Deadweight | Book 2 | The Last Bite

by Forster, Paul

  “You’ll get a debrief if we decide not to feed you to those ugly bastards. Until then, we ask the questions,” Billy asserted. He didn’t stop moving for a moment, he was nervous. The clinical and mundane office building was more uncomfortable for him than any desert or jungle. He’d rather have been clearing the building with the others, but he respected Spencer and would do whatever he ordered him to do.

  Within a few minutes, the others returned and seemed more relaxed, satisfied the main building was clear.

  “Billy, join these two and clear the remaining outbuildings. I’ll stay here with this one,” Spencer ordered. His men departed, and Spencer stood in front of Peter. “I imagine you have questions, so do I. As I’m the man with the helicopter and special forces team, I’m going to go first. Who are you and what happened to everyone else?”

  “I’m Peter, my group met a soldier from here and we came looking for help.”

  “We? There were others?”

  “Me, Gareth and Amy. We met up with a thing, Natasha, one of them but smart and passing as one of us. She killed Gareth and the soldier. Nearly killed me.”

  “So where is Amy and this Natasha, did they make it in?”

  “This was about a month ago, Natasha nearly killed me and I was out cold. When I woke up, her body was on me, I was in the field and Amy had gone. I assume she’s rotting out there somewhere, I hope Amy made it back to the farm.”

  “On your own, injured, you made it past all those hungry fuckers? With no help?” he asked stunned. Spencer couldn’t believe it, armed or not that was an impossible task for a man like this.

  “I was caked in her blood, I guess it masked me from them. They didn’t give me a second glance. And there weren’t half as many as there are now.”

  Spencer pulled out a small kit, no bigger than an old tobacco tin, and tossed it to Peter before raising his rifle at him.

  “What’s this?”

  “You don’t look like one of them, but you’ve been exposed. That’s a basic test kit, use the syringe, take a small sample of blood, two-mil should do, and then empty the sample onto one of the white slides.”

  Peter opened the kit, two small syringes, four white ceramic slides, alcohol swabs, cotton wool, and a small vile of a white liquid. He hated needles; he hated the idea of sticking one in himself even more, but he was under no illusions it was a needle in his arm or a bullet in his head. His hands shook as he removed the needle, Spencer was unmoved, Peter inserted it into his forearm and pulled back on the plunger, he winced as the chamber filled with blood. He couldn’t look at it, so fearful of the needle, he pulled full five-millilitres of blood out. It didn’t seem like much, but it felt like it.

  “That’s enough, you’ll need some left. On a slide.”

  Peter withdrew the needle and looked at his blood. It wasn’t grey, that was a good start. He fumbled for a slide and squirted the red liquid onto it, emptying the whole syringe. It was a mess, but he had followed his orders.

  “Take out the white bottle, remove the cap and pump twice at your sample from six-inches away.”

  Peter did as he was told. The white spray finely covered the blood, but nothing else happened. Spencer motioned for Peter to step back so he could get a closer look. The corner of his mouth broke into a subtle smile.

  “Is it okay?” Peter grew nervous with the wait.

  “Bad news Peter.”

  Peter looked at the door. Could he make it? Even if he did, there were three other heavily armed men and then a thousand pissed off and hungry feeders.

  “You’re going to have to suffer this shitty life for a bit longer. You’re clean. Good news is you have four members of the SAS, a pilot, two crew, and a helicopter joining you in your big fancy digs.”

  “How many more of you are there?”

  “Thousands, military, politicians, VIPs, and civilians. When the camps became unviable, we evacuated to the sea. It was quite the operation. Cruise ships, ferries were pressed into service alongside frigates and aircraft carriers. There were some issues, a few outbreaks before they perfected the testing, but since then, it’s been safe. Some other countries have done likewise.”

  “So you’re here for the research?” he questioned. Of course they were. He wasn’t important.

  “Not really, we’ll pick it up, but the Americans were ahead of us. They traced the source, some fucking weight loss drug, and you should see the dossier on these things. They say there are five confirmed variants, including the smart one like you came up against, I’ve not seen them myself. We’re not here for data, we’re looking for a man.”

  “Five variants? I’ve only seen three, I think,” he said. Peter guessed anything was possible.

  “It’s a big dead world out there, mate. When our mission is up, we’ll bring you back to the fleet.”

  One helicopter landed, Spencer and Peter walked to the front of the building. Billy, Mike, and Gary approached it, welcoming the crew who hopped out as the pilot shut down the Lynx’s engine and the rotors slowed. The two crew members, Andy and Kyle, were slight men, not soldiers but obviously handy with the door machine guns of the helicopter.

  “Andy, Kyle, this is Peter. He’ll be assisting you. Get the kit in, and the chopper secured. I want one of those gimpy’s dismounted and on the roof set up with a bipod. Take three boxes of ammo, Peter will show you to the supplies, take the ammunition from there,” Spencer said. He would not waste any time getting settled in. He wished the roof would have been able to take the weight of the helicopter, but without guarantees, it was safer to leave it in the grounds, any sizeable breach would cut them off from it, so they had to make sure there would be no unwelcome guests. “Billy and Mike, check of the fence line, any weak points or damage report back, don’t engage the fuckers unless there’s an imminent threat.” he continued. The men set off to their task, rifles in hand.

  The pilot left the cockpit. An odd little man in his sixties, Seb McKenna had never served in any of the branches of the armed forces, but he had been a pilot since his twenties. Helicopters had been his passion and his career. When he pitched up in the English Channel flying a small Robinson R22 helicopter and asked for permission to land on the back of a Duke class frigate in choppy waters, it impressed even the most experienced naval pilot. When he successfully touched down and produced six cases of Bushmills single malt, he became an instant hero to those onboard. His R22 was promptly dumped off of the side of the frigate to make room for its designated Merlin helicopter, but his ability made him stick out, as did his personality. He wasn’t phased by the dead at the fences. The SAS soldiers were hardened and well-armed, so their calm demeanour seemed appropriate. Seb would struggle to outrun even the most damaged of feeders. He was armed, though. He had demanded a pistol so had been issued an old Smith & Wesson .38 which he wore proudly from his belt like a cowboy in an old western.

  “I told them not to shoot you.” Seb said. He was all too happy to tell Peter how close he’d come to death.

  “I could swear it was you screaming that we should shoot the cunt on the roof,” Spencer replied, equally happy to correct him.

  “Well, it all worked out, didn’t it? Where am I sleeping?” Seb asked. He was already walking towards the main building, a small bag under his arm.

  “You’ll get used to Seb. He’s probably as experienced a pilot as there is left without grey skin. He’s the most important person here. None of us can fly that thing, so don’t be in any doubt that any one of us would put a bullet in you to save him. Now make yourself useful and show Seb to the canteen, then you’re with Andy and Kyle,” he assured him. Spencer turned his back on Peter and approached the helicopter.

  “Do I get my guns back?” Peter asked. He felt foolish for asking. He now had elite soldiers with him, but he had grown used to the safety and bravery the firearms gave him.

  “No,” Spencer replied. He didn’t even turn to look at Peter as he gave him his reply. In time, he may give this man a weapon, but he didn’t need t
o trust him now, he had his men, and they were enough.

  Chapter 25

  In its previous life as an aircraft carrier in the Spanish Navy, the HMS Reckoning stored a dozen F-35 Lightning aircraft and nearly the same again in Chinook and Seahawk helicopters. When the British naval forces borrowed the vessel, the helicopters were gone, as were all but one inoperable Lightning aircraft. These had no doubt been pressed into vital service, fighting off the dead in their own homeland. Their absence allowed a few of the British choppers to have an appropriate home, far better than sitting on the deck of a cargo ship. The rest of the space allowed for the civilian population to have an open, but covered area to live in. If you were a civilian and you had made it to the HMS Reckoning, you were someone, knew someone, or were close to someone in those two categories. Here the civilians were trusted, and each given a job. Whether that was cleaning or cooking, analysing data or assisting in the labs. Each had something to do that helped keep them from the hell that most of the civilian ships had become. Those that didn’t pull their weight were transferred no matter who you were or knew.

  Two soldiers stood at the door. It was unusual, but what wasn’t unusual aboard a repurposed Spanish aircraft carrier housing the last remnants of humanity in the fight against the dead? Paul couldn’t help it any longer, “I heard it’s one of them, a smart one.”

  “Don’t be retarded. They don’t exist. You’ve been talking to those knobs in the armoury again, haven’t you? They see shit all and they know even less,” Trevor said, he was older, wiser, and didn’t have time for conspiracy theories.

  “Shall we have a look?” Paul asked. He was eager to find out what they were guarding, if the rumours were true.

  “If you want to be clearing out the crappers for the next month, be my guest. I’m staying right here, making sure no one enters,” he maintained. Trevor was pissed his fellow soldier was even thinking of disobeying orders.

  Paul was wrestling with the idea. He turned to face the closed door. Sure he could grab a quick peek before anyone disturbed him. An elbow in the ribs straightened him up as Trevor coughed to clear his throat.

  The prime minister was flanked by her entourage, the general, admiral, a man in a suit, and a group of the special boat service soldiers. The two sentries stood aside to allow the party to enter the sickbay.

  A single doctor stood over Mason, who was bound to a table, unable to move.

  “Is everything okay, doctor?” the prime minister asked, she felt she was disturbing something.

  “This is the most vile creature I have ever met. He’s disgusting, a damn liar,” the doctor replied. He had been with Mason for only an hour, but he had got under his skin. Probing the physician constantly, hoping for a slither of information, something that may help him.

  “Good. He wouldn’t be here if he just used that filthy mouth to consume,” she said. The PM’s aide hurriedly found her a chair and slid it behind her at a respectful distance from the feeder in front of them. “So, you’re one of the smart ones?”

  Mason smiled. “I guess I am.”

  “Well, not smart enough to avoid being captured. You caused the death of a lot of our men, that’s going to be hard for you. You didn’t have any friends for what you are, for what you did even less,” she scolded. The PM was observing the prisoner, trying to get a reaction, see an ounce of remorse, hoping for a chance of redemption.

  “Look miss, I don’t know who you are and frankly I don’t care. You’re going to kill me, experiment, and all that shit. Just do it. I don’t need a moral lecture from some ropey old hag. I don’t fucking care,” he replied annoyed. They were going to do whatever they were going to do, and he was at their mercy.

  “Kill you? No, you misunderstand. I want to recruit you. Your name is Mason, right?” she asked. He nodded. “You didn’t choose this abomination, you’re a victim as much as anyone who is devoured by those things, or who became one. I want to help you, but I need your help.”

  Mason was taken aback. He assumed he was about to be experimented on, killed, and thrown overboard. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you. Trying to take the island, you need more, more tanks and more planes. It’s more overrun than the mainland, I bet. So many people fled to us in the early days of the fall. If you want a guide, I’ll tell you now it’s pointless.”

  “Yes, yes. We’ve come to that same conclusion. We’ve already pulled out our forces from that godforsaken rock. A waste. No, we have many problems, and not taking the island has hastened them. We need time, sacrifices need to be made. Lose 100, to save 1000.”

  All but the black-clad soldiers looked uncomfortable at how the conversation was moving. She was talking to this thing like it was a person and not a monster. It was becoming harder to tell who was the cold-hearted killer.

  “You’ve lost me. What do you want?” Mason enquired. Confused but intrigued, Mason wasn’t sure of his role that the prime minister was alluding to.

  “We need an outbreak on a ship or two. Thin out the numbers so that our supplies last long enough for our next move before we all starve to death. I want you to be you. A team will take you to a ship and you can infect as many as you can. We’ll then pick you up, bring you back here where you’ll be watched, but cared for until your next mission.”

  Was this woman serious? He hadn’t even considered this could have happened. “How am I supposed to infect them? A bite is a little obvious.”

  “Mason, our scientists say you’re a super spreader. You probably infected half of the Isle of Wight. And your potency has only increased. Kiss, screw, spit in the water tanks. I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she said. The PM couldn’t care less how he did the deed, as long as it was done.

  This was a winning lottery ticket. “And you won’t kill me?”

  “Not if you play by our rules and do what we say. You’ll be fed and protected, and you’ll be quiet,” she replied. She knew he’d say yes, a full stomach and a purpose, or a metal rod inserted into his skull.

  “I guess I’m your monster,” he agreed. If he had trusted them, it would have been a good deal, but his choices were limited. He could wait for his opportunity.

  “Yes, you are,” she stressed. The PM was thrilled with her new recruit.

  Chapter 26

  Night time always felt so quiet at the farm. Apart from those on sentry duty, no one dared to venture out of their shelter. No fires, no lights and no noise. It was the safest way, and so far, it had worked. Half of their defence was down to their basic early warning traps that were composed of tin cans and washing lines. No matter how well things felt like they were going, none of the community ever felt completely safe. They’d all fallen for that horrible trick before at least once. Whether in an army camp or barricaded in their homes. They all knew that if you let your guard down, you’d regret it. Everyone was armed with something and never ventured far away from their weapons.

  Amy should have been fast asleep, but she couldn’t get that damn thing out of her head. It was so strong and fast. The fat bastards were a challenge, but so slow that with practice, a small group could take one out without suffering casualties. These new ones were different. She was still unsure how they’d survived the encounter without injury. She looked at Jack, who was fast asleep next to her in the farmhouses’ box room. It was a tight squeeze, but she thought it more cosy than claustrophobic. He didn’t have a care in the world. These people didn’t look to him for their survival, he wasn’t responsible for their lives. That honour had fallen upon her.

  Amy quietly got to her feet and got dressed, careful not to wake Jack. She picked up her machete and looked at it disappointedly. The small amount of guns they had to protect the group wasn’t enough. Ammunition for them just as pitiful. Knives, bats and improvised weapons would not work against the new threat unless they were lucky again. She already had concerns of what would happen if a large horde descended upon them. What if more of those new things got close? What if more Natashas emerged and staged an a
rmed assault? Amy hated what ifs, but they filled her mind. She couldn’t just sit and wait.

  Amy crept downstairs. The house was less crowded these days, most preferring the space an outside shelter provided. No one slept in hallways anymore. They didn’t believe they were safe from attack, they just had faith in their community to do its job and raise the alarms or defend them.

  Amy poured a large glass of water in the kitchen’s darkness and looked out of the window. Silence and stillness. Good. She had already decided what she needed to do. She was going to return to the camp. That horrible fucking place. She had heard from a few later arrivals at the community that it fell a day or so after they had escaped. Weakened by the riot, they had lost authority. They airlifted those of importance to safety, with as much of the military force as possible, as the dead closed in. With the protection of the soldiers gone, the civilians were easy pickings. Only a few escaped, those that weren’t brutally devoured were turned. More hungry mouths looking for a feed. She knew it was dangerous, foolish even. But the camp would be good for two things, supplies and weapons. Surely if the stories were true that the evacuation of those in control was by helicopter, there would still be food, medical supplies, and weapons that had been left behind.

  Amy hadn’t noticed Bo sitting in the corner of the room. It was nearly 5 am, and his prostate made sure he’d not stayed asleep. “I’m sorry about earlier. I’m just feeling my age.”

  Amy walked over and sat next to Bo. “You’re alright. We need you, we wouldn’t be here without you.”

  “Nah, you don’t. I’ve outlived my usefulness. In the camp I was a bit of a fixer, I had been a lot of my life. I could get most things for most people. Now I can’t even get a good night’s sleep. I’m just an old man with a fucking gun.”

  “You’re still my number two. The brains to my…”

  “Beauty?” Bo interrupted with a smile.

  “I was going to say inexperience. I’m not a commander, I’m not a leader.”