Ravage: An Apocalyptic Horror Novel(123)

“Shit! How the hell did it make it over here?”

Chris shrugged. “I don’t have all the details. We’ve been responding to so many calls that nobody really knows what’s going on.”

“Why so many? Are the cases not contained to the hospital?”

“Mostly, but there have been some strange calls from all over the place. We’ve been asked to help the NHS locate and detain any suspected locations of the virus outside of the hospital.”

“What? What locations?”

Chris sighed. “Whatever this virus is…it’s spreading.”

Marsh flopped back against the wall. “I don’t want to get involved with any nasty diseases. That’s not my f*cking job.”

Christ, I just want to go home and get high. Smoke this day away into oblivion.

Chris shrugged. “Our job is to follow orders, and right now it’s all hands on deck. I was about to help set up a checkpoint at the train station. Winters wants us looking out for signs of sickness in high traffic areas.”

Marsh bit his lip and breathed out through his nose. “Goddamn it! Okay, I’ll tag along, but I swear if I catch smallpox, I’m going straight to the union for damages.”

“You’re not going to catch smallpox,” Chris said, chuckling.

But Marsh had already caught something far worse.





WHISTLE-STOP


Chris didn’t like the way his partner looked. Marsh was a hard-living kind of guy and would often come in with the tell-tale signs of a hangover, but today was different. No hangover could have made him look like the heavy-breathing bag of shit he looked like today, though.

“You feeling okay?”

Marsh looked over from the passenger seat and sniffed. “I’m fine. Must have been something I ate. Just stop gawping at me.”

“Okay. Just let me know if you need to take off. You’ll be no use to me, sick.”

Chris brought the unmarked police car into the train station car park and pulled it into one of the spaces. It was the middle of a weekday so the station wasn’t as busy as it could have been, which would make life easier.

Especially if we have to lock the place down.

“So what are we looking for?” Marsh asked.

Chris turned off the engine and answered the question. “Sneezing, bleeding, sweating. Flu-like symptoms that progress to haemorrhaging and aggression.”

“Christ almighty,” said Marsh. “What kind of maniac unleashes something like that on purpose?”

“We don’t know anything right now. We just need to be vigilant. Better safe than sorry.” Chris opened his door. “Come on, there should be a couple of uniforms inside waiting for us.”

Marsh started coughing, but he opened his own door and stepped out with Chris. The sun was beginning to go down, which gave everything a dull orange tint. Chris always found dusk to be a depressing time of day, neither light nor dark. It was the day’s limbo and easy to get lost in.

Chris had to usher Marsh across the car park and towards the main building that housed the station. It was a medium-sized hub, consisting of six platforms, ticket office, and a row of shops and fast food restaurants. There was probably less than a hundred passengers waiting on the platforms. It would not be impossible to survey them all.

Up ahead, two uniformed officers stood in their fluorescent yellow jackets. They recognised Detective Cox when he approached them.

“Everything been okay here?”

The larger of the two officers nodded. “So far so good. Haven’t seen anything alarming. The staff here have all been asked to watch out for anyone suspicious.”

“Good,” said Chris. “We’ll take it from here.”

The two police officers nodded and left them to it. Chris decided to get himself set up with a coffee before he got to work. “You want a drink, Marsh?”

Marsh glanced at him. His eyes were red and bulging. His nose was running. “Yeah, cheers. Get us a tea; white, two sugars.”

“Coming right up.” Chris headed off to the small coffee shop that served the station. There was no one else inside except for an acne-ridden barista. He placed his order, stood and waited. A radio hissed away from a nearby counter.

Reports…mass sickness…Southampton General…police cordon…

Chris shook his head. Things were obviously no better. His radio had remained silent for the last hour and he knew that it was likely because everyone was so busy. Nobody had time to check in with anybody else.

Hopefully whatever it is has been contained to the hospital. If this thing spreads then the terrorists will have giant smiles on their goat faces.

Chris had lost a distant cousin in the 9/11 attacks. He could not claim any great loss, but the loss of a family member – however distant – gave him a connection to the atrocity that perhaps others in the UK did not have. To them it had been a horror movie unfolding on the news. For him it had been real. Punishing evil people for their torment of others had been his driving force ever since. Drug dealers, abusive husbands…nothing was too big or small to elicit his concern. His role in life was to stop the bad guys, but right now it seemed like they had scored a victory. It made Chris feel sick.

The barista came back with his order. He paid the young man and asked him a question. “Has anybody called in sick today?”