by Luke Duffy
“What do we do?” Marty asked.
Stan stepped out, moved towards the far end of the doors, and began to inspect the closing mechanism.
“I think the power is out, but we can still get it shut by hand,” he whispered to the others as they fell into position behind him.
They looked up at the thick chains, attached to pulleys and wheels that would allow them to seal the doors.
“We’ll have to be quick,” Bull grunted, understanding what Stan had in mind. “As soon as those doors begin to move, it’ll be like a dinner bell to those fuckers.”
“Agreed,” Stan nodded then keyed his radio. “Taff, we’re sealing the doors. The hanger is full of them, so be ready to slot anything that makes it through. We don’t know if there are more in the area so don’t fire unless you really need to.”
“Roger that,” Taff replied.
“Why don’t we just leave it and fuck off?” Danny asked, glancing back at the ominous gap in the doors.
“If one of those things suddenly decides to take a walk in the sun, they’ll see us and we won’t exactly make a rapid getaway in that hippy-wagon, will we?” Bull pointed out to him. “Besides, there might be some useful kit around here we could use.”
As Stan counted down from three, they positioned themselves on the chains, ready to begin heaving the door closed.
Together, they pulled with all their combined strength, yanking on the chains, releasing their grip and reaching higher to begin the process over again. The heavy steel of the shutters began painfully to rumble along their runners, squealing and grinding as they moved.
As Stan and his men worked feverishly on the chains, Brian watched from his position by the VW Camper. The gap in the heavy doors was closing, but nowhere near fast enough for his liking. He could hear the grating noise of the wheels as they screeched their way along their rails, struggling against the efforts of the men and the corrosion that fought to hold them in place. The clangs of the hangers doors as they jostled in their frames, echoed out across the open space of the airfield, sounding like the beating of a steel drum.
“Come on, you bastard, close,” he growled between his teeth as he tightened his grip on his machinegun, pulling it tighter into his shoulder. “Come on…”
With just half a metre to go, a figure suddenly appeared at the entrance and stumbled out from the darkness and into the bright light of day. It looked around in confusion, unsure of what to do at first as the doors continued to shut behind it. Then, it caught sight of the four men to its left, struggling with the chains to force the door through its final few centimetres.
With no time to warn the others, Brian took off towards the hanger, intending to intercept the creature before it reached Stan and his men. The infected man also launched itself into a sprint, silently speeding its way along beside the hanger doors, its arms outstretched and its eyes fixed on its target.
As he closed in, Brian saw the reason for the man’s silence. He ran, with his head thrown back and his windpipe and trachea hanging down to his chest. His lower jaw, attached to his face by strands of torn flesh, swayed as he ran, leaving his long bloated and blood soaked tongue hanging out from his ruined mouth.
With a loud bang, the doors finally closed. The huge heavy shutters shuddered as they began to settle into position and already, the sound of pounding fists could be heard from within the hanger, accompanied with the cries and wails of the infected.
Brian flung himself forward, his feet leaving the ground and his shoulder aimed for the body of the man as he continued to run towards the others. He slammed into the side of the infected corpse, launching it into the air and crashing into the hanger wall. The body hit with a wet slap, spattering thick congealed blood in all directions as the impact caused the body partially to explode.
With the momentum of his assault, Brian continued forward, unable to change his direction in mid-flight. He hit the same spot that his target had whacked against, just a spilt second earlier, smashing his head into the hard steel of the hanger door and falling into the putrid remains of the infected man.
He blacked out.
Bull raced across to Brian’s aid, reaching his friend just as the diseased creature had managed to crawl on top of him. With a heavy kick, Bull virtually removed the thing’s head, snapping the spinal column and sending it sprawling backwards and bouncing into the shutters again.
Marty joined him and helped to drag Brian’s limp body away from the danger. They knew that their friend could have sustained serious neck and head injuries, but they needed to get him away from further harm. Together, they hauled him back towards the Camper, where Bobby and Taff lay him out in the back and began to check him over.
The rest of the men pulled back from the hanger, watching the buildings and doorways for any more of the infected.
“How is he, Bobby?” Stan asked, leaning in through the side door and looking down at Brian’s bloodied face.
Bobby shook his head, still examining the unconscious man.
“I can’t see any blood coming from his ears or anything. His heart rate, breathing, and blood pressure seem normal, so I don’t think he has a skull fracture and I can’t feel any damage to his spine, but in these conditions, I can’t be sure.”
“What about internal bleeding?”
“Again, I can’t be sure, Stan, but his blood pressure is fine. All we can do is make him comfortable and keep an eye on him, for now.”
Stan nodded and turned back to Taff.
“Search in pairs. Check for vehicles, ammunition and anything that could be useful. Don’t venture into the main base area. We don’t know if there are more of them about.”
“You can bet your left bollock that there will be, Stan,” Taff commented as he turned to Danny. “Youngster, you’re with me. Bull, Marty, check the other hangers.”
“Make it quick. We need to get Brian taken care of.”
Stan watched as his men set about scouring the area. If there was anything of use, he was sure that they would find it. He stepped back and looked at their Camper van.
“Would be nice to get something a little more robust that this tub,” he said, sticking his head back inside and watching Bobby as he worked on Brian.
Bobby nodded, his attention focussed solely on his patient.
“Aye, Stan, it would be even better to have a heli come in and pick us up. We’ve only gone a few miles, and already, we’re a man down.”
After a while, Taff returned, empty-handed.
“We found our Black Hawk,” he reported to his commander. “Looks like the shit hit the fan while they were in the middle of refuelling. The whole thing, including the two pilots, are burnt to a crisp over the far end at the fuel point. We were only able to recognise it from the serial number stencilled on the tail.”
Stan nodded.
“What about vehicles?”
“Nothing,” Danny shook his head. “Everything we came across was virtually destroyed. Looks like they bugged out in good order, grabbing everything that could still roll or fly. The place has been picked clean, Stan.”
“Where’s those two fuckwits? Have they been back yet?” Taff asked, looking around for Bull and Marty.
Stan shook his head and turned to look in the direction he had last seen the pair as they went off to forage.
“You two are the first to get back.”
Taff was about to say something, but the sound of gunfire in the distance and coming from between the hangers, stopped him before he could speak. Everybody froze and looked at one another, then turned to see if they could identify where the shots had come from.
“Get in the driver’s seat, Taff,” Stan ordered with urgency as he caught a glimpse of movement from between two buildings on the right hand side of the hanger they had sealed the doors on earlier.
Danny jumped into the rear, carefully hopping over Brian and side stepping past Bobby who remained at his post as the medic.
“Go, Taff,” Stan cried, pointing h
is hand towards the hanger. “That way. Put your fucking foot down, Taff.”
As he forced the vehicle into gear, Taff looked across to where Stan was pointing. Another burst of rapid shots rang out. He saw the movement, but there were too many of them to be able to distinguish individuals. A second glance revealed the two men, Bull and Marty, sprinting for their lives ahead of the crowd that was close on their heels.
Taff, pressing hard on the accelerator and allowing the revolutions to reach their maximum before changing up through the gears, screamed at the dashboard, pleading with it to give him more speed.
“Come on, you bastard. Come on.”
The Camper headed for the mass of bodies and the two men racing towards the van. By now, Stan could see the faces of Bull and Marty, sucking in all the air they could and forcing their legs to drive them forward at top speed.
The infected that followed were showing no signs of letting up on their pace and from what Stan could see, they seemed to be closing the gap.
“Don’t stop, Taff,” Stan shouted. “Keep going, and don’t stop or we’ll never get enough speed up to get going again.”
Taff aimed the old vehicle towards their friends and gunned the engine.
“Stand by on the door, Danny,” Stan called over his shoulder as he kept an eye on the two advancing men and the hungry swarm behind them.
By now, the cries and moans of the infected could be heard over the rattling engine of the old Volkswagen. A mass of screaming voices rose up into the air, seemingly filled with excitement and rage as they chased after the men that fled from them.
Bull was running flat out, keeping a tight grip on his machinegun and panting for breath, feeling his fear rising by the second. Marty, being much lighter and more athletic than his friend, had taken the lead and a gap of a few metres had opened between them as they headed for the van that was closing in.
The Camper suddenly spun to its left.
Its wheels screeched and its engine howled as it turned in a circle that was far too tight for what it had been designed to do. Smoke poured out from behind its tyres and as it completed the manoeuvre, momentarily balancing on the two right hand wheels, it almost toppled over onto its side.
A volley of shots snapped through the air, whizzing by Bull as he continued in his run. They cracked the air around him as they slammed into the bodies directly behind, dropping them to the floor and dragging others with them. The mass fall allowed Bull to gain a metre or two, but they still relentlessly charged in his wake.
Marty reached the van and was pulled in by Danny and Bobby, and hurled to the back as they continued to fire at the bodies behind Bull.
The Camper was still moving and beginning to pull out from its tight circle, ready to gather speed. Taff could not allow them to slow any more than they had done already and hoped that Bull still had the stamina to catch up.
Even over the screaming of the infected, Marty could hear Bull’s heavy feet slapping against the tarmac and his wheezing breath. As the van turned away from his friend, Marty raised the butt of his rifle and smashed it through the glass of the rear window. It shattered into a million pieces, scattering tiny beads across the asphalt of the runway.
The open door was turned at a forty-five degree angle from Bull, just a few metres beyond his reach. It was turning slowly, and soon, if he did not catch up, would be headed away from him. He could hear the snorts and growls behind him, but he could not afford himself even the most fleeting of glances backwards. It would slow his pace, only slightly, but worse still, he could trip and fall.
“Come on, Bull,” Marty encouraged from the rear window, hollering over the noise of his M4 as he ripped off a number of shots in rapid succession. “Move your fucking arse, mate. They’re right on top of you.”
In his mind’s eye, Bull pictured the pale and withered hands of the plague-ridden monsters reaching out behind him, their fingers just centimetres away from his collar, ready to grab him and drag him down into their midst.
With a panic filled gasp as his body surged with fear and adrenalin, Bull felt his legs begin to increase their pace. He reached out for Danny, their hands almost touching as the hot fumes of the vehicle’s exhaust brushed against his face.
Another clatter of fire erupted close to his head as Marty continued to empty his magazine into the advancing throng of rampaging snapping teeth.
Bull heard them fall heavily against the runway, their bones smashing as they crashed to the floor and were subsequently trampled by the others as they raced over them.
His fingers came into contact with Danny’s, and they closed around one another. With the forward motion of the vehicle and Danny heaving with all his strength, Bull was carried along, his feet barely touching the ground beneath him. Allowing his weapon to hang free, crashing against his blood filled thigh muscles, Bull reached out with his other hand and gripped onto the doorframe.
As the Camper gathered speed, Bull vaulted into the rear compartment.
The crowd continued to give chase, but Taff was able steadily to pull away from them, watching them in his rear view mirror as they began to fall behind. He blew out a loud sigh of relief, blinking the nervous perspiration from his eyes as it poured down over his forehead.
Marty and Bull collapsed to the floor of the passenger area, gasping and screwing their eyes tight from the pain in their legs and chests as the lactic acid began to disperse and their bodies screamed out for oxygen.
“Jesus,” Marty panted, leaning back and breathing deeply through his nose as he attempted to bring his exhausted and shaking body back under his control. “They came from the hanger. Fucking hundreds of them.”
“Yeah,” Bull confirmed, coughing and sputtering between words. “We forgot to check the side door, didn’t we?”
Taff drove the van in a wide arc, manoeuvring the vehicle through a one-hundred and eighty degree turn, careful not to allow the speed to drop and giving a wide birth to the mass of bodies that continued to head for them. They passed them by, with twenty-metres to spare from the closest of the infected.
Bull rolled over, coughing uncontrollably and almost vomiting.
“I’m sick of this. That’s twice now, I’ve had to run like a lunatic with those things chasing me,” he complained, wiping the bile that dripped from his mouth on the back of his hand.
“What now then, Stan?” Taff asked from behind the wheel.
“We head for Manchester.”
“We’ll need to find some fuel though, at some point,” Bobby added, leaning forward from the rear and peering over Taff’s shoulder at the fuel gauge.
Taff steered the Camper towards the exit, headed for the northern gate where they had come through earlier.
“We’ll find something,” Stan mumbled.
He watched the road ahead, noticing that the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon and the shadows of the trees stretching out across the ground.
“It’ll be dark soon,” he said thoughtfully.
22
“Captain Tyler,” a voice called out to her from across the room.
She looked up and turned around from her desk, and saw Gerry entering into the Operations Room and making a beeline for her. A young woman, possibly in her late twenties, with dark hair tied up into a neat bun at the back, walked at his side.
Samantha instantly recognised the American Air Force uniform that the new arrival was wearing, but there was something different about it. It looked darker than usual. Normally, the US military were pristine in their appearance, their uniforms crisp and spotless. The woman walking beside Gerry, however, looked bedraggled, and as though her uniform had not been cleaned in weeks.
As they drew closer, Samantha was able to distinguish that the dark patches covering the young woman’s clothing, was actually blood.
“Samantha,” Gerry said, sounding pleased to have found her and smiling with relief as he shook her hand, “are you ready to go?”
She looked at each of them in turn, feeli
ng confused and caught off guard. She could see in Gerry’s eyes what it was that he was referring to, but she could not believe that he was actually expecting her to join the evacuation.
“What are you talking about?” She gasped. “Our lads are still out there, trying to get themselves back here. We can’t leave yet.”
He shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Sam, I really am, but we can’t wait any longer. London has fallen.”
He glanced up at the ceiling, as though he was able to penetrate the layers of rock and dirt and see into the infested streets, high above them on the surface.
“So has most of the country for that matter. The whole of our infrastructure is collapsing. The last of the choppers are pulling out, and they won’t be back to pick up any stragglers.”
“I don’t fucking care,” Samantha snapped, not having the patience or desire to remain diplomatic. “Stan and his team are headed south towards Manchester as we speak. Brian is hurt and we don’t know how badly. They need us to do all we can to pull them out from the shit that we dropped them into.”
She paused for a moment and Gerry took it as an opportunity to press his argument and continue trying to convince her that she needed to leave. Before he could speak, she raised her hand, pointing a long slender finger at his chest. Her face changed shape and colour, glowing red and contorted with anger.
“Don’t bother, Gerry, because I don’t want to hear it. Our boys are out there, and as soon as we shut down, they’re on their own and we won’t have a clue what’s happening to them. The mobile networks are crumbling fast and they are unreliable at best. Sat-comms are overwhelmed, but at least here, we have eyes on their progress.
“If, and this is a big fucking if, Gerry, by some miracle, a helicopter becomes available, I will know where to send it and still be in comms with them. Running off to the Isle of Wight will leave them cut off. You may be able to toss them away that easily, but I see them as more than just a disposable asset.”
“No one has a choice in this, Sam. These are orders from Thompson,” Gerry protested, trying his best to disassociate himself with the command to leave the team to their own devices. “All personnel are to join the evacuation, immediately.”