Safe Zone (Book 1): The Greater Good

by Sussex, Suzanne

  Safe Zone: The Greater Good

  Suzanne Sussex

  COPYRIGHT

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Any names, characters, incidents and locations portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. No affiliation is implied or intended to any organisation or recognisable body mentioned within.

  Copyright © DHP Publishing 2017

  Suzanne Sussex asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive and non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen or hard copy.

  No part of the text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, known or otherwise yet invented, without the express permission of DHP Publishing Ltd.

  www.dhppublishing.co.uk

  For Adam

  Alone

  I am alone. I have nothing but the dark night and darker memories as my companions. My mind is a song full of anger that is stuck on repeat.

  "If you walk out that door, Stephen Alex Winter, don't even think you can come back. That would be it. We would be over."

  It was an empty threat; we had both known it. In response, he had repeated that same damn line. The one he had said so many times. Too many times. Now his tone was flat, robotic. "I have to go; I can't stay here. You know it's the right thing to do."

  I tried everything that night, calmly using logic and reason to persuade him to stay. I’d found old photos and mementoes from our relationship, to remind him of the good times we'd shared, I’d even flashed my boobs at him. A distraction technique that had never failed, it failed that night.

  My anger had risen with the sun. My initial calm turned to rage. I had screamed and shouted. Thrown things and threatened. Nothing had worked.

  Finally, he closed the expanse between us. Coming to me, cupping my face in his hands and lifting my chin so that our eyes met. He kissed me gently, and a glimmer of hope had shone through my despair. But then he picked up his bags and opened the front door. Turning to look at me one last time he said, “I love you, Clo." Then he had walked through the door, and I was alone.

  I wonder if in years to come people will look back and say; "I remember where I was the day the apocalypse started."

  My world had ended that day. However, the truth is far more complicated. There wasn’t a single day where the world ended and everyone died.

  It had started months ago in South America. We heard stories of people getting sick and dying. Then of riots, violence and looting. Entire villages and small towns wiped from existence.

  It was on the front page of every newspaper. The headline story on every news channel. Fancy infographics flashed on the screen to illustrate how quickly it could spread. Experts on panels discussed how bad things could get. All seemingly with the sole intention of scaring the shit out of anyone that would listen.

  The medical community called it ZN-134, but that wasn’t sexy enough for the media. A series of random letters and numbers didn’t strike fear into the hearts of the public. It didn’t sell papers. The victim’s eyes became inky black shortly before death, so the media called it the Black Flu.

  But just like Swine Flu, Ebola and the Zika virus, the media soon turned its attention to other things closer to home. The footballer’s affair with the reality TV star. The tax avoidance of a multinational company. The newest scandal in the House of Parliament. Mundane and unimportant, all taking prominence in the news, and soon we forgot about the Black Flu.

  Then three weeks ago there was an outbreak in a small town in Germany. Just like in South America, it started with sickness and death., then riots and violence, shops and bars looted, houses trashed and set on fire.

  The media interest quickly picked up again. This was Europe. This was close to home. Footage was shown over and over of the dead and dying, of streets filled with debris and bodies, of buildings ravaged by fire.

  Journalists gave their reports, shouting over the cacophony of the screaming and gunshots. Fundraising appeals rippled through social media, raising millions and serving only to assuage the conscience of those who were just so glad that it wasn’t happening to them.

  It hadn't taken long for the military to arrive in the small town and restore the peace. The media went quiet, not even taking the time to discuss the aftermath, so the public stopped talking about it once more.

  That is until last week. A video posted on Facebook of a previously unseen BBC news report from the town in Germany. The story wasn't new. The reporter was just repeating the same information, already heard a hundred times before. It was the scene in the bottom right of the picture that sparked the interest.

  A young woman being attacked by two people, who appeared to be biting her. Eventually, the woman stopped struggling and became deathly still. The two attackers stopped, got clumsily to their feet and moved away.

  Unaware of the scene behind him, the reporter continued his story. The woman stood unsteadily. Blood poured from the ragged hole torn in her neck, with more dripping slowly down her thighs. As she got closer to the camera, you could make out her eyes, which were an inky black, her stare fixed on the reporter.

  The internet went wild, the post shared over three million times in one day. Many wrote it off as a hoax, others spoke of zombies, until the topic was being debated far and wide.

  The public was reassured overwhelmingly by the media that the video was fake, a spoof; that the source of the Black Flu outbreak in Germany had been identified and fully contained; there was no risk of it spreading any further in Europe.

  The media were wrong.

  We didn’t know it, but the apocalypse had started months ago. But my world ended the day I stared at the door, praying for it to open. So that I could say, “I love you too.”

  One

  The setting sun cast its reflection across the calm ocean, hues of orange and pink merging to create a sense of calm, peace and tranquillity. The beauty of the early evening went unnoticed by Sam. His mind was too full of hope and excitement for what the night might bring.

  Sitting at the bar on the waterfront, he was enjoying the warm breeze on his face and the cold beer in his hand. It was the last night of the lads’ holiday; a group of eight men, playing golf during the day, drinking during the evening, and all in the name of celebrating Dean’s impending wedding. At nineteen, Sam was the youngest of the group. He’d never been abroad before and was making the most of it.

  On the first day, he’d joined the others for one round of golf, but soon tired of it. So, he had returned to the resort and spent the rest of the day drinking by the pool. When he was joined by the others in the evening, he’d already moved on to shots, and encouraged them to do the same.

  The evening had been loud and messy. Sam had collapsed on his bed in the early hours, awaking the next day to the foul stench of stale beer, farts and vomit. He had taken a shit, a shower and dressed quickly. Ready for another day beside the pool, thus, setting the cycle for the remainder of the trip.

  Tousled light brown hair and chocolate brown eyes lent Sam the appearance of a boy-band member. His toned and tanned body drew admiring glances.

  His natural charm and alcohol-infused confidence made women blush shyly, and be flattered that his attention was on them. He’d had sex with three different women since he’d been here, and was hoping for one last shag before they went home tomorrow.

  Taking a swig of beer and surreptitiously glancing around, he sighed as he noticed how empty the resort was. “Slim pickings tonight,” he
complained to Trev who was sitting next to him.

  “Eh, what?” Trev asked. Already married and no interest in picking up women, his mind was on a heated debate about Chelsea’s new striker.

  “It's so quiet, might have to settle for a fatty,” Sam said, oblivious to Trev's confusion.

  His eyes had settled on a group of four girls, quietly sipping brightly coloured cocktails in the next bar along. To Sam’s arrogant mind, all four of them were overweight, their make-up applied by inexperienced hands, and tightly fitted maxi dresses unflattering on their figures.

  He thought back to some of the other women he’d slept with. He’d had better, he’d had worse. Plus, he reassured himself, insecure women make for easy prey.

  “They'll do,” he muttered.

  "Yeah mate, sure, whatever,” Trev replied, unsure if the comment was meant for him.

  As the evening wore on, Sam began to tire of the inane football conversation. He’d been the only one drinking all day. The rest of them just needed a little encouragement to catch up. He looked around and caught the eye of a hovering waiter.

  “Eight Jäger bombs please, mate,” Sam expressed each word slowly to help the Spanish waiter understand, completely ignorant to how patronising he sounded.

  The shots arrived and were downed quickly by the group. More orders soon followed and more shots consumed. Talk of football was quickly forgotten as the men grew louder and more raucous.

  “I'm going for a piss,” Sam announced. Getting unsteadily to his feet, he made his way inside to the small, dirty toilet. Inside the dimly lit bar, he noticed a group of local women, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. Sam didn't know what they were saying, but he also didn't care. They were fit.

  Veering off course, Sam purposefully walked next to the table, puffing his chest out and winking at the hottest one on his way past. A much better choice than the other girls he’d seen earlier.

  Rolling her eyes at the young boy, Rosa groaned inwardly. As a waitress in a local café, the attention of drunken English men was familiar to her, but it was never welcomed, particularly not tonight. She wasn't feeling well, and her head was thumping. She hadn't even wanted to come out, but it was her best friend Isabella's birthday, and she’d felt she had no choice

  As her friends gossiped, Rosa’s thoughts turned to her boyfriend. He’d visited his parents in a nearby village the day before. Their elderly neighbour had passed away earlier in the day, after suffering from a nasty bout of flu. Some of the other villagers had the same thing, and he was sure his parents were coming down with it, too. He had complained of feeling ill himself earlier that day. Despite his encouragement that her plans should not change, Rose felt guilty for leaving him.

  With a heavy sigh, Rosa stood up, “I'm so sorry Isabella, but I need to go home. I don't feel so good.”

  “But your wine…” Isabella began to protest, pointing at the glass that had barely been touched. Looking up at her friend, she noticed how tired and drawn Rosa looked, and backed down immediately, “It's cool, go home, get some sleep. We can celebrate another time.” She turned to the others, “We’ll go and eat now, yes?”

  The ladies stood, gathered their belongings and left the bar together, the three women taking turns to kiss Rosa’s cheeks, before heading off in the opposite direction.

  Sam came out of the bathroom, slipping his hand through his hair. His face broke out into a cocky grin.

  Rounding the corner, he frowned when he saw the now empty table. Never one to miss out on free booze, he headed over anyway. He looked around, confident no one was watching him, and he downed the remaining wine from the four glasses, then headed back outside.

  The evening wore on, the dark night illuminated by the bright full moon. The group of men got louder. Alcohol was consumed and spilt in equal measure, more shots necked. Confidence growing, Sam decided it was time, and made his way over to the next bar. Without invitation, he pulled up a chair and sat down with the group of girls he’d spotted earlier. They looked back at him in surprise.

  “Alright ladies, enjoying your holiday are ya?” he asked, smiling warmly at them.

  “Um yeah, it’s er … nice here, hot, you know,” the girl with mousy brown hair replied, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

  “So, where ya from?” he asked. Make small talk to break the ice. A basic rule of pulling, act interested in the targets.

  “Oh, just a small village near Oxford,” the same girl replied.

  “Ah, that's lovely that is,” he smiled easily, despite having no idea where Oxford is. “I'm from Maidstone, ya know, in Kent,” he offered without being asked. “On a stag do,” he added gesturing at the next bar. All four girls looked over so see a life-sized inflatable doll pressed against a table. Dean was dry humping it, slapping its plastic backside with every thrust.

  An awkward silence followed, the four girls pointedly ignoring Dean’s actions. “Drink,” Sam almost shouted, startling them. “Let me get you lovely birds, erm, I mean ladies, a drink.”

  “Gaston,” Sam called out, clicking his fingers at the waiter. “Same again over here please, and I'll take a beer.”

  Three of the girls cringed in embarrassment, glancing furtively at each other, sending signals, who is this guy? Only one was smiling, Sally, she'd never been bought a drink by a man before. This was great.

  “I'm Sally,” she announced, thrusting her hand forward to shake Sam's. Her enthusiasm was not lost on Sam, he knew he was in there with this one.

  Gesturing vaguely in the direction of the other girls, she added, “This is Lex, Paige and Claire.”

  “Hi,” they all said dutifully.

  “I'm Sam,” he replied, holding onto Sally's hand a little longer than necessary, and staring deep into her chocolate brown eyes. “Pleasure to meet you,” he added softly.

  ~

  The pounding on the hotel room door eventually stirred Sam from his slumber. “What the fuck?” he moaned, trying to sit up, but his arm was pinned under something heavy. Reaching his free hand towards the table lamp, he flicked it on and saw a naked Sally blinking sleepily up at him, her large frame trapping his arm beneath her.

  “Morning,” she smiled coyly up at him, twirling a strand of brown hair around her finger, “I had fun last night.”

  “Er, what?” Sam replied, forcefully yanking his arm free and knocking her off the bed in the process. Hazy images of the night before came swimming before him, he looked down his body and saw a used condom stuck to the inside of his thigh. “Fuck,” he said peeling it off and flicking it across the room.

  His head was thumping; he must have drunk a lot last night. He tried to focus, but even the walls looked like they were moving.

  “You have to get up, you need to leave now,” someone shouted from behind the closed door. The walls were moving from the heavy pounding on the door.

  Sam angrily pulled on his boxer shorts and marched over, yanking it open.

  “Now listen here, mate. We booked a late checkout… the sun ain't even up yet. I ain't going nowhere,” he shouted at the holiday rep standing in the doorway.

  “No … no … you don't understand, we all have to leave, it's here… we have to go.”

  “Go … Go where … Why … What’s here …?” Sam asked confusion replacing the anger.

  “There is a mandatory evacuation of all UK citizens. A coach will be leaving in ten minutes. You must be on it,” the rep said hurriedly, the words trailing off as he went down the corridor to the next door.

  Sam poked his head out of the door, and in the dim light he could see Dean and another one of the group, running towards the lifts.

  “Oi Dean, mate, what's happening?” Sam shouted, chasing after them.

  Dean repeatedly stabbed at the lift button. He glanced quickly at Sam, taking in his mostly naked form. “What the fuck are you doing? Get dressed, we have to go. Now… They… They’ve already got Trev.”

  “What... who got Trev?” Sam stuttered, his hungover brain st
ruggling to comprehend Dean’s words.

  Fear cracked Dean’s voice. “He’s fucking dead, got attacked last night, now fucking move. I ain't waiting for you, Sam.”

  The fog in Sam’s mind prevented him from registering what he was being told. What he did know was that his mates were leaving, and he didn't want to be left behind.

  He rushed back to his room and started to dress.

  “Come back to bed, Sammie … I want to cuddle,” Sally said, now back in bed with the sheets wrapped around her.

  “No. I've got to go; you should leave too. Something's happening,” he spat at her hurriedly. He didn't really care about whether she left or stayed in the room, but he didn't want to take her with him.

  Dejected and hurt, Sally huffed and stood up. She scooped up her knickers from the floor and pulled them on, while looking around the room for the rest of her clothes. “Sam, have you seen my bra?” she asked.

  He turned to look at her. The expression on his face changing to one of disgust when he saw the blood on the bed.

  “You dirty cow. Are you on your fucking period? You let me put my dick in you when you're on your period. That's fucking gross,” Sam snarled, his alcohol-filled stomach heaving at the thought.

  “No,” Sally protested, “I'm not due on for a couple of weeks,” she turned and looked back at small spots of blood on the sheets. “Oh,” she giggled snatching her bra up from under the pillow. “No, I'm a virgin … or I guess … I was a virgin.”

  “Seriously?” Sam paused, his jeans around his knees and a look of joy transformed his face. “Ha! I fucked a virgin! Wait until I tell my mates.” The look of elation remained as he finished dressing. He gathered the clothes scattered across the room into his holdall, and said, “Right well, see ya,” as he walked out of the door.

  “Wait! Don't you want my number?” Sally called out to Sam's retreating back. Pretending not to hear her, Sam sped up and opted for the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.