Lockdown (AM13 Outbreak Series) (3 page)

Chapter Four

I plonk back down at my desk, praying I’ll wake up at home. This can’t all
really
be happening, can it? I sip my tepid coffee and internally try to assess the situation. I feel stunned, there’s no other way to describe it. I just can’t believe all this is happening to me. I can hear the usual office chatter going on, and I’m sure some of it is being directed at me, but it’s all just white noise blending together. It means nothing.

I have no idea how much time has passed. It could have been a few minutes or even a few hours, but I suddenly jump and realise I can’t sit here all day doing nothing. For one, I could end up losing my job. For two, I probably look like I’ve just come from the nearest insane asylum. I guess everyone has given up on me because as I glance around the room, no one is paying me any special attention, much to my relief.

I really feel like a total fool and I’m worried everyone thinks I’m an idiot. In fact, I’m sure they do. I need to do
something
, just to make myself feel better, to take my mind off of the humiliation. I want to feel useful, and I figure there must be some way I can redeem my reputation before it’s completely ruined. The question is what?

And then it hits me. It’s so obvious what I need to do, I can’t believe I’ve only just thought about it. Jamie is somehow convinced this crazy virus stuff is real, so maybe I just need to do what he did, and
really
look into it. I can use all of my journalistic and research skills that I’m supposed to have learnt over the last few months to help me. Maybe I can find the source of all this ‘scientific research’ he was going on about, and somehow prove it’s real. Or at least possible.

I don’t really know why I’m the one who has to convince people of the story’s validity; I don’t even believe in it myself. It was only supposed to be a bloody joke. It’s already gotten way out of hand. I guess it’s because my name has been intrinsically linked to the story by the news anchor’s mistake, and it’s me all the other members of the press are seemingly coming to for answers.

I feel a sense of foreboding as I start typing. I know I’ll just be forcing some kind of belief, but I have to do something…

Oh. My. God.

It takes me a while to locate the original link where the YouTube video came from, but I eventually find it on a foreign website. This links to all kinds of weird and wonderful web pages and forums. Although I can’t figure out exactly what had Jamie so convinced—all the ‘scientific’ stuff seems made up to me—it’s mesmerizing nonetheless.

All the believers of the virus are referring to it as ‘AM13’—which I imagine is an acronym for something, but I haven’t managed to find out what yet—and state it’s categorically not a
typical
‘zombification’ virus. Personally, I was not aware there
was
a typical ‘zombification’ virus, but there you go! This is because the victims don’t appear to die before the infection takes over. Their organs, brain function, and nervous system just slowly shut down, changing them into something else entirely. Is that not pretty similar to death? Surely no one can survive their heart stopping, or their brain switching off.

The diagrams used to show how this happens look just like the ones found in school textbooks, but that doesn’t make it real. Anyone can say anything they want on the internet, everyone knows that.

There are a lot more videos and photographs, very similar to the original hoax I found, showing an ‘infected’ person either roaming around in a comatose state or attacking and biting someone else. These are all gruesome and some are even quite graphic. I’m not sure how the pranksters have achieved the special effects shown. I would have thought such convincing body parts being eaten or pulled off by someone’s teeth would cost a lot of money, but I may be wrong—film makeup isn’t something I’m particularly familiar with. Weirdly, everything is filmed on crappy handheld cameras or mobile phones, but I guess that’s the way to make them look more authentic.

The strange thing is
so
many people are really falling for it. I can’t quite get my head around their genuine belief. Don’t people have enough common sense to know this is impossible? I know I logged on to find some answers, but all I’m left with is more questions.

The main forum that’s been set up to discuss the AM13 virus is filled with people going totally wild over the imminent threat. They seem completely sure the end of the world is actually coming; some of them have some massively over the top, obscure plans to survive when the infection gets out of control. It’s when I get to this point in my reading that I start to manically scribble everything down—just because I’m so interested in these insane people. I want to know their motivation,
why
they feel so strongly about this.

I eventually stumble across an interesting thread, debating
why
this is happening. Is it religious retribution? Drugs? A government conspiracy to control population? I get sucked into this argument for much longer than I intend to. It’s the passion in each person’s post that has me so gripped.

My search takes a darker turn when I get to survival tips. At first it’s all about what to take with you if you’re forced out of your home during the inevitable apocalypse: medical supplies, weapons, food, that sort of thing. Then, it turns to defence. Apparently there’s no way to come back from the virus, so if you do encounter any infected, you need to kill them. I guess we don’t have to worry about the law then? But—according to this—if you don’t murder them, and you allow them to touch any of your skin with their teeth, you’re also done for. It won’t be long, and no one can calculate the exact amount of time, until you become the same. That’s why AM13 is spreading uncontrollably. So uncontrollably no one has even heard about it? Are these people crazy? It just sounds like the plot of a really bad horror movie.

Admittedly, despite my reservations, I get totally lost in it all. It’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever read at work. Much better than the usual local police reports or school events that take up my day. It’s not because I believe this ‘deadly virus’ is a threat, but because it has inspired so much fear. It almost seems like a very convincing cult with hundreds of thousands of followers, and my brain desperately needs an answer for why they’re all so damn caught up in it. There
has
to be a reason for it, I just can’t put my finger on what it is.

It isn’t until I eventually look up from my computer screen that I realise the room is completely empty and all the lights have been switched off. I do have a vague memory of Michelle saying goodbye to me, but I’m not even sure if it registered enough for a reply.

God, I’ve been so spacey. I need to get out of here!

***

As I’m walking back to my flat, I’m still deep in thought about everything I’ve read. I know it’s all fascinating and I did get drawn in, but I just can’t believe Jamie, who is a very intelligent man, full of common sense—that’s how he got the manager’s position, after all—put it on the news. The ten o’clock news at that. The one it seems everyone watches.

Well, except me. Actually, that’s a good point. I still haven’t seen the news segment. Maybe that would help me understand.

I switch the computer on as soon as I get home, even though I have a headache from staring at a screen all day, and find the news piece almost immediately on YouTube. Figures. Wow, it already has thousands of hits and hundreds of comments, which I quickly—and stupidly—scroll through.

Some praise the story—for example, ‘
thank you for finally putting this out into the public domain
’—whereas others clearly think it’s mental—‘
wtf is this crazy shit?
’ is probably the kindest of the negative remarks. Luckily none of them seem to focus on me, which is brilliant because I don’t know if my fragile ego could take it today.

As I watch the clip, I realise very quickly how good Jamie really is at his job. I mean, this is a completely bizarre and ridiculous story, but after the blunder—I can almost see it on the anchor’s face when Jamie is screaming at him—he’s got him delivering it in a really convincing way. Now I can see why he deserves his job.

I sigh to myself, sitting back in my chair. After practically a full day of research, I can see there’s a huge amount of belief in AM13, even from my own boss. But to be honest, it all just seems crazy to me. This hoax was seemingly massive online before any involvement from me, with a lot of copycat pranksters, and I may have just accidentally given it the platform to explode into something uncontrollable.

Chapter Five

I can’t sleep a wink during the night. I just lie there with my eyes open, thoughts whirling round and round in my mind. I need some kind of plan. I feel like I can’t just let this go on the way it is. I kind of know this story won’t just go away, especially now there’s been so much interest, and if the national newspapers print
anything
about this, it’ll spread like wildfire. It’s too much. It’s too mad. I need to put a halt to it now.

But before I know it, light is shining through the curtains, alerting me to another day. I groan because I know I need to get up and face the music back at work, the place I least want to be right now. I’m positive everyone must be bitching about me behind my back, because that’s exactly what working in an office environment is like. I’ve never been on the receiving end of it—as far as I know—and it sucks. To make matters worse, I’m not any further along with my supposed ‘plan.’

***

I feel all out of sorts on my way to work. I’m so incredibly tired, but my brain is still annoyingly buzzing. I pass a newsagents and try very hard to simply walk past, head held high, but it turns out I can’t resist going in to check. Just for my own sanity, to be absolutely certain there’s nothing about me or the stupid virus printed in any of the papers.

To my relief there’s nothing about it I can see straight away on any of the front pages—not even in the really trashy tabloids that usually pounce on any ludicrous story they can. They’re all focused on a silly political scandal I can vaguely remember someone discussing yesterday. With a smile on my face, I buy the first newspaper I grab and also some chocolate, just to get me through the day. Maybe I don’t need to do anything after all. I’ve just been paranoid and kind of vain to think anyone would be that interested in me. Maybe, just maybe, it’s all going to be fine.

I feel a lot lighter as I arrive at work. I really do think today is going to be a better day. With this in mind, the first person I spot in the office is Jake. Feeling uncharacteristically confident and brave, I walk over to talk to him, to maybe apologise for not saying anything yesterday and to try and gain some much-needed knowledge about how he’s feeling. But just as I reach his desk, his phone rings and he answers it, quickly turning away. As I amble back to my desk, gutted and trying to pretend I wasn’t even heading his way anyway, I realise I’ve not even acknowledged him, or even thought about him since all this craziness started. I’ve accidentally played it cool, which is not like me at all. I just hope I haven’t screwed anything up. His reaction towards me
did
seem stand-offish then, but I don’t know if I’m just reading too much into it.

Before I can make any more rash decisions, the office quickly buzzes with commotion. Even with a skeleton weekend staff, it always seems like a busy hive of activity here. On top of that, I’m not getting any special attention today, which suits me just fine. I much prefer being out of the limelight. Instead, I find myself sitting at my desk, feeling a little lost. I’m not really sure if I have a particular assignment to complete, and rather than go and ask Jamie like I normally would, goody-two-shoes that I am, I decide to just try and keep under the radar. I’ll just do my best to make sure I
appear
busy.

I start with all the usual social media checking—for research, of course—and when I get bored of this, I open the newspaper I bought. Although these are really out of date in our world, I figure it might just give me some inspiration, something to get me started.

The pages are all filled with stuff I can’t even begin to muster up any enthusiasm for. Stories that have been retold so many times, from every angle, that everyone has lost interest: a footballer’s affair, a politician misusing taxes, another food group that’s bad for us. Yawn. Until suddenly, I come across a very small article, on one of the middle pages towards the bottom.

I don’t know what draws my eye to it. Maybe subconsciously I suspect what it’s about, or maybe I glimpsed my name, right there in black and white. In a national newspaper, for the whole of the country to see. I hold my breath as I read.

It’s awful, so nasty about me. It calls me a ‘ditzy researcher’ who has conned my boss with a hoax. They actually have a picture of me, taken yesterday on my way home from work. I had no idea I was being followed, or photographed. To add insult to injury, it makes me look dreadful. I look really dopey in it, all spaced out as if I have no idea what’s going on around me. If I’d known this was going to happen, I would obviously not have worn my blue bobby jumper that makes me look almost homeless, which is made worse by my obvious hangover. It’s not very nice about Jamie either, saying he went along with it in a desperate ploy to up our terrible ratings, and now we’ve lost any integrity we had.

I can feel the heat rising through my body as I throw the paper down on my desk. I glance around the room with suspicious eyes, wondering if anyone else has seen this story and not told me. Suddenly every whisper and giggle is about me and I feel trapped. My throat feels constricted to the point I almost can’t breathe. All I know for sure is I have to get out of here immediately, so I grab my coat and run outside the building as fast as I can, without even a single glance backwards.

As soon as the fresh air hits my face, I start to calm down. Despite this, I continue to walk away because I know setting foot back in that building will result in tears. I’ve never cried at work before, and I certainly don’t intend to start now. I hope Jamie won’t be too bothered about me leaving; I wasn’t exactly achieving much anyway so I can’t imagine me not being there will really be noticeable. I do have to pull myself together a bit, though, or I’m going to find myself unemployed, and I’m not bloody job hunting again.

I start to repeat the same mantra in my head over and over again, attempting to convince myself. No one cares about some stupid paper; no one cares about some stupid paper. Anyway, most people who read that paper don’t even know me. Why should their opinions bother me?

Oh God, what about all the people I went to school with? My teachers, my uni mates, my parents. What if any of them see it? I’m going to be an inside joke forever. I’ll never be able to go to any reunions.

I decide the best thing to do is head home and crawl into bed. I think lack of sleep is making me take this much worse. A nap could be the answer to all my problems. I’ll be able to make more rational decisions when I’m more rested, at any rate.

***

This is the absolute last thing I need. My flat is surrounded by people, lots of them. What the hell is going on now? There must be a fire or something. I start running, panicking. Judging by the week I’m having, it can only be my house that’s burning to the ground! But as I get nearer I slow down. Something doesn’t seem quite right. There’s no smoke or flames, and the people outside my flat aren’t shouting or worrying. In fact, they’re all standing around calmly chatting. I actually think I might recognise one of them.

That’s when it hits me. Journalists. What are they doing surrounding where I live? Has someone been murdered? I always thought my neighbours seemed like a weird couple, maybe not criminals, just a little off. Something I could never explain. I might get a good scoop here, something to justify me leaving work early. I’m just going to act casual, like I’ve been sent here to join in. We’re all professionals here, aren’t we?

My steps slow down more and more the closer I get. I just don’t
feel
like a professional. I feel out of my depth, a fraud. A frightened mouse about to head into a group of hungry lions. I’ve never done research out in the real world before. That’s for the super confident journalists who don’t mind asking all the awkward questions. I’m much better suited to the safety of hiding behind my desk.

“Hi.” I try to talk to one of the women at the back, to discreetly find out what’s going on without having to ask. She ignores me though. Everyone does. Before I get the chance to speak again, the guy I thought I recognised—Bill, maybe?—turns around and spots me.

“Oh my God, it’s you!” he shouts so loudly that everyone else turns to face me. Suddenly Dictaphones and cameras are shoved in my face, and everyone is yelling questions at me at the same time.

Everything starts to move in slow motion. I’m frozen in place. How can I tell them I’m not the one they want? I’m one of them, not the story.

Zombie.

Hoax.

Failure.

All these words are being thrown around me. As soon as I hear them, I feel the world around me shattering. It
is
me they want. This thought fills me with utter horror. It’s that paper, the story. Oh God, I don’t want to speak to them, and certainly not about that. How can these people honestly be interested in this?

My brain begins to unfreeze and I instinctively focus on getting as far away from these prying eyes as possible. This is why journalism never truly suited me. I’m not into pressuring people for information—even less so now I know how it feels from the other side. The only thing I can think to do is run, but where? All I want is to go inside, and I have a right to be in my own flat. If I don’t do it now, I’ll only have to face them again later, so I decisively begin to push past them to get indoors. It feels like I’m trying to move brick walls, it’s almost impossible. No one wants to move to let me past. Why are they treating me this way? I’m going to have to say something, but I know most of the time that only makes things escalate.

“No comment!” I yell. This always seems to work in films and I can’t think of anything else to say, but now I’ve spoken, the questions get louder and more insistent.

Eventually I find my front door. Luckily I already have my key out, so as fast as I can, I push my way in and slam it shut.