Resident Evil in Britain.

I've decided to take Jokers idea about Resident Evil, and explore what happened when the virus hit the UKs green and pleasant land.

People from Blighty are encouraged to post here...

Bob Stryder stood on the second floor of the Civic Offices, looking out over the square towards the Portsmouth Guildhall. It was dusk and the smoke had mostly cleared now, although a few of the cars were still burning. The large public screen used to show the Winter Olympics was still on, but was displaying only static and had done for over a month. It was a wonder the power was still on after so much time. Maybe there were a few manned power stations active but they wouldn't last for much longer. The National Grid had never gone too long with out some sort of maintainance or overhaul.

As he watched a lone figure ran into the square, arms and legs pistoning up and down as he bolted across the open area. He was looking over his shoulder at whatever was pursuing him, but Stryder knew. It was the same things that were chasing everything and everyone for the last six weeks.

Zombies.

Strictly speaking they weren't zombies. They had been infected by the T-Virus which had migrated across the Atlantic from the US. But zombies fitted the description best, so zombies they were. They were best to avoid at all costs, if a person were to encounter a single zombie you might be okay as long as you have a melee weapon such as a cricket bat. Two zombies or more though, then that person should 'run like fuck' until he or she were a long way from his or her assailants.

The person in the square was indeed running like fuck, and for good reason. A mob of at least fifteen zombies were in pursuit, and their shouts, moans, screams and general commotion were attracting even more. They came streaming out of the Guildhall but their prey didn't see them, the figure was more concerned with the zombies behind him.

Bob couldn't call out, or shoot them. He couldn't possibly hope to kill all of them before at least one of the zombies pulled the unfortunate down and bit or killed them. Plus it would give away his own position. He watched until the figure collided with the first of the zombies out of the Guildhall and then he closed the blind. He still heard the screams though. Sounded like a female scream. Bob had heard a lot of screams over the last month and a half, and was now able to tell the gender of a screamer. The scream cut off suddenly. The howls of the zombies could now be heard. One lone woman isn't enough to sate the hunger of thirty or forty zombies.

Bob settled down for the night, he had checked the building earlier but had found nothing. It looked like all the infected had gone to the Guildhall for shelter during the day. He set his proximity alarms across the doors and opening windows and lay down.

Tomorrow he was going to try to get to Port Solent. There were boats there and while he had no experience sailing a yacht, he was sure he'd be able to find a motor-boat or similar. The marina had a fuel dump too, so he should be able to set off with a full tank. What he was going to do when he was 'out on the open waves' was another issue. If he was honest he hadn't really thought that far ahead. He was worrying about that when he drifted off to sleep.

The following morning he rose, collected his equipment and made his way back to his car. He'd left the car a few days ago parked in a multi-storey car park. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but that was a few surprises ago. He made his way up to the third level, and across the open space towards his red Toyota. As he moved he kept his eyes wide open, and wondered why he'd chosen to leave the Avensis in a place with pillars and other places that were perfect hiding places.

The problem at the beginning was the zombies. See a zombie, kill it quickly and quietly so as not to attract more zombies (the cricket bat was very handy for that) and get out of the area sharpish. After a few weeks the problem became not only the zombies, but also the looters and 'freelance' arseholes that suddenly thought they were more important than God and tried to impose themselves all over their 'manor'.

Bob made it to his car ok, opened the back door and slung the last of his collected stores onto the seat, shut the door quietly, got in the front and started the engine. He moved off, down the slope, round the lower level, down the slope, round the level and down the exit ramp. He saw nothing. He drove up the road. After a few minutes he got to the foot of the motorway and put his foot down. He went past a speed camera and it flashed, he knew he was speeding but didn't think he'd ever receive the fine. Strangely, that made him feel good.

He carried on up the motorway, going towards Port Solent and, hopefully, a place to be safe.

The tricky bit of the journey was having to drive past North Harbour. There was a large food superstore there along with a petrol station, car sales places and a few fast food restaurants. It was prime ground for both zombies and freelancers. He came off the motorway, up the sliproad and, even though the lights were red turned left without stopping. Another flash as a safety camera took his picture.

Bob accelerated along the road past hotels on one side and industrial units on the other. Soon he came to the open ground on the left that separated the main road from the superstore and it's car park. As he looked he saw a figure burst out from the store and start running across the car park towards the main road. A few seconds later another figure walked from the store, knelt, leveled his gun and fired at the runner. The runner took the bullet in his arm, stumbled but managed to stay on his feet and carried on running. He saw Bob. He began frantically waving trying to flag Bob down, make him stop.

The rules here are quite simple. You don't stop. In a world where civilization has been turned upside down it's every man for himself. If a man has a family he probably won't have them for very long, if you're always checking on them then you're not giving your full attention to your surroundings. You can get dead like that. So Bob slowly started to put his foot down. The man bellowed.

Bob looked back at the store. More armed freelancers were emerging, some unslinging their weapons others starting to run after the figure who buy this time was only 20 feet from the car. Bob sighed, and stamped on the brakes. He leaned over and open the door. The figure, a man, thumped up to the car and got in, Bob had the car moving before the mans foot had left the road.
"Thanks." said the man. "I'm Henry."
"Bob." said Bob. "And don't thank me yet, they're chasing. Only on foot, mind." A bullet spanged off the roof of the car, and Bob wrenched the wheel hard to the left and, tyres squealing in protest, turned the Avensis into Port Solent.

They drove in silence for a few minutes until Henry spoke.
"Where're we ... um ... you going? You going to get a boat?" Bob nodded.
"Gonna get a boat and get the fuck out of here."
"I've tried to get a boat, but they're all guarded by Freelancers. They kill on sight."
"I thought so. That's why I bought bombs and bullets. Those shitty fucken 'lancers are not goin' to keep me on this continent."
Henry, still with his hand pressed on his wounded arm, looked speculatively at Bob.
"You've got a plan then?"
Bob looked at Henry for the first time.
"Oh yeah, I've got a plan."
"If I can help, will you take me with you? My stuff is stashed at an apartment over there." He indicated a block of flats by the cinema. Bob sat in silence for a minute. Then he turned the Toyota into the bay for the block of flats.
"The car should be safe here. Lets go and look at your stuff. I'm not saying yes, I wanna see what you've got to offer."
"OK, cool." said Henry, and they both got out of the car and went inside.

Neon sat, squinting at the book in front of him. This was the third time he had tried to read in his tea break, though it must be said that his choice of reading material wasn't exactly chalenging, he still stuggled to concentrate on the paper for more than a few minuets before his gaze drifted. 20th century Sci-Fi lost its apeal, so he rose from the arm chair and left the book on the coffee table. Rising from failure to relax, he thought he might aswell take another shift on guard duty, earn some extra respect from the other guards, an take the time to pepare his boat for escape.

The plan HAD been simple, untill the Freelancers had shown up. Getting to the coast had taken him a fair few days without the aid of a compass. he had no idea where abouts he was. it didn't matter. he had food, water and a guns. Spending the night alone at the first marina he'd found wasn't Fun. He discovered in the morning that Freelancers had arived in the night to secure the location. Danger was always close behind, an he cursed himself for selecting such a high value asset to spend the night at.

Quick thinking sugested a gun an run escape route...the apearance of a heavily mounted 50. cal Machine Gun at the marina's gate/Lock Mouth sugested outherwise. So he'd swung out his Ak-47 and simply snuck up on the first guard to walk casualy past his carefully concealed hiding spot in a bar. The guard was caught completely off guard, an after a little rough an tumble in which both recieved a bloody lip, Neon got to 'The Boss'. After explaining a very short list of his many skills, the boss agreed to take him onto his team. As a replacement for the First guard, who promptly recieved a bullet to the skull.

"you can have his boots. an first pick of all his stuff. i'l tell the others later. You'l be safe, so long as you wear our mark. His was a pink arm band, hope it aint too gay for ya." Was all the boss had said.

The Freelancers had set up strong deffences quickly, but there were relatively few guards. they made up for there numbers with considerable firepower. After joining the team, it was revealed that the 50. cal was hardly ever used and had very little ammunition. It would have to be dealt with if the plan was to succeed.

The Boat selected was a medium sized MotorBoat. there was plenty of room bellow for stores etc, and the engine was fully prepped for a quick departure. Neon had carefully considered what to load onto the boat, so everything had a purpose. Weapons including his favourite SA80 Assault rifle and a random M72 LAW Anti-tank which he picked up at the remains of an ambushed British army convoy, where stored in a secure kitchen cupboard. His two most used weapons he kept on himself at all times, his AK-47 plain an simple, and his Italian Benelli M4 semi-automatic shotgun specialy customised with spring finned cartridges for taking out multiple zombies. It had taken Neon all his life to compile these weapons and he treasured them, because he knew that his life would depend on them and his abillity to use them. Other than weapons, there were standard issue ration packs enough for a months hard sailing, and a dozen pairs of fresh camo jump suits with jack boots an armor to match. All courtesy of an abandoned APC from the ambush. He had driven the APC as far south as he could before it started atracting too much attention, and enevitably there were things that had to be stashed and retrieved after he'd got the job at the marina.

Part of the Patrol required searching the out buildings and apartment flats around the marina. This was aspecialy difficult and dangerous. Two guys had gone missing over the last few weeks...both suspected zombie attacks. it would have been a great idea to take patrols into the flats in doubles teams, but all the crew were quiet strong individuals who, for whatever reason, kept to themselves as much as possible. It was Neon's opinion that if a serious attack was launched against them, he was just as likely to get shot by his own crew as he was to getting raped and skinned by a zombie horde. With none but himself to talk to, there was a strong temptation to speak out loud to himself, partly out of bordem but mostly out of paranoid schizophrenia which seemed to be a constant splinter in his minds eye.

After clearing the back entrance to Block 3, there was a problem. Inside the main stair well everything looked....well, it looked...odd. Last time he'd checked block 3 there'd been crap all over the place, up the stairs, blood on the wall from some dead guy in the corner, even a rat pokin its head out a hole in the floor. But now, it looked suspiciously like someone had cleared the place. Walking steathily over to the dead guy, Neon decided to sweep the stairs for snares. The body was half molested, half incinerated strangely, so Neon took one of the Crisped fingers from the man-thing's hand. Throwing the finger up the stairs, Neon dived flat on the floor an covered his ears....