Zombie Apocalypse (Book 3): Z-Payback

by Hatchett

  Gina almost threw herself back into her spot and raised her binoculars. “Confirmed, one female driver, no passengers I can see.”

  “Do we want to stop it?” Don queried.

  Gina thought about it. “No, I think we see where it goes.”

  “Good call,” came Issy’s voice.

  “But Mamba could be hiding inside the vehicle,” Gina suggested.

  “Don’t second-guess,” Issy advised. “If he is, then he is, and we’ll deal with it later. For now, better to confirm where it’s going, although I don’t think I need three guesses.”

  “Yeah, the Dalston Estate,” Gina confirmed as the Defender shot passed her position, driving on the pavement outside and sending the small group of zombies tumbling into the air.

  “Don, time to move,” Gina ordered.

  “Roger, Gina, on my way.”

  A minute later, Don appeared from the back of the shop and made his way over to Gina, who was waiting with her hand on the door handle.

  “Ready?” Gina asked, and Don nodded.

  Gina and Don left the shop cautiously, looking both ways to make sure there were no immediate threats, then Gina crossed to the other side of the street to give them more coverage.

  “Bravo five here,” came through Gina’s earpiece, “Defender spotted. About to go into the Dalston Estate.”

  “Roger,” Gina confirmed. She switched to Channel 1, so everyone could hear her. “I want one of each of the pairings to move out another street from the Dalston Estate and stay mobile outside. That way we have better coverage of the surrounding streets.”

  “Roger,” came through the earpiece from numerous people.

  “Keep your eyes peeled,” Gina added. “The Defender could have been a diversion, so Mamba could be in the area. We need commentary on the Defender.”

  “Bravo five here,” Defender still waiting at entrance to Cumberland Close…armed people appearing…gates opening…zombies being taken out near the entrance…Defender gone through… stopped about twenty metres in…someone getting out…walking to a building opposite…gates closed…armed people disappearing.

  “Issy here, the woman has gone to see Sully.”

  “OK, keep watching Bravo five. Let us know if anything changes.

  Gina switched to Channel 4. “What do you think Don?”

  “I think you’re doing a great job,” Don replied.

  “No, I mean what do you think is happening?”

  “Who knows? I think you might be right, it could be a diversion. Either way, there’s nothing we can do except keep watching and waiting until something develops.”

  69

  Day 15 – 10:30

  Dalston Estate, East London

  Ayla climbed out of the Defender and waved to a couple of the guards as she headed for the Church entrance.

  A couple of her father’s bodyguards were standing outside and didn’t even glance her way as she entered. She passed straight through the vestibule and into the Nave.

  As expected, her father was sitting in his usual spot, eating and drinking whilst discussing business with Hakan.

  “Ah, Ayla,” Sully spotted his daughter’s approach. “Come and take a seat.” He clapped his hands and one of his girls quickly came forwards. “More drink and food for my daughter,” he ordered before turning back to Ayla.

  Ayla sat opposite her father, a few metres away, in the seat previously occupied by Mamba. She smiled at the thought of Mamba, although Sully thought she was just pleased to see him.

  “So, the Prodigal Daughter returns,” Sully noted.

  Ayla just nodded.

  “Why didn’t you come with the others last night?”

  “I had things to discuss with Mamba. Didn’t Temel tell you?”

  “Unlike you or me, Temel will never be a very good liar,” Sully remarked.

  “Did Temel tell you that everything went according to plan, and that if you’d provided Mamba with more people and weapons like he wanted, you might be a very rich man by now?”

  “Temel did confirm the success of your mission, although I highly doubt Mamba would be willing to share in the spoils if I’d done as you suggest.”

  “You don’t trust him?” Ayla asked.

  “Would you trust a snake?”

  “He’s no snake,” Ayla countered. “He is very brave, strong, a warrior, a leader. He saved us all during the mission and it would not have been a success without him.”

  “Love is blind,” Sully noted, “but perhaps there is some truth in what you say, and Mamba may have some redeeming features, although I suspect they would be very hard to find. The bigger problem is that Mamba is a marked man, and I have already been visited by the people from Heathrow.”

  “They’ve been here?” Ayla asked, astounded by the news. “But surely they’ve got too much on their hands.”

  “Never underestimate an adversary. There are obviously a lot of them and they are well equipped, well-armed and determined.”

  “Mamba thinks that they have an eye in the sky, which is one of the reasons we had to ditch the Defenders and split up to get away. And why it has taken so long to complete the mission and get back.”

  “Indeed. Mamba thought he could just drive around London and no one would notice. He might have been able to do that before, when there were thousands of vehicles moving around, but not in this new world where a vehicle stands out like a sore thumb. We are all under the microscope and must tread very carefully. The zombies are the least of our concerns.”

  “So, what are you going to do?” Ayla asked with concern. “You can’t just turn your back on him. You had a deal.”

  Scully considered the question for a while. He wasn’t about to get into bed with the people at Heathrow, but he couldn’t exactly take them on either. Mamba was a bad bet whichever way you looked at it.

  “Our deal has been completed, and I don’t think it is wise to enter into another one with him at the moment. However, I will help Mamba where I can, providing Heathrow do not find out.”

  “Good, I’ve arranged to meet him later,” Ayla advised.

  “Where?”

  “It is better that I do not say,” Ayla replied. “The walls have ears.”

  “Not my walls,” Sully replied with absolute certainty.

  “How can you be so sure? You said yourself that we are all under the microscope, and now that Heathrow are aware of you, I’m sure they will be keeping tabs. The only reason Mamba has survived this long is a bit of luck and a lot of paranoia.”

  Sully looked worried for a moment. “Check for bugs,” he ordered his bodyguards, “especially all the areas the Heathrow lot visited.”

  As the bodyguards went about their search, Sully noted, “You’re making me paranoid now.”

  “It’s the only way to be,” Ayla replied, with a smile.

  The bodyguards confirmed that the Church appeared to be clear, so Sully gave Ayla his message for Mamba.

  70

  Day 15 – 15:00

  Dalston Estate, East London

  Ayla was in a house on Woodland Street, on the North side of the estate, a house owned by one of Sully’s bodyguards and his family.

  She checked her clothing and weapons for the third time in as many minutes and looked critically at herself in the mirror. She was catching Mamba’s paranoia, or maybe he’d succeeded in brainwashing her after all. She looked outside to see the weather hadn’t changed much; it was still cloudy, but the clouds appeared lighter, so the possibility of rain had receded.

  She’d said her goodbyes to her father an hour and a half earlier, and then had moved to this house from the Church via a secret underground tunnel. Had anyone been watching the Church, they would have no idea that she’d already left.

  Her father had ordered tunnels and underground storage bunkers constructed all over the estate many years ago – rat runs he called them – purely so he could hide stuff or escape if the cops raided. Guns and knives in the UK were a big ‘no-no’, so t
hey were very valuable on Sully’s black market.

  The network of tunnels led to the various cellars of houses owned by people that Sully really trusted; despite the rumours, most of the estate’s residents didn’t know for certain that they existed. Houses in the UK didn’t tend to have cellars unless they were the older Victorian type properties. Certainly not the pre-fabricated buildings that were thrown up after World War II, which were only expected to last two or three decades but were still standing…just. The number of cellar type extensions across the Dalston Estate would probably have doubled the National average, if the residents had bothered getting planning permission.

  Sully was now far too large to fit in the tunnels; well, he might get in, but he’d die of starvation down there long before he lost enough weight to be able to move. But for normal sized people, they were an easy and secretive way of getting around and storing stuff.

  Ayla thought about what she was doing. Did she really want to do this? Or should she stay at home in the safety of the estate. She guessed it would only be a matter of time before other gangs and groups of people around London became strong and confident enough to branch out. She’d made the first step and it had gone well, all things considered, and stopping now would make the previous events meaningless.

  Then she thought about Mamba. She’d heard a lot about him before finally meeting him a few days ago, none of it good. In fact, he should have been christened ‘Fucking Mamba’ because that’s what everyone referred to him as. She’d found out that a lot of the rumours were true, but for some reason this attracted her to him. God, he was childish, annoying and petulant. He was also a bit nuts, angry, violent and a complete bastard; both literally and figuratively, but he was also strong, calm under pressure, a good lover and a sort of soul mate. There was no way on earth that he’d settle for a quiet life, it simply wasn’t in his nature. He believed in living fast and dying young, probably in a blaze of glory. It was scary, but exciting and exhilarating too. What else was there to live for these days? Sitting indoors, watching the zombies walk past, knowing that someday it could be you? Sod that, life was for living!

  One of Sully’s girls had helped Ayla tend to the blisters on her feet, to help make the journey ahead easier. She had enough antiseptic cream and bandages on her feet to last a lifetime and, at one point, she thought she was in danger of turning into a mummy. A mummy. Christ, she bloody hoped not. Who’d want to bring a child into this godforsaken world?

  Ayla picked up her rucksack and threw it onto her back. She checked that she was suitably dirty and looked around the room at the people who had been helping her prepare. She nodded her thanks and turned and went down the steps to the Cellar. From there, she headed for a second tunnel which took her under Dalston Lane and out of the estate to a derelict house on the other side of the road. The tunnel was locked behind her and she was on her own.

  At the other end, Ayla climbed the cellar steps to the ground floor of the derelict house. She moved carefully towards the front of the house, floorboards creaking with every tentative step, avoiding the rubbish and broken furniture. There was dust everywhere, save for a few old footprints where someone had walked before her. There were also several broken windows and water had managed to enter through the gaps. The wallpaper and plaster on the walls were damp and covered in mould. It was just the sort of environment where you could have expected the zombie virus to originate.

  The front garden was no better; it looked like a fly-tipper’s paradise. Still, it was perfect camouflage to keep people away and allow nefarious types to come and go without anyone taking much notice.

  Ayla looked out of the grime covered windows towards the estate on the other side of the road. She looked around carefully but all she could see were zombies shuffling around.

  She walked to the side door in the kitchen, and as promised, it opened without a sound. The hinges looked new and recently oiled, a complete contrast to the rest of the property.

  Ayla left the house and closed the door behind her. She looked around again and slowly began to shuffle down the driveway towards the road, hunching over slightly and concentrating on the floor in front of her feet. She’d been well trained.

  She turned right when she reached Dalston Lane and headed back towards Kingsland Road, passing Dalston Junction over-ground station on her left.

  She continued straight across the junction into Balls Pond Road, passing a variety of shops before entering a residential area. She made sure to stop every now and again, change direction, double back on herself, but the more she did it, the more ridiculous she felt. As if anyone would be watching her. Why would they? They didn’t know who she was or where she was going. She doubted anyone who even knew her would recognise her anyway, so what chance was there of a stranger spotting her. Even if they did, they’d be bored out of their minds following her. She was bored herself.

  After three-quarters of a kilometre, she turned left into Essex Road. She thought about going around the block but despite the bandages and painkillers, her feet were starting to ache again. She also considered Mamba’s instruction to change clothes, but to be honest, she was too tired and couldn’t be bothered. The faffing around to get changed then dirty again was too much hassle. Bugger it, she wanted to get to her destination as quickly as she could. She could slow down when she was nearly there, but for now, it was time to get a move on.

  She raised her head, straightened her shoulders and lengthened her stride and continued down Essex Road. She still stopped now and again to take a look around, but this was mainly to rest her feet and legs. She didn’t see anything suspicious. She passed a few pubs and bars and wondered what Mamba’s ‘Good Pub Guide’ would say about them. If a new edition was released it would just show zero stars for all pubs; their service just wasn’t up to scratch these days and the beer was warm. Definitely nothing to write home about. She was about to continue when she spotted a CD store and couldn’t resist venturing in.

  Now what was that song and group Mamba was on about? She was sure he’d mentioned Australia, but they were hardly likely to have an ‘Australia’ aisle; there couldn’t be that many Australian groups, could there? She racked her brain and was sure it was ‘Men’ something or other. She found the ‘M’ section and found ‘Mental as Anything’? No, that didn’t sound right, but she knew she was close. The she came across ‘Men Without Hats’? No, that wasn’t right either. What the fuck was going on with all these shitty band names? ‘Midnight Oil’? No. There didn’t appear to be any more ‘Men’ groups, but she flicked through just in case. Then she nearly screamed with delight a few seconds later when she found ‘Men at Work’ and that rang a massive bell in her head. Ding Dong! Typical the bloody CDs were out of order.

  Shit! There were four or five ‘Men at Work’ albums here and yet she’d never heard of them. What was the song? She couldn’t remember so picked up all the albums and started reading the tracks. She found what she was looking for on the third one; ‘Down Under’ on the album ‘Business as Usual’. Brilliant. Now all she needed was something to play it on.

  She found a CD player at the counter. The zombie there was more interested in her than the music, but soon lost interest. Still, wasn’t worth taking the risk leaving it there, so she extracted her knife and put it out of its misery. Now, the CD player. She checked the battery compartment and was pleased to see six large batteries lined up. She closed the cover, set it upright, opened the CD compartment and inserted the disk. She pressed play and wondered why nothing was happening. Perhaps the batteries were dead. No, the volume was on zero. She increased the volume then checked the back of the CD case to remind herself what number the song was. It was number three, three minutes forty-five seconds. She pressed the forward button a couple of times to skip to it then lent on the counter to listen.

  Two minutes later she turned it off. Nice jingle but she’d heard better. She extracted the disc – it would be a nice present for Mamba when she saw him – and left the shop.


  Ayla turned left and continued her long walk. This Essex Road seemed to go on forever. It wouldn’t have been so bad if there’d been some decent shops to do some window shopping, but it was predominantly residential. She passed a bookies, which was no use to man nor beast these days. She’d never seen the point of gambling anyway. Bloody mugs game. She idly wondered what the odds were of mankind surviving the virus. Not good.

  She came to the junction with New North Road. Jesus! How much further? She was beginning to get cramp in her lower legs because she was favouring one leg over the other to avoid the worst of the blister pain. She pulled out a map she’d been given and quickly looked to see exactly where she was and how far it was away from her destination. Jesus! She’d done about a kilometre down Essex Road and it looked like she’d have to do another before she reached the end of it. ‘Please bring back the buses, taxis and trains!’ she screamed inwardly.

  Wait a minute! She didn’t need to go to the end. She looked at the map again. She’d previously just followed the obvious and main route, but looking more closely, she could see that there were any number of short cuts she could take. Anything for a shorter journey.

  She turned into New North Road, now heading South East. More bloody housing, more bloody zombies, more bloody crashed vehicles. That gave her pause for thought. Perhaps she should just borrow a car? Nah, she couldn’t, their enemies might see her, and Mamba would kill her if he found out.

  She saw a road on her right; she knew she had to turn right soon, but this one looked a right shithole. Somewhere she wouldn’t have ventured before the outbreak for fear of getting mugged or worse. Even in the current climate, she still didn’t fancy it, so continued on her way.

  She started counting her steps, but lost interest when she reached one hundred. Then she spotted a zebra crossing. Why were they called zebra crossings? Obviously, the black and white stripes bit, but you didn’t see any bloody zebras around here, did you? Why wasn’t it called a ‘people crossing’? It could still be black and white. Or paint it red and white and call it an Arsenal crossing? No chance of that, she was a Tottenham supporter, so it’d have to be blue and white. She wondered who Mamba supported. Probably West Ham, but knowing him, he probably didn’t give a shit about football. Or soccer, as the Americans called it.