It was surprising how quickly insanity could descend. Whilst denying the true nature of what he now was, Renfield supposed he could have resisted the rediscovery of his old self. It would have been better for those he killed if he had. But sticking the knife into the zombie’s neck that first time had unlocked something within him, drawing forth the desire that had lain dormant for so long. The anticipation had been great, only for his craving to be denied. He thought he had it under control, but that control had only been achieved through denying himself completely. Now he was a slave to it.
What would have happened if he had killed someone in combat? Would that also have unlocked the door? So far his postings had been away from any opportunity to inflict death on an enemy, so perchance fate had been leading everything to this moment. With no satisfaction from ending the zombie’s existence, the dam had finally begun to burst, the need for what had been withheld expected but not delivered.
He had no choice but to kill, that much was clear to him. Now the longing grew unrestrained, a feeling of urgency meaning he needed to pick up the pace. Killing one or two every hour was no longer acceptable to him. It just wasn’t satisfying the crushing need. Each rush was slightly weaker than the last, each kill less satisfying. He’d found himself pushing the boundaries as well, the last one killed without the benefit of a privacy curtain. The addiction was causing him to take risks without him having yet experienced the true scope of what he could create here.
At this rate, he was going to be discovered for the maniac he was, the world events breaking what was an already fragile mind. The ward kept filling up as well, clear evidence to him that a tipping point was coming. London was reportedly already lost, how long before the same was said of Manchester? How long before these infected were left to their own devices and he was told he was needed elsewhere? That would be devastating to Renfield.
He knew what he needed to do, and it had to happen now whilst he still had time. Having relieved his shift partner, Renfield waited until the man left the ward and headed off down the flight of stairs to the shower room that had been set aside as their decontamination area. It was a bit of a compromise, consisting of a shower that had been set up to release a bleach solution which had been shown to kill the virus. Self-scrubbing the suit would leave it relatively safe to take off, and only then would the soldiers be able to eat, rest and do whatever ablutions were required. Within thirty minutes his fellow soldier would likely be asleep. Renfield would wait that long, his feet nervously twitching as he did so. Fortunately, none of the patients chose to die in that time period so nobody came to disturb him in his deliberations.
This was going to be truly biblical.
At this hour of the morning, the hospital was quiet, even though its wards were likely filled to bursting point. He listened to the hospital breathe, the gentle hum of its heating system, the occasional moan from a patient close to death. The odd external sound broke through the barrier also. A lorry outside unloading supplies. A rifle shot off in the distance. Were the undead getting closer? He even heard motorbikes, not knowing that was a courier escort transporting what would be another batch of three vials of antiserum to the Fulwood Barracks. If anyone was to be saved by XV1, better it be those who could benefit the most from it.
His thirty minutes now up, he rose from his seat one last time. It occurred to him that he would never sit in that chair ever again because there was a good chance he wouldn’t even survive this himself. He was about to unleash the dead in a confined room with only two exits. There was no telling what effect such a sustained killing spree was going to have on him. He’d almost fainted once so far with the pleasure that had surged through him and here he was about to take a heroic dose of the narcotic he loved so much. Might such a thing even ruin him?
He really didn’t know why he had taken the decision to let the undead rise instead of killing the patients in the proscribed manner. There was just something appealing about it, perhaps a chance for him to slip away in the mayhem. Was that it, a pure act of self-preservation? To kill so many with a chance of living to kill again?
Most of the people in the room were asleep, those that weren’t were drifting in and out of one form of delirium or another, either chemical or virally induced. As luck would have it, there was one awake individual, her eyes now constantly on Renfield. Again, fate seemed to be smiling on him. Renfield moved slowly, walking into the centre of the ward, excited by the way the eyes of Lucy looked at him. She was fully awake now, any semblance of sedation long since passed. He sidled over to her bed and sat down on the sheets next to her hip. Despite her restraints she tried to pull away.
“Leave me alone,” Lucy demanded firmly.
“Now why be like that?” he admonished. “Why are you so cold towards me anyway?” He had to speak louder than he would have liked due to the respirator somewhat distorting what he said. Renfield realised Lucy had no idea what he looked like. Perhaps that was part of her reticence towards him. The temptation to pull the gas mask off and show her the face of the person who would be her end almost bewitched him, but he held fast and kept his face covered.
“Because you kill them. I’ve seen you.” She sounded like she was shocked that he even asked the question.
“They are already dead. What I do is a mercy,” Renfield lied.
“You’re still a monster.”
“I’m not the one with the black marks all over my skin babe. If you want to see a monster, look at yourself in the mirror in about, ooooh, two hours.” Lucy spat at him, but all this did was bring on a coughing fit. She had deteriorated rapidly the last few hours, the final stages of the viral infection coming along nicely. “That’s if you have two hours left.”
“Fuck you,” she finally managed.
“Normally I would oblige, but I don’t think a condom is going to cut it. But I have something better for you.”
“You’re sick.” He knew she was about to shout but he acted quickly, placing his hand over her mouth.
“Don’t be stupid. What do you think calling the nurse will achieve? You will only be sedated again, and I need you awake and aware for what’s about to unfold. You were right about me when you said I was a monster.” Earlier when getting back into his suit, Renfield had cut off several strips of duct tape which was normally used to seal the gap between glove and containment suit. With his free hand, he now peeled one of these off his arm where it had been placed, irritated with how it clung to his gloved fingers. He waited though, just in case their conversation had roused any of the other patients. Renfield didn’t expect it to, and he was pleased when nobody raised their voices in protest.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s coming does it? No rescue for you. No hope. You should have been nice to me. I was thinking about letting you live.” Her squirming was irritating as well as pointless and Renfield could also detect the lack of energy there, the drained and weakened body that wasn’t up to putting up much of a fight. Even if she hadn’t been shackled to the bed, Renfield knew he could have easily overpowered her. It took him all of five seconds to get the duct tape planted firmly over her dry and chapped lips.
Standing, he stripped the bed sheets off her. Lucy’s naked form lay beneath the hospital gown and Renfield slowly withdrew his knife, her eyes showing the terror she was now experiencing. Renfield actually laughed at her reaction.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m certainly not going to rape you. But we need to have a look at the goods so that I have something to remember you by.” The knife was sharp and it easily sliced the thin cloth from her body. It was everything he had expected, although he felt that the skin was slightly soiled by the virus. “You are one good looking woman Lucy. I look forward to having you inside me.” That didn’t make sense to her. What the hell did he mean?
Renfield stepped back from the bed and walked to the patient at the furthest end of the room. One by one he started undoing the bindings on a single arm and both feet of those who were close t
o comatose. He worked slowly, methodically. There was no need for haste, he could deal with anyone who chose to interrupt what was now likely his final act. Anyone entering the ward now would face the ultimate penalty.
Each patient was prodded to see if they were anywhere close to being awake. Those that he felt could give him trouble, he gagged in the same manner he had done to Lucy. Those he didn’t release from their bonds. Most of the patients though didn’t even notice that they were almost free. By the time he was finished only four patients were gagged, and that included his love, Lucy.
“Watch this Lucy, you are going to hate this.” He adored how horrified she looked by what he was doing. One by one, Renfield took his knife to the neck of the helpless patients, a single slice through one carotid artery. The first few times he wasn’t accurate and had to cut again, but he soon got the hang of it, the little fountain of blood became a clear indicator that he was bang on target. On his third murder, the blood had shot into his face, briefly obscuring his vision until he wiped it away with the bed sheet. He kept stopping to look at Lucy, relishing the utter destruction he saw in her eyes.
“Only takes several minutes to bleed out Lucy, each pump of the heart sending the individual closer to death. Are you excited?” He was taunting her now he realised. It felt like the right thing to do, and the words he spoke were probably barely comprehensible. The rush was hitting him, in waves, building to a crescendo, the lives slowly flowing away to be replaced by the new. “Don’t worry Lucy, I won’t forget to do you too.” He was becoming short of breath with the excitement, adrenaline flooding his bloodstream. Ecstasy didn’t even describe what he was feeling.
Half way down the room he had to stop and prop himself against one of the beds. The pleasure was mounting to unbelievable levels, the world around him going into complete tunnel vision. His groin ached painfully with the intensity of it all. It was almost too much, the room around him becoming an unreal realm. Renfield felt that he was moving in slow motion now, each slice of the knife taking longer than the last. His mind was filled with bliss.
It only took him mere minutes to end everyone’s lives, but to him it felt like hours. And every second was the ecstasy he had denied himself for so many years. He now didn’t regret waiting so long for there would never have been an opportunity to experience such delight before today. This was the experience he had always wanted, and he demanded more. Renfield was almost staggering by the time he got back to Lucy’s side, his breathing laboured, his limbs weak. Several of those he had sliced were now already dead.
“Oh Lucy, if only you knew.” She didn’t say anything of course, how could she. Once again he sat down by her hip, no longer even interested in her nakedness. His mind was flooded with endorphins compromising even his ability to think. It was everything he hoped it would be, death after death sending bolts of bliss to his now fevered mind. As if in an afterthought, he smeared the blood on his knife hand across her breasts causing her to squeal in distress.
“I can feel them Lucy. They are inside me. You are going to be inside me too.” She wanted to scream, she really did, but the tape cut off her words. A blood soaked glove grabbed her face, leaving a further streak down her cheek as it forced her head to one side. “I’m going to save you Lucy,” Renfield said. He was crying now, perhaps the first time he had cried since being a small boy. “So weak, so vulnerable. I am going to spare you becoming one of them. You don’t have to thank me.”
With her head forced down as it was, she couldn’t help but look at the bed next to hers. The patient there was flailing as it tried to sit up, all life having abandoned the zombie that was now being born. Even if Renfield didn’t kill her, that fate was still a certainty. She stopped struggling. Perhaps this was actually the better way. If he left her alive, that would leave her vulnerable to being fodder for the undead.
“That’s it. Accept what I am giving you babe.” Renfield slid the knife home into the base of her neck, her body jerking as he severed her life. “And to think you called me a monster.”
Her whole form seemed to relax as he hallucinated the last of her life energy departing the body. Electricity filled him, the biggest hit yet sending Renfield to a nirvana he hadn’t even known existed. The world around him became oblivious, the zombies that were rising up of little consequence to him, most still semi restrained as they were. He did the only thing he could and laid down next to the woman he would carry until the end of his days. Time became irrelevant to him in that moment. There was no telling how long he had lain there.
He barely reacted, even when the first undead hand grabbed at his foot. All throughout the ward, zombies began to crawl from their beds, easily pulling at the weakened restraints, in some cases dragging the beds with them. Some were still to convert, their bodies needing time to adjust as the blood stopped flowing from their grievous wounds. But as they struggled to surround the now only living human in the entire room, Renfield realised through a haze of endorphic bliss that he might well have just made a very terrible mistake.
He stood up from the bed and realised this wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Renfield didn’t forget to take his knife, slipping it easily from the dead body. Renfield would never forget how peaceful Lucy looked at the end. He was glad he had given her that.
Renfield barely made it from the room alive. One zombie managed to grab a hold of him, but the fingers didn’t grip properly, the new brain still trying to work muscles that were already starting to die. He pulled himself free and was out the swing doors at the end of the ward before the first of the zombies finally ripped its restraint free of the bed. That zombie and several others almost went in pursuit of Renfield, but instead they turned to the still warm corpse of Lucy. Fresh meat could not be so easily denied. Even though she had been infected by the virus, the undead, it seemed, could tell a body that wasn’t one of them.
The nearest ward where more infected were being held was down the corridor he was now on, and he was about to run there. Instead he almost collided with the nurse who had so often come to his aid. Perfect, who better to bear witness to what he had created?
“You have to see this,” Renfield shouted, grabbing one of her arms perhaps not as gently as he should have. His grip was like steel, fuelled by the adrenaline that was flooding his system.
“What are you talking about?” she said trying to escape his grasp. His hands felt slick, and with horror she saw the blood there, the exterior of her biohazard suit now thick with it. She increased her effort to try and get away, but her attacker pulled his side arm and stuck it painfully under her chin.
“Why do you resist? Why would you not want to see the wonders I have created?” He knew he wasn’t talking like a working class kid from one of the poorest estates in Luton, but the new him preferred the artistry these fancy words represented.
“Oh my God,” the Nurse cried.
“No God here,” Renfield advised her. He started to force her back the way he had come, the doors to his new paradise mere metres away. The nurse barely put up any resistance, her future sealed. She was then pushed through the swing doors, Renfield throwing her to the floor.
“Oh boys,” he said to the zombies as they turned to the sound. As the nurse began to scream, he shot out her right kneecap. Stepping back, he let the doors close behind him and ran off in his original direction, the nurse now sprawled on the floor out of his sight. The sound of her distress roused him to partake in further acts of destruction.
23.08.19
Moscow, Russia
Claudia Renton had, it seemed, chosen the wrong time to go on holiday. She had landed in Moscow on the eighteenth, and had been woken in the early hours of the twenty first to find masked men storming through the door of her hotel room. In the dark and the haze of her broken sleep she had struggled to understand what was happening, the Russian the men were screaming at her completely incomprehensible.
Dragged naked from her bed, she hadn’t even had chance to put on a dressing gown. She was cloth
ed now, but only in a thin blue boiler suit which did nothing to dispel the chill in the large concrete room she now resided in. Claudia had been dragged from her hotel room without her dignity, along the corridor where another hapless visitor to the country was receiving the same treatment. She was forced into an elevator by men in black combat gear. There was a word in Russian written across their backs, and she guessed they were either police or something similar. Removed from the darkness of her bedroom, she had seen that their faces were in fact covered by gas masks. She remembered there had been a smell of disinfectant that had permeated the air.
Despite her pleas that she was just a tourist, they had manhandled her through the large ornate hotel lobby which was teeming with similarly dressed police. Other people, it seemed, were suffering the same treatment, this hotel popular with tourists. Outside in the cold autumn air, she was virtually thrown into the back of a police van with four other people, all either naked or in some kind of night attire. At least they hadn’t put her in handcuffs. They hadn’t needed to, it wasn’t like she was about to try and run off in her birthday suit.
Claudia had done what she could to cover herself up, one of the people sharing her ride constantly looking at her in a leering way, despite the predicament they were all in. None of the people with her spoke English.
Without a means of telling the time, it was difficult for her to determine for sure how long the journey took, but she figured it was around forty minutes. Her extremities had felt like they were frozen, and by the time she had arrived at her new destination, Claudia had been reaching near exhaustion from the shivering that had overcome her body. It wasn’t cold enough to cause hypothermia or frostbite, but it wasn’t far off. When the doors finally opened, a seemingly shocked female Russian guard had shouted something angrily and a large blanket had suddenly been provided. Claudia never got to see if there was any remorse in anyone’s faces because they were all hidden from her view.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 2): The Rise Page 32
