"No," shouted Hope, bringing the pair to a halt. "Andrew likes me, I want to help."
The look of determination on the child’s face brought a smile to Hog’s face. "I'll keep her to the back," assured the Angel, seeing the indecision on the SAS man’s face.
"You need to move," came Knight’s voice through their earpieces as the troops making up the perimeter began to open up on the closing WDs.
"Ok," relented Anderson. "But keep her well back Hog," he ordered, turning and running into the building.
Tom took one last look at the growing swarm of WDs before following Anderson and Hog, “This is a bad idea," he whispered to himself, taking the stairs two at a time.
Exiting the door that took the group out onto the roof, they were confronted by the sight of Mutant 221, stood on the parapet wall, his back to them as he rocked back and forwards on his heels. From the street below came the barely muffled sounds of the defensive ring set up by Anderson’s team. He lifted his arms high to his side, tilted his head back and shuffled forward so his toes were over the edge. He would end this now.
"Stop!" cried Hope, causing Andrew to wobble, his arms cartwheeling as he pulled back from the edge. In faltering baby steps, he turned to face them.
Andrew was struggling to focus, the heat within him building as the beast fought for control but.... he couldn't allow that to happen, his little girl was here, Cathy was here. Stepping down from the parapet wall he started walking towards her, his hand reaching out calling her name. At least in his head he was calling her name, in reality it came out as a guttural growl.
"Steady Tiger,” warned Hog, bringing up his Akdal MKA Semi-Automatic Combat Shotgun. It carried five cartridges in a detachable mag and had a kill distance of up to 55 metres.
For a second or two, Mutant 221 took over, his lips curling back, a warning growl exploding over bloodied teeth, bloodshot eyes narrowing to send out a warning to the group.
"Don't hurt him," screamed Hope, racing past Hog to stand in front of Andrew.
"Hope....no," hissed Anderson, making a grab for the child but reacting too slow.
"OK....everyone stand real still," advised Tom, as Mutant 221 dropped to his knees in front of Hope, blocking any chance of a shot.
Andrew was learning how to hold back the beast, to relax and feel for something from the past, to feel the love he had for his child. Embracing her gently he placed his head over her tiny shoulder and with a single shudder began to cry, hardly feeling the needle enter his neck.
Anderson had collected a syringe from the scientists at FL when he had the call from Steve Knight. He wasn't sure at that time how he would get close enough to the Mutant to inject the serum that would instantly knock him out, so this opportunity had worked in their favour. Dropping it to the floor he took the weight of Andrew as he fell forward, before he crushed Hope.
"You've killed him," cried Hope in anguish.
"No....no," assured Anderson, sweeping her up as he left Andrew to Hog and Tom. "We just had to let him sleep until we get him back to Fort London.”
Hope knelt by Andrew's side studying him closely and seeing he was breathing, that he was calm.
Tom was busy studying the street below as the sound of gunfire grew in frequency. "We need to move and I mean now," he warned.
Hog had hoisted Andrew effortlessly up over his shoulder. "How long will he stay under?” asked the giant Angel.
"In a normal person, at least an hour," responded Anderson.
"Well that's one thing he ain’t," threw in Tom, heading for the stairwell.
The group made their way quickly down to the street where the ten man team were struggling to hold back the swarm.
"Tom, get Hope into the jeep and help Hog secure our friend," ordered Anderson, running to join the perimeter team. Pulling out his Magnum 44 handgun he sent the first of the six cartridges the gun had loaded through the temple of a woman who had just grabbed the sleeve of one of his men. The carnage had created a pile of corpses that was forming an arced ramp around the three Land Rover Discoveries, yet the relentless swarm clambered over them, intent on reaching the FL group. Anderson quickly emptied his weapon thrusting it back into his under arm holster.
“Team one drop back into your transport," shouted Anderson, as he reached over his shoulders and pulled free from his back harness the pair of lethal Kukris, better known as Gurkha Knives. 40 cm long steel blades formed in the traditional curved shape with a razor sharp inner cutting edge as deadly as a Samurai sword. As half the team dropped back and climbed into their Discovery, they kept up the fire from the open windows trying to give the holding team a firebreak of time to make it back to their own transport. The WDs might have been slow but the sheer numbers were worrying.
"Mutants," warned Tom suddenly.
Up until now the team had only to deal with the slow plodding WDs but now a pack of around 30 Mutants were sprinting down the centre of the road towards them. “Every man into the Discoveries," yelled Anderson. As the last three men turned their backs to run, the first three Mutants broke through and leapt at them. If not for Tom and Hog turning their weapons onto them, the troops would have been lost. Hog’s pump action barked twice in quick succession taking the head clean off the first, the second took a blast through the thorax ripping out the creature’s heart. Mutant or not, no heart meant no life, even as miserable as it was. Tom took out the third with an automatic burst from his trusted MP5. However now there were eight more racing in from the side in a position where fire power would have cut down their own men. Anderson sprinted into the gap and met the rush. Dropping down onto his right knee, he swept the blade in his right hand across the stomach of the first Mutant feeling the blade cut through to the spine. The blade in his left hand drove up a second later through the stomach of the second Mutant, slicing up under the rib cage straight into its heart. Despite fatal wounds, the first Mutant came again, his feet becoming tangled in its own intestines that were spilling out through the gash inflicted by Anderson. A single shot from one of his troops freed the creature from its torment.
"Will you get in here Fort Boy," hollered Hog, stepping towards him as he fired from the hip, stopping a Mutant in mid leap.
Turning and sprinting the two men had barely shut and locked the doors when six Mutants slammed up against the windows, their bloodied lips and gums sliding up and down the glass leaving deadly plague loaded smears.
"Home James," gasped Anderson, breathing heavily.
As the three discoveries eventually forced a way over the piles of corpses, a sound from the back of Anderson’s Discovery reached each of the three men.
Andrew was waking up.
#
Bruger chose to have his four new guards with him in the Bulldog on their journey to Scotland. Blade spent the time brooding over what he felt was a demotion in Bruger’s hierarchy and also trying to piece together a number of snippets of clues as to why they were heading to the land of whisky and kilts. Added to this there was the news that all communications had been lost with The Keep. This was vital as a relay point in the communication chain with Fort Warwick so for the moment they had lost all contact with the Fort. Blade had raised this through their localised comms to Bruger but as his unconcerned leader pointed out, this had happened before through a number of glitches so he was not concerned. However had they been witness to what had taken place at The Keep an hour earlier, concern would have been high on their agenda. It was as this and a jumble of other thoughts were bouncing around Blade’s head, distracting him, that they swept through Newhaven on the A901. The column turned left onto the feed road that took them past the Ocean Terminal building, then through five metre high manned security gates onto the dockside at Port Leith. He had to slam on the brakes as Bruger came to a sudden halt in front of him in the middle of the dock feeder road and it was then that Blade saw it, saw what had brought them to Scotland, and his blood froze. There, lying at harbour, was a one billion pound Type 45 Destroyer that, Blade knew from
experience, had an awesome list of armaments when fully loaded, and its fire power would be the first question he would ask Bruger. There was also a question that he didn't want to ask but must ask. This involved something only known to a few in military circles, Blade had moved in those circles. Blade watched as Bruger climbed out of his Bulldog, his four new attack dogs surrounding him as he strode towards the quay side. The stunned enforcer climbed from his Pinzer knowing his leader would be expecting him to follow. Coming up behind the Fort Warwick leader, he came to a halt as the four Mutants turned to face him, their growls sending out a clear warning. Bruger continued to stare at the ship, Blade was made to wait. It was about control.
"Stand aside," Bruger barked suddenly to his guards. “Come," beckoned Bruger with his hand, without turning.
"Thanks for taking the time to see me Karl," said Blade, immediately regretting it.
Thankfully Bruger appeared to have missed it. "My army grows Blade.”
"That thing in service?" asked Blade.
"Oh yes Blade, good to go and fully loaded." Bruger turned to face his second in command. "And once I have taken Fort London and gathered the Pure for The Butcher, I'm gonna wipe it off the face of the earth."
Blade felt giddy, the wild look in Bruger’s eyes holding back the question he knew he must ask. "Are....are all the missiles standard?”
"Absolutely," grinned Bruger.
Blade’s shoulders relaxed.
"Apart from one." Bruger wasn't smiling any more. "I got one that’s gonna carry a nuclear warhead straight into the heart of Fort London.”
Chapter 18
"Let’s Get This Done"
The Preacher’s wire cutters snipped easily through the close mesh fence opening a vertical slot through which he eased himself into The Keep. To prevent unwelcome visitors, he used some wire clips to close the slot before turning and squatting to set his watch for an eight minute countdown. This was the maximum amount of time he had allowed himself for being back at this point and exiting. Darkness had now dropped its cloak, heavy cloud working in his favour as it covered the moon so that the only light available was a milky wash thrown down from dirty halogens on high posts that created huge shadows where a man could hide. Short, sprinting bursts through a number of these brought him to the first building on his list, the communal building where he knew during the ten minute window many of the members of The Keep would gather to talk shit as the watch shift changed. Moving swiftly around the building he placed two charges per elevation, eight in total, sufficient to remove the entire building along with any occupants within.
As each charge was placed, he pressed a small button on each detonator making it live ready to receive the signal he would send out, the signal that would change each moulded pat from a harmless lump of putty into a devastating, burgeoning storm of destruction that would devour brick, glass, flesh, bone, showing no discrimination.
As he placed the final pat and turned to head for building two on his list, the communications building, a guard walked around the corner of the building, coming to a stunned halt as he was confronted by The Preacher just a metre away, a giant black spectre standing a little over six feet seven tall and weighing in at over two hundred and thirty pounds. The stunned look that took control of the guard’s features lasted just seconds, changing to a grimace as The Preacher moved like a panther onto him, one giant hand clamping over his mouth in a steel grip, the other driving his warrior fixed blade combat knife up through the underside of the man’s chin, the angle taking the blade, with the hardness and quality of a clay tempered Samurai sword, through the base of his tongue, piercing the spinal column between the C1 and C2 vertebrae with the last two centimetres of steel pricking the cerebellum. The thrust was a swift in and out motion executed in the blink of an eye, the result instant as the man fell like a pile of dirty washing, The Preacher stepping over him towards building two. A quick check of his watch showed five and a half minutes remaining to be back at the fence exit point. Building two was Jeremy Boardman’s laboratory, two charges placed. Building three, the armoury, one charge placed, three minutes remaining. Structure four, fuel tanks and generator room, one charge. The only building to be left untouched was The Cutting Shed. The Preacher eyed it as he moved through the shadows, the fire within his smoky eyes like embers in the night. "Soon,” he hissed, "soon.”
Reaching the fence, he slipped through as his countdown reached eight seconds. A minute later he was back at his base camp with a minute left of his ten minute window of time. Lifting the heavy FGM-148 Javelin missile launcher onto his shoulder, he fixed the sight to his eye, placed the cross hair onto the centre of building one and took two steadying breaths. Curling his right index finger around the trigger he took first pressure and then squeezed. The launcher bucked as the rocket missile left the tube, the exhaust sending a tail of flame several metres behind The Preacher. Within ten metres, around a second into its travel, the main rocket motor ignited sending the lethal projectile screeching towards building one and the occupants within. Allowing the now useless launcher to fall to the ground, The Preacher stood, reached into his pocket and pulled out the handheld firing transmitter unit with twelve buttons that was already tethered with the radio detonator base unit sat at his feet. Three seconds had passed since he pulled the trigger. He raised the hand unit into the air, it was now five seconds, six seconds. The rocket ploughed into the building causing it to erupt into a huge ball of dust and debris. The Preacher started pressing buttons, one after the other, a mere second between each one. The result was complete devastation, blast after blast reverberated splitting the night air, twelve mushrooming out to merge with the others creating a dust storm that covered the entire compound. The Preacher waited, watching as the breeze cleared the air, revealing only one building still standing in the moonlit compound that now looked apocalyptic. That building was The Cutting Shed. No lights showed anywhere but suddenly, on the breeze, he heard the sound of a small generator kicking in. Lights spilled out from the high level windows of the remaining building. The Preacher nodded once. “Showtime."
#
"This is not good Craig," warned Tom, turning to look at Andrew lying in the back loading area of the Discovery.
"I pumped enough in him to knock out an elephant," assured Hog. "He can't be waking up.”
"You could try telling him that," suggested Tom, eying the stirring beast.
Andrew sat bolt upright, the tranquiliser in his system corrupted and weakened by the virus that lived in every cell of his body. He could feel himself rocking gently, he knew the movement, he remembered it, he was in a vehicle.
"You better give him another shot," warned Hog from the front passenger seat.
Tom pulled Hope tight to his chest and slid up against the door as The Mutant in the back of the Discovery came fully awake.
Andrew could feel the heat building inside, he knew what that meant. There were men, several men, he could see them and then he saw Cathy and his heart lurched. All of his grief, all of the pain that came each time he awakened, burst through bloodied lips in an anguished cry that came out as a primeval growl. Throwing himself sideways he drove his shoulder into the glass window. He had to get out, he could not be near Cathy when the beast came, he could not awaken to find her inner organs in his hands and her broken body ripped open below him. The glass window held, the beast was coming. Andrew began to thrash out with arms and feet at the rear doors, his vision beginning to swim.
Anderson brought the Discovery to a skidding halt at the same moment that Hog drew his side arm, turned and pointed it at the Mutant going crazy just feet away in the carrying area at the back.
"Shoot him," yelled Tom, reaching for his own gun.
Hope pulled away from Tom and slipped over the back seat into the carrying compartment. Andrew immediately settled, his features softening, losing the look of a wild animal. He had to use what he had learned, he had to calm himself, hold back the beast.
The three men froze
in various poses. Hog was kneeling on the front passenger seat facing backwards towards the Mutant, his Berretta held in his massive hand, his arm extended. Tom had his Heckler & Koch Mk 23 Mod half out of his holster, suspended in mid-air. Anderson was viewing the scene in the rear view mirror, his voice soft as he spoke, "Hope........I need you to slide back over the seat to Tom."
"But Andrew’s afraid," complained the child.
"He's not the only one," whispered Tom.
"I know he's afraid," continued Anderson, "but......we will be able to help him back at Fort London, but for now you have to move away from him, he's dangerous.”
"He's not dangerous," she snapped. “He won't hurt me.”
"Hope...please do as I say," pleaded Anderson.
"No," came the petulant reply. "I want to sit with Andrew till we get to Fort London.”
Hog eased himself very slowly round to sit back in his seat. “This is gonna be a long trip."
"Might wanna brush up on those parenting skills?" suggested Tom to his long-time friend.
"It's a long walk from here Tom," warned Anderson.
"Just saying," defended Tom.
"Ok," sighed the SAS leader, turning the key and starting the large diesel engine. "Let’s get this done.”
The low purring growl from the back could have been agreement, it could also have been something else. None of the three men could have understood that it was contentment. Andrew had his Cathy back.
#
Bryan walked away from the Apache. Ever since he and Hog had dragged the damn thing into their vast warehouse it had become his mistress, his tormentor, his infatuation. Hog had come across it when scavenging through an American air base. Saphire had forbidden him to bring it home, that was the only encouragement he needed. He and Bryan loaded it onto a low loader that very day and dragged it home. Trouble was despite their extensive knowledge they could not get it to fire up which was frustrating as it was fully loaded with armaments including a 30 mm M230 Chain Gun, one Hydra 70 mm and two CRV7 70 mm air-to-ground rockets and last but not least a single AIM-92 Stinger missile. Each and every one of these could have been put to good use a number of times over the last few months. They both longed to hear the two T700-GE-701C turboshafts Rolls Royce engines burst into life sending the four rotors into a blur, motors that could push the craft to its maximum speed of 227 mph. Seating on this craft was unusual with the pilot sitting behind and above the co-pilot/gunner seat.
Bravo Two Zombie (Book 3): The Final Solution Page 13