The BIG Horror Pack 2

by Iain Rob Wright

  “This man wasn’t, though,” said Garfield, pointing down at the soldier who had finally died whilst they were talking. “He didn’t need to die. He didn’t want to shoot anyone. Kirk could have talked him around.”

  “No way, mate,” said Sally. “We were about to leave with our tail between our legs. After coming all this way, we were about to leave with nothing. I got you all this place, so stop having a pop at me. Just chill out, mate.”

  “I’m not your mate.”

  “No, you’re a bleeding whinger. Best we just leave your moany arse behind.” He turned his attention to the soldier. “Do you have the keys to those trucks over there? And the Armoury?”

  The soldier said nothing, so Sally yanked off his balaclava and got in his face. The man had a shaved head and high, angular cheekbones. His chin looked like it could dent iron.

  Sally stood nose to nose with the man before saying, “We can either get the keys from your corpse or you can hand them over.”

  The soldier sighed and reached into the pockets of his utility belt. His hand came out with a large bundle of keys. “Everything I have is on there. Haltek has the rest of the keys. You can get them from his corpse.”

  Sally snatched the keys and then went to retrieve the other set from the dead soldier. During that time, Garfield asked the soldier a simple question. “What’s your name?”

  The soldier grunted. “Sergeant Price, 2684573. First Battalion, Parachute Regiment.”

  So that’s why these guys are such badasses, thought Garfield. Garfield had briefly considered joining the Army when he was a teenager. He had consumed every war movie and magazine he could find. One thing quickly became obvious; you don’t fuck with the Paras. When Garfield’s father had died, leaving his mother all alone, he had put all thoughts of travelling the world in a uniform aside. But how different might his life have been if he had taken the same path as Price? The two of them were of a similar age. “Was Haltek a para as well?” Garfield asked.

  “All three of us are. When the other soldiers stationed here set out on the road, we chose to remain here and protect the base from people like you.”

  Garfield sighed. Although he hated it, he was pretty sure he was one of the bad guys in this situation. “Look, what Sally did, killing your man, was nothing to do with the rest of us. We picked him up on our travels. I didn’t even know he had a gun.”

  “If you don’t support his actions, punish him. If you do nothing then you are condoning his actions.”

  “That’s not true. I…I’m not in charge here. It’s not my responsibility.”

  “Yes, it is. Haltek would never have fired on your people. You could have all left safely if the dingo hadn’t fired that cap gun at us.”

  “Might have been a cap gun,” said Sally, overhearing them. “But it took care of your mate alright, didn’t it?”

  Sergeant Price made a move towards Sally, but Garfield raised the rifle in his hands and shook his head. “Let’s make sure no one else gets shot, okay?”

  The soldier glared at him. “This burk is going to get you people killed. I’ve seen men like him plenty of times before. Most of them ended up dead or in the Glasshouse.”

  “Nah, mate. You ain’t. I’m one of a kind. A real beaut.”

  “Alright,” said Kirk. “Let’s just get what we came for and we can leave these men in peace.”

  Sally scoffed. “Are you kidding? Soon as we try to set off, GI Joe and Private Pyle here are going to grab themselves a weapon and become unpleasant. Can’t leave them alive.”

  “What should we do?” Garfield spat. “Hang them by their necks?”

  “Good a method as any.”

  Kirk grabbed Sally by the arm. “Just get to work. I’ll decide what to do with the soldiers when the time comes.”

  Sally shrugged his shoulders and snapped off a salute. “Yessir. Right away, sir.” Then he swaggered off towards the armoury.”

  Kirk strode over to sergeant Price. “Get down on the floor beside your buddy. Sit on your hands and don’t try anything. We’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”

  When Price didn’t respond, Kirk kicked the man’s legs out from under him and dragged him over to the other soldier who Garfield had struck with his metal pipe.

  Somehow Garfield couldn’t help but feel like a brutish Viking sacking a defenceless village. It left a bad taste in his mouth. We’re the bad guys here.

  PRICE

  Price couldn’t believe how hard he’d failed. People always expected him to feel proud of being a member of the illustrious Parachute Regiment, but they didn’t realise that there was nothing to be proud of. 1 Para wasn’t the pinnacle of the British Army Special Forces. The maroon beret was second to one other: the beige beret. The sand-coloured beret his father owned. Who Dares Wins.

  Price had twice attempted to pass the brutal trials of the SAS, but both times he had failed. The forced marches over the Brecon Hills left him hospitalised on each occasion. Being a Para just reminded him that he would always be second best to a select few who had more ability than he did – men who were made of sterner stuff. His father had always said he was too weak to make it in the elite of the elite, and it had turned out he was right. Even now that the world had ended, Price knew that the SAS would be holed up somewhere, surviving the apocalypse with ease and turning the air blue with their foulmouthed jokes. His father might even be with them; the SAS looked after their own. They were a family. A family that Price had always longed to join but never would. Not like I ever belonged to my own family. The Special Air Service was trained for any situation and the dead would be little more than a minor obstacle to the SAS.

  They would never have let an entire Army barracks fall to a man with an antique pistol. I’m a fuck-up. The Sarge is dead because I didn’t get my gun up fast enough. My father will be rolling in his grave.

  Fuck him.

  Price wasn’t done yet. The carrot-top in the long black coat might have taken his SA80, but he still had his 9mm tucked in a holster hidden at his back, beneath his vest. It always helped to have a weapon or two hidden. Soon as I get chance, that dingo bastard is taking a dirt nap.

  Price knew his life was already forfeit. The least a soldier could do before the bodysnatchers came for him was take as many of the enemy with him as he could. For the last hour, he had sat on his hands as required and watched silently as the group of bandits raided the Colonel Gadaffi and snatched at the boxes of military rations. The eight-hundred-and-fourteen Operational Ration Packs contained enough food to feed a man for 24 hours, or a starved survivor for 48. They also contained water purifying tablets, matches, tissues, tea bags, and chicken stock. The bandits had just hit the mother lode. The thought of them surviving happily for the next year on those rations made Price feel sick to his stomach.

  Now the bandits had turned their focus to the armoury. There were six caches and all had been opened. The Australian and his buddies were currently in the process of loading up the 4-tonne trucks with dozens of SA80 battle rifles, Browning 9mm handguns, a couple of L7A2 General-Purpose-Machine-Guns, and a batch of recreational hunting rifles. The dingo was strutting around with an L128A1 semi-auto shotgun on his hip like he knew how to use it – he didn’t. The bandits even took a crate full of L109A1 HE grenades. They use one of those and the dead will come running from a hundred miles around.

  Corporal Barker had recovered from the blow to his head and was sat upright beside Price. The carrot-top kept a watch on them both, with Price’s SA80 held loosely to his shoulder. He’ll break his collarbone if he pulls the trigger on that thing.

  During the last ten minutes, the two of them had been sawing away at the zip-ties around their wrists. They rubbed the plastic against the sharp edges of their belt buckles. It was slow work, but working.

  “You got a plan, Price?” Barker asked him in a whisper.

  Price nodded. “Yeah, go down fighting.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “You got your
9mm tucked away?”

  Barker chuckled. “Yeah, the stupid bastards didn’t bother to check me. They’re almost begging to die.”

  “Well, lets not disappoint them.”

  “Let’s do this for Haltek.”

  “For Haltek.”

  Price was just about to leap up and snap his zip-ties when the bandits formed-up a few feet away. If it were not for the fact that the dingo pointed a shotgun in their directions, Price would have followed through with his plan of grabbing for his 9mm and going down in a bullet storm. But the plan was to take the bandits by surprise to maximise their casualties. Price wouldn’t even get a shot off if that shotgun went off in his face. He grabbed a hold of Barker and shook his head. “Wait.”

  The carrot-top moved around behind Price and Barker and pointed the rifle at the back of their heads. The ginger guy wasn’t so bad as the others. It seemed like he would have handled the situation differently. The problem was the dingo and the guy in charge. The kid who’d but Price on his arse with a judo sweep. He’ll pay for that.

  “The trucks are all stuffed full. All three of them,” said the stumpy guy Price had tied up in the fire engine. ‘Lemon’ the other men called him. The leader of the bandits nodded. “Good work. We’re ready to go then?”

  Lemon nodded.

  “Great, lets load up and get going then.”

  “What about the squaddies?” the dingo asked. He was pointing the barrel of the shotgun right in Price’s mug. If he kills me now I won’t even have a chance to reach for my gun. Fuck!

  “Leave them,” said the carrot-top. “We’ve done enough already.”

  The dingo laughed. “They’re the enemy. We don’t let the enemy go. They killed Tom and Gavin.”

  “Because you fired at them, you fool. You didn’t even know Tom and Gavin.”

  Both men looked to the leader of the group, but the younger man just stood there looking increasingly stressed. It was clear that the guy wasn’t cut out for leadership. He was too indecisive – an obvious people pleaser. He couldn’t make a decision unless it suited everyone, and that was never possible. If anyone should be in charge, thought Price, it should be the carrot-top. He was the only one who spoke up rationally and thought things through. The dingo was a blagger with an ego. Men like him never lasted long on the field, but sometimes they managed to fuck things up before they went.

  The carrot-top shrugged at the leader. “Kirk, will you tell Sally to chill out. We don’t kill innocent people. We’ve got what we came for, so let’s just leave.”

  Kirk nodded. “Okay, you’re right. Everyone get in the trucks. We’re leaving.”

  “No, we’re not,” said Sally. “You’re not the boss of me, mate. I’m taking those trucks for myself along with anyone else who wants to join me.”

  Kirk’s mouth dropped open. “N-no you’re not. We all stick together.”

  “I’m not asking for your permission. Your men are coming with me. They’re tired of risking their necks and having to share. They want what’s theirs and I’m going to give it to them. Life is better out on the road.”

  Kirk said nothing, and in fact he seemed to shrink. He was holding no weapon, while the dingo held one of the most intimidating weapons a man could face. The carrot-top raised his rifle away from Price’s skull and aimed it at the arguing members of his group.

  Price made eye contact with Barker and nodded subtly. They’re distracted. It’s almost time. Price began to slide his hand around to the 9mm at his back.

  “Who the hell do you think you are, Sally?” demanded the carrot-top. “We picked you up when you were all alone and now you’re pulling this shit.”

  “I don’t owe you people anything. None of you have done anything other than let me tag along. When I did some asking around, it turned out that this happy little group ain’t so happy. They want to break out on their own. With the trucks and the guns, we can take whatever we want.”

  The carrot-top shook his head. He looked utterly gobsmacked. Price felt sorry for him, he seemed like a decent guy. The man glanced around at the assembled group and waved his arms. “Who is a part of this? Who wants to leave with this piece of shit? Come on, if you have the balls to turn your back on the pier, then have the balls to stand up for your convictions? Who wants to go with Sally?”

  The man almost seemed to fall down in pain when the hands of nearly the entire group went up. The stumpy guy called Lemon didn’t put his hand up, nor the man and woman Barker had captured by the trucks. Everyone else’s did, though. It was almost unanimous.

  The carrot-top looked at Kirk and shrugged. “You’re in charge, Kirk. You wanted this. You handle it. Are you with Sally, or are you going to grow some balls?”

  Kirk wobbled on his feet and grew pale. He spluttered and glanced around nervously. “I…I…If everyone is going with Sally, then we should, too. We shouldn’t separate after so long together. We need each other.”

  “And what about the others at the pier? Anna, Rene…Poppy?”

  Kirk shrugged. “You do what you want Garfield. The guys at the pier are safe. If you want Poppy then go back for her. Nobody is stopping you.”

  “You fucking coward,” said the only woman of the group.

  Kirk’s face bunched up in anger. “Screw you, Cat. I’m just trying to survive. Nobody ever said we had to stick together at the pier forever. I joined you all much later, anyway. None of you treat me the same as the others. I should have been in charge of this group months ago.”

  Garfield huffed. “I think you’re showing the reason why we didn’t put you in charge. You can’t handle it.”

  “Screw you, Garf.”

  Garfield didn’t answer back. He just sighed at the other man and seemed genuinely sad. “Fine, Kirk. You do what you want. I’m going back to the pier with anyone who wants to come with me. I’ll take the minivan.”

  “Me and David are with you,” said the woman.

  “Me t-t-too,” said Lemon.

  “Okay,” said Sally. “Then we’ve all made our decision. We go our separate ways. All that’s left to do is kill the squaddies.”

  Price balked. He had grasped his 9mm in his hand but had gotten so wrapped up in the bitter exchange between the bandits that he hadn’t yet brought it around. By the time he did, it would already be too late. The dingo had his shotgun pressed up against his forehead

  Price closed his eyes. I’ve failed again. My father was right. That grumpy old git.

  Just when Price expected his head to explode, there was a loud thud! He opened his eyes to see that Garfield had struck the dingo in his head with the butt of the SA80. The Australian went reeling to the ground. The shotgun he had been holding skittered away across the pavement. Blood oozed from a gash on his hairline.

  Garfield glanced down at Price and Barker. “You two, get up. You’re not our prisoners.”

  Price clutched his 9mm and thought about yanking it free and firing off a few rounds, but his instincts told him to hold off and see what transpired. As much as he should have, he didn’t want to shoot the carrot-top.

  Garfield stood over Sally and growled. “You’re done.”

  The dingo laughed. Blood covered his face but he didn’t seem to care. The men and women who had sought to take off with the man had faltered. They glanced at one another nervously and then shuffled their feet. A mutiny only lasts as long as its leader, thought Price.

  “Okay,” said Sally. “You got me. I beg for mercy.”

  Garfield shook his head and sighed. “More than you deserve, but unlike you I don’t kill people if I don’t have to. Take the minivan and get the hell out of here. If I see you again I’ll take your goddamn head off.”

  Garfield lowered his rifle and started to turn away, but the dingo sat up suddenly and let off two quick bangs! Garfield reeled backwards. His finger squeezed around the trigger of his SA80. It bucked violently in his hands and wrenched his shoulder in his socket just like Price had warned him. The bullet spread went wide, clanging of
f a group of empty oil barrels. Clunk clunk clunk! The rifle fell to the ground with a clatter! Another shot rang out and Garfield fell to the ground beside it.

  When Price saw the antique pistol that had killed Haltek he brought around his 9mm and fired off a tight grouping right into the dingo’s chest. The man was dead before he even knew he’d been shot. The smell of gunpowder hung thick in the air and the sound of the shots seemed to echo for miles around. That’s not good.

  Immediately, a standoff ensued. Price and Barker held 9mms, but were being faced down by an assortment of assault rifles and other 9mms. The leader, Kirk, shook his head and did nothing. The guy was a wet blanket.

  Price sighed and took pity on the younger man. He glanced down at the carrot-top, lying on the floor where three bullets had struck his chest. “Barker, lower your weapon,” he said. “Nobody else has to die today.”

  Barker did as he was told and Price lowered his weapon too. He re-holstered the 9mm behind his back and knelt down beside Garfield. The guy they called Lemon did the same. “Is he going to be okay, sir?”

  Price sighed. Sir? This guy likes to obey. “No, he’s not going to be okay. He just took two slugs in the chest. And don’t call me ‘sir’, I work for a living.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for your loss. He seemed like the only one of you with any sense.”

  There was silence amongst the group and Price crossed the dead man’s arms across his chest and repositioned his head. It was the least he could do.

  It scared the shit out of him when the man started to cough and splutter. “Jesus Christ, you’re alive.”

  The man was out of breath, gasping and struggling, but he had the strength of an ox and Price could do nothing as he forced himself into a sitting position. He continued coughing for a good few minutes, but when he was done, he grasped at the buttons on his shirt and tore them loose. His shirt fluttered open and Price was surprised to see that neither slug had managed to enter the man’s chest. Three hunks of lead were lodged into a thick barrier of what looked like history magazines. The man had wrapped them around his torso like armour. It was a novel idea, but probably wouldn’t have worked against a modern calibre bullet. Luckily, the dingo had fired two ancient lead rounds from an antique pistol. The magazines had been enough to save his life.