Day Four (Season 1)
Author: R R Haywood
Date: 2012-08-01 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Zombie Apocalypse
Description: My name is Howie. I was named after my father Howard, but it became too confusing to have two Howards, so I became Howie. I am 27 years old and I work as a night’s manager in a supermarket. I will tell you what happened. On Friday the world fell apart. A zombie infestation has ravaged Europe. Howie was at home and quickly had to learn to fight and survive in this new world as he battled through hordes of undead, desperately trying to reach his family...The Undead Day One. On Saturday he went back to his town but an undead stripper and her psychotic boyfriend awaited him. Then he met Dave and e
Publisher: 1899 Inc Ltd

Copyright © R. R. Haywood 2012

R. R. Haywood asserts his moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

All Rights reserved.

“The Undead” ™ and “The Living Army” ™ are Trademarks.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters and events, unless those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead (or undead), is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Design, Cover and Illustration by Mark Swan

CONTENTS

Day Four

Prologue

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Also by RR Haywood

THE UNDEAD

Day 4

DAY FOUR

PROLOGUE

Southern England, a police station in the heart of Portsmouth. A canteen with two men resting on mattresses made from thick blankets, normally reserved for prisoners detained in the cells. The blankets are rough and cheap, but the weather is hot, so cover isn’t needed for warmth.

Howie, the supermarket manager, sleeps deeply. His breathing steady and low.

The second man, much smaller in stature, lies awake. His eyes staring up at the ceiling as he waits for dawn to lift and the new day to begin.

For Dave, life before the army was a confusing mess of memories and images all muddled up in his mind. His first few weeks in basic training had been the same – messy and uncoordinated. He could run and shoot, and do all the things that were required of him, but his interactions with the other recruits were very difficult. They were young lads, pumped up with testosterone and fuelled by the need to constantly impress and show off, and they just confused him; they took the piss and made jokes.

Then they started unarmed defence tactics, and it changed everything.

The recruits were lectured about the need for unarmed combat tactics, and famous stories and accounts of weapons jamming and going hand-to-hand were explained to them.

The instructors drummed into them that this wasn’t king fu or karate, and it wasn’t meant to be pretty. They said that the only way to suppress your enemy was to use a massive display of violence. They were, after all, infantry and not ninjas.

They were shown basic blocking techniques, take-downs, and simple strikes, with moves that caused maximum damage with the minimum of effort.

Dave watched and learnt. He was told what to do, and he did it. Being the smallest of the intake, and the fact he never made small talk or joked about made him an obvious target, and the instructors yelled at him more than the others, which only caused to isolate him more from the group. This, though, was normal for Dave.

Each week, they were put through the training and drilled until they were proficient. It was physical, and it was simple. Dave learnt the techniques and worked with each partner in a methodical manner. They had been told not to cause injury to each other, so Dave never did. It was also drummed into them that they were brothers-in-arms, and you never hurt or inflict injury on your own kind.

They were put through their paces and told repeatedly that there would be an assessment at the end that they each had to pass before they could go on to the next stage. The assessment was a new training exercise being trialled.

Some of the regiments still did milling – recruits were fitted with large boxing gloves and set at one another for a minute and were not allowed to stop or rest until either one of them was down or the minute ended. The milling was popular, and the army was willing to trial a new method of assessing the skills they had learnt in the unarmed combat training.

Assessment time arrived, and all of the recruits were led into a gym, with rubber matting on the floor. They were in PT kit and sat in a square around the mats. The normal instructors were present, along with various army staff officers and regimental representatives, who had come to see how effective the new trial was. The recruits were told that normal rules of engagement were suspended. They were to attack one another and use any and all of the skills they had been taught for thirty seconds.

The victor would stay on until he was beaten, and they would keep going until everyone had been assessed. They could not stop until either one of them was down or the time ran out.

If the time ran out, and they were both still standing, then the senior officer present would decide who the victor was. Or if they should go again. The victor could choose who the next opponent was.

The idea was to see if the recruits would revert to type and just whack at each other with hay makers, or if the training had been effective, and they would use their new skills. The instructors and army understood that injuries were inevitable, but this was the army, and men had to be trained in the most effective way possible.

The first two recruits were selected at random and duly took their positions in the square. The bell was rung, and they went for each other. Some of the skills were apparent, but they held back too much. The constant warnings of not causing injury during training had run deep, and the bout went the full thirty seconds, with both of them still standing. They were made to go again and were screamed at for not using full force. The time started up, and again they went for it, but were still holding back.

The clock was stopped, and they were told clearly that each and every recruit would stay there until the bout was done to the satisfaction of the instructors. Each time they held back, they would lose a day’s R&R and be confined to barracks.

This did the trick, and when the fight started again, the men went for it properly, battering and striking at each other, using the skills they had been taught, along with their natural instinct to punch out wildly. The first man went down, and the other recruit was on him, pummelling his face and body with blows. The bout ended, and the victor was declared. He was pumped up and ready, full of confidence at being allowed to use full force violence. He was told to choose his next opponent and started looking around at the faces.

The recruits were looking at Dave, laughing and calling out his name, eager to see the smallest guy get beaten up. The victor played to his crowd and selected Dave.

Within seconds, they were facing each other, and again, both were told not to hold back. The instructor faced each of them in turn and explicitly told them to use full force.

Dave had learnt that in the army you did as you were told.

The bout started and was over within ten seconds, with Dave’s opponent having both his arms broken in two places and a fractured skull.

The stunned silence that followed was only shattered by the instructor declaring Dave the victor and telling him to select his next opponent. Naturally, they didn’t know the severity of the injuries at that time, or perhaps they would have ended it there.

The next opponent was a simple decision for Dave, who just pointed to the far left. He was taught to read and write from left to right, so that was his natural instinct when choosing anyone or anything.

Again, the clock was started, and this time it was over in less than ten seconds. His opponent had both knee joints dislocated.

By this time, some of the officers were looking at each other with concern, and the instructors were talking to each other in hushed tones. Then the instructors deferred to a quiet, well-spoken man in civilian clothing, who told them to carry on. He watched Dave intently.

Two minutes later, the assessment was ended to the great relief of the remaining recruits.

All of the recruits that were left were transferred to other training barracks overnight. The instructors were removed from duty, and the whole episode was covered up within hours.

Those officers that were present for the assessment were each spoken to separately and offered promotion if they signed a form, declaring they were not anywhere near the training centre on that date.

The families of the two recruits that Dave had killed were told that their sons died during a training exercise and were compensated heavily for their losses. The quiet, well-spoken man in the civilian clothing, who had allowed the assessment to continue, took Dave with him, and Dave was told that he must never talk about his life or about his training, or any part of his army career.

And Dave had learnt that in the army, you did as you were told.

Years later, his life took another turn, and he went out into civvy street. Finding himself working at Tesco. Dave did as he was told and never gave anyone any trouble. That was until four days ago when he was working the night shift, and a man staggered into the supermarket, covered in blood.

The uniformed security guard rushed forward to help, thinking that the guy was the victim of a horrific and violent assault. He was the victim of a horrific and violent assault, but he had been infected and now carried the thing inside that made him into something other than the human being he was just a short time ago, and as the security officer rushed forward, so the guy covered in blood lunged in and took the guard down, biting into his neck as the music from the supermarket speakers played on, and the insomniac shoppers and workers carried on shopping and working.

The infection entered the guard’s blood stream, and within minutes, he too was transformed.

The infection needed to survive, and the only way for it to do so was to continuously find more hosts. The infection knew that the quickest way to do this was to bite the host and use the saliva to enter the bloodstream. The infection even learnt to make the host drool to make sure there was plenty of diseased fluid already in the mouth when that bite happened.

The security man died within two minutes, but it was two minutes filled with searing agony that started in his gut and spread out until it consumed him wholly before his heart stopped, and he ceased to live. Then, an instant later, his heart started beating again as the infection took over, replicating and taking over every cell within his body. A few seconds after that, he snapped his red, bloodshot eyes open, with one single urge pulsing through his entire being – to find more hosts. To bite. To gouge. To feast in an orgy of blood and gore.

Dave was at the back of the store, checking that the stock he had just filled was lined up and facing forward perfectly. There was something good about filling a shelf. It was neglected and empty before he got to it. He made it full again and made it tidy. He worked on, heedless to the guard slamming into a woman and taking her down. Cutting her mild yelp off by biting into her throat through the windpipe. Two minutes, and she was dead. A few seconds later, and she sat up, with red, bloodshot eyes and that same urge to bite and feast.

The guard ran on, staggering and lurching, jerky and wild. Bloodied drool hanging from his mouth. Down his jaw, over his clothes. A gaping, awful wound on the side of his neck.

Dave started on the next section. Taking something that was untidy and not right and filling to make it proper. Turning the tins so they faced front and forward, all lined neatly. He paused, stepping back to check his work as the infected guard reached the end of his aisle and stopped dead to slowly turn and look up at Dave.

Dave also turned his head and looked down at the blood covered guard, with a second’s worth of nothingness held for an eternity, with neither moving until the guard pulled his lips back to bare his teeth as a chunk of flesh from his neck fell out. Then he charged, staggering, lurching, murderously hungry, and Dave just stared. Unmoving. Unflinching.

It was only at the very last second, just as the beast came in for the bite, that Dave went to work, simply gliding back as the infected sailed by and tried anchoring on the brakes to come back. But by then, Dave was armed with a tin of baked beans in each hand. Sliding his right foot back, lowering his stance, readying for the fight, waiting, holding, assessing, reading his enemy. Reading the motion, the gait, seeing weakness, seeing the path to take.

He moved in fast, slamming a tin up into the jaw, snapping the infected man’s head up and back while bringing the other tin in to smash it over into the shelf, making the infected drop and pull more tins down.

Dave stepped back. Thinking his opponent was down. Then it got back up, so Dave beat it down again. Then it got back up, so Dave ditched the tins of beans and broke both of its arms, and sent it head-first into the solid end of a plinth. Then it still got back up, so Dave broke its legs. Then it gnashed and tried crawling as Dave stared down without any expression at all before moving in the break the neck.

After that, Dave stepped from his aisle and looked left and right as the screams filled the air, with people running this way and that, being chased by other people covered in blood. He watched for a few seconds. Assessing. Learning.

He walked on through the store, peering down aisles to see a woman thrashing on the ground, with two men biting into her neck and body. A man bent over the bench freezer, held down by a fat infected biting into his back. An old woman sitting up with red, bloodshot eyes. Lots of blood too. But then blood had never really bothered Dave.

He reached the end of the store, the homeware department, and was reaching out towards the shelf he wanted when several infected ran by the end of his aisle, stopped, turned, spotted him, howled, and roared, then ran at him. Dave stared. Pulled the brand-new knife from the hook, plucked the sheaf free, and went to work.

For that was Dave’s job, and he took great pleasure in following orders.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Day Four

Monday Morning

‘Mr Howie.’

A voice pulls me from my sleep. I can’t seem to respond, though.

‘Mr Howie.’

There it is again, but I can’t grasp a hold of it. The voice is near, yet far away. My sleep is heavy, and I feel like I’m wading through thick liquid, trying to grasp at a lifeline that is being inched away from my hands.

‘Mr Howie… Wake up.’

I’m being rocked now. I’m on a boat, and the waves are gently nudging the sides and making me roll.

‘WAKE UP!’

I open my eyes to see Dave kneeling by my side; his hand on my shoulder. Ted is standing over me, smiling down.

‘That did it. He’s awake now. Here, get this down your neck.’

Ted hands me a steaming mug of hot liquid that smells like coffee. I sit up and take the mug. My head is fuggy, and I drink the strong, bitter coffee in silence.

My mouth feels furry and horrible, and the coffee just adds to the awful mix, but the caffeine kicks in, and within a few minutes, I start to feel more awake.

‘There’s some cleaning kit for you both. It’s the stuff the prisoners use. It’s not great, but it’ll do the job,’ Ted says. I look over and see two sets of things on a table. I raise my mug in thanks to Ted. ‘The shower room is just down the corridor. Help yourself and grab some scoff. I’ll be back up in a bit. We’re getting ready to go.’ He turns and leaves as I look at Dave sitting at one of the police station canteen tables, drinking from a mug. Daylight outside, with a bright sun already streaming through the windows.

‘Looks like a nice day again,’ I say to Dave, who just nods quietly. ‘So what have we got there?’

Dave rummages through the pile closest to us. ‘Towels, disposable toothbrush, disposable safety razor, disposable cloth, and soap.’

‘Is the soap disposable too?’

‘I don’t know, Mr Howie.’

‘I was joking,’ I say, standing up and stretching my weary body. Despite the solid sleep, I feel exhausted. My mind is refreshed, but my body has taken more punishment in the last couple of days than in the last ten years. Or possibly ever. ‘Oh, my God, I ache from head to toe. Do you?’

‘No.’

I shake my head. Of course, he doesn’t. The man is a machine. Maybe he’s a cyborg, a secret military robot like Robocop? Yeah, that explains it. Dave is a robot soldier cyborg.

No, he’s just fit, and I’m not.

I take one of the disposable toothbrushes and discover a pre-loaded plunger behind the bristles that pushes the paste through. A thing of wonder and awe that captures my imagination for a full few seconds. ‘We could do with a few more of these. They look quite cool.’ Then the pre-loader plunger toothbrush loses appeal, and I sit down at the table opposite Dave and lean back in my chair, with the bottom of the mug resting on my chest. ‘So, what’s the plan?’

‘You said you wanted to find an APC in Salisbury, Mr Howie,’ Dave says and looks up at me.

‘You still up for it, then?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘I know that I keep going on about it, mate, but this is my issue. I won’t be offended if you want to go with them to the forts.’

‘No, I’ll go with you.’

‘Ha, you know I’d get my arse chewed up within the first five minutes of being on my own.’

‘Yes,’ he says, as deadpan as ever.

‘You cheeky bastard! That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t think I’m capable?’

‘Yes,’ he says, completely impassive while I search for humour.

‘Well, personally, Dave. I think I’ve done all the hard work so far, and it’s damn time you started pulling your own weight. I’m not going to keep carrying you.’

‘Okay, Mr Howie.’

‘Good. Well, I’m glad we got that straightened out. I am going for a shower.’

He gets up to follow me, taking one of the bundles.

‘Dave, I think I can shower safely on my own. I won’t drown.’

‘Okay.’

He keeps following me, so I stop to form a questioning look.

‘There’s more than one shower, Mr Howie.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I checked.’

Of course, he did. I bet he could describe the layout of the whole building by now, and the contents of every room too.

Ten minutes later, and I’m standing under a stream of hot water, with the sharp spray needling at my sore muscles. I remember that they said that shower time is restricted to five minutes for males, but seeing as they are all leaving today, I don’t think it will be too much of an issue if I take just a few extra minutes. I’ve brought my disposable toothbrush in with me to scrub my teeth until feel squeaky clean. Then I use the bristles of the brush to scrub at my tongue, which comes away brown from the strong coffee I just drank.

The soap is shit though and barely lathers up. But then it is meant for the prisoners. It’s funny, but everyone thinks that prisoners get the best of everything: good food, good bedding, and all paid for by the taxpayer. But this stuff is really cheap and shitty.

Last night was crazy. We got ourselves into a bad situation, and it can’t happen again. Getting trapped like that was unacceptable. It was pure luck that we were at the back of the police station. All it would have taken was for the people inside to have been away from the door or not looking at the camera, and we would have been just another couple of zombie infected things.

From now on, we will move and fight during the day, and hide at night. That’s it. No deviations. It’s already Monday, and my sister will be panicking and might be thinking that no one is coming for her. Two days of solid running and fighting seem like a week to me, so it will be far worse for her, trapped alone in her apartment, with no idea of what’s going on.

Dave has finished and is gone by the time I get out of the shower and dry myself off. I get dressed and go back to the canteen to see Sergeant Hopewell, Ted, and Dave talking at one of the tables. Well, Sergeant Hopewell and Ted are talking. Dave is just listening.

‘Morning, Howie. Feeling better?’ Sergeant Hopewell says to me. Her clipped tone now not quite so formal and direct.

‘Yeah, much better, thanks.’

‘Good. Right, let’s go over the plan. According to your information, the authorities are urging people to head to the forts, the Victorian forts on the coast. Correct so far?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right, well, we know there are lots of them, but we don’t know which ones will be in use. However, we do know that some of them have not been maintained, so they will be in a very bad state of repair but are still possibly defensible. Correct?’

‘Er, yeah, I think so.’

‘Good, so we also know that some of them have been maintained and kept in use by historical societies as tourist attractions. These may or may not be suitable, depending on the level of work done by those societies, correct?’

‘Yeah, I guess that makes sense.’

‘So, we don’t know which ones are in use or how many there are, or if they are full or will take us. But we have an old riot van outside, and as long as we can get out of here, we have a chance of finding them or at least trying to.’

‘Well, I suppose so.’

‘Good, right. Now, are you sure that you and Dave don’t want to come with us?’

‘I can’t come, but Dave is more than welcome to join you.’

She looks at Dave, who just shakes his head.

‘I thought so. Now listen, we don’t have much of a plan, except to get out of here and go, and look for them. But… If all else fails, we will use this place as a fall back. If the forts are no good, then we will come back here and wait.’

‘Okay. We’ll look for my sister and then the forts. If something goes wrong with that plan, we’ll aim for here too. How do we get in if you are not here?’

‘Hmmm… There’s only one key to the main door, and we’ll be taking that with us. We can’t really leave it anywhere because of the risk of someone else finding it. Also, we risk the place getting overrun by that lot out there.’

‘The building has a flat roof to one side,’ Ted interrupts. ‘If you can get on the top, then you can drop down onto the internal prisoner courtyard mesh and get in one of these windows. We’ll leave it unlocked.’

‘That’s great. We’ll just need a massive ladder, then.’

‘Sorry, that’s the best we can do. We can’t risk leaving it unlocked and letting any Tom, Dick, and zombie in here, can we?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Don’t worry, son.’ Ted says, looking back at the sergeant.

‘Okay, next we need to get out of here. That lot are blocking the gates, so we need a diversion.’

‘Any suggestions?’ I ask.

‘Well, yes, actually,’ the sergeant offers. ‘The yard behind the gates keeps all of the marked vehicles – most of them were out on patrol or were taken by the lads to get away. But we have the detectives’ carpool in a car park on the other side of the building. If someone can get to one of those cars, they could draw those things away from the gates.’

They both lean forward, looking hopefully at Dave and me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The infected gather outside the police station, at the last place their prey was seen.

Hundreds of pairs of arms hang limply as they twitch and knock into each other in the confined space, and hundreds of heads roll back and forth, left and right. Shuffling slowly, with cumbersome feet dragging along the ground. Some of them lurch and spasm as they move, with drooling saliva flinging off to coat those around it.

Flies feast and buzz happily as they lay eggs in the open wounds, drawn by the rancid stench of rotting meat, and it won’t take long for those eggs to hatch, and for the tiny white maggots to grow fat and plump as they eat into the flesh they inhabit.

Each life form has a desire to live and will strive for survival. That is nature. That is fact.

Not a great distance away, an infected male lies on the driveway of what used to be his home. His spine broken from being hit by a speeding car driven by a panicked survivor. He should be dead. He was dead. Now he isn’t dead. His heart beats.

Within minutes, a small flap at the bottom of the front door the infected male faces opens, and a diminutive cat walks out, sniffs the air, and starts cleaning itself. Its lithe body almost bent double as it reaches around to lick its behind. The cat then walks down the garden path and stops when it sees the body. It pauses. Recognising his owner, but his owner doesn’t quite smell right. With effortless grace, the cat jumps up onto the garden wall and looks down at the body. Unsure and hesitant, and the infection within the man looks out through the eyes of the host body at the cat on the wall.

The infection’s primary function is to survive. That is the priority of all living things – to survive. The infection also knows that it must evolve to do this.

The infection, without either conscious thought or knowledge of how, enters the host body and takes over the cells within it. That is its purpose: To dominate the host body.

Infecting, replicating, and attacking cells with staggering aggression. The infection then kills the body by stopping the heart. The infection then restarts the heart and brings the host back as it should be. As a carrier. As a host.

The infection has already learnt how to make more blood quickly so that wounds and injuries don’t drain that vital liquid away. Then it learnt to congeal faster and seal off the arteries to those wounds, and divert the precious blood away from the leak.

The infection makes the cells work better to replenish the organs and parts of the host needed to make it keep working, and it learnt how to convert fat stores within the hosts into energy in order to survive and find more hosts.

The infection’s primary function is to survive, and possessing one host body does not guarantee survival. One body is weak and vulnerable. Therefore, it must seek more hosts. It must seek as many hosts as it can.

It must seek all the bodies to make them into hosts.

The infection also learnt to draw those host bodies together. Creating hordes. Creating super-organisms. For safety. Safety in numbers.

It has learnt to divert more energy into the nasal passages of the host bodies, so they can smell and find each other, with a sense of scent far beyond that of humans.

The infection has also learnt that pushing the host body too much will destroy it faster, so it slows the rate of energy expenditure during the day and works to preserve the body and leave some small functions in order to move towards the prey, knowing it can use the weight of numbers to make up for the lack of pace.

At night, it drives energy into the muscles, ramping their senses, flooding them with aggression and hunger so they can hunt.

It has learnt to make them hunt as a pack too. Forcing the host body to use its vocal cords and drive air out so that it generates a loud roar as the sun goes down so they can find each other. The infection resonates through that noise and bids others towards its furore.

The infection also learnt that the smell of fear is greater at night, and the sound it generates only makes the prey more fearful and, therefore, easier to find.

It has evolved already, but the infection knows that host bodies are controlled by the brain, and the human brain is exceptionally complex.

At first, it pushed signals out hard and fast, and too close together, not understanding the massive, yet intensely subtle levels of cohesion the human host body needs in order to work well. The result was that the host bodies twitched and jerked, going into spasm if the signals were too strong, and was then too hard to control. The infection knows it must understand this brain and learn how to control the electrical impulses.

Outside the police station, the gathered horde moves slowly, conserving energy, groaning from air expelled through vocal cords.

On the driveway of the house it used to occupy, the infected male stares up at the cat, who decides that it misses the rubs and fusses it used to get. The cat can find food and water easy enough, and it can rub against objects, but it likes the strokes and rubs the owner used to give. It jumps down from the wall, landing nearby while making soft noises that it knows makes the owner give it attention.

The infection watches the cat drawing closer. The infection must survive. It must evolve and learn.

The cat stops and stares, then gently reaches forward to sniff the nose of the infected male while purring noisily, and the infected male, despite having a broken spine, lunges quickly, slamming its head down onto the cat, biting into the fur and flesh. The cat squeals loudly, reacting fast to claw and rake at the infected man’s face while twisting to get away, biting and screeching in pain. It wrenches free, running off to hide in the bushes. Its heart beating like the clappers. It stops to lick the wound, scared and stunned, sniffing at the bad smell. Pain inside. It cries out and curls up as that pain intensifies, and the infection surges in, taking over cells. It lies down, the breathing becoming laboured until with one last sight. It grows still and dies.

Outside the police station, the horde still shuffle and groan while the infection within them studies the brain and the impulses. The hosts spasm and jerk this way and that, all without cohesion.

Then, in the middle of the horde, one of them grows still and slowly lifts its head. Ceasing the lolling and rolling about. Testing electrical impulses. The head drops. The infection sends one concentrated signal, and the head lifts again. The infection controls those pulses, and the head slowly moves to look first left and then right. Then the infection stops those impulses, and the head drops again.

The infection sends out more defined signals in another direction and gets a reaction; then the infection puts those signals together.

The infection lifts the head at the same time as it clenches both hands into fists; then it lets them go and makes them do it again.

The infection has learnt to make only one host in the middle of many hundreds, in a country of many millions, on a planet of many billions look up while making spasming fists, but it’s a start.

In a quiet street, in the south of England, the flies buzzing around a dead cat lying in the bushes near to a now dead infected male with a broken spine.

A beat.

A pulse.

Life restarted, and the cat’s eyes open – red and bloodshot.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

We go down through the police station and emerge outside in the rear yard to see an old police riot van facing the metal gates. On the other side of which many hundreds of infected stare in, back to the slow, dumb, daytime things again.

I was looking for a reaction when we first came out, but they just keep groaning and pressing forward. The ones at the very front are pinned against the gates, and their faces are warped as they are pushed on to the metal bars.

The police personnel have already loaded the van with some equipment, riot shields, and long batons. PC Tom Jenkins even found some old riot armour and a dark blue crash helmet with a plastic visor. He has leg and arm guards on in addition to the crash helmet. The plastic visor is pushed up away from his face, and I can see that he is sweating heavily in the high heat of another scorching day.

‘You look like a bloody idiot, Tom,’ Terri calls from the van.

‘It’s the correct PPE in times of civil unrest. You should have some on too,’ he replies, looking very uncomfortable.

‘What’s PPE?’ I ask them.

‘Personal Protective Equipment,’ Terri answers and then looks at the massed infected. ‘Will those gates hold them? That must be a hell of a weight pushing in.’

‘They’re built to withstand vehicle impact,’ Ted says, walking over. ‘They won’t budge unless we want them to.’ He stops to stare through the gates, shaking his head sadly. ‘There’s probably a few of our boys in there,’ he adds quietly. ‘I hope to god this lot don’t recognise any of ’em.’

I look at the concerned expression on Ted’s face. The old-timer must have seen many things in his day. Even so, this must be shocking to him. Not that he shows it.

‘So,’ I say, ‘we get to one of the unmarked detective cars and lead those things away to give you a chance to get out. What are you going to do if we don’t draw them all away?’

‘We can batter through a few,’ he replies. ‘Wouldn’t fancy it with a lot of them, mind.’

‘It’s a pity we can’t thin them out a bit, though,’ I say to Dave as he joins us.

Dave walks over to the police kit waiting to be placed in the van and picks up a long, black baton, then walks over to the gates, and runs the end of the baton along the bars. He examines the gates and the hinges, then takes the baton, and starts pushing at the infected through the gaps. Not hard but almost like he is testing something.

I walk over to join him, and despite what Ted said about the gates being very strong, I feel very nervous being this close.

‘Bloody hell, they stink.’ I put my hand over my nose. The putrid stench of rotting meat is disgusting. The injuries are festering in this heat.

Hundreds of pairs of bloodshot eyes stare back at us, watching every move we make. Drool and saliva hang down from their slack mouths. The closest ones pull their lips back, readying for the bite. Dave is pushing at them with the baton, and I watch as he strains and pushes harder.

‘Mate, they are jammed in there,’ I remark from behind my hand. He moves up and down, pressing against them at various stages as I glance round to see an old-fashioned diesel fuel pump in one corner. ‘We could burn a few of them.’

Dave looks at the fuel pump, then at the infected, and then back to the building.

‘Good point,’ I say in reply to his silence. ‘We’d burn the station down.’

Dave taps at the metal gates again and then looks over to Ted. ‘Where is the generator?’

‘In that room. Why?’ Ted says, pointing to an open door across the yard.

Dave doesn’t answer but walks off, tapping the baton against the side of his leg. He disappears into the doorway as Ted looks at me.

‘Funny bugger, your mate, isn’t he?’

‘You kind of get used to him.’

‘Tom bloody Jenkins! Stop putting shit into that van, just pile it up, and let me do the loading,’ Ted bellows out at Tom, much to the amusement of Steven. ‘And you can stop bloody smirking, Steven. Now, the pair of you, get in there and start bringing the food out.’

Steven looks down, embarrassed, and Tom starts to smirk. Then they both begin walking back into the building as Ted shouts after them: ‘And make sure that Old Harry gets a wash. He ain’t coming in this van if he stinks like one of them,’ Ted shouting, jerking a thumb towards the gates.

‘You taking Harry with you then?’ I ask.

‘Yeah, well, we can’t just leave him, can we? Mind you, he probably wouldn’t mind – he treats the place like his bloody home anyway.’

I stroll over to see Dave inside the generator room pulling black electrical cable from a large reel. He takes the ends and splits the rubber covers back, exposing the bare wires.

‘Do you need a hand, mate?’

‘Yes, please, Mr Howie.’

He hands me one of the reels.

‘Can you feed that wire out until it reaches the gates?’

‘Okay, but why?’

He doesn’t reply but starts fiddling about with the electrical output socket. I shrug and do as I am asked, walking backwards and feeding the wire from the reel as I go. Then I realise what he’s about to do and chuckle at the gruesome thought.

‘Do you want me to cut the wire, Dave?’

‘No, thanks, Mr Howie.’

He comes out and walks over with a small set of pliers and some electrical tape, and gets to work, cutting and taping bare wires to the metal gate as Ted comes back from loading the van and follows the wires with his eyes.

‘Bloody hell, you’re going to fry ’em.’

‘Don’t touch the gates,’ Dave says, marching back into the generator room as Ted and I back swiftly away from the gates.

Tom and Steven come out of the police station, followed by Terri and Jane. All of whom stare at the wires, then at Ted and me.

‘What’s that for?’ Terri asks.

‘READY?’ Dave shouts from the generator room.

‘Go for it!’ Ted shouts back.

Dave does something inside the room, which causes the generator to increase in pitch from the gentle chugging it was doing before, and I grimace in sickened anticipation.

‘NOW!’ Dave shouts. The thrum comes louder; the generator chugging noisily as the entire front row of infected go rigid and start convulsing with sparks arcing from the gate.

‘Jesus,’ Terri mutters, turning away as Tom goes very pale, with Steven clamping his eyes shut.

‘STOP!’ Ted shouts, and Dave pulls the power as the first row slide down to the ground but are instantly replaced by the next row.

‘It’ll take all bloody day,’ I say to Ted. ‘Dave? Cracking idea, but it’s too slow…’

‘Oh no, it won’t,’ Ted says, pulling the end of a hose from the wall towards the gates. ‘One of you, turn that water on!’

Tom and Steven both dart for the tap and squabble about, trying to get there first.

‘STOP PISSING ABOUT AND TURN THAT BLOODY TAP ON!’ Ted shouts, shaking his head as a jet of water finally sprays out. ‘Turn it on full.’

Ted aims low and starts flooding the bottom of the gates, soaking the tarmac under them as Dave walks out to watch him. Not saying a word or showing any reaction.

‘Can I do it, please, Ted?’ Tom asks politely.

Ted looks at Tom and hands the hose over, and walks back towards me, rolling his eyes as Tom starts laughing with glee.

‘Here, have a drink, you dirty shits!’ Tom shouts as he starts spraying the water directly at the rows of infected pushing against the gate.

‘Let me try,’ Steven says to Tom.

‘No! Ted told me to do it.’

‘No, he didn’t. He didn’t say that. Let me have a go.’

‘You wouldn’t think they were bloody police officers,’ Ted mutters.

A few minutes of squabbling and a massive puddle has formed on the ground beneath the gates, seeping backwards onto the floor beneath the massive crowd.

‘That’s enough, lads.’ Ted says, turning the water off. ‘Go on, get away from there. Dave? Try it again!’

Dave nods and goes back into the generator room. ‘Ready?’ he shouts.

‘Yep,’ Ted shouts as the generator increases in pitch again.

‘NOW!’ Dave shouts.

Bloody hell. The effect is amazing, with bolts of blue arcs crackling between the gates and the water as the entire horde seem to stiffen and convulse as one. Spasming and jerking but differently from how they were before. Legs locking out. Arms going rigid. Heads bolt up. Veins pushing through skin, and eyes bulging. Then I spot smoke coming from the flesh of those pinned against the gates.

‘KEEP GOING!’ Ted yells.

Retching behind me, and I look back to see Terri bent over, vomiting on the ground, with Jane rubbing her back, but she too looks nauseous. Tom looks at her, looks at me, looks at the gates, then spews puke on his feet.

‘Pussy,’ Steven says, seemingly unbothered by the awful sight.

‘Piss off, Steven,’ Tom gargles between spewing mouthfuls of vomit out.

A flash of light, and I turn back to see one of the infected bursting into flames, with fire licking along the front row; one after the other popping into ignition.

‘Shit, look at that,’ I say, shaking my head. The flames don’t bother me, but the fact they are igniting from electrocution is still quite shocking. ‘We’d better watch that the fire doesn’t spread too much, Ted.’

‘STOP!’ Ted shouts out, and Dave powers off the generator.

As soon as the current ends, the entire front of the crowd fall down as one, leaving burnt and smouldering flesh charred on the bars. The ground packed with smoking bodies. Some of them still twitching and convulsing. I raise my eyebrows at Ted, who just looks at me.

‘That worked well, then,’ he says.

Dave comes out and looks at his handiwork and the big space now cleared. There’s more infected further back, but they’re tripping over the ones we just electrocuted, which buys us all time to get out.

‘Ready, Mr Howie?’ Dave asks.

We say goodbye to the others and follow Tom to the other side, to a window overlooking a small parking area filled with rows of small, dark cars.

‘Which one we going for?’ I ask.

‘That blue one there,’ he replies, pointing to the closest car before handing me the key.

‘Cheers! Right, I guess we’d better get on, then,’ I say somewhat awkwardly in that British way of saying goodbye. ‘Er, good luck, and it was nice meeting you,’ I extend my hand, but Tom looks nervous and still a bit pale from puking while avoiding eye contact.

‘I want to come with you,’ he blurts.

I look at Dave, who gives a very subtle shake of his head.

‘Right. Yep. You know, Tom, we’d love to have you with us. Dave and I were just saying earlier how great it would be if you could come along,’ I say as Tom looks up full of hope. ‘But we can’t, mate. We’ve seen how much they rely on you, so it wouldn’t be fair, and er…wow! So yes, we’d just be selfish taking you away from them,’ I trail off while giving a pained expression. ‘And I know that you are going to protect your team and make sure that they stay safe.’

He looks hurt but nods.

‘Yeah. So, sorry, Dave. We can’t take Tom away from his team. They need him. We’ll just have to struggle on. Just the two of us. Damn shame, though…’ I cut in fast, before Dave can say anything.

‘Tom, it’s been a pleasure to meet you, mate. Good luck with getting to the forts safely.’

‘Yeah, of course. Thanks, and I’ll hold that fort and wait for you both as well.’

‘Yes, mate, you’ll be like a forward reconnaissance advanced recce pathfinder.’ I pat him on the shoulder, looking him dead in the eye as I speak before turning to Dave. ‘Shall we, Dave?’

‘Okay, Mr Howie.’

Tom unlocks the door, and Dave and I walk out into the bright sunshine, with a last look at a very young copper, hopeful and yet also with hurt expression as he waves and slowly closes the door, then opens it again, as though we might change our minds, then closes it fully with another wave.

‘What’s a forward reconnaissance advanced recce pathfinder, Mr Howie?’ Dave asks as we walk on.

‘Well, if you need me to keep explaining these military terms to you, Dave, I am going to get fed up pretty quickly,’ I reply as we reach the car park. ‘But seriously, don’t they exist?’

‘What?’

‘Forward reconnaissance advanced recce pathfinders?’

‘No.’

‘Whatever. At least I know how to drive.’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

Dave goes to get into the front and then changes his mind, and gets in the back. He takes both shotguns and the rifle and props them up so they are aiming to the roof. He then winds down both rear windows. I get into the front and look at all of the mess in the foot wells – chocolate bar wrappers and empty cans of soda.

‘Messy pigs! Oops, no, I didn’t mean to say pigs. Sorry, I didn’t mean that.’ I scan around, afraid that one of them might have heard me, then remember the whole end-of-the-world thing and realise we’re safely alone.

I start the car and back out of the parking space, then drive towards the corner of the building. As we nudge out into the road, we both look left down at the horde. The mass electrocution has definitely thinned them out, but there’s still a lot left. I turn right, then stop, and position the rearview mirror so that I can see them.

‘Have they seen us, Dave?’

‘No, Mr Howie.’

The horde are all still facing towards the gates, with their backs to us. I sound the horn, and a feeble, warbling noise sounds out.

‘Anything?’

‘A couple have turned. That’s it, though.’

‘Okay, plan B, then.’

I get out of the car and take my shotgun from the back seat, then open my bag, and get a few more cartridges ready. Dave watches me, then gets out, and does the same.

‘Dave, give ’em a nice, big shout, mate.’

‘OI!’ Dave bellows at them in his drill sergeant voice. A few start to turn, shuffling around, and I fire the shotgun from the hip, emptying both barrels and watching as a few get blown off their feet.

‘There’s too many,’ I say to Dave. ‘The van won’t get through.’

Dave puts the shotgun back into the car and pulls out two long, straight-bladed knives from his bag, and reverses the grip so that the blades are upright against his forearms.

The sight makes me feel a strange rush of excitement as adrenalin starts pumping through my system. I reload my shotgun, put it back into the car, then draw my axe, and turn to start walking back towards the crowd, with Dave at my side, with nothing said. No plan. No anything. Just an obvious intent.

‘Strike and move, Mr Howie.’

‘Yep, got it.’

Dave steps off to the right, and I keep left. We walk for a few seconds until we are just over halfway to them; then we both stop, and in the silence, we stand and wait.

This horde almost finished us last night. We were inches away from death when we were saved. They were fast and switched on then, but now they are slow, and we can get some payback. I think of my parents and start to feel the rage building up inside of me again. It’s been suppressed for a little while, but I can release it now.

The closest infected have almost reached us now. Those that turned first had a few steps head start from the horde. They can taste the bite, and I can see their lips being pulled back. I fix my eyes on the closest one, an adult male with half his face already torn away. He shuffles towards me; his head rolling, but his red eyes watch me.

I step to the side and launch the axe at his head. The blade bites into the side of his skull, bursting the head open. He goes down, and I attack the next one with an overhead smash, cleaving the skull in two.

I pick my targets and let the rage do the rest.

Strike and move.

I lash out, cracking skulls open; blood and brain matter spraying out. I move away and step backwards to keep my distance.

The blood lust is upon me. The glory of battle surging through my veins, and I unleash hell with my axe, smashing bones, cleaving skulls, and bursting them apart.

Another one to my right. I backswing, and it’s knocked away; then I slash to my left and drive the axe blade down into a shoulder bone. Then another one in front of me, and I uppercut the blunt back end of the axe head and obliterate its jaw, sending shards of bone into its brain.

Strike and move.

We draw back slowly towards the car, and they keep coming after us. They are too close now, and we have no view beyond the first few to see if the riot van can get out. But I don’t care; this is what I want – this destruction.

I keep hacking away with the axe. The shuffling bodies are slow, and as long as I keep moving back, they can’t bite me.

I glance over and see Dave moving amongst them like a ballet dancer. His arms swirling as he spins and pulls the blades across their necks. Arterial blood from the slit throats sprays high into the air as the bodies fall to the ground.

He punches out with the knives, puncturing lungs and breaking ribs with his blows, and more fall down.

Watching him is like watching a master at work. The effortless movements are mesmerising, but I am brought back to reality by a face lunging at me.

I slam my forehead into its nose and use the bottom of the axe handle to bat it away from me. The last time I head-butted someone, it hurt like hell, but there is no pain now. There is nothing other than pure rage.

I strike out at several more, watching them fall and die until there is space around me, with a single infected male watching me. In my bloodlust and fury, I fail to take in that his head doesn’t roll, and he is standing as a normal man would stand, head upright and eyes front.

I charge at him, pulling the axe back, visualising the axe going through his spine, and his head spinning away, and I get to within striking range and swing the axe towards him.

His hand raises and grabs the handle, stopping the swing in mid-flight.

We stare at each other, eyes locked, and his hand touching mine. I try to pull the axe away, but his grip is awesome, and he doesn’t move. He doesn’t pull his lips back or bare his teeth, but just stares at me with those awful, red eyes.

I’m pull back harder, trying to wrench the axe from him, and in my panic, I don’t think to just let go of it. His one arm is strong enough to drag me towards his mouth that slowly opens, and just as reason gets hold of me, I let go of the axe. Which is when a knife spins past my head and embeds into the side of his skull, and Dave is there, yanking his head back and slicing his neck open while driving him down to the ground.

‘GO, MR HOWIE!’

We run back to the car. Clambering in and speeding away within a few seconds. The rage ebbing away from the surprise of the reaction from that infected man.

I check the mirror as we go, seeing the gates at the far end of the street now wide open, and the riot van gone from view.

At least they got away safely.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The infected cat slowly gets to its feet and walks a few paces, with shaky legs, and the tail twitching furiously.

Within a few minutes, it gains more control, becoming steadier on its feet until it is moving almost normally. It stops and lies down, and then rolls onto its back, with its legs straight up in the air. Then it twitches several times and spins around back onto its feet. The front legs rise up, and the cat tries walking, just on its back legs, but the balance goes, and the cat falls over. The cat tries this several more times, then gives up, and sticks to using four legs. Then the cat runs and leaps into the air, but lands awkwardly, with legs splayed out. It tries again by running and then leaping, but it lands too heavily on its back legs and again ends up spreadeagled. It keeps trying, running down the quiet and deserted street, jumping into the air until it has mastered the landing.

The cat reaches a wall and looks up. From down here, the wall looks high, but it knows that it must be able to jump up. The cat takes some backwards steps while staring fixedly at the top of the garden wall.

It leaps high and sails through the air. The powerful hind legs propelling it faster than it intended. The cat hits the wall and slides down into a heap at the bottom. The tail still twitching like crazy.

It gets back up and again walks backwards while staring at the top of the wall. More height is needed, so the cat lowers down and again pushes off with its powerful back legs. The power was much better but far too much, and the cat flies over the top of the wall, with a strangled meow, and crashes into a bush on the other side.

It drags itself out of the bush, but a long, thorny stick gets caught in the tail fur. The cat turns around to pull it off, but every time it turns, the stick pulls away. The cat speeds up, desperately trying to catch the stick that is stuck to its tail, spinning around and around in the front garden of the deserted street.

The cat finally catches the stick, but the spinning has made it dizzy, and it staggers about drunkenly until it falls onto one side. When the dizzy feeling passes, the cat gets up and looks back at the wall with narrowed, bloodshot eyes.

It positions itself better this time, launches into the air, and gets to the top of the wall, but the power needed was slightly too much, and its bottom drops down the other side, but it digs in the claws that it just found in its front legs and manages to pull back up.

Once it is stable, the cat raises one front paw and watches as the claws slide out and then retract back in. Then it swaps legs and watches the claws of the other paw. Next, it lifts both front legs to watch them at the same time, but the sudden loss of stability from the front legs causes the cat to tumble and slide back down the wall into the front garden again.

The cat leaps back up and learns to settle its weight down. The tail plays a part in the stability of this animal, and it fights to control the twitching.

Within a short time, the cat detects movement from below and spots a small, black rat face pushing out from between the buttons of the shirt of a rotting corpse, sniffing the air with bristling whiskers. Its head coated in blood from the hole it made by eating through the stomach to get to the juicy insides.

The rat can’t believe his luck. He’s never seen this much food before, and already his belly is bloated from gorging.

The rat pulls itself out from the gnawed skin and sits on top of the cadaver, basking as the sun dries the wet gore on his fur. He might clean himself in a minute when he’s not so full.

The cat watches the rat while a primeval instinct from its once-living, small cat brain screams out. The infection allows the instinct to take over, and within seconds, the cat has launched off the wall and pounced onto the fat rat. The claws came out mid-flight, readying for the strike, and at the point of impact, the cat sinks those sharp claws into the big, fat rat belly and then bites into the neck. Hot rat blood spurts out over the cat’s face. The cat wants to eat the rat, but that isn’t the purpose now.

The primary purpose is to survive, and the cat complies, passing the deadly infection through the bloodstream and into the rat’s body.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

‘Did you see that zombie?’ I ask Dave as we drive.

‘Which one?’

‘The one that sat down reading the newspaper. Which bloody one do you think, Dave? The one that caught the axe. It bloody caught the axe as I was trying to chop its head off. They can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘What do you mean, why not? They just can’t. They’re slow and stupid; they can’t suddenly start using their hands and catching things, and…did you see its face?’

‘No.’

‘It was weird. It looked at me… It actually looked at me.’

‘They were all looking.’

‘No, I mean that it was holding its head up and really studying me.’

‘Oh.’

‘If they start doing things like that, then this mess just got a whole lot worse. What if they all start doing it?’

‘Catching axes?’

‘No! Yes, no, not just that. Using their hands and thinking. Fuck me. This is bad, very bad. Did you see any of the others do anything weird, you know, other than coming back to life and eating people?’ He doesn’t reply. ‘So anyway, maybe it was just a freak, like a professor or something, or a soldier like you, like a martial arts expert.’

‘Could be.’

‘But his strength, though; that was nuts. If they all get like that one, then we’re completely fucked.’

We drive in silence.

Dave gets the wipes out and goes through his cleaning process. First, the weapons, and then he cleans his knives and my axe. Next, he hands me some of the antibacterial cleansing wipes, and I disinfect my hands and clean my face. The used wipes go into an empty bag on the back seat.

We work a route north out of city and into the much nicer countryside as the heat of the day builds until we’re both sweltering. These cheap police cars don’t have air conditioning, and the blower just sends more hot air into the car.

‘Have you been to Salisbury before, mate?’ I ask Dave.

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘What’s it like?’

‘Big.’

‘No, I mean the army place. What’s that like?’

‘Big.’

Ask a question, get an answer.

‘Okay, is the base easy to find?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I thought you had been there?’

‘Just once. It was dark, and I was in the back of a truck.’

‘Fair enough. So they train tanks there, then?’

He looks at me, the same impassive expression.

‘They don’t train tanks.’

‘You know what I mean. Do they train people to drive tanks?’

‘Yes, and other things.’

‘The APS things?’

‘APCs – armoured personnel carriers.’

‘Yeah, them, sorry.’

‘They have barracks and mock-up towns so that the infantry can train too.’

‘Oh, right, so there might be soldiers and army people there?’

‘Yes.’

Shit, I didn’t think this through…as normal. I’m sure the army will let us just walk in and borrow one of their vehicles, or they might just shoot us instead. I was rushing and panicking after I realised my parents weren’t coming back, and not thinking straight.

‘Right, so if we can’t get one, we’ll just have to head straight for London and hope for the best.’

‘Okay.’

‘I mean it’s only been a couple of days. It’s Monday now, and it only started on Friday. My sister will be safe enough. I’m sure she will. She’s just got to stay locked in and wait.’

Dave points ahead to a group of people standing in the driveway of a house at the end of a row of nice, old cottages, but as we get closer, I can see they are not people, not anymore. I start to increase the speed, thinking to just get by as quickly as possible.

‘Slow down, Mr Howie,’ Dave says, staring intently at them.

‘What is it? Do you see something?’

‘I want to see if they have changed.’

That makes sense. That last one catching my axe was very worrying. I slow down but stick to the far side of the road, and get prepared to pull away. There are only a handful of them, and most of them look very old and infirm – grey hair and grey skin spattered with dried blood and festering injuries.

One of them is a vicar or priest, wearing a dark shirt with a white dog collar. We slow down to watch them. The heat is intense, and the vehicle engine is the only noise I can hear.

I thought they would be watching the house, and that maybe someone was inside. A sign board outside the house gives it away – the house is the vicarage, and I guess it would be the focal point for a small hamlet like this.

They start shuffling as soon as we pull up, and we both watch their movements closely, but nothing appears to have changed.

‘They look normal,’ I murmur. ‘I mean they look like the other zombies we’ve met in the day. None of them look particularly clever…or about to start catching axes,’ I stop talking as Dave gets out of the car. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Hang on, Mr Howie.’

He walks round the car and towards the small group, with his knives in his hands. He looks around and then picks up a small stone from the side of the road, and throws it at the vicar’s head, striking him in the face.

They don’t react but just keep shuffling forward as Dave throws stones and pebbles at their heads.

I examine each of them in turn, their arms hanging limp at their sides, and the heads rolling about. The eyes are still red and bloodshot, and their movements are slow and awkward. Drool is hanging down from their mouths, and the front of their clothing is soaked from the dripping saliva.

Dave moves forward until he is only a couple of footsteps away from the vicar. The vicar, in turn, shows a bit more excitement, and I see his lips pulling back. He lunges forward for the bite, but Dave sidesteps him, and the vicar stumbles and falls to the ground.

Another one lunges at Dave, but again, he darts out of the way, and I watch as the infected staggers, loses its balance, and goes down. For the first few minutes, I watch intently for any signs of different behaviour from them, but there’s nothing new. Then I hear the groaning, which sounds almost disappointed from not being able to bite him, and start smiling at the absurdity of it, at Dave baiting, then jumping back, and watching them stumble. It’s like an old comedy programme, and I start chuckling.

Then Dave positions himself so he has two coming at him, one from the front and one from behind. He turns so he can see both of them and waits until the very last second as they both lunge, and simply steps back, and they head butt each other with a loud thump.

I burst out laughing and watch as Dave moves around so that another one can come for him, but he smartly gets out of the way, and the infected woman trips on the two bodies and lands on top of them.

I’m almost pissing myself now and keep watching, and laughing until all but one are tangled in a heap on the floor, groaning with frustration as they each try to get up and keep knocking each other down.

The remaining infected man, a big, plump chap, slowly inches towards Dave, who moves backwards and steps over a pair of legs sticking out of the heap. The infected trips and falls into them, and I’m out of the car, applauding Dave and laughing loudly.

‘Bloody well done, mate, that was brilliant.’

Dave turns and looks at me, and does something I have never seen him do before. He smiles.

We leave the tangled heap and keep driving, heading west, towards Salisbury. The atmosphere between us now a lot more relaxed. Seeing Dave smile like that was heart-warming. He is so serious all of the time, and to see him play a joke and have fun reassures me that he is human and not a cyborg soldier killing machine.

It’s still early, and the day is stretched out in front of us. The road we are on takes us into another village. A few houses either side pass us by, then more houses until there are buildings on both sides. The road signs indicate a lower speed limit, and there are warning signs for children and the elderly, then another one saying Please Drive Carefully Through Our Village.

Rural England is sleepy and pretty, but full of more rules and laws than cities. Don’t park here. Use the litter bins. No skateboarding. No cycling. Stick to the footpath only. No ball games.

I love the countryside and these small places, but they are more like communist settlements than idyllic havens.

‘There they are, Dave, all mustering in the village square. I wonder why they always stick together like that?’

‘Safety in numbers, Mr Howie.’

‘Yeah, probably. How many is that? I reckon about twenty or so?’

‘Twenty-two,’ he says without hesitation, earning another look from me.

‘I’ll slow down so we can have another look at them.’

The square is set back from the road, and there is a small collection of shops bordering the village green. None of the infected people are looking anywhere in particular. They’re just shuffling around and dribbling on each other until our car comes into view.

‘I know it’s only a small village, but there’s more than twenty people living here. Where are they all?’ I ask Dave.

‘Locked in their houses or dead.’

‘Hmmm, maybe more people heard that broadcast and have headed down to the forts. Even if only a few people heard it, they’ll pass the message on, just like we have. There could be loads of people heading down there.’

He doesn’t reply.

‘What about food and supplies? I know that we told some people to take what they can, but that won’t last long.’

I stop the car so that we can watch the infected. Again, they look like the normal, slow, daytime zombies. ‘I can’t see any with their heads up, can you?’

‘No, Mr Howie.’

We both look around, checking the windows of houses, doorways, and any place an intelligent, axe-catching zombie person could hide and watch.

‘We were fighting for quite a while before that one reacted, and even then, he just stood there, watching. He didn’t actually attack us. Maybe it takes a few minutes of action before they get bright.’

I wait until the nearest infected are almost at the back of the car, then drive forward a few metres. They follow behind the car, and I keep pulling forward every time they get within touching distance.

Before long, they are strung out in a line, and I remember the armoured van that went past my house on Friday night leading them all away, saving my life in the process. I wonder what happened to that man, and I hope that he made it somewhere safe. Who was he? Why did he go past my house? Was it accident or something else?

‘Shall I give ’em a little knock and see if that does anything?’ I ask Dave.

‘Okay, Mr Howie.’

I wait until they are within a few steps of the back of the car, then reverse into them with a loud bang. A few get knocked down, and I drive forward a few metres again, watching for any reaction.

‘See anything?’

‘No.’

‘Me neither. Let’s give ’em a few more tries.’ The road ahead is clear, so I know that we can get away if one of them suddenly starts running at us. ‘Still no reaction. It must have been a one-off then, just a freak thing. Oh, what’s that down there?’

We both look down the road and see where the carriageway narrows into one lane and goes over what looks like a bridge.

‘Is that a river?’

I drive down, leaving the infected shambling behind us. There is a wide river ahead of us. The water looks cool and inviting in this oppressive heat.

‘Must be a movable bridge,’ I say. ‘Look, it’s too low down to let anything other than a small boat get through, and that must be the winch that opens it.’ I point to a large, metal wheel that looks well used, with oiled cogs that drive another set of wheels attached to cables that run under the ground.

‘Right, it’s my turn for some fun.’ I look back at the infected still coming down the road behind us and spot more joining the procession. I drive over the bridge and park the car on the other side.

‘Dave, would you mind being the bait, please, mate?’

He looks at me for a second before getting out of the car. He then walks over to the edge, where the road meets the bridge, and stands facing the oncoming group.

I move over to the large metal wheel and take hold of the handle that sticks up. I start pushing it and am glad that the wheel moves with ease.

The reaction is instant as the wheels turn the cogs, and I guess some clever machinery happens somewhere, and the bridge starts moving. The two sections move away in opposite directions, creating a gap in the middle. Both sections stay horizontal though, which surprises me as I thought they might lift up. I turn the wheel back the other way, and the bridge closes again.

Dave looks over at me, and I give him a big grin and the thumbs up. He nods back.

‘Say when, Dave.’

‘Okay.’

We wait for a few minutes as the infected do their slow shuffle down the road. The sun feels nice, and it’s lovely to sit here and rest in the silence for a few minutes.

The first reach the end of the bridge and start to cross towards Dave. I wait until they are a few steps back from the middle, and just as Dave gives me a thumbs up, I start moving the wheel. The bridge starts to separate, and the gap forms between the two sections. From my position, it looks quite funny as Dave and the infected swing away from each other.

Then the first one falls off the edge and into the river with a splash, and I burst out laughing and wind the wheel a bit more, making the gap bigger. More of them fall off and land in the water as the first one floats past me. Then another and another.

They don’t panic or flap about, but just bob along silently. As the first one passes, I watch it sink down under the water. I turn the wheel more and stare as they keep walking off the end like zombie lemmings. Then the wheel is turned too much, and they stop at the side of the bridge, facing towards Dave. I wait for a few minutes until more of them have built up, then slowly turn the wheel back the other way, and watch the gap get smaller. They hold their position, just staring across at Dave. Then, as the two ends are just about to touch, they all start shuffling as one, and I spin the wheel back, increasing the gap.

They fall off the end, splashing water up the sides of the bank. I laugh and wave at them as they go by until they are all gone, and our fun ends.

I wheel the bridge back together just in case someone needs a quick exit and head back to the car.

‘None of them were too bright, were they?’

‘No, Mr Howie.’

‘Right, time to stop pissing about and get to Salisbury.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

It’s said that in modern cities people are never more than a few metres away from a rat at any one time. Rats can survive in almost any environment, and now they can do more than just survive.

The first rat bitten by the cat ran away into the sewers and pipes, smearing its own blood and the gore from the body it feasted on as it went.

The other rats detected that aroma and started following the scent.

Some followed the trail that led out into the road, where more bodies lay ready to be eaten. Some followed the injured rat, detecting the weakness.

The infection took control of that first rat quickly and allowed the instinct to flee to be all-consuming. While the infection stopped the blood flow from the wound, the rat made its way deeper into the underground network of tunnels – the superhighways of the rat world.

Now it sits in a large sewer pipe and waits as the advancing rodents detect that there are many of them going for the kill, and so they rush forward, desperate not to miss out on the chance of a meal.

The infected rat sits still, twitching its whiskers and waiting for the onslaught without knowing a thing, without feeling an ounce of pain, but it does start drooling with saliva hanging from its mouth.

As the first attacking rat comes on, the infected rat leaps and bites into it. Then it keeps leaping and jumping at the other bodies, biting and gnashing its big front teeth, working to draw blood from as many of them as possible. The action sparks a frenzy as the rats are whipped up by the smell of fresh blood, and that infected rat is overwhelmed and consumed.

The infection passes into many more of the rodents, and they, in turn, are made to nip at each other and draw blood as the rat population is quickly taken over.

Up a few metres, on the surface of the world, the cat sits on a wall, watching through red, bloodshot eyes as the street seems to writhe with glistening, black bodies pouring from the drain covers to run and feast on the bodies.

The cat readies, bunching power without knowing a thing or feeling an ounce of pain. It does, however, drool as it leaps from the wall and lands in the middle of the writhing bodies. The instruction from the infection is clear and cannot be denied. The cat bites down, grabs a rat body, and tosses its head, launching the rat through the air. The cat grabs another and keeps going, biting down, and tossing them aside as the infection is passed on.

The rats squeal. They know they are many, and this cat can be taken down. They act as one and surge forward, biting into the cat’s legs and body, taking the infection on voluntarily. The cat jumps and leaps, and shakes them off while still savagely biting into them and tossing the still-wriggling bodies away. The injured rats land amongst their own kind, but the frenzy means that anything bleeding is fair game, and they are consumed by more rats.

The infection has learnt to take instant control of this small body and sends the signals down from the tiny brain – bite but don’t kill.

Minutes later, the cat lies bleeding heavily from bite wounds all over its body while the infection works to congeal the blood flow, and it lowers its head to rest in peace and to die while all about it, the rats grow frenzied and wild.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Second Lieutenant Officer in Training of the Territorial Army Charles Galloway-Gibbs looks imperiously over the seated men.

A wealthy, connected, and entitled investment banker by trade, but he couldn’t resist the prestige of being a British Army officer, and specifically, being able to wear the uniform, which is why, four months ago, he’d joined the part-time TA.

He chose the Intelligence Corp as he had been advised that it was the least likely unit to ever face combat, and Charles Galloway-Gibbs, despite looking like a dashing officer, does not like the thought of combat.

He was looking forward to the officers’ day at the gentlemen’s club too, just so he could wear the uniform and act very secretive about his part-time role.

‘I’m in army intelligence, can’t say much about it, of course’.

And the women, of course… Well, the uniform will only make it easier to get them into bed.

But now, life has changed, and as far as he knows, he could be the only officer left in the British Army, and so he swallows nervously and stares at the scared faces of the trainee soldiers in a classroom used for army education sited within the vast military grounds at Salisbury.

‘So, let me get this right,’ he says, his voice strong, rich, cultured, and nearly always edged with a faint sneer. ‘You are all in basic training, is that right?’ He gets a chorus of responses from the dozen nervous faces in front of him. ‘I see. And none of you have combat experience? Or anything like it?’ he asks as they shake heads.

Second Lieutenant Charles Galloway-Gibbs nods slowly and clasps his hands behind his back while thinking and staring at the young men in front of him. All of them young, none of them more than early twenties, and he just learned they are all part of a new government scheme to take unemployed young people and provide them with skills, training, and experience in the part-time Territorial Army in exchange for enhanced government benefits.

‘Right. And exactly what stage of training are you at?’

They all start talking at once. ‘Wait! You!’ he says, pointing to a hard-faced man seated at the front. Short, brown hair and a surprisingly round head. ‘You. Name?

‘Blowers, sir. Simon Blowers.’

‘Tell me what stage you are at, please, Blowers.’

‘Sir, we are all new joiners, sir. We’ve been to assessment and selection and completed very basic training at our regional depots. We are here to undertake our first two-week basic training camp, sir.’

‘Right, I see. And none of you have had weapons training?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Well. What have you learnt then?’

‘Sir, basic skills like marching, rank structure, and that kind of thing, but just at weekends, sir.’

‘I see, and how did you all end up in here?’

Blowers glances around at the others, hoping that someone else can do the talking, but they all look away as he turns to them.

‘Sir, we only got here on Friday afternoon and were just starting orientation and getting to know each other. They took us out into the training ground to show us around… And…’ his voice trails off.

‘And what? Speak up, man…’

‘Well, that’s when it happened, sir. We were looking at the urban village training area. There was an exercise going on, and er… Well, they wanted us to be the civilians for the exercise.’

‘Keep going, then,’ Charles snaps when the man falls quiet.

‘Sir, it all went fucking mad. Blokes were running, shooting, and biting each other. We thought it was part of the exercise at first, you know, like fake injuries and stuff, but they were fucking real…’

‘Watch your language in front of an officer.’

‘Sir! Sorry, sir,’ Blowers snaps, sitting up straight to stare directly ahead.

‘Well? What happened next?’

‘Sir, we waited for a bit. None of us knew what to do, but it got worse, and someone shouted at us to leg it, so we did.’

‘Just the twelve of you?’

‘No, sir. There was about thirty of us, I think.’ Blowers looks around as some of the others nod in agreement.

‘Thirty? Well, where are they all, then?’ Charles asks, lifting his eyebrows at the soldier.

‘I don’t think they made it, sir. It was fuck…err…it was dark and confusing, and none of us knew where to go.’

‘I told you to stop swearing.’

‘Sir! Sorry.’

‘So that was Friday night, and now it’s Monday. Just what the bloody hell have you been doing since then?’

Blowers looks around again, clearly uncomfortable with the harsh questions being thrown at him by the officer with the posh voice.

‘We ran, sir, but the training area is massive. We went into the plain, where they do the tank training. There’s loads of hills and valleys, and we just hid.’

‘You hid? What, for two whole days?’

‘No, sir. We hid on Friday night and kept moving on Saturday, and then hid again in the night. We could hear them all around us, and we lost another few to those…those things.’

‘So, you let your comrades fall behind you, did you? You left your brothers in arms to the enemy while you all ran away?’

Charles knows that he would have run too, but he feels braver now that there are more men around him, and he can see the fear and exhaustion in them.

None of them answer; some hang their heads in shame. One or two of them give slight sobbing noises.

‘Are you bloody crying?’ Charles shouts at them. ‘The British Army doesn’t cry. Now bloody grow up!’ he sneers at them and turns back to the unofficial spokesman. ‘And how did you get back here, then?’

‘We found the road that led back here and managed to get inside,’ Blowers says; his voice hardening a little, making Charles swallow at the change of tone and quickly alter his manner.

‘Well, yes, I appreciate you all did your best. That’s what the army is all about, isn’t it? Doing your best. But please don’t forget that you are speaking to an officer.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘How did you get in here, with all of that lot surrounding the outside?’

‘They’re slow in the day. They don’t move that quick, and we just legged it through ’em.’

‘And in doing so, soldier, you have brought them all directly outside. Very smart, very smart, indeed.’

‘Sir, how come you were hiding in here? Where’s everyone else?’ one of the men from the back shouts out.

There are hushed and silent few seconds while the gathered men realise what he has just said.

Charles stares at the man with what he hopes is a hard look and walks slowly towards him. When he speaks, he hopes it is with a steely edge. ‘Hiding, Private? Did you just say I was hiding?’

‘Er, well…’

‘Officers don’t hide, Private. I am an officer in the Army Intelligence Corps, and I was gathering intel. That’s what we call it, you see, intel. I was doing that when you lot burst in here.’

‘Oh…’

‘And if you ever say I or another officer was hiding again, I’ll have you up on a court martial. Do you understand, Private?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Tucker, sir. Roy Tucker.’

‘Do you understand me, Private Tucker?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now, are any of you aware if there are any further survivors out there?’

They all shake their heads.

Charles looks at the men. He hasn’t told them that he too is still being taught. He hasn’t done weapons or combat training yet, either.

‘Right, well, you lot look a mess, and you also smell, so go and get cleaned up.’ He waves dismissively at them, buying time so he can think of what to do.

He runs his hand down his slicked hair and tries to think what a proper officer would do, then realises that they are all still staring at him.

‘I thought I just told you to go and get cleaned up.’

‘Sir, what’s happening?’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Is this everywhere?’

‘Is my family okay?’

‘Where’s the rest of the army?’

Questions get thrown at him from the desperate men, who have spent the last two days running away from zombie soldiers.

‘How the hell would I know?’ he answers back.

‘You said that you’re Army Intelligence, sir, and that you had to report back,’ Blowers says.

‘Well, that is right…’ Charles realises they want answers, and if he is going to lead these men and survive this disaster, he must tell them something. ‘I’m sure you are all very worried, but the army will get a grip on this and will all be here very soon, I’m sure. In the meantime, we must survive.’

‘So…you’ve not heard anything then, sir?’ Blowers asks.

‘Not at this time, Private, but would you like me to report back to you when I do?’ His icy tone silences the man, who looks away. ‘Now, I don’t know what’s going on out there. I can’t reach or make contact with anyone at this time. The phones are down and the radios too, that includes landlines and mobile phones. We have no choice but to sit it out and wait for help.’

‘Help? Sir? Why don’t we get the weapons and fight our way out?’

‘What weapons, Private Blowers? Where are they kept now? They are not in here.’

‘In the armoury, sir.’

Charles panics, desperately thinking of a way not to look inept in front of these common men. ‘I am not stationed here, and I do not know the layout. I too arrived on Friday for an exercise, so I do not know where the armoury is,’ he says stiffly, expecting them to tell him, but they all remain silent. ‘So? Where is it?’ he asks.

They shrug their shoulders and shake their heads, looking to each other.

‘So none of us know where it is, and unless any of you want to go floundering around outside with them, then I suggest we sit tight here,’ Charles recovers the patronising tone.

‘We could try, sir. They’re slow now, and we might be able to find it.’

The same man from the front just won’t leave it. He looks tough, though, and Charles falls back on his superior breeding and culture.

‘And what will you do when you get there, Private? Do you think that the army just leaves its guns in an unlocked room, where just about anyone can get at them? No, they will be locked and secure, so unless you have the key or the combination, or a bloody big battering ram, then we will sit here and wait.’

‘But, sir…’

‘Private! I have had enough of your questions. This is bordering on insubordination. What is your name and rank, Private Blowers?’

The man stares back before answering, ‘Private Blowers, sir…’

‘Don’t be bloody cheeky with me, soldier. You are on a charge the minute we get out of here. I don’t want to hear another word out of you. I will let this pass, for now, as you are new recruits, but if it happens again, you will be on a charge, understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right, go and get cleaned up. You’re all a disgrace to the army in that state, and where are your uniforms?’

‘We were being civilians in the exercise, sir, so we had to wear our normal clothes.’

‘And your uniforms are where exactly?’

‘In the barracks, sir.’

‘Right, well, you’ll just have to do the best you can until we get rescued. I mean until we get reinforcements.’

Charles walks out of the room and up the stairs of the small admin building and slumps down at a desk, rubbing his temples and thinking furiously.

He was in the officers’ mess when it all started. An alarm sounded, and everyone went running off, leaving him alone. He ran too just so it looked good, but he didn’t know where he was going, so he darted in this block and hid in one of the dark offices, thinking it could be a terrorist attack, and he didn’t want to get involved in anything dangerous, so he sat tight and waited.

Later when he heard voices, he started to sneak out and saw the first infected soldiers. He didn’t know that they were infected at the time – they just looked like men with awful injuries. He watched from the shadows of the admin building as they ran at the other soldiers and bit into their faces and necks, killing them. The sight was terrifying, and as more brave men ran into the fray, desperately trying to help, so Charles crept deeper into the shadows until he turned and ran inside to cower under the desk, wishing he was anywhere else but there.

He heard gunshots and screams all during that first night and stayed under the desk, sobbing into his knees and wishing he’d never been so bloody stupid as to join the army.

By Saturday, he had tried every phone in the building, but they were all down. He discovered an old transistor radio and tuned quickly through the frequencies, but got nothing.

He kept hoping someone would come and rescue him, or sort the situation out, but it got worse, with more infected staggering about close to the buildings.

He found some food in a small kitchen area and ate through packets of biscuits, and then found some chocolate bars and crisps. He thought about rationing the supplies in case he was still trapped, but he ate the lot. At least he had coffee until the power went off.

Then he was alone and in the dark, listening to the terrifying roars outside as night fell, and once more retreated back under the desk and hugged his knees, crying and sobbing in fear.

Then, this morning, the raw recruits burst in, and his heart jumped for joy, thinking the cavalry were coming to his rescue. He even had a story prepared – that he had tried to fight, but had been knocked out, and only just come around, and so he staggered out onto the landing to look down at the men, pretending to be woozy until he noticed they were all young men in civilian clothes without a blasted gun between them.

But still, at least he has some men to protect him and keep him safe. Cannon fodder. That’s what Daddy always called them.

In the classroom of the building used for army education, the trainee recruits sit still and silent for a few minutes after the officer leaves, stunned at the cold arrogance and patronising sneer of the man.

Thirty of them started the orientation on Friday evening. Thirty new recruits from different regiments and units all over the south coast. There was a feeling of nervous excitement as they met each other and filed into the briefing tent. The regional training centres were exciting, but this was Salisbury, and it was huge.

The army buildings looked clean, freshly painted and surrounded a large drill square; the roads and paths were straight, and everything was well-ordered. The grass was cut to regulation length, and all of the marker stones were painted a crisp and clean white.

Men and women walked about, dressed like soldiers, real soldiers, wearing proper army clothes. They watched as soldiers saluted passing officers and everyone seemed to know what they were doing.

They were amazed at how many people were here, and just as they were led from the drill square into the briefing tent, they saw soldiers with real guns standing about, smoking and laughing, with faces painted green or black.

There were so many of them, and more arriving by the minute. Several of the units were dressed in brown camouflage instead of the jungle green, looking tanned and leaner than the others.

‘Just returned from Afghan or Iraq probably,’ Simon Blowers said as they stood around.

‘How do you know?’ asked Roy Tucker.

‘They’re wearing desert BDUs, and they’re tanned from being somewhere hot and sunny, like a desert.’

The others laughed at this and started making fun of Tucker the way men do when they are together and feel insecure about their surroundings.

‘Why are there so many soldiers here all tooled up?’ asked another recruit, Alex Cook, a young man in his early twenties, with blond hair and blue eyes.

‘Must be an exercise,’ said Blowers.

‘What are those guns? Are they the SA80s?’ asked Tucker again.

‘Fuck me, Tucker. What do you think the British Army would be carrying?’

‘Well, I don’t know, do I?’ Tucker replied with an innocent look.

‘What unit are you joining, Tucker?’

‘Catering corps. I want to be a chef.’

They burst out laughing as the jokes flew thick and fast while someone poked his podgy belly. ‘Bloody hell, mate. You gonna leave any grub for the army?’

More laughs and someone from the back called out. ‘Tucker, you fat fucker’.

Roy Tucker has been called this all his life – through school and college, and at work in the council office, and although the jibes sting, he laughs along and joins in the banter.

‘Fuck you, at least I’ll be warm and fed while you lot run around being Rambos.’

The men relaxed into easy banter and excited conversation until a man with stripes on his sleeves walked in and shouted for them to be quiet. As soon as they hushed, an officer walked to the front and addressed the group.

‘Welcome to Salisbury, gentlemen. You are at the start of your first two-week basic training camp. You should have all received your uniforms and basic kit from your regional training centres. If you are missing anything, or something doesn’t fit, we can get that sorted first thing tomorrow. Now, normally the first night here would be orientation and then a few drinks in the mess to get to know one another. But we have a night exercise taking place, and your arrival fits in nicely.’ He paused to give a wolfish grin, adding a wink as he continued.

‘As I’m sure you know, we have tank training and armoured vehicle training at this centre, and the mechanised infantry, regular infantry, and various other regiments train alongside them. This gives us invaluable operational training prior to deployment. Tonight, we have a very large exercise taking place, and we are going to use you as civilians in the urban village training zone. You will be fully briefed as to what exactly is expected from you, but let me say this. This is a remarkable opportunity for you to see the British Army in action. There will be simulated fighting, firing, and explosions, so do try and stay awake, please.’

They laughed and started whispering in excited tones until the sergeant shouted for them to be quiet.

‘Now, you will have to excuse me as I am needed elsewhere, but we will get a chance to meet again tomorrow when we begin your basic training. Just one more thing. After the exercise, please do try and get some sleep. Trust me, you will need the rest.’

The officer left, and the sergeant took over, giving the brief for the night exercise. Telling the men to do exactly as they are told the very second they are told to do it.

‘They won’t be using live rounds, so there’s no risk of getting shot, but it will be dark, and there will be lots going on, so if you walk around on your own, there is a real risk of injury. Do as you are told and enjoy the spectacle. We do not allow mobiles or cameras, or you trying to take pictures and using flashes, so all of your phones and cameras will be left here. If any of you are caught with a phone, you will be discharged with immediate effect.’

The recruits were led away and taken by old army trucks down into the training area. All of them buoyed up and excited at the operation and being allowed to be involved.

Within a couple of hours, they were placed in small groups in the houses of the urban village training zone and told to stand around or to sit on the furniture, and wait for further instruction.

The sense of excitement was palpable, and within a short time, they could hear shots and loud explosions coming from the dark grounds all around them.

Then loud engines and heavy vehicles passing through the streets, with men running behind them and taking position. Assault rifles firing with bright flashes from the ends of the barrels are startling in the dark.

The recruits watched as the soldiers started at one end of the street and worked their way down, clearing each house in turn, with more soldiers firing back at them, and massive mock battles taking place with smoke grenades and explosions.

The soldiers worked the house clearance until they found trainee recruits. Treating them like detainees, making them kneel as plastic cuffs were applied to their wrists behind their backs. Then they were led outside, and after some time, the cuffs were removed, and they were led to the end of the street into a “safe area”.

It was all very exciting. Hearing the real soldiers shouting and the aggression used, but it was controlled aggression and done with orders shouted from corporals and sergeants.

A short while later, some officers and instructors spoke to the recruits and told them that they will have a “hot debrief”.

The recruits all tried to look serious and cool, like they knew what was going on. They were asked to declare any injuries and if they were happy to continue before being back into the houses to do it all again.

More shooting. More vehicles. More voices and bangs, and detonations, and the recruits waited to be found and detained while that shouting got worse and different, like there was more confusion or something had gone wrong, and that got worse as they heard the word medic being screamed out.

Simon Blowers watched from a glassless window frame, frowning at the shouts, thinking it didn’t sound right.

Blowers wasn’t a raw recruit. He’d joined the Royal Marines couple of years ago and got a fair way through basic training until he broke his leg and was told he had to leave. The Marines wouldn’t take him back, so after bumming about, feeling sorry for himself, he decided to join the TA, and that short glimpse into military life gave him enough understanding to know something was wrong. And it was at that point, he and the recruits with him saw the soldier fall down in the street, clutching a fake wound to his neck. They even watched as more soldiers rushed to help him, thinking it all to be part of the exercise and that the injury was very realistic.

‘Loads of blood,’ Alex Cook said, looking seriously impressed.

‘Must be a pump,’ Blowers said, ‘like in his clothes to squirt the blood out.’

‘You like squirting,’ Alex Cook said, staring deadpan at Blowers. ‘Your mum told me. Er, why is the injured guy attacking his mates?’

Blowers looked back out to see the soldier with the injury lunging at the soldiers around him. It looked a bit nuts, but then there was loads of bangs sounding and bright things flashing, so they couldn’t see very clearly. But it did look like the injured guy was trying to bite the others, and they, in turn, battered him back down to the ground.

‘Fuck me,’ Blowers muttered, frowning as he spoke. ‘That’s a bit realistic…’ he added as more soldiers ran past his assigned house. ‘Where they going? They shouldn’t advance until they’ve cleared the structures.’

‘Dunno,’ Alex said.

‘Helpful, Alex,’ Blowers said.

‘Argh, don’t call me Alex. It’s Cookey,’ Alex said, watching more soldiers run by outside.

‘Okay, Alex,’ Blowers said.

‘Oh fuck,’ Cookey said, showing surprise. ‘Seen that up there?’

‘Where?’ Blowers asked, following the line of sight up the road to a mass brawl taking place, with soldiers fighting hand-to-hand, and as they watched, so the details became clearer. Soldiers stabbing each other. Stamping and kicking. Hitting and biting. Lots of biting, and even in the poor light, they could see awful injuries that suddenly didn’t look fake at all. ‘What the fuck…’ he whispered as the door to their room burst open, with a soldier staggering in, dripping blood from a ragged wound to his neck. ‘Mate, are you all right?’

‘I don’t think he’s alright,’ Cookey said. ‘Why’s his eyes all red? Mate, why’s your eyes all red?’

‘Fuck his eyes. You seen his neck?’ Blowers said. At which point, the soldier charged at them, and at which point, they both yelled out and started running about the room as more recruits ran downstairs from watching out of an upstairs window.

‘Fuck! Is he all right?’ one of them asked, seeing the injured soldier staggering stiff-legged about the room. ‘Oi, mate, are you okay? Is this part of the exercise or WHAT THE FUCK!’ he shouted out as the soldier lunged at him, tripping and headbutting his chest, sending him back while the others watched on in shock. ‘Fucking careful, mate,’ the recruit shouted before feeling the pain of the teeth in his leg. ‘Hey! HEY, OI! HE’S FUCKING BITING ME!’

‘Fuck, fuck, what’s he fucking doing?’ Cookey screamed at Blowers.

Blowers reacted quickly, running forward to kick at the soldier’s head, forcing him off the recruit. A hard kick too, but it had no effect, and the soldier carried on gnashing and thrashing with immense violence. Blood spraying up, and the recruit screaming while trying to get free. Blowers kicked again, buying a split second for the recruit to yank himself free and turn over to try and crawl away as the soldier lunged back in to bite the lad on his arse cheeks, eliciting more screams of pain.

‘You dirty fuck, don’t bite his arse. He’s biting his fucking arse!’ Blowers shouted as Cookey stood in shock for a second before running over to help Blowers kick the soldier down and away. But he kept getting back up, so they kept kicking until he finally went limp, and only then did they realise the bitten recruit was silent and inert too.

‘Is he alright?’ Alan Booker asked, staring down in shock.

‘He’s fucking dead.’ Blowers replied, checking for a pulse as the carnage ramped up outside.

‘Fuck this, I’m out of here!’ Cookey said, running for the door, followed swiftly by Blowers. They ran to the end, dodging round fighting soldiers and bodies on the ground.

Shots and loud explosions sounding out as the soldiers try desperately to fight back against the increasing numbers of infected. They spotted the safe zone at the end and some of the other recruits hunkering down and ran towards them.

‘What do we do?’ Tucker cried out.

‘YOU LOT,’ a soldier shouted, running towards them. ‘EGRESS NOW!’

‘What the fuck is egress?’ Cookey asked.

‘Means get out,’ Blowers said.

‘LEG IT NOW,’ the soldier screamed, waving at them to go as an infected took him down from the side, biting into his neck. Blowers and Cookey reacted quickly, running towards him. ‘NO! GET OUT, RUN!’ the soldier screamed while fighting, having already seen what happens when you get bit. ‘FUCKING RUN. NOW! GET INTO THE PLAINS.’

The lads paused, watching as he drew a knife from his belt and started stabbing the infected soldier in the neck as more infected soldiers lunged in to drop down and bite with screams and howls ripping the air apart.

The two lads backed up and away; then, as one, they turned and ran into the darkness, with the rest of the recruits running with them. More shouts on both sides. More screams. More figures seen running wild and crazed.

‘Off the road. Quick. This way.’ Blowers said, headed into the darkness of the plains.

They kept running for several minutes, then slowed to a jog until the noise of the fighting and the screams were left behind. A low hill was found, and they dropped down, taking cover to pant heavily; all of them breathing hard.

‘What the fuck was that?’ asked Roland McKinney.

‘I don’t fucking know,’ Julian Talley replied, gasping for air.

‘Is that part of the exercise?’ asked Tucker.

‘No, it fucking isn’t, you thick cunt,’ Darren Smith shouted at him, panic in his voice.

‘What do we do?’ asked Nick Hewitt.

‘Let’s just wait here and keep low,’ Blowers replied as a loud engine roared above them, and a long metal barrel came into view, followed by a huge army tank rising up on the hill behind them, where it teetered on the top before dropping straight towards them.

‘Scatter!’ Blowers shouted as they legged it off and away in different directions, but one was too slow, tripping over and getting caught under the tracks, pulverised within an instant, with his body bursting apart. ‘STOP,’ Blowers shouted, waving his arms.

‘HEY!’ Cookey shouted too. They all did. All of them screaming for the tank to stop while a few retched and wept from seeing their mate bursting apart, but the tank kept going. The top hatch open, with a uniformed guy halfway out, being attacked and bitten by another soldier driving his mouth into his neck. The tank kept going, roaring fast away into the night.

‘Did you fucking see that?’ Cookey said into the silence that followed.

‘We need to keep going,’ Blowers said, shocked, stunned, sickened and feeling the panic inside, watching as a few of the lads run at the broken body killed under the tracks. ‘He’s gone. Leave him. We need to go. Now!’ Blowers shouted, running further into the plains.

The others responded, hastening to catch up with him.

‘Where are we going?’ Cookey asked.

‘I don’t fucking know. Just keep running.’

After ten minutes, they saw lights and headed towards them. A rudimentary base set up for the exercise, with more tanks parked up, and camouflage netting stretched over a field table covered in maps and folders. Movement in the lights, and the recruits ran forward, shouting and screaming for help. Then they saw soldiers running towards them, and Blowers and Cookey at the front noticed the oncoming soldiers’ red eyes.

‘Fuck,’ they both shouted, one going left, the other going right, as the infected soldiers ran into the group to take down the nearest recruits. Chaos again. Screams and wails, with people running in the dark.

‘TALLEY!’ McKinney shouted, seeing one of the lads pinned down under a soldier biting into his face.

‘Shit,’ Talley muttered, running back to help McKinney kick at the infected, battering it away over the grass. ‘GET HIM UP!’

Blowers, Cookey, and Nick ran in, grabbing the injured lad up to run on. All of them legging it once more back into the darkness of the plains.

‘Gotta keep going,’ Blowers said, urging them on.

‘My guts,’ the injured recruit said, clutching his mid-section. ‘Argh, fuck, it hurts.’

‘Keep running,’ Cookey said.

‘Can’t. Shit, that hurts so much.’

He dropped to the ground, writhing in agony as the others looked on, not knowing what to do. Everything happening so quickly. Then he simply stopped and grew quiet and still as Blowers and Nick felt for a pulse.

‘He’s fucking dead,’ Nick said, shocked to the core. ‘Jesus, he’s fucking dead.’

‘We have to go,’ Talley said as their heads snapped over to the howls coming towards them and the shadowy figures seen in the near distance.

‘CPR,’ McKinney said, dropping at the dead lad’s side to pump his chest. ‘Someone blow in his lungs.’

‘Fuck!’ Talley said, clutching his head in the dark.

‘We can’t be here,’ Darren Smith said as another recruit dropped down to wipe the blood from the dead lad’s face before leaning over to create the seal to push air into the lungs. ‘FUCK!’ Smith screamed out, staggering back as the dead lad grabs at the one breathing into him, who squirms and thrashes, with blood spurting out before being cast aside.

‘RUN!’ Cookey shouted.

‘Fuck this,’ Blowers said, running behind the others.

They lost several more during that night. Running with no idea as to direction, and with only moonlight to see by. No phones. No torches. No anything.

On one occasion, the ground dropped down in front of them, and they fell into a small group of infected stooped over a fresh kill. They lost a few from that, and once more, all they could do was run while listening to the screams of their mates, knowing their mates will soon be chasing after them too.

By Saturday morning, they were exhausted, filthy, and very, very lost. They tried resting in amongst the hills, running when they saw infected, resting when they didn’t.

During the afternoon, they found a single infected prone on the ground. Alive and groaning, but seemingly unable to get up. The movements slow.

‘He’s got a water bottle on his belt,’ Cookey said, looking at the body as they gave it a wide berth.

‘We need to drink. Someone go and get it,’ Darren Smith said, his eyes settling on Tucker.

‘Why me?’ Tucker asked.

‘You’re in the catering corps, so you’re in charge of supplies,’ Talley said to him.

Tucker looked around at the faces, hoping for a reprieve, then sighed, nodded, and set off.

‘Come up from behind him,’ Blowers called out.

‘Yeah, I bet you’ve done that before,’ Cookey muttered, earning a few very tired sniggers.

Tucker reached the body and gingerly stretched out to slide the bottle from the infected soldier’s belt before standing upright with a look of victory.

‘Tucker, watch out!’ Talley shouted as the soldier rolled towards Tucker’s feet.

Tucker staggered backwards and tripped, going down onto his arse before scrabbling up with a whimper and running back to the men.

Tucker unscrewed the bottle cap and took a sip. The rest of the men watching intently, making sure that he only took a sip before handing the bottle onto the next man.

Talley was the last to drink.

‘Is there any left, Talley?’ Blowers asked him.

‘Yeah, not much, though. We’ll save it for later. That okay with everyone?’

They all looked longingly at the bottle but nodded in agreement.

As night fell, they heard what sounded like wolves howling into the night sky. The sound coming from all around them, chilling them to the bone, and so another night of near constant running started again.

The infected soldiers chasing them relentlessly through the hills and valleys, and it’s only when one recruit fell down and was set upon, that the others got away.

From the thirty recruits that ran into the plains on Friday night, only twelve remained as the sun rose on Monday morning, and they learnt more survival instincts in those two days than they ever would have during the two-week training camp.

Eventually, after trudging for many miles, they saw the compound buildings in the distance and worked their way over, running between hordes of slow-moving infected soldiers to reach the closest admin building and bursting in, exhausted, filthy, drained, and very dehydrated to the sight of Second Lieutenant Galloway-Gibbs coming down the stairs, holding his head and clutching the handrail. Not that they paid any attention, and as one, they lurched like the infected to find running water to drink deep.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Dave and I stand and look at the lowered metal bar stretched across the road and the small sentry hut next to it.

It’s taken us several hours to find the road to Salisbury army training centre, but after many wrong turns and avoiding small groups of infected, we found it.

‘It doesn’t look like much.’ I was expecting something more high-tech than this. ‘It looks like something from World War Two. The movies always show army bases behind big, electric gates and cameras, and stuff.’

Dave just looks at me silently for a few minutes, and I shrug back at him.

The metal bar stretches across the road, and the guard hut is just a small, wooden structure with glass windows and a large doorway.

‘So, where’s the guard?’ I ask Dave.

‘Should be there,’ he points at the empty hut.

We walk closer, leaving the unmarked police car on the road. Dave had told me not to bring a weapon out, and he made sure to leave his knives in the car. We approach the hut and check inside, but it’s definitely empty. There is a high wire fence topped with razor wire running off in both directions, and I can see buildings in the distance.

‘Where’s the switch to raise the barrier?’ I ask from the hut

Dave walks over and pushes one end down, and the smaller end lifts up with ease. ‘It’s manual, Mr Howie.’

‘Oh, right. Well, are we driving in or walking? I personally think driving so that we can get away if something horrible happens, which it invariably will. Like literally every half hour.’

We go back to the car and drive through, leaving the barrier up so that we can make a fast escape if we need to.

‘Why is there just a single barrier there? It doesn’t look that secure.’

‘There’s always two guards at every entrance,’ Dave replies.

‘Armed guards?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

We drive down the road, and after a few minutes, the buildings come into view. Just basic structures set around a massive drill square, and beyond the buildings, another road going into a vast, open area.

‘That must be where they do the tank training.’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘Well, I don’t see any big vehicles here, so they must be somewhere else out there maybe. Cock it! Look at that.’

I stop the car, and we both look down to the drill square and the hundreds of infected all facing into one building, indicating there must be survivors inside, or that’s the place they last saw a survivor.

‘I bloody knew it! What did I say? Every half hour something shit happens. Fuck me, are they all soldiers?’

The entire horde are roughly dressed in green and brown camouflaged army uniform. Some are wearing what looks to be battle dress, with helmets on, and twigs and branches stuck in the top. I reel back, amazed at the sight.

‘That’s a fucking army, a fucking zombie army.’ I turn to look at Dave, leaning forward, staring intently at the scene in front of us. ‘I can’t see another way round Dave. The road just goes straight through them all.’

‘Look.’ Dave points at the building being surrounded by the infected. A window opens, and a person leans out, waving something white at us.

I get out and wave back with both my arms high up in the air. ‘Bugger me, someone’s alive.’ I look at the horde surrounding them and shake my head, grimacing at the sight. ‘We’ll have to do something. We can’t just leave them there.’

‘Okay, Mr Howie,’ Dave says from my side, making me jump from not hearing him get out of the car.

‘Don’t suppose you know Morse code, do you, Dave?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘Really? I was only joking then… We could use the car headlights to signal to them. Would that work?’

‘Yes.’

I pull the car around so that the front of the car is facing towards the building and then show Dave how to operate the high beam on the headlights.

It’s daylight and very sunny, so hopefully, the infected won’t see us; they’re all facing the other way anyway.

‘Got the idea, mate?’

‘I think so.’

He gets into the driver’s seat and starts pulling at the headlight stick – quick on and off, then a longer on.

‘Okay, all yours now, Dave. Keep going.’

‘Okay.’

He pauses for a few seconds, then looks up at me. ‘What do you want me to say?’

‘I don’t know. Oh! Ask them how many there are in there?’

‘Okay.’ Dave starts pulling at the light stick, and I watch the light flicker on and off, then I look back to the building and watch as the man with the white thing goes back inside.

‘Sir, where are you?’ Cookey asks, rushing out of the upstairs room.

‘I am right here, thank you, Private Cook,’ Charles replies, walking from his office while smoothing his hair down. ‘What are you shouting about?’

‘There’s a car just come down the road, and they’ve seen us.’

‘How did they see us, Private Cook?’

‘Blowers waved a hand towel at them through the window.’

‘Good lord,’ Charlies says, bustling forward into the room packed with recruits to see Blowers at the window. ‘What’s going on?’

‘They’re signalling us,’ Blowers says. ‘I think it’s Morse code. They’re using the car headlights.’

Second Lieutenant Galloway-Gibbs watches out of the open window, trying not to look down at the hungry faces covered in awful wounds staring up at him. ‘Yes, I think you’re right, Private Blowers. It does appear that they are trying to signal to us.’

‘What are they saying, sir?’

‘How the bloody hell should I know?’

‘You’re Army Intelligence, sir. Every intelligence officer is trained in Morse code.’

Galloway-Gibbs panics, thinking furiously. He can’t admit that he doesn’t know Morse code, or they’ll find out he isn’t trained or even fully commissioned yet. ‘Yes, of course. Well, some are, but not all of us, though. Things have changed and evolved, Private Blowers, and umm…Morse code training is a specialist training skill that only a few get these days. I put in for it, of course, but you know what the army’s like – bloody waiting lists, eh?’

‘Right… Sir, well, how do we signal back?’

‘I’m in intelligence, Private Blowers, not a signalman. Use your imagination.’

‘I found this, sir.’

Galloway-Gibbs turns to see Private Talley holding a torch out in front of him.

‘He doesn’t know Morse code, Talley,’ Blowers tells him.

‘Oh…’ Talley lowers the torch and goes back out of the room.

‘DOES ANYONE KNOW MORSE CODE?’ Talley booms out into the hallway.

More of the men appear from rooms, looking sleepy and dishevelled.

‘What? Why?’ Darren Smith asks.

‘There’s a car up on the road, and it’s using the headlights to signal to us. Does anyone know Morse code?’

‘The officer will – he’s in Intelligence. I thought they all got trained,’ Nick Hewitt replies.

‘No, apparently not.’ Talley says, rolling his eyes.

‘I used to do it at scouts,’ Tucker offers.

‘Tucker, well done, mate. Come and have a go,’ Blowers calls from inside the room.

‘It was years ago, though. I don’t remember it,’ he stammers, suddenly nervous.

‘Just try, Tucker,’ Nick says.

‘Well done, Private Tucker,’ Charles says as the nervous lad walks in. ‘Where’s that torch?’

‘Errr… Bloody hell, hang on.’ Tucker looks into the lens of the flashlight and presses the on button, then reels back from the retina burn of the bright light.

‘Tucker, you fucking idiot. Shine it at them, not yourself!’ Cookey says, shaking his head.

‘I was making sure that it works,’ Tucker replies, then points the flashlight at the car, and starts pressing the light on and off, rapidly.

‘So what’s he saying, Private Tucker?’ Charles asks.

‘I don’t know yet, sir. I’m asking him to start the message again.’

The car lights go off for a few seconds, then start blinking with short and longer bursts.

Tucker’s mouth moves as he tries to keep up with the letters being signalled to him.

‘Shit, I lost it. I need a pen and paper.’

‘Private Hewitt, go and get Private Tucker something to write with, please.’

Nick shoots out of the room, calling for pen and paper, and returns within seconds, armed with several pens and pads from a nearby office. ‘Here you are, mate,’ he says, holding them out for Tucker.

‘No, I’ll call out the letters, and you write them down.’

‘Er, yeah… I’m dyslexic,’ Nick says with a grimace. ‘Sorry.’

‘Good lord,’ Charles says tightly, adding a deep huff.

‘I’ll do it, mate,’ Alan Booker says, taking the pen and paper. ‘Ready when you are.’

Tucker flashes back to the car, asking them to start again.

The car lights go out, and then after several seconds, they start flashing, and Tucker calls the letters out. ‘H…O…W…M…A…N…Y. Oh, what does that spell?’ he looks at Cookey.

‘How many?’ Booker responds.

‘How many what?’ Galloway-Gibbs demands from Tucker.

‘I don’t know, sir. That’s all he sent.’

‘How many of us, probably,’ Blowers says without looking round.

‘Yes, thank you, Private Blowers. I am sure we could have worked that out for ourselves. Well, Tucker, answer the man and make sure you tell him there’s an officer here as well.’

‘Can’t I just tell him there are thirteen of us, sir?’

‘No, Private Tucker, you cannot. They need to know an officer of the British Army is in this building, so tell them.’

The officer stares at Tucker just as Talley and Blowers shrug their shoulders. Tucker turns back to the window and starts flashing the torch again.

‘He says thirteen and something else, but I can’t make it out, Mr Howie,’ Dave says from the front of the car.

‘Okay, so there are thirteen of them in there? Wow, that’s a lot. Why are they hiding and not fighting their way out?’

‘I don’t know, Mr Howie.’

‘I know there’s a few zombie soldiers there, but still, thirteen of them, and especially if they are soldiers… Right, we need a plan.’ I look at Dave.

‘We could lead them away.’

‘No, mate, it’s already late, and it will take bloody hours to lure away a group like that. It would be nice to get through them and get one of those APS vehicles, and then come back.’

‘APC.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I meant, but we can’t get through them without a fight.’

I sense Dave looking at me. I think I have just used his favourite word, and his ears prick up like a child being offered sweets. I can’t help feeling the urge too, though. That feeling of battle is amazing. I start to smile and feel the adrenalin coursing through my system.

‘Well, Dave, a fight it is, then.’

There it is again – that tiny, almost invisible smile glint in his eye. It lights him up. How can I say no to such a nice man?

‘Are we driving down or walking, Dave?’

‘Walk, then we can drop them as we go.’

‘Good idea, chum. Walking it is, then. Now, do I take the axe or not. Axe or shotgun, axe or shotgun.’ I weigh both of them in my hands, trying to decide.

‘Take both, Mr Howie.’

‘You think so?’

‘You’ll need it when we get close. You won’t have time to reload.’

‘Fair point, mate. Both, then.’

I put the bag onto my back and tighten the straps, then drop the axe down so that the head is resting on the top of the bag, and the handle is hanging down.

‘Don’t trip up this time, Mr Howie.’

‘I won’t, mate.’

‘And if you do, shoot them and not me.’

‘Okay, mate.’

I take the plastic carrier bag that Dave fashioned into a shotgun cartridge holder and loop it through my belt; then I fill it with shotgun cartridges.

‘Are you taking the rifle or the other shotgun, Dave?’

‘The rifle, Mr Howie…and the knives.’

‘I thought you might.’

Dave puts the Tesco fleece on and loads up the pockets with ammunition strips for the Lee Enfield .303 rifle.

‘Mr Howie, can I use your bag to put some ammunition in and my knives?’

‘Of course, mate, no problem.’

Dave goes behind me, and I feel as he rummages about in the side pockets and puts ammunition in them. I turn my head as he slides his two favourite straight-bladed knives into the elastic mesh at the front of the bag.

‘Ready, mate?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie. Just stay to my left, please, so I can reload from your bag.’

‘Okay, got it.’

We both take a long drink of water and then start walking down, towards the horde.

‘What the bloody hell are they doing? Are they mad?’ Charles shouts out in surprise as the two men leave the car and walk towards them. ‘There’s only two of them. They’ll be slaughtered,’ he says, more to himself than the other men.

‘They’re armed, though, sir.’

‘What, with one gun each? Against hundreds of those things down there. They must be bloody mad.’

At least they are trying, Blowers thinks to himself.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The road is set higher than the parade square and the building beyond, so we have to walk down a slope. I can’t help smiling at the absurdity of it. Two of us armed with one rifle, one shotgun, two knives, and one axe against an actual army of zombies.

‘Fuck me, we must be mad,’ I say to myself, earning a look from Dave, who appears as calm as ever. ‘I guess we should start picking them off and lead ’em over to that big car park so the people in that building can break out.’

‘It’s a parade square.’

‘What is?’

‘That big car park – it’s a parade square.’

‘Fair enough. We can spread them out over the parade square then, you picky bugger.’

We walk for another few seconds until Dave judges the distance is effective for the shotgun; then we both stop again, and he looks at me.

‘Ready, Mr Howie?’

‘I always ask that.’

‘Oh, sorry.’

‘That’s okay, mate. Ready, Dave?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

I raise the shotgun to my shoulder and pause while giving weighty reflection on the fact that I am about to shoot at what was once people. Mind you, I just made a bunch of them fall off a bridge, so screw it. I fire both barrels into the crowd as Dave gets to work with the rifle.

I reload and fire into them again. Dave is firing rapidly, aiming his shots and picking them off one by one. I take a second between reloading to watch his shots, and even from this range, they all look like head shots.

The infected react slowly, turning to start shuffling, with a louder groaning sounding out. I keep loading and firing, and at this range, I am dropping several with each shot. I don’t expect to kill them, but at least they are knocked over, which is thinning them out a bit.

We move forward slowly, and as we get closer, I can see just how many there are – several hundred of them.

‘MOVE LEFT!’ Dave shouts out over the gunfire, and we both start stepping left as we fire.

The horde reacts and starts to follow us. The plan works slowly, and they begin stringing out from the densely packed crowd.

We keep firing and dropping them from the front, and we are doing good work, but for every one we drop, several more shuffle into view.

After several minutes, Dave pats his pockets and shouts, ‘AMMUNITION.’

I drop to one knee and keep firing as Dave gropes in the bag and pulls out more clips, then pushes more shotgun cartridges into my belt bag.

‘Thanks, mate.’

We maintain this position for a few minutes, with me kneeling down, and Dave standing to my right. The infected are much closer now, and the shotgun pellets have less distance and are therefore less spread out, but the effect at this range is devastating, and they are hammered backwards, with bits of bodies flying off, and once again, I notice the bodies at the front create an obstacle for those following, tripping many over, which, in turn, creates more gaps between them as they struggle to get back up.

‘No sign of any super zombies then?’ I say to Dave as we both reload.

‘Not yet, Mr Howie.’

And then we are back, firing into them and watching as infected soldiers are mown down by the rifle and the shotgun. Heads exploding as the bullets enter their forehead and take the back of the skull out, showering the closest infected with bits of grey matter. Deadly shards of bones from the skulls fly off into more brains and flesh.

‘I’M ALMOST OUT, DAVE.’

‘MOVE BACK.’

We step more to the left, creating distance from the slow-moving horde. I drop down again, and Dave rummages through the bag and hands me more cartridges.

‘THAT’S IT.’

I pick my shots, aiming into the densest part of the crowd, trying to use the full effect of the shotgun, but within seconds, the ammunition is gone.

‘I’M OUT.’

Dave fires a few more times, then loops the rifle strap over his shoulder and neck so that it’s secure on his back. He runs around to the back of me as I release the chest and waist clips; then Dave pulls the bag down and hands me the axe.

‘Leave the shotgun here with the bag. We’ll come back for it,’ I say to Dave as I take the axe from him.

Dave draws the knives from the front of the bag, and we start moving back to the right, following the path we have just taken. The horde is slow to react, and I can see that they are strung out, coming away from the building. We have killed many of them, and more are wriggling on the ground, tangled with the bodies they have tripped over.

We keep moving until the building is in front of us. The men inside are all staring out of the windows, and I feel that thrum inside building with every second. A violence within me that wants to come out. That wants to fight. My body starts buzzing with adrenalin, but it’s not loaded with fear now, not like it was before.

‘Ready, Dave?’ I ask, my voice low and almost lost.

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘LET’S HAVE IT, THEN,’ I scream out and charge forward, lifting my axe as I go and see Dave lean forward, with his arms out behind him, then leap, and spin through the air, driving the knives into the back of a soldier’s neck.

I chop down at my first kill, and the axe slices through his skull. I pull back and move forward again, swinging out and chopping uniformed soldiers down as they lunge forward at me.

‘COME ON,’ I shout at them, lashing left and right, cleaving a path through the bodies, and within seconds, the blood sprays across my face, hot and wet.

Dave twirls and dances through them, flowing like water and slicing the blades across jugulars, and stabbing through the necks and into spinal columns. I watch two come at him, one from the front, and one from behind. Dave drops down onto his back and sticks the blades up into their heads as they drop to bite, skewering them both before sliding out and carrying on.

My aiming is getting better with the axe, and I use less power and more skill now, judging the blow and conserving energy, and in truth, I can’t get enough of it.

‘Fucking look at them go! Jesus fucking Christ!’ Blowers exclaims, on his feet, staring at the two men attacking the infected outside.

‘Fuck me, look at the small bloke with those knives! Have you ever seen anything like that?’ Talley yells out, equally excited.

‘Fuck this, I’m joining in,’ Blowers says, starting for the door as Second Lieutenant Galloway-Gibbs blocks his path.

‘Stand down, Private.’

‘What the fuck?’ Blowers asks.

‘You will stand down. There is no way those two will reach here. Going out there is just bloody suicide.’

‘They’re bloody trying, though. Jesus, the things are all slow. We could help. We can attack from the rear.’

‘Do not question my orders, Private. Do as you are told.’

Blowers might not have completed his full training in the Royal Marines, but he did meet officers, and they didn’t talk to people like this. His face hardens, and he stares at Charles as he swallows while trying to maintain his superior sneer.

‘Sir, with all due respect,’ Blowers says quietly as every man in the room watches on. ‘You can fuck off,’ he adds, shoving past to the door as Charles wilts back from the physical contact.

A second and no more. A second for Cookey and Tucker, and Talley, and the rest to share looks before they all burst to chase after Blowers as Charles flinches and moves back away from them rushing past.

‘Grab anything you can use,’ Blowers yells at them, hefting a long metal pole used for opening the top windows. The men rush around, finding anything that can be used as a weapon: wooden chairs, a coat stand. A couple of them turn the classroom tables over and pull the thick, wooden legs off. Tucker runs into the small kitchen area, wrenching drawers and cupboard open, ignoring heavy pans and sharp things to grab a spatula before running back out into the main area as Blowers shakes his head, then looks at the young lads about him.

‘We only met a few days ago, but these fuckers have killed our mates, and those two blokes are fighting to get to us. So we’re going to go out there to fuck them up, got it?’

The men nod; faces stern and ready. Terrified to the core. Exhausted too from days of running, but ready and willing. The strain and fear showing as Blowers wrenches the door open and charges out with a roar. Cookey hot on his heels. Nick right behind them. All of them roaring with the charge.

I keep killing them, and they keep coming.

We slowly beat a path towards the building line, but the infected are dense here, and the battle gets harder, and I keep having to move backwards in order to create space, fighting almost back to back with Dave as we slowly get surrounded.

‘I’M THINKING THIS MIGHT HAVE BEEN A BAD IDEA, DAVE,’ I shout out between swings as more sticky blood sprays out.

‘SWAP PLACES, MR HOWIE.’ We spin around so that Dave is facing towards the building, and I can cover his back with the range of the axe. ‘Stay with me,’ Dave says and starts slashing his way through, carving a path with his knives.

More soldiers lurch at me, and I drive the axe down on them, then swing back out, and knock more down, desperate to get space. Dave is still slashing left, right, and forward, and the body count keeps going up as his arms whirl through the air.

Then I hear loud shouting, and I glance around to see men bursting out of the building, holding a collection of weapons – chair legs, metal poles, and one fat lad clutching a spatula in his hand as they charge into the back of the horde, and we fight with renewed energy as both sides slaughter a path to each other.

I scream out and join Dave at the front, lashing out with the axe, battering, and cleaving the bodies. Within seconds, we get to the men.

‘GO INSIDE,’ Dave bellows at them, and they react instantly to his drill sergeant voice, falling back and running into the doorway.

One lad stays, fighting with a long metal pole, screaming abuse, and lashing out.

I run up behind him and grab the back of his shirt, and start pulling him back.

‘MOVE BACK, GET INSIDE,’ I scream at him, and he allows me to pull him back inside the building and slam the door shut.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

We all slump down on the floor, gasping for breath. Even Dave is sweating, albeit lightly, while my chest heaves, and the sweat drips from my nose, mingled with blood and gore. I lean back against a wall and slide down; the axe resting by the side of me as I glance round at the men. Just kids, really. Young men, anyway. None of them look over twenty-one years old. They look terrified and exhausted too.

‘Good work, lads,’ I gasp. ‘Thanks for the help.’

The eager faces look at me, and the fat lad rushes off and comes back a few seconds later with a large glass of water that he hands to Dave.

‘Mr Howie first.’

The guys look at me as I realise they’re are all in filthy and torn normal clothes and not army uniform.

‘Thanks, Dave.’ I take the water and down it in one, then hand the glass back, and the lad rushes off to get more.

‘Bring two glasses this time, Tucker,’ one of the men shouts as he disappears into the kitchen.

Tucker comes back with two glasses of water, and we sit and drink. I wipe the sweat out of my eyes, and my arm comes away all bloody.

‘That was fucking amazing,’ one of the men says to me; then they all join in, offering thanks and praise to both of us.

I hold my hand up. ‘Really, it’s nothing. Just trying to help.’

‘That wasn’t nothing. You killed loads of them. That was fucking awesome,’ the lad with the long metal pole says.

‘Well, we were starting to struggle at the end there, eh, Dave?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie,’ he says while looking at me, as though suggesting he wasn’t struggling at all.

‘Glad you came out when you did.’ I catch the glances again as they hear Dave call me Mr Howie, and I try to intercept before the name sticks. ‘I’m Howie, and this is Dave.’

We get a chorus of responses, and one of the men stands up in front of me and offers his hand – the same lad I pulled away.

‘Thank you, Mr Howie.’

Fuck it, I bloody knew that would happen again, but I’m too exhausted to argue. I’ll tell them later.

‘I’m Blowers, Simon Blowers,’ he repeats the action with Dave, and I watch with amusement as Dave gives a very quick handshake, then wipes his hand down his trousers.

I get to my feet and offer my hand to the next one, and I keep going, knowing they will respond and then offer to shake Dave’s hand, and I can’t help but smile as he wipes his hand between each shake.

‘And who exactly are you, gentlemen?’ A posh man comes down from the stairs. Tall, with slicked-back hair and wearing a smart, green uniform. Not the camouflage dress of the soldiers outside.

‘Hi, I’m Howie. Nice to meet you.’ I walk towards him with my hand outstretched.

He gets to the bottom of the steps and looks down at my blood-soaked hand with disdain.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, mate,’ I wipe my hand down the back of my trousers and offer it again.

He accepts with a very limp grip. ‘Lieutenant Charles Galloway-Gibbs of the British Army Intelligence Corps.’ He drops my hand, and I can see that he is itching to wipe it clean but is too well mannered to do it in front of me. ‘Now, I asked you a question. Who are you?’

I stare back at him, quizzically. ‘I just told you. I’m Howie, and this is Dave.’

‘Where are you from?’ he speaks slowly, with a patronising sneer.

‘I’m from Boroughfare, why?’

‘I mean what regiment are you from?’

‘I’m not from a regiment.’ The bloke is a prick and has irritated me already. The flush of battle is still on me, and I can’t help but get bridled by his rude manner.

‘You are not from a regiment? Then what, may I ask, are you doing here?’

‘We’ve come to steal an APS…’

‘APC,’ Dave says.

‘We’ve come to steal an APC, and then we saw you lot in here, so we thought we’d help.’

Dave joins me and stands smartly in front of the officer; then, surprisingly, he salutes.

‘Sir,’ Dave states, crisply.

The officer looks at Dave and turns to me.

‘Not from a regiment?’

‘No, I just told you. I’m from Boroughfare.’

‘He looks like a soldier to me.’ The officer gestures to Dave.

‘He was. I’m not.’ I speak slowly, angry at the incredibly rude manner of the man.

I turn my back on him and look to the men who are standing around the hallway, all of them watching me with interest.

‘There’s thirteen of you? Is that right?’ They nod at me, and I can see them glancing back at the officer. ‘So are you all soldiers, then?’

‘Kind of,’ Simon Blowers replies. ‘TA. We only arrived on Friday for our first two-week camp.’

‘Do not turn your back on me. I was talking to you.’ The officer speaks from behind me.

‘You were speaking rudely to me. That’s what you were doing, mate, and after what we just did…’

‘Do not call me, mate. I am an officer in the British Army, and you do not call me mate…’

I spin around. At any other time, I might have been able to swallow it and remain polite, but the adrenalin is still in me, and I lose my temper and jab my finger into his chest, driving him back into the classroom. ‘You’re fucking rude, that’s what you are…MATE… Now me and Dave here have just fought through a shitload of zombie soldier things to try and help you…’

‘DO NOT TOUCH ME! I AM AN OFFICER. YOU, MEN,’ he points at the men in the hallway, ‘ARREST HIM NOW. HE HAS ASSAULTED AN OFFICER.’ The men just stare at each other. ‘IF YOU DO NOT ARREST HIM NOW…I WILL HAVE YOU ALL SHOT WHEN THE REST OF THE ARMY ARRIVES.’

A couple of them step forward, clearly scared by the threat, but Dave moves in front of them, and such is his mere presence, they all stop instantly.

‘There is no army,’ I say. ‘There’s nothing out there. Every city, town, and village we’ve been through has fallen. Those things are everywhere. The whole country’s gone. There’s no army, no police. Nothing…’

The men stare in horror at me.

‘What did you think was going on? That this was just here, in this place? No, lads. I’m sorry, but it’s all gone.’

A few of them reel back, clearly thinking of families and friends, their homes, and loved ones.

Even the officer goes quiet and stares off into space, and then he looks at me and speaks softly, ‘How do you know this?’

‘I watched it happen. The whole of Europe got infected within a few hours. God knows how, but it did, and now it’s here.’

A tear falls down his cheek, and he slumps down into one of the classroom chairs, looking stricken to the core, and the sight robs the heat from my temper, making me swallow and take a breath.

I pull the door closed and turn back to face the gathered men to see a few crying quietly, and some have slumped down against the walls. The ones at the front don’t show a reaction, though, and I note the hard looks on their faces, especially from the one called Blowers.

There is a long silence, and then I look over at Dave, who has assumed his usual expressionless look.

How he isn’t covered in blood and bits of body is beyond me. I do, however, spot a single chunk of what looks like a bit of sticky brain on his shoulder. I reach out to flick it free, but it gets stuck to my fingers, and I try to shake it off, but the bloody thing won’t go, and I flick at it with my other hand, but it gets stuck to that one instead like a sticky bogey. I keep shaking my hand, but it won’t budge, and I start waving my hand vigorously.

‘Fuck off,’ I mutter at it, shaking and spinning round while trying to flick it off with the other hand, and it again gets stuck to that one. ‘Fuck’s sake, this is a conspiracy…’

Then I look up and remember where I am, with a dozen or so faces watching me in silence.

‘Sticky bit of brain won’t come off…’ I hold my hand up to show them, then drop my hand down, and wipe it on the back of my trousers. ‘Err…is there a bathroom? I could really do with getting cleaned up a bit.’

Blowers steps forward. ‘Follow me, sir. I’ll show you where it is.’

‘Cheers, mate. You coming, Dave?’

A few minutes later, Dave and I are upstairs, standing at washbasins, scrubbing our hands clean.

Blowers went back downstairs, saying he would wait with the others.

‘Who is that officer? What did he say he was?

‘He said he is a leftenant from Army Intelligence.’

‘What’s a leftenant?’

‘It’s a lootenant like the Americans have. It’s spelt the same, we just pronounce it differently.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know, Mr Howie.’

‘Is lieutenant a high-up rank?’

‘He is a second lieutenant, which means he’s just joined. He hasn’t got the full marks on his uniform yet, so he must be an OIT.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Officer in Training.’

‘So he’s a newbie too, just like the rest of them?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s still a pompous fucking dick.’

Dave stays quiet. I guess his former life means he won’t badmouth an officer. I hold back from saying anymore so I don’t offend him.

Dave left his bag in the car, and mine is out there too, so instead of his normal ritual of antibacterial cleansing wipes, he is making do with army soap and water.

We scrub and clean the blood from our hands and faces. The front of my shirt is sticky, and I take it off to rinse under the taps. The water runs pink, and I catch my reflection in the mirror, where the blood has soaked through onto my upper body.

I use paper towels from a dispenser and try to clean it off as best as possible. Dave copies me and starts rinsing out his clothes too. First, the Tesco fleece; then, his t-shirt. We wring them out.

‘They had windows open up here, didn’t they?’ I walk out and head across the landing to the rooms where they were leaning out to signal us.

The weather is still gloriously warm, and we drape our tops over the windowsills to dry out.

We slump down into the chairs in the room, and I pick up the bit of paper they used to decipher Dave’s Morse code. I show him, and he nods back.

‘Is that smoke?’ I sniff the air and start to get up. ‘Dave, can you smell smoke?’ He nods, and we both start down the stairs.

The smell of smoke is strong now, and we can hear voices coming from one of the rooms.

I push the door open and find another classroom filled with the lads all looking guilty. Gathered about a small fire on the concrete floor in the middle made from broken furniture. A large pan of water resting on a metal frame rigged up over the flames. The lads stare at Dave and me standing there, shirtless.

‘Tucker rigged this up, sir. We thought you might fancy a brew,’ the lad with blond hair and blue eyes says.

‘Bloody hell. Well done, mate. That’s brilliant. Where did you learn that?’

Tucker swells with pride, and a big smile spreads over his face as the others relax a bit.

‘In the scouts, sir. I used the metal frames from the chairs and just bent them up a bit. I won’t get in trouble for that, will I?’

‘What, for breaking a couple of chairs? You should be more worried about replacing that spatula if I were you.’

A crap joke, and the laughter coming back is weak and forced, but it lightens the atmosphere just a touch.

‘What the bloody hell were you gonna do with a spatula, Tucker?’ one of them calls out, and then more join in until Tucker pulls the spatula from his back pocket with a grin.

‘I’ve still got it,’ he laughs.

I feel a bit awkward without my top on. I know it’s all lads, but still. Dave must have sensed my discomfort because he nipped away, then came back with two lightweight, green camouflage jackets.

‘Ah, well done, Dave,’ I shrug the coat on and do the zip half up. Dave pulls his on and pulls the zip all the way to the top.

‘Where did you find them?’ the blond lad asks. Cookey, I think his name is. ‘We looked everywhere for kit.’

‘Kit gets stolen if it isn’t hidden,’ Dave answers.

Within a few minutes, we are all seated, and Dave and I get the first steaming mugs of black tea, with Tucker apologising profusely for not having any milk.

‘It’s fine, mate. Don’t worry.’ I take an appreciative sip of the tea to show my gratitude and almost scald my mouth in the process.

‘So, lads, fill us in on what happened here.’

Blowers starts off, but soon the others join in.

‘Thirty of you to start with? Bloody hell, that’s awful. I’m really sorry for your loss.’

‘What about you, sir? What happened out there?’

I explain about how the event started and then spread across Europe. I tell them what I heard about the forts and London being infested. Then about travelling through Portsmouth and how horrific the devastation was. A few of them look down and start crying again when I mention Portsmouth, and I realise too late that they must be from there.

‘Sorry, lads, it’s better you know the truth, though.’

After a long pause, only broken by Dave taking repeated sips from his tea, Cookey looks over. ‘So… What happens now?’ he asks.

‘Now? What do you mean?’

He looks at the others, then back to me. ‘What do we do now?’

‘Lads, I’m not here to tell you what to do. We came to steal an AP…C thing, so we can get through London.’

‘Why are you going to London?’ another one asks, tall and handsome. ‘I’m Nick, by the way.’

I nod in greeting before replying. ‘For my sister. She left a message that she’s locked herself in her flat, so I’m going to get her and then head to the forts. I say me, but Dave here said he’s happy to come with me. We worked together…’

‘How are you going to get one, sir? They’re all down on the plains for the exercise.’

I look at the lad, trying to remember his name. ‘Alan?’

‘Sir,’ he nods, ‘Alan Booker…’

‘Well, I guess we’ll go down and get one,’ I explain.

‘Sir, there are hundreds of ’em down there. These ones here were just waiting their turn for the exercise. There’s shitloads more down there, far more,’ Blowers says.

I look at Dave, who carries on sipping his tea.

‘What do you think, mate? I reckon it’s worth it,’ I say.

‘Okay, Mr Howie.’

‘Mind you, we’ve got no ammunition left, so it’s down to the axe and the knives again. It’ll be a hard one, but there’s still a few hours of light left.’

‘Okay, Mr Howie.’

A few of the lads watch us intently; some open-mouthed.

‘Fucking hang on a minute,’ a sudden realisation hits me. ‘This is the army; there must be loads of guns and things.’

‘In the armoury,’ Dave says.

‘Fuck it, let’s go and get them, then.’ I’m all excited and raring to go again.

‘You can’t, sir. The armoury is fully locked up,’ Cookey says.

‘Locked?’ Dave asks.

‘The lieutenant told us.’

‘It’s not locked,’ Dave says.

‘How do you know?’ I ask him.

‘There was an exercise on. It wouldn’t be locked. They would need to be ready for resupply.’

‘Ha! Even better, then. Right, where is it?’ I ask the lads, but they just stare back blankly, and a few of them shrug their shoulders. ‘Oh, yeah. I forgot you’re all new. Dave, do you know where it is?’

‘No, but it won’t be hard to find, Mr Howie.’

‘Okay, good. We’ve got a plan. Shall we?’ I ask Dave.

‘What about us, sir? What should we do?’ I look around at the expectant faces. They have no idea where they are or where to go. I don’t want to lose valuable time, but I understand that they must be terrified.

‘Listen, lads, it’s up to you what you do. I know that you’ve learnt the difference between the zombie things in the day and night. Well, my advice is to avoid them at all costs during the hours of darkness. But during the day, they become slow, and they can be attacked, like that lot out there. We wouldn’t have done that during the night. We wouldn’t have stood a chance. Having said that, we were fighting a load this morning, and one of them grabbed my axe when I was going for him. He wasn’t like the others. He looked more switched-on. Maybe he was a one-off, but it’s something to keep in mind. Now, if you want to go back to your homes and families, then go for it, but remember what I said. It’s a horrible, brutal thing to say, but there are very few survivors. And it’s already been a few days, so… Well, it’s up to you. But we are all going to need weapons, and we are safer fighting together, so I think we should all go for the armoury, and then you must go where you want from there.’

Most of them nod, and I can see that they are in agreement. It makes sense if we stick together and fight our way through that lot.

‘Those of you who are up for it, we’ll meet you in the hallway in a couple of minutes. Grab some weapons.’ I look at Tucker. ‘Maybe something a bit better than a spatula, though, mate.’

I leave the room and head down the corridor, opening doors until I find the officer at a desk; his head resting in his hands.

‘Err… Are you all right?’

He looks up. His slicked-back hair isn’t so slicked back now; it sticks up in a mess.

‘We’re going for the armoury, and then we’ll try finding one of those big vehicles. You coming?’

He still doesn’t reply but just keeps on staring.

‘Listen, mate, I know this is all a shock, but you’re still an officer, and those lads could do with some leadership. Why don’t you come with us?’

Still no reply.

‘Well, what are you going to do, then? Just sit here and wait? Mate, nobody is coming. If there is any army left, they will be holed up somewhere, trying to survive like everyone else. Okay, look, I don’t have time to waste. If you are coming, then we’ll be leaving in about two minutes.’

I leave the door open and walk away.

Dave is waiting for me at the top of the stairs, and I shake my head at him. He nods back, and we both go down. All of the recruits are there, armed with an assortment of weapons, mainly wooden table legs. They all look up expectantly as Dave and I walk down to them.

‘Listen, lads, they’re slow now, but don’t stand and fight them. We just need to get through, that’s it. Once we’re in the open, we can move much quicker than them. Just watch out for any weirdo super zombies doing crossword puzzles.’

A couple of them smile back with nervous, fear-filled eyes; then every head snaps over to Dave talking.

‘Strike and move. Keep moving and keep a firm grip of your weapon. Strike and move. Do you understand me?’ Dave barks at them, and I’m surprised at the harsh tone of his voice. He moves into the crowd and shows them how to grip the clubs with both hands. ‘Strike down onto the head. Your objective is to get through them, so only strike when you need to but do not hesitate. They lunge at the last second. Do not let them get their mouths anywhere near you. Do you understand?’ He moves between them, raising the clubs and adjusting their grips. ‘STRIKE AND MOVE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’ His voice booms into the confined room, and some of them jump from the sudden noise. More of them respond though and shout, ‘YES, SIR!’

‘I AM NOT A SIR. HE IS A SIR,’ and he points to me. ‘I AM DAVE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’

‘YES…DAVE.’

‘WHAT?’

‘YES, DAVE!’ they scream out.

‘Good,’ Dave says and comes back to my side as I lean over and whisper.

‘I’m not sir. I’m just Howie …’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘Right. Good chat. Where’s my axe?’

‘Here, sir,’ Blowers hands it to me, and it’s been cleaned too.

‘Thanks, mate. Now, which way are we going, Dave?’

‘The drill square first.’

‘The car park. Got it. Do you want to lead?’

He hesitates for a second, which I take full advantage of.

‘Too late. I’m closest to the door, so I’m going first.’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

I look round at the nervous faces and realise just how much I’ve changed in a few short days. I look at Dave and smile. ‘Ready, Dave?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

I wrench the door open and charge out into the packed bodies, screaming and roaring with adrenalin.

Dave is right behind me and launches himself straight into them, going off to one side and whirling his knives at their throats as I swing out and smash skulls in.

The third battle today, and I still feel the fury and rage within me as I destroy them one by one. The bodies are packed in here, but the axe and Dave’s knives soon clear some space, and we fight out.

I hear more shouts behind me as the recruits spill out of the building, charging into the packed horde. The wooden clubs smacking them down. This feels amazing, having so many fighting together, fighting as one, as a team toward a common goal.

The glory of battle surges through me, and I give a fresh roar and plough further into them. The recruits respond, and I can hear screams and guttural roars from all around me as we take them down.

Dave is spinning and dropping more bodies than any of us, but we surge forward, and the infected are beaten back by the sheer ferocity of the attack.

Fourteen of us charge in, and fourteen of us batter and beat them, killing and destroying anything in our path. This is one of the best feelings I have ever had. We are unstoppable. We are an army come to wreak vengeance.

Within seconds, I am coated in blood again as the snarling faces loom up in front of me, waiting for me to cleave their skulls open. Three of them come from my left, all in a row. I pull the axe back and give a mighty heave, driving the blunt end into the closest one. He barrels into the next, and they all stagger down, only to be clubbed by recruits coming behind me. I glance back and watch the young men fighting. Some of them are clearly filled with the rage of the battle. A few look petrified though and are clutching the clubs to their chests and trying to avoid all contact. One of them is even crying and whimpering, visibly shaking from head to toe. An infected lurches at him. I shout a warning, but it’s too late, and he goes down.

Dave and I both run back towards him and attack the soldier, but all in vain. The infected has bitten into the recruit’s neck, and blood sprays out over the ground. Another one of the young lads rushes to his side and tries to pull him up.

‘IT’S TOO LATE. KEEP GOING!’ I shout at him. He stares blindly at me, and I push him forward into the gap created by Dave and the recruits, who have fought their way to the front.

We keep pushing them over to the far side of the drill square and let them flop down on the ground to recover for a few minutes as Dave scans the buildings around the area. I’m bent over, breathing hard.

I look around to the recruits. Blowers, Cookey, Nick, Booker, and a few others are jubilant and high-fiving. Even Tucker looks pumped up. A few of them are silent, though. Silent and terrified.

It’s strange how the instinct for survival differs between people. Some, like the officer, will hide or go into shock, unable to process what they have lost and what’s going on around them. Others will follow the pack, and even though they don’t want to fight, the fear of being left alone makes them move. Then there are those that will fight. Even when they are terrified, they can see what must be done and will do it, because they have to.

Then there are lads like that. Taken into a fight, out of necessity, and they relished every second of it. I can see it on their faces now as they relive the battle and joke about how the heads exploded and the brains came out.

Some of the others are looking up to them and trying to joke along too, but I can see the conflicting emotions in them. They look at Blowers and Cookey and laugh, but then they glance at each other for reassurance. They have just killed what had been people. Soldiers. What they want to be. What they now are.

I look back up at the car and realise what Dave and I did. Examining my own feelings now, I know that as soon as I saw them, I wanted to be in there, hurting them and breaking them apart. We probably could have found a way around them, but I was glad that we hacked through instead. What does that say about me?

That anger and fury I felt when I discovered my parents must have been killed woke something inside me, and I don’t know if it will ever go away now.

I realise that Dave has joined me while I was deep in thought.

‘You okay, Dave?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘We probably could have found a way around them, don’t you think?’

‘Probably.’

‘But we didn’t.’

‘No.’

We hold eye contact, and I start to smile at him. ‘Let’s get them guns, mate.’

He turns back to scanning the buildings. ‘Weapons.’

‘What?’

‘We don’t call it a gun; we call it a weapon.’

‘You’re a picky bugger, Dave. So…which building is it?’

‘That one,’ he points to the left. There are a row of buildings facing the parade square. They are bigger than the ones on the side, where we rescued the recruits. Dave points at a large building in the middle of them.

‘How do you know?’

‘The armoury is always central so that everyone can get to it quickly.’

‘Right, lads, you ready? We need to move,’ I turn to the recruits, who look ready to drop, and it’s clear they need food and rest and very soon.

‘They need rest,’ Dave says.

‘We don’t have time to rest, Dave. RIGHT. LET’S MOVE IT.’

Dave was right, and we are able to gain entry by simply forcing an external door. I can’t help but wonder why the soldiers didn’t take weapons from here if they thought they were under attack. But then, it spreads so quickly, and it’s easy to look back and criticise after the fact.

The building leads into a hallway, with a long counter and a wall behind it. From the setup, I guess the soldiers line up at the counter and are issued with their weapon.

There is a set of closed double doors behind the counter, and it takes Dave seconds to vault the counter, push the doors open, and disappear inside. Some of the lads are quick to get over. By the time I get through the doors, I can hear whistles of appreciation and surprise.

The room inside is massive and takes up the rest of the length of the building, with metal shelves running down both sides, stacked with guns. The guns look identical and are racked stock down, with the trigger guard facing out.

The recruits spread out along the end of the room, just looking at the awesome display.

Dave is already down at the far end, going through boxes and opening doors to cabinets while I walk down the length of the room, staring at the guns to either side. At the end, I see that Dave has opened a metal cabinet. There are rows of black handles sticking out, and I only realise they are handguns when Dave pulls one out and slides the top back.

‘The GPMG are gone, must be out in the field for the exercise,’ Dave says to me.

‘The what?’

‘The general-purpose machine gun. They must have taken it out.’

‘Is that one of the big things with a tripod or something?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, well, we clearly don’t have enough guns here.’ I glance back along the shelves and stare at the impressive sight. ‘Dave, how long will it take to show us how to use them?’

Dave pauses and looks back at the recruits. ‘To learn how to fire the SA80 will only take a short time, but they need to know about the moving parts and how to clear the weapon if it jams, and how to clean it. That takes longer to explain.’

‘Okay, well, it’s just gone 2 p.m. now. It gets dark at about 9:30 p.m., so at the very least, we need to be in one of those big vehicles by that time. How long do you need?’

‘Depends on them. Some will pick it up quickly, some won’t.’ I nod and turn to the recruits.

I probably know less than they do, but at least they had an interest when they joined up. I’ve never even seen an army machine gun in real life, and I need to learn too, but I also need to be moving, and I feel frustrated at the delay. But if Dave can run us through some basic skills now, it will make all the difference when we do have to go back out there. Especially if it goes wrong again.

Which it will. Within half an hour.

‘Right, listen up, lads,’ I shout over to them, and they drift down to gather around me. ‘Dave is going to run through basic weapon techniques. We need to learn this if we are going to survive out there. It will be fast learning, and we don’t have time to keep stopping if you don’t keep up. You don’t have to do this, and it’s up to you if you stay or go.’ They stare back at me. A couple at the back keep turning around to look at the door, casting nervous glances at each other.

‘Lads, honestly, you can go if you want to, but your chances of survival are far greater if you learn this.’

They look completely exhausted and ready to drop. I start to feel guilty as I know I’m pushing them for my own need. There is no way they are going to take this in after what they have been through.

‘You lot look worn out. Do you want to rest for a couple of hours and then go through it?’

‘I’m okay, sir. I want to do it now,’ Blowers says to me.

‘Me too,’ Cookey affirms, and then a few more of the hard-core group nod and join in. Nick Hewitt. Alan Booker. A quiet lad called Jamie and a few others. The two who were glancing at the door whisper quietly to each other.

‘Okay, if you want to do it now, then go over to Dave. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

Apart from the two whisperers, they all go over to Dave. I approach the two, and they look at me sheepishly.

‘Lads, what’s up? You keep looking back at the door.’ They gaze at each other, and then one of them plucks up enough courage to speak.

‘Sir, we just want to go home. We don’t live that far away.’

‘That’s fine. You can leave whenever you want. I know you had a nasty time on the plains, but I’ve seen what it’s like out there, and trust me, it isn’t pretty.’

They both stare back at me. They look like children, but then they are, really. Just boys.

‘This is going to sound brutal, but your families might not have survived, or they could be gone from there, thinking you are safe with the army. Make your own decisions but do so knowing what you are walking into and what to expect. If you want to go, carry on, and I wish you luck, but I really have to get moving.’

I go back to the group. It’s obvious what the two lads are thinking, and the group remain quiet for a minute, chatting to each other in low voices.

‘Sir?’ I turn round, and the two lads have taken a couple of steps towards us. I know they have decided to go; otherwise, they would have walked over to us.

‘Okay, lads, that’s fine. Stay safe and keep moving. Do everything you can to avoid them and make sure you find somewhere safe at least an hour before nightfall.’

They both nod and then stand still, unsure of how to say goodbye.

‘If all else fails, head to the forts on the coast. Good luck.’

‘Yeah, good luck.’ Cookey walks over and offers his hand to them; they shake, and the rest of the recruits go over and also shake hands. Eventually, the two lads break away and leave, closing the door behind them.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

An uneasy silence follows. Nine left, and a couple of those don’t look too confident either.

‘Right, you lot, ready?’ I call over, and they walk back, gathering around Dave. Then the hard work starts, and by hard work, I mean really hard work, with Dave drilling them relentlessly.

First, he hands them a rifle each and makes them sit around him. He shows them the basics of how the weapons fire, then how to load and reload the magazine, pull the bolt, and make the weapon ready. He shows them the safety switch and how to make the rifle single shot only or fully automatic. He repeats it all and makes them do it together, then individually. He then strips the weapon down and reassembles it very quickly, and then makes them do it.

Well, I say he makes them do it. I’m doing it too, but for some reason, Dave doesn’t make me do it in front of the others. Either on the assumption that I would understand or out of the strange respect he seems to hold for me. I keep up though and understand the basics within a short time.

Dave then runs through weapon cleaning drills. His manner is highly effective too. Without any confusing jargon or rambling on. Succinct and to the point. His expressionless face also serves well as at no point does he appear to be frustrated or disappointed when they get it wrong.

Blowers is very proficient, and from the way he handles the weapon, I suspect he must have had previous experience. Dave seems to notice too.

‘You served?’ Dave asks.

‘Royal Marines. Broke my leg before completing basic. Did weapon drills, though.’

Dave looks at him, nods, then carries on. Making them put the weapon back together, load a magazine, and unload it, take the safety off, select single shot, then fully automatic, then remove the magazine, and put the safety back on. Then he makes them do it one by one while he watches. Most of them get it wrong, but Blowers is on hand to help.

Dave then gathers everyone at the end of the room and explains we’ll drill some very basic fire and manoeuvre methods.

‘Blowers, to me,’ he orders, taking the lad to the side to speak quietly for a minute until Blowers nods and steps back as Dave turns to face us all and drops to one knee, aims, and dry fires his rifle.

He then shouts, ‘MAGAZINE!’ And at the point he starts to change his rifle magazine, Blowers runs a few metres in front of Dave, takes a knee, and starts dry firing.

‘MAGAZINE,’ he shouts; at which point, Dave runs past, advancing beyond Blowers, and repeats the same as before, with a very simple method of advance until they reach the far end and turn back as the other lads nod and murmur.

I must admit, they made it look easy.

Dave explains about the danger of having someone in front of you when you have a live weapon and emphasises the point of moving to the side so you are not directly in front of the man who is changing his magazine behind you.

Dave then makes them do it with him, one by one, and they take turns to move a few steps, drop down, and fire then shout Magazine! as the next one moves forward.

Then Dave and Blowers each take a recruit and run through the drill, four of them moving up and down the room. Then they take two recruits each. I join in, taking my turn and running with them up and down. Hard work, and we’re all sweating heavily.

Finally, Dave tells them all to pair off and practise with their chosen partner. Within minutes, the room is a confusing jumble of noise with loud voices bellowing Magazine! and calling each other twats for getting in the way.

‘How many are coming with us, Mr Howie?’ Dave asks, walking over to me.

‘I don’t know. Are any of them coming?’ I reply.

‘It would be good to know so I can split us into teams, ready for when we move.’

‘Okay, mate, I’ll get their attention and ask.’ I shout out for them to come over.

‘FINGERS OFF TRIGGERS!’ Dave shouts in his drill sergeant voice. ‘When at rest, the safety is on, and your finger is on the guard like this.’

They respond, switching the safety on and making a show of holding their fingers over the guards. I glance at Blowers and can see that he had already done it and was resting in the correct manner.

‘Right, lads,’ I begin. ‘In a short time, Dave and I are going down onto the plains to find something big and nasty that will get us through London. We need to know if any of you want to join us. This is a personal thing; it has nothing to do with any of you, but you are more than welcome, and we want to know now if you are coming.’

They nod back at me, then start whispering to each other.

‘Sir, if I come with you, will you drop me off after?’ Booker asks.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Sir, me and Blowers are in,’ Cookey says after a short discussion with Blowers.

‘What about your families?’ I ask them.

‘We don’t really have any, sir. To be honest, we ain’t really got anything to go back to, and Blowers’ mum said she won’t shag me again unless I pay up.’

‘Twat,’ Blowers mutters.

‘So, you’re going to London and then to the forts?’ McKinney asks.

‘Yes, mate,’ I answer.

‘Okay, I reckon it’s safer with you two. You’ve travelled this far and stayed alive. I’m in until the forts if that’s okay.’

‘Of course, it is.’ I look to the rest and see McKinney’s words have obviously struck a chord as they go silent and absorb what he just said.

‘Well, they’ve got this far, haven’t they?’ he says. ‘They must be doing something right. I’ve got family at home too, but if everyone is going to the forts, then the best chance of seeing them again is going there.’ McKinney shrugs his shoulders and looks down at his weapon. Five seconds later, and they have all agreed to go.

Dave then splits them into two “firing teams”. The first is Dave, Roland McKinney, Darren Smith, Roy Tucker, and Nicholas Hewitt.

‘We are team Alpha; the rest of you are team Bravo. Blowers is your team leader.’

‘Oh, you wanker,’ Cookey says, looking at Blowers. ‘I haven’t got to take orders from you, have I?’

‘Oh, yes, my pretty boy, you will do as you are told,’ Blowers replies with a wink.

Dave speaks to me quietly, and I nod and go back out to the counter at the front of the building. I find a pen and some paper and go back into the room.

‘Lads, I need to take your names down…just in case something happens, and we find your families later.’

I write down the names that I know. The last two I hadn’t learnt before were Jamie Reese and Curtis Graves.

The lads then offer me the names of the ones that died on the plains, the one that we lost fighting our way out, and the two that left before we started drilling.

Finally, I check my watch; it’s almost 5 p.m. If we leave at 6 p.m., we will still have three hours of daylight, but I don’t know how far it is or where the vehicles will be.

‘Have any of you got any idea where we will find an APS?’

‘APC!’ Dave and Blowers chorus at me.

‘Yeah, okay. Well, did you see any of them?’

‘There was a Saxon near the urban area, Mr Howie. I don’t know if it’s still there, though,’ Blowers offers.

‘A Saxon? I’m sure I saw a programme on TV about them. Big things, with massive wheels, big machine gun on the top?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie,’ Dave answers.

‘They’re training vehicles here, though,’ Blowers says. ‘They look a bit different sometimes.’

‘Right, we go for that, then. How far is it to this urban area?’

‘I don’t know. We were taken by truck, and it was quite a long drive. Must be a few miles at least.’

‘I was going to give you an hour’s rest, but now I’m thinking we should get going. We don’t want to be out in the dark, with those things running about, especially after what you said you went through on those plains. Do you think you can manage it?’ I direct my question to the group.

They do look exhausted, and I feel like a right bastard for making them move again, but this has to be done now.

Blowers, Cookey, and McKinney nod back and call out that they are ready. I get the impression they are making the others go along with it, and they all start nodding within a few seconds.

Dave then comes over to me and speaks quietly, ‘Mr Howie, we need to find the stores building. They need belts to hold the magazines and water bottles.’

‘Okay, if you say so, mate. It’ll give ’em a chance to rest, too.’ I turn back to the recruits.

‘Right, the plan is that Dave, Blowers, and I are going to find the stores building, so you get the chance to practise shooting some zombies while we make a run for it.’

A few of them look up, excited at the prospect.

‘You each have spare magazines. Do not go forward, just line up outside, and practise single shot only, aim for the head,’ Dave instructs them.

We head back out to the front and over the counter. I don’t know why we didn’t use the side door, but I guess this makes it more dramatic.

Dave and Blowers each have their assault rifles ready. Mine is strapped to my back, and I have my axe. Dave did stare at me when I picked it up. ‘Never leave home without it,’ I said to him.

We go to the main door and realise that the horde are now all gathered directly at the front, blocking our exit.

We end up using the side door and lead the recruits back to the front, coming out just to the side of the horde. Dave tells them to fire from an angle so they don’t shoot the buildings. They make ready but hesitate; clearly none of them want to be the first to shoot. Dave raises his assault rifle and fires several shots into the crowd, getting head shots with each one.

‘Fuck me,’ Cookey says in awe.

Blowers then fires a few shots, aiming for the head too.

‘Pick your shots and take your time,’ Dave gives them a final instruction before we move.

We leave the recruits and the sounds of individual rifle shots behind us; they are calling to each other and offering encouragement or comments as they hit or miss. We walk out onto the parade square car park thing and look back.

The recruits are spread out in a row and are firing into the densely packed crowd of infected shuffling and turning around slowly, moving towards the recruits with their slow gait. Every now and then, I see a head explode in pink mist as the bullet hits the mark, immediately followed by cheering.

Smith runs out of bullets first and shouts Magazine! loudly.

I look at Dave and see him watching them closely. Smith then drops down onto one knee and changes the magazine. He remains on one knee as he continues to fire into the crowd. The rest follow suit, shouting Magazine! and dropping down to change.

We then move off, and Dave identifies the stores building. I have no idea how as they all look the same to me. Within minutes, we are in a similar-structured building, over the counter, and into the stores room.

‘What do we need?’ Blowers asks me and Dave.

‘Belts, magazine holders, and water bottles,’ Dave responds.

The room is roughly the same size as the armoury, but there are shelves and units everywhere. There is typical army order here, and it doesn’t take long to find a big cardboard box to put all of the belts and other things into. Dave also grabs a load of green camouflage jackets and changes the one he is wearing that is too big into one that fits better.

Blowers comes into view from the end of a unit, holding an army-style, long-sleeved t-shirt.

‘Are these any good? Might be too hot in those jackets,’ he asks.

We find rucksacks and load them up with belts, bottles, and ammunition pouches, and more with jackets and t-shirts. Then we put the empty bags into the used ones so we have less to carry.

‘Fuck it, this is silly. Let’s just get the lads up here to grab what they need,’ I say to Dave.

I run back outside and over, towards the armoury building.

My jaw drops as I get closer and see the mound of dead infected piled and spread out across the front of the building. There are only a handful left now, and the lads are taking their time to aim carefully for the exclusive head shot.

I call out and get their attention. Yelling for them to come over.

We dump all of the kit outside, and the lads rummage through to get the right sized tops and jackets.

Dave and Blowers then come out, with black and desert-coloured boots in their hands hanging from their laces. Dave hands me a pair of desert boots, then a pair of tan-coloured combat trousers, with pockets on the sides.

‘There’s only a few of them, Mr Howie. The rest are jungle greens.’

‘Thanks, Dave.’

I join the lads in getting changed into army kit – boots and tops. Most of them change into army trousers too but the green ones.

I note that Dave and Blowers are both in the tan trousers too – a hierarchy is developing already, just in this little group, and I understand that maybe it needs to be done, and I wonder if people will ever change.

Once dressed, I turn to see and find myself pausing in surprise at the sight of the lads looking like proper soldiers. All of them chatting, with assault rifles resting across the crooks of their arms, like they saw Dave and Blowers doing. Webbing belts loaded, and the bottles filled from a cold tap inside the stores building. The visual effect is striking, and they suddenly look tougher and harder. Even Tucker looks a bit less soft but not that much.

‘Mr Howie and I will take point, the rest of you in two lines, evenly spaced out behind us, covering the flanks,’ Dave gives his instructions, and we set off.

One supermarket manager leading an ex-soldier, an ex-trainee Royal Marine, and a group of lads, who only fired a gun for the first time half an hour ago, and we’re going into vast plains filled with infected.

What can possibly go wrong?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

We walk at a constant, brisk pace, and I am sweating freely.

The recruits are spread out evenly behind us in two lines, which took some cajoling and berating from Blowers at first, but Dave bellowed at the top of his voice, and they fell silent, apart from Cookey, muttering to Blowers behind me.

‘Why do you get the Gucci brown trousers?’

‘Cos I’m a section leader, that’s why.’

‘No, you’re a team leader for today, not for always – it’s not a promotion in the field.’

‘Fuck off, Cookey.’

‘You fuck off, Blowers, with your super brown trousers.’

‘Ha, go and iron your jungle greens, mate.’

‘You’re a cock, Blowers.’

‘Sorry, what did you say, Cookey? Did you say that you like cock?’

‘You know what I said.’

‘You said that you like cock. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a modern world.’

‘Get fucked, I didn’t say anything like that.’

‘Yes, you did, you said that you like cock, you like zombie cock.’

‘Blowers, you wanker. I’m gonna have a negligent discharge in a minute and shoot you.’

‘A negligent discharge?! What? In your pants? Have you seen a hot zombie or something, then?’

‘You fucking twat.’

‘Watch out lads, Cookey is going to bum some zombies.’

I walk on, smiling at the easy banter behind me.

‘Don’t they call this tabbing or something?’ I ask Dave.

‘Yes, Mr Howie’

‘Why not just walking?’

‘The Romans did it first. A soldier has to show he can march to a place with weight – that’s called a loaded march. The word tab comes from tactical advance to battle.’

‘Oh.’ I fall silent for a moment.

‘Dave, did you enjoy showing those recruits what to do?’

‘I don’t understand, Mr Howie.’

‘Well, you were good at it. Did you ever teach when you were in the army?’

‘I gave instructions sometimes, Mr Howie.’

‘What about that voice? You sound like a proper drill sergeant.’

‘When they knew I could shout loudly, they taught me what to say to the enemy to make them scared. Scared men make mistakes.’

‘Bloody hell, I think I had better start calling you Mr Dave from now on.’

‘No, Mr Howie,’ Dave says, casting me a serious look.

‘I was joking, Dave. But, mate, I don’t know any more than they do, and I know less than Blowers. I guess I don’t feel right taking the position of leader.’

Dave goes from constant scanning of the area to looking at me. ‘I don’t understand people. I don’t understand characters and personalities, or when people are upset. I can kill, and I can show how to kill. That’s all I can do, Mr Howie.’

‘People are just people, Dave. Insecure and scared like the rest of us. People are easy to understand, really.’

He looks at me for a long second before casting his view out to the sides and ahead again.

‘People have base needs,’ I continue. ‘Like needing to eat and drink. Take any of those needs away and people die very easily. But then you have base emotions too – things like love, hate, greed, lust, and jealousy. They are incredibly powerful emotions that drive people to do the most amazing things. And if you mix a few of them together with other, maybe less impacting, emotions like insecurity or distress, then you can have issues, real issues. If you look at history and the evil dictators, I bet all of them had a mixture of those issues going on. Plus, when you couple that with the immediate family around you, then the people, society, and community you grow up in, and the cultural beliefs that are drummed into people when they are young and add all of that to the hierarchy of needs, plus the corruption of power – well, it can make for a deadly recipe. Fascinating but deadly.’ I pause to take a breath as the others all fall silent.

‘Look at this around us now. Something like this could have been caused by an evil tyrant addicted to power or a belief that his God is the right one, so everyone else must suffer and die. Or it could just as easily be a scientist working in a lab somewhere. Safe and secure, and the most rational person you could ever meet. One day he gets home to find out his wife is cheating, and he is consumed with anger and jealousy, and bang, he takes the whole world out for one seemingly small act that would otherwise be a private episode in someone’s life.

‘In fact, I’ve heard theories that Adolf Hitler grew up surrounded by wealthy Jews when his family was relatively poor, and so maybe that sparked his intense hatred. A chemical imbalance that sits dormant and then explodes from one random act. Then there is the old cliché of power corrupts. We only have to look at every government that has ever come to power to know that exists. And then, of course, there is communism. What a fantastic notion that everything should be owned by everyone and shared equally. But at a certain point, there will be some bugger stood there, thinking he is doing more work than others, so therefore he is entitled to more than they have. He gets a bit more, and then he always wants more, and if they don’t give it to him, he will take it.

‘That’s why revolutions never really work. You can take a whole bunch of people that have conflicting beliefs, but they unite against a common enemy and work together to bring that enemy down…say, the ruling government. But that just leaves a void, and someone has to fill that void. Someone has to work out the tax rate, fix the roads, and make sure that the hospitals are working, and then, of course, we have security and food to eat. And with the best will in the world, you take a bunch of people and put them in a room together to work out the best for everyone, and they will spend most of the time bickering and arguing. Someone will come out on top, and you are back to the saying of power corrupts again. Then the others get resentful and jealous, and it never really ends, hence the name – revolution.’

It’s gone very quiet around me, and I look back to see all of the recruits staring at me with interest.

‘That’s why you’re in charge, Mr Howie,’ Dave says simply.

Two hours later, and we are deep into the rolling plains.

The roadway leads directly through the plains as far as I can see. To both sides, there are gently rolling hills and vast, open sections churned up from heavy tracks, with craters pock-marking the ground here and there.

The land is very dry from the scorching summer. It must have been hell trying to cross this land, especially in the dark, and I find a new respect for the recruits. I can’t imagine most regular troops being able to do that, but then they are young and lean from hard living in hard times.

We have only stopped once for a rest, and that was called by me when I glanced back and saw the exhaustion on their faces. We took ten minutes to drink water and eat high-energy snack bars that were purloined from a box that Tucker found in the stores building. He must have sneaked them into his backpack when everyone else was putting boots on and making sure they looked like commandos. When he broke them out and handed them round, he was a hero for five minutes, and I could see him grinning from the respect they gave him. After the ten minutes, we were back on, and not one of them moaned.

They have hardly slept or taken on decent food since Friday, and they are still going. Grim determination and fear of being left alone is driving them on.

‘EYES ON,’ Dave calls from my side.

I snap out of my reverie and look up. Ahead of us, the road sweeps around to the right, and we can just make out the top of a church spire. The atmosphere charges instantly, and I can feel the recruits tensing up and watching left and right as we make our way forward.

There is a low embankment to both sides, and I wave the recruits into the right side to take cover.

‘Rest for a minute but stay sharp,’ Dave tells them as we shrug off our backpacks and start belly crawling out to the middle of the road and then slowly forward until the bend opens up, and we can see down into the village.

There are houses on both sides of the village – old, brick-built things that have seen far better days but have clearly been patched up here and there to keep them usable for training. The road goes down to a crossroads, and there is a big church on the right.

There is a makeshift area encased by a circle of sandbags just before the village, on the right side. I guess this must be the safe area the recruits were sent to when they were “captured”.

The plains roll out far on both sides of the village. It looks like there was once a thicket of vegetation off to the left side, but it’s been cut down to open the area up.

From our position, we can just make out the edge of another circular sandbag area situated in the corner between the row of houses ahead of us and the houses on the road to the right of us.

‘That’s a lot of fucking zombies,’ I say to Dave as I look in awe at the largest gathering of infected I have seen yet. The exercise must have been immense judging by the sheer volume of uniforms shuffling about.

The distance is too great to see detail, but I can imagine the drooling mouths and the red, bloodshot eyes, their horrific injuries drying and festering in the high heat, and swarms of flies and insects buzzing in amongst them. The heat coming from them must be intense as there is a haze just above them. ‘Oh, yes, that’s a lot of fucking zombies,’ I repeat quietly as Dave stays silent, assessing the area in front of us. ‘Fuck the guns, mate. Let’s just go for it with the axe and the knives.’

He turns to me, with that glint in his eye.

‘I’m joking, you fucking psycho. Although it would be bloody good fun.’

‘Middle of the crossroads?’ Dave points, and I follow the straight line to make out the top of something slap bang in the middle of the intersection, surrounded by just about a million zombie soldiers. Yay.

‘What’s that?’ I ask Dave.

‘Saxon APC, Mr Howie.’

‘Shit, it’s completely surrounded. How the fuck are we going to get to that? It’ll be dark before we even get close to leading them away, and we really don’t want to be out here when that lot turn werewolf on us.’ A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of the noise they make as we snake our way over to the group huddled into the side of the road.

‘How is it?’ Cookey whispers as soon as we get close enough.

‘Bad, very bad. The APC Saxon thing is in the middle of the crossroads, surrounded by lots and lots of the infected people. There might be more Saxons somewhere else, but after what you told me about the size of the plains, we would be safer if we just try to get this one. Agreed?’

They nod back at me.

‘Right, so me and Dave have previously used the “lead them away” tactic, which would be perfect if we had time. But a group that size would take hours to move away, especially when they are slow like now. On the other hand, we don’t want to be anywhere near them when it gets dark. Agreed?’

More nods.

‘So we have to attack them. The disadvantages are that they are stacked very deep around that APC, and it’s getting late. The advantages are stacked in our favour, though. They are slow moving and packed together, and we have machine guns and lots of ammunition.’ I look to Dave. ‘Do we have enough ammunition for a crowd that size?’

‘I’m not sure. We all brought spare magazines, but they don’t die unless they are head shots or the body is so severely injured that they cannot physically move.’

‘Bollocks. I wish we had one of those big machine guns. What did you call it? A GPMG?’

‘Yes.’

‘We could really do with one right now …’

‘Sir, there was one being used,’ Blowers cuts in. ‘It was on the corner of the crossroads.’

‘What?’

‘Erm, it was behind a load of sandbags.’

‘Yeah. I saw the edge of the sandbags. Are you sure that was it, though?’

‘Sir, the sound is unmistakable,’ he says.

‘Dave, is that right?’

‘Yes, the sound is unique, especially if Blowers heard them before when he did his Royal Marines training,’ Dave answers.

‘Did you hear one before, Blowers?’ I ask him.

‘Yeah, bloody loads of times,’ he says.

‘Ah, fucking hang on! Do they use real bullets during these exercises, Dave?’

‘No, Mr Howie.’

‘Will there be real bullets near it that we can use?’

‘No. Back in the armoury,’ Dave says.

‘Bollocks. Right, that’s fucked, then. Unless there’s a vehicle around here we can use to send someone back. Other than the Saxon thing, that is … Lads, did any of you see another vehicle anywhere?’

Lots of shaking heads.

‘No, sir. It was dark, and we were in the houses all the time,’ McKinney says.

Then I see one of the quiet lads looking at me thoughtfully.

‘Go on, mate! Curtis, is it?’

‘Yes, sir. Curtis Graves,’ he answers softly.

‘Okay, Curtis, did you see one?’

‘Er, there was a Land Rover just down from the crossroads, sir. My dad had one, and I recognised it.’

‘Great. Nice one, Curtis. That’s brilliant. Now, where did you last see it?’

‘Off that way,’ Graves waves towards the village and over to the left.

‘Okay, mate. So, on the left side of the village as we look at it from this road here?’

‘Yep, er. I mean yes, sir.’

‘Come with me, mate,’ I say to Graves, and we both belly shuffle out into the middle of the road.

‘Fucking hell,’ Graves says when he sees the almighty horde.

‘Yeah, I know, right? Oh well, fuck ‘em, we’ll win! Somehow… Now try to describe exactly where you saw it last?’

A sudden noise and groaning comes from behind us, and we look around to see an infected sliding down the embankment, directly into the recruits. They burst away, and Dave immediately dives in and starts striking the head with the butt of his rifle. Some of the other lads join in, and the infected groans as he is pummelled by several rifle butts at the same time.

Dave then whips out one of his knives and slices it across the throat, causing a spray of crimson to spurt out, and Dave rolls the infected over so the blood goes into the ground.

‘Fuck me, Dave, can’t you go more than five minutes?’ I whisper down. He just shrugs. ‘Curtis, sorry, mate. Where was it?’

‘That’s all right, sir. It was to the left of the crossroads and down a bit,’ he indicates, with a wave of his arm.

‘Okay, let’s get back.’

We belly shuffle back to the group, and I shake my head reproachfully at Dave as I look at the infected lying in a pool of blood.

‘Dave, I think you and I should go for the Land Rover. The rest of you, stay put.’

‘Okay, Mr Howie,’ Dave nods and starts getting ready.

‘Blowers, you’re in charge until we get back. If you hear us firing, then start shooting those fuckers and move slowly back up the road, okay?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Blowers grins and nudges Cookey.

‘Hear that, Cookey, you can’t start bumming them until we hear shooting.’

‘Fuck off, Blowers,’ Cookey grins back at him.

Dave puts his rifle on his back and takes his two straight-bladed knives in his hands. I reluctantly leave my beloved axe and just take the rifle.

‘Tucker, look after my axe, mate. Please don’t lose it,’ I tell him as I prepare to go.

‘Yes, sir!’ Tucker swells with pride and clutches the axe protectively with both hands.

‘Ready, Dave?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

We move off, keeping low.

We cross the road and get over the embankment, then down the other side. We move at a fast pace but bent over and aim far left, behind the row of houses. We pass the sandbag safe area, then move further left so we are well away from the road.

Up close, I can see the houses are not really well maintained at all, and none of them have glass in the windows, just empty holes, with shutters held open. The fences to the rear gardens have been relatively well kept, and I guess this adds realism to the place.

Within minutes, we are past the houses and nearing the road, coming into the crossroads from the left. The infected are still densely packed, and we have to go quite far down the row of houses before we see a sufficient gap. We get to the back of one of the properties and start inching forward until we can lean out and peek down the road. The Land Rover is parked to the side of the road furthest away from us. There are infected shuffling and groaning near it, but the gaps between them look fairly decent.

‘I reckon we can make that, Dave. You up for it?’

‘Yes.’

We dart out and start sprinting down and across the road, dodging around soldiers, who immediately turn and start moving towards us.

I don’t engage this time but stick with zigzagging through them until I reach the vehicle. Dave, on the other hand, can’t help himself and has already slit a few throats by the time we get to the car. We clamber into the front, and I thank God as I see the key still in the ignition. The diesel engine splutters loudly and immediately gets a reaction as more of them start moving towards us. I turn the wheel hard, surprised at how much force is needed, and I realise these vehicles don’t have power-assisted steering. I have to roll forward and then back a few times until I am facing the other way, knocking over a few infected in the process.

Once we’re turned around, I drive off and keep going down the road until the row of houses ends. Then I turn left and drive onto the plains, and head back towards the area we left the recruits.

‘Well, mate, I think the enemies know we’re here now,’ I say to Dave, who just nods back at me.

I drive around the backs of the houses, then past the sandbag safe area, and onto the road. The recruits must have heard the engine and are moving out into the middle of the road as we come around the corner. I stop the vehicle but leave the engine running, and jump out.

‘Curtis, can you drive, mate? Did you ever drive your dad’s Land Rover?’

‘Yeah, loads of times,’ he replies and starts moving over to me.

‘Right, you and Dave get back to the armoury and get the ammunition for that GMPG.’

‘GPMG,’ Dave says.

‘Yeah, that thing. You and Dave get the ammo; we’ll start shooting the fuckers from here, got it?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Graves gets into the driver’s seat as I yell one last instruction at him.

‘Curtis, we won’t be able to hold them for long, so be quick.’ The Land Rover roars off, leaving me with the recruits.

‘Well, lads, the baddies know we’re here. I reckon we should spread out in a line and start shooting them. You up for it?’

‘Sir, can I put one on the top of each embankment to watch the flanks and the rear?’ Blowers asks.

‘Good thinking, mate. Yeah, do that.’

‘Cookey, you take the right flank. Smith, you take the left flank, keep a good look out, and make sure you keep checking behind us,’ Blowers gives a clear instruction, and they both start scrambling up. The horde are all facing our way now and look immense even from this distance. The army uniform seems to amplify their numbers and make them look even more sinister.

‘Fuck it, some still have their NATO helmets on,’ Smith shouts down from the top of the embankment.

‘Well, there ain’t much we can do about that, is there?’ I respond. ‘Apart from shooting them in the knees.’

A few of the lads snigger, and I can sense the nervous excitement.

I move out to the centre of the road and drop my bag down at my side, then the axe that I retrieved from Tucker. I open the top and make sure there are spare magazines at hand. The lads start spreading to both sides until we are evenly spaced across the width of the road.

‘Lads, pick your shots and try to make each one count,’ Blowers calls out. I ready my rifle, raise it up to my shoulder, and look down the sights on the barrel. The horde are still some distance away, and headshots will be bloody impossible from here, but from previous experience, I know we will slow them down if we drop the ones at the front and create an obstacle to those behind. I call out my instructions and then lower my sights a little until I’m aiming into the hundreds of pairs of legs shuffling towards us. I fire first and instantly see a soldier get spun back into the few behind him. He goes down, and the next one trips over him.

‘Just like that,’ I call out to a few cheers. The shots start ringing out, and I watch as infected are dropped and fall to the ground. Most of them carry on moving, but soon, we have created a natural obstacle for the horde.

However, the sheer press of bodies from behind just surges them forward over their fallen comrades. We press on, and I can hear clear gaps between shots as the lads try hard to pick their shots. We work in silence, and many infected are shot down. As they get closer, we can pick out individual details and see the horrific injuries they have already sustained. I raise my aim and start trying to shoot in the general head area. I know that if I miss the one I am aiming for, I will most likely still get one or two behind it.

‘MAGAZINE!’ I yell out as I start changing the ammunition for my assault rifle, doing as Dave showed us all.

I take a quick glance about and look at the grim faces of the young recruits concentrating and firing their weapons. Cookey and Smith are up top and also firing into the horde.

‘Cookey, Smith, keep checking the sides and the rear,’ I call out to them, trying to make myself heard over the gunshots.

I see them respond, and both stop firing to look off into the plains and check behind them. I reload, take aim, and start firing again. The horde are incessant, and despite the large numbers we are dropping, they just keep coming at us. I am concerned at how close they are, remembering the super zombie, and suddenly become very wary in case they start charging at us.

‘MOVE BACK, LADS! MOVE BACK!’ I shout out and hear Blowers repeating my words further down the line.

We all stop firing and start shuffling backwards, either carrying or dragging our kit bags with us. We have to stop as we reach the apex of the bend in the road; otherwise, we wouldn’t get a good view of them. Within a few seconds, we are all back to firing and dropping more and more infected. I can see the effects of the shots now and watch as heads burst apart and pink matter sprays up, torso shots hit home, fresh blood pumps out onto their clothing. After a few minutes, we are forced to move back again, but the bend in the road means we won’t get a clear view if we move back any further.

‘UP ON THE BANKS,’ I shout out.

There is confusion as they all start moving towards the same bank.

‘TEAM ALPHA ON THE LEFT AND BRAVO ON THE RIGHT,’ I shout again, and they run towards the appropriate side and clamber up, and my heart sinks as I see they are still stacked right back, past the crossroads.

We are soon forced to move further and further up the road, and despite inflicting massive casualties, they don’t show any sign of stopping. The light is starting to fade, and I can see that my ammunition is getting very low. There are several magazines left in the bag, but at this rate, they won’t last long, and I start to feel very concerned that we will be trapped in the darkness, with low or depleted ammunition. Something must have gone wrong. Dave should be back by now.

‘LADS, WE ARE GOING TO RUN OUT INTO THE PLAINS TO THE RIGHT SIDE. FOLLOW ME.’

I hear Blowers, then Cookey repeat the order. and the lads gather their kit, shrugging on bags and moving towards me.

We start moving away from the road and out to the right side, onto the plains. We make distance for a few seconds and then stop for a rest.

‘It’s going to be dark soon, and we absolutely cannot be out here when that happens. Dave and Curtis should be back soon, but we have to make a plan to get somewhere safe. I reckon we should make it for that church. We go far right and loop around until we come at it from the far side. What do you think?’

‘Sounds good, sir,’ Blowers responds, and several of them nod at me.

‘Okay, let’s get moving.’ We move out further into the plains, and our fast pace soon leaves the horde behind.

The sky darkens with each second we are running, and I can feel the fear building up within us all. We then turn back towards the village and the general direction of the church. Within minutes, it comes into view.

‘Looks clear from here,’ I say through ragged breath, more to try and lift their spirits than anything else. Then we get closer and see some of the horde is coming our way from the direction of the village crossroads, spilling out through the buildings, which are well in view now. We slow down and stop for a few seconds, breathing hard.

‘If we go into the plains, we’ll get separated from Dave and Curtis,’ I look to each man in turn.

‘We’re going to have to fight our way through. There’s no other choice. The church is the biggest and strongest building. Are you ready?’ They nod back, silent but determined.

‘That drill that Dave showed you, we can use that as we get closer. When I say, I want team Bravo to stop and team Alpha to move forward a short distance and fire. I’ll go with Alpha, Blowers with Bravo. When we finish firing and shout magazine, that’s when Bravo moves forward. Got it?’ They nod back and start shuffling so that McKinney, Smith, Tucker, and Hewitt are forward with me.

Blowers pulls the rest back a few steps.

‘Okay, let’s go.’

We start moving forward again, and I see my team start to spread out a little just as Dave showed them. Within a very short time, we are very close, with infected between us and the church, and more shuffling out between the sides of the buildings. A glance up at the sky growing darker by the second. The day is almost gone. The night is coming. Fuck it! Bad idea, Howie. Very bad idea.

‘ALPHA STOP,’ I shout the order as we stop to kneel. ‘FIRE,’ I yell and start firing single shots. The infected drop down as several of us shoot the same ones, but that can’t be helped.

‘MAGAZINE,’ Smith yells first and starts to change.

Within seconds, we have all shouted the magic word, and I wave my arm forward for Blowers.

‘BRAVO, ON ME,’ Blowers yells, and they surge past us until he shouts to stop, and they kneel down and start firing again.

I take the opportunity to get some deep breaths to try and slow my breathing down.

‘MAGAZINE,’ Bravo starts yelling, and I watch until Blowers waves his arm forward.

‘ALPHA, ON ME.’ We spring up and charge forward, and go past the kneeling Bravo team. I take them about forty metres ahead and shout to stop. We assume the position and commence firing again. We focus on the infected between us and the church, and we still keep dropping many of them, but more are still coming through the gaps towards us, and that bloody sky grows darker with every passing second. We’ve got minutes at the most before the night comes proper.

I wait until they have all shouted and wave my arm forward. For the next few minutes, we advance slowly towards the church, and the bodies are piling up around and in front of us. As my team change magazines, I yell out, ‘IN A MINUTE, THEY WILL ALL STOP AND LOOK UP. WHEN THAT HAPPENS, JUST FUCKING LEG IT TO THE CHURCH.’

We repeat again, advancing but seeing way too many infected to shoot down and more coming. A seemingly never-ending flow. That fucking exercise must have been huge.

Then it happens, and the sun drops fully, ridding the land of light, and every single infected becomes completely still and turns to stare up at the sky overhead.

‘NOW! FUCKING RUN!’ I bellow and start running towards the church.

There is no order now. We just go for it, legging it towards the church a couple of hundred metres away. The distance is short, but the ground is uneven, and we are all exhausted, and we struggle to keep pace. All of us gasping for air until the sudden, ear-splitting screech from hundreds of infected gives us a fresh burst of fear-fuelled speed.

‘KEEP GOING. DON’T STOP!’ I urge them on, with the bloody axe banging against my legs again. I reach the church building and burst in through the large, wooden side door.

‘Cookey, check that the other doors are closed.’

He runs inside with McKinney as I look back and see most of them are almost at the door apart from Tucker. The poor lad is running but looks ready to drop.

‘RUN, TUCKER,’ I yell out, and the others join in, urging him to run faster as the howling comes to a sudden and complete stop, with every infected head dropping down, now switched on, focussed, mean, and looking very, very hungry.

‘COVERING FIRE,’ Blowers yells out, and we drop down onto our knees and start firing into the infected, and the second the first shots hit home, so they charge, and the world once more fills with noise.

We keep firing as they gain on Tucker, picking our shots carefully and aiming for centre mass. Several of them are right behind him as he takes the last few steps to the church.

‘INSIDE NOW,’ I shout, and we all bundle inside, slamming the door just as Tucker bursts in. We brace the door, and several of the lads throw their weight against it as the infected ram into it from the other side.

‘Grab that locking bar,’ I shout at Jamie, indicating a thick piece of wood resting against the wall.

We slot the bar down into the metal hooks and slowly ease our weight off. The bar holds, but we can hear the bodies slam into the door from the other side.

‘The other door is secure,’ says Cookey as he comes back and flops down, breathing hard.

I move into the centre of the room. Just a few rows of wooden pews remain; everything else has been cleared away. Even the stained glass windows are gone, but the gaps are just over head height, and the infected shouldn’t be able to get through unless they have learnt to start climbing.

I remember the super zombie again.

‘Right, I want two covering each door in case they break through. The rest of you pull the pews over to the windows and start shooting down into them, but save some ammunition in case they get through the doors.’

It’s only a matter of time before they bust through the doors. Where the hell is Dave? I curse my utter selfishness of putting so many lives at risk for my own needs. What the fuck was I thinking?

The lads pull pews over and climb up to shoot down outside the windows, but they just keep coming, hammering into the doors that creak and groan.

‘Last magazine,’ Nick says.

‘Same,’ Jamie adds, ditching his empty one.

‘Save them,’ I order as the rest of us fire what we have, sending bullets down, but it’s not enough. Nowhere near enough.

‘Last one,’ Cookey calls out.

‘Fuck,’ Blowers spits to the side. Anger and frustration in his face. ‘Where are they?’

The doors creak, a sound of wood splintering, and the howling seems to grow louder. The tension ramping inside the small, dark church. My ears ringing from so much firing, and I look around at their faces, at how bloody exhausted they look and now fearful too. All of them knowing there is no way in hell we’ll get out of this.

‘Everyone, in the middle,’ I say, more to keep us occupied. ‘Pull the pews around us.’

We form a low and flimsy barricade and stand in the middle. Half of us facing one door, half facing the other. My axe next to me, ready to be used when the bullets run out.

Where the fuck is Dave?

We stand in silence, jumping and twitching at the bumps and bangs coming from the doors. The front door starts to make a creaking noise, and we all turn to stare at it. A definite sound of wood creaking and then a splintering noise. Each of us raises our rifles to our shoulders and aims directly at the door.

‘This is it, lads, get ready,’ I say in a surprisingly strong voice. The wood splinters louder, and the door starts to break inwards as the horde of infected soldiers pile more and more body weight into it. Just as the door seems that it will implode, a sudden fast and loud thudding sounds out, and Blowers immediately cheers.

‘GPMG,’ he screams out.

We push the pews away and drag them over to the window at the front. Once up, I look out and see a bright, flashing light coming from the corner of the crossroads. It’s too bright to see beyond the light, but I know that Dave is standing there, probably smiling to himself as he shoots.

The effect is amazing, and we watch bodies dropping from the larger calibre rounds. Cheering and whooping as the infected peel off from attacking the church and start running towards the noise, only to be shot down by a hail of fire.

A second gun rings out, and I realise that Curtis must be with Dave, watching the flanks and rear. Lights suddenly come on from the Land Rover parked behind the sandbags, and I see Dave illuminated as he rests the front tripod on the edge of the sandbags and fires into the crossroads, shredding everything in his path.

It goes quiet for a second.

‘FIGHT YOUR WAY TO THE REAR,’ Dave’s huge voice shouting out.

‘Right, lads, we go out the back and move together as one,’ I shout out as we scoop our bags and kit up and go over to the rear doors. I stop to listen and press my ear against the door, but I can’t hear anything above the firing outside.

‘Cookey, me and you get ready to shoot out,’ Blowers says as he and Cookey drop down a few steps back from the doors.

I lift the locking bar up, and me and Nicholas Hewitt take a door each. We wrench it open and stand back, but neither Cookey or Blowers start firing.

‘Looks clear, sir,’ Blowers calls out.

‘Let’s go,’ I shout, and we surge out.

The area is clear, apart from the bodies of the infected we shot earlier. We move around and start making our way towards the Land Rover, reaching it within seconds to grab ammunition and load back up before moving out to fire into the horde. The noise is something else. The ferocity of it all. The lights from the vehicle giving us sight to aim for but also making the infected look ghoulish and wilder than before.

They seem more ramped too, more aggressive even, moving faster.

We still win, and then it’s over, and slowly the guns ease off, and we stand ready, with ears ringing, and throats dry. Spent casings littering the ground by our feet. Dead bodies littering the ground everywhere else. Hundreds killed. Blood everywhere. Smoke hanging in the air. Fumes of shit, piss, and blood too.

‘You made it, then,’ I say to Dave.

‘Yes, Mr Howie,’ he replies as deadpan as ever.

‘Sorry about the wait,’ Curtis says. ‘The Landy cut out. We thought we’d have to run but I got it going.’

‘Well,’ I say, not quite knowing what else to say, ‘indeed…’

‘That was fucking tense,’ Blowers says to Cookey.

‘Fucking telling me, mate. Jesus, I thought we were done for. Tucker, you need to start running faster, mate. They almost had you back then,’ Cookey shouts out.

‘I’m not built for running,’ Tucker yells back.

‘Built for fucking eating is what you are,’ one of them shouts, earning some low sniggers.

Finally and after a day from hell, we reach the Saxon APC. A huge, squat thing, with solid sides and enormous wheels. I look inside at the controls and see the front has a driver seat and a double passenger seat. I thought only one person sat up front in these things, but then, someone did say a lot of these down here are training vehicles, so maybe the construction is different.

The controls look just like a normal vehicle, and I’m sure I will be able to figure it out as I go. Thankfully, there is no key needed, and the engine roars to life at the press of a switch. Deep and hearty. Almost beast-like and alive.

There’s another GPMG on the top too, which Dave has already loaded with a belt of shiny, big bullets. The rear section is massive, with bench seats going down each side and filled with under-seat compartments and cubby holes.

Dave runs through how to fire and reload the GPMG and tells them that someone must be up there at all times, and as Dave gets into the front with me, I hear them all start bickering about who is going to be first.

I take the driver’s seat and marvel at how the Saxon vehicle feels so massive and solid, and strong. It’s taken a huge effort to get it too. And for a second, I thought the risk was too great, but right now, inside it, I’m bloody glad we did. Fortune favours the brave and all that. If this won’t get through London, then I don’t know what will, other than a tank, but we’ve already discussed that.

‘Can we stop at the armoury again and get more supplies, Mr Howie?’

‘Yeah, no problem, mate. I reckon we should park up somewhere and get some sleep first. I know that lot must be ready to drop. We’ll head into the plains and find somewhere quiet…’ I pull away with a hard jerk and stall the engine, then burst out laughing at the jeers coming from the back. I try again, pulling away all jerky and bouncy until I get a smoother motion. We head out into the plains and drive for a solid ten minutes, keeping a rough line with the road, way off to the right.

Eventually, I stop, shut the engine down, and Dave climbs into the back and relieves Blowers on the GPMG, ordering them to rest.

Within minutes, they are all flaked out on the grass at the sides of the vehicle while Dave and I keep watch, and I look down at the filthy, drawn young faces and feel immensely proud to have worked alongside them.

Young, jobless and sent here to get experience, and now, look at them! They are a unit – a fighting unit.

I try to think through everything that’s happened today, but I feel very sleepy, and my eyes are drooping. Tomorrow we shall go to London. I just bloody know something else will happen, though. It always does.

ALSO BY RR HAYWOOD

Washington Post, Wall Street Journal, Audible & Amazon Allstar bestselling author, RR Haywood. One of the top ten most downloaded indie authors in the UK with over four million books sold and nearly 40 Kindle bestsellers.

GASLIT

The Instant #1 Amazon Bestseller.

A Twisted Tale Of Manipulation & Murder.

Audio Narrated by Gethin Anthony

A dark, noir, psychological thriller with rave reviews across multiple countries.

A new job awaits. Huntington House needs a live-in security guard to prevent access during an inheritance dispute.

This is exactly what Mike needs: a new start in a new place and a chance to turn things around.

It all seems perfect, especially when he meets Tessa.

But Huntington House holds dark secrets. Bumps in the night. Flickering lights. Music playing from somewhere.

Mike’s mind starts to unravel as he questions his sanity in the dark, claustrophobic corridors and rooms.

Something isn’t right.

There is someone else in the house.

The pressure grows as the people around Mike get pulled into a web of lies and manipulation, forcing him to take action before it’s too late.

DELIO. PHASE ONE

*WINNER OF “BEST NEW BOOK” DISCOVER SCI-FI 2023

#1 Amazon & Audible bestseller

A single bed in a small room.

The centre of Piccadilly Circus.

A street in New York city outside of a 7-Eleven.

A young woman taken from her country.

A drug dealer who paid his debt.

A suicidal, washed-up cop.

The rest of the world now frozen.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

"Brilliant."

"A gripping story. Harrowing, and often hysterical."

"This book is very different to anything else out there - and brilliantly so."

"You'll fall so hard for these characters, you'll wish the world would freeze just so you could stay with them forever."

*

FICTION LAND

*Nominated for Best Audio Book at the British Book Awards 2023

*Narrated by Gethin Anthony

*The #1 Most Requested Audio Book in the UK 2023

*Now Optioned For A TV Series

*#1 Amazon bestseller

#1 Audible bestseller

“Imagine John Wick wakes up in a city full of characters from novels – that’s Fiction Land.”

Not many men get to start over.

John Croker did and left his old life behind – until crooks stole his delivery van. No van means no pay, which means his niece doesn’t get the life-saving operation she needs, and so in desperation, John uses the skills of his former life one last time… That is until he dies and wakes up in Fiction Land. A city occupied by characters from unfinished novels.

But the world around him doesn’t feel right, and when he starts asking questions, the authorities soon take extreme measures to stop him finding the truth about Fiction Land.

*

EXTRACTED SERIES

EXTRACTED

EXECUTED

EXTINCT

Blockbuster Time-Travel

#1 Amazon US

#1 Amazon UK

#1 Audible US & UK

Washington Post & Wall Street Journal Bestseller

In 2061, a young scientist invents a time machine to fix a tragedy in his past. But his good intentions turn catastrophic when an early test reveals something unexpected: the end of the world.

A desperate plan is formed. Recruit three heroes, ordinary humans capable of extraordinary things, and change the future.

Safa Patel is an elite police officer, on duty when Downing Street comes under terrorist attack. As armed men storm through the breach, she dispatches them all.

'Mad' Harry Madden is a legend of the Second World War. Not only did he complete an impossible mission—to plant charges on a heavily defended submarine base—but he also escaped with his life.

Ben Ryder is just an insurance investigator. But as a young man he witnessed a gang assaulting a woman and her child. He went to their rescue, and killed all five.

Can these three heroes, extracted from their timelines at the point of death, save the world?

*

THE CODE SERIES

The Worldship Humility

The Elfor Drop

The Elfor One

#1 Audible bestselling smash hit narrated by Colin Morgan

#1 Amazon bestselling Science-Fiction

“A rollicking, action packed space adventure…”

“Best read of the year!”

“An original and exceptionally entertaining book.”

“A beautifully written and humorous adventure.”

Sam, an airlock operative, is bored. Living in space should be full of adventure, except it isn’t, and he fills his time hacking 3-D movie posters.

Petty thief Yasmine Dufont grew up in the lawless lower levels of the ship, surrounded by violence and squalor, and now she wants out. She wants to escape to the luxury of the Ab-Spa, where they eat real food instead of rats and synth cubes.

Meanwhile, the sleek-hulled, unmanned Gagarin has come back from the ever-continuing search for a new home. Nearly all hope is lost that a new planet will ever be found, until the Gagarin returns with a code of information that suggests a habitable planet has been found. This news should be shared with the whole fleet, but a few rogue captains want to colonise it for themselves.

When Yasmine inadvertently steals the code, she and Sam become caught up in a dangerous game of murder, corruption, political wrangling and...porridge, with sex-addicted Detective Zhang Woo hot on their heels, his own life at risk if he fails to get the code back.

*

THE UNDEAD SERIES

THE UK’s #1 Horror Series

Available on Amazon & Audible

“The Best Series Ever…”

The Undead. The First Seven Days

The Undead. The Second Week.

The Undead Day Fifteen.

The Undead Day Sixteen.

The Undead Day Seventeen

The Undead Day Eighteen

The Undead Day Nineteen

The Undead Day Twenty

The Undead Day Twenty-One

The Undead Twenty-Two

The Undead Twenty-Three: The Fort

The Undead Twenty-Four: Equilibrium

The Undead Twenty-Five: The Heat

The Undead Twenty-Six: Rye

The Undead Twenty-Seven: The Garden Centre

The Undead Twenty-Eight: Return To The Fort

The Undead Twenty-Nine: Hindhead Part 1

The Undead Thirty: Hindhead Part 2

The Undead Thirty-One: Winchester

The Undead Thirty-Two: The Battle For Winchester

The Undead Thirty-Three: The One True Race

Blood on the Floor

An Undead novel

Blood at the Premiere

An Undead novel

The Camping Shop

An Undead novella

*

A Town Called Discovery

The #1 Amazon & Audible Time Travel Thriller

A man falls from the sky. He has no memory.

What lies ahead are a series of tests. Each more brutal than the last, and if he gets through them all, he might just reach A Town Called Discovery.

*

THE FOUR WORLDS OF BERTIE CAVENDISH

A rip-roaring multiverse time-travel crossover starring:

The Undead

Extracted.

A Town Called Discovery
and featuring

The Worldship Humility

*
www.rrhaywood.com

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Table of Contents

- Copyright
- Contents
- Untitled
- Day Four
- Prologue
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Also by RR Haywood