The Undead. The First Seven Days (36 page)

  The man stares back, before answering.
  ‘Private… Sir.’
  ‘Don’t be bloody cheeky with me soldier. You are on a charge, the minute we get out of here – now… give me your name.’
  ‘Simon Blowers, Sir.’
  ‘Right, Blowers, I don’t want to hear another word out of you. I will let this pass, for now, as you are new recruits, but if it happens again, you will be on a charge, understood?’
  ‘Yes, Sir.’
  ‘Right, go and get cleaned up - you’re all a disgrace to the army in that state, and where are your uniforms?’
  ‘We were being civilians in the exercise Sir, so we had to wear our normal clothes.’
  ‘And your uniforms are where exactly?’
  ‘In the barracks, Sir.’
  ‘Right, well, you’ll just have to do the best you can, until we get rescued… I mean… until we get re-enforcements.’
  Charles walks out of the room and up the stairs of the small admin building.

  He goes into an office and slumps down at a desk, rubbing his temples and thinking furiously.

 
Maybe I should have just told them the truth?
Told them I’m new too but no, that would be embarrassing and then someone else will try and take charge, like that bloody Blowers chap, and I’m not taking bloody orders from a common soldier. I’ll just wait until help arrives with more officers, then I’ll be amongst my own kind and someone else can sort this mess out
.
  Charles thinks about the event that’s happening.

 
He was in the officer’s mess when it all started. An alarm sounded and everyone went running off, leaving him alone. He ran too, just so it looked good, but he didn’t know where he was going, so darted in this block and hid in one of the dark offices.

  It could have been a terrorist attack or something worse - and he didn’t want to get involved in anything dangerous, so he sat tight and waited.
  When he heard voices, he started to sneak out, back to his quarters, when he saw the first undead soldiers. He didn’t know that they were undead at the time; they just looked like men with awful injuries. He watched from the shadows of the admin building as they ran at the other soldiers and bit into their faces and necks, killing them.

  Charles had never seen anything so violent; his private school and expensive university kept him sheltered from such things.
  As more men ran into the fray, Charles crept backwards, deeper into the shadows, until he turn and ran inside, cowering under the desk; wishing he was anywhere else but there.
  During the night, he heard gunshots and screams and men running around, it sounded like a war was going on, and he felt stupid for joining the army and stupid for trying to be like his father - who had also been an officer in the Territorial Army.

  At times, he would creep out and look through the windows at the undead soldiers in their blood soaked camouflage clothing. After seeing them close to the building he went back under the desk and hid.
  By Saturday, he had tried every phone in the building, but they were all down. He discovered an old transistor radio and tuned quickly through the frequencies, but got nothing.
  Charles would periodically look out, keeping low and taking quick furtive glances, but the scene didn’t get better. In fact it got worse, as the weekend went by and more undead gathered and staggered about, near to the buildings.

  He found some food in a small kitchen area and ate through packets of biscuits and then found some chocolate bars and crisps. He thought about saving them for later, in case he was still trapped, but he ate the lot instead and then felt bad for not keeping them.

  At least he had coffee, until the power went off.

  Then he was alone and in the dark, just listening to the terrifying roars outside as night fell and then he heard the bangs and groans.

  He retreated back under the desk and hugged his knees, crying and sobbing in fear.  

  Then, this morning, the raw recruits burst in - he though it was the cavalry coming to his rescue and he had a story prepared… he had tried to fight, but had been knocked out and only just come round - but they turned out to be brand new soldiers too.
  But still, at least, he has some men to protect him and keep him safe: cannon fodder, that’s what Daddy always called them.

The trainee recruits sit still and silent for a few minutes after the officer leaves, stunned at the cold arrogance and patronising sneer of the man.

They joined the army for many different reasons, but being attacked by zombies wasn’t one of them. Since the outbreak began, they had had time to discuss the event and come up with reasons and theories, but none of them knew the extent of the virus, until they got back to the main compound and saw the massive horde.

There were zombie soldiers, in a collection of desert and jungle camouflage uniforms; covered in blood from severe injuries.

During Saturday and Sunday, they kept their distance from the undead; running and hiding amongst the hills of the tank training ground. The land is military property and is heavily protected from the public, so none of them knew the direction they should go in, or the way back to barracks. It was by luck that they found the road and followed it to the buildings. Thirty of them started the orientation on Friday evening; thirty new recruits from different regiments and units all over the south coast. There was a feeling of nervous excitement as they met each other and filed into the briefing tent. The regional training centres were exciting, but this was Salisbury and it was huge.

The army buildings looked clean, freshly painted and surrounded a large, drill square; the roads and paths were straight and everything was well ordered. The grass was cut to regulation length and all of the marker stones were painted a crisp and clean white.

Men and women walked about, dressed like soldiers; real soldiers, wearing proper army clothes. They watched as soldiers saluted passing officers and everyone seemed to march and walk smartly. They were amazed at how many people were here, and just as they were led from the drill square into the briefing tent they saw soldiers with real guns standing about, smoking and laughing; faces painted green or black.

There were so many of them and more arriving by the minute. Several of the units were dressed in brown camouflage, instead of the jungle green; looking tanned and leaner than the others.
  ‘Just returned from Afghan or Iraq probably,’ Simon Blowers said as they stood round.
  ‘How do you know?’ asked Roy Tucker.

Blowers stared at him, before answering: ‘They are wearing brown desert BDU’s and they are tanned, so they have been somewhere hot and sunny….like a desert.’
  The others laughed at this and started making fun of Tucker, the way men do when they are together and feel insecure about their surroundings.
  ‘Why are there so many soldiers here, all tooled up?’ asked Alex Cooke.
  They start talking and throwing ideas in, everyone trying to be heard at the same time.
  ‘Must be an exercise,’ said Blowers.
  ‘What are those guns, are they the SA80’s?’ asks Tucker again, who instantly gets bombarded with more jokes,
  ‘Fuck me, Tucker… you’re bright ain’t ya? What do you think the British Army would be carrying?’
  ‘Well… I don’t know, do I?’ Tucker replies with an innocent look.
  ‘What unit are you joining, Tucker?’
  ‘Catering corps. I’m want to be a chef.’
  They burst out laughing and the jokes fly thick and fast. Someone pokes his podgy belly:

‘Bloody hell, mate. You gonna leave any grub for the army?’

More laughs and someone from the back calls out: “Tucker, you fat fucker”.

Roy Tucker has been called this all his life, through school and college and at work in the council office, and although the jibes sting, he laughs along and joins in the banter.
  ‘Fuck you, at least I’ll be warm and fed while you lot run around being Rambo’s.’
  The men relax into easy banter and excited conversation, until a man with stripes on his sleeves walks in and shouts for them to be quiet. As soon as they hush, an officer walks to the front and addresses the group.
  ‘Welcome to Salisbury, gentlemen. You are at the start of your first two week basic training camp. You should have all received your uniforms and basic kit from your regional training centres. If you are missing anything, or something doesn’t fit, we can get that sorted first thing tomorrow.

‘Now, normally the first night here would be orientation - and then a few drinks in the mess to get to know one another. But we have a night exercise taking place and your arrival fits in nicely.’

He gives a wicked grin and the men look at him with excitement.

‘As I’m sure you know, we have tank training and armoured vehicle training at this centre and the mechanised infantry, regular infantry and various other regiments train alongside them. This gives us invaluable operational training, prior to deployment. Tonight we have a very large exercise taking place and we are going to use you as civilians in the urban village training zone. You will be fully briefed as to what exactly is expected from you, but, let me say this… this is a remarkable opportunity for you to see the British Army in action. There will be simulated fighting, firing and explosions, so I can imagine it will be a long and boring night for you… so just try and stay awake please.’

The men laugh and start whispering in excited tones, until the Sergeant shouts for quiet.  

‘Now, you will have to excuse me, as I am needed elsewhere, but we will get a chance to meet again tomorrow, when we begin your basic training. Just one more thing, after the exercise - please do try and get some sleep, trust me, you will need the rest!’
  The officer leaves and the Sergeant takes over, giving the brief for the night exercise. The men are told to stay in the houses and do exactly as they are told. 
  ‘They won’t be using live rounds, so there’s no risk of getting shot - but it will be dark and there will be lots going on - so if you walk around on your own there is a real risk of injury. Do as you are told and enjoy the spectacle. We do not allow mobile cccccccc you trying to take pictures and using flashes, so all of your phones and cameras will be left here. If any of you are caught with a phone, you will be discharged with immediate effect.’
  The trainee recruits were led away and, after a short time of waiting in the drill square, they were collected by old army trucks and moved down into the training area. The trucks were enclosed in the back, so that the men had no idea of the direction or distance they were travelling in.
  None of them minded this though, and all were laughing and talking about their good fortune; being involved in an actual exercise.
  Within a couple of hours, they were placed into small groups in the houses of the urban village training zone and told to stand around or to sit on the furniture and wait for further instruction.

The sense of excitement was palpable and, within a short time, they could hear shots and loud explosions coming from the dark grounds all around them. Then, loud engines and heavy vehicles passed through the streets, men were running behind them and taking position. They were firing weapons and the bright flashes from the ends of the barrels were startling in the dark. The soldiers started at one end of the street and worked their way down, house by house. There were soldiers firing back at them and massive mock battles took place with smoke grenades and explosions. The soldiers worked the house clearance and found the trainee recruits. The recruits were made to kneel down at first and plastic cuffs were applied to their wrists, behind their backs. Then they were led outside and, after some time, the cuffs were removed and they were led to the end of the street into a “safe area”. They waited as more of the trainee recruits were brought down until all thirty of them were there. Then the soldiers all moved out and the vehicles went away.
  Officers and instructors spoke to the recruits and told them that they would have a “hot debrief”. The recruits all tried to look serious, like they knew what was going on. They were asked to declare any injuries and if they were happy to continue, and then they were led back into the houses ready unit, to train house clearance.
  Then the shooting and explosions started again and the recruits waited with anticipation for the soldiers to come and get them. There was more shouting this time though and the men seemed to be yelling in confusion.
  The recruits heard soldiers shouting the work “medic” and screaming at each other. The trainee soldiers took this to be part of the exercise and watched as a soldier fell down in the street, clutching at a fake wound to his neck. Soldiers rushed to him and then the injured one jumped up and started attacking them. They fought back and battered him down, but not before he bit into a few of them.
  A few of the recruits were too taken with the whole spectacle to understand that something was going wrong; too many years spent watching action and horror movies.
  But, Simon Blowers stood in his assigned house, looking out at the fighting and knew that something
was
wrong. Simon had joined the exalted Royal Marines a few years ago but a bad leg injury held him back and he had to leave before getting even a few weeks into his basic training. Since then, he had absorbed anything to do with army life and had a greater understanding of the processes within the services.
  He watched as soldiers ran around outside; some attacking each other. They were running past his assigned house, further into the street, and Simon knew they shouldn’t advance until the houses had been cleared.
  Shortly after the mayhem started, he could see mass hand to hand fighting taking place. Soldiers were killing each other and biting into flesh. Then, one of them burst into the house he was in. Simon watched as the soldier came towards him, fresh blood dripping from a ragged bite wound in his neck.
  ‘Mate… are you all right?’ Simon said to the soldier, backing away as the man advanced straight at him.