Surviving the Fall: How England Died

by Stephen Cross

  Allen eyed the cars they passed. Most of them were empty, but some contained bodies.

  “What do you think about these cars Lewis? The bodies are giving me the creeps.”

  “Agreed sir,” said Lewis. “Any one of them could be a zed.”

  “We get stuck here, and we’re in trouble. I’m going to speak to Dalby.”

  Allen caught up with Dalby.

  “Sir, these cars - some of them have bodies.”

  “Yes, they do Sergeant.” Dalby didn’t look at Allen, but stared straight ahead as he marched.

  “Do you not think that we’re putting ourselves at risk here? Some of those cars could contain zeds. This pileup, there is no space to manoeuvre.”

  “What’s your point Sergeant?” said Dalby.

  “I think we should get off the motorway.”

  Dalby immediately shook his head. “Negative, Sergeant. This is the quickest route to the safe zone.”

  “But sir, I think-”

  “Your place is not to think, Sergeant.” Dalby still hadn’t looked at Allen.

  “Sir,” said Allen, trying not to let the frustration seep into his voice. He fell back to march with the leading group of the platoon, Lewis, O’Reilly and Walton.

  “Ok lads, I’m not liking our proximity to these vehicles…”

  He paused as they squeezed through two large and crumpled four by four’s.

  “I think we should keep our eyes open. Could be hiding zeds.”

  Walton said, “I don’t like the look of it either sir. Maybe we should get off the motorway.”

  Allen shook his head. “Not an option.”

  O’Reilly gave the Lieutenant, a good twenty feet ahead of them now, a sharp look. “He’s going to get us killed. He’s a bloody nutter.”

  “That’s your commanding officer, soldier.”

  “Sorry Sarge, but you must admit…”

  “It is what it is. Keep sharp, safeties off. Lewis, Walton, tell the rest of the men.”

  Lewis said, “Yes sir,” then added, “You think there’s zeds up ahead?”

  “I’m not thinking anything son. Just thinking we should be careful, no harm in that. Now go tell the rest.”

  Walton, O’Reilly, and Lewis told the rest of the men. Allen heard the cocking of weapons, safety catches being clicked off, and then a different kind of silence as they marched - a new watchful, alert silence.

  After another ten minutes of marching, the traffic became packed even tighter, seriously impeding their progress as they were forced to climb over numerous vehicles. The empty metal shells all now strangely entwined with each other like a massive terrible sculpture.

  The road had a slight incline, making it impossible for the sergeant to see any distance ahead. He climbed up onto a nearby Range Rover. The cars spread out before him, a huge pile up that stretched for a few hundred yards before reaching the peak of the hill. Three of four large articulated lorries lay across both lanes of the motorway, the central reservation obliterated by their mass.

  “What do you see Sergeant?” shouted Dalby.

  Allen winced at the volume of Dalby’s shout. He simply shook his head in reply.

  Dalby raised a hand and beckoned them on towards the peak of the hill and the wrecked juggernauts.

  Allen was about to jump from the vehicle when he paused, he heard something. A faint, low undulating rumble, a wave of baritone. Low depressing notes, like the sound of despair, thought Allen.

  He climbed down onto the tarmac and jogged up to march beside Dalby.

  “Sir?”

  “What is it Sergeant?”

  “I am concerned about this snarl up. It’s getting too tight, and I can’t see beyond the peak of the hill - I’m worried there’s something after those juggernauts.”

  “I never had you down as a clairvoyant, Sergeant,” said Dalby, his pace even and fast, his eyes straight ahead.

  “Sir, I think we should maybe take it slowly, scout out what’s behind those trucks.”

  Dalby turned to look at Allen. “You have a lot of suggestions recently, Allen. One would almost think you don’t have much confidence in my decision making.”

  Allen didn’t have time for this. “Sir, that is absolutely not the case. I have full confidence in your decision making sir.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

  “But sir, I can hear something.”

  Dalby stopped abruptly and stared at Allen, his eyes narrowing with no attempt to hide his growing anger with Allen.

  Even so, Dalby called the men to him.

  “Scout out across those trucks in groups of four,” said Dalby. “I want three men on top of the trucks, two either side of the motorway, and one down the middle where we can see that small gap.” He eyed his platoon. “Keep it tight, and keep it quick. Just see what’s over the other side, and report back here.

  “Two minutes gents, we are late enough as it is.”

  Dalby turned and stared at the juggernauts, only one hundred feet ahead now. He put his hands behind his back and stood perfectly still.

  Allen split up the men - Lewis, O’Reilly and Walton led their own group of four each, and Allen went with three of the younger lads. “Well take the far side. Singh, take up the rear. I’ll take point, Jones and Angus watch our sides.”

  They weaved their way through the wrecks to the other side of the motorway, climbing over the central reservation, gnarled and twisted where it had been hit by God knows how many cars during the pile up.

  “Keep an eye on those vehicles, lads. Call any movement straight away.”

  They were soon at the other side of the motorway, using the cars as cover, keeping an eye on the steeply climbing embankment that was their destination.

  “What the hell is that?” said Singh. The noise that Allen had heard was now loud, filling the atmosphere with its mournful timbre.

  “A good reason to keep sharp,” said Allen.

  They were at the far side of the motorway, their path blocked by a large articulated lorry lying on its side. It had slid into the steep embankment, obviously at some speed as it was part buried in the Earth. For Allen to get past it to see the other side, he would either have to either climb the embankment, or over the truck. He preferred the truck.

  “Give me a bunk up, Angus.”

  Angus, a stocky lad from Manchester, helped the sarge up. Allen got a grip on the top of the cab and pulled himself onto the doors of the truck, which were now the roof. The cab was tilted forward, and Allen spread himself flat so as not to slide down.

  Keeping himself tight against the metal, he centred himself and took a look out over the other side of the motorway.

  “Shit…” He put his head down as flat against the cab as he could, and willed his body to freeze - he had to fight the urge to throw himself back off the top of the truck.

  There were no cars on the other side, just empty road and zeds. Hundred’s of them, maybe thousands, moaning disparately, the source of the strange sound that had haunted the soldier’s approach. Allen held his breath as he worked hard to stay calm, and to perform an effective reconnaissance.

  The zed’s walked aimlessly back and forth across the motorway, in and out of the woods that lined the road. The closest were only a few feet away, wandering to the trucks, wandering away, standing still.

  A voice buzzed in Allen’s ear, it was Lewis. “Fuck me, how many are there, Jesus…”

  “No more talking. Mark your distances, counts, any possible side routes, and get back to Dalby.”

  A particularly loud moan echoed from just below Allen. He edged closer to look down and saw a man in a suit, the skin on the front of his face hanging off, one eyeball swinging against the exposed muscle of his cheek. The zed was standing right next to the cab, only a few feet below Allen. It was still, moaning loudly, and appeared to be searching, looking half up, almost sniffing the air.

  Allen pushed back slowly from the cab, he had seen enough.

  There was a loud bang a
s Allen’s back foot hit a loose wing mirror, which fell off and slid down the slightly inclined truck onto the motorway, right by the foot of the zed in the suit. It immediately looked up and on seeing Allen, let out a different type of moan; more desperate, more targeted.

  Allen watched in horror as one zed after another tuned into this sound, and locked their heads in his direction. They turned one by one in a spreading wave that fanned out from the original zed. Within seconds, the ground below the cab was thick with zeds, all pushing against the truck, their arms in the air trying to get at Allen.

  “Fall back,” he shouted, silence no longer required, “fall back!”

  He jumped off the cab.

  “Zeds, thousands of them. They spotted me. Fall back!”

  Allen and his men ran quickly through the wrecks, back to their rendezvous point, where Dalby still stood with his hands behind his back, staring at the juggernauts.

  “We have to fall back, Sir,” gasped a fast breathing Allen. “Thousands of hostiles, just past the trucks. No way we can get through.”

  The rest of the recon crews were arriving.

  “What happened sergeant?” said Dalby.

  “I got spotted. I made a noise and one of them saw me. He let out a shout, a signal or something, and… well, you can hear it, sir.”

  The sound of moaning from the other side of the trucks had reached a deafening crescendo.

  Dalby snapped his head round to stare at Allen. “Careless, Sergeant, very careless. You have put all our lives in danger.” He looked at the trucks and the sides of the embankment. “Any way round?”

  “Negative sir. We have to fall back.”

  A tear appeared in the side of the tarpaulin of one of the central juggernauts, and a zed fell through. A few more appeared, stumbled over the fallen one, and staggered into the wrecked jungle of cars. The tear widened as more and more zeds pushed their way through.

  Dalby raised his hand gun, aimed and fired. One of the zeds fell, it’s head splattering the tarpaulin red.

  “Sergeant, fall back five hundred yards and circle into the woods. Let’s have a team laying some cover fire.”

  Allen pointed to Walton, Angus and Jones, “Stay with me men, we’ll mark the retreat. Lewis, the wood on the side of the motorway we passed, about five hundred yards back? Take the rest of the man there, that’s where we’ll rendezvous”

  Lewis started barking orders.

  Allen and his team took up cover behind a van and aimed at the tear in the tarpaulin, now spread across the whole length of the truck. Zeds piled through, and within a short minute, at least thirty were now threading their way through the pile up.

  Dalby joined Allen’s team, taking up position behind a car next to their van. “Thin them out, we’ll pull back a hundred yards, then take up positions again.”

  “You heard the officer, lads, open fire!”

  “This is more like it,” said Walton.

  The air erupted in gunfire and zeds fell one after another. The tarpaulin was soon red, dripping in blood and flesh.

  Within a minute, all the zeds had been cleared.

  “Fall back men! One hundred yards. We’ll take up positions by that red truck,” shouted Allen.

  The men ran back through the wrecks and fell in behind a red works van. They took up firing positions between it and a neighbouring white Range Rover.

  During their retreat, more zeds piled through and spread through the pile up, following the soldiers with a stubborn single mindlessness that saw them pass through the wrecks with disregard for personal damage; arms where left behind, gashes opened in legs, heads torn.

  “Open fire!” shouted Allen, and again the air filled with the crack of gunfire.

  The zeds fell, but with less regularity as more shots went wide, the targets being obscured by the tangle of broken cars and trucks.

  A voice buzzed in Allen’s ear, it was Lewis, “We’re clear sir, in the woods. No hostiles.”

  “Ok Lewis, sit tight, we’ll be there soon.” The nearest zeds were only thirty feet or so away - with hundreds now following up from behind.

  “Sir,” said Allen to Dalby, “Lewis has them in position.”

  Dalby nodded. “Ok, Allen, let’s get out of here.”

  “Ok lads, fall back, straight to the woods. Follow my lead.”

  The men stopped firing and began to weave their way back through the wrecks.

  Dalby found himself at the back of the retreat with Angus.

  “Where now sir?” shouted Angus above the rapport of his rifle as he felled two zeds.

  Dalby looked up and realised he had lost sight of Allen and the other men. He heard their shouts and their gunfire, but couldn’t see them.

  Two paths through the pile up lay ahead - one to the right past a crumpled mini, and another round the side of a truck.

  “This way,” he said, setting off to the left, past the truck. He glanced behind to see zeds closing in from numerous directions, their moaning a constant backdrop to the staccato percussion of gunfire.

  Twenty feet in and he realised he had a mistake. The path round the back of the truck was blocked. Two cars had piled on top of each other - it was a dead end.

  Behind him, zeds shambled along the path they had just taken - they were trapped.

  Angus opened fire, shooting his rifle on automatic, spraying the zeds with bullets.

  “Single shots dammit. Aim for the head,” shouted Dalby, but Angus ignored him, firing another short burst of automatic fire.

  Dalby checked the ammo for his handgun, only half a clip left. He eyed the two piled up vehicles blocking his path.

  Whilst Angus was keeping the zeds busy, Dalby pulled himself up by the bonnet of the top car. His feet flailed in mid air for a few seconds, but he was soon high enough to use his feet against the bumper of the lower car. He gave one final push and was on top.

  The gun fire stopped, “Shit,” said Angus, his gun empty. Zeds piled towards him through the gap. He spun round to see Dalby on top of the vehicles.

  Dalby reached down and held out his hand, “Come on Angus, I’ll get you up.”

  Angus grabbed the Lieutenant’s hand and was pulled up a few feet. He was almost able to get his arms onto the top car’s bonnet, when he was grabbed from below by a pair of hands.

  He let out a yell. Dalby felt Angus being jolted down. He tried to pull him back up, but slid along the bonnet of the top car.

  Another pair of hands grabbed Angus, “Help me! Sir! Get me up, get me up!” shouted Angus.

  There was another, more powerful jolt and the top half of Dalby’s chest was pulled over the bonnet of the car. One more jolt and he would be over.

  “Shoot them!” yelled Angus, his eyes wide with fear.

  The Lieutenant only had a few bullets left, bullets he may need. It was a simple matter of priorities - his life was more important than Angus’. If Dalby didn't get back, then the platoon would be leaderless.

  He let of of Angus’ hand.

  Angus only had a look of surprise for half a second, before a zed sunk its teeth into Angus’ skull and peeled off the skin from his head, clean. His yells were cut short as a hand plunged into the back of his neck and yanked on his spinal cord, giving him a quick and merciful death.

  Dalby jumped off the car and landed on the tarmac. He looked around quickly to make sure no one was near, and punched the car nearest to him several times. He inspected the cuts on his knuckles, red and bruised. He scraped his forehead against a shard of broken glass from a nearby car door. Blood trickled down his face.

  Satisfied, he ran towards the woods.

  Chapter 4

  Allen joined the rest of the platoon, sitting low in a deep impression in the woods, about fifty feet in from the motorway. Sentries were posted around the makeshift base.

  “Everyone ok?” asked Allen.

  “Affirmative sir,” said Lewis.

  Allen nodded and joined the men, dropping his kit onto the floor. There was immediate
relief in his shoulders. He sat down against a tree and opened his back pack.

  There was the crack of branches from behind them, and the men as one raised their weapons. They lowered them as Dalby emerged from the trees.

  “Five minutes, men, then we march.” He stood with his hands on his hips overlooking the platoon. “Angus didn’t make it.” The Lieutenant wiped the still flowing blood from his head. “I fell and got into a skirmish with one of the zeds. He saved my life. We’ve lost a good man.”

  There was curses and moans from the men. Angus had been popular.

  “Let me fix that up for you, sir,” said Walton, pulling out his medikit.

  The Lieutenant nodded and sat down as Walton inspected the wound.

  “This is real clean sir, what happened, glass?”

  Dalby nodded. “Yes. Think I caught it as I fell.”

  Walton shook his head, “Fuck these zeds.”

  Allen took a drink from his canteen and pulled out the photo of his son from his kitbag. He shouldn’t have looked at it, he knew that. But the pain was worth seeing his face again. His mobile phone still showed no signal. He hoped Adam was in one of the safe camps.

  “Ok, let’s move out,” said Dalby.

  Allen picked up his kit again and they began to march.

  They kept a wide perimeter around the motorway, and it was fifteen minutes before they saw their first zed.

  “There, through the trees,” said Allen, crouched behind a fallen tree. The platoon came to a halt and waited for instructions.

  Dalby said, “Lewis, take him with your knife, let’s keep it quiet.”

  Lewis nodded and set out quietly towards the zed. He successfully sneaked up behind and sunk his knife into its skull.

  Over the next two hours they saw no more than two or three at the same time, and they were dispatched quietly and efficiently. They made good progress, only stopping to check their position.

  “Shall I take a team sir, scout up ahead?” asked Allen.

  Without looking at Allen, Dalby held up his hand to halt the march of the platoon. “Yes, Allen, take three men.”

  He took Lewis, O’Reilly and Singh. They used the trees as cover as they approached the location of Zone Lima Delta. The same despairing moaning noise as they had heard on the motorway filtered through the woods as they got closer to their destination.