‘How can you prove this somewhat implausible notion, professor?’ asked Lord Irvine doubtfully.
‘There’s only one way really, sir. We need two more bodies – but this time alive! We need your authority to proceed today. The troops and aircraft are briefed and ready to go. Will you give this mission your approval? In my opinion, it is vital. If these creatures are communicating, it will change our entire defensive posture. If they can be controlled, then the threat will be infinitely increased.’
Lord Irvine sat for a few moments before replying.
‘Go ahead, make the call. Mission authorised – but for God’s sake man, make this the last one!’
‘May I use your phone, sir?’ requested Forbes.
Lord Irvine nodded and turned his attention to the file lying before him on the desk. Whilst Forbes made the call, he flicked through the pages, grimacing as he viewed the photography from the post mortems, until he reached a report concerning one Sergeant Keith Leach, SAS.
‘Forbes. What's this report on the SAS man – Leach. Is he dead?’
The professor looked up, embarrassed.
‘Ah, yes sir. I was coming to that. As you know, we put the SAS and aircrew into solitary for two days. It was a good thing that we did. The ill-fated Sgt Leach had scratched his neck whist shaving that morning before the mission and unfortunately, as he endured the decontam procedure some of the virus must have entered his bloodstream. He began to demonstrate symptoms within two hours and was dead within twenty-four.’
‘Just exactly what symptoms did he display?’
‘They were unique in my experience. He fell into a coma and his hair began to fall away. It was as if he had advanced radiation sickness. In addition, he went blind as his iris, cornea and pupil dissolved, leaving a cloudy, bluish film covering the lens. Foul lesions appeared on the surface of his skin and his fingernails dropped out. However, the most important change was discovered at the autopsy. He also was developing the cyst above his left ear before he died – and it was electrically charged.’
Lord Irvine asked the one pertinent question of the morning.
‘Did he come back to life, professor?’
Forbes swallowed deeply before responding.
‘No sir. We burned his body to ashes twenty minutes after I discovered the cyst. We could not let him resuscitate. The threat of reinfection was too perilous. My apologies. He was a volunteer, had no family and was fully aware of the risks. Please be assured that the team taking off as we speak are even better protected, and we have carried out extensive medical checks to avoid a repetition of the circumstances surround the unfortunate Sgt Leach. We need the two living zombies to study how they interact. We could learn vital information that would be essential in our fight against this potent enemy.
We need to know two things.
One: can the creatures recruit by reinfection or can they merely feed? And two: can gore from dead creatures infect and recruit – or will our victims merely die like the poor Sgt Leach?’
Lord Irvine was fast becoming aghast.
It appeared that the penny was slowly but surely dropping.
He was going to have to allocate a disproportionate amount of his time to this issue. It was an inescapable fact.
The only real unacceptable facet of the entire bloody disaster was the term ‘zombie’. He was certain beyond doubt that if the establishment referred to this plague using the term ‘zombie’ then many, many people including the press would hurl abuse and ridicule at his office. Zombies were just not possible! It was the stuff of fiction! How could they be taken seriously?
He explained this aspect to Professor Forbes, who was sympathetic.
‘I understand that the public at large will be cynical, sceptical and extremely reticent to accept the truth. However, we can produce hard and undeniable evidence to back up our claims. Once we reveal this data to the doubting Thomases, they will have no option but to concur with our findings. In any case, if the world does nothing, then we will be at the mercy of the zombies, sorry – plague, and it is beyond question that an attempt, or even mass attempts, will be made to cross the Channel in their inexorable quest for human flesh.’
Lord Irvine had a bright idea – an obvious one really.
‘Cannot we constrain the threat to the UK? If we prevent them crossing the Channel, then there is no threat – surely?’
‘Unfortunately for us, sir, the victims of this plague do not rely on oxygen to survive. The lungs of the people I examined had solidified. They were essentially paralyzed and useless. There was no possibility of breath being drawn in. As a consequence, these beings have one advantage over living, breathing humans.’
Lord Irvine was puzzled:
‘What might that be, Forbes?’
‘They can submerge themselves. They may be able to simply lurch into the water and walk to Europe on the seabed. How could we possibly cope with that scenario?’
‘Oh dear God!’ exclaimed Lord Irvine. ‘What the hell are we going to do?’
Forbes was calm.
‘I believe that the first step is to get the world to recognise the seriousness of the threat. I suggest that the summit tomorrow will be crucial. You cannot leave that conference without a clear idea of how to proceed.’
***
Whilst Lord Irvine was receiving the bad news, Doctor John Stubbins was having brunch with his wife Eve.
The Stubbins had certainly fallen on their feet as a result of the snow! Yes, they had lost family, friends and possessions, but they now both had excellent employment and their two teenaged children were in school gaining a superior education. They had Ann Fletcher to thank for much of their good fortune. John had particularly fond memories of the ex-deputy Prime Minister, which he recalled vividly on a daily basis.
The UK move to Breton was pending and the Stubbins had taken this opportunity to discuss their immediate future over a meal and a good bottle of Italian white wine.
‘I know that we are both very lucky to have such a good position here in Brussels, but I for one don’t want to remain in this country for the rest of my career. As I've said before, the United States might well be the place to head for.’
Eve was not so confident.
‘Over fifty thousand British refugees have been resettled in the US already and I heard that the Yanks cherry-picked the best and the brightest. I reckon that they will be full to overflowing with us needy Brits. Even our superior qualifications might not be enough. We have no real money with which to set up private practice – so we'd be reliant on sponsorship from the US government – or have to obtain firm job offers. I would imagine that many of the best positions have already been filled.’
John nodded as he took a bite of his excellent fillet of sole.
‘Yes, I agree. You are probably right. We can't just give up what we've achieved and take a gamble which may threaten the children’s future. It seems that we’ll have to bide our time. It's a pity, though. The USA is a fantastic place for the medical professions – and all of that golf in endless sunshine!’
‘I know,’ replied Eve, ‘but for now just let's be grateful for what we've accomplished. Let's be patient and see what develops. We can keep our eyes on the net for potential job vacancies and apply if a suitable opportunity arises.’
John nodded again and took a sip of his Pinot Grigio.
Life was much better than he could have remotely expected after the horrors of the past six months.
Yes, they were indeed the lucky ones.
Whatever happened, the future for Doctor John Stubbins and his family appeared to be very bright indeed.
***
The Group Captain Operations replaced the phone and turned to the Air Marshal sitting next to him in the front row of the cobbled-together briefing room. They were in the new operations/decontamination centre on the outskirts of Brussels, which the UKRA contingent was using to launch ‘special ops’ against the threat posed across the English Channel.
�
��We’ve got a ‘go’,’ he whispered.
The Air Marshal, one of the ‘Triumvirate’ advising Lord Irvine, and the officer controlling flying operations over the UK, stood up and addressed the assembled team that had been waiting for two days to obtain permission to undertake another secret mission.
Those present, apart from the two senior RAF officers, were the crew of the Puma helicopter which would conduct the initial search, a Chinook pilot, three SAS operatives and a scientific officer, who was one of Professor Forbes’s assistants. The aircrew and soldiers were the same men selected for the first mission and were all volunteers. They had been fully briefed on the situation over the water and were totally aware of the dangers involved. None of them, however, were privy to the fact that Sgt Leach had died. They had been told that he was in Breton on other duties.
The Air Marshal took his time:
‘Gentlemen. We have authorisation from the First Minister to undertake this mission. Clearly, Professor Forbes has convinced him of the essential nature of the task. Take-off will be at noon and by now you will all be aware of your responsibilities and the importance of the job ahead. ‘Snatch One’ will locate two victims on the surface and vector in ‘Snatch Two’ to complete the pick-up. Mr Collins, the CIA scientist is also a volunteer, and will carry out his duties as part of the Chinook team, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat.
I do not need to remind you of the briefing details. We've been over them until I can repeat the mission in my sleep. If we can grab two of the creatures alive, imprison and safely transport them back here for observation, then the scientists can hopefully extract enough information to give us a chance of finding a solution to this problem.
Now, unless anyone has any questions, I will wish you good luck and await your return.’
The Air Marshal and the Group Captain departed for the ATC control room to monitor the mission, whilst the snatch team gathered up their equipment and proceeded to the changing rooms. It took almost an hour to dress, as fully kitted and protected flying clothing assistants ensured that all of the team were completely protected against any possible infection. Although on this particular mission the chance of cross-contamination was slight, the equipment had been subtly altered since the initial sorties. The flying helmets were of specialist American issue, and the protective clothing had been strengthened to provide complete layered defence against the threat of gore.
At 1145 hours, the pilots of the Puma and the Captain of the Chinook walked to their aircraft, boarded and completed pre-flight drills. The three SAS men and the scientist entered the Chinook and took up positions at the front of the aircraft as it started engines.
The soldiers sat in the specially modified helicopter just behind the pilot, carefully strapping in, awaiting take-off and transit to the waiting RN destroyer sitting just of the Norfolk coast. The scientist sat up front with the pilot.
At the rear of the aircraft, just forward of the rear ramp, was a large metal-barred cage, measuring two metres square by two metres high. It was enveloped in half-inch industrial grade perspex with a row of ten millimetre holes drilled along the base, and in the ceiling, to prevent condensation. The side facing the exit had two panels, which opened like doors and clicked shut. A large padlock hung from a hasp, and the cage was covered by a voluminous, removable black rubberised blanket.
The four men stared grimly at the box, sincerely hoping that it was up to the job in hand.
At precisely 1200 hours, the Puma lifted off, shortly followed by the Chinook. They turned northwest and headed for the British coast and towards the two ships awaiting their arrival. The journey would take over an hour and the Chinook would land and await call-forward by the recce Puma. The Puma would also land and refuel before setting off over East Anglia in search of two new victims.
The men on board, although fully briefed and totally professional, were full of dread. They had all encountered the creatures before and the expectation of what could happen was not a pleasant sensation.
However, they fully appreciated the vital nature of the mission, so they professionally masked their trepidation and switched into automatic mode, concentrating on their individual responsibilities.
They all knew that they must not fail.
***
‘Snatch One’ lifted off from the RN vessel and headed inland. Their mission: to find an isolated pair of plagued individuals, clear the immediate area and vector in the Chinook to complete the mission.
The Puma cruised inland at around ninety knots, both pilots scanning the landscape for potential targets. They were both shocked by the numbers of creatures they encountered, all heading for the coastline. There were groups exceeding one hundred and many others of around ten to thirty limping slowly, yet determinedly, towards the sea.
It took them about thirty minutes of searching to find what they were looking for. On a quiet country road near Dereham, they spotted two adults standing on the edge of a wood. Unusually, they weren’t walking, but standing immobile. They didn’t look up at the Puma, but stared quietly ahead, standing about three metres apart.
The Captain spoke to his co-pilot:
‘I think these might do, George. We’ll make an orbit and see if there are any others in the vicinity. In the meantime, transmit the co-ordinates to HQ and tell them to standby for probable launch from HMS Daring.’
As the co-pilot carried out his orders, the captain circled the area in ever- increasing circles out to around a mile, carefully examining the roads and fields for further signs of ‘life’. There was none, so he headed back towards the pair of creatures and ensured that the road was wide enough for the Chinook to land. Unfortunately it wasn’t! There wasn’t sufficient clearance for the helicopter rotors to avoid hitting the trees in the wood on the edge of the road. However, about two hundred metres along the road was a five-barred gate leading into a fallow field. It was flat enough for the larger aircraft to land and position its rear ramp enabling it to entice the two targets through.
The call-forward was transmitted from the co-pilot after a short discussion between him and the Chinook Captain. He explained the situation in detail and after a short acknowledgement the Chinook started engines and set off for Dereham. Within twenty minutes, the helicopter appeared over the designated wood and after further consultation with the Puma, approached the landing area.
‘The two creatures are still immobile, Snatch Two. Clear to land. I’ll climb to one thousand feet and circle to keep the area clear,’ confirmed the Puma pilot.
The Chinook hovered into position as the Puma climbed to take up his protective position at one thousand feet above. As the engines died away, the rear ramp touched down about thirty meters from the gate as the pilot operated the lift mechanism, revealing the cage and four occupants. The cover was off and the cage doors were apart with one soldier standing behind each one, ready to slam it closed, yet protected from any attack by the thick and opaque perspex. The third soldier was lying in the prone position upon a four-foot high platform, machine gun at the ready, covering his colleagues against surprise attack.
The CIA scientist remained seated and on a signal from the armed soldier, removed his right hand glove exposing his bare hand.
Almost immediately, the two creatures on the road cocked their heads in unison and sniffed the wind, moving off towards the Chinook. Their highly tuned sense of smell had picked up the aroma of human flesh – even at this range – and the temptation was too much. They instantly plodded down the lane towards the gate, whilst searching for a quicker way into the field, but finding none, opened the access to the field and lurched towards the Chinook.
The crew readied itself, and as the creatures approached to within ten metres the CIA man replaced his glove, realising that the bait was taken. This was his sole responsibility. A risk, but only a slight one.
The two zombies, one male and one female – her exposed breast bloodied and putrid, reached the ramp and climbed unworried towards captivity. The prone SAS man a
imed his gun carefully, to be ready to take off their heads at the slightest sign that they might reach and attack his friends.
They didn’t.
The CIA man spoke to the pilot, advising him to re-start the engines.
Suddenly, a cry of alarm came from the pilot of the Puma, who had circled back to hover above the Chinook, and had descended to around two hundred feet:
‘Snatch Two from One. We've got a problem. Now we know why they were standing motionless outside the wood. Their fucking mates were inside. They must have been waiting for company….and now we've fucking got it! Dozens of the things are pouring out of the woods and heading for your position. I'd say you’ve got sixty seconds before the first ones are on you! Do you copy, One?’
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