The Z Infection

by Russell Burgess

  Then the aircraft came. RAF Tornado GR4’s. There were at least two dozen in the first wave. They fired into the swarm with a combination of their Maverick and Brimstone missiles, one after another. Huge swathes were cut right through the mass. Explosions threw the infected into the air, decapitated them, blew off limbs and incinerated them. It would have been an impressive sight if it were not for the fact that the people we were killing were our own and had been trusted members of society just a day before.

  Once the missiles had been used up the aircraft took it in turn to rake along the ranks of the enemy with their 27mm guns. The dead fell in heaps. Some stayed down, but I saw many rise again, with horrific injuries which should have meant it was impossible.

  Then the tanks began to fire. They pounded the infected with deadly accurate fire, cutting through them as they advanced on the front line of infantry. They seemed unstoppable. For every one that fell, there were others to fill the gap. The advance on our soldiers was inexorable.

  When they got in range the troops began firing. They felled the infected at close range, until they were running out of ammunition. And still the swarm kept coming, pressing on them until they were at close quarters. Then it was brutal hand to hand combat. I looked away as the front line of troops was swamped and devoured by waves of infected. It was more than I could stomach when the second line went the same way as they tried to rescue their comrades. And even the General was taken aback when the third and fourth lines broke and ran.

  That’s when things really started to go wrong. The second column, with the larger armoured force, was ordered to advance across Horse Fair Bridge and attack the swarm from the rear. This, it was hoped, would alleviate the pressure on the first column, who were now retreating back to Hampton Court Bridge. Actually they were running. Without heed for anything else any more. Their officers and NCO’s did their best to retain some order, but it was impossible. Their armour was also trying desperately to get back across the river, but the congestion meant that they could barely move. Some crews bailed out and left their machines where they stood. Many were killed as the swarm overtook them and they became trapped.

  Then, a mixed message meant that disaster was assured. The RAF was ordered to destroy Hampton Court Bridge, once the main body of the army had crossed the river, back into East Moseley. It was a desperate plan to try to save what was left of the first column. But the order was intercepted by the tank crews, who realised that they would be completely cut off and decided enough was enough. The remaining crews leapt from their machines and bolted for the river. Once there, many decided to swim to safety, leaving the infected wailing at them from the banks.

  But another, greater disaster, was at hand. As the second column completed their crossing of Horse Fair Bridge and engaged the enemy rear, the two Tornados assigned to the destruction of Hampton Court Bridge now fired on the wrong target. Horse Fair Bridge was destroyed in moments, hit by three Brimstone missiles which sent a fireball high into the morning sky.

  When the smoke and debris settled one of the helicopters did a fly past and filmed the destruction. It was gone. Nothing remained but some piles of rubble. The chopper skirted back around and over the heads of the astonished soldiers of the second column, standing aghast. Their only hope of retreat was gone and now a merciless enemy was turning the weight of its forces against them.

  General Breck had seen enough. He ordered a withdrawal of both columns to wherever they could find safety. A group of tanks from the second column made a valiant charge into the swarm, cutting through them with ease and felling hundreds with automatic machinegun fire. They were followed by around half of the two thousand troops who had crossed the bridge, trying to fight their way through the horde.

  It was hopeless. Those who could not hitch a ride on the backs of the tanks were picked off by the infected. Hundreds were cut off in small pockets and in ones and twos. Against such odds it was an impossible fight and they were quickly diminished. The tanks left them where they fell, driving off towards the north.

  The remaining soldiers dug in along the river. Again the news choppers filmed the battle in all its gory cruelty. These troops suffered the same fate as the others had at Hampton Court. They stood their ground, fighting off wave upon wave, before they too were overrun and either killed where they stood or forced to swim to safety.

  The few dozen who survived were gathered together by their commanding officers on the opposite bank of the Thames and, incredibly, they marched from the scene in good order.

  But it had been nothing less than a rout. Most of the armoured vehicles were lost or were now unaccounted for. Thousands of soldiers were dead and the infected, although suffering enormous losses, were still an impressive force to contend with.

  The RAF managed to redeem themselves, by destroying the Hampton Court Bridge at the second attempt, but by then many thousands of the infected were across the river and were causing havoc there.

  The BBC helicopter made another pass across the battlefield, before it returned to refuel. The pictures it beamed back were disturbing to say the least. Thousands of dead soldiers littered the area, surrounded by thousands more corpses in civilian clothing. The fighting had been brutal and merciless. No quarter had been given by either side.

  Several hundred infected still roamed the parklands, feeding on whatever they could find to sustain themselves. Here and there a survivor was still trying to escape. One or two made it to the river and swam to safety. Most were cut off and killed. It was a depressing sight. The day before we had boasted about how we would retake the city. Now our ground forces had been depleted by about five percent in a matter of an hour and our best weapons were proving to be almost ineffectual. Against such massive enemy numbers our puny army was going to be no match. That much was now evident.

  Thomas Buckle

  10:07 hours, Saturday 16th May, East London

  That day, when I first met my new friend, was one of the better ones I had during those dark early weeks. I decided that, since he didn’t have a collar, I would have to name him. Whatever he was called it was going to be a bit confusing for him at first, but I reckoned he would catch on pretty quickly. He seemed like he was an intelligent dog.

  I settled on Pancho, after the Mexican revolutionary. It seemed like it was a good idea. We were going to become revolutionaries, after all, fighting against the oppression of the infected masses. It seemed apt. And Pancho was also loyal and brave, I was soon to find out.

  By the time I had witnessed the humiliating defeat of our armed forces at Hampton Court, I was sure that this fight was going to take much longer to win than we had first thought. I suppose I had resigned myself, too, that my wife wasn’t coming home again. That meant that I had to make a plan for what to do.

  The fast-moving spread of the epidemic was something that had taken many by surprise. It was obvious that it was taking hold in many of the major conurbations, probably because of the large populations. It was easy for it to get a firm grip in these areas and then wipe out huge numbers as it went. So I had to find an alternative.

  I settled on Scotland. I had never been north of the border before. In fact, the furthest north I had ever been, was to Coventry. And that had been a day trip, for a funeral of an old friend. So I got out my map and spread it over the kitchen table, then planned a route that would take me out of London and in a circuitous fashion, get me to Scotland.

  I decided to head east, towards Basildon. From there I would travel north, through Essex, Suffolk and Norfolk, until I reached Lincolnshire and Yorkshire. I then planned to travel across country and then north again, through Cumbria and to the border. It was a long trip, but it avoided many of the hot spots which were popping up in the major cities, according to news feeds.

  I calculated that it would take all the fuel in the tank, plus what I had managed to put into jerrycans, just to get me to Yorkshire. And that was if I didn’t encounter any other problems and drove sensibly. I would definitely have to refuel
en route, somewhere.

  My attention to the map was diverted as a low growl suddenly emanated from Pancho’s throat. I was immediately on alert and folded the map carefully, replacing it into my bag.

  I went to the window and peered out, into the street. I couldn’t see anything moving and was about to chastise the dog, when suddenly I saw one of them. It was a middle aged man, wearing a dark suit. He was ambling along the street, apparently aimless in his direction. Behind him was a woman and a young child of about eight. A family group? Did those things still operate in family groups?

  To this day it’s the children that still really freak me out. They seem harmless and you can’t help but pity what happened to them, but you drop your guard with them at your peril. I have seen a six-year-old boy take down a grown man, just the same as I have seen a ninety-year-old woman do it. They are all the same. Merciless, relentless killers. There’s no difference in any of them.

  I watched for a few minutes. The hackles on Pancho’s neck were almost rigid. He was scared too but he kept his cool. That was something I noticed about him. Right from the very start he was switched on to the dangers that those things posed. He was always alert, even when he looked like he was asleep. And when I was exhausted after a particularly bruising day, and there were many of them, I could rely on him to wake me with that warning growl if something wasn’t quite right. I reckon that dog saved my life a hundred times or more.

  The trio of scavengers carried on down the street after a few minutes. They seemed oblivious to me watching them from the window. Thank God, I thought.

  That made my mind up. If those things were already this far out, it wouldn’t be long before there were others. Maybe hundreds, or thousands. If I was hiding from three of them, what would it be like if I encountered one of the swarms I had heard about on the news?

  I packed the car while it was still in the driveway, as quickly and as quietly as I could, making sure I used every available space. Pancho, kept watch out in the street while I got on with it and I decided that he would ride in the front seat next to me. I would need his keen senses of smell and hearing to give me that early warning advantage.

  When we were packed and ready, Pancho jumped into the front passenger seat. I started the engine, which seemed so noisy now, and headed east through the deserted streets where I had grown up and spent most of my youth. It didn’t take long before I caught up with the Zombie family, as I had decided they were. They flailed their arms wildly as I passed by, desperately trying to grab onto the car.

  I left them behind me, trailing in my wake as I stuck my foot to the floor. The streets were devoid of people, cars, buses and anything else that could be used for transportation, giving me a clear run. I felt a sudden surge of hope, that thousands had managed to flee and were now regrouping somewhere, getting ready to fight back. What I found, at the M25, quickly evaporated that slim hope.

  Kareef Hadad

  12:05 hours, Saturday 16th May, North London

  After the death of Saeed, we headed north once more. I say his death, but he might have survived, we didn’t stay around for long enough to find out. It was too dangerous if there were a few of those things. They seemed to encourage each other and have a greater strength as a collective, far greater than we could hope to fight against. In any case I had already put him out of my mind and was still desperate to get to my house in Finchley. My wife would still be there. I was sure of it.

  I gave Sophie the option of coming with me. I was aware that she might have her own family to seek out. I already knew she had a boyfriend, but she had had no contact with him since before the outbreak.

  We were hiding in a park, waiting for a group of men to pass by. They didn’t look like they were infected but I didn’t like the way they were acting. They looked dangerous, like they were somehow out of control.

  ‘I understand if you want to go and look for your own family,’ I said, once they were out of sight and we had caught our breath.

  She didn’t reply. She seemed like she was in the middle of a daydream, thinking perhaps of a happier time.

  ‘Sophie?’ I asked. ‘Are you okay?’

  She had tears in her eyes now. Large pools formed and dropped onto her jeans, leaving patches of wet as the only sign they had ever existed.

  ‘They’re all gone.’ She sobbed.

  ‘They might not be,’ I said. ‘Perhaps they escaped. Thousands have already.’

  It was true. According to one of the last broadcasts we had heard, hundreds of thousands had fled from the city, heading for the safe zones, clogging up the roads and motorways. So many had left that the government had again changed its mind and advised those who were not already on the road, to remain where they were. It was becoming confusing.

  ‘No,’ she said, choking back more tears. ‘My mother died last year. I don’t know where my father is. He left us five years ago and I’ve never seen him since. Oh, wait. Once. He came to the house to give me my birthday present when I turned twenty one. He only stayed for half an hour.’

  I put a clumsy, comforting arm around her. I had never touched any woman before, other than my mother and my wife. It just wasn’t our way and I felt like I was behaving dishonourably. But she responded by burying her head in my chest, making me feel even more self-conscious. If any of my family could have seen me then.

  ‘What about a brother? Or a sister?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘It was just me.’

  We sat for several long minutes. I suddenly realised that the loss of her boyfriend was hitting her hard. He was, perhaps, the closest thing to a family that she had.

  ‘Do you have an extended family?’ I asked.

  ‘Some aunts and uncles and a few cousins, but they all live in Oxfordshire,’ she said. ‘We were never a close family and my mum cut us off from my father’s side when he left, so that reduced it by quite a bit. Most of the relatives were on his side.’

  It was an alien concept to me. My family was large. I had three brothers and two sisters, several aunts and uncles and dozens of cousins. I could name them all, tell you where they lived, what school they went to and what they did for a living. The ones who still lived in Jordan I would keep contact with by Social Media and free video calls. I couldn’t imagine being all alone. And yet here I was, with no idea what was happening to my family, just like Sophie.

  ‘You can come with me, then,’ I said, making the decision for her. ‘We will go to my house and you can meet my wife and children. She makes fantastic falafel. Do you like falafel?’

  She smiled and nodded.

  ‘Falafel sounds marvellous right now.’

  I took a long look around the park, before deciding that it was clear and safe to leave. I wanted to be absolutely certain that the group of males was long gone before we made our move. The city seemed to have become even more dangerous than it had ever been.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said. ‘It’s still quite a walk from here.’

  We walked around the edge of the park and cut down a side street. It was completely empty. There weren’t even any bodies there, which we had become so used to.

  At the end of the lane we found ourselves at a junction. I checked both ways. Nothing.

  Suddenly I heard a noise above us. It was a helicopter. A military one. A second one followed it as it headed west, high above the buildings. At least there was some sort of order, I thought. The helicopters might be looking for the swarms of infected. It was a strange comfort.

  I stepped into the street, beckoning for Sophie to follow me, but she remained where she was, frozen to the spot.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

  She didn’t answer. I suddenly had a bad feeling and was about to turn when I felt a blow on the back of my head. I fell to the ground, almost knocked conscious, and as I looked up I saw a figure standing over me. Then another joined it and another.

  ‘Fucking foreigner,’ said a voice.

  There was another blow. A kick th
is time. Right in the ribs. I was winded and gasped for air.

  ‘I think he’s a terrorist,’ said another voice. ‘He’s the right shade.’

  There was laughter. Then Sophie appeared, held onto by another male. That made at least four of them.

  ‘Don’t hurt him,’ Sophie said. ‘We’re just trying to get away, like everyone else.’

  ‘Not everyone’s running’ said a voice. They were all men. I was subconsciously storing up as much information about them as I could.

  ‘Please,’ I began.

  There was another kick to my side. I felt sure my ribs would break.

  ‘Shut it, terrorist,’ said a voice. ‘You’ll get what’s coming to you.’

  ‘He’s not a terrorist you fucking morons.’

  That was Sophie. I wished she would be quiet. These men were dangerous. Like hunted animals, they now found themselves caught in a trap and they were lashing out at whatever they could find. An Asian man, travelling with a white British girl, was always going to attract their attention.

  ‘Don’t you people understand what’s going on?’ Sophie asked. ‘Are you too thick to work it out?’

  There was the sound of a slap now as one of the group struck her across the face and she cried out. The others laughed and were momentarily distracted. This was my chance. I knew that we were in trouble and I had to act quickly.

  Without another thought for the consequences I rolled onto my feet and kicked the knee joint of the nearest one with all the force I could muster. There was a nauseating crack as the leg broke and then a scream as the man clutched at the bone that was now protruding through the skin.

  In a flash I grabbed the baseball bat he had dropped and swung it at the next man. I caught him full force in the ribs and sent him spinning across the ground. The two others were now alert to the danger I posed and backed away, still holding on to Sophie.