Chronicles of the Infected (Book 1): Finding Her

by Rick Wood

  There was a manoeuvre he knew. He had used it in Afghanistan to escape a number of landmines he saw at the very last moment. A handbrake turn. Just a little pressure on the lever, and the right amount of acceleration.

  He lifted the handbrake slightly. Placed his foot on the accelerator.

  But as soon as his foot applied any pressure, the bullet lodged in his calf forced him to think of nothing but the pain. His foot thrashed out and hit the pedal with far too much strength.

  He’d mistimed it.

  The manoeuvre failed.

  The car turned to its side and veered toward the line of cars. The side of the Ferrari smacked into them and went spinning into the air.

  The seatbelts did nothing.

  Gus was flung about the carriage, and hit his head against the roof.

  It all went blank.

  He came around in flashes. At first, he felt the impact of the car pounding against the floor.

  Secondly, he felt the car turn once more.

  His vision blurred.

  A gunk of blood slid into his eye.

  His eyes closed again. His mind vacant, his thoughts absent.

  He came around later to the sound of multiple zombies groaning.

  8

  The dull evening glow cast a luminescent dark grey over the horizon. Trees rustled with a slight nudge of wind, and rain clouds grew closer.

  Still, Sadie purred at the sight. A beautiful evening sky was one of the few pleasures she could still conceive, and she treasured it.

  It was one of the only things she could still understand.

  A distant hum grew closer.

  Her feral paws scurried across the ground as she made her way to the cover of a tree, darting her eyes back and forth, seeking out the source of the sound.

  She peered into the motorway that sat, normally deserted, down a steep drop and beside the wooded area Sadie had made her home. Her eyes widened, her senses growing alert. A potential danger made her skin prick.

  Within seconds, a Ferrari had sped across the middle lane and smashed into a row of static vehicles. Sadie watched with amazement as the car spun multiple times through the air, whirling in circular motions like a wild cog, and landed upside down. The roof crashed inwards and the glass of the windscreen shattered. Once the car had stopped spinning, it slid across the surface, leaving dark skid lines behind it before coming to a gradual stop a long way from where it had crashed.

  Groans grew closer.

  She could smell them. Reacting to the sound. Instinctively meandering toward any potential food.

  She knew that’s what they were doing, because it’s what she wanted to do too. To hunt. To feed.

  But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

  Her head lifted, listening intently.

  The groans grew closer, and closer still.

  Sadie watched the distance beyond the wooded area where she took shelter, remaining motionless as the silhouettes of a line of limping, crouching, debauched figures emerged. They were running.

  Flight or fight pounded against her skull. The infected grew rapidly closer. A safe space was needed, and needed fast. She couldn’t be sure of how many there would be.

  She ensured her knives were secure behind her back. She clutched them tightly, relishing the feel of their smooth leather handles, seeking that extra reassurance that her weapons were there should she need them.

  She leapt onto a tree trunk, wrapped her arms around it, and scurried upwards. Once she reached the branches, she made a few slick movements that took her to the top of the tree, allowing herself to watch the chaos from higher ground.

  A horde of at least twenty contorted beasts stumbled over the fence separating the grass from the road, each of them staring intently at the upturned car. Some of them fell over the separation, only to be trampled on by the stronger and less incapacitated undead, prying forward at the sight and smell of fresh meat.

  Each one of them was foul. Pale, skin hanging off their bones, limbs veering off in skewwhiff directions. Despite their obvious deformities they were quick, and they descended upon the vehicle with a sick desperation to feed and maim.

  Sadie’s curiosity piqued. She could smell something. Amidst the smell of rotting flesh, she could smell something different. Something like…

  Fresh meat.

  People were alive in that car. Living souls were at risk of death.

  What of those souls?

  It would be inhuman for her to let them die.

  She wanted to kill them too. To eat them.

  No. Save them. Save people.

  They didn’t have long.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Sadie leapt back down the tree trunk.

  Flight turned to fight.

  She used her two arms and her two legs to surge forward like a gazelle, nearing the mass of hungry fiends with hostility in her eyes.

  Some of them heard her. They even turned around, casting their yellow pupils on the approaching warm-blooded creature.

  One of them ran for her. She lifted out her claw and shoved it through its chest, then retracted it, allowing blood to spray over her face.

  She did not blink.

  A few more moaned in acknowledgement of new flesh, directing their yellows in her direction.

  She made her way through them in a swift succession of movements, dicing and slicing their heads from their necks and their limbs from their bodies.

  One unexpectedly approached behind her. She landed her bare foot into its knee, forcing a loud crack as it bent backwards, then grabbed its throat in her hand and pulled it apart, throwing its loose oesophagus into the hungry crowd.

  What used to be an old man swung its arms toward her. She dove her head forward and sunk her teeth into the side of its neck. As she pulled away, she threw the various pieces of bloody flesh from her teeth to the floor.

  She withdrew her two knives she kept tucked in the back of her trousers and charged forward, venomously screaming as she ploughed her blades through a succession of the creatures. She tore her knives through their faces and ripped her hands through their bellies, leaving a line of legs and torsos across the road.

  Decapitated heads snapped their jaws and chests without legs dragged themselves forward, their eyes reaching for nearby flesh.

  With a few swift swipes, Sadie slashed their heads, ending their pathetic unlives with the same violence in which they’d entered it.

  Twenty fast, strong creatures, taken out by one. It was almost too easy.

  She turned toward the car.

  Two men watched from within. One big and intense, the other small, scrawny, and startled.

  She growled at them, holding her knives in each hand, breathing heavily. Her panting persevered as the adrenaline continued to run through her body, ready, watching intently with rogue eyes, waiting to see their next move.

  9

  She looked up to her father with eyes of adoration.

  Gus looked back at her.

  His daughter, in his arms, hugging him tightly.

  God, I love this girl.

  “Daddy, can you stay here?” she asked. “I mean, stay here forever?”

  How he wished he could.

  How he wished he could say yes.

  But something told him he couldn’t. Something afar, speaking in the distance of his undisclosed thoughts.

  “No, Laney, I can’t.”

  “But, Daddy!”

  “I know, I know, I want to stay too,” he told her, wrapping his arms securely around her torso. “But this isn’t real.”

  “What?” she asked, bemused.

  “This–” Gus spoke, tears in his eyes. “This isn’t real. I have to go back.”

  She faded, and his mind turned back to reality.

  10

  The smell of burning asphalt hit Gus first.

  Followed by the deafening thump of a broken wheel making its escape from the overturned car.

  Then the groans.

  He reached his ar
m across his body toward the seatbelt, his muscles aching upon each movement. Wincing through the pain, he undid the strap and allowed himself to drop to the floor – which was now the roof of the car.

  A sharp bite of broken glass stung his neck. He rolled away from the crushed windscreen and wiped the pieces off himself.

  He saw the unmistakable legs of the undead marching toward the car. They had evidently heard the sound and came running for fresh meat.

  For a moment, he contemplated letting them kill him. Just relaxing, closing his eyes, withstanding the initial pain, then sinking into death.

  But no.

  He had to wait.

  After the mission. I can die after the mission.

  He turned to his side, where he saw Donny starting to come around. A long streak of blood decorated the centre of his face, and his arm was twisted away from his body.

  As Donny became more aware, he panicked.

  “Cool it,” Gus urged him. “Cool it.”

  Donny looked at Gus with wide eyes. His face showed sudden fear, followed by an instant of clarity illuminating his mind with the information of what had happened – followed just as quickly by an expression of dread as the hands of zombies reached into the vehicle.

  Gus remained still and calm.

  Donny didn’t.

  He winced, pulling himself away from the hands, doing all he could to stop them from even scraping his skin.

  Gus relaxed. Allowed the hands to brush against his face, knowing that they couldn’t reach far enough in.

  “Chill,” Gus instructed Donny.

  He was ignored.

  Gus reached out a hand and grabbed Donny’s non-injured shoulder.

  “Chill!” he demanded. “Relax, or you won’t think clearly.”

  A growl announced itself clearly from behind the zombies, and with a sudden movement, the hands retracted.

  The growl was animalistic, without a doubt – but it was different to a zombie growl. Gus couldn’t put his finger on it, but knew it was different. Not zombie, not quite human. It was something else.

  A quick succession of violent sounds accompanied the sight of legs giving way to spilt blood. Gus watched intently as he listened to flesh being ripped, followed by the slick movement of knife through bone.

  Gus knew Donny wouldn’t recognise such sounds for what they were. Donny would just think they were sounds of battle.

  But Gus knew the sounds well enough to recognise each and every one of them.

  Within seconds, the zombies were turned to remnants of bodies, covered in blood and limbs.

  A girl crouched and peered at Gus and Donny.

  The girl growled.

  Her appearance took Gus by instant surprise. She didn’t look human enough to be human, but didn’t look unhuman enough to be anything else. Her hair was scraggly, twisted into greasy knots and pointing in various directions. Her face was covered in dirt and her eyes looked feral. His teeth were dirty, and subtly pointed. Her clothes were messy rags hanging off her bony flesh, dark and muddy.

  She held a knife in each hand.

  “Hello?” Donny asked with a high-pitched screech. “Can you help us?!”

  Gus lifted an arm out to signal for him to halt, shushing him.

  “Are you joking?” Donny squealed. “She just saved us! She’s here to help!”

  “How about you shut the hell up and remember I’m the one who knows how to deal with these situations, yeah?” he spoke bluntly in a low, irritable grunt.

  Gus twisted his body so that his legs were out of the space where the windscreen used to be. He slowly crawled, keeping his eyes on the girl the whole time, careful not to make any sudden movements, edging out of the car. Eventually, he was able to lift himself over the broken glass and crawl along the ground, taking himself to his knees.

  As he went to get to his feet, she lifted her lip into a snarl, pointing a knife out toward him.

  He stayed still. Didn’t move. Kept his hand out cautiously, staying on his knees.

  “It’s okay,” he assured her. “It’s okay. We aren’t zombies. Look.” He lifted his arms to reveal his body intact, ignoring the pain in his muscles. “See, no limbs missing. No blood. Nothing. We’re fine.”

  With a hesitant glare, she crawled toward him on all fours, keeping her hands clutched on the handle of the blade. She sniffed him. Like an untamed beast, she went up and down his neck, taking in his scent.

  Behind him, he heard Donny climbing out of the car. As he realised his arm was hurt, he cried out, causing the girl to jolt upwards in alarm.

  “Donny, shut the fuck up,” Gus urged him in a low pitch. “Your arm is hurt, just man up and come out slowly.”

  He turned back to the girl, holding his arms in the air, remaining motionless.

  “See, I’m safe. It’s okay. He’s safe, too.”

  She leant her face toward Donny and sniffed. Like a wild cat, she moved her face up and down his chest, up his neck, and to his cheek.

  “What is she?” Donny inquired.

  Gus frowned. “How the hell would I know? How about I consult the encyclopaedia of bizarre shit.”

  She backed up slightly.

  “What’s your name?” Gus asked.

  Sadie looked back at him with a scowl, unsure what he was saying.

  “Your name,” Gus repeated. “What is it?”

  “…Sadie…” she whispered.

  “Well, Sadie. I’m Gus. And this dickhead behind me is Donny.”

  She turned her wary gaze to Donny, then back to Gus.

  “Donny appears to have hurt his arm, possibly broken it. I’m going to need to administer first aid. Is there anywhere you can take us that’s safe?”

  “…Safe…”

  “Yes, like a home.”

  “…Home…”

  “Yes, a home. Do you have one?”

  She nodded.

  “Can you take us there?”

  She nodded again, then turned around and sauntered with a cavewoman-esque limp across the road and toward the wooded area.

  Gus turned to Donny, whose face was scrunched up in pain, clutching his wounded elbow.

  “I’ll fix it up,” Gus assured him. “Just try to keep up, yeah?”

  Gus followed Sadie, having to maintain a light jog in order to keep up with her, followed by Donny, who huffed from his lack of fitness.

  The whole time he watched her, wondering what she was.

  Human, yes.

  But he had a feeling there was more to her than that.

  11

  A sharp yet vacant illuminous glow lit the street. Street lamps were a thing of the past. Driver’s headlights, lights in the windows of nearby houses, even torches – such things were forbidden past curfew.

  All that Eugene had to light the street below was the moon. Once his eyes adjusted, the vague bluish haze of a rainy night became clear and he no longer had to strain.

  There was no action below. No running, no screaming. No eating.

  It was peaceful. As it used to be.

  No one came out at night. Whether the curfew he had proposed and seen brought into power had existed or not, it would still be an unthinkable thought to leave the safety of one’s home past dark. You would be the only target. Once an infected would find you, it would attract the next infected, then the next, then the snowball effect would continue until you were screaming beneath a horde of hundreds.

  Lights were off so as not to attract the attention of the wandering dead. Occasionally, you could see the reflection of the moon in a distant pupil, someone staring out their window at what the world had become. But you never saw lights.

  The infected outside meandered across the road, leaning to one side, generally the side that didn’t have any guts hanging out or limbs missing.

  Just one sound. That would be all it would take. Then that wandering nomadic specimen would change from the aimless, helpless creature, to a rabid carnivorous predator.

  The cloak of night would concea
l them from you, but it would not conceal you from them.

  Eugene returned to his desk that was situated across the room. A single candle flickered, out of reach of the prying window, waving in the subtle breeze caught by Eugene wandering by.

  He shuffled through a few more papers that had arrived on his desk. He couldn’t even remember how they got there. Sifting through them made him bored. When he became the leader of one of the few still-standing countries in the world – that is, to use ‘still-standing’ in the loosest meaning of the word – he thought it would be action. Declaring war. Motivating his troops to fight.

  But it was paperwork. Sheet after sheet after bloody sheet of it.

  He signed off a few dotted lines, only glancing at what they were about, too tired to read them thoroughly.

  He considered going to bed. Problem was, he never slept. No matter what he did, he would toss and turn. He used to read the new and latest book on his Kindle before sleeping, but alas, there were very few new great works of literature being released these days. So he leant back in his office chair, stretched his legs out, and sipped on a now cold cup of tea.

  Slipping a sneaky hand into the top desk drawer, he found a pack of cigarettes. His guilty habit. Not one he would let other people see. Not because he was afraid of being judged, oh no – the world had gone to hell, humanity was far past judging someone for wanting to relieve the tension with a quick smoke. No, he wouldn’t let other people see, as then he would feel compelled to share them. The number of cigarettes in the world was depleting, and he intended to keep his secret stash to himself.

  He placed the end of the cigarette in his mouth, raised a match and lit it, then closed his eyes as he breathed in the beautiful taste of inevitable death.

  The smoke flew out of his pursed lips, lingered in the air, then disappeared into the shadows.

  What a feeling.

  He took another drag, a long one this time, enjoying the subtle nuances of what his wife used to nag him about.

  That was one thing he didn’t miss. His wife.

  Despicable woman.