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

brow as being down to the heat. He fought hard to convince himself that the tremors in his hands were down to nerves. He strived to change the notion in his mind that he was becoming one of the undead.

***

Gordon Chesterfield strode through the slaughterhouse amidst a backdrop of metallic thuds. He shot a glance at the loading bay as the steel support started to buckle. An exasperated roar merged with the crescendo of blows as the animals fought to break free.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Turning on his heel, he marched away. The puddles of blood erupted around his boots as he went. Whether it was the life fluid of his livestock or his employees, Gordon couldn’t tell. Everywhere he looked he saw death and decay; a sight he was accustomed to seeing, but not on such a grisly scale. Body parts of humans and animals alike littered the area, all from the original breach. Trying to disregard the grotesque sight, he made for the stairway. An almighty crash echoed around the room, causing Gordon to flinch. He whirled in the direction of the noise and watched as the metal support gave way. The cows on the other side spilled out of the enclosure, skidding clumsily on the blood-soaked floor. Regaining their footing, they caught sight of the abattoir owner.

Gordon darted up the stairs leading to the raised walkway. He bounded across the metal grating, stopping short when he noticed the machinery below. Looking back to the stairway, he realised the crazed heifers had followed and had almost reached the top.

“I’m going to make leather jackets out of you cunts!”

The first animal reared its head around the corner. The others followed, causing the gangway to sway under their bulk. Gordon scaled the metal barrier and dropped back down to ground level. The pool of blood erupted around him as he landed. He darted forward and turned on the meat-separation grinder. At once, the blades burst to life, drowning out the noise of the undead cows.

“Go back to hell!”

The animals tried to scale the barrier. As the whirring blades reached maximum velocity, Gordon retrieved his handgun from a holster beneath his jacket. He aimed the Smith & Wesson revolver and, with precision accuracy, fired a single shot. The bullet struck the connecting bolt beneath the strained metal gangplank. On impact, the walkway buckled, sending the cows hurtling into the grinding machine.

A screech displaced the droning blades as they chewed the carcasses. The machine devoured most of the animals in a haze of bloody mist. Gordon fired at those that missed the contraption, killing them all as he strode away. The din of the machine rumbled on as he made his way up a different flight of stairs leading to his office.

He replaced his handgun as he entered the well-lit room. Sweat trickled down his chubby face. He glanced out of the large, circular window which occupied the wall behind his desk. The view of the vast landscape, once so calming, now only served as another stressor. Distant figures roamed the farmland, searching for another meal. Gordon turned his back on the countryside. The window opposite him looked out over the factory floor. Once the source of his multi-million-pound empire, it was now a tomb for his fallen employees.

He slumped in the chair and ran a hand through his mottle-grey hair. He had learned a long time ago that money couldn’t buy him happiness. But now he realised it couldn’t save him from the end of the world either. He reached into the cupboard beneath his desk and produced an unopened bottle of whisky.

Leaning back in his chair, he gulped down the honey-coloured liquid as the sun disappeared beyond the hills.

***

Frank dragged on the cigarette clasped between his lips. He leaned against the balcony, looking out at the darkening sky. He had always planned to spend his first night of freedom out in the open. Taking in the cool night air, looking up at the stars with a cigar in one hand and a bottle of the finest whisky in another. True, he almost got what he wanted; a cheap brand of cigarette and a bottle of rum. But the fact it was during a zombie apocalypse was a bit of a downer.

He blew a cloud of smoke into the air as he heard somebody enter the room behind him.

“Wow, what have they done in here?” Lisa asked, looking around at the previously blood-soaked bedroom.

“They threw the sheets out of the window, flipped the mattress, and laid towels over the blood on the carpet.”

“Home sweet home,” Lisa said as she joined him outside on the balcony. “So what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“Yeah, you didn’t say a word while we were eating.”

“I did.”

“What?”

“I told those fat bastards to do the dishes when we finished.”

“Fine.” She sniggered. “You said one thing.”

The pair fell silent as he took another drag of the cigarette. After blowing a plume of grey smoke into the air, he flicked the ash over the balcony. They watched as the glowing embers drifted down, landing on the horde of zombies below. They grappled furiously, reaching high towards the elevated couple.

“You still think you’re going to turn into one?” Lisa asked, her eyes fixed on the eager crowd below.

“Who knows? We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Do you feel different at all? Dizzy? Headache?”

“I feel sick, but that might be down to your cooking.”

Lisa shoved him playfully as he took a final drag of the cigarette.

“Ready to go back downstairs?” she asked.

“Might as well. There’s not much of a view out here now.”

He flicked the remains of the cigarette onto the onlookers before following the woman inside. The door leading to Tina’s room was closed.

“Where’s our gothic princess?” he asked as they strode downstairs.

“Locked herself in the tower.”

Frank smirked as