by Russ Watts
Bashar looked blankly at him and Tony shook his head. “Sorry, mate, never heard of you.”
Blake bristled but continued. “Right, of course, well there are plenty of other things you would be watching. Cooking with the stars and all that nonsense, right?”
Tony folded his arms. “If you’ve got a point, get to it quickly. I want to get back to my wife.”
“Oh, yes, right. Well, as I said I’m the Junior Minister for—”
“Yeah, we heard you.” Tony looked at Bashar and rolled his eyes.
“This man here with me is my senior and it really is quite important that we get back to Whitehall. There are pressing matters that mean we are needed quite urgently. This whole mess is getting a bit tiresome and we just need to use your vehicle to get to Westminster.”
“A bit tiresome? Can you believe this geezer?” asked Tony. “I think a more appropriate description would be fucked up. The streets are full of zombies. Thousands of people are dead. D-E-A-D. How’s that for social development, Blake? Or should I call you Mr. Chelmsford-Whittingley?”
“Thank you, yes that would be much better.” The blushing man smiled and revealed a row of yellow teeth. “Now if we can talk about your van. Just how far away are you parked? I’m sure this whole ‘zombie’ thing can be sorted out much quicker once we get back to government. We can’t let the whole bloody country fall to pieces, can we?”
Tony imagined punching the man’s nose, but Lissie always told him violence solved nothing. “You talk to him, Bashar, or I’m going to lose my rag.”
“Blake,” began Bashar, “what my friend is trying to explain to you is that you cannot take the van. For one, it is most likely gone by now. Secondly, where would you go? You haven’t seen what it’s like out there. We have. We’ve spent the morning trying to get through it. The zombies that you think you can just shoo away outnumber the living. Your government is gone. Whitehall is almost certainly destroyed just like the rest of London. What you should be concentrating on is figuring out how to get to your families and out of London.”
“Bashar, right?” The second man who had been staying in the shadows behind Blake, stepped forward. He smiled flashing immaculate white teeth and offered a hand. “My colleague here is a junior minister for a good reason. Sometimes he doesn’t quite get the right message across. If I might interject, I would certainly suggest that you are right. I can hear the bombs up there, and our capital city is no doubt in a perilous state. But I believe I’ve heard bombs falling whilst we’ve been tucked away down here, and that tells me that the government is very much still alive and working. Someone has to resist this terrible event that has befallen our proud city and I for one am not prepared to sit back and just watch London fall to ruin. I ask, beg, for your help. I am but your humble servant. Perhaps you and Tony here could see your way to driving us to Whitehall? If this van of yours is in one piece then you would be serving your country well in its hour of need.”
“And you are?” asked Tony.
“You don’t need to know,” interjected Blake. “This situation means we must protect the upper levels of government. We don’t know what the terrorists have done exactly or how they infiltrated society, but—”
“Oh, pipe down, cupcake,” said Tony. “I asked your mate what his name was. I’m not taking anyone anywhere until I know exactly who I’m dealing with.”
“Carrington Rupert White.” As Blake shrank back into the shadows, the other man offered Tony his hand and shook it firmly. “With your help I would dearly love to get back to governing this country. I’m the Deputy Prime Minister.”
PART TWO: EXPOSED
CHAPTER 13
“I said, no, and that’s final. We’re better off on foot.” Tony put his hand around Lissie. “Last time we used the van we got the attention of every dead fucker in the city. It’s going to be easier on foot.”
“But we’ll be too slow,” whined Blake. “I thought you understood the importance of—”
“Yeah, I got that,” said Tony. “You think because you wear an expensive suit and get paid five times as much as me that you can tell me what to do. Well guess what, those rules don’t apply anymore. That stuff is no longer important. Staying alive is. That’s why we’re going on foot.”
“I’m not saying that jumped up prick is right, Tony,” said Neale. “But are you sure? Forget speed. Isn’t it just safer in the van?”
Bashar looked at Neale. He had lacerations to his face and a nasty bump forming just above his right eye, but the vodka had dulled his pain. A healthy meal of cold ham and sliced sausages had seen him sober up slightly.
“Yeah, I don’t want to go walking around up there with those zombies.” Joe, one of the footballers, looked at Tony. “I’ve got a big match on Saturday and today’s a rest day. I can’t risk getting injured.”
“I should be resting too,” said Hedley, rubbing his back. “I’ll be no good for the match at this rate.”
Marama snorted. “Sorry,” she said, as she stifled a laugh.
Bashar tapped the sharp head of a meat cleaver on the counter. Five loud clanging sounds echoed around the food hall and everyone stopped talking to look at him.
“Right, ladies, before this descends into complete anarchy let’s get a few things straight. One, if you don’t want to follow Tony, then don’t. Stay here. Go where you like. But stop wasting time arguing about it and shut up. Two, if you’re intending to come with us, then follow Tony. Don’t wander off. Don’t stray or get left behind. Thirdly, and I’ve said this before but I think it’s worth repeating, shut up. Tony knows these streets better than anyone. So tool up, get your gear, and get moving. There are thousands of zombies up there just waiting for us and the longer we piss around down here, the more chance they have of finding us. We stick to the plan. Tony is going to take up position at the front of us and I’ll be last out. Everyone else stays in between us. If you decide to take the scenic route then no one is coming after you. If you can’t handle it, don’t freak out. Be quiet once we get up there. Don’t go off on your own. Stick to the plan.”
“You really think you can get us to Green Park?” asked Marama. She twirled a length of blonde hair around her finger. When she spoke everyone listened. Her beauty shone through even in the darkness. “It’s quite a way through the open roads and we’re going to be very exposed.”
“I know,” said Tony. “But if we can make it there then we have far more options open to us than we do just sitting on our arses here. We’ll have to make a call when we get there. Either cross the park and cut through St James’ to Westminster, or go down into the Underground. Depends on just who or what we encounter topside.”
“Just stick close to me, sugar,” said Neale leaning up against Marama. “I’ve been out there. I know what it’s like. When the shit goes down you can depend on me.”
“Oh, my big brave man,” said Marama sarcastically, fluttering her eyelashes.
“It’ll be far quicker if we just take the van, Tony,” said Blake. “We can be down Regent Street, past Nelson’s Column and onto Whitehall faster than your insane plan to walk there across the park.”
“Not up for discussion, cupcake. And we’re not walking. Not unless you want your face chewed off. We’ll be keeping up a good pace so you might want to put that doughnut down.”
Blake sheepishly removed the half-eaten doughnut from his mouth and wiped the sugar from his chin. Carrington whispered into Blake’s ear and he quickly dropped the doughnut altogether.
Tony turned to Bashar. “Right, we all set?”
“Last check, folks.” Bashar looked around the group. They were a disparate bunch, all with their own agendas and ideas, but with one common goal: survival.
Bashar intended to stick with them as far as Whitehall and see if he could contact Nurtaj from there. It was as good a plan as any. They had decided that waiting it out was tantamount to giving up. Sitting in the food hall had its appeal. There was enough food and water for them all to survi
ve comfortably for a length of time. Yet the knowledge that the streets above were teeming with zombies and the ground floor windows had all been blown out meant it was too dangerous to just wait. They would be found and with no other way out, the basement was a death trap. Blake had badgered them about getting the Deputy PM to Whitehall and had promised them all sanctuary once they reached it. Carrington had confirmed that there were bunkers beneath the Houses of Parliament where they would be safe. There would be communications open with the rest of the country and even the chance of a reward if they could get him back to government. Nobody wanted to take their chances on their own and so a plan had been formulated. Get to Whitehall. Get to safety. From there any evacuations could take place and everyone could get in touch with their families.
“Has everyone got their weapons?” asked Bashar. He had reluctantly taken on the unofficial role of organising everyone. Blake was the only other one who had wanted to take charge, but Tony’s knowledge of the area had meant he was in charge of getting them across the city.
Bashar had his hammer tucked through a belt loop and had taken the meat cleaver from beside the dead manager’s body. Tony, Lissie and Jo had some knives and two torches between them. Amelia carried nothing except her own courage and the handbag she had brought with her from home. Lulu had found a carving knife in the butchery. Neale and Marama had picked up a large knife each too, while Rad had found a short length of steel piping in the stockroom. They had a few torches between them for the Underground although the footballers refused to carry anything. They reckoned if there was any trouble they were fit and fast enough to outrun anything. Blake and Carrington had also politely refused anything on the basis it would not be required. They had their phones, not that there was any signal, and a firm belief in God and country. Bashar thought that their faith was misguided on both counts, but they were convinced they would be fine, and so that left Michelle. The last living employee of the store had at first been reluctant to authorise them to take anything, but was faced with a revolt if she didn’t. Michelle relented and let them take the knives and a few supplies. She demanded that she carry the bulk of the food and water herself on the basis that should it not be required, she would be able to return it to the store.
“Right, follow me, the clock is ticking,” said Tony. They had waited a couple of hours and it was approaching mid-afternoon. He wanted to be well away before the evening fell. He knew that it was going to be difficult, impossible even, but the night would only bring them more problems. “Lissie, make sure you stick close.”
Lissie held Tony’s hand firmly and amid a muttering of discontent they all began to head up the escalator. Jo and Amelia followed Lissie with Lulu close behind. Bashar noticed she was watching the girl closely. She might not admit to it but she seemed to have taken on the responsibility well.
“Mind if I stick close to you?” Marama asked Bashar. “All I’ve got is this little thing and you sound like you know what you’re doing.”
Bashar saw Marama was carrying a breadknife. It would do the job if she was backed into a corner, but would probably break quickly if she had to use it much. She looked at him with genuine concern and despite her obvious beauty he knew that she wasn’t playing any games with him. She just wanted to get home.
“I told you not to worry.” Neale tugged on Marama’s wrist and she reluctantly let him lead her toward the escalator.
Bashar shrugged and smiled apologetically as she was led away. “Neale will take care of you and I’ll be right behind. Don’t worry. Just remember to stay calm.”
“Calm?” Rad filed past Bashar, joining the procession up the escalator toward the mountain of shopping trolleys. “You’ve got the Deputy PM in your care and you’re about to take him onto the streets of London full of zombies and some sort of bloodthirsty demon. And you’re on about staying calm?”
Bashar smiled. “Always,” he lied.
Michelle pushed past Bashar to follow Rad. As the two footballers went past him, followed by Blake grumbling to his boss about the insanity of leaving on foot, Bashar took up the rear of the queue. He felt anything but calm, but he knew how important it was that the others stay that way. In the coffee shop earlier they hadn’t acted as a group but as individuals. Mary, Bob, Angie, Roza and Wilf had all died. Maybe if they had worked together they might still be alive. He wanted very much for everyone to get home alive, including Blake and especially himself, and the best way of doing that was as a unit.
“Let’s do this,” said Bashar, as he placed his foot on the first cold step of the escalator.
Reaching the top of the escalator Bashar found himself helped through onto the ground floor by Marama and Rad. He nodded a silent ‘thank you’ and looked around the decimated store. The place looked like it had been ransacked. Thin wisps of fog wound lazily around upturned counters and racks of clothes. Expensive suits lay trampled on the ground next to burnt dresses and shirts. Bashar held the meat cleaver up and indicated that they should follow Tony. One by one they traipsed silently through the department store. Its days were over. Luxury items and silk scarfs had been replaced by charred flesh and bones stripped of their flesh. Mannequins had been reduced to melted plastic and looked like a mutant race of liquefied radioactive monsters. Many were still standing where they had been placed, their arms and legs in unnatural poses, their heads twisted and reduced to blobs.
Bashar saw that Tony had reached the front and was crouched down scanning the road as he waited for everyone to catch up. As Bashar passed through the beauty department he walked past a counter stocked with rows of lipstick and caught sight of a pair of legs. On the floor lay a woman, a black shiny handbag still in her hands. Her feet were still adorned with high heels yet her legs were splayed open. The woman’s stomach had been ripped apart and her intestines covered her groin. Blood had soaked through her blouse and Bashar felt repulsed. As he walked past her she suddenly shot out an arm and grabbed his ankle. Bashar tripped and fell to the floor, dropping his cleaver. He looked at the woman as a soft moan escaped her blue lips. She rolled her head over to look at him and the bones in her neck cracked as she tried to pull Bashar toward her open mouth.
Bashar pulled the hammer from his belt and struck the woman’s hand. As her knuckles shattered he pulled his foot free from her grasp and got to his feet, picking up his cleaver. He stood over the woman and prepared to plunge it through her head. The woman’s neck was broken and she was unable to get up. Her mouth opened and closed and she reached her arms up toward Bashar, but he couldn’t do it. The woman had come out shopping and ended up like that through no fault of her own. She wasn’t going anywhere and Bashar simply felt sorry for her more than anything else. His disgust had turned quickly to pity. He could just as easily be in that state. He had just been luckier than her. Bashar tucked the hammer back in his belt and carried on, putting the dead woman out of his mind and remembering that he had to be more careful. Danger lurked everywhere, even in the most unexpected of places.
As they made their way to the front of the store he glanced into the street. Bashar noticed the fog was thinning. He could make out little except there was some movement out there. The noise had stopped. The bombs, the shouting, the roar of the demon had all been usurped by a mournful silence. Maybe the world had gone dark.
Reaching the exit, Bashar paused. So far everyone was sticking to the plan. They were exiting in single file out of Libertas onto Beak Street, from where Tony was going to take them across Regent Street. Bashar saw the body of the plane, most of it having come down over Carnaby Street. The main hull was a blackened shell and many of the buildings on either side of it had been pulled down or destroyed by the fire. Somewhere underneath the carnage lay the police cars and yet not far away was Tony’s van right where they had left it. Despite a broken windshield and some minor damage to the front grill it looked remarkably intact.
“Jesus, is this real?” Marama whispered to Bashar as they stepped out onto the pavement. “I can’t believe it
.”
“Believe it.” Bashar motioned for her to carry on and he watched her catch up with Neale who had stopped just ahead.
A zombie in a smart suit with puncture marks down one side of its face stumbled out of the fog and smoke. It made a beeline for Jo and Amelia, and just as Bashar was about to call out a warning he saw Lulu step out of the line and plunge her knife into its head. The zombie dropped down dead and Lulu wiped the blade on her thigh before resuming her position in the queue.
“Good girl,” he muttered under his breath.
Another zombie appeared from behind the crushed wreckage of the police car, a woman who trailed the remnants of a black dress behind her. Some of the material had melted into her skin. So much of the woman’s body had been burnt that Bashar was surprised she had retained enough motor function to walk. The zombie lurched wildly across the street and swiped at Amelia, who hid behind her mother. Jo stabbed at the woman, slicing through her neck before pulling Amelia out of the way. Bashar saw Tony quickly run behind the zombie and kill it. He motioned for everyone then to stay low and stick close to the ruins of the department store.
They were going to do this. Bashar began to believe that perhaps there was a way out of this. Whitehall wasn’t that far. The zombies seemed to have mostly dispersed or perhaps had been burnt up by the downed plane. Either way, the streets were relatively clear. If they managed to avoid many more they would be able to get across Green Park quickly. The faster the better, as far as Bashar was concerned. Nurtaj was waiting for him. He crouched against the wall and saw Neale and Marama talking about something. He wished Neale well, but was concerned he might take his eye off the ball given his sudden interest in the new girl.
Tony disappeared into the fog as he led them forward. Bashar checked the store behind him but it was empty now. The woman at the beauty counter was still there and nothing else seemed to be following them. Looking down Beak Street, Bashar couldn’t see anyone coming for them. It was perfectly still and quiet. After all the noise and commotion earlier it seemed unreal at how quiet the streets were.