Ward Z Read online

  "You're right," Dave replied. "That does sound stupid." He burped. "Still, it's your life, mate. I promise I'll come to your funeral." Hauling himself to his feet, he finished the last of his pint before stumbling over to the bar and sliding the glass over to the barmaid. "Two more," he said with a grin. "They're on me since my mate's shipping off to join the army."

  The barmaid smiled shyly as she began to pour two more pints.

  "What are you doing later?" Dave asked, staring intently at the woman and making no attempt to hide the fact that he was checking out her modest cleavage.

  "Nothing much," she said quietly, clearly not enjoying his attention.

  "Fancy coming out with us? Like I said, my mate's joining the army. Fancy giving him a good send-off, do you? You know what I mean, yeah?"

  "It's fine," she muttered.

  "So you'll come?"

  "I'm busy."

  "Leave her alone," Colin called out. Although he liked the barmaid and had been trying to gather the courage to speak to her for weeks, the last thing he wanted was for Dave to play match-maker. The whole thing just seemed seedy and disrespectful.

  "You need some action before you go," Dave replied with a leery grin. "Sometimes the cute little shy ones are demons in the sack."

  "Leave it out," Colin said with a sigh, aware of the barmaid's obvious embarrassment.

  "Huh," Dave replied as he checked his pockets. "I know I said these were on me, mate, and they are, but I'm a bit short right now. Could you shoot me some cash and I'll pay you back tomorrow? Or maybe later in the week, maximum."

  "Sure," Colin said, getting up and heading over to the bar. Placing a note on the counter, he waited until Dave had carried the pints to the table. "Sorry about my friend," he said as the barmaid took the money. "He's a bit... loud."

  "It's fine," she replied with a faint, shy smile.

  "I'm Colin," he said, figuring that he might as well try to start a conversation.

  She smiled as she handed him his change.

  "Do you mind if I ask what your name is?" he continued.

  "Teresa," she said nervously, but with a flicker of amusement in her eyes that suggested she might, just might, be interested after all.

  "I don't usually hang out with this guy," Colin began to say, "but -"

  "Yes you do," she replied with a smile. "I've seen you in here before."

  "Aye," Colin replied, "but..." He paused. "Aye, I guess you're right."

  "When are you off to the army?" she asked.

  "Soon," he said. "Too soon, really."

  "Well good luck with it."

  "So..." Colin paused, trying to think of some way to make small-talk before realizing, finally, that he had no chance. "Nice to meet you Teresa," he said finally, trying to hide the sense of crushing disappointment in his chest.

  "You too."

  With that, Colin turned and headed over to the table, inwardly cursing himself for not having done better. Still, he figured there was no point trying to start something at the moment, not if he was going to be shipping off soon. As he sat opposite Dave, he realized that he needed to cut all the extraneous things out of his life and focus exclusively on his new career. He had no idea where the army would take him, and he knew there were risks involved, but at least it was a way out of the dead-end monotony of his life. Whatever else happened, he'd be free of the choking tedium of these long, pub-bound days. The future was questionable and potentially dangerous, but at least he had a future and wasn't going to waste his days sitting around like some kind of zombie.

  Not like poor old Stan, still sleeping in the corner of the pub.

  "I've got gas," Dave said, letting out a loud fart. "That's gonna stink out the whole fucking pub. It's the one problem with being in a cocoon. You have to watch you don't accidentally blow everything up."

  Today

  Emma Briggs

  There it is again. A kind of banging sound, like someone trying to smash through a wall. It's a long way off, almost far enough to ignore, but it's constant, and I think it might be getting closer.

  Sitting alone in Dr. Page's office, I can't help but stare at the door handle, waiting for it to turn. It's been ages since I was left here, and although the nurse said she'd come back for me, I'm starting to think that maybe she's forgotten. She and Dr. Page seemed very distracted, and they kept talking about doing something to Mummy, so they're probably just busy. Still, I don't know whether I'm supposed to just sit here, or whether I should go somewhere else.

  Reaching over to the little table by the sofa, I pick up the phone and listen once again to the silence. It's an old-fashioned phone, with the receiver attached to the main part by some kind of curly wire, and it seems to be completely dead. I was hoping I could phone my Dad and get him to pick me up, but as I put the receiver back down, I can't help but feel that he won't be coming any time soon.

  The pain in my neck is intense, and I still feel weak. The worst thing, though, is that I keep replaying things over and over in my head. The way Mummy lifted me off the floor, the look in her eyes, the feeling of her teeth biting through my skin... I don't know why she started acting like that, but I'm convinced that most people don't turn into monsters when they're dying. There's something else wrong with her, something -

  Suddenly I hear a noise nearby. It sounds as if someone's out in the corridor, on the other side of the door. Seconds later, I spot a shadow moving along the gap at the door's bottom edge, and there's the sound of something scratching faintly on the wood. I immediately tense up, hoping that whoever it is, they'll just go away, but after a moment I realize that I can hear the sound of someone sniffing at the wood. I sit in silence, not even daring to breathe, hoping that I don't draw attention to myself, but suddenly the door handle seems to rattle slightly, as if someone is trying to work out how to use it.

  "Go away!" I shout.

  Silence.

  My heart's pounding so hard, it hurts, but I'm terrified that Mummy has come back. It sounds a little bit like her, and there are already tears in my eyes as I look over at Dr. Page's desk and try to spot something that I could use to defend myself.

  Something thumps hard against the door.

  Just like last time, when Mummy was trying to get through to the bathroom.

  Getting to my feet, I hurry to the desk and look for something, anything, that I might be able to use. Finally, I grab a small pair of scissors from a pot, before turning to look at the door. I can still hear someone on the other side, scratching and banging, and it's clearly not a normal person. When she attacked me, Mummy seemed not to even recognize me, as if she'd lost her memory, and she seemed to be filled with anger. It sounds like she's back, trying to break through the door. She wants to hurt me again, or worse. She wants to kill me.

  "Go away!" I shout, even though I know it's probably a mistake to let them know that I'm in here. "Leave me alone! I've got a knife!"

  From the other side of the door, there's a brief hissing sound, following by a loud bang on the wood.

  I take a step toward the door, watching as the handle shudders slightly. It's as if the person on the other side doesn't know how to get through, but they'll probably work it out eventually. The handle shudders again, and slowly starts to turn. I watch in horror for a moment until there's a faint click, followed by silence, followed by the door slowly starting to swing open until finally a face appears in the crack. With relief, I realize that it's not Mummy, it's one of the nurses, but seconds later I realize that she's got the same pale, confused and angry expression that Mummy had. Her yellow eyes are fixed on me, as if she's still trying to work out what I am.

  "I..." I start to say, trembling with fear.

  She opens her mouth and lets out a faint hiss.

  Panicking, I bolt forward and throw my weight against the door, pushing it shut.

  On the other side, there's a loud thump, as if the nurse has fallen over. Before she has time to get back up, I run over and grab Dr. Page's desk; although it's heav
y, I pull as hard as I can and I'm able to slowly drag it across the room until finally I push it against the door. The nurse is already trying to get in again, and this time she sounds much more angry, so I grab everything I can find and start piling it on top of the desk, determined to create some kind of barricade. Within a couple of minutes, most of the door has been covered, and although the nurse is furiously trying to get through, I think I've put enough stuff in the way to block her.

  For now, at least.

  Running over to the window, I look out and see that some of the army trucks are starting to drive away, and some of the helicopters in the distance are taking off. It's as if the army is starting to leave, which has to be a good thing. It's not like they can just leave us in here forever. I start banging on the window, hoping that maybe they'll hear me, but I'm probably way too far away. Still, I've got no other choice, so I keep banging.

  "Help!" I shout, hoping against hope that someone might hear me after all. "I'm up here! Someone help me!"

  Dr. Andrew Page

  "There," I say, sliding the ax between the door handles, "that should hold it for now."

  Peering through the narrow windows in the fire door, I can see Dominique Ribery stumbling this way, although Nurse Aubry seems to have headed off in a different direction. For a moment, I'm transfixed by the sight of Ribery's discolored figure and her staggering gait. I hate to say it, but when Anthony described these things as zombies, he wasn't far off, at least in terms of their physical appearance. Ribery's flesh seems to be peeling away, exposing the red raw meat beneath. I guess the tumors are allowing the unnecessary parts of the body to die off.

  "I don't care what you say," Anthony says, standing next to me. "That's a zombie."

  "I'm inclined to agree with you," I mutter.

  "I'm glad that's settled," he replies. "You got any idea how we can stop these things?"

  We watch as Ribery tries once again to push the door open. She bangs on the handles a few times, clearly frustrated, and as she stares back at us through the window, she opens her mouth and lets out a hiss. Her frustration is a good sign, however, since it means that she doesn't know what to do next. It's clear that these creatures lack the ability to form complex ideas, and they certainly can't make plans or come up with solutions to difficult problems, which means that they're fairly blunt instruments. Dominique Ribery used to have such an intelligent look in her eyes, but now she's nothing more than a ravenous animal.

  "I was really hoping you'd have something to say," Anthony adds eventually. "Something reassuring."

  "Not yet," I reply, still staring into Ribery's dead eyes.

  "So this'll hold her back, right?" Anthony asks, looking down at the ax. "She can't get through, can she? Please, tell me she can't get through."

  "Not any time soon," I reply, before turning to look over at the dozen or so patients who are still banging on the main door, trying to persuade the soldiers to let them out. They won't have any luck, since the soldiers have been ordered to kill anyone who even so much as sets foot over the threshold. "That's not the problem, though," I add. "We can close off every door in the damn ward, but it won't be any use if more of these things appear among us."

  "Now you're really scaring me," Anthony replies.

  "How many of the patients have mentioned pains in their abdomen?" I ask.

  "A couple. Why?"

  Sighing, I try to make a mental calculation regarding the incubation time for these tumors, but eventually I'm forced to give up since I don't really have any data. Besides, I'm exhausted, and I seem to be losing the ability to concentrate.

  "The pains in their bellies," Anthony says after a moment. "It's important, isn't it?"

  "It's the first stage," I tell him. "This thing is evolving faster and faster. All life evolves eventually, or it dies out."

  Dominique Ribery starts banging on the door, as if she hopes to smash her way through. Although the wooden panels judder slightly, this is a fire door, so I'm pretty sure it'll hold.

  "She's really giving me the creeps," Anthony mutters. "It's like her skin's all gray." He pauses. "Are you sure we shouldn't put her out of her misery?"

  "I don't think she's still in there," I reply. "When it took control of her body, the tumor almost certainly cut off the oxygen supply to her brain. I've already done some tests on one of the others. I couldn't get her old mind back."

  "Great," he replies with a sigh. "Not just zombies, then. Cancer zombies."

  "All these years," I say, filled with the shock of sudden realization, "I could never really work out what cancer was. I felt there had to be a better explanation. It just didn't make sense that unregulated cell growth would happen for no reason. Now I'm starting to see the truth. It's a whole new type of life, growing in our bodies, and now it's reached the stage where it no longer wants to co-exist. It wants complete control." I pause for a moment. "It's like our bodies are the cocoon, and the cancer is developing inside us. The idea of a parasite killing its host and then using the body isn't even particularly novel. There are instances in nature. I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like if one of these tumors were to survive and reach its full potential, though. Where all of this is headed..."

  "You think it'd emerge from our bodies like..." Anthony pauses. "Like a butterfly?"

  Again, Dominique Ribery bangs on the door, although this time she seems to have begun to focus her attention on the window. That, at least, shows signs of a rudimentary form of problem-solving intelligence. She can learn and adapt after all. It's as if we're seeing her mental capabilities improve, right in front of our eyes. If only I had more time to study these creatures...

  "Ribery can't get through," I say, frowning as I turn and watch June Carey step away from the other patients and take a seat. She looks older and more frail than usual, and it's clear that she's in pain. One hand is resting on her belly, and I'd wager all the money in the world that I know what's wrong with her. "Ribery's not the problem, though," I continue, turning to Anthony. "How do you feel? I need you to be completely honest with me. Do you feel any pain, nausea, anything at all in your abdominal area?"

  He shakes his head.

  "Me neither," I reply. "I still don't know how this thing spreads, but..." Turning back to look at Dominique Ribery, who is still trying to get through the door, I stare straight into her eyes for a moment. "Yellow," I say eventually. "They all seem to have yellow tints to their eyes, which means there's excess bilirubin in their blood, which means their livers are compromised. A compromised liver means that the tumors aren't in complete control yet. They have weaknesses. They've obviously been able to take control of the heart, maybe parts of the brain, certainly the nervous system, but for some reason the liver is a weak spot."

  "So they're all dying of liver disease?" he asks. "Maybe we should just give them cocktails."

  "Not necessarily," I reply, "but it means we might be able to perform a fairly simple breath test to determine who has been affected and who hasn't." I turn and look over at the main door, and although it's clear that the soldiers have no intention of letting anyone out of the ward, the possibility of a breath test means that we might be able to divide the people on the ward into two groups: those who have already begun to develop this new type of cancer, and those who are clear. If that's the case, we can start to let people out. That's the theory, anyway. Whether the government and the army could be persuaded, though, is another matter entirely.

  "She looks angry," Anthony says after a moment.

  Looking back at Dominique Ribery, I realize that he's right. She's getting increasingly frustrated as she tries to get through the door, as if she's driven by an unquenchable urge to get to us. I can't help but wonder how long it would take her to come up with a new approach. Somewhere in that tumor, is there a form of intelligence? Is it possible that one day we could even communicate with these things? There are so many questions, and it's hard to believe that I might die before I get a chance to find some answers. The
n again, if things get desperate, I can always take Lincoln's offer and get out of here.

  "She wants to eat our brains," Anthony says.

  "She wants blood," I reply, as Ribery hisses at us and sprays the glass panel with a fine coating of saliva. "These tumors are still crude. They obviously haven't perfected their takeover of the human body. They can't properly control the liver, and they need fresh blood in order to survive. She's exhibiting a basic, primal desire to get what she needs. She probably doesn't even understand why she wants to get to us. She just knows she needs to consume as much of our blood as possible."

  "So they've got a weakness?"

  "For now, but not necessarily forever. They're evolving so fast, I wouldn't be surprised if the liver problem is surmounted eventually." I continue to stare at Ribery for a moment, before turning back to Anthony. "Do you know the DNA swab kits we keep in the store room?"

  He nods.

  "Fetch a couple of dozen," I continue, my mind racing as I try to work out how this might work, "and some bottles of methanol, and cotton swabs, and bring them back here as fast as possible."

  "What are you going to do?" he asks.

  "I'm going to work out who's infected and who's not," I say, grabbing his shoulder and steering him toward the store room. "Hurry. The faster we do this, the faster we can start working out how to get the hell out of here." Above us, there's a faint shudder, following by the sound of a helicopter. It's almost as if the army is starting to pull out, which can only mean one thing: they've decided to prepare for the end game, which undoubtedly means destroying the hospital. I have no idea how long the process is going to take, but time is running out and I need to prove my theory before it's too late. "We don't have much time," I continue. "Move!"

  As Anthony runs off toward the store room, I head over to June Carey and kneel in front of her. She's clearly sick, and when she turns her weary face toward me, I can see the tell-tale yellowing of her eyes.