Though the horse was squealing in agony, its nostrils flaring and its lips peeled back from its teeth, it again started to get up. Its crushed and broken back end lay immobile while it dragged itself up by its front legs, eyes trained furiously on the driver of the police truck.
“Again,” Chuck said. The word was no more than a grave whisper though.
Eyes wide and panting heavily, due to the amount of adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream, Muz drove forward again. This time he angled the wheels so that the truck drove straight over the horse’s head. His eyes watered as he felt the bones crunch and cave under his wheel but he kept driving straight ahead. As the rear wheels thumped over the huge carcass, he glanced in a side mirror to see the cat, expelled by the sudden increase of internal pressure, pop free of the neck cavity and squirt across the road. The horse wasn’t moving any more.
At the end of Orchard Drive, they came to a T-junction with the A5. Directly ahead was a line of terraced houses. Just as they had seen from up in the block, all the windows of the buildings had been boarded up from the inside. No more than a few metres to their left however, on the opposite side of the road, there was another junction. Blocking the entrance to the new road, there stood a line of solid concrete blocks that reached up to the first floor windows of the adjacent houses. From the coils of razor wire that had been unfurled at their feet, there hung scraps of clothing and still twitching lumps of meat.
Lying motionless in the road were numerous charred corpses. The blackened bodies were stick thin, their muscles and fat having been devoured by flames. Most had no heads, courtesy of the snipers on the roofs either side of the junction. Several of the cars here had been thrown onto their sides and burnt down to their skeletal frames by hand grenades. It looked like a war zone. Unlike the police cordons though, this much more substantial military barrier had held up against the crowds of afflicted and those unaffected who had attempted to escape this hell.
Muz drove cautiously onto the main road, wheels crunching over the dead, while he wove between cars, heading for the barred junction.
“Hey, Cheeseburger, we’ve got movement inside the zone,” a Marine said from atop one of the roofs.
“I see them,” Corporal Cheeseburger called back, the driver of the police truck already in the sights of his rifle.
His real name was Jacob Ackerman, but on joining the Marines, he had swiftly acquired the nickname, due to his religious dietary habits. Jews didn’t eat both meat and dairy together.
“Don’t come any closer,” Cheeseburger called out through his loudhailer. “You are currently under quarantine.”
“We need help,” Muz called back up at him, having cracked open his door because the side window wasn’t designed to roll down.
“We insist you let us out,” Carl also shouted. His voice held the same air of demanding affected superiority he had tried on Muz when they had first met.
Muz told him to be quiet. That kind of attitude hadn’t worked on him and it sure as hell wasn’t going to work on these soldiers.
Looking up at the men lying across the tiles above, Tom fought against a rage that began to well within him. Flashbacks of his wife and son being shot by such men cut through his mind like electric shocks.
“I repeat,” Cheeseburger called down, “you have been quarantined to contain the spread of an unknown threat.”
“But for how long?” Muz asked earnestly.
“The period of the containment has not yet been determined.”
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Muz yelled.
“I sympathise with your situation,” the Marine Corporal replied coldly. “But I must inform you that snipers are situated all around the perimeter and any attempt to…”
“Yo man, fuck your snipers,” Jay shouted, leaning out the back of the Jankel.
“Don’t be stupid,” Margaret told him, trying to drag him back inside.
“There must be something you can do to help us,” Muz pleaded.
“Please, return to your homes or another place of safety and await…”
“Place of safety?” Jay yelled. “I swear, if I get zombified, I’m gonna come back and eat you. You get me? Believe.”
“Jay,” Margaret hissed.
“This is as bad as the Berlin wall,” Carl shouted, angrily gesturing at the concrete barrier.
Corporal Cheesebuger looked at the men lying some distance either side of him. They were getting jumpy, shifting their positions slightly and hooking their fingers over the triggers of their rifles.
“I told you this was bloody pointless,” Chuck grumbled, as he leant forward between Muz and Carl’s seats. “Let’s just get back to the block.”
“No,” Muz told him curtly.
“Look around us,” Chuck said sternly now. “Do you really want to end up like all these bodies?”
“Come on, let’s just go,” Carl said, frightened by Chuck’s words.
Muz put the truck in reverse and began to back them away from the concrete wall.
Cheeseburger actually heard, even from this distance, the Marine to his right moan with disappointment, as the truck began to back away. He motioned for the man to lower his rifle. Those people down there didn’t know how lucky they were. He and his men had orders to shoot civilians only if they exhibited clear signs of being infected or if they made any serious attempt to breach the cordon. Many of his men were of the opinion though that they should just completely purge the entire zone and cut their collateral losses. They presented a good image of being hard men, but that was clearly fear talking.
Though Cheeseburger didn’t share their fear (he knew that God would protect him in this dark time) he wasn’t entirely sure he agreed with the tactics currently being employed either. The Top Brass had been listening to the science geeks who had probably caused all this in the first place. The scientists had managed to convince the Brigadier in command on the ground that there may yet be hope that some people in the zone would prove immune and could therefore hold a potential cure. Wishful thinking, he thought.
Muz continued to reverse across the road, up onto the pavement and across the grass area in front of the houses. Only when the spiked branches of the privet hedges bordering the lawns screeched against the rear of the Jankel did he stop. Then he just sat there, staring intently at the concrete blocks barring the junction.
“What are you doing?” Chuck asked.
“This thing has got to weigh about four ton,” Muz responded, still looking fixedly at the wall. “And it’s armour plated.”
“And?” Carl now asked nervously.
“Look at that right hand edge of the junction, where the concrete barrier meets the wall of the house,” Muz said. “There’s a gap of about two inches. I reckon that if we ram that block hard enough we could knock it back a foot or two, creating a gap large enough for us to squeeze through.” His voice was eerily calm. He was deadly serious.
“Oh shit,” Carl said, fumbling in his haste to put on his seatbelt.
“You’re mad,” Chuck protested. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Buckle up,” Muz called over his shoulder to those in the back, as he put the gear into first and revved the engine loudly.
He was about to lift the clutch when he felt the cold hard press of what could only be the muzzle of Chuck’s handgun against his left temple.
“I said, don’t even think about it,” Chuck told him, his words as cold as the gun metal. “I can’t let you breach the cordon.”
Everyone in the truck was now motionless and silent, unable to look at anything but the weapon in Chuck’s hand.
“Why the hell not?” Muz dared to ask, his anger overriding his common sense.
“Because any one of us may well be contaminated,” Chuck stated. “The threat we pose to the surrounding populace is not acceptable.”
“Not acceptable?” Muz repeated incredulously. “Chuck, none of us are showing any signs of having been infected and you know as well as I do that if
we stay in here, we’re all eventually going to die.”
“If it’s a question of keeping this thing contained – which it is – I can deal with that,” Chuck said. “I’m sorry, but given the bigger picture, we’re all expendable.”
“Expendable?” Muz blurted back, his anger building, daring to turn his head to face the barrel of the gun. “Okay, cut the shit, Chuck. Just who the fuck are you?”
“What do you mean?” Chuck asked, the innocence in his voice a little too fabricated.
“Yeah, what do you mean?” Carl echoed.
“I said, cut the shit,” Muz spat. “I mean the way you handle that gun, the way you talk sometimes. You’re no more a banker than I am. Isn’t that right?”
There was a long pregnant pause, all eyes focussed expectantly on Chuck.
“Yes,” the big man admitted.
“So, go on, tell us who you really are,” Muz demanded.
“I’m Colour Sergeant Chakamunda Chijioke of the Grenadier Guards, currently attached to the J2 division of the UK’s Joint Task Force.”
“Holy crap,” Carl gasped.
Everyone else was silent for a moment, taking in what the man had just said.
“I’m not understand,” Tom stated then, confused by the long words Chuck had used.
“He’s a soldier,” Amy clarified.
An expression of pure thunder crossed the Polish man’s face then, his skin flushing as red as beetroot, and he sprang to his feet. Amy and Margaret jumped up too, putting themselves directly between the stocky man and Chuck.
“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Chuck told Tom, while still keeping his handgun trained on Muz’s head.
The two women pressed their hands down on Tom’s shoulders, which were heaving up and down as he sucked in rapid lungs full of air. Eventually though, he slumped back into his seat.
“So, tell those army guys up there who you are and they’ll let us through,” Carl asked.
“No. They won’t. It doesn’t matter who I am. I could be the Secretary of Defence and it wouldn’t make the slightest difference,” Chuck told him, then leaned forward to speak directly into Muz’s ear. “Now drive this back to that tower block.”
Muz could tell from the man’s tone of voice that the gun at his head wasn’t a bluff. He edged the truck gently forward across the grass and back onto the road, turning right, back the way they had come. No one besides Chuck dared to say a word.
“You might not realise it,” Chuck stated, his words cutting through the tension. “But I’m just trying to keep you all alive.”
No one responded. Tom continued to stare unblinkingly at him with open aggression. Chuck felt like he needed to keep talking and justify himself.
“If we had driven through that wall, this truck, armour plated or not, would have been vittled up in seconds until it resembled Swiss cheese and all that remained inside was a pile of bloodied bodies.”
Still no one passed comment.
“You know what?” Chuck said. “Fuck all of you.”
As Corporal Cheeseburger watched the truck retreat, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking back, he saw a United Nations soldier in a blue helmet holding out a foam cup filled with steaming tea.
“Cheers,” Cheeseburger said, taking the beverage.
Though he was thankful for the hot brew on this chilly morning, he resented having to acknowledge the presence of the UN soldier. Normally, he and the rest of the Marines here completely ignored the men in blue lids. Bringing cups of tea were all they were good for.
As he sipped at the brew, he looked back out over his section of the road. The police truck had disappeared out of sight along one of the adjoining side roads and he scanned for any other signs of movement.
Lying here in this fire position was mind numbingly boring and he was counting down the minutes until the end of his stag. He had been lying up on the roof for the best part of the night and it had been easy to imagine, in those dark quiet hours that he could see or hear things crawling around in the street below. Just as he was thinking this, something flicked past his ear and he jumped, spilling his tea.
“What the fuck was that?” he shouted.
“What was what?” the Marine to his right called back, immediately alert.
“Dunno. Something just flew right past my…” Whatever it was flashed by again. “Jesus.”
“Get a grip, Corporal,” the Marine called over, laughing as he did so. “It’s just a soddin’ bat.”
Cheeseburger saw now the tiny winged creature performing acrobatics in air just above where he lay. They had seen plenty of them since they had got here, disturbed from their roosts in the lofts of the houses by the military activity.
“This hole may be riddled with zombies,” the other Marine said, “but I think it would be really piss poor luck if we had to fight off vampires as well.”
“Hilarious,” Cheeseburger replied, trying to cover up his embarrassment.
Muz drove along the road, avoiding any of the cannibals staggering around in the street in front of them, rather than running them over, as he had on the way here. The last thing he wanted was a sudden jolt to cause that gun of Chuck’s to go off. They passed the twisted remains of the broken horse. Muz failed to see the mucus-drenched cat with a haunted expression on its face sat beside the fallen equine, and winced at the bump, as one of his wheels drove over it, crushing it flat with a sloppy crunch.
Making it back to Salisbury Court, Muz mounted the grass area and parked as close to the entrance of the block as possible. Chuck lowered his weapon from Muz’s head and walked to the rear door of the Jankel.
Tom, already stood on the lawn, seized the opportunity of the soldier dropping his guard to climb down from the back door and lunged at him. The hefty eastern European managed to get in three rapid solid punches that struck Chuck in the face before he pushed him off and raised the nine millimetre at him.
“Do that a-fucking-gain,” Chuck challenged him, his teeth red with blood.
“Stop it, the pair of you,” Margaret chastised them, daring to stand in the line of Chuck’s aim.
Chuck looked flustered, as everyone else continued to emerge from the vehicle and stand around on either side. He didn’t know where to look, didn’t know who else might attack him next.
“Calm down, Chuck,” Amy told him but the gentle words had little effect on the man who was panting heavily and spitting out blood.
As if the situation were not tense enough at that moment, a gang of five youths emerged from round the corner of the tower. Carrying various assorted weapons and their hoodies and jogging bottoms stained with blood, it was evident they weren’t out taking a casual stroll.
“Who the fuck are you lot?” Chuck demanded, turning his Browning to face them.
“Yo man, you better back it up,” the skinny black kid in the yellow and black bandana told him, full of bravado. “Don’t put dat in my face, bruv.”
“Yeah blood, who you fink you pointing dat shit at,” another of them said, brandishing his length of pipe.
“Where did you come from?” Chuck asked aggressively, keeping his gun trained on them.
The hoodies just looked at one another, pursing their lips, displaying among themselves how unafraid they were by the handgun.
“You fink dis is the first time I’ve had a piece in my face, bruv,” the youth in the bandana said, laughing mockingly.
“We don’t mean you any harm,” Margaret said. “Chuck, put that thing away.”
“Harm us?” the hoodies laughed back. “Try it, blood. See what happens, innit.” They were laughing as raucously as jackals now.
“Yeah, test us, cuz.”
“They’ve got knives,” Amy warned the other nervously.
Growing braver, the hoody in the bandana who, it seemed, was the leader of this gang, walked closer to Chuck. Muz couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The idiot kid was actually trying to intimidate a man who was holding a gun in his face.
“Any of yous
been bit by dem messed up dead people?” the black youth asked.
“No, I can assure you we’re all clean,” Amy told him.
“Nice dog,” the gang leader said.
“Thanks,” Amy replied, pulling Digby tight to her side.
“I wouldn’t mind a dog like dat.”
“What about you, bitch? You been bit?” one of the other hoodies carrying a huge butcher’s knife asked Margaret.
“If by that you mean to ask whether I have been bitten, you rude little boy, the answer is no,” Margaret said, refusing to give an inch.
Still making a display of ignoring Chuck’s weapon, the gang leader squared up to Muz.
“Fucking Fed. What you got for me, bruv?” he demanded.
Out of the corner of his eye, the copper could see that Chuck’s gun had followed the youth and was still pointed at his head, the man’s finger wrapped tight around the trigger. Muz slowly extended his arm out to the big man, gesturing for him to stay calm.
“A lump hammer,” Muz told the kid, bringing his weapon up to rest against his shoulder.
The hoody leaned in closer, eying him and kissing his teeth, before turning to his mates. “Check this. The po-po finks he the man, cuz. You ain’t got no back up now, blood.”
“We’re all just trying to survive,” Amy implored.
The youth in the bandana smiled at her but didn’t reply. Instead, he turned to Jay.
“I know you, don’t I?” he asked. “You Femi’s little white cousin.”
“Yeah,” Jay responded. “Are you, like, the Graveyard Fam?”
The skinny black youth crossed his arms over his chest and nodded with affected pride.
“We famous, blood,” he said to his mates, causing them to laugh again.
“Really?” Chuck asked with a smirk. He was beginning to take control of himself again and his confidence was growing. “Did you idiots call yourselves that before all this happened or is it something you came up with because you think this is a film or something?”
“Nah, man. We always been called dat,” the gang leader told him.
Sudden Death: A Zombie Novel Page 34