Holiday of the Dead (61 page)

“And evolution, well, I suppose I never understood it, but there was no way I believed in it – till the zombies showed me it was real.”

Zimmer grumbled. He stopped the HGV in the middle of the carriageway. You could do that these days. At least the problem of congestion had been solved in the years after the dead.

Mya leaned over the seat and retrieved her ruck sack. Out of it she pulled a dark brown bottle. Zimmer eyed it eagerly, licking his lips.

“What is it?” he said.

“I don’t know? Booze. Just booze. You want it?”

Zimmer nodded and she gave him the bottle. As she stepped down from the cab, her heartbeat quickened and a cold sweat soaked her back.

She clambered up the slope at the side of the road, not looking back to see if Zimmer was drinking or not.

She went over the ridge and scooted down the other side on her backside. She sat on the grass, in the warm summer sun, and stared out over the remains of Maidstone. The city looked dead. Mya shivered, knowing its streets crawled with zombies. The inner city dead. Thousands of them still living on instinct as opposed to intelligence.

Most of the evolved zombies now inhabited the Z-World centres. Hundreds of them lived permanently at the resorts, while many more gathered there for the great feedings in December and June. Zimmer and Mya were going to the facility based at the former London Zoo in Regent’s Park, London. It was the June feeding. It would be the first time Mya would witness the event. It would also be the last. She cried a little, mourning the things that would die that night.

She closed her eyes and thought, That’s enough time.

She returned to the truck and found Zimmer slumped across the seat. She climbed into the cab and nudged him, saying his name. He snorted. Mya took a deep breath and got out of the cab again. She walked round to the rear of the truck, listening to the noises coming from inside the trailer. She tried not to listen.

She looked up the road. It was empty, clear, barren.

From her pocket she took a signalling device. It was the size of a key fob. She pressed the red button. A green light on the gadget blinked.

Mya sat on the side of the road.

Twenty minutes later a lorry appeared on the horizon, shimmering in the heat.

Mya got to her feet and waited for the vehicle. As it came nearer, she saw that it towed a trailer. It was the same as the one she and Zimmer were taking to London. The same apart from its cargo.

After what had to be done was done, the men and the truck left. Mya watched and pined for the man who had kissed her and touched her belly. She sighed and turned and went back to the cab to see if Zimmer had recovered.

She was about to nudge him awake when she spotted the manifest lying on the seat next to him. Mya picked up the clipboard and read the sheet of paper in the plastic sleeve. The words chilled her.

Delivery 472B/3

Dover to Z-World, Regent’s Park

200 bred humans – A-Category/Norfolk

Aged: 12-40

“A-Category” meant the highest quality meat. Organically reared humans. Well maintained livestock cultivated in the countryside. Not the factory-bred flesh delivered to the inner cities where the zombie population had surged, and the less-evolved undead had settled. As the manifest noted, this batch had come from Norfolk. It had been delivered to Dover the previous day. Now it was on its way to London to be eaten.

Mya shook off the horror and poked the driver in the arm.

“Zimmer,” she said, “Zimmer, wake up.”

He jerked and mumbled something. Spit dribbled down his chin. His breath smelled of booze. He came to, blinking and scrabbling around.

He sat up and groaned, holding his head. The sleeping pills Mya had powdered into the beer the previous night made Zimmer woozy, and they would give him a headache.

“Never felt so bad after booze,” he said. “What the hell was that stuff?”

He kicked the bottle away. Mya picked it up and tossed it outside. It smashed on the road. Beer spilled. She smelled it and then shut the door.

Mya said nothing. She appeared cool, not bothered they were late for their appointment. Inside she trembled with fear. Part of her was relieved the trailer had been swapped, while another was terrified she’d be found out before getting to Z-World. The cargo trucks were always in danger of zombie attacks. They would be the less developed kind, mostly originals from the first days of the plague. They were brutal and mindless. They were relentless, and in days nearly wiped out the human population.

The country became known as Zombie Britannica.

Zombies do not reproduce through sex. They reproduce through death. Death gives birth to them. Their victims are resurrected, as is anyone who dies from natural causes.

But as the decade wore on, those communication skills grew more complex. The zombies evolved. They learned to think. They learned to control their nature. As a result, they became deadlier than ever. They became nearly human.

“’Course I’m not. I got the booze off a mate, he’s a moonshiner up in the borders. I bought the sweets at the market in Dover yesterday.”

Dover. Hell on earth. A town that used to have a population of just under 30,000 now groaned under the weight of nearly 150,000. When the plague struck, thousands went there, hoping to cross to the Continent. But the ferries stopped sailing. There was no escape. And no one knew if the Continent was safe. Most of the people who came to Dover, stayed. And then more came. And more. Buildings were ransacked. Battles broke out between locals and incomers. There was no law to control the outbreaks of violence. Zombie attacks also caused panic and fear. But gradually, a fragile peace settled over the town.

It became what it was now – an enormous refugee camp.

Similar camps were found across Britain, mostly in the port towns – Portsmouth, Holyhead, Liverpool, Felixstowe, Hull, Leith, Aberdeen.

In the months after the dead came alive, the surviving humans formed small communities. Over the years, as the zombies evolved, they took advantage of this anthropological development. They appointed human leaders in these communities. Militias roamed the camps, maintaining order. The people despised the leaders and the militia because they were collaborators, working with the new breed of zombies.

But the work continued.

Warehouses were commandeered to store humans selected for food. They were usually troublemakers, or anyone the camp leaders disliked. Prisons housed breeding programmes. The healthier and genetically-blessed humans were kennelled at these sites to produce the next generation. Stock was selected from these programmes and sent to rural areas. These humans were housed in villages and small towns and were reared organically as food; zombies evolved enough to gain a place at a Z-World.

Every human was potentially food, but you could save yourself by either becoming a worker – you had to be fit and strong – or a breeder – you had to be attractive and healthy.

Mya and Zimmer had been handed their duties the previous night – a cargo of food for Z-World in London.

While she was listening to the foreman handing out the orders, Mya could hear the whimpers and cries of the humans in the trailer.

She tried to ignore them, just as she’d been taught to. But it was difficult. Her instinct was to open the trailer and tell those poor, doomed people to run.

Had she done that, she would have been zombie meat.

Best to wait. Best to stick to the plan.

And that’s what she was doing as they drove along Primrose Hill near Regent’s Park. This road used to be called leafy. Now it was overgrown, the hedges and trees unkempt and uncared for. The road was rutted and rusted vehicles lined the way.

Overhead, crows circled. Mya shuddered. The birds were there for food – and the way they croaked and wheeled suggested there was already meat waiting for them down below.

“Almost there,” said Zimmer. “Now listen up, girl. Since you never been to one of these Z-World places before, there are things to remember, right?”

“I’m listening,” she said.

Fifteen minutes later, after Zimmer’s lecture, they arrived at the entrance to the old London Zoo. The sign depicting animals still remained, but it was now red with blood, and the words Z-World had been painted roughly across it.

Two figures armed with shotguns and wearing fluorescent bibs guarded the gate.

Zimmer rolled down his window and said, “Morning,” to the guard on his side.

Mya looked out of her window. The second guard looked up at her. Half his face was gone. His bony hands grasped the shotgun. He grinned at Mya. Saliva oozed from his mouth.