Designated (Book 2): Designated Quarantined (24 page)

'Sorry for babbling like that.'
 

Janet smiled as she stroked the back of his head. Nudging his shoulder with her hip, she made him move and slid down beside him, her arm sliding through his as she leant her head on his shoulder. 'Not the first time I have seen that, is it? Or had you forgotten your bungled pickup lines as I sewed you back together?'
 

Derek smiled as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. 'You know, I had almost forgotten about that—the babbled pickup line, I mean; not the stitched back together bit. Still, it was nice work, although if I remember correctly, it was probably because that trainee nurse's uniform kept billowing open at the neckline and you were wearing nothing but a bra underneath it.'

Janet grinned as she remembered the scene, a small giggle leaving her as she pictured the look on Derek's face as she had leant forwards.
 

'So, you did notice that. I was wondering at the time if you had hit your head, you were babbling so much. Nice to know it wasn't the concussion drawing your attention away from your mouth.'
 

Baker touched the small, ridged scar on his chest, the slim, three-inch-long line of puckered flesh a twisted reminder of just how lucky he had been that day. Easing away from Janet, he stood, his hand gently caressing his wife's cheek as he moved away from her.
 

'I am going to relieve Siobhan of her duties and grab a shower; I'll see you upstairs.'
 

Janet nodded as she watched him make his way upstairs, her body aching with the tension and stiffness in her muscles. A small wince shivered through her as she rolled her neck, listening to the soft clicking of partially displaced cartilage. Setting her hands against the side of her chin, she began to slowly apply pressure as she forced herself to push back against them.
 

A soft crunch echoed up through her ears as everything, all at once, jumped back into place. Rolling her shoulders as she shook out the last vestiges of pain, she stood and followed the now vanished form that she called her husband. Her footsteps filled with the tentative poise of a five year old as she fought against the quivering fatigue that plagued her over-taxed muscles. Her feet moaned with every step she took. Stifling a groan, Janet pushed on, mumbling to herself. A deep undercurrent of annoyed weariness plucked at her as she moved.
 

'If this is how he feels every damned day, no wonder he is such a grumpy shit in the mornings.'

****

The smell of burnt cordite and gunpowder filled their nose as orange bursts of light flashed across their eyes. The pale-yellow glasses did little to dilute the already spots-inducing glare from each pull of the trigger. The target in front of him jumped and bucked as he sent the searing hot lumps of copper and lead slamming into it, the sneering head splitting open like a rotten melon as the magazine slowly began to run empty.
 

The rhythmic thump of the pistol in his hands began to fill him, his mind dragging forth everything he fought to suppress. Images danced in his head… of Sarah and the look on her face as she fled from his arms. The look in her eyes saying more than screaming, tear-filled rage ever could.
 

Hawk knew she blamed him for Remy's death, and in some small way, he agreed with her. He'd had all the chance in the world to latch onto the drag hoop of his best friend's vest and pull him free.
 

John bit down hard on the inside of his cheek as he snapped a fresh magazine from the pouch on his belt and slid it into the well in one clean motion. Three rounds had left the muzzle before the empty printed piece of steel had a chance to hit the floor. The acidic taste of his own blood filled his mouth as his teeth slowly pierced the tender flesh of his cheek.
 

With a heavy, meat-laden
thunk,
he smashed his fist into the button on the side of the range stand and listened to the mechanical whirring over his head as the target slowly made its way towards him.

The mass of pulped paper that had once been the target's head and heart hung from the frame like wet wool, the singed edges coiling thin vaporous trails of smoke towards the ceiling as Stabbler ripped it from the frame and tossed it away behind him. Pulling another from the slot in the wall beside him, he tacked it to the metal stand and hit the button once more, watching as it was dragged, flapping and snapping away from him.
 

The target stopped with an echoing clang as it hit the end of the rail. His pistol rose with a speed born of practice and a need to live longer than his enemy. The sights danced into his line of vision, lining up almost instantly as he squeezed the trigger once more, sending the round crashing through the paper in a hail of red-hot lead.

19

August Eighteenth

U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases

Fort Detrick, Maryland

USA

The radio hissed and crackled as the airwaves filled with a rippling sea of white noise. He watched the needle as it danced to the ever-looping bounce of the wavering signals. Carl's teeth ground together as he glared at the still non-functioning satellite link, its blank-faced monitor staring back at him with an all too human-looking grin as the light bent across the LCD monitor.
 

'Fucking useless pieces of shit.' He smashed his fist against the top of the HAM radio, its casing echoing lightly as he watched it bend inwards. The needles jumped wildly as the table shook beneath it.
 

Carl watched the needle jump once more, the broken hiss of static dying away as a smooth Welsh-laced voice rolled from the speaker, its deep gravel-dashed tones crackling through the haze of crackling backwash.
 

'Colony, this is Monarch, you there?'
 

Carl snatched the handset from the table, his thumb driving the button deep into the side of the microphone as he spoke.
 

'Yeah, we're here!'
 

His voice quivered, a slithering worm of fear riding through all he said. Carl looked at the microphone in his hand as his nerves began to tremble, the heavy cloak of fear and self-doubt falling over him, driving the air from his lungs as he listened intently to the calm, self-assured voice rolling through the radio.
 

'How many you got? What's your status?'
 

Carl felt his stomach boil as he ran through it all—the deaths, the countless wall of slathering, carnivorous flesh that dogged their every step.
 

'Not good, Derek. Not good at all. We lost two million in the first break, seven million in the next. New York, Chicago, Manhattan, anywhere with high-rises and dense populations, they... they just vanished. Whole islands and cities just going dark in minutes. We blasted bridges, dropped skyscrapers into the streets; it was nine eleven in stereo... none of it worked. They rolled over everything we tried to set up, just brushing us aside like paper.
 

'We're scattered to the four corners here, regrouping is all but impossible. I made contact with two units of SEALs, a half battalion of Rangers out of Fort Lewis, and the Third Battalion out of Fort Benning in Columbus. They weathered well, pulled everything they could in from the outlying areas, and sealed up tighter than a Dutch whore's buttocks, so we've some decent manpower in those areas, but fuel's in such short supply that we can't get them to where we need them without suffering ridiculous losses.
 

'We are getting mismatched reports coming in from other holdouts; but... it's not good. Losses are heavy, suicides are worse; we lost three units last week. One of the boys cracked when his little sister got Infected and went for him and the others in the room. He... he choked her to death, Derek; he couldn't bring himself to shoot her so he strangled her with the straps of her dungarees. It was brutal. Then he turned the gun on those around him and eventually himself; it was over before we could even dream of doing anything to stop him.
 

'Supplies are rarer than rocking horse shit. At AMRIID, where I am, we have about a month or two of water with extreme rationing. Food is dwindling, as we can't spare water for the gardens, and the vehicles are running on fumes. We've no way to restock what we use up. Anyone we send out to recover dead drops and ammo dumps, they just either abandon the ops or just vanish. One thing is certain though, if something doesn't change soon, we're finished.'
 

The silence hung heavy in the room. Carl watched the dials dance and jump as the signal slithered through the aerial antenna, his heart beating out a slow, dull rhythm as the orange glow bathed his gaunt and weary form in cold light.
 

'Hang tight; I'll have the boys from Brize run a drop over to you. If we can get some of the aerial tankers into position, we should be able to drop enough munitions and food on or around your location to allow you to re-supply and re-arm… at least enough to give you a fighting chance at getting to those Rangers and the other outposts. What's JSOC's or SOCOM's situation?'
 

Carl chewed at the inside of his cheek, small lumps of dead flesh peeling away as his teeth pinched and pulled at the tender lining. Wincing slightly as his canines dug deep into the meat of his face, he drew in a deep slightly shaky breath and replied.
 

'Honestly, I don't know. They grouped tight in on their key locations, pulling their families in with them, as well as all the top-tier government members and went silent. We don't know if they're even alive and kicking. We get rumours from time to time but, other than that, it's just one big black hole—nothing in, nothing out. Our only link to any form of government here has been the Special Activities Division; they blow through about once a month, sometimes twice. We were blessed a while back; they had a full complement of their tactical boys in their sealed armoured suits, that look like a cross between a wetsuit and motorcycle armour, and carrying those bracketed Lexan shields.
 

'Thing that got me most, though, was that they were all armed with those Gladius machetes and the Kel-Tec bullpup rifles. They must have carried at least three thousand rounds per man, all in magazines on their chest and legs; it was nuts. They just rolled up in heavy trucks—at least fifty of 'em—then these guys all piled out, formed into pairs and just started pushing forwards, the men with the shields firing out of ports mounted into the side and the ones behind them taking out any that slipped past.'
 

Carl paused, his hands shaking as he desperately searched for something else to say, trying in vain to keep his one connection to home and his old life alive as long as possible.
 

'And... uh...'
 

His mind faltered, his words sliding into a lump in his throat so thick he found it all but impossible to breathe. He swallowed in a vain attempt to clear the mental obstruction as he felt the tears begin to prick at the edges of his eyes.
 

Cuffing them away, he shook slightly with fright as Derek spoke. 'Carl, you need to check yourself; have you been sleeping?'
 

Carl sighed as he felt himself sag against the chair, its solid steel back biting into his skin as his weight pulled him against its unyielding surface. His tongue skimmed against the dry, flaking, split skin of his lips. The searing yelps of his mind slipped through him as he found the paper-thin slits of tender, living flesh that cowered beneath the layers of dead skin.
 

'Not really, I... when I... it's...'
 

His mumbled and stumbling reply made Baker sigh, his deep baritone making the speaker in the radio tremble and buzz as the feedback looped through the microphone clutched in Carl's hand.
 

'Yeah... I get it. Listen, find a room, closet, cupboard... anything I don't give a shit if you have to crawl into an air vent or sleep in the toilet u-bend, but no matter what, you have to sleep. I know what you are like, Carl. Get some sleep. I will radio back in two days. If you haven't had at least five hours sleep in that time, then I will come over there personally and knock you the fuck out.
 

'I may owe you my life but I am damned if you are going to throw yours away by killing yourself through fatigue. Are we clear?'
 

Carl bit his bottom lip hard as his chin trembled slightly; hanging his head, he pushed down on the talk button, his voice quavering slightly as he replied, 'As crystal, sir.'
 

He sighed as he struggled to control himself, the trembling in his core worming its way through him as stared at the microphone in his hand. The sounds behind him grew louder as muted gunfire echoed through the corridors behind him.
 

'Derek, can I ask you a favour? Can you find my ex and my son? Tell them… tell them I am sorry for all that happened and how it ended. And tell my boy that no matter what he chooses, what path he walks, or who he falls in love with, that his dad will always be proud of him.'
 

He could almost hear the frown that crossed Derek's brow as his words filtered down the line.
 

'Yeah, but Carl you can tell him yourself. You are going to make it home; I know you.'

Carl's barked reply cut through Derek's words like a knife through butter as he sent the chair clattering to the floor. 'Not this time, Cherry. They're knocking at the door and I am the only one home to answer. I have ten minutes at best—not a lot of time to say what needs to be said. I know that... so... I guess this is goodbye. I'll see you at the bar with a cold one waiting. Catch ya later, mate.'
 

The sounds that echoed around him filled his senses, their pulsing beat drumming in his ears as he pushed himself towards the door, the microphone springing from his hand as the cord stretched and snapped it free from his loosening grip. With a clatter of wood against plastic, the black, sweat-slicked block crashed across the tabletop like a stone across the waves, its skittering form colliding with the radio as Baker's voice boomed from the speakers.
 

All sound died away as he watched their cadaverous forms move beyond the door, the chattering hoard scraping at the glass as the window began to bow and crack, the heavy steel mesh bulging and bending as they began to claw their way towards him. Carl watched as the door rattled in its frame, their undeniable lust for sustenance drawing them in as a flood of oil-black blood began to slowly edge its way over the floor towards him.
 

Carl levelled his weapon, his aim set squarely on the door and the slowly splintering pane of meshed glass. With a slow, slightly nervous breath, he curled his finger over the trigger and waited.
 

****

Derek stared at the radio as it hissed and crackled, his fist closing ever tighter around the microphone as the static cackled and burped; the rolling cloud of empty electrical hissing filled his mind as he stared at the matte-green box in front of him.
 

The vortex of hissing sound that enveloped him sent a chill so deep that it kissed the very centre of his soul. A deep well of loneliness and regret began to pour into him as images spilled through his mind; images of men caked in mud and dust as they trudged through fields so laden with water and overgrown grass that it was more jungle than farmland. Pictures of sun-baked faces laughing as they dug into the steaming bags of re-heated mush doused in chilli sauce, dancing mosaics of jumbled memories filtered past his eyes as the silence drenched him completely.
 

Baker sank back, the chair creaking beneath him, as he watched the dials jump and waver. Memories still danced in his eyes as he stared at the dull orange glow that seeped from the eyes of the box in front of him. Without uttering a word, he reached forwards and flicked the small chrome switch, the heavy thump of the speaker reverberating around him as the speaker was silent once more.
 

Rising to his feet, Baker turned; the weight that rode on his shoulders pressed all the heavier as the slowly creeping realisation sank into him, the singular thought that he was the last man left from a team established almost fifteen years before floating amidst the jumbled detritus of his mind; one that he had never thought he would ever face and now with the dying whine of the radio hanging in the air like the mocking laughter of the insane, that thought, that one insignificant line of thinking was all that remained of
[1]
Kilo Three Four.