The Z Infection (18 page)

       In Soho I came across one such place.  It was
one of those sleazy bars you see.  They were actually more prevalent in the
eighties, but some of them were making a comeback as ‘Gentlemen’s Clubs.’  I
had to smile at the name.  Having worked in one of those places, albeit very
briefly, I knew that the likelihood of meeting any gentlemen once you were
inside was highly unlikely.

       It was called Guilty Pleasures and the
photographs on the outside made it look like it was a luxurious club, with
stunning model-like girls who would dance for you for a few pounds.  Inside, I
imagined, it would look rather different.

       There were several corpses lying outside.  From
the look of them I guessed they had been infected.  All had head wounds and
were clearly never going to be getting back up again.  Amongst them were two
other bodies.  Both were large males and both had suffered from multiple
injuries.  They would have been the door staff I guessed.  Every place had them
in this area – to deal with any unsavoury ‘gentlemen.’

       I don’t know why I decided to go inside. 
Something drew me to it.  It was most likely curiosity but I had already
decided I was going to need a weapon of some sort.  I couldn’t rely on hiding
forever.  If I was trapped by one or two of them I knew I would have to be able
to defend myself.  I knew that there was bound to be something inside that
could be used.

       I picked my way through the corpses, trying not
to look at the horrific mutilations, and found my way inside the club.  The
smell inside was foul and I covered my face with my scarf.  Bodies littered the
narrow hallway.  I imagined a desperate struggle in here, as the infected fought
their way in and the staff and customers tried to hold them off in the confined
space.  There wasn’t a soul left standing.

       In the main room there were three separate
dance stages, each with a pole set in it for the dancers.  There was a bar at
either end and more bodies were scattered around the room.  I guessed that the
infected had finally overcome the defenders in the hallway and would have
poured through, into this area, where their greater numbers would have made
short work of whoever was left.

       Bar staff, customers, a couple more burly
looking men and several young women in various states of undress were lying
around.  All of them were dead.  Most had been eaten alive.  I saw one very
good looking woman.  She had an almost prefect figure and looked almost
untouched from that angle.  As I walked around her prone body, I suddenly
stopped.  She had a huge gouge taken out of her neck and there was a neat hole
in the centre of her forehead.  It looked like a gunshot.

       I checked around the floor.  Whoever had fired
the weapon might have dropped it in the struggle.  It was difficult to see in
the darkened room.  I checked every corpse, trying hard not to touch them.  It
gave me the creeps, but survival instincts were kicking in.

       Eventually I had searched as best I could and
decided to look behind the bars.  The first one I checked I found what I was
looking for.  The barman, or what was left of him, was lying in a pool of
blood.  Several infected were there too, all dead.  By the barman’s side was a
handgun.

       I picked it up.  I had never held a gun before
and I only had a rudimentary idea about how to use it.  I fiddled around with
some of the switches on it.  I knew enough to know that there would be a safety
switch and another which would release the magazine. 

I pressed one switch on the side and
nothing happened.  That might be the safety, I thought.  The next one I pressed
sent the magazine falling out of the pistol grip.  It clattered to the floor
and made an alarming noise as it hit.  I ducked behind the bar and picked it
up, looking inside.  It was empty.  I cursed my luck but realised that the
barman would have fired every round he had.

I looked inside the weapon.  I
couldn’t see any rounds in the chamber but I still wasn’t sure.  I slotted the
magazine back into it and aimed at the wall, closing my eyes and pulling the
trigger.  Nothing happened.  I pulled it again and again.  Nothing.  Satisfied
that the weapon was completely empty I decided to check the office.

I found a door and pushed it open. 
It was quiet in there.  A small corridor led to a number of doors.  One was
locked, probably a cupboard.  One led into a disgusting staff toilet, while
another opened into a large changing room with showers.  There was nobody
there.  I checked the shower area, not for anything other than peace of mind
that I was alone in the building.  It was clear.

I went back to the corridor and tried
the last door.  It opened onto a flight of stairs.  The office would be up
there, I thought.  I knew it was probably going to be the only way to get to it
and the stairs would be the only exit too.  Once I was up there I would be
trapped.

I took a deep breath and put a foot
onto the first step.  It creaked loudly in protest and I cringed at the noise
it made.  If anyone was up there, infected or not, they would have heard it. 
Nothing stirred.  I climbed the next two steps slowly, fearing that at any
moment something was going to jump out at me.  But nothing moved.

I took another deep breath and
decided to go for it.  I sprinted up the remaining stairs to another door at
the top.  I paused, listening.  I couldn’t hear any sounds from within.  This
had to be the office, I thought.  I pushed the door and it opened with a slight
rasp.

Stepping inside, I found myself in a
poky room.  This was indeed the manager’s office.  There was one large desk and
a smaller one, each with a chair.  The smaller desk had a computer on it.  It
was still on, stuck on a page of figures that someone had been working on when
the shit had hit the fan.  There was a single skylight window above me.  It was
small and narrow, gazing up at the blue sky.

I checked the drawers of both desks. 
There was nothing much in there.  Several files of staff members, some pens,
paper for a printer and some miscellaneous paperwork and bills.  In the bottom
drawer I found the petty cash tin.  It was unlocked and I opened it to find
about £200 in notes.  I removed them and stuffed them into my bag, making a
mental note to divide them up later.

Once I had gone through all the
drawers I searched the rest of the room, opening a small door in one wall and
looking inside.  It was a tiny cupboard, built into the eaves of the roof. 
There was nothing in there of any interest to me.

I sat down on the floor, frustrated
that my search had yielded nothing.  Then I saw something else.  On the wall
was a painting.  Not a very good one, it has to be said.  It was a scene from a
street, with a café and several people sitting around drinking coffees.  It
looked like it was supposed to somewhere on the continent.  Paris perhaps?

I stood up and went to it, lifting it
from its mount and placing it on the floor.  Behind it was what I had been
looking for.  It was the safe.  Built into the wall for some added security. 
There was no way it could have been removed, unless someone had used explosives
on it.

I looked at the dial.  It was one of
those combination locks.  The chances of guessing the numbers were thousands to
one and I didn’t have all day.  I was nervous, trapped in that small office.  If
someone was to arrive I was finished.  I twirled the dial several times, hoping
to crack the code.  I listened intently, turning it slowly, trying to emulate
what I had seen in so many films.  It didn’t work.

I was about to give up when I had an
idea.  I sat at the smaller desk and fiddled with the computer mouse.  The
screen immediately came to life.  I scrolled to the side and selected the mail
option.  A new screen popped up with an inbox.  I scanned down it with my
eyes.  Nothing jumped out at me.  Then I remembered.  I double clicked on the
inbox icon and immediately another twenty or so boxes appeared, each with
different names.

I looked down the list.  Wages,
electricity, alcohol orders, passwords.  Got it.  I clicked on the password box
and found what I was looking for.  The operator had so many to remember that
she would need something like this.  She kept everything there, on the
computer, for ease of finding it.  And there, at the bottom of the email, was
what I was looking for.  The safe number – 0409.  It was probably her birthday.

I went back to the wall and turned
the dial.  0 4 0 9.  There was a noise as the release mechanism activated and
the safe popped open.  I could hardly believe my eyes.  Inside was probably
thousands of pounds.

I grabbed as much as I could and put
it in my rucksack.  I would be able to bribe anyone with this.  As I emptied
the last of the money, I suddenly noticed something else.  Tucked at the back
of the safe, was another magazine for the handgun I had, plus two boxes of
cartridges.  I took them out and laid them on the desk.  The magazine was
full.  Ten rounds.  The boxes also seemed to be full.  There were forty rounds
in each box.  That gave me ninety bullets.

I put the ammunition into my rucksack
and was getting ready to get out of there, when I suddenly stopped.  There was
a noise.  On the stairs.  I had heard it before, when I had first started to
climb them.  It was the creak of the first step.  My heart almost stopped
beating and I could feel myself getting faint with fright.

I managed to pull myself together,
rebuking myself for being so afraid.  If I was going to survive, I told myself,
then I was going to have to become much harder and more resilient to what was
likely to happen.

I slipped off the rucksack and crept
to the door.  There was the creak again.  There was more than one person out
there.  I opened the door a fraction and looked out to see two people on the
stairs.  I say people.  They were actually infected, so I don’t count them as
human.  But there they were.  And behind them came another and another.  My
worst fear was becoming reality.  I was trapped.     

Dr Richard Bryson

12:30 hours, Saturday 16
^th
May, River
Thames, London

     
We were at least three miles upriver before we managed to lose sight of
the following swarm again.  Taff was on the phone and Tony had taken over
looking after the prisoner from Si, who was exhausted trying to keep her away
from the rest of us.

       ‘Those things never get tired,’ he said, as he
flopped onto the deck.

       I could see he was right.  Ever since we had
captured Esmerelda, as Si was now calling her, she hadn’t stopped for a
moment.  She constantly struggled against the noose, pulling against it and lunging
at anyone who strayed too close.  It was disturbing. 

Could you imagine being chased by one
of those?  They were unrelenting.  I heard a lot of stories over the years,
about how those things could run you down.  One was about an old man, in his
seventies.  He wasn’t very mobile.  He couldn’t run.  It was all he could do to
make steady progress.  Well, on the day it all started, he was in Hyde Park,
taking a stroll with his wife.  They were set upon by a group of the dead, or
the infected as we knew them then.  They tore his wife apart and there was
nothing he could do to save her.  So he started to make his escape.  Do you
remember the OJ Simpson police chase, when they drove at about twenty miles an
hour in the slowest car chase in history?  That must have been what it was
like, only without the vehicles and a lot slower.

They ‘chased’ him for twenty miles
apparently – so the legend says – until he finally gave up and allowed them to
take him.  How he had managed twenty miles is beyond me.  I don’t necessarily
even believe the story, but it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not.  The fact
was that they don’t tire and we do.

Taff came back out of the cabin and
asked Shaky to take the wheel for a bit.

‘I’m just off the phone to my boss,’
he said to me.  ‘The government isn’t at Earl’s Court any longer.  They’re at
Windsor Castle.  The infected have overrun most of the West End.’

‘Can we go there?’ I asked.

‘I don’t see why not,’ said Taff. 
‘The problem is her.’

He stabbed a finger towards
Esmerelda. 

‘She isn’t allowed inside the
castle.  Not while the royals are in there.  And they won’t be going anywhere
in the meantime.’

‘Isn’t there somewhere safer for
them?’ I asked.

‘They’re talking about Balmoral,’
said Taff.  ‘I don’t see how that will be any better though.  Windsor is a
proper defensive position.  They could defend it forever, with the right
resources at hand.  Balmoral is nothing more than a country house.’

‘What will we do with her?’ I asked.

‘My preference would be to put a
bullet in her head now,’ said Tony.  ‘She’s too dangerous to try to keep with
us.’

‘What do you think Si?’ asked Taff.

‘Tony’s right,’ he said.  ‘Sooner or
later someone will make a mistake and she’ll manage to bite one of us.’

Taff looked at me.

‘I would like to examine her first,’
I said.  ‘I might be able to learn something from her, which may give us an
advantage.’

Taff thought about it for a moment
and checked our progress.