An alarm sounded from one of the monitors. It was a shrill, repetitive noise that grated those who heard it. More importantly, it warned of impending death. Jee pulled up the stats on the volunteer in room seven, his body now thrashing, heart rate close to two hundred, blood pressure off the chart. The arm where the soldier had been injected looked almost purple with the bruising and the death that was enveloping it.
“Emergency team to room seven,” she said into the communication system. Within a minute, two soldiers kitted out in full NBC gear appeared on the monitor that held the image of the occupant of room seven. They were about to lose one, their first. Of the five monitors she had, Jee kept one constantly on Howell. Her concern should have been for all her patients, but you would always have those you cared about more.
The man in room seven flatlined, his heart no longer able to cope with the demands placed on it. There would be no attempt to resuscitate him, that was far too risky. The two soldiers didn’t need telling what to do, they could both see what the medical equipment in the room was saying. One of them stepped forward and pushed the dead body’s head to the side. With a fluid motion, a thin knife was thrust into the back of the skull, wiping out any chance that the body would resurrect. Whoever the soldier was, he had clearly done this before, his action too precise, too confident. The lifeless body that remained would be left strapped there until the experiment was over. Hopefully, not too many corpses would be wheeled off to the incinerator, but Jee had visions of every one of the volunteers rapidly going downhill.
Jee was usually a hopeful individual, her pessimism unusual. The other four who had received H4N2G7-LAXZ1-32 prior to the vaccine were also now close to death. She just hoped those who got the vaccine first would somehow survive. Deep down, the ones other than Howell she was rooting for the most were those who got the weaker virus before the vaccine, because that was the camp she was in. If they made it, then so would she, Jee was sure.
If they didn’t then Jee knew she was staring death in the face. It was this burden that had finally challenged her morals. The experiment was horrific when you thought about it, if not for Jee, none of the volunteers would have known that half of them would get the virus before the vaccine. Jee had insisted on that, despite the precarious position she was in. None of them would know who were at the greatest risk, but it was only right that they be informed. There had been doubts, reservations, but the lead scientist had agreed with her. Schmidt had committed true atrocities, and somehow those involved in this research had to walk themselves back from that.
27.08.19
Leeds, UK
The people in charge of Leeds had planned for a lot of things, including a zombie outbreak within the borders of the established safe zone. Even with soldiers going door to door at the start of the crisis, it was known that some people could and would hide out, meaning it would take time to catalogue, tag and isolate everyone infected with the Lazarus virus. When you were dealing with over a quarter of a million people, there would always be strays that had to be hunted down. There would be outbreaks, rebellions and setbacks. That was why the city was split into different sections, checkpoints set up and whole streets blocked off.
In the city centre, there was also the plan to connect multiple buildings via hastily constructed bridges. If the undead broke through whatever cordons and defences were established, it wouldn’t do for the population to get trapped. It might have seemed like the police and the military were revelling in their totalitarianism, but that wasn’t the case. The oppression, the executions and the curfews were all to keep the majority safe and alive. If a few thousand criminals and “useless eaters” had to be sacrificed for the majority to prosper, then that was the price that was going to be paid. The only weakness that would be tolerated was with the children, because they were the future. Without them, everything would just descend into anarchic survival.
There were concerns that needed to be dealt with. There had been reports that the NATO delivered field test wasn’t one hundred per cent effective, the outbreak in Fort Detrick proof of that. Leeds was still in the loop of what was left of NATO and NSA communications, so they found themselves being appraised of what was happening across the pond and the world in general. Whilst the government of the UK was all but non-existent, the Americans had experienced better luck and better planning with regards to the preservation of their Republic. At least for the time being. The reigning monarch, King Charles the Third, was for the time being safely secluded in a remote Scottish estate. It would have been better for him and his surviving family to have fled to Iceland, but the king wasn’t having any of that. He would not surrender his country to the undead.
Much of Europe was dark. France, Germany, Belgium and Italy were no longer transmitting on military channels, their major cities all lost, their military forces crushed despite valiant opposition to the undead. The French had decided not to use their nuclear weapons, which had spared mainland Europe much of the atomic fire and radiation that would soon be plaguing the UK and USA. China was still fighting, but it was clear from satellite reconnaissance that their armed forces were rapidly becoming overwhelmed by the sheer scale of, by some estimates, a country-wide onslaught of fifty million undead.
As for Russia, little was known. It stopped engaging in diplomatic channels as soon as it shut its borders, the flow of natural gas out of the country also no longer occurring. From what was known, the Russians were holding their own and had somehow managed to get the infection under control, mainly by using an approach as aggressive as that seen in Leeds. A mixture of forced segregation and scorched earth, killing anyone and anything that might be infected. Any residence that the undead or the infected were found was cordoned off and often razed to the ground by fire.
Anyone trying to flee into Russia across the border risked being shot.
In the Middle East, Lazarus had missed the Hajj pilgrimage by a matter of days. It didn’t matter, the virus spread throughout the region unchecked, the undead rising in insurmountable numbers. The militaries of the various countries were unable to stop the zombie armies from sweeping across the region, most leaders there either fled or dead. As for Africa, it was generally spared the worst of it in the early stages, many countries there still free of the virus. Already though, the hordes were drifting down from Egypt, the desert heat no hindrance to the spread of the plague. Some zombies collapsed on the hot desert sand, only to be picked apart by the various carrion creatures that seemed not to care that their meals were still moving. And it came north also, from South Africa, where Lazarus had relished the close proximity of people found in the bustling capital and the shanty towns.
Leeds was a beacon of hope to a dying world, but also soon to be an example of what could go wrong. No defensive plans were fool proof, which was unfortunate. Thus Mark(Z) found itself able to wander along backstreets unobserved, three further zombies now following on its heels unseen, much of the street lighting cut off to preserve power. Those patrolling the streets were supposed to be on the lookout for curfew breakers, the sick and, in a worst-case scenario, rampaging undead. Unfortunately, it was initially to be the people making up those very patrols that would fall victim to this growing outbreak. Early in the morning, with many of the soldiers strung out, sleep deprived, and a little worse for wear from alcohol in several cases, the nightmare scenario was about to play out almost perfectly.
Mark(Z), after crawling out of its pit, could have walked in almost any direction. Despite the number of people in the nearby school, it had been driven south by instinct and quickly found itself in a residential area, the streets lined with detached and semi-detached houses. A nice middle-class area, somewhere you would want to move to so as to raise your kids whilst you slaved at a job you undoubtedly hated. What kind of example was that for the youth of today who had already started to reject the idea of the nuclear family?
Driven purely by desire and stimulus, the quiet night offered little in the way of enticement for the small gat
hering of undead. People caught on the street were ripe pickings, the occasional gunfire of little interest to the building’s cowering inhabitants who were used to the sound from the regular raids that had occurred over the last few days. Of the two patrols Mark(Z) had encountered, neither had been given a chance to radio a warning. Eventually their failure to check in would require investigation, but with no real surveillance network in this part of the city, the growing zombie menace had gone undetected. The four animated corpses would have carried on walking, but they were suddenly enthralled by the sound of raised voices that drew them in. Time to feed again so soon?
The undead crossed the street unseen, the arguing couple visible under a porch light. Mark(Z) led the way, not that it was any kind of leader. Why the people were shouting at each other for the whole world to hear was anybody’s guess. They should have done it inside, the man’s cigarette a probable reason for the outdoor demonstration. Her inside wouldn’t let him smoke in the house you see, so he would often stand on the front porch, the plant pot at his feet filled with the discarded stubs that his forty a day habit produced. At no time in his humdrum life had the man ever considered quitting. It was one of the only remaining pleasures he had left, so why deprive himself?
She kept telling him that those things would kill him and he really didn’t care.
“What are you going to do when they start rationing cigarettes, eh?” the woman screamed. “Then you’ll be fucked, won’t you. Hey, I’m talking to you, asshole.” The man sighed. Here she was, the love of his life. How he had once cherished the ground she walked on?
“Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?” came the man’s shouted response. She couldn’t even let him have this one moment to himself, could she? That’s all she did now, provoking and needling him constantly. A sly quip here, a put down there. The world was ending, and she was giving him shit!
“I told you we should have gone to my mother’s,” the woman screamed. “Now we’re stuck here.” Her voice was shrill, making her sound unhinged. This was not a person you could have any kind of affection for. It was the voice of a damaged and fragile being who had let fear trap them in a vice.
“There was nothing stopping you going on your own,” the man countered. He wished she had gone, he really did. He’d rather be alone in the apocalypse than stuck in the same house with her. He hadn’t loved her for years now, ensnared in a meaningless relationship with someone he had slowly grown apart from. Then came the hate to fill that void.
Every morning he woke up and found a little piece of his soul had died, the earlier desire he had for someone he used to adore and worship evaporating with every sunrise. But strangely, he feared divorce more than he feared clinging onto this marriage with a woman who had gained over a hundred and fifty pounds since they had exchanged rings. She had been attractive once, thoughtful, caring. Now she was just some bitch who spent almost every second she could picking holes in his lack of achievements. When she wasn’t doing that, she was watching TV and buying shit she didn’t need. He couldn’t accept that he was equally at fault in the relationship, that his actions had more than helped drive the wedge between them.
“I can’t drive, you idiot.”
“Hey, that’s not my fault.” These ranting arguments were not commonly displayed for the masses, but the stress of the situation and the jobs the two were now being forced to do required some kind of release. This confrontation was the only way the couple knew how, fuelled by the excessive amounts of alcohol they had consumed. The woman resented the fact that she was being forced to work, the hoity bureaucrat who had intruded on their privacy making it very clear there was no choice in the matter.
“You really are a bastard, aren’t you?” The insult was pretty weak when you thought about it, even if it was technically true. It had the desired effect, however. The man indeed had no idea who his father was, so it hit a nerve exactly as the woman had intended. Rage resulted in the cancer stick being dropped half smoked, not even to be crushed underfoot. The man felt the anger build within him, his blood retreating from the surface of his skin, his pale, drawn face visible in the light cast down on him. He had had enough, you could only push a man so far.
She was a big woman, but he was big where it counted, in the realms of muscle. The words had been a mistake, and she saw the change in him and backed away, suddenly fearful that she had finally pushed her husband over the brink. The strange thing was, the woman still had affection for him, despite the way she relentlessly berated him. It was just that he seemed to have become distant from her over the last few years. Deep inside, she knew the reasons why, her own personality and failings playing a large part in that. But she denied this knowledge to herself, preferring to blame him, and taunt him in an effort to try and get some kind of emotion out of their interaction. When they fought, it made her feel alive, and she would rather have that than live in a home where it felt like human connection was banned.
Backing away saved her face from imminent trauma, and the man unclenched his hand that had just been about to punch her. He had come close there. If he hit his wife, and if she had phoned it in, there was no telling what would have happened. More likely one of the neighbours would have snitched to show their willingness to comply with the rules of the new order, perhaps that communication had already been sent due to the noise they were making. This was not a city you wanted to get arrested in, not if you enjoyed your freedom and wanted to carry on breathing. At least those were the rumours that were flying around, whispers shared through the local community in the brief snatches of communication that could be had.
The man threw his hands up in surrender.
“Just leave me alone, woman,” he said, retreating. She blocked the way into the house, and he needed distance from her, so his only choice was to march up the path that led to the street. He needed time to breathe, a moment to clear his head. The annoying thing was, despite his loathing of a risky divorce where some judge would likely clean him out, a decision had recently been made, lawyers had even been consulted. Just before Lazarus, he had finally come to the realisation that ending the marriage was the only way forward, no matter what the financial repercussion of that might be. There was no doubt in his mind that this legal action would result in her becoming a vindictive nightmare, spurned and vengeful and intent on ruining him financially. That was a price he had been willing to pay to be free of her, and now even that was denied him. There was even a rumour that strangers would be moved into their home over the next few days, people needing refuge. How the fuck was he supposed to deal with that as well as her?
He’d raised his courage, only for the apocalypse to strike and thwart his plans. Now he was stuck here with the vile dragon without even television to distract her. The only respite he had was his job putting up border fencing. How he had been deemed suitable for that was a mystery. He’d spent the last twenty years shuffling papers in an office, the occasional frustrated slap he gave the printer the only real exercise he got during those tortuous hours. Now he was expected to wield an axe of all things. Was it purely his size that had determined his suitability to this newfound career? Whatever the reason, his muscles ached, and his hands stung with the blisters that grew despite the gloves provided to him. He wasn’t a young man anymore, so it clearly wasn’t fair.
To the man’s immense surprise, she didn’t shout after him, and he felt his blood pressure slowly return towards normal levels. Moving through the squeaky hinged iron gate, he stepped onto the pavement, vaguely aware that there was a shuffling sound to his left. People shouldn’t be walking out in the dark like this, it was against curfew rules. He knew it wasn’t one of the local patrols, because they always had flash-lights and were often revealed by the squeaking communication over their radios. That was good because technically he was breaching curfew just by stepping out onto the street.
“Hello?” the man quizzed. The shuffling got quicker, the meagre light briefly revealing a figure running across the road towards him
. Before he could say anything more, a slick hand grabbed his arm from the side, the stench suddenly hitting deep up into his nostrils. He would have screamed, but another hand clamped over his mouth, his body wrestled easily to the floor by unimaginable strength.
Weight landed upon him, something kneeled on his thigh, the muscle there protesting violently against the insult. Hands pawed at his face, precious seconds needed for Lazarus to penetrate and infect his system. Then came the teeth, all the while his nostrils flaring as he tried to suck in oxygen. His arms flailed to try and release the palm pressing forcefully down on his lips, but the resistance was useless.
The undead needed him quiet and compliant while they did their work.
After about a minute of this, Mark(Z) delivered the killing blow, the man’s carotid artery severed as the zombie’s lips guided the placement of the teeth, sucking up the blood which was just as nourishing as the beautiful flesh. The teeth were sharp in places, broken by biting things they weren’t designed for. When the man’s heart finally stopped beating, the zombies that were feeding on him quickly lost interest, wandering away in search of further prey that they were sure to find.
Five minutes later the zombified remains of the man lurched up from the ground and back up the garden path to the waiting and invitingly open front door that the other zombies had chosen to neglect. The wife had been spared a smack in the mouth, but she wouldn’t be spared this.
That was how the zombie outbreak took hold in Leeds, and it was another hour before the alarm was raised. By that time, the number of undead were into the dozens, spreading out in all directions, taking whatever opportunity presented itself.
***
“Figured you’d still be awake,” Gary said without any hint of derision. He hadn’t bothered to knock on Andy’s door, instead just storming in. It had been two hours since they had all returned from raiding Harehills, and nearly two dozen individuals were in custody. The lucky ones had been shot due to their violent, and in some cases not so violent, resistance. Most of those detained individuals were trapped in the wire enclosures in the fields north of the school building, but a select few had been taken for further questioning. Andy had no illusions about what that meant. There was no time for subtle psychological interrogation. Information would be extracted by force...there were plenty of people willing to volunteer for the role of torturer.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 5): The Last Page 12
