Designated (Book 2): Designated Quarantined

by Cooper, Ricky

  The hand shot forwards, its long, slim digits closing around Kevin's neck; his eyes bulged as he felt the warm grasp of the Infected tighten on his throat. Kevin threw himself forwards, the Infected growling as he kicked the door shut behind him. Kevin cast his gaze backwards just as the door swung closed. His eyes begged her to remain silent as she held her hands fast over the children's mouths. She watched her friend and colleague disappear, the door slamming shut on him and their friendship like the lid on a coffin.

  The warmth of its skin unsettled Kevin the most; he had expected the cold touch of death around his throat, not the warm supple grasp of another human. He thrashed violently as the distorted, pustule-covered face of his fellow human snapped down at him. Clumps of flesh and offal hung from its teeth; the squirming tendrils slithered over Kevin's skin and his gorge rose, bursting from his mouth in a fountain of bile and stomach acid. The Infected woman recoiled as the caustic mix of his lunch and bodily fluids scorched her already battered airways.

  Her face twisted as she clawed at her throat, the stale flaking dregs of the hospital's re-heated shepherd's pie encrusting her lips. Thin red lines trailed down her constricting neck, the misted bile and stomach acid scouring the inside of her oesophagus, sealing the walls of her throat together like paste over paper. His mind boiled in his skull as he ran through the entirety of his self-defence training. Curling his fists, he let his thumbs jut outwards as he drove them forwards, smashing them into its eyes. Her ocular balls burst as he pushed forwards with as much strength as he could manage. He felt the lenses crumple as his thumbs carved their way forwards; the aqueous humours oozed over his thumbs as he continued to push.

  A sharp jet of warm clear gel shot over his hand as he clasped the sides of her head and threw his weight sideways. Her screams echoed down the hall as his thumbs dug deeper inside her skull. He jerked his head from side to side as her hand clawed at his shoulders and chest. Her pain-drenched flails doubled as he forced his thumbs past the soft, porous sheath of bone in the back of her eye sockets.

  His nails grated against the sides of her eye sockets as he pushed, shards of bone snatching and pulling at his already torn nails as he rolled his body over; with an almost primal growl, Kevin drove her head into the floor. The dull crack of her skull echoed like a popping eggshell as he crushed it against the melamine-covered concrete.

  Kevin flopped back, his heels digging painfully into his backside as he tried to pull his legs from under him. His hands sank down, the grit and broken glass from the wall displays scraping at his skin. He snatched them up, fear coursing through him as he looked at his hands covered in the bloody remnants of the dead Infected's eyes. He tentatively reached forwards, peeling the smeared remains of the Infected woman's eye lens from the end of his thumb, the thin membrane sheet slid from his finger like a piece of plastic, cold and slippery to the touch. Reaching into the remains of his coat, he pulled out a bottle of disinfectant gel and squeezed; the cold, viscous fluid dribbled into his palm as he emptied the entire bottle. The cooling tingle settled into his hands as he smeared it over them, desperate to get the layers of filth off his body.

  His eyes strayed from their task, his panicked, fear-laden stare travelling over the prostrate form mere feet away; the soft twitching of its feet sent a rhythmic squeak down the hall. Bile danced in Kevin's throat as he gazed at what he had done; the leaking mire of cranial fluid and pulped brain matter slowly inched its way towards him. It was as though the fluid was calling out, screaming at him for an explanation as to why he had, for the second time that day, desecrated his Hippocratic oath and taken another life.

  Janet slowly eased the door open; the soft hush of the draught excluder seemed to tear at her ears as it invaded the soft silence that now fell over their sanctuary. She let her eyes drift, her mind soaking in all that lay before her. Turning, she ushered the children into a corner, desperate to keep them from seeing the tableau that awaited the unwary.

  Pulling the door closed behind her, she reached out, setting her hand on Kevin's shoulder. His hands were still pawing and turning as he smeared the gum-like paste of blood, tissue, and disinfectant gel across his rapidly reddening skin.

  'Kevin?' Her feather-light, encroaching whisper drew his eyes to hers. The shock-filled orbs of fear filled her vision as she took a soft but firm hold of his shoulder and elbow. With a gentle guiding tug, she ushered him to his feet, pulling him back into their small cocoon of chemical-filled safety.

  ****

  Hawk lifted his rifle, settling the glowing red dot of his rifle's sight on the side of the woman's head, then with a smooth curl of his index finger, fired. The side of her head opened up like a piñata, sending waves of glistening bone and brain spattering against the curtains surrounding her bed. Her withered body sunk like a string-less puppet, the off-white curls of her age-frayed hair soaking in the swamp of blood and filth that surrounded her.

  'Mark location so we can dispose of this crone.'

  Sooker nodded as he pulled a waterproofed map of the hospital from his thigh pocket. Grease pencil in hand, he flicked it over the surface before setting the folded map back in his pocket.

  Hawk turned and walked back to the front of the ward, his weapon held low and ready as he made his way towards the remaining members of his fire team.

  'Right, boys, let's get out of here; I've had enough of this place.'

  The television in the corner of the ward fizzed as the static burped at him. Turning, Hawk pushed and prodded several of the buttons before the frothing ball of white noise finally ceased. He turned, his feet sliding over the detritus covering the floor as a calm, cultured voice filled the room, stopping him in his tracks.

  His skin stung as a wave of fear rolled through him, the words burrowing into his skull as he listened to words he had longed to forget.

  Turning to the wall-mounted television, he saw the fear-licked face of the Prime Minister as he read from the auto-cue in front of him.

  'Again, I repeat, The United Kingdom is now under quarantine; all flights inbound and out bound are cancelled indefinitely. Use of deadly force has been authorised and will be used as necessary to prevent anyone gaining entry into or to prevent those trying to leave the country. We will not accept the risk of spreading the Virus that has so afflicted our nation any further and as such, emergency protocols have been implemented.

  A curfew is in full effect as of seven o'clock tonight. Anyone on the streets after 7:04 who is not required to be there will be detained without question.

  We are now as a nation in a state of national crisis. All measures detailed in the crisis packs issued are in full effect. We ask you—the people—to see us through this. Do not let anyone inside your home for any reason unless they are police or military personnel with full identification. Do not break curfew for any reason.

  Should you see anyone with any of the symptoms described in your packs, do not approach them. Do not make contact. Do not allow them inside your residence or place of business. Keep them away from your children. Activate the personal locator alarms; they will alert the police or military in your area and they will deal with them immediately.

  We will overcome this, we will prevail, and we will, as a nation, survive.'

  Hawk stared at the black cube on the wall for several minutes as the bead in his ear barked and screamed at him.

  'Fuck that noise; we're leaving.' Stabbing at his throat mike, Hawk bellowed out a call.

  'Rook, Patterson, anyone, come back.'

  Patterson's breathless voice seeped through him as he listened. Biting his lip, Hawk kicked open the ward doors, firing from the hip as three Infected launched themselves at him.

  'Hawk, we're almost at the roof. The place is a mess. There is no one left that hasn't been Infected; if there are, we can't find them. We're bugging out. See you at the evac.'

  With that, Hawk's bead fell silent as he sent his boot into the face of another Infected.

  'Sooker, Carlstook, punch a hole;
we are getting the fuck out of here. They can glass this place for all I fucking care. I am not losing another home to the fucking things.'

  He slammed the butt of his weapon into the screaming face of another Infected hospital worker; its forehead crumpled as Hawk turned the hot caustic fluids glistening in the air as he sprinted to the corner of the corridor.

  ****

  'Fuck, fuck, fuck!' Rook's shoulder screamed at him as he hobbled alongside Patterson, his good arm looped over the man's shoulders as he was all but dragged along. The wailing roar of two dozen enraged Infected washed over them as they dodged and ducked, flailing arms and leaping bodies passing mere millimetres from them as the rest of the team fired mercilessly into the undulating horde about them.

  'What the... shit!'

  Token's semi-girlish cry echoed back to them as a screaming form threw itself at him. Lifting his weapon, he kept his finger on the trigger as he guided the screaming, blood-splattered form over his head. He ejected his magazine as he brought his weapon down, swinging it out on its sling into the face of another Infected as he pulled a fresh magazine from his rig. He felt the magazine click home as he lifted the weapon once more to his shoulder.

  'Fuck you.' Walters slid forwards on one knee, the toe of his left boot sending glass shards spraying about him as he ducked. Pushing back up to his feet, he continued to run, a cone of orange-tinted death leaping forwards as he fired.

  Jabbing his weapon forwards, he lodged the glowing barrel into the mouth of an Infected. The stench of hot flesh pervaded his nostrils as the barrel melted the back of the man's throat. Squeezing the trigger once more, Walters watched the back of the man's head explode in a blossoming spray of glimmering red droplets. With a strength driven by his need to live just one more day, he lifted the lifeless lump of flesh from the floor and charged forwards.

  He swung the body like a shield, using momentum and sheer physical mass to swat aside all in his path. The loafer-covered feet of his shield quivered and kicked as they skipped over the mass of tangled wires and metal beneath them.

  Reaching the stairwell, he smashed the door aside, sending several of their snarling besiegers over the stairs' railing, their twisting screeching forms clawing at the air as they plummeted to the cold concrete below.

  Dropping to his knee, Walters spun, hugging the doorframe as his teammates sped past him. Hot brass pinged off his face as it clattered against the doorframe and the scalding discoloured cylinders scorched his skin in a dis-jointed pattern of mottled red welts.

  'Go! Make for the rendezvous; I'll hold the line. Go!'

  Walters squared his shoulders as the last member of their small fire team flew past him. Slipping a fresh box of ammunition from his hip, he linked the belts together just as the last of it clattered through the receiver.

  The walls lit up with the streaming shadows of the dead and dying as the Infected pressed in upon him, their rage all-consuming as they descended upon his quickly weakening position.

  ****

  Baker heard the heavy chatter of the belt-fed weaponry; its clattering echo slithered through the corridors, a withering bass line to the Infected chorus that lifted like the song of the damned from the very bowels of the once vibrant hospital. A bastion of health and vitality now home to the carnivorous legions of Satan's army of the damned.

  Shaking his head, Baker let his rifle swing up onto his back, the last of his magazines falling to the floor with a dull clunk. The heavy clack of shells in a slide filled his ears as he pulled the shotgun from between his shoulder blades.

  Levelling the weapon, he pulled its stock tightly to his shoulder; as he rounded the corner, his chest swelled as he bellowed out his wife's name. Baker's voice echoed down the corridor and a deep-throated growl returned to him; its disembodied form wormed its way across the walls as he pushed through the flapping double doors of the hospital ward. Swinging his aim, he fired. The growls' master fell to the floor, a smoke-withered hole the only reminder of its once human face.

  The ejected casing curled past him as the spent shell was tossed from the gun, the heavy scent of cordite filling his nostrils as he pushed forwards. Three more empty casings tumbled to the floor in quick succession as the bodies of Infected fell. Baker's singular goal gave him a cold, calculated purpose until he was more machine than man; his mind was set in its task as he carved through all in his path.

  He careened through the doors on the other side of the ward, their handles sinking deep into the walls as he sent them fleeing from his path. In a spray of bone and buckshot, the Infected lay at his feet in a pale, bleeding imitation of life. As the shotgun chambered another round, he pulled a strip feeder from his pack and held it ready. The length of reinforced nylon was light in his palm as he pushed the magazine trap open and slid the cartridges home.

  He slipped the tube into the pouch on his thigh as he moved onward, his speed never faltering as he cleared the corridor. He stopped, cocking his head to the side, mouth open slightly so he could listen clearly without his breathing rasping through his ears.

  ****

  The heavy, thumping blast of a shotgun made the children whimper with fear. Janet gently ran her hands over their hair, the soft soothing motion making them both relax as they curled themselves against her.

  Maria began to whimper, the soft mewling cry drifted up from the box she was ensconced in. Nudging the two children towards Kevin, Janet stood and gently lifted the softly wriggling form of her daughter from the padded warmth of the box.

  Maria's head nestled gently in the crook of Janet's elbow as she slowly rocked her into a fitful calmness. Her small fists clutched at Janet's shirt as she stared at her mother, the bright iridescent blue of her eyes shining with a trust that danced and flirted with the furtive incomprehension only born by the new life that she was.

  'Daddy will be here soon; now be a good girl for mummy.'

  Janet lowered her head and brushed her lips against Maria's forehead. A soft, clutching hand traced itself against her jaw as Maria reached up, her tiny fingers grazing over the soft skin of her mother's chin.

  Staring at the door, Janet felt the tears well up behind her eyes as the thumping blasts continued to echo.

  'Come on, Derek; where are you?'

  Derek threw himself forwards, rolling over his shoulder as he sent the Infected reeling. Curling up to his feet, he brought the gun to bear, tearing a fist-sized hole through the leering blood-smeared form in front of him.

  A black rod of plastic filled his hand as he fed another tube into the shotgun's receiver, pushing the shells forwards. He kicked, sending the two prepubescent Infected forms in front of him sliding backward. Their screeching flailing bodies tore the legs from under another as Derek finished re-loading his weapon. The bolt shunted forwards as he lifted it back to his shoulder. The ear-shattering report rang in his ears as he stalked forwards once more.

  'Janet!' His voice echoed down the hallway as he continued to fire, drowning out the roar of the weapon as it spat flying pellets of death. He ducked once again, sending the white-coated form of another hospital worker into the wall, a stomach-churning crunch echoing up from the floor as its weight shattered its neck. He felt it fall as he fired, the dull clunk of its feet against the cold floor punctuating his passage as he moved on.

  A plaintive cry greeted his ears as he moved through the corridor. The soft, lilting voice scythed through the fog that crowded his mind; the voice was all too familiar to him.

  His eyes narrowed as he pulled the shotgun tighter to his shoulder, his ears picking the sounds apart as he searched for the source. His eyes darted left where the drained, lifeless body of an Infected woman lay, her head crushed. Pieces scattered about her in a halo of bone and flesh. His eyes scanned the area as his mind tore the scene apart. Body and mind turning and twisting, he cut his way through the crush of Infected towards the body. The woman's head had melded with the concrete, crushed like a melon under a wheel.

  His gaze travelled over the fi
lth-encrusted skin of her cheeks to her eyes; they sat in her sockets, the destroyed orbs little more than puddles of mush.

  His head screamed at him to stop as he emptied the magazine. The bolt locked home as the final cartridge spun free, the twisting vapour of burning paper and gunpowder drifting past him. He slipped the weapon from its sling, swinging the butt of it into the face of an Infected. Blood and flesh coated the heavy rubber pad. As he drove the Infected backwards into the wall, a crimson red spray coated the once cream paintwork as its cranium collapsed. The smell of charred flesh and steaming excrement filled his nose as he surveyed the scene about him.