by Ryan Casey
“When will we know?”
Jim Hall turned around. He saw Alan Hawkins at the other side of his apartment room in his wheelchair. His grey stubble had turned into a full-blown beard. He had a glass of whisky in his hand. His second glass of the day so far.
Jim had found Alan down by his apartment wheeling away from some fast-approaching infected. He’d been lucky to survive. Lucky to make it in here, and up here.
But eventually, this apartment would fall, too.
Eventually, this building would collapse from within.
And when that happened, it would be a dark day for Great Britain.
Hell. They were all dark days now.
“We’ll know when the dead stop walking,” Jim said. But really, he didn’t even sound convinced by his own words. He’d lied to Riley about the Synthetic Airborne Distributor for one. He’d just used that as an excuse to send Riley on his way with the cure inside him.
But he’d done what he had to do. He’d sent Riley to the BLZ with good intentions. With real hope of finding a cure. Just via … other methods.
“Save me the hogwash,” Alan said. He wheeled his way up beside Jim to look out of his window at the sun-drenched MLZ. “I don’t believe the dead are going to stop walking anytime soon.”
Jim glanced at him. Saw Alan was smiling. Not a happy smile, but more a smile of grim acceptance. The same grim acceptance that Jim Hall felt inside every single day of his life.
A grim acceptance that got stronger and stronger.
“You and Riley did well getting as far through the tunnel as you did,” Jim Hall said.
“And you did well getting the Apocalypsis vaccinations to everyone.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence. There is no indefinite vaccination,” Jim Hall said, tutting. “Just like there isn’t an indefinite vaccination for any virus. Only a way to delay or ease the symptoms. The only exception was Riley. He turned. He actually crossed over and we brought him back. But now he’s turning again. He needs to get to the BLZ before that happens. He’s different.”
“I’ve been bitten,” Alan said.
Jim tutted. “Yes, well, we know you’ve been bitten. But some are more resistant than others, like I said, and like you damned well know. The previous strain of Apocalypsis is wearing thin. The new strain … it seems relentless. Nothing can stop it. You’ll turn eventually, Alan. You have to accept that. Unless Riley’s plan works and he gets to the BLZ in one piece and finds some mass way to distribute the cure …” Again, the words sounded less convincing as they rolled off Jim Hall’s tongue.
“I wonder how he’s dealing with it.”
Jim Hall knew exactly who Alan meant by “he.”
Mr Fletch.
“I’m sure he’s coping in his own ways.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Do you really trust him with Riley?”
Jim Hall opened his mouth to speak. But he didn’t like the gut reaction answer that formed at his lips. He walked away from his window. Poured himself a glass of Scotch. Sipped it back and let the burning malt soothe his throat. “A part of me trusts him. A part of me knows what a great scientist he was before. What a great pioneer he was.”
“But?”
Jim took another sip of the whisky. Felt it easing down his throat. It did naff all to ease his anxious stomach, however. “I always did worry about Fletch. The lengths he’d go to. The limits.”
“Then why send Riley to him if you’re so worried about him?”
Jim Hall lifted his glass and pointed at the window. “Do you see many other options?”
Alan looked out at the chaos outside. He lifted his glass to his lips. “I suppose not.”
Jim Hall finished off his glass of whisky and poured himself another one.
“The best thing we can hope for is that Mr Fletch will be cooperative. That he’ll be understanding. That he’ll take a look at Dr Wellingborough’s studies and he’ll open his mind to the possibilities in a diplomatic manner.”
“And the worst case scenario?”
Just the thought of it made Jim Hall’s stomach turn. He took another long sip of whisky as gunshots and screaming sounded outside. He looked out at the houses. At the walls. This safe haven. This place of solitude.
Nothing but an illusion.
Nothing but a lie.
“If he isn’t cooperative. If he’s already got his mind or his research set on something else. Then that’s … that’s not going to end well for Riley. Or any of the others.”
The colour had drained from Alan’s face. “A moral fifty-fifty,” he said.
Jim Hall nodded and smiled.
He hoped the odds were anywhere near that even.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Chloë screamed at the top of her lungs as she stared through the big window opposite her at the thing on the other side.
It was tall. Taller even than Mr Fletch, and he was massive. Its skin was all oily and dribbly. It was pressed right up against the glass, its breath frosting against it.
And it had huge, sharp teeth the size of the biro pens she used to take with her to school.
Only much, much sharper.
She’d seen something similar on the road with Riley, but not face to face, not like this. And definitely nowhere near this big. Its skin didn’t look like it was attached to its body properly, slimy like some kind of monster Chloë used to have nightmares about.
But its blue eyes.
Its eyes were so striking.
So human.
“This is what I like to call an Orion,” Mr Fletch said, holding a hand up to the glass as the monster struggled and panted. “It can’t see you. The reflective glass is still applied on the other side.”
But Chloë could feel the monster looking right at her. She couldn’t believe it could look at her so intently and not be looking right at her.
“When Apocalypsis broke out, I was given a duty. A duty to find a way to cure the virus. But I fast learned there was no cure. There was no reversal from a state of death. Because death is irreversible. And often death at the hands of Apocalypsis is caused by the infection, or the wounds. So even if we did find a way to reverse the virus, people would die of blood loss or secondary infection anyway.”
Chloë couldn’t speak. She could only stare. Stare at the monster at the other side of the glass. Pull back on the metal bed, hands and feet gripped by chains. She felt open. Exposed. Like that monster could just smash through the glass at any minute and tear her to pieces.
“So I found another way,” Mr Fletch said in his posh voice, pacing back and forth. “It took a lot of research, a lot of sacrifice, but I found a way to harness a virophage to infect and destroy the Apocalypsis virus. Like the bacteriophage viruses that infect and destroy bacteria. A reversal.”
The words went over Chloë’s head. It was all too scientific, and Mr Fletch was reminding her more of her old Science teacher that she hated by the second.
She just kept on focusing on the monster. Because that’s all that mattered. The monster.
Mr Fletch continued speaking, like he hadn’t really paid much attention to Chloë’s lack of understanding. “The Apocalypsis virus is a very literal virus. It adapts, so do its hosts. And that’s where the virophage comes in handy. Because by adapting a human host to absorb the virophage we’ve discovered, we can transform a human into an Orion.” He smiled again, naturally. “An Apocalypsis killing-machine.”
Chloë thought she understood a bit of what Mr Fletch was saying, but it still didn’t make sense for there to be a huge monster in the room opposite her. A real monster too. The undead monsters that ate other people were bad enough. But this was truly a thing of nightmares.
“What … what is it?”
Mr Fletch turned and smiled at the “Orion” as it scraped at the window-glass. “It’s not so much a matter of what it is. Rather, who it was.”
Chloë still didn’t understand. “That—that thing.
It wasn’t a ‘who.’ It’s a—”
“This Orion was a man named Walter Bradford. He was a good man. Seemed a very friendly chap. And he kindly volunteered himself to the Orion project when he stepped through the doors of the Birmingham Living Zone. He’s the fortieth Orion we’ve created, in total. The thirty-eight prior to the thirty-ninth all had … issues. But the thirty-ninth and this one, well. They’re a great success. So the Apocalypsis cleansing can begin.”
“But what about people? What do they do to people?”
Mr Fletch took off his glasses and wiped them on his white lab coat. Behind him, the monster continued to sniff around, scratching at the glass with its long, bony fingers. “When trained correctly, the Orion won’t harm a human. It’ll only harm an Apocalypsis infected. Which includes those who have been bitten and are yet to turn, but if it’s a little sacrifice like that for the preservation of this country’s future, then it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make every single day of my life.”
All this information was making Chloë dizzy. She felt sick. The taste of the nurse’s blood was stuck to the corners of her mouth. She wanted to wake up. Wake up from this nightmare. Wake up from this horrible new world. “Why is it all … How does it look like that?”
Mr Fletch looked back at the monster like it was just an animal in a zoo. “Oh, that’s just simple muscle expansion and skin degeneration. The virophage attacks the human host, kills it completely, and alters its appearance. It’s something we’ll work on with later models to make them less intimidating. As for the teeth, well. They’re custom-built for maximum effectiveness, of course.”
He sounded like a man in a shop or on telly trying to sell Chloë something. The kind of people Mum used to complain about and Dad used to stick up for and say they were just “doing their job.”
“And that’s why I’m so delighted that you’re here,” Mr Fletch said.
Chloë looked back at him. She tried to move her hands and her feet away, but she was stuck, completely stuck. “What do you …”
Mr Fletch stepped up to the edge of her metal bed.
He smiled down at her, the monster silhouetted behind him, the light beaming down on his bald head and reflecting off his glasses.
“Would you like to see your friend?” he asked.
Chloë frowned. “What do you mean? Tiffany? Is she—”
“Come along through,” Mr Fletch said. “I think she’ll be very happy to see you.”
Mr Fletch stepped behind Chloë’s wheelie bed. He pushed her across the white tiles and towards a metal door at the side of the four-by-four metres square room. As they passed the glass where the monster was, Chloë took one final look at it before Mr Fletch hit the switch and the mirrors covered the window again.
But as the mirrors switched, no matter what Mr Fletch had said about it not being able to see Chloë, she could still feel it staring back at her, right into her eyes.
“My apologies if I alarmed you,” Mr Fletch said, as he pushed Chloë out through the door and onto a narrow, dimly lit corridor that looked like an abandoned hospital. “I do realise that the Orions can be rather startling. And it’s a lot of information to absorb. But they really are our allies rather than our foes.”
He wheeled Chloë past the well-locked door where the Orion she’d seen was behind.
As she passed, she could hear it scratching its fingers against the metal.
“But so long as you understand that it’s actually an honour to be an Orion rather than a hinderance. It’s a great, noble cause. Because there’s a lot of Apocalypsis infected out there. A lot to clean up. But they will be cleaned up. With our latest model, they will be cleaned up. And then we’ll start society again. Properly. Anyway, here we are.”
He stopped wheeling Chloë along right outside a metal door much like the one the Orion was in on her right.
He walked over to it. Stuck a key inside the door. Unclipped a few locks and then pushed the door open. A light flickered on inside the silver room that was just like every other room in here.
Mr Fletch stepped behind her and pushed her into the room.
At first, Chloë was about to suggest they’d got the wrong room when she saw a dark-haired woman and a Chinese-looking man crouched over a metal bed and cutting and snipping away at something on the metal bed.
She saw the blood dripping down the side of the bed and onto the tiles.
The other beds were occupied.
Two kids about her age, a boy and a girl, both still, both fast asleep, stone cold.
And then a man with huge, sharp teeth way too big for his actual mouth.
In fact …
Chloë’s stomach tensed up.
She recognised the man with the long, sharp teeth.
Ivan.
“Are these two your friends?” Mr Fletch asked, pointing at the boy and the girl about Chloë’s age.
Chloë started to shake her head, and then she caught a glimpse of what the dark-haired woman and Chinese-looking man were working on at the metal bed.
She thrust herself forward. Pulled hard at the cuffs.
“That’s … that’s …” She couldn’t speak. Her throat was blocked. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Oh, my,” Mr Fletch said. He chuckled a little. “That’s your friend that we’re working on right now? Well, you’re in luck, my dear. You’re about to witness a beautiful transformation.”
The Chinese-looking doctor yanked a tooth from Tiffany’s mouth.
Blood trickled down her chin, onto the metal slab, down onto the tiles below …
CHAPTER NINE
Birmingham Living Zone
Four Months Ago …
Mr Fletch was growing used to the feeling of his stomach sinking.
Dr Hailey Westwood, a chestnut-haired, freckled woman in her mid thirties—and one of Mr Fletch’s most highly skilled doctors—shook her head as she stared down the highly-advanced periscope that came as standard in the Birmingham Living Zone. “It’s no good,” she said. “The B/H3N4 virus just won’t die. All it does is adapt, get stronger. There’s no beating it, Sir. I’m sorry.”
Mr Fletch didn’t like that defeatist attitude. He’d been put in charge of the BLZ for a reason, after all. All of the Living Zones had their purposes. His was primarily cure and vaccination research. And while small steps had been made towards temporary vaccinations, a cure—defeating the virus—was still a long, long way away. Untouchable.
He stepped over to the periscope and looked down into it. He saw the familiar snake-like branch of the Apocalypsis virus. B/H3N4. So much chaos it had caused already in the six weeks since the outbreak.
So much bafflement it continued to cause him and his team of scientists.
“Sir, we really need to start thinking about the next step.”
“Such as?”
“The sonar waves,” Hailey said, her voice breaking, every glimmer of hope drifting from it like it did from anyone in this new world.
Mr Fletch stared down at the strand of B/H3N4. He shook his head. “Too experimental. There’s too big a risk. Do you know what the sonar waves actually do, Doctor?”
Hailey scratched her arms. “I … I thought they—”
“They release an ultra-binaural wave over a thirty-mile radius with enough force to explode heads,” he said, in a matter-of-fact manner. “Granted, these waves should only deteriorate the soft skulls of the decomposing infected. But there’s every chance they’ll affect others, too. Cause severe pain. Nosebleeds. Brain haemorrhages. Seizures. I’m not willing to put people through that kind of agony with that kind of risk for something that might work.”
Hailey nodded. She didn’t say another word.
Mr Fletch looked back into the periscope. The best, most accurately magnifying periscope ever invented. All this technology and still no cure. All this expertise and still the Apocalypsis virus was winning.
All the potential for support and still they were being left hung out to dry.
“You’re a good man, Mr Fletch,” Hailey said. “A … a better person than I am. You think about other people. Even in the face of—of all the horrible things going on outside, you’re still thinking about the best way to help people. I think that’s honourable.”
Mr Fletch peered even further into the periscope upon those words. He felt his cheeks heating up. He wasn’t one for compliments, especially not grandiose ones like that. But in a way, it was nice to hear he had the support of one of his most valued members of staff.
Maybe if he figured something out, she’d finally let him inside her …
“When you’re in the position I’m in, Dr. Westwood, you just do what you have to do. Life is a balancing act. A juggling contest between the right thing for the preservation of humanity and the right thing for the future of humanity. Sometimes, those aren’t the same things.”
He looked up at Hailey now. Caught her smiling back at him. He loved that American accent of hers, as much as he despised Americans as a rule. Boston born, apparently. Moved over here when she was just eighteen, but kept that accent, unable to shake it.
Mr Fletch wondered how true that was. It seemed to him like she used it as a very effective tool to seduce as many men as she could.
“No matter what,” she said, “we’ve got your back. The entire BLZ are right behind you. No matter what.”
She flicked that smile in Mr Fletch’s direction again.
Mr Fletch felt himself getting hard.
He looked back down the periscope, desperate not to give away his arousal to Dr. Westwood. Showing arousal to a woman you were attracted to was a sign of weakness, especially if the feelings weren’t mutual. The moment a woman saw you were interested in her, she had power over you.
She was the puppet-master and she was pulling the strings of your life.
When Mr Fletch looked back into the periscope, he noticed something.
The thick black wormlike strand of Influenza B/H3N4 was deteriorating. Little specks of black were surrounding it, and it was consuming itself from the top.
“Hailey, come over here,” he said, waving her over.
Hailey, probably a little started at Mr Fletch addressing her by her first name, stepped over to Mr Fletch’s side. “What is it?”
