The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 2): The Rise

by Deville, Sean

  His free hand held his phone, Google maps guiding him to his destination. He didn’t need to know exactly where the masses were gathering. All he needed to do was follow the largest road he could find north, and eventually, he would come across a group of humanity big enough to make an impact.

  His progress so far had taken him towards the Brent Cross. There would be people there and the proof of that was already evident. For the last two miles, the roads had been clogged with abandoned vehicles. So many people had stupidly tried to flee by car. What were they thinking? Some of the unoccupied vehicles were still packed full of suitcases and material wealth that had needed to be forsaken, the flow of human traffic on the pavements gradually getting thicker.

  An hour ago, he had felt vulnerable, an isolated soul wandering deserted streets. Now there were dozens of people around him, all heading in the right direction. Soon there would be hundreds, then even walking would become difficult as the choke points and the crowds made progress difficult. That was what Colin was looking for. That was when he would strike. But not yet, oh no, not yet.

  Around him the people travelled either alone or in small groups, separating themselves as much as possible, perhaps fearful of what anyone could now represent. Colin noticed that along with the haggard looks on most of the people’s faces, eyes nervously flitted around seeking the inevitable danger. Most of these people had never faced anything but luxury. Even some of those on the lowest rungs of society had plasma TV’s and smartphones. They didn’t understand true hardship, most probably never having to walk this far in their lives. They amused Colin and it just reaffirmed why he needed to act in the way that was planned.

  Humanity had come to the end of its run. They had been given wardenship of the planet and they had been negligent in their management of her resources. Perhaps with the bulk of humanity removed, the species could once again find its true place, creating a technological Eden in balance with nature.

  Wishful thinking, Colin realised. More likely, if mankind survived, they would go right back to raping the planet. Let’s see if we can help stop that from happening, Colin thought.

  22.08.19

  Manchester, UK

  There was a knock on her door. Susan hadn’t felt comfortable leaving the bedroom because she was doubtful that the house’s owner actually wanted her here. She held a very reasonable fear that she might encounter someone that would suddenly decide she wasn’t welcome after all. The end result would be her ejection from the building onto the now lawless streets. Whilst she had been hesitant about staying here, Susan had decided she didn’t want to be outside those walls, not with what she had witnessed on the TV playing in this room. As much as she didn’t like the thought of being around gangsters, it was a better proposition than being alone and vulnerable. She would soon learn that she was very wrong about that.

  There was another knock, slightly more insistent this time. Wrapping the provided dressing gown around herself she cautiously went over to the door, mindful that she was still somewhat hung over. Susan opened the door, the Butler patiently standing on the other side.

  “Good afternoon madam,” the Butler said respectfully. “Mr Clay would like to express an invitation for you to join him for a late lunch.” He spoke with a thick Eastern European accent that had at no time been spoilt by the fifteen years he had spent around English people.

  “Really?” She was genuinely surprised.

  “Yes madam. You would need to be suitably attired of course.”

  “Of course,” Susan responded. She felt like she was suddenly in a dream.

  “If I can have your dress and shoe size, I am sure I can find something to accommodate you. Mr Clay has a stocked wardrobe for just such occasions. Would that be agreeable?” Susan didn’t think she had ever met anybody so polite, whilst at the same time being so potentially menacing. She could see what was underneath. This was no mere house servant. There was power under that immaculately pressed uniform as well as a bubbling malevolence. This was not a man you wanted to upset so Susan gave the man the information he had requested with exaggerated willingness.

  “Very good madam. I shall make some suitable selections and return shortly. You will find a full makeup bag in the drawer below your bedroom mirror.” He made it sound like a suggestion, but it was clear to her that this was a requirement.

  “Thank you,” she said numbly. The Butler actually bowed slightly as she spoke, before walking off with a grace that a man his size shouldn’t possess. Susan watched him until he turned at the end of the corridor before closing the door.

  It felt thick and sturdy, but she knew it would offer her no protection should somebody want to get through it. Was she actually a guest here, or was there more to this than she had originally expected?

  The Butler’s name was Viktor Patsiuk and he had worked for Clay for well over a decade. It was the perfect job for him. The pay was good, the tasks minimal and it presented him with a place to hide from his past. The past clearly didn’t matter now, but he had pledged his service to his paymaster, and Viktor never broke a pledge. A former Ukrainian Spetsnaz, he had left the failing state to seek his true worth having discovered a growing realisation that his skills would be in great demand on the free market.

  Working freelance had put him on Clay’s radar as well as made him many enemies. Clay saw a man who was calm under pressure and who also had an enviable bearing and character. Viktor was also ruthless and hard as nails. So Clay had offered him a job, and soon found another use for the Ukrainian. The butler aspect was actually Viktor’s idea. What better way to hide a vicious killer in plain sight than to masquerade as a simple servant? Several of Clay’s enemies had fallen for the trap when presented to them. Viktor only masqueraded as a butler, he rarely actually performed the role. When he did though, he played the part perfectly having even taken instruction in the various tasks butlers performed.

  There were other aspects to his employment that only a man like Viktor could carry out.

  As he walked through the maze of corridors Clay’s house represented, he assessed his opinion of the newcomer called Susan. She was a reasonably attractive woman despite her age, Clay normally requiring Viktor to acquire them much younger. She was thin which was not through exercise, but more likely borderline malnutrition. Viktor couldn’t help but notice the half-empty vodka bottle on the sideboard, the smell of her room very telling. Viktor knew the knowledge of her alcoholism would be a powerful tool for Clay to use in the coming manipulation.

  Viktor now understood why Clay had agreed to allow Susan entry to his home. It would be interesting to see how Mr Metcalf reacted when one of the lesser known truths about Clay was revealed to him. Viktor was looking forward to hopefully going toe to toe with Brian, his reputation as a hard man well earned. It was important for people like Viktor to constantly test their own abilities, and Brian would hopefully be more of a challenge than the last three people Viktor had been asked to kill.

  There was always the chance that Brian would just accept what was about to happen to Susan. Viktor was just as happy for that eventuality to occur. Competent soldiers would be worth their weight in gold over the coming months.

  At the end of the corridor, Viktor ascended a short flight of steps, taking a key out of one of his front jacket pockets. The door was innocuous, a passer-by likely considering it to be the boundary of a storage room. In a way it was, and a casual observer would think the contents belonged to the lady of the house. Inside there were several racks of elegant dresses, all wrapped in plastic, all delineated with exact sizes in ascending order. An impressive array of shoes, again all separated into various sizes and styles took up several shelves.

  The problem with such a room was that there was not, and never had been a lady of the house. There weren’t any closet transvestites living here either. These garments were present for another purpose. Viktor picked one dress that matched Susan’s size, the one he knew Clay would want her to wear. The other dresses he picked were
deliberately too small so as to give the illusion of choice.

  All part of the game. All part of the trust that needed to be developed so that Clay could have his fun. What Clay did was of no concern to Viktor, he had seen things ten times worse on the back streets of Kiev and you had to give powerful men their allowances for their weaknesses. It was just that perhaps there were more important things for Clay to be concerning himself with at present than getting his dick wet.

  ***

  Stuart(Z) had been relentless. Despite the injuries it had inflicted upon itself there was nobody that could stop it doing what the virus demanded upon it. Staggering from the stairwell, it had emerged onto a corridor that led to a dozen apartments. It had stood there for several moments, smelling the humanity that dwelled behind those doors before moving over to the closest one where it began to pound with calm fury.

  Humans are a strange creature. Often in the horror films out of Hollywood, they are depicted as idiotic, doing things that are clearly counter to their own survival. As infuriating as this can be to some people, it was actually a true reflection of how mankind acted when faced with stress and impossible situations. People do stupid things due to a type of brain fog that descends in emergency situations.

  Some people freeze in place, unable to react or save themselves, even when an opportunity for such presents itself. The brain kind of locks due to its limited ability in processing new information. Flooded with feel-good hormones, the prefrontal cortex shuts down, the part that is responsible for higher functions such as strategy and memory. Just when you need to be at your best, the brains of some people actually go against them.

  The person whose door Stuart(Z) attacked first should have stayed cowering away in the hope that the undead creature would go away. But as the door shook in its frame, the fear that the door wouldn’t hold grew. It would have, a single zombie unable to smash through what was effectively a fire door. The relentless pounding though, the almost rhythmic, endless assault seemed to go on without end.

  The apartment owner got it into his head he could fight off the zombie, and armed with a large kitchen knife, he stared at the mindless assailant through the fish eye security viewer. Alone in the flat, there was nobody there to talk him out of it. When he finally opened the door, Stuart(Z) made short work of him. One zombie became two.

  With the noise temporarily ended, some curious souls, perhaps not really believing what they were hearing about zombies on the news, decided to be all neighbourly and see what all the fuss was about. Two zombies became four. With one of the apartment doors left open, a zombie wandered in to find an elderly man sat on a sofa smoking a cigarette. He didn’t even have chance to get to his arthritic feet before the zombie was upon him, the cigarette falling from his fingers onto the fabric at his side. If the apartments had been fitted with a sprinkler system, what happened next might have been prevented.

  As the fire began to grow, a select few of the residents on that floor began to grow concerned with the noise they were hearing outside in the corridor. When the smoke billowed into the corridor through the open door, the fire alarm was triggered. With so many floors above this one, the result was a foregone conclusion. In the event of a fire, it was advised that residents stay in their apartments to await rescue by the fire services. But what chance was there that the fire brigade would even come? People made the only choice they could. They fled, the zombies going with them.

  As the residents of Jessica and Stuart’s apartment building began to descend the smoke-filled stairs, they would arrive in the entrance lobby to find the undead waiting for them. Many of them saved themselves from the fire only to be cut down by the dead guardians who blocked their way to freedom. Because one man chose to open his door to fight instead of hide, ninety-seven people were given the gift of resurrection. That was the start of how the city centre of Manchester eventually fell.

  22.08.19

  Houston, USA

  Reece pulled up short of the military checkpoint and let the car idle. A yellow school bus passed her and pulled into the side road that led to the Astrodome. Nobody stopped it, the bus’ arrival obviously expected. Reece wondered if it would ever be used to ferry children to school again. She had no idea who was on the bus because all the windows had been painted over which itself was somewhat odd.

  She was hesitant to go any further. Reece was well aware she had made a promise, but really, did she owe anything to anyone other than herself? She could just drive on past and keep on going, couldn’t she? Or would she eventually hit some checkpoint where her name and car registration would be flagged up? Even a Sherriff’s deputy would be unlikely to have freedom of movement in the world that was forming around her. Better to perhaps just get this over with. It was at that moment that her thoughts were drawn to the sound of vehicles approaching fast. In her rear-view mirror, she saw three of them.

  The pickup trucks shot past her and came to a screeching halt in front of the army checkpoint. The trucks were packed with men sporting an array of weapons. Doors opened and angry, riled up men piled out, others jumping from the backs of the vehicles. In response, the army corporal who Reece had encountered on her last visit appeared from under cover to see what the problem was.

  Whatever these “Good Old Boys” were up to, it was damned stupid. They weren’t just facing off against a few soldiers manning road barriers. From where Reece was parked, she could see the Bradley fighting vehicle, the guy in charge obviously aware of the commotion because the gun turret swung itself around. This could get ugly very fast. Whilst she couldn’t hear what was being said, the fact that guns were about to be pointed at all and sundry meant this was likely only going to go one way. She wouldn’t be surprised if there were snipers somewhere nearby getting very itchy with their trigger fingers.

  “This is how you get yourself killed Reece,” she said to herself as she put the car in gear and drove the fifty metres that separated her and the commotion. She was hoping her credentials still had some clout here, so she set the lights flashing and gave her siren several blasts just to let everyone know that the cavalry had arrived. Completely outmanned and outgunned cavalry. She parked and got out of the car, only some of the red necks even giving her a glance.

  “You have my wife in there you son of a bitch,” the obvious leader of the new arrivals was demanding. He was clearly the big swinging dick of this group, with the emphasis on big. Six foot four at least, an intimidating figure. Someone men would fear and who men would follow. From the corner of her eye, Reece saw soldiers running, the Bradley revving its engine.

  “Sir, this is a restricted area,” the Corporal shouted louder than perhaps he needed to. There were the same soldiers Reece remembered behind him, one manning a mounted machine gun behind an array of sandbags that had also been there when Reece had last visited. Security was being taken seriously, the number of civilians arriving increasing with every passing hour.

  Reece sauntered over, deliberately putting a swing in her hips. She had a good figure and had never been afraid to use it to her advantage. She would use anything she had to give her a strategic edge when she needed it. Now she was catching a few eyes, most likely the nervous ones of Big Dick’s group. She was already starting to see which of these men truly wanted to be here, and who felt they had no other choice less they lose face in front of their friends and peers. They were the dangerous ones to be wary of, not Big Dick and his inner circle. It was always some young punk close to wetting himself that caused situations like this to kick off. One of them would either feel they had to prove something or would take a shot just out of pure stupidity.

  She had seen it all before. Men, sometimes they were just pathetic.

  “Boys, can’t we play nice,” Reece chastised them from behind her surgical mask. She kept her hand on the grip of her pistol, but she knew drawing it would be a mistake. Strategically she put herself slightly in between the Corporal and Big Dick, who she now thought she recognised. Rupert Clayton, head of an unofficial m
ilitia that rarely gave the Sherriff’s Department any trouble. They just liked to hang out in the wilderness at the weekends, shoot guns and, as their website stated, “get ready for when the commies and the libtards try and take over the country”. They had no love for the Federal Government, but she was hoping that the Sherriff’s badge on her uniform might mellow them somewhat. It still had to mean something.

  She also knew she had to take her mask off for this. That was fine, Clayton and his men were all wearing some form of protection, although she wasn’t sure the stars and stripes bandana one of them wore over his mouth would be particularly effective against a virus that turned people into the undead. She pulled her mask free.

  “Mr Clayton isn’t it?” Reece asked in a voice that said she already knew the answer. Clayton tipped his Stetson to her.

  “That’s right ma’am.”

  “What do you boys think you’re doing driving around scaring folks?” Reece admonished them. She looked a few of the younger lads straight in the eye, very few of them able to keep her gaze. Yeah, these weren’t troublemakers. They were scared people faced with what they thought was a legitimate problem, and they were intent on fixing it the way some Texans liked to.

  “This isn’t any of your concern, deputy,” Clayton stated in a respectful tone. “These maniacs might have my wife in there, and I’ve come to get her out.”

  “If she’s in here it’s because she has been quarantined,” the Corporal stated. The Bradley stopped at the other side of the barrier. Reece looked at the Corporal.

  “Is there any way of finding out if Mrs Clayton is in your fine establishment?” Reece asked. What amazed her was how calm she felt. Normally the adrenaline would be going with so many guns around, but not now.