Red Death Wave: The UK Under Attack

Chapter 1

Lola abruptly stops walking. "I'm thirsty," she announces.

I fish the water bottle from my rucksack. There's barely any left in it, just a mouthful or two. I'll let Lola have it all. Once we reach Gunwharf I'll be able to refill it. At least, I hope I will.

Back in Havant, the little town where Lola and I came from, a handful of people who survived the 1st and 2nd Wave had started to congregate, trying to organise some sort of shanty-town amid the ruins. Gradually other survivors trickled in, some bringing news of what was happening in the world. Most of it sailed over my head - horror stories of death and destruction - until one man claimed he'd heard of a refugee camp set up in what was left of Gunwharf Quays. Initially I was reluctant to up and leave. The Others' attacks shattered the rules of our civilisation along with everything else, and it wasn't uncommon now to see savage gangs roving the streets, taking advantage of the world's new state of lawlessness.

But once the plague started spreading bloody fingers through the world, I was left with no choice. We couldn't stay in Havant; it wasn't safe there anymore. The people who'd survived with us had one by one succumbed to the disease: fever boiling their brains; blood leaking from every opening on their body; violently throwing up the lining of their stomachs.

I've heard that some people survive it, but I've never seen it happen.

Heading for a possible refugee camp is a long shot, especially considering that Gunwharf itself is a waterfront hub. When the 2nd Wave hit, most people who lived there and the surrounding Portsmouth area would have been washed away like so many others. But I can't afford not to take the chance, not if it means protecting Lola. She's all I have left, and I'll die before I let anything happen to her.

Lola hands the water bottle back to me, empty now, and I place it in my rucksack. My own throat prickles with thirst, my tongue feeling like a hunk of sandpaper. But I can cope with it, as long is Lola is okay.

We carry on down the road. The sounds of the world before - the roar of cars, the hum of streetlights, the occasional surge of a plane overhead - are all gone now, wiped out during the devastating EMP that was the 1st Wave. The world now dances to a different tune - the constant buzz of flies, and the cry of birds feasting on the dead. Somewhere in the distance, smoke twists into black shapes on the air. I don't know where it's coming from, but there are fires everywhere now. It's the only way to dispose of the dead.

A body blocks the road ahead, bloated and burst open under the sun. There's no way I can keep Lola from seeing that. All I can do is hold her hand, letting her know that I'm not going to let anything happen to her.

"Look up at the sky, Lola. Don't look at it," I say. I have to say 'it' because the body is too rotted for me to know if it's male or female.

As we step over the body, I follow my own advice, tilting my head skywards so I don't have to see what lies at my feet. This close to a corpse I find myself holding my breath, terrified that the plague is going to work its way through my makeshift mask, slither down my throat and poison my whole body.

People are calling it the Red Death. It's swift, incurable, and lethal. If what the other survivors have told me is true, then thousands are dying every day, millions even. It makes me think of that first plague that ravaged the world, the infamous Black Death. If History class taught me right, that pandemic killed between seventy-five and two hundred million people. The Red Death makes that number look puny. Some people are blaming unsanitary conditions for the rise and spread of the plague, believing it's come about because of the countless bodies rotting in the sun, but I know better. Poor conditions might have enabled the devastating spread of the Black Death, but this is the Red Death, and it makes any other pandemic look like a case of the flu. This plague has been engineered by the Others, even if everyone else hasn't realised it yet. It's the 3rd Wave, the latest attack designed to wipe out humankind, and it's more calculatedly savage than either of the previous Waves. That scares me because I can't imagine what will come next. And something will come next; I can feel it. The alien scum haven't finished with us yet.