The entire back yard was completely empty of any vehicles, except for a few mopeds, over by the smoking shelter, which judging by the labels hanging from their handlebars had been seized as evidence. Muz had never seen the car park so utterly barren. The area was easily capable of housing in excess of one hundred and fifty cars, and yet, normally, it was a struggle to find a single bay in which to park.
Although the solidity of the thirteen-foot high brick walls that surrounded the backyard on all sides provided an ample defence from the afflicted people running riot in the streets, Muz suddenly had a strong feeling of being penned in. He was painfully aware that if the building were somehow breached, there would be no chance of escape and their attackers would be able to pick them off rapidly.
“Come on, let’s go back inside,” he said, trying to keep any nervous tremors out of his voice.
The PCs’ writing room, where most patrol officers complete their paperwork, was situated just past the lifts, to the right of the reception office. Muz marched in and slumped into one of the several damaged swivel chairs. As the other three entered the room however, they stopped and took in the chaotic mess that surrounded them. Piles of paperwork and torn open evidence bags lay strewn over the desks between the computer terminals. Dirty tea and coffee cups were everywhere. One had been knocked over, spilling its contents on the papers. Another had a half-eaten sandwich stuffed in it, which had swollen and turned brown, having sucked up the contents of the mug. In a corner, an overflowing and stinking bin stood at the centre of a pile of screwed up balls of paper, which had missed their target. One notice board was completely covered in Polaroid photos of various officers caught in compromising scenarios, asleep at their desks or in police cars, female police officers dressed in provocative and revealing fancy dress costumes at some social event. One picture showed an officer with a big smile giving a double thumbs-up as he stood at the scene of a particularly nasty looking pile up involving four crushed and mangled cars. The word ‘prick’ had been written in biro over his forehead.
“What a shit hole,” was Chuck’s honest opinion.
“What happened here?” Jenna asked, thinking the disarray must be the result of recent events.
“It’s always like this,” Muz replied with a shrug.
“Wow,” Chuck remarked.
“A poster of Chuck Norris? Seriously?” Carl said, as he looked at the print on one wall of the bearded action hero whose tanned and oiled torso and arms were being proudly flexed.
“I think it’s meant to be ironic,” Muz said defensively.
“Chuck Norris died twenty years ago,” Carl said, reading out one of the many jokes printed on the bottom of the poster. “Death just hasn’t built up the courage to tell him yet.”
“Very apt,” Chuck said solemnly.
Pushing aside the piles of paper and other rubbish, Muz dragged one of the phones on the desks over to him and took the opportunity to call his wife again. Seeing this, the other two men pushed aside the half-eaten food, crisp packets and paperwork until they too found themselves phones. While the three men struggled to remember the numbers they were trying to dial, Jenna stood in the doorway, nervously looking up and down the corridor.
“Farah?” Muz said when he heard someone pick up.
“Mustafa!” his wife cried out in response.
“Farah, I…”
“We’ve been so worried,” Farah said, her voice filled with relief. “Have you managed to get out?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Oh.., I thought you were calling to tell me…” Muz could hear his wife trying to fight back her tears.
“I’m still okay though,” Muz assured her. “I’ve just had a bit of a setback, but I’ll be back home before you know it.”
“Your mother and father are here,” Farah told him. “They stayed here last night. And your brother is flying over from Turkey.”
“Tell them I’m okay and I look forward to seeing them all soon.” He said this in an effort to convince himself as much as them. All the while, he kept his eyes on Jenna where she was stood keeping watch, looking for any sign from her that she might have seen or heard something.
“Mustafa, a news crew arrived here last night,” Farah went on.
“What?”
“They’ve been waiting outside the house ever since. Every time I open the door they…”
“Listen, Farah, do not talk to them,” Muz told her, feeling himself flush with anger. The others in the room with him looked up at his sudden increase in volume.
“I haven’t,” Farah said.
“Good. Tell everyone not to talk to them, including the neighbours.” Muz hated the idea of those sick bastards making a living off the misery of his family.
“Where are you?” Farah asked.
“I’ve made it back to the police station. I thought it would be safe here but it’s now inside the affected area, and I still haven’t seen any signs of any quarantine borders. I need to know where I should be heading. Do you know where the cordons are now?”
“No,” Farah replied, unable to stop herself from crying any longer. “I’ve been watching the news constantly, so that I would be able to help you as much as possible if you rang again. But I don’t know; the news has been very vague about how far the riots have spread.”
“Okay, never mind. Don’t worry about it,” Muz told her, trying to calm her down, while keeping his own emotions in check. “I’d better go.”
“No, please don’t,” Farah begged him. “Fatima wants to speak to you.”
“No,” Muz protested strongly. “Please don’t put her on. I couldn’t handle it,” he begged. He knew hearing his young daughter’s voice would instantly reduce him to tears and he could not bear to have her hear him in such distress.
“Okay, but please stay and talk to me some more,” Farah pleaded. “I’ve being sitting awake all night, waiting just to hear your voice again.”
“I have to go, honey. I’m sorry but I want to get out of here before the end of the day.” The idea of spending another night, too afraid to sleep, amid all this madness was too much for Muz to deal with.
“Okay, baby. I love you,” Farah told him.
“I love you too.”
Muz reluctantly hung up and rested his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. He could hear Carl still talking on the phone.
“How’s little Lucy holding up?” he heard the man say. “Is she missing me? She’s off her food? That’s not good. Tell her daddy’s fine and I’ll be home soon, okay?”
“Was that your wife?” Muz asked when Carl hung up.
“What? Wife?” Carl replied. “No, I’m not married. It was, Sarah, my cleaning lady.”
“Oh right,” Muz replied, a little confused. “Is your daughter okay?”
“Daughter?” Carl said, also looking confused now.
“Lucy?”
“Lucy’s my cat,” Carl stated matter-of-factly, without an ounce of embarrassment.
Jenna, who had been listening in to the conversations, actually laughed out loud. When Carl shot her a look, she rapidly turned and looked intently down the corridor again, feigning innocence.
Chuck was oblivious. He too had finished his phone conversation and now simply sat staring into space, a blank but steely expression on his face. Only the slight amount of moisture gathering in his eyes conveyed any emotion. He wiped at his eyes and now looked around to check whether anyone had been watching him in his moment of weakness.
“You okay?” Muz asked him.
“Yes, fine,” Chuck replied defensively and got to his feet. “So, what now?”
“We should get cleaned up,” Muz replied.
Saying that made him sound decisive and as though he still had some sort of plan, which he knew the others needed to hear. In truth, he was stalling, while he mulled over their bleak options.
They walked back down the corridor, past the lifts and the exit to the back yard, past the bottom of
the stairwell, to its end, which was blocked by a locked door. Muz stood a moment and tried to look through the spy hole fitted in the centre of the door. It was designed for people to look out however, and he could see very little of the room beyond. Nonetheless, he stared through the optic for close to a minute until he was reasonably confident there was no movement within.
On the wall beside the door was an electronic keypad. Muz pressed a sequence of digits, careful to obstruct the others from seeing the code by putting his body in the way of their line of sight. It had been so drilled into him that even now in the current situation, he was conscious of not divulging the security code.
“I’m just going into the custody area. Wait here, I won’t be long,” he said to the others.
Given the present circumstances, he didn’t much like the idea of being responsible for several members of the public wandering around the detention area. Every corner of every room beyond this point was covered by CCTV cameras and, should anything happen to any of them, he was ultimately responsible for their wellbeing. The thought of potentially being at the centre of an internal investigation in regards to him ‘neglecting’ his duty of care, or even facing criminal charges, as he was forced over and over again to watch the footage of these people dying at the hands of mad cannibals, was more than enough for him to chance entering the custody facility alone.
That was the nature of the job these days though; every action a police officer took in his role made him question how it could lead to him eventually losing his job. It was often a case of being damned if you do and damned if you don’t. The higher ranks always stated they would ‘have the back’ of any officer facing public criticism while having acted in line with police powers and policy. The truth however, was more often that they would quickly hang the poor officer out to dry, rather than lose public faith in the organisation as a whole.
Jenna looked at Muz with fretful hound dog eyes. She was surprised by how much she feared being separated from this copper. The woman tried to nudge past him through the door, partly because of this irrational fear of abandonment and partly – probably more so – because she knew there to a doctor’s office in the custody facility, where there would be a plethora of assorted drugs.
“Stay,” Muz told her, making a joke of her puppy-like eyes.
He closed the door on her, disregarding the pleading look. She would be safe enough with the other two men and, though it was flattering, he was concerned about how dependant on him she was becoming.
A second or two after the door had closed, it made a loud click as the electronic locks fell into place. Carl and Chuck stood there awkwardly, uncomfortably silent in each other’ company, while Jenna gnawed at the stubs of her fingernails and stared down the long stretch of the straight corridor behind them.
“What do you think his plan is now?” Chuck asked of neither of the other two in particular.
“If he’s anything like me, he’ll want to keep pushing on until he reaches a cordon,” Carl deemed to answer. “That’s certainly what I plan to do anyway.”
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Chuck said.
“I don’t care,” Carl blurted back. “I’ve had the feeling of death breathing down the back of my neck for longer than I can take. I’ll admit it; my nerves are shot. I need to get to safety.”
“But it’s far too dangerous,” Chuck urged him. “We need to find somewhere secure and defendable to hold up and ride this whole thing out. This place would have been ideal if it wasn’t for that glass-fronted reception. Reinforced glass or not, I don’t think it would hold for long against a large, frenzied crowd like we’ve seen.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Carl now responded. “I don’t relish the idea of walking the streets out there, but if that’s what I have to do to get to safety, then that’s what I have to do.”
“Well, whatever the police officer decides to do, I’m going with him,” Jenna cut in defiantly.
“Whatever he decides to do? You’re just going to blindly put your life in his hands?” Chuck asked her incredulously.
“He’s kept me alive so far,” Jenna said.
“And you both think that if by some miracle you make it to the cordon, the authorities controlling it will just let you out?” Chuck asked them both, giving the very notion a snort of derision.
“Why not?” Jenna asked, appalled at the notion that she might not be let through the barriers.
“Because as far as far as anyone on the outside is concerned,” Chuck explained, “we’re all compromised, potentially infected, and therefore represent a threat to their safety.”
“But they can’t just leave us to die,” Jenna said, her chin crinkling up and her bottom lip becoming fat.
“Can’t they?” Chuck now asked rhetorically.
“Stop scaring her,” Carl barked. “They will probably have treatment facilities in special quarantine buildings set up.”
Chuck shook his head and sighed. “They can only do that once they know what it is they’re trying to treat.”
Again, the three of them stood in silence, the tension between Carl and Chuck now even higher than before, and Jenna exhibiting even stronger signs of being on the edge of falling apart. Muz seemed to have been gone for an inordinate amount of time before, with a sudden loud click, the door flung open, causing Jenna actually to yelp in fright.
Muz stood in the doorway, his arms laden in front of him. Stepping forward and to his right, he entered the small kitchenette there and spilled the contents of his arms onto the metal work surface by the sink. Looking over his shoulders, the others saw that he had brought a first aid box and several items of grey and white clothes, folded and sealed in clear plastic bags.
The first thing he did then was wash his head and arms in the sink, relishing the feel of the clean water rinsing away the accumulated sweat and dirt. Having dried himself off with the paper towels he ripped from a dispenser on the wall, he opened the red box with the white cross on the front.
Delving through the tightly packed contents, he picked out a handful of individual packets of anti-bacterial wipes. Ripping a couple open, he tended to his many scrapes, scratches, and friction burns.
“I thought you blokes might appreciate a change of attire,” he said to Carl and Chuck, nodding at the piles of clothes.
Chuck’s suit was utterly filthy and Carl had previously implied that his own pants might be dirty on the inside.
“They’re pretty basic,” Muz said. “Custody jumpers and jogging bottoms that we give to the prisoners whenever we need to seize their own clothes as evidence. Don’t worry; they’re brand new.”
Chuck nodded in gratitude. Though the morning air had been slightly chilly on their way here, all his exertions had left him feeling sweaty and damp.
“Cheers,” Carl said. “But before I change, is there any chance of getting a little something to eat.” As he asked this, he was looking up at the many shelves, stacked high with microwave meals, stored here in order to feed the prisoners.
“Yeah, of course. We should all try and eat,” Muz replied. “Take your pick. There’s not much of a choice though.”
After more deliberation than the selection warranted, both Carl and Chuck opted for the ‘All Day Breakfast’ and slung the two plastic containers in the microwave.
“Throw one in for me as well,” Muz said, finally giving in to his hunger for the first time since this had all started. “How about you, Jenna?”
“No way,” the woman replied, turning her nose up in disgust. “I’m not eating that crap. I’ve had too many custody meals in my time. If we’re heading back out, I’ll get something from the Tesco down the road.”
She’d probably spent a fair bit of money in that branch of the store over the years. Rarely able to stomach the food offered to her in the cells while locked up at Colindale, upon her release, she would stagger half-starved and suffering withdrawal, over to the mini-supermarket for nourishment.
“You do real
ise that the shop will have been left locked up since the day before this all kicked off?” Muz told her.
“Then I’ll smash a window,” Jenna responded with a casual shrug.
Carl and Chuck looked over at her with new eyes, a barely concealed expression of distaste on their faces. Muz however was completely used to the complete and utter disregard for the law from people like her and he actually laughed. The woman was growing on him. Picking up another packet of anti-bacterial wipes, he threw it at her. Jenna caught it as it hit her in the chest.
“Clean yourself up,” he said with a grin.
“Thanks,” Jenna replied.
As he ate the microwaved food in its tray using a plastic fork that threatened to break every time he stabbed at a sausage, Muz watched the woman clean the cuts and grazes on her face with the alcohol-laced disposable cloth. Noticing she had missed an area of dirty scratches on her forehead, he opened another packet and helped her clean herself. Jenna smiled an almost bashful and thankful smile up at him, as he wiped her face, holding her head still with her chin in his hand. Muz held her gaze a moment and smiled back.
“She definitely had the right idea,” Carl said, gesturing at Jenna. “This stuff is revolting.”
Despite his blunt critique of the food, both he and Chuck finished their meals in less than thirty seconds. Muz too finished his own meagre meal and threw the packaging in the bin.
“We should head upstairs and see what we can see,” Muz suggested. “There’s a balcony on the third floor where we can get a decent view of the surrounding area.”
Jenna realised that this meant they had been right in guessing that Muz would want to head back out again and press on to try and find the cordon. The resolve, with which she had told the other two men that she would follow the police officer wherever he decided to go, faltered a little now at the thought of venturing back outside.
“Can’t we just barricade ourselves in the police station and wait for help?” she almost pleaded, as they all walked back down the corridor towards the door to the stairwell.
Sudden Death: A Zombie Novel Page 15
