The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 5): The Last

by Deville, Sean

  If Site R fell though, then they really would be in trouble.

  ***

  There was good news, Howell was still alive. With nothing else to do, the private was sleeping, his vitals strong and stable. Jee was jealous of his ability to nod off like that, a skill she had never really managed to master. Especially now. She didn’t think she would be able to do similar even if she had been given the chance. The amount of caffeine flowing through her system was ridiculous, as was the worry that was bubbling within her. It wasn’t that chemical stimulant that would keep her awake though, it was the carnival of concern that would rampage through her head should she try to disengage her brain. Putting her head on a pillow was a ridiculous idea considering how little time she might have left.

  No matter how much she tried to deny it, Jee was in serious trouble here. The evidence of her infection was starting to show.

  All the volunteers who had received the vaccine first were still alive. Of those who had been less fortunate, only two remained in the land of the living, and it looked like they were going to make it. This gave Jee some idea of the odds she was facing. Fifty-fifty at best, but most likely much worse than that. If she was a gambling woman, she really wouldn’t have liked to take those odds. Flip a coin, heads you live, tails you die a horrific death and come back with the overriding desire to eat people’s livers. She wasn’t sure that bet would have gone down well in Vegas.

  And Jee now had a fever, there was no denying it. Her mind felt clouded as if she hadn’t eaten, her appetite so far not affected. She had already ruled out low blood sugar. Another impact of the virus, battling the forces arranged against it in her blood stream. There was no evidence of Lazarus on her skin, but it was still growing within her according to the blood cultures she had done. She was rapidly running out of time.

  Jee had heard of the pending evacuation, knew that much of the vital equipment that was portable was already being loaded up for shipping. As it stood, she wouldn’t be going anywhere. Nobody could risk an infected person being moved to Site R, no matter how good the quarantine. She either beat the virus, or she would be destined to spend the last of her days here, without sunshine, without the coolest of breezes playing against her skin.

  It was so difficult not to let that overwhelm you, but Jee didn’t think she had any option. The constant desire to just curl up into a ball and wallow in self-pity had to be rejected. She wouldn’t allow it. People were depending on her, and as much as she could feel sorry for herself, it had been her life to look after the welfare of others. If she was doomed, her last hours had to mean something.

  She was determined to make herself useful to the end, but should Lazarus overwhelm her, she knew the guards would come in and take her away to be strapped down. Part of her reckoned she would rather end it all than let that happen. The problem with that was she didn’t have access to a gun, so an act of suicide would ultimately be the worst of selfish acts. By killing herself she would leave an active, and likely enraged zombie for others to deal with. That just wouldn’t be right.

  27.08.19

  Reykjavik, Iceland

  The plane sat idle on the runway tarmac, its engines cooling. Looking out of the window, he could see people moving about outside, the sounds of the aircraft hold being unloaded unmistakeable. There had been a moment there on the approach to the island when the fighter jets had appeared on either wing of the plane. Campbell had suddenly feared the luxury jet he had stolen would be shot out of the sky, but the planes were just to escort them in. The fighters had also borne American insignia which had been reassuring to see. How many planes had those pilots shot down since starting this duty?

  Iceland wasn’t renowned for its air-force. It was now being protected by whatever NATO forces had been able to flee here. Protected? Would appropriated be a better word?

  Winters cradled the cooler containing the remaining vaccine on her lap, ten vials left in the cooler surely enough to be of interest to the Icelandic government. Likewise, Campbell clutched his laptop bag, which contained Mother’s revelatory honesty. There was a wealth of knowledge and secrets still to be untapped in the journal, he was sure of it, but likely only he would find that of any interest.

  Campbell also had a portable drive with copies of all the research taken from the Ark. With that and the vaccines, the Icelanders could start the process of replicating their own vaccine samples which was ultimately for the benefit of everyone. They had the facilities to manage that. Hopefully, within weeks, the whole island could be made immune to Lazarus. From there, the military personnel from the various military powers could be made safe which would establish a staging point for the fightback to occur. With nearly two billion already dead worldwide, it wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  Right now though they were waiting to get through quarantine. Campbell knew that nobody would have originally been allowed on the plane if they hadn’t passed the field test for Lazarus, but nobody could blame the Icelandic authorities for their caution. It was actually reassuring to Campbell. One thing you couldn’t allow with Lazarus was complacency of any kind. There had been far too much of that.

  The mobile stairway had been connected, and Campbell watched as the plane door was opened. Expecting immediate demarcation, people began to stand up to collect their meagre possessions from the overhead lockers, others sitting patiently to file off the aircraft as if this was just another fucking commuter flight. All very orderly, all very civilised despite the absolute bedlam that the rest of the world was in.

  Of the DIA refugees, there were roughly thirty people present including those flying the plane, not particularly impressive for an agency that had once employed over sixteen thousand people. Many of those who worked for the DIA were active military and as such had been dragged into the fighting on the ground. Thousands were dead, either from contracting Lazarus in the early stages or from the subsequent zombie menace that resulted from the infection. Those on the plane were the top of the hierarchy, the supposed best and brightest, as well as what could be salvaged of their families. Distressingly, of all the people here, there were only two children. Campbell, with no real family of his own that he was close to, knew he was privileged in that regard.

  How many had refused to board the plane with the knowledge that loved ones were still unaccounted for? That was another way Lazarus had been so devastating. If it didn’t infect you, it often went after those you held the dearest. Another cause of death in the DIA, and across the USA, had been the vast numbers of suicides. Why choose to live in a world that took everything from you? Who would want to live in a world where you were constantly hunted? With guns so readily available, eating a bullet seemed like a sensible way to go for many people, even those in the states that had yet to be hit by Lazarus. The infection would come to them, it was only a matter of time.

  Worldwide, the suicide rate had reached biblical proportions.

  A lone figure boarded the plane, a male wearing a hazmat suit. He surveyed those present and wrote something on the clipboard he held close to his chest. The man looked composed, as if he’d done this hundreds of times before. There was a strong possibility that he had, Iceland being the place to flee to over the past few days.

  “Please stay in your seats at this time,” the official said which only got a few murmurs of dissent. “Follow all instructions and do not deviate from the quarantine procedures. This is for everyone’s safety.” With that, the man in the hazmat suit stepped aside to allow three more people in protective clothing to board. None of the new arrivals carried any visible weapon, which was more than could be said for the passengers. They went from person to person, applying the field tests as well as taking blood. Somehow the doctors had labels with everyone’s names on, which they stuck carefully to the vials of blood they collected. The people of Iceland seemed to know who their new guests were.

  When it came to Campbell’s turn, he held his arm out without complaint for he was safe in the knowledge that he was now immune to
Lazarus. He didn’t bother to mention this fact. At the moment when the Delta Force medic had been ready to inject him, a seed of doubt had crept into his thoughts. What if it hadn’t actually been the vaccine? Instead, what if it had been some sort of elaborate trap set by Father? Everyone here had been tested before being allowed on board, but Campbell hadn’t. He’d never left the plane since flying it over from the Gaia hideout. What if he was some Typhoid Mary that had unintentionally infected everyone here?

  By the end of it, the whole plane had passed the initial screening to Campbell’s delight, his concerns unwarranted. Loaded up with everyone’s blood, the four newcomers left the plane, the door being closed behind them which was unexpected. The agitation levels of everyone inside rose a notch, the director having to step up and order everyone to calm down and wait things out. This wasn’t their country, so it was only right to let the Icelanders do things their way. As much as the US forces stationed on and offshore the island could have easily taken control by shear military might, nobody wanted to occupy the island by force, not such in a harsh climate with people who were notoriously hard minded. Co-operation was much better than domination. Lazarus was a difficult enough enemy to fight without promoting an insurgency in the one safe place left.

  It was clear that none of the native Icelanders were willing to take any chances, no matter how important the people on the plane might have thought they were. After an hour of nervous waiting, the door opened again. The man with the clipboard seemed more relaxed this time, although he still wore the hazmat suit.

  “You have all passed initial quarantine screening. Please depart the plane one at a time for processing.” People started to file off, giving their names to the man who ticked them off on his clipboard. The low-tech approach, thought Campbell, highly suitable for this post-civilised world.

  Campbell was thirteenth off the plane, after Winters. He was in no rush. They left based on where they were sitting, so seniority played no part in that, even the director patiently waiting his turn. The steps off the plane were encased in a tunnel of opaque plastic with strip LED lighting, which kept the wind off them at least. At the base of the steps was a tray to walk through, the smell of disinfectant unmistakeable. Whoever was running the quarantine wasn’t taking any chances. If not for the vaccine the aircraft carried, one had to wonder it would even have been allowed to land.

  The air around him was chilled and filled with the caustic aroma of bleach. Campbell would need to get over his love of the sun. Iceland wasn’t renowned for its tropical climate.

  On solid ground, the plastic tunnel led to an impressive hangar. Through a door, Campbell entered the processing centre. Ahead of him, the passengers waited in line as each person was called forward to a table that two women sat behind. Again, everyone not on the plane was in protective clothing, including the dozen visibly armed men that were scattered around. Some of those armed were soldiers wearing US uniforms. Campbell could see the sense in that, as well as the logic behind treating everyone as a potential carrier, regardless of their rank or standing.

  It seemed to take forever for the line to move.

  Stepping up to the table, Campbell gave his name which again was ticked off a list.

  “This contains all the data we have on the Lazarus virus, including the specifications for producing a vaccine,” Campbell said, brandishing the portable disc drive. “I assume you want it.” The woman that looked back at him just sort of gaped in awe. She seemed astonished that such a thing existed and that she, of all people, was being asked to take charge of it. The woman beckoned to someone behind her, and the drive was spirited away, held carefully as if it was made of the world’s most fragile material. Could you possibly imagine being the person to drop and damage such an object?

  “What will be done with that?” He had risked his life to obtain it, so Campbell reckoned it was only right he was told.

  “It will be handed to the research team working on the virus,” came the weary response. One would have hoped that they would already have been sent the information, but you could never make such assumptions. That was one of the first things you learnt when you worked for one of the huge intelligence agencies. Never assume anything, and never take anything for granted. That shit got you killed. No, worse than that, it got other people killed. Campbell wouldn’t have put it past his own government to have kept all the information on Lazarus to themselves in some last ditched power play. If they had, that bullshit was now over.

  “Don’t lose it then,” Campbell said playfully. He couldn’t quite read the look he got back in response, but he thought it might have been annoyance.

  Winters had already handed the cooler over. It was the only choice really, perhaps the price the director had agreed to so as to provide sanctuary for his people. Campbell trusted there were scientists here who would know what to do with the precious gift he had acquired. The cooler too was taken away, carried with excited reverence.

  “We will take good care of it. Now please follow the white line,” he was told by the other woman behind the desk who viewed him with passive indifference. How many such flights had she had to deal with, thought Campbell? The operation here was slick, well-rehearsed and clearly run by someone who knew what they were doing.

  He suddenly wondered what would have happened if one of them had tested positive to the virus. Campbell suspected he knew the answer to that. There could be no quarter when it came to Lazarus, and no survivors would have stepped off the plane.

  The white line led him through a channel made up of metal barricades, further armed guards standing watch to ensure nobody deviated from the designated path. This was technically overkill now, but Campbell didn’t complain. Nobody did, they were just happy to finally be safe, refugees from a country that had fallen from its greatness. Even if the President of the United States had been on that plane, she would have still had to queue up like the rest of them. There was no privileged status in the quarantine procedure, just the potential for infection.

  At the end of the line was a temporary wooden structure with five doors. Each door was numbered, and another clipboard wielding official stopped him.

  “Name?”

  “David Campbell.”

  “Please go through door number 2. Remove all clothing and place it in the bin provided. Any personal items, including all jewellery, should be placed in one of the plastic bags and left in the tray. The locker in the room contains fresh clothing for you.” She handed him a sheet of paper with sticky labels on it. Each label had his name and date of birth.

  “Do I get my stuff back? The journal in here is vital to finding the person who created Lazarus,” Campbell said forcefully.

  “Eventually,” came the tired response. Personal possessions didn’t matter to Campbell. He didn’t have anything of any real worth on him except for the journal. Any material trinkets he had were back in his DC apartment, a place he’d barely seen the last few weeks. In his line of work, you tended not to get attached to mere things. Even something as benign as a wedding ring could betray you in an operation. What mattered was the equipment in the field and the knowledge in your head.

  The room he entered gave him the illusion of privacy that he needed to strip, although he couldn’t help noticing the surveillance camera up in the far corner. On the other side of the shower unit, there was a rack of military fatigues and a shelf with plastic wrapped underwear as well as plastic clogs. Not the best fashion accessory, but he wasn’t sure the concept of fashion mattered anymore. His clothes he discarded in the bin provided, his wallet, weapon and watch he left as instructed. Taking the journal out of his laptop bag he held it up whilst looking up at the camera.

  “I want this back,” he said loudly, not sure if anyone was listening, not even caring that he was stood there naked.

  “All your possessions will be returned to you,” came the response over a hidden speaker.

  The shower had instructions in English written on it, and he followed them. The ch
emical-laced water was disgusting, and he did his best not to inhale its odour or get any of it in his mouth. Those thirty seconds dragged, but he’d suffered much worse in his time. It was followed by a second blast of clean water, which actually left him feeling refreshed. If he had been a civilian on a commercial flight, he might have been concerned about the stench his body must have been giving off. He figured any foul body odour was forgiven seeing as how he had just come back from an operation to save humanity.

  Dried and dressed and ready to go. Out the other side was another holding area which was slowly filling up. Winters was there, and he wandered over to her. She no longer had the cooler and her demeanour was different without the power suits she normally wore. Looking at her face, Campbell knew what it was. For the first time in weeks, she could now relax and let others take the strain that had been a burden to her.

  “I hope they make good use of the vaccine,” he stated. The fatigues she wore hung loosely off her, not everyone able to find the right size in what was offered. Even here there were armed guards to make sure nobody went astray. If the order came to open fire, would those soldiers sporting the US flag have shot their fellow countrymen and women? Campbell thought there was a strong chance that they would.

  “They were very eager for it at the sign-in desk. I thought the woman there was going to kiss me when I told her what it was.”