And then they started on the town.
***
It was carnage.
Most of the civilian population of the coastal towns up and down the French coast had been disturbed by the sporadic gunfire from the beaches, and many had drawn back their curtains and peeked out into the misty darkness.
They saw little to worry them and when the firing stopped, many returned to their beds, oblivious of the impending danger. A few left their houses and gathered in the streets for a few minutes, but again, when the shooting ceased, they too went back to bed, shivering in the early morning gloom.
They didn’t have long to wait for calamity to overtake their lives.
By 0600, over two hundred thousand mutants had streamed ashore along the coast from Dunkirk to Wissant. When the initial military defences were overcome, the horde armed itself and spilled into the countryside and towns in search of living flesh. And there were plenty of bones to be stripped.
Humans that encountered the mutant army stood no chance. Most were unarmed and even those with firearms soon discovered that bullets had no effect. The occasional farmer used his shotgun and blew a mutant’s head into oblivion, only to encounter another twenty in its’ wake, ready to devour the hapless victim.
They were doomed.
'The Rook' was closely controlling her caste via her lieutenants, and was ordering the soldiers to feed on only every other one of the humans they encountered. She wanted a fresh supply of recruits left behind to supplement her army and the losses they would surely experience. These tactics would also strike terror into her enemy. So, after the initial hunger was excised, thousands of humans were left ‘alive’ with superficial gashes to the neck and face. This incapacitated the victims but allowed the transmutation to commence and within 72 hours, a new mutant would rise to join its’ comrades.
The initial few hours were an uncompromising success.
Although several of the local French Army Commanders had got messages through to Brussels before they were overwhelmed, the HQ had been totally unprepared for this pre-emptive attack. Many of the senior commanders had to be dragged from their beds and sleepily issued orders in an attempt to resist the horde.
It was a nightmare of confusion and incompetence.
The first thing they managed was to issue several general orders:
Firstly; all civilians were to evacuate the area invaded by the mutants. However, for many thousands it was far too late.
Secondly; all air strikes programmed for targets in the UK were to be re-planned for attacks on the mutants in and around Calais.
Finally, all military ground forces were ordered forward towards the main thrusts of the zombie army.
This final order was easier said than done. Many of the French military and their allies in the Pas de Calais had already jumped into their vehicles and fled eastwards. Messages of vile death and destruction were seeping out and these soldiers certainly did not relish engaging such a formidable and seemingly indestructible force.
At first light, reconnaissance flights had been launched to assess the situation, and their in-flight reports were predictably ominous.
Mutants were surging across a wide front, killing everything in their path and setting fire to all buildings – apparently sparing no-one or nothing. Yes, they were moving slowly, at around one mile per hour, but were all-encompassing in their techniques of slaughter and mayhem.
Recce pilots noted fighting in the streets of Dunkirk and Calais, but both towns were fully ablaze and vehicles were streaming east, out of populated zones. Bodies were strewn pell mell in all built up areas and mutants were openly gorging themselves.
Aircraft also met with resistance from the ground. Several returned to base with bullet holes in their fuselages. None had been shot down, but it was clear that the mutants had seized allied weapons and had quickly learned how to use them.
It was absolute bedlam.
Bloody death and mayhem had overtaken the French countryside and although they had only progressed three or four miles by 8am, the mutant army had annihilated everything in its’ path.
And to make things worse, many thousands were still streaming ashore.
And because the air interdiction against mutant shipping had been cancelled, many thousands of small boats were now sailing unhindered towards the European coastline.
The media had got wind of the disaster and were broadcasting doom and destruction across Europe and the world. Panic of unprecedented proportions gripped the populace. Millions of civilians immediately swarmed eastwards, ignoring all attempts to prevent or control them. Severe pressure was building at the German border, which up to now had been closed.
Fear and the prospect of an imminent demise and/or a horrible living death had significantly sparked their sense of personal survival.
Western Europe was in disarray, and anarchy took a firm grip.
The military could not move towards the west and were swept away by the millions of fleeing non-combatants, many on foot as the roads were jammed.
As air attacks were launched against the mutants, pilots relayed in-flight reports indicating that their bombs were like pinpricks against a leviathan. The mutants, unless unluckily decapitated by shrapnel or a direct hit, merely shook themselves off and continued the surge east.
This truly was Armageddon.
***
An emergency assembly was called for 0900 hours. All heads of state available – or their representatives – and all allied senior commanders were summoned to the large conference hall in Brussels for a crisis meeting to discuss an immediate response to the attack.
Recriminations filled the air. The French military took a great deal of criticism for their recurrent and pathetic defence of the beachhead. As usual, they blamed everyone else except themselves, and it took almost an hour for blame and accusations to be replaced with positive plans of action.
But, nobody knew what to do.
The lines of communication and main arteries of travel were grid-locked or had been destroyed by the enemy. Aircraft continued to bomb with minimal effect. The human race was fleeing for its very existence.
Suddenly, the Russian President entered the conference hall and took his place next to his military advisors. They spoke quietly for several minutes whilst the panicky discussions continued and clearly were achieving very little.
After consulting his Rolex and at a natural break in the dialogue, he stood and drew the attention of the chairman – the President of the United States – and indicated that he intended to speak.
‘Please, Mr President. You have the floor.’
The Russian leader surveyed the room and spoke in English.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I warned you of the consequences of dismissing decisive, early and definitive action. The worst has now happened. As a consequence, the Russian people will now take action - critical and conclusive action - as I warned you we would if threatened. The threat is now clearly patent. My aircraft are airborne and the codes delivered and authenticated.’
A stunned silence engulfed the room as delegates began to realise the significance of his words. The President of the United States asked the Russian to make himself clear.
‘I warned you of the danger and now I will deal with it in the only way possible. My air force will be on target in ten minutes. There are six aircraft armed with tactical nuclear weapons.’
The room erupted in a cacophony of uproar, terror and disbelief. The Russian was unapologetic:
‘There is nothing you can possibly do to stop them.’
***
By the night of 2/3rd July, Chloe and Brady had settled into life at the Ar Klegueur campsite near Roscoff. The motorhome overlooked the Promenade de Penarth which led out to the point which created the shallow bay facing the Atlantic. The site was very quiet, with only a handful of the permanent mobile homes occupied.
The news from the Pas de Calais had been devastating.
The entire continent to the nor
th of Brittany was in turmoil. The Russian nuclear strikes had caused untold damage and loss of human life, but early reports from the region suggested that the mutant invasion had not been arrested. Many of the creatures had been obliterated, but those outside the blast area continued their march eastwards totally unaffected.
‘What are we going to do, dad? I'm scared.’
Brady was at a loss to give his daughter a reassuring answer.
‘To tell the truth, I just don’t know. We are trapped here for the time being and quite frankly, I can't see any real option other than to stay put. National borders will be closed and the human traffic will be horrendous. We are as safe here as anywhere.’
Chloe was in tears. It was just past midnight, and neither could sleep. The tension and fear for the future would not allow it.
Just then there was a light knocking at the door and it made Chloe jump.
‘Who the hell could that be at this time of night? Surely it can't be the site owners – I’ll go and see.’
Chloe stood up tiredly and approached the 'van door, which was positioned centrally, switched on the exterior light and cautiously opened it.
She peered into the half-light and as recognition gripped her, she took an involuntary half-step backwards, crashing into the fridge door behind her and screamed.
Brady immediately sprang up to see what was causing such a commotion and reached the door in two strides. He looked through the doorway and the vision before him struck terror into his heart.
Half a dozen snarling, slavering mutants were crowding each other in the attempt to get inside the 'van.
Chloe screamed again.
Epilogue
One Year Later
The dozens of nuclear strikes on the Pas de Calais did not realise the decisive victory the Russians had imagined.
The only significant and entirely nugatory achievement was to destroy huge tracts of land and to murder thousands of innocent civilians. The radioactive fallout was massive and stretched for hundreds of miles to the east as the prevailing winds drove the debris from the ground bursts towards the fleeing refugees and across the German borders.
Radiation sickness took its inevitable toll over the following months as many hundreds of thousands died in searing pain.
Within one hour of the nuclear strike, the leading non-European powers had evacuated their senior politicians and military commanders by air. The US, Chinese and Russians returned home and stayed there, leaving the carnage in the hands of the hapless Europeans. No more nuclear weapons were dropped, as even the Russians realised, too late, that they had no lasting effect on the mutant army. The political fallout was far more serious. The UN split into factions who squabbled and in some cases came to blows. The Russian withdrew into themselves and threatened all and sundry with similar nuclear retribution if their homeland was ever endangered. The Europeans were appalled that the American, Chinese and all other non-European nations had cut and run, taking their armed forces with them. The bombing of the UK all but stopped as millions of desperate civilians fled before the mutant menace. Over one million of the creatures had crossed the English Channel, landing in France, Belgium and Holland. They swarmed across the countryside, killing, maiming, feeding, infecting and burning.
'The Rook' was supreme.
Her plan had succeeded and her army was triumphant.
Within three months her forces had tripled and had reached the frontiers of Poland, the Czech Republic and Italy. They spread south towards Spain and overwhelmed Brittany.
Lord Irvine and his armed forces put up a brave fight, but they too were overcome by sheer weight of numbers. When ammunition and fuel ran out, the mutants killed at will. It was a slaughterhouse.
Ann Fletcher died of starvation and dehydration in a prison block, where she cowered as the mutants overran her secure facility. Her guards hadn’t the compassion to free her or other prisoners, so when the mutants reached her cell, she was unreachable as the drooling creatures could not access her trembling and pathetic figure because they didn’t possess the ability to operate a simple key.
Western Europe was lost and abandoned by the rest of the world within six months and 'The Rook' prepared for the winter ahead.
She halted her army and took stock. The mutants would consolidate their position over the three hard, cold months ahead, as moving in deep snow was almost impossible for the horde. They would feed and infect the remainder of the humans and drive further east in the spring.
The rest of the world looked on in helpless horror.
Politicians urged scientists to come up with a chemical or biological solutions to the problem, but none was forthcoming. Nothing seemed to affect these creatures. The Russians continued to bombard the horde with their mega-MOAB bombs, but it was like shovelling shit uphill, and the slope was getting ever steeper!
Someone belatedly remembered what had happened in Ireland, and so the US planned to target the leaders of the mutants in the hope that they might be stalled if not under direct telepathic control.
However, finding the leaders was like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Impossible! 'The Rook' was well hidden and protected and the human leaders had absolutely no idea where to look. It was a pointless task.
So, in the spring, the surge east into the Russias and Asia, north into Scandinavia and south into Africa began, and the civilian population fled in panic before the onslaught.
There was nothing anyone could do to stop the growing throng of the devil’s spawn.
The world shuddered in fear and morbid anticipation.
There was no escape.
It was only a matter of time.
The mutant horde would only stop when the food ran out, and that meant when there was no-one left alive on earth.
And all because of a three week snowstorm!
THE END
Acknowledgement (and apologies):
The Zombie Survival Guide – Max Brooks
Try these other novels by Ryan Clifford
SCAPEGOAT!
JET LAG!
WHITEWASH!
CRUISE!
By the same author
RYAN CLIFFORD
Thank you for buying and reading these books.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 138