by Hatchett
“Jus’ boys being boys,” Mamba replied, his grin widening. “Fancy a drink?” he asked as he pulled away from his minders and headed towards the bar, all thoughts about Basir now long gone.
The tension in the room relaxed and while Ayla followed Mamba towards the bar, the others checked on Basir’s condition.
“What was all that about?” Ayla asked, as Mamba passed her a bottle of beer.
“He threw a bomb at me,” Mamba replied.
“If he’d thrown a bomb at you, you wouldn’t be here to talk about it,” Ayla stated. “Basir is an expert bomb maker who knows exactly what he is doing. We need him, preferably fit and healthy.”
“OK, point taken,” Mamba replied with a grin. He picked up another bottle, opened it and carried it over to hand to a shaky and bloody Basir before heading back to the bar. “Sorted.”
Ayla looked around the room, taking in the occupants and provisions. “Where’s Osman?”
“Dunno. Not here,” Mamba replied.
“Anyone seen Osman on their travels?” Ayla asked the room. There were shakes of the head before they went back to what they were doing.
“He’s got ‘til the mornin’ to get here,” Mamba noted. “There’s no rush.” He stared at Ayla. Although she still had blood and guts all over her, he saw again that she was very pretty underneath. She was now wearing a pink t-shirt which was moulded to the shape of her small breasts and some sort of navy blue tracksuit top. Her dark hair flowed down her back and her eyes were like deep pools you could drown in. His gaze settled on her breasts without realising what he was doing until she raised her hand and pointed it to her face. Mamba smiled like a naughty boy who’d been caught with his hand in the sweet jar.
“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he muttered. “Been too long.”
“Yeah, I bet!” Ayla replied sarcastically, shaking her head at the same time. “We’ve got work to do, so get me another beer and come tell me your plans,” she ordered as she moved away to a table in the corner where they could talk in private.
An hour later there was still no sign of Osman and the group were beginning to think he’d either got lost or had met with an accident. A number of beers had been drunk and the group was beginning to tire.
“I’m off to get cleaned up and find a bed,” Ayla advised as she rose from her seat and headed towards the corridor behind the bar and the stairs leading up. “I suggest you do the same,” she added in Mamba’s direction with a hint of a smile on her face.
42
Day 12 – 08:00
The Fox, Clerkenwell Road
Mamba awoke to find Ayla straddling him.
“Morning big boy, worn you out have I?”
Mamba felt himself becoming aroused, thinking back to the previous wild night with Ayla. He’d never met such an aggressive woman and the scratch and bite marks across his body was testament to the treatment she’d dished out.
Mamba came fully awake and reached out to Ayla but she suddenly jumped off the bed and stood looking down at his naked form.
“Not such a big boy after all,” she commented as she headed towards the bathroom. “Come on, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”
Mamba propped himself up on his elbows watching in confusion as Ayla’s fine figure left the room. He looked down at his penis, which was starting to soften and worried about her comment about its size. He slumped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. ‘Women!’ he thought, before summoning up the energy to get up.
*****
Mamba was smoking his first cigarette of the day as he entered the lounge area downstairs to be greeted by the smell of coffee, bacon and sausages. The conversation stopped and everyone stared at him as he looked around and spotted the portable cooker which someone had managed to conjure up and was now being operated by Emre. The smells made his mouth water as if he hadn’t seen food in months, and thinking about it, he’d hardly eaten a thing the previous day.
“Coffee?” Temel asked, hoping that it would dispel any awkwardness from the previous evening. “Black only, I’m afraid, and we couldn’t find any sugar or creamer around here.”
“Nothing wrong with black,” Mamba replied, striding across to where the group sat. He spotted Basir and asked, “How’s the mouth?”
Basir nodded slightly to show he was OK but didn’t speak. It was only when he went to take a drink of coffee that Mamba noticed that he first removed a bloody wad of cotton from his mouth and grimaced when he took a sip of the hot liquid.
The chatter resumed and Mamba was offered some of the food. “Past the ‘sell by’ date, but I’m sure you’ll live,” Temel noted.
A few minutes later Ayla arrived, looking like a Persian Princess without all the blood and guts. “Any sign of Osman?” she asked, looking around the room.
There were solemn shakes of the head as Ayla sat next to Mamba and accepted a cup of black coffee.
As they ate and drank Ahmed moved over to sit next to Mamba. “Good night?” he whispered.
Mamba just grinned.
“Ya realise that yer spoken for now, don’t ya?” Ahmed continued in a low voice.
“What do ya mean?” Mamba asked, confused.
“Ayla is Sully’s daughter,” Ahmed revealed with a broad smile across his face. “Dis’ his daughter, dis’ the boss!”
Mamba turned to look at Ayla and found her looking back at him with a ‘gotcha’ smile spread across her face. Mamba considered the situation, his head slightly to one side. After last night’s exploits, things could be worse, he thought to himself, a lot worse. Plus, if she became a pain in the arse, there was always an accident waiting to happen. But for now at least, things were just peachy. And, he actually did like her…quite a lot.
“All good,” Mamba replied casually as he smiled and took another sip of his coffee. “Time we were getting’ ready to move out.”
Mamba went across to the patio doors and took a look at the sky. “Cloudy,” he remarked, “so we should be fine today.”
“What do you mean?” Temel asked, coming up to stand beside him.
“Means no rain so we won’t have the guts washed off, and I hope it means the fuckers can’t see us through the cloud. We need a body to get dirty.”
“Khalid, Mesut, body duty,” Temel ordered. Rest of you start packing.”
Khalid and Mesut went through the patio doors as Temel stepped out of the way. They selected a body and dragged it back into the lounge area and slit it from throat to groin.
The group got dirty and placed their rucksacks and holdalls over their shoulders before gathering in a group around Mamba, Temel and Ayla.
“We go in groups,” Mamba began. “Like yesterday. We set off at different times, take different routes. We change our clothes if we can. Basir, you’re with me, Ayla and Ahmed. Temel will be with Umit, Emre and Faruk. The last group will be Ismet, Khalid and Mesut.”
“What about Osman?” Umit asked.
“I ain’t seen him, have ya?” Mamba replied. “Perhaps ya know somethin’ we don’t?”
Umit shook his head.
“Then he’s either run off back home or he’s dead.”
Mamba explained what each group needed to do and answered a few questions before they set off. For his group, it was about twelve kilometres to Heathrow.
43
Day 12 – 09:00
Heathrow Terminal 3, Security Briefing Room
Jack brought the morning meeting to order and noted that Dave, Sean, Travis, Daniel and Gina were otherwise engaged.
He explained that he’d taken a trip to Hendon the previous day to visit the police college and had enjoyed meeting up with his boys, Jack Jr and Kyle, for the first time in weeks. He was just relieved that they were OK. He was tempted to bring them back with him, but they had been insistent that their immediate responsibility was to their colleagues and they had wanted to stay. At some point, however, they would all integrate with the survivors at Heathrow. The college was secure and the police office
rs there had plenty of firepower and were well organised. Their leader was a man Jack had known for years and he was reliable and competent.
The Major updated the team on his visit to Whale Island in Portsmouth and the continued support of what was left of the Navy headed by Admiral Sir Gerald McFadden. The two groups would help each other wherever possible.
Andy advised that he’d taken a team to Downing Street via the secret underground railway and confirmed that the building was now safe and secure and that the immediate street area outside had been cleared and closed off using the gates at each end.
Bear and Irish updated the group on their scouting trip to Manchester airport and reported that there would be a lot of work to do to make the airport safe and secure. There was no way they could land any large aircraft as things stood. It was agreed that Bear and Irish should continue with their task and accepted that it would be a good few days before the task was likely to be completed.
Sarah updated the group on the rescue of further survivors from the surrounding areas. Various radio calls continued to be received and a team led by Joel was dispatched to investigate.
Joel noted that some of the radio calls were fake; they were intended to draw people in, so they could be ambushed by those lying in wait. Unfortunately for these groups, they hadn’t counted on the firepower which they’d inadvertently brought upon themselves. If they resisted, the teams didn’t waste any time in taking them out. However, the majority of the calls were from small groups of people trying their best to survive and many of these had since been integrated into the Heathrow group.
Issy advised that Tom’s team hadn’t been able to locate Mamba but was still searching. In the meantime, she would work with Andy to investigate the secret underground further.
As there was nothing further to discuss, Jack closed the meeting and the Leaders went about their business.
44
Day 12 – 09:15
The Fox, Clerkenwell Road
Anya knew that the average walking pace was around 5 kilometres per hour; she’d heard or read about it but couldn’t for the life of her remember where. So, travelling the twelve or so kilometres to Heathrow should have taken the teams around two and a half hours, give or take.
However, the distance of twelve kilometres was as the crow flies and didn’t allow for the necessity of walking slowly in a non-direct route, carrying heavy packs of equipment, doubling back from time to time, investigating stores, changing clothes or dodging hordes of zombies. It also didn’t allow for Mamba getting excited during one of the occasions they decided to take a break and change clothes.
Therefore, she suspected that it would take them all day at least to get anywhere near Heathrow, especially as they couldn’t use vehicles. She wasn’t wrong.
On leaving Clerkenwell, they headed West along Clerkenwell Road then Theobald’s Road, past Holborn and onto Oxford Street.
The group spent some time on Oxford Street; it was one of Europe’s busiest shopping streets, and as everything was now free, Mamba couldn’t resist having a look around. The trouble was that the more he looked around, the more frustrated he became because he couldn’t take the items he desired with him.
In one of the electrical stores, while Mamba played with the expensive camcorders, using the last of their batteries up, Basir focused on the circuitry side of things and insisted that Mamba take on board more batteries. In the end, Mamba walked out of the shop with a pair of high powered Zeiss binoculars.
Basir was in his element when they found another electronics shop; not one of the high street variety selling phones, PC’s, TV’s and the like. This one was very plain and ordinary but held useful equipment to him like crocodile clips, electrical meters, wiring, soldering irons and lead solder. He also helped himself to a set of tools which included a crimp tool, wire cutters and strippers and small precision screwdrivers and pliers.
Mamba consulted an ‘A to Z London’ map book he’d lifted from one of the souvenir shops along Oxford Street and they continued to the end until the road became Hyde Park Place then Bayswater Road then Holland Park Avenue. It passed through the well-known areas of Notting Hill and Shepherd’s Bush before heading back towards the River Thames and Chiswick High Road.
The journey was tiring and required frequent rest stops. They slowed as they tired but were all determined to reach their destination before they holed up for the night. The only problem was that their tiredness caused them to forget their strategy and they ended up walking together and faster than the surrounding zombies. The quicker they moved, the sooner this horror of a journey would be over. They also forgot about doubling back, seeking cover and changing their appearance. They were like a group of nomads in a desert desperate for water and heading straight towards the nearest oasis as quickly as possible before they crashed and burned. However, they had luck on their side; it remained cloudy which prevented the satellite from picking them up.
At the end of Chiswick High Road they joined the three-lane M4 motorway and headed towards Brentford. Brentford was still about four kilometres from Heathrow but once there, they switched to the A4, a two to three-lane road, also known as the Great West Road which took them past various trading estates and car dealerships, but mostly housing. The houses on either side of the road were mainly two storey semi’s or detached with off street parking and there wasn’t a high-density tower block in sight. The A4 was a relatively straight road and it seemed to go on and on forever. Every time you picked a point in the distance, as soon as you got there, there was another long straight ahead.
By 4pm, Ayla had complained at least a dozen times about the blisters on her feet and Mamba was fed up to his back teeth hearing Basir suggest they should stop for the night.
Mamba was having none of it. He insisted that they carry on until they were within touching distance of Heathrow. He wanted to be near his enemy, to smell them and be able to fully rest that night in the knowledge of what was to come the following day. It didn’t stop him wishing he could stop every time he passed a hotel or pub but persuaded himself that the beer would taste that much better when he finally had one. Ahmed just walked along without comment, just one foot in front of another, conserving his energy rather than wasting it on whinging.
They stopped off at a newsagents to get themselves some water and something to snack on. Mamba helped himself to some more cigarettes and he and Ahmed were soon puffing away.
“We could stay here,” Basir suggested.
Mamba looked at him. “And why would we do that when there’s a beer waitin’ for us further down the road?”
“There’s beer here,” Basir protested, pointing towards a row of fridges down one of the aisles. “How do you know you’ll find some further down the road?”
“’Cos there’s always a pub,” Mamba explained as if talking to a child. “In any case, I thought you Turks were made of stronger stuff.”
Ayla bridled at this comment and stared hard at Mamba, almost inviting him to continue.
“Jus’ sayin’ is all,” Mamba said nonchalantly before taking another drag on his cigarette.
“Well, don’t!” Ayla flared.
“Easy girl or I’ll have ta put ya over my knee and smack yer arse really hard,” Mamba threatened with a wide grin.
Ayla couldn’t help but smile back. “I’ll hold you to that,” she replied menacingly, still grinning and shaking her head. God, that Mamba. He could be so annoying and childish but at the same time she loved his cheeky attitude, his no-nonsense approach to everything and, of course, his roughness and animal cunning.
“Wanna piggy back?” Mamba asked. “Don’t want ya getting’ any more blisters and hurting yer tootsie’s.”
Ayla knew this was a challenge. She could see it in his eyes, the arrogant prick. The smile disappeared from her face as fast as it had arrived. “I’ll live,” she retorted. “Hadn’t we better get going?” she challenged back.
“Good idea. Sooner we go, the sooner we get there.�
� With that he grabbed a few more items, put them in his rucksack, consulted his map and marched out of the shop.
They walked along what was now a tree lined road. Mamba figured that they only had about another kilometre before they got to where he wanted to be. Basir spent the rest of the journey huffing and puffing in an exaggerated fashion to indicate that he’d had enough. He also pointed out every pub they passed as if pleading it would be the right one and almost crying when they walked on by. Ayla had started limping a little and favouring her left leg, but she gritted her teeth and didn’t complain. Ahmed just put one foot in front of another, like a robot, breathing easily and saying nothing.
Eventually, they arrived at a major intersection where the A4 Great West Road split off into Bath Road and continued on into the Great South-West Road. Mamba quickened his pace, looking towards the far side of the intersection, looking for the pub which he expected to be there. Once the building came into view Mamba stood still and stared. The rest of them caught up and stood next to him, wondering what was going on.
“Why’ve we stopped here?” Ayla asked, following the direction which Mamba was looking.
“It’s a fuckin’ McDonalds!” Mamba hissed, obviously annoyed.
“So?” Ayla asked innocently.
“It’s supposed to be a fuckin’ pub.”
Ayla laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “You mean we’ve come all this way for a McDonald’s?”
“No, we fuckin’ ain’t,” Mamba replied, dropping his rucksack and rummaging in one of the pockets before pulling out a dog-eared copy of ‘The Good Pub Guide 2012’.
“Bit out of date wouldn’t you say?” Ayla teased. “I bet half the pubs in there are now closed or converted to a McDonald’s ‘drive thru’,” she sniggered. “At least I now know how you find all these pubs.”