Surviving the Fall: How England Died

by Stephen Cross

  The wood ended, and they crouched behind bushes that formed a boundary before a wide field that surrounded Zone Lima Delta, hastily erected on the site of an old airfield. Allen took out his binoculars and scanned the safe zone. A hundred yards ahead, was a large fence at least twenty feet tall, lined with barbed wire. Zeds amassed around the airfield fence, two or three deep in some places.

  Allen reported his position over his com-link to Dalby and the rest of the platoon joined them a few minutes later.

  “There must be a clear entrance, sir, around the zeds. Maybe an access road?”

  Dalby nodded, and pulled out a large scale ordinance map that he spread across the floor.

  “Singh,” said Dalby, “report our position to HQ and find out how we can get in Lima Delta.”

  Singh pulled the radio out of his kit bag. “This is Charlie Romeo Fiver company,” he repeated a few times, before receiving an answer.

  Dalby took the radio from Singh. “This is Lieutenant Dalby, where is entry point to Zone Lima Delta”

  There was a pause, some static, and Dalby repeated his question.

  “Negative, sir. There is to be no entry,” came the reply. “You are to report to extraction point X-ray. It is imperative that you reach extraction point by 1200 hours.”

  The men looked at each other, confused.

  “Repeat that,” said Dalby.

  The voice on the other side of the radio repeated the same instructions.

  Dalby shook his head. “What about the people in the airfield? The whole place is surrounded by zeds.”

  Nothing but static.

  “Dammit man, we’ve busted a nut getting here. X-ray is another two miles away. What the hell is going on?”

  “Sorry sir,” came the reply. “You have been ordered to report to extraction zone X-ray by 1200 hours. I must repeat that it is of the utmost importance that you reach the extraction point by then.”

  Dalby looked confused. “Why is it imperative?”

  “Sir, you need to get away from Zone Lima Delta.”

  Dalby’s eye’s opened wide in realisation, nodding slowly. “Operation Horsefly…” He whispered. Then, louder, “Is Operation Horsefly in effect?”

  He waited for a full ten seconds before there was a reply. “Sir, I repeat you must evacuate the safe zone area, and proceed to extraction point X-ray immediately.”

  “Ten four. Roger, out.”

  Dalby passed the radio back to Singh.

  “Ok men, we’re moving out, here.” He pointed to an old quarry about two miles away. It was only nine am, so they should get there easily before twelve.

  The men kitted up, exchanging confused looks.

  “What’s Horsefly?” asked Allen.

  Dalby only gave him a fleeting glance as he pulled on his kit bag. “You don’t need to know. All you need to know is that we are leaving.” Dalby started walking, “Ok, men, move out!”

  Most of the men followed Dalby, but a handful paused, looking at Allen who stood still.

  “There are people in there, sir,” said Allen, pointing behind himself to the airfield.

  Dalby stopped and turned to face Allen. “It doesn’t matter if the Queen of England is in there. We have our orders, Allen.”

  “What’s Operation Horsefly? Why is it imperative that we get away from here?”

  The platoon had stopped moving, everyone stood silent, still, watching the exchange between their Sergeant and Lieutenant.

  Dalby took a few steps towards Allen. “Sergeant, I suggest you get in line immediately.”

  “Horsefly… It’s a slash and burn isn’t it?”

  Dalby paused a moment too long. Allen knew.

  “It’s a God-dammed slash and burn. That safe zone is compromised, and instead of rescuing the people, we’re going to blow the airfield, is that it?” said Allen.

  The soldiers looked at Dalby, waiting for his response. A few of the men stood up straight, their brows furrowed, the grip on their guns tight.

  Dalby said, “The base is compromised. It must be neutralised. In three hours, anything within a mile of this location will be a ball of flames.”

  “Dammit, Dalby, there are innocent people in there - we put them in there!” shouted Allen. My son could be one of them, he thought.

  Subtly, the men moved, some towards Allen, most towards Dalby.

  “Allen, I think you forget who you are,” Dalby shouted in return. “I’m the officer here, I have my orders, and we will follow them, is that clear?”

  “We can’t just leave them there - I’m tired of killing our own people.” There was a few murmurs of angry agreement.

  “Follow your orders, Sergeant!”

  Allen snapped to attention, his arms by his side, staring straight ahead. “Sir, I respectfully decline to follow your orders. I request we mount a rescue mission of Zone Lima Delta.”

  Dalby rubbed his brow and looked around the men. Four men stood with Allen, but the majority were standing behind him.

  “This is not a fucking bike club, Allen, you can’t request anything. I am asking you once more to get your men in line.”

  Allen stood still. “Sir, I respectfully decline your-”

  He stopped speaking as Dalby raised his pistol and pointed it Allen, “This is direct insubordination in a hostile situation, Allen, I will not ask you again.”

  Lewis raised his machine-gun and pointed it at Dalby. This started a chain reaction, and within seconds, several members of the platoon had raised their guns, two sides, Dalby’s and Allen’s, opposing each other.

  Silence fell upon the company, the men breathed heavily, one of the soldiers was shaking, the nuzzle of his gun vibrating.

  “We have a situation, sir,” said Allen, who remained still, his arms by his side, staring ahead.

  Dalby looked behind him to confirm once again the number of guns on his side. “You are outnumbered Allen.” He raised his voice to address the men standing behind the Sergeant. “If you all put your guns down now, we can forget about this, I will only report Allen. The rest of you, it’s as if it didn’t happen.”

  No one moved.

  A loud rustle in the bushes by Dalby’s men caught everyone’s attention. There was a scream as one of Dalby’s men fell forward, a zed attached to his neck. Blood spurted in a crimson ribbon high into the trees. One of Dalby’s soldiers turned and fired. Another shot from another of Dalby’s men as a second zed emerged from the trees. Then a third, and a fourth. Within seconds the air was thick with gun fire as the soldiers on Dalby’s side worked to contain the sudden swarm of zeds whose excited moans filled the air.

  Allen looked around him - Lewis, Walton, O’Reilly, and Singh stood by him, all watching for command. “Now!”

  They ran from the clearing into the surrounding trees, in the opposite direction of the zeds. A bullet bounced off the tree by Allen’s head - their escape not having gone unnoticed.

  They ran deeper into the woods, keeping their heads down and dodging through the trees as shots fired around them. Quickly the shouts from Dalby and his men became faint - they were too busy with the zeds to give proper chase.

  Allen pulled his com-link from his ear, his mobile from his pocket, and a few other items of electronica from his kit bag as he ran. He threw them to the ground.

  “Lose anything they can track us with,” he shouted.

  They ran for fifteen minutes or so, putting some distance between themselves and Dalby. Allen called the men to stop, and they dived behind trees and shrub, scanning the woods behind them. No movement.

  Allen looked each of the four men with him in the eye, one at a time, nodding to each.

  Through heavy breaths, Lewis said, “What now sir?”

  Allen looked at his watch. “We have just under three hours until they burn the place. So that’s plenty of time to rescue any civilians in there and get them a mile out. Last chance, anyone want out, go now and get extraction with Dalby.”

  They all shook their heads.
<
br />   O’Reilly said, “If I don’t save someone soon, I’m gonna top myself.”

  “Ok, good.” Allen felt a swelling of pride in the four men that stood by him, his faith that there were still good people in the world restored.

  “Ok Lewis, when was the last time you climbed a tree?”

  Lewis smiled. “I must have been about twelve, sir.”

  “Well, you’d best get remembering, I want you up that oak over there, right to the top. Take these,” he passed the binoculars to Lewis. “I want a full recon, tell me what you see. The rest of us, disappear into the woods, keep an eye on all approaches.”

  The men scattered quickly and took up guard positions around the large oak.

  After a few false starts, Lewis made quick progress up the old tree. He got over his initial nerves and was soon near the top, its boughs swaying gently in the wind but holding him well.

  Satisfied he was high enough for a good view, he wedged himself in tight against the trunk and took out the binoculars.

  He focussed in on the perimeter fence of the airfield, about a hundred metres away. A thin circle of zeds surrounded the fence. Some were trying to push through, but most just wondered aimlessly around the perimeter, as if they knew there was something in there they wanted, but not sure what.

  The inside of the airfield was scattered with bodies and debris; it looked like the remains of a battle. The bodies mostly had bullet holes in their heads. What concerned Lewis, however, was the mass of zeds in the airfield.

  The zeds were in both civilian and military uniform, suggesting the army hadn’t been able to protect anyone, even themselves.

  The airfield had two runways running parallel to each other, upon which lay a few burning vehicles. In between the runways where a a number of buildings - three hangers, the control tower and a few nondescript brick buildings. Three planes, the size of small commercial jets, sat at the far end of the furthest hanger.

  Zed’s swarmed around the buildings, the control tower in particular. He focused in on the distinct bulbous top of the tower and found the reason why. People, in civilian clothes, were on the roof. They were free of blood and the damaged flesh of zeds - they were alive. A large white sheet hung off the side of the roof.

  It said - ‘SOS’.

  He took a moment to wipe his eyes and focused in again. He estimated around twenty people on the roof, with a few children amongst them. Some of the people standing in the centre seemed to be focusing on the floor of the roof.

  Lewis lowered his binoculars and realised they weren’t looking at the roof’s floor, but through what must have been a trapdoor into the control tower below. It was thick with zeds climbing over each other, reaching for the roof, reaching for the fresh meat.

  Lewis quickly scurried down the tree - they didn’t have much time.

  Allen listened carefully to the Corporal’s report.

  “They must have retreated to the control tower, and at some point were comprised, but managed to make an escape to the roof. They’re trapped there now, no way down, at least not without some heavy firepower, which I don’t think they have.”

  “Any other signs of life?”

  Lewis shook his head. “Rest of the place is a zed free for all. Whoever was there, they took a hell of a kicking.”

  Allen nodded and addressed his small company. “Ok, men, that’s the situation. We have around two hours to get in there, get those people out, and get at least two miles away.”

  He felt some trepidation amongst them - it was a tough mission. They only had five machine guns, one grenade launcher, and two hand guns. Almost seemed impossible. So he spoke quickly, before they had time to second guess themselves.

  “We need a distraction big enough that will pull the majority of the zeds away from the control tower, so we can get those people out.”

  “What about firing some shots outside the fence,” said Singh. “Draw the zeds over, then a few of us go in and get the people out.”

  Allen shook his head. “Won’t work - after five minutes or so, we’ll have every zed in those woods on us.”

  “I know what’ll work,” said Walton, a glint in his eye. “If those planes have fuel in them - a few well placed grenades and they’ll go up like christmas.”

  “But what about getting to the planes?” said Lewis. “That place is crawling with zeds - we don’t have the ammo to take them all out.”

  “Ok Singh,” said Allen. “That’s where your fence shooting idea might work. Me, Lewis and Singh will get to the far end of the airfield, fire some shots, draw the zeds over. Then O’Reilly and Walton can go in and take care of the planes. Be quick though - like I said, we wont have long before we’re swamped.”

  “Sure thing Sarge,” said Walton.

  “Once those planes are burning,” continued Allen, “that will hopefully keep the zeds busy for as long as we need. We’ll get in the control tower, clear it out, and get the people out. While we do that, Walton and O’Reilly can requisition us a vehicle, there must be something working in there.”

  “No problem,” said O’Reilly.

  “We’ll rendezvous outside the control tower,” said Allen, “and off we go into the sunset.”

  “Sounds simple,” said Lewis, a wry smile on his face.

  “What’s plan B?” said Singh.

  It was Allen’s turn to smile, “We shoot the fuck out of anything that moves.”

  Chapter 5

  Allen checked his watch. O’Reilly and Walton would have to be in position soon. As they had dumped their com-links, this was to be a clockwork operation.

  Just like the old days, thought Allen.

  Lewis took up position with his back to the fence, he was the covering fire to take care of any zeds that wondered in from the woods.

  Singh and Allen crouched facing the fence. The control tower was in the distance, the white SOS sheet visible, flapping in the gentle breeze. The end of the second runway that lay to the north of the tower, was about 50 feet from their position. A handful of zeds where nearby.

  “Remember, Singh, one shot each in turn, thirty seconds apart. Let’s not burn the ammo.”

  Singh nodded.

  Allen stared at his watch for a minute. “Ok, it’s time. Commence,” said Allen.

  Singh fired a shot into the air. Immediately the zeds turned and walked towards the fence.

  “Dumb as cheese,” said Allen.

  Walton heard the first shot and nodded to O’Reilly - they were to go on the third. Hopefully by then most of the zeds would be following the gunfire over to the far side of the airfield.

  As the shot’s echo faded Walton felt the silence for the first time. There was no insect noise, no bird noise.

  The second shot. Walton looked at his watch, right on time.

  He felt adrenalin pumping through his veins - this was why he had signed up to the army. Not that turkey shoot yesterday - that was fucked up in all kinds of ways. Civilians behind cages, mixed in with zeds. Whoever came up with that idea had been a 5-star asshole.

  The third shot. “Go!” he said. Walton jumped forward through the trees into the clearing. He glanced to his right to see O’Reilly running beside him.

  Ahead, twenty or so zeds lined the fence, trying to walk through it, trying to get to the sound of the shots.

  Walton pulled out his knife and ran down the line of zeds, stabbing them in the back of the head. They were stupid, really stupid, it was easy. They didn’t even know what was coming until Walton was on top of them.

  He met O’Reilly in the middle of a long line of dead Zeds. “Good?”

  “Good.”

  A clear view of the fence, and the plan seemed to be working - only a few zeds were visible in the airfield, staggering in the direction of the gunfire.

  Walton and O’Reilly pulled out their wire cutters and quickly made a hole in the fence, just big enough to let them through, and low enough to stop any zeds following them.

  Walton made the final cuts and held
open the fence for O’Reilly to crouch through. Walton followed.

  Straight ahead was the south runway. They stood perpendicular to it, probably about a quarter along its length. A few hundred yards away across the runway was their target, the three planes, standing by the last in a trio of hangers. Diagonally to their left, again about two or three hundred yards away, was the control tower.

  “Let’s go.” They set out at pace up a gentle embankment towards the runway. Walton quickly scanned the runway - a few bodies, debris - from an exploded helicopter? And at the far end, a smoking jeep.

  No zeds.

  They ran across and down the embankment at the other side. Another shot rang out in the still air.

  They ducked in behind a large signal box and Walton peered round the side. They had a clear run to the first of the planes, which looked liked small commercial jets, but painted white with no windows.

  “How do you blow up a plane with grenades then?” asked O’Reilly, breathing heavily from their quick sprint.

  “They have the fuel in the wings, right? Let’s shoot ‘em up, and when the fuels leaking hit them with the grenade launchers. Think it will work?”

  O’Reilly shrugged. “Can’t think of anything better.”

  Allen nodded in satisfaction at the swarm of zeds congregating on the other side of the fence. The shots had drawn them in just as planned.

  They moaned and pushed against the fence, like a rippling wave of dumb and angry animals. Each one seemed to have suffered a different form of violence. Some covered in blood, some with pieces of flesh and body parts hanging off. The odd missing limb. A gorged stomach with intestines getting twisted around the fence.

  “Look sir, on the control tower,” said Singh.

  The people were waving. Allen waved his right arm back, slowly. Then brought his hand down, looked at his watch, and fired another shot into the air.

  Walton killed six of the zeds stuck in the hanger - they had been walking into the wall, trying to get to the sound of the shots by the most direct route. O’Reilly took out the other eight.