When the Dead Rise (Book 1): The Beginning (2 page)

The last buckle slid into place and the man stepped back. He held out the arm Cliff had bitten for his partner to inspect; the bite mark was an angry red and blood trickled down the man's arm.

It must hurt like a mother...
Cliff thought smugly to himself.

"Dude," the other man said after inspecting the crescent shaped marks, "That's totally nasty. Make sure you report the incident." Cliff heard the uninjured man say before the door closed silently behind them.

Cliff tested his restraints but all he accomplished was further exhausting his already tired and sore body. His mind reeled from the shock of the situation he found himself in. He was an American citizen... He had rights... He paid his taxes and was considered a pillar within his community... He shouldn't be treated this way. "I need to speak to Hugo!" Cliff screamed as he twisted, uselessly, in his restraints. Hugo would know what to do.

One of the techs pulled out a small syringe and filled it from a vile before walking briskly to Cliff's bedside. "You need your rest and this," he held up the syringe, squeezing the plunger until a small stream of liquid spurted from the tip, "will help you do so." Cliff didn't feel the prick of the needle but he did feel the drug's effects as it pulled him into darkness.

Final Breaths...

Over the next two weeks, Cliff's immune system raged an intense war against the virus within him. Hugo never came to Cliff's bedside as he tossed in fevered delirium. None of the techs would give him any information on his wife, despite his desperate pleas. There'd only been one other occasion where restraints were necessary and to Cliff's surprise, a different man appeared with the one who'd strapped him in bed during his first days in quarantine. When asked where the man he'd bitten was, the response was simple: called in sick the day after the bite and never returned to work. This news worried Cliff, but no one would listen when he voiced his concerns.

Cliff grew more ill as the time passed, and the amount of time he spent awake and lucid decreased until all he did was sleep between tests. He was unable to keep food down - not that he had an appetite - dizziness plagued him constantly and his cough worsened until he was coughing up clots of blood; then the shakes began. Cliff recognized the signs of his body shutting down and resigned himself to the fact that he'd never get to see his child or his beautiful wife again. And then, just as his two week quarantine was coming to an end something strange happened - the techs didn't come to his room for his morning check-up. The day wore on and no one came to check on Cliff's condition. He was too weak to get out of his bed but shouted until his voice grew horse. Still, no one responded. It was sometime that night that Cliff took his final, laboured breath.

Dead Rising...

He awoke from the nightmare with a start; the dream of his own death etched into his memory. Cliff remembered watching his eerily still body, lying on the bed beneath him. At that point, he'd been sure he'd died. Now he was clearly back in his body, but it felt somehow alien to him. Unwilling to open his eyes, Cliff reached out with his other senses to anchor his mind back to reality. He could tell it was dark because the normally bright lights of the lab weren't glaring through his eyelids. He heard the faint sound of an alarm, far down the hall but nothing else moved in his immediate area. The air, which normally circulated through the room, was stale but to Cliff's relief, the pain he'd endured was gone without a trace.

Cliff finally opened his eyes and sat up, staring at his surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. The world was bathed in milky wash making the objects around him indistinct and difficult to see. Cliff raised his arm to scrub the film from his eyes and was alarmed when it only jerked outward, clumsily and uncoordinated. He shifted, allowing his legs to fall over the side of the bed but when he tried to stand, he found himself pitching forward. His arms flailed uselessly as his feet tangled together and he tried to break his fall with his unresponsive arms.

Cliff hit the floor and expected pain to explode through his body on impact, but it never came. He lay on the floor for a moment studying his body - shockingly, he felt nothing. Fear filled him as he realized something in his experiment had gone terribly wrong. He hadn't felt the explosion of air from his lungs when he'd fallen. He couldn't feel his heart beating nor did he feel the coolness of the floor beneath him.
I need to get out... I need to go home.

Awkwardly, Cliff struggled to his feet, irritated by his lack of coordination. He shuffled to the closed door of the quarantine unit and was about to open the door when he heard voices in the hall, making him hesitate.

"Dude," a muffled male voice said, "the information on the virus has to be here somewhere. Make sure to check those rooms as well." Cliff could hear the people opening and closing the lab doors in the hall; he shuffled behind his room's door just before it swung open, hiding him from the intruders.

A flashlight shone into the room as a female voice spoke excitedly, "Hey! I found something," she called down the hall to her companions, "This is a quarantine unit that was in use until recently." The sound of running feet echoed in the hall and slid to a stop outside Cliff's room. "See?" Two more flashlight beams joined the first, sweeping every inch of the room. Cliff remained unmoving; he was terrified of being discovered but wasn't sure why.

The people moved into the room cautiously, checking behind the equipment and under the bed. "Whatever was in here is long gone," one of the guys, now searching the cupboards, said to his companions. He moved closer to Cliff's hiding place, almost within reach.

A sudden, gnawing hunger consumed Cliff and he leapt from his concealment, onto the unsuspecting man who shrieked in panic. Cliff's arms tightened around the man with unnatural strength, and before he knew what he was doing, he bit into the man's shoulder. His teeth broke the skin and blood filled Cliff's mouth. The skin tore with a satisfying snap. The warmth of the flesh surprised Cliff as he began to chew. The woman screamed.

"Get out Trina," the second man ordered.

Trina's voice was panicked, "But Andy, we can't just leave Paul here."

Cliff couldn't pull his attention away from the warm flesh in his arms and bit down again. The one they'd called Paul stopped screaming and now only twitched in Cliff's arms.

"He's gone Trina. Go!" Andy ordered again.

"Come with me Andy. Paul is that thing's first kill. He won't leave it until the body's cold or Paul's risen." Trina and Andy ran down the hallway, the sound of their pounding feet fading until all Cliff heard was the whine of the alarm.

Cliff didn't understand what she'd meant.
First kill? Cold body?
It didn't matter - nothing mattered other than getting more of the warmth inside him. His iron grip on the warm flesh loosened, allowing it to slip to the floor. Cliff fell on the exposed belly and continued to gorge: more warmth - he needed more... somehow, it made him feel alive.

Soon, Cliff felt he'd gotten enough of the warmth inside of him and starred down at his meal. With a sudden jolt, Cliff realized what he'd done... what he was covered with... what was causing the satisfying heat in his belly. He wanted to retch, but couldn't. To his horror, Cliff watched as Paul's body twitched just before the now empty eyes popped open.

Cliff tried to speak to Paul; to apologize for killing and consuming the young man, but all that came out was a pitiful moan. Paul got to his feet and returned Cliff's moan before shuffling from the room. Cliff followed, trying to figure out how a man with a gaping wound in his neck and torso could be up and moving around. It didn't make sense to him, but the irresistible urge to eat human flesh hadn't been sensible either.

Needing to understand what was happening, Cliff made his way to the emergency exit where the door was propped open. Overhead the alarm sounded and behind him, he sensed the presence of the man he'd killed and eaten. Laboriously, Cliff began the three-story ascent with the shambling Paul close behind him.
I need to get away from that thing,
he thought with every step.

Upon reaching the main level, Cliff stopped, not believing the destruction in the building's lobby. The large picture windows running the lobby's length were shattered. Bodies lay strewn haphazardly about; many with gaping holes in their heads. Papers fluttered in the breeze. Beside Cliff, Paul moaned a long mournful sound that triggered a moan from Cliff. He hadn't meant to respond to the call, surprised when another muffled moan sounded outside. Paul shuffled through the lobby just as another person appeared on the street in front of Synergy's main entrance.

Cliff was about to warn the person away, when he saw the missing arm and bite marks trailing up the leg. The person in the street wasn't a person, Cliff realized, he was a zombie - just like Paul... just like Cliff. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, grief overwhelming him, driving him to his hands and knees. The once warm flesh in his gut felt heavy and no longer gave him that 'alive' feeling he craved.

A Familiar Face...

Cliff's mind returned to awareness and he was surprised to find that, not only was it now the middle of the night, but that he was in a suburb far from Synergy's laboratory. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there or where his consciousness had gone during the lapse. There were car accidents blocking the street, some of them with wisps of smoke still rising from blackened cars. The chatter of automatic gunfire sounded the next block over, almost swallowed by a chorus of moans. Cliff heard shattering glass, screaming, several blasts from a rifle and then silence - he instinctually knew whomever had been defending their position, had lost the battle against the horde.

An instinct Cliff hadn't realized he possessed, told him there were living humans close by and the hunger flared with a vengeance in his gut. He craved the warmth the flesh had given him even as his mind revolted at the thought of killing and consuming another living person. A dog barked, pulling Cliff's attention away from the hungry moans the next block over and the desperate cravings he didn't understand. He turned and studied the mangy black and white dog, snarling at him from the sidewalk, surprised to realize he recognized it as his neighbours.

Cliff ignored the dog and stumbled down the street searching for his home. How could he have forgotten about his wife and their baby? Silently, he prayed they were both alive and safe. When he found his house, Cliff was relieved to see the house's main floor windows had been boarded up and all looked secured. He wandered closer, hoping to catch just a glimpse of his wife and was making his way around the side of the house, when he heard a man's voice at the front door.

"I'm going to make sure everything's clear out here; then we can head out. Make sure we have everything packed Helena."

At the sound of his wife's name, Cliff turned back to the corner of the house, pausing there until he heard the shuffle of feet in front of the houses two-car garage. The barrel of a shotgun appeared from around the corner first, and then a hand followed by an arm. Cliff couldn't hold himself back as he lunged, sinking his teeth into the exposed flesh. The man howled in pain, swinging the barrel of the gun towards Cliff's head; he flung up an arm, awkwardly blocking the blow.

The man tore his arm away, leaving behind a warm chunk of bloody flesh in Cliff's mouth. The man stumbled back, trying to aim with his shotgun but Cliff was faster. Grabbing the man by the shoulders, Cliff pulled him close, eagerly waiting for the moment he could eat more flesh to warm his insides - the first bite had only intensified the need. He bit down hard on the man's neck, cutting off the scream of pain and Cliff followed the man to the ground as he tumbled backwards, viciously tearing at the exposed flesh.

He felt the warmth inside him growing with each bite. He didn't want to stop or maybe it was that he couldn't stop, until a muffled gasp drew Cliff's attention up from his feast. Standing on their small front porch was Helena with a shaking hand clasped over her mouth; her eyes wide in horror.

She was safe and healthy, as was her swollen belly. Relieved, Cliff staggered to his feet and stumbled towards her wanting to gather her in his arms and comfort her.

"Stay back Cliff." Helena, eyes filled with tears, began backing towards the open door. "Oh God; stay back!"

He tried to reassure her he wasn't going to do anything to hurt her, but it only came out as a hideous moan. He reached for her, wanting her to see he was still inside himself, trapped in his mind, but with a sob, she turned to flee into the house.

Cliff's hand snaked out, faster than he realized he could move, encircling Helena's wrist before she made it up the two steps and into the safety of their home. She cried out in pain as he pulled her back towards him and cringed away from him, trying to free her arm with little success. Cliff stared down at her pale skin and thought about how wonderful she'd taste and how warm she'd make him feel. Shocked by his thoughts, Cliff relaxed his grip just long enough for Helena to pull free. As she fled into the house, relief and horror washed through him. The door slammed and to his relief, Cliff heard the snick of a lock. Grief filled him as he stood, staring at the closed door. He'd been ready to kill his wife and his unborn child. What was happening to him?

Movement beside Cliff drew his attention away from the door of the house. The man he'd just attacked struggled to his feet and once gaining his footing, shuffled to the door. He moaned and began beating on the boards of the home he'd used as a refuge only minutes before.