Beach Town: Apocalypse

by Maxwell-Harrison, Thomas

  Harry had felt the same as the reporter when he saw the nurses devouring the child.

  “And if that isn’t enough it seems the government have issued emergency vaccines to doctor’s surgery’s, with flu jabs being given near Haker Street Medical. Suspicious behaviour should be reported to the police immediately and all residents are warned against going to the hospital. Avoid travelling alone. Okay folks, I think that does it, oh wait, hold on, there’s something else. Well the police are going to need to explain this to us, they are setting up regular foot patrols around the town, all officers will be armed and are instructed to shoot anyone posing a threat to others and to the town hall or surrounding buildings. Whew that was a lot to take in folks, so I guess we’ll be together till nine am, so stick around for more banging tunes.” The presenter put a song on, Harry didn’t recognise the tune. He leant on the counter staring at the radio, stunned.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Harry said. Harry turned back to the fridge and opened it. He scanned the shelves and pulled a carton of orange and some bacon and brown sauce.

  Harry ate some fried bacon with sliced bread and drank a few glasses of the orange juice.

  Harry walked back into the living room and slumped onto the sofa. Harry dreaded what news reporters would say. Harry didn’t like the news but, in a crisis, it might come in handy. Harry’s ass was aching, and his spine sore with bruises after the wrench attack. The firm sofa cushions did little to help. Harry clicked the forty-inch plasma on, and channel hopped until he found the international news channel. He bit his lips with impatience.

  The road outside was quiet. There were no cars or dog walkers, joggers or postmen. Nothing. The news repeated the weather for several minutes before cutting to a suited lady, a government representative. She sounded bleak giving vague details about people killing other people in mass groups and eating them. Harry’s ears perked up. She said the attackers had come back to life from the dead.

  Harry’s mouth dribbled and he wiped it on his arm. Unbelievable. Unbelievable. Harry was not prepared for such news. The people who he had narrowly escaped from at the hospital were in fact, dead. The crisis became real now. The woman was shaking as she held the microphone. Swat officers appeared into view behind her. Police joined the tv swat.

  The camera didn’t show the soldiers, but Harry heard military orders. It was getting stranger. Then the tanks rolled by in the background. Soldiers escorted the tanks carrying assault rifles. Irrelevant details passed over Harry.

  Harry snapped out of his gaze. A woman cried outside. Harry leapt to his feet, his heart pounding. Was it his imagination running away? Harry stepped to the windows and looked at the street. Someone was crying loudly, then another cry. Harry darted to the hallway and grabbed his black waterproof jacket.

  The curfew made Harry stop with his hand on the front door handle. He waited for another scream. He pulled the handle expecting the beasts to be swarming the street. It was clear. Harry walked down the garden path and scanned the road. To his shock a neighbour was screaming for help further down the street. She was surrounded by the creatures. Her house was mobbed by at least five of the dead. She was trying to run out of her front porch, but they attacked.

  Harry panicked. Should he go back inside and phone for the police? Of course not, because the government had cut all communication. Yet the police demanded we call them when exactly this happened, idiots Harry thought.

  Harry watched in awe as a patrolling officer ran to aid the woman with his pistol drawn. Harry leant on the picket fence. The officer gasped and let off two rounds.

  ‘Get inside sir,’ he yelled. The woman could not get back inside, she was trapped. The officer kept aim at the monsters. The dead wore patient gowns and had nurses’ uniforms on, some wore shorts and t-shirts. Harry suspected the police were able to properly quarantine the hospital, but the dead had escaped before their arrival.

  ‘Call for backup,’ Harry shouted through his hands. Teamwork was critical, Harry watched as the officer took out another with a headshot. Harry wanted a gun, wanted to run and take a few out himself.

  The officer fired round after round to no avail. The woman was being eaten alive by the mob. Harry saw a man leaning out from a window upstairs, he tossed some glass bottles, but they did nothing. The dead swarmed the officer as he tried to reload. Harry saw him using his chest radio. The officer slipped a clip in and Harry could not see him as the dead had surrounded him. Five gunshots echoed through the street, two more popped and the dead dropped around the office as he reloaded again. Harry squeezed the fence, the officer was brave, he was doing well, and Harry hoped backup would arrive to help him. Otherwise the disease would-be all-over town in a short while.

  A black swat van zoomed past Harry startling him. The van drove into the crowd of dead people. Their heads were mashed under the tires. Four swat officers pushed open the rear door and jumped out. Automatic rifles went off. The swat team fired relentlessly into the dead. The valiant patrol officer was crouching at the rear of the van. He glanced at Harry. Harry saw the fear in his face.

  Instinctively Harry crouched back to the safety of his house. Locking the front door behind him. He ran back into the sitting area to get an unobstructed view of the danger. The radio in the kitchen was announcing the incident and Harry figured the radio station had access police frequencies to keep people informed. The announcer said to stay inside and lock doors.

  ‘Shit,’ Harry said. ‘This is not contained.’ Harry could see other neighbours peeking from windows and hanging out of upstairs windows.

  The patrol officer had begun to walk down the street, seemingly unscathed. The gunfire had ceased. The woman had been killed. The swat officers swiftly piled the bodies into a pile. One of them retrieved a large gasoline canister from the van. Then he poured the fuel onto the bodies. Another officer stepped forward, lit and tossed a match to the deceased.

  The smoke was black. Harry could not believe how diabolical the situation was. The police burning the diseased bodies in the street rather than taking them away was stupid. Harry saw the incident unfold and it wasn’t a mild problem, it was potentially lethal to the entire town. If more of the dead wander into the streets people will be killed.

  In the house on the opposite side of the street, in the living room window Harry could see a man vomiting. Harry was blocked up and couldn’t smell anything. The couple there had been caring to Harry and his family. Harry wondered if he should go and ask about James and Molly. They should be in town somewhere; Harry knew in his heart they could not be at the hospital. It was deserted and the ward with James’s name had given him hope he had been discharged or Molly took him to her parents.

  The reality sunk in; the radio continued to play tunes as he sat there watching the news for another hour. Harry turned the tv and radio off at nine. At least news channels were reporting something. But the details didn’t say anything specific such as how it started or where, or even what caused it.

  Harry stepped onto the pavement and the street had come alive. Neighbours packed luggage into their cars whilst crying. They hurried their children into the backseats. To the right of Harry, a young woman was loading a baby into an Alfa Romeo, she was sobbing. Harry knew the bridge was clogged up and the families could not leave. Survival instinct told Harry that trying to escape to the city was a bad idea. Judging by the traffic jam, Harry presumed the bridge toll booths had been shut, that would explain no traffic coming the other way.

  At this point, it was safer to stay inside.

  CHAPTER 12

  Deterioration of Beach Town

  Main street shops opened as usual on Sunday. Until the local radio started announcing the curfew forcing residents to stay at home and businesses to close early.

  Harry walked down main street toward the police station. He looked down the side of the police station to the rear carpark. A queue of people lined up waiting to enter the tent and be tested.

  Main street was unfunctional. The café remai
ned open, police would need to buy refreshments and lunch from somewhere. Harry saw people wander in and out of the café. The blissfully hopeful people who think it won’t get worse and the police can handle it.

  Harry was lucky to be alive. There were a handful of others who knew the reality that you can’t contain something so ghastly. He walked up the police station steps past the guarding officers and pushed his way into the entrance hall. The reception desk was empty.

  Harry waited for the desk clerk to arrive. He wondered where Doctor Jamie was. Was Jamie one of the hazmat guys or had he gone home. Harry was confident there were enough doctors living in town to treat everyone. Even if they set up more tents. The lack of officers walking around the station told Harry that at least a third would be keeping the hospital in lockdown.

  After some five minutes a woman in her thirties with an athletic build and blonde locks stepped forward from a door behind the desk. A fruity overpowering fragrance hit Harry and he accidentally ingested the scent.

  ‘I’m here to report two missing people,’ Harry said. ‘They were at the hospital last…’ Harry realised his keys were at home and the house was unlocked. His wallet was on the bedroom cabinet. He’d forgotten his wallet when he took Sheila to the interview. With the current situation people would be tempted to steal from others. Harry shook at the thought.

  ‘Okay,’ the clerk said. ‘Can you fill out this form with their names and dates of birth.’ She picked a yellow tinted sheet up from the desk along with a black ballpoint chained to the desk and passed them to Harry. Harry filled the details as quickly as he could. One question that stumped him was the last known location. Harry saw his family at the beachfront. Molly said they went to hospital, the ward sign confirmed it.

  ‘Hospital,’ he muttered. The clerk opened a drawer and flicked through some papers. ‘Here.’ Harry passed the form back and the clerk scanned over the document.

  ‘Okay we’ll investigate sir,’ she said. ‘As you know there is a government curfew in place, and we are extremely overworked. I don’t want to give sad news…’ Harry interrupted her.

  ‘It’s okay I was there, I’ve seen them.’ The clerk’s mouth dropped. Harry started to walk towards the entrance doors. He may have said something he shouldn’t.

  Outside the station, the occasional car drove past and some folks were bickering outside the café.

  Harry’s looked at the opera house, it looked open. He should have been at work but continuing life after losing contact with his family was overwhelming and the incident at the hospital had frightened him. Residents went about their lives and two or three businesses were open. Harry had to return to normalcy. Too much alienation and he would lose motivation altogether. If people saw the monsters roaming the hospital, they would change their mind about keeping calm. As the residents on his street had panicked, so would the town.

  Harry stepped down the police station steps to the pavement. The pub had a few drunk punters outside. Harry wanted some alcohol, but he didn’t have his wallet or the patience. A drink would calm the anxiety rising in him.

  Losing his family was too much and it was destroying him. Harry couldn’t keep it together. His thoughts were astray. A gunshot abruptly boomed through the street, people screamed, and the café goers ducked. Harry ran around to the side of the police station. Officers had shot a man who lay bleeding out. It wasn’t clear why. Harry assumed it was another infected who had escaped the hospital. Harry realised the motorway was not being watched and the queue had gone on for miles. If the disease had spread the entire length of the bridge then the batch that had wandered in from the motorway turn-off was the least of the towns worries. The entire fucking city could be overrun. Harry left the scene and walked down main street to the opera house.

  The opera was locked. Harry looked inside the glass doors, the entrance was polished, and a red rope hung from two golden posts, blocking entry to the venue.

  A mob of drunk pub goers began shout, taunting the police outside the station.

  ‘What’s this curfew about then? I’ll go out and go anywhere I want to,’ one man shouted. Another lugged a stone narrowly missing the police. The police were unmoved. A mother shielded her son outside the café and rushed him inside. A couple walking past the bank turned around and headed the opposite way. Anyone who walked onto main street hid around building corners. Harry saw a man spying from behind the pub.

  The drunken men continued to yell insults. Harry decided it was time to visit Sheila. Molly may have taken James there; it was a long shot. Harry needed to see Sheila regardless.

  Four officers exited the police station and stood in the street in a stand-off against the punters. The drunks shouted racial insults at a black officer and threw stones at him. A woman came from the pub and taunted the police with the birdie. The officers were holding their ground. Harry recalled the radio, if anyone posed a threat to the police station or town hall then lethal force would be used.

  Harry was about to walk away, but an officer equipped his pistol and aimed at a man who stumbled and vomited. The crowd of drunks turned to him. Harry ducked down behind the black bin outside the opera house. The vomiting drunk was hacking all over the road on his hands and knees. The crowd had taken a step back from the vomiting man. An officer stepped forward aiming at the man on the floor. The drunks went in to help the sick man, but the police yelled to stay away and pointed their guns at the crowd. ‘Move back.’

  Harry looked at the police station. Dean was looking out of a top floor window. Dean was pointing and explaining something to another officer next to him.

  The sick man dropped to his stomach and black goop poured from his mouth and nose. The crowd were aghast. The sick man began to groan. The gargling took Harry’s mind back to the hospital. Being trapped in that blood storage room surrounded by the dead. Harry wondered who the man was whom he accidentally threw the blood over. It didn’t matter now.

  ‘Get back,’ Harry shouted from behind the bin. ‘Listen to them.’ The crowd ignored Harry. The corpse rose to its feet, as the news had said, and the drunk was now dribbling green and black pus, his eyes streaking in tar gunk. Harry saw Dean open the station window.

  ‘Fire,’ Dean shouted. The officers began to fire round after round. A barrage of lead struck the diseased man in the head and torso. Blood sprayed amongst the tarmac road. The drunks dispersed, running frantically back to the pub. Harry looked to Dean who spotted him. He waved to Dean, but Dean ignored him and shut the window.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Harry grumbled. His leg’s stiff from crouching and his spine solidifying from the lack of movement. Harry watched as the officers returned to the station carrying the body to the rear. It was surreal the drama had come and gone all in the space of five minutes. The drunks were probably in the pub shaking and getting afraid. It was time they did, it was time the town did. Harry knew Beach Town was not prepared for this.

  Harry stood and began to walk down main street. To Sheila’s to try and formulate a plan. An evacuation from Beach Town was needed. But not without his family.

  CHAPTER 13

  Riots And Rations

  The walk from main street to Sheila’s was ten minutes. Harry took a right at the end of main street down and headed down a residential road towards Firtree park. Sheila flat was in a tower block at the end of the park.

  Firtree park was full of gossiping parents. Harry walked slowly to try and catch a conversation about the situation. They chatted about their lives, seemingly oblivious to the outbreak. Dog walkers jogged around along the path past Harry. Kids played on the swings and roundabout. School must have been shut as precaution.

  Harry saw two officers patrolling the perimeter of the park. The thick brush and various trees were beginning to flower an assortment of colours. Harry lost sight of them. Harry hadn’t seen any ticket wardens today. He hadn’t seen postmen or milkmen. The unusual was the new normal.

  Harry approached Green Life elementary school. James was a pupil there.
Harry investigated the deserted classrooms as he walked towards Sheila’s. At the front of the building the front door was covered in police notices. Harry stopped to read one. “The education of pupils is important. Due to a government notice we have been closed down until further notice.” Harry wasn’t surprised anymore. He continued towards the block of flats. Its exterior clean white. The doors shone in the midday sun.

  Harry reached the door and pushed the intercom to Sheila’s flat; number one, one five, tenth floor.

  ‘Who is it?’ Sheila answered quickly. The dirtied speaker hissed as usual.

  ‘Harry.’ Sheila buzzed him in instantly.

  The tower guard sat at the elevator looking sombrous. Hunched over reading last week’s newspaper. Harry was annoyed the local paper had been cancelled due to financial reasons. Beach Town Daily had ceased trading about five days ago. Harry thought it might be connected to the outbreak but that was too farfetched.

  Harry stepped into the gloomy hallway of the tenth floor. Neighbours radios and tv’s were blurting the news out. Harry knew people would be too interested not to find out the truth. Harry knocked on Sheila’s door. He heard some furniture being moved and then the door opened.

  ‘Finally,’ Harry said and stepped inside. He walked over to her sofa and planted his backside down. Sheila was still limping, but she moved about ok. ‘It that necessary?’ Harry added. Sheila struggled to push the bookshelf back against the door. The kettle was boiling in the kitchen. Harry’s legs melted into the purple fur blanket covering the sofa.

  ‘Yes, after the hospital do you really think anywhere is safe. I tried calling, nothing.’ Sheila struggled with the bookshelf, so Harry go up and pushed it the rest of the way.

  Sheila walked into the open plan kitchen and brewed two cups of coffee bringing them back into the living room. The smell of black coffee and her flowery perfume was a little sickening. Harry took his cup from Sheila. This was what he would do if he fell out with Molly. Molly and he wouldn’t talk for a day or two, but things always got better. At Sheila’s he’d have to endure Wendy. Wendy governed the Town Hall planning department, according to some people she did a decent job. All Wendy would do is bicker about Harry’s lack of moral compass and lack of work variety. She always urged him to consider applying to have the theatre seating area extended to bring in more cash, but what did she know about money and business, nothing.