Lazarus strain chronicle.., p.25
Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 1): The Spread, page 25
part #1 of Lazarus Strain Chronicles Series
“What happened?” Barker asked, trying to find someone in charge.
“A patient that was brought in went mental,” a nurse said. “Started attacking everyone.”
“Where’s the patient now?”
“He went out the main entrance,” the nurse said, before going back to bandaging the bitten hand of the twelve-year-old who was sat whimpering next to her. Barker followed the direction the nurse had pointed. Before he got much further though, someone shouted for him.
“Officer?” Barker turned to see a doctor holding a medical compress against the side of his head. Blood had already soaked halfway through it.
“What happened to you?”
“It bit my ear off.”
“It?”
“Look officer,” John said remarkably calmly, “this isn’t some drunk. When I tell you this, I want you to look at the faces of the people presently standing around you.” There were three other medical staff, including Janet. All looked solemn.
“Sounds ominous.”
“Firstly you need to assure me more police are on the way.” Barker nodded. “Thank God. Ok, so the patient that was brought in, the one who did all this…well he died on the table.”
“So what, you brought him back?” Barker watched as John nervously looked at the people around him. The officer could tell they all shared a secret that they were reluctant to share.
“The patient came back,” Janet said interjecting. “But all the monitors, all our equipment said he was dead.” Barker looked at her blankly.
“He ripped himself out of restraints. No able-bodied man can do that. I saw him take down two security guards that combined had two hundred pounds on him easily.” John tried to ignore the pain as he relayed what had happened. Barker fondled the Taser on his utility belt absently.
“So what are you saying?” Barker asked. This didn’t make any sense.
“Don’t try and take this guy down on your own. Wait for backup. And I want you to tell whoever is in charge that this whole department is isolated. Some of the patients here ran off. We have been in contact with Public Health England about that.” John gave Janet an apologetic look. “We need to be quarantined.” Barker found himself retreating a pace or two.
“What, you think there’s something contagious involved?”
“From what I saw, yes I do. So don’t do anything without a mask and some gloves.”
***
Peter(Z) ran. The moment his heart had stopped beating, the delivery of oxygen to his brain had ceased. Already swamped with viral particles, the neurons started their inevitable cascade towards death. Everything that made Peter unique, the memories, insights, concerns and fears all started to be eradicated. In the brief seconds after his resurrection, there was still something of Peter left in there, but it was merely the remnants of his rage and raw burning need. Even that quickly died away as the zombification process progressed.
There was no semblance of Peter now. Nothing at all. And even though selected parts of the brain remained intact by a mechanism humanity would never really understand, the concept of Peter as a human being was dead. He was something else now, something beyond the understanding of medical science. The body left was just a vessel, a walking, grabbing, biting means for the virus to spread itself more directly. It was merely a decaying meat machine that reacted purely to the stimuli around it. The only response available to it was to attack with unstoppable force, to clench, to rip and to try and swallow the food that it pulled from the screaming, wriggling humans. It would not tire, it could not be reasoned with and it absolutely would not stop in its pursuit of anything that could cancel out its hunger.
“Stop, police.” The words themselves meant nothing, just a human noise, and Peter(Z) turned in the originator’s direction. More food. More blood. It could hear the life-giving fluid moving through arteries and veins, so enhanced was its hearing now. Then there was the beautiful fear that it could smell all around it, sending it into a frenzy of destruction.
“Get back. Officer with a Taser.” More noise, enticing, inviting. Peter(Z) ran at the sound, the smell of the flesh ripe in its nostrils. Something sharp struck it, registered briefly by the remnants of a neural system that was rapidly obliterating itself. The high voltage that sped through the zombie’s body did nothing to stop its advance because there were little or no electrical pathways to disrupt. In seconds it had closed the gap and it crashed into its prey. There was a pitiful scream.
The smell was even stronger now, so close to its food. Intoxicating. It worked its teeth open and closed, trying to get purchase somewhere… anywhere. They closed down and it bit hard, only to find it wasn’t meat. Peter(Z) had bitten down on the policeman’s body armour, and it opened its mouth for another attack. Rearing its head back, it made to strike, only for something hard and unforgiving to be thrust in between its jaws. It tried to clench, and several teeth broke, so great was the force exerted. Still, it bit down in an attempt to crack through the barrier that was preventing it from fulfilling its only purpose. Peter(Z) felt itself being pulled backwards, and despite its strength, the leverage the second officer had with his baton allowed the zombie to be pulled off his terrified partner.
Reflex rather than strategy ruled the day. The zombie reached up and found a wrist. With incredible force it dug its fingers into the human skin, bringing a howl of protest which invigorated the zombie even more. Fear was the sound it seemed to love the most. The baton in-between his mouth dropped, but Peter(Z) kept his grip on the being that was attacking it. Now free, the zombie pulled the unwilling hand into its mouth, the teeth sharper now due to the multiple fractures present. It bit, severing two gloved fingers, the leather making the appendages almost impossible to chew. It let go of its grip, and the fingers fell away from its mouth. Such a waste.
It felt the humans backing away in retreat. Peter(Z) heard sirens blaring, more vehicles arriving, disgorging more prey. It did not care that these ones fought back. All were fodder to be dined upon.
“Get back, don’t get anywhere near it,” a voice said.
“Armed police, down on the ground,” came another commanding voice. “I said get down on the ground or I will fire.” The syntax was irrelevant because Peter(Z) only understood one thing…the need to feed.
“Just fucking shoot it.”
All that mattered to Peter(Z) was the opportunity to consume. It attacked again, the pain of desire within spurring it on. Baring its teeth, Peter(Z) went for the nearest human. Juicy, plump, full of precious bodily fluids that were like ecstasy on its tongue. There was a loud shot, and something hit it in the right shoulder, hard. Its body span, almost falling to the floor, but Peter(Z) kept its feet, the right arm now feeling useless, the bones in the shoulder shattered. Something hit it again, centre mass this time, propelling it backwards several steps. It was not deterred; it would not be denied. More hits, three, four, five. Alas, it did not go down. Feed, it had to feed.
“What the fuck is this thing?”
Another bullet struck, this time in the throat, ripping the tissue of the oesophagus away, miraculously unblocking the congestion there, but at the same time obliterating any means for the food to reach the gastric sack that so desperately wanted to be filled. If it was conscious it would have realised that anything it ripped away with its teeth would now not be able to reach the stomach. Peter(Z) cared not.
The final bullet was a headshot and it crashed to the ground, finally defeated.
***
PC Barker heard the gunshots as he exited the emergency ward onto the ambulance ramp. This wasn’t Chicago, so there was a strong likelihood that those were police bullets being fired. His belief was confirmed moments later when his radio reported there had been a police-involved shooting. The voices sounded panicked. Somebody was going to have a lot of paperwork to fill in.
Barker didn’t like the idea of the regular police being armed, even the Taser they had issued to him rankled with his beliefs about what the police were there for. The radio chatter stated again that the suspect who had attacked the staff of the hospital had been shot and killed. How would they react when the doctor he’d just met started telling everyone the thing was already dead?
An ambulance obscured his view of the surroundings, so Barker walked around it tentatively. That was when he spotted Jennifer lying unconscious on the ground. Running over, he bent down to check the figure that was lying on her back. There was blood on her shoulder, just at the base of her neck, and although the cloth of her shirt had buffered the attack, it was clear that the woman had been bitten. What the hell was this, the goddamn zombie apocalypse?
Checking the woman’s pulse from her wrist, Barker found sounds of life. The nitrile gloves felt weird against his skin.
“Hello, hello can you hear me?” Barker said, shaking the woman’s shoulders. She stirred, a murmur coming out of her mouth. The eyes flickered open.
“Where….?”
“Can you stand?” Jessica looked around in confusion, the situation slowly dawning on her. Looking up at the police officer, she nodded, and he slowly helped her to her feet. “Who bit you?” Barker asked. The teeth marks were undeniable.
“My brother,” Jessica said. “Only he wasn’t my brother anymore.” Another confirmation of what the doctor had said? He allowed Jessica to lean on her, and carefully, he guided her into the hospital, mindful not to get any blood on himself. “Where’s Peter?” Jessica said absently. She was still dazed, her thoughts groggy and uncoordinated.
“I don’t know,” Barker said. “Is he a patient here?”
“He was sick,” Jessica replied. “I drove him here. Why did he attack me?” Barker couldn’t answer that. In truth, he was having difficulty understanding her because her words were coming out slightly slurred. Past the parked ambulance now, he got her through the entrance, where one of the paramedics who had helped her brother earlier saw her and came over to help.
“I’ve got her, thanks,” the male paramedic said. Barker relinquished his charge and took in again the severity of the situation.
***
Azrael had escaped, but he was not free. It was clear the authorities had his face now, which meant he was basically useless to the organisation that had rescued him from himself. The chances were that he had already been abandoned, and that never again would he hear Mother’s authoritative tone. Perhaps an even harder fate was to hear her condemnation voiced one last time. Azrael was now a man lost to himself and to the world.
Deep down he had known this day would come. The more people he killed, the higher the chances that his identity would be discovered. Although he had been aware of the government’s capabilities, he had been surprised by how quickly things had fallen to pieces. It was only his prior planning that had likely saved him from being grabbed by the agents of perdition. His role in the great game was now over, someone else likely taking his place. What he didn’t realise was that his role hadn’t even started. The Gods, by whatever names they now went by, had chosen another path for him.
That left the question of what to do now. With no purpose to fulfil, what was his reason for being? With no one to guide him, how could he best use his skills to survive in a world that likely wanted him dead? Serial killers were somewhat frowned upon in today’s civilised society. It wasn’t like he could just walk into a cushy office job somewhere. His skills were more attuned to centuries long since passed.
“And what do you consider to be your greatest strength?” an interviewer might ask.
“I am able to blind people with my thumbs.”
Strangely though, despite all the doubts and uncertainty, he felt he knew what he had to do. The face from the past had distracted him enough that he had made a mistake. Perhaps he should find that face and discover if her image in his mind was a phantom, or whether he did indeed know her from the time before. Maybe she knew him? Perhaps she could tell him the things about his former self that Mother had kept from him.
Was this a trap though? Did he have time to hunt her out and stay safe? Why not, there was nothing else for him now to do.
Azrael urged the motorbike he was riding onwards, weaving his way through traffic with frantic abandon. Held onto the bike’s dashboard by Velcro, his phone showed him where to find the tracker he had placed. Soon he would know where she was. Once he found Jessica, he would confront her and ask her who the hell he was. If she didn’t recognise him he would know, the truth would be in her eyes. Nobody had ever been able to lie to Azrael. But if she did know him, he would extract every last ounce of the truths she held about his time before. Better that she gave up her knowledge willingly because Azrael was quite prepared to use other methods to extract the information he sought.
He was not known for his sense of mercy.
***
Natasha viewed the video feeds of the suspect in the airport. She was looking for clues, specifically the reason why the man had made the mistake that had led MI13 to him. If he had flawlessly killed over a dozen people, there had to be a reason why he had fucked up this time. The issue with the muggers had been a random event, out of the killer’s control. This airport business was different.
The now fugitive even seemed to know where to stand to minimise the camera surveillance. Whilst you could never avoid it in a building as secure as an airport, there were always gaps. Natasha watched the hooded figure in close up, saw the casual pose he struck, the face always hidden.
“Anything yet?” Nick asked. He stood behind where she sat, looking down at the same array of screens. Natasha had been given this job because she had a knack for spotting things others missed. She was connected to the airport’s surveillance network by a special laptop which also allowed her access to Moros and all the information it contained. Any image from the video feeds could be instantly analysed by one of the world’s most powerful supercomputers.
“He keeps glancing at his phone which he appears to be using to view the arrivals board, so he was definitely waiting for a flight. From the passenger manifests, there are five possible candidates for who he was waiting for. That’s assuming he was here for a target and not to meet someone else. Moros has identified the most likely candidate for assassination.”
“We will give those names over to the police. It’s likely that he will abandon what he was doing now that he’s been burned. The guy’s not an idiot.” Nick was impressed with the pre-emptive planning the suspect had taken to protect himself. He watched as Natasha reversed a piece of film, and replayed it.
“Hmm,” Natasha said absently.
“Something?”
“If you look at it from this angle, our guy is looking at this woman.” Natasha blew the image up with her computer mouse and pointed to the image of Jessica on the screen. As the video played, the hooded man waits and follows the woman with his head.
“Was that who he was waiting for?”
“I don’t know, hold up.” She tapped some keys, the image of the woman being captured and transferred to her laptop for analysis. The word processing appeared, blinking as the computers searched the ether for the identity of the woman. Moros was rather slow today, it took nearly thirty seconds. “Ok, Jessica Dunn. Junior partner in a local law firm. Doesn’t really meet the criteria. She certainly wasn’t on a flight. Ah, her brother was, she must have been picking him up. He doesn’t meet the criteria either. He’s in construction, not really what our killer seems to be going after.” Jessica had a passport and a driving licence, which meant her face was in the system. That also meant the powers that be knew pretty much everything about her. Internet searches, political affiliations, favourite restaurants and people she associated with. They even knew that at 7.45 every weekday she visited the same Starbucks and ordered the same sugar laden beverage.
“Look, he’s following her.” Nick pointed at the screen, and Natasha gave the computers instructions so that they could follow the action. The video images kept switching as the suspect moved from the field of views between cameras, the red halo ever present around the assassin. Then he was out in the carpark, watching as Jessica Dunn, and the person that she was with, got into their BMW and drove off.
“Looks like he put a tracker on her car. That’s the way I would have done it,” Nick said. This guy seemed professional, well trained. If he wasn’t in their system, did that mean he was a foreign asset?
“So if we can find her we can likely find him?”
“Looks that way,” Nick agreed. “Find this woman Dunn, chase her down. He was interested in her for a reason.” The computer programme still followed their suspect, stopping suddenly on the full face image that had captured the attention of Moros. “Zoom in on that face,” Nick commanded. The high definition image grew large on the monitor.
“What are you thinking boss?” Natasha asked.
“I’m trying to understand how the worlds most advanced surveillance grid can’t recognise that individual. How does a man survive without having their image captured?” Nick knew there was more to this than he was presently realising. You couldn’t live in the UK without being tagged and monitored. And whilst there were ways on and off the island out of the gaze of the state, they were few and far between. To function in today’s society meant you needed photographic ID, which meant you had to be in the system. The only way around that was if you had a powerful agency funding, backing and protecting you.
“Got her,” Natasha said. “Her car is logged by the carpark cameras at a hospital twenty minutes away. Hold on,” Natasha said, typing some more keys. “Her brother was admitted to the hospital as an emergency patient.”
“Great, let’s go and pay her a visit.”
“Steady on boss, there’s more. Report just came through linked to that hospital. There was a police live fire incident logged several minutes ago.”
“Jesus, this just keeps getting better doesn’t it.”
***
Quarantine. The Hollywood image often portrayed soldiers in NBC gear escorting scientists around donned in hazmat suits. Frightened civilians would be herded and penned as the military and the doctors tried to cure them, usually with the end result of nuclear weapons being used. In the UK, at least, the reality was somewhat different from that. With nothing like the Centre for Disease Control in existence, the United Kingdom had to rely on a mishmash of organisations and agreements that had hardly ever been tested. When it came to disaster preparedness, the British could have learnt something from their American cousins. The problem was, Britain was one of those unique countries where natural disasters rarely happened.
