Twice Bitten, Twice Die (The Blood of the Infected Book 3)

by Antony Stanton

  He barely had time to start issuing any further orders before he heard the cough and rumble of the first truck. It jumped and lurched forwards, scraping the barbed wire beneath as it cleared the entrance. It stopped and Bannister climbed out, an old, familiar grin on his features.

  “Child’s play,” he called back cheerily and Lewis had to smile despite the situation.

  This time the Bedford and Land Rovers drove through the gates, into the compound. The delivery lorries were repositioned behind them. They were here to stay.

  Suddenly from the far side of the car park there was a commotion. Five people were coming towards them at pace. It took Lewis only seconds to realise that the lead figure was not sick. He was limping badly but he was a survivor, rather than one of the diseased. He was running as fast as he could, but not fast enough. The four chasing him were closing on him quickly, arms outstretched and talons ready to claw him down. Immediately Wood swung his rifle up and took aim.

  Lewis started to run. “Straddling,” he shouted, and his sergeant followed with Bannister and Hutchison close behind.

  The man screamed as the nearest of the chasers grabbed his jacket but a shot rang out from Wood. The infected fell, a bullet ripping through his chest. The man was now perhaps fifty strides from the soldiers, perhaps less. He was emaciated from weeks of starvation and his gait was unsteady. The determination in his eyes was admirable but not enough to prevent his strength failing him at this, the most crucial of moments. He staggered and tripped, pitching forwards onto the tarmac. Instantly the diseased were upon him. Lewis dropped to one knee and fired. He was within thirty paces but was breathing hard and his first shot missed. His second did not; it blew an attacker’s head apart leaving two more. Bannister had already overtaken his commanding officer and was now upon them. He had ditched his rifle as he ran, so drew his pistol and fired. Neither of the infected had time to react to this new threat as Bannister’s weapon rang out with shot after shot. By the time he stood over them the infected were all dead.

  Lewis shoved the bodies aside, clearing them from the survivor. It was a man in a security guard’s outfit. He had dark, shaved hair and a weathered face that might have looked healthy in days gone by. There were several bite marks on his arms and around his neck, and blood flowed freely down his shirt.

  Lewis knelt beside him. “Get me some bandages,” he shouted and Bannister started to run back to the doctors.

  The man was trying to speak but there was too much blood in his lungs and he just coughed up fluid.

  “Don’t talk,” Lewis said, but still the man tried to communicate. There was desperation in his eyes and he rasped something inaudible as he pointed back the way he had come, at the buildings from which he had emerged.

  “What? What?” Lewis asked urgently, but the man could not formulate any words.

  Bannister arrived with Dr Handley. He quickly tore open his medical kit but the man’s arm dropped to the ground. His eyes closed and the frothing of blood at his mouth ceased.

  Immediately Lewis was on his feet looking all around. Nobody else approached, all was still. The man had come from around the far corner of the laboratories that they had searched before, perhaps even from a different building.

  “I think we’ll have to check in that direction, but later,” he said. “Let’s get back to the others, now move.”

  The incident had shaken them all; the sudden activity and sight of more diseased was entirely unnerving, but as well as that it had given a glimpse of the possibilities. There were clearly more survivors so possibly they had been right to return. Now Lewis wondered if they would find anyone else. Perhaps they would find some of those who had been involved with the Dem-buster’s production and could help them with their quest. Throughout the incident all eyes had been on the fracas, watching the man run for his life and the tragedy that unfolded. All eyes had been turned away from the vehicles. All eyes had missed something of vital importance. If anyone had been looking back they might have noticed something that would have quashed any flicker of hope; something that would have hinted at the further tragedy in store for them all and would have reinforced Lewis’s earlier feelings of trepidation.

  Unaware of the ominous oversight Lewis gathered his troops to him. “I don’t want any heroics or mistakes. This is a zero-loss mission. We take it slowly and we seal the place down, one zone at a time. If it takes us a week then so be it. I don’t want anybody to let their guard down, even for a second. Conserve your ammo, but if you need to use it then bloody well use it.”

  “What’s your plan boss?” Straddling asked.

  “The westerly part was fairly useless to our needs, nothing more than offices really. So we seal the fire doors to the west of the entrance and leave it to go to hell. It seemed that the easterly area is more important. We’ll work through it slowly and methodically, making it safe as we go. We’ll secure the dining room and set it up as our living area. That’s it for now. We can alter the plan as we need. Anything else that we should know Bennett?” He turned to the scientist who was standing nearby.

  “There are some sleeping quarters that we used for patients. They might be useful,” Bennett replied. “And also there’s a secondary lab behind this main building, in the direction from which that poor man was running. That’s where the preliminary drug production took place. If you’re serious about creating an antidote then we’ll need to clear that too.”

  “We didn’t even go in there last time,” Lewis sighed. The thought of a new building that was potentially full of diseased people filled him with fresh horror. “Okay, we’ll start with the same entry point we used before. We’ll establish a safe haven. Then we can think about getting to work on the cure and investigating this other lab. But safety first. Any questions?”

  The laboratory stood before them, silent and ominous. The hush felt like a cruel juxtapose to the horrors within, as though daring them to run the gauntlet once more. ‘How many will I permit to live this time?’ the building seemed to be taunting. ‘How many will remain in my depths, corrupted and changed by this monstrous beast of a disease created within my very walls?’

  The doctors were now too valuable to endanger so initially only soldiers were going into the building. All others would remain in the rear of the Bedford. The tale-gate would be raised, giving adequate protection from any passing diseased. Since they had left the vampires long behind it was assumed this would be a secure place for them to wait until it was safe enough for everyone to enter. Lewis wanted maximum firepower with him but he thought it best to leave a small contingent of soldiers just to ensure the safety of the medical team. Hence Charlotte Collins, May Williams and Newman all remained behind. That left thirteen soldiers to brave the insanity once more.

  “I can’t believe we’re actually going back in there,” Bannister muttered.

  “We must be as mad as they are,” said Matthews.

  The wary group of soldiers stood in front of the same entrance they had used before. Lewis looked at them all. Every one of them brandished a weapon, a torch and an expression of fear. The last place on earth that any of them wanted to be and it was exactly where they were going. He took a pace forwards, pushed the door open and stepped through.

  The same smell of odour and death greeted them, the same fetid funk of waste. Lewis shuddered.

  “Get those doors locked quickly,” he said to Straddling who barked out orders to the troops. A chain was slung through the handles of the fire doors to the west, and padlocked. With torches slicing through the gloom Straddling repeated the process on the upper floor. So far, so good. To know that they were protected from behind at least was a great comfort for Lewis. Now to venture into the bowels of the building again. Seven of them would clear the first floor, led by Wood as before. Lewis would take the remaining soldiers along the bottom. Despite the disadvantage in splitting their force, it meant that they could not be crept up on from the rear, and there really was no alternative.

  Beyond the en
trance and the reception desk the doors stood awaiting. Reluctantly Lewis pressed his hand against the cold metal handle and pushed. The door silently opened. There was a slight waft of musty air but no noise. He opened it further and peered through, shining the torch. There was no movement. It seemed empty.

  “Maybe they’re all dead,” Corporal Pellegrini whispered with eyes wide.

  “Unlikely,” Lewis replied. “We left a fair few behind when we ran out of here last time. Let’s just try and keep things quiet so as not to bring them all down upon us simultaneously.”

  They had slightly new tactics that they hoped would prevent announcing their presence to the entire horde of crazies all at once. Their second visit to the gun shop had been fruitful, for them at least. They now had two crossbows, both of them the ‘Barnett Ghost 410’, a North American design and a best seller in the UK. André had raved about them. His eyes had shone with passion when he had spoken of them.

  “They’re well-balanced with a short axle-to-axle length,” he had enthused. “They have a bolt velocity of four hundred and ten feet per second. That’s just about the best on the market, and an accurate lethal range of over seventy yards. They’re powerful enough to take down any living creature on the planet; apparently,” he added sheepishly. Clearly whoever had written that particular review had not lived in times such as these. However, they were silent killers and exactly what the soldiers needed to eliminate the diseased surreptitiously - as long as they could wield them properly, which was yet to be tested.

  In addition, each of them now had a knife, of one sort or another, strapped around the waist, calf or tucked inside the jacket. André’s passion for all things hunting clearly extended beyond guns. While he issued the soldiers with weapons he spoke fondly about them, describing their virtues and vices and how best to gut a zombie with one, should one’s gun jam at that crucial moment.

  “If it comes down to mano-a-mano,” he had said as he reverently handed one to Lewis, “then I would highly recommend this little beauty. The ‘Randall 18’ hunting knife, same one that Rambo used in ‘First Blood’. This’ll put a smile right across their faces, if you catch my drift.” He winked as he traced a line from ear to ear. “It’s got a lethal, sharp point and twelve saw teeth on the edge; the same number of years that Rambo served in the military and the same number of men he had with him in his ill-fated army team in the book that they adapted into the film.”

  Also the same number of soldiers that Lewis now had with him.

  “You could slice a zombie from nuts to neck with the smooth blade and the serrated edge would even cut through barbed wire,” André had promised.

  Lewis hoped it would not come down to a hand-to-hand brawl as he doubted any septics would remain still long enough for him to perform that particular surgical operation. Still, it was better to have it and not need it than vice versa.

  The soldier that André had showed the greatest affinity for however was Sergeant Wood. Perhaps he had sensed that here was someone who knew as much, or more, than he did about his cherished hobby, only this was someone who had put it into practical use. He tried to draw Wood on a number of subjects related to the art of weaponry throughout the evening, and Wood had obliged him with idle chatter.

  “So what’s the best way to kill a man?” André had asked him almost reverently. “In case I have to deal with any of the infected.”

  Wood had taken his time answering. He stared thoughtfully at André, assessing him before he spoke. “A single shot through the back of the skull,” he replied quietly, “where the base of the cranium meets the spine.” He pointed at the back of his own head. “A bullet will find least resistance there; that’s where the bone is weakest. An upwards trajectory of roughly forty degrees will take out the cerebellum, the temporal and frontal lobes. It pretty much turns the entire brain to mush. There won’t be much left after that. Should just about do the trick.”

  Lewis and his group of soldiers reluctantly left the GVF reception. The doors quietly swung closed behind them. They stood still, adjusting to the low light levels. There was no sound from the building. They were all concentrating so hard that they quickly forgot the musty smell. Lewis took a hesitant step, trying not to make too much noise with all the rubbish underfoot. There was no reaction from the corridor. His troops shuffled after him. Not all of them had been on the previous mission to GVF but everybody had heard enough to terrify them. The far doors loomed and still there was nothing. The offices along the corridor were all empty and Lewis found himself braced to push open the next doors. With a beating heart he reached out for the handle, just as the door wobbled and moved inwards. A young man stood there, illuminated in half a dozen torch beams and for a moment everyone froze. He was a shade shorter than Lewis. His hair was black and had fallen out in clumps and there were gaps in his teeth. His red eyes blinked at the sudden intrusion of light and he let out a soft moan that shattered the impasse.

  Lewis grabbed the door and slammed it shut. It smacked into the man, sending him tumbling as Lewis leapt backwards. As one, the soldiers edged away, waiting to see what would happen.

  “It’s on you Hutch,” Lewis said quickly.

  Moments passed and he glanced nervously over his shoulder but behind was still clear. Then the door was thrust open with a screech as the man lunged through. He barely managed to get a single step beyond it. From a little over five paces the crossbow was deadly and accurate. Sergeant Hutchison had shouldered the weapon and was aiming already, and he absolutely nailed it. The force of the bolt was enough to knock the diseased off his feet and he was dead instantly. It had hardly made a sound. The only noise was that of the man crashing to the floor.

  “Four hundred and ten feet a second,” Bannister whistled softly. “That’ll just about do it.”

  “One hostile down. Crossbow totally effective from five yards,” Lewis said into his radio.

  Wood’s party had already cleared the first stretch without incident. They had passed through the doors and into the second section. After their previous experience of the place it all just seemed too quiet. As before, they had stood still for a couple of seconds, adjusting and scanning. There was a sound and they froze. A soft rasping came from the far end of the corridor. Wood’s torch picked out the shape of a person a good twenty metres away. It was a middle aged man wearing a torn, blue suit. He lay on the floor with his body distorted. He stretched a gnarled hand towards them and moaned as he raised himself up. Reaching out to them he tried to crawl but he could only move slowly.

  Wood raised a hand to instruct the soldiers not to react. “Matthews, you ready for this?” he asked.

  The young soldier nodded and stepped forwards, sighting.

  “Take your time,” Wood advised. “This target’s a freebie. Make it count.”

  They did not have an inexhaustible supply of bolts so Private Bruce Matthews had only had a limited amount of practice. He aimed carefully. His finger tightened and the bolt released. It was way too fast for them to follow. Without any sound to guide them it was hard to see where it had gone. However, the man almost immediately jolted and slumped to the ground. Wood’s torch picked out the bolt through the top of his head. Just then the radio crackled and Lewis reported the hostile down.

  “Five yards, pah!” Wood exclaimed and patted Matthews on the shoulder. “One contact also. Effective range at least twenty paces. Out.”

  Each office that they passed, each corpse they gingerly edged around, was familiar; sights of horror indelibly scored into their memories, gruesome reminders of the traumas of only three long days previously. Both parties arrived at the next staircase without further incident. Gratefully they reconvened on the stairwell, like long lost brothers. There was not much to say however. Their task had only just begun. The paucity of encounters so far was clearly unlikely to hold. After all, they had previously fled from a fair number of diseased who must still be there… somewhere.

  “We’ll clear the cafeteria now,” murmured Lewis. �
��It’ll be useful. We can move all the troops in and set up our initial base.”

  Wood just nodded and said nothing.

  Straddling quickly had the doors to the east on the ground and first floor padlocked. This would prevent the areas they had already checked from being compromised and they could then clear these new sections when it suited. The top floor corridor to the west had been useless before so they sealed that zone as well, leaving just the canteen. There was debris on the ground and bullet holes in the doors, the result of Wood’s previous desperate escape from within. Lewis peered cautiously through the glass panel but could see nothing - too dark. He nudged the doors ajar and crept inside with Wood, Hutchison, Matthews and Bannister in tow.

  The immediate flooring was scorched from one of the Molotov cocktails. The odour of the room was of sweet decay. They all stayed by the doors, crouched and quiet, straining to hear or see any signs of life. There was nothing. Lewis slowly half stood and flicked his torch on, just at the very moment when there was the sound of scraping furniture. He turned the torch off again and froze, searching for the source. Wood meanwhile was searching in his shoulder bag and pulled something out.

  “A present from André,” he said as he slipped the night vision goggles on.

  They were not of the highest specification and they only covered his right eye but it allowed him to see with great clarity even in such low light. He held up four fingers and pointed. Four hostiles, two o’clock. The others tried in vain to penetrate the darkness. Wood nudged Hutchison and reached for the crossbow. He fitted a bolt and stood, nestling the weapon in his shoulder as he aimed through the monocular. Nobody else moved. He paused and took a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders. He closed his left eye and pursed his lips as he squeezed. The bolt released with a twang and was immediately lost to the darkness. The others waited, wondering. There was a thud from somewhere in the room. Wood silently cursed and shook his head. He had fired slightly to the side. Fortunately the silence of the bolt had not alerted the target. Quickly he reloaded and sighted once more. The bolt released and this time there was a different sound of impact, accompanied by a wet gargling and a crash as the woman fell. Wood reloaded quickly and repeated the process. This time as he was fitting the bolt something must have alerted the intended victim as there was a screech. Furniture was overturned as the hostile saw its prey and charged. Wood did not panic however. He followed the path of his prey and fired. The man had got within possibly ten paces and the others caught a glimpse as he fell. There were more cries from the room and suddenly everything speeded up.