The Z Infection (5 page)
I don’t know why, but I continued watching him
for another minute or so. Something told me his story wasn’t finished yet.
Suddenly, I saw a twitch. His arm moved. Then a leg. A few seconds later he
had pushed himself up and was looking around. Then he stood up. I nearly
dropped the binoculars. I had thought he was dead. This couldn’t be
happening.
Then he joined the rest of the gathering mass
of serial killers, grabbing at people, biting them. They too fell after a
while and they too rose and joined the throng. Before long I realised that it
was a tide that could not be halted. Everyone outside the palace was going to
die, sooner or later.
I sprinted back down to the guard room and from
there to the side gate. That’s when I saw the girls. They were with a few
others who had detached themselves from the main crowd and decided to look for
another option.
‘Open the gate,’ I ordered the soldiers. ‘Let
those people through.’
‘We have been ordered not to open the gates,’
said one of the lads.
‘Do it,’ I snarled at him. ‘Then close it
again before everyone else gets wind of it.
They opened it up and those fifty or so
terrified souls poured into the compound, thanking me as they came.
Once they were through, the gates were locked
again. Just in time to stop the next group from getting access. They reached
through the gates, begging to be saved. There was nothing more I could do. To
open them again would have been suicide. I turned my back on them and walked
into the guard house. I can still hear their pleas today.
Government Announcement
14:45 hours, Friday 15
th
May 2015, Whitehall, London
‘This is a government health
warning. Due to an unexpected event, which occurred this morning in the Covent
Garden area and surrounding streets, it is advised that all residents remain
indoors and do not approach any persons with symptoms of aggression or unusual
behaviour.’
‘It is also advised that any person,
who has suffered a bite or other injury from contact with a person displaying
these symptoms, seeks medical attention immediately’
‘Further information will be given in
due course, but in the meantime it is repeated that residents should remain
indoors.’
Dr Richard Bryson
14:50 hours, Friday 15
th
May, Whitehall,
London
I don’t know if it made me feel safer or not,
having my own personal SAS bodyguard to take me from place to place. There
were four of them, all dressed in camouflage gear and heavily armed with
automatic rifles, pistols and grenades. They didn’t say very much, but they were
friendly enough and made sure I got everything I needed. Certainly nobody was
going to harm me with those guys around.
Taff was the one in charge. He was a big
Welshman with a lilting tone, but I could tell there was an extremely tough
individual inside. Tony was his second in command. He was in his forties but
looked as fit as a teenager. He was always whistling, which did get on my
nerves after a while. Si was the youngest one. He was a London boy, from the
East End, and he also provided the jokes and light relief. The fourth member
of the group I only knew by his nickname of Shaky. He was about thirty and had
muscles on top of his muscles.
What surprised me most about this little group,
was that they all seemed to be so well educated, perhaps with the exception of
Si. They would often quote things that seemed out of place to what they did
for day jobs. It didn’t matter to me, of course, I was just happy to have some
company. The task I had been given was dangerous. I could never have completed
it without them. In fact they saved my life many times in that first week and
probably scores of times in the next month and we became good friends through
all the hardship and danger.
The first place I decided to head for,
was Great Ormond Street Hospital. We knew some of the injured had been taken
there and that contact had been lost. I wanted to know why that was.
It soon became clear that it was
going to be almost impossible to get through by a direct route. Even as we
were leaving Whitehall, just after the warning was issued, we were advised that
the Prime Minister and other government officials were to be relocated in the
next half hour and that the area around Charing Cross was already a no-go.
That seemed incredible. It was only a few hundred metres away.
Our driver, Shaky, decided on a more
circuitous way and took as across the river on Westminster Bridge. Once on the
south side of the river we made our way along to Blackfriars Bridge and crossed
back to the north side.
There were people everywhere.
Thousands and thousands were on foot, heading across the river to the perceived
safety of the south bank. We seemed to be the only ones going in the opposite
direction. Some tried to warn us not to go any further, others just ignored us
completely. We saw some people with horrific wounds, bites mainly. Some of
them dropped where they were and we carried on past. There was nothing we
could do. There were too many injured.
The more I saw of it the more I theorised
that this was some form of disease. People seemed to be becoming infected
through bites and scratches and they were expiring quicker than with any known
virus I had ever encountered. The only thing I could compare it to is a bite
from a venomous snake. There are some species that can kill a human being in
just a few hours. This was happening much faster.
By the time we were about a half mile
from the hospital, Shaky had stopped our vehicle.
‘We’re not going any further,’ said
Taff.
I looked him, expecting a reason to
be given, but he just pointed straight ahead. In front of us, shuffling down
the street towards Holborn junction, were hundreds of them. No, actually I think
there were thousands of them, all with the same vacant expressions, all walking
with that slow and purposeful gait. All with the same thought at the forefront
of their minds.
‘Get us out of here,’ said Taff,
calmly.
Shaky turned the car around and we
drove back towards Blackfriars Bridge. By the time we made it there Taff had
already been on the phone to his boss.
‘There’s no way through to the
hospital,’ he said.
I didn’t hear what his boss said, but
Taff’s next words chilled me to the bone.
‘I think we are in some serious
trouble.’
Anna Hasker
15:00 hours, Friday 15
th
May, Heathrow
Airport, London
I had arrived at Heathrow, for my
flight to Edinburgh, about two hours earlier than I would normally. I had had
a fight with my boyfriend at breakfast, about him going on yet another lad’s
weekend. This time it was Amsterdam. He just presented it to me, over our coffee,
as a done deal. I was beginning to get pissed off with these trips he kept
taking. It was almost one a month now, always somewhere in Europe.
Of course I was working that weekend,
which made me feel like I was over reacting to it. What did I expect him to
do, he had asked? Sit around the flat all weekend, waiting for me to drop in,
too tired to do anything?
I was so angry I decided that the
best place for me was work. We lived out near Chiswick so it didn’t take me
too long to drive to the airport. On the way I tried to listen to the radio
but every station was full of news about a bus crash in Covent Garden and
widespread disturbances across the city. There was always somebody protesting
about something, I thought.
When I got to the airport I parked my
car in the staff car park and walked to the domestic terminal building. There
were lots of people there. Nothing unusual about that, except that many of
them were crowded around television screens watching what was happening in the
city.
I went into our staff room and
grabbed myself a coffee and a croissant. It was surprisingly busy in there.
Everyone was chattering about the disturbances and how they had affected
flights in and out of the airport. I found a friend of mine, Lucy Scott. We
had started with British Airways on the same day, almost seven years ago, and
we sometimes worked together on flights.
‘Have you been watching the news?’
she asked.
I shook my head. I was still upset
after my argument with Andy.
She didn’t seem to notice. ‘There
are disturbances all over central London. It started on a bus, someone said,
and spread down into the tube stations. Now it’s all over the place. There’s
something going on here too. They’ve cancelled every single flight.
Apparently there are people out on the runways.’
She pointed at one of the TV
screens. We got the occasional idiot at the airport, who might run across a
runway. That wasn’t uncommon. But when I looked at the screen I could see
dozens of figures wandering around aimlessly.
‘There was a disturbance in Terminal
Two earlier,’ said Lucy. ‘A lot of those people on the runways came from there
I think.’
Something didn’t seem to add up as I
watched the figures walking around. Some airport security staff had been sent
out to deal with them and as soon as they approached, the figures went for
them. Were they attacking them? It certainly looked like it. The security
guys backed off, driving back towards us in their vehicle. The figures staggered
after them, arms outstretched.
‘It’s like a Zombie movie,’ someone
said.
People laughed. That was ridiculous,
of course. But they did bear a resemblance to what we were fed by the media
and Hollywood.
I turned away and poured myself
another coffee. It was going to be a long wait before we would be flying.
Xiaofan Li
15:15 hours, Friday 15
th
May, Whitehall,
London
By mid-afternoon I was well away from Leicester Square, heading for
Holborn. I soon found I couldn’t go any further, as there was another crowd of
people streaming south, away from the area around the British Museum and Great
Ormond Street Hospital. I tried to stop some of them, to tell them they were
running into danger, but nobody would listen.
So I carried on for another street and found an
alleyway that led to the rear of some shops. There was a fire escape which led
up the back of the building and I decided to climb up. I reasoned that this
would give me two advantages. I would be safer and I should be able to see
what was going on down on the ground a lot better. It might also buy me some
time and offer some solution for an escape.
At the top of the fire escape stairs was a ladder.
It was perfect. I climbed up and found myself on a flat roof of a building. I
could see for miles up there. To the south, in the area of Covent Garden,
there was a huge pall of smoke. There were also other fires in other areas of
the city. I had no idea at the time but I found out, months later, that they
were caused by people who worked in restaurants who had just left their
equipment running in their blind panic to get away.
That’s how quickly things happened on
that first day. There was little information from the government, nobody to
protect us or offer words of support or encouragement and we still had no idea what
we were dealing with. Nobody knew, at that point, that it was the undead and
that only a head shot would stop them permanently. It was like the whole
country was paralysed. And the dead took full advantage.
I could see bodies lying everywhere.
Some were half eaten, others were horribly disfigured and mutilated, but
somehow still moving. Huge groups of shuffling people were walking through the
streets, ignoring everything unless they came across a survivor who had failed to
get clear of the area. I saw at least three people, who had no chance of
escape, being ripped apart before my eyes. And there was a noise too. It was
the first time I had heard it, but it sent a shiver right through the core of
my body. It was the low moan of the dead. A mind numbing and persistent
lament of those who were damned to walk the Earth for ever more.
I sat down, safe and secure on my
perch, and opened my bag. I took out a slice of the pizza I had found earlier
and took a bite from it, munching on it and savouring the heat from the
pepperoni. I only ate about half of the slice, putting the rest away for
later. I had no idea when I would be able to scavenge any more food. I
doubted there would be many more pizzas being made. I took a fleece out of my
bag and wrapped it around my legs to keep them warm. Then I curled up and went
to sleep. The last thing I remembered, before I dropped off, was that I still really
wanted a drink.
Claire Samson
15:30 hours, Friday 15
th
May, Whitehall, London
I somehow eventually managed to find
my way to my friends flat, only to find that she was no longer there. The door
was unlocked and she had left me a note, telling me that she had popped out for
milk and to make myself at home. She would be back later, it said.
I let myself in and closed the door
behind me. I rummaged around in a drawer in the hall and found a spare key. I
then locked the door and secured it with the bolts at the top and bottom and
with the chain too. It was a solid door and I was pretty sure it would offer
me a lot of protection.
It was surprisingly quiet outside. I took a
look out of the living room window and down the street. There were four
abandoned fire engines next to the bus which was wrecked beyond repair. The
fire had engulfed it completely and it was now a burned out hulk. The building
it had crashed into had suffered a fair bit of fire damage too, but it must
have been fitted with a sprinkler system because the fire was all but out,
leaving just a column of thick black smoke rising into the air.
There were still one or two people in the
street, just wandering around slowly. They all had injuries of some
description, many to the face and neck. They didn’t seem to be interested in
anything.
Next to one of the fire engines was a sight
which almost made me sick. There were four fire fighters and two policemen
lying dead. Around them were a couple of bodies of civilians. How they had
all died I had no idea, but it was a gruesome sight. One of the police officers,
a young woman, was half eaten. Her innards were scattered across the street,
as if they had been ripped out by a hungry animal and dragged away to its den.
Her colleague, an older man, was slumped across the body of one of the firemen
as if he had been trying to protect him from something.
I took about a dozen photographs, knowing that
they would probably never be published and then closed the window. I couldn’t
bear to look at it any more. I took my mobile phone from my pocket and tried
to call my friend again. Still no answer. The next number I tried to call was
my boss. It was engaged. I tried again but still couldn’t get through.
I opened the fridge and had a look for
something to eat. It was almost empty but there was enough cheese to make myself
a sandwich. I chomped on it while scanning through the TV channels. Every
single one was carrying the same news. I was only twelve when 9/11 had
happened, but it had left a deep impression on me. I guessed that today’s
events were going to leave a deep impression on another generation, if they
survived it.
One of the channels suddenly diverted to
another breaking story. It was in Stuttgart, Germany. A disturbance at the
airport there. It had all the hallmarks of the London trouble and I watched it
with growing interest. Wobbly images of staggering figures, taken by brave
travellers who had filmed it on their mobile phones. From the airport, the
story continued, the panic had spread to the city and was moving through it at
an incredible speed. The German armed forces had been placed on high alert and
were prepared to be deployed at a moment’s notice. Deploy them now, I thought,
the moment is here with us. They couldn’t see it.
Only the Americans, it seemed, were putting
things into place to protect their citizens. The President had already ordered
the armed forces to move to DEFCON 3, meaning an enhanced state of readiness
for the armed forces in general and the air force to be ready to mobilise in
fifteen minutes. That was the Americans for you. While Europe was sitting
around, wondering whether peoples human rights would be infringed if they took
a certain course of action, the Americans were already three steps ahead.
I switched off the TV as my mobile started
vibrating in my pocket. It was my boss, Rupert Etherington.
‘Where are you?’ he asked.
‘I’m right by the bus crash,’ I replied.
‘What? Claire you need to get out of there.
It’s not safe.’
‘I’m okay,’ I said. ‘I’m in a friends flat,
just down the street. I’m perfectly safe here.’
‘I don’t think you understand,’ he said. ‘I’ve
just taken a call from one of the PM’s aides. They are in a complete panic.
The PM has been relocated. They haven’t been able to tell me where to and
they’re talking about blowing up bridges to stop the spread.’
‘The spread of what?’
‘Nobody knows,’ he said. ‘It’s some sort of
disease, they think. It is spread from human to human.’
‘They can’t be serious about the bridges,’ I
said. ‘That’s too drastic. If it’s a disease we should be looking to find a
cure instead.’
‘All I can say is that if you don’t get south
of the river soon, then you’ll have to think of some other way to get out of
London.’
‘Where are you?’ I asked.
‘At the office. I’m staying here to coordinate
the news reports. We won’t be publishing tonight, but I’m passing everything I
have onto the BBC. The more information we have, the better chance we have of
beating this thing, whatever it is.’
I could only agree with him and hoped that he
would be safe. Our offices were in Kensington and from the news reports I had
seen, the incidents were already encroaching into that area. It wouldn’t be
long before it would be impossible to get out of that area too.
‘I’m not going to move yet,’ I said. ‘It’s too
dangerous on the streets and I can report to you from here, so long as we continue
to have a telephone link. I have enough food in the cupboards to last me a few
days. By then this should all have been brought under control.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But if the opportunity arises,
I think you should get out.’
We hung up, promising to call one another
regularly.
How naïve we were in those early days. In fact
we were fools, arrogant and overconfident in our ability to shape the world
around us, as we had always been. How that would change in the days to come.
Anthony Ballanger
16:50 hours, Friday 15
th
May, West London
By late afternoon it was obvious that we were
going to have to do something extreme to combat what was being called, in
hushed tones around what was left of the cabinet, the outbreak. We had been
moved, just after the two o’ clock COBRA meeting, to an office block near to
the Earl’s Court Exhibition Centre, although it was becoming crystal clear that
this was only going to be temporary.
The PM had again been briefed about
what was happening in the city. The casualty figure was tentatively put in the
thousands and it was continuing to rise at an alarming rate. Dr Bryson had
failed to get through to Great Ormond Street and had retreated back across to
the south bank. He was no further forward as to determining the cause of the
incidents but his best guess was pointing to an incredibly infectious disease.
