Capital Falling | Book 4 | Sever

by Winkless, Lance

  “I know, Champ. I’ll be back, try not to worry and be ready for when we arrive.”

  “You can count on it,” Josh says and pulls me in for a man hug.

  “Good luck Andy, we’ll be waiting,” Alice says.

  “Thanks, I know you will,” I reply, and I sweep my hand through the air to clasp hands with her.

  Chapter 13

  Alice approaches the beach nice and slowly, aiming a few meters to the left of the Rabid that is still struggling to right itself on the sand. As soon as she feels the bottom of the boat scrape against the riverbed, she cuts the engine.

  I immediately launch myself off the front of the boat, my feet thrusting forwards. Luckily, the boat has got close enough to the beach to let me land on the sand instead of in the water, which is a bonus. At least I’ll be dry, if I get my face eaten off, I joke to myself as I turn to see Alice reversing the boat away.

  Alice doesn’t venture far, in case the Rabid does attack me and this part of the mission is over before it’s begun. Josh is down low in the boat, his rifle resting on its side and aimed directly at the Rabid.

  My boots crunch against the sand as I take my first steps forward, low and behind my M4. I step straight towards my waiting experiment, which has just about managed to get back to its feet. I doubt that even if it does attack me, it will be much of a threat, the creature barely looks like it knows up from down, but I still approach with caution.

  I can’t see the face of the female Rabid, it is hidden by its long black hair, hanging down the side of its face. I am not even sure if the thing is aware that I’m here and I don’t want to get too much closer to it, I am only about three meters away now.

  “Hey, you,” I call, trying to get its attention, but I get no response. “Excuse me, do you know the way to Buckingham Palace?” I try again, saying the first sentence that comes to mind, but still nothing.

  With no alternative, I ease myself closer to the creature that is simply standing on the sand with its head down, unmoving, like a sick version of an Anthony Gormley art installation. I move closer and once again call, “Hey,” and when I still get no response, I lean forward and with the silencer on the end of my rifle, I poke the creature in the shoulder.

  Now I do get some reaction. Slowly the Rabids head begins to come up and turn in my direction. My heart is pounding hard and fast as the creature’s face is revealed as it looks at me.

  Dead black eyes stare into mine. I know the woman must be quite young by the way she is dressed. Her face has turned old and decrepit though, her skin is greyish yellow, and her lips are blistered and almost black, to match her lifeless eyes. A low vibration begins in the creature’s throat, a horrible, inhuman sound and the volume increases as the blistered lips begin to part. The mouth opens and the jaw moves as if the creature is trying to communicate with me. The low screech changing tone, with the movement of the black mouth.

  My fear and disgust subside at the display by the unfortunate creature, and I begin to feel nothing but sorry for the poor beast. It has made no attempt to move towards me, never mind attacking and I lower my M4 in case it’s that which is stopping the creature from doing so. I must know for sure if it sees me as prey or not, I won’t get a better chance than this.

  Lowering my rifle causes no change in the creature’s behaviour. Eventually, the hideous and yet pitiful noise subsides. Slowly the creature’s mouth inches shut, and it just stands there, its head turned looking at me, it is then that I have no doubt that the Rabid definitely doesn’t see me as prey and I have my answer. I raise my rifle again and squeeze the trigger, shooting the poor woman through her forehead.

  I watch the body fall to the ground and can do nothing but stare at it in pity for a moment, as dark red blood from its head soaks into the sand. I couldn’t let it continue to exist in that state of torment. I also couldn’t let it live and be washed away by the river when it rises. Who knows where it could have ended up?

  Gathering myself, I turn away from the morbid scene at my feet and look out towards Josh and Alice in the boat. Josh is now standing along with Alice and they both stare back at me with looks of shock and pity, the same as mine. I give them a thumbs up and turn for the steps that lead up and off the beach.

  Gunshots ring out suddenly and I drop down low, my rifle scanning for danger, but I can’t see any. The gunshots came from the boat behind me, that has floated a bit farther out from the beach, to a safer distance. Unable to see any threat ahead, I glance quickly back at the boat. Josh’s rifle is pointing at a steep angle, high up at the bridge and I follow his aim.

  I am a good distance closer to the bridge and can see only its underbelly and a tight angle on its sides. Whatever Josh is shooting at is out of my field of view. He has seen Rabids on the bridge above, no doubt and if he is keeping them occupied, I can use it as a distraction to move.

  Keeping low, my legs move in quick time down the narrow beach and to the steps, which have seen better days. Metal poles that shorten as they bring the steps down, are buried into the riverbed holding the steps aloft against the wall of the embankment. The end of the steps is submerged into the shallows of the river at their lowest point, and I will have to climb up onto them if I want to stay dry, which I do.

  I slow, and approach with caution as I get close, the area under the steps doesn’t look inviting. Plastic bags and other rubbish are entangled in the supports and the cross members holding the steps up, the litter bobbing around in the water. Anything could be caught up with the litter and my imagination runs riot, fooling my eyes into thinking they see a bloated hand or a foot.

  Nothing is lurking within the litter I eventually decide, and I move to the water’s edge, pushing my rifle around to my back. In one swift motion, I grab hold of one of the steps and swing my feet over the water, pulling myself up at the same time. The motion isn’t graceful, but it gets me onto the steps without touching the water. I stay low while I bring my rifle back around, gripping it in both hands.

  Treading carefully up each step, I move up until the M4 and the top of my head rises just above the embankment wall. There I pause and scan the area around the top of the steps, the M4’s silencer leading the way.

  An old, but smart looking stone building with columns sits on the wharf adjacent to the top of the steps. Next to that is a small office block that has another larger office block next to it. The road I am planning to use runs between the two office blocks, and I check behind me before my legs push to take me up onto the wharf’s footpath.

  At the top, I make for cover, a tree with low hanging branches in front of the smaller office block. I scan the area again, but nothing moves so I swivel and turn to take my aim onto the bridge behind me. My height on the wharf has changed my angle and I can get a good look at the bridge, although I still can’t see onto the roadway. The bridge looks clear, and my head turns to see if Josh is still aiming up to it, since the gunshots have stopped. He is still aiming up, but his rifle moves back and forth across the bridge suggesting that he has no targets.

  Bringing my rifle back down and around, I scan my area again before deciding it’s time to move into the city. The road that will take me away from the river runs between the two office blocks, it is narrow with the two buildings reaching up each side of it, robbing it of most of its light. Add to that the smoke haze that looks like it is going to get thicker as I move away from the open expanse of the river, means visibility on the road is poor.

  Breaking cover and staying low behind the M4, I cross the wharf and move between the two office blocks. Two parked cars are next to the kerb on the righthand side of the road. I keep my distance from them and steadily begin to stalk down the road. My rifle constantly sweeps through the air between checking the way ahead, checking my six and clearing blind spots. My breathing is calm and steady despite the smoke irritating my chest, I don’t want to cough because if I do, I might not stop.

  Almost at the end of the short road, a shadow appears from the right. I come to a q
uick stop, as does the shadow, the Rabid has seen me. My heart rate increase as the beast in front turns its body towards me as if it might fancy a stroll down to the river. Before it can decide, my M4 swiftly pulls back into my shoulder as my head lowers down to its sights. The male Rabid still looks undecided as I squeeze the trigger and the silenced M4 spits a bullet into the creature’s head. As soon as the Rabid has dropped into a pile, I lower the rifle and continue to the end of the road.

  Taking cover against the side of the larger office block, on my left at the junction at the end of the road, I suddenly notice the top few floors of the Cheesegrater building jutting over the top of smaller buildings ahead. Not too far, I think as I stick my head out to look around. In front of me is a wide through road with multiple lanes. An overpass on the right, carries the road onto London Bridge. I was hoping that I could get onto that road from here, but I will have to carry straight on and hope that the next junction will meet up with it. The street ahead is another narrow road between office blocks on the left and a building site on the right. The site has a perimeter of blue boards, covered in the obligatory Health and Safety signage.

  Something catches my eye, dark figures moving under the overpass, the tunnel dark and foreboding. I lift my rifle to get a better look through its sights. Three beasts are sheltering under the overpass, moving slowly in no particular direction, but their heads are turned towards me and they stare. Have I just slaughtered one of their pack, is it the body heaped in the road that they stare at or is it me?

  It makes no difference if it is me or the body that has caught their attention, I am planning to come back this way, to get back onto the boat, with Karen and Jim. Whilst I might be able to slip past the creatures, one whiff of their flesh will prove irresistible to the undead, I am sure of that. The Rabids will have to be dealt with.

  The underpass is too far away for me to take out all three creatures effectively from my position. I have two choices, I can either move closer or make them come to me. I choose the first option and push myself off the building behind me.

  My movement stirs up the three Rabids. They make no sudden threat to rush forward and attack, but they do begin to mill faster around under the concrete underpass, as if they were agitated. Chilling grunts and squawks echo out from the tunnel and bounce off the surrounding buildings up to me, the noises suggesting that the beasts are trying to communicate between themselves, if that is even possible? Perhaps, they are trying to determine who this newcomer is stalking towards them, or perhaps I give them too much credit.

  I use whatever cover is available as I move down the front of the smaller office block. The cover is limited, however and the creatures watch me come, but they still seem unwilling to come out into the open. At the end of the office block, I decide I am close enough and take a knee, my rifle up with my elbow resting on my knee to steady my aim.

  Smoke drifts across the M4’s sights and the creatures have come to a standstill, watching me. I take the opportunity and quickly calculate the best shooting order. I take aim at the Rabid furthest away from me, behind the other two, in the hopes that shooting that one first may go unnoticed. I squeeze the trigger and hit a headshot, my rifle rapidly repositions and as soon as the second Rabid’s head is in my crosshairs, I squeeze again. The contents of the third creatures head are splattering onto the road only seconds after the first and in quick time all the Rabids are down.

  Pulling my rifle in, I quickly swivel to check the rear, in case the killings has alerted any other creatures. It hasn’t, nothing moves, and I push myself back up onto my feet. Turning, I make my way back up the road towards the blue boards of the building site, crossing the multiple lanes as I go.

  Cautiously, my right shoulder brushing the boards, my rifle’s silencer leads around the corner and onto the street opposite the one I took up from the wharf. Around the corner, a gate into the building site hangs open where another modern office block stands half constructed. I move out from the side, giving the opening a wide berth, in case anything is waiting to jump out on me.

  Nothing moves inside the gate, it is deserted, scattered tools in the mud of the site suggests that the area was deserted rapidly. I slide past wondering where all the workers went, there are no bodies in the mud with the tools, in fact, there is a distinct lack of bodies anywhere in the streets, so far. Has everyone been turned into the undead from this part of the city, or did they manage to escape to safety? I know which one my money would be on.

  Ahead, the street splits into two, I’d planned to go right but it is blocked by more blue boards, so I am forced to carry straight on. My pace slows as the way forward narrows into a slim footpath between the buildings on each side. This is not what I had planned, a claustrophobic alleyway with no other escape routes, other than the entry and the exit. A rustic, but trendy wine bar runs up the left side of the alley, a perfect establishment for the cities bankers that would have swarmed around this area before the outbreak hit and the undead arrived. I am more of a pub man myself, but the thought of a drink right now, wine or beer, may have been too tempting to pass up. A pity the bar is locked up, dark and deserted, I joke to myself as I inch past it, my rifle poised.

  On my right side, is yet another nondescript grey walled office block that has a CCTV camera pointing down in my direction. I wonder, in passing, if any of the countless cameras that cover London are still operational and if anybody is monitoring them. My guess would be that they are working, and somebody is in front of a screen watching and recording.

  Ahead, I can see that the terrain opens out, but not before I need to pass another bar and more office blocks. One of the buildings has a clock reaching out from its frontage and over the alleyway. I notice that the clocks gold hands are showing 0620, assuming that the clock is still accurate I am running behind schedule. Despite the odds that I have turned up around the same time, if the clock has stopped being slim, I can’t help but glance at my watch to confirm. A stopped clock might be right twice a day, but my watch tells me that this clock hasn’t stopped, and I am behind schedule.

  I put any time constraints out of my head, this is not the time to start rushing as it leads to mistakes and Karen and Jim are not going anywhere. I must be sure of our escape route to stand any chance of us reaching the boat safely.

  Smoke drifting past the end of the alleyway as I approach its end is a tell-tale sign that I am about to leave the relative normality that I have seen so far since I entered the city. The smoke isn’t the only giveaway, glinting shards of glass on the roadside also tell their story.

  I take cover in the doorway of a takeaway restaurant as I arrive at the expansive road at the end of the alleyway. Safety glass crunches under my boots as I step into the doorway to use it as cover and I scan my new surroundings. The road is in a state of chaos, even though nothing moves apart from the drifting smoke. At street level, there is barely a window that is not shattered, and bullet holes riddle the retail outlets that line each side of the road. Masonry is pitted, steel is pierced, and wood is splintered. My experience tells me that some of the bullet holes are from small arms fire, but the overwhelming majority of the destruction is caused by heavy calibre bullets.

  Debris covers the entire area, pavement, and road, and in amongst the debris are bodies, dozens of bodies. I am sure dust from the destruction would be spiralling through the air with the smoke, if it wasn’t for the fact that much of it has congealed into the dried, dark blood that stains the street. Not even the rain has managed to wash the slaughter away.

  The carnage is sickening, high-velocity ordnance has ripped bodies to shreds, and I am struggling in my shock to find one that isn’t torn to pieces in amongst the mangled flesh and guts.

  Any relief that I felt in leaving the alleyway behind is squashed instantly as I scan the way ahead and see nothing but endless destruction and slaughter. My experience, unfortunately, makes it self-evident what transpired in this part of the city. I easily visualise the force that the military laid down
here in their attempts to exterminate the enemy, and not just from the ground. Deep pit marks in the road assure me that the hailstorm of bullets thundered down from the sky to do their damage.

  The sickness that threatens to push its way into my throat must be forced back down and I must move my eyes away from the carnage. Instead, I look ahead, trying to keep the death in my peripheral vision as I find my route on towards my destination.

  Leaving the cover of the doorway, I step out into the road to press ahead. Bodies litter the road and the pavement alike, and I have no option but to allow the images of mangled bodies back into my head as I look to pick my way around them. I don’t move far until I find corpses that haven’t completely succumbed to their horrific injuries. My presence triggers a reaction from the undead corpses, just as it has with my previous encounters. The difference now though, is that they don’t reach out, or bare their teeth as I close in on them. Eyes and heads turn in my direction, as if I were a curiosity. Tattered bodies twist and move to get a better look at the stranger stepping near, or do they intend to rise and join me in the hopes they might find fresh flesh. None do rise; however, their broken bodies don’t allow it, despite their hunger.

  Occasionally, I discover a Rabid that could pose a threat on the return journey with my passengers. These creatures must be dealt with and my M4 does so, quickly and mercifully.

  Carefully, I choose my route in case any of the creatures do decide to try and taste the only meat on offer to them. I continue as quickly as I dare farther down the sickening road, towards a pile of burnt-out cars at the junction ahead.

  The carnage is endless, as I fully expect it will be from here on out. I still remember vividly my conversation with Jim when the outbreak first happened, and his description of the chaos in and around Lloyds of London. That building is still ahead of me and there is no way this ruin will improve on my journey there.

  At least six cars are melded together at the junction, the ferocity of the fire melting everything except their metal components. The smell of burnt rubber, plastic and human flesh is strong as I near the remnants. I keep my distance from the clump, but that doesn’t prevent my eyes from falling on charred heads and torsos through the broken windows. As I circle around, a car at the back of the collision has escaped the worst of the fire and some of its blue paint still clings onto its metal shell. The driver’s body isn’t as totally charred as the others and I can’t help but stare at the poor sods burnt face, that stares back at me, its body held back in its seat by the seatbelt. Suddenly, the driver’s body jerks and convulses, shocking me backwards and away from it, my rifle pointing at it aimlessly. Its singed mouth begins to prize open and then its crisp eyelids pull apart, their skin tearing. I pull my trigger before the bloodshot eyeballs have a chance to swivel in their sockets in my direction, my fear forcing me to stop the beast from looking at me.