Z-Series (Book 4): Z-Takeover

by Hatchett

“Don’t worry about Issy,” the Major said, “she’s as hard as nails.”

  “Maybe on the surface,” Jack suggested.

  “What do you mean?” Sarah asked.

  “None of us are as strong as we like to pretend,” Jack replied cryptically. “We all have our breaking points.”

  “I must say that I’ve been so impressed with Gina as well,” the Major added. “From air hostess to a warrior in just a couple of weeks.”

  “Yes, it’s amazing how people change in extreme situations,” Jack said, “but she’s obviously had it in her all along, just waiting for the right time to shine.”

  Jack spotted Milt and Kacey Barratt at the bar and called them over. The two American twins had been giving shooting lessons to the civilians over the past week or so at a newly dug shooting range.

  “Hi Jack,” Milt said as he approached, “Sarah. Major,” he added, nodding in their direction, “How’s it going?”

  “It’s going…just. What about you two?” Jack asked.

  “We’re good,” Kacey replied. “Busy but rewarding. Obviously, we’d rather be back home with family and friends and no zombies in sight. But, in the circumstances, we couldn’t be in a better place.”

  “How are the trainees getting on?” Sarah asked. She had been the one who suggested that Milt and Kacey use their knowledge and experience with guns to pass on to others.

  “Well, y’all know how it is,” Kacey said. “Some can’t shoot straight, some are more likely to shoot themselves, some are OK and there’s a couple who we really think could be very good. So, a mixed bag as you’d expect.”

  “Yeah, we’ll select those we want to stay training properly, very soon,” Milt added, “then start on another group of people who’ve put themselves forward. Unfortunately, Sarah, you’ll have to try and find other roles for the ones not selected.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Milt. There’s plenty of jobs that need filling,” Sarah said, with a laugh.

  “I hope you’re not wasting all our ammunition,” Jack pointed out. “Joel wouldn’t be very happy.”

  “No. Bullets are like bourbon; you don’t waste the good stuff. Actually, we’ve spoken to Joel and we’ve managed to acquire some pellet guns and loads of pellets. They’re good enough to see if people can shoot. If they pass the pellet gun test, then we move on to bigger and better things.”

  “Sounds great,” the Major said.

  “Yes, it does. Looks like we’ve got the right people for the job,” Jack agreed. “Just let any of us know if you need anything.”

  “Will do,” Milt agreed. “Catch you later.”

  With that, Milt and Kacey left them to go back to the bar.

  “We were lucky to find them,” Sarah said. “They really know their stuff. Yes, we could have used the snipers or someone else from the army to do the training, but they’ve got better things to do. Milt and Kacey are worth their weight in gold.”

  “Agreed,” Jack replied. “They’ve been brought up with guns from a young age. You wouldn’t get anyone in this country with that sort of knowledge and ability unless they were specifically into it.”

  “Right, I’m going to love you and leave you,” the Major said as he finished off his drink and stood up. “The gooseberry is leaving the building.”

  “Don’t be silly, Major!” Sarah replied, in mock anger “we’re all adults here and you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

  “More like a raspberry,” Jack added.

  “Thanks Jack,” the Major replied, with a smile. “No, I’m tired so I’ll catch you in the morning. 9.00am meeting?”

  “Yeah,” Jack agreed, “we need to try and get our routine back to normal. Night Major.”

  When the Major had gone, Jack turned to Sarah and said,” I don’t know about us all being adults, I feel like a little boy on his first date.”

  “Us women tend to have that affect. Nervous?” Sarah asked, smiling.

  “Yeah, a little. Not knowing where it’s going to lead.”

  “I’ll show you where it’s going to lead,” Sarah said, getting to her feet and holding out her hand for Jack to take.

  58

  Day 18 – 22:30

  Hounslow West Tube Station

  Mamba led his group through the doors of the tube station, all with their torches on and knives at hand, ready to take out any zombies that crossed their paths.

  Luckily, there were only a handful of zombies milling about in the ticket hall, most lethargic due to prolonged lack of stimulation. The arrival of Mamba’s group woke them up briefly, but they soon lost interest when they picked up the familiar scent and switched off again. This made it easy to kill them once and for all.

  The ticket barriers were all open, obviously done for safety reasons when the virus first hit. The last thing Transport for London or their staff wanted was the possibility of being sued because travellers couldn’t get out of the station during an emergency. The fact that anyone turning wouldn’t be in a position to sue them and that the legal infrastructure would be wiped out along with everything else never crossed their minds. In the event of an emergency, the barriers were always opened, and those few without a ticket got away without the penalty, not that it mattered anymore.

  Mamba led them through the barriers, taking out more zombies on the other side and headed along the passageway to the stairs that would take them underground.

  At the top of the stairs, Mamba glanced across at Basir and gave him a ‘thumbs up’, then Mamba led the way down the steps.

  There were only a couple of zombies on the stairs, who had obviously been trying to crawl up them but had given up the will to continue about halfway up and were currently lying there doing nothing.

  Mamba crouched down as he passed them and sunk his blade into their heads. ‘It didn’t get much easier than this’ he thought to himself, but having already been down here a few days ago, he knew that it wasn’t going to be this easy for much longer.

  “Thought ya said there would be a ‘sea of zombies’,” Ahmed pointed out from behind him, as if reading his mind.

  “We ain’t there yet,” Mamba retorted. He knew that it would be about a kilometre of hard slog to get to Hatton Cross Tube Station then another kilometre to the station at Terminal 3. “Wait ‘til ya see the lines.”

  “Ain’t they electric?” Ahmed mused. “We could die of electric shock.”

  “The only shock yer gonna get is the amount of fuckin’ zombies down there,” Mamba replied.

  “How come there’s so many?”

  “How the fuck should I know?” Mamba retorted. “Maybe the stupid fuckers fell off the platform. Maybe they fell off all the platforms in all the stations up the line and decided to head to Heathrow to go on holiday.”

  “Now yer being daft,” Ahmed replied. “Ya wouldn’t catch me walkin’ the line to Heathrow, holiday or no holiday.”

  “Well, that’s where yer wrong,” Mamba pointed out.

  “What do ya mean?”

  “Yer gonna be walkin’ the fuckin’ lines whether ya like it or not.”

  “Can’t wait,” Ahmed muttered sarcastically. “Anyway, what’s that fuckin’ smell?”

  “Kentucky Fried Zombie.”

  “What?” Ahmed asked, totally confused.

  “When I was down here afore, the smell was waftin’ from Heathrow. I reckon they’re burnin’ ‘em, which gave me the idea.”

  “Well, that’s jus’ fuckin’ great!” Ahmed replied. “We walk all the way to Heathrow in a shitty, dark, smelly fuckin’ tunnel full of fuckin’ zombies then get fried when we get there. Great plan, Mamba. Yer really fuckin’ outdone yerself this time.”

  “God, ya can be such a cock sometimes,” Mamba replied.

  “Takes one to know one,” Ahmed pointed out.

  Mamba gave him a withering look and kept going towards the platform.

  Once they reached the platforms, they could see both Northbound and Southbound tracks at the same time, and slowly spre
ad out along them, taking out a small number of remaining zombies and pushing others over the platform edge.

  Once the platform was clear, the group stared in awe at the horde on zombies on both tracks and noticed for the first time the louder than usual grunts and gnashing of teeth echoing off the walls in the closed off space. The arrival of the group and their torchlights had roused the zombies and they were moving like a wave towards the edges of the platforms.

  “There ain’t as many as I thought,” Mamba said. “It was jammed the last time I was here. The bonfires must be workin’ further down the line.”

  Ahmed looked along the platform and couldn’t see many gaps. As the horde moved towards the platform, others seemed to materialise from the tunnels at either end. However, it seemed the Southbound track was less populated.

  “Do it,” Mamba ordered loudly, “Southbound track.”

  A dozen or so of the group at different parts of the platform pulled out bottles of clear liquid from their rucksacks and proceeded to pour the contents over the nearest zombies on the Southbound track.

  “Anyone cold?” Mamba asked with a laugh.

  Lighters were clicked and the group lit the last traces of petrol in the bottles, then launched them amongst the zombies.

  It started slowly, a few zombies catching fire where the burning bottles landed, then flared when the fire found other sources of petrol. Within a couple of minutes, the entire horde was burning and provided a new roaring soundtrack to the usual zombie gnashing.

  The group looked on in awe as more and more zombies caught fire, hair sizzling to nothing within seconds and then eyes bursting then the faces, arms and hands melting in front of them.

  It became difficult to breath and too hot in the confines of the platform as oxygen was drawn in by the fire. It also didn’t help that ash from the bodies started swirling in the air around them.

  Mamba and the group quickly retreated to the stairs and made their way back upstairs, some tying material across their faces to prevent themselves breathing in the ash.

  “Great fuckin’ plan,” Ahmed grumbled, as he spat phlegm on the ground to clear his nasal passages and throat. “Really thought this one through didn’t ya?”

  “What’s the matter Ahmed,” Mamba replied, turning to face him, “too hot for ya?” Mamba laughed.

  “Be fuckin’ hours before we can go back down,” Ahmed pointed out.

  “Nah, won’t be long. Betta than havin’ to stab ‘em all. Much quicker ‘n easier.”

  “Where are Faruk and Ismet?” Mamba asked Basir, looking around for the two missing Turks.

  “Still watching the entertainment downstairs,” Basir replied, raising his eyes to the ceiling and shaking his head in mock despair.

  “Pair of fuckin’ nutters ‘em two,” Mamba noted with a look of pride on his face.

  “Takes one to fuckin’ know one,” Ahmed pointed out.

  “Shut up, for fuck’s sake!” Mamba retorted. “If you ain’t got anythin’ useful to say, then keep it zipped,” he added, mimicking sealing his lips.

  Ahmed walked to the wall of the passageway and eased himself to the ground. He sat with his back against the wall and rummaged around in his rucksack until he found some water, then took a few large gulps before throwing the empty container away.

  Mamba turned back to Basir, “They’ll fuckin’ burn or suffocate if they ain’t careful.”

  “They said they were looking for ideas for a bonfire display,” Basir said, and shrugged.

  “Be betta to have a firework display,” Mamba suggested, “stick a few rockets up some zombie arseholes ‘n light ‘em up.”

  “Please don’t give them any more crazy ideas,” Basir pleaded, “they have enough of them as it is.”

  Mamba laughed and went to sit next to Ahmed, then Ayla plonked herself down next to him, and then the rest of the Turks did likewise.

  “There’s no rush, Ahmed” Mamba pointed out. “Heathrow ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

  “Neither are we,” Ahmed retorted.

  “What would ya have done, smartarse?” Mamba asked.

  Ahmed thought about it. “Found a way to turn the electric on and find a train.”

  “Bollocks. Load of shite,” Mamba replied. “There ain’t no electric unless ya got a generator ‘n fuel, ‘n a generator ain’t gonna run no trains. Need real power for that. Ya not so fuckin’ clever after all.”

  “Bin betta to plant more bombs,” Ahmed suggested.

  “Done that. Ya saw how quick they responded. Nah, we gotta be sneakier. Creep up on ‘em.”

  “Yeah, we sneaky, man. So fuckin’ sneaky we sittin’ on our arses on this cold floor in the dark.”

  “Patience Ahmed.”

  “What the fuck we doin’ this for, man? We could be livin’ the life of luxury like Volkan.”

  “Not while Heathrow are there. They’re after us.”

  “Well, why not go for an easier target like the Tower n’ draw ‘em to us. We’d be ready for ‘em this time. Didn’t know ‘bout ‘em afore.”

  “’Cos, they got ‘em fuckin’ helicopters, or had ya forgot? Need another missile up yer arse to wake yer up? This way the fuckin’ things can’t get near us.”

  “What if they’ve blocked the tube at Heathrow?”

  “Might’ve done, but if they burnin’ zombies then there must be a way in.”

  “What if they got cameras or guards? Must’ve ‘em somewhere.”

  “Yeah, gotta be careful, bro, but they ain’t gonna be lookin’ down here. They watchin’ the fences ‘n searchin’ North fuckin’ London,” Mamba said, laughing. “Fuckin’ idiots. They think they’re clever. I’ll show ‘em.”

  59

  Day 18 – 23:30

  Hounslow West Tube Station

  Faruk and Ismet had come back to the rest of the group, covered in ash and soot, but grinning from ear to ear like they’d had the time of their lives.

  Mamba had pissed himself laughing at the state of them, then told them about his idea for a firework display, much to Basir’s disappointment. But Faruk and Ismet had been really excited by the idea and had gone off by themselves to talk through the endless possibilities and how they could tie it into their ‘live art’.

  “They mean well,” Mamba had covered for them.

  “No, they fuckin’ don’t,” Ahmed opined, they jus’ a pair of sick fuckin’ retards. They be into cannibalism next.”

  “Please don’t give them any more ideas,” Basir pleaded. They’re bad enough as it is.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t notice on our last trip,” Mamba said, amazed at the oversight.

  “They’re very good at hiding it when they want,” Basir explained.

  “No shit? Mamba asked sarcastically.

  “They don’t normally talk to anyone but themselves,” Ayla pointed out, “so they obviously like you.”

  “Kindred spirit,” Ahmed pointed out.

  “Ya sayin’ I’m fuckin’ mad?” Mamba asked suspiciously.

  “’Course ya are,” Ahmed said and saw the look on Mamba’s face, “but we’re all fuckin’ mad or we wouldn’t be here.”

  “Talkin’ of which,” Mamba said, instantly changing the subject,” time ta see if the tunnel is clear.”

  With that, he, Ahmed, Ayla and Basir got up and trooped down to the platform to take a look around, leaving the rest of the Turks dozing or talking in small groups.

  They was still a lot of ash floating in the torchlight, the walls and floor were covered in soot and they could only just about make out the tube station name on the wall opposite. The Northbound track was still packed with zombies all trying to get to them but unable to climb up. The odd fire glowed from the Southbound tracks and the four of them moved closer to the edge of the platform to get a better look.

  It was still warm on the platform, but not roasting hot as it had been once the zombie fires got going. There was still some dark smoke wafting around the ceiling, but it was slowly being drawn int
o the tunnels. Looking down, there was a mass of bone, unburnt flesh and the smell was horrendous. Even Mamba nearly gagged.

  They moved closer to the tunnel they would be using and shone their torches down the line. Apart from the odd burning body which had wandered off, the tunnel was relatively clear. There were a few zombies wandering around, having missed the bonfire party, but they were already heading in their direction, drawn by the light. They could see light reflecting off metal at the far range of their torches and they figured that this was probably a tube train, forever stuck in the dark tunnel like an enormous coffin.

  “Time to move out,” Mamba ordered. “Basir, call ‘em down and let’s go.”

  Mamba continued to survey the area as Basir left, and they heard his heavy footsteps echoing back down to them.

  “Are we really going down there?” Ayla asked, with her nose wrinkled in disgust.

  “Ya can stay here if ya want,” Mamba replied.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Ayla spat back. “Can’t wait to get rid of me so you can get your hands on those two bitches.”

  “Ya know yer my number one, but a man’s gotta have a bit of strange now ‘n again. Ain’t that right, Ahmed?”

  “Keep me out of it,” Ahmed replied, I ain’t gettin’ involved.”

  “See? What did I say? Ahmed agrees with me.” Mamba said.

  “He didn’t say anything of the sort!” Ayla retorted, getting seriously annoyed.

  “Ah, but he didn’t deny it, did he?” Mamba pointed out.

  “That’s not the same and you know it,” Ayla replied.

  “Ahmed likes a bit of strange,” Mamba said.

  “This isn’t about Ahmed, it’s about you,” Ayla pointed out.

  “Nothin’ wrong with a bit of strange now n’ again. Where I come from, men have loads of wives,” Mamba explained.

  “Oh, here we go. Mamba saying whatever suits to prove his argument. I know you too well. You haven’t even been back to where you come from. You live here where the laws are different.”

  “No law or rules now,” Mamba pointed out, “so ya betta get used ta it.”

  They were interrupted by the rest of the group arriving on the platform.