Zombie Apocalypse (Book 2): Zero Hour

by James Loscombe

  After she had eaten, she put her plate on the side and thought about what to do. She really did need to see Harold, so maybe she should go to his office?

  “Hey, Velma!”

  She turned and looked towards the door, where the voice had come from. The hostility in the greeting was difficult to ignore, but she had been away from people for so long that she thought the mistake must have been hers.

  A man stood at the entrance to the canteen. He looked to be on his own, but she could hear other people laughing. Velma took a step towards him, but he wasn’t someone she knew.

  “Can I help you?” she said.

  “Yeah you can help me,” he said.

  She stopped, realising that the mistake was not hers. The man was clearly angry.

  “We all know what you did. I hope you’re happy.”

  She frowned and tried to remember what she might have done that could explain his hostility towards her. Nothing came to mind. “What did I do?”

  “I don’t think so,” the man said. “That’s not going to work, not this time.”

  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

  The laughter stopped, and she could see shadows on the ground. There appeared to be a lot of people standing just out of sight, watching the man berate her.

  “You should be ashamed,” he said. “You’re a disgrace to that uniform.”

  “Honestly,” she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She was close enough now that she could see the ugly scar across his forehead. He was sneering at her like she’d insulted his mother.

  “You’re a fucking disgrace,” he said. “I hope you die and come back as a zombie so I can kill you twice.”

  She stopped. All of the blood seemed to flow out of her face. It felt as if the room was spinning. To add a final insult to the meeting, the man stepped forwards and spat at her. Thick white foam struck her in the arm, but she was too stunned to do anything except stand there and look at it.

  The man walked away, and Velma was left to wonder what had happened. Did this explain why no one had come to see her? Was this how everyone in the compound felt?

  There was only one person who she could ask, and she couldn’t wait for him to come to her anymore. Velma wiped the spit from her arm and was grateful that he hadn’t been a good enough aim to hit her in the face.

  * * * * *

  She walked down the long corridors and felt as if everyone was looking at her. Once she might have looked straight back at them, daring them to say something to her. But now, with the man’s spit still drying on her sleeve, she didn’t feel nearly as confident. She kept her head down and walked as quickly as she could.

  Harold’s office had been in the medical wing when she’d first arrived. He had been stationed there for a couple of months by that point, and he’d been the one to introduce her to the facility. Although he was fifteen years older than her, she had been able to see that his interest had been more than professional. Of course he had been nothing other than courteous but, she hoped, he might still have feelings for her, and that they might work to her advantage now.

  Since their work had become increasingly important, and he had begun overseeing larger sections of the base, his office was no longer in the labs. Velma had to walk past a number of senior officials in the corridors who looked at her with a disdain that was equal to that of the man who had spat at her. They would probably all like to spit on her, she thought, and then hurried past with her head down.

  She knocked on his office door and waited. When there was no answer after a few moments, she tried the handle but found it locked.

  “Can I help you?”

  Velma turned to see a sour faced woman with red hair running to grey. Evidently they had run out of hair dye while she had been away.

  “I’m looking for Doctor Ingram,” she said.

  “He’s not here,” the sour faced woman said.

  “Well, do you know where he is? Or when he’ll be back?”

  “He’s not here,” the woman repeated.

  “I can see that,” Velma said. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “I can’t help you,” she said.

  Velma almost asked why she couldn’t help her: had someone told her not to? Was she afraid of what other people would think?

  She forced herself to smile politely. “Thank you for your help,” she said and then walked away.

  * * * * *

  She didn’t know where she would find Harold, but she decided to look. Going back and sitting by herself in her little room seemed like a sort of torture. She would have nothing to do except read and it seemed unlikely that she would be able to focus on that.

  The medical wing was the obvious first place to check. The smell of bleach and disinfectant was like coming home. Until she smelled in Velma hadn’t realised how much she had missed being in a hospital. Before the zombies had come, she’d been very happy with her job.

  Windows lined the walls on either side of the corridor, allowing her to see into the small rooms. Most were empty, except for furniture, but a few had men and women in them. They turned to look at her as she passed and she thought that she knew what they were thinking.

  The main hub of the medical wing was a large open space where men and women in white coats hurried from desk to desk, carrying sheets of paper and books in their arms. As well as treating medical complaints and emergencies, the medical team was also responsible for research and investigation.

  Velma stood at the threshold and took it all in. It was difficult to believe it had been so long since she had been a part of it, since she had been selected by Harold himself to head up the Dale Project.

  A nurse walked towards her without making eye contact. Velma stepped into her way. “Excuse me,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” the nurse said, “I’m in a rush.”

  “Is Doctor Ingram here?” Velma said.

  “I haven’t seen him,” the nurse said and then she was gone, hurrying along the corridor to wherever she was needed.

  Velma ventured into the hub. She felt as if everyone was looking at her and did her best to avoid making eye contact until she found someone who looked like they might be willing to help.

  A tall man in a short-sleeved white shirt was leaning over a desk writing something down. Velma stopped behind him.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “Have you seen Doctor Ingram?”

  The man shook his head rhythmically as if he was listening to music. “Not here today,” he said, without turning around to look at her.

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “Not a clue,” the man said.

  “Thank you anyway,” she said.

  Velma slunk away before the man could turn around and look at her. She felt protective of her emotional wellbeing and didn’t want to face another bad reaction.

  She decided to take the man at his word and assume that Harold wasn’t in the medical wing. If he wasn’t there, however, she didn’t know where he might be. Eastern Bridge was large enough that she didn’t stand a chance of finding him just by walking around. Perhaps if there had been someone to help she might have tried it, but she doubted that anyone would be willing to do so.

  The medical wing continued to bustle around her as she made her way back to the door. An uncomfortable thought occurred to her as she slipped into the corridor without anyone noticing; what if Harold was trying to avoid her?

  * * * * *

  Velma made it back to her room without anyone stopping her. She picked a book at random from the shelf and fell back onto her bed. She let the book fall beside her.

  Why would Harold be avoiding her?

  He had been there that night, he knew what had happened. But then why hadn’t he stood up for her?

  The passage of time was impossible to mark. She didn’t know whether she lay there for hours or minutes. All the while a ball of anxiety grew in her chest like a star. As it approached the point
of supernova, she could no longer stand it.

  Velma jumped up and the book, which she hadn’t opened, fell on the floor. She couldn’t just sit there while lies and rumours spread around the base. She couldn’t decide whether confronting them would make her seem less or more culpable. But it didn’t matter. None of it was true.

  She slammed the door behind her and ignored the startled looks of the two men who had been walking past. Suddenly it had all become clear, and she knew exactly where she would find Harold.

  It was late, so evidently she had been in her room for a while. The corridors felt abandoned, and the few people who she did see were wrapped up in their own thoughts and didn’t bother her. She wouldn’t have noticed if they had tried. Her focus was entirely on Harold and what she was going to say to him when she found him.

  The door to his office was closed when she reached it. She briefly thought that, even if he had been there earlier, he might be gone now, but, somehow, she knew that wouldn’t be the case. She pushed the door and found it wasn’t locked.

  “Velma!”

  He was sitting behind his desk, but now he stood. His bald head shining in the light swinging above. She let the door close behind her and caught her breath.

  Harold recovered himself quickly. “I heard you were back.”

  “You didn’t come to see me,” she said.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Of course you have.”

  They stood looking at each other and then he sat down. He didn’t invite her to do the same, but she took a chair in front of his desk.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “They think I let him die,” she said.

  Harold sat with his hands in his lap. After a moment, he put them on the table and spread his fingers. He didn’t say anything.

  “They think I let Dale get away.”

  “You’ve been on your own for a long time,” Harold said.

  “Two weeks.”

  He nodded. “It’s possible that you don’t remember what happened. Or that it’s gotten turned around for you.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said, but, she could guess.

  “I was there when it happened,” he said.

  “You told them it was me?” Velma said. Her mouth was dry, and the words seemed to stick in her throat.

  “It was you, Velma,” he said. “You let Dale get away and ruined the whole experiment.”

  Velma tried to work out whether he believed what he was saying. His expression was fixed and serious, and he had no trouble meeting her eyes. And then it dawned on her that it didn’t really matter whether he believed it or not, because other people would.

  “Is there something else I can help you with?” he said.

  “You know it wasn’t me,” she said.

  “I know what people are saying.”

  Her protest was almost a scream: “What you told them!”

  Harold raised his hand, and she fell quiet, hating the weakness in herself. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen, her return to the compound should not have been marked in this way.

  “Velma,” he said, his voice was calm and reassuring. She wanted to believe that he could reassure her. “Dale got away, and he was killed, correct?”

  She nodded cautiously, feeling that it was probably a trick.

  “And you were in charge of the operation, weren’t you?”

  Sometimes talking to Harold was like being hypnotised. Velma found herself nodding because, yes, she had been in charge.

  “Velma can I be honest with you for a moment?” he said.

  It was as close as he would get to admitting that he had been dishonest before. She nodded again.

  “I like you,” he said. “I think you have potential. But until you can accept responsibility for your mistakes...”

  She had made mistakes, that was for sure. For a moment, she wondered if the biggest of them had been returning to the compound. She might have been better off taking her chances in the wilderness. It was common knowledge that there were survivors out there, building lives for themselves, there was bound to be a group that would take her in.

  “Dale is gone, and there’s nothing we can do about that. But there is still work to be done. Important work. I would like you to be involved in it, but if you aren’t prepared to accept your mistakes, then there’s nothing I can do for you.”

  Was he threatening her? She couldn’t tell.

  “Can you accept responsibility for your mistake Velma?”

  She didn’t want to. Certainly there had been mistakes made, but the biggest of them had been letting Dale escape in the first place, and that hadn’t been anything to do with her. If she was being reasonable, she would have said it was no one’s fault, a cruel twist of fate. There had been an outbreak in the lab and they’d all been taken away. If the security guard hadn’t been allowed to return to his family, then Dale wouldn’t have been able to get away in the first place. If she was feeling uncharitable then she would have said that it was Harold’s fault; he was the one in charge.

  “Can you do that for me, Velma?”

  She found herself nodding and then coming up with reasons to justify taking responsibility for something that wasn’t her fault.

  She heard herself saying: “It’s for the good of the team. They need someone to blame.”

  “And that’s not to say that you will never be able to win back your good name,” Harold said.

  Velma nodded. She felt deflated and defeated and, to herself, she admitted that she didn’t really have a choice. The rumour was out there now if she tried to deny it then people would think she was lying. If she admitted it then at least, she could begin to make amends.

  She left Harold’s office shortly afterwards. There was a middle-aged woman wearing a uniform and holding a pile of folders, waiting to go in after her. Velma had to fight the urge to apologise and, instead, walked away with her head bowed, resolved to living the next few days (Weeks? Months?) as an outcast. But if she gritted her teeth and got through it there was a chance she could regain her reputation.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  She stood on top of the caves and looked down. There seemed to be fewer of them in the camp every day now. They were scattered around the area, nobody speaking, nobody doing very much except conserving what little energy they had left.

  Beth was exhausted, but she refused to show it. The food had run out, and the bushes and trees in the forest had been picked clean. At one point Noel had seen a wild pig, and there had been some excitement about that, but, the reality was, none of them knew how to catch a pig, even if they had seen it again.

  They had burned the bodies of the zombies and for a day afterwards the smell had lingered. She had worried that the smoke might draw other zombies towards them, but so far they had been okay. Now the only question was, how long it would take them to starve.

  Every now and again she wondered if they would resort to cannibalism. People had done much stranger things when they were desperate. She didn’t like to think about it, and when she did, she simply hoped that she would be the first one to go, so she didn’t have to make the terrible decision.

  “Beth?”

  She looked down and saw Noel coming out of the cave. He had never been a heavy man, but now he looked emaciated. He looked like a skeleton, and she suspected that he had been refusing his share of rations for as long, or longer, than she had.

  “Can I come up?” he said.

  Beth didn’t answer, but he started to climb. When he got to the top, he didn’t say anything and for a moment, they just stood together. She could hear him panting from the exertion.

  “What are you doing up here?” he said. It wasn’t an accusation, but she felt cornered all the same.

  “Just thinking,” she said. “This would be a nice place to stay if we had food.”

  “We don’t,” Noel said.

  Beth nodded. It was the same routine every time they spoke
now. She wondered why he bothered. If he had some bright idea for getting them all out then why didn’t he just do it?

  “The children are getting sick,” Noel said.

  She was sorry to hear that, but it didn’t change anything. If there ever had been a chance of getting away, then it had passed days ago. She had seen people walking around the camp, and they looked like zombies themselves; too weak to move quickly, skin and bones and barely enough energy to talk.

  “The last of the food ran out this morning. I went into the forest, but there’s nothing left there either.”

  Noel had practically held the group together with his daily trips to the river to get water. No one else had offered to go with him and, as far as Beth knew, none of them even knew where he went. If Noel died first, then the rest of them might die of dehydration before they could starve.

  “I know,” she said. She had been in the forest the previous afternoon, and she knew that there was nothing left. They had even picked mushrooms, despite not knowing which ones were safe and which ones were poisonous.

  “Something needs to be done,” he said.

  What he meant was that she needed to do something, but he wouldn’t say it, not after the last time. Beth had never asked to be the ‘leader’ of the group, and she had told him so. She had shouted loudly enough for other people to hear, but it hadn’t made any difference, they still came to ask her for help and advice.

  “If you’ve got any ideas,” she said. “Now would be a good time to let me know.”

  “We should have left days ago.”

  “I know.”

  He didn’t say anything else. They stood together and looked down at the camp and the people who were dying as surely as if there was a zombie stalking its way through them. She felt helpless. There were no good options. She couldn’t even lead them all in a ritual suicide because the gun that she had been carrying around like a talisman was empty.

  “Who’s that?” Noel said.

  Beth looked where he was pointing and saw a dark shape coming down the hill towards them. For a moment, she was startled enough to think that it might be a zombie, but they were moving too quickly. She stared at the figure and tried to make them out.