“Well Lewis has mentioned before that loud noises such as guns may attract the ‘Great Impure’,” he said, using the term that the station commander Group Captain Denny was so fond of, “so I reckon we fire up the old Landy which will draw him towards us, and then we run him over.”
“What?” Berthon was shocked but Darby had already climbed into the Land Rover and started the engine. Sure enough the man must have heard the sound as he moved more determinedly in their direction. He was now roughly only sixty metres away and picking up speed.
“You stay here, guard the other cars and the entrance and make sure that nothing else comes this way. I’ll play hero and deal with this one. Next one’s on you.” The Land Rover leapt forwards with a squeal of tyres as he floored the accelerator leaving the smell of rubber and a distinctly concerned colleague behind.
As the vehicle neared, the man changed his direction slightly and with an angry gargle he seemed to head straight at Darby. Berthon could not actually see the moment of impact but he heard the thump which was a lot louder than he had expected. Darby slammed on the brakes and the Land Rover again squealed as it came to a stop, some metres beyond the body. Darby turned around in his seat and looked at the fruits of his labour, then raised a hand elatedly and gunned the engine once more. He sped off for a moment, building up speed, before quickly popping the hand brake and the Land Rover screeched around in a semi-circle, accompanied by more whoops from the driver. Berthon watched the scene with a sick feeling of disgust as Darby drove back more slowly, still pumping his fist and shouting in glee. I thought you were trying to minimise the noise, he thought darkly.
“Did you see that?” he yelled as he leapt from the driver’s seat.
Berthon nodded earnestly, not sharing the enthusiasm. “Yeah, I saw it. You did real good. Like you said, a regular hero.”
“I know, woohoo,” the fist was pumping again. “The tosser didn’t stand a chance. He actually came right for me.” Darby looked in amazement, obviously absolutely delighted by his actions and even more so because the man had run directly at him, as though it gave him the moral high ground. “Came right at me,” he was still wittering, as the man raised his head and moaned.
"He’s still alive,” Darby was aghast and his face lost its victorious leer. Then he turned and thumped Berthon on the arm, as though he might not have noticed. “He’s still alive, can you believe that?”
The man’s neck was inclined at an odd angle and his legs were bent. Blood oozed from under his body but he moaned again and hauled himself towards them. His movements were distressingly slow but relentless, crawling and dragging across the tarmac towards his prey. While Darby paced nervously, unsure of what to do, the man gradually covered half the distance between them. Every few seconds he would stop and reach out as though unaware that he could not just grab them from where he lay. He accompanied the futile gesture with a noise from somewhere deep in his belly that sounded like a farm animal in distress.
“What are we gonna do?” Darby was still shuffling back and forth and fidgeting with his hands.
“I guess you’ll just have to finish the job. He’s not going to stop is he.”
“Man, it’s your turn now.” Darby did not look as keen as before but Berthon gave him a disdainful look.
“Ah, bugger.” Darby swung himself back into the driver’s seat and started the engine again but with less gusto this time. The car ran forwards more slowly and Berthon looked away as there was a stomach-turning crunching sound. He stared moodily at the laboratories. He wondered how they were getting on inside and comforted himself with the thought that no matter how unpleasant it was outside with Darby, it was without doubt a whole lot worse inside, in Hades, and in this he was most certainly correct.
The next office Wood came to was locked. The plaque on the door was marked ‘Rideough – Field Research’. It had white writing on a dark blue background and one screw had come loose so that the name plate now hung vertically. There was a stray bit of cloth that had snagged on the loose end and blood by the handle. The door was reasonably strong but not reinforced, and a heavy boot soon had it open. It smashed back against the wall with a crash that made them all nervous and they took up defensive positions. Nobody rushed at them from inside and cautiously they entered.
The office was in semi-darkness as the blinds were drawn but there was enough light to see the body slumped in a chair behind the desk. He was a big man, severely overweight, and must have been in his late fifties. He wore a blue shirt and a dreadful, paisley tie. The top two buttons of the shirt were undone revealing a small sprout of greying hair and both sleeves had been rolled up to the elbows to reveal his thick, hairy forearms. The blood had oozed from the cuts in his wrists covering the desk in a luxurious, dark red leather trim that had long since seeped all over his lower body and the surrounding floor. Face up on the desk in front of him was a family portrait but it was impossible to see who was in the photo as it was largely obscured by his dried blood. A swarm of flies enveloped the corpse making the soldiers cover their mouths and noses in disgust.
When Handley had recovered from the shock of the body he took his time looking through the filing cabinets which were of the standard metallic-grey office type and were stuffed full of papers. He searched whilst mumbling quietly to himself and after several minutes had amassed a pile on a small table to the side of the desk.
“I can’t say for sure but this may be of some importance. It’s all about the field tests they performed with the drugs during the clinical trials, the early stages and some of the results. It might all be of help. And this too.” He indicated a laptop that lay in the corner of the room.
Wood nodded. “Take it then,” and Handley was already shovelling the papers and computer into his bag.
The next office was labelled ‘Toogood – Clinical’ and had similar information to Rideough’s office with the results obtained from patients in the laboratory tests. Again Handley quickly stuffed a load in his bag whilst the others kept watch outside the office.
Lewis’s group had less success and finished before Wood’s. They paused at the fire doors at the end of their corridor. Lewis peered through the glass panel trying to see any movement beyond. Everything looked still so they went through and squinted into the darkness of the stairs above.
“Wood, it’s Lewis. We’re done down here, going up to the top floor.”
“Nearly finished, another ten minutes maybe. We’ll follow shortly.”
“Roger that.” Lewis was aware of an odd tone to Wood’s voice that he assumed must be due to stress. Had he been an impartial observer to the conversation he would have noticed the same quality in his own voice.
As he lowered the radio there was another bang and a screech from somewhere indeterminate. Lewis turned to his troops, checked their strained expressions and shrugged. After all what could he do? The noise was not particularly close and they would almost certainly come across more hostiles yet, so there seemed little point in dwelling on the issue further.
They tentatively ascended to the top floor. Lewis checked ahead. He was faced with doors to the east and west. He could see nothing in either direction; both corridors were distinctly darker than the lower ones as there were fewer office doors, all of which were shut. Gingerly he opened the westerly doors. Immediately only a few paces away he saw a man hunkered down at the side of the corridor.
He was dressed in a security guard’s uniform, although it was largely in tatters, and he seemed to be chewing something. As the torch picked out his face in the gloom he turned and snarled at them like a feral wildcat. He tried to conceal his food from them but they all noticed the shiny signet ring on the finger of the hand that he was eating. For a moment nobody moved. There was a collective pause and it was unclear whether he was going to attack or not. Then they all seemed to unfreeze simultaneously. The security guard rose and swayed unsteadily forwards, still trying to shield his prize from them as Lewis and Hutchison both swiftly swung their rif
les up and fired a deafening volley. The first couple of rounds ripped through his already bloody shirt and into his chest knocking him back. Somehow though he recovered and still came at them. Another bullet brought an immediate, fresh, red stain to his stomach and the next floored him as it destroyed his knee cap. He hit the ground, still writhing and screaming until Lewis stepped forwards and shot him one time in the head.
The sudden noise had stunned them and the silence was now shattered by the sounds of more screaming. Bannister shone his torch along the corridor and picked out the shapes of three more people, some twenty metres away. They were already running at full tilt towards them and they had only moments to react. The four soldiers stood abreast across the corridor, shooting in short, rapid bursts that tore into the approaching assailants with deadly force. The nearest of them took the brunt of the opening hail and was flung back but the other three kept on coming.
Singleton backed up in shock towards the fire doors behind, as she watched the horror unfold. She had seen weapons used in anger before in her career but never against an enemy at such close range. She was not sure exactly what, but something caught her attention. She twisted and found herself staring into the dark, loathing eyes of a diseased woman who had crept up on them. Singleton gasped as the woman jumped forwards at her with talons outstretched. It was only an instinctive reaction that saved her. She had been clutching the pistol tightly and now with a slight, almost unintentional, increase in pressure, it jumped in her grip and bucked up as she fired into the stomach of the woman, slamming her against the wall. It did not completely stop her though and she came again but Singleton flinched, raised the gun and fired, hitting the woman in the face.
Ten paces beyond the eastern fire doors were two more figures. All she could make out was their shadowy silhouettes through the glass as they ran at her, screaming and frothing. They burst through the doors simultaneously. Singleton shrieked as she staggered backwards, away from the imminent onslaught. Terror froze her trigger-finger as she grimaced and recoiled. With her own four soldiers still preoccupied they triumphantly bore down upon her. They managed a couple more paces before there was a resounding blast and they appeared to be yanked back on strings by an unseen force, leaving them twitching on the floor and quite dead.
Singleton looked down the stairs with her ears still ringing to see Wood, Straddling and Millington all holding their rifles in their shoulders with pale, grim expressions. A puff of grey haze curled in an uncertain ark away from them like a snake woken by its charmer, lazily weaving its head before vanishing into the air.
The noise of shooting from her own group had stopped and she turned to observe the carnage. Blood sprayed all down the corridor and the last of the assailants had fallen only a few paces from the soldiers. She sank to her knees, trembling.
“Is everybody okay?” Lewis spoke loudly, moving quickly with eyes darting everywhere as the adrenaline pulsed through his body. He was temporarily half deafened and his voice sounded hollow and distant. “Anyone hurt or been bitten?”
Wood’s group now mounted the stairs to join them. “Nope. All good here. I think we survived that one.”
“Just,” Lewis said ruefully. “The noise will bring them all down upon us. We need to clear this top floor quickly and move on.” He swiftly looked around to check that they were all okay. His attention paused on Singleton to ensure she had coped with the incident. She looked pale but nodded and stood up a little unsteadily. Satisfied, he spoke briskly. “Everyone, check your ammo and don’t get twitchy. I don’t want any friendly fire incidents. Ready?”
At that moment there was a prolonged screaming sound from somewhere indeterminate. It was more animal than human. It started off on a high note and then suddenly changed intonation. The noise was joined by another, deeper cry, almost harmonising like a Gregorian choir. Then eerie silence once more.
“It’s like a bloody madhouse in here,” Bannister muttered to Hutchison.
“Yeah, either that or a morgue,” he replied.
“I’m not sure if I prefer it when they’re making a racket so we know where they are or when they’re being quiet.”
“Gives me the creeps either way. Sooner we’re out of here the better.”
They all proceeded along the rest of the top corridor, through one set of doors and to the end without any more encounters. A couple of rooms held information that the doctors deemed worthy of further analysis but they soon found themselves back at the same fire doors at the top of the stairs. This time they looked east and into darkness. The smell throughout the building was stale. There was the general reminder of distant decay at all times that they tried to ignore, mixed with some indeterminate, sickly stench. There was an unnerving hush that was only broken by the sound of their own footfalls and the occasional crazed screech that chilled them all.
Peering through the glass panels they could not see much so Lewis cracked the door open and flashed a torch quickly through. The building opened out into a large restaurant area. The floor was covered in white and dark blue chequered tiles, and there were tables and chairs laid out neatly in rows like chess pieces on a board. There were a small number of windows but they had blinds drawn and it was dark inside.
Lewis closed the door. He was reluctant to go in and did not want to attract any attention from possible aggressors inside with his torch light. “It’s the main dining area. I don’t imagine there’s anything of use to us in there. It’s a large room. It’s pretty dark. I suggest we avoid it. Get something hard like some chair legs and stuff them through here.” He indicated the two handles on the doors. They were both rectangular loops and by forcing something solid between them they could secure the doors.
It was quickly done and they reluctantly split into two again. Wood and his troops continued on the first floor. The building had obviously widened here and the rooms off the corridor were no longer simple offices. The first they came to was labelled ‘Dr R.Cannon BPharm DGM – Medical Integration’.
Handley became very animated. “I think we’re finally getting to the bones of the building. This looks to be more where the actual research took place.”
“So I’m guessing you want to go in here then?” Wood asked dryly.
“Yes, most definitely. Is that okay?”
“Be my guest Doc.” Wood waved him towards the door with a gentle, teasing smile, knowing full well that the doctor would not be the one to open it.
Straddling looked impatiently at the plaque with the abbreviated list of qualifications after the name. “You telling me you understand all these letters?” He sounded petulantly mocking.
Handley vaguely heard the question but ignored it and gave him nothing more than a cursory glance.
Wood carefully pushed the door open and peered inside with his rifle pointing in first. Unlike the offices they had seen so far, this one had no windows and did not look like a conventional office. There was a small desk with a chair but no other seat for visitors. Along the right wall was a low filing cabinet and there was a door leading off to another inner room. The walls were painted clinically white and there was a distinct lack of personal effects. Other than a wilted plant on the desk and cupboard and shelves on the other side there was nothing else in the office. It could easily have been mistaken for a room on a hospital ward.
Handley went to the filing cabinet and excitedly started opening drawers and looking through papers while Wood and Millington crossed to the internal door. It was locked. Wood signalled to Straddling to close the outer door, then nodded at Millington who stepped back obligingly. He hurled himself at the timber frame, shattering it with a blow from his shoulder. Wood had his rifle aimed and ready but nothing came out, so after a moment they entered.
“Jackpot!” Millington’s comment brought Handley scurrying.
“What is it? What have you found?”
“Think there should be some useful information in here maybe Doc?”
The room was some kind of small laboratory. Along t
he walls were cupboards up to waist height with work surfaces on them and shelves above. In the centre there was a large, clean, black metal table with a slim drawer that held all manner of instruments that looked as though they came straight from a Victorian mental asylum. There was a selection of scalpels, some long silvery appliances that looked like tongs, forceps, a variety of glass tubes and Petri dishes and many other unrecognisable objects.
Millington turned to Handley. “What’s it all for? Do you know what these all do?”
Handley was looking around with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. He slowly shook his head. “No, not all of them.”
Straddling snorted. “I thought not. You don't know what we're looking for any more than we do. This has all been a waste of time. We’ve staked our lives here for nothing.”
Handley was shaking his head though and glared at Straddling with a look of contempt. Like all of them, he had heard enough of the man’s complaining. “No, I don’t think that’s the case at all. All I mean is that I don’t know exactly what they were doing here, nor what all these instruments are for. But I would say that this room, or if not here then somewhere nearby probably, was used to perform several of the experiments on the drugs.”
He pointed at some of the more elaborate devices on a table at the side. There were a couple of centrifuges, some microscopes of varying sizes and other electrical devices that were clearly very modern, well maintained and had been used recently. “I am sure this is only a minor lab here at the plant but this would probably have been used for checking results they had obtained elsewhere. At every stage of drug development, every time someone puts forward a theory, discovers a drug attribute, or whatever, the findings will have to be replicated several times by others before it is generally accepted and this may well have been one of the places where that would have happened. I'm sorry, I'm not explaining myself very well.”
“Well enough Doc,” Wood interrupted bluntly, “but we need to get a move on. How can we help? What exactly are we looking for?”
The Blood of the Infected (Book 2): Once Bitten, Twice Live Page 8