"What do you think Ray?" asked the Southampton leader, turning to the man at his side.
"Heard of him Pete, I also know he is one of the main men at Fort London. Can't see he would have come all this way on a whim."
Pete Wilson drew in a deep breath before raising the radio to his mouth. "Ok Mr Anderson.... How you wanna do this?”
"Plan is we drive my convoy through that swarm you got camped at your gate and at the last second you swing them open and we roll through, keeping tight, forming a moving plug in the gateway. You slam the gates closed as the last vehicle enters and we are home and dry."
"Say it quickly and it sounds reasonable," snorted Wilson. "How many people you got with you Mr Anderson?"
Anderson hesitated as he looked back down the length of the convoy that he knew would be mainly hidden from view from the compound. "Ten thousand."
The radio Wilson was holding fell from his hand and hit the floor.
#
The Preacher moved like a ghost along the deckway, sliding from doorway to doorway, shadow to shadow. He knew where the communications room was and knew it had to be his goal. From there he could reach out to Anderson and Fort London because without a doubt this ship was heading south and without a doubt its intent was to inflict carnage. The Preacher had overheard the guard who had brought his food talking earlier to another man, they spoke of the weapons that the ship had available and his heart missed a beat when they mentioned a nuclear war head. He stopped instantly as the sound of a group approaching reached him, a large group, more than six according to their footfalls. He needed to get off the deck way. Looking to his right he saw a darkened window with a door to its side. Testing the handle he found it gave easily. Sliding through he found himself in inky blackness as he swiftly, but quietly, closed the door. Happy that the group outside had passed, his hand found the light switch and eased it down, the blinding light that filled the room not only made him blink as his eyes adjusted but it also rudely awoke the six men who were sleeping in various bunks around the room. The Preacher moved forward as the first man leapt from his bunk and headed towards him.
#
"What’s the status on the other cruise ships Chuck?" asked President Nelson. The Spirit of The Sea would be out of communication range until the following day and the wait was shredding his nerves.
"We have eight more ships nearing readiness Mr President," responded General White. "Once The Spirit of The Sea gets State side we will be able to turn her around in two days and send her back with the other ships. We will be able to carry just under ninety thousand Pure per trip. Three to four months should be sufficient to get all of the Pure onto US soil."
The President stood looking at the large screen in his office, his back to his general in chief, willing it to come to life but knowing that would not happen for some time, his technicians had assured him that when the satellite came back on line they would be able to give him live feed to Southampton. The President’s wandering mind came back to the room. "That’s providing that maniac Bruger can be held at bay, General.”
White hesitated, "We always have our option B, Mr President."
The President kept his back to White, his eyes closing as images of the devastation that using option B would unleash played inside his head. “It will be our last play Chuck," answered Nelson quietly turning to face the head of his military. “When the cards dictate there is no other option.”
Fate was busy shuffling the cards and the devil was preparing to deal the hand.
#
Andrew felt warmth, he thought it might be happiness, happiness because he had delivered the radio as the child had asked him. It was important to him to please her for she was so much like his daughter. He knew now she wasn't as he had first thought but she was special, he knew that, and she was kind to him. He was now able to keep the beast at bay, his control growing each day, each hour but as he made his way back to the column of vehicles and the child, he realised something was happening, something troubling. The walking dead had always ignored him, but those around him now were staring at him, whereas before he was invisible as if he never existed, they were now casting dead, bloodshot eyes onto him as he moved through them, some of them sniffed the air as he passed. This was bad, this was very bad.
#
Anderson dropped down from the roof of the Land Rover to speak to Hope. She was becoming distressed, she was also angry at Anderson for not letting her climb on the roof with him to look out for Andrew. Spider had positioned himself, on Anderson’s instruction, on the roof of the coach behind the lead Land Rover where he had set up his tripod and fitted his M24 Sniper’s rifle, a rifle he had put together so often he could do it in his sleep. As he lay full length behind the gun and completed adjustments to the 10×42 Leopold Ultra M3A telescope sight, he brought Andrew into focus causing his breath to catch in his throat. Andrew was struggling to break free from several WDs who were clutching at his clothes, their interest not full blown for if it was they would have grasped him in a vice like grip that only death would have broken. "Holy shit,” whispered Spider to himself. "They smell Pure on him, he's changing." The team’s Guardian Angel rammed in a cartridge and called down to Anderson. "Cap, you had better come see this," he called urgently.
As Anderson joined him on the roof, he observed Andrew breaking free from the scrum of WDs, walking with growing speed as he headed back towards the column. "They know he's different Cap, they can smell the change in him, and now he’s more Pure than Tainted.”
Anderson lifted his field glasses to his eyes and watched Andrew break into a trot. It was just over a thousand metres from the vehicles to the swarm and Andrew had closed that gap by a hundred metres before a single Mutant suddenly burst from the dense swarm and came racing after him. Spider’s gun bucked as he released the cartridge sat in the breach. Seconds later it passed through the chasing Mutant’s head, removing most of it in a bursting cloud of bone fragment, blood and brain tissue.
"Keep him safe,” yelled Anderson to Spider as he clambered down from the coach roof. Anderson knew Andrew was a key factor in beating the virus, he was living proof that a cure could be found when linked with Hope's blood which Anderson had deduced ran through his veins. Added to that was the connection Hope had formed with the strange Mutant, a connection that spanned so many levels between them. Jumping into the passenger seat of the Land Rover, the Fort London security chief turned and barked an order to Bull in the back seat. "Get Hope out and guard her Bull, I need to pick up Andrew.”
"No," yelled the child defiantly, "I'm coming with you.”
Anderson took a quick look down the slight incline to where Andrew was now running at full sprint towards them. As he looked, two then three then a dozen Mutants burst from the lumbering swarm and closed on Andrew, their hunger for flesh giving them greater speed than he was moving, "Hope, get out of the jeep now," shouted Anderson losing his temper.
The petulant child crossed her arms and stared at Anderson, her mouth a straight line of defiance.
"Fine, fine," snapped Anderson turning forward. "Hit the gas Tom and get her belted in Bull.”
Two hundred metres in, Anderson realised he wasn't going to make it, the chasing Mutants were only seconds away.
"Faster!" shrieked Hope realising the same thing. "They're going to hurt Andrew."
Suddenly there was a roar like a jet on their right hand side and a flash of red as a Harley motorcycle sped past them.
"Son of a bitch," snorted Tom. “It’s that crazy bastard Hog.”
The trio watched as the Angel leader brought the powerful machine to a sliding sideways skid stopping just metres in front of Andrew who didn't need an invitation as he clambered onto the back behind the grinning Angel. A shriek from behind them caused the smile to slip as two Mutants came tearing towards them, both leaping high at the same moment, ready to drop onto the pair on the motorcycle. A distant crack followed by a high pitched whistle saw one of the Mutants stall in mid-air as a c
artridge slammed into its chest smashing the sternum as it passed through the chest cavity and taking a section of the spine column with it as it exited its back. Even before the lifeless corpse had hit the tarmac, Hog had pulled a sawn off shotgun from a holder attached to the side of his motorcycle and loosed both barrels at the second Mutant, the blast spray shredding the creature, dropping it onto the road by the side of the chugging machine. The Angel slipped the shotgun back into its holder, kicked down the gear shift and sent the Heritage Softail Classic Harley roaring back towards the column, passing Anderson’s Land Rover that continued racing towards the swarm.
"You sure we need to do this?" shouted Tom, bringing the Land Rover to a screeching halt fifty metres from the closing pack of Mutants.
"We need to stop them Tom, the speed they're going they will be on the column before it can get up speed. We got Pure sat on roofs right through the line, they'll be torn to bits."
"Lock the doors," ordered Anderson to Hope as he, Tom and Bull left the vehicle to stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the closing pack. As the remaining ten Mutants came screaming towards them they were reduced to nine as Spider’s rifle barked once more. Anderson switched on his throat mic that was always in place ready to use. “Get the column moving Spider as soon as Andrew is on board.”
"On it," answered the team’s Angel, packing up his rifle and slipping down from the coach.
"Are you guys at the docks ready for us?" shouted Anderson. The closing Mutants were now only fifteen metres away, the lumbering WDs trailed at five hundred metres.
"Ready," came the reply from Pete Wilson.
Bull lifted his MP5 and sent a deadly spray of shell into a group of three Mutants at knee height. Each fell to the ground with shattered legs but continued to crawl towards the three men, the danger from them over.
Tom took out four more with quick bursts while Anderson drew his Magnum 44 just as a snarling middle aged woman leapt at him appearing to run into an invisible wall as the massive slug drove through her chest.
The last Mutant tripped over the falling woman and before it could gain its footing, Bull pulled the baseball bat that was constantly hanging at his waist and struck it twice to the head with vicious swipes that crushed its skull.
Each man ran to the Land Rover as the long column rumbled towards them. Swinging the vehicle round, Tom took off towards the swarm judging his speed to allow the long convoy to catch up with him.
"OK...this is it guys, keep the column tight, we can't have any gaps," instructed the Fort London security chief. “We're gonna hit the entrance at a minimum of forty.”
"Swing left as you get through the gates," came Pete Wilson’s voice. "We got a storage yard that will take your column with room to spare.”
"Cap," came an urgent voice over the on board radio, “We got a problem back here.”
"Please don't tell me we got a coach broken down," responded Anderson, checking the wing mirror.
"Ok I won't," came the hesitant reply. "But....it wouldn't be the truth.”
#
The man lumbering towards The Preacher was half asleep but he was large and extremely heavily muscled and had to be put down swiftly, the other five men in the room were all at various stages of awakening and would be none too happy about having their beauty sleep disturbed. On the table sat in the centre of the room were the remains of a meal, dirty plates, knives and forks and a number of empty beer bottles. The Preacher snatched up one of those bottles by the neck, struck it down on the edge of the metal table top shearing the base from it as the man swung a haymaker punch aimed at his head. The Preacher ducked swiftly avoiding by a fraction the massive clenched fist, the miss causing the man to topple sideways exposing the side of his neck. The Preacher timed it perfectly and jabbed the jagged bottle deep into the man just below his ear. As the man screamed and turned to face him, he punched the bottle forward a second time jamming the bloodied bottle into the man’s windpipe leaving it buried deeply as the dying man dropped to his knees then forward onto his face. Man two and three were struggling down from upper bunks screaming threats of their plans for the attacker in their room, the heavy wrench grabbed from a hook on the wall by The Preacher changed those plans. It swung twice and twice only, each blow found a skull that cracked dropping two more bodies to the floor. Man four came like a bull, head down roaring more in fear than anger. The Preacher side-stepped, having dropped the wrench, and snapped out a ferocious punch to the man’s temple sending him to an enforced slumber.
Man five leapt onto his back locking a powerful forearm around his throat, at the same instant man six lunged at his stomach with a viciously serrated hunting knife. Spinning round with the man still on his back The Preacher felt the punching blow as the man with the knife stabbed the man locked onto him in the back. As the wounded man released his hold, he spun to stare in disbelief at his own comrade. The Preacher pulled the knife free, barged the man to one side and leapt at the last man standing, driving the blade up under his chin into the base of his brain. Stepping back The Preacher stood for a few seconds, allowing the man to slide to the floor, his breathing only slightly laboured after the explosive burst of energy that had all taken place in less than twenty seconds. Now he strained to hear if his attack had raised any attention, there was none. He needed to move, needed to find the comms room and make contact with Fort London and warn them about what he believed Bruger had planned, an attack on the stronghold. As that thought went through his mind, the handle on the door to the room began to lower.
#
The Spirit of The Sea surged on through the choppy waters of the Atlantic ocean. In a little over ten hours she would drop anchor off the coast of Southampton and begin the loading of the ten thousand British Pure and most important of all the child Hope who carried, in her blood, a potential cure for the virus that had ravaged all mankind. Captain John Bower stood on the bridge staring out into the inky black depth of the night. He knew he should sleep, and he had tried, but the warm embrace and escape it could supply would not come. He checked his watch for the hundredth time, the seconds slipping by begrudgingly. He intended to have the ten thousand British Pure loaded twenty four hours after dropping anchor and be on his way back to the states by 0900 hours the following morning after his arrival, problem was, that intention was a wonderful thing but it made no allowance for fate and fate had a hand to play, a bad hand.
#
"Swing round the coach," ordered Anderson after a few seconds of consideration. “Vehicle behind make sure you catch up and close the gap, the column has to maintain a link as if it were a single moving chain.”
"Craig you can't leave those people," objected Tom from the driving seat at his side.
"I can't afford to stop the column either Tom," snapped Anderson. “I’ve got close on ten thousand souls I need to get into that compound, keep driving.”
Tom kept the speed constant. He didn't like it, particularly as he could see the stricken coach in his rear view mirror, but he knew Anderson was right.
"Don't leave us," came a shrill voice over the comms band that all of the drivers were using. "Please don't leave us."
"Just sit tight," responded Anderson. "Keep windows and doors locked.”
"Two hundred metres," yelled Tom.
"Get ready on the gates Southampton, at my command," ordered Anderson.
"Standing by," came the instant reply from Pete Wilson.
"One fifty,” warned Tom.
"Get ready," shouted Anderson as the cow bars on the Land Rover smashed into the outer edge of the swaying mass. For the next hundred metres the Land Rover carved a path into the swarm that the column drove into and even though it slowed, the powerful Land Rover kept grinding forward, throwing WDs left and right and simply driving over hundreds more.
"Fifty metres," shouted Tom to be heard over the battering drum roll of bodies slamming up against the bouncing vehicle.
"Steady," instructed Anderson.
"Twenty five," came
Tom once again.
"Now Southampton!" screamed Anderson.
Chapter 26
"What the hell is that?"
The massive doors of the stronghold drove open under the force of powerful hydraulic rams. Immediately the nearest WDs began to lumber through but their travel was short lived as Anderson’s Land Rover smashed into them, then over them, into the stronghold. Tom swung left as instructed leading the tight column to the staging area each coach, each truck and car skidding to a halt at the far end of it leaving room for the vast rolling stream of transport following behind.
"Stay with Hope," ordered Anderson, leaping from the Land Rover as it slowed to a halt. Sprinting to the first coach that had entered and parked near his Land Rover he screamed at the people on board to exit as quickly as possible. As the last person left the coach, Anderson, who had climbed into the driver’s seat, swung the coach around in a tight arc and powered it towards a second gate he had seen on the approach to the main gates. Keeping his hand on the horn he hollered out of the window at the guards manning it, “Get that gate open.”
The two guards were confused, unsure and spoke into their radios.
"I'm driving through it in five seconds," warned Anderson revving the engine and lurching forward two metres.
The worried guards didn't move, continuing to seek instruction over their handsets.
"Open the gate," came Pete Wilson’s voice suddenly. As the gate opened, Anderson roared through mowing down the wall of WDs that hardly took a step before the coach slammed into them. The road Anderson was on ran parallel to the one the main column was using. As he broke free of the swarm onto clear road he looked across to see the column was maintaining speed and threading its way through the main gates keeping it plugged up. Around five hundred metres down the road the stricken coach had been reached by the outer edges of the swarm, they were clambering up the sides and banging on the windows and doors.
Bravo Two Zombie (Book 3): The Final Solution Page 20