Infected

By Claudio Hernández

In the beginning, the amputated limbs of the deceased from the cemetery gave the first clue, when they began to move. Further, Father Martín was caught red-handed lifting a deceased person from his coffin who was coming to life, and the infection was unleashed like an electric current discharge in much of the city of Águilas. A whole maelstrom of zombies occupied several downtown streets while a group of tourists, led by two brothers-in-law who hated each other, are trapped in the castle, which hides a secret.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Sep 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667414034

Book preview

PRELUDE

FIRST PART

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In the beginning, the amputated limbs of the deceased from the cemetery gave the first clue, when they began to move. Further, Father Martín was caught red-handed lifting a deceased person from his coffin who was coming to life, and the infection was unleashed like an electric current discharge in much of the city of Águilas. A whole maelstrom of zombies occupied several downtown streets while a group of tourists, led by two brothers-in-law who hated each other, are trapped in the castle, which hides a secret.

Sebastian, the letter

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The centennial man took the stool in front of the wooden table, where there might well have been twelve more men, with his hands on it, and his gaze lost, under the mean light of the torches. But no, now it was only him. Sebastián, a man who had lived through two pandemics or, in other words, two experiences with the living dead. The first time was two months before the end of the Spanish Civil War when those damn bombs let out a type of gas with a smell similar to bleach, but which raised the dead. His eyes witnessed it. Those who had fallen from the sky, according to the little Angel, a three years old child and frightful reception, then walked with their own legs. If they didn't, they crawled sideways with their hearts in cardiac arrest and not breathing.

Now, with the city of Aguilas in quarantine and the bullets whistling outside the shelter from several fronts, where precisely he was, the most terrifying and cruel infection he had ever known has been lived, even after knowing the contents of the Arab king Hins A-Akila’s book, who claimed to have raised his army after being defeated by the Berbers. Sebastian's tired eyes stared at the empty yellowish sheet since, after all, he had to leave written down what had happened in the city of Aguilas, although, in a way, he was more concerned about what would come next.

His trembling bony hand moved over the wrinkled wood of the castle’s shelter table and his fingers found the quill. With great passivity, he raised it and, after gazing at it under the torches’ reddish light that shone behind her, he inserted the tip of it into a bottle of ink. Her bent body showed some lumps, it was her vertebrae that creaked every time her white beard brushed the yellowish sheet of paper. She didn't complain, she just started coughing every time she spoke and got tired too often. The tip of the quill came to rest on the paper and his fingers pressed to start writing. And, while the torches’ flames drew stubborn shapes on the wall and ceiling of the shelter, Sebastian began to write:

My eyes have read plenty about walkers, zombies, infected or undead. And unfortunately, he has seen them from a very young age. This is the second time that happens and the one who is now Father Martín, who has messed this all up, was an extroverted young man in the Spanish Civil War when his eyes saw everything. But fortunately, he doesn't know much about King Hins A-Akila, and he surely doesn't own the second book, which gives immortality. I remember when Águilas, after being called Urci, owned a large cemetery where nowadays they have built houses over the graves.

The remains of those dead, who cried at night from under the ground, now cry out for their moment of glory. And even more when the dead in the two new cemeteries started walking again. Even though they were now just bones, they claimed their right to live. Is this life?

FIRST PART

THE ZOL’S CITY

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Several Civil Guard helicopters flew over Águilas, since he was in quarantine. Down, a horde of zombies waited, roaming everywhere in search of human flesh. There were several spots of survivors because they were crowded in several strategic and difficult points to reach, such as the San Juan de las Águilas castle. There were about twenty survivors. The zombies kept moving forward and snapping at those they managed to reach. They saw them walk, dragging their feet, but they did it and that simply plunged you into a sea of doubts. Would you shoot anything in a democratic country like Spain?

The Civil Guard and Murcia and Lorca’s Local Police had closed the accesses to the city by road, from Lorca going through the Andalusia road and the Calabardina road. The Aguilas’ Local Police simply didn’t exist at this point, they had all turned into zombies. Many civilians fell into its claws, prisoners of ignorance and trust. There were zombies everywhere: one with an open head and showing the headache mass, another with a log stuck in the chest, a third crawling on the ground because his legs had already decomposed too much. A whole Dantesque scene that could be seen from the air. And the zombies, guided by the noise though blind, stared up furious.

Javier and Álvaro continued keeping their distance between them. They were brothers-in-law and you only had to see their eyes meet to realize it. But now was not the time for arguments as, under the castle wall, a horde of infected waited eagerly to eat a piece of meat. Their mouths were wide open, pointing to the sky, drooling and making guttural noises day and night, as they wandered from one end to the other, or simply crawled on the ground because their feet had already decomposed. One of the last bastions was the San Juan de las Águilas castle. Other active shelters such as Torre de COPE, Los Collados or, the furthest away, Los Mayorales, were still strong and safe.

They were places so safe and scattered that they allowed a small group of small members to survive against the zombies, who waited impassively under the only wall of the San Juan de las Águilas Castle. The other side of the wall faced the deep and far away sea. The Castle was the most tense and punished, because it was closer to the city’s downtown, the town hall and the church where it all started.

The San Juan castle stands on an eighty-five meters above sea level hill, from where it dominates the Águilas’ town, province of Murcia. Recently restored, it has electricity and a glass and metal elevator to allow visitors to climb comfortably, as well as a new viewpoint.

According to the story, this castle is a military complex from the 18th century, built on the base of two independent towers, dating from the 15th and 16th centuries. Both called the battery of San Pedro and San Juan’s Fort, linked by a long opened-air hall and reinforced by walls on both sides of it. The main tower was built on an Arabic design called Hisn A-Akila, where the rounded shape of the final design can be appreciated. San Juan’s Fort consists of two floors: the basement around the water tank, and the access floor around the patio. Today the Fort is accessed through an entrance, a door and the elevator that leads directly to the courtyard. However, it was actually safe despite restoration efforts to make it more accessible.

With all this and the rations, survival could be maintained beyond the prolonged life of the infected, which lasted from eight hours to several days, depending on the state of putrefaction of their bodies. But they came in droves and smelled the human flesh crowded into the castle. Fortunately, the twenty survivors who lived there, watched over their safety twenty-four hours, in shifts of two people. The idea was to contact the other shelters, such as the COPE tower, the Collados, or the Mayorales, to know if there were more survivors and to become stronger until the zombie era passed like a shadow in the middle of a full moon night.

Javier was, rifle in hand, propped up against the wall of the lowest tower (San Pedro); Álvaro did the same, but in San Juan’s tower, with a rolling cigar between his lips. It was night and he was playing guard while the rest slept peacefully. Tomorrow would be a new day, Javier thought, with his gaze fixed on the horde of zombies that was a few meters below, and that he was trying to climb uselessly. It was a windy evening, with a red background surrounding the clouds in the sky, predicting that the next day there would be even more wind. But that was not a problem.

II

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It all started with a hand found on the train tracks, reluctantly severed, possibly by the advanced state of putrefaction, ripped to shreds with a strong jerk. At some point, he seemed to lift a finger. The policeman, who had gotten up early that day, didn’t give credit nor veracity to what he saw, so what happened quickly faded into the background. This happened weeks ago.

Every two or three days, members of corpses appeared in the vicinity of the cemetery and on the train tracks, and almost always gave the impression that they were still alive. The amputated or torn-off limbs belonged to the recently deceased of the city. It was easy to identify the parts found, mostly because they were so close to the old and new cemetery. The Local Police were considering the idea of a group of soulless people playing a very macabre game. The aim would be to harm or simply the audacity of a few young people. Only that. But they were making a mistake.

Juan was the one who found the hand on the train tracks. It was the first amputated limb found in a long series of them.

Juan had gone out for a walk with his puppy, Clidford, a Yorkshire, for the pup to do his business on a field that skirted the train track three hundred yards from the old cemetery. When the animal found such surprise, he caught it between his sharp teeth and brought it to his owner. Juan, stooping and realizing what it was about, took a step backward, stumbled on the train track, and fell to the ground. The impact of his tiny dog’s show with a dismembered hand in its mouth caused a huge fright that ended in burning in the center of the chest and stomach. The suffocation caused by the shock came later, but Juan managed to gather strength and rejoin to call the police and break the news.

-  Did you see anyone around here when you found the hand? The policeman asked him.

- No, no, the dog brought it to me in its mouth. From the shock that I gave myself I fell and could not see anything. All I did was call you on the phone. This area is normally very isolated.

-We know. It is an area for the train, not for pedestrians. 

The policeman was reprimanding him because the train tracks were for that, for the train, and not for walking a dog. It had a bridge that crossed the tracks and when it was lowered, there was land for the animals. Juan nodded and kept quiet. The policeman wrote down all the information and left.

The second discovery was a complete arm that lay abandoned under a tree in the neighborhood closest to the cemetery, about two hundred meters away. The elderly woman with an obese body almost died of a heart attack when she saw it on the ground. It seemed to her that had moved, and she declared it to the police officers half an hour later, although they ignored it. At least, in that peculiar aspect. It seemed impossible to believe such a thing.

-  Ma'am, take it easy, the police officer was saying. - The ambulance will arrive soon, you will be a little sedated and the anxiety attack will pass. Take a deep breath in the meantime, please.

The lady, suffocating with anxiety, tried to relax until the arrival of the ambulance and, deep within herself, she tried to forget that it had moved. At least that gave her peace with herself and she didn't get her adrenaline pumping. By doing so, she began to feel better. Her pale complexion gave way to much more pink skin.

-  It had moved, damn it No, no it didn’t

The ambulance arrived with the sirens at full throttle and they ceased when it stopped. In about five minutes they stabilized the old lady, with oxygen and a tranquilizer under her tongue. This happened two days after she found her hand.

III

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Word of mouth and people's gossip were the main sources for bringing the same conversation to every corner of the city. No one did not speak of the subject, and the police had not obtained answers yet, the reason why they had not been found guilty at the moment. And meanwhile, life continued in the city as normal. On Friday, the local newspaper had echoed the news exaggerating it to feed the most morbid minds. Never in the history of Aguilas had anything like this happened.

The third meeting was attributed to Pedro Rostán, who found a human leg about a hundred meters from the cemetery. The man was going to order a nest, right at the door of the cemetery, because there was a marble warehouse that manufactured them. Suddenly, the bulge in the middle of the road caught his attention. Fortunately, there was no circulation that morning. He approached it quickly, almost skipping and, by the time he reached the exact spot, he immediately stood up, having a certain impression that left him in shock for a few seconds.

-  God!, "he muttered under his breath. What is this? - he was talking to himself.

He entertained himself by touching it with the tip of his shoe. He was in an advanced state of decomposition, and the stench entered his nostrils. Pedro backed away in a quick attempt to avoid vomiting. The awful smell had crept up into his lungs to make him bend. This time nothing moved on his foot, unlike the other cases, or perhaps he did not discover it at the right time. Anyhow, he brought the discovery to the attention of the police who, almost instantly, appeared at the scene of the events, since the police station is located about five hundred meters to the west side of the cemetery. Now things were really happening but, fortunately, there were no facts about a serial killer, but in theory, it was about a gang of thugs, who must have something against the dead. And it happened several times more until they put surveillance on the two cemeteries of the city, at which point they stopped finding macabre encounters in the surrounding areas. But people kept dying and being buried in the cemetery.

Most impressive of all, perhaps, was what happened at the funeral home a week, after all that mess.

IV

The deceased's name was Benito Pérez and he was a rickety guy who, at his ninety-four years, had already lived through the First World War and the Spanish Civil War and, later, World War II in the Russian ranks, not with a lot of  passion. He now was almost marbled by the makeup to which he had been subjected to be well seen in the funeral home, at the expense of the people, a step prior to the burial and funeral service. The relatives, some crying and others in silence, were standing guard in front of the coffin full of wreaths and souvenirs. We will never forget you, grandfather put one of them, in charged by his granddaughters, Ana and Rosa. Throughout the day, the room where he was exposed was a racking of people giving him their last goodbye; at night, whatever the circumstances, the dead man was left alone for an hour.

When his daughter Rosario went to the funeral home at six in the morning, she had the great scare of her life. The body was out of the box and the flowers scattered everywhere, torn to shreds. There were some stains on the glass, like dark blood, very black and somewhat sticky. It seemed as if he had wanted to get out of there scratching the glass. Now, face down, she couldn't see how the cottons had fallen from his nose and mouth. Rosario exploded in screams and was paralyzed with terror. At half past six in the morning people began to arrive, supporting her and reassuring her. The police arrived at six forty-five. After what they had experienced the last few weeks, this was the most inexplicable thing that had happened. There was no reason here either why the corpse could be that way or how that small glass cabin was smashed. There were no footprints anywhere to reveal a hooligan. That shocked the entire Aguilas’ city.

V

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The local press was taking pictures and videos. They interviewed some people and wrote their news as if they knew what the hell had happened there. That fed more people's imaginations. No one had access to the cabin, except for the funeral home workers and the corresponding priest, since there were three in the chapel. Maybe, the person in charge of all this was someone very respected and known by all. The workers had an alibi and the guard had fallen asleep at the back of the funeral home. Only the three priests remained, but the one who stood out the most because of his rarity was Father Martín. A strange, hawk-nosed man, tall and extremely thin, with his cassock dancing behind his back every time he walked. He was always surly and demanding. There was a mystery around him and soon everything was discovered. But it was too late.

VI

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Of course, he was no Herber West. But his magic potion mixed with different color tubes and injected into a corpse, caused spasms in the muscles and the dead man to move. Father Martín was so obsessed with death that he wanted to discover how it occurred and bring the dead back to the delight of his loved ones. Actually, he didn’t want to see so many people suffer by saying goodbye to someone, but to be able to tell them: here is the miracle of God, who has worked in him, and the dead will rise.

It was also a coincidence that the policeman and his fatigue partner had discovered him right there, hunched over the dead man, with an injection in one hand, while with the other he held the already rigid arm. They were going to ask him about some complaints of broken glass in the church a few days ago, something that had nothing to do with the case they were taking.

Oh! Merciful God. Make it work this time! - Shouted Father Martín, ignorant of the presence of both. He pumped the contents into the vein and waited a millisecond to see the first reactions on the corpse, that he began to spasm and move convulsively.

For God's sake, what are you doing! - The policeman yelled as he hurried over to him.

Father Martín, realizing their presence, turned furtively towards them. The sun's rays came in through the broken window and somehow managed to illuminate the area they were in.

-No! Stay away, it can be dangerous! -  The priest yelled, wide-eyed and somewhat anguished.

Put that down, Senor Martin, - one of the policemen told him. He had the weapon in both hands, firmly grasped. -I wouldn't want to have to do something I don't want to.-

It doesn't need to get that far, - said the other policeman. - Everything can be fixed by talking, it sure is. - He looked at his colleague and continued.-  Right, Mr. Martín?

Already being close to him, and the priest dropped the syringe on the dead man. He was terrified and, giving his back to them, the dead man moved as he was convulsing as if he was having a rage attack.

I just wanted to help my congregation, - said the father, before being scratched by the dead man on the arm.

He now he was infected too and, what were simple spasms, had turned into a virus that infected at an uncontrolled rate. A virus that turned you into a zombie. A new era had begun at that precise moment.

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VII

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But Father Martín wasn’t a simple zombie, but the virus’ carrier. Because of some sort of liquid combinations he had been previously injected to himself, the infection wouldn’t spread beyond incubation. He could infect everyone he touched and scratched. But he would be just as smart as before, just as flexible and rickety as ever. Just as stubborn. He ran out of the church after revealing himself. After all, he had a plan.

-Yes! Now you know who the author of the events was. The truth is that he was part of my job, a bit dirty. I have had to abandon the pieces anywhere, honestly, but I apologize for that. They were simple tests and, at first, I was so mad that I would abandon them anywhere. - The priest, far from confessing, boasted of what he believed were his exploits. - But then the thing worked and I congratulated myself. Now, look at what I'm capable of. - And he turned again to show the corpse struggling in the coffin.

Get out of there, father! - Ordered one of the policemen, the one closest to him, holding the gun so hard his knuckles had turned white.

But Father Martín ignored the order.

What are you trying to do with that poor man, kill him? - asked the policeman.

Suddenly the priest laughed jokingly as he tilted his head back.

You haven't understood anything, hahaha, - and he left the church.

They followed him with the sight of the gun pointed at him, but neither of the two policemen fired. Instead, they approached the coffin, believing that there was a man alive.

Of course he was, now he was a walking dead.

Sir, do you need help? - One of the policemen asked him and, immediately, as he was leaning his head down into the coffin, the corpse grabbed him by the neck and bit him, with such strength that it tore his jugular. Blood splattered on the infected man's face and the policeman's chest.

His partner overcame in panic and uncertainty, fired a shot that missed anyone because of his state of nervousness when aiming. The coffin fell to the ground and the zombie stood up very quickly and climbed towards the other policeman. The policeman fired two more shots, these accurate, in the chest and on the shoulder. And the bullets came out of the back, but the zombie kept on walking since he didn't even feel pain. The policeman backed away, but slipped and fell to the ground. At that exact moment, the image of the zombie pouncing towards him with its mouth wide open and eyes enraged with rage was etched on his retina. Sharp pain in his shoulder and blood gushing out, a faint, and then total darkness. From here to the cataclysm there was only one step, it was a matter of days before everything became darkness for the inhabitants of the city. The era of the zombies had finally begun. From here to the cataclysm there was only one step, it was a matter of days before everything became darkness for the inhabitants of the city. The era of the zombies had finally begun.

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VIII

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From the contagion to the conversion could take anywhere from seconds to a few minutes, depending on the subject and nature. The corpse came out from the church onto the street, leaving behind the two policemen convulsing in their process of transformation. The church was located in Plaza España, with the town hall right in front. All the corners were guarded by ancient trees. There were people walking and kids chasing after the pigeons, old men chattering, and the police car parked in the corner, empty. People went about their normal life and no one realized what was happening. They had not even heard the shots inside the church, as it was soundproofed and at that moment the bells were ringing. Nor had they realized the speed taken by Father Martín when he left it. The zombie saw the light as soon as he opened the door. Now one of the policemen was transformed and stood erratically. His partner was still convulsing on the ground.

A parishioner tried to get in the church and, without noticing the zombie, it bit the old woman's jugular, while a stream of blood came out of her and pulled a piece of meat, brandishing it in the air. He didn’t want to eat but to raze, destroy, kill to satiety. Already at that moment, another passerby realized the situation, but he didn’t attribute it to a zombie attack, but a robbery or an assault. He went to the zombie and it bit the fingers of one hand, ripping them off. The boy came out, making a fuss, but he got infected, got dizzy, and fell to the ground. Then the policeman came out, with a hatred look, his retinas reddened and his pale and bruised complexion at the same time. An old man approached the stage and received another bite from the zombie. Another man approached the scene to ask the policeman for an explanation, and the policeman lunged at his neck, while the other policeman stood up as well. In a matter of seconds, half a dozen people were bitten, ripped apart, and infected in what would be an endless chain.

The rest of the people came out terrified as they saw the blood gush out and fell to the ground. An overwhelmed crowd quickly disintegrated, but still, some fell into the death trap for their senselessness. Who would have imagined that a zombie attack was starting and that these were the walking dead?

On a corner of the plaza, Andrés, a 30-year-old man and one of the many who were there that hot July morning, picked up the cellphone nervously and could hardly manage to dial the police’s number.

Police Office, tell me?

H ... hello. The Police?

-Yes tell me?

Something very strong is happening here. Two of his agents are killing people on the street.

-Come again?

That two of your policemen are carrying out a macabre massacre.

And where is it happening, to send our agents?

In the Plaza de España, and he hung up.

The man put the phone away and continued observing what was happening there, dauntingly. A woman who was passing by was run over by the agent, who had his entire shirt covered in blood. He tore her to pieces by biting into her neck and dropped her to the ground, already faint. The most shocking thing Andrés saw was how, after several convulsions on the ground, those people got up and threw themselves at others, biting their necks or arms. He imagined that he was making a mistake, that he was not seeing such a thing, that this was not really the case. But beyond all doubt, that was what was happening. At a time when he was absorbed and well withdrawn from the scene, he began to hear the sirens of the rushing police. Only three minutes had passed and there were already more than a dozen infected in the Plaza de España. Doubt and nervousness reigned in all. Two brand-new police motorcycles parked at the side of the road.

Mr. Agent, they're all fighting! A grandfather came to shout, making waves with his hands because of the nervousness that he had on top of him.

One of the Local Police officers got off the bike and went towards the screams, the people on the ground, the blood, and the erratic partners who were attacking more passersby.

Stop or I’ll shoot! The agent yelled, wielding the gun.

But one of his partners, now a zombie, although he did not know it, began to walk slowly and inexorably towards him.

It was clear that he had seen the companion of the body kill or take down two people, but he did not know why. And, much less, why two policemen did the same: bite and rip off part of their victims’ jugular. Had they gone crazy? Why were others also doing the same irrationally? Why did everyone, one by one, scratch and bite when they reached someone?

The zombie cop got too close to him and scratched his arm. How was he going to shoot a co-worker? Also, he was confused. The specter, what was left of his mate, was now a mouth smeared with blood, the chest of his shirt covered in a large thick red stain, shuffling erratically. The policeman who had the gun had to shoot him in the leg, but the zombie only moved back slightly as the bullet went through his leg and exited the other end. He reached over again and bit her forearm with such force that he took away a chunk of meat. The policeman felt a stabbing and relieving pain, as the symbiosis of the transformation was taking place. He dropped the gun and it fell to the ground. A burning and an increase in the temperature of his body turned him, at last, into a specter lying on the ground. The process was nearing to conclude. He was losing a lot of blood and right there he died as a human being, inert on the ground. After a few minutes, as the tragedy continued to unfold