Alan cleared his throat. “I would like to make sure that this place is really safe, before we all settle in for the long haul. We should check out the rest of the building.”
“I agree,” said Mike. “We also need to move Tom and Charlotte somewhere else. We can’t have them so close by.”
Annaliese nodded. “You’re right, it’s a health hazard.
“I’ll organise everybody,” Shawcross said, running a hand through his slick ginger hair. “Things will go more smoothly if we split into groups.”
She shrugged. “Fair enough. I’ll help Clark with Charlotte’s body. Then we should be able to move Tom as well. We’ll place them in the office we came in through. It’s the least safe room for us to be in now, with the window being broken, so it makes sense to use it as storage.”
“You mean a morgue,” said Mike, shaking his head as though he could not believe it.
“Call it what you will, but it’s something that has to be done.”
“Just be careful,” said Mike. “I don’t want to have to put your body in there.”
Annaliese smiled. His concern was flattering. It had been a while since anybody cared whether she lived or died.
Funny how it took a biological disaster to find a friend.
A buzzing sound from the television caused them all to look up. The news reporter from before was back on and this time he looked even more ashen-faced than before.
“While it has long been suspected, reports from the World Health Organization have now confirmed that the dead are indeed coming back to life. While the initial infection causes high fever and uncontrollable rage, it is not until the infected are rendered deceased that the true horror of the situation becomes apparent. When an infected person dies, against all the rules of nature, they come back. The reason some of the infected are slower and less ambulatory than others is because they are no longer living. The only way to prevent an infected person coming back, it seems, is to inflict massive head trauma. Damaging the brain is the only confirmed way to dispatch an infected person permanently.
The reporter stopped for a few seconds, taking a sip of water and gulping loudly. Weariness seemed to hang over the man like a shroud.
“As I report these words to you, it may all seem like some kind of sick joke, but the reports are real. This is happening. If you have loved ones with you, enjoy them while you can. If you have a safe place to go, then I suggest you go there. This very well might be the end as we know it. Do whatever you have to do to survive.” The reporter placed a finger to his ear, as if getting a message from an earpiece. “I’m about to be cut off, folks, for saying things that I shouldn’t have. It doesn’t really matter, anyway, because we’re about to go off air with immediate effect. An emergency message will be left to play, but there will be nobody here broadcasting. Reports have come in that small enclaves of military, police and civilian resistance are gaining footholds in certain areas north of Sheffield and that rescue might still be a possibility for some of you, but, for the most part, rescue will not be forthcoming. I hope that some of us make it through this. My name is Ben Hutchinson and this is-”
The feed went dead, replaced by a placeholder image and a beeping tone. The words on the screen simply read: STATE OF EMERGENCY. FURTHER NEWS TO FOLLOW. STAY TUNED.
“Is anybody else getting the impression that this isn’t going to just blow over?” Mike asked.
Annaliese stared at the television screen and held her breath. Then she made a statement that she couldn’t believe was coming out of her mouth. “I think this might be the end of the world.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
It took more than thirty minutes for Annaliese to help Clark carry Charlotte’s body into the ground floor office. What made it more difficult was that blood spilled from the girl’s body whenever they tilted her slightly. It had been a challenge not to get covered in it.