Cobra Z (14 page)

“We feed!” shouted Miss Scott, and bit into Miss Baker’s neck this time. All the children screamed, and some jumped from their chairs and ran to the back of the class.
Don’t hurt her, Miss Scott
, Wendy said in her head.
Please, look I’ve drawn you a nice unicorn.
That was when Miss Scott pushed Miss Baker to the floor and turned to look Wendy right in the eyes.

“WE SPREAD!” Miss Scott shouted, and by the time the screams brought other teachers to the classroom, half the children had already been infected. Within fifteen minutes, fifteen turned to over a hundred.

9.31AM, 16
th
September 2015, Kings Cross Train Station, London

The last thing he needed on a Wednesday morning was to have to deal with a fucking riot. I mean, who rioted at nine o’clock in the bloody morning for Christ’s sake? Any self-respecting scrote would still be in bed at this hour. Pulling up outside the front of King’s Cross Station, Police Constable Fred Aycoth watched the panicked masses as they ran away from what to him looked like a mass brawl.

“Can you believe this shit?” Aycoth said to the man sharing his car. He put on the hand brake and spoke into his radio. “EO47 to control, looks like we’ll need back-up here. Definitely looks like this is getting out of hand.”

“Wilco EO47. Additional units have already been dispatched to your location. Be advised, SO19 units are already on scene.” Over the police radio, a call went out to his fellow officers. Aycoth removed his seatbelt and opened the car door. A hand grabbed his shoulder.

“I don’t like this, Fred. This doesn’t look right.”

“We don’t get paid to like it, mate. Besides, you heard her, SO19 are here. Who’s going to try and fuck with someone wielding a fucking great machine gun?” The hand on his shoulder retreated. Aycoth stepped out of the car, placing his cap over his neatly cropped ginger hair, then removing his baton from his utility belt. He could see there were people fighting on the Pentonville Road. Looking around, he saw two armed officers, what control had called SO19, standing outside the main entrance to King’s Cross. The two new arrivals made their way over to them, knowing there was safety in numbers. A woman ran past them, bleeding from her left ear, part of which was missing. Aycoth tried to stop her, but she dodged him in what was obviously total terror. In the distance, more sirens could be heard as reinforcements arrived. They walked quickly over to the armed officers, both of whom were known to Aycoth.

“Morning, lads. What kicked this all off then?”

“Fucked if I know, Fred. But if this carries on, we’ll have to close down the station. Riot police are already en route.”

“The mayor’s not going to like that,” said the other armed officer. Aycoth shook his head and was about to say something when his attention was drawn to a man stumbling towards them. He had no physical injuries, but his skin was deathly pale, and he obviously had difficulty keeping himself upright. An ambulance pulled up behind Aycoth’s police car

“Officers, I need …” The guy coughed violently and fell to his knee.

“Sir, are you alright?” Aycoth’s partner asked, moving to help the man.
Bloody stupid question
, thought Aycoth.
Did the guy look alright?
He didn’t really get on with the man he was assigned with this morning if he was honest, but you went where they put you.

“I don’t feel …” The man heaved, and Aycoth stepped back.
I’m not having someone vomit on me twice in one week
,
he thought. And then the man started to retch, and within seconds, he projectile vomited all over the legs of Aycoth’s three fellow officers. Aycoth stood there surprisingly unscathed.

“For fucks sake,” someone said as the ill man collapsed in front of them. His body began to twitch, going into full spasm. Aycoth’s partner tried to hold him steady, not knowing the ultimate fate that now awaited him due to his humanitarian act.

9.32AM, 16
th
September 2015, Paddington Train Station, London

The Hilton staff member serving drinks in the dining area of the Hilton Hotel had been a tad irked at the nine Japanese tourists who had sat down only to be joined by a tenth a moment later. He was annoyed because the tenth was carrying carry out cups from the local corporate chain “coffee” house. Luke considered making an issue of it, but he had seen them coming and going from the lifts, and as they were undoubtedly paying a small fortune to stay here, he let it go and concentrated on the myriad of customers vying for his attention: the paying customers, the ones that would give him his much-needed tips. The Japanese tourists had followed exactly the same routine for two days in a row. They would arrive early, sit and drink coffee not purchased from the hotel, and talk about whatever Japanese tourists in London talked about. He seriously suspected none of them even spoke any English

That had been over an hour ago, and they were still chattering away when one of them cried out. Luke glanced over annoyingly and turned back to the customer who was trying to order a gin and tonic. Luke smiled outwardly and asked if there was anything else the woman wanted. Inside, he was amazed that someone could even consider drinking alcohol at this hour in the morning. But it wasn’t his place to judge – that was the lesson taught to him by the mentor assigned to him when he had first gotten work in the hotel. “It doesn’t matter what you see, or what you hear. Just smile and act like it’s an everyday occurrence. People are entitled to their quirks, and they are entitled to their privacy – remember that.”

He was about to walk over to the bar to collect the lady’s order when there was another cry of pain, and one of the members of the Japanese party fell forward off the sofa she was sitting on. She began to writhe on the floor, legs knocking against the glass table at her side. Luke turned, watching the spectacle for a second, only to see another of the Japanese lunge backwards in a cry of pain. There were panicked mutterings from the other Japanese tourists, and Luke did what he was trained to do. Quickly moving to the bar, he stepped behind it and picked up the walkie-talkie.

“Code 99 in the lounge area, code 99 in the lounge area.” It was eerie to hear his voice booming out from the surroundings, and within seconds other, more senior staff members arrived on the scene. Code 99, possible medical emergency. They trained regularly for this eventuality, as tourists had a tendency to be an unwell bunch, suffering from a host of afflictions that could leave them near death’s door at any minute. Either that, or they tended to be very drunk. Especially with a clientele that seemed to feel comfortable drinking gin and tonics for breakfast. As the three extra staff members arrived, another of the Japanese tourists cried out in pain. Then the first – the one still lying on the floor – vomited all over the carpet. Luke closed his eyes and shook his head in frustration.
I’m likely going to have to clean that shit up
, he thought to himself.

The most senior staff member reached into a pack on his belt and withdrew a set of Nitrile gloves. Donning them, he bent down to the stricken woman, who was now shaking violently. He was about to try and hold her steady, when the nearest Japanese still seated vomited all over him. Luke almost laughed, but the scene quickly descended into chaos as one by one the tourists all began to convulse and expel whatever bodily fluids their orifices held. “Jesus Christ,” the Samaritan cried as he tried to wipe blood-stained vomit out of his hair and off his face. He stood up and made to step back only for a hand to shoot out and grab him by the ankle. Luke saw him stagger for a second and then fall, smashing the back of his skull open against the edge of a glass table. Someone screamed. One of the Japanese laughed.

The woman on the floor slowly stood and looked at her fellow travellers. Only three of them now seemed unaffected by the sickness that was spreading through their ranks, and she rushed to them, sniffing their odour deeply, pawing their faces as they cowered at the slime that was dribbling from her mouth and nostrils. She examined them one by one, then turned to the fallen hotel staff member, who was moaning and trying to right himself. Luke heard her shout something in Japanese and then she pounced, landing on him, biting straight into his neck.

Luke panicked. He wasn’t trained for this, and he certainly wasn’t paid enough for this. He rushed from behind the bar towards the back entrance to the lounge, which also led to the toilets. Backpedalling, he didn’t see the huge bulk of a man stagger out from the gents, and Luke ploughed right into him. Both of them fell to the lushly carpeted floor, Luke landing face down. Spread-eagled on his front, Luke tried to get up, but he felt hands on him, then a weight on his back holding him to the ground. Someone crawled up his back, and Luke felt fingers grabbing onto his hair. Then there was warmth on his ear as someone exhaled. And then a voice came.

“
We feed, we spread
,” said the voice. The same words were shouted from another part of the hotel, and then something bit into him. As he felt his ear being ripped from his body, Luke put all his effort into escape. Just as he thought pain and his assailant would have him, the weight lifted, and Luke was able to scramble forwards, escaping the clutches of the madman. He turned onto his back and used his hands and his legs to scoot away from the giant who now stood looking at him. Luke found his progress stopped by a wall, and he clutched the side of his damaged face, the pain flowing through his body. The attacker suddenly moved towards him with inhuman speed and spat into Luke’s face, half-chewed ear landing in his lap.

“
We feed, we spread
,” the man said, and with that, he was away with an agility a man of his bulk should not have possessed. Luke watched him go, bile rising up into his mouth as shock took him. Before he lost consciousness, he heard the howl that chilled his soul.

9.36AM, 16
th
September 2015, 10 Downing Street, London

Croft waited whilst the officer checked his name and his ID off on the roster. Sergeant Smith wandered over, a playful grin on his face.

“Twice in one week, you’re getting popular, Major,” Smith said jokingly.

“Hello, Sarge. That wife of yours still feeding you then?” Croft said, indicating Smith’s somewhat enlarged belly that was only partially hidden by the man’s body armour.

“Bloody woman’s got me on a diet. She says she’s fed up sharing a bed with a bloated whale. Says if I don’t start looking after myself, she’s going to restrict me to bread and water. And she doesn’t just mean in the food department.” Croft laughed, and was ushered through the gate by the police constable. Smith was going to say something more, but he was distracted by a voice in his left ear.

“Be advised, we have reports of a live fire incident involving SO16 officers in Canary Wharf. All SO6 officers are advised we are at Amber Alert.” Sergeant Smith listened to the voice. Standing outside the gates to 10 Downing Street, he saw that his lads had received the same instructions.

“Lock her down, boys,” Smith said. The three other officers outside the gate with him withdrew and one by one passed through until they were all behind the protection offered by the reinforced black gate. Once upon a time, the public had been free to walk up and down 10 Downing Street as if it were just another street. But the multiple threats from the IRA and the more recent Jihadist threats made that now an impossible dream. With the pavement barricades still out, nobody could approach the gates directly.

Now on the other side, Smith saw Croft looking at him concerned.

“Trouble?” Croft asked.

“I don’t think so, Major. Just another day in London.” Croft nodded and turned, walking down Downing Street towards the entrance that would allow him access to the Cabinet Offices. Smith watched him go for several seconds then turned to look back out at the world outside their protected fortress.

“CW23 to control, any word on what’s going on?” Smith said into his shoulder radio.

“Negative CW23. So far just sporadic reports of rioting.” Smith’s eyebrows raised in surprise – rare to have an officer-involved shooting. And if it was riots, were they a result of the shooting, or the cause? Further up Whitehall, Smith didn’t see the man fall down in the street outside the Household Cavalry Museum. But the CCTV did; the CCTV saw everything.

9.40AM, 16
th
September 2015, Hounslow, London

It was unusually quiet for this time of morning. Okay, the rush hour was over, but the fast food restaurant was on a major road, and they still had the breakfast menu on. There were only two customers sat in the restaurant, and Jack stood at the tills, found himself staring into space. Noticing the traffic passing by outside the establishments’ windows, he found himself thinking back to the other day. He hadn’t seen any more of that cunt Owen Patterson, but it was only a matter of time. Whilst Jack could handle himself, he wasn’t sure of how he was going to deal with someone who was probably packing. Jack was confident he could deal with it though. He was well built, and – unbeknownst to many – he had been undergoing training in a rare form of Russian martial arts for three years now. Systema they called it, and it was absolutely incredible. Jack just hoped he would never have to try it out in a real live situation, because that’s the first thing they taught you. If running away was the safest thing to do, then that’s what you should do. No question about it. There were plenty of egos lying dead in cemeteries.