Surviving the Fall: How England Died

by Stephen Cross

  There was another shot.

  “How many more shots?” whispered O’Reilly as they crouched by the door of the hanger.

  “One, I think. Let’s be quick.”

  The closest plane was about a hundred feet away, well within range of their AG-36 grenade launchers.

  O’Reilly grabbed Walton’s shoulder, “Look, through that door, that look like a truck?”

  At the back of a hanger was an open door leading to another section of the hanger. Through the door was what looked like the back of a truck.

  “Shall I go see?”

  Walton nodded. “Check it out. I’ll take care of these planes.”

  Lewis took aim and fired. The zed fell. He fired four more times in quick succession as zeds began to emerge from the trees.

  “Sir, we’re starting to get a lot of attention here.”

  “Singh, join Lewis. Let’s just keep this lot at bay now,” said Allen.

  Singh took position next to Lewis and began taking out any zeds that stumbled from the woods.

  The fence swayed in and out as the number of bodies on the other side swelled. The plan was working, but maybe too well.

  A large group of zeds burst through the trees at once. Lewis and Singh let go some rapid fire, dispatching them quickly.

  “There’s a lot more coming, sir. Those two had better hurry up.”

  O’Reilly carefully entered the room at the back of the hanger, which turned out to be a garage. Tools and engine parts sat on tables that lined the room. A truck - a troop carrier - sat in the middle.

  Three or four zeds bounced to attention as he entered the room and started their slow slog towards him. He took out his knife, ran round the other side of the truck so he came at them from behind, and quickly knifed them in their skulls, spraying blood across the tarpaulin of the truck.

  Once he had killed the zeds he ran over the key board, searched for a key that matched the licence plate of the truck, and grabbed it. He climbed into the cab of the truck and put the key into the ignition. He held his breath and turned it. The engine fired into life, no problem. Very healthy sounding.

  He turned it off, took out the key, and ran back to join Walton.

  “That was quick,” said Walton, who was aiming for the wing of the nearest plane. “Any luck?”

  “Lots, we got a truck,” said O’Reilly.

  “Great stuff. Ok, hold tight.” Walton waited for O’Reilly to take cover.

  Walton let go a short burst of fire into the plane’s wing. A clear liquid dripped freely onto the tarmac from the bullet-holes.

  “Nice shot,” said O’Reilly.

  “That’s nothing,” said Walton as he pumped the under-slung grenade launcher. He fired. There was a dull thump as a grenade took off towards the wing.

  Walton held his breath for a second, and then it hit. A huge flash opened up the air milliseconds before a thunderous bang, and Walton and O’Reilly were thrown back by a wind shock.

  They took cover behind the hanger door, the heat from the burning plane already making them uncomfortable.

  Walton peered round the door to see the plane engulfed in a bulbous, billowing yellow flame, belching out waves of acrid heavy black smoke. The tower of smoke rose high into the air, like a thick gnarled oak tree.

  “Look at that!” shouted Walton.

  O’Reilly let out a huge whoop.

  The wing of the second plane caught light.

  “Get back,” Walton and O’Reilly ducked back behind the hanger door, just as the next plane erupted with the same enthusiasm and noise as the first.

  “It worked,” shouted O’Reilly over the sound of the burning planes. “Fuck me, it worked.”

  They high five’d each other.

  “Damn right,” said Walton. “Now let’s get out of here. Don’t think we’re going to be alone for long.”

  They ran to the truck, the ground shaking as the third plane exploded behind them.

  Allen, Lewis and Singh turned round as one, as the sky erupted in an almighty bang. Within seconds, a thick plume of smoke rose from beyond the control tower.

  “Yes!” said Lewis.

  “They’ve done it,” said Singh.

  “Come on, let’s move,” said Allen. “No more firing - save the ammo. The plan ain’t worked yet.”

  They followed Allen’s lead as they ran along the perimeter away from the zeds emerging from the woods.

  The zeds in the airfield, however, had lost interest in Allen and his men. The explosion took all their attention, and Allen had an inward sigh of relief as the zeds turned from the fence to make a slow migration towards the centre of the airfield, towards the fire.

  “Ok, here will do.” They stopped running and Allen crouched down, taking out his wire cutters, making a low incision. He was quickly joined by the others, and they were soon through. They ran across the airfield, keeping a healthy distance behind the hoard of zeds.

  They dodged the debris of the fight which must have occurred only a few hours ago, moving from cover to cover behind car wrecks and burned out tents. The zeds edged further and further away.

  Allen checked his watch. They had one and half hours left to get to safety. Plenty of time, as long as Walton and O’Reilly had secured a vehicle.

  About half way to the control tower, and the group of people on the top noticed them. They started to point, shout, jump up and down and make a hell of a racket.

  “They need to shut up,” said Lewis as they ducked down behind the shell of a jeep.

  Allen watched in dismay as a number of zeds broke off from the main group and headed towards the bottom of the tower.

  “No worries, lads. Just makes our job a bit tougher. Most are still heading to the planes. Let’s hurry up.”

  The group ran forward, and were soon within a few hundred feet of the tower. About twenty zeds were walking around the bottom. When they saw the company, they shuffled towards them.

  “They’re thinning themselves out. Use your knives if you can.”

  They meet the oncoming group with their knives drawn, and quickly killed them with well placed knife plunges and swipes, splitting the skulls and killing the brains dead.

  Allen continuously motioned to the crowd on the top of control tower to be quiet, but he was ignored, and more zeds were being drawn from the main hoard.

  The control tower was a tall, anonymous structure, seemingly built out of a single block of concrete. There was a small door at the base, which lay open.

  “I’ll take point. Singh, you watch our six. Lewis, you path clear with me.”

  They burst through the door, and Allen fired twice, clean head-shots, to kill two zeds standing on the stairs. They cautiously made their way up the steps, illuminated by only the dull orange glow of the emergency lighting. Their heavy boots echoed in the concrete silence, every footfall and scrape amplified by the solid walls.

  The top of the stairs ended in a featureless landing with a closed door in front of them.

  “This looks like the door to the control tower,” said Allen “Assume many hostiles. Lewis, you got the stairs?”

  “Sure thing, Sir.”

  “Ok, Singh, you ready?”

  Singh nodded.

  Allen reached forward with one hand, his other holding his gun. He pulled the door open.

  The truck squealed out of the hanger, O’Reilly hanging on tight as Walton rammed his foot down on the accelerator.

  “Easy pal, we’re not going far,” said O’Reilly.

  Walton smiled, obviously enjoying himself. He pulled the truck onto the feeder road that led to the north runway. From there it was a few hundred feet to reach the control tower.

  Walton pulled the truck to the left and right to avoid debris strewn across the runway.

  “Must have been a hell of a fight that went down here,” said Walton.

  O’Reilly nodded, his eyes on the road.

  The control tower rolled up on their left, Walton brought the truck to a stop. No d
oor - just a blank concrete wall.

  “Door must be round the other side,” said Walton.

  “The Sarge said door to door, so let’s get round the other side then.”

  Walton nodded, put the truck into gear and his foot on the accelerator. They only went forward a few feet, before the truck came to a stop, a painful screeching sound coming from under the cab.

  Walton drove the truck back and forwards a few items, but still no movement, and the same high pitched sound.

  “Bollocks,” said Walton. “Must be cantered on something.”

  “I’ll go check.”

  “Be careful.”

  O’Reilly jumped out of the truck. A number of zeds where approaching from the control tower and the runway, but where still some distance from him. He would have to be quick. He ran to the front of the truck and got on his hands and knees, looking underneath.

  There was a large depression in the tarmac, maybe the result of some ordinance. Stuck in it was a jeep door, which in turn was jammed against the truck’s axle.

  He popped his head up so Walton could see him. “Don’t move the truck. We’re stuck on a jeep door, I’ll dislodge it.”

  “Ok, hurry up,” shouted Walton, eyeing the approaching group of zeds from the control tower.

  O’Reilly ducked back under the truck and yanked at the jeep door; a dip in its frame had caught on the truck’s axle.

  He jumped slightly as he heard shots from above. Looking to his right, a number of zeds fell to the floor - Walton was covering him. O’Reilly yanked at the door with more vigour and it finally came loose with a screech.

  In doing so, he cut his hand and a large gash opened up. “Shit,” he said, feeling the pain.

  As he ran back to the passenger side door, he squeezed his hand to try and stem the blood flow - and missed the zed walking up the side of the truck.

  O’Reilly began to hoist himself up into the cab. “Ripped my bloody hand open, didn’t I-” He let out a loud shout in pain. A zed had his jaws clamped around his calf. The pain was immense, it felt as if someone had hit his leg with a sledgehammer, and was peeling the muscle off his very bone.

  Walton yanked O’Reilly to the side and put a bullet in the zed’s skull. It fell back onto the tarmac.

  “Get in!” yelled Walton, pulling O’Reilly. He climbed in, and before the door was shut, Walton accelerated the truck and they squealed away from the growing group of zeds.

  “Fuck!” shouted O’Reilly, “I’m done for, I’ve got it haven’t I? I’m done for!”

  Allen and Singh stood still and calmly fired, shot after shot, into the crowd of zeds piling through the control tower door. One after another the zeds fell, forming a pile of bodies in the landing and doorway. The background of hisses and moans lessened as the number of zeds decreased.

  “Reloading,” said Singh.

  “Aye,” said Allen, as Singh took a few seconds to put in a new magazine.

  “Last magazine,” said Singh, shooting again.

  Allen’s gun also clicked to signify his mag was empty. He pulled the last magazine from his belt and clicked it into his weapon.

  Lewis sat still behind the other two, staring down the dull glow of the staircase. He heard noises from below in between the shots. There was movement in the darkness at the base of the tower, most probably zeds, but nothing on the stairs.

  Allen fired twice more, then stopped. No movement from the control tower.

  “That’s it! You got them!” said a voice from inside the control tower. It was someone from the roof. More shouts followed, Allen couldn’t discern what was being said.

  He signaled for Singh to cover him, as Allen swept the control tower. He cast a careful eye over each of the corpses, ignoring the shouts from above. He wanted to be sure first.

  “Ok, Singh, looks good. Lewis?”

  “Sir, movement below, but stairs all clear,” came the reply from the staircase.

  “Let me know if that changes.”

  Allen finally looked up above. There was a hole in the roof, a smashed through glass section. Around it where faces, civilian faces, scared, hopeful, happy. Old, young, men, women. A few couldn’t stop talking, others stared with emotionless eyes.

  He couldn’t see his boy amongst them.

  “Ok Singh, let’s get this lot down. How’s your ammo?”

  “Low,” said Singh. “About twenty rounds.”

  Walton pulled the truck up near to the door of the control tower, as close as he could get - a thick crowd of zeds surrounded the door.

  O’Reilly was breathing fast and heavy, his teeth gritted, spittle coming out of his mouth. “It hurts Walton, really fucking hurts. What do I do?”

  “I don’t know, mate. I’m sorry, I don’t know.” And he didn’t. Walton wanted to help, but what could he do? If he’d had a machete he would have cut O’Rielly’s leg off - it might have helped.

  But he didn’t have a machete.

  “Can you walk?” he asked.

  O’Reilly nodded. “I think so. Yeah, I think so.”

  “Ok,” said Walton, watching the zeds approaching the truck. “We need to clear the door. How much ammo have you got?”

  “Not enough,” said O’Reilly. “Not for that lot.”

  “Me neither…”

  O’Reilly stared at the zeds. Walton was speaking, but he didn't hear him. O’Reilly closed his eyes and swallowed hard. The pain in his leg was spreading through him. He could feel the virus crawling through his veins, gripping his cells and taking him over.

  “I can do it,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I can do it. I can clear them. When Allen and the others come down from the tower, I’ll shoot, and run. I’ll clear them.” He turned to face Walton. He was pale, sweating, in pain. “I’m finished anyhow.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded. “Don’t try and change my mind.”

  “I wasn’t going to.” He briefly rested his hand on O’Reilly’s shoulder. “Pretty brave, mate.”

  O’Reilly checked his weapon.

  Lewis took point down the stairs, Singh behind him, followed by the twenty three people from the roof. Allen took the rear.

  Lewis held up his hand to stop the procession and Singh made sure they stopped. Zeds crowded the base of the tower. On seeing the descending humans, they crammed into the bottom of the staircase, trying to get up to the fresh meat.

  Lewis opened fire. The shots ran out loudly in the confined concrete staircase.

  “Nearly out of ammo,” shouted Lewis up the stairs.

  Allen ran down the stairs, past the huddled group of people. He joined Singh and Lewis who were firing to contain the zeds. As soon as one was shot, another appeared in the doorway.

  Singh’s was the first gun to click empty, followed quickly by Lewis. Allen took single shots into the undulating mob.

  “We can’t hold them much longer,” said Lewis.

  “Hear that?” said Walton, the shots from inside the control tower ringing out.

  O’Reilly nodded.

  “You still sure?”

  O’Reilly nodded again. “Shitty way to go. What a fuck up. What a fucking fuck up.” He put his hand on the door handle.

  Walton grabbed his shoulder. “Hell of a good man, O’Reilly.”

  O’Reilly smiled, “Shut it, you think I’m a twat.” He opened the door and jumped out of the truck, his leg almost giving way. He started to hobble away from the truck, away from the control tower, towards the runway. A few zeds on the edge of the group followed him immediately, but most stayed focused on the control tower.

  O’Reilly started to shout, “Hey! Hey!” He fired his gun into the mass.

  Walton watched, a smile spreading over his face as one by one, the zeds turned to follow O’Reilly.

  “Well done,” he whispered.

  A few zeds made their way onto the bottom of the stairs, only a few steps below Allen and the company. Allen took careful shots, making sure he didn’t m
iss, only shooting the closest.

  “Get your knives ready, might have to melee our way out of this.”

  Light appeared at the door to the control tower as the zeds stopped pushing to get in, and instead turned and walked away.

  “They’re pulling out!” shouted Lewis.

  Allen took a few more shots, then his gun clicked empty. He pulled out his knife. “Come on.” He charged down the stairs, followed closely by Lewis and Singh. Eight zeds were left in the control tower, they were quickly killed by the soldiers.

  “Where have they gone?” said Singh.

  “Who cares,” said Lewis, “let’s get out of here.”

  Allen led the group out into the courtyard, where the truck sat, idling. Walton waved out of the window.

  “In the truck,” said Allen. He motioned the people towards the back of the carrier. He looked past the truck to the south runway. A large number of zeds were walking away from the control tower.

  “Look after this lot, Singh, get them in the back, I’m gonna check in with Walton and O’Reilly.”

  He ran up to the open door of the truck and saw the empty seat. “Where’s O’Reilly?”

  Walton shook his head. “He got bit. See that lot?” he motioned towards the retreating group of zeds, “that’s him.”

  “Christ…”

  “They’re in,” shouted Singh from the back of the truck.

  “Ok!” said Allen, “Get in the front Lewis. Singh, get in the back with me. Let’s get these people out of here!”

  Lewis jumped in the front of the cab and pulled the door shut. “You heard him, Walton, drive.”

  Walton put his foot on the accelerator and the truck rumbled into motion.

  “Where are we going?”

  “No idea, just get out of here. Think the exit is that way.” Lewis pointed vaguely to the left.

  Walton smiled and turned down the north runway, heading towards the fence. He pulled the heavy truck to the left and right, avoiding debris. “Hope they are holding on tight back there!”

  The odd zed gaped at the speeding truck, reaching out uselessly, before turning to listlessly and uselessly follow.