Designated (Book 2): Designated Quarantined (32 page)

As he said this, Martin waved a hand around him, the dagger tattoo on his arm catching Derek's eye as he took in the devastation. The pockmarked walls and red-tinged carpets showing all too clear what he meant. 'Now, if you don't mind, I think, if my eyes aren't deceiving me, there is a bottle of Glendronach in that cabinet.'
 

Baker smirked as he moved towards the cabinet, plucking one of the surviving tumblers from the carpet before lifting the bottle free and carefully pulling the cork from its neck.
 

Handing the glass to Martin, Derek turned his arm. The ink scarred into his skin drawing Martin's gaze as Baker cast a glance towards Janet. Martin smiled slightly as he nodded, Derek's silent acknowledgment saying more than anything else ever could.
 

'Not a scratch on them. I made sure of that. Got a couple'a more notches on my belt and a few new stories, but hell, it's nothing new. They're still clearing the bodies from the second floor and, I'm ashamed to say, the lil'un will need a new cot. But that's a damned sight better than you needing a new daughter; I'd have slotted myself if that happened.'
 

Derek glanced at Martin once more, his words soft and choked as he set the bottle next to Thomas' leg. 'Keep it, least I can do.'
 

Turning away from the man who sat before him, Derek stepped forwards and knelt before his wife, his shoulders bobbing slightly as he kissed Maria's forehead.
 

Thomas watched for a moment, before forcing himself upright and moving towards the door. Janet's hand slipped out and clasped his wrist, her lips meeting the top of his hand before her soft voice filled his ears. 'Thank you.'
 

Thomas smiled as gently pulled his hand from her grip, his eyes holding her gaze with an even stare, his reply gentle, hiding the pain that lanced through his beaten form. 'Any time.'
 

His footfalls echoed through the corridor as he disappeared from sight and made his way out onto the street.

December 6
th
Australia
 

Kingsley sat in the cold confines of the Hercules C130J, the heavy drone of the engines lulling him into a soft doze as Angel rested at his feet. The orders and request had come as a surprise to all but Colinson, with Solomon's presence requested by Brigadier McDaniel himself. With a yawn, Kingsley leant forwards, rubbing the gritty granules from his eyes before lifting the folder from the seat next to him and flipping it open.
 

He felt the heat leave his feet as Angel stretched and hopped up onto the seat next to him; Kingsley's fingers ruffled her ears as he flicked through the pages of the file, soaking in the details like a sponge in a glass.
 

'Looks like it's all kicking off down the yellow brick road, girl. You ready to give them a hand?'
 

His only reply was a soft, velvety tongue licking his palm and a short yap of acknowledgement, before Angel settled down, her head resting on his thigh.
 

'Yeah, I thought so too.'
 

His fingers gently danced through her straw-coloured fur as sleep once again claimed him.
 

****
 

The wheels squealed as they touched the scorching tarmac, Kingsley's head bouncing against the rapidly heating skin of the aircraft.
 

'Son of a...'
 

Kingsley rubbed at the back of his head as he sat upright, the heat in the plane rapidly climbing as it coasted along the runway.
 

The side hatch popped open as Kingsley stood, his back popping and clicking as he stretched his frame. He jolted slightly as Angel tugged at the lead tied to his belt. A small tug of pride slipped through him as he watched her immediately back up and sit at his heel, her head bowed, realising she had done the wrong thing.
 

His free hand ruffled her ears as he plucked his holdall from the floor and stuffed the discarded file into it. Solomon glanced up as Angel growled, the sun-tinged face that peered in through the doorway drawing his attention.
 

'George?'
 

The face broke into a wide grin as its owner stepped up into the aircraft. 'Solomon, god dam, Kingsley, how the bloody hell are ya?'
 

Kingsley smiled warmly as Angel continued to growl deep in her throat. 'I am good, George, bloody good.'
 

George stepped forwards, his hand rising. Angel leapt forwards dragging Solomon with her as she did so, her teeth bared and a heavy yet slightly high-pitched bark rising from her.
 

George jumped back several feet as Kingsley yanked Angel back to his side, a anger-tinged command leaving him as he glared at her. With a whimper of submission, Angel lay down next his feet before rolling onto her back, completely submissive.
 

Stepping forwards again, George crouched as he cocked his head to the side, looking at the straw gold Spaniel as he patted the deck lightly. With a nod from Solomon, Angel cautiously approached him, her ears head low and gait anxious as she slowly inched closer to him.
 

'You don't remember me do you, girly?'
 

Angel's head cocked to the side slightly as she tentatively sniffed at George's outstretched hand, her form relaxing with each passing second. A grin spread across his features as her tail began to wag slightly, the subtle coils of recognition at a familiar scent weaving their way through her tired and slightly ruffled form.
 

'Well, looks like you're wrong there, Porgey. It just took her a minute. Looks like they still use your mother's name, Artino.'
 

Pushing himself to his feet, his hand tousling the fur on the top of Angle's head as he straightened, George nodded his head towards the baked and sun scorched world outside the aircraft.
 

'Come on, mate, we've got to get moving. The official welcoming committee is over in the terminal building, but suffice it to say, welcome to Swartz Barracks, or as it is also known, Oakey AAC.'

With a soft tug at Angel's lead, Solomon followed George to the open door and out into the rolling waves of heat that shimmered across the black expanse of ground that surrounded the plane.
 

'So, what's the situation? Briefing was sparse, to say the least.'
 

Artino scratched the back of his neck as Angel softly panted at Kingsley's heel.
 

'I'll, uh, let the big wigs fill you in, mate … it's not looking too good, and well, you need to get the full picture, not the barrack chatter.'
 

Kingsley nodded as they reached the rear entrance of a stark-white building, the heat shimmering across the wall as he reached for the handle.
 

George reached past him, barging Solomon away from the door. 'Not trying to be a prick, mate, but with the highs we're hitting this summer, you don't wanna touch these handles without a glove on.'
 

The door swung outward, the sudden rush of artificially cooled air hitting them all like a sledgehammer as Angel whimpered slightly. George motioned Kingsley through the doorway, the click of Angel's clawed feet filling the air as several sets of eyes turned to greet them.
 

'Ah, Solomon, good of you to join us. Tell me, how good are you with tunnels?'
 

Kingsley blanched as visions of the cramped and stinking sewers danced through his head, a muttered curse filtering from him as he sighed.
[2]

25

January 8
th
2014
 

Baker's mind stirred, awash with the myriad of thoughts plaguing him as he trudged across the parade square, his feet crunching against the grit-laden surface as he continued making his way to the small Jeep he kept parked behind the main training grounds.
 

He was ferreting through the mass of pockets that seemed to increase every time he looked for his cars keys, his fingers brushing over the age-worn denim of his jeans as he patted himself down, his attention lost in its own world when the sirens began to wail, their long, drawn out keening, freezing everyone to the bone.

His keys forgotten, Baker turned, sprinting across the parade square like a frightened rabbit. He dropped his hand to his hip, yanking his mobile phone from the plastic clip holster, punching in the number from memory as he ran.
 

'Come on, answer. Damn it, Janet, answer the phone.'
 

Despite the situation, he couldn't help but smile as his mind pulled forth the image of Tim Curry sashaying through a crowd to the strains of "I am a sweet transvestite."
 

His mind whirled as his phone suddenly died, the signal blinking to nothing as he stared at the screen. Baker's feet pounded at the concrete beneath him as he continued to run, barrelling into the door leading to the operations centre.
 

The room was a hive of confusion as analysts and technicians scrambled for some sign as to what was taking place. The babble rose and fell as Baker strode across the room, covering the distance in less time than it took to blink. Kirkland pushed her chair from his path as Derek snatched a secondary headset from the desktop and keyed into the wide-band circuit, overriding everything as he pushed call.
 

'This is Charlie One Charlie calling all call signs, we have mobilization order I.C.O.4. Recall all units and ready for immediate deployment, Charlie One Charlie out'.
 

****
 

Joshua watched with mounting amusement as the white-coated forms outside his cell scurried like mice in a maze. Flurries of movement punctuated by foul-mouthed rantings filtered through the plastic wall of his cage.
 

A soft chuckle left his throat as he nonchalantly rose to his feet. The slim bar of hollow steel in his hand gently teased the disk away from the hole in the outer wall as he watched the last of his would-be captors depart. The strobe-like red emergency lights lent a slightly club land look to the utter chaos of the room that he now surveyed.
 

With a grunt of exertion, Joshua contorted his body, driving his arm through the hole until his shoulder kissed the inner lip; he winced as his ear was twisted against the cold sheet of Lexan. Walking his feet up the wall beside him, Joshua blindly slithered his fingers across the stippled surface of the concrete pillar until his fingertips caressed the cold aluminium of the keypad's fascia.
 

His eyes slipped closed as he listened to the soft beeping of the keys as he hummed the tune he had come to know better than his mother's nursery rhymes. His face twisted into a maniacal grin as a hiss of compressed air greeted his diligent patience. Pulling his arm free, Joshua rolled clear of the wall as the door slid aside, its edge scything across the hole where his arm had been moments before.
 

'Ah, the sweet smell of freedom.'
 

His nostrils flared as he breathed in the heady scent of sweat and disinfectant. Rubbing his hands together, he hopped down from the single step that ran the length of his former home and quietly strolled towards the open exit. An energetic whistle left him as he slipped into the hallway, his hand snatching at a white lab coat dangling from the hooks by the door.
 

'Well, dear heart, shall we see what we can see?' His muttered thought floated on silence as he walked out into the crisp, cold air, his lips curled in a grin at the thoughts of the events to come.

The entirety of Broadhead stood in parade formation, the drill square a mass of bodies so closely packed that it was hard to see the dirty, grey concrete beneath them. The tension was palpable, a seething undercurrent of adrenalin and fear that mingled into a thick miasma of sweat-soaked energy.
 

Derek let his eyes ghost across them, the heavy drone of the two C130Js climbing into the sky filled the air as they whisked away the entire R.R.T unit, their targets already waiting for them.
 

Clenching his jaw, Derek swallowed his mounting fear and spoke.
 

'Right boys and girls, this is crunch time. I won't hold us up with useless pep talks. Just get in, do your job, and get home again is all I ask.

'We are strictly tasked with rescue and evacuation of civilians, government members, and the Royal Family. Team One with me, we are tasked with the Royals and the Prime Minister. Team Two, you and Teams Four through Eight are tasked with evacuation, security, and civilian safety. The rest of you are dropping in with Rook and Hawk in the pods. Make me proud and make it home.'
 

Davies stuck his hand up, feeling slightly foolish at the child like gesture. 'Boss, what about Team Three?'
 

Baker stopped mid-turn, glancing back at Davies with a soft look of regret in his eyes. 'Never made it home from London.'
 

With that, Baker turned, followed by the rest of his team to the waiting helicopter.
 

Davies and the rest of Team Two hit the floor running, dispersing from the landing zone and immediately getting to work. Their weapons chattered as they took aim at the swarming mass of savage, blood-crazed civilians. Shadows danced and bodies fell as the Infected dropped, a wave of fire pouring forth, sweeping all aside like a tsunami of boiling lead.
 

With a curt wave of a hand they began to spread out, their job just beginning. Davies' eyes scanned for any sign of movement. The likelihood of a survivor—human or Infected—among the stagnant carpet of corpses was remote, but it had to be done.
 

Single shots began to fill the air as the still living were sent on their way, their souls slipping forth to whatever awaited them once they were wrested from their mortal coil.
 

John's brow furrowed as a human voice reached his ears over the staccato sounds of far-flung gunfire and the fear-soaked screams of the panicked and dying. The tiny echoing call of a fear-pricked voice rolled over the rooftops to their ears, its plaintive call doing little to stem the tide of migrant refugees that scurried like rats in a maze from the horde that nipped at their heels.
 

'This is an emergency announcement. Please, remain in your homes and places of business. When it is safe to do so, please proceed to an emergency evacuation point.'
 

The caller paused for a moment before beginning his panic-laced soliloquy once more. The voice echoed off the buildings, rolling over everything before it snapped closed, a guttural pain-lashed cry driving into everyone with the force of a nail gun. Panicked shouts and the soul-withering sounds of a man's final seconds filled the streets, the roads echoing with tin-laced sound of gunfire as the last throw of the dice was cast.
 

'Guess some one didn't like the DJ,' Reiley remarked, a morbid, dark look crossing his eyes as he spoke.

Baxter chuckled then snapped back to reality as he brought his rifle up and dropped another Infected, the spray rounds shattering its fragile countenance as it dropped a pool of steaming fluid pooling beneath it.
 

Davies glanced around him, his eyes strained and tired; the lines at their edges deepened as he watched for any hint of movement, the flecked premature lines of grey streaking his temples, stark and transparent like lighting flashing through the midnight sky.
 

'Okay, lads, cut the chatter—double time it. We've got to find that downed patrol. Get their evac location and get it re-secured until help arrives; fuck knows who else is going to bloody do it.'
 

Davies glanced at the screen mounted on his forearm, his brow creasing as he stared at the grime-covered monitor.
 

'Ping point puts the patrol at three blocks over. We can cut through that department store there and then slip through Debenhams. That should bring us roughly a block and a half away from where the patrol was last recorded.'
 

They nodded and took off at a fast trot, rifles raised to their shoulders.
 

The Diemaco rifle felt comforting in Davies' hands as he scanned the streets. He swallowed hard, fighting to keep his rising tide of unease in check. The burgeoning need to get home to the one person who made his life worth living, sinking an ever-deeper hold on his heart.
 

The men around him moved with an efficiency born of hard-won practice as they took up covering positions and waited for the others to move past before carrying on forwards. The sounds of their passage through the car-choked streets filled the world around them, as the symphony of fear continued to rain down.

Baxter and Hamilton dropped to a knee, their bodies pressed loosely to the crumpled remains of a BMW. The soft hiss of its punctured radiator drowning their thoughts as they knelt, facing opposite directions, their eyes missing nothing as they scanned the world around them.
 

'Fuck me!' Hamilton's eyes widened as a wall of shifting black filled the road ahead of him. 'Contact right.'
 

His words echoed off the buildings as he began to fire. Hamilton shook as his weapon chattered, the screaming form ahead of him tumbling, her ragged blood-smeared form crumpling into a heap as 5.56 mm rounds carved bodies to pieces.
 

Baxter spun, weapon tight and unwavering as he squeezed the trigger. Bodies fell, gore soaking the road. The advancing mob trampling the dead into dust as they surged forwards, passing through the street like water.
 

Davies and Clarkenwell leapt forwards as Baxter and Hamilton opened fire, their hands closing over the drag hoop between each man's shoulders, hauling them to their feet.
 

'Forget it, too many.'
 

Glancing back as he hauled Baxter to his feet, Davies veritably screamed at the men around him. 'Triple time it, fucking move.'
 

****
 

Davies' shoulder rammed into the doors, his mind awash with a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts as he barged the doors aside, not caring what was waiting in the darkened interior.

The shop lay empty, its cavernous interior as silent and dead as a tomb. The eight team members scrambled as fists hammered on the doors behind them. The sounds echoed, filling the shop as they sprinted through rows of shelves, their contents scattered over the floor. The stinging scent of coffee mingling with pickle brine filled their noses as Davies stumbled.
 

His booted foot shattered a jar of peanut butter, its pulpy mass clinging to the sole of his boot as his foot slid, arms pin wheeling as he began to topple backwards. Jones caught John's arm, hauling him along beside him.
 

'Cheers.'
 

Jones nodded as they ran, the sound of shattering glass and twisting metal filling the air as the doors gave in and the horde of screaming bodies descended.
 

They tore into the shop, smashing aside the shelving as if it were paper. Turning and backpedalling, Jones fired three sporadic bursts. Bodies tumbled, vanishing beneath produce and feet as they began to gain on Davies and the others. Glancing backwards, Clarkenwell blanched as he watched a boy of no more than ten crushed as he toppled head first over a stand of magazines, his still snarling face vanishing in an instant.
 

The team surged forwards, tearing through the aisles, uncaring of what lay ahead. Whatever it was, it was preferable to what was behind them.
 

****
 

Team One landed in the parade grounds of Buckingham Palace, a deep sense of dread filling them all as they surveyed the area. The once pristine grounds lay choked with the bodies of the dead, their blood-soaked forms covered in a mire of their own fluids and excrement.
 

Derek snorted, flies buzzing at his face as he tugged at the chinstrap of his helmet. 'Fan out, check for anything alive.'
 

Baker felt his heart heave as he cast his gaze over the bullet-riddled corpse of a woman, the lifeless form of a baby perched on her back.
 

Derek's eyes wandered over the scorched holes in the back of the seat rest, a cold ball of anguish unfurling in his stomach as he stared at the still smouldering circles of burnt plastic and material.
 

Tearing his gaze from the tableau in front of him, he cast his eyes upon the bloodied and torn corpses still clutching their rifles, their dead eyes staring back at him.
 

'Don't look too encouraging, does it, boss?' Sharp's muttered question fluttered on the still air as he turned to look at Baker, his booted foot pushing the corpse of one solider over onto its side as he made his way up the steps.
 

Baker shouldered his rifle without answering and made his way through the doors of the palace, their battered and gilded forms hanging askew as they gently bobbed on the wind.
 

****
 

Light danced in pools of white as their barrel-mounted torches cut swathes through the darkened gloom of the hallway. The interior sat dark and silent, enveloping all that dived into its vacuous abyss, the glowing rays of the sun shut from sight by the reinforced steel plates that covered the windows and doors.
 

Baker knelt at the foot of the stairs, his gloved hand reaching out and pulling the body of a maid over onto her front, her pallid face locked in a snarling grin of lustful pleasure. Sinuous strands of flesh caught between her opalescent teeth and glossed nails. Letting her shirt fall from his grip, he cast his eye over the uniformed soldier beneath her.
 

The look of uncomprehending pain and shock in the man's eyes told Baker all he needed to know. With quick motions to his right and left, he sent Mariani, Collins, and Roberts peeling off to begin the fraught task of clearing and searching the rooms around them.
 

'Judging by the disarray here, they were caught halfway through the lock down.'
 

Hooper looked at Baker, his eyes questioning. 'How d'ya figure that one, chief?'
 

Baker nodded to the floor and the two bodies at his feet.
 

'His eyes say it all; they were locking down the palace and couldn't get everyone screened in time, the girl here shows as much. They can't have been Infected more than an hour. The whites of her eyes are virtually clear; if she had been further along, they would be swimming with distended capillaries, but look.'
 

He knelt, his hand curling into the woman's hair to turn her face towards Hooper.
 

'Nothing. Crystal clear. Her only problem aside from being Infected is that she's dead, otherwise she looks fine. Probably what got her through the screening in the first place.'
 

His hand opened and the woman's head fell back to the marble staircase with a dull crunch.
 

'I would say, at a guess, that they fell back to the living quarters here. I would have; they had the room fitted out as a panic room in case the house was breached six years ago.'
 

Pressing his fingers to his throat, he called the other three men back to him. 'Alpha two fall back and rendezvous on wing entrance D. We can discount other survivors; you won't find anything down here, at least.'
 

A dry double-click was heard through Baker's ear bead.
 

****
 

Howls and guttural screams filled the air as they fled into the darkness. The screaming wall of hatred and hunger that snapped at their heels left any semblance of military practice impotent. Taunting calls and yells of teasing malice filtered through the air like bloated flies.
 

An Infected threw itself forwards, her bloodied and beaten form crashing through the rack of women's lingerie that stood between them and satiating the gnawing craving for sustenance that ate at its stomach. Jaws snapping, strings of dripping gore hung from her crimson-tinted teeth. Her hands flailed; chipped polish and split nails tore the air, clawing at them all, passing Reiley's nose and missing his soft, sweat-stained flesh by mere millimetres.
 

'Jesus Christ!'
 

He snapped his rifle up and fired six rounds from the hip, striking the crazed psychopath in the throat, chest, shoulder, and head. The rest carried on, their footfalls filling their senses as the gap slowly widened between them and the slathering wall of hunger at their heels.