by Luke Duffy
They all looked back at him and nodded that they were ready. No words needed to be spoken and despite the radios that they carried, they would work entirely on hand signals and well-practised drills. They all knew their jobs and what needed to be done, and from there on in, they would be relying on the ability of the men beside them knowing exactly what was expected from them.
Stan leaned forward and shrugged against his heavy pack. The straps had already begun to cut into his shoulders and the weight was pressing down on his pelvis and spine. He carried his weapons and ammunition in his assault vest and along with the pistol on his hip, he held a Heckler & Koch MP-5 in his hands. It was a much smaller and lighter weapon than the M-4s and Minimi Light Machineguns that the others were carrying. It was a 9mm sub-machinegun and much easier to handle with the reduced mobility and dexterity in his damaged right arm. He could fire the MP-5 one handed if he needed to and at close quarters or in confined spaces, with its high rate of fire and easy handling, it was the ideal weapon.
All of them were carrying a large amount of equipment. Along with their personal ammunition of twenty magazines each, pistols, and three high-explosive grenades, they were carrying spare rounds for the two Minimis carried by Danny and Bull. Every man had an extra two-hundred rounds of belted ammunition tucked into his vest for the gunners. In their packs they had the ‘music-bins’ that had been supplied by Doctor Warren and his team of scientists. S-Mines, enough water and rations to last them up to a week, medical kit, and a range of other items to suit the individual jobs of each man were crammed into every available space. There had been very little room amongst their equipment for comforts and sleeping bags had been exchanged for lightweight quilted army blankets that scrunched down to a size that was no larger than a grapefruit.
The deck crew silently placed out the gangplank and stepped back. Stan moved forward. He looked up towards the conning tower and saw the faint outline of the watch crew. He recognised the head and shoulders of Werner and gave a nod before he turned and headed up the narrow bridge towards the dock.
One by one, the six men stepped on to the solid ground of the city of London. Suddenly they felt exposed and vulnerable as they took up defensive positions amongst the debris and equipment that littered the dockside. They snapped on their night vision goggles and waited for a few minutes as they watched the shadows and adjusted to their new settings.
The ground was still wet from the rain that had now ceased. Drips continued to fall from the tin roofs of the sheds that lined the small harbour and sent up a cacophony of high-pitched rings as they splashed into the puddles that covered the ground below. The wind blew litter and loose materials around but there were no sounds indicating that the infected were in the area or signs that they were coming.
Stan turned and raised his small green light and flashed his signal to the men standing on the U-boat’s bridge. A few moments later, after quickly checking his GPS and then consulting his compass to confirm their position and intended direction of travel, he stood and began to patrol towards the gates leading out from the dock. Beyond was the dead city.
For a while, as the team patrolled through the streets close to the riverside, they saw no hint of the infected. The area seemed deserted but the signs of the plague were everywhere around them. Cars jammed the roads and every door and window that they passed by was smashed inwards. Barricades all around the city had failed to hold back the grotesque hordes of reanimated corpses. No matter how well constructed, all of them had collapsed eventually. When London had finally been abandoned, it was estimated that more than sixty percent of its population had been killed or added to the ranks of the walking dead. Much of the remainder of the survivors died as they fled and according to the scientists, many had gravitated back towards the urban areas out of instinct when they reanimated.
Stan stopped at a junction and checked his navigation again. The rest of the team went static around him and took cover in the shadows. Ahead of them was a long street that was headed in the direction of their intended LUP, Lying Up Position. A tall apartment building attached to a factory complex had been chosen by Stan to be their base of operations. From the high rooftop, they would be able to see clearly the three large junctions where they intended to place the sound devices and attract the swarms of dead. They were large open spaced intersections that would allow large numbers of the infected to congregate, making it easy for the air force to despatch while the over-watch position remained far enough away to keep the men out of the danger zone.
The other teams had picked similar locations within their AoRs, Areas of Responsibility, and providing that the plan worked, vast numbers of the dead could be destroyed before the ground troops began their break-in from the south. As the ground troops pushed forward through the city, the Special Forces teams would leave their over-watch positions and link up and join in on the advance as they swept through the streets.
Stan peered down along the dark grey street. He could see nothing but the lines of the buildings and the deep shadows that were cast around them. Even through the NVGs, it was difficult to penetrate the dense blackness that was surrounding them. There was no movement but he could not be sure if it was safe or not. For all he knew, there could be a million sets of eyes staring back at him and lying in wait for the men to stumble into an ambush of rotting flesh and snapping teeth.
He wondered if he had made the right decision to stay above ground for the insertion. Two of the other teams had opted to travel through the sewers and underground train tunnels but Stan had felt that they would be more or less trapped if they were detected and staying above the streets was also easier for navigation and communications back to the command centre if the situation dictated.
The street looked desolate. Nothing moved except for the light pieces debris that drifted on the wind and the bloated rats that scurried through the gutters. Stan looked across to Bobby and Marty and nodded, signalling them to lead off. The team followed closely behind in two columns, one on either side of the road, hugging the shadows and the static vehicles at the curb’s edge.
Somewhere in the next street a tin can rolled along on the breeze and rattled loudly as it bounced its way over the tarmac. Somewhere else up ahead of them, a heavy object crashed to the floor and echoed out over the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. As the noise dissipated, the lingering moan of a dead woman drifted out along the street.
Marty raised his hand and the men instantly stopped and dropped to one knee. They waited patiently, scanning their arcs with their weapons at the ready while Marty and Bobby inched forward towards a junction just ahead of them.
There they stopped and watched the streets to their left and right. Through the green glow of their NVGs, they could see a number of distant dark figures wandering aimlessly through the stalled traffic and making their way towards them, but it did not appear as though the team had been detected. The dead were clearly just staggering in whatever direction their bodies faced, with no particular destination. They lurched and waddled, and looked almost comical in their sluggish and ungainly movements, but the sight of their silhouettes stalled any amusement in their observers. Some were bloated to the point of near bursting as the gases continued to expand within their rotting stomachs, and others, having been consumed to near skeletal, appeared demonic. All infected were terrifying to behold. Even the fresh ones were devoid of anything human and their pale lifeless eyes and their horrific poignant moans, tested the steel of the toughest and most experienced men and women.
Bobby looked back to the others and signalled for them to move up and begin crossing the open junction and into the next street. In the old days, during conventional operations, they would have covered the gap as quickly as possible to avoid being shot in the open by snipers. Now, they were facing a very different enemy from the men they had fought against over the years. They kept their pace slow and deliberate. The dead were attracted to sound and sudden movement, and in the darkness of night, it would be difficult f
or them to distinguish distant shapes moving at an unhurried pace.
Once they were clear of the intersection, the six men continued ahead. Bobby and Marty moved back up to the front and took on the role as lead scouts for the team. They checked the vehicles as they passed, the open doorways of the buildings, and the gaping dark windows. Their heads swivelled continuously and their weapons pointed in the same direction that their eyes moved. The silencers they had attached would keep the noise of their fire down to a minimum. However, in a closed and confined area such as the streets between the buildings, the sharp crack of muffled shots and the inevitable snap of their speeding rounds would quickly attract a large number of corpses that would overwhelm them, despite their attempts at stealth. Using their weapons would be a last resort. Instead, they relied on their ability to remain undetected and seeing the dead before they were a threat.
A short while later and the team abruptly halted again. Up ahead of them, the street was blocked. It was not stalled traffic, collapsed buildings, or debris that prevented them from going any further. It was the dead.
A wall of darkness stretched from one side of the road to the other, cramming the street as the infected stood shoulder to shoulder in a mass of rotting flesh. Stan and his men waited for a minute and observed the crowd. They were not moving and seemed to be just standing still and completely inactive. An incessant murmur hummed out from within the horde like the sound of a million uttered words that were impossible to understand.
Marty and Bobby began to inch their way back towards Stan as the remainder continued to observe the multitude of static corpses in front of them.
“Fuck me, this place stinks,” Marty whispered as he crouched down beside Stan and took cover behind an overturned police car.
They were nestled in what had once been a hastily constructed defensive line. Police and army vehicles were parked across the street in an attempt to block the road. At some point during the early days of the spread, they had attempted to halt the advance of the infected into the central part of the city. Soldiers and police officers had stood side-by-side, firing into the hordes that charged towards their barricades.
It had been a futile attempt. Amongst the piles of brass cases that littered the ground, sat the stripped bones of the fallen defenders. Dozens of dismembered skeletons lay strewn over a wide area and hundreds more littered the road on the enemy side of the barrier. As valiantly as the men and women had fought, they had done nothing to slow the dead. They had been overwhelmed and consumed by the plague as the ravenous creatures had swept on through and into the city centre.
Stan was staring at his GPS but due to the buildings around him, the signal was taking its time finding a link with the satellites in orbit high above them. He looked up, eyed the dark windows and doors on either side of the street, and then looked back the way they had come, considering their options. He did not cherish the idea of heading back and trying to find another way around, but moving through the dark buildings that lined the street was just as unappealing.
“Which way, Stan?” Bobby asked as he took a tentative peek over the vehicle towards the dark throng at the end of the road.
Stan did not reply immediately but finally, he nodded towards the front of a department store to the right of their position.
“We’ll cut through there and see if we can skirt around them. We’re a kilometre short of our LUP.”
Marty and Bobby exchanged a nervous glance but they trusted Stan’s judgement and they both preferred that to going back in the direction they had already travelled. They silently approached the doors and peered into the eerie darkness.
The six men moved in through the gaping smashed doorway and began to push forward through the wreckage of the store. Inside, through their night vision goggles, they saw a landscape of various shades of green and black as they scanned the ground floor for any movement. Displays and counters were upturned all over the place, and mannequins littered the floor, having been torn to shreds by the infected in their confusion while they ripped their way through in search of the living.
The team moved slowly and fanned out into an extended line as they advanced through the interior. They could smell death lingering in the air but could see no infected inside. Evidence of their presence was in abundance but nothing moved or lurched towards them from within the blackness. They did their best to remain completely silent but it was inevitable that the occasional crunch of glass would ring out from beneath their feet. Each time, they all froze to the spot and scanned their weapons in all directions as they expected to see dark figures racing for them.
They passed by the escalators leading to the upper floors and continued towards the rear of the department store. Above their heads, they could hear the occasional dull thud and thump as something moved about in the darkness. It could have been the infected or it may have been survivors, but they were not there to investigate.
Marty led them through a door and they emerged into the storage area of the shop. Racks and boxes filled nearly every space in the cramped room and for a while, they remained still as they scrutinised their surroundings. One behind the other, they headed for the rear doors that they hoped would lead them into the alleyway of an adjacent building.
Bobby raised his rifle and pointed it at the exit while Marty counted backwards from three and then pushed the bar of the fire escape, allowing the heavy door to swing open. Immediately, Bobby stepped back and began to squeeze his trigger up to the point just before firing.
A figure stood framed in the doorway and silhouetted in the pale light that filtered in from outside. Its body was emaciated with the white bones of its ragged shoulders shining brightly in contrast to its dark and withered skin. Its scrawny neck appeared far too delicate to support the weight of its head and hanging around its knees, the fetid remains of its intestines spewed out from the gaping cavern of its abdomen. Its long wiry hair stood out in strands from its scalp and it cocked its head continuously as it emitted questioning grunts and groans. It was completely blind. Its eyes were gone, along with much of the soft tissue of its face. In their place were colonies of maggots that squirmed through the remains of the flesh and slowly ate away at the muscle and sinew that was left behind. The creature could see nothing but it was obvious that it could detect movement and sound close by as it stood, trying to zero in on the source.
Marty reached out and slammed the stock of his rifle into the side of the figure’s head. The dull crack echoed in the narrow passage behind the store and was quickly followed by the sound of the body hitting the ground as it collapsed under the heavy blow.
Marty stepped forward, slammed his heel down into the side of its head, and felt the skull collapse beneath his boot. The infected let out a low grunt then remained still as the men filed out from the building and into the anticipated alleyway.
It took some time before they had managed to circumnavigate the large build-up of infected in the area. Sneaking through shattered buildings, along narrow backstreets, and over the numerous corpses that littered the pavements, the team slowly advanced. They stopped regularly, taking cover in the shadows or behind the debris of civilisation as groups of meandering corpses staggered by, completely unaware of the living men that were close by and watching them through the green glow of their night vision.
By the time they were approaching their destination the sky above had begun its slow transition from night to day. Thick banks of cloud still raced across from one horizon to the next but the slowly rising sun was beginning to penetrate through the blackness of the night and illuminate the earth below. Stan and his men soon had no need to wear their NVGs. They could see clearly enough the city around them and the remains of the thousands of bodies that filled the streets.
After four months of abandonment by the living, the buildings were already showing signs of decay. The pavements were beginning to become overgrown with weeds and the smaller animals and insects had not hesitated to take up residence in every available space. N
early every window of the city had been smashed, leaving the interiors wide open to the elements and everywhere the men looked, Mother Nature was claiming back her ground.
“That’s the factory, just up ahead of us,” Stan whispered as the six of them sat huddled against the side of a wall.
Ahead of them, an old brick building that looked out of place from the rest of its surroundings was sprawled over a wide area. It was built from red brick with large ornate windows and chimneystacks that towered high into the sky and dominated the land around it. Surrounding the complex was a wall with an old iron gate. The entrance had been violently forced open at some point and sat precariously clinging to its hinges. By whom, they could not tell. It could have been the living, looking for supplies or a place to hide, or it could have been the infected hunting the people that were trying to get away from them.
The place looked deserted. There was no sign of movement beyond the gate or in amongst the buildings of the factory, warehouses, or offices. Beyond the complex, the tall building of the apartment block could be seen. Its modern architecture, mostly glass and steel, was in stark contrast to the nineteenth century brick of the factory. From what the men had seen on the maps and satellite imagery, the apartments shared the same grounds as the factory. The perimeter wall of the industrial buildings had been extended to encompass the new addition with a wall separating the two buildings.
“Marty, Bobby,” Stan hissed, “have a look about and give us a call on the radio if it’s clear. Bull, give them some cover.”