Designated (Book 2): Designated Quarantined (41 page)

Read Designated (Book 2): Designated Quarantined Online

Authors: Ricky Cooper

Tags: #Zombie Apocalypse

He brushed stray strands of her golden hair away from her face, the long sun-tinged locks clinging to her skin like moss on a stone. He watched as it tugged at her bottom lip, the once rose-coloured giver of love now a pale, blue-tinged impostor, ghosts of their once vibrant selves.

Gently he leant in and placed a soft, lasting kiss on them, her fading scent leaking into him as he let his lips linger against hers. Derek's eyes widened for the briefest of moments as he felt her breath on his lips, the slow drawing of life from a shocked and unconscious form. With infinite care, Baker lay her unconscious form back upon the cold, uncaring floor beneath them and sat on his haunches as he stared at the hidden eyes before him. Those iridescent pools of cooling green that had so filled his heart now lay shadowed and dull behind her lidded eyes.

A soft, plaintive mewling filled his ears, drawing Baker's ruined gaze away from the all-consuming pit of depth-less despair that he had teetered over only moments before. With a staggering gait of a drunken spider, Derek pulled himself towards the source of the noise.

A small, quivering hand scraped at the edge of the steps before him, its searching grasp, snaring Baker's heart as he threw himself forwards, his arms curling round the cold, quivering bundle as he pulled her to his chest.

'Maria, darling, sweetie. Come on, Daddy's here. There's a good girl.'

Her hands clutched at his collar and chin, curling herself into his chest. Derek smoothed down the tousled strands of her auburn hair, his hand slipping through the downy strands as she nestled into his warmth.

Baker's voice broke as he brushed his fingers over her peach-tinged cheek, moving the stray strands of hair back behind her ear as he stared at her. Derek stood there, his mind an empty shell as he gazed down at the last embers of the dying light that had filled his world, their soft orange glow fading to nothing, leaving him alone, lost in the dark as he sank to his knees, unable to bear the weight that now lay upon his cold and lonely form.

Leaning forwards, Derek gently eased Maria's fingers from his collar, setting her down on the tiles, his hands guiding her into her mother's arms as he leant down and gently pressed his lips to her forehead, a soft yawn of fear-soaked fatigue claiming her diminutive year-old form

The room echoed with a clattering bang. Both men turned to face the noise as Andrey crashed through the doors. The final blood-drenched black-clad form sailed away from him as he strode into the room, the jangling mass of metal in his hand his only testament to the carnage he had left in his wake.

'Vy gnilostnyy lezhal meshok s gryaz'yu, ya budu imet' svoy grebanyy golovu!'
*
You putrid sack of filth, I'll take your fucking head!*

Baker's roaring denial ceased all movement from the rage-infused Russian as he charged towards the maniacal colonel.

'No, Andrey, please. Voz'mite moyu zhenu i doch', on moy!'

*
Take my wife and daughter; he is mine!
*

Andrey nodded as he moved past Derek, his feet near silent as he plucked the motionless forms from where they lay and, with infinite care, vanished into the darkened maw of the corridor.

Ridgmont's glee-filled gaze locked upon the blue eyes of the man before him, his glazed eyes shining with a light only curtailed by the sheer weight of his mania.

'Oh, how sweet; you have a little nursemaid to clean up your messes. Well, that is yet another life on your hands, Baker, one more tag on your bracelet.'

His giddy gloating faltered, his face paling slightly as he saw the cold light that glowed in the iridescent blue orbs that claimed his sight.

The soft, hushed rustle of webbing on leather filled the silence as Derek shed his vest. The heavy, weapon-laden rig thumping to the floor as he stepped forwards. The cold lump of his empty pistol hit the tiles with an echoing clatter as he unsnapped the holster from his thigh; the hardshell holster skittered over the tiled floor as its weight carried it away from his body.

Ridgmont began to step back, his feet sliding over the tiles, pushing him backwards as he scrambled for a way out; his eyes darted about the room, their panic-widened gaze drifting over everything as his lip quivered with poorly concealed fear.

Adrenaline pumped through his frantically beating heart as it hammered at the walls of his chest, the panicked beating filling his ears as he came to rest against the railings of the staircase behind him, and still Baker advanced, his hands relaxed and ready as he strode forwards inch by inch, closing the ever shrinking gap between them.

Baker watched the fear and sweat-laden countenance before him as a cold, irreversible calm settled over him, his eyes saying nothing as he walked on silently; lifting his hand, he cupped the back of Ridgmont's neck and closed his fingers.

They settled around the slim muscles like a steel vice, closing with a force he never knew he possessed. Then, with a flick of shoulders, he tossed the source of his anguish and rage back through the door and watched as the limp and ragged form slammed into the table in the centre.

The twisting of limbs and metal met nothing but silence as Baker turned and followed Ridgmont back into the room, the bloodied and lacerated bodies of the Infected filling the floor as Derek strode up the shallow steps.

Lifting his boot without a word, Derek sent it crashing down onto Ridgmont's chest. An explosion of saliva and mucus fountained from Ridgmont's gasping mouth as his lungs collapsed under the impact. He pulled his foot away then kicked forwards, sending the psychotic colonel, the table, and chair tumbling into the far wall. A staccato symphony arose as the conglomerate of man and furniture clattered over the floor, coming to rest in a tangled heap against the far wall.

Baker leapt forwards, his calm façade still in place as he lifted the battered man to his feet, his curled fist rising as he ploughed forwards, his right arm snapping back and forth as he pummelled Ridgmont's aquiline features in upon themselves. Blood coated his hand and knuckles, Derek's skin splitting as he crushed them against the shattered bones of Ridgmont's nose and cheeks. Rivers of blood ran from Baker's arm and fist as he released the semi-limp, mewling form from his grasp.

Lifeless blue eyes watched as Ridgmont tried to rise, thick congealed lines of mucus-infused gore dripping from his shattered face like string from a kitten's claws, the soft whimpering mewl worming its way past the twisted remnants of Ridgmont's lips as he attempted to rise. Lifting his foot, Baker kicked Ridgmont's hands away from him, watching as the man's own weight carried him face first into the floor.

Lifting his boot once again, he brought the heel crashing down upon the weak helpless fingers of Ridgmont's left hand.

He wanted to smile as the man cried out as his finger bones shattered beneath his boot. He wanted to laugh as he watched the shards of Ridgmont's shattered digits slice through the soft flesh of his hand. He wanted to roar with delight as he listened to pained and pleading cries emanating from the man beneath him.

However, he couldn't. Nothing would come forth. No notes of triumph. No sounds of delighted retribution would ever leave him. All that had been good in Baker's dwindling world had vanished with the blonde angel now lying broken and beaten in the arms of his friend. All that was left for him was vengeance—cold and emotionless justice in a world gone mad, so he raised his boot again and sent it sailing down onto Ridgmont's left knee. Again and again, he pounded the joint to dust as the man beneath him pleaded for clemency from a deaf court and its silent executioner.

His arms snapped down and dragged the beaten man to his feet, hurling him once more into the wall. A red cloying smear of Ridgmont's blood marked its passage down his face as he collapsed to the floor. Baker fell to his knees atop the trembling and quivering mess below him.

With a cold, merciless gaze alighting on the battered face below him, he let his fists rise and fall, his shoulders driving them downwards pummelling the frail form into submission. Over and over they rose and fell like pistons in an engine, their speed increasing with every revolution as he watched the blood arc through the air, splattering across his face… the floor… the walls. Slowly, he dragged the life from the man so bent on revenge, he had eked it out on the souls of the two people in this world Derek would gladly give all for.

Images of her flashed through his mind as he continued to pound out his broken fury into the mass of pulped fleshed beneath him. Her smiling face bathed in the setting summer sun as they wound their way through the golden fields of the French farmlands, the look of stunned joy as she gazed upon the diamond ring encircling her finger the day Derek proposed.

The sight of her walking towards him, the white silk dress hugging her slim form as he gazed upon her glowing visage on their wedding day, the sweat-stained and tired look of pride on her face as she held their new-born daughter.

That last memory gave him pause, his arms locking in place as he thought of their daughter growing up without a mother's love, without the all-forgiving warmth of her mother's arms to comfort her or hold her close while her daddy was away. Something inside Baker snapped, breaking away completely as he held that image in his mind—the smiling face of his wife and the small fragile form of his new-born daughter enshrouded in the soft towelling blanket as she was slowly rocked to sleep and how close he had come to losing it all.

Baker's arms dove down mercilessly, his tears flowing free as he snapped his head forwards, smashing his forehead into Ridgmont's face. He felt the bones of the man's nose splinter and vanish as he crushed it into a paste of powdered bone and pulped flesh. Driving his thumbs into Ridgmont's eye sockets, Derek pushed slowly, ploughing deeper and deeper into the putrid, filth-filled orbs, pulverising them into a mass of puss and slime as he curled his fingers round the sides of Ridgmont's skull and pulled.

Ridgmont screamed, blood pulsing from his eyes and nose as Baker clawed at the sides of his face, Derek's fingers tearing into the pulverised skin that framed the man's cranium, nails tore at bone, scrapping through cartilage and muscle with a savage lust for vengeance. He tore the flesh from his skull as his thumbs began to bore through the back of Ridgmont's eye sockets.

Then as soon as it had arrived, it was gone. Baker pushed himself up and away, the tangled mess of blood and flesh repulsing him as he staggered towards the door, the silent corridors carrying him through the cold, lifeless hospital. Derek's eyes shifted in and out of focus as he bounced off the wall, his weight dragging him around the corner as he stumbled into the cavernous atrium, the jumbled mass of overturned seats and smashed tables ensnaring his every step as he fell through the open doorway.

Cold seared through him as he sank to his knees. The cold brick paving beneath him bathed his battered skin as he slumped, exhausted and weary to the floor as blood began to pour from his scalp.

Derek's eyes drifted in and out of focus as he watched them approach, their grasping black-coloured hands snatching at him as they lifted him from the floor, bright flashes of orange filling the sky as he felt himself rise from the uncaring stone. A flash of red silk snatched at his eyes as a calm accented voice filled his ears.

'We have you, my friend; we have you, rest easy.'

The Teams
Team One

Derek Baker:
Aged 38, 6 foot 3 inches, bald (partially shaven), often has a full beard—a habit from spending long operational periods in Arabic and Middle Eastern countries.
Blue eyes, missing his left ear. Has the SBS sword tattooed onto his forearm
Royal Marines Commando and SBS operative

Commander of Broadhead and assault team one leader Unflinching, pragmatic, and unerringly loyal, he will go above and beyond to complete his mission, no matter the cost to himself.

Richard 'Splinter' Sharp:
Aged 30, 6 foot exactly, close-cut hair (shaven to within a millimetre of his scalp)

Paratrooper and SAS operative

Second in command of team one

Multi-skilled operative, marksman and guerrilla warfare specialist. Self-assured, confident and slightly cocky, he is not afraid to bend the rules to achieve his goals but will always let reason and sound judgment guide him above all else.

Dean Roberts:
Aged 26

Royal Marines Commando and SBS operative

Skilled soldier and Marksman and demolitions specialist

Quiet and observant, he will go beyond the limits for a friend even if it means giving his life to save theirs.

Charles Hooper
: Aged 27

Infantry soldier and SAS operative

Skilled soldier and tracker
Outspoken and loyal, a well-adjusted team player and valued member of team one.

Damien Colins:
Aged 24

Royal Marines commando
Mountain warfare specialist and close quarters battle and light support specialist
Trained as a martial artist from a very young age and took his training through when training as a Marines commando.
Like all commandos, he is as blunt as a brick when it comes to honesty and is not afraid to back up his assertions with whatever means is deemed necessary.

Sam Fisher:
Aged 25

Irish Guards

P Company and Pathfinder group attached
Highly opinionated and rough spoken, he is proud of his heritage and his family's long-standing connection to the Irish Guards and served and qualified in the same regimental areas and expertise as his father.

Nicholas Mariani:
Aged 25

Irish Guards
Light support specialist

Soft spoken and reserved, he keeps to himself and can be seen as a little aloof by the men he serves with but is not one to shy away from combat and will always bring to bear all he can give.

Team Two

John Davies:
Aged 29
1
st
Regiment the Rifles and SAS Operative
Team Two commander

Tattoo of the both regimental badges on his right shoulder blade
Highly trained and proficient killer with a deep moral compass, will go above and beyond the call of duty to achieve what he thinks is the right and most morally clean outcome.

Chris Jones:
Aged 23
Princess of Wales Royal Regiment
Team Two second in command
Darkly sarcastic and regularly speaks his mind, regardless of whom it upsets.

Rory Hamilton:
Aged 25
Princess of Wales Royal Regiment
Light Support Specialist
James Clarkenwell
: Aged 27
Infantry soldier SAS operative

Maximilian (Max) Reiley:
Aged 26
Royal Marines Commando

David Baxter:
Aged 27

Royal Marines Commando
Light support specialist

Team Three

Andre Patterson:
Aged 29

Team Leader
Scots Guards
Highly Intelligent with a wit to match.
Uncompromising in all aspects and carries it through to the battlefield.

Ibrahim "Token" Kweku:
Aged 31
Team Three second in command
Drone and explosives specialist

Dean King:
Aged 30
1
st
Battalion Royal Irish Regiment
Spotter/Sniper

Carter Lucas:
Aged 27
1
st
Battalion Royal Irish Regiment
Spotter/Sniper

Dominic Walters
Mercian Regiment
Light Support Specialist

Carl Sooker
Royal Welsh
Light Support Specialist

Derrek Carlstook
Royal Signals

Simeon Carruthers
The Rifles
Spotter/Sniper

Charlie Hampson
The Rifles
Spotter/Sniper

Team Four

Rufus Shaw:
Aged 26

Team Commander

Grenadier Guards

Highly Intelligent and clean spoken with an innate grasp of field tactics

Charles Kane

Second in Command

Royal Regiment of Fusiliers

Miles Pepper

Royal Anglian Regiment

Spotter/Sniper

Michael Faux

Royal Anglian Regiment

Spotter/Sniper

Simeon Stepps

Yorkshire Regiment

Light Support Specialist

Leroy Stoors

Duke of Lancaster's Regiment

Light Support Specialist

Marcus Bridgewater

Black Watch

Kenny Wilding

Black Watch

Spotter/sniper

Dean Movington

Black Watch

Spotter/Sniper

Rapid Reaction Team

By the nature of its insertion method, all team members are active Paratroopers.

Kevin Woodwrow
Team Leader
Five foot Ten
Black Hair
Short spoken and blunt
Honest to a fault and not afraid to call a situation as he sees it, which at times has caused minor friction between him and the other team commanders.

Richard Kerr
RRT Second in Command
Five Foot Eight

Blonde
Affable and easy going

Dominic Williams

Scott Sheperd
Light Support Specialist

James Clarkson
Light Support Specialist

Robert Brooks
Light Support Specialist

Air Wing

All members of the air wing are fully qualified pilots of both Rotary and Jet aircraft.

Jenniffer Lincruster

Brown Hair
Brown eyes
Soft spoken and honest
Qualified translator

Carla Westing

Blonde
Blue eyes
Flirty and outspoken
Part of the TRiM teams and qualified translator