The Lazarus Contagion: An apocalyptic horror novel (Dying Breed Book 1)

by Jacob Rayne

  The car fishtailed wildly to the left, hurling Abbott into the door and flinging Sylvia’s mangled face into Hammett’s lap.

  The movement also took Sylvia’s foot off the gas pedal, bringing the car to a halt.

  Duggan had sense enough to grab the plank that had been below his feet before the guard’s blundering had broken it.

  The plank fell until it was vertical, pointing down into the black pit like it was showing Duggan where he was headed, and jarring him as it came to an abrupt halt. The plank still seemed secured at the top end somehow and he was grateful for that.

  Already though, his arms were burning from the effort of hugging the plank.

  ‘Keep hold,’ Zeke said. ‘We’re on our way down.’

  ‘I will,’ Duggan said, despairing. The voice may as well have come from the heavens it seemed so far away. Already, he felt himself slipping, felt the wood straining beneath his weight.

  Hammett let out a cry of disgust as he threw Sylvia’s bleeding head out of his lap. He wiped his bloody hands on the car seat, grabbed the gun and barged the door open.

  The sudden opening dropped him on the floor, driving rocks into his knees. He cried out in surprise and looked up to see that some of the guards were already on their way towards the car.

  The rear door flew open and Abbott rolled out onto the dusty road.

  Blood soaked the Texan captain, but he still had his cigar, Stetson and look of determination.

  Before Hammett could say anything, Abbott had disappeared under the car in a cloud of dust and started loosing off automatic fire towards the guards at the roadblock.

  Hammett saw two of the gasmasks fill up with blood and saw their owners fall, bringing up their own dust clouds.

  ‘Get outta here, Sergeant,’ Abbott called between gunshots. ‘I’ll hold off these godless cocksuckers.’

  ‘No, Sir. We go together.’

  To prove his point, Abbott took out a guard approaching from their right.

  ‘I ain’t arguing, Sergeant.’

  ‘Sir, with respect, I’m going to need your help in days to come. You’re no good to me dead.’

  ‘These stupid sons of bitches can’t kill me, Hammett.’

  Another burst of gunfire blotted out the rest of Abbott’s rant and dropped three more guards. ‘But lying here ain’t good for my knees. You find us a car and I’ll come with.’

  Another guard fell with a spurting hole in the side of his head.

  Hammett looked around and saw a car abandoned in the trees to their left.

  ‘Yes, that’s the closest one,’ Abbott said without looking round. ‘Don’t just stand there, go and get her.’

  Duggan’s heart leapt into his throat as the plank let out a cacophonous creak and dropped by a few inches.

  He realised that the sound was due to one of the nails coming loose at the top of the plank.

  His arms felt numb, both from the effort of gripping the plank and from the ragged edges digging into his biceps, and he knew it wasn’t long before he plunged into the darkness.

  Only the thought of Mark kept him gripping on, his teeth drawing blood on the inside of his lower lip.

  He prayed they wouldn’t be too much longer.

  Hammett blotted out the sounds of death and destruction around him and focussed on finding the keys to the abandoned car.

  A man and a woman – or at least according to their footwear, the bodies were too rotten to tell – sat in the car seats.

  It was looking increasingly likely that he was going to have to go through their pockets to find the keys. It was not something he was looking forward to, but he did it, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before the guards surrounded Abbott’s position.

  The woman’s handbag was empty, its contents tipped on the floor.

  The man was slumped in the passenger seat, but maybe he had the key.

  Hammett put his hand into a mass of rotten gunk and recoiled. He forced himself to put his hand back in. There were a few coins, what felt like chewed up gum but nothing that felt like a car key.

  A glint came from between the dead man’s legs. He gripped him by the shoulders, not overly keen on the sliding, squishing motion his hands made on the rotting flesh, and hauled him out of the car.

  The dead man landed with a sickening wet thud.

  Among the dried blood and fragments of bone, Hammett found the key.

  While he messed around with the key, Abbott’s gunfire stopped.

  He heard the Texan Captain’s cursing from his position.

  The swearing intensified as bullets slammed into the bumper above his head.

  ‘Hurry the fuck up, Hammett,’ he bellowed, whacking another magazine into his gun.

  He fired in an arc, dropping the two guards who were trying to flank him.

  Hammett leant over and shoved the female corpse out of the driver seat with his foot.

  The engine finally caught and turned over.

  Hammett turned the car round in a wide arc then stopped and fired a burst at the guard who’d almost crept up behind Abbott.

  He sped to the front of the car, braying on the horn so Abbott knew he was there.

  ‘Alright, I hear ya. Can’t really miss you with the exhaust fucked like that. Cover me while I get my ass out from under here.’

  Hammett did as instructed and laid down suppressing fire. He only hit one of the guards, making his leg spurt blood onto the dust beneath him, but it had the desired effect, giving Abbott time to crawl clear from beneath the car.

  He used the bonnet to drag himself to his feet and loosed off a few rounds to make sure the guards didn’t snipe at him as he staggered away.

  Hammett fired again, making the guards scurry for cover.

  Abbott hauled himself to the passenger side and fell in.

  While he did, one of the guards emerged from behind them. His shot shattered the wing mirror next to Abbott’s arm.

  ‘Motherfuckin—’ Abbott said, the rest obliterated by his blasting.

  The guard fell, blood seeping from the holes in his gas mask.

  Hammett reversed the car in an arc and spun it. Then they left the guards in the dust.

  Abbott fired a few wild shots at them, more to make a point than anything else, and punched the air.

  ‘Nice one, Sergeant,’ he grinned around the cigar. ‘You’ll make captain yet.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir. You were impressive yourself.’

  ‘Ah, they expect it from me. They will from you too when we’re through with all of this.’

  ‘That’s an honour, Sir. Now, in case anything happens to me, the location of Jeffries’ base is a cigar shop on the outskirts of Greenville.’

  ‘Heaps of cattle shit. You’re kidding me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s where I used to buy my smokes. Oh the dirty rat fuckers are going to pay double for this shit.’

  Hammett floored the gas, eager to put as much distance between the guards, the sinister creatures and them as possible.

  Jesus, what’s keeping them? Duggan wondered.

  He didn’t even have the strength to shout to them.

  His arms were cramping now and he’d started to slide down the plank. The top was starting to tilt even more and he knew that it wouldn’t be long before he was hanging from a single nail.

  Something brushed his leg.

  He looked down, expecting it to be one of the weird moth things, but couldn’t see in the syrupy darkness.

  Something hit him on the back this time.

  There was quite a bit of weight behind it, so he hoped it wasn’t one of the creatures, as it would have to be fucking huge to make that powerful a blow.

  ‘Well grab hold then,’ Zeke’s impatient voice said.

  Duggan looked down and saw something fly at him from the gloom.

  His instinct was to recoil, thinking it was a bizarre snake, but then Zeke’s words made sense to him.

  ‘It’s a rope,’ he muttered.

 
The next time the rope hit him, he grabbed it with his right arm. The plank teetered and creaked in protest with his movement.

  ‘Put the loop around your waist,’ Zeke said. ‘Then climb up.’

  The chances of Duggan climbing anything were slim to none, but he didn’t tell the kid this. He fought to get the rope over his head and shoulders.

  The plank dropped away and disappeared into the gloom.

  It was a timely reminder not to fuck this up.

  He tightened the loop around his waist and hung for a moment, glad to not have to hold anything with his limp arms.

  ‘You wanna climb up, or what?’ Zeke shouted down.

  ‘I can’t, my arms are deader than shit,’ Duggan moaned.

  ‘If the others were here I’d get them to help pull you up, but I don’t know where they’ve gone.’

  ‘Ah crap.’

  ‘I know. I don’t think I can pull you up on my own.’

  ‘This is a bad time to be making cracks about my weight, kid.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’m joking. Now quit apologising and help me get down from here.’

  Duggan felt a pull at the top of the rope, but it was going to be far too weak to get him to safety.

  He stared down into the black pit and vowed he wasn’t going to die.

  He swung his legs a little, trying to build up enough momentum to reach the level nearest him. A small light glowed there, taunting him with its proximity and unattainability.

  ‘I’m just a kid on a swing,’ he muttered to himself, trying to blot out the plunge he would take if he fell, and swung again. It turned out it was something you never forgot.

  The rope was already starting to chafe the skin around his belly and it got worse as he moved.

  That was not going to stop him.

  This would not be where his life ended.

  He kicked his legs again and swung across the chasm.

  A few more kicks and he might be within reach of the next platform.

  After a few more swings he did have enough momentum to reach the platform. The only problem was that it was a good distance beneath him.

  Though it pained – and terrified – him to do so, he was going to have to untie the loop around his waist and use the extra length to reach the platform.

  Florence’s breath caught in her throat like a bubble as her eyelids snapped back with a dry click. The back of her head felt as though it had been pounded with nails.

  She coughed and glanced around.

  Groaned.

  The room slowly came into focus.

  She saw the dead girl, her lower regions a mass of blood and congealed flesh, staring at her with an amused grin.

  Florence looked up at her and shifted herself to a sitting position.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Change,’ the dead girl said. ‘You have changed.’

  ‘Why’s my head so sore?’ Florence asked, clutching a hand to the back of her head.

  The dead girl ignored her and pointed to the door. ‘Go. There is much to be done.’

  Florence got to her feet, and careened to one side like she’d downed several litres of vodka. She bent double, her hands on her waist, and closed her eyes while the room spun.

  When it slowed a little she stood up straight.

  Vomit rushed up her throat and splashed her bare feet. She saw blood mingled in with the chunks of food, but she wasn’t concerned.

  She stood, wiped her lips with the back of her hand and staggered out into the corridor.

  Everything seemed different in a subtle way.

  The hanging black corpses – now torn open and strangely lifeless – no longer filled her with dread.

  Now they felt like… family.

  Duggan’s shaking left hand clutched the top of the loop while he sawed at the knot with his right hand.

  This all seemed like a crazy idea, but he knew it was his only option. No way could he have climbed up the rope.

  The strands of rope frayed away one by one until only a handful remained. Wanting to remain in control, he put the knife back into the pocket of his jacket and took hold of the rope in both hands. With a fraction of his grip, he pulled at the rope, wincing as each strand parted. He felt like he was disarming a bomb wire by wire.

  The final strand broke and he fell. It was only a few inches before his grip stopped his descent, but it jarred him and sent his stomach up into his throat.

  His head spinning, he took in a deep breath and slowly descended to the bottom of the rope.

  Once there, he swung back and forth until he had enough momentum to reach the platform. He was too high and he’d need to let go of the rope in order to land on the platform.

  ‘Fuck this up and you’re dead, Jim,’ he muttered through a mouth that felt lined with sandpaper.

  He swung a few more times, daring himself to let go of the rope.

  He dared not.

  ‘Come on,’ he muttered.

  Once more he swung to the platform.

  Again he clung to the rope and didn’t dare let go.

  ‘This time,’ he said.

  He waited until the last possible moment, the very last inch of the rope’s swing, before he let go.

  But let go he did and immediately felt the uncertainty of falling.

  Florence ran her hands along the torn, dripping cocoons as she walked.

  Her bare feet squidged in the liquid on the floor. She was usually squeamish about such things, but not anymore. Amniotic fluid, blood, dead bodies, all touched her feet and she cared not.

  She reached the outer ring of the hospital and saw daylight streaming in through the windows.

  Even the light seemed different somehow. It stung her eyes a little but she kept walking, her feet leaving wet prints of blood and fluid from the cocoons in her wake.

  As she reached the doors, she saw strange figures outside, their dark uniforms contrasting with the light that was like broken glass in her retinas.

  They wore gas masks and carried big guns.

  She knew she should have been scared – had felt scared when she’d seen them earlier – but she felt a total absence of fear.

  Her gait was still unsteady but was becoming more coordinated with every handful of footsteps.

  She put a bloody hand on the door and pushed it open.

  Her eyes screamed at her with the sudden influx of light.

  Her mind struggled to process the information.

  Noises came from all around, from the men firstly, they shouted things that should have been muffled by their masks but they were crystal clear to her. The problem wasn’t with her hearing, it was with her understanding. They may as well have been talking Japanese for all the sense it made.

  They waved their hands, as if telling her to go back inside.

  She ignored them, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin as if for the first time.

  The first bullets hit her shortly after the nearest man had gestured to her.

  She felt a strange sensation – not of pain, just of having her skin invaded by foreign objects – and looked down to see dark fluid oozing out of her skin and into her blouse.

  The next bullets hit her soon after, stinging her like a swarm of metallic wasps.

  More blood poured out of her but she walked forward regardless.

  The back of her head pulsed with energy.

  She suddenly remembered about the creature that had made its way up from the wound in her leg to the back of her skull.

  She knew that was why she was still walking despite being riddled with bullet holes and she was grateful.

  The nearest soldier, the one who had raised his hand and tried to wave her inside, was still standing in front of her, barking commands and firing his gun.

  He didn’t look scared.

  Not yet.

  But he would.

  Florence knew he would.

  Duggan fell for an eternity before his knees slammed down on the hard metal of the tunnel.


  ‘I made it,’ he said to himself. He was so relieved he felt like crying but he knew he had to find Mark, Jake and Zeke and get out of here.

  A small group of the shimmering moths fluttered up the shaft behind him.

  Before they could draw near, he shuffled into the tunnel.

  He moved a distance on his knees then stopped.

  Listened.

  Heard screams then gunshots.

  The nearest guard just had time for fear to register upon his face before Florence pulled his head off his shoulders with one deft twist of her hands.

  The rest of the guards backed away before the headless corpse had even slumped to the ground.

  She held the head in front of her and let the blood fall onto her hands. It felt warm and luscious on her skin. She lifted her hands to her face and licked the blood from her palms.

  It tasted even better than it felt.

  Duggan scurried through the tunnels on his knees, heading for where he guessed the gunshots and screaming had come from.

  He took the skin off his knees, but he cared only about reaching Mark and averting whatever catastrophe had befallen him.

  He came out into a corridor which resembled the place where he and Mark had first met Jake.

  There was no one in sight, but a snuffling sound came from around the corner.

  He wanted to call out, but common sense told him that he might be announcing himself to an enemy.

  Instead he crept around the corner, his heart still sledging against his ribs. The organ had barely had chance to recover from the ordeal with the rope and now it was racing once more.

  His breath felt like coils of barbed wire in his lungs.

  He took the shotgun from beneath his jacket and knocked the safety off as quietly as he could.

  The corner was ten feet away.

  Five.

  The shuffling sound became louder as he neared. Whoever it was they weren’t scared of him.

  Please be Mark and Jake, he thought.

  Two feet.

  One.

  The shotgun led the way as he peered around the corner.

  The guards surrounded Florence in a circle.

  None of them wanted to get too close after they’d seen the fate of the lead guard.