Looking around the inside of the wreck Tim quickly grabbed his rucksack from its resting-place. He quickly emptied its contents, and replaced them with a couple of survival pack-ups from the aircraft's emergency stores. These pack-ups would contain rations, water purifying tabs, flares, medical stores and a small radio. With the atmospheric lighting from the sparking electricity, Tim speedily located the weapon rack within the choppers ruined internals, and efficiently seized and loaded a spare SA80. He also removed the magazines from the two other rifles; ammo was life now he was on the ground. As Tim approached the rear ramp the sickly sweet smell of kerosene invaded his senses; he'd have to avoid firing if possible, or end up part of a vast indoor barbecue. Tim could see the daylight filtering down through the skeletal building. He clambered down over the mangled ramp and found himself standing in a large pool of kerosene. Quickly scanning the area he noticed only one zombie approaching him, the rest were attempting to climb over the wreckage his crash had created. The zombie continued its advance toward him; it was a short blonde wearing a blood stained lab coat. Her stomach had a line of bullet holes along it, but she looked otherwise intact. She looked strangely familiar, Tim almost thought he'd seen her before. The dead girl shambled closer, and opened her hissing mouth. Without thinking Tim raised the rifle and snapped back the trigger. He struggled with the weapon's recoil as it clattered off a full burst of rounds. The girl's head exploded, her corpse managed one more step toward Tim before tottering backwards. As she hit the deck her attractive face scattered across the reception floor like pieces of a macabre jigsaw. The echoes growing faint Tim studied her unmoving remains, whilst mentally cursing himself for firing, not just near the wreck, but on automatic as well. Looking down at the girl's unrecognizable features, then to the name badge below, Tim felt his guts twist. The bold red font on the badge simply read "Robins". Underneath it stated her job "Mortuary Supervisor". Thinking hard Tim managed to link the faceless girl with someone more familiar.
"Shit." Said Tim to the fume filled air.
Robins was Danny's girlfriend, and from all the times Danny had wittered on about her, Tim knew mortuary supervisor was her job at the City hospital. Tim had to find Danny, if he saw this he'd fall apart.
The door flew open in a shower of splinters as Danny shouldered into it. He brought his pistol up and searched the former reception area for threats, he saw Flight Lieutenant Addison standing over a dead zombie. He quickly ran toward the officer, keeping a watch on the zombies that were reaching the summit of the crash wreckage. "Are you all right, Tim" Shouted Danny, dispensing with the formalities of rank. "Err…. Yeah fine mate," Tim nervously replied. "Chris Swanton's bought it though"
"Damn." Said Danny, as he looked down at the corpse lying next to Tim.
"Danny, mate, you don't wan-"
Danny's wails cut him off, Tim was right it was Danny's girlfriend. Tim watched as the Sergeant sank to his knees, hugging and sobbing over the lifeless girl on the floor.
"No, no, no, why you? Why…" Danny sobbed, as though denial would revive the corpse. Tim eyed the remaining zombies as Danny continued his monologue with the oblivious Robins. The corpses had now advanced over the wreckage and were stumbling toward the hapless aircrew.
"Danny we've got to move, we'll be trapped soon." Urged Tim, the zombies were past the door Danny had entered through now.
"Who cares," Wailed Danny "Leave me here, I want to die!"
"Yeah well I don't!" Roared Tim "I need your help to get out of here, you can do all the dying you want when I'm safe, but until then, Sergeant, you will fucking help!" Tim didn't like yelling at a grieving man, but it was the quickest way to retrieve Danny from his self-pity.
Danny began to pull himself together; Tim's words made sense he could still make a difference to someone. He kissed his former girlfriend's hand, and picked up his discarded pistols. Tim was already firing, as Danny ran around him and began firing himself. The two aircrew leap frogged each other toward the stairwell door. Zombie's heads cracked like overripe fruit as the combination of 9mm and 5.56mm rounds stormed through them. Danny made it to the door, and waited for Tim, whilst carefully picking off the undead with his dwindling ammunition. Tim reached the door and fired two shots at one of the few remaining creatures, they were tracer rounds, loaded at the middle of the magazine to remind the user he was halfway out of ammo. The tracers had barely ignited when they struck the zombie's chest. Unbeknown to Tim, the zombie had been soaked in leaking kerosene from the Chinook, and promptly exploded in a spectacular fireball. The flaming zombie staggered off course and back towards the stricken chopper and it's leaking tanks.
"Run Danny, get the fuck out!" Screamed Tim.
Danny didn't need any encouragement he had already turned and run having witnessed the incandescent display. The two screaming men burst out through the fire exit at the base of the stairs. The torch like corpse blundered straight into the large kerosene slick at the base of the choppers ruined ramp, it was the last thing it did, a split second later it was vaporized along with everything else within the building in an ear splitting detonation. The blast knocked Danny and Tim to the ground even though they were half way across the street; the fire exit door flew flaming through the air into the display window of a looted clothes shop. The black smoky fireball from the Chinook's lifeblood drifted towards the heavens. Tim picked Danny up and pulled him down the street away from the now collapsing office block, ammunition within the Chinook was beginning to cook off and cause secondary explosions, sending debris high into the air. With a tortured metallic squeal the much abused building fell into itself, showering the streets below with masonry.
Laura's trip back to the second floor flat she hid out in was fairly uneventful. She had used one full magazine to clear the various undead she had encountered on her way back. Another five rounds went on dispatching two zombies who were milling about her residence. Using a long length of wood she knocked down the piece of rope which enabled her to climb up to the second floor. Laura had just settled down to her lunch of cold beans from a tin, when she heard a huge explosion. She looked out across the skyline and saw a large mushroom cloud rising from the Main Street area. It was probably the Army shelling another infested building she assumed. That's exactly what they had done with the City Hospital when it had grown beyond control, a massive air strike, followed by prolonged shelling.
Laura and her assistant, Jenny, had escaped via the old Second World War shelter system that ran underneath and away from the hospital. The access for this system lay in the basement morgue, which, ironically no one else could reach because of the huge numbers of undead in that area, but for Laura and Jenny it was a godsend. Cornered in a small storeroom they had desperately kicked the long forgotten access door down, as hundreds of the creatures mobbed round to scrabble and claw against the other door moaning insatiably. When they had emerged some distance from the hospital, they came across an Army patrol, which mistook them for zombies from their blood-splattered garb. The patrol opened fire killing Jenny with a hail of rounds to her abdomen. Laura had run until her legs gave way to exhaustion and managed to evade Jenny's killers. That had been nearly three weeks ago, even thinking about Jenny upset Laura, it was so pointless, and Jenny hadn't even been bitten. Those Army dick heads just shot her up regardless, Laura doubted they'd killed her properly either, the poor girl was more than likely a zombie now, wondering the streets aimlessly.
Having worked in the morgue, Laura learnt several important things about the creatures people now became when they died. Unless the brain was destroyed the bodies of the dead would revive, and seek warm human flesh to devour. They never attacked each other though, only jostling over a fresh kill at the worst. The creatures lacked any real strength, but in large numbers they could easily break down doors or overrun barricades. Fire was the only thing they feared, Laura had found this out by dousing one of them in surgical spirit and then flicking a match at it. The others backed away from the flaming corpse, giving her the time she needed to escape. Doctors that she had spoken with, before becoming trapped in the morgue, had theorized that a virus was responsible for the reanimated corpses. It seemed to infect you when you died, but also if bitten by a carrier. The only way this made sense to Laura was that everyone already carried the virus in a dormant state, but when you died it became active and caused your corpse to revive. These revived bodies would then attack the living either killing or wounding them. The bites sustained by people who had escaped the zombies would be infected with the active strain of the virus, and after two or three days the infection would turn them. What had caused the virus to become active in the first place though?
No one knew where the first outbreak had begun, but the whole world was affected, the dead of any race, color or creed rose up and attacked the living. This pretty much ruled out the biological weapons theory that was banded around. Unless whoever created it wanted to destroy the world. Of all she had learned at the hospital, the most important thing had been to eliminate the creature's derelict brains. Nothing else would stopped them, she'd seen soldiers empty full magazines from assault rifles into the humanlike monsters, only very rarely would a zombie die from body hits alone. The reason these few went down was because the bullet had rebounded around inside the corpse's rib cage and exited through its putrefied skull. The Army never caught onto this though, their soldiers were taught from basic training to aim at the central mass of the target's body, and no one was telling them to do anything different now. Heavy machine gun fire would knock them down but with the size of the mobs they attacked in, it was like eating soup with a fork. Or cold beans, Laura thought bitterly as she began to eat.
The legs of Danny's flying suit were on fire; he quickly patted out the flames with his hands and a chorus of four letter words. Danny looked up from the ground and watched Tim throwing off his sizzling backpack. The flares inside burned furiously destroying all of the valuable survival kit. Tim kicked the flaming bag away in frustration, then turned round to Danny, and looked him over.
"You OK Dan?" Said the concerned officer, crouching to pick up a single undamaged flare.
"Oh, fucking fabulous!" Danny replied dejectedly.
"What happened to John?" Asked Tim, his concern still apparent.
"He's dead." Said Danny starkly.
"Dead." Tim echoed "What happened to him?"
"Shrapnel from the rotors hit him, he died instantly" Answered Danny as he stood up, dusting himself off.
"What happened to Chris?" Danny asked. "Was he killed in the crash?"
"Yeah, his side of the cockpit took the worst of the fall, he got crushed" Replied Tim.
"You didn't get a May-Day signal out then?" Said Danny.
"There was no time, one second I'm checking the fuel gauges the next I'm at the bottom of the building."
"Shame, we'd better start moving then." Danny mumbled, as he pointed a finger at the large group of undead which were progressing up the street.
With that the battered aviators began to jog away from the growing crowd.
With a soft hydraulic whine the muzzle lined up with the swelling crowd of undead, the sun glinting off it's battle scarred surface. A particularly unpleasant looking corpse eyed the end of the moving weapon with idiotic fascination. Its single remaining eye stared intently up the 120mm bore to see if something worthy of its attention would appear from the darkness, it did. The deafening report from the anti-personnel shell echoed around the packed street. The curious zombie didn't seem to explode; it just ceased to exist, consumed by the fiery flash and thunderclap of detonation. Creatures close to the first disintegrated in a maelstrom of jagged steel and blood. Dust from the street and buildings rose up to conceal the miniature hell.
As the noise faded muffled laughter could be heard from within the Challenger tank. The designer of the carnage, Major Neil Davis allowed himself a brief chuckle along with his men. An Army Major would not under normal circumstances be demoted to the level of tank commander. However, circumstances no longer resembled normal. The apocalypse had dragged Neil from his desk job and back into the command seat.
As a single man with no surviving relatives, Neil did not suffer from angst and sorry like many of the troops. If fact, he found the tactical opportunities of this new war extremely stimulating. Here you had an enemy that was very hard to kill, recruited anyone it caught, required no logistic support, and was virtually fearless. Admittedly it was vulnerable to air attack, armoured assault, and well-trained infantry units. But despite their lack of technology the Deads had made disturbing progress against the living. They had gained territory at a rate faster than anyone could have predicted. Rescue stations, Naval yards, Airbases, the list was endless. Everything fell to them unless given an inordinate amount of protection, but this was no guarantee of safety. Even the most fortified building was vulnerable to infiltration from within. A wounded civilian with an unnoticed bite, non-brain destroying suicides or even accidental deaths had all given the Deads infiltrators. A few victims taken in the dark and a small uprising would begin. Thankfully, now that the virus was better understood, the military had become far more ruthless in suppressing the rising army of death. The gloves were off now, the Geneva Convention completely ignored. Napalm, Chemical weapons, Anti-personnel mines and anything else the military could lay their hands on were being routinely used. This had led to limited success where napalm was concerned, but supplies were dwindling. The attacks with nerve agent yielded strange and disturbing results. Instead of inducing paralysis and complete brain death as advertised, the agent appeared to work in harmony with the virus, causing zombies to develop the speed and dexterity of a healthy human. This toxic cocktail did nothing to curb their vicious appetite though, especially for victim's brains, and it had taken nine days and over five hundred casualties to terminate the inhabitants of the test village. Despite this use of exotic arms, conventional weapons still provided better body counts.
A very messy but highly effective strategy had been to deploy armoured units to cities. The tanks would rumble down the streets two abreast and contain the zombies in a dead end or against a pair of blocking tanks. The contents of this armoured dragnet would then be put out of their misery with flame-throwers or machine guns. It was during one of these missions that Davis and his crew had run into their predicament.
"Excellent shot, Private" Commented Davis with revived hope. It was good to see the plan might work.
"Cheers, Sir" Replied the tank's gunner, Private Sam Monroe, whilst knowing a blind man could have made the shot, it was still nice to be appreciated
"Right then gentlemen, we wait until the crowd grows again. Then we fire three shots into them at increasing distance from the tank," Davis paused for effect.
"Get out, use the diesel in the jerry-cans outside to block and burn the undead behind us. Then quickly and carefully make our way to the shop at the end of the street."
There was a small chorus of acknowledgment from Monroe and Corporal Hebden, the tank's increasingly defeatist driver. The shop Major Davis referred to was an electronics outlet, which had its security shutters down. A crude doorway had been fashioned earlier in the morning using the turret-mounted machine gun's remaining fifty-caliber ammo.
"Right then, lets load up and get ready." Said the Major. A metallic clang rose up from the tank's floor as the spent shell casing was released from its captivity in the breach. Munroe's well-practiced hands quickly removed another shell from the ammunition rack, and slid it smoothly into the main gun.
"Up!" He reported, out of habit more than anything else. The cramped insides of the Challenger became a hive of activity as the three soldiers readied personal weapons, and struggled to don their backpacks in the confined space. With around ninety rifle rounds each the tank crew didn't have the luxury of a slow walk to safety, blazing through the zombies outside on a grim turkey shoot. The creatures knew they were here and continued to wait them out.
The best scenario to hope for was that the three anti personnel shells would clear a bloody path, allowing the crew to get to the shop before survivors or additional undead spilled out from side streets, and alleyways. Sam considered it to be a very scary proposition, but the crew was out of options. The tank was warm, familiar, and above all impenetrable, but all of its plus points disappeared in the face of an overwhelming problem, the tank's immobility. Having lost a track two days ago, trying to negotiate a pile of rubble and crushed cars, the tank had sat dormant. The crew's radio calls went unanswered; whether the other tanks had been recalled to defend RAF Drayton or had pushed on into the City was unimportant. Whatever the reason, no support or rescue had been forthcoming. The thick smoke overhead had also reduced the likelihood of being spotted from the air to near zero. Once stationary the gathering of the dead had begun, dozens then hundreds of zombies mingled around the dark green monolith of modern combat. An attempt to repair the damaged track had ended disastrously with the Challenger's Combat Engineer Private Rob Johns dragged away to a ghastly torment. With the water ration consumed, and dehydration on the horizon, the Major had come up with his "Crowd Control" plan. Once they made it to the shop at least they would have a supply of water, perhaps even food. They would then fortify the building and assess the new situation.
Davis looked out through the turret's observation slit at the reforming mob outside. The test shell must have killed around twenty of the creatures outright, and badly maimed another thirty odd. It was difficult to be precise though; the gore soaked streets now resembled an abattoir, rather than the up market shopping area it had been mere weeks ago. Swarms of flies hovered around the growing army awaiting the opportunity to lay their eggs on the truly dead. People had initially said the Deads would just rot away after couple of months. The egghead scientists quickly discovered the unpleasant fact that the zombies did not and would not rot. The virus kept them from doing so, only areas of acute tissue damage would decay. Even then it was not natural decomposition, just gangrene and other infections. Waiting them out was never an option. The surviving zombies from the first attack mingled with others newly on the scene, a few crawled around on the floor their legs missing or too badly damaged to carry them. Neil continued to watch the macabre parade until the street appeared sufficiently full.
Get ready." Said the Major quietly. Sam hunched down in front of his fire controls, his right eye on the scope. Hebden snapped his weapons cocking handle back chambering a round. Sweat was beading Neil's brow as he gazed at the nightmare outside through the thick armor glass. He clutched his weapon tight and took a deep breath
"Fire!"
The tank rocked violently as the scene outside disappeared in a bright flash. A wave of thick gore covered the observation slit. Shell splinters and concrete collided with the tanks thick armor, making only a dull noise through the inches of steel. Designed to withstand direct hits from the worlds most potent anti armor weapons, the tank's hull just shrugged off the close range blast.
"AP round, increase elevation five degrees! " Shouted the now slightly deaf Major.
"Up!" Yelled Sam.
"Fire!"
The instant chemical reaction powered the AP round down the barrel at an astounding rate. It exploded a fraction later, reducing more of the undead to random pieces of shredded meat.
"AP round, increase elevation five degrees!" Repeated Neil as he tried to make sense of the smoke covered bloodbath. With the next round already in his hands, Sam undogged the breach, and the smoking shell case clattered onto the floor. He slid the fresh one into the chamber, clamped it shut, and stabbed the new elevation into the fire controls.
"Up!"
"Fire!"
More razor sharp shrapnel bounced off the Challenger's thick green carapace. Neil squinted through the blood, but couldn't make out anything in the smoke filled street. It was now or never he thought as he unlocked the hatch, and pushed it open.
"Go, Go, Go!" He yelled down into the tank.
Rising out into the acrid street Neil fought the urge to gag. The tank had been sealed down for nuclear, biological and chemical warfare conditions, the crew had been breathing filtered air for days, and they were no longer used to the zombies' ripe smell. The shocking mix of foul odors outside was overpowering. The metallic tang of blood mingled with the smell of burnt flesh. Neil clambered out of the turret, and carefully made his way to the rear of the tank. He aimed his rifle down the street, trying to see potential attackers through the thick dust that stung his eyes. The large mob of creatures at the rear of the tank seemed largely untouched by the triple bombardment. The tank's armor protecting them as it did its crew. Monroe and Hebden made a speedy exit from the tank and joined the Officer on the tank's engine deck, both aiming at as yet unseen threats. Hebden winced as the heady cocktail of the street assailed his nostrils.
"God it stinks out here." The Corporal complained as he pulled his combat shirt up over his nose and looked over his shoulder at the miserable view beyond the front of the tank. The swirling dust began to settle revealing the extent of the carnage. Everywhere lay truly dead cadavers or their liberated limbs and entrails. Blood mingled with the settling cloud of dirt as it dripped from walls. The pavement and road were now slick with blood, it gathered together to form streams, which slowly made their way toward drains. The Corporal glanced back and saw that the rear zombies had faired much better. Only a few had gone down to wild ricochets. The diesel waited patiently on the decking. The three men unfastened the fuel cans and poured them liberally over the reaching crowd below. The creatures ignored the torrent of noxious fuel that showered down, and continued to scrabble mindlessly for a handhold on the tank's smooth rear. Several fell as the crew launched the empty jerry cans into the highly flammable throng.
"Secure the front of the tank." Said Neil, above the clamoring zombies.
Hebden and Monroe nodded, heading for the front of the tank and the street beneath A small chorus of shots sounded as they executed the ghouls who had taken refuge at the tanks protective flanks.
"Its geddin' hot in here," The Major quietly taunted the mob, as he backed away, box of matches in hand. He struck one then put it back into the box, and threw the resulting mass of flame into the dieseled corpses.
"So take off all your clothes." Neil shouted, and turned away from the spreading inferno.
A few battered cadavers blocked the road to the shop, peppered with shrapnel and missing arms, the survivors posed little threat.
The trio of soldiers shot down the handful of pathetic walking wounded that opposed them. The staggering amputees fell to meet their brothers and sisters, already littering the street. Sam kept his fear in check as the crew reached the point of no return; they were now closer to the shop than the tank. Glancing back, Sam could see the blaze at the tanks rear had grown, and was consuming all that came into contact with it. Major Davis gestured to Hebden to check the alleyway on the left of the street. The soldier nodded as he began to pick his way over the various body parts between him and his objective. Davis motioned for Sam to watch the right side of the road and the other alleyway further up.
Hebden could feel his heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and terror, never a dull day in the cavalry he thought bitterly. His finger searched dexterously for the SA80's safety catch, he didn't want to piss about with it if things turned sour. The catch snapped back into the armed position, as Hebden moved the change lever to automatic with his free hand. Moving slowly, but breathing quickly the soldier covered the last few feet to the alley, and steeled himself for what he would see.
The ground rose up to meet Tim Addison for a second time as he tumbled over the wall and hit the deck. Stars and other small flashy lights filled his vision as he tried to make sense of which way up he was. The cursing and firing from the other side of the wall became more intense as Danny held off the zombie hoard that had hunted them from the crash site. Tim got groggily to his feet waited for Danny's hands to appear at the summit of the wall. He heard a faint shout above the firing and assumed Danny was ready to jump. Sure enough the sound of his pistols stopped and his gloved hands came into view, followed by his sweating face. Tim reached up, seizing the Sergeant's hands and then pulling them back, but Danny seemed to be stuck. A small yelp of terror came from the now struggling Loadmaster, as he jerked and lashed out with his feet at an unseen assailant. Suddenly Danny came free and tumbled over the wall headfirst into Tim, the two men crashed into the waiting floor in an undignified heap. Danny untangled himself from the Pilot and examined his lower left leg with deep unease. Tim sat upright and looked at Danny's concerned face.
"They didn't bi……" Tim trailed off, unwilling to ask a question, the answer to which he feared.
"Bite me?" Danny finished Tim's question and smiled. "No, and I don't think one of them will be biting anyone again."
Tim looked down at the source of Danny's amusement. The rubber sole of the Sergeant's flying boot heal was imbedded with a full set of upper and lower front teeth.
"That's disgusting," Said the pilot, still staring at the bits of nerve hanging from the bodiless teeth.
"He'll need a very open minded dentist." Beamed Danny.
The two men laughed at the bad joke, the zombies didn't seem to get it though and continued to scrabble against the brick wall. Danny looked down the small alleyway as he used his right foot to pick the teeth from his boot.
It seemed zombie free, just some old crates and a wheely-bin occupied its length. It's normality made it seem strange, no blood, no bodies, the backdoors to the shops weren't even boarded up. Danny freed the final tooth from his boot and got up. He began walking down the alley, Tim stood and followed.
"This is a bit odd." Said Danny as he reloaded his remaining pistol, having dropped the other when it ran out of ammunition.
"Yeah, creepy." Agreed Tim whilst scanning the deserted alley. As the aircrew advanced along the alley it became apparent the doors had all been locked. Perhaps the owners had not been caught entirely unawares. Danny approached the end of the alleyway, a solid metal door with a secure looking padlock lay ahead of him. Obviously designed to keep out thieves it had also prevented the dead from gaining control within. Tim trotted up alongside and began to move the padlock experimentally.
"Know how to pick one of these, Sir?" Asked Danny wryly.
"No, fraid not."
Tim looked to the top of the door, but the coiled strands of razor wire made the idea of climbing over very unappealing. The dead could also be heard on the other side, obviously attracted by the voices of the living.
"Let's just kick one of those shop doors in, and go around." Said Tim indicating a yellow door a few feet away.
"Yeah soun-" A roaring disquiet cut him off, and made the whole alley shake. Loose tiles fell from the rooftops around them as vibrations coursed upward. "What the hell was that?" Shouted Tim, his hands clamped firmly over his ears.
"I don't know!" Danny replied. "Just kick the bloody door in."
Tim looked at Danny, his lips were moving but he couldn't hear him, then another blast rippled through the alleyway. The metal door sprouted numerous dents and bumps as it deflected lethal projectiles. Everything was silent now, but Tim could see and feel the buildings shaking. He looked at Danny, who was now glancing about wild eyed, looking for a safe place to curl up and hide. Tim grabbed the dumbfounded Sergeant and pulled him back toward the other end of the side street. Even as they began to run the world rocked beneath their feet a again, this time the explosion was so close it knocked them to the street. Tim yelled at Danny's unmoving frame, but couldn't even hear himself. He glanced back toward the steel door and saw it replaced with an insane artist's sculpture of twisted steel and fire. Another eruption rattled through the Officer and everything faded to black.
It was wearing a RAF issue-flying suit, which had prevented its body burning the same way its face had. The soldier raised his rifle slowly, savoring the kill, he was too slow. The zombie was on him in a split second, the small bark of Hebden's rifle did nothing to slow the creature's charge, it's solid bulk connected well and sent him down. The impact of the floor drove the wind from his body. He struggled to hold the creature back as he gasped for air. The shouts of Major Davis and Sam did little to comfort Hebden, as his resistance to the snarling zombie waned with lack of oxygen. Once his arms collapsed the terribly burned creature pushed the soldiers face to one side and bit deeply into his jugular. Blood squirted over the zombies charred face as it nuzzled deeper into Hebden's throat with satisfied moans. Dying and unable to scream Hebden prayed silently for merciful death. His prayers were answered seconds later by a burst of automatic fire from the Major's rifle. Both the feasting cadaver and its victim died as the steel-jacketed rounds bisected their skulls.
"Shit." Said Tim to the fume filled air.
Robins was Danny's girlfriend, and from all the times Danny had wittered on about her, Tim knew mortuary supervisor was her job at the City hospital. Tim had to find Danny, if he saw this he'd fall apart.
The door flew open in a shower of splinters as Danny shouldered into it. He brought his pistol up and searched the former reception area for threats, he saw Flight Lieutenant Addison standing over a dead zombie. He quickly ran toward the officer, keeping a watch on the zombies that were reaching the summit of the crash wreckage. "Are you all right, Tim" Shouted Danny, dispensing with the formalities of rank. "Err…. Yeah fine mate," Tim nervously replied. "Chris Swanton's bought it though"
"Damn." Said Danny, as he looked down at the corpse lying next to Tim.
"Danny, mate, you don't wan-"
Danny's wails cut him off, Tim was right it was Danny's girlfriend. Tim watched as the Sergeant sank to his knees, hugging and sobbing over the lifeless girl on the floor.
"No, no, no, why you? Why…" Danny sobbed, as though denial would revive the corpse. Tim eyed the remaining zombies as Danny continued his monologue with the oblivious Robins. The corpses had now advanced over the wreckage and were stumbling toward the hapless aircrew.
"Danny we've got to move, we'll be trapped soon." Urged Tim, the zombies were past the door Danny had entered through now.
"Who cares," Wailed Danny "Leave me here, I want to die!"
"Yeah well I don't!" Roared Tim "I need your help to get out of here, you can do all the dying you want when I'm safe, but until then, Sergeant, you will fucking help!" Tim didn't like yelling at a grieving man, but it was the quickest way to retrieve Danny from his self-pity.
Danny began to pull himself together; Tim's words made sense he could still make a difference to someone. He kissed his former girlfriend's hand, and picked up his discarded pistols. Tim was already firing, as Danny ran around him and began firing himself. The two aircrew leap frogged each other toward the stairwell door. Zombie's heads cracked like overripe fruit as the combination of 9mm and 5.56mm rounds stormed through them. Danny made it to the door, and waited for Tim, whilst carefully picking off the undead with his dwindling ammunition. Tim reached the door and fired two shots at one of the few remaining creatures, they were tracer rounds, loaded at the middle of the magazine to remind the user he was halfway out of ammo. The tracers had barely ignited when they struck the zombie's chest. Unbeknown to Tim, the zombie had been soaked in leaking kerosene from the Chinook, and promptly exploded in a spectacular fireball. The flaming zombie staggered off course and back towards the stricken chopper and it's leaking tanks.
"Run Danny, get the fuck out!" Screamed Tim.
Danny didn't need any encouragement he had already turned and run having witnessed the incandescent display. The two screaming men burst out through the fire exit at the base of the stairs. The torch like corpse blundered straight into the large kerosene slick at the base of the choppers ruined ramp, it was the last thing it did, a split second later it was vaporized along with everything else within the building in an ear splitting detonation. The blast knocked Danny and Tim to the ground even though they were half way across the street; the fire exit door flew flaming through the air into the display window of a looted clothes shop. The black smoky fireball from the Chinook's lifeblood drifted towards the heavens. Tim picked Danny up and pulled him down the street away from the now collapsing office block, ammunition within the Chinook was beginning to cook off and cause secondary explosions, sending debris high into the air. With a tortured metallic squeal the much abused building fell into itself, showering the streets below with masonry.
Laura's trip back to the second floor flat she hid out in was fairly uneventful. She had used one full magazine to clear the various undead she had encountered on her way back. Another five rounds went on dispatching two zombies who were milling about her residence. Using a long length of wood she knocked down the piece of rope which enabled her to climb up to the second floor. Laura had just settled down to her lunch of cold beans from a tin, when she heard a huge explosion. She looked out across the skyline and saw a large mushroom cloud rising from the Main Street area. It was probably the Army shelling another infested building she assumed. That's exactly what they had done with the City Hospital when it had grown beyond control, a massive air strike, followed by prolonged shelling.
Laura and her assistant, Jenny, had escaped via the old Second World War shelter system that ran underneath and away from the hospital. The access for this system lay in the basement morgue, which, ironically no one else could reach because of the huge numbers of undead in that area, but for Laura and Jenny it was a godsend. Cornered in a small storeroom they had desperately kicked the long forgotten access door down, as hundreds of the creatures mobbed round to scrabble and claw against the other door moaning insatiably. When they had emerged some distance from the hospital, they came across an Army patrol, which mistook them for zombies from their blood-splattered garb. The patrol opened fire killing Jenny with a hail of rounds to her abdomen. Laura had run until her legs gave way to exhaustion and managed to evade Jenny's killers. That had been nearly three weeks ago, even thinking about Jenny upset Laura, it was so pointless, and Jenny hadn't even been bitten. Those Army dick heads just shot her up regardless, Laura doubted they'd killed her properly either, the poor girl was more than likely a zombie now, wondering the streets aimlessly.
Having worked in the morgue, Laura learnt several important things about the creatures people now became when they died. Unless the brain was destroyed the bodies of the dead would revive, and seek warm human flesh to devour. They never attacked each other though, only jostling over a fresh kill at the worst. The creatures lacked any real strength, but in large numbers they could easily break down doors or overrun barricades. Fire was the only thing they feared, Laura had found this out by dousing one of them in surgical spirit and then flicking a match at it. The others backed away from the flaming corpse, giving her the time she needed to escape. Doctors that she had spoken with, before becoming trapped in the morgue, had theorized that a virus was responsible for the reanimated corpses. It seemed to infect you when you died, but also if bitten by a carrier. The only way this made sense to Laura was that everyone already carried the virus in a dormant state, but when you died it became active and caused your corpse to revive. These revived bodies would then attack the living either killing or wounding them. The bites sustained by people who had escaped the zombies would be infected with the active strain of the virus, and after two or three days the infection would turn them. What had caused the virus to become active in the first place though?
No one knew where the first outbreak had begun, but the whole world was affected, the dead of any race, color or creed rose up and attacked the living. This pretty much ruled out the biological weapons theory that was banded around. Unless whoever created it wanted to destroy the world. Of all she had learned at the hospital, the most important thing had been to eliminate the creature's derelict brains. Nothing else would stopped them, she'd seen soldiers empty full magazines from assault rifles into the humanlike monsters, only very rarely would a zombie die from body hits alone. The reason these few went down was because the bullet had rebounded around inside the corpse's rib cage and exited through its putrefied skull. The Army never caught onto this though, their soldiers were taught from basic training to aim at the central mass of the target's body, and no one was telling them to do anything different now. Heavy machine gun fire would knock them down but with the size of the mobs they attacked in, it was like eating soup with a fork. Or cold beans, Laura thought bitterly as she began to eat.
The legs of Danny's flying suit were on fire; he quickly patted out the flames with his hands and a chorus of four letter words. Danny looked up from the ground and watched Tim throwing off his sizzling backpack. The flares inside burned furiously destroying all of the valuable survival kit. Tim kicked the flaming bag away in frustration, then turned round to Danny, and looked him over.
"You OK Dan?" Said the concerned officer, crouching to pick up a single undamaged flare.
"Oh, fucking fabulous!" Danny replied dejectedly.
"What happened to John?" Asked Tim, his concern still apparent.
"He's dead." Said Danny starkly.
"Dead." Tim echoed "What happened to him?"
"Shrapnel from the rotors hit him, he died instantly" Answered Danny as he stood up, dusting himself off.
"What happened to Chris?" Danny asked. "Was he killed in the crash?"
"Yeah, his side of the cockpit took the worst of the fall, he got crushed" Replied Tim.
"You didn't get a May-Day signal out then?" Said Danny.
"There was no time, one second I'm checking the fuel gauges the next I'm at the bottom of the building."
"Shame, we'd better start moving then." Danny mumbled, as he pointed a finger at the large group of undead which were progressing up the street.
With that the battered aviators began to jog away from the growing crowd.
With a soft hydraulic whine the muzzle lined up with the swelling crowd of undead, the sun glinting off it's battle scarred surface. A particularly unpleasant looking corpse eyed the end of the moving weapon with idiotic fascination. Its single remaining eye stared intently up the 120mm bore to see if something worthy of its attention would appear from the darkness, it did. The deafening report from the anti-personnel shell echoed around the packed street. The curious zombie didn't seem to explode; it just ceased to exist, consumed by the fiery flash and thunderclap of detonation. Creatures close to the first disintegrated in a maelstrom of jagged steel and blood. Dust from the street and buildings rose up to conceal the miniature hell.
As the noise faded muffled laughter could be heard from within the Challenger tank. The designer of the carnage, Major Neil Davis allowed himself a brief chuckle along with his men. An Army Major would not under normal circumstances be demoted to the level of tank commander. However, circumstances no longer resembled normal. The apocalypse had dragged Neil from his desk job and back into the command seat.
As a single man with no surviving relatives, Neil did not suffer from angst and sorry like many of the troops. If fact, he found the tactical opportunities of this new war extremely stimulating. Here you had an enemy that was very hard to kill, recruited anyone it caught, required no logistic support, and was virtually fearless. Admittedly it was vulnerable to air attack, armoured assault, and well-trained infantry units. But despite their lack of technology the Deads had made disturbing progress against the living. They had gained territory at a rate faster than anyone could have predicted. Rescue stations, Naval yards, Airbases, the list was endless. Everything fell to them unless given an inordinate amount of protection, but this was no guarantee of safety. Even the most fortified building was vulnerable to infiltration from within. A wounded civilian with an unnoticed bite, non-brain destroying suicides or even accidental deaths had all given the Deads infiltrators. A few victims taken in the dark and a small uprising would begin. Thankfully, now that the virus was better understood, the military had become far more ruthless in suppressing the rising army of death. The gloves were off now, the Geneva Convention completely ignored. Napalm, Chemical weapons, Anti-personnel mines and anything else the military could lay their hands on were being routinely used. This had led to limited success where napalm was concerned, but supplies were dwindling. The attacks with nerve agent yielded strange and disturbing results. Instead of inducing paralysis and complete brain death as advertised, the agent appeared to work in harmony with the virus, causing zombies to develop the speed and dexterity of a healthy human. This toxic cocktail did nothing to curb their vicious appetite though, especially for victim's brains, and it had taken nine days and over five hundred casualties to terminate the inhabitants of the test village. Despite this use of exotic arms, conventional weapons still provided better body counts.
A very messy but highly effective strategy had been to deploy armoured units to cities. The tanks would rumble down the streets two abreast and contain the zombies in a dead end or against a pair of blocking tanks. The contents of this armoured dragnet would then be put out of their misery with flame-throwers or machine guns. It was during one of these missions that Davis and his crew had run into their predicament.
"Excellent shot, Private" Commented Davis with revived hope. It was good to see the plan might work.
"Cheers, Sir" Replied the tank's gunner, Private Sam Monroe, whilst knowing a blind man could have made the shot, it was still nice to be appreciated
"Right then gentlemen, we wait until the crowd grows again. Then we fire three shots into them at increasing distance from the tank," Davis paused for effect.
"Get out, use the diesel in the jerry-cans outside to block and burn the undead behind us. Then quickly and carefully make our way to the shop at the end of the street."
There was a small chorus of acknowledgment from Monroe and Corporal Hebden, the tank's increasingly defeatist driver. The shop Major Davis referred to was an electronics outlet, which had its security shutters down. A crude doorway had been fashioned earlier in the morning using the turret-mounted machine gun's remaining fifty-caliber ammo.
"Right then, lets load up and get ready." Said the Major. A metallic clang rose up from the tank's floor as the spent shell casing was released from its captivity in the breach. Munroe's well-practiced hands quickly removed another shell from the ammunition rack, and slid it smoothly into the main gun.
"Up!" He reported, out of habit more than anything else. The cramped insides of the Challenger became a hive of activity as the three soldiers readied personal weapons, and struggled to don their backpacks in the confined space. With around ninety rifle rounds each the tank crew didn't have the luxury of a slow walk to safety, blazing through the zombies outside on a grim turkey shoot. The creatures knew they were here and continued to wait them out.
The best scenario to hope for was that the three anti personnel shells would clear a bloody path, allowing the crew to get to the shop before survivors or additional undead spilled out from side streets, and alleyways. Sam considered it to be a very scary proposition, but the crew was out of options. The tank was warm, familiar, and above all impenetrable, but all of its plus points disappeared in the face of an overwhelming problem, the tank's immobility. Having lost a track two days ago, trying to negotiate a pile of rubble and crushed cars, the tank had sat dormant. The crew's radio calls went unanswered; whether the other tanks had been recalled to defend RAF Drayton or had pushed on into the City was unimportant. Whatever the reason, no support or rescue had been forthcoming. The thick smoke overhead had also reduced the likelihood of being spotted from the air to near zero. Once stationary the gathering of the dead had begun, dozens then hundreds of zombies mingled around the dark green monolith of modern combat. An attempt to repair the damaged track had ended disastrously with the Challenger's Combat Engineer Private Rob Johns dragged away to a ghastly torment. With the water ration consumed, and dehydration on the horizon, the Major had come up with his "Crowd Control" plan. Once they made it to the shop at least they would have a supply of water, perhaps even food. They would then fortify the building and assess the new situation.
Davis looked out through the turret's observation slit at the reforming mob outside. The test shell must have killed around twenty of the creatures outright, and badly maimed another thirty odd. It was difficult to be precise though; the gore soaked streets now resembled an abattoir, rather than the up market shopping area it had been mere weeks ago. Swarms of flies hovered around the growing army awaiting the opportunity to lay their eggs on the truly dead. People had initially said the Deads would just rot away after couple of months. The egghead scientists quickly discovered the unpleasant fact that the zombies did not and would not rot. The virus kept them from doing so, only areas of acute tissue damage would decay. Even then it was not natural decomposition, just gangrene and other infections. Waiting them out was never an option. The surviving zombies from the first attack mingled with others newly on the scene, a few crawled around on the floor their legs missing or too badly damaged to carry them. Neil continued to watch the macabre parade until the street appeared sufficiently full.
Get ready." Said the Major quietly. Sam hunched down in front of his fire controls, his right eye on the scope. Hebden snapped his weapons cocking handle back chambering a round. Sweat was beading Neil's brow as he gazed at the nightmare outside through the thick armor glass. He clutched his weapon tight and took a deep breath
"Fire!"
The tank rocked violently as the scene outside disappeared in a bright flash. A wave of thick gore covered the observation slit. Shell splinters and concrete collided with the tanks thick armor, making only a dull noise through the inches of steel. Designed to withstand direct hits from the worlds most potent anti armor weapons, the tank's hull just shrugged off the close range blast.
"AP round, increase elevation five degrees! " Shouted the now slightly deaf Major.
"Up!" Yelled Sam.
"Fire!"
The instant chemical reaction powered the AP round down the barrel at an astounding rate. It exploded a fraction later, reducing more of the undead to random pieces of shredded meat.
"AP round, increase elevation five degrees!" Repeated Neil as he tried to make sense of the smoke covered bloodbath. With the next round already in his hands, Sam undogged the breach, and the smoking shell case clattered onto the floor. He slid the fresh one into the chamber, clamped it shut, and stabbed the new elevation into the fire controls.
"Up!"
"Fire!"
More razor sharp shrapnel bounced off the Challenger's thick green carapace. Neil squinted through the blood, but couldn't make out anything in the smoke filled street. It was now or never he thought as he unlocked the hatch, and pushed it open.
"Go, Go, Go!" He yelled down into the tank.
Rising out into the acrid street Neil fought the urge to gag. The tank had been sealed down for nuclear, biological and chemical warfare conditions, the crew had been breathing filtered air for days, and they were no longer used to the zombies' ripe smell. The shocking mix of foul odors outside was overpowering. The metallic tang of blood mingled with the smell of burnt flesh. Neil clambered out of the turret, and carefully made his way to the rear of the tank. He aimed his rifle down the street, trying to see potential attackers through the thick dust that stung his eyes. The large mob of creatures at the rear of the tank seemed largely untouched by the triple bombardment. The tank's armor protecting them as it did its crew. Monroe and Hebden made a speedy exit from the tank and joined the Officer on the tank's engine deck, both aiming at as yet unseen threats. Hebden winced as the heady cocktail of the street assailed his nostrils.
"God it stinks out here." The Corporal complained as he pulled his combat shirt up over his nose and looked over his shoulder at the miserable view beyond the front of the tank. The swirling dust began to settle revealing the extent of the carnage. Everywhere lay truly dead cadavers or their liberated limbs and entrails. Blood mingled with the settling cloud of dirt as it dripped from walls. The pavement and road were now slick with blood, it gathered together to form streams, which slowly made their way toward drains. The Corporal glanced back and saw that the rear zombies had faired much better. Only a few had gone down to wild ricochets. The diesel waited patiently on the decking. The three men unfastened the fuel cans and poured them liberally over the reaching crowd below. The creatures ignored the torrent of noxious fuel that showered down, and continued to scrabble mindlessly for a handhold on the tank's smooth rear. Several fell as the crew launched the empty jerry cans into the highly flammable throng.
"Secure the front of the tank." Said Neil, above the clamoring zombies.
Hebden and Monroe nodded, heading for the front of the tank and the street beneath A small chorus of shots sounded as they executed the ghouls who had taken refuge at the tanks protective flanks.
"Its geddin' hot in here," The Major quietly taunted the mob, as he backed away, box of matches in hand. He struck one then put it back into the box, and threw the resulting mass of flame into the dieseled corpses.
"So take off all your clothes." Neil shouted, and turned away from the spreading inferno.
A few battered cadavers blocked the road to the shop, peppered with shrapnel and missing arms, the survivors posed little threat.
The trio of soldiers shot down the handful of pathetic walking wounded that opposed them. The staggering amputees fell to meet their brothers and sisters, already littering the street. Sam kept his fear in check as the crew reached the point of no return; they were now closer to the shop than the tank. Glancing back, Sam could see the blaze at the tanks rear had grown, and was consuming all that came into contact with it. Major Davis gestured to Hebden to check the alleyway on the left of the street. The soldier nodded as he began to pick his way over the various body parts between him and his objective. Davis motioned for Sam to watch the right side of the road and the other alleyway further up.
Hebden could feel his heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and terror, never a dull day in the cavalry he thought bitterly. His finger searched dexterously for the SA80's safety catch, he didn't want to piss about with it if things turned sour. The catch snapped back into the armed position, as Hebden moved the change lever to automatic with his free hand. Moving slowly, but breathing quickly the soldier covered the last few feet to the alley, and steeled himself for what he would see.
The ground rose up to meet Tim Addison for a second time as he tumbled over the wall and hit the deck. Stars and other small flashy lights filled his vision as he tried to make sense of which way up he was. The cursing and firing from the other side of the wall became more intense as Danny held off the zombie hoard that had hunted them from the crash site. Tim got groggily to his feet waited for Danny's hands to appear at the summit of the wall. He heard a faint shout above the firing and assumed Danny was ready to jump. Sure enough the sound of his pistols stopped and his gloved hands came into view, followed by his sweating face. Tim reached up, seizing the Sergeant's hands and then pulling them back, but Danny seemed to be stuck. A small yelp of terror came from the now struggling Loadmaster, as he jerked and lashed out with his feet at an unseen assailant. Suddenly Danny came free and tumbled over the wall headfirst into Tim, the two men crashed into the waiting floor in an undignified heap. Danny untangled himself from the Pilot and examined his lower left leg with deep unease. Tim sat upright and looked at Danny's concerned face.
"They didn't bi……" Tim trailed off, unwilling to ask a question, the answer to which he feared.
"Bite me?" Danny finished Tim's question and smiled. "No, and I don't think one of them will be biting anyone again."
Tim looked down at the source of Danny's amusement. The rubber sole of the Sergeant's flying boot heal was imbedded with a full set of upper and lower front teeth.
"That's disgusting," Said the pilot, still staring at the bits of nerve hanging from the bodiless teeth.
"He'll need a very open minded dentist." Beamed Danny.
The two men laughed at the bad joke, the zombies didn't seem to get it though and continued to scrabble against the brick wall. Danny looked down the small alleyway as he used his right foot to pick the teeth from his boot.
It seemed zombie free, just some old crates and a wheely-bin occupied its length. It's normality made it seem strange, no blood, no bodies, the backdoors to the shops weren't even boarded up. Danny freed the final tooth from his boot and got up. He began walking down the alley, Tim stood and followed.
"This is a bit odd." Said Danny as he reloaded his remaining pistol, having dropped the other when it ran out of ammunition.
"Yeah, creepy." Agreed Tim whilst scanning the deserted alley. As the aircrew advanced along the alley it became apparent the doors had all been locked. Perhaps the owners had not been caught entirely unawares. Danny approached the end of the alleyway, a solid metal door with a secure looking padlock lay ahead of him. Obviously designed to keep out thieves it had also prevented the dead from gaining control within. Tim trotted up alongside and began to move the padlock experimentally.
"Know how to pick one of these, Sir?" Asked Danny wryly.
"No, fraid not."
Tim looked to the top of the door, but the coiled strands of razor wire made the idea of climbing over very unappealing. The dead could also be heard on the other side, obviously attracted by the voices of the living.
"Let's just kick one of those shop doors in, and go around." Said Tim indicating a yellow door a few feet away.
"Yeah soun-" A roaring disquiet cut him off, and made the whole alley shake. Loose tiles fell from the rooftops around them as vibrations coursed upward. "What the hell was that?" Shouted Tim, his hands clamped firmly over his ears.
"I don't know!" Danny replied. "Just kick the bloody door in."
Tim looked at Danny, his lips were moving but he couldn't hear him, then another blast rippled through the alleyway. The metal door sprouted numerous dents and bumps as it deflected lethal projectiles. Everything was silent now, but Tim could see and feel the buildings shaking. He looked at Danny, who was now glancing about wild eyed, looking for a safe place to curl up and hide. Tim grabbed the dumbfounded Sergeant and pulled him back toward the other end of the side street. Even as they began to run the world rocked beneath their feet a again, this time the explosion was so close it knocked them to the street. Tim yelled at Danny's unmoving frame, but couldn't even hear himself. He glanced back toward the steel door and saw it replaced with an insane artist's sculpture of twisted steel and fire. Another eruption rattled through the Officer and everything faded to black.
It was wearing a RAF issue-flying suit, which had prevented its body burning the same way its face had. The soldier raised his rifle slowly, savoring the kill, he was too slow. The zombie was on him in a split second, the small bark of Hebden's rifle did nothing to slow the creature's charge, it's solid bulk connected well and sent him down. The impact of the floor drove the wind from his body. He struggled to hold the creature back as he gasped for air. The shouts of Major Davis and Sam did little to comfort Hebden, as his resistance to the snarling zombie waned with lack of oxygen. Once his arms collapsed the terribly burned creature pushed the soldiers face to one side and bit deeply into his jugular. Blood squirted over the zombies charred face as it nuzzled deeper into Hebden's throat with satisfied moans. Dying and unable to scream Hebden prayed silently for merciful death. His prayers were answered seconds later by a burst of automatic fire from the Major's rifle. Both the feasting cadaver and its victim died as the steel-jacketed rounds bisected their skulls.