The Fall of Society (The Fall of Society Series, Book 1) (9 page)

           
They
had to have him…

           
Paul
looked at it with compassion and then…

           
“I’m
sorry,” he said. He brought down the bottle two-fisted and when it impacted
into the boy’s forehead. In Paul’s mind he saw its skin come loose from the
bone and ripple like a shockwave.

           
Blood
and brain matter splattered over the three of them.

           
“Nicely
done, proper,” Jeffrey said in a callous tone.

           
They
dropped the limp corpse, and Jeffrey took the bottle from Paul. “Let us borrow
this for a minute,” he stated after the fact.

           
Jeffrey
walked over to the boy’s mother, who was showing signs of undead life, and
bashed her skull in. He walked back to Paul and handed him the bottle. “Thanks,
mate.”

           
Paul
looked at the bottle in his hand that dripped gobs of blood. Blood usually made
him nauseous, but he was way past that now, he wasn’t even numb. He was just
there
as if he were having an O.B.E.—out
of body experience—just watching the banality of the carnage that he
participated in. He realized that only one thing kept him tethered to his soul…

           
Katie
.

           
He
wanted to see her again and be there for the birth of their child.

           
Would
he?

           
The
undead that banged against the barricades said,
NO!

           
From all of their screaming, roars,
howls, and guttural moans, Paul could almost hear them communicating with him
and the other survivors.

           
We will kill you!

           
We
will eat you!

           
You
will be one of us!

           
One
of us!

           
Kill!

           
Eat!

           
Kill!

           
Kill!

           
There were so many of them now that their
voices drove him mad.

           
Dozens
pounded at each of the barricades, they couldn’t hold them off for much longer.

           
Jeffrey
and Richard schemed together nearby. “We can’t let this plane land in London,”
Jeffrey told Richard.

           
“I
know,” he answered.

           
“You
do?”

           
“I’m
not as dumb as you think I am, mate. If this plane lands or crashes in England,
then this shit will spread and kill everyone we love,” Richard said with a hard
face.

           
“We
have to bring it down now, while we’re over the ocean.”

           
“How?”

           
“The
cockpit.”

           
“There’s
dozens of those things between here and there, we’ll never make it.”

           
“We’re
gonna die anyway, my friend, we have to try.”

           
Richard
realized the truth of their hopeless situation. “Agreed.”

           
They
headed to one of the barricades by the front of the plane toward the cockpit;
there were four large men with their bodies braced against the brutal force of
the undead on the other side. “Oy! We need to get through there.” Jeffrey said
to one of the men.

           
“Are
you fucking mental?” the man shouted.

           
“Listen,
you know what’s going on here, right?” Jeffrey asked.

           
“Yeah,
those fucking things want to kill and eat us! They’re not getting me!”

           
“The
cause of the problem, man, you get bit by one, you become one.” Jeffrey said.

           
“Yeah,
so?” the man said.

           
By
now, the other men holding the barricade listened.

           
Jeffrey
stepped closer to him. “What do you think is going to happen when this plane
reaches England?”

           
The
man thought about it. “Oh my god!”

           
“That’s
right, so we have to bring this fucking plane down now!” Jeffrey exclaimed.

           
“How?”
the man asked.

           
“The
cockpit, me and my mate here, we’ll get in there and take care of it.”

           
“Right!”
the man said. “You hear that men, they need to get through.”

           
The
men all agreed.

           
“Okay
then, when we say
‘go,’
you open her
up and we’ll jump through,” Richard instructed them.

           
“Whenever
you’re ready!” the man answered.

           
Richard
faced Jeffrey. “No one has ever had a better friend than you, Jeffrey. It will
be an honor to die with you.”

           
Jeffrey
smiled. “Die? You’re too ugly, those things won’t touch you, but I’m fucked!”

           
Richard
laughed and extended his hand and Jeffrey shook it.

           
“You’re
the best.” Jeffrey said.

           
They
turned to the barricade. “Okay, all of you ready?” Jeffrey asked.

           
The
men nodded in agreement.

           
“Alright
then, on my mark! Four, three, two—“

           
Jeffrey
stopped the count because it became quiet all of a sudden, very quiet. All of
the undead stopped banging on all the barricades.

           
“What
the hell…?” Richard said.

           
Paul
moved in close to one of the barricades and peered through a crack—he
could see all of them just standing there, a hundred of them, at least, stood
still and swayed in place. As if they were hypnotized, many of them had their
heads raised, and their eyes closed. Paul didn’t understand it.

           
“What
are they doing?” a passenger behind Paul asked him.

           
“I
don’t know,” Paul answered.

           
He
looked closely at them and heard them
sniffing
,
he realized that they
smelled
something, but what scent could be so strong that it stopped all of them in
their tracks?

           
Paul
thought hard and then looked at his wristwatch.

           
He
rushed over to a window and looked out, he couldn’t see anything so he pressed
his face against the Plexiglas for a better look, but nothing. He ran to the
other side of the cabin, looked out the window, and then saw it up ahead—

           
LAND
.

           
Maybe
fifty to sixty miles away was a land mass, and they approached fast.

           
“England,”
Paul said to himself and thought about it. “My god. They must be able to smell…the
people, all of the people, millions of them.”

           
And
he was right, even though the plane was pressurized, the overwhelming scent of
fresh, warm meat seeped into the plane. The dinner bell rang loud.

           
Paul
didn’t know that just below his face—the air marshal’s gun was wedged
between the seat and the fuselage.

           
“What
are they doing?” Richard asked.

           
“Doesn’t
matter, this is our chance,” Jeffrey said. “Now, open it now!”

           
The
men pulled out one cart, opening the barricade; they were dozens of the dead on
the other side, but they were still dormant from the scent of England. Jeffrey
jumped through first and the moment he did—the corpses snapped out of it
and attacked him.

           
“Jeffrey!”
Richard shouted.

           
Richard
jumped in to save his friend and they assaulted him as well.

           
The
men put the cart back into place and sealed the soldiers in their tomb…

           
Charlie
drove the fire extinguisher down hard four times before he stopped and looked
at what he’d done. It was dead—his wife was finished, but she left him
something to remember her by; he was bleeding from a bit mark on his chin and
scratches on his chest. He would join her soon enough. He searched his mind for
words to give her, but there were none, and then Charlie noticed that all the
undead around him were standing motionless. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t
care.

           
It
was an opportunity.

           
He
sprinted toward the front of the plane and as soon as he ran by undead, they
sprang after him, one, two, and then several chased him.

           
Twelve
…

           
Twenty
…

           
Thirty
…

           
The staircase to the lower deck was just
ahead, and Charlie pulled the fire extinguisher pin and fired it behind him.
The thick chemical hit the dead faces chasing after him, creating a cloud that obstructed
their vision; it slowed them down just enough for Charlie to disappear down the
stairs.

           
At
the bottom, he came upon the scene of Jeffrey and Richard being devoured by a
group of undead. At one side, Richard was dead and in many pieces that they ate
in a frenzy of blood. Nearby, Jeffrey was on the floor; a group of the dead had
ripped his legs off at the waist, and they fought amongst themselves for a
taste. Jeffrey’s upper body was a couple feet away and he was barely alive as
they ripped pieces from his arms, chest, and one corpse was chomping on his innards.
Excrement squeezed out as the vile creature bit down. With what little strength
he had left, Jeffrey punched the thing in the face. “Gag on my…shit…you…dead
fucker!” Jeffrey spat out in blood.

           
The
dead thing didn’t flinch as Jeffrey hit it in the face as it ate, but when he
hit it again, it grabbed his hand and began to chew on his fingers. Jeffrey
bled out and died quick.

           
Charlie
went for the cockpit door and entered the code, when he opened it—the
captain attacked him and Charlie smashed its face with the extinguisher, it
fell out of the cockpit and then Jimmy, who was missing an arm, came at him.
Charlie cracked it in the face, and it fell back on the instrument panels,
Charlie grabbed it by the shirt and threw it out of the cockpit. He closed the
door and locked it.

           
He
took his seat and tried to calm himself and breathe slowly, but he couldn’t. He
felt the dead virus work inside him, coursing through his veins; he knew that
he didn’t have long, because either the virus was going to kill him or it would
be the dead outside the door. He put on his headset and worked the controls,
but the instruments were badly damaged. He tried to turn off the autopilot, but
couldn’t. Next, he tried the radio controls and they were damaged as well. More
of the dead outside joined to get in and they banged on the door violently;
fierce pounding, and the door wouldn’t last very long.

           
Only
moments…

           
He
fought to get the radio working
…

DAY
23:

GLOBAL
CATALYST

Current population of Great Britain: 66,000,000.

Current population of London: 9,000,000.

I
t was an unusually sunny day in London
, and for its international airport,
Heathrow, it was business as usual. Planes landed and took off in a steady
stream of a controlled symphony.

           
Fifty-five
miles to the southwest of Heathrow was the London Area Control Centre, the
LACC, based in the village of Swanwick, Hampshire. Their facility controlled
all the air traffic that landed and departed from London and Wales. This was a
large facility with several dozen-computer stations that were arranged in
banana-shaped banks. For them, it was the same routine, except for one air
traffic controller—she had a problem on her hands—she kept a close
eye on one of the dots on her radar screen. “Swanwick ATC to British 282, do
you copy?” she said into her headset microphone.

           
She
received no response, only dead air. “Swanwick air traffic control to British
282, hello?” but still, nothing.

           
She
was perplexed as to why she couldn’t get through and then looked for her
supervisor, an older gray-haired man, who was on the phone at a nearby desk. “Mister
Wilkins?” she called to him.

           
The
man put his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “Yes, Trisha, what is it?”

           
“Mr.
Wilkins, I’m having a spot of trouble contacting one of my flights.”

           
“Really?
Have you checked your headset connection?” he asked.

           
“Yes,
sir, it’s functioning properly, I have no problem contacting my other traffic,
except for British 282 from America.”

           
“I’ll
get back to you,” Wilkins said into the phone and hung up.

           
He
put on his own headset and walked over to the girl.

           
“Now,
let’s see if we can clear this up, shall we?” he said to her like a schoolteacher.

           
“Yes,
sir,” she responded.

           
Wilkins
connected his headset to her station and activated the radio, he adjusted his
microphone and spoke. “British 282, this is Supervisor Mr. Wilkins of Swanwick
ATC, please respond.”

           
Nothing
and he didn’t like it.

           
“British
Airways 282, this is Swanwick ATC, can you hear us?” he said.

           
Still,
nothing, only static.

           
He
looked at her screen. “What is their current position?”

           
“They
just past us, still on course for Heathrow, sir.”

           
Wilkins
looked at the controller closest to Trisha. “Collins, do us a favor and take over
all of Trisha’s traffic except for British 282, please. We have an issue.”

           
“Yes,
sir, right away,” Collins said and took over her traffic.

           
And
then there was a
click
on the radio,
a quick moment of something else besides static. It was brief but it sounded
like a voice.

           
“What
was that?” Wilkins asked.

           
“Don’t
know, sir,” she said and listened for more. “British 282, can you hear me?” she
asked.

           
There
was a response, their headsets filled with turbulent noise and the chaotic
voice of what sounded like a man, but he was in a panic, near hysteria. “This
is British 282, we have a severe problem— ” the signal was cut-off.

           
“Hello?”
Trisha said. “British 282, repeat your last.”

           
Static
filled their ears with a long
hisss
and then the signal came back on, loud and strong. “—is 282, some
passengers have gone mad, they’re attacking everyone onboard!” he shouted and
everyone in the control room stopped what they were doing and listened to
Trisha’s signal. They could hear a big commotion in the background, people were
screaming in horror, others were roaring like animals, and a hard
pounding
was constant next to the pilot’s
voice. “They have killed the crew, including the captain, and many passengers! They’re
trying to break in, I—” They heard the cockpit door being busted open,
and the man screamed. They heard him being
attacked
by someone…no, by
many
.

           
It
was ruthless, and the man’s screams became a gurgling of death. All that came
through the radio were growls of the attackers, no words, just guttural tones
of savagery. They heard clothes being
ripped
and they heard something else that ripped repeatedly, but it didn’t sound like
clothing, it had a
wet
sound to it.
They heard what only could be described as
chewing
,
but the chewing of what?

           
The
screams of other people that were being attacked in the plane hissed through
their ears and then it went dead, the signal was gone.

           
Trisha
covered her mouth from shock and Wilkins’ jaw dropped and they were all silent,
they tried to absorb something that they have never heard before.

           
Wilkins
wiped the tears that welled in his eyes. “We need to…” he drew a blank in the
face of the unknown. “…What kind…of plane is 282?” he asked Trisha.

           
“It’s
an a380, sir,” she answered.

           
“My
lord. Uh, we need to…contact Heathrow and…inform them of the situation
immediately,” he mumbled out in a broken voice.

           
Paul
looked out the window and they were over land now, it sped by in a blur because
the plane wasn’t very high above it.

           
And
it was still descending.

           
The
last of the surviving passengers still held the barricades to keep out the dead
and it was a hard battle; dozens of dead arms stretched through the makeshift
walls to reach them and they started to break through at two of the barricades,
but the passengers fought back and reinforced their holds. There were hundreds of
the dead stenches outside of their blocked off cabin now, on both sides, all
the passengers on the plane were the dead, except this last wayward group.

           
“We
need more help over here!” someone yelled from a barricade.

           
Because
there were so many of the undead filth banging on that one barricade, they
actually
pushed
the whole thing in.
More passengers rushed to it and pushed them back, but there weren’t enough
people to go around. Paul ran over and joined the effort. At another barricade,
the corpses almost got through as they pushed the carts and equipment out of
the way, the dead arms reaching through the gaps got hold of a woman, they got
her to the gap and viciously pulled to get her. Other passengers tried to save
her, but they couldn’t and then the dead arms ripped her head off, and it was
over. The people pushed back and closed the gap as the woman’s headless body
fell aside, the arms went into spasms and reached for anything to grab.

           
The
skies over London were clear blue. On the outskirts of the city, a single plane
streaked through the thin clouds on a straight course. It was British Airways
flight 282. The Airbus made a 747 jumbo jet seem tiny. The sky was clear of any
other planes ahead of 282, intentionally clear, and the city of London was dead
ahead, only twenty miles away and closing. The Airbus’ speed was constant, but was
gradually losing altitude.

           
Little
by little, it was going down…

           
Paul
looked out the window again and the terrain looked familiar; he knew where they
were. “We’re going to land,” he said to himself. “We might make it.” but he had
no idea that no one was in the cockpit. People needed help at another weakening
barricade, and he ran to assist them…

           
Heathrow
Airport was locked down, all the runways were clear of aircraft; they were all on
hold at the terminals. Airport emergency response crews stood by on the
outskirts of the runway, at least ten fire trucks waited with only their lights
on, they flashed as if they were searchlights looking for danger, and then they
saw it. “There it is!” one firefighter yelled.

           
They
looked in the direction that he pointed and saw the dark speck of the Airbus,
as it approached the airport. It was several miles out and the big plane grew
in size as it approached.

           
Four miles away…

           
The fire commander looked at the plane
through a pair of binoculars. “Oh my sweet Jesus!” he said.

           
“What
is it, sir?” a firefighter asked nervously.

           
“Their
landing gear isn’t down, and they’re going to miss the airport,” the commander said
as he looked at the aircraft’s angle of approach. “Quickly, lad, notify the
fire departments of West Drayton, Southhall Green, and Hayes Town! Tell them it’s
coming their way for sure!”

           
“Yes,
sir!” a firefighter said and dialed his phone.

           
Three miles…

           
The
few surviving passengers still had the dead at bay, and Paul ran back to a
window and looked out—what he saw stretched his eyes wide with dread. “We’re
gonna crash!” he mumbled to himself and turned to everyone else. “The plane’s
going to crash! Strap yourselves in!” he shouted, and then realized that they couldn’t
abandon the barricades or the dead would get in, but some didn’t care. Many
left their posts and buckled themselves in seats. The ones that remained at the
barricades couldn’t hold the barriers in place and the furious corpses began to
break in.

           
The
high-powered whine of the aircraft’s four engines came into range at the
airport. The rise of sound filled the area and then took over the hearing of
the firefighters. Some covered their ears, but it was inescapable. It grew even
louder when the plane reached them. The massive structure streaked over their
heads as it flew on its inevitable path. They could see that the plane’s
landing gear still wasn’t deployed. The plane was only a hundred feet over them
and windows in the terminals shattered and blew glass shards everywhere. The fifteen-ton
fire trucks rocked back and forth in the jet’s wake.

           
Two…

           
“There are over 500 people aboard that
plane,” the commander said direly.

           
“May
God have mercy on their souls.” another firefighter whispered.

           
One…

           
Paul
watched in frantic horror as the dead got into their haven. They busted through
each barricade; like trains that sped out of dark tunnels, the dead came through
the aisles and began to kill people at will in their seats. Paul looked out the
window—the terrain was almost parallel with the massive wing. He couldn’t
do anything else, so he sat down and clicked himself in as he waited to die…

           
The
emergency crews watched the Airbus fly over the airport in a loud wail and continued
as if it were the Flying Dutchman on route to the underworld. The plane flew past
the outer edge of the airport’s property line and was seconds away from making contact
with the ground…

           
A
terrified man sat in the seat next to Paul; he barely got his seat buckle
clicked into place when a corpse attacked him, it bit into his neck and tore a
large chunk out. Blood was strewn all over Paul as the beast used its hands and
dug into the man’s flesh. Paul was scared out of his mind, even though he still
had the champagne bottle in his hand; he was too frightened to use it. He trembled
uncontrollably as the man seated right next to him was savagely ripped open.
The dead thing looked at Paul as it ate, but it didn’t bother to touch him, it
had plenty to eat at the moment, but Paul was to be next.

           
That
was sooner than expected as another cannibal saw Paul and came at him from the
front; it spider-jumped over two seats until it was looming over Paul. It
opened its mouth and exposed it teeth that had human meat stuck in between
them. Paul snapped out of his terror-induced coma and hit the thing with the
champagne bottle with a rage of survival. The bottle struck the creature’s
forehead and shattered upon impact, and $500 champagne sprayed Paul’s face, but
it tasted sour for the corpse was still coming at him, the impact stunned it,
but didn’t stop it. Its mad face was wet and imbedded with glass shards as it
moved for Paul’s life. The dead one eating the man next to Paul was done, and
it moved for him as well.