The Common Cold (Book 1): A Zombie Chronicle (13 page)

“Yeah, I did thanks. She’s okay, I’m glad to say.”

“Listen, the captain thinks there are infected passengers
aboard the plane.”

“What?” Rob’s face showed the horror he felt at the thought
of being trapped in an enclosed space with something that wanted nothing more
than to eat him, with the rest of them as dessert.

“Yeah. Unbelievable or what? As if we haven’t had to put up
with enough crap today, to last us several lifetimes. Apparently, at least one
member of the crew, and a few of the other passengers were sick a while ago.
The captain wants us to work with the purser to restrain them. He doesn’t like
the fact they’re on board, but he was going all marine on me, something about
not leaving anyone behind. I approve of that under normal circumstances, but I
think that he has inadvertently landed us royally in the shit.”

“I don’t like the idea of using the guns on the plane. It
only takes one free bullet to make our day an even worse one. Maybe there’s
something in the hold we could use, you know, to beat their heads in, if
necessary, we should check that out.” They had the cleavers still, but the
thought of using them seemed too bloody. He thought for a moment. “I think I
can make the guns less dangerous for us, as long as we don’t miss the target.
If we slice across the noses of the bullets we have, making a cross in the tip,
they will break up in the target, so we won’t have any through and
throughs
. I think that air marshals use similar ammo.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that on telly, it might work. Let’s talk to
the purser, see just what shit storm we’re heading for.”

“
It is said that when
there is no more room in hell
, the
dead shall walk the earth
,” the radio announcer said, as if they were his
own words. He doubted he would ever be sued for plagiarism. “
Today I saw that for myself. There is
something coming out of the Big Apple that tells me that God is unhappy with
us.
”
The radio presenter prattled
on; for him and his righteous path, the whole world was now become Hell.

Sandra listened to the radio. Well, it was on in the
background, keeping her company. The television was on as well, trying to
achieve the same end. It was tuned to Sky News, which was running a loop of the
same information, over and over again, once in a while containing an update
viewers would find useful. It had been only three hours since she had last
spoken to Rob. She was frightened, wondering if fate would deliver him back to
her. For some reason, he had called from an aeroplane, en route to the USA. If
it was at all possible, he would try and call her again when it landed. He’d
been so uncertain, and had no answers either for him or her. She had told him
what little could be known, that the problem was spreading across the USA from
the east coast. No news reports had been received from New York since much
earlier in the morning. One reporter, mid-way through a description of the
chaos on the street on which she was standing, had suddenly been attacked by a
crazy, blood-soaked person before the live report was cut. They never went back
to her.

The military were all over the streets, preventing ordinary
frightened citizens and survivalists alike, not to mention opportunistic
looters, from stripping shops bare of supplies. They did their best to maintain
law and order. Washington spokespeople were talking about imposing martial law
all over the USA, at least until they had the situation under control.
Survivalists, or Preppers, as they were now being called, were accusing the
government of using the situation to take full control of their lives. Finally,
The Man had an excuse to dominate free men. The government would be resisted.

“God, I hope it doesn’t get this far,” Sandra said to her
neighbour, Ella. They had only met earlier that day, both having gone outside
to see if anything had changed on the street. Striking up a conversation,
Sandra had invited her in for a coffee; both needed the company.

“Same here,” Sandra replied, “Rob is on his way back, and I
don’t want anything to get between him and here.”

“Bill should be back this evening,” Ella replied. Bill was
her husband; he was a travelling salesman, dedicated to his business. Even
though things seemed rather strained that morning; they had argued about his
need to go to work, he still drove off, intent on closing the one particular deal
he had been chasing for a month. He wouldn’t let it go just because of a measly
news report, those New Yorkers probably deserved it, was the last thing he had
said to her as he drove away.

“Rob asked me not to go out; he was worried about the
situation. Men do worry about their womenfolk,” Sandra said, mimicking a
wild-western settler accent, “do ya want another coffee?” She was mainlining
the stuff, her nerves on edge. Not that coffee was the cure. By mid-afternoon,
she would have to try and climb down off the ceiling.

“No, thanks. I can’t drink too much, it gives me heartburn.”

“I shouldn’t either,” Sandra said, pouring herself another.
“Would you like to go shopping with me?”

“You don’t think it’s inappropriate right now?”

“No, I mean food shopping. I think it might be a good idea
to stock up a bit, just in case. I’m damn sure Rob would like a decent steak
when he gets home.”

“Sure, why not.”

They left the house and Sandra drove, taking their dark blue
Chevy Silverado. She had resisted its purchase at the time, saying it was a
pointless gas guzzler, but now it was beginning to feel like the right vehicle
for the job.

The military vehicles were still on the street, a few
troopers visible at the far end, apparently aimlessly loitering as if waiting
for something to happen. Sandra guessed their presence must be the deterrent
the radio spoke of; they weren’t doing anything in particular, no road blocks,
nothing. They drove down to the mall in central Castle Rock, past the neat
little houses and arcades selling factory over-runs and other useful supplies.
They saw the streets were all but empty of civilian cars, a few people quickly
scurrying from one doorway to another. It looked like the prelude to a
gunfight, all that was needed was tumbleweed to roll across in front of Yul
Brynner, standing at one end of the street, being faced down by James Brolin.
Again, there were more military vehicles parked up, but there was no sign of
their personnel.

“I don’t like the look of this,” Sandra said, slowing down.
In her mind she was wrestling with the urge to turn around, and flee back to
their house.

“We’re here now. It’ll be okay,” Ella replied, the only
justification for her optimism being that she’d been there, to these shops, a
thousand times before. Her natural comfort zone hadn’t yet been invaded.

“Alright, if you say so,” Sandra said dubiously, parking up
in front of her usual grocery store.
 
What was unusual was her ability to park right in front, the most
convenient place to stop. Before opening the car door she peered around, up and
down the street. Strange for that time of day, it appeared to be deserted.
There was a man standing behind a shop window, just staring out blankly. She
looked in the direction of his gaze but saw nothing. Creepy.

“Come on, then,” Ella broke her concentration. Of course,
why not. They climbed down from the car, and hurried into the shop. Collecting
a couple of trolleys, they began their hunt for food. A number of the shelves
were sparsely stocked, what was left of their contents scattered in disarray,
several bags of foodstuffs spread over the floor.

“Looks like they’ve had a run on some of this stuff,” Ella
said, a little nervously. They began collecting tinned food, more than usual;
both had overactive, protective instincts that were kicking in now, determined
to make sure they had enough sustenance for what may lie ahead. Between them
they filled their trolleys almost to the top.

“Fresh stuff,” Sandra said, “Rob will want his steak, for
sure.” They wandered around to the meat counter. No-one was serving, the
counter was bereft of staff.

“Well, that’s just typical,” Ella said, “this place is
always bad at service.”

“But the food is always good,” Sandra said, defending her
regular grocer.

Ella walked around behind the counter and looked at Sandra,
a mischievous look on her face. “What would you like, madam?” she asked,
pretending to be staff.

“Two rib-eyes, if you please, young lady.” Sandra smiled,
joining in the game.

“Will these do?” Ella said, holding a couple of beauties up
for inspection.

“Oh, yes, please.”

“We’re doing a special today, fifty per cent off for
self-service.”

“Sounds like a bargain. Make it a dozen, then,” Sandra
replied, getting into the fun.

Ella wrapped the steaks and threw them to Sandra, who caught
them awkwardly, with a squeal of excitement. Ella picked out her own meat
requirements, packed it up, and came around to the correct side of the counter
once more.

They continued their shop and finally went to the tills,
ready to pay. There was only one lass serving, so they wheeled their full
trolleys over to her checkout. This slip of a girl was just standing there,
staring at her till, almost as if it would bite if she touched it. She had a
bloody nose.

“Are you alright? Miss? Hello.” Ella prodded her to get her
attention. “Are you okay? Can I help?”

The girl slowly turned her face towards the interruption.
She looked like death warmed up, eyes cloudy, skin marble-pale. She was
drooling, the saliva mixed with traces of blood.

“You know, this isn’t good. Have you had some sort of
accident? Has someone hit you? Your nose is bleeding. Do you need a doctor?”
Ella was sounding worried but exasperated at this point. “Can you even hear
me?” The girl just ignored Ella, staring right through her.

Sandra was worried; this looked frighteningly like what had
been talked about on the radio and TV earlier. It also looked distinctly like
the symptoms Rob had warned her about in his last phone call.

“Ella, this feels wrong.” Sandra was trying to catch her new
friend’s attention. Her sixth sense made her look behind, down the aisles
towards the meat counter. The butcher was coming, he looked pissed, clearly
unhappy with the fact that they had helped themselves to his product. His
butcher’s apron was unusually bloody, surely that wasn’t right; it went against
all health
regs
, being that dirty. Peering more
closely, she saw that his mouth was strangely shaped, and lop-sided. Most of
the blood down his front appeared to be coming from it, running in coloured
rivulets towards the floor. In his hand he held an enormous cleaver, the sight
of which made Sandra gasp in fright. She grabbed hold of her friend’s arm in
sudden panic.

“Ella, forget her, we have another problem.” Ella looked to
see what Sandra was talking about. She stared, mouth ajar, the sight of the
butcher made her face drain of blood. Fumbling in her purse, she withdrew a
snub-nosed .38.

“What the fuck…?” Sandra burst out.

“My dad was a cop. I held onto this when he died.” She
raised it, and shouted a warning for the man to stop. “Don’t come any nearer!”
she called, voice quaking, “we’re going to pay for the meat. We couldn’t find
you.”

The man kept coming. As he got closer, they could see he
wasn’t interested in their self-service approach to shopping. His jaw was torn,
hanging by a string of muscle. His eyes were completely cloudy, and he gurgled
incoherent words, arms coming up as if to grab hold. The cleaver flashed
silver, and a shot rang out. A small hole appeared in his chest. Ella had fired
upon him, the raised cleaver being threat enough.

“Christ!” Sandra cried in surprise, ducking at the sound.

He looked down at the hole, a quizzical look on his face.
The look turned into a frown, and he lurched towards them, cleaver sweeping in
an angry arc, getting closer. A second shot and a hole appeared in his
forehead, pink spray and gobbets of flesh flying out behind. As all emotion
evaporated from his face, he dropped to his knees and collapsed forward,
exposing the gaping hole in the back of his head. Ella lowered her pistol, her
arm shaking alarmingly with the shock of having fired upon and killed another
human being. It was one thing to hit paper targets, quite another to actually
blow a man’s head off.

As she stood there, paralysed by what she had done, the
checkout girl grabbed Ella’s arm. She bit deep.

“Argh!” she cried, dropping the pistol. “What the fuck…” She
fought with the smaller girl, throwing her off and to the floor.
 
Checkout girl kept coming. Sandra picked up a
frying pan from the specials display, and hefting it to feel the weight, she
lunged at the dumb girl. With a sound like an off-key church bell, the pan
slapped against the side of the young girl’s head, rendering her unconscious.
The top of her skull now had a dent, from which blood oozed in a pulsing
stream, collecting in a sticky pool.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here!” Ella shouted, seeing
another couple of strange-looking shop workers coming towards them. Racing with
their trolleys to the car, they threw all of their ‘purchases’ into the open
back, shoved the empty trolleys at the oncoming employees, and jumped into the
vehicle. Sandra had picked up the pistol as they left the shop, and it fitted
neatly into her jacket pocket. Reversing out of the parking slot with tyres
screeching, they raced away from their crime.

Others were on the street now, walking awkwardly. They
grabbed at the car as it went past, a few bouncing off the car’s large fenders
and one falling under the wheels. In spite of her efforts, Sandra was unable to
dodge him in time. The faces of the people around the car were all the same,
grey complexion, vacant looks, white eyes. So this was it, she thought, would
they all turn into these things eventually? The car screeched on two wheels as
they took the corner onto the I25 and headed back home.

“Holy shit,” Ella said, inhaling her breath in deep
draughts. “Dammit, I lost Dad’s pistol.”

“No, you didn’t. I picked it up,” Sandra said, patting her
jacket pocket.

“Oh, thanks.” Ella looked relieved. “It’s the only thing I
have of his. He taught me to shoot.”

“He did a good job,” Sandra remarked. “How’s your arm?” Ella
was clutching it, her hand and forearm a bloody mess.

“Not as bad as it looks, or at least I hope not,” she
smiled, her face pale. “Why the fuck did she do it?”

“I don’t think she could help herself. I think it’s
arrived.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is that’s coming from the east.”

“But they said it’s contagious through bites,” her voice now
sounded like a frightened little girl.

“I wouldn’t take much notice of the reports. The reporters
didn’t seem to know much themselves, not even how it started. When we get in,
we’ll clean and bandage it. I’ve got a first aid kit.”

“Thanks,” Ella said weakly, staring ahead.

“It’s a good thing shopping isn’t usually that exciting, I
don’t think I’d cope very well.” Sandra said, trying to take the other woman’s
mind off the bite.

Ella just sat there.