He was standing amongst the low wire entanglements, having dragged the corpse of the woman that Bobby had dealt with earlier from his field of view, dumping it to the side before returning to his position. Bobby turned his attention back to Samantha, shaking his head.
“And now you’re all thinking that we go find Melanie and then just keep going? Is that what you mean?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Exactly.”
“Who’s going with you?”
Bobby looked around him and saw the others moving about, carrying kit into and out of the house, busy with their own jobs.
“Us, and anyone else we thought should come along and could be trusted. You, Melanie, Mike, and the rest of their crew. Possibly Gerry and some of the ops staff?”
Bobby glanced to his right, back towards where Taff was standing. The short Welshman was busy, animatedly explaining something to Richard with sweeping gestures. The once civil engineer was sitting in the exact same place he had been during the past four hours, smoking endlessly, and making insulting remarks.
“Goes without saying that Rich will be coming, too. We wouldn’t even consider leaving without Emily and William, either.”
“How were you planning on getting off the island?”
Bobby shrugged and grinned back at her.
“We hadn’t got that far into the plan. But now, seeing as you’re providing us with a nice shiny helicopter, that question’s been answered.” He paused and fixed her with a serious expression. “Get back to HQ and grab what you need. Once we take off, we’ll not be coming back, Sam. We’ll only face charges of desertion if we did. You’ve seen the examples that are being set to prevent who they consider as ‘essential personnel’ from running out.”
She nodded, visualising the court-martials that had been carried out against scientists and soldiers accused of desertion and cowardice. The lucky ones had been shot by firing squad but others had been less fortunate. Some of their bodies still hung from the gallows, serving as warnings as they swayed in the wind, kicking their legs and wailing loudly.
“Tell only those you can trust, and then get back here as soon as possible. And for fuck sake, be careful. Everyone on this rock is out to screw each other over these days.”
Within hours the equipment preparation was completed. Only what was needed was going to be taken. Food and water that could be carried, a change of warm clothing, and the rest was taken up with weapons and ammunition. A lot of personal items that had been accumulated over the months would be abandoned and left behind.
While the team prepared themselves to go into the planning phase, Emily stood watching them from the kitchen doorway. She was worried about what the future may hold, and even more so for William, her son. There was no question in her mind that she would stay with the men and follow them wherever they went, but she could not shake the thought from her head that they were about to leave the relative safety of the Isle of Wight. She admitted to herself that the island was far from being a secure place to bring up her boy, but compared to the mainland, it was the safest option.
Taff moved past her, having made himself a drink before sitting down with the others to begin hashing out their concept of operations. Emily reached out and gently placed her hand on his forearm, bringing him to an abrupt halt. He turned, glanced at her hand, and then turned his attention to her anxious eyes.
“You sure this is the best thing to do?” she asked him in a hushed voice.
Taff glanced over his shoulder and back at the men who were sitting around the old and beaten dining table talking quietly amongst themselves. They were all there and would all have their say on the best way to conduct the operation. Each one of them was an experienced and valued member of the group. Stan would make the final decision on how they completed their mission, but their council would help to guide him.
“Look,” he said with a sigh, and turned his body to face her. “I know how you feel and I get that you’re worried. We wouldn’t be considering this if there was any other choice. We can’t leave Melanie out there. She’s saved our arses enough times and we owe her. On top of that, you know that this place will eventually fall into madness. It’s slowly getting that way, and when it goes full tilt, it will be too late for anyone that’s left here.”
She nodded in agreement. What Taff was saying made sense to her, even the part about the loyalty that they owed to the two pilots. They were stranded somewhere in or around London and needed their help.
“I understand that, Taff,” she replied in a tired voice. “But why go back onto the mainland? It must be worse there than it is here.”
“Maybe, but at least there we’ll be able to make our own choices. Here, it’s in the hands of what’s left of the government and the militia.” He shrugged and then looked down at his cooling tea and then back up at her, a sympathetic expression appearing across his face. “Listen, if you want to stay, we understand why, but I suggest you and Billy come along. You’ll be a lot safer with us, Em’.”
She nodded and folded her arms across her chest as she leaned her head and shoulder against the doorframe. She looked tired, exhausted. Her face was pale and her eyes appeared sunken. It had been months since she had seen her reflection properly in a clean and undamaged mirror. Her grey hairs were long and quickly cancelling out her natural colour, making her appear older and dishevelled. She looked back at him and then over at the men around the table. In particular, she watched Stan.
“What’s the story with Stan, then? Why do you think he suddenly told us about him having a son before? Is he okay?”
“I wouldn’t worry about that tough, old bastard. His armour slipped for a moment is all. It’s good to know that Stan is actually human, though, don’t you think?” He smiled fleetingly, and then his eyes flashed with seriousness and his voice took on a note of caution. “I suggest that you don’t mention it to him again, though. If he wants to tell you he will, but don’t go digging. I’m interested to know more myself, but there’s no way I’m going to start bombarding him with questions.”
“Okay,” Emily nodded.
She was more than a little curious, but she heeded the advice of the men when it came to dealing with their leader. She liked Stan and felt safe around him, but there was an air of menace about the man and his cold eyes unsettled her at times.
“You get yourself and Billy sorted out and sit tight. We’ll take care of the rough stuff. You just keep the lad close. Okay?”
By early evening, the plan was complete. An hour before first light, Bull and Stan would move to the airfield to meet with the pilots while the rest waited at the house on the southern tip of the island. They could not risk all of them moving to the airfield as a group. Too many people moving together in that area would arouse suspicion. Once Stan and Bull were airborne, the Chinook would move to pick up the rest of their group and then drop down to just above sea level, hugging the coastline and the cliffs along the shore in order to stay out of the line of fire from the weapon systems on the Illustrious. If all went well, they would hopefully avoid being picked up on radar until it was too late, and by then they would be over the mainland and gone before anyone could react.
There were a lot of ‘ifs’ involved, but they planned for all the eventualities they could. ‘Actions-On’ for all phases of the mission were discussed and rehearsed as best as possible, and by the time they had finished, they had an answer for every potential problem they could encounter, particularly during the first phase, the ‘Move-Out’.
Samantha had given them a full break-down on what the two rogue pilots were going to do. They had made up a false and deliberately confusing set of orders that would allow them to get the aircraft fuelled and prepared while the operations staff attempted to make sense of the orders and have them verified. However, the authorising personnel had been deliberately selected by the pilots. They were officers who were based at opposite ends of Newport and in areas where they knew communications to be particularly difficult. While runners were sent out to gain confirmation of the orders in person, the pilots would go about carrying out routine pre-flight checks and maintenance. Their priority was to have the fuel tanks topped up and the transponder disconnected, leaving the control centre blind to their whereabouts.
Danny had taken it upon himself to remove the plaster casts from his legs. Bobby had advised against it, but the stubborn young man would not allow himself to be given any special treatment during the operation. He was confident that his legs had healed well enough to afford him mobility without the casts. It had been over four weeks since suffering his injuries, and he reasoned that if they were not ready now, then they would never be. Carefully, with a set of heavy duty trauma scissors, he cut through the plaster and revealed his pasty and thin legs.
“Look at those ankles,” Kyle swooned, jokingly. “They look like they belong in a pair of heels. Have they always been that skinny?”
“Yeah,” Taff added. “With all that time wrapped up in plaster, your little legs are looking pretty delicate, Dan. I think we should get you a wheelchair for this one.”
Danny blanked their insults, refusing to rise to the bait. He moved about the room, testing the strength of his legs and proving to the others that he was not a burden. He would fight alongside the others and perform just as well, regardless of any discomfort he suffered.
“You sure you’re going to be okay, Danny?” Bull asked as he watched his friend walking about without the casts for the first time.
Now, Danny was carrying his heavy equipment, packed with ammunition and testing the weight against his weakened limbs.
“I only ask because you’re walking as though you’ve shit your pants.”
“I’ll still outrun you, Bull, you clumsy shit.”
“We’ll see,” Bull sneered in return. “When those things are chasing us across the UK, I bet they get you before they get me.”
There was nothing left to do now but wait. Later, after taking a break from all the planning, they came together one final time. There was one more thing that they needed to deal with.
“Okay,” Bull said with resignation as the team gathered around the table again. “Who’s the brave soul that wants to go first?”
Bobby glanced across the table at him and then at the others with a blank look in his eyes. He continued to twirl the scalpel through his fingers, the light of the burning candle close by reflecting brightly from its razor-sharp edge. The surgical blade was brand new, having been peeled from its sterile wrapper just a few moments before. It was sharp enough to cut through flesh with ease and precision, but that did not make anyone want to volunteer themselves to lead the way. Nobody spoke but eyed the shining blade in the hands of their team medic. On the table was a bowl of boiled steaming water and piles of sealed bandages, suturing equipment, and 100% proof surgical alcohol for sterilisation.
“Well, it won’t be me,” Bobby announced. “I’m the one who knows what he’s doing here, and I’m not letting any of you begin butchering me until you’ve watched me do it at least twice. One of you lump-hammers would end up chopping my dick off by mistake—or on purpose—just to piss me off.”
“Aye, Sam would never forgive us if we did that,” Bull joked nervously.
“Fuck it,” Taff grunted, reaching his hand across the table.
He began rolling up the sleeve as far as the elbow, exposing his thick, muscular, and extremely hairy forearms. He had already carried out his own surgery once that day on the opposite arm when removing a piece of shrapnel from beneath the skin.
“May as well balance me out. I look odd at the moment with just my right arm bandaged up. Get on with it, Bobby, before I lose my nerve.”
Kyle sat and watched as each of the men took their turn under the knife of Bobby. Each of them were given what he could spare in the way of anaesthetic, which was nothing more than some numbing spray and a piece of thick canvas to clamp between their teeth. The morphine he had, he needed to save.
It did not take the skilled medic long to cut through the flesh, avoiding any damage to the arteries, tendons, and muscle tissue.
The veteran winced and squirmed in his seat as he watched the scalpel puncture the soft tissue of the men. He had seen many wounds and gory injuries before and since the outbreak. He had witnessed comrades shot in battle and being blown up by IEDs in the Middle East. Head wounds, abdominal wounds, and severed limbs from traumatic amputations; none of them were new to him. Since the dead began to walk, he had been at the spearhead of many clashes with the infected. He had seen the living being torn limb from limb. The blood and the screams had become routine to him. However, something about watching a group of men go under the knife voluntarily, and in less than ideal conditions, made him feel a little squeamish.
As they grunted and hissed against the pain, Bobby skilfully sliced through the soft flesh, making an incision of just a few centimetres. Next, he would hold the wound open with a pair of forceps and then reach in with a set of long tweezers, retrieving the bio-tracker that each team member had implanted in his arm. The devices were no bigger than a fingernail, but they relayed a lot of information about the person they were attached to. Heart-rate and blood-pressure, temperature and respiratory functions were all sent to command. Most importantly, it relayed their exact location through the GPS satellites. No matter where they were on the planet, the operations room could monitor their movements and status. However, the upcoming mission was not sanctioned by their commanders. They were running out, and Stan and the men felt that the powers that be had violated their privacy for long enough.