Cursing myself for thinking too far ahead, I get my head back to the present and the immediate challenge ahead. Pulling the M4 up and in, parallel with my body, my head eases over so that I can get a look around the corner. The enclosed corridor starts to come into view, the bright white walls and ceiling reflecting the little light there is. As my view increases, I start to see debris sprinkled across the floor. Most of the debris is shattered glass and rubble and as my sight focuses farther along, up to the reception area, the clutter on the floor worsens. My heart jumps as two Rabids come into view.
The two creatures appear as dark shadows, the dim light coming from above and behind them from the tall walls of windows in the open area of the first floor. Both of the creatures are in a state of stasis. They barely move, standing still as they wait for new prey to awaken them. I don’t plan to be on their breakfast menu and reposition myself to bring the M4 to bear, pointing the rifle down the corridor at them.
Before I take a shot, I use the sight of the rifle to scan the reception area closer, checking for other Rabids that could be hidden in the dark patches where the light fails to penetrate. I can see only the initial two targets and focus the sight on the Rabid that is slightly further away. This Rabid is considerably bigger than the second nearer one. This Rabid is not facing this way; it is turned facing the stairs leading up to the first floor, that is out of my field of vision. My rifle travels to the right to get the other Rabid in its sights.
My heart stops in sheer panic and fear when the rifle's sight fixes on the target. The Rabid is awake and staring directly down the M4, its head tilted menacingly forward as its mouth begins to open. I can’t afford for it to make any sound, not even a groan. If it alerts the other Rabids that are sure to be covering the first floor, they will be swarming down this corridor in no time.
The M4’s trigger depresses, and a bullet spits out. The shot muffled by the silencer screwed to the muzzle of the rifle. The Rabid’s head bursts open like a soggy old fruit, splattering brain and bone everywhere before it drops to the floor. I am taken aback by the eruption and struggle to understand why the head exploded. I can’t afford to dwell on it now, and my aim moves to the other Rabid but my second of delay is too long. The Rabid screeches a bone-chilling noise as it turns in my direction. It is moving already, so I flick the M4 to auto and fire, filling the Rabid’s neck and head with bullets; it drops. Sound enters the reception and travels down the corridor to me, the sound of Rabids on the move. Dropping the M4 to my chest, I push off from the wall. Moving across to the trolley as quickly as I can, my foot kicks off its brakes and I push. Straining against the heavy trolley and the doors behind, the trolley starts to move, pushing the doors open with it. A stampede has started, coming for me. The rumble of feet hitting the floor and screeches reverberate down the corridor, getting louder with each passing second. Adrenaline gives me strength that was lost to me moments before and fear drives me to push harder. The trolley picks up some more forward momentum, the doors hissing as they swing in, widening out. Rabids are into the reception; I hear them and feel them down there, racing forward behind me.
“Move, you fucking bastard!” I shout at the trolley, desperate for it to listen. Amazingly it does, the doors straighten out, fully open and the trolley glides into the storeroom.
Rabid noise is close, virtually on top of me. The trolley inside, the doors are free and start to swing back closed. I slip through between the trolley and the closing door, which isn’t hard as the doors are moving at a snail’s pace. Looking up, I see the swarm of beasts halfway down the corridor, their twisted faces riddled with ferocious hatred. They will burst the doors back open and tear me to pieces before the doors have even closed. I ram forward into the trolley, and it judders from the blow and jerks forward, hitting the closing doors. The pistons above hiss louder and the doors swing in quickly. I keep pushing, my eyes fixed on the lead Rabid at the threshold to the storeroom.
The Rabid crashes into the doors, stopping their inward momentum instantly, its snarling head jutting through and jamming in the gap. The black mouth of the creature snaps its long teeth at me, rage burning in its evil eyes. My right hand closes around the Glock at my side and pulls the weapon up and over the top of the trolley. I fill the beast’s face with bullets, and it drops limp in the gap.
I keep the pressure on the trolley with my shoulder and jam each foot down onto the trolley’s brakes. They help but they won’t stop the building pressure from the desperate Rabids pushing to get inside.
My minds works like a well-oiled machine and I turn my back on the trolley, pushing against it for all I’m worth. I bend my knees so that I can reach one of the trolley’s lower drawers and I pull it open. Jackpot, a bevy of grenades show themselves in the drawer, alongside numerous ammo mags.
I grab magazines and shove them into any available pouch in my body armour, two going into my back jeans pockets. Two grenades are shoved into my front jean pockets too; it is tight, but in they go. All the while I’m pushing back, but my knees are bending as the trolley gradually slides back from the Rabid’s force, even with the brakes on.
With three more grenades in my hands, I check my exit route and then pull the pins. I slide back up and place two of the grenades on top of the trolley. The scene I see through the gap beyond the door is terrifying. Countless Rabids fill the corridor, baying for blood, ravenous to burst through. Releasing the grenades, the levers spring out. I have seconds to evacuate before they detonate.
I’m running before the ejected grenade levers have settled, dropping the last grenade where I stood. I can’t feel the pain that must be charging through my legs as I sprint for the fire exit on the other side of the storeroom. Adrenaline courses through me, carrying me and I welcome it as sure as a junkie welcomes the needle. The trolley’s wheels squeal against the floor as it is pushed inwards.
I reach the fire exit as the two grenades explode. The shockwave from the explosion hits me and forces me forward. I hit the fire exit door, smashing into the door’s emergency release mechanism. The door flies out, taking me with it and suddenly I’m outside. Hot gas follows me out of the door from the explosion and manages to singe my hair. I whip around and slam the door closed, anticipating the secondary explosion of the grenade I dropped to the floor. I’m just in time, as the door slams shut, the second blast hits and is massive. I can tell, even from outside. The grenade I dropped to the floor takes the whole trolley with it, including all of the other grenades it was carrying. The fire exit door visibly bulges in its frame from the force of the blast. For a moment, I think it is going to shear free and explode out. It doesn’t, it holds in place to my relief, just. I’m not under any illusion that the two blasts will have killed all of the Rabids; they don’t die that easily and I don’t want them to see where I went. If they did and they come through the fire exit after me, that would be the end, I’m sure of it.
I have to keep moving before the adrenaline wears off and my body starts to shut down. I’m on a path at the back of the Orion building. In front is the water of one of the Paddington Basins canals. Bodies still float in the water and some of those bodies still move. My only option is to go left, away from the building. Right is a dead end, with only more water.
The small bridge crosses the canal at the end of the path on my left, and that’s where I go. A familiar ache starts to form in my legs, and walking is going to be very hard any time now. I’ve got to rest. Approaching the bridge, the span of which is across from me, I see a possible place to hold up for a while. There is a gap under the bridge, between it and the concrete bank of the canal. It’ll be tight but I’ll fit.
Chapter 15
Somehow, it is comforting to be enclosed under the span of the bridge, lying on my back and chilling. I felt exposed and vulnerable in the open space of the outside when I exited the Orion building. I couldn’t wait to get out of that building when I was in it, and I can’t work it out. Maybe it’s because I was entombed in the dark for so long? I
had better get used to it and quickly if I’m going to make it to Heathrow. I can’t hide under here for long.
The rush of adrenaline has subsided from my body and my body aches at its passing. My limbs have tightened up, especially my legs. They had no right to get me out of that crisis, but they did. I was sure they would be in far worse shape than they are now after their desperate excursion. They ache and hurt but to my surprise, it is manageable, I think?
I pull out the two grenades I salvaged from my front jeans’ pockets, which makes me even more comfortable. Putting them on the ground next to the two magazines I have already extracted from my back pockets, I roll onto my side, looking over at the canal.
Ripples hit the concrete bank below me. The water would be still if it weren’t for the Rabid bodies churning it. None of them are close and I try to ignore their movement, looking over them to the buildings and sky beyond. The sky is a reddish-orange colour in the areas that aren’t filled with black smoke. If it weren’t for the smoke haze, it could actually be a nice September morning. The British weather never fails to surprise; it was wind, rain, thunder and lightning yesterday evening. That strong wind has done nothing to clear the air of the smoke this morning, though. It hangs all around, staining everything, including my lungs.
I retrieve an energy bar from a pocket in my body armour and it is only when I take my first bite that I realise I haven’t got any water. How the fuck can I forget water? I’m not too hard on myself, though. I have been through the shit and if that’s all I’ve forgotten, then I’ve done well. I will have to locate some, sooner rather than later, however.
The other thing I’ve come away from the building without is a radio, but that couldn’t be avoided. My plan to pick one up from the storeroom didn’t quite work out.
A fast jet streaks across the sky above the buildings I’m looking over and it pulls me out of my daydream. A loud Rabid screech echoes out as the whining noise of its engine fades, bringing me right back to reality. Operations in the city are obviously still ongoing and I wonder if Operation Denial is proceeding as Colonel Reed planned. I hope so, as I am relying on running into one of his units and arranging transport back to Heathrow. My hope doesn’t belay my doubts, however. I’ve seen no evidence of troop activity in this area. When I looked out of my office windows there was nothing, and I didn’t even see a helicopter.
Rolling back onto my back, I sit up, in a fashion. My back is bent forward, my head is ducked down beneath the low bridge above. Taking the last mouthful of the energy bar, which is going down like sawdust, I start to check my gear. How could I forget water, I ask myself again? It would ease this dry concoction in my mouth down. There are plenty of ammo magazines loaded into my body armour, seven and with the two on the floor next to me, that gives me nine. I look for a space to get the two mags on the floor into, and one squeezes in but the other will have to go back into my jeans pocket when I get up. I attach the measly two grenades onto my body armour and I’m ready to go. I’m still taken aback by how fit I’m feeling but I don’t question it, I just go with it. Grabbing the last mag off the floor, I shuffle on my bum over the edge of the bridge where I climbed under. Checking the surrounding area, my right-hand grips the M4 in case it is needed. The coast is clear, and I ease myself from under the bridge, backing against it while I slip the spare mag into my back pocket and scan again.
Smoke is seeping out from the edges of the fire door I exited, back down the path from me. It rises up and away from the building. I wonder if there is a fire in the storeroom, and that will prove to be the end of the Orion headquarters?
I turn my back on it, my concentration moving to work out the best direction to go. Heathrow is south-west from my position, and I want to get onto a main road. The last thing I want is to get caught on a narrow street with limited exits. A main road will also give me the best chance of coming across a military unit. With any luck, they will arrange transport, and if not, they will have comms—or at the very least, I can get some intel off them.
My brain calculates, running through a myriad of different directions I could take. I decide Bayswater Road is where I need to get to, that runs along the top of Hyde Park. Surely, Operation Denial has progressed as far as that by now, so I’m bound to find a military presence in that area? So, if I cross the bridge, I only need to move down one side street before I get onto Sussex Gardens, a main road that runs straight down to my objective, Bayswater Road.
My route decided, I prepare to move. Normally, it would be slow and low as I move; my back and legs won’t take that posture for the distance I’ll be going, though. So, it’ll be slow and upright and with no one covering my six it could be very slow. The M4 rises as I set off.
Moving from down the side of the small walking bridge, my head is soon level with the bridge’s walkway. I scan the approach to the bridge, which is clear, as is the bridge itself. My aim turns to the exit of the bridge, on the other side of the canal. There is a small courtyard with shops encircling it, positioned slightly back from the embankment. One of them is a convenience store and my dry mouth reminds me I need water. I don’t like the look of it, however, so my mouth will have to wait. Left will be my route off the bridge and then down to the small road which leads out of the basin and into the streets beyond. I scan the area on the other side of the bridge and immediately see one Rabid on the left side of the embankment opposite, directly on my route. It is standing in a state of stasis as they seem to do when there is nothing for them to attack. The rest of the route is clear, so I take aim, for a shot that is just inside the distance I am confident with. The silenced M4 hits its target, a direct headshot and the Rabid drops. There is no reaction to the kill shot and so I quickly move, lowering the rifle and mounting the bridge. Crossing the bridge in double time, constantly looking for new threats, feeling exposed and out in the open as I travel over the water. No new threats present themselves and I drop to take cover behind the end of the bridge as soon as I’m over, to rescan, the M4 raised in front of me.
Satisfied, I move again, across the embankment and past the dead Rabid, to the sidewall of one of the shops. Then I move left down the side, to the back corner of the building, where it joins the road.
My movements are once more second nature to me. After years of neglect, the last few days have re-sharpened my technique, my body moving in reflex. No targets are present along the path that carries on along the canal in front of me. I quickly re-check my six before concentrating on scanning around the corner of the building and the road that leads out of the Paddington Basin. The M4 leads my view as I slowly turn it around the corner of the building and onto the short road. My immediate impression is that the road is deserted. The dark, smoky overcast morning is deceptive though, and I take my time checking every dark corner possible, logging blind spots that could have anything lurking behind them. I pick my next hold point, which is behind a green broadband junction box and move, leaving the Basin behind.
So far, I have been lucky, deserted streets and one Rabid. Have the Rabids gone from this area having overhunted to find better feeding grounds, leaving a few stragglers behind, who couldn’t keep up or who got separated from the main pack? The state of the road tells me that chaos has ensued here. Rubbish is strewn all over the road, blowing around in the breeze from the numerous upturned rubbish bins. Windows in the houses and shops on both sides of the street are smashed and crashed, abandoned cars block the road. Time will tell, but I am certain my easy ride won’t last. Drama is near, and I can feel it.
Reaching the broadband box quickly, I scan again from the new angle, pick the next hold point, check my six and move. My next hold point, about a third of the way down the road, is behind a parked car. On the other side of the road, a house smoulders, smoke rising from a hole in its tiled roof. The fire must have been extinguished by the heavy rain last night. A body is face down in the road at the front of the smouldering house, half of its clothes burnt away, exposing charred blistered skin. My eye, through t
he rifle's sights, linger on the morbid scene for a moment. Not to take any sick form of fascination from the burnt body, but to make sure the body isn’t moving. The body doesn’t even twitch and I decide it doesn’t pose a threat. It is properly dead.
At my next stop, halfway down the road, a small convenience shop is nestled in between two houses on my side of the road. The door to the shop is wide open, inviting me in. I’ve got to get a drink from somewhere; is it worth the risk? The door is open but inside looks dark and dingy—it does look empty, though. The road is deserted so I gamble that the shop is too.
Outside, the shop is littered with packets of food trodden into the pavement as if the shop has been hastily ransacked by a mob, which it probably was. What are the odds of me finding anything to drink in there? Surely, it has all been looted long ago? This time, my dried-out mouth wins out, and I really do have to find some sustenance.
I move both slow and low towards the entrance. The windows on each side of the door have advertisements for beer at bargain prices, to tempt customers inside. It may be early in the morning, but an ice-cold beer would go down a treat right now. My parched mouth dries out further, to remind me of its urgency. I ignore it, taking my time.
From the right side of the open door, the opposite side to where the door hangs, I get the best view inside. The place has been stripped bare by the looks of things. A small counter is just inside the door with a till sitting on top of it. Next to the till is an angled display rack which was once full of chocolate bars and other treats, designed to elicit impulse buys off unsuspecting customers. The plastic rack looks forlorn and stands empty with every single bar of sugar stripped from it. Behind the counter, the tobacco display cabinet and next to it the shelves that would have held bottles of spirits stand just as empty. Perhaps someone decided to have a massive party to welcome the apocalypse, I joke to myself.
Capital Falling (Book 3): Resurgence Page 16