The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 5): The Last

by Deville, Sean

***

  “Billy, this is my mum,” Jessica said to the child who was now sat next to her in the APC. Billy preferred Jessica to the rest of the people here because she was just like him. He could see the honesty there and the genuine concern she held for his safety. There was strength there as well, which was something he needed to believe in. All the adults he had known, until this moment, had been weak and were now dead.

  There was also the fact that Jessica was the saviour, the one who had battled and defeated The Woman of Skulls, the thing that to Billy had looked like the devil. All across the planet, the immune knew of Jessica. They knew her name and her face, and they all thanked the sacrifices she had made for them.

  “Hello Billy,” Judy said in greeting. Jessica considered introducing Tom, but he was still sulking so she would leave such formalities to his own mouth. Nick squeezed past them, and Jessica smoothed down Billy’s hair with her hand. Nick said nothing to the child and disappeared into the front of the APC with Jeff and Natasha, the words spoken there incomprehensible to Jessica.

  “Are we going now?” Billy asked. Outside, the SAS were getting ready to depart, the bridge cleared, the route as unblocked as it would ever be.

  “Yes. And you mustn’t be scared, okay?” Billy looked doubtful. “It will be noisy in here, and you might hear things that concern you. But these vehicles are armoured, the bad things can’t get in.”

  “Are they really zombies?” Billy had seen them, had hidden from them. It was clear he knew what they were capable of. There were other things he wasn’t going to share with the adults around him, the things he had needed to do to survive.

  “Yes they are Billy, but these soldiers know how to deal with them.” Jessica actually believed it when she said the words. Really though, the undead were a force that nobody could really compete with.

  “Soldiers won’t be enough,” Billy quietly insisted. “They never will.”

  “Hey, trust me okay,” Jessica insisted.

  “Okay,” Billy said. He didn’t sound convinced.

  26.08.19

  Blackpool, UK

  Charlene had watched for the last two days as the undead rampaged up and down the sea front. There was nothing left alive out there, even the birds moved in that jerking, uncoordinated fashion that was a mark of the zombie infestation.

  She had bought this penthouse flat because of the ocean views it promised from the balcony. Her flat was enough to keep her safe, some of her neighbours at this height similarly blessed. Or should that be cursed? Was there any real blessing to be had in watching civilisation be destroyed before your eyes?

  When the internet and social media rumours about Lazarus had started, she had acted quickly. She’d had no concerns with regards money thanks to the substantial divorce payment she had received last year and had retreated to the place of her birth so as to put the dirt and the grime of London behind her. She almost hadn’t left London, but there had always been something about the nation’s capital that hadn’t agreed with her. It was too crowded, too unfriendly, too fast-paced, too dirty. Despite the opulent lifestyle and the luxury she was accustomed to, London had just never agreed with her.

  And then she had caught her then husband shagging his personal trainer, and it was off to the races. As he was a big name in the city, the lawyers had done very nicely out of that. And so had she, thank you very much. Charlene wondered whether the cheating son of a bitch, as he was now permanently called, had survived Lazarus or not. Frankly, when she gave the matter more consideration, she didn’t actually care. It wasn’t like the regular monthly payments the judge had ordered would be of any use anymore. There wasn’t much need for cold hard cash when just walking out of your front door risked something biting your face off.

  Her kitchen was filled with the food she had stocked up on, months’ worth and ordered online for delivery. Whilst some of the early adapters to the crisis were rushing to the supermarkets and struggling with shopping carts and rapidly burgeoning crowds, she sat leisurely on her balcony and waited for the intercom to buzz. The delivery guys even brought the food up for her, and she tipped them handsomely. If they had been in possession of a single ounce of self-preservation, every one of those delivery people would have taken their fully laden trucks and headed for the hills.

  Although looking at the undead below, she didn't reckon anywhere would be safe for long.

  Charlene had survived Lazarus for now, but there was another problem that was of a more pressing concern. Toothache, could you bloody believe it? It had started yesterday, in the lower tooth that had been root filled last year. If she was honest, it had never felt right, the length of time spent treating it suggesting the dentist hadn’t been as successful as either of them would have hoped. She’d still had to pay for it, but it had been with hubby’s money so that aspect she didn't really care about.

  The salt mouthwash didn’t affect it, and neither did the painkillers or the wine she was using to try and drown out the growing pain. It came in waves, the underside of her jaw hot and throbbing, her face visibly swelling. Each glass of wine seemed harder to get down, and even though the night wasn’t warm, she couldn’t put the heat that was coursing through her flesh down to anything other than this fucking tooth.

  Stepping off the balcony, she once again made the trip to the bathroom, on somewhat shakier legs, to look at herself in the mirror. She was alarmed by the change that had occurred in such an apparently short time. The swelling had now moved to the left side of her neck, the skin there visibly red. Her tongue felt too big as well, as if it was swelling in her mouth. Before marrying her ex, she had been a nurse, and Charlene was well aware that she was now in dire need of medical care. There was no way she could access that, however. She had saved herself from the zombies, only for her own body to rebel against her. How could that be considered fair?

  She couldn’t really blame the dentist, because he had advised her to have the tooth removed when it was clear the treatment he had provided hadn’t been ideal. She had declined, saying she wanted to see how things went. Biggest mistake ever. If the internet was still working, she would be all over Instagram with this.

  “Well, it’s your choice,” the dentist had said pleasantly, “but I have a feeling that decision will come back to bite you...if you will pardon the pun.” Absolutely bloody hilarious.

  Staggering from the bathroom, she made her way to the pristine kitchen that was constantly rendered spotless by a very efficient cleaner that had used to come twice a week. Charlene had always hated housework, and it was one of the many reasons she had married her ex-husband in the first place, the man being rich enough to pay for domestic staff. Charlene had to be honest and say she had never really loved him, not in the way you would expect man and woman to feel when they made their vows. He had been more of a convenience, a way out of a life of drudgery. But that hadn’t stopped her making him suffer due to his blatant betrayal.

  She contemplated taking more painkillers, but she only had paracetamol, and they didn’t seem to be doing anything. Plus, she was at the limit of a safe dose with them, so she resisted the temptation. It didn’t help that she felt so weak, her skin now hot to touch. If she could turn up at the nearest hospital, they would have admitted her and pumped her full of IV antibiotics and fluids.

  Pouring a glass of water from the tap, she brought it up to her lips and tried to swallow. The eruption from her lungs sent her to the floor hard, half the water dribbling out of her mouth, the rest searing down her windpipe. The glass shattered, the pieces scattering across the tiled floor, dangerous obstacles for her bare feet. Not being able to swallow put her into the category of a definite medical emergency, but there was nothing she could do here to address that. There would be no ambulances coming, ever.

  Shifting her weight on the floor, her hip bruised but ignored from the fall, her hand landed on what had to be the sharpest piece of glass, and she shrieked in pain. Or at least she tried to, the air just wouldn’t seem to move. It felt like
her throat was closing up, and she frantically clawed at her neck. Again, the air wouldn’t go in, and she felt dizziness and desperation come at her in equal measure.

  To think there would be people in the apartments along this part of the sea front who would shortly be starving, and she was going to die with her cupboards full. She had to breathe, she was determined. Charlene knew what she had to do despite the terror that was consuming her.

  Somehow she managed to pluck the glass from the palm of her hand and pulled her way back onto her feet, leaving blood smeared all over her pristine kitchen cabinets. Directly in front of her was the sink, the cutlery drawer to her right. With spots forming before her and a thin intake of life-giving air all she could manage, she ripped the drawer open, almost setting it free of its captivity. The small knife she grabbed was laser sharpened, easily capable of cutting through flesh. Could she really do this?

  Although it had been years, Charlene had seen and helped out on numerous tracheotomies in her previous career. There was no time or facility to embark on an aseptic technique and, using a small vanity mirror that rested on the breakfast island close to her, she brought the knife up to her neck. But what to put in the hole once it was made? Slamming the knife down, precious seconds wasted, Charlene grabbed the pen that lay within temptation’s grasp. It fell to pieces easily enough, its poor construction perhaps designed for this emergency scenario. This she would place in the hole once it was cut.

  Even with the purgatory she was now in, the slice was a sharpness that took centre stage in her brain. With shaking hands and a will to survive that had abandoned many in the days previous, Charlene cut deep through the skin and cartilage, the hole opening up, her mewing cries proof that she was still alive. The knife slipped fully through, and she abandoned it for the body of the pen which she forced into the severed flesh. The air she sucked in greedily, never before experiencing such relief, her mind likely seconds from blacking out.

  With her ability to breathe restored, she collapsed back down to the floor, barely noticing the cut that formed on her leg as it pushed aside one of the larger pieces of broken glass. Her body no longer needing the flood of adrenaline, she finally passed out. Despite her lungs now being able to fulfil the body’s oxygen demands, Charlene never woke up again which was probably a blessing. She slipped into unconsciousness which eventually resulted in an almost merciful death from the spreading infection that forged through her body as septic shock quickly took hold.

  To think you could die from toothache.

  So many had faced a much worse fate. In the great demise of humanity, the final hours of Charlene’s life were barely even worth mentioning.

  26.08.19

  Leeds, UK

  Mark(Z) caught the smell as the breeze shifted, and it found itself drawn by the sweet scent of the immune. There really was nothing quite like it, and its body shivered with something close to what a human might refer to as exquisite delight. The wind also brought the sound of voices, its heightened hearing able to discern the sounds of its prey without understanding what was being said. The world around it meant nothing, the food it intended to devour its only concern. Nothing could dissuade it from the primitive desire that now drove Mark(Z) on. It would not be denied.

  “Have you hit that piece yet?” the first voice said, the words having no meaning.

  “What you talking about?” the second almost embarrassed voice said.

  “That bird who drives the transport bus. We all see how she looks at you.”

  “When have I even got time to think about that sort of thing?” If Mark(Z) had been able to discern emotion, it would have detected a hint of irritation in the sound.

  “You need to make a move, man. You realise these armbands make us celebrities, right. We pretty much have free reign, and the pussy will be lining up for the benefits only we can provide.” Mark(Z) clung to the wall as it approached, the darkness its unwilling conspirator.

  Despite its lack of fine motor coordination, Mark(Z) moved with surprising stealth given the quiet of the night air. When there was no traffic, and with most people abiding by the quarantine, cities could be deathly silent places. Although nothing was more silent than a city that was already dead and irradiated.

  “I wouldn’t touch her with yours.”

  “Are you kidding,” the first voice acclaimed, “she’s well fit.”

  “Look, can we just change the record?”

  “Whatever you say, man. But you’re out of your mind.” They didn’t see it, didn’t see the death and the walking infection that skulked in the side alley, the conversation distracting them. Deep in the remnants of its being, Mark(Z) had a form of primitive cunning, a left over from the genetic memory of humanity long since passed. It knew it could win this fight, and it launched itself through the oppressive darkness, closing the distance quickly. The two soldiers heard it running, a torch light shining into its blind eyes. Too late.

  “Holy Fuck,” the closest voice exclaimed. A shot rang out, something hard hitting it centre mass. With its size, Mark(Z) barely stumbled, another bullet scoring a canyon through its scalp. Its speed obviously surprised them, their aim off, its bulk and the fact a zombie was here in what was supposed to be a safe zone terrifying the men.

  Then it was on them, a shovel-like hand tearing the gun away from one of the men, knocking him to the ground as it steamrollered onto the second target. This one smelt so divine, so…immune. It grabbed the second soldier by the neck, squeezing with a strength no steroids or gymnasium could ever provide. This was its meat, there was no need to waste any time in its slaughter. The soldier’s windpipe collapsed, his breathing now a laboured, torturous affair. With a twist of its wrist, Mark(Z) snapped the soldier’s neck, dropping the body so that it could turn on the first soldier who still represented a threat.

  When it was over, and both men were dead, Mark(Z) knelt down by the corpse of the one who had been immune. It gyrated its head across the body so as to get some of the aroma into its nostrils, saliva pouring from its dead mouth. Mark(Z) took its first bite, working slowly, unconcerned with time. The teeth weren’t really designed to wrench off human flesh, but it managed, going for the easy targets first, the lips, the ears. Its mouth now full, Mark(Z) began to chew, juices flowing down a throat that still could engage in peristalsis. So few of the undead were ever given this treat, and of those that were, even less of them were able to swallow the precious nectar.

  Pleasure erupted throughout Mark(Z)’s body like no human had ever experienced. Not even the first heroin high could match the delights that the immune flesh created for the undead. It was just a shame there was no real consciousness in the zombie’s brain to appreciate the extent of the ecstasy. Then it swallowed the first mouthful of meat, and the urge to devour more took it. Something exploded in Mark(Z)’s stomach, and for a brief moment, it felt the hunger vanish, only to return to demand more sustenance.

  The other ignored body resurrected just at the time most of the immune corpse’s face had been removed. No longer concerned with soldiering or the attractiveness of the woman on the bus, Soldier(Z) crawled over to its brother and joined in the feast. The two zombies didn’t fight over the carcass, merely ignoring each other as they stripped off the uniform to get at the body’s innards. As the shirt ripped away, Mark(Z) thrust a hand into the guts, tearing out a long link of small intestine which it gnawed between its bloodied teeth.

  The two zombies feasted for nearly thirty minutes before they were done, finally stepping away from what was left of their victim. With dawn still a long way off, the two zombies separated and wandered off in separate directions, leaving the carcass of one of the few immune individuals in Leeds to whatever nature now had in store for it. It didn’t take long for the rats to find it, scurrying out from the gutters and the rotting crevices of the surrounding buildings. It would be several hours before the body was found, and by then, the situation in Leeds would be a whole lot more serious.

  The open wound that had l
ed to Mark’s ultimate demise had miraculously started to heal, the surface caking over with a thick exudate that had already begun to thicken. Its surface skin had also begun to harden, a mutation driven by factors that the scientists would struggle to comprehend. Unlike those it gave birth to, Mark(Z) found itself becoming even more formidable; a titan ready to take on the military might of humanity.

  26.08.19

  Washington, DC, USA

  Campbell looked out of the plane’s window at the chaos of Ronald Reagan International Airport where his plane had landed. He had expected his flight to have arrived at Andrew’s Air Force base, but everything east of the Potomac River had been lost to the undead, the army retreating on all fronts, blowing bridges as they went. He’d seen the flames rising from the city as they had come in to land, the smoke mingling with low-lying clouds, forming a shroud across the city. In their retreat, the army had set fire to buildings, sometimes whole streets, anything to slow down the relentless march of the undead. Their efforts had some impact, but if given a choice, zombies cared little for the flames which they would eagerly run through to get at the flesh of man.

  On the seat next to him sat a cooler with the requested samples of the vaccine that Campbell had been able to spirit away from the Ark, just over forty doses in all. Already, the door to the plane was being opened, the hierarchy of the Defence Intelligence Agency, all imminent recipients of those vaccines, bundling frantically onto the plane. Most had fled across the river form DIA headquarters, but some like Winters had needed to travel from the more secretive location where Mother had been interrogated and executed. The information the Gaia founder had provided had been invaluable, Campbell was just hoping it wasn’t too little too late.

  As the plane filled, Campbell accepted the offers of thanks from the few people that he knew, the rest of them being strangers who shook his hand anyway. The extent to which Lazarus had decimated the pecking order of the Defence Intelligence Agency was clear by the faces that were missing from this exodus. Winters was the last to board the plane, and she took the seat that was occupied by the vaccine, the cooler being placed by Campbell’s feet.