The Dead Walk The Earth II

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The Dead Walk The Earth II Page 27

by Luke Duffy


  Bull eased off the trigger and stepped across to the side of the machinery where Danny was trapped. He nudged Bobby aside and quickly evaluated the situation. Marty had by now arrived on the scene and took up position beside Bobby and continued to fire at anything that appeared from around the doorway.

  “This is going to hurt a little, Danny,” Bull roared down at the trapped man and took a wide tight grip on either end of the iron plate.

  With every ounce of his strength and growling through gritted teeth, Bull heaved the section of walkway upwards and away from Danny’s legs. He felt it move but already it was beginning to slip from his grasp. His shoulders, back, and biceps were screaming at him with the strain and his legs were beginning to shake as he fought to keep the heavy iron from crashing back down onto Danny.

  “Grab him,” Bull cried as his face turned an even brighter shade of red than it already was from the blood. The veins protruded angrily from the skin of his neck as he jerked his head back and howled. “Bobby… grab Danny… I can’t hold it.”

  Bobby jumped to Danny and Bull’s aid while Marty continued to cover them. He gripped the wounded man by his forearms and wrenched him out from beneath the machinery and onto the factory floor. Danny screamed in pain as his battered legs were dragged across the rubble, opening the wounds further and bashing his damaged bones. Behind him, a heavy metallic thud indicated that Bull had released his grip on the fallen walkway. With no time to waste, Bull reached down and hurled Danny up from the ground, slung him over his shoulder, and then turned and began to plough his way back through the ruined building. Marty and Bobby brought up the rear, firing continuously as the infected began to climb in through the shattered doorway.

  A torrent of gunfire burst over their heads, forcing them to duck as glowing red tracer rounds zipped by just centimetres above them. Stan and Taff had climbed onto a walkway that remained intact and covered their withdrawal.

  “They’re coming in,” Stan called down to them, referring to the approaching aircraft rather than the undead that were clambering through the doorway. He raised his MP-5 and fired off another group of rapid shots at the crowd that were quickly filling the building behind the fleeing men. “Move your arses. They’ll be here any second.”

  The six of them crashed through a side door and out into the open. They were in a small open-air corridor that linked the main building onto one of the outbuildings. They needed to get out from the factory complex before the next wave began dropping their ordinance and causing the remains of the walls to tumble in on them.

  Stan doubted that they could withstand another direct hit like the previous one. They were all hurt to some degree. Splinters of steel and glass had penetrated everyone’s flesh and flying lumps of heavy masonry and machinery had caused further injuries within the group. Virtually no one remained completely unscathed. Danny was badly hurt. His legs were bleeding and possibly broken but they could not yet afford to stop and check him over. Taff was covered in blood but he assured Stan that it could not be his, as he could feel no injuries. Bull had lost an ear and sustained a wound to his lower jaw and Bobby was hobbling. Only Marty seemed unhurt or at least, unaffected by any wounds he had suffered.

  Stan continued along the short narrow alleyway and soon found himself looking out onto the courtyard. Fifty metres away, he could see the twisted iron rails of the factory’s main entrance and beyond it, the street they had entered from a few days before. There were infected milling around on the outside and headed for the gate but he concluded that their numbers were manageable. They had very little choice but to make a dash for the gate because the alternative could already be heard coming in fast overhead.

  “Move,” Stan called over his shoulder as the first of the aircraft raced over the rooftops of the city. “Move now. Head for the street.”

  Bull jumped out into the open and charged for the gate. Over his shoulder, Danny’s wrecked body bounced with each stride and he grimaced with agony as he fought to keep hold of his light machinegun and his consciousness.

  Carrying his Minimi in his free hand, Bull wielded the weapon like a bat, swiping at anything that stood in his path and firing wildly at anything beyond the range of his forceful swings. He shouted and cursed as he pounded across the open, throwing caution and stealth to the wind and relying on his aggression and power.

  Marty shot passed him and began leading the way and firing on the move, clearing a path for the others as they hurled themselves towards the street. Behind them the bombs began to obliterate the junction again, pulverising the buildings and the dead into a pile of rock and organic mush. Their heavy thumps shook the ground cracked the air. Chunks of debris rained down over the courtyard but the men had no intention of taking cover. They needed to get out of the danger area before they were all killed by their own people.

  The shockwaves of the explosions ripped the apartment complex apart. Its walls burst outwards and its roof began to cave in on itself. It collapsed in a rumbling cloud of dust and falling girders as the team reached the gate. The factory took another hit and a fountain of iron and brick flew high into the air. More debris shot outwards from the centre as the remains of the building imploded.

  “Jesus,” Bobby shouted over his shoulder as plumes of smoke, dust, and human wreckage rocketed into the air from the factory complex. “Those pilots are flinging their ordinance about like a mad woman’s shit.”

  By now the six men were tearing along the street, barging through the lurching bodies and swatting away the clumsily reaching hands as they fled from the scene. The perimeter wall of the complex absorbed a lot of the devastation that headed their way and provided them with a degree of protection. However, the material thrown into the sky from the explosions still had to obey the laws of gravity.

  Man-sized blocks of concrete and metal crashed into the streets behind the factory. Some pieces were close enough to cause the men of the team to adjust their stride and direction while other pieces of debris dropped far to the side or in their wake. The infected in that area were not spared either. A dense group of advancing corpses that were standing in Bull’s path were bowled over by the rear end of a Volkswagen Beetle that had been ripped apart and hurled out from the parking area at the rear of the apartments. Bull looked up and silently thanked the pilot responsible as the gaggle of infected were swept aside.

  They turned right and into an empty street. Their footsteps seemed to grow louder, bouncing from the tall buildings on either side of them as the sound of the raging battle for the city faded into the distance, cushioned by the walls of the buildings. The ground still shook with the impacts of the relentless airstrikes, and the streets echoed with their whumphs and thwacks, but they were now out of the immediate danger area. The hordes of infected that had converged on the intersections were being decimated and mixed in with the booming thuds of the airstrikes, the sound of small arms and heavy machinegun fire could now be heard far off in the distance.

  Apart from a few corpses that were badly damaged or too decomposed to move at a speed that was more than a crawl, the street appeared deserted. The team slowed their pace to a steady walk, having broken contact with the dead and extracted themselves out of the line of fire from their own aircraft. It was now time for them to find a place to rally and take stock of their condition.

  Further along, Stan stepped off the street and moved to the left. He paused for a moment, checking along the road in each direction and then scrutinising the black chasm of a large doorway that led into one of the buildings. He looked up and read the sign that was embossed into the discoloured granite stone of the doorway’s plinth. Before the outbreak, it had been a bank.

  Most of the windows, made from thick reinforced glass, remained intact. Some of the panes bore the signs of the turmoil that had broken out during the early stages of the plague. Bullet holes had caused craters, surrounded by networks of fractures stretching out across the glass but the building’s integrity seemed to remain more or less complete. The d
oor had been left open but did not appear to be damaged. It was as good a place as any for the men of the team to go static and reorganise themselves.

  Stan nodded to Marty and they both moved forward together. The others took up cover positions along the wall and watched the street. Bull squatted, keeping Danny slung over his shoulder like a rolled up rug.

  “Put me down, Bull,” Danny grunted. “I can manage.”

  “Can you fuck manage, Danny. Just shut up and keep still. I’ll put you down once Stan finds somewhere for us to get you sorted out.”

  A few minutes later, as Taff and Bobby finished dealing with the few infected that crawled and staggered towards them, Stan and Marty returned and gave them the all clear.

  Inside the bank, they moved through the large foyer and towards a security door that hung open beside the teller counters. Bobby secured the main entrance and followed on behind, kicking his way through piles of bank notes that littered the marbled floor.

  “Fucking hell,” he whispered loudly. “We’re rich. Look at all this. There must be at least a few million lying about in here.”

  Through the security door, they entered into a passageway with offices branching off to either side. The rooms beyond the narrow panes of glass set into the doors were dark. No faces lurched out from the gloom as the men peered in through each window as they passed. At the far end, they found a staff area with chairs and tables and a kitchenette. Stan and Marty immediately went to work, pushing a number of the dining tables together and kicking the other furniture to one side.

  “Right, Bull, get Danny onto the table so I can have a look at him,” Bobby ordered and began opening up his medical pack.

  While Bobby began his examination of Danny’s legs, the rest of the men checked their weapons and ammunition status. Marty swapped his M-4 for Danny’s Minimi light machinegun and stripped him of his belted rounds. At least a half of their ammunition had been spent during the withdrawal from the apartments and factory and the gunners were restocked from the reserves that the rest of the team had been carrying for them. As the men began to see to themselves and their weapons, Bobby tended to Danny.

  The building continued to rattle and vibrate around them. Dust and plaster cascaded down in fine mists and the glass in the windows and doors clattered lightly with each low concussion. Everyone instinctively looked up to the ceiling as another wave of distant explosions sent the walls into convulsions.

  “How’d you think it’s going out there?” Taff asked to no one in particular as he finished off repositioning the magazines within his assault vest.

  Nobody bothered to answer him. Beyond the walls, it sounded as though the city was being steadily flattened. The battle was still in its early stages and a huge amount of weaponry and ordinance was being brought to bear. One thing that they were all very aware of was that there would be no second chances. Manpower and ammunition stocks would be severely depleted once the battle was over. All resources would need to be reconsolidated before they even began considering the next push. Every bullet, every aircraft, every drop of fuel, and every available man and woman was being thrown into the counter offensive. If the assault failed then their hold on the mainland would be lost and never recovered.

  Everyone remained silent for a moment, still staring up at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of aircraft and the fearsome battle that was being raged outside in the streets of the capital city of Great Britain.

  “They have to win,” Taff said quietly as he turned away and continued plucking out the slivers of steel and glass that had lodged themselves into his flesh.

  Danny’s fibula on his right leg was broken clean in two and his ankle was badly crushed. Bobby suspected that the tibia may also have some fractures but he could not be sure. His left leg was severely lacerated but as far as he could tell, Bobby saw no breaks. With the help of the others holding Danny down, Bobby began work on resetting the broken bones. Danny writhed and thrashed as he bit down on the collar of his shirt, trying desperately to hold in the scream that was fighting to get out from between his clenched teeth.

  Bobby bound his damaged legs with anything he could use. First he lined the bones up and then retrieved a thick roll of box tape from one of the drawers of the kitchenette. He tightly wrapped it around each leg so that Danny’s boots became fused with his body and it was virtually impossible for his ankles to move and cause further damage. Next, Bobby took a couple of financial magazines that had been brushed from the table. He folded them around both of Danny’s lower legs and then proceeded to bound them with multiple layers of tape until there was nothing left on the roll. The end result was that both of Danny’s legs were set with rudimentary casts and would hopefully be enough to support his wounded limbs. At least that way, Danny could walk unaided if he needed to. His treatment was completed when Bobby gave him an injection of painkillers.

  “It’s not exactly morphine, mate, but it should be enough to take the edge off the pain. We wouldn’t want you stumbling about while you’re smacked off your tits, would we?” Bobby said with a smile.

  “Cheers, Bob,” Danny grunted while looking down at the strange casts that their team medic had secured to his lower legs.

  Next, Bobby turned his attentions to the mighty Bull. The huge man was sitting in the corner, using piles of bank notes pressed against the hole where his missing ear used to be. He looked up at their medic and grinned, stretching the wound running along his cheek and exposing a number of shining white teeth.

  “Those twenty-pound notes are doing nothing in the way of stopping the bleeding, you dick head,” Bobby pointed out, shaking his head as he squatted down beside Bull to begin examining the wounds. He winced and grimaced as he pulled back a cluster of notes displaying the blood smeared face of Queen Elizabeth II.

  “Hey, it’s the most expensive first-field-dressing I’ve ever seen, so I thought I would treat myself,” Bull shrugged.

  Bobby went to work. After a few minutes of hissing and groaning as the wounds were cleaned and then hurriedly sewn together, Bull ceased his torrent of abuse and physical threats against the man who was trying to help him.

  “Fuck me,” Marty grunted as he looked down at Bull’s disfigured face. “You look like something that just crawled out of Frankenstein’s lab, mate.”

  “I’m still better looking than you’ll ever be, you ugly shit.”

  “Trust me, Bull, that audition for the first post-apocalyptic boy-band you wanted to go to… I think you should reconsider your options, mate,” Taff added.

  Once their injuries were dressed and the men felt ready, they prepared to move.

  “What’s the plan?” Taff asked, turning to Stan.

  Stan shrugged. They had two real options as far as he could tell. They could either try to reach the front lines of the offensive and link up with the assault units there, or move to the river’s edge in the hope of getting picked up by Captain Werner and his boat. Making it through to the troops fighting in the south of the city would be difficult, if not impossible. The infected were attacking the lines in vast numbers and there was also the added threat of getting shot by their own soldiers or bombed by their own aircraft.

  The river was their best option. They would need to make their way back towards the north, through the city. However, they could not be sure that the submarine would still be there. Werner was only expected to stay in the river for twenty-four hours after the drop-offs were completed and then move to a safe distance within the estuary to avoid being hit by any stray ordinance.

  “Can you walk?” Stan asked as he turned back to Danny.

  Tentatively, Danny lowered himself down from the table and tested the ability of his encased legs to take his weight. He grimaced as he allowed more pressure to be added, slowly building up to the point where his lower limbs were supporting him entirely. He grunted and huffed with each movement. Finally, he was standing unsupported and he took a slow step forward. His face was ashen and the pain he was suffering could clearly
be seen in his glittering eyes but he was determined to walk unaided. He hobbled forward a few paces, sucking in air through clenched teeth with each agony filled step. He stopped and looked up at Stan.

  “Do you think you can make it?”

  Danny nodded.

  “I can manage, Stan,” he groaned as he checked the M-4 that Marty had given him in place of his much heavier and bulky Minimi. “Just don’t be trying to break any records on the pace you set. I’ll look like a right clown trying to run with Bobby’s homemade callipers on.”

  19

  The veterans were the first to jump down on to the London streets. The militia followed closely behind them but with much less vigour and enthusiasm. As Peter and Michael hopped from the rear of the Chinook, they were both grabbed by other soldiers and pushed forward to where the rest of their platoon nervously stood in a tight cluster and waiting for further orders. The moment that the helicopter was empty, its wheels started to lift again and the Loadmaster began closing the ramp. He watched the civilians as they stared back at him with frightened eyes and gave them an encouraging wave, followed by a thumb’s up. The ramp closed and the Chinook lifted high into the air and headed back towards the airfield.

  “Stay here,” the militia Platoon Commander shouted to them, “and whatever you do, don’t fucking wander off.”

  All around them, they could see troops running through the streets in all directions, firing their weapons and screaming to one another as they cleared the buildings with machineguns and flame throwers. Overhead the sky snarled with the sound of fighter aircraft as they continued to pummel the forward positions with rockets and bombs. Loud detonations boomed out through the streets, shaking the ground below the feet of the terrified militia. Buildings were collapsing under the onslaught of high explosives while bodies were flung through the air for great distances.

 

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