by Hatchett
“Want some company?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
Andy heard the spray of water as the shower started up and wondered whether he should join her. It was still early days in their relationship, and for the vast majority of their time together they’d also been in the company of other people, so he really wasn’t sure if she’d welcome him in or kick him in the nuts. Women!
8
Day 9 – 08:30
Sunrise Apartments, East London
Mamba rolled off Jamelia’s back, and lay down staring at the ceiling, breathing heavily and bathed in a sheen of sweat, his tattoos glistening in the dawn light coming through the lightweight curtains.
Jamelia was lying on her front with her head buried in her pillow, sobbing quietly.
After a few minutes, Mamba got up, rooted through the nearby wardrobe and found a fluffy blue dressing gown which he pulled on and tied at the waist.
“Get up!” he ordered as he slapped Jamelia’s bare backside, which made her jump, “or I’ll send Ahmed in for seconds.”
He then left the room and headed for the lounge, detouring on the way into the kitchen to help himself to a glass of water from a large plastic bottle sitting on the side. He gulped it down and helped himself to another. Thirsty work giving that Jamelia a good seeing to.
With a full glass, he sauntered into the lounge to find Ahmed snoring lightly on the sofa. He walked over and positioned himself directly above Ahmed’s head then poured a little of the water from his glass.
Ahmed woke with a start and looked up to see Mamba’s now flaccid penis staring back down at him before shifting rapidly to the other end of the sofa.
“Fuckin’ Hell Mamba!” Ahmed shouted, instantly wide awake. “What the fuck is wrong with ya?”
Mamba started laughing uncontrollably. “Jesus, Ahmed,” he said between laughs, “I know its big but it’s not that scary.”
“Yer fuckin’ mental, ya know that? Why’d ya keep doin’ stupid stuff like that?” Only Ahmed could ever get away with saying this sort of stuff to Mamba, anyone else would already be dead.
Mamba shrugged and flopped down onto the sofa as Jamelia entered the room. She was fully dressed in a pair of jeans and a big baggy jumper. Her hair was all over the place and it was clear she had been crying. There were bags under her puffy eyes so it was clear that she hadn’t slept much, if at all.
“Time for breakfast darlin’,” Mamba suggested with a loving smile.
“I’ll give ya a hand,” Ahmed offered, feeling sorry for the woman, and rose from the sofa.
“No, ya fuckin’ won’t,” Mamba snapped, the loving smile long gone. “Yer gonna tell me what ya saw last night.”
Ahmed sat back down and Jamelia headed towards the kitchen.
Mamba stood. “Let’s go on the balcony, don’t want any ears flappin’.”
They each took one of the white plastic chairs facing the Green Park Estate and made sure the patio door was slid closed. Whilst it was light, the sky was full of clouds and there was a slight breeze wafting across them. Below them on the road and the surrounding rough ground they could see dozens of zombies milling around, going nowhere in particular. Mamba looked slightly to his left and could see the ‘Dog and Bone’ about twenty metres away; the pub was a bit of a shithole and didn’t look any better from this distance, but it had served its purpose as their gang’s headquarters. In some respects, Mamba wished he could go back there, get a nice cold pint and join his comrades in the back room, but times had moved on and there was no room for sentiment.
Behind the pub was the walkway leading to the horseshoe shaped building of the Green Park Estate, another shithole, ten stories of concrete and hundreds of cramped apartments, built just after World War II and not refurbished since. It looked more like a prison than a place where people could call home, but that was what it had been for both of them. It had been Mamba’s idea to create a barrier and gate between the two ends of the horseshoe and he’d enjoyed sorting it out.
They could now see guards standing and smoking on the scaffolding behind the barrier. They appeared to be young and holding javelins, the same instrument which Mamba had used to test out the theory that zombies could only be killed if you killed their brains. When was that? Over a week ago, at least. In some ways it seemed like yesterday and in others it seemed like years. So much had happened in such a short space of time. It had been good fun stabbing that fuckin’ zombie in different parts of its body, but the theory had been right; even stabbing them in the bollocks hadn’t caused any reaction.
“Are ya sure she ain’t gonna try and run for help?” Ahmed asked.
“Wouldn’t fuckin’ dare, bro. Don’t suppose ya got any glasses?” Mamba asked, referring to binoculars.
“Nah, man.”
“Fuck!”
The patio door slid open and Jamelia placed a couple of plates on the table before turning to head back inside.
“Ya got any binoculars?” Ahmed asked.
Jamelia paused as she thought about it then shook her head and went back inside, slamming the patio door as she went.
“I guess she’s pissed that I cut our mornin’ session short,” Mamba remarked with a grin.
Mamba looked at the plates on the table and saw that there were more sausage rolls, beetroot, what looked like tuna, a packet of crisps and some other slop which could easily have been dog or cat food. ‘Well, I ain’t eating that shit’, he thought to himself, picking up the crisps off one of the plates.
“Grub’s up,” Mamba said jovially as he pushed the other plate towards Ahmed and watched as he dubiously scanned the contents.
“So, what did ya find out?”
“Not much,” Ahmed replied, taking a handful of tuna and bringing it to his mouth.
“Ya didn’t fall asleep did ya?” Mamba asked in an accusing tone.
“Nah, man. I sat here for fuckin’ hours. Fuck all happenin’. Jus’ them guardin’ the gate,” he said, pointing to where Mamba had been looking.
“I know where the fuckin’ gate is, Ahmed, I built the fucker so ya don’t have ta point.”
Ahmed put his arm down and picked up some beetroot. “A helicopter landed on the roof, stayed for ‘bout an hour, then headed back towards the city.”
“Well, why didn’t ya fuckin’ say?” Mamba said with a frown.
“I jus’ did.”
Mamba considered whether to give Ahmed a slap, but eventually decided against it. “So, fuckin’ tell me ‘bout it.”
“Nothin’ more to tell,” Ahmed replied, chewing on a sausage roll, still looking towards the gate.
“A fuckin’ fat lot of good that is,” Mamba accused, shaking his head. “Anyway, I’ve decided that now’s not the time to go back there. We need to go find them fuckin’ Turks first.”
Ahmed was not surprised. He suspected all along that Mamba had no intention of going back there yet. The estate just happened to be on the way to Hackney and he obviously just wanted to see what was going on…and find some skirt at the same time. Mamba struggled to go a day without shagging something.
*****
Once Jamelia had dropped off the plates of food for Ahmed and Mamba, she quickly took two more plates of better food down to the girls’ bedroom and made sure they were OK. She wondered whether Ahmed and Mamba would eat the dog food, and this brought a smile to her face, just in time for her performance for the two girls. She hugged them both tightly, refused to tell them what was going on until later and told them that it shouldn’t be long before they could come out. She stressed that they were not to do so until she told them they could and warned them of the consequences. She then quickly left the room and rushed into the bathroom.
The clothes Mamba and Ahmed had been wearing when they arrived were still sitting in a pile in the middle of the floor.
Wrinkling her nose in disgust, and trying to hold her breath, Jamelia frisked all the pockets as quickly as she cou
ld. She found a couple of guns and knives and wondered what she could do.
She thought about running to another apartment for help, but Ahmed and Mamba would be alerted, and she would just get other people, and probably herself, killed. Then there would be no one to protect the girls from that animal.
She could take the guns and just go back to the patio and blow them both away. After all, Mamba had no weapons on him, he was just wearing a dressing gown with nothing underneath. At least she thought so, but she didn’t know what he might have done when he left the bedroom earlier.
As for Ahmed, she had no idea. He could have all sorts of weapons on him for all she knew. He was a funny one, that Ahmed. She thought he might actually be a decent bloke, but there was no chance of finding out with fuckin’ Mamba around. But, she was convinced that Ahmed would protect Mamba whatever the situation, so if she did decide to try it, she’d have to make sure she got them both straightaway.
There was one main problem; she didn’t know how to use a gun. Knowing her luck, she’d stick it in their faces and pull the trigger, only for nothing to happen. So, that left the knife. She really didn’t fancy the thought of stabbing a live human being, even if it was that bastard Mamba, although she was fairly confident that she could do it to a zombie. She thought of her girls; if Mamba went anywhere near them then she’d find the courage to use a knife. In fact, she’d bloody enjoy every second of it. Funny how you needed an incentive to find the strength to do something you ordinarily wouldn’t do.
No, none of the options were worth trying…yet. Not until she was certain of success or desperate, whichever came first. Hopefully, they’d just fuck off sooner rather than later and she hoped they’d be nailed by one of the zillion zombies out there. So, for the time being, she’d play along. She took one of the guns and one of the knives and hid them at the bottom of a pile of towels in one of the cupboards. She then replaced all the other items and hoped to God that they didn’t notice anything was missing. Once they had gone and she had more time, she’d check the gun out properly and maybe see if anyone in the building could teach her how to use it. She was sure Jaspar on the floor below would know, and he’d be willing to do anything for her. Then if Mamba ever came back again…well, bam bam!
As she was thinking through her options, she heard the patio door sliding open and quickly stood up to the sink to begin brushing her teeth.
As she was brushing, she heard footsteps then Mamba’s voice from behind her.
“Nice view.”
Jamelia made no response and continued brushing.
“We’ve decided it’s time to go,” Mamba advised.
Jamelia’s heart leapt and she felt a small smile playing across her face but kept her face down in the sink and continued brushing.
“But before we go,” Mamba started, as Jamelia’s heart sank, “we need a little going away present.”
Jamelia spat out the toothpaste and rinsed her mouth out with a glass of water which was sitting on the side. She swirled the water around inside her mouth before spitting it into the sink. She stood upright, placed her toothbrush in a holder and grabbed a towel to wipe her mouth before turning back to face Mamba.
“What do ya mean?” she asked cautiously, her mind flicking to the hidden knife in the towel cupboard.
“Me and Ahmed need to let off a little excess energy before we go. Ya know, let off a bit of steam.”
“You and Ahmed? You’re jokin’, right?”
Mamba just stared at her.
“Does yer promise still hold?” Jamelia asked.
“Of course.”
Jamelia brushed past Mamba with a defeated look on her face and headed towards her bedroom. She heard Mamba shouting for Ahmed, who was obviously in the lounge or kitchen.
“Ahmed, get yer arse down here. Time to lose yer virginity.”
“What the fuck ya talkin’ ‘bout, Mamba?” came back from Ahmed. “I ain’t no virgin.”
“Jus’ get down here, now!”
Ahmed figured out what Mamba was talking about and came back with, “I’m OK here. I’ll wait.”
“No ya fuckin’ won’t. You’re either my bro or you’re not. If not, I’ll fuckin’ shoot ya.”
After a minute or so, Ahmed trudged in Mamba’s direction with his head down and a sad look on his face.
“Cheer up, son, this is your lucky day!” Mamba said cheerfully, slapping Ahmed on the arm before leading the way to the bedroom.
*****
Mamba and Ahmed climbed back into their dirty clothes lying on the floor in the bathroom, smacking their heads together at one point as space was at a premium.
“Ow, that fuckin’ hurt,” Ahmed complained, “Got me right on my bruise again.”
“Stop fuckin’ complainin’ and get dressed. You’re like an old woman sometimes,” Mamba retorted.
Once they were dressed, Mamba said, “All set?”
Ahmed nodded, but he knew that he was short a gun and a knife.
They walked into the lounge where Jamelia was waiting, now just wearing the dressing gown that Mamba had been wearing earlier. She had seen the breakfast plates and smiled to herself when she saw that some of the dog food had been eaten and just hoped that it had been Mamba who had eaten it. Despite what she had been forced to do, she actually felt a little sorry for Ahmed, because it was clear that he had been very reluctant to follow Mamba’s orders. Perhaps if she’d have been a willing participant then he might have been up for it, but that was something she’d probably never know.
Jamelia looked at Mamba who had a wide smile on his face as he said, “Well, it’s been fun, girl! Remember, ya betta not tell anyone ya seen us or we’ll come back and teach ya a proper lesson.”
“I won’t say a word,” Jamelia replied before she looked towards Ahmed.
Ahmed was not smiling, and had his head bowed slightly as if in repentance or in shame, but their eyes met before he looked back down towards the floor. She followed his gaze and saw that he was lightly tapping one of his pockets. She looked back at his face in rising panic and found that he was looking at her again. He winked as if there was now a secret between them and smiled briefly before turning towards the door.
With a sigh of relief, Jamelia moved towards the door and opened it. Ahmed took a couple of paces and passed over the threshold onto the third floor walkway without looking at her and without speaking. Mamba took a couple of paces, grabbed her left breast for a quick fondle before re-issuing his threat about her keeping her silence before following Ahmed.
The door was slammed shut behind them.
9
Day 9 – 09:00
Heathrow Terminal 3, Security Briefing Room
Jack Robinson sat at the head of the conference table in the Security Briefing Room, which was part of a group of rooms and offices known as Security Command within Terminal 3 of London’s Heathrow airport. It was a large room with a conference table which could seat up to twenty people, which was just as well because the Leadership Team had now expanded to thirteen.
Before the outbreak, Jack had been the Head of the Aviation Security Operational Command Unit (SO18) of the Metropolitan Police. He was in his mid-forties with dark hair going grey at the edges. At five feet eleven inches tall with penetrating blue eyes he was an imposing figure who commanded authority. His SO18 unit had been responsible for the policing and security for all London airports but his main concern since the outbreak was Heathrow airport and the survivors within its secured perimeter.
In total there were currently well over a thousand people at the airport, some ex-police, some ex-armed forces, but the vast majority were civilians.
Over the past few days, his responsibility, and that of his group of Leaders, had expanded significantly and was continuing to expand as more survivors were found; there was now a sub-group of survivors stationed at the Battersea heliport which gave them easier access to the centre of London, a group at the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge Hotel next door, and a group
at the Green Park Estate in Stepney. They were also in regular contact with Admiral Sir George McFadden, First Sea Lord and Chief of Naval Staff – the Navy – based on Whale Island in Portsmouth, and the Police Training college in Hendon, North London, where Jack’s two sons, Jack Jr and Kyle, had been training to become police officers when the outbreak occurred. Every day, more groups of survivors were located or contact made.
The Leaders held a meeting every morning around 9am wherever possible; it was an opportunity for everyone to get themselves up to speed with what had happened the previous day and what was expected for that day or over the next few days.
To Jack’s right sat Major Simon Fellows, known simply as ‘The Major’, who was acting as second in command to Jack. He had been in the army and was in his early forties with a chiselled face, blond crew cut and blue eyes. He was five feet nine inches tall and well built.
Next to the Major was Issy.
Next to Issy was Gina Stevens. Gina had been part of the cabin crew on the plane which brought the virus to the UK. She was twenty-four, five feet three inches tall with blond hair and blue eyes. She had earned her place at the table through her heroic actions over the first three days of the outbreak.
Next to Gina was Andy.
Next to Andy was Travis McMahon. Travis had been an SO18 officer under Bear’s command and had only recently been invited to join the Leadership Team; there had been a couple of vacancies following the deaths of some senior officers and the Leadership Team needed fresh faces and fresh ideas to help keep things running as smoothly as possible. He was twenty-eight, five feet eleven inches tall, just under thirteen stone with a blond crew cut and blue eyes. A bit of a joker but hard when he needed to be.
Next to Travis was Daniel Walker. Daniel had been the Chief Warder, or Beefeater, at the Tower of London. He was a fit forty-five year old, six feet one inches tall with a broad build and a no-nonsense sort of attitude. He had joined the army at the age of sixteen and had finally found his niche when he reached the rank of Sergeant Major in the Grenadier Guards. He left as an ex-senior Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) with over twenty-two years’ service and had been awarded the ‘Long Service and Good Conduct’ medal before he joined the Yeoman Warders seven years earlier. He had black hair, cut very short and starting to grey at the temples, and liked to joke that he was a tour guide, but in reality, he was actually a highly trained bodyguard whose job it was to look after the Tower with his fellow Warders.