SPECIAL THANKS
I want to give a special thanks to the people that made this book possible, from those who read each chapter as I wrote it and offered feedback, to those who helped build the world and the lore, not only for this book, but any sequels to follow.
Putting this together has been hard work, as not only have I focused on a conclusive story to be told here, but the stories that would then lead on from it. This was only meant to be a single book and has turned into something else entirely, every second of writing it as fun as the last.
So without further ado, thank you to:
Kunal - For reading the first copy, providing feedback and helping me create this alternate universe.
Heloise - For providing useful info pertaining to immunisation that would serve to make the book and the lore more believable.
My dearest brother - For supporting me in this, providing feedback and helping me develop a lore packed world.
You three have truly been pillars of support, both for me and for this, so again, all my thanks.
To those reading for the first time, I hope you enjoy the read and thank you too for all the support.
PRECURSOR
Knowledge is power... knowledge is and always has been the very foundation to which our would was built upon, the key to our survival. The sharing of knowledge has served to not only advance our understandings of that which exists around us, but build for the future. Knowledge has not been without flaw, no one could ever say we attained greatness without obstacle and conflict, but it has often been with the ambition of uncovering the great unknowns. In our thirst for knowledge however, we so quickly abandoned our sense of duty to one another, to our survival as a species in order to selfishly harbour knowledge for our own gain or to hide away our illegitimate or immoral methods for obtaining it and its purpose.
Knowledge is indeed power... but to those without access to it, what is it?
If the repeated mistakes of mankind have taught me anything, it's that we should fear not what we have yet to learn, for we have no control over that, but what we already know and have chosen not to share.
Fear the unknown.
CHAPTER 1 - TERRY: August 20th, 6:45am - 5 Hours until outbreak
It was the sound of the buzzing alarm clock that roused Terry Burnham from his deep slumber, a sound that had become less frequent to him over the course of the last few years. His once thriving business collapsing and subsequently filing for bankruptcy could both be attributed to that, but since that was the unfortunate case, there was little reason for him to wake up so early.
Groaning, he shuffled to the other side of the bed, as far away from it as possible and attempted to drown out the sound with the pillow.
His attempts to ignore the unpleasant sound consisted of burying his face further into his pillow, but it became abundantly apparent that that was doing him no favours, so conceding, he outstretched his arm, masterfully searching for it without looking and before long, found what he was looking for, that damned button to turn it off.
Chuffed with his achievement, he drifted back to sleep... for all of fifteen minutes, before the nefarious little bastard went off again. Typical, what he had honestly expected after pressing the snooze button was beyond all conceivable logic.
He accepted defeat and pushed himself up from the bed, groaning and slowly opening his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the surrounding light.
He felt like a mess and he could barely remember the events of the night prior. What time was it?
Glancing over at the alarm clock, he stared at it blankly until his eyesight had focused enough to register what was displayed.
7:01, he had already overslept, but he was still good for time. He had at least an hour still to play with.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he sat there rubbing his stubbled face, yawning and stretching.
He could just about remember the events that took place yesterday, a great deal of pathetic self-pity, angry calls to his solicitor, pleading calls to his bank, the usual austerity bullshit, oh and he couldn’t forget the comforting embrace of a bottle of Daviduke Whiskey, the same bottle that now lay on the floor empty besides his feet.
The overwhelming urge to piss compelled him to stand up, turn off the alarm - seriously off this time - and make his way over to the bog, leaving the bathroom door wide open.
He flicked on the bathroom light, stood before the toilet and basked in the sweet release of opening the floodgates and letting that water flow. If there was ever one advantage to living alone, it was that he could leave the toilet seat up and the bathroom door open without the constant yattering about it, a small win perched upon a mountain of problems.
He glanced over towards the mirror besides him, his grisly reflection staring back at him.
Fuck, he was a mess. He was in desperate need of a shave and something needed to be done about this ginger mop on his head, he looked like a drugged-up version of Santa Claus and those red eyes weren’t helping matters.
Moving his jaw in a circular fashion to relieve himself of an ache, he left the toilet seat open once again and stepped closer to the mirror. Beneath the blanket of hair that he had allowed to accumulate, mostly due to stress and lack of self-care, was a fairly handsome looking white man, a little paler than he would have liked, but you couldn’t be everything. He wasn’t tall, but he could safely say he was above average.
Not that he was some prince charming before, but he certainly didn’t look homeless, that went without saying. He was neither muscular or fat, average build he’d say; finding the time to hit the gym had simply never been easy, but he had plenty of that now, so maybe it was about time he stopped making excuses and just do it. A man in his early forties, such as himself, ought to be taking better care of himself.
He sighed and picked up the shaver, might as well start with that.
Stepping out of the bathroom fresh faced and beardless, he drew the curtains, allowing the sunlight to pour into his little box apartment. Grabbing a comb, he straightened his mess of a hair.
Would there be time to get a haircut? He could just about fit it in if he hurried.
He put his glasses on and checked the time again, before scampering into the kitchen, 7:21, there was still time to grab some breakfast.
“Good morning, Cindy”, he said, to which his artificial personal assistant, a Soba-tech product that had become exceedingly popular over the past five years, recognised his voice and replied.
“Good morning, Terry. Would you like morning updates?” A soft spoken, British female accent.
“I would”.
“Understood. Today is August the twentieth, the temperature in your local area is twenty-one degrees Celsius. Due to a crash, traffic has built up specifically around and between Holborn and Tottenham Court Road. All underground trains are running normally. On breaking news today, Prime Minister Andrew Parlow has taken a hard stance against NOMA operatives after a series of terror attacks across the globe days before the national election, stating that terror will not and never will be tolerated, the people will not fear the oppressors and those responsible will be stomped down hard upon with justice, this comes right after a string of attacks across Europe, including the Home Office shootings and the festival bombing, to name two, both of which NOMA proudly took responsibility for. Some have accused the prime minister of pushing an agenda before the elections in order to sway voters. Cypher, responsible for leaking confidential and incriminating information about large corporations and government institutions, has once again struck, this time targeting Aradin, placing them at the epicentre of a scandal implicating t
hem in deliberately overpaying certain members of staff and underpaying others, this comes after their new A88 models had to be recalled for faulty scanners, resulting in fifteen deaths within just a few short days of its launch. Aradin refuses to comment on the matter, but it is expected they will make a full disclosure in due course. In other news, David Hallinan, a famous comedian and influencer in the seventies, passed away in his bed last night, his wife stated that his passing is a tragic blow to not only her, but the world that loved him. Lugo Neil, suspected leader of the three accused in the Walters Foundation massacre investigation, a horrific tragedy that left twenty-four dead and six critically injured, was released on technicalities yesterday after the three accused committed suicide. Dr Marlen, the founder of the Walters Soldier Re-assimilation Foundation was last quoted as stating that he has never known such pain, his thoughts also go out to all those who lost, those responsible will face justice and serve their time, it will never heal the pain we are now forced to endure, but at least we have comfort in knowing they will no longer be able to do harm to others. Since the recent developments however, Dr Marlen hasn't been available for comment, but the move has been the cause of controversy, sparking protests outside the court where Lugo stood trial...”.
“That’s enough misery for one morning I think, Cindy.
“Understood”.
“Geez, I suddenly feel compelled to drown myself in the bathtub. This is why people don’t listen to the news. Cindy, why is the world so shit?”
“I don’t understand your question, could you try asking it in a different way?”
“Why do bad things happen all the time?”
“Bad things happen, good things happen, from good, bad can manifest, but from bad, good can also shine through, that’s the balance of life”.
“Should have expected a philosophical reply”, Terry groaned.
Terry didn't consider himself a religious man by any means, but if a God really did exist, why didn’t he intervene and prevent all the cruelty in the world? How could humans be so barbaric? How could monsters be allowed to co-exist amongst everyday normal innocent folk?
He opened the drawers and took out a bowl for himself, pouring cornflakes into it, but upon checking the fridge, he realised he had no milk.
“Shit! I was supposed to buy some on the way home yesterday”. How had it slipped his mind? It looked as though he had no other option.
Leaving the bowl on the counter as it was, he took out two slices of bread and stuck them in the toaster, grabbing two eggs while he was at it. Keeping an eye on the time displayed on the digital clock, he fried the eggs, making himself a brief egg and butter sandwich.
The quick snack took no more than 25 minutes, so after brushing his teeth, changing into something warm - because you could never be too sure with British weather -, grabbing his keys, wallet and mobile, he was out of the apartment, locking it behind him.
The apartment block was far from special, but it was dirt cheap, a luxury in this age. His landlord was a hero for doing him this solid whilst he was temporarily living off of job seekers allowance.
He waited for the elevator to come up and descended to the bottom floor, to be greeted by the bitter chill of British autumn weather, as expected.
There was no car for him to drive, that luxury had been taken from him over three months ago, so getting used to the whole idea of using public transport, was now something he had to live with. This whole clam card thing for one, wasn’t so bad once you got used to it, but what was with those ridiculous prices for a single journey? When did travel become so expensive? He didn't recall it being anything like this as a child.
He crossed the road and ventured over to the barbers, Joe’s, contemplating whether or not it was the best decision to make. Surely it wouldn’t take any more than 15 to 20 minutes, right?
CHAPTER 2 - TERRY: 8:35am - 3 Hours, 10 Minutes until outbreak
Terry stepped out of Joe’s an extra 10 to 15 minutes late, cursing his lacklustre decision-making abilities. He was late, he was stupidly late. Who would have expected the barbers to be that busy this early in the fucking morning?
He was supposed to be in Ilford by 8:45 and had his haircut not taken so long, he would have certainly made it in time. There was no way he would make it there in the next 10 minutes. Waiting for the number 25 bus soaked up another precious 5 minutes he couldn’t afford to lose.
She would definitely be pissed at him, an in the interest of avoiding the pronoun game, she being his ex-wife.
No more than 5 minutes into his journey and the vibrations of his tPhone 4 - he really needed to upgrade this phone, he was already 4 generations behind - in his pocket, had him bracing himself for the worst.
He dug through his pockets to reach it before the vibrations ceased, pulling it out to face him. There on the screen was a picture of his ex-wife, a beautiful black curly haired woman, with light brown eyes to compliment her gracious curls. Beneath the picture was her name, Natasha Burnham, a constant reminder of what once was.
Why had he never changed or at the very least removed the surname? Why was he hanging on to the past? Somehow the minor action of changing her surname on his phone was a brutal reminder that it was all over, there was no hope and when a part of him still clung on to that glimmer of hope she would return to him one day, he simply couldn't muster up the courage to do it.
There was still that small matter of the new man in her life he had to contend with, and by small he meant gigantic, epic proportions even.
He slid his finger across the screen, putting an abrupt end to the funky - albeit a little embarrassing for a grown man such as himself - pop sound of Anna Swenton, a ringtone his daughter had put on his phone two whole years ago and taking a breath before lifting it to his ear.
“Natasha...”
There was an uneasy silence before he heard her exasperated sigh.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Something came up, I’ll be there shortly”.
“You were supposed to be here now, you promised”.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just...”
“Spare me the bullshit excuses”, she snapped, “Some of us are working, I can’t afford to get to work late, you did this shit to me last time, I’m not going to end up like you”.
“Come on, that’s just uncalled for, I’m not doing this deliberately”.
“Are you behaving this way because of Daniel and I?” Her new fiancé, though why she thought to mention him was another question. Just his name alone was enough to irritate Terry, like the scratch of long nails against a chalkboard.
“The kids are waiting for you, it’s for their sake alone that I still bother, don’t fucking ruin that”.
“Natasha, you know I’m not trying to”.
“Then make the bloody effort, stop being an ass”.
“I’m doing my best”.
“Well do better, this isn’t good enough! If you still want the privilege of seeing your kids as often, try frigging harder!”
“Natasha, I’m...” Terry was silenced by the sound of the dial tone. She had hung up on him. That certainly caught him by surprise, he couldn’t quite tell or not, but he was fairly certain she was angry.
After 17 years of their marriage, she left him not because of his situation, but because of the little faith he had in himself and her. After he lost his job, she was tremendously supportive of his efforts to get back on his feet, but she wasn't willing to join him on his self-destructive path, it was something she had already endured in a previous relationship and needless to say, that didn't fare well. She insisted he get help and his stupid pride obstructed that opportunity to maintain his marriage. So here he was living alone, comforted only by his regrets.
Maybe he could argue that she had given up on him too easily, but that wasn't going to change a damn thing now and he still had to face his own exceeding contributions to the problems.
Maybe it was paranoia getting the better of him, but it just seeme
d like she met and started dating Daniel awfully quickly, was there a possibility they knew each other beforehand?
Wasn't there usually a cooldown period with these sorts of things? Sensitivities to keep in mind and more.
The morning was plagued with the usual public transport nightmares, inside the bus was the rowdy kids on their summer holidays with seemingly poor upbringing, little old ladies asking 21 questions of the bus driver and of course you couldn't leave out the hoodlums at the back blasting some rap or grime, Terry didn't really know the difference. Outside the bus was another story, congestion meant they were getting nowhere quickly.
Needless to say, strolling up to the apartment his ex-wife was now living in with Daniel, at 9:05 certainly wasn’t a good look.
He dialled number 35 and waited, within seconds there was a buzz and the main door to the building clicked open. It was a swish building, understated wasn't welcome here, everything was made to scream look at me in adoration and wallow in that pitiful delusion that one day you'll be able to afford anything remotely as nice as this, you peasant.
The only thing more painful than knowing another man took the woman of his life away from him was knowing it was a man he could probably never match up to. There was no denying that, Daniel lived good and if there was one thing out of all of this that eased his mind, it was that his kids weren’t living rough and his eldest daughter could still attend her private school. Though it was tremendously frustrating to have some other man ensuring that, Terry’s replacement.
The floor was marble, the elevator had a theme tune. Really? A theme tune? Not even standard hotels had that.
He got off at the top floor and stepped out into a lush corridor, decorated with the finest art, ornaments and furnishings. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been here before, but every time he came here, it was a reminder of what he had never been able to afford. A reminder that even when he was working, he earned nothing compared to this guy.
Cryptophobia (Book 1): Outbreak [Fear The Unknown] Page 1
