Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

  He pondered the situation for several more minutes. Should he return to Europe and offer his talents?

  It took him a nano-second to decide.

  As he'd already surmised, it would gain him nothing to change his plans. What good would gaol or a grizzly living-death do him?

  Not an iota.

  No; Ross Bryant would not be going anywhere.

  Except to the summit of Everest.

  And after that?

  Perhaps K2….or whatever took his fancy.

  Ross Bryant was not getting involved.

  Day 187 / Z-Day 152

  Wednesday 19 June

  The Bristol Channel – South-West UK

  The previous weekend had seen unseasonal and particularly inclement weather, as a deep low-pressure system rushed in from the Atlantic Ocean, bringing heavy rain and high winds to the South West of the United Kingdom and southern Ireland. The seas had been horrendous for twenty-four hours and the luckless container-ship ‘Maersk Tennessee’ suffered a severe pounding.

  She was en-route to Rotterdam from Miami with a cargo of military supplies – basically a comprehensive cross-section of small arms to bulk up the supplies being stockpiled in Europe against the ‘mutant’ threat. In fact, she had enough rifles, ammunition, flame throwers and mortars to start a small war – and indeed, that was the ultimate plan.

  However, the storm had battered the ship hideously, causing one section of the cargo to dislodge and spew three containers into the Atlantic Ocean and in turn – into Davy Jones’ Locker.

  The Master was in a severe quandary.

  As he approached the western tip of England, he fully realised and understood the obvious dangers of seeking shelter in a UK port. However, his cargo was insecure and the Atlantic showed no immediate sign of relaxing its pounding. As a consequence, he contacted his operating authority, and eventually they agreed that he take temporary refuge in the Bristol Channel until the storm abated, at which point he could continue his journey. A tug would be dispatched from Holland to assist and take the container ship under tow if necessary. The cargo was important and the military command in Brussels did not want to lose it.

  Therefore, the decision was taken, and the limping freighter would take shelter until the weather improved.

  So, the Captain adjusted his route and headed for the Bristol Channel and …….Swansea.

  He was strictly instructed not to venture within thirty miles of land and was repeatedly assured that his ship would be safe. (He wasn’t privy to the details of specific mutant force disposition). In any case, a Royal Naval Frigate would be dispatched from the English Channel and would also escort the ‘Tennessee’ back to Rotterdam. Within twenty-four hours the weather was forecast to calm somewhat, and when the cargo had been properly secured, the journey could continue.

  ***

  The Master of the ‘Tennessee’ manoeuvred his vessel in Force 6 seas to the north of the Devon coast, in sight of land, and continued at four knots towards a position thirty miles south of Swansea. The swell was diminishing and the winds dropping. By the time they dropped anchor, the Master was able to give orders for the two cranes to be deployed and the job to re-secure containers could begin. It was a relief to be out of the storm and the crew relaxed. By 8pm the work was done and the ship had been overflown twice by RAF helicopters, which were patrolling the local area. When the choppers departed for their home base at 2100, the Captain received confirmation that HMS Windsor, a Type 23 Frigate was en-route and passing Land’s End. It should be with the Tennessee sometime during the night.

  It seemed that the dramas of the previous 48 hours were over and the crew sat down to supper, drawing a collective sigh of relief.

  ***

  From a vantage position overlooking Swansea harbour, 'The Rook' surveyed her realm. It knew that the time was fast approaching when she would be forced to release her armies onto the human food reservoir that lay a few short hours across the English Channel. Nutrients had run out for the horde, but she also knew that they could exist for a prolonged period in a state of induced stasis. If she gave the order, her forces would shut down temporarily and then surge back into life….if you could call it that ….on her explicit command. The four other mass gatherings were in a similar state of readiness and awaited her directives.

  In addition, many thousands of her mutants were wandering the British countryside, seeking out survivors from the Snow! Many humans had displayed remarkable initiative and resourcefulness in their struggle for life – but her horde was slowly but surely overwhelming resistance. In the earlier stages of survival the military air forces of the humans had attacked with rockets and guns, but these shows of might had abruptly died away. It appeared that the humans had deserted their people on the UK mainland, which left the hungry horde a free hand.

  Things were progressing well.

  In fact, so well, that she had already set herself a provisional date for the invasion. Although she realised that a rapid incursion into mainland Europe was preferable – she needed to be completely prepared. Although any delay would give the humans time to prepare, she lacked the extra advantage she craved.

  Weapons.

  They had none.

  Although the horde could sweep forward, impervious to bullets and fire, they could only kill the humans if direct contact was made. If the enemy discovered a rapid means of decapitating her forces – physically separating heads from bodies – then defeat was inevitable. Therefore, she needed a back-up plan. She required weaponry – guns, ammunition and artillery. Of course, some arms would be captured as they advanced, but it may prove ultimately fruitless if the humans had time to devise a winning strategy.

  It was a thorny problem. Did she delay and wait for her agents to source weapons in the UK from old military bases – or did she attack now – and take full advantage of the element of surprise?

  The decision had yet to be finally made.

  ***

  A solution to her problem was not readily in sight as she surveyed the Welsh harbour city.

  The majority of the horde was merely waiting – in a sort of living coma. Some had perished – age and inherited weakness from their human hosts being the main cause. Some were out foraging – but of course, if they detected living human flesh, they would take it for their own. Mutants had no concept or capacity for sharing their prey.

  Others were venturing wider afield and securing suitable vessels for the journey ahead. Already there were literally hundreds of boats of all types and sizes spread out across the harbour and along the beaches to both east and west of the city. They had been docked in series so that the horde could swarm aboard most of the craft without getting their feet wet – not that that mattered, as the mutants were impervious to water.

  That aspect of the plan was being tested by 'The Rook' and she had her more durable followers conducting underwater trials. One facet of her strategy was to send thousands of troops across the water which separated her army from the foe – but they would travel under the waves and swarm ashore en masse – under cover of darkness - to surprise and rapidly overwhelm the defending forces.

  It was a bold plan – but 'The Rook' had nothing to lose. She had over a million acolytes at her disposal and the number was growing daily. In fact, as a pre-cursor to the invasion, she was already diverting a total of two hundred thousand of the horde towards south-east Kent and the shortest crossing point. They had been ordered to travel only at night to avoid detection, and to take cover in wooded areas until the signal to submerge and invade was given. 'The Rook' was determined not to give the humans any sign that her plan was near completion. An additional bonus to this massing at Dover was the opportunity to feed en-route. Eighty percent of the underwater army were travelling from the other four massing areas and it would take a finite time to complete the journey. They could only shuffle fifty miles per day. So, the journey from Scotland would take over two weeks. This consideration was the main reason for the delay in attacking the hum
ans.

  Nevertheless, she pictured over two hundred thousand of her followers swarming ashore along the French coast and attacking the hapless defenders. If she could, she would have smiled to herself.

  'The Rook' scanned the horizon around Swansea and suddenly caught something on the wind. The onshore breeze, blowing in from the Atlantic after the recent storms had been fresh and scent-free, but now there was a subtle change. She turned her head to the south-west and re-checked her senses.

  Yes. There was definitely something on the wind. She summoned her lieutenants and after a few seconds, they confirmed the change.

  Humans!

  They had detected a faint but unmistakeable aroma of live human flesh on the incoming breeze.

  'The Rook' rechecked the direction and decided to act. She dispatched four advanced mutants in a small speedboat, which departed an hour before midnight and under the cover of darkness were ordered to search out and find the exact position of the quarry. They literally followed their noses, and by 1am they sighted the running lights of a large ship, lying thirty miles offshore. It was dead in the water – probably at anchor.

  They smelled the human flesh and salivated wildly. The temptation to board and feed was almost impossible to resist – but fear of 'The Rook' prevented any precipitous or unauthorised action.

  They conveyed their findings telepathically to 'The Rook' and she made a rapid decision. If nothing else, this ship would be a source of food for the horde.

  It must be taken – and as quickly as possible.

  She acted immediately. Six small craft with outboard motors and eight mutant crewmen aboard each sailed within thirty minutes, and by 0300 had the ship in sight. Dawn was breaking from the east and if the invaders wanted to take the ship before the crew realised what was happening – an immediate attack was vital.

  'The Rook' had a junior lieutenant in each speedboat and they decided that a full frontal attack was the most expedient. The human crew would be asleep with probably only one lookout catnapping on the bridge. The plan was to find an access ladder and simply climb aboard. Once all fifty soldiers were ready, they would sweep through the vessel and take control.

  'The Rook' warned the boarding party that ‘full feeding’ was to be delayed until the ship was under mutant control. She well understood that the urge to satiate their hunger would be enormous, and the plan would be destined to fail if they stopped to consume their victims.

  By 0320, the six boats had slid in to the base of the rear access ladder undetected. Sure enough, the seaman on the dogwatch was drowsy and he completely missed the approach of the six small boats that were far too small for the ship’s ancient radar to detect.

  By 0400, the invasion force was aboard and they began the search for human life.

  Six of the zombies, led by the senior lieutenant made for the Bridge. The dopey seaman stood little chance. His throat was ripped out as he slept and the Bridge was under mutant control within seconds. 'The Rook' was informed and the excitement surged through her bones.

  ‘Get the ship underway – immediately,’ she ordered, and the new crew set about their task with renewed vigour. However, they immediately regretted killing the night watchman as he could have assisted with the task of starting the engines. So, a message was instantly transmitted to the remainder, with instructions that the first officer they encountered was to be temporarily spared and dragged up to the Bridge as soon as possible.

  The remainder of the assault force swarmed through the living quarters. All of the crew was still in bed and within fifteen minutes, all lay bloodied and shredded in their cabins each guarded by a lascivious and ravenous mutant awaiting the order to feed.

  Only the Master of the doomed container ship survived.

  He was taken alive, shocked and dazed and suffering from a huge gash in his face which dripped blood onto his nightclothes. They bundled him up to the Bridge, where he collapsed in terror and abject fear.

  They dragged him up onto his feet, trembling and stuttering:

  ‘What in God’s name do you devils want? Where are my crew?’

  His protestations were met with silence. Several of the mutants were puzzling over the controls, still unable to get the ship moving.

  The senior mutant lieutenant moved towards the Master and as two soldiers held him, he placed his right hand over the whimpering man’s face, digging his putrid fingernails deep into the lacerated skin.

  Within seconds, 'The Rook' passed a message via her lieutenant to the fast despairing Master, who cried out in pain and alarm. The telepathic order came through loud and clear as the Captain of the Tennessee jerked his head forwards in surprise:

  ‘Start the ship. Head for Swansea. Do this and your crew will be spared. Do not delay!’

  The Master was aghast. He attempted to speak but was immediately interrupted by 'The Rook':

  ‘DO NOT DELAY – OR THEY DIE, NOW!’

  At which point he was released and turned to witness the slashed and shredded corpse which had once been a crewman being dragged into his sight. A mutant was chewing on the unfortunate man’s neck – at which horror the Captain vomited violently onto the senior lieutenant – who gratefully and hungrily scooped a handful into an orifice which was once his mouth.

  The Captain was now well beyond the end of his tether, shaking violently. He had already fouled himself – at both ends – and was all but paralysed with terror.

  The senior lieutenant dragged the Captain to the control panel and punched him hard on the side of the head. This seemed to bring him back to reality and for a brief moment – a clarity and sense of resignation sprang to the front of his consciousness.

  There was something he could do.

  Another punch landed on his face, this time bursting his eardrum.

  He realised that he could not delay any longer.

  So, he set about getting the Tennessee underway, in the faint yet wholly unrealistic hope that he might save his crew. He accessed the anchor controls and within a minute it was safely raised. He accessed the engine panel and as with all modern shipping, he was able to bring the engines up to full speed automatically without assistance from the engine room. He switched on the appropriate navigation console and set a course for Swansea.

  Almost immediately, the Tennessee turned towards the coast and slowly built up speed. Within fifteen minutes it was racing along at eighteen knots. The 12000 Bhp engines could easily maintain this speed long enough to reach the coastline, and so the Captain determined to aim the ship directly at Swansea and do as much damage as possible.

  He had no real illusions about the fate of his crew. These slavering ghouls had no mercy and it was clear that they had probably disposed of his men long since. Therefore, he was prepared to cause as much havoc as possible, and if he was lucky would destroy his cargo along with the ship.

  So, he re-accessed the navigation panel and refined his course to aim at the centre of Swansea Harbour. He reasoned that since he had been instructed to head for the Welsh city, it was likely that a welcoming party was in place. Perhaps, just perhaps he could take some of these bastards with him.

  He locked-in the engines and autopilot. These mutants didn’t remotely understand the complexities of the control panels, and it would be far too late to prevent the ship from careering into Swansea docks when they awoke to the subterfuge.

  He also did two other things.

  Firstly, he set the IFF to Code 7500 – which was the international hijack mode. This would tell all agencies monitoring the ship that there was a serious problem. Indeed, HMS Windsor would pick up the signal and may be able to assist.

  Additionally, he set the radio to 243.0 MHz – the international distress frequency. He then jammed the hand held microphone switch into the on position, by forcing it into its cradle upside down. The zombies had no idea what was happening – but the Master was now able to transmit on this emergency radio – and nobody could reply and alarm the zombies, as the transmit button was permanently
on.

  There was little else he could do now, but wait. It would take just over an hour to reach Swansea and complete the destruction of his ship. The invaders had no idea how to control the ship’s speed or heading, and the Master had re-selected the navigation and engine panels to show little used screens that displayed progress, but had no ability to change settings.

  He now attempted to alert other agencies who must be listening in on emergency frequency 243.0 MHz. He began a feeble diatribe, describing the situation by asking incessant questions of his enemy. Of course, they could not answer, but his weakened and desperate voice would give a clear account of the situation:

  ‘What do you mutants want?’