The Undead. The First Seven Days (68 page)

The end of the road sees a repeat of the entrance area; vehicles piled high on both sides to form solid walls and another big truck parked across the gap.

The road they travelled down to get here was surprisingly long and Howie realises how much effort and work Chris and his group have put into securing space and then keeping it secure. This is just the main road though, and the safe area extends out to both sides; taking in side streets and more buildings to house the increasing number of people living here. Howie realises this cannot be sustained, after the devastation they’ve witnessed, this place looks like ideal, but with increasing numbers of displaced refugees, there will be increasing numbers of problems.

The food they can source from raiding parties will last for a while. The city housed millions, so finding food for a few thousand will be easy enough for a while, but, after that, they will need renewable supplies.

The water supply is another thing, maintained by experts who clean and sanitize it with chemicals and who keep the flow going. Who will do that now? Who will secure a constant supply of fresh water, not just for drinking but for bathing and cleaning too?

Children will need milk and fresh food and education and as nice as this environment seems now, unless they start long-term planning, they will soon perish.

These people will settle into lives and the pain and loss they have suffered will fade, after that they will become like any other society: greedy, selfish, wanting more and questioning those in charge.

Chris rules the roost now, but it won’t be long before someone else emerges and challenges him. At the moment they look to him for safety and security, and are thankful for the efforts he has taken and the control measures he has put into place. Will he be able to maintain that calm exterior when he’s challenged, or will power corrupt and turn him into a despotic tyrant, enforcing his rule with an iron will?
  The truck is already pulled back to reveal the stretch of road on the other side. Chris is positioned next to another large truck, looking up and speaking to someone in the cabin. There are a few four-wheel drive vehicles waiting on the road and more vehicles parked up: vans, sports cars and motorbikes.

There are more vehicles piled high on the sides here too, but the road is wider and Howie realises this is still a sterile area, but used now as a car park for the communes’ small fleet of various vehicles. There is another large truck parked further down the road, forming the end of the barricade. The other side must be the unsecure area.
  The Saxon rolls up behind a four-wheel drive vehicle, which is immediately behind the truck. There are plenty of men here with automatic weapons, some dressed in part-police clothing and some in a mishmash of Army and civilian clothing.
  ‘They’ve kept the best weapons for this lot,’ Dave remarks, looking around at the armed groups.
  ‘Where did they all come from?’ Howie asks.
  ‘Most of them look like police issue, although there are some military weapons in there too.’
  Chris walks over to them and Howie jumps down to meet him at the front of the Saxon.
  ‘You all ready?’ Chris asks.
  ‘Yep, what’s the plan?’ Howie asks as another man carrying a black machine gun walks up to join their group.

Dave slides out of the Saxon and comes round to join them too.
  ‘Howie, this is Malcolm - he was in the Regiment with me,’ Chris introduces them as they shake hands.
  ‘I was thinking, Chris - we either need the weight of the truck at the front to plough through them, or the main fighting vehicle, which will be the Saxon here.’ Malcolm says.
  ‘If the truck is the main vehicle to bring supplies back, then it should be kept safe and protected in the middle,’ Dave says, in a firm voice.
  ‘Is this the Special Forces guy?’ Malcolm asks Chris.
  ‘Can’t you tell? You’re getting old and rusty mate,’ Chris jokes.
  ‘Piss off, you fat bastard,’ Malcolm fires back, as Chris laughs.

Howie watches the exchange and can’t help but be reminded of Blowers and Cookey.
  ‘He’s right though,’ Chris says. ‘We need the hospital supplies and the truck is the only vehicle they will all fit in. I think we’ll keep it in the middle and use the Saxon as the point vehicle. How much ammunition do you have for the GPMG?’ Chris asks Dave.
  ‘Plenty, I took all of it from Salisbury.’ Dave answers, as both Chris and Malcolm raise their eyebrows.
  ‘All of it? Fucking hell mate, you going to war?’ Malcolm asks.
  ‘Yes.’ Dave answers, to an uncomfortable silence, broken by Chris coughing politely.
  ‘So, that settles it then, the Saxon in the lead with the truck behind and then the four-wheel drives behind them, as support vehicles.’
  ‘How many people do we have?’ Dave asks.
  ‘You have your lot in the Saxon, that’s ten isn’t it?’ Chris asks.
  ‘Yeah, eight recruits, Dave and I.’
  ‘We got two in the truck cabin, one is the driver but he’s got no experience of weapons, so we’ve put a bloke in there with him. Then four in each of the four-wheel drive vehicles behind the truck. I’ll be in the first one with three lads, and Malcolm in the second with another three. All of them are handpicked and have served in the military or the armed police.’ Chris explains.
  ‘Signals and communications.’ Dave says.
  ‘We got some short wave radios we got from some bouncers, they will work for a few hundred metres, but that’s it. The Saxon is Alpha, the truck is Bravo, I will be Charlie and Malcolm will be Delta – keep it simple, you happy?’ Chris asks the small group.
  ‘Yep,’ Malcolm answers and both Howie and Dave nod in agreement.

A very large-built, muscular man with a bald head and a tight black tee-shirt approaches them, carrying small, black radios. He hands them out to each of them.
  ‘They got fresh batteries, use channel one.’ The man says, in a very deep voice.
  ‘How long will they last?’ Howie asks.
  ‘They lasted all night on the doors, and that’s with constant use - so they will be good for the day.’ The man answers, before walking off, as he turns, Howie sees a small machine gun hanging from a strap across his back, previously hidden by his immense girth.
  ‘Did he serve with you, too?’ Howie asks, as the man walks away.
  ‘Yeah, good bloke. Looks like an animal, but he’s as calm as they come,’ Malcolm answers.
  ‘Er… what about the route? None of us know London very well,’ Howie suddenly asks.
  ‘You got that road atlas handy,? Chris asks, as Dave runs back to pull it out from the front of the Saxon. Chris takes a red pen from his pocket and marks along the roads.
  ‘It’s pretty much a straight run up to Tower Bridge. I suggest we plan an RV just before the Bridge and go from there.’ Chris says, handing the atlas back to Dave.

Howie looks at the marked route which does look like an easy run.
  ‘Right, we’ll go round to the front - shout when you’re ready to move off,’ Howie says.
  ‘One more thing, our ammunition is good, but it won’t last for ever - so we’ll be relying on your lads and the GPMG to do most of the shooting,’ Chris says, before walking off with Malcolm.
  ‘You happy with the plan Dave?’ Howie asks, relying on his military skill and tactical sense.
  ‘Yes, Mr Howie, do you want me to be ComsOp?’.
  ‘Er… if I knew what that was, I would answer you.’
  ‘Communication Operative.’
  ‘Oh… you want the radio?’ Howie asks as he hands the small device with the stubby aerial to Dave.

Howie drives the Saxon round to the front and pulls in ahead of the truck, while explaining the plan to the lads in the back.
  ‘So, we’re going right into the City then?’ McKinney asks.
  ‘Yes, mate… at least we get to see some sights: Tower Bridge, maybe Big Ben, spot of lunch in Covent Garden - take in a show in the West End then into Soho for some fun.’

The lads cheer at the idea and start talking about how many beers they would drink and how many women they would pull.
  ‘
This is Charlie, radio check, radio check, Delta are you reading me?’
The radio crackles to life in Dave’s hand.
 
‘Delta receiving loud and clear, Charlie.’
  ‘Charlie to Bravo, radio check.’
  ‘Bravo receiving loud and clear, Charlie.’
  ‘Charlie to Alpha, radio check.’
  ‘Alpha receiving loud and clear.’

Dave answers, in a crisp, clear voice.
 
‘Roger that Alpha, all units loud and clear - radio check complete. Alpha will maintain point, Bravo to keep a close distance but be ready to hold back, in case of contacts. Ready when you are Alpha.’
Chris’s voice booms through the radio.
 
‘Alpha to Charlie, do you want notice if we establish contact?’
Dave asks into the radio.
 
‘Charlie to Alpha, yes if you have time - but all units be aware in case Alpha opens up without notice, do not run into the arc of fire.’
  ‘Roger that Charlie, moving out now.’
Dave answers and looks to Howie, who slowly drives forward.

The truck blocking the road starts up and gently pulls forward to reveal the clear road beyond.

The Saxon pulls out and proceeds down the road at a slow speed, until the follow vehicles are clear of the barricade and then gently increases the speed.
  ‘Who’s up-top?’ Howie asks Dave.
  ‘Hewitt.’
  ‘Blowers, make sure that Hewitt shouts down, before he opens up on anything - we just want to get there and back quickly.

The signs soon start appearing, first some debris on the road, then bodies lying festering in the high heat. Corpses of rats and people, laying where they dropped. Windows of houses smashed in, burning vehicles and blood everywhere. The already hardened people within the vehicles look out to the extreme scenes and, despite being in countless war zones, each of them feels a sense of loss and pain at the things they see.
  Hewitt half pokes out of the hole in the roof of the Saxon, holding onto the handles of the GPMG tightly; partly for balance but also for comfort.

An eighteen-year-old man, in charge of a heavy calibre machine gun, while riding as point vehicle for an armed convoy, undertaking a daring raid and rescue mission.
  The Saxon reaches a junction and Dave indicates to take a right turn, within minutes, they start to see undead zombies all shuffling in the same direction that they are going.
  ‘AHEAD SIR.’ Hewitt shouts down.
  ‘The priority is to get there, but fucking look at this lot, why are they going in the same direction as us?’ Howie calls out.
  ‘I don’t know, they’re not even turning to look at us,’ Dave answers.
  ‘Dave, let them know we’re opening up and someone tell Hewitt he can crack on and slaughter as many as he can.’ Howie calls out.
 
‘Alpha to all units, large groups ahead and to the sides, we will fire on them, over.’
  ‘Hewitt, Mr Howie says to crack on and get as many as you can,’ Blowers shouts up.
  ‘Thank fuck for that,’ Hewitt mutters and racks the bolt back to engage the chain, a grim smile forms across his face as he squeezes the trigger slowly. He feels the pressure as the trigger depresses under his finger and the machine gun comes to life, spewing hot lead into the backs of the zombies as they shuffle in front of the Saxon.

The massive bullets rip into them, shredding their bodies and ripping them apart as the General Purpose Machine Gun roars with vengeance.
  ‘Sir, can we open the back doors and shoot them down.’ Cookey shouts out.
  ‘Fucking do it, kill ‘em, kill them all.’ Howie bellows.
  The rear doors burst open and recruits lean out to fire, left and right at the slow shuffling undead zombies; ripping them apart and wreaking revenge.
  ‘What the fuck are they doing?’ Chris shouts from his position as passenger of the four-wheel drive vehicle.
  ‘Having fun, by the looks of it, Chris.’ One of the men in the rear says.

Chris spins round to see them both grinning and he shakes his head, as a slow smile spreads across his face.
  ‘Fuck it, why not,’ he says, as he winds the window down and points the end of his assault rifle out.
  The Saxon leads with the recruits taking it in turns to man the GPMG and slaughter the undead from the top position, the rest take turns to shoot from the rear doors, yelling and cheering as they take them down. The ones closest to the back doors are gripped from behind by the recruits further in, to save them falling out.
  The passenger of the truck is leaning out of the window, firing down into the hordes as they pass. Both of the four-wheel drive vehicles have barrels pointing out of the windows and firing into the dense hordes.
  There are thousands and thousands of zombies slowly staggering into London, strung out in long shuffling queues.
  ‘MY FUCKING TURN, BRACE YOURSELVES,’ Howie bellows.
  ‘BRACED.’ Blowers shouts back, as the recruits all grab a handhold and the ones closest to the doors step back inside.
  Howie gently veers to the side and inches closer and closer to the zombies that are strung out ahead of them.

The solid plated, heavy Saxon clips the first one, who gets spun off, taking out more undead next to him.

The Saxon holds a steady course, as Howie slams its front right wing into the backs of the horde, pulverising them and sending them splattering off. The vehicle takes the punishment without hesitation and they leave a broken and bloody trail of mashed up zombies behind them.