The Grave: A Zombie Novel

by Russ Watts

  It was decided to press ahead though. Only five years ago, millions were dying and so Aqua-Gene 119 was given the go-ahead, rushed through the testing phases, and distributed worldwide. In the driest areas, lakes and reservoirs were pumped full of the new wonder chemical. Three days is all it took to wipe out Australia forever. The African continent fell next. The central and western areas died out and much of the rest of the continent descended into war and chaos. Any survivors who had consumed the water had three days to live. That was the incubation period for the disease. It could gestate in the human intestinal tract without even being detected. It would then erupt like a volcano that had been tightly shut up for a thousand years.

  The main problem with the infected is that they cannot die, which is to say, they are already dead. And you cannot kill something that is already dead. You can nuke them certainly; obliterate them, turns their atoms inside out and wipe their very existence from the surface of the Earth. However, guns, knives, and bombs are all useless. You can chop off an arm, but they will keep fighting you. You can blow off their legs, but they will crawl on their bloody stumps to get to you. You can even take off a head, and its jaws will keep biting. With the infection, the human body became an organism designed to kill. Stopping it was achieved only by total annihilation. That is why there was so much death, and something had to be done. Corpses were walking the Earth.

  So here we are today. The end result of man’s interference with the natural order of things is The Grave. If you want to try taking a positive out of killing nearly fifty per cent of the earth’s population, I suppose you could say it meant four billion less mouths to feed. That certainly alleviated the problem of the food mountain and the millions starving in the Third World. Unemployment was non-existent afterwards. The world had bankrupted itself, but humankind had been saved.

  A small country at the bottom of the world, thousands of miles away from the nearest living human being and cut off by vast oceans, became the new home for almost two million walking dead people. Most were dumped in Te Ika-a-Maui. The lower part of the country, Te Waipounamu, was mostly left alone, deemed unsafe for human inhabitation and too dangerous for the Deathless. Around the borders of the whole country, a peacekeeping unit was established. There is a permanent naval base with a flotilla of around fifty ships patrolling the water to make sure nobody gets in or out. Beaches were laid with mines and trip wires, and three billion miles of barbed wire were laid out along New Zealand’s borders where its once green land had met the oceans.

  The fences and soldiers are still there to keep people out. Naturally, some demanded to see their loved ones. Some wanted to kill them. Some just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. After a few incursions, nobody tried again. Lethal force is mandatory for anyone trying to enter or leave the islands. No questions are asked. No warning shots are fired. Anyone foolish enough to try to get to The Grave is executed immediately. The world cannot risk the infection getting out again. One scratch or bite from the infected is enough to turn you into one of them very, very quickly. A scratch or a bite allows the infection direct access into the bloodstream and the infected person has approximately thirty seconds before they die and reanimate. However, by ingesting Aqua-Gene 119 through contaminated food or water, it takes the human body between two to three days to turn: for some reason the infection lays dormant before causing death and reanimation. A drop of water, just one drop, is all it takes. There is no current method to detect if a person is infected or not, and it is not known why the death and reanimation process is so much longer. There is much work to be done on realising the damage this does to the human body.

  If anyone from that island escaped and contaminated a water supply in the Northern hemisphere, the results would be catastrophic. It was sheer luck that five years earlier, the US had erected the 500 meter wall between itself and Mexico, otherwise North America would not be here today.’

  Kelly was horrified. She had only a cursory knowledge of The Grave. It was marked on every map in every schoolroom in America and it was referred to as another country, although it had no flag. On the globe in her office, it was just two small, black triangles that she paid no attention to. To think that people had been dumped there like trash made her feel sick. And this had happened in her father’s lifetime? She struggled to imagine how horrible it must have been at that time. New York had its problems, crimes and poverty, but this was a whole new level. She looked over at Rasmus who was still asleep. She was worried that their flight path was taking them too close to the island, but surely, the pilots would account for that. The airspace would be closed and the military probably wouldn’t let them get within a hundred miles. Intrigued, she read on.

  ‘The inhabitants of The Grave have been studied, but no one can agree exactly what they are. Once infected by Aqua-Gene 119, the body begins to die. Sufferers reported feeling as if they had the flu; that is until their final moments. Several subjects were monitored until the practise was deemed cruel. What we do know is that the heart withers away. It turns black, and at the last moment, contracts quickly and implodes. Those final few moments are torturous agony for anyone infected. A few seconds later though and the dead body will reanimate. Any semblance of a soul or humanity, of personality or character, is all gone; they are moving yet they are clinically dead. There are those who say that if the body is moving, then there must be something of the person still alive. No. If the heart no longer beats, then it is no longer keeping the human body alive. If blood is no longer pumping around the body and the lungs are no longer inflating or deflating with air, then that person is no longer...well, a person. Whatever impulses and functions are operating within the body is perhaps a part of the decomposition process. Make no mistake; the Deathless are a race of people certainly, but they are not living human beings. We are dealing here with dead bodies that move around as if they are living. Perhaps the infection makes them act like humans so they can move amongst us and hunt us down. Perhaps it is simply a motor-neurone action, started by the infection once the body has died, and thereby enabling the body capable of seeking out food sources in order to replenish itself. Tests were briefly carried out on those subjects and the neural pathways in the brain showed no indication of life. So how do they move? How do they use their senses to find prey? All attempts at communication with the test subjects failed. They were, and still are, a mystery: a dead end.

  The Deathless effectively are rotting bodies and they can ingest only raw meat. They also take in water, preferably infected water it seems. The Aqua-Gene 119 chemical is like a drug to them. They cannot defecate or urinate, so it was surmised that whilst they appear dead on the outside, they are getting enough nutrients and minerals from the raw meat and water to sustain their bodies. The more they eat, the less they rot. Experts have testified that this infection almost acts like a retardation; reducing the mental power of anyone infected by Aqua-Gene 119. Instead of evolving, they are devolving. The Deathless are more akin to a prehistoric caveman, a primordial state of being, than a modern, civil human being. They show no sign of intellect or reasoning. They grunt and groan, but can’t communicate with living humans. They live with a constant need to eat. Raw meat of any kind is palatable to them, yet they cannot stomach anything else. They do not eat their own kind for their meat is already putrid, rotten and maggot-infested. Living humans are ideal.

  Therefore, these people now live in a forbidden zone where access is for highly ranked military officers only on official duties and a brave consort of scientists. They actually live on the island, buried away deep in a hidden bunker, surrounded by an impenetrable barrier, working desperately on a cure; trying to find something that will reverse the process and bring these diseased dead souls back to a more modern human state. The hope and aim is for one day to reintegrate these people back into society. I suspect it is too late for that. Nevertheless, a cure should be found. We cannot throw our arms up in the air and say, ‘Oh well, life goes on.’ For many millions, it never will aga
in.

  These scientists are living in terrible danger, but their work is so important to the future of the world that they are willing to put their lives on the line. Such is the secrecy and security put around them that we might never learn the names of these people. Whoever they are, I salute them. Reliable sources have informed me that a helicopter frequently lands on the rooftop of this secretive complex and offloads supplies: boxes and crates of food, clean water, and essential equipment for the scientists. Indications are that they are quite safe. The US Embassy is believed to be the access point for this bunker. It is secure, well maintained, and able to withstand any terrorist attack. Wherever they are, God bless you. Our nation respects and believes in you.

  The Grave has been left unchecked for three years now and the ecology of the country will start to change and evolve. Without cultivation, wildlife will grow and the vegetation will flourish. We may see a very radical change to the land. Much of Te Ika-a-Maui has already begun to revert to its more natural, tropical vegetation that existed before, if reports are to be believed. Animal life, I’m sure will spread its wings far and wide. The sheep and cattle, so vital to men living there before, will die out. They are too domesticated to survive in the wild. Cattle’s stomachs will explode and nearly all bovine life will die within days or weeks of being abandoned. Some sheep might still roam free, but the majority will be dead by the time I write this report. Thirty million sheep carcasses will provide enough meat for the Deathless to live on for months if not years. Infected lakes and water supplies will mean they can live much longer than humans can. For how long, nobody truly knows yet.

  As for the homes and houses, the shops and restaurants, the cottages and power plants of this once proud nation, well they are all deserted now. The Deathless have no care or consideration for shelter. They have no need for sleep or rest. The land is but a shell, a pit to bury our dead and our secrets. Our children will be ashamed when they learn of what we have done to the world. Should we teach them everything? What, I wonder, should I tell my beautiful only child, my daughter who is barely six weeks old? We find ourselves at a crossroads. Our enemies are everywhere, terrorists are lurking in every town, and we destroy some of the most incredible places on Earth. You reap what you sow and humankind has planted the permanent seeds of death. That is the legacy of The Grave.’

  Kelly let the magazine fall to her lap and closed her eyes as a shiver ran over her. She couldn’t read anymore. Her father had been a brilliant scholar and his photo still hung in the Great Hall at the museum, alongside all the other directors. Hers would be up there one day too. How had he coped? With what the world must have gone through, he had still gone ahead and raised a family. Kelly had not married, not found anyone special, or had a serious relationship. She had just read an article about how the world almost ended, and all she could think about was her father. Was she so selfish, so intemperate and self-absorbed? Was that why she was still alone?

  Somebody brushed past Kelly on their way to the bathroom and the jolt roused Kelly. She slid the magazine into the pocket in front of her and dimmed the light. She needed to sleep. It had been a busy few months and it had all built to a head last night. She needed rest for the expedition. When they arrived, they would be straight into work and she had to look after everyone. It was going to be a hectic few weeks.

  She closed her eyes and remembered the gala last night. The First Lady, Sophie, had proven to be a very warm person and enjoyable company. Her minders had kept in the background apart from the brief altercation with Will and Suzy. Kelly smiled. She had noticed they had both taken off before the end of the evening and wondered if they had spent much time last night resting for the trip or divulging in other extra-curricular activities that were not on the museum’s regular agenda. She forced her mind back to what lay ahead.

  For Kelly, the chance of first hand research excited her. If she spent more than six months in her office back in New York, it was considered a long stay. She organised special field expeditions and usually managed to get herself a place on them too. The museum hadn’t led a trip to the Antarctic for five years, so it was only natural that she should lead it. At thirty five years of age, she had dedicated her life to the museum and enjoyed the trips away from New York. She had no partner and no long-term boyfriend. Even the potted plants in her lounge were plastic so she could take off at a moment’s notice and not worry about leaving her Upper East Side apartment.

  The plane continued west and everyone on board relaxed and slept peacefully. The sun was chasing them and the flight was smooth and stress-free as the jumbo flew above the flat, white clouds. Josef Jahn and Wilfred Kraven were on route to LAX to join their colleagues and friends. They had worked together previously and knew each other well. Both were looking forward to working with Rasmus again too. Over the last thirty or so years, they had shared as much beer together as they had research. Though Josef and Wilfred had both missed out on the fundraiser, they knew they would be well represented. The First Lady had given Kelly assurances that the museum would be well looked after and a sizeable donation was on its way.

  Kelly found her inquisitive nature getting the best of her, so she slid the journal out of the seatback pocket. She just wanted to read some more about The Grave. Sleep could come later.

  * * *

  Sophie Agnew had spent the night at the Hilton after the fundraiser and then travelled back to Washington the next day with her security detail. Back at the White House later in the day, she managed to find her husband in between meetings.

  “How was it?” asked Richard Agnew, greeting his wife in their private chambers.

  “Well, they were hoping the President of the United States would show up, but I guess you were busy, hmm?” Sophie embraced her husband and ran her hands through his dark hair. “What was so busy that Richard Agnew couldn’t spend the evening with his wife?”

  “You know how it is, Sophie. I said I probably wouldn’t make it. How did you get on? Did White look after you?” Agnew squeezed the bridge of his nose together with his forefingers; trying to alleviate some of the pressure, he could feel building.

  “It was a great evening, shame you missed out. Maybe next year? Kelly is really taking the place in the right direction.”

  Agnew frowned.

  “Kelly Munroe, you remember her? From the museum? You – we – are sending her a big cheque tomorrow,” said Sophie.

  “Oh sure, fine. And White?”

  “Why? I know he’s your favourite, but he’s been looking after me for what – six, seven months? He could do with loosening up a bit, but he’s no trouble. I can handle him.”

  Agnew sat down in an armchair and rifled through some papers. “What with the G25 coming up and this damn conflict in the Yemen escalating, I barely had time to sneeze last night. I spent an hour on the phone with Senator Collins. Jeez, what an old woman. He needs putting right.”

  “I’m sure you can take care of him,” said Sophie as she changed. She had a couple of hours before her next engagement and wanted to freshen up. She had stripped down to her underwear and paused. “What else is it?” She noticed her husband was flicking through the papers in his hands, but not really looking at them, or her. “Another of your migraines?”

  “Hmm? Oh, sorry, it’s just we’ve got the ten year anniversary coming up and Collins was banging on about what we’re going to do: memorial services, ceremonies, media events, blah, blah, blah. As if I don’t have enough to do without that old gasbag in my ear every five minutes.”

  “Darling, you need to relax,” said Sophie. She checked to be sure that the bedroom door was locked and then walked over to her husband.

  Agnew heard the door click and looked up. Sophie had slipped off her bra and had her thumbs tucked into her panties. She was still svelte and being on her feet all day helped maintain her healthy figure. She was looking at him with those come-and-get-me eyes she usually reserved for special occasions.

  “It’s been a while, Richard. I’ve
got a bit of spare time before I have to go out again. You don’t have to rush off do you?”

  He looked at his wife approaching him and then gathered up the papers. He looked at his watch and stood up. “Actually, I’ve got to go meet Verity. She’s giving us an update in the Oval office in a few minutes. We need to see what those Arabs have done now. I tell you, trying to keep on top of them is...”

  “Shhh,” said Sophie, putting a finger to her husband’s lips. “You should just get on top of me,” she whispered. Sophie traced her fingers across his lips and chin, and then reached up to kiss him. Her tongue sought to open his mouth, but he pushed her away.

  “No, I’m busy Sophie, this isn’t the time.” Agnew marched over to the door and unlocked it.

  “Richard, darling,” said Sophie as she went over to her husband. She nuzzled against his neck, her cold nose making his warm neck tingle. She wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed her breasts up close to him. “I can help with your headaches, you know? A little stress relief...”

  “No.” Agnew pushed her and Sophie stumbled backward, falling onto the bed. He pointed his finger at her as she lay there, confusion drawn across her face, anger etched across his.

  Sophie drew the covers around her naked body. “Richard, I love you, how can...”