Great Bitten: Outbreak

by Warren Fielding

  [1] The one concession Carla made was amendments to the inside of the house. I boarded across her patio doors, day-mares of obese zombies crashing through those already parading through my brain. We also agreed that we would keep some of the wood back for tonight so that we could brace the door. Every movie I’ve seen, zombies crash through flimsy-framed glazing and head-butt their way Shining-style through every manner of doors, and I didn’t want to be one of the ones that fell victim to a commercial stereotype as far as dying was concerned.

  With our store-fresh planks propped up by the doors and the streets still suburban-England quiet, I sat back down in front of the laptop, electing to find some more of the news we had been so studiously ignoring on the TV via the beautifully congested tubes of the internet. Twitter was buzzing with so much data that I ignored it at first. The BBC was focusing on the country’s response as a whole, and I saw huge links to statements from the Queen and from the Prime Minister. I first elected to look at what the international sites were reporting. My heart sank at the first headline I saw on NBC online, and I called Carla and Rick over to look. Their jaws dropped.

  +++

  Chapter Two

  “You cannot simultaneously prevent and prepare for war.” – Albert Einstein

  “United Kingdom under quarantine as deadly virus shrouds the nation”

  “They’ve quarantined the whole country?”

  “I hate to say it Carla, but it makes sense. We’ve already stopped flights from going out. Who the fuck is going to want to fly in?”

  “Trust you to be matter of fact about it Warren. What else are they saying?”

  I read down the sensationalist article; it looked like they were taking as red all the reports coming out on social networks and regional news sites. Comparisons were being made to the movie “28 Days Later” and international airports were now issuing quarantine instructions to any flights already in the air from the UK heading out abroad. Holidaymakers were stranded and pictures of people preparing to bed down at airports across the world were littered around the article. I smirked to myself. They clearly had the better end of the deal, based on the rest of the read. Deaths around the country were conservatively estimated at hundreds of thousands already, and all the major cities; London, Birmingham, Manchester, Cardiff, even up to Glasgow and Edinburgh, had now issued lockdowns on all public transport and closed down major routes in and out of city centres. I pitied those poor unfortunates still stuck living in the middle of it - unless they risked going out on foot, it looked like they would be staying exactly where they were whilst the government probably sat sucking their asses praying for everything to quietly blow over. Look how that ended up with Appeasement.

  With my mind on the government, I clicked on the hyperlink to the Prime Minister’s official statement, bracing myself for a few paragraphs of obstinacy and a pig-headed refusal to acknowledge the wolf at the door. A few sentences in though, and I couldn’t help but admire the brutality of the truth. Even our own tired and shambolic leaders had recognised the scale of the threat, and it appeared that they were taking as many measures to protect a ballistically castrated society as possible.

  From the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom; a Statement to the Nation on the current viral outbreak affecting the countries of the United Kingdom and Wales.

  It is with great sadness and a heavy weight upon my heart that I have to confirm that the United Kingdom is now in the grip of a crisis unprecedented in the history of any nation of mankind. After reports of violent outbreaks early this morning in both the City and Greater London, we can confirm that a virus with unconfirmed origins has begun to spread around the country. As we learn more we will be keeping all members of the public fully up to date however this statement will provide you with as much information as even I myself have access to at this time.

  Do not make any unnecessary journeys. All methods of public transport have been terminated with immediate effect and for the foreseeable future. All forms of public gatherings including but not restricted to public concerts and sporting events have been cancelled with immediate effect. We are working to maintain the core networks supplying power and water to your homes, and we do not see any reason at this time why these will fail. All domestic television and radio stations have cancelled their normal schedules to maintain practical information on the outbreak, with the exception of Channel 5 which has agreed to assist in broadcasting a light schedule for recreational purposes.

  The following amendments to national infrastructure have been made under the Civil Contingencies Act 2004, which is now in effect across all categories. We are, with immediate effect, in a state of national emergency. There are now roadblocks in place across the nation. Entry to and exit from all major motorway routes and selected major A-roads is now restricted to emergency services personnel only. Any travellers on these major routes are being guided off and via diversions at their nearest exits. Those found using these core routes without authorisation will be arrested and detained for questioning under the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994. Any and all public affray will result in your arrest and detention under the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994.

  We do not believe this is an act of terrorism, but the impact this outbreak is having on our nation, along with the unacceptable loss of life, can lead us to no other conclusion.

  We have asked for aid from the international community, and international trading has been ceased whilst the level of this threat is gauged, and the outbreak contained. The Armed Forces have been deployed to assist the police force in identifying and containing the areas where the outbreaks are most severe. Metropolitan areas remain our focus. For those of you outside of cities and with family inside affected zones; please call them to gauge their safety. The telephone networks are still working. Do not travel; you will not be allowed access to the cities.

  Let me make this clear to you: we will stop this outbreak, and we will find its cause. When we have beaten this we will rebuild and we will become stronger. Remain in your homes. Remain with your families wherever possible. Above all, remain safe.

  Beneath this was a bold underlined link, unmistakable in its prominence and its inference; do not go to hospitals; they will not help you. Do not help others; they will kill you.

  Safety Measures and Official Restrictions

   Ensure you have non-perishable food items at home

   Spends at supermarkets have been restricted to £500 per person

   Licensed firearms holders are instructed to hand their weapons in to the police. Your local officers will visit license holders accordingly. This is not voluntary, and weapons are needed as part of national security efforts

   Do not travel, under any circumstance

   Do not answer your door to strangers

   If anyone in your care becomes ill with the symptoms in the NHS Direct link below, please call the new emergency hotline “888” and leave a message with your name, your address, and the name(s) of the person(s) displaying symptoms

   Do not attempt to confront anyone displaying the traditional symptoms of rabies, including but not restricted to latter stage furious rabies. You can find further details at NHS Direct here: http://www.nhs.uk/Conditions/Rabies/Pages/Symptoms.aspx

  There was a picture of the UK not unlike a temperature chart. The south and south west was mainly pale, yellows and blues. I’m guessing that meant we were safe, for now. In and around London and every other major city it was filled in a fiery angry red. There was a chart showing the scale of the colouring. The darker reds indicated deaths moving in to the tens of thousands, and the legend stated this was an approximation from the last few hours of the morning and not live data. There was a notice advising that flash videos had been temporarily disabled because of the overload on the BBC web servers, and a footnote to this reiterating much of the footage hadn’t been appropriate for public consumption. As if you couldn’t get enough of it on YouTube anyway, which was probably c
reaking under the strain.

  My eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to London. It wasn’t that far away from us still after all, and I could so easily still have been there. I remembered back to that old woman I saw staggering around with her throat torn out. How many of them were down there now? Were any of them quicker than Grandma Deathly or younger than McHoody? Were people fighting back and managing to survive, or was the entire capital succumbing to whatever the fuck was happening out there? I clicked across to YouTube. My fingers hesitated in the search bar for a few fleeting seconds; I’d already seen the live action show, I really didn’t think what the internet had to throw at me could be any worse.

  I typed in “zombie London” and had to tell the internet that I was over 18, not that it would know any different; not even the government had taken to hacking webcams yet, it seemed pre-tweeny hack children were specialising in that these days. The top feed had racked up over a million views in the scant few hours it had been uploaded, and was titled “nightclub iphone zombie rampage in london!”

  I clicked on play, and turned down the volume as drum-splitting dubhouse or whatever the fuck they listen to these days threatened to break the laptop’s tinny speakers. Someone had their smartphone out and was recording a dance floor full of writhing bodies. At an apathetic glance it looked like drugged up scores of people were dry-humping each other in an attempt to reproduce, as if sperm now got to the ovaries via osmosis. There was shouting and screaming, and the place was utter chaos. It looked like a normal London nightclub on a normal London night, up to and including the staggering bodies.

  I had to feel a little for the guy wielding the camera. He was leaning over a balcony that ran across the dance floor, and his sweeping shots of a room full of hyperactivity spoke of a lonely group hanger-on that was probably the nominated driver, desperately bored and probably hoping that someone in their social net would get drunk enough tonight for them to get some action as fair recompense for their efforts. I’m figuring it was a he, anyway: he hadn’t quite got to grips at grasping the smartphone without getting his hammy fingers in the way, and I sincerely hope that women haven’t started developing hairy knuckles. The camera jolted severely as someone lurched in to our David Bailey, sending him and the phone sprawling. The video did a couple of full circles as the phone came to a spinning rest, the angle now firmly on our drunken hero that had most likely sent the loner flying. He was leaning over the loner, patting at his face to make sure he was okay. The collision didn’t seem to be that hard, though perhaps his head had hid the floor first and knocked the lad out cold. Others had started to scatter, to point and whisper (in that timeless nightclub cupped-hands yelling gesture), and in the background you could see a plucky bouncer begin to elbow his way through with reasonable speed – the dance floor was the area that was most packed, after all. The sniggers and pointing quickly turned to screams though. The jelly-legged antagonist of this little video wasn’t drunk; an unsurprising plot twist given the title of the stream. I squinted at the screen, trying not to move closer in case the undead could somehow spring out of the laptop screen and into my chest. Of course the fucking zombie wasn’t patting the guy’s face. In the mottled light of the club it was hard to see any details, and in respect of this particular video, I’m pretty sure that’s a blessing. The patting, which could only have been a clawed mauling, ended quickly as the zombie opened a gaping black maw. Some kind of slick black syrup spilled from its mouth and over its chin, spreading like a dire stain across its chest. Its head dove down to the throat of the stricken man, no sounds audible over the thudding of the club bass and the nearer audio of the screaming bystanders. Someone ran up and tried to kick the zombie, getting a good solid contact on its ribcage, but the thing had a death grip on the lad’s prone body and wasn’t letting go. It didn’t even lift its head, barely registering the impact. I was filling in the close-up audio in my own head, imaging the smacking and sucking as teeth rendered muscle and flesh, blood gouting up to cover both the man and the floor. The lad began thrashing, but he could barely move under the bulk of his attacker. The kicker, now clearly the bouncer, tried again and this time with a kick to the side of the preoccupied head. I imagined again in my mind a sickening thud as solid boot leather connected with the thin and fragile skull at the temple. The attacker crumpled, slumping limply to the floor without so much as a cry of pain, but the lad was still and quiet, arms and legs splayed as blood tinged a smoky black colour in the nightclub haze oozed out across the litter-strewn floor. The bouncer crouched over him but immediately gagged, raising a gloved hand to a convulsing mouth. I was glad that I hadn’t had a front row seat to this one after all, especially when he began to vomit uncontrollably. The lad seemed to rouse at this, eyes searching immediately for the bouncer next to him as he tried to rise. I’d be pretty pissed off if I woke up to someone vomiting on me, but if the news feeds were anything to go by, this kid wouldn’t be asking for his dry cleaning bill to be covered.

  Sure enough, quick as lightning the lad had grabbed the bouncer, snatching at his shirt and tearing his teeth at anything within snapping distance. He mutely chewed on what appeared to be an ear for an appeased few seconds before realising he was probably dining at the pork scratching end of the homo-culinary scale, and leapt out of shot presumably looking for tastier morsels. The phone juddered again and was cut off. Someone had managed to get out of that nightclub alive to upload the video; London wasn’t a dead loss at least. Well, not quite yet. Still, I wouldn’t have liked to be in there, tightly packed in and ten sheets to the wind as a cannibalistic virus began to implode above me. How quickly were people turning? Would everyone in the club be in danger? The government was being so upfront about their advice that it hadn’t crossed my mind to question just how detailed they were being. Half a morning off work, and the journalist side of me was already dying off. What a cretin. Still, I felt a morbid inclination to look at one more video. The movie before the documentary, if you will. It was the next one down and was only 60 seconds long. It was a similar offering of zombie nightclub carnage.

  It was another club thronged with people. This was a CCTV feed of a club that could have been the same as the one I’d just seen. These things certainly didn’t seem to change from place to place. I couldn’t hear the music this time, and that meant I also couldn’t hear the screams, which was again just as well. The feed was also black and white. I tried to remember anything similar that I’d seen before. Gore movies like Saw and Hostel were gratuitous torture for the sake of entertainment. This was unbridled bestial and carnal delight in dismemberment. It was like a zombie version of the disturbing and unnecessary orgy rave scene in Zion in the second Matrix film. I said as much to Rick and pointed it out for him. He said he’d never seen any of the movies. I tried to explain how this was similar; there were scantily clad people writhing around each other, all sweaty and looking like they were pretty much all having sex with everyone else in the room. In this video replace the sweat with blood, and the fornication with a lusting for flesh. Hannibal Lecter would have had an absolute field day. It was the most macabrely fascinating thing I had ever seen, and watched it no less than eight times. I tried picking up a different detail each time. I saw two women on their knees on the floor fighting over a leg that ended at the thigh. I saw another man bite in to a woman’s forehead – that could have been some kind of zombie mating ritual for all I knew. I saw another young woman literally pulled apart by a crowd of the things – arms, legs and head all ripped from their sockets as she screamed, blood pouring from every orifice. People were waving their arms and pushing each other out of the way as they tried to stampede out; infected that had been turned in other parts of the club were descending on the dance floor and pushing them back in. Others were crushed under foot as they fled with minor wounds; I saw more than one slender woman go under to never rise again – at least, if she hadn’t been infected before she died. I pondered briefly which was preferable: bleeding out and coming back as one of the
infected, or being crushed to death and knowing that I wouldn’t come back to harm, infect or kill anyone else. I decided that for the time being, I’d rather be one of the infected – there hadn’t been any suggestions that a cure for this was on the horizon, but I’d rather still be around just in case one was developed. I was about to play it again, Rick hanging over my shoulder, when Carla slapped me in the back of the head and berated me for being a sicko. I switched back to search engines and promised to stop procrastinating.

  I started more searches, Googling to find out how long it took people to turn, jotting down every speck of viable information I could glean from an internet bursting to the seams with frenzied posts and articles about where the virus was at its fiercest, how many people were turning by the hour, and how quickly it was likely to spread through the country. Hours passed as I lost myself in the information highway traffic jam. I skipped past laughable articles mooting nuclear strike threats and citing Al Qaida as a possible source of the outbreak; sites that were somehow gaining search engine momentum above sites intended to help people, and brought my focus around to fan sites that had been discussing for years the best preparations against fictional apocalyptic catastrophes. The conspiracy theorists could have their moment, but not whilst we were struggling against something that was only in its infancy. More than once Carla again wandered past, probably to keep an eye on me and make sure I was still being constructive. But she did ask vague questions about what I had found so far. I grunted at her, imparting pieces of information which she’d pass on to Rick. The infection was not airborne, and they weren’t ruling out a mutated strain of ebola being the source. There was no vaccination or cure. The infected would turn based on the virility of the bite. A significant bite somewhere major could turn the victim in less than 10 seconds. Some people had been bitten as long as 12 hours before and had not yet turned. This included someone who had simply been scratched by the infected. He hoped he wouldn’t turn, but was starting to feel symptoms not unlike the flu, and had isolated himself from his family. He was tweeting his symptoms in case it would help the others, and held out very little hope for his long-term survival prospects. The cities were still no-go zones and some areas were also experiencing media blackouts, possibly as the government tried to stem the panic no doubt torrenting out of those areas. Highways agencies were struggling to enforce traffic restrictions and infections were being reported in rural areas, though mainly to the north. There had been dozens of train crashes around the country. So far none of these had been due to infections as far as could be ascertained. The majority appeared to be collisions with vehicles left on lines. Carla asked me why trains were still moving when transport had been cancelled. I suggested that they couldn’t just be left in the middle of nowhere, and that perhaps train drivers that also wanted to get home were starting to ignore the national orders. She asked me about town centres and I confirmed what she had perhaps already suspected. Despite the advice to keep away from public spaces, there was widespread looting nationwide which neither the police nor the military were attempting to contain. This was especially true in rural areas, which were receiving absolutely no attention from the emergency services, no matter what their cause or need was.