The Z Infection

by Russell Burgess

  ‘Where is your flat?’ he asked.

  I stood up. ‘Not far. Do you want to come with me?’

  We walked to my new home, chatting about his group and what had happened to them. It turned out that Peter lived nearby and had followed the initial government advice when the outbreak had started.

  By the time the government had changed its mind it was too late and there were already problems in his area. Before long the streets were too dangerous and after his family had been wiped out by a swarm, on the first Sunday, he had found a way into the school building. Since that day others had joined him and they had managed to remain undetected, despite the odd swarm passing through the area.

  It turned out that the school was only a few streets from where I was living. We packed a few bags with food and other essentials and walked the fifteen minutes to it.

  When we arrived, Peter gave a signal and a door opened. I was greeted by several pairs of suspicious eyes. It was the usual mixed bag. There was the school janitor, who had keys for the entire building. There was a married couple who had lived across the street and who had banded together with the others for safety. There was an older woman, in her forties, who the group had rescued when it looked like she was about to be killed by a couple of the infected and the others were all in their mid to late teens. All in all, they looked like a sorry bunch.

  I shared out the food. Luckily they had access to the kitchens and could cook, but they had exhausted all the supplies in the first few days. They set about preparing a meal of pasta with chopped tomatoes and soon they were all sitting down to the first proper meal they had eaten for a while.

  When they were finished I asked them what their intentions were.

  ‘We stay here,’ said the janitor. ‘We’re safe and the army will soon come and rescue us.’

  They hadn’t had access to a television or radio for some time and were unaware that the army had been almost completely destroyed.

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ I said. ‘You need to think about how you are going to survive. That means finding food, which means going outside.’

  ‘Going outside means death,’ said the janitor. Others nodded in agreement and muttered under their breath.

  ‘Not if you’re prepared,’ I said.

  My comment was met by blank faces.

  ‘I’ve survived,’ I said. ‘Against all the odds. Yes, it’s dangerous. Yes, it’s not easy. But it can be done if you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘You can’t fight against them,’ said a teenage girl of about fifteen. ‘I saw what happened at the park down at Feltham. They massacred those people.’

  I now recognised her. She had been one of those who had chosen to run, when others had marched to certain death.

  ‘That was a poor choice,’ I said. ‘But there are ways to win battles against them. You have to choose your time, pick your ground and know when to walk away. They can be picked off in ones and twos quite easily. Larger groups are more difficult, but with a proper plan it can be done.’

  ‘We don’t have weapons,’ said another.

  ‘I know where there are plenty,’ I said. ‘Properly armed and working together we can not only survive, but we could thrive.’

  ‘No,’ said the janitor. ‘We stay here. I lead this group. That’s my final decision.’

  He was making me angry now. He purported to lead this group, but they were nothing more than a disillusioned mess, fearful and intimidated by what was happening to their world.

  The married man stood up now. He was in his thirties and was obviously fed up listening to what the janitor had to say.

  ‘I say we have a vote on this,’ he said. ‘Anyone who is fed up living here and wants something better, raise your hand.

  He raised his and was followed by his wife. Peter was next, followed by three of the other youngsters and the older woman.

  ‘Well I’m staying here,’ said the janitor. ‘If you want to go that’s your business, but don’t expect me to let you back in.’

  We left him there, with two of the others. Before I went, I handed a scribbled note to one of the youngsters. It had my address on it.

  ‘If things don’t work out here, you’re welcome to come and find us at that address,’ I said.

  By the evening of that day I had taken the group safely back to my flat. It was far too small for all of us, but it would do for one night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Callum MacPherson

  07:00 hours, Tuesday 26th May, Central London

  Following the information, that there were people still surviving in central London, it was decided that we would change our strategy. It came right from the top. We were to make contact with groups and, rather than evacuating them all to a central point, we would provide them with supplies of weapons, food and proper radios. Each position would be turned into a mini fortress and would be marked on a map. It was hoped that, over time, we would be able to have a detailed map which would show us every position that was friendly and we could then use those places as safe houses.

  We already operated kill squads in the city. Taking on large numbers of the infected had proved to be disastrous and the tactics had changed to limited operations, where we would hunt down and exterminate smaller groups. It was going to take much longer doing it this way, but I think the top brass had already resigned themselves to a long struggle. This was not going to be over in a week.

  The morning of the 26th I was assigned to go into London on a chopper with a kill squad. There were eight of us and we were to be dropped near to Ground Zero, as it was called, the site of the first outbreak near Covent Garden on Z Day.

  Part of our remit was to try to make contact with the radio ham our operators had spoken to the day before. We carried extra rations, a better radio and some weapons and ammo for them.

  The chopper flew high over the city as we came in from the north. The destruction was even greater now. Some areas had suffered fire damage and with no fire service available they burned for days, usually until it rained and was extinguished naturally. Other parts of the city had been ravaged by looters and scavengers.

  We passed over suburban neighbourhoods where the infected still roamed in huge numbers. There were many dead civilians in these areas. Occasionally we would see a flag being waved from a window, or some other sign that there were still human beings down there. We plotted each one we saw on our maps and carried on.

  The closer we came to the centre of London, the harder it became to see the infected. The taller buildings made it almost impossible and we knew that the only method of making sure an area was clear, was to get boots on the ground and do it the hard way.

  We descended to about five or six feet and jumped. The chopper didn’t touch down. It was too dangerous. One of the first missions into the city had seen us lose one of them when a swarm had appeared close by. They had fought their way inside and killed the crew before they could take off, leaving the kill squad cut off. By the time we had organised another chopper to go and rescue them it was too late. They found what was left of them, surrounded by hundreds of infected they had managed to kill, lying all around them. After that the choppers weren’t allowed to land. The tactic was that they dropped us and then landed on what we called a safe haven. These were flat roofs of large buildings which we had cleared and knew were secure. Once we had completed our mission we called up for immediate evacuation and they came back to get us.

  The pilot found a safe spot and hovered while we jumped out. We then fanned out, checking for danger before signalling to the pilot who lifted his machine back up into the sky. This was the most dangerous time. If there were infected nearby they would have shown themselves quickly.

  Once I was sure that it was clear we spread out across the street, four on either side, and made our way towards our first objective. Our intelligence, which we received from daily reconnaissance by the RAF, told us that there was a small group of infected in the Leicester Square area. It was als
o believed that the signal we had received the previous day, had been in this area.

  We crept along the streets. They were empty apart from the frequent dead bodies we encountered. On one corner we saw a couple of dogs chewing on something. Packs of the animals were becoming a common sight on the streets. They usually left us alone and ran off when we approached. They had been as traumatised by recent events as us.

  At Leicester Square we slowed down to a crawl. There was a noise up ahead. I signalled for two of my men to check it out and they moved forward silently. The tension, in those situations could sometimes be unbearable.

  One of them came back a couple of minutes later.

  ‘There are infected nearby,’ he said.

  I unfolded a map and he showed me where he had seen them.

  ‘How many?’ I asked.

  ‘About twenty,’ he said.

  That was perfect. We could deal with twenty without any difficulty but once we had eradicated them we would need to move out of the area quickly. We knew that firing would attract greater numbers.

  I ordered the men forward until we made contact with the group. They were wandering around near a bar at the far end of the square. We spread out silently. These men were old hands at this now. Most of them had carried out at least five similar missions and they knew their jobs inside out.

  Once we were ready I gave another signal and we opened fire. A hail of lead cut into the first ones, cutting them down where they stood. Almost immediately the others turned and began walking towards our positions. This was when you needed a cool head. Moving targets are hard enough, but when only a head shot counts it really ups the ante.

  My men were professionals, however, and one by one we eliminated the dead, until there was only two of them left. I had used an entire rifle magazine and so took out my pistol and walked forward. The first one I shot at about twenty metres, straight through the forehead. The second took two shots as the first one just skimmed his temple. He made a horrifying noise as he lunged at me from the last five metres, but I sidestepped his grab and fired into the side of his head at point blank range. It was done.

  We gathered together and I ordered our radio operator to make a call back to base to update them on our success and ask for the chopper to come back for us.

  ‘KS12,’ came the voice on the radio. ‘Please be advised that your bird has a technical problem and has had to return to base meantime. Please make your way to SH8 and await further instruction.’

  That was all we needed. I took another look at the map. SH8 (safe haven eight) was two miles from our location, right through the area where this had all started. We knew that the infected had spread out since the initial outbreaks, but there were still a lot of them in central London. I was about to give the order to move, when one of my men gave a shout.

  ‘Infected.’

  I looked across the square and could see a couple of them walking towards us.

  ‘Take them down,’ I ordered.

  Two of the men positioned themselves and fired a single shot each. Both of the infected dropped lifelessly to the ground.

  ‘More,’ shouted another.

  There were another few coming from another street. I knew they were being attracted by the noise. They would be converging from every side before long.

  ‘Right, let’s move,’ I said.

  There was no point staying to fight. We would be outnumbered shortly and it would mean almost certain death.

  We were about to run back along the street when I heard another voice on the radio.

  ‘KS12,’ it said. ‘This is Samson-Li calling. If you are in Leicester Square be advised there were infected all around the southern and western ends earlier today. Advise heading east to Ground Z. We can offer shelter.’

  I grabbed the radio.

  ‘Give us your position,’ I responded.

  ‘Head for Ground Z,’ said the voice. ‘Will advise you further when you reach it.’

  There was nothing else for it. As I looked up I could see dozens of the infected now. Christ they homed in on noise fast.

  I knew exactly what she meant by Ground Z. I had flown over the area several times and it was imprinted on my mind like a map.

  ‘You heard the lady,’ I shouted. ‘Long Acre, now.’

  Thomas Buckle

  07:15 hours, Tuesday 26th May, Loch Leven, Kinross-shire

  Pancho and I were on the western shore of the island, fishing and not having a huge amount of luck, when Laura approached me to give me the news.

  ‘I’m flying north today,’ she said.

  ‘North?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Anna wants a recce of the area between here and Perth. Do you fancy coming along?’

  ‘I’m not having any luck here,’ I said. ‘I might as well.’

  I packed a few belongings into a rucksack, along with some emergency provisions and some maps. Once I was ready, I spoke to Dave. He was in charge of the armoury. All weapons were signed out through him. Thanks to our efforts the week before, we had secured enough guns and rifles for every person on the island and, although we were still short on ammunition, there was enough for basic defence. Every time people went to the mainland they were issued with firearms but the code of practice was evasion first, killing silently with sharpened implements second and use of firearms as a last resort.

  I took an automatic shotgun for myself and a rifle as backup. I also had an axe and a large knife I had found on another trip.

  We were rowed across to the landing strip by one of the other men. Laura had made just one flight since we had landed, just to turn the engine over and to carry out an inspection of the larger island on the loch. When she had returned she had left the plane at the end of the runway, ready for a quick take-off.

  The boat scraped along the sandy bottom as we came to rest on the beach. We unloaded quickly and before long we had pushed our companion back out onto the loch and we were jogging to the plane.

  Once we got to it I stashed our gear and weapons and hoisted Pancho into the rear before I hopped aboard, while Laura did a few external checks of the aircraft. The runway was empty as Laura started up the engines and raced along it. Before long we were in the air and climbing to around a thousand feet.

  We circled the loch twice, plotting the positions of several groups of infected, before we headed north.

  We followed the route of the motorway as we went. There were a lot of abandoned cars on it, but there were no serious blockages. A car could easily get through to the town of Perth with a little care.

  The city itself was deserted. It didn’t look like a single living soul remained there. The prison, which occupied a position to the south of the city centre, had been on fire and was badly damaged. There were a few infected within the walls and we assumed that they were probably a collection of inmates and staff.

  The city centre was badly affected. Large numbers of infected roamed at will and there was no way anyone could have lived for long on those streets.

  We did a full circuit of the city, before heading back out past the prison. There was a large supermarket nearby.

  ‘This is what Anna is looking for,’ said Laura, pointing down to the building.

  It looked like it was secure and untouched. I imagined all sorts of good things to eat in there and plenty of it.

  Laura circled it three times. There wasn’t a single person, living or dead, anywhere to be seen.

  ‘If we could get inside that place we could find enough food to last us a year,’ said Laura.

  I agreed with her. The supermarket was also well position, on the edge of town. It would be easy to get in and out of it without attracting attention from the infected who seemed to be congregating in the centre.

  ‘A distraction would be enough to draw all of the infected well away from the area,’ I said. ‘And you could recce it from the air to give us some extra security.’

  ‘We would need something big, to transport all the food,’ said Laura. ‘An
d we would need somewhere to store it all too. The cellar under the tower isn’t nearly big enough.’

  We carried on south again, heading back to the main interchange.

  ‘There,’ I said, pointing down to the carriageway. ‘That’s what we need.’

  There was an articulated lorry on the road. Both doors of the cab were lying open, as well as the back doors to the unit.

  ‘Looks like someone’s been inside it already,’ said Laura.

  ‘Can you land on the road?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m not keen,’ she said. ‘Who knows what debris is lying around?’

  ‘Can we at least have a look?’ I asked.

  She swooped down, making a low pass. There was a decent straight piece of road with no cars on it. It looked perfect.

  ‘What about there?’ I asked.

  ‘I can land there,’ said Laura. ‘But it’s a half mile to the truck.’

  ‘I’ll jog it,’ I said.

  She made another pass, to make certain that the area was free of the dead and then brought us in to land. It was textbook stuff, perfect and smooth. She taxied as far as she could, before the way was barred by a car which had ended up on its side.

  ‘Get going,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait with the engines running, but if any infected come I might have to take off without you.’

  I knew the risk. I grabbed the shotgun and set of at a jog to the lorry, Pancho easily keeping pace with me. It took me about five or six minutes and when a got to it I had a cautious look in the rear. It was completely empty. I walked around to the cab, weapon at the ready and had a look inside. It was clear too. Whoever had been driving this had left in a hurry. The keys were still in the ignition but when I turned it over the engine was dead. I soon found out why. There was no diesel left in the tank. It must have been left running and had eventually used up all the fuel.

  I locked the cab and the rear doors and we ran back to the plane. Laura was ready and eager for take-off and we were up in the air within about a minute.

  ‘No fuel in it,’ I said, catching my breath.

  ‘That’s that,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to think of something else.’