Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

  This may not be the case with the Forbesite version, but we must assume that it is.

  To expand on this mini-brief, greater detail is contained in the main file, and a copy of The Zombie Survival Guide, by the world’s foremost expert Max Brooks, is attached.

  The need to examine further dead UK zombies is critical – as is close observation of their behaviours. We should set up an immediate programme of sorties to overfly the UK and try to determine exactly what we are up against.

  The Royal Navy should be put on full alert. Any floating corpse – apparently living – or dead - now encountered in the waters around Britain should be blown out of the water – without exception.

  The authorities in France, Belgium and Holland should be alerted to the danger of invasion.

  Further information will be supplied after further research and investigation has been completed.

  signed

  John Forbes.

  Day 163

  Monday 27th May

  St Kitts, West Indies

  Tony Stewart was sitting in Chloe’s top-of-the-range, deluxe kitchen sipping Colombian coffee. He had decided to visit the villa at the earliest opportunity to discuss his findings regarding the two men he had under surveillance, and to impart the security implications.

  It was 10am and Chloe was listening intently to Stewart’s revelations.

  ‘A man in his early forties has been observed driving by this property on two separate occasions. This fact on its own would be alarming enough. However, he was being tailed by a second man, and our watchers picked them both up rather easily. The first man is clearly an amateur and is totally unaware of his shadow. We followed both men back to Basseterre and into their separate hotels. The professional is an American and is named…’ Stewart checked his notebook to remind himself…. ‘Rick Czarnecki. I think he's a spook. Probably CIA – as he's unknown to the local police. The second man is Belgian, apparently, although the receptionist says she thought he was English. Classy, wealthy and handsome, so I'm told. His name is Alain Duclos – as I said …with a Belgian passport. My chief concern is the interest that they are both showing in this address. It's only since yesterday, but nonetheless it's worrying.’

  Tony Stewart now hesitated. He realised that Chloe was hiding from something or someone, but had never previously broached the subject. Discretion was important in his trade, especially with the type of clientele he managed throughout the islands.

  ‘Madam, if you need to avoid these men, I suggest that you make a move today. To delay could be fatal.’

  Chloe cursed inwardly. How the hell did the Americans and this bloody Belgian find her so quickly? She had really been looking forward to her stay in St Kitts, and now she was forced to start running again. Thank God she had three other villas to hide in.

  She looked up a Stewart and made a decision.

  ‘Thank you Tony, you’ve certainly earned your fee…’

  Just then, Stewart’s earpiece leapt into life as a message came through from the gate guard.

  ‘There’s a visitor to see Miss De Marco, and you’ll never guess who it is – it's Alain Duclos. And the other chap is parked at the junction with the main road. Instructions please?’

  Stewart replied perfunctorily:

  ‘Admit Duclos and close the gates. Hold him there. Maintain the watch on the American.’

  ‘Roger.’

  Stewart turned to Chloe and passed on the news.

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  Chloe was really frightened now. She suspected that the man was from UKRA. Her goose could be well and truly cooked. Then she had a bright idea:

  ‘Can we see his face on CCTV?’

  ‘Yes, madam, of course,’ replied Stewart, and moved over to the medium sized TV in the kitchen area and used the remote to switch it on and selected CCTV on the controller. He clicked through to the gate camera and instantly, the face of Alain Duclos appeared, looking directly into it.

  Chloe stared at the man and almost fainted with shock.

  ‘Oh my God. How did he find me?’

  Stewart was puzzled.

  ‘You know this person, madam?’

  Chloe looked him straight in the eye before nodding and replying:

  ‘Yes, Tony, I do. It's my bloody father!’

  ***

  Zombie expert John Forbes was attending a briefing with two Royal Navy helicopter crews and six heavily armed SAS operatives. The First Minister had authorised the ‘zombie snatch squad’ and they had just sat through the usual mission formalities. The Air Marshal was also in attendance. The plan was for a small scout chopper to search for an isolated group of wandering zombies and herd them into the open, call up the main transport heli and vector them in for the snatch. Between six and ten was the ideal number of victims, and the main Chinook would wait offshore on board a RN destroyer awaiting instructions.

  Forbes was at the briefing to advise the soldiers in the art of zombie capture techniques:

  ‘Firstly, do not treat these creatures as human. They are NOT! Kill them without compunction – or they will kill you. Remember – they are already dead. I have inspected your protective clothing and it should be adequate. However, do not remove any clothing or face masks until you have been decontaminated on your return. The flying crew on your chopper must be similarly garbed.

  Remember, any fluidic contact with your skin, eyes or even hair could prove fatal. The dead creatures should be tipped into the specialised crate on the aircraft and it must be securely sealed before take-off. Please ensure that the severed heads are also returned.

  You and the aeroplane will be comprehensively washed down and decontaminated, and your clothing – down to underwear will be burned. You will all – including the crew – be put into separate isolation for forty-eight hours. If you do not display any symptoms within that time, you will be free to re-join your units.’

  The nine men listened in horrified silence. What the fuck were they dealing with?

  ‘Now; to the killing. I repeat, you must re-kill these creatures as soon as possible They will only die if you either separate the head from the body – which is why you all carry Samurai style swords – or you put a shot from a pistol onto their brains. Do not hesitate - and try to avoid gore splatter. Do not waste time shooting into the torso or stabbing. They will not die in this manner. You must destroy the brain!

  When they are all dead, decapitate the bodies and load the carcasses into the crate via the rear ramp. Seal it securely and get back to the compound from which you depart ASAP. A team of volunteers will be there to decontaminate and pass you into isolation. I will deal with the dead bodies in due course.

  Remember, it is vital that you kill without mercy and avoid splatter if at all possible. Now, any questions?’

  The nine military men were all somewhat taken aback and only one question arose.

  ‘What have these people done to merit such summary treatment?’

  The Air Marshal interceded:

  ‘Don’t ask such damn fool questions, sergeant. Just do your bloody job! If you're not up to it, leave the room now – and that goes for all of you. This mission is critical to the survival of Europe. Just get it done – professionally. And remember what was said at the beginning of this briefing. The subject we are discussing is highly confidential and secret. No news of this mission can reach the public domain. It would be disastrous and many people would die in the ensuing panic. Keep your mouths shut! Professor Forbes – are you complete?’

  Forbes nodded and the Air Marshal stood up.

  ‘Right, time to go. Keep your ATC controller up to speed with progress I will be on hand for any unforeseen problems. Callsign ‘Snatch 1’ is to remain on station until ‘Snatch 2’ is airborne after the kill. Cover them. The disturbance may well draw others close. As our American friend advised – have no mercy. If your colleagues are at all threatened – shoot to kill! Good luck, gentlemen.’

  He departed the room with Forbes lea
ving behind a mildly shell-shocked team. However, the SAS men were hardened professionals.

  The job would be done!

  However distasteful and immoral it might seem.

  ***

  Brady was escorted by the gate guard to the front door of the villa, his Alsatian snarling viciously. Stewart met them and took Brady to the sitting room, where Chloe stood awaiting the arrival of her father.

  They both stood motionless for several seconds, after which Chloe walked across the room and embraced her father warmly, and he reciprocated enthusiastically in kind.

  ‘How did you find me, dad?’

  ‘Hard work and pure luck,’ he joked.

  They sat down and Chloe offered coffee, which Stewart prepared and brought into the lounge. As they sipped the warm drink, Brady and Chloe brought each other up to date with their activities since mid-February.

  ‘I have to say, Chloe, I'm astonished that you went off with your mother!’

  Chloe gave him an old-fashioned look and replied sarcastically:

  ‘And I suppose using blackmail to steal $10 million was ethical?’

  Both laughed heartily until Tony Stewart interjected.

  ‘I don’t mean to break up this heart-warming family reunion, but there is the small matter of a CIA agent sitting at the bottom of the road. Action is required. I can assist, but only with your complete co-operation.’

  Brady was mystified.

  ‘What do you mean – a CIA agent?’

  Stewart smiled cynically.

  ‘You’ve been tailed Mr Brady, probably for quite some time. From what I've heard this morning, I suspect they are after Ms Fletcher here and her mother. You’ve led them nicely into her nest.’

  ‘Oh shit. I'm sorry, Clo. I had no idea. I'm not really trained in this type of intrigue. I never suspected that I would be followed out here.’

  Chloe now fully appreciated the predicament.

  ‘Water under the bridge and all that, dad. Now we have to get out of here. Can you really help us Tony?’

  ‘Yes, madam, I can. My days at Hereford often come in useful on occasions like these. However, it won't come cheap, but I imagine you can afford it.’

  ‘Name your price. Just get us off this bloody island.’

  Stewart had been pondering the problem whilst listening to the pair relating their personal escape stories. He had a fair idea of what steps to take. He spoke into his small transmitter and passed orders to his men.

  ‘Pick up our friend at the bottom of the road and take him to Alpha location. I will be there in one hour.’

  He turned back to Chloe.

  ‘That's the first issue to be dealt with. We will ask our CIA man some pertinent questions, and find out how much he knows and if he has told anybody. We’ll hold him until you are well away. Next, we need two new passports. I can arrange these within forty-eight hours. That will give us time to arrange an escape route. I suggest you colour your hair madam and you sir, need a haircut. You both need to change your appearance. Spectacles will also help to complete the disguise.

  I will need fifty thousand US dollars to make immediate payments to my contacts. May I escort you to the bank madam?’

  Chloe smiled briefly and replied with a smirk.

  ‘That won't be necessary, Tony.’

  At which she rose from her chair, approached an original Picasso on the sidewall, slid it aside, revealing a wall safe. She keyed in the combination – some twenty digits and letters memorised – and opened the access door. It was crammed full of cash. She extracted five bundles of US dollars and handed them to Stewart.

  ‘I find it prudent to keep some cash around for unexpected emergencies – like this. There’s a million or more in here, Tony. What is your fee?’

  Stewart took his chance, but wasn’t prepared to be over ambitious or greedy.

  ‘I believe half a million plus expenses will cover my costs, madam.’

  Chloe nodded in agreement and they shook hands.

  ‘Anything else for now,’ she queried.

  ‘Yes madam. The villa. Do you want me to sell it for you – or perhaps I could rent it out. It would make five hundred dollars per day easily.’

  ‘I'll keep it, Tony. You let it and keep the proceeds as the security fee.’

  Brady just looked on in awe at his daughter.

  My God, he thought, how she's grown up in the past three months.

  It was like watching her mother!

  ***

  Whilst this conversation was being undertaken in St Kitts, some four thousand or more miles to the east, a crack team of SAS soldiers was waiting nervously aboard HMS Daring for the call to take off and proceed with the zombie snatch mission.

  The pathfinder Puma helicopter was patrolling East Anglia whilst Daring sat two miles off Lowestoft. It was searching for a small group of likely victims on the surface.

  The landscape presented an appalling picture. Although, it was a bright, sunny day, the surface was littered with the debris that had followed the snow, thaw and flood. Wrecked vehicles, buildings, property and worst of all, bodies, littered the countryside. The crew could not imagine anybody surviving in this hell on earth.

  Yet, there were beings inhabiting the area.

  Weird, bedraggled wretches forever wandering aimlessly.

  They didn’t even look up as the aircraft flew over, or as it hovered twenty or thirty feet above. They merely continued their inexorable limping march, and most of them were headed towards the sea.

  Consequently, it didn’t take very long to find a suitable group of adults. About ten or eleven were shuffling across a field about fifteen miles north of Ipswich. They were seemingly isolated, and the ground they occupied was on a slight rise and looked firm enough for a helicopter landing. After circling out to a couple of miles to be certain that no other beings were in the immediate vicinity, the crew noted the geographic position on the satnav and radioed the information back to the ship. The pilot then climbed the Puma to around one thousand feet above ground level, and hovered in expectation that the SAS team would arrive promptly.

  Which they did fifteen minutes later.

  ‘Snatch 2 to Snatch 1, approaching from the east. We have contact with a group about one mile in our twelve o’clock. Confirm that the area remains clear?’

  Snatch 1 replied immediately:

  ‘Acknowledged Snatch 2. Area safe. Clear to approach and land.’

  The Puma watched the Chinook approach, circle and then land about one hundred metres from the group, between the zombies and the sea. The crew quickly lowered the rear ramp and the six SAS men scampered out onto the surface, covered head to toe in specialised protective clothing, including NBC masks.

  Each man carried a pistol in his right hand and three of them a long, Samurai type slicing sword in the left.

  They waited.

  The group of eleven walking dead approached. They sensed their quarry and were driven helplessly towards the helicopter. The SAS divided into three teams of two.

  One pair remained in the centre, one pair circled to the left and one pair to the right, walking slowly towards their targets until they were about twenty metres from the Chinook.

  The zombies continued to march upon their intended prey.

  Obstinately; ceaselessly; perpetually; eternally and hungrily.

  They were seemingly mindless automatons.

  The SAS men waited and watched, and a couple trembled involuntarily. Nevertheless, their professional training took over and they braced themselves for hand-to-hand combat.

  The zombies also split into three groups in preparation for sourcing their next meal. Four to the centre, and three to each side. This made the job much easier for the soldiers.

  The zombies continued their desperate, drunken stagger – determined to seize their opportunity for a meal. There was precious little to be had in the way of living flesh in the UK by this time.

  As the zombies approached to within five metres from the soldiers, at a
prearranged signal, the SAS stepped forward and fired eleven shots.

  All head shots. All accurate. All terminal.

  The zombies fell to the ground – dead once again.

  This time permanently!

  The three SAS with swords holstered their pistols and drew their blades, whilst their partners covered them, scouring the local area for additional threats. Each body was rapidly and efficiently decapitated, and the remains left on the ground. There was no blood, but the soldiers stepped back from their prey in revulsion.

  The helicopter took off into the hover and manoeuvred its’ stern and ramp towards the bodies and set down about ten metres from the gory heap. The SAS carefully placed their swords and pistols into the crate and whilst four men carried the twenty-two body parts and dumped them unceremoniously into the makeshift coffin, their colleagues maintained the watch for any sign of approaching hostiles. The zombies were surprisingly light, as the blood had long since drained away.