by Rees, Kevin
‘The boss wants a progress report, Alpha leader.’ Cole’s voice was coming through clearly.
‘Five and down... out.’
They were getting closer to the morgue. He raised an arm and waved at the man in black. Father glanced at him. The radioman drew a finger across his throat. Father nodded. He’d factored in the assault as a given response, knowing Felton would react in kind. That’s how it always was. No doubt still mad at him for killing his wife. His smile turned into a flash of annoyance as a vibration had him reach into his pocket to remove the tiresome instrument causing his irritation. He looked momentarily at the screen to see who it was before stabbing a hard pointed nail onto the button.
‘You have something to tell me.’ His voice had a deep tone as if held suspended in syrup and lightly accented, placing him in the high eastern regions of Europe. It was cultured and not street guttural like so many of the converts who were being developed and deployed. ‘How many? What armament? You’re too late, I think the little birds are soon to arrive.’ Father ended the call brusquely.
Some had paused in their work, expecting him to speak, and learned, painfully at times, to wait until he was ready. Only one, his son, Tomar, had the courage to make eye contact with the old man. His father seemed to have shed twenty years since he fed, and now stood like a man who was as calm as someone appreciating a sunset.
‘Soon, father?’ Tomar asked.
Father contemplated the young man, his head cocked to one side. It unnerved Tomar, who lowered his gaze.
‘Soon,’ the old man replied.
Tomar nodded nervously and moved back to the safety of the others. Father judged the preparations were just about ready: blocks, traps and delays for the arriving assault team were in place down each corridor. What he couldn’t estimate was the strength they were about to come up against. Bullet fodder would be the first line of defence. He ordered Tomar to deploy all those who were starting the first stages of madness before full assimilation. In the skirmish that took place on the ward he had deliberately shown the meagre strength of his family, a few Bloodeaters and one of those gunned down. And there was the hostage, the girl, who predictably they would try and heroically rescue. She was of no consequence in the upcoming battle, but a bargaining chip if he needed one.
‘Gather around me.’ Father’s voice brought all eyes in the room onto him. The group moved to their commander. ‘We have a small assault team coming our way. Seven, maybe eight highly trained Bashalx, who want to cut off our heads. They carry automatic weapons, handguns, and no doubt explosives. I am sure we can match these vermin.’
The Brood murmured excitedly.
‘Tomar, how many First Bloods have been turned?’
‘Over sixty, Father. I have positioned them as you instructed.’
‘Good. Then it’s my time to leave. Fight well.’
Father moved to the back of the room and lifted a heavy rectangular steel plate in the floor as easily as picking up a sheet of paper. It opened into a drainage feed, except what should have resembled a pipe now had a gaping black hole descending into a dark pit. He briefly acknowledged the younger man before dropping into the darkness. Tomar replaced the plate quietly.
The absence of any light shielded the old Bloodeaters body, while his eyes adjusted instantly. He scanned the tunnel and found what he was looking for. The woman’s body had been treated with respect, as he had instructed. Kat Merunkova sat wrapped in a thick blanket, which had fallen away from her shoulders allowing the frosty temperature to gnaw at her exposed skin, which had turned milky white. The hospital gown, which barely covered her, did nothing to keep her warm. As well as shivering, she stared into the darkness. Her slow blink rate gave away the use of a sedative delivered into her arm by an IV drip attached to the low ceiling of the tunnel. It was keeping her nicely subdued. A primitive, but effective method.
Father squatted beside her and looked into the blank eyes staring blindly at the opposite side of the narrow tunnel. He didn’t want a screaming, hysterical female alerting Felton’s toy soldiers to his subterfuge. His hand reached out and brushed away cold earth from her face. He became aware of stirrings within him, as his brushing turned into a caress. His hand moved from her face onto her shoulders before falling casually to her breasts, where he began kneading and pinching the sensitive flesh without any compassion for the girl. His hand moved underneath the flimsy garment and patted her stomach casually, as if he were examining a pet for its pedigree. Father peered into Kat’s face for any reaction. Tears began to form at the corner of her eyes, but the chemical stupor was checking any resistance. He moved his hand again, teasing her by stroking the narrow, stubby line of her pubic hair, and then moving back up to pinch her breasts sadistically. With no reaction, Father grew tired of his own game.
Kat was fighting the drug and tried to scream. She felt his hand slide between her legs, causing her to moan softly. It wasn’t just the humiliation; it was the pain of his talons slicing into her delicate flesh. The Bloodeater laughed and pressed harder, moving his fingers rhythmically. Kat felt several sharp icicles penetrating deep inside her. She willed her thighs to clamp together around his wrist to stop the pain. Kat tried screaming, but a pitiful gurgle was all she had in her. But the pain was becoming a strange ally, pushing more adrenaline into her system. Kat felt her left hand move with painful slowness to his. She pushed against his wrist with little strength to stop him, hampered as she was by the sack of fluid attached to her vein. She pushed again, ripping out the tube. The bag tore, spilling liquid over the madman violating her. Father roared, ripping his hand free from between her legs. Furiously, he grabbed her head and pressed his thumbnail against the thin skin of her temple. The needle-sharp point punctured it easily, rupturing the temporal nerve underneath as if he were splitting a fly in two. Kat’s body convulsed and spasmed as the steel-hard nail threatened to penetrate through the bone. It was the distant sound of gunfire from above that saved her from any more torture. Father stopped and listened. Kat felt the immediate warmth of blood spilling out of the wound, which run down the side of her head. Father hissed in anger, realising he had allowed himself to be indulged by a low-grade female while Felton’s forces had begun to engage his defences. He wrapped the sheet around Kat tightly before lifting her roughly onto his shoulder. He had to crouch, but was able to move down the low tunnel.
‘They’re engaging.’ One of the women ran into the morgue. She was sweating and unsteady on her feet. ‘I have to tell Father.’ Confusion settled onto her face as she looked for him. ‘Where is he?’
‘Father is putting his part of the plan into action.’ Tomar held her gaze as an unspoken understanding passed between them as to the likely outcome. They were just the pawns in this game, expendable and left to die as generations before them had been sacrificed. Vengeance, revenge and a bygone rage that had retained its incendiary heat were still the driving force for this and other missions. Shame, Tomar thought. He could have tried buying himself out of this one, but then a pawn is a pawn and never destined to grow old. He listened as the faint sound of gunfire faded signalling Felton’s team had engaged the first of their defences.
Lars dragged Eddie to the ground just as he was about to walk under a deadfall trap. Four, heavy oxygen bottles had been lashed together and suspended from a stairwell ceiling. Had it tripped, Eddie’s skull would have been crushed if Lars hadn’t spotted the wire in time. Eddie got up angrily, shaking the hand from his shoulder. Lars pointed to the line of suture thread that was nearly invisible. Years ago, Eddie would have spotted the tripwire.
‘Are we okay, Eddie?’ Lars offered his hand again.
Eddie was beginning to like the big Swede. He was having just as much shit as he was today with the mission and Maya — especially with Maya. Eddie took his hand and lost it immediately in the other man’s grip. ‘You’re okay, Lars.’ He grinned up at him.
Lars smiled back, appreciating the kinship building between them.
On th
e stairs above them an animalistic scream broke the moment. They both turned. Eddie heard weapons being brought up as he reached into his pocket for his pistol. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of black skim past his shoulder and heard a crunch that rang with a hollow sound as it connected with something. Eddie spun around quickly and knelt with his trigger finger applying enough pressure to check before firing. An old woman had tripped the deadfall. Eddie guessed she came from one of the geriatric wards above them. All the woman had on was a diaper, and although the bottles and unforgiving wall had smashed her upper torso into pâté, he could see several deep bite marks on an arm and on both her legs, the same as the ones on the girl.
‘Roman. Make sure she doesn’t get up again,’ Lars commanded.
The man who had warned him about Phil stepped forward. As with any good soldier, his MP7 was cocked and ready. He sent three rounds into what resembled her head and stepped back, smiling. He was just about to say something when four more old people, moving quicker than their age should have allowed them, came out of nowhere. Roman swung his weapon and got a full magazine off before they were on him, biting and tearing. Eddie sighted his Glock on one and hit her with a double tap to the chest.
‘Hit their heads... the heads.’ Lars tapped his skull.
Eddie aimed again.
Maya and the rest stepped forward and loosed off their weapons. Several of the bullets hit Roman’s vest as he fought ferociously on the floor with three on top of him. He managed to grip the throats of two and held them up like coconuts for the team to shoot. The third one was wrapped in his thick legs. Eddie shot twice more, this time the woman stopped moving. As he reloaded, something clanked against his boot. Eddie looked down and saw it was a lower set of false teeth. They were heavily stained with fresh blood.
‘Lars, I think Roman’s bleeding.’ He nudged the teeth over with his foot.
Lars picked up the dentures. He glanced at Eddie and then at Roman, who was struggling to get to his feet. Maya went to move forward to help him.
‘Hold back, Maya... I think he’s been bitten.’ He held up the plastic teeth coated in poisonous saliva and blood for the team to see. ‘Roman, my friend, can you feel anything? Any pain?’
Roman sat on the floor with his back to them. Eddie could see he was in what Lars called Stevat’d teh as his uniform and vest were almost bursting on his engorged body.
‘Roman, answer me, will you?’ Lars demanded.
Roman lifted a hand in the air. Maya gasped and turned away. Three of his fingers were missing. The ragged edges gave no doubt as to them having been bitten off by the attackers. There wasn’t a lot of blood, but what there was dripped onto the hard floor and began congealing immediately. Roman tried getting up, but fell back down.
‘Seems it wasn’t only my damned hand they took some fingers off, Lars... I don’t seem to have any skin left on my chest and can see my bones.’ Roman’s words hit Lars like a shockwave. ‘I will not leave you the decision, kamerad.’ In one fluid motion Roman grabbed the MP7 and pressed down hard on the trigger. The bullets entered his mouth and head, making the team duck as they left his body and ricocheted around the corridor.
A mixture of blood and cordite hung heavily between the team. Two men went forward and picked up their fallen friend. They expertly put him into a body bag and sealed it tightly before placing him under the stairwell.
Lars clapped his hands together and blew into his palms. He was struggling for words of comfort, for himself, and for the team. Roman had taught him everything and had been his friend. He got him drunk for the first time on Cherry Schnapps in Germany. Lars would see to it his friend would return there. He would bury him with a bottle of Schnapps to drink on the long journey to wherever he was going.
Lars walked over to the fallen rifle and picked it up. Silently, he checked it. Knowing what would be required, Roman had laid out his magazines, saving the painful task of stripping his body to find them. Also on the floor was his prized knife. Heavy and thick bladed, chipped on one edge and stained along the bloodline. Lars picked it up with the ammunition and walked back to the team.
‘You fought well, Eddie. Here, take these.’ Lars handed over the weapon and ammunition. Eddie took it without a word. ‘Roman made many enemies go to their death with this.’ He held out the knife to the nurse. ‘Use it well.’
‘I know how you feel, Lars, and I’ll take good care of all this,’ he said, pointing to the rifle. ‘But I’ll swap his knife for yours. I’m sure your friend meant you to have it, not me.’
Lars took his knife out from its sheath and offered it to Eddie.
‘I think you need to say a few words to the rest of them.’
Lars turned. ‘Everyone, listen to me. We have one fallen who needs to be avenged by us. We have one not far away who needs killing.’ The team listened intently. ‘I didn’t want any casualties, no deaths; no Commander wants that. Roman sacrificed himself and we owe it to him to wipe out the disease that’s cowering ahead of us. I cannot promise no-one else will die. Know, I will fight with my last breath to make sure you all return to your families.’ Lars raised his weapon. ‘Are you ready to kill?’
There was little doubt the team were ready. Eddie stayed out of the circle as Lars gave his speech. It was important the team mourn their loss quickly before they took the fight to Father. As Lars turned, Eddie nodded his approval. The Swede gave him a half-hearted smile before giving the order to move on towards the morgue. The enemy held the advantage in numbers when ordinary human beings could be turned into one of those creatures. And how could all this have been kept secret?
They were questions Eddie would ask after the mission — if he survived.
13
Cole had a two-way feed being relayed back to him from the throat mic’s, and briefed the two men of the casualty as soon as it was confirmed Roman was dead. Karl took the news with mixed emotions, saddened by the death of one of his elite men and relieved Maya was okay. Sixsmith viewed the situation more casually. Fewer numbers going into the fight meant victory wasn’t assured, and Father might slip silently away to turn up in someone else’s back yard. He saw Karl accepting the news and knew the feeling of losing men under one’s command. Sending troops to their death was not an easy choice, but it was one all commanders were faced with. It was how well you lived afterwards that counted, and Sixsmith lived very well, free of any conscience.
A vibration buzzed like an angry bee in his jacket, loud enough for his bodyguard to absently turn his head. He pulled out the slim phone and recognised the number. Sixsmith walked over to a quiet corner before pressing the green button. The bodyguard tracked him and started to follow. Sixsmith waved a hand, indicating it was a private call. The guard stopped and moved back to the radio where Karl Felton stood waiting for more news.
‘Sixsmith.’
The voice seemed to whisper at first then broke into normal volume. ‘Colonel... how goes the operation?’
‘Felton is one casualty down, and his team has not made contact with the main force.’ He paused, expecting an interruption, but none came. ‘Felton’s team are unsure of the numbers they will face. And I understand several of the patients have been infected with something and are being used as a sort of frontline force. Other than that there is no more I can give you.’
‘And our acquaintance?’
‘No news as yet. Felton’s people have not breached their main pocket of resistance, which, one would assume is where he is likely to be.’ Sixsmith lowered his voice as the bodyguard looked over. ‘Felton believes we should be in contact within the next hour.’ Sixsmith paused before speaking again, allowing his voice to find the right tone. ‘This is a bloody mess, if I might say. Our own people are being used against us. Patients, for God’s sake... How am I supposed to keep this from the press? No D notice is going to prevent some evangelical snoop from finding out the truth eventually.’
The person on the other side of the conversation remained silent. Sixsmith
could imagine the anger radiating from the caller. He was angry too, for being compromised and put into an impossible situation. As the liaison on the ground, what he observed was a statement of truth, and this was far from the situation he wanted planned and executed. Sixsmith looked at his phone and realised the call had been terminated.
‘Boss! Commander Felton wants you. I think something’s kicking off,’ Sam Cornick called out.
Sixsmith responded seamlessly, moving past his bodyguard to where Karl stood listening intently to the feed from the team.
‘Control 1...Control 1. We are engaging...To the left, dammit...Shoot them before they get close. Sir, we are engaging a sizeable force of Jaik’s.’ Lars’s voice was loud but calm over the radio as the crack of high calibre rounds were fired close to him. ‘Eddie, on your left... Sir. We have no further casualties, but we could run out of ammunition if they have infected a sizeable amount of First Bloods...Target on your left, Maya...’
‘Contacts broken, Pop,’ Cole said. ‘Sounds like they’re a little distracted.’ He hoped his attempt to reassure would be felt by the man gripping his shoulders painfully.
Karl turned to Sixsmith. ‘I need two of your men to take more ammunition to the team, and for one to stay and replace Roman.’
Sixsmith began to shake his head. ‘Karl, old man, you know I cannot allow my men to go in there, especially as part of your assault team. We could call it off — the assault that is. Or you could ask for backup from your own people.’ Sixsmith felt intimidated by the expression the taller man had on his face, but remained outwardly cool. ‘Besides, I am sure your team can handle a few broken humans, and a handful of Father’s faithful.’