Ward Z Read online

  Ward Z

  by Amy Cross

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright Amy Cross, All Rights Reserved

  Published by Dark Season Books

  Originally published in serial form

  between November and December 2013

  First published in omnibus edition: December 2013

  With thanks to Linda Hare

  http://amycrossbooks.wordpress.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. If you enjoy it and wish to share it with others, please consider buying them their own copy. Feedback is always welcome. The author reserves all rights in respect of this work.

  ALSO BY AMY CROSS

  Horror

  Asylum

  American Coven

  The Night Girl

  Devil's Briar

  The Vampire's Grave

  Darper Danver series 1

  Fantasy / Horror

  Dark Season series 1, 2 & 3

  The Hollow Church (Abby Hart)

  Lupine Howl series 1, 2 & 3

  Grave Girl

  Ghosts

  The Library

  Thriller

  The Girl Who Never Came Back

  The Dead and the Dying: A Joanna Mason Novel

  Other People's Bodies

  Dystopia

  The Shades

  Mass Extinction Event series 1 & 2

  Erotica

  Broken Blue

  Broken White

  Table of Contents

  Part One

  Infection

  Part Two

  Death's Head

  Part Three

  The Carrier

  Part Four

  Passing Through

  Part Five

  Leviathan

  Part Six

  Dreadnought

  Part Seven

  Trojan

  Part Eight

  Evolution

  Bonus

  Extract from Darper Danver

  Ward Z

  Part One

  Infection

  Prologue

  "Help me," the man whispered, reaching out toward Ribery.

  Outside, there was the distant cry of children shouting on the beach; of freighters sounding their horns; of low-flying light aircraft carrying passengers to and from the city. The world was continuing its business, unaware of the events taking place in this ragged little tent.

  "Help me."

  He waited for a response.

  Silence.

  "Please..." As the words left his lips, the skin of his left arm sloughed away from the bone, hanging like ragged curtains as putrescent, soupy meat dripped onto the cloth bed. Finally, the entire mass of flesh fell away, exposing the gray bone of his forearm.

  "It's okay," Ribery said, making sure to not get too close. She opened her small medical box and took out a syringe. Although her hands were trembling, she knew what she had to do.

  One final act of mercy.

  "Help me," the man whispered again, as the wire-frame canvas bed creaked beneath his weight. "Please..."

  "Just give me a minute," Ribery muttered, grabbing a small bottle and sliding the tip of the needle through the rubber seal. She'd done the same thing thousands of times, but always for strangers; now, suddenly, she was having to do it for a man she'd known for so long.

  "Help me -"

  "Wait!" she replied firmly, raising her voice a little. "Just give me a goddamn minute, Henri. Why are you always so impatient?"

  "The..." Pausing, the man tried to recover his breath. "Not that..."

  "I'm doing my best!" Ribery replied, momentarily letting her frustration show before finally managing to regain her composure. "Just hold on. I'm going to give you something for the pain." She carefully drew the liquid up into the syringe.

  Off in the distance, a freighter sounded its horn.

  "It's my belly," the man whispered, his wide-open eyes searching Ribery's face for any hint of hope. "I can feel it. It's getting bigger in there."

  "I know," Ribery muttered as she put the empty bottle into a mud-red med-bag and turned to the man. She had to find a site for the injection, but Henri's body was such a discolored mess, it was hard to believe that anything could be done for him now. In fact, it was a miracle that, despite his body being a soupy mess, the man's mind was still just about managing to function. He'd always been stubborn, and now he was even refusing to die on cue.

  "It doesn't hurt," the man continued. "That's a bad sign, isn't it?"

  Ribery paused, and then she nodded. The truth was, Henri's body was in such an advanced state of decomposition, his nerves had probably been destroyed. That, at least, was a minor blessing, since it meant that the poor bastard couldn't feel the agony of his body's collapse. Skin and meat were dripping onto the bed and the floor, exposing raw gray bones beneath his flesh. Flies had already begun to colonize his lower extremities, laying eggs that would hatch after the man had finally given up his fight for life.

  "You have to understand -" Ribery started to say, before realizing that words seemed utterly hopeless.

  "I want you to promise something," Henri replied. "I don't care what else you do, but you have to promise that you'll burn my body."

  Ribery nodded.

  "Promise me."

  "Of course."

  "I mean all of it," he continued. "The bones, the pieces that have fallen off, everything. You'll have to cover this entire tent in gasoline. Don't take anything out. Burn everything that could possibly carry this infection, and then when the flames have gone out, pour more gasoline onto the embers and burn everything again."

  "Of course."

  "Including..." He paused. "Including yourself."

  Checking the syringe, Ribery ignored that final comment.

  "Did you hear me?" he asked.

  "Me?" Ribery asked, her heart racing. "I'm not sure I understand -"

  "Everything in this tent," the man said, his voice trembling with fear. "You're in this tent, aren't you?"

  "Here," Ribery said, moving around to the main's lower end and preparing to deliver the injection. Her hands were trembling, but she didn't want to let him see her fear.

  "It's your eyes," Henri said. "You're scared. You don't want to make the sacrifice, but you've got no choice. You know what's happening here, Dominique. Typhoid, cholera, malaria... too many diseases to mention, and they're all mixing together in a big soup, and out of that..." He paused. "You can't let even a trace of this thing get loose, do you understand? If you burn the tent, and everything in it, it'll be contained, but you have to stay too. I'm sorry, but you have to sacrifice yourself."

  "We have containment facilities," Ribery replied, sliding the tip of the needle into the man's leg. "I'll be fine. Now tell me, do you feel that?"

  "The containment facilities won't do a damn thing," Henri replied. "If you weren't so invested in your own survival, Dominique, you'd be able to see the truth. We stuck to all the protocols, we obeyed every rule, and I'm still sick. It was as if this thing was intelligently working around everything we tried. There's not a protocol in the world that you can use to protect yourself. Only death. Please, don't be selfish."

  "I'll place myself in voluntary quarantine for six months," she continued, as she pushed the plunger and delivered the serum directly into his body. Moments later, however, she saw the liquid flowing back out through a hole in his knee. "Nine months," she added, stunned by her sense of helplessness, "maybe twelve. Whatever it takes. I'll be fine."

  "It's not you I'm worried about," he continued. "It's what's inside you. The cancer."

  "You have a fever," she replied. "Hell, you're beyond a fever. I don't think there's a word to describe the state you're in."

  "You have to burn," he whispered. "It all has to burn. I
know you're scared, but you have to be brave one more time. Put the needs of the world above your own life."

  Ribery paused for a moment, and then finally she dropped the syringe onto the muddy floor. "I know," she said, standing up and staring at Henri's ruined body for a moment. It had been less than two days since he'd first showed signs of sickness, but the deterioration had been rapid. At first he'd fought, but early on the second day he'd just seemed to give up. She felt as if she should stay until the end, but she wanted to get the hell away. Maybe, she figured, a better person would stay, but she was scared.

  Grabbing the gasoline can from over by the entrance, she started dousing the entire room. When she got to Henri himself, she paused for a moment before pouring a thin dribble along his body. He stared up at her, blinking a couple of times as gasoline splashed into his eyes. Hurrying to the workbench on the far side of the room, Dominique was extra careful to make sure that all the samples were doused, ready to burn. She hesitated when she saw her notebooks, but finally she realized that she had no choice but to destroy everything in the tent.

  "You've forgotten something," Henri whispered, watching as Ribery hurried back over to the door.

  Pausing, she started to remove her clothes, until finally she was naked. She dropped her lab uniform and underwear in a puddle of gasoline by the door.

  "You've still forgotten something," he said.

  "I need to make sure that the whole thing burns first," she replied flatly. "Once the flames have died down, I'll douse it all again, and then I'll..." Her voice trailed off for a moment. "Then I'll let myself burn too."

  "Liar," Henri replied.

  "I promise!"

  "No," he said, fixing her with a determined stare. "You won't."

  "I will," she insisted. "As God is my witness, I swear, I'll do the right thing."

  "I can only pray that I'm wrong," Henri replied, "and that I don't see cowardice in your eyes."

  Turning and hurrying out onto the beach, she made sure to leave a trail of gasoline behind her until, finally, she stopped by a spot of brush-land and turned to look back at the tent. For a moment, she considered following Henri's advice and going back inside, to burn with everything else. Finally, however, she told herself that it was important that she stayed alive. She was the only person who knew how to deal with this thing and, besides, she knew she wasn't infected. Deep down, she just knew that she was safe. She'd go into quarantine as a precaution, but she was 100% certain that she'd be fine. Despite the man's paranoid, feverish ravings, she was convinced that she was clean, and that a period in quarantine would prove her health beyond all doubt.

  Crouching down, she lit a match. She paused for a moment, and then she let it drop to the ground. A line of fire immediately burst toward the tent, and seconds later the entire structure began to burn. It took only a few seconds before the wall of heat reached Ribery, forcing her to take a few more steps back. Finally, she threw the near-empty gas can at the flames, causing a small explosion that destroyed part of the steel frame that had been holding the tent's fabric together. The structure began to collapse, but Ribery knew that it would burn for hours yet, and that there was no point standing and watching.

  Turning away, she began the long walk to town. With every step, she wanted to turn back and look at the flames, but she forced herself to keep walking. After all, there was a part of her that knew that Henri was right, and that she should be in there, burning with him.

  Five years later

  Cally Briggs

  "Hey," I say, reaching out and trying to grab Emma's arm. "Come here for a minute."

  "I can't!" she shouts, running to the end of the bed and grabbing the metal handle, before swinging around and almost landing in Kieran's lap. "I'm busy, Mummy! Can't you see?"

  Forcing myself to smile, I watch as Emma runs over to the window and looks out over the hospital garden. From up here on the eighth floor, there's a great view not only of the grounds but also of the hills in the distance. After watching her studied, focused face for a moment, I turn to Kieran and see that there's sadness in his eyes. Jesus Christ, why the hell can't he cover it up better? I'm sick of seeing his puppy dog eyes every time he brings Emma to visit.

  "It's okay," I say quietly, preempting any outpouring of pity that might follow. "Let her play."

  "Emma," he says wearily, turning to her. "Why don't you go and sit on Mummy's bed with her for a few minutes?"

  "I don't want to," Emma replies, with the kind of blunt honesty that only a child can manage.

  "Just for a few minutes," he continues. "For Mummy's sake."

  "It's fine," I say, wincing at a sharp pain in my side. Looking up at the drip by my bed, I see that I'm not even halfway through this latest dose. I swear to God, my veins must be getting narrower, because each session of chemotherapy seems to take longer than the last. "Let her look out the window," I continue, trying not to let my discomfort show. "It's fun for her."

  "She's not here to look out the window," Kieran replies. "She's here to see you."

  "She's scared of me," I whisper.

  He shakes his head.

  "It's true," I say with a faint smile. "I don't blame her. Go on, how do I look?"

  "Same as ever," he replies cryptically.

  I look down at my hands and see that my skin looks a little jaundiced. Grabbing a compact mirror from the table by my hospital bed, I take a look at my face and see that, to my surprise, I don't actually look completely awful. I mean, sure, my bald head is wrapped in a makeshift turban and my cheeks seem a little hollow, but apart from that and the slightly yellow skin, I look better than most of the other poor bastards on Ward C. Still, when I open my mouth, I see the real problem: my gums are sore and bleeding, leaving a constant hint of blood between the teeth. It's no wonder Emma doesn't want to come close.

  "Don't obsess," Kieran says, as Emma runs noisily over to the other side of the room and grabs the sides of the door, swinging herself out into the corridor.

  "Careful!" I call out to her. "Don't go too far! Don't leave the ward!"

  "I won't!" she shouts as she runs off along the corridor.

  "Your flowers are dying," Kieran says. "I'd have brought fresh ones if I'd known."

  "Flowers always die," I reply. "It's so fucking depressing. They grow, they blossom, and then they die. It's their natural life-cycle. Believe me, sitting in this bed all day every day, I've had a lot of time to get philosophical about flowers. I've watched many generations of tulips come and go." I pause for a moment, staring at the empty doorway. "She hates being here."

  "She's just over-excited," Kieran replies.

  "It's her way of coping," I point out, turning to him. "She's always so hyper when you bring her to visit. She's scared to settle, because then she might have to actually look at me." I pause for a moment as I feel another pain in my left side, darting through my muscle but fading away. "It's healthy," I continue. "I might not like it, but this is a healthy response for a nine-year-old girl. It'd be weirder, and more worrying, if she just obediently acted like nothing was wrong."

  He stares at me for a moment. "There it is again," he says eventually.

  "What?" I ask.

  "That tremor." He pauses. "If you were getting a new pain, or a new symptom, something like that, you'd tell me, right?"

  Sighing, I try to sit up a little better in the bed. We've had this conversation a million times. For an ex-husband, Kieran's pretty goddamn nosy. Until I got sick, I'd almost completely excised him from my life, but lately I've had no choice but to involve him again. Unfortunately, I think he's taken this change of circumstances as a sign that I no longer detest him with every fiber in my body.

  "Fine," he continues, "but you'd let the doctors know, wouldn't you? Please, Cally, tell me you wouldn't be stubborn enough to keep anything from them."

  "Like there'd be much point in telling them," I reply.

  "Of course there's a point!" he insists. "There's always a point! You can't give up!"
>
  "I'm fine," I reply, even though the pain in my side is starting to throb. "I'm as fine as a woman with advanced leukemia can be, anyway." I pause for a moment as the weight of those words starts to sink in. "I don't think I can do it today," I say eventually, watching his eyes for some hint that he understands. "Maybe next time you bring her to visit, but not today."

  "Do you want me to do it?" he asks.

  I shake my head.

  "She needs time to get used to the idea," he continues, as Emma runs past the door, racing off to explore another part of the ward. "It'd be worse if it came as a shock. She's more perceptive than you realize, Cally. She knows, anyway. All the books I've read say that it's best to give them as long as possible to get used to the concept that one of their parents is going to..."

  I wait for him to finish. "All the books you've read," I say after a moment, "are about other kids. Emma's different. She's smarter than the average child. She's only nine, but she's got the emotional intelligence of an eleven or twelve year old."

  "Sure," he mutters uneasily, "as if that's gonna make a difference."

  "Can I please do this in my own time?" I ask. "Please, Kieran? I'm not gonna fall off my perch overnight. I've got a few weeks left at least, so can I please just wait for the right -" I grimace as the pain hits again, arcing up my side and into my armpit. It subsides after a couple of seconds, but Kieran is already out of his chair and next to the bed. "Don't!" I say, pushing his arm away from the button I'm supposed to use to call a nurse.

  "I'm not gonna stand by and -"

  "They already know!" I hiss. "It's nothing! It's just that I'm on new drugs, that's all! It's none of your goddamn business, anyway!" Pausing, and feeling a little breathless, I realize that this argument is hopeless. "Maybe you should take Emma home," I add eventually. "I'm tired, and she clearly doesn't want to be here. It's not a healthy environment for a child."