He arrived a moment after Bannister and Matthews. Straddling was bending over the prone body of Corporal Bamburac. Lewis could see that Bamburac was conscious but had blood trickling down his arm. There was a cut on his forehead which had already started to discolour with the bruising. He looked shaken but was not too badly injured. Straddling was in the process of tying a handkerchief around the wound on his arm.
“It was André,” Straddling said looking up at Lewis.
“Who?” Lewis asked. The name meant nothing.
“From the gun shop,” Straddling replied. “The fat kid with the beard from the gun shop.”
“Oh my god! Are you sure?” The implication was immediately clear to Lewis although Mathews was struggling to assimilate the information.
“It certainly looked like him,” Straddling answered with a resigned expression.
“What do you mean?” Matthews was still confused.
“He means the vampires followed us there and have turned them into monsters,” Lewis said.
“And now they’ve followed us here,” Straddling added.
“No!” Matthews wailed inconsolably. “That means Alžběta. But how?” he asked, totally aghast.
“It doesn’t matter how,” Lewis snapped. “All that matters is getting back to the cafeteria and making it safe. Are you okay?” he asked Bamburac. “Can you walk?”
Bamburac got unsteadily to his feet. “Yes sir.”
“Right, here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll head upstairs to check whether Pellegrini or Gray might just possibly be alive and hiding in one of the offices. Then we’re going straight back to the cafeteria. I’ll take point. Straddling cover our six. We need to conserve our ammo though, so short bursts only. Bannister, ready your Browning, in case of close quarters fighting. Maintain three yards spacing. And you two,” he pointed at Matthews and Bamburac, “hold your fire until I say. Is everybody clear?”
“What about Masters?” Straddling asked.
Lewis just shook his head.
“Hutchison, we’re under attack,” he said into the radio. “Vampires! Double check all your points of egress. We’re coming back.”
Within the space of a couple of minutes all seemed to have gone from deathly and inactive to a frantic fight for their lives. The scope of awareness of the soldiers had compressed right down to their very immediate surroundings; the man in front, the man behind and the reassuring feel of the cold, hard metal of the gun they each held. At that moment nothing else mattered; not their colleagues in the cafeteria, nor the cure, nor the past few weeks. All that mattered was that very moment and then the next. Survival was no longer just taking one day at a time. It had become one minute or one second at a time, one step and then another. If they could just make it to the first floor, if they could only make it to the top, if they could make it as far as the next set of fire doors…
Lewis ordered his troops to turn their radio volumes down as he looked nervously up the stairs. He knew they were all relying on him. However in reality he knew no better than they did the best course to take. He hoped he was not leading them all up into a trap and to their deaths. He started walking, carefully but quickly. Each step he placed as quietly as possibly. All the while he looked and listened. Everything had fallen silent but he was not sure that was necessarily a good sign. At the first floor he paused, then ran to Master’s body and grabbed the man’s rifle. He thrust the gun at Matthews to carry and then continued upwards. The top floor also was devoid of life. Alas the pool of blood had not just been in his imagination, as he had almost hoped. All the doors along this passageway were closed, although he thought surely they had left them open. It plunged everything into gloom. He walked warily towards the blood. His rifle was squeezed into his shoulder. The weapons of Pellegrini and Gray were lying uselessly on the floor. They were experienced soldiers. How had they been surprised without even firing a shot? Exactly what kind of menace were they dealing with here? He handed the guns to Matthews again. There were doors on either side. Carefully he looked inside one. The office was empty. There were no soldiers hiding within. As he started to back out there was an almighty racket. The fire doors at the corridor’s end were violently thrust open, and slammed into the wall. Lewis instinctively released a short burst, peppering the far width of the passageway. There was nobody in sight however. Almost simultaneously Straddling let out a screech and fired downstairs, into the shadows.
“Movement!” he yelled.
As though on cue the door to the office opposite was thrown open and a figure dived out. It came from behind Lewis. He did not have time to react as it wrapped its arms around him. He was knocked to the floor, feeling breath upon his neck and fire in his shoulder. He tried to scream but the wind had been forced from his lungs. He was pinned to the ground and could do nothing as the burning intensified. Two booms sounded deafeningly. The grip around him loosened as other hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet.
There was blood seeping through his shirt. He winced but the wound was not serious, just a superficial bite. The body at his feet was a dishevelled, overweight man with a dirty checked shirt and black trousers. The back of his head had been blown away by Bannister’s bullets but his face was still recognisable. It looked like André, or perhaps more precisely what André might have looked like if he had an allergic reaction to something. His cheeks were swollen, his lips were drawn back in a snarl and his eyes seemed to be half closed. It was the same man from the gun shop, only twisted and different somehow.
He started to speak but another burst from Straddling’s rifle drowned out his answer. “There’s something moving down there.”
“Did you hit it?” Lewis asked.
“I don’t think so.”
Again the doors at the far end were flung open. This time both Lewis and Bannister sprayed them. Again there was nobody there.
“It feels like they’re playing a bit of cat and mouse,” Bannister said. “Either they’re trying to scare us or trying to get us to waste our ammo.”
“Well either way it’s working, and I don’t like being the mouse,” Straddling cursed.
“We can’t stay here,” Lewis said. “Let’s move.” He led them cautiously along the corridor.
At the next room there was a crash. The door rattled in its frame. Lewis fired at it. There was no further sound so he fired again at the handle, blowing the door open. There were the remains of a broken desk scattered around the door. The window was wide open.
“They’re using the windows and the roof,” Lewis said. “And they’re definitely toying with us.”
Suddenly two figures appeared at the far end of the passageway. They stood for a moment brazenly, in full view. One was a tall, willowy creature with pale skin and drawn, malicious features, dressed in dark. He stood a good head and shoulders above the figure to his side, a female with lank, dark hair. She wore tight jeans and a dirty, ripped T-shirt that had blood stains across the chest. Her head was bowed. The taller one’s mouth contorted into a sneer and he raised his arms as though presenting himself, saying ‘here I am’. His eyes blazed with fury.
“No,” Matthews shrieked as Lewis raised his rifle to fire. “It’s Alžběta!”
Lewis kept the trigger pressed. The ammunition ripped into the walls, floor and ceiling as he sprayed them liberally, covering all angles of the corridor. The taller creature sprang aside taking Alžběta with him, out of sight.
For a moment nobody spoke. Straddling tore his view away from the empty corridor and returned his attention to their six o’clock.
“It was Alžběta,” gasped Matthews.
“Not anymore,” Lewis snapped as he threw the gun aside and grabbed a fresh one from Matthews, “and best you remember that. I’ve just seen Vida rip Masters’s throat out. I doubt Alžběta will think twice about doing the same to you. Now move.”
“Where to boss?” Straddling asked.
“Well I don’t think we can go this way. We’ll get out of the building through
a downstairs window. Then we’ll make our way to another entry and come at the canteen from the far side. They may not be expecting that and it might just give us the time we need. Go.”
They raced for the stairs. Everything was quiet as they looked down. Despite the fact that it was day, the building now seemed unnaturally shady to Lewis. They paused at the top. There was no sound. His heart was pounding. Suddenly there was the sound of a crow cawing from outside and a breeze caused a door to slam somewhere in the building. Lewis’s instincts were to run as fast as possible but he tried to calm himself. Now was the time for caution, not impulsive actions.
“Eyes out, keep the spacing,” he mouthed.
He took a careful step down just as there was an almighty crash. From along the corridor a chair had been thrown against the wall right behind them. It exploded, and any semblance of stealth evaporated. Without discussion they ran as one, at full speed, leaping from stair to stair. They were almost at the ground floor when a shadow loomed into view straight ahead. Somebody was leaning over the bannister rail at the bottom, waiting for them. It was a trap! In their rush they almost ran headlong into him without stopping. Lewis flinched. His finger was already on the trigger of his rifle and he squeezed a little harder. A long volley tore into the figure, flinging it away from them and against the far wall. Lewis had managed to stop just shy of the bottom stair, panting and trembling. The figure lay still on the floor with a trail of bullet wounds across its torso and face. They all stared hard at it, trying to come to terms with what they saw. It was the corpse of Pellegrini. Apart from the fresh holes, his throat had already been ripped apart and his entire chest and legs were completely sodden with blood.
Someone had moved the body and propped it against the stairwell. Someone was indeed playing with them and trying to scare them; and succeeding.
Straddling was at the rear of the huddle. His attention was caught by another flicker of movement from the first floor. He span around and instinctively fired a quick burst. There had been a silhouette there, advancing steadily towards him, but now it leapt back from the top of the stairs and out of sight. At the same moment another shadow dropped down from the top floor. If André’s attack had been clumsy and almost entirely ineffective, this one was anything but.
Simeon landed in the middle of them, right beside Corporal Bamburac. He lashed out immediately. Matthews was sent stumbling down the remaining stairs. He dropped the guns that he clutched as he fell. Simeon turned and swiped at Bannister who stood a couple of steps higher. He just caught him a glancing blow across the cheek, sending him flying backwards into the hand rail with a scream of pain. Simultaneously he grabbed Bamburac in one enormous fist and hoisted him off the ground. He brought his teeth in close but sensed rather than heard the click of metal. He bit into flesh but only briefly, before flinging the soldier down.
Lewis had hardly had a chance to move. He was almost knocked to the ground by Matthews’s sprawling figure but side-stepped just in time. He regained his balance and gasped at the sight of the giant towering over him. He was without doubt larger than anyone Lewis had ever seen. His countenance was full of fury and malice. His cheeks bore fresh scars, his clothes were torn and bloodied and he was a horrific sight. The spacing the soldiers had maintained between them meant that Lewis was out of the creature’s immediate striking range and gave him a vital moment to react. He swung his rifle around and squeezed. Everything happened too fast to know with certainty the exact order of events, but he fired as the creature tossed Bamburac at him. He tried to jerk his gun up and away as the rounds rang out but Bamburac crashed into him and the two fell to the floor. Ignoring the pain and immediately pushing his colleague’s body aside, he scrambled for his pistol. There was the sound of more shots being fired as he got back to his feet. Straddling had traced the creature’s movement and fired. His rifle was on fully automatic and he emptied the remains of his magazine in the vampire’s disappearing path as it leapt up to the first floor and out of sight.
With trembling hands, Straddling dropped the rifle and grabbed another as he ran to Matthews. He helped his colleague to his feet as Lewis scanned all around. Bannister was leaning against the hand rail, holding his side in obvious pain.
“Can you move?” Lewis asked.
Bannister nodded. “Bloody right I can,” he said with a wince.
“Cover us then,” he ordered as he dropped to his knees and tended to Bamburac who was still slumped face down and only semi-conscious. Bamburac was bleeding from a wound just under his chin where the vampire had bitten him. It did not look overly deep but he was losing blood at an alarming rate. Lewis was relieved at least to see there were no bullet wounds. He had been certain he had shot his own soldier.
“Get him on his feet,” Lewis ordered Matthews.
“Did we hit anything?” Matthews asked.
“I don’t know, and I’m not going to go and check. You and Bannister carry him. Let’s move, before we’re all dead.”
CHAPTER 19
Everyone was huddled together in the cafeteria. Corporal Charlotte Collins watched as Leading Aircraftman Allen paced back and forth by the doors through which the soldiers had exited. He held a rifle tightly at his waist. Every time there was the sound of gunfire she noticed that he flinched. She wondered if she herself was wound up as tightly and suspected that she probably was. Sergeant Hutchison and Leading Aircraftman Mayoh were also continually on their feet. Mayoh hovered near the opposite canteen door and Hutchison patrolled all around. Every circuit he made he would check the windows and looked inside the store rooms that led off the dining area.
There was little chatter. They were all waiting to find out which of their brave soldiers would return; if any. Every time there was a mission of one sort or another it seemed inevitable that their numbers would once again be slowly whittled down; slowly, until none of them would remain. Corporal May Williams sat with Julia and the two children. They tried to provide a protective air of security as they chatted and played, trying to keep themselves animated and enthusiastic for the benefit of the children. Together they had done a reasonably good job at isolating them from the external horrors but even so, as young as they were, the kids were not oblivious to what was occurring. Out of all of them, the only one who was entirely unaware of any ongoing malice was Wilson. He had taken to Corporal Collins without reservation. Any horrors he had suffered only seemed to have increased his capacity and need for love. He tried to follow her wherever she went, constantly nipping at her heels or jumping up, demanding attention. As she sat huddled with everybody he was growing restless and so, like Sergeant Hutchison, she started to walk circuits with him.
There had been no contact since the radio check. Collins could tell the already tense atmosphere in the room was getting more and more agitated. Not only had people stopped talking but they were barely making eye contact any more. She tried to remain positive and chatty as she circled them all. It was important at times such as these to maintain a sense of cohesion. She had just completed her fourth lap with Wilson when there was a bang. Everyone jumped. Somebody screamed.
“What was that?” Williams gasped.
“Gun fire.”
Collins froze and looked around the room. Nobody moved. She stood at one end of the cafeteria. Hutchison looked pale, his radio at his lips. His finger hovered over the ‘press to talk’ button, but he did not press it. Whatever he wanted to say remained unsaid. He stood beside Leading Aircraftman Allen, staring at the far doors, as though expecting them to open at any second. They all waited, straining to hear. Their collective minds reached outwards, trying to resolve the nature of the shooting. For sure it was not for positive reasons. For sure it meant that their comrades, their friends, were at that very moment in danger for their lives. Even Wilson stopped nibbling her ankle, stopped his pacing, and stood as though to attention, listening and aware of the tension in the room. There was another bang. Somebody gasped, then silence. Then a round of bullets rang out. Collins flinc
hed and Wilson gave a low growl, a sound that seemed so out of place in one so young. It made her suddenly think of Cujo and how much she missed him. She had always felt so safe with him by her side, knowing he would defend her from all manner of ills. Until the adversary had become too much even for him and he had given his life protecting her. She thought also now of Lance Corporal Dean Millington, another who had died trying to defend his closest friend. How much she would have liked his reassuring bulk by her side right now. And Wood - how she missed Wood.
There was a sudden rattle at the door right beside her and she jumped. Surely the soldiers would return the same way they had left, from the other entrance? Had she imagined it? But everyone had turned to stare at her, as though she had been responsible for causing the sound. Everyone was silent, expectant. She took a step forwards. She assumed it must be her comrades returning. Surely she had to do something? She could not see through the glass panels as they had had bits of table top nailed to reinforce them. She was about to start removing the chair legs that had been wedged between the door handles, but paused. Something did not feel quite right. She listened, holding her breath. Nobody spoke from the other side. Then the doors rattled again and swayed inwards a little as somebody pressed against them. She gave an involuntary little yelp and took a step backwards. At her cry the rattling became a banging. Whoever was outside became more determined. She almost shrieked again but a firm hand clamped over her mouth. Hutchison had moved quickly and stood behind her now. He placed a finger on his lips and slowly released his grip on her as he led her carefully away from the doors. Her hand was on her pistol as she stepped backwards. Her thoughts returned to Wood. For some reason she had had the sudden thought that it was him outside, that he had somehow become free from his prison and through the force of habit that these creatures seemed to preserve, had made his way up to them. And what would she do if it was him? Could she put a bullet between his eyes if it came down to it? She knew that really she should, but thought not. But then at the critical moment who knew what each one of them was capable of in order to survive? She hoped she would not have to find out.
The Blood of the Infected (Book 3): Twice Bitten, Twice Die Page 32