When There's No More room In Hell: A Zombie Novel (4 page)

Everyone jumped down and quickly took stock of their weapons and ammunition
, ejecting magazines and slapping in fresh ones, ensuring that they had the means to carry on the fight. Marcus eyed the two clients; they were crouched, huddled together with eyes like saucers.

“Other than Nick, anyone else hurt?”

All sounded off that they were okay and good to go. Marcus looked back toward the road at the burning hulk of what was left of the fourth SUV. He couldn’t see any movement around it, and with a heavy heart, he had to assume that all were dead.

“Right, we can’
t stay here. We need to move into better cover before the ragheads grow some balls and do a follow-up.” He looked further along the wall and saw what he needed, “There’s a gap there. We can push through that and hole up in one of the buildings behind us until help arrives. Shit, did anyone hit their panic button? I forgot.”

“I hit mine as soon as the rounds started coming in
,” Stu said.

Marcus felt a wave of relief, knowing that Stu had sent the distress signal through the vehicles transponder. It would th
en ping in the Operations Room back at HQ, informing the monitors that they have come into trouble and their exact location would show up on the map screen.

“Nice one. As soon as we go firm, I’ll try and get mobile comms with the head shed and
see what’s being done. Me and Sini will take the lead and find a way through. Stu, you and your crew bring up the rear while Ian takes care of the clients in the middle. We’ll have to sprint to the gap, you up for that Nicky?”

Not being able to talk, Nick just nodded, which caused him to wince with pain.

Stu and Jim stood up and poured more fire in the direction of the enemy. They couldn't see them, but they wanted to make sure that anyone following them up would stall as soon as the rounds snapped above them, giving the team the time they needed to cross the distance to the gap.

They ran. Past more static vehicles
, through the gap and down a small embankment to a tightly packed housing estate situated twenty metres on the other side of the wall. They didn't stop running until they were in the cover of the buildings.

Marcus had already decided to himself that they would gain entry to a building that overlooked their vehicles on the road, for
two reasons. Firstly, in the remote chance that there were any survivors from the destroyed SUV, and secondly, if the insurgents came up to check or loot the abandoned vehicles, they could hit them from their vantage point.

They forced their way
to a block of dingy dark apartments and began climbing the central staircase to the upper floors. Stu left Jim, balls still on show, and his driver, Paul, to cover the entry point with a machine gun while the rest secured the top two apartments.

There was no room for manners and politeness, and they barged through the doors with weapons raised, treating everyone as
a threat until they were sure otherwise. The two families were herded in to one room and Stu, with his pigeon Arabic, began explaining that they were safe and would not be hurt. The women were screaming and hollering at him, raising their arms and gesticulating to the heavens.

Ian brought in the clients and dumped them in the corner. Stu looked at him for help but Ian could only shrug his shoulders
. “Don’t look at me mate, you're the hearts and minds guy. I can only ask for cigarettes in Arabic.”

Ian began
tending to Nick and his wound while Eddie and Yan took up fire positions at the window. Ian cleaned it as best he could and applied a clean dressing that basically held his jaw to his head. He had lost a lot of blood and needed to be evacuated as quickly as possible. Ian set up an I.V and began to replace some of the fluids he had lost.

By now, the family w
as quiet and between the team, they maintained an overhead watch on the road and the entrances into the building while Marcus called for help.

After a short conversation, he passed on the informati
on to the rest of the team: that an American patrol had been sent to help and should be there within the next ten minutes. No air support was available; something else that was in high demand, but short supply. Marcus pulled his marker panel from his vest, ready to signal to the Americans his position and that they were friendly. The last thing they needed was to get shot up by their trigger-happy rescuers.

“Hey guys
.” It was Jim hollering from the stairwell in his distinct Texan drawl. “Guys, can you ask the Jundies if they can spare me a pair of pants? My ass is freezing on these concrete steps.”

A minute later Stu tossed him a black skirt.

“Sorry buddy, it’s all I could find.” Stu left Jim staring at the skirt in bewilderment.

Twenty minutes later
the remains of the team were at the roadside as Marcus briefed the American commander on the situation. The rescue team, with APCs, pushed into the open area to the right of the road with the barrels of their armoured vehicles pointed toward where the attack had come from. They started to pound shells at likely enemy positions. Civilian safety and collateral damage wasn’t taken into consideration anymore, especially after a heavy attack involving Western casualties. A recovery team then moved up to extract the dead from Marcus’ team. Marcus insisted that he and his men help.

The char
red and dismembered bodies of their fallen comrades were pulled from the wreckage. Marcus could feel his chest heaving and his eyes welling up as he dragged what was left of his friends into body bags laid out on the floor. Now and then he would recognise a piece of clothing or equipment, and he would realise which of his friends it was that he was carrying. They worked in silence, as the crescendo of the firing subsided from the APCs.

Once ready, the
remaining vehicles had thermite charges placed inside them and were burned out in order to leave nothing for the enemy to use.

They returned to base
as the damaged vehicles left behind burned and smouldered.

That night, Marcus hardly slept. As the commander, he saw it as his personal responsibility to secure and sanitise the equipment and personal effects of his three fallen comrades. Sasa, Joe
, and Mike had all been good guys, good operators and good personal friends of his. With blurred vision through tears and cracked voices and choked throats, he and Stu went about doing what needed to be done.

The next day they had a chance to try and put themselves back together, to take a step back and decide wha
t they were to do. The team was now four men short; with three dead and Nick severely wounded. They had no vehicles and had to wait until the company supplied them with new ones. And, inevitably, there would be at least one member of the team that would feel it was time to move on and leave Iraq. On that occasion, it was Marcus.

Over the years he h
ad lost too many good friends. He believed it was only a matter of time until his luck run out, and he had a family to think of; his wife Jennifer and two young sons, Liam and David, who needed him. He needed them just as much.

He had been clever with his money and invested in property
and saved. It wasn’t as if he would go back home and find himself in a factory. His options were endless, but for now he just needed to get back to his family.

When he informed his boss that he was resigning and wanted the next available flight, he had been caught off guard with the reply.

“Marcus, everybody wants a flight. I'm sorry but there’s a backlog the length of the Suez Canal and the likes of us ‘mercenaries’, as we are looked at, are at the very bottom of the priority list.”

His boss, the Operations Manager named Mickey, leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head revealing dark patches of sweat in the armpits of his shirt. “I'm sorry mate, but there’s not a lot I can do. I want out too, but HQ has said it’ll happen in due course and no one will be left behind. Iraq is gonna fold
, Marcus, and everyone is expected to just sit tight for now.”

Marcus felt his anger brewing, and checked himself before answering, “Roger that
, Mickey. Let me know if anything gets said will you?” And, with that, he turned and left the office.

The last thing he needed to do was lose his temper now, to get arrested by the Americans for assaulting someone, and slung into an Iraqi jail cell,
where he would no doubt be forgotten about and left to rot. Besides, Mickey wasn’t a bad guy, and Marcus was sure that if he could, he would help him.

For the next three days all they could do was sit around and wait. During that time, Marcus decided to do his own checking up on the current situation. He learned that Iraq had prett
y much been written off by the West. He’d even heard rumours that the troops in Iran were going to be pulled out.

Baghdad had an air of death about it, as
if the population were just waiting to die. He saw reports about rioting and people attacking each other. New York, Washington DC, London and Berlin; the rest of America and Europe were having more than their fare share of unrest.

And he also learned that he wouldn’t be leaving Iraq any time soon.

4

Steve heard his phone beep in his pocket. It was a text message from his brother, Marcus.

“
Steve, things are getting bad here.

Looks like everything is going tits up,

How are things at your end?

I’ll try and call you soon.
”

He hadn’t heard from his brother in a while, and it was rare for him to call or text while he was away. Mostly, they stayed in touch through e
-mail. If Marcus suddenly needed to speak to him then things couldn’t be good.

Steve
flicked on the TV and started up his computer. He wanted to do more research and find out how bad things really were. He hadn’t paid much attention to the media for the past couple of days. It was the same stuff over and over; being told not to worry and that all would be okay. Only the scenery changed.

It was the same as he had just witnessed at the supermarket all across the country. Stocks were running out as everything was snatched up. Fuel was starting to run low at most stations and rioting had broken out all over. Special reports were shown of police in riot gear, forming lines of shields and being attacked by angry mobs, cameramen trying to continue filming with shaky hands as they watched the defensive lines being overrun and the police dragged to the floor.

London was under siege with mobs running loose in the streets. The government had declared a state of emergency in the capital, and many other major cities to the South of the country. The army was being called in to try to help with the over-burdened police.

Steve knew that this was the result of the flu. Though the media had done what it could to give accurate reports, not all the information had been passed onto them, to then pass onto the public
, until it was too late.

Steve kicked himself for not keeping up on current events.

The Secretary of Health, along with the help of government scientists, had released a statement:

“
The escalation of the flu virus has now reached a critical point, with the spread now becoming harder to contain. Hospitals and government health officials have informed me that the virus now seems to have mutated to a more virulent strain and can now be transmitted without coming into contact with another infected person.

“
In essence, it’s in the very air we breathe. Numerous new cases are being reported every day, and we advise that you avoid the already overwhelmed hospitals and remain at home if you suspect that you are infected.

“
We still believe that the majority of people are immune and that the outbreak will eventually be under control. However, I’ve been informed that a small percentage of people have a violent reaction to the virus.  These people are passing on a violent strain to people who are otherwise uninfected.  Even if you already had the flu and recovered, contact, through attack, with the violent strain will cause you to have the same aggressive symptoms.

“We believe that in most cases, the aggressive strain is passed on through bodily fluids, mainly from bites.

“Health officials have advised that anyone suspected of being infected must be separated from the rest of their family. Avoid contact without face and hand protection, and anyone showing signs of the violent strain should be reported to the authorities immediately.

“
I assure you that all is being done to bring this problem under control and you will be kept informed of any further information.”

“Fuck me
.” Steve had his hand in front of his mouth holding his chin up from hitting the floor. “Why would people with the flu bite?”

He had read similar stories on the internet
about Africa and South America, but had dismissed them as rumours. Plus, he never imagined he would be seeing it in his own country.

He decided to call Claire to check on the arrangements
for Sarah that weekend. His theory was that as long as she was with him, he could protect her. Claire, even though a good mother who always wanted the best for Sarah, was a balloon without a string as far as Steve was concerned.  She probably didn't feel the same sense of urgency and panic that Steve felt rising in his stomach.

He and Claire arranged that he would pick her up on Thursday; the next day, instead. The sooner he could get Sarah back to his flat, the sooner he would be able to think straight and consider the situation. He had no real intentions of taking her back on Sunday. He had already decided
, to himself, that school was out for the time being.

The next day,
with both of them safe in his flat, he explained the situation to Sarah. Though she was only ten years old, he didn't want to brush over the state of affairs or paint it all in a prettier picture; he knew that Sarah was mature and intelligent enough to understand.

She took it well
. “So does that mean I won’t be going to school on Monday, Dad?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t want you going
anywhere, especially without me.”

A smile spread across Sarah’s face
making her big green eyes sparkle more than usual. Steve wasn’t sure whether it was due to not having to go to school, or because she knew her father was there to protect her no matter what. He suspected it was a bit of both.

“For now, we will just have to watch movies, play board games
, and eat rubbish. Sounds like a perfect weekend to me, my little buddeo.”

“Yup,” Sarah re
plied, “me too, Daddeo.”

That night, after Sarah had fallen asleep on the couch, Steve turned on the TV to check the news. Headlines were flitting across the bottom of the screen and flashing up behind the reporter as she sat at her desk. Steve struggled to focus at first
through tired eyes, and strained to read the reports as they sailed along the bottom. He caught a glimpse of a word before it disappeared off screen: ‘Cannibalism’. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen and stand erect.

He turned up the volume and listened as the reporter spoke:

“Civil unrest has escalated and continues throughout all major cities within the country, with the number of rioters rising. Police officers and soldiers that were trying to control the mass crowds have been attacked and a number have even been killed, with many more injured.

“Unconfirmed reports from the front lines say that many have been bitten and that there have even been reported cases of the attackers eating their victims.

“We take you live now, to the front line in Birmingham. Jessica Beal has more on the story.”

The screen flicked to a pretty blonde girl st
anding in a dark street holding a microphone as police and army vehicles moved back and forth in the background and people in riot gear formed lines of defense.

She looked scared, and as she gave her report on the situation, Steve could hear screams, gun shots and something else in the background. It was like a throbbing
, humming noise that could’ve been mistaken for a generator or even swarms of insects, only it got louder and louder.

The camera panned away from Jessica and zoomed in on the riot shield line of soldiers and police. They were standing their ground
like Roman infantry behind their wall of shields, as police officers who had formed a line in front of them fell back and passed through them looking battered and bruised, many missing their helmets and other equipment. Many of them continued to run past the camera in panic, rather than stop to support their fellow officers and soldiers.

Shouts and
commands could be heard as the newly formed line braced themselves. The crowd crashed into their shields, causing a ripple as the police and soldiers tried to steady the line. The humming had become louder and now sounded more like individual voices. But they weren’t speaking, or shouting, or even screaming, it was more of a steady pleading, remorseful wail or moan. It was a chorus of despair and anguish, like the battle cry of some medieval ghost army.

The lines gave way, and some of the attackers ran
. Others walked through the gaps, but they all fell onto the beleaguered men and women that were trying in vain to hold them at bay. Screams rang out from every corner as more and more of the mass of people poured forth, attacking everything in sight. In the dim light of the street, Steve could make out some of the attackers. Some looked like people you would expect to see in a riot, but others were wearing suits, some even police uniforms. Even young children seemed to be involved. Nearly all of them seemed to have some form of injury as well as bloody faces and torn clothing.

Jessica was screaming to her camera crew and soon the footage became jerky an
d distorted as the news people fled to safety. The screen went blank and returned to the news desk, focusing on a shaken reporter.

Steve sat in
shock, not knowing exactly what he had just witnessed. The people attacking the police didn't seem to care about the law, or their own safety. They attacked in a wave, completely undeterred by the shields, the batons, and the riot guns.

He sat bolt upright, looked around the room and ran to his front door. He double
-checked all the locks and bolts closed the windows and blinds in his kitchen then stood shaking as he leaned against the fridge.

“Shit
, this is bad.” His understatement didn't go unnoticed by himself and for the rest of the night he stood watch over the flat, regularly checking the news for further updates. It was more of the same throughout the country and it was clear that the army and police had no chance of stemming the tide of violence.

The next morning Sarah woke to see her anxious father carrying tools into the kitchen. She peered round the corner and saw that every cupboard had been emptied, with tins piled high on the table top.
He was now dismantling the doors on the kitchen units and stacking them against each other at the side of the door. In the corner were crates of bottled water, with buckets and other bottles filled to the top.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

Steve spun to see her standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. Placing the screwdriver on the table, he approached her and crouched to look her in the eye. “Sarah, you know how I told you that things were getting bad outside, all over the country?”

Sarah scratched her head
of long wavy brown hair, still looking half asleep, “Uh, yeah?”

“Well it’s got a lot worse
, darling. A lot worse than I thought and it looks like it won’t get any better soon.” Steve was doing his best to sound like he had things under control, but a glance around the kitchen told him that, once Sarah was fully awake and aware of what was going on, she would no doubt become frightened. “All you need to know is that I'm here and I won’t let anything bad happen. Okay?”

“Righto
, Dad.” She turned and walked back to the living room.

It was still very early, and she fell back into a slumber
on the couch. Steve wondered whether or not she had actually been fully awake and had understood anything he had said. No matter. As long as she was asleep, he could carry on with his preparations.

From what he could tell, they had enough food to last for weeks and the water he had put to one side wo
uld only be used in case the main water supply failed. He counted the doors and other pieces of wood he had collected and stacked by the door.
Plenty
, he thought.

“If I have to,” h
e said aloud, “I can board up every window and door pretty well. Let’s just hope I don’t have to because IKEA might not be open for a while.”

On the table, along with the food, he placed four boxes of candles, two maglite torches and every battery he could lay his hands on.

He then added a hammer, a baseball bat, and a scuba diving knife. He wasn’t exactly over the moon with his arsenal but it was better than nothing. He was determined that no one would hurt his little girl.

Next, he went to his bedroom and returned with a small backpack that he used when he and Sarah went on their adventures in the country.
Inside, he placed a sleeping bag, a thick jacket for him and one for Sarah too, a few tins of food and bottles of water along with one of the torches and spare batteries. He added an extra jumper and socks for Sarah and then placed the backpack to one side. Later, he added the baseball bat, sliding it through the straps on the side so that it sat vertical and easy to retrieve. He fastened it, and tightened the straps to ensure it was all secure and ready for a quick grab should things become worse and they needed to leave.

He laid out clothes for them both. He decided his walking boots were best for the situation and also donned his walking trousers and a T-shirt for the time being. He left his jacket with the backpack. He laid out similar, suitable clothes for Sarah, and he would insist that she put them on once she was awake,
and only allowing her to take them off when she was washing.

Out of an old hard
-wearing workman’s belt he found at the back of a drawer; he added loops and fastenings from other straps and belts that he found, to act as his weapons belt. He strapped the diver’s knife to his leg, and the belt would carry the hammer and second torch.