by Samie Sands
What was the purpose of them moving through somewhere as dangerous as London? To deliver The Package to a specific building. However, delivering The Package was only the end of their mission. The soldiers had infiltrated the undead-infested city and located The Package. Next, they retrieved The Package from the penthouse room of a hotel—a hotel filled with the undead. Now they were in the final stage and moving across the crumbling metropolis to a rooftop where a helicopter would collect The Package. None of which was an easy task. The team were exhausted, barely sleeping for days. Ammunition was low, so every shot had to count. Most importantly, The Package did not like being referred to as ‘The Package’.
“I’m the prime minister's daughter!” she corrected the four soldiers indignantly every time one of them referred to her by that name. Naturally, the soldiers felt the need to refer to the teenager by her designation even more than they normally would.
“You may be the PM’s daughter, but you’re still our mission objective,” the Major, the tall muscular leader of the group, hissed when the teenager protested a little too loudly at one of their good-hearted jibes. “And our objective is to get you out of the city.”
“Since I’m so important, maybe you should start treating me as such,” she snapped back with the attitude of someone who believed they were better than everyone else.
“I think you misunderstand, miss,” the Sargent, the second in command, answered. He swept his gun across the street, checking for signs of unlife before continuing. “Important would imply you were of significance or value, like a scientist who could develop a vaccine, or a technician for one of our many failing satellites. We said you were our ‘objective’ which basically means someone in a high place has ordered us to collect you. Since your father is the PM, that’s about as high as you can get.”
“Excluding our Majesty, the Queen,” the Major interjected. They all nodded in agreement.
“So,” the Sargent continued, “since your father is the leader of our broken country and the head of a meaningless political party, we have to do what he says. But don’t for one minute think you are important because, if we die—”
“You die,” the Major interjected, turning to look at the girl. “Got it?”
She nodded, wide-eyed that anyone would ever talk to her in the way the soldiers had.
At the rear of the group was the Private, a recent addition to the squad, and the Captain having their own conversation, only pausing when some input was needed regarding The Package.
“This is my twelfth extraction since London fell, and eighth with the Major and Sargent,” the Captain explained to the nervous Private. “You always go in with minimum information, you find the target, you get them out. Then move onto the next objective. They always go the same way.”
“Safely?” the Private asked hopefully.
“As safely as an extraction can go when the dead are walking and the operating military structure is being held together by a thread,” the Captain said with a smile, the face of the Private losing any hope it had. The Captain chuckled and added, “It’ll be fine, kid. You’ve made it this far.”
“But what about the guy I’m replacing? He wasn’t fine,” the Private said fearfully.
“That’s right, you are a replacement, but you’re still alive and they aren’t,” the Captain said bluntly, not out of malice but simply because it was a fact in the new world. You fought and survived, or you fought and died. Eventually, each extraction squad became amalgamations from the remains of others.
The squad continued onwards in formation. The Major and Sargent, knowing each other the longest, were at the front talking about the poor command structure of the British government, quiet enough that any lurking undead wouldn’t hear them, but loud enough for The Package to be insulted by. The Package walked a little behind them, a dour expression on her face. Behind her were the Captain and Private. The Captain spoke of his experience, trying to soothe the anxious and inexperienced Private. As separate as both pairs of soldiers seemed, they were an effective fighting force when needed—and it was needed. The city was a terribly dangerous place with undead lurking around every corner. Yet, somehow, they moved uninterruptedly.
“And here we are,” the Major said as they approached the building they had been looking for.
It was a huge building—huge even for London. The signage on the front was that of some nondescript firm the Major had only heard of but never needed the services from, it mattered little any more. What mattered was the helipad on the roof. At some point, the all-glass front had been shattered by a car that had careened off the road. The car still rested on its roof in the lobby.
“Should I call them in, Sir?” the Sargent asked their squad leader. The Major swept the area with his scope, the evening slowly falling around them, before long it would be dark.
“Wait until we’re inside,” the Major responded. “It’s different with such a dense area. With all these buildings around us and so many streets, the sound of the chopper will draw out any of the dead. We’d be overrun in seconds.”
“Well, we do like a challenge, don’t we Sir?” the Sargent said with a tight-lipped smile and delaying calling the helicopter for the moment.
THE INTERIOR OF THE building was in darkness, a combination of the local power grid failing, and the descending night meant it was impossible to see any further than the front desk and the car that had destroyed it.
“Well, here we go,” the Major said calmly to his squad as he moved forward.
The Major was the first to step through the threshold, followed closely by the other men in his squad. He directed The Package to shut up and stand in the corner, and for the Private to stand guard while the rest of them ensured the lobby was clear. It wasn’t. Obscured by the wreckage of the vehicle was a single zombie in the gloom. It stood in one spot, swaying and staring at the wall. Its shoulders sloped and arms hung loosely at its side, as if the weight of its own body was too much to hold up. It almost seemed to be in an inactive and hibernating state ... that was until the Major entered its field of vision.
Once the undead gaze saw the movement of the Major, it twitched and attacked. An inhuman noise, a combination of a rasp and a snarl, sounded from the mouth of the living carcass. The Major knew it was merely fetid air moving along the vocal cords and escaping the body with the sudden movement, but that didn’t stop his hair from prickling and standing on end. He was the prey of the unnatural creature, a potential meal for the insatiable corpse, but that didn’t mean it was the end for him, prey could fight back.
The zombie made its way towards the soldier uneasily, unable to coordinate its feet effectively. That didn’t mean the Major would wait to be devoured. He took his time to coolly and casually line up the zombie in the crosshairs of his assault rifle, flick the SA80 to single shot fire, and compress the trigger lightly and tenderly. The shell ejected from the implement of death and clattered to the floor, all while the bullet accelerated down the chamber, through the silencer and entered the skull of the lone zombie. The blackened grey matter, and back of the cranium, exploded outwards and sprayed the wall behind it. The corpse collapsed into death for the second time and then there was silence.
“Call it in,” the Major said simply to the Sargent, the jovial image they portrayed suddenly disappeared. It was time for business.
“How do we get to the pad?” the Private asked the Captain, while the Sargent radioed for the pick-up.
“Well, the stairs of course,” he replied casually, nodding towards the stairwell next to the non-functioning elevator.
“Ready up chaps,” the Major said to the group, more as a ritual than a command, they were always ready. He withdrew his L9A1 Browning standard issue sidearm and turned to The Package. “Do you know how to use this?”
“No,” she replied dumbly, shocked that she had even been asked.
“Of course you don’t, you’re a pampered princess, but you’ll need to use it,” the Major said without an ounce
of sarcasm in his voice. He handed her the gun, forcing it into her hands even as she tried to recoil. “There are thirteen rounds in the magazine, use them only if you have too. I don’t want to survive the undead only to be shot by a panicking teenager.”
“I don’t think I can do this,” she said, slowly beginning to hyperventilate.
“None of that nonsense love,” the Sargent said as he walked over to her and showed her his cheekiest smile. “Aim for heads and leg, if you can’t kill them, at least slow them down.”
She continued to breathe rapidly and raggedly.
“Newbie!” the Major called to the Private, moving his eyes from her to him, “Keep her safe.”
Then, at that moment, a stark realisation seemed to dawn on the nervous pair—they would have to ascend the stairs regardless of their wants, needs or mental state—and a cool calmness came over them. The Major walked to the door of the stairwell, confident in his team, and pushed it open.
IMMEDIATELY, TWO ZOMBIES began to push through the widening gap of the doorway. There were two independent coughs from two silenced SA80’s. Neither zombie made it into the lobby, they collapsed and remained dead. Numerous snarls echoed down the stairwell and reached the advancing group. No one flinched, not even The Package—her jaw was set and her eyes full of fire. Wordlessly, the Sargent entered first, followed by the Major. The Package, with the Private, came behind them. The Captain joined the rear of the group, closing the door behind them.
Darkness surrounded them. Engulfed them. Swallowed them whole. There was the rapid and repeated slap of meat on concrete. There were several clicks of rifle mounted flashlights coming to life. The light illuminated and revealed several zombies racing down the stairs above them. They cast very brief shadows as they moved in and out of the light.
“I can’t track them,” the Sargent warned the others as he tried to follow their movement. All the soldiers were struggling to get a clear shot.
“Just move up the stairs and deal with them when you see them,” the Major commanded. Without question, the others began ascending the stairs.
The team climbed in a slow and careful stride, aware that one misstep could spell their end. Besides, they knew the undead were coming to them, the soldiers had the time to be careful. As predicted, the first few undead stumbled down the stairs at as quick a pace as they could manage. This meant heads rocking side to side, bodies moving unnaturally, and feet stumbling. However, their poor movement did not impede the soldier’s actions. The moment a head entered their crosshairs, a compression of the trigger ensured they dropped. This was done with a cold and calculated precision that was expected from soldiers of Her Majesty’s Service. The soldiers advanced and the undead kept coming.
FLOOR BY FLOOR THE soldiers climbed, taking out the undead as they went. Storey by storey they left carnage behind them. The volume that they slew increased, but so did the frequency in which the undead charged at them.
“Keep it steady,” the Major warned when he saw the Sargent begin to stumble. He lost his footing when he stood on the soft corpse of a felled zombie. The Sargent caught himself and nodded his acknowledgement, but not before another zombie collided with him. The Major had already erased half its skull before it reached them, but that did not stop the momentum from carrying it forward. The Sargent grabbed the handrail out of reflex and managed to steady himself but lost the grip on his SA80 in the process. It tumbled slowly out of his hand and down the middle of the stairwell, clattering on handrails all the way to the bottom. Before it had even reached the bottom, his sidearm was in his hands and armed. He had thirteen rounds and he would make them count.
The first shot hit an oncoming zombie square in the forehead, spraying brains and blood up the wall and onto the zombie behind it. The second shot crashed through the temple of one that got to close to the Major. The third and fourth round flew through the air and almost simultaneously hit two different zombies. Then there were more zombies, drawn by blood and the cacophony of combat. The fifth shot was fired a fraction of a second too soon and hit a zombie in the jaw, tearing it from the rest of the skull, it still came at them with its tongue lolling out. The sixth shot was aimed slightly higher on the same attacker and destroyed the frontal lobe, as well as everything behind it. Five zombies appeared all at once, almost fighting to get past each other to eat the soldiers first. The Sargent dropped his aim to the shin of the zombie in the forefront. He let his seventh shot off, blowing splinters of blood and cartilage out from the leg.
The zombie tumbled to the floor, tripping the four that were so eagerly following behind it. Shots eight, nine, ten, eleven and twelve were all head shots that ended the five zombies on the floor. The Sargent felt like the embodiment of death. Nothing could stop him. Even when he fired his last shot at an approaching zombie which missed and went too wide, he did not hesitate. He withdrew his knife and plunged it into the zombie’s skull. He shoved the corpse sideways and over the railing. Gravity freed the blade as the zombie fell away to meet. He hacked and slashed his way through the zombies with such ferocity, that everyone else was having trouble even getting shots off. Yet, they remained vigilant and kept watch over their friend.
“I can see the door to the roof!” the Sargent exhaled loudly when there wasn’t another zombie in sight.
“We’re there?” the Private asked with hope. With that statement, there was the sound of tearing metal and a clatter as a door fell to the floor. It was not the one to the roof, but the one on the ground floor.
“We’ve got company,” the Captain shouted to the others when he saw undead pouring through the door many flights of stairs below.
“No time to waste,” the Major said as he opened the door to the roof, only shutting it when the last of his squad were through.
THE ROOF WAS CLEAR of any undead. Whoever had tried to escape the building previously had apparently never made it to the roof and died in the stairwell. As promised, a helicopter with its blades rotating sat on the helipad. Immediately, the Major saw that something was not quite right.
“Hope you don’t mind us sitting on your laps,” he said without any hint of a smile when he saw almost all the seats and standing space was occupied.
“Just room for one more,” one of the men informed them loudly over the thump of the helicopter blades. A man exited the helicopter, grabbed the arm of The Package gently and guided her aboard. The Major would like to say he saw some remorse in her eyes, maybe even a hint of worry for the men that rescued her, but it wasn’t there. She was happy to be leaving.
“The building is surrounded,” the Captain said calmly, peering over the edge of the rooftop. The noise of the helicopter had done what they knew it would. It drew all the undead in the area to their location, like poison from a wound.
“You’ll be needing this,” the man on the helicopter said, handing back the gun they had lent to The Package. Then, without any hint of a smile, he added, “There should be transport waiting for you after your next pickup.”
With that, he handed The Major an envelope and they began preparing to take off.
“I wish they’d taken her out when they firebombed the city,” the Sargent said with a smile as he waved them off.
“Would have made our lives easier,” the Major agreed. He handed the Sargent his recently returned sidearm.
“Aren’t we getting on the helicopter?” the Private asked, panic causing his voice to quiver.
“Unfortunately, not,” the Major said as the helicopter lifted and started to leave. “This was just the first pickup we’re doing today apparently. There must be another spoiled brat that needs extracting and we’re one of the few squads lucky enough to babysit the children of the people paying us.”
“Paying us, Sir?” the Sargent asked, almost sounding genuinely surprised. “We’re getting paid for this wonderful task?”
“Of course we are being paid,” the Major said, letting a smile spread across his face as he turned to the rest of the squad. “Our bank accou
nts continue to grow while we work. Just let me know if you find somewhere still accepting the glorious Pound Sterling.”
“As long as we’re being paid,” the Captain interjected, and they all grinned like madmen.
“How can you all be so calm?” the Private asked in disbelief, bordering on hysteria. “We can’t get off this rooftop.”
“Course we can,” the Sargent said, looking at the door which they had come from. “The stairwell hasn’t disappeared.”
Almost on cue, pounding erupted from behind the door.
“What's the plan people?” the Major asked his squad, shouting over the whirring helicopter blades as they grew more distant, suddenly all business.
“Well, we got two options. We could charge our way down the stairwell, shooting and stabbing every undead flesh-bag on our way back to the bottom,” the Sargent said, rocking his head side to side deliberating his options.
“The alternative?” the Major asked, also looking over the edge of the building. It was a long way down and not an option. Besides, the Captain was right, they were surrounded.
“Looking at the door, and how deeply the hinges are set into the wall ... we have thirty to forty minutes to play cards,” the Sargent suggested, placing his newly acquired sidearm into his empty holster, and producing a deck of cards from one of the many pouches across his chest.
“That sounds like an excellent plan Sargent,” the Major commended. He turned over a bucket he’d found on the rooftop and put it between them to be used in their game.
“How many zombies do you think there are between us and the street?” the Private asked, looking at the other men nervously.
“Couple of hundred,” the Sargent replied nonchalantly, shuffling the cards slowly. He saw the terrified look on the face of the Private and added with a wink, “A couple of hundred shuffling corpses versus four of the baddest, meat grinders under Her Majesty's Service? The forces that be gotta make it a fair fight somehow.”
