Chronicles of the Infected (Book 1): Finding Her Read online

  He thought about all the times it had been true. In Afghanistan, when they had to clear the area and leave a fallen comrade behind.

  But he’d have wanted them to do the same.

  The mission is the most important thing. Above all else, the mission is important. As is brotherhood and loyalty to your fellow soldiers, yes – but if the squad returned for that soldier they left behind, it would be more than one dead.

  Still, Sadie’s expression remained the same.

  “We don’t even know if he’s still alive. And besides, you are important, too.”

  She was.

  She had survived a zombie bite. Her blood had mixed with that of the infected, and she was alive. Not properly, but she was alive. She could be the solution to this mess.

  He hesitated. Looked out the window at the burnt-out cars and corpses with exploded heads. The destruction of the world. A world that, until a few days ago, Gus couldn’t see being saved.

  “Your blood, Sadie, may have the key to… I don’t know. I don’t know science, I don’t know how it works, but ultimately, you’re a zombie without the… zombieness. You are important. More so than me, or Donny, or…”

  No.

  She was never going to understand.

  She was a child. Barely even that. She was an animal. She had the disposition of a feral human being. She had no cognition, no ability to talk. She relied on instinct. She was, ultimately, one of them – only she didn’t try and kill people.

  Instead, she saved them.

  And she had saved them. Protected them from an oncoming horde. Done it all single-handedly.

  He sighed.

  He looked to Laney.

  Something glistened by her feet. Something reflecting the full moon. Something…

  Donny’s sunglasses.

  The little weirdo, going on about his sunglasses.

  But he was so chuffed with them. He wore them, and would not stop smiling, and…

  And he went after Gus. When he could have left. He went after Gus and forced himself to shoot someone. Something that took so much out of him.

  Donny had barely been able to lift a gun.

  Yet Donny had pointed that gun, fooled the man into thinking he wouldn’t, then pulled the trigger.

  He had saved Gus’s life.

  But the mission.

  The mission was most important.

  No one would understand how important.

  But why? A politician’s daughter’s life was not more precious than anyone else’s.

  God damn, this is tough.

  He looked back in his mirror. Sadie’s glare still focussed on him. That intense stare, those fixed eyes.

  She was mouthing something.

  Whispering something.

  Gus strained to hear what it was.

  And he heard, ever so slightly:

  “Friend.”

  Gus brought the car to a sudden halt.

  He let out a large, aggressive growl. Furious with himself. Loathing his weak temperament for what he was about to do.

  He spun the car in a circle and turned back, speeding as fast as the car would take him.

  46

  Heat radiated against Donny’s flesh, illuminating him with a flickering amber glow. He coughed as his lungs rejected the mouthfuls of smoke he was forced to keep swallowing. As his eyes readjusted, orange blurs transformed to the terrifying sight of the flames that were going to cook his flesh.

  As soon as he realised what the fire was for, a pertinent thought hit the forefront of his mind.

  Why am I alive?

  He went to move his hands. He couldn’t. Something was stopping him, something that was burning his wrists. Rope.

  He tried his feet. His ankles too were burning from the rubbing of harsh, bristly rope.

  A draught floated against his back, and it abruptly occurred to him that he was half-clothed.

  “Help!” he immediately shouted. “Help! Please!”

  “Aw, are you waking up?” came the patronising voice of a ten-year-old girl behind him. “You really are infantile, aren’t you?”

  “What?”

  Stacey flopped to the floor beside Donny and began drawing things in the soil with her finger.

  “If you shout out, all you’ll do is attract zombies, and they will eat you far sooner than we will.”

  “You – you – you psycho bitch!”

  Stacey gasped and slapped him hard across the face.

  “Mummy says you are not supposed to use language like that! It is not becoming of a gentleman, or a lady.”

  His eyes switched between the fire and Stacey. To the fire. To Stacey.

  Why am I still alive?

  “Listen, please, just let me go,” Donny begged. “You don’t need to do this. There is still plenty of food available. You can do it other ways.”

  “You mean canned goods?” came Trisha’s voice as she walked past with her arms full of logs that she dumped on the ever-growing fire. “How ghastly! Really, why settle for such things when you can eat like queens?”

  “But I am a human, it is wrong!”

  “How so? You eat chicken, do you not? Pig? Cow? You think they die by magic? No, they tie them up and slit their throats. You’re no different.”

  These people were crazy. Mental. A bizarre mixture of etiquette and sociopathy. Is this what the zombie apocalypse had done to them?

  Maybe not.

  Maybe they had been doing this for a while, and the sour events of the world had just freed them of having to do it in private.

  “Please, I will give you whatever you want, I’ll do whatever, please…”

  “Stacey, darling, would you gag him? He is starting to get quite irritating.”

  “Yes, Mummy.”

  “No, please, no–”

  Stacey took a roll of duct tape, ripped off a piece, and stretched it across Donny’s mouth.

  He tried begging more. Tried reasoning, but only inaudible sounds were coming out.

  “Mummy, can I kill him now? He is so annoying.”

  Why am I still alive? Why have they not killed me yet?

  Stacey took a large blade and ran it between her hands.

  “Soon, darling, soon. Then I will let you butcher him in whatever way you wish!” Trisha smiled at her daughter as if rewarding her with a special treat, one that was greeted with a huge smile in return.

  “Thank you, Mummy.”

  “You don’t want anything rotten stuck in your teeth, do you now, darling?”

  “No, Mummy.”

  That’s when it occurred to him.

  The answer to his question.

  I know why I’m still alive…

  Because they were trying to keep him fresh.

  47

  Gus brought the car to a slow halt on the grassy verge overlooking London. The masses of undead had regathered and were continuing to push against the walls, which seemed to be losing their solidity. From afar they looked to be standing strong, but to Gus’s astute, focussed eyes, he could swear he saw the wall buckle.

  He turned to Sadie, then looked to Laney still asleep in the seat beside him.

  “I need you to stay here,” Gus instructed her.

  “No! Donny!”

  “I know you want to save Donny, but leave that to me. I need you to protect this girl, do you understand?”

  Sadie folded her arms and stuck out her bottom lip.

  Gus pointed at Laney.

  “Friend. See? Friend. Needs your help.”

  Sadie looked at Laney, then back to Gus. Her arms dropped to her lap and she nodded.

  Gus left a despondent smile lingering in the car and made his way to the boot. He took out a machine gun, placed ammo over his shoulder, and made his way to the opening of the woods beside the car.

  His eyes scanned the ground, looking for tracks. Footprints. Evidence of feet sliding across the ground.

  Finally, he found it. Faint, but definitely there. There were two lines where Donny’s fee
t must have been dragged. Gus could also make out two sets of prints. One that looked like a set of adult’s trainers. And one that looked like…

  Bare feet.

  Child’s feet.

  No. It couldn’t be.

  Donny shot her. The little girl was thrown onto her back, and the mother ran for it. How could the little girl be alive? The mother surely wouldn’t abandon her otherwise?

  But there they were. Child’s footprints.

  How many children would drag people away?

  More pertinently, how could a girl take three shots to the chest and survive?

  But then again, six months ago, you could have asked – how would the dead get up and start walking? But they did.

  And until a few days ago, you could ask how someone would be immune to a zombie bite.

  But there’s the answer sitting in the backseat of the car.

  He took the safety off the machine gun and edged between the trees, cautiously twisting his head back and forth, looking for signs of the demented family that tried to eat him not too long ago.

  The tracks continued to occur steadily through the narrow footpath, then veered off it. Branches, trees, nettles, bushes, all encompassed the new path he would have to forge. The tracks disappeared with the lack of set path, and he would have to rely on observing which trees looked the most disturbed.

  He crouched low and moved slowly forward, keeping himself camouflaged by the green that surrounded him.

  Minus Twenty Minutes

  48

  A victory cigar hung out the end of Eugene’s lips like it was an extension of his tongue.

  He tapped the ash out on a lavish, glass ashtray, then took a slow, delightful sip of his seventy-year-old whiskey from his tumbler with decorated carvings around its base.

  He huffed. Closed his eyes. Leant back in his chair. Savoured the silence.

  Savoured it because it wouldn’t be staying for long.

  Soon the commotion would begin. His façade would continue. His game face would have to be on.

  His intercom buzzed.

  He sighed and pressed the button that allowed him to communicate with Sandra, his secretary, taking a moment to ready himself for a long few hours.

  “Yes?”

  “Prime Minister, General Boris Hayes is here.”

  “Very good. Just keep him for a moment, I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

  “Right you are, sir.”

  He stood. Finished his whiskey. Took a final, long intake of his thick cigar, holding the smoke in his mouth, then released it without a single temptation to cough. He patted the end out in his ashtray, wafted the smoke away, then emptied the ashtray into the bin.

  He took a few strides towards the mirror, where he paused.

  Looked himself in the eyes.

  He was surprised he could look himself in the eyes, but as it turns out, he wasn’t easily affected by carrying out genocidal actions. Maybe he was a psychopath. Maybe he wasn’t. Or maybe he just faced the reality that people did what they wanted, and needed, for their own sake – and anyone who did not face that reality would be left behind to rot.

  Or, in these days, get eaten.

  He smoothed down his collar. Straightened up his tie. Fixed his top button.

  The intercom buzzed.

  “Sir, the general is insisting it’s urgent.”

  Oh, that insufferable wench. Did he not tell her to wait? Was that such a difficult instruction?

  She would be getting fired tomorrow.

  She’d probably cry. Beg for him to forgive her. Tell him all about her young boy she cares so much about and is just trying to protect and yadda yadda yadda.

  These people do go on a bit. If anything, it just makes him more adamant about getting rid of them.

  The intercom buzzed once again.

  “Sir?”

  He let a groan whisper past his lips.

  He shuffled his jacket, smoothed down his sleeves, and tightened his cufflinks.

  A few slow-paced, smooth steps and he had arrived at the intercom.

  “I thought I told you to wait.”

  “I know, sir, but he’s insisting.”

  “I do not wish to repeat myself.”

  “…Erm, okay, sir. Sorry.”

  He swept his hand through his hair, wiping it to the side.

  A map of the world was pinned to the wall. He had shaded the five countries that were coming to his aid.

  France. Canada. Ukraine. Spain. Japan.

  Some of the only places not to fall.

  That would change.

  He pressed his finger upon the intercom.

  “Let him in.”

  A few seconds later, General Boris Hayes strode hastily into the room, clutching a radio to his face.

  “Hello, Boris.”

  “Prime Minister, our allies are airborne. They are waiting for confirmation.”

  Eugene looked at his watch. Seeing as he hadn’t heard from Gus Harvey and that irritable man Donny Jevon for a few days, he assumed they had perished.

  Shame; he thought they’d last longer.

  Well. At least it looked like he had made the effort. That had been Gus Harvey’s purpose, and it would be on record for when the time came.

  “How long do we have, Boris?”

  “An hour from when you give the word.”

  Eugene nodded. He turned toward Boris, looking him in the eye. A seasoned veteran. A decorated war hero. Someone so wise, so experienced, yet ready to walk right into his demise.

  “Okay, General. Give the order.”

  “Roger, sir.” Boris squeezed the trigger on his radio. “Confirmation received.”

  “Affirmative,” came the response on the radio.

  Boris looked to Eugene.

  “It is done.”

  Eugene smiled.

  “Good.”

  49

  Sadie couldn’t remember the last time she felt the cold. Lying on the bonnet of the car, staring up at the stars, her mind could only just conceive of where she was.

  She wanted to relax. She wanted her mind to slip into peace, to readjust to a simple, calm, translucent state. But it wouldn’t. There were fires burning through her brain cells at all times, manic alertness springing from basic thought to basic thought.

  Hunger burnt in her belly.

  But what was the hunger for?

  She didn’t want to eat flesh. But she didn’t want to eat vegetables, tinned food, or anything similar.

  She tried verbalising this. All that came out was a grunt.

  She tried to make a coherent thought, but was only able to form a few words that barely managed to represent her emotional state.

  The blood surging through stung her like a wasp charging through her veins, pricking her insides as it went.

  Her eyes shot open.

  She sat up.

  She could feel something. Sense something. Smell something.

  What was it?

  It was a smell that was growing closer.

  She looked down the grassy verge at the wall that separated her and the sleeping child in the car from them.

  It wobbled. The thick, resolute, sturdy wall wobbled. The pressure of thousands of bodies pushing against it for months forced it to buckle.

  Cracks trickled along its edge. Dust brushed off the top brick as it began to slant.

  Sadie jumped to her feet. Looked around herself. Gus. Where was he? Where had he gone?

  For Donny.

  Friend.

  Donny, friend.

  Now she was alone.

  He told her to protect the girl.

  Girl, friend.

  Protect girl.

  The thick brick wall slanted at an angle, shaking. The ground quivered under the strain of excessive, hungry steps.

  Sadie looked back at the girl. Sleeping soundly. Not a twitch or grimace in sight. No nightmares. Just sleep.

  She wished she could sleep that peacefully.

  A deafening thud pun
ched the ground. The brick wall collapsed into a dusty heap. As one part gave way, so did the rest, and at rapid pace the whole circumference of brick walls demolished amongst a heap of dust.

  The undead surged forward, only to come into contact with the wire fence. They pushed against it, charging forward, pushing, desperate, pushing.

  The front line of zombies were forced against the wire fence. Their faces pressed against the wiry diamonds, being pushed so hard that the wire sunk through their skin. In no time at all, the front line had lost their pale visage, turning it to pieces of square flesh falling amongst clotted blood that trickled down their chest.

  The fence shook. Forced forward. Falling.

  Sadie got into the car. Locked the doors. Stared with terror.

  The booms against the floor provided a foreboding sense of doom. There we so many of them. So many.

  Sadie closed her eyes, squinting tightly, wishing them away, denying they were there. If she shut her eyes really tightly – as in, really, really tightly – maybe they wold go. Maybe…

  The earth trembled harder.

  She opened her eyes.

  The fence was down.

  They were coming.

  Sadie gently cradled Laney, ensuring not to wake her, and placed her on the floor of the passenger side. The child stirred momentarily but Sadie shushed her, and she fell back to sleep.

  Sadie climbed into the space beneath the steering wheel, curling up into a little ball.

  The car rocked from side to side. Nudged back and forth as body after body after body scraped past.

  She watched as the zombies lurched past the car. So fast she could barely see the back of their heads. They all burst forward, fighting each other for the privilege of being first; first for freedom, first for food.

  The car pounded from side to side. For a moment, Sadie feared the car would be turned upwards, but it collapsed back to the ground and continued to shake back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

  The zombies continued to run. Continued to hunt.

  She’d just have to wait this one out.

  Then, amongst the ravaging horde, one zombie abruptly stopped. It paused. Waited. Hovering beside the window of the car.