He had fought harder battles than this, and the growing urgency was soon to be the least of his problems. The APC stopped.
“Time to earn our keep again lads,” Sergeant O’Donnell stated, pushing open the back door. With the exception of the driver, everyone bundled out into the chill evening air, spreading out to form a defensive cordon, donning respirators and gloves. They could still see well enough, but the light was failing fast. Chance at last, thought Tommy, who scouted the scene for a likely toilet venue.
Tommy didn’t need telling what to do or where to go, none of them did. He also couldn't fail to see the human remains that were smeared all over the front of the APC as well as trapped in the tracks of the vehicle. Everything around him just screamed of contamination, which was why there was always a tray filled with bleach waiting to decontaminate their boots before re-boarding.
Their way ahead was blocked, the bridge access denied by a truck that had been abandoned, likely stalled, the driver’s door left open. A small family car the APCs could have likely crushed, but a vehicle this big would need to be dealt with manually, and Tommy was already on his way there with three other soldiers. There were two other cars they would need to move first before they could even consider manoeuvring the truck. All around him, the air was filled with smoke that swirled on the breeze. For the briefest moment, he felt like he was trapped in a horror film from the nineteen fifties.
Tommy saw the movement first and signalled out the warning. The men around him all went to cover, and Tommy trained his weapon on the motion he had caught in the periphery of his vision. He was renowned for having a knack for spotting trouble in the field, as well as starting trouble off of it. In his early days at Hereford, he had seemed to have an unnerving habit of attracting people who had something to prove. O’'Donnell said he just had one of those faces that drew trouble. That rarely ended well for the other party, and it always confused him why anyone would think it was advisable to try and start a pub fight in a town that was home to the country’s elite soldiers.
He was behind a stone wall now, his eyes scanning for what he had seen. Not a threat this time, fortunately. A child emerged slightly from the bush, clearly terrified, but not of the soldiers. The boy couldn’t have been more than thirteen, and he stepped out into the road tentatively.
“Poor kid looks lost” the guy next to Tommy said. If it was an attempt to lighten the moment, it fell flat. Another body joined Tommy by the wall, the respirator briefly making it difficult for Tommy to see who it was.
“The boy alone?” Haggard asked.
“Yeah,” said Tommy. “Want me to go fetch him?”
“Probably best,” came the Captain’s order. “Be careful though, you don’t want to catch a dose.” Tommy nodded, and rising from a crouch, swung his gun so that it hung against his back. Taking a few steps towards the child, he noticed the boy wasn’t backing away. If anything, the kid was happy to come closer.
“Get over here, kid,” Tommy ordered as quietly as he could. The bushes where the boy had appeared from were too thick to see into, and there could be anything in there. Unlikely there were undead so close because Tommy reckoned the child would have appeared screaming and in a mad panic if that had been the case. Tommy expected the boy to hesitate, but instead he ran across the road and over to Tommy who guided him behind the wall.
“We have to be quiet,” the child said urgently. Tommy noticed with relief the lack of blood on the boy. That was a good sign.
“You got a name?” Haggard asked.
“Billy.”
“Are you alone, Billy?”
“Yes. Everyone else is...” The words seemed to seize up in Billy’s throat.
“Tough kid,” someone said behind Tommy. Tommy had to agree. There were scrapes and grazes across the child’s face and arms, most likely from running in blind chaos through the wooded areas. Tommy knelt down by the boy, a gloved hand resting gently on his shoulder. How long had he been out here fending for himself like this?
“I need to check you over, okay?”
“Are you soldiers?” Billy asked. Despite what he had been through, his eyes kept flitting around to look at the guns and the uniforms the SAS were wearing. Tommy reckoned there was a risk of a bit of hero worship developing here.
“That’s right,” Tommy said, lifting up Billy’s arms in the search for bites. The gloved hands protected Tommy from any possible contamination. And as Tommy himself hadn't encountered any zombies since leaving the farm, he reckoned there wasn’t anything lurking on his gloves to put the boy at risk. “Do you know who the SAS are?” Billy nodded, his eyes briefly going wide with excitement. “That’s us, lad.”
“Is that why you are still alive?” Tommy hadn’t expected that question. And it could very well be the reason when you considered it. Not so much for their skill in battle, but in luck as to how they had been deployed. How many more of the three SAS regiments were still alive out there?
“We just got lucky,” Tommy found himself saying. Fortune had a big part of how one survived the apocalypse it seemed.
“Billy, is there anyone else with you, perhaps hiding away?” Haggard watched the boy’s eyes. As unlikely as it might be, there was still the chance this might be some sort of elaborate trap. Maybe he was being paranoid, but Haggard had seen enough fucked-up shit in his time to not rule anything out.
“No. When the zombies came, my Dad told me to run.” The tears came then, Tommy pulling the boy’s T-shirt out of his pants so the abdomen could be checked. More bruises, but nothing made by inhuman teeth. “I did. I ran as hard as I could, and my Dad tried to fight them off. He saved me.”
“Your Dad’s a hero, Billy,” Haggard said. “And you know you couldn’t have done anything to help him, right.” That had to be added because it was more than likely Billy was suffering a whole heap of guilt to add to his terror. The boy seemed to doubt the wisdom of the words before finally nodding his agreement.
“Boy looks clean,” Tommy added.
“We’ll let the Doc have a look at him. Do you know where the zombies are now, Billy?”
“They are on the big road. There are thousands of them. We can’t let them hear us.” Tommy looked up the road across the bridge. From where they were, the undead couldn't be seen, but he thought he could feel something in the ground, a vibration caused by the movement of thousands of feet. He was sure he was imagining it. With that many zombies, fighting them wasn’t an option.
By referring to the big road, Billy had meant the A616 dual carriageway that they needed to cross. Whilst Beckington, Tommy and Jessica looked after Billy in the first vehicle, Nick joined Haggard at the wall. Jessica stayed inside; she knew better than to let the wind pick up her scent.
“The undead have smashed this place,” Haggard said.
“Pulling it up now,” Natasha stated over Nick’s radio headset. She was able to focus in on the road using one of the remaining drones that was presently hovering above it, sent up by the SAS to see what the hell was what. Indeed, the place they needed to cross was swarming with zombies to the extent that they were rammed in shoulder to shoulder. They were moving slowly, heading west. “We can get across, but clearing the bridge might cause enough noise to attract them.” Natasha was stunned by how many there were.
“We’ve been lucky so far,” Nick said to Haggard. “I’m surprised those bastard things didn’t hear our approach.”
“If we set up two fifty cals, we can cover the bridge whilst it’s cleared.” Haggard didn't bother to point out that the cover provided would be for a limited period. They only had so much ammunition. There was also the problem that the light was failing them. Zombies didn’t need to see, so poor visibility wasn’t an issue for them. Whilst the soldiers could use night vision equipment, it all made their task more difficult.
“Still risky, though.” Haggard could see the cogs churning in Nick’s head. “What are you thinking, Nick?”
“Natasha,” Nick said into his mic, “you r
eckon you can have another go to get through to Leeds, see if they can spare some helicopters?” They had tried several times to contact Leeds, or anyone for that matter after evacuating the farm, but apart from Haggard’s one brief communication, they had generally got nothing but garbled scatter.
Now that they were closer, perhaps they would have better luck. There was hope, especially as there was an RAF base north of Leeds. Whilst mainly just a training facility, it was likely still functioning and was probably a refuge point for RAF personnel and equipment fleeing the county’s carnage.
“Communication’s hit and miss as you know, but I can give it another try.”
“I think we’ve gone as far as we can. Might be worth attempting to get ourselves an airlift out of here. It would be better than fighting our way through another horde.” When they had retreated from Preston and from the farm, both times had been a run or die situation, with no time to consider the alternatives. With the way ahead blocked, now might be the time to take a time-out and consider their options.
Nick had to keep reminding himself he was now the acting head of MI13, which normally would mean he had access to considerable military assets. In the times before the present crisis, a single phone call could have half the country’s armed forces at his beck and call. The covenant that MI13 worked under hopefully still existed. Being near Leeds meant that RAF Linton-On-Ouse would most likely be under the command of that city’s commanding general. Surely said general would be amenable to helping them out, assuming they could somehow contact him through the fragmented and tenuous communications network.
“A few helicopters would be nice,” agreed Haggard, assuming there were any left. He and his men had been delivered to Manchester originally by helicopter, but those assets had been redeployed. They had been needed for the evacuation of the SAS base at Hereford which was now owned by the undead. “What do you plan to do with the boy?”
“I’d like to take him with us but…” Nick hesitated. Glancing over, he could see Jessica helping to clean the new arrival up. As he watched, she gave Billy a hug, and the boy just seemed to melt and unleash all his recent trauma. Right there was what mankind risked losing, especially in places like Leeds. Basic empathy and human compassion were skills needed, not for war, but the aftermath, the continuation of the species.
“He might be infected,” Haggard said, finishing the thought. Just because he wasn’t bitten, didn’t mean he wasn’t carrying the virus.
“If he is, I will deal with it.” To think that shooting someone was now considered a merciful act. Nick had no doubts he could do what was required, despite the brutality associated with killing a kid.
***
“Why aren’t you wearing a mask?” Billy asked Jessica. She was using bottled water and a rag to clean the grime off the child’s face. How old was he anyway, ten, eleven?
“Because I don’t need to. I’m special.” Jessica winked at him, which elicited the first smile the boy had probably made in days. That was something else the world was missing, happiness. There wouldn’t be much of that for a long time.
“Kid seems fine,” Beckington said after a quick examination. “Some dehydration, but nothing we need to worry about.” The army doctor still wore gloves whilst examining the boy, though.
“My mum used to say I was special.”
“Every boy is special in their mum’s eyes,” Tommy replied. He felt responsible for the boy, protective even, and he felt he knew why.
There was a reason Tommy had joined the military, with the goal of ultimately ending up in the SAS. That mission had started on the fifteenth of June, 1996 in the rubble of the Manchester Arndale Centre. That was a day that was etched on his memory, even though the explosion caused by the IRA truck bomb was a gap he could never recall. The doctors said it was his brain protecting him from the trauma. If that was the case, why did it allow him the vivid recollection of his own injured mother digging him out from beneath a mound of bricks that had broken several of his bones? Even at the age of four as he had been, that had set him out on a path to keep the world safe from such maniacs. To Tommy, terrorists deserved a special place in hell, and he was more than happy to send them there.
Billy’s face when the child had revealed himself was probably a reflection of the one Tommy had worn that fateful day. Bewildered shock with a slice of abject terror. Being a victim of terrorism had infected Tommy, and there was no way he could have done anything else with his life from that point forward, especially coming from a family with a long tradition of service in the military. Some mothers hated the idea of their sons entering the military. Not Tommy’s. She still had the scars from that day, both physical and mental and felt proud that her son was willing to risk his life to make the world a safer place.
“Do you want to tell me about what happened, Billy?” Jessica wasn’t even close to being a psychologist, she was purely going on instinct. Billy shook his head, which wasn’t really unexpected. “That’s fine, Billy. Any time you want to talk, I’m here okay?”
“Thank you,” Billy said, almost whispering. That was when he clung onto her, the hug surprisingly powerful for such a small boy. And he was small for his age, so it was amazing he had managed to survive when so many hadn’t. Jessica accepted the child’s need, hugging him back gently, letting his sorrow wash over her. She found it difficult to hold back her own tears. They had all been through so much.
There was something else as well, something familiar about the boy.
“Billy, do you dream of the desert?” The boy seemed to stiffen, pulling away slightly as if he had been stung.
“I don’t like going there,” Billy said. “It hurts.” My God, the boy was immune. How the fuck had he kept himself alive with the delight the undead had for his kind? Tommy had only heard whispers of what the Immune encountered when they were asleep, and he wasn’t sure if he believed a word of it. But this conversation was to take him one step away from the arena of doubt.
Jessica found Billy suddenly staring at her with a scrutiny that made her feel uneasy.
“It’s you,” Billy said. “You killed her. You saved us.” Jessica nodded. Would all the immune know her if they were to meet in real life? She had no recollection of encountering Billy in the desert, and even if she had, there could have been no visible recollection, because her face there was scarred and disfigured. They were joined psychically, siblings brought together by the effects the plague had on them.
“I did. I didn’t want to, but it was the only way.” Even her own doubts couldn’t deny that. If Susan had been allowed to live, there would be no hope for any of them.
“Thank you,” Billy said. Jessica thought he was going to grip her in another bear hug, but instead, he turned to Tommy. “I’m hungry.”
“So am I, lad,” Tommy said, although he had other matters to attend to first. Behind his mask, he was smiling.
26.08.19
Frederick, USA
The body of Jessy had been removed, although they had done nothing to remove the blood-stained mattress that marked where she had died. Reece would have dealt with the matter herself, turning the mattress over to hide the evidence, but her broken arm prevented any thought of accomplishing that. All she could do was avoid looking at it, which she found she had problems with. It was like an addiction, her eyes kept getting dragged back to the red stain that marked the crime committed by those that had chased them all down in the desert. Whilst she hadn’t become close to Jessy in the short time they had been confined together, Reece still missed her. There was a connection between them that could only be explained by their joint experience in the dream world.
Reece’s arm felt heavy from the cast that had been mercifully applied to it. She looked at it, the impossibility that it represented, an injury that had been inflicted in her imagination. The Woman of Skulls and her Horsemen were gone now, so the Desert was hopefully safe for them now, no matter how unpleasant it became. Reece wasn’t sure she understood how things had happen
ed the way they had, despite the knowledge she had sucked up from her fellow immune. There were memories floating around in her thoughts that weren’t her own, some pleasant, many terrifying. They died quickly, rejected by the equilibrium her brain demanded, but for brief moments, she got a glimpse of what the others had gone through. Every time she awoke, there would be those fragments that she would need to filter out and reject. Would that be a factor now for as long as she lived? Would there ever be a time where she and Lizzy were free from the nightmare that relentlessly inserted itself into their sleep?
The death of The Woman of Skulls had been a victory, but Reece couldn’t even consider that presently. There was a gnawing concern forcing itself on her, Reece now finding herself swamped by what on the surface appeared to be an irrational fear. The room around her felt like it was too small, too confining. What if everyone in the facility died and there was nobody left to remove the cast on her arm when the time came? What if there wasn’t any electricity to run the cutting drill motor? What if there was nobody left to even open the door to the room she and Lizzy were locked in? How long could they survive in here without food? They had water from the taps in the room’s small bathroom, but if everything collapsed, would the water keep flowing?
At least that part of her body covered by the cast was now zombie proof. Small mercies.
Lizzy lay on the bed next to her, sleeping soundly. Occasionally a murmur would escape Lizzy’s lips, but most of the time, the only noise she made was the gentle breathing that proved she was still alive. The horrors of the desert were still there, but without The Woman of Skulls, there would be no more risk other than horrendous dreams. Being immune to the virus had certainly had more drawbacks than Reece could have ever expected. As bad as her arm felt, things could have been so much worse if not for their saviour, Jessica.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 5): The Last Page 6