CHAPTER NINETEEN

 

 

"WHAT THE HELL is going on?" Flowers roared as another explosion rent the air. He clattered down the stairs, drawn like the rest of his men racing across the hallway towards the open main doors by the pulsating warble of the perimeter alarms. To his ears, it could only mean one thing: the fences had been breached, and the detonations were the landmines grouped sporadically within the mansion grounds being triggered. The rattle of gunfire drifted in, short bursts at the edge of the gardens. The enemy was at the gates, he thought. But who would dare take him on?

He heard his name called, and saw Hewitt pushing his way through the throng heading outside and making his way towards him. The kid had an Uzi held down at his side, and he looked harried: his grey face was etched in a grimace, anger and perhaps a touch of concern visible in his eyes. He met Flowers at the foot of the staircase.

"Who is it?" the older man demanded.

"We're not sure," Hewitt replied. "At least, not yet." If Flowers didn't know better, it was almost as if the kid was breathless. He couldn't possibly experience exhaustion, yet here he was, looking for all the world like he was about to keel over. He kept glancing back towards the grounds and fingering the weapon in his hand nervously. "There's an army of deadheads massing at the fences; I mean, a lot. Where they've come from, we have no fucking idea."

"But the defences are holding?" Flowers asked impatiently, if a tad relieved that he'd been premature in assuming that what he could hear were the sounds of intruders entering the gardens.

"Yeah, at the moment. They're just hitting the electrified perimeter fences and going up like fucking rockets. But they keep on coming, hundreds of them, and we're worried that the sheer weight of numbers is going to put a strain on the gate. Plus the burning bodies could end up short-circuiting the security system."

"So there's a chance they could get in?"

"I can't see them getting even near the house. If they get past the gates, they've got the tripwires to deal with, and us." He held up the Uzi. "But why should they want to get in here anyway? We've got nothing a pusbag would want. Even if they could sense the meat we've got in the stores, it wouldn't bring them in droves like this."

"Somebody's behind them."

Hewitt nodded. "This isn't some wandering bunch of zombs that have stumbled onto our land; they were directed here and instructed to attack. But why? What can they hope to achieve? The fucking things are just destroying themselves."

"It's to wear us down. Like you say, sheer weight of numbers to put a strain on our defences. Somebody wants in, and is using the stiffs as both barrier and distraction."

"Humans, you think?"

"Seems to be on too grand a scale for a bunch of shit-scared survivors," Flowers mused. "They wouldn't be able to get deadheads to do what they want anyway. No, this has the fingerprints of a Returner all over it. A new rival, deciding to piss on my territory." He turned to Hewitt. "Let's take a look at them."

"Are you sure, Harry? I mean, I don't think we're in any danger, but all the same, it would make sense for you to stay in the house."

"I'm not cowering from uninvited guests," Flowers said sternly, already walking towards the doors. He beckoned to one of his men. "Tate, ensure that the entire perimeter is monitored. I don't want anyone sneaking in under the radar while we're dealing with the frontal attack. Oh, and see if you can reset the alarm, it's doing my head in." The man nodded, and jogged away around the side of the mansion, a pair of his colleagues following.

Hewitt scurried to keep up with his boss as the old man strode down the drive, feet scrunching on the gravel, and stopped at the edge of the lawn, raising a hand over his eyes to shield them from the glare of the rising sun. Nice touch, Flowers thought, initiating an assault at dawn. Several metres away, a knot of his men were spraying the fence with automatic fire, though it was difficult to see the targets they were aiming for; the invading zombies were turning into a charcoal morass, impossible to determine one from another. Immediately beyond the gate was a row of blackened cadavers, fusing to the metal as they melted from the high voltage running through it. A few were on fire, hair crisping, bones popping, as they jerked and danced from each power surge. Behind them, more ghouls still came, stumbling blithely into the fence - those that could actually get near it - and exploding as they brushed against the wire. Flowers watched one's ribcage flung open like shutter doors, the organs sizzling as they plopped onto the grass.

Christ, they're disintegrating, he thought, studying the figures with grim fascination. The things are burning up before my eyes.

"Cease fire," he yelled. The gunshots dribbled to a halt. Glancing at the kid beside him, he added: "Pointless to try to hit them through that barbeque. Just a waste of ammo."

"What do you want to do?"

"Give me contact with the watchtowers." He held out his hand, and Hewitt passed him a walkie-talkie. Flowers lifted it to his lips. "Simmons, what's the news?"

"Not good, sir," a tinny voice replied in his ear. "Got maybe three hundred flesh-eaters backed up against the wire, and the system is not looking healthy. It's showing signs of overload. Could start to spark any minute."

"You see anything else apart from the deadheads? Someone controlling them?"

"Nope, just wave after wave of brainless maggotdicks. They're relentless, coming right across the fields, straight for the house."

"Roger that." Flowers clicked off the two-way. "They're coming out of London, I'm sure of that," he said to Hewitt.

"London? Who's left that we know could—"

The old man held up a hand for silence, and pondered for a few moments. Then he raised the walkie-talkie once more. "Simmons, shut off the power to the fence."

"You sure?"

"If it blows, we could risk losing the power to the whole mansion. Or fire could spread across the gardens. Turn it off."

"Wilco." Seconds later there was a buzz followed by a whine, and the microwaved dead ceased their convulsions. In its stead, the early-morning air was filled with the groans of the ghouls, the jangle of the gate as many bodies incessantly pressed against it, and the crackle of burning flesh, pungent smoke drifting into the sky.

"Double the guard on the perimeter," Flowers told Hewitt. "Keep an eye out for any breaches in the fences, any weak spots. Also be prepared to move back to the house if need be, to defend that." He turned and headed back towards the front doors. "This was just the beginning. Whoever's behind this will be making a move - be ready for it."

"Right," Hewitt acknowledged, then coughed. He frowned and rubbed his throat, then coughed again, as if trying to rid himself of an irritation lodged there.

Flowers halted, and turned around to study the kid. Their eyes locked in puzzlement. Then they heard retching coming from across the grounds.

 

 

"THEY'VE TURNED OFF the power to the fence."

"So we make a move?" Alice asked.

"Not yet," Gannon replied. "Give it a few more minutes for the agent to disperse. No point going in there and suffering the ill effects ourselves. Wait for it to take hold."

They were crouching in the peripheral scrubland to the left of the mansion, hidden enough to not be discernable from the watchtowers but at a vantage point from which they could monitor the situation. Fortunately, Flowers' guards were preoccupied with the stiffs accumulating at the front gate, spraying those that were still alight - and those they could reach through the tangle of limbs and charcoal skeletons - with extinguishers. The zombs that hadn't been fried continued to tug at the fence, the wire rattling wildly. Evidently, the triggermen had been ordered not to fire upon the dead, as the battering went unchecked, those inside the mansion grounds watching the assault impassively. More guards were being deployed at regular intervals along the perimeter, all hefting semi-automatics.

"They're increasing the security," Gabe said. "They know we're coming."

"They know someone's coming," Gannon corrected. "They don't know exactly who they're expecting."

"Are they all Returners?" Beth enquired. "Flowers' soldiers, I mean."

"Yeah. He made his workforce turn after he resurrected," Gabe murmured. "Always likes to be in control, does Harry... He wouldn't have humans alongside him - considers them beneath him now. Only one place for the living and that's on his dining table."

"Aren't we kind of adopting the same position?" Alice said, nodding to the zombs hammering against the fence. "We're using deadheads 'cause we think they're expendable, and a lesser species than ourselves. We've got more in common with them than the humans."

"They're test animals," Gannon answered bluntly. "Mindless automatons to be directed as we instruct. We've got no more in common with them as we would a lab rat."

"You told them that?"

Gannon frowned. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning how do you know what's going on inside their heads? You think they're happy being used like this?"

"They're barely aware of where they are, of what they're doing. There's no cognitive reasoning in their brains at all, just what they've been told."

"Only because you've tampered with them—"

"Can we have this argument another time?" Gabe interjected, silencing the pair. "I have to say, I'm not happy about using them as mobile dirty bombs, but if it knocks Flowers' outfit onto the back foot, then I say we take the advantage." He turned to Gannon. "Must admit, doctor, they've worked like clockwork. It's almost as if you've rewired their internal circuitry."

The scientist shrugged. "I've been studying HS-03 for over ten years, had experience of it at first hand. I know now how to modify it, how to get it to work on certain urges and act upon it. The corpses are vehicles driven by the virus, nothing more." He looked off towards the stiffs slamming against the fence, and sighed. "This would've been my army, this is what I was working towards. If only I'd had more time, I could've perfected it..."

"Wait," Alice said, indicating towards the mansion. "I think the agent's doing its stuff."

They all turned their attention towards the house and watched the guards begin to exhibit signs of infection. The sound of coughing reached even their hiding place, drowning out the mournful wailing of the dead. Some were bent double, their guns shouldered, spluttering into the lawns. Others scratched at their pallid faces and arms, shavings of cold flesh fluttering to their feet, fistfuls of hair pulled out in clumps.

"So it's going through the skin?" Gabe asked.

Gannon nodded. "They wouldn't breathe it in, now that their respiratory systems are dormant. But it's entering the epidermis, the necrosis attacking the cells, decaying them from the inside out. What they're coughing up is matter dislodging into their windpipes."

"Nasty."

"It's like bacterial acid. Once it gets under the skin, it'll eat through to the bone."

"And you created this?"

"Not long after the outbreak, the MoD asked me to come up with a way of neutralising the zombie threat over a wide area, but it never got past the prototype stage. I've been tinkering with it ever since. Thought it might be handy to have a little weapon of mass destruction all of my very own."

"Bet your masters never thought you'd be using deadheads as carriers for it. You could do a hell of a lot of damage, you know, across the whole city."

"No," Gannon replied, shaking his head. "It's only got a limited dispersal field, and a short lifespan, which is why we'll be able to go down there any second without it affecting us. In fact, it'll probably burn itself out before it's entirely disabled Flowers' goons. They'll still be on their feet - just - but should be compromised enough for us to get past them without too much trouble."

Gabe stood. "Well, I'm getting a hankering to wreak some bloody vengeance. Care to join me?"

 

 

THEY PICKED A point at the perimeter fence at which security was the most lax: a pair of guards were on their hands and knees, the flesh of their hands and forearms almost liquescent, white bone emerging from the grey puddle where their skin used to be. They barely noticed the newcomers, whimpering and pawing the earth like sick dogs, shrunken facial features disappearing into their skulls, and didn't have the time to recognise the fact that intruders were snipping the wire free before a figure snuck through and beheaded them both with a single sweep of his machete. Gabe stooped and passed one of the guns to Alice, who was next through the fence. Adam and Beth followed, leaving Gannon on the other side of the wire, looking ill at ease now he was so close to Flowers' domain.

"You sure you don't want to come with us?" Gabe asked him.

"I've done my part, I've got you in," the scientist replied. "The rest I'll leave up to you."

"Stay close by."

"I will. Good luck."

The four of them headed off, gluing themselves to the curving shadow of the house, avoiding confrontation where they could. For the most part, Flowers' enforcers were struggling to purge their bodies of the agent that was devouring them, and paid little heed to the knot of Returners that were skulking past. A few caught sight of them and tried to raise the alarm, but found no sound would emerge from their ravaged throats other than a soupy gurgle, and when they attempted to hoist their rifles the strength left their arms, the limbs putrefying. Those they were close to reached out or made an effort to block them, but Gabe either ran them through with his blade - their skulls now the consistency of mud - or Alice took them out with a discreet burst from her semi. The bullets shredded them like paper; it was as if they were vanishing, losing all sense of corporeality.

They threaded their way through the grounds, Gabe's memory of the layout leading them, and they reached the main doors of the mansion. He turned to the other three. "I want to create maximum chaos, keep them all occupied. Adam, Beth - can you see if you can get the front gate open, let the remaining deadheads in? That should cause enough confusion to keep Flowers' goons away from the house. Once that's done, make a start on the other matter."

The pair nodded, and sprinted off down the drive. He glanced at Alice and motioned that they should enter, stepping out of the light and into the cool dark of the hallway. He could feel the vaguest tingle of the bacteria in the air, despite Gannon's assurance that his bio-weapon had a finite exposure time. His skin prickled slightly, but he seemed to be suffering none of the symptoms Harry's lot were displaying. In fact, the further they moved into the building, the more the sensation eased, as if it couldn't permeate brick and mortar. If that was the case, then the ganglord was probably unaffected, hiding away within the structure's bowels, waiting for whoever was coming for him.

The design of the house hadn't changed much since Gabe was last here, he noted, but he was surprised to see it go to rack and ruin; dirt and debris were collecting on the tiled floor, and huge cobwebs dangled like gossamer nets from the ceiling. It was becoming derelict, as much subject to entropy as its residents. It looked ready to collapse. They reached the foot of the staircase, scanning left and right for signs of movement. Now they were far from the cries of the dead, it had fallen uncomfortably quiet. He hoped that much of the security had been placed outside to protect the perimeter, leaving a minimal staff within the building itself.

"We need to make for the first floor," he whispered.

"How do you know that's where Flowers will be?"

"I don't. But there's someone up there I need to see." He paused. "To save."

Alice studied him for a second. "OK. But be ready - this isn't going to be easy."

As if in answer, there was the roar of a sub-machine gun opening up and the plaster near their heads exploded as bullets raked across the hall. The pair of them dived behind the banister, splinters following in their wake. The shooter was at the top of the first flight of stairs, and was moving down, punctuating each footfall with a five-second burst. The wood around them cracked with each impact. Alice rolled into space, placed the barrel of the rifle between stairposts and fired up, catching the figure in the legs; it grunted and stumbled, pausing in its descent. She took advantage of the momentary lull, jumped to her feet, and squeezed off another blast, ripping through its neck and head. The shooter toppled onto its back, and slid down the remainder of the stairs, the remains of its skull bumping against the steps. Gabe joined her, standing over the body.

"Recognise him?" she asked, poking the cadaver's side with her barrel.

"Not any more." It was one of Harry's mob, but not much was left intact above the chin.

They started to ascend cautiously, and made it to the first landing. Gabe silently pointed to the next set of stairs they needed to take, then grimaced as a bullet powered through his arm; a second and third followed in quick succession, catching him in the thigh and chest. He didn't feel any pain, but the shock fleetingly paralysed him.

"Fuck!"

They crouched and ran, bullets zipping into the carpet at their feet or ricocheting off the light fittings: they were being fired on from above again. Gabe hooked a pistol free from his belt, and shot off several rounds blindly as they sought the safety of an alcove.

"Can you see where they are?" he breathed, curiously examining the new holes in his torso and limbs.

"Leaning over the railing, I think," Alice said, looking up. "They're going to get us pinned down."

"What do you reckon?"

She glanced around her, wiping a finger in the dust on a vase. "State of this place, you think it's got woodworm?" She smiled at him, then stood up from her hiding place, and put her semi to her shoulder, sighting it upwards on the banister above. Shots immediately rained down on her, and she took hits to the neck, arms and belly, but seemingly ignored them as she raked her fire on the structure itself, splintering the wood of the railing until it all but disintegrated. There was loud snap and it came apart, the whole balcony splitting in half. Alice dove back against the wall. As shards of debris plummeted, so they were followed by two bodies spiralling to the floor, hitting the hallway tiles with a sharp smack. Their necks twisted sideways, neither of them stirred.

Gabe whistled. "Nice shootin', Tex." He caught sight of the extent of her wounds, blood seeping from a gouge that had removed a good portion of her left cheek. "You OK?"

Alice shrugged. "A few more leaks, nothing I won't grow used to. Come on, let's keep moving, use the noise as cover."

They speedily climbed the rest of the stairs, shrouded in the clouds of grey dust that hung in the air. Gabe spotted the door that led to Anna's room and strode towards it, not knowing what he was going to do or say once he crossed the threshold, or indeed what would be waiting for him on the other side. He had laid his hand on the handle when he heard the voice.

"Just like old times, eh, O'Connell?"

Hewitt emerged from the shadows of the corridor, the silhouettes of two other figures behind him. They were all armed.

"Never thought I'd get to kill you twice."