Pandemic Z | Book 3 | Pandemic Z 3 Page 5

  Emily nodded, remembering someone gave her that advice once before. Her son Harry had told her similar things when he was playing his video games or explaining Dwindling Fire to her. “Thank you!” she exclaimed, feeling more comfortable. She hoped she wouldn’t need to shoot anything, and it made her sad to think she could be a killer.

  Sergeant Turner and Lena reached the open trunk. “We need to grab weapons,” he said sternly. “Not huge ones, but we need guns in case we need to shoot them on our way.”

  Harrison hopped off the tailgate and pulled open a duffel to retrieve the handguns from the bag. He offered one to each of the team members, adding a grenade to each load. The grenades would be more powerful if there were a crowd of zombies.

  “Ah, yes, the chipmunk teeth,” Barry said, rolling the raised metal explosive in his hand.

  Emily didn’t know what to do with hers, and it made her a little more than nervous to hold it at all. “Do I like…” she didn’t want to put it in her pocket and accidentally sit on it. “How do I store it?” she asked, gingerly holding the explosive in her hands as if it could explode at any second.

  Lena smiled with compassion. It was interesting to watch someone hold a grenade for the first time. She couldn’t imagine how terrifying it would be with absolutely no prior training. “They usually fit in the cup holders,” she said, checking the ammo in her handgun.

  “We need to get on the road,” Sergeant Turner urgently said. “I’ll drive, so every other seat is a free-for-all.”

  Lena wanted to be in the front with her father. “I’ll take shotgun,” she said, hoping the others would be alright with her decision.

  Harrison smiled. “We already thought that one through.” He brushed past Lena to open the rear door.

  Barry climbed into the Land Rover, grateful for his short legs. A sturdy plastic console sat between the seats, and he knew he’d have to straddle it the whole way. “Oh perfect,” he said to the center console.

  Harrison couldn’t help but laugh at Barry’s misfortune. “Regretting your decision yet, there Harrison?” he teased, seeing him struggle to get over the console.

  Emily opened the other door. “Oh, that is a bit of a pickle!” She chuckled.

  Barry finally secured himself over the console. He gently placed his grenade and handgun in the two cup holders between his legs. The plastic contraption put pressure on his legs, but the seat was surprisingly comfortable. Harrison squeezed himself in next to Barry, and his long legs were so uncomfortably scrunched that his knees almost hit his nose. Emily fit in with ease on Barry’s other side.

  Lena jumped into the passenger side with no trouble at all. “Everyone comfortable back there?” she asked, knowing the answer would be a resounding no even before she asked the question.

  Sergeant Turner felt like he was going on another family holiday where the kids would have to cram themselves in the back but the parents had no issues up front. “This is like a good old family vacation!” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  “It is, except I never went on holiday with grenades between my legs.” Barry realized exactly what he’d said and how it might be received only after he’d said it.

  Harrison burst out laughing. “I always did.” He smirked.

  Sergeant Turner put the Land Rover into gear and followed the green vehicle in front of them. He switched the radio on as he crawled along behind them.

  “News reports are saying it’s now safe to go outside,” the radio spokesman said as they pulled out of the airport complex. “It’s been reported that the situation is under control.”

  Lena scoffed. “It so isn’t under control!” she protested to the radio.

  Sergeant Turner agreed with her. They slowly made their way down the narrow streets of the city. The green trucks forcefully smashed cars out of the way. A yellow Lamborghini was parked haphazardly on the side of the road, and the green truck didn’t even slow down as it powered through the street, turning the yellow supercar into nothing more than a smashed-up pile of fiberglass.

  Lena had pulled her phone out and scrolled through the news feed, hoping to find more information. “Holy shit,” Lena exclaimed.

  Barry scooted his butt further into the seat. The fabric was slick, and he kept sliding towards the handgun. “What is it?” he asked, even knowing her exclamation was directed more to her father than anyone else.

  “It’s them,” she said with fear in her voice.

  Sergeant Turner focused on the road ahead. “What is it?” he asked, expecting the worst.

  “ZOMBIES!” Harrison yelled, interrupting the tense news.

  Emily pressed her nose against the window on the right side of the vehicle to see a dense pack of grey zombies standing almost mesmerized outside the local bar. They looked almost drunk as they swayed and stumbled in no particular order. She gripped the cold grenade in her hand, afraid she would have to use it.

  “Don’t use the chipmunk teeth!” Harrison said, his nose pressed to the window as well.

  Outside the left side of the vehicle, people filled the streets. They were wide-eyed and hesitant. They slowly stepped out into the daylight with obvious confusion. There wasn’t a zombie in view—that Harrison could see.

  One man squinted as he looked toward the sunlight like he was reborn. Harrison couldn’t help but smile a little at their reactions. They looked hopeful and full of life. He wished that the radio had been right and the zombies were gone, that this really was the end of their snarling terror.

  Emily didn’t understand why they shouldn’t use the grenades. The zombies were everywhere, and they now crowded closer to the Land Rover. Their gnarled arms reached out to the powerful machine as if wanting to climb aboard. “Harrison, the damned things are everywhere!” she said, watching the zombies saunter closer.

  Harrison couldn’t see any zombies on his side. “They are only frightened people!” he said with annoyance.

  Emily looked at Barry. “Can you see them?” she asked, pointing out her window to the game designer. He was in the middle seat, and she hoped he could see both sides of the Land Rover.

  Barry craned his neck, and he could see the zombies wandering around the pub and closer to the vehicles as their convoy continued to drive down the dense street. They were definitely zombies, and there were a lot of them.

  He turned his head to the left, looking over Harrison’s cramped knees to see out his window. Sure enough, there were real-life human people stepping outside and looking about. They milled around as if the world was new. A few stopped and sniffed at the remaining plants poking through the cracked pavement.

  A local shop owner laughed as he pulled his vegetable crates the right way up. A priest with a large cross hanging around his neck reached his hand out to a muscular man dressed in a leather jacket. Tattoos covered his bare skin and crude slogans were patterned all over his clothes. The priest and tattooed man shook hands and embraced heartily as the Land Rover trundled by.

  Barry let out a small breath. His face was too close to Harrison’s for his own liking. “This is how I imagined the new world in War of the Worlds,” he said muttered.

  Harrison let out a soft noise. “H. G. Wells was born in the suburb my father grew up in. It was in Bromley on the outskirts of London.”

  Barry nodded, almost mesmerized by the people on the street. “A whole new world…” he said happily.

  Emily nudged Barry. “Yeah, did you forget what’s on this side? That’s cute and all, but the common cold is on this side of the car,” she said, pointing her thumb out of her window.

  “Oh, right,” Barry said, shifting his weight back into this seat. “The Martians were beaten by the cold. There was no new world.”

  Sergeant Turner looked at Lena. “What’s going on?” he whispered. “I know it’s big, but how big are we talking?” he kept his voice quiet so the three in the back couldn’t hear.

  Lena could see her dark reflection in the blackened phone screen. “Pretty bad,” she
told him nervously.

  Sergeant Turner followed closely to the army vehicle in front. They continued to power through the streets, knocking out vehicles as they went. Downing Street had drawn closer with every short mile, and the Rovers took out everything in their path. He could almost taste victory on his tongue. A hard-earned victory that was far from being accomplished. They still had the prime minister to save and zombies to kill. They were far from winning.

  “The H.I.V.E. has control of the media,” Lena told Sergeant Turner.

  The color leaked quickly from the sergeant’s face. Everything seemed to come crashing down around him. The thin hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he kept his face stony and expressionless. The army truck in front was like a guard leading the sergeant on the narrow path to destruction. If the enemy had control of the media, they had control of the people, and that wasn’t good news.

  Chapter Six

  As the convoy turned another corner, they saw that more people were out on the streets. The Monday morning drizzle didn’t stop the frightened public from emerging. They squinted into the obscured sun, the cloudy daylight warming their tired hearts. The zombies lunged and hobbled around like normal, but no one screamed or ran.

  As Lena watched the humans standing somewhat close to the zombies, with no violence breaking out, it was blatantly clear just how much control the H.I.V.E. had over the creatures. It also seemed that if they weren’t being forced to do so, the creatures were relatively harmless, though Lena sure as hell still wouldn’t trust one.

  The convoy crawled through the streets, and the crowds grew. People smiled and exchanged normal greetings as they passed on the pavement.

  The green grocer placed his assortment of vegetables in the wet wooden crates outside his shop. The baker wiped the interior of his cake display so the world could see a newly iced cake. The post office had a line a mile long snaking out its door of people clutching postcards and letters to their loved ones. The whole scene was like something right out of a science fiction movie.

  It felt like the eye of the storm. The calm just after the destruction, just before more would come.

  Sergeant Turner felt out of place as he pulled off the busy street. He knew Downing Street was close. “I feel really uneasy about this,” he told the rest of the team in the Land Rover.

  He’d remembered the silent streets the day before, the empty roads with no one on them. The H.I.V.E. had control of the media, and that would be dangerous if news outlets told the population it was safe to go outside. It would make it that much harder to keep the public safe with false information being given.

  Barry rubbed his nose. “That’s probably the lack of food in your tummy,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

  Lena chuckled as she rested her head against the Rover’s tough headrests. “You’re still thinking about one of us being a snitch, aren’t you?” She turned to look at the sergeant, knowing her father better than he knew she did.

  Sergeant Turner remained silent. He didn’t even nod. She was right. His mind raced with thoughts of who it might be. He feared it would be one of his friends. He quickly tapped on the steering wheel with his long, hairy finger and continued to follow the convoy of army vehicles in front of him.

  They turned the final corner onto Downing Street, and the first army truck skidded to a halt, kicking up dust and smoke as it did. Sergeant Turner slammed on the brakes almost immediately. He could see the crowd of zombies in front of them.

  “What the fuck was that for?” Harrison asked, shuffling himself back into the seat.

  Lena gripped the handle of her gun. “Take a wild guess,” she muttered softly.

  Barry sighed, knowing what that meant. It was zombies. He leaned forward, looking through the windscreen to see exactly what he’d feared. “It looks like there’s a giant party going on down there,” he said as Lena and her father hopped down from the Land Rover.

  The soldiers in the army trucks parked at the start of Downing Street, watching, observing the haggle of zombies. The snarling and growling sounds amplified.

  “I’m glad we have those extra clothes,” Lena said to her father.

  Sergeant Turner stroked his long beard. It always seemed to tingle at the sense of danger. “I agree, but we can’t just go out there chewing and howling. We need a plan.” He beckoned the other soldiers over as he spoke.

  Barry joined the huddle, eager to take part of the action.

  Sergeant Turner looked at his soldiers. “All right team, here’s how it’s going down,” he said quickly and quietly so the zombies couldn’t hear him. “You two,” he said, pointing to two of the soldiers, “you go first. Distract the zombies by howling and thrashing; make as much noise as possible.”

  Barry backed away. He held the handgun in his sweaty palm. He felt a bit ridiculous, like he should have known the group would want to go all werewolf on the zombies. He shuffled over to the Land Rover to get out of their way for now. He had to be prepared to help them when they needed him most.

  “Lena and I are on offense,” the sergeant continued to the soldiers. “We’ll rush through the crowd down to Number 10 as fast as possible. This mission is risky, and it depends on us working together. You two—” he motioned to two more soldiers, “—protect our backs and make sure we can get there okay.” The two soldiers nodded.

  Emily made her way over to Barry who was leaning against the Land Rover. He stared longingly at the humans discussing their werewolf tactics. “Cheer up, Harrison,” she said as sweetly as she could.

  Barry didn’t turn his head. “Please don’t call me that.” He pointed at the security guard in the CUNT shirt. “He is Harrison.”

  Emily leaned in next to Barry. “I can see that. Sorry. What’s our plan?”

  He shrugged, turning away from her. Watching the werewolves made him feel useless, but he wanted no one to know that.

  Sergeant Turner finished outlining the plans. “Okay team. Let’s do this right.” He nodded, finishing his speech.

  The soldiers nodded in return. They were ready.

  The two soldiers in the front stood facing the crowd. In an instant, the men transformed into tall, hairy, and menacing werewolves. They bared their teeth and howled into the morning drizzle. Their noises rattled around the street, reverberating off buildings. The werewolves paused, letting the residual echo descend over the zombies.

  The zombies growled at the two soldiers, and the werewolves raised their heads again, roaring as loudly as possible. Two more werewolves moved to stand next to the first two, the four of them blocking the street from view. The leading werewolf pounced into the crowd.

  The zombies clustered tightly together, and their behavior was very controlled and precise. Much too precise for the monsters to be in control of themselves. They stood almost motionless. The horde’s purpose almost seemed to be solely to obstruct their movement.

  “So, the main leader’s extra hairy,” Emily said. “We can call him Hairy.” She turned to Barry, hoping to cheer him up.

  Hairy threw a zombie to the ground, staring into his blackened eyes. The wolf’s blue eyes dazzled in return, blaring into the grey monster’s lost soul. Hairy showed his long fangs proudly to the incoherent zombie, and it grunted at the sight in return.

  With only a short huff as a warning, Hairy’s fangs buried deep into the zombie’s neck as he ripped the flesh away. The werewolf tore the zombie’s head free and tossed it into the air in triumph. Howling again, he chewed at the mangled flesh.

  Emily scrunched her face up at the gruesomeness of it all. “Oh my. It looks like Hairy is quite the aggressive type,” she said, glancing back to Barry.

  He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even move. It was like watching a terrible TV show, the kind where the enemy was too strong for the hero. He felt useless just standing around and watching the werewolves attack the crowd. He wanted to be in the thick of it. Instead, he stood on the outskirts just watching all the action unfold before his eyes.

>   “Should we start shooting?” Emily asked.

  Barry shook his head. She was surprised he’d responded at all. “No. Don’t waste the ammo unless they get into trouble and can’t get out of it.”

  She nodded, biting her lip. She could tell standing by and doing nothing made him bitter. “Are your games like that?” Emily asked, hoping the familiar topic where he was on top would cheer him up.

  Barry felt his stomach turn again. He pushed gently past Emily to the back of the Land Rover. “Not exactly,” he said, pulling the back open. “I’m a little too squeamish for that,” he admitted.

  “The second werewolf is a little less violent,” she commented. “He’s smaller, hunched over a little. Does he need a name?” She attempted again to make conversation.

  Barry looked past her to see the small, hunchbacked werewolf. “Quasi,” he said simply.

  Emily recognized the name and smiled. “Of course,” she said excitedly as Quasi smashed into the concrete wall, howling as he let the zombie fall to the ground, broken and oozing.

  Quasi threw his head back, dramatically howling into the morning air. The trees fluttered at the noise. Hairy joined him, howling loudly and drawing more distracted zombies towards them.

  “It’s from Hunchback of Notre Dame, in case you didn’t know,” Barry added softly.

  Emily nodded, turning her head back to the action. “Hairy and Quasi,” she said, picking out other werewolves from the crowd. “Where’s the Irish one?” she added, trying to find a needle in a haystack.

  Sergeant Turner and Lena leaped into the air. The zombies were like a moving carpet beneath them. They landed heavily on three of the monsters, crunching their bones beneath their feet. The crowd was too thick to get through. They’d never be able to save the prime minister. The other werewolves easily ripped the zombies to shreds, but going at it like this would take too long.

  Emily craned her neck, watching intently. “I think the sergeant and Lena are coming to realize there are too many zombies for the werewolves,” she said, pointing.