The Common Cold (Book 1): A Zombie Chronicle (14 page)

The drive back home was easy; there was almost no traffic to
be seen, just the occasional military lorry, hauling troops from one place to another.
Sandra pulled onto her drive, and got out of the car. Helping Ella into the
house, Sandra laid her on the leather sofa; the unfortunate woman had become
faint and almost completely unresponsive at this stage. She was mumbling
incoherently, sweat on her brow.

Sandra was frightened, she knew what was happening to her
new friend, but was afraid to coalesce the idea in her mind, lest it was right.
Instead, she went to their bathroom cabinet and pulled out the first aid box,
and ran back downstairs. With a bowl of warm water and disinfectant, she
returned to Ella’s side. The blouse had stuck itself to her arm, the dried
blood caked thickly over the wound. It looked strange; it had congealed too
quickly, too thickly, even to Sandra’s untrained eye. The warm water was
working, softening the hardened, crusty surface. Ella’s skin was becoming pale,
waxen; her saliva, oozing unchecked from her mouth, was thick and sticky.
Having cleaned up the wound as best as possible, she began to bandage it.

Ella’s breathing was becoming ragged; Sandra was worried
now, a single bite would never normally affect anyone like this. At worst, it
should only require a tetanus shot, or antibiotics. The emergency services were
still not contactable, every attempt was met with an engaged or unobtainable
tone; they were clearly on their own. Fingering the pistol in her coat pocket,
she wondered if she could ever use it on another human. Unlikely, was her
conclusion. Even if needed, it wasn’t possible to do much damage as there were
only another four rounds, unless Ella had more in her home. Shaking off those
thoughts, she went to unpack the car. The meat would still be cold; although it
hadn’t snowed yet, which was odd for the time of the year, it was below zero
outside.

Walking out to the car, it became evident just how much food
they had acquired. She felt a little guilty for not paying, but they could sort
that out when things returned to normal. Returning to the car in order to load
up for the fourth trip to the kitchen, she saw them walking towards her. Four
people, two of them women, were wandering aimlessly up the road. At first she
paid no attention to them, and continued her task. Finally they were close
enough for her to see that they weren’t quite right. Their faces were pale, more
so than Ella’s; and their eyes. It was the eyes. They were white, as if they
had been boiled like an egg, or the wearer had been dead for at least a week,
slowly corrupting in this cold weather. They had seen or at least detected her,
and were now walking in her direction.

Discretion being the better part of valour, Sandra retreated
into the house and locked the door behind her. Moving from room to room, she
closed all the curtains, hoping that if they couldn’t see her, they’d lose
interest and move away again. Ella moaned in pain, bringing Sandra to her side.

“Hey, girl,” Sandra whispered, “how are you feeling?” she
said, stroking her clammy forehead. Dumb question really, but she couldn’t
think of anything else to say at that moment.

Ella looked closely at her, and after a little while,
recognition showed in her slightly cloudy eyes. Her body was really slowing
down now. If they couldn’t get an ambulance or doctor to come around soon, it
would be too late.

The sound of loud engines roaring down the street
interrupted her thoughts. There must be at least half a dozen of them, she
thought. Peering through the curtains, she watched as several huge, dark-green
military trucks rumbled up the street. They screeched to a halt and men poured
out, lining the road. They were wearing biological protection suits, their
faces covered by Perspex visors. Suddenly, gunfire erupted at the far end of
the road. The troops galvanised themselves into action, forming protective
platoons, laying down cover fire. What were they firing at, she wondered. There
was nothing to be seen for now.

A man, apparently a civilian from what she could see,
flashed by her window, running incredibly swiftly towards the soldiers. Seeing
their attacker coming from the rear, they turned and opened fire on it. Shots
raked Sandra’s house, smashing upstairs windows, several blasting their way
through the brick and mortar façade, causing her to throw herself flat and lie
on the floor. As the firing eased, Sandra looked up, to see a ragged hole had
been drilled directly above her head. An inch lower and Rob would have been
cooking his own steak that evening. Brushing dust from her hair and face, she
peered through the new opening. Squinting against the ice-cold draught rushing
in, she saw the troops walking calmly over to the writhing man. A soldier, an
officer; she could see the insignia on his shoulders, strode over to him,
withdrew a pistol from its holster and shot him in the head.

“IN-THE-FUCKING-HEAD, I said,” he shouted, rounding on the
nearest squaddie. “Which bit of that didn’t you understand? Goddam National
Guard trainees.” He glared at the troops in the vicinity and swore some more,
before storming off to oversee the fighting further up the road. He continued
to hurl a stream of obscenities as he encouraged his men to push the fight
harder.

Seeing no further threat to her or the house, she rose to
her knees and peered through the curtains, trying to get a better view of what
was happening. All along the street, there appeared to be pockets of isolated
hand to hand combat now, soldiers grappling with civilians, blood and organs
pouring from gaping wounds left by high velocity bullets. The injured kept
coming; they clearly didn’t feel the pull of gravity on their entrails. Slowly
the tide of the battle appeared to turn in favour of the soldiers; the zombies,
or whatever they were, were being destroyed. The soldiers were finally heeding
the words of their commander, and delivering coups de
grâce
shots into the heads of the attackers. Several soldiers lay on the ground,
nursing wounds, their helmets and masks gone. Hazmat suits were clearly no
defence against this horde.

As all became quiet, Sandra watched as the inert bodies were
collected together and loaded onto a truck. Worryingly, soldiers were beginning
house to house searches. After an agonising wait, they reached Sandra about
half an hour later. They didn’t knock on the door, instead kicking it in with a
loud crash. The foul-mouthed officer marched into her house, and began looking
around.

“What are you doing?” Sandra challenged.

“Ma’am, is that your vehicle outside?” he asked, ignoring
her indignant question.

“The dark blue one, yes. Why?”

“There appear to be looted goods in the back. Can you
explain that?” he asked, his quiet tone more intimidating than his shouted
commands.

“It’s not looted,” she replied, angry at the assumption.

“Then show me the receipt,” he snapped, holding out his
hand.

“There’s more in the kitchen, sir,” a soldier announced,
walking into the living room carrying one of the shopping bags.

“Receipt,” he asked again, clicking his fingers.

“I don’t have it. We were chased away from the shops,” she
replied weakly.

“Sergeant, detain this woman,” he barked, and turning back
to her, he continued, “we are under martial law, you know. You could be shot
for this.” He waved his hand, indicating for her to be removed from his
presence.

Sandra was handcuffed and led outside. A shot sounded from
behind her and she flinched. Oh my God, they’ve never shot Ella? No other
scenario fitted the facts so well. She began to sob; her current plight was so
unexpected and unforeseen; how was she supposed to get to Rob? And now, how
ridiculous, she was crying for the terrible fate of her new friend of a mere
few hours.

A screech like tortured steel came from behind. Next moment,
the officer that had cuffed her was thrown to the ground, his throat ripped
open with amazing speed and violence. The blood gushed everywhere, the jet
drenching Sandra’s jeans. She screamed, and the creature hurtled off, attacking
another unsuspecting soldier. Her legs gave out under her, and Sandra collapsed
to the ground, next to her young captor. His teenage looks were enhanced by
terrified, wild eyes; he gurgled something unintelligible, his look almost
pleading, before he sighed his last breath, and his intense green eyes rolled
back in his head.

Keys, she thought, where were those bloody handcuff keys?
The idea of being handicapped like this, defenceless, with no-one around to
help, frightened her to death. She fumbled in the lad’s pocket, where she
believed he had placed them after securing her. Soldiers’ boots trampled past
her head as they rushed back into the fray, one catching her a glancing blow as
he passed. Stars floated in front of her and then darkness came.

Coming around a few minutes later, Sandra gently shook her
head to clear her vision. Having forgotten what had happened in the last
moments of her consciousness, she gasped when she discovered the corpse by her
side. His blood had soaked through her blouse, and was sticking it, like glue,
to his rapidly cooling corpse on the ground. With a look of disgust, she peeled
herself off him, only then remembering she had been handcuffed, and that they
were stopping her from moving properly. Desperately rummaging through his
pockets, she finally found the key. With a feeling of relief, the bracelets
were discarded on the ground, and Sandra cautiously looked around. Apart from a
few people, soldiers and civvies, wandering around apparently aimlessly, there
was nothing. The lorries were still parked up, so the military hadn’t driven
away.

The dead soldier moaned, his head turning from side to side.

Startled, Sandra made her way unsteadily back into her
house, pushing the door to. It wouldn’t close fully, the latch had been broken
from the forced entry. Grabbing a kitchen chair, she wedged it under the door
handle, and it held. Putting her hand in her jacket pocket, she felt for the
pistol; it was still there. In their haste, the soldiers had made an assumption
that this ‘little lady’ was unarmed, much to her relief now. Remembering the
single gunshot heard earlier, she rushed into the living room, and found Ella
lying on the sofa, a neat hole under her left eye. Her eyes stared blankly at
the ceiling, they were white and opaque. It seemed Ella had turned. Sandra was
suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of black depression; she felt unreal, a
third party observing her own actions, almost becoming numb to the realities of
sudden death. There had been so much violence happening to and around her that
Ella’s demise appeared almost inevitable, matter-of-fact.

How long had it taken for her to turn? Trying to remember
the time line, and glancing at the clock, Sandra was surprised to find it had
taken less than three hours. What was it that could affect complete change in
such a short time? Maybe that minister, or whatever he was, on the radio, had
been right, perhaps hell was indeed full.

Becky had just poured herself a large Kentucky whiskey when
Daniel and Rob found her. Mid-gulp, she put it down in guilty haste.

“Don’t stop on our account,” Daniel said magnanimously. “Of
course, if there’s any more going, it would be gratefully received.”

“Certainly,” she replied, smiling self-consciously. Grabbing
another two glasses, Becky poured generous shots and handed them out. The
warmth of it descending to their stomachs was welcome, followed closely by a
pleasant rush to the brain. With no food eaten recently, the drink did its job
quickly and well, easing the stress in their bodies.

“We need to talk, Becky,” Daniel began. “I understand we
have a number of people on board who are infected.” She nodded her head in
affirmation. “I’ve spoken to the captain about what needs to be done, and he asked
me to liaise with you.”

“Okay,” she replied uncertainly.

“What we need firstly, is a list of passengers and for you
to mark on it those you believe are sick. Do you have a way of getting this?”

“Way ahead of you,” she replied, picking up a computer print-out,
listing all of the passengers. Some were ringed in red biro. “I counted twelve
of the thirty two passengers as being ill. We usually have twenty four crew
members, three of whom are pilots.”

“But there are only two,” Daniel interrupted, curious.

“That’s right, one failed to turn up before we left, another
captain; in the cabin there are twenty one crew. We are all present and fit,
all but poor Sue, she was ill by the time we came aboard. She’s downstairs
sleeping in the crew quarters. As far as I know, she’s the only one poorly at
the moment.”

“Is there anyone sicker than the rest?” Rob asked.

“I think Sue seems to be the worst. She couldn’t work, she
had a thumping headache and nausea, so I put her to bed in the staff quarters.
I thought she probably had a migraine.”

“So, we have to act right now, and fast.” Rob was worried,
they had been on the plane a couple of hours now, and it was impossible to tell
how long most had been feeling unwell. The clock was ticking relentlessly on an
unknown countdown. “Some of these people will have been ill for some time, and
could be about to turn. From what we’ve seen, people that look like they’re
suffering some sort of illness, will eventually turn into one of those things.
We’re not sure how long it takes, a few hours, we think.”

“The captain said you had restraints we can use?” Daniel
interrupted.

“Yes, we’ve lots of them. We use plastic ties, easy to use
and effective.”

“Great. We need to corral all the infected people into one
area, so we can… help them,” Daniel obfuscated. “They need to be secured to the
seats, so they can’t get up.”

“What about their personal needs? You know, toilet visits?”
Becky asked, ever practical.

“I think a bit of mess is better than letting them move
around, even with an escort. We can’t risk taking them to the toilet, Rob and I
have seen what they can do, especially the fast ones.”

“Fast ones?” Becky asked, a little nervously. God, it just
keeps getting worse, she thought.

“Yes. There appear to be two types: those that lumber
around; we can get away from them easily enough. Don’t be fooled though, they
still want their pound of flesh, so to speak.” Daniel paused, thinking of what
he had seen, “it’s the fast ones that scare the crap out of me. You really
don’t want to come across one. They are really quick, unnaturally so, and way
too strong,” he emphasised. “A gun is about our only defence against them. Head
shots only. Nothing else seems to count.”

Becky’s face was going increasingly pale, finding it hard to
conceive of what Daniel was saying. The thought of real danger in a confined
space, even on a plane this size, was her worst nightmare.

“Before we do anything, we need to sort the bullets, Danny,”
Rob interjected. “Right now these rounds will go straight through their
target.” He left the rest unsaid.

“Yeah, you mentioned something about carving a cross in the
tip.”

“It won’t take a moment. Becky, do you have a penknife or
something sharp?” Rob asked as he drew his gun and released the ammunition
clip. Flicking the rounds out, he took the small Swiss Army pen knife Becky
offered. Rob carved and Daniel reloaded the clips, and in a moment, the guns
were once more ready for action.

Rob handed back the penknife. “Well, glad you managed to get
this illegal piece aboard. Let’s get going, then. We’ll start with Sue, can you
lead us to the staff quarters, Becky?”

Becky walked ahead of them down a flight of stairs, and then
showed them into a lift. With three of them fitting snugly, they were just
within weight limits, or so they hoped. The lift descended smoothly, down what
seemed like an unreasonable distance, especially in a plane. When the door
opened, the men half-expected to be presented with the great outdoors, a
freezing slipstream rushing past. Instead, and preferably, it was the lower deck.
Walking through the staff door, they entered a long, narrow area, curtained
beds on one side, cabinets and bench seating on the other. Becky walked briskly
to the berth she had allocated to Sue.

Drawing back the curtain, she stumbled away in sudden fright,
and fell against the wall, knocking the back of her head. Sue’s face came
abruptly into view. She had turned completely, her skin drawn and sallow in a
cadaverous, high cheek-bone look that would not be out of place in Hollywood,
apart from the drool and the white eyes, of course. Her mouth open, she gurgled
unintelligible words as her hands stretched out like claws, trying to grab hold
of Becky.

Rob, quick to react, punched her hard in the chest, pushing
her back into the berth. He couldn’t bring himself to strike her in the face,
but the blow had the same effect.

“Where are the restraints?” Daniel called to the purser.
Mutely, she pointed to an overhead compartment. Daniel reached up and pulled
down a large bag of white ties. Pulling out a handful, he and Rob struggled,
trying to grab the girl’s flailing arms, all the while trying not be bitten by
the gnashing teeth. All of a sudden she went limp, and both were able to grab a
wrist each. That was when she attacked again, her teeth snapping at their hands.
She had feigned resignation. Clunk, her teeth connected with Rob’s wrist watch,
securing themselves to it with the vice-like grip of a bull terrier.

“Shit!” Rob shouted in fear, “get her off me!”

Sue’s focus on Rob had enabled Daniel to tie her right hand
to the edge anti-roll bar, so he was now able to help his friend. Drawing his
pistol, he smashed her over the head with the butt. She fell back onto the bed,
cold-cocked.

Rob jumped back, a look of revulsion and fear on his face,
and watched Daniel secure her remaining limbs to the same rail.

“God dammit,” Rob exclaimed, “this is the last one we try to
secure. If they’ve turned, I’m
gonna
kill them, and
no more messing-the-fuck-about!”

Daniel agreed; the risks seemed too great to warrant this
folly, especially if they couldn’t even be cured, so what was the point of
saving them? Still, she was a crew member, and the duo needed the crew’s help,
so capping one of their number probably wasn’t the best option; not yet.

“You okay? Let’s see your wrist.” Daniel asked. Rob took off
his watch and threw it down; it was dripping with saliva and blood. His wrist
showed no signs of the skin being broken, he had been really lucky.

“Your long-suffering guardian angel has just popped out to
the pub for a nerve steadier,” Daniel joked.

As a precaution, he wanted Rob’s wrist washed with
disinfectant. Rifling through a first aid kit that had been stored with the
ties, he found an antiseptic lotion.

“Here you go,” he said, handing the tube over. Rob rubbed it
in like there was no tomorrow. The look of revulsion was gone, but Daniel could
tell he was still deeply shaken and disturbed by what had just happened.

“No more risks. I have to get back to Sandra, man.” He
blinked away a tear, his eyes moist with the effort of keeping his emotions in
check.

“No more risks.” Daniel said, clapping his hand on his
friend’s shoulder.

The struggle over, Becky stood up once more and, shaking
visibly, her face pale, she walked unsteadily out of the sleeping quarters. She
had to get a grip on her fear, she thought, rubbing the back of her head. It
was still sore and throbbed from the impact with the wall. She breathed deeply,
resisting the urge to throw up; never had she felt so at risk on a plane, and
she had been doing this job for over twenty years.

“You okay?” Daniel asked, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“I will be,” she replied, coughing to clear her throat.

“And that was just a slow one,” Rob said. “Let’s get the
rest restrained. And now.”

Becky had been thinking of the best place to put the high
risk passengers. “I think we should put the infected passengers upstairs, and
towards the back. We can tie them to the seats.” If she placed the other crew
and passengers forward, it would also maintain some weight balance for the
plane, although with so few passengers, it was more of an excuse than a real
issue. Her main and overriding desire was that seating them like this would
also ensure those
things
remained as
far away as possible.

“Sounds good to me. If we split up, we can have this thing
done quickly. Rob and I can each accompany one of your guys, so we have the
authority to get people to move; you can tie them down as we bring them to
you.”

She nodded in agreement. “This is giving me the creeps,”
Becky said, nervously looking over her shoulder. “Let’s get on with it.” They
walked to the nearest galley, where she briefed a couple of the beefier male
crew members on this thankless task. Rob and Daniel split up, and with a member
of staff at their side, began to move passengers to the appropriate section of
the plane. There was a small number who argued, not wanting to leave their
relatives or friends to this undignified fate. The authority of the cabin crew
was bolstered by the fact that Rob and Daniel were carrying weapons, the
ultimate decision makers. In the end, these protesting passengers were allowed
to accompany their sick to the back of the aircraft.

In less than fifteen minutes, the distressing task was
completed. Becky’s cabin crew really were an efficient team, their effective
manner in dealing with distraught relatives, gentle but firm, really had made
this a much easier task than Daniel cold have wished for. As it turned out,
four of the sick were clearly on the turn, and if they hadn’t reacted when they
did to sort the situation, the aircraft’s fuselage would have become a charnel
house in a few more minutes.

Tying the last one down, Becky appeared visibly relieved,
and helped herself to another fortifying whiskey. Daniel walked up behind her,
and helped himself to one as well.

“Is there anywhere else an infected person could be hiding?”
he asked, “we’ve checked all the toilets, staff quarters. Is there anywhere we
might have missed?”

“The cargo deck is the only possible place a person could
hide. Oh, and the systems room, but that’s usually locked.”

“The systems room?”

“Yes, it houses the computers needed to run the plane, but
as I said, it’s always locked.”

“Can we check it, and also, we need to seal off the cargo
area, just in case.”

“The cargo area is sealed by customs before we take-off,
well, normally.” The penny dropped, her fear rising once more. “Oh, my God, you
don’t think one of those things could be hiding down there, do you?”

“It’s a possibility, it was open to the outside for quite a
while when the plane was on the ground, wasn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

“So it needs to be sealed off. I’m not risking going down
there unless I have to. You saw how viciously Sue fought us.”

“No more risk,” Becky said, echoing the lads’ earlier sentiment.

“Exactly. Right, let me get Rob, before we do the system
room.”

“Do you think we’ll have trouble, then?”

“Who knows, but he is a systems guy, so he’d probably like
to take a look.” Daniel smiled; his friend would be like a kid in a candy
store.

Daniel found him in the galley nearest the infected. He had
recovered the pen knife from Becky’s personal locker, and was slicing neat
crosses in the heads of more bullets.

“Hey, man. I’ve got more ammo for you,” he said, handing
Danny another clip. “Here, Becky, keep a hold of this, you never know when it
might come in handy,” Rob said as he handed the knife over, unapologetic that
he had been through her personal locker.

“So Rob, you wanna come with me?” Daniel asked. “We’re going
to check out the systems room. You up for that?”

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, almost licking his lips in
anticipation. Together they walked forward, descending below the level of the
flight deck. Becky keyed in her passcode, and the door clicked open. Met with a
loud rushing sound, mostly caused by the server cooling system, she pushed the
door open, cautiously. To her left was a rack of servers, their blue, red, and
yellow lights flashing quietly. Sitting on a stool in front of a computer
screen was a young man, intent on the information flashing in front of him.
Becky froze, this room was supposed to be clear of personnel.

Rob put his hand on Becky’s arm, drawing her back to the
doorway. Daniel moved forward, and together the two men stepped quietly towards
the intruder, drawing their firearms in anticipation of the worst. They could
see the side profile of the intruder, who was drooling and mumbling to himself.

“I’ve never yet seen a system worth drooling over,” Rob
quipped quietly. “Metaphorically maybe, but not actually drooling.” Daniel
couldn’t help but grin a little. Twelve hours ago they were scared out of their
wits, fearing death. Now they were cracking jokes, what the hell was that
about?