‘Maybe the weather grounded them. I doubt much could fly in this. You made contact with the rest of our guys?’
‘No radio contact.’
Eric would not voice the concern he held. ‘We check out the birds, and then move up to the rendezvous point.’
He waved his men towards the machines.
No movement. No signs of life.
Eric brought his shotgun to the ready. Flanked by his men he approached the Chinook. Their footfall was light, their steps measured and controlled, a movement well practised. The rear ramp was down. Inside, a hell. Soldiers lay on the deck, guts torn open, arms and legs missing, heads caved in. A lone ear sat on the rim of a seat. Five men, victims of unspeakable violence. Eric choked down bile.
Brutus marched past and boarded the aircraft. He knelt over the first body. ‘Special Forces. Didn’t have much luck.’
‘Perimeter,’ Eric yelled to his men, and eyes and guns were immediately trained to the distance.
Eric joined Brutus. The big man pulled an MP5 sub-machine gun free from a dead soldier’s clenched fist, one of the few still attached to an arm. A long silencer was screwed to the end of the barrel.
Brutus loaded the weapon making it ready, and then clicked the weapon off. ‘Don’t know about you lot, but I feel much safer now.’
One of Eric’s men, Niles, waved him over. Beneath the snow, a frigid hand stuck out like a leafless plant.
‘They’re everywhere.’ Niles pointed to half a dozen spots where body parts poked through the white.
‘All dead?’ asked Eric.
‘Couldn’t survive that, surely.’ Niles pulled an MP5 from one buried body, shook it free of snow.
‘Search the area. Strip the dead of their weapons. Take all the magazines and silencers.’
‘What about the bodies?’
‘When the army arrives they can clean up. We’ve got to get to the rendezvous point.’
Eric scored a machine gun and six spare magazines. ‘Live fire from now, boys. No more of that soft nonsense.’
Brutus stepped from the Puma, patting an M249 SAW he held in his hands. ‘I’m in love.’
‘Radios?’ asked Eric.
‘Damaged, won’t transmit. One of those crazy infected must have went mental in there. Same in the Chinook. They’re not flying anywhere.’
‘Eric,’ said Carter, ‘the natives are gathering.’
Down the street, a shambling group approached. Not alerted to Black Aquila’s presence, they ambled along the road.
‘Move out!’
The men exited the area at a quick pace.
***
Some way back, Gemma’s ankle went from beneath her. A horn sounded in the city, close, but she could not tell from which direction. Gemma hobbled past a bungalow. The door sat open, screams came from inside, not from the infected, but fearful screams. She had to avoid noise. Magarth told her that much. A sign appeared.
Hospital.
Almost there. She had driven the road many times on the way to work. I can make it, she thought. Just a little further.
***
They bent like sickly spectres just risen from tombs, picking over the bodies of the slain Black Aquila operatives. Twenty or more infected men, women and children, beating the corpses or feasting on their flesh. So many friends lay there. So many deaths on Eric’s hands. He looked around to Magarth. The idiot rocked silently on his knees. If not for his interruption, Eric’s men would not be dead, they’d be whole, they’d be alive, and they’d be at their rendezvous point. Where was the army? He raged mutely at anything and everything.
‘What do we do?’
He turned to Carter. ‘Kill them. Kill em’ all.’
Eric didn’t even bother to call on his battle-calm. He let out a cry of anger and charged. His men followed. Weapons with silencers popped spitting fire into the enemy. They fell, their poisoned blood bursting from their backs like fountains. One, a woman, her hair matted to beyond recognition, aimed her speed at Eric. He fired a three-round burst into her chest. She went down. Eric walked over and put another round into her head. Eric breathed heavily. Visions of Martin hit him over and again. Martin burnt. Martin cut. Martin lying among the dead. Now, more men under his command, slain.
‘Clear!’
His team went about adding a note of finality, putting a last bullet into each downed infected. Brutus stood at the rear, an arm on Magarth’s shoulder. His was the only weapon without a silencer, so he did not fire. They reloaded.
‘The army’s not here,’ said Carter. ‘What now?’
‘We can’t hope to secure this place on our own.’
‘This is war. All that matters now is keeping the rest of our guys alive.’
‘We’re combat ineffective.’ He spat into the snow. ‘I figure the DSD building’s over there.’ He pointed over a high verge, up a hill, and then turned to Magarth. ‘What do you reckon, DSD man? Your building over there?’
‘Yes, but—’
Eric turned a deaf ear to the man’s protest. ‘May as well take a look at it while we’re here.’
Eric lead. Carter followed. They crossed a road reserved for buses, past passed hospital doors and reached the bottom of the verge. On stomachs, they crawled up the steep embankment, pulling themselves to the summit. Eric tore his binoculars free. He swore. They’d found the DSD building, but outside, an army of infected, hundreds-strong, waited, waited for the signs of victims; noise and movement. Just as the doctor had said, they were in some kind of trance. Two long black vans stood abandoned on the forecourt, doors open, bodies snagged, body parts hanging from the rear.
‘What is it?’ asked Carter.
Eric handed him the viewers.
‘Hundreds.’
‘We’re heading back to The Grotto. There’s nothing we can do here. Not on our own.’
‘Roger.’
The two men slid down the embankment on their sides. Snow flicked up into Eric’s face and he spat it free of his mouth. They jogged back towards the men. The snow seemed to fall lighter.
Eric let the MP5 fall to its sling. ‘Pack up. We’re leaving.’
‘Whoa!’ said Brutus. ‘We’ve got a job to do!’
Eric made a beeline for the big man, grabbed him by the strap of his tactical vest, and pushed Brutus back a few steps before the bulky solider held his ground.
‘I’ve given an order. There’s hundreds of those things just over the embankment. We stay, we get swarmed.’
‘Take your goddamned hands off me!’
Carter jumped between the two. ‘Not now, for God’s sake. Not now. Over there. Both of you. Look!’
Eric and Brutus followed Carter’s focus. From a window, high in the hospital block, a white sheet hung, blowing in the wind.
Help. Alive inside.
‘Why didn’t we see that on approach?’
‘The snow,’ said Carter, ‘it’s lighter now, but we don’t even know when that was put up. It could’ve been yesterday. They could all be dead now. Your call, Eric.’
The hospital, so close to the breached containment was probably hit hard by the infected. There was a chance there’d be pockets of survivors dotted about the massive complex, but also numberless infected, too. It would be like a maze in there. He wished for a floor map, anything to help them manoeuvre strategically through the hospital. His decision was made.
‘We’ll recon the area for signs of life. I want the two trucks cleared and ready to move. If we stir up a nest of those creatures, we’ll need to get out of here fast. No engines until necessary. Brutus, you keep an eye on things out here, and that DSD fool. Carter, get Niles. Just the three of us.’
Chapter 16
Where Dead Things Dwell
Captain Killian sat down next to Dr. Holden with a sigh.
‘No luck?’ Dr. Holden asked.
‘We’re in contact with some army elements but we can’t raise Black Aquila or the force sent to the hospital.’
‘Are you assuming the worst?’
‘We’re assuming nothing, Doctor. The weather is difficult, satellite imagery is sparse and most aircraft are grounded for the moment.’ He leaned back and wiped at his tired eyes. ‘We’re cautiously optimistic that the weather will become VFR in the next few hours. Then, we’ll start reconnaissance flights, and perhaps get some communications back.’
‘I see.’ Dr. Holden absently tapped his fingers on the table. ‘I think I’ll get some early lunch. It’s been a long morning.’ He detached himself from the console, pulling his headset free. Most of the morning he had listened to static, interrupted by arguments and impassioned pleas for reinforcements from several of the units manning the barricades along the outskirts of the city. Many civilians tried to flee the city, gathering at the road blocks, only to be turned back. Riots, sporadic violence and the use of teargas became necessary.
On his way out, he passed an assembly of uniformed men and overheard a few snippets of information: a Tornado jet sunk a small ship attempting to leave the city harbour, and two groups of civilians had been found a half-mile outside the blockade. Several reporters had been arrested attempting to slip into the city, and there was widespread looting. Desperation had set in.
He walked faster than usual, heading to the food station. Ben Williamson of Black Aquila sat alone at a table, his large frame swamping his chair.
‘Mind if I join you?’
‘Please.’ Williamson slid a tablet computer from the table and onto his lap. ‘No word?’
‘Communications are a problem. You’ve heard nothing?’
Williamson shook his head. ‘Nothing more than you, I’m sure. I know all phones are still down. No luck with the radios either.’
‘What a mess. Have any of your men checked in?’
Again, Williamson shook his head. ‘My guys can take care of themselves.’
The words sounded hollow. Black Aquila was a professional and capable outfit, but they walked into a situation no one could prepare for.
‘I’m told the weather will clear in the next few hours, perhaps enough to fly over the city.’
‘Good. That’s good, Doctor.’ He licked his lips. ‘May I ask you a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘Can these people, these infected people, be saved? I know the government’s peddling the idea there’s a cure, but I’m guessing it’s a lie.’
‘My opinion? Those with Stage Three infection are beyond saving. The others … we have nothing for them, nothing yet.’
‘The army’s moving through the city shooting the infected. If it gets out, containment will be almost impossible.’
‘How so?’
Williamson spread his hands. ‘Stage One and Two will go to ground. It’s no longer a containment mission, but search and destroy. There are now reports outside Aberdeen. London, Manchester, Dublin, and France.’
Dr. Holden shook his head, but in a way, he knew it was inevitable.
Williamson leaned over the table, leaned closer, his mouth open, ready to speak, and then stopped.
‘You were about to say something?’
‘No. I’d best be getting back. I want to be there when communications are restored.’ He pushed his seat neatly to the table. ‘I’d like to speak to you again. Don’t leave the city.’
***
Broken glass littered the hospital’s reception. Blood painted linear patterns across the floors. Eric motioned Carter and Niles to cover all angles of approach, and looked down his MP5, finger on the trigger.
The room was dark and smelt of death and human waste. Scuffling noises came from beyond. Flicking on the MP5 torches, thin beams illuminated dead bodies, some in the blue of nurses, others in hospital gowns, and some in unrecognisable garb. Debris around the door suggested they attempted to bar themselves in. All blinds were closed, blocking any source of light from outside. An infected popped into Eric’s sweeping torchlight. A female. He fired three rounds. Two burst through its chest, and it stumbled back, letting out a shrill cry, then leapt the table and charged. Carter fired, his suppressed weapon popping. She went down on her knees, blood pumping from the wounds, yet still her face showed no sign of fear or pain, only raw feral rage.
Carter rushed in and fired a single round at close range. She slumped and didn’t move again.
Niles moved forward. Eric followed until they cleared the entire room, checking behind each table, the counters, the chairs, and the kitchen in the back.
‘Clear,’ said Eric.
Niles nodded. In his blinking eyes, Eric recognised silent panic. At twenty-six, Niles was one of the youngest operatives in Black Aquila.
‘You’re doing great,’ said Eric.
Carter must have seen the same. ‘You did good, kid.’
‘We can’t clear every room we come to,’ said Eric. ‘It’ll take too long, and we’ll run out of ammo.’
The three-man team walked from the darkened canteen, back into the light, and switched off their torches.
‘We move fast. Don’t stop until we get to the ward we’re looking for. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ said Carter.
Niles remained quiet.
‘Niles?’ said Eric.
‘Agreed,’ said Niles.
‘You right?’
‘Yeah. Sure.’
They moved through a series of doors and into a long, glass corridor. From the windows, they could see the multi-storey building and the wards. They sprinted up the corridor, glass crunching underfoot, until they reached a stairwell at the other end.
‘How many people do you think were in here when the outbreak happened?’ asked Niles.
‘Thousands,’ said Carter. ‘It’s a big hospital.’
‘That means—’
‘That means we check the ward, and then get the hell out.’
‘You’re the boss.’
From the stairwell, thunderous pounding sounded, like a jackhammer.
‘That’s not kids playing in a park,’ said Carter.
Eric pushed past Niles, looked up and saw hands grasping railings two floors up, many hands. Screams soon followed, echoing and bouncing in the cramped space.
He moved back. ‘Infected. Lots of them.’ He ejected the magazine from his MP5 and replaced it with a fresh one. Carter did the same. ‘Thin their numbers as they come down the stairs and fire as we move back.’
Shoulder to shoulder, weapons at the ready, aimed, waiting.
Carter cast a sideways glance at Niles. ‘Courage, kid.’
He nodded.
A heaving mass of limbs and grasping fingers careened down the steps. Dirty bodies fell, trampled by those behind. The infected screeched in unison, a noisy song of lust for death.
‘Fire!’
The silent machine guns dropped some, wounded others. Bullets struck the wall behind, shattering the plaster with impact craters. The infected surged onwards.
‘Back!’
The three men reloaded as they went. They fired again, switching to automatic. No care for aiming, just the need for a constant stream of gunfire.
The infected dropped, one by one, building a pile of wriggling corpses at the base of the stairs. Carter moved forward, popping off single rounds into the heads. He was clinical, his aim never faltering. One crawled from the pile, a boy, no more than ten, both his legs were broken, bullet holes puncturing his extremities.
‘Take him out,’ ordered Eric.
Carter seemed to hesitate. Eric stepped forward.
‘I can handle it.’ Carter aimed his gun at the head of the child and pulled the trigger.
‘Help!’ A woman held Niles from behind, her bleeding arm wrapped around his neck, her teeth close to his ear. He managed to turn, placed a hand on the infected’s head, keeping her teeth inches away from his face.
Eric’s weapon clicked empty. He pulled a Glock from his holster and stepped in close, perhaps too close. He snatched a handful of her hair, and yanked her head back. Placing the barrel to her temple, he pulled the trigger. A splash of warmth struck his face. The infected crumpled to the ground.
‘Her blood!’ Niles scrambled backward on all fours, his wide eyes speared at Eric.
Eric frantically wiped at his face. On the wall, just outside of the stairwell, hung a dispenser with sanitising gel. He pumped the handle and smothered his face. His eyes and mouth could not have been closed tighter. It stung. His skin felt like it tightened. His hands reached for the dispenser again, and he repeated the same action, and then again.
‘Guys, you hear that?’ Carter climbed across the bodies of the dead, using the railing to pull himself over.
‘More of them?’ asked Eric.
‘I don’t think so. Something else, like someone moving furniture, scraping the floor.’
‘The ward?’
‘Could be.’
Eric reloaded his MP5. Carter moved up the stairs, his weapon raised, covering his ascent. Niles went next, sliding on the veneer of sticky blood, but kept his footing.
If this didn’t turn out to be the ward, Eric would terminate the rescue. How many more encounters could they survive? If they came at them from two or three directions, they’d be food, monster food. He leapt over the heaped pile and landed on the third step, and followed Niles and Carter up the stairs.
***
PC Galloway and Jane thumped food trays on a table, causing a racket the ward had not heard for days. The door pulsed, and the barricade shook. It was working. He trusted it was working. He trusted they were drawing the infected away from all possible exits, and he guessed it would be only minutes before they burst in.
‘Officer?’ came a voice from the other end of the corridor.
‘What?’
‘Soldiers are here, here at the door.’
‘Then go, get out.’ PC Galloway turned to find a face with days of stubble, and a firearm held high. ‘You’re the army? Only one?’
‘Three, and no, not the army, but we’re the best you’ve got.’
‘You’ve got to get everyone out now. This door’s about to give.’
‘We all go together.’
‘We won’t make it.’
‘My men are moving the others. Now it’s your turn.’
‘You go, Jane.’
‘No.’
The door caved in. An infected somersaulted over the top of the broken barricade, and landed heavily on the floor, head first, heavy enough to break its neck.
PC Galloway pushed Jane back, far harder than he intended. ‘Go! I’ll be right behind you.’
‘Right behind me?’ she cried.
‘Right behind you. I promise.’
She was gone.
***
No matter the amount of bullets Eric pumped out, he could not stop the avalanche of infected crashing through the tumbling barricade. The man fought valiantly, no fear, no thought for his safety. Perhaps he thought of everyone else’s safety, but it was no use. The power of the creatures was too great. Within seconds, he was caught beneath a dozen hands, all ripping and crushing.
With everyone else behind him, Eric too, retreated beyond another set of doors, and pulled them closed. Carter slipped a broom through the loops of the handles. It would hold, but not for long.
‘Let’s go,’ yelled Carter.
‘Nick!’ The female flung herself at the barred door.
Eric pulled her back. ‘We have to get out of here.’
‘He said he’d be right behind me. He promised.’
There was no time to be tender. ‘Move.’ He forced her down the stairs following the flight of Carter and Niles, and the patients and staff. They caught the crowd. ‘Get them moving, Carter,’ he yelled. ‘Straight back the way we came. You and Niles on the lead. I’ll take up the rear. Go! Go! Go!’
Behind Eric, the infected surged against the barred door. Thuds and screams echoed. Eric tried his radio. ‘Brutus, if you can hear this, we’re coming out hot, with friendlies.’
Only static.
The broom handle holding the door cracked, the door opened enough for a bloody face to appear. Eric let off one bullet. Right on target. He didn’t wait to see the next, and leapt down the stairs three at a time.
At the bottom of the stairwell, Niles stood on the other side of the corpses. ‘Jump. Quick,’ he ordered everyone.
Carter checked inside. ‘Clear!’
An old woman was reluctant to cross the pile of bodies. Eric scooped her up in his arms. ‘Move out, Carter. Keep trying Brutus or anyone else outside. Have them ready.’
Carter’s voice boomed, ‘Follow me. Stay close.’
Niles stayed back, waited for everyone to pass, eyes on the stairs, gun at the ready. Pounding feet echoed around the stairwell. Eric dumped the woman and joined his man. They opened fire. A barrage of firepower. Bodies tumbled, rolling over and over, gravity taking them to the landing. More bullets. More infected. More and more. They retreated to gain distance. Not enough. Eric fired his last three shots into a chest not six metres away. It fell to its knees, but righted its footing before Eric could reload. Eric dropped his weapon to its sling, and rushed forward to meet the charge. He kicked the infected in the chest, forcing it to the ground, and then brought his heel repeatedly down onto its head, over and over until it stopped moving.