by Hatchett
“So, what’s the plan?”
“We know other gangs in Brixton, Tottenham and Hackney. We just need ta find out if they’re still alive.”
“But, how’re we gonna get to ‘em?”
“We’ll just have to take our time and be careful. There’s no rush.”
“But, we’ll be fuckin’ eaten as soon as we leave this crate.” Ahmed groaned.
“That’s where yer wrong. Remember when I fell off the truck the first time we drove to the Green Park Estate? Well, those fuckin’ monsters didn’t touch me, and do ya know why? It’s ‘cos I was splattered in their blood and thought I was one of ‘em. So, that’s how we do it. If it’s the last thing I ever fuckin’ do, those backstabbin’ bastards back at the Tower are goin’ to wish that they’d never crossed Mamba, I can promise ya that!”
The End
Z – Payback
Prologue
Day 7 – 21:50
Butcher Row, Stepney, East London
The pilot of the Apache attack helicopter brought the aircraft into a hover fifteen feet above the road surface, turned on the weapons system and selected a hellfire missile.
He turned off the Apache’s running lights, so it was effectively hidden in the surrounding darkness; the only clue that it was there was the loud thumping noise of the rotor blades and the swirling of litter caught in the downdraft. He then placed his finger on the trigger and directed the laser guidance system towards the bend in the road a few hundred metres in front of him.
The pilot knew that it would only be a matter of seconds before the white armoured truck came around the bend and, as he was thinking this, the road and surrounding area up ahead was lit up by its headlights. He waited patiently until the truck itself was in view then calmly pulled the trigger.
*****
Mamba had eased the truck around the bend in the road and subconsciously realised that something was streaking towards him. He instinctively jerked the steering wheel to his left, smashing into a couple of zombies but thankfully just missing a large oak tree and some bollards on the side of the road.
He was then aware of a massive explosion and the truck somersaulting into the air and hitting something hard before everything turned black.
1
Day 8 – 10:45
Butcher Row, Stepney, East London
Mamba was in the front cabin of the upside-down, crippled white armoured truck, sitting amongst various detritus on what was effectively the truck’s roof. He’d been conscious for about half an hour and was drinking from a 500ml bottle of water he had found in amongst the debris.
Mamba was thirty years old and had been a lieutenant in the ‘39 Stepz’ East-End gang – a gang that he’d joined when he was just fifteen but had now all but been wiped out.
Mamba was cunning, sly, and deadly, with a very short fuse. He got his nickname after the Black Mamba, one of Africa’s most poisonous and deadly snakes. He had been born in Sierra Leone and was brought illegally to the UK by his parents before he’d even taken his first step. He had some facial scars, but no one knew whether this was due to some tribal thing, punishment from his psychotic late father or just war wounds from his frequent fights – he was the sort of person who could start a fight in an empty room. He was slim with an average build and average height of five feet ten inches, so he was shorter than many of his old gang mates and he looked fairly ordinary from the outside. However, he was no less intimidating because of this; you only had to look at his eyes which were forever moving, and which screamed ‘nutter’ if anyone had the nerve to look that closely. Anyone with any sense tended to steer well clear of him if they could.
Next to him sat Ahmed, another lieutenant in the same gang. Ahmed was drinking from his own bottle of water and checking out his numerous bumps and bruises. He was the closest thing to a friend that Mamba had, although Mamba would never recognise him as such and generally just treated him as his personal lackey.
Ahmed was from the Ivory Coast, and like Mamba, had arrived in the UK when he was a child. Purely by chance, they had found themselves living next door to each other in the Green Park Estate, and Mamba, being a couple of years older than Ahmed, had taken him under his wing. They went to school together, well, on the odd occasion before they were kicked out, and they bonded like brothers. But, from the very start, Mamba always had the upper hand and Ahmed was content to let him have it.
Ahmed could be a violent and sadistic person, but he was able to turn his aggression on and off like a tap. Most of the time he was quiet, following Mamba around like a lapdog, watching and listening, taking everything in. He tended to save his energy for people he considered needed sorting out, or who Mamba told him needed sorting out. He was twenty-eight, and at six feet five inches he was very tall and very intimidating, and also as ugly as sin, not improved by the almost permanent scowl on his face. People who didn’t know him believed that he had a screw loose or was a can short of a six-pack, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. He was actually very intelligent but strived very hard to hide it. Whilst Mamba was street-smart, Ahmed was clever but lacked common-sense at times.
In the morning’s sunlight, they could now clearly see everything around them. Mamba stared in mounting anger at the various holes and twisted metal of the vehicle and the dead bodies of his friends which lay within touching distance – when he had regained consciousness, Mamba found that Dodge, Skelly, Bird and Smiley, had all turned since the attack on the armoured truck and he’d had no choice but to put them out of their misery once he’d located his weapons. He’d shot Dodge with his pistol but quickly learnt his lesson when the noise in the confined space had almost burst his eardrums, so he’d used a knife on the other three. Ahmed had still been unconscious at the time and Mamba had checked him over thoroughly, making sure there were no bite marks, prepared to use his knife again if the situation warranted it.
It hadn’t taken Mamba long to figure out what must have happened to them and he’d explained his theory to Ahmed – he thought they’d been hit by a missile or rocket shot by the bastards from Heathrow and he’d sworn his revenge on both them and the other survivors at the Tower of London. But first, they needed to get safe and organised.
“How ya feelin’, bro?” Mamba asked, taking another mouthful of his drink.
“Like shit,” Ahmed replied, rubbing his shoulder.
“Well, we can’t stay here, nice as it is,” Mamba muttered sarcastically. “We need to get outta here in case those bastards come back to check if we’re dead.”
“Yeah. So, what’s the plan? Ya mentioned other gangs in Brixton, Hackney and Tottenham earlier.”
“Yeah, I’ve decided to avoid Brixton. Too fuckin’ far from here and I don’t trust ‘em fuckin’ Yardies. Hackney’s almost next door and if they’re all dead, then we can try Tottenham.”
“But there’s Yardies in Tottenham as well,” Ahmed pointed out.”
“Yeah, but they’re North London,” Mamba replied as if that explained everything.
“Hackney and Tottenham have the fuckin’ Turkish Mafia and they’re always fightin’ each other,” Ahmed pointed out.
“Yep, fuckin’ loonies them Turks,” Mamba agreed. “They like a knife, they do. None of that shootin’ shit, that’s for the fuckin’ pussies.”
‘Pot callin’ the kettle black’, Ahmed thought to himself, but said aloud, “But, us and the fuckin’ Turks don’t get on, or had ya forgot?”
“Water under the bridge, Ahmed. They’ll be pleased to fuckin’ see us.”
‘They won’t be fuckin’ pleased to see ya’, Ahmed thought to himself as he looked towards the heavens. Mamba and the Turks had a long-running history of aggravation, mostly caused by Mamba and now conveniently forgotten.
There were a couple of bumps against the side of the truck and both Mamba and Ahmed sprang for their weapons. Then they froze, weapons at the ready, and listened carefully, hearing the shuffling, grunting and gnashing of teeth associated with the zombies mill
ing around outside the vehicle. They breathed out a sigh of relief and settled back down.
“You’ve gotta remember to keep yer trap shut, Ahmed. Those fuckers out there can hear ya.”
Ahmed closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. Mamba was always right, even when he was wrong.
“Right. We betta get a move on,” Mamba ordered as he shuffled around and got to his knees. Ahmed watched with interest turning to disgust as Mamba leant over him and used his machete to slice Dodge from his throat to his groin. He wasn’t squeamish, but Dodge was a mate after all. Mamba pulled handfuls of guts and intestines out and began rubbing them against his clothing and face.
“Get my back, Ahmed,” Mamba ordered.
Ahmed leant over to grab a handful and followed Mamba’s lead.
“What ‘bout the other three?” Ahmed asked, talking about the three other gang members in the central cabin.
“What ‘bout ‘em? We only need one fuckin’ body to do this,” Mamba retorted.
“No, I meant, what are we goin’ to do with ‘em?”
“Well, we ain’t fuckin’ carryin’ ‘em with us, if that’s what ya mean.”
“So, we jus’ gonna leave ‘em here for the birds and shit to eat?”
“Yep.”
“Can’t we burn ‘em?”
“Are ya fuckin’ jokin’? A fire springs up from nowhere and it’s not gonna attract any attention? Wake up, Ahmed! Ya must’ve had a fuckin’ big bang on that head of yours, that’s all I can say.”
They finished covering themselves with blood and guts in silence. They then swept the floor for anything useful before climbing over the partition into the central cabin. They searched the pockets of their dead colleagues and managed to collect six handguns and various knives and water before continuing on to the rear cargo area of the truck.
It was clear that the rocket had hit the right-hand side of the truck, but because it had been flipped onto its roof, the huge gaping hole was now looking towards where the rocket had been heading rather than where it had come from. The inside of the cargo area had contained food, water and weapons. There was absolutely nothing to salvage as everything had burnt, melted or warped. The shell of the cargo area was peppered with holes, both large and small, like shot being dispersed from a gun and spreading out. The once white interior was now black and a fine layer of soot covered every surface.
Looking through the largest hole in the side, there were dozens of zombies, all attracted by the noises coming from inside the truck; a couple had severed their hands on the sharpened metal as they tried to gain entry and others had lost the skin off their faces and arms. Mamba stabbed a couple of them in the head, just for the hell of it. There was blood everywhere and the pervasive smell of rotting bodies. Although the sunshine allowed Mamba and Ahmed to see what was going on, it didn’t do much for the dead bodies within, and there were already clouds of flies swarming around. Mamba put his face to other holes, trying to determine the best way to leave the vehicle. The main hole was out of the question and the other holes weren’t large enough to get through, unless you were planning on being skinned alive. That left either the back door, the door to the central cabin or one of the two front cabin doors.
The back door was wedged shut from warped and melted metal so they made their way back to the central cabin and, standing on their dead friends, tried the door. It clicked open but Mamba realised that it was on the same side and right next to the main hole, and therefore, near to all the zombies.
“Let’s try the front,” he whispered as he climbed back over the partition, planted his boots in the middle of what was left of Dodge’s chest cavity and tried the passenger door. It too clicked open but then stopped after about ten to fifteen inches; the gap was too small for them to squeeze out and Mamba couldn’t see what obstruction lay in the way.
“Last chance saloon or we’re shaking hands with our new buddies,” Mamba muttered as he passed Ahmed, on his way to the driver’s door. Mamba realised that this door was also on the same side as the main hole so he needed to tread very carefully. He clicked the door open then gently eased it away from him an inch at a time. He’d managed to create a small gap as Ahmed climbed over the partition, caught his foot on the sill and went headfirst into the truck’s windscreen with a loud crash, smashing bits of glass in all directions. If it hadn’t been for the toughened glass his head would have gone straight through.
Mamba automatically slammed the driver’s door closed and turned to Ahmed with a furious scowl on his face.
“What the fuck ya doin’ man?” he shouted, forgetting all about the fact that they were supposed to be keeping quiet. “Ya tryin’ to get us killed?”
“Sorry, tripped,” Ahmed replied sheepishly.
“Fuckin’ kill ya myself if yer not careful!” Mamba hissed.
Mamba shook his head in exasperation before turning back to the driver’s door, already aware of the shuffling of feet outside, heading towards the front end of the truck. He wiped an arm over the bloodied window to try and get a good look outside, but all he managed to do was smear the blood and dirt around a little more. He looked around the debris on the floor and found some packaging from leftover snacks. He used the cardboard and paper to wipe the side window and managed to create a clear bit of glass he could look through. As he’d thought, at least some of the zombies were heading towards the front of the truck.
Mamba shifted himself around and used the same materials to clear some of the windscreen to give himself a view of the many dirty, scabby legs and ankles. One of the zombies – it was obviously a man – had somehow lost his clothing from the lower half of his body and Mamba involuntarily moved his head back away from the windscreen and started laughing. The incongruity of it all made him laugh even louder until he was shaking, trying to hold it all in, with tears running down his face.
Ahmed looked at him as if he was going mad. “What’s so fuckin’ funny?”
“T-take a look,” Mamba indicated the windscreen and Ahmed moved across the cabin with a frown on his face. He bent down to look through the glass and recoiled.
“Fuckin’ disgustin’, man!” Ahmed said with his face all screwed up as he sat down on the floor.
“Could make a glory hole for ya Ahmed,” Mamba teased, starting to laugh again.
“Ah, man! That’s even more disgustin’!” Ahmed responded, shaking his head and wrinkling his nose as if he’d smelt something particularly bad.
“His pecker is so small it probably wouldn’t even get through,” Mamba continued, trying to still the laughter bubbling up inside him once again.
“Man, yer a fuckin’ nightmare,” but a grin had started to spread across Ahmed’s face. “If it’d been a bit of bush, then I might’ve had a stroke,” he added wiggling his middle finger, and this set Mamba off in another fit of laughter.
Once they’d both calmed down and Mamba had wiped away the tears from his face and smeared a bit more blood in their place he looked at Ahmed carefully. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he didn’t have Ahmed with him, not that he’d ever admit it.
“Lucky them fuckers can’t get to us in here,” Mamba observed.
“Fuckin’ right, Bro,” Ahmed agreed, nodding his head gently. “But we’ve still gotta get outta here.”
“Yeah man, I’m gettin’ hungry.”
Mamba lent forwards to look through the gap in the windscreen, silently praying that the naked zombie had fucked off because he could feel the tremors of further laughter building in the pit of his stomach. Thankfully, he was met by a pair of brown corduroy trousers so he shifted across to look though the driver’s window. There were a few legs moving about but nothing like a few minutes earlier. To be sure, he whispered to Ahmed to check the main hole - without tripping over this time. Ahmed gave him a sarcastic smile and clambered over the partition to the central cabin to take a look. The main hole was clear, but Ahmed could see zombies close by and he didn’t like the look of the sharp metal edges around the h
ole in any case. He climbed back into the front cabin, looked at Mamba and shook his head.
Mamba went back to the door and opened it a crack. He then slowly eased it open, being careful to avoid any scrapes or squeaks. Once he was satisfied that the gap was large enough and there was nothing immediately in the way, he then made sure he had his weapons secured before turning back to Ahmed and beckoned him closer.
“Follow me,” he whispered. “Nice ‘n slow and don’t fuckin’ panic or the bastards’ll be on ya. No more talkin’ ‘til I say so.”
Ahmed nodded his agreement.
Mamba turned back to the door, got his smaller knife in his right hand and started easing himself through the gap. He stopped a couple of times when a couple of zombies nearby looked casually in his direction, but they soon lost interest and turned away. Mamba eventually cleared the door and slowly stood up, knife at the ready and waited for Ahmed to join him.
2
Day 8 – 11:15
Butcher Row, East London
Mamba and Ahmed surveyed the area and slowly moved away from the truck. Looking back, Mamba could see that the passenger door was up against a metal post which supported a traffic sign. He looked towards the bridge that he had climbed up just a few days earlier and realised that this was the direction from which the rocket had been fired. The ground near the wreckage was strewn with unrecognisable bits of metal and glass together with wood from a couple of roadside trees; the branches had been lopped off and one tree had been slammed twenty metres away into the front window of a nearby shop. There were also gouge marks in the road and pavement where the truck had obviously flipped and landed. Mamba couldn’t remember any of it.
There was nothing around the immediate area except shitty worn out office buildings, a gym, a car valeting service and various other small businesses and walls strewn with graffiti. The roads were filled with abandoned vehicles, litter and zombies wandering all around. The only noises they could hear were the sounds of birds twittering and the usual grunts and gnashing of teeth from the zombies. Off in the distance they could see smoke rising above the buildings into the clear blue sky. They felt like they could have been the last men on Earth.
