by James Somers
The submachine gun vibrates in my hands, but I can handle it. I’ve never fired one before, but my strength allows me to hold it fairly steady, aiming for their heads with the hope of quick kills. However, there is no way to avoid body shots. The gun fires so fast, and the sheer number of targets makes accuracy impossible.
However, once those on the front line are killed, they become shields for those behind. Their bodies don’t fall away due to the constant press. They remain as a safety barrier to zombies clamoring to get inside. I pause, realizing this isn’t going to work. Only when they come through will it be more effective. Yet, they’ll be able to flood over me then, as well. I can’t stay here much longer.
“Garth?” I holler over the din of zombies wrenching the gate from its mounts.
There comes no reply. I hope he found the girls and led them to the roof. Staying in the store is about to become ludicrous. I back away toward the registers, bursting with the machine gun as I find clear targets. Yet, the numbers coming through are beyond what I can deal with. Every zombie I put down has one hundred more to replace it.
Then it finally happens. The security gate breaks loose, giving way to a tidal wave of death and destruction coming through. I fire on them again, just opening it up. The ammo runs dry as I turn to run. I pop out one clip, reaching into my bag for another. I pop this back in and give the firing bolt a pull to ready the magazine.
I’m running through racks of clothes, then beyond through racks of electronics and DVDs. I fire the gun in spraying bursts behind me. Zombies go down, but more instantly take their places. There is no stopping them. All I can do is run away.
Suddenly Garth is there, intercepting several who attempt to flank me. He cuts them down and takes up running beside me. I shoot any of the infected that get near. Garth does even worse.
“Did you find the girls?” I ask as we stumble onto an aisle filled with various brands and flavors of soft drinks. I spray the cans, ushering a sticky, wet deluge onto the aisle floor. Zombies slip and crash into the shelves when they attempt to pursue. Others run over top of their fellows to keep up the chase.
“I sent them on to the roof,” Garth replies, cutting down another three who show up at the end of the aisle behind us. “We have to get there before they hem us in!”
I agree completely, following him as he changes direction. We run toward the stockroom again, zombies crashing through every thing in sight, looking for prey, especially us. I keep firing the MP5K as we go, trying to keep some small buffer zone between us and them.
We crash through the double doors, running toward the metal ladder leading to the roof. The girls are nowhere in sight, which hopefully means they’ve gotten up there already in plenty of time. Garth and I are going to be lucky to make it at all.
He takes to the rungs quickly, climbing up while I linger at the bottom shooting everything coming through the doors. Fortunately, there are natural bottlenecks like these doors where only so many zombies can come through easily. I lay down suppressing fire, until my clip runs dry. A fast drop and change and pull, puts me back into action again.
I turn and run for the ladder. Garth is close to the top already. I leap up to catch the rungs a good twenty feet from the floor. My strength allows me greater distance when jumping, as well as everything else I do. At least, in this kind of stuff, I can keep up with Garth’s catlike prowess, even if I still stink with a sword.
We make it to the roof, Garth waiting for me to come through before pushing down the trap door. Before going through, I see zombies climbing up behind me. They know how to climb as well as they ever did in life. They’re definitely not dead things. Their brains still work just fine.
Garth latches the lid into place. I notice his arm.
“You’re bleeding,” I say urgently. “Did you get bitten?”
“I’m fine,” he says. “Nothing to worry about.”
“But—”
Behind Garth, the latch handle turns.
“There are Holly and Cassie,” he says, pointing behind me toward the rear of the building.
When I turn, they aren’t where I expected to find them. The roof is clear. Holly and Cassie are standing on the train tracks running behind the Sainsbury department store building. The tracks are elevated, as tall as the roof Garth and I are standing on. However, there’s no way Holly and Cassie could have jumped from here to there. It’s too far.
Then I remember the zombies.
“The latch!”
Garth turns to grab it, to stop them opening the door. Only, he’s too late. The door flies open at our feet. Zombies come out as though they are launched from a cannon. Three are through before we can even react.
I shoot two of them. Garth takes down the third with his katana. More come through behind, as we deal with these. In moments, a dozen are stalking after us. We try to stop them at the door, but fighting some while others come through makes it nearly impossible to do efficiently.
The sound of another engine revving comes to us from the parking lot in front of the building.
“This way!” I say to Garth, running from the zombies toward the front. Cassie and Holly are safe for the moment where they are, but there may be help for us. Someone may have finally come to our aid.
Garth leaps away from the mass of zombies, speeding after me. I reach the front first, looking over to see what all the commotion is about. A garbage truck is plowing through great numbers of zombies. They’re attacking the truck. To my surprise, the Russian, Vladimir Nesky, is driving it.
He slams a group of zombies in between the side of his truck and the Escalade. Bodies fall away, but many others are still trying to get to him in the cab. He fires on these with silenced pistols. They fall away. However, his truck has drawn a great deal of attention away from us. Just not enough.
We still have zombies attacking up here.
“What do we do?” I ask Garth.
Zombies pour through the gaps between the air conditioners planted on the roof. They don’t care about the garbage truck below, don’t even know about it. They only have eyes for me and Garth, right now.
“Is that Agent Smith down there?” Garth asks, peering over the front of the roof.
I run, flanking the zombies coming through the heat and air units. “Agent Smith?” I say, a little accusingly. “Really?”
Garth follows me, keeping up easily. “Am I missing something?” he asks.
The wave of zombies must come through the heat and air systems to get to us, but as soon as they realize we’re heading in a different direction, the whole line shifts. We’re leading them in a semicircular chase around the edge of the roof. As we pass by the last air unit in line on southern end of the building, I spot the trailing end of the zombies chasing us. They see us, and I open fire again.
“I asked if I’m missing something about Smith,” Garth says again.
I keep spraying bullets at zombies as we run for the opposite end of the building toward the rear again. This really isn’t the time for this conversation. We have more urgent matters, like the fact that we can’t keep running around this rooftop all day.
“Get us off of this roof, and I’ll tell you!” I call back.
Garth takes me by my left wrist, beginning to outpace me as I continue shooting to our right.
“Where are we going?” I ask, realizing we’re about to be hemmed in. The infected are hot on our heels from behind and to our right. We won’t be able to turn right and chase around the perimeter again. We also can’t go back down the ladder through the store. Zombies are still coming through there.
“You see the ladies waiting on the tracks?” Garth asks, grinning.
“Yeah,” I say warily.
“We’re aiming for them.”
“You expect me to jump that gap?” I ask.
“Dr. Albert got you in our program for some reason, didn’t he? You’re strong, you can do things other people can’t?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts
, just give it all you’ve got and jump that gap with me!”
I make a half-hearted attempt at pulling away, but Garth’s grip is like iron on my wrist. He’s not going to let go. Looking into his eyes, I can see it there. We’re going over the side, one way or another.
There’s a significant space, an alley behind the building big enough for cars to be parked here. There’s also a loading dock where transfer trucks can back in to unload goods to the stockroom. The distance between the edge of the roof and the tracks where Holly and Cassie wait for us is about like leaping over five cars parked side by side.
We’re running out of room fast. I click the safety with my finger and drop the submachine gun, allowing it to dangle at my hip on its strap. I don’t want to accidentally squeeze the trigger when I do this crazy thing, nor do I want to crash on top of it and shoot myself.
I pump my arms furiously, increasing my speed as Garth does the same. Zombies close in all around. I hate this, but I know I have no choice. If I remain, the infected will kill me and pick my bones clean. If I land in the rear alley behind the store, a hundred zombies will hurl themselves down on top of me at once, crushing my bones before then picking my bones clean. Not a lot of options to choose from right now, so I’m determined to give this my best effort.
I believe Garth can probably do it. Seeing his acrobatics down in the Sector Four gymnasium, I know he has lots of experience with jumps and flips and obstacles. He’s like some extreme Parkour free runner. Me, not so much. I play Rugby. I’m used to taking down ball carriers. I know some martial arts, but nothing preparing me for this.
“Look at the girls and nothing else!” Garth yells beside me.
We hit the last step, hop to the raised edge, and push off with everything we’ve got. I feel power forcing its way out of my body through my legs like a reserve waiting to finally be tapped. It’s all adrenaline and heat and intensity of purpose. I focus on Holly and Cassie and the tracks—nothing else.
We’re still in the air, when I hear zombies screeching furiously, leaping from the roof after us. Holly and Cassie move aside suddenly. Garth and I land together on the tracks a fraction of a second later. He touches down gracefully. I stumble several paces, but Garth still has hold on my arm and kindly steadies me.
Behind, dozens of zombies leap from the roof of the Sainsbury after us. They have ordinary strengths pushed to the limit by their infection. They don’t make it. Dozens of them crash into the concrete below, turning the alley into a pool of twisted bodies and broken bones.
Some of them die in their attempts. Others wound themselves to the point where they can only crawl about, still trying to get to us, but uselessly. Others, mostly because they land on their injured fellows, pick themselves up and run for the fence and the tracks beyond.
“We have to keep moving!” Holly shouts. She and Cassie are already running ahead, trusting us to catch up quickly.
Garth and I take off down the tracks after them.
“You said, you would tell me, if I got us off the roof,” Garth reminds me. “We’re now off the roof.”
We’re still out of range of Holly, but I speak only loud enough for Garth to hear. I’m not sure about Holly. Things just don’t make sense. The evidence adds up to her knowing about Nesky, to her being his accomplice—a Russian spy.
“Agent Smith is actually a Russian spy,” I say with a hard look.
Garth takes a moment, still running beside me, to process this statement. He says, “Are you joking?”
“I wish I was,” I reply, “but there’s more, and you can’t say anything to Holly just yet.”
“Why not?” he asks, seeming particularly agitated by my insistence that Holly not know.
“Just trust me, please?” I reply. “We need a safe place to discuss all that’s happened over the past few days.”
Garth doesn’t appear happy, but he let’s the subject lie for now. We really do need a safe place away from here. Zombies are still in pursuit somewhere behind us. It’s entirely likely we’ll run into more who will take notice as this chase continues. There’s certainly no shortage of the infected in London right now.
The haze has burned away, and the sun is beating down upon these tracks. It will be hot for London this time of year. Garth and I catch up to the women with relative ease. We all begin to pace ourselves. There are no zombies up on the tracks yet, so this looks like a good place to make our way. I just don’t know where we’re making our way to.
Four steam stacks rise high into the sky ahead to our right. I recognize the iconic Battersea Power Station immediately. It’s been abandoned for decades, yet it remains unmolested on the southern bank of the Thames, jutting out of the ground like a great claw.
“What about the power station?” I ask the others.
“No food, or water,” Garth notes.
“But we can probably shut ourselves up in there away from these things. Lots of steel doors and such—great rooms full of machinery,” Holly says.
“I suppose we can make stealth runs for food,” Garth admits.
“Well, I can’t run forever,” Cassie says, smiling sidelong at me, “so, I vote for it.”
The rest of us look amongst ourselves as we jog. The consensus appears to be unanimous for Battersea. However, while the tracks do turn toward the river, it’s quite a ways. On the other hand, leaving the tracks to cut through neighborhoods will be extremely dangerous, since these places are full of the infected. We may not like it, but we have a good couple of miles run ahead of us, if we want to get to safety, and a few zombies are beginning to show up on the tracks behind us.
I look over to Garth. “If we have to, you and I can wait on the ones coming by track.”
He nods grimly, and we have a plan.
Metal grinds against metal, as Vladimir Nesky slams down upon the accelerator again, peeling the side of his confiscated garbage truck away from the Cadillac Escalade. The SUV is battered nearly beyond recognition, at this point, and has been scoured in gore due to many zombies pinned between the vehicles upon impact. The truck lurches away. Many of the infected tenaciously cling to its tortoise like hull, trying to get to the driver.
Vladimir is forced to shoot several of the emaciated creatures who manage to get to the cab and hold on. However, his driving is so wild the number of successful attempts remains low. Still, these zombies have no intention on giving up. They’ve been without flesh, possibly for days, and they’ve just seen five tasty morsels all in one place.
Tearing through the parking lot, away from the department store, Vladimir rakes the side of the truck against a tall light pole, scraping away more clinging, climbing bodies. Tumbling onto the concrete lot, many of these soon pick themselves up and take up pursuit again. The indifference these infected show to their wounds and pain astounds Vladimir.
“Like junkies on PCP,” he mutters, watching them get up to their feet again through the rearview mirror.
Driving along the western perimeter of the parking lot, heading toward the petrol pump station, Vladimir notices figures running. Only, these are not zombies pursuing him. Jonathan Parks, Holly Tavers, and the two youths riding with her in the Escalade have escaped the Sainsbury department store, while he drew attention away with his garbage truck.
They run along the elevated portion of the train tracks running behind the store. If they follow this course, it will cross the Thames, or lead them toward Battersea Park. He charges out of the parking lot with a growing horde of zombies hot on his trail from the store.
Vladimir pulls the garbage truck through the petrol station, crashing through several pumps in the process. Petrol sprays from torn hoses and pipes dousing the rear of the truck. The infected ignore the foul smelling downpour, flocking to the garbage truck.
Reaching behind the passenger seat, he finds a safety kit which includes several flares to be used during breakdowns. Vladimir ignites a flare as he turns onto the adjoining road at Pascal. He tosses the flare back out his driver widow. The
flare bounces against the side of the truck, igniting the petrol and the infected crawling across the surface, then hits the road among clamoring zombies. A wave of fire erupts, sweeping over the infected all the way back to the petrol station. Pumps, building, zombies and all go up in a terrible mushroom of flame.
Vladimir keeps on going, his garbage truck trailing fire and burned bodies down the street in his wake. He knows where those train tracks lead. There’s no way he’s going to let Jonathan Parks get away from him now.
Under Observation
3 Days Earlier
Lance Corporal David Rollins remains as lucid as anyone else on Major Timothy Bingham’s team. However, Rollins is the only man, of the three to enter the Tombs to rescue Scott Bishop, who was bitten as they escaped. He makes the flight back to GCHQ in Gloucestershire, watching the hand, as though expecting a monster to leap from the wound at any moment. However, the real enemy is already swimming through his veins, quickly changing its new host.
An hour after they arrive at the huge flying saucer-shaped building, nicknamed the Doughnut, Rollins begins to be symptomatic. He becomes feverish and a bit delusional, complaining of pain and nausea. Shortly after, he withdraws into his mind, no longer communicating anything at all, as though he’s enduring a private Hell, unwilling to share his experience with Bishop and the others.
Sayers informs Bishop he has the lead on the bare bones team of scientists she has managed to cobble together on short notice from a shorter list. There were names Bishop requested, but it is impossible to get them. Either they are out of country and unwilling to come to England while it’s in the throes of a viral plague, or their whereabouts are currently unknown. Possibly, they’ve fled while they can. Probably, living in London, they are dead or infected already—part of the problem now rather than the solution.