Z-Series (Book 5): Z-Burlington

by Hatchett

  Sir James was a pompous and opinionated man of sixty-three, five feet nine inches tall with a shock of white hair. He had also been grossly overweight with a large protruding gut and a red bulbous nose, but the food and drink underground was far less than he was used to, and he’d lost a lot of weight as a result.

  Sir James was the same age and a close friend of the Prime Minister with whom he had been schooled at Eton, a fact that he was quick to tell anyone who’d listen. This relationship had certainly helped his career progression and had opened doors which might otherwise have been slammed shut in his face. He now had the responsibility for the security of Burlington.

  Sir James had been amazed at the audacity of the six interlopers. The fact that they were still alive was a surprise, but the fact that they were wandering around in the midst of zombies seemingly without a care in the World was nothing short of astounding. The nerve of it.

  Sir James had watched intently as they split into two groups to recce the buildings and was enthralled when those who had entered the large hangar had come running out, fighting with the zombies and retreating to stand on cars to continue their fight. It was clear that they weren’t scared of the walking nightmares, and actually seemed to relish the fight. It was also clear that they were well practiced in that art.

  He watched as one of the men on the cars succumbed to the zombies and the reaction of his colleagues. He noticed later that only two returned from the offices, so another of them must have had an unfortunate accident. Served them right.

  He could see the expressions on their faces and one of them, the one he judged to be the ringleader, looking extremely pissed. He just wished there was sound to accompany the pictures. Hearing what they were saying could be invaluable, so he made a mental note to see if there was anyone in this Godforsaken Hellhole who could sort it out. In the meantime, he’d have to find someone who could lip read then playback the footage and see what they came up with.

  He realised that he shouldn’t really slag his new home off; it was like living in a five-star hotel with all the luxuries which went with it, but at the end of the day, it was still just an hotel, not his home. He yearned for the feel of wind blowing in his face instead of air-conditioning. He wanted to see the sky, trees, grass and nature at its finest, not concrete wherever he walked or looked.

  He’d been down here three weeks and it felt like an eternity. A prison sentence. Boring, with little to do, but more importantly, lonely. He had purposely abandoned his family to their own fate when he came to Burlington, thinking it would give him the freedom he thought he was looking for. It hadn’t really worked out as expected. He missed them all terribly; his long-suffering wife, his two kids and even the bloody dog. He would give anything to go back to how things were before.

  He was shocked from his thoughts as he watched the men above ground rip apart a dead zombie and cover themselves in its blood and guts. He gagged at the sight and was very nearly sick as one of them snapped apart the zombie’s rib cage and started delving into the contents. How could they do such a monstrous and disgusting thing? Why were they doing it? Was it in anger? Taking the pain and suffering from the death of their friends out on the zombie? Whatever it was, it was a bit extreme to say the least.

  But most of all, he wondered where they had managed to get all their equipment. The combat gear, the knives, but more importantly, the guns. And it looked like they knew how to use them.

  Within a few minutes of spotting their arrival, Sir James had called for his Head of Security to come to the Control Room.

  Martin Lane was a six-foot three-inch man mountain in his forties with salt and pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He had a rugged, hard-looking face, with small piercing black eyes and he never seemed to smile and hardly ever spoke. He was from a military background, although his file was mostly Top Secret and, suffice to say, that it included a number of deniable black ops in different parts of the World on behalf of the UK establishment.

  Sir James had had no choice surrounding Martin’s appointment; he had wanted Jack Robinson to fulfil this role, but the stupid, moralistic bastard had turned down the opportunity to join the elites here in Burlington.

  Sir James had thought that those above ground wouldn’t have lasted five minutes, but Jack seemed to have secured Heathrow somehow and was currently keeping hundreds of people safe. He was trying to build a new community above ground and Sir James hankered for the chance to go and see what was happening for himself. On the odd occasion that they had spoken since the outbreak, Sir James kept suggesting that he take the secret underground train to visit Heathrow, his latest attempt being just a few days earlier, but Jack seemed very reluctant to accept visitors, always coming up with one excuse or another. Sir James thought he might need to pull rank and just go there, taking an escort with him, of course.

  Martin had not said anything the whole time he had been in the room, just nodding at Sir James when he first arrived. He had sat and watched the CCTV footage without any expression whatsoever, just taking everything in.

  “So, old boy, what do you think?” Sir James asked as the van disappeared from sight. “Perhaps we should have sent a few of the boys upstairs to capture them?”

  “No point,” Martin replied in a monotone. “They’re just flies on an elephant.”

  Sir James looked at the big man, wondering if he was going to elaborate. He clearly wasn’t.

  “I thought it might be useful to know where they’ve been, how they’ve survived and how they managed to find their equipment and weapons.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Martin replied. “They’re no threat to us so there’s no point in taking any unnecessary risks.”

  With that, Martin nodded and left the room. End of discussion.

  Sir James was a little disappointed. He could have done with a bit of excitement for a change, and watching things play out on a monitor wasn’t real enough for him. He wondered what he should do next. Perhaps he would go for a swim in the heated pool and solarium.

  35

  Day 22 – 13.00

  Corsham

  Mamba emerged from the Black Swan with his knife drawn, squinting at the sudden brightness of the light outside.

  Roughly an hour and a quarter earlier, he and the others had parked the van next to the roadblock on Bath Road and piled into the pub to drown their sorrows. The only reason they were leaving now was because Ahmed had reminded him that they were due to meet Ernie at the hotel.

  There were no zombies near, so they clambered over the roadblock, Umit sliding a little too quickly and unsteadily across the bonnet of a Ford Focus and ended up on his backside in the road on the other side. He struggled to get to his feet and was eventually helped up by Emre as Mamba laughed in his face.

  “Can’t take ya beer!” Mamba crowed.

  “Haven’t eaten,” Umit mumbled.

  “Shoulda had some of the peanuts n’ shit,” Mamba pointed out. “Come on, let’s go.”

  They trudged the six hundred metres or so along Pickwick Road until they reached the Hunter’s Arms, which had a dozen or so wheelbarrows and tools dumped haphazardly in front of the entrance. They went in and made a beeline for the lounge.

  Mamba looked around the room as Basir came running over. He saw Ernie sitting in one of the chairs talking to Evelyn and Chrissy and started walking in their direction.

  “Tell Basir what’s happened,” he said to Emre, as he walked away.

  He took a seat next to Evelyn and opposite Ernie as Ahmed sat in the chair next to Chrissy. Mamba saw them grinning at each and frowned in disgust. He momentarily thought about Natalie but was brought back to the present when old Ernie spoke.

  “You’re late.”

  “What do ya mean? It’s lunchtime,” Mamba retorted.

  “You said twelve o’clock, not lunchtime,” Ernie pointed out.

  “Ya did, bro,” Ahmed agreed.

  “So? What’s an hour between friends?” Mamba said, checking his watch.
<
br />   “When you get to my age of eighty-nine, an hour is a long time. You’ve also been drinking,” Ernie accused.

  “Jus’ stopped off fer a quick one at the Black Swan. Bin a bad mornin’.”

  Mamba, with the help of Ahmed, filled them in on their wasted journey to the M.O.D. site.

  Once he had finished, there was a few seconds silence as they considered the loss of Temel and Samir.

  “Dangerous outside our barriers,” Ernie remarked.

  “Really?” Mamba asked sarcastically, shaking his head. “Anyway, what’s happenin’ with the bible bashers ‘n things?”

  Evelyn filled them in on what was happening in the town. People had gone back to work and were enjoying their newfound freedom. The Reverend’s people were still considering their options under lock and key.

  “So, have we got what we need ta get started?” Mamba asked.

  “You still want to start today?” Ernie asked, surprised.

  “’Course! Why not?”

  “No reason.”

  Basir wandered over, looking very down.

  “Has Khalid got some pickaxes?” Mamba asked.

  Basir nodded.

  “Have ya managed ta find gear ta build some more bombs?”

  Basir nodded again.

  “Good lad. Get everyone together. We’re gonna blow some shit up.”

  Basir wandered off to get everything arranged.

  Evelyn stood up.

  “I’ve got things to do. Have fun and good luck. I’m sure we’ll catch up later.”

  “Don’t need luck,” Mamba replied to her retreating back.

  36

  Day 22 – 13.15

  Corsham

  Mamba had everyone in the lounge, ready to start their adventure. They were all in combat gear, all had their weapons including their MP5’s and some were also carrying pickaxes and shovels.

  He had spoken to Basir and between them they had decided to leave a dozen men in and around the hotel to keep guard. Although the Reverend’s followers had been stopped, you could never be too careful.

  So, thirty-six of Mamba’s men plus Ernie and Chrissy joined him and Ahmed when they left the hotel. Ernie told them the direction they were going and some of the men grabbed the wheelbarrows and tools as they moved out. Then they all clambered over the cars blocking the road and headed along Station Road and past the sports ground.

  The going was slow because they were only as quick as the slowest person, who happened to be old Ernie.

  “I can fuckin’ crawl faster’n this,” Mamba complained, as they approached the curve in the road which would lead them back to the footpath over the train tracks.

  “See how fast you are when you’re eighty-four,” Ernie replied.

  “That’s bullshit fer a start,” Mamba said.

  “What is?”

  “Ya ain’t eighty-four. I dunno how old ya are, but ya ain’t eighty-four.”

  “I am.”

  “Nah. Ya was eighty-nine earlier, eighty-two yesterday. Mebbe ya really losin’ yer marbles.”

  Ernie laughed.

  “And maybe I’ve just forgotten where I did all that back-breaking work all those years ago.”

  “Don’t even think ‘bout it, old man.”

  Ernie laughed again.

  “I’m surprised you noticed. Most people don’t. I like to keep them guessing and see if they actually listen to what I say.”

  “I ain’t deaf ‘n I ain’t stupid.”

  “No, I think we’ve worked that one out.”

  “Fancy a ride in a wheelbarrow? It’ll be quicker.”

  “Not for me, son.”

  “I’ll get ya a mobility scooter or summat. Don’t want ya dyin’ afore we get there.”

  They followed the curve in the road and Mamba was about to take a left onto The Cleeve until Ernie spoke.

  “Where’re you going, son?” he said as he continued walking down the road and past the turning.

  Mamba jogged a couple of paces to catch up.

  “Where we goin’ then?”

  “Down here.”

  “I can see that, but where?”

  “The train station.”

  Mamba looked ahead but couldn’t see anything resembling a train station.

  “Where’s that then?”

  “Not far.”

  Station Road had turned into Pound Mead after The Cleeve. They came to a junction and stayed to the left, still on Pound Mead, which was more like a single lane country road. There was a tall hedge on their left and a high wall on their right which marked the boundary of the rear gardens of a row of houses.

  Just twenty metres further on, a couple of parked cars appeared on their left, blocking another small lane. Ernie stopped and pointed towards the cars as everyone caught up and gathered around, waiting to see where they were going next.

  “Yes, more cars,” Mamba agreed sarcastically. “So what?”

  “The station’s down there. Well, I should say it was down there. It’s been knocked down. No station here anymore.”

  “Great. ‘N the point is…what exactly?”

  “We’ve got to go down there and onto the tracks to get access to the right spot, and I’m not going another foot until it’s all cleared.”

  Mamba looked confused, wondering if Ernie was really beginning to lose it. He took a few steps towards the cars and looked over them. He saw a gently sloping track which went down to the train tracks at the bottom. Then he noticed some zombies wandering around.

  “There’s zombies down there,” Mamba said, looking back at Ernie.

  “So, your eyesight’s still working then,” Ernie replied sarcastically. “Why do you think I’m not moving another step until it’s cleared?”

  “I thought the town was blocked off from zombies,” Mamba mused.

  “The town is. The train tracks aren’t,” Ernie replied, as if it was obvious. “We didn’t think we’d be catching a train or doing anything else down there.”

  Mamba went back to the cars to take another look and Ahmed wandered over to join him. Then they both walked a little further down the road and checked the area below through a chain link fence.

  “What do ya reckon, bro?” Ahmed asked.

  “I’m wonderin’ if the old man has lost it,” Mamba replied.

  “We’ve come all this way so we’ve gotta try,” Ahmed suggested. “He’s bin right with everythin’ else so far.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Mamba agreed, turning and walking back to Ernie.

  “What we gotta do down there?” Mamba asked.

  “Clear the zombies,” Ernie replied.

  “I know that. Then what?”

  “Well, we want to go right for about a kilometre before the train track disappears into a tunnel called Box Tunnel.”

  “Don’t tell me, there could be zombies all along the track.”

  “Could be, son.”

  “Great!” Mamba huffed, looking down at the floor and closing his eyes.

  After a few seconds thought, he raised his head and looked at Ernie.

  “Is the train track blocked anywhere?”

  “Not that I know of,” Ernie replied.

  Mamba turned so he could talk to everyone.

  “We need ta find ‘bout twenty cars ‘n drive ‘em back here. Leave the wheelbarrows, tools ‘n MP5’s but take yer knives ‘n pistols. If ya have ta break inta a house ta find keys, don’t forget there could be zombies in there so be careful. Basir, sort it out.”

  Mamba, Ahmed, Ernie and Chrissy watched as Basir chose the men to collect the cars. They dumped their equipment and started strolling back in the direction they had just come from.

  Someone must have suggested that it would be easier to source cars closest to them because without warning they all started running up the road as if it was some kind of competition.

  The first person back arrived within five minutes, closely followed by a few others, then there was a gap until more cars started arriving.

&
nbsp; 37

  Day 22 – 14:00

  Corsham

  Mamba looked down the long line of vehicles blocking Pound Mead with a big smile on his face.

  His men had left the cars and had regrouped around him, waiting to see what would happen next.

  “Listen up. There’s zombies on the track below so the first thing we need ta do is block off the rails ta stop more gettin’ in. Once we block it off, we kill those still lurkin’ inside the area. Any questions?”

  “Yeah, Boss,” came a voice from the crowd.

  Mamba centred in on the voice.

  “What, Abbas?” Mamba asked.

  Everyone looked towards Abbas, a slight lad in his twenties, who suddenly looked embarrassed being the centre of attention.

  “Well, I just thought the cars might not be able to cross the rails,” Abbas said quietly, wishing he hadn’t brought attention on himself.

  Mamba thought about it, then looked down the line of cars.

  “Good point,” Mamba said.

  Abbas let out a sigh of relief, half expecting to be ridiculed.

  “We got a few SUVs ‘n it don’t matter if we knacker a few suspensions so long as we can get ‘em over the rails,” Mamba said. “worst case, we’ll have ta push ‘em over.

  “Wait a minute, son,” Ernie jumped in. “Because it used to be the station here, there’s a crossing, so you could drive the cars onto this then turn and follow inside or alongside the tracks.”

  “He’s right,” Chrissy agreed, “I’d forgotten about that crossing.”

  “It would mean the cars being front on rather than side on, but that shouldn’t matter,” Ernie added.

  “OK,” Mamba agreed. “I’ll direct y’all, but those in SUVs can leave ‘em here fer now. We might need ‘em ta fill the gaps later.”