Infection Z (Book 4)
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I
nfection Z
4 is the fourth book in the Infection Z series.
If you’d like to read the first books, visit here:
“
W
e need
to get the hell away from this place. Quick!”
Ella Williams sprinted as fast as she could up the slippery muddy slope. Rain lashed down from the thick, grey April clouds. Winter was constant, never loosening its grip even into spring. Felt like the infection had ravaged the world forever when really it had only been a matter of months.
A matter of months where Ella had done more running, more fleeing, more surviving, than her entire life prior combined.
She looked back at the rest of her group. Saw them clambering their way up the side of the hill. Covered in mud, soaked in rain. She could hear their panting. The pained grunts of people struggling to survive. Of people doing everything they could to make it in an unforgiving world.
And Ella knew how it was. They’d been pushed to their limits. All of them had been pushed to their limits.
Not for much longer.
Not now they had a destination in mind.
Ella tried not to look behind her twenty-nine strong group at the figures drifting closer. Gave her a sickly taste in her mouth just glancing at them. Their greying skin. The inevitable wounds on their bodies. They never got any less scary, any less intimidating. Didn’t matter how many of them you fought off, how many of their sharp, snapping teeth you slipped away from, they remained terrifying. A constant reminder of what you’d become—of what everyone would become—if you just made one slip…
Ella saw Michael slip the moment she had the thought.
Saw him tumble down the hill, roll in the mud.
Towards the figures.
Her first instinct was to run back down. To go down there and save him. And that’s what she wanted to do. Put her life on the line. Put everything on the line. That’s what she was supposed to do for other people. For
her
people.
But Michael was falling fast.
Screaming as he plummeted down towards the silhouettes.
The rest of the group just watching as he rolled away.
The desire to survive glowing in their eyes.
“What—what do we—”
Margaret didn’t finish her question.
She slipped too.
Slipped down the muddy hill, down towards the dead.
Just as she started to roll, Ella heard Michael’s scream.
She winced. Turned away. She didn’t want to watch him get torn to pieces. She’d spoken to him just earlier that day. Spoken about the usual—life before, family, wife, kids. What they were both going to do when all this ended.
When all this ended…
Ella knew how much of a farce that notion was now.
As the sound of Michael’s muscles being ripped from his bones resounded around the hillside, Ella knew exactly how much of a farce any hope was.
Unless…
“Ella,” Natasha called. She was a pretty girl with dark hair, gorgeous Malaysian features. Always looked good, even in the midst of the apocalypse. “We—we can’t just leave them. We can’t just walk away.”
Ella was about to respond when Margaret’s screams filled the air. The wind blew rain into Ella’s face. She swore she smelled rusty metal.
Blood.
She wiped at the corners of her eyes. Kept herself steady, nearing the top of the hill. “We’re so close.”
“But we can’t just walk on.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Ella said. “Not anymore.”
Ella saw the look in Natasha’s eyes. The look she’d seen many times before. She knew what it was. Natasha didn’t like her methods. She didn’t like that Ella made the tough decisions. She didn’t understand the bigger picture: that sometimes members of a group had to die for the larger group to survive.
That’s the way the world was now. That’s how it worked.
That’s how it’d always worked.
“Now come on,” Ella said, turning around and beginning her ascent of the hill once more. She stuck her nails in the dirt, dragged her body up. She’d heard about what was up the hill. Heard a group back in Wolverhampton discussing the other side.
She heard what they said, and she knew she had to reach this place. She knew she had to see it for herself.
And she knew everyone would have to see it for themselves if they’d heard what Ella heard.
If everyone heard what Ella heard, they’d understand why she had to make tough decisions. Why she had to leave people to die. Why she had to—
Snap.
The cracking of a bone. Margaret’s or Michael’s.
She tried not to remember the humans they once were. Tried not to consider the
things
they’d become.
Just remember them positively. Remember them as they were before. Michael and his jokes. Margaret and her cute complaining.
Remember them as they were.
Remember them as they—
Another noise. This time, slurping. Like guts being sucked out of a carcass.
Ella tried to block out the burning taste of sick building behind her lips.
Just a few metres to the top of the hill.
A few metres left to struggle before seeing the truth.
Seeing what was on the other side.
Seeing…
She felt her left hand slip away. But before she could react, before she could even think to clutch at the ground, she was falling. Rolling down the mud. Everything too slippery to get hold of. Nothing to reach for.
“Help!”
She screamed, got a mouthful of mud. A part of her hoped she bumped into one of her companions. That they softened her fall. Okay, maybe they’d fall too if that was the case, but again, sometimes people just had to die to save the wider group.
She was okay with that now.
She’d come to terms with it.
Accepted it.
But nobody was there to cushion her.
Just the long roll down the hill.
The long roll in the mud. The rain.
Towards…
She stopped. Stopped, right in a ditch near the bottom of the hill. Her head spun. Heart raced. She was unbalanced. Disoriented. Lost all sense of which direction she’d even rolled down from.
Then she saw her group. Saw them at the top of the hill. Billy. Dinesh. Miriam. All of them standing there in the rain. All of them staring out at something.
Staring out at
it.
The other side.
“Is it there?” Ella screamed. She just wanted them to turn around. Just wanted them to tell her whether it was there. She just wanted to know.
Footsteps approached from Ella’s left.
She didn’t turn to look at them. Didn’t acknowledge the rotting smell. She just kept her focus on the top of the hill. More of her group reaching it. More of them standing there. Staring.
Not turning back for Ella.
Not telling her what they could see.
“Hey!” Ella screamed. “What is it? What—what do you see?”
She saw Natasha at the top of the hill. Saw her turn around. Look right down at her.
She saw that look in Natasha’s eyes again.
Saw her open her mouth, prepare to speak.
And then she felt something.
A splitting, burning pain on her neck.
Then on her back, right through to the spine.
Then on her thighs.
Her ankles.
Her belly.
She felt the undead shove their filthy fingers inside the holes they’d bitten into her skin. Felt the canvas of her body splitting apart like tender pulled pork.
But still she looked up at her group.
Still, as they ripped out her insides, as blood curdled in her throat, as the sounds of her raw flesh being chewed up filled her ears, she kept on looking up at Natasha, looking at her people staring over the hill at something.
“What…” she started.
Then she felt teeth on her tongue.
Saw one of the undead above her. It looked into her eyes with its deathly stare.
Biting down, ripping her tongue away.
She started to cry. Started to cry as the undead tore her to shreds. Because she knew. She knew she’d never see the other side. She knew she’d never see whatever was over that hill.
Was it like the people back in Wolverhampton said?
Was their journey worth it?
Were their losses worth it?
She caught a glance of Natasha once more.
Only this time, she saw a smile twitching at the sides of Natasha’s mouth.
She tried to call out for Natasha. For the rest of her group. She just wanted to know. Her final wish before she died, before she turned.
But then Natasha looked away.
And with the rest of the group, she started to walk.
As the undead swooped in for another helping of her flesh, Ella saw herself as if from above. She saw herself lying in the mud, rain lashing down, diluting her blood.
Alone.
And as she looked up at the sky, she saw the sun peeking through the clouds, felt its warmth touch her skin, and her insides—which were outsides now, she guessed.
She thought about the other side.
She hoped for the sake of her group they’d find what was promised there.
She took a final painful breath.
Then, she closed her eyes.
E
lla would see
what was on the other side of the hill. She’d see it very soon.
Only she wouldn’t be human when she saw it.
H
ayden McCall watched
the house on the corner for hours.
He knew it was hours because he could feel his forehead burning in the sun. It was only April, but today had been good. Pleasant, as old folks used to say when killing time at bus stops. A really fucking pleasant day. Made a change.
It’d be even more pleasant if he saw no signs of life in this house.
The house he had to get inside.
The house he had to search for supplies.
The house he had to leave.
He lowered his binoculars. Looked at the empty street. Well, it wasn’t exactly empty. Dusty cars. Smashed windows. Flies buzzing around remains. A constant smell that hung around every town, every village, every suburban area.
The smell that signalled
they
had been here.
They had been everywhere.
He stood up. Walked down the hill towards the road. There were lots of flies about. Way too many for April. There’d even been flies in the cold of winter. So much death that even the flies found a way to adapt to the changing temperatures.
If only people could adapt to change as well as flies.
He whistled as he climbed over the wooden fence at the bottom of the cul-de-sac. Made his way towards the white and black-beamed Victorian house. He kept on whistling, a little louder this time. If there were any undead around, he wanted to know. The zombies always seemed to approve of his singing. Always came wandering out whenever he broke out in melody.
Well, just a pity for their sakes they didn’t stay inside.
Just a pity they didn’t adapt.
Hearing no footsteps, hearing nothing at all but the buzzing of flies and the gentle breeze, he walked down the driveway of the old detached house. He’d chosen it because it looked like it once belonged to someone wealthy. And if there’s one thing he’d learned since the world went to shit, it’s that the wealthy kept a lot of interesting supplies. Food. Drinks. Stuff to kill time. Stuff to kill
things
.
And another good thing about the wealthy was that they were rarely still alive to try and stop him taking what was theirs.
They were just too weak.
Money couldn’t buy survival. Not in this world. Not anymore.
Hayden tried turning the handle. Locked.
He crouched by the door and lifted the plant pot.
If there was another thing he’d learned since the world went to shit, it’s that even the wealthy made the stupid mistake of leaving a spare key lying around outside.
He reached beneath the plant pot.
Felt cold metal against his fingertips.
“Bingo.”
His voice sounded deeper than he remembered. Didn’t speak much these days. Didn’t have much to speak about, many people to speak with. He’d been alone for a while. Alone since the end of winter.
Alone since…
No.
He didn’t want to think about the past.
Just the future.
Only the future.
He put the key in the lock. Turned it.
And then he lifted his hammer and lowered the handle of the door.
Movement.
Movement on the road to his left.
He swung around. Scanned the street.
Nothing.
Nothing but an old crisp packet floating in the wind.
Nothing but flies.
Nothing.
He held his breath and turned back to the door. Pushed it open.
First thing he did was the usual—took in a deep breath. Checked for smells. Listened out for any noise. Usually, noise was a better indicator that the dead were around. Sense of smell could get fucked up in a world like this. A world where your nostrils were treated to so much death.
Regardless, he didn’t smell a thing in this house.
He didn’t hear a thing, either.
Just the flies outside.
Just the crisp packet tapping against the pavement, dragged along by the breeze.
Hayden kept his hammer raised. Stepped inside what appeared to be a kitchen. It was dark and dusty. An ironing board lay across the black and white tiles, an unfinished T-shirt all crumpled up underneath it. Blackened bananas by the windowsill. A pool of water in front of the freezer.
Hayden swallowed a thickening lump in his throat as he walked further into the kitchen. His eyes honed in on stuff that could be useful. IKEA knife set. Bottled cooking oil. Rolling pin. Car keys.
All of them sparkling in his vision like clues on a point and click video game.
He just had to decide what to look at first. What was most important.
He walked over to the fridge. Felt the water from the defrosted freezer seeping through his shoes. Shoes. That’s something he needed. New shoes. These Timberlands were split at the sides. Anyway, he was kind of fed up with them. Fancied a new look. Some brown chukka boots, maybe. Or even some fresh Converse.
Everywhere was a shop these days.
Just had to make sure there wasn’t anyone else shopping there, too.
He pulled open the fridge door.
Flies buzzed out, bumped into his face. He wafted them away, the sourness from the fridge making him want to heave. Before he closed the fridge door, he spotted maggots crawling around the partly-closed lid of a bottle of milk. Lettuce gone brown. A few cartons of Capri-Sun.
He reached past the maggots and the rotting food and grabbed the Capri-Sun drinks.
Always came in handy.
He closed the door and heard footsteps to his left.
He turned.
Saw a shadow move beneath the inside kitchen door.
His chest tightened.
That
feeling overcame him. The one that made his head ache. That made his breathing difficult.
The sense that someone was there.
Someone was in the house with him.
But the same sense that told him no one was there.
That it was all just… in his head, somehow.
He didn’t like that feeling.
He didn’t like how insane it made him sound.
He had to believe there was something on the other side of the door. He had to get out of here. Leave.
He couldn’t be proven wrong.
Or that really would make him crazy.
That really would—
He heard shuffling.
He felt his mouth dry up. Stood opposite the door.
There was something in there. Definitely something in there.
Or someone.
He put the Capri-Sun drinks to one side. Raised his hammer. Walked over to the door.
He put his ear right up to it. Listened for the shuffling noise again.
Nothing but silence.
Just the flies.
The crisp packet outside.
The maggots slowly dripping down from the roof of the fridge.
Nothing at all.
He lowered the hammer. Turned around.
Someone stood at the kitchen door.
A man.
Hayden saw his greying skin. Saw the wound on his right arm. A deep wound, the flesh torn right from his body.
He tightened his grip on the hammer. Looked at the Capri-Suns. Got ready to put the fucker down.
And then another figure appeared behind the man.
Then another.
Then another.
All of them covered in bite wounds.
All of them smelling like shit.
All of them walking towards him.
He dodged the grip of the first zombie. Swung the hammer into its balding head. Its skull cracked on contact. But he knew that wasn’t enough. He needed to get the neck. Snap the neck in two.
More zombies piled through the door.
The air getting thicker with the stench of death.
The mumbled, pained cries of the creatures overriding all other sounds.
Hayden backed up to the kitchen door. His heart pounded. Too many of them. Way too many of them.
The Capri-Suns out of reach.
No way of getting to them.
He had to go.
He had to leave.
He had to get away.
Now.
He lowered the handle of the kitchen door. Slammed it shut. Ran out into the hallway.
First thing he noticed was just how dark it was.
Then just how smelly it was.
And then he noticed the emaciated zombies at the bottom of the stairs.
They just stood there at first. Stood there, as if they were sleeping. Like they’d given up all hope of finding a meal; of finding fresh meat.
When they saw Hayden, he swore their eyes illuminated.
He scooted back.
Ran in the direction of the kitchen.
The kitchen door caved in.
Zombies piled out of it, filled the corridor, trapped him.
He looked either side. More zombies coming down the stairs. Fuck, what was this? Some kind of zombie congregation?
He looked around the hallway as the zombies grew in number.
The lounge door.
Only option.
Only choice.
He grabbed it. Turned the handle.
Stuck.
“Fuck.”
He felt the cold bodies of the zombies closing in. Tried the handle again. Still so tight, like it hadn’t been turned in months. Something behind it, too. Something blocking his entrance.
He kept on turning it.
Turning and turning as the zombies closed in.
Turning, pushing, doing everything he could to get inside.
He swung the hammer at the neck of the first zombie to approach from the left. Heard its spine crack, watched the zombie shake like it was having some kind of seizure.
Then he squared up to the door.
Pulled back the hammer.
Bashed it in, blow after blow after blow.
He watched the wood split away. Saw an armchair pressed up to the door. Fuck. Someone was in there. Or someone
had
been in there. The wealthy. Using their frigging expensive furniture to survive. If only they knew their acquisitions couldn’t solve everything.
Hayden swung at another zombie. A girl, much younger than him. He tried not to see her as a girl. Tried to distance himself as the heavy head of the hammer shattered the bones in her neck. You couldn’t get attached. You just couldn’t. Not to the dead. Not to the living. Not anymore.
You just had to survive.
He smashed the door in some more. A large hole formed in the wood. He reached through it. Struggled to grab the handle, to turn whatever shitty lock was stopping his entrance.
Couldn’t reach it.
Couldn’t twist his arm enough.
He looked at the gathering zombies. Looked at them surrounding him. Snarling. Blood and flesh drooling from their utterly inhuman mouths.
He didn’t have long.
Seconds, if he was lucky.
So he turned to the opening.
Threw himself into it.
Landed face first on the armchair.
He felt the wood from the smashed door scratch his belly, splinter his arms. But even worse, he felt the pressure on his feet. Felt the pulling.
Felt the teeth sinking into his Timberlands.
He kicked back. Kicked back as hard as he could. Twisted, turned, shook like some kind of feral animal.
Because that’s what he was. That’s what he had to be to survive.
The humane didn’t survive.
The diplomats rotted.
Democracy festered in a pit of filth.
He kicked again.
Swung free of the zombies.
Turned over, smacked the hammer right on the back of the neck of the final culprit.
And then he rolled off the armchair.
Ran over to the window.
“Sorry about this.”
He pulled back his hammer.
Whacked it at the glass.
Smashed it on first contact.
He climbed out the window just as the first few zombies forced themselves into the lounge, no care at all for the way the wood tore up their bodies, no care about anything but meat. Human meat.
Hayden ran down the street, past stray zombies, back towards the hill.
When he glanced at the house, he swore he saw someone in the upstairs bedroom window.
A child.
A skinny, starving child with tears rolling down his cheeks.
The child stared at Hayden.
Lifted a hand to the glass.
Then his little neck exploded and blood covered the window.
“No!”
Hayden closed his eyes.
Eased his thoughts.
When he looked back at the house, the little boy was gone.
There was no blood on the window.
