Soon enough, the Wildcat powers its engines and I hear it fly out of the area. Whether it has run out of ammo or targets, I don’t know—the latter, I suspect. The bottle of fruit water is all but empty so I down the last of it and throw the bottle out into the road, where it disappears nicely into the debris.
Getting up, I walk back out onto the road ready to see the fresh carnage that will be laid out for me. The scene doesn’t disappoint, a new haze of dust hangs in the air to blend with the smoke. Beneath the heavy haze, obliterated bodies move, squirming Rabid bodies whose heads evaded a bullet. Dark patches of black blood pool and glisten on the ground as if the numerous wrecked cars scattered around have decided to squirt their engine oil out simultaneously. The blood starts to soak up some of the falling dust particles that are too big to escape gravity.
The destruction and killing has minimal effect on me; I have become so used to it over the last days. I’d always thought that the bloodshed I witnessed on the battlefield in my army days was horrific, and it was. Those images tormented my dreams, but they pale in comparison to the new images my brain has stored up for me. I dread reliving them when this is over, if it ever is.
Chapter 19
Body after mutilated body passes me by as I walk down the remainder of Bayswater Road. I have given up on moving between hold points, as there is little point now. New Rabids are still walking onto the road from side streets, buildings and the park, but they don’t show much interest in me. They show even less interest in the bodies of their kin on the ground, moving or not. All they are interested in is the noise of the battle and the fresh prey it promises.
I am still wary of them and try to keep my distance as we file down the road together. By far the bigger threat is the risk of getting mistaken for a Rabid again and getting shot, caught in crossfire or blown up. The dark murky atmosphere isn’t helping my cause; the visibility is terrible. The conditions make it unlikely that I will see friendlies to try to identify myself as one too before it’s too late. The best I can do to try and identify myself is to attach the torch to my M4 and switch it on. I keep the rifle pointed forward in the hopes the troops will see the light and take a second look at me before they open fire.
Some of the Rabids move along in packs, staying close together. The majority of the packs are relatively small, containing two or three Rabids. Some are bigger, with ten or so creatures moving in unison, like groups of teenagers when school’s out.
I steer well away from the packs and not just because they intimidate me. They are a prime target for any troops out here that remain unseen, or for their air support. Whether the packs are familiar with each other and are together for that reason, I don’t know. They could all be staff from the same office, a bunch of friends or even a family who were turned together for all I know. More likely, some are drawn together, like objects floating on water are attracted together. Whatever the reason, I stay well clear of them, stopping or changing my direction if I have to, to evade them.
On my left, the Russian Embassy marks the end of Hyde Park and the beginning of Kensington. The impressive tall white building remains locked behind its security gates and walls. The building looks abandoned, however, and the empty flagpole, sticking out from the front of the building, suggests it has been evacuated.
Just ahead, the road widens out as Bayswater Road changes into Notting Hill Gate with its office blocks, shops and supermarkets. The fighting is close now, I can smell it as well as hear it. I look for a vantage point where I might be able to recce the area before going further, without drawing too much Rabid attention.
On the left is a wall with a park bench positioned in front of it. It’s the best option I can see that will be easy to mount, relatively discreetly.
I make my way over to it casually, turning off the torch, step onto the bench, step onto its back, put my hands on top of the wall and swiftly pull myself up. As soon as I am up, I take hold of the M4 again, just in case my climb has drawn unwanted attention. Staying sat down on top of the wall, I stay still with my head down, my eyes looking back and right, checking I’m not about to be attacked. The Rabids carry on their march, moving past me with barely a second look. As satisfied as I can be that I’m okay to proceed, my head comes up slowly so that I can see if there is anything ahead.
A flash of light followed by a yellow fireball shows me where I need to be looking. The flash was below my field of vision and the explosion is still some way off. I count to just over three before I hear the boom from the explosion, following the initial flash. That tells me the explosion was over half a mile away. I reach for my monocular and pull it out of a small pocket on my left breast. Twisting the front lens, I adjust the mini telescope to focus in on the area the flash came from. The visibility is clogged by smoke and I’m still too low to see the area, I need to get higher. I take a quick look around me and then bring my foot up to the top of the wall so that I can stand. Balanced on top of the wall, I bring the monocular up to my eye again.
Flashes of light twinkle, penetrating the smoke haze in my magnified vision. The muzzle flashes from the gunshots which also crackle in my ears as I look at the battlefront. Yellow light blazes intermittently as a grenade or RPG explodes into the melee. Short bursts of tracer fire shoot in one direction or another to direct the fire from the heavy gun positions that must be set up or mounted on tanks or other transport. The light show tells me that the fighting is ferocious and constant, but flashes of light are all I can see. I can’t see any detail through the haze of smoke and the dimmed light conditions.
In the sky above the battlefront, two Apache Attack helicopters hover, to support the troops below. Both of the aircraft have tremendous firepower at their disposal, but neither is utilizing it to any great extent. My guess is the helicopter’s aircrew are finding it difficult to find targets without hitting their own troops. Why don’t they turn and fire in this direction and take out the Rabids marching towards the battle?
My answer comes immediately, and I duck in reflex. Two fast jets, one following the other, streak up Notting Hill Gate, over my head and past me up Bayswater Road. The jets are nowhere near full speed as their engines roar by. Instinctively, I know what payload they have just dropped into the air and I catch a glimpse of them as I take evasive action. Notting Hill Gate starts to erupt, beginning near the battlefront. A wave of explosions in a deadly chain reaction moves quickly up the road towards me as hundreds of mini-parachuted cluster bombs hit the ground. The deafening blasts multiply as more bombs hit their triggers on the ground and the fireball increases exponentially.
I have seconds before the wave reaches my position and the cluster bombs end their slowed descent. My jump left off the wall away from the road takes me down onto a small stretch of grass. The kit I’m carrying brings me down hard, and my knees give way to try to put me into a roll, but I come down straight and only manage to fall onto my side. There is no time to nurse my strains from the fall, my arms and legs scramble to get me back to the wall, to take cover. The day blazes bright as the explosions reach my part of the road. I cower behind the short wall, my arms pulling my head down into my body and my legs curling me up into a ball. Flames, shrapnel and debris erupt around the wall and come over the top of it. Pieces of rubble come down and hit my arms and back, I pray that the wall won’t succumb and collapse on top of me. Heat sears the atmosphere around my small pocket of sanctuary, and it burns the back of my hands as the ground shakes.
Finally, the heat dissipates as the last of the bombs have spent their fuel. None of the munitions dropped this side of the wall and I’m still alive, burnt, battered and bruised but still breathing. Slowly, my dust-covered hands and arms move down from my head, as pieces of debris fall away from me. More dust and debris trickles down my back, inside my clothes as my head comes up and my legs relax.
I look around and cough, causing more dust to fall out of my hair and into my lungs, I cough again. Rubble is piled up either side of me, the wall has collapsed on both
sides. I’m one lucky son of a bitch.
Dust fills my nostrils and mouth as I push myself up from the floor coughing badly and spitting what I can out. I wish I’d saved that last drop of fruit water now. Getting to my feet, I can hardly see anything around me apart from the destroyed wall I cowered behind. Dust and smoke hang like a barrier and the wall now resembles an arch; it has disintegrated around where I was. I stumble over the rubble towards the road, brushing myself down and I then, see what saved me. The bolted-down metal frame of the park bench has only a few pieces of splintered wood still attached to it. Its steel bars are twisted and bent but its ground bolts held as did the wall behind it. If it jumped down either side of the bench, I would have been blasted apart along with the wall.
In front of me, the road of Notting Hill Gate is utterly devastated. Any vehicles that happened to be here are now no more than mangled pieces of metal, the last of their interiors burning to nothing. I put my head down to cough violently, from the acrid smoke and dust that I can’t escape. As my coughing eases, my eyes focus on the ground. Beneath my feet are vaporised body parts, barely recognisable, charred as black as the road. My gaze widens, across the road and pieces of burnt, dismembered flesh and bone are smeared over the road like burnt plastic, still smouldering for me to breathe in.
I stumble again to move forward, taking my rifle in my grasp, I have to keep going. A noise from behind makes me turn. A Rabid appears through the haze, untouched and undaunted by the explosions. Reinforcements are on their way to take up the fight. I don’t want to get caught up with them, now that the road is cleared. I need the troops ahead to recognise me as a friendly as I approach, if there is any chance of that?
I shoot the Rabid in the head, but more shadows in the haze are already visible and moving this way. I turn my back on them and break into a jog down Notting Hill Gate, towards the sound of gunfire. I reach and unclip the torch from the front of my rifle and raise it above my head, waving it from side to side. I approach on faith that the troops will see the light and recognise I’m a friendly.
That was too close for comfort, Captain Walker thinks to himself as the wave of explosions moves up Notting Hill Gate, destroying everything in its path. The jets came in extremely low and the Apache helicopters had only just cleared the airspace. That would have just about summed up this operation so far, if there had been a mid-air collision or if the jets had dropped their payload a second earlier.
Neither event happened and as the dust settles, Walker sees immediately that it has made a difference to the battle. His troops are pushing forward as the tide of zombies has been cut off. There are still many to clear up but without the constant wave coming up behind, his troops are mopping up nicely, at least for now. He has no doubt more zombies will be coming; after all, that is the plan. The noise of the helicopters and the constant firing, even when there is nothing to fire at is supposed to draw them into the kill zone.
“FALL BACK, FALL BACK!” he shouts to his men. They need to regroup behind the barriers before the next wave comes. Visibility is limited and shadows move everywhere in the swirling, low-lying dust cloud and smoke. He doesn’t want to risk leaving his men out there when he can’t see what’s coming.
One by one, his men fall back through the open gap and back behind the barriers, taking their last shots before they do. Captain Walker slaps all the men he can on their back, telling them, ‘well done’ and ‘good job’, as they return. There are too many military uniforms in amongst the piles of bodies on the other side of the barrier. He can’t dwell on that now and neither can his men; he keeps talking to them, giving them encouragement, trying to keep their minds off their losses and their spirits up.
“Well done lads, form up, let’s get ready for the next lot. That’s it, lads, spread out, good job. Does anyone need ammo?” he encourages as he climbs up onto his raised platform behind his men and the barrier is shut.
Behind him and on both sides, the 50-cal machine gun posts will be reloading and getting ready for the next wave. The big machine guns haven’t been very effective, as the zombies move too fast over the wide space for them to react. They are deadly when the enemy bunch up though and they first start firing, the awesome firepower also reassuring the men.
“Report, Eagle Eye, over,” Walker says into his radio as he looks over his shoulder.
Behind the Captain, perched thirty meters up in the air on top of a swaying boom lift, two troopers act as spotters for the offensive. Nobody had wanted to volunteer for the task when Walker had asked his men, ‘who wants to go up?’ He suspects most of the men now regret their decision not to volunteer, after fighting off zombies since the early hours. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t have wanted to be up there when the jets had flown over low and the explosions had started.
“Nothing to report yet, Sir. The dust cloud is too thick, but it is starting to dissipate slowly, Sir, over.”
“Let me know as soon as you can see anything. Over and out,” Walker orders.
“Keep your eyes peeled and shout if you see anything. No one fires until ordered,” he tells his men at the barrier in front of him, as he walks along their lines.
“Nest 1, give me a short burst.” As soon as Walker gives the order into his radio, the machine gun on his right fires its 50-cal for a couple of seconds, the noise designed to draw the zombies to them.
Nothing emerges out of the shadows of the dust cloud. The whole area has gone eerily quiet since the jets flew over dropping their ordinance. Walker doesn’t allow himself to think that the worst is over—he knows better.
“Eagle eye to Captain Walker, receiving, over?”
“Receiving, over,” Walker replies into his radio, his anticipation building.
“Sir, there is a figure in the cloud coming this way. It is running, but it looks like it is waving a light. Over.”
“Waving a light, is it a friendly? Over.”
“Uncertain, Sir, over.”
“Is it alone? Over.”
“Yes, Sir, it would appear so, over.”
“All positions, hold fire, let’s see what we’ve got,” Walker orders into his radio. “Hold fire, lads, possible friendly approaching. Send it down the line!” he then shouts to his men in front of him.
“Multiple shadows moving behind the possible friendly, Sir, it could be a trap?” Walker hears through his radio from the nest above.
Shit, Walker thinks to himself, deciding how to play it. What are the odds on there being a friendly out there amongst the zombies? He can’t take any risks with this position.
“All positions continue to hold fire until I order,” Walker reaffirms into his radio. “Corporal Jenkins, report.”
“Sir, I have the target in my sight. It could be a friendly; it's waving a torch and holding a rifle. The shadows behind him are gaining on him and closing in on our position though, Sir, over,” Walker’s best sniper tells him from his sniping position away to the Captain’s right.
Walker’s brain aches as he thinks what to do. He cannot and will not take any risks with his men or this position. If this position is overrun, it would have ramifications all along the operational lines and could bring the whole operation down. An Apache flies over and past their line, Walker has no doubt it is about to engage the enemy and it forces him to give his orders to his men.
“Walker to all positions. Fire at will but try not to hit the possible friendly.” He barks into his radio as he sees the waving light through the haze and jumps down off his platform to get to the forward barrier.
Nearly there, I think to myself, my legs burning and my arm aching from waving the torch above my head. I trip again over something on the ground and nearly go down. Debris and body parts litter my path forward, but I daren’t slow down. Rabids are closing in on me. I can hear them behind. I haven’t been shot yet, but if I get swallowed up into the pack, I can expect to be filled with bullets along with the rest of them.
Tracer fire flashes through the air on my left, quickly follow
ed by the loud cracking of a heavy machine gun. The volley wasn’t aimed at me and it gives me a glimmer of hope that I’ve been seen. Bright lights ahead through the haze show me the way and are getting closer. I begin to make out objects coming up, there is a barrier right across the road by the looks of it, with various platforms and positions set up behind it.
As I get closer, the air clears considerably, and I can see what is coming up. It is a barrier across the road that has to be about a couple of meters high, too high to jump over. There is movement all along the top of the barrier. I can feel the rifles aimed at me by the troops positioned there. I trip again, over a leg and now I do have to slow. Dead bodies are piled up all over the road and the piles get deeper as I move forward. I work around them as best I can, trying to find solid ground. The noise of Rabids behind is so close, it’s only a matter of seconds before I get swallowed up by them.
I go to shout, to tell the troops behind the barrier I’m a friendly. Gunfire roars into the air all around, before a sound leaves my mouth. Tracer fire and bullets fly above my head as the top of the barrier lights up with muzzle flashes.
Capital Falling (Book 3): Resurgence Page 20