Zombie Fever: Evolution (11 page)

There were two Royal Navy nuclear-powered ballistic missile submarines in the South China Sea ready to launch at 0600. Bertrand had orders to steer his ship clear of the blast zone at least one hour before or risk being caught in fallout.

Bertrand gave the Prime Minister his most sympathetic look. “Dear sir, if it were up to me, you’d have as much time as you need to get the situation under control. Unfortunately, it’s not my call. My orders are to evacuate you and your families as soon as possible. There’s not a chance the WHO will back down from an order of this magnitude. Please let me help in the only way that I can. This is your only chance to leave the country. There is no other way out of Singapore. The blockade has orders to destroy any vessel leaving your country and air travel would be equally foolish, what with the satellite missile platforms now positioned directly overhead.”

Prime Minister Cheung’s determination turned to understandable anger, “Mr. Bertrand, we will not abandon our people. The world may have turned its back on our plight, but that doesn’t mean we will cower and run. We are declining your offer of evacuation.”

One of the cabinet members began to wail and the minister sitting next to him pulled his face into her bosom.

“However, staying is our decision and our families do not deserve the same fate. They are now being assembled in a secure location and will be sent to your vessel within the next hour. Take care of them, kind sir, and we thank you for your assistance.”

Prime Minister Cheung gestured to have the connection severed as more ministers broke out in sobs.

Bertrand was again left in the gray light of the holoscope terminal as the screens powered down.

He detested spending so much time playing multiple roles of ambassador, politician and subordinate.
If only I had been more cautious with the field tests of IHS-2, I would still be in full control of Operation Earth-Friendly with complete authority over how to administer the project.

But look at the bright side,
he mused
. All evidence of my involvement will be nothing but irradiated dust by this time tomorrow. Even if Sergeant Jayden fails to retrieve the girls, they won’t live long enough to expose Vitura’s involvement, let alone fall into the hands of Tomas.
While capturing the girls and Tomas would be a bonus, he was in the clear either way. He would be able to ease back in to Operation Earth-Friendly and, one country at a time, inoculate the deserving and wealthy, unleash zombie fever on the rest and save the Earth from humanity’s disastrous unchecked population explosion.

Chapter Nine

Punggol Jetty and Marina

Punggol, Singapore

Behind the restaurants, Tomas found the abandoned offices of the jetty’s management. There was a maritime map of Singapore pinned on one of the walls and it gave him an idea. With his finger, he traced the blue line of the Selatar River as it snaked into the interior of Singapore, ending outside Bukit Timah near Bishan where Abigail and Jamie lived.

It had been an hour since their scheduled rendezvous and Tomas felt he had waited long enough for the girls. With each passing minute, the chances of escaping Singapore safely with the girls diminished. Either they were trapped somewhere on the island or they were already dead. He had no choice but to venture into the interior. Somehow he felt oddly optimistic that Abigail was alive and that he would find her.

He stepped out of the office and stealthily jogged to the enormous barn-like structure across the parking lot, its large ramp descending into the water where the freshwater river met the strait. The barn was constructed out of sheet metal and was packed with pleasure boats and water skis under different states of repair. He treaded lightly, remaining vigilant to the danger of errant zombies who may have wandered inside and became disoriented in the maze of Bayline slick riders and Yatoshi wave skimmers.

He wished he could take a wave skimmer up the river. The trip would take ten to fifteen minutes at the most. But they were incredibly noisy and he didn’t intend to draw any unnecessary attention. So he searched for non-motorized water vehicles which he found in the aisle closest to the ramp. There, he found what he was looking for: a canoe tipped upside down and resting inside a five-man dragon boat.

He hoisted the canoe out of the larger vessel and carried it over above his head down the ramp, gently setting it down with its hull halfway in the water. Then he jogged up the ramp and, after searching through the canoe paddles, settled on one of the wooden dragon boat paddles. It was longer, roughly fifty inches long, with a horizontal grip at the top of the vertical handle that made a “T.” He swung it around a few times and, satisfied that it would make a decent weapon, pushed off in the canoe.

A waxing gibbous moon had risen above, nearly as bright as a full moon. It was a clear night and Tomas could see for some distance, but he wasn’t sure whether that was for the best since the infected would be able to spot him as well.
And if these zombies act like their slower brethren, they’ll be more active here in the night as the high temperature is significantly less brutal than in the daylight hours.

Paddling the boat was a chance to put his daily workout of yoga, sprint bursts and body-toning to the test. His arms became one with the paddle as he stroked the water, setting the boat on an upstream course and doing his best to keep the craft steadily in the center of the river.

Ten minutes into his canoeing, Tomas noticed that he was approaching an expressway bridge high above the water. He continued paddling, keeping an eye turned upward, unsure of what, if anything, he would see from so far below. It wasn’t until he was within shouting distance that he noticed bodies dangling from the beams above, hung over the bridge with rope, utility cords, sheets - anything that could be used for an old-fashioned lynching. There was no way to tell if the bodies swinging above in the breeze had been zombies or normal healthy human beings.

He continued onward.

As he got further into the wetlands, the river became narrower.

At first, he had been traveling with a water barrier of sixty yards on either side and he’d felt safe from any attacks from the shore. But now it had narrowed to less than twenty.

Along the right side of the river, a hiking path appeared beside the waterway.
This must be the Sengkang district I saw on the map,
he thought as tall blocks of residential apartments nearly consumed the river.

A woman’s screech broke the silence, “Argh! Help me! Help me!”

Tomas squinted towards the hiking path, now a mere fifteen yards of water away. A figure burst onto the trail carrying a flashlight, which made her an excellent target. She was frantic as three presumably infected men close in behind her.

Helplessly, Tomas watched as the men caught up to her. The first one leaped on her back, tackling her roughly to the ground. The other two took her flailing legs and pulled them like a wishbone.

They tore through her flesh like rabid dogs.

It was a blood frenzy.

Gently dipping the row back into the water, he continued forward. He didn’t think an infected would remember how to swim, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.

He moved further along and the river turned into a cement canal, the natural shore of jungle growth and mangroves morphing into twelve-foot high walls. Then the depth of the water suddenly dropped to less than three feet. He kept scraping the bottom with the oar as he pushed along.

The map didn’t give any indication that the river would turn into a storm run-off channel three quarters of the way in. It was disappointing because Tomas estimated he had another three miles to travel before reaching Bishan and he really didn’t want to travel by land.

He saw metal rungs at regular intervals along the wall. When he counted four intervals, which he estimated was another half mile, he decided it was time to climb up to the surface streets. There was no way of knowing what was happening above, and the feeling was becoming too disconcerting to continue along the canal.

Tomas climbed out of the boat and waded in the now two-foot-deep slow-moving water and to the side, bringing the oar with him as a weapon … it was better than nothing.

Peering over the lip of the canal to make sure the coast was clear, Tomas drew a deep breath and heaved himself over the top, ready to swing the paddle at any oncoming attackers.

But the street was empty.

He had no idea what to expect in the streets considering he had never traveled to Singapore. And he couldn’t get his bearings as he was surrounded by high buildings that blocked most the star and moonlight, making it impossible to estimate direction.

I’m going to have to recruit a local,
he thought,
or at least find one who can give me decent directions.

Feeling exposed, he ran to the nearest building and crouched against the wall. His first thought was to try knocking on a few apartment doors to ask for assistance, but he abandoned that plan when he observed a figure emerge from the nearest doorway and strut down the sidewalk, breaking out into dance moves every few steps.
No way he’s infected. Zombies don’t dance.

Another dark figure emerged from a clump of bushes, following the street dancer and quickly gaining ground. The second figure had a slightly stilted walk, similar to a marionette puppet, as though strings were pulling on its joints to make it walk. It was the familiar gait Tomas had observed during those final few hours in Kota Tinggi and his gut reaction was to attack.

The herky-jerky zombie fell into step with the dancer, even sort of mimicking his dance, so in synch the creature was with his prey.

Tomas trailed behind, staying close to the walls and shadows, trying to close the distance between them. He wondered whether the street dancer was worth saving.
How ignorant and blind to your surroundings can you be?

He crept up behind the two as they two-stepped down the sidewalk.

The zombie was within reach of his prey: he started to crouch, getting ready to pounce.

Tomas swung the dragon boat paddle and whacked the zombie across the backside of his skull at its edge, sending the infected man careening across the gutter and to land face down on the road. He turned the paddle and smashed the top of the zombie’s head with the flat side of the wooden club, the sound of impact sloppy and wet.

The street dancer continued his jig down the street, oblivious of his near-death experience.

Just to be sure, Tomas pressed his heel down on back of the zombie’s neck, putting his full weight on the vertebrae and feeling a satisfying pop as the spinal cord separated from the head.

The dancer continued along the sidewalk and crossed the street towards the main avenue. As Tomas he got closer, he saw the dancer was a teenager around fifteen, of Chinese descent   and dressed ready to hit the town.

Now only a few paces behind, he noticed the boy was humming as he walked. Fearful that the boy was making too much noise, Tomas looped his arm around his neck and put him in a sleeper hold, applying pressure to his carotid artery until he passed out. As he squeezed, an ear bud popped out of one of the boy’s ears and he could hear the steady thump of techno-punk blaring through the tiny speaker.

He dragged the unconscious boy behind a parked lorry and laid him down carefully. Seeing that the lorry’s window was rolled down a crack, Tomas forced the tip of paddle into the opening and applied pressure to the window, up and down, inch by inch, until there was enough room to reach his arm inside and unlock the door. He hefted the boy into the passenger seat and climbed inside, careful to remain low beneath the dashboard.

He closed his eyes and waited for the boy to come around.

Flashes of his father and his bloated infected face floating in the stasis chamber invaded his thoughts. To block out the image, Tomas searched the teenager’s pockets and found breath mints, a condom and a wallet with two hundred dollars and change, but no ID inside except for a library card with the name, “Ho Khai Meng.”

Impatient at the waste of time, he shook the boy.

The boy’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, then he said, “Huh?” and scrambled to sit up.

Tomas grabbed him by the jaw, put a finger to his own lips and mouthed, “Shhhhh.”

“What do you want?” the teenager whispered.

“Directions. Shouldn’t you be home? Don’t you know your country’s under attack?”

Attack? Who believes what the government says. I haven’t seen anything.” He flipped up his collar and smoothed back his soft-gelled hair, “It’s ladies’ night, man. I’m not going to let a bunch of nonsense stop me from picking up some chicks.”

Less than a car length away, inexplicably, a refrigerator hurled from one of the apartments overhead slammed into the pavement, exploding into thousands of metal and plastic fragments. The lorry rocked with the impact as fragments ranging from a size of a baseball to a tricycle slammed into the lorry’s cargo box, some of them embedding into the side like sprinkles on a birthday cake.

The boy covered his head with his arms and curled into a fetal position. Instinctually, Tomas lay over him. When the shock of the impact wore off, Tomas sat up and the boy said, “Killer litter. They’re going to get a huge fine for that one.”

Obviously, the boy still didn’t get the severity of his country’s plight.

Maybe he thought it best to talk some sense to the kid or maybe he needed to sort the events in his head, but Tomas decided to tell the boy exactly what was happening, “It’s not just hooligans and litterers, it’s a zombie outbreak. It’s a new form of the contagion from the strain that’s been devastating Malaysia. These infected are extremely vicious and bloodthirsty.” He pulled out Abigail’s picture and showed it to the boy, “I need to find this girl.” He flipped the photo over. “This is her address.”

The boy looked at the handwritten scrawl on the back of the photo to humor his attacker. “That’s not far from here. You see the avenue there?” he nodded to the road ahead. “That’s Avenue 7. You need to get to Avenue 11 that way,” he pointed beyond the road in front of them, “then turn left and it’s a straight shot into Bishan. If you want, I could show you for, say, a hundred dollars. I ain’t afraid of no jacked up zombies and I need the scratch to spend on my ladies.”