The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 2): The Rise

by Deville, Sean

Outside and below was where the problems started. At a radius of twenty-five kilometres, the survivors suffered horrific third-degree burns, even when in the false protection of buildings. Further out still, deaths from flying debris were horrific, glass acting like lances, piercing flesh and severing limbs, chunks of masonry acting like missiles, bludgeoning skulls and shattering bones.

  The problem was, outside the radius of the air blast, most of the zombies survived, their bodies weathering the radioactive storm. Spread across the city as they were, more than fifty per cent of their numbers carried on their assault, the humans now weakened and dying, easier prey for a creature that cared not that its flesh was charred and missing limbs. Wherever the zombies could walk, they attacked the survivors with a fury that was unsurpassed.

  There was yet another challenge that the military planners had completely forgotten about.

  Over the previous decade, China’s economic miracle had lifted hundreds of millions out of poverty but had also sent the price of housing through the roof, making it unaffordable for large swathes of the population. These people needed somewhere to stay, so where better than the nearly ten thousand underground nuclear shelters that previous regimes had built in Beijing alone. With no real present-day threat of nuclear conflict, the bunkers had taken on another purpose…unofficially housing China’s poor. Despite the government’s efforts, nearly a million people called these sometimes forgotten structures their homes

  One out of every twenty-first person lived in structures designed to protect them from nuclear bombardment. Whilst those constructions were obliterated at ground zero, thousands of them survived across the city, nearly five hundred thousand residents sheltered from the worst of the first blast. Being home to those on the lowest strata of society, many of the people in the shelters had been on the street that day when Lilith had used her drones to release the virus. As the second bomb fell, those below the surface waited to die from the infection that was ripping through them.

  Three bombs in all were dropped, and if anything, the progress of the virus was only stalled. As the survivors above ground moaned from their injuries, many trapped under debris, the undead emerged to once again take control of the streets. Although collapsed in parts, the Beijing underground had harboured thousands of them, and they re-emerged, the radioactive dust that coated them as they wandered the rubble-strewn streets of little concern.

  Another form of the infection came from underground. Hiding in sewers and basements and the very nuclear shelters that saved so many, the rats arose, feeding off the shattered zombie corpses, the virus quickly spreading through their ranks. Two billion rats survived the atomic blasts, two billion tiny soldiers to be converted to the cause of Lazarus. Across the world, the surviving governments watched on, horrified by the actions of the Chinese military and their leaders. With so few countries in possession of nuclear weapons, many looked on enviously, deprived of a means to control the spread through their own populations. Disgusted as they were, you had to respect the force of will that could take that kind of action.

  Shame it didn’t do anything to stop Lazarus.

  Ironic really, for the Chinese had not realised the nuclear death would only make the situation worse for China. As the undead began to crawl out of the underground bunkers, the radiation began to work on the virus within them, altering and mutating the creatures that already defied all medical logic. As the hours ticked by the radiation worked its magic, some of the those wandering the earth with no discernible heartbeat beginning to change.

  And Lilith? Waiting for instructions that never came, she died in the first atomic blast, her body reduced to atoms. Mother never did get to speak to her.

  22.08.19

  Manchester, UK

  Brian surprised himself with how relieved he felt about being given the all clear from his blood test. He hadn’t believed he was infected, but to receive an official negative result, even from a doctor as unlikeable as Florence, was a weight off his shoulders. He hadn’t really realised he was concerned about the prospect until it was removed from the equation.

  The test result was accompanied by him being invited into Clay’s opulent bedroom so that they could have breakfast together, an honour that Clay rarely bestowed on anyone. Clay was not holding anything back with the banquet being served, the two place settings of full English breakfast indicating that Clay was determined to enjoy life even with the coming adversities. Clay’s butler stood silently to one side, ready to clear the dishes away once the feast had been accounted for.

  “Tuck in Brian, you might not see the likes of this for a while.”

  “Yes Mr Clay. You said there was something you might want me to do today?” Brian asked.

  “Indeed there is Brian, indeed there is. But first, eat.” From the corner of his eye, Brian watched the Butler, a man said to be utterly devoted to Clay and almost as ruthless. He was Clay’s close protection bodyguard as well as his occasional servant. He outmatched Brian in both height and bulk. Brian had never seen the man in action, but he was aware of the man’s ability when it came to hand to hand combat.

  They both ate, no further words shared until every last morsel was cleaned from the fine china plates. If he was honest, Brian wasn’t a great fan of mushrooms or black pudding, but he made no complaint and just forced it down coated in ample portions of ketchup. Rarely was it wise to refuse something Clay offered, the gang boss was sometimes easy to take offence. Still, Brian had to admit, that was a damn good meal.

  The Butler stepped forward and filled both their mugs from the teapot on the table they shared. Mugs didn’t really fit with the rest of the expensive crockery on display, but Clay liked to drink his tea in bulk. Brian couldn’t complain about that. Once the tea was poured, the now empty plates and cutlery were collected, and the Butler left the room. Clay waited for the door to close.

  “Best investment I ever made finding him,” Clay said nodding after the Butler. “Never speaks unless he’s spoken to and does what I tell him. A bit like you in that regard Brian.”

  “If you say so, Mr Clay.”

  “I do say so.” Clay sat back in his chair and crossed his hands across his lap. “Does it annoy you that I make you nervous Brian?” There was no warning about the question, which Brian knew was some kind of test. He’d suspected for a while that Clay had a streak of paranoia in him, which was why he was so ruthless in dealing with those who betrayed him. Brian also suspected that that streak had perhaps now grown to a five lane motorway, causing his employer to begin to question even the most loyal of his soldiers.

  “I wouldn’t describe it as nervousness Mr Clay. More a healthy level of respect.”

  “And loyalty?”

  “I think I’ve shown my loyalty is without question.” Brian kept any kind of displeasure out of his voice so that he was merely stating a fact.

  “Good,” Clay suddenly said clapping his hands together. Clay’s eyes had been prodding, searching for weakness and deception, and now that he apparently hadn’t found any it was time to get to the matter at hand. Brian let himself relax a fraction.

  “Even with the warning I was given by those who have grown rich under my watch, it’s only a matter of time before external help for my operations evaporates. Have you seen what has become of London?”

  “I saw some of it, Mr Clay, but much of the news isn’t covering it.”

  “London has been lost Brian. The dead own it now. No more Piccadilly, no more Leicester Square. I’m told the army is in full retreat. It won’t be long before Manchester goes the same way.” Clay almost sounded like he was reminiscing about times gone by.

  “I still find it all hard to believe.”

  “Don’t we all Brian. But the proof is there for everyone to see. Which is where we get to the little jobs you will be doing for me today. How do you fancy a nice drive with some of the lads?” That was where Brian learned he would have to leave Clay’s mansion for most of the day.

  ***

  So muc
h for the safety of Clay’s residence, thought Brian. He had stopped the convoy of four vans a safe distance from the guarded gates. Through the binoculars, Brian could see that there were three soldiers guarding the entrance of the distribution warehouse. With the high wire fences all around its grounds and limited road access, it was easily defendable from ingress by unarmed civilians…if you had the men and if you had the will. The same went for assaulting the place, and Clay had both.

  He noticed the sergeant’s stripes on one of the soldiers, which meant to Brian that there were likely more men inside the huge building. Whilst Brian’s team could probably overpower the military presence here, the casualties would likely be high on both sides. He had ten men with him, all heavily armed, and some of them were even army veterans. This wasn’t some gang of youths they were facing though. Soldiers were trained, they knew their shit, so he figured he had to try another way. Word was that these were also Para’s, some of the best soldiers there were. They would normally be dedicated to their orders. However, with most of the British government dead, and the streets of several major cities already becoming swamped by the armies of the damned, the chances were that these men would be open to negotiation. Brian felt he had to at least try.

  “Hold your positions. I’m going to try something,” Brian said to the man in the van with him. “You might not want to be with me when I attempt this…in case it goes south. Get the sniper rifles out and set up under cover. That’s our leverage.” His minion looked at him through the portals in the gas mask he wore, and nodded, quickly unfastening his seat belt and climbing out of the van. With a fist slammed several times on the side of the vehicle, the two men in the back got out also. Putting it into gear, Brian slowly drove over to the front gate. This was a risky move, but it was worth taking.

  The soldiers had been watching them warily, and now two of them retreated behind the sandbag enclosure they had created. The light machine gun one of them was wielding worried Brian. That could do devastating damage, and he would prefer it if this could all be resolved peacefully. Why fight when you could negotiate?

  Stopping the van a reasonable distance from the soldiers, Brian switched the engine off and stepped out of the vehicle. Whilst the sergeant didn’t point his weapon at Brian, the other two men did. The soldiers also wore protective clothing to fend off the virus. The guns they carried were needed to protect against the likes of Brian and the end result of what that virus brought.

  “That’s far enough,” the sergeant said. “You need to get back in your vehicle and leave.”

  “You see there’s a problem with that,” Brian said, lifting the respirator up off his face so he could be heard better. Alone in the middle of the road, there was little chance of the virus getting at him. He kept his hands visible at his sides, moving deliberately so as to show he wasn’t a threat. “My boss has asked me to start emptying this warehouse, and I really can’t disappoint my boss. He has a bit of a temper you see.”

  “That’s not my concern. Leave now. This facility is under military protection authorised by Her Majesty.” The food distribution network in the UK was a fragile behemoth. So long as the food kept being shipped and moved and grown, then the shelves in the supermarkets stayed full and stocked. But any disruption to that supply would see those shelves run empty within a matter of days, which had already happened in most supermarkets that had foolishly stayed open.

  The military had initially hoped that by controlling the distribution warehouses, they could somehow keep feeding the population once order was restored, but they had already seen that this plan was turning into a logistical fuckup. Even without the zombies attacking the massed gatherings of people already desperate for food in the cities, there were further problems with the plan. Firstly, stability wasn’t being restored in many of the desired areas, the army and the police just spread too thinly. And secondly, the international inflow of goods was going to be cut to nothing as world commerce began to break down. Even with the warehouses secured, the country would run out of food within a week. Even if the farms kept producing, there would be no labour to pick the crops out of the ground or drive it to where it was needed. The majority of the people would either thus fall to the virus or die from starvation. It was a calculated bet which would claim the most victims, and military strategists were already suggesting that the available food supplies should be requisitioned for the Military and civilian authorities. The average Joe on the street, well he would just have to fend for himself.

  “Your government’s dead mate,” Brian informed the sergeant. He saw one of the soldiers nervously moving his gun, and past the gates near the huge warehouse, three more soldiers could be seen.

  “Leave now.”

  “Have you thought about it though?” Brian asked. “You all have families right? Wives, parents, girlfriends.” This was Brian’s leverage, and he saw the two squaddies glance at each other. “If you are here protecting this, who’s there protecting them?”

  “Military families are being moved on base,” the Sergeant lied.

  “Well that’s very cosy,” Brian admitted. “But who’s defending those bases? Most of the police are probably dead or fled. And I bet your ranks are depleted with desertion.” It was true. At least thirty per cent of military personnel from the Sergeant’s regiment had so far abandoned their posts. “So let’s make a deal.”

  “I’m not here to make deals. We are authorised to use lethal force to protect this warehouse.”

  “Mate,” Brian said taking a step forward. “I don’t want the warehouse. I just want what’s in it.”

  “Not going to happen.” The sergeant’s voice was stern.

  “Look I will do you a deal,” Brian persisted. “I’ve got four vans here. You let us fill those for say three trips, and we will be on our way never to return.” Clay had considered occupying the warehouse itself, but he realised that would spread his men too thin. He had decided to turn his home into his principle stronghold. Its high perimeter walls and thick iron gates were enough to keep the undead out. Brian knew that Clay had ideas of becoming some sort of warlord, and to do that he needed men. And men needed to be fed.

  “Time to go,” the sergeant warned.

  “One way or another we are getting in that warehouse.”

  “Not today,” the sergeant advised. Brian backed up and put his hands up in mock defeat. He turned and made to walk away, only to pause and look back.

  “I’m sure you are familiar with the L115A3 sniper rifle?”

  “Leave. I won’t tell you again.”

  “Only there are three aimed at you right now.” The two privates ducked down slightly. “My men are good shots. Ex-military. One of them used to be a para, like you. Perhaps not as good as you guys, but good enough. Your position is wide open. If we don’t kill you, we can keep you pinned down and outflank you. And then we will kill you, and I don’t want to do that.” Brian really didn’t want to kill these men, even though he was prepared to. They weren’t the threat. The undead were, and the more soldiers there were able to fight, the fewer zombies there would be to deal with.

  “Sarge?” one of the privates said. “Maybe we should consider what he’s saying.” Ah, the first fracturing in the ranks, thought Brian. The sergeant spoke to the private without looking at him.

  “Carson, now would be a good time for you to keep your fucking mouth shut.”

  “But Sarge, my wife’s pregnant. I need to be with her.”

  “Listen to him,” Brian said, “and think about it. We will nip in, fill the vans and be on our way. Nobody will know or care. We aren’t the enemy sergeant, the dead are.” Brian looked at the sergeant who returned the gaze. There was steely resolve there but also doubt. Brian was someone you never wanted to play poker with, he could read people like a book. Here was a man conflicted, the breathing and the way he held his head told him a lot. On the one hand, there was honour and duty and on the other the threat of death and the very real risk that presented to loved ones. Th
e sergeant’s shoulders sank.

  “I’ve got ten men and there’s six of you from what I can see. Do we cooperate or do things get unnecessarily nasty?”

  “For fuck’s sake,” the sergeant said, probably more to himself than anyone else. “Carson, open the gate.”

  22.08.19

  Houston, USA

  Reece hadn’t gone home. What was the point? With most of the prisoners being diverted to the Astrodome, she took the opportunity to sleep on one of the beds in the vacant cells in the Sherriff’s Department, a place that was usually filled with the drunk, the violent and the unruly. Its holding cells were now one of the quietest places in the whole Sherriff’s Department. Ideal for someone who needed to get some sleep.

  The silence did not mean untroubled sleep, unfortunately. There she dreamt of the desert and the horsemen, a terror that was very recent, this only the first time it had occurred. She had no idea why her mind brought her a frightening reality of decay and torment and it caused her to toss and turn with the ravages of her own imagination. So vivid was it that sweat poured from her skin, the smell of charred flesh almost real in her nostrils. It wasn’t those horrors that woke her up but the banging of the baton on the cell bars.

  “Morning Reece,” her Sergeant said. He looked at her with a measure of concern. As usual, he was immaculately attired, which was more than Reece could say. She looked at him, noticed the lack of the usual jovial smile that he was known for.

  “Morning Sarge,” she said, the sleep still in her system. How many hours had she got, two, three? She noticed the Sergeant was holding a piece of paper. He was also wearing a mask and gloves.

  “Reece, your blood tests came back. I’m…I’m sorry, but they came back positive.”

  “Shit,” Reece said. She felt the bottom fall out of her world. She liked the Sarge, he was always fair with her even when she went too far and busted his balls. It wasn’t fair that he was having to give her this news. The Sergeant stepped back, clear of the cell door. Reece suddenly felt like she was about to throw up, a coldness spreading through her at the thought of what this all meant.