Surviving the Fall: How England Died (12 page)

Lewis lowered his binoculars and realised they weren’t looking at the roof’s floor, but through what must have been a trapdoor into the control tower below. It was thick with zeds climbing over each other, reaching for the roof, reaching for the fresh meat.

Lewis quickly scurried down the tree - they didn’t have much time.

Allen listened carefully to the Corporal’s report.

“They must have retreated to the control tower, and at some point were comprised, but managed to make an escape to the roof. They’re trapped there now, no way down, at least not without some heavy firepower, which I don’t think they have.”

“Any other signs of life?”

Lewis shook his head. “Rest of the place is a zed free for all. Whoever was there, they took a hell of a kicking.”

Allen nodded and addressed his small company. “Ok, men, that’s the situation. We have around two hours to get in there, get those people out, and get at least two miles away.”

He felt some trepidation amongst them - it was a tough mission. They only had five machine guns, one grenade launcher, and two hand guns. Almost seemed impossible. So he spoke quickly, before they had time to second guess themselves.

“We need a distraction big enough that will pull the majority of the zeds away from the control tower, so we can get those people out.”

“What about firing some shots outside the fence,” said Singh. “Draw the zeds over, then a few of us go in and get the people out.”

Allen shook his head. “Won’t work - after five minutes or so, we’ll have every zed in those woods on us.”

“I know what’ll work,” said Walton, a glint in his eye. “If those planes have fuel in them - a few well placed grenades and they’ll go up like christmas.”

“But what about getting to the planes?” said Lewis. “That place is crawling with zeds - we don’t have the ammo to take them all out.”

“Ok Singh,” said Allen. “That’s where your fence shooting idea might work. Me, Lewis and Singh will get to the far end of the airfield, fire some shots, draw the zeds over. Then O’Reilly and Walton can go in and take care of the planes. Be quick though - like I said, we wont have long before we’re swamped.”

“Sure thing Sarge,” said Walton.

“Once those planes are burning,” continued Allen, “that will hopefully keep the zeds busy for as long as we need. We’ll get in the control tower, clear it out, and get the people out. While we do that, Walton and O’Reilly can requisition us a vehicle, there must be something working in there.”

“No problem,” said O’Reilly.

“We’ll rendezvous outside the control tower,” said Allen, “and off we go into the sunset.”

“Sounds simple,” said Lewis, a wry smile on his face.

“What’s plan B?” said Singh.

It was Allen’s turn to smile, “We shoot the fuck out of anything that moves.”

Chapter 5

Allen checked his watch. O’Reilly and Walton would have to be in position soon. As they had dumped their com-links, this was to be a clockwork operation.

Just like the old days, thought Allen.

Lewis took up position with his back to the fence, he was the covering fire to take care of any zeds that wondered in from the woods.

Singh and Allen crouched facing the fence. The control tower was in the distance, the white SOS sheet visible, flapping in the gentle breeze. The end of the second runway that lay to the north of the tower, was about 50 feet from their position. A handful of zeds where nearby.

“Remember, Singh, one shot each in turn, thirty seconds apart. Let’s not burn the ammo.”

Singh nodded.

Allen stared at his watch for a minute. “Ok, it’s time. Commence,” said Allen.

Singh fired a shot into the air. Immediately the zeds turned and walked towards the fence.

“Dumb as cheese,” said Allen.

Walton heard the first shot and nodded to O’Reilly - they were to go on the third. Hopefully by then most of the zeds would be following the gunfire over to the far side of the airfield.

As the shot’s echo faded Walton felt the silence for the first time. There was no insect noise, no bird noise.

The second shot. Walton looked at his watch, right on time.

He felt adrenalin pumping through his veins - this was why he had signed up to the army. Not that turkey shoot yesterday - that was fucked up in all kinds of ways. Civilians behind cages, mixed in with zeds. Whoever came up with that idea had been a 5-star asshole.

The third shot. “Go!” he said. Walton jumped forward through the trees into the clearing. He glanced to his right to see O’Reilly running beside him.

Ahead, twenty or so zeds lined the fence, trying to walk through it, trying to get to the sound of the shots.

Walton pulled out his knife and ran down the line of zeds, stabbing them in the back of the head. They were stupid, really stupid, it was easy. They didn’t even know what was coming until Walton was on top of them.

He met O’Reilly in the middle of a long line of dead Zeds. “Good?”

“Good.”

A clear view of the fence, and the plan seemed to be working - only a few zeds were visible in the airfield, staggering in the direction of the gunfire.

Walton and O’Reilly pulled out their wire cutters and quickly made a hole in the fence, just big enough to let them through, and low enough to stop any zeds following them.

Walton made the final cuts and held open the fence for O’Reilly to crouch through. Walton followed.

Straight ahead was the south runway. They stood perpendicular to it, probably about a quarter along its length. A few hundred yards away across the runway was their target, the three planes, standing by the last in a trio of hangers. Diagonally to their left, again about two or three hundred yards away, was the control tower.

“Let’s go.” They set out at pace up a gentle embankment towards the runway. Walton quickly scanned the runway - a few bodies, debris - from an exploded helicopter? And at the far end, a smoking jeep.

No zeds.

They ran across and down the embankment at the other side. Another shot rang out in the still air.

They ducked in behind a large signal box and Walton peered round the side. They had a clear run to the first of the planes, which looked liked small commercial jets, but painted white with no windows.

“How do you blow up a plane with grenades then?” asked O’Reilly, breathing heavily from their quick sprint.

“They have the fuel in the wings, right? Let’s shoot ‘em up, and when the fuels leaking hit them with the grenade launchers. Think it will work?”

O’Reilly shrugged. “Can’t think of anything better.”

Allen nodded in satisfaction at the swarm of zeds congregating on the other side of the fence. The shots had drawn them in just as planned.

They moaned and pushed against the fence, like a rippling wave of dumb and angry animals. Each one seemed to have suffered a different form of violence. Some covered in blood, some with pieces of flesh and body parts hanging off. The odd missing limb. A gorged stomach with intestines getting twisted around the fence.

“Look sir, on the control tower,” said Singh.

The people were waving. Allen waved his right arm back, slowly. Then brought his hand down, looked at his watch, and fired another shot into the air.

Walton killed six of the zeds stuck in the hanger - they had been walking into the wall, trying to get to the sound of the shots by the most direct route. O’Reilly took out the other eight.

There was another shot.

“How many more shots?” whispered O’Reilly as they crouched by the door of the hanger.

“One, I think. Let’s be quick.”

The closest plane was about a hundred feet away, well within range of their AG-36 grenade launchers.

O’Reilly grabbed Walton’s shoulder, “Look, through that door, that look like a truck?”

At the back of a hanger was an open door leading to another section of the hanger. Through the door was what looked like the back of a truck.

“Shall I go see?”

Walton nodded. “Check it out. I’ll take care of these planes.”

Lewis took aim and fired. The zed fell. He fired four more times in quick succession as zeds began to emerge from the trees.

“Sir, we’re starting to get a lot of attention here.”

“Singh, join Lewis. Let’s just keep this lot at bay now,” said Allen.

Singh took position next to Lewis and began taking out any zeds that stumbled from the woods.

The fence swayed in and out as the number of bodies on the other side swelled. The plan was working, but maybe too well.

A large group of zeds burst through the trees at once. Lewis and Singh let go some rapid fire, dispatching them quickly.

“There’s a lot more coming, sir. Those two had better hurry up.”

O’Reilly carefully entered the room at the back of the hanger, which turned out to be a garage. Tools and engine parts sat on tables that lined the room. A truck - a troop carrier - sat in the middle.

Three or four zeds bounced to attention as he entered the room and started their slow slog towards him. He took out his knife, ran round the other side of the truck so he came at them from behind, and quickly knifed them in their skulls, spraying blood across the tarpaulin of the truck.

Once he had killed the zeds he ran over the key board, searched for a key that matched the licence plate of the truck, and grabbed it. He climbed into the cab of the truck and put the key into the ignition. He held his breath and turned it. The engine fired into life, no problem. Very healthy sounding.

He turned it off, took out the key, and ran back to join Walton.

“That was quick,” said Walton, who was aiming for the wing of the nearest plane. “Any luck?”

“Lots, we got a truck,” said O’Reilly.

“Great stuff. Ok, hold tight.” Walton waited for O’Reilly to take cover.

Walton let go a short burst of fire into the plane’s wing. A clear liquid dripped freely onto the tarmac from the bullet-holes.

“Nice shot,” said O’Reilly.

“That’s nothing,” said Walton as he pumped the under-slung grenade launcher. He fired. There was a dull thump as a grenade took off towards the wing.

Walton held his breath for a second, and then it hit. A huge flash opened up the air milliseconds before a thunderous bang, and Walton and O’Reilly were thrown back by a wind shock.

They took cover behind the hanger door, the heat from the burning plane already making them uncomfortable.

Walton peered round the door to see the plane engulfed in a bulbous, billowing yellow flame, belching out waves of acrid heavy black smoke. The tower of smoke rose high into the air, like a thick gnarled oak tree.

“Look at that!” shouted Walton.

O’Reilly let out a huge whoop.

The wing of the second plane caught light.

“Get back,” Walton and O’Reilly ducked back behind the hanger door, just as the next plane erupted with the same enthusiasm and noise as the first.

“It worked,” shouted O’Reilly over the sound of the burning planes. “Fuck me, it worked.”

They high five’d each other.

“Damn right,” said Walton. “Now let’s get out of here. Don’t think we’re going to be alone for long.”

They ran to the truck, the ground shaking as the third plane exploded behind them.

Allen, Lewis and Singh turned round as one, as the sky erupted in an almighty bang. Within seconds, a thick plume of smoke rose from beyond the control tower.

“Yes!” said Lewis.

“They’ve done it,” said Singh.

“Come on, let’s move,” said Allen. “No more firing - save the ammo. The plan ain’t worked yet.”

They followed Allen’s lead as they ran along the perimeter away from the zeds emerging from the woods.

The zeds in the airfield, however, had lost interest in Allen and his men. The explosion took all their attention, and Allen had an inward sigh of relief as the zeds turned from the fence to make a slow migration towards the centre of the airfield, towards the fire.

“Ok, here will do.” They stopped running and Allen crouched down, taking out his wire cutters, making a low incision. He was quickly joined by the others, and they were soon through. They ran across the airfield, keeping a healthy distance behind the hoard of zeds.

They dodged the debris of the fight which must have occurred only a few hours ago, moving from cover to cover behind car wrecks and burned out tents. The zeds edged further and further away.

Allen checked his watch. They had one and half hours left to get to safety. Plenty of time, as long as Walton and O’Reilly had secured a vehicle.

About half way to the control tower, and the group of people on the top noticed them. They started to point, shout, jump up and down and make a hell of a racket.

“They need to shut up,” said Lewis as they ducked down behind the shell of a jeep.

Allen watched in dismay as a number of zeds broke off from the main group and headed towards the bottom of the tower.

“No worries, lads. Just makes our job a bit tougher. Most are still heading to the planes. Let’s hurry up.”

The group ran forward, and were soon within a few hundred feet of the tower. About twenty zeds were walking around the bottom. When they saw the company, they shuffled towards them.

“They’re thinning themselves out. Use your knives if you can.”

They meet the oncoming group with their knives drawn, and quickly killed them with well placed knife plunges and swipes, splitting the skulls and killing the brains dead.

Allen continuously motioned to the crowd on the top of control tower to be quiet, but he was ignored, and more zeds were being drawn from the main hoard.

The control tower was a tall, anonymous structure, seemingly built out of a single block of concrete. There was a small door at the base, which lay open.

“I’ll take point. Singh, you watch our six. Lewis, you path clear with me.”

They burst through the door, and Allen fired twice, clean head-shots, to kill two zeds standing on the stairs. They cautiously made their way up the steps, illuminated by only the dull orange glow of the emergency lighting. Their heavy boots echoed in the concrete silence, every footfall and scrape amplified by the solid walls.

The top of the stairs ended in a featureless landing with a closed door in front of them.

“This looks like the door to the control tower,” said Allen “Assume many hostiles. Lewis, you got the stairs?”

“Sure thing, Sir.”

“Ok, Singh, you ready?”

Singh nodded.

Allen reached forward with one hand, his other holding his gun. He pulled the door open.

The truck squealed out of the hanger, O’Reilly hanging on tight as Walton rammed his foot down on the accelerator.

“Easy pal, we’re not going far,” said O’Reilly.

Walton smiled, obviously enjoying himself. He pulled the truck onto the feeder road that led to the north runway. From there it was a few hundred feet to reach the control tower.

Walton pulled the truck to the left and right to avoid debris strewn across the runway.

“Must have been a hell of a fight that went down here,” said Walton.

O’Reilly nodded, his eyes on the road.

The control tower rolled up on their left, Walton brought the truck to a stop. No door - just a blank concrete wall.

“Door must be round the other side,” said Walton.

“The Sarge said door to door, so let’s get round the other side then.”

Walton nodded, put the truck into gear and his foot on the accelerator. They only went forward a few feet, before the truck came to a stop, a painful screeching sound coming from under the cab.