Unfortunately, things in the real world were terrible and degrading rapidly, Reece just wasn’t aware of it locked away from the world as she was.
There was something she did know though, knowledge that could not be refuted. She had to get out of this prison she was being held in, and she had to take Lizzy with her. Where they would go, she had no idea, but staying here wasn’t going to end well for them. Both of them had been betrayed by a government that was supposed to protect them and there really could be no forgiving that.
Lizzy mumbled something, and Reece stroked the hair away from the child’s dreaming eyes, careful not to disturb the dressing that covered the injury from the severed ear that would mark the child for life. Lizzy had been present when her own mother had died and resurrected, the zombie attacking the girl with its teeth. Violence and primal hunger had replaced the love that had once been associated with Lizzy’s mother’s face. Even if the phantom desert hadn’t existed, the poor child would have undoubtedly been afflicted with night demons that would make a grown man weep. A lifetime of therapy would struggle to even make a dent in the psychological scars that would forever haunt the young girl.
If you were a believer of karma, you had to wonder what true atrocities Lizzy had been guilty of in a former life. The thing was, you then had to wonder what the rest of the human race had been up to in their previous incarnations. An apocalypse like this really did steer you away from believing in any of that “spiritual bullcrap”, a phrase often used by Reece’s late father.
Reece had never felt so useless as she did now. She had always been independent, strong-willed, and many would also say bloody-minded. They generally added that last bit with affection though, her manner and personality making it difficult for those who knew her to have anything but acceptance and respect for the former deputy sheriff. It was only natural that someone like Reece would veer to one of the extremes offered by society. It could have been a relentless drift into criminality as she fought against those who tried to impose their will on her. Instead she had chosen the other road and had been in law enforcement most of her adult life. You would think that this commitment should count for something in the reality she now found herself. It didn’t, those who held her captive insulting the sacrifices she had made to help keep her city and her country safe. The fact she was part of the system didn’t amount to anything.
Even with a broken arm, she knew she was still useful, and yet Reece had been cast aside and left locked in a room without any semblance of jurisprudence being applied. Whilst it meant she could look after a child that had been through too much, a big part of her still felt betrayed. Reece wasn’t a babysitter, she was a fighter, always had been.
Her passage through life and her dealings with the best and the worst of the people of Houston had taught her many lessons. One of the most powerful things was the policy she had created regarding human beings. To her, success wasn’t measured by how much money you earned or how flash your car was. What was important was the impact you had on the world around you, the benefits you brought to the table. Was the planet better for you being on it? If you took more than you gave, if you left the people and the environment that circled around you worse off by your presence, you didn’t deserve the respect you likely craved.
It didn’t take much to earn Reece’s admiration, you didn’t have to be a hero running around saving lives and curing horrific diseases. Just improving the life, in the moment, of the people you encountered was enough. A kind word here, a smile there. A helping hand when it could be offered. Simple things that raised the happiness of the planet from the depths it could so easily descend to was all it took to make the country a better place. So why were such things so rare?
In her role as a law enforcement officer, she got to remove a lot of the scum from the streets, as well as the broken and the dispossessed. She had quickly learnt the skill to distinguish the two. The scum could never be helped, despite what the bleeding heart liberals tried to insist. They were fundamentally evil inside, be that through genetics or environment, their minds were not conducive to fitting in with civilised society. In a sense, they were human zombies, feeding off the people around them, via force, cunning or theft. Usually the best thing for the taxpayer, for everyone involved, was to just put a bullet between their eyes.
It was often the best option for the predator themselves, their lives devoid of any true meaning and happiness. Reece had only employed that strategy once on a particularly gruesome individual who preyed on children Lizzy’s age and younger. It had been out of sight, the gun the molester had been carrying discarded where he had knelt arrogantly on the floor. Reece had been able to see the belief in the man’s eyes. The utter contempt he’d had for the law that Reece represented. It wasn’t difficult to stage the scene so that it looked like a justifiable shooting. The district attorney hadn't even bothered to call a grand jury, Reece seen as a hero by anyone with a badge, as well as anyone with a child.
Jee had told her that the Lazarus virus was man-made, and Reece reckoned there was a special place in darkest pits of Hades set aside for the maniacs who had sat down and actively created such an abomination.
The broken and dispossessed could sometimes be fixed though, if you reached them early enough. Too many slipped through the judicial sieve and were ground up by the system. Reece always regretted those, the ones she felt she could somehow reach, those that could be spared from the meat-grinder. Partnering with Rodriguez had helped with that. Although she didn’t match his religious fervour, he was of a similar mind when it came to those they could divert from the path of drugs and criminality. They did what they could, but it was never enough.
None of that mattered now, although Reece knew she shouldn’t have been surprised to find so many of those lost and evil souls running things in this establishment. Professor Schmidt and Major Carson had both been prime examples of people she wouldn’t have spat on if they had been on fire.
Then there were the true heroes, who tried to preserve their own humanity when faced with almost impossible odds.
It didn’t matter where you found yourself. Reece believed your true character would always shine through. Take Private Richard Howell for example. Still a relatively young man in a strongly peer driven system, he could have allowed himself to be swallowed up by the inhumanity that was all pervasive in the subterranean level where the immune had been incarcerated. He could have shut himself off from what was happening down there, safe in the knowledge that he was only following orders, as so many soldiers had done throughout history. Fortunately, he hadn’t, something inside the man shining through despite the examples he was surrounded with.
Howell had saved them, at great risk to himself, and Reece would be forever thankful to him. Lizzy would too. Would he be able to help them escape from this new prison they found themselves in? Probably not in all fairness, and it was asking too much of a man who owed them nothing. Reece didn’t even know if Howell was still within the confines of Fort Detrick, never mind in the same building as her.
And then there was Jee, who had done her best to look out for all the immune that had been under her care. There was a determination in the doctor that had steered her through her dealings with the maniacal Professor Schmidt. Jee had her own battles now though, and Reece knew it was unfair to expect anything more from her. When you were infected with Lazarus as Jee was, nothing else mattered. There was hope that the vaccine would help defeat the pathogen, but even Reece knew that vaccines worked better when administered before contracting the deadliest contagion mankind had ever encountered.
Jee and Lizzy were the last people she had left. If she lost them too, Reece feared she might lose herself. Perhaps that was reflected in the way she was now more concerned with Lizzy’s well-being than her own. The child had been robbed of so much, including any real chance of true happiness. If she lived past the end of the day, there would be an opportunity for her to laugh, and to smile, but would she ever really have any chance
of true contentment? Or would the image of the reanimated body of her own mother biting her ear off haunt Lizzy for the rest of her days?
Reece could feel her own thoughts churning through memories that were not appropriate right now. With little to occupy it, her mind was turning on itself. It would be so easy to succumb, to delve into the festering pit of despair that had likely trapped so many over the last few days. She was still alive, which meant she still had options, but hope was a double-edged sword. Whilst it often led to determination and the refusal to quit, hope often led to disappointment.
Then her mind asked her a question, and she felt the foundation of who she was shift.
“When was the last time you were actually happy?”
Where the hell did that come from? Reece tried to deny the question the power it craved, but it persisted. It would not be denied, demanding she sacrifice herself in response. Reece struggled to answer the question. We weren’t talking material pleasure, but the bliss that comes from knowing and accepting your place in the world.
The answer shocked her. It had been with her now deceased fiancé. She had been miserable ever since his death, just going through the motions, existing but not living. Surviving but not thriving, hiding away from the best that life promised. Reece had created an existence where her sole aim was to get through another day. And because of that, her life slipped by, opportunities not so much being missed as completely ignored. Fighting lawlessness had given her something to fill the void, but that was all it was. She didn’t even know if she missed it.
If she somehow managed to live through this and come out of the other end physically intact, would there be anything left of her to take advantage of that? Reece didn’t know, but she knew she was willing and ready to find out. She wasn’t prepared to give up just yet. She would fight on against whatever life threw at her, if not for herself then for the young girl who deserved someone to at least give her another chance. There would be so many Lizzy’s across the globe, at least one deserved the chance to beat this fucking virus.
26.08.19
Stocksbridge, UK
Tommy had left Billy with Jessica. Although the lad had managed to survive alone out in the open, it was deemed advisable for the immune, like Billy, to stay in the safety of the vehicles. Jessica assured them all that Billy was immune, but they would still take precautions. Billy would wear nitrile gloves and a surgical mask and would sit by the door of the APC next to Jessica. You couldn’t be too careful.
As for being immune, the wind may have been blowing towards them from where the undead were gathered, but that could shift at any time. Nick had other problems to deal with than worrying about Jessica.
They were now in touch with Leeds, but those manning the radios were being an issue, an example of stubbornness that had always been a problem in military organisations. Rules were needed, but so was flexibility and common sense. Too many military campaigns had been hindered, if not self-imploded by the actions of soldiers and commanders with an inflexible mindset. Nick, well versed in military history, could think of at least a dozen battles that could have swung the other way if the soldiers had been free to do what they were best at.
Normally, MI13 communication was done through secure servers, a network that no longer functioned with the loss of London. They were thus relying on Haggard to reach people who didn’t seem to want to be reached.
Nick and Haggard stood at the back of one of the APCs, the operation to clear the bridge now over and blissfully uneventful. No zombies seemed to have heard them so the fifty calibre machine guns had remained silent, their valuable and limited ammunition unspent and preserved.
It had taken ten minutes before Nick even got to talk to an officer anywhere close to the top of the hierarchy in Leeds. That led him up the chain of command, and with the help of Haggard, Nick was finally able to talk to the man in charge. Nick supposed it was a foolish notion to expect helicopters to be in the air at his merest whim, but being the head of the country’s most elite and clandestine security apparatus was supposed to count for something. He just hoped the people who were left in charge had heard of MI13.
High ranking military, chief constables and certain cabinet members would all know of MI13’s place in the world, but even they would be in the dark about its true functions. If there was nobody left with that awareness, he would be left relying on the fact he was still a colonel in the British Army. Nick wasn’t so sure that would amount to much anymore.
“Colonel Carter.” The voice of General Woolington had a nasal tone to it that Nick found grating. Whilst he spoke, Natasha brought up the information she had on the general. If she’d still possessed access to the Moros super-computer, Woolington’s entire life history would have been lain bare, MI13 having extensive files on millions of UK citizens, especially those in the military. As it was, she had to rely on the various networks she had hacked into. She was disappointed with her own efforts.
“How is the situation in Leeds, General?”
“Stable but volatile,” Woolington said. “For now, we have the situation under control. Why exactly am I talking to you, Colonel?”
“Morgan’s son requires your aid.” Nick let the words hang there, speaking the code phrase that so few people knew. It referred to William Melville, who, in 1903 was recruited to lead a new intelligence section in the British War Office. Morgan related to the alias William Morgan. Eventually, Melville became the head of the British Secret Service and was given the code name “M”. He later went on to help create MI13, a part the Military intelligence section of the secret services that was never “officially” used.
“I see,” Woolington said in response. That’s it, thought Nick, that’s the response I get?
“Are you familiar with the organisation I represent?”
“Indeed. More than most, it seems. I was sorry to hear about Sir Nicholas.”
“Thank you, General.”
“He wasn’t a man you would ever want to play golf against,” the general added. Was that a compliment or an insult? Nick hadn’t expected the general to have been familiar with the former MI13 head, so he hoped that this was another card he could play. “What is it that you need? As you can imagine, I’m a busy man.” The general sounded like his time was being wasted.
“As acting head of MI13, I’m authorised to request your assistance.” Nick knew his former boss would have handled things differently, but Nick didn't have time for politics and the massaging of egos.
“I’m not really sure how I can help.” The words were like a punch in the gut for Nick.
“I need helicopter transport for twenty people. We are roughly 30 miles south of Leeds.” Nick reckoned the round trip wouldn’t take more than thirty minutes. By APC, they were looking at several more gruelling hours, if they could get there at all.
“As you can imagine, we have our own problems here.” Nick hadn’t expected such indifference. Or was there something more to it? Natasha’s info showed that Woolington’s career had stalled and that before the virus, he had been close to being retired out. High enough in the power structure to be cleared to know about the existence of MI13, but perhaps not high enough as his own desires would have liked. That was what the written summary in front of Nick indicated when you read between the lines. Was this man, who had grasped the chance of power, now reluctant to risk relinquishing his claim to it? Under the old order, Nick was significantly higher up the political food chain than the general. He was also coming with his own Praetorian guard. Was Nick thus seen as an opportunity or a threat?
“I’m afraid I must insist,” Nick said, keeping his voice level.
“How very forthright of you,” the general replied. The man sounded almost amused now. Nick couldn’t help but take an instant dislike to him.
“I believe you still take orders from military command?”
“Of course I do, officially. But I also have a city to run, and those helicopters are needed in its defence.” Nick looked at Haggard wh
o just shrugged as if to say the general's reaction was totally predictable. Haggard was a mere captain, he didn't have any power in this conversation. Neither did Nick it seemed.
“Would your answer be the same if it was Sir Nicholas asking?”
“Probably,” came the resigned response. “I never did like the man if I’m honest. He always did seem so self-important.”
“Isn’t that somewhat disrespectful, considering the man is dead.”
“Most likely. Death seems so commonplace now though. But as I said, I’m busy, so if there’s nothing else?”
“This is a severe breach of military protocol, General.” Nick had dealt with people like Woolington before. They were obstructive, incompetent and used the rule book when it suited their own agenda. They also grabbed at power when they could. This was undoubtedly a man who had used office politics more than once.
“Look, Colonel, I’ve lost nearly two thirds of my helicopters. I’m not risking what I have left on a rescue mission for twenty people, no matter how important you think you might be. The possible benefits do not outweigh the risks. You will have to get here under your own steam. Woolington out.” The voice in Nick’s ear disconnected.
“The wanker cut me off,” Nick said to Haggard.
“Officer’s mate,” said Sergeant O’Donnell who was stood by them. “Most of them aren’t worth the price of a bucket of piss. Present company excepted, of course.”
“We’ll just have to stick with the original plan.” Nick felt a throb forming behind his eyes, and he did his best to ignore it.
“At least we now have an extra incentive to get to Leeds in one piece,” Haggard added. “Be good to see you give that cunt a piece of your mind.” Nick couldn’t help but crack a smile.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 5): The Last Page 7
