The Common Cold (Book 2): A Zombie Chronicle-Cabin Fever

by Roberts, David K.

  “Tell Mike. If you want to try this out you don’t want him to shoot the thing as you land. Perhaps we can tie it up. We have those plastic hand cuff thingies on board that chopper. With his hands secured behind his back he’ll never get out of them.”

  “Okay.” Pressing the PTT button he called up the other chopper. “Hey Mike. BB here. We’ve had an idea.” He explained his thoughts and agreed on an approach to securing the creature. It was agreed finally that BB would put down by one of the cabins further away in order to do this work away from their settlement, just in case of problems.

  Arriving at the lakes Mike put down in the same place he had started from and shut down. BB hovered while they and several others ran over to a distant cabin and signalled him to land. BB noticed that Cliff wasn’t among the helpers; nor was that weird religious woman, he noted. Perhaps the sergeant had gone inside with his kiddie. He did see Rob, Danny and Tom, all eager to find out what was going on. The air was still so he lined up easily in a parking area as near to the target cabin as he dared. The wheels gently touched down. Lowering the collective completely the blades continued to turn but remained out straight, reducing the downdraft to almost nothing while at the same time giving the group of helpers more safety room above their heads as they performed their task. Waiting for the blades to stop would have cost them valuable time before they could secure the zombie, perhaps giving it the opportunity to resist if still capable of doing so.

  Each person grabbed a limb and pulled the frozen man away from the canopy. Pinning him to the ground they struggled to force the arms and legs together before finally securing them at their wrists and ankles. The creature hadn’t moved throughout this process and now appeared for all the world like a frozen cadaver, although the joints still appeared functional.

  “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a zombie Popsicle,” Tom observed, still reluctant to go near its head.

  “Yep, let’s get inside and we’ll get a fire going,” Rob urged; he was all business around this thing, wanting to know if Brad’s idea had wings. Between them they carried it indoors like a stiff plank on their shoulders and placed it in front of the open hearth. BB used his knife to gently prod at the eyes. They rang like glass.

  “Its eyes are frozen solid,” BB observed. “If they are frozen then it’s a good bet that the brain is too as they are so directly and closely connected. It was minus twenty three Centigrade up there and with wind chill that would have taken it down to about minus sixty. This should be a valid experiment, although it will probably take a few hours to be sure. Poor sonofabitch,” he commented, looking at the dead soldier.

  There were already logs stacked up by the fireplace as if lighting a fire would be the first thing the cabin’s owner did on arrival. Checking the flue was clear Danny piled kindling and logs into the hearth. Squirting lighter fluid onto the logs he struck a match and set it ablaze. The fire burned yellow and quickly the room filled with smoke, making them cough.

  As the logs caught fire and yielded heat, the flue began to do its job properly and gradually drew the smoke up the chimney and so the air in the cabin began to clear. They all stood around, guns at the ready and eagerly watched as the first signs of a thaw began to show. While they waited BB explained his rationale for the experiment, reckoning the risk was worth it as it would give them an idea as to what to expect over time. Everyone hoped and prayed that the man would not revive.

  After an hour, BB gently prodded the man’s eyes again and found them to have thawed.

  “Well, he’s not revived so far. With luck…” he left the sentence unfinished.

  While they waited for the thaw to progress Mike spent the time explaining to BB how to recognise fuel dumps from the air and marked on a map where he knew some were already set up. Of course that didn’t guarantee they would have fuel in them anymore so it was important to ensure there were adequate reserves before choosing to refuel. It was likely there were going to be other survivors who might take it or it could have just been used up by the military in the early stages of the catastrophe. Surprised at the number of these dumps across the country, BB was feeling much more positive about the trip he was anxious to begin at first light in the morning.

  A groan interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and saw the shocked looks on the faces of his fellow campers. A few of the fingers on the zombie were moving, albeit slowly.

  “Oh, shit,” Danny muttered. “It’s still alive. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  Everyone in the room thought the same; this meant that the cold wouldn’t resolve their major problem. They would have to keep an eye out for them even after the thaw and into the warmer weather.

  Danny prodded the thing with a stick. “The limbs and torso still appear to be frozen but the joints seem to have mobilised. Looks like freezing the undead isn’t the end for them after all.”

  It began to struggle against the constraints, rocking from side to side and groaning quietly.

  “Just how long do these fuckers live?” Rob asked, a pained look on his face.

  “Looks like only time will tell us that,” BB said, resignation in his voice. “Did you notice the joints remained movable, even if they were stiff?”

  “Meaning they could still move if most of the body was frozen solid? Is that what you’re saying?” Tom asked, realizing their remote hide-away was no longer guaranteed protection for the survivors. He had been certain that freezing the zombies would have killed them off.

  “Looks a little like it,” BB answered. “Let’s get this heap of shit outside and finish it off.”

  Rob and Danny each picked up an end and roughly carried the writhing corpse and, with its teeth snapping in anticipation of one of them getting too close, took it outside and behind the cabin. A single shot echoed around the clearing and they returned minus their load. If these things would survive freezing temperatures and even being frozen, then winter promised to be quite the season for continued battle, especially as the undead would, at some point, start to make their way sporadically out of the towns and cities. The reality of the upcoming warmer weather would mean that the survivors were likely to be facing almost as many of the undead in the spring as had been in existence at the beginning of the apocalypse. The only positive aspect of all this was that if the infected became slower in freezing weather it might at least mean they wouldn’t migrate far during the winter , giving the breathers time to prepare themselves for the warmer days ahead. Time might be the group’s only real friend for now.

  Chapter 5 - Kimberley Rocks

  Fed up with trying to stay asleep when his brain was buzzing full of planning details and anticipation, Brad got up, had a quick wash and headed for the helicopter. His excitement at finally travelling to get to his wife ensured he was bright-eyed even at this early hour. He’d spent a couple of hours with Mike Simms the previous evening; Mike had ensured he had as much coaching and information on the helicopter as reasonable in such a short time. In addition to the external fuel tanks, the helicopter Brad was taking also had FLIR, Forward Looking Infra-Red. Although it probably wouldn’t detect the infected as they seemed to function cold and generated no heat, in this cold weather it would be useful to look out for heat signatures below, animals, people, or vehicles on the road. Considering the state of the country it would be wise to have an idea of what to expect before he encountered it, especially when landing for fuel.

  The other piece of advice was to fly low; if there was a malevolent force down there and they had commandeered military firepower, staying just above the trees would give them less time to draw a bead. Not a fool proof solution but it might just give him the edge he needed to stay safe. If there was someone intending to down the chopper, pray they aren’t rogue professionals Mike said earnestly, nothing would save a helicopter from the likes of them.

  Although Mike’s words sobered him up significantly, BB was his usual confident self as he watched Zoë walk towards the helicopter - he liked the way she swaggered, so full of self-assurance
- they were due to leave before anyone else rose to greet the morning. She climbed into the co-pilot seat and shivered as the cold from the leather seat struck up through her flight suit.

  “ ’Morning,” Brad began. “Are you still sure you want to do this? It does have a pretty big element of risk.”

  “Yep, I’ve never been to Sausalito before. It’ll be nice to see how the other half lives.”

  “I inherited it,” he said in his defence. “Otherwise I’d just be an ordinary Joe like you.”

  “I can tell this is going to be a long journey, isn’t it?” she smiled, wondering if perhaps her liking for this cocky bloke was part of her reason for going along for the ride. “Looks like someone got up to see us off,” she finished, pointing at Danny who was running over to them carrying something.

  Danny ran around to BB’s side of the bird and waited for him to open the door.

  “What is it, buddy?”

  “I thought you might like to take this, you might be able to call her en route,” Danny said as he handed over a plastic bag. “Or she can call you, of course. The charger is in the bag, it connects to a cigarette lighter socket. I presume all American military birds have one for their generals to light up their cigars on their way into an attack on some village in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I thought racial profiling was anathema to you Brits?” BB retorted, laughing.

  “I just say what I see in the movies, my friend.”

  “That’s nice of you Danny,” BB said, getting serious again. “I’ll bring it back in one piece.”

  “Just stay safe, both of you.” Waving he retreated to the hut and watched as they departed on their long journey.

  *

  Two mornings before Brad left to go to San Francisco on his rescue mission to retrieve his wife, Kimberley Bukowski sat in her kitchen, looking out over the sea. She was nursing her cell phone, waiting for BB to call again. Last time he’d called, it was the middle of the night and he informed her he had just landed in Denver. From what he didn’t say she suspected there was something out of the ordinary about it but didn’t feel that concerned - internal airports were always chaotic. Getting off the phone she was a little disappointed as his original destination was Washington DC from where he could have hopped onto a commuter plane and been home a few hours later. Now she had no idea at all when he might be back.

  Still rather groggy from having just finished a long, two-day marathon shift at the hospital, she had not watched any television or heard a radio broadcast so had no concept of what was going on across the world; she had been half asleep when her husband had called and his dire warnings didn’t really sink in. Having pleaded with her not to go into work, she had agreed under protest; since then she had regretted that response, feeling as if BB had over-egged that particular pudding. Dozing lightly she had reconsidered her position in her dreams and decided it would not be appropriate for her to skip work, especially if things were going pear-shaped. Her skills as a trauma doctor would be invaluable.

  And so at five am, hoping to beat the traffic, she climbed into her car and drove the short three minute drive to the Redwood Highway, the road that led across the Golden Gate Bridge. She worked in the San Francisco General Hospital and Trauma Center to which it was normally an easy drive, most of it on freeways. Unfortunately, or perhaps not as it turned out, access to the bridge was blocked by queuing vehicles and from what she could see the line of traffic went all the way over and into the city proper. Curiosity aroused, she switched off her engine and walked the short distance to the highway to see if the problem was identifiable. What she saw defied belief: several cars were on fire, people were running around and screaming, some apparently attacking others; as a doctor her first instinct was to see if there was anything she could do to help those people in trouble.

  A man ran towards her, his face covered in blood, and seemed to be mouthing something indecipherable in the early morning darkness. Confused, she had been slow to react when he jumped on her, forcing her to the ground. Screaming while desperately trying to stop him biting her - for that was clearly what he wanted to do - she didn’t notice the police officer that ran up and threw the assailant off her. With no hesitation whatsoever, the man had leapt to his feet again and thrown himself bodily at the officer, mauling him on his exposed face and neck, and then lapping up the warm fluid that pulsed out of the arteries in spouts of dark liquid. Forgotten by the attacker who was gorging on the face of the slowly writhing officer, she stumbled away and back to her car.

  Climbing in and closing the door, Kim was just in time to avoid another couple of assailants who rushed at her out of the darkness, bouncing off the windows in what appeared to be unbridled fury, leaving bloody smears across the windshield. “Sorry, BB,” was all she could mumble, regretting her decision to try and make it to work. Slamming down the locks on the doors she did a quick U-turn and sped back down the on-ramp swerving around another couple of cars eager to get to the bridge, their occupants oblivious to what they were driving towards. Trying to signal them not to proceed, she continued her way back home.

  As she pulled into her driveway she paused for a few moments to allow her hands to stop trembling. As a trauma doc she had seen some bad things in her time but nothing compared to the collective madness she had observed that morning. Rushing inside her house she slammed and double-locked the front door. Better to be safe than sorry, she thought, at least until she knew what the hell was happening out there.

  Working her way around each room in the house, Kimberley pulled all the curtains closed and checked the door and window locks to make sure they were secure. As an added precaution for her protection she collected BB’s revolver and then sat down at the kitchen table, looking out over the bay, with its city lights glittering on the water like diamonds, frightened of what the waning darkness was hiding at that very moment. Her hands still wouldn’t stop trembling.

  An hour later she hadn’t moved; staring into the distance she could pretend that nothing was wrong with the world. The slow lightness of the dawn had brightened up the view, revealing a peaceful scene. It was weird looking out of the window; from this vantage point everything appeared so normal. Unusually for this outcrop of land there was a heavy dewfall on the grassy area between her and the boathouse, but it would soon burn off in the morning sun. The footprints she could see interrupting the silver sheen, outlined by the dewy cat’s eyes, told a story; someone had been chased in circles by at least one other person before finally running away. Looking across the Bay, it was possible to see Alcatraz and beyond to Treasure Island and the mainland. It was a view they could never have afforded if her husband, Brad, had not inherited the house. Every day she thanked his dearly departed Uncle Cedric for his kind bequest.

  Looking more closely she could now make out anomalies in the view, a number of fires seemed to be blazing in the distance on the other side of the Bay, the smoke from their flames rising vertically in thin columns undisturbed by the still air, and small orange flashes were apparent as something else caught fire. The faint wail of sirens could be heard in the distance, but that was just the song of the city, certainly pretty normal for where she lived. If it hadn’t been for her terrifying experience just an hour or so ago, of course.

  Her initial state of shock was wearing off and as guilt prodded her into action, she placed a call to the hospital’s Emergency Services Department.

  “Hi Cindy. It’s Kimberly Bukowski here.”

  “Oh, hi Kim. I take it you’re calling to say you can’t get in. Don’t worry, you aren’t the only one. It’s like a ghost town in here, I’ve never seen so few staff; I think there are only a couple of doctors in the whole building, and frankly the only reason they’re here is that they couldn’t get home after their shift. Like me, I shoulda been off two hours ago. I tried to get a cab when the buses stopped running but no chance of that.”

  “Does anyone know what’s going on?”

  “I was hoping you’d tell me. It’
s like there’s something in the water.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on, girl, but be careful. I was attacked on the freeway this morning. Some cop saved me but then this guy just attacked him, it was like watching a mad dog at work. I just legged it out of there.”

  “I’ve heard a few tales like that. We’ve had a lot of walk-ins with what appear to be symptoms of the common cold, only not. The waiting area is full to overflowing and they keep coming. Some seem to recover and leave. A few have become catatonic. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Kim held the phone away from her ear as a piercing shriek erupted from the earpiece.

  “Cindy? Cindy? Are you there?” she asked, listening carefully, her knuckles now white, strangling the handset as fear rose in her, making the hairs on her arms rise. All that could be heard were some wet noises in the background, a little like twisting a shoulder of lamb and hearing the tendons graunch over bone. Kim shuddered and moaned in fear as she realised Cindy wasn’t coming back to the phone.

  She might work in a trauma unit, with blood and guts everywhere, but it was rarely associated with any mass violence, certainly not the levels she was experiencing this morning. Breathing deeply, trying not to let shock set in again, she walked over to the percolator and set up a fresh brew of coffee, trying to focus on normal, mundane activities. Kim was beginning to jump at any sound now, however slight; every creak or groan in the house seemed sinister. Food would be good at this point; her irregular eating regime caused by the frenetic nature of her job meant she frequently suffered from heart burn and now was no different.

  Remembering she had some left over croissants in the fridge, she placed a couple on a plate with a nob of butter and jelly. With a hot coffee liberally doped with sugar she took the mug and plate to the table and sat there munching and thinking about what the hell she could do to stay safe. All the windows were toughened with double-glazing and the doors were locked, so that was a start. The landline worked and there was still a signal on her cell phone. Regretting not having taken notice of BB’s warning to stay at home, she took succour from the fact that at least now she had an idea of what was out there in terms of threats, although it was all still way beyond her comprehension.