by Hatchett
*****
Ahmed knew he had a problem; Mamba wanted a large fire in the centre of the lawn area to attract the zombies, but there was no way of getting to the centre to start the fire without joining the zombie horde and putting your life at risk. The inner wall had many buildings built onto it facing inwards and these buildings covered large parts of the inside of the inner wall. The added complication was that some buildings, especially on the Northern and Eastern inner walls were ‘stand-alone’ and sometimes higher than the ramparts. Where there was a line of sight to the centre, it would be almost impossible to pick off targets without a proper rifle, and even then, the chances of missing headshots were very high. The only part of the inner wall not covered by buildings was on the Southern section. The other concern was that in some parts there were steps up to the inner wall ramparts, so the sub-group needed to be careful that zombies on the ground didn’t crawl their way up.
Ahmed had fourteen gang members with him; he sent five to go around the wall and clear what they could in the gaps between the buildings. He took the other nine with him to Wakefield Tower which was the near-central part of the Southern inner wall. To the East of this was the only real section of the inner wall without any buildings and had a clear view across the main lawn to the massive White Tower in the very centre of the site. Ahmed and his sub-group stood on this part of the ramparts. From the equipment bags brought by the additional gang members, he extracted some plastic bottles filled with petrol and some hand grenades. He lobbed the plastic bottles onto the lawn below and once he was satisfied there were enough and neatly spread around, he pulled the pin from the first grenade and launched it towards the plastic bottles. He and his sub-group ducked down behind the wall and a few seconds later there was a loud explosion and some debris rained down around them. Ahmed rose and was pleased to see a small crater in the lawn and fires raging from most of the plastic bottles. The noise and flames had the desired effect; those zombies not already in the vicinity and taken apart in the blast were attracted into the area. Within seconds of reaching the flames, their clothing was alight, and they started burning. Ahmed and his sub-group watched in fascination; there were no screams or shouts, just writhing figures still snapping their jaws and wandering about on fire.
“We need to keep them there to add to the pile,” Ahmed advised. “We need to take some of them out.”
With that, the sub-group took their automatics and started shooting the zombies on the lawn. Within minutes, blazing bodies lay across the grass. Eventually some of these bodies fell onto the undisturbed plastic bottles which then burst apart with a ‘whoomph’ and sprayed fiery petrol all around, lighting anything in touching distance.
It was not long before the grass area became a bonfire with more and more zombies attracted to the area and adding to the mound of bodies as they were shot. The smell of burning flesh permeated the air together with flakes of clothing and skin. A couple of the gang members started retching and the rest were quick to tie bandanas across their mouths.
Mamba, Isaac, Grace, and Nelson arrived and walked up to Ahmed.
“I see things are gettin’ a bit hot,” Mamba smiled at Ahmed.
“Just gettin’ started!” Ahmed laughed.
The time was approaching 13.30 so Ahmed arranged for his sub-group to take a break in shifts so that the fire continued to burn, and the number of zombies continued to reduce.
14
Day 3 – 15:00
Tower of London, Outer Ward
It had taken Mamba and the group most of the afternoon to clear the site as best they could. Mamba was not one hundred per cent certain all zombies had been killed, there were bound to be some lucking in corners they had not yet found, and he’d been told by Skelly about several writhing about in the cars. The group was beginning to run low on ammunition and food, although they would soon gain access to the houses and shops. Earlier, Mamba had been in touch with the Judge and the Judge had agreed to send a couple of men with bags filled with ammunition and some more rope. These had arrived about an hour ago, so the group were re-armed and ready to go. Mamba had explained what he planned to do next and suggested that he would try and get the Judge brought over the following day.
There was a good three hours of daylight left and Mamba had gathered the group in the corridor between St Thomas’s Tower, which held Traitors Gate, and Wakefield Tower.
“We’re gonna to do a final sweep of the corridor by foot. Before we do that, we need to close that gate” – he pointed to the gate which was part of the Bloody Tower next to Wakefield Tower – “so no one can get in or out from the centre. We’re gonna check all the buildin’s as we go. Everyone be careful as there could be zombies about; take guns and machetes. If there is anyone still livin’, send them here where Skelly and his sub-group will be waitin’ and keepin’ a lookout. Any problems, shoot and ask questions later.”
As Skelly and his sub-group secured the gate under the Bloody Tower, the two sub-groups set off, Mamba heading towards Byfield Tower in the South-West corner and Ahmed heading towards Develin Tower in the South-East.
There were no buildings in the corridor between the Bloody Tower and Byward Tower, so Mamba and his sub-group only took a couple of minutes to get to the main entrance. Mamba, Bird and Smiley were excited to find that when the portcullis had been lowered, it had trapped a couple of zombies under the spikes. The zombies were still alive, and as Mamba approached, they began thrashing around to try to reach him.
“Look at you fuckers!” Mamba shouted with glee. “Want some of me, do you?” he laughed. The noise he was making attracted a couple of zombies on the other side of the portcullis and they reached their arms through the gaps in a bid to reach him. This made Mamba laugh even more as he reached for his machete. Making sure not to get too close to the zombies trapped on the ground, Mamba approached the portcullis and thrust the end of his machete through one of the gaps into the face of one of the zombies and kept pushing until the knife hit the back of the skull. Blood spurted from the wound and the zombie slumped to the floor as Mamba withdrew his machete and wiped it on his trousers. Then, laughing hysterically, he chopped off a few arms. As more zombies crowded against the portcullis, he sensed this was a good training opportunity, so he told the rest of his sub-group to take out a target. Dodge, Bird, Smiley and the two new gang members didn’t need asking twice and eagerly moved forward to dispatch a zombie each. One of the new gang members was a little too complacent and as he buried his knife in the face of one of the zombies at the gate, he suddenly howled as one of the two zombies on the floor managed to take a bite out of his ankle. He fell to the floor in pain and started writhing around holding his bleeding ankle.
Isaac, Zak, Grace, and Nelson were now even less enthusiastic about the task than they were before but knew there was nowhere to hide and that they wouldn’t be let off.
“Come on Pinky,” Mamba cajoled as he shot the writhing gang member in the head, “time to lose your cherry!” Isaac flushed with embarrassment, a retort on the tip of his tongue but he knew he would just be asking for more trouble so kept quiet. He took out his own machete and quickly and efficiently took out a zombie. Grace and Zak gritted their teeth and did the same without further prompting, but Nelson did not want to do it.
“It’s life or death, Bro,” Mamba stated menacingly, “your life or death,” and raised his pistol and pointed it at Nelson’s head. Nelson had no doubt that Mamba would pull the trigger, so he quickly pulled out his machete, picked a target, moved forward, and plunged the knife into its head. He was splattered with blood which he quickly wiped away from his face with his sleeve and moved back to the sub-group. “See, wasn’t that hard was it?” Mamba noted before turning and walking along the corridor heading North.
To Mamba’s right was the inner wall stretching unobstructed all the way to the North-East corner of the site, except for the Beauchamp Tower which poked out into the corridor about halfway along. To his left were what looked like a row o
f terraced houses. Several cars were parked outside these buildings, some with their zombie drivers in situ.
Mamba hammered on the door or the first building. “Anyone in there?” he shouted.
There was some shuffling before a couple of heads appeared at the window and an elderly voice came through the door. “Yes, there’s five of us in here. Who are you and what are you doing?”
“We’re the rescue team, open up!” Mamba replied.
“Are there any more of those creatures out there?”
“None that can get to you,” Mamba answered beginning to lose his patience, “open up now before we kick the door in.”
“You’ll have a job young man. This door has been standing for hundreds of years.”
“Then we’ll shoot the fuckin’ thing down!” Mamba raged, “you’ve got three seconds.” Mamba started counting and stepped back before reaching for his automatic. As he got to two, he heard locks being undone and the door swung open. Mamba was confronted by a woman who must have been in her eighties.
“Who the fuck are you?” Mamba enquired.
“I could ask you the same thing,” came the response.
“I’m the boss. You betta come out before I send in my boys to drag you out.”
The old lady walked out of the building followed by four other women, all of them looking around wildly for any sign of zombies. Little did they know that the group in front of them was equally deadly.
“I’ll ask again, who are you?” Mamba snarled.
“We all work here,” the old lady replied quickly. “We help with administration and got stuck in the building when those people started attacking.”
Mamba looked at the small group. The other women looked to be in their fifties or sixties except for one who was much younger.
“They’re not people anymore, they’re zombies and they will eat you given half a chance.” Mamba turned to his sub-group. “Take them to Skelly,” he ordered. One of the gang members stepped forward and ushered the women in the direction of the Bloody Tower.
“Check the place,” Mamba ordered a couple of gang members before taking the rest of his sub-group in the direction of the next building.
An hour later Mamba and his sub-group met up with Ahmed’s sub-group at Bowyer Tower, about halfway along the Northern corridor before they all headed back towards the Bloody Tower. Between the two sub-groups they must have found a hundred survivors and dispatched half a dozen zombies which had been previously missed. Luckily there were no further accidents or casualties and the survivors had been relatively compliant so far.
As the two sub-groups approached the Bloody Tower they could see the hundred or so survivors sitting uncomfortably on the cobbled floor, many with their backs against the inner wall. Skelly’s men were covering them with their automatics; some were in the corridor and others were on the ramparts of the inner and outer walls keeping a close eye on them. Skelly was checking out the water under St Thomas’s Tower; he could see zombies in the water the other side of Traitors Gate but couldn’t see anything on his side. Just as well the gate was closed.
“How’s it goin’?” Mamba asked.
“Fine, some of them were a bit mouthy to start with but they were soon shown the error of their ways and quietened down,” Skelly replied showing Mamba the stock of his automatic which had some dried blood on it. “Had to send a couple into the water,” Skelly added, pointing towards the other side of Traitor’s Gate.
Mamba smiled. “Good thinkin’.”
“Yep, certainly did the trick and the rest haven’t moved since.”
“As long as you didn’t kill any nice meat,” Mamba added with a leer.
“Nah, some really old crone and one of her friends,” Skelly replied. “As it happens they were the first group to get here and the old bag just wouldn’t stop yakking. Had to teach them a lesson.”
“Cool. Have you checked if there are still zombies in the centre?”
“Checked about ten minutes ago. The fires have nearly burnt out. There’s a shit load of bodies on the lawn and all over and I took out another couple wanderin’ around, but there could be a few more. It fuckin’ stinks in there.”
“I think it’s time to sort the middle,” Mamba mused.
15
Day 3 – 16:30
Tower of London, Outer Ward
Mamba slowly looked over the survivors next to the Bloody Tower and his group spread out around them, weapons at the ready.
“I am your new boss” Mamba announced. “You will do as you’re told, and you might not get hurt. Any questions?”
A balding middle-aged man with greying hair at the sides and a fat gut raised his hand and Mamba nodded that he should speak.
“W-What are you g-going to d-do with us?” the man stammered.
“F-funny y-you sh-should s-say that,” Mamba mimicked to laughs from his group. “You’ll find out in a mo.”
“Who are you?” asked a woman in her twenties.
“I already told you. I’m the boss and what I say goes. This is the new World order.”
“You sound like the fucking Jerries’,” remarked a suited older man in disgust. It was all he could do not to spit on the ground.
“You wanna go for a swim?” Mamba asked.
“Go to Hell!” the man replied.
Mamba walked across towards the man, took out his pistol and shot him in the head.
“Any more questions?” There was complete silence. “Good!”
Mamba took Skelly and Ahmed aside. “Skelly, I want you and a coupla boys to guard the gate, ramparts and lawn area. Ahmed, I want you to take a few boys and guard the houses; I’m going to separate out this bunch and send most of them in your direction.”
Mamba turned back to the survivors. “Anyone over fifty-five stand up.” Slowly, people began to get up; it was clear from their faces that they were scared and expected to be killed. Once there was no further movement, Mamba ordered, “You lot go to the first two buildin’s and settle down. Lock the doors and stay there until the mornin’. If anyone comes out or tries to escape, they will be shot.” Just over a third of the survivors headed in the direction of the buildings, followed by some of Ahmed’s men.
“All remainin’ women stand up,” Mamba ordered. Once they were standing, Mamba sent them to the third building with the same warning, again accompanied by some more of Ahmed’s men. Just under a further third of the survivors moved away.
“Keep them outta the hen house,” Mamba shouted to Ahmed, who had already turned and was following his men.
Mamba turned to the remaining survivors, around thirty to thirty-five of them and all men under the age of fifty-five, some of whom were obviously tourists and some who might have worked there. Many were openly worried; based on their age and sex, they thought they were the biggest threat to the men with guns.
“I have got a job for you guys,” Mamba advised. “First, anyone here know this castle well?” Several hands rose into the air.
Mamba looked them over before homing in on a middle-aged man wearing what looked like a dark blue dress and hat with red piping, and the words ‘E II R’ across the chest and a crown above it. “What’s your name?”
“Daniel,” came the firm response.
“Well Danny Boy, what the fuck are you wearin’ man? You look like a complete twat!” That brought more laughs from Mamba’s men who were taking a keen interest in proceedings.
“It’s my ‘undress’ uniform. I’m a Yeoman Warder or Beefeater if you prefer, just one of the tour guides.” What he didn’t say was that he was a retired ex-senior Non-Commissioned Officer or Warrant Officer in the British Army with over twenty-two years’ service and had been awarded the ‘Long Service and Good Conduct’ medal – the same as all the other thirty-six Yeoman Warders on the premises – although some others had come from other parts of the armed forces. Other than acting as tour guides, their role was as bodyguards, guardians of the Tower and safeguarding the Crown Jewels. They all lived
onsite in the various houses within the walls and knew the Tower like the back of their hands.
“Looks like you’re a court jester about to start tellin’ jokes, man. What do you know about the castle Danny Boy?” Mamba asked.
“The history, the…”
“I couldn’t give a shit about the history,” Mamba barked. “I wanna know what all these buildin’s are, how many people work here, who’s the boss, where the pisshouse is. You get the picture? I also wanna know where the dungeon is; it’s a castle so there must be a dungeon, and cells, and I know there are jewels.”
“It is not a castle, it’s a Royal Palace and fortress,” Daniel replied.
“You say tomatoes, I say…you don’t like me very much do you Danny Boy?” Mamba asked.
“Not particularly,” Daniel replied, but not wanting to incur Mamba’s wrath he quickly added, “but I can help you with anything you need to know.”
“That’s good. Keeps you alive… for the time bein’. Any more fags dressed up like you around?”
“No. We have a dozen or so, but they weren’t on duty so they’re not here.” Daniel knew that the thirty-six were here, hidden in the buildings in the Inner Ward; they were all alive and listening to everything that was going on through their earpieces, something Mamba had not yet noticed. Daniel just hoped that they listened carefully to what he was saying and got changed into civvies, otherwise he would be caught in the lie and they would all be in trouble.
“Who’s the boss?”
“You are.”
“Funny! No, you prat, I mean who’s the boss of the Tower?”
