British Zombie Breakout: Part Three

by Peter Salisbury

  'That doesn't really tell us a lot, they could be mercenaries,' Douglas Hodgeson said.

  The PM was keen to stick to practicalities. 'Before we start talking global, let's begin at the guys with wine-making equipment and an airing cupboard. How long would it take to make a 'useful' amount?'

  'In a few days, they'd have enough to do plenty of damage, assuming they have any idea what they're doing.'

  'Twenty-four, forty-eight hours before people start getting infected?'

  'If it's that sort of outfit, they'll be infected within minutes of opening the phial. Multiple zombies will be running around within seventy-two hours.'

  The Prime Minister gave a weary sigh. 'That gives us a bit of lee-way, then, especially as no-one has claimed responsibility and outside this room no-one with access to the media knows anything about it.'

  'Assuming no-one does admit being behind it, what do you propose?'

  The PM looked across at the Foreign Secretary before answering. 'It will be a case of approaching each government independently but all pretty much at the same time. To prevent global panic they'll have to be reminded that this requires a firm lid to be kept on it.'

  'I'll see to the translation work as soon as you've prepared the message. Native-speaking linguists will be on hand to go over the wording for any possible misunderstandings.'

  'And I'll get moving on production of the ZDTs and vaccine,' Professor Mason said. 'I've an unpleasant feeling we'll be needing both, especially the latter.'

  Chapter 10: If It Wasn't You, Who Did Do It?

  Negotiations on the theft of the zombie virus were conducted via top secret channels. Appeals went out to every government in every country, to return the phial of virus intact. Other than polite and reserved responses, along with the assurance that no British citizen was to be welcomed anywhere else on the planet, not a single admission of guilt was forthcoming. After diplomatic means had failed to turn up the whereabouts of the virus, the idea that it was any sort of government sponsored initiative was dismissed. Meanwhile, preparations were put underway to deal with the inevitable outbreak of zombieism.

  Officially, all information about the theft of the virus was suppressed. No mention of it reached a single news desk. If it had done, it would have been jumped on immediately, as all governments had agreed that it would cause mass panic. Some governments were reluctant at first, seeing an opportunity to score further points against the UK. However, they realised that until the location of the terrorists was known, it was quite possible their own country could be the very one harbouring the cell.

  Professor Mason's seventy-two hour deadline passed without event. Vaccine production was ramped up further but behind-the-scenes tension increased by the hour.

  'From what you said before, Mason,' the PM said in a private meeting at his home, 'the longer this carries on without seeing stray zombies wandering around, the less likely it is that some amateurish outfit is involved.'

  Albert Mason gave a heavy sigh, his concerned expression reflected in the deep polish of the mahogany table which stood between the two men. 'That's the way I see it. If the people who took the phial weren't highly skilled professionals, we'd be looking at multiple zombies by now.'

  'So what do you think is going on?'

  'I can think of a number of scenarios…' the professor paused to clear his thoughts.

  'Continue.'

  'With no zombie sightings at this point, it is virtually certain that the virus is being kept in a biologically contained area.'

  'And is that good or bad?'

  'It's good because there'd be less opportunity for an unplanned release of virus but…'

  'I thought that was coming.'

  'But that would mean a larger amount is being produced.'

  'That would be most unfortunate.'

  'Indeed, though there are other possibilities. It could be this is a well-funded operation and the virus is being produced in a safe manner.'

  'A government funded operation, then.'

  'Not necessarily. Something small scale and out of the way but properly run. It could be completely contained in another building, a warehouse, say.'

  'And that could be set up without anyone outside the group knowing about it?' The PM sounded doubtful.

  'Piecemeal over the months since the first outbreak. Yes, that would be possible.'

  'What other scenarios are there?'

  'That, as I think you most suspect, a government is running this and keeping it very quiet. Or it could be a commercial operation.'

  'A commercial operation?'

  'There are plenty of company-owned biological research facilities around.'

  The PM scratched his head. 'But what on earth could a company gain by making zombie virus.'

  'It could be they're not making virus at all, they simply wanted the virus to develop a vaccine.'

  'If only I could believe that was the case.'

  'That would absolutely be the best possible scenario: a properly handled vaccine production facility.'

  'Indeed, Mason. There's only one problem with that. We already have one!'

  'The vaccine is something we've kept to ourselves, though, isn't it?'

  'I see what you mean. They're hoping to make a vaccine they can sell to us.'

  'Exactly. It would make sense if they had no idea we have one already.'

  'Well,' the PM allowed himself a rare moment of levity, 'they'll be out of luck on that score.'

  By the evening of the fifth day since the theft from Breathedeep, there was still no sign of either the phial or of rampaging zombies. Tensions were running so high that a number of governments had massed armed troops at strategic locations. Some were preparing for defence against a major outbreak, others readying for attack on a neighbouring state suspected of having the virus. Privately, accusations and counter-accusations were flying between world leaders.

  'Someone has got to be lying to us!' the PM said in exasperation. 'For that virus to be kept under control this long, it has to be in a government facility.'

  Six days after the theft of the virus, the impasse was broken when a remote village was treated to an explosion of zombieism. It was as though the whole village had been infected simultaneously. It may well have been, with the virus in the inept hands of members of the terrorist cell under cover there. When a lorry driver turned up badly mauled on his return from a routine call to pick up produce, the alarm was raised.

  'Albert?' Douglas Hodgeson said. 'Are you on your own?'

  'Yes, what's happened?'

  'The only reason I'm not having to deliver this message in person is that this is a fully encrypted hard-wired line.'

  'Yes, and?'

  'This has come direct from the PM.'

  'Douglas, the message!'

  'Zombie Alert Status has just hit level six.'

  'ZAS six? Tell me it's not a strike on a city.'

  'That's about the only good news, it's a remote community.'

  'It's not been weaponised? There's no big facility?'

  'No, it's a smallish village miles from anywhere.'

  'How many?'

  'Couple of hundred people maybe.'

  'After six days, they'll all be infected. What a mess.' The professor scratched his head, his mind moving into high gear. 'Has it spread beyond the village?'

  'That we're not completely certain of.'

  'Who's dealing with it?'

  'We are. I told you that you'd be needed to sort this out.'

  'So you did.'

  Chapter 11: Village of Death

  Ten members of a group calling themselves The New World Commandos gathered in a hut at the edge of a remote village. They'd changed out of their flight suits into khakis after parachuting into the village an hour before dawn. After daybreak, they crowded into what they called the radio room. The hut had a tin roof over walls of hollow concrete bricks. All the men were aged between twenty-five and thirty-nine, and they prided themselves on their fitness and training.


  Dubois, the leader, put down his headset. 'The plane has been ditched.'

  'I love your plans, man.' A rangy, ex-military figure said. He had a blond crew cut and a South African accent. 'No one will ever find us until it's too late.'

  'But the villagers here don't like us, Sven.'

  'Zac, is the second generator working yet?' Dubois said, turning to a stocky man with curly black hair. He was the only one to have remained behind while the others were away in England.

  'It's doubled their water supply, already.'

  'Yeah, what more do they want?' Sven said.

  'Apart from to be rid of us, not much.'

  'Most of them don't even notice, it's only that trouble-making chief.'

  'He's a useful man to deal with,' Dubois said, holding up his hand and rubbing his thumb against his fingers in the universal gesture for ready money. 'And the rest of them do what he says.'

  The men emptied out into the main living area, along the side of which was a row of camp beds, each with its own neat stash of clothing and equipment.

  'Man, I hate these camp chairs,' Sven said, slapping the dust off one before sitting down.

  'Tough,' Dubois said. 'Because you, George, Zac and Connor are waiting it out here.'

  'Aw, man…'

  Dubois gave Sven a dismissive look. 'Tank, you did a good job in London but I need you to take off now with the rest of the guys. Use the big truck and leave it at the usual place. Consider yourselves paid off, until you hear from me about Phase Two.'

  'What's that boss?'

  Dubois gave him a tight smile. 'I'll tell you when you need to know.'

  Tank nodded, knowing nothing more would be forthcoming. He gathered his kit and made sure the men in his group had their papers ready, so they could quickly disperse once they'd got to the city. As he opened the heavy wooden door, Tank gave Dubois a snappy salute. 'See ya later, boss,' he said with a grin before shutting the door behind him.

  Dubois turned to a tall, nervous-looking man in his early thirties. 'George, how long?'

  Running a bony hand through his sandy hair, George nodded towards the sealed packing crates stacked neatly at the bottom end of the shed, an area they'd designated as 'the lab'.

  'Bout a day to set up properly, prime the system, get it equilibrated, couple of days after that.'

  'OK, let's get those cases cracked open. Dix is arriving in three days to check on progress.'

  Sven laughed. 'Dix?'

  'You think he's going to use his real name?' Dubois said. 'Now move it, we've got work to do.'

  George supervised the unpacking of a kit of small-scale biotech glassware and plastic tubing. Referring to the screen of his laptop, he sterilised the parts and experimented with fitting them together on a makeshift table lashed up from the packing cases, until he was satisfied the setup looked correct. Finally, he introduced the components of the growth medium.

  'Man, what's the gloop for?'

  George gave Sven a patient look. 'Goes in the fermenter. Got to feed the little blighters, or they won't grow.'

  'Blighters?' Connor said, lighting a cigarette.

  'You know, the bugs,' George patted his breast pocket.

  'He means the virus,' Dubois added.

  'Couple of hours for this gear to settle down, then it'll be time to add the magic ingredient.' George took out the phial of virus and placed it next to the part he'd referred to as the fermenter.

  'It's so small, man. Are you sure there's enough.'

  'Plenty.'

  'You sure you know what you're doing?'

  George gave a rare smile. 'Just following the instructions on the box. Say, has Zac got the food ready yet? I'm starving.'

  Zac's dinner proved to be more appetising than what the virus had to live on and after clearing his plate, Sven belched loudly before passing round a flask of brandy. Only Dubois didn't take any of it.

  Connor set up a collapsible table and dealt out cards while Dubois opened an expensive-looking bottle of wine and Sven topped up his flask.

  'Why'd you bother with the flask, Sven,' George said, taking his chair to the table.

  Sven laughed, 'Tastes better, man.'

  After an hour, George got up from the game and went to check his equipment. 'It's started,' he said on his return.

  'This had better work, after what we went through to get it,' Sven said.

  'I thought those kids might be trouble,' Connor said.

  'Good move leaving them behind.'

  'Dubois, didn't you say that minister guy was hoping we'd dispose of them for him.'

  'We were paying him, not the other way around. It wasn't any part of a deal I made.'

  'You reckon the accents fooled them?'

  'Guess so,' Connor said. 'I heard they didn't like Tank's taser.'

  'Dubois, you still not saying who put up the money?'

  'Not today,' Dubois said, lighting a cigarette and tapping it with his finger.

  'Nor tomorrow, I shouldn't wonder,' Sven grumbled as he picked up his cards.

  The next day, the men spent their time smoking, training and waiting for the virus to grow.

  On the evening of the following day, they sat around playing poker as usual.

  'What's up, George?' Sven said. 'Bad hand?'

  George's face twitched and he showed his teeth. 'Nothing, mind your own business.' His voice was almost a snarl.

  'Alright, man, take it easy, just you usually got such a poker face.'

  'Must be the heat,' George said, getting up, rubbing his fingers and flexing his hands. He went as far as the lab, then sat back down again with a fresh pack of cigarettes.

  When Sven won three times in a row, followed by Connor winning twice, George threw down his cards. He stood up, sending his chair tumbling over, and shouted, 'You guys are cheating!'

  Sven leapt to his feet. 'Cheat. I don't cheat over peanuts like this.' He threw over the card table and his lips drew back in a hideous grimace.

  George and Sven flew at each other, not with fists but with teeth and nails.

  Dubois looked on in horror, reaching for the pistol he always kept handy. Before he could act, Zac let off a shot in the direction of the fight. George and Sven continued as if nothing had happened, having worked themselves into such a frenzy that Zac had missed both of them. Before Dubois could stop him, Zac fired again.

  The second shot missed as well but was accompanied by the sound of shattering glassware.

  Chapter 12: Zombies Turn Up The Heat

  Neither Professor Mason nor Commander Hodgeson had planned a trip overseas in the near future. Nevertheless, that's exactly where they found themselves. The government of the unfortunate country concerned decided to use its own security force, vehicles and protective clothing. On a flight which took them halfway around the world, Professor Mason quizzed his friend about tactics.

  'The plan, Albert, is to encircle the village, move in, then take down and inoculate as many zombies as possible.'

  'If the local troops are handling things, why are we here?'

  'It has been reluctantly agreed that we're the two highest qualified individuals for dealing with a zombie crisis.'

  'You mean if the whole thing blows up in their faces, we'll be on hand to bail them out.'

  'Something like that.'

  Hodgeson and Mason's plane landed on a strip of tarmac which stretched from one horizon to the other, with red sand on either side of it as far as the eye could see. The inland road between two cities had been closed 'for major road works', leaving a coastal road connecting them. Before landing, the plane had flown over the affected village, which, even from several hundred feet looked to be in a state of total disarray. They also saw the mass of troops, already in circular formation, waiting for the order. The two Brits exited the plane and took up station at an air-conditioned mobile command module, inside which they were surrounded by remote camera feeds and communication equipment.

  'So, we monitor from here.' Albert Mason sa
id. 'I hope they've got a couple of interpreters on hand.'

  'I'm assured they do. All we have to do is watch what happens and advise. Whether they act on our advice or not is another matter.'

  Albert scanned the monitors showing a satellite view and views of the village from four sides through telephoto lenses. 'This is unlikely to be pleasant.'

  'Always the way.'

  A loudspeaker in the heavily armoured command vehicle relayed an unintelligible order, which was quickly followed in English.

  'They're off,' Hodgeson said, leaning back to be able to watch all the monitors at the same time, as a number of armoured vehicles broke from the camouflage where they had been concealed under cover of darkness.

  What they hadn't bargained for was the effect of higher temperatures on the ferocity of the zombies. As soon as the zombies saw the troops approaching, they rushed to the attack, using up every round of ammunition they had. The troops responded in kind on the assumption that it was only the terrorist zombies who were in possession of firearms.

  After several minutes the zombies stopped firing as they ran out of ammunition. Realising the guns were no longer useful, they charged at the troops with whatever sharp or heavy implements were to hand. The troops at that point were ordered to switch to 'non-lethal' rounds.

  'You didn't tell me they'd be using plastic bullets.'

  'In a way that's down to you. The government here was reluctant to kill any more of its citizens after the terrorists had been taken out.'

  'How's that down to me?'

  'Because since your discovery of the vaccine, it's no longer the only option to kill the poor zombiefied blighters.'

  Professor Mason's smile in response was short-lived. 'No, no!' he said. 'Doug, this is awful. It's worse than shooting the poor devils dead.'

  Unfortunately, the non-lethal rounds had the effect of causing far more damage to the zombies than would have been the case with uninfected humans. When a zombie was hit with a plastic round, it became even more enraged, especially as an arm or leg had most likely been partially or wholly blasted off by the impact on the disease weakened body. Regretfully, impacts on the torso were as damaging, causing extensive internal as well as external injuries. As the battle progressed, there was a terrible toll of body parts strewn around the fighting perimeter. The outcome was almost the same as if the village had been subject to a rocket attack.