by Luke Duffy
25
The old VW Camper snaked its way through the network of roads leading south. It was still dark when they had finally been able to leave the house, the infected having lost interest and wandering off to search for other victims elsewhere. Now, three hours into their journey, the sun was slowly fighting its way up towards the horizon, turning the sky in the east to a deep pink.
“What’s your name?” William asked inquisitively, turning in his seat and staring over the back-rest at the man sitting behind him.
“Brian,” he replied groggily, struggling to see through his swollen eyes.
“What happened to your face?”
“I fell.”
“How did you fall?”
“I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Brian tried to force a smile, but the pain in his head prevented the muscles in his face from moving into the positions he wanted and instead, he grimaced.
“Why weren’t you looking where you were going?” William continued to force the conversation, despite Brian’s clear discomfort and injuries.
“Because I was too busy saving their arses,” he grunted, nodding to the other men cramped into the Camper van around him.
“How did you save them?”
“William, that’s your name, right?” He was beginning to lose patience.
The boy nodded back at him.
“Do you always ask so many questions, William?”
“He’s always been a curious one,” Emily replied in a flat and distant voice without turning to face him.
She remained pressed up against the window, seated next to her husband and with their son wedged between them. She stared out at the landscape, watching the dark hills and trees as they rolled by, barely noticing them as her thoughts remained elsewhere, with her daughter, Paula.
As the soldiers slept, she had sat with the body of her child, wrapped in a blanket and tucked into her bed. For hours, she had held her, sobbing endlessly and talking to the lifeless form. For twelve years, she had loved her child and did all she could to protect and care for her, but the virus had taken Paula away from her, turning her into one of the monsters that were sweeping the globe and feasting on the living.
It was not fair. Paula had done nothing to deserve her cruel punishment that their vengeful God had dealt out to her. She was young and full of innocence.
Despite her grief, she was grateful to the soldiers for having done what she and her husband could not. At first, she had wanted to hate them, but she was incapable of holding them responsible for her daughter’s death. Paula was already dead. She knew that, and accepted it now. What Stan and his men had done was a mercy, saving the little girl the unearthly suffering of remaining as one of the plague’s victims.
Her eyes were bright red from the tears that had unceasingly cascaded down from them. Her body was weak from the anguish she suffered and her chest hurt from the heartache she felt. Try as she did, she could not shake the thought of Paula, still lying in her bed, left behind in the home they had made together as a family.
At least she will remain there, she thought.
She raised her hand to her mouth and pursed her lips against the tips of her fingers, then pressed them to the window, sending out a final kiss to the daughter that had been snatched away from her at only twelve years of age.
“Sleep tight, Paula,” she whispered.
They continued south, picking their way through the detritus left on the roads, weaving between the broken down vehicles and having to crash their way through clusters of the infected. Many other people were also still travelling the highways, some by car and others, on foot. They were all heading in different directions, making their own way towards what they considered to be a safe place for them to hide.
The one thing that they all had in common was the fact that they had been left to their own devices. The long columns of military and police trucks had gone. The soldiers and police had either been pulled out, or they had deserted, leaving the roads to fall into chaos and the refugees to fend for themselves. The sky, only a day or two before, being blackened with the amount of aircraft flying in and out from the country, was now empty and clear of anything that was manmade.
Marty, driving the van, picked his way through the still moving traffic that remained, pushing forward and cutting people up at every opportunity. Horns blasted and people shouted in anger and frustration, but he paid them no attention. His mind was solely focussed on reaching Manchester, headed for the airport and their way out.
“Anything?” Taff asked, leaning forward between the two front seats.
Stan, sitting in the passenger seat, stared at the screen of his Iridium phone, as once again, it informed him that the number he was trying to reach, was out of service.
“Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head, “I’ve heard nothing from them since their last update, saying that the airport was still amber. That was six hours ago.” He turned and looked back at Taff. “For all we know, the place could be overrun by now.”
“We can still take a look, though.”
Stan looked back into the passenger area behind him, squinted at the family of civilians and then back up at Taff.
“Yeah, we can, but I’m not sure about our excess baggage back there. We may need to fight our way through, or out,” he whispered.
Taff took a quick glance over his shoulder.
Emily was still staring out the window, Matthew was asleep with his head thrown back, and lolling from side to side with the motion of the Camper, while William was still busy grilling Brian.
“We couldn’t leave them there, Stan. You agreed yourself that they should tag along and be taken to the airport.”
Stan bit his lip.
“Yeah, I suppose so,” he said in agreement, remembering how lost the family had appeared when they were getting ready to leave after the infected had meandered away from the house.
“The moment they become a burden though, we ditch them.”
Taff nodded and sat back down in his seat next to Bobby who continued to snore loudly with his face pressed up against the window, a river of drool flowing down from his mouth and over the glass.
Hours later, after having to continuously take detours around the impassable roads, travelling along tracks, country lanes and through empty villages, they reached the motorway that would lead them in towards Manchester Airport.
It was daylight now and in the distance, they could see a hive of activity in the sky above the airfield. Planes were taking off constantly and helicopters buzzed around above the buildings, looking like black flies circling over a meal that had been left unattended.
Everyone was now awake and alert, checking their weapons and ammunition, ready to take the fight to the enemy, dead or living.
Bobby turned to Emily and Matthew.
“We’re almost there. Stay close and don’t let go of each other. Do you understand?”
They both nodded back to him, their eyes bursting with fear and their pale drawn faces, glistening with beads of sweat.
Neither of them spoke.
“Good,” Bobby continued, “we don’t know what we’re going into, so be ready to move. Run when I say and stop when I say. Keep a tight grip on William because we’re not here to babysit for you, and don’t do anything, unless I tell you, okay?”
Again, they nodded their response, terrified of what was to come and wishing it to be over as quickly as possible. Matthew reached up, grabbed hold of the endlessly chattering William, and dragged him back into his seat, planting him between himself and his mother and placing his arm across him so that he could not move from his seat.
“Be quiet now, Will. The soldiers need to concentrate on what they’re doing and don’t need you getting in the way.”
Twenty minutes later, they reached the slip road that led them up towards the main terminals. On the final leg of their journey, there had been no signs of life. The road was packed with vehicles, but they were all empty and burned to virtually no
thing, with thousands of charred bodies littering the ground around them. Huge craters pockmarked the embankments, tarmac lanes and even a number of bridges had collapsed.
It was clear that the air force had made a last-ditch effort to clear the area of the dead, running bombing and strafing missions along the choked roads around the airport, destroying countless infected and living people.
Now, Stan and his men sat staring at the terminal buildings, just five-hundred metres ahead of them. In front, the army had hastily erected huge four metre high concrete T-walls that, as far as they could tell, encompassed the whole of Terminal-One.
On the outside of the T-walls, a dark bubbling mass, looking like a smear of brown and black, swathed the length of the walls. It was the infected, thousands of them, all pressed up close to one another as they pounded their bodies against the hard concrete, clambering at the impenetrable barrier.
It was impossible to see a way through.
“Looks like we may have to look for an alternate way in,” Marty grumbled as he leaned forward against the wheel, staring at the wall of bodies.
Stan sat up and watched for a moment, studying the crowd and searching for any indication of a weak point in the legion of infected.
“The whole place is probably like this,” he concluded.
A high pitched rumble filled the air outside of the van as a huge black shadow rose up from the rear of the terminal and soared into the sky. The men recognised it instantly. It was a C-130 Hercules military transport, probably having brought in ammunition and reinforcements and now, evacuating civilians on its return journey to wherever it was headed.
As the C-130 took off, the bodies all around the perimeter erupted with excitement, reaching up for the immense black monster that sailed gracefully over their heads. A ripple flowed through the crowd and the mass swarmed to the right, following the aircraft as it climbed higher and further beyond their reach, leaving a large portion of the wall free from obstruction.
Not all of the infected chased after the plane. Many were left behind, writhing on the floor with smashed limbs or staggering with injuries that left them incapable of anything other than an uncoordinated stagger.
Stan, seeing an opportunity decided that there was no point in waiting and trying to find another way in. He watched how the sea of bodies moved off, futilely chasing after the plane that they had no chance of reaching.
They moved en-masse, fighting and trampling one another as they blindly raced away from the walls and took off along the access road to the main terminal.
“Marty,” Stan growled, winding down his window and placing his rifle into a position where he could fire from. “Go for it.”
Marty gunned the engine, forcing the revolutions in to the red before carefully releasing the clutch. The wheels spun for a moment, and then the Camper lurched forward, headed down the gentle slope that led up to the front of Terminal-One.
With two-hundred metres to go, Stan was able to identify the gate that had been fitted into the walls. It was made from thick steel, he guessed, and spanned a gap of about five metres. Above the entrance, he could see a number of gun emplacements and the bobbing heads of the soldiers as they began to take notice of the approaching vehicle.
To the right, between the terminal and the multi-storey car park, the swarm of infected had stopped. Having lost sight of the Hercules, they had come to a halt and turned their attention back towards the terminal building.
“Shit,” Stan grunted, “they’ve seen us.”
Marty nodded and aimed the vehicle for the gate.
“There’s no way they’ll open up for us now.”
“Well, we can’t turn back,” Stan pointed out, taking aim with his M4 at one of the bodies that had already began to charge towards them. “This tub won’t make the turn.”
Committed to their course of action, with nothing else in the way of options, Marty raced towards the heavy gate, praying that the soldiers above would not treat them as a threat and convert their VW into a tangled mess with their heavy weaponry.
With just fifty metres to go, the first of the infected crashed into the front of the vehicle, bouncing to the side and being dragged beneath the wheels. The van lurched and swayed, throwing the passengers about within the interior as more and more bodies hurled themselves at the struggling old Camper.
Stan’s rifle rattled, dropping numerous targets with an accuracy that only a veteran of his years and skill could accomplish. A number of cracks rang out from the interior as Bull and Danny began smashing their weapons through the side windows, and soon, Stan’s rifle was joined with the clattering staccato of their weapons.
Bull was hammering away with short bursts from his machinegun, sending glowing red tracer rounds smashing into the bodies of the infected as they converged on the vehicle racing towards the entrance of the airport. Hundreds of rounds were fired within a short space of time, dropping dozens of the infected, but in spite of the heavy fire and their severe losses, they kept on coming.
It was impossible for the men to make even the smallest of dents in their mass ranks.
“We’re not going to make it,” Matthew was screaming from the rear, holding his hands over his ears and staring out at the dark wall of death closing in on them.
“We’re not going to make it. They’ll get us.”
Brian reached forward and grabbed Matthew by the neck, tearing his attention away from the window for a moment and pushing his snarling swollen face up close to the panic stricken man who was shaking in his grasp.
“Shut the fuck up and hold on to your wife and kid. Say another word, and you, won’t fucking make it. Now get a grip of yourself.”
He released the man and went back to picking off targets as they approached to within a distance where he was able to see clearly through his slatted eyes.
From outside, they heard the steady heavy beat of a Browning 0.5 Heavy Machinegun. All around them, the crowd was being churned into minced-meat as the soldiers manning the defences gave fire support for the little van and its occupants.
With the added help from the troops, and seeing the sea of infected fall in their droves and their advance slowed, the team felt a glimmer of hope.
Marty swung the wheel around and brought them to a screeching halt, directly in front of the steel gates. Seeing the crowd swarm towards them and begin to envelop their vehicle, he leaned back in his seat and began to kick out the windscreen. Stan, realising what Marty was doing, joined him and together, they created a means of escape from the surrounded Camper as the glass was pushed out from its frame.
They scrambled forward, pulling themselves through the window, feeling dozens of cold hands reaching up for them as they fought their way out and up on to the roof.
Above, the defenders of the airport continued to provide cover as they brought their rifles to bear and began shooting downwards, directly into the sea of infected faces that crowded around the survivors.
By now, the VW van had become a tiny island within an ocean of infected and it was under serious threat of being swept away.
“Up,” Bobby screamed, dragging Matthew to his feet as the interior resounded with the thumps and moans of thousands of bodies attacking the vehicle.
“Get up and get onto the roof. Move it, Matthew, move.”
William and his parents were terrified, unable to move and clasping their hands over their ears, screaming over the sound of the gunfire and the raucous cries of the blood thirsty figures pressed up against the windows. Everywhere they looked, all they could see were ghastly faces with pale eyes and gaping mouths, staring back at them and snapping their teeth.
Bobby had to physically push them forward and over the front seats where Stan and Marty reached down from the roof with waiting arms. All around them, the infected tumbled. Blood spattered in all directions as the countless rounds ploughed through their bodies, but still, they pressed forwards with their assault.
Bull and Danny, struggling to squeeze their bulky bo
dies through the narrow opening, climbed out through the rear window and up onto the Camper. Standing with their feet firmly planted, they began to pour all their fire into the infected around the front of the van, covering Stan and Marty as they helped the three remaining members of the family.
William was the first to be passed up.
Marty hauled him through and turned to his left, lifting the little boy high above his head and up towards the grasping hands of the brave soldiers reaching down over the gate.
Two of them caught him by his wrists and lifted him to safety.
Next, Matthew squirmed through the gaping window. He saw the men on the walls, holding their hands out to him, but before he was able to reach them, he lost his footing and slipped. He hit the hard surface of the van’s roof, cracking his head and seeing a shower of stars cascading through his vision.
Climbing to his feet and struggling with his senses, he began to make his move again.
From the rear, at the top of the wall, a deafening bang, mixed with an almighty whoosh and a bright flash, caused him to stumble again. A split second later, as he tumbled across the van, trying to steady himself, the detonation of the missile rocked the vehicle from side to side. The blast wave and ear-splitting concussion caused him to fall backwards over the side of the vehicle, tumbling into the waiting arms of the infected.
Emily, unaware of what had happened and still reeling from the shock of the explosion and the heavy gunfire, was oblivious to the screams of her husband as he was swallowed up by the ravenous horde.
Under the cover of heavy fire, Bull was the last to be hoisted to safety, taking five men to lift his huge weight up and over the blockade.
On the other side, as the infected continued to tear the VW Camper to pieces and pound their hands and faces against the steel gate, Emily looked around for her husband. She began to panic, fearing that he had been left in the van.
“Where is he?” She screamed over and over, turning to begin climbing the steps to the top of the barriers again.
Bobby grabbed her and pulled her back. She fought against him, tearing at his hands and forcing him to tighten his grasp on her as he held her by the arms.