Mike’s muscles flexed as he held the creature at bay, jerking his head out of reach of each attempted bite. The creature was beginning to gnaw at the plastic. Blood dripped from its eye as the struggle slowly forced the syringe further into the socket, but if the vacuum was breached, that would stop. Mike had to maintain his grip on the creature’s flailing arms and hands otherwise he risked getting scratched. Their faces were just a few centimetres apart. Sweat began to roll down Mike’s forehead, but the creature showed no such signs of strain. Mike took a deep breath, then all his curiosity, shock and fear vanished and was replaced by anger. This virus had taken the man he had loved and now it was trying to take him. He pulled his head and neck back as far as he could while maintaining his grip on his attacker’s wrists. Then, powered by pure fury, he head-butted the top of the syringe with hurricane force. The plunger surged through the soft tissue then slowed down when it reached the denser fabric of the brain. The squelching sound caused bile to bubble in the back of Mike’s throat. Eventually the device could move no more. The growling and struggling stopped, and Mike felt the weight of the lifeless creature as it began to fall back. He took the strain and, like moving a piece of large furniture across a room, walked it to the bed and let it flop onto the mattress.
Mike collapsed into the chair. Sweat was still running down his forehead and he was slowly trying to get his breathing back under control while studying the figure on the bed.
Blood and gore began squirting in small bursts against the inside of the balloon. Mike watched for a second, saw a small piece of something dirty pink in colour which he assumed could only be brain, fell to his knees with a thud and, without having time to find a receptacle, vomited violently. Thankfully there wasn’t much there, but the retching was still loud and painful. Each time he thought he’d finished, he looked back at what used to be Alex and started again. As the final strands of thick saliva dropped onto the carpet, tears formed in Mike’s eyes and the retching turned to sobbing. The sobs turned to cries of despair then a violent burst of tears as he doubled over. He wrapped his arms around himself, as if suffering from acute stomach ache, and tried to regain control.
CHAPTER TWO
The bedroom door creaked open and Emma walked in with a plate of toast and a mug of coffee. At first she was too busy trying to open and manoeuvre the door with only her elbows then, as she stepped into the room, the scene hit her like a tsunami. The coffee and toast fell to the floor, while her hands shot up to her mouth to stifle a scream. She stood there for a few seconds, looking between the clear balloon, which was slowly filling with blood and sediment, and her brother on the floor. She wanted to help him, but all she could do was pick up the small plastic waste bin by the door and heave her breakfast into it. She turned her back to Mike, not wanting to make it worse for him and also needing to hide her view from the horror show playing out on the bed.
Mike realised he’d have to regain his composure. His family needed him. He forced himself to start taking deep breaths. After about five, he was able to stifle his emotions. He wanted to get up and comfort his sister and then deal with Alex quickly and quietly, but before he could, the door swung open again and Sammy burst through.
Sammy saw her father and began screeching hysterically. Her body bent forward and stiffened, her arms and hands clenched by her sides. All her energy was being spent on wails of terror which shocked Mike and Emma out of their grieving.
“Em, get her the hell out. Now!” Mike croaked, as he jumped to his feet and pulled a cover over Alex’s head.
Emma grabbed Sammy and tried to coax her out of the room, but her body was rigid.
“Mike, help me!” Emma cried as she struggled in vain to move her sister.
Mike lurched across to help, only to become the target of the screeches. Sammy stood firing screams at him as if she were trying to knock him over with her voice.
“What did you do? What did you do to Daddy? What did you do to Daddy?” she howled at her half-brother, partly in fear, partly in anger. “Don’t touch me! What did you do? What did you do?”
Neither Mike nor Emma had witnessed anything like this before. Sammy was behaving like an injured animal. She was obviously in a state of shock and completely out of control. Mike heard Jake start to climb the stairs to find out what was going on. He knew that would make the situation even worse, so he did the only thing he could think of. He’d seen in films and read in books that when someone was hysterical, slapping them across the face sometimes snapped them out of it. She was probably going to hate him for the rest of her life anyway, so what did he have to lose? He raised his hand and slapped her, not with too much force, but enough to stop her screaming. The room fell silent and Sammy’s eyes widened in disbelief. Lost in the swell of emotions that was surging through her, she abruptly turned and ran out of the room. Emma’s mouth was agape. Mike had never laid a hand on any of them, not even in play. She looked at her brother and then headed towards the door.
“Sammy... Sammy, sweetheart... Sammy...” Emma called pleadingly as she followed her sister out of the room.
The footsteps faded across the landing and down the stairs. Mike heard muffled screams and sobs in equal measure as he stood for a moment, cradling and massaging his forehead. This particular nightmare was nowhere near over and there was a lot of work for him to do before he could think about going downstairs and trying to build bridges with his little sister and brother.
He went to the side of the bed where he hadn’t thrown up, reached underneath and pulled out a large black bag. He rolled it out flat and unzipped it.
Inside were two pairs of surgical gloves, two masks and another instruction sheet.
BODY DISPOSAL
CONTENTS:
ONE ADULT SIZE BODY BAG
TWO PAIRS LATEX GLOVES
TWO DISPOSABLE FACE MASKS
HEALTH AND SAFETY INSTRUCTION SHEET
NB: THIS IS A TWO-PERSON PROCEDURE. PLEASE DO NOT ATTEMPT THIS UNAIDED AS YOU MAY SUSTAIN AN INJURY.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he whispered to no-one in particular. “People are dying in the billions and they’re worried about me getting backache.” He shook his head and stood back to survey the best way to proceed.
Mike peeled back the bed sheets, revealing the frail corpse. His eyes were drawn to the left forearm and four welted scratch marks. That’s where the family’s personal nightmare had begun, three weeks before, when Alex had tried to help a neighbour whose husband had seemingly gone berserk. They had all seen the spread of the virus on the TV; it had decimated huge parts of the planet. Virtually every country you could name had lost the battle against this remorseless killer.
When the news first came in, people believed it was a huge hoax, something to finally top Orson Welles’ “War of the Worlds” broadcasts. But as the reports persisted and were followed by credible video footage by the BBC and CNN, it quickly became a startling reality. YouTube, Facebook and Twitter became survival diaries before going down forever. Science fiction had become science fact. Carriers of the virus died and then reanimated, but they were no longer recognisable as the people they had once been. When they came back, it seemed their sole purpose was to attack the living. And not just to attack, but to bite, to spread the infection. If you were bitten, you were as good as dead. The only variable was how long you would last – often just seconds, minutes at the most.
If you were scratched, there was a slim chance that you would survive but the vast majority of people died then reanimated. The time frame varied massively depending on the previous health of the person and what treatment they had been given, but reports mentioned anything from one or two days to several weeks between the initial attack and reanimation. However, there had been a few documented cases in France and the US where people lost consciousness, just like all the other victims, then, when it looked like they had taken their last breath, they woke up. They were f
rail from fighting off the virus, but they were alive. These people, these survivors – their blood could have been instrumental in developing a vaccine. But the virus had spread so quickly. The scientific infrastructure had been destroyed and there had not been enough time.
All this had been on the news for months. Within a few days of the first cases breaking out in the Far East, America and Australia, the UK grounded all flights and closed all ports. All military personnel serving overseas were immediately recalled, each one given a thorough examination and medical on re-entry. Because of these actions, Britain had escaped much of the horror the rest of the world had endured, but there had been two recent outbreaks: one in Portsmouth and one in Leeds. Those cities had been quarantined, and a huge military presence had been placed in each one with civilian movement kept to a minimum. Houses in the infected zones had been given emergency telephone numbers and kits in readiness for most eventualities.
The only people allowed to work were those deemed vital, such as health professionals and utility and sanitation workers. Refuse collectors travelled with an armed guard. They were seen as essential since in some countries the proliferation of vermin, in particular rats, had exacerbated the problems.
Key to halting the spread of the virus was keeping those infected in their homes, in the care of their families, rather than moving them to a hospital where hundreds or even thousands could be infected if something went wrong. A family member would have to call a dedicated NHS hotline number every four hours to give updates. If a call was missed, a computer raised a red flag, and the details were sent by automated email to a military command post on the outskirts of the city. A military doctor would then put in a call to the house. If there was no response, a “clean-up” team was dispatched.
Mike looked at his watch, conscious of the fact he would shortly have to make a call to the hotline to confirm his stepfather’s passing and make arrangements for them to collect the body.
He took hold of Alex’s ankles and pulled the body down, positioning Alex’s feet at the base of the bag. As he came back up, he caught some exposed skin at the bottom of his back on the corner of the old oak chest of drawers that had been in the family for decades.
“Fuck!” he yelled, as he rubbed the area frantically to try and numb the pain.
When the sting had subsided, he grabbed the lifeless figure underneath the armpits and gently lowered it to the floor and into the body bag. This would have been a real effort just a few weeks before, even for someone as strong as Mike, but now Alex’s body had wasted to bones and loose skin, making it all the more baffling that it had nearly overpowered him earlier on.
Mike zipped the bag up but paused ahead of covering the body completely. He would have to keep everything to himself about what had gone on that morning. It was important that his family remembered Alex as the man he was, not a blood-crazed monstrosity. Tears stung at the corner of his eyes again as he began to think of happier times.
“I swear to you, Alex, when this is over, when I know Sammy, Jake and Em are all safe, I’m going to mourn you properly.”
He looked at the blood-stained face behind the plastic bubble and cast his mind back to just a few days before. Then, it had been a more comforting face, a more familiar one. The cold, grey, claw-like hand had looked flesh-toned and human as it reached out to take Mike’s wrist.
“Don’t say anything, Mike, just listen... You and I got off to a shaky start. In the beginning there were times when I thought it might be better if we just stayed out of each other’s way until you left home. I’m glad we put the effort in. You know... all I can think of now... is how I want Jake to grow up to be just like you. You have to look after him, Mike. You have to look after all three of them. You’re the only person left in the world I would trust our family with. You’re the only one who can get them through this nightmare. Trust your instincts, be strong, and never ever give up.” Then Alex had let go of Mike’s wrist, taken hold of his hand and finally drifted off to sleep.
How long ago had that been? Two weeks, maybe, but it seemed like a lifetime ago. With that final memory, Mike zipped the bag to the top and clipped a mini padlock through the zipper and a small metal loop. Just as he did, there was a whirring sound and the lights came on. He checked his watch – eight o’clock – right on cue. Like everything else, electricity had been rationed. For the general population it was available from 8am to 8pm each day. He walked over to the bedside table, picked up the phone and dialled the number now etched in his brain.
“NHS Leeds and District Emergency Hotline, please give me your sixteen-digit key card number,” a female voice responded.
When Alex had been scratched, the family had been issued with a key card meaning they could get immediate access to help, if and when needed.
“Key card 8312 4442 1616 1687.”
“And who am I speaking to, please?” asked the female voice.
“My name’s Mike, Mike Fletcher.”
“I won’t be a moment, Mr Fletcher. I’m just calling up your details now. Okay, Mr Fletcher. Firstly, you are aware that you’ve come through to the cessation hotline?”
The corners of Mike’s mouth raised a little. Cessation hotline, he thought to himself, what a wonderfully impersonal way of phrasing it.
“Yes, I am.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr Fletcher. If you could bear with me for a few moments, I’ll make the arrangements for the collection of Mr Alexander Munro now. Can I ask, did you use the RPA as directed?”
“Yes.”
“Was there any leakage, or did the device malfunction in any manner?”
“No.”
“Has the body been placed in the bag provided and sealed as requested?”
“Yes, it has.”
“Who has been in contact with the body since the cessation?”
There was that word again. “Just me.”
“Okay, Mr Fletcher, I’m sending a collection unit to your address now. They should be there within half an hour. There’ll be a doctor with the team who’ll take some blood samples from you as well as Emma, Jade and Samantha—”
“That’s Jake, not Jade,” Mike interrupted.
“My apologies, Mr Fletcher, I was reading from the last entered field notes. Yes, Jake Munro, I’ll just amend the screen... There. Now, as I was saying, there’ll be a doctor who’ll take blood samples and carry out a brief physical examination of each member of the household.”
“Is there no way that could be done later? I mean, it’s already been a pretty horrific day and it’s only just turned eight. I’m not sure how much more I can pile on a six and an eight year old.”
“I’m very sorry, Mr Fletcher, but it’s essential, for obvious reasons. We do have bereavement councillors available, if you would like me to organise one for you?”
Mike let out a deep breath. “No, that’s okay, thanks.”
“Well, if you do change your mind, Mr Fletcher, just call back on this line. In the meantime, I’ve made all the arrangements for you. I’ve notified your case worker and your names have been removed from the scheduled call list. Once again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“Goodbye, Mr Fletcher.”
“Bye.”
Mike hung up the receiver and headed downstairs. He walked into the living room and found Jake and Sammy nestled either side of Emma. Both children were sobbing, and teardrops were fresh on his older sister’s face. He opened his mouth to speak and Emma gave a quick shake of her head as if to say you’d only make things worse, so he said nothing and walked through the living room into the kitchen. The kettle on the gas stove was still half full, so he reignited the flame and grabbed a mug. While he was waiting for the kettle to boil, he opened the cupboard underneath the sink and got out a bucket, disinfectant and a cloth. That mess he had made upstairs wasn’t going to clean itsel
f up and he was pretty sure no-one else was going to volunteer.
As he walked back, he mouthed to Emma half an hour. She nodded. They had discussed, many times, what would happen once Alex died, so when Mike mouthed the words she instantly knew what they meant.
CHAPTER THREE
The doorbell rang and Mike answered to find that it was the medical team, as promised. He told the two men in hazmat suits to wait in the hall while he ushered a doctor and a young nurse into the living room. As the nurse passed him, their eyes met and Mike couldn’t shake the feeling he knew her from somewhere. He looked outside to see if there was anyone else waiting and saw two uniformed, and armed, soldiers in the front of what looked like a military ambulance, but nobody else. He took the hazmat men upstairs while Emma dealt with the doctor.
The doctor and nurse had walked into houses and situations like this more times than they wished to remember in the past few months. They had learnt early on that when there were children involved, the best way to deal with them was to be as disarming and friendly as possible, rather than hiding behind titles and white coats. As the pair of them entered the room, Sammy and Jake looked up, and for the first time in over an hour, they stopped crying.
“Hi, I’m Dr Blair, but you can call me Lucy, and this is Samantha,” the doctor announced with a soft New England accent.
“My name’s Samantha too,” said Sammy, with a quiet and shaky voice.
The nurse bent down and smiled at the child. “That automatically makes us friends. I didn’t think when I woke up this morning I was going to make a new friend today. How cool is that?”
SAFE HAVEN: RISE OF THE RAMS Page 2
