Surviving the Fall: How England Died

by Stephen Cross

  “Time for a break Mac,” said Ellie. She placed a cup of tea down on the table.

  “Thanks love, that’s just great. How’s Angie?”

  “She’s upstairs, sleeping.” Ellie sat down and sipped from her cup of tea. “How long do you think it will be before the army get here?

  “I don’t know, could be any time. I think we’ll hear on the radio first. Important to keep scanning the radio. I imagine they would put out some sort of broadcast once they have restored order in London.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Mac blew gently on his tea and took a sip. “I do too.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. Mac still felt tired in the mind. The events of yesterday now seemed but a dream. He kept thinking, what if I just drive into town, what if everything is normal and it all just happened in my head?

  But the fire plumes kept rising. The jets kept flying. The customers stayed away. And one of the infected had been scratching and moaning by the front door earlier that morning. He had watched through a gap in the curtains until it went away, stumbling blindly back onto the road and disappearing from view. He hadn’t told the women, but had decided it was best to tighten up defences. No telling how long they would be in the pub.

  “How much food have we got?” asked Ellie.

  “Enough,” he said. “We have tins of stuff that will stay good for months. Water should be ok, as long as it keeps raining. I’ve got a water butt out back.

  “Don’t you worry, Ellie, you’ll be safe here, and I’d guess you’ll be giving birth in a few months in some military hospital somewhere.”

  “Not what I had in mind.” She laughed quietly.

  “No, life does throw the odd curveball. That’s for sure.” He remembered his son. So many years ago, but still so much pain.

  A loud click sounded, and they were in darkness. The lights had gone out.

  “Mac…’ whispered Ellie.

  He sighed. “I guess the power has gone.”

  Angie shouted from upstairs.

  “Come on, let’s go and see to Angie.”

  Angie lay in the darkness and looked up in relief when Mac and Ellie came into the room.

  “What’s happened Mac? Is it a fuse?”

  “You ok?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll go check the fuses.” He was back a few minutes later, torch in hand.

  “Not a fuse, it looks like the power has gone.”

  Angie began to cry. Mac leaned in and wrapped his arms around her. “Hey, don’t worry. It’ll be ok, like one big camping trip.”

  “Don’t be stupid. Of course it won’t.” She found herself smiling anyway. “But thanks.”

  “Right, I’ll go and get our camping gear, candles, and I have a little stove somewhere,” said Mac. “I’ll rustle up some dinner.”

  Ellie said, “I’ll help. Tell me where things are and I’ll go get them, your leg…”

  “Don’t worry about me, I’ll-”

  “No Mac,” said Ellie. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, but it’s not so much out of concern for your leg, but more that we need you to get better. We need us all at our full strength.”

  Ellie stood up, her frame casting a large shadow in the torch light. “Things are different now.”

  Mac nodded. “Right you are…” He picked up the crowbar from beside the bed and passed it to Ellie. “Right you are.”

  Zone Lima Delta

  Chapter 1

  Sergeant Donald Allen stared straight ahead as Second Lieutenant Dalby read the mission orders to the platoon. Allen sensed the nervousness in Dalby, only out of training from Sandhurst three months ago. This was Dalby’s first real world situation.

  It was 3:30am, and it was raining hard. Three troop carriers idled nearby.

  “Ok men,” said Dalby, “We are to proceed to Junction 16a of the M25 and assist with the containment of the London Perimeter. On no account are any civilian or hostile persons to be allowed to break the perimeter. All hostiles are to be met with lethal force.

  “The civilians are to be corralled into extraction zones, ready for transport to safe zones.

  “Any civilians trying to escape the perimeter ahead of extraction are to be considered hostile and dealt with accordingly.

  “Any questions?”

  There was shuffling throughout the ranks. One of the privates, Walton, called out, “What the fuck is the London Perimeter?”

  “Watch it Walton,” said Allen. He cast him a stern look.

  “It’s ok Sergeant.” Dalby looked at Walton. “London is being closed. As far as I know, and as far as we need to know, the virus is running out of control in London, and a full evac has been ordered. In order to further contain the virus, the evac is to be managed.”

  Mumbling from the troops. Allen stood forward, “Ok, you lot, shut it. Listen to your officer.” He noticed a few sharp glances in his direction, but the troops returned to order. Standing tight, staring ahead.

  Dalby said, “That’s as much as I know.”

  Walton spoke again, “So when does a civilian become a hostile?”

  Dalby ignored the question and turned to Allen. “Sergeant. Reprimand that man.” He turned on his heel and marched to the first troop carrier.

  “Ok, Let’s go,” shouted Allen, his deep voice cutting into the wind and rain. “One section per truck, Charlie section in the first, Echo in the second and Indigo in third. Walton, you’re with me.”

  The troops filed into the trucks. The rain fell harder.

  The truck rumbled along the A-road out of the base, Allen sitting in the darkness of the carrier in the far corner. Wind blew in from the tarpaulin sides and the men sat tight together to preserve heat.

  “Is this for real Sarge?” asked Corporal Lewis.

  “Don’t know son. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s some fancy exercise,” said Walton. Some of the other men laughed, and few nodded in agreement. There was nervousness in the truck. Hardly any of these men, kids really, had seen real action yet.

  “Enough with the wisecrack. Get some shut eye,” said Allen. “Exercise or not, no telling when you’ll next be getting some rest.”

  Allen peered out of the side of the tarpaulin. The lane on the other side of the road was jammed with traffic. Some of the cars were empty. Even though it was 4am, people where walking along the road; couples, families, small children. They all eyed the troop carriers and some of the people waved, their eyes suddenly filled with hope. A dad pointed out the army vehicles to his small son, who beamed a smile and waved.

  Allen closed the tarpaulin, he’d seen enough to know this was no exercise.

  Thirty minutes later, as they neared the motorway, they heard the first unmistakeable cracks of gunfire in the early morning air. Single shots, one after another.

  The men in the back of the carrier shuffled uneasily.

  “This is for real, isn’t it?” asked Singh, a young private.

  Allen spoke quickly, before conversation buzzed up - “Ok men, keep your weapons on safety until we get on site. Stay in the trucks until the Lieutenant has our orders. Keep calm, look out for each other. From what I’ve seen, this virus does funny things to people.”

  “How do we know who has the virus?” said Walton.

  “I don’t know. We’ll find out.”

  Allen looked over the troops in his section. The oldest was Corporal Lewis, only twenty two. Allen had twenty years on him.

  One by one, as the shooting became louder, each of the young men looked up to the Sergeant. He turned his gaze towards the back of the carrier, his expression motionless. But inside he felt a familiar anxiety fill his stomach. He quelled it quickly, stone cold. It was the way it had to be.

  They went over a roundabout and down an exit onto the motorway, the gunfire now loud and continuous. Other military vehicles lined the road. The truck pulled into the side of the exit and stopped. Shouting could be heard behind the gunfire. Screaming, too.
>
  “Steady!” said Allen. The men held their weapons tight, sharing their glances between the back of the truck and the Sarge.

  Dalby appeared at the back of the truck, “Allen, come with me.”

  Allen walked down the truck, “Stay here men, listen to Lewis.” He nodded at the young corporal, who nodded back.

  Allen jumped onto the tarmac. As he walked round the corner, he gasped inwardly.

  At the bottom of the exit a number of military vehicles, combined with makeshift fences made of bollards and barbed wire, blocked the motorway entirely. The fences continued up and over the top of the steep embankments that lined both sides of the road.

  And then the cars. Hundreds of cars filled the road on the way to London, as far as Allen could see. On the horizon, numerous plumes of smoke rose into the early blue tinted sky, telling of the many raging fires in the city.

  Then Allen heard the screaming and yelling that pierced the gunfire with a sharp falsetto; it came from the people, the hundreds of people, who were squeezed in between the cars, standing on the cars, squashed up against the fences, trying to climb the fences.

  Soldiers were pushing them back.

  Soldiers were shooting. The potent smell of gunpowder in the air.

  Whether they were shooting the people, or hostiles, he didn’t know. He didn’t know what hostiles were yet.

  “Sergeant!” Dalby said. Allen pulled himself away from the hypnotic chaos of the fence and followed Dalby to a small encampment under the bridge, a few hundred feet behind the front line, where a hastily constructed base of operations stood.

  A few tables were set out where men with laptops sat and spoke into headsets. A large ordinance survey map of the motorway junction and surrounding countryside had been erected. A Major stood by the map, talking with other officers. He was a tall man, his hands on his hips, nodding at something another officer was saying.

  “Sir!” said Dalby standing to attention and saluting. Allen followed suit.

  “Dalby?” said the Major.

  “Sir.”

  “Good, we need some relief on the northbound carriageway - that’s this one - it’s turned into a real shit show and the men holding there are exhausted. We’ve lost four of them, can you believe it?”

  “No sir.”

  The major stared out to the barrier - “They’ve been coming all night. Can’t blame the poor buggers, the virus is in there and they want out, but we can’t let it spread, can we?”

  “No sir.”

  “You’re familiar with the orders?”

  “Sir.”

  “Good. Get your men up on the trucks and along the fence on the embankment, you’ll have a good view across the whole scene. We are filtering people through two gates.” He motioned to an area where civilians where being allowed through the fence and taken to waiting trucks. “We get the trucks filled, and off they go to the safe zones. Simple as that. Except any infected are possible zeds, so we take them to the holding pen, over there.” He pointed across the crash barrier to the other side of the motorway, where a large number of people where contained in a makeshift cage. “They get taken to a field hospital somewhere, in those trucks.” A different line of trucks waited.

  “You said ‘zeds’, sir?”

  “The infected. Zeds. Z for Zombies. If it walks like a duck, Lieutenant.”

  Allen and Dalby glanced at each other.

  The Major continued. “Anyone with a wound, bite marks, bleeding of any sort, is considered a possible zed. You see anyone on the other side of the barrier who is bleeding, who has any flesh wounds, who is attacking anyone else, they are considered hostile and are to be executed with extreme prejudice. Is that clear Dalby?”

  “Sir.”

  The Major cast a careful gaze over the Lieutenant. “This is not a pretty day. Your men are going to have particular challenges today. Do you understand?”

  “I think so, sir.”

  The major looked Dalby up and down. “When was your commission?”

  “Three months ago. Sir.”

  “Christ.” The Major looked at Allen for the first time. “You seem like you have seen some action Sergeant?”

  Allen stood to attention. “Sir, two tours in Afghanistan, three in Iraq.”

  “Thank God for that,” said the Major, seemingly satisfied.

  Dalby threw a quick and sharp glance at Allen.

  The Major pointed up the sides of the embankment. “The fence tracks up there and across a field for a good few hundred meters, before we hit a rock wall. The people are trying to sneak round the fence up there. Tell the men you post there that if people get past the barrier, give them one verbal warning, then one warning shot, and if they don’t turn back, they are to be considered hostile.” The Major stared at Dalby. “Are we clear?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good, now get to it. And Lieutenant, Sergeant, I have a feeling that what we are doing here is going to be very important. Good luck.” He turned to walk away, then paused. “One more thing gentlemen - you need to shoot them in the head.”

  Dalby and Allen nodded.

  As they walked back to the trucks the Lieutenant said to Allen, “Take Charlie section up the embankment, Sergeant, relieve the men up there. I’ll manage things down here.”

  Allen knew he should be down here, in the thick of it, but he nodded.

  “Ok, sir.”

  Chapter 2

  Allen jogged over to the truck holding Charlie section. At least Corporal Lewis was amongst Charlie, he had spent time in Afghanistan. Not much action, but it was a deployment at least.

  “Ok boys, we’re up the embankment, let’s have you!” The men filed out and Allen repeated the orders to the men. He noticed a chilling in the ranks as the implications of what they were being asked to do set in.

  “How can Brits be hostile, Sarge?” asked Private O’Reilly, a young scouser.

  Allen wondered the same thing, but said, “We’re not talking about Mr and Mrs bloody Smith from next door, lad. We’re talking about the virus. Turns people into savages.”

  “But what about the ones who break the fence, are we really going to…”

  “Pack it in!” shouted Allen. “You have our orders. Now get up the bloody hill.”

  The men climbed up the side of the embankment, where a number of tired looking soldiers were already stationed. Allen tapped one them on the shoulder, “Where’s your section head?”

  The young soldier said nothing and pointed up the hill, his eyes red and, so it seemed to Allen, empty.

  Allen ran up the hill to where he saw another sergeant. “5th company, Sergeant Allen. Here to relieve you lot.”

  The Sergeant nodded at Allen. “You’re welcome to it. This place is fucked.” He was standing at the top of the embankment. A tall fence carried on for about a hundred yards across a flat farm field, where the land rose quickly to a meet a high rock face of about fifty foot. Allen could see soldiers down at the far end. The present company’s sergeant shouted down the line - “Ok lads, lets get the fuck out of here!”

  He turned to Allen. “I’ve lost two men this morning. One got bit, the other shot himself.”

  “Shot himself?”

  “That’s right.” He looked up the line and motioned to his men to hurry up. Three men arrived and continued down the embankment in silence with their sergeant.

  Allen quickly stationed his men. He put four along the fencing in the field, and stationed the other four down the embankment.

  The crowd of civilians on the other side of the fence was edging forward, taking advantage of the change of the guard.

  Allen walked to the bottom of the embankment, inspecting his men’s positions, making sure the cover was good.

  “Ok! Single shots, mark your targets. Try and keep this lot back with a few shots at their feet. We can’t have them swamping the fence.”

  His men started firing a few feet in front of the advancing crowd, who responded with yells, and a reluctant retreat. Al
len stared at the crowd - normal men, women, all ages, children. He swallowed, his mouth and throat suddenly dry.

  “This ain’t right sir!” shouted Walton.

  “They get past this fence and you’ll have to shoot them. That what you want son?” Walton put his head down, frowning. “Then keep your fucking trap shut and do your job.”

  There was a buzz on the com link in his ear. “Come in.”

  “Serge, it’s Lewis. You have to get up here.”

  “Roger. On my way. Walton, keep them back. I’m going up over the ridge.”

  Allen ran up the hill, holding his machine gun up, ready to fire. The other side of the fence was teeming with people, all trying to find a way out of the hell they had suddenly found themselves in.

  Allen paused. He saw a young man in a white t-shirt stained with blood. His mouth also covered in blood. He was stumbling mindlessly without purpose - not trying to scale the embankment, but wandering from left to right and back, his arms grabbing at people running past him.

  That’s what a zed looks like, thought Allen. He raised his gun and fired off a single shot. It hit the man in the chest, and he fell to the ground. Allen lowered his weapon, and watched as the man got up again, oblivious to the new hole in his heart.

  Allen swallowed hard. He raised his gun and this time hit the man with a clean head shot, blood and brain matter exploding from the back of his skull.

  The man fell to the ground, and this time didn’t get up. Allen nodded his head slowly, he had seen it for himself now. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t rational, if it was against everything he had ever believed - it was the reality. Let the politicians and the philosophers work out the whys and hows. Sergeant Donald Allen would deal with mopping up the mess.

  He continued his sprint up the embankment, keeping a sharp eye for any more hostiles. As he reached the field, he saw why he had been called up. Hoards of people lined the field, the mass of them twenty feet or so away from the fence, a unstable invisible boundary holding them back.

  His men reinforced the boundary with regular shots to the ground when anyone tried to break the ranks.