Day Six (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 Six

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Also by RR Haywood

THE UNDEAD

Day 6

DAY SIX

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Day Six

Wednesday

The sun rises and promises yet another scorching day. The humidity has been high all during the night, and the people on the flat roof of the services on the motorway between Salisbury and London have had a broken sleep, twitching and crying out from the horrors they have witnessed and the fear they have faced.

They sweat heavily and slowly strip down to the barest of clothes, just enough to cover their modesty, but they are still desperate to be rid of the restrictive and sweat-soaked clothing.

There is no breeze, and as they lie below the low wall running around the edge of the flat roof, they feel the pressing heat even more. Throughout the night, they get up and move about, breathing heavily and longing for air conditioning. They are listless and lethargic, and any conversations are held quietly and are restricted to the minimum amount of words possible. Those people on the roof each think of the lives they once had, of the things they did, and how they took so much for granted, getting bogged down in the mundane existence of day-to-day living, dreaming of better cars, bigger houses, more money, better phones and computers. Convincing themselves that this is what life is about – achieving and getting more things that will make them happy. Not one of those people now wishes they had more money to get the latest iPhone or had a chance to drive a Ferrari. Even the previous excited dreams of winning the lottery now feel unimportant. They all dream and wish they had spent more time with their families, had taken more effort to tell their loved ones how much they loved them. Petty family squabbles that seemed so important at the time now feel stupid and as petty as they really were.

Lives full of regret and remorse, dreams unaccomplished, and hopes taken away, all for something they played no part in and had no concept of.

This living nightmare is a thing of movies and stories, too farfetched to have ever been taken seriously.

Soft living in safe places have made most people unfamiliar with the struggles of life that many of their fellow humans suffered. War, disease, and poverty had never really affected any of these people on the flat roof, but now, the conditions they survive under are so extreme they feel sorry for themselves, and nearly all of them point the finger of blame elsewhere.

The government, fanatics, crazy people did this.

Why weren’t more control measures put in place?

Why didn’t someone do something and stop this?

The need to blame someone almost overwhelms some of them, and they fail to realise the time for blame has gone. There is no structure left and no authorities to call up or email, and demand answers from.

There will not be any parliamentary enquiry or difficult questions raised at the next session of the Prime Minister’s Questions. This has happened, and the only thing that matters now is survival. Those clinging on to their past lives and waiting for the horror to end are living in denial and will quickly perish, simply for not facing reality and taking the necessary steps for survival.

Food, water, warmth, and security – nothing else matters now, and any hope that life will soon return to normal is false.

Tucker grows into his role of welfare and supplies coordinator and, ambling around the various sweaty bodies, distributes bottles of water, and urges them to drink and stave off any risk of dehydration.

Jamie Reese periodically sweeps the area through the scope of the sniper rifle, taking his time to drop infected latecomers that appear staggering towards the building. The suppressor on the rifle gives a polite cough and causes no reaction from those scattered about. Simon Blowers and Alex ‘Cookey’ Cooke spend a short time chatting and verbally abusing one another before falling silent and drifting off to sleep. Nicholas Hewitt chain-smokes cigarettes while lying on his back, staring at the stars.

Darren Smith leans against the edge of the look-out hole in the Saxon armoured personnel carrier, slowly circling around to check the perimeter.

Curtis Graves sleeps a few inches away, on the top of the vehicle.

Roland McKinney sits closest to the group of survivors they found in the services, playing marbles quietly with the young child. The mother sleeps fitfully nearby; her hand resting on the car seat within which her baby sleeps.

Finally, out in the wide car park, which stretches around the front, sides, and rear of the services, two men stand and stare at the smoking remains of the fuel station they blew up just a few hours before.

‘That’s got to beat the exploding cow,’ Howie says.

‘It does, Mr Howie,’ Dave replies.

‘Have you ever taken out a fuel station before then?’ Howie asks, and Dave stops to ponder the question.

‘Not a fuel station, no,’ Dave answers.

‘You say that like you’ve done something similar,’ Howie says.

‘A refinery.’

‘No way. You blew up a refinery?’

‘Yes.’

‘Bloody hell, bet that was big.’

‘Yes.’

‘How did you do that?’

Again, Dave ponders the question and looks at Howie before finally answering.

‘It’s not that hard really. There are pressurized gas and oil pipes everywhere, and this one didn’t have decent fail-safes and safety measures that most should have, so a few explosives, and the rest went naturally.’

‘I bet that was a big bang.’

‘Yes, we were told afterwards that it was seen from space.’

‘No way. That must have been massive. How did they know where to look?’

‘Who?’

‘The astronauts?’

‘What astronauts?’

‘The ones in space that saw the explosion.’

‘It was an imaging satellite.’

‘Oh well, that’s still impressive.’

Howie looks back towards the services building and wipes the sweat from his forehead.

‘That’s a lot of bodies,’ he says.

‘It is, Mr Howie,’

‘Must be the biggest amount we’ve killed yet.’

‘Salisbury was a lot,’ Dave replies.

‘True, maybe about even then. Mind you, if we add the rats too, then this is the biggest yet.’

‘Yes.’

‘Those rats didn’t last long, did they?’

‘No, Mr Howie.’

‘Why did they start dying off? And the zombies that came for us were much weaker than we’ve known before. Most of them were dropping from one shot. Do you know, mate, it felt like they were coming for us, like it was for us specifically, like we were targeted.’

‘Could be. We have killed a lot of them.’

‘Do you think that’s it, that we’ve angered them somehow with the amount we’ve killed?’

‘Could be. It’s basic strategy to take out your strongest enemy.’

‘Is that what we are now, an enemy? Bloody hell, we’re just trying to survive.’

‘Not really, Mr Howie. Those people are trying to survive…’ Dave points up towards the top of the services roof.

‘So what? Because we’ve attacked a few of them, they’re going for us now?’

‘It’s a bit more than a few, Mr Howie.’

‘True, yeah, maybe we have pissed them off. We have killed a shitload of ’em,’ Howie laughs.

‘I think that’s most likely.’ Dave nods, giving one of his rare smiles.

‘Been bloody good fun, though. It seems that every half hour something happens, and we just react…normally.’

‘By killing them,’ Dave answers.

‘Yeah, by killing them, by killing all of them. That’s a normal reaction, isn’t it?’ Howie says, still laughing.

‘I don’t think so, Mr Howie. I think most people have run away and hidden.’

‘Well, we don’t really have that option, do we, mate?’

‘No.’

‘London will be far worse, especially if they are targeting us. There could hundreds of thousands or even millions. Bloody hell, when you think of it like that, it’s quite scary.’

‘Only quite scary?’ Dave asks.

‘Well, maybe a little bit more than quite scary but nowhere near full terror. I’m not scared of these fuckers. I hate them.’ Howie’s voice hardens, and his face takes on a determined look.

‘Fear is healthy. It keeps you alive,’ Dave offers.

‘Yeah, I guess so, but I still fucking hate them. No, hate isn’t strong enough. It’s more than hate, but I don’t know what to call it… I wonder what it’s like,’ Howie continues after a few seconds of silence.

‘What?’ Dave asks.

‘Do they have any memories or thought processes? Do they know what’s happening to them? Maybe they’re trapped inside the body, like when you hear about people going through surgical procedures and being awake the whole time. Maybe they are like that, aware and conscious, but just not in control.’

‘So, who is controlling them?’

‘Whatever the virus or infection is. It’s a horrible thought, being aware of what you are doing and not being able to stop it. It can’t be that. Surely they would give some sign.’

‘You said one of them spoke your name on the plains that night.’

‘I forgot about that. None of these did it, though, so I must have been mistaken. Nah, they ain’t aware of anything. Nasty fuckers, but that change last night is still worrying. It’s good if they get weaker – it’ll make them easier to kill, but not so good if they all start chasing us about during the day too.’

‘No,’ Dave agrees.

‘Bloody hell, it’s hot already. I’ve never known it to be so hot and humid,’ Howie moans as he wipes yet more sweat from his forehead.

‘It is unusual.’

‘I’ve got a headache coming. I only get them before a storm, though, but that sky is as clear as anything. We’d better get back on the road. No doubt something else will happen as soon as we get going.’

Howie and Dave walk slowly back towards the services building, stepping over the many bodies of zombie people and zombie rats. Towards the front, the bodies are packed so deep they have no choice but to step on them, and their boots sink into the soft, torn flesh, coating their feet in sticky gore. They climb the ladder and reach the roof. Most of the people are already awake from the oppressive heat. Tom, the manager in charge of the services building, approaches them as they walk across the roof.

‘Going to be another hot one, then?’ Tom says.

‘Scorcher! Feels oppressive, though, like a storm is coming,’ Howie answers.

‘Could be. It might break the heat a little,’ Tom says.

‘I don’t know if that’s a good thing. It might give them some refreshment too,’ Howie says.

‘So I guess you lot will be off soon, then?’ Tom asks.

Howie nods. ‘What about all of you? Are you going to head for the forts?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, I think so. Well, we can’t really stay here now, can we?’ Tom says with a reproachful tone.

‘Tom, you weren’t safe here. They would have come eventually, and like I said before, if not them, then looters would have come,’ Howie answers him.

‘Well, we did okay for quite a while before you lot came,’ Tom says.

‘Since Friday, Tom, you hid since Friday, and what’s that? A few days? How long do you think you would have lasted?’

‘We had food and drink…’ Tom responds.

‘Yeah, and how long before someone else wanted it or the fuel that we took. This isn’t going to go away. This isn’t a temporary glitch. Everywhere we’ve been, it just looks worse and worse. There’s no police, no army, no government. It’s all gone. This was safe for a few days, but believe me, after the things I have seen, you wouldn’t have lasted a week here.’

‘Yeah, well… Maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t matter now, does it? We have no choice,’ Tom says bitterly, which adds to the frustration Howie already feels.

‘I think they’ve done a sterling job,’ the old man, who helped them fight off the hordes during the night, stands and speaks, loud enough for them all to hear. ‘I saw them last night, how fast they moved, and the way they attacked, and those rats. We wouldn’t have stood a chance without these boys. We owe our lives to them.’ The old man stands proud and looks to the group gathered around him.

‘They wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t for them,’ Mark says, still dressed in his business suit but now sporting a bruised face thanks to the punch he got from Blowers during the evening for trying to manhandle the old man’s wife out of the way of the ladder.

‘Claptrap, utter claptrap, and you know it,’ the old man barks at him with a sudden ferocity. ‘You are soft and have no idea what war is like. I’ve served my country, and those things are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. They would have come, and they would have killed every one of us: me, you, and the children,’ the old man storms at them. The children’s mother clasps the children to her tightly at the mention of a threat.

‘We need to toughen up and get with it to survive this thing. Where were you last night, Mark, when they were attacking? I’ll tell you. You were cowering at the back while the big boys did the dirty work for you. I’m an old man, and I was up here with them.’

‘…and very glad we were too,’ Howie interjects. ‘He’s right, though. You need to toughen up and get a grip on reality. This is not going away. The quicker you accept it, the greater chance for survival you will have.’

‘Great speech. Well done,’ Mark says sarcastically, rising to his feet and clapping his hands together slowly.

‘It’s the truth. You’ve been holed up here, and you’ve done well to survive this long. But this place is a beacon to anyone moving along that road, and they will come here to find supplies. They might be nice, and it could be a good thing, or they might not, and they could take what they want, anything they want,’ Howie says, his voice rising.

‘Oh, so the heroes come and rescue us from the bad men, destroy our safety, and then piss off to leave us to rot. Thanks very much. Thanks for nothing,’ Marks retorts with a condescending sneer.

‘Now, you stop that! Do you hear me?’ the old man shouts at Mark. ‘These boys risked their lives last night. That man jumped off this roof to fight them!’ pointing at Dave. ‘This man fought through all of them to get to that machine gun,’ the old man points to Howie. ‘If they hadn’t risked their lives and fought so bravely while you cowered at the back, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation because we would all be dead or worse – we would be one of those things.’

‘Oh, piss off, old man. Did it remind you of your service days?’ Mark shouts, and the old man lashes out and punches him hard to the same side of the face that Blowers had struck the night before.

Mark falls back but stays on his feet. He rubs his head and steps towards the old man, with an angry look on his face but stops dead as the lads and Dave all step forward at the same time. The silence holds for a second until Mark drops his head and backs off, prompting the lads to do the same with Mark casting a quick hard glare at the old man.

‘I saw that,’ Blowers says.

‘What did you see?’ Howie asks.

‘He gave the old chap a look.’ Blowers stops and stares hard at Mark.

‘A look? What are you on about? I was just watching where I was going,’ Mark says with that same instant shift back to being the victim.

‘No. I think we all know what will happen if we leave you with this group,’ Howie says. ‘You’re a bully. And a coward.’

Silence descends on the group as they all watch Mark. Even the other woman, dressed in a business suit and clearly with Mark, just stares at him and slowly shakes her head.

‘I think Mark will be staying behind, seeing as he likes this place so much,’ Howie says clearly for them all to hear.

‘You can’t do that,’ Marks shouts in alarm.

‘Watch me. You three, you’re on him. Make sure he stays here,’ Howie orders with a nod to Blowers, Cookey and Nick. ‘Everyone else get ready to go.’

The three lads step in close as Mark protests and struggles to hold his temper in check, giving the lads and everyone else murderous looks.

‘Fuck me, you need therapy mate,’ Cookey says with a shake of his head.

‘He does. Talk about anger management,’ Nick says.

‘Just fuck off!’ Mark snaps. ‘You can’t just leave me here!’

‘Oooh. Yeah. So? I think we can,’ Cookey says with a look to the other two.

‘I mean. I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what we are fucking doing,’ Nick says.

‘You fucking can’t!’ Mark shouts.

‘Can’t or cunt?’ Cookey asks, quick as a flash.

‘Did he just call you a cunt?’ Blowers asks with a glance to Cookey.

‘I heard cunt,’ Nick says.

‘I said cunt!’ Mark shouts then flushes red at his own mistake. ‘Can’t! I said CAN’T!’

‘Jesus, fuck me,’ Cookey says as the lads burst out laughing. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

‘He’s raging,’ Nick says.

‘He’s fuming,’ Blowers says.

‘He’s gonna go on Facebook and leave an angry post,’ Cookey says.

‘WHAT? IN CAPITALS?’ Blowers says loudly and slowly.

‘I can’t even spell post,’ Nick admits. ‘Dyslexic,’ he tells Mark. ‘But at least I’m not a cunt.’

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

‘This is for you,’ Howie says as he hands a pistol and ammunition to the old man with them and everyone else turning to face up to the roof at the sound of the three lads laughing as they start clambering down the ladders with Mark’s head appearing at the top, screaming abuse.

The old man tuts with a heavy sigh as he takes the gun and deftly checks it over. Sliding the magazine out then back in and checking the safety.

‘Fucking brilliant!’ Cookey says as the three lads run past, all of them laughing hard as they reach the Saxon.

‘Squaddie humour,’ the old man says with a wink at Howie. ‘It can get hard at times, but squaddies need to vent. Let them have fun when they can, but don’t be afraid to pull them into line. They clearly respect you.’

‘That means a lot. Thank you,’ Howie says. ‘Right, we’ve got to be off. It was nice meeting you. Hopefully we’ll see you at the forts,’ Howie says as he shakes hands with the old man.

‘Fuck me, look at that one. He’s a bit late for the party,’ Darren Smith shouts, and they look over to see an infected slowly emerging from the access road into the car park. His slow and awkward shuffle bringing each step down heavily.

‘I’ll sort him out,’ Darren shouts and starts jogging towards him with his knife drawn.

‘Jamie, see if you can drop him before Darren gets there. It’ll wind him right up,’ McKinney urges as Jamie pulls the sniper rifle out of the bag and raises it up to peer down the sights.

‘Wait until he’s just a few feet away, make him run all the way there,’ Cookey says. Jamie lines up the sight and waits for Darren to get within a few feet, then squeezes the trigger just as Darren starts to lift his knife up.

The infected is blown backwards, away from Darren, who stops and turns back to the group, then sticks his middle finger up. The lads all cheer and start laughing as Darren starts walking back to them.

Eventually, the people from Burger King are in the cars they arrived in, loaded up with supplies, sourced with help by Tucker, and they move out in a small convoy, leaving Howie, Dave, and the recruits standing around the Saxon.

‘So, what was so funny?’ Howie asks as the recruits all stare past him while laughing hard, prompting Howie to turn and see Mark now in the entrance on the ground floor stripped down to his urine-stained boxers.

‘Where the bloody hell did his trousers go?’ Howie asks as he starts to smile at the ridiculous sight.

‘Don’t know,’ Nick gasps, gripping his sides, which ache from laughing.

‘Right, well, let’s get off before this gets any weirder,’ Howie chuckles as he climbs into the back of the Saxon and inches over into the front and driver’s seat.

‘Bye, Mark,’ Cookey shouts.

Nick slams the doors closed to a fresh outburst of laughing. Mark stares at his trousers trapped in the back of the door and watches as the Saxon slowly pulls away.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Darren nears the body and starts to lift the knife just as Jamie Reese squeezes the trigger of the sniper rifle, and the bullet parts the air before it as it flies and strikes the host in the forehead.

The bullet strikes and takes the host clean off its feet as the head is thrown backwards. The saliva sprays out, and one tiny invisible drop sprays high into the air and spins towards Darren, landing on his bottom lip.

Darren doesn’t even feel it and turns and sticks his finger up at the laughing lads, and starts walking back towards them, while smiling as thinking he would have done the same thing. He licks his lips and starts jogging while shouting abuse back at the others.

And inside of him, the infection gets to work and starts surging through Darren’s body – except this host is genetically different to others. The infection is already inside of Darren, but it’s a different strain. The same but not the same. The two strains merge and mix and mingle and create something entirely unique and wholly different.

It still takes the body over, but because of the existing strain within the host, within Darren, it changes the way it happens, making it go slowly without the sudden waves of agonising pain that would make the host drop and scream or gasp in pain.

That doesn’t happen.

Instead Darren feels a minor gurgling and few stabs of discomfort as he reaches the Saxon and clambers inside to his seat, then leans over to lift an arse cheek to fart. Prompting the others to shout and jeer.

‘I’ve got wind!’ Darren says with the infection inside of his head and body, seeing through his eyes.

But not the infection that was already within Darren, and not the infection that just entered him either.

Those two have merged and become one.

A new strain.

A new version.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

‘You all right, mate?’ Tucker asks Darren, seeing him grimace.

‘Trapped wind,’ Darren replies as the pain eases off, and he settles back to rest on the journey as the deadly infection quietly consumes his body from within.

The Saxon armoured personnel carrier moves along the now empty motorway, passing fields of wheat and crops left untended and wilting in the strong sun. The strong, bright rays bounce off the bare tarmac, keeping a permanent heat shimmer just ahead of the heavy vehicle, and Howie has to squint due to the bright glare bouncing back at him. Beads of sweat slowly slide down his face, and even Dave looks red in the face for once. On a normal day, it would take only a couple of hours to reach London, but without traffic hold-ups, accidents, or the normal day-to-day congestion, they move swiftly.

The rural fields slowly give way to the urban sprawl of Greater London. The houses by the side of the busy main roads are blackened from the constant daily smog of the exhaust fumes. The houses look run down and uninviting after the beauty of rural England. Their fronts made even worse as the signs of devastation slowly start to appear. At first, they see doors hanging off houses and windows smashed in. Some of the buildings are burnt out, and some still smoulder as the fire slowly eats away at them, threatening to flare up and reignite. As they pass further into the urban mess, they see burnt-out vehicles and signs of extreme civil disorder. Debris litters the road and streets, and the front gardens of houses have their contents strewn about. Then the bodies start to appear. A few cadavers litter the roadside, but within a short distance, they increase dramatically. Bodies torn apart from horrific injuries tell a tale of extreme violence. Bodies still clutching bats, knives, and sticks lie still in pools of congealed blood. Swarms of flies buzz around them and spread disease from corpse to corpse. The rotting flesh is already falling apart, and the rate of decay increases as the high temperature slowly cooks the bodies and provides ideal breeding grounds for the writhing maggots eating them away. The rats would have slowly eaten everything in sight until just bones were left. But the rats were taken by the infection. The world’s greatest scavengers have been used up, and now their bodies add to the decay.

As the group venture deeper, the visible signs become worse. There are bodies everywhere, and nothing is left undamaged. The area looks like a war zone, with the road pitted and scarred from running pitch battles, and bodies left where they fell.

The Saxon follows a clear route through main roads, and the numbers of dead increase with every passing minute.

The recruits all fall silent and lean forward to peer out of the windscreen at the horrifying scenes before them. Even Howie and Dave remain silent and watchful as they pass through.

‘MOVEMENT,’ Cookey shouts from his position as look-out on the general-purpose machine gun fixed to the top of the Saxon.

‘Where?’ Howie shouts back, easing some of the speed from the vehicle.

‘OFF TO THE RIGHT. SOMEONE SAW US, THEN LEGGED IT,’ Cookey shouts down.

‘Okay, mate,’ Howie calls out.

‘I suppose we’re going to see more people here. I think I’d run away too if I saw us coming,’ Howie remarks to Dave, who nods back but remains silent as usual. The main road continues towards the city. Traffic lights and pedestrian crossings now dull and lifeless.

Houses give way to cheap shops that could not afford the higher rent and rates nearer the city. These too have been looted, trashed, and burnt out, and the contents thought useless to the looters have been cast aside on the pavement and road.

‘Fuck me, it’s hotter than hot,’ Howie says to Dave as he breathes in the heavy air.

The heat is made to feel worse by the increasingly oppressive scenes in front and to the sides of them. Thick, black smoke plumes into the air from a raging fire that is off to the left, but still, they keep going forward, further into the densely populated city.

‘WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?’ Cookey shouts down in alarm.

Dave leans forward and stares at an object leaning against a lamppost further ahead, down the road.

‘Is that a body?’ Howie asks.

‘Looks like one, Mr Howie,’ Dave answers.

‘What the fuck?’ Howie questions as they draw nearer and get a clear view of an adult male hanging, with a rope round his neck. The top of the rope is looped over the top of the street light curvature.

‘Is that a zombie?’ Howie asks to no one in particular.

‘There’s another one.’ Dave points to a second body hanging in the same manner but on the other side of the road.

‘Who’s done that?’ Howie mutters to himself. As the road sweeps around the next bend, there are bodies hanging from every lamppost, twisted and gruesome. Some of them are clearly infected from the state of their injuries and the sickening pallor of their skin; some are not so clear. As they drive on, Cookey looks to each body with morbid interest and can’t help but take in the macabre scene unfolding in front of him.

Fear creeps up his spine as he tightens his grip on the handles of the machine gun.

‘This is interesting,’ Howie says to Dave. ‘I bloody said it, didn’t I? Every half an hour something happens.’

‘You did,’ Dave replies.

‘Someone has been very busy here,’ Howie says.

‘Some people. One person couldn’t do this,’ Dave remarks as he looks to the bodies hanging high up the side of the lampposts. The road sweeps around the next bend only for the scene to become more horrific.

A large stately building is on the left, with wrought iron gates and an iron fence running alongside the pavement.

Each iron spike of the fence has a head impaled on it; each wearing a myriad of expressions. One of them is even smiling. Most have their eyes open, but not all of them have the red, bloodshot eyes of the zombies.

‘This is fucking gruesome,’ Blowers says in the silence of the Saxon.

‘Where’s the bodies?’ Tucker asks as he takes in the impaled heads.

‘The road signs are covered,’ Dave says to Howie.

‘What?’

‘The road signs are covered or painted over, look.’ Dave points to a large sign that once would have depicted the route ahead but is now covered in a layer of black spray paint.

‘Same over there, Mr Howie,’ McKinney points to another sign off to the left.

‘Are you following the road map, Dave?’ Howie asks, alarmed that they will become lost.

‘I am,’ Blowers says. ‘We need to just keep going straight on and follow the signs for the city…’

‘Well, that might be a bit difficult now, mate. Any other ideas?’ Howie says more calmly.

‘Just keep going straight. I think I know where we are on the map, and we just stick to the main road. I remember they put the letter C on the roads that lead into the city,’ Blowers says.

‘But what if they’ve covered them up too?’ Tucker asks as the recruits in the back all stare at him.

‘What?’ Tucker says, looking back at them.

‘Then we just follow the covered-up bits,’ Howie calls out.

‘Oh, yeah, course,’ Tucker says sheepishly.

‘Why cover the road signs?’ Howie asks.

‘To make people get lost?’ Tucker states.

‘AHEAD, ON THE RIGHT,’ Cookey shouts, and they look ahead to see a junction on the right is blocked by several burnt-out cars pushed end to end.

They pass slowly, expecting to see a barrier formed beyond it, just as Howie and Dave saw in Portsmouth, but the road is clear and empty behind the cars. Another junction on the left has the same thing – burnt-out cars stacked to block the entrance. The Saxon continues on the main road and soon comes to a large roundabout with three exits: one on the left, one ahead, and one on the right.

The left and right are both blocked up with vehicles. The road is wide, and many vehicles have been pushed together to fully block the exits.

‘Looks like they’ve been pushed there and then burnt out,’ Howie says as he looks to the vehicles all melted and fused together in one big clump.

‘Same on both sides,’ McKinney states.

‘Good job we need to keep ahead, then,’ Howie jokes, but it falls flat in the tense environment.

‘Do you think this is being done on purpose to keep us going ahead?’ Curtis Graves asks.

‘They wouldn’t know we were coming,’ Blowers replies.

‘Whoever has done this couldn’t know we were going to be coming along today,’ Howie says confidently. The Saxon keeps a steady pace, not too fast that Howie wouldn’t have any reaction time but not too slow to make them an easy target either.

‘I haven’t seen any zombies yet,’ Howie says after another few tense moments of driving in silence.

‘No, none,’ Dave replies flatly.

‘This is getting creepy,’ Tucker says.

‘Getting creepy? It’s been fucking creepy for a long time,’ Blowers says.

‘Are you all right, Smithy?’ Blowers adds, looking to Darren.

‘Yeah, mate, why?’ Darren asks him.

‘You look pale, mate, and you’re very quiet.’

‘Nah, I’m all right, just tired, that’s all,’ Darren says to him as the recruits all look at him with concerned expressions. ‘Honestly, I’m fine – just feeling tired. Didn’t get any sleep last night.’ Darren smiles. The lads all turn to face forward again and see more junctions blocked off with burnt and molten vehicles.

‘SMOKE AHEAD,’ Cookey bellows out, and within seconds, they see thick, black smoke billowing up into the air further up the road.

‘Make ready with your weapons, make sure you’ve got magazines in your pouches and your water bottles are full,’ Dave says to the recruits.

‘Already done, Dave,’ Blowers says and again makes the word Dave sound like the word sarge.

‘What is that?’ Howie asks as they drive closer and closer to thick, black smoke.

A distinct smell hits them before they get close enough to see what is causing the fire – a smell of roasting, rotting meat.

‘Ah, that’s fucking gross,’ Cookey shouts.

‘Tell him to come down and close the hatch,’ Howie calls out, and the message is passed to Cookey, who drops down and seals the hatch shut with a sigh of relief.

‘That fucking stinks up there,’ Cookey moans, then takes a long drink of water. They reach the area of the smoke and see a large public park on the right side of the road. Open gates lead into a big, green area with football posts and a children’s play area. A massive mound is burning in the middle of the green area.

‘I guess that explains where all of the bodies went,’ Howie says as they slowly drive by.

Dave rummages around the switches in the front and finally flicks one on. A whirring noise starts up, and cool air is pushed out of the vents.

‘Ah, that’s fucking better,’ Cookey remarks as he wipes sweat from his brow.

‘Is that to just circulate the air in here?’ Howie asks Dave.

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘Not too long, then. It’ll burn more fuel,’ Howie says to groans from the lads in the back.

‘We don’t want to have to blow up another fuel station, do we?’ Howie calls out.

‘Would it be bad if I said yes?’ Nick jokes as the others snigger.

‘You’re all just delinquents,’ Howie replies as they keep going. The Saxon continues on the main road, which goes into a nicer area with big, Victorian brick buildings on both sides. There are coffee shops and expensive boutiques on nearly every corner. Every one of them is looted and smashed in. The junctions are still boxed off, and soon they start to see vehicles positioned on both sides of the road, end to end. Large vehicles, vans, and trucks are parked and blocking both sides, leaving just a wide, single lane running down the middle of the road. The parked vehicles narrow the road, and they see a large truck parked across the road ahead of them. The trucks on both sides now have cars stacked on top of them, forming high walls and a dead end ahead.

‘Perfect ambush position,’ Dave says quietly.

‘We’re okay in here, aren’t we?’ Howie asks him.

‘From most things, yes. Small arms won’t be a problem,’ Dave replies.

‘What about the tyres?’ Howie asks.

‘Run flat,’ Dave replies.

‘Okay. At least we can back away if we need to,’ Howie says as he brings the Saxon to a halt a few hundred metres back from the truck parked across the road. They sit in silence.

The cool air blows into the interior and gives them a blessed few minutes of relief from the intense heat. Slowly, they see movement between the gaps on both sides. Shadowy figures move fast between the vehicles, then more movements up high as people on the other sides climb up the vehicles. Within minutes, they see barrels poking out of the gaps and aiming directly towards them. The barrels waver for a few minutes as the people on the other sides position themselves; then, all goes quiet.

‘Has this thing got a public address system?’ Howie asks, and Dave starts rummaging around the front again, opening small doors.

He pulls out a truck-style microphone, with a large button on the side. Howie takes the handset and stretches the cord over, presses the switch on the side, and taps the front of the microphone.

‘Nothing. Must be a switch somewhere,’ Howie says to Dave.

‘That one there, Dave,’ Nick Hewitt leans forward and points to one of the switches.

Dave presses it, and Howie again taps on the handset. A loud thumping noise sounds from the hidden speakers set around the vehicle.

‘Here goes,’ Howie says quietly and presses the switch.

‘HELLO? ANYONE THERE?’ Howie’s voice booms out into the quiet air.

‘WE ARE NOT LOOKING FOR TROUBLE. WE JUST NEED TO GET THROUGH.’

Nothing happens, so Howie again presses the button, ‘WE JUST WANT TO GET THROUGH. WE DO NOT WANT ANY TROUBLE.’

‘How many can you see, Dave?’ Howie asks quietly.

‘At least twenty on both sides, and more moving round behind them,’ Dave murmurs.

‘Looks like we got a reaction,’ Howie says as a figure is seen crawling under the truck parked ahead of them.

The person crawls out and slowly gets to his feet.

‘There’s more behind him. Weapons trained on us,’ Dave murmurs again.

‘Bloody hell, mate, you’ve got good eyes,’ Howie says, squinting into the gloom and just making out some movement under the truck. A very strange looking man stands up and slowly starts walking towards them. He is tall and very thin, with long, straggly, blond hair hanging limply down. Black sunglasses adorn his pale face, and he’s dressed all in black, with just a flash of white socks as he bounces towards them. The man has sets of keys and other objects hanging from his belt.

‘Looks like a fucking day-release patient,’ Cookey mutters behind them as the man slowly walks forward, towards the Saxon. The man stops a few feet back from the front of the vehicle and slowly lifts his hand up to wave at them and smile.

‘What the fuck?’ Blowers states. Howie waves back and indicates for the man to come closer.

The man steps forward again, and Howie waves him around to the driver’s door, then cracks the window open a few inches.

‘Hello, mate,’ Howie says through the window, trying to keep his voice friendly.

‘Hello,’ the man says in a high-pitched voice and stands staring up at Howie.

‘Erm, is everything okay?’ Howie asks, unsure of how to proceed.

‘Yes, fine thanks,’ the man says.

‘So, is something wrong with the road?’ Howie asks, and the man shakes his head. ‘Erm, it’s just that there’s a big truck parked across it, and we can’t get through,’ Howie says.

‘Big Chris put the truck there. I helped him, though,’ the man says to Howie.

‘That’s great. It’s a…err, good truck. It’s just blocking the road at the moment.’ The man nods back at Howie. Howie, in turn, looks over at Dave, who shrugs.

‘He’s a fucking nutter,’ Blowers says quietly.

Howie turns back to the man. ‘I’m Howie. It’s nice to meet you.’

‘I’m Damien,’ the man says simply.

‘Hi, Damien, I would get out to shake your hand, but I don’t want to get shot by your friends.’ Howie smiles and nods up at the trucks parked to the sides.

‘Oh, they won’t shoot you,’ Damien laughs with glee and claps his hands.

‘That’s great. Did this Big Chris send you out to speak to us?’ Howie asks.

‘Yep, he said I was the messenger,’ Damien nods seriously.

‘Well, that’s great, Damien. Did he give you a message, then?’

‘Yep.’

‘And, er, what is the message, mate?’

‘Oh, yeah, ha! I forgot to tell you, didn’t I?’ Damien slaps his own forehead and laughs again. ‘Big Chris said to ask you what you want.’

‘Oh, can you tell him we just want to get through,’ Howie says.

‘Okay.’ Damien stands still, smiling up at Howie, not moving.

‘Er, and also that we don’t want any trouble, and it would be very nice of him to let us go through,’ Howie adds.

‘Okay,’ Damien says and remains rooted to the spot.

‘I was just thinking, Damien, that I forget messages too if I don’t hurry and relay them. Maybe you should hurry so you don’t forget?’ Howie says kindly.

‘Oh, yeah, sorry.’ Damien turns and runs back to the truck, like a child, with his arms up in the air. He gets to the truck, bends over dramatically, and looks to be shouting through.

‘Jesus, he’s a bit special,’ Cookey says.

‘Relation of yours, is he?’ Blowers asks to a few sniggers.

‘Fuck you,’ Cookey retorts.

‘He’s coming back,’ Cookey adds as Damien runs back to them to stand by the side and stare up at Howie again.

‘Hi, Damien,’ Howie says.

‘Hi,’ Damien replies.

‘Did you tell them our message?’

‘Yep.’

‘Okay, that’s great. Thanks, mate. What did they say?’

‘Big Chris said to ask you where are you going?’

‘We are going into the city. Can you tell him that, mate? We just want to get through and be on our way.’

‘Okay,’ Damien replies and again stands still.

‘You’d best rush, mate, before we forget our messages,’ Howie prompts, and Damien runs off back to the truck.

They watch him bending over and then start back towards them before being called back and bending over again; then finally, he runs back to stand beside the driver’s door.

‘Hi,’ Damien waves up at Howie.

‘Hi, Damien. What did he say?’ Howie asks.

‘Big Chris said the city is gone, but I don’t know where it’s gone. He didn’t say that,’ Damien says, looking confused.

‘This is going to take all day,’ Howie says quietly to Dave. ‘Maybe I’ll just go and talk to them.’

‘I’ll come too,’ Dave says. Not a question but a statement.

‘Dave, it might be best if you stay here and watch my back,’ Howie says, concerned that if they both get shot, it wouldn’t leave anyone to get to Sarah and would also leave the recruits on their own.

‘Okay, take Blowers,’ Dave says.

‘Blowers, you happy with that?’ Howie calls back.

‘Yes, sir. Out the back or over the seat and out with you?’ Blowers asks.

‘Hang on just a second,’ Howie says and turns back to Damien.

‘Damien, can you tell Big Chris that we will come and speak with him. Make sure you tell him we are not armed. Can you do that?’

‘Okay,’ Damien says excitedly and runs back towards the truck, and bends over to shout the message through, pointing back at the Saxon.

Howie presses the button on the handset microphone still in his hand and speaks into it.

‘TWO OF US ARE COMING OUT. WE ARE NOT ARMED,’ Howie’s voice booms in the enclosed area.

‘I fucking hope he’s not like that fucking bloke in Portsmouth,’ Howie says to Dave.

‘Me too.’

‘What bloke?’ Blowers asks as he puts his rifle down and prepares to climb over the driver’s seat.

‘Tell you later, mate. You ready?’ Howie asks.

‘Yep.’

Howie slowly opens the door and climbs down to stand beside the Saxon. His hands clearly up.

Blowers slowly climbs out and stands next to him. He sees Howie’s arms up and raises his too.

‘Nice and slow, mate,’ Howie whispers, and they walk towards the parked truck. They both hear as the driver’s door of the Saxon is closed behind them. Howie looks up at the barrels moving along with them.

‘They got a lot of guns,’ Howie says quietly to Blowers.

‘Yeah, they bloody do, and they’re all pointing at us,’ Blowers replies under his breath.

They stop a few metres back from the truck and wait in silence. Then Damien stands back up and walks over to them.

‘Big Chris said you can go through and talk to him.’

‘Thanks, mate. Do we go under that?’ Howie asks, pointing to the truck.

‘Yep, follow me.’ Damien turns and walks to the truck, and drops to all fours before crawling underneath it.

‘Oh, well, we’re here now,’ Howie shrugs and starts after him.

Blowers follows, and they drop onto hands and knees to crawl under the vehicle. The smell of oil and rubber fills their noses as they proceed into the shade.

They emerge into bright sunlight and look up to see many men staring down at them, all of them armed with various weapons: shotguns, handguns, rifles, and even a few machine guns. One man stands in the centre. He is about average height but is very wide, with massively powerful shoulders and thick arms.

Howie looks up at him and notices that he isn’t pumped up like a body builder, just a naturally big man, clean shaven, with short, dark, tidy hair. The big man gives an easy smile as they get to their feet.

‘Just stand still for a moment, please. We need to be sure you’re not armed,’ he says in a firm but polite voice. Two men move forward and pat Howie and Blowers down. They are thorough and take the time to check side pockets and waistbands. They move away and nod to the big man, who takes a step forward.

‘So, which one of you is the boss?’ he asks in the same, polite tone.

Blowers speaks first, indicating Howie, ‘Mr Howie is.’

‘Nice to meet you, Mr Howie. I’m Chris.’ They shake hands, and his giant mitt dwarfs Howie’s hand, but his grip is surprisingly light.

‘Hi, it’s just Howie. Good to meet you. You must be Big Chris,’ Howie says, smiling and trying to avoid the name Mr Howie from catching on again. ‘This is Blowers.’ Chris shakes hands with Blowers and turns straight back to Howie.

‘So, you must be the army, then?’ Chris says politely.

‘No, mate. We just kind of borrowed one of their vehicles.’

‘In army clothes? With this one calling you Mr Howie?’ Chris enquires, with another rueful smile.

‘Like I said, mate, it really is a long story. We’re just trying to get through, but the truck is in the way.’

‘I tell you what, Mr Howie. It’s a hot day, and we’re all melting out here. Step back in the shade with me and have a drink. Then you can tell me that long story.’ Chris turns and walks away from them, making it clear they are in his backyard now.

Howie glances around to see the truck has enough room to roll forward but not backwards, and the rows of vehicles are stacked up here too, forming another narrow roadway.

They fall in step next to each other and follow Chris further down the narrow lane. The armed men wait for them to go past, then turn and follow behind them; a few staying behind to man the gateway.

The narrow lane ends suddenly, and a wide road and pavement are ahead of them. Chris leads them to a typical London pub. Hanging baskets filled with flowers droop from iron railings. Wooden benches with sun parasols stretched taut over them offer a shady relief from the sun’s strong rays. Howie and Blowers exchange a glance and then stare at the people already sitting at the benches and other seats nearby. There are families with children playing in the road, and people walking about, some with purpose and others chatting amiably. The people stop and stare at the uniforms worn by Howie and Blowers. Although they are not in army greens, they both have tan-coloured combat trousers and black tops on, with utility belts hanging from their waists. Howie nods back and smiles at them as he passes. Blowers picks up on this, and soon he is offering nods and smiles to the people too. They seem comforted to see Big Chris with them, and within minutes, they return to what they were doing, and the scene switches back to normal. Which is strange as this road looks normal, with normal people dressed in normal clothes, and nobody walking around with horrific injuries. The people look clean, and the road and pavements are free from litter. None of the buildings here have been looted, and the windows are still intact. Armed men and women patrol through the crowds, and Howie watches people stop and talk to them, chatting…normally. No signs of oppression or forced captivity. The street stretches away, and they see more people walking about or sitting in the shade.

‘This looks like a movie set,’ Howie whispers to Blowers.

Chris leads them to a wooden bench and nods at the people sat round nearby. They nod back, and when they see Chris take a seat and motion for Howie and Blowers to sit down, they start moving away.

‘It’s all right. You don’t have to leave,’ Chris calls out, and Howie watches them closely for signs of forced behaviour, but they smile back naturally and politely make room.

‘Sit down, lads, get out of that sun for a minute,’ Chris says, and they both sit down opposite him.

An adult woman strolls out with three bottles of water and hands one to each of them before smiling and stroking the back of Chris’s neck. He smiles back sweetly, and she strolls off back inside the pub. Chris takes a long drink and looks at Howie.

‘So, about this long story?’ he asks.

‘Mate, I’m sorry, but this is staggering,’ Howie says, looking about. ‘Not what I was expecting at all.’

‘What were you expecting?’ Chris says with a slight smile.

‘I don’t know, some kind of enforced camp or something,’ Howie says, still looking about at the idyllic scene.

‘It looks nice, doesn’t it? Took some doing, though, I can tell you, but we’ve got more people arriving every day, and we try to squeeze them in, of course, but we got to be careful we don’t get too big, but we can always expand out a little if we need to.’

‘It’s amazing, Chris. How many people have you got here?’ Howie asks, genuinely impressed.

‘Hmmm, I think the last count yesterday was just over two thousand,’ Chris answers as Howie’s mouth drops open.

‘Bloody hell, two thousand?’ he exclaims.

‘Well, that was yesterday, but more have arrived during the night, and more today, so it has gone up a little,’ Chris explains.

‘I don’t know what to say. I went through Portsmouth, and some bloke had formed a barricade, but he was keeping the people against their will and stockpiling all the supplies for himself and his mates. Right nasty bugger he was,’ Howie says.

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, lads, we have strict rules here. I won’t pretend otherwise, but no one is held against their will. They can come and go as they please. People are going out all the time, going to their houses to get things they want, or trying to find family and friends. We have a procedure, though, and no one gets back in without going through it.’

‘What procedure is that? If you don’t mind me asking, mate.’ Howie says, adding the polite bit on the end in case he sounded too demanding.

‘It sounds harsh, but we have sterile viewing areas, where they have to strip off, but only so we can check them for bites and scratches, and we only use same-sex vetting,’ Chris says.

‘We had to do a similar thing when we took refuge in a police station. It seemed horrible, but it makes sense.’

‘So, let’s talk about you for a minute,’ Chris says politely. ‘You’re saying you are not from the army?’

Howie explains how he and Dave started out and how they met the recruits along the way. Chris listens patiently, asking pertinent questions at key points and going over certain bits again until he is sure he understands it.

‘So we got this far and then found your truck blocking the road, and if we can’t get through, then I guess we’ll have to go around.’

Chris leans back against a wall and finishes the bottle of water.

‘I see. Well, it all seems to make sense. Of course, we have to be careful we don’t let a load of armed soldiers in here without finding out who they are first,’ Chris says.

‘Honestly, we’re not soldiers,’ Howie protests.

‘Lads, you’re driving an army vehicle, carrying army guns, and dressed like soldiers. He called you Mr Howie, which shows me there is some element of control and discipline within your group. So you are soldiers,’ Chris explains clearly.

‘Yeah, I guess so,’ Howie agrees reluctantly.

They sit in silence for a moment.

‘What about you? How did all this come about?’ Howie asks, eager to find out.

Chris leans forward to speak, but Howie interrupts him.

‘Mate, I’m so sorry, but I just realised my lads are sat in the vehicle out there, and it’s sweltering. Can they come through?’ he asks.

‘Well, they can but not with their weapons,’ Chris says, looking directly at Howie.

‘I understand. What will happen to the weapons and vehicle if they leave it there?’ Howie asks.

‘I can guarantee that it won’t be touched. I can have one of my men drive it in, and you’re welcome to have your men near it but not in it, and I will have my men nearby too,’ Chris says firmly.

‘I understand, Chris, but we can’t afford to lose that vehicle or weapons. It’s the only chance we’ve got of getting through to the city,’ Howie counters.

‘Sorry, Howie, family is important. I understand that, but I’ve got over two thousand people relying on me for safety and security, and I don’t think they’ll be impressed if I let a bunch of armed soldiers in here.’

‘They’re just lads, Chris, only eighteen years old, apart from Dave.’

‘Dave?’ Chris asks.

‘You’ll meet Dave. He’s, er, different. An exceptional man, just a bit different,’ Howie says, and Chris leans back, staring at Howie as he thinks.

‘Tell you what, let me and some of my men come out and check you all over first. The slightest whiff of bother, though, and well, I think you’ll know what will happen. Is that fair?’ Chris offers.

‘Sounds more than fair to me,’ Howie says, looking at Blowers, who nods in agreement.

A few minutes later, the truck is being pulled forward to save Big Chris having to crawl under it. Damien is still near the Saxon, staring at the windscreen from a few feet away.

‘Who’s he?’ Howie asks as they walk out towards the Saxon.

‘Damien? He’s all right, can be a bit of a pest, but he’s good at this sort of thing. He hasn’t got a confrontational bone in his body, so he’s ideal as a messenger for anyone that looks a bit naughty,’ Chris chuckles.

A few armed men walk behind them, holding weapons ready but aimed down to show they are not a threat, yet. Howie is impressed by the control and discipline.

Back at the Saxon, Howie walks with Chris and holds his hand up to Dave, motioning for him to come out.

Dave opens the driver’s door, and Howie calls for him to come out unarmed. Dave pauses for a few seconds, then puts down his rifle and pistol.

‘Chris, this is Dave. Dave, this is Big Chris,’ Howie introduces them and smiles as they shake hands, and Dave quickly wipes his hand down his trouser leg.

‘Lads, come out the back but leave the weapons inside for a minute, make sure none of you is armed,’ Howie calls out and hears shuffling noises as the lads move to the back of the Saxon, and the rear doors open.

They climb out stiffly, with red, sweating faces.

‘That thing’s an oven,’ Cookey moans as he steps down.

‘I left the air on for you,’ Howie answers him.

‘Dave switched it off, worried about the fuel,’ Cookey says but is careful to show respect when mentioning Dave.

The lads walk around to the side as Howie introduces them one by one. Chris takes the time to shake hands with them all, then excuses himself, and walks around the back to look in the rear doors, coming back after a few minutes of close examination.

‘Okay, Howie, you can come through, but it would make me feel a lot better if the weapons stayed in the vehicle,’ Chris says finally.

‘I’m not sure, mate. It all seems genuine, but like I said, we can’t afford to lose them,’ Howie states.

‘I understand. I guarantee they won’t be touched by anyone inside. I’ll have my men guard it,’ Chris offers.

‘How about a few of yours and a couple of mine?’ Howie says, smiling at Chris. ‘That way, we both feel better.’

Chris laughs with genuine amusement.

‘If that makes you feel better, then okay, but I don’t know what a couple of yours will do against the many we have in there,’ Chris laughs.

‘Ah, keeps the lads busy if nothing else,’ Howie chuckles back to the groans from the recruits.

‘Okay, come on through, then. I’ll get the truck pulled forward.’

‘Curtis, can you drive it through? Blowers and Cookey, you’re first up on guard duty. Get your weapons now, but for fuck’s sake keep them lowered and fingers away from the triggers, got it?’

They nod back as Curtis climbs back into the vehicle and through to the driver’s seat.

Blowers and Cookey both collect their weapons and hold them ready but lowered as instructed.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

‘You happy with this, Dave?’ Howie asks as he falls into step with Dave.

‘If you are, Mr Howie,’ Dave replies.

‘It looks really nice inside. Wait until you see it.’ They walk through the gap left by the truck and down the narrow lane. Dave and Howie follow Chris, flanked by some of the armed men. The Saxon is following slowly behind them, with Blowers and Cookey just in front of it.

Howie glances back and catches them walking at a steady pace, looking about and smiling at the other armed guards. They do look like real soldiers, Howie thinks and is glad he chose those two to take first guard. Their easy manner and banter will show them in a non-threatening light.

The lane ends, and the lads all stare in amazement at the surreal scene in front of them. They follow Chris over to the wooden benches outside the pub, and within minutes, they are sitting down in the shade, drinking bottles of water.

‘Thanks for that, Chris. They won’t be any bother to you, I promise,’ Howie says in earnest.

‘They seem good lads. Young, though.’ Chris rubs his chin as he stares at the recruits.

‘So, you were saying how all this came about,’ Howie reminds him.

‘I was. Well, I was born and raised here. I know pretty much everyone, and they know me. I was in this boozer when it started, and we got some rough lads that drink in here; lads that can handle themselves. If you know what I mean. So we were able to keep them away. More people joined us in the pub, and we fought out and cleared this street here first. Then, as more people arrived, we pushed out and kept gaining ground. We didn’t attack them as much as remove them. I worked on the principle of securing ground and preventing them getting back in. We used local resources to form barriers and barricades, and over the next few days, we found ways of getting our people in and out safely. Then a couple came back bitten and risked everyone else, so we put the vetting procedures in place. We are lucky as we’ve got a few doctors and nurses, and ex-army medics with us. They are setting up a little hospital. We send foraging parties out during the day, with strict instructions not to engage unless absolutely necessary. Their primary function is to gather supplies: medicines, equipment, fuel, food – all the things we need to survive. Even the doctors have no idea how long this will last, so the plan is to keep secure and try to wait it out,’ Chris finishes.

‘And you’re in charge of all this?’ Howie asks, and Chris ponders the question.

‘Yes, I am. But only in the sense of putting the right people in the right places and making sure the area is secure. Lads, I come from a hard background. I served in the Forces and then fell into some not very nice things. I’ve had all sorts of jobs, and I guess I was just in the right place at the right time when this happened.’

‘What were you in?’ Dave asks; the first time he has spoken since they sat down.

‘I was in the Parachute Regiment, but that was years ago. I did some other stuff with other departments and worked overseas for a while, helping teach guerrilla tactics. Like I said, I came out and did some naughty things, and served a bit of time. What were you in?’ Chris returns the question to Dave.

‘I was Special Forces,’ Dave answers, and Howie almost spits his drink out in surprise. Dave has always answered I can’t say when anyone has asked him that.

‘I thought you were,’ Chris says. ‘I met a few of them, worked with a few too. Mind you, most Special Forces never say they were Special Forces,’ he says, staring intently at Dave.

‘I don’t normally, but I can see the regimental tattoo on your arm, and you wouldn’t get that without actually serving. The Regiment lads would never let that happen. I’ve met your lads before, and they all have that same look about them too,’ Dave responds, holding direct eye contact with Chris.

‘How many exits have you noted?’ Chris asks without looking away.

‘There are four immediately obvious. One, the way we came in, but your people are still on those high sides, providing a perfect ambush site, so that exit is negated. My assumption, from the way these people are walking about, is that the exit points are secured with armed men. Two, these buildings are deep and would lead out into the area you have not secured, and you would be using the natural building line as a barrier. Those windows and doors would lead out. Three, these buildings have connecting roofs, which could be used to move from one to the other, to a non-secure area,’ Dave finishes, still staring back.

‘What’s four?’ Howie asks.

They both remain silent for a few seconds before Chris replies, ‘I’m four – you take me, and you could walk out untouched.’ He slowly smiles.

‘You have a mixture of weapons and have used the rifles as sniper points, keeping the shotguns further back to make use of the power and keep a clear firing line. The armed people patrolling this area are made up of services and police. The services people hold their weapons in a permanent state of readiness, with the fingers stretched over the trigger guard. The police walk differently, with a steady tread due to the fact they spend long periods on patrol. You covered the road signs to keep people or those things confused as to where they were going. You strung the already dead bodies up and the heads on spikes to show any possible other survivors that you were not to be messed with and to send a clear signal to any potential invaders,’ Dave says flatly to an enormous grin spreading across Chris’s face.

‘Okay, okay, well done. You’ve convinced me,’ Chris laughs and finally breaks away from Dave’s intense stare.

‘I see what you mean,’ Chris says to Howie, nodding towards Dave. ‘The heads and hanged bodies send a strong signal, but most of them were dead already. Like I said, I don’t go actively looking for them.’

‘Are they stacked up at the exits?’ Howie asks.

‘Some of them are. Massive crowds of them. A few of our exits have been kept quiet, though, and we use our people to lure them away when they get too many.’

‘So what have you heard about the city?’ Howie asks.

‘It’s a few miles from here and completely overrun. Where is your sister?’

‘Canary Wharf,’ Howie replies.

‘That’s going to be hard, very hard. None of us have ventured that deep. I know most of the roads that way are infested.’

‘Well, we have the Saxon and plenty of ammunition, so we should get through,’ Howie says, watching Chris, who seems deep in thought.

‘Have you thought about your route in?’ he asks eventually.

‘We have a road atlas. We’ll work from that,’ Howie replies.

‘Right… I’m thinking of something here. We might be able to help each other out,’ Chris says slowly.

‘Come with me. I want you to meet someone.’ He gets up and starts walking away from the bench.

Howie and Dave shrug at each other and follow him out from under the shade of the parasol and into the hot sun again.

‘Stay here, lads. We’ll be back soon,’ Howie says as the recruits all start getting to their feet.

‘Are you all right, Darren? You don’t look well, mate.’ Howie stops in front of him, looking with concern at the pale and sweating face of Darren Smith.

‘I’m fine, Mr Howie. Just this heat, I think,’ Darren replies, wiping at his forehead.

‘Get plenty of fluids, mate. You might be dehydrated. Stay in the shade, too.’ Howie walks off with Dave, following Chris down the street, past the big Victorian buildings and the groups of people walking through the area. They reach a side street and see the end is fully blocked off, with stacked vehicles and other items forming a high and substantial barricade. Armed guards watch from over the barricade, out of open windows, on the adjacent buildings.

‘If we don’t make it to the forts, this wouldn’t be a bad second choice,’ Howie says to Dave as they follow Chris further up the street.

‘Seems nice, Mr Howie,’ Dave agrees.

Chris stops at the doorway to a large building and pushes the door open. Two armed guards are outside, leaning against the wall, smoking cigarettes.

‘Come in here, lads.’ Chris walks into the gloom of the building, followed by Howie, then Dave.

They enter a reception area, with wooden flooring and doors leading off to both sides. A woman appears, wearing a white lab coat, with a stethoscope hanging from her neck.

‘Hi, Chris, everything okay?’ she asks, with a genuine smile to the big man.

‘Hi, Doc. Yeah, everything is fine. Just showing these lads about. Is Doc Roberts about?’ Chris replies, smiling at the pretty doctor.

‘He’s around here somewhere. Make sure you clean your hands if you go in.’ She disappears through another door.

‘This is the hospital we set up. We’ve got operating rooms and triage points through those doors. It’s very basic but okay for now. Come with me.’ Chris opens a door to the right and walks through. Howie and Dave enter a wood panelled room, with rows of beds on both sides. The beds are occupied by sleeping figures swathed in bandages and dressings.

‘The beds are valuable and only the most seriously injured use them,’ Chris explains quietly as they walk down.

‘Stop right there, please,’ an older man, wearing a white lab coat, calls over in a firm voice.

‘Clean your hands,’ the man gestures for them to go back, waving his arm.

‘Sorry, Doc,’ Chris calls out and takes them back to a desk next to the door they came through, picking up a large bottle of antibacterial hand wash and applying it liberally on his hands before offering the bottle to Howie.

‘That’s Doc Roberts,’ Chris says. ‘He’s in charge of the hospital.’ He smiles as the older doctor approaches them.

‘Good to see you, Chris. Everything all right out there?’ Doctor Roberts asks, raising thick, grey eyebrows over bright, intelligent eyes.

‘Yes, Doc, this is Howie and Dave. They arrived a short time ago from the south. It’s as bad down there as we thought.’

‘Hmmm, I thought it would be. Good to meet you.’ The doctor nods at them.

‘You too, Doctor. Have you any idea what’s causing this?’ Howie asks.

‘Not a clue,’ the doctor says. ‘The infection can enter from saliva or blood, and once it’s in the body, it takes everything over. None of us have ever seen anything like it before. But we don’t have the equipment or the means to start examining it properly.’

‘Which is why we have come to see you, Doc,’ Chris says.

‘These lads are going to Canary Wharf. There’s a few of them, and they’re armed to the teeth, too. Might be a good chance to try for that hospital you mentioned…?’

‘Excellent, I will prepare a list immediately. Ideally, I want to send someone with you, but I cannot afford to risk losing any trained people,’ the doctor replies instantly. ‘We need equipment, surgical implements, and as many medicines as you can find. I’ll get on it now. My list will be ready in ten minutes.’ The doctor turns and walks back down the room and through another door.

‘Well, that’s that, then,’ Chris shakes his head as he leads them out of the hospital and back into the street.

‘Chris, we don’t have time to do a hospital raid for you,’ Howie says politely. ‘If we can get Sarah and bring her here, maybe we can go back, but I have to get her first.’

‘No, that’s not what I’m thinking. I think we could join forces and go with you. That armoured personnel carrier will be an ideal support vehicle, and if we combine our forces, we should get through a lot easier.’

‘So how would it work?’ Howie asks as they walk back down the street towards the pub.

‘The hospital is on the way, well, just a very minor deviation, but if you help us get to the hospital, we’ll go with you to your sister. We combine the strength of our forces and work together,’ Chris explains.

‘Why that hospital? London is huge, and there must be other ones closer.’

‘Doctor Roberts helped design it, and he was in charge of it. It’s brand new, and he knows every piece of equipment in there and the exact layout too. Plus, it received a huge funding allowance for infectious disease research, so he wants some the equipment from that area in particular.’

‘It does make sense, I guess. How long will it take before you’re ready to go?’

Chris stops to consider the question, nodding his head from side-to-side.

‘An hour or so.’

They agree to meet near the Saxon, and Howie returns to the pub and calls Blowers and Cookey over.

‘We’ve got a plan,’ Howie says once they are all grouped round.

‘We are heading into the city, to the Canary Wharf area, where my sister lives. Chris said the area will be overrun, but we have the Saxon and weapons, with plenty of ammunition.’ They nod back at him.

‘Chris wants to do a raid on a special hospital on the way. There’s a doctor here who got some funding for an infectious disease research lab. He wants to join forces, and we’ll help him with the hospital, and he will help us get to Sarah. I’ve said yes, but I’m open to any questions or concerns from you guys,’ Howie finishes and looks to each of them.

‘I’m happy,’ Cookey offers first.

‘With men’s arses,’ Blowers mutters to a few chuckles.

‘I’m in too.’

‘Me too,’ Hewitt says.

‘We are coming back through here on the way back, though?’

‘That’s the plan, Nick. It looks nice here, doesn’t it? I was thinking this would be my second choice if the forts don’t work out.’

The recruits nod.

The extreme contrast from the incredibly degraded urban area, the battles, the violence, and the utmost upset they have already faced is stark against this calm area full of normal-looking people going about normal lives, and it reminds each of them of what they’ve lost.

‘Lads, this is a personal mission for me to save my sister, and I’ve said from the beginning you don’t have to do this. Any of you can stand down and stay here, or choose to do what you wish, with no comeback from me. You’re all young, and your lives have already been devastated enough. You don’t have to keep going with this,’ Howie says in earnest.

‘Nah, I’m still in. We’ve come this far. It would be a shame to stop now, and besides, there’s still a shitload of them fucking zombies to kill,’ Hewitt is the first to speak his mind.

‘I’m with Hewitt,’ Cookey adds.

‘In more ways than one,’ Blowers says.

‘Stop with the fucking gay jokes, you dick,’ Cookey says, exasperated.

‘You want dick?’ Blowers retorts with a smile.

‘Before them two get going again, I want to say I’m in too,’ Tucker holds his hand up.

‘And me,’ McKinney adds. The rest add their affirmation with nods and grins.

‘You lot must be fucking mad,’ Howie says, grinning back at them. ‘But I am glad you’re on my side, though. I wouldn’t want to face you lot in a fight.’

‘Fucking right,’ Cookey says with firm conviction.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Darren Smith works alongside the recruits, unloading the weapons from the Saxon and stripping them down for cleaning under the watchful eye of Dave. He sweats heavily, but then the weather is scorching, and everyone else sweats too.

His skin flushes red, and at times, he feels dizzy, but then the others also look flushed, and after everything they’ve been through, Darren puts it down to stress, heat, and the constant action.

A new strain.

A new version.

Darren’s heart beats strong and healthy. Sending infected blood throughout his body. Changing every cell while resisting the urge to take control. Instead, it allows Darren to think and act freely, and in so doing, it sees where Darren is.

Inside a commune packed with potential new hosts.

The infection, even this strain developing within Darren, is young and still learning, but even it fathoms there must be pockets of survivors like this everywhere. Whole swathes of potential new hosts that need to be turned and taken. Because that is the primary driving force within the virus. The absolute need pulsing through all of the hosts: To take more hosts.

The infection also starts feeling the reactions with Darren when Howie speaks. It observes the chemical reaction that invokes a change, and it recognises the thought processes that fly through the mind as Darren listens intently.

Darren deeply admires and respects Howie and the small man called Dave that is always next to him. Darren feels a great sense of loyalty to this them, and the infection picks up on this and knows it can work to learn how to use these chemicals and feelings to control more of the host bodies and make them feel loyalty towards a leader just like the lads do with Howie.

It hears the one they call Howie talk about Sarah and a place called Canary Wharf, and the city, and the infection scours through billions of memories and thought processes to work this out. It slowly develops an understanding of the route they will take, of the path that lies before them and the end destination.

Within Canary Wharf and the surrounding streets, and neighbourhoods, all of the hosts stop and turn to face the route Howie and the resistors will take.

Those on the outskirts are sent shuffling in that direction, and other survivors are amazed and greatly relieved to see hordes of hosts moving in one mass filing towards another area.

The infection has already once made the mistake of making them move too fast too soon and weakened the feeble bodies, but now it will keep them slow, repairing until the time is right.

The infection has learned to plan ahead, and it will do it right this time.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Sarah wakes up late on Wednesday morning. Her head aching as she lifts it from the pillows. Her hair is splayed out and messy, and her throat feels dry. She slowly rolls to the edge of the bed and pushes her legs over the side. Her feet knocking into the empty wine bottles left by the side of the bed.

With a groan, she looks at the several bottles lying throughout the room and slowly remembers the righteous decision she made to get smashed. Not a heavy drinker anyway, the alcohol had a rapid effect on her due to her empty stomach, which now heaves in complaint at the harsh chemicals forced into it the night before. She runs to the toilet and just manages to lift the lid as she vomits into the bowl, retching and dry heaving until nothing but bile comes up.

She sinks down and rests her pounding head on the cool tiles of the floor, regretting every single gulp of wine she took. She started off listening to thumping rock tracks on her iPod, but as the alcohol took effect, she selected the slower songs until she was wallowing in self-pity, listening to power ballads over and over.

She doesn’t even recall getting into bed but gets flashbacks of dancing naked in the tiny apartment after stripping off her clothes in the sultry heat of the evening. Sarah lies on the floor, with sweat pouring off her body, and the rancid taste of bile in her mouth. She slowly gets up and crawls to the corner shower cubicle, closing the door behind her. She reaches up and twists the water flow on, giving a scream as the freezing jets of water soak into her before sliding down to lie on her side and let the water cleanse her.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Howie drives the Saxon slowly down the main road, nodding and smiling at people as they step out of the way.

Armed guards walk in front and to the sides of the vehicle, reassuring the residents of the commune that all is okay with their presence.

‘I like that Chris bloke,’ Howie says to Dave.

‘He seems okay,’ Dave replies.

‘Nice place, this.’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘So how come you decided to be open about your military background?’ Howie asks.

‘It served a purpose. We needed him on our side, and the Parachute Regiment always worked well with our lot.’

‘So, it was a tactic?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘Smart move, mate, and that stuff about the exits was clever too, and the way he realised he was the fourth – that was impressive.’

‘Thanks, Mr Howie.’

‘No, mate, I mean it. This heat is getting worse. There must be a storm coming.’

‘Maybe.’

‘I’ve never known it so hot. Even the road surface is melting.’

‘I can see.’

‘Have you known it hotter than this?’

‘A few times,’ Dave replies.

‘Where?’

‘The jungle is hot and humid. It just saps the blokes and drains them. The desert is different – dry heat, with no escape.’

‘What do you prefer, heat or cold?’ Howie asks.

‘I don’t mind. I did service in cold places and hot places. It doesn’t bother me too much.’

‘You must have a preference?’

‘Not really, Mr Howie. How about you?’

‘I thought I loved the heat, but I’m having doubts now. Sitting on a beach in Spain with a cold beer is slightly different than running around the country, killing zombies.’

‘I guess so. Never been to Spain. Well, I went to Gibraltar once. Does that count?’

‘Gibraltar? That’s a British place, but it’s in Spain, so yeah, I guess it does. Where did you go on holiday?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘What about downtime or when you had time off?’

‘I stayed at the base or went back to get ready for the next mission.’

‘Bloody hell, mate. Never had a holiday?’

‘No, Mr Howie.’

‘Well, maybe after this ends, you should take one.’

‘This won’t end,’ Dave says flatly.

‘It has to end sometime. One way or the other,’ Howie says, quietly staring dead ahead.

The end of the road sees a repeat of the entrance area – vehicles piled high on both sides to form solid walls, and another big truck parked across the gap.

The road they travelled down to get here was surprisingly long, and Howie realises how much effort and work Chris and his group have put into securing space and then keeping it secure. This is just the main road, though, and the safe area extends out to both sides, taking in side streets and more buildings to house the increasing number of people living here. Howie realises this cannot be sustained, after the devastation they’ve witnessed. This place looks ideal, but with increasing numbers of displaced refugees, there will be increasing numbers of problems.

The food they can source from raiding parties will last for a while. The city housed millions, so finding food for a few thousand will be easy enough for a while, but after that, they will need renewable supplies.

The water supply is another thing, maintained by experts who clean and sanitize it with chemicals, and keep the flow going. Who will do that now? Who will secure a constant supply of fresh water, not just for drinking but for bathing, and cleaning too?

Children will need milk and fresh food, and education, and as nice as this environment seems now, unless they start long-term planning, they will soon perish.

These people will settle into their new lives, and the pain and loss they have suffered will fade. After that, they will become like any other society – greedy, selfish, wanting more, and questioning those in charge.

Chris rules the roost now, but it won’t be long before someone else emerges and challenges him. At the moment, they look to him for safety and security and are thankful for the efforts he has taken and the control measures he has put into place. Will he be able to maintain that calm exterior when he’s challenged, or will power corrupt and turn him into a despotic tyrant, enforcing his rule with an iron will?

The truck is already pulled back to reveal the stretch of road on the other side. Chris is positioned next to another large truck, looking up and speaking to someone in the cabin. There are a few four-wheel drive vehicles waiting on the road, and more vehicles parked up – vans, sports cars, and motorbikes.

There are more vehicles piled high on the sides here too, but the road is wider, and Howie realises this is still a sterile area but used now as a car park for the commune’s small fleet of various vehicles. There is another large truck parked further down the road, forming the end of the barricade. The other side must be the unsecure area. The Saxon rolls up behind a four-wheel drive vehicle, which is immediately behind the truck. There are plenty of men here with automatic weapons. Some dressed in part-police clothing, and some in a mishmash of army and civilian clothing.

‘They’ve kept the best weapons for this lot,’ Dave remarks, looking around at the armed groups.

‘Where did they all come from?’ Howie asks.

‘Most of them look like police issue; although, there are some military weapons in there too.’

Chris walks over to them, and Howie jumps down to meet him at the front of the Saxon.

‘You all ready?’ Chris asks.

‘Yep, what’s the plan?’ Howie asks as another man carrying a black machine gun walks up to join their group.

Dave slides out of the Saxon and comes round to join them too.

‘Howie, this is Malcolm. He was in the Regiment with me,’ Chris introduces them as they shake hands.

‘I was thinking, Chris, we either need the weight of the truck at the front to plough through them or the main fighting vehicle, which will be the Saxon here,’ Malcolm says.

‘If the truck is the main vehicle to bring supplies back, then it should be kept safe and protected in the middle,’ Dave says in a firm voice.

‘Is this the Special Forces guy?’ Malcolm asks Chris.

‘Can’t you tell? You’re getting old and rusty, mate,’ Chris jokes.

‘Piss off, you fat bastard,’ Malcolm fires back as Chris laughs.

Howie watches the exchange and can’t help but be reminded of Blowers and Cookey.

‘He’s right, though,’ Chris says.

‘We need the hospital supplies, and the truck is the only vehicle it will all fit in. I think we’ll keep it in the middle and use the Saxon as the point vehicle. How much ammunition do you have for the GPMG?’ Chris asks Dave.

‘Plenty, I took all of it from Salisbury.’ Dave answers as both Chris and Malcolm raise their eyebrows.

‘All of it? Fucking hell, mate, you going to war?’ Malcolm asks.

‘Yes,’ Dave answers to an uncomfortable silence broken by Chris coughing politely.

‘So that settles it, then. The Saxon in the lead, with the truck behind, and then the four-wheel drives behind them as support vehicles.’

‘How many people do we have?’ Dave asks.

‘You have your lot in the Saxon. That’s ten, isn’t it?’ Chris asks.

‘Yeah, eight recruits, Dave, and I.’

‘We got two in the truck cabin. One is the driver, but he’s got no experience of weapons, so we’ve put a bloke in there with him. Then four in each of the four-wheel drive vehicles behind the truck. I’ll be in the first one with three lads, and Malcolm in the second with another three. All of them are handpicked and have served in the military or the armed police,’ Chris explains.

‘Signals and communications,’ Dave says.

‘We got some shortwave radios that we got from some bouncers. They will work for a few hundred metres, but that’s it. The Saxon is Alpha, the truck is Bravo. I will be Charlie, and Malcolm will be Delt. Keep it simple. You happy?’ Chris asks the small group.

‘Yep,’ Malcolm answers, and both Howie and Dave nod in agreement.

A very large-built, muscular man with a bald head and a tight, black t-shirt approaches them, carrying small, black radios. He hands them out to each of them.

‘They got fresh batteries. Use channel one,’ the man says in a very deep voice.

‘How long will they last?’ Howie asks.

‘They lasted all night on the doors, and that’s with constant use, so they will be good for the day,’ the man answers before walking off. As he turns, Howie sees a small machine gun hanging from a strap across his back, previously hidden by his immense girth.

‘Did he serve with you, too?’ Howie asks as the man walks away.

‘Yeah, good bloke. Looks like an animal, but he’s as calm as they come,’ Malcolm answers.

‘Er, what about the route? None of us know London very well,’ Howie asks.

‘You got that road atlas handy?’ Chris asks, and Dave runs back to pull it out from the front of the Saxon. Chris takes a red pen from his pocket and marks along the roads.

‘It’s pretty much a straight run up to Tower Bridge. I suggest we plan an RV just before the Bridge and go from there,’ Chris says, handing the atlas back to Dave.

Howie looks at the marked route, which does look like an easy run.

‘Right, we’ll go round to the front. Shout when you’re ready to move off,’ Howie says.

‘One more thing. Our ammunition is good, but it won’t last forever, so we’ll be relying on your lads and the GPMG to do most of the shooting,’ Chris says before walking off with Malcolm.

‘You happy with the plan, Dave?’ Howie asks, relying on his military skill and tactical sense.

‘Yes, Mr Howie, do you want me to be ComsOp?’

‘Er, if I knew what that was, I would answer you.’

‘Communication Operative.’

‘Oh, you want the radio?’ Howie asks as he hands the small device with the stubby aerial to Dave.

Dave accepts it without a word.

Howie drives the Saxon around to the front and pulls in ahead of the truck while explaining the plan to the lads in the back.

‘So we’re going right into the city then?’ McKinney asks.

‘Yes, mate. At least we get to see some sights – Tower Bridge, maybe Big Ben, spot of lunch in Covent Garden, take in a show in the West End, then into Soho for some fun.’

The lads cheer at the idea and start talking about how many beers they would drink and how many women they would pull.

‘This is Charlie. Radio check, radio check. Delta, are you reading me?’ the radio crackles to life in Dave’s hand.

‘Delta receiving loud and clear, Charlie.’

‘Charlie to Bravo. Radio check.’

‘Bravo receiving loud and clear, Charlie.’

‘Charlie to Alpha. Radio check.’

Dave answers in a crisp, clear voice, ‘Alpha receiving loud and clear.’

‘Roger that, Alpha. All units loud and clear. Radio check complete. Alpha will maintain point. Bravo to keep a close distance but be ready to hold back in case of contacts. Ready when you are, Alpha,’ Chris’s voice booms through the radio.

‘Alpha to Charlie, do you want notice if we establish contact?’ Dave asks into the radio.

‘Charlie to Alpha, yes, if you have time, but all units, be aware in case Alpha opens up without notice, do not run into the arc of fire.’

‘Roger that, Charlie. Moving out now,’ Dave answers and looks to Howie, who slowly drives forward.

The truck blocking the road starts up and gently pulls forward to reveal the clear road beyond.

The Saxon pulls out and proceeds down the road at a slow speed until the follow vehicles are clear of the barricade, and then gently increases the speed.

‘Who’s up top?’ Howie asks Dave.

‘Hewitt.’

‘Blowers, make sure that Hewitt shouts down before he opens up on anything. We just want to get there and back quickly.’

The signs soon start appearing. First, some debris on the road; then, bodies lying festering in the high heat. Corpses of rats and people lie where they dropped. Windows of houses are smashed in, vehicles are burning, and there’s blood everywhere. The already hardened people within the vehicles look out to the extreme scenes, and despite being in countless war zones, each of them feels a sense of loss and pain at the things they see. Hewitt half pokes out of the hole in the roof of the Saxon, holding onto the handles of the GPMG tightly, partly for balance but also for comfort. After all, he’s an eighteen-year-old man in charge of a heavy calibre machine gun while riding as point vehicle for an armed convoy, undertaking a daring raid and rescue mission.

The Saxon reaches a junction, and Dave indicates to take a right turn. Within minutes, they start to see infected all shuffling in the same direction that they are going.

‘AHEAD, SIR,’ Hewitt shouts down.

‘The priority is to get there, but fucking look at this lot. Why are they going in the same direction as us?’ Howie calls out.

‘I don’t know. They’re not even turning to look at us,’ Dave answers.

‘Dave, let them know we’re opening up, and someone tell Hewitt he can crack on and slaughter as many as he can,’ Howie calls out.

‘Alpha to all units. Large groups ahead and to the sides. We will fire on them, over.’

‘Hewitt, Mr Howie says to crack on and get as many as you can,’ Blowers shouts up.

‘Thank fuck for that,’ Hewitt mutters and racks the bolt back to engage the chain. A grim smile forms across his face as he squeezes the trigger slowly. He feels the pressure as the trigger depresses under his finger, and the machine gun comes to life, spewing hot lead into the backs of the infected as they shuffle in front of the Saxon.

The massive bullets rip into them, shredding their bodies and ripping them apart as the general-purpose machine gun roars with vengeance.

‘Sir, can we open the back doors and shoot them down?’ Cookey shouts out.

‘Fucking do it, kill ’em, kill them all!’ Howie bellows. The rear doors burst open, and recruits lean out to fire left and right at the slow, shuffling infected, ripping them apart and wreaking revenge.

‘What the fuck are they doing?’ Chris shouts from his position as passenger of the four-wheel drive vehicle.

‘Having fun, by the looks of it, Chris,’ one of the men in the rear says.

Chris spins around to see them both grinning, and he shakes his head as a slow smile spreads across his face.

‘Fuck it, why not?’ he says as he winds the window down and points the end of his assault rifle out. The Saxon leads, with the recruits taking it in turns to man the GPMG and slaughter the infected from the top position. The rest take turns to shoot from the rear doors, yelling and cheering as they take them down. The ones closest to the back doors are gripped from behind by the recruits further in to save them from falling out. The passenger of the truck is leaning out of the window, firing down into the hordes as they pass. Both of the four-wheel drive vehicles have barrels pointing out of the windows, firing into the dense hordes. There are thousands and thousands of infected slowly staggering into London, strung out in long, shuffling queues.

‘MY FUCKING TURN. BRACE YOURSELVES,’ Howie bellows.

‘BRACED!’ Blowers shouts back as the recruits all grab a handhold, and the ones closest to the doors step back inside. Howie gently veers to the side and inches closer and closer to the infected strung out ahead of them.

The solid-plated, heavy Saxon clips the first one, who gets spun off, taking out more infected next to him.

The Saxon holds a steady course as Howie slams its front right wing into the backs of the horde, pulverising them and sending them splattering off. The vehicle takes the punishment without hesitation, and they leave a broken and bloody trail of mashed-up zombies behind them.

Howie pulls off to the left, creating a bloody slick behind the Saxon. He keeps going for several minutes as the GPMG starts up again, and through the view of the windscreen, he sees bodies burst apart, blood spraying high and slamming into the thick glass screen. The recruits resume their killing from the rear doors as they slaughter every one of the infected that they can hit. Many escape the deadly firing, but many more are cut down and left to rot on the road.

‘AHEAD!’ McKinney shouts from his position up top.

Howie and Dave both lean forward and peer down the road to another junction completely blocked by a massive horde. They are trying to walk into a smaller side street, but the immense size has clogged them at the junction, and more join the back of the crowd, pushing forward.

‘It feels like they know where we’re going,’ Howie says to Dave.

‘I agree,’ Dave answers.

‘We’re definitely being targeted.’

‘Looks like it, Mr Howie.’

Howie brings the Saxon to a slow crawl just back from the massed horde, all facing the other way at the junction.

‘Alpha to all units. Road is blocked ahead,’ Dave transmits over the radio.

‘We’ll have to take them out,’ Howie says, staring at them, and his left hand drops down to touch the top of the axe handle sticking up. Dave catches the movement and looks at Howie.

‘Alpha to all units. We’re going to take these out,’ Dave says, still staring at Howie.

‘Charlie to Alpha. Are you using the GPMG? We can’t hear it. Is there a problem?’ Chris asks.

Dave pauses to look at Howie, at the darkness starting to seep in across his face. Dave notices Howie’s breathing has become slightly faster as he stares intently at the horde facing them.

‘Alpha to Charlie. Negative. We are doing this the old-fashioned way. Standby.’

CHAPTER SIXTY

Dave drops the handset next to me, but all I can see are the hundreds of infected stacked up in front of us. They are targeting us, going to our location, somehow knowing where we are heading, and trying to get there ahead of us. They have taken my mother and father, and now they threaten to destroy the rescue attempt of my sister. No, this isn’t a rescue attempt – this is a rescue. I will get to her, and I will find her. These things will clearly do everything they can to stop me, but I will prevail.

My breathing increases, and I feel him, or it, inside me. He went away after the last battle, but now he’s back, and he wants another payment.

I pause at the door; my hand resting on the handle. I know what will happen if I open the door. I can see what will happen. I want that to happen. I want it more than anything. My hand grips the axe handle, and I look across to Dave, who is staring at me intently.

I twist slowly in my seat and look into the rear of the Saxon – eight young faces stare at me with grim expectation.

Eight faces watch me, and I see those eight faces struggling to contain the violence that is threatening to burst out.

Eight young faces that have seen more violence and destruction than most see in a lifetime: Blowers, McKinney, Cookey, Smith, Tucker, Hewitt, Reese, and Graves all stare back at me. No one speaks, for we can all hear the anger and the rage, and the fury knocking at the doors.

Our hands rest, waiting for the second when we can open the door and unleash hell.

I look back to Dave slowly and stare into the killer’s eyes. I nod to him once and watch as he slowly draws breath in.

‘FIX BAYONETS!’ Dave shouts at the top of his voice – a drill sergeant voice, a parade square voice that booms around the buildings, and the horde starts shuffling around to face us.

‘Ready, Dave?’

‘Yes, Mr Howie.’

‘Ready, lads?’

‘YES, MR HOWIE!’ they shout, and I’m out, flying through the air, with my glorious axe in hand.

Dave has done the same. Both of us leaving our assault rifles in the vehicle as I swing my axe in preparation, and Dave turns his knives back against his wrists so that the blades rest up against his forearms.

We pause as the recruits pile out of the back and stand behind us. A thin line, with me and Dave out front. The horde turns and starts their shuffle towards us. We wait. They shuffle and groan, and we wait. I hear clicks as bayonets are fitted. I turn to look and see a few of them have left their rifles in the vehicles and are just holding their long, deadly bayonet knives down at their sides. Jamie Reese has one in each hand like his idol, Dave. They shuffle, and we wait.

Chris bursts out of the four-wheel vehicle and starts walking forward past the truck. His men join him just as Malcolm and his group run to catch up.

‘What are they doing?’ Malcolm asks.

‘They said the road was blocked,’ Chris replies.

‘Why aren’t they using the GPMG, then?’

‘’I don’t know. Fuck me!’ They all stop to stare at Howie and Dave standing in front of the recruits.

Howie holds a long-handled axe down at his side. Dave has a long-bladed knife in each hand. The lads stood behind them, with a collection of knives and rifles fitted with bayonets.

‘Crazy bastards…’ Chris says in a shocked voice and looks back to his men all staring forward at the small group of men facing down a massive horde that is slowly shuffling towards them.

I am Death. I come for you. For every innocent man, woman, and child you have taken. I come for you. For every life you have ruined. I come for you. For my parents you have already taken. I come for you. For my sister, who still lives. I come for you. I am Death, and I come for you.

I roar as the fury explodes out of me. I hear Dave unleash his anger, and his voice joins mine, and together, we roar our defiance and rage at these evil things.

Behind me, I hear doors opening as the anger is released and comes forward for his payment, and together we stand, and we scream at them.

We draw breath, and we roar our rage into the air. I charge forward, with my axe held out to my side. I charge at the solid wall of infected who want to bite me, who want to kill me, but I am Death, and I come for you all.

They bare their teeth as one as we slam into them. Ten men against hundreds of vile creatures, but we have righteous glory on our side, and we will not be defeated. Dave drops down and charges forward into the massed line, steaming through them and using sheer momentum to split them apart. The gap he creates is filled by screaming recruits, who pour into the front line, slashing, hacking, and tearing flesh apart, roaring with anger, roaring with fear, and driving forward.

Bayonets slice through necks and split throats apart. Chest cavities are punctured again and again as the lads use the simple techniques shown to them by Dave.

They work together, and they work alone.

Jamie has watched Dave fight and has taken to this new skill like a duck to water. His arms blur and wave through the air as he fights into the horde with desperate fury.

I scream as my axe whirls, decapitating the first one in front of me. I lash out to the left and right, driving them back and embedding the sharp blade into their heads. Skulls are cleaved apart, and brains burst out, but this isn’t enough for me, not by far, and I keep swinging as the glory of battle surges through my veins.

Bodies drop in front of me, and the heavy, blunt end does as much damage as the sharp blade as I bludgeon and shred them. Two line up for the lunge, and I take a massive swipe and cleave through the first neck, and bite deep into the next one. The axe head jams into the spine, and I drive my forehead hard into the zombie’s face and drop him down, leaving my axe free. I use the handle end to lash backwards into the nose of another one lunging at me, and I smash his face in. More are coming, but I want them to. I want all of them to come. I spin around with a huge strike and take out several at the same time, and I drive forward into a gap and turn to hack them from behind. Arms are torn off, and legs are cut through as the bodies continue to fall.

‘They must be fucking nuts,’ Chris says quietly, watching with horrified shock.

‘Ten men against an army,’ Malcolm muses.

‘Hardly seems fair…’ the big, bald-headed man says from behind them as he pulls the strap of the machine gun over his head and rests it down on the ground, then draws a massive knife from a sheath on his belt. More of the men take their weapons off and draw bladed and pointed weapons from various pockets. Chris watches them and feels the urge of battle calling. He slowly lowers his weapon and reaches behind him to draw two deadly-looking knives out.

‘Watch the weapons.’ Chris stares hard at the truck driver, who stares back in absolute terror buts nods vigorously. The men start stalking forward, rolling shoulder joints and twisting their necks to warm their muscles. Chris starts walking faster, and they all move to keep up. Chris starts jogging, and they all do. With a hundred metres to go, Chris turns to grin at Malcolm.

‘Just like the old days, eh, mate?’ He doesn’t wait for a response but charges forward, screaming at the top of his voice. The others join him. The experience of their age showing as they spread out into a line and charge into the fray.

I hear screaming behind me and hack down the closest infected to create space so I can turn. I look back to see Big Chris and his men charging towards the horde. Rifles gone, and all of them holding weapons to fight hand-to-hand. They roar as they strike, and I feel a fresh surge of adrenalin rip through me. I scream out with a primeval roar, and I hear my men, my warriors, take up the voice and join me. More voices join in, and now we are not ten men.

We are more, and we will slaughter every one of you. We are Death, and we come for you.

I swing the axe around with fresh energy and take them down. I split them apart and bodies fly before me.

Dave is fighting off to my side and going deeper into the horde, and I fight my way towards him, savaging the creatures as they lunge for me. A strong uppercut, and I cleave into the pelvis of one of them. I kick out and send him back to the hell he came from. I swipe out to my right and take another two down. We fight, and we push forward, and the bodies rack up behind us. I get to Dave’s side, and together, we clear a small space. Blowers and Cookey burst through and join us in the slaughter as our ground grows larger. Jamie Reese is next and doesn’t hesitate as he plunges at the line of zombies encroaching on us. The recruits pile in until we are all in the small clearing. A loud roar sounds off to the side, and I see the big, bald man charging through them with his head down, using his almighty size and strength to drive them apart.

He bursts into the clearing just as Big Chris and his men get through, until we are all there. We wait for a second, drawing breath. None of us speak, and we gather around in a tight circle, shoulder to shoulder. The infected gather around us and slowly inch forward, saliva drooling down their mouths.

We wait for them to draw closer, and then, as one, we roar out and charge back at them. The circle is made much wider as the infected fall back from the furious onslaught. We keep to the circle and let them come to us. We rip them apart as they step forward. Brains and bones are splintered onto the ground, innards of stomachs fall out from the vicious stabs and slashes, and we work on in silence.

This is our ground now. This small circle right here is our ground.

It is holy and sacrosanct, and these evil demons, spawned from the devil himself, shall not touch it.

You shall not live nor breathe the air in our circle while we hold it, and to the last man, we shall fight you.

The circle grows wider and wider as we slaughter them. They keep coming, but we move amongst the front line, keeping them in the roughly circular shape around us.

Dave and some of Big Chris’s men move beautifully with their knives and blades. Experienced and tough, they do what their country told them to do. They do what their country demanded of them, and they did it without question, and when the time came to return to normal life, they were the freaks and the killers that people avoided.

Dave has always done what was required, and despite all the glory and praise it brought him, he was alone in those battles, and he was alone when the fighting ended. But these men can now use those skills they honed for so long. They can use the skills and the tactics, and the outright violence they were so encouraged to have. Throughout time, men have stood together in battle, and they have fought for what they believed was right and proper. Now they fight for survival, to protect their loved ones and destroy this common enemy.

The recruits fair well. Their youth, vitality, and streetwise nature make up for their lack of knowledge and experience. But they have already proved they are capable by surviving in the plains through the first weekend, and now they just get better.

I can now judge the amount of force needed and can preserve energy to sustain myself during the long minutes of battle. Fighting this way is a paradox. It seems to go on for hours, but then it’s over in minutes, and one by one, we stand down and stagger backwards. Chests heaving for air as we look about at the sheer devastation we have wrought. We have hacked them down until the road is clear, and just one small group remains. Still, they shuffle towards us despite the huge losses brought to their kind. We look to one another to see who will go for them, but Dave is already there, dispatching them with cold efficiency, slicing their throats open until the last one drops, with blood spurting from his jugular. Then Dave drops down to wipe his knives on the bodies. I look around at the men – all of them covered in gore, with blood still dripping from their weapons. I look down at myself and see I am also covered in filth.

‘The road is clear now,’ I say to Chris and start back towards the Saxon as the recruits slowly follow me.

Chris and his men turn and walk back to their vehicles, each of them nodding respectfully towards us as they pass.

Before long, we are driving again. The lads in the back cleaning themselves off with wipes.

‘Fucking hell, Jamie, you took a few down, then,’ McKinney says to the quiet lad, and I imagine him blushing furiously.

‘He bloody did. Well done, mate,’ Blowers adds, and I know Jamie will now be extremely uncomfortable but grinning back at them.

‘Better than Cookey, anyway. I saw him trying to grope their arses instead of killing them,’ Blowers says.

‘Fuck off, Blowers. I stabbed loads,’ Cookey retorts.

‘Yeah, but not with your knife, though,’ Tucker cuts in to guffaws of laughter.

‘Oh, don’t you start too, Tucker,’ Cookey groans.

‘Feel better?’ Dave asks me.

‘Yes, mate, much. You?’

‘Much better, Mr Howie, much better.’

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

The infection watches Howie through the eyes of Darren. It allows Darren to be himself, and feels adrenalin coursing through his system. It feels the nervous energy, fear, and thirst for vengeance flood through Darren – a mixture of chemicals that causes a massive reaction.

Dave’s voice calls loudly, and they charge. The infection watches the two come together and can feel Darren fight with fury and power, using his body as a tool to cut the hosts down.

The infection watches Howie, Dave, and all of them work, and it watches, and it learns.

The hosts are cut down until just a few are left, and the infection watches with cold detachment as the small one slaughters those few precious, remaining hosts. It feels the exhaustion flood through Darren’s body, and it knows that it could release different chemicals to make this feeling go away, but by doing so, it would draw unwanted attention, so it stays almost dormant, and it watches as they get further into the city.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Sarah slowly gets dressed, feeling dizzy and light-headed as the aftereffects of so much alcohol purge from her system.

Last night saw an explosion of emotions: anger, hurt, loss, isolation, fear, and desperation. But today, she feels flat and numb, void of emotion, with a dull headache, and an upset stomach. In a way she feels a bit better, drained, but somewhat relieved that those emotions came out. Despite the heavy drinking and crying, she coped with them and is still here. She could have plunged to her death from the balcony or cut her wrists, or run crying through the corridors, screaming for someone to help her, but she didn’t. She remained in her apartment and kept to herself.

After dressing, she walks through the lounge, to the kitchen, and instead of her normal method of putting her hand into the cupboard with the tins and taking the first one she touches, she opens the doors and looks through the selection, choosing fruit salad, canned meat, and small potatoes.

Today she needs sustenance and fuel to help her think a way out of this.

The time for depression and self-pity is over. Now is a time for action.

The convoy drives further into London, going past well-known places and delving further into the grotty inner-city areas. These places were rough already before the event. The red brick of Victorian England mixes with the greys and browns of post-war Britain. Urban decay, with millions of people living hard lives in one of the world’s fastest moving cities. New buildings of glass and steel, sporadically placed, only serve to make the rest look like the grimy places that they have come to be. There was constant civil disorder here before, caused by huge numbers of disaffected, young people left with a weak education system, a poor social structure, and zero employment opportunities. People who were left to grow in an area that didn’t want or need them and didn’t know what to do with them.

Infected slowly shuffle through the streets and roads. All of them still heading in the same direction as the convoy, but instead of the open, main roads, they use side streets – routes drawn from the memories of local hosts; although, the team doesn’t know this.

Howie drives the Saxon, with Dave next to him, and both of them peer out of the toughened glass at the passing streets. The battle left all of them tired, and even the boastful laughing of the recruits soon drifts into silence as they each clean their weapons and clothing from the gore and splattered blood. The convoy passes over the distinctive red and yellow curves of Vauxhall Bridge and the famous River Thames sliding slowly underneath. A tourist boat has broken free of its moorings and has drifted down to rest against the high walls. Its sides scraping along the concrete embankment.

‘We are over the River Thames,’ Howie calls out as the lads move forward to see out of the windscreen at the grey-blue water.

‘Oh, I would like to swim in there. It looks inviting,’ Tucker says with a sigh, sweating heavily from the heat.

‘A swim would be fucking lovely,’ McKinney answers.

‘I wouldn’t swim in that filth,’ Cookey calls out. ‘Probably get bitten by a mutant turd,’ he adds to sniggers from the others.

They cross the Bridge and head into the main road on the other side, travelling through Lambeth, towards Tower Bridge.

‘There’s shitloads of them again,’ Howie says to Dave, looking at the long queues of infected walking along the same route.

‘Get Jamie on the GPMG to start cutting them down,’ Howie calls out.

‘Alpha to all units. Large numbers in front. Opening fire on them now,’ Dave speaks into the radio.

‘Charlie to Alpha. Roger that. Are you sure you don’t want another knife fight instead?’ Big Chris asks, and Howie smiles broadly.

Jamie opens up on the GPMG, firing into the long, drawn-out queues.

‘It’s like culling, really,’ Howie remarks.

‘What is?’ Dave asks.

‘Shooting them like this.’

‘Why is it like culling?’

‘We’re reducing their numbers, culling the density of them.’

‘Oh.’

‘More we get now, the less we have to deal with later.’

‘Or the angrier they will get,’ Dave replies.

‘Speaking of angry… Did I see you a bit angry back then?’

‘A little,’ Dave admits.

‘A little? Looked like a lot to me. Jamie is doing well.’

‘He is.’

‘He takes after you.’

‘Do you think so?’ Dave asks.

‘Oh, no doubt. Did you see him with the two knives?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who do you think he learnt that from?’

‘Well, I guess from me…’

‘No guessing needed, mate. He is now Mini Dave. But he’s got some skills, though.’

‘He moves well, just needs to plan ahead a bit more and hone his use of force.’

‘Show him, then,’ Howie says.

‘Okay, Mr Howie. You still like the axe?’

‘No. I love the axe! Knives are too fiddly for me. I like the power and strength of the axe.’

‘Like a Viking.’

‘Yeah, I’m gonna grow a big beard and put plaits in it, and have a horned helmet.’

‘Speaking of axes…’ Dave points out of the window to a row of shops. One of them clearly a large DIY and garden store.

‘Does anyone want an axe?’ Howie shouts out jokingly but hears a chorus of approval.

‘Seriously?’ Howie asks.

‘I want an axe. I’m no good with the knife, and the rifle feels… I don’t know. It feels too cumbersome,’ Nick shouts out.

‘Dave, let them know we’re having a quick pit stop, and someone, shout up to Jamie about the plan.’ Dave speaks into the radio as Howie slows the Saxon down. Jamie concentrates his fire on the infected that are anywhere near the DIY store, cutting them to pieces and clearing some space.

‘Right, let’s be quick,’ Howie shouts as he jumps out of the vehicle.

‘Those not going for a new weapon, make a cordon round the vehicles,’ Dave calls out as he gets down and holds his assault rifle at the ready.

The truck pulls up behind them, and after a few minutes, Big Chris and his men are stepping over the bloody bodies and walking towards the Saxon.

‘What’s going on?’ Chris calls out.

‘Mr Howie and a few of the lads are getting some hand-held weapons,’ Dave replies and nods to the DIY store.

‘Lads, if you need anything, you’ve got five minutes,’ Chris says to a few of his men, who oblige with smiles.

The DIY store door gets kicked in by joint, choreographed kicks from Howie and Blowers and soon bursts open in a shower of glass. The lads pile in and all start heading towards the hand tool section.

‘What about a sledgehammer?’ Cookey calls out.

‘Tried it, not bad, but it’s very heavy and gets tiring after a few minutes,’ Howie replies. ‘I tried two lump hammers as well, but their range is too short. The chainsaw was good, but it was petrol-driven and ran out of juice too soon,’ he explains and realises that everyone has stopped to stare at him. ‘What?’ he asks defensively as they turn back to the shelves. He finds the axe section first and starts looking through the racks.

‘Oh my, look at this beauty,’ Howie whispers to himself as he pulls off a long-handled axe with a double-bladed end – each blade covered with a leather sheath.

‘It suits you.’ Howie looks up to see the massive, bald-headed man standing next to him, staring at the axe.

‘Do you think so?’ Howie asks.

‘Oh, yes, very you.’ The man mountain nods firmly.

‘There’s another one left if you want it,’ Howie says, pulling the last of the double-bladed axes from the section and handing it over to the big man.

‘Oh, that feels nice,’ he says appreciatively, weighing it in his giant hand.

‘The single-bladed axe was good with the sharp end and the blunt end, but this is much better,’ Howie says, admiring the metal blades.

‘I’ve always been a knife man myself,’ the big man says. ‘But I saw you with the axe back there, and I thought that I’ve got to try one.’

‘They are good. I tried the knives, but I lack the precision and finesse they need. I like the power of slamming them down with these things,’ Howie says.

‘Yes, I can see what you mean. Tell me, do you use a constant, swiping action or more of a chop?’ he asks.

‘Well, it depends on the situation. A good swipe will clear space and take a few down, but a solid chop down into the head is lovely. Even better, if you chop or slice down, is the uppercut into the groin, but the head can bite into the bone and get caught,’ Howie explains, going through the motions of the swipe, chop, and uppercut as he describes.

‘Ah, yeah, I can see that. I suppose a foot into the stomach pushes them off then?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, that does it. A big guy like yourself could do some awesome damage with one,’ Howie says.

‘To be honest, I’ve always wanted to try it, but the army would get a bit funny if we all started carrying them around with us, I reckon.’

‘Yeah, I can see that,’ Howie says.

‘Bloody hell, are there any more of them left?’ Blowers asks.

‘No, sorry, mate, we got the last two. Plenty of the single-bladed ones, though. Don’t dismiss them. I was just saying that the blunt end can do a good amount of damage too,’ Howie explains as Blowers pulls them out and hands them around to the others.

‘Do you keep the end covered all the time?’ the big man asks.

‘Not really. I clean it after each fight, and I know Dave keeps a knife sharpener, and he sharpens it for me,’ Howie answers.

‘Right, good point.’ The men all stand in the aisle, taking practise swings and commenting on each other’s pose and grip until Big Chris enters to stand in the doorway.

‘When you lot have finished fucking about…’ he shouts out.

‘Sorry, mate, my fault. Just getting a new axe,’ Howie says as they all start to leave, carrying long-handled axes back out into the sunshine.

Soon the Saxon, leading the convoy, heads off towards Tower Bridge.

The convoy continues along the main road, going through the Elephant and Castle roundabout and off towards Tower Bridge Road. The exodus or invasion of zombies, is even more prevalent on the road to the Bridge, with massive numbers stretched back in solid lines, seven or eight deep. The general-purpose machine gun does a good job of cutting them down, but the thickness of the lines means many on the inside escape uninjured and continue on their slow shuffle.

‘Charlie to Alpha.’ The radio crackles in Dave’s hand.

‘Alpha receiving. Go ahead, Charlie.’

‘Charlie to Alpha. This area looks too hot for RV. I suggest we move to a quiet side street. You choose.’

‘Roger that Charlie. Stand by,’ Dave answers.

‘This place is crawling with ’em,’ Howie mutters but loud enough to be heard over the constant thumping of the machine gun above them.

‘Over there, sir,’ Blowers points, leaning forward to indicate a side street, with a constant stream of infected going past the entrance.

The Saxon slows down, and Howie peers over to see that the road looks wide enough to take the truck and is quiet enough to move down.

‘We’ll go through here. Get Jamie to stop for now,’ Howie calls out, and the machine gun ceases firing as Cookey yells up.

‘Alpha to Charlie. Side street identified. Moving in now,’ Dave reports to the others as Howie turns the wheel and ploughs through the lines of infected. The solid front end of the Saxon easily squashes some and shoves the rest out of the way.

‘Bloody hell, they didn’t even slow down,’ Howie shouts as he looks in the side mirror to see the infected still slowly marching forward, not breaking pace to turn or look. The Saxon is followed by the truck and then the two four-wheel drive vehicles as they proceed a safe distance down the quiet street and finally pull over.

‘Blowers, get some lads out front and to the sides, mate,’ Howie asks as he drops down from the cabin and walks back along to meet Chris and the others.

‘Will do,’ Blowers calls out as he and the recruits pile out of the back and spread out as directed.

They meet near the front of the truck: Big Chris, Malcolm, Howie, and Dave. A few of the others are standing nearby but clearly distancing themselves from the immediate group.

‘That bridge will be full up,’ Malcolm says, rubbing the back of his neck.

‘We can get through them easily enough,’ Howie replies.

‘We can, but there are thousands heading that way. They seem to know where we’re going, and I don’t like that fact one bit,’ Big Chris says.

‘How can they know?’ Malcolm asks, and they both look to Howie, who shrugs back at them.

‘I don’t know. It seemed they were coming for us last night at the services too, like we were being targeted, but I don’t know how,’ Howie says, thinking hard.

‘Unless they’re going into the city for something else?’ Malcolm asks.

‘Not likely. Every time we’ve met any hordes, they turn and come for us. These aren’t doing that. They’re intent on getting somewhere. This could get very messy if we are anywhere near this place at sunset,’ Howie replies.

‘We can get through them, no problem, but then we have to stop at the hospital, with this lot still coming behind us. Even the GPMG can’t cut that many down, and we don’t know how many are coming from other directions,’ Chris says.

‘What choice do we have?’ Howie asks.

‘Lift the bridge,’ Dave says quietly.

‘Lift the bridge?’ Howie asks.

‘Of course. Tower Bridge lifts. We could raise it up after us,’ Malcolm says excitedly.

‘How will we do that? Does it need power? Do you know how the controls work?’ Howie asks, liking the idea.

‘Mate, we were Para-Reg…’ Malcolm smiles.

‘It must have a separate power supply in case of blackout or something, and the controls can’t be too complicated,’ Chris muses, rubbing his chin.

‘So we get across and then work out how to raise it to stop this lot getting across. Then we just have to worry about the rest on the other side,’ Howie says, looking between them all.

‘Yep, that’s about the size of it,’ Chris nods.

‘Okay, where do you want us?’ Howie asks.

‘Keep the Saxon at the end of the bridge, on the other side to keep them back while we work out how to get the thing lifted, with the truck behind the Saxon,’ Chris says.

‘Are you leaving a unit there so we can drop it again for the egress?’ Dave asks.

‘I think we’ll need everyone for the hospital and then Howie’s sister,’ Chris replies.

‘Okay,’ Dave says.

‘Everyone happy?’ Chris asks, looking between them all as they nod and depart back to the vehicles. The vehicles all move off and follow the side streets around until they come back out onto Tower Bridge Road, again using the front of the Saxon to mow down the chain of infected trudging across the junction. The last stretch of road brings the bridge into view; the massive towers rising up high into the blue sky.

‘Hold off on the GPMG until we get across. We’ll be wasting ammo if we can get that bridge lifted,’ Howie calls back and hears the machine gun stop.

‘Who’s going to lift the bridge, Mr Howie?’ Nick Hewitt shouts out.

‘I don’t know. One of the others,’ Howie replies. ‘Why? Do you fancy a go?’ he adds, remembering Nick’s passion for mechanical and electrical things.

‘I’d love to,’ Nick shouts back.

The Saxon powers through the middle of the road, entering the bridge. The road is so clogged with infected the Saxon has no choice but to plough through them, sending them scattering off to the sides. Still, they keep dead ahead, and none of them turn to look or alter course.

‘This is fucking freaky,’ Cookey says in the quietness of the Saxon.

‘It ain’t right, is it?’ McKinney responds.

‘Why aren’t they turning or doing anything else? They’re just heading the same way as us,’ Tucker says.

‘It’s eerie. They must know something we don’t,’ Darren Smith says.

‘You feeling better now, Smithy?’ Howie calls out on hearing his voice.

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Howie, much better. Guess I was just tired or had a bit of heatstroke or something,’ Darren replies.

‘Or cockstroke, in Cookey’s case,’ Blowers says.

‘What? How did you make that connection?’ Cookey exclaims. ‘Smithy’s talking about heatstroke, and you turn it round to a gay joke.’ He shakes his head.

‘Just comes naturally, mate. You either got it or you don’t,’ Blowers says in a modest voice.

‘You’re a prat! Tucker, you got anything to eat, mate? I’m starving,’ Cookey asks.

‘Yes, mate, I got loads of stuff from that services shop.’ Tucker pulls out a carrier bag and hands it around as the lads dig in for snacks.

‘Be quick, lads. We’re almost there,’ Howie shouts as he hears packets being ripped open and loud munching noises. The Saxon roars over the central part, between the towers, and through to the north side, pulling to a halt where the normal road joins the bridge.

‘Clear the area and keep them off the bridge,’ Howie shouts as he jumps down with his assault rifle.

The lads spread out and open fire as they continue to proceed off the bridge, still heading towards the city. Despite the firing and the stationary positions, none of the infected turn or change direction, but continue onwards, away from the bridge. The truck pulls behind them, and Howie glances back to see the four-wheel drive vehicles stopping by a structure on the bridge, with glass windows going round it.

‘That must be the control room,’ Howie shouts to Dave as the recruits fire into the backs of the infected.

The end of the bridge is cleared, and the lads all turn and start on the oncoming infected that are streaming down the bridge, towards them.

‘Charlie to Alpha. We are at the control room, but it’s going to take longer than we thought.’

‘Alpha to Charlie. Received the last. Do you need support?’ Dave answers.

‘Negative, they’re just going straight past us, not even looking. It’s very weird.’

‘Dave, tell them I’m coming up with Nick,’ Howie shouts. ‘Nick, you’re with me in the Saxon.’ The two of them jump in and drive the short distance back to the control room. The infected shuffling around them without so much as a glance.

‘This is fucked up, Mr Howie. What’s going on?’ Nick asks.

‘I don’t know, mate,’ Howie replies as the Saxon comes to a halt. They get out, readying themselves to fight through the infected, but none of them stop, look, or even bare their teeth as Howie and Nick stand and watch them.

Howie reaches out and pushes one on the shoulder, forcing him to stagger off to the side and knock into several others.

‘Nothing,’ Howie says.

‘They fucking stink,’ Nick says, covering his nose at the stench of decaying flesh.

They run over to the side, weaving through infected but still being guarded in case they turn and attack, and they eventually find their way to the control room.

Some of the armed men from the four-wheel drive vehicles are standing outside, vigilantly watching the hordes shuffle past.

‘Bloody hell, that’s a lot of buttons,’ Howie says as he gets inside and looks at the complicated array of switches on the control panel.

Nick’s eyes light up, and he rushes forward to start examining them. ‘This is awesome,’ he says quietly as he looks over the panel.

‘It’s more complicated than we thought,’ Big Chris says to Howie.

‘Just give him a few minutes,’ Howie motions to Nick, who is absorbed, muttering to himself.

‘I can’t believe they haven’t turned on us,’ Howie says, looking out at the infected going past.

‘Something’s not right,’ Malcolm says.

‘Maybe that’s it – they’ve given up and stopped eating people,’ Howie jokes. The awkward silence that follows is only broken by Nick’s loud exclamation. ‘You got something, mate?’ Howie asks, relieved by the distraction.

‘Yep, got it. There’s a power supply and a series of safety switches that have to be done in the right order before the hydraulics start lifting the bridge,’ Nick says excitedly.

‘Bloody kids. Too much Xbox, if you ask me,’ Malcolm jokes.

‘Right, you ready, Mr Howie?’ Nick asks, and Howie feels a touch of pride at being asked instead of Big Chris or Malcolm.

‘Yes, mate, go ahead.’ Nick presses and flips a series of switches, then starts pulling back on a small, black lever. An alarm sounds outside, and the bridge starts to lift smoothly, separating in the middle as both sides lift.

The action is surprisingly quick, and the men watch as infected start staggering faster as the bridge lifts; then, gravity takes over, and they start tumbling into the backs of each other, causing a concertina effect as the momentum picks up.

The men smile and laugh as the infected are sent plummeting down onto the road surface.

‘The other side are still walking off the edge,’ Nick laughs, watching a number of black and white monitors above the control panel. The men wait for a minute as some of the infected pick themselves up and start their shuffling again. Many stay on the ground in a tangled mess of arms and legs. Before long, the hordes have shuffled off down the bridge, and the men leave the control room to slowly walk behind them.

‘If this keeps on, we’ll have an easy time at the hospital and then going for your sister,’ Big Chris says as he stops by the door of his four-wheel drive.

‘I bloody hope so,’ Howie replies. ‘But knowing what seems to happen to us every half hour, I very much doubt it,’ he adds before walking back to the Saxon with Nick.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

The infection pushes the hosts towards the city, using roads, streets, and the underground rail network. Hosts pour down the steps onto the platforms and drop down onto the inert rail lines, shuffling through the darkened tunnels to emerge closer to their destination. Never has London seen such a densely packed crowd before, all moving as one without aggravation. No fights or pushing and shoving. Just host bodies all being told to move to this location as they slowly pile into Canary Wharf and the surrounding streets until every inch of pavement and tarmac is covered. The bodies still have the craving for flesh, but this is overcome as they move slowly past Howie and the resistors. The temptation to turn and lunge for the bite is almost too much to control, but the infection holds them back and waits. It knows how the resistors can fight back now, and unless the numbers are overwhelming, the hosts can be cut down too easily. On the bridge, the infection almost decides to make the host bodies move fast and go for the attack, but the big vehicles are nearby, with one of the resistors sitting on that devastating machine gun, so it sticks to the plan and waits for them to come.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

Sarah finishes her meal and drinks plenty of water to rehydrate after the heavy drinking the night before.

Then she carefully fills her pots, pans, and receptacles while the water supply still works, thinking there must be a massive tank at the top of the building to keep a building that size supplied.

Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, with her hair pulled back, she looks serious and determined – determined to do something to help her situation but not knowing what that should be. She opens the patio doors and steps out onto the balcony, and takes a sharp intake of breath as she looks down.

There had been crowds of them on the road and pavement below, but now the whole area is covered in them. The street below her is packed, and she can see into side streets further up and the junctions at the end of the road. There are infected bodies packed in like sardines, shuffling and rippling like one giant snake. The intense heat and stillness of the air sends putrid and fetid odours wafting up on the thermals created by the packed bodies, and Sarah almost gags as she covers her face and mouth with her hand. The strong sense of purpose and determination ebbs away as she realises there is no way out of the building.

The sheer amount of them could push through the main front doors with ease if they put their minds to it, and she steps back as she realises they could be at her door within minutes, if they chose. She slowly pushes the patio doors closed and realises that from her position on the balcony, she can’t see the main doors, and they could already be inside now. She creeps over to her front door and rests her ear against the cool wood, intently listening for any noises, but there is only silence.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

‘Charlie to Alpha.’

‘Alpha receiving. Go ahead, Charlie.’

‘We have identified a secondary route using side roads. Slow down and let us take the lead from here.’

‘Roger that Charlie. Slowing down now for you to take lead position.’ The four-wheel drive vehicle pulls out from behind the truck and shoots past the slowing vehicles, slotting in front of the Saxon. The men in the rear of the vehicle look back and nod to Howie and Dave in the front.

Howie nods back and raises his hand as Dave keeps scanning the area.

‘Bloody hell, this is packed with ’em,’ Howie says.

‘It is, Mr Howie,’ Dave replies.

‘And it’s getting worse the further we go in.’

‘It is.’

‘Here we go,’ Howie says as the four-wheel drive turns a sharp left, mowing down several infected crossing the junction and sending the bodies spinning off. The rest keep going across as the Saxon takes a turn to run some over, too.

‘They don’t know the Green Cross Code, do they?’ Howie says.

‘The what?’ Dave asks.

‘The Green Cross Code.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You’ve never heard of it? Everyone knows the Green Cross Code,’ Howie says.

‘I don’t,’ Dave replies flatly.

‘Lads, you’ve heard of the Green Cross Code, haven’t you?’ Howie calls out.

‘What’s that?’ voices shout from the back.

‘Well, you’re all just youngsters really. You must have heard it at school, Dave?’

‘No, Mr Howie,’ Dave answers.

‘What did they say as they taught you to cross the road, then?’ Howie asks.

‘Look left and right,’ Dave answers.

‘Well, yeah, but what about the big bloke in the cape?’

‘Superman?’ Dave asks.

‘No, he had a green cape, I think.’

‘Superman had a red cape, Mr Howie.’

‘I know that Superman had a red cape. I meant the Green Cross Code man – he had a green cape, I think.’

‘I don’t know him,’ Dave says.

‘No, hang on, he didn’t have a cape. He had a white top ,with big shoulder pads, and a big, green cross on his chest,’ Howie says, looking across at Dave, who shakes his head.

‘The Green Lantern wears green,’ Dave says.

‘Yeah, I know he does, but I’m on about the Green Cross Code man.’

‘The Incredible Hulk was green too,’ Dave adds.

‘I know. But he isn’t the one I’m on about,’ Howie says.

‘The Incredible Hulk? I never liked him that much,’ Tucker says, leaning forward to join the conversation.

‘Why not?’ Dave asks.

‘I was always into Batman,’ Tucker says.

‘Early Batman or late Batman?’ Curtis Graves cuts in.

‘Oh, has to be early Batman,’ Tucker replies.

‘No way, the last Batman movies were the best,’ Curtis replies.

‘Batman didn’t wear green,’ Dave adds.

‘Spiderman is the best one,’ Cookey says, leaning forward too.

‘Yeah, I like Spiderman, but I never liked spiders, so they always put me off him,’ Tucker replies.

‘Spiderman didn’t wear green either,’ Dave says.

‘Iron Man was the best!’ Hewitt shouts out.

‘He wasn’t a superhero. He was a normal bloke in a special outfit,’ Tucker replies.

‘Well, Batman was too, then,’ Curtis says.

‘No, Batman had special powers,’ Tucker says.

‘No, he didn’t. He was a normal bloke, who just did loads of training,’ Curtis retorts.

‘The Thing from The Fantastic Four was my favourite,’ McKinney calls out.

‘The Human Torch was the best one,’ Blowers joins in.

‘They didn’t wear green,’ Dave says.

‘The Green Cross Code man wore green,’ Howie says.

‘Mister Fantastic was way better than any of them,’ Curtis replies.

‘You’re telling me that being a bit bendy, like Cookey, is better than being able to burst into flames?’ Blowers asks indignantly.

‘What can you do with fire other than make things hot?’ Curtis asks.

‘Well, you can set things on fire, for a start,’ Blowers says.

‘And?’ Cookey asks.

‘That’s cool enough,’ Blowers says defensively.

‘I got a plastic lighter in my pocket that can do that,’ Hewitt says.

‘Yeah, well, he could move fast too,’ Blowers shouts.

‘So would I if I was on fire all the bloody time,’ Tucker laughs.

‘I liked Wonder Woman,’ Jamie Reese joins in to a stunned silence from the rest.

‘She was bloody gorgeous.’

‘Yeah, very pretty,’ Blowers agrees as most of the lads nod.

‘Fair point, mate. She was a crumpet,’ Cookey says.

‘She didn’t wear green,’ Dave says.

‘Have you got a favourite one, Dave?’ Cookey asks.

‘Yes,’ he replies.

‘Who?’ Howie asks.

‘Wolverine.’

‘That figures,’ Howie says as the lads all nod in agreement. ‘Is that the hospital?’ he adds as they come onto a wide road leading to a large, modern-looking building.

‘Yes,’ Dave replies as the large sign “Canary Wharf Hospital” comes into view.

‘Yeah, thanks for that, Dave,’ Howie says. The access road leading to the hospital is long and goes around the back of a large visitors’ car park, with a surprising number of cars still parked there. The access road then leads on and curves off into large ambulance bays outside a set of immense double doors.

‘Charlie to all units. We are going with Bravo to the side entrance to gain access as directed by Doc Roberts. Alpha, you cover the front unless we call for help. Delta, you check the rear and then go to the far side.’ The units all respond with affirmations, and the four-wheel drive vehicle and the truck drive on down the access road and bear left, disappearing down the side. The Saxon pulls up tight to the front of the building.

‘Can you ask Darren if he’s got a good view from up there or does he need it moved?’ Howie asks and hears Darren reply that he can see fine.

‘Right, lads, spread out across the entrance here and keep a good eye out,’ Howie says.

‘Where are they all?’ Tucker asks, leaning forward to look out of the windscreen.

‘I don’t know, mate. I guess this is off the main road or the centre, or wherever they are going, but it won’t take them long if they want us,’ Howie replies and gets out of the vehicle with his assault rifle, checking his webbing belt pouches for magazines.

The recruits climb out from the rear doors and start moving out to form a wide line spread across the front, facing out onto the main road.

‘You like that sniper rifle, then?’ Howie asks Jamie as he walks down the line, checking the lads are all okay.

Jamie has the rifle up and is looking through the scope, down towards the building line; the SA80 strapped to his back.

‘Yes, Mr Howie,’ Jamie answers.

‘You’re getting very good with it too, mate,’ Howie says.

‘Thanks, Mr Howie.’

‘You’ll be giving Dave a run for his money soon, mate. Especially if you carry on like that, with the double knives.’

‘Oh, do you want me to just use one, or the bayonet on the rifle instead?’ Jamie asks, concerned.

‘No, no, mate, it was a compliment. Even Dave said how well you did with them,’ Howie says as Jamie blushes bright red and stammers a thank you. Howie walks down to the end and stands next to Dave.

‘It’s very quiet, Mr Howie,’ Dave says in hushed tones.

‘Oh, you’ve said it now…’ Howie groans.

‘Charlie to Alpha. Multiple contacts inside. Requesting immediate reinforcements. We are on the second floor, at the rear of the building,’ Chris’s voice booms out. The sound of gunshots loud in the background.

‘See what I mean. You had to say it, didn’t you?’ Howie admonishes jokingly.

‘Blowers, you hold out here. I’ll take Jamie, McKinney, and Dave with me. We’ve only got one radio, so stay safe and get back inside the Saxon if it gets too much,’ Howie calls out.

‘Yes, sir,’ Blowers answers as Jamie and McKinney rush over towards the front doors to join Dave and Howie.

‘Jamie and Dave at the front as you’re the best shots. Me and McKinney will go behind and cover the rear, er…if that’s okay with you, Dave?’

‘That’s fine, Mr Howie,’ Dave answers respectfully.

‘Okay, let’s go!’ Howie says as they push the doors open and enter.

‘Use the rifle for now but be prepared to swap for the assault weapon if it gets hot. Single shot to the head and watch out for our guys,’ Dave advises Jamie as they take the lead and start moving down the wide, central corridor and past the reception desk. The interior already looks looted, with debris littered everywhere, and dried blood stains smeared down the polished and gleaming floor of the new hospital. Waiting room chairs are strewn about, and the contents of the desks look to have been thrown out into the main room.

‘Looks like someone tried to fight them off,’ Howie remarks as they step around the items on the floor.

Dave pauses and raises a hand up in the air, first, in a clenched fist and then with one finger raised, then points off to the side.

‘Oh, not this again,’ Howie mutters as they pass the area where Dave was indicating and see a dead body halfway out of a toilet door. The face is bitten away, and a large pool of congealed blood is under the head. They walk down the central corridor, passing doors and waiting areas on both sides. Signs hang from the ceiling, giving directions to the various departments.

As they get towards the rear of the building, they hear the sound of muffled gunshots and start moving faster. Dave and Jamie walk in front – Dave with his assault rifle raised to his shoulder, and Jamie with the sniper rifle. Howie and McKinney keep scanning to the sides and checking the rear as they progress quickly but quietly. The sniper rifle coughs as Jamie sweeps to the right, and an infected falls out of a concealed side corridor; the back of his head blown away. Jamie racks the bolt and continues moving forward, hardly breaking stride. Two more shuffle around from the end of the corridor towards them and are quickly dispatched by a single shot to the head each. The quiet noise of the sniper rifle suppressor is deadened by the loud retort of the assault rifle fired by Dave. The infected are both blown backwards as the four men keep stepping forward to the end of the corridor and identify the stairwell doors. Dave enters first, sweeping up the stairs, with his rifle aimed high, then takes each step carefully, but still moving with speed.

‘Clear,’ he says quietly but clearly as the others follow him to the door leading onto the second floor. Dave and Jamie pause for a second at the double doors as Dave pushes gently to test they open inwards. He nods to Jamie and indicates for him to check right and he will check left, then turns to show Howie and McKinney to cover the front.

Then Dave nods, and he and Jamie push the doors open and burst out into the corridor. Dave turns immediately to face left, and Jamie to the right.

Howie and McKinney step forward to the long corridor facing them and the several infected shuffling in the other direction. They both open fire, using single shots. Once the corridor ahead is clear, Howie looks across to see Jamie and Dave have both dropped several each.

‘Alpha to Charlie. We are on the second floor at the rear stairwell. Confirm your location,’ Dave says into the radio.

‘Charlie to Alpha. We have got most of them down. Hold there until we make our way back to you,’ Chris answers.

‘Roger that. Holding position at the rear stairwell doors, on the second floor.’ The four of them stay in position, occasionally firing as an infected appears from one of the many side entrances that branch off.

Eventually, they hear banging noises from the corridor ahead of Howie and McKinney.

‘Charlie to Alpha. We are approaching your position now. Be aware, be aware.’

‘Roger that, Charlie, acknowledged.’ The noises increase as Big Chris and several of his men run into view from a side entrance. Each of them carrying large items and boxes in their hands. Their weapons strapped across their backs or shoulders.

‘There were loads of them up here,’ Chris shouts as they draw closer.

‘Are you all okay?’ Howie asks.

‘Yeah, no injuries. Bloody close call, though. We went into a wrong room, and it was packed. I mean fucking packed with them. They couldn’t get out until we opened the bloody doors; then, they just started pouring out of everywhere,’ Chris answers as they stop by the stairwell doors.

‘Did you get everything?’ Howie asks.

‘Nope, we have a load more to get yet. Can we borrow two of your blokes to cover us while we carry this lot out?’ Big Chris asks.

‘Dave, do you want to go with Jamie? Me and McKinney can wait here.’

‘Okay, Mr Howie,’ Dave answers as he and Jamie go down the stairwell, ahead of the group, leaving McKinney and Howie on the second floor. Several minutes pass in silence as they wait for the group to come back.

‘Looks like they got them all,’ Howie mutters.

‘Yep, erm…would you mind if I had a smoke, Mr Howie?’ McKinney asks politely.

‘Smoking in a hospital? You’ll get in trouble for that, mate,’ Howie jokes.

‘Oh, okay, I can wait,’ McKinney answers.

‘I was joking, mate. Crack on if you want.’

‘Thanks, do you want one?’ he offers, and Howie is very tempted despite having stopped smoking before the zombie invasion.

‘No, thanks, mate, if I start now, I will never bloody stop, and I’m already too unfit for all this running about,’ Howie says. Will power winning over temptation. McKinney lights up, and Howie smells the smoke wafting over, further tempting him. They hear the others coming up the stairs.

‘Smoking in a hospital? You’ll get in trouble for that,’ Big Chris calls out as he walks off.

‘That’s what I said,’ Howie mutters quietly and waits in position until they come back past them again, carrying equipment and boxes.

‘I think it’s pretty clear up here now. How was the front?’ Chris asks as he moves past them again.

‘Quiet when we left. No sign of them anywhere near us,’ Howie answers.

Darren Smith grips the GPMG from his position as look-out on the Saxon, slowly moving left to right, looking for movement. He is completely unaware of the infection inside him alerting all the hosts in the area to their location.

The main road runs left to right beyond the car park in front of them, and the building line is beyond the road. Big, tall office blocks are mostly joined together to form a continuous line, but some walkways, alleys, and side streets connect the main road to the hospital area. Blowers, Cookey, Graves, Tucker, and Hewitt are stretched out in a line across the entrance, smoking cigarettes while watching the perimeter.

‘They’re taking a while,’ Cookey calls over to Blowers.

‘Probably had to get a lot of stuff,’ Blowers replies.

‘CONTACT,’ Darren shouts from behind them.

‘Where, Smithy?’ Blowers shouts back as they all start looking more intently.

‘Building line, small alley off to the left,’ he shouts back as a single adult infected slowly emerges from the shade.

‘There’s only one of them,’ Hewitt calls out.

‘Who wants him?’ Blowers offers.

‘Let me try for a head shot,’ Cookey says as he raises his assault rifle and aims down the sights.

‘You’ll never get him from this distance,’ Hewitt says as Cookey pauses for a few seconds, then slowly squeezes the trigger.

The rifle fires, and the bullet flies through the air, straight at the infected, and straight past him, going into the wall a few feet beyond.

‘Ah, fuck it,’ Cookey says as the rest start laughing.

‘Let me try,’ Hewitt calls out and repeats the same action as Cookey, aiming at the shuffling infected creature’s head and firing after a few seconds’ pause.

‘Ha, you fucking losers,’ Blowers laughs as the shot misses.

‘I’ll show you how it’s done.’ Blowers takes a few seconds to line the shot up, then fires the rifle. The bullet just clipping the zombie on his upper arm, making him spin around and bang into the wall behind him.

‘I fucking got him,’ Blowers exclaims.

‘No, you didn’t. He’s still coming,’ Darren shouts over as the infected turns back towards them and continues shuffling.

‘My turn,’ Tucker says and lines the zombie’s head up between the sights, and fires. The round strikes the infected in the centre of the forehead, and the back of his skull explodes in a pink cloud as he slumps backwards onto the ground.

‘Fucking hell, Tucker. Well done, mate,’ Hewitt shouts out.

‘Did you bloody see that?’ Tucker’s mouth drops open as he lowers the rifle and looks over at the others.

‘Good shot, mate,’ Blowers says.

‘He was a lot closer, though,’ Cookey adds.

‘Fuck off, he was shuffling slowly. He did about four steps in total, and he got knocked back by Blowers’ shot,’ Tucker shouts.

‘Nah, he was a lot closer, almost halfway, I’d say,’ Hewitt joins in, laughing.

‘He fucking was not. He was still in the same place,’ Tucker yells back, offended.

‘They’re joking, mate. It was an awesome shot,’ Blowers says. ‘Even if he was a lot closer,’ he adds.

‘Oh, piss off, you wankers,’ Tucker pouts.

‘OH, SHIT, TO THE RIGHT,’ Darren shouts, alarmed, as a massed horde start shuffling into view, coming from a side street to the right.

‘That’s a lot of zombies,’ Cookey mutters, looking at the front of the thick horde.

‘LEFT SIDE TOO,’ Darren shouts again, and the lads look to see another horde coming out of a side street.

‘MAIN ROAD TO THE RIGHT,’ Darren shouts again as another huge horde comes into view on the road they had just driven along a few minutes ago.

‘This is going to get interesting,’ Blowers says. ‘Let’s pull back a bit so we are out of the firing line,’ he says, and they pull back towards the Saxon.

‘That’s enough, lads,’ Darren calls out when he’s sure he can fire at the hordes over the top of them.

‘Oh, well, best get on with it, then. Smithy, you take that lot on the road to the right. We’ll take the other side street to the right. They’re both closer than the left side.’

‘Okay, mate,’ Darren says and turns the heavy machine gun to face into the horde, and opens fire on them.

The GPMG bursts to life, spewing rounds into the front of the horde, who start dropping instantly. Blowers and the rest start firing single shots into the front of the horde coming from the right side street. The effect is less dramatic than the GPMG, but they still start to wither away at the front of the horde.

The infection watches simultaneously through Darren’s eyes and the eyes of the hosts as they start towards the resistors.

The weapons are doing their deadly work already, and many hosts are being cut down. The infection has the whole area packed with hosts, but the losses are too great already, and it knows they will be cut to shreds before they get anywhere near the hospital.

‘Fuck me, they’re moving faster,’ Blowers shouts, unheard over the constant firing of the machine gun behind him and the assault rifles to both sides.

The hordes have increased their pace, not by much, but there is a definite increase from the slow shuffling to an almost normal walking pace.

‘Fuck it, they’re getting faster,’ Cookey yells out.

‘I just said that,’ Blowers shouts back as they continue to fire into the hordes, and instead of picking their shots carefully, they now fire directly into the front of the crowd, hoping that any shot will drop them or slow them down enough to buy time.

Inside the hospital, at the rear stairwell, on the second floor, the thick walls and dividing rooms suppress the sounds of firing from the front of the building. Howie and McKinney hold their position, waiting for the others to load more equipment and medicines into the truck.

‘I never liked hospitals,’ McKinney remarks.

‘A lot of people don’t, mate,’ Howie replies.

‘Too clean and sterile, and full of sick people.’

‘True, but where else should the sick people go?’ Howie asks.

‘I spent ages in them when my mum got sick – different hospitals all over the place,’ McKinney says.

‘What was wrong with her?’ Howie asks.

‘Heart problems. She died a few months ago,’ McKinney says quietly.

‘Oh, mate, I’m really sorry about that,’ Howie says.

‘Thanks, Mr Howie, but it was probably for the best. Got to be better than going out in all this mess and turning into one of them.’

‘Yeah, maybe. Still, tough thing to have to deal with.’

‘Yeah, Dad didn’t cope very well, started drinking a lot, and just went downhill,’ McKinney says in a soft voice.

‘That’s awful, mate, but I guess grief will do that.’

‘Yeah, I guess,’ McKinney replies.

‘How do you think the others are getting on out front?’ he adds, trying to change the subject.

‘I bet Blowers is taking the piss out of Cookey, and Hewitt is smoking a shitload of cigarettes,’ Howie says as McKinney laughs, a little forced, but at least he laughs.

Malcolm bursts through the doors behind them, panting from running up the stairs.

‘Lads, there’s shitloads of firing coming from the front. You’d better get back,’ he says as Howie and McKinney start running down the stairs and back along the corridor, towards the main entrance.

The sounds of the GPMG and the assault rifles get louder as they approach. They burst outside, into the bright sunshine and the sight of several hordes walking at a steady pace towards them. Most of them are already halfway across the road and getting closer to the edge of the car park.

‘They’ve got faster again,’ Blowers shouts as Howie gets to his side.

‘I can see. Shit, Dave still has the radio,’ Howie says as he and McKinney start firing into the encroaching hordes.

The ground is littered with bodies torn apart by the constant fire rate, but the supply of infected seems endless. Darren moves around to start on the hordes pouring in from the side streets and alleys to the left – tracer fire flashing through the air, and shiny, spent casings jingling onto the ground. Within minutes, they reach the edge of the car park and are soon starting to cross.

Darren adjusts again and concentrates on the ones getting closest, bursting them apart, with the large rounds ripping into them.

‘MAGAZINE,’ Darren yells as the machine gun clicks empty.

‘Fuck it. Focus on the ones getting close,’ Howie yells as they start shooting into the car park. Dave and Jamie come running around from the side of the hospital and see the immense crowds surging across the road and car park towards the hospital. Jamie runs to join the others, switching from his sniper rifle to the assault weapon on his back. Dave runs to the rear of the Saxon and climbs in, going straight to one of the compartments and pulling out a canvas bag. He then jumps down and runs around to stand behind the others. Reaching into the bag, he pulls out a hand grenade, pulls the pin, and throws the grenade high into the air. It spins and lands in a cluster of cars.

‘GET DOWN!’ Dave’s voice booms out as they all drop down onto the ground.

An immense explosion rips the air apart, followed by several more as the fuel tanks of the vehicles explode from the shrapnel and the heat, and fire of the grenade. Chunks of metal fly off into the air, taking out more of the infected in the car park, and a huge fireball scorches up into the sky as the fuel burns up.

Dave gets back to his feet and throws another one at parked vehicles, and the others all drop down again, covering their heads with their arms as the explosion booms out. Then the fuel tanks go again, creating another enormous fireball. The GPMG starts up again after Darren changes the magazine, and then the zombie slaughter continues.

‘Alpha to Charlie. We have heavy contact. Repeat. We have heavy contact, holding for now. How long will you be?’

‘Charlie to Alpha. A few minutes is all we need. Keep holding them.’

Dave puts the radio back into his pocket and selects another hand grenade, this time throwing it directly onto the massed hordes coming across the main road. The effect is amazing as a large circle of infected are thrown away from the blast, spinning and crashing into more of the infected around them. Dave keeps throwing the grenades, carefully selecting his spots to create the most damage. The combined efforts of the GPMG, the assault rifles, and the grenades being thrown keep most of them at bay, dropping huge numbers. The sides of the buildings, side streets, and access points are thick with infected walking towards them, and slowly, they gain ground, inch by inch. The body count climbs swiftly higher, and the attackers are forced to clamber and climb over their fallen comrades. Darren continues to fire, choosing the densest parts of the crowd to achieve the maximum amount of damage.

At first, it was thrilling to be able to cut so many of them down, and then it became a job, a necessity that had to be done for survival. But now there is another feeling, a feeling that sends signals to his brain, suggesting that maybe he is doing the wrong thing. These were people, they look like people, and he is killing them without mercy. These were people who had children, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters. Normal people, with lives, and he is just slaughtering them. Darren starts to see the effect of the deadly fire and becomes aware of the bodies being ripped apart and torn limb from limb. Tears start forming in his eyes and slowly drip down his cheeks. He tightens his grip on the trigger as he battles within himself. He knows that this has to be done in order to survive, but slowly that feeling gets stronger, like a voice in his head, gently telling him to stop.

The voice of his father, telling him this is wrong. Darren releases his grip on the trigger and freezes, unable to resist the voice any longer, and stops watching the advancing horde.

‘SMITHY! WHY HAVE YOU STOPPED?’ Howie shouts over but gets no response as Darren just stares ahead with a frozen expression. ‘SMITHY, YOU HAVE TO KEEP FIRING. THEY’RE GETTING CLOSER,’ Howie yells; his voice taking on an angry tone. ‘BLOWERS, GET ON THAT GUN,’ Howie orders as Blowers runs to the rear of the Saxon and climbs into the back.

‘Smithy, mate, get down,’ Blowers calls up.

He gets no response and calls out again, tugging at Darren’s legs and yelling louder and louder.

‘Smithy, for fuck’s sake. You’ll get us all killed. Get down now, or I’ll fucking move you myself,’ Blowers yells up.

He is forced to strike the back of Darren’s knees, and his legs buckle as he drops down from the look-out hole.

Blowers grabs at his shoulder and pulls him away, dumping him on the floor of the Saxon. He climbs up through the hole and takes position on the GPMG, instantly opening fire on the hordes now back in the car park and gaining ground. Howie’s face creases with concern for Darren, but his main priority is the thousands of infected pouring across the road towards them. The pause between Darren stopping and Blowers taking over has allowed them to get so much closer, and they are spread out across the whole of the area now. The weapons cannot cut them down quickly enough.

‘Alpha to Charlie. We are being forced back. We have to move. Repeat. We have to move,’ Dave shouts into the radio over the constant firing all round him.

‘Charlie to Alpha. Roger that. We have enough. Move out. I repeat, move out.’

‘BACK TO THE VEHICLE,’ Dave shouts out, and they all move backwards, still firing as the closest infected reach the edge of the car park only a few metres away. They turn and run to the rear, covering each other as they clamber in and then over Darren, who is lying on the ground. Cookey and McKinney pick him up to push him into a sitting position as Darren stares blankly ahead.

Howie climbs into the driver’s seat and fires the massive engines up, pulling away just as he hears the rear doors slam. Howie drives the Saxon straight into the closest infected and lets the solid metal plating and huge tyres create a gap as they are mowed down and forced apart.

The GPMG is still firing away above him, and it cuts them down in droves. Howie forces the vehicle onto the road and then straight through them, engaging the four-wheel drive capability to keep the power high. The Saxon bounces as it climbs and drops but does not slow down, taking the obstacles with ease.

‘We’ll tuck in behind the truck,’ Howie yells out to Dave.

‘Alpha to Charlie. We are behind Bravo. We will hold this position.’

‘Roger that Charlie. Moving out now.’ The truck pulls out, following the two four-wheel drive vehicles, and heads away from the hospital. Within a short distance, the hordes are left behind, and Blowers releases the trigger on the GPMG.

‘Is Smithy okay?’ Howie calls out.

‘Smithy! Darren, mate, are you okay?’ Tucker leans forward, waving his hand in front of Darren’s face.

Darren slowly comes to and focuses on Tucker.

‘Wha–what happened?’ Darren stammers quietly.

‘You froze up, mate, stopped firing, and just froze,’ Tucker says gently.

‘Jesus, I don’t know what happened. I don’t remember,’ Darren says, shaking his head.

‘Shock, mate, it’s just shock after everything that’s happened. Take it easy. Here, have some water.’ Darren takes the bottle and drinks slowly at first, then gulps it down, and belches loudly. He smiles back at Tucker.

‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened,’ Darren says, looking at the concerned faces of the lads staring back at him.

‘Don’t worry, mate. You were feeling rough earlier,’ Tucker continues in the same gentle tones.

‘I’ll be okay. I am sorry. It won’t happen again.’

‘Don’t worry, mate, just relax for a bit,’ Howie calls back as he follows the truck into the maze of side streets.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Sarah’s head pokes out from the line of the door, peering out down the corridor, looking left and right. No sign of any zombies, no noise either, so she gently creeps out to move down the corridor to the stairwell door. She leans forward to look through the glass pane and pushes the door open to listen for any sounds. Satisfied, she enters and steps down the stairs, checking each window of the doors as she goes.

She gets down to the level that Charlie lives on, inches her way to the door, and looks through the window. Her breath catches in her throat as she sees the corridor is packed with infected all clustering around Charlie’s front door.

Silly, bloody fools, she thinks to herself. Their shouting has drawn every infected from the building, but then, if every infected is in here, then the rest of the building might be clear. She keeps to the stairs, moving quickly and checking each window. She didn’t intend to come this far and didn’t bring a weapon, but the urge to check the ground floor is strong, and she wants to see if they are through the main door yet. At the ground floor, the door doesn’t have a window, so she crouches down to push the door open and peer out from a few inches above the floor. The lobby is clear, but she can see to the main doors at the front. The glass is opaque, but she can spot the hundreds of silhouettes on the other side – just a dense, gently moving mass, blocking the light, casting the lobby into shadows. She closes the door and gets back to her feet, biting her bottom lip as she wonders what to do.

There must be a rear entrance? The fire safety officials would have insisted on it, surely.

Quietly cursing herself for not knowing the layout of her own building, she crouches down again and slowly crawls out of the door and into the lobby. Moving slowly and watching the front door, she moves towards the ground floor apartments. She reaches the corridor leading to the flats and looks to the fire escape door at the end. This door has clear glass and leads out onto a small, grassed area that looks clear. Sarah moves down the corridor and reaches the door. There is a safety bar on it. Simply push and walk out. She tries to peer to the left and right. Both sides look clear. To the front is the small lawn, separating this block from the next one.

She pushes the bar down. The door opens silently, and she breathes in almost fresh air. It is tainted by the acrid aroma of the infected that walk around a few metres away. This is it, the way out. But if she steps out now, the door will close behind her, and she will be stuck, weaponless.

Sarah eases back inside and heads over to the stairwell.

Climbing back to her own floor, she heads inside her flat and starts preparing to escape. If they are massed to the front, she might be able to find a way out of the city, going in the other direction.

It’s a crazy plan, and she knows it, but she also knows if she waits, she will go mad within days or just become trapped. At least this way she is doing something of her own choice.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

‘Did you get everything you need?’ Howie asks Big Chris and the others.

They have stopped in a quiet street to discuss the next phase of the plan. Armed men and the recruits stand out on point duty at either end of the small fleet of vehicles.

‘Not quite. Doc Roberts gave us a massive list. We got most of it, though, and loads of medicines from the pharmacy department,’ Chris replies.

‘At least that’s something then. We can always try more hospitals away from the city later if you need to,’ Howie says, and Chris recognises the genuine offer.

‘We’ve worked well together so far, Howie. Your lot did a good job of keeping them suppressed,’ Malcolm says.

‘It was bloody close for a moment or two. One of our blokes seized up. He just froze, poor lad,’ Howie says, dropping his voice down.

‘It’s normal, Howie. They’re just kids. The basic training would have assessed them to see what they were like under stress, but they never got that far, did they? It happens sometimes, and those things are still people, sort of, and that will play havoc with a young mind that’s already suffered from all this,’ Chris explains calmly, the voice of experience. Howie can see how he came to be such a natural leader.

‘Just take it easy with him and keep an eye on him, maybe get one of the other lads to pair up with him or something,’ Malcolm offers.

‘Yeah, I’ll get one of them to stick close to him in case it happens again. I do feel for them, but there’s no hiding from this. It’s happening, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.’

‘Right, so where does your sister live?’ Big Chris switches back to business.

‘Dave, have you got that address book?’ Howie asks, and Dave pulls it from his bag and hands the brightly-covered, small hardback book over to him.

Howie flicks through the pages. His heart twinging with pain from seeing his mother’s handwriting again and the names of relatives now gone.

‘Millennium Towers, just off Westferry Road,’ Howie reads out and looks up to see Chris and Malcolm examining a road atlas.

‘I got Westferry Road. It’s this big, straight one here,’ Malcolm traces the road with his finger.

‘Any idea which street it is?’ he asks.

‘Smithson Street. Mum wrote it down the side,’ Howie says. His head down.

‘Yeah, got it. Right, we can go straight down Westferry. It looks long and straight, or we can work in from the back roads,’ Malcolm says.

‘We can get to Westferry Circus roundabout and recce from there. If Westferry Road is no good, we can go round, but there’s this bloody big bit of water in the middle and only one other road leading over it at the other end,’ Chris says.

‘Try for the roundabout then and see what it’s like, I guess,’ Howie says.

‘Okay, slight change to the formation. Saxon up front as lead vehicle Alpha. I will take second position as Bravo, and the truck third as Charlie, with you, Malcolm, bringing up the rear as Delta again. This gives us two lead support vehicles and offers greater protection for the truck,’ Chris says, looking around at them.

‘If the truck is that valuable, send it back now and don’t risk taking it further into their ground. We’ve still got three vehicles left,’ Dave says.

‘He’s right, Chris, the truck is big and strong, and good for ploughing through them, but we can’t risk losing it now. I think we should send it back. All those things were coming this way, so it should have an easy ride home,’ Malcolm says, looking directly at his old friend.

‘Howie, what do you think?’ Chris asks to Howie’s surprise. He is just a supermarket manager, not a military strategist, and he feels honoured to be asked his opinion.

‘I have to agree with Dave and Malcolm. The truck’s contents could save many lives. Sarah is my sister, but she is only one person.’

‘Okay, agreed, we send the truck back, which makes the Saxon Alpha, me – Bravo, and Malcolm – Charlie. We head on this route to the roundabout and see what happens from there,’ Chris says, and they part company.

Howie and Dave walk back to the Saxon, with Howie hoping he can remember the new call signs.

He thinks of Sarah and the long days she must have been waiting in her apartment.

‘I hope she’s all right, mate,’ Howie says.

‘Me too,’ Dave replies.

‘Gonna be a hell of a scrap getting through them.’

‘Not the first one, though, is it, Mr Howie?’ Dave says, giving one of his rare smiles, and Howie laughs.

‘No, mate, I guess not.’

The vehicles drive back to Tower Bridge and escort the truck to the control room. The main road is still clogged with infected, but they plough through as Tucker uses the GPMG to cut them down as they go. Back at the deserted bridge, Hewitt goes into the control room and lowers it. The two halves drop down until they connect, and the road is normal again.

Rows of infected that got stuck from the bridge going up, start shuffling across again as Hewitt raises it a few inches to watch them struggle walking up hill. He waits until they almost reach the middle and raises it higher so they all tumble back. He laughs loudly as he watches the monitors above the control panel.

The others all hear him laughing and cram into the small room to watch him do it again.

‘That’s fucking funny,’ Blowers laughs, wiping tears of merriment from his eyes. Big Chris and his men have crammed in and are laughing too. Hewitt lowers the bridge and examines the control panel more intently. The infected all start forwards again, trampling over the increasing numbers of squashed infected as they go.

‘Ha, watch this,’ Hewitt shouts out.

The infected walk over the first half of the bridge, and just as they get to the middle, Hewitt raises the closest half, which lifts up a few feet and blocks them from walking forward. The momentum of the infected is too great, and the first few rows get crushed as more keep trying to walk forward. Everyone in the control room laughs as Hewitt lifts it another foot or so, and they watch the infected getting crushed on the monitors. Hewitt then drops the bridge back down to normal level, and they all fall forward as the barrier holding them in place is suddenly taken away. The room erupts in laughter as the infected all fall forward onto their faces, and Hewitt raises the Bridge again to stop them coming on to this side.

‘Hang on, I’ve got another one,’ Hewitt laughs as he waits for the bodies to press against the slightly raised nearest section again.

The bodies keep pushing forward. Hewitt raises the nearest half of the bridge, and the bodies tumble forward and down into the river as the barrier is once again released.

Howie bursts out laughing and looks at Dave as they remember doing something similar with a smaller bridge in one of the villages they passed through.

The bodies keep pushing forward and stepping out onto thin air, as they are pushed from behind by the pressing horde.

‘They just keep going,’ Hewitt says, bent over double, laughing as they keep walking and shuffling forward, and dropping down into the river with a splash.

Big Chris, Malcolm, and the big, bald man are all laughing hard at the ridiculous sight. Even Dave smiles as he watches the spectacle, until the last one falls off the edge and down into the River Thames.

‘That was bloody brilliant,’ Chris says, with an enormous smile, showing his white teeth.

They all laugh and then start applauding Hewitt as he turns and takes a mock bow to them, laughing himself.

But Darren is at the back, watching the hosts fall off the bridge. He smiles along with the joke, but inside, he feels different.

This isn’t funny, and they shouldn’t be doing this.

Suddenly, he feels very alone. He smiles and goes along with it, but his eyes are not laughing.

The truck moves off along a now clear bridge, and the men file back to their vehicles, laughing and joking. Howie gets into the driver’s seat as Tucker shouts down, ‘What were you all laughing about, and why did the bridge keep going up and down?’

‘Nick was playing with the zombies on the other side, making them fall into the river,’ Blowers calls up as he settles into the back of the Saxon.

‘That was bloody funny,’ McKinney says.

Howie had taken McKinney to one side as they walked back to the Saxon.

‘McKinney, can you do me a favour, mate?’ Howie asked him.

‘Yes, Mr Howie,’ McKinney replied.

‘I’m worried about Smithy. Can you pair up with him and keep an eye on him just in case he freezes again?’

‘Yeah, no problem, does he know you’ve asked me?’ McKinney asked.

‘No, I don’t want to make him think we’re watching him or anything like that. Just keep an eye out so he doesn’t get hurt or something,’ Howie says quietly as McKinney nods and climbs into the back of the Saxon.

‘Right, you ready for this, Dave?’ Howie asks as he starts the engine and turns the Saxon in a wide arc to drive back down the bridge.

‘Yes, Mr Howie,’ Dave replies as they move off slowly, waiting for the two four-wheel drive vehicles to catch them up.

They head back onto the main road to follow the route they agreed on. Within minutes, though, the road is full of infected, back to shuffling slowly and again moving in the same direction as they are.

‘They’re ignoring us again. What is going on? They were going nuts for us at the hospital, and now they’re not even looking at us,’ Howie says.

‘Maybe they know where we’re going and want to use their speed only when we are static,’ Dave answers.

‘As crazy as that sounds, mate, it does make sense. They ignored us all the way here and only came for us when we stopped at the hospital, and they did speed up. That could have got very messy if they had started running.’

‘Maybe moving faster makes them weaker,’ Blowers adds from behind them.

‘I’ve been thinking that. At the services, they were running, and we were putting them down with ease. Did you notice if they were weaker today?’

‘No, not really,’ Blowers answers.

‘But if they only just started moving, and it was only a bit faster, it might not be enough to make them weaker that quickly,’ Dave says.

‘Okay, that makes sense, but how do they know where we are or where we’re going?’ Howie asks into silence.

‘It can’t just be a coincidence. We are specifically going for Canary Wharf, and they are certainly heading that way now,’ Howie adds. ‘They haven’t attacked Chris’s commune in large numbers or with the ferocity they’ve shown us.’

‘We’ve killed many of them, Mr Howie. That’s the only link. We’ve cut them back, and they don’t like it,’ Dave says.

‘Well, do you know what I think about that?’ Howie asks. ‘I think fuck ’em. I’ll keep killing ’em every chance I get until the last one fucking drops,’ he spits out the words, with venom in his voice.

Darren listens intently. A feeling of alarm inside him from Howie’s words. He respects this man deeply and would follow him anywhere. But now there is doubt creeping in. Howie wants to slaughter every one of them, and that isn’t right. They don’t deserve that, do they? The voice in his head, the voice of his father speaks out, telling him this is not right. Howie has no right to do this. If he left them alone, they might have left him alone. Howie is leading them all to danger, with his reckless actions, and will cause the death of all these people.

The voice carries on, and Darren sits quietly in the back of the Saxon, with his mind deep in conflict.

‘Bravo to Alpha.’

‘Alpha receiving. Go ahead, Bravo.’

‘The road looks almost blocked. Can you make it through?’

‘Affirmative, we are moving through them without issue.’

‘Roger that. We will close the gap and travel right on your tail to keep a solid line. Bravo to Charlie. Close up on our tail and keep a solid line.’

‘Charlie to Bravo. Roger that. Closing up now, nose to tail.’

‘Bravo to Alpha. We are nose to tail on you now. Bravo out.’

Dave climbs out of the passenger seat and gets Tucker down from the GPMG so he can climb up and look out.

Once up top, he scans the road ahead and the solid lines of infected traipsing in the same direction as them.

The front of the Saxon pushes them aside or knocks them flat, and the Saxon rocks with the constant bumps from the bodies it runs over. The power of the vehicle is immense, and they force an easy enough path through. Dave drops down and pulls out another canvas bag full of grenades from a compartment, then climbs back up to the look-out position, resting the bag between his body and the edge of the hole.

‘Alpha to units. Be aware, be aware, grenades being thrown behind the convoy, be aware,’ Dave speaks into the radio and hears both units confirm their acknowledgment. He then looks back to see Big Chris’s vehicle within inches of the back of the Saxon and Malcolm’s vehicle within inches of Chris’s, keeping a solid line to prevent the hordes from slipping between the vehicles and isolating them. Dave pulls out a grenade and pulls the pin. He looks at the sides, the front, and then back at the rear and the solid mass of infected swarming into the wake left by the vehicles.

He pulls his arm back and launches the first one high in the air. It lands far beyond the back of the last vehicle. Within a few seconds, a muffled explosion booms out, and bodies are seen flying up into the air. Dave can see a wide circle form as the deadly shrapnel rips through the densely packed bodies. He repeats the action, launching grenade after grenade behind the vehicles, and before long, he can see a distinct gap forming behind him.

Each grenade takes out several infected immediately, but the shrapnel takes more down with horrific injuries, and those bodies are sent hurtling into others. Dave empties the bag of grenades and looks with satisfaction at the huge holes now forming behind them. He then turns and grips the GPMG, and focuses it on the ones in front of him. He takes a practise sweep from left to right, aiming directly in front of the Saxon; then, nodding to himself, he squeezes the trigger and sweeps back right to left, aiming directly at head height and watching as skull after skull explodes like a row of melons. Brains and bones burst up into the air.

Dave extends the aim and keeps going, focussing to keep the machine gun at head height, and take as many heads off as possible.

‘Fucking hell, look at that,’ Blowers shouts from his position in the front passenger seat, next to Howie.

They hear the muffled pops of the grenades thrown by Dave and then the sudden whump, whump of the machine gun above them. The closest infected are all mown down by the hail of bullets, and Dave starts on the next load, taking heads off with each accurate sweep.

‘He’s getting bloody head shots with a heavy calibre machine gun!’ Blowers shouts as the lads all pile up front to watch the work being done by Dave. All of them cheer as the heads pop like fireworks, one after the other. Dave keeps the motion going, sweeping steadily side to side and cutting down swathes. He extends his range and is soon taking them out at the sides too. A look of intense concentration is on his face as he aims directly at the heads and sweeps the bullets across to see head after head popping open and the bodies slumping down. The shooting to the sides means that Chris and his men see the awesome display being put on by Dave, and they cheer and shout as they watch the skulls bursting open in precise lines.

‘Only fucking Special Forces would do something that crazy,’ Chris mutters to himself but can’t help grinning at the sight of the craniums being popped open. They reach the Westferry Circus roundabout and wait in situ as Dave continues with the machine gun, sweeping low at first and taking the closest ring out, then lifting the aim higher and higher with each sweep until there are almost concentric circles of decapitated bodies lying all around the vehicles. Eventually, he stops and climbs back down into the Saxon to a roar of cheers from the recruits. He gives a slight smile as he climbs back to the front seat, respectfully vacated by Blowers.

‘Bravo to Alpha. Nice display.’

‘Charlie to Alpha. Likewise.’ Small words, but big compliments, coming from such hardened and battle-experienced men.

The Saxon sits on the exit road to Westferry Road, facing in the direction they need to go, at a solid, massed gathering of infected stretched out as far as the eye can see. It is an undulating carpet of bodies, once killed and now brought back to semi-life, with a hunger for human flesh. They hold position and don’t move an inch towards the Saxon. Howie gets out of the Saxon and walks around to the front, staring hard at the blocked road. His eyes move along the front row, sweeping across the horde. Dave joins him, and they look ahead silently. The recruits come out to stand to the sides of them, one by one. Big Chris and his men, Malcolm and his men, all step out of their vehicles and walk forward to the front of the Saxon, and stand with Howie. They stare at the lines ahead of them.

An enemy holding position in readiness for battle.

Thousands of enemy infected waiting for these few to try and take them on.

They know these things can now move fast if they want to, that they can change within a split second and become deadlier than the slow, shuffling things they have faced already.

‘How far up is it?’ Howie asks.

‘Third on the left,’ Malcolm replies.

‘They can move fast now, and they can change. They will change, and they will come for us.’

‘Do you have a plan?’ Malcolm asks.

‘Yes,’ Howie replies.

‘What is it?’ Chris asks.

‘To go and get my sister,’ Howie replies.

‘How?’ Chris says.

‘Go in there and get her out,’ Howie replies.

‘There’s a lot of them,’ Malcolm adds.

‘There is,’ Howie replies.

‘Listen, you’ve all helped me get this far, but this is my issue. None of you have to do this with me. You don’t have to risk your lives for this.’

‘You’d go on your own?’ Chris asks quietly.

‘Yes,’ Howie replies instantly.

‘No, he wouldn’t,’ Dave speaks with a firm voice.

‘Not without me either,’ Blowers says.

‘Me too,’ Cookey adds. Howie looks back to the lads standing to the sides of him. They look to him and nod firmly.

‘All of us,’ Blowers speaks for the group.

‘Okay, how?’ Chris asks.

Howie looks back at the Saxon, then to the horde waiting for them.

‘We’ll charge them,’ Howie says.

‘The other vehicles won’t get more than a few metres into that lot,’ Chris says.

‘Then we all go in the Saxon,’ the big man with the bald head says.

‘Good plan. I’m in,’ Chris adds.

‘Me too,’ Malcolm says.

‘Fuck it, let’s load up, then,’ Chris says as they all turn and walk back to the Saxon in silence. Howie sits in the driver’s seat, slowly increasing the pressure on his right foot and making the engine roar loudly.

Big Chris clambers through and gets up on the GPMG. His large frame barely fitting into the hole. The Saxon surges forward. Howie working through the gears as the engine increases in pitch, racing towards the waiting hordes. Big Chris opens up on the GPMG, sweeping across the front ranks and cutting them down with a deadly hail of lead. The ranks get cut down from the ferocious firing, but they hold position as the bullets rip through them. At the last few hundred meters, Chris aims directly in front of them, making small movements left and right, chopping them down and creating a hole for the Saxon. The Saxon slams into them with enormous power and speed. The impact jolts each man inside, but Chris braces his powerful legs and absorbs the blow into his large frame. His hands never leaving the machine gun. He spins around, cutting them down, then sweeps back to the front, and works to carve a hole for the Saxon. The vehicle ploughs into the bodies, and Howie selects the four-wheel drive to keep the vehicle surging forward.

The huge tyres keep their grip and bounce over bodies, crushing them into a pulp. The vehicle keeps going further and further into the bodies, and the engine screams as Howie applies more power with his foot, forcing the heavy vehicle to slam them down or send them spinning off to the sides. Within seconds, they are deep into the horde and ramming the infected away as they keep pushing towards the third junction on the left. The first one passes, and the Saxon powers on, taking each body down with ease. The GPMG spews a hail of rounds into the bodies in front of the vehicle as they gradually work closer and closer. They pass the second junction, and suddenly, the massed horde surges forward into the path of the Saxon. The bodies push and press, and the gaps between them close up as they become a solid object. The third junction gets closer and closer as the vehicle keeps going, punishing the infected for daring to be in the way.

The infected keep pushing forward, forcing more and more bodies into the path of the vehicle. More bodies push them from behind too, and the zombies stretch away for miles in every direction.

The Saxon reaches the junction and starts to slow as the sheer weight of bodies prevents it from advancing. Howie pushes his foot flat to the floor, and the Saxon’s engine scream out. They gain ground, inch by inch, slowly crushing the bodies in front of them. The GPMG sends a withering hail into the infected, and they drop down, allowing the Saxon to keep pushing forward, but the horde is relentless and keeps pushing back.

A solid object against an immovable force.

The competition goes on as the machine gun rips them apart and creates small gaps for the Saxon to push into.

‘You’ll blow the engine,’ a voice shouts from the back, and Howie is forced to ease off.

The sudden reduction in power brings the Saxon to a halt, jammed in a sea of infected pushing closer and closer into them.

‘I’ll cut down a gap; then, we’re out and fighting for it. Make ready!’ Chris yells down and commences firing again, moving slowly around in circles to create an ever-increasing gap around the Saxon.

He spins, and the constant rain of bullets shreds the infected to pieces. The bodies rack up and form a barrier to those behind, and he keeps spinning around as the circle surrounding the Saxon gradually grows more and more.

‘Make ready,’ Chris bellows as the men inside the vehicle prepare for their big moment.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Sarah empties her gym rucksack on the bed, sending white socks, deodorant, and a small make-up bag tumbling across the crumpled bed sheets.

She grabs two bottles of water – the only two actual water bottles she has in the apartment – and pushes them into the bag.

Next, she goes to the cupboard and looks at the tinned food. Tins are heavy, and too many will slow her down. Plus, the bag isn’t that big, and also, they will clunk together and make noise as she moves.

But she needs food, and everything else has been eaten. After minutes spent deciding, she finally chooses three tins and takes them to the bag, then runs back to take the tin opener from the drawer.

‘What else will I need?’ she mutters quietly, having learnt years ago that talking to herself calms her down and helps to rationalise her mind.

‘Water, food – got them. What about clothes?’ She puts in clean panties and a pair of socks, then pulls them out, chastising herself. Within minutes, she puts them back in and stands back to stare at the bag, waiting for inspiration to strike her.

‘That’s it, then. All I need: water, food, and clean pants,’ she mutters again and closes the bag up before shrugging it on her back, feeling uncool for using both straps, then laughing at herself for the ridiculous thought. She gathers up her homemade spear – the broomstick with the long knife attached to the end – and walks towards her apartment door, pausing to listen before she opens it. A noise. Some kind of bang. She drops her head down to listen harder. There it is again – a muffled, constant thumping. She moves away from the door and back into her apartment, and the noise gets louder. A fast, banging noise that’s familiar but not quite there in her head yet. She moves to the patio door and slides it open. The noise floods in, and she looks down onto the solid crowd of infected jammed into the pavement. Her eyes follow the line of them, realising they are all facing in the same direction, down to the main road. They are all facing and pushing towards Westferry Road.

She leans out to try and see down to the junction and gasps as she takes in the amount of infected crammed into the area. Every single one of them is pushing towards the main road. She waits, leaning over the balcony; the broom-spear-stick still in her hand.

Slowly, the noise gets louder, until an army-type vehicle comes into view. Even from this distance, she can see the outline of the giant vehicle and someone standing halfway out of the roof. Bright flashes flare out from the top of the vehicle, and she realises that the man is firing a machine gun into the zombies. Her heart races as she watches the desperate struggle, the vehicle inching forward bit by bit as it gets closer to her junction. It looks like it’s trying to turn into her road, then comes to a halt as the pressure of the bodies forces it to a stop.

The man on top spins around, and Sarah watches a space slowly being created around the vehicle as the machine gun cuts them down. Hope is surging through her, but it starts to ebb away as she realises that the vehicle is stuck and can no longer move forward. Sarah watches as the firing stops, and the man drops out of view. Then, another man climbs out and stands on the top of the vehicle. He is followed by the first man again.

It looks like the man standing up is holding a large bag. He rests it down, and she watches as he takes something out of it, then throws it high into the air. Sarah hears a loud bang and sees bodies flying upwards. The man throws something again, and after a few seconds, she hears another loud bang, and more bodies are shot up and away.

‘Grenades, he’s throwing grenades,’ she whispers quietly.

The man is throwing them down into her road and making a point of making them land at different points. Each throw is followed by a loud explosion, and she watches as gaps start forming where the bodies are blown away, and more are felled by the blasts. The machine gun keeps firing, and more and more of them are cut down. The machine gun appears to be focussing on keeping them away from the vehicle while the grenade man is launching the explosives down her road. Slowly, the gaps get bigger as more damage is reaped on the infected. She wants to scream and wave to tell them she is here, but she can see the hopeless situation they are in, and she watches in silence, willing them to break free somehow.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

The anger bursts inside me, filling me with rage and cold, hard fury. We are stuck in an ocean of never-ending, infected zombies. I fucking hate them. I fucking hate zombies. I hate the way they shuffle and groan. I hate the way they move fast without warning and change the rules as they go along. I hate their decomposing flesh and their rancid, putrid breath. I hate the drool that drips from their mouths and their red, bloodshot, dead eyes. Everything around me slows. The firing above my head becomes a slow thump-thump, and I see shiny, spent casings spinning down gently past the window. I see a grenade rolling, end over end, through the air until it drops down out of sight, and an eternity passes before the slow explosion erupts ahead of me.

Bodies are floating through the air, limbs detached and flying off, and drops of blood are strung out and arcing high. My eyes follow another grenade that spins in the air above me, going down into the road. As I follow the trajectory, I see the tall apartment blocks further up the street and the outline of a person standing on one of the balconies facing towards us.

My eyes fix on that spot, and I feel the person is staring straight at me. Suddenly, it’s not just anger inside me, there is hope too. I snap back to reality as I realise there is a gap in front of us created by the GPMG spinning around, and I engage the gears and push the Saxon, and bounce high over the many fallen bodies. Just in those few metres, we gain enough speed to slam into the crowd and send them backwards.

The grenades thrown by Dave have created gaps that we can use to our advantage by pushing the infected back. We gain a little more distance, and I see Chris is firing directly in front of us again. He has created small gaps for the Saxon to power into. Little by little, metre by metre, we gain ground, and I keep looking up to see the person still watching us from the balcony.

I select reverse gear and slam the Saxon back into the crowd behind us, crushing yet more of them and gaining a little space in front to gather some speed before I use the front as a battering ram to drive further into them.

The machine gun and the grenades do an amazing job of making little pockets of space, which I use to force them back. The vehicle is tonnes of solid steel, with more weight added by the number of people inside, and although the crowd is incredibly dense, they cannot withstand the force of the vehicle repeatedly hammering them.

The progress is painfully slow, but at least we have progress.

‘PULL BACK AND HOLD FOR A SECOND,’ Big Chris yells, and I change into reverse to force the Saxon backwards, impacting on the crowd that is surging forward to fill the gaps.

‘HOLD,’ Chris yells, and the GPMG remains firing directly ahead of us, making little sweeps left and right at the same width as the vehicle.

The bodies are decimated right in front of me, torn limb from limb and cut in half as the rounds slice through them with ease. Chris holds the firing position as a large hole is made, with fallen bodies lying like felled trees on the ground.

The GPMG clicks empty as Chris shouts, ‘NOW!’

I push my foot down hard, and the vehicle pulls ahead with amazing speed, crushing the bodies under the huge tyres. We bounce up high from the impact on so many corpses, but the vehicle slams back down and keeps pushing forward. That extra speed we used has gained the momentum to drive us further ahead than I had hoped for, and I look up to see the person waving from the balcony as we get closer and closer. Then we are close enough to see the front of the building and a large plaque reading “Millennium Tower”, and that hope inside me gets stronger with every inch of ground we gain. The horde surges forward, moving with speed as they slam into the front of the Saxon. The bodies pushing hard against each other to make a solid wall.

Something is wrong with the GPMG as it doesn’t resume firing from running empty. I try to pull back, but the Saxon moves inches before losing power – such is the force of the bodies pushing against us.

‘We’re bogged in,’ I yell out. ‘We’ll have to fight through on foot.’ I clamber out over the seat and try to get in the back, but there are too many people, and no room to manoeuvre.

‘Get a few on the roof to shoot down, then more at the back. Doors ready,’ Dave yells out as some of the recruits and Chris’s men clamber up through the GPMG hole and start firing down into the surrounding hordes.

I glance back through the windscreen and can see the infected are stretching their arms up now and trying to reach up to the men on the top. Their teeth bared. Almost angry expressions on their rotting faces.

‘When I shout, push those doors open and fire out,’ Dave yells down.

‘Get to the back, two lines, with front line crouching, and rear line standing,’ I yell out as they try to organise themselves in the confined space, pushing and shoving until they are formed up and ready.

One of Chris’s men at the front shouts for the rear line to move backwards so the hot casings don’t land on them.

‘Make ready,’ Dave yells down, above the constant firing of assault weapons. ‘We’re making a bit of room at the back. You’ll have time for one round of firing to cut more down, and then we have to charge them,’ he adds. I see the big, bald man work his way back to me, with his axe in his hands.

‘When they stop firing, we’ll burst out with the axes and try to clear them back,’ he says to me.

‘I’ll go with you,’ Blowers adds, grabbing his axe.

The rest of the axes are stacked up and ready to be taken by the others.

‘Us three first and then this lot behind us. We’re heading for Millennium Towers. It’s just up a bit and on the left,’ I shout out so they can all hear me, and I hear Dave repeat my words to the lads on the top. The firing continues, and I see knuckles going white as the men in front of me grip their weapons tightly; faces serious. They stare forward with fear and terror, but above all else, they have courage. The courage to face down an enemy that outnumbers them thousands to one. The courage to stand firm and not fold or back away. Hardened men, tough men relying on each other and their natural-born instinct to fight and survive.

They have a reason to fight, a purpose, something to believe in, and we stand together, ready to charge to our deaths if needs be, ready to lay our lives down for the right to live how we want.

We repel the idea of these foul things that have tainted this earth and caused the deaths of so many innocent people.

‘I don’t know your name,’ I say to the big man with the bald head.

‘Clarence,’ he replies, looking me dead in the eye.

‘Good to meet you, Clarence.’

‘You too.’

Dave lightly drops down onto his feet and draws his knives. He holds them, with the blades upright and reversed to press into his forearms. The action sends a fresh surge of adrenalin through me, and I see Blowers grip the handle of his axe. A dark look crossing his face. That action by Dave has preceded every fight so far, and it signifies our readiness for battle.

Our willingness to do battle.

Our right to do battle and do so on our terms. For we have taken the fight to them today. They are thousands, and we are few, but we came for them.

They stood and waited, and we charged them.

This battle was ours for the choosing, and we took that choice. My breathing gets faster, and my chest rises. My hands were shaking a little, but now they are steady, and my legs feel firm and strong. My grip won’t fail me, and I know what needs to be done.

A sensation within me; a tingling inside my stomach. Hairs on the back of my neck prickle as I hear it once more knocking on the door to my soul.

‘What do you want?’ I know what it wants.

‘I want to come in.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you need me.’

‘I rely on you too much.’

‘You can’t do this without me, Howie.’

‘Maybe this time I can.’

‘Without me, you will die, and Sarah will die because of you.’

‘I can’t keep using you like this.’

‘Why not?’

‘The more I use you, the more you want.’

‘You can’t get through this without me. You know that. You have no choice, but my costs are mounting, and payment is due.’

‘It’s too much… But I want you. I need you.’

‘Then let me in, Howie.’

‘I want to. I like it when you come in.’

‘So?’

‘That’s the problem. You’re addictive, and it’s dangerous.’

‘But you wouldn’t have got this far without me.’

‘I know that.’

‘So let me in.’

‘Do you want to come in?’

‘Yes.’

‘What if one day I can’t shut you out again?’

‘Worry about that later. You need me now more than ever.’

‘Okay, but this has to stop soon.’

‘I understand, but not now.’

‘Come in. You’re not alone? Who are they?’

‘You’ve met them before – Rage, Fury, and Wrath.’

‘Bring them. Bring them all.’

‘You are right. I am addictive, aren’t I?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you need me, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You need all of us.’

‘Yes.’

‘Open the door wide, Howie, open it wide, and leave it open this time. I think we’ll be coming back quite often…’

‘NOW,’ Dave shouts the word so loudly that every zombie for miles must be able to hear him. The back doors are thrown open wide, and the firing commences as eight men open fire with fully automatic assault rifles – four crouched and four standing, shoulder to shoulder, jammed in tight, and deafening each other. The immediate ground at the back of the Saxon is already clear from the men firing from the roof. The split-second timing works perfectly as the men in the rear and the men on the top all fire into the packed horde. The effect is devastating as the first few ranks are cut to pieces and the force of the rounds drives them backwards into the infected behind them. I hear the guns click empty, and the men burst two to each side as they create a gap wide enough for one man to go through. I am that man, and I run through them and launch myself high out of the back doors, with my beautiful, double-bladed axe wide out to my side. I land with my feet planted apart and sweep in a wide arc as I slice through several necks extended in front of me. I take a step forward and swing backwards, cleaving more of them open with the deadly blades. My voice roars as I take those first swipes, and I feel the glory of the first death from my hands sweep through me.

I scream out and plunge forward, swinging the axe around with fearsome power and speed. I hear voices behind me, and the recruits and men are pouring out to charge into the lines of infected.

You are thousands, and we are few, but we fucking charge at you with axes and knives.

We fucking take you on with the weapons we hold, and we will defeat you.

I hear the glorious sound of Dave roaring at full volume, and I lift my voice to join his.

I see him off to my side as he launches himself fully into them. His arms spinning with grace and supple power as he bends and flexes to slice their throats, then drops down to cut through Achilles tendons, and they fall from their weakened legs.

Clarence stands back and swings his double-bladed axe high above his head. A Viking warrior, a berserker of gigantic size, and he steps forward with long strides. His almighty power sweeps the axe through many bodies as he swings out and then back again as he takes another big step. We roar, and we fight, and more of our voices join in, and we take the fight to them. My two-headed axe doubles my ability to kill them and take them down. Bodies fall about me as we fight our way through. We arrange ourselves, with the axes to the front, and Dave takes them down to fight a path through. The others behind us keep our backs and sides clear as they hack and cleave the bodies down. They push forward, but we fight harder than they can surge. They try to surround us, but we keep fighting, and we make progress through these evil things as they fall under our righteous blades. The battle is brutal, but we fight and power on, and each step we take brings us closer to the building. I glance up and see a figure waving down and screaming at us. I raise my axe high and bellow a cry. A cry of war, a cry of violence, and for a second, my comrades join me, and we raise our weapons up and scream into the air.

We are coming. We are fighting for you.

We will kill every one of them to get to you.

We are coming, and we bring death with us as we slaughter, hack, chop, cleave, slice, cut, and kill the infected.

Two sides fighting, but our small size means they can only present a limited front, and we can fight that front, and we do. We cut them down in droves and keep pushing as our hands and arms become slick from the blood we spill.

Sarah watches the men climb on top of the army vehicle, and they start firing down, keeping the fire pouring onto the infected at the rear.

She watches with bated breath as the rear doors burst open, and a withering fire from within is directed towards the infected. They burst apart and are sent flying back from the almighty hail sent their way.

The second the firing ends, a man launches himself from the back of the vehicle, swinging an axe above his head. Sarah’s mouth drops open as she realises they are taking on thousands of infected in hand-to-hand combat. Men surge from the back of the vehicle, and they bravely charge into the lines. Even from her high position, she can hear the men roar as they offer challenge to the infected army. The men from the top jump down, and they too charge into the melee. The effect is mesmerising. These men, these few men kill many of the infected as they fight to gain a circular shape. Men with axes take them down, and others work to the sides and the rear as that tiny, clear circle of men starts to move through the infected throng. These men are killing machines, and they move with deadly purpose. Each of them advancing with speed and power, and the killing goes on as they leave a bloody wake of broken bodies behind them. Sarah watches the man in the front centre swing his axe. A giant of a man next to him cleaving the bodies down.

She screams to tell them she is watching. Their brave actions have not gone without witness. The man in the front centre looks up and raises his axe high in the air to her. He roars, and every one of those brave warriors stops and holds their weapon high, and roars their defiance as they look up at her. Then, as one, the weapons drop back down, and they fight with renewed purpose to slaughter the infected. They have seen her.

They are coming for her.

Howie.

It must be Howie.

Her heart races as she runs to the front door, not bothering to stop, look, or listen, and she charges down the corridor and into the stairwell.

As she gallops down the stairs, an infected staggers out from a door in front of her, and Sarah rams the point of her spear deep into its throat.

‘FUCK YOU!’ she screams as she pulls the spear out, then continues running down the flights of stairs.

We keep moving forward, and our fighting shape holds. We suffer our first loss as one of Chris’s men slips on the bloody ground and falls down.

We all turn to help, but it’s too late, and the infected drop down on him, burying their faces into his stomach and legs.

He screams with impotent rage, and Dave drops down to slice a blade deep across his throat.

‘Sorry,’ Dave whispers in his ear and then is back up, fighting.

The loss hits us. We fill with rage and fury and fight with a consumed anger that burns our hearts.

We have lost one of our own to you, and for that, you will pay with hundreds now.

We won’t stop until you all die and cease to be on this earth.

‘ALMOST THERE,’ Dave bellows. His enormous voice drowning the grunts and growls of the men as we fight.

We push out harder now, in sight of the doors that lead into Millennium Towers. I look up and see the doors burst open, and a woman comes out, screaming with fury. My heart soars as I see my sister Sarah marching out, holding the end of a hose like a machine gun.

‘SARAH,’ I scream, and she stops to stare straight at me.

Just a few lines between us now, and we hack them down. I thought Dave was fighting with awesome speed before, but he goes into overdrive now. His arms spinning with fury as he cuts a path through them and breaks free to race towards Sarah. My world is complete. The toughest, bravest man I have ever known is now by my sister’s side. She is safe and will live as I know that small man will kill anything to protect her. He is my friend. Sarah will live. She will survive, and I smile, staring hard at them as I begin to laugh.

‘I WIN, YOU FUCKERS!’ I scream out and charge, with every ounce of strength I have, as the hose opens up.

Sarah steps forward slowly as the immense jet of water sluices into the horde and knocks them down.

We burst sideways as Sarah walks further towards us. The power of the life-giving water is with us. The clean water is on our side, and that simple thing repels them and forces them back as they lose their grip and slide down.

We fight to the sides, and one by one, we burst out of them. Then, as one, we turn and form a line in front of Sarah.

They keep coming, and we kill them. The power is on our side now as they fight to gain ground, and we fight to protect what we have taken.

Dave stands by her side. His knives held ready as he stares with deathly calm at the horde.

The powerful jet pushes them back as we start to retreat, and I see Clarence take the hose from her and walk closer to the horde, using the extreme power of the water to send them staggering backwards.

‘Howie,’ Sarah yells, and I rush to her and wrap my arms around the only surviving member of my family.

‘Sarah, thank god, you’re okay,’ I shout back over the noise. ‘We need to get out of here,’ I glance back at the horde and then to the building.

‘We can’t lose that vehicle. We’ll never get out of here alive without it,’ I shout to Dave.

‘Then we fight back to it, Mr Howie,’ Dave says, loud enough for them all to hear. The men and recruits all stop to stare back at me, looking at Sarah and nodding to her.

‘We have to fight back,’ I shout out loudly. ‘That vehicle is ours, and we must take it back.’

Big Chris stares at me, then looks at the horde.

‘I hate to say this, but you’re right. We have to fight back. Get your sister in the middle, and we’ll fight the way we came in,’ he shouts, with a ferocious look on his face.

‘Sarah, get in the middle. Dave, stay by her side.’

He looks at me and nods once, taking a step to stand just in front of her.

‘FORM UP,’ Dave bellows, and the men drop back to form a ring around Sarah. She looks to me in horror.

‘We can’t go into that lot!’ she says, terrified.

‘We have to, Sarah. There’s thousands of them all round us. The only hope is to get back to our vehicle. Just stay with Dave.’

‘Who?’ she asks, confused.

‘Sarah, this is Dave. Dave, this is Sarah. Now, let’s go.’ I take front centre position again, and we start to step forward as Clarence drops the hose to fall back into step by my side again.

Within seconds, we are back in amongst them, fighting and slicing our axes into their soft, decaying bodies. We have our prize. We have the chalice we came for. We are warriors, and all that we need is something to believe in. To protect those that need protection, to have that principle, and to fight for it with every breath we take. Not one of us flinches or questions this. For in our hearts, we know the reason we are here. To stop the evil from taking her.

We fight you to give her life, and we will carry on to be sure that happens.

Our shape holds as we battle on. They can push as hard as they like, for all they do is force the ones at the front onto our deadly blades and axe heads. Clarence swings the axe with his almighty strength, and heads are sent spinning in the air as he chops through necks. Dave sticks by Sarah’s side, taking small lunges if one pushes through a gap left by the men at the sides. Our tactic works, and once again, we make progress, slowly gaining ground back to the Saxon.

Darren fights with courage and bravery. The infection pulling back to watch him during this battle.

As the Saxon powered closer and closer to the building, the infection made a conscious decision to watch from within and learn from his natural reactions. Darren feels his uncertainty leave him, and once again, he feels the surge of adrenalin as the last seconds before the battle slowly tick away. He fires from the back of the Saxon and then moves aside to watch with pride as Howie launches out to attack them single-handed.

He slots the bayonet on his rifle and bursts out with his mates and the other men to charge into the infected. Feeling hatred and glory, he fights to follow Howie and Dave. They saved him and gave him respect and protection, they made sure he was okay, and they did so many small things that grew a deep sense of respect in him. For that, he fights, and the infection learns the mixture of chemicals pouring into Darren’s system that make him feel like this.

Darren hacks away at the infected and grimaces with determination as they fall under his blows and swipes. He aims for the throat and thrusts deep into their necks. The infection floods every host in that area with an image of Darren and makes it clear that they should not touch him. As they gain ground, Darren feels invincible as he cuts down host after host, not realising they lunge at him but hold back from biting. Several chances present themselves as his increasingly reckless bravery leaves him open, but they suppress the urge to bite as Darren becomes the safest man on earth at that moment.

They start fighting back towards the Saxon, and the infection plans for the next phase. It floods Darren with adrenalin and a feeling of confidence. Darren laughs as he attacks them, feeling that he cannot be touched. The infection increases the flow as Darren surges into them for the attack. The infection has learnt what chemicals to release to flood a body with that same feeling of love, pride, and devotion towards another body, and it keeps Darren safe as they fight their way back to the vehicle. Within a few metres of them reaching the vehicle, the infection pulls them all back and makes every infected step away and leave their path clear.

We fight on, getting closer and closer to the Saxon, when they suddenly pull back and step away from us. Mid-swing, they move as one, and there is open space in front of me as the axe rotates and almost takes me over with it.

‘What’s going on?’ Blowers shouts in alarm.

‘They’re pulling back,’ Tucker shouts, with victory in his voice.

‘No, it must be something else. We haven’t won this,’ Big Chris shouts.

‘STAY TOGETHER AND KEEP IN FORMATION,’ Dave shouts as we move through the clear path towards the Saxon. A noise. I look over to see Darren laughing with unrestrained glee.

‘We’ve fucking beaten them. The fucking pussies are giving up,’ he shouts.

Dave glances at me, and I shake my head.

I look over to McKinney and put my fingers to my eyes, then point at Darren.

‘Watch him,’ I mouth, and McKinney nods and steps closer to Darren.

‘Ha! You fucking losers. We win. We fucking win,’ Darren screams out.

‘Darren, calm down, mate,’ I call out as we keep stepping towards the Saxon, only a few metres away now.

‘Why? We’ve won. We’ve fucking won. We’re untouchable. We can’t be beaten,’ Darren shouts louder and laughs. We get to the Saxon. The rear doors still open.

Dave climbs in first as I help Sarah up.

Dave goes straight to the GPMG to try and get it working again. The lads and men start piling in as Darren stands away from us all.

‘COME ON, THEN. COME AND FIGHT ME,’ Darren goads them and holds his rifle above his head.

‘Smithy, get back here, now,’ I shout out, but he’s too far gone.

‘FUCKING COME ON, THEN. COME AND TAKE ME, YOU CUNTS,’ Darren screams and drops the rifle, and charges into them.

‘SMITHY, STOP,’ McKinney shouts and runs after him.

‘NO, STOP,’ I shout, but Darren runs and starts attacking them, taking swipes with his bayonet and thrusting forward to stab them.

McKinney catches up with him and tries to pull him back. McKinney tries harder, and Darren swings out hard, knocking McKinney to the ground.

‘DARREN, STOP,’ I shout and start forward as the horde approach and start grouping round Darren.

‘YOU FUCKERS,’ I shout and charge forward.

The infected drop down onto McKinney, who is trying to crab away. Within seconds, he is swamped with them biting into his legs and stomach. I reach them and swing the axe out to cut them away. McKinney screams from the pain of the bites. I kill those on him, and they draw back again. I drop down to McKinney’s side and watch as the blood pours from his mouth. I look down at his savaged body and see his innards spilling out of the ragged wound to his stomach.

‘Mr Howie. I’m sorry, Mr Howie…’ McKinney whispers as more blood cascades out of his mouth.

‘It’s okay, mate, I’m sorry. You’ve fought so bravely. You are so very brave.’ I feel tears spilling down my face as I cradle his head in my hands.

‘Please… Don’t let me become one of them,’ he whispers.

‘You’ll be okay. We can get you help,’ I weep as I speak, trying to offer him some comfort.

‘Don’t let them take me,’ he says again, imploring me as Dave lowers at my side with his knife in his hand.

‘Don’t you fucking touch him,’ I snarl at Dave. ‘Don’t you lay a hand on his fucking head,’ I scream out as strong hands grip me from behind and pull me away.

‘DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HIM,’ I scream at Dave, who stares back at me. I see a tear spilling down from his eye, but I keep yelling.

‘Take it easy,’ Clarence’s deep voice fills my ear as he pulls me back.

‘DAVE, DON’T FUCKING DO IT. DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE,’ I scream, and I see more tears fall down Dave’s eyes.

He drops his head and cradles McKinney in his arms. He holds him close as I scream and fight to break free.

Dave gently sweeps his blade across McKinney’s throat, and I see the red blood pouring out from the open artery.

‘DAVE, NO,’ I scream, and my legs go out from under me.

Clarence grips me hard and pulls me back, and I hear Sarah’s voice but can’t make out any words. Dave gently places his hands on McKinney’s face, and I watch as he closes McKinney’s eyes; then, he slowly stands and looks at me. His cheeks wet from the falling tears. Seeing McKinney die and then Dave crying breaks my heart, and I feel myself being pulled into the back of the Saxon. Dave climbs in beside me.

‘Where’s Darren?’ Tucker asks in a quiet voice.

‘They took him,’ Clarence says. I hear sobs breaking out around me, and I watch as Dave’s face remains expressionless, but he is still crying.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Howie,’ Dave says quietly, staring down at the floor. I see the hardest man I have ever met crumbling in front of me from that simple act to fulfil a dying man’s wish, and I fight my emotions back under control.

‘No, Dave.’ He looks at me, with fear in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say gently, and I hear more sobbing break out around me. The rear doors are pulled closed, and the engine starts.

The road must be clear because we pull away, and I feel the motion of the vehicle. Sarah drops down at my side, and she holds me as I fight to keep the tears from coursing down my face.

Dave and I stare at each other as we drive away.

Darren is pulled into the horde and fights with fury, still thinking he can take them all on, but as Howie weeps over McKinney, so the infection breaks cover within Darren’s body and surges to take control, making Darren gasp with the first wave of agony in his guts.

He staggers to the side. Overwhelmed by the pain. Gasping for air. Looking for help but seeing only infected on all sides. He tries to scream, but his voice doesn’t come. Only a soundless gasp as the infected move in. He clamps his eyes shut. Expecting to be torn apart and feels the hands on his body.

Holding him gently. Lowering him down until he’s blinking up into a sea of faces and red, bloodshot eyes. Confusion in his mind. In his eyes. His heart slows and he dies right there. On that street while engulfed by infected.

His life now over.

A second in time and they open again and Darren Smith, now feeling no pain at all, stares out through his own red, bloodshot eyes. His heart beating once again but now in the true state of being.

He slowly gets to his feet with thousands of infected, gazing at him with devotion and love.

He feels different. He feels very different. Strong. Confident. Fearless.

Something else too.

An urge inside. A pulsing urge to find Howie and kill him.

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

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A new job awaits. Huntington House needs a live-in security guard to prevent access during an inheritance dispute.

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FICTION LAND

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EXTRACTED SERIES

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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.

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Can these three heroes, extracted from their timelines at the point of death, save the world?

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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.

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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

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Table of Contents

- Copyright
- Contents
- Untitled
- Day Six
- Chapter 52
- Chapter 53
- Chapter 54
- Chapter 55
- Chapter 56
- Chapter 57
- Chapter 58
- Chapter 59
- Chapter 60
- Chapter 61
- Chapter 62
- Chapter 63
- Chapter 64
- Chapter 65
- Chapter 66
- Chapter 67
- Chapter 68
- Chapter 69
- Also by RR Haywood