Samuels fired three times and now urged from the back seat. “Go!”
Bannister was in the process of doing just that, trying to grind the gear lever forwards when Collins hurled herself out of the vehicle. Her SA80 blasted on fully automatic as she screamed, mindlessly trying to save her beloved guardian.
Bannister cursed but did not delay for a single moment. He too opened his door and leapt after her into the direct grasp of danger.
Cujo’s assault and momentum had propelled the horde back a couple of meters from the vehicle. They seemed to be easily distracted. Now the dog held their combined, murderous attention as their rage found a new focus. His ferocious, initial attack had started to wane and they retaliated. They jumped on him and soon pinned him down, with many grasping hands ripping his body apart. His barks and snarls turned to howls of pain and then wails of terror as they attacked him with their hooked claws and gaping, hungry mouths.
Collins was entirely out of her mind with a rage equal to theirs. She screeched as she advanced, emptying her magazine into their bodies, but she sprayed wildly without aiming. Her bullets lacked the effect she needed, either straying wide or burying themselves deep into non-vital organs and fleshy parts of her victims. There were many more of them now, attracted by the commotion and prospect of fresh food. Her attack had fortuitously gained her a little more space as they fell back momentarily. As she stood before them they turned and threw themselves at her anew, just as her collar was grasped from behind. She tried to scream but the effort was choked out of her. Bannister yanked her away from the reach of the nearest. His other hand still held his Browning which he fired once and blew a man’s head apart.
With his ears ringing from the gunshot he shouted at her. “Run!”
There was no way they could get back into the Land Rover as the crowd now blocked their path so Bannister pushed Collins towards the petrol station’s shop. One crazed woman in a torn, green dress saw Samuels. He was still in the back of the vehicle so she turned her savagery upon him. Scrambling through the driver’s door she tried to climb into the back and another was right behind. Samuels leapt from the car in fright and managed to get to the shop first. He kicked its door open but had the presence of mind to turn and fire a volley of bullets into the pack as they chased after his colleagues. His shots found the nearest target, striking a woman in the leg and knocking her to the ground. The man behind tripped over her flailing body. That action bought them the second or two they needed to out-pace their attackers and they tore through the open door. Samuels followed but snagged his foot on the threshold and crashed into a display cabinet. He struck his head on a metal shelf and knocked himself senseless in front of the open doorway.
The bottom section of the door was made of steel and there were glass panels in the top half that looked to be reinforced with thin wire mesh. Bannister slammed it shut and hurriedly shoved a display stand forwards against it. The infected rushed at the entrance in fury and the soldiers had only seconds to barricade it. The door rattled and gave an inch as the diseased hammered into it. With Samuels out cold, Bannister and Collins spent anxious moments piling a couple of heavy racks in the hope that it would be enough. Both of them were gasping and trembling. The din from outside was horrific. The mob seemed to have swollen to well over a dozen. They were all screaming and pushing forwards, fighting each other in their eagerness to get at their prey.
When Walkden heard the shots he turned to his colleagues. The usual pink of his skin was pale. Hutchison looked up again as he heaved at the spanner. He had just managed to get the spare wheel on and was trying to tighten the first bolt.
“Nearly done boss,” he said apologetically.
Walkden impatiently checked his gun again. Impatient to go to the aid of his colleagues yet terrified of what awaited them all around the next corner. As he looked in their direction he noticed a shambling figure emerge from a building just along the street. He froze as he watched the man stumble in the direction of the petrol station. Neale had seen him too and warned Hutchison in a whisper. Then two others emerged from the same building and started to follow the first. The soldiers did not move. The three dishevelled figures were almost at the corner when one of them looked back and saw them. He let out an inhuman screech. The other two turned and as one they ran at the soldiers. They seemed to be trying to outpace each other, the sooner to get to their quarry, to tear them apart without compassion and feast upon their fresh, tender flesh.
Hutchison dropped the spanner. He smoothly raised the rifle and flicked the safety catch off whilst assuming a well-practiced kneeling position. He could vaguely see Walkden struggling with something but he was too preoccupied himself to pay much attention. When the people were only perhaps forty metres away he was expecting some command of some sort from Walkden but nothing were forthcoming. He turned to look. Walkden was still standing in front of the Land Rover and frantically fiddling with his SA80.
“Safety!” Hutchison yelled and leapt to his side. With a deft movement he readied the weapon and turned back to the oncoming assault, adrenalin thrilling his body. He tried to steady his breathing and calm his hands, and now spoke up himself. “Let them get a bit closer, then go for head shots. Keep it cool and controlled.” He paused and then shouted. “Let ‘em have it.”
Walkden’s rifle was still on automatic and he sprayed out in a gangster style that would have made Al Capone proud, but mostly missed his aim. The woman running at him was spun round and knocked to the floor by the force of a bullet penetrating her leg but it merely slowed her down. Neale hit his target with two carefully aimed shots. Both hit the upper torso. Although the man sprawled headlong, he slowly and hesitantly got back to his feet and still came limping forwards determinedly. A third bullet in the head as he was about ten metres away finished him off. He sagged forwards. His skull hit the road with a crack.
Hutchison had waited the longest, conserving ammunition. When the third infected, a younger man with a shaved head and a tattoo across his neck, was only a dozen steps away he fired twice. Both bullets accurately found their mark. They obliterated the man’s face, replacing the tattoo with blood and splattered tissue. Walkden’s target was now upon him and he was panicking. He backed up to the vehicle with a frightened, groan. His bullets became wilder and missed their target but a single, cool shot from Hutchison ended the assault.
It was over in a moment. None of them spoke as they searched for more attackers. The blasts from their weapons still reverberated in their ears. They were all shaken but Walkden visibly more so than his colleagues. He was leaning on the bonnet and looked as though he was about to collapse. Hutchison took a deep breath to steady his own nerves and then tried to focus. It was clear that Walkden would now be useless on lookout and so to utilise him to their best advantage Hutchison handed him the spanner. “Here sir, get cracking with this.”
Walkden just nodded and took the tool.
“You okay?” Hutchison said to Neale.
“I guess so Sarge.”
“Get on the radio. Tell them back at base what’s happened and most important of all, keep your eyes peeled. That was a little too close for comfort. We don’t want any more surprises.”
“Sure thing boss.”
Sebastian jumped down onto the roof terrace over-looking the forecourt just as Cujo was giving his life so selflessly. He peered below and made a quick estimation of numbers and odds, then whistled softly. He knew what he had to do. He was not scared. He merely had a heightened sense of awareness; heightened even for a vampire, as the excitement of the pre-kill flowed through his veins. He had not faced odds like this in an age, since long before on the outskirts of a rural French village in Provence. Humans had discovered his hideout and marched mob-handed to drive him out, armed with basic weapons, farming implements and sticks. He remembered the feel of the blows as he defended himself, at first trying not to hurt anyone whilst only attempting to escape, but then being cornered and forced to fight. That was when the bloodlus
t had taken over. Others of his sort called it a red mist but that would imply that he had lost sight of his actions and he most certainly had not. For a moment he had become enraged and turned, but only for a moment, into what he despised, but what he had to be in order to survive. He could vividly remember the terror in their eyes and the screams as they attempted to flee, as he slaughtered them all. He had sworn to himself that he would never let that happen again. He knew on this occasion though there would be no terror. The only screams would be of anger, not of fear, and unlike the previous time he could absolutely not afford to allow them to draw blood.
As he was about to step forwards and drop into the maelstrom of hatred below there was the light scent of flowers and another figure landed softly beside him with barely a thump. He turned to stare into the deep blue, unfathomable gaze of Flavia. It was an unusual perfume that she wore, reminiscent of wisteria, but he found it quite endearing, reminding him of times gone by.
Her red lips parted in a provocative smirk. “Hello Sebastian, fancy seeing you here.”
He returned her gaze and her smile. “Hello Flavia, where’s your boyfriend?”
“I do go out alone sometimes. I’m a big girl now.”
“Yes I can see that,” and he did nothing to hide the appreciative glance he cast over her curves, causing her to grin in a self-satisfied way. There was a certain flirtatious tension between them that vanished whenever Farzin was around. As he looked into her eyes he could feel himself involuntarily warming towards her and mentally steeled himself against her spell. He had seen the effect she had on men and did not want to become just another lapdog around her, fool to her charms. He did not particularly trust her, never had, but that probably had more to do with the nature of their first meeting.
“You surely aren’t thinking of being the hero all by yourself?”
He looked grimly back at her. “Well come on then, let’s do it.”
“Just make sure you don’t get bitten,” she warned as she stepped out over the precipice and launched herself down towards the fracas. He couldn’t help but appreciate the irony in her comment, coming from a vampire, before following her over the edge.
Collins watched with horror as the swelling mass pressed against the door which was now bearing an enormous force. The upper hinges would not hold for long so they were desperately trying to manhandle another display rack on top of the initial two. From outside the livid howls were growing in intensity. The glass panels suddenly cracked making them both jump back. The wire mesh still held the glass in place however, but for how much longer?
Bannister grabbed Collins by the arm and spoke quickly. Fear was evident in his eyes although she could see that he was still rational and calm. “That door is not going to last. My SA80 was beside me on the seat and I left it in the wagon when I jumped out after you. All I’ve got is my pistol. Where’s Samuels’s rifle?”
Collins looked crestfallen. “He lost it when he took a tumble; it’s just outside the shop. Mine’s out of ammo. I only have my pistol as well.”
“Well Walkden and the cavalry better get here soon, else we’re royally screwed!”
As he spoke the door partly gave way and cracked open. The first of the infected was a haggard looking woman. She wore a black shawl and would not have been out of place playing the part of a witch from Macbeth. She tried to wriggle through the breach but the gap was still not quite wide enough for her. Her head and one arm and shoulder poked into the shop and she stretched out towards the soldiers whilst screaming. Her blood-shot eyes were bulging and the veins on her temples protruding. Collins flung herself against the barricades trying to force the door closed, but Bannister stepped slowly forwards until he was almost within the woman’s reach.
Collins watched aghast as Bannister stood a few inches from the woman’s fingers. He could feel her hot, rancid breath as she screamed, could see the red lines like crazy paving on her face, the liver spots that had formed across her forehead and the dry, flaking skin on her cheeks and chin. He stared calmly into her incognisant eyes, glaring at him with a total absence of empathy or conception and for the first time in a while he felt pity. This was the closest he had come to one of them; the first time he had ever really contemplated them as anything more than ‘zombies’. The woman was probably not as old as she had initially seemed but the ravages of the condition had aged her unnaturally. Hanging around her neck was a small, golden necklace that bore the name ‘Giselle’. It struck him as out of place, as much as anything because this small trinket was a reminder of the woman’s past, her life while she was still a normal human being that was so at odds with the unrecognisable monster that she had now become. The name also reminded him of his youth, like a blossom, an unusual yet delicate and unforgettable name of possibly the first girl he had ever had a crush on whilst in primary school. The Giselle of his past was now certainly gone too, either dead or one of these ‘undead’ creatures.
As she tried feverishly to reach him he stepped away from her. He slowly raised his Browning and fired a single shot into her face, ripping her head apart as she jerked back, spraying the inside of the windows with blood and flesh and releasing her from her unholy torment. Her body slumped forwards like a nun praying at the altar. The next was right behind, trying to climb over her and through the slowly widening gap. He was a youth of possibly seventeen or eighteen years old and even as he scrambled forwards, a larger man also tried to get into the shop, causing a jam and preventing either of them from gaining access. For a moment the two of them attacked each other, clawing and biting at each other’s faces. This bought the soldiers a moment’s reprieve. Bannister turned to Collins with a grim expression that she had never seen him wear before. There was a fatalistic look in his eyes, as though he had already prepared himself for the inevitable.
“Conserve your ammo,” he said. “Make every shot count. Go for the head, one bullet for each lurcher, understood? And if it comes to the end, save your last bullet for yourself. And one for me too. Now try Walkden once more.”
“Walkden, where the hell are you?” she cried into her radio as she backed up to the wall in the small shop.
There was nothing but static, no comforting reply from the cavalry about to save the day. Bannister stooped over Samuels’s body and removed the man’s pistol from its holster, then turned back to the door with both guns aimed at the creatures without. He too backed up against the wall beside Collins. She felt the reassuring press of his arm against hers, feeling incredibly small and vulnerable. Despite his words and despite his show of bravado, clearly he did not want to die any more than she did.
As they looked out at the multitude there was a sudden commotion and for a moment the infected all seemed to be diverted by a flash of movement and a shadow.
“Walkden?” Collins asked, but Bannister did not answer.
Both of them stared in amazement, not quite sure they could believe what they were seeing. It seemed that two figures had entered the fray at the back and were attacking with nothing more than their bare hands. And they appeared to be winning.
Sebastian landed right after Flavia and just beside her, only a step away from the fight. Both of them initially lashed out with well-placed kicks, slamming the two nearest diseased into the group and knocking several to the ground, but only for a moment. Both vampires pressed forwards into the skirmish. With reflexes like striking cobras they attacked. Sebastian took hold of a woman by the collar of her jacket. He picked her up and sent her flying backwards, taking care to avoid her snapping teeth. She crashed hard into a wall with enough force to stun a normal human. The woman gave a piercing shriek and staggered to her feet with one arm hanging loosely from her side and a gash across her head. She did not seem bothered by the injuries but was more concerned with tearing the eyes out of her enemy. The other infected now started to turn their wrath from the shop. They quickly became intent on ripping apart this most recent foe. These initial manoeuvres by the two vampires bought them a little space and had th
e effect of scattering the assailants so that the attacks did not all come at once, but they had not actually reduced the infected and there was still an alarmingly overwhelming number.
The first to get to Sebastian was a large, black man with short, dark hair and a savage wound on his cheek. He came in low and tried to throw himself around Sebastian’s waist like a rugby player. Sebastian dodged to the side and brought an elbow down hard on the man’s spine sending him to the floor. He instantly slammed his heel down onto the man’s thick neck and felt a crack as it broke like a chicken bone. The man flinched, his legs spasmed and he moved no more. It had taken Sebastian a mere moment to kill the man, effortlessly and indifferently, and he leapt forwards at the next victim.
Flavia’s first assailant was an elderly woman with an old-fashioned blue rinse in her grey hair and a dirty, flowery house-coat. She still clutched the cloth handbag that had probably not left her side when out of the house during the past twenty years. She was relatively slow and Flavia dispatched her with ease. The woman had come at her from behind but Flavia sensed her and aimed a well-placed kick backwards at the woman’s head with a vicious lunge and a snarl that bared her long, sharp teeth. The single impact cracked the woman’s skull to the side, leaving her lying motionless on the ground with a faint trickle of dark liquid oozing from the fissure. The two vampires now found themselves back to back with the infected surrounding them and approaching somewhat more warily. Although the diseased knew no fear they seemed to be able to learn and reason, to an extent.
There was a rush of activity and several attacked at once. They were considerably slower than the vampires but their sheer numbers made fighting them a challenge. Sebastian grabbed the first and threw him to the side. Simultaneously he lashed out with a boot sending another stumbling. A third came at him immediately, a young man probably in his early twenties with long, dank hair and a pointed goatee beard. He tried to grab at Sebastian and seemed to be smiling as he leered at his prey. Sebastian was way too quick and easily manoeuvred out of his reach but then darted back close enough to grasp the man’s head between his hands. He rotated it with a sudden movement until there was the unmistakable snap of bones and the man hit the ground. At this stage it was all about trying to make space and slowly erode their adversaries.
The Blood of the Infected (Book 1): Once Bitten, Twice Die Page 18