“Dr Murphy?” asked a bewildered Dr Garcia.
“Holy shit, Anna, you’re alive!” came the response.
“Just about, what happened here? The systems are offline and the place is crawling with crazies.”
Dr Murphy nodded into the camera.
“Yeah, the shit has hit the fan. I mean really hit the fan. I’ve requested an evac team to get you out. They’ll be there in twenty minutes. Are you okay until then?”
She was stunned for a moment, confused at seeing these people after the insanity of the last hours and days.
“I think so. There are lots of those things on the data centre floor. I’ve locked them out but there are still more in the access corridor,” she advised.
“Listen, have you been bitten?” he asked anxiously.
“Bitten? No, I’m fine. Bitten by what, those people?” she asked in a confused voice.
“Yes, those things. Be very careful. Do you know what is going on out here?” he asked.
She turned her head, “No idea.”
“Ok, here is the short version. The accident in the data centre has somehow caused a chain reaction. It started with those killed in the blast and from the chemicals. Somehow they aren’t dying, or maybe they are and then are being reanimated in some way,” he explained.
“What the hell?” she yelled.
“I know, it sounds insane, but look at this,” he said.
The view on the screen changed as he moved his handset to show outside the vehicle. She looked carefully, it was the skyline of a city and yet dozens of columns of smoke were climbing up into the sky. Dr Murphy appeared back in view.
“Everything has gone to shit. Those things managed to break out from the centre and infected a few people at the Memorial Airport. From what we can work out the incubation time is about forty-eight hours and the infection is terminal. When you die you become one of those things,” he said.
Dr Garcia was stunned and she simply stared at the screen.
“We had to abandon the complex because of the biological hazard. In the last forty-eight hours we think the infection has spread to the United States and to Europe. It’s getting out of control. We need you back to help with a response.”
“Where are you?” asked Dr Garcia.
I’m heading to one of the research vessels, The Moreau. It has moved offshore to keep away from this shit storm. Wait for the evac team. They’ll make sure you join us there.”
He turned away, looking at something before returning to the screen.
“I need to go, there are reports the infection has hit London. The team are arriving now, they’ll meet you in the foyer, be careful.”
She nodded into the screen, “Wish me luck.”
The display faded, leaving just the company logo on the terminal screen.
Dr Garcia thought about what was happening. The entire ordeal was insane at best. She was interrupted from her thoughts though by the sound of gunfire coming from the speakers. The change from total silence to what sounded like a battle outside the centre was a shock to her system. She hit the key for the external camera which displayed a Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter emblazoned with the company markings. The aircraft was a four-bladed, twin-engine, medium-lift utility helicopter that was used by both military and civilian operators.
It was sat outside the centre on the landing pad. About a dozen heavily armed men, each wearing high tech body armour and helmets were moving around it, some of them firing at targets outside the compound. The remainder stormed inside the building through the smashed entrance. About a dozen shots fired along with what sounded like heavier weapons.
“Thank God for that, they must be the evac team,” she whispered to herself.
She hit the button to bring up the corridor outside her room. It showed the infected moving towards the elevator. They looked agitated but more importantly, they were far enough away from the sealed access door to the stairwell. If she was quick she might be able to use the arrival of the men as a diversion.
The creatures on the lower stairwell must have heard the commotion because the banging on the door started to get louder. A splinter of material tore off to reveal a gap the size of a fist. Blood dripped down it as the creatures continued to smash flesh and bone at the door. Another hand appeared, the bloodied fingers tearing at the material. At this rate they would be through in just a few minutes.
Making a quick decision she decided it was time to leave. Grabbing her rifle she left the terminal and made straight for the doorway that led to the corridor. Opening it a crack she checked on the creatures. As expected they were all up near the elevator and banging on the smashed glass and control panel. It was only a matter of time before they hit the correct key and moved themselves up to the top floor. Before she could get any further in her escape the door to the lower stairwell smashed open. The creatures having finally ripped their way through it poured inside. The leading creatures fell down, the weight of numbers behind them pushing over them as they swarmed into the control room. Ignoring them, Dr Garcia threw open the door and ran down the corridor. She had no choice now. It was either run or be killed. As she reached the secure doorway to the upper stairwell she was finally spotted by some of the things at the elevator. They turned and wailed at her, drawing her to the attention of the rest.
Dr Garcia put in the emergency override combination and swung the door open just in time to avoid being grabbed by the creatures. She tried to shut the door but it was too late, the number of them pushing at the door made it impossible. Abandoning it she ran up the staircase and towards the foyer. As she came closer to the ground floor above her the sound of boots and gunfire became louder. She opened the door as quickly as she could and moved out into the foyer. It was exactly as it looked on the camera, apart from the corners of the room where the angle of the cameras stopped them from seeing into the shadows. She could see what had kept the guards occupied, as there were dozens of the creatures, some stood and others climbing out from behind smashed terminals. Two of the guards moved towards her, moving in quickly to protect her and not a moment too soon. The door to the stairwell burst open and the horde poured into the room.
The leader of the security team moved close to her, “Dr Garcia?” he asked.
She nodded, too exhausted and shocked to say much more.
“I’m Security Chief Hans, I have orders to evacuate you and any survivors to The Moreau,” he explained.
The other members of the team formed a defensive line in front of them as they emptied bullets into the creatures. Though they were able to force them back, the creatures seemed to be able to sustain awful injuries before finally dying.
“Come on!” ordered Hans, holding out his hand to her.
Dr Garcia held on as the group rushed out through the smashed door and into the snow covered parking area. The helicopter was a short distance away but there were also a number of the creatures making their way towards the noise of the machine. The security team kept shooting, their accurate fire clearing a path for the Hans and Dr Garcia. In just a few more seconds they were at the door and Hans helped her into the aircraft. He turned back, adding fire to that of his men. He gave the signal and they began to fall back. A gunner on the helicopter swung his M249 light machine gun towards the building and fired long bursts at the creatures. The rest of the tactical unit retreated, the creatures hot on their heels. With just a few more shots the rest of the men were at the helicopter and jumped in, thankfully with no casualties. With a simple hand signal Hans let the pilot know they were clear and the Black Hawk lifted up into the dark sky.
Dr Garcia slumped back, still unable to believe what she had just gone through. Hans leaned forwards, putting a headset unit on her head. His voice came through clearly.
“Are you ok, Doctor, are you uninjured?” he asked.
Dr Garcia nodded.
Hans turned and pulled out what looked like a tablet computer. He pressed a few keys and handed it over to her. She looked at it intently. It was a
summary of all the current news reports and feeds. The first words to catch her attention were those about London. It read that the Prime Minister was injured and that it was being blamed on terrorist action. Sliding the story to one side she checked the next one, it described an attack by a group of rabid men in a large train station in France. It said dozens were hurt and several killed. Each article seemed to be saying the same thing, there were crazed people attacking their neighbours for no apparent reason. As she read further, more stories popped up. It was spreading and spreading fast.
She looked out through the small windows of the helicopter, the landscape was featureless, and this was hardly a state full of monstrous cities. There was just one question on her mind.
“Hans. How did this spread so fast?” she asked.
“No idea, Doctor. From the reports I’ve seen, it seems that the common link is the airport here in Barrow. The people with the infection can apparently carry the condition for two days before you can see any difference,” he said.
The helicopter climbed up higher until above the clouds and continued its progress towards the ship. Dr Garcia turned back to the tablet, reading the most recent story.
It simply read, ‘Zombie Apocalypse hits Manhattan’. Along the scrolling ticker at the bottom of the page was the message that the governor had declared a state of emergency.
“Zombies?” cried Dr Garcia as she almost choked on her own words.
CHAPTER FOUR
Berkshire, England
The sun beat down upon the large glass windows and flies buzzed around in the annoying manner that they always do. It was another depressing Monday. Dave lay back in his leather chair which was frayed at the edges and the cushion flattened from years of use. He’d worked in this concrete tower for six years, bored to death. The sound of colleagues toiling away on utterly pointless, brain numbing work. For just a few moments his mind wandered from the office hell to a better place, just dreaming of the cool beer he lusted after.
“Dave!” shouted Jones.
The boss’s voice rang out from across the room. The cheap suit buying, BMW driving, golf loving, pink shirt wearing, lower management asshole was stood at the water cooler. He’d spotted Dave’s slackened posture and been all too fond to call him up on the fact.
“Isn’t it about time you got some work done?” said Jones.
The idiot had deliberately said it from across the room, loud enough for everyone to witness, they all hated him as much as Dave did, but that didn’t stop him making examples of colleagues on a regular basis, and getting a kick out of it. Dave said nothing, but simply sat more upright at his desk and pretended to give a damn. His workstation really was rubbish, an old grey dreary desk with horribly outdated equipment. The keyboard was stained yellow from age. The monitor was the same 16” CRT that he’d used when starting the position, this really was a dead end job.
“Did you not get the memo?” said Jones in a smarmy tone.
“Memo?”
Dave knew about the memo, but he would never give Jones the satisfaction of knowing it. That bastard would be an anal git about every potential issue he could, just to make full use of the little power he held.
“Employees are not to tilt back on their chairs. It’s a health and safety hazard. Any and all injuries or damage of equipment as a result of doing so will be at the employee’s expense and liability,” said Jones.
Dave could do or say nothing without bringing down the wrath of the utter bastard, so he simply nodded and carried on with his work. Jones stood upright triumphantly and looked out across the miserly amount of office space he controlled, as smug as ever.
“Where’s Chris?” said Jones.
He was his usual obnoxious self. Chris’s seat was empty, his computer not even turned on. The man had clearly never arrived at work. Chris was a decent chap, not all that interesting, but friendly. He liked nothing more than to simply lay about the house, have the odd BBQ and watch the footie. But Dave knew for a fact that he’d been on a weekend away to Benidorm with his girlfriend, so was probably wasted. Dave felt sorry for Chris already, fully understanding the painfully annoying rant he would receive.
“Did Chris sign in this morning?” asked Jones.
The office only had fifteen computers in it and just as many workers. It was astonishing it had taken Jones an hour to notice someone was missing. He was probably busy tough talking his nancy boy henchmen, the pathetic creatures who would lick his boots for a good word. The room looked around at Jones, a few muttered, but nobody committed to a real answer. In all honesty, Dave wasn’t even sure if he had seen Chris today, as his mind had just switched off to the boredom of the nine to five. Jones picked up a nearby phone, not caring to make the call private, it was for all to hear.
“Chris? You’re an hour late for work, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
You would think the world was in danger from the lack of Chris’s presence, but no, he was just late for more endlessly pointless and boring work.
“I don’t care how rough you feel, you didn’t call in sick, stop giving me excuses and take some responsibility, get here now!”
Jones slammed the phone down and walked out of the room, clearly going to ensure Chris had the hour docked from his salary, and a mark against his record. Another two hours went by, sweat dripped from Dave’s face on to his poorly ironed white shirt. He mindlessly entered data, not even sure anymore if the work actually achieved anything, or if he was simply employed for the sake of it. Perhaps its purpose was to fulfil some requirement of the business, or maybe to help avoid the upper management assholes some tax that they should be paying. The reason for his work simply didn’t matter anymore, he got paid, that was all that was important, and at least he had a job.
Desperate for the toilet, having drunk too much coffee to try and survive the morning, Dave walked off to the men’s room. Standing at the urinal he sighed in relief, it was the best feeling all day. Walking over to the wash basins he looked out the window down onto the street below. An ambulance and police car were parked up on the pavement, lights still flashing. Two coppers nearby were beating a man on the floor with their truncheons.
“Bastards, if only I could get my hands on you,” said Dave.
He left the toilets and headed back to his desk. Despite still being in full stride, he was simply on autopilot. Dave was day dreaming, just thinking of Stallone in Rambo II shooting up the office with his M60. It was a pleasant thought, and one he only wished he could replicate. Getting back to his desk, the bored IT worker slumped back into his chair, back to the boring reality of work.
Chris finally walked into the office, he was pale and even sweatier than the rest, he looked terrible, but no one spoke a word to him. Nobody wanted to risk having a verbal beating from Jones. Finally, it was lunch time. Not a second had gone past twelve before the entire room stood and headed for the canteen.
“Chris, you haven’t put an ounce of work into this day, you can use your lunch break to make up at least some of the time you’ve lost,” said Jones.
What a swine, everyone thought it, no one said it. The room cleared as Chris sat back down, he really was ill enough that he should be at home, but Jones wouldn’t let that fact reduce his bad attitude. To be fair, his sickness was probably self-inflicted. You cannot expect to rush off for a drunken weekend and then return on a Monday morning in a workable state. None of this changed the fact that Jones was a complete nob.
In the canteen Dave sat down with the two colleagues that he at least had some interest in talking to, Barry and James. The three sat around a table, unpacking the contents of the plastic lunch boxes all had brought, as they always did. Half an hour went by of chatting about the usual topics, cars and women. The lunch breaks were the only bearable part of the job, when friends could relax and talk as they wanted. However, they were always too aware that Jones would listen in on a regular basis, desperately trying to dig new dirt on his slaves for later use.
C
HAPTER FIVE
Bristol, England
It had been a long morning when Gary and Matt pulled up at McDonalds to get their lunch. The two police officers had worked together for two years now, quickly becoming close friends, both men were in their thirties. Gary had joined the force with images of high speed chases and action. He loved his action movies and his treasured Ducati superbike. The reality of the job was that he’d never handled a gun and was behind the wheel of a diesel Vauxhall Astra. McDonalds was a completely unglamorous way to spend their break, but it was a routine that they’d fallen into.
The two men got out of their car and strolled over to the front door of the fast food chain. They both wore high visibility stab vests over white shirts. It was too hot for jumpers.
“I’ve been thinking about this all morning,” said Matt.
“Know what you mean, mate,” said Gary.
Getting through the glass doors they were confronted with a large queue, they could already feel the gazing stares upon them. Children looked at them out of interest, adults out of disgust, they didn’t care.
“Fuck me, I’m starving,” said Matt.
“Easy on the language mate, there are kids about,” said Gary.
“Nothing they haven’t heard before, I’m sure,” said Matt.
Gary said no more, he knew it was useless arguing with his friend. Matt often got the two of them into trouble as he would rush headlong into every situation and show few common courtesies.
“Get up to much on the weekend?” asked Matt.
“Went for a ride, took my son to the zoo, watched some TV, that’s about it, you?” asked Gary.
“Not a lot, spent most of it watching Dave,” said Matt.
“What a waste,” said Gary.
“What?” asked Matt.
“Well all you do is whine all week that you’re bored and then you get to the weekend and do nothing,” said Gary.
“Ah, fuck it,” said Matt.
They’d been waiting for just two minutes, but it felt much longer. They were almost at the front of the queue when the radio on Gary’s chest rung out, the unpleasant sound of their lunch break about to be spoiled.
Zombie Dawn: Outbreak Page 5
