“Face to face? Like in Dwindling Fire!” Oliver was evidently impressed with Harry’s heroic acts.
“Yeah, like that. I was Daines, of course, and legged it. Hopped on my bike and went on my way.”
Oliver nodded over to Isabelle. “How’d you find Isabella?”
“Well, I ran into her and saved her from an oncoming zombie,” he stated as if it was obvious.
“Boys will be boys with all these crazy stories,” Janice scoffed in disbelief.
They all looked at her, and she shrugged.
“You don’t believe us, do you?” Oliver asked.
Janice shook her head. “Of course not. Zombies? Action chases? You’ve been watching too much TV, young man,” she said.
Harry liked Janice, but she was realistic about things. Sometimes, she was much too realistic for her own good.
“The news is showing terrorists but not zombies,” Ronan interrupted the tense conversation.
“I swear they’re real,” Oliver protested.
“I’m with him. They’re real,” Harry agreed.
Isabella shuffled her feet nervously before speaking up. She didn’t know Oliver parents. “I was woken up by my step-dad banging on the door, trying to break through it.”
Janice put her hands to her mouth. “Oh, my God! He was up to no good. I read about men like him in the Daily Mail.” She was shocked at the start of Isabella’s story.
Isabella frantically shook her head. “No, nothing like that. He wasn’t a pervert; he was a jerk,” Isabella calmly replied.
“Still, to wake you up so rudely like that!” Ronan said.
Oliver laughed. “Mum, you were using the vacuum cleaner at seven a.m. the other day.”
“That was different!”
Isabelle watched Oliver and his mom for a minute then carried on. “Anyway!” Isabella quickly returned to the topic. “He was banging on my door, and it was really annoying. I opened it up to yell at him to fuck off and he’s all… infected.” She tried to find the perfect word, then went a little red as she realized she’d said fuck off.
Her story intrigued Ronan. “What did he look like?” he asked.
“There was no white left in his eyes. There was nothing but blackness. He had his ugly polo shirt on and beer mug pajama bottoms on, like normal, but he was just hunched over and snarling at me.” Isabella touched her lip and pulled it down her chin. “And saliva dripped down the corner of his mouth.”
“Like on TV,” Harry interjected.
“Cool!” Oliver was interested.
“I was freaking out, so I grabbed my Hello Kitty alarm clock and swung hard, knocking him backward long enough to slam the door closed,” Isabella said proudly.
Harry and Oliver burst out laughing at the thought of Isabella—a short, five-foot-nothing gymnast—swinging a Hello Kitty alarm clock at a butch, six-foot-three zombie. It was an entertaining thought.
“No way! Why on earth did you have one of those?” Oliver asked bewildered.
“Haven’t you grown out of Hello Kitty yet?” Harry said carefully, not wanting to sound condescending.
“I didn’t even know I had one! I’m thirteen, not five years old anymore. I grew out of Hello Kitty years ago!” She giggled.
“Wow. Sounds like a good swing though!” Harry reassured her.
Isabelle blushed. “Yeah, it was good enough.”
“Hello Kitty, huh,” Janice spoke softly.
Isabella carried on the story quickly, hoping they’d forget about Hello Kitty. “I pushed open my window and crawled out. Luckily, I’m on the ground floor so I was able to jump out without hurting myself. I took off as fast as I could and ran into Harry.” She finished her story triumphantly.
“Oh, wish-wash!” Janice commented.
“Kids sure are crazy nowadays,” Ronan added to Janice’s comments.
“Zombies are from stories. They aren’t real,” Janice stated, convinced she was right.
“They are real!” Oliver fought back.
“We were literally being chased all the way here!” Harry offered, hoping to help the cause.
Ronan and Janice bickered back and forth about zombies, the end of the world, and everything in between.
As Harry watch Oliver’s parents go back and forth, he thought about his mum. She would still be in the air flying at that time. He didn’t know what flight she was working on today or even what time she would land. All he knew was that she was on a Virgin Atlantic plane because she worked for that company.
Harry pulled out his phone and typed a text to his mum. He wasn’t really sure what to say to her but knew he had to tell her that he was safe and unhurt at Oliver’s place.
<
He stared down at the text. He couldn’t tell her about the bike chase without going into exact detail about every small thing that happened.
<
<
Harry looked at the essay he had written. It looked more like a report from the United Nations than a simple text to his mum. He racked his brain, trying to think of how to say what he wanted to say.
<
The words linked together, and Harry was pleased. His fingers hovered in circles over the keyboard, and he wondered what else to add.
<>
He read the text over and sighed, knowing it was all he could say. He hit send and pocketed the device. Oliver still argued with his parents, and they still didn’t him about the reality of the zombie fuss going on around them.
“Watch the bloody TV!” Oliver said forcefully.
“Lower your tone, son,” Ronan demanded.
“Fine, but just watch the news!” Oliver repeated quieter.
Oliver jumped up and crossed the room to the TV stand. He flicked it on and took the remote back with him. He slouched in the seat, gripping the remote control and hoping the news would be on his side.
“It may say something about the end of the world,” Janice reasoned.
Harry tried to understand her point of view. If he hadn’t just been chased by a growing mob of zombies, he would probably think Oliver was making things up again, too. He wasn’t the best at telling the truth. Harry could understand why Janice and Ronan didn’t believe him about a zombie attack.
Oliver’s parents were still in their pajamas and probably hadn’t faced the streets yet. It was an early Sunday morning, and the street they lived on was especially quiet. There was no evidence of a world in utter chaos except on TV.
Oliver patiently waited for the news footage to show zombies on the street, and he was hoping the reporters would back him up, even though the truth was terrifying.
“… And we see here that the enemy is especially dense, but the military is on the scene. They have the area under control. We have news that these figures are, in fact, terrorists.” A tall news reporter sat at an empty desk with a map behind him littered with different colors.
“See, no need to be overdramatic again, Oliver,” Janice said with authority.
“I’m not being overdramatic!” he cried.
The reporter on the screen read from a stack of reports. He looked frightened but kept his professional face on.
“Let’s take a closer look at this area here.” He pointed to a dark-colored area on the map.
Ronan looked at the map. “
What do all the colors mean?”
The reporter carried on. “Here, the outbreak was especially heavy. People are everywhere, the friends and foes. It was a mess until the brave men and women of the army showed up and efficiently restored order to those still alive.” The reporter spoke like he was answering Ronan’s question.
Janice looked shocked at what the news reporter was saying. “Still alive?”
“These terrorists are bad.” Ronan filled the brief silence with the obvious.
“The local police were called to the scene, and here we have an image of them arriving in full riot gear,” the reporter said, motioning to a picture that appeared beside the map.
The picture had a group of strong men and women dressed in heavy armor and bulletproof vests strapped to their chests with the large white letters spelling POLICE across the front. They had protective helmets with large visors that covered from their forehead to below the chin line. Each helmet visor was down to protect their bare skin.
A collar that looked like a rough scarf but was made of a bulletproof material stretched over their necks. They were armed with automatic rifles and looked ready to take down anything in their path. The riot police had on utility pants with enormous pockets that were stuffed to exploding. Harry imagined they were filled with ammunition.
“The police are working with the military to help those who are left,” the reporter said quickly.
“Left?” Janice gasped at the words again.
“Here is a view of the scene as of right now.” The reporter motioned to where the picture of the police in riot gear had once been.
The new photo was completely normal. It was a normal street. No one was dying or being bitten by monsters. Tall brick terrace houses lined one side and went on as far as the eye could see.
The small gardens were unharmed. The little fences and the edge of the gardens were repaired, and it seemed like nothing had happened. The shops on the other side of the street were shut, but they looked normal. The glass was intact, and grates covered the jewelry shop on the corner. It looked like the normal Sunday morning hush before people got up and on with their day. Oliver shifted closer to the TV screen, his mouth open wide in disbelief.
“As you can see, this is not the end of the world.” The reporter laughed nervously and avoided looking into the camera. His professionalism had disappeared quickly.
“See, no harm.” Janice was relieved.
“We told you so kids. Nothing to worry about.” Ronan smiled warmly.
The camera paused on the reporter’s uncomfortable presentation. He was sweating and shuffling his papers uneasily. He nervously glanced up at the camera and quickly shook his head away. The camera switched its focus to the color changing map behind the reporter and showed the different areas. Oliver sighed and switched the TV off.
“Kids, don’t worry,” Janice sweetly said.
Oliver still sat on the chair, his jaw hanging open. He couldn’t believe what he had seen on the TV. “I know what I saw,” he said softly.
“Anyone want some breakfast?” Ronan quickly asked, switching the subject.
Before anyone could answer, he got up and beckoned Janice to go with him. They ducked out of the room and left the three of them confused in the living room.
“I know what I saw,” Oliver repeated.
“Mate, I believe you,” Harry said.
“Oliver, we were chased, too. We know you’re telling the truth.” Isabella had a soothing tone that could melt even the hardest criminal to nothing.
Oliver looked sad. “Yeah. I guess I’m so sad because the people I love most don’t believe I’m telling the truth.”
“I know,” Harry reassured his friend.
“I just wish they could see I’m telling the truth,” he said again.
Harry was about to say something to cheer his friend up but then realized someone was missing. “Where’s George? Did you call him?”
“Yeah, I did, but I couldn’t get through. I left him a message though,” Oliver replied.
Harry went over to the large picture window that faced the quiet street. He knelt on the couch and looked out at the street, hoping to see George pedal over the grass and come barreling into the room before telling his Garden Gnome encounter but with a zombie twist.
Nothing passed the window. Not a single thing moved outside, no cars zipped by, no people out for a walk, and not even the leaves on the trees dared fall.
“Can you see him?” Isabella asked, kneeling beside Harry on the couch.
Harry shook his head.
“I’ll call him again,” Oliver said, squeezing onto the couch with them. The phone rang once but went to his voicemail again.
“Try again,” Harry insisted.
The phone rang for longer the second time. There was a pause, and Oliver grinned. “George! George where are…” Oliver began but was cut off.
“Hey, this is George. I’m probably eating a Walnut Whip or destroying a garden gnome, so please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Mmm-Bye!”
“Shit,” Oliver cursed at George’s voicemail.
Harry tried on his phone with no luck. “Fucking hell. Where are you, George?” Harry muttered, staring out the large window.
A buzz came from Harry’s pocket, and he pulled the phone free. Harry turned the phone to the others. “It’s a text from George.”
<
“Yeah, he sure isn’t a Daines.”
Harry typed a reply and sent it to his friend. <
Chapter Fifteen
The loud text tone whistled throughout the speeding car as Sean screeched around the corner and slammed on the brakes. There were no zombies about, and he felt safe to stop and check his phone. The text could be important, and he had to check it. The first text began urgently.
<
It was Claire. She was using Flash Gordon references. He had always loved that movie and remembered when it first came out during his childhood. He would quote it a lot, so much that even his two teenagers could repeat most of the lines from the older science fiction movie they had never seen.
He continued reading the text. <
Those horrible things are on a plane with my family, he thought. Panic filled Sean. He was on the ground and couldn’t do anything, so he felt sick.
He quickly read the rest of the text. <
The last part of the text was reassuring to read. He knew his family was tough, but there was a zombie with an infectious bite, and it couldn’t stop itself from attacking innocent people.
<
He looked out the windscreen and saw a figure slowly approach from down the empty street. The figure was alone. His clothes were torn, and he limped slightly. Sean looked closer at the disheveled figure and saw he was missing a shoe.
“That explains the limping,” he muttered to the empty car.
The man had shaggy black hair that was pulled back into a thick, greasy ponytail that bounced roughly as he made his way towards Sean’s car. The man clutched his arm. He was bleeding badly, the evidence of which trailed behind him in a gory, jagged line as he stumbled awkwardly closer.
Sergeant Turner ha
d been quite clear with his instructions not to trust anyone. The man came closer to the vehicle, and Sean held his breath. He felt like he was back in the line of fire, and there was no choice he could make that would be the right choice.
Sean slowly drove towards him. The man looked up and saw Sean in his car.
“Shit. Don’t come closer,” he breathed out, hoping the figure would hear him this time.
The man perked up and looked quickly over his shoulder. His face was filled with fear, and he dragged himself over to Sean’s window.
The greasy man with ripped clothes looked back down the street where he had wandered from and looked back at Sean in his car. He hurriedly mouthed something and pointed to where he had come from.
Sean shook his head frantically at the stranger. The man stepped closer to the window and shouted more, but Sean couldn’t hear anything. The stranger pointed again, but Sean didn’t understand. The man was getting angry at Sean, and he raised his fists and banged them on the window. Blood trickled down the pane.
“FUCK OFF. I cannot help you!” Sean screamed at the wounded figure.
The man pounded his fist again and pointed down the road. Sean looked in the direction the desperate man was pointing, but again he saw nothing. After a few moments, however, that changed. He finally saw what the man was gesturing to.
One. Two. Three.
They kept coming.
It was a warning.
Sean looked at the man and the urgent plea in his frightened brown eyes. He looked hopeless, but there was no way Sean was going to let the man in his car.
The mob moved quickly towards Sean’s car. The lead zombie was a woman wearing skinny jeans and a tight checkered shirt that once might have revealed her cleavage but now showed her zombie flesh.
He put the car in reverse, and in the process, left the man for the mobs next meal. A woman sprinted forward, drawing in on her prey. The man stood as tall as he could and let his arms fall to his sides. He tried to be confident, but Sean could see the fear emanating from him.
The woman was face to face with the scared, limping individual. She sunk her bared teeth into his exposed flesh. The man jittered as if electric shocks coursed through his transforming veins. He flinched and twitched until an invisible string pulled his head upright. The man’s body limply dropped to the road.
Pandemic Z (Book 1): Pandemic Z Page 12
