Z: UK (A Zombie Novel)

by David Whaley

  “Fine, come in but leave your guns on the table there.” Bill indicated to a table just inside the doorway and they all, including Devlin, complied with the instruction leaving bill to lock the door again.

  “Come.”

  Bill led them to the basement passing through the hallway to the base of the stairs leading to the first floor where there was a door to the side. He used a key to open it.

  They noticed the old fashioned décor which they knew was more suitable for an older lady, a mother perhaps. They didn’t consider asking where this lady was on the chance that the worst had happened considering it a sore subject to discuss.

  The stairway leading down was spirally and made of wood that creaked with each step. Natalie decided these creaks to be a useful tool if anybody unexpected were to get past both locked doors and begin clambering down the stairs.

  Bill locked the door behind them and headed down the staircase himself, walking across the room where he fell into a well used chair that had once been a cream colour.

  Ahead of this chair was a TV that was connected to a freeview box with a sticker on it that indicated there was a hard drive built into it, usual for watching pre-apocalyptic recorded TV shows. The TV itself was caked in dust as was the rest of the room which reminded Natalie of her allergies, not as bad as they once were but still affecting her to some extent.

  “Why are you here, Devlin? Can’t you see I’m waiting until my food supply runs out and I die?”

  “Why would you say that? Are you just going to sit here and starve when you run out of food?”

  “Of course not. I will try and go out for some more but what chance will I have of survival, eh?”

  “That shotgun there looks like a damned good chance.”

  “Not when they all gang up on you it ain’t.”

  “Well, we survived and so can you.” Devlin sat in the nearest deck chair that smelt as though it was the place in which Bill would sleep. A mixture of body odour and the sense of relinquishment made up the scent that emanated as he sat.

  “Devlin,” Bill repeated. “Why are you here?”

  “Okay. We need information.”

  “What kind?”

  “To do with these zombies-“

  “Animation,” corrected Heather.

  “Animation? What is that, what you are calling it? That’s just a fancy made up word. Why not call them what they are. They are flesh eating bastard zombies!” Bill stood to make this statement and waddled to the fridge where he retrieved himself a sugary drink. “I would offer you all a drink but with the apocalypse an’ all.” He shrugged.

  “Bill? Do you know anything about them or who started it or anything else of any help, maybe from your blog.”

  “My blog? Damned internet’s been down for a while now. Struggling to communicate but thank god for my ol’ CB radio.”

  “You still communicate with the outside world then?”

  “I sure am. It’s the only thing keeping me going nowadays. Radio waves are still working but I can’t reach outside of Britain. There was a radio show on but that’s now stopped, bastard zombies must have got him. I leave it on just in case they or someone else returns to broadcast.”

  Natalie then realised the source of the hissing sound that she heard when she entered that was at an annoyingly high pitch but understood the volume had to be fairly loud to ensure Bill didn’t miss a word if anybody did transmit. The source was the radio sitting on a table against a far wall, not digital but analogue.

  “The presenter called it, London’s biggest zombie conversation, a zombie infested version of, London’s biggest conversation that was being broadcast across the whole country without the normal phone-ins. As I said, thank god for CB radio.” Bill returned to his seat.

  “So, what did you hear before this happened?” asked Devlin.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” asked Natalie. “Devlin, you have dragged us out here for, nothing?”

  “Hang on now, missy. I didn’t hear anything before this all started, but have just come off the CB to someone only yesterday who said something.”

  Natalie withdrew her angered gaze at Devlin and reformed her expression to turn back to Bill as she prepared to receive the information.

  “What was that?” asked Devlin.

  “I can’t remember exactly… hang on.”

  Bill took hold of the microphone and checked the switch was on. He then spoke through it into the abyss of the radio wavelengths.

  “Break for the ‘Ace in the hole.’ This be ‘the Z story,’ come on back now.” The transmission confused all except Devlin who recalled a film about truckers using the CB radios to relay messages to each other specifically about police locations, accidents, directions, and anything else trucker and travel related by using a series of code words to conceal what was actually being said in case of anybody monitoring.

  The person he was calling was known as, ‘Ace in the hole,’ a handle chosen by them as their call sign. Bill had settled on calling himself, ‘the Z story.’

  A short wait and then came the reply, “Go ahead there. What’s your twen’y?” It was a male voice speaking loudly over the radio in a typical western accent and the term, ‘twen’y’ referring to location.

  “Still shitting inside me home port here, over.” This referred to the fact he was at home.

  “10-4 to that. What can I do you for?” Message received.

  “I got me some folks here wanting some info on the apocalypse. Can you 10-9 your earlier message?”

  “Sure I can.”

  Leon and Natalie didn’t understand a word that was being said and Devlin had lost track.

  “There’s some folk holed up at a choke and puke down in Devon. I was there for a milli’while. I overheard a group of them talking about something. They were mentioning a few names. I couldn’t here specifics about what they were talking ‘bout but one name in particular kept coming up. The name, Marcus. Then there was some mentioned about a leader and about there being bravos. Very confusing but that’s all I got.”

  “10-4, Ace,” said Bill. “What’s you twen’y?”

  “I am just drivin’ my eighteen wheeler North of Manchester, headed for Scot island, driving down zombie road, over.”

  “And a big ol’ 10-4 to that. Stay safe on hells highway, over and out.”

  “Out,” was the final transmission from the, ‘Ace in the hole,’ and Bill turned his attention back to his guests.

  “You understand any of that?” said Bill.

  “Not at first,” said Leon. “He did start speaking plain English about the conversation he heard in Devon, though.”

  “Well, that proves it,” said Natalie. “Marcus is in danger and this is one big cover up. I wonder if there are any more Deltas still out there. Someone or some people are taking them out to hide the truth. He might not even be alive. We have to find him!”

  Chapter 28

  The clique were back out onto, what Bill referred to as, hells highway for the second time that day and on route to Marcus’ home address. Natalie gave the directions whilst Leon drove following the living Sat Nav closely.

  Devlin and Heather had fallen asleep in the back as none of them had had much sleep having been interrupted by Natalie. She and Leon were too focused to join them in the sandman’s trance. Only then did Natalie and Leon realise that Devlin was a loud snorer, perhaps unnoticed before due to the level of fatigue or due to the awkward position he had slipped into with Heather, an impromptu arm flapped around his stomach and her head slung onto his shoulder. The turn of a sharp corner did assist the closeness that these two shared, albeit subconsciously.

  In the distance of the wide road, Natalie saw something and recalled driving down it many times in her marked police car, her max speed on this stretch being 100mph at three in the morning. She instructed Leon to speed up which he did.

  It appeared as though there were survivors at a frantic dash being tailed by the running flesh eaters. The
se survivors were the first to be found in the open for a while which explained the sudden surge of undead presence in the immediate area. The prey ran from left to right across the road and from between the buildings, at many different points, zombies emerged adding to the tally already chasing them in an awkward sprint.

  They sped towards the survivors with some ground still left to gather taking many of the zombies out with their most used weapon since the hell spawn came to be; their vehicle.

  Sadly, their efforts to reach them failed. They were too far away and losing pace with each lunge away from their pursuers that eventually, one of the three slowed enough for a zombie to jump onto his back and push him onto the floor ripping a chunk of muscle tissue from his shoulder. A younger male then stopped to help, who they believed him to be, his father who also became a late lunch. The female clutching the baby, having initially stopped and screamed something that wasn’t understandable through the panic coursing her veins, continued to run knowing there was no hope for the two members of her family.

  She ran, a speed not expected whilst carrying a child although small, and had always been ahead of her male counterparts. However, there was only so much adrenaline that can continue to carry a desperate human, the ‘fight or flight’ response, before the body collapses being exactly what happened and she fell to the floor. She clutched her baby in her arms, shielding it with every last ounce of life that was left in her body, the mass of zombies descending upon her like a pack of ravaging wolves.

  The mothers’ life had ended and Leon had no choice but to continue along the road not having a chance to get to and rescue the baby, but his choice was partly encouraged by his male instinct to protect the females he transported from their maternal ones. Even if they had been close enough to get to the baby first they would have soon been surrounded and most certainly all have died, the baby also reaching this inevitable end. They didn’t stick around to see exactly which method the undead were going to use to attack the baby and left.

  “The hell are you doing? That was a baby,” shouted Natalie that woke Devlin and Heather.

  “Natalie, it’s too late,” Leon shouted back.

  “You fucking bastard! You-.”

  “It’s too late,” he repeated in a whisper.

  Natalie, of course, knew that Leon was correct in what he was saying but couldn’t help her maternal instincts, the very reason that Leon considered the option to speed past the child causing her verbal outburst.

  Devlin and Heather looked at each other confused as to what had happened suddenly realising their position with each other and promptly sitting up.

  Natalie, although in hindsight agreed with her drivers’ decision, gave Leon the silent treatment causing him to say, “Are you going to give me directions or what? I don’t know where I’m going.”

  “Next right,” said Natalie abruptly but as time passed she became calm.

  Suddenly, on this right turn, something caused a loud bang on their vehicle as it came into sight. A zombie had jumped onto the bonnet and was making a failed attempt to bite through the windscreen.

  “That’s a hungry fucker,” said Leon as his heart returned to a normal beating rhythm.

  Leon opened his window and continued to grip the steering wheel with one hand, still at a steady 50mph. He snaked his other hand out of the window and around the windscreen with his Glock held tight and let out a shot missing its intended target.

  “This is harder then it looks,” he said.

  “Put it away,” Natalie said rolling her eyes. “I’ll do it.”

  Natalie removed her firearm from her shoulder holster and opened her own window, Leon closing his. She leant out and held the roof to pull the top half of her body completely out of the window. With her feet, she wedged one underneath the glove box and the other down the side of her seat keeping her firmly wedged into the vehicle if she fell. She knew full well that if she did fall it would still hurt regardless.

  The wind threw Natalie’s hair about, obscuring her view slightly, and she aimed down the iron sight following through with a shot that split the zombies head in two, the wind carrying the diseased blood safely away from her and the zombie slipped off the drivers side of the bonnet. Natalie got back into the car and Leon used his screen wash to clean the stray blood that had covered the front window initiating the wipers.

  “You’re in the wrong job,” said Devlin.

  “Oh yeah? What should I be doing instead?”

  “A stunt actor.”

  Natalie smiled and continued to give directions.

  A lengthy ten minutes later and Leon pulled his vehicle across three parking bays on the forecourt outside a run down block of flats fit to stand in the apocalyptic world.

  The blackened plaque screwed to the front of the building said it had been built in 1934, evidence of a flag pole that once hung proudly flying a flag that was no longer present. The brickwork was dirtied and weather beaten though the decades, with balcony landings on three floors, not including the ground. All doors had been replaced, probably in the early part of the 2000s, by uPVC doors where most were damaged with round indentations in the door near the locks. Natalie recognised this damage as being caused by an enforcer. Being just off borough, she could only assume that the local police had conducted search warrants at a number of the flats. She had been to the block before but she didn’t recall seeing the damage on her last visit. Some of the doors were replaced with sealed thick metal ones, notices pinned to them advising of a permanent shut down of what was once a ‘crack house,’ most probably shut down as a result of the said police visits.

  “First floor,” advised Natalie.

  The communal door that led to the staircase had a magnetic lock designed to be so powerful that they couldn’t be pulled open even with a great amount. However, as was all to common with estates like this one, the door had been broken by an act of vandalism that stopped the magnet from working. This was to their benefit.

  Leon pulled the door open and allowed the women first entry but entering, himself, before Devlin.

  The stairs were littered with graffiti, tagged upon the canvassed walls by the very same persons that had vandalised the communal door, and burn marks in the shape of large droplets evident of a lighter having been the source that made the charring.

  On the first floor, they approached Marcus’ front door, free from damage; less could be said about both of his neighbours.

  Marcus’ door was open with a fallen table preventing it from opening any further. The table was small and Natalie recalled this was used to seat the landline telephone. She also recalled that there used to be a notepad meticulously placed next to it. From within they heard only the faint sound of a radio hissing similar to the sound Bills radio had played.

  “Police!” Natalie shouted, not too loud as not to alert the passing undead from the ground below. It was loud enough for anyone that may have been inside to hear.

  There was no response, not even the sound of a zombie moan.

  The fallen table was light and Leon easily pushed the door open forcing the table back until it hit an adjacent wall stopping the door from opening any further for the second time. Despite this, there was enough room for them to fit and they each entered.

  The flat had cream walls with radiators scattered throughout, each room decorated similarly to the last. The flooring, however, was not a standard feature. The kitchen, hallway and living room had the wood laminate flooring that’s popular in many households whilst the two bedrooms had cream carpet. In the bathroom the floor was laid with chess board type black and white linoleum.

  These were undisturbed; the walls still in situ and the flooring remained neatly fitted. However, the furniture had been overturned, drawers emptied with its contents strewn in almost every which direction. Cereal had been emptied from their boxes in the kitchen and on the floor left to become stale and inedible. The beds were unmade in the bedrooms but not in an I-can’t-be-bothered-to-make-my-bed kind of way.
Instead, it was like an I-am-going-to-destroy-this-house kind of way similar to the rest of the property. The TV was on the floor broken as was the second landline that had been thrown to rest next to it.

  “Someone beat us to it,” said Leon.

  “What was here that was so important,” said Natalie, gob smacked at the mess caused to the tidy flat she knew of. “Where do we start?”

  That was the problem. With all the mess, it was near impossible to do a proper systematic search of the place without the possibility of missing something. Natalie had a cursory glance over everything through the living room door and she saw something that looked out of place.

  Balanced on the bottom of the overturned brown leather sofa was a notepad that she recognised as the one belonging to the table in the hallway. The notepad looked as though it had intentionally been balanced on the seating furniture for someone to take notice.

  The four entered and examined the pad with many of the sheets still present without a pen in sight.

  The top sheet was partly torn in the bottom right corner and Leon recognised the vague shape of the torn edge retrieving the note with the written address on it from his pocket. It was a perfect fit.

  “Someone wrote the note from this very sheet of paper,” said Leon. “Could it have been Marcus?

  “I doubt it,” said Natalie. “This is his handwriting.”

  Natalie pointed to the remaining sheet of paper indicating the writing that had been written upon it in Marcus’ script. It read:

  Natalie

  I’m not who you thought I was when we first met.

  You will now be in danger, an unfortunate price to pay.

  I did love you.

  Marcus

  “’An unfortunate price to pay? What’s that supposed to mean?” said Devlin.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” said an unfamiliar voice from behind them.

  Chapter 29

  They span around where, standing in the doorway and their only exit aside from the windows, were three people one of whom they recognised each dressed exactly the same as Bravo two.