Pandemic Z (Book 1): Pandemic Z Read online

  “Ha! That’s too funny.” Lena chuckled at his story, trying not to fall back into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

  “But zombies are fiction. Story book monsters,” he said out of the blue. His statement had joined back to their previous conversation and caught Lena off guard.

  Nothing fits together, nothing except that Barry is right. The world is being infected by storybook monsters.

  Chapter Seven

  Sean could see the hordes of zombies coming after him in the rearview mirror. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he gassed blue Renault car to the end of the road. He indicated left and shook his head at himself for indicating at all—like the zombies cared about the rules of driving. He checked both ways out of habit before flying around the corner.

  The car was eerily quiet as he drove. No music came through the radio. There were no children in the backseat to argue about which burger was better at McDonald’s. His stomach grumbled at the thought of food. He had been in such a rush to get out of the house he’d forgotten completely to eat breakfast.

  Sean turned a corner to join the M25 highway on his way to the power plant. He had to slam on the breaks, or he’d have hit the barricade of zombies awkwardly making their way down the ramp. They dragged their feet and looked at Sean with their dilated dark eyes. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned a ghostly white. He felt like he was back in Syria driving through the treacherous streets littered with explosives.

  He’d been driving on a patrol in Syria, looking for the safest way to the base, when he saw a pothole in front of them and steered to the right to avoid it. Usually, explosives laid dormant in potholes, waiting to spring to life. This one had been a trick and the truck hit an explosive. The force of the explosion rocketed Sean into the air. He’d curled his aching body into the fetal position as he crumpled to the sandy ground.

  He was fortunate to be alive, but his friend, Cordell, hadn’t been so fortunate. Cordell had been on the right side of the truck and had taken the full force of the explosion. There had been nothing left of him to bury. Sean felt like he was Cordell’s murderer, and the guilt had plagued for weeks with nightmares of the whole experience. He checked the passenger seat.

  “Don’t kill me again, Sean.” Cordell was sitting there, and Sean had to blink a dozen times. Surely, he was only imagining things again.

  He focused on the road for a moment and then looked over at the passenger seat again, but it was empty this time. He was just having day nightmares again.

  Sean focused in front of him again. The zombies had abandoned their cars. They came closer, slowing inching their way toward him. There was a mixture of different people who looked like they were on their way to work or just out for the day, and he had to act fast before they got him.

  He spun the wheel through his fingers, and the car began back down the ramp. He pulled the wheel back, and the vehicle swung around. Sean floored the accelerator and tore down the street. He frantically tried to map out a way to the power plant that didn’t use the M25. Sean couldn’t think of another easy way because the M25 was the most direct route.

  He took the next side street, hoping to avoid as many zombies as possible. Sweat rolled down his forehead, and his stomach screamed for food.

  The street was abandoned and narrow. Without the use of the highway, Sean had to drive down countless narrow roads lined with cars and houses. The early Sunday morning played to his advantage. People would still be in bed, trying to sleep off their hangovers.

  He picked up his phone and clicked on the maps app. He zoomed in on his location and found the nuclear plant on the other side of the city.

  “Damn it,” he cursed to himself. “The damn highway would’ve taken me right there.”

  Sean dragged his finger across the route. He had to navigate around almost a hundred narrow streets just to get to the main road to the plant. He looked at the surrounding houses. The brick buildings stood tightly packed like sardines, and Sean guessed there were around fifty houses on the long street. The birds chirped from a telephone wire, and the garden gate of number 5 creaked in the morning breeze.

  First, he had to turn onto Park Street then down to Cynthia Kay Way. The local children often called it “Kay Way,” and it was notorious for smokers to hang out and smoke all kinds of different things.

  The app told him the side street route would take forty-five minutes. He switched the car into gear and powered down the quiet street. After house 77, a corner appeared out of nowhere, and Sean zoomed past it cursing.

  The map didn’t say anything about a blind corner. He raged as he whipped the car around again. He was wasting precious time. It was bad enough the M25 was swarming with the enemy. Now he had to maneuver down sketchy and tight areas of the city.

  He cruised down Park Street like it was any other morning. The residents’ cars sat unharmed in their driveways. Their gardens bloomed with fresh flowers, and in one garden, Sean thought he saw a destroyed garden gnome. The ruins of the gnome were comically enclosed by yellow tape like a crime scene. He laughed at the sight of it—someone must have had fun making the best out of the situation.

  Kay Way was completely deserted. The emptiness shocked him. Even in the coldest and darkest moments, there was someone there smoking. No matter what was going on, someone was always there, but not today.

  Sean turned off Kay Way onto Elsby Street and immediately found the missing people from Kay Way. A large swarm of people crowded together on the street and filled every open space.

  Sean slammed on the brakes again as his small car screeched to another painful halt. It was like driving into an overly populated street party, one he didn’t care to be a part of.

  Sean’s father had told him of the street party he had gone to when the queen was crowned back in the fifties. Hundreds of people gathered on the street to enjoy too many pork pies and wine. Then they crammed into whichever house had a TV and craned their necks to view the tiny screen that showed her coronation. The sight in front of him was how Sean had always imagined the street party his dad talked of—crowded, extremely loud, and foul smelling.

  The group of people seemed to be content in hogging the entire road. One young girl with braces and in a miniskirt caught sight of Sean in his Renault. Her eyes were dilated, empty blackness that seared into his soul. She meandered towards the car, and she left the others behind for a moment before a young man in a long trench coat followed clumsily after her.

  Under any circumstance, Sean would’ve thought they would find a quiet corner to enjoy each other’s company. However, this was no ordinary Sunday, and they were no ordinary people.

  He pushed his foot down on the gas and drove as fast as he could away from the thronging mass of people. Sean wasn’t sure if he could even call them humans because they seemed so distant from what Sean knew as human.

  Sean turned down the closest street and didn’t dare slow the car until he was certain no one was behind him. It took three or four turns before he lost the monsters behind him. They were surprisingly fast for their oversized, clumsy shapes.

  He slowed his speed before trying to figure out where the hell he was. Nothing looked familiar. There were trees, houses, and cars, but nothing was any different from the parallel street. Luckily, the GPS knew the route and redirected Sean.

  His phone rang. It was Sergeant Turner, so he quickly answered.

  “Where are you?” Turner asked, sounding concerned and urgent all at once.

  “Finding my way to the power plant. The M25 is off limits. It’s crawling with zombies or something,” he told his commanding officer.

  “I see. Well, the rendezvous point has changed. Report to the Queen’s Best Kebab Shop on Cartwright Lane.”

  Sean couldn’t help but laugh loudly at the reply from Sergeant Turner. Only in his wildest dreams had Sean ever imagined he would have to report to a kebab shop for an important mission.

  “Welch, stop laughing. This is serious,”
Sergeant Turner scolded, but that didn’t stop Sean from bursting out in laughter yet again.

  He was stuck in a dream. That would explain the zombies and the kebab shop meet-up. Sean was just asleep in bed at home, and he’d imagined everything. The zombie neighbor grunting over his dying tomatoes and the desperate children whacking their heads against the bloody window.

  Cordell, he had just been a ghostly image, a bad memory of the past. He was sure. Only in a dream would Serious Sergeant Terry Turner from Serious town UK tell Sean to meet at a place that serves Donna meat dripping in delicious grease and served with oven brown chips.

  Only in a dream.

  “WELCH STOP LAUGHING RIGHT NOW! THIS IS IMPORTANT!” Sergeant Turner screamed, and Sean immediately shut his mouth and sat up a little taller. He wasn’t in a dream at all. This was real.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Where?” he asked, clearing his throat awkwardly. He could cut the tension with a knife.

  “You heard me, Sean Welch,” he said seriously.

  “I don’t want to be mistaken,” he replied coolly.

  “I would have thought you’d be the most excited to report at a kebab shop,” Turner said, his voice filling the car.

  Sean continued to drive down another quiet and empty street. He tapped the steering wheel as he went, looking casually at the passing brick houses squashed together. It was quite a pretty neighborhood; it seemed like a rich kid’s street.

  The houses boasted higher walls at the end of the garden path and gates that were tinged with gold and silver accents. The different driveways had expensive cars like Audi, BMW, Jeep, and even a Skoda parked on them. Sean felt out of place as he powered his little Renault down the well-kept street.

  “So, let me clarify—we have to go to QB’s Kebabs on Cartwright?” Sean asked the Sergeant, still confused.

  There was a pause of static before the Sergeant spoke, his voice was softer but still just as serious. “Yes, it’s closer than the power plant and easier for us to get to. The other platoon members are heading over there, too. I’ll see you there.”

  “Wait! Sir,” he said, hoping to catch the sergeant before he hung up. “Why the kebab shop?”

  “Zombies don’t like kebabs.” The sergeant chuckled. “Truthfully, the entire sector is abandoned. No one is around, and it’ll be safe for us to meet there.”

  “Okay. Thanks, sir. I’ll head over there right now,” Sean muttered, turning off the rich street.

  The line went dead, and Sean tried to mentally map out a way from his current location across to where he needed to be. Cartwright Lane was a beautiful street filled with the best and cheapest food places around.

  Sometimes Sean and Claire would go on dates to the different places, but their favorite was always Queen’s Best Kebab Shop. Nothing could beat a heaping pile of kebab meat and crispy brown chips fresh out of the fryer in Sean’s opinion.

  He saw a sign at the end of the road that read “ORR ROAD.”

  The road sounded so familiar, and Sean racked his brain trying to place the location. Levi had a friend who lived on that street, down on number 16. He had driven Levi there many times. Finally, Sean knew where he was and how he would get to Cartwright Lane. It was like a burden lifted off his shoulders as he confidently led the car to the end of the street.

  Sean turned at the next corner and was met with another group of zombies. This group was smaller and came right at him. He had no space to turn around without ramming into several of the walking dead.

  Instead of stopping to think, he forced down the accelerator and crashed right into the oncoming figures. They flopped to the ground with ease, and Sean spun the wheel into a tight U-turn. He didn’t let up on the accelerator as he cruised through more zombies. They fell easily, but he could see in his wing mirrors that they just got back up on their feet and continued on their way.

  Sean was about to turn the corner when a large figure slammed against the front of his car. The entire vehicle shook with the force, and Sean’s mind was back in Syria for a moment.

  “Don’t kill me again, Sean.” The echoing voice of Cordell rattled in his brain.

  The lazy figure stared at Sean through the windscreen. It slouched forward and bought its balled fist up to swing at the glass. He repetitively slammed his fist into the glass, putting cracks in the previously unmarred windscreen.

  Sean turned on the wipers, and they whipped into the zombie’s eye socket. The zombie was taken aback by the assault and crashed to the road, quickly sliding off the car as Sean drove. God bless the bloody wipers, Sean thought as he left the mass of shapes behind him.

  The radio screamed out, surprising Sean as it suddenly worked again. It warned people that the streets had become infested with the enemy. They listed off the M25 and commented on how Kay Way was deserted. Sean shook his head as he thought about how far behind the news reporters were. I suppose everyone is still cozy in bed, he thought as he drove.

  The Sunday morning news was usually just cheesy country music and the occasional rerun of sports matches. Today was different. Tired hosts told the public about the reality of the situation. Sean listened for any new developments, but he figured there wouldn’t be any. His best bet would be the kebab shop meet-up.

  Cartwright Lane was a few miles away, and at the rate Sean was going, it would be a miracle if he ever got there without having to perform a million U-turns.

  Chapter Eight

  An eerie silence rippled throughout the plane as the news bulletin finished. Passengers nudged each other and quickly shared the news with others. The mother of the rattle wielding toddler leaned over and poked the butch man watching the football game. He grunted and looked harshly at the woman and child.

  “Did you see the news?” she urgently asked.

  “Fuck off. Can’t you see the game’s on?” he shot back.

  “This is serious,” the woman pressed.

  “There’s nothing more serious than McCaffery beating the shit out of Tom Brady,” the man said pompously. It was obvious by his tone and demeanor he thought he was more important than she was.

  “I don’t know what that means, but sir, there’s a terrorist alert. Fighting on the street, a curfew to keep. Sir, it’s important.” The mother wasn’t giving up on the stubborn man.

  “Look, lady, I don’t care about your wacko ideas. All I fucking care about is watching the bloody football game without your stupid lies. Now fuck off.” He shoved the headphones back over his ears, and the woman held her baby closer.

  The mother leaned over and switched the TV off in front of the butch man. Lena almost gasped at the woman’s determination and bravery.

  He turned and looked at the mother. “That’s it,” he spewed.

  “Sir, listen to me,” she said calmly.

  He reached up and repeatedly pushed the air hostess call button. “No, I won’t. I’m calling the attendant. I can’t deal with your persistent annoyance.”

  A friendly air hostess appeared at their row and smiled sweetly. “I’m Emily, how can I help you folks?” she kindly asked. “Aw, you have such a cute kid. How old is he?”

  The mother bounced the baby on her knee. “He’s eighteen months old now,” she said.

  “Ma’am, this woman is being disruptive,” the angry man spat.

  Emily seemed taken aback at the idea that this sweet mother could do anything wrong. “What is the problem, sir?” Emily asked just as sweetly, pretending that the man wasn’t boiling with anger.

  “The problem?” The man huffed. “The problem is that this bitch is stopping me from watching my football game by babbling on about terrorists and curfews.”

  “Terrorists?” Emily said, slightly mocking the man, but not enough for him to realize it.

  “Stupid right?” The man raged. “I just want to watch my game in peace.” He whined like a baby. Even the actual baby next to him was better behaved than the full-grown man.

  “Well, sir, if you’d watched the news, then you’d know the situ
ation is real. They say people are fighting in the streets, and there is a curfew. Anyone caught out after dark by the military will be shot and killed.” She paused as lights went on everywhere, calling the flight crew to different rows. “Terrible all around. Maybe if you’d paused your little game, then you’d have known and not had to harass the kind woman beside you who was only trying to warn you about a real, dangerous situation.” She smiled at the man condescendingly, though it could appear sweet to anyone else.

  The man looked taken aback, and he scoffed. He turned his direction towards the TV in front of him and flicked it on again but switched channels. Within moments, his eyes widened as he watched the violent scenes on the TV.

  Fierce fighting had broken out all over the country, and it was spreading so fast that no one knew what to do. The news bulletin scrolled across the bottom of the screen and repeated the warning in every language spoken.

  “See, she wasn’t lying,” Emily sweetly cooed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other guests to visit.” Emily turned to leave, but the butch man stopped her abruptly. Emily sighed and turned back around to the impatient man.

  “What will happen when we got off the plane?” he nervously stuttered out the words. “I have a conference to go to, up in Yorkshire. Will I make it? What if they bite me? What do I do then?” He had gone from angry red to a pasty white, obviously terrified at the news.

  “Sir, if you get bitten then stay the hell away from the rest of us,” Emily replied curtly before rushing off to the many little red lights calling her.

  Emily rushed to the rows behind Lena where more concerned passengers asked questions that no one could answer.

  “Are we safe?” the tired man in Row 97 asked.

  “Will we need to jump ship?” a small Indian lady asked. Emily kindly calmed the woman down and reassured her that the plane was safe, and no emergency procedures were needed—yet.