Sick Bastards (14 page)

Zone ‘B’

I opened my eyes with a jump. I rolled onto my back. The sky was directly above me. Perfect blue skies. White fluffy clouds moving slowly across the peaceful scene. Hard floor beneath me. Wall to my right side and salvation to my left.

I pulled up and nearly fell straight back over again; either a bump on the head, the lack of food or the mental exhaustion taking its toll on my body and state of mind.

I looked around. There were a number of cabins in front of me and some set back from those too. They weren’t the biggest but it didn’t matter. Each cabin was a sign of other survivors. I wasn’t alone anymore. We weren’t alone.

I stumbled over to the first one. There was a billboard next to it with a large map on it. I couldn’t help but stop and look at it. Jesus. Is this the size of the area? It’s huge. So many survivors. It seemed to be divided into areas. Different zones. I felt my hopes rise a little as I continued towards the first cabin.

Three small wooden steps up to the door. I turned the handle and pulled the door open. Inside were a series of cages. Cages? What the hell? There was a body in the far cage but the rest of them were empty. Some keys hung from the lock in the door closest to me as though they’d been used and simply abandoned.

I hurried over to the far cage to check on the person. I could tell by the smell that they were dead yet I still rolled them onto their back so that I could see their face. It was a man. He looked to be in his forties - at least - but it was hard to tell considering the state of his rotting flesh.

What puzzled me more was that he was wearing a lab coat.

Ian Woodhead
was on a name badge that hung around his neck.

I looked around the cabin. There was nothing else in here of note. Certainly nothing to help me determine what the hell had taken place here. My only thought was that they must have caught some of those
things
that were running around outside in the woods. They must have caught them and kept them here. Something must have happened and they escaped. I didn’t care. I didn’t come here looking for trouble. I just wanted help. For me and what was left of my family - if anything. I’d need to be careful. I guess it’s not as safe in here as I first believed it to be. The wall being nothing more than an illusion of safety.

I left the cabin.

Would I find similar stories in the other cabins too? My heart sank a little. I was hoping to find a way out from this nightmare, not more corpses. I stopped myself from calling out again. If those things are around here, I don’t want to attract attention to myself.

I hurried across to the next cabin - only a few short feet away from the last one - and tried the door. Just as the last one had, this one opened with a quick twist of the handle too. The stink of death hit me immediately but it wasn’t the sight of the dead bodies inside - four or five of them at a glance - which shocked me the most.

PART FIFTEEN

Before

The House

Father was looking out of the window. I remember how scared he looked. I also remember not recognising him.

“Where am I?” I’d asked him but he shushed me quiet. At the time I thought it was because he didn’t want me waking Sister and Mother who were both asleep next to me. All of us crowded together on the same bed. I remember feeling uneasy about being there - next to them. Not because I’m shy about sharing a bed but because I didn’t know who they were.

I climbed from the bed and walked over to the window, next to Father.

He whispered, “I don’t think I was followed.”

Even if I wanted to forget, I don’t think I could get the image of how pale he looked on that day out of my head. His eyes were surrounded by heavy black rings; his dark hair looked greasy and messed up. More noticeably - he looked petrified.

He turned and looked at me blankly. He didn’t recognise me, just as I hadn’t recognised him.

The first thing he asked me was my name. I couldn’t tell him. Even today - I still can’t tell him. He couldn’t tell me his either. Nor could he tell me the name of the two ladies on the bed. He did show me a photograph though. It was the four of us standing together in a captured moment of happiness. I don’t remember when the picture was taken.

* * * * *

Now

The picture was what caught my attention more than anything else in the cabin. It stuck out like a sore thumb next to the bodies. More people in lab coats with name badges hanging around their necks. One, sitting on a chair in front of where the photograph was stuck, with a screwdriver sticking from his ear, the tip poking through the hole of the other ear. I pushed him to the side and he slumped to the floor with a satisfying thud. I reached up and took the photograph from where it was stuck on a line of monitors. What the hell is this doing here?

And then I noticed the monitors. They lined the walls all around me. Some of them were just showing static. The ones directly in front of me, where this picture was, were live though. A sign above them read ‘Zone B - House 3’. I looked at them in turn. My heart raced when I realised it was showing images of the house I had shared with Sister. A live broadcast? There appeared to be a camera in each room. My heart stopped when I noticed the bottom left camera. I dropped the photograph. One of the cameras was set up in the lounge. Sister was sitting there, on the settee, with her legs spread. Father was on his knees. His head buried between her legs. I felt a pang of jealousy and an urge to vomit. No vomit though. Just a scream of rage. What the hell was this? We were being spied on? People could see what we were doing and yet no one came to help? What the fuck?

I jumped from the chair I was sitting on and picked it up. Without thinking I brought it crashing down onto the monitors in front of me, smashing them in the process.

I fell to the floor, exhausted by the sudden surge of aggression and adrenalin. I wanted to keep screaming but I couldn’t. I could barely catch my breath. What the hell is going on? I clambered to my feet, pulling myself up with the help of some of the unbroken monitors. They were showing live broadcasts too. A sign, above the top row of monitors, read ‘Zone B - House 2’. A quick glance at the pictures displayed as I pulled myself to my feet and another sickening feeling as I realised it was the other house I had stumbled across. The two dead bodies lying in the bed.

What the fuck.

I stumbled from the cabin before I noticed anything else. I already felt as though my head was going to explode. Just above the eyes was raging with an excruciating headache, the likes of which I had never felt before - or at least remembered feeling before.

Outside I didn’t care if those things were around anymore. I found myself screaming at the top of my lungs, burning my throat, for someone to help me...For someone to explain what was going on.

Another cabin a few feet up a little dirt track. I was almost scared to venture into it, for fear of what was inside, but I knew there was little choice. I had come this far. I needed to finish the journey. I ran towards the door and pushed it open with ease; just like the others it hadn’t been locked. A room full of filing cabinets. A desk in the corner with a lamp still shining brightly as though there was never an issue with the power. Each of the cabinets was labelled up to show the contents within. My eyes were drawn to ‘Zone B - House 3’.

* * * * *

Before

The first thing he asked me was my name. I couldn’t tell him. Even today - I still can’t tell him. He couldn’t tell me his either. Nor could he tell me the name of the two ladies on the bed. He did show me a photograph though. It was the four of us standing together in a captured moment of happiness. I don’t remember when the picture was taken.

* * * * *

Now

Inside the filing cabinet’s top drawer there were a series of beige folders stored in suspension files, the first of which was filled with various photos of Father, Mother, Sister and me. I pulled the folder out and rested it on top of the drawer so that I could sift through them. So many pictures of us. Either together or by ourselves. There were even pictures where we’d be standing with someone else, or what appeared to be another family. Not all of us together, just me. Me standing with two strangers. Sister standing with four strangers. Mother standing with another man. Father standing alone, a fishing rod in his hand. A smile on his face.

I dropped the photographs back into the folder and pushed it all onto the floor before turning my attention back to the contents of the cabinet. The next four folders were labelled at the top...

KELLY DETHLEFS

BRIAN BIGELOW

CARMEN REYES

JOHN BURLEY

I pulled the first one (KELLY DETHLEFS) out and flicked it open to the first of many pages contained within. Some of them handwritten, some of them typed. Reports of some description and various interviews.

* * * * *

Before

None of us could remember our names when we woke up. And try as we might - they never came back to us. To this day I often wonder what my name could have been. Sister says I look as though I could have been a ‘Ben’. I don’t see a ‘Ben’ when I look in the mirror though.

I’m not sure when we gave up trying to remember. Starting afresh in this strange, but comfortable given the circumstances, house - we could have taken the opportunity to choose ourselves new names. We decided against it though on the off-chance our memories came back to us - one day - just as they had so easily disappeared in the first place. We’d rather wait to see what happens as opposed to lose the names forever; hidden behind some fakes plucked from thin air. As it turned out we rarely bothered addressing each other with names or labels. On the rare occasions we did, we kept it simple; mother was Mother, father was Father and sister was Sister. To my sister, I was Brother. To our parents, we were Daughter and Son.

* * * * *

Now

My heart skipped a beat when I turned one of the pages and found a small Polaroid picture of my mother clipped to the back of it. I lifted the photo up so that I could see underneath. A questionnaire of some description. The form had the name Kelly Dethlefs written upon it. Under relationship status it read as widowed. Next of kin had a name I didn’t recognise next to it and then it went into various questions as to why she wanted to take part in the project and why she thought she’d make a suitable candidate. One of the answers which stood out more than any of the others (at a glance) was
finances
.

I tossed the folder to one side and pulled the next one out. A few pages in, there was a similar page with a picture of Father attached to it. Brian Bigelow. Single. More of the same as per the last file. Again, I threw it to one side. I felt my eyes start to well up as I realised we weren’t who we were forced into thinking we were. None of us were.

The next file, Carmen Reyes, was the woman who I had previously believed to be my sister. I didn’t go much further into it as I realised the next folder would have been all about me.

I hesitated for a moment, having dismissed Carmen’s folder onto the floor with the others. I was nervous about what I’d find by looking into the flimsy file. I picked it out from the cabinet and opened it regardless, seemingly unable to stop my hands from doing so.

John Burley.

A tear rolled down my cheek. Just the one. More seemed unable to follow. I had come out looking for salvation and merely found more death and questions. A noise suddenly caught my attention. I turned to the desk, from where it came from, and noticed the chair was moving slightly.

On closer inspection I noticed a foot underneath the solid looking desk. Someone was hiding.

“Who’s there?”

“Please don’t hurt me!” They sounded as panicked as I felt. Slowly, they came out with their hands raised to the air as though they believed the folder (still in my hands) was actually a pistol. Like the others - the corpses - I had seen, they were wearing a lab coat with a name badge hanging from their neck. Michael Bray.

“What is this?” I raised the folder.

“Please...I can explain...Please...”