Devouring The Dead (Book 1) (5 page)

Parker pushed open the door and it crashed back against the
outside brick wall, the door handle ripped from his hands. His cigarette flew out of his mouth and he resigned to having to wait a bit longer for his nicotine fix.

They stepped over the
door lip and out onto the terrace. In one corner, was a pile of shrubs and ornamental trees that the storm had uprooted and smashed into one green, flapping blob. The flat roof was wet and slippery and Parker gripped Cindy’s hand tighter. Slowly, step by step, they walked through the drenching rain and puddles, their heads bowed, until they reached the wall and could look over the side.

Thirty feet below them was a pile of bodies, at least fifty deep. Clothing blew around in the whirling wind
, but Parker could see the dead faces below. On the road, and in the square in front of them, scores of people were running around. Fighting against the storm, some slipped and fell, only for someone else to jump on top of them. It was too far to see clearly what was going on, but Parker knew something terrible was happening. What was this madness?

“Look,” said Cindy. She clung onto Parker and pointed. An army truck was c
oming down the road and mowing down anyone who got in its way. Soldiers were firing from it and as far as Parker could tell, they were shooting aimlessly. Another truck appeared behind it and then another. The trucks slid to a halt in the middle of the plaza and the soldiers dispersed, shooting at random. Some of the people running around actually ran toward the soldiers. Parker later swore he saw people getting shot, but they carried on running. Given that was not humanly possible, most of the others believed that Parker had lost the plot.

Some of the soldiers
down below in the plaza were overcome and Parker lost sight of them. Crazy people of all shapes and sizes ran around as if ‘The Anarchy Party’ had been voted into power. Across the square, he lost track of the numbers of soldiers he saw. Fire fights and fist fights exploded beneath the rain clouds. For every person that was knocked down, another stood up. It seemed that the soldiers were being outnumbered. Parker couldn’t understand why so many people were fighting them; surely they should welcome the army? They were on the same side weren’t they?

Suddenly
, the brickwork beneath them exploded in a cloud of dust and Parker heard the bullets ripping into the wall. He dived back, pulling Cindy with him and they fell in a heap together, bullets pinging off the wall above them.

“Are you al
l right?” shouted Parker above the wind and the gunfire. Cindy did not answer. He rolled over in a deep puddle and pulled her to him. Parker shoved her hood back and saw where a bullet had entered her left eye. Cindy lay still. Her right eye was staring up at the heavens, unflinching, as the rain fell on her innocent face.

“Cindy?”

Parker scrambled to his feet and dragged her back inside the café. Once inside, he pulled the door shut and knelt over her on the cold damp floor.

“
No, no, no, no, no.” Parker looked at Cindy laid out on the café floor, water pooling out beneath her. He pushed her hood back and gently laid her head down. The bullet had passed straight through her, killing her instantly. Blood was still seeping from the back of her head, congealing in the fur-lined hood.

“Oh
, my God,” said Parker quietly. He had worked with Cindy for months. Only last week they had gone for a drink after work. He had been drinking coffee with her just one hour ago. How could she be dead? He was too stunned to cry. Parker sat back on the tiles and the sound of the gunfire outside diminished. The bodies; there were so many bodies out there. From their clothes, he knew they were city workers. Probably some from this building: from his own office.

Parker crept away from Cindy and rested
his head against the cool interior wall. He fished a cigarette out from his pocket, lit it, and inhaled. Would the fire alarms work anymore? Parker didn’t care. How could he go back up and tell the others what had happened and what he’d seen? How could he tell them he had let Cindy get killed like this? Parker wrestled with his thoughts as the exit door at the opposite end of the café very slowly pushed open.

CHAPTER FOUR

Christina
Spinnamaker was sat alone up on the twenty fifth floor, wondering how it had come to this. She had implored her staff to stay, practically begged them, yet not one of them had. Some of them had come up with plausible reasons: I need to get to my wife / children / parents. Some of them had not bothered disguising the truth; no. No excuses, just a simple no. At first, she couldn’t blame them for wanting to leave and had been tempted herself. Surely the reports had been exaggerated? Some sort of outbreak at St Thomas hospital was spreading and the infection was instantaneous. Go home. Stay indoors. A typical overreaction, she had no doubt, from on overreacting government. Always reacting, never acting.

But then the infection had reached the city. St Thomas hospital was a couple of miles away
, but they had been told by security to stay indoors. There was no time to get home; just stay in the office, lock the doors, and wait for the all clear. It was then she began to wonder if the situation was as grave as they were being told. She was the only one in the office with internet access and she had tried all the news sites for information. Strangely there was nothing: the BBC, CNN, and all the independent sites were full of salacious scandal, but nothing of their current plight. Was it just a hoax?

Some of the staff had gotten jittery early on, saying they had received texts and calls from partners and family members
, urging them to get home. It seemed word was spreading fast, yet officially, there was no news. She had tried calling security back, but just got the standard voicemail that they were busy and couldn’t answer the phone. One of her junior clerks, Edward, had volunteered to go down a floor and ask the lawyers on twenty four if they knew anything. She let him go and gave everyone else menial jobs to do; keep them busy, keep their minds occupied, she told herself, and they will respond to your authority. Her authority had lasted all of ten seconds, once Edward had come back.

He had run in shouting that they were all leaving
, that all of the lawyers were running down the stairwell, going home, and getting out of the city. Edward told them he had spoken to one of his friends, a trainee barrister, Nigel.

“Haven’t you heard?
” said Nigel, as he put his coat on.

“We haven’t heard shit. What’s going on?” Edward was holding onto his friend’s arm tightly. Edward feared Nigel would be gone down the stairs before he had got any answers at all.

“The dead? The sick? At St Thomas.’ Christ it’s unbelievable. You’ve got to get home mate. Come with me if you like. I’m off. Kathleen’s at home waiting for me.”

Nigel paced toward the exit, shaking a sweating Edward off.

“I can’t. I mean, I just have to run upstairs and tell the others. But what do you mean - the
dead
? What happened at the hospital? There’s fuck all on the news.”

Nigel paused by the exit holding the door open. Everyone else on the floor had left
; it was now just him and Edward.

“You won’t find anything on the web
, so don’t bother looking. They’re going to cover it up. Kathleen’s sister, Sally, you remember we met her last week? Well she’s a nurse at St Thomas’. Kathleen told me Sally got out in the nick of time before they got cut off. They took someone in who was sick, injured, and covered in mould and fungus and all sorts of shit apparently. Kathleen reckons it’s some sort of government science project gone wrong.

“
Anyway, Sally said the man died, right. They were clearing up and two minutes later, the man was on his feet! This bloke had boils all over his body, his skin was falling off him and...fuck.”

“What?” said Edward
trembling. He remembered Sally. She was a nice girl. Then he thought of his own wife. Would she be at home, too, waiting for him? She hadn’t answered his calls. Nigel carried on.

“Sally said this dead man just started attacking the doctors and nurses. Like a wild beast. One minute he’s laid on a slab, next he’s up running around biting people. Sally said she saw the doctor
go down in front of her with his throat ripped out. She watched him die and next minute he was up and about, too, running around like a madman. She said he ran into the corridor and killed the first person he saw, just beat them to death, and then moved onto the next poor sod. It spread; every dead person getting up and killing. And so on. You see?”

“Nigel, this is crazy. You can’t be serious? You’re having me
on, right?” Edward had turned pale and Nigel was itching to get going. Footsteps were echoing up the stairwell from the hundreds of people leaving below them.

“I’m deadly serious
, mate. Kathleen said Sally made it out of the hospital but the infection, whatever it is, was spreading and fast. She was running down to the tube and could see people pouring out of the hospital behind her. But they weren’t running away - they were running toward her. They were dead, but they were coming for her. Sally was trying to get to the station entrance and told Kathleen the gates were being shut. There was a big crowd and she didn’t know what to do. Was going to run for it I think. Then she got cut off. Kath called her back, but got no answer. We’re just hoping she made it. Kath’s worried sick.”

“Fuck
ing hell.” Edward put his hands in his pockets. He looked at Nigel, a friend he had known for years, in wonder. “And that’s what this is about? The infection is heading this way?” he asked.

“It’s not the infection you’ve got to watch out for, mate,” said Nigel, “it’s the dead. If they don’t infect you, they’ll kill you.
Either way, I’m getting out of here. Now you coming with me or staying?” Nigel took a step back into the stairwell.

“No,
no, I’m going to tell the others upstairs. Then I’ll get off home. I’ll see you later, mate. Take care, eh?” Nigel nodded and ran off into the stairwell, his feet clattering loudly on the bare steps. Edward did not see Nigel again.

When
Edward had relayed the story to his co-workers, there was nothing Christina could do to hold them back. It was chaos: everyone grabbed their coats and bags and could not get out of there fast enough.

“Wait. Security told me we should stay put. It’s not safe out there
you know.” Christina had tried in vain to make them stay, but they were too panicked now. 

“Come on
, hurry up,” Edward had shouted, encouraging his workmates to follow him. One by one they had fled, leaving Christina alone, wringing her hands. She had tried to stop them. Maybe they would be all right? They were probably all at home now, laughing and toasting their success in escaping, whilst she was stuck in the office. Maybe she was wrong and Edward had been right?

Edward had not been right. When they had got downstairs, many of them already flushed and out of breath by charging down
so many flights of steps, they had run onto the wet streets to be greeted by hell. Through the rain, people were running everywhere. They heard screams, sirens, metal scraping on metal as cars collided and the tremendous thunder of hundreds upon hundreds of feet pounding the roads, running in all directions.

As soon as they were out of the building
, Christina’s staff scattered. Edward followed three of his colleagues toward the tube station only to find it closed. There were scores of people climbing over the barriers and running down the tracks past a stationary train. As he followed them past a ransacked coffee shop, banknotes fluttering in the wind, he heard a terrifying roar from the tunnel ahead. From the darkness came a wave of people, running back to the station.

“
Stop! Please, stop!” He heard people call out, but it was futile. Up ahead in the tunnel the dead were coming. Masses of people were still trying to get into the tunnel to escape the streets, only to meet a wave of people, dead and alive, coming back. In the confusion, scores of people were crushed in the icy blackness of the tube tunnel.

Edward saw the dead rushing thro
ugh the crowd; biting, tearing, and ripping at anything that moved. Those who had been crushed by the stampede lay still. Those poor souls killed by the dead, or those mortally wounded, soon sprang back up and feasted upon the dead, or chased after the living. Edward retraced his steps and clambered carefully up onto the roof of the coffee shop, as those around him charged around in a mad panic.

One by one they fled
, or were struck down by the dead. Edward pressed himself against the small roof of the shop and clamped his mouth firmly shut. He put his hands over his ears to block out the sounds of the living being torn apart; their awful screams made him dizzy. He could almost feel his own mind shattering. He cried as he waited there for it to stop, wishing he were with his wife.

Finally
, the screams subsided, but the dead did not disperse. They stayed, feasting on the juicy, warm flesh that had been unable to rise again. Some ran into the carnage of the streets. Some stayed in the station. They could smell life. They could smell Edward. They would not rest until he was found and devoured.

* * * *

Christina stared out of the huge window, wondering if Edward had made it home. They had left hours ago. She had tried the phones but they were all dead. The internet told her nothing. It was as if the internet was dead too; there had been no news stories of any kind since nine this morning. Since a very brief call from someone called, Ranjit, this morning, she had rung security back every hour but had received no reply.

She tried looking down at the ground to see what was going on
, but it was pointless. The storm had not let up and the rainy mist obscured any vision of the ground below. It was impossible to hear anything either. The silence of the office and the quiet ticking of the clock were both irritating and stultifying.

Christin
a walked over to the lifts and tried the buttons, but they were still not working. Presumably in an emergency, they shut off until someone turned the power back on again. She walked over to the exit door and poked her head around it into the empty stairwell. It was bizarrely quiet.

“Hello?” she said, her voice echoing back to her. There was not a thing to be heard. She did not like the idea of being trapped in here and went back to the office to grab a litter bin. She opened the exit to the stairwell once more and wedged the bin in the doorway so it would not shut on her. If the door got locked
, she would be stuck in here forever. What if the police or the fire brigade came, couldn’t get in, and left her behind? She felt much better knowing there was an exit for her.

Christin
a walked back through her office slowly. It was so strange to be here in daylight. It was doubly strange for it to be so empty. She had bought top of the range computers and the best workstations money could buy. She rented this floor from Fiscal Industries, because, quite simply, it had the best ‘pulling power.’ She could have gone elsewhere and saved a stack of money. But you reaped what you sowed and up here, on the top floor, she reaped a lot.

The main meeting room had views over the city and on a clear day
, you could see to St Pauls. She sat down in the reclining leather chair she had bought herself and wished today was a clear day. All she could see now was a dirty great cloud chucking water all over her precious office windows.

She had tried to bond with her staff
, but the truth was, she wasn’t very good at that kind of stuff. They got on fine and there was no disharmony in the office, but she knew they didn’t like her. Just look how quickly they had bolted today. Given the opportunity to risk it outside or stay in a safe place with her, they had chosen to go. She could have gone too, but...where would she go? Home?

Home was comfortable
, but to be honest, she thought, I am home. Christina closed her eyes and snuggled into her black leather chair. The scrunching sound of the leather was soothing. It was another extravagance she didn’t need, but had felt compelled to buy when she’d seen it. She had two houses: one in Surrey, one in France. She had two cars: a Jag’ and a BMW. She had two holidays every year; that was all she permitted herself, even though she knew full well she could take a year off and her bank manager wouldn’t even flinch. She was satisfied with her lot. It had taken years of hard work, but she had made it. The houses, the cars, the incredible amount of zeros on her bank balance. But there was something niggling at the back of her mind.

The sight of her staff running out the door today came back into her mind
, unsettling her. Just like her husband, they had run at the first sign of trouble. Her husband had left her years ago, just as her business was taking off. She had told him that she was starting to bring in some real money now, but apparently, that was not enough. He wanted
her
, he said, not a pot of gold. Idiot. She was better off without him. If he was still around, she’d have had to give him half of everything and sharing was not a natural part of her make up.

Christin
a felt awkward. Her favourite chair no longer seemed so comfortable and she stood up. Sitting around waiting to be rescued was boring. She went to touch her wedding ring and realised she hadn’t worn it in years. Come on, Christina, she thought, keep it together. She went back to her desk and pulled out a report she had been meaning to read. The hours dripped by slowly and she was unaware of the time passing. She finished the report and played with some numbers on her computer, making a note to have a word with Janet tomorrow about the Collin’s file, and the lack of increase in funds they were seeing; or not seeing.