‘Not necessarily,’ I said. ‘If we can find some diesel, we could fill the tank and it should be fine. We wouldn’t need much to get us to the supermarket and then back to the island.’
She considered the idea.
‘It could work,’ she said. ‘Let’s run it past Anna and the others when we get back.’
We followed the motorway as we made our way back to the landing strip at the gliding club, satisfied that we had some very useful information for our group.
At the town by the loch we banked left and made a low pass over the island. This was the cue for someone to get out and pick us up on the boat. Laura then flew us over the gliding club and out over some fields. There was no point in landing until the boat was almost at the shore.
But over the farmland to the east of a small village, we suddenly saw something we had not expected. In a wooded area, beyond the village, there was the tell-tale sign of smoke rising from a camp fire.
‘More survivors,’ said Laura.
She dipped the nose of the aircraft and went down for a closer look. There was more than one fire, there were several. And among the trees we could see figures. Twenty, maybe thirty of them. It looked like they had been there for some time.
‘Why haven’t they made contact with us?’ asked Laura. ‘They must know we are on the island.’
I didn’t know, but something about that set up gave me a deepening sense of unease.
Xiaofan Li
07:30 hours, Tuesday 26th May, Central London
Claire had looked at me in horror when I had made the call on the radio.
‘We can’t leave them there to die,’ I said.
‘But we don’t know who they are,’ she replied.
‘They sound like army,’ I said. ‘But we will guide them into the street and get an eyeball on them first, before we make a decision about letting them inside.’
She still wasn’t sure, but it went some way to allaying her fears.
Over the next half hour we had three more conversations with them as we guided them through the streets to our location. Eventually I directed them to a point along the street from Ground Z, where I could see them.
I knew instantly that they were army. No civilians would have been so well armed. It was something too, about the way they moved along the street. They were professionals.
‘I think we should let them in.’ I said.
Claire was still worried.
‘What if they are like the last two?’
‘They won’t be,’ I assured her. ‘We are going to have to make contact with other survivors eventually. We can’t survive on our own indefinitely. This might be the time to make contact.’
‘Okay,’ she conceded. ‘But only one comes into the flat, until we know what we are dealing with.’
‘Agreed,’ I said.
I got back on the radio and directed them to the rear of our building.
‘KS12, be advised that we will accept only one of you into the flat, unarmed, until we are satisfied that you do not pose a threat to us.’
There was a dour agreement to the demand. They couldn’t have done much else in their situation.
I ran down the stairs and put the block of wood in the door frame. I was back on the first landing by the time they were in the car park.
I waited for them to enter and then called down.
‘Whoever is in charge can come up to the first landing,’ I called. ‘Leave your weapons down there. You won’t need them.’
There was a sound as a rifle was laid on the tiled floor of the hallway, then I heard boots on the stairs. Moments later a figure appeared below me, hands raised about his head.
‘I’m Callum MacPherson,’ said the man. ‘I’m an officer in the British Army.’
‘Xiaofan,’ I said. ‘Welcome to Samson-Li.’
Clive Westlake
07:45 hours, Tuesday 26th May, Hounslow, West London
After that first night, crowded into the tiny flat, I knew we were going to have to find something better. We found it early the next morning, as I led my small group around the area, searching for weapons and food.
It was a house. A big detached house, set in its own grounds and commanding a good view of a small park. We went in through the back door and searched it from top to bottom. It was empty. There wasn’t much food in any of the cupboards but that didn’t matter too much. I knew we could scavenge. That we had a decent sized building which we could easily defend, was a greater prize.
We had found enough weapons to arm ourselves too. Axes and knives seemed to be the favourites among my new friends but I was eager to find out more about them.
‘How many of you have killed one of the infected?’ I asked.
Only three of them raised their hands, including Peter.
‘How many have you killed?’ I asked.
‘Two,’ said Peter.
‘One,’ said the married man.
‘Three,’ said one of the girls.
‘What did you use?’ I asked.
‘Axes and knives,’ said Peter, answering for them all.
‘And how did that feel?’
They were silent. It was as I had feared and expected. Killing at such close range was a hard thing to do. It didn’t take long for all that blood and gore to turn your stomach.
‘I find it easier with this,’ I said, lifting my spear. ‘You don’t have to get quite so close to use it.’
I handed it to one of the group and he held it like a priceless artefact.
‘You were lucky to find this,’ he said. ‘The chances of the rest of us finding something like this are slim.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But we could make something similar. I saw a lot of golf clubs and garden tools which had been sharpened and altered to make weapons. All you need it something that has a long shaft. The longer the better, but anything is better than nothing.’
There was a murmur of agreement amongst the group.
‘Eventually we are going to have to fight back,’ I said. ‘You will all have to be prepared for that.’
‘But we’ve seen what happens,’ protested one girl. ‘They can’t be stopped.’
‘They can be stopped,’ I said. ‘I just need to teach you how.’
Over the rest of the day I showed the group how to make effective killing weapons. They put all their efforts into it, devising some ingenious and frightening looking things, and when they were finished I examined them.
‘What we now need to do is practice,’ I said.
There were some scared looks on some of the faces, but eventually Peter stepped forward.
‘I’m willing to try this out,’ he said, brandishing his new spear.
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Let’s find some prey.’
Mike Bradbury
15:45 hours, Tuesday 26th May, Loch Leven, Kinross-shire
I had taken one of the boats out to the mainland that morning, to explore the builder’s yard near the southern end of the town. Anna had told me to take someone with me, but I had decided to go alone. I could move faster on my own and I could keep out of trouble better. Or so I thought.
I took a rifle and ten rounds of ammunition with me, as well as an axe, a knife and a vicious instrument I had made from a moulded piece of wood and three nails. This fitted neatly into the belt on my trousers and would come in handy at close quarters.
I rowed across the water and then followed the shoreline as I made my way south from the tiny harbour, looking for any danger as I went.
When I had reached a point where I could see the builder’s yard, I drew into the shore and hid the boat among some trees. I then edged along the side of a field, keeping to the cover of the treeline, until I had found what I was looking for.
The yard was just off the main road and occupied a large area of land. It had been left unlocked in the staff’s hurry to flee as the infection took hold. There were several buildings, including an office which was also unlocked and piles of materials, including concret
e blocks, sand and cement. It was perfect, except for the fact it was going to be extremely difficult to move them.
There was a shop too, complete with all manner of tools, including trowels, spades and spirit levels. Everything we needed for construction was there.
I walked around the whole yard and found a small forklift truck. There were no keys in the ignition so I checked in the office. There was a key rack on one wall and I took a few of the ones which looked like they might have been for the machine.
I smiled, as the third one I tried worked and the forklift coughed into life. This was going to be ideal for transporting pallets of materials to the harbour.
I switched it off again and decided to look in one of the large sheds. The doors were lying open on the first one and I took a look inside. It was full of timber. All sorts. Beams to make roofs, timber for making partition walls, doors and flooring. The place was a gold mine.
I was walking back out the door of the first shed when I was suddenly aware that I was no longer alone. A man was walking through the yard, stumbling in that familiarly awkward bearing which signified he was infected. Or dead.
I ducked back inside. He was coming towards the shed but I wasn’t sure if he had seen me or not. I unslung the rifle and rested it against a stack of wood. Then, drawing my axe, I lay in wait.
It didn’t take long. Soon I could hear the noise as the man came closer. He was snarling and making horrible gurgling noises and as he passed the entrance to the shed I made my move.
I stepped out from the side of the door. He must have seen my out of the corner of his eye because he turned to face me. He was stinking. His skin was yellow and he had, what I assumed to be, a point of infection wound on his neck. I had a fleeting moment of sympathy for him. He might have been an employee of the business, or perhaps he had sought sanctuary in the yard before he had been turned. Either way it was only for a brief moment, before I buried the axe in the centre of his skull, almost splitting it in two.
His body dropped to the ground, but no sooner had it done so than I suddenly realised there was another one. This time it was a woman. She was smartly dressed and had long dark hair. I used the knife on her, plunging it through her right eye and deep into her brain. She was dead before she hit the ground.
I grabbed my rifle and made for the gates. Experience told me that there would be others and I was right. At the front gate I saw two more, shuffling towards me from across the street. To my left was another three and to the right I saw two more.
I decided to go left. This was where my boat was and the three here were well spread out.
I took out the first one with a swing of the axe, cutting into the side of her head. The second one I finished off with the knife, but it got stuck and I couldn’t pull it out again. This, many of the survivors were to find, was a common problem.
As the third one approached me I swung the axe again, but only caught him on the neck. He fell on top of me, teeth gnashing at my face. I rolled him over and punched him with as much force as I could muster.
I could see the others converging on me. I knew this was how many others had met their end, unable to get free of one and being swamped by several others.
I hit him again and again. I think I broke his jaw with the second punch. I know I almost broke my hand. Still he wouldn’t let go and the others were getting closer by the second.
Finally, I reached into my belt and grabbed my new secret weapon. As the man made one last lunge towards me, I brought the knuckleduster around and caught him with a vicious blow on the side of the head. The three nails embedded themselves in his skull and there was a momentary look of something that resembled surprise on his face, before his body went limp and he slumped on top of me.
I couldn’t waste any time though. The others were almost upon me. I rolled the body off me and grabbed for my axe. I swung at the first one, trying to keep him at bay as I fought to buy myself a little time. It didn’t do much. They had no fear at all. Why would they?
I swung again, catching him with a glancing blow as another one came into range. I was out of ideas and out of time. My rifle was lying useless on the ground, too far away to reach. I swung again. And suddenly the man’s head erupted in an explosion of blood and brains.
I fell back to the ground and a second later heard the shot. It was a rifle. There was another and then a third. The infected were dropping as they were being shot. Then there were figures amongst them. At least ten. They were using knives and axes and cut through the rest of the dead, with a skill that surpassed anything I had seen before.
When it was over I got to my knees. I was surrounded by a group that numbered at least fifteen men and women. One of the men picked up my rifle and examined it.
‘This is payment for us saving your life,’ he said. His accent was Scottish. I assumed he was local.
‘We’ll take your axe as well,’ said a young woman.
There was nothing I could do. Even if I had been in a condition to fight, there were far too many of them for me. So I let them take my weapons and thanked the stars I was still in one piece. For the time being at least.
Chapter Nineteen
Clive Westlake
09:30 hours, Wednesday 27th May, Hounslow, West London
I was really pleased with the way my new group came together. They were frightened, that was to be expected, but they were also determined to live. They had all seen terrible things and all had lost loved ones. Some had lost their entire families, while others were like me and had no idea where they were or if they were alive.
Once they were comfortable with their new weapons I decided to test their resolve. Peter was first up. We were moving as a group through a quiet suburban area, scavenging for anything that would be of use, when one of the group signalled that we had company up ahead.
I went forward for a better look, then motioned for the others to join me. It was a woman. She was elderly and on her own. It was as good a time as any for Peter to be tested.
‘She’s your target,’ I said.
He swallowed. ‘She’s old. Can’t I have one who’s about my age, or a bit older?’
‘What’s the matter with you?’ I whispered. ‘That old woman is as capable of taking you out as any of them. It makes no difference what age they are.’
He looked uncertain, but deep inside he knew I was right. It didn’t matter what age they were, they were all dangerous. Once you got past the sympathy for their state, it was much easier to deal with them.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it.’
He was about to go for her when I took him by the arm.
‘Remember,’ I said. ‘Aim for the head.’
‘I remember,’ he said.
He stood up and walked into the street. She didn’t see him at first, but then something alerted her and she tensed before turning to face him. Peter stopped. He had a golf club in his hands and had sharpened it to a point, effectively turning it into a spear.
The old woman howled at him and began walking his way. Peter held his ground. He had some guts. Many would have turned and ran. But he stood there, calm through his fear, until she was almost on him. Then, in one movement, he stepped back and thrust the spear towards her at the same time.
The point caught the woman in the face, but obviously didn’t go through her brain because she kept coming. Peter yanked the point back out and took two more steps backwards, steadying himself for the continued attack.
As she bore down on him again, blood pouring from the wound in her face, he lunged. This time the blade struck the woman in the forehead. There was a crack of bone as it went through her skull, followed by a noise like as sigh as her body first tensed and then relaxed. She was dead. Properly this time and her now lifeless body fell to the ground.
Peter withdrew the blade and walked back to the group. He was greeted with congratulations and pats on the back from his peers.
‘That,’ I said. ‘Is how it is done. Once the brain is pierced they ca
nnot exist. Hit the brain every time and we win.’
They were buoyed by the success, but I knew it wouldn’t last. They would need more victories like this one and I had a plan to boost their confidence even more.
We found a narrow alleyway in one of the nearby streets. It had houses on either side, hemming it in and was just about wide enough for three people to walk through it side by side. At one end it led out onto a common and at the other it disappeared into the housing estate.
‘This would make a perfect defensive point,’ I said.
I reminded the group about the Spartans at the Battle of Thermopylae, when they held off tens of thousands of Persians with only three hundred men. It was met by a few blank faces. Obviously a lot of them had never heard the story.
‘They were outnumbered by about a thousand to one, but they still killed thousands of their enemies. They did that because they chose the ground and chose it well,’ I said. ‘They packed themselves into a tight space, which made the greater number of Persians useless. If we could draw the infected down this alleyway, their numbers would count for nothing. They don’t think like humans any longer. They won’t look for another way to attack us. They will just keep coming and we will keep killing them.’
‘We’ll tire,’ said the married guy. ‘They don’t get fatigued.’
‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘So we will limit the number we target. Fifty should be enough to start with.’
‘Fifty?’ said his wife. ‘That’s a lot. There are only eight of us.’
‘That’s six each,’ I said. ‘You’ve seen how easily they go down when you hit them right. It doesn’t matter if there are two or two hundred. In this space it won’t make any difference. They will only be able to come at us two or three at a time.’
‘How do we get them in here?’ asked one of the girls.
‘Noise,’ I said. ‘They are attracted to sound. We go out onto the common and attract them to us, only we don’t stay out there to die. We retreat into the alley and they will follow. We have three people in the front line and two behind them. The other three will act as a reserve in case the first and second rows get tired.’
The Z Infection Page 34