Apocalypse Page 2

  Felt it charging him. Fuelling him.

  Those words. They were nice. They were kind.

  But then there was that urge.

  That urge to get out of here.

  That urge to escape this hell.

  “We do appreciate it when you…”

  He yanked his wrists apart and went to swing at this guy.

  That’s when he realised something.

  His wrists.

  He couldn’t move them.

  They were stuck.

  They were still tied.

  He hadn’t broken free.

  He hadn’t broken free at all.

  He must’ve imagined it.

  Dreamt it.

  He was losing his goddamned mind.

  The man moved the spoon from Noah’s mouth. Stuffed his gag back in so deep it almost made Noah throw his food right up again. Didn’t even seem like he’d noticed Noah’s attempt to shift his way free.

  “Rest up,” he said. “Hopefully we’ll have good news for you soon.”

  Noah sat there and listened to those footsteps reach the door.

  He heard the door slam shut.

  And in the darkness, his wrists still tied, his sanity totally slipping, he let out a pained, muffled scream.

  Chapter Three

  Kelly felt the swab right at the back of her throat and suppressed the urge to throw up everywhere.

  She was pinned down on some kind of hard table in a room she couldn’t see. She’d been brought here every damned day for a while now. Shit, maybe it was weeks. She didn’t know anymore. Didn’t know a thing.

  She could smell disinfectant, so strong it made her choke. Her throat was dry and sore from all the times this sharp swab had scratched the back of it. She felt like she had tonsillitis. Reminded her of when she was a kid, and she had a week off school with it. Burning pains, right the way down her throat. Sitting on the sofa and choking down ice cream. Secretly loving all the fuss and attention she got from her mum and dad as they watched crappy TV together. Wishing she’d fall sicker just so she could get another few days or weeks off.

  She felt that swab scratch the back of her throat and spat at the woman stuffing her fist into her mouth.

  “Okay, dear,” she whispered, her voice muffled by some kind of face mask, Kelly could only assume. “That’s our sample for the day. Thanks for being co-operative again.”

  “Fuck you,” Kelly shouted. “You fucking bitch. Get me off this table. And tell me what the fuck is going on—”

  Tightness behind her arms. The same routine every day as someone released her from the table, uncuffed her, lifted her to her shaky feet.

  Everything so disorienting with no vision. Everything so confusing. No sense of how many were in here. No sense of whether they were armed. No sense of how much danger she was in.

  A crippling pain right down her spine. Someone holding her arms together, stopping her moving right in her tracks.

  “You have to believe me when I say this,” that sweet woman’s voice said. “Your contributions here are invaluable to our research. The pattern of the virus, it’s quite unlike anything we’ve ever seen before. The more we learn about it from people who have been in direct contact with it, the more we can work towards helping those who have it. Or preventing those who don’t have it from ever getting it.”

  Kelly heard those words, and she had to admit they were admirable or whatever. Sure, she wanted there to be some kind of cure. Of course she wanted this shit to be over. Damn, she wanted her hair and her nails done more than anything. And maybe to get emotionlessly fucked by some random guy from Tinder. She just wanted to hook up. She just wanted to enjoy the carefree pleasures she used to be entitled to.

  Not strapped to a table being swabbed every damned day.

  Then taken back to that smelly, shitty room.

  “I don’t get why you can’t just be honest with me,” Kelly said, fully realising how whiny she sounded. “My friends—”

  “I told you,” the woman said. “I can’t tell you about your friends because I don’t know their fate. That’s the honest truth. And even if I did, I am not at liberty to share that information. Now come on. Let’s get you back to your room.”

  A push against her back. A heavy hand.

  She knew she shouldn’t fight. Not with that crippling pain in her spine. Not with her arms so tightly wound behind her back. They could break her arms. They could cripple her.

  But something in that moment awoke in her.

  Something in that godforsaken moment made her fight.

  “It’s about the bigger picture,” the woman said, as the bloke behind her began to push her along a little harder now. “You will see. In the long run.”

  The bloke pushed her a little harder still.

  Kelly bit her lip.

  “Want to know something?” Kelly said.

  “Anything that’s on your mind.”

  “I’ve never given a shit about the bigger picture.”

  She kicked back.

  Swung her elbow around.

  Knocked the guy behind her in the nose.

  And then she grabbed her blindfold with her cuffed hands. Yanked it away.

  Light filled her eyes. It felt like she was seeing for the first time in her life. She couldn’t make anything out; it was all just a blur of colour and light and shadow.

  But she knew one thing.

  She had a moment.

  She had a chance.

  She had to get out of here.

  She lunged ahead when she saw her.

  The woman.

  Wearing full protective white coat. A helmet on her head, like a bubble. Staring at Kelly with wide brown eyes. Dark hair tied back inside that bubble. Fear in her eyes.

  And the rest of this room, too. Much like Kelly imagined. Like a dentist’s room. White walls. Medical equipment all around. A table in the middle of the room where she’d been propped up on not long ago.

  She looked at that medical equipment.

  Saw the scalpel sticking out of it.

  Saw the woman look at it as she did, too.

  And then she rushed towards it.

  Right as she did, she felt a hand on her ankle. Fell down to the cold tiled floor, face first. Smacked the solid floor. Tasted blood.

  Her fingers grabbed that scalpel.

  She spun around.

  The man above her. Big. Muscular. Also wearing that same quarantine gear. Mean look about him. Like he was enjoying this.

  She went to swing the scalpel at him.

  He grabbed her hand.

  Tightened his grip.

  Squeezed so tight she felt like the bones in her hands were being crushed.

  She wanted to fight back.

  She wanted to resist.

  She wanted to hold on.

  But in the end, she had to let that scalpel tumble from her grip.

  Hit the floor with a rattle.

  And then she pressed her head back against the floor and shook her head.

  The man loosened his grip. Stood up.

  And that woman appeared at Kelly’s side now.

  She had a sad look on her face.

  A look of disappointment.

  She looked at Kelly with those detached, distant eyes.

  “I understand why you did that,” she said.

  Placing a hand on Kelly’s face.

  Stroking. Gently.

  And then she pulled back a needle and stuck it into Kelly’s neck.

  “But don’t you dare do anything like that again.”

  Kelly writhed. She shook. She tried to kick and swear and fight.

  But then she felt a coldness travelling down her arms.

  Up her spine.

  Right through her body.

  And as much as she tried to wriggle free, as much as she tried to fight, that coldness turned into warmth, and everything went…

  Chapter Four

  Noah lay back against the wall and thought of Jasmine.

 
He pictured he was on a beach somewhere. Turkey, perhaps. They’d found this quiet little cove that nobody else had discovered. Little stones underfoot, better than sand, which just got everywhere. The sound of the waves hitting the shore. The smell of sea salt in the air. In the distance, he could hear somebody—a child, a young boy—calling out, selling Coca-Cola. Ice cold glass bottles clinking against one another in his basket. He could hear laughter in the distance. See fishing boats on the shore. Smell sun cream. Feel happiness and solitude in the air.

  And he could feel Jasmine’s hand in his. Her warmth.

  When he looked at her, he couldn’t see her face properly.

  She was blurry. Like, there was no doubting it was her. But there were things he didn’t recognise about her. Her hair. He couldn’t remember whether it was dark or light brown when he’d last seen her. The freckle under one of her eyes. Was it her right or left eye?

  All of these things merging together. All of these things making him question whether he’d ever remember her as she was, and not in the way he’d last seen her.

  The memory.

  The memory of that bullet cracking through the air.

  Putting her down, even though she’d already been put down.

  And what it meant. The ramifications. Everything adding up.

  There was no denying it now. As impossible as it seemed, there was no hiding from it.

  There was something about this virus that did stuff to the dead.

  It brought people back from the dead.

  That was the secret.

  That was what the governments were trying to hide.

  It was far, far worse than anyone had ever imagined.

  It was the apocalypse.

  And everyone was at the epicentre.

  He sat there and let his fantasy drift away. The same muffled sounds outside this room he was in. The same faint smells in the air: a sourness, although maybe that was from his bunged up nose, and the taste of the gag wedged in his mouth. His body ached with inactivity. He could feel himself wasting away.

  But then what did it even matter anymore?

  What could he do but escape into his mind, into his thoughts and his fantasies?

  What other choice did he have?

  He didn’t.

  He had no choice but to accept his fate.

  He had no choice but to sit back and disappear into a virtual world in his own mind. Trying not to torture himself with what he could and couldn’t remember. Trying not to give up.

  He went to disappear back to that beach scene when he heard the door slide open ahead of him again.

  He opened his eyes. Darkness, of course. But that seemed strange. He’d been fed recently. They’d let him take a piss not long ago, too, and a shit earlier today. They didn’t usually visit again. Unless more time had passed than he’d thought. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d misjudged how long had passed. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d got something wrong.

  His sanity.

  Slip, slip, slipping away…

  He felt someone reach behind him. Snap away at the ties on his arms, then his legs. And before he could react or fight or anything at all, they yanked him to his feet. Pushed him towards the door—or where he assumed the door was, anyway. He tried to speak. Tried to say something. Tried to fight. Hell, he wondered for a moment whether this was all just another crazy dream.

  But no. It was real.

  And fighting was useless. He was too weak.

  And, he had to admit it, he was scared.

  He didn’t know shit about where he was or what these people here wanted.

  And that lack of knowledge was crippling.

  He felt himself being pushed out of the room and into some other area, an area he hadn’t walked for a long time. The air cooled. The sounds around him grew louder, clearer. Muffled shouts. Footsteps. And the more he walked along this cold metal floor, totally barefoot, the more he started to visualise that he was in some kind of prison. That’s what it felt like. A prison, and he was in a cell.

  He felt himself being pushed further along this walkway, and he wondered whether he could make a break for it. He felt that he had a chance. A chance to fight. A chance to break free.

  And then he felt himself being shoved to the left and into a new room. Or a corridor. He couldn’t tell.

  “Watch the steps,” the man’s voice behind him said.

  It was an unfamiliar voice. Not the man who fed him. Someone different. And that made him uncomfortable, too. Who was this guy? Why wasn’t his usual visitor here? He never thought he’d miss him—or them, if it really was two people like he sometimes suspected—but he felt more secure with him/them. Felt more comfortable.

  But this guy…

  Someone different.

  Which meant he didn’t know what his motives were. He couldn’t trust him.

  He reached the end of a corridor and then something happened.

  First, a door opening.

  Then his blindfold shifting, just a little.

  Then light. Sweet light.

  Peeking through the corners of his eyes.

  He looked around. Tried to take in whatever he could see. Bright lights above. Electricity.

  And then a metallic table in the middle of this room. It looked pretty… well, medical.

  He saw a woman standing there. Big white coat covering her body. Bubble mask over her head.

  She looked around at him. Her eyes widened.

  “His blindfold, Calvin.”

  Noah went to look around this room before the blindfold covered his eyes again, to see whatever he could, when he saw something at his right.

  Only a flash.

  Only momentary.

  But enough to make every muscle in his body turn to stone.

  Kelly.

  Someone was carrying her over his shoulder. A big guy.

  She was asleep.

  Or dead.

  He didn’t know.

  He dug his heels in. Pushed back. Resisted. He had to keep resisting. He had to keep fighting.

  But it was no use.

  He kept on getting pushed over to that table.

  And then pressed down onto it.

  And then clipped to it, unable to move, unable to break free.

  He felt a hand on his chest, then. Soft. Gentle.

  And then he heard a voice.

  A sweet woman’s voice.

  “You don’t have to worry about a thing, dear,” she said. “We’re here to help you. To help everyone.”

  And then she yanked the gag from his mouth and shoved a sharp needle right into the back of his throat.

  Chapter Five

  Mark saw the terraced cottage in the distance, and he knew what he had to do.

  It was late. Rainy. Windy, too. He didn’t like the wind. Clouded his judgement. Couldn’t hear a thing. Always thought he could hear movement or voices, or footsteps, or engines, when he knew damn well he was probably off the mark.

  But when you were alone in the darkness in a world gone mad, it was hard not to be creeped out all the damned time.

  He’d handled the first week alright. Sure, it was scary as shit, but he was a loner anyway, so shacking up in his flat with as many Pot Noodles as possible wasn’t exactly a daunting task.

  But then the days rolled on, and no help arrived. Things only seemed to be getting worse.

  And then there was Dave.

  He remembered hearing his neighbour banging on the door. Remembered seeing him knock that door down. He remembered having no damned choice but to pick up that knife. To bury it in his belly. He was infected. Blood in his eyes. Drooling down his chin. Only damned thing he could do.

  He’d killed Dave. Watched him fall to his knees right before him. Watched him go pale, start twitching, then go totally still.

  And he knew he needed to get him out his flat. But the streets were chaos. He couldn’t go outside.

  So he’d put Dave’s body in the bathtub. Poured some of that acid chemical
shit Stu, his chemist mate, gave him. Stu told him it’d decompose anything, and that the tub would be safe. No risk of a Breaking Bad style disaster.

  He’d sat in his lounge, trying to focus on his breath as the smell grew stronger and more putrid when one night, everything changed.

  A bang.

  A bang from the bathroom.

  Mark looked around. Figured the bath must be decomposing at first. Because there was no other explanation for it.

  And yet the hairs stuck right up on his arms.

  ’Cause it sounded like someone was in there.

  Someone was banging around in there.

  He stood up. Grabbed his knife again—the same knife he’d killed Dave with. Maybe an animal had got in, even if it didn’t seem possible. He sure as hell didn’t leave no windows open. Didn’t wanna breathe in any of that nasty, dirty, infected air.

  That banging.

  Again.

  Again.

  He opened the bathroom door and lifted his knife.

  What he saw in that bathtub would haunt his dreams for the rest of his damned life.

  Dave was upright. His face and his chest had all corroded and rotted away so yellow bone shone through. Half a skeleton, some of his organs on show, a couple of dead, rotten rats floating in the deep red tub in front of him. He looked all grey, his muscles like chicken that’d only just started searing in the pan. Smelled a bit like raw meat gone sour, too.

  But he clung on to the side of the bath. Blood everywhere. Rotten skin everywhere.

  Kept on trying to drag himself up with those fingers. Those bones.

  And his eyes.

  Dead eyes.

  No life to them at all.

  Mark didn’t even have to think. He’d just slammed that bathroom door shut and got the fuck out of his flat. He was going insane. It was in his head. It had to be. Dave was dead. Acid had burned away at his body. Stu said that chemical would eat anything alive. He’d tested it on a rat, apparently. Listened to it scream for minutes. No trace of it there a couple of days later.

  Nothing but the smell.

  That smell.

  That damned rotten smell…

  But when he’d left his flat, over recent days, he’d seen similar things. He’d seen the dead get up. He’d seen them attack people. Bite people. Kick the shit out of people.