The Common Cold (Book 2): A Zombie Chronicle-Cabin Fever (7 page)

Each person grabbed a limb and pulled the frozen man away
from the canopy. Pinning him to the ground they struggled to force the arms and
legs together before finally securing them at their wrists and ankles. The
creature hadn’t moved throughout this process and now appeared for
all the
world like a frozen cadaver, although the joints
still appeared functional.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a zombie Popsicle,” Tom
observed, still reluctant to go near its head.

“Yep, let’s get inside and we’ll get a fire going,” Rob urged;
he was all business around this thing, wanting to know if Brad’s idea had
wings. Between them they carried it indoors like a stiff plank on their
shoulders and placed it in front of the open hearth. BB used his knife to
gently prod at the eyes. They rang like glass.

“Its eyes are frozen solid,” BB observed. “If they are
frozen then it’s a good bet that the brain is too as they are so directly and
closely connected. It was minus twenty three Centigrade up there and with wind
chill that would have taken it down to about minus sixty. This should be a
valid experiment, although it will probably take a few hours to be sure. Poor
sonofabitch
,” he commented, looking at the dead soldier.

There were already logs stacked up by the fireplace as if
lighting a fire would be the first thing the cabin’s owner did on arrival. Checking
the flue was clear Danny piled kindling and logs into the hearth. Squirting lighter
fluid onto the logs he struck a match and set it ablaze. The fire burned yellow
and quickly the room filled with smoke, making them cough.

As the logs caught fire and yielded heat, the flue began to
do its job properly and gradually drew the smoke up the chimney and so the air in
the cabin began to clear. They all stood around, guns at the ready and eagerly
watched as the first signs of a thaw began to show. While they waited BB
explained his rationale for the experiment, reckoning the risk was worth it as
it would give them an idea as to what to expect over time. Everyone hoped and prayed
that the man would not revive.

After an hour, BB gently prodded the man’s eyes again and
found them to have thawed.

“Well, he’s not revived so far. With luck…” he left the
sentence unfinished.

While they waited for the thaw to progress Mike spent the
time explaining to BB how to recognise fuel dumps from the air and marked on a
map where he knew some were already set up. Of course that didn’t guarantee
they would have fuel in them anymore so it was important to ensure there were
adequate reserves before choosing to refuel. It was likely there were going to
be other survivors who might take it or it could have just been used up by the
military in the early stages of the catastrophe. Surprised at the number of
these dumps across the country, BB was feeling much more positive about the
trip he was anxious to begin at first light in the morning.

A groan interrupted his thoughts. He looked up and saw the
shocked looks on the faces of his fellow campers. A few of the fingers on the
zombie were moving, albeit slowly.

“Oh, shit,” Danny muttered. “It’s still alive. Fuck, fuck,
fuck.”

Everyone in the room thought the same; this meant that the
cold wouldn’t resolve their major problem. They would have to keep an eye out
for them even after the thaw and into the warmer weather.

Danny prodded the thing with a stick. “The limbs and torso still
appear to be frozen but the joints seem to have mobilised.
Looks
like freezing the undead isn’t the end for them after all.”

It began to struggle against the constraints, rocking from
side to side and groaning quietly.

“Just how long do these fuckers live?” Rob
asked,
a pained look on his face.

“Looks like only time will tell us that,” BB said,
resignation in his voice. “Did you notice the joints remained movable, even if
they were stiff?”

“Meaning they could still move if most of the body was
frozen solid? Is that what you’re saying?” Tom asked, realizing their remote
hide-away was no longer guaranteed protection for the survivors. He had been
certain that freezing the zombies would have killed them off.

“Looks a little like it,” BB answered. “Let’s get this heap
of shit outside and finish it off.”

Rob and Danny each picked up an end and roughly carried the
writhing corpse and, with its teeth snapping in anticipation of one of them
getting too close, took it outside and behind the cabin. A single shot echoed
around the clearing and they returned minus their load. If these things would
survive freezing temperatures and even being frozen, then winter promised to be
quite the season for continued battle, especially as the undead would, at some
point, start to make their way sporadically out of the towns and cities. The
reality of the upcoming warmer weather would mean that the survivors were
likely to be facing almost as many of the undead in the spring as had been in
existence at the beginning of the apocalypse. The only positive aspect of all
this was that if the infected became slower in freezing weather it might at
least mean they wouldn’t migrate far during the winter , giving the breathers
time to prepare themselves for the warmer days ahead. Time might be the group’s
only real friend for now.

Fed up with trying to stay asleep when his brain was buzzing
full of planning details and anticipation, Brad got up, had a quick wash and
headed for the helicopter. His excitement at finally travelling to get to his
wife ensured he was bright-eyed even at this early hour. He’d spent a couple of
hours with Mike Simms the previous evening; Mike had ensured he had as much
coaching and information on the helicopter as reasonable in such a short time. In
addition to the external fuel tanks, the helicopter Brad was taking also had
FLIR, Forward Looking Infra-Red. Although it probably wouldn’t detect the infected
as they seemed to function cold and generated no heat, in this cold weather it
would be useful to look out for heat signatures below, animals, people, or
vehicles on the road. Considering the state of the country it would be wise to have
an idea of what to expect before he encountered it, especially when landing for
fuel.

The other piece of advice was to fly low; if there was a
malevolent force down there and they had commandeered military firepower,
staying just above the trees would give them less time to draw a bead. Not a fool
proof solution but it might just give him the edge he needed to stay safe. If
there was someone intending to down the chopper, pray they aren’t rogue
professionals Mike said earnestly, nothing would save a helicopter from the
likes of them.

Although Mike’s words sobered him up significantly, BB was
his usual confident self as he watched Zoë walk towards the helicopter - he
liked the way she swaggered, so full of self-assurance - they were due to leave
before anyone else rose to greet the morning. She climbed into the co-pilot
seat and shivered as the cold from the leather seat struck up through her
flight suit.

“ ’Morning
,” Brad began. “Are you
still sure you want to do this? It does have a pretty big element of risk.”

“Yep, I’ve never been to Sausalito before. It’ll be nice to
see how the other half lives.”

“I inherited it,” he said in his defence. “Otherwise I’d
just be an ordinary Joe like you.”

“I can tell this is going to be a long journey, isn’t it?”
she smiled, wondering if perhaps her liking for this cocky bloke was part of
her reason for going along for the ride. “Looks like someone got up to see us
off,” she finished, pointing at Danny who was running over to them carrying
something.

Danny ran around to BB’s side of the bird and waited for him
to open the door.

“What is it, buddy?”

“I thought you might like to take this, you might be able to
call her en route,” Danny said as he handed over a plastic bag. “Or she can
call you, of course. The charger is in the bag, it connects to a cigarette
lighter socket. I presume all American military birds have one for their
generals to light up their cigars on their way into an attack on some village
in the middle of nowhere.”

“I thought racial profiling was anathema to you Brits?” BB
retorted, laughing.

“I just say what I see in the movies, my friend.”

“That’s nice of you Danny,” BB said, getting serious again.
“I’ll bring it back in one piece.”

“Just stay safe, both of you.”
Waving he retreated to the hut and watched as they departed on their long
journey.

*

Two mornings before Brad left to go to San Francisco on his
rescue mission to retrieve his wife, Kimberley Bukowski sat in her kitchen,
looking out over the sea. She was nursing her cell phone, waiting for BB to
call again. Last time he’d called, it was the middle of the night and he informed
her he had just landed in Denver. From what he didn’t say she suspected there
was something out of the ordinary about it but didn’t feel that concerned - internal
airports were always chaotic. Getting off the phone she was a little
disappointed as his original destination was Washington DC from where he could
have hopped onto a commuter plane and been home a few hours later. Now she had
no idea at all when he might be back.

Still rather groggy from having just finished a long, two-day
marathon shift at the hospital, she had not watched any television or heard a
radio broadcast so had no concept of what was going on across the world; she had
been half asleep when her husband had called and his dire warnings didn’t
really sink in. Having pleaded with her not to go into work, she had agreed
under protest; since then she had regretted that response, feeling as if BB had
over-egged that particular pudding. Dozing lightly she had reconsidered her
position in her dreams and decided it would not be appropriate for her to skip
work, especially if things were going pear-shaped. Her skills as a trauma
doctor would be invaluable.

And so at five am, hoping to beat the traffic, she climbed
into her car and drove the short three minute drive to the Redwood Highway, the
road that led across the Golden Gate Bridge. She worked in the San Francisco
General Hospital and Trauma
Center
to which it was
normally an easy drive, most of it on freeways. Unfortunately, or perhaps not
as it turned out, access to the bridge was blocked by queuing vehicles and from
what she could see the line of traffic went all the way over and into the city
proper. Curiosity aroused, she switched off her engine and walked the short
distance to the highway to see if the problem was identifiable. What she saw
defied belief: several cars were on fire, people were running around and
screaming, some apparently attacking others; as a doctor her first instinct was
to see if there was anything she could do to help those people in trouble.

A man ran towards her, his face covered in blood, and seemed
to be mouthing something indecipherable in the early morning darkness.
Confused, she had been slow to react when he jumped on her, forcing her to the
ground. Screaming while desperately trying to stop him biting her - for that
was clearly what he wanted to do - she didn’t notice the police officer that
ran up and threw the assailant off her. With no hesitation whatsoever, the man
had leapt to his feet again and thrown himself bodily at the officer, mauling
him on his exposed face and neck, and then lapping up the warm fluid that pulsed
out of the arteries in spouts of dark liquid. Forgotten by the attacker who was
gorging on the face of the slowly writhing officer, she stumbled away and back
to her car.

Climbing in and closing the door, Kim was just in time to
avoid another couple of assailants who rushed at her out of the darkness,
bouncing off the windows in what appeared to be unbridled fury, leaving bloody
smears across the windshield. “Sorry, BB,” was all she could mumble, regretting
her decision to try and make it to work. Slamming down the locks on the doors she
did a quick U-turn and sped back down the on-ramp swerving around another
couple of cars eager to get to the bridge, their occupants oblivious to what
they were driving towards. Trying to signal them not to proceed, she continued
her way back home.

As she pulled into her driveway she paused for a few moments
to allow her hands to stop trembling. As a trauma doc she had seen some bad
things in her time but nothing compared to the collective madness she had
observed that morning.
 
Rushing inside
her house she slammed and double-locked the front door. Better to be safe than
sorry, she thought, at least until she knew what the hell was happening out
there.

Working her way around each room in the house, Kimberley pulled
all the curtains closed and checked the door and window locks to make sure they
were secure. As an added precaution for her protection she collected BB’s revolver
and then sat down at the kitchen table, looking out over the bay, with its city
lights glittering on the water like diamonds, frightened of what the waning
darkness was hiding at that very moment. Her hands still wouldn’t stop trembling.

An hour later she hadn’t moved; staring into the distance
she could pretend that nothing was wrong with the world. The slow lightness of
the dawn had brightened up the view, revealing a peaceful scene. It was weird looking
out of the window; from this vantage point everything appeared so normal. Unusually
for this outcrop of land there was a heavy dewfall on the grassy area between
her and the boathouse, but it would soon burn off in the morning sun. The footprints
she could see interrupting the silver sheen, outlined by the dewy cat’s eyes,
told a story; someone had been chased in circles by at least one other person before
finally running away. Looking across the Bay, it was possible to see Alcatraz
and beyond to Treasure Island and the mainland. It was a view they could never
have afforded if her husband, Brad, had not inherited the house. Every day she
thanked his dearly departed Uncle Cedric for his kind bequest.

Looking more closely she could now make out anomalies in the
view, a number of fires seemed to be blazing in the distance on the other side
of the Bay, the smoke from their flames rising vertically in thin columns undisturbed
by the still air, and small orange flashes were apparent as something else
caught fire. The faint wail of sirens could be heard in the distance, but that was
just the song of the city, certainly pretty normal for where she lived. If it
hadn’t been for her terrifying experience just an hour or so ago, of course.

Her initial state of shock was wearing off and as guilt
prodded her into action, she placed a call to the hospital’s Emergency Services
Department.

“Hi Cindy.
It’s Kimberly Bukowski
here.”

“Oh, hi Kim.
I take it you’re
calling to say you can’t get in. Don’t worry, you aren’t the only one. It’s
like a ghost town in here, I’ve never seen so few staff; I think there are only
a couple of doctors in the whole building, and frankly the only reason they’re
here is that they couldn’t get home after their shift. Like me, I
shoulda
been off two hours ago. I tried to get a cab when
the buses stopped running but no chance of that.”

“Does anyone know what’s going on?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me. It’s like there’s something in
the water.”

“I don’t know what’s going on, girl, but be careful. I was
attacked on the freeway this morning. Some cop saved me but then this guy just
attacked him, it was like watching a mad dog at work. I just
legged
it out of there.”

“I’ve heard a few tales like that. We’ve had a lot of
walk-ins with what appear to be symptoms of the common cold, only not. The
waiting area is full to overflowing and they keep coming. Some seem to recover
and leave. A few have become catatonic. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Kim held the phone away from her ear as a piercing shriek erupted
from the earpiece.

“Cindy? Cindy? Are you there?” she asked, listening
carefully, her knuckles now white, strangling the handset as fear rose in her,
making the hairs on her arms rise. All that could be heard were some wet noises
in the background, a little like twisting a shoulder of lamb and hearing the tendons
graunch over bone. Kim shuddered and moaned in fear as she realised Cindy
wasn’t coming back to the phone.

She might work in a trauma unit, with blood and guts
everywhere, but it was rarely associated with any mass violence, certainly not
the levels she was experiencing this morning. Breathing deeply, trying not to
let shock set in again, she walked over to the percolator and set up a fresh
brew of coffee, trying to focus on normal, mundane activities. Kim was
beginning to jump at any sound now, however slight; every creak or groan in the
house seemed sinister. Food would be good at this point; her irregular eating
regime caused by the frenetic nature of her job meant she frequently suffered
from heart burn and now was no different.

Remembering she had some left over croissants in the fridge,
she placed a couple on a plate with a nob of butter and jelly. With a hot
coffee liberally doped with sugar she took the mug and plate to the table and
sat there munching and thinking about what the hell she could do to stay safe. All
the windows were toughened with double-glazing and the doors were locked, so
that was a start. The landline worked and there was still a signal on her cell
phone. Regretting not having taken notice of BB’s warning to stay at home, she took
succour from the fact that at least now she had an idea of what was out there in
terms of threats, although it was all still way beyond her comprehension.

The indecision had to stop right here and now, she angrily
admonished herself. Having just listened to the death of a colleague all she seemed
capable of doing was fret. How pathetic. She absent-mindedly stroked the smooth
chambers of the blued steel gun, gazing at the dark-brown wood-handled Smith
& Wesson .357 Magnum
Model
19, and thought back to
when BB had first introduced it to her. It was loaded with 38 specials
containing 130 grain slugs. BB had said that load would suit the less muscular
grip of a woman and reckoned it was good light weight ammo that she could
handle easily. When he had first said that, Kimberley had taken umbrage, his
implication that women couldn’t handle the full weight 158 grain
.357 ammo
had offended her independent nature. So they’d
gone to a range and experimented; he had to be right all the time, well, every
time she let him. She could handle the .357 slugs pretty well, although the
kick was pretty significant, but had been far more consistently accurate using
the lighter 38 special ammunition. The point had been conceded to him.

Her fingernails tapped nervously on the table; more than
anything she needed BB to call her again. Just to hear his voice would help to
calm her nerves. Last time they’d spoken he said he was developing a plan to
get to her quickly. Not caring how he did it, all she wanted was to have him
back; if she was to perish, she wanted it to be together; not too much to ask,
surely. Her hand was raised to her mouth and she had just taken a bite of the
buttery bread, when her neighbour, Taylor something-or-other, ran past with a
look of panic on his face. Racing across the open green that led down towards
the US Coast Guard station next to the shore, he struggled to maintain distance
between him and the man that was chasing him. Sitting up straight and nearly
choking on her food, she stared in disbelief at the spectacle. Being a very
private person, she didn’t know many people in her neighbourhood, but nevertheless,
she was sure the guy chasing him was also one of their neighbours, a man who
lived further up the road. They’d never formally met; he just seemed always to
be cleaning his powder blue Chevy muscle car, clearly he’d had too much free time
on his hands.