A Tomb with a View

For those of you whose lives have yet to be touched by the blood crazing virus T4761, we who have been, are less than whole; a new sub-section to the human race, the walking dead, Zombies.
The thing is we âre not that different, us and you. It is true that we need to take a bit more care when around others, so as not to go all un-dead on one another. It is also true that there is at the moment no cure, no way to flush the virus out of our system. So we take a daily dose of an inhibitor, which helps.
In the beginning of the outbreak there were wild theories of where the virus had come from; government experimentation, natural selection finding a new path, even Aliens infecting the Earth in some invasion plot. Once an inhibitor was developed, proof was needed that you had taken the daily medication. That was enough to allay the public's fears, for a time. Then the god-fearing purists began questioning our records, so the government moved the growing number of infected into purpose-built apartment blocks, on the outskirts of towns and cities. It became all about isolation and control. In the early days, there were attempts to find solitary solutions, but that became not only expensive but unworkable, as the space needed was unrealistic.
The accommodation we âre in is fine, studio flats with large LED clocks mounted into the concrete walls, which reset each time you take your tablet. Then it counts down till the next. The apartments are designed with clean lines and stainless steel, easy to keep clean, if one of us should forget how to tell the time.
Residents mainly keep themselves to themselves, as one of the things that might over-ride the medication is an outburst of emotion, good or bad; something in the release of those chemicals in the brain can send us into a cannibalistic meltdown. This can be illustrated by the incident in the laundry room six months ago. It was off limits for weeks as the cleaning crew did their work. The reason the scrubbing took so long is our other trigger, the smell of blood.
Two years ago a couple of the residents on 43 started a relationship. Everything was wonderful until one of them ran out of the pills, and went all unbridled on their mate. One thing led to another and by the end of the weekend, we hâd lost nearly the entire floor. Neighbour ambushed neighbor, those who had been eyeing each other up for a long time, found the attraction too much. I know the feeling; you see someone in the elevator or in passing on the floor, and you think to yourself how tasty they look, and that hunger never goes away. Until that time your swimming in their thick warm blood.
The authorities had to send in a team with flame-throwers after that one, eradicating the smell of putrefying flesh and ironized blood, in an attempt to stop the rest of the block from going native, but you could still smell the sweetness of blood in the ventilation system for weeks after the event. And if I close my eyes and breathe deep I fancy I can still catch its sent today.
We âre not encouraged to go out into the world and socialize very often, for the reasons I hâve gone into, but we still have the same need for companionship that you with your clean blood do. If it is only spending a few hours in a pub or cinema, it can be enough to lift the spirit. Although this doesnât come without its dangers.
Only last night I was at a local gig, for a new local group in a pub, about a mile away. It was quite good, but that is beyond the point. A slip of a girl, with long brown hair started talking to me. At first, I was a weary of her but she was pretty and fun and her smell was divine. She wasn't covered in shop bought sent like a lot of girls you meet nowadays. We spent the night chatting, drinking, and listening to the music. Anyway, she wanted to see inside the complex. Some of you un-infected have morbid curiosities.
My stomach churned, blood boiled, and lust surged through every inch of my being. So I said sure why not, and we came back here. As they say, one thing led to another. The love-making was stupendous, just as I remember it from before my isolation, hands, lips and legs gliding over each other in a hot sweaty moment of pure joy.
Before I knew it, I had ripped her head from its shoulders and was scooping out the inside of the newly detached skull. Everything was coated in dark red sticky blood. The bed, the walls, ceiling and me. It was so liberating, I smeared the sweet-smelling liquid all over my body, as I fed on her organs. This fresh meat was so much better than the week old kill the state hands out.
The problem began, when those occupying the apartments around mine caught the scent. Soon there was hammering on the door. But I had long ago reinforced that point of entry. And the windows on the 85th floor didnât open, so I was safe on that front too.
I could hear the frenzy that had taken hold outside my door. Soon my meager meal was of no interest to the others, as they fell upon each other. I could imagine the gore and delight as those who had wanted to devour me were now on each others menu.
I luxuriated in the feeling of blood caked into my hair and drying fast on my skin. I tried to experience every mouthful of flesh as if it were my first. I wished I could witness the carnage out in the hall, but I knew that it wouldnât be safe, for me anyway. There were a couple of tasty treats on my floor that I would have liked to saver. I would just have to hope they weren't affected this time. But if they were, it didn't matter. The infection rate was rising and there would be new residents in the flats before long. This would mean another move for me within the complex. Oh well, onward and upward.
Once quite returned to the corridor outside I slide the door open, and allowed the chipped and cleaned bones of my former guest to join those scattered in the carnage that ran red all around the hallway.
Two days later there was another pounding on my door.
'Anyone in there?' came the harsh official call. 'This is Sargent Clarke of the state seclusion board, is there anyone in there?' his voice was deep and rough and had the tone of someone whose voice was never ignored.
I answered his call, telling him I had heard the slaughter but had been able to resist the powerful urge to feast, and stay locked in my apartment.
'We'll need to check things out,' he rasped.
Slowly I opened the door, to see a group of six uniformed soldiers, all with their long-barrelled weapons pointing at me. The Sargent pushed past me and took in the small space, he kicked open the toilet room door and checked behind the shower curtain.
'We have to make sure there's no affected infected and still active.' He said, motioning his men to lower their guns. 'We'll have to move you up to the penthouse on 106, while the clean-up goes ahead. You'll need to wear this.' He detached a small face mask from his belt and handed it to me. 'Don't want you going all self-service on us as we relocate you, do we?'
I was quite pleased with myself. I had cleaned up the flat so it looked like new, what I hadn't been able to feed on I had simply thrown out the flat door to join the rest of the decaying flesh and bone.
It had taken all my will-power to wade through that battlefield, and not just gorge myself, but I needed the stock. The small vials of inhibitors, from every other flat on the floor. As I've said before, these flats are very easy to keep clean.
So, my kind have become, pariahs. It wasnât that long ago that I was just like you, with the same loves, hates, and problems. Then I contracted the virus, T4761. You will have read in the papers and seen exploitative television news, about how this thing corrupts and eats at your inside, turning the once healthy into slobbering beasts. Well, I can tell you itâs not like that. Well, not all of it anyway. Some of us have learned to survive on your terms.
The penthouse has some stunning views over the city and at times I like to think of that as a huge buffet, laid out before me. All I have to do is reach out and take what I want.
The one thought that keeps me awake at night is, that those of us with the virus will soon outnumber those of you who aren't infected. Then what happens to the daily pill? What will be the point of stopping the unstoppable?
But thanks to those who helped elevate me to the highs of the complex, I have enough medication to see me through the transition. Hundreds of little pills that will enable me, pick and choose my direction in the next year.


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