Designated (Book 2): Designated Quarantined

by Cooper, Ricky

  'Not really, I... when I... it's...'

  His mumbled and stumbling reply made Baker sigh, his deep baritone making the speaker in the radio tremble and buzz as the feedback looped through the microphone clutched in Carl's hand.

  'Yeah... I get it. Listen, find a room, closet, cupboard... anything I don't give a shit if you have to crawl into an air vent or sleep in the toilet u-bend, but no matter what, you have to sleep. I know what you are like, Carl. Get some sleep. I will radio back in two days. If you haven't had at least five hours sleep in that time, then I will come over there personally and knock you the fuck out.

  'I may owe you my life but I am damned if you are going to throw yours away by killing yourself through fatigue. Are we clear?'

  Carl bit his bottom lip hard as his chin trembled slightly; hanging his head, he pushed down on the talk button, his voice quavering slightly as he replied, 'As crystal, sir.'

  He sighed as he struggled to control himself, the trembling in his core worming its way through him as stared at the microphone in his hand. The sounds behind him grew louder as muted gunfire echoed through the corridors behind him.

  'Derek, can I ask you a favour? Can you find my ex and my son? Tell them… tell them I am sorry for all that happened and how it ended. And tell my boy that no matter what he chooses, what path he walks, or who he falls in love with, that his dad will always be proud of him.'

  He could almost hear the frown that crossed Derek's brow as his words filtered down the line.

  'Yeah, but Carl you can tell him yourself. You are going to make it home; I know you.'

  Carl's barked reply cut through Derek's words like a knife through butter as he sent the chair clattering to the floor. 'Not this time, Cherry. They're knocking at the door and I am the only one home to answer. I have ten minutes at best—not a lot of time to say what needs to be said. I know that... so... I guess this is goodbye. I'll see you at the bar with a cold one waiting. Catch ya later, mate.'

  The sounds that echoed around him filled his senses, their pulsing beat drumming in his ears as he pushed himself towards the door, the microphone springing from his hand as the cord stretched and snapped it free from his loosening grip. With a clatter of wood against plastic, the black, sweat-slicked block crashed across the tabletop like a stone across the waves, its skittering form colliding with the radio as Baker's voice boomed from the speakers.

  All sound died away as he watched their cadaverous forms move beyond the door, the chattering hoard scraping at the glass as the window began to bow and crack, the heavy steel mesh bulging and bending as they began to claw their way towards him. Carl watched as the door rattled in its frame, their undeniable lust for sustenance drawing them in as a flood of oil-black blood began to slowly edge its way over the floor towards him.

  Carl levelled his weapon, his aim set squarely on the door and the slowly splintering pane of meshed glass. With a slow, slightly nervous breath, he curled his finger over the trigger and waited.

  ****

  Derek stared at the radio as it hissed and crackled, his fist closing ever tighter around the microphone as the static cackled and burped; the rolling cloud of empty electrical hissing filled his mind as he stared at the matte-green box in front of him.

  The vortex of hissing sound that enveloped him sent a chill so deep that it kissed the very centre of his soul. A deep well of loneliness and regret began to pour into him as images spilled through his mind; images of men caked in mud and dust as they trudged through fields so laden with water and overgrown grass that it was more jungle than farmland. Pictures of sun-baked faces laughing as they dug into the steaming bags of re-heated mush doused in chilli sauce, dancing mosaics of jumbled memories filtered past his eyes as the silence drenched him completely.

  Baker sank back, the chair creaking beneath him, as he watched the dials jump and waver. Memories still danced in his eyes as he stared at the dull orange glow that seeped from the eyes of the box in front of him. Without uttering a word, he reached forwards and flicked the small chrome switch, the heavy thump of the speaker reverberating around him as the speaker was silent once more.

  Rising to his feet, Baker turned; the weight that rode on his shoulders pressed all the heavier as the slowly creeping realisation sank into him, the singular thought that he was the last man left from a team established almost fifteen years before floating amidst the jumbled detritus of his mind; one that he had never thought he would ever face and now with the dying whine of the radio hanging in the air like the mocking laughter of the insane, that thought, that one insignificant line of thinking was all that remained of [1]Kilo Three Four.

  Broadhead Barracks

  NCO quarters

  'Corporal Stabbler, this conversation's not over with; return to your seat immediately.' Hawk ignored the anger-licked call as he pushed the doors aside and marched down the corridor, his rage-fuelled charge echoing around him as his heels clacked against the flooring.

  A uniformed Marine stepped into his path, hand hanging by his holstered sidearm as Hawk advanced towards the entrance foyer. 'Boy, unless you want to be sucking dinner through a tube, you will get out of my way.' The young Marine bristled as he stared at the still advancing Stabbler and the charging officer behind him, the man's breathless cries echoing past Hawk as he continued to advance. 'Do not let that man leave. Do you hear me, Marine? Do not let that man through that door.'

  The echoing crack of a pistol rolled through the hallway as Hawk stumbled, his hand rising slowly to his chest as he fell. A rolling ball of cold slowly seeped through him. Staring at his blood-slicked palm, his eyes caught the shifting spots of red as he sluggishly raised his head.

  Staring upwards, Hawk tumbled forwards, his knees smashing into the floor as his strength faded like ink through water.

  He stared with a detached fascination as his hands reached out, the image of the soldier fading to nothing as a slim figure clad in red slowly made her way towards him. The whimpering plea of a dying man slipped from his lips as he stared at the cold, blue eyes before him. 'Please, I... I tried... I tried to…'

  His eyes followed her every move as she knelt before him and gently caressed his cheek, her fingers warm against his cold, pallid skin. Leaning forwards, her hair brushed his face as she whispered into his ear. 'You left him. Like you left me… both of us.'

  Sarah pulled away from him, her hands growing cold as Hawk looked up into the ripped and distorted face before him. The eyes glowed with hatred as its hands slipped up to either side of his face. The foul, putrid scent of death and rotting flesh filled his nose as its mouth opened a full-throated scream, leaving its shattered lips.

  'You left us to die!'

  Hawk sat upright, his skin running, alive with sweat as he stared about him, his chest heaving as he fought to ride the wave of panic and fear that had crashed over him. Tossing aside the soaked bed sheet, he swung his feet out and onto the cold floor. The thin stiff pile of the carpet scraped at the soles of his feet as he leant over, a rippling pool of nausea rising up from the pit of his stomach as he held his head in hands, trying in vain to stop the bubbling mire of acid and bile as it teased the back of his throat.

  With shaking hands, he reached out to the small tumbler on his nightstand, lifting the condensation-slicked glass from the pot cupboard next to him. The cold droplets slid over the tumbler and down his knuckles as he opened the small drawer with his free hand. The rattling of pills in a bottle filled the air as he lifted the white pot free. With a practised movement born of months of repetition, he sent the lid curling from the bottle to land with an almost inaudible thud at his feet as he shook three pills from the bottle, letting them land in his open mouth.

  The bitter taste of chalk and chemicals filled his mouth as he crushed the tablets to a white paste with his teeth. Lifting the glass, he sent the foaming paste of medication swirling down his throat as he drained the glass in one smooth pull.

  The tumbler clacked with a diamond-like ring as he drop
ped it back onto the top of the pot cupboard as his mind screamed from inside the prison of his skull; dropping his head into his hands, Hawk fought back the overwhelming urge to scream as her face danced past his closed eyes. Her voice echoed through him as he stared at the lines in his palms. The unbidden memory playing like a movie across his scarred skin.

  'Tell me, what do you want from this? If this all ends tomorrow, what happens then?' Hawk smirked as he held her in his arms, the smell of her hair filling him as she leant back against him.

  'I don't know… marriage, children… a life.'

  The lines in his hands danced as tears swirled in his eyes. Closing his eyes, he fell back into the memories as warm, swirling pearls fell, his tears crashing against his skin where they burst like stars in the night.

  Her face twisted in a feral scream as she stared at him, his dirt-stained face reflected back in her eyes as he stood there with Remy's tags clutched in his fist. Her hands beat against his chest as she screamed and railed, his words falling dead in the air as his head snapped sideways, a shimmering red stain spreading across his face.

  'Why you? Why aren't you dead? Why him?'

  Hawk stood mute as he tasted blood on his tongue. Her seething, rage-soaked body only feet away as he set the tags on the table beside him.

  'He made me leave; if we could swap places, I would.'

  His soft words floated on the air as she spun and stared into his eyes. Her shrill scream sliced through to his heart, cutting his so deeply, he had no idea if it would ever truly heal.

  'He's still dead.'

  Hawk's mind cracked as he screamed back, his rage giving way to all he held inside as he slowly began to crumble.

  'He sent me back, for you!

  Sarah sneered, her eyes brimming with un-shed anger-laced tears as she stared straight into his face. 'All he sent me was the constant reminder of all that I don't have. Some consolation.'

  Hawk ground the balls of his hands into his eyes as he dropped back into himself with a sickening thump. Lancing shafts of light carved their way through the gloom as the blinds began to glow; the birth of a new day filled the room as Hawk pushed himself to his feet, which wavered beneath him as he slowly made his way to the bathroom.

  Stepping into the watery sunlight, Hawk squinted as he stared about him. His uniform hung from his frame like a wet potato sack as he moved with all the purpose and drive of a narcoleptic sheep dog.

  The stifling warmth of the air soaked into his lungs as he drew in a breath that weighed on his chest like a block of lead. Pushing open the door to the mess hall, he stepped forwards, weaving and bobbing through the tables as he moved towards the bubbling silver urn at the far end of the hall.

  Steam boiled over the edge of the cup in his hand as he pushed the lever down, sending the boiling hot liquid sailing into the bottom. The tar-black fluid was like the blood of Hades as he lifted it to his lips, the sharp bitterness filling his senses as it scorched a path from tongue to stomach. The caffeine slithered through his veins, igniting his mind like a flare as he sent the scalding liquid falling down into the depths of his gullet.

  He stared at his reflection; the dark shadows lined his eyes, drawing his gaze as he watched his face twist and bend in the curved metal mirror in front of him. Setting the cup down on the steel countertop at his elbow, Hawk turned and strode back through the hall, his footsteps echoing off the walls around him.

  20

  August Twenty-sixth

  Lillingston

  Lovell

  Buckinghamshire

  Rufus Shaw swung his feet down onto the carpeted floor of his bedroom, the strong scent of body odour filling his nostrils as he sat at the edge of his mattress and stretched; the heavy tension reverberated through his spine and neck, tickling the bottom of his skull. Slipping his feet into the backless lamb's wool-lined slippers, he padded into his kitchen, scratching at the crease of his backside through his pinstriped boxers, the tightly woven cotton catching at the curled hairs clinging to his buttocks.

  With a half-stifled yawn, Rufus yanked the wall-mounted cupboard open, the faux pine door covering tickling his skin as he stood staring at the four solitary mugs pushed into the corner of the shelf. Hooking his finger through the handle, he dragged one towards him as he plucked a small premixed sachet of coffee from the jar on his countertop. The sound of the packet slapping against his skin echoed through the kitchen as he set the cup down and tore the sachet open with his teeth as he jabbed his finger down on the button for the chrome steel kettle.

  The kettle bubbled and hummed as the water slowly began to boil. He paddled into the small, cluttered living room, stepped over to the IPod dock next to his television, and scrolled to his workout playlist. Tapping the centre button, he opened the list and scrolled down to the first song and hit play. The room filled with the heavy strains of 'Hero' by Skillet as he stepped back towards his kitchen, rolling his shoulders and neck as he moved.

  The hot water streamed from the spout as he poured it into the cup, watching the granules of coffee and powdered milk swirl and dissolve under the deluge of boiling liquid. Taking a tentative sip, he moved into the living room once more and set the cup down on the floor as he dropped into the waiting seat of his weight bench and lifted the barbell from the rack.

  ****

  His chest was heavy, sweat running off his brow as his feet pounded against the tarmac. Traffic flashed past him in a spray of grit and a tumbling pall of exhaust fumes, the cloying stench filling his lung as he drew in another sharp breath.

  The ache in his shoulders made him smile as he carried on forwards. Turning left, he followed the road as it left the paved and covered roads of civilisation, falling into the trodden and water-laden pathways through the patchwork blanket around him.

  Shaw's feet aquaplaned on the thick, cloying mire of mud and fermented cow shit that filled the gateway in front of him. His arms flailed and spun as he fought to keep his footing. The swinging body ahead of him, battered by the breeze, sent the branches swaying, a dull creak echoing out from the rope around its neck as the deadweight pulled it back and forth like a metronome.

  The glimmering bead-like eyes of the crows on its shoulders swivelled to him as they sunk their beaks deeper into the disgorged sockets of the dead man's eyes. A soft glinting of shifting silver caught his eye as he stared at the round steel disk nailed to the man's forehead.

  Dropping his hand to his hip, Shaw jabbed his thumb sharply down on the three and waited for the autodial to kick in. Lifting his phone to his ear, Shaw listened to the buzzing ringing as it slithered through his mind, sifting his brain like a sieve as the sound buzzed around inside his skull.

  'Please confirm identification.' Shaw sighed as he spoke, his voice slightly breathless as he drew his breathing back to normal. 'Sierra, Alpha, Three, Four, Three.'

  'Thank you, patching you through to Lt Colonel Colinson now.'

  Shaw listened to the deep rumbling tones as the line shifted and bounced from one point to another until it was cut like a knife through silk by the crisp tone of Colinson's voice.

  'What is it, Shaw?'

  'Tenth man down, sir.'

  Shaw had to pull his phone from his ear as a wall of cursive-filled noise boiled from it. Setting the phone once more against his ear, Shaw listened as Colinson spoke with an agitated sigh lacing his voice. 'Where?

  ****

  'Damn it; it's Eccleston. He was on leave for two weeks. His son turned three last week and he wasn't supposed to be back until Monday.'

  Running his hand through his hair Colinson stared up at the rope that still ensnared the branch twelve feet above their heads. Colinson stared at the sodden soil beneath his feet, the deep-rutted tracks marking the passage of many a vehicle. Kneeling, he traced his fingers through the water-filled indents, his long slender digits dancing over the ridges and dips as his brow furrowed. The offset marks made his eyes widen slightly as he felt a noticeable dip in the pattern that slowly reared its mal
ignant head every three feet.

  'Shaw, can you get onto Westing and Lincruster? I want a full inventory of the Motorpool and a check on our fuel reserves. This doesn't feel like an outside job. Someone had to have access to our records to know when we would be out and vulnerable. I just hope nothing else was siphoned off. Well, there is fuck all we can do standing here; let's get out of the way so the SOCO boys can get the job done.'

  They turned and trudged back through the gateway, careful to not disturb the area any more than they already had.

  ****

  Colinson stood in front of the assembled clerical staff, the motley collection of civilian and military as they waited for him to speak.

  'We are going back to basics. Our systems have been compromised; someone, be they one person or group has gained access to our systems and this has compromised the safety of not only our operations but also our team members and their families.