by David Whaley
It sounded like a rave in the grounds of the police station, not to mention the pub next door that appeared to be having an overcrowded lock-in. Close to a thousand people were all talking at once and as conversations got louder, other people increased their volume to make themselves heard.
“Are these all survivors?” asked Natalie.
“Sure are,” said John. “But we had to make the difficult decision to stop accepting people. We are at maximum capacity. This nick is full as is the pub next door but we have one more rescue mission.”
“I understand, you simply don’t have anywhere to put them all.”
“That’s right and it’s not a decision we took lightly.”
John opened the doors into the police station, not as modern as Lakeford but the layout of yard and police building was similar. John ushered everyone inside.
More survivors roamed around freely, some queuing at the nearby water fountain inset into the wall that were just as descriptive as the ones outside. These wore a face of weariness, uncertain of the guests that had arrived.
“What you’re doing is great,” said Natalie. “But with this many people and the noise they’re making… well, it could attract some of the unsavoury and undead enemies your way.”
“Of course, you’re right, but we don’t know exactly what attracts them. I’m sure noise plays a part but so does smell. You saw what we did outside, didn’t you.”
Natalie thought for a moment and recalled seeing the mounds of dead zombies lining the perimeter of the police station at two high and two deep. They weren’t all necessarily complete zombies either. At intervals within the line were piles of the zombies’ limbs as high as the complete zombies beside them.
“You have a diversionary perimeter,” said Natalie.
“I call it more of a perimeter guard, but yes. We have noticed less of the undead coming to investigate the noises and those that do spend some time considering what’s within but soon saunter off. I assume their smell is their main hunting tool.”
“How long are we going to be here?” shouted a nearby survivor apparently unappreciative that John had given her a place to stay, with armed security 24/7.
“As long as it takes, Sandra,” said John.
“And how long is that exactly?”
“Listen, we can do nothing but try to survive. At the moment, that’s the plan. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“So, what? We just sit here until those things overpower us. They’re bound to be drawn to us soon.”
“Sandra, how long have you been here?”
“Fourteen days.”
“And how many times have we had to battle our way out of a situation?”
“Once.”
“Then this is the safest place for you, for everyone.”
Another survivor appeared that looked very similar to the ginger haired, feisty one that Natalie associated as being a blood relative, possibly a brother. He appeared to try and calm her down and move her on.
“We can’t last here forever,” said Sandra before being helped out of view.
John turned back to Natalie and they shared a realistic thought before John voiced it.
“She’s right.”
“Yes, so what is the plan,” said Natalie.
“Honestly, we haven’t got one. The people here are growing restless, worried and impatient. I’m just waiting for them to turn against us.”
Natalie looked around and could see the exact looks in the survivors’ eyes that John had explained. However, she noticed another look. It was the look of emotional pain that glazed the eyes of each and every one; they were safe but they all knew a loved one that wasn’t.
John showed them into their briefing room that happened to be on the ground floor on the side of the building that the main street was on. Only a single wall protected them and any zombies that lay in wait beyond.
“This is the only room that the rescued are not allowed to enter. It gives us time to gather our thoughts and deal with our own despair,” said John.
Leon thought about John’s sentence and realised that he was only having fun to prevent himself from going insane. He considered it his own defence mechanism and with a quick look round at Devlin he decided this was true with him also.
Devlin had bowed his head and folded his arms as he stared directly into the eye of a black hole in the dark grey carpet gathering his own thoughts.
Natalie too had bowed her head but she fondled the Glock pistol in its holster under her shoulder. She was thinking hard and perhaps had been the most affected but the best to deal with everything.
John had taken this moment of silence to think for himself. He thought against his duty as a police officer and wondered if it was really worth protecting all the people he and his colleagues had rescued thus far.
“Drink?” said John. “Let’s pop to the bar and see if they haven’t drunk everything. We stocked up but supplies are depleting fast. Some people have quite the thirst.”
“About damn time,” said Leon accepting the offer already having selected his choice of beverage.
They entered the overcrowded pub and squeezed through the crowd to get to the bar having to go behind. Apparently, the forbidden entry behind the bar was second nature to the survivors and the only available standing space.
Leon poured himself the last of the scotch hanging on the optic making his glass a triple pour. John handed out bottles of beer, one a piece for himself, Devlin and Natalie.
“Sorry, Nat. There doesn’t appear to be any gin and tonic left,” John said with a smile.
This social experience provided the group with a well needed sense of normality.
Suddenly, there was a loud crash, the sound of splintered glass chiming against the grey limestone floor tiles. This was immediately followed by a young girl screaming and a quick look saw an eight year old holding a cut to her cheek, a crimson red liquid oozing between her digits.
The object that caused a window to smash and the girl to become injured came to rest a few feet away from Natalie having bounced off of the youngsters face.
“You need to keep your nose out of business that doesn’t concern you,” came a rough male voice from the pubs new vulnerability. “This is your last warning. The boss doesn’t want you hurt, Natalie.”
Before Natalie or anyone else had a chance to respond, there was a rain of gunfire as the remaining windows were shot through and remnants of the plastered ceiling fell onto the survivors below as the bullets connected.
“Everyone down!” she yelled lying prone beside Leon.
The survivors obeyed this instruction, a mixture of panicked discussion and fearful screams serving well to drown out the sounds of the gunfire.
“Natalie. It sounds like five people shooting, each equipped with fully automatic machine guns and the bullets look military grade,” said Leon picking up a slug that fell by his head. “High impact velocity fifty calibre bullets, not something used by amateurs. The good thing is that they are aiming up, away from everyone inside only trying to scare us but leaving everyone vulnerable.”
“I agree, it’s a scare tactic.”
The gunfire then stopped and the dust began to settle as screeching rubber faded into the distance leaving the trio and the world’s last line of defence to gaze at each other pondering their next step.
One thing was for certain… they wouldn’t stay away.
Chapter 37
The rest of the day found the Met officers and Hertfordshire officers working together to both reassure the survivors and board up the windows that served to refuse the Zombies access but allowed the rain to trickle through.
After ensuring the survivors safety, PC John Richards led Natalie and her team, though Leon was used to being the leader, back to the briefing room where they debriefed over the recent events.
They confirmed that nobody recognised the voices of the assailants nor had any previous contact with them prior to that encounter in terms of what they assu
med were mercenaries. However, Leon had an idea.
“I said to Natalie about the bullets being of military grade. They must’ve got their ammo and weaponry from somewhere. John, where is the nearest military base?”
“There’s one about ten miles from here ironically signposted as ‘Hertfordshire Secret Military Base.’ It’s in more of a rural part of Hertfordshire,” replied PC Richards.
“Then that’s where we go next,” said Natalie nodding in agreement with Devlin and Leon.
“And a team of us will assist,” said PC Richards. “But first, seeing as you’re here, we need your help.”
“What is it?” asked Devlin.
“Well I was going to tell you earlier but we were interrupted. There was a transmission from the American air force coming up to twenty four hours ago. They are coming to help and have been doing so.”
“What did they say?” asked Leon.
“They have split the UK into a number of different sectors indicated by the areas they have blown up as they try and control the amount of Zombies in each sector.”
“I knew it.”
“Anyway, they have completed their taskings with one mission left. Collecting as many survivors as they can.”
Natalie was almost at bursting point with emotion. She had just about given up on anybody coming to their rescue knowing only, and more recently, that they needed to stop Marcus to save the world.
Devlin and Leon remained silent with a smile on each of their faces.
“There are five RVP’s throughout the UK, one being right here in Hertfordshire. An airfield to be exact.”
“Where?” said Leon.
“Hunsdon airport.”
Hunsdon airport was previously operated by the RAF in the final few years of world war two that became mostly defunct towards the end. The airport has since been used irregularly by a small flying club but has now become completely abandoned given the apocalypse.
“Okay, but you said you needed our help?” said Devlin. “And when are the survivors and us, I stress us, being airlifted out?”
“In forty eight hours, at 2000 hours. Not everyone will be airlifted out exactly. Those that are will be taken to America and others will be taken only as far as the newly secured Portsmouth dock where they will be taken to France by sea. Be it America or France, wherever the survivors are taken is where they will begin their new lives.”
“And, back to Devlin’s point, you want help?”
“Indeed we do. Remember that last rescue mission I mentioned?” said PC Richards. “There’s a block of flats in town that we previously cleared as derelict but the zombies are being drawn back there and we have heard shouts for help. It appears as though the zombies are being drawn in by the smell of fear and fresh meat.”
“We’re in,” said Natalie.
“Thanks. We leave at eight in the morning.”
PC Richards left with a smile leaving the others to turn in for an early night.
Natalie, however, couldn’t sleep. She knew that in just under forty eight hours it would all be over. Yet, another thought reared its head in her mind; in just under forty eight hours they would be heroes… or dead.
Chapter 38
“We jump in two minutes,” said Tank, Sergeant James’ nickname.
The US army aircraft was flying somewhere over Scotland in an area known only to them as Sector thirty two.
“We will be jumping into Sector thirty two and those of you that have experience holidaying on this island, forget about it. Those of you that stayed awake long enough to soak up the briefing on Operation Z:UK will know it is not what it used to be and not like anything we have encountered before. Watch each others backs. Am I understood?”
“Ooh-Rah,” said the remaining five of the six man team signifying a complete understanding of what was required of them.
The five consisted of two corporals, two lance corporals and a private first class soldier.
“A reminder of the mission. Find and eliminate as many of the undead as possible to reduce the amount ready for survivors’ extraction. During which we will isolate and extract a sample of blood for testing back in the US to develop our defences against potential future biological attacks including those of the same grade.”
“Ooh-Rah.”
Tanks watch bleeped and he looked to confirm the time.
“Midnight local time and time to jump. Handle, Duke you go first.”
On hearing their nicknames called, Handle and Duke jumped from the side of the aeroplane, parachutes securely fastened to their back.
Handle earned his nickname from his poker name and his ability to always have a handle on things. Duke earned his owing to his ability to drink anybody under the table, his full title being Duke of beer.
Tank leaned over the edge to gauge when to allow the next two to jump.
“Boom, Poet. Go.”
Boom and Poet leapt from the aircraft just as Handle and Duke pulled the cords that expelled their parachute.
Boom earned his name due to both intentional and accidental detonations of explosives, yet, he never eliminated an individual he didn’t intend to. Poet was called such on account of his team locating his diary with hand written poetry contained within, something he wasn’t able to live down for a long time but a nickname he became stuck with.
“Tiny, you’re with me,” said Tank seeing it was their turn to jump as Boom and Poet allowed their parachutes to carry them slowly down to safety.
Tiny got his name due to the simple fact of his height. He was short and a good friend of Tank who earned his name from specialising in armoured tanks of a variety of sizes.
“I’m right behind you, Tiny.”
Tiny fell from the plane immediately followed by Tank, their black special operations uniform tight against their body and barely fluttering in the high altitude air.
Handle and Duke landed on the old rooftop of a tower block, a large surface deemed an appropriate landing point on a previous reconnaissance mission. Upon landing, they disengaged their safety apparel as Tiny and Tank released their own parachutes mid flight. Boom and Poet were next to land having guided themselves expertly to their comrades. They were followed shortly after by Tank and Tiny.
Handle opened the holdall he had carried down and they each selected an M4 Carbine equipped with a Picatinny rail system, Grip Pod vertical forward grip and M68 CCO sight. The magazine of which that was full of 5.56x45mm NATO cartridges. There was also a flashlight attachment ensuring visibility considering the British time of day.
“There’s the door to the staircase,” said Boom. “Stand back. Things are about to get noisy.”
Each member of the US military team took a few steps back, knelt down and aimed down their sights at the doorway soon to become nothing but a hole.
Boom placed C4 plastic explosives around the door and inserted the charges. He then stepped back behind his fellow marines, also kneeling to take cover and pressed the detonator, the pressing of which produced a sound that befitted Booms name.
The group remained vigilant and still, including Boom who had aimed his M4 Carbine forward whilst they waited for the smoke to clear.
The loud noise didn’t cause any of the zombies to walk through the new opening but did cause various moans from within. Without a doubt, there were zombies within the stairwell.
“Remember, we stick together,” said Tank. “On completion of our mission we come back here for extraction by chopper.”
“Ooh-Rah,” they said, more silently this time.
“Handle, you take point.”
“Sarge,” Handle replied, signifying the instruction had been received.
Handle strode forward, one foot slowly in front of the other, followed single file by the rest of the team. Tank fell in at third in line.
They walked through the opening and stood at the top of the stairwell. There were various flights of stairs that turned at right angles at the bottom of each and was situated around an empty oblong shaped
open shaft through the centre.
Handle held his fist up and the six stopped in their tracks. He peered over the metal banister to the ground floor barely visible from their height, only a pin prick in the distance. The ground floor was too far to tell if any zombies lurked but on the stairs a few floors down, they roamed apparently oblivious to their presence until Handle leant back from over the banister where the buckle on the strap of his rapid fire firearm clinked against the metal. That was the signal that put the zombies into attack mode as they started running up the stairs.
“What? My C4 didn’t do it for them?” said Boom.
“Apparently not,” said Tank. “Take ‘em down as they come up the stairs. Three shooters at a time, cover on cover. They should be bunched up enough to be more manageable. Remember our intel; head trauma.”
“Ooh-Rah,” was the teams reply.
Handle, Duke and Poet positioned themselves in a 2-1 formation, a triangle, as the zombies travelled around, ascending the levels.
“Not long now. They run faster then we thought,” said Tank.
The team could see that Tank wasn’t wrong. They were climbing the stairs as agile as a monkey.
Within their intel, however, was a fatal flaw. Not something that was wrong but something that they didn’t know about.
Most of the zombies carried on running around the staircase as they came parallel to the marines, but others jumped.
“Our mission has been compromised. They jump,” said Tank, transmitting to their control room, the sound of gunfire and cries for help in the background. “We are quickly becoming outnumbered and overpowered.”
There was no response in Tanks ear piece and he rejoined his team mates whilst trying to transmit again.
“Are you receiving me? Hello?”
Still, there was no response.
“We’re by ourselves, boys.”
“Ooh-Rah,” his team shouted once more.
A zombie jumped from the opposite side of the stairway from the level below landing on their banister prompting Tanks attempt at contacting their control room.