British Zombie Breakout: Part Three (5 page)

'The guys who
took the virus were mad enough and I very strongly suspect they had
help,' Douglas Hodgeson said.

'I reckon we
only need one guess who'd plan an operation like this. And he
probably made a fat profit out of it, too.'

'The Minister
for Home Affairs won't be making a profit out of anything now he's
behind bars.'

'Bail is out of
the question,' the PM said. 'With any luck we can make a charge of
treason stick on this one.'

'Hear,
hear!'

The PM rapped
on the table. 'Getting down to serious business, can the virus be
weaponised?' he said.

'Of course.
That's exactly what that fool Smith designed it for. Multiply it up
and then disperse as a fine spray or powder.'

'In military
terms, I'd say if it's easily weaponised, we're into worst case
scenario territory.'

'And that is?'
the PM said.

'Zombification
of whole cities world-wide.'

'Mason, how
long will it take to make sufficient quantity for any sort of
weapon?'

'To make enough
to infect a city the size of Manchester, say, several weeks. That
is if you wanted to infect the whole city at the same time.'

'What would
they need to do that?'

'If they don't
mind being turned into zombies themselves, an airing cupboard and
some wine-making equipment. If they want to do the job properly, a
secure lab with all the equipment we have at Breathdeep.'

'So,' Commander
Hodgeson said, 'a reckless terror operation on one hand or a
ruthless foreign power on the other.'

'You say
'foreign', I take it you're counting the Americans out of
this?'

'American
government wouldn't have done this, as for American right wing
extremists, there's always a few of those around.'

'The kids who
were kidnapped; what do we have from them.'

'They didn't
recognise the language but thought it wasn't European,' Professor
Mason said. 'The ones who came to Breathdeep were in the same
category.'

'That doesn't
really tell us a lot, they could be mercenaries,' Douglas Hodgeson
said.

The PM was keen
to stick to practicalities. 'Before we start talking global, let's
begin at the guys with wine-making equipment and an airing
cupboard. How long would it take to make a 'useful' amount?'

'In a few days,
they'd have enough to do plenty of damage, assuming they have any
idea what they're doing.'

'Twenty-four,
forty-eight hours before people start getting infected?'

'If it's that
sort of outfit, they'll be infected within minutes of opening the
phial. Multiple zombies will be running around within seventy-two
hours.'

The Prime
Minister gave a weary sigh. 'That gives us a bit of lee-way, then,
especially as no-one has claimed responsibility and outside this
room no-one with access to the media knows anything about it.'

'Assuming
no-one does admit being behind it, what do you propose?'

The PM looked
across at the Foreign Secretary before answering. 'It will be a
case of approaching each government independently but all pretty
much at the same time. To prevent global panic they'll have to be
reminded that this requires a firm lid to be kept on it.'

'I'll see to
the translation work as soon as you've prepared the message.
Native-speaking linguists will be on hand to go over the wording
for any possible misunderstandings.'

'And I'll get
moving on production of the ZDTs and vaccine,' Professor Mason
said. 'I've an unpleasant feeling we'll be needing both, especially
the latter.'

Chapter
10: If It Wasn't
You, Who Did Do It?

Negotiations on
the theft of the zombie virus were conducted via top secret
channels. Appeals went out to every government in every country, to
return the phial of virus intact. Other than polite and reserved
responses, along with the assurance that no British citizen was to
be welcomed anywhere else on the planet, not a single admission of
guilt was forthcoming. After diplomatic means had failed to turn up
the whereabouts of the virus, the idea that it was any sort of
government sponsored initiative was dismissed. Meanwhile,
preparations were put underway to deal with the inevitable outbreak
of zombieism.

Officially, all
information about the theft of the virus was suppressed. No mention
of it reached a single news desk. If it had done, it would have
been jumped on immediately, as all governments had agreed that it
would cause mass panic. Some governments were reluctant at first,
seeing an opportunity to score further points against the UK.
However, they realised that until the location of the terrorists
was known, it was quite possible their own country could be the
very one harbouring the cell.

Professor
Mason's seventy-two hour deadline passed without event. Vaccine
production was ramped up further but behind-the-scenes tension
increased by the hour.

'From what you
said before, Mason,' the PM said in a private meeting at his home,
'the longer this carries on without seeing stray zombies wandering
around, the less likely it is that some amateurish outfit is
involved.'

Albert Mason
gave a heavy sigh, his concerned expression reflected in the deep
polish of the mahogany table which stood between the two men.
'That's the way I see it. If the people who took the phial weren't
highly skilled professionals, we'd be looking at multiple zombies
by now.'

'So what do you
think is going on?'

'I can think of
a number of scenarios…' the professor paused to clear his
thoughts.

'Continue.'

'With no zombie
sightings at this point, it is virtually certain that the virus is
being kept in a biologically contained area.'

'And is that
good or bad?'

'It's good
because there'd be less opportunity for an unplanned release of
virus but…'

'I thought that
was coming.'

'But that would
mean a larger amount is being produced.'

'That would be
most unfortunate.'

'Indeed, though
there are other possibilities. It could be this is a well-funded
operation and the virus is being produced in a safe manner.'

'A government
funded operation, then.'

'Not
necessarily. Something small scale and out of the way but properly
run. It could be completely contained in another building, a
warehouse, say.'

'And that could
be set up without anyone outside the group knowing about it?' The
PM sounded doubtful.

'Piecemeal over
the months since the first outbreak. Yes, that would be
possible.'

'What other
scenarios are there?'

'That, as I
think you most suspect, a government is running this and keeping it
very quiet. Or it could be a commercial operation.'

'A commercial
operation?'

'There are
plenty of company-owned biological research facilities around.'

The PM
scratched his head. 'But what on earth could a company gain by
making zombie virus.'

'It could be
they're not making virus at all, they simply wanted the virus to
develop a vaccine.'

'If only I
could believe that was the case.'

'That would
absolutely be the best possible scenario: a properly handled
vaccine production facility.'

'Indeed, Mason.
There's only one problem with that. We already have one!'

'The vaccine is
something we've kept to ourselves, though, isn't it?'

'I see what you
mean. They're hoping to make a vaccine they can sell to us.'

'Exactly. It
would make sense if they had no idea we have one already.'

'Well,' the PM
allowed himself a rare moment of levity, 'they'll be out of luck on
that score.'

By the evening
of the fifth day since the theft from Breathedeep, there was still
no sign of either the phial or of rampaging zombies. Tensions were
running so high that a number of governments had massed armed
troops at strategic locations. Some were preparing for defence
against a major outbreak, others readying for attack on a
neighbouring state suspected of having the virus. Privately,
accusations and counter-accusations were flying between world
leaders.

'Someone has
got to be lying to us!' the PM said in exasperation. 'For that
virus to be kept under control this long, it has to be in a
government facility.'

Six days after
the theft of the virus, the impasse was broken when a remote
village was treated to an explosion of zombieism. It was as though
the whole village had been infected simultaneously. It may well
have been, with the virus in the inept hands of members of the
terrorist cell under cover there. When a lorry driver turned up
badly mauled on his return from a routine call to pick up produce,
the alarm was raised.

'Albert?'
Douglas Hodgeson said. 'Are you on your own?'

'Yes, what's
happened?'

'The only
reason I'm not having to deliver this message in person is that
this is a fully encrypted hard-wired line.'

'Yes, and?'

'This has come
direct from the PM.'

'Douglas, the
message!'

'Zombie Alert
Status has just hit level six.'

'ZAS six? Tell
me it's not a strike on a city.'

'That's about
the only good news, it's a remote community.'

'It's not been
weaponised? There's no big facility?'

'No, it's a
smallish village miles from anywhere.'

'How many?'

'Couple of
hundred people maybe.'

'After six
days, they'll all be infected. What a mess.' The professor
scratched his head, his mind moving into high gear. 'Has it spread
beyond the village?'

'That we're not
completely certain of.'

'Who's dealing
with it?'

'We are. I told
you that you'd be needed to sort this out.'

'So you
did.'

Chapter 11: Village of
Death

Ten members of
a group calling themselves The New World Commandos gathered in a
hut at the edge of a remote village. They'd changed out of their
flight suits into khakis after parachuting into the village an hour
before dawn. After daybreak, they crowded into what they called the
radio room. The hut had a tin roof over walls of hollow concrete
bricks. All the men were aged between twenty-five and thirty-nine,
and they prided themselves on their fitness and training.

Dubois, the
leader, put down his headset. 'The plane has been ditched.'

'I love your
plans, man.' A rangy, ex-military figure said. He had a blond crew
cut and a South African accent. 'No one will ever find us until
it's too late.'

'But the
villagers here don't like us, Sven.'

'Zac, is the
second generator working yet?' Dubois said, turning to a stocky man
with curly black hair. He was the only one to have remained behind
while the others were away in England.

'It's doubled
their water supply, already.'

'Yeah, what
more do they want?' Sven said.

'Apart from to
be rid of us, not much.'

'Most of them
don't even notice, it's only that trouble-making chief.'

'He's a useful
man to deal with,' Dubois said, holding up his hand and rubbing his
thumb against his fingers in the universal gesture for ready money.
'And the rest of them do what he says.'

The men emptied
out into the main living area, along the side of which was a row of
camp beds, each with its own neat stash of clothing and
equipment.

'Man, I hate
these camp chairs,' Sven said, slapping the dust off one before
sitting down.

'Tough,' Dubois
said. 'Because you, George, Zac and Connor are waiting it out
here.'

'Aw, man…'

Dubois gave
Sven a dismissive look. 'Tank, you did a good job in London but I
need you to take off now with the rest of the guys. Use the big
truck and leave it at the usual place. Consider yourselves paid
off, until you hear from me about Phase Two.'

'What's that
boss?'

Dubois gave him
a tight smile. 'I'll tell you when you need to know.'

Tank nodded,
knowing nothing more would be forthcoming. He gathered his kit and
made sure the men in his group had their papers ready, so they
could quickly disperse once they'd got to the city. As he opened
the heavy wooden door, Tank gave Dubois a snappy salute. 'See ya
later, boss,' he said with a grin before shutting the door behind
him.

Dubois turned
to a tall, nervous-looking man in his early thirties. 'George, how
long?'

Running a bony
hand through his sandy hair, George nodded towards the sealed
packing crates stacked neatly at the bottom end of the shed, an
area they'd designated as 'the lab'.

'Bout a day to
set up properly, prime the system, get it equilibrated, couple of
days after that.'

'OK, let's get
those cases cracked open. Dix is arriving in three days to check on
progress.'

Sven laughed.
'Dix?'

'You think he's
going to use his real name?' Dubois said. 'Now move it, we've got
work to do.'

George
supervised the unpacking of a kit of small-scale biotech glassware
and plastic tubing. Referring to the screen of his laptop, he
sterilised the parts and experimented with fitting them together on
a makeshift table lashed up from the packing cases, until he was
satisfied the setup looked correct. Finally, he introduced the
components of the growth medium.

'Man, what's
the gloop for?'

George gave
Sven a patient look. 'Goes in the fermenter. Got to feed the little
blighters, or they won't grow.'

'Blighters?'
Connor said, lighting a cigarette.

'You know, the
bugs,' George patted his breast pocket.

'He means the
virus,' Dubois added.

'Couple of
hours for this gear to settle down, then it'll be time to add the
magic ingredient.' George took out the phial of virus and placed it
next to the part he'd referred to as the fermenter.