by Hatchett
Mamba strode up to where Ahmed and Ayla were waiting. “Give me yer rucksack,” he ordered Ayla.
“Why?”
“Don’t fuckin’ argue, I’m not in the mood. Jus’ pass it over.” He turned to Ahmed. “Go open the gates ‘n let some of the zombies in.”
Ahmed looked at him quizzically, wondering what Mamba had planned, but he wasn’t going to ask the question. He just turned and headed off to do as he was told.
Mamba turned to Sami as he accepted the rucksack from Ayla. “Sami, I want yer lot to have a go at killin’ the zombies, seein’ as they’ve never done it afore. Off ya go.”
Sami looked a bit surprised but did as he was told.
Mamba tipped the contents of Ayla’s rucksack onto the floor and started moving things around with his foot.
“Hey! What the fuck did you do that for?”
“Take a look! Is there anythin’ missin’?”
Ayla acted confused but looked down at her belongings. She studied them for a minute or so, then conjured a look of surprise and said, “Yeah, two of my knives have gone.”
Mamba was watching her carefully. “Is that all?”
Ayla looked again. “Yes, I think so,” she confirmed.
“Where’s ya gore?”
Ayla looked again and acted surprised again. “You’re right, two bottles are missing.”
Mamba stared at her and she stared back and shrugged.
“Issy and Gina must’ve taken them,” Ayla suggested.
“Ya don’t say!” Mamba replied sarcastically. “What I don’t get is why they raided yer rucksack ‘n not mine, ‘n why they didn’t take the guns.”
“How should I know? I told you I wasn’t watching them.”
Mamba tried to think back to what happened the previous night, but it was all a blank. For all he knew he could’ve left the two women anywhere, but Basir had confirmed that they left at the same time as him. Maybe he didn’t secure them in the room before he passed out, which was understandable because he was planning to fuck them, not restrain them. He just couldn’t get his head around the fact that he had passed out before the action could begin and why they didn’t take the guns. “Well, the bitches have escaped.”
Ayla tried to look shocked.
“But where could they have gone?” Ayla asked. “They can’t have got far.”
Mamba exaggerated looking all around before focusing back on Ayla. “They could be fuckin’ anywhere by now, the fuckin’ South of France for all I know.”
“Well, don’t look at me,” Ayla retorted, “you’re the one who took your eye off the ball, not me! Or should I say you were the one who took your eyes off their tits and fell asleep?”
Mamba huffed and turned to watch the Turks trying to take out the zombies which Ahmed had let into the car park. “Ya better get some more jars filled with gore,” he said over his shoulder.
Ayla sighed inwardly. She had dodged the bullet, for now at least, so she quickly repacked her rucksack and went off to find a couple of containers to fill using the new bodies scattered around the car park.
Mamba walked around a Mercedes to get a better view of the slaughter. These fuckin’ Turks might be a bit green in the way of zombie killing, but they more than made up for it in enthusiasm!
Mamba spotted one young Turk stabbing a zombie in the chest and getting pushed back, the zombie’s head lunging forward and teeth snapping, trying to take a bite out of the Turk’s face. The Turk looked like he was in trouble, so Mamba sauntered over to get a better view.
By the time he got there, the Turk had fallen over backwards, and the zombie had fallen on top of him. The zombie was still straining to bite him, and the Turk pushing against the zombie’s neck with both hands for all he was worth, the knife lying discarded by his side.
“Ya gotta stab the fucker in the head,” Mamba said encouragingly as he squatted down a metre or so away.
The Turk looked at him with panic written all over his face. He was only a young lad, probably early twenties, and he was sweating from the exertion. Mamba could see that the lad was slowly losing the fight, but he wasn’t about to step in and help.
“How bad ya wanna live, son?” he asked. “The knife is right next to ya.”
The Turk looked wildly to his right-hand side trying to locate the fallen knife. His panic was rising with every second.
Sami and Basir came running over with their knives drawn, ready to pounce on the zombie.
Mamba held up his hand. “Don’t ya fuckin’ dare!” he warned.
Sami and Basir stopped in their tracks, looking at Mamba with confusion on their faces.
“But Mamba, he’s in trouble,” Basir pointed out.”
“Yeah, ‘n he ain’t gettin’ no help,” Mamba explained as he continued watching the spectacle with interest. He could’ve sworn the zombie was a bit closer to the Turk’s face.
“But Mamba, we’re here and we can help him,” Basir appealed.
“Some things ya gotta do on ya own,” Mamba replied, “like wankin’.”
By this time, the other Turks had finished off the other zombies and were gathering close by to watch what was going on.
The Turk’s strength was waning, so he moved his head to the right so that he was looking directly at the knife on the floor. He saw that Mamba was squatting right next to it, smiling and mocking. He slowly allowed his elbows to touch the floor, locking his arms in position and preventing the zombie from getting any closer, but its teeth were still snapping away only an inch away from his cheek.
“Go on son, ya can do it,” Mamba encouraged, totally enthralled by the spectacle.
“Help him!” someone in the crowd shouted.
“I’ll kill anyone who touches him,” Mamba replied, still watching avidly.
The locked arms allowed the Turk to take a breather and save some energy, ready to make a move. He gathered his strength and took a deep breath before letting go with his right hand to reach for the knife.
The drool from the zombie’s mouth had made the neck hold slippery and as soon as he let go, the zombie slipped from his left hand and the Turk felt teeth sinking into his cheek and grating on his jawbone.
The Turk screamed in pain, all thoughts about the knife long forgotten as he tried to get his right hand back underneath the zombie’s neck to force it away from him. In his panic, adrenaline flooded his system and his pain temporarily disappeared. He found new reserves of energy that had been absent just a few seconds earlier and he managed to push the zombie up until his arms locked. He heard tearing but didn’t realise that half his face was now hanging from the zombie’s locked jaws. He pushed the zombie to one side, grabbed his knife and then brought it down onto the zombie’s head. He then let out a long sigh and lay back down on the ground, staring at the sky, everything slowly coming back into focus, including the excruciating pain in his face.
He was about to scream again as Mamba’s face appeared in his vision.
“Nice try son,” Mamba said, and there was a blur before everything went dark.
46
Day 18 – 06:30
Travelodge, Enfield
Mamba wiped his blade on his trouser leg then looked around at the Turks surrounding him.
“Learn the lesson,” he said. “Come on, let’s go, we’re late.”
Mamba turned and headed for the cars and the Turks slowly followed, muttering amongst themselves in low voices.
“If ya don’t speak fuckin’ English I’ll kill ya!” Mamba shouted over his shoulder. “Ahmed, get the gate.”
Mamba walked up to one of the Toyota Landcruiser’s, and as he was about to open the door, he noticed five Turks close to him and automatically reached for his pistol, thinking a coup was on the cards.
“Mamba,” Sami shouted, “we’ve chosen a different car for you.”
Mamba realised that the Turks near him weren’t about to take him out but were intending to get into the vehicle. He looked towards Sami.
“We th
ought you might like a Merc,” Sami said, coming over to stand next to him.
“Nah, can’t stand that posh shite,” Mamba said. “I want this bad boy.” However, on the quiet, Mamba did quite like the look of the G Wagon.
“OK,” Sami quickly replied. “We can switch around.” He nodded to the Turks and pointed to one of the Mercs, and they set off quickly, pleased to be getting away from Mamba.
“Is the gear in the back?” Mamba asked.
“Yeah, lots of gear,” Sami replied with a smile.
Mamba went around to the back and opened it up. He was pleased to see automatic weapons and what looked like bomb making equipment, clothing, shoes and food and water.
“Everything that Basir asked for,” Sami confirmed, coming around the side of the vehicle.
Mamba took out a walkie-talkie which was set to short range.
“Have the other cars got one of these ready to use?”
“Yes, all sorted.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
Mamba got into the Landcruiser and waited as Sami and Ayla got into the back. Basir was about to get into the front passenger seat before Mamba told him it was for Ahmed and that he should get in the back with Sami and Ayla.
Mamba watched as the cars slowly filled with Turks. They’d started as a group of forty-two, they’d lost two on the walk up here, Issy and Gina had escaped, and they’d just lost another Turk which left thirty-seven. Plenty for what he had planned.
“I thought you said we shouldn’t use cars because they can see us by satellite,” Ayla pointed out.
“Only if they lookin’ at a particular spot and they won’t be lookin’ here,” Mamba replied.
“How do you know?”
“They be lookin’ ‘round Dalston. We’re fuckin’ miles away.”
Mamba turned on the ignition and was rewarded by a blast of ‘Down Under’ from the stereo system. ‘Fuck!’ he shouted as he quickly turned down the volume, ejected the CD, lowered the electric window and threw it out. He then surreptitiously pressed the lock on the doors to stop Ayla going after it.
“That was a present, you know?” Ayla pointed out from the back, trying the door handle.
“Nah, that was shite,” Mamba replied.
“We haven’t got anything to listen to now,” Ayla pointed out with a pout on her face. “Can we find some place which has music?”
“No, we can’t,” Mamba replied, pulling away and heading towards the gate where Ahmed had been waiting patiently. He picked up the walkie-talkie from the centre console and ordered ‘saddle up’ before putting it back down.
Mamba slowed as he approached the gate and stopped a few metres away. He was pleased to see all the other vehicles lining up behind him.
“On three, Ahmed!” he shouted, and Ahmed stuck his thumb up in confirmation.
“Three!” Mamba bellowed and started laughing, before putting his window back up.
Ahmed ran towards the Landcruiser, pulling the gate open as he did so. The zombies pushing up against the gate fell as it opened and the horde behind them surged forwards.
Ahmed released the gate and ran to the passenger door and pulled the handle to open it. Nothing happened. He tried again but again nothing happened. He pounded on the window and looked in to see Mamba with a big grin on his face. ‘Bastard!’ he thought.
Ahmed rushed to the rear door and tried that, but it was also locked. He considered smashing the window but knew he was running out of time before the zombies caught up, so he grabbed the roof rail running along its length and, using the rear wheel, boosted himself onto the roof.
Ahmed lay face down on the roof, holding on to each of the roof rails. He found that the car had a sunroof and he looked down to see Mamba looking up and laughing his head off.
“Bastard!” he shouted as loud as he could as Mamba turned to face forward and put his foot down.
Mamba ploughed through the horde, the cars behind doing likewise. The gore from the impact splattered the car and Ahmed who had ducked his head down and held on for dear life.
Mamba swung a tight left after leaving the car park, causing Ahmed’s weight to shift to the right. His legs swung around and bumped the right-hand rail before swinging over it, but he managed to hang on and pull his legs back onto the car when Mamba straightened.
Mamba took another fast left onto Lumia Way and another onto Lincoln Road. After another forty metres he came to the main junction with the A10 and slammed on the brakes.
Ahmed really thought he was going to slide straight off the front of the vehicle, but just managed to hold on. Then the sunroof started opening and he could hear Mamba laughing.
“How ya doin’ bro?” Mamba asked, still laughing.
“Very fuckin’ funny, arsehole!” Ahmed spat back.
“Careful Ahmed, or I might have ta close the sunroof and keep goin’,” Mamba said, stopping the sunroof from opening any further.
“If ya don’t stop pissin’ ‘bout, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill ya.”
“Now, now, Ahmed. That’s not very nice.” Mamba turned in his seat to grin at the occupants in the rear seat, who were looking back with wide eyes, not quite believing what he was doing.
When Mamba looked back up there was a pistol pointing at his head.
“Unlock the fuckin’ doors,” Ahmed hissed.
“Can’t bro, too many zombies ‘round,” Mamba replied nonchalantly.
“Then open this fuckin’ sunroof all the way.”
Mamba reached up and pressed the button. “I was gonna do it anyway,” he noted.
Once the roof was fully open, Ahmed scooted around and dropped down into the passenger seat. Mamba pressed the button to close the sunroof as Ahmed settled himself in.
“Bastard,” Ahmed repeated.
“Yer such a bloody spoilsport, Ahmed,” Mamba said. “It was only a bit of fun.”
“Always a bit of fun at someone else’s expense,” Ahmed noted.
Mamba shrugged. “Coulda got yer gun when I opened the sunroof,” he pointed out.
“Nah, ya fuckin’ couldn’t,” Ahmed replied. “Yer woulda bin dead meat.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I do.”
“Shall we try it again?” Mamba suggested.
“Jus’ fuckin’ drive, ya prick.”
Mamba set off and turned right to head North up the A10. There was abandoned vehicles everywhere, but Mamba managed to steer around most. On other occasions he shunted the odd vehicle out of the way and wasn’t averse to driving along the central reservation of the pavement if it meant progress.
He spotted the hypermarket Issy and Gina had seen the previous night and pulled off the road and drove straight through a hedge and down a short slope. He looked in his rear-view to see the other cars following along like the tail of a snake and continued straight towards the front of the store. He didn’t slow as he approached the entrance and smashed straight through, sending the doors flying into the store like oversized shrapnel.
The walkie-talkie crackled and someone asked, ‘what are we doing?’ but Mamba ignored it. Instead he turned to Ahmed.
“I’ve got good memories of supermarkets,” he said, laughing.
“Oh yeah?” Ayla spouted from the back. “What good memories?”
“Nothin’ much. We met some nice people, found some music.”
“Where are these ‘nice people’ now?” Ayla asked.
“Dunno,” Mamba replied and tore off down the store, knocking down the odd stray zombie and looking for the music section.
He found what he was looking for at the far end of the store and brought the car to a stop right next to the stands. He looked around quickly to see if there were any zombies around, and seeing that it was clear, jumped out. He opened the rear door and started throwing every CD he could lay his hands on into the back.
By this time, the other cars had entered the store and had pulled up close to him, blocking him from any more stray zombies.
Mamba threw t
he last of the CDs into the car and slammed the door. He was about to return to his door when he heard it close and an ominous ‘clacking’ sound. He looked down and saw the central locking had been engaged and when he looked towards his seat, he saw Ahmed sitting there waving at him with a huge grin on his face.
“Fuck!” Mamba shouted but Ahmed was already pulling away.
Mamba ran to the nearest car, an X5 and pulled open the driver’s door.
“In the fuckin’ back!” he ordered and jumped into the vacated driver’s seat.
Mamba hit the throttle and turned towards the way they had come in, just in time to see the Landcruiser leaving the building. Mamba put his foot down, although it just caused the wheels to spin on the shiny, slick tiled surface, so he had no option but to ease up.
He headed for the hole in the building, willing the car to move faster. It seemed like an age but eventually he was back on tarmac and floored the accelerator. He could see Ahmed was back on the A10, well ahead of him, but that was about to change.
Mamba hit the slope at speed and the car flew into the air when it reached the top of the bank before landing with a crash back on the road. Mamba frantically turned the wheel and just managed to turn the car North before it could smash into the side of a mini-bus. He took off up the road, seeing Ahmed also flying, but getting slower as he had to hit other vehicles to get them out of the way. Mamba just followed in his wake, and looking in his mirror, he could see the other cars following at a leisurely pace behind him.
“Give me the walkie-talkie,” Mamba ordered, and the Turk in the passenger seat had to peel his hand from gripping the seat to reach for the device.
“Hold it up for me,” Mamba ordered. The Turk did so and clicked the button.
“Ahmed, yer one dead motherfucker, ya know that!” he screamed. The Turk released the button.
“Then a blast of some rock song came from the walkie-talkie with Ahmed shouting ‘Fuck you, Mamba!” over the top of it. “Ya want some CDs?”
The next thing he knew, CDs were being thrown like Frisbees from the Landcruiser. Ayla poked out of the sunroof, flipped him the bird then skimmed a few more CDs in his direction, laughing her head off as she did so. Ahmed must have warned her about possible impacts because she suddenly ducked down out of sight as the Landcruiser side-swiped another vehicle.
