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

by Roberts, David K.

  “No he won’t,” Kim replied, firing a second shot that tore through the second man’s thigh, dropping him to the ground, next to his dying friend. They were screaming in stereo now.

  “That’s horrible,” Emily said, no real conviction in her words.

  “Oh, God. Look!” Kimberley pointed into the distance across the open grass field. Dozens of reanimated people had heard the commotion and were making their way across the grass towards the house.

  “Jesus!” Emily cried, cowering below the sill.

  “Don’t worry, if we keep down and out of sight we should be okay. If they don’t know we’re here, they won’t break in to find us.” I hope, she added in her mind.

  The man with the groin injury went quiet and lay still, relaxed in death. His friend tried to back away from him, knowing what was coming. He’d crawled about twenty yards, leaving a bloody trail in his wake when his friend jerked upright, his face a mask of death. Kim gasped at the speed at which the change took place. Less than two minutes, she estimated. Then she realised, had this man even been infected? She had shot him, his version of death not bite-oriented. Unless he had a wound she had been unaware of. Oh, God, did that mean that when you die, you turn? Was it that definite?

  Fascination kept her watching the outcome of the situation below the window. Groin wound stood up somewhat awkwardly - no surprise there - and fell/walked towards his retreating friend. His mate, seeing the intent of the bloody thing making its way towards him put up a spurt of speed in a final effort to delay the inevitable. After a minute or so he was captured and he screamed in terror and pain as this creature began consuming him, pulling strips of flesh from the already wounded leg. Kim could no longer watch the terrible proceedings and sat down on the floor with her back to the wall.

  Eventually she rallied and pulled the window closed, locking it. Outside an ever-increasing crowd of infected people had begun to congregate. A shiver of fear ran down her spine, and suddenly she remembered the advice BB had given her. Perfume and aftershave.

  “Come with me,” she called to Emily as she made her way crouching under the window level towards the bathroom. Collecting as many bottles as she could find she pulled the girl into her bedroom. “Spray yourself all over. My husband says they can’t detect you when you wear this stuff all over. Be liberal with it.”

  After a few minutes they began coughing as the air in the room became cloying with the stench of too much scent. They fell out of the room into the hallway and rolled around on the carpet, laughing uncontrollably. “I don’t know what’s worse, perfume or them!” Kim said, wiping her eyes.

  Emily was smiling at last, the perfume incident lowering her stress a little.

  “Of course,” Kim said, realising how she could make the house more secure. “Stay here, out of sight. I have to do something.”

  Before Emily could ask any questions, Kim dashed downstairs and into the kitchen. There was glass all over the floor, pots and pans dented and strewn around the room. Bullet holes decorated the once pristine kitchen making Kim’s blood boil. This room had been her pride and joy and now it was ruined. Realising how silly that emotion now was, she sighed in resignation. Within a couple of days she would either be elsewhere with BB never to return, or she would be dead; either way the kitchen was an irrelevance.

  Keeping low she sprayed around the room, paying particular attention to the holes in the glass, hoping to confuse those things outside and cover any scent of live humans anywhere near the windows. This was their most vulnerable point in the house now and to keep those things out as long as possible was key to their survival. If they could stay invisible for a couple of days BB was sure to get to them before they succumbed. I just want to see you one more time, my love, she prayed silently, a single tear escaping her eyes.

  Peeping outside past the curtains she could see that there was no way they could get past all these things now, they were effectively trapped on an island in a sea of drooling and vacant faces.

  *

  On the long haul to San Francisco, BB had been flying for coming up two hours now and had filled his time by playing with the FLIR, spotting only the odd heat source, most of which had been large wildlife such as deer and moose. For now at least the GPS was working and he had programmed in the best route that would take him near the most fuel dumps. Flying low meant that they hadn’t had to worry about headwinds although mountain flying was probably more of a challenge overall. Keeping an eye on the clouds he warned Zoë to keep her eyes open for the rotor type in particular. Describing them as big wheels that forced you up on one side and down on the other, her eyes widened at the thought. Up to now her helicopter experience had been mostly in the lowlands of Iraq. Apparently if they were flying low and got on the wrong side of one of these clouds, it was quite likely to force them into the ground. With no obvious threats detectable on the FLIR, BB chose to gain some altitude to ease the burden of low flying, something with which he had little experience up to now; it was thoroughly exhausting.

  “That must be Salt Lake City,” Zoë called, pointing to their right. They were just flying to the south of Utah Lake and could see, further to the north, the major city rising out of the valley at the foot of great mountains. Beyond that they could just make out the Great Salt Lake. The city had the same pall of smoke hanging over it from which Denver suffered, small fires with intense orange and white glows at their centres punctuating the haze.

  “No better than Denver,” was all BB could think of saying.

  “It really is everywhere, isn’t it?”

  BB looked at Zoë and saw her cheeks glistening with tears and knew she needed a distraction.

  “I think it’s about time you had a go at flying. Done any before?”

  “What? Me? No, I haven’t. I couldn’t do that.”

  “Of course you can. Hell, if I can do it, any old fool can do it. Not that you’re an old fool, of course."

  He then proceeded to teach her the controls and gradually he let her feel for herself what each one did. One of the benefits of this particular helicopter was that it had an automatic flight control system installed which made its stability excellent even with novices at the helm. It had certainly lightened the load for BB, new as he was to this particular bird. By the time he handed over control to her, all the while keeping his hands and feet at the ready to intercede, they were well past the city and its destruction. She had been flying in a straight line for about ten minutes when he glanced at the fuel readings.

  “Right, we need fuel,” he announced. “You seem to have a good light hand on the controls, Zoë. Well done. I’ll take over now and take us down. I have control.”

  “You have the con, Mr Sulu,” she echoed. BB turned the helicopter to the left and descended quickly and hugged the ground for about five minutes before resuming their proper course.

  “Why did you do that, BB?”

  “Just in case someone was watching us, I didn’t want them to see where we were going. We’ll be on the ground for about fifteen minutes at least and I don’t want any surprises.”

  “Damn, I’d have never thought of that.”

  “I wouldn’t have either, Mike told me that trick.” Looking at the GPS he could see a depot only two miles ahead. “Keep your eyes on the FLIR screen; tell me if you see anything. I’ll have my eyes on where we’re going.”

  “Sure thing,” she replied.

  BB had slowed down considerably now and looked hard in all directions, looking for anything suspicious. All appeared to be well. Now he could see a clearing in the middle of the forest. It was actually sited on the edge of a cliff and was surrounded on the other three sides by dense woodland.

  “See anything?” he asked.

  “No. Wait, something moving, its shape looks like a deer. Off to the north of the site.”

  “Okay, we’re going in then.”

  As he hovered overhead he dropped progressively lower until they were within about fifty feet of the landing point. Four sold
iers were ambling around the site, oblivious to their arrival.

  “Shit. Can you go back to the cabin and shoot them from there? I don’t want to land with them just wandering around.”

  Without another word, she disconnected the intercom cable and nimbly stepped over the centre console. A moment later he heard her reconnect and the starboard door open. “Can you bring us around so I can get them all to starboard?”

  “Sure.” With small movements the chopper swung around and after a moment the soldiers began to drop inelegantly to the ground as each shot hit home. With all four down, BB lined the aircraft up and landed next to a bowser.

  “I’ll keep the engines running. Go and tell me if there’s fuel in it.”

  Zoë ran across to the tanker and flipped a switch. A moment later she gave him the thumbs up and he shut down the engines. BB leapt out and with his pistol drawn ran across to Zoë. Standing still they listened to the silence of the mountains. After the assault of the constant thrum of the helicopter for the last two and a bit hours silence was a blessed relief to their ears.

  “Can you hear anything?” BB asked after a moment.

  “Not sure, hang on.” She took off her helmet and cocked her head to one side. “Oh, God!” Swinging around, she saw half a dozen zombies running out from the undergrowth. They had obviously been soldiers, probably the crew for this very station. All had turned, some from the original infection and others clearly as a result of bites, their uniforms caked in blood and gore; all had grey, waxen faces but their vacant, nacreous eyes still glowed with the desire to feed. BB raised his rifle and between them they felled the soldiers quickly, although a couple had managed to run to within fifteen feet of the bowser.

  “God, some of those bastards are quick, aren’t they?” she asked rhetorically.

  “They didn’t show up on the FLIR,” BB commented. Walking over to one of them he checked to make sure it was dead and then touched its face. “It’s like touching a fish, cold and a little slimy. Jeez.”

  “Shall we get going? In case there are more around.”

  “Yep. Let’s do this.”

  With practiced hands they refuelled as quickly as possible; the large tanks took longer than they had anticipated but perhaps that was more because they were constantly looking over their shoulders, not wanting to be surprised again. Using aviation fuel Brad thoroughly washed the hand he used to touch the dead man. “That’s better, they feel awful. I won’t be doing that again anytime soon I can tell you.”

  Zoë smiled as they got back into the ’copter. She remained in the cabin, on guard with her rifle at the ready as BB prepped and started the big engines. In a few minutes they were off and continuing their journey, with Zoë back in the co-pilot seat.

  “We should be able to get there and part way back before we need to do that again,” he said smiling.

  “The fewer times, the better, thanks BB.” Zoë’s heart had still not slowed back to normal. One thing she really had trouble reconciling in her mind was that she had shot people wearing the same uniform as her - a new kind of friendly fire, she thought wryly.

  “Right, where were we? Ah, yes, practice flying. Come on, let me see you gain altitude and hold it steady. I have to make a phone call.” His apparently casual attitude to her taking the controls gave her the confidence needed and under his guidance they continued on their way.

  *

  BB had made great time to Sausalito and was overjoyed when he could see the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance declaring their imminent arrival, when he would at last see Kimberley again. He’d travelled halfway around the world since this shit storm had started and now it appeared that finally his wish would be granted.

  “There it is!” he exclaimed to Zoë, pointing at a small cluster of houses next to a large patch of grass, enough space to land half a dozen helicopters like this. It should be a piece of cake.

  “Nice,” she replied.

  As he got closer he frowned. All over the grass and along the roads was a massive throng of people, undoubtedly infected. He hovered at the shoreline, not wanting to attract any more to the house until he had a plan. Even in that moment of arrival he could see a general movement of the crowd towards the beating of the blades; the sound was a serious draw for their addled minds.

  “Where in God’s name have they come from?” he asked out loud.

  “From the bridge, I reckon,” Zoë replied, pointing to the buckled metal that had been the freeway into and out of the city.

  BB looked at the bridge and could now see that it was jammed with cars, some of which were still blazing furiously. A fuel tanker was burning brightly about midway across, the thick pall of smoke from the dying ship rose into the still morning air. The intensity of the fire was causing that part of the bridge to buckle and warp. A line of people seemed still to be walking away from their stationary vehicles and in the direction of the shore and his precious house. There were so many of them.

  “Zoë, now’s the time to practice your hover. I need to make a call.”

  “Roger, I have control,” she commanded, her face creasing in concentration.

  Happy that she did indeed have control, albeit a little erratic, he was finally satisfied that she could hold this position for the few seconds necessary to dig out the phone. Thank God for the auto-stabilising features, he thought, remembering his own first helicopter hover during training - it had been a complete disaster. BB quickly pulled the plastic bag with the sat phone out from under his seat. Turning the phone on, he checked for a signal and found it to be strong. Now all he had to do was hope a connection was still possible. He pressed the redial button. An engaged signal, dammit. He dialled the landline and got the same response. Fucking typical, what can we do, he wondered. Landing certainly wasn’t an option.

  “Zoë, will you help me with some winch work?”

  “Sure boss. What’s your plan?”

  Having explained in as much detail as possible, he sent Zoë to hook up to the winch line. It was possible for the pilot to raise and lower the winch on this helicopter from the front seat. It just meant he would have to do two jobs simultaneously and both of them well. He was glad Zoë had military training. She was a plucky thing; there weren’t many civilians who would risk their lives to help others, it just wasn’t part of their everyday life experience.

  Lowering Zoë about thirty feet below the helicopter he flew towards the house. Looking down he could see a sea of upturned and gory faces, it was like looking directly down through the gates of hell. Focusing on the task at hand he placed Zoë gently on the roof. She unclipped herself and began to pull at the tiles just where BB had instructed; kicking at the thin support slats a hole began to appear. The hole now big enough, Zoë disappeared inside, first drawing her gun. As the seconds ticked by his stress levels rose and his eyes flicked over the instrument panel, half expecting to see something fail, just when it was most needed. Was it his imagination or was the press of zombies much denser around the house than a moment ago?

  Three minutes had passed; it was too long, surely. Looking around the house he could see it wasn’t his imagination. The noise of the blades was attracting unwanted attention in the form of huge numbers of infected, they now covered the approach road, and the grass on the vast expanse of common land was no longer visible, every inch of it temporary home to a zombie. In another minute, if no-one climbed out onto the roof, he would pull away and try to draw the crowd away from the house. He had no idea what sort of problems his presence might be creating below. At this moment he regretted not bringing another helicopter pilot to the party; he wanted to be in the house rescuing his wife and that poor girl she had spoken of in their last call while he was flying down to SF.

  At last, Zoë’s head appeared in the hole along with another face he didn’t recognise. He assumed it must be the girl, Emily. No sign of his wife yet; where the hell was she, he fretted. And suddenly there she was, right behind them. She had a worried look on her face and continually pee
red behind her. He could see small puffs of smoke as she fired at something out of sight. No, no, no, those bastards have broken in! Please save my girl, he prayed quietly.

  Zoë signalled for him to approach which he did, arriving directly overhead. With quick and practiced movements Zoë had herself and the girl strapped in and was signalling to be lifted, but not before handing Kimberley her pistol. The six-shooter’s ammo had been expended. BB winched her up and about twenty seconds later he felt the change in motion as they landed on the cabin floor having swung themselves inside.

  Kimberley had climbed out onto the roof now and was walking precariously down the gulley away from the hole Zoë had created. Malevolent strangers’ heads poked out from where she came and soon the Infected began to climb out in pursuit. A couple of well-aimed shots and they fell lifeless, blocking the access to the roof for the others, at least for a moment. Lowering Zoë once more he swung her carefully towards the edge of the roof to where Kimberley had retreated. It was going to be a close call, the creatures had cleared the blockage and had begun to mass around the hole which was bulging as their numbers massed, excited for the chase and eager to make their way towards their quarry. Kimberley appeared to be calmly aiming at each one’s head as if on a target range. At that moment he couldn’t have loved her more, his heart swelling with pride.

  Watching closely he could see Kimberley was now dry firing; her ammo had been expended. Panicking he swung Zoë a little too hard towards his wife. Kim ducked and Zoë careened forward and dodging outstretched clawing hands, kicked at the small crowd of zombies, knocking several off the roof to the depths below while at the same time knocking a couple back into the hole, blocking access for others that were trying to join the hunt on the roof. He breathed in and out deeply, trying to get his emotions under control. Flying Zoë back to Kim, she grabbed hold of his wife, and they clung to each other, limbs entwined, while he lifted away from the roof and to safety. Just in time; the valley of the roof was sagging under the weight of the throng and had begun to collapse, carrying many of the hunters down with the debris. Now the roof had half disappeared, leaving a gaping hole filled with thrashing limbs and tormented faces filled with the anguish of failure.