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The body had evidently once been a soldier. Under a thick crust of dried blood, Jim could see the camouflaged brown and green of a ballistic vest. Jackpot. If he could get it cleaned up, someone back behind the lines would pay a pretty penny for it. It was no secret that a lot of the body armour they were issued with had been taken off the dead. Matt and Dan had poured an entire bottle of looted aftershave onto their first vests back when they’d been in the infantry. There was no real way of washing away the smell of death, but it could be covered up sometimes.

Dan could feel Matt hovering behind him. "What have you there then? New boyfriend?"  Dan leaned back over his shoulder with a grin and pulled the poncho apart, revealing the vest. "Fuck sake!" Matt angrily turned back to his own corpse and kicked it with a wet crunch.

Anna unslung her rifle and glowered at the pair. "So I suppose we’re clear then, Sergeant?"

Dan tried to stifle his grin, "Erm…yeah. We’re good thanks."

She shook her head, waved at the trees behind them and bent down to drag another body towards the centre of the field. Matt sidled up to Dan as she stalked away. "Ooooooh, she hates you, mate."

"Not my fault though, is it?" Dan grunted back, not wanting to discuss it any more. Matt was clearly loving this. It wasn’t fair, Dan knew it. They were the same age, but while Dan had spent most of his time at university drinking, she had spent her weekends training in the OTC and had even planned on joining the army after graduating. She’d even volunteered for this shit. After Sergeant Marshall got bitten, Anna had fully expected to take his place. She was the obvious choice. Now she seemed hell bent on doing the job anyway. He was half tempted to let her.

Dan bent back down by his body and drew his hatchet to cut of its ring finger. When he first joined the army, it had seemed obscene. Now it came with the territory. In the slow clunky, supply network of garrisons stretching back the headquarters of the provisional government in Scotland, there was a thriving black market. With food supplies being as unreliable as they were, everyone had to find ways to make a little money on the side. He could hear Matt angrily trying to pull down the sleeve of the dead farmer’s jacket. The material must have fused with its rotting flesh. Matt gave out a howl of frustration. "And he’s not even fucking married!" Dan tried to hide his smile.

The remaining eight members of the little squad clambered over the dry-stone wall and started to work their way into the field of bodies. In a way, living in a country as densely populated as Britain was probably what had saved them. There was hardly any truly open ground in the whole country. As the dead pursued the rest of the country northwards to Scotland during the Rising, thousands of the creatures had got themselves stuck in the endless network of fields, gates and narrow country lanes that could be easily barricaded. It wasn’t a particularly glamorous job, but someone had to sweep them out.

Raj came first and quickly moved to the opposite side of the field to keep watch. Steve followed closely behind with Jake, the squad’s sniffer dog. He growled unhappily at the freshly killed zeds that dotted the field. Sophie jabbed a hand at the far wall. "Make sure that gate’s shut!"

Steve grinned back. "Will do, pumpkin!" Laid back and easy going, Steve was the polar opposite of Anna. It was no secret to anyone that they were sleeping together. When she’d transferred to the Scouts as Jake’s reluctant handler, Steve had quickly adopted the little Border terrier and swapped jobs with her. Back by the trees, Dan could hear Ozzy bickering with Frenchie, his windtalker. It was a name that came from a ridiculous Nicholas Cage war movie they liked to watch when they were safely back in camp. It took far too long to train replaceable conscripts to operate the mix of antique radios that the new British army used, so radio operators always had a constant companion. After six months together, they constantly argued like an old married couple. "Just chuck eeet!" The Frenchman groaned nonchalantly, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Dan was certain he actually liked being a walking stereotype. It wound Oz up to no end.

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