Three
The riot squad stood tall and strong, six men wide. They used long shields to protect their bodies while their batons were poised, held aloft behind shoulders, ready to strike.
From the front, they were impenetrable. Which was why I, along with five others stood in a loose line to their rear. We were more mobile, no shields, longer batons and were ready for any zeds who tried to outflank the defensive line in front, or else we could also jab at them through the gaps between shields, maybe even snag an eyeball with a point.
Our squad of twelve advanced slowly. We knew they were here. Somewhere.
It was a wasteland, an old industrial estate with gutted shacks and burned out cars dumped in our path. Smoke drifted up from one piece of wreckage to shortly thereafter merge with the greyness of this dull day. The only sounds were the crunching of our feet as they ground over gravel, shuffling forwards whilst trying to remain in a tight and orderly formation.
It rose up from behind the car wearing a lumberjack shirt and carrying a chainsaw, slightly terrifying for the uninitiated, I assumed, but standard for one such as myself.
Two more emerged from around the corner, shortly followed by another. More soon shambled into view and then in total I counted eight who came stumbling out from another building.
I don’t know how I’d missed him, but the largest zed I’d ever seen was now approaching from directly in front, heading straight for the centre of our shield wall, without heed nor comprehension for the odds it faced. He had baby features, was probably younger than my nineteen years and wore a high visibility jacket, almost like he’d been on the construction site when he’d changed into his present rotted state.
The lumberjack slammed into the shield wall first and did so with a thud. The line was braced for it and pressed forward as one whilst the zed took several baton blows to the body.
As the line pressed forward, I anticipated the inevitable outflanking manoeuvre by our foe. Either we would have to take them down quickly or the line would need to break apart. If that happened, then it would be every man for himself.
When we were surrounded, the zeds closed in from all sides, dragging feet with expressions of sheer hunger and want upon their faces.
I did what I knew I had to do and ran for the closest zed in the pack. It was a girl with long blonde hair and I hit her several times with my baton, forcing her to the ground. I carried on with the beating whilst maintaining a honed awareness of everything around me. My mates were in the thick of it, perhaps a little too literally, and one of my friends was on the ground with a zed on top. I ran over and clobbered the zed on the back as hard as I could before dragging my colleague away to safety.
A loud smash…
The giant zed had slammed through the defensive line.
The shields were linked together via connective points at the sides, yet the line scattered all the same. Three of them closed on the giant who mercifully, was slow and dopey. They struck him over and over and I wanted to join in but the squad leader called the retreat.
We were broken!
We ran around the corner, a ragged bunch of a former disciplined riot squad.
An explosion followed by smoke clouded our view of the getaway and the van that was supposed to have been there ready to take us away. Where was it?
Zeds staggered through the smoke. Blood covered their faces. They’d been feeding.
A zed threw one of my crew to the floor and another joined in for the feast.
I would never leave a comrade behind. “We need help, now!” I shouted and then there were four of us attempting the rescue.
We pounded the zeds over and over until they fell on their backs, motionless.
The squad leader shouted the retreat once more. Our field of vision had cleared and there was the escape vehicle in front with its doors wide open. I shouted for the team to pull our fallen comrade to safety and they dragged him along the gravel, feet scraping across the ground, kicking up dust.
We ran, all of us, broken toward our escape and were chased all the way by the remaining horde of zeds. It was then that I noticed one of them among us. Perhaps he’d thought he could blend in, enter our vehicle and have his rotten way with us once inside.
I’d show him.
We reached the van’s opened doors and the first of us were already piling inside, crouching in by the sides of the interior. The zed peered inside and seemed to have second thoughts as it backed away. My team were right behind me, I had to act fast. I decided to give the zed what he wanted. I wrapped my arms around his torso in a full nelson hold and dragged him inside.
For a flash, I saw the insane looks my colleagues gave me, then the zed lay on top of me, face up, crushing me against the floor, snarling.
I kept ahold of his arms, preventing him from gaining any movement of his head which could cause so much damage if he did so much as chow down.
The cracking of baton on flesh filled my world as all around me men pounded downwards and then I felt the vibration of the floor as the rest of the team flooded the van. The door slid shut with a thud and I felt the inertia as the van shot forward, which sent us both sliding back to crash against the door.
The zed snarled, groaned, whined and cried. Then…
Laughter!
“Well done, mate, you’re a true pro,” one of my crew congratulated him, “staying in character all this time.”
The fuck had shattered the illusion.
I was mad!
Four
His name was Ben, or at least that’s what I thought I heard him say. “I must admit, I’ve worked here two years and that’s never happened before.” I preferred to think of him as a zed and not as some normal guy at work, it was much better for training purposes. Nobody seemed to notice it was I who’d dragged the guy into the van. How stupid can twelve people be?
“So you ever get anybody going mental on you lot then?” It was the illusion shattering fuck who asked the dumb question, a guy who looked like he worked for an insurance company when he wasn’t out destroying my training.
The talking zombie shrugged. “We had a hen party here the other week. That got pretty out of hand. But you know, as soon as anybody goes in with the bats too hard, we just fall down ‘dead’ so it kind of ruins the whole experience for them.” He was probably a student and I guessed it wasn’t a bad way of earning a bit of extra pocket money.
My baton had been bent out of shape through the constant pounding I’d given ‘Ben’ and his ‘colleagues.’ I unsheathed the foam cover, exposing the flexible plastic stick beneath and watched, trembling, as the zed continued to blather. It took all I had not to drive the thing through his eye ball, indeed, I very nearly succumbed to my lust but was quickly able to suppress my urges owing to the likely consequences of getting banned from my favourite zombie bootcamp. In the end, a mere second of euphoria would not be worth a lifetime ban and a possible prison sentence and so I brought myself down by gripping tightly to the railing and gritting my teeth.
I came here regularly, in fact it was the reason I’d chosen the University of Bristol in the first place, not that any of that mattered anymore. From my digs, it was only a short train ride to the bootcamp and I got to believe for a few hours every few weeks that I really was fighting zeds in a post-apocalyptic world.
Occasionally, you’d get a good set of lads who could cover their own arses in a fight, while sticking it to zed at the same time. This lot, however, had shamed themselves entirely.
I took a moment to scrutinise them. First timers by the looks of it. I could tell by how they held their batons, their shields and high-fived each other even though they’d just received a severe mauling from the enemy. On top of that, they all held goofy expressions because they were speaking to a zombie, or as near to one as they’d ever get. If that performance had been a real life situation, we’d all be dead. Well, I wouldn’t, but they all would. One of them, a forty year old with blubber dripping over his waistband, hunched over the rai
ling close to me, hacking his guts out from the exertion. He lit up a cigarette, inhaling the noxious fumes before blowing out a plume of smoke which enveloped his face. He then proceeded to repeat the deep hacking that was probably an early warning of his impending cancer, the cause and effect evidently lost on him. It was people like that who’d be the first to perish this coming apocalypse, and I doubted anyone would miss them.
I mean, did these losers not realise that even now, zeds were eating their way through the capital, hopefully to emerge westwards any day now? No wonder the TV reports either showed streets empty of heroes, or zeds ripping into humans with barely any resistance. My countrymen were all so pathetic! Was this truly the best we could show for? But then, all it would ultimately mean was more dead for me to slay and that was the one thing I wanted more than anything else.
I was ready to fight, more than capable and most importantly, I wanted this. Heck, I needed this! But I’d made a promise to Paul and if anything happened to me while out fighting zed, then the sacrifice he and my parents had made for me would have been for nothing. Why did the universe have to conspire against me like this, that when my beloved apocalypse finally materialised, I was forced to fight fake zombies with a bunch of fat retards who destroyed the illusion.
“Not just anybody can be a zombie. It takes months of hard work and training, and we’re constantly getting injured.” The zed I’d kidnapped looked convincing enough and I at least admired him for taking the thing as seriously as he did, it sure helped my training. Though I must confess, I still had the overwhelming urge to shove my hedge shear through his skull.
My phone vibrated. Shit! With the recent excitement, I’d forgotten all about Javvo. I read the message.
‘Dude, flight got diverted. I’m in Luton, wherever the fuck that is???’
I brought out my trusty street map then sent him a reply. ‘Mate, you’re about thirty miles north of London. I guess zed must be taking over.’
‘More action for us! Can’t wait to crack some skull. We can rendezvous on the road to London.’ How small did this American think England was?
‘Mate, there’s been a change of plan. I’m staying in Bristol now.’
Immediately, my phone rang. Uh oh, I’d never even spoken to Javvo before and I didn’t expect him to be happy. “Um, hello?”
“Dude, you have got to be fucking kidding me! Where are you man?” Yep, that was Javvo. Even through his understandable anger, he possessed that long Texan drawl. It couldn’t have been anyone else, that’s for sure.
“I’m training. You know, at the zombie bootcamp I told you about.”
“Uh huh, and when are you getting to London?”
“Javvo, stay cool,” I said in as calming a voice as possible that I knew would have not the slightest effect at all, “I’m not coming.”
“You fucking what, dude?” The zombie I’d kidnapped was staring at me and I guessed he could hear my American friend screaming down the phone. This was awkward. “I’ve just come halfway across the fucking world, dude, to hook up with you and slay some zed. Now you’re fucking bailing on me? Are you fucking kidding me?”
I pinched at the skin atop my nose and exhaled. “Javvo, it’s not as simple as that. Something else has come up and I can’t make it.”
“I don’t fucking believe I’m hearing this. Some fucking buddy you are. You can consider yourself kicked out of Zombie Maniacs Of The World Unite. I’ll find a new fucking admin. That guy in Istanbul seems pretty keen.”
“Hey, there’s no need to do anything rash. You have no idea about my brother, mate.”
“Hey, I don’t give a fucking shit about your brother, dude. You made a fucking pledge. Besides, you got my fucking hardware. How am I supposed to fight without you?” He raised some good points. “Customs even confiscated my fucking penknife, what kind of a country is this?”
I groaned into my hand. What else could I do but meet him? Because otherwise, I’d be condemning my best friend to certain death. I tried to give it some thought as I could hear his seething breath down the line. I breathed then gave him my answer. “Ok, mate, I’ll bring the hardware. I owe you that much at least.”
What had I just done?
Five
I listened to the news as I readied myself for the quick trip east. I gathered my zed fighting kit that I planned on handing over to Javvo before leaving as quickly as I could.
The news showed more harrowing footage. Inevitably, the elderly were proving easy targets for zed who showed no mercy toward the infirm. I was still amazed at the free run they’d been given in the capital. Where were the police, the army, the local hot-heads?
But the part of the report that really caught my attention was that zed was spreading outwards. They’d been spotted floating in the Thames River. They were seen terrorising the local populace as far south as Portsmouth and as far north as Luton. However, it was on hearing they’d somehow caused a power failure in Basingstoke that really interested me because this meant they were now only a little more than 80 miles from Bristol. It truly was a dream come true.
Would Javvo have the good sense to wait for my arrival before getting stuck into zed? Somehow I doubted it and I pictured him ransacking abandoned shops and houses for weapons, or, if all else failed, twatting them with a branch.
As I left the house, I was struck by a huge pang of guilt. I hated leaving so soon after telling Paul I would be staying home and I considered paying him a quick visit at the spinal injury unit but that idea left my mind as soon as it entered. Paul had an uncanny knack of knowing when I was up to mischief and even if he was dosed to the eyeballs, he’d still be able to read my anxiety and would know of my plans. There were times when I wondered if he’d developed a kind of sixth sense and could read my thoughts. No. If I saw Paul, he’d know for sure I was heading out to slay some zed so I decided on seeing him when I returned. I’d spend some quality time with him then, maybe even watch a zed movie like old times.
The coach made fast progress owing to the empty roads heading east, the western bound roads, however, were fully crammed and barely even seemed to be moving. I gazed out the window at the stationary traffic and many of the occupants would shake their heads while waving their arms as warning because we were heading into a dead zone. The coach itself, perhaps surprisingly, was filled almost to capacity, mostly by men with worried expressions and one of them told me he was dashing back to be with his family and didn’t know what he’d find when he got there. I guessed I was the only one heading into the zed epicentre for the reasons I had and when the question was thrown back to me, I simply said I was going back for the same reason.
We came to a halt at a police road block somewhere on the north section of the London circular ring road. The traffic would not be moving for a long time, if ever, and I suspected we’d soon be sent back the other way. People started swearing and thumping the windows and I glanced outside to the police officers who were tapping on the windscreens of the few cars in front, probably ordering them not to proceed any further.
The coach door opened and a policeman stepped inside, mumbled something to the driver and then turned to face the passengers. “Ladies and gentleman, I’m sure you’ve all seen the news but in case you haven’t, it’s my job to inform all traffic that the capital has been sealed off. Aye, I’m sorry but you’ll not be travelling to London, not today, and I don’t care what your business is. Don’t worry, we’re busy working on getting you lot moving but it won’t be in the direction of London, I can tell you that right now, so save your protests and your energy for something else. You’re going back west just as soon as we can remove the central reservation barrier and that’s all there is to it. So just remain seated and don’t make any fuss or else you’ll be arrested. Do I make myself clear?”
He was large and had something about him that made nobody wish to protest and all the heads in front of me began nodding like lemmings. It was pathetic but there was no way I was heading back west just yet.
/> I had agreed with Javvo to rendezvous in the small town of St. Albans, a picturesque place worthy of our protection that historically had acted as first rest point coming out of London. It had once even held a French king captive in the tower. If zed were to press north, then they couldn’t miss St. Albans. Indeed, I’d used the journey to sketch an infestation map, and St. Albans was well within the infected zone. What’s more, it was far enough from Luton to keep Javvo occupied while we were both on the road. I really didn’t want him making a nuisance of himself while he waited for me because God only knew what he was capable of.
The policeman left the coach, leaving me to contemplate how long we had before we turned around and headed home.
Obviously, I needed to get out and I glanced again out the window to find we were in the slow lane beside a forest.
I grabbed my bag and headed for the front of the bus. “I need to take a piss.” I told the driver.
He hesitated. The traffic was beginning to move just a few hundred yards in front. “You have 90 seconds then we’re leaving without you.”
“Yes, sir.”
When I reached the trees, I simply carried on walking. Easy.
According to the maps on my iPhone, as the crow flew, I was a mere four miles from St. Albans, my best friend and the biggest zombie maniac on the planet.
Six
It was just to the west of the town, a place called Prae Wood, next to a golf course. Javvo chose this place as he knew we’d be less likely to cross zed and therefore police trying to keep us from our prey.
When I first saw him, he was leaning against a tree with the branches shrouding him in shade. He was taller than I imagined and looked borderline anorexic. Would he even have the strength for fighting zed? His hair was long, greasy and slicked back, seemingly with some kind of oil. He also appeared older than his photos showed him on our Facebook group and I guessed he was in his mid-thirties, to my nineteen years. However, what struck me most about him was his colour, as he was clearly of Mexican Indian descent. It was this that made me realise that either he’d been posting fake photos of himself online, or that this was not my friend Javvo.
Zombie Revolution Page 17
