The Undead. The First Seven Days (61 page)

Out of bullets, I start charging towards the Saxon, roaring with anger and the top of the roof at the front of the building lights up with sustained firing, the bright muzzle flashes start against the night sky.
  The recruits shoot down at the zombies as they run towards me and I know I’ve been given a chance now and I take it, sprinting flat out to reach the Saxon.

Rats are scurrying round my feet and I feel bodies being crushed and kicked as I sprint over them.
  I reach the Saxon and race round the front to climb into the open driver’s door but there are zombies waiting for me. I charge into them, as they come for me and slam the butt of the gun into the closest face.

I whip round and thrust the bayonet through the throat of the next one, as I catch a glimpse of my axe handle poking out the edge of the Saxon. I kick the zombie away, leaving the bayonet and rifle stuck in his neck and reach out to grab the handle. My hand closes around the shaft and I draw it towards me, like an old friend.
  I step back with my axe, my faithful and trusting axe. I know that if I try to climb in now they will be on me and I step to meet their charge and swipe the axe into them. The heavy blade bites into flesh and sends them slamming into the side of the vehicle. I pull back and use the blunt end to knock the next one down and I keep going and smashing them aside, as they charge at me.

Suddenly, there’s a gap and I quickly climb into the Saxon and slam the door closed. I dive over the back of the driver’s seat and into the back. The rear doors are open and an undead appears and starts clambering in with his teeth bared. I step forward and lash out with my boot, connecting to his face and pulverising his nose. Another one charges towards me, and I slam the axe down on his head, breaking his skull open. I over extend and fall out of the back doors and onto the ground. A zombie is inches away from me, bending forward as he lunges for the bite. I press backwards, up against the open rear door of the Saxon and realise I have nowhere to go. The zombie’s head then bursts apart from a round fired from an assault rifle, held by someone on the roof.

That had to be either Dave or Jamie firing; either that or one of them is trying to kill me.
  I clamber back inside the Saxon and pull the doors closed and move towards the ladder that leads up to the GPMG. A fat black rat drops down as I look up.
  ‘JUST FUCK OFF,’ I scream and pick the thing up with my bare hands and launch it hard against the metal rear doors, the body exploding on impact.
  I climb up and see another rat on top of the machine gun and punch it full in the face, sending it flying off the side of Saxon. I rack the bolt back and spin round to the front of the building and the huge horde of undead zombies charge towards me.
  My face splits into a grin as I pull the trigger.

Dave drops down into the horde, using their bodies to break his fall and instantly he is up and spinning about. The absolute anger and rage burning through him, makes him fight faster than he ever has done before.

His arms spin and his legs kick out, as he drags the deadly sharp blades across throats and slices open the arteries. He pushes forward, using the knives to puncture the backs of zombies too slow to turn and plunges the knives into their necks.
  With amazing athleticism, Dave cuts through the horde; slicing them apart and tearing flesh open with each precise sweep of the blades. He roars into the night and they charge at him, and he spins and ducks and leaps through them, killing them swiftly and dispatching them with gruesome finality.
  Two of them charge at him and Dave drops his upper body down but raises the knives high and wide and pushes through the middle of them, slicing their necks open as he pulls the blades past him. He pulls his arms forward and thrusts the points through the necks of the next two; dropping them instantly and he keeps driving forward, killing anything in his path.

The anger and the desperation to rescue Howie overwhelms and consumes him.

The perfect killing machine, trained only to destroy with ruthless efficiency, allows the rage to spur him on and those skills become more deadly than ever before.

Dave fights his way into the building and down the main area, working his way through countless zombies and the bodies drop behind him as he whirls and dances through them.

Fighting and killing to get to Howie. Fighting and killing to rescue his leader and his friend.
  Dave reaches the door and pushes against it hard, bellowing out: ‘MR HOWIE,’ as he pushes.

The door is locked and barricaded and he hammers on it with brutal strength, as more zombies enter into the main area behind him.

Blowers drops down from the ladder and fires into the oncoming undead, then joins Dave in beating at the door.

Between them, they force the door open and push the barricade away; bursting into the room to find Howie gone and the rear doors wide open.
  They charge out into the night and continue fighting their way round to the front of the building. Dave uses his knives to rip them apart and Blowers uses his bayonet and butt of the rifle to cut, slice and slam them down.
  Rats pour out after them and jump at their legs, as they fight and keep moving - both of them roaring and growling with ferocity and fury.
  Just as they reach the corner of the building the GPMG starts firing and they both turn and run out to the car park, then duck down to get to the side of the Saxon.

Howie is on the heavy machine gun, firing into the front of the building and cutting down anything that moves.

I keep firing and tearing them apart, for each one I kill, I know that I give the others a fighting chance for survival.

  My mind is blazing at the destruction I cause before me as the bodies are ripped apart, brains and heads bursting apart and limbs being taken off.

  Blood, bone and bits of body fly everywhere and even the rats are squirming to get away from the deadly hail of bullets.
  I hear shouting and turn to look down at Dave and Blowers crouching by the side of the Saxon. I grin down at them and wave for them to climb in and watch as they pull the driver’s door open and disappear inside.

  I turn round and aim towards more undead that are coming into the car park from the access road, and together with the recruits firing from the top of the roof, we slaughter them all.
  ‘MAGAZINE’ I yell as the GPMG clicks empty.
  ‘LET ME DO IT,’ Dave yells from below me and I drop down, grinning at him stupidly as I reach the bottom.

  He grins back and there is a look of relief on his face as he stares at me.
  ‘Where did you two come from?’ I ask them.
  ‘Dave jumped off the building and killed ‘em all, to get back inside,’ Blowers says.
  ‘Fuck me, bloody hell mate, I would have stayed there with my feet up - if I’d known that.’
  ‘Good to see you, Mr Howie,’ Dave says, as he climbs up to change the ammunition box on the GPMG.
  ‘You too mate, and you Blowers, did you leap off the roof too?’
  ‘No, I came down the ladder, like a normal person,’ he says, grinning at me.
  ‘I’ll take over,’ Dave shouts down and the machine gun starts up again. I tap him on the leg to get his attention and he stops firing.
  ‘Is the front clear? Me and Blowers will make a run for the ladder and get back on the roof, are you okay here, Dave?’
  ‘Yep, all clear, I’ll be alright here,’ he shouts and starts firing again.
We open the doors and climb out, slamming them shut again as we run towards the front of the building, jumping, clambering and slipping on all of the broken and mashed up bodies. The rats are still running about but they seem less directed now and slower. Many of them are dead.
  We get to the ladder and climb up onto the roof; the recruits are all waiting for us, smiling and cheering as we come up to them.
  ‘Well done lads, I think we got most of them now,’ I say to them.
  ‘We? You did most of it, Sir… How did you get to the Saxon?’ Tucker gushes, his face red and sweating as he hands me and Blowers a bottle of water each.
  ‘Ah you know, just sort of legged it and hoped for the best. Jamie, was it you who shot that zombie that was about to bite me.’
  ‘Yes, Sir,’ he says.
  ‘Bloody good shot mate, well done, you saved my life.’

He blushes, as the lads pat him on the back.
  ‘How’s it looking now?’ I ask them and walk round the sides of the roof, looking down.
  ‘We got nearly all of them,’ Cookey says. ‘Just a few left to get, and the rats of course.’
  Looking down from the roof I’m amazed at the huge amounts of torn and broken bodies lying about covered in blood. The front is a mess; corpses everywhere. I look over and see Dave scanning round with the machine gun, looking for something to kill. Jamie has got the sniper rifle back and is also sweeping the whole area, the rifle giving little coughs as he fires into the night.
  Within a few minutes, we are relaxing with bottles of drink and munching on chocolate bars as the lads regale each other with how many kills they got.

I walk over to the central area, to the group we found in
Burger King
.
  ‘Everyone okay?’ I ask them.

Tom stands up and looks at me.
  ‘So you got them all,’ he asks.
  ‘Yep, pretty much. The rats are still down there but they are getting slower and some of them are just dying where they stand. If they keep going like that, they should all be dead by sun up and we can get rid of any that remain.’
  ‘So… what happens now?’ Tom asks me, the others all look over.
  ‘Now? Well we rest here for the night and move out in the morning, I guess.’
  ‘What about us? We have lost our safety,’ he says, looking down at the ground. I get the impression he has been forced to speak like this and is feeling ashamed.
  ‘You weren’t safe here for long; it was only a matter of time before they found you, or before looters came for what was left inside. When daylight comes, you should find vehicles and head for the Forts, stick together and avoid the towns and cities and you will be okay.’

He nods and turns back to the group and they start discussing things with lowered voices. I walk away, feeling like I’m intruding on their discussion.
  ‘You staying there, Dave?’ I shout down to him.
  ‘Yes, Mr Howie - for a bit anyway.’

  ‘Okay mate, we’ll get someone down to take over in a bit.’
  I arrange for the lads to take shifts and I do the first one.

  Walking slowly round the edge of the roof and peering out into the darkness, I can’t believe we came through this again, the odds were overwhelming, but we stuck together and backed each other up.
  I feel shocked but humbled that Dave leaped off the roof to try and rescue me, while I was charging out into a horde that size, to try and keep him alive. We really must co-ordinate our heroic efforts next time - or this bunch could have ended up with neither of us.

We only made a few miles again today. But, tomorrow is a new day.

We have a full tank of fuel and a straight road into London.
   What can possibly go wrong?

_______________________________________

Extract from Howie’s Journal:

If the infection had feelings it would be feeling hurt and humiliated now. It sent wave after wave of rats against them and then many human hosts too, but the infection pushed them all too hard and weakened them. The energy needed to drive the bodies on like that during the day meant it couldn’t work fast enough to prevent the injuries from shutting the bodies down.
  The rats slowly stop charging about, as their bodies decay from within at a rate faster than the infection can fix.

They slow down, becoming harder to control, until they simply drop down and die, again.
  The infection watched the one called Howie and the smaller one killing the hosts again and again. The infection was sure it had them, when the front doors were forced but, yet again, their cunning and guile kept them safe. But the infection learns and evolves and tomorrow is another day, another day to find and take over this group of resistors.
  What can possibly go wrong?
 

DAY SIX

Wednesday.

The sun rises and promises yet another scorching day. The humidity has been high all during the night and those people on the flat roof of the services on the motorway between Salisbury and London had a broken sleep; twitching and crying out from the horrors they have witnessed and the fear they have faced.

They sweat heavily and slowly strip down to the barest of clothes; just enough to cover their modesty but they are still desperate to be rid of the restrictive and sweat soaked clothing.

There is no breeze and, as they lie below the low wall running round the edge of the flat roof, they feel the pressing heat even more. Throughout the night, they get up and move about, breathing heavily and longing for air conditioning.
  They are listless, lethargic and any conversations are held quietly and restricted to the minimum amount of words possible.
  Those people on the roof each think of the lives they once had. Of the things they did and how they took so much for granted. Getting bogged down in the mundane existence of day-to-day living. Dreaming of betters cars, bigger houses, more money, better phones and computers. Convincing themselves that this is what life is about, achieving and getting more things that will make them happy. Not one of those people now wishes they had more time to get the latest
iPhone
, or had to chance to drive a
Ferrari
. Even the previous excited dreams of winning the Lottery, now feel unimportant. They all dream and wish they had spent more time with their families, had taken more effort to tell their loved ones how much they loved them. Petty family squabbles that seemed so important at the time now feel stupid and as petty as they really were.