by David Whaley
“We’d better be off,” said Leon. “Mr Prime Minister, you sure you won’t come with us?”
“No. I’m better off left here, alone. I have failed the public and it is not for the public to try and protect me.”
“Sir…,” said Natalie, a subtle plea in her voice as if to say, “don’t do this.”
“No, my dear. Go, leave. Leave me be.”
“We can’t,” added Heather.
“Listen… either you leave, or I will throw you out.”
The group hesitated on moving off as they silently waited for the Prime Minister to change his mind. Seeing that he didn’t, they reluctantly left asking him to take care of himself which was met with a simple nod.
Outside, Devlin and Heather turned to Leon and Natalie for direction.
“We now head for Cheshunt,” said Leon.
“And we have some new found friends,” added Natalie.
Natalie grabbed her radio from their car and transmitted over the Hertfordshire police channel.
“PC Richards receiving, Met Base 1.”
There was no response and she tried again.
“PC Richards from Met Base 1.”
“Go ahead. Sorry for the delay, was fumbling with a bastard Z. It’s dead now.”
“So, you’re free to speak then.”
“Yeah, go on.”
“Can you assist with a house search in Cheshunt?”
“Yeah, of course. What’s the address and when?”
“Travelling time from Central London. The address is 68 Stortfield Road.”
“I know it. Be aware that the M11 has been blown up in places. We near got killed. We’ll meet you at the junction with Sandy Row.”
“Received. Most of the main roads have been destroyed here as well shortly after you left. We will be delayed but we’ll give you a call when we’re near.”
“Received.”
The conversation had finished and they clambered into their vehicle, Leon driving, each trying to figure out the best route to take to get to the destination. They settled on a lengthy route that would take them through Shoreditch, Hackney, Tottenham, Enfield, Broxbourne and then Cheshunt driving on the A10 as much as possible until they came to the destroyed areas where they would turn off at the junction before and go around.
It was a treacherous journey as they drove. More of the undead appeared to be roaming the streets as if getting ready for their final attack. Many chased them but the team either outmatched them in speed or ran them down in congealed blood. They didn’t come across any that moved like the zombie they met in the government archives, nor did they hear any sounds similar.
Being in boroughs with more built up areas there were inevitably more cars blocking their path so much so that on occasion they couldn’t proceed and had to find a way round. That included taking into account they could drive on the pavements which they had done in some areas.
The fires had done their damage and had burnt out after burning brightly for an extended period of time, that being the only commodity that made their journey a little easier. However small this fact was, they were grateful for it.
As expected, the drive was a long one. The plan to travel on the A10 as much as possible failed due to the shear level of destruction to the road. There was no pattern as to where exactly the damage was and on two occasions found themselves driving at least three miles back, the way they had come from, to get to the slip road to leave the carriageway. That delayed them further and in the end they abandoned the route to find the back roads that led in the same direction.
Finally, with a huge chunk of the day stolen from them, they arrived at the corner of Stortfield Road and Sandy Row spotting an unmarked Hyundai I30 that obviously belonged to the home force.
John stepped out and greeted his Met colleagues to his ‘patch.’
“Didn’t fancy sticking out like a sore thumb then?” said Leon pointing out the lack of police markings unlike the Ford Focus’ they had arrived in at the warehouse.
“Nah, they do make us a bit noticeable, don’t they?”
“Sure do but when you’re in an unmarked car the idea is not to wear uniform.”
“Oh, I know. But the uniform adds that bit of protection.”
Leon shook John’s gloved hand before turning to Natalie.
Before Natalie engaged in conversation she looked on at who else remained sat in his vehicle. There was look-alike Leon and two other police officers they had previously met but not the one that got injured.
Leon had also spotted his double and excused himself to walk over to the Hyundai where they both lit a cigarette and enjoyed a chat. For that split moment Natalie felt a sense of normality as they laughed but realism soon broke through as her conscious mind considered that the joking was their defence mechanism to break up the terror and fear that they both felt.
“The others not fancy a day out?” Natalie asked referring to the lack of numbers PC Richards had brought out with him.
“Not at all. You remember my officer that got injured, right? Well, it turns out he got scratched by that ungodly thing we fought at your gaff. He turned and we had no choice but to kill him.”
“That’s terrible. I’m sorry to heat that.”
“It’s okay. Powers beyond our control. As for the others, well, we have rounded up a shed load of survivors and somebody needs to try and keep the peace with them. Right now they are grateful but I have a feeling they will grow impatient fairly soon.”
“Okay, I understand.”
“Shall we get on with it? The house is, believe it or not, sixty eight houses up.”
Natalie looked down the road to see houses lining only one side of the street. On the other was a large field with a children’s play area at the forefront, three sets of goal posts in pairs of two towards the middle and at the far end, in the distance, she made out what looked like gym equipment. This was the fitness gurus suggestion to the local authority as a stepping stone in tackling the ‘obesity crisis’ in the UK and a sight that has soiled many parks and fields across the country but supported by the government. If only they’d known what was coming, she thought.
“Sure, let’s go.”
“C’mon, put that fag out.” PC Richards indicating his instruction towards Leon’s double but Leon, in turn, followed the order.
Both vehicles travelled the road until they got to number sixty eight. The building was a modern build, in keeping with the rest of the street, which Natalie estimated as being no more than five years old. The house was fronted by a uPVC door and windows made alike, a burglars dream access point; bendable and silent with a door panel that can be easily removed given the shortest period of time.
New orange brick had been painted an off white colour matching the neighbours and theirs beyond. A perimeter wall surrounded the front garden. A large quantity of stones covered the ground within that would create a lot of noise if anybody was to tread on them, not to a burglars advantage. Baskets of soil hung either side of the door and flower boxes clung to the surrounding wall, once filled with beautiful flowers that had become rotten to embrace their new atmosphere.
“Try not to walk on the stones. Don’t want to alert anyone,” said John.
With that he retrieved a standard flat head screwdriver from his car that had evidence of being used to fight off the undead.
John walked across one end of the perimeter wall and was soon stood on the porch facing the front door. He inserted the screwdriver into the crevice between the door and frame pushing hard. Once in he pulled the screwdriver back, as though some sort of lever, bending back the plastic and the door started to give way. With no more leverage at this point and the door still not open, he repeated the technique two inches further down the door and with a subtle crack the door sprang open, the evidence of the tool used in the frame that was perfect for a mould to be taken had they been burgling the place. The hall was painted in a neutral pale yellow near to the shade of magnolia and the flooring was a polished laminate as were th
e stairs leading to the first floor.
The house was in pristine condition, clean and tidy apparently untouched by the plague that haunted elsewhere.
Everyone followed John into the property using the same method of walking across the wall one by one gathering in the hallway.
“In here,” said a voice from the living room.
Only the Lakeford group recognised the voice of the owner and they entered with their guns drawn followed by the Hertfordshire officers.
The living room had the same wooden flooring but white painted walls upon which hung pictures of families that none of them recognised.
On the grey corner group sofa was a man they all knew that caused the Hertfordshire officers to suddenly recall the voice from their own previous encounter with him.
“You?” said John.
“What do you think you’re playing at?” said Natalie.
“Let me rip his head off,” said Leon.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?” said Marcus.
Chapter 36
Marcus wore a smile on top of the same silvery grey suit he had worn when introducing the virus under the guise of Delta four, the smell of cheap aftershave contaminating the air.
“Did you get my note?” he asked.
“Yes and we have found out the truth. It’s you. What is ‘The Takeover?’” said Natalie, gun still fixated on its target.
“’The takeover’ is a small price to pay.”
“Small price? You’re taking the piss mate,” shouted Devlin.”
“I’m not taking the piss I assure you,” said Marcus, his response directed at Natalie. “The rest of the world will be a better place.”
“I didn’t want to believe it, but it is the world you are after.”
“A new species of mankind, with me as their ruler. I will be powerful. You’ve met my Bravos, have you not? You have seen what we are capable of.”
“They are nothing but your slaves. What do they get?”
“They get to witness my greatness as I lead this planet. They are my slaves in a way and very loyal they are too. For their loyalty, I won’t need to dispose of them.”
“You’re sick,” added Leon.
“Do you mind? I’m trying to have a conversation.” Marcus let out a sigh before turning back to Natalie. “I really did love you, but your dedication to your job will be your downfall. Forget about everything else for a moment. If you want to survive then join me, or, walk away now. Stop getting involved.”
“You know me well enough to know that that’s not going to happen.”
“Well, remember this. I warned you, I cannot be stopped and I know the correct amount of virus and how to administer it to create the superhuman race and I know how to turn people in monsters. Natalie, for your own good stay out of my way.”
“Not going to happen.”
The firearms carried by each officer were held firm and steady; Marcus’ head their main point of aim. Nobody stopped so much as to take a breath.
“Those guns won’t do you any good,” said Marcus standing up. “I’ll be off now. Remember what I said Natalie.”
Natalie was determined that she would remember his words of warning and considered that he knew she wouldn’t stop pursuing him. She tensed her forearms as she checked her aim.
“We can’t let you leave. Come with us or leave leaking blood. Please, Marcus.”
Natalie almost regretted what she said but knew she had to appear strong even if she didn’t feel it.
“You know the answer,” said Marcus as he turned and started to walk towards the open patio doors leading to the garden.
“Ah, screw this,” said Leon and he was the first to squeeze the trigger.
Marcus turned his head and moved it to the right enabling the accurate shot to embed itself into the wall.
“Missed,” said Marcus.
Marcus’ words were followed by more gun fire from everyone except Natalie. Although she had a clear shot, she couldn’t bring herself to fire. Her bullet may have been as useless as Leon’s but she knew it could have helped them corner him.
Marcus dodged a few bullets by darting left to right before running through the door in a blur at a similar, but faster, pace as that of the Bravos. He disappeared out of sight behind the wall and was chased into the garden. He was nowhere to be found.
Returning back inside the semi detached house, they examined their handiwork. Once a house that appeared untouched by the plague, had become an art piece that brilliantly depicted the result of a world war, almost like the stone walls of the Imperial City in Huế. It was carnage.
“He’s faster than the Bravos,” said Leon. “This is gonna be hard.”
“Do you really think we can beat him?” said Devlin. “I say we turn back.”
Natalie looked from Leon and across to Devlin resting her eyes finally on Heather disregarding the Hertfordshire officers.
“I’m with Leon,” she said. “We continue. If either of you don’t want to come with us then we understand.”
Heather and Devlin considered their options and responses.
“As you said to me, ‘we stand a better chance of survival if we stick together,’” said Devlin.
“Who knows when you’ll need an analyst,” said Heather.
Natalie smiled in realisation of the bond and loyalty that had grown between them. Each member had been a stranger but had become more than friends and more than survivors; they were guardians, looking out for each other whilst trying to save the world.
It had been agreed with the Hertfordshire officers that the house needed to be searched and they took the ground level whilst Natalie and co took the first floor and the loft.
The upstairs, still untouched by gunfire, was as tidy as the ground floor had been when they first entered. Smooth painted walls with carpeted flooring both in neutral colours were the theme here. Natalie thought about her property and its need to be redecorated deciding that if she doesn’t end up dead and if the chance arises then this would be how she would decorate.
The drawers were full of clothes as were the cupboards, the ottoman full of bed linen with each item folded meticulously vacant of creases. The home had the overall feel of belonging to a caring family, a family of thought and fruitfulness.
Nothing of any relevance was found except something that contradicted their original thought of the family that had resided in the house. It was a photo in a gold plated frame depicting both parents, a young girl and an older man; that older man was Marcus.
“This must’ve been his family home,” said Natalie holding out the picture frame. “I’m still learning new things about him. Then again, I don’t think I ever even knew him at all.”
Devlin, Heather and Leon chose to respond with only a sullen expression on their face and a nod sensing the impending shroud of betrayal that befell her, Natalie’s hands gripping the edges of the frame tighter.
They continued to look around and, finding nothing else, they returned to the ground floor approaching PC Richards.
“Find anything?” asked Natalie.
“No, but there was a photo-“ John stopped mid sentence at the sight of Devlin and Leon frantically shaking their heads knowing exactly what he was about to say. Confused, John added, “we found nothing.”
“I’m alright,” said Natalie assuring everyone that she could handle the situation even with her loved one at its centre. “What now?”
“You could come back to Bishops Stortford police station with us,” said John.
This was agreed and they left where Natalie remained silent for the entire journey.
Hertfordshire had been affected just as London had; evidence of fires, the people wandering the streets, some with limbs missing, that were sure to be members of the undead posse, the streets a river of blood and a scene of true torture and fear.
On arrival, they were met by another armed officer that was manning the gate. He checked each vehicle asking the occupants if anyone had been injured o
r come into direct contact with any zombie fluid. After a brief conversation with John, he was satisfied that Natalie and company where safe to enter.
This officer interrupted the motion beam that allowed the gates to open having swiped his county warrant card and the vehicles entered parking in the two remaining bays.
This is a crowded yard, thought Natalie.
“They must be having problems with their gate,” Leon suggested pointing out the deliberate interruption of the beam performed by the officer on guard.
“Well, it’s unlikely anybody will be on call to come out and fix it now, isn’t it?” said Natalie.
In the back yard, there were a number of people, mixed males and females, smoking and sitting on the bench areas provided for people with the habit. Some remained stood due to lack of seating but all looked worn down.
Natalie knew these individuals were some of the survivors John had spoken about, perhaps stereotyping but it was obvious. They wore the clothes they had ironed and washed beforehand as they prepared for their day ahead only to come face to face with the effects of the biological outbreak. Their clothes had become torn and muddied, likely to have been caused when they scrambled away from one of the predators, and blood adorned most.
The blood almost certainly didn’t belong to them, Natalie surmised, as the officer on guard is likely to have strict orders not to let the infected in regardless of who that person might be – police officer, public or even John himself.
This group shared the unshaven appearance and the matted hair style as if it was the latest trend but they knew that they had little choice in the matter.
The survivors stared at the new arrivals as they walked from the vehicle to the main building. It was as if they were trying to sum them up, maybe guess their purpose and why they had come to what they know as home.
Many of the group shook their heads in disapproval which was unbelievable to Natalie. You have been taken to a place of safety and you shake your head at me, she thought wanting to have a stern chat to the lot of them. She knew that this was neither the time nor the place, and it certainly wasn’t proportionate to do so. Highly stressful situations cause people to react in strange ways at times and Natalie recalled her experience of when she delivered death messages and how they each reacted differently.
