by M. W. Duncan
Eric retrieved Skye from the car, and closed the front door behind them. He pulled two glass bowls from the kitchen cupboard, filled them with water and placed them on the floor. Skye drank and drank, much of the water flicking onto the floor.
“Thirsty, girl?”
Cans of dog food sat at the back of one of the shelves in the pantry. Eric pulled one out, stabbed at the lid with his knife and tore open the top. He didn’t bother finding another bowl, and simply tipped the contents onto the floor. Skye sniffed before wolfing it all down. Her eyes darted to Eric twice, and each time her tail wagged.
“And hungry, too?”
The army camp provided the best option. If he could make it there then there was a chance his return to his family could be facilitated. If there were other elements of the armed forces still fighting then they would be making supply runs between each operating base. By road and air. Maybe even sea. Eric could barter his way. In times like this, an experienced operator like him would be worth making special arrangements for. It sparked a glimmer of hope. He threw down three glasses of the cold water from the tap. Skye crept up and rubbed her face into his leg. Eric sank down to the floor, letting the dog curl up next to him. A few hours rest first and then he’d gather supplies. Fifteen miles. Only fifteen.
Chapter 8
I’ll Fight Till From My Bones My Flesh Be Hacked
Brutus ran from the underground chambers, a holdall over his shoulder. The rain fell with more insistence, and his boots scattered water from the quickly growing puddles.
“Over here.” Ash Gibbons waved from the doorway to the reception area.
Brutus altered course, and took shelter in the doorway. Silas Salt stood silent yet focused off to the right of Ash.
“They’re coming?” he asked, setting his heavy burden down.
“Roy’s up there.” He pointed to the roof. “He’s relocated to the helipad and spotted the convoy moving through the city.”
“How much time do we have?”
“Half an hour. Maybe.”
Ash did not seem overly concerned by the revelation, too long a soldier to show outward panic. But there was a feeling in the air. Though nobody looked at him now, he felt their eyes and expectations keenly.
The gate to the facility was closed, a steel barrier, reinforced with strong beams with rolls of razor wire on top. On either side of the gate sat machine gun posts under camo nets and squat canopies. Freddo manned the gun to the left, Taylor to the right. Niall stood by the gate, making sure it was barred fast. He rattled the mechanism until satisfied, and gave Brutus the thumbs up.
Magnus came down the stairs behind, carrying an armful of MP5s. He laid them on the counter. “Thought we might need these. I’ll get the rest and the ammo.” He disappeared back up the stairs at a run.
“Are your families inside?”
“Murray and Taylor brought them in. They’re on the fifth floor, facing out onto the river.”
“Good.” Any indirect fire would be less likely to put them in danger located there.
The rain was doing a fantastic job of washing away the blood at the door.
“I want everyone issued with an MP5 and as much ammo as they can carry. I don’t want anyone running dry.”
“Give me a weapon, Brutus,” said Silas. “I’m very handy in a tight spot, you know that.”
“I want Silas secured to the strut over there.”
“You’re making a mistake, Brutus. I could make the difference here between you keeping control of this place or you all dying. Do you really want to take that chance?”
“Tie him tight, and make sure he doesn’t have any hidden blades on him. Legs, too.” To Silas, Brutus said, “Not another word, understand?”
Ash pulled Silas to the metal strut, pointed his Glock at his head and pushed him down, then secured his arms behind his back around the structure using plastic ties.
Magnus returned, Roy by his side, and they dumped more weapons on the reception counter.
“Brutus.” Roy flicked his head. “A word.” He moved toward the stairs, away from ears, and Brutus followed.
“You’ve left your watch. Better be important.”
“Magnus mentioned the name Silas. You know who he is?”
“Nothing more than the name.”
“Green Zone in Baghdad. There was one guy who went off base and raped and killed a young family.”
“I remember. He returned covered in their blood. Silas wasn’t the name though, was it?”
“No. Wayne Salt. I heard he’d been taken away for prosecution. Heard nothing since.”
Brutus pulled at his beard. “Not a word to anyone else on the team for now, okay?”
“We should kill him, now.”
“Yes, we should. But we might need his knowledge to get us through this shit. Tell me about the convoy heading here.”
They moved back to the reception area. Brutus picked up magazines for the MP5s and stuffed them into his pockets.
“Seven vehicles in all. Two medium sized single-decked buses. They’re battling their way here, so should be a little gun-weary when they arrive. How’re we going to play this?”
“When they pull up to the gate we open up with the fifty-calibres. Anyone who makes it out we’ll engage with small arms from the walls. If we’re lucky, we’ll take them all out before they have a chance to form any resistance. If not, we need to put up such a front that they scatter and think twice before coming back.”
“The Owls are going to come after us. Maybe not next week but some time.”
“Maybe,” said Brutus, handing three magazines to Roy. “Or maybe they’ll have their hands full with the mess they’ve created. There’s a whole world of infected out there, and the infected don’t look at The Owls as off limits. So, if The Owls come for us it won’t be soon. There’s a whole city out there to fight before they get close to us. I can guarantee that.” Brutus endured Roy’s gaze.
“Good luck, then.”
“To us all,” said Brutus, smiling.
Roy snapped a magazine into the MP5 and dashed back toward the stairwell. It was a long climb back to the top of the building and the protruding helipad. He made it to the top without incident. No hidden surprises.
“Magnus, see that everyone has some of these magazines. Take the bag, and dish ’em out.”
Brutus crossed to Silas. “I’m leaving you now, Silas. You be a good boy while we’re away. Free yourself from your restraints or cause me any inconvenience, no matter how small, I will make sure you suffer in a way only a few people in this world could ever believe.”
“So many threats, Brutus? When all I’ve tried to do is help you.”
Brutus threw a pointed kick into Silas’s ribs.
Ash was at his side. “We can deal with this piece of shit after. Come on.”
Brutus sidestepped Ash enough to look directly down at Silas. “Think on it, Wayne.”
Silas’s face twitched.
“You say you know me? Then you know I am a man of my word. Do anything to jeopardise us here and you’ll see exactly what it means when I keep a promise.”
Brutus marched out into the courtyard. Magnus was on the walls, distributing the ammo. Niall walked over to Brutus, both men were quickly soaked by the rain.
Niall wiped wet hair from his face. “We’re as ready as we’ll ever be.” He looked back up to the walls. “I wish we had more bodies to cover all the ground. It’s a lot of wall.”
“They’re coming from one direction. And I doubt any of them have brought a ladder. You’re with me, right?”
“Of course. To the ends of the earth, it would seem,” he said with a smirk.
Together they climbed the narrow stairs, up to the wall. From the outside the walls underwhelmed Brutus some. Now, standing atop them, they felt imposing and strong. Wave after wave of infected could rush the walls for naught. They were so close to winning. He could feel it. One battle, then a respite to take stock.
The parape
t was high enough that if Brutus was to kneel down, he would be concealed from view. Plenty of cover. Brutus ducked into the machine gun nest below the camouflage canvass. The rain drummed out a noisy cacophony. Taylor loaded the .50 calibre weapon, checking each box of ammunition was ready. Three men beneath the cover was a tight fit. Brutus squeezed his shoulder before leaving them and headed along the wall to the edge of the gate.
He waved to Freddo. “Alright?”
Freddo held up a thumb.
Niall tapped Brutus on the shoulder. He pulled an earpiece free, letting it dangle on the cord.
“I said no radios,” snapped Brutus. “We don’t know if they’re listening.”
“You want Roy running up and down all them stairs to report updates? They’re coming. They’ll be in view very soon.”
Brutus swung a backhanded punch, striking Niall on the chin, sending him back a few steps.
“You might’ve just compromised this whole endeavour. I said no shitty radios for a reason.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” said Niall, rubbing his chin. He spat. “They’re coming. We’re here. Let’s deal with it then worry about whether I should have used the radio or not. Okay? Now, where do you want me?”
“Far corner, up on the wall, past Freddo. I’ll be in other corner. Magnus will support Freddo and Ash will support Taylor. Roy will watch from above. Nobody fires until I give the word.” He turned from Niall before the urge to punch him again was overwhelming.
The men moved into position. Brutus reached the end of the front-facing wall, where it joined with the barrier that ran to the riverside. He sank down and brought his weapon up. The MP5 sat awkwardly, so he removed the strap and placed the magazines neatly around him. He adjusted his AK-47 leaving it to hang. Now he just had to wait.
Niall whistled, two short and sharp sounds. He pointed up to where Roy was stationed.
Their visitors were coming. The long street leading to the building was deserted. Buildings lined both sides of the road, many boarded up or secured with shutters. Graffiti brightened the dull exterior. When the recession hit, businesses suffered and this was the legacy. Builds left with no further purpose.
The first vehicle came into view running ahead of the main convoy. A dark car, with an armed man standing up through the sunroof. A pickup with more armed men in the back followed. Then two small buses. Bringing up the rear, three more pickups with men clinging to the back. The last vehicle stopped and the men opened fire back the way they had come.
The lead car and first pickup pulled up to the gate. One man opened the passenger door and got out. “Open the goddamned gate,” he shouted. “The whole city will be down on top of us soon. Hey! I can see you up there. Open the gate! Now!”
“The mechanism’s jammed,” replied Freddo. “We’re working on it.”
“Don’t take too long. Those things are everywhere.”
The men below formed a perimeter around the vehicles. Brutus counted nine. They were tightly packed, feet from the cars, and too close to the walls for the heavy weapons to reach. The walls provided cover to the nearest enemy. The firing arcs of the 50s would not reach them. Brutus signalled to Ash to be ready to hurl grenades down below. Ash gave the thumbs up and crawled back past the gun placement passing on the order.
The buses pulled up, their brakes whining the arrival. Tinted windows concealed the numbers inside. The final three vehicles pulled up and formed a makeshift barrier across the road. The security team alighted and took positions aiming their weapons back toward the city.
“Hey, assholes, open the gate. Hell’s about to rain on us.”
Brutus gave the signal. Ash Gibbons launched three grenades over the wall. More were thrown from the far side. Brutus fired three suppressed rounds, taking out the soldier that cursed at them. He fell back into the sodden street. The 50s opened up, barking out their lethality. Both gunners aimed for the buses. Roy was accurate from his position on the helipad. Heavy calibre shots tore through the thin carapace of the buses. The grenades exploded in a dull flash. Men cried out below. Brutus fired into the buses. The windscreens shattered and the driver slumped forward.
Brutus swapped his AK-47 for the MP5. He exposed himself and opened fire on the men blow. The initial blasts hit all the soldiers. One crawled away on elbows, his legs uselessly dragging behind. Brutus hosed him with fire. Reloading came at the same time. Survivors in the buses dashed for the cover of the buildings behind where the convoy stopped.
“Get the fifties firing!” screamed Brutus.
They fired again, first one, then the other. The rounds were sent at anything that moved. Smoke rose from engines and the buses became little more than bullet-ridden wrecks.
Some made it to two of the pickups that pulled out of formation and drove back toward the city. Shots hit the walls. Brutus downed into cover. Taylor’s 50 stopped firing and he, too, hid from the incoming shots. They waited for a lull in the engagement, the wall providing plenty cover to shelter the storm of bullets. Brutus waved Taylor back onto the heavy weapon. Taylor fired again, down into the street. The heavy rounds punched holes in the warehouses as if they were constructed of wood. The enemy retreated, moving back into the confines of the streets beyond.
Brutus raised his hand, an order to hold fire. “Everyone okay?”
The team checked in, one by one. Brutus kicked shell casings away from underfoot. They tumbled from the wall and down into the courtyard. The battle went well. Better than well. They managed to kill or reroute much of the military force sent to secure the building.
Niall climbed the stairs. “Roy’s radioed down. A group of sixty to a hundred infected are on their way.”
Brutus looked over the wall. Bodies lay over the road. More would be trapped inside the vehicles. A few were likely wounded and hoping to find an opportunity to crawl away and survive. He could not allow them to simply creep away. With the infected soon to be roaming outside, he considered letting the infected do it for them? They were too unreliable to trust. He would organise a sweep of the immediate area once they had time to pause, rearm and confirm their orders.
“We’ll let this building do what it was designed for. Keep a watch for now, and stay in position. Don’t fire unless you need to. I’ll want a sweep outside the walls to take out anyone that survived all this.”
In time Brutus could rely on the integrated surveillance systems that the building boasted, but not until the cameras were repaired. Once this was done, they could rely more on these systems rather than have people out on the walls day and night. The cameras were one of the many problems which required his attention.
From above, the faint but unmistakable sound of an aircraft engine thudded.
***
Surreal. That was the only way Ryan Bannister could describe his life in the sanctuary in the centre of London. Breakfast was served in a communal hall, something that looked like the dining room of an extremely expensive school. A buffet of dried fruits, yoghurt, ham, cheese, bread and cereal was offered in buffet form. Tea and coffee was served from urns on trestles to the side, with an array of sugars and milks and all kinds of substitutes.
The noisy business of eating the first meal in sanctuary was a curious thing. Some seemed strangely excited, others understandably wary, others chose to find seats away from chatty groups, preferring to keep eyes down and pick at their meal with cutlery rather than eat. Ryan should have made an effort to introduce himself to others, but he felt little like talking.
The constant ripple of gunfire outside was almost lost by the busy conversations.
Ryan shoved some ham and cheese into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, then tried the dried apricots and yoghurt. It was all delicious. Perhaps his time here was going to be more enjoyable than he anticipated.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention, please?” A woman in a slim-fitting suit stood at the head of the eating hall, two guards standing to her side.
“We hope you’ve en
joyed your breakfast. From here we shall begin your induction. You will be given a tour of the facilities, instructions on procedures that are relevant, and you will be assigned tasks and chores.”
A hand tapped him on the shoulder.
Law.
“Mr. Crispin would like to see you. Now.”
“Now?” he said with his mouth full.
“Now.”
“What about my induction?”
“He was very insistent.”
Ryan wondered if Law ever took the stick out of his ass. He shoved a piece of toast into his mouth and stood, but stood too quickly and tipped his chair to the floor. It clattered at an unfortunate break in the briefing.
“Pardon me,” he said, again his mouth full, and returned the chair to an upright position. He found himself bowing to the room twice as he backed his way out.
They reached the lift. Law swiped his card at the scanner, opening the doors.
“How are you finding it here in London?” asked Ryan, as the doors closed.
“Don’t talk.” Law pushed the button for the highest floor.
The lift rose up, the gentle hum of the mechanisms doing little to alleviate his sudden nervousness. The doors opened and Law lead him out of the lift and along a long corridor toward a set of double doors. Law knocked, opened one door and nodded crisply at Ryan to enter.
Hector Crispin sat straight-backed behind a wide desk. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark at the corners, the one desk lamp making Hector appear ghoulish.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Crispin, Hector, sir?
“Take a seat, Ryan.”
He did as ordered and sat into a leather chair at the desk. The light that illuminated Hector altered. The ghoul vanished. Hector’s face was quite red, his nose bulbous.
“I wanted you here for a few reasons, the most important being an invaluable lesson, one I mean to impress upon you. Law, you may leave us now.”