Three shots fired. Three men dead and Carmen snaps her head over to the ambulance across the street and the sliding side door ramming back with a screaming paramedic running out, chased by a man covered in blood who leaps to take the paramedic down as bystanders and people rush in to help.
A crunch of bone. Frank snapping a neck. She looks back to the fight to see the fight is over and the Russians are all dead and the fat oligarch now with a fork poking from each eye.
‘He needed that,’ she tells Frank.
‘He looked like he needed that,’ Frank says. ‘Good to go?’
‘I am,’ she says, striding with him across the restaurant to the door and out into a street now filled with violence erupting every few feet.
‘Contagion is out,’ Frank tells her as they walk to his Volvo.
‘What happened?’
‘No idea. Howard called me. Said to get south…’
A screech to the side. A woman racing towards them. Her eyes red and bloodshot. Her motion stiff and uncoordinated, lips pulled back, teeth bared, wet glistening blood on her chin and a ragged flap of skin torn and hanging from her neck. A dull crack as Carmen sends a round through her chest that has no effect other than making the woman stagger back.
‘Howard said one of contacts put a whole clip of NATO rounds into one,’ Frank says calmly as they watch the woman gather her momentum to charge forward again. Another dull crack. A second shot fired, and the woman drops from her skull blowing out.
‘His contact didn’t aim for the head then…’ she says.
‘LEFT SIDE,’ Frank shouts the warning, moving fast to open the Volvo door as Carmen pivots to fire into the ragged group of blood-soaked men and women charging at her. She fires calmly, placing the shots and walking steadily backwards. ‘DOWN,’ Frank orders and she drops to a crouch as he opens up with the sub-machine gun braced in his shoulder, single shots to heads, moving targets but each drop with brains blowing out and while that is taking place so Carmen gains view of the world about her and the utter chaos exploding in every direction.
‘Clear,’ Frank says, changing magazine. ‘Ready to go?’
‘Yep,’ she rushes for the passenger door, ‘you better not be lying about the sausage roll and crisps…’
*
‘So nice,’ she says with a sigh.
‘Yeah?’ Frank asks.
‘Hmm, the food in that place was so shit.’
‘They always are in those expensive places.’
‘Fact,’ she says, chewing the last mouthful of sausage roll while sitting in the passenger seat of a Volvo doing over a hundred and twenty miles an hour on a dark country road. ‘Another one,’ she mumbles, pointing at the flash of a speed camera triggered by the Volvo whooshing past. She leans over, clocking his speed. ‘You’ll get banned,’ she tells him. ‘More than one and a half times over the limit.’
‘You’re spraying pastry on me.’
‘So,’ she says, spraying more pastry crumbs. ‘You’re old and smell of piss. Did you get me any clothes?’
‘No.’
‘I’m in a cocktail dress, Frank.’
‘What?’ he asks, glancing at her. ‘I got you a sausage roll and a bag of crisps.’
‘I can’t fight a zombie apocalypse in a cocktail dress,’ she tells him as Frank’s phone lights up.
‘Henry,’ she says, reading the name on the screen the swiping to answer as the call connects the vehicle’s stereo system. ‘Henry, it’s Carmen…I’m with Frank…’
‘Oh thank god,’ Henry says in a tone that makes Carmen and Frank share a quick look.
‘Where are you, Henry?’ Frank asks.
‘I’m er…I’m in the office old chap…’
‘You’re still in London?’ Frank asks, concern in his voice.
‘Afraid so, moved too fast you see, damned thing is spreading quicker than we can react. George is aware. He’s making his way back with Marion…’
‘Henry, get out of London,’ Carmen says, cutting in.
‘Not so easy I’m afraid…I’m looking outside now and…well…won’t be anyone moving on these roads for a little while…’ A banging in the background. The sounds of people battering at a door.
‘Henry, what’s that noise?’ Frank asks.
‘Now listen you two, get to Howard. I’ve told George to RV at foxtrot...wait for him. It’ll take him some time to get from Greece to mainland UK…’
‘Henry, can you get out?’ Frank asks, hearing the banging in the background growing worse by the second. Voices too. Howls and screeches. The same noises they heard in the street outside the restaurant.
‘Just get to Howard. Dave’s working at a Tesco at Boroughfare with Howard’s son, and the god-botherer is about somewhere…’
‘And you, Henry…we’ll wait for you…’ Frank says. ‘Actually, fuck it…I’ll turn round and come for you…’
‘No! Frank…get to Howard. We stick to the plan.’
‘Fuck the plan, Henry. I’m coming to you…’
‘You will not, Frank. You will do your duty. I am not your duty. I will be fine…get to Howard. Remember, we predicted the first month to be the worse. Find Howard, get the team together and lie low…’
‘Henry, I can be there in half an hour…’ Frank says as Carmen purses her lips, inhaling sharply at the sounds in the background increasing.
‘I know you can old chap, and it warms my heart you saying that but the team need you, Frank. They need you more than I do…London is gone. Lie low…’
‘Henry!’
‘Carmen, you look after them for me…’
‘I will, Henry,’ she says, her voice cracking as she speaks.
‘Have faith and don’t lose hope…god speed to both of you…’ a loud bang, the sound of wood splintering and a thud from the phone dropping then gunfire erupting in a confined space. The solid sustained noise of automatic fire and Frank’s knuckles turn white as he grips the wheel and Carmen’s head lifts an inch, her eyes glistening. A crunch and the connection ends. Silence in the Volvo. Silence heavy and awful.
*
A fast drive through towns and villages exploding in chaos and mayhem. People running and screaming in every direction. Fires breaking out. Cars crashing into houses, into walls and ever-growing numbers of infected people running together to bite and pass what they have and through it all Frank speeds south, using a mix of country roads and motorways to work the fastest route.
Carmen tries the phones. No signal. No internet signal anywhere. Nothing. No word from Howard. No word from anyone.
‘Just up here,’ Frank says, turning into the estate from the small row of shops on the main road. A few seconds later and he curses under his breath. ‘His car’s gone…’ he says, seeing the empty drive of the house while Carmen scans the area for Howard’s Toyota in case he parked it up somewhere else.
‘Come on,’ she says as he stops the car, stepping from the Volvo in her cocktail dress covered in pastry crumbs while clutching a pistol as she runs on heels towards the front door. ‘It’s unlocked,’ she says, trying the handle and swinging the door in. ‘Howard? It’s Carmen and Frank…Howard?’
‘Check upstairs…’ Frank says, heading into the dining room to snatch the note up from the table. ‘Carmen? I’ve got a note from Howard’s wife…’
‘What’s it say?’ she asks, moving into the dining room to read the sheet over Frank’s shoulder.
Howie,
Dad got a phone call last night from an old colleague working in France, they said what was happening, awful things. Dad spoke to your sister. Sarah is safe at home, locked in and secure. The phone line went down when we were talking to her. We kept trying to call you but all the numbers were engaged. We are going to come and get you, but I suppose if you are reading this, then we have missed each other.
Stay here Howie, we will try your place and come back here before we get Sarah. We left the front door unlocked, in case you left your key behind. You can lock the door though,
we both have our keys.
Please stay here Howie, we will be back soon.
Love, Mum and Dad.
‘Okay, where’s Howie living?’ Carmen asks. ‘Boroughfare isn’t it? Henry said he’s working at Tesco with Dave…’ she looks around, frowning lightly then steps out into the hallway to pick a hard-backed flowery address book from beside the telephone and flicks through the pages. ‘Howie…got it…why did Howard go? He’s not a field operative, he should have waited for us…’
‘It’s his son,’ Frank says as though the answer is obvious.
‘Okay, we’ll go here,’ she says, tapping Howie’s address. ‘Give Howard a hand, find Dave then go for foxtrot and wait for George…you make the coffee. I’ll find some clothes and get changed…’
*
A quick search of rooms and Carmen finds clothes to wear. Trousers too big and a bit too short but anything is better than wearing a cocktail dress in the zombie apocalypse. Downstairs, coffee half-drunk and out the door back to the Volvo and down from the estate to the main road with speed building towards Boroughfare.
Common sense dictates they wait for Howard in his house, but as gifted and as good as Howard is at his work, he has not been a field operative for a long time and will be totally unprepared for the level of violence on the streets.
‘Henry will be okay,’ Carmen says again, glancing to Frank who just nods but stays quiet. ‘Henry’s good, and the amount of weapons we had in that office is just obscene…’ Frank nods but stays quiet. ‘Crisp?’ Carmen asks, holding the bag under his nose.
‘How can you eat?’ Frank asks.
‘Er excuse me, I once saw you kill a weirdo terrorist, defuse the bomb he made then eat the slice of carrot cake his mum dropped off for him.’
Frank nods slowly. ‘Good point.’
‘Thank you. Crisp? Actually, they might get stuck in your dentures…WATCH OUT!’
The car comes from the right. A family sedan with a man at the wheel witless in his panic and the front slams into the back end of the Volvo, spinning it round with a dizzying lurch and airbags popping all over the place with windows blowing out. Frank and Carmen pinned in their seats from the force generated as the world about them spins and spins before coming to a sickening stop with airbag dust filling the air.
Clunks and clicks. Fluids dripping and lights flashing from broken electrical circuits.
‘You okay?’ Frank asks, shaking his head. ‘Carmen?’
‘Fine,’ she croaks, ‘I dropped my crisps…what the hell just happened?’
‘Got hit,’ Frank says, pushing against his buckled door then slamming his shoulder to make it screech open, clambering out to look round. A junction to the side where the other car came from. The edge of Boroughfare and surrounded by residential streets. Screams and shouts in the near distance. Lights on in houses. Doors open. Blood smeared here and there. A corpse lying in a fresh pool of blood.
Carmen comes out from the driver’s door, passing Frank his sub-machine gun before rushing to the other car, now at a crumpled rest embedded through a garden wall and a glance to the driver is enough to see his neck is broken. ‘He’s dead…’
‘Shush…’
She goes still, listening intently. Detecting the screams and shouts, the howls and animalistic noises. Directional sound gained and she snaps her head over to the end of the street as the horde coming staggering into view, captured and framed perfectly under the glowing sodium street lights. Dozens of them and more. Men, women and children. More than they can shoot down with their limited ammunition. A glance between them and they start running the other way.
‘RIGHT SIDE,’ Carmen shouts the warning, both of them firing into the front door of a house purging an infected family. More coming from other houses and gardens and on they run, building in speed while taking the odd shot to drop any coming too close.
‘I’m hate running,’ Frank mutters. ‘Hurts my knees.’
‘Stop being so old,’ Carmen replies as they go left into a junction then comes straight back out from the other huge horde coming at them. They run where they can, taken naturally towards the town centre and a greater source of noises, of more screaming and howls and they hit the top end of the High Street to a stunning view of hundreds of people covered in blood all moving fast in a chaotic scene of devastation. Cars dumped in the road. Chairs and tables strewn all over the place.
Carmen spots it first. The abstract sight of a fifty-pound note on the ground. Then a twenty-pound note and more of them leading away to a side street and a cash-in-transit security van standing with the back door wide open and a man frantically stuffing his pockets with money while the crash helmet wearing driver lies dead just a few metres away.
‘Good spot,’ Frank says, running after her as the chasers behind come running thick and many into the absolute chaos of the High Street.
‘I suggest you piss off,’ Carmen says, running into the side street towards the man now shoving money down his trousers. He goes to run then stops and grabs another armful of cash before yelping at the sight of the guns and legging it into the High Street. ‘Not that way!’
‘Fuck him,’ Frank says, rushing up into the back door to the hatch at the end and into the cabin to see the engine still running. ‘Get in!’
‘I’m in,’ she shouts, slamming the back door closed and going forward as Frank pulls away.
Out of the side street through more residential roads clogged full of infected and people screaming for help. The rate of spread is staggering and a shocking thing even for them to see, and they were there, in Switzerland with Neal. They knew it was coming.
A great feeling of helplessness comes over them. Not for themselves but for the people running scared in the streets. For the people trying to hold their doors closed from the wild press of infected bodies pushing in and Frank hits the horn without thinking, seeing a woman screaming behind her lounge window at the group charging towards her and in that second they turn jerkily towards the van in the road, drawn by the sound.
‘Go…’ Carmen says, waving her hand. ‘It’s working…they’re following…keep doing it…that’s Howie’s street! Left here…oh shit,’ she says, seeing the bedlam underway.
‘Look for Howard,’ Frank says.
‘What do you think I’m doing? Keep that horn going…slow down a second…let them catch up…okay, keep going…’
‘That’s Howie’s house…’ Frank says, pointing left to a front garden littered with furniture and several infected currently on fire with thick smoke billowing up into the open windows.
‘And that must be Howie,’ Carmen says, staring at a man with dark curly hair appearing at the window.
‘Yep, that’s Howie,’ Frank says, leaning over to look. ‘Nice lad from what I’ve heard.’
‘He looks a bit nerdy,’ she says.
‘Oh god,’ he grumbles, moving the van on and sounding the horn.
‘What? I like nerds,’ she says, glancing back to the building to see the infected all charging out after the van. ‘New plan, find Howard…come back and rescue Howie then take Howie to foxtrot with us…where I will take sole responsibility for his welfare…’
‘That’s the new plan is it?’ Frank asks, driving the van with hundreds of infected chasing it. ‘Got to find Howard first…’ he adds in a grim tone.
‘We’ll find him,’ Carmen says with more confidence than she feels as the van reaches the end of the road, emerging into the High Street and the swarms of infected people that rush in from the sides, throwing themselves against the panels and front windows. ‘Might be time to get out of here,’ she says as the van comes to a stop with the engine cutting out. ‘Frank?’ she asks mildly, staring out at the sea of red eyes and bloodied faces.
‘What?’
‘Why have we stopped?’
‘It’s run out of fuel.’
‘Right. And you didn’t check that before we set off?’
‘Nope. Did you?’
‘You’re the drive
r,’ Carmen says. ‘It’s your job.’
Frank shrugs and looks out the windows at the faces battering the thick glass that looks nice and intact now but might not stay that way for long. ‘I’m going in the back.’
‘Good idea,’ Carmen says, following him in and closing the hatch behind her. ‘What now?’ she asks as they stand and listen to the thumps and bangs against the side.
‘Wait for a bit,’ he says, moving to the side to look out through the thin security grille. ‘Howard didn’t get to Howie then,’ he adds quietly after a few minutes.
‘No,’ she says, folding her arms. But maybe he went home to wait for Howie.’
‘Maybe,’ Frank says. ‘Oh Christ, the bloody fool.’
‘Who?’
‘Howie. He’s standing right there.’
‘You are joking,’ she says, moving to his side to peer through the grille to see Howie standing at the junction looking around. ‘We need to keep them focussed on us…’
‘Yep,’ Frank says, moving to stand underneath the roof escape hatch. ‘Give me a boost.’
‘Give you a boost? Why don’t I go up?’
‘Because I’m old and expendable,’ Frank says, releasing the locks and using Carmen as a ladder to climb up and heave out onto the roof.
‘Don’t just bloody stare at each other,’ Carmen shouts up. ‘Tell him to run…’
‘RUN,’ Frank shouts.
‘Bloody idiot! Is he deaf. Why’s he coming towards us. Tell him again…’
‘NO…RUN…RUN NOW,’ Frank shouts.
‘Ah good lad,’ Carmen says, watching Howie run off to a pizza delivery moped lying on its side down the street. ‘Good lad,’ she murmurs, assuming he’ll use it to get away then frowning when he wheels it out into the road and starts waving at Frank. ‘What’s he doing?’
‘No idea,’ Frank calls down as Howie gets on the moped and gets the engine sputtering to life.
‘Why isn’t he going?’ Carmen asks.
‘I don’t bloody know,’ Frank says. ‘I can see as much as you…’
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