Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

  All four occupants were dead within the first fortnight, but James Craven was never found by the rescue services as they searched for survivors when the snow stopped.

  'The Raven' had risen from his bed and now stood in Partick, a suburb of Glasgow, overlooking the River Clyde, his followers streaming towards the coast in search of any ship or boat which could take them across the North Sea to Europe.

  'The Raven' had the same evil carbuncle above his left ear and his new- found ESP put him in contact with 'The Rook' and the others.

  The others?

  There were four others – six in total including 'The Rook'.

  All had experienced similar fates and had now risen to control the growing army of hungry disciples plodding relentlessly towards an infinite source of sustenance – Europe!

  There was Norman Crown in Stockport – 'The Crow', whose parakeet had pecked off his ears.

  There was Roberta Sterling in Walthamstow – 'The Starling', whose Mynah bird had fed on her fingers as she lay frozen on her kitchen floor. Roberta had been a young student at the LSE, living on her own with only her small bird to keep her company in the third floor flat she called home. After she froze to death, her only visitor was her landlady’s Persian cat.

  There was Barry Booth – or Bazza to his friends, living in Brighton – 'The Buzzard'. He taught at a small primary school in Hove and often took in his Australian ‘Galah’ talking bird to excite the young children in his class. Barry had made it into school on that first morning and had huddled together with three of his young charges whose parents had been unable to return and secure their rescue. As each child died, he laid them out mournfully in a separate classroom. He lasted a further four days with only the school moggy and his Galah for company.

  Finally, there was Henrietta Hawker – 'The Hawk' moving to Swansea when she was trapped by the snow. She was in her car, travelling from Torbay to her new home on the outskirts of the town. She became embroiled in a terrible traffic snarl up on the M4 and froze to death four hours after her fuel ran out, cutting off her heating and aircon. Her pet cat and the yellow Monk Parakeet travelling with her to Wales fed hungrily on Henrietta before perishing in their turn.

  Now all five of these plagued Zombies stood on high ground above the harbours nearest to their old homes, and communicated silently via the ESP swellings growing on what remained of their heads.

  'The Rook' linked with her lieutenants – for she was their General – demanding progress reports:

  ‘Are the cohorts prepared?’

  ‘Almost, leader. Many thousands await your command,’ answered 'The Hawk'.

  ‘We will wait until all preparations are complete. We shall overwhelm our enemies. Tens of thousands of our clan will fall upon the living and devour their civilisation. We shall wait until all is ready. Agreed?’

  'The Rook' received messages of approval and submission from her lieutenants and terminated the ESP connection.

  It resumed the watch over the harbour. Acute sensory perception enabled 'The Rook' to monitor, communicate with and control the thousands of zombies connected by the feline DNA running through their systems. Only 'The Rook' and her five deputies were blessed with the powers of ESP and leadership due to the psittacosis transmitted by the talking birds once considered to be valued pets.

  She knew every time one of her followers was killed by the enemy.

  She felt it.

  'The Rook' knew about the eleven killed near Ipswich.

  'The Rook' knew that the enemy was preparing itself.

  'The Rook' would be ready.

  Day 168

  Friday 31st May

  Bridgetown, Barbados

  Ann Fletcher was travelling on her third passport, as the Swiss Marie Poitier. Her rapid exit from the US Virgin Islands via Tortola had gone smoothly enough, and she was now considering the options for a secure future. She didn’t want to rush into fleeing to a destination which was within the influence of the Americans and the British. She had been unable to contact Chloe since the warning message had arrived earlier in the week; however, she assumed, correctly, that Chloe was also on the run. What she didn’t know that Chloe was now accompanied by her father. That fact would have irritated her immensely and would have probably greatly influenced her next move.

  However, she didn’t have any idea of Chloe’s plans. She had sent a coded message on their secure e-mail account from an obscure internet café in Bridgetown. There had been no reply to her request for information as yet, and Ann assumed that Chloe was unable to access the internet securely as she travelled. She would catch up with her eventually.

  What she also didn’t know was that Dame Susan Macintyre was languishing in an American jail in Virginia.

  Six hours after Ann landed in Bridgetown, the CIA raided the villa on the USVI and arrested Suzi. They seized documents and cash and immediately flew the runaway to Langley by private jet. The boyfriend was cast aside after an extensive interview, proving him to be a worthless lothario with little intellect or involvement in the conspiracy, other than using Suzi for sex, drugs and cash. The CIA let the local police deal with him.

  The property was turned upside down, but nothing implicating Ann or her two aliases was discovered. Suzi had been interrogated at length and after a token resistance had spilled the beans. She revealed the full story of Ann’s duplicity and only avoided involvement in the murders of Carol Leslie and Richard Castle by digging deep into the reserves of character and deceit built up over years of service at GCHQ.

  In short, she blamed Ann, putting her in the car and firing the gun. If the truth be known, although Ann hadn’t actually been there, she had planned the murders and may as well have pulled the trigger herself.

  Nevertheless, the British wanted Suzi back in Europe and she was awaiting extradition. However, she had a great deal of cash in accounts that the Americans couldn’t touch, and after engaging a top firm of lawyers, she accessed enough funds to allow them to embark on a series of delaying tactics. It would be many months at least before Suzi travelled east to meet her pursuers in Breton.

  However, she was refused bail and spent her time in solitary confinement in one of the CIA holding annexes.

  The good life was well and truly over for Dame Susan Macintyre, who, to make it worse had contracted a nasty dose of gonorrhoea from her erstwhile lover-boy.

  When it rains, it pours!

  ***

  Meanwhile, in Bridgetown, Ann Fletcher considered the future.

  Clearly, the tentacles of a combination of US and UK security services had left no stone unturned to discover her whereabouts – and had also traced Chloe to wherever she was hiding. Travelling back to the US or even near it was far too dangerous and it made sense to head for an Hispanic region or out to the Far East. Any English speaking country would present too many obstacles to build a secure future. It would take some careful consideration.

  So she decided to stay in Barbados, change her appearance, adopt a low profile and move on to somewhere less precarious in due course. There was far too much to lose to act hastily or incautiously at this stage. Ann was confident that Marie Poitier would be safe enough for a few more days.

  ***

  In the interim, Chloe and Brady – alias Kim Steyn and Peter Blindt – had departed St Kitts for Bridgetown and preceded her mother by only twenty-four hours. From there they travelled on a convoluted route via Panama City, Mexico City and Bogota in Colombia where they caught an Avianca flight to Madrid arriving in the early hours of Friday morning. The original plan to travel to Lisbon had been abandoned, as the most convenient flight went via Miami. Being in the US, that option was not to be advised at this stage!

  After a day in the Villa Real, a small, unobtrusive but exclusive boutique hotel, they hired a car and drove down to Cordoba and checked into the Hotel Cordoba Center. It was grim but innocuous. Here they made plans for a semi-permanent existence outside of the clutches of the US/UK Security Forces. In the final analysis,
they decided to blend in – hide in the open if you like - and travelled to the Costa Del Sol, to a small port named Cabopino. They hired a large private villa with a sea view and settled down to organise their short-term strategy. They also took a small apartment in the port to give themselves options.

  About a week later, around the seventh of June, they sat in Jorge’s Café and Bar in Cabopino harbour, supping enormous blue gins and tonic.

  ‘I think we've been damned lucky, Clo,’ commented Brady.

  ‘Yes, of course you are right. But, in my defence, it didn’t take long for me to realise my mistake. I was in the midst of preparing to escape from my mother. I'm just lucky that Mr Stewart came to our rescue. I'm also very grateful that you found me again. But, I'm not sure where we go from here? I'd like to see the Townsends again, but I'm not sure the Yanks will allow that. Even if Chris came here to see me, they would probably tail him. It's a quandary which may have no solution.’

  Brady smiled at his daughter.

  ‘I think you're probably correct, Clo. You may have to completely restart your life. Spain is not so bad. If you're bored with spending all your money, we could start a business. Open a bar – hell, we could buy this one! Anything is possible.’

  Chloe returned his smile, and sipped her third G & T.

  ‘On that subject, have you been following the news from back home?’

  Brady frowned.

  ‘Yes. But we can't go back there! They'd have us in a minute.’

  ‘But we are Dutch nationals. Couldn’t we just blend in?’

  Brady thought carefully before answering.

  ‘As I said before……anything is possible.’

  ***

  Meanwhile, Ann Fletcher – Marie Poitier, had also made a decision.

  She wasn’t inclined to travel to South America or the Far East – she hated oriental food! So, she decided to fly back to Europe. Then she had a brainwave and considered the possibility of a cruise. It would give her a couple of weeks to consider all of her options whilst relaxing on board. And then, whilst she was perusing the internet for suitable cruise lines – another option sprang up.

  A world cruise!

  Or at least, a partial world cruise.

  P & O’s ‘Aurora’ was calling at Bridgetown in ten days and she could travel through the Panama Canal, sail to Australia, Japan and Cape Town before heading up the coast of Africa to the Canary Islands. She could disembark in Gran Canaria and fly to mainland Spain until she was ready to settle.

  Yes – the ‘Aurora’ was a superb option. Although it annoyingly called at San Francisco and Hawaii, she would stay on board rather than go ashore in the US.

  She walked down to the reception desk in the hotel and asked for the address of a reputable travel agent. After she explained her intentions, the receptionist explained that the travel agent would be pleased to visit the hotel to take the booking.

  Two hours later, having persuaded the agent with a very large gratuity to pull some strings to obtain a suite, Ann had booked a Penthouse Suite and had parted with $132,000 plus tax and a 15% gratuity for her portion of the tour. She had also paid a premium for sailing without a partner, but it was chicken feed for Ann. It would give her the luxury and privacy she required.

  Ten days later she boarded at the Bridgetown Cruise Ship docks, stepping from her private limousine dressed to kill.

  She looked forward to three and a half months of relaxation and pampering.

  By the time she reached Gran Canaria, she would be more than ready for the fray. She would be ready for anything the British could throw at her.

  Day 171 / Z-Day 136

  Monday 3rd June

  Brussels, Belgium

  When the Chinook carrying the six SAS operatives and the eleven decapitated bodies arrived in Brussels airspace, it was vectored to a military compound on the outskirts of the city, avoiding all other aircraft and their flightpaths. The last thing anybody wanted was a mid-air collision with zombie body parts spraying down upon innocent Belgian citizens.

  A great deal of groundwork had been completed in the three days preceding the operation to capture more bodies for Professor Forbes to examine. A comprehensive decontamination centre had been rapidly constructed, attached to a converted military accommodation block.

  The extensive conversion and expensive resourcing took top priority.

  There was a landing area for the chopper surrounded by a four-metre high brick wall topped with razor wire. A dozen heavily armed guards patrolled externally on a twenty-four hour basis.

  Nobody – especially the press was gaining access here.

  As least, not yet – although the day to reveal the threat to all human civilisation was fast approaching. The Belgian Prime Minister had already been consulted and apprised of the situation.

  He was still in deep shock!

  The Chinook touched down and shut off its engines. A radio message was passed to the pilot:

  ‘You and your co-pilot and the six passengers are to remain on board whilst we decontaminate the exterior of the aircraft. It should take twenty minutes. Do not remove your protective clothing.’

  At that point, four fully protected decontam operators turned on fire hoses and sprayed the Chinook with steaming hot water. The residue flowed down to a grill under the centre of the helicopter and ran into a specially installed septic tank, which contained bleach and acid in the hope that any trace of zombie gore would be neutralised.

  On completion of this first stage, the aircrew received another message.

  ‘You are now clear to exit the aircraft. One at a time and you are follow your individual marshals who will direct you to a separate shower cubicle. Follow their instructions to the letter. Failure to do so will result in summary punishment!’

  Now even the pilot began to wonder in what just exactly he had become involved in.

  ‘Roger, control. I will exit first, followed by my co-pilot and then the SAS. Give me a minute to relay your instructions.’

  The ground commander acknowledged with a double blip on the radio.

  After the pilot explained the consequences of disobedience, he disembarked. The decontamination procedure was meticulous and comprehensive.

  A fully protected soldier with a pistol approached him and ushered him through a door, carefully keeping his distance. They walked up a narrow corridor lined with heavy-duty plastic sheeting and into a ‘wet room’. The pilot was instructed to stand in the middle of the room and await further instructions. He was to remain fully clothed.

  As the guide closed the door, jets of hot water laced with bleach beat down onto the pilot, and the wastewater ran away into the same septic tank. After ten minutes, the spray stopped and a tannoy instructed the pilot to strip naked and to place his clothing into a box situated in the corner and to seal it before returning to the centre of the room.

  After complying and closing the lid of the box, the pilot moved to the centre of the room and another command boomed out.

  ‘Use the carbolic soap to shower, sir.’

  The steaming hot jets commenced – minus bleach – and the pilot scrubbed for ten more minutes.

  When the water finally ceased, the orders continued:

  ‘In the second box are towels and a set of overalls, slippers and underwear. Please dry yourself and dress, replacing the towels into the same box and sealing it.’

  ‘Fuck me,’ thought the pilot. This is heavy stuff. They must be terrified of those dead bodies.’

  Nevertheless, he dried himself and dressed.

  His nervous, fully protected guide re-opened the door and beckoned the man out. He shuffled out of the shower and the armed guard directed him further up the corridor. The pilot glimpsed seven other armed guards standing in the corridor behind him. He walked about twenty metres and turned left ninety degrees into a new corridor. He was directed to a room at the end, and ordered to enter and shut the door.

  He complied without question and closed the door behind him. H
e heard it click shut as if a magnetic catch engaged. He was locked in. The ubiquitous tannoy burst into life once more:

  ‘Captain, stage one is complete. You will be confined for forty-eight hours and if you display no adverse symptoms or reaction to your exposure, you will be released and returned to your unit. There is a cooker, microwave oven, fridge and all of the food and drink, excepting alcohol that you might need. If you can't cook – it's time to learn. A TV with DVD player, newspapers, books and magazines will keep you occupied. Please be patient and try to endure as patiently as possible. Good luck. There will be no further communication for forty-eight hours.’

  The tannoy cut off and the pilot surveyed his new room. It was comfortable – a bit like an upmarket hotel room, with double bed, comfy chair, dining table and writing desk. The fridge was full of goodies but no alcohol. There was a closet with t-shirts and shorts to wear. A WC cubicle and shower was positioned in one corner.