by David Whaley
Chapter 14
“The borough commander was right,” said Natalie walking back through the doors of their church. “He said this would happen, the looting and the panic. It got worse”
It was the following morning prior to her appointment on the PR with other UK officers, and throughout the night they themselves had been foraging for supplies, almost looting in a not-so-violent manner.
Leon dumped the bag containing their finds on a front pew and sat beside it to start sorting the contents into different piles; one pile for medical supplies, another for food that happened to be mostly long lasting canned produce but some fruit, and another pile for everything else. The ‘everything else’ pile contained all manner of parts that were individually useless but, with the imagination that he and Devlin had, they were able to invent makeshift weapons.
Natalie sat at the front edge of the pulpit changing her radio channel to ‘Met Ops 1’ ten minutes early of the 0900 hour parade time she had set and started to think about the current situation and the smell that had enshrouded the air on the streets of London. Just as Natalie thought her senses had adjusted to the smell, the scent of decay would intensify as if a constant reminder from the walking dead that, ‘we are still here.’
“I’m surprised the airwaves are still up,” said Leon noticing Natalie fiddling with her radio.
“No doubt it won’t be long. The TV and internet is already down.”
Natalie looked down at her PR in response to the ‘bleep’ sound it had made. The battery was dying.
“Good job I swiped two batteries,” she said as she replaced it. “I’d be stuck on if anyone found out, but I don’t suppose it matters anymore,” she continued, a touch of discontent in her voice.
Leon’s mobile phone rang and he answered it knowing that a private number call is usually from someone at work. Confused, as everyone from his team had died, he walked toward the front of the church past Natalie. Whoever it was and whatever it was about seemed to either upset or anger him as he stormed off into the Vicars office. Natalie didn’t follow on as it had reached 0900 hours.
“Anybody receiving this channel, please respond with numbers, location including what you are using as a base, highest rank and modes of transport available to you. Only one person to respond per group, from Met Base 1,” transmitted Natalie with pen and paper to hand.
After a short agonising wait, around sixteen responses were made stating that they were from different police forces; Hertfordshire, Essex, Metropolitan, Norfolk and Thames Valley. Only one of the sixteen replies were from The Metropolitan Police Service, who also had one of the fewest officers at only two that she put down to the fact that London had the highest population thus meaning the depletion rate would be incredible.
It appeared as though some of the other groups had also sought refuge in places of worship with others still managing to cling on to their police stations. Others utilised warehouses, pubs and DIY shops as their base whilst few were still on the streets, not surprisingly with the fewest in numbers.
Most had a car for use as their transport, some even had two, others sadly relied on the use of their legs.
The numbers were disheartening to hear with groups of between two and seven, the average being 3.44 in each, a total of fifty five.
Every single group consisted of officers and no staff, probably through lack of training, and no supervisors, possibly owing to poorly made decisions or pure luck, although rank no longer mattered.
The only familiar voice of the sixteen fairly evenly spread male and female voices was the one belonging to Herts officer PC John Richards. He also had three companions.
“Okay, so what do we know of these walking dead?” asked Natalie opening the floor to discussion.
Many of the comments made by the officers echoed the conversation her own group had discussed only the day before but added the fact that the undead seemed to be focusing on areas that still contained the uninfected, as if something was drawing them to the area.
They were also able to confirm that running Zombies were not only within the M25.
“Does this mean they are becoming intelligent?” said a Thames Valley officer.
“No, I doubt it,” she replied. “I think it is more basic survival instincts. We can already see that their cognitive functions are essentially non existent.”
Other than repeating what had already been said, they couldn’t bring much to the table in terms of new information but the briefing did reinstall some hope that she had lost as the days, hours and minutes progressed.
“There is no more ‘that’s Essex ground send it back,’ or, ‘they don’t help us so why should we help them.’ We are one force and a force is what we are. No longer is there a police service. We are simply, ‘The Police,’” Natalie instructed knowing that she deserved that promotion to Sergeant despite her failed exam results. “Report back every time you get new information. We must stay updated and information share. This is the key to our survival. Somebody must remain from each group monitoring this channel. Has anyone got anything further to add?”
Silence met the question and she said her farewells, or rather abruptly said, “out,” to indicate that she had finished transmitting and turned back to her own foursome to find only a trio, including herself, were sitting in the main hall.
That’s right. Leon went into the Vicars office, she reminded herself.
As Natalie got up to make her way to him, Leon emerged from the room.
“Sorry about that. I had to have a moment. I’m fine now.”
“You okay?” enquired Natalie. Marcus and Devlin stood and approached them both knowing something was wrong.
“Sit,” he ordered whilst seating himself. “A little while ago, I dunno, about two weeks… I was at work out on an operation with a team that included my best mate who I met through ‘the job.’ Well, the op was a terrorism job where there was suggestion of explosives as well as firearms. SO15 requested us AFO’s to tag along for the ride. We entered this warehouse, fast and noisy, stunning everyone inside but they were quick to compose themselves and ignore the instruction that we screamed at them. Anyway, they grabbed their firearms… god, every fucker had one, and there was a shoot out; not something that usually happens unless you’re a copper in America. I shot some bad guys and so did the rest of my team, as did Stan, my mate. It was a fairly routine job that went tits up basically. One of the guys Stan shot fell to the floor with two bullets in his upper back. I know, I saw. Anybody else would have been dead from those injuries and it would have been instantaneous, but he fucking stood up. Now on his feet he turned to face us and the look in his eyes were not human, enough to scare the bravest of people, familiar only now. He just started walking towards us, it was ridiculous. I had one eye on him and the other sighted down my Glock at the terrorists still firing slugs past my ears. Stan fired another round as a warning which entered his forearm. It didn’t bleed unlike his back, but even those wounds didn’t bleed as much as you’d expect. He carried on walking and Stan fired yet another shot into the crazed mans abdomen. Then another into his shoulder and he fell to the floor. By then, all of the suspects were down and injured, or dead, but this guy tried to get up again whilst Stan and I barked orders at him with both of our Glocks pointing at his head. I tried to restrain him whilst Stan provided cover and the fucker tried to bite me. Stan then shot him dead, really dead, in the head.”
“Fuck, that must’ve been terrible,” said Devlin.
“I don’t think he’s finished,” Natalie said as she glanced over at him.
“Well,” Leon Continued, “There was an investigation, as would be expected in all situations where police discharge their firearm regardless of the amount of rounds fired. The autopsy the morning after revealed that the fatal shots were likely to be the two in this guys back. However, the coroner said the remaining shots that had entered his body were done so post mortem, after death. Immediately, without the support of the force backing him in t
he slightest, Stan was arrested, interviewed and sent to court soon after having been remanded in police custody. He was found guilty of murder where the court accused him of seeking out to murder someone and executing the ‘victim’ ensuring his death. The judge said, ‘you have been placed in a trusted position to protect the public from the very thing you have become. You sought to commit murder before you pulled the trigger and your actions cannot be condoned by hiding behind your occupation. You, Sir, are a criminal.’ That hurt the most from the look in Stan’s eyes, ‘you are a criminal.’ He was sentenced to life in prison. That was one of the prison officers that I got to know through my numerous visits. He said that Stan has taken his own life by hanging himself in a cell. The prison officer said he had been fixated on the news when the TV was still working. Must’ve seen what was going on. The prison service was using the prison as a kind of safe house. I know now that the person we had encountered during the Op, the person Stan was accused of murdering was ‘patient zero.’ The first, or one of the first, that became infected. Maybe he was the experiment to this outbreak.”
Chapter 15
“So, now what?” asked Marcus.
“Well,” replied Natalie. “I need to chase up the results for a substance I found whilst searching a house. Terrorism related.”
Natalie then shared the information she had about properties being searched and the DVD of the person taking ownership of the attack that was sent to the PM.
“Fuck it! It wasn’t a new strain of the flu then. He lied to us,” shouted Devlin.
“Relax, Dev. He didn’t want everyone to start panicking,” said Leon.
“It’s a bit too late for that ‘int it?”
“Yes, but it would have started sooner had he have admitted that fact.”
Natalie dialled the number for forensic services, not at all surprised that nobody answered the phone.
“Shit! We are going to have to go to their lab.”
“And where is that exactly?” asked Devlin.
“South London.”
“I’ll drive,” said Leon. “On the hurry up?”
“Definitely.”
The group readied themselves by completing the construction of various defensive weapons such as a plank of wood wrapped in barbed wire, a circular saw attached to the end of a chain that’s ideal for slashing and a drill with ‘adapted’ drill bits for mass destruction, although the standard drill bits would have probably done the job alone.
There was a downside, however, to these weapons. The baseball bat with the nails protruding from its tip, which had been attached to the spoiler of their car, could break over any one of the Zombie’s heads and the nails could bend making it less effective.
The circular saw chain is hard to control and care must be taken to ensure that users didn’t inflict any injuries on themselves as it swings through its target.
The drill requires charging regularly and could lose all charge part way through penetrating a Zombies skull.
They all, once again, clambered into the car and set off for the lab south of the river.
As has been so far, their journey saw them manoeuvring around abandoned, crashed and overturned cars, busses and lorries, ploughing through pockets of Zombies and avoiding as many fireballs that came to litter the streets of London.
The newly discovered running Zombies gave a feeble attempt at chasing them but the X5’s acceleration was too much for the undead to keep up with which unnervingly pleased Devlin, a smile creeping across his face.
The stench of smoke burnt their nostrils the entire journey, not enough to completely mask the decomposition scent that besmirched the air, but just enough to remove its twang, for which they were grateful.
Many of the undead even lined the banks of the Thames, preparing their advance into the water for their prey who were furiously thrashing their arms about in an attempt at freedom, although they appeared to be sinking. Yet, all of a sudden something out of view beneath the water pulled them in, thus submerging them each in the dirty river water that tinted their blood making it barely visible as it floated on the surface of the Thames.
“Did you see that? A Zombie just-. There must be zombies under water,” said Marcus.
“And?” said Devlin coyly. “They don’t breathe remember? Stands to reason that it would be possible. Although… Wouldn’t they float?”
Nobody answered. They all just looked around at what had become of their island, their country, their capital.
Leon continued to drive at speed, so far and not intending to make themselves known by using the installed warning equipment except to mow down the rotting demons that ended up hanging off of their bumper barbs at the front of their modified vehicle.
They arrived, parked up and stood to admire the building before them with the big lettering on the front reading: Forensic Science Authority.
It was a big building, wide moreso than tall, the foyer/reception area that was once fronted by a glass wall and door was now shattered in pieces on the ground. The clean brickwork suggested it to be a fairly new build. However, the general cleanliness of the outside contradicted the state that met them on the inside.
The foyer was similar to the sight that met Natalie at CCC Bow: fluorescent lights on a high ceiling, some working and on, some flickering and others broken, although it was hard to work out how someone was able to get high enough to break the casings.
Paperwork was strewn about, evidence that it had once been stapled and filed in the appropriate manner existed.
Tainting the documents, shattered glass pieces, walls, floors and again ceiling was one hell of a lot of blood. Much of it was old and congealed but some appeared fresh still rolling down the walls. The scene was reminiscent of a certain ‘Texas’ and ‘Massacre’ film except this was within a building.
The group entered to investigate gathering up pieces of paper that were making good their escape with the help of the wind squalling through. That is, the ones that weren’t being held in place with thick sticky claret.
The paperwork consisted of itineraries for the lower ranking staff members and memos that rarely seemed to be work related. Essentially, it didn’t help in the slightest.
“I don’t like this,” said Leon. “Where are they? The Zombie’s I mean. Open access available to them, you’d think this place would be crawling with them.”
“I know, but at the moment I’m not complaining exactly,” said Natalie.
“You guys notice something?” asked Marcus.
“What?”
“Well, there’s a lot of blood but no bodies.”
“They probably came back as one of the undead and wandered off,” said Natalie.
“I can’t access their computers. Some have missing or broken keyboards, others have monitors smashed to shit and don’t get me started on the computer tower’s. Before you ask, no I can’t build one good one out of all of these. Besides, it doesn’t look like there’s any electricity going to them,” said Devlin.
Natalie, Marcus and Devlin looked up at the lights in response and Devlin shrugged before adding, “they must be on separate circuits.”
The group walked past the reception and jumped over the security barrier, where staff would usually swipe their passes to gain access to a narrow corridor lined with lifts on either side.
Here, they found a map of the building printed on plastic sheets and bolted to the walls, one on each side between the two lifts.
They made a mental note of the layout of the building: ground floor was for the reception and consultation rooms, first floor was for fifteen separate laboratories with a single record and archive room in the furthest corner, second floor was dedicated to human resources and personnel management with another archive room above the one on the previous floor. The third and final floor consisted of many offices specifically for the management team that oversaw the day to day running of their empire. Their main purpose, with their customers in mind, was to ensure the expeditious return of results
after receiving a sample. It didn’t work well, but the £40k wage was enough to justify their existence; that was just Natalie’s view.
Leon tried the button to summon the lift.
“Power’s out here as well,” he said.
“The stairs are around here. This way,” said Marcus.
They climbed the stairs, two flights to the first floor, searching each of the labs whilst working towards the records room.
Similarly, there was blood, no bodies and things broken.
Amongst the shattered and snapped beakers, test tubes and Petri dishes were yet more documents, smaller in size that would appear to be from a journal or diary. They were right but all they had on them were hand scribbled equations and formulas that were too complex to understand.
The lab nearest the records room was locked but Leon’s size eleven boot was enough to solve the problem with one swift kick that ripped the lock off of the frame still attached to the door, albeit bent slightly which was more than could be said for the hinges. The door flew towards the centre of the room only to be slowed by a desk that was in its way, its purpose to split the door in half horizontally.
Leon and Natalie drew their firearms, having decided to stick with their Glocks for accuracy and user manoeuvrability, and entered the lab. Marcus and Devlin followed close behind.
“There was a reason this one was locked,” said Leon.
“And there were locks either side of that door. Who knows what side it was locked from?” added Natalie, them both speaking out loud for the benefit of the two non-police members of their team.
“But Zombies can’t lock doors, right? Doesn’t that mean if there is somebody in here they will be non-Zombified?” asked Devlin.
Keeping her eyes fixed forward into the room, Natalie said “We don’t know how anybody is going to react with what is currently going on. Plus, they may have got infected before locking the door. Stay here you two.”
