Eyes of the infected ✔ [COMPLETED]

Chapter seven

CHAPTER SEVEN


Sandler Young

For three years I’d run the country better than any other Prime minister previous to me. Forget David Cameron, Thatcher and Brown, I was voted ‘the Prime Minister most likely to pull the country out of financial turmoil’, I was the one who was going to ‘make a difference’ and without sounding big headed, I made that difference. Poverty levels dropped, banks began to gain back more and more control and soon the money was flooding back into our system.
The election was going to be soon – I was ready to be re-elected as the man of the people, the man who would make this country great again.
Now look at it.


I would forever be the man who ruled when first England fell, then Scotland, then Wales and then maybe, just maybe everywhere else. I would always be the man who ignored the scientists pleas, who ignored the research results being shoved my way. I would always, always be the monster who allowed people to do what they did in those labs, always be the monster who prevented my two daughters from growing up in a country where they could step outside and play safely.
Everyone will spit my name out of their mouths with distaste, wondering where the government was when everything crumbled, wondering why they were told nothing until it was too late. ‘Prime Minister’ the MP’s would say, my assistants would say, ‘We need to brief the country, the infection is loose, sir, the virus is loose’.


I ignored them, buried my awful, big head in the sand and just watched everything burn in front of my eyes. Then, finally, I allowed the press releases and told the country only a fraction of what I really knew. Even now, if everyone knew the full story, the government would never gain back it’s credibility. I had to keep it quiet, I had to.
I had no choice.


So why can I see all this blood on my hands? The death toll is rising second by second, even as I prepare to evacuate I can taste the horrible, horrible tension in the air. Accusing stares from women who don’t know where their children are, men who are aching to hit me because their wives won’t return their calls.


I’m doing all I can now though. The two TV stations up and running are telling people the only symptoms we know, Labs in England are carrying out hundreds and hundreds of tests, looking for a cure. I’m praying, praying for everyone.
It’s not enough though. My country needed me months ago when all this started and I wasn’t there, when they were just living their lives.
And now what?
Even I don’t know.
So how the hell must they feel?


Harley Sawyer
‘Do you want some tinned tomatoes? I’m not sure there’s much else here’.
Keith and I glanced towards Matt who was animatedly searching through several cupboards.
‘Thanks’ I smiled warmly before looking back at Keith who was staring at the curtained windows. Lucas and Lauren were sat in the living room discussing some sort of plan; it seemed they were a good team. The rest of us gathered in the small Kitchen, Keith and I sat at a wooden table while Matt attempted to cook with the old-style stove which fit in perfectly with the dated décor of the rest of the house.
‘I never asked where you live’ Keith tore his eyes from the window to look at me, his face taking on a guilty expression which made me smile.
‘It wasn’t exactly at the top of your list. Stevenage, about as far down south as you can go from here. How about you?’
‘A little further down south as well, small town. Not much ever really happens there’. He looked wistful, as though he missed quiet life. I couldn’t blame him, I only felt the same.
‘Do you really paint?’ I asked, suddenly remembering.
‘Yeah’ he looked embarrassed now, his cheeks tinted the slightest shade of redand he wouldn’t meet my eyes, ‘Just casual stuff, nothing serious. It’s all crap anyway’.
‘You’ll have to show me’ I replied with a smile, wishing I had enough talent to be able to paint. After this, I decided, I would learn. I’d learn to paint, learn to draw. I’d learn everything that I’d been putting off my whole life. Maybe I'd even ask Keith to teach me when we got out of here, maybe he'd even want to,
I just hoped we would get out.
'Your arm is bleeding' my arm was suddenly in the possession of Keith's hand as he inspected a cut I didn't even know I had. I shivered as the slightest hint of electricity shot through my body at his touch, his concern making me laugh quietly.
'What's up?'
'Nothing, nothing' I couldn't help but break out into a small smile, 'You're just nice, is all. It's a nice change of scenery'. He laughed at my words, pulling a plaster from nowhere to stick to my arm.
'Well thank you. I'm going to throw it out there and say that you're rather nice too, you probably woke up one morning expecting a nice day and fell into whatever this is'. It took me a moment to notice that he was looking at me intently, a small smile playing on his lips. I felt strange under his gaze, as though I couldn't quite compete with what was around me and I couldn't ignore the unusual atmosphere which made my stomach flip a little.
'Something like that' I muttered, 'Brings a whole new meaning to 'moody mondays'.
Keith laughed again suddenly, pulling his arm back, 'Tell me about it'.


‘Hey’ Lucas walked into the kitchen, followed by Lauren who immediately walked over to the counter and wrapped her arms around Matt’s waist, talking quietly to him. Suddenly, I felt protective and stood up to wrap my own arms around my brother who grabbed me in his shivering arms.
‘Get your stuff together, we’re leaving’ Lucas spoke softly, squeezing my shoulder.
‘Leaving?’ my voice came out in barely a whisper, thinking only of the trouble we’d gone to getting into this house, fighting our way in. I pulled myself from his grasp.
‘We need to find Mum and Dad, we need to save our little brother’.
‘They’re dead’ Lauren’s words pierced my heart but I knew she was wrong, I’d known since the second she said the country would fall - my parents were strong, smart. They would have figured out what was going on, what was happening. If only my ridiculous phone would get back it’s reception, if that annoying automated woman on the end of the line who drawls that ‘The person you are calling is not available..’ would let me through, we could speak to them, find out where they were. It was a matter of time.