Z - Arrival / Z - London / Z - Payback: Books 1, 2 & 3 of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Hatchett

“I fuckin’ did,” Mamba replied. “Stupid fuckin’ question!”

  27

  Day 10 – 11:45

  Cambridge Heath Road, East London

  Mamba drove the Defender Northwards along the A107, Cambridge Heath Road. The rail line came up alongside the road to their left, but about fifteen metres higher. Underneath the elevated rail line, the arches had been converted into a wide variety of shops and businesses.

  They passed betting shops, more restaurants, coffee shops, supermarkets, dry cleaners, a taxi rank, a solicitors, a tanning salon and a dentist.

  “Hey, look Mamba, a fuckin’ dentist,” Ahmed noted.

  “Yeah? So fuckin’ what?”

  “Well, I was thinkin’,” Ahmed said. “What if we took out all the zombies’ teeth? That way, they couldn’t bite us.”

  “What ya gonna do, say ‘please sit down Mr Zombie while I take out those annoyin’ fuckin’ molars’? Fuck me, bro, you’d still be takin’ teeth out in the next century. Ya really do have some shit ideas sometimes.”

  “Only thinkin.”

  “Yeah? Well don’t. Anyway, what’d ya need a dentist for? Jus’ get a fuckin’ crowbar and smash ‘em out. Simplest and easiest solution is usually the best.”

  “Not always.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The simplest and easiest solution is not always the best.”

  “Well, I got that bit,” Mamba replied sarcastically, “but what the fuck are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

  “Well, for example,” Ahmed explained, “instant coffee is the simplest and easiest to make, but it’s not as good as a proper cappuccino.”

  “Thanks for that, Ahmed,” Mamba said sarcastically. “I’d never have known, and I stand corrected.”

  Mamba stopped the Defender.

  “What ya doin’ bro?” Ahmed asked.

  “Fuckin’ bored. You drive.” Mamba got out, went to the back door and got in next to Jenny. “Get in the front seat Luca, and if ya fuckin’ look around I’ll poke yer eyes out.”

  Daryl clambered across the centre console and into the passenger seat as Ahmed got into the driver’s seat.

  Ahmed set off and Mamba focused his attention on Jenny, who looked out of her side window to the left and ignored Mamba completely.

  Mamba put his hand on her leg, which she quickly brushed off. He grabbed her right breast, and before she could shake him off he withdrew his hand.

  “These fuckin’ motorbike outfits are like tights,” he said.

  “How’s that?” Jenny asked, still looking out of her window.

  “Fuckin’ passion killers!” Mamba replied as he faced the front and watched the world go by.

  Cambridge Heath Road ran into Mare Street, even though it was still the same road and still the A107. Go figure.

  28

  Day 10 – 12:30

  Heathrow Terminal 3, Jack’s Office

  Issy sat down in the chair opposite Jack’s desk with the Major sitting in the chair next to her.

  She took them through her visit to the armoured truck and the Green Park Estate, her meeting with Jamelia and her brief look around the outside of the building and Stepney Green Park.

  “So, we have no idea where they’ve gone?” the Major asked.

  “That’s about the sum of it, yes,” Issy replied.

  “So, what can we do?” the Major wondered aloud.

  “Not a lot unless we get some sort of lead,” Issy replied. “They’re obviously not seriously injured because they’re mobile. I don’t think they can get far without transport, and even if they had it, where would they go? I can’t see Mamba running off into the distance, never to be seen again, he’s not the sort. Therefore, I think he’ll stay in London, waiting for the opportunity to strike back.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Jack stated. “So, as the Major says, what can we do?”

  “The first thing would be to arrange more guards at all the bases and make sure they’re alert,” Issy suggested. “The Apaches have heat seeking equipment, so it might be worth them scouting the area between the Tower and the Green Park Estate, and perhaps a little further out?”

  “I don’t think that would work. There’s still too many people alive hidden in buildings so there would be too many ‘hits’ to check out.”

  “Yes, but the main difference is that Mamba and Ahmed know about getting dirty, so they can move around at will. If the Apache’s managed to find a heat signature in the open, then it could be our targets.”

  “Yes, that’s possible,” Jack agreed, “although I’m sure more and more people are going to figure out about getting dirty as time goes by. Also, whilst we currently have plenty of fuel, I don’t really want to waste it on an exercise which would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. I think we’d be better off seeing if Tom can do anything with the satellites, and if we can narrow down an area, then we could use the Apache’s.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” the Major agreed and Issy nodded to confirm she felt it was a reasonable position to take.

  “I’ll speak to Tom and we’ll see if he’s able to determine any unusual activity,” Issy advised as she rose from her seat and headed next door to the Security Command Centre.

  29

  Day 10 – 12:45

  Hackney, East London

  Mare Street took them directly to Hackney Central, although it looked no different to Bethnal Green, except different shops.

  Mamba spotted a pub called ‘The Cock’ which he thought was apt and told Ahmed to pull up near the entrance.

  Following their usual routine, Mamba and Ahmed cleared the building and it wasn’t long before the four of them were at the bar. Mamba and Ahmed each had a beer, but Daryl and Jenny had gone a bit white at the idea of more alcohol and settled for a coke.

  “Don’t ya jus’ love this new world?” Mamba asked rhetorically. “Everythin’s free and there’s no catches. It’s the dog’s bollocks.”

  “Don’t start that again,” Ahmed pleaded.

  “What do you mean?” Jenny asked.

  “Forget it,” Ahmed advised, shaking his head, and Jenny shrugged her shoulders before she and Daryl moved away and sat down at a table.

  Within half an hour they were back on the road. Ahmed had turned left onto the A207 which would lead them direct to Dalston. It wasn’t long before the shops died out and the area became residential.

  It took another half hour to reach the end of the A207 where it met the B108. They took a left at the junction and slowly headed South towards a pub called ‘The Crown’. Just before it, the access road leading to the rear of a parade of shops was blocked off by a combination of cars, scaffolding and various other discarded metal objects.

  They continued on past the pub, Mamba indicating that they needed to turn right into Laurel St, but this too was similarly blocked off. This entrance had about a dozen poles stuck into the ground with heads impaled on the top of them.

  “Who they tryin’ to scare?” Mamba laughed.

  Mamba instructed Ahmed to carry on and take a right at Forest Road. Thankfully, this was not blocked off, but there were many stranded vehicles scattered across both sides of the road.

  Ahmed weaved between the vehicles heading Eastwards and soon came to Buttermere Walk but this was also blocked off and had more poles with heads on top of them. He continued on to Cumberland Close and this too was blocked off with more heads on show.

  “What the fuck is goin’ on here,” Mamba asked no one in particular. “They obviously like their heads on poles.”

  “Dunno, Bro,” Ahmed replied. “What do ya want me to do?”

  “Keep goin’. We’ll do a circuit of the estate and then decide what to do.”

  Ahmed continued along Forest Road until he reached Beechwood Road, which was unblocked, and he turned in, heading Northwards. He went to the end of the road, noticing that all alleys and pathways leading into the estate were blocked off and had plenty of the ubiquitous heads in view. At
the end, he turned right again and drove Westwards along Dalston Lane until he arrived back at the junction of the A1207 and B108 where they had first arrived.

  The roads they had just driven around were roughly two hundred and fifty metres squared, so sixty-two thousand, five hundred square metres. Mamba knew that the area was large enough for about three dozen blocks of housing and thousands of residences, all full of the Turks and their extended families. ‘When the Turks invaded, they didn’t piss about’, Mamba thought to himself. He knew from experience that the estate was a warren of little alleys and side roads and different sections like the layout of the old army camps with row upon row of old wooden army billets, but these buildings were solid brick and most a few stories high.

  “What we gonna do?” Ahmed asked, with the Defender in neutral and the engine ticking over.

  “They’re in there, the sneaky fuckers. They must’ve got themselves organised before the zombies arrived, like we did at the Green Park Estate, but with a shit load more room. Let’s get back to Laurel Street. That used to be one of the main entrances to the estate.”

  Ahmed put the Defender in gear and moved off, heading once again past The Crown pub towards the Laurel Street turning a few metres further on.

  As they passed the blocked off access road to the rear of the parade of shops, there were a number of new faces poking over the barricade. They’d obviously heard the Defender on its first pass and were coming out to see what was going on.

  Ahmed passed the pub, crunching over a few of the zombies he’d nailed the first time they’d driven this way, and pulled up a few metres from the barricade at Laurel Street and turned off the engine. There were zombies all around and dozens of heads sticking up over the barricade watching them. There were also quite a few guns now pointed in their direction.

  “Look, a welcomin’ committee,” Mamba pointed out. “Difficult to tell which are the dead ones and which are alive,” he laughed. “They all look the fuckin’ same, jus’ like that…what do ya call it? That cartoon character with his eyes and snout pokin’ over the wall sayin’ ‘Wot no…”

  “Don’t look very fuckin’ welcomin’ to me,” Ahmed muttered. “Why don’t ya go say ‘hello’? he suggested.

  “Maybe you should go Ahmed, you’d pass for a Turk and they don’t hate ya.”

  “Fuck off, Mamba. This is yer gig and ya need to make peace with ‘em before I get out of this vehicle.”

  “What’s the point of havin’ a fuckin’ dog and barkin’ yourself?” Mamba asked rhetorically. “Leave the hard stuff to me Ahmed, why don’t ya?”

  With that Mamba wound down his window and stuck his head out, “Oi fuckers! Where’s the boss?”

  “That was smart,” Ahmed commented from the front. “Great way to ingratiate yourself callin’ ‘em ‘fuckers’.”

  “Well, they are fuckers,” Mamba replied, sticking his head back inside the vehicle as a warning shot ricocheted off the tarmac nearby.

  “Yes, and you’re black, and you’d fuckin’ kill anyone but me for pointin’ it out,” Ahmed sighed with resignation.

  “They don’t speak English anyway,” Mamba pointed out.

  “Of course they fuckin’ can,” Ahmed replied getting exasperated, “they jus’ pretend they can’t when dealin’ with arseholes like ya.”

  Mamba considered what Ahmed had said. “Maybe,” he relented.

  “Are we gonna sit here all day?” Ahmed asked sarcastically.

  “No, we’re fuckin’ not,” Mamba replied, getting his two pistols out.

  “Do ya think that’s wise?” Ahmed asked.

  “Probably not, but I’m not takin’ any shit from these camel shaggers.”

  “There’s fuck all camels in Turkey,” Ahmed pointed out.

  “How do you know? They shagged them all to death?” Mamba retorted. He put on his motorcycle helmet, shut the visor and opened the rear door.

  Mamba got out of the vehicle and stood facing the barricade with his hands down by his side, pistols in each hand. With full motorcycle gear on, he looked like an alien from out of space. A couple of zombies approached, and Mamba casually smashed them in the head with the butt of his gun. One got back up and came back at him so Mamba put out his arm for the zombie to munch on. ‘’Bout time we tried out the protection’, he thought to himself.

  The zombie tried to bite his arm, but hardly made a dent in the jacket’s material. Mamba brought the butt of the second gun down on the top of its head, and when it fell to the floor, he stamped on its head a few times with his sturdy motorcycle boots. It wouldn’t be getting back up.

  There were a few sarcastic cheers from behind the barricade and Mamba took a theatrical bow. He then walked forwards a few paces towards the barricade before guns were raised and pointing at him again. He stopped and was about to speak, but realised his visor was closed. He thought it was probably not a good idea to raise his arm with a gun in his hand so he carefully put one gun away and used that hand to lift his visor.

  “Tell Sully that Mamba’s here and wants a word,” he shouted.

  There was some chatter behind the barricade before one of the Turks shouted back, “If that is you Mamba, you’d better fuck off quick before your head is on one of these poles. You must have a death wish, mate. Sully won’t speak to you.”

  Mamba looked in the direction of the voice and recognised one of Suleiman’s inner circle, a large man in his forties known as Hakan. Hakan was only about five feet six, but probably about the same in width, the fat bastard. Mind, most of these fuckers were short and fat as far as Mamba was concerned. Suleiman himself was like a replica of Buddha. Times twenty.

  “Is that you Hakan?” Mamba asked.

  “Yeah, and what the fuck are you wearing?”

  “It’s the latest armour, man. I got some spares if you want ‘em, although I’m not sure I’ve got your size.”

  “You won’t be needing that shit if you carry on. Does it stop a bullet?”

  “Guess I’ll never find out if you’re shootin’!”

  Ahmed wound down his window. “Mamba, for fuck’s sake! We wanna talk to ‘em and get their help and all ya wanna do is piss ‘em off even more.”

  Mamba turned back to Hakan. “I need to see Sully. I’ve got a bit of profitable business he might be interested in.”

  “I doubt it, but I’ll ask,” Hakan replied. “There’s no profit with you Mamba, just fucking losses and misery.”

  “This time it’s different,” Mamba advised.

  “We’ll see. You get back in the vehicle and stay there until I come back. If you fucking move, we’ll shoot you.”

  “Fair enough,” Mamba replied, and got back in the rear seat of the vehicle.

  *****

  After half an hour, Mamba was beginning to lose his patience. He’d been through a couple of packs of crisps, a chocolate bar and a couple of drinks.

  The Turks on top of the barricade were still there, guns still pointed vaguely in the direction of the Defender.

  “Those fuckers are takin’ the piss now,” Mamba pointed out.

  “Chill man,” Ahmed replied. “They’ve got the upper hand and we have ta go with it. There’s no rush anyway.”

  “OK…for now,” Mamba replied ominously. “That fat twat Sully is probably pissin’ himself laughin’, knowin’ I’m sittin’ here doin’ fuck all but waitin’.”

  “Jus’ remember we need him, so it’s probably a good idea not to piss him off,” Ahmed reminded Mamba.

  “Why’d you want to come here anyway?” Jenny asked.

  “You’ll see,” was all Mamba would say.

  “Can we put some music on?” Daryl asked.

  “No we fuckin’ can’t,” Mamba replied, getting seriously irritated.

  Daryl was about to say something else but he saw the slight shake of the head from Ahmed. Ahmed knew the signs that Mamba’s patience was reaching breaking point, and when he got in this mood, literally anything could happen.

  Suddenly there
was a shout from the Barricade.

  Mamba got out of the Defender and looked to the spot where Hakan had re-appeared.

  “Sully says he’ll see you, but if you don’t apologise straight away, he’ll shoot you before you have the chance to say anything else.”

  “Apologise for what?” Mamba asked, confused.

  “It’d take too fucking long to go through your rap sheet,” Hakan replied.

  Mamba considered the offer. He couldn’t for the life of him think what he’d done to piss off the Turks, but he was sure Ahmed would take great pleasure in reminding him. The problem was, he didn’t like apologising for anything, especially for something which in his mind he hadn’t done. But, then he thought about the people in the Tower of London and Heathrow and relented.

  “OK, but ya tell Sully I ain’t done anythin’.”

  Hakan laughed, big, loud, guffaws, his head thrown back. “What planet are you on, man?”

  Mamba got back into the vehicle and Ahmed started the engine. He pulled forwards as part of the barricade moved to one side and they entered the compound.

  “Mamba, you betta fuckin’ be careful, man, or we’re all dead.”

  “Keep calm Ahmed,” Mamba replied, looking at the people and buildings as they drove in.

  “I’m not the one who needs to keep calm,” Ahmed retorted.

  30

  Day 10 – 14:00

  Dalston Estate, East London

  Hakan walked slowly down the centre of Laurel Street, the Defender idling and about two hundred other Turks following close behind. More and more were appearing from all corners of the estate as they moved along, young, old and the infirm. No one wanted to miss this; it was the most exciting thing to have happened for over a week.

  “You’d think the fat bastard would have a car or a bike or somethin’,” Mamba commented as he watched Hakan walk with each leg swinging around at almost forty-five degrees due to the fat on his inner thighs.

  “Mamba!” Ahmed cautioned.

  “Well, for fucks sake! I don’t wanna watch that fat fuck’s arse wigglin’ in my face, thank ya very much!”