Surviving The Virus (Book 3): Apocalypse

by Casey, Ryan

  “I’d say you don’t really have much of a choice,” Dr Jenkinson said. “So what’s it going to be?”

  Noah stood there. Held that rifle in his shaking hands. Kept it pointed at Dr Jenkinson. Stared into Kelly’s wandering, bloodshot eyes. Saw that urgency. She wanted him to fight. She wanted him to resist. She wanted him to stand up.

  But he wanted her to survive.

  He wanted all of them to survive.

  He looked around at Zelda, then. Saw her shake her head. Like she wasn’t on board either. Like she didn’t trust this guy.

  And then he heard a crack.

  The doors cracking under the weight of something.

  The weight of a wave of infected.

  Dr Jenkinson tightened his grip on Kelly’s head.

  Pushed that pistol deeper into her temple.

  “Now, Noah. Right this damned second. Or we both go down. Is that what you want? Is that how you want this to go?”

  Noah thought about what Kelly would want. What Eddie would want.

  He thought about what Jasmine would want.

  He wanted to stand up.

  He wanted to fight.

  But he wanted these people to survive.

  He wanted these people to live.

  He went to lower his rifle.

  Lowered it, just slightly, as those footsteps started to fill the compound. As they pounded against the metal walkways. As the smell of infection and death grew ripe in the air.

  Dr Jenkinson smiled. “Good. That’s it. That’s exactly it.”

  Noah looked into Kelly’s wavering eyes as he held that rifle by his side.

  His eyes watered.

  His chest tightened.

  His heart pounded.

  “There’s something you should know,” Noah said.

  Dr Jenkinson frowned. “Noah? No more messing around. We need to get out of—”

  “Me. My friends. We live together. And we die together. Going with you is just another form of death. So we might as well take our chances.”

  He lifted his rifle.

  Went to pull the trigger.

  And then he heard an ear-piercing blast from up ahead.

  Saw a flash.

  And everything faded into the brightness.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Noah closed his eyes when he saw the light and almost pulled that trigger on Dr Jenkinson out of habit.

  But then he heard a combination of things.

  A crying.

  A shrieking wail. Not from a woman. Not from Kelly.

  But from a man.

  The brightness faded from his eyes.

  And at that moment, that confusing, baffling moment, Noah saw something and was convinced this had to be a goddamned dream.

  Eddie stood at the cell door.

  He had a pistol in hand.

  He was pointing it at Dr Jenkinson, who lay flat on his front, blood spurting out of his back.

  “Eddie?” Noah said.

  Eddie looked up. Wide-eyed. He looked at Noah. And then back down, at Kelly, who lay slumped by Dr Jenkinson’s side.

  “What did you do?” Eddie shouted.

  “It’s okay,” Noah said, tears stinging his eyes. “She’s—she’s had some meds. But she’s okay. We need to get out of here. We need to—”

  “What the fuck did you do?”

  He pushed the pistol into Dr Jenkinson’s twitching back, and he fired again.

  Twice.

  Dr Jenkinson looked up at Noah behind his broken glasses.

  He opened his mouth like he was going to say something.

  Then a big, almost solid globule of blood tumbled out of his mouth.

  His eyes went vacant, and he hit the floor.

  His glasses cracking on impact.

  “Eddie,” Noah said. “I thought—I thought you were dead.”

  Eddie wasn’t listening. He was reaching down. Lifting Kelly to her feet. “Is she—”

  “She’s going to be okay. Well. We will be. If we can get out of this place.”

  “Which,” Zelda interrupted, “is looking pretty fucking unlikely. Unless we do something. Fast.”

  Noah heard the shrieks. The cries. The footsteps racing inside the compound. The door, caved in.

  “He mentioned a vehicle,” Noah said. “Maybe we can use it. Get the hell out of here.”

  “Anyone else drive?” Zelda asked.

  “Kelly. Just Kelly.”

  Zelda rolled her eyes. “Jesus. None of us drive? What kind of inept adult-children are we?”

  “How hard can it be, anyway?” Noah said.

  He walked over to Eddie. Put a hand on his shoulder as he held on to Kelly’s limp, quivering body.

  “We get out of here,” Noah said. “It’s going to be okay. I swear. We didn’t make it this far just to die here.”

  Eddie nodded. His lips quivering. “And if we do… we die together.”

  “We will be dying together if you guys don’t hurry up!” Tim shouted, backing up, nervous look in his eyes. Shit. Noah hadn’t even noticed he was here. “Come the fuck on. We were lucky not to get swallowed up out there. Don’t wanna take my chances again!”

  Noah searched Dr Jenkinson’s pockets. All sorts of crap in there. Crap he was sure would be useful. Crap he was sure would come in handy.

  He stuffed a lot of the papers and the medical records, whatever they were, in his pockets, just in case there was anything in there that might help.

  Dr Jenkinson might not be alive. But maybe his knowledge wasn’t dead yet.

  “Noah,” Tim said, voice shaky. “Don’t mean to alarm you. But…”

  Noah didn’t need telling.

  The footsteps. Banging against the metal.

  The shrieks.

  The cries.

  The smell.

  The infected were here.

  They were swarming this place.

  He needed to get the keys to this vehicle Jenkinson told him about and get the hell out of here.

  Now.

  He kept on searching. Heard the footsteps closing in.

  “Seriously, man!” Tim said. “We can’t stay here. We have to fucking go. We have to go. Now!”

  Noah searched those pockets one final time.

  He didn’t want to throw the towel in.

  He didn’t want to give up.

  But he knew what he had to do.

  “Fuck. Fuck it.”

  He stood up, and he ran out of the cell.

  He didn’t want to look to the right, up at the top level. He didn’t want to see the infected. He could hear plenty of them. Didn’t need to look to know.

  But it was impossible not to look.

  He saw the figures. Some of them greying, decaying, dead, bereft of clothes.

  Others in a more… stable state.

  Didn’t look much different to him and his friends, other than the telltale signs.

  The blood streaming from their bloodshot eyes.

  The thick green vomit dribbling down their chins.

  They looked down at him right away.

  So many of them.

  Fifty, at least.

  Fifty of these fuckers, and more still coming.

  “No time to fuck around!” Zelda shouted. “Out of this place. Now!”

  Noah ran through the lower area of the compound, rifle in hand. Ran towards that door towards the darkened corridor. He didn’t want to go in there. Didn’t want to see what was inside.

  But he had no choice.

  None of them did.

  They ran into the darkness. Ran and turned their way into the darkness as the cries echoed towards them. As they filled the compound, like water overflowing a bottle.

  And then they turned the corner and saw the light.

  Noah slowed for a second. Then he picked up. Rushed over to that door. Barney beside him. Eddie beside him. Kelly in his arms, and Zelda just behind.

  Tim leading the way.

  Tim stopped at the door. Waved them out. “Come
on. We need to get out of this place. Now!”

  Noah eased Eddie past Zelda.

  And then he reached the door and looked back.

  He could hear the shrieks filling the corridor.

  Closing in.

  Getting closer and closer.

  He stepped out of the door and into the greyness, into the rain.

  He looked back, and he saw something.

  “The door,” he said. “They’re… It won’t close from out here. We need a code. Only from the inside. We…”

  And then he noticed something else.

  Tim.

  Tim stepped back.

  Into the compound.

  “Tim?” Eddie said.

  Tim looked at Eddie. His eyes were red. Bloodshot.

  But there was a contented smile on his face.

  Like this was what he wanted.

  “I’ve lost everyone else,” Tim said. “My whole damned family killed like victims. I won’t die a victim. I’ll die a motherfucking hero.”

  “Tim, don’t—”

  “Go,” Tim shouted. “Get the hell away from here. While you can. And Eddie?”

  Eddie shook his head. “Tim…”

  “You should be proud of yourself.”

  He smiled at Eddie.

  Nodded at Noah.

  And then he stepped back into the darkness.

  One moment, he was there.

  The next, the doors slid shut.

  Tim was gone.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Dr Jenkinson opened his eyes and thought of his father.

  “You’ll sit on your goddamned knees, and you’ll take your punishment. ’Cause it’s what God wants, boy. It’s what God wants!”

  He could hear his voice. Smell the booze on his neck. See the crosses all around. The Christian music playing in the background.

  But more than anything, it was the belt against his back he felt.

  Stronger than ever before.

  Harder than ever before.

  He looked up. And for a moment, he swore he was somewhere else. Not in that grim, dingy bedroom of his. A bedroom he wasn’t allowed to keep books that weren’t the Bible in. A bedroom devoid of toys. Of love. Of life.

  But he wasn’t there.

  It felt like there.

  It felt as grim as there. As hateful as there.

  But there was something else about it.

  Something different about it.

  He shifted in a moment. In a blink. His consciousness just adapted, right in an instant.

  The pain across his back.

  Not from a belt.

  From a gun.

  He tried to push himself up to his knees, but they just gave way beneath him. The pain was excruciating. He couldn’t taste anything but the metallic tang of blood. And vomit, too. Acidic. Sharp. Biting right at the back of his throat.

  He tried to push himself up with his pale, shaking hands, but he knew already he was screwed. This was how he’d felt when his dad bent him over. When he cracked him, again and again, with that belt. Feeling like it was never going to end. Not knowing when the last strike was going to come, where it was going to come from.

  The difference with that?

  It did end.

  It always ended.

  But there was only one way this ended.

  “No,” he coughed. “I don’t… This isn’t how it ends. Not for me.”

  He pressed down as hard as he could. If he could just get to his feet, maybe he could stumble his way out of here. Maybe he could lock the cell door and hold out until the infected got bored or left this place or whatever.

  He had to do something.

  He had to goddamned try.

  He tried to crawl across the cell, but even crawling was impossible, so he resorted to dragging himself across the floor, through his own blood.

  The more he moved, the more he realised just how fucked his back was. It felt like it was splitting apart with every damn move. His lungs ached. He looked down at his chest, saw blood spurting out of it. So one of the bullets had gone clean through him, at least.

  He knew death was the likeliest outcome here. He knew there was no chance of surviving unless he got some kind of miracle urgent medical care. Medical care he might have to give himself.

  But at least if he could get to someone else. Someone he trusted.

  At least he could pass on what he knew to them.

  At least…

  He grabbed the edge of the toilet bowl. Gripped his fingers around its cold edges.

  “Well, well,” he muttered. “Here the hell goes nothing.”

  And then he dragged himself up as hard as he could.

  Excruciating agony.

  Vision drifting from his eyes.

  All sense of his body disappearing, apart from the pain.

  But despite it all, despite biting down on his lip until it bled, Dr Jenkinson pulled himself onto that toilet seat.

  Sat on it. Panting. Screaming in pain. Every inch of him on fire. Unconsciousness looming…

  No.

  He had to stay awake.

  He had to get to that damned door.

  He’d done the hardest thing.

  He’d got off his back.

  The next thing he had to do, it’d be easy in comparison. He had to believe that.

  He pushed his hands against his legs. Stood up. He was dizzy as hell. Felt unbalanced. Felt like his legs were detached from his body, like he’d never walked before.

  But he moved.

  Slowly.

  Ears ringing.

  Long-distance vision blurry.

  Just had to get to that door.

  Just had to close the door.

  Just had to…

  He reached the door, and he heard something.

  Footsteps, to the right of the door.

  And a shadow.

  Dr Jenkinson froze. Someone was there. Someone was standing at the other side of that door.

  He had to be quick.

  He had to act fast.

  He had to close that door and…

  The figure stepped around the door.

  He recognised her. A moment’s relief.

  “Dr Watson,” he said.

  It’d been a long time since he’d seen her. She still looked pretty. But there was something else to her demeanour. Her glassy eyes.

  And that blood on her face.

  And then it hit him.

  Dr Watson was alive.

  But she was infected.

  He staggered back. “I—Please—”

  Dr Watson launched herself at him.

  Knocked him to his back.

  Another painful, excruciating bolt of agony as he hit the floor.

  The worst agony he’d ever experienced.

  For a good few seconds, anyway.

  Because that’s when Dr Watson started bashing his skull against the floor.

  When she started digging her long, sharp nails into his chest.

  Sticking them between his ribcage, piercing his skin.

  Biting his face with her sweet, strawberry breath.

  And then grabbing his head and digging her thumbs deep into his eyes until he saw brightness then total brightness and then—

  Darkness.

  But the pain wasn’t gone.

  The pain was still there.

  And in this awful darkness, Dr Jenkinson found himself longing for something.

  In this eternal hell, Dr Jenkinson waited for death.

  Just like he’d waited for the belt to stop hitting his back.

  Just like he’d waited for it to end.

  Just like he’d prayed to a God he didn’t believe in for things not to get worse…

  The agony got worse.

  And worse.

  And then it hit a crescendo, and then there were a few hazy moments, and then nothing.

  But the last moment imprinted on Dr Jenkinson’s consciousness before he left this world?

  One of agony.

&n
bsp; One of pain.

  Then, total darkness.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Noah looked back at the compound from a distance and took a deep breath of the fresh evening air.

  It’d gone really quiet there. He didn’t know why. The infected hadn’t come racing out. As far as he could tell, they were still in there. Still crammed inside. Still searching.

  And it made him wonder about what Dr Jenkinson said.

  He was the beacon of hope.

  “Trojan” knew he was the beacon of hope. That there was something different about him. Something that set him aside from everyone else.

  And one way or another, it was hunting him down.

  And it would keep on hunting him—and others like him, if there were any—down until they destroyed any chance the virus could be cured, once and for all.

  He stood in the grass. They’d set up camp in a log cabin in the woods for the night. Tomorrow would be about moving forward. About deciding on their next step. Noah thought of those vehicles he’d seen pointing towards Lancaster. He wondered if maybe there’d be a chance there. Maybe, there’d be hope there.

  But that was for tomorrow.

  Today was for resting.

  He was about to turn around when he heard footsteps heading his way.

  “You gonna join us for food? Or are you gonna stay on guard all night?”

  Noah looked at Eddie, and he felt a lump in his throat. His best friend. His best- damned friend. He owed his life to him so many times over.

  “Thank you,” Noah said. “For what you did. I… You’re a hero. And we couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

  Eddie smiled at Noah. “I mean, part of it’s luck. I had no idea that wave of infected wanted you so bad that they’d just run the hell past me and Tim. But seriously, Noah… what I did… it’s because of you. All of it. It’s because of you.”

  Noah shook his head. “No—”

  “I’m only strong because you’ve made me strong. I’m only… I’m only the way I am because of you, man. Hell, I’m only here because of you. Don’t you forget that. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  Noah turned away. Tears in his eyes. He didn’t know he meant that much to Eddie. To everyone. He knew he’d been a whiny bastard at times. And he knew grief had got to him. He knew it had almost tipped him over the edge—and no doubt it would surface, again and again, haunting him.

  But he heard Eddie’s words, and for the first time, he started to believe them.