Читать книгу UniteDead Kingdom - Stuart Irving Irving - Страница 6

Zan's lay straight out in bed, eyes widening, watching the drone-cam’s live picture fill the ceiling. The youngish bearded man in the hospital gown finally reached then grabbed the elderly couple. Instead of moving them away from the fighting … he lunged forward and started chewing on the side of the elderly man’s head and neck, blood spraying immediately over them both. The female news-anchor immediately came to life and Zan's remaining sleep fog disappeared in an instant.

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry you had to witness that but … um … viewers I’m afraid you are seeing a live feed … I’m sorry … live pictures from Slovenia, in the small historic town of Kamnik. This town of fifteen thousand people is tragically suffering what seems to be a … cannibalistic riot or eh unrest of an extremely violent nature. We are trying to secure an interview with local authorities but no one will speak to us, which is … which is unsurprising given the emergency conditions on the ground.” She paused while touching her earpiece. Why do people with earpieces have to do that, even if completely unnecessary? Zan thought distractedly.

“We are, I’m told, about to hear a statement from the Slovenian deputy Prime Minister, Sylvad Gosnev, regarding the unrest.” On screen, a sombre looking ruddy-cheeked obese man in a garish sweater and tie was standing in the lobby of a hotel. He was flanked by stern-looking, well-built security men, barely contained in their suits. With a slight trace of an accent he spoke in perfect English.

“I can assure everyone that the Prime Minister, in his holiday home in the Canary Islands, is being informed of this civil unrest. He will return to Slovenia in the event that it escalates or is not contained in good time. The signs are that security services on the ground have started to contain the disorder. It is limited to just the town of Kamnik and there is no need for citizens of neighbouring towns to take any action other than to monitor reputable news channels. We will bring the perpetrators of this inexcusable violence to swift justice once peace has been restored to the town. No further questions please.”

The picture flipped back to the drone-cam view of the rioting and it did appear to have calmed down. Many of the rioters were now protectively crouched on the ground. It looked like the army had finally got the situation under control. The camera zoomed in and … both Zan and the news anchor gasped in unison.

The crouched rioters weren't doing so to protect themselves. They were deliberately hunched down, all in little packs and very slightly moving. Almost imperceptibly writhing, like the way a thin bed sheet would move with live, crawling insects underneath.

The camera zoomed in and Zan could see a woman in a navy business suit lying face down on the ground. She had brown hair scrunched back to form a tight ponytail and from the side you could see that she might have been pretty. It was hard to tell because one of the so-called rioters, an obese mid-twenties man in an apron, had his teeth clamped on the side of her face and used his hands above and below her mouth to slowly tear her jaw apart. Her prone body strained as he pulled her mouth sickeningly wide and snapped the tendons free, her face now spraying blood and her tongue flapping in desperation. She trembled in response, betraying the sickening fact that she was still alive. But not for long. The two other attackers who’d crouched round her body were also systematically dismantling her - one gouged at her thigh where her skirt had been pulled up, the other hungrily ate into her back towards her intestines. They feasted on her prone body like greedy siblings with a bag of treats at Halloween.

Zan felt himself dry-wretch and wondered what sort of sick joke this could be. It conjured the memory of a hundred movies where the actors saw something unreal and pinched themselves. He almost laughed at how crazy and clichéd that action would be but still did it. Nothing changed. This was fucking real, he thought. He waved his hand rapidly though the other channels and most of them showed the same scene, albeit the other broadcasters hadn't decided to go for gross, close-up drone-cam mode, accidentally or not. They all broadcasted similar strap lines: -

'Hundreds feared dead in Slovenian massacre'

'Violent riots in Eastern Europe. 100s dead'

'Cannibal cult in attack on peaceful market town, N Slovenia.'

The last one was apparently the only one to nail the truth. The news of the past decade was often filled with 'brutal attack' or 'rioters feared dead in the village of ‘Toofarawaytocare-istan’. But cannibals, what the fuck!? Who knew there was such a cult? It brought to his mind the explosion of zombie movies in the 2000s and 2010s that he grew up with. Before the public became obsessed by movies about daft other-worldly demons and dark, unsettling Cthulhu Mythos adaptions. Then his sleeve started buzzing. The message on his arm simply said ‘It’s Jack. Call me.’

Jack? Ex-colleague, Jack Travis? Can’t be. Zan barely knew him. He had worked on a different trading desk and certainly wouldn't have appreciated Zan's trading nearly costing him his job. The firm ended up with a positive PnL on that fateful Tuesday just over a year ago, but the traders knew exactly what happened and they didn’t speak to Zan again. A small minority still thought he was a trading legend, but most considered Zan reckless and arrogant. Zan was pretty sure Jack was in the latter camp. His mind drifted. Maybe it’s not Jack in Equities. Hold on. Surely it’s not …

“Oh, that Jack” said Zan, finally realising.