Safe Zone (Book 1): The Greater Good

by Sussex, Suzanne

  “You don’t think I’m with you for your good looks and charm, do you?” I laugh back, “I’m only with you because you’d be able to protect me in a zompoc.”

  A look of mock indignation fills his face, “I thought you were with me because of my mind, not my army training.”

  “LOL,” I reply pointedly. I quickly take a step back, as he jumps and lunges at me. He’s too quick, and I am picked up and thrown roughly on the sofa.

  My head bounces off the soft cushions that form the armrest. He pins me down, controlling me with ease. He is much bigger and stronger than me. Running and going to the gym have kept him in good shape, and his lean physique belies his strength. I start to panic as I struggle to free myself.

  “Fuck off …” I groan, but it falls on deaf ears. He zones in on my vulnerability, my exposed feet, and the attack begins.

  Caught between laughing and squealing, I am unable to form words, so instead kick out at him. I hate being tickled, particularly on my feet. It’s my own fault, he never lets me get away with saying LOL without some form of tickle-based punishment.

  I eventually manage to wiggle my way out from under him, and run to the other side of the room, still laughing.

  Steve sits back on the sofa, looking smug and self-satisfied. I readjust my hair and my clothing, trying to regain some sense of composure and dignity.

  “Right, I’m going shopping. Want anything?” I ask him, squeezing my tingling feet into my comfortable black pumps.

  “Nope, I’m good,” he replies as I lean down and kiss him on the cheek. “Watch out for zombies.”

  “Fuck off,” I reply with a smile and shut the door behind me.

  Three

  Steve sighed as he heard the door shut behind Chloe. He felt guilty for not being open with her. In truth, he was worried about what they’d seen on the news that morning. So, when she was in the shower, he’d been messaging his old army mates.

  Although he’d left the army over two years ago, he kept in contact with the lads in his old squadron. He may now live on civvy street, but they would always be his brothers. The time he had spent in the service meant the world to him, and he was proud to call himself a veteran.

  The news coming back was concerning. The army had cancelled all leave, and ordered troops to return to their respective units.

  One of his less discreet mates had told him that they’d withdrawn from all non-essential operational tours and exercises. Troops from all over the world were returning to the UK.

  In his nine-year military career, he had never witnessed such measures. It seemed unlikely that the events of the last few weeks in Europe, and the sudden recall of troops were unrelated. The fear on the face of the news reporter, when he addressed the camera, was not fake. The Black Flu was a real threat.

  He knew it wasn’t zombies. The very thought was ridiculous. Zombies were a thing of fiction, of horror movies. They weren’t real and never would be. His instincts did, however, tell him that this could be a chemical attack, the likes of which he’d trained for extensively during his years of service. The attack that had never materialised.

  The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that this was the case. Test it in South America. Learn from the test. Perfect the virus, then release it in Europe. It made sense.

  A nagging doubt plagued his thoughts. If it was a chemical attack, why release it so slowly? Why allow time to create a cure or vaccination? Why allow time for countries to prepare? It made no tactical sense.

  Unless… What if Germany and Spain were not the beginning of the attack. They could have been more tests, or even, small attacks to create panic and discord.

  It was all hypothetical, theories that could only be confirmed if the virus were to spread quickly and widely. He’d considered sharing his concerns with Chloe, but didn’t want to worry her, based on gossip and speculation. He hoped that he would never know.

  For if he did, the worse would have happened and he knew the implications of that; what it would mean if a contagion with such a high fatality rate came to the UK, what it meant for him, for them.

  He had never spoken with Chloe about what it meant when he left the army. That he could be recalled in the event of a national emergency. A wide-scale chemical attack would certainly qualify. He knew that it wouldn’t occur to her to ask, and therefore she wouldn’t worry about it. Unless the time came, he wanted it to stay that way. So, when she came downstairs after the shower, he didn’t say a word about his concerns.

  Four

  George Carlton sat back in his unnecessarily large leather chair, behind his unnecessarily large mahogany desk, in his unnecessarily large office, a self-satisfied smile plastered across his face.

  The announcement yesterday had been better received than he could have hoped. Not that he cared, he hadn’t saved that company to secure the future of the North West.

  George was an expert in people, and in manipulating situations for personal gain. He had become incredibly wealthy by understanding and employing the very basic of principles; it’s not what you know, it’s who you know.

  He had built Hillcrofts Ltd from the bottom up, by applying this principle. Not many people could describe the purpose of the business.

  It wasn’t in the manufacturing, tourism, retail or financial services sector, but somehow had roots within all four.

  With J.P. Plants, he was quick to recognise that another large employer in the manufacturing sector was struggling, and he was politically aware enough to act. The compulsory redundancy of thousands of employees would be the nail in the coffin for the Conservatives in the upcoming General Election.

  The public was already lapping up the spin from the other parties, and there was a growing sense of public outrage. The question “Why were the banks bailed out while manufacturing companies are left to rot?” was posed time and time again. Not least because of a word in the ear of a journalist who owed George a favour. The answer was always the same; because the banks made the politicians rich.

  No one took the time to provide any proof of this, or point out that if one of the big four banks collapsed, it would irrevocably damage the economy of the UK. The opposition party did not want to ruin a good story with facts. The Conservatives knew that arguing with the truth wouldn’t appease the public. They knew they needed action, but floundered around, unsure of just what this was.

  George had cleverly orchestrated the dissent and then capitalised on the growing pressure.

  He had contacted the Prime Minister and made his offer.

  He would inject the cash, but before they made the announcement, the Prime Minister could visit the manufacturing plant, take the requisite tour, shake the hands of the workers, and kiss the heads of their babies.

  Then he would look sorrowfully at the camera, and promise that he would personally do everything in his power to save the company. A few weeks later he would make the announcement that he had found the necessary funding.

  The money George injected into the company was enough to buy him a small stake, and would keep them running for another year or so. If they didn’t do something to turn their fortune around, J.P. Plants would be out of business.

  He stood to lose his investment, but he could afford to. It was a calculated risk, but the reward was more than worth it. Now the Prime Minister was beholden to him; he just needed to choose the right time to call in the favour.

  The possibility of a knighthood, though, that was the cherry on the cake. “Sir George Carlton,” he announced out loud to the empty room. Yes, he liked the sound of that.

  He flicked on the TV, ready to watch the news. An egotistical man, he relished the prospect of hearing himself being talked about in such a positive light. But as he watched, the self-satisfied smile was wiped off his face, and his blood ran cold.

  The Black Flu was in Alicante. So was his daughter.

  George already knew the Black Flu was a real threat, and that the media had been told to tone down their reports
. His contacts had been all too willing to share the speculation and gossip; there had been more outbreaks than reported in the news, and each was followed by unexplained violence. He just didn’t think it would get to Spain, certainly not to a tourist resort like Alicante. All the other outbreaks had been small and contained quickly.

  He cursed. Had this been a business deal, he would have thought through all the angles, but when Sally jetted off on Friday to her first holiday with friends, it didn’t even occur to him to think of the risk of Black Flu, his mind instead, fully occupied on the announcement the next day.

  Why had it not occurred to him until now that, if there were multiple outbreaks, they could not possibly be containing the problem? If they were, it wouldn’t be spreading.

  He knew why. There was no money to be made; therefore, he hadn’t given the Black Flu much thought at all, and now his little girl was in danger.

  He reached across his desk, picked up the phone and dialled a number.

  Five

  Sam woke a few hours later when the plane touched down with a bumpy landing. He stared out of the window as they taxied towards the terminal building. He spotted a few odd things. The sign on the terminal building clearly stated that this was Heathrow Airport. There were six or seven military vehicles parked near to where their plane came to a stop. Soldiers wearing hazmat suits and holding rifles appeared to be waiting for them.

  “What the fuck is going on? We’re meant to be at Gatwick. My car is at fucking Gatwick,” Sam said snapped at Dean.

  “Dunno, mate,” Dean replied, “Maybe we’ve been div…” he let the words trickle off as the public announcement system crackled to life.

  “We have arrived at Heathrow Airport. Please remain in your seats for further instructions.”

  Upon hearing the announcement, every single passenger promptly ignored it. Seat belts were unbuckled. People reached up to open the overhead lockers. Mobile phones were switched on, and the noise in the cabin rose as the aisles were filled with passengers, impatiently waiting to move.

  “THIS IS CAPTAIN MILLER. I AM A BRITISH ARMY OFFICER. YOU WERE ASKED TO STAY IN YOUR SEATS. NOW SIT THE FUCK DOWN.”

  As if shot, every passenger promptly sat down, and there was silence throughout the plane. After a few minutes, the PA came to life again.

  “Thank you for your patience. You will now quickly and quietly disembark the aircraft. You will leave in single file. You will give your name and your passport to my colleagues waiting outside. You will answer all questions in full and with the truth. You will then be directed to a holding area, where you will be told which quarantine camp you have been assigned to.”

  The cabin erupted with shouts of, “What the fuck?” and “Why are we being quarantined?”

  “SHUT THE FUCK UP,” Captain Miller’s voice boomed.

  Everyone did indeed shut the fuck up.

  Sam waited patiently for his turn to leave, the seemingly never-ending hangover beating at his brow. Reaching the door to the plane, and at the queue on the steps, he looked out at the soldiers questioning the other passengers.

  “Name,” the soldier barked at him when he got to the front of the queue.

  “Sam … er, Samuel Brown,” he replied, thumbing in his pockets for his passport.

  “Have you had contact with anyone infected with the Black Flu?” the soldier asked.

  “No,” Sam, watched the soldier making notes on the form attached to a clipboard.

  “Have you been bitten or scratched in the last 48 hours?”

  “Er what… Bitten? No... Oh, but my mate was though. Then the locals kicked him to death, brutal it was,” Sam said, thinking his answer would impress the hard-looking soldier.

  “Your friend was bitten, when was this? Did you touch his corpse? Did you get any of his blood on you?” the soldier fired questions at Sam in rapid succession.

  “Well, er, I wasn't actually there,” Sam stuttered.

  “I had an early night see, didn't want to drink anymore, so I went back to the hotel.” He lied, the thought suddenly occurring to him that admitting contact with anyone in Spain might not be a good idea. “My mates were there though,” he added helpfully, pointing towards Dean, Ian and the rest of the group.

  “Okay. Thank you. Follow the path to the right, which will take you to the processing area. You will be provided with a sleeping bag and some basic toiletries, you will take these items with you to the quarantine centre you are assigned to,” the soldier said, his eyes on the lads that Sam had pointed out.

  “Er, cheers mate, thanks,” Sam replied, and followed the path indicated. Looking back over his shoulder to see if the rest of the gang were close behind, he was shocked to see them surrounded by soldiers pointing rifles at them.

  He watched as they were escorted, at gunpoint, in a different direction from Sam.

  Ushered on by the other passengers behind him, Sam stepped into the small marquee that had been set up as the processing area. It was busy, but the noise level was subdued. Soldiers stood guard, holding rifles, watchful eyes observing the crowds. He joined the back of the queue and thought about what he had just seen. Why had they taken Dean and the others away?

  He thought back to the conversation with the soldier; he’d seemed very interested when Sam had told him about Trev, and it was minutes after that the others were taken away. Was that why they were taken away? Deep down he knew the answer, but wasn’t prepared to admit it to himself.

  “Name,” the woman behind the desk asked, interrupting Sam’s thoughts. He looked down at her. Her face was covered with a surgical mask.

  “Samuel Brown,” he replied.

  “Okay then, Samuel, I’m Theresa.” Her voice was gentle and reassuring. “I’m just going to check a few things with you, then we’ll get you settled in. Have you encountered anyone showing any of these symptoms?” She handed him a piece of laminate card. Sam quickly scanned the list;

  High temperature

  Headache

  Blurred vision

  Muscular aches and pains

  Black coloured eyes

  “No,” Sam answered truthfully.

  “Do you have any of these symptoms Samuel?” she asked

  “No,” he paused, “Well actually I’ve got a little bit of a hangover, which is like a headache, ain’t it?”

  Theresa chuckled softly, “Don’t worry Samuel, a hangover is nothing to worry about, there’s water in the quarantine tent. Make sure you drink plenty, you’ll soon feel better.” She wrote something on a form and handed it to him. “Okay then, I’ve assigned you to Tent A. Follow those signs to your right. Pick up your sleeping bag pack on your way. You’ll need to give this form to the guard at the entrance.” She offered the single piece of paper to him.

  “Cheers,” Sam said, taking the form and glancing at it. It didn’t contain a lot of information. Just his name and a status of ‘Clear.’ He followed the signs to Tent A, selecting a sleeping bag from the large pile he passed on the way.

  The quarantine tent turned out to be a large marquee, the sort you might see at weddings, but lacking the decoration. It was lit by industrial metal lamps in three of the corners.

  In the fourth corner stood two green Portaloos and what looked like a shower block. Near the front of the tent, catering tables were laid out, holding two large urns, mugs and milk portions.

  There were about fifty people already spread out in groups of twos and threes, talking quietly amongst themselves as they claimed their spot in the tent. Sam hugged the sleeping bag to his chest, suddenly feeling very alone. A soldier holding a clipboard stood and looked at Sam expectantly.

  “Form,” he said bluntly, holding out his free hand to Sam.

  Sam handed it to him, the guard took it and added it to the pile already on the clipboard.

  “Er, what do I do now?” Sam asked.

  “Now?” the soldier questioned, “Now you find a spot and sit there until someone tells you otherwise.”

  “Ah, okay
,” Sam replied and scurried off to a free patch of floor.

  He rolled his sleeping bag out. The paracetamol Ian gave him on the plane had worn off, and his headache was back and worse than ever. Remembering Theresa’s kind words, he looked around for water and spotted a water cooler a few feet away. Some water and some more sleep. When he woke, surely the hangover would have gone.

  ~

  “Sam, Sammie, hi Sammie,” someone shouted, jolting Sam from his sleep. He opened his eyes slowly, his vision blurry and head still thumping.

  “Hi, Sammie, I can’t believe you’re here. I couldn’t find you on Facebook.” Sam looked up and audibly groaned.

  “Hi Sally,” he said, getting unsteadily to his feet. “Oomph,” he gasped as she threw herself at him, planting a kiss on his lips. He pushed her away angrily, “Fuck off, what are you doing, you bint?” he asked.

  “I thought you’d be pleased to see me, we’re going to be here for days, so we’ll be able to be together,” she said. The hurt was evident on her face.

  Sam looked at her steadily, the pain in his head seemingly getting worse by the second. His face twisted into an ugly snarl. “Look, you fucking idiot. You were a one-night stand. A one-off. A fucking hands-free wank. I’m not interested in you and spending time together, you fat ugly cow.”

  Sally stepped back as though she had been punched. Tears welled in her eyes. “I thought you liked me,” she said quietly.

  “Well,” Sam replied, a cruel smirk on his face. “You fucking thought wrong, didn’t you?”

  “Fuck you, Sam,” Sally said bursting into tears, holding her sleeping bag to her chest, as she turned away from him, and ran to her friends on the other side of the tent.

  He ignored the looks of disgust and the tutting around him. Fuck ‘em. He had a hangover, the last thing he needed was a one-night stand hanging around.

  The marquee had filled up in the time he had been sleeping, no spaces remained on the floor. Groups of people gathered together, talking quietly, those closest openly talking about him and his outburst at Sally. Beyond them were more groups, who seemed to become more animated as he watched. Gesticulating widely and pointing in the direction of the lone guard at the entrance.