The Virus, Lee, Damien [summer beach reads .txt] 📗

shouted, sprinting past his colleague. “We’ve gotta get down there now.”

With that, he rounded the corner and vanished from sight. McAllister went to follow, but curiosity kept him rooted to the spot. He looked back up the corridor towards the balcony overlooking the great hall. As more gunshots echoed around the large room, McAllister jogged towards the end of the corridor and looked down at the carnage below.

He froze. Bodies were strewn all around the hall, with entrails and organs splayed across the prison floor. He had observed the cons fighting in this same spot, but not like this. Prisoners were running free, attacking each other as well as the guards. He watched dumbfounded as a group of cons overpowered one of his colleagues. The man screamed in agony as they burrowed deep into his gut. McAllister felt his body tremble. The crazed men chewed mightily as others lunged in, ripping organs from the man’s stomach.

McAllister’s heart lurched as his roaming gaze fell upon one of the cons. Yesterday, he had seen the man sprawled on a gurney, dead. Now, he sprinted like an athlete, ripping the few surviving men to pieces.

Movement in the corner of the room caught the guard’s eye. The corpse of one of his stricken colleagues began to rise. The gaping hole in his torso did not seem to trouble him as he got to his feet. McAllister felt nausea overpower him as the guard’s internal organs spilled from the huge crevice, hitting the floor with a soft splat. The zombie, seemingly unaware, looked around wild-eyed.

McAllister turned and ran into the office overlooking the hall. He seized the phone and dialled ‘999’, his eyes fixed on the chaos below. He could barely hear the monotonous ring tone over the shrieks and wails of the prisoners. After the tenth ring, he slammed the handset down and scanned the printed list of contacts on the desk.

A hand slapped the window in front of him, causing McAllister to flinch. He looked up, into the bloodshot of eyes of Andrew Hardy. The prisoner was still sporting the black eye and distorted nose administered by Frank Lee a few days earlier. The yawning hole in his neck was new. McAllister looked on, as strands of pink saliva spilled from the prisoner’s mouth. He regarded him with an evil grin before striking the glass again. McAllister stepped back as the man hurled himself forward. He feared the glass would break until the prisoner stopped in his tracks. His head snapped to the side as another con ran into the hallway.

“Oh shit.” The newcomer whimpered as Hardy raced toward him. McAllister watched the man flee, with the deranged prisoner at his heels.

“C’mon,” he whispered, running a finger over the list of names. He stopped on ‘National Operations Unit’ and quickly dialled the number. The ringtone sounded again as he looked back through the window. There was nobody else on the floor, with most of the screams originating from the lower levels. His hands trembled as the ringing tone continued to torment him. Eventually, he slammed the phone down.

Cautiously, he stepped back out onto the walkway overlooking the great hall. He inspected the carnage once again, as somebody else joined the fray. The guard who had passed McAllister entered the room, looking around in terror as the last of the survivors was brought down. Before he had time to react, one of the cannibals had attacked, tearing a sizeable chunk from its hapless victim’s throat.

“No!”

McAllister looked on as blood gushed from the fatal wound. The crazed zombie paid him no heed and took a further bite. The rest of the congregation, however, stared up at McAllister. After a shriek of excitement, they raced through the open door and out of sight.

“Shit!”

He turned on his heel and sprinted back down the corridor, producing his baton as he went. There was no sign of the lunatics anywhere. He didn’t know what was happening, nor did he want to wait around to find out. He darted down a second corridor, with only one room in mind. He needed riot gear.

***

Frank sighed in frustration. It had been several minutes since the last gunshot and they were still unaware of what was happening. Had the insurmountable force of the guards finally been beaten? Or had the rioting prisoners been put back in their place? The rants and speculations from the other cons didn’t help as Frank desperately strained his ears. He flinched as the prison gate leading into the corridor burst open. The cons fell silent as somebody approached the nearest cell. There was an urgency in the rattle of keys as Frank heard the first door swing open.

“Get out!” McAllister ordered.

Frank stepped back as more doors were opened. The guard was making his way down the hallway, releasing every prisoner in confinement.

“What the fuck’s going on?” Gus Razor said as he left his cell.

“We’ve gotta go.”

Eventually, Frank’s door swung wide. He stared at the guard’s huge frame in the doorway. Decked out in full riot gear, McAllister’s ashen face was barely visible beneath his helmet. In one hand he held a ring full of keys, and in the other, a shotgun.

“What’s happening?” Frank asked, exiting his cell and joining the other cons in the passageway. McAllister ignored the query as he searched his chain for the next key.

“Hey, he asked you a question,” Razor snapped, grabbing the guard’s shoulder.

“The prison has been compromised,” McAllister stammered, his wide eyes laced with fear. “Most of the guards are dead. Everyone’s ripping each other to pieces!”

“Pull the other one.” Gus chuckled as the rest of the prisoners laughed.

“It’s the truth, Razor!”

“Bullshit,” he sneered. But the mocking tone had vanished from Razor’s voice.

Frank remained silent. The guard’s sincerity concerned him. The idea seemed ludicrous, but watching the huge man tremble as he searched for