by Stevens, GJ
Falling to my hands and knees, I interlaced my fingers over my buried head. Tucking into a foetal position, shrapnel fell to the grass. The burn of oil and hot metal fell all around.
With the last of the debris I stood, giving only a casual glance over to the wreckage as it rocked to a halt and ended its final barrel roll.
“Andrew,” I screamed and paced forward again. My gaze scoured the dense grass.
I soon saw the road and its surface mottled to shreds, fractured with lead still steaming from the small craters.
“Andrew,” I repeated, my voice breaking at the last. Crunching loose tarmac on the road, I stopped, pivoting and letting my crackling voice sing out into the surrounding nothing.
I saw him over the verge, climbing to his feet. Rising from the tall grass, I ran toward the wide smile on his smoke-blackened face. His hands were out, red and charred, his near empty pack hanging in the crook of his arm.
I ran, bounding over the verge, skidding down the side, jumping the shallow ditch and grabbed him as he sucked through his teeth at my embrace.
He pressed his elbows at my side; it was all he could manage as he winced at my grip.
“You suckered them in,” I said through laughter. “You sneaky bastard.”
“Saved the biggest for last. The Brimstone. You should have seen the size of the fucker,” he said.
I could hear the grin in his voice, but it turned to a wince as I hugged tighter.
Drawing back, I took first notice of the sun above the horizon. I watched the sky free of cloud, the blue softening with every moment.
Brushing the loose dirt from my fingers against my jacket, my hands came away with blood. I looked down to find the fabric of my jacket unbroken.
Pain opened inside my stomach, but I knew it wasn't mine when I caught sight of the hole in the side of Andrew's dark woollen coat.
“Shit,” I said, showing Andrew my hands and pointing down to the hole not part of the design.
His eyes grew wide and, with his hands still out in front, I caught the smell of charred flesh in my throat.
With great care I pulled the bag from his arm as I tried to keep it from the rawness of his hands. Unbuttoning his jacket, he winced with every movement.
Peeling the coat back over his shoulders, I held my breath as I saw the thin brown jumper soaked red underneath. I tried to keep my expression straight. I knew, despite not looking, that Andrew's gaze was fixed on mine, keen for my reaction.
Pulling up the jumper, the t-shirt too, I folded up the layers dripping with fresh coppery blood, drawing a sigh of relief as I saw the line traced down the side of his skin.
“It didn't go in,” I said, the words breathless.
He relaxed, tensing again, air sucking through his teeth with every movement.
I took a second look; the bleeding had already slowed. We were safe. A calm air settled.
We'd survived another moment of terrible history, but the elation was short-lived when a high, animal-like scream cut through the air.
A young woman’s desperate voice, calling for help.
24
I turned, looking toward Andrew. His gaze was already urging me away, his hands shooing me off despite his visible pain.
Shrugging the weight of the rucksack from my shoulders, I broke into a sprint and slowed only as the tall grass pulled at my feet, tripping over the uneven, potted tarmac.
The frantic scream came again, cutting through the air in a blood-curdling call.
Despite scouring the horizon, I still couldn't see anyone standing, couldn't shake the possible scenarios. I pictured Zoe slain, blood soaking to the ground, a line of scarlet sinew cutting through her legs. Her gaze fixed, desperate on mine.
With my next few steps the face in my mind had changed. Naomi's wide blue eyes glared back, Zoe's brunette hair raised from her shoulders climbing level with Naomi's ears. Naomi stared up as I looked down. Her guard still surrounded her as she sneered down her nose, fixed with an expression telling me it was all my fault.
I tried to tell myself the pain in my chest was no less when Zoe wasn’t the one pictured.
I couldn't take my eyes off the utter destruction of their legs, even though it was all in my mind. With my feet rolling on the brass of a spent cartridge the size of a finger, the image disappeared.
I told myself the damage was done and tried to force away all thought, but guilt surfaced as I hoped it wasn't Zoe I was about to find, wasn't Naomi standing over her body, screaming for a miracle. Heartbroken.
The shrill call came again. It was the only sound for miles around and resounded louder each time. Still, I couldn't see my destination. All I knew was I was heading towards the crash site, the grass churned up where the rotors first hit.
Half a blade jutted from the ground, a jagged, razor edge cutting through the breeze. I caught movement to my left, from the tree line.
It was Cassidy, her sister dragged along in hand. They were closing, racing forward for the same reason.
Turning, I first saw Naomi, the pit so wide in my stomach I thought it would split open.
She stood in a dip, a valley in the ground, the shake of her body plain to see, even from my distance.
Catching my approach, she raised her arms in a frantic wave, but turned back, shaking her head with tears cascading down her face.
I turned toward Cassidy, who'd closed the distance over the last few seconds. I held my palms out, looked at Ellie, then back.
“No,” I said, my voice solemn.
Cassidy took one look to her side and understood.
“Ells, wait here,” she said.
Keeping my pace, I listened as Cassidy repeated, this time with the sharpest edge I'd heard.
I was moments away and through wet eyes I saw a body laying on the ground.
She was dark, charred beyond recognition, her body swollen, head bulbous and ballooned. Her arms were bent at all angles, legs wild in all directions. She was moving, swaying as if finding comfort in the motion.
I'd known her for half my life. I didn't know if I could watch this happen.
A few more steps and I heard a low, rumbling moan, the pain in my stomach boiled to anger. Fear raged. I sniffed the air, took in the oil and burning chemicals. There wasn't the hideous odour. She hadn't died and come alive again. She was living, at least for now.
Movement caught in the right of my vision, heavy breath, but a natural sound. I let my guard drop, focusing back on the body, but as I arrived, wiping my eyes, I saw Zoe coming down into the valley. It wasn't her laying on the ground.
The swollen, bulbous head was a helmet; the exaggerated swelling body was someone else dressed in a charred olive flight suit. The arms and legs were still at unnatural angles, the pain real, but mine fell away. My tears cleared as the body snapped into focus and for the first time I saw him for who he was. The guy who'd saved our lives, then tried to kill us instead.
25
“Why are you crying over this piece of shit?” I shouted, sneering down in his direction, momentum building in my voice.
Cassidy drew up by my side, Zoe at Naomi's, linking their arms and tucking into her like Ellie had done before to her sister. Their eyes fixed with something like grief covering their features.
The muscles in my chest tightened as I fought for breath. “I thought it was you lying there. I thought one of you was screaming because the other was in such pain, or dead. Not this murderer,” I said, turning as I took a deep breath, pulling back from the urge to spit on the pained body.
I felt Cassidy's hand on my arm and I pivoted towards her and saw her doughy eyes staring back, felt her fingers squeezing. She was trying to urge me to relax, but I couldn't stand here, couldn't weep for this man. This killer.
I span, aiming my venom in Naomi's direction.
“Do you realise who this is? What he tried to do? What he did to our friend out on the road?” I shouted, my hands waving intent.
“Andrew?” Zoe gasped.
“No, he's back there,” I said, volume lower, taking a step forward, my hands raising, thumb and forefinger nearly pinched together.
“This close. He was this fucking close to death,” I said, pushing my hand out. “This close to another fucking funeral when this is all over.” I took another step, my feet within swinging distance of an olive leg bent at the wrong angle. “Why are you crying over this?” I repeated.
Zoe stepped in front of me, stopping me from doing what she read as my intent. Her hands rested on the chest of my jacket, her eyes wide, calming. At least trying to be.
“He's human,” came Naomi's weak voice through a sniff. “Acting on orders.”
I couldn't help but step to the side, step around Zoe, moving to stand over the rocking body.
“Orders to kill us,” I said, giving each word the slow, careful consideration they deserved. “We're the innocent. We've done nothing wrong. We're no harm to anyone.”
I thought of the old man again. That was an accident and if anyone dare say otherwise…
“Orders to kill the infected,” Naomi said in a weak voice. “Or those carrying maybe? They were trying to save the rest of the people. Our people.”
“Are you saying what Andrew did was wrong? Was he wrong to save your life? Our lives?”
“No,” she said and turned away. I watched her walk up the side of the small valley.
I turned to Zoe; wanted to see what she would do. Wanted to see if she would stay or go.
Her stare fixed on the sway of the body, the gentle moan which had grown quiet. Zoe looked up, considered my face for what seemed like a long time.
Something went weak as I watched her inner torment play out on her features and I melted inside. I gave her the out.
“Someone needs to get Andrew,” I said.
Zoe turned and nodded, then jogged after Naomi to wrap her arm around her shoulder as they disappeared over the crest.
“Cassidy,” I said, sweeping around to catch her eye. Hers, too, were on the man lain on the ground.
“It's Cassie,” she said, her voice stern, her gaze not coming off the man. “Call me Cassie, please.”
I nodded and she turned then paused, nodding toward me then back toward her sister. “Someone needs to take care of him,” she said, walking away.
“Guess that's me then,” I said, although there was no one to listen.
My chest had relaxed since I'd last taken note. My breath was coming easy. Long, deep and rhythmic. I took my first proper look at the man. The straight, unflattering line of the charred flight suit. Utility pouches around his stomach open. A first aid kit spilling out as he rocked. A holster tight around his left thigh. A pistol peering out. I was amazed how much the mind can play tricks. To have thought it was Zoe lain there seemed impossible now.
I turned and saw no-one in the valley. They were gone from sight. They'd left me to decide, to take the hard choice. Put him out of his misery or take my revenge and leave him slowly to die. Leave him defenceless, meat for the real enemy.
It was my choice and I wouldn't let them hold it over me. This was a new world. The old laws no longer made sense. We were in the new frontier, governed only by the law of the jungle. Survival of the fittest. Did mercy still have a place?
Although I'd been watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest all this time, it was only now I realised the movement had stopped. The decision had been taken away.
With gratitude rising, I dropped to my knees and undid the Velcro of each pouch, took the first aid kit, a survival tin, and two magazines for the gun.
The body twitched and I stepped back, watching on as the chest deflated, gas belching from his mouth and the other end.
I paused, a thought sudden in my head. What if you didn't need to be bitten to catch whatever it was? Was death enough? The thoughts were plenty to get my pulse raised and my fingers set about working the Velcro of the holster when I caught that smell again.
“Give me a fucking break,” I said, almost shouting.
I looked up, not knowing what I'd see but had not expected another olive-green flight suit standing over the edge of the valley. His face was red with blood and he swayed as if dizzy. In his hand he held a pistol matching the one I was moments from gripping, the gun waving from side to side, but pointing in my general direction.
26
COMMANDER LANE
The first sign was the internet going down. The Skype connection to my wife lost in an instant. Her face frozen in perfection, despite the wide yawn.
With the abrupt halt to our conversation, we'd have to decide later what we'd get up to when my shift finished tomorrow. How we'd celebrate New Year’s Eve a day late, just the two of us. The twins weren't children anymore. I had to keep reminding myself they were nineteen, back from Bristol University for a month. Tomorrow, like tonight, they'd be at a house party, living life as young women should.
I had to stay awake, part of being on call, but Bethany kept her eyes open with matchsticks because she wanted to stay in my time zone.
The second I knew was the relief on my Petty Officer's face as he found me tucked in the corner of our mess room; with such politeness he told me he'd been hunting for me for too long already.
A shout had come in; he didn’t know if it was a training exercise or something more real. All he knew was we’d been ordered to the apron with a briefing on route.
A situation like this wasn't unheard of, but unusual enough to note. We were given a clear flight path to RNAS Culdrose, the only other Naval Air Station in the UK.
The third sign something had gone to shit was in the Land Rover taxiing to the aircraft. I saw the point five machine gun bolted down in the doorway.
Leading Hand Spicer was already aboard, his feet straddling the machine gun. Lieutenant Commander Stubbs sat in the seat next to mine, all but spinning the rotors.
Despite being an operational unit on call, we weren't search and rescue. Those days were gone. We were there to support coastal manoeuvres. To help in a national emergency. To defend the country, but in reality we just drilled until our operations were muscle memory.
Never in my seventeen years of service had we exercised on New Year's Eve.
All that said, the weather was clear. Cold and cloudless. I'd want to be up in my Merlin rather than trying not to fall asleep in the mess any time, plus I'd have a great view when the hour struck.
Still not briefed and following the pre-defined route, we were flying over Plymouth when the ground just went dark. I'd never seen a power cut from the sky before, the ground just shades of black. It reminded me of the desolate Afghan countryside; each moment I expected tracer rounds to light up the night while I hoped they weren't in our direction.
The power was still out by the time we landed at Culdrose half an hour later. My mind kept asking if being scrambled and the power going out were connected.
We had seen the naval station from miles away, could make it out from the depths of the darkness. Apparently the only place on the horizon to have decent backup generators. The clear weather and half-moon helped; so did the apron awash with blinking anti-collision lights.
Headlights from trucks and Land Rovers ran around the base, a procession leaving through the main gates; the only other lights in the dark night. If this was an exercise, then everyone in the Royal Navy seemed to be playing their part.
We finally got our orders as we touched down. We were there to transport VIPs, but we had to wait, we had to stay in our seats and keep the rotors spinning. No mention of the reason why.
I gawked out from the windows, shivering after being told in no uncertain terms not to stow the gun so we could pull the door closed to let the heat build. I was pissed because I could have been up in the air or back at the mess stealing forty winks. There was no enjoyment in waiting, but it was part of the job.
Crates were loaded, ours one of thirty choppers sitting on the tar
mac in the same position. This would blow the fuel budget alone; would cost us another exercise or two. I just hoped it wouldn't cross over into tomorrow. The roster only had me on shift for five hours more.
Stubbs had his eyes closed, within seconds pulling his usual trick. He was an ex-marine and could fall asleep with the flick of a switch.
Spicer pulled up from around the machine gun and leaned through to the cockpit. We'd been crewed together for almost three years, which was unheard of in the service. Stubbs, in the seat next to me, had been on the team for just a few months, but we hadn't bonded in combat.
Spicer was the only rating on the crew. We'd shared a full tour of Afghan and had become friends, despite his rank. Living in a tent twenty-four seven, flying every other moment and putting your lives in each other's hands every day kind of did that. I'd got us out of situations so many times with my hands on the stick. He'd shot our way out of trouble more than I could count. I couldn't do his job; didn't have the balls to pull the trigger.
I remember those first few shots in anger. Remembered how he'd changed, withdrawing for days, but he'd pulled himself out with a little help of our ribbing and a reliance on his drills and training.
I told him of my plans for tomorrow, today now. A meal and a few glasses of wine. He told me of his night of movies. His two young daughters, twins, too, cradled in his arms.
I told him to stop being such a sentimental twat, before quickly shutting my mouth and elbowing Stubbs in the ribs as three Land Rovers pulled alongside.
There were only three passengers, the other two Landy's full of Marine escorts with full kit, as if they were about to set out on a week-long expedition.
A commodore, rear and full admiral shuffled into their seats. The guards were acting like we were back in Kandahar, not on the Lizard Peninsula. We could have taken the escort too, but more trucks arrived and filled the rest of the load space with nameless document boxes and weapon crates.