Designated (Book 2): Designated Quarantined (28 page)

'One, where the hell are you?'

He snapped his aim to the left as he squeezed the trigger, the boy's chest sending crimson pearls dancing through the light as he was lifted from his feet, skidding the last seven feet on his back. Shaw shifted to his next target; his aim centred just right of the centre of its chest as he sent another short burst of hollow-tipped lead forth. A flurry of screams and shattered bodies filled the air as the encroaching wall of slathering flesh fell aside. The shallow breathing forms of SAU Two stood there, the heavy shadow of a dying day at their backs as they slowly carved a path to Shaw's feet.
 

The knot of soldiers bloomed outwards, tongues of orange dancing in the gloom as they pushed on, driving the Infected against the walls of the mammoth ticket hall. The scent of overcooked burgers filled the air as Sharp passed the Burger King kiosk. The half-gutted remains of one luckless till worker lay spread eagled over the counter top as another bubbled and hissed, her head and shoulders buried in the roiling pool of bubbling cooking oil. The skin on her upper arms already starting to crisp and split as she was slowly cooked from the outside in.
 

'Four, push through down onto the Bakerloo line. We are heading into the main concourse.'
 

A sharp double click entered his ear as Shaw responded. Nothing more needed saying as both teams split and began the slow, painstaking task of cleaning the virus from the face of this small patch of earth.
 

'One, Four, Vatican, Directive E6, full containment, scrub the site.'
 

Sharp clicked twice on the button mounted onto the fore grip of his rifle and carried on forwards. A ball of ice formed in the pit of Sharp's stomach as he listened to Shaw; the man's clipped response sent a blast of cold-laced fear up his spine as he felt the nudging taunt of long repressed memories begin to fight their way up from the cage in the bowels of his mind.
 

'Confirmed, executing now.'
 

Sharp listened as Shaw sent a rapid burst into whatever was before him as the connection finally clicked shut.
 

Glass ground against the polished concrete beneath his feet, the crystal-like squares covering the floor in a glittering blanket.
 

His eye watched the bouncing red cross of his scope as he pushed deeper into the shopping court. The blood-smeared floor told him all he needed to know as he passed the overflowing conveyor belt for the sushi restaurant. With a wave of his hand, he listened to the crunch of passing feet as Roberts and Hooper slipped away, moving towards the upper level, their footfalls growing weaker as they moved further from the collective embrace of the squad.
 

'Move and execute, nothing to be left standing.'
 

With that, Sharp set off at a fast walk, his feet finding their way through the mire of broken glass and detritus that filled the floor like a poorly stitched blanket. Sharp winced as the muscles in his neck quivered, sending pin-like barbs of pain through his skull. As he turned left, his feet slid through the melted remnants of an ice cream as he set his sights on the woman heading towards him.
 

Her eyes were wide with fear as she slipped into a staggering run that, at any other time, would have made him laugh, but nothing stirred, no quirk of an eyebrow, no hitch of a lip as he listened to her cries for help and slowly squeezed the trigger. The red cross etched into his scope's lens jumped slightly as the bullets closed the distance to nothing, her chest opening in a spray of bone and glimmering ruby-coloured orbs. Her body hit the floor with an echoing thump as screams filled the air, the howling cries of Infected returning their call.
 

Clutching at the call button on the front of his weapon's fore-grip, Sharp opened a channel to the rest of the team.
 

'Push through and cleanse. E6 authorised.'

****

Sharp stared at Shaw as the man strode by, his arms folded across his stomach, cradling his rifle in his arms. A cold shiver danced up his neck, the man's body was so calm and relaxed that it made Sharp intensely nervous. He had executed more than one E6 in the three years of being in Broadhead, but Sharp could see it in how Shaw walked that, for his first E6, he was far too calm.

23
The Baker residence

North East London

Tony stepped back, staring with a mingled sense of pride at the smooth, black gloss of the door. Siobhan stepped out holding two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. As she held out the red and black mug, she smiled, her bespectacled face reflecting in the glistening paintwork.
 

'Not bad, Mr Baker. Not bad at all.'
 

Tony turned, a smile teasing his lips as he raised the smooth, semi-sweet liquid to his lips and drank. 'It's not my best work, but it's a damned sight better job than my boy could have done, that's for sure. His painting skills were not the best, putting it politely.'
 

Siobhan smiled round the mug as she breathed in the earthy aroma. Her glasses misting slightly around the bottom of the lenses as she tipped the mug, savouring the smooth and slightly tart flavour of the percolated coffee as it slid over her tongue.
 

Wrinkling her nose slightly as she caught the taste of slightly burnt beans, Siobhan turned, her trainers squeaking slightly on the flooring as she moved into the living room. Her gaze travelled over the sleeping form cocooned in the pale-blue baby grow and smiled as Maria stirred, her legs kicking as she swatted the air with her partially curled fists. Her seven-month-old form twitched as she slowly began to relax and drift deeper into sleep.
 

Dropping into the comforting embrace of the plush sofa cushions, she flipped open the book in front of her as she leant forwards, setting her mug on the slate coaster. The soft clack of pottery on stone flirted with her ears as she settled back into the overstuffed sofa cushions.
 

Heavy footsteps echoed behind her as Tony entered the room, in search of a place to set his empty mug, the dark swirling mass of congealed coffee dregs pooling in the bottom. With a sigh, Tony twisted the tap; the corded muscles of his arm flexed against his battered skin, the tattoo on his forearm dancing slightly as his leathery hide shifted over sinew and muscle.
 

'This is not how I imagined this starting. Oh well, once a father always a father.'
 

Setting the mug upside down on the drainer, he turned and moved towards his suitcase at the foot of the stairs, his footsteps thumping on the carpet-less treads as he made his ponderous journey to the guest room.
 

Tony perched on the edge of the double bed, his hands and shoulders throbbing from the vibration of the sander he'd held mere minutes earlier.
 

A dull buzzing filtered out from his coat pocket as it slipped from the top of his suitcase. The battered and scratched Motorola flip phone tumbled to the floor. He stared at it; it was a gift nearly a decade ago from Derek and Janet. The SBS cap badge etched onto the back of the casing was pitted and dirty from years of use, and yet, despite Derek and Janet's insistence, he had never had the heart to replace it.
 

Scooping the phone from the floor, Tony flipped it open, the dull light of the screen sending a shadow over his hand. The soft click of the buttons filled the dead air as he listened to the dull hum of the traffic outside.
 

Messages from Derek and Janet flickered past his eyes, both saying the same thing—mild apologies and assurances of spending some decent time with him whilst he was there. Janet, he knew, could be passably reliable in living up to the fair-weather promise; but Derek, Tony smirked, he knew the only way his son would ever be able to live up to that promise was if he was discharged or dead and neither option was likely anytime soon. A cold ball settled into his stomach as Tony closed his eyes.
 

At least, I hope neither of those happen anytime soon… honestly think that would break me right now.
 

Tony snapped the phone shut, tossing it onto the bed as he fished his wallet from his pocket and pulled the dulled and yellowed photo from behind the swathe of notes.
 

Staring down at the face of his wife as she held his new-born son, he felt the salt sting of tears.
 

'Right now, Derek, that really would break me; stay safe, son.'
[1]

Broadhead Barracks
 

Derek watched as the two Marauders rumbled through the gates, the bored expression on the drivers' face making him wince mentally. The lead man saluted lazily as he slipped the truck past him and turned left, heading to the maintenance sheds.
 

Sharp hopped out the back of the last truck as the gates closed with a dull, lifeless
thunk
. He stood in front of Baker, his face a drawn mask of self-loathing and regret that mingled in a sordid copulation with the layers of cold, indifferent determination and the driving need to get the job done, no matter the cost.
 

'Sir, I need to inform you of actions that have come to my attention and I believe they are of urgent address. Corporal Shaw has given me cause for concern in his self-conduct and mental stability.'
 

Baker stared at Sharp as the man stood there, his skin swathed in a layer of grim and stale sweat as patches of gore pooled in the folds of his suit.
 

'My office, twenty minutes.'
 

Sharp nodded crisply and then moved with a speed that belied his fatigue, towards the barracks and blessed warmth of a shower. Derek watched him go as the in-house decontamination team moved to sanitise the area, the coverall-cloaked men moving like hypnotised bees in search of that one elusive flower.
 

Turning, he headed back into the burgeoning presence of the T.O.C. with a nagging itch tickling at the base of his skull. He stopped, spun on his heel, and followed on after Sharp, heading towards the barracks. Nudging the door with his shoulder as he fished in his pocket for his mobile, Derek scanned the room. His eyes settled on Damien, who sat hunched over the toe of one boot, the black-stained cloth in his hand pulled tight over two fingers as he bulled his boots to a mirror shine.
 

'Colins, you got a minute?' He watched the man nod and set his boot aside, the black-stained cloth falling into the boot neck as he stood.
 

'S'up?'
 

Derek jerked his head towards the door and turned, Damien following closely behind him. The door closed with an echoing thump, a dozen set of eyes watching them depart.
 

'You still got contacts in Poole? I would call in some old favours, but most of my contacts are either in country, dead, or inactive for one reason or another.'
 

Damien's brow furrowed as he watched Derek fidget idly as he pulled a beaten and battered packet of cigarettes from his pocket and slipped one between his lips, before cupping his hand over the end and lighting it.
 

Derek drew in a deep, glowing lungful of nicotine-infused smoke, the heady rush of endorphins flooding his mind as he sated the itch.
 

'Yeah, I can get on a line to Brewer and Harris and see who is still kicking about.'
 

Colins scratched at his itching backside as he watched Baker, a sense of intrigued unease shivering its way up his spine. 'Come on, Cherry, out with it.'
 

Baker sighed as he blew the tar-soaked smoke from his nose and tapped at the white paper hide of the cigarette, watching as the ash spun and sparked on its way to the floor.

'I need a favour, mate, a serious one; it's off the books and on personal time.'
 

Damien shrugged as he leant back against the barracks wall, his breath fogging slightly in the chilled air.
 

'So, what do you need?'
 

Derek sighed, his eyes dark as he twisted the cigarette, peeling it apart and setting the shredded remnants in his pocket.
 

'A watcher team. You know my history with Ridgmont; you were with Durden's mob at the same time as I was, kicking about with selection. Anyway, he is getting close, mate… real fucking close. I found my other tag nailed to my bloody front door and his son's tag number carved beneath it.
 

Twelve is in his fucking pocket, and they won't think twice about putting a bullet in my wife and kid, let alone Sib. Poor kid hasn't got a fucking clue what's going on.
 

It's volunteer only. I want them to have complete deniability in place if it goes south. I don't know what they will expect, but I can pull the files on the guys in Twelve. Colinson kept tabs on the ones who signed up to that pay-by-the-bullet outfit. So at the very least, they'll know who to look for.'
 

Colins stayed silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts as Baker shifted his weight from foot to foot, his impatience mounting.
 

'Wait here a sec.'
 

Damien vanished through the barracks door, the heavy plastic and steel door crashing against the frame as it left his hand.

****
 

Roberts looked up, his brow furrowing as Colins met his gaze; with a sideways nod of his head, Colins turned and exited the room, closely followed by Roberts. Their silent exchange and rapid departure was followed by a myriad of confused and intrigued gazes as the door once more slammed closed.

****
 

The silence was deafening as Baker stood there watching the two men walk towards him, their footsteps slow and even as Colins gesticulated slowly, his movements measured and fluid.
 

'Damien tells me we have a bit of an issue… something about rabid dogs and a bunch of scurrying black rats.'
 

Baker smirked slightly as he pulled another cigarette free and held the packet out to the two men in front of him. A flurry of waved hands and shaking heads greeted his offer; nodding, Baker slipped the packet back into his hip pocket, his steel Zippo appearing a fraction of a second later.
 

Breathing out the hot, grey pall of tobacco smoke, Baker nodded before speaking.
 

'Yeah, something like that. Know any good exterminators?'
 

Roberts grinned darkly.
 

'A few. Shall I give them a call?'