Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

  It was 5pm when Lars decided to give up the search. He was hungry and thirsty. He had a half bottle of Laphraig in his pocket, but had resisted the temptation so far. He was walking down a narrow alleyway, surrounded by semi-collapsed structures, having more or less given up the search. He glanced left and right, occasionally catching sight of a decomposing corpse when, suddenly, he saw it.

  ***

  Arched out across a low-lying stone wall, jagged edges cutting into the pale skin, was Gunnar.

  He was almost naked, his clothing torn apart and blood was seeping from several nasty mutilated wounds.

  Lars knew for certain that it was Gunnar.

  He had a tattoo of a mermaid on his upper left arm, and even though the muscle was shredded, the blue etching was still visible. In addition, Gunnar’s sightless eyes stared skyward, and there was no mistaking his crewmate.

  Gunnar’s body was a sickening sight. His testicles and penis were just a gaping hole and he had been viciously disembowelled. There were what appeared to be bite marks all over his body and his throat had been torn out. A large split was visible across his skull and Lars reasoned that Gunnar had been struck by some sort of machete – and this might have been the cause of death.

  He certainly hoped so, because if whatever murdered Gunnar had fed on him whilst he was still conscious, it didn’t bear thinking about. Flies were buzzing around the body, feeding busily on the putrid flesh.

  Lars backed off involuntarily, quickly glancing left, right and behind him, worriedly searching for the persons who might be responsible for this outrage. He certainly didn’t want to be next. Clearly, there was nothing he could do for the ill-fated Gunnar, so he decided to get back to the trawler as quickly as his legs would carry him. He dropped the plastic bag carrying the six bottles of Scotch and ran for the boat. Lars sprinted wildly for about one hundred metres until he realised that he was temporarily lost. He stopped for a few seconds to regain his breath and to re-locate his position.

  He tried his best to calm his breathing, searching frantically up and down the alleyway for potential dangers. There were none. He walked a further ten paces and reached a sort of cross-alley and looked to his right. To his relief the trawler captain could see the harbour through the buildings, so he began to jog seawards. He was terrified and when he reached the trawler, Lars was shaking uncontrollably.

  He leapt onto the boat, scrambled down the ladder to the crewroom and screamed at his shipmates. One was cooking dinner and two were still snoozing:

  ‘Everybody out! Now!’ he shouted. ‘We sail in five minutes. Anders, Knut, Olaf….wake up and get your arses on deck. Helge – continue with the meal. We are getting out of here – now!’

  Lars rushed back up to the bridge and started the engines, whilst Anders and Olaf unfastened the ropes from the two bollards on the wharf and jumped back on deck, just in time, as Lars was wasting no time.

  The trawler clunked twice against the wharf before manoeuvring itself into clear water. Lars was still shaking when his crewmates climbed up to the wheelhouse:

  ‘What the fuck is going on Lars. Where is Gunnar?’

  Lars pulled no punches:

  ‘Gunnar is dead. We are going home…..something is very wrong back there!’

  ‘What do you mean Lars?’ cried Olaf.

  ‘It's too dangerous. If we stay here we will all certainly die?’

  The crewmen were getting annoyed by now and really quite alarmed.

  ‘Come on Lars, spit it out. What can be so bad? Everyone on land was dead.’

  Lars turned and stared at the three men:

  ‘No they aren't. There are people alive back there and they’ve murdered – butchered - Gunnar….they ate him…..there are fucking cannibals on that island!’

  Day 182 / Z-Day 147

  Friday 14th June – 1800 EST

  United Nations Building – New York

  The Secretary General was the last to arrive. It was a plenary session of the United Nations and every single nation on the planet was represented, including North Korea, Algeria, Libya, Somalia and Burma. All political leaders had been contacted and requested/instructed to attend. The inference in the missive from the Secretary General had been that a plague so contagious, so voracious, so virulent and with such horrendous symptoms resulting in certain death had been discovered, and that every nation, without exception, was at immediate risk.

  Of course, the usual suspects objected to being summoned to New York at such short notice, and several had sent senior representatives in their stead. It didn’t really matter as the entire session would be broadcast live on all worldwide TV and radio stations and Internet platforms. The press had been warned to expect world-shattering revelations and as the meeting commenced the people of planet earth stood on tenterhooks.

  The Secretary General had decided to deliver the address personally – to avoid any criticism of partiality. There would always be suspicious minds and politically based disbelief whatever the strength of the proof presented. It was important to convince the countries of the world that the plague was real and a genuine threat to human civilisation.

  So, at 6pm New York time, the UN Secretary General took his seat and commenced his address.

  The world listened in stunned silence.

  And then the firestorm began.

  Day 182 / Z-Day 147

  Friday 14th June

  Brussels

  Professor Forbes had been busy since the briefing in Brussels on the previous Wednesday. He had returned to the decontamination centre as soon as the meeting had closed, spending time examining the remains of the two prisoners whose heads had exploded with such sudden violence.

  Although not much remained of the skulls, at the autopsy he detected traces of the cysts evident in the previous mutants captured in the UK by the SAS.

  He was now convinced that the hordes of undead were definitely being controlled. Instructions were being passed by someone or something – as the massing of mutants in London, Brighton, Glasgow, Swansea and Manchester was more than just a coincidence. Forbes and his team had been studying imagery supplied by the US and had been searching painstakingly for a possible HQ. If he could find who was directing the mutants, then he could attempt to destroy them and thus slow up the attack on Europe – or even prevent it. He had instructed the analysts at Langley – CIA HQ – to make the search its ‘Number One’ priority. All resources were to be used to find a leader – or leaders - of the hordes. They had already counted almost 800,000 mutants on the UK mainland. There was also evidence of individuals crossing over from the Isle of Man, Isle of Wight and other Scottish islands to the mainland. Clear imagery of mutants emerging from the English Channel onto the beaches of southern England had been frequently recorded.

  This only served to emphasise Forbes hypothesis; that an attack from underwater mutants was entirely possible and increasingly probable.

  If the search for a leader or leaders was successful, then specific targeted and decisive air attacks could be made.

  However, the mutant controllers first needed to be found and exposed.

  Day 183 / Z-Day 148

  Saturday 15 June

  The entire globe was in uproar.

  Disbelief – shock – fear – cynicism, but most of all horror gripped the masses across the world.

  The story that the UN Secretary General had related was incredible, yet the evidence he had produced was compelling – and it was impossible to deny one inescapable truth.

  Why, in God’s name would he, the US President and many other notable leaders – including those of Russia and China deliberately put forward such an astounding hypothesis if it wasn’t true?

  What could they possibly hope to gain by thrusting the entire planet into panic and terror?

  Politics were clearly not an issue and it was a clear fact that the UK had been destroyed by the snow, so in the final analysis, everybody – political leaders, the press, pundits and eventually the general populace h
ad no choice but to accept the ‘facts’ as they had been presented.

  When this barrier of acceptance had been breached, and the reality of the crisis had been conceded, then the panic slowly began to surface.

  The inhabitants of western France, Belgium and Holland viewed themselves as ‘cannon fodder’ on the ‘front line’ and the first tranche of ‘evacuees’ began the long journey eastwards. The populace was overtaken by mass hysteria – and despite being advised by their political masters to stay in their homes, they packed up their belongings and set off for imagined safer ground.

  This resulted in tremendous traffic snarl-ups and within forty-eight hours, all of the main transport arteries heading east were at a standstill. The police became involved and the difficult process of returning people to their homes began. Unless a driver had a legitimate reason for travel, he and/or his family would be forcibly returned to their homes in the west.

  Naturally, this caused severe problems for the forces of law and order and it wasn’t long before the Armed Forces became involved. There were hundreds of incidents of confrontation on the first morning alone and by midday on that Saturday travel eastwards had all but ceased.

  The roads were jammed and the authorities had closed all entrances to motorways and had set up road blocks on most minor roads. These measures halted the majority of escapees, but of course, the more enterprising managed to struggle through, either by bicycle, motorbike or on foot.

  Some observers likened the exodus to the Second World War, as refugees fled in the hope of outrunning the Nazi advances through France and the Low Countries.

  It was chaos – and just what Lord Irvine and his fellow leaders had hoped to prevent.

  The nightmare had begun – and not a single mutant had yet stepped ashore on mainland Europe.

  ***

  Meanwhile, John Forbes had received the latest update concerning mutant numbers from CIA HQ in Langley, Virginia. An entire department of over one hundred photographic interpreters had been urgently assigned to the task of assessing and counting the masses of mutants in the UK. Satellite photography had been pouring in to the CIA, and all of the sophisticated systems at their disposal had been used to assess the exact danger.

  The mutants were massing in five areas – London, Glasgow, Brighton, Manchester and Swansea. The sheer number of bodies being swept along towards these five locations was staggering. It was possible to follow trails to these cities from all over the UK, and it appeared that when they arrived at their destinations, the majority merely stood listlessly and waited.

  ‘Waiting for what?’ was on the tongues of every analyst and expert involved. In their hearts, they knew the answer to that question – but dare not speak it.

  Forbes took the message with the latest update on numbers from a close friend.

  ‘It's extremely worrying, John, but we think that the last of these creatures are nearing their specific holding areas.’

  ‘What's the final number, Zach,’ asked Forbes, fearing the worst.

  ‘It's not good news, John. At the last count, we’ve identified just over 1.2 million of the creatures. There appears to be a trailing-off of these ghastly pilgrims as they approach the five cities. The main conurbations in the UK are now looking pretty deserted. We can see little evidence of large numbers of mutants anywhere except within about thirty miles of their final destinations. And the numbers are approximately equal – around a quarter of a million in each port.’

  Professor Forbes was almost resigned to accepting this account, but he was still filled with terror at the prospect of over one million of these zombies wading ashore on mainland Europe.

  ‘I’ll inform the President and all other interested parties. They won't be happy, but at least we know the size of the problem – Jesus – over one million. How can we ever contain that many?’

  However, Zach hadn’t completed his report and continued:

  ‘There's worse news, John. We've got another, more pressing problem – but before I brief you on that, have you determined whether these creatures can spread their virus to victims, thus recruiting their prey to the horde?’

  ‘I'm not sure, Zach. I'm at the lab in Brussels now and we should have a definitive answer pretty soon. You know that the unfortunate Abraham was infected – well we should know for certain today whether the mutants can recruit or just destroy. To be frank, I'm praying that poor old Abe just dies. He's in a pretty bad state and I know that it sounds callous, but if he survives we are in serious trouble. If these creatures can infect their victims and add to the masses, we are lost.’

  Zach was quiet on the end of the line for several seconds before responding.

  ‘I have to agree, John. I've been over to see his wife and she's not a happy woman – to say the least. She blames the Agency – and you in particular - fair and square. However, I've tried my best to placate her and for the time being, she’s merely mourning her husband. In the final analysis, even she realises that poor Abraham won't be the last victim of this crisis.’

  John Forbes agreed silently, making no formal response. However, he was intrigued by Zach’s reference to yet another issue.

  ‘What's the other problem, Zach?’

  Zach was reluctant to burden his friend and colleague with yet more worries – but he had little choice.

  ‘Well, John, I've indicated that the vast majority of these creatures are massing in the five cities with the back-markers now within thirty miles. However, there are other groups who seem obsessed with baffling activity at various locations around the UK.’

  ‘Just exactly what are you getting at, Zach?’ asked John, expecting the worst.

  ‘Well, it seems that groups of up to a thousand zombies are surrounding specific buildings and complexes around the country. They seem to be setting up a siege on these structures. We can't make any sense of it. We know that the Bank of England has been under attack since the excavation project was reinstated – but we are puzzled by these other assaults.’

  Professor Forbes guessed exactly what was happening.

  He had always conjectured that there were bound to be human outposts across the country that had been holding out against the weather and the zombie threat. It appeared that these small colonies of survivors were now the prime feeding targets for the undead.

  A prime source of fresh, if not emaciated, nourishment.

  ‘How many of these sieges have you identified, Zach – half a dozen?’

  ‘That's the problem, John, it's not just an isolated issue. There are over two hundred of these locations. What's your assessment, John?’

  John Forbes was surprised that Zach and the team had not worked out the puzzle themselves.

  ‘Survivors, Zach survivors! The zombies are attacking human settlements in an attempt to feed. If there are two hundred of these sieges in progress, that means that there must be thousands of additional survivors that need to be rescued. In short, we have no choice now but to take the offensive. We cannot abandon these people. Not now – when they’ve survived for so long. I’ll speak to Lord Irvine and POTUS. They will have to authorise pre-emptive strikes as soon as possible.’

  Zach was distraught.

  ‘Oh dear God! We should have realised. We’re running out of time, John.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Zach, I'm well aware of that little fact,’ replied Forbes, a little impatiently.

  ‘No, you don’t understand, John. Three days ago, there were over four hundred of these sieges in progress. You need to move a damn-sight faster than you think!’

  Day 184 / Z-Day 149

  Sunday 16 June

  Brussels

  The Premier of Ireland newly appointed shortly after the snow ceased in January, slumped in the office of Lord Irvine. The military triumvirate sat with them as did the Irish military Chief of Staff, General Ciaran Hennessey.

  The Irish leader was pale and gaunt – the result of months of supervising the struggle against the mutant threat in Ireland. As with mainl
and UK, the zombies had risen and begun their surge westwards in search of fresh meat. However, he was definitely upbeat in his manner as was General Hennessey. In some weird way, they seemed almost relieved.

  The western half of Ireland had survived the snow reasonably well, and as a result, survivors had headed from the devastation in the east to the relative security of the west.

  The Irish population had pulled together, political and religious differences set aside in the mortal struggle for survival. Throughout February and March the Irish people, with a great deal of financial and physical support, had begun to rebuild their nation. It had been declared a single entity almost from the start – Erin – in an attempt to unite the populace.