Z: UK (A Zombie Novel)

by David Whaley

  Suddenly, there was a crackle over the radio.

  “For the attention of all officers. Custody is now closed for the foreseeable future.”

  Natalie found herself wondering what could have happened to cause custody to close for such a period but this was soon interrupted by Becca returning into the room.

  “I’d better make some calls,” sobbed Becca.

  “Before you do, I have a few things I need to tell you.”

  Natalie went on to explain the procedure and the reason for police attendance, provided the coroners name and contact number, advising her of the details for the undertakers and telling her that a post mortem would likely be necessary to determine the cause of death.

  Becca then left to make her phone calls leaving Natalie alone to complete her paperwork in the living room but as she put pen to paper, she heard a faint shuffling sound coming from somewhere in the distance. She looked down the corridor, her view slightly obstructed by the open front door and she crept silently along edging her way towards the bedroom, hand outstretched to be the first point of contact when she neared the door.

  Natalie, trembling with fear, froze in place as another brief shuffling sound could be heard, this time she was closer to the source to determine that it was coming from the bedroom as she first thought. Then there was silence.

  She continued the final few steps allowing her hand to rest on the handle. She took a deep breath and slowly opened the door, her eyes half closed as she peered towards the bed.

  There laid Ben, motionless but in a new position. He was on his side, with his back to her. Natalie listened for the sound again and this time held her breath to ensure no unnecessary outside sounds. Silence.

  She shrugged her shoulders and silently accused Rebecca of repositioning the body. Why? She didn’t know. Usually relatives leave the body the way it rested, but there’s always a first.

  Natalie left the bedroom door ajar and returned to the living room thinking about the sound she had heard whilst taking a look around the room; it wasn’t the tidiest flat. It must have been a mouse, she thought. The mind plays all manners of tricks when you’re alone with the dead. She had experienced many different scenarios of mind trickery.

  Natalie turned back to her report and barely wrote two words when she heard another shuffle, this time it was combined with a faint moan that was, definitely, coming from the body. However, she was familiar with the moans the dead make. It’s the result of the gases within the body being dislodged and having to escape from somewhere, namely the mouth, causing the body to make that sound.

  She hypothesised that the body had rolled onto its back, only as a result of gravity, causing the gasses to release. Brain, you’ll have to try harder than that to trick me, she kidded, well twice anyway.

  Becca then came back into the living room, appearing as though she had managed to compose herself, and she approached Natalie.

  “Thanks for your help officer. I’ve called our parents and told them that Ben is… you know… and now our mum is in a worse state than I was. Do you mind if I see him one more time?”

  “Of course,” Natalie encouraged.

  Becca walked off down the corridor and pushed the bedroom door open, walking inside. Less than a second later she let out an almighty scream that Natalie recognised was not a scream of terror or fright but one of anguish and despair.

  Natalie rushed to Becca’s aid and upon entering the bedroom the issue was soon evidently clear.

  The body was gone.

  ***

  “What do you mean it’s gone? You’re telling me it just vanished? The dead don’t simply get up and walk away! Are you going to stand up in coroner’s court and tell them he did? You must have seen something!”

  Natalie was now standing in the supervisor’s office receiving a grilling from the Inspector having explained the version of events twice already. Each time the Inspector got more annoyed.

  “Sir, there’s not much more I can say but that’s what happened,” said Natalie.

  “Natalie-,” the Inspector got interrupted by the controller at Alpha Oscar calling him over the PR.

  “Go ahead,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Sir, there’s another sudden death for your attention,” said the controller.

  “For fuck sake. Half the officers that actually turned up for work today are already out dealing with deaths. They’re dropping like flies, all over the country,” he said speaking to the Sergeant’s who were also present. “Yeah, received,” he said into his PR.

  “AO1 Receiving,” another voice called over the radio, a female that Natalie recognised.

  The Inspector let out a sigh and removed his glasses to rub his eyes. “Go ahead.”

  “Sir, can I have another unit join me in custody?”

  The Inspector looked at Natalie and didn’t say anything for a while, as if to decide whether or not she was the right person for the job, not that he knew what it was, when eventually he responded.

  “Yes, sending an officer to you now,” the inspector said over the radio.

  “Does that mean I’m going, Sir?” said Natalie.

  “I haven’t got much choice now, do I? There’s a dead body in there, I think from total organ failure like the rest of the infected. Now, if that body goes missing from a secure cell in custody I will be severely pissed off.”

  With a simple nod, Natalie walked down the two flights of stairs to custody, all the while knowing that she would be formally disciplined in the coming days and that Becca, or a member of her family, would probably make a complaint.

  She walked up to the doors of custody noticing the outer and inner doors had been propped open; custody’s only security became strips of blue crime scene tape.

  Standing at the internal door stood the source of the voice that had called the Inspector.

  “Ah, Vick. I knew that voice sounded familiar.”

  “Shhh! Listen,” Vicki said whilst brushing a bead of sweat from her forehead.

  Natalie listened intently, still reminiscent of her last call that she was too embarrassed to share with her friend.

  An intermittent moan could be heard coming from the direction of the cell corridors, a moan that would change pitch slightly with each but every one as sullen as the next.

  “What on earth is that?” said Natalie.

  “I don’t know. That’s why I called for another unit.”

  “How many detainees are here?”

  “None, besides the dead one. They were all transferred out when custody was closed.”

  “Have you taken a look?”

  “Are you mad? The only thing making that noise could be Harry.”

  “Harry? Harry Coombes?” Asked Natalie.

  “Yes, the one you asked about last night. He was infected and his organs failed just like all the others by the looks of it.”

  “I thought it was supposed to be harmless? That’s what everyone kept saying anyway.”

  “Does it look like it now?” Vicki snapped.

  “Alright Vick, lets take a look.”

  The officers walked into the main custody suite, past the large custody desk that had become desolate yearning for staff to fill the chairs once more and past the hard wooden benches towards the cell corridors of which there were two.

  They listened for a few seconds to the moaning, now louder, and determined it was definitely coming from the corridor containing Harry’s cell. As they neared the source of the hellish sound down the narrow walkway, it continuously grew louder and louder.

  They stood outside Harry’s cell door, the exhibit label still intact stuck half on the door and half on the frame indicating that nobody had entered the cell. The sound of the moaning was still present, but this close to the source made it sound fiercer.

  “Ready?” they said in unison as Natalie reached out her hand towards the wicket. However, as she touched it, it made a quiet knocking sound.

  The moaning then stopped. The officers listened
but all they could hear was their own fear stricken breathing patterns.

  Natalie continued by lowering the wicket fully, past the Perspex glass stage leaving an open hole head height to her in the door.

  Although the lights were dimmed they could see the figure of a man standing in the centre of the cell staring directly at them.

  This man opened his mouth and let out an enormous snarling sound before running at the door, arms outstretched and soon through the wicket, head bouncing off of the door.

  Vicki was saved from the grasp of his decaying arms only thanks to Natalie’s fast reactions. This close, and despite the first stages of decay she recognised, Natalie confirmed it. It was Harry.

  Chapter 6

  Marcus entered the airport just in time to hear an announcement that affected him dramatically.

  “All flights to the UK have been cancelled until further notice due to the virus that has plagued the island and the deaths caused as a result. Please also note that travel to the UK by land and sea has also been shut down. The UK is now in a state of quarantine.”

  The female voice then repeated the announcement again in a series of different languages.

  Marcus’ first thought was not how he was going to get home but the involvement he had in releasing the virus, then to the fact Britain became quarantined very quickly and then to The British Equivalent. Did they know the true consequences of their actions? His final thought did then turn to how he was going to get home and, more importantly, Natalie. How is she? Is she infected? God I hope not, he thought with a genuine care for the woman that ended their relationship.

  Marcus left the airport and hailed the Argentinean version of a taxi.

  “Where to mate?” said the Argentinean man in good English.

  He had already decided that he wasn’t going to go back to the hotel, pointless as he had already checked out, and started thinking of ways he could get back to his home country. There’s so much I have yet to do, he thought. I have to see Natalie.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “Any idea how I can get back to the UK?”

  “Mate… What ya wanna do that for? The Noticias… Sorry, The News, says that-”

  “I know what it says, my girlfriend Natalie is there. We had a stupid argument before I went away but I have to see her. Maybe, even, to protect her, to help her realise there’s more to life. But mainly to see if she is okay.”

  The driver shrugged his shoulders and Marcus settled to be taken to the nearest pub that happened to be one full of regulars not used to seeing a new face; hence the stare each gave as he walked in.

  Marcus, half regrettably, walked up to the bar where he ordered a locally brewed ale and sat down at a table, lonely in the darkest corner.

  He looked around the room, eyes having adjusted to the darkened room lit only by a few bulbs of a low wattage. He noticed that the pubs customers, all turned back to their conversations and drinks, ranged from thirty something’s to sixty something’s, all of Argentinean appearance except for one. The one that continued his stare at Marcus, not once lifting his glass to his mouth.

  Marcus angled his chair away from the scrawny man who would easily have fitted the description of having the appearance of a crack cocaine addict. Marcus would have guessed him to be a fairly new user, not yet exposed by the full effects of the class A drug. At least, it’s a class A drug in the UK.

  This reaction seemed to cause the man to stand up with his drink, walk over to Marcus and sit in the spare seat opposite him.

  “I’m Devlin,” he said in his deep, gruff voice.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “I’m telling.”

  “I’m leaving,” said Marcus standing up.

  “I wouldn’t,” Devlin said grabbing hold of Marcus’ right wrist, his hand cold to the touch. “Not if you want to see Natalie again.”

  Shaking off the shiver, as well as Devlin’s grasp, that ran the length of Marcus’ spine, he returned to his seat leaning forward to continue their discussion.

  “What’re you talking about?”

  Devlin sat back in his chair and lit a cigarette blowing the first puff into the face of Marcus.

  “Well, I’m waiting,” Marcus continued.

  “I think we can help each other out. I hear from an acquaintance that you need to get back to the UK.”

  “Yes and how do you suppose we get there? We can’t fly,” said Marcus.

  “You’re right. We can’t, but I can.”

  “What? Are you serious? Why should I trust you?” asked Marcus.

  “Listen! You need to get to the UK. If you don’t want my help then that’s fine, but from what I hear, the UK is going down the shit pipe fast. If I don’t help you then you will be stuck in Argentina forever. If you go, at least you can both die together.”

  Marcus, of course, knew Devlin was right and had already accepted his offer without verbalising it. Who knows what the media was holding back, but from what they have broadcast, the UK was one step away from being a long forgotten island, allowed to float by without outside help.

  “So, what do you get out of it?”

  “I can’t go back to the UK and I’ve wasted eight months here already. You see, I’m a traveller and I’ve always been able to go back home to the UK to recover from my drink and drug induced lifestyle. Well, that’s not gonna happen again anytime soon. I need enough start up money to start a new life somewhere. I was thinking, maybe, Australia. ‘Bout thirty grand should do it. I drop you off and then I’m out.”

  Marcus weighed up his options, and his finances, confirming quickly that he had no other option. Plus, with his forty two thousand pounds remaining from his fifty thousand pound payout for his recent assignment, he could afford it.

  “Okay. When do we leave?” asked Marcus.

  “Tomorrow. In the morning. Ten thirty meet me here. With the money of course.”

  Marcus checked his watch, and seeing it was approaching nine, he picked up his luggage, including the bag off money, and headed off into the darkness in search of the nearest bed and breakfast, nodding to Devlin as he left.

  ***

  The next day, Marcus left his budget B&B and began the five minute walk to the pub where he had met his newest friend, at least that’s the only way he could think of him having given his trust away. Whilst on route, he thought about what he would encounter when he got back to the UK.

  The Prime Minister at silly o’clock in the morning had released a statement that was televised on every channel in many different languages following the growing fear of the illness plaguing the UK.

  “This is nothing more than an aggressive strain of the influenza virus that has caused many deaths and not, what the media and conspiracy theorists are calling the ‘Zombie Virus,’” the Prime Minister had said. “To think that the dead are now becoming the undead is absurd. Reports of attacks on people are similar to the London riots and is fuelled by panic. Be assured that we have researchers working on a vaccine. To beat this we must stand together, as one nation, unanimous in the face of peril.”

  Marcus never thought much of the British PM but he was strangely reassured by this statement. It’s only a pandemic and an effective one at that, he thought a smile creeping across his face.

  He soon arrived at the pub where he waited outside armed with his bag of money. The previous night, Marcus had counted up thirty thousand pounds worth of the fifty British pound notes and wrapped it in a plastic bag.

  He waited five minutes but Devlin hadn’t arrived. Five minutes more and Devlin still hadn’t shown up. After another ten minutes and his ride nowhere to be seen, Marcus started to walk off when the pub door opened and hand forcefully pulled him inside.

  “I told you to meet me in here,” said Devlin.

  “The pub’s closed.”

  “I pulled some strings, how else do you expect to do the exchange?”

  “What? Is your plane in here? I’m not giving you a thing until its wheels touch British soil,” dem
anded Marcus.

  “I’m not being funny; I don’t exactly know you and therefore don’t particularly trust you.”

  “Are you serious? You’re the one that came to me, remember? I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you half now and the other half when we land.”

  “Okay, that sounds fair.”

  “Devlin. If you dick me around I could-.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know all about your history Army man. I meet interesting people on my travels. Now, quickly. Then we can leave.”

  Marcus chose not to reply, as he wasn’t going to mention anything about him being in the army, but instead pulled out the plastic bag from his holdall where he divided the money within into two halves. He reluctantly gave Devlin his first instalment of fifteen thousand pounds, after which, he was led out through the back door of the pub to a car park.

  Devlin unlocked a grey saloon type vehicle with no brand badge. Marcus guessed it to be an Opal from its design and foreign plates. Marcus got into the front passenger seat of the vehicle.

  “So, where are we headed?” asked Marcus.

  “To a small airfield just outside Campo De Mayo not on any mapping system although I’m sure pilots have probably noticed it as they have flown by. You know, beacons an’ all that.”

  They sat the rest of the journey in silence and in a small amount of traffic travelling via the au RN 9. They paid the tolls that were scattered along the route, arriving on the Accesso Oeste to drive through the heart of San Juan where they reached their destination another hour later.

  Here, they parked in the airfield car park and walked towards a large shared hangar, across two empty runways. Devlin opened the bifold door, renowned for its unreliability, to reveal a single aircraft within. A Cessna 162, high wing, single piston engined two seater light sport aircraft that has been in production since 2009.

  Into their second vessel of the day, Devlin taxied the aircraft to the runway where he transmitted information via the headset he donned requesting permission for take off. It was granted.

  The aircraft gathered speed before lifting into the midday heat to start their long journey.