by David Whaley
“This is Bravo one and Bravo three,” she said.
The two extra Bravos were male and bore the same ‘TT’ logo on their uniforms. They also looked the same as they both had black hair and were slim looking as though they had done some gym work if not extensive. The only thing differing them was the scar above Bravo ones left eye.
Devlin, Natalie and Leon instinctively raised their pistols taking note of the zombies on the landing they saw through the doorway beyond them. They were standing and swaying whilst, apparently, staring into space.
“Why are you here?” asked Leon.
“Simple, we have been sent by our leader. He is sick and tired of your meddling,” said Bravo two.
“We are just following our basic instincts to survive,” added Heather.
“More importantly, what’s happened to Marcus?” Natalie demanded.
The Bravos looked at each other with a confused look on their face and then laughed.
“Something funny?” said Leon.
“Marcus is safe. He is with us, though,” they all said together.
“If you hurt him, I’ll-“
“You don’t get it do you?” Bravo three repeated obvious that it was him that said it the first time. “Never mind, you will all have a suitable leader soon enough to lead this planet to greatness. Too long have you been left to ferment in your own stupidity.”
“Do you wanna say that again?” shouted Devlin taking a step forward only to be stopped by a single hand, belonging to Leon, being placed on his shoulder.
“Who are you? Really?” said Leon.
“We are the facilitators of the ultimate plan,” they all said, again in unison.
“And what exactly is that?”
“The sooner our leader takes over the better,” said Bravo one. “The takeover.”
Each of the Bravos pointed at their chest at the ‘TT’ logo stating that ‘The Takeover’ was what it stood for.”
“Where is your leader?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” said Bravo two. “But, if you carry on as you are, you will meet him soon. Take it from me that he knows you went to the warehouse and take this as a friendly warning. I strongly advise you heed our warning.”
“And what if we don’t?” asked Natalie.
The Bravos looked at each other and smiled before Bravo two nodded and looked back towards Leon.
Leon anticipated an impending attack and said, “Don’t you dare!”
Bravo two smiled a bigger grin and took a step forward.
“Stay where you are,” Natalie ordered whilst taking her own step forward.
Bravo two leapt forward at such a speed that Leon didn’t have time to shoot, despite his finger already being taut against the trigger. She was as agile as a cat, nimble footed moreso than a footballer.
She struck, and hard too, with an elbow across Leon’s jaw sending him sprawling downwards. With her spare hand, Bravo two caught him mid-fall, picked him up and threw him against a wall damaging the plasterboard disguised with paint. He was left an unconscious wreck at the foot of the wall, his firearm taking flight somewhere in the confusion.
Devlin and Natalie were momentarily stunned and with a quick glance down at the fate that became to Leon they started firing. Every wave of bullets missed their target, Bravo two seemingly toying with them, displaying the spectacle of her abilities.
Bravo two dodged and weaved, ducked and lunged out of the line of fire setting her focus on Devlin.
Devlin saw that he would be next and tried to dive out of the way as Bravo two came towards him but it was too late. With her right hand she took hold of his Glock, angling it upwards and tearing it from his grasp. With her left hand she used the momentum of Devlin’s dive to push him even further into another wall opposite Leon, conscious but groggy.
Natalie’s Glock clicked indicating that she was once again out of bullets and she knew she didn’t have enough time to change the magazine. Instead, her defensive instincts could only suggest for her to do one thing; to throw the empty Glock in Bravo two’s direction whilst running at her in the hope it would serve as a distraction. It didn’t.
Bravo two batted the object out of the way and halted Natalie’s run with a hand around her neck, lifting her from the ground in the process, and slamming her into the floor.
Natalie couldn’t move, nor did she dare as Bravo two stood over her.
“Now you see what we are capable of,” she said.
Natalie didn’t respond but laid there trying to catch her breath after having the wind knocked out of her.
Bravo two knelt and lowered her head to Natalie’s ear saying something only they could hear. After a short while, she stood up whilst Natalie rolled onto her side.
“Keep out of our way and you will live another day,” she said smiling.
Her smile was infectious to the other two who mimicked their female comrade and they left the flat allowing the assaulted trio time to recover.
Heather became human again after freezing like a statue, unarmed there was little she could do.
“What did she say to you?” Heather asked.
“It’s not safe here. We need to get back to Lakeford.”
The women went to the aid of their men starting with Devlin who assured them that he was regaining single vision and felt less dizzy then he did before.
Leon took a while to rouse who, at first, wasn’t able to speak.
“How you feeling?” said Natalie.
“Jaw hurts but no broken bones.” Leon rubbed his face. “I won’t be able to drive for a bit though.”
Natalie volunteered to drive instead and they searched for their lost guns before getting back into the vehicle only to find they now had a flat tyre.
“The fuckers punctured that tyre,” said Devlin as he got out pointing to the rear offside wheel volunteering himself to be the person to replace it.
Devlin retrieved the jack and the spare wheel soon getting the X5 back on the road with Natalie at its helm.
Heather and Devlin considered for a moment, from the comforts provided by the back seats, who was the better driver.
On the one hand, Leon was faster demanding authority on the streets of the UK. However, his breaking was quite harsh due to his lack of judgement as he approached a turning, yet he never crashed.
On the other hand, Natalie, albeit not as fast, took to the corners well and was positioned correctly for optimum performance. She also never crashed.
The two in the backseat decided that they preferred Natalie as their driver.
At Lakeford police station, they gathered in the canteen once again where Natalie addressed her audience.
“First of all, we need to forgive Bravo two-“
“What’re you talking about? She knocked me and Dev out,” said an outraged Leon.
“She only knocked you out,” Natalie told him. “Besides, I think she is undercover but I don’t know who she actually works for.”
“That’s a bit far fetched don’t ya think?” added Devlin.
“I may be wrong but she isn’t actually part of this.”
“What did she say to you Natalie?” asked Heather.
“She said that this can’t be cured. That we can’t escape. That it’s either kill or be killed.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. She said that he needs to be stopped,”
“Who?” said Leon.
“Marcus.”
Chapter 30
A plane taxied out of a hangar with military insignia upon its aerodynamic body, living people danced around it as they hauled cargo into its storage spaces.
The aeroplane was an RAF C-17 Globemaster, the latest aircraft to join their arsenal designed for military transport. It was a large vessel at 53 metres in length; its span being 52 metres. This aircraft required three members of aircrew to take off who were present but tied up with mercenaries holding some heavy duty artillery to stop any escape attempts should an opportunity arise. The firep
ower was also likely to persuade the three pilots to do as they were told.
Bravo one decamped from the aircraft once it was taxied into position and was met by two and three where they had a discussion for a brief moment. They were interrupted by the approach of a 4x4 open topped jeep-type vehicle for its driver and passenger to join in the conversation.
Bravo three leant into the back of the vehicle and picked up a briefcase, silver in colour, which he handcuffed to his wrist signifying the preciousness of its contents. The Bravos then walked away together whilst the 4x4 parked adjacent to the hangar next to some of their mercenaries that were smoking a cigarette. They did the same.
The cargo itself that was being fork lifted into the aircraft was wooden boxes, the kind that a crowbar’s often used to open. On the side of each box was an arrow with the words: This Way Up. All were vacant of labels identifying its contents.
The plot of land on which they roamed belonged to the British Army, once buzzing with life before being overrun by zombies had benn taken over by the very lowlifes that planned the apocalypse in the first place.
There was no sign of their leader, perhaps in the barracks or the mess hall, but the hierarchy in his absence was evident as each person spoke with each other seemingly taking and following orders. More obvious though, was that the Bravos were of the same rank and very much second in charge.
Bravo two punched a mercenary in the face, initially unwilling to resort to violence, as a result of one and three urging her to and as not to blow her cover. It was as if this Merc had answered back to them. Bravo twos punch was following by the assault of one and three, Bravo one still with the briefcase attached to his wrist. The Merc no longer worked for them.
The perimeter of the army base was laced with zombies, looking in for food to satisfy their hunger. The moans emanating from these zombies sounded as though they were being teased, like a two year olds tantrum; there was food aplenty but they just couldn’t get to it. All of the jumping zombies were dealt with by the array of Mercs dotted around the site for that sole purpose.
Beyond the perimeter of zombies were the familiar streets throughout the rest of the UK but, being Hertfordshire, there were more country style lanes with crashed cars that seemed to be caused by the one abandoned vehicle that had been left on a sharp bend. Anyone that was trying to make a fast getaway didn’t stand a chance.
Some of the cars left rusting on the street had been left to do so, whilst others had been burnt to a crisp by the living as they went about their previous looting and destructive exploits.
Almost every single building had smashed windows and damaged doors, blood often trailing from them belonging to the once living and the undead, congealed and sticky. This was the same for the business premises but aside from the blood were also the products in which they had sold as the looters made their exit. The shutters of these stores had been broken open; some by having the padlock forcefully removed and others by tearing a hole through the centre with whatever tool the suspect had managed to lay their hands on.
There were fires still alight in the street only to be fuelled by the odd wandering zombie walking blindly to its ultimate peril.
There was absolutely no sign of life in a building or on the roads. It was like a ghost town, no longer a choice of phrase.
The scene displayed the state of the UK perfectly: panic-stricken Britain, dead Britain and terror Britain all combined into one mass image that otherwise words would not be able to describe the pure magnitude of the situation the island faced.
All of the zombies in this area had made for the army base where there was activity leaving the streets desolate and for any of the living to freely roam, if there were any.
In Hertfordshire, but a bit further south, were the first signs of life other then the army base. A police station had its lights on and shadows were moving in a non-zombified manner across the inside of the windows. There were a lot of people in the building.
Next to the police station was a similar sight. A pub also had its lights on with a mass amount of people being kept within, the doors having been barricaded from the inside to keep the undead out.
Survivors had been housed together, rounded up like a herd of sheep, albeit spread across two different buildings. They’d been collected by officers from their local police force and had been promised protection, it being inevitable that this promise would be broken to some.
The windows on these buildings were all intact. This could be as police stations are unlikely to have many valuables in them that people can make use of and in regards to the pub, they may have got to it before anybody else. The pub still had alcohol and many of the rescued helped themselves but remained drunk without the associated violence. They had worse things to worry about.
In this part of Hertfordshire there were a handful of the undead lurking around every corner, rendering it near impossible to go out for supplies without the necessary protection that being the police officers job.
On the approach to London, the sea of zombies thickened, somewhere in between them both like a great wall. If they were to ever pick a direction in which to head then there would be trouble.
In London, however, the amount dissipated. Many roamed the streets and vastly moreso than Hertfordshire. London was a built up area which stands to reason why there were so many zombies shuffling about the place.
The only fires burning here were the ones caused by the fighter jets most recent assault on the roads. All of the panicked manmade ones had burnt out.
The police station here, built differently from their county colleagues, in this part of London, Lakeford, was evidently still in power with officers trying to find a way to fix the current situation.
Are they heroes? Only time would tell. Yet, their efforts were often hindered by the constant battle to avoid the contagion, to remain sane and, the basic instinct within all mankind, to survive.
Chapter 31
Natalie sat tired in the PCs writing room thinking about all the events that had become them thus far whilst the others were asleep. She thought about a number of things but kept turning back to the table in which James Bullen had been wired up to the hospital equipment barely noticing the chill caused by his destruction. The capabilities, she thought.
Something else did send a chill the length of her spine, however, the creeping image of Marcus imprinted on her brain since Bravo two had told her that he had to be stopped. She couldn’t fathom a motive.
Natalie thought of the possibility that she had been in denial when Devlin pointed out the obvious that she’d deemed to be anything but obvious. She decided she had, although subtle clues, they pointed to Marcus.
Her attention then focused on the words Bravo two had muttered in her ear and then the way in which she had said them. She sounded authoritative, caring, with a hint of genuine worry about the group she had just attacked. Who was she? She must have been the one that had been helping us? The note? On the radio?
She recalled their first encounter and the emphasis she had used when saying the word help. Was she trying to relay a message? Was she being watched?
Natalie’s daydream was interrupted by Heathers presence into the room, walking like a literal zombie; the term ‘metaphorical’ was not an appropriate word to be used in the post apocalyptic world.
“You up?” asked Natalie.
“Yes, I couldn’t sleep. I close my eyes and five minutes later an animation attacks me. In my dreams, anyway.”
Any chance of having sleep was few and far between and when the opportunity approached they slept on guard interrupting them repeatedly. Because of this, each barely recuperated their level of fatigue.
“The boys are stirring up there. It’s only a matter of time before our bodies give in altogether,” continued Heather.
Heather, of course, was correct. Sleep is an important part of any individuals’ daily routine and prepares a person to face a new day, ready to take on any challenges that life may throw in their
direction. Nobody could envisage that one of those challenges would be a zombie attack.
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen for a while. What you got there, Heather?”
“We can only hope.” Heather held up a vile of liquid to the moonlight that entered through the window not wishing to interrupt Natalie’s reasoning for why she had been sitting in the dark. The vile was half full. “This is one of the ingredients of my good-for-nothing cure. If the cure won’t help people then maybe we can use it to our advantage against the animated. It will kill them but I suggest we save it for any new types of zombies we encounter.”
“New types?”
“Yes, new types. We already know that this virus is mutating at an extremely slow rate but with my stolen ‘cure,’ well… we have already seen what can happen.”
“But your recipe caused James to turn into that thing. If we introduce more into their system, won’t it make them stronger?” Natalie considered her qualifications to challenge an analyst.
“In theory, yes, but there will also come a point where the host will overload, or overdose, and die.”
“Okay, but what makes you think that the virus mutates slowly?”
“Well, the initial transformation from living to animation is accelerated as we know and is, in its own right, a form of mutation. However, first they were walking, then running, now jumping and Devlin is convinced they swim, or float, to where they intend to go. These abilities show that the virus is continuing to mutate but there is a considerable time gap between each new ability.”
Natalie nodded and looked back into her daydream whilst Heather mixed a quantity of Monosodium Glutamate with another substance that only she could pronounce the name of.
“So, what’s the next step?” asked Heather as she added a final drop of a further liquid based chemical to the concoction.
“We need more information and I suggest we start with the Secure Records Bureau. They must have information about all this both theories and facts. That information may just be what we need to end this.”
