Infection

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

A man in a dark silk suit sat behind his long, metallic desk, sipping a cup of tea imported from halfway across the globe, as he sat in a spacious, lush office room, which walls were predominantly glass panels which overlooked most of Moscow. He sat idly and glanced down at the city, observing citizens hurrying around, trying to live as normal a life as possible, with the borders and streets heavily patrolled by armed militants, killing off infected and preventing them from entry into the heavily fortified state.

This was the president of Hackson-Alle International, who had ordered the release of the virus through hired militia across the world. It was a wonderful revenge, and it had worked splendid, in his opinion. With the rising chaos in the world prior to the viral outbreak, it was not difficult to obtain grunts, all fooled into thinking they were helping their own pitiful, pointless causes, wherever they may be from. Militants seeking political reform? Rioters wanting to overthrow the government? Fighting for ‘human rights’? He could only laugh at their fate after they had completed their task, thinking that they had been a step closer in obtaining their goals. Poor fools.

There was a soft knock on his intricate, wooden door and after a moment a man stepped in.

“I see you’ve finally arrived. Took you quite some time, Mr Quayle.” The President told the British male who had entered his office, as he turned around slowly.

“It was hard to locate the man.” The male replied, his accent strong and crisp. “City’s in chaos. Had to track him all the way in the QZ.”

“A QZ? Set up in your country?” The President laughed. “It won’t hold. Either way, we’ve got them all now.” The man chuckled. “The surviving world leaders all in my storage room! This is remarkably hilarious!” He burst out laughing maniacally.

Quayle nodded. “I agree. Too bad the UN didn’t agree with the bioweapons development. The world may still have known peace. Now, as agreed…”

“Of course. The agreement for you to have been made the CFO of HA. But of course, of course…” The President gave a half smile. One that seemed filled with malevolence, and cunning.

Quayle bowed and walked out of the spacious, lush office room, which walls were predominantly glass panels, overlooking most of Moscow, which was heavily protected against the infected, the dusk sky a brilliant shade of orange and blue.

***

Alfred Quayle closed the door behind him. He closed his eyes and prayed that his daughter and son were still alive, back in the UK. He would get his revenge on the President of the corporation, very soon. And it’ll be a vengeance not just of his own, but for the world which had plunged into a viral Armageddon, all because of the pettiness of a madman.

Just you wait, you blackmailing son of a bitch.

***

SHIT.

They had run straight into a horde of zombies. Jake swung his weapon at the closest few and knocked them back, as the two of them tried to push their way through the growing crowd. The creature was stuck in the alley, still screaming at the top of its voice, which exacerbated matters by attracting even more of the horde.

Ashlyn flailed around, trying to avoid the zombies which relentlessly moved closer and closer.

Suddenly, rifle shots pierced the air and several people rushed out toward them, brandishing weapons, and attacked the horde, putting them down at a rapid rate. Jake assisted them by moving forward and killing off some of the infected, now that they had some space to roam.