No Zombies Please We Are British (11 page)

Jack reacted fast, pushing everybody through the room and towards the back door. They all followed, Ayse resisting at first, unable to break her gaze on the dead gorilla.

The round of bullets that tore into the room got her moving. The group, now eight strong, burst from the back of the feeding area and broke into a run.

“This way, Lion’s Den. We can go down into the boiler rooms and double back on them,” Stan said as he took the lead. His years put to shame as he sprinted ahead of the rest.

The lion enclosure was a towering and impressive structure. The doors to it were damaged, but seemed to have survived the sweeping wave of violence and death better than many other places. Possibly more due to the occupants of the enclosure than anything else.

“Here, this way,” Stan said as they closed the doors.

Another burst of automatic rifle fire rang out and glass shattered behind them.

“Quickly now,” Stan said as he fumbled with the lock on a service door.

Yanking it open, everybody disappeared inside, pulling it closed just before the breakaway military group arrived.

“Come out of there. That is an order,” a commanding voice rang out.

“That door won’t hold them for long. We need to move.” Stan led the way through the dark. Grim emergency lighting cast a dim glow that gave them just enough light to see by.

Everybody followed, nobody spoke. They were all scared. The heavy, steady banging of their pursuers as they hammered on the reinforced maintenance door echoed along the bare concrete walls of the service gateway.

The corridor ended, spilling into a workers’ area. Tools and equipment lined the walls. A medium-sized tractor mower stood in the corner, and all manner of industrial equipment set lurking in the shadows.

“What is this place?” Alessa asked, looking around her, terror etched into her features.

“It’s the zoo’s maintenance area. When we built the new enclosure for the lions, it was decided to build a lower level that covers the full area for maintenance. Everything needed to control the park is down here, from gardening equipment to back up security cameras and override controls,” Stan explained. He was not even out of breath.

“Will this lead us outside?” Alessa asked.

“Yes. It can actually take us to pretty much anywhere, but we need to act fast because those guys will find a way in.” Stan looked from face to face, making sure everybody understood.

“Unless …” Jack said, pausing while everybody turned to face him.

“Unless what?” Callum asked sharply.

“We let them out. The animals, I mean. You said there are overrides down here. What if we just open all the doors and flood the park with them. That should at least buy us some time to get out of here.” Jack felt Alessa’s hand once again find his own.

He welcomed it.

“This isn’t prison,” Callum scolded. “It’s not like we have a lock down every night.” He laughed, but he was the only one. “What?”

“Not every enclosure has it, but lions and tigers do,” Stan answered.

“The bears and wolves too,” Richard chimed in.

“Can you do that from down here?” Steve quickly moved the conversation along.

“Yes, yes I can. Follow me.” Stan set off before he had finished talking.

They followed the older man through the twisting and turning hallways of the underground service area until they reached the sub-level control room.

Stan’s pass card granted him access and they entered, nobody saying a word about how he knew what he did, or how he had access to everything.

It didn’t take long for him to work his way through the protocols and release all the locks. A siren sounded, and made Nathalie jump. Stan silenced it quickly, even though the echo made it seem as if it were still ringing.

“There, it’s done.” He rose from the terminal and stared at them all.

They moved on quickly, agreeing to take the first exit back up into the open air. It didn’t take long before they found a stairwell that brought them back to the surface. Slowly opening the door, they heard a scream followed by a roar.

Looking, they saw a man in uniform beneath the weight of a giant cat. The body lay still, the gut torn open by the sharp claws that had struck out at it.

“This way.” They turned and hurried through the rest of the park, happy to believe the lions and the trouble was now behind them.

“That was close,” Nathalie said, rising from the crouched position they had all taken behind the wall that surrounded the butterfly park.

Nathalie’s head was broken by a high-powered rifle round before anybody could offer up a warning. A small black hole in the centre of her forehead leaked blood that looked black against her skin. Her eyes stared wide, finishing off her bemused facial expression. She collapsed to her knees, falling face first to the floor.

The first shot was really only a warning. A barrage of automatic fire peppered the wall and had sparks flying like fireflies on a summer evening. Everybody pushed themselves flat onto the floor, Jack and Alessa finding themselves lying face down in the spreading pool of blood leaking from Nathalie’s corpse.

The barrage of gunfire continued, a deafening roar that surrounded them. The shots stopped, and the soldiers screamed as another roar rang out. The range of agony-induced screams carried to them, and painted such vivid imagery in their ears that nobody needed to turn around and actually take a look at the scene as it unfolded.

The sound of flesh being torn asunder is a very distinctive one, it lingers in the ears like an echo, only it never fades.

Taking the chance, the group got to their feet and ran. They sprinted in all directions, lost to the panic of the moment. The screams of the soldiers were silenced, which only served to enhance their fear.

Alessa, Jack, Steve, Stan and Ayse all followed a relatively similar path. Three separate groups, but close enough to each other to not lose their way. Callum and Richard were lost.

They saw an exit point and ran to it. Behind them somewhere, a lion roared, no doubt claiming its spot as king of the hill.

The pain came out of nowhere. They were running one second, and the next, Jack felt his leg give way beneath him, a ball of white, hot, searing pain consumed him. He fell to the gravel, dropping like a stone, barely able to bring his hands up to protect himself.

Alessa stopped and screamed. Two soldiers appeared ahead of them, their uniforms stained with blood. Their faces were pale, their lips all but invisible as they snarled. Their eyes had the wide, vacant look of men who had seen the worst and come out broken on the other side.

They walked forward towards the group, eyeing up Alessa as they drew closer.

“My, my,” one sneered, licking his lips. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?”

“Leave her alone,” Jack growled from the floor. Blood was pooling beneath him, as the bullet wound in his thigh went unattended.

The soldiers laughed, and kicked out. Jack took a boot to the face, and all he felt was a rush of dizziness. It surged over him like a rogue wave at the beach, dragging him down and under the surface.

Darkness crept in, threatening to claim him.

He heard Alessa scream again. He tried to move, but another boot sent him down. Just before he lost his battle to stay conscious, Jack heard a rifle crack. He wanted to cry out, but it was too late.

Chapter 12

Jack slowly came to. His mind was a mash-up of memories, none of which were clear. He tried to move, but his body ached. Opening his eyes, he looked around. He was in a bed. A real bed. The room was not his, however.

He remembered the zoo. He remembered the gunshots.

“Alessa!” he cried out, forcing himself to sit upright. His goal had been to swing his legs over, get out of bed and find answers. What happened was that a ball of pain shot through him as his head and leg roared their objections.

Jack collapsed back into the pillows and the soft mattress, his jaw clenched and sweat beading his brow as he fought against the agony.

The door to the room opened and Stan walked in. He had a black eye and a sutured gash running along his forehead.

“Good to see you awake. I was worried for a moment that you weren’t going to make it,” Stan said. “None of us are real doctors after all.” He smiled.

“What happened?” Jack asked. Even his tongue hurt.

“Those guys shot you in the leg, and gave you a real kicking. While they were putting the boots to you, your friend Steve appeared. He had acquired a rifle and took the two men out. It really was not as dramatic as it sounds. It was all rather messy and clumsy, really.” Stan paused to muse over his words.

“Alessa?” Jack asked.

“She’s fine. She was shook up, and thought you were dead. She hasn’t left the room since. Just stepped out a few minutes ago to freshen up.” Stan smiled at him. “She’s a fine girl, you two are good together.”

Jack coughed and pain exploded through him, leeching from places on his body that he did not realize could hurt. “I have a girlfriend. She is trapped in the city. That’s why we are doing this, to rescue her.”

“That may be, but I know that look. The one she gives you, and the one you give her. They can’t be hidden, and they can’t lie. Trust me, I’ve been married five times, I know that look. I suck at making it last, but I know the look.” Stan winked and lifted the covers to check on Jack’s injured leg. “I don’t see any infection, so we should be good to get you up and about soon.”

“Really?”

“It’ll hurt like a bitch, but remember all those dead folks walking around. They won’t wait to let you heal up. We’ve got some good drugs if you want them. Knocks the gorillas right out.”

“We’re still in the zoo?” The thought terrified Jack for some reason.

“Oh god, no. We are a few streets away. We lugged you to the first house we found. Left quite a trail of blood for those buggers to follow, but we’re safe for now. Your buddy Steve, he found the medical rooms and just bagged as much as he could, just in case. He is a resourceful one, alright.”

“I’ll remember to thank him when I see him,” Jack said, groaning slightly.

“You want something for the pain?” Stan asked seeing the look of agony etched into Jack’s face.

YES
! Jack thought. “No, I don’t want to be groggy if we have to move. I think the pain will actually help me focus,” he answered.

“Good lad.” Stan smiled.

“What about the others?” Jack said as he sat back against the old-school headboard.

“What do you remember?” Stan asked.

“I remember the attack, Nathalie getting shot, and then nothing.” Jack tried hard to think of something else. He knew there was something there, but he could not quite grasp it, like the fading memories of a dream upon waking. It remained close enough to tease the mind, but too far to ever offer any answers.

“Well, it all happened fast. Callum and Richard didn’t make it. I saw Richard go down, he took a shot through the chest and another to the neck. I don’t know what happened to Callum. We never saw him after we split. If he is alive, then he is alone out there.” Stan turned and looked out of the window.

“It looks like it is getting dark,” Jack remarked.

“It is, you’ve been out for a day and a half.” Stan turned back as he said it, and paused, giving Jack the time he needed to process the information.

“What–?”

“You’re awake,” Alessa near squealed from the doorway. “I thought I heard you, but I didn’t believe it. I thought you were never going to wake.” She sped to the bed, ignoring Stan, stopping just short of jumping into the bed beside Jack.

“Hey, yes, I’m awake now. I was just, with Stan.” Jack stuttered, Alessa smiled, and Stan gave a loud sigh and walked out of the room, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

“They want to move tomorrow morning, early. They haven’t seen anybody outside since we arrived. Nobody alive, anyway.” Alessa fell into the chair beside the bed.

“I’m sleepy,” Jack said, drifting away.

“It’s the drugs. They were strong, and you kept fighting in your sleep. You should rest. Tomorrow, we go to get your girlfriend.” Alessa spoke the words with no malice, yet she held Jack’s hand within her own, her thumb gently caressing him as he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 13

Jack woke with the birds. Dawn had not yet broken, but the drugs were out of his system, and the throbbing in his leg had torn him from sleep. Alessa was lying on the bed beside him. She had her head resting on his shoulder. Somehow, they had fallen asleep sitting up. They were holding hands, and it took a long time before Jack pulled his hand away, doing so gently so as not to wake her.

It was silent in the house, and yet outside he could hear the steady crone of the undead. It had been five days now since it had first started. The numbers were no longer in their favour. If they ever were.

For the next few hours, Jack sat quietly in the bed, learning to accept the drumming in his leg. He was going to have to if they were going to move today.

He spent a lot of time thinking about the world beyond the house they were in. How many had died? Who had survived? Was there still a government? Had it been restricted to just London? What had caused it? There were too many questions, too many black holes that promised nothing but desolation and fear if you ventured too close.

Jack could feel madness nipping at him like a chasing hellhound. Baying for his blood and soul. Now, in a moment of silence, Jack thought back. Only five days, yet he had witnessed so much loss, so much carnage. His goal had been simple, find Sarah, but now even that had become blurred. With the beautiful Italian leaning against him, nothing seemed so safe and secure, yet so uncertain.

He loved Sarah. He thought he did at least, but now … it was as if the boundaries of his world, which had always been so clear cut, were now nothing but smudged runoffs, like a crayon drawing left out in the rain.

His head ached by the time he heard movement downstairs. Waking Alessa, she stirred slowly. They lay there staring into each other’s eyes for just a moment too long; both confused and conflicted. Then Steve walked into the room.

“Oh … oh, I’m sorry.” His face reddened.

“No, it’s all good, man. We just …” Jack paused, the words failing him.

“I just came to bring you this. You lucked out. Looks like the previous owners left you a gift.” He smiled as he produced two long crutches from behind his back. “Weapons and transportation rolled into one.”

With a little help, Jack was out of bed, dressed, and on the move. The stairs were a challenge, but he made them unaided, and with minimal pain-sweats.

The house was a well-maintained place, larger than the homes Jack had been in previously, yet modest with its furnishings and interior decorating.

There was no time to spend admiring the place, and no point in planning or discussing decorating ideas, so Jack ignored everything around him and focused on the task at hand.

The power looked to have gone out, and so a large breakfast had been made, cooking as much as the large stove could handle.

People ate, but, if asked, all would have agreed that the meal did not taste of anything. The food was premium, and the cooking perfect. But everybody knew that the loss of power was just one more step towards the future.

Going forward, there would be no more large cooked meals and gatherings. Not for some time at least. When the meal was done, they sat in silence, unsure of what to say. All eyes seemed to gravitate towards Jack.

The streets were quiet, the undead wandered away in search of other prey. The lack of interference made for a smooth beginning to their journey. The gentle
click-clack
of Jack’s crutches on the road as he moved had them worried, but there was no other choice.

They were in the city, or what was once defined as it, but you would not have known. The hustle and bustle of the capital was gone, blighted out over the course of a weekend. Terror was heavy on the air, riding on the ever increasing stench of rot.

“Piccadilly Circus is just this way, two streets over,” Steve whispered as they stood short of a crossroads.

“It’s so quiet,” Ayse spoke, voicing the concern they all shared.

“They cleared it out,” Jack said, remembering back to the video Steve had shown him.

“Who?”

“The military, or well, whatever they are now,” Jack answered. “They swept through and killed everything, and pulled out.”

“So they are fighting back, reclaiming the city?” Nobody answered Ayse, there was no need. A few metres farther up, the world answered it for her.

Bodies lay strewn over the streets. Swollen and bloated bellies, stretched to the point of bursting. The formerly undead and the living all thrown to the lions and left to rot where they fell.

The group paused at the sight. They heard someone weeping, but before anybody looked to see who it was, they realized it was them. The tears were unavoidable.

“Do we have to?” Alessa asked as they began to move.

“It is the quickest way,” Steve answered. “I hate to say it, but I also think it is the safest.”

Nobody could think of any objections, and with the threat of the undead all around them, for while there was no counting the carnage that lay before them, the knowledge they all shared was that it was not enough. It would never be enough.

The actions of the isolated military group had been swift and they had been effective, but not permanent. Many of the shots that were spilled from the mounted guns tore undead heads from shoulders, obliterating skulls and dissolving brain matter in ruthless fashion. However, for every head shot, there were at least as many, if not more, gut shots or limb-severing wide shots, which put the undead on the floor, and undoubtedly killed any living soul that was caught in the blanket sweep of death, but it did not end them. The undead were merely sent to the floor, their hunger unvanquished, the perpetuity of their advance changed but not ended. For the living, their deaths merely acted as a recruitment for those undead that had fallen for the second time.

As such, as the group picked their way through the field of nightmares, there was no way of telling which of the bodies may take a grab at them.

On several occasions, hands or teeth had pulled at Jack’s crutches, snatching them from under him.

The group was exhausted by the time they found an exit from the bloodbath, their clothes were drenched with sweat and blood. Their arms ached from the constant downward strikes.

Jack had put his crutches to good use, using them to bash skulls from a distance, and had, when it was all said and done, accounted for a sizable portion of the body count they left behind.

Moving together, as a single unit, it was not long before they were on Regent Street, staring down the long row of tall, pale buildings, and the pillars and rooftop decorations. Over the street, Union Jack flags hung still in the now breathless morning. Their frayed edges and faded colours had taken on a much deeper meaning over the course of a single week. They were a statement, a testament to the strength of the people beneath them. Battered and beaten, they still stood proud, and would not stop until the very stitching that held them together was ripped apart.

The street was empty, save for the bodies, which by now were largely ignored by the group. Nothing more than street debris, stepped over or around, and under certain circumstances, stepped in.

“Is anybody else freaked out by how quiet it is?” Jack asked as they stood in the centre of Piccadilly Circus. The towering electronic screens were as black as the blood spilled from undead wounds. The silence was deafening. It was as if they were the only people on Earth. A fate that all would agree was far worse than being trapped in a world filled with death-walkers.

“Don’t say that too loudly,” Ayse replied fast.

“Which theatre are we heading to?” Stan asked.

“They were watching the Michael Jackson show,” Jack answered.

“Thriller, it’s playing at the Lyric,” Ayse answered quickly. “What? It’s a good show,” she added when she caught the looks everybody was passing her way.

Nobody said anything, but for the first time in what felt like forever, they smiled.

“It is down there, on Shaftsbury Avenue.” Ayse pointed ahead of them.

They picked their way over the crossroads, the echo of the dead growing every louder. It was almost a welcome relief compared to the silence of the city.

They could see the large poster advertising the show. With their destination in sight, everybody breathed a sigh of relief.

That was when all hell broke loose.

A savage crash from their left pulled their gazes to one side. A tank sat in the middle of the road, swarmed over by the undead. They covered it like a fungus, even hanging from the barrel as they tried to claw their way in. At least a hundred strong were gathered around the iron beast.

Another crash came as the turret spun a little, positioning itself.

“Is it aiming for us?” Stan asked just before everybody threw themselves to the floor.

“No chance. They can’t see a thing through that crowd,” Steve answered.

Their voices carried, because those at the back of the undead throng turned and immediately focused on the newcomers, egged on no doubt by their intoxicating scent and the primitive craving for raw meat.

They began to move, some fast, some slower, some waddled, their bellies swollen to the point that fluid was leaking through the cracks of their week-dead flesh.

The tank fired a round without warning. A thunderous, ground-shaking roar that decimated a large number of the undead. Those that held onto the turret were blown apart by the force of the blast, their bodies spread over a wide area. Arms and legs rained down on them, and an ear landed on the side of Ayse’s head. She screamed and swatted at it frantically, only succeeding in smearing the slime of putrefaction.

They were on their feet before the tank could fire again, the reduction in undead numbers also giving them a few extra seconds to speed towards what they hoped to be the sanctuary of the Lyric.

Across the street, a new sound erupted. A fresh rumble that tore through the auditory spectrum. The blast from the tank had blown a large hole in the building opposite, and as a result, the occupants who had been contained within its walls were set free. Spilling into the world from the jagged gash in the building’s flank.

Growls and snarls rang out as the streets filled with the dead.

“Run.” The order was given. Nobody knew who it was, or questioned it when it came.

They simply obeyed.

It was not more than a hundred metres to the presumed safety of the Lyric Theatre. Yet never in the history of journeys had such a distance felt so long. To Jack, who was stuck at the back of the pack, his surging adrenaline doing him a disservice by making his crutches more of a hindrance than a help, it felt as if he could have watched all of the
Lord of the Rings
movies in the time it took him to get to the front entrance.

The only thing he knew, was that through it all, Alessa did not leave his side. She could have run ahead, but she stayed by him, with the knives she had taken from Steve’s shop clutched in her hands. The once-sparkling steel forever stained with the blood of the undead.

“It’s blocked,” Stan called out. Noise was no longer an issue. The death-walkers knew they were there, and the groans of the tank as it rolled into view drowned out the sound of their voices anyway.

The tank looked as if it were a living thing, like some piece of
Barker
-horror brought to life, freed from the hills and cities, to roll its way through the capital. Death-walkers clung to their tracks, either hanging on, their desperation to reach the summit outweighing whatever little survival instinct they had left, or their flesh, malleable in re-animation, was stuck between the plates of the tread. One by one, they were rolled along, flipped over and crushed, exploding like grapes, with a shower of guts and innards shooting in all directions. A wet plopping sound, like that of a juicy pimple being burst, was their final contribution in the world.

Still overrun, the large iron monster was turned too late, and in too wide of an arc. It drove straight through the front of the listed buildings that lined the street, and disappeared inside. More pools of the dead spilled out, like vermin fleeing their discovered nest.

“Jesus Christ, let us in. Help, let us in,” Ayse and Steve both began to call, hammering on the wood and metal that had been used to block the entrance way. They even hammered on the brick walls, hoping beyond hope that their message would be received.

The death-walkers moved in a flood. The crush of their undead bodies as they spilled from within the buildings was too much for some of the more fragile, rot-bloated creatures. They exploded like overfilled balloons. Strings of cold, jellied intestines and other unidentifiable organs flew through the air like party favours, draping over the lucky members of the closing pack.

The group all pounded on the barricade, and while it gave a little, yielding to their onslaught in a ways that should have given cause for concern to those inside, it did not fall.

Yet.

“Psst, come on, round the side. Quick,” a voice called.

The group froze. They looked around and eventually saw a face peering at them from the side of the building.

“Come on, quickly.” He waved frantically with his hands, gesturing for them to react with haste.