflicted the damage upon herself. But that didn’t matter now. It was almost a certainty she’d infected herself in the attack.

  “Freya?”

  The whisper through the crack under the door was almost inaudible, and she missed it the first time.

  “Freya?”

  “Darshna?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “No,” Freya replied, watching the shadow of her friend’s head moving in the strip of light emanating from the hall. “Why did they put me in here?”

  “You know why,” her friend’s sad reply came.

  “But there’s still work to do. Maybe I can fix this…”

  “Like you fixed that Frother’s face?”

  “I, I — ”

  “I don’t blame you,” Darshna added quietly. “Give me another hammer and I could’ve done the other side.”

  Freya began to sob again, unable to stop the tears from rolling down her face.

  “I’ve ruined everything. Uncle Baidlin, everyone here…they had such faith in me and I’ve just…” Tears continued to stream from her eyes as she choked up.

  There was movement behind the door, and within the second it took for the click, Darshna was inside. She ran across the room and engulfed Freya in a hug, the familiar smell of the rose-scented moisturiser in her hair helping to calm Freya’s terror.

  “I need you to help me,” Freya whispered into Darshna’s ear. She wondered whether she’d said it loud enough, for her friend continued with the vice-like grip and showed no acknowledgment of the words.

  “I need you —”

  “What do you need?” Darshna asked, pulling away and allowing Freya to see there were tears in her eyes too. “I can’t let you out,” she said fearfully. “I would, but I —”

  “No, I don’t want that. I need you to get me some Pacifier 5 from the cold storage locker in the lab.”

  “W-why do you need that? H-how would I get it?” Freya saw she was startled by the request.

  “Trust me, Darsh. Please. You’re not releasing me, not putting others in danger. You’re just getting me a few syringes of Pacifier.”

  “Okay,” Darshna said, though seeming unconvinced. She pulled away from the embrace, repeating her words as if willing herself to act on them.

  “The phials are in the backroom. The lab should be empty. I need them — urgently,” Freya stressed.

  Darshna nodded. She stood in the room as she thought, clenching her jaw as the request turned over in her mind.

  “Darsh?”

  “I’m going. I can do this for you,” she said, scooting in for another hug. She smiled and wiped a tear from Freya’s cheek before leaving the room. As soon as the door was closed and Darshna’s footsteps were heard echoing down the corridor, Freya unfurled her fingers to reveal the wooden hairpin she’d managed to pluck from her friend’s long, thick hair.

  The restraints around her wrist were simple leather ties; not the chains and handcuffs they used for Frothers. The Chamber was for those who were much more alive. She looked at each restraint. Her captor's knots were a half-hearted attempt — a single knot with a bow. They were far from secure.

  With extreme caution, for if she dropped the pin then her escape attempt would be less than brief, Freya shimmied the tool between her fingers and flipped it into a vertical position. It was excruciating work, made worse by the fact her hands had become clammy with nerves.

  Don't drop it, don't drop it, don't drop it.

  With the point facing towards the floor, she jabbed the pin down gently, attempting to catch it in the leather. But the knot was harder and more drawn than she’d first thought, and her limited flexibility became increasingly aggravating. She caught the pin in one of the bow loops and managed to unravel the strap from its fixture, but it did nothing to loosen the knot that held her in place.

  Just one bloody hand, that's all I ask.

  Freya sighed heavily and attempted to extinguish the nausea in her stomach. Determined focus was what she needed. She continued gently jabbing, occasionally catching the point in the knot, but never managing to push it all the way through. However, her repeated attempts were making a difference and, though it was painfully slow, the single knot was becoming looser.

  Her gaze fell upon the injury on her wrist and she wondered, with hope, if the reason for her furious attack could be blamed on infection. Whether it wasn’t fear or hatred that had spurred her on, but a biological imbalance to which she had no power over. The mouth frothing always came first. It was the first sign. She licked her lips tentatively and was relieved to find them dry.

  “Shit, YES,” she gasped as the needle point finally lodged in the leather knot.

  She worked carefully for several minutes, first loosening the tie with the pin before shaking her wrist back and forth to enlarge the hole. At long last, her tiny hand popped through the stretched hole and within seconds she’d freed the other. Her fingers were at the neck bolt now, carefully tracing their way around the metal ring to where the locking mechanism still ensnared her. It was nothing more than a bolt lock; Frothers weren’t logical or intelligent enough to think about such escape, even though many had the dexterity to make such a feat relatively easy. Once free, Freya crept over to the door and took up position.

  Despite the urgency she’d conveyed, Darshna showed no immediate signs of returning. Perhaps she hadn't been able to get into the lab. Perhaps she’s decided not to help! But, just as the questions began to gnaw at Freya’s mind, she heard quiet footsteps coming towards her.

  “Freya?”

  “Still alive,” she replied in a whisper.

  “Sorry it took me so long, Mrs Gilbert’s getting her nose into everyone’s business.”

  Freya heard the door lock slide back, and she inched further into the shadowed recess. Then, as the door gradually opened, she grabbed the handle and threw open the doorway in a single movement. There was time with Darshna’s surprise to pull the box of phials from her friend’s arms and shove the girl forcefully into the room.

  “I’m sorry,” Freya apologised, pulling the door shut behind her as the girl began to yell. “But I’m not about to die in that hole without even trying.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Once the door was securely locked from the outside, Freya looked at the Styrofoam package in her hand. If she was going to do it, it had to be now…it should’ve been yesterday, when the infection started.

  She removed the lid and looked down at the bundle of bright green phials. Baidlin had a sense of fun, she thought as she smiled to herself; the vivid colour that seemed to almost glow was food colouring, nothing more. Every morning, she’d arrive to the lab and he’d have changed the colour again. It became a game; drawing her out of slumber to see if she could guess which lurid tones his newest concoction would have before she reached the lab.

  The cold was escaping, and she pulled out a syringe and quickly replaced the lid.

  “Here goes nothing.”

  Popping the plastic cap and letting it fall to the floor, she plunged the long needle into her wrist and pushed. It didn’t need a blood vessel; just the leathery, desiccated flesh of a Frother was enough. Once in, the drug gradually seeped through the system, overriding those powerful urges to kill. But the speed of treatment was one of their failings — it took too long for Pacifier’s effects to surface.

  Freya watched as the mixture pumped into her body, awaiting the agony, the pain, the convulsions that were to come. Nothing.

  Hmmm, well that’s a good start.

  Without time to lose, Freya left The Chamber behind her. It wouldn’t be long before Darshna was missed and her screams heard.
Then they’d be after her, and with the infection risk so high, no chances would be taken.

  The halls were unusually deserted, and she found it quick going as she wound her way through the labyrinth of tunnels. The subterranean level of the former shopping centre relied upon an old and very rusty generator for light, and the few lighting strips that had survived were dim and flickering. She knew her home well enough though, and she made her way easily.

  Where is everyone?

  Ahead, she saw the closed quarantine door of the lab and felt a pang of sickness at what was ahead. There was no choice but to go on, to skirt his viciously torn and eviscerated body. If there was any hope of achieving her goal, she had to face that fear.

  She reached the door and paused. Should she look? Or could she save herself the heartache and avoid adding him to her collection of horror-scarred memories?

  She pressed the locking mechanism, keeping her eyes averted from the scene ahead.

  No. Her Baidlin, unlike the others, would be a preserved and cherished memory for now.

  She stepped over the threshold and quickly closed the door behind her as her heart began to race. The lights flickered overhead as her ears reached for the slightest sound. The others wouldn’t follow her, not here, not now infection was at the door seeking to destroy everything they’d built.

  But where were they?

  She banished the thoughts as one of the lights whirred and flickered above, causing a sudden rush of panic.

  You’re fine, she commanded herself. Get to the lab.

  With extreme care, she began moving along the hallway, keeping her eyes on the corner ahead and determinedly away from where her uncle lay. She could smell him, even after the few hours he’d lain there. The putrid smell wrinkled her nose, and she couldn’t stop the tears from welling up again. There was bloody splatter on the walls, a sign of his death she couldn’t avoid, but she tried as she’d done with all the others, not to let the reality in.

  Above her, the lights flickered suddenly, and she gulped away her nausea and fear, maintaining constant step by quiet step as she crept along. Her heart was racing, and she could feel her left leg beginning to tremble.

  They were here somewhere. Around that corner, perhaps. Awaiting more flesh. Wanting to feel skin, and muscle, and gristle snap and tear beneath their teeth.

  She was by him now, focussing on her path but unable to put the smell, that awful smell, from her mind. The ground was sticky, and her silent steps squelched as she circled him, trying, as quickly as possible, to get away. There was no movement from the floor, no sign that he’d been taken down the same hellish route that she’d begun. Infection had skipped him. He was lucky. Though perhaps there wasn’t enough of him left to animate. She grimaced at the thought and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  Pull yourself together.

  Freya put a hand out to steady herself, and felt the cold concrete wall beneath her fingers. It seemed icier than normal, as if the winter had crept in. She smeared the last tears from her eyes and felt the frost on her skin. It wasn’t her surroundings; it was her that was different. Her tears were gone but the faint blurriness remained, her rising temperature continued to burn. Infection was coming.

  Freya stepped around the corner without waiting and stared down the corridor, expecting a sea of Frothers and certain death. Instead, the continued cold and barren landscape met her, the sparse hallway showing no signs of life or movement other than the whirring strip lights above. She quickened her pace as a result, needing to get the lab quickly, realising that her time was wanting. She licked her lips again. Still dry. No froth. That was a good sign at least.

  There was a click behind her and she froze.

  Fuck.

  Freya couldn’t help but look back. The empty hall was vacant no longer. Three Frothers ambled from a side room and sniffed the air, the yellow froth of decay bubbling over their lips like sea foam.

  They can open doors now?

  She stood, transfixed with the thought, and wondering if they’d see her. But it didn’t matter; they smelt her all right, for their noses twitched and pulled at the air, until all three horrific faces swivelled on their decaying and sinewy necks to stare her down.

  There was no choice but to run, and Freya, the phials of Pacifier gripped tightly in her hand, turned and raced away. She could hear them behind her, snarls and growls echoing through the otherwise empty corridors. She could outrun them, of that she was sure. There was no way they’d catch her.

  Another Frother appeared ahead, lumbering around a bend and instantly devouring her with its eyes. Three behind, one in front. She could do this. Another Frother appeared ahead to the join the other, and then another. Shit.

  Freya was tearing towards the newly appeared beasts with speed. She slowed a little, trying to clear her blurry eyes and focus. The chasers were catching up now, their grunts wrenching her stomach with fear. Just those three behind and it was a breeze; an adrenaline filled game, even. But caught in the middle? Freya felt fear like a needle through the heart.

  She hesitated momentarily, before regaining both her focus and her speed. Charging ahead, she left the Frothers behind and hurtled towards the increasing mass of creatures in her way. She reached the first and struck it with her arm, screaming aloud as gnashing teeth came in her direction. The beast flew towards the wall at her strike, its limbs thrown into the air as if a rag doll had been smashed with a baseball bat. The next she bludgeoned with her fist, bringing her curled hand down upon its shoulder and watching as the bones shattered beneath the force, the blow moving through its body with a domino effect.

  What the — ?

  She’d been slowed by the attack, and though still bleary-eyed, Freya could tell there were now far more Frothers than the original six. Those behind were almost on her, and she readied herself to feel their bony fingers upon her skin. An arm lashed through the air, whipping her across her face. She ducked just in time to avoid the razor-sharp fingernails clawing her skin, before kicking out and watching the Frother crumple to the floor.

  Well…this was strange.

  Freya’s newly acquired strength, despite her increasing nausea and temperature, came as quite the surprise. She toyed with it for a minute, stopping in her tracks and turning to face those who sought to destroy her. Lashing out time and time again, she watched the beasts repelled by this newfound force. They were unceasing, returning time and time again to try for flesh, but her speed, heightened sense of awareness and manoeuvring kept them at bay.

  There were arms around her neck, fingers clawing her back and she screamed as she felt something sharp puncture her skin and stab into her spine. The Frother in front of her received a blow to the face in response, and she saw its leathery nose snap so that it hung from the face by a dry piece of skin. She whirled around, wrenching away the jaw that was clamped to her back and pushing its owner to the floor. There was blood and fresh flesh on its froth-smeared lips, and she gave a well determined stamp to its skull, feeling a sense of justice as she heard splintering bones.

  Caught in a sea of flailing, tearing, blood-seeking limbs, Freya relinquished the need for revenge as the box of phials was almost snatched from her hand. The Frothers seemed endless, and though she was sure she could fight off each and every one, she didn’t have time. Infection was spreading, flooding through her veins as her ferociously pounding heart pushed it. It seeped into her muscles, her cells. She didn’t have long.

  Kicking the last grappling hand away, Freya began to clear a path forwards, punching and elbowing the gnashing jaws aside. She began to run, hoping to clear the creatures and leave them far behind. She could hear them at her heels, moaning and grunting as they attempted to pull her over and feast. She sped even faster, panting as she stretched her legs into a sprint, her arms swinging back and forth like pistons and propelling her forwards.

  Almost there.

  She could see it in the distance; the broken neon lights of the sign glinting above the pharmacy. It was i
n that dilapidated shop that this had all begun. Where she and Baidlin had first begun the process. It wasn’t quarantined, it wasn’t secure, but it was the birthplace of their lab and she and her mentor had determinedly stuck to it, despite the debate and fierce objections from the others.

  Keep. On. Going.

  She was beginning to get tired, her muscles began to burn, her eyes swam and became blurrier by the second. There was something ahead, and she panicked as another Frother loomed into view. She couldn’t do this again. Her momentary heroism was gone. She was jaded, tired. Infection was coming.

  She raised an arm and prepared to strike. She’d take this last one down and make it. She had to. She couldn’t come this far and fail.

  It was within reaching distance now; its warped and vicious face visible through her bleary and tear-strewn eyes. She drew on her hatred, the pit in her stomach, the vision of Baidlin telling her to save herself. It was all the fuel she needed. She felt flesh under her knuckles as she brought her fist down upon the lumbering beast. But instead of the piteous moan she expected, a human cry rang out as the body was thrown to the floor.

  CHAPTER 5

  “I’m sorry,” Freya repeated as she looked across the room. Jorge still had the ice pack to his head, and was using bandaging to try and repair his buckled glasses.

  “Couldn’t you see it was me? I was hollering as soon as you began racing down the promenade.”

  “I don’t know. I was just —,”

  “Scared, I know. It’s okay.”

  “No, that’s not it. Jorge, something happened out there, to me I mean. I was fighting those things off with super strength. They were coming, and coming, and I could’ve stood there all day knocking them back like skittles.”

  “Adrenaline’s a funny thing,” Jorge said, testing his glasses, before using additional plasters to correct the bent metal.

  “It’s more than that. I feel like crap. Fever, blurred vision, aching muscles…nausea. This god damn infection isn – ”