Diaries of the Damned (13 page)
Monique sat down and straightened out her bloodstained skirt, ignoring how the dried blood had starched the creases into it. For a while she did not speak, or even look around to face the group. She sat on the opposite side of the cabin to the others. She didn’t choose the aisle seat next to Jessica, but rather the one before that; the same row as Robert.
“Would you like a cigarette?” Paul asked, having noted that all of the conversations had begun with a ceremonial smoke.
“No thank you, honey I survived hell. I don’t fancy ruining that with cancer.” Her reply was tart, her words hard and easy to misinterpret.
“Ok, well just take your time, alright? There is no pressure.” Paul spoke with a soothing voice.
Monique opened her mouth to speak, but instead she gave a loud sigh. Paul wasn’t certain if it was because of everything that had happened, or because he annoyed her.
“I just told you, I work in the City Center. I mean that literally – my office is
as central as you can get.” She seemed keen to stress the location, so all four listeners offered an understanding head nod.
“Yes, you said that those things came into the city, and no offense, but how could you know that?” Jessica asked, her interest in how everything started, and subsequently broke down did not surprise Paul. She had been working the evacuation flights non-stop. She probably had no idea about how bad it was outside the safety of her plane.
“Don’t take me for a liar. I would not even consider wasting your time. I think a written record is just what we need. Once this is all over, and we have beaten this plague, we can look back and, with the help of this sort of book, educate others.” Monique sat rigid in her chair, and turned her head rather than her entire body when she spoke to them.
“I apologize, Monique. I mean no offence.” Paul adjusted his approach with the smooth fluidity of a professional journalist.
Jessica stared at him, puzzled at how someone with such ability could get stuck working for a tabloid paper.
“Thank you, honey. I know I’m a bitch, so don’t worry, you won’t be the only one who thinks that way of me.”
Paul wasn’t sure she had made a joke or not, so opted for the professional approach: silence.
The turbulence had passed, and the cabin thrummed with the hum of the engines. The white noise, coupled with the exhaustion most people felt, led to a deep sleep. Paul too gave a yawn and cracked his spine as he stretched.
“Hey Jessica, I know this isn’t a commercial flight, but do you have any coffee back there?” Paul hoped so. Coffee was his lifeblood. Even during his time in hiding, he would take the chance to make coffee at every possible opportunity.
“Um…
sure, I think there is some back there. I mean, I know there should be, but maybe the pilots have drunk it all. This is the last flight of the day.” With that, Jessica rose from her seat and disappeared into the rear galley.
Paul scooted over into her seat and leaned forward. He placed his hand on Monique’s arm. Her skin was cool, but his touch seemed to make her recoil. In that moment, Paul understood some of the horror that Monique had endured. Knew that writing her story would be a less than enjoyable experience.
“I understand, and if you’re not ready, you skip any parts you want. This isn’t therapy. We’re just trying to get to the bottom of what caused this, and where it came from.” His words had the desired effect. Monique relaxed in her chair, and after a few deep breaths, she turned to face Paul.
“Alright, I’m ready.” Monique had her eyes closed, and when she opened them, rather than tears, Paul saw strength.
“Well then, Monique, tell me where it began…”
“Danny, I will need those quarterly figures on my desk by the end of the day. The regional meeting is tomorrow and they are keen to see what sort of progres
s we’ve made in the last period,” Monique said as she popped her head into the small office space of her assistant, Danny Williams.
Danny was a young guy, ambitious and eager to climb the corporate ladder. He had quickly risen from temp, to clerk, to office manager and now to the position of assistance to the regional Head of Logistics and planning for the Medicines and Healthcare products Regulatory Agency (MHRA). Danny planned to continue his climb outside of the office. His sights were set on the main branch of the MHRA in London.
“That won’t be a problem. I need to work out the final few details, but you will have them before lunch.” Danny looked up from the mound of paperwork on his desk and flashed Monique his best smile. She knew he hated her, but he knew how to play the game.
“Thanks Danny, you’re the best.” Monique accepted his smile, and gave a rare compliment. She meant it too. Danny was the best assistant she had ever had, and while she knew he would not stay around forever, she hoped that he would remain long enough for her to seal the promotion she had been chasing. She wanted to head back to London, to the big city. Norwich was a nice enough place, but it wasn’t London. She missed the hustle and bustle, the action and adventure that hung in the air. She had volunteered to move when the promotion to Region Head opened up, and she didn’t regret doing so. However, after five years, she was ready for a new challenge. The desire to be closer to her family was also a big factor behind her motivation to relocate. Monique was a single woman, hovering on the abyss of her forties. She had no real desire for children of her own. That ship had sailed in her early twenties when doctors gave her the news that natural pregnancy would not be possible. A husband would be nice, although far from a requirement. She had a dog at home, Max, a German
Shepherd, and he was all the company Monique needed.
From her top floor office, Monique could sit in the chair and peer out over the city center from eight stories up. The office was not the tallest in the city, but it was the dominant figure in their area. It took up an entire corner of town. Four main entrances – one on each side – made the building an impressive sight. With over 300 employees – including the large postal department
that occupied the two lower floors – the office was always busy, with people streaming in and out on a regular basis. The street was also home to two offices of a large insurance company, as well as a multi-company office complex. All three buildings combined ensured for an active street. However, as Monique sipped at her coffee, there was not a single person in sight. The day before almost half of her workforce had called in sick. At first, Monique had thought it a trick of some sort, but as the news started throwing out warnings of a pandemic, and an advisory caution regarding infected individuals, she understood that it was serious.
A figure appeared at the end of the street that spilled into the top of the high street and main entrance to the large, state-of-the-art mall that had reopened after refurbishment work. Ordinarily, this went unnoticed. Monique had more to do than just stare at the world as it went by. However, the staff shortages had spread across the country and reached a point that the workloads were close to non-existent. The company, the government even, was at a standstill.
Monique watched as what looked like a woman, stumbled down the street. Her gait was a strange shuffle. Her left leg dragged behind rather than lifted and placed. It was a strange sight, and given the emptiness of the street, it was downright creepy. As she watched, Monique felt the temperature in her office decrease.
The world was still. Even the wintery, windy, and infrequent sleet flurries had abated following the appearance of the lone figure. The only thing that Monique heard was the slow rhythmic pulse of her own heart. She listened to it as the figure limped down the street. It shambled down the center of the road, swaying this way and that. The more Monique watched, the more of the figure she saw, and the more her heartbeat pulled her into a trance.
It was a young woman, possibly in her early twenties. She was covered in filth and grime. Her clothes were sodden with mud. In the midpoint of the street, the figure stopped and looked up at Monique’s office; or so it seemed to her. A shrill ping from the computer broke the haze that had settled around Monique. A new email had arrived. A quick glance at the flagged email made Monique’s blood run cold. The title was a single word…Lockdown.
Her hands trembled as she opened the message. As she read it, a strange static sound began to fill her ears. The email had come from the head office. It advised all staff in the Norwich office to lock the floors down and to close the main entrance. It had been copied to each of the branch officers and affiliated as well.
A scream shattered her thoughts. Monique jumped, knocking her coffee onto the floor. The cream-colored carpet soaked the warm drink up in an instant, much to Monique’s disdain. Monique turned to grab the tissues that stood on the windowsill. Once more when she saw the figure still standing there. She looked closely, and felt the scream build in her throat as she realized it was not mud that covered the woman’s clothes…but blood.
Monique scrambled to open the office window, to call out to the woman, but the moment the outside air entered the office, it brought with it the sounds of a city in agony. The cacophonous wave of anguish flooded through the small opening. Monique felt a shiver chase its way up her spine. She swallowed hard as the woman in the road opened her mouth and uttered a long, deep growl.
A few moments later a second figure appeared. It walked at a slow pace, and had the same hesitant gait as the woman. The two offered not even the slightest hint of recognition. A third soon followed. Monique intently studied each of them. Blood covered all three bodies and the third had it smeared over its face. The sound of static grew louder, and gradually overpowered the screams. The street began to fill, not with the usual lunchtime crowd, but with a lumbering mass of the dead. They moved in a wave. The sound of their shuffled, dragged feet was the cause of the static sound that had burrowed beneath Monique’s skin. There was no end to their ranks. Monique found herself watching the scene unfold with a strange feeling of anticipation building in her stomach.
It’s one of those flash mobs just like that stunt in Belgium a few months ago.
She thought back to the You-Tube video she had seen. She looked at the crowd again, and saw the pattern in their look and mannerisms. They were zombies.
I bet they are doing Thriller.
Monique smiled at the thought. As a lifetime Michael Jackson fan, it was a performance she was bound to enjoy.
The large glass entrance doors to the multi-company office opened and the crowd turned to face them. The sudden unity of their actions only served to enthrall Monique further.
Here it comes.
She edged closer to the window.
The mob faced the doors, and a groan erupted as two figures walked into the street. Monique watched as they descended upon them. She felt her anticipation evolve into horror as the screa
ms began and blood flowed over the slate entrance floor.
What are they? Oh my God!
Monique screamed as she saw a severed human leg tossed through the air into the crowd where it was fought over like a wedding bouquet. The door to the office was open, and the group moved as one toward the door. At her office window, Monique stood in frozen shock, as all hell broke loose.
As the undulating mob entered the main doors, people streamed out of the small emergency exit of the company that rented the first two floors. The workers ran into the street and tried to scatter, but the dead were upon them too fast. Monique knew she was powerless. She could only watch as the people filed out of the building and into the waiting arms of the rapacious multitude. The street was a river of blood. Even the air seemed filled with scarlet mist.
Several windows in the office block opposite her smashed. As more of the undead forced their way inside, more people tried to escape by climbing from the lower floor windows. They would rather take their chance with the crowd outside than avoid them on the inside.
One man did well. He landed on his feet after leaping from a first floor window. He ran the instant his feet hit the ground, and zigzagged through the crowd. He came close to making it before the crowd swarmed him. Monique felt her world being to spin as she saw one of the people sink their teeth into the man’s throat and rip away a large chunk of flesh.
The screams inside the building increased, and the sound of panic began to echo through the halls. She watched as staff began to flee every building on the street; panic driving their every action.
“Get back inside!” Monique screamed. She knew it was useless, but repeated her warning all the same.
Her computer chimed repeatedly as a flurry of mails, some from the head office and others from people within the building, flooded in. Monique opened a few. The first one was advised them, once again, to lock all doors and barricade the buildings as best as possible. Rioters had broken loose and headed toward the city center in a wave.
Rioters my ass,
Monique thought. The next email echoed her sentiments in so far that it stated in no uncertain terms how far from the truth the previous message was.
One emai
l, from a junior clerk on Secondment just outside of the city, was a goodbye note to his family. He described how he was the last one alive; how the dead had risen and anybody bitten would come back too. Zombies! He wrote the word several times.
He had a separate message for his daughter, Imogen, and reading it made Monique’s heart break. She grabbed the phone from her desk and dialed the number to the satellite office,
but the line was dead. She then phoned down to the reception area. The guard answered on the seventh ring.
“Yes ma’am, everybody is to remain upstairs. The barricades are in place, but I don’t know how long it’s going to hold. Yes, I can take the elevators to the top floor and shut them down. However, if I do, the only way out will be the stairs. Ok Ma’am. If you insist,” Trevor the long serving security guard spoke with a steady voice, even though both he and Monique knew that his day would not last much longer. “I’m sending the elevators up right now. God speed Monique.” He spoke before the phone clattered to the desk. “You can’t go out there. No, it’s no
t safe. We need to stay inside…no, don’t touch that…” Trevor’s frantic voice carried down the line and led with the sound of splintering glass and resultant screams of whoever tried to escape.
Monique jump from behind her desk and ran into the hallway. People scrambled this way and that in a blind panic. Others had slumped to the floor in either prayer or defeat. It was hard to tell the two apart.
“Monique, what is going on?” Rebecca, a long-term temp ran down the hall, her long blond hair disheveled, while her eyes held an oddly feral look.
“I don’t know, but whatever they are, they have gotten into the building. I have ordered the elevators to be disabled, but the stairwell is still open. We need to block it off somehow.” Monique thought practically, and broke everything down into precise steps. It calmed her and focused her thoughts.
At that moment Danny and two others walked passed. She grabbed Danny by the arm and gave him the same advice about blocking the stairs.
“What about the other floors?” Rebecca asked as she helped to push one of the desks over to the door, where Danny, and Walter
Clapham, a middle-aged man who had worked for in the same government position most of his career, stood waiting to erect the damn to stem the flow of the undead.
“We will get the message to them,” Monique offered, “but now just help me push this.”
With three desks and six chairs, the men got to work blocking off the doors on both sides. While they worked on the fortifications, Monique and Rebecca began calling the other floors.
The lower two gave no answers. The frantic mix of screams, growls, and wet slapping noises that reverberated up the stairs were answer enough. Floors three to seven were about to be breached. The third floor, the first real office work level, was already overrun. The manager, a
good man by the name of Rupert Duncan, had locked himself in his office. Before their phone conversation could reach a natural conclusion, the door splintered and Rupert screamed his goodbyes.
By the time the last floor had been called, the zombies were everywhere. The barricade held firm however, and as the day wore on, their pounding became less. The screams of those less fortunate still pierced their ears four hours later. Those who had hidden were discovered; losers in a deadly game.
“The streets don’t look as crowded anymore,” Monique relayed, as she peered through the closed blinds, down at the street below.
“What good is that going to do us? We're trapped up here. The building is still full of those things,” Walter answered in response.
“Those aren’t rioters! Why would Head Office lie to us like that?” Rebecca had not realized that she had voiced her thoughts aloud, until an answer came back.
“They are zombies. According to the news, the fucking dead have risen. Can you believe that?” Scott, another young member of staff, spoke from behind his computer.
