His plea was impassioned and left him feeling out on a limb. In normal times his soldiers would follow him and obey his commands because of his rank, if nothing else. He was very well aware that the framework of the military, the discipline and the potential for punishment kept the majority of soldiers in line most of the time, but that was no longer the case. With the collapse of civilisation there was no longer a military structure and there was no realistic, viable potential for punishing anyone who disobeyed him. The reason they all followed him and would continue to do so, or not, would increasingly be because his decisions were sound and by sticking together as a cohesive unit they would survive better than by insubordination and individual action. But he knew only too well that the moment his decisions put their lives in jeopardy, what was to stop them from overthrowing his rule and doing what they wanted? There were unquestionably different ways of looking at this particular dilemma and he had made his choice. The others now also had the same choice to make, a decision that could potentially tear them all apart. He looked around at his colleagues imploring them to do as he asked. Straddling had been the most enthusiastic exponent of fighting their way into the weapons store. He was the senior sergeant and what he said carried great weight with the troops. He was undeniably the linchpin in Lewis’s plea.
As they stood arguing, Collins had taken herself away from the others slightly and stood near the store entrance. She thought she heard scuffling sounds from inside. Gingerly and timidly at first she pleaded with the unseen man in the store.
“Please mister.” There was no answer but she continued anyway. “Please, we really need your assistance. We don’t mean to harm you. We’re scared just like you are. You don’t have to come with us; you don’t even have to open the door. All we ask is that you let us have any ammunition and weapons that you can spare. All we’re trying to do is to survive for one more day but we can’t do that without your help. Please…” Her voice faltered and she started to sob and turned away from the door.
Still silence.
The soldiers stopped their conversation for a few seconds, staring at the store hopefully and none more so than Lewis, but there was no answer from within.
“I’d say he has just made the decision a lot easier,” Straddling said gruffly. He quickly raised his pistol and flicked the safety catch off. “He’s jeopardising us all and I am not going to allow it. You speak for yourself sir but not for me. I’m going in.” He glanced at Hutchison as he stepped defiantly towards the shop. “Anybody else backing me up?”
Hutchison’s hand went to his pistol but flickered there hesitantly. Straddling glared at him and he slowly drew it, as did Newman who fell into step behind him.
Lewis could feel the eyes of the group heavily upon him. Like lead, his hand raised his own pistol and aimed it at his senior sergeant’s back.
“Not one step further sergeant.” His voice did not sound like his own but came from a distant place. “I am in charge here and I have made my decision. We are not going in and that’s final.”
There was silence. Everyone froze in the little vignette that was playing out. Hutchison and Newman both wavered, looking uncertain. They glanced at their senior sergeant for a cue. Straddling looked back over his shoulder in amazement at his commanding officer. With the colour draining from his face he took a deep breath.
“To be honest, sir,” he said slowly with a sneer on the last word, “I am in charge of my own destiny. We desperately need more ammunition, otherwise we are all going to die. So actually, I am going to go in there.”
“There is an alternative,” Lewis reasoned, his gun still pointing directly at Straddling’s back. “There’s another gun shop nearby - we can get weapons and ammo from there.”
Hutchison and Newman looked at each other and slowly stepped backwards, away from Straddling.
“Stradz,” Hutchison pleaded, “let it go.”
Straddling ignored him. “If you’re gonna pull it then you’d better be prepared to use it,” he said to Lewis, “‘cos I’m still going in there. You’re just gonna have to shoot me in the back if you want to stop me.”
“Straddling!” Lewis barked.
He never got the chance to finish his sentence, nor carry out his threat. There was the sound of metal scraping and a muffled voice called out from within. “Wait.”
The voice was quiet and Collins was uncertain that she had heard correctly. The soldiers all looked at her, standing near the weapons store. Nothing more was said and they shifted impatiently where they stood. Nobody moved. Lewis and Straddling looked like two figures from a frieze. Then there was a bang and a grunt. The metal shutter rattled and was raised a couple of feet off the ground by unseen hands and the stench of human waste wafted out from the darkened interior. A large, wooden box was shoved out and then the shutter clattered back to the floor and there were several more banging and scraping noises as padlocks and chains were reapplied. Then silence once more.
Collins knelt by the box and slowly raised its lid, squinting inside before delving in and rummaging around. Apart from Wood, all the other soldiers now peered keenly at her and Straddling quickly moved to her side. Wood had distanced himself deliberately from the proceedings in order to keep watch and not get distracted.
Straddling looked up. “It’s the correct ammo for both SA80s and Brownings. Quite a lot of it too. I think we’re sorted.”
“Anything else?” Lewis asked.
“Nope, but that should just about do us I’d say; for a while at least.”
“Okay everybody back in the vehicles,” Lewis quietly released the breath he did not know he had been holding. “And thank you,” he said to the silent building but there was no reply. Collins also called out her thanks and she could imagine the man within deliberating whether to reply or not. Straddling cast a dark glare at the building and then scowled at Lewis’s back as he climbed into the Land Rover. His hand fingered the pistol as he closed the door.
As they drove away Darby, whose eyes were still glued to the road ahead, spoke with a frown. “Wow. That was intense, phewee.”
“Just drive Darby,” Lewis muttered.
“But how did he know what ammo we needed? We never told him.”
“Hmmm, I guess he must have been watching us quite closely,” Lewis mused. The thought of whoever was inside the building scrutinizing them all the time they spoke, probably with a gun trained on them throughout, chilled him. Would they have opened fire the moment Straddling and accomplices returned to the entrance? Exactly how close had they come to being shot by that unbalanced man and how many would have been killed?
Wood leaned forwards from the back seat. “Admirable move back there boss. A man with principles, I admire that.” He clamped a hand on Lewis’s shoulder.
“Thanks.” It had been an extremely tense moment for Lewis and Wood’s support was comforting.
“That could have played out very differently.”
“Hmmm.” Lewis still had the distinct feeling that his position of command was now tenuous at best and he may not withstand another confrontation. He was extremely grateful that they had not come away empty handed; even more that the situation had not deteriorated further. “Could have done with a few shotguns though, that would have been really handy.”
“Well as you said earlier, there’s another gun shop nearby so we could always try there. Where exactly is it?” Wood asked.
Lewis looked round at him with a sheepish expression. “To be honest I haven’t got a clue where any other gun shop is. I was just trying to diffuse the situation.”
“Sheesh man!” Wood said with a grin, and sat back in his seat.
The next item on the shopping list was fuel. They had passed a small petrol station on the edge of Stansted Mountfitchet and that was where they now headed. Pulling up outside Lewis ordered them into defensive positions as before. There was no sign of life anywhere as they started to unload the forty-four gallon drums from the back of the Bedford, being careful not to dro
p any and attract unwanted attention as Senior Aircraftman Samuels had on the previous scavenging mission. Vallage had not been off base on previous missions and was decidedly nervous although he would not admit it. He chatted animatedly as he passed the drums out of the lorry. It was the most talkative that either Neale or Scovell had ever seen their ordinarily dour sergeant. If they had not known him better they would have said he was actually in good spirits as he cracked jokes and bantered with the two of them. He repeatedly told them they were doing well and praised them for keeping their cool during the earlier fire-fight, so much so that it almost became embarrassing.
“Think the boss has had a personality transplant. Either that or he’s totally lost it,” Neale confided in his friend when Vallage had climbed into the rear of the lorry, out of ear-shot.
“Nah, he’s just crapping himself.” Patrick Scovell was a large Geordie with a mass of unruly black hair, a galaxy of freckles and a distinct turn of phrase. He had been in the RAF for a little over six months, having joined straight from school, and was only just nineteen years old, but the events since the state of emergency did not seem to have ruffled him unduly. Since joining the military he really had come to accept his fellow soldiers on the base almost as his family and had adjusted to the structure and regulations of military life admirably, as if it was what he had always needed. As he carried the barrels he seemed at ease, as though it was merely an ordinary day’s work in a completely normal situation. Neale watched him surreptitiously for a moment and marvelled at how unaffected he appeared. He couldn’t help but wonder though if it was all a front, if it was just easier for him to block everything out and act totally naturally.
The petrol station had a small supermarket attached to it. As they prepared to collect fuel, Lewis sent Millington, Newman and Straddling, who still appeared to be smarting, to have a look inside for any supplies that they could salvage. The building was a low structure with a corrugated roof, blistering white paint that looked as though it had not been maintained in many years and peeling adverts in the windows. The posters were largely outdated and showed glossy images of impossibly tasty snacks, chocolate bars and permanently fizzy drinks. Surrounded by the terror and death of recent weeks they could not have seemed more out of place and meaningless. The shop would have looked tired and uncared for even when it was still serving customers regularly but now with all that had happened in recent weeks it looked alien and made Millington feel peculiar. He could imagine the chime as customers walked through the door to pay for fuel, the banal conversation of the cashier and the chink of coins being deposited in the open maw of the cash-till. As they stepped up to the front door he noticed a crack in the window at the bottom corner. A slither of glass had fallen out onto the ground and splintered, indicating the start of the building’s demise, as though if he came back every week another part of it would be lying abandoned and broken until there would be nothing left except the eternally shining candy bars and a few dusty remains blowing in the wind.
Bang!
The door flew open as Millington heaved against it. The rusty lock splintered, sending the frosted glass door crashing back against the inner wall, making Newman jump. Everyone stopped what they were doing for a second and glanced first at the three soldiers entering the shop and then at the surrounding area. There was no movement so slowly they returned to the activity of gathering fuel and patrolling.
Straddling looked at Millington and Newman. “Let’s at least try to keep it quiet, hey? Guns and torches ready, we don’t want to get caught with our trews down.” He checked his Browning’s safety catch again, even though he knew it was set to ‘off’ and gave his torch a shake which then burst into life. Millington smiled and did likewise. Newman nodded more seriously and hoped that he did not look as afraid and on edge as he felt, then held his pistol in front of him as he had seen done in films.
They slowly entered the small shop, their feet crunching on broken glass that seemed to lie everywhere without any actual indication of where it had come from. Their torches probed the gloomy interior, picking out the detritus from weeks of neglect. It reminded Millington of an old church or an ancient, undisturbed tomb. They were all listening and looking so intently that it took a moment to register the stench of decay. The shop had three narrow aisles. Shelves were piled high with products and there was rubbish, cardboard and tins strewn all over the floor. The soldiers gradually and carefully moved into the shop and peered between the aisles, one at a time, pointing their guns ahead of them in case anyone tried to rush at them. However the shop was empty.
Straddling tapped Millington on the shoulder and pointed towards the cash till. They moved as silently as the broken glass would permit towards the desk and peered over. Nothing. Straddling lowered his weapon and a loud a sigh of relief escaped from Newman.
“I think we’re safe, it’s clear,” Straddling said but there was a muffled clatter from nearby that made the three of them freeze. Millington pointed behind the cash till at a black, wooden door. It was partially hidden behind some boxes that looked like they had been piled there for years and in the gloom they had all failed to notice it. Weapons raised they advanced towards it. There were no more sounds now and Newman started to doubt whether the noise had actually come from within the store at all - wishful thinking perhaps.
The three soldiers took up position at the door, with Newman at the back and Millington and Straddling poised to open it. Millington tried the handle but it was locked so he lowered his weapon and took another step back. Straddling looked around at Newman and nodded. Newman’s eyes were wide and he was sweating. He could hear his heart pounding and he felt as though he might faint. He tried to smile as Millington had done earlier and returned the nod although he felt far from convincing. Then Millington launched himself at the wooden door and the frame splintered.
He sprawled forwards into the darkened room and tried to regain his balance, quickly raising his weapon and aiming into the room defensively. Straddling’s torch worked back and forth immediately. After the initial bang there was momentary silence as they searched the interior and their eyes adjusted. Then in the far corner behind some crates there was an abrupt flurry of activity and a pinched, unintelligible scream. A body suddenly flickered in the shadows from one corner of the store room to another and Straddling tried to pick the movement out with his torch. Newman saw a silhouette loom in the dark that was exaggerated by the eerie shadow it cast. He took an involuntary step back in shock with a gasp. His finger squeezed down on the trigger at the same moment.
“No!” A dark figure stepped in front of Newman as Millington threw himself in the way of the weapon. Straddling knocked the gun up and the shot fired deafeningly into the ceiling.
“No you fool, it’s not one of the infested,” Straddling snapped at the shaking soldier and Newman sagged back and almost collapsed.
Millington had immediately grasped the situation. He swiftly sheathed his weapon and with surprising tenderness for such a large man stepped forwards and lowered himself onto his haunches. Behind some boxes, in the light of Straddling’s torch he saw the pale and dirty face of a very frightened little boy. “Hey little fella, it’s okay, we’re here to help.” Millington spoke softly as he edged nearer, holding his hands out in a placating gesture.
The boy stared wild-eyed at him, screamed and bolted for the other side of the room, sheltering behind the boxes. Millington changed direction and patiently approached him once more, making soothing overtures all the time. “Don’t be afraid. We’re not going to hurt you, you have nothing to fear, it’s all gonna be okay now.”
The boy again tried to escape but Millington was close enough to grab his arm, gently but firmly, and pulled him close. The boy wailed again and lashed out, catching Millington in the chest with his shoeless foot and in the face with his bunched fingers. Millington ignored both and held the boy steady in his arms, continuing to make calming noises. The boy’s protests continued but gradually, as Millington held him fas
t, they turned from screams of fear into the whining sounds of desperate anguish and tears started to flow down his grubby cheeks. Eventually he quietened down as Millington rocked him. His face buried in Millington’s large shoulder and his body went still and lifeless as he passed out.
After the gun shot there had been an alarmed shout from Lewis. “You guys okay in there? What’s going on?”
As Millington dealt with the boy, Straddling sheathed his weapon and turned around to brief him on the latest turn of events. Millington now stood up and walked out of the store room into the light, clutching his most precious loot. “God only knows what this little guy has been through.”
Lewis, Wood and Hutchison were standing in the shop’s entrance with weapons drawn and frightened looks on their faces. All Hutchison could say, over and over again was “Good Lord!”
The biggest smile broke across Wood’s face and Lewis immediately turned around and summoned Williams. “Please come over here. I think that Millington may need the calming assistance of a woman.”
The boy was absolutely filthy, emaciated and stank, as he had clearly soiled himself. Millington sat him down in the back of the Land Rover but ensured that the door on the far side was locked in case he regained consciousness in a panic and tried to escape. Williams found some water and a cloth in the supermarket and dabbed his face gently, enlarging the paths that his tears had already cleared through the grime. Gradually the boy came round and at first, as his eyes flickered, he was docile and still. Then swiftly as he became fully aware his legs shot out rigidly in front of him, he screeched and moaned and pushed himself violently away from his rescuers towards the far side of the vehicle. Williams slowly got into the Land Rover beside him and sidled across the seat until she was up close to him, taking the kicks to the stomach without complaint. Little by little she managed to calm him down until she was able to put her arm around him. He eventually seemed to accept this and buried his head in her chest and started to weep once more.
The Blood of the Infected (Book 1): Once Bitten, Twice Die Page 28