Extinct am13 outbreak se.., p.1
Extinct (AM13 Outbreak Series), page 1
EXTINCT
By Samie Sands
EXTINCT
Copyright © 2016 by Samie Sands.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: May 2016
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-646-6
ISBN-10: 1-68058-646-7
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For Rae
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
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PROLOGUE
The Diary of Georgina Blake.
Do I keep a diary? I don’t know. I never have done before, but if there’s ever been a good time to start, then it’s now.
I guess I just want to organise my thoughts, to figure out where I am and how I got here. This is the only way I can think of to do that. I just want to chronologically work out how I got from my comfortable, “normal” life…to this. Whether this is a hobby that I’ll take up permanently or not, I don’t know. What I do know is that I need to do this, just to get all of these thoughts out of my head.
So, where to start?
How did this all begin? I can barely remember now. It was months and months ago that we first heard about the virus outbreak. “AM13” it was immediately called. Or Acetylcholine Malassimilation 1.3, if you want to be technical about it. Apparently it was discovered by a news researcher. Leah Watton was her name. Her face, plastered all over the news, is one of the only things I can remember clearly. It was the fact that she looked so afraid that got to me. I couldn’t help but wonder what she’d seen, how much she’d really known…
We were initially told that the symptoms were “flu-like” and that if we were experiencing any of these signs we had to immediately go to one of the specialised medical facilities that had been set up. Did people go? I don’t know…well, I suppose not, considering what happened next.
Would I have gone? If I’d been infected? I’m honestly not sure.
We were eventually told that victims would rapidly progress from influenza symptoms to organ failure. Then death. Or…not so much death, but they’d become something else. Something scientifically impossible, yet somehow real.
Zombies.
It seems weird to write that word in the context of reality. Yet here I am, doing just that. How else can you describe people infecting others through biting? How else can you depict someone that can only be murdered by having their brains destroyed? How can you talk about people with greying skin, blackish blood, lost limbs, injuries all over their bodies that absolutely should have killed them, with only the desire to bite, eat, kill all while passing on this hellish virus, in any other way?
There isn’t any other word that suits.
Anyway, it wasn’t long before it was announced that we were all going to be quarantined in our homes whilst the Government “took care of the ever-increasing problem.” The “Lockdown,” it was called. It was supposed to be a fortnight. Two weeks and the world would be infection free.
Of course, it didn’t exactly work like that.
There were protocols all set in place—the plan seemed pretty solid on the surface, but as the days passed, it was clear that it was all going to hell. There were these zombies everywhere. More and more each day.
I thought we were done for. I couldn’t see any way out. I just waited…hoping someone else was taking care of the problem.
Then, my prayers were answered. The radio airwaves were hacked with one message, a plea to us all. “Everyone, please get to your local airport as quickly as possible. There you will be given further instructions and be taken to a safe destination.” Over and over again. I couldn’t believe it. It was all going to be okay!
Except, then I realised that I was going to have to get to the airport…through all of the zombies…by myself.
Luckily my neighbours—the ones who were left—decided to travel together. Not all of us survived the whole journey. I was one of the fortunate ones. I managed to make it without a scratch. A miracle, I suppose. I’m not exactly the sort of person that you’d expect to survive something like this.
As soon as we reached the airport, we were flown to an island—one that had never even heard of the AM13 virus, and that’s where we’ve remained ever since. It’s small, hot, and now very cramped. I don’t know where it is, who lived here before, or how it managed to avoid the virus completely, but it’s certainly a safe haven from infection…the very thing that we were all looking for!
I’m sure all the remaining survivors from home didn’t make it to the airport. I dread to think how many were killed, maimed, and bitten along the way. I also wonder if some people were simply left behind, if they didn’t make it on time, if they were too afraid, or trapped…they are just back there in the UK, surrounded by zombies, forgotten. The lives of these people that have been left behind must be a hellish nightmare—one that doesn’t bear thinking about! Assuming that there are some, of course…
I guess it seems like the ones who made it to the airport are the lucky ones.
Except, we aren’t really that lucky. Sure, there’s no virus here, but it’s a hellish, brutal life. The people running this camp don’t have any kind of compassion. That, teamed with meagre food rations, means it isn’t exactly running smoothly. It’s more like existing in the worst prison you can imagine—frightening, overwhelming, claustrophobic…
I think it’s safe to say that we all can’t wait until this is over.
There are endless rumours flying about the place. There’s a cure, we’re going home one day, the zombies are becoming extinct…who knows what’s true anymore.
I certainly don’t…
CHAPTER ONE
Nope, writing it all down hasn’t helped. I don’t know what I was thinking, starting a diary. I can’t express all of my feelings about such an intense life upheaval in a few words. I thought it would aid me in sorting out my thoughts, but to be honest, I’m more confused than ever!
I still, even now, can’t believe this has actually happened! In the beginning, back when people weren’t taking the whole “health scare” thing very seriously—before people saw the evidence of the AM13 virus—I had all kinds of stupid shit said to me.
“It’s like you’re living in your very own scripted movie, you must be so pleased!”
“Your books have come true!”
“At least you’ll have a lot of practice with this whole thing.”
And it was always teamed with this stupid, innocuous laugh that drove me crazy. I mean, what the fuck, guys? Seriously?
Yes, I’m a zombie author, but that doesn’t exactly mean I ever wanted to end up living within the pages of my books. I actually have a very successful series of young adult apocalyptic novels—five to date—and there was even talk of a film at some point, but that was fantasy. I didn’t want this to happen—no one in their right mind would.
The only reasons my books were as popular as they were is because I used my imagination to write them. I didn’t base them in any kind of fact or predictions or anything. When I think about me sitting there, revelling in putting my fictional characters—that despite popular belief, I do actually love!—through such hell, it kinda makes me feel sick. My readers, fans, whatever you’d like to call them, have sent me a lot of online…opinions…bordering on abuse over time as each new book came out, and more characters that they’d come to adore and root for, died. I know it was harsh; I tried to tell them as much. But you just don’t get through a zombie apocalypse without losing a few people.
And now, we’re living through it for real, and I’m seeing for myself how true that really is. I think it’s safe to say that it isn’t fun, and no, not even I’m finding it exciting.
To even think I could be enjoying a single part of my writing being reality is just ridiculous. From the very first second that I heard about the virus on the news, my blood ran cold. Other people didn’t pay much attention to it, even took it as a joke, but something deep inside of me was just beyond fascinated. I didn’
Then, it suddenly became clear that everything I’d assumed was false was really happening, and my entire world was shaken upside down. It was like the comfort rug I’d always lived upon had been ripped from beneath me. I felt like my foundation had been whipped away and I lost myself a little along the way.
It’s safe to say that I became obsessed. I was like a woman possessed by everything AM13, everything else just took a back seat in my life. Even my books! I stopped writing, stopped checking my texts, I even ignored my social media accounts. Me. The girl who was addicted to Facebook and Twitter. I was online all the time. You know, just in case something vital might be happening somewhere in the world. I never wanted to miss out. Being an introvert, I found the online world intoxicating.
By the time the Lockdown officially started, I was so trapped in my own isolated, scared little world that the quarantine really meant nothing to me.
I decided to trust the Government’s plan to lock everyone inside their own homes while they sorted out the virus, implicitly. I truly wanted to believe that everyone showing signs of infection would get themselves to the specialised medical facilities. I convinced myself so strongly that everything was going to be fine—even though, deep down I knew it was unlikely—that I chose to use the time wisely and get back to my work. I was convinced I’d be able to actually get the sixth book written whilst locked inside.
But instead, I simply stared at the page I’d already written a while back, watching the words swim around in front of my face. Then the zombies started to appear outside my window and I couldn’t help but watch them, fascinated.
They were disgusting; all bloody and covered in gore and a black sludgy stuff. Some of them had limbs hanging from their bodies and large ripped holes through their torsos. Seeing them snarl, growl, and become desperate for human flesh was worse than anything I’d ever written. Sure, my work was slightly toned down for the younger audience, but I couldn’t have even imagined this if I’d tried. I wanted to pretend none of it was real—it should have been easy to, seeing those things was pretty unbelievable—but I just couldn’t. I didn’t have the coping mechanism that I wanted.
I would’ve loved to have to used what I was seeing to inspire me in some way—a real life muse, but I just couldn’t get past my original paragraph. I just couldn’t transfer what I was seeing into my fantasy world. It was like the jigsaw pieces didn’t fit. The bit that I’d already written was horrible enough. I’d depicted my newest concept of sick, nasty people using zombie games as a “test” for people to join their group. That probably sounds mad out of context, but as people generally read my books in the right order, it’s a perfectly logical idea in that world:
Undead Virus Series by Georgina Blake–Book 6. Title undecided–maybe ‘Fearless’?
Kara’s chest heaved and her breaths got shorter. The room she found herself in was pitch black and eerily quiet. She tentatively took a step forward, wincing at the echo of each movement. She blinked rapidly, trying to work out what she was supposed to do, but nothing immediately came to mind.
“Hello?” she whispered, unsure of how loud she should talk.
She was answered by a resounding silence. Certain she was alone, she continued moving with more confidence.
She ran her fingers along the ice cold wall, trying to find an exit. The dark was disconcerting and, to be honest, creeping her out a bit. She much preferred being able to see what she was doing.
Suddenly, her fingers stumbled across a steely metal. Kara jumped back, panicking for some unknown reason. When nothing happened, she continued to move her hand along—what was becoming obvious—a chain. As much as she was confused by this, she was also curious, excited almost. Her lips started to tremble, but this time because she was sure she was about to be free of this constricting blackness.
A noise reverberated off the walls and Kara span around, hands in front of her face. This action was completely pointless of course, she still couldn't see anything. As her heart rate slowed down, she started to think she had just invented the noise. That or someone was just trying to mess with her. Her palms were sweating as she fumbled frantically with the chain, shaking and pulling it, no longer caring how loud she was. She just needed this nightmare to be over.
She gave up tugging, tears threatening to spill out, and simply started screaming for help. Her panic levels had reached hysteria and she felt like nothing was going to shake her out of it. She shouted louder and with more determination. Why was everyone ignoring her, God damn it? She was absolutely sure someone could come and help her if they really wanted to.
A growl emanated, so low it could have been in Kara's imagination. The overwhelming stench of rot that accompanied it stunned her into silence. She couldn’t even breathe. It suddenly became very obvious to her what was happening, and even though terror filled her entire being, she didn't move, cry, or even really feel. She was just numb and frozen.
The chains started rattling and Kara let out a whimper. She suddenly realised what she had been messing with only moments before, how could she have been so stupid? She staggered backwards, the knowledge that she would only hit stone wall doing nothing to stop her. Her body was just reacting in a natural way, trying to escape danger, even if there was no real option left for her. Her legs felt heavy and her lungs tight. What now?
She slumped to the floor, her back to the wall, not even noticing the cold anymore. Her mind was racing, trying to come up with a solution. She had a little experience in this area of course, but to be honest, up until this point she had been really lucky. Why had she thought this was something she could do?
The circular design of the room meant she had no idea where any of the sounds were coming from; there was just no way of telling. Even though her body had well and truly given up this fight, resigned to its inevitable end, her mind was screaming at her, begging her to fight back. She started whispering to herself, the first sign of madness coming through thick and strong, telling herself there was no point, there was nothing she could do anyway.
Suddenly a drip of pus fell onto her bare shoulder. Kara screeched and cowered away, crawling at the speed of light across the floor, knocking into her attacker’s legs on the way. She knew she was quicker of course, that was common knowledge, but she also knew there was only so long she could avoid it. She would get tired long before that bastard would. Many people had been taken out using that tactic.
The growling and movement became more frequent, as if realising she was definitely there had set a firework up her assailant’s backside and now it was honing in on its opponent. She stood up, fists flailing in all directions. She knew hand-to-hand combat wasn't exactly ideal, but she just needed to buy herself some time. There had to be something in this Godforsaken room she could fight with, that was the point, wasn't it? She wished her eyes would adjust to the dark, but it was so black in here, she had no hope of that.
Her toe smacked violently into something wooden on the floor. Kara screamed out in pain and started hopping around. How was it possible to stub your toe in a circular room?
That was it!
She suddenly remembered them saying there was always something you could use to defend yourself, however difficult the situation. She bent down and wrapped her hands around the cylindrical piece of wood, a newfound hope filling her heart.
Okay, so it wasn't exactly a gun or a machete, but at least she was no longer completely helpless. She swung the wood aimlessly, a smile playing on her lips. She was going to get out of this mess alive, whatever the cost.
