The girl began to pull away, uncertain of Janet's intentions as she tried to guide her towards the industrial cleansing wipes stacked neatly on one shelf.
'Kirsty, I promised your mummy I would look after you and I keep my promises.'
Kirsty stared at the twinkling set of emerald green eyes; the look of honesty and assurance that her intentions were pure were all but impossible for the child to miss.
With a gentle tug of her arm and raised finger to her own lips, telling the girl to remain quiet, Janet guided the child to the waiting boxes of industrial clinical wipes.
5
Central Middlesex Hospital
S.A.U Team Three: Insertion
The wind whipped around them, snatching at their clothing in its vain attempt to ensnare them in its vaporous grasp. Richards watched the roads below snake their way through the city like ribbons of white-darted black silk; a smirk wormed its way across his features as he glanced around the open cabin of the helicopter.
'Walters, Sooker—I want you two on point; Walters you're with me and one section. Sooker, you're with Hawk and two section. Patterson, who's covering who? It's your call.'
Andre Patterson glanced about the cabin; his team was sitting, relaxed and ready as they winged their way towards Middlesex Hospital. His mind was awash with a myriad of thoughts as he weighed up whom to send with whom. Even if he split them directly down the middle, one section was going in a man down. Biting at his bottom lip, he closed his eyes and leant his head back as he began to speak.
'Token, King, Lucas, and I are with Richards. The rest of you are heading in with Hawk. That sound good to you, Rook?'
A curt nod greeted Patterson's query.
'Lincruster, you sit tight with the whirly bird.'
She flashed a quick thumbs up as she slid the helicopter through the north London skyline.
'A-Okay with me, Big Dog; mama bear gotta look after her little cub, after all.'
Rook grinned as he looked at Hawk. 'You okay there, brother?'
Hawk simply nodded as he stared at the bulkhead in front of him, his face a picture of impassive stone as he listened to the chatter around him. Token glanced at the American in front of him, the man's eyes a blur of cold anger and sadness; reaching out, he held out his hand to the man. 'Glad to be working with you.'
Jonathan 'Hawk' Stabbler glanced up and stared at Token, the young black Ghanaian's hand floating in dead space before Stabbler nodded and looked away. He let his hand drop slowly back to the fore-grip of his weapon. He was proud to be where he was, proud of his heritage, but also proud of being a British citizen and the first of his family to reach a level only ever dreamt of by others.
A tap on Token's shoulder drew his attention to the man on his left. Turning, he saw Richards leaning towards him, head cocked against the wind slashing at the open doorway.
'Don't think anything of it, buddy. Hawk's not one to pal up easily with anyone, especially not since Africa. It's not you personally, but we lost a lot of good friends there. For him, it's still a fresh wound and people of your "ethnic" persuasion bring a lot of bad memories out of him. Like I say, it's nothing personal; he just needs to get his shit together, that's all.'
Token nodded; he understood the situation. He didn't like it but he understood it. Turning away from Richards, he glanced at Carlstook. The man's face broke into a grin as he fished out the rabbit's foot he kept on a chain around his neck, Token grinned as Carlstook held it out for him. Taking it, he lifted the small appendage to his lips and kissed it.
'I cannot believe you still have that thing, my friend.'
Frank laughed, his whimsical chuckle making the others smile as he tucked away the disembodied appendage.
'Mate, I wouldn't get rid of this for all the tea in China; not that China's sending anyone any tea at the moment. If it wasn't for you braining that rabbit, we would have been dead out in the Hebrides by now. You can bet your arse I am keeping this close to my heart.'
Token smiled, his brilliantly white teeth glimmering in the sunlight as it snatched its way between the buildings.
'Forty seconds, gentlemen.'
Patterson banged on the bulkhead, letting Lincruster know they had heard her. With a heavy-booted kick, he shoved the rope from the doorway as the helicopter settled into a hover over the roof of the hospital.
'You all have your orders; get it done and get home, ladies.'
He let his hand ensnare the rope, and with a Tarzan-esque swing of his legs, slid down the thickly woven yarn to the floor below. Several soft thumps followed as Token, King, Lucas, and Walters slid down behind him, all five men dropping to a knee with weapons raised and ready as Rook finally made his descent.
The rope slapped to the floor, its sloppy coils falling like limp spaghetti over itself as the clamp snapped open. Lincruster banked the chopper away as the first insertion team made their way to the rooftop stairwell.
****
Hawk watched intently, his fingers fiddling with the bunched ring of dog tags in his suit's pocket. Each one slid over the length of curled wire, clanking with a soft, muted clink against the others as he fed them through his fingers one by one. Carlstook stepped up next to Hawk, his hand clutching the overhead handle as he watched the side of the building flash by in front of him.
'How we playing this?'
Hawk let the bracelet of tags fall to the bottom of his ballistic suit's pocket once more before pushing himself to his feet.
'Same as we always do; go in shooting and don't stop until the Infected are dead, we run out of ammunition, or we go down.'
Carlstook shrugged as he let his hand fall from the ceiling grip and hopped out of the helicopter before its skids fully made contact with the tarmac of the car park.
Running forwards, he lifted his weapon to his shoulder as he dropped to one knee and fired three well-placed bursts, dropping the three Infected charging at them from the hospital foyer. Rising to his feet, he headed forwards in a hunched run, weapon swivelling from target to target, taking the outer foyer as the rest of the section made their way forwards.
'Magazine.'
He let the polymer magazine fall into his hand, his fingers dancing as he plucked a fresh one from the pouch on his chest and slotted it into place. The switch took all of three seconds as he once more sent rounds down range.
A sharp call went out as he saw Sooker slip past him, his gun spewing brass as the belt-fed weapon chewed its way through the string of glittering death.
The floor was awash with the dead by the time they moved off. A soft cackling echoed through the corridors, leading them to the open doors of the triage centre.
Cautiously, Sooker stepped towards the door, his feet foraging below him for any spot of the white tiled floor not covered in blood, excrement, or torn flesh. The soft splash of liquid rose up from the floor as he stepped through the puddles of bile and blood as he made his way towards the triage nurses' office.
Frank slid in beside him, his shoulder thumping against the hollow panel wall as Sooker gently edged the door open. The hushed silence cracked once again as the cackling laughter oozed its way out of the doorway. A stream of bile and offal-infused blood flowed over their boots as both men edged closer to the threshold of the room.
Carlstook's eyes widened as he beheld the sight before him. The child sat atop the desecrated corpse of the triage nurse, her pre-pubescent hands clutching the woman's entrails like string as she pulled them from the woman's disembowelled corpse. A wet splat echoed about the room as the child heaved one crimson-smeared blue slab from the woman's chest. The lung landed with all the grace of a dead walrus, sending a rippled geyser of blood into the air that coated the child's hair and face.
The spattering red droplets elicited another raucous cackle from the blood-smeared babe as she dived forwards once more and tore free the woman's heart. She lifted the oozing organ to her lips and licked along the rippled surface before sucking greedily at one of the entangled ventricles, biting th
rough its rubbery hide as she drank greedily from the entrapped life-giving fluid.
Sooker turned away, his face green and pallid as he vomited over his boots. Revulsion and disgust poured from him in equal measure as his stomach evacuated its content. Carlstook clamped his teeth together as he fought the need to vomit. He settled the red dot of his rifle's optics on the child's chest, and then with an almost whimsical note, he whistled.
Her red, blood-crazed eyes snapped to his. The rubber-like twang of snapping arteries filled the air as they tore free and sent an arching spray of crimson fluid across the wall as Carlstook fired.
The child's head snapped back, crashing into the wall. Her chest erupted in a halo of blood and flesh as the bullets tore through her. With a soft, gentle thump, she tumbled back onto the table, her eyes forever locked in a feral glare of hunger as she came to rest in the crook of the nurse's arm, her long silken blonde hair lying in clumped matted lumps across her face.
****
The stairway was dark; the light of the door had long ago given up any pretence of even trying to illuminate their path as they wound their way deeper into the twisting corridors of the hospital. The damp air stank of mould; the clammy moisture-drenched air sucked at their lungs. The cold, rotting taste of stagnant water filled their mouths as they pushed on.
Rook held up a closed fist as he began to ease the door ahead of him open. A soft thump rolled up the stairwell as he connected with the door. Leaning into the thick slab of fireproof wood, he pushed and the door opened another inch; grinding his teeth together, he shoved harder and, to his chagrin, gained naught but another inch.
'Son of a bitch.' Letting his rifle hang, he pushed it onto his back as he grasped the leading edge of the door with both hands and pushed against the doorframe with his foot.
'Token, get a drone in here and see what the hell is blocking this door. I have a feeling I know what it is; just see if you can shift it.'
The miniature helicopter leapt from Token's palm as he sent it through the gap Rook held open, a soft electric whine filling their ears no louder than the buzzing of a gnat as it flitted past Rook's face.
Token stared at the screen as the small bug-like copter relayed all it saw with clarity. Suppressing an acid-filled cough, Token quickly panned the micro camera away from the pile of carrion at the foot of the door and sent the craft zipping down the hall. He glanced up to the top right of the screen, the digital readout displaying twenty-eight minutes and thirty seconds of flight time remaining as he gently guided the craft round a corner.
He quickly sent it zipping towards the ceiling as three dozen Infected fell upon the twisted remnants of one of the porters. The man's hand reflexively opening and closing as one gore-smeared nurse began to gnaw her way deeper into the soft flesh of his forearm, her teeth sending a jittery vibration through the severed limb's fingers as she tore its meat from the bone.
Token gently slipped the Nano UAV forwards a mere inch from the ceiling as the carnival of consumption continued on below. He once more reached the haven of its starting point and Token slipped his hand into the gap, between frame and door, and let the flying camera drop sedately onto his palm before slipping it into the padded case on his thigh, the screen module slipping into the pouch in the small of his back.
Rook cast a glance at Token as the Ghanaian began to speak, his words spiced with the lilt tone of his accent even as he whispered.
'We have, at the very least, a dozen Infected… quite possibly more; and yes, Mr Rook, it is most definitely what you thought it was.'
With a sigh, Rook tossed his head towards the gap, nodding. Ibrahim lifted his weapon's sling from around his torso and handed it off to Lucas as he lowered his limber frame to the floor and began to ease himself through the ever-expanding gap between the door and frame.
With a guttural grunt, he wormed his way through the gap; his muffled curses died on his lips as he came face-to-face with what was blocking the door. The smell of excrement and offal made him wretch as he pushed himself clear of the doorway.
Gingerly, he reached out his gloved hand and grasped the man's lab coat. With a soft squeak of cold flesh over linoleum, he pulled the technician clear of the door. The man's head thunked against the cold floor as he let go of the hem of his lab coat.
Stepping away from the mangled corpse and the streaks of blood and excrement marking the body's passage, he reached out and pulled the other clear of the doorway.
Her head lolled on the smashed remains of her neck. The split and cracked remains of skull left little need to ruminate on how she died. The pair of curved surgical scissors in her hand made Token pause; he glanced from the woman's hands to the deep lacerations in the man's chest and stomach.
'Who killed whom?' His self-rumination broken by the heavy thump of Rook's staggering form and the crunch of the stairwell's door as it swung inwards, smashing into the wall with a heavy, reverberating crunch of plastic on wood.
Their blood froze in their veins as the echoing crash of their entrance was answered by the guttural screaming cries that rolled their way; the ululating wall of noise roared down the corridors towards them, washing over them like the Red Sea of the Old Testament. The cacophony rose as the pounding of feet swept over them. Kweku's head snapped left as he caught his rifle and brought it to his shoulder just as the first galloping shadowed form broached the end of the corridor.
'Rolling fire, advance and engage. Walters, Lucas, Patterson—rear guard. Fucking move.'
They moved down the corridor, their bodies hunched and low as they let loose a volley of rounds into the charging Infected. Rook bellowed as he felt a searing pain flare through his shoulder. His right arm fell to his side, numb and useless. 'Fuck it!' he growled as he let his rifle drop.
The sling snapped taut as the weight of the weapon crashed against his collarbone. He clenched his teeth to the point of shattering as he twisted his now useless shoulder and pulled the pistol from its holster on his chest.
His eyes caught the glinting of polished steel as he moved. Releasing his grasp on his pistol, he left the weapon half in its holster and gritted his teeth once more as he grasped the protruding steel rod, his hand folding round the semi-flat handle of the surgical scalpel; then with a sharp intake of air, he ripped it from the blood-infused rent in his shoulder.
The in-rush of air was like ice water in his veins. As he pulled the offending item from his person, it sent squirming lances of lightning-like pain through him, their shivering forms racing through his arm and chest. He gasped, tears stinging his eyes as he let it clatter to the floor and once more drew his pistol.
6
Hospital: Interior: Floor Two
The corridors lay heavy upon them, their floors choked with overturned gurneys and beds; their dismembered occupants strewn across the floor like the tantrum-thrown parts of a child's doll.
Hawk stared at the battered and torn body in front of him, its baldhead split open like a crushed orange. Scanning the floor, he followed its outstretched arm, tracing its slim, pale length to the diminutive hand clutching the cold steel pole. His eyes locked onto the bag atop the drip stand, the half-empty bag lying like a dead fish against the cold melamine floor; he involuntarily sighed as he saw the printed lettering staring back at him. His lips moved as he softly sounded out the word to himself, Cyclophosphamide.
His head fell forwards slightly and tears stung his eyes as images of his father danced in his head—his smile as he grinned at the camera, despite the pain lancing through him as the cancer throbbed in the back of his skull; his glittering eyes that sung with the sadness of someone who knew their time was quickly running out, but despite all this, the one thing he would always remember was the slim, clear plastic tube that wound its way up his dad's arm and under his hospital gown, feeding him the clear liquid that was killing and saving him all at once.
He felt the tears roll down his cheeks as he remembered his face the day the doctors told him he could never have children a
gain. He felt himself slide slowly into the smothering embrace of his own mind as a hand landed on his arm. Hawk jerked out of his reverie as the last image of his father danced is in his head. His open, vacant eyes and partially opened mouth as he gazed out the window of his hospital room; muttering a wistful goodbye, he turned to Carruthers, the soldier's questioning gaze tracing the pale lines of streaked tears running down his ruddy features.
'You okay, Hawk?'
Stabbler nodded as he turned and set off down the corridor, his shoulders hunched low as he panned his weapon across the corridor.
The corridor branched ahead of them; with a wave of his hand, he sent Carruthers and Carlstook down the left hand fork, while he and Hampson took the right. Sooker glanced about him, a tinge of nervous apprehension worming through him as he knelt, exposed and alone at the intersection.
Designated (Book 2): Designated Quarantined Page 6