Z-Series (Book 5): Z-Burlington Read online

  To the reader….

  This is the fifth book in my ‘Z Series’ so, if you haven’t already read them, I would recommend you read the previous four books in the series in order because the characters, locations and storyline all interact. Further, in this book I have not repeated the background to the regular characters as I have done in some previous books – if you’ve got this far, then I expect you know them well enough by now!

  This book follows on directly from Book 4 and, as usual, I have tried to avoid too much gang-talk to help the narrative flow more easily. There is still a lot of bad language in this book and some sexual content.

  This book is mainly fictitious, hopefully non-libellous or breaching any Copyright©, and I hope you enjoy it.

  Whilst I have tried to be as accurate as possible, all mistakes and inaccuracies are all mine.

  Here goes….

  Hatch

  The Story So Far….

  From ‘Z – Arrival’

  (Book 1 of the Z Series)

  A virus inadvertently escaped from the CDC in Atlanta, USA.

  It was unwittingly carried by a retired US scientist who ‘turned’ during a flight to England, infecting well over a hundred passengers and crew.

  The plane managed to land at Heathrow, but the Security Services on the ground were wholly unprepared to deal with the situation, and the infection quickly spread.

  With the Government and key public figures going into hiding, there was little help for the survivors at Heathrow, but against the odds, they managed to re-group, start a fight back and made Heathrow their safe haven.

  From ‘Z – London’

  (Book 2 of the Z Series)

  The second instalment goes back to the start of the zombie outbreak with a violent East End gang making the most of the advanced warnings to prepare for the zombie apocalypse.

  The gang managed to secure the Tower of London and the people trapped within its walls, but the gang’s reign of terror was swiftly thwarted by a combination of the people in the Tower and the survivors based at Heathrow.

  Some of the gang’s key members managed to escape but were hunted down.

  Only two survived.

  From ‘Z – Payback’

  (Book 3 of the Z Series)

  Returning to consciousness after being attacked, Mamba and Ahmed needed to find safe shelter quickly. They also needed to find new allies if there was any chance of them defeating their new enemies.

  They fled towards North London where they met up with the Turkish Mafia. Mamba was well known to them and was not liked nor trusted, but the promise of guns and power were sufficient to tempt them into helping him.

  Together, they tested the abilities and resolve of the people at Heathrow, whilst simultaneously distracting them by attacking the Tower of London and the Green Park Estate in the East End.

  With differing levels of damage inflicted on their targets, Mamba began to learn how his enemies operated and, when they started tracking him down, devised a plan to make them think he was dead.

  Mamba is now ready to try again, but this time he knows what he is up against...

  From ‘Z – Takeover’

  (Book 4 of the Z Series)

  Heathrow believe that Mamba is dead, and have captured his Turkish girlfriend, Ayla. But Mamba is streetwise, smart and not so easy to kill. He is also a survivor in a world where the vast majority of the population simply couldn’t cope. He is in his element.

  He is back in North London with the Turkish mafia, and planning his next moves, moves that include him taking out the leader, Sully, and joining forces with the man’s brother, Volkan.

  His real aim is to return to Heathrow and take them down once and for all, and he has all the help he needs.

  Taking control of Heathrow was far easier than he thought, and after double-crossing Volkan, Mamba was ready to deal with his enemies once and for all.

  But Jack Robinson has some intriguing news. News which fuels Mamba’s imagination. News that Mamba simply can’t resist – there is an underground city where all the rich and famous have gone to hide and wait out the zombie apocalypse.

  Mamba wants to spoil their party.

  Believing he was leaving Heathrow in the capable hands of some of his Turkish friends, Mamba set off for Burlington…

  Burlington

  Burlington is a secret underground city located near the town of Corsham, Wiltshire, a town roughly halfway between Bath and Chippenham.

  The city was originally built in a huge stone quarry, over one hundred feet deep, then covered over to look like part of the natural countryside. It was about one and a half miles long and could house around ten thousand people.

  Amongst the space age technology used in its construction, it had:

  - A natural underground lake

  - Dedicated electrical power from an offshore wind farm

  - A comprehensive air filtration system

  - An electric monorail

  - Food farms, hospitals, shops, restaurants, bars and five-star accommodation with all the mod cons

  All inhabitants were required to wear a ‘fitness’ bracelet, specially designed with a heartbeat monitor and location sensor; if a person’s heart stopped, the bracelet would trigger an alarm and security would be able to track and remove any threat within minutes.

  1

  Day 20 – 08:30

  Corsham

  Mamba opened one eye and quickly closed it again as pain erupted inside his head. He lay still, waiting for the pain to subside and realised that he was lying on hard ground, uncomfortable and aching. He turned his head to his right and carefully opened one eye again.

  Better this time. Not so bright. He focused, but all he could see was grass stretching away into the distance and wondered what the fuck was going on and how he’d got there.

  He carefully opened his second eye then picked up the sounds of snoring and muttered conversations coming from somewhere behind him.

  He slowly turned his head to the other side, taking in the overcast sky above him before focusing on people milling around and piles of stuff which seemed to be dumped randomly all over the place.

  “He’s awake,” came from somewhere below his feet, although Mamba didn’t feel ready to move his head in that direction quite yet.

  The next thing he knew, Ahmed was standing over him, looking down.

  “Wassup, bro?” Ahmed asked.

  Mamba closed his eyes.

  “Where the fuck are we?” he asked, his voice croaking.

  “In a field.”

  Mamba thought about it. In a field? Must be a nightmare.

  “Get me a drink,” Mamba ordered, and Ahmed disappeared from view.

  Mamba tried to think, although it was proving difficult. He remembered Heathrow, loading the helicopter, the ride, but not a lot else.

  Ahmed reappeared, holding a plastic bottle of water. He unscrewed the top and leant forward, holding it out for Mamba to take.

  Mamba took a deep breath and grimaced as he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, his head thumping with the slightest movement. He took the proffered water and took a sip. He realised he was very thirsty and took another long greedy drink, some of the water dribbling down his chin in his eagerness. Once the bottle was empty, he tossed it casually to one side and took a look at his surroundings.

  Yes, they were indeed in a field. A few tents had been set up and there was stuff scattered all over the place. He spotted Basir a few metres away, firing up a gas stove. Temel was lugging something towards Basir. Emre and Khalid were sitting next to a fire, warming their hands. He realised it was a bit cold and shivered involuntary, then looked back up at Ahmed.

  “Wher
e are we?” he asked.

  “In a field,” Ahmed reiterated, “I already tol’ ya.”

  “I can fuckin’ see that!” Mamba spat, grimacing once again as another bolt of pain rippled through his head. “I meant, where are we?” he said more quietly.

  “That place ya wanted ta go,” Ahmed replied, looking confused. “Ya know, the one with all the models ‘n rich people.”

  Mamba thought about it. Yes, it was beginning to come back to him now. That underground city that Jack told him about. He looked down at himself and remembered putting on all the black combat gear and saying he looked like a SEAL. He remembered wearing sunglasses. Where were they? He looked around the floor and spotted them a few feet away, so he leant over, grabbed them and put them on. That was better. He sort of remembered landing and unpacking all the gear off the helicopter. He remembered talking to the helicopter pilots…wait a minute, where the fuck was the helicopter and pilots?

  “Where’s the fuckin’ ‘copter?”

  Ahmed looked around and seemed surprised himself that it wasn’t there.

  “Dunno, bro.”

  “Why don’t ya know?”

  “I don’t remember,” Ahmed explained. “I only woke an hour ago ‘n I’ve got a thumpin’ headache. Like the one at the hotel, ‘cept I ain’t bin drinkin’.

  Mamba thought about it. Ahmed was right. It was like waking up after that night at the hotel in Enfield. Something wasn’t right. He looked across to Basir.

  “Basir!” he shouted then grimaced, and when Basir looked up, Mamba beckoned him over.

  Basir passed a sizzling frying pan over to someone Mamba didn’t recognise and came trotting over.

  “Where’s the fuckin’ ‘copter?” Mamba demanded

  “It flew off back to Heathrow,” Basir advised.

  “What?” Mamba almost screamed, but felt his head starting to rumble again so he calmed himself down.

  “The pilots said that you’d said they could go once everything had been taken off,” Basir explained.

  Mamba groaned.

  “How the fuck we supposed ta get back?” Mamba asked sarcastically, straining hard not to lose his temper.

  Basir shrugged.

  Mamba closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. Very slowly. It hurt. Why was he surrounded by morons? He re-opened his eyes.

  “Help me up,” he ordered, and both Ahmed and Basir grabbed an arm each and helped Mamba to his feet. They kept hold of him as he swayed slightly, taking in his surroundings from the better vantage point.

  “You OK?” Basir asked, tentatively.

  Mamba stared at him with a ‘what do you think?’ look on his face. He then shook both men off him and walked a couple of paces.

  “Those fuckin’ pilots must’ve spiked the water they gave us,” Mamba suspected. “Ya had some too, didn’t ya Ahmed?”

  “Yeah, man.”

  “I reckon I know where they fuckin’ got it from too,” Mamba continued. “That bitch Ayla. She must’ve done the same thing ta us when she helped Cobra ‘n the Princess get away ‘n now she’s fucked us over again. No wonder she stayed behind. She’s fuckin’ dead meat when I see her again.”

  Ahmed kept quiet, confident that Mamba would have forgotten all about it within a few minutes, although he had to admit, the coincidences did point to Ayla.

  Mamba looked all around the field they were in, spotting some zombies on a track or road behind a fence to their West, obviously trying to get into the field and at them. The other sides of the field were closed off by a combination of hedges and fences, with more fields behind them and the odd farmhouse in the background. There were some cows in a field to the East and sheep in another to the South. Mamba couldn’t remember ever seeing these animals in the flesh. They were much bigger than he expected, scarily so. Looking North, he could see the tops of some buildings in the distance which made him feel a bit better. Civilisation…of a sort.

  He felt like he was lost in some massive wilderness and had to force down the growing feeling of panic that was threatening to engulf him. He’d seen grass before, who hadn’t? There were parks in London. But this was just too much greenery. Far too much. Overwhelming. He could see the sky from one side to the other without a building in sight, which having lived in London all his life, was completely unheard of. There was always something in the way, blocking the view, something to look at.

  “Where the fuck are we?” Mamba muttered to himself.

  “The countryside,” Basir replied helpfully.

  “Well, ya can fuckin’ keep it,” Mamba replied. “Give me the city any day of the week.”

  “I quite like it,” Basir opined, breathing in the fresh air deeply.

  Mamba shook his head in disgust.

  “Jus’ get Heathrow on the blower. I want that fuckin’ ‘copter back.”

  Basir ran off to get the sat phone and came running back a few minutes later, huffing and puffing. He passed it over to Mamba who checked it was on and hit the ‘Pre-set 1’ button. It was the only number programmed.

  The phone rang and rang, with Mamba getting more and more annoyed with each passing second. That Sami was going to have some fucking explaining to do when Mamba finally got hold of him. Eventually it was picked up.

  “Hello Mamba, what can I do for you,” came Jack Robinson’s voice.

  “What the fuck ya doin’ with the phone,” Mamba almost exploded as he recognised the voice. “Where’s Sami?”

  “He’s gone home, Mamba, to be with all his friends and family. You might remember, they’re the ones you attacked.”

  “What?!” Mamba screamed, the temperature rising fast.

  “He wasn’t too happy to find out what you did to Volkan and his brother, so I would expect you’re off his Christmas card list.”

  “Bastard!” Mamba shouted, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths to try and still the pounding in his head. “Where’s my ‘copter?”

  “It’s not your helicopter, Mamba. It’s mine, and it’s back where it belongs.”

  “So, how we supposed ta get back?” Mamba asked, immediately regretting the question as he knew what the answer was going to be.

  “I suggest you don’t come back,” Jack advised.

  “Fuck ya, Jack!” Mamba shouted. “I’ll be back ‘n yer’ll regret it!”

  “Good luck finding Burlington,” Jack said, and the connection was cut.

  “Bastard!” Mamba screamed, then held his head in his hands, waiting for the pain to subside.

  Once he’d recovered, Mamba threw the sat phone to Basir and started walking towards the field containing the cows. Ahmed and Basir stayed close behind, but not too close.

  Mamba felt his foot sink into something soft and there was a smell unlike anything he’d ever smelt before. He looked down and took a step back, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

  “What the fuck is that?” he asked no one in particular.

  Ahmed and Basir looked down.

  “It’s a cowpat,” Basir answered, helpfully. “You don’t want to step in those.”

  “A what?” Mamba asked, confused.

  “Cow shit,” Ahmed explained.

  “Ah man!” Mamba said, raising his foot and seeing the stuff stuck to the bottom and sides of his new shiny black boot. “That’s fuckin’ disgustin’. Can this day get any worse?”

  Ahmed and Basir said nothing, struggling not to laugh at Mamba’s predicament.

  Mamba wiped his foot on some long, clean grass, trying to get rid of the muck, before retracing his steps back towards the rest of the group. He managed to get rid of most of it, but there was still a lingering smell hanging around.

  “I’m hungry,” Mamba said. “Get me some food.”

  Basir ran off to get something for him to eat.

  Mamba turned to Ahmed.

  “We’re at the arse-end of the World here,” he said, “with no fuckin’ transport.”

  “Ya got that right bro,” Ahmed agreed. “We could always go home.”

>   “Yeah? Like how? I already tol’ ya we ain’t got no transport.”

  Ahmed thought about it.

  “Walk?”

  “Don’t be daft, it’s fuckin’ miles,” Mamba ridiculed him.

  “Nick a car?”

  “Maybe. But first we gotta find this city.”

  “What if it don’t exist or ain’t here? Maybe Jack was pullin’ yer chain.”

  “Nah, he meant it. Ya wouldn’t make summat like that up. Let’s get some food ‘n then get sorted. Time we went fer a look ‘round.”

  2

  Day 20 – 09:30

  Corsham

  Mamba led the advance party of ten towards the fencing on the North side of the field, away from the zombies at the fence to the West, and thankfully well away from the scary looking animals in the other directions. Some of the bastards even had horns!

  They were all kitted out in combat gear, carrying silenced MP5s, Glock 17 pistols in holsters at their waists and a couple of Bowie knives sticking sideways out of a combat vest for ease of extraction. Each of them had got dirty and were ready for action.

  The rest of the group stayed in the field under the watchful eye of Basir, checking their defences, sorting equipment and killing the odd zombie on the perimeter to refill the spent jars of blood.

  Mamba made sure he watched where he put his feet this time around, and although the smell coming off his boots seemed to have diminished, he wasn’t sure if this was because he was getting used to the smell or whether the muck was slowly being removed.

  He climbed the fence with ease, the others following. Once on the other side, Mamba took a quick look around to make sure there were no other scary animals around. Thankfully, the field was clear, and he continued trudging North, towards the rooftops he had seen earlier in the distance.

  “I wonder if there’s any fucker alive ‘round here,” Mamba muttered.