Isolation Z (Book 4): The Last Invasion

by Riva, Aline

  “Cleo?” he called, but again there was no reply.

  He listened, hearing nothing. It was strange for the house to be this quiet. Then Cleo emerged from the doorway that led to the spacious front room.

  “You'd better get in here,” she said, and sadness filled her eyes and her voice. Fear made his heart jolt.

  “Are the kids okay?”

  “The kids are fine. They're in the garden.”

  He followed her into the front room. Marc was sat beside Vicki on the sofa and they both looked tearful. Greg stared at them, wondering what the hell had happened in his absence.

  “What's wrong?”

  Marc got up and walked over to join Greg in the middle of the room.

  “A zombie washed ashore today. I shot it, just in time. It was an isolated incident, the whole of the sea wall has been checked, I doubled the watch at every post, we're tight now, nothing can get in... but I nearly didn't see the creature coming. It was on me by the time I knew what was happening. I'd had a seizure, Greg... I think the tumour is back.”

  Greg saw deep fear in the eyes of his best friend. He pulled him into a tight hug as he hid his own fears and kept his emotions firmly in check for Marc's sake – someone had to remain strong and this was tough, but he would do it for him.

  “It's okay,” he said, giving him a tight squeeze before letting go, “There's probably another cause – maybe scar tissue from the surgery... you won't know until Christian scans you. We could go now, I could arrange it right now -”

  “I'm not sure I'm ready,” Marc admitted as he struggled to hold back tears.

  “No, no, we'll get this over with right now,” he insisted, “We'll take my car and leave now. Once he's scanned you, we'll know for sure. You need to end this uncertainty, Marc.”

  He knew he was shaking as he looked into Greg's eyes, but he also knew his best friend was right.

  “Okay, “ he said reluctantly, “We'll go now.”

  When Christian heard Greg call his name, he paused outside the door to the isolation room. His experimental patient was behind that locked door, his flesh still healing, the effect of the virus fading rapidly. But unlike the incident with Lillith back on Wolfsheer, this room was securely locked and the patient within was far too weak and drugged to try and make an attempt at escape. Aside from the weakness, Christian very much doubted there would be much of Flint's mind left at all, equipment had detected brain activity but on a very low scale. It looked very much like he would never pose a threat again and he still hoped the overdose of the serum was not to blame – even if it couldn't be manufactured and tried out at the right dose, even if he never worked out all the contents and their right quantities, there was still much to learn from this experiment. He had never seen such a miraculous reversal of the virus before...

  Greg called his name again. Now he sounded much closer.

  “Shit!” Christian muttered, stepping away from the locked door. Flint would have to wait.

  Greg rounded the corner and stopped, staring at him. He looked like he had been crying, his eyes were red and tearful.

  “I was just -”

  Excuses for why he was hanging around the isolation room could wait. Greg hadn't even noticed as he cut in and started to speak.

  “Christian, you need to scan Marc. He had a seizure today... he's scared the tumour might be back.”

  Christian walked over to join him, keeping his voice low.

  “I remember he told me about that – it was before the apocalypse?”

  Greg nodded.

  “He's been clear for a few years as far as we know – but he's had no follow up checks because the world went to shit and we had to survive by leaving the mainland. I've not known him to be ill since the surgery.”

  Christian recalled a conversation he had once shared with Marc when he had noticed his scar and Marc had told him all about his illness.

  “I remember he said it was non cancerous but fast growing. If it is back, I can't remove it, Greg. I'm not a brain surgeon.”

  Frustration burned in Greg's eyes as emotion choked his voice.

  “There must be something you can do!”

  Christian shook his head.

  “I am not experienced or qualified to slice open a patients brain. Maybe I could get the tumour out – and kill him in the process, or leave him with devastating brain damage. I'm not doing it, I can't because I might kill him.”

  “What if I helped you?” Greg looked as desperate as he sounded.

  Christian felt an ache in his heart for Greg, his good friend, who would do anything to save his best friend.

  “Greg, you're a bite doctor trained in the field during the apocalypse. You're not a professional doctor and certainly not a surgeon. I'll scan him. If it has come back, I can find him some medication to control the seizures and later on, when he needs it, pain relief. But that's all I can do. If I tried to do anything more I'd be signing his death warrant. I wouldn't know how to operate on a human brain, so I wouldn't even think about trying.”

  “But you can scan him?”

  “Of course I can, and I might gain a clear insight into exactly what we're up against, too. I just can't cure him. Let's go and find him and get that scan done, we should focus on what can be done rather than what's out of the question.”

  Greg nodded in agreement, then they walked up the corridor together as he said no more as he led the way, his face pale and his eyes stinging with tears as they went off to find Marc.

  Far out at sea, a cruise liner was in the shadow of the burned out skeleton of the oil rig Haven-117. The man who had journeyed close to shore many miles away had now returned, after rowing to a small village where a fishing boat was waiting to take him out to sea where an old cruise liner waited his return. Once back on board the great ship named Apocalypse Queen, he had been greeted with much celebration from those on board – after many, many months at sea, a place had finally been found – a secure town that kept out the dead, a place where life could thrive...

  As the young man who had returned to the ship stood before him and talked of the poor sea defences and how the zombie unleashed on the beach had been shot by a man who had collapsed on the ground, the captain listened with interest.

  “And how many armed men came after the initial shot?” he asked.

  “Ten, maybe more.”

  He started to smile. His ice blue eyes sparkled at the thought of fulfilling his promise to those who had accepted him as leader, people who had joined him to become his crew and his followers in the long years they had spent at sea with occasional visits back to land to steal what they could find to keep going. At last, a secure town... with its greatest weakness the open water, it was like a gift laid at his feet. He thought about the man held in the cells far below the deck.

  “So the idiot Alex Casper was right,” he remarked, pausing to run his fingers through raven black hair peppered with grey, “I never did think his ranting about a town called Circus could be entirely fictional...” he glanced to the man stood before him.

  “You did well, you may leave us now.”

  As his spy left the luxurious cabin, the door closed behind him. Then Captain Brandon Hazlewood leaned back at his desk and reached for a glass of brandy and sipped it.

  “What do you think, my dear?” he asked his female companion as she stood looking out to sea, her back turned.

  She gave no reply.

  “I have given you shelter, fine clothing and accommodation, good food... THE LEAST YOU CAN DO IS LOOK AT ME!” he yelled.

  She turned towards him, a vision in a long lilac dress, her flame red hair was piled high and diamonds glittered about her throat. Her eyes were cold as she regarded him, they were always cold, even on the rare occasion when she smiled. He had met her at sea, when she had been fleeing an undead invasion of her territory. They led lives that saw them together but always apart when night fell. Either she mourned her dead husband deeply, or she was the coldest bitch on earth. He wante
d to love her. He wanted it enough to keep her at his side, but where else could she go? The earth was crawling with the dead.

  “I gave you everything in a world that had nothing!” he fumed, “I even found those kids a safe place in that coastal village in Scotland...a place of safety with a group of people who were building a community! I didn't have to do that for you! But I left the children there, because you begged me to help them. You've come out of this very well, too. The least you can do is answer me, Serena!”

  She still said nothing, standing there looking beautiful as her eyes reflected sadness and the third eye tattoo on her brow seemed to lend an air of mystery to her. He was sure he would never be able to define that mystery, and that was why she fascinated him. Of the two hundred people on board this ship, from criminals to roaming bands of survivors who had joined him, he had never met anyone with her air of fascination.

  “Speak!” he ordered.

  “I think you've done enough talking for both of us,” she replied, “Tell me, Hazlewood, what makes you think this town you desire is so special? It could be no more than a few shacks, another shattered place with poor defences...”

  “We picked up Alex Casper a few months back,” he reminded her, “he soon talked in exchange for a cell and food and with torture, he will sing like a bird. Applying a few beatings got the location out of him in the end. I just need a few more details. There didn't seem to be as much defence around that town as he claimed if so few men showed up when one of my undead entered their territory.”

  “Maybe I can talk to Alex,” she replied, silently recalling how that poor man had endured several months of bad treatment as he was forced to reveal the location of his home town. The man was sick, it was clear to see – his mind was unbalanced, he was vulnerable. She wanted to protect him from Hazlewood, who was an absolute beast, a man who had been made by the apocalypse – but of course, he never liked to be reminded of his true identity. That always brought him down from the kingly heights he imagined himself whenever he was in her presence.

  “I'm sure you'll work something out,” she added, “You are the mighty and feared Captain Hazlewood.”

  He smirked.

  “At last you're seeing me for what I really am, it's about time!”

  She arched an eyebrow as she looked at him doubtfully.

  “What you really are? Do you mean the used car salesman who stole a big ship and some guns? Yes, that was you...Mr Nobody, before the apocalypse.”

  Anger fired up in his eyes. She knew that look, he was about to yell or hit her or both. She remembered her husband – after fleeing Wolfsheer and seeing no more of him, it was hard to believe he was most likely dead, but the island had been over run... perhaps she was the only survivor. But she kept Antonio Parsons firmly locked in her heart as she recalled he would advise her to do what ever it took to survive, and she certainly had done that since being captured by Hazlewood. Now and then she allowed him sex – but not love. He would never deserve that, his heart was made of ice and he had blood on his hands – the blood of the undead did not come into this, he had killed to raid other survivors for their possessions.

  Now she had walked over to Hazlewood, she leaned in and kissed him softly and then pulled back, still leaning as his hands cupped her breasts through the fabric of her dress. Their eyes met and at once he was held by that unnameable fascination he felt at the sight of her.

  “I often wonder what it means when I see that look in your eyes,” he said, squeezing her breasts firmly.

  A smile flickered about her lips as she kept her secrets to herself.

  “One day,” she promised him, “You'll find out...”

  Cleo had stayed home with the children. Zodiac had asked a lot of questions as he had witnessed a tearful farewell as Marc, Vicki and his father had got into the car and then driven away. Cleo had watched them leave and said little about the situation – Zodiac knew his mother had died from zombie attack when he was a child, since then, Greg's closest friends had been his family. It was too soon for him to worry about his Uncle Marc until the results of the scan. As the car disappeared from view, she closed the door keeping her worries to herself, at least for now, until Marc had answers.

  In the time that followed, while Marc went with Christian to have the scan, Greg sat in the waiting room by the entrance with Vicki. The poor girl was worried sick, seeing her so upset and anxious was as heartbreaking as knowing Marc could be seriously ill. Vicki had been doing so well. If this was serious, she might never get over it... He closed his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “What ever happens, we have to be strong for Marc,” he reminded her.

  She nodded, giving no reply.

  “And this could be nothing at all,” he added, trying to sound as hopeful as he wished he could feel, “It may not be what we fear – maybe he's developed epilepsy because of the surgery a few years back. Or maybe it's not even that, maybe he thought he had a seizure. He might have passed out. It could have been caused by some unrelated, treatable problem.”

  “I really want to think so,” Vicki agreed.

  “So do I,” Greg replied, looking to the clock on the wall as the wait became unbearable, then he fell silent, his thoughts with his best friend as he waited, worrying deeply.

  Marc had said nothing after the scan, he had sat in the office and waited for Christian to return. He didn't know what the result would be, Christian had given nothing away when he told him it was done and said he needed time to look closely at the results. Obviously there was something – or maybe he could see nothing wrong at all and wanted to be sure. He wished Greg was with him. Then Christian came back into the room with his results and sat down at the desk. He looked at him, and before he spoke, Marc knew the news was not good.

  Twenty minutes later he left the office and with Christian at his side, went back to the waiting area to join the others. As they entered the room Vicki and Greg stood up, both looking anxious as Marc looked at them, his expression was one of utter devastation.

  “It's bad news,” was all he said, then as Vicki sobbed, Greg rushed forward, embracing his best friend who cried on his shoulder.

  “It's okay mate, we'll handle this,” Greg vowed as he held back his own tears, trying to stay strong for the man he loved as a brother.

  As Greg let go of him Marc wiped his eyes, pulling himself together in time to catch Vicki as he put an arm around her shoulder, pulled her close and hugged her, he then let go of her too and looked at the two people who were closest to him. His gaze shifted from Vicki to Greg.

  Christian said nothing as he stood slightly back from the others, watching as the heartbreaking scene unfolded. Marc had taken the news badly, it had been a shock even though he had partly been expecting it, but he had said, he needed to tell the others himself.

  “It's definitely back,” he said as his voice trembled, “And it's fast growing... aggressive...Christian could tell me that much. He also thinks I may not have long left. It depends on how quickly it takes me. I could have six weeks or six months but to think beyond that would be pointless.”

  Vicki was crying again. Greg was holding his emotion in check, determined to stay strong for Marc.

  “So what can you do, Christian?” Greg asked.

  He gave a sigh, shaking his head as he silently considered the little he could do to be so inadequate.

  “I can monitor his condition, give meds to stop the seizures, provide pain relief and keep him comfortable for as long as possible. I wish I could do more. But I'm not a brain surgeon... I'm so very sorry.”

  Marc placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “It's okay, Christian – I know you'll do all you can to help. As soon as I realised it could be back, I knew I was screwed. Most of the surgeons are dead, so are most doctors too – when the virus first struck the sick were taken to hospitals. They didn't stay sick long. They died, came back to life and killed everyone in their path. But I'm thankful we have you here alive and capa
ble, Doctor Wells..” he glanced at Greg, “And as much as a bite doctor can't help me with this, the fact that you're my best friend can certainly make life more bearable. You keep me strong....” now he turned to tearful Vicki, “You all do,” he said as his voice softened, then he drew Vicki into a tight embrace as Greg and Christian looked on, wishing they could help but knowing very little could be done – they could not save him from the inevitable.

  After the others left and Christian took a walk back down the corridor alone, he felt deeply saddened. Ever since their bonds of friendship had formed on Wolfsheer, those who had been thrown together by the apocalypse had bonded like family. Christian felt as if his own brother was dying. Then he turned his thoughts to his secret experiment: Flint. He had to check on him.

  He went to the end of the corridor, unlocked a door and went inside a narrow chamber, beyond that was another sealed door. He opened it, went inside and locked it behind him. As Christian stood there, he felt slightly guilty for having seized such a bad time for the others to grab this moment alone with his secret. The others had headed off home, devastated by the tragic news and he hated to make the most of such a dark time, but now he was locked in the medical centre alone with no one to witness all he saw before him:

  Flint's flesh was now a living shade. He had an ugly scar on his cheek and more on his neck and throat where torn flesh from the zombie attack had been repaired. As soon as the serum had started to work, it had been easy to clean him up. Once again, he looked like the showman who used to run the zombie circus. But he was scarred and his once flowing hair was now cropped close to his head, growing out evenly after the strands it had been reduced to fell away as the serum reversed the virus.

  He was still recognisable as Flint, but he doubted there was anything left of the man he used to be – not in his mind, that had to be gone after the ravages of the infection... But scans had indicated the same as the equipment around his bed – all vital signs were strong and healthy now. He had taken the precaution of using restraints to keep Flint strapped to the bed. It seemed unlikely he would try and move, let alone put together an escape plan – but he wanted to cover everything. He did not want the mistakes made with Lillith on Wolfsheer to ever be repeated.