The fog was thicker than I was planning on. The gravestones were softened into a blanket of white after just a few meters. The white/grey was suppressing the noise around me. I could only see about four meters before everything went hazy and then disappeared.

The weight of my gear is not as heavy as it was once was. The combination of training and experience was paying dividends. But the dampness in the air was adding to the weight. In all not unexpected.

The weird collection of gear is always amusing to me and others who see me. The new lightweight riot gear mixed with combat armour has new composites improving it. The helmet is a standard Police riot helmet with an anti-fogging and moisture coating on the faceplate. It is covering my ears but not reducing my hearing further. The helmet has been designed to compensate for this.

A 41-inch Viking style battle axe is gripped in my left hand and a 90cm steel banded oak round shield is strapped to my right arm. A gladius is strapped to my right hip and a flare gun is holstered to my left linked to a utility belt all in standard Government matt black.

I move slowly crouching regularly through the graveyard. My head is constantly swivelling around scanning for threats. In this environment, they are easy to miss until they are on top of you.

The air was cold and damp in the fog. Much colder than it should be on a June day. The sun was not making a dent in this fog. Moisture was clinging to everything. Easy to slip into this environment.

Before I begin to continue my journey further into the graveyard, I see possible movement to my right. I stop crouched down studying the area where I thought the movement was. Waiting.

There! After a few seconds, my patience was rewarded. A figure was just visible in the fog maybe five meters away. I wait to study the figure, for the tell-tale signs of a target.

The figure is not walking but is staggering no lurching slowly forward parallel to my position. Yes, definitely a target. I wait for it to move further forwards so I can swing around behind it. The gravestones will help hide my movement.

I get up and move. Still partly crouching and head swivelling to keep it in eye line. I get into position. I don’t want to be ambushed while approaching the target. So, I take a good look around. I don’t think about what it is and just think of them as targets. It passes me.

As I move upon it the figure becomes clearer and I begin to smell it. The zombie is well into decomposition but is a man, about 5’7 in his funeral suit. Hard to tell the proper details. The smell of dampness and decay is never pleasant.

I stand up fully and begin to speed my advance on the target after scanning the area one last time. The fog and my attempts at stealth allow me to approach. As I get into striking range the target stops aware of something. This allows me to hammer the axe into its head. The blow cleaves right into the skull knocking the target forward.

A freezing cold feeling sweeps through my body. Trying to slow my movements and reactions.

Grave Chill.

Thankfully adrenalin is pumping negating the worst effects for the moment. The anger in my chest burns to life in response. Hate is a living thing there.

I rip the axe back and quickly strike again. The back of the target’s head begins to collapse but I still keep going. Gore splatters against my face shields but doesn’t block my vision. I keep going as the body collapses.

I stop when the head has been destroyed. Breath heavily I scan around checking for threats. I begin to bring my breath under control and look at the target. The head was completely smashed and was not moving. Destroyed. The Grave Chill however still is present. I feel a cold-core inside of me making me shiver even as I sweat from the exertion of attack. It moves to counteract the rage that was once there and fading.

The world around me is greyer even with the fog and the black cloud of depression hovers at the back of my mind. All of this was expected but it is still unpleasant to endure the effects of the Chill.

My left side is spattered with more gore but there is nothing to do about this at the moment. I hunch down and begin moving again. Hunting.

## ## ## ##

Sometime later I don’t know really how long I am standing over the sixth corpse that I have smashed the head of. The adrenalin and rage of the violence I have unleashed are fading and the Grave Chill is reasserting itself. I have been steadily sweeping through this graveyard avoiding the central crypt area for now.

All six targets were zombies no skeleton undead thankfully. Oh, and I am totally rocking the gore spattered look.

I breathe looking around trying to push the Grave Chill effects back.

“Let’s do this.”

The first time I speak since entering the graveyard and turn my attention to the path leading to the central area. As I advance with great caution the fog grows even thick. Increasing the danger of ambush.

Lesser undead are easy to eliminate when ambushed. But ambushing with numbers becomes extremely dangerous. The more in the “pack” attacking the faster and more hostile they become. Individually they are like the walker zombies from the TV shows but in groups of three or more, they are more like the infected from the film 28 Days later. Fast and aggressive. We lost a lot of people just learning that. Oh, and Grave Chill comes as standard when fighting them. Lucky me!

So, I am paranoid about scanning for any threats as moving to the crypts is my main objective. The reason I am here.

The wealthy families and former people of note buried here would never expect the area to become a haunt for the undead. It is easy to assume that was not high on their list of possible events.

I move around the central area hunched checking for any more undead. Today it seems I am in luck as I find my objective with no more defenders.

Void Breach

Before me, the fog has formed a circle around a hairline two-dimensional crack in space. The crack is shimmering like a heat mirage. All of my instincts are telling me something is wrong and to run. But, I do not. My anger rises but I have learnt to keep it focused. Swapping my axe to my right hand I reach down to my holster and pull out the flare gun. I am shaking slightly from the adrenaline leaving my system and the effects of the crack. Aiming up I fire. The flare fires off with no issue. Soon a green glow is filtering through the fog.

Now to the waiting. I was ordered to guard the breach until the support team arrives to try to close it.

With me clearing the area the undead will not rise/respawn/form or whatever for a few hours giving a window of opportunity. This breach zone has been cleared out a few times over the last year which meant the amount of undead was a lot lower than could have been.

I stand around now waiting but still being aware of threats.

Boredom and stress warring within me as time wears on. The Chill makes everything more uncomfortable. Standing around near the breach is not good for one’s mental health.

I have no means of timekeeping as all technology unless heavily shielded is useless in a breach zone. Again, I lament to myself the fact that firearms are also pretty much useless against the horrors that are found in the zones. After the American Military attempt at mass zone clearances 2 years ago no one was going to try that again. Massacre does not give what happened justice.

China and Russia are believed to have tried but they are not talking to anyone much at the moment.

God, the Chill is pushing the depression hard today. Focus John, keep your head in the game. Eye on the prize. Eye on the prize. I repeat the mantra. I lift my faceplate and take a deep breath. Then gag. God, I stink bad.

The fog is a constant blanket of white blocking vision and suppressing sound.

Movement, I quickly prepare for threats. Figures approaching.

Then I see a red light on one of the lead figures looks like the support team’s advance guard but I do not drop my guard.

“Fire” I call out.

“Homestead” come to the muffled reply.

I move forward to meet the team. As I approach, we become clear to each other. The forward team of soldiers are similarly dressed and armed to me but with red chemical, glow sticks on their armour to help with identification and navigation.

As I come close enough to see their faces, I see the stress and fear they are trying to control. The zones affect the vast majority of people in three ways. First, they are broken by the feeling of wrongness that each zone has when you approach or enter it. This means they run from it in animalistic fear or just have a mental breakdown. The second reaction is that they can control the mental effects but are still not 100% functional.

The soldiers and scientists approaching are of the second type they will get the job done up and will take time to recover from the zone.

I make up the third type of reaction. An incredibly small percentage of the human population can resist the zone and the effects of the horrors within. It has been best described that this group is a container with a small hole in the bottom. The effects are like water filling a container that drains every slowly. Once drained we can go back into a zone. My hole is larger.

Overexposure to the zones or horrors influence has terrible side effects on everyone and must avoid. A lesson learned at great cost again. Mental breakdowns that did not lead to murderous rampages were for the lucky ones.

The team arriving at the breach are made up of six soldiers and two researchers pushing a large flatbed with the breach closer to it. The machine is an ugly large rectangular box with a forward-facing tube attached to it. A ruggedized laptop is sitting on top attached by cables and the thick main power cable is snaking away behind it all the way back to the forward operating base.

“We clear?” Questioned the team leader Sergeant Rickson. His nose wrinkling at my Oder.

“Six Zombies down, no further hostiles found.” I reply.

Rickson nodes at this and turns to the team.

“All right we are clear let’s get this done.”

The researchers need no more prompting and quickly get to work. The soldiers form a rough circle around the machine facing out. Ready for trouble.

I stand with them closest to the breach encase of the unforeseen.

The machine is warmed up and readied.

“All functional stand by…. triggering!” One of the researchers announced.

The machine began to make a whining sound at this and the breach began to react. The mirage optical effect increased but after a minute it was clear that the crack was slowly shrinking.

If I had missed any threats in this zone now would be the time, they would attack protecting the breach. We were all tense waiting.

For nearly ten minutes we waited until there was a popping sound in all our inner ears marking the breach closing and disappearing from view. At that moment the zone effect on us all disappeared like a tap being turned off. Leaving us with the residue of the exposure. For me, the zone effect was fading quickly leaving me with the Grave Chill which would take time to get over.

Sergeant Rickson was first to react.

“All right people let’s wrap this up and get out of here!” The fog was already beginning to be burned off by the sun.

We vacated the graveyard slowly pushing the machine back along the pathway as the power cable had been disconnected and was being pulled back.

We made it to the entrance/exit of the graveyard without issue and relief of all nine of us. By this time the fog was gone and we could see all around us clearly. Everything was damp and light steam was rising from the surfaces as the sun began its work.

The forward operating base was a hive of activity of people celebrating our success. When we were spotted, we were welcomed.

This however did not last long as the section leaders took control and began to move the operating base made of ten specially refitted eleven- and eighteen-ton lorries. Our debriefs and first stage medicals would happen as well.

Sergeant Rickson and his soldiers were led off by Captain McDonald, the researchers by the lead scientist Dr Gupta. Me I got Home Office civil servant Alexander Harley-Grenville the third. Yes, the third.

We do not like each other.