Capital Falling Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Winkless, Lance

  Gradually, my breathing slows and the dizziness subsides. Dark thoughts go through my mind in the silence, bent over on the floor. I am infected, I know it, I can feel this virus in my cheek, ready to burrow further into my bloodstream. Images of Josh and Emily pass across my eyelids. I have let them down, especially Emily, still so young and so dependent on me. I feel immense sadness that I won’t be there for her and to see her grow, and it fills me, tears seeping through my closed eyes.

  Despair nearly takes over me, but then Josh and Emily start to give me hope and strength; am I going to give up on them so easily? Never!

  Lifting my head, I look over in the direction of Sir Malcolm, immediately seeing what I knew was there. I scramble across the floor and grab the bottle of Sir Malcolm’s best single malt Scotch whisky, his last tipple before shooting himself. Discarding the top, I pour it straight onto my gashed cheek. The sharp sting is instant, but it doesn’t deter me, I pour again, whisky running down my cheek and neck and soaking into my top. Now I put the bottle to my lips and take a large swig, the whisky biting, burning my throat before it slides into my welcoming belly, warming it.

  Getting to my feet, I pull the toilet roll from its holder and return to the sink, plonking the bottle and roll down. Under the torch’s light, I look again at the gashes and pick up the bottle to have another large swig. Using my fingernails, I retrace the lines of the gashes, digging deep into my own skin, ignoring the pain. I want to get the blood flowing outwards.

  Blood seeps more readily out of the gashes after my surgery and I pour more whisky over them. The sharp sting feels deeper now, or is it just my mind playing tricks? Unfurling a good wad of paper from the toilet roll, I drench it in whisky and press the sodden paper into my cheek, pressing hard and keeping it there despite the burning sensation. The smell of whisky is strong, anybody coming into the bathroom now would think I’m trying to drink myself to death, not trying to save myself.

  A deep burning throb pulses in my cheek, I scan around the sink for some painkillers. Sir Malcolm always had some around for the arthritis he suffered with, in his hip. Nothing. Picking up the torch, I check the cupboard under the sink, and bingo, packets of ibuprofen piled next to his other drugs. I take two tablets swilled down with water and I lower the wet paper to check my wounds in the mirror. My cheek is swollen and the gashes quite inflamed, worryingly so. Despair flares up again and my head drops; this isn’t the first time I’ve been injured, not by a long chalk, the gashes don’t look normal.

  Trying to stay positive, I pick up the torch again to see what else is in the cupboard. There are various packets of drugs; Sir Malcolm must have had other ailments I was unaware of. I have no idea what most of them are for, but I do recognise the antibiotics. They won’t have any effect on the virus if I am infected, but at least they will stop an infection from the wounds. Putting the antibiotics onto the top, I look again at the other packets. There are two different packets that look like the antibiotics and I decide to take them along with the antibiotics; one of them might be antiviral, so what have I got to lose?

  Turning away from the mirror, the concoction of pills taken, I slump down onto the floor again. This time, however, I sit with my back resting on the cupboard below the sink, the paper still pressed onto my cheek. I have done all I can, I think to myself, and I unclip my M4 which is still strapped at my front and put it onto the floor beside me. The burning has gone off, so I pour more whisky onto the paper, have one last swig and then press the paper back against my cheek. I haven’t noticed if any Rabids have entered the office next door; I haven’t been listening and I’m almost beyond caring.

  Now I can only wait to see if I am infected. Time will tell, although I don’t know how much time. I hope Josh is halfway back to base, back to relative safety and to be reunited with his sister. My head flops back against the cupboard. I think I will rest my eyes for a minute.

  Chapter 19

  Josh runs across the roof, directly at the waiting Lynx and the welcome sight of Alice waiting at the hold door to help him on board. Water droplets spin through the air in every conceivable direction, gravity having lost the battle against the helicopter’s rotors, at least for now.

  Alice grabs his outstretched arms and pulls him into the relative calmness of the Lynx’s hold. They don’t exchange any pleasantries, Alice immediately raising her rifle again, aiming back across the roof to provide cover. Josh spins around, taking a position next to Alice and he does the same ready to help Watts who is approaching fast.

  Downey is quickly onboard too, but Dixon is hesitating; something is wrong, Josh thinks frantically. He sees his Dad shout at Dixon who then, thankfully, lowers his rifle and starts to make his run. Josh allows a small amount of relief as Dixon comes; his Dad should be close behind him. Dixon passes halfway but his Dad doesn’t move from his position. Now, Dad, run now!

  A blast of noise travels across the roof as the Browning erupts. Dixon slows, debating whether to turn around and go back to help. He decides against it though, as it might do more harm than good, and this was the plan. So he carries on and boards the Lynx.

  Feeling helpless, Josh can only watch his Dad in his fight. He gets more and more anxious as he knows the Browning must be running low on ammo and there is no sign of the fight ending. He sees his Dad start to struggle with grenades and it tips him over the edge.

  Josh goes to jump down from the Lynx. Someone has hold of his body armour, pulling him back. Dixon has been waiting ready to intervene, expecting Josh to have a rush of blood, to go and try to help his Father.

  Anger gets the better of Josh and he turns to fight off whoever is holding him.

  “Let me go!” Josh growls in Dixon’s face.

  “I’m sorry, Josh, I can’t. Stick to the plan, give your Dad a chance.”

  Two explosions go off in quick succession.

  “Stand by!” Watts shouts.

  Josh and Dixon immediately end their face-off, their focus returning to the fight across the roof.

  Josh sees his Dad spring up from behind the Browning to make his retreat to the Lynx.

  “Yes. Dad, run!”

  Rabids shoot across the roof, almost out of nowhere, cutting off the path to the Lynx, the explosions seemingly having no effect.

  “Covering fire!” Dixon shouts. “Alice, get on the door gun.”

  Rabids are already coming at the Lynx even before they start shooting, but more come when the firing starts.

  Josh can’t focus on finding targets to shoot; he is fixed on watching his Dad run for his life. He is running away from the Lynx and it’s obvious he isn’t going to be able the reach it. There are too many Rabids between and more piling onto the roof constantly.

  “Take us up, Alders,” Dixon instructs, seeing the same as Josh, knowing they are no good where they are. A higher altitude will give them a better position of attack and they will be better placed to hopefully evacuate the Captain.

  As the Lynx rises steadily, Josh sees more clearly the trouble his Dad is in. There are two Rabids right behind him with more following. Josh does now aim his rifle, trying to get the lead Rabid in his sights. He doesn’t; it is too far away and moving at speed, so he has as much chance of hitting his Dad as hitting the Rabid.

  “He is going for the hole; he is going into the building!” Josh shouts as he realises his Dad’s only option. “Get us over there, Alders!”

  The Lynx tilts and turns, Josh’s view is cut off. He desperately moves around the hold to try and see what’s happening. He is too late; his Dad has disappeared when he gets eyes on again.

  “Where’s he gone; did anybody see?” Josh shouts, panicked.

  “He went into the building,” Alders confirmed over the radio. “Two targets followed him in.”

  “Get me over the hole, I’m going in!”

  “Negative, put us into a covering position, away from the hole,” Dixon says, overruling Josh.

  “Are you fucking joking? Get me over the hole! If you want
to sit up here, that’s up to you!”

  “Josh you’re not thinking clearly, we need to draw them away from the hole and regroup. If we go over that hole, they will pile into it.”

  “We’ve got to help him.”

  “We will, Josh,” Alice interjects.

  “The first thing is to stop them coming onto the roof; what explosives have we got?” Dixon asks.

  “Only grenades,” Watts says, “we left the C4 by the safe. But I have an idea; we collapse the walls on the stairwell, with the door gun. Its 50-cal, it will do it and it will divert them away from the hole while we do it.”

  Dixon thinks for a second, looks at Josh and then orders Alder into position.

  “Watts, take the door gun. Everyone else. start clearing that roof, use grenades if we have to, just get it cleared!”

  How many Rabids followed his Dad into that dark pit, Josh wonders; is it already too late to help him? No, stay positive. There is still hope. If nothing else, Dad is a fighter. Perhaps this is the reason his Dad spent so much time away in foreign lands fighting when Josh was young, becoming almost a stranger. Was it fate, to prepare him for these dire days, so he could protect Emily and save Josh from the White Tower? They say God works in mysterious ways. God or not, if anyone can survive down in that building, it is his Dad.

  Alice relinquishes the door gun to Watts as Alders brings the Lynx into position. Josh has already started taking pot shots out of the hold door, his face a ball of determination and concentration.

  The wind blows through the hold since Dixon slid open the opposite door. The wind brings with it rain and the smell of acrid smoke, but it means they can clear the roof from both sides of the Lynx. With Dixon and Downey on the opposite side, Alice takes a position behind Josh, raises her rifle and starts looking for targets.

  The 50-cal door gun bursts into life, the noise tremendous even with the team’s headsets defending their ears. Watts aims for the bottom of the first side of the wall that protrudes up from the roof, to hold up the small roof that covers the stairwell below. The stream of 50-calibre bullets hits the breeze blocks like a chain saw cutting through wood. Watts steadily moves his aim across the whole side of the wall, cutting a line through it.

  The assault has the added effect of stopping more Rabids coming onto the roof. Whether it is because the bullets go through the wall and cut the Rabids down on the stairs, or they have paused until it stops, it’s hard to know.

  With the first sidewall of the structure cut, Watts instructs Alders to move around. The back wall is quickly cut through, leaving the moment of truth, cutting through the last side. The Lynx moves around and as it does, the rest of the team continues to clear the roof of Rabids, shooting constantly.

  Watts opens up on the last wall, shooting the breeze blocks, hoping to see the structure collapse. The gun stops its assault, but dismally, the structure is still standing.

  “Shoot up the sides,” Alice offers.

  A grin crosses Watts’ face as he adjusts his aim and does just that. He peppers bullets up the side of the wall, which starts to shudder. The middle goes first, caving inwards, closely followed by the top and bottom of the wall, which is pulled down by the middle. There is no cloud of dust to speak of, the soaking rain extinguishing it. Still the roof stands, however, held up by the two other walls that refuse to collapse. Their refusal is short-lived, Alders has to hover around, but a short burst from the 50-cal takes the other side wall down. It collapses down into the stairwell and almost perfectly brings the back wall down with it, the roof helping to pull it into the stairwell. A pile of breeze block rubble now fills the stairwell with the roof almost entirely covering the top. That danger is blocked.

  “Why didn’t you do that at the fucking start!” Dixon jokes at Watts’ expense.

  “Because you didn’t ask me to,” he retorts.

  “Good job, now get that gun clearing the roof,” Dixon orders.

  Gradually, the roof is cleared of moving Rabids; the 50-cal does the majority of the killing, but the whole team gets their fair share. No grenades are used, as they aren’t needed. Alders moves the Lynx around as directed until every one of the Rabids is dealt with.

  The slaughter complete, the roof is littered with bodies. Rabids still move, crawling or flailing around, stranded in position where they fell. They pose little threat if the team is careful to avoid them. Josh, understandably, is eager to get down onto the roof and presses Dixon.

  “Okay, take us down,” Dixon finally instructs Alders. “Watts, cover us, stay on that gun. We are going to take it nice and easy down there. Watch your footing; just because these fuckers are down doesn’t mean they are dead, we don’t want anyone else bitten.”

  Alders manoeuvres the Lynx back into its original position. He hovers off the north side of the building, lowering to allow them to disembark.

  Josh ignores Dixon’s instructions about taking it steadily. As soon as the Lynx is low enough, he plunges off the side of the helicopter. Landing on the roof with a splash, he doesn’t wait for back-up, he is off and running. Swerving the carnage spread across the rooftop, he takes the shortest route possible to get to the hole.

  “Bloody hellfire!” Alice hears Dixon moan as Josh sets off; she doesn’t take any notice though as she jumps down and sets off after him.

  Dixon and Downey are down on the ground soon enough, but they are more cautious, stalking behind their rifles looking for threats, covering the two overzealous younger members of the team. Nothing attacks; the clean-up has been comprehensive, Dixon made sure of that. He foresaw Josh bolting to his father, and he doesn’t blame him for it, not one bit.

  All that remains on the rooftop are dead Rabids and Rabids with catastrophic injuries, rendering them little or no threat. That doesn’t stop these two men going through their processes, scanning, checking blind spots, methodically moving, drawing on their training.

  Reaching the hole, Josh’s stomach lurches horribly as he looks down into Sir Malcolm’s office. Two bodies lie on the floor in the dim office, neither of them moving. Is one of them his dad? The room is too dark to make out if it is or not, Josh trembles as he kneels, straining to see.

  “I don’t think either is him,” Alice says as she stoops next to Josh.

  “I can’t tell, it’s too dark, so I’m going down.”

  “Hold on,” Alice says as she cracks three glow sticks one after the other and throws them down.

  “It looks like you’re right, so where the hell is, he?” Josh questions as the orange glow is revitalised from the new sticks. “I’m going in, cover me.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Josh starts to climb down into the building. Dixon and Downey arrive on the scene just as Josh starts to disappear.

  “You two cover,” Dixon orders Downey and Alice as he goes to follow Josh down.

  Josh stands on the floor next to the two bodies. One of them is face-up, a Rabid, its eyes fixed open, dead. The other is face down and Josh is almost afraid to turn it over. The body clearly isn’t his Dad, but he is afraid nevertheless; what if he has got it wrong somehow and his mind is playing tricks on him?

  Josh forces himself to bend down and turn the body, so he can be sure.

  Two dead Rabids are good, but where is his dad? There is no one else in the office and no other bodies. The office door is shut with a desk pushed up against it so he couldn’t have gone out there, if he had, the desk would have been moved.

  “Where is he?” Dixon asks as he gets down, looking around the room in confusion.

  “There is only one place he can be, in the bathroom,” Josh answers, looking over to the bathroom door.

  Dixon grabs Josh’s arm as he goes to move towards the door. “Let’s do this right, Josh, we don’t know what is behind that door, understood?” He looks Josh straight in the eye.

  “Yes Sir,” Josh replies.

  “Good lad. Get your rifle light fixed,” Dixon tells Josh as he goes to get his mounted.

  Both men appro
ach the door, their rifles aiming out in front. Even with the two lights shining onto the door, it looks dark and ominous, the dark wood appearing to soak up the majority of the light.

  “On my mark,” Dixon tells Josh as Josh goes forward, his hand reaching for the door handle.

  Dixon steadies himself, pulling the butt of his rifle snugly into his shoulder, aiming, ready to tackle whatever surprises are about to be released.

  “Mark.”

  Josh, his rifle raised in one hand, swiftly pulls down on the door handle with the other and swings the door open. In the same motion, he steps back towards Dixon, ready to fire.

  Light from their raised rifles shines into the bathroom, catching a slouched dead figure seated on the toilet. Neither of them is sure who the figure is, but the dark suit trousers and loafers tell them it isn’t Josh’s Dad.

  Dixon’s body tenses as he sees another figure on the floor. He lowers his aim suddenly to throw light on it, ready to shoot.

  “Dad?” Josh says involuntarily as he is drawn to the figure sitting on the floor, their back against the sink cupboard. Josh knows it is his Dad, but he can’t see his face though. His head is bowed down, his chin against his chest, his arms unmoving, palms up each side of him on the floor.

  “Dad!” Josh is more forceful, scared that his Dad is dead, and he goes to rush into the bathroom but is stopped.

  “Nice and easy now, Josh,” Dixon tells him, again taking hold of his arm.

  Josh knows why Dixon is being cautious, he doesn’t want to deal with that, he tries to ignore the possibility. He does move into the bathroom slowly now, however, towards his dad. As he enters the smell of death is stomach-churning. Josh pushes through it and another smell accosts his nostrils, a strong smell of whisky. Has his Dad been drinking, is he asleep from the influence? That can’t be, surely?