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

  “We’ll soon find out,” Ahmed replied. “If we do, they gotta be peasants.”

  “What?”

  “Peasants,” Ahmed repeated. “Thick fuckers who live in the countryside.”

  “Oh. What do they do then?” Mamba asked with interest. He was beginning to hope he might meet some of these peasants, it could be fun.

  “Dunno. Farmin’ or summat.”

  “Yeah, ya’d have ta be a bit thick ta go anywhere near ‘em animals,” Mamba agreed, swinging his arm and pointing in the vague direction of the other fields.

  “Do ya know where we’re goin’?” Ahmed asked.

  “‘Course. I checked out ‘em maps Gert got us back at Heathrow. She even marked where we’d land ‘n where she thinks this underground city is.”

  “How many fields we gotta go through?” Ahmed asked. “I’m bored already.”

  “Yeah, it is borin’. I don’t like it ‘round here much,” Mamba admitted. “No pubs or shops.”

  “Why we botherin’ ta walk through these fields?” Ahmed asked. “Surely they’ve got roads?”

  “So that we ain’t fuckin’ obvious ta anyone that’s lookin’,” Mamba replied.

  “Thought ya said there’s no one ‘round,” Ahmed pointed out, but glanced around automatically as if expecting to see hordes of people running towards him. “Anyway, the noise of the ‘copter might’ve given us away.”

  “True. Come on then,” Mamba replied, changing direction abruptly and heading West for the hundred or so metres to the nearest road.

  “Listen up,” Mamba said over his shoulder, “there may be zombies ahead, so keep alert.”

  “Sounds like that song, ya know, ‘there may be trouble ahead’,” Ahmed quipped, singing the words.

  “Very funny,” Mamba snorted, and walked off.

  Within a few minutes they were on Rough Street, heading North on a small tarmac road which was probably wide enough for one and a half cars. The road had a ditch on either side then hedges or fences or gates separating it from the fields. It was also slightly raised so it gave them a good view of the surrounding countryside. Miles of nothing but fields, the odd electricity pylon, electricity cables and deserted farmhouses. Well, Mamba assumed they were deserted judging by the state of their repair. And trees. Lots of bloody trees.

  “I’ve decided I hate the colour brown ‘n green,” Mamba remarked to no one in particular.

  “It don’t feel right not seein’ concrete ‘n buildin’s,” Ahmed added.

  The group walked along in pairs with Mamba and Ahmed leading and Faruk and Ismet holding up the rear, frequently glancing in all directions thinking they were being watched, but finding they were all alone except for the odd zombie.

  They found a few zombies stuck in the ditches and a couple wandering towards them along the road, all dispatched quickly and efficiently with Mr Bowie, the useful knife to carry around. There was no point in wasting ammunition when the rich bastards below ground were supposed to have an army of sorts who were sure to have lots of weapons.

  Rough Street was fairly straight so they could see a long way down the road, and it seemed to go on for ever and ever. All they could hear was the sound of their own boots hitting the tarmac and birds singing in the trees.

  “Fuck, it’s borin’” Ahmed opined.

  “Stop whingein’,” Mamba replied, spotting a high metal gate with barbed wire along its top.

  Mamba strode closer, noticing a sign stating ‘M.O.D. – KEEP OUT’.

  “Ya reckon this is it?” Ahmed asked, seeing the roofs of some buildings discreetly hidden behind a man-made grass bank.

  “Does it look underground ta ya?” Mamba asked, sarcastically. “Anyway, ya ain’t gonna see it with a big fuckin’ ‘Welcome ta Burlington’ sign, ya fool. It ain’t Vegas.”

  “I ‘spose, but there could be stairs or a lift down.”

  Mamba thought about it. Possible, but unlikely. Gert had marked the map with the places she thought would give them access to the underground city, and this wasn’t one of them.

  “Forget it,” Mamba said, turning and heading off down the road.

  Ahmed quickly caught up.

  “I don’t trust places like that,” Ahmed said.

  “Why?”

  “All that metal ‘n barbed wire n’ shit. They don’t want people ta get in cos they up ta no good.”

  “Or maybe it’s ta stop summat gettin’ out,” Mamba suggested.

  “Ya bin watchin’ too many horror films,” Ahmed pointed out.

  “Maybe, but ya dunno what they’re up ta in there. Could be where the zombies came from fer all we know.”

  They trudged on for another few hundred yards before they came to a fork in the road, with a largish looking farm with various outbuildings and barns opposite.

  “Neston left,” Ahmed read from a signpost, “Corsham right.”

  Mamba headed right and the rest followed.

  “That’s a bit shit,” Ahmed said.

  “What is?” Mamba asked, bemused.

  “’Em street signs don’t show how far it is. Bloody useless this countryside.”

  “It’s hardly a fuckin’ motorway is it?” Mamba pointed out.

  “So? Should still show how many miles. I think we need ta find a car.”

  “Soon,” Mamba confirmed.

  They walked on along Lyplatt Road. The hedges were higher on this stretch so, for large parts, they couldn’t see what was on the other side. They came to a blockage in the road where a couple of cars had been turned sideways to form a barrier. Someone had obviously done it to stop zombies getting past, but there didn’t appear to be anyone around. Mamba and the rest of the group jumped up onto the car’s bonnet and walked across it before jumping down on the other side.

  Eventually they rounded a bend and could see the first residential houses. They came to a junction which had more cars parked sideways across it, blocking the way. They had the choice of turning left and staying on Lyplatt Road or following the road around to the right and joining Dicketts Road.

  “Which way?” Ahmed asked. “Both look like shit options.”

  Mamba consulted his map.

  “We go left ‘n then take another left into ‘The Cleeve’,” Mamba said. “Then we cross the railway ‘n head fer the High Street.”

  “What’s ‘The Cleeve’?” Ahmed asked

  “Street name.”

  “Stupid bloody name.”

  Mamba shrugged.

  “It’s jus’ a name,” he pointed out, “like ‘Ahmed’.”

  “Nothin’ like it,” Ahmed replied. “Anyway, why we headin’ ta the High Street? I thought we was tryin’ to find this underground city.”

  “We gotta get the lie of the land first, Ahmed. Find some more food ‘n stuff. Maybe a hotel. I ain’t sleepin’ in a fuckin’ field ever again, especially with wild animals next door! We also gotta find a safehouse in case we get separated. Oh, ‘n I need a beer…a lotta beers…’n a shag would be good, too.”

  Ahmed shook his head and carried on walking.

  They found The Cleeve and saw that it wasn’t a road at all, but a path which meandered behind the rear gardens of houses on either side. They walked its length in single file, and it wasn’t long before they came to the footpath over the railway tracks and into Station Road.

  “Bit fuckin’ quiet,” Ahmed mused. “Not a fuckin’ zombie in sight.”

  “Shut up, Ahmed!” Mamba hissed.

  “Why?”

  “Dunno but feels like we’re bein’ watched. Me skin is crawlin’, which is always a bad sign.”

  “That’s prob’ly cos of the fuckin’ blood ‘n shit.”

  Taking the curving road to their right, they walked for a further five hundred metres passing what looked like a sports ground until they reached the end where there were more cars blocking it off.

  Mamba stopped and consulted his map again, while the rest of the group helped themselves to a drink. He looked up from time to time, tr
ying to locate key markers, then a small smile appeared on his face. He jumped over the cars and trotted a few yards up the road to the left then turned around. His smile widened.

  “What ya found?” Ahmed asked, suddenly interested.

  “Pub.”

  Mamba trotted across the road and straight up to the front doors of The Hunter’s Arms. He wasn’t sure if it was a pub or hotel but who cared as long as it had a bar and plenty of beer?

  The rest of the group vaulted the cars and followed eagerly.

  Mamba stopped at the door and waited for the others. He withdrew his knife and the others followed suit. He then eased the door open a couple of inches and listened carefully for any noise coming from inside.

  When he was satisfied that there was no immediate danger, he swung open the door and entered, following the signs for the lounge.

  It was a modern lounge with windows on either side, providing plenty of light to see what they were doing without having to turn on their torches. The floor was carpeted, and although the décor, tables and chairs were a bit too posh for Mamba’s tastes, he wasn’t there for the scenery.

  Mamba headed straight for the bar and jumped over. He then surveyed the shelves and the under-counter fridges then stood stock still with a frown on his face.

  Ahmed approached the bar with the others.

  “What’s the hold up?”

  “There ain’t any fuckin’ beer,” Mamba replied, still staring at the fridges.

  “Give us a whiskey then,” Ahmed ordered.

  “There ain’t any.”

  “Coke?”

  “Nah.”

  “Crisps or nuts?”

  “Nah.”

  “What sort of fuckin’ pub is this?” Ahmed said, aghast.

  “One which has already bin raided,” Mamba said in disgust, turning back around to look at Ahmed’s disappointed face. “Prob’ly why it’s called a lounge instead of a pub.”

  Mamba jumped back over the bar and headed for the exit.

  “Come on,” he ordered. “Even a shit place like this must have a proper pub.”

  Mamba now had a thirst for a beer, and nothing was going to stop him from finding one. After leaving the lounge he strode towards the exit with the others following and slammed the doors open on his way out.

  He stopped suddenly and Ahmed walked straight into the back of him.

  “What the fuck?” Ahmed complained, before straightening up and looking around Mamba’s stationery body.

  There must have been about twenty people gathered in a semi-circle around them, holding pitchforks, shovels, knives and various other implements and pointing them in Mamba’s direction.

  Mamba looked slowly around the people surrounding them then started laughing.

  3

  Day 20 – 10:30

  Corsham

  Mamba was still laughing as the rest of his group filtered out of the pub and spread out, staring at the people threatening them. Eventually Mamba managed to stop laughing and shook his head in disbelief.

  “Are ya fuckin’ jokin’ me?” he asked mockingly, as he looked around the gathering. “What the fuck is that?” he asked, pointing towards a man holding a pitchfork.

  “Please don’t swear, it’s forbidden,” a woman said. “Who are you and what do you want?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the people in front of her.

  Mamba turned to face her.

  She must have been in her forties with shortish and prematurely greying hair, kept in place with a flowery headband. She was around five and a half feet tall and carrying plenty of weight as well as a shotgun aimed directly at his chest. A pair of jeans and a quilted jacket completed her ensemble.

  Mamba was thinking ‘Weeble’, which was a kid’s toy he remembered from his past. He even remembered the advert and singing along to ‘Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down’. Christ, he must have been about two or three, and couldn’t understand where that memory had come from.

  Mamba was grinning as if he had a secret as he stared at the woman.

  “Are ya sure ya know how ta use that thing,” Mamba asked, nodding towards the shotgun.

  “I’ve had plenty of practice,” the woman replied confidently.

  “Good fer ya,” Mamba acknowledged, “but ya betta point it somewhere else if ya wanna live through the next few minutes.”

  The woman kept the gun trained on Mamba as his grin slowly disappeared to be replaced by a frown which deepened with every passing second. He was about to reach for the MP5 slung across his shoulder when a man in the second row stepped forward and whispered in the woman’s ear. She listened and nodded before lowering the weapon to point at the floor in front of her, although clearly ready and willing to bring it back up at the slightest provocation.

  “Betta,” Mamba said.

  “So, are you going to answer the question? Are you army or something?” the woman asked.

  Mamba laughed again.

  “Somethin’,” Mamba agreed. “We’re here ta find Burlington.”

  Now it was the woman’s turn to laugh.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  Mamba stared at her without saying a word.

  “There’s no way you’re going to get into Burlington,” the woman continued. “It’s underground for a reason.”

  “There are secret entrances,” Mamba replied.

  “There might be,” the woman accepted, “but no one knows where they are. That’s why it’s a secret. I’m surprised you’ve even heard of it to be honest.”

  The man who had whispered in the woman’s ear stepped forward again and whispered some more. The woman considered what the man had said, her head moving from side to side as if weighing up whether it was worth mentioning.

  “What did he say?” Mamba asked.

  The woman looked back at Mamba.

  “He said that old Ernie might know more about it.”

  “Who’s ol’ Ernie?” Mamba asked.

  “He’s one of the old timers around here. He said he was eighty-two the last time he mentioned his age. He worked there when they were building it by all accounts, roughly sixty years ago give or take, but he’s a bit deranged and has a tendency to make things up.”

  “Can I talk ta him?” Mamba asked.

  The woman looked at Mamba then his weapons and those of his group.

  “Don’t worry,” Mamba said. “We won’t hurt ya unless provoked.”

  The woman considered her options.

  “OK, but you have to abide by our Laws.”

  Mamba shrugged.

  The villagers lowered their weapons, assuming that an accord had been reached and they wouldn’t be needed.

  “I’m Mollie,” the woman said, “and welcome to New Eden.”

  Mamba stepped forward and nodded. “Mamba…’n I thought this place was called Corsham.”

  “It was, but we changed it,” Mollie explained, and Mamba didn’t think any more about it.

  They vaguely introduced their groups, although Faruk and Ismet didn’t say a word, but watched everything in their unblinking, lizard-like silence.

  “Don’t worry ‘bout ‘em,” Mamba said, “they don’t talk much. Anyway, how come there’s no zombies ‘round here?”

  “There are plenty,” Mollie replied, “but we had plenty of notice about the outbreak and used cars to block off all the routes into town and various cut outs in and around town, so hopefully, the zombies are all on the outside.”

  She laughed at her own little joke.

  “We had ta get past a coupla roadblocks,” Mamba acknowledged, wondering what was funny.

  “We get the odd one who finds its way through a hedge or something, and of course others which turn when someone dies, but we’ve learnt to deal with them, and we send out regular scouting parties to make sure the coast is clear.”

  “How come the pub’s got no beer?” Mamba asked, changing topic.

  Mollie gave a short, sharp snort.

  “We’ve moved everyt
hing useful from all the local shops to a large supermarket just around the corner. It has a generator, so we have electricity there. Why? Would you like a drink?”

  Mamba nodded.

  “Follow me then,” Mollie said and turned and headed up the High Street, which had a sign indicating pedestrians only. There were shops on either side of the narrow street, but a brief glance through the windows confirmed that all the contents had been moved elsewhere.

  Mamba and the rest followed, the villagers staring openly at the new arrivals and Mamba’s group returning the favour.

  “Have ya got any spare cars we can use?” Mamba asked.

  “They’re all spare now, aren’t they? Although none of them work anymore.” Mollie replied. “What do you want a car for anyway?”

  “Ta pick up our friends.” Mamba replied, wondering why none of the cars worked anymore. Seemed a bit strange.

  “Oh, you mean all those people in the field just outside the village?”

  “How do ya know ‘bout that?” Mamba asked in surprise.

  “We heard the helicopter come in. You could probably hear it for miles, and it’s bound to have attracted some more zombies into the area. We’ve been watching you ever since.”

  Mamba was taken aback.

  “So, ya knew we was here ‘n was watchin’ us the whole time?”

  “Of course. We’ve got to protect ourselves and we didn’t know who you were. We assumed you were part of the armed services, otherwise you wouldn’t have had access or be able to fly the helicopter.”

  Mamba didn’t correct her.

  “Although, if you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem like the usual armed services types.”

  “Special team,” Mamba explained hurriedly.

  “So, why are you really here?” Mollie asked.

  “I already tol’ ya,” Mamba replied. “We’re here ta get inta Burlington…by whatever means necessary.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Mollie said. “You know who’s down there I assume?”

  “Yep.”

  “So, you know there’ll be a whole army waiting for you.”

  “Yep.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Yep.”

  Mollie smiled a little uncertainly, not sure whether Mamba was joking.