Z-Series | Book 6 | Z-Endgame

by Hatchett

  Like a robot, Kate turned and headed back to those still trying to wriggle away and shot each of them one by one. Then, she raised the gun, placed it under her chin and pulled the trigger.

  Melissa’s high-pitched scream joined the deeper chorus of the men writhing on the floor.

  “Fuck me!” Mamba shouted in surprise, a smile on his face as blood rained down all around.

  He turned to Ahmed.

  “Looks like ya ain’t gettin’ a shag after all.”

  Then he started carrying a now catatonic Melissa back towards the farmhouse, shouting ‘shut the fuckers up, Ahmed’ as he walked away.

  As he turned the corner on the way to the kitchen door, he heard the first shots and the screams began to die down.

  Ahmed and the men looked around the scene in the ensuing silence, taking in the mess. When Ahmed looked up, he found Faruk and Ismet were right there next to him and he hadn’t even heard them approach. They were covered in blood and other parts of the body which Ahmed really didn’t want to think about and were staring feverishly at the scene.

  Faruk: “What did…”

  Ismet: “We miss?”

  Neither of them had taken their eyes off the carnage.

  “Fill yer boots,” Ahmed muttered and walked away.

  A few minutes later, he was sitting on a low wall smoking a cigarette when Mamba emerged from the kitchen, doing up his flies and wiping his bloody knife on his trouser leg.

  “No time fer sittin’ ‘round, Ahmed,” Mamba said, “we gotta go.”

  He headed towards the row of motorbikes as Ahmed put out his smoke and rose to follow.

  53

  Day 28 – 17:00

  M4

  It had taken them half an hour to get back to the M4 and clear the barricade so that they could resume their journey Eastwards.

  “Be careful this time, Basir,” Mamba said through the walkie talkie as they set off.

  “Wasn’t my fault,” Basir came back in a whiny voice.

  Mamba put the walkie talkie down, shaking his head.

  “Good shag?” Ahmed asked, looking out of the side window towards the farm, where the fire was still burning and churning smoke high up into the sky. He noticed the odd zombie shuffling across the fields and briefly wondered who the people at the farm were and where they had come from.

  “No, fuckin’ awful. Like shaggin’ a corpse. Didn’t move ‘n didn’t say shit, even when I got the knife out. Jus’ stared at the ceilin’.”

  “Ya have such an effect on women.”

  “Fuck off!”

  “Shoulda tickled her bum.”

  “I ain’t inta that, man.”

  “Not what ya tol’ me afore.”

  “Can we change the subject? Please?”

  “OK, but I bet yer gonna start itchin’ afore we get ta London. All ‘em sweaty, dirty, hairy-arsed bikers bin bangin’ that ho fer weeks.”

  “Thanks fer that, Ahmed,” Mamba replied, automatically reaching down to scratch his groin while Ahmed laughed.

  “We ain’t gonna get ta Heathrow ‘til after dark,” Ahmed noted, looking at his watch, “’n that’s if we don’t bump inta any more dirty, hairy bikers.”

  “Can ya jus’ stop wiv the hairy bikers’ bit?” Mamba asked, beginning to lose patience.

  “OK. Dirty, fat bikers, then.”

  Mamba shook his head.

  “What towns we got comin’ up?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

  Ahmed took the map off the seat and opened it up.

  “Theale or Readin’ in ‘bout twenty-five K’s, then bugger all ‘til Slough ‘n then we’re nearly there.”

  “I’ve heard of Readin’,” Mamba said. “Shit football team.”

  “Yeah, shit.”

  “Name one good player who’s played fer Readin’.”

  “I can’t tell ya any player who’s played fer Readin’.”

  “See? Must be shit.”

  “Looks like a big place,” Ahmed noted.

  “So?”

  “Mebbe the place is too busy ‘n crowded ta stop over. Might get stuck again if we come across more dirty bikers.”

  Mamba snorted.

  “Must be a service station or summat.”

  Ahmed consulted the map.

  “There’s one called Moto, jus’ off the motorway ta the South of Readin’.”

  “Sounds good. Gotta be a hotel there. Tell Basir ta get the beers ready.”

  “We’ll have ‘bout fifty K’s ta go tomorra.”

  “Perfect. Get there by midday, have a scout, kick their arses by teatime.”

  54

  Day 29 – 14:00

  Heathrow

  Although they’d only had fifty kilometres to go to reach Heathrow, that stretch of the M4 had been busier than expected, although thankfully, they hadn’t encountered any more bikers, neither dirty nor hairy, to further slow their progress.

  Following the directions provided by Ahmed, they’d parked the two trucks and other vehicles in a business park next to Swan Lake, five hundred metres from the airport’s North West perimeter, and far enough away that they wouldn’t be seen or heard.

  There were zombies everywhere, so they’d needed to kill a few and get dirty to avoid constant hassle. Mamba again noticed that there were a few zombies crawling rather than walking and made a mental note to mention it to Ahmed later.

  They spread out in small teams, each with their own weapons and walkie talkies. Mamba, Ahmed, Emre, Walid and Kiraz took the most direct route, mainly because Mamba was impatient and simply couldn’t wait to see what was going on at the airport.

  Mamba’s team went straight down Stanwell More Road until they reached the point where they could look down the whole length of the Northern Runway disappearing into the distance.

  From his spot on a grassy verge, Mamba ran his binoculars over the airport, noting that the dead man’s land between the perimeter fence and the line of vehicles had been breached at various points by the bombs which had been detonated by Savas and his team. The area was now literally crawling with zombies.

  He scanned across grounds, expecting to see people tending to their planted crops, but there was nothing except more zombies. He couldn’t see T3 from his position so he had no idea what might be going on there. He would either have to wait for his teams to report in or he would have to move his own team.

  Something didn’t feel right, so he decided to move around the airport until he could see what he needed to see but decided it would probably make sense to stay to the North of the airport.

  He and the team walked back up Stanwell More Road to a roundabout and took Bath Road which would take them through Longford and behind the main airport car parks.

  They left Bath Road at the Compass Centre and walked through the car park to the Northern Perimeter Road, which they crossed then entered the Europcar car rental premises. This allowed them to get close to the Northern perimeter fence and see across the airport to T3 without being seen themselves.

  As they approached the perimeter fence, Mamba carefully examined the CCTV cameras on the poles, remembering how they had been active when he last walked this way. He didn’t expect them to be working, but you could never be sure. After watching them for a few moments, he was reasonably satisfied that they weren’t operational, so he made his way to the fence, binoculars at the ready.

  He scanned the airport with mounting suspicion and confusion. As he thought, there were zombies wandering around all over the place and a shitload of dead bodies scattered about. At first, he thought the zombies and bodies might be there to form some kind of deterrent, but there didn’t seem to be any internal barrier to stop the zombies going wherever they wanted.

  The next surprise was the level of damage the bombs had done. There were huge gaps in the perimeter to the South and T3 had almost disappeared if you excluded the pile of rubble where it had once stood. That was all well and good, but he couldn’t tell if the helicopters were still there because the
re were jetways and parked planes between him and where the helicopters were likely to be.

  To Mamba, it looked like a trap. A case of play dead, wait for the idiot to lose concentration and make a mistake then stick it to him. Wasn’t going to happen.

  “I ain’t that stupid, Cobra,” Mamba muttered.

  “What?” Ahmed asked.

  “Nothin’. What do ya see?”

  Ahmed lowered his own binoculars and looked at Mamba.

  “Fuck all ‘cept fer the usual airport shit ‘n zombies.”

  Mamba nodded in agreement and reached for his walkie talkie.

  “Report,” he ordered.

  Dev was the first to reply. He’d been sent to the car park used by both Savas and Mamba.

  “Nothing Boss, except litter and dried blood.”

  “Ya seen any people?”

  “No, Boss. Just lots of munchers.

  Mamba sat back and listened to the other updates which came in, all reporting much the same.

  “What do ya think?” he asked Ahmed.

  “Nobody’s home.”

  “Where’ve they gone then?”

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  “Well, ya seem ta know everythin’ else,” Mamba shot back sarcastically.

  He picked up the walkie talkie and ordered Basir to go get the vehicles and bring them to the Hertz area next to where he was standing. He’d spotted a large gap in the perimeter fence which would be perfect for accessing the airport.

  55

  Day 29 – 15:00

  Heathrow

  Mamba first sent Basir with the BMW X5 full of armed men to scout around T3, Dev to check out T5 in a Merc, and Emre to take the Volvo to check out T4.

  Faruk and Ismet had approached him and asked if they could go for a walk. Mamba had shrugged his shoulders in a ‘please yourself’ gesture and the two disappeared as if they’d never been there in the first place. Mamba could only wonder what the two nutters had in mind.

  They’d parked the two articulated trucks on the Northern Perimeter Road, close to the entrance of Hertz, easily accessible for a quick getaway should the need arise. Mamba was still a little uneasy sending the SUVs into the airport, but he needed to know what was going on and it was clearly better to send in the cannon fodder first than put himself at unnecessary risk.

  He marched up and down, muttering to himself as Ahmed jumped onto the bonnet of a rental car and lit a cigarette.

  “Ya gonna have a heart attack if ya ain’t careful,” Ahmed cautioned.

  “Says the man smokin’ a fag.”

  “Touché. Want one?”

  Mamba strolled over.

  “Why not? Ya only live once.”

  “Twice, if ya count bein’ a zombie.”

  They watched the airport as they smoked in silence. At any other time, it could almost have been considered tranquil, but this was not one of those times.

  Ten long minutes later, the reports started coming in, all confirming that there didn’t appear to be anyone around. Mamba hadn’t heard any bombs going off or shooting, so he’d sort of worked that one out for himself…unless the bastards were waiting for him.

  “Ahmed, take the Range Rover ‘n go check T3.”

  “Why? Basir’s already bin there.”

  “Jus’ fuckin’ do it. Ya know Basir’s got his head up his arse most of the time.”

  Ahmed slid off the bonnet with a sigh and strolled across to the Range Rover.

  “No rush,” Mamba shouted sarcastically.

  Eventually, Ahmed took off and Mamba called Dev to come and pick him up, thinking that if anyone were looking, they might not realise he’d got into the Merc. He ordered Emre to go check out the hotels next to T4.

  Dev sped into the Hertz car park like he was driving around Silverstone and skidded to a halt. Mamba shook his head and got in the passenger side.

  “Why don’t ya make it more obvious,” Mamba scolded, as he settled into the seat. “Moron.”

  “There’s no one around, so who cares?” Dev shot back, wheel skidding as he accelerated to the end of the row and screeched around the corner to bring them back up the next row back towards the gap in the perimeter fencing. “I turned off the assisted braking, so I could slide it,” Dev added proudly.

  “Well, it ain’t Wacky fuckin’ Races,” Mamba remarked.

  “Should be,” Dev countered. “We should map out a track, find some fast cars, and go for it.”

  The idea actually sounded good to Mamba as he imagined speeding around Heathrow in a Ferrari or Lambo. He’d always wanted one of those. In bright red or burnt orange, depending on which one he found, but he couldn’t imagine finding anything like that in the airport car parks. He remembered a few years ago nicking a Porsche at gunpoint from some rich wanker in a pub car park in Essex. The bloke had nearly shat himself when Mamba stuffed the gun in his face then dragged him out of the car and gave him a couple of good kicks to the ribs for good measure. Mamba had made a good few quid out of that boost and he laughed at the memory.

  “What?” Dev asked.

  “Nothin’,” Mamba replied.

  “Where we going?” Dev asked, just as Ahmed came through on the walkie talkie saying there was a message for him on the apron by T3.

  Mamba pointed towards T3 and Dev floored the accelerator and the Merc took off. It didn’t take long to reach the apron, where Basir and Ahmed were standing and chatting next to their two cars.

  Dev skidded to a halt and Mamba got out, looking around in case it was a trap.

  He first noticed that there were no helicopters. He then noticed the number of dead bodies littered around the area. Ahmed saw him looking.

  “Bin a bit of a battle here,” Ahmed said.

  “Obviously,” Mamba replied sarcastically.

  Mamba saw some bodies in riot gear and walked across to take a closer look. Their weapons had been removed.

  “Cleaned out,” Ahmed said helpfully.

  “Obviously. So, where’s this message?”

  Ahmed pointed to the jetway and Mamba saw the cartoon with the words ‘‘Wot no soldiers? Ha, Ha, Ha’, followed by ‘Mamba says Hi’ under the drawing.

  Mamba smiled.

  “I tol’ Savas ta do that,” Mamba said, grinning from ear to ear. “Good, ain’t it? I bet it pissed ‘em off.”

  “Prob’ly,” Ahmed confirmed, pointing to the jetway then up along its length, tracing new arrows which had been drawn on it, to one of the few walls of T3 which was still standing. There, in big black painted letters were the words ‘You missed us arsehole!’ followed by ‘We’re off. Bet you can’t find us.’

  Mamba’s smile faltered.

  “Where they gone?”

  “How the fuck should I know?” Ahmed replied. “Wiv ‘em helis, they coulda gone ta another fuckin’ country.”

  “Fuck!” Mamba shouted.

  He expected them to be here. He expected to watch them and plan a way of taking them out once and for all. Cut them off, let them starve and pick them off one by one. He could be patient if the situation warranted it. He…wait a minute.

  “I know where they gone,” he said, smiling again. “They ain’t as fuckin’ clever as they think they are.”

  “Where?” Ahmed asked.

  “The Tower.”

  “Ain’t big enough fer all of ‘em.”

  “Lookin’ at all these dead bodies, there can’t be many left.”

  “Yeah, but there ain’t many soldiers lyin’ dead, so there must be loads still alive.”

  “So? If they’ve gone ta the Tower, they’re stuck. Plus, that arsehole Daniel is there, ‘n all ‘em fuckin’ traitors like Pinky ‘n Perky. ‘Bout time I sorted ‘em out too.”

  “Ah man, we only jus’ got here ‘n now ya wanna go ta the Tower. Can’t we jus’ stop fer awhile ‘n have some fun?”

  “Ya had fun at the farmhouse.”

  “Hardly. Unless ya call watchin’ ya scratch yer bollocks fun.”

  “Come on, Ahmed.
Don’t tell me ya didn’t enjoy our little shootin’ game.”

  “Nah, I didn’t ‘cos ya cheated as usual.”

  “I didn’t. Jus’ ‘cos I thought of usin’ the rocket ‘n moppin’ up most of the available points, yer now sulkin’.”

  “The rocket was cheatin’. Ya said ya had to shoot someone in a window when Emre shot ‘em others. Anyway, I reckon that woman beat ya. She took out twelve, then capped herself. Way ta go! How many points does that add up ta…?”

  “Don’t count ‘cos she didn’t kill ‘em, jus’ shot their nuts off. She only got 20 points; 10 fer blowin’ her own head off ‘n 10 fer bein’ a bird.”

  “Whatever.”

  “So, ya ready ta go?”

  “No. I wanna find a pub, have some beers ‘n find a nice comfy bed ta sleep in.”

  “We could do that here,” Mamba said. “We got all we need in the truck.”

  “Nah, this is a shithole. I want a proper pub.”

  “We can do that,” Mamba agreed with a smile. “I know jus’ the place.”

  56

  Day 29 – 19:00

  The George and Dragon

  The SUVs and articulated trucks were sitting in the middle of Bath Road, right outside ‘The George and Dragon’.

  Mamba had a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, his foot tapping in time to the music playing in the background, but there was hardly any talking going on and the atmosphere was morose.

  On arriving at the pub, they’d found a dead Savas on the pavement outside, and when they ventured into the pub, they found the bodies of Tolga and Yavuz with half their heads missing and blood all over the place. The message ‘Mamba is next’ had been daubed on the wall in the men’s blood.

  It hadn’t done much good for morale, but instead of moving on to another location, Mamba had insisted that they stay and ‘honour’ their fallen comrades. He arranged for some of the men to clear up the mess, others to go get some food and drinks out of the trucks and others to find some music.

  “Coulda done wiv a good game of cards,” Mamba said with a grin, referring to the blood-soaked cards that Tolga and Yavuz had obviously playing with when they were shot.