“There’s a pharmacy just up the road,” Kyra said, not looking away from the bodies, and licking dry lips. “It’s not far.”
No one replied, no one had words to give voice to what they were seeing, what they were feeling, and so they just followed her mutely along the road. The buildings around them loomed menacingly, casting deep shadows over the street and the stench, already horrendous, seemed to have become a thousand times more so.
The city had become a mausoleum, a place of the dead and it was hard for them to feel welcome as they passed so many who had not survived those first few days of the spreading violence as they had.
Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled free the list she had written earlier, clutching it in her hand as though it were the only thing keeping her from running screaming from that place. With so many dead, she couldn’t begin to guess how many had turned and joined the ranks of those infected that were moving through the city seeking fresh prey.
“Here,” Kyra said, pausing beside a door and peering through the glass. “It’s locked.”
“That’s good, right?” Dec asked, looking at the others. “Means all the meds should be still there.”
“One way to find out,” Jason said, raising the baseball bat above his head. “Step back.”
The others hurried out of the way and Jason brought the bat down on the glass door. It shattered into thousands of small pieces with a crash that sounded overly loud to the group who looked around fearfully.
“You think anyone-“ Sarah cut off as the alarm began to sound and her eyes widened as she stared at the pharmacy. It had never even occurred to her that there would be an alarm. “Oh no!”
“Maybe there’s no one around to hear,” Dec suggested and winced as somewhere too close for comfort, an answering cry rang out.
That cry was soon joined by others and with a sinking feeling in her stomach, Sarah clutched the knife in her hand as she shook her head. She should have realised. Should have considered the alarm.
The cries were coming from all around them and the noise would draw the infected out, despite the daylight hours. They seemed to be attracted to noise as it indicated that there might be food to be had.
“What the hell do we do now!” Dec asked the stricken silent group.
Sarah gave a sharp bark of laughter in response. There wasn’t much they could do and all she could say, was, “Bugger.”
Chapter 11
“What the fuck were those things?” someone asked, naked fear in his voice.
All around the crowded courtyard, the prisoners looked at one another, each one hoping someone would be able to give them an answer, while at the same time fearing what that answer could be.
For many, they had not been outside of the prison in some time and their first moments of elated freedom had turned to horror as the infected had overrun them. Even then, with the gates shut tight, they could hear the howling cries and the piteous screams of those waiting to turn.
“Mate, my stomach hurts bad.”
Peter glanced back at Trevor, noting the sweat beading his forehead. In the hour or so since the gates had been pushed shut, his cellmate had barely spoken other than to mutter about his stomach-ache. In the early light of morning, it was clear that he wasn’t well, not that Peter knew what to do about it.
“Bloody nuts, innit?” Bradley said, coming up alongside the two men.
He gave Trevor a wary glance, as they’d clashed a time or two before but thankfully didn’t seem inclined to make a fuss. His gaze was fixed on Peter who shrugged noncommittally.”
“A few of the lads are talking, y’know?”
“About what?”
“What we’re doing next. There’s food inside and all the doors and gates are open. We can sit here for a while and figure out what’s going on.”
Peter cocked an eyebrow and gave a short burst of laughter at that. He’d known Bradley for a while and though he wouldn’t consider them to be friends, they weren’t enemies. In fact, a time or two, Peter had been on the edges of the crowd that Bradley gathered around himself, just for the protection it offered.
That being the case, he knew the man well enough to know that sitting around and waiting wasn’t something he would be interested in doing. With the amount of time Bradley had already been in the prison and the long years he was still supposed to do, he was pretty sure Bradley would want to get as far away from the place as possible.
“You thinking something else, yeah?”
“Yeah, you know it.”
“Go on then,” Peter said when it became clear the other man wasn’t going to speak. “What you thinking?”
Bradley took a moment to look around, his gaze lingering on an older inmate standing nearby. His brows drew down and he stuck out his jaw as he glared at the other man who quickly turned away and moved further into the crowd.
“Yeah, see, way I see it, we can sit our arses here pulling ourselves off out of boredom or we can leave.”
“Right into those freaky fucks out there who just killed a bunch of us?” Peter raised his eyebrows and chuckled. “Not the best idea.”
“You’re from this place, yeah?”
“Yeah, Shadwell, so what?”
“That’s north, yeah?” Peter nodded and he continued. “Right then, so if we leave you can get us through the city. You know the streets, yeah?”
“Sure, but that don’t matter. We’re not getting out past those things out there.”
“If we can, you gonna come with?”
Peter thought about that as he looked around at the crowded courtyard. If he stayed, it would be safe, but he would still be in a prison. Same shitty food, no contact with the rest of the world and no idea what was going on.
He had a wife out there that he very much wanted to see again, and she was in the city. If the other man could actually do as he said and get them away from the prison it would be a relatively short journey to where she lived.
If she was still alive anyway. From what the guard had said, the world had gone to hell and those freaks that had attacked them were everywhere. If that were the case, there was no point leaving as the prison would be the safest place.
But, knowing his wife as well as he did, if anyone was able to survive it would be her. There was no way she would let them kill her.
“Yeah, mate, yeah. You get us a way out and I’ll come with you.”
“Sound. You can bring your mate too if you want,” Bradley said with a jerk of his head back at Trevor.
“What’s the plan then?”
“First things first, you know how to use a computer don’t you?”
“Ah, yeah. I mean as much as anyone, why?”
“The admin building still has power and the computers should work. You find out what the fucks going on out there while I gather a few of the lads.”
Peter looked over at the admin building and gave a half-shrug of his shoulders.
“Those computers will have passwords and shit.”
“Figure it out.”
Without another word, the large man turned and pushed his way into the crowd. Peter watched him go for a minute before looking at his cellmate. While they weren’t exactly friends, Trevor had had his back a few times and Peter wasn’t the kind of man to just leave a mate behind.
No, he knew exactly how that felt and wouldn’t do that to someone else. So, he stepped forward and put his arm around Trevor’ waist, grunting a little as he took the man’s weight.
“Come on, pal. Let’s go see what we can find out.”
Inside the admin office, everything was chaotic. Papers strewn across the floor and desks, with desk drawers and filing cabinets open and even coats left behind hanging on a coat rack beside the door.
Half-filled coffee mugs still sat on the desks and several of the computers were in standby, having not even been switched off when people left some time before.
Peter guided Trevor over to an empty chair and sat him down in it. He could feel the heat of
the other man’s skin and knew something was definitely wrong with him. It was his own fault for eating a rat straight out of the toilet, he knew, but he couldn’t help feel bad for the guy.
“I’ll see if there’s any aspirin, mate, yeah?”
There was a noncommittal grunt in reply and Peter left him sitting, slumped in the chair as he went into the small, adjoining kitchen. There wasn’t much in the small space other than a single table with three chairs around it, a kettle, microwave and fridge along with a half-dozen cupboards.
Those cupboards contained tea and coffee, mostly, though there was a biscuit tin that actually had a small number of custard creams and digestive biscuits. Peter’s stomach growled as he stuffed the first biscuit into his mouth and opened the last cupboard.
A small first aid kit was on the lower shelf and he took it down before opening it up. It contained the usual bandages and plasters, basic stuff that would be needed for the occasional paper cut they might get in the office.
There was a small pack of paracetamol which would have to do. Peter popped four of the tablets out of the foil packaging and grabbed one of the many cups. He filled it with water and went back into the office and straight across to Trevor.
“Here, mate. Take these.”
Peter recoiled when Trevor looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and glazed, looked sunken as though all the moisture was being drawn out from his skin. His breath was foul as he opened his mouth to swallow the tablets which he washed down with the cup of water.
“Cheers, mate. I’m just gonna rest now, y’know?”
“Yeah, you do that.”
There seemed to be little he could do to help the man other than hope those tablets would take down his temperature a bit. Peter’s stomach growled again, and he retreated once more to the kitchen and ate three more biscuits before opening the fridge.
He recoiled a little at the smell. Someone’s lunch had been left in there when everyone fled, and it certainly hadn’t lasted. There were a couple of strawberry yoghurts that hadn’t been opened, several cans of coke and a bottle of Lucozade.
Someone’s lunchbox had been sealed and contained an apple, some cheese and a peanut butter sandwich which smelt okay to him. Not that he would have cared if it was slightly off, as hungry as he was.
He carried the foodstuffs in his arms with the sandwich in his mouth, as he went back into the other room. Trevor didn’t bother looking up and Peter wasn’t exactly going to just give away the food, so he moved to the furthest desk away from his cellmate and set it all down as he settled into the chair.
A few taps on the keyboard and the screen lit up, showing a blank background with a single box to type in and a request for a password. He searched around the desk, disregarding the larger pieces of paper and looking at the post-it notes stuck around the monitor.
He shook his head silently as he typed in the password someone had conveniently written down and displayed quite prominently. Then he was in and staring at the windows desktop.
The internet was working but it moved at a crawl. He stared at the small spinning circle for over a minute before the news-site opened and then he started to read.
His mood darkened as he read, page after page of the same thing. People were being infected with something that made them aggressive, physically and sexually violent and unresponsive to attempts to communicate.
The last entry had been three days before and it listed a number of areas of the country that were considered overrun. Which, he realised as he read them, was almost all of them. Outside of the UK, France was lost, Germany almost so. Italy, Belgium, Greece, Denmark, Poland, Ukraine, Russia, Egypt, the list was endless. It was easier to see how many countries weren’t considered lost.
There were depressingly few of them.
Iceland was safe, or so it said, as was Madagascar. Some of the islands in the Mediterranean, Malta, Crete, Corsica, were considered clear and then only because they were ruthlessly refusing access to boats and any that came near were being sunk.
There were other scattered islands spread around the globe that might still be free, at least as far as Peter could tell, but there weren’t many. Other than that, it was scattered communities of people hiding out in fear with no way to guess the numbers.
The infected, it seemed, would go as far as breaking into homes in search of people. There were videos purported to show such things, but they wouldn’t load. Peter stared at the screen for some time before reaching for the phone that sat on the desk beside him.
No dial tone. He slammed it down in disgust and then rose, sweeping everything off of the desk before him. It hit the floor with a crash, and he pressed his knuckles down on the desk as he leant over it, the urge to destroy the computer and everything else in the office overwhelming.
“You good, mate?” Trevor asked, voice reedy and weak.
“No, mate. I’m really not fucking good at all.”
At any moment, Bradley would come into the office demanding answers and more than that, he would want an idea of where to go and what to do. What could Peter tell him? He didn’t know. From what he had seen the safest place to be was in the prison, where the infected couldn’t reach them.
But he couldn’t stay there. He needed to get out, to find his wife. It had been too long since he’d seen her, and he refused to believe that even the horrors he had read about would be enough to kill her.
No, she was alive, he was sure of that and he would find her. He owed her that much.
With one finger he switched off the monitor and went around the desk to help Trevor to his feet.
“We going somewhere, mate?”
“Yeah, we are,” Peter said and left the office in search of Bradley.
Chapter 12
The roar of the shotgun being fired momentarily drowned out the rage-filled cries of the infected. All of the group turned their startled gaze to Deacon who ignored them as he watched the infected woman slowly fold over before falling to the ground as the other infected growled and hissed.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Claire snapped.
“Doesn’t matter,” Jack said before Deacon could reply. “Move, now!”
Taking his own advice, he set off running along the street towards the Army Reserve Centre. Claire gave one last exasperated look at Deacon before setting off after him, her rifle held across her body.
Dobbs was next, moving with surprising speed for such a large man. Adam and Michael came after, with Deacon close behind. It was Paul who was last, face pale with fear and breathing laboured. He didn’t see the infected man that leapt from the roof directly at him.
He went down with a scream that made the others look back. Deacon slowed, shotgun rising but he was too late. The infected man’s teeth tore a chunk of skin and flesh from Paul’s hand. It chewed the meat for just a moment before scrambling off the panicked man and running straight at Deacon.
Blood filled the air as the shotgun blast hit it mid-centre and it collapsed to the ground, limbs twitching.
“Help!” Paul yelled, but received only a look of pity from Deacon before he turned and ran after the others. They all knew a bite meant they were done for.
They reached the first of the bodies that littered the road and had to slow their pace to ensure that they didn’t trip and fall amongst the rotting corpses. Behind them, more of the infected had made it down to the ground and were giving chase.
Deacon, once again, turned and fired off first one, then another shot. One of the infected fell, blood spraying from its leg. It didn’t cry out, just carried on pulling itself towards them. Paul, behind them, was twisting and convulsing as the infection raced through him.
Another blast from the shotgun and then Deacon turned, rushing to re-join the others as they approached the entrance. More of the bodies were piled there and they had to clamber over them to get inside.
Claire stopped, staring down at the face of an older soldier with a gaping wound in his throat. She shook her head, mutte
ring for a moment before turning to watch the others come through.
“Hurry your arses!” she snapped, frayed nerves betraying her.
“Come on!” Jack grabbed Michaels hand and helped him over the pile of bodies. “Get ready!”
He did a quick check of the packed yard. Rows of pallets piled high with cardboard boxes filled nearly every space with bodies lying between them. Claire had picked up an assault rifle, the type he had seen her use when he first met her. She was humming softly to herself as she loaded it with ammunition from a pallet beside her.
“Stand back,” she said, voice eerily calm all of a sudden despite the calls of the infected that were growing closer by the second. “Grab a gun if you think you can use it, if not, stay the fuck out of my way.”
“Aye, lass,” Deacon said, sliding fresh cartridges into the shotgun. “Ready to kill a few?”
“Shut up, prick,” she said, and he just laughed in reply.
“What you reckon, boss?” Dobbs asked as he came up alongside Jack. “Think we can hold them here?”
“You bloody know we can!” Adam laughed as he fist-pumped the air.
Jack rolled his eyes and shook his head before he replied, “I hope so.”
“Why’re we even fighting?” Michael asked, panic filling his voice. “Shouldn’t we hide?”
“If we hide, they will wait around, and we will still need to face them. We kill them now, before the others arrive and we have a chance they’ll pass us by.” Claire lifted the gun to her shoulder, aiming towards the gates. “We need these supplies, so it’s do or fucking die time.”
The first of the infected appeared before the gate, scrambling over the bodies of the dead. Blood burst from its head as a single shot from Claire ended its life. Then another came, and another. Deacon fired next, blasting away at the infected as they rushed towards the small group.
Jack gripped his knife tight, jaw clenched tight as fear washed over him. He had the sudden urge to run, to vomit, to curl up into a ball and scream in terror. But, he couldn’t. He had people who were relying on him, people who would need food to survive the winter.
Rage (Book 2): The Infected Page 8
