CHAPTER NINE
With a foreboding and perfected synchronisation, the Manipulated Men began their march, slowly, powerfully, moving forward, bearing down upon the isolated village. There was little time to spare, so the plan had to be short and sweet, and somehow work! The brothers, along with a handful of the more able-bodied Nazis, snatched up their weapons and headed towards the opponent approaching from the east side of town. Billy, wanting to go it alone, but followed by a rather insistent group of Nazis and village men, took target with the foe pushing in from the west. Charlie and Specks, along with the last batch of Nazis, headed through the centre of the village, ready to confront the adversary coming from the south. Those that remained behind formed a final line of defence at the jetty, whilst assisting the ill, the elderly, and the women and children onto the waiting ship.
Yankee and Doodle were first to make contact, and their attack was a simple no-brainer for them - aim and shoot. On route they’d handed out their weapons amongst the men, three pistols and two sniper rifles, leaving Yankee his sub-machine gun, and Doodle his favourite shotgun. All of them being well-trained soldiers, they had smartly set down roots behind a small, half-fallen wall, that allowed them both defence and attack strategy. Almost immediately they had engaged the Manipulated Man, as it plodded round the corner and into their line of fire. A good old-fashioned shoot out began - their bullets against the hulk’s ever deadly poison-filled syringes. The battle was brutal from the get-go, and steadily, despite their wealth of ammo, the monstrosity began to bear down on them, gaining ground, their bullets either bouncing off its metal plates, or the occasional lucky stray sinking into its flesh, but to zero effect.
‘Damn, thing sure can take a hell of a lot of damage. I’ll give it that!’ remarked Doodle, as he swiftly reloaded his shotgun for the umpteenth time.
‘You’re telling me,’ replied his brother, over the noise of his own weapon.
The Manipulated Man made a bold march forward, advancing on them all the quicker, forcing the group to abandon their ground, darting down a nearby street, falling back to the side of a small outhouse.
‘This is bad, Doodle,’ remarked Yankee.
‘We’ve had bad before.’
‘Yeah. But this is worse!’ Yankee looked down the snow-filled street, ogling the Tiger Tank that was still sitting unused and abandoned in the near distance. ‘But I’m sure this thing has a limit! You just… keep him busy for a minute. I gotta go check something out.’
Without another word, Yankee burst into an all-out sprint down the road, heading straight for the tank.
‘Where the hell are you going?’ called out Doodle, in shock-horror.
‘I got a Goddamned plan,’ he yelled wildly, not even bothering to look back.
Elsewhere, in the centre of the village, Charlie and his own team were having even less luck with their own Manipulated Man. The battle had gone from bad to worse, to nigh on impossible. As all else failed, the group of men had spontaneously darted inside a building for cover, jumping clear of the fight and resting up against the wall, staying very quiet indeed. They could hear the Manipulated Man’s big, heavy footsteps on the street outside, causing all to hold their breath in anticipation. But none of them could have expected what happened next to ever transpire. Out of the blue, and with a loud crash, one of the Manipulated Man’s huge clenched fists punched straight through the wall they were all leaning against. Its arm reached in and clamped round, clumsily pinning them all against the wall. They felt it squeeze them against the cold hard brick, before proceeding to drag the entire structure down, and much to their pain, ripping the men from their hiding place literally through the crumbling wall, spreading them onto the cold, snowy streets outside. The monster was already on top of them, so their only option was to engage - and it was at high cost. It thrashed about, smashing the Nazis away without remorse, sending their limp bodies crashing through the streets, like they were rag-dolls. Charlie stepped forward, raised his pistol at the Manipulated Man’s head and fired. But before he could finish emptying the chamber into its heavily guarded skull, the monstrosity swung round and swiped the weapon away with the back of its hand. Charlie yelled out, undoubtedly in a great deal of pain, clutching at his hand.
‘I think… I think my hand is broken,’ he said to Specks, forgetting himself.
The Manipulated Man raised an arm - aiming directly for Specks. But Charlie was fast, pushing the small geek out of the way just as the arm came crashing down, barely missing the strike himself, as the impact crushed the paving below. It jutted its head round, locking eyes on Charlie, who was trying to get back on his feet, and tried again and again and again to pound him into the ground, but somehow the former Captain managed to dodge every blow, but just barely.
‘Arthur. Get yourself out of here,’ he shouted.
Charlie scrambled to his feet, but before he could move the Manipulated Man picked him up by the hair, completely lifting him from the ground. He screamed out in pain, clutching at its grip, but there was no way to release himself. The thing placed its other fist directly into Charlie’s lower back and prepared to fire a syringe. But just before it could release the deadly poison, the Nazis reappeared, just in time to save the man. They all charged past the quivering Specks, jumped on the targeting arm and dragged it out of the way just in time, the syringes shooting off harmlessly. Enraged, the thing twisted around with jerked movements, scattering the Nazis in one direction and throwing Charlie in another. He flew over the rooftops and out of sight. And all of a sudden, just like that, Specks found himself very alone, with nothing but the Manipulated Man for company. There was silence. Neither moved. Then, with a mere grunt from the thing, the nervous wreck of a man, shaking uncontrollably, dashed to the right and out of the thing’s line of sight.
Over the far side of the village, Billy had finally made contact with his target. He didn’t have a plan - he never thought that far ahead. And as the Manipulated Man, standing at the end of a long street locked eyes on him, he heard its distinct voice echo down the way:
‘Upgrade - level four.’
There was no more warning. The thing broke into an all-out charge, heading straight for them all. Billy couldn’t help himself. He didn’t think about his fellow soldiers next to him, or the sheer stupidity of his actions, instead he broke into a fast, determined run, directed straight at the Manipulated Man. As the pair closed in on each other, and the collide was inevitable, Billy sprung into the air, soaring high with elegance and majesty. He twisted upside down, clenched his armoured fist and punched the thing straight down upon its head with all his might. The clang of metal upon metal was ear splitting. Billy somersaulted away, landing deftly on his feet, skidding smoothly through the snow, whilst the Manipulated Man crumpled chaotically to the floor, sliding across the ground and stopping at the feet of the Nazi’s and villagers. Stunned, amazed, impressed, they all grinned at Billy, prematurely yelling excited compliments of victory. But:
‘Upgrade - level five,’ came the same strange voice yet again.
‘Er… fellas, I’d back away if I were you,’ suggested Billy.
But it was already too late. The Manipulated Man stood up with unanticipated speed and agility, immediately smashing the men away, sending them in all directions. Billy moved on instinct, sprinting the distance in mere seconds, jumping onto the thing’s back, aiming to rip out its tubing piece by piece. But it was so much stronger this time, shaking him off and throwing him aside, landing the young man face down on the floor this time. Billy rolled himself over, aggrieved, just in time to see the thing clench its fist and release a wealth of syringes in his direction. Billy was spry, as he opened his quick shield, deflecting the attack, watching the syringes ping off all around him. He scrambled to his feet, broke into a charge, planning on smashing through the Manipulated Man with the brunt of his shield. But just as he was about to make contact, the thing picked him up, stopping him dead in his run, and turned the tables, charging, running with him in the
opposite direction, ploughing through the buildings, with Billy at the forefront of each collision, like some kind of human shield.
‘That didn’t hurt,’ he yelled. But through another building they smashed. ‘Okay, that one did!’ Then another came. ‘I’m gonna fix that,’ he joked, trying to alleviate his situation. They went through a fourth. ‘Who put that one there?’
And together, the pair smashed through an entire half of the village, continuing with their brutal and vicious fight of titans.
Meanwhile, back with the brothers, Yankee had now climbed upon the tank, cranked open the hatch, letting it slam down on the metal, the sound resonating around the surrounding buildings, and jumped inside - all within a matter of a few excited seconds. The cockpit was cold and damp, as he landed thickly inside the hull. He sat himself down and with heavy hands immediately started reaching around, familiarising himself with the massive weapon suddenly available at his fingertips.
‘Looks like Christmas has come early this year! Thing still works,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘One thing I will say about you German boys, you sure do know how to make stuff!’ Yankee scrambled up from his seat, poked his head out of the hatch and called to his brother. ‘Dood, bring the Minnesota Man down this way, like now.’
‘Yeah, I’ll get right on that,’ Doodle replied, absolutely sarcastic, whilst hiding behind a building, still busy keeping the Manipulated Man preoccupied to the best of his abilities.
Yet, despite the hardship it entailed, Doodle and the Nazis did as instructed, keeping heavy, well-timed fire on the thing, whilst gradually retreating down the street, leading the monster towards Yankee and his apparent plan. Doodle really hoped his brother had something good hidden up his sleeve!
In the meantime, amongst the maze of streets in the centre of town, Specks rapidly darted from building to building, in an anxious search for Charlie. His breathing was shallow and sharp, and his glasses were fogging up as a result, but finally, a bit of luck, as he stumbled into a half-standing house with a large hole in the roof, instantly seeing his ex-Captain lying facedown on the floor within.
‘Captain. Wake… up, Sir’ he stuttered with fear, falling to his knees, struggling to pick the man up with his tiny hands.
‘Arthur, get yourself out of here,’ mumbled Charlie in a scarcely coherent reply, as he just about managed to roll himself onto his back.
‘Captain, no.’
‘You need…’ He struggled to breathe. ‘You need to stop that thing from getting to the ship.’
‘But… But… But, I can’t do it without you.’
‘Yes, you can,’ answered Charlie, grabbing Specks by the scruff of the shirt, pulling him in close, and looking him square in the eyes. ‘You’re the smartest man I know. So do what you’re good at. Just outsmart the bugger.’
But before Specks could respond, Charlie passed out, his head flopping to the floor, and once again the Science Officer was alone. He contemplated things for a moment, quickly tallying up all the information to hand. With Charlie out for the count, and the Nazis nowhere to be seen, the fact was conclusive - it was down to him to save the day. His mind was working a mile a minute, and his body was shaking just as fast. Just then, a nearby sound outside caught his attention, bringing his thoughts back to the room and the here and now. He scurried over to the doorway and peeked round the corner, perhaps not as stealthily as his fellow comrades would have managed. Outside, patrolling the area, the Manipulated Man scanned the streets, looking for him, his thick head robotically turning from left to right, as its soulless eyes checked the area for any signs of life. Specks took off his glasses with trembling hands, cleaned them and pushed them straight back up his nose. He went to run, but an overwhelming amount of fear kept him rooted to the spot. He tried again, but he froze. He was just too scared to move. But then he looked over at Charlie, lying helpless on the floor - he had to do this. His moment was now, and ready or not, this was happening. Specks clenched his fists, gritted his teeth and went for it. Without another thought he darted from the doorway and out into the street. But the thing spotted him instantly, watching the little man scurry away in the opposite direction. The Manipulated Man opened fire, releasing a wealth of the syringes at the small geek, but Specks was light on his feet, fuelled by fear, and somehow managed to mistakenly avoid them all as he skidded round a corner and out of sight. But this wasn’t over by a long shot - the thing took chase, hot on his heels.
Across the village, Billy was now riding his Manipulated Man like a prize bull in an all American derby. The scene looked insane, the thing thrashed around, knocking down buildings like tin cans, whilst Billy did his best to hang on, his arms and legs gripping tightly around the contraption’s neck. With increasing desperation he tried to grab at its tubes and unplug the power, like he had done the first time round. But this one had upgraded several times over now, and as a result was much faster and much stronger than ever, ripping away from his every attempt, clawing at its own back, frantic to remove Billy from it. Not to mention its big, grotesque, mutated muscles were now bulging so much that they were starting to engulf the tubes themselves, making it an almost impossible feat to complete. The pair collided with walls and buildings, causing absolute chaos and devastation in their wake. Billy was bleeding all over, swearing his head off, and the Manipulated Man was beyond berserk, a terrifying sight to behold, but neither was ready to submit to the other. One way or another, things would end very soon, very dramatically - but which one the victor, only time would tell.
Across the way things were just as bad, potentially worse, depending on which way you looked at it. Doodle and the Nazis were now almost entirely out of ammo - they were surprised it had lasted this long! And the Manipulated Man was showing no signs of slowing down.
‘Yankee, you ready with that thing or what?’ shouted Doodle, rather desperate, clearly aggravated with his brother’s ever ongoing delays.
‘Absolutely,’ replied Yankee, from inside the tank, fiddling around with levers and handles, sounding both excited and prematurely pleased with himself. Taking things a little bit too casually he got himself comfy in his seat. ‘Just bring him a tad closer.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Doodle. ‘Just bring him a tad closer? Where are you currently residing? Bizarro world? He ain’t a stray dog I’m trying to snatch up, bro! He’s a big ass bad guy!’ But there was no reply from within the tank. ‘Well, you heard the man. Idiot, or no idiot, he’s still my brother,’ remarked Doodle to his comrades. ‘Just keep him off me for a few more seconds. I got an idea of my own.’
And with that, Doodle did something rather strange indeed. With no bullets left, he slung his shotgun round his back and dropped to his knees. And whilst the Nazis did their very best to provide him with cover, using every last speck of ammunition, Doodle proceeded to scoop up the snow, proceeding to make as many snowballs as he possibly could, piling the things up, one after the other, like an excited child on Christmas morning. And no sooner had the last hopeful bullet been shot, than Doodle continued the onslaught… with the first snowball straight to the thing’s face. It was weird to watch - as the Manipulated Man received the strike square in its face, it tilted its head, bewildered by the activity, stopping for only a moment. Quick as a flash, Doodle generously handed out the snowballs to the equally puzzled Nazis. But together they furthered the strangeness of affairs, as they all began shouting at the top of their voices, throwing snowball after snowball at the thing, blocking its sight and blinding its shots, as they gradually pulled back, drawing the thing closer to the tank and the waiting Yankee. Until, finally, at long last, the Manipulated Man was in place.
‘Hey, Mr… Man. Up here,’ came Yankee’s enthusiastic voice.
Everything happened rather fast. The Manipulated Man looked to its left, just in time to see Yankee duck down into the hatch and disappear. With a crank and a groan, the barrel of the tank arched round, stopping directly pointed at the thing’s face. It peered down the b
arrel, grunting a questioning sound into its long chambers.
‘Showtime,’ whispered Yankee, as he wasted no time, pulling the trigger and firing the shell.
BOOM! Nobody quite saw the impact, but it was very loud, very explosive and very impressive. And as the Manipulated Man hit the floor with its head missing, the team knew success was finally theirs. The Nazis burst into cheers whilst Doodle instinctively high-fived their sky-bound hands, laughing and yelling in delight. Yankee jumped down the tank and joined in with the celebrations.
‘Greatest. Shot. Ever,’ exclaimed Doodle, overjoyed with admiration for his brother.
‘Yeah. I am pretty awesome, right?’ asked Yankee.
Together they looked down at the dead Manipulated Man and began nudging each other, ready to lay a few choice words on the downed bad guy.
‘Hey man, don’t lose your head,’ joked Doodle at the lifeless body.
‘Yeah. Or you might…’ but Yankee struggled.
‘Clean yourself off man, you dead?’ added Doodle, chuckling at his own words.
‘Yeah. Or maybe…’
‘Say hello to Satan for me, and give him a little kiss,’ finished Doodle.
‘Yeah. Or… Damn it, I’ve got nothing!’
‘Damn right you’ve got nothing. I win,’ Doodle lifted his arms and began running round in small circles. ‘Three points to nothing. Doodle is supreme. Yankee bites the big one!’
But all too suddenly the celebration was over, as Specks abruptly tore onto the scene, skidding through the street, followed closely by his Manipulated Man. The bizarre chase passed the brothers by without even a notice, before disappearing down yet another street.
‘Did you just see that?’ asked Yankee in shock, peering down the street.
‘Sure did,’ replied Doodle, peering round his brother.
‘Didn’t know the little guy could move so fast!’
And he was. Specks and the Manipulated Man were scurrying around the place like cat and mouse. The small geek moved fast, his tiny frame for once benefiting his precarious situation, as he managed to buy himself just enough breathing room to complete his mission that he was relaying over and over again in his mind. His breathing was quick, shallow, and his legs were little more than quivering members. He snapped left and darted right through the streets, twisting and turning his chase pattern, confusing the Manipulated Man, who was gradually losing track of the science officer. Finally, exhausted, trembling, Specks reached his target -the water tower. He stopped briefly to catch his breath. Then he began. Without deliberation, and a little too reckless for his own liking, he removed three of the six explosive devices, all from the east standing legs, his shaky hands barely managing to keep hold of the things. A noise startled him, he turned, seeing the Manipulated Man marching towards him. There was no delay, so with that the small man darted down the road, heading straight down the street, towards the house at the very end of the street where the trigger switch was lying in wait. The syringes came - but he jumped left, ducked right, avoiding them with scarcely an inch to spare. One syringe came so close that it physically went into the sole of his boot - too close! But somehow he’d made it, he was there! He scrambled into the building, throwing the explosive devices onto a pile of rags - someone’s bed perhaps. Breathing to the point of hyperventilation, Specks grabbed the trigger and began muttering something. It was numbers. More specifically, it was a countdown. He prayed to the science gods that his calculations were correct! He ended his countdown, held his breath and pressed the trigger. It took only a few seconds to detonate, as the three closest tower legs exploded, snapping to pieces, and destabilising the entire thing. Slowly, but definitely, the water tower began to lean, tilting in their general direction. Specks looked out of the window with wide eyes. It was a sight to behold - the Manipulated Man was almost upon him, marching unforgivingly towards his hideout. Whilst behind him the tower was beginning to fall, coming down, heading right for them, and it was coming down fast. Specks couldn’t move: he was rigid with fear. This was it. All he could do was watch through the dirty glass as the proceedings unfolded. The Manipulated Man advanced, it raised its fist and prepared the syringes, it couldn’t have been more than a stone’s throw away. But before the thing could release another shot the water tower finally hit the ground. The impact was huge, instantly crushing the Manipulated Man flat, along with a few of the closer buildings, and sending gallons and gallons of the tainted water everywhere, slushing through the streets. Finally a cloud of dust rose into the air and everything gradually went still.
As the dust settled, and the waters ran away, Specks, the most unlikely of heroes, slowly emerged from his hiding place, coughing and spluttering his way through the mess, cleaning his glasses free of the grime. Sheepishly he looked at the carnage he himself had caused, feeling rather guilty for the damage.
‘Specks. I must say, I am impressed. That was… intense,’ came Yankee’s voice, as he sauntered up the street with his posse.
‘Damn straight, boy,’ added Doodle. ‘You’ve got far more style than I ever realised! Gotta give credit for that.’ The men slapped him on the back, proud of his achievement. ‘What you reckon, Yankee? Bad guy kill of the week?’
Specks was about to raise his concerns about Charlie and his somewhat unstable condition, when just then Billy and his own Manipulated Man erupted onto the scene, smashing through the remains of the water tower, still in the midst of their ongoing ferocious fight.
‘Upgrade… level ten,’ came the distinct voice of the creation.
‘That’s really not required,’ yelled Billy, still clinging on for dear life, his arms and legs wrapped around the thing’s head. ‘I can assure you, that is definitely not required,’ he continued to joke. ‘I do not get paid enough for this!’
The thing looked insane, beyond huge, its proportions were freakishly wrong, and its movements fast and powerful. It ripped Billy off its back, and threw him across the way, sending the young man crashing into a rubble of bricks. Without thought Yankee and Doodle charged to attack, but it thrashed out its arms, sending them to the floor with the utmost of ease. Any and all Nazis in sight ran forward to help, jumping over the fallen men and attacking, but it was hopeless, as quick as a flash every single one of them reached the same painful fate. Even Specks charged, but the Manipulated Man simply flicked him away, dropping him just as easily as the rest. Billy sprung back to his feet, eager and angry. The Manipulated Man threw an instant punch in his direction, but Billy was still quick, barely managing to block it with his armoured arm, getting pushed several feet backwards in the process. He skidded through the snow, twisting his body with precision, despite his exhaustion, preparing to retaliate, but already a second punch was heading in his direction. It hit, straight in his chest - something had surely broken! Billy soared backwards, crashing harshly into a wall, and falling to the ground below. Everyone was down. Everyone was out. No one had the energy to move, let alone attack. And so the Manipulated Man stood above them all, clenched his fist, preparing the lethal injections of deadly syringes. This was it.
But then something happened that surprised everyone. It was quiet, and minor, but all of a sudden a long wooden stick stabbed into the Manipulated Man’s exposed flesh. It was such slight effort, given the scale of things. But then it happened again, and again, and again. And within a few seconds there were dozens upon dozens of the sharp pointy sticks sticking into it, and all were held in place by the village women. The floored soldiers watched in awe as the Old Woman slowly hobbled onto the street, directing her people, barking orders in German and Polish. The Manipulated Man lashed around, lifting the majority of its attackers from the floor, but they held on with all their might, earnestly trying to keep the thing in place, paying special attention to its arms, keeping them both high, rendering its shots and swipes ineffective. It snapped some of the sticks off, only to be replaced by two more. It roared at them, growing frustrated, desperate to gain decent movement, but it wa
s no use. The people of the village were not giving up without a fight! Finally, after much struggle the Manipulated Man’s tubes began to run dry, steam began to burst out of its armour, and its ridiculous muscles deflated like empty balloons. It began to make coughing noises, spluttering on the air itself, whilst a hissing sound filled the air. At long last it fell to one knee, the jerky movement frightening some of the closer women. It looked around at them all, it tried to speak, but nothing more than an inaudible mechanical noise protruded from its gullet. Until it was all but done - its head dropped and it powered down into a pathetic dead droop. Hurriedly the villagers released their sticks and ran to the soldiers’ aid, helping them all back up to their feet.
‘Ladies, I don’t care what my Mother says, I’m marrying every last one of ya’ll,’ remarked Yankee, as he leant on their offered shoulders of support, barely capable of anything by himself. ‘I got a special place for each of you in my heart! And that’s the great thing about me… there’s room for everybody! Yankee loves you all.’
‘What happened?’ asked Billy, with a hand on his heavy head.
‘One can only assume…’ began Specks, ‘that level ten, as our subject informed us he had reached, was the highest setting. And erm… being on the… maximum power level… running at a higher rate… and demanding vastly more energy,’ he stuttered, wiping the snow from his lenses, rather flummoxed by the amount of people actually paying him attention. ‘We can safely assume that it simply ran out of energy.’
‘No way. Dead batteries? That’s weak,’ commented Doodle. ‘Hey, where the heck is Charlie?’
But just as he spoke, Charlie appeared, heavily assisted by a group of the village men, who were holding him up as he limped onto the street. Charlie was clearly in a bad way - his hand was bent inwards, blood was running from his scalp, and he was walking with obvious pain with every step, whilst trying to discreetly clutch at his rib cage.
‘Jesus, Charlie. You look like you’ve been through the mill. You okay?’ asked Billy, who was shaking off his own ailments rather quickly.
‘Fine,’ he replied, clearing his throat and doing his best to stand tall again. ‘Nothing a cup of tea wouldn’t cure. Looks like you all handled this far better than I did. What’s the situation?’
‘All down and accounted for,’ replied Billy.
But things were just about to go from bad to worse. As they stood amongst the chaotic remnants of their battles, chatting between themselves, regrouping, no one could deny a strange and very ominous sound, carrying on the wind, slowly filling the village. People began to look around, confused by the dull eerie tones filling the void. And then everyone spotted it, on the horizon - the distinct silhouette of the fourth and final Manipulated Man standing on the hilltop, looking down upon the village. But it wasn’t that thing that was making the unsettling noise. It was something more, and it was very, very slowly emerging behind it. There was movement. A scruffy, staggered shuffling march of what looked like people began to appear on the hillside. But from the unnatural way they moved, clumsy and unstable, it was obvious that they weren’t just people - it was the dead, the reborn, the infected, and they were heading straight for the village below. Gasps resounded through the crowd as the sheer mass of dead revealed themselves, sending shivers down the spines of even the bravest of men. There were hundreds of them! Charlie snatched the binoculars dangling round Specks’ neck, wincing in pain from his broken hand, and half strangling the poor geek. He scanned the issue as quickly and thoroughly as he possibly could in his current state - it was clear as day, they were definitely dead, and all were in soldiers’ uniform - Nazis and French, to be precise.
‘Son of a gun. Blasted thing must have strolled right into a battle and put down anyone he could find,’ he remarked, dropping the binoculars and releasing Specks. He could see from the look on everyone’s faces that they terrified. Truth be told, so was he. He thought for a moment, but it was obvious what they had to do. They only had one choice now. ‘This is one fight we can’t win. Get to the ship, immediately. We leave now.’
Immediately the crowd began to surge, maybe from the terror on the horizon, or maybe from the former Captain’s order. But all were hustling towards the ship. Yankee and Doodle were shepherding people towards the ship, whilst Specks was simply being bounced from left to right from the sheer force of the moving mob. Billy pushed his way through the mass, heading towards Charlie, who was barely capable of standing.
‘But she’s not working properly yet,’ Billy remarked.
‘Then we’ll just have to fix her on route,’ he replied, looking at the horde on the hill.
With great struggle, Charlie began heading in the opposite direction of the rest of the town, inadvertently catching his entire squad’s attention. Limping all the way he walked over to the last remaining truck, that had been used for winching up the ship. He got in it and started up the engine.
‘Charlie, what the hell are you doing?’ yelled Yankee, who was rushing over with the rest of the men, struggling against the crowds.
‘Yeah, ship’s that way, mate,’ said Billy, pointing at the heaving mass of people gradually emigrating towards the ship.
‘I’m going to buy you all some time,’ replied Charlie, careful not to make eye contact with any of his men. They waited quietly for him to continue, all confused by his actions. ‘You’ve all done an amazing job.’ He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and catching his breath. ‘But you’re not done yet. Now get these people to the ship, and get them to safety. We’ve still got a job to do, and I’ll be damned if we’re going to fail them this late in the day!’ Charlie nodded to himself, and looked like he wanted to say a lot more. But he didn’t. Instead he released the handbrake and pushed the gearstick forward. ‘That ship leaves with or without me. That’s my final order.’
Without giving them a chance to stop him or say anything back, Charlie floored the accelerator and sped off, leaving the squad behind him, speechless and in shock. As the truck bounced and skidded through the empty streets he knew he was now on his own, a feeling he did not desire. Within a few moments he was on the outskirts of the village, and racing through the snow at the bottom of the hill, heading straight towards his target. He looked through the dirty windscreen at the swiftly approaching army of dead, as the Manipulated Man stood patiently on the hilltop, watching the proceedings. Charlie had to buy the villagers a chance to escape, as much time as possible, and he only had one likelihood, one option of slowing down this demented mass. He was almost upon them, travelling into a head-on collision, the truck zooming with ferocity. He took a deep breath, thought of home, remembering just what he was fighting for - then he took action. With expertise he shifted the truck down a gear, yanked the handbrake up, and turned the steering wheel full lock to the left. The right side of the truck breached round, forming a kind of travelling wall. It hit, smashing sideways into the walking dead, knocking them down like skittles. The attack was working. He ploughed through the army, messy and dangerous, but he struggled to maintain any kind of control, as the skid began to head straight towards the Manipulated Man. The truck spun out of control, turning and turning through the masses. The steering wheel shook uncontrollably as Charlie struggled to grip it. The vehicle bounced and ricocheted as its wheels recoiled over hordes of dead bodies, the whole thing becoming unstable. Charlie gritted his teeth, squeezing the steering wheel, desperately trying to maintain control. But it was already too late.
‘Caleb…’ he whispered as his eyes widened, and he caught his breath, finally realising this was it.
The truck flipped over, smashing onto its side, its haphazard skid continuing as it pummelled into the heart of the horde, crushing bodies, sending limbs flying in every direction. Ultimately, and with an almighty SMASH, it collided into the lone Manipulated Man.
Down at the jetty all the men could do was watch in horror as the collision came to an epic and abrupt stop. Flame and debris bellowed from the collision, engulfing
the hill in a thick black smoke.
‘We should get up there,’ yelled Yankee, impatiently, starting to move.
‘No,’ shouted Billy, stopping the man before he could get going properly. ‘We do that, and his sacrifice was in vain. We do not disobey Charlie’s last order, Captain or not. He told us to help these people, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.’
No one had time to argue. As much as it pained them - Billy was right. Getting everyone on board was a big task, time was ever shortening, and what was left of the horde was already beginning to emerge from the wreckage and black smoke, slowly making their way down the hill, ambling onto the streets of the village. With heavy hearts the squad swallowed the facts.
‘Let’s move,’ bellowed Yankee, in his most authoritative of voices.
‘Yeah, let’s get these turkeys on the boat pronto,’ added Doodle.
The brothers snatched their snipers back from the Nazis, reloading the weapons and taking pot-shots at the closest of the shuffling dead, whilst retreating towards the jetty. Billy pushed Specks and the remaining villagers towards the ship, punching away any of the horde that got too close, as the occasional straggler appeared as if from nowhere, scaring the living daylights out of Specks. The last of the crowd quickly moved through the streets and onto the jetty, anyone and everyone helping each other onto the over-populated ship. But Billy noticed the Old Woman looking longingly at her village. He stopped, stood by her and took her arm.
‘We need to go now,’ he insisted, but with a delicateness unfamiliar to him. She didn’t pay him any attention, her eyes filled with tears ready to fall. ‘I promise you,’ continued the boy, ‘when all his is over, I will bring you back. And I will return with you, and help you rebuild the home you have lost.’
She turned to him and smiled, placing her cold wrinkled hand against his pale skin.
‘You’re a sweet boy. Remember that the next time you doubt yourself. But it’s just a place,’ she said. ‘These people are my real home.’
Billy smiled at the comment. But then reality dawned on him, and he snapped back to the moment at hand: ‘We’ve got to go,’ he said resolutely.
He gently hurried her down the jetty, and onto the boat, where Specks was eagerly waiting to leave. Yankee and Doodle had taken position just shy of the jetty, taking a knee and shooting at the approaching wave of dead, that, despite their best efforts, were still surging towards them all.
‘Is everyone on board?’ called out Billy to the crowded vessel.
But the desperate cry from a mother and child suggested otherwise. Billy turned, looking across the way, at the plea for help. He fixed eyes on them straight away, through the insurmountable mass of dead soldiers, the unmistakable sight of the stranded pair, mother clutching child tightly amongst the twisted turmoil that surrounded her. And he wasn’t the only one to have noticed her, as very quickly, dead sunken eyes were turning, as a small group of the dead were closing in on the victims.
‘What? Did you sleep through the team meeting? You’ve got to be kidding me!’ Billy remarked, peeved at the scenario, slamming his metal fist down on the rear of the ship. There was zero time. So he made no plans. Instead, he turned from the ship and sprinted up the jetty, heading straight for the cut-off pair. ‘Boys. Clear me a path, NOW!’ he shouted as he passed them by with incredible speed.
The three men charged into battle one last time. Yankee and Doodle raced alongside Billy, shooting directly in front of his sprint, opening the smallest of pathways for him to hustle himself through, as the undead fell either side of him. Bites from grotesque jaws still came, but he dodged, weaved and punched his way towards his target. He was approaching mother and child rapidly, but a muddled, shuffling group of the horde stood before him, surrounding the pair, reaching out towards them both, desperate to eat their flesh. Billy didn’t think. He just ran on impulse, and he was amazing - taking a gigantic leap, flipping over the shuffling wall, and landing deep in the heart of the circle.
‘Erm…’ he said, bewildered as to what to do next, releasing his quick shield, and putting his other arm around the pair.
Teeth and dirty reaching fingers were coming from all angles, and truth be told, Billy didn’t quite know how to get them all out alive. Charlie would be useful right about now! He smashed away a few of the closest, flooring a couple and cracking open a skull. But it wasn’t enough - the circle was getting tighter! But just then an American miracle unfolded, as Yankee and Doodle materialized, smashing and bashing their way through the horde with the butts of their guns. Bodies fell left, right and centre, creating a much needed, yet rather risky escape route for them all. Billy grabbed the mother by the hand and forcibly dragged her through the crowd of dead soldiers, with Yankee and Doodle either side of them, fending off the attack, flooring the oncoming assault, allowing mother and child to escape.
‘You know bro, I reckon I could take this entire group of deadheads on by myself,’ remarked Doodle, somewhat enjoying himself.
Yankee grinned, but before he could retort the last Manipulated Man emerged onto the scene with enormous strides, trampling upon the horde without a care. The men had no time to react, as the thing clenched a fist and punched Doodle straight round the face, instantaneously rendering him unconscious. He fell to the floor, out cold.
‘Doodle,’ called out Yankee, in complete desperation.
Yankee dropped his weapon without thinking. His brother was heavy-set, but his own adrenaline was enough to take the strain, as he picked him up, slinging his lifeless body over his shoulder, before the undead could get their jaws on him. He turned and sped off, following Billy towards the jetty.
‘We got incoming,’ called out Yankee. ‘And if we ain’t careful, these things will swamp the ship,’ he shouted, struggling to keep his brother in place around his shoulders.
Billy looked to the ship. Specks was ready, standing on the stern, looking with great desperation in their general direction. And everyone else was on board and waiting, reaching out helping hands. But the dead were in front of them, on the jetty, and getting dangerously close to the ship.
‘Damn, you’re right,’ replied Billy.
Everything happened so fast. Together they ran up the jetty, knocking aside any that stood in their way, splashing into the water, whilst more of the horde followed their retreat, hot on their heels and ravenous. The waiting villagers grabbed mother and child from Billy, whilst Yankee jumped on board, dropping Doodle to the floor. He turned, ready to clear the back of the ship of the multitude of dead that he knew were right behind them, but instead he received a strong punch in the face from Billy, knocking him clean out, sending him slumping over his brother.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Billy in a sad yet firm voice.
Billy turned the ignition, jumped off the ship, pushing the closest of the dead soldiers back, allowing himself a few feet of breathing space. Somehow, through the chaos, he managed to release the ropes harnessing the ship, and with the bottom of his boot he pushed the vessel out to sea.
‘What… Billy… what are you doing?’ fretted Specks, who was standing wide-eyed at the back of the ship, reaching out a trembling hand.
‘Don’t come back for me,’ he replied, looking the small geek square in the eyes.
The ship began to move out to sea, quickly leaving the jetty behind. Specks tried to turn the steering, but it was jammed, just like Billy had said. With all his strength he attempted to pull back on the accelerator, but it was stuck, just like Billy had said. Thinking rapidly, he went to turn off the ignition, but the key was snapped off in the chamber, rendering it utterly useless.
‘I can’t… It won’t…’ fretted Specks, almost on the verge of tears.
‘Goodbye,’ whispered Billy, as he threw the other half of the key into the water.
Billy stood on the edge of the jetty watching all he knew, all he had come to love over the last few years, drift off into the horizon, and he wondered if he would ever see them ag
ain. He suddenly felt more alone than he had ever known. Specks stood, looking back, silent, bereaved, trembling with a concoction of emotions, whilst the brothers remained unconscious on the deck next to him. He cleaned his glasses, pushing them back up his nose, desperately running through calculations, somehow trying to change things. But it was useless. The small geek looked as if he were about to pass out, but just as his legs began to cave, the Old Woman came and stood next to him, she held his hand tightly, and gave him an eloquent nod. The sacrifices had been high, but they had escaped, and that was exactly what Charlie would have wanted.
But for Billy, this battle wasn’t over quite yet! He turned away from the ship and back to the village, seeing the swarm approaching fast, clumsily making its way down the jetty, some even reaching out from the waters below. He breathed deep, tired of their onslaught. He prepared his stance, and released his quick shield, ready to attack. This was it. For a brief moment he leant back on his hind foot, before bursting forward, charging, screaming like a wild man, fuelled by rage and pain and anguish and anything else you could imagine. With his quick shield raised high he made contact, and it was truly brutal. The dead fell in his wake, smashed out of the way, splashing into the waters either side of the jetty, stamped beneath his feet. Billy pushed his way off the jetty and into the streets, finding himself in the midst of the multitude which seemed to just go on and on. And they came at him, hungry for his flesh. But Billy was crazed, and seriously pissed off! He wasn’t ready to die today. He punched them back, cracking jaws from skulls. He kicked them down, knocking holes through stomachs. He spun round them, twisted, weaved, snapping necks and breaking limbs. He somersaulted through the air, slid across the floor, bounced off walls. He was like a one-man army, but there were just so many of them, and they wouldn’t stop coming. Suddenly an idea came to mind.
Billy hopped onto a small wall, and jumped onto a nearby rooftop. He stood over the crowd, looking down at the drooling, hideous dead beings, desperate to eat him. He looked across the village - if he stuck to the rooftops, there was a chance he could get to clear ground and make a break for it. So he began, running and jumping, rooftop to rooftop, safely out of the reach of the mass, which had now completely engulfed the entire village. Despite his exhaustion he was still spry, and made the leaps with ease. He was nearing the edge of the town, he could see clear ground, there was a chance he might make it! But all of a sudden the Manipulated Man appeared as if from nowhere, marching its way through the flock, crushing the things as if they were nothing. Billy didn’t see it coming, he was far too preoccupied with his escape. Billy dashed across a rooftop, making another amazing jump for the next. But just then, and with an almighty THWACK, the Manipulated Man struck the corner wall of the house Billy was leaping for, sending it crumbling to the ground, and Billy along with it.
Dust filled the area, nothing was moving from the rubble. Already, the horde had begun to approach the debris, surrounding it, smelling the living flesh of man. But Billy was one step ahead of them. He appeared from the dust with a wealth of roof tiles at his disposal, and began flinging them with incredible speed and even more incredible accuracy at the heads of the dead soldiers. One after another they went down. He was so fast it was unbelievable to watch. But this would only buy him a short amount of time.
The swarm was still advancing. Billy backed off, spinning behind the closest wall he could find. Putting his armoured shoulder against it he pushed the wall with all his might. It toppled, falling over and flattening a dozen or so of the undead. He smiled, pleased with himself. But there were still so many more to fight. He had no other choice, he had to make a run for it. So he broke into a sprint, dodging and darting his way through the masses. A mound of the dead things were laying on the ground before him, so he used it to his advantage. He raced with everything he had, whipping through the crowd, with a bold step he leapt onto the pile, before jumping high into the air. The area in front of him was so densely packed with the things that there was no ground to land upon. So as Billy came down, he kept spry, hopping from head to head, shoulder to shoulder, using the horde like a living, shuffling floor, keeping as quick as a flash, not stopping for a moment. He was nearing the edge of the mass, he was going to make it! He took his chance, making the biggest jump he could muster. He lifted into the air, soaring like a majestic bird, feeling the cool air against his skin, and knowing that as soon as his feet hit the ground, all he had to do was run and not look back. But things were never that easy. The Manipulated Man reappeared, reaching out one of its huge hands, brutally grabbing Billy by the ankle and slamming him straight down to the floor, ending his beautiful escape.
‘Well, that hurt,’ Billy remarked, rolling onto his back, wondering just who the hell was there to listen to his sarcasm.
The multitude came for Billy, immediately overwhelming him. He screamed at them with ferocity as they seized him by the limbs, ready to devour his body, dragging him in every direction, opening their hungry, gaping mouths, starving for his flesh. This was the end for him. Or was it…
It was strange, and made no sense, but the Manipulated Man charged in, pushing the dead back with violent and careless swipes, before lifting Billy up by the throat. He gasped for air, struggling to free himself from the immense grip. His dog tags fell to the floor, resting delicately on the blood-soaked snow beneath him. Billy struggled to free himself, clenching his armoured fist, repeatedly hitting the thing square in the face. The Manipulated Man grunted, lifting Billy up high over his head, slamming him into the ground again. It balled up both fists and continuously smashed down on Billy’s body over and over again, as the poor boy reached out a desperate hand for help. But it didn’t stop the process until he went limp, until he stopped struggling, until he lost consciousness. Until it was done.
So, without feeling or remorse, the Manipulated Man picked up Billy’s lifeless body, slung him over his shoulder and marched out of the village, up the hill and into the horizon, all the while slowly followed by the relentless horde of the undead. Billy had lost the fight.
EPILOGUE
It was done. The audacious and bold escape plan had worked. But as with anything worth fighting for, sacrifices had been made, and the cost had been extremely high for the Alpha-Omega squad. Things were very different now indeed. The village stood devoid of life, there was no movement, and all was quiet as a graveyard. Snow began to gently fall from above, gradually cleansing the area of all its bloody and horrific impurities. However…
The sound of sluggish, irregular footsteps came into earshot, the gentle crushing of snow underfoot breaking the twisted peace of the village. It was laboured, random, slow. It stopped, and there he stood. Charlie Crumble appeared in the forsaken village, alone and broken. He was huddled over, clutching the left side of his ribcage with his broken hand, and wiping blood away, that was dripping from his forehead down and onto his jacket. He limped over to some stone steps and rested up briefly, wincing as he bent his right leg. He struggled to catch his breath, wheezing, swallowing the air in gigantic desperate gulps, as he stared at the snow beneath him with great intent, watching his own blood stain its perfections.
The place was completely void of life. There were no people to be seen. The walking dead were all but gone, leaving their executed cohorts behind, along with the remains of the Manipulated Men, lifeless vessels, whose bodies were slowly being covered by the snow. Charlie braced himself and stood up, staggering forward, barely able to stay on his feet, as he gazed out to the open water, hopeful. It was almost impossible to see now, but the truth was clear - just about to disappear onto the horizon was the distinct and beautiful outline of the ‘Antillia’s Revenge.’ He smiled in glee, and leisurely began to chuckle to himself. He perched himself on the remnants of a wall and enjoyed the moment, his chuckle swiftly turning into absolute laughter - it hurt his side, he could barely breathe, but it was worth it. He was alone, and he was in dire need of help. But together, united for the greater good, they had succ
eeded in their mission. With the help of the enemy, and the persecuted themselves, they had rescued the innocent from the clutches of evil - and that felt really good. As the ship vanished onto the horizon, heading for safer shores, Charlie knew that no matter what happened next, today was a good day.
Time passed. Charlie could feel himself getting weaker. He was cold, hungry, injured, and he felt a wave of fatigue ebbing at him with every passing minute. He didn’t mind if this was his time. It felt right. But then something caught his eye, something that really worried him. It was shiny, sticking out of the snow, and it twinkled in the glint of the sun. Pained, he fell to the floor, crawling towards it and picking it up - they were dog tags. He let them dangle from his fingers as he read the unmistakable name on the metal plates - Billy Random. Charlie looked curiously at the horizon, suddenly worried that somehow, for some reason unbeknown to him, Billy might not have made it on board. He looked at the rapidly vanishing tracks in the snow - a massive skirmish, almost impossible to track anything properly. But his keen eyes could see that there was something a little more to be discovered - there was a definite set of tracks leading away from the town.
With enormous effort, Charlie struggled back up to his feet, placing the precious tags in his pocket and shuffling himself forward. The snow was coming down heavier now, and the trail wouldn’t stay visible for much longer. He moved further through the snow, the messy tracks showing a clear-cut trail of something much bigger walking with the horde - the fourth Manipulated Man! And the entire shuffle of imprints were leading to the south-west. He stopped and thought for a moment, unsure how clear his thoughts really were. He was concussed and had lost a lot of blood. For all he knew he was dreaming all this, still stuck in the truck he had just crashed! But he thought, taking a moment and clearing his mind. He knew the horde had come in from the south, and these tracks were sticking close to the shore, and they were most definitely heading away from the village. He shuffled forward a little more, curious, and then he saw it. A simple find, but one that eradicated any uncertainty he may have had - an unambiguous clue - Billy’s tie resting in the snow.
Charlie moved forward, looking at the seemingly never-ending tracks that lay before him. He gazed longingly at the horizon, wishing all his friends had made it on board. But the facts were right in front of him, too many to ignore, and he was never one to back down from anything. He was so alone, and he himself needed help. But his friend needed it more, and was alone with the enemy. His eyes narrowed, his broken fist clenched through the pain, and his stance straightened, despite his rib cage and knee agonising him. His mission was far from over. It was crunch time.
He moved with surprising speed, telling himself to ignore the pain. He shredded a loose rag, tying it tightly around his torso and knee, wincing as he went. He tied his hand up as best he could, swearing as the useless appendage pained him. He grabbed a bag and filled it with whatever food and scraps he could find. He found an abandoned flask and filled it with water. And finally he picked up the straightest stick he could find, to aid his long, long walk.
And so, bag around his back, bandaged badly, and clutching a walking stick, he began his trek into the snowy unknown, not sure where it would lead him, or if he would even survive the journey. But Charlie was resolute - the Alpha-Omega missions were over, but he was still a soldier, and his friend needed his help.
The Shoebox Pursuit - Part 3 - Poppies and Warpaint Page 10