The London Trilogy | Book 1 | Autumn: Dawn by Moody David

Author:Moody, David [Moody, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Publisher: Infected Books
Published: 2021-05-31T04:00:00+00:00

15

Despite Dominic’s assurances, Vicky still thought the Monument group’s set-up felt uncomfortably cult-like, but as the night wore on, she began to relax. A few cans of beer and a good meal made all the difference.

It was no surprise the food was good. Phillipa Rochester had, until a month or so ago, cooked in a Michelin-starred restaurant in the city. She now worked from the kitchen of a cleared-out hotel diagonally opposite the Tower of London. Phillipa’s number two was Steven Armitage, who’d previously worked as a chef in the Royal Logistics Corps. They made a hell of a team. Phillipa assembled the menu from whatever supplies were available, while Steve scaled it up for mass consumption. Despite having a high-end kitchen at their disposal, the absence of gas, electricity and running water meant the whole operation was a makeshift affair, but that didn’t matter. Phillipa could, to quote Dominic, ‘season the shit out of anything’ and, even if the food was limited and basic, the alcohol was not. In what had been such a tourist and business-centric part of town, you couldn’t turn a corner without finding a pub or cocktail bar. The group had a quartermaster who kept an eye on stock levels. Booze was one thing they couldn’t afford to run out of but, for the time being at least, there was still a plentiful supply.

Dominic had given them a guided tour of the compound from west to east, starting with the area around the Monument itself. There were blockades across Cannon Street, Arthur Street and Lower Thames Street, Eastcheap and the A10, and also across London Bridge to the south. Dominic took them up to Monument tube station and explained how it had an underground footpath linking it to Bank Station out in the wilderness, which had given the group a way of accessing the outside world in relative safety. Darren Adams, a twenty-five-year veteran of Transport for London who still proudly wore his TfL tabard every day, guarded the entrances and exits to both stations. Metal grilles controlled the flow of corpses, preventing those who’d died during their final commute from straying anywhere other than the platforms and tracks they’d landed at almost two months ago.

The Monument to the Great Fire of London itself had seemed a useful asset when the group had first settled here, but that usefulness had been limited. Standing over sixty metres tall, with a viewing platform at the top of its three-hundred-plus steps, it appeared to be an ideal lookout post. In reality, though, the rest of London had grown in height and density around it since it had been constructed in the late seventeenth century, rendering it redundant. Buildings blocked the views of the streets on all sides. It was good for looking far out into the distance, but less useful when it came to spotting threats which were closer to home. As a focal point, though, as a memorial to massive death, destruction and rebuilding, it was undeniably fitting.

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