Death Plague Omnibus [Four Zombie Novels] (16 page)

The head scientist led him into what used to be the kitchen.

“There, just look at that, Marsham!” he announced.

A large glass container stood in the middle of an ancient dining table. Marsham noted with disgust that the tablecloth and plates, still with the remains of food clinging to the ceramic, were piled in the far corner of the room. He fought to control his rage. Not that long ago, some normal family had been sitting around that table with probably nothing more pressing on their minds than wondering what would be on the TV tonight.

The colonel walked over to the table and leaned closer to the glass jar, trying to work out what was inside it. All he saw was a large watermelon-sized ball of meat. This made no sense.

“It is from your last sample. It might help if you walked around the other side, Colonel.”

The only occupant they had stumbled across was a young infected boy around fourteen years of age. Marsham had found him in one of the bedrooms. He’d jammed his foot between two slats in the base of a bed and was trapped there. It had taken all three of them to subdue the kid. He’d only stopped moving when Klinski came up with the genius idea of throwing a pillow case over his head. It had certainly done the trick.

He’d watched his team pull the boy out of the bedroom before turning back to gaze at the walls. Every inch of wallpaper had been covered over with sci-fi movie posters. He’d spotted a bank of white-painted wooden shelves on the back wall, every shelf holding dozens of plastic military models, everything from battleships to a helicopter gunship. He’d picked up a model of a German panzer tank and marveled at the detail. The paintwork alone was exquisite. The now-dead boy had to be a stranger to this house. With his short, cropped hair and skinned knuckles, all wrapped up in a bundle of very expensive designer clothing, their captive looked every inch the miniature thug.

The doctor rushed over. “Man, you just don’t get it. Save me from the slow and stupid.” He pushed Marsham around the edge of the table.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he gasped, staring in utter disgust at the upside-down severed head inside the jar. If it wasn’t bad enough that these monsters had defiled the kid’s body, they had completed their debasement by flaying off every scrap of skin.

“Yeah, I thought you’d be impressed,” chuckled the scientist. “Watch this Colonel, this will knock your socks off.” He tapped on the side of the jar.

Marsham jumped back in surprise then the eyes moved towards the direction of the sound. “What the fuck?”

“You are looking at dead flesh, Colonel Marsham.”

He leaned closer, shivering when the eyes found his. Oh Lord, that handler was right after all. Then again, how could he have doubted? Marsham had seen that poor kid with half his internal organs demolished fighting with the others to get to that handler. There were a few compounds out there that could switch off the pain receptors in a body and give people the strength of five men. Nothing out there could allow you to operate without a heart, though.

He felt the scientist’s eyes boring into the back of his head. He wanted to throttle this little bastard for what he’d done to this kid. He forced down the anger, knowing that he still needed to act the dumb grunt for a while longer, at least until he’d got everything out of this cold-blooded freak. “This has to be a trick.”

Marious flashed him a dazzling smile. “I assure you, there’s no theatrics involved.”

“This is bullshit. Once you’re dead that’s it, you lie still and rot.”

“Not any more. It appears that the weapon has given us another stage of existence.”

“Explain.”

He shrugged. “I can’t explain it, not without performing more tests. The weapon was not designed to do this.”

Marsham saw the man’s whole posture switch from confusion to ecstasy. He noticed something else as well. The scientist’s eyes were shining. The madman was actually pleased with this unforeseen result.

“I still don’t understand how the weapon ended up here, Marious. I mean, I thought the test site was miles from here.”

“Oh, they didn’t go off-course, not at all. This is the test area, Colonel.”

Chapter Sixteen

He pulled the tin from the back of the shelf and twisted the label to face the front. Ernest then took one step back to ensure that the shelf full of tins of stewed steak were now all symmetrical. He had missed one. Ernest picked up the last tin and turned it over; the tin didn’t go out of date for another month.

“This is our best-selling tinned meat line, you know,” said Ernest, carefully placing the tin back on the shelf. “It’s seven pence cheaper than what the supermarket sells on the end of Bridge Street. Mr. Singh wouldn’t tell me where he got the stock from, but I do know that the shipment didn’t come from any of our regular suppliers.”

Ernest wasn’t an idiot, he knew exactly where this stuff had come from. He knew his boss had been looking into a way of increasing his profit margin, and that obviously included buying questionable, stolen food. It was the only answer.

He sighed, watching Mavis continue to fill her mouth with pieces of mackerel covered in tomato sauce. Ernest had the insane urge to ask the woman if she was going to pay for that tin that she had just opened.

This was just awful. Being right here in the middle aisle of the mini-market was almost as bad as his last visit to his home. He saw evidence of his handiwork everywhere he looked. That huge display full of sugar bags might have been his boss’s idea, but it was Ernest who had to build up the bloody thing. In fact, he’d had built it up twice, once after that annoying little bastard had thought it would be hilarious to jump into the display. Ernest had suggested placing it at the back of the store, but Mr. Singh would not listen to him. Ernest was the poor soul who had repainted the entire shop when the boss suddenly decided that meadow green was a more appealing colour than leaf green.

Ernest stooped down and scooped up a packet of cream crackers. He placed them back on the shelf and yawned. He had spent many long hours in this shop working like a bloody slave for that man for less than minimum wage. Looking back, Ernest wondered if he had subconsciously chosen to follow this path of drudgery as some sort of perverted penance to atone for his past misdemeanors.

“Are you okay, Ernest?”

He shrugged. “Considering the situation, I think I’m doing better than I should be.” Ernest smiled at her when he saw her face drop. “I’m okay, honest.”

“I remember seeing you in here, Ernest. You looked very smart in your apron. It was good to see a man who took pride in how he dressed.”

Ernest just looked at her, not exactly sure if she was making fun of him. It was only a stupid apron. The boss made him wear the damn thing over his own clothes. “Thank you,” he replied uncertainly.

“We’d better get a move on, Ernest. Where did you say the bolt-cutters were? I can’t seem to find them.”

Ernest turned around and pointed over to the door. “They should be behind the counter, near the cash register. At least that’s where I last saw them.”

“Oh, that’ll be why I couldn’t find them. For some reason I thought that he’d have them for sale.”

Ernest shook his head and chuckled. “No, he wouldn’t sell those, Mavis. Mr. Singh sells most things, but even he wouldn’t sell tools to help the thieves in Breakspear break into his shop.” Ernest watched the woman drop the empty mackerel tin on the floor and pick up another one. “But if he did discover that the supermarket was selling them, he’d get some stock in and sell them at a cheaper price.”

He walked past the baking section, stopping himself from pulling the bags of self-rising flour forward, and leaned over the glass counter. Ernest smiled when he saw the bolt-cutters lying next to a claw hammer.

“Is it still there?”

He nodded. “Yes, here it is, just where I thought it would be.”

Ernest skirted past the sweet display and ducked behind the counter. The hammer was there for one reason. It was Mr. Singh’s only method of protection. The police had told him numerous times that he was risking his own life by keeping the shop open so late and having no visible alarm, but he had just smiled back at them and tried to sell them the contents of the shop.

Nobody had robbed the shop. Sure, they had a few problems with the odd kid lifting sweets, but nothing major. Most of the locals shopped here only because the boss kept the prices down. They also knew that if the shop was ever turned over, it would cost them a fortune to shop somewhere else. Mr. Singh was no fool, and neither were the residents.

Ernest heard Mavis walking over to the counter. He guessed that the woman must have become bored of eating the shop’s stock of tinned fish. “Okay, Mavis. I’ve got it. We can go now.”

Ernest yelled out in shock when cold fingers gripped his hair and dragged him back up. He twisted around, his eyes streaming with agony as he felt his hair tear from the roots. The cold, dead eyes of his former employer gazed down at him. Ernest shrieked when the man’s mouth opened. His hands scrambled along the counter, trying to find anything to get this thing off him.

The claw hammer seemed to mock him; the ideal weapon was just inches away from his grasping fingers. Ernest pulled back, screaming in agony, feeling the thing’s hands holding on to more of his hair. The dead man moaned louder and reached across the counter with its other hand.

Through tear-blurred vision, Ernest saw something move behind Mr. Singh; he heard Mavis let out a single grunt. His former boss suddenly let go of his hair. Ernest jumped to the side and the dead thing fell face down, cracking the counter glass when he hit it. Ernest saw the handle of a screwdriver sticking out of the back of the neck.

“Oh God, Ernest, are you alright?” Mavis cried. “I’m so sorry that I took so long. It took me ages to get the screwdriver out of the bloody plastic packet.”

He gingerly touched the top of his head and winced. “It’s okay, Mavis. I’ll live to fight another day. Remind me to book an appointment with the barbers. The bastard nearly turned me into a monk.”

“We should have searched the bloody place first. I can’t believe that we didn’t check before we went shopping.” She looked into his eyes, and Ernest saw tears begin to form. “I nearly lost you.”

“Yeah, well, luckily for me our hardware section was stocked up last week.” He picked up the bolt-cutters and looked back at his former boss.
At least you died in the place you loved, buddy
. Ernest then reached across the cold body and picked up the hammer. That would come in handy. “Come on, we had better make tracks.”

They both looked towards the rear of the store when they heard the sound of smashing glass. Mavis ran around and joined Ernest behind the counter. He saw a shadow move in the corridor that led to Mr. Singh’s living room and got down on the floor. He tightened his hand around the hammer and gripped it tight, just in case.

Mavis tensed up and stifled a gasp. “It’s another one,” she whispered.

Ernest thought she meant another deadie until he spotted the flash of camouflage clothing between two aisles. After their last encounter, he was more than reluctant to stand up and wave. He just hoped that the soldier would find nothing of interest and bugger off.

The man walked past the baking section and abruptly stopped when he saw the slumped body of Mr. Singh.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed the soldier.

The rubber grip handle of the hammer gave Ernest some reassurance. It frightened the hell out of him to realize that he’d have no trouble in using it on that soldier if he got the chance, though somehow he doubted that the soldier would allow Ernest to slam the business end of the hammer into his head. Any threatening gestures would probably be answered with half a dozen shells ripping through his body. Unless he slammed it into the back of the soldier’s head.

Hopefully, with Mr. Singh’s help, it wouldn’t come to that. His body was providing excellent cover. The man prodded the body with his gun before walking away. Ernest heard him opening the drinks fridge.

“I’ve searched the building, and there are no live ones here, over.”

“That’s a negative, satellite reconnaissance showed two warm images in that building, over.”

Ernest watched him open a big bag of Maltesers.

“I’m telling you, there’s nobody in here. Can you not ask them to check again? Over.”

The soldier proceeded to throw the chocolate sweets at the back of the dead man’s head.

“So you want me to tell the techs to hi-jack another foreign satellite just because you are an incompetent halfwit? Look again, over and fucking out.”

“Well, you can go fuck yourself, Control,” the guy muttered. “Bollocks to this, I’m out of here.”

He felt Mavis reach over and grab his hand and squeeze it tight. He nodded back; it looked like they were in the clear. The soldier dropped the bag on the floor and wandered down the last aisle. Ernest tried to relax.

Suddenly, the soldier doubled back on himself, laughing. “It won’t be stealing; it’ll all be getting torched anyway.”

He was heading straight for them; they both had their backs pressed against the counter when his hand grabbed the top of the till. His shadow loomed over them; Ernest shut his eyes and pretended to be dead. The man above them must have seen loads of dead bodies tonight, so he shouldn’t bat an eyelid at the sight of two more; besides, he would be more concerned with raiding the till.

He heard the sound of the gun being cocked.

“Come on, up you get or stay down there forever, it’s your choice.”

He felt Mavis move. Ernest opened his eyes and slowly got to his feet.

“And you can drop that fucking hammer. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

The soldier waved them out from behind the counter and pushed the end of his gun into Ernest’s back. He marched the pair over to the freezers. “Put your hands face down on the glass.”

Ernest received a not-so-gentle prod in his ribs when he hesitated.

“How the hell have you two managed to stay alive throughout all this? You don’t really strike me as survivor types.”

Ernest knew from the clumsy way the man was handling the gun that he’d be able to get out of the shop before this clown knew what was happening, but what about Mavis? He couldn’t leave her here.

“Deja vu,” she muttered.

“Shut your face, Grandma.”

Mavis sighed, lifted her hands off the glass, and turned around. The man fumbled with his gun. He finally brought it up and pointed the muzzle at the woman.

“Turn back around!” he shouted, “Or so help me I’ll …”

“You’ll what?” she asked. “Shoot a defenseless old lady in the face?” She placed both hands on the barrel of the gun and pushed it down. “Let us go. You’ve already radioed in that the building is empty.” She smiled at him. “You see, you really are going to have to kill us before we go with you. Now, do you really want that on your conscience? What would your mother say?”

Ernest took his hands off the fridge and faced the soldier. He saw fear and indecision in his eyes. Was he really going to let them go?

“Why not just pretend you didn’t see us and go look in that till?” She looked over at Ernest. “If you get stuck, I’m sure Ernest will help you. He used to work here.”

Would naked greed win out over orders? Oh Christ, he fucking hoped so. Then Ernest remembered something that might help to win him over. “There should be over three grand in the safe.”

That got the bastard’s attention. “Do you have the combination?”

Ernest nodded. Mr. Singh had entrusted him with the numbers a few weeks ago when the man had to rush home due to a family emergency. He hoped he hadn’t changed the bloody numbers.

He tapped the side of his head. “They are locked up in here, mate. Are you ready to see some serious cash?”

The man nodded. Ernest hoped that he wasn’t laying it on too thick. He had to get the guy hooked, and if he was distracted then it would be a lot bloody easier to lay the fucker out. He had no intention of letting him walk out with that money; he’d helped to put those notes in there.

“Come on then,” the guy said. “Is the safe in the back room?” He didn’t wait for Ernest to answer, instead raising his rifle and aiming it at his head. “If you’re lying, I’ll blow you in two. I’ve decided that I don’t like you. You’re a bit too slimy. A bit weasely.”

Mavis suddenly stopped and stared at the back room. Ernest looked too and groaned when he saw another figure climbing through the broken window. Oh shit, the man must have back-up. There was no way they’d get out of this now.

From the corner of his eye he saw the man behind him come to a halt and then point his rifle towards the back room. Ernest’s instinct kicked in. He dove on Mavis and pushed her down, narrowly missing cracking her head on the metal shelf stacked with eggs.

A single shot rang out. Ernest glanced back to see the soldier drop to the floor. An uneven spot of dark blood appeared on the man’s stomach and rapidly spread across his chest. They then heard unhurried footsteps coming towards them. Mavis grabbed Ernest and pulled him around the corner out of sight just as the figure came into view. The figure paused before darting into the aisle. The man looked down at them and smiled.

“Hello again,” said Dennis. “It’s a small world.”

He ran over to Mr. Singh and lifted his head up. Ernest heard Dennis mutter something, but he couldn’t hear what it was. Dennis then walked over to the soldier and checked his pulse; he nodded to himself before coming back over to them.