The Infected One

Chapter 1



“Morgan, I was watchin’ that,” Nick stared intensely at his nine year old sister as she played with the black remote control and sighed, “you should be in bed anyway; it’s 11 o’clock.” Nick paused and wiped aside his brown curly hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, and stared at the TV screen. He had dark grey eyes, but the storm colour that normally protruded was now overshadowed by crimson bloodshot eyes, bad enough to give anyone nightmares. His black top dangled awkwardly down his body, but still he treasured the hand me down from his older brother. It was his favourite top with white bold writing ‘Darkness develops as hope dies,’ a gruesome yet regular quote from his favourite TV show Zombie Apocalypse.



The room was dimly lit with a red lamp that stood in the right hand corner of his oddly shaped semi-circle bedroom, but the bright glow of the TV made the room crisp and silhouettes appeared from the ghostly shapes of his sister’s string puppets. Ever since Morgan moved into Nick’s room due their down size in house, he had become all too familiar with her toys, especially a little china clown named Roan who perched meticulously upon Morgan’s shelf. He never left her sight; he always seemed to be near like a boomerang that always came back.



“Morgan, give me the box now, I want to catch the end of zombie apocalypse, all the other boys at school are watchin’ it and I don’t wanna look like... an idiot,” he stood menacingly and held out his hand as he marched over to where Morgan was lying. Tripping over a handful of china clowns, he had made it to her bunk bed and peered up to see her face. Morgan had always been afraid of the dark, and so the feeling of being up high in a bunk bed settled her a little, as well as her belief that Roan the clown would look after her. He stood there for a while until she finally handed him the remote control, but then rolled over to face the red wallpaper that was ripped, draping down from the wall. “Dad should be up in a bit to tuck you in so just cut it out arigh’?” No reply.



There was a crash of glass downstairs.



Nick trumped back over to the grey couch, stained with various types of soft drink and cheetos, and fell longingly for its warm embrace. Putting the remote down on the small, poorly constructed bedside table for a moment, he pulled up his green duvet patterned with white footballs and netting. On the bedside table there were a few cheetos that had fallen from a packet, which he then resumed to eat before realising the thrashing rain hammering on the roof. ‘Classic Welsh weather,’ he thought to himself.



An ambulance siren rushed past outside.



Turning the TV to a higher volume to hear over the loud clattering of the rain, he realised Morgan had accidentally switched the channel to the news. On screen there were two reporters with anxious expressions on their faces.



‘Doctors have said that they are currently unsure of what this virus is, or how it started. All across Wales tonight, and reportedly elsewhere, there have been reports of several sightings of the population running riot and ‘simply attacking’ their nearest counterpart. Reports earlier today suggested that the likely reasons for this behaviour were rioting, but Doctors seem to believe differently.



Another ambulance siren zoomed past.



Hospitals in Wales tonight have been very busy at work dealing with these ‘rioters’ and it’s clear they believe that this behaviour is not by choice. We have been informed that it seems to be a sort of virus, but Mary swoop has met with leading neuropsychologist Doctor Hasheem at St. Mary’s Hospital in Bridgend who has more on the story. Over to you Mary.’



The room was bitter now like winter on a cold malicious morning, and Nick pulled the duvet cover closer to his chin. Peering outside the window from where he was lying, he could see the tips of the street lamps flickering in the rain, and could hear the noise of more sirens. Nick wiped the beads of sweat that were rolling from his forehead, but refused to remove the protection of the duvet. His palms were wet and he could feel his heart beating fast in his chest like a clock ticking away. Looking around the room, he could still see the silhouettes of Morgan’s toys, but they seemed taller now, and more threatening. He turned on the light.



‘So, what is going on tonight?’ Mary swoop spoke quickly and stood restlessly, her dark, bagged eyes darting to and fro from patient to patient. Nick could see her playing with the microphone in her hands; nervously rolling it from one palm to the next until she dropped it, turning her pale face a bright shade of scarlet.



Doctor Hasheem began, “At the moment it seems the condition could perhaps be due to a reaction to something, but it seems unlikely due to the sheer scale in numbers we’ve seen tonight. The second likely option is a virus, but we’re unsure as to what the virus is doing to the individual physically or mentally. It seems...’



The Doctor was cut off as the white, plastic door to the Hospital ward flung open from its hinges and another patient was wheeled in, held in place by another two Doctors.“Doctor Hasheem we need you to help fasten the patient down!”  The camera followed the Doctor further into the bright, white ward. An echo of violent screaming followed, and each of the patients in the hospital beds were tied down, furiously trying to get up. They didn’t seem human, they were more animalistic and their eyes were wide with fury. Legs were thrashing, and heads bobbed aggressively. However, Nick did notice one individual, she lay there calmly, but she wasn’t in control. Her black eyes stared at something beyond the camera and she opened her mouth repeatedly as if gasping for air. Her eyes met the camera lenses and she began to sway back and forth, smiling sadistically.



‘As you can see there back in the studio, there are terrifying scenes here at St Marys Hospital in Bridgend, but I’m sure the Doctors will be able to figure out just what is going on here. Back to you...’



The patient that had just been wheeled by the other two Doctors leaped from her wheelchair, and screaming wildly she pushed Doctor Hasheem across the hospital floor. Before the scene could unfold any further the image was cut and Nick could once again see the news anchors. The male news anchors forehead was gleaming with perspiration, and his spiked light brown hair seemed damp. He looked young, around thirty, but deep lines ran around his blue eyes as he stared at his co-anchor who was swaying back and forth and simply staring at him with wicked eyes.



“Shocking scenes at St Marys Hospital, but we’ve been informed that there is currently no need to panic,” Nick could sense his urgency to escape. “We are certain that the very capable Doctors at...” he paused and noticed his co-anchor who was now swaying more violently, “Janet. Janet, are you okay?” He waited a moment before finishing. “I’m Ryan McArthur and...”



The screen went black.



There was the sound of smashing glass downstairs.



Nick cocked his head sideways to look at the brown door to his room and sliding off the couch quietly, he apprehensively approached the door. Looking only at the steel door handle, he could feel his hands shaking, and felt at any moment that he would pass out. This was a dream, this had to be a dream he thought. Was it a dream? Looking around he saw that Morgan was now sitting upright, peering over the edge of her bunk. Her eyes were wide, but with fear as she stifled a small gasp of terror.



Downstairs they could hear scurrying.



Twisting the door knob slowly, Nick inhaled sharply. He pulled open the door and it creaked as he did so. The light from his room flooded the dark hallway, illuminating the blank, white walls. He looked at Morgan, but she had not moved. He turned around slowly, and began to tip-toe, careful not to make a sound.



Scratching. But of what? 



There was a noise behind Nick. His sister had jumped down and was grasping Roan the clown tightly to her chest. Her pink buttoned onesie was too small for her, but she managed to waddle awkwardly over to Nick. The scratching sound from downstairs had stopped, and Nick figured it was because whatever was making the noise had heard his sister fall from her bunk bed.



“Go back to bed,” Nick whispered sharply, “now.”

“But, I am scared of being all on my own,” she let Roan dangle by the side of her and held out a hand for Nick to hold.

“Not now Morgan, go back to bed,” she frowned sadly, but did as he instructed her to.



The house was silent. The windows allowed moonlight to pour into the hall, and left dark shadows of tree branches upon the plain wall. They looked like sharp fingers reaching out to catch its prey. The rain continued heavily, but Nick took no notice. He didn’t know what he preferred; scratching; glass smashing, a siren or silence. It was eerily quiet.



A siren whirred past.



The scratching began again. It was getting louder.



The light was on downstairs, but this only made Nick feel worse. He clutched his chest and could only manage small rapid breaths. He was downstairs. He froze.



The lounge was normal. There was plush red carpet layering the floor and beautifully decorated walls with hanging ornaments, pictures and lit candles. The fire roared triumphantly in the small Victorian fireplace and the TV blared away in the corner of the rectangular room. The thing that bothered Nick was his brother who swayed slowly on the black, leather couch. Nicks brother turned to face him, his eyes wide. Terrified with fear, Nick began to inch backwards, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the sadistic smile his brother was producing. It stood and cocked his head to one side, opening his eyes wider.



He began an approach dozily. Quicker and quicker. Nick tripped backwards, a terrified expression exploded over his pale, white face. This was it, Nick thought, my own brother is going to kill me. Shuffling backwards Nick tried his best to get away but the creature was above him now. Its mouth opened and closed promptly just like Nick had seen on the TV earlier. “Please, ohh shit...” Nick trailed into silence when he realised his throat was so dry, and all that was left were small gasps where he tried to shout. He shut his eyes and waited.



Laughter.



“Ohh god you should’ve seen your face, ‘Please, ohh shit,” his brother mocked hysterically. “You my friend, are a giant moron. I’m guessing you saw the news, did you like my little performance? I think the smile really topped it off don’t you? I mean, I should become an actor, Oscars would be throwing themselves at me.” Nick was in disbelief, he wet his lips in order to speak, but still there were only small, shallow gasps.



Eventually he mustered up enough breath, “but there was glass smashin’ and, and...” Nick began. “Wait, weren’t you sleeping earlier, me and Morgan went up to bed and downstairs there was...”

“But there was glass smashing blah blah blah, I swear one day you’ll learn to take a joke.”



“Where’s Dad?” Nick was still uptight, his breathing was rapid and his heart felt as if it were going to rip itself from his chest. The scratching continued.

“Computer room,” he opened the door, and their cat rushed past and sprinted upstairs. The carpet at Nicks brothers feet was shredded where the cat had been scratching. “Dad you should’ve seen his face, Jesus I wish I’d taken a photo for a memento,” he chuckled.  Looking back at Nick, he made a rectangle from his fingers and pretended to take snap shots of him.



A scream echoed from inside the computer room, and moments later an old man surged out and sunk his teeth deep into Nicks brothers neck. Thick blood spurted up the white wall as he fell to the floor, and simultaneously, Nicks Dad was looking for his next victim.