Z-Series | Book 6 | Z-Endgame

by Hatchett

  Mamba pulled Faruk and Ismet aside, gave them some instructions and watched them saunter off without a word.

  “Ah, man. What ya got the nutters doin’ now?” Ahmed asked with clear disapproval written all over his face.

  “Jus’ keepin’ ‘em busy. Idle hands ‘n all that shit. We betta get these birds sorted out.”

  Mamba strode across the loading bay to the truck and entered the trailer, his feet echoing in the now empty space as he walked to the far end. He tapped on the metal panel and shouted Irina’s name.

  There was some shuffling on the other side of the panel.

  “What do you want?” Irina’s voice came through, slightly muffled.

  “It’s safe ta come out now. We need ta talk.”

  “We’re scared.”

  Mamba could hear some crying in the background and laughed.

  “Ya can’t stay in there fer ever. Ya either come out now ‘n we protect ya or we put a few zombies in here ‘n shut the fuckin’ doors.”

  Mamba heard some discussions going back and forth although he couldn’t pick out what they were saying. Then Irina came back sounding very sceptical.

  “You mean those monsters are zombies?”

  “Yep. Ya obviously missed the apocalypse sittin’ in yer little lockbox fer three weeks. The whole world’s gone ta shit.”

  After a further pause and some more conversation, the panel was opened, and Irina cautiously peered through the gap.

  “I ain’t gonna bite…well I might, but it ain’t gonna be the same sort of bite ya get from the walkers,” he said, stepping back and to the side to give her room to see.

  After a few seconds of scouring the trailer, Irina ducked back, opened the panel wider and slowly crawled through the gap.

  The twelve women eventually emerged and stood staring at Mamba and Ahmed, taking in the blood covering them both and the weapons they were carrying. It didn’t do anything to lessen their concerns.

  “Come on,” Mamba ordered, heading towards the back of the trailer and then across the loading dock and straight through a door into the warehouse where he saw Basir.

  “Is it clear?”

  “Yeah Boss, just finished.”

  “Good. Ya found any offices, changin’ rooms, shit like that?”

  “Yeah,” Basir confirmed, pointing to the left. “At the far end.”

  “Cool. Check out what we got stored in this place.”

  Mamba turned to check that Ahmed and the women had followed and then strode off towards the far end of the warehouse, passing some of his men who were carrying bodies to the rear of the property to be dumped with the others. He heard some of the women behind him gasp in horror and at least a couple started weeping. As he neared the far end, he could see that there were several offices over two floors. Dev was standing outside one of them and giving out orders. He quickly broke off from what he was doing when he saw Mamba approaching.

  “Boss, we’ve found a big office upstairs,” he said, pointing up to it. “We’ve put some battery lanterns in there, but it’s also got a sky light.”

  “Found a toilet or changin’ room where these women can get clean?”

  “Yeah, there’s one on the far side, but it’s a bit of a shithole and there’s no running water.”

  “Betta find some bottle water then,” Mamba replied, turning to Ahmed and the women.

  They had now stopped and were looking around, trying to take everything in.

  “Irina, ya come wiv me ‘n Ahmed. Tell the rest of ‘em ta follow Dev ta get cleaned up.”

  Irina did as she was told and followed Mamba and Ahmed up a steel staircase as Dev led the other women away.

  Mamba opened the office door and led the way inside. He immediately noticed the whitewashed, breezeblock wall opposite with various charts and noticeboards stuck along its length. In the gaps, the paintwork was scuffed from years of abuse.

  On the partition wall to his left was a row of shelves and filing cabinets and on the wall to his right was a photocopier and heavy-duty paper shredder.

  There was a large, cluttered desk straight ahead and he wandered over to it. It was covered with paperwork, trays and files and there was also a mug with partially drunk coffee sitting alongside a half-eaten mouldy sandwich. There were half a dozen chairs dotted around, with one behind the desk. A wastepaper basket sat near the wall, overflowing with empty wrappers, plastic bottles, and cans.

  Mamba walked around the desk, took the chair, and looked up to see that he had a clear view through blind-covered windows to the warehouse space beyond.

  Mamba leant forward and swept everything on the desk onto the floor and indicated that Ahmed and Irina should take a seat. Irina did as she was told, although Ahmed decided to stay standing by the now-closed door.

  Mamba stared at Irina, trying to determine if she was pretty under all the grime. He thought that she might be. It looked like she had shoulder length highlighted blond hair, but her roots were clearly growing out, leaving darker brown hair in its place. She had a slim build and thin face, but that could have been due to the last three weeks of incarceration inside the truck. Her clothes were dishevelled; a pair of blue jeans and a hoodie, which had probably been grey once upon a time, and a pair of grubby trainers.

  “Well?” Irina said irritably, watching as Mamba looked her over, his eyes lingering on her breasts and his tongue subconsciously licking his lips.

  Irina had seen several men moving around the warehouse, all well-armed and looking dangerous and all taking an avid interest in the new arrivals. She wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. She’d thought guns were banned in this country, but these people were walking around as if they owned the place and didn’t have any concerns about the law…or the dead bodies.

  Mamba raised his eyes to look at her face.

  “Nice,” he muttered, then shook his head as if waking himself from a dream. “Since ya was locked in the truck, the world’s gone ta shit, everythin’s fucked ‘n everyone’s a zombie. Well, not everyone, obviously. That’s ‘bout it”

  “Are you joking?” Irina asked, and Mamba shook his head. “That’s why no one came to get us,” Irina suggested.

  Mamba nodded.

  “So, there really are zombies?” Irina asked sceptically.

  Mamba nodded again.

  “Ya saw ‘em wiv yer own eyes, all that screamin’ ‘n shit coulda got us killed.”

  Irina looked at him, trying to discern whether he was really telling the truth. Mamba smiled.

  “I’ll show ya later if ya don’t believe me.”

  “So, what is going to happen to me and the other women?”

  “Well, there’s two choices. One,” he held up a finger, “ya bugger off ‘n learn ta survive on yer own. I wouldn’t give ya much chance wiv that. Two,” he held up a second finger, “ya stay wiv us ‘n become part of our group ‘n we protect ya.”

  Mamba thought he already knew what the answer would be; there was no way the women were going to walk out of here on their own with no idea what was waiting outside.

  “What’s the catch?”

  Mamba laughed. He was beginning to like her, and she clearly wasn’t just a pretty face.

  “Ya cook, clean ‘n keep me frustrated boys entertained, if ya know what I mean,” he said with a wink. “If yer good girls, I might let ya learn ta fight…once I can trust ya.”

  Irina thought about it long and hard. She rose from her seat and walked a few paces to the window and looked down at the men beavering around down on the warehouse floor. Mamba and Ahmed watched her closely.

  “How many men have you got?” Irina asked, still looking through the window.

  “Forty-eight at the last count. Lost a couple a few days ago. They were careless ‘n ya can’t be careless anymore or ya die.”

  “I need to speak to the other women.”

  “OK, but what’s yer decision?” Mamba asked.

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “Then ya best go see
the others.”

  24

  Day 25 – 17:30

  Swindon

  Mamba was in his new office with Ahmed. They had definitely lucked out choosing this warehouse; it was like an Aladdin’s cave of gear, some sort of distribution warehouse for a major online retailer.

  His men had found a range of outdoor equipment like tents, sleeping mats, camper stoves, battery operated lights, torches, and hunting knives and some were busily setting up sleeping arrangements for the night ahead in the corridors and open spaces. The others continued exploring the different areas of the huge expanse for other useful items; they had found some bikes and were tearing down the aisles like it was the Tour de France, their shouts and laughs echoing around.

  They had found office furniture and quickly moved on before finding a food aisle containing tins and bottles of everything you could imagine. They found an aisle of sweets, although the rats had evidently got there first, clothing, electrical equipment and on it went. Many of the men were perplexed when they saw Faruk and Ismet moving large boxes containing washing machines on a handcart, but none of them were brave enough to ask them what they were up to. It was unlikely they would have answered in any case.

  Dev had brought the freshly washed and clothed women to the office and left to get on with other work. Irina and two others had taken seats in front of the desk with the rest standing next to the windows looking in rather than out. Ahmed took up his former position by the door.

  Mamba stared at the women in turn. He could now see why they had been brought into the country under the guise of normal work when in reality they would become slaves or prostitutes or both. It didn’t take much for the gangs that owned them to get them hooked on drugs, steal their passports, money, clothes and lock them up. These women weren’t physically strong enough to fight back and once their wills had been broken and they were under their master’s spell, there was nothing they wouldn’t do to get another fix or to avoid a beating or worse.

  Mamba had dealt with the gangs in this line of work on numerous occasions in the past. Indeed, he had taken advantage of some of the benefits on offer on more than one occasion. He smiled to himself at the thought, although he couldn’t recall what the women had looked like. He had probably been high at the time and the women definitely were. Thinking about it some more, he realised that at least a couple of his men had been in the business.

  The women were all in their twenties, generally good looking and fit and, as he stared at them, some stared back defiantly, and others looked away. They were fresh and hadn’t been broken in, so there was a good chance there would be some fightback at first. They were only just beginning to realise what their new purpose in life was, and had been all long, but it would still take a little while to really sink in. There would have been no escape under the old life and there was probably even less chance of them trying to escape in this life, but he had offered Irina an option; go or stay. He was pretty sure they would decide to stay, and, as they would be the ones making the decision, they would be that much easier to control.

  He turned his attention to Irina, noting for the first time her high cheekbones and slightly slanted brown eyes, who sat in the middle of the three women in the chairs.

  “Have ya made yer decision?” Mamba asked.

  “Sort of,” Irina replied.

  Mamba frowned. He had expected a decision one way or another, so this had taken him by surprise. Then he realised that these women might be looking to negotiate, like some sort of trade union, and his features hardened.

  “Ya got a choice; stay ‘n do as yer tol’ or leave ‘n die. Simple,” Mamba said menacingly.

  Irina noted the sudden change of tone, nodded, and quickly replied.

  “Most of us are happy to stay and see how things go. We’d just like to make our decision in a few days’ time.”

  Mamba considered it. If they stayed, even for a short while, then he and his men could have their fun. If they then decided to leave, so what? It would be one less thing to think about. Women could be such a pain in the arse. It seemed like a win-win to him. Like eating a burger and throwing away the wrapper once you were finished. He then realised that she had said ‘most’ wanted to stay.

  “Who doesn’t want to stay?”

  Irina pointed to two of the women standing by the windows. Mamba looked them over and shrugged.

  “Ahmed, take these two ladies ta Faruk ‘n Ismet.”

  Ahmed was about to protest, but one look from Mamba was enough to silence him. He opened the office door and invited the two women to follow him before closing the door behind him.

  “Where were we?” Mamba said, returning his attention back to Irina.

  “The rest of us will stay if we can have one more chance to leave in a day or so,” Irina reminded him.

  “Oh yeah, I remember,” Mamba said with a smile, his eyes scanning the women once more. “’N ya will do as I say wivout any hassle?”

  Irina translated and looked around the women, seeing them nodding in return. She turned back.

  “Yes,” Irina confirmed.

  “Good. Ya ‘n that one there,” Mamba pointed to a woman with short dark hair and various piercings, “are mine.”

  Irina nodded and translated. The woman with the dark hair closed her eyes for a second, and releasing a heavy breath, nodded.

  Irina turned back to face Mamba as he lowered his flies.

  “Then ya betta show me ya mean it.”

  25

  Day 25 – 17:45

  Multi-Storey Cark Park, Heathrow

  Five Turks, Timur, Tolga, Savas, Yavuz and Zeki sat on level two of the cark park that Mamba had told them to use once their mission had been completed. As he’d promised, they’d had a bird’s eye view of all the confusion and panic going on below them at the airport.

  The previous afternoon, they had entered Burlington with Basir’s party and had quickly disappeared into the complex, looking for clothing which they could use to blend in. It hadn’t been too difficult as everyone in the complex had been heading towards the trains, only taking what they were able to carry.

  The five had studied one of the many wall maps and then followed directions to an accommodation block, where they proceeded to ransack the rooms until they found the smart casual clothing they were looking for. Then, carrying their heavy holdalls, they made their way to the trains and joined the politicians and rich and famous as they boarded the one heading for London.

  They found themselves a carriage and spread out amongst the other passengers, pretending they didn’t know each other and spending the journey making polite conversation and settling into the role of political gofers and rich young entrepreneurs. Mamba had specifically chosen these five because they spoke like they’d had a decent education and were able to mix with any company without arousing suspicion. Little did the people in the carriage near them know that the legends they had all created and practiced were all bullshit.

  They had arrived at Whitehall around 5pm, and took their turn getting the next trains to Downing Street and then on to Heathrow. By the time they arrived, at around 6.30pm, there was complete chaos in Terminal 3; exactly what they had been hoping for.

  There were several heated arguments on the go at ground level as numerous volunteers tried in vain to direct people towards the exits with a view to leading them to temporary accommodation. There were armed guards patrolling the area, but they were all focused on the groups arguing and stepping in occasionally to break up the odd skirmish. They clearly had no intention of escalating an already heated situation by searching the new arrivals or their personal belongings. After all, some of these new arrivals had been running the Country up until a few weeks earlier and were surely above any suspicion.

  The five had kept their hands on their phones as they strolled separately across the concourse, allowing the volunteers to direct them out of Terminal 3. They had been a little nervous and were sweating a little more than normal as they moved along, knowing t
hat at any moment a random guard might somehow realise who they were, what they had planned and raise the alarm.

  All five were all ready to hit the speed dial on their phones and detonate the bombs inside their holdalls. The combined force of the explosions would likely level Terminal 3, kill or maim everyone inside and kill or injure anyone outside who happened to be within a few hundred yards. Mamba had given them explicit instructions on what he expected, and this was just one of many possible outcomes. If they survived the mission, then great, but if they had to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, then so be it. Well, Mamba’s version of the greater good.

  They had all been at the airport with Mamba a few days earlier, but then they had been dressed in combat gear, were dirty and carrying automatic weapons. In any case, as anyone would quickly tell you, all ‘foreigners’ looked the same and most people subconsciously decided if someone was a danger within a split second of seeing them, based on numerous tells, some of which included your looks, the clothing you wore, how you spoke and how you carried yourself. The five made sure they stayed out of trouble and were polite, yet firm.

  Perhaps it was because they were well behaved that they were escorted in small groups to a hotel across from Terminal 4 and given key cards to vacant rooms towards the upper floors. On the way over, their guides explained how things worked, what would be expected over time, but more importantly, where they could get themselves something to eat and drink.

  Each of the five spent some time in their own rooms hiding their gear before meeting in the lounge on the ground floor then making their way back to Terminal 3 to find themselves something to eat.

  There were still crowds of people arguing loudly as they made their way through Terminal 3 towards the restaurants. They took everything in, working out in their minds how they might achieve their aims. Everyone they met or passed seemed approachable and friendly, and that would be their eventual downfall. These people were just far too trusting, living in a little bubble of unreality.

  After eating, they split up and wandered around the airport to get their bearings and identify the targets Mamba had laid out. Mamba hadn’t known where everything was, so they had to find some of the locations themselves.