When There's No More room In Hell: A Zombie Novel

by Luke Duffy

  “So then,” Ian turned to Zaid as they both sat tucking into their rations. “How does it feel being on the business end of one of your IEDs then?”

  Zaid looked at him blankly, understanding nothing that had just been said to him.

  Hussein, chewing a large chunk of tuna, spoke for him. “He doesn’t speak much English, Mr Ian.”

  “Okay then,” Ian turned on Hussein with venom in his voice. “Well, what did you think of it? You've probably planted plenty of the fuckers but never been on the receiving end. It’s a shame none of you were killed, so you would know how it feels to lose a friend in one.”

  Hussein had stopped chewing, his eyes glanced down at his feet and for a moment Ian thought he would not reply.

  Then he spoke. “Mr Ian, we have lost many friends too. My brother was killed in an attack from American helicopters who took him and his friends for terrorists planting a bomb by a road; they were actually repairing a water pipe. The helicopters fired rockets and machinegun bullets into them and there was very little for us to bury after that.

  “I have lost other friends too, Mr Ian. Friends that had nothing to do with what I did, and some have been killed by private contractors such as you.”

  “Ian,” Yan was standing with a cup in his hand and staring at him. “Leave it mate. We've all had a belly full of this war and suffered our own losses. The world has changed dramatically in recent weeks, and these lads are willing to work with us instead of against us. They did okay today and we've a long way to go, so we may as well let the past be.”

  “Yan is right, Ian,” Sini looked over from the back of his vehicle as he continued to unload boxes of ammunition. “They may be cunts, but they're our cunts.”

  Everybody burst into laughter, including Marcus and Jim who had been standing off to the side sharing a coffee and studying a map. Even Zaid laughed, though it was doubtful that he understood much of what was said.

  Marcus steered them towards a town named Zakho to the west of Dihok, just a few kilometres east of the border. They bypassed Kirkuk and took the lesser roads that led them North between the two large northern cities of Erbil, and Mosul.

  All three were major cities and densely populated. Everybody in the team knew that they would be nothing more than a seething mass of the dead and infected by now. With the tightly packed streets and narrow roads, the populations would’ve been quickly overcome with the virus and the dead would’ve multiplied at an incredible rate.

  Most of the route was flanked with hilly scrubland and open desert with very little in the way of populated areas. The largest urban districts were nothing more than hamlets and farm complexes made from mud bricks and corrugated iron.

  The call sign had no reason to stop. They spotted people watching them from around corners of buildings and walls, usually children, frightened and hoping that Marcus and his men were not going to be stopping to rape and loot, as no doubt others had done in some areas.

  Marcus’ main concern was to reach the border area before nightfall and find a lie up position where they could rest and, at the same time, get visual confirmation on the crossing point and plan their next move from there.

  On a secluded stretch of desert road that would normally have seen no more than ten vehicles per day, the convoy came upon the rear of a mass of people headed north; live people. They were refugees, no doubt having walked from Mosul or Erbil and now headed for the border as well.

  They saw the approaching convoy, they turned and pleaded with Marcus and his team to take them, to give them food and water. The wretched mob looked starved and close to collapse, but Marcus and his men couldn’t do anything for them. If they helped one, they would have to help them all and their supplies were limited.

  Instead, the drivers had to gently push their way through the crowd, using their bumpers to nudge them aside, blowing their horns and waving the refugees out of the way.

  The noise of the mass pleading and hammering at the windows and against the sides of the vehicles began to unnerve the men inside. With a concerted effort, it could’ve been possible for the crowd to have climbed up onto the vehicles and maybe overpower the team.

  Marcus ordered the turrets to be mounted. “Use your pistols if anyone climbs up, fire warning shots first.” He added the last part after he caught Hussein’s eye.

  There had been hundreds of the refugees and it took a lot of pushing and shoving with the vehicles before they made it through, leaving them behind to survive or die on the road.

  It was getting late and the team was approaching the foothills that led up to the ridge line overlooking the border crossing point, west of Zakho, situated roughly four kilometres to the North. They had made the journey in one day as planned, regardless of the problems along the way. They had done well and the strain was starting to show.

  Sini, Jim and Yan were starting to struggle with the vehicles as fatigue overcame them. The last thing they needed was to be killed in a road traffic accident due to someone falling asleep at the wheel.

  They found a piece of dead ground a few hundred metres along a narrow dirt track that led away from the main road and into the foothills. They had cover from view and it was easily defendable from attack. Marcus doubted that there would be many people travelling that area anyway, especially at night. It was off the beaten track and secluded enough to allow them the chance to relax and recuperate.

  Marcus and Stu both wanted to get a look at the border before it was too dark. The rest of the team would stay in the dead ground and refuel the vehicles from the jerry cans and clean and oil the weapons and replenish the ammunition, while Marcus and Stu would head out and try to find a track that would lead them up to the top of the ridge.

  “Mr Marcus, let me come with you,” Hussein said as he stepped forward.

  Stu huffed, “Why would you want to come with us?”

  “If we are going to be working together, then we need to see how you do things. I don’t want us to be just passengers, Mr Stu. We will do all we can to earn our place with you.”

  Marcus nudged Stu. “He’s got a point, Stu, let him come along.” He nodded to Hussein and moved back to his vehicle to collect his weapons and assault vest.

  An hour later and Marcus, Stu and Hussein were walking along the ridge line toward a point that would give them the best view of the border. What they saw disheartened them. The border itself followed the line of the river Nahr Al Khabur that formed a natural barrier between the two countries, with bridges and control points in key areas.

  The main crossing point consisted of a large terminal complex that spanned a wide area on the Iraqi side of the border, with buildings and warehouses and open spaces for large trucks and cargo to be stored or unloaded and checked before being allowed to cross.

  Two bridges spanned the river leading into Turkey. They were now blocked off with huge concrete barriers and upturned cars to block anyone or anything from crossing. At the Southern point of the bridges was a large chain link fence, topped with rolls of barbed wire.

  On the Turkish side, they could see a large number of tanks and men occupying defensive positions that covered the bridge; anyone who approached would be obliterated before even reaching the fence.

  Beyond the defensive line, about ten kilometres to the North, as he peered through his binoculars, Marcus could see helicopters taking off and landing. Obviously a reaction force of gunships, no doubt in case anything more of a threat than the refugees and infected turned up that the ground units couldn’t handle without air support; the Iraqi Army still had a lot of units in the field and many had probably gone rogue by now and would be looking to save themselves.

  Blackened cars and trucks littered the roads approaching the bridge and gate area. Thousands of bodies, many of which had probably been living healthy people before they were mowed down, covered every inch of tarmac and asphalt.

  As they peered through their binoculars, they saw the swarms of infected that travelled West along the road coming from the
direction of Zakho. A large black throng of bodies were steadily making their way toward the crossing point. Marcus thought it would be interesting to see how the Turks reacted to the crowd, but they couldn’t wait around to satisfy their morbid curiosity. Judging by the amount of armour and the helicopter gunships, it would more than likely be a one sided fight anyway.

  “Well, that's a no go,” Stu sighed. “What we gonna do now buddy?” He turned to look at Marcus, hoping he had other ideas and options in mind.

  “Fucked if I know, Stu. I hadn't really thought past this part. And I didn't expect the border crossing to be so strongly defended, but we should’ve frigging known it would be. I think we were just trying to be optimistic mate.” He smiled at Stu.

  To Stu, it looked more like the resigned smile of a man who had done what he could and could do no more.

  “There must be another way.”

  “Maybe there is,” Hussein said. “What about moving further West along the river?”

  Stu scoffed, “And where to, Syria?”

  “No, I mean just a little further along than where we are. Iraq has thousands of unofficial border crossing points. It is a country that is pretty much landlocked except for Basrah in the South. How do you think we got most of our weapons that we used against you?

  “Yes, AK47s were easy to get here, but what about the Russian made shaped charge explosives, and the Stinger missiles and French anti-tank weapons? They were all brought across the borders with Iran, Turkey, Jordan, Saudi and Syria. Smuggled in goods vehicles or ferried through un-surveyed crossing points, or even brought in under the noses of the Turkish and Iraqi Army guards that manned the smaller crossing points all along the country.”

  “Where did you find this bloke, Marcus?”

  “I'm not sure mate, but he's proving useful.” He turned to Hussein. “Do you know of any crossing points up here in the North?”

  “Sorry, I do not. But there will be many. They're normally close to small villages and towns that face each other on both sides of the border.”

  “Ah, that makes sense,” Stu added. “We may as well go firm for the night and push out, paralleling the river at first light. What do you think?”

  The three of them returned to the rest of the group and informed them of what they had seen at the border and the plan for the next day.

  The weapons had been cleaned and Sini and Yan had started a small fire in the centre of the vehicles. For a while, they all sat and discussed the options in front of them, studying maps and aerial photographs, looking for villages close by the river that they thought would hold a crossing point.

  They saw one that looked feasible. It was roughly fourteen kilometres West of the main crossing point at Zakho. The village on the Iraq side didn't even seem to have a name, but the one directly opposite, in Turkey, was called Ovakoy.

  It was nothing more than a cluster of farm houses, close to an area where the river was relatively narrow. They saw no bridge on the maps or the photos, but they did notice what looked like tracks that led down to the water’s edge and continued on the other side.

  “Man that has to be a crossing, maybe a ford. But you can bet your arse that it'll be guarded. Whether the Turkish government knew of it before or not, they probably do now and they aint gonna leave it open for them dead fucks to just waltz across.” Jim, with a smouldering cigarette between his lips, was leaning over Ian’s shoulder staring at the aerial photograph he was studying.

  “Yeah, thanks for that, Jim. Do you mind pulling your cigarette outta my fucking ear now?”

  Hussein, Zaid and Ahmed, the third of the insurgent group, sat talking, sharing a mug of tea in the evening air. Their weapons were close by and ready to use; an indication, as far as Marcus and Stu were concerned, that either they were worried of being attacked by the team during the night, or anything else that approached. Or, it showed that they were experienced and disciplined and they took care of their weapons and they kept them within reaching distance.

  “What do you think the score is with them then? Do you think they're genuine?”

  “I dunno, Stu. To be honest, there's something about Hussein that I like. He speaks openly and says what he thinks. He doesn’t seem to mince his words, and in my book, that's always a good trait. Don't get me wrong though, the minute I suspect he will fuck us over, I’ll rip his throat out. I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?”

  The next morning, just as the sky began to brighten in the East and before the sun had risen above the horizon, everybody was in their positions and ready to move. Marcus decided to put the Iraqis in the driving seats, partly to free up people to man the guns and also to begin to test them out as members of the team. All the time, the vehicle commanders would be watching and keeping an eye on them.

  They headed West along dirt tracks that were barely visible except for the tyre prints of trucks that had travelled them in the past. There were no villages or farms between them and the possible crossing point and they expected to see no one along the route.

  Marcus was studying his GPS and guiding the lead vehicle along the tracks and paths. By mid morning they were approaching the village on the Iraqi side of the river. The village was a kilometre ahead of them with the ground rising slightly to their right, obscuring their view of the river that lay just five hundred metres to the North.

  He knew that just South of the village would be a crossroads where they would need to turn right to pass through the hamlet and onto the bank of the river facing Ovakoy. They were completely in the dark about what the river would be like. They didn't even have any information about the village and Ian had recommended that they stop short and send out a reconnaissance patrol to have a look at the crossroads and village before they moved any closer.

  The team went static and everyone gathered around Marcus for a quick set of orders on what needed to be done.

  “Stu, Ian and Yan, you three will push forward and conduct the recon. Take Ahmed with you in case you need an interpreter. His English isn’t the best, but he does seem to understand most of what's being said.”

  Ahmed smiled, “Thank you.” He actually seemed genuinely pleased to be counted as a member of the team.

  Marcus nodded to him in acknowledgement and continued speaking to the rest. “Don't push into the village. Just get eyes on. The main thing I want to know is if it’s occupied or not, and if it is, by who? Also, don’t get carried away and decide to approach the river. We’ll do that once we have a decent position that we can lie up in and defend if need be.”

  Everybody understood what needed to be done and after a quick chat between Stu, Ian, Yan and Ahmed, they were ready to move and pushed West toward the junction.

  Two hours later they returned, informing them that the village was deserted – devoid of both the living and infected. They had crossed the junction and pushed a kilometre further to the West to ensure that there were no other buildings in the area or roaming infected. They reported that they had seen neither.

  Happy with their findings, Marcus decided that they would move up to the junction and form a defensive position just to the East of it, with the vehicle-mounted machineguns covering the approach routes and continuing to use the upward sloping ground to their right as cover from the river and anyone who may be watching from the other side.

  Once in position, they began preparing for the next reconnaissance patrol. The task was to get an idea of what the river and crossing point consisted of directly North of the village. Marcus wanted to lead the patrol himself, not that he didn't trust the others to do the job properly, but because he wanted a clear picture in his mind of what they were up against to help him form a plan.

  Marcus and Ian crept through the village, contouring the slope as closely as possible so that they didn't expose themselves in the open. Hussein and Stu followed at the rear. The four of them pushed up to a position where they had an over watch on the river and opposite bank. They lay along a raised irrigation ditch and observed the scene.

/>   In front of them, just a couple of hundred metres away, were motionless bodies all along the road. Civilians and soldiers lay mangled and twisted together where they had been mowed down by machineguns as they approached the river.

  Some had lain dead for as long as a week from what Marcus could tell. Their bodies had blackened in places, and as the gases inside them expanded in the heat of the sun, the bodies had bloated, forming grotesque inflated lumps of rotting flesh with limbs sticking out erect from their bodies.

  There were a number of vehicles, filled with bullet holes, with shattered glass, burst tyres and dead occupants, littering the sides of the track.

  Even a burnt out tank lay close to the river, its gun pointing to the ground like a dying monster. The presence of a destroyed tank indicated that there were more than just armed guards on the far side.

  “Fuck, there must be an anti-tank unit over there at least, maybe even another tank,” Ian didn't sound too pleased about the prospect of having to go up against armour.

  “There,” Stu pointed to an area two hundred metres beyond the river and slightly to the right of the track, “looks like a T-72, and it’s dug in.”

  The barrel was pointed straight at the spot where the track disappeared into the river. It had moved into a ‘hull-down’ position that left just its turret visible above an embankment of dirt that surrounded it, acting as a layer of protection.

  A hundred metres further back from the tank, just below the brow of a small hill and to the left they saw a heavy machinegun position. The weapon was a Dushka 12.7 mm heavy machinegun. Even though their vehicles were armoured, just the Dushka on its own could chew them up without much effort, even without the tank.

  “Shit, this doesn’t look good at all does it? We could always cross on foot further downstream, but we need the vehicles if we want to stand a chance of getting anywhere.” Marcus was thinking out loud.

  “I'm not going anywhere without the vehicles mate,” Ian stated.

  There looked to be roughly twenty men manning different positions beyond the river. Whoever had sighted the positions, though, lacked experience. They were placed in a linear formation with all their fields of view concentrated on the East and the crossing point. From what could be seen, they had paid no attention to their flanks whatsoever.