The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 2): The Rise

by Deville, Sean

  But she hesitated. This wasn’t right. Could this be classed as theft? Before she left, she dropped five thousand baht notes onto the bar in form of compensation. That was surely more than enough to cover what she had taken, although it confused her that she felt guilty in her attempts to survive. She kept expecting an accusatory voice to come and berate her, but it never did.

  All her life she had been susceptible to the opinions of others, often allowing herself to be manipulated by those who claimed to have her best interests at heart. Little did she realise that the majority of the hotel staff had fled the building, leaving only those who felt compelled to continue to perform their duty out of some noble sense of honour. Some also stayed at work because it was the only life they knew.

  Returning back to the foyer, the Germans had gone. But they had left a warning for her that reinforced the perils she now faced. The body of the Thai security guard lay on the ground, his neck at an obscene angle. Panic began to rise in Natalie which wasn’t helped by the lights going out for several seconds. They came back on, but their brightness felt dimmer. At that moment in time her breathing had been the only sound she could hear, and it had filled her soul with a sense of dread that stayed with her till the end.

  There was nobody at reception, so Natalie was forced to leave the body knowing her only option was to retreat to her room. She briefly contemplated trying to find a sheet to cover the body, but what if the Germans came back? Anyone who could kill a man like that wasn’t someone she wanted to be around.

  Being in the lobby and despite the evident dangers that were building around her, curiosity insisted that she take a look outside, and Natalie had quickly made her way to the front entrance, the doors there still mercifully intact. The street outside seemed empty, although it was strewn with carnage. A burnt out taxi smouldered and a strong wind blew the remnants of a newspaper stall along the road. A single child’s shoe rested on the top step of the short flights of steps that led down to the pavement. Natalie lingered longer than she knew she should, the urge to open up the doors and fling herself outside crazily hitting her out of nowhere. She retreated from the door, not noticing the twitching hand of the dead guard. She ran up three flights of stairs and, slipping the key card into her door, pushed her way inside, being mindful not to slam the door behind her.

  Most of that day was thus spent lying on her bed watching whatever TV she could find. Most of it was in Thai, but there were three English speaking channels that initially didn’t tell her much.

  Late in the night, there was the sound of violence from down the corridor. She couldn’t see what was happening through the spy hole, so she carefully opened the door as silently as she could. Fifteen or so doors down the corridor, the two Germans were attacking a hotel room door with a fire axe. They didn’t see her, and she didn’t say anything to draw their attention because she knew there was nothing she could do to help. All she would achieve would be to make herself a target. As silently as was humanly possible, she closed the door and double locked it. Resting her back against its coldness, she had curled her knees into her chest and listened to the sounds that only got worse as the woman who was obviously the attacked room’s occupant started to scream. Somehow, Natalie fell asleep in that position.

  Natalie slept through most of the twentieth. When she wasn’t sleeping, she drank prodigiously from the bottle of gin. It was enough to keep her sane.

  On the twenty-first she woke up to oppressive heat. It was late in the morning, and the familiar hum of the air conditioning unit was clearly absent. When she tried the light to the bathroom, she quickly realised that the power was out. So not only was she in an alien country, alone and short of supplies, but now she was hotter than was comfortable. A feeling of isolation started to creep up on her, the walls to her room increasingly too close. She couldn’t even open the window to get some less than fresh air into the room.

  When she found there was no water pressure to work the shower or the toilet, the floodgates in her emotions fully opened and she realised she could no longer stay here. With the streets outside visibly calm, it seemed to her the only choice now was to try and get to the US consulate. Fortunately, the paper guidebook of Bangkok would work in that regard where her electronic devices failed. Rucksack on, and the last of her food eaten, she knew now was the time to leave the hotel. It was only a matter of time for her to run out of water, especially with the heat rising. She reckoned she had enough to get her where she needed to go, and she had brought what was left of the gin for good measure.

  When she reached the foyer, the first thing she noted was that the dead body of the guard was gone. So mesmerised was she by this revelation that she didn’t hear the man sneak up behind her. When he spoke to Natalie in German, she spun around to see the buzz cut German man from the other day. It wasn’t even noon yet and it was clear that he was drunk.

  “Please, leave me alone,” she said. She tried to put some authority into her voice, but all she seemed to come out with was fear.

  “Ah, you are American. Go Yankees,” the German slurred, giggling to himself. He pumped a fist in the air.

  “I’m just going to go,” Natalie insisted, taking several steps back.

  “No, don’t go. We shall party. Yes, will be good. Stay and talk, I am lonely.”

  “Your English is good, and I’d love to chat, but I can’t stay, sorry,” she said, continuing her subtle retreat. The German matched her movement.

  “Yes, I learn at school. I learn many things at school. We will show you,” the German said, eagerly nodding. Natalie’s nerve broke and she turned to run only to find the other German, the one with long dreadlocks, stood behind her. Both of the Germans were big men, and dreadlocks grabbed her by the arms, his fingers like vices. The stench of alcohol wafted from his mouth, and he belched loudly in her face. For some reason, his lips told her that he found this all highly amusing.

  “Please, don’t hurt me,” Natalie squirmed ineffectively.

  “My friend here, Hans, he does not speak English,” informed the first German. “My name is Karl and I am very pleased to meet you.” A hand started to caress her hair, and she was surprised when shame blossomed in her with regards the fact she hadn’t washed it. Natalie knew she couldn’t let these two trap her.

  In desperation, she brought her knee up into the groin of Hans, allowing her to slip through his grasp as he half went to the floor. Karl made a grab for her, but the alcohol he had consumed had affected his coordination. If he’d managed to grab the strap of her rucksack, this would have all been over. The Germans cursed at her as she fled out of reach of their fingers.

  “Bitch,” Karl shouted. He came after her, but he was slow and lumbering. Hans just knelt on the ground, head turned to watch the pursuit, agony still spreading through his lower body. Natalie had clearly delivered a killer blow and glancing back, she realised there was a good chance she was going to make it.

  She hit the main door running. A small voice was telling her she had missed something vital, but it was only when she saw the small keyhole at the top and bottom of the door that she realised the trouble she was now in. Turning, she put her back to the warm glass, knowing it was too thick for her to try and break. Karl was walking slowly towards her now, a stern look on his face. Hans gingerly picked himself up off the floor, an evil smile spreading across his thin lips. Neither of them would be taken by surprise like that again.

  “Why are you not being nice to us?” Karl demanded. “We weren’t going to hurt you. We are just going to have a little fun.” He stopped just out of arms reach from her. “But you hurt my friend and now you must be punished.” Reaching behind him, Karl pulled out a flick knife. Natalie didn’t wonder where he got such a weapon, every night she had witnessed dozens of stalls selling worse than that in streets all across the city.

  “Just leave me alone,” Natalie begged.

  “No. It is, how they say, the end of the world. All that’s left is to drink and be merry.”


  There was a movement in the corner of Natalie’s eye, a blur and she looked over to her right, Karl suspiciously following her eyes. Like a force of nature, the zombified body of the security guard came crashing out from the hotel’s reception area, storming towards Hans. The German was too slow to react, and the zombie bundled the big German to the floor, snarling teeth biting whatever they could get to, its fingers wrapping themselves up in Hans’s dreadlocked hair. The zombie took an ear as it easily overpowered Hans who was significantly larger than his attacker.

  “Get off him,” Karl roared. All interest in Natalie was lost, and he charged the zombie who didn’t pay a blind bit of notice. Not until Karl grabbed the zombie by the shoulder. Without even turning its head, the zombie freed one of its hand and smashed Karl in a sideways swipe. The stocky German fell to the floor hard but scrabbled back to his drunken feet. He still held the knife and with it he lunged fruitlessly at the zombie. Natalie didn’t see what happened next because Karl was blocking her view. She didn’t see Karl push down on the back of the zombie’s head, pushing its face into Hans’s shoulder, which received a howl of pain from the teeth that were already embedded there. She didn’t see the knife get slipped into the base of the skull. Natalie saw the zombie go limp and knowing the undead’s intervention would only give her a limited amount of breathing time, she reached into her rucksack. She had brought the gin bottle because at the time it had seemed the right thing to do. It took her eight paces to reach the intertwined trio.

  When it came crashing down on the skull of Karl, he went limp as consciousness left his body. Falling sideways, he flopped off the now truly dead zombie, landing face up next to his dying friend.

  Natalie stepped over, noticed the blood pouring through Hans’s desperately placed hand, witnessed the look of utter panic in his eyes. She also saw the keychain on the back of the guard’s belt. Unclipping it, she gave Hans one last pitying look and spat defiantly in his face.

  “Fuck you,” she roared. “I hope you die and eat your friend’s cock.” She still possessed the rucksack, and the keys allowed her to escape the prison the hotel had become.

  In the distance, a car alarm blared, but with the exception of the wind that was still picking up, no other sounds seemed to meet her. It took her a few moments to orientate her position on the map, and with the desire for safety burning through her body, she started to walk. Natalie believed that, with luck, it would take her at least two hours to reach the US consulate. Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

  Unseen, the undead child with one shoe crawled out through the shattered window of the abandoned foot massage parlour. It watched Natalie as its meal hugged the shadows. Even with its injured leg and missing arm, it began to stalk its prey, the saliva pouring from its mouth at the prospect of the meal it was about to indulge in. The wind wafted the odour of flesh to it, and the remnants in its mind became agitated with the coming excitement.

  Natalie never saw the child until it was too late and she never had a chance to fight off the creature that was a third her size. Perhaps she should have stayed in the hotel after all.

  21.08.19

  Tristan da Cunha Island, Atlantic

  The Four. Mother, Father, Brother, Uncle. Only Mother was absent now, choosing not to join the hierarchy of Gaia at the recently, and somewhat hastily, constructed base deep into the side of the volcano on Tristan da Cunha Island. In truth, Mother wasn’t even aware the base existed having never been told.

  It was perhaps better that Mother was not here. Even though she was the founder of their organisation, its ideals had moved passed her naivety, the three men that joined her at the top of the hierarchy certain that the creation of Lazarus was the ultimate weapon to combat the scourge that threatened the very planet they all lived on. With its accidental release, they had perhaps been gifted with the outcome they had planned for years to bring about. Too early perhaps, and too out of their control, but things were happening better than any of them could have hoped. They didn’t know how wrong they were.

  Humanity was a disease, and Lazarus was to be a cure. Even though it had escaped long before it had been perfected, the Three, as they were now known, assured themselves that it was all for the greater good of mankind. This base that they had constructed out of sight of the island locals would be their hideout whilst the world around them burned. They could stay here with their families and their most trusted acolytes for years if need be, the subterranean structure filled with food water and fuel.

  Powered by generators and the ever-present Atlantic winds, they could survive whilst the bulk of humanity died. Then they would rise to take up the dominance of man, guiding whatever was left to create a self-balancing society that was at one with nature. No more hunger, no more inequality, no more bigotry or war. Just total ecological harmony with a planet that had been on the brink of destruction.

  That they didn’t really know what would happen with Lazarus long term seemed to be actively ignored. They had all been vaccinated against it, a cure they would share with the worthy and those who showed merit come the new world. This was the same vaccine that had been shared with a select few of their agents across the world, many of them ex-Soviet sleeper agents who had infiltrated many aspects of Western government, although Britain and parts of Europe had been all but stripped clean of them by the relentless actions of MI13. Then there were the assassins, Azrael, Gabriel, Lilith, just names to represent lives that had been moulded, shaped and manipulated to do the will of powerful men who cared not for the welfare of those who sacrificed so much.

  There was one pressing problem that they were now free to correct. Their base was heavily defended and as close to impregnable as one could make such a facility. Against laser-guided bombs and heavy ground assault, it would definitely fall. But nothing like that was envisaged, the very presence of the Gaia headquarters a secret to the nations of the Earth. Just getting to the island would have been struggle enough. The problem that needed addressing was the island’s population. Two hundred and fifty strong, they were an irritation that needed to finally be dealt with. The solution was simple, and just as with Beijing, they would use drones. Only this time it wouldn’t be Lazarus that would be seeded into the air.

  Henry Carpenter had been born on the island and had grown up knowing only island life. His schooling had been adequate, and it had been a natural thing for him to follow his father into the fields. The locals called it Utopia, outsiders never allowed to settle or buy land on the island. Despite that, everyone remembered the fateful day the huge ship had moored unannounced offshore, carrying helicopters that descended on a remote part of the island. Those who lived in the community with Henry had been outraged, especially when the smaller boats had started unloading men and machinery totally against the express wishes of the people who were supposed to have a say about who did and didn’t live on Tristan da Cunha. The voices of complaint were pointless though because it soon became common knowledge that the construction had been given Royal authority by the Governor of St Helena. Protests did nothing to stop the newcomers. It was just a research station they were told, well away from any arable land and would be no burden on the people or the ecosystem of the island and the seas around it. Don’t worry, the station will only be used intermittently. When the construction crews left and the huge ships stopped coming, the islanders began to relax.

  As Chief Islander, Henry was still upset by the imposition. They had made a formal protest to the Crown, which had been acknowledged and basically ignored, greased palms and secret money transfers back at Westminster responsible for allowing Gaia to go about its business.

  With the facility seemingly abandoned and locked up tight behind wire fences and razor wire, it slowly slipped from the minds of the Islanders. Until the night before last that was, when the sound of planes descending became unmistakeable over the placid quiet of the island. Four planes had landed in total at the short runway that had been built as part of the research station, and none of them
had seemingly left. People had arrived, and not the tourists that were tolerated due to the cash they brought into the island economy.

  Villagers had gone out to the facility, a hard trek over volcanic rock in the ripping wind of the Atlantic. As during the construction, the soldiers were back, only this time they reacted with hostility rather than the polite dismissiveness that had been previously experienced. Several of those who ventured out to see just what the hell was going on never came back to the village, tales of snipers and land mines brought back by the few who survived. When Harry had tried to contact the authorities on St Helena, he learned that the UK government had fallen and that the world was at war with the dead.

  Rumour began to speculate as to what the facility was really for. Some wanted to raise an expedition to storm it, but calmer minds patiently outlined how foolish such an action would be. Whoever they were they were heavily armed, dug in deep and prepared to use lethal force as a primary measure. Better to just leave them to their own devices, the stories of the zombie apocalypse seeming to grow to overtake the interlopers when it came to what the Islanders talked to each other about.

  It enraged Harry, however, his wife noticing how his mood had shifted and how poorly he slept. Lying in his bed, his wife asleep by his side, he listened to the ocean, the human population mainly still and asleep. It wasn’t right that people should be able to do this, there was still a thing as the rule of law. The thing was, he wasn’t really sure what he expected from those who held the reins of power. The islanders prided themselves on their independence and their ability to keep the island for themselves, and that pride had been defiled. Was it unreasonable then for him to expect the British Crown to send armed men to deal with the invaders? No direct threat had been made on the village, those who had been killed choosing to walk past numerous signs that stated they were entering private land and that lethal force had been authorised.