The Lingering (16 page)

Location: the deck of the
Singleton

Date: June 24
th
2013

Time: 5:27 a.m.

Lieutenant Patrick Craig ushered his four-man team, Mitchell, Johnson, Keen, and Webb, into the chopper, then peered at his watch. They only had three minutes until take-off, followed by a twenty-minute flight to the extraction point, which meant they would arrive a mere ten minutes ahead of time. He only hoped they would find someone left from Archer’s team to extract.

Since Archer’s team contacted the
Singleton
asking for an emergency evac, they’d heard nothing. Of course, this meant very little. Archer and his team could just be maintaining radio silence. However, he feared it meant something more ominous.

The last of his men boarded the chopper, and with one final glance up at the bridge, he followed.

“Listen up!” shouted Craig over the din of the accelerating engines. “We don’t know if any of Archer’s team are still alive, but we are going to hold position at the extraction point until we know one way or the other. I want a permanent radio link to the
Singleton
at all times, and I want everyone at the top of their game.”

His team nodded their understanding, and Craig gave the chopper’s pilot permission to take off.

“I just wanted to wish you all good luck,” rang Capt. Coonan’s voice through their headsets. “I know none of you will let the
Singleton
down. We’ll be in harbour in a matter of hours, so just hold tight ‘til then.”

Craig looked at his team. They were all young, and for two of them, this was their first mission. He just hoped he’d chosen the right men for the job, and that none of them would crack under the pressure.

They were heading into a situation which none of them had encountered before. They were sailors, not soldiers, and they only had limited training in dealing with The Lingering. He only hoped their mission wouldn’t involve too many encounters with the undead; otherwise his men might simply turn and flee.

He’d heard stories of swarms, and of whole platoons just turning tail and running at the sight of them. He shuddered. What could five sailors do if faced with a swarm? Archer and his team had to be at the extraction point, anything less just didn’t bear thinking about.

A spotlight on the bottom of the chopper swept over the pickup point as it hovered thirty feet above the ground. A number of Lingering wandered through the scrub, but to Craig, they looked harmless. Biters looked more animalistic and savage. The creatures below looked lost and aimless. He took in a deep breath, and ordered the chopper to land.

As he and his team disembarked, he pulled Mitchell to one side. “I want you to keep an eye on those things.” Craig pointed to the walking corpses drawing closer to them. “If they come too close, or show signs of aggression, then put a bullet in their heads. Understand?”

Mitchell pulled his SA80 from under his arm and levelled it at The Lingering. “Aye-aye, sir.”

Mitchell started to head off, but Craig grabbed his arm. “Use a silencer and take it off automatic. I want single shots only.”

Mitchell quickly complied to the order, and screwed his silencer onto the end of the guns barrel. He then headed off to take up a position closer to the unfortunate creatures, which were now circling aimlessly just a matter of yards away. The things seemed to sense they would be in danger if they got too close to the new arrivals, and they now seemed to be keeping a safe distance.

Craig turned to Webb, Johnson, and Keen. “Just in case we have to evacuate fast, I want you three to stay close to the chopper.”

The three took up positions beside the open side door of the helicopter, and pointed their guns off into the dark. Craig looked at his watch, 5:54 a.m. If Archer’s team arrived on time, then they only had six minutes to wait … but that was a big if.

***

“Damn, we’re already twenty minutes past the evac time, now this,” whispered Fairclough as he handed Bouchard his binoculars.

The Frenchman peered through the glasses, and through the green haze of the device’s night vision he saw hundreds of undead heading their way. “It looks like a herd to me, not a swarm.”

Fairclough grabbed the binoculars back. “I know it’s a herd, but if they catch a whiff of this …” He held up his bloody hand, the result of punching a glass window back at the compound. “… then that herd could become a swarm.”

Bouchard stared at his friend’s bloody knuckles. Bandages wouldn’t cover the smell of the blood, at least, not from The Lingering. He pulled his pack from his back and began rummaging through it.

“What are you looking for?” asked Fairclough.

“This,” replied the Frenchman as he pulled a small box from his pack.

“A first aid kit, it’s a bit late for that!” scoffed Fairclough as he raised the binoculars to his eyes again.

“We need to cover your ‘and with something air tight, then we need to get rid of any clothing contaminated with blood.”

Fairclough lowered the glasses again and peered at his friend. “How can we make the dressing air tight?”

“We can’t, so we’re going to use these things.” Bouchard held up a pair of latex gloves. “Put both of them on your wounded ‘and, then I’ll tape up the wrist.”

Fairclough’s face erupted into a broad smile and he took the gloves. “Lucien, I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

Fairclough’s smile evaporated into a grimace as he forced his hand into one of the tiny latex gloves. He winced as the glove pulled off the freshly formed scabs on his knuckles. New blood gushed into the glove, and he snapped it tight around his wrist. Bouchard quickly went to work with the tape, and gestured for him to put on the second glove.

“It’s like wearing two rubbers in case one burst,” quipped Fairclough as he wrestled the second glove over the first.

“Yeah, well if one does tear, there’s more at risk than getting a mademoiselle pregnant. So pipe down and ‘urry up.”

Moments later, Bouchard wrapped tape around the wrist of the second glove. Once Fairclough’s hand was soundly covered, the two started examining each other for any traces of blood. If they found anything on their clothes remotely resembling dried blood, then they quickly discarded the garment. Then they set about the task of washing any blood from their skin. This they did with copious amounts of disinfectant from the first aid pack. Finally, they buried the blood-contaminated clothes in a hurriedly dug hole. By the time all this was done, the herd had moved to within a few yards of them.

Both men watched as the herd drew closer. Neither moved, neither breathed, they just waited. As the leading edge of the herd reached them, Fairclough began to move.

Steadily, he placed one foot in front of the other, and began to disappear into the herd. Bouchard mirrored his friend’s actions, and slowly they worked their way through the throng.

Step by step, they moved deeper into the mass of decaying flesh. Fairclough ventured a look over at his friend, and nodded. Bouchard returned the nod with a weak smile.

After several nerve-wrecking minutes, the rear of the herd came into sight. With a sigh of relief, Fairclough dared a look over his shoulder to see how many Lingering they’d passed. Almost instantly, a rock caught his foot, which sent him crashing to the ground.

Bouchard acted at once, and raised his gun, ready to defend them. Both men tensed, and waited for the herd to attack, but the attack never came. The herd seemed completely uninterested in Fairclough sprawled in the dirt, and even less so in Bouchard. They just kept moving.

The two men stayed put until the last of the herd had well and truly passed, then Bouchard helped his friend to his feet. After dusting himself off, Fairclough looked at his injured hand. The outer glove had ripped in the fall, but the inner one still held fast.

“Thank God you made me put two on,” said Fairclough as he showed Bouchard his hand.

Bouchard shrugged. “Mon ami, I ‘ave lost count of ‘ow many times I’ve saved your arse, just add this time to the list.”

Fairclough slapped his friend on the back. “You’re a life saver, but don’t let it go to your head. Now come on, we’re already an hour overdue, let’s not keep that rescue team waiting any longer.”

With that, both men headed off at a run.

Warrant officer, first class Mitchell’s voice woke Lieutenant Patrick Craig from his doze with a start. For the briefest of moments, he felt disorientated and dazed, but then reality kicked in. His hands went to his face and he tried to wipe away the fatigue of waiting.

“Report!” yelled Craig into his throat mike.

“Sir, I’ve spotted two figures heading this way. They’re on foot, but they’re moving fast.”

Suddenly wide-awake, Craig turned and looked in Mitchell’s direction. “Are they alive or are they dead?”

“I can’t be sure, sir, not at this range, but I’d say they’re from Archer’s team.”

Craig dashed over to Mitchell’s side and grabbed the binoculars from him. His subordinate was right. The two figures didn’t look like they belonged to The Lingering. The undead had a very distinctive way of moving. They lurched and staggered, even when moving at speed. The two now heading for them moved with a decisive determination, which only came from a fully functional brain and a heart filled with living blood.

Craig lowered the binoculars and handed them back to Mitchell. “I want a positive ID on those two. If they’re not part of Archer’s team, then deal with them.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

Craig turned and headed back towards the chopper. He saw the pilot staring at him, so he spun a finger in the air, signalling he should start his engines. The pilot gave him a thumbs-up, and the sound of the engines starting filled the air.

Craig turned back in the direction of the fast approaching pair, and wondered,
If they were from Archer’s team, then where were the rest of them?
What if the two had nothing to do with Archer? If that was the case, then who were they? And why would Westbourne send two men out on foot? It just didn’t make sense. No, they had to be part of the team they were waiting for. Nothing else added up.

“Sir,” it was Mitchell again. “I have a firm ID on the men, its Fairclough and Bouchard, but still no signs of the others.”

“Thank you, Mitchell. Keep them covered ‘til they get here.”

If the two men were on their own, then they weren’t going anywhere until he knew the whereabouts of the others. If the rest of the team were dead, then they would head back to the
Singleton.

If, on the other hand, they’d been captured, then a full-blown rescue mission would result. Until he knew for sure which way the mission would go, he had to make sure the chopper conserved its fuel.

Craig turned back to the helicopter and ran a finger across his throat. The pilot, whose eyes had never left him, complied and cut the engines.

He turned his gaze back in the direction of the approaching men, and waited for their arrival.

Location: emergency extraction point

Date: June 24
th
2013

Time: 7:14 a.m.

Fairclough spotted him first. A young man in military fatigues had a gun levelled in their direction. However, he could tell by the elevation of the gun, that the man was offering them cover and posed them no threat.

“Looks like our welcoming committee hung around for us,” said Fairclough as he waved at the distant figure.

Bouchard followed Fairclough’s gaze, and saw someone returning his friend’s wave. “Thank ‘eavens for that, I didn’t think they would still be there.”

Both men increased their jog to a full run, and a minute or so later, they stopped beside the man they now recognized as WO1 Mitchell from the
Singleton
.

Fairclough extended his hand. “Damn good to see you again.”

Mitchell shook the extended hand with vigour, and said, “You too, sirs. Lt Craig is waiting for you by the chopper. He’s been pulling his hair out, so I wouldn’t keep him waiting too much longer.”

Fairclough patted the sailor’s shoulder and laughed, “Thanks for the heads up.”

The two headed towards the waiting chopper, where they saw an anxious looking Lt Craig waiting.

“Where are the others?” asked Craig as he headed to meet them.

“We’re it,” replied Fairclough. “We have two confirmed dead, and one MIA.”

“Archer?” asked Craig as he shook their hands.

“Dead, along with Dallas. Dr Bartholomew is missing,” replied Bouchard as he dropped to one knee and lowered his pack to the floor. A moment later he pulled out the device containing the sample he took from the ancient. He stood and held out the device to Craig.

“Take this back to the
Singleton
.”

Craig stared at the device with puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

Fairclough answered. “As Lucien said, Dr Bartholomew is missing, we intend on finding her.”

Craig’s eyes sprang wide with disbelief. “Are you both mad! You’ve already lost three of your team, returning to find the doctor would be suicide!”

Bouchard grabbed Craig’s hand and slammed the device into it. “That’s our decision to make, not yours!”

Craig’s gaze moved from Bouchard to Fairclough and back again, then he took the device and yelled, “Keen! Get over here!”

A young redheaded sailor suddenly appeared at his side. “I want you and Webb to offload all our gear, and give this to the pilot.” Craig handed him the device. "Tell him to get it back to the
Singleton.”

“What are you doing?” asked Fairclough as the young sailor bolted for the chopper, and his waiting teammates.

“We’re coming with you. I had orders to ensure I offered you all the assistance I could, so that’s what I’m doing.”

Bouchard held up a large hand and protested, “This isn’t your fight. The mission parameters only stated the retrieval of the sample, you ‘ave that, so you can go.”

“And how would that look on my record,” snorted Craig, “abandoning men I was sent to rescue hardly reads well. No, we’re coming with you — end of story.”

Fairclough nodded towards the men and the boxes being unloaded from the chopper. “What you got there?”

Craig turned to look at the helicopter, then returned his gaze to the two in front of him. “C4, ammo, grenade launchers, the usual.”

Fairclough turned to his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We could do with their toys. Plus, the extra man power would come in handy.”

Bouchard looked at Craig, then the young sailors. “They look a little wet behind the ears.”

“They are,” interjected Craig, “but we could create a distraction while you and Fairclough find Dr Bartholomew, then we could offer you backup once you’ve found her.”

Bouchard nodded slowly. “Makes sense … okay, you and your men are in.”

Craig smiled. “Good, so what’s the plan?”

“As always, we’ll wing it,” replied Fairclough as he headed for the chopper, and the supplies. “First things first, we need to make sure we’re taking the right gear. If we carry too much, it’ll slow us down.”

It took a full twenty minutes for Fairclough and Bouchard to sort out all the weapons they wanted, in which time the chopper headed off with the sample from Prince Albert. Finally, the seven of them began the hike back to the ancients’ compound.

Fairclough, Bouchard and Craig all agreed the powers in charge of the compound must have discovered the presence of the disembowelled Albert by now, so their re-entry into the compound wouldn’t go as smoothly as before. However, this revelation did little to diminish the groups resolve. Come Hell or high water, they weren’t leaving Australia without Dr Bartholomew.