Prey For The Dead [Books 1-3], page 42
part #1 of Prey For The Dead Series
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‘Good Morning. Thank you for agreeing to see me at such short notice. As you know, a few months ago my team and I were assigned the task of investigating all aspects of the virus. Yesterday I believe I discovered something of sufficient importance to relay to you now.‘
The fat, bald man on the right of the panel, a former London Mayor called Paul Haskell, leaned forward expectantly. ‘Let’s hear it then.’
Leafing through the file, Emily held up a photograph of a young, fair-haired man. ‘This is Chris McReedy. He, along with four others, showed immunity to the virus. Like them, he wasn’t a carrier, though. He contracted it, but something in his body was able to fight back and destroy it completely so that no trace remained.’
Michael Banks, the thin man at the centre of the panel and a chancellor in a previous life, drew his hands together and intertwined his fingers. ‘Go on’ he prompted. ‘We’re well aware of this young man. So far this is nothing new...’
‘Bear with me. Well, for months we have been looking at these individuals to try and discover what sets them apart from the general population, but also to find their link to each other. They are of varying sexes and ages. Their blood groups are different. They don’t even share any allergies of any kind. I have to admit we were getting nowhere, so I decided to delve deeper into each of their pasts, and that’s when I found it.’
Shirley Robinson, a silver-haired former trade secretary and the only woman on the panel, noticed Emily’s hesitancy. ‘And what exactly did you find?’
‘We, uh, discovered that these five people, at different points in their lives, all suffered traumatic incidents that changed them physiologically.’
‘Traumatic incidents?’
‘Yes...’ Emily gave a sigh. ‘They’ve all been dead before.’
Michael Banks raised his eyebrows. ‘I think you need to quantify that statement.’
‘Of course’ she said, quickly holding up another photo, this time of an older man. ‘This is another immunee, sixty-seven year old David O’Neill. On his forms, he noted that he took medication for a heart condition. After interviewing him, we discovered that he had ‘died’ on the operating table seven years ago before being revived.’ Emily paused for a moment, allowing her discovery to filter through before holding up a third photo. ‘This is Judith Grant. She recalled losing consciousness in an incident at a swimming pool when she was six years old. Given what we know now, it is possible that she was actually dead before the lifeguard brought her back to life.’
‘Possible but not confirmed’ sniped Haskell.
Emily pursed her lips and nodded. ‘Agreed. And if it were just these two, I would not say that the theory held much weight. But – then we have Chris McReedy, who cracked his head in a school playground and was rushed to hospital at the age of four. His parents told him later that his heart had stopped beating and that he was clinically dead for one minute and twelve seconds before being revived. Also, we have Jason Roberts, age thirty-seven, electrocuted on a building site and declared deceased by his work colleagues until he sat up, completely unharmed, minutes later. And finally, we have Sally Russell, strangled by her former partner and left in a ditch by the side of the road. He was sure that she was dead, but she survived and was able to testify against him months later.’
The panel, stunned into silence, looked incredulously at each other before Michael Banks finally spoke. ‘This is amazing work, doctor. Simply amazing.’
Emily closed the file and held it down by her side.
‘I agree’ said Haskell. ‘But what can we do with this information? How can this help us going forward? Can we now develop an actual cure to supersede the anti-virus?’
‘That’s our aim’ muttered Emily, slightly deflated. ‘But I think we are still some way from being able to stop people actually coming back from the dead. Looking at the facts, we know that a physiological change occurred in these five people; they ‘died’ and somehow it made them immune. We just don’t know, not yet, the best way in which to use that information. But we will.’
‘So, actually’ Haskell mumbled, ‘we’re not any further forward..?’
Emily’s shoulders slumped. All at once, she appeared completely exhausted.
‘Hang on now, Paul’ said Banks. ‘This is progress. This is major information which we didn’t know yesterday. Well done, doctor, I’m proud of you. Carry on the good work, but make sure that you allow some time for yourself too. Take a break every now and then, and make sure you eat properly. I’m well aware of the sacrifices you’ve made for all of us.’
A lump in her throat, Emily could only manage a tired nod.
‘Well’ said Haskell, slowly rising from his seat, ‘if there’s nothing else then I have another appointment that I have to-’
‘Just a moment, Paul’ said Banks. ‘Doctor, you can leave us now. Thank you again. Please inform me if you have any further news.’
Emily nodded for a second time and turned around, her heels clicking across the floor once more. Only when she had left the room did Paul Haskell speak again.
‘What is it, Michael? Is it something to do with her? I have to say, she’s looking a little frazzled.’
‘I’m not surprised. I have it on good authority that she’s been working around the clock for months. I don’t think she’ll let up until she finds a cure, no matter what I say. But no, it’s not about her. Actually, there was something else that I wanted to talk to both of you about.’
Shirley Robinson raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes. Take a look at this.’ Leaving his seat, Banks approached the table where the computer unit and large monitor screen had been placed. He picked up a remote control and pressed a button on it, sparking the screen into life just as the others joined him at each shoulder. The images began to play, showing an overhead view of an area of muddy wasteland. Digital lettering across the top of the screen indicated a date and time from two days previous, while a clock counter on the bottom left seemed to show a fluctuating altitude. ‘This is footage from one of our drones, taken a couple of days ago. It shows an area of Suffolk four hundred metres from the perimeter fence.’
‘What is that?’ asked Shirley Robinson, leaning forward for a closer look while subconsciously adjusting a string of pearls around her neck. ‘What are those dark ridges there?’
‘You mean the trenches? They were dug by extra crews while the fencing was being put up. They’re about seven feet deep, in most places. They’re designed to act as a buffer, to stop larger numbers of the dead from massing by the fence and damaging it. They’ve been pretty effective.’
The footage on screen moved on, passing over the trenches where a fleeting image of trapped zombies writhing in muddy pits made Shirley Robinson gasp. All of sudden grass-tufted roads came into view, along with half-collapsed houses and husks of cars. From its hovering berth at fifty-feet, the drone also picked up little shards of white among the flotsam and jetsam.
‘My god, are they bones?’ asked Haskell.
‘That’s exactly what they are. This used to be a town called Beccles’ continued Banks. ‘Like most of Suffolk, it suffered some of the worst bombing in the country. Now, pay attention, both of you. This drone was fitted with an outgoing speaker system. I want you to see what happened when a high pitched alarm was played through it.’
Once again the trio glared at the screen, watching as the scene from above the town stabilised, now barely moving at all. ‘I can’t hear a thing’ whispered Shirley Robinson.
Banks pressed pause on the remote control.
‘The speaker system can emit sound but this drone wasn’t fitted with one to record it. Believe me, that’s a godsend; that alarm would loosen your fillings. Now, take a look at the clock counter at the top of the screen?’ He pressed the remote once more. ‘The alarm started just about...now.’
The counter rolled over to ‘00.07.00’ and the room fell into complete silence. At first the footage continued to show an empty wasteland, but then, as the trio watched, shambling shapes began to appear from the shadows of the damaged buildings. Prone figures rose up from every dark corner, their mouldering faces snarling skyward as they stumbled through broken doorways and massed below their unreachable prey.
For a full two minutes Shirley Robinson was transfixed, watching as thirty zombies became fifty and then seventy, with still more figures appearing at the corners of the screen. Maintaining its height, the drone camera then began to slowly pan out, revealing a larger area swarming with hundreds of the dead.
‘Dear god...’ she blurted. ‘There’s still so many of them.’
‘Yes’ said Banks, pressing pause again on the remote control. ‘From what the experts tell us, the virus destroys the flesh but the tissue around the sensory organs doesn’t decompose at the same rate. Their hearing actually seems more acute, which is why they react to sound in the way that they do. Also, although we still don’t know if they actually taste what they consume, we do know that their hunger remains massively accelerated even if they do not gain sustenance from what they eat.’
The silver-haired woman put a hand to her temple. ‘I thought that they were dying out. It’s been over six months, for god’s sake. I thought that they were supposed to have rotted away by now.’
Banks shook his head. ‘That initial forecast was woefully inaccurate, it seems. But their longevity isn’t the only thing. Look here, there’s something else...’
Using the remote control again, he fast-forwarded through the camera footage until the drone began to move further into the depths of the waste, over forests and lakes and other devastated villages. When he pressed ‘play’ again, the counter showed 00.38.00 in the top right hand corner.
‘What sort of range has that thing got?’ asked Haskell.
‘Around seven miles. This is just about as far as it can go before it starts to have problems responding.’
‘What is that?’ blurted Shirley Robinson, shocked by something else on the screen. The camera had focused on a green hill with a series of battered farm buildings below it. A plume of black smoke was coming from the chimney of the largest building. ‘Michael, are there are still people alive out there?’
‘Yes, it seems so. No actual physical proof was gathered at this time, but we’ve seen other signs elsewhere; the remains of camps, that sort of thing. It stands to reason that some people would have hidden away from it all from day one.’
‘But they’re miles outside the cordon. Their food must be running low. They’ll have no power, no running water..!’
‘I know Shirley, but think about this. All they’ve known from the day of the attacks is that there’s an enemy out there that’s bombed the entire country and then unleashed a virus to kill who’s left. How trusting would you be if that’s all you knew?’
‘But, surely you’re not suggesting that we leave them out there?’
Banks pressed a button on the remote and the screen went black. ‘Listen to me, both of you. This is a highly sensitive situation. You know that we don’t have the manpower to go deep into those areas. Not yet.’
Shirley Robinson took a deep breath. ‘But what about aid? What about food parcels? Couldn’t the drones be modified to-‘
‘There’s barely enough resources for us right now.’
‘But, this feels wron-‘
‘Michael’s right, Shirley’ chimed Haskell. ‘We’re still on our knees here. We should sit tight, revisit this in another six months and see where we are then.’
Banks nodded. ‘That’s what I think. It’s a tough decision, but we can’t go public with this yet. We have to look at the bigger picture and keep the best interests of the country at heart. I need to know that you’re with me on this, both of you.’
Haskell and Shirley Robinson nodded, the latter less convincingly. ‘We’re with you’ added Haskell.
‘And none of this information leaves this room, under any circumstances.’
Again, both nodded, but this time Haskell touched his female colleague’s shoulder. ‘You know it’s the right thing to do, don’t you?’
Shirley Robinson lowered her eyes and nodded for a third time. ‘And we thought Brexit was a bloody mess...’
Banks set the remote control down. ‘The rest of the world is watching us. Now, more than ever, we can’t show any weakness. It will take a while, maybe years, but we’ll get back, and it’ll be because we made tough decisions at the right time. Decisions like this.’
Hours later, alone in the darkness of his own office, Michael Banks stared from his window out into the night. Miles away, far from the newly constructed buildings and way beyond the fence perimeter, the dead still wandered, groaning and snarling in their search for warm human flesh. And with them, hiding in the dark, frightened survivors hoped to make it through one more day without becoming...
...Prey for the Dead
C.A. Earl fell in love with reading at an early age, immersing himself in the works of Robert E Howard, Jack London and J.R.R Tolkien as well as those of the multitude of talented writers and artists of Marvel Comics. His own desire to write became reality with the publication of his first full-length novel, ‘The Blood Hunters’ in 2012. C.A. Earl has lived and worked in the UK and USA and now resides in Kent, England.
ALSO BY C. A. EARL (writing as Craig Earl)
THE
BLOOD
HUNTERS
‘A rip-roaring homage to the fantasy novels of yesteryear’
COMING IN 2020
C. A. EARL
JODIE’S
BROTHER
A haunting tale of regret and revenge
Earl, C.A., Prey For The Dead [Books 1-3]
