Zombie 2.0: Zombie Botnet, #2

By Al K. Line

In Zombie 2.0 the infected are leaner, meaner and certainly not cleaner.

Al, all 6' 7" of him, teams up with the survivors of the zombie apocalypse as they try to find a safe refuge and make sense of the nightmare world Ven created.

 

Al's Pervasive Developmental Disorder, Not Otherwise Specified (PDD-NOS) causes its own unique set of issues for the gang - if one more person asks him if he is Dutch, just because he speaks funny, he might just explode.

The Web is still a no-go zone, but it doesn't stop those that can somehow get a connection from going on Twitter to see if anyone is doing anything cool.

 

As the world burns and the brains are eaten, hashtags and timelines still lure the remnants of the world's population.

 

What's the first thing you do when your boyfriend gets eaten by his mom? Update your Facebook relationship status, of course!

 

Be prepared for new adventures in wet Wales, bad jokes courtesy of Al, and depressing observations on the human condition.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Al K. Line
• Release date: Oct 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781497792050

Al K. Line

Al K. Line is a British author who lives in rural England with his wife, son and dogs. When asked to describe himself for this bio all we got was the following: "Who am I? Degrees, jobs, living in other countries, fighting squirrels, cuddling monkeys, amused by penguins, all the usual stuff." Best newsletter in digital make-believe land: http://www.alkline.co.uk (discounts and cool stuff) Facebook thing: https://www.facebook.com/authoralkline

Book preview

A Trip to the Library

The sweeping expanse of stone steps that fronted the imposing library building in Pentref y Melltithio, a small town in central Wales, had been cleaned daily for centuries. Now those historic steps were littered with the detritus of human remains. Pint upon pint of blood, and worse, had irreversibly stained the centuries worn stone.

Bodies, putrefying and swollen with gas, basking in the unusually warm British summer, were scattered in all directions.

Kyle and Mike pulled up in front of the building in Ven's Subaru, aghast at just how different even this small town was to the quiet country lanes they had become accustomed to. In just five days the world had gone from a living population of well in excess of seven billion, to less than one percent of the human race left uninfected. Mostly in parts of the world where they didn't even have enough to drink, let alone worry about whether they could check Twitter or not to see if #zombie was still trending.

It was, of course, there was nothing else left to talk about any more.

Only a handful of people could now access the Web anyway, most that tried were infected within seconds by the zombie botnet — they never even had time to see if there were any funny memes on Facebook.

The United Kingdom, where it had all begun, was a ruined country. Towns, villages, cities, anywhere that people normally congregated, were no-go zones. If you knew what was good for you.

Which is why Kyle and Mike still couldn't quite come to terms with the fact that they were risking life, and most certainly limb, to go to a fucking library. This library was the pride of the county, one of the best in Wales. Its size, and wealth of literature contained within, far exceeded what you would expect to be found in a small town numbering inhabitants in the low thousands. Make that population thirty six now, most residents having either been infected by the zombie botnet or eaten by those that had been infected.

The building was one of those quirks all too common throughout the UK. A prominent local landowner had commissioned it in the early eighteen hundreds — dedicated to his family and his title. Never mind that at the time people were too busy to read the books within, slaving away in his fields, tied to the old tithe system and struggling to survive. He was rich and wanted a monument to his greatness. Books were amassed, favors were traded, and Pentref y Melltithio became renowned for having one of the most well respected libraries in all of Wales. Although the family it was built to honor and immortalize had long ago fallen into obscurity. Scandal and poverty being the result of a lack of wise investment and a change in the law regarding just how much you could expect the peasant farmer to produce for you.

I didn't even know that people still went to the library, said Kyle. Why would you bother? Didn't people just look shit up Online, or buy from Amazon for their Kindles?

Fucking hell Kyle, you kids are on another planet. Look, not everyone has a bloody Kindle or Kobo or fucking i-whatever you twat, and there is such a thing as leading a more sociable life. You know, where you actually have to talk to other people, and anyway, some folks like to read books actually printed, you know, on paper.

Alright, jeez, it just all seems so primitive. I guess it's for the poor people then, ones that can't afford to buy books?

Mike just looked at Kyle, and gave him one of those stares. Many a grown man had backed away from such a steely glance; Kyle seemed completely oblivious.

Twat, said Mike under his breath, mainly because it made him feel better and not like an old man. Even though he was only in his early forties.

So what's the deal with libraries then? They have every book there is, or what?

For a man of twenty one Kyle was incredibly dense about certain aspects of life for the average person. Kyle spent, or had spent, most of his time either walking around parks or in his room making illegal programs to hack into various places he shouldn't be. It meant he was not what you would call worldly-wise.

Look Kyle, of course they don't have every fucking book there is you dick-head. There are over a hundred and seventy million books in print, and who the fuck knows how many more in digital form now that any idiot can write and publish a book — even if it's shit. So no, they aren't all in this fucking building. Mike was amazed at the missing knowledge of those not at least in their thirties when it came to old institutions such as the library service. Mike's age was showing when he realized just how normal libraries were, and how much a part of life they were, for most people of his generation.

Shit, what the fuck happened to the world?

In case you hadn't noticed, Mike was not in the best of moods this morning. He had not had the best few days and even though he slept well the previous evening, going to a library still seemed like utter madness. Plus, waking up to find a tubby dog's bum in your face is not the nicest way to greet the day — unless you are another dog, or need therapy.

British libraries are a major institution going back hundreds of years. Until the zombie botnet was unleashed there were over four thousand open libraries spread throughout the United Kingdom. The number dwindling a few hundred each year, as the Web became more and more the place for people to buy their reading matter — often in digital format. But libraries were an important part of many people's lives, a social outlet as well as a place to explore and find unexpected new authors, do research, read complimentary daily newspapers, or use one of the many free computers that had excellent connectivity to the Web.

Are we going to do this or not? said Mike. Just sitting in the car was making him feel uneasy, not that he was looking forward to getting out either.

I guess we better, although this is one fucked up plan if you ask me, said Kyle. And it was if you thought about it, but no-one could think of a better way for their group to find a safe place to stay that they had even a chance of defending.

Kyle, Mike and Cassie had discussed it at length, and there really wasn't a better solution they could think of to find a safe haven for them all. After the unfortunate 'incident' at the barn they had been on the move since. None of them could think of anywhere that could be defended properly against the infected. Houses and normal buildings were simply too susceptible to attack — that had become all too obvious in the most heart-wrenching of ways.

What was needed was a structure that was properly defensible, which meant not only something out in the country away from most infected, but it meant something with open views and a contained building that they could feel safe in. After hours of discussion the ideal property type was decided on. A manor house with a large walled garden would meet the criteria perfectly.

It would be an ideal place to settle down for the foreseeable future, a refuge they could barricade very effectively with minimal work. They would have space, they would have protection, and they would also have a garden that could be put to practical use.

Vegetables could be grown and animals could be kept. It would mean they were relatively self sufficient at the least. This was going to be a very important part of survival for those who had not been infected by the zombie botnet. Fresh food was impossible to find after just a few days, either having been scavenged already or begun to turn. Either that or the food was fresh as the day it had been harvested, which didn't instill that much confidence in eating it. How the hell can fresh vegetables stay so pristine? Chemicals, and lots of them, was the answer. The guys didn't mind if they were honest, but Cassie was adamant — even if there was a zombie apocalypse she wasn't going to eat anything but real food, and not any of that GM crap.

The decision on what would be a suitable home for the group having finally been decided upon, there was now the very real and pressing problem of none of them having a clue as to where they could find such a property. Mike and Cassie had good knowledge of the local area, and could think of nothing that even came close to their needs. Obviously they couldn't just do a Google search, the Web was a no-go now, the risk of infection all too real. The only answer was to go 'Old Skool' and actually go to the library and find suitable reference material, that contained listings and information on local manor houses.

So here they are, Mike and Kyle. Sat in Ven's Subaru, parked in the road at the bottom of the imposing and historic steps. Worn by thousands upon thousands of footsteps over the centuries, now soaked in blood, littered with half eaten corpses. Innards, bone and brain flung carelessly over the once shiny and smooth stone steps at the gateway to this fountain of knowledge. All the gear from the Subaru had been transferred into the Land Rover, better to ensure they had room if they found anywhere for provisions on their trip into the small town. Also to ensure that if anything did happen to them then the gear wouldn't be lost along with their souls.

The car now contained just them and some choice weapons, a lack of guns still being the main concern for both of them. Damn, they wished the UK didn't have tight gun control, a zombie apocalypse really does make you change your mind about the risks of owning death dealing weaponry in your own home.

Armed with his trusty twelfth century long handled mace with the steel head — much like a baseball bat but with armor piercing capabilities — Kyle was also tooled up with various knives and a few other bits and pieces in his backpack. Mike had Ven's sword, some knives as well, and even some of the Japanese throwing stars Kyle had brought from his old home. Not that he had much confidence they would ever hit anything if he threw them, but better to bring them just in case.

Right, said Mike, let's go borrow a book then. It sounded weird, even to him, and Kyle was still very dubious about just why people would go to the library in the first place.

What's that noise? said Kyle, listening intently.

I don't hear anything.

It sounds weird, something odd about it, said Kyle.

Mike listened, and then he got it. It's called nature Kyle, it's the birds and the insects. No cars.

Kyle listened again, and realized that what he was hearing was the total lack of the usual background noise he was used to. Even living in a relatively quiet part of suburbia there was always a background noise everywhere you went, even the local parks where Kyle went walking a lot. Here in the small town there was no hum of traffic, no noise from local business, not even chatter of people going about their business or shopping. It was just the birds, the bees, the flies and them.

It's kind of peaceful, isn't it? I like it, said Kyle. It sort of feels right, like the world has been born anew in a way.

Hmm, very poetic dude, it's just a shame about this, said Mike, gesturing expansively at the scene of depraved cannibalism all around them. And this, he said, pointing at the cracked open head of a young blond woman just a few steps up, maggots and flies covering the mostly empty cavity that once contained her brain.

Well, yeah, there is that, said Kyle, trying not to look at the foulness that littered the steps. C'mon, let's get this over with.

They made their way gingerly up the ancient steps, staying alert and watching where they put their feet. The large wooden doors were open, leading into an expansive foyer with a black and white tiled floor, inlaid with the coat of arms of the original sponsor. The place was a disaster zone. The reception desk was on its side, pamphlets bestowing the virtues of local tourist attractions were scattered all around. The small gift shop was in total disarray. Art posters, souvenir mugs and Welsh dragon plushes just a few of the many items that were knocked asunder when 64 year old Margaret turned berserker as she tried to see what the local Women's Institute were doing on the weekend via their Twitter stream.

Three bodies lay in uneasy positions only possible in death. Sprawled around tables and chairs that were part of a small cafe the library ran to help with funding. Two of the bodies had little more than a few bite marks on them, their necks had been ripped open but no more flesh had been consumed. The reason why was obvious — sat next to the third body was one of the infected.

What was even more disconcerting, more so than the scene Mike and Kyle were faced with, was the lack of any other bodies. The red smear marks on the floor, of what was obviously a sign of bodies being dragged into the main library, instilled confidence in neither of them.

The third body in the foyer had been maniacally and haphazardly devoured until there was little in the way of flesh remaining. The head had been cracked open, the brains eaten. Eyes were gone, the throat had been ripped out and the esophagus gnawed. A large breast had been chewed until ribs were exposed. The rest of the body had not fared much better, it was like a pack of animals had fought over the unfortunate soul.

Sat leaning against this decimated, once living human, was a man so bloated with his disgusting meal it was impossible to fathom how he hadn't simply popped. His stomach was so distended that it had burst his shirt buttons. His weighty belly was now as smooth as silk, the skin having been stretched as taut as it could go.

The infected man had all kinds of foulness running down his legs, the meal making its way out in a disgusting tide of liquid feces. Mixing with his urine, trickling to the floor, adding to a rank liquid pile that stank to high heaven and was covered in a swarm of flies. The sick look of contentment on the cannibal's face was one that Kyle had seen before — one that he would never forget. Mike had also encountered this look of delinquent bliss recently, the result of massive quantities of serotonin coursing through the zombie's brain. They both quickly stepped away, the scene already burnt into their retinas.

This had obviously been a recent incident, there was little in the way of decay present on the three victim's bodies. Judging by the makeshift weaponry spread close by, these three people had obviously come to see what they could salvage from the cafe, having then met with an unfortunate end. If they had been killed on the day the zombie botnet went live then the scene would have been even worse than it was now. The almost comatose infected man on the floor would have digested his warm meal and been on the hunt again long ago — huge doses of thrombin meaning little of the ingested meal was stripped of its nutrients. Fresh meat was the preference at all times, fresh brains and still beating hearts were what drove them to such depths of depravity. A constant hunger which was unbearable and impossible to appease because the hypothalamus no longer regulated neuropeptide Y.

With serious trepidation Mike and Kyle entered the library proper. A large room full of row upon row of books, many of the rows of shelving still in the upright position. Some sections had been knocked over, during what was obviously a fight for life by many who were frequenting the building when the botnet went live. Thirty computers ran the length of one wall — free for all visitors and in full use the previous Thursday afternoon. It seemed like a lifetime ago to Mike and Kyle, but was actually just five days ago.

Most of the monitors were now smashed and on the ground, only a few remaining standing. All of them now without a