by Byrd, Daniel
“What was his alias? He had to go by another name.”
Mikhail rubbed his chin. “Sorry…I do not remember. He had many during his time in GRU, you see."
Roman glared at him. “How do you forget the name of the man who put your best friend away for life?”
“Hey, be easy on an old man,” Mikhail joked.
“It is not fucking funny! I want to find this asshole and rip his fucking heart out!”
“Roman!" Mikhail shouted, slamming his cane on the creaky floorboard. “You are getting worked up over a man you have never even met! Control yourself! Remember what I taught you!”
Roman stared at the rifle in the case and nodded. “You are right uchitel’. I will not let my feelings overpower my instinct. Let us leave this place and find somewhere more secure. I would like to know more about Rhyzov and his affiliation with GRU. I would also like you to enlighten me on this vital information my father was captured with. Surely you know someone that was involved in intelligence that could tell us?"
Mikhail left the room, but continued to speak loudly so that Roman could hear him, “I will explain what I can on the way. Give me some time; I will be ready in five minutes. Get your gear and load up everything in my truck inside of the garage. It is much more reliable than that hunk of metal on wheels you arrived in. I would also take some time to become acquainted with that rifle. Maybe those corpses outside could help?”
Roman grinned as he began to play with his new present. After inspecting every inch of the weapon and attaching the suppressor and scope, he was ready to put it to the test. He opened the window and propped his elbow on the sill while he looked through the scope at his first target. The first zombie was standing in front of the truck, staring up at the movement in the window and oblivious to what the figure was about to do to it. Roman played with the dial, knowing that he’d have to take a shot to absolutely zero in the scope. He wrapped his finger around the trigger and waited for the zombie to move in a bit closer before firing the first shot. The subsonic bullet had no problem penetrating the creature’s skull and passing through out of the back of its head. Roman smiled as he zeroed in on the second one, who had failed to notice the initial shot, but turned at the sound of its companion hitting the ground. Before it could take a step closer, a small portion of the side of the milk truck was painted with blood. Both targets had been neutralized, and Roman was a happy man with a new toy.
He disassembled the weapon and placed it inside of the gun case before carrying his equipment downstairs. Mikhail had left the television on in the living room to watch the Director-General of the World Health Organization address procedures to halt the spread of the virus that the public and law enforcement could follow. It was now tuned in to a news broadcast of the events unfolding in London. The news choppers were outside of the city, hovering over the British forces below them. A blockade had been established around the perimeter, and the press were being told to leave the area. Roman took a seat as he waited for Mikhail to finish preparations. It would be a bit.
The scene was one right out of an apocalypse movie. Smoke was rising in portions of the city, and people still within the city were approaching the army in masses. The coverage switched to a reporter among a crowd of people rushing the forces lined up around the quarantine zone. The reporter was rather attractive, at least Roman thought. Fair skin, blonde hair, and radiant hazel eyes. Roman assumed she was not used to the harsh conditions of her current environment. This wasn't a simple disease story; this was a war zone.
She turned back to the camera and brought the microphone up to her mouth, running all the while.
"We're nearing the edge of the quarantine zone now," she said through pants as she multi-tasked between professional journalism and desperate survivor, "I don't think there has been anything like this here in London. Even the firestorm that swept the city in 1666 only saw minimal casualties compared to this disastrous event in the city's history. Once we've reached safety I'll have a talk with some of the other refugees about their experiences inside of the mayhem that swept over the city in just a night."
The front line of the British Armed Forces was visible in the background as the camera swayed back and forth from the fast-paced cameraman. Many other citizens were easily outrunning the pair, but they took their jobs seriously. Roman shook his head. Valuing your job over your life was something he was taught growing up, but there was a difference here.
"We can see it now! I'd like to thank everyone for joining our coverage on the crisis in London, and-"
And then the army opened fire on everyone. The reporter's head burst open from a round that struck her in the back of the skull, and blood splattered on the camera lens. The camera hit the ground as the man operating it attempted to flee, but the audible cries of pain and the bodies falling in all directions were still captured by the single piece of recording equipment. The screen suddenly displayed a technical difficulty message, but Roman knew it was too late. The media had effectively instilled fear into anyone watching that. Fear is a powerful weapon, and no one really knows how to wield it properly.
“Leave it to humanity to destroy itself in a time of crisis.”
Chapter Five - If it Didn't Work the First Time...
The call for the ceasefire finally sounded over the madness, followed by the halting of gunfire. Lieutenant Joel Blythe and the rest of his men were uneasy, having just slain what could have been innocent people, but no one wanted to mention that possibility. No one person in that platoon wanted that idea gnawing at their conscience. It was just better to believe that had they not killed them, they would be gnawing on their skin instead.
It was utterly terrifying to see London in such a state of crisis. Riots in reaction to the established quarantine were the main cause of death so far since the virus had emerged from within the city. It was the first instance of the undead appearing in the U.K.
London was cut off from the world, and Joel was part of the large force tasked with watching the perimeter. Living or dead, if someone approached them, that individual was to be shot. Unfortunately, there had been no individual attempts to get around the blockade. They came in masses, constantly keeping the British Armed Forces on their toes. Some of the ones who came were definitely infected. All were killed.
The actual number of infected within London was unknown, but one thing was certain; the carriers didn't come from the sea. British Intelligence figured that the U.S. was right; it had to be an inside job. Someone released the virus from a chosen point within the city. This was a planned attack, with the purpose being to infect a large population source and incite a panic. With the universities and housing districts, London was a perfect target. The city's power was currently spotty. It was assumed that an accident related to the outbreak was responsible, but the only part of it that mattered was how much it worsened the situation. The people inside were limited in sources of knowledge.
"Lieutenant?"
Joel turned to the man beside him. Lance Corporal James Wright was looking at his friend with concern on his face. "Blythe, he's all right. Charlie's a tough young lad. He's probably already holed up in safety. He knows to stay in shelter. You'll see him again."
Joel sighed, "Perhaps you're right. Sorry James, I just can't bear the thought of losing all I have left."
James placed a hand on Joel's shoulder and gave him a shake. "Right now you need to focus on this line. You're a leader, and we need your head in this."
"Right..."
James couldn't say that he understood how Joel felt, but he knew the man was struggling. Charlie, Joel's son, had decided not to come home over the Christmas break after a bout with his dad. Joel had insisted on him coming home since the events that unfolded in the U.S., but Charlie didn’t want to believe that he’d ever be in the same situation. When Joel felt the need to force his hand, he pushed his son away, and now it was too late to get him home. He couldn't help but worry that his son would be among the masses that would be gunned d
own in an attempt to escape the turmoil.
"There are more coming!" one of Joel's men shouted. All eyes and barrels were trained on a collection of figures approaching in the distance. Joel swore under his breath and lifted his field scope to his eye, glassing the distance in the hopes that he actually wouldn't see his son amongst the people.
"Charlie...where are you?"
***
Screams erupted behind him as Charlie Blythe impaled the aggressive man through his chest with the fire poker. He held onto the handle as he swung the body against the wall, where the man slouched to the floor. Placing a foot on the man’s chest, Charlie pulled the instrument free as the inhabitants on the first floor of the apartment complex approached the scene. Charlie didn’t understand how the man was still moving after that; he had stabbed him through the heart. The man began to rise while everyone in the hallway backed away.
“What in the name of God?!” someone shouted.
“Stab him again!” another cried.
Charlie waited for the bloodied and beaten looking man to get to his feet before he lunged again. He shoved the poker into his chest once more and pushed him against the wall, but the man didn’t cease in his attempt to reach Charlie past the length of the poker. Charlie feared that he was up against an immortal being!
“Kill it!” the voice of the cute girl who lived across the hallway from Charlie cried. Charlie let go of the handle and left the weapon in the man's chest. He then took a step back with his left foot before bringing it back up, kicking the tip of the handle and sending the poker all the way through the man’s torso. Blood began to drip out onto the floor from the man's gruesome wound as Charlie looked to the others for help. No one wanted to get any closer than they already were. Charlie realized he was the only idiot willing to pit himself against this nightmarish being. A tall man with a bowler hat pushed his way from the back and walked past Charlie with something in his right hand. Charlie backed off and covered his ears as the man thumbed back the hammer of the revolver in his possession and held the barrel inches from the creature’s head. Its mouth opened as the man squeezed the trigger, and the narrow hallway carried the gunshot well throughout as the zombie hit the floor and began staining the green carpet with blood. The man opened the cylinder and replaced the spent round with a new one. He slapped the cylinder back in and looked to Charlie, who was backed against the wall. Charlie was actually afraid that the man might shoot him too. To his surprise, the man grabbed his arm and pulled him closer, where Charlie was immediately engulfed in the aroma of cheap cologne.
“Are you all right?” the man asked him in a very raspy voice. It sounded like he had chain-smoked for years, and his vocal cords had suffered for it. His voice was so unnatural, but his British accent was quite congenital.
“Yes...thanks," Charlie replied, staring nervously at the man's gun. He assumed that the man must've been law enforcement of some kind to have a firearm on his person. That or a criminal willing to take advantage of this catastrophe.
"Good," the man said, releasing his grip on Charlie. Charlie backed away towards the others, but didn't dare take his eyes off of the mysterious stranger. The man didn't live in the building, and though he spoke with a natural English accent, Charlie didn't think he quite looked the part. Then again, Charlie couldn't tell, what with the exposed parts of his arms from his coat sleeves being wrapped in bandages, along with most of his face as well. Something about his unnatural, emerald-green eyes that were revealed between the bandages struck him as odd above the rest. "Who-"
"I just got a call from my cousin in Wembley," the man spoke in his scratchy-sounding voice through the bandages, "he said it looks like a war is about to start this way."
“What are you on about?” Charlie demanded. The man's eyes stabbed in his direction, further unnerving him to the point that he would think twice about speaking so aggressively again.
"Apparently there's a military blockade around the city. It looks like anyone still here is done for."
"Someone's really cocked up now," a dark-haired man muttered behind Charlie.
"What are you babbling on about!" a woman exclaimed. "Are you saying we're all going to die?!"
The bandaged man in front of Charlie shook his head. "I am simply explaining the situation. If you wish to live, trying to escape isn't the preferred option, but you mustn't panic."
"So what?!" the woman cried. "We either leg it to the military and get shot, or sit in this hashed-up Hell and get killed off by those things?!"
The man shrugged. "Sure, or you can survive."
"And…how do you suggest we do that?" Charlie asked in a polite manner. The man was pretty calm considering the grim situation he was describing.
The man raised his revolver. "Superior firepower, and superior wit." Everyone in the hallway stared at the mysterious man, all mounting up questions, but none were asked before he turned to the door at the front of the hallway and looked back over his shoulder, one of his green eyes piercing the air between himself and the cowardly group. "Anyone with the desire to live may accompany me to safety. Everyone else...well, this place makes a fitting grave."
"Wait," Charlie spoke again, "who are you? Why are you bandaged up?"
"Not important," the man wheezed, apparently irritated with the abundance of questions and lack of action.
Charlie summoned up his courage and persisted, "I'm not going anywhere without knowing who you are!"
The man sighed, but it sounded more like a sick animal dying. "Very well, you may call me Orlok."
"Orlok? Just Orlok?"
The man nodded. "Yes. That is all you need to know."
Mr. Archer, the overweight, bald man behind Charlie wasn't buying it. "What kind of stupid name is that? Okay then, Mr. Orlok, who the hell are you with?"
"No one," he growled. "I just got trapped in here like the rest of you, and I would like to get out with my life."
Charlie liked Mr. Archer, but he wished he wasn't so quick to anger. It was always easy to tell when he was; he turned a bright and obvious shade of red. "What makes you think you can get past those monsters? That little peashooter won't save you when you're surrounded. Didn't you see what happened to America? They'll swarm these streets, and nothing we do will keep us safe! We have to stay put and fortify this building!"
Orlok wheezed a chuckle, drawing many concerned looks. "I believe the term for someone like you is blinkered."
"What are you on about?!" Mr. Archer demanded, turning another shade of red.
"Staying here is guaranteed death. My guess is even now the military is planning on bombing the city to keep the plague from spreading. They are already shooting anyone who goes near the edge of the city, were you aware of that? No one here is getting out alive on their say. I know a way out, but if you insist on staying and attempting to defeat the odds, I will not waste time trying to sway you any farther. Anyone care to join me?"
There was silence, but then Charlie stepped forward. Much disapproval was expressed, but more people joined him. Mr. Archer grabbed Charlie's shoulder and pulled him back.
"Charlie, I won't have you going with this man. Your father would disapprove, and you know it. He'd expect-"
"Mr. Archer, to Hell with my father," Charlie spat. "He was never around when I needed him. It's about time I made a decision of my own for once. If he cared, he would have been here by now."
Mr. Archer was taken aback. "Charlie! Are you bloody mad?! Listen to-"
"I'm leaving. If you do see my father again, tell him I'm still alive; no thanks to him."
"I'm not letting you leave! I may not be your father, but-"
"Sir," Orlok cut in, revolver at his side and eyes burning into Mr. Archer, "if you insist on interfering with the life and death choice of another individual, I am afraid I will have to intervene. If the boy would like to take his chances and escape, let him make that decision. If you deny him that, you will only be dooming him here with the rest of you waiting for Death to reap his priz
e."
Mr. Archer stepped forward, but abruptly stopped when he noticed Orlok raise the gun ever so slightly. It was so subtle that no one else could have seen it, but Orlok made sure he would. The look in his eyes dared him to attempt something. Mr. Archer bit his tongue and backed off. Charlie turned his back on the man who had been more of a father to him than his own in the past year and approached the stranger. Orlok had a small group of eight ready to follow him outside of the comfort of the building, including Charlie, the girl from across his apartment, and six others that Charlie had never bothered to socialize with. Orlok walked to the door at the end of the hallway with the revolver ready in his right hand and opened it up.
The sunlight from outside blinded them, and it wasn't until Charlie stepped out onto the street that everything came into focus. It was chaos. There were cars wrecked into each other, and into the buildings around them. Bodies were lying in the streets; some that were run down by motorists, and others that were trampled in the stampede to escape the horrors that now dwelled within the city. The group noticed a few individuals moving amongst the cars a block away.
"Are those-"
"Infected citizens," Orlok uttered. "Best to steer clear of them. Come on, I know a better route."
Orlok took the lead and motioned for the others to follow him. Charlie didn't exactly trust this stranger, but survival was the goal, and the man seemed to know what he was doing, which was something no one else could say.
***
"NO!!!"
James had just finished informing Joel of the plan to fall back and wait for the bombers to handle the growing problem. No chances were to be taken, and all survivors inside of London were to be lost to prevent the infection from spreading. Joel wasn't taking the news lightly, and James wasn’t holding him back so well.
"MY SON IS IN THERE!!!”
"Joel, listen to me!" James tried to reason, "There's nothing we can do! There's just too-"
Joel didn't wait to hear the rest. He prepared to charge out of the frontline and into the quarantine zone, but James grabbed him by his vest.
