by David Moody
The doctor immediately began to protest. Wilkins couldn’t make out a damn word he was saying, but he was becoming increasingly agitated. He continued to hold onto the little girl who remained impassive; detached and unemotional. No doubt permanently scarred by the ordeal she’d endured at the hands of the Nazis here at Polonezköy.
A surge of movement from way over to the left of the group distracted Barton. Another herd of corpses, hitherto held back by a wooden gate which had given way and collapsed under their weight, made directly for the British soldier and the crowd of innocents gathered close behind. Barton opened fire on the dead immediately, and whilst many of them were felled, many more were not. The gunfire caused panic among the remaining prisoners and Nazis alike, all of them scattering in every direction like startled sheep. From relative calm to absolute chaos in seconds. The slender advantage Wilkins and the others had fought to gain was immediately undone.
A horrific scream. Over to Wilkins’ left, one of the prisoners was brought down by three of the corpses attacking at once.
To his right, a Nazi lay on his belly in the dirt being torn to pieces by more cadavers. Another had been pinned against a wall and was being disembowelled by a SS guard he’d once stood alongside.
Dead ahead, Barton was doing everything he could to protect the prisoners whilst beating back more of the advancing undead.
Obersturmbannführer Scherler made his move.
As the area descended into chaos once more, he ran for cover, pushing Doctor Månsson ahead of him at gun point. In the confusion Månsson had let the little girl go. He screamed for her to follow him but she appeared catatonic. There was nothing any of them could do to stop her being swallowed up by the rotting hordes.
Wilkins knew what he had to do. ‘Barton, get these innocent people to safety, then get to the rendezvous point and tell Captain Hunter I’m on my way. And hurry, we’ve barely any time!’
Barton did as he was ordered, ushering those prisoners still at hand back into the shack where they’d previously been held at gunpoint. He paused only to dispatch four more Nazis – three already dead, one who’d still been alive – before shutting the civilians inside and leaving them with as many guns as he could quickly lay his hands on. ‘I don’t know if you can understand a single word I’m saying, but stay here. We’ll send help. You’ll not be left here long.’
He closed the door and ran for the hole in the border fence as Wilkins had ordered.
27
POLONEZKÖY
FORTY MINUTES TO RENDEZVOUS
The Nazi’s boots echoed off the walls of the castle tower. He’d used an entrance hitherto unseen, but the noise Obersturmbannführer Scherler made as he barked orders and abuse at Doctor Månsson left Wilkins in no doubt as to where he was heading.
Wilkins skidded around a corner to see the Nazi just ahead. He ducked back under cover as the German officer fired at him, one bullet hitting the wall above his head, showering him with dust and debris.
‘There’s no way out, Fritz,’ Wilkins shouted, but the German was in no mood to capitulate.
‘You are right. There’s no way out for any of us, you British fool. We are all going to die here today.’
‘I told you, it doesn’t have to be this way.’
‘I rather think it does.’
Scherler was heading upwards now, to the top of one of the towers either side of the castle entrance. Wilkins was exhausted and the thought of climbing again filled him with dread. Less than half an hour to go... it seemed that all was lost. What was the point?
Everything depends on what you do now, old boy, he told himself. Everything!
Wilkins began to ascend the spiral staircase, pressing himself flat against the wall as another ferocious volley of bullets was sent his way. As soon as they’d stopped he ran on, but he’d been lulled into a false sense of security and the German fired at him again, hitting his left shoulder. Wilkins screamed out in pain but kept moving for all he was worth. Just a flesh wound, but by God it hurt.
At the very top of the tower, weak with effort and soaked with sweat and blood, knowing his enemy could go no further from here, he readied himself to face the German. He emerged onto the flat roof of the tower, the highest part of the castle.
The doctor was on his knees with the Nazi’s gun aimed at his head. When he saw Wilkins, Scherler aimed at him instead.
‘Let the doctor go, and I’ll let you go,’ Wilkins said.
The German laughed. Nervous, slightly maniacal. ‘Do you really believe you have any bargaining power? You British are so arrogant, so superior... and so predictable. You think you hold all the aces where, in fact, you hold none.’
‘We’ll all have been dealt a pretty awful hand if this infection isn’t stopped, don’t you think?’
‘Not at all... with Doctor Månsson’s help, the Fuhrer’s plan to create the Aryan master-race will soon be complete.’
‘Never,’ Månsson spat, and he caught a vicious thump to the back of his head for his troubles. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.
‘You bloody fool,’ Wilkins sighed. ‘He’s our only hope. Don’t you see that? Månsson can help us stop this germ in its tracks.’
‘But we have no need to do that. Our beautiful disease must be allowed to flourish. Doctor Månsson has been working on a cure, a way of ensuring only those we want to survive will stay alive. A way of cleansing the planet like no other, leaving only the master race behind. Do you not yet realise you’re beaten, you British pig?’
‘And you think Månsson will help you?’
‘You make it sound like he has a choice.’
‘There’s always a choice.’
Wilkins raised his pistol higher and aimed directly at the German’s head. Scherler glared at him. ‘I’ll put a bullet in his brain if you take another step nearer. Now put down your weapon.’
And then a single shot rang out, echoing through the early morning gloom.
Wilkins checked himself for further injury, but there was none. The German staggered back, clutching his chest. But who had fired? Wilkins looked around and saw Steele on the top of the opposite tower, gesticulating wildly for his commanding officer to get moving.
But the Nazi wasn’t finished yet.
With the last dregs of energy he could summon, he fired his rifle repeatedly at Doctor Månsson. The scientist’s body twitched and jerked violently.
‘You evil bastard!’ Wilkins shouted, and he fired his weapon at the German again and again, each shot forcing him further and further back towards the battlements. ‘Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve condemned the entire world to a fate worse than death.’
The Nazi grinned through blood-stained teeth. The sickening smile was too much for Wilkins to stand and he fired twice more, the final shot sending the kraut over the top of the tower’s battlements. He fell like a stone, bouncing off the roof of another part of the castle below, then landing in a crumpled heap in the courtyard. Wilkins peered down after him. The dawn light was sufficient now for him to be able to make out every detail as hordes of the dead descended on the fatally wounded German officer.
Månsson lay shuddering on the cold ground, his life draining away with the blood that trickled down the spiral staircase. Wilkins crouched down and the doctor pulled him closer. He said something, but it was hard to make out. ‘What are you saying, man?’
‘The girl,’ Månsson said, his voice little more than a drowned croak now as his lungs filled with blood. ‘She’s the one...’
‘I don’t understand. What girl?’
‘She’s the cure…’
‘What girl?’ he asked again, frantic now, but it was too late. Månsson was dead.
Steele appeared from the staircase. ‘Come on, Lieutenant. We need to move. We’ve barely minutes left to get out of here.’
Wilkins knelt over the dead doctor. ‘There’s no point running, Steele. It’s over. I fear our number’s up.’
‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘There’s
something you need to see.’
Steele had to drag Wilkins over to the side of the tower and force him to look down. At first all Wilkins could see was chaos. Vast numbers of the dead had escaped the confines of the concentration camp and were swarming out through the surrounding countryside, many of them heading for the airfield at Leginów where the sounds of distant action could be heard. Many more remained trapped in the camp itself, either unable to get out or still intent on hunting down the remaining few survivors. Another crowd had formed around the hut where the last few desperate prisoners of war continued to shelter.
And down there, right in the middle of the madness, was the small girl that Doctor Månsson had clung onto so desperately. She was easy to see, because the dead weren’t attacking her. In fact, Wilkins realised, the foul things were positively avoiding her. A significant bubble of space had formed around her, and the space moved as she did. Creatures backed out of her way, tripping over each other to move.
‘It’s incredible, isn’t it, sir,’ said Steele, ‘she must somehow be immune.’
‘Good Lord, you might be right. Whatever she is, she’s our best chance,’ Wilkins agreed. ‘In fact, as far as I can see she’s now our only chance. Come on, man!’
28
THE AIRFIELD
SEVENTEEN MINUTES TO RENDEZVOUS
Hunter’s men had just about managed to hold the airfield. Border patrols picked off the few undead stragglers that had followed the earlier rancid crowds but had taken longer to get here. Despite a sudden flurry of activity when Polonezköy had been rocked by fresh explosions, the Americans remained unquestionably on top. They were just waiting on their ride out of here and, the captain hoped, for the return of Wilkins and his men with their precious passenger. And all of this had been done with barely a single shot being fired. Stealth and savagery had been the order of the day.
Bryce Hamilton, a battle-hardened warrior who’d seen more service than most, had been patrolling the outskirts of the forest near the far end of the airfield when he saw one of his colleagues go down unexpectedly. The man had been on his feet one minute, on the ground the next. He ran over to see what was wrong.
‘Wassup, Wilder?’
Wilder was on his back, kicking out at something in the shadows. It was the remains of a Nazi that had hauled itself some distance to get here. Its legs were broken and useless, but it clearly still had enough brutal strength in its arms to move and was still completely fixated on destroying the living. It dragged itself further up Wilder’s body, having completely taken him by surprise. Hamilton knocked off its helmet, grabbed a handful of hair, and pulled its head and neck up high enough so that Wilder could kick his way free. The creature, unable to support itself from the waist down, flipped over onto its back and, before it could react, Hamilton stamped on its face until it stopped thrashing and lay completely still.
‘Thanks, man,’ Wilder gasped, picking himself up and brushing himself down. ‘Damn thing came outta nowhere.’
‘Yeah, and it wasn’t alone...’
Hamilton pushed past Wilder and struck another creature square in the face with the butt of his rifle. And another. Wilder was alongside him now, and they saw that more of the monsters were swarming through the trees, all moving in this direction.
‘Where the hell are they coming from so suddenly?’ Wilder asked, confused and concerned.
Hamilton didn’t answer. He called for assistance and was relieved when he heard other members of the battalion moving towards them. He stared into the blood-soaked face of the next corpse he dispatched. Female? Although his view was limited in the low light, he realised the woman lying at his feet was dressed in the uniform of a prisoner. Had she come from Polonezköy? ‘Wait,’ he started to say, ‘are these . . .?’
One of the vile creatures hurled itself at him at speed. He instinctively caught the cadaver and was about to smack the damn thing in its hideous face when it spoke.
‘Wait, don’t. It’s me, Lance Corporal Barton. Get me to Captain Hunter. Urgently!’
The accent gave the man away. It was one of the Brits. Hamilton obliged, virtually dragging the British soldier back to the airfield, then pushing him up the makeshift runway.
It took a couple of minutes to reach the captain. Barton could barely breathe, let alone speak. By the time they got to him, though, the captain was already well aware there was a problem. A vast swarm of the dead was beginning to emerge from the tree-line, rapidly encroaching on the airfield. Their shadowy shapes were everywhere. Hunter could see his men trying to keep them at bay; to a man they were doing everything they could, beating the hell out of everything that moved, but numbers meant they were already being forced to retreat.
‘Where’s Lieutenant Wilkins and the doctor?’ Hunter demanded, no time for pleasantries.
Barton shook his head and sucked in oxygen. ‘Not yet... Message from the lieutenant... He says to wait... almost done...’
‘We can’t afford to wait, goddammit. And where the hell did all these spooks appear from?’
‘The camp... the walls have been breached... Hundreds of them coming this way...’
‘Does Wilkins have the doctor?’
‘Not sure.’
‘And I’m supposed to risk the lives of my remaining men on your uncertainty?’
‘Lieutenant Wilkins won’t let us down, sir.’
‘Yeah, well it ain’t just us who’s in trouble, is it?’
Captain Hunter stormed away, barking orders at his men, moving them down from the top end of the airfield towards the trees to stem the ever-growing advance of the dead.
Someone asked an obvious question, and Hunter gave them an equally obvious reply, bellowing at the top of his voice. ‘Do whatever you have to. Shoot the shit out of those bastards, just keep them off this damn runway. I want that Douglas to get a clear approach and to be able to get away again. I do not intend on being stranded in the middle of this shit-storm. Do I make myself clear?’
His troops’ reply went unheard amongst the cacophony of gunfire which suddenly filled the air.
29
THE CAMP COURTYARD
THIRTEEN MINUTES TO RENDEZVOUS
The dead seemed to come at Wilkins and Steele like a tsunami of rotting flesh. ‘No need for quiet anymore, eh Lieutenant?’ Steele said, and he ran headlong into the crowd, firing shot after shot at the foul cadavers. It was impossible to spot the little girl in the madness out here, and equally impossible to stop and search for her.
‘Split and find her,’ Wilkins ordered, shouting after him. ‘Holler when you have her. Remember the whole world depends on us.’
He too ran into the chaos, doing everything he could to ignore the searing pain in his left shoulder and still hold onto his pistol with his good right hand. He chose each shot with as much care as he could, knowing that once this round was spent, he wouldn’t have time to reload.
Steele headed for the area where he thought he’d last seen the girl. There was just a forest of sickly cadavers here now, balancing on spindly legs, all of them pivoting awkwardly when they heard him, starting to move in his direction. He dove through them, battering some away with his rifle and shooting others, feeling like he was about to drown in this rotting tide.
And then he thought he saw her.
Nothing, just more bodies. Had he been mistaken?
He shot a foetid Nazi between the eyes, and when the hideous creature dropped, he saw clear space behind.
There she was!
He could see her intermittently between the ghouls which still surged towards him. They were coming at him with ever increasing speed and ferocity, not giving up and not letting him pass. One caught his jacket, another the strap of his rifle, a third clung onto his leg... but Steele kept moving because he could definitely see her now, almost touch her...
One last push...
He broke through and grabbed the girl’s hand, and as soon as he had hold of her it was as if he had become invisible to the diseased masse
s. They turned away and he moved among them without fear. Impervious. And as for the girl beside him – she was the strangest creature. Pallid skin, ice-cold to the touch... anyone would think she was dead. It occurred to him that she most likely was, and it took all the inner strength he could muster not to let go of her tiny hand.
‘I’ve got her, Lieutenant,’ he shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the engines of the Douglas aircraft which swept down low over the camp on its way to the airfield.
Less than ten minutes remaining.
Captain Woody Rickman couldn’t believe the chaos on the ground below him. ‘You seeing this, Garfunkle?’
‘Yeah, I see it,’ his co-pilot replied.
From the air, Polonezköy looked like it was imploding. Palls of dirty grey smoke rose up from several unchecked fires. The guards had clearly lost control, because the prisoners were unrestrained. They were fighting with each other to get out through an ugly breach in the outer fence. And there were bodies everywhere; the grubby grey courtyard was awash with blood.
Rickman guided the Douglas out towards the airfield. On the ground below he could see a constant stream of prisoners making their way in the same direction they were heading. ‘Jeez, they’d better have that landing strip clear, otherwise we ain’t putting down.’
‘It’ll be clear. Captain Hunter’s a good man. He’ll have the job done.’
Rickman pointed down. ‘It’s not him I’m worried about, it’s them. Even if we get down, chances are we’re going to struggle to get back up again. What’s the betting all those people are going to want a ride out of this place.’
‘Well we ain’t taking none of them,’ Garfunkle said, indignant. ‘Wasn’t our brief.’
‘I know that and you know that, Garfunkle, but try telling them.’
30
POLONEZKÖY
EIGHT MINUTES
Steele looked for Wilkins, and Wilkins looked for the girl. She had to be here somewhere, Wilkins thought, but he kept glancing over at the hole in the border fence, wondering if she’d managed to escape. His energy was flagging, and his feelings of abject loss and desolation were increasing by the second. In some ways it would have been easier to have missed by a mile. To have come so close to success yet to have still failed was tantamount to cruelty.