Shaun Harbinger - Survival - Revenge of the Living Dead

A shocked hush fell over the room.

“A bomb?” Sam asked. “You mean a bomb to drop on the zombies, right?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t. Gordon’s scientists have developed a biological weapon that delivers an airborne version of the virus. From what I can tell from the notes, any human beings that breathe the airborne toxin become savage killing machines.”

“Like the hybrids,” I said.

“Not quite. Those affected become like Patient Zero. He’s faster than any hybrid, and more deadly. And instead of simply biting or scratching to pass on the virus, he kills instantly by tearing his victims’ heads from their bodies.”

I closed my eyes and remembered my friend Johnny Drake. He’d been killed by Vess, his head and spinal cord ripped from his body.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “Why would they make a weapon that turns people into killing machines?”

“Gordon is a military man. He thinks in terms of power and weapons to achieve that power. I understand from checking the records that he was about to be forcibly retired by the army. He served in the Middle East some years ago and did good work there but lately he was becoming more of a nuisance to the powers that be in the military with his xenophobic attitude and increasing paranoia. When the apocalypse hit, his retirement was forgotten. The army needed every soldier they could get their hands on.”

She shrugged. “It looks like Gordon used the situation to create his own private army, made up of soldiers who thought like him, and began his own private war.”

“A war against whom?” I asked. “The undead?”

Dr Lake shook her head. “No. Some of the papers I’ve looked at were from his personal journal. He welcomes the zombie apocalypse. He believes it will weaken the enemies of Britain and that he’ll be a national hero when he uses his bomb to destroy what’s left of those countries. When this situation is finally over, Gordon wants Britain to be the only country left standing. And then recolonisation of the world can begin.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “If he wants to destroy other countries, how is turning their populations into murderous zombies going to do that? Those places would become uninhabitable because of the murderous zombies.”

“He’s planned for that,” she said. “The airborne version of the virus kills its host after five or six hours.”

I nodded, understanding. Now it made sense. Set off the bomb and create killing machines. The killing machines kill everyone else and then they themselves die, meaning no one would be left alive. And then Gordon’s army steps in to take over.

“So do the killing machine zombies kill the shambling zombies as well?” I wondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” Dr Lake said. “I don’t think Gordon knows either. His scientists wanted to carry out an initial trial of the weapon but they needed to do that in a place that was contained in case anything went wrong. From the notes, it doesn’t look like they’ve performed that trial yet.”

“Thank God,” Hart said. “Once we get back from Bunker 53, taking down Brigadier Gordon and Camp Victor will be our next priority.”

“I have a question,” Lucy said, holding up her hand.

“Of course,” Hart said, “What is it?”

“What’s Bunker 53 like?”

“I have absolutely no idea. As far as I know, it’s a survival bunker, not a facility like this one or our old place. The people inside are just supposed to survive, nothing else. That’s why they wouldn’t send Dr Ives here; the people inside the bunker won’t leave until the apocalypse is over. I didn’t even know they had scientists there until you arrived and mentioned Ives.”

“Okay,” Lucy said. “Thanks.”

I wondered if Lucy was going to be coming back with us from the bunker or if she was going to try and convince the authorities there to let her stay. I couldn’t blame her if that was the case but I’d miss her terribly.

There was a time in my life when I’d have thought that the best way to deal with an apocalypse was to ride it out locked safely away inside a bunker. It would almost be a dream come true as long as they had plenty of food and video games.

But something inside me had changed and I no longer wanted to hide away. There was too much to do, too many people to help. How would I feel if the entire world went to hell while I sat safely inside a bunker and didn’t try to help in some way, no matter how small?

I still didn’t blame Lucy if that was what she wanted to do but it wouldn’t suit me at all. Not anymore.

Hart clapped his hands together once and said, “Right, if there are no more questions, let’s get our weapons and get to the chopper.”

Twenty minutes later, we were in the Chinook and heading to Bunker 53. This time we were all wearing flight helmets to block out the noise of the rotors and to enable radio communication between ourselves.

Despite the radios, no one spoke. Our attention was firmly fixed on the small metal cage, and the crate within it, that had been strapped to the floor of the helicopter. So far, the crate had been quiet but I realised that even if Vess was pounding on the inside right now, none of us would hear it due to the noise in the Chinook.

The first clue we’d have to his revival would be when he punched his way through the crate.

We were all armed with L119A1 Close Quarters Battle Carbines. This rifle was much shorter than the M16 and much more manoeuvrable in a tight space. The muzzle of every gun was pointed at the cage.

The only time I allowed my attention to wander from Vess’s crate was when I glanced out through the tail ramp—which was open—at the countryside rolling past beneath us. The pilot had been instructed to fly low in case we had to discharge our weapons and that meant I could see a lot of detail as we passed over the landscape.

Most places looked abandoned. The roads were strewn with empty cars and some houses we flew over had been burned for some reason. We passed over three hordes of zombies that were concentrated in small towns. The creatures either roamed aimlessly or stood stock still in the dormant state.

The only other movement I spotted was a convoy of military vehicles driving along one of the roads. The smaller vehicles seemed to be escorting two four-ton lorries so I assumed they were taking survivors to some camp or other.

When we reached our destination and the Chinook began its descent into a quarry, I felt relieved that we hadn’t had to fire our weapons in the chopper. Despite the manoeuvrability of the CQB rifles, it would have been too easy to end up caught in a crossfire from someone aiming at Vess.

The Chinook landed and we all piled out. Waters, Hamilton, and Fletcher carried the cage, to which someone had thoughtfully attached leather carrying straps. We were standing in what looked like a normal quarry. I looked around the area for some sort of door or passage that would lead to Bunker 53 but saw nothing of the sort.

Hart was similarly scanning the area with a frown on his face. “Must be here somewhere,” he muttered. Taking out a slip of paper from his pocket, he consulted it and pointed at the southernmost edge of the quarry. “It’s somewhere there, apparently.”

We made our way to the rock wall and discovered a number of camouflage nets that had rocks and gravel applied to them to make them look like part of the quarry wall.

Pushing them aside, we came face to face with a large steel door that was at least twenty feet wide and twelve feet high.

“This is the place,” Hart said. He found a small console on the door that housed a single metal button. He pressed it and we waited.

Looking closely at the area around us, I noticed a number of small cameras attached to the rocks, all pointing at us.