LEFT 4 DEAD: GREAT BRITAIN
Introduction
In the waning months of 2008, a disease of unprecedented magnitude gripped the North and South American continents within its ferocious grasp, leading to destruction of scales never before seen by humanity. By 2009, all Americans were either infected… or killed by those infected. An international quarantine was instated upon the far-western hemisphere and their peoples by the surviving nations of the world. Any who were bold and brave enough to escape the horror that had subdued them were regarded as carriers and taken into laboratories to investigate the disease. Only those Americans that were already living in other nations prior to the assumed 'patient zero's' infection were left alive and free from persecution, granted new nationalities.
Any visitation to the infected countries was completely restricted, with any aircraft detected in the vicinity shot down with minimal warning; the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans extensively policed by all manner of supranational organisations. Although they claimed any chance of infection across the oceans was absurd, and that they had extensively researched all avenues for vaccination, the truth was merely that the infection was no longer spreading, and had been halted where it began. The rest of the world could now rest assured that it was safe from any possibility of there being a repeat of the catastrophe that razed entirely Canada, the United States, Mexico and the other nations of the Americas.
Now, fourteen years after the first infection, the United Kingdom carries on in a world where Europe now dominates the world market, alongside its Asian rivals, with a new economic boom well on the horizon, promising success and prosperity for the peoples of the world… as well as something far more sinister for the expectant millions…
Prologue
Day 2 Tuesday 13th September 2022
5:12pm
22 Queens Road, Westcliff-on-Sea
Joshua Wong set down the cleaver and picked the deadly sharp filleting knife. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, considering where to make the next incision, then made a thin horizontal cut, separating flesh from bone with practised ease. It was one of the benefits of an early end to the working day, he thought as he finished filleting the herring on his chopping board, that one could devote plenty of time to one's hobbies. Joshua's was experimental cooking, and his wife, daughter and their circles of friends often bore the brunt of his 'creative genius'. He glanced at the clock and flicked on the radio before picking up the cleaver and attacking another herring. At ten past five every weekday his friend Daniel hosted 'Raven's Flight Home', the local drive-time programme, and Joshua always made a point of showing his support, especially with Holly in the next room. Even at eight years of age, his daughter had eagerly grasped the concept of blackmail. He whistled along with a song as he thought about his friend. Although it made him feel guilty afterward, Joshua couldn't help feeling a little pity for his old friend. Daniel's life wasn't turning out too well: He had had plenty of relationships, but none of them lasted very long and most had ended badly; his last boyfriend had run off with his car, for one thing. He also kept running back to the same man, time and time again, despite ongoing difficulties, and adopted daughter that hated him, although the feeling was not reciprocated. And a couple of years ago, he'd managed to get his driving licence revoked, although he was now back to darting around town in his very first car, a dilapidated off-lilac Ford Ka; a vehicle everyone looked down upon, even Daniel. Still, the radio presenter was earning more than Joshua's humble wage; North Street didn't pay enough for the French language teacher to enjoy more than a few of life's simple luxuries, although if he were to cancel his gym membership he could probably afford a few more – it went neglected until a step on the scales spurred him guiltily into action for a few weeks.
Southend Radio HQ, Southend Seafront
A deep, satisfied sigh of thirst-quenched relief accompanied the accidental spilling of tea over paperwork and the desk on which it sat. The hot liquid spilled over its edge and onto the guilty party's right leg, causing him to rise briskly and swear, hoping to God that the station's recording equipment didn't pick up his curse as Video Killed the Radio Star by The Buggles played on the set.
"Oh, for goodness' sake!" Daniel said plainly to himself, trying in vain to swipe the tea from his now-damp jeans.
"You alright?" Matt Turner poked his head round the corner, an amused look on his face as he sighted the radio presenter's obvious annoyance. "You gone and wet yourself again?"
"Shut up!" Daniel moved to chase the cook off, succeeding in making Matt almost trip down the spiral stairs as he did so, giving Daniel a reason to laugh right back. It had already been a long day, particularly given how many people had taken ill in the last couple of days. He didn't care much, though. Granted, he enjoyed being the joker of the station and the attention he garnered from that, but for the most part, he preferred being the only presenter working; he was tired of having to share the microphone with that stuck-up, homophobic Carly, and work was a sweet release after being stuck at his home in Belfairs with civil partner Jack and their rebellious teenage adoptee, Rose. She had aged him more in the last three years than Jack did in the past twelve, not that he didn't love them both greatly.
The telltale and over-cheery theme tune to Raven's Flight Home played, signalling it was time for Daniel to address his listeners, and tell them all about the latest news on weather and transport, jobs usually left to the co-presenter that wasn't present.
"Well, here it is again, my little birds, that time when I bore you about cars crashing! On the A127, there's been just such a collision…"
Southend Victoria Police Station, Southend-on-Sea
The grey-haired, uniformed officer released his tight grip on the younger man's hand, ending their uncomfortably prolonged handshake. A small red crown adorned the uniformed man's epaulettes, signifying his superior rank of Superintendent, clearly commanding respect from the man in his late-twenties standing before him, although he could easily pass for late-thirties – not something many men would, or even should, be proud of.
"Thank you, sir."
"It wasn't me that put you forward, Morgan. You must have done something to impress that Chief Inspector of yours. Just don't mess it up." The Superintendent was almost growling. "This is a gamble, promoting you to Inspector so early and making you top-dog of SCU. If it goes wrong, it makes us all look bad, not just your smarmy self." He continued to glare at Christopher Morgan, looking him up and down, still not liking what stood before him; his natural distrust of detectives did nothing to help his mood, already worsened by this chesty cough of his. "Dismissed. You start bright and early tomorrow."
DI Morgan nodded to Southend Victoria's local Super., pleased to be finally out of the over-spacious office. The pair had never got on, particularly given Chris' typical disregard for over-zealous superior officers and stubborn attitude. However, it was that attitude that managed to get him this post, finally, after months of working at it.
His footsteps echoed through the corridors, the cheap cream paint that coloured the walls reflecting the dim, yellow hue that came from the ceiling lights upsetting his eyes, and furthering the opinion the government building was heavily under-funded. Chris stopped at the coffee machine as he progressed towards the exit, deciding he would wet his whistle before leaving proper; he was eager, however, to get home and have a sleep… after his routine call to Samantha, of course. His wife of eight years was currently enjoying the high life of a hot summer in Spain with their three children, visiting her ailing grandmother, whose joints had taken a turn for the worse. Chris, naturally, was invited also, but was saved by the promotion and change of affairs. Even Samantha considered that more important. Moreover, it gave the newly appointed DI some time to rest at home by himself, enjoying some downtime from the family. He removed the plastic cup from the machine, and sipped a sizeable amount of the searing hot fluid, burning the inside of his mouth. Had he not been so sleep deprived of late, the police officer would not have even considered touching the caffeine-loaded beverage. Wincing at the flavour, he dropped the cup in the bin beside the machine, unable to bring himself to drink any more of it.
Bugger this, he looked wearily down at his watch. I'm going home.