by Sean Deville
Sterling saw the APC coming towards them. Although she had a head start on it, it quickly overtook and she altered her course to intercept it. She was a fast runner, often running ten miles in a single day. Now that exercise was paying off, the Russian falling behind. She thought she could hear him cursing. The APC stopped several feet from her, and the back hatch flew open. She resisted the temptation to duck, because Croft was up top firing at anything and everything. Sterling flung herself on board, and five seconds later, Alexei joined her. They both collapsed into available seats, Alexei considerably more out of breath than the American.
The infected were closing fast, and Lane came at them fast, he too hurtling towards the safety of the metal carrier. O’Brian nearly made it, but he tripped at the wrong moment, sending his body sprawling onto the grass. He couldn’t get up before the two infected that were close behind descended upon him with a viciousness that the SAS sergeant had never witnessed before. O’Brian fought them off as best he could, but they pinned him to the ground whilst hundreds of their kind swooped down to where he was. Alexei looked at the dying man for one more second, looked at Lane, saw that if he didn’t close the door now he risked them all and then swung the hatch closed, slamming the inside of the APC with his large calloused hand.
“Go,” the Russian roared. With the door closed, nobody in the APC saw O’Brian die. Nobody but Croft that was, because he was the one who emptied the rest of the machine gun rounds into the sergeant and those infected clawing into him. He knew that, if the roles had been reversed, O’Brian would have done the same for him.
“Bastards,” Lane shouted as he saw the door close and the APC begin to pull away. He could still make it though. Lane didn’t have to see the sergeant’s death to know it had happened. O’Brian had been right behind him, and that was where the stream of bullets that flew over his head had been aimed at. He continued running, gradually catching up to the vehicle that was slowly moving away from him. With a final burst of speed, his legs now burning, he grabbed hold of one of the handles at the back of the APC and pulled himself onto it, his feet leaving the ground. Clinging on for dear life, he looked behind him, saw the swarm charging past the hotel, saw how close some of the infected really were. Hundreds of them had climbed the cliff edges, and hundreds were now coming for him. They would have some time when they reached the main gate, but not much, the APC now picking up speed. Once the inner gates were open, they would only have one chance.
As Croft’s APC neared the wall, the rest of the survivors were already on board the vehicles that would hopefully take them to freedom. They had no choice now, this position was lost. The inner gate was open, the outer one the first APC would bust through, ploughing over the infected that were already gathering there. The flames had kept them at bay for several minutes, but they were already finding their way through the wall of heat which was starting to diminish.
Lane jumped off the back of his ride and ran to the APC nearest the gate. Inside, Hudson, Badger, and Fairgood waited for him, and the rear door closed when the corporal was finally on board.
“Move,” Hudson ordered, and several tonnes of steel surged forward, pushing through the wooden gate with relative ease. The wooden structures collapsed, falling on a dozen infected, who were further crushed as the treads of the APC traversed over what was left of the gate. A second APC ridden by Vine, Bull, and Jack in the back pulled away. Jack could see that Bull was hiding his distress. He had been friends with Phil, and Phil wasn’t here, another casualty of an unwinnable war.
The third APC was driven by Snow. Croft had now retreated back inside closing the hatch. He sat next to Savage and put a reassuring arm around her. She seemed to collapse into him, and they held each other. Across from them Alexei and Sterling sat, strapped in for their own protections. This was going to be a bumpy ride.
“Once you hit the golf course, stay between the red and the white markers. That’s a path laid out to take us through what’s left of the claymores.” Hudson conveyed the message to the three other drivers. “Of course, I doubt there are any left with the number of these fuckers, but better safe and all that.” That raised a chuckle from Fairgood, which was more caused by nervousness than any real comic genius on Hudson’s part.
Behind them came the fourth APC carrying the six final survivors. Together, the small convoy left the now fallen sanctuary and crossed the road onto the main golf course. Infected ran at them from all sides, but as enhanced as they were, their skin and flesh were no threat to the armour-plated steel that was designed to protect those inside from gunfire and shrapnel. Still, the infected tried, clamouring on top on occasion, pulling at the doors and their feet drumming across the metal for those inside to hear. On the last APC, one of the infected attacked the mounted gun in frustration, ripping the ammunition feed belt out of the mechanism. Otherwise engaged, it wasn’t holding on as the APC fell into a sudden dip. For a fraction of a second, the infected was in mid-air, and then it fell from the vehicle, taking one of its kind with it, breaking its neck in the process. One down, millions left.
Eventually, the infected gave up, their combined knowledge telling them there was no way of breaking in to get the delights that beckoned within these constructions of man. So the attacks tapered off, and their consciousness decided on another plan. There were ways to defeat humanity, there were always ways.
Gavin watched it all with growing disappointment, and then mounting frustration. He had goaded the infected into following him, had all but pointed them at the survivors. He had no doubt that they would have gotten around to attacking the hotel eventually, but he hadn’t wanted to wait around for that. He wanted justice, and he wanted it quickly. And now some of them were escaping, and there was nothing he could do about it. Or was there? He knew Newquay, had been here dozens of times surfing with his partner. Memories of long weekends spent lying on the beach, ignoring the ignorant glances their public displays of affection often caused came to him. Those memories brought pain and misery because that life was all gone now. No, he was not willing to allow others to live whilst he suffered so.
Gavin knew the streets and made a calculated guess as to where the slow-moving vehicles would be heading. From his vantage point, his mind ticked over, and an idea came to him. He wasn’t going to let them get away. All he had left in him now was the warped sense of revenge that had grown there like fungus. Even though they were on the move, Gavin could keep ahead of them. The infected weren’t interested in him in the slightest, so he could make his way through the streets with relative ease. They would need to fight every step of the way, avoiding blocked streets and clogged roads. If he was right about where they were heading, he would be ready for them, and he knew the exact place to try it. All he would need was a bit of luck.
10.42AM GMT, 21st September 2015, Brussels, Belgium
Fabrice entered the city, and his army came with him. The Lesser had greater numbers, and they had attacked in huge swarms overpowering his infected followers. But it didn’t matter, because by whatever quirk of fate, the virus he carried was more powerful, more resilient than the one that created the legion with the white eyes. Even as the forces he opposed bludgeoned his conscripts to oblivion by sheer weight of numbers, the London virus took hold in their flesh, burning out the pretender. Despite the initial losses, his regiment began to grow, those that were lost rising up to join Rachel’s undead ranks.
The humans were almost forgotten, witnesses to two great powers battling on the streets of the European city. Across France, the same scene played out, much of the infected there already showing the first signs of radiation poisoning. As the days progressed, they would die, only for Rachel to call them into the fold as they lifted themselves back up from the earth, their bodies warped as the skin sloughed off and the tissues degraded from the nuclear poison that riddled them. Hers was the true force, the true act of God. The undead would own the planet, and let their inferior cousins, the infected, do all the dirty work. But first the war ha
d to be won. And there was no denying that it was a war.
The Overmind saw the threat and tried to combat it. Its intelligence was unmatched, but its troops were inferior in one crucial aspect. They were just as strong, just as fast, and just as resilient. But every one of its minions that attacked the pretenders to its throne were lost from the Overmind’s ranks. It saw threats all around, and still it continued its conquest of the globe, country after country being ravaged by its presence. For despite its superior mind, it had no other purpose than to do what it did. Humanity would fall; the last vestiges of its civilisation had to be crushed under the weight of the infected boot. There was no other way for things to be. And its numbers were growing exponentially; surely that accounted for something. Humanity would die at its hands, and with every mind that joined its hive mind, its intelligence would grow. Despite the evidence in front of it, it still felt it could defeat the fledgling incursion led by Fabrice. Because it had a plan. In fact, it had plans within plans.
11.23AM, 21st September 2015, East of Newquay
Gavin had found what he was looking for. Twice. The first time he had found a discarded mountain bike within minutes and had used that to sprint through the streets of the now-desecrated surfing town. As before, the infected, what few there were of them to be seen, ignored him. They had followed him to the hotel, but once there, it had been as if he had never existed. As soon as they saw viable humans, their attention had been enraptured, calling thousands into battle. On his travels, he had stopped to raid the partially consumed corpse of a soldier, taking its sidearm and ammunition belt. Gavin figured it would come in handy.
The second thing he found was the cement truck. Luck was his faithful partner today, the truck almost in the perfect spot. Riding his bike along the road, he came to a roundabout that had exits left and straight ahead. Straight ahead was blocked by a tangled mass of charred vehicles, but the left exit was clear. Turning the bike left, he found the cement truck. It was parked up in a side drive to a construction site, the driver’s door wide open. Whilst he wasn’t so lucky to find the key in the ignition, the portacabin at the side of it held several keys on a hook on the wall, one of them fitting the engine on fumbled examination. He also found a large empty petrol can and two propane cylinders. In a table by the door of the portacabin, he picked up the book of matches which was advertising some Newquay business that would never again see any customers. His plan began to take shape in his mind.
After a bit of searching, Gavin found the tubing he was looking for, and he used it to suck petrol out of one of the other abandoned cars on the construction site. He’d only seen this done in the movies, and at no time did any actor ever convey the truth about how vile petrol tasted. With the fluid pouring into its new container, he threw up in the dirt, so bad was its chemical flavouring. When the can was full, he set it to one side next to the propane tanks and stepped into the truck.
The vehicle he was going to use had obviously been driven by a complete slob, the interior dirty and litter strewn. With some effort, he maneuvered the key into its slot and turned, the huge engine roaring to life. Gavin guessed the soldiers were on their way to the airport, and if he was right, they would likely pass right past this point, because the more conventional way was totally blocked. For some reason, Gavin felt like he was suddenly blessed. It was as if the cosmos was working in his favour, that he was working to some purpose that he didn’t quite understand yet.
With the engine running and the door still open, Gavin stuck the gun out into the air and fired a full magazine into the sky. From somewhere in the distance, he could have sworn he heard the world howl.
Nobody heard the shots in the confined spaces of the APCs, the roar of the engines too loud. Leading the way was Hudson’s APC. He sat in the front with Fairgood who was driving. In the back, Badger and Lane were deep in conversation. They had become good mates over the previous days, thrown together by circumstance.
“To think, O’Brian was supposed to be giving his daughter away today,” Badger said. There was a look of sadness in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, mate, he seemed like a top bloke,” Lane said. Being hurled into the mix with the SAS had been a revelation to Lane. For some reason, he had expected them to be all arrogant and stand-offish. But they had been anything but. Every one of them had been willing to do their fair share without complaint, mucking in with even the most menial of tasks. The SAS had all treated the general squaddies with nothing but admiration and respect, which had just elevated their status even more.
“He was,” Badger said with just the hint of a tear in the corner of his eye. “A guy couldn’t want for a better father in law.” It took Lane several second to comprehend what he had just been told. Lane watched as Badger took out a picture from inside his jacket, and he handed it to Lane delicately. It was a picture of a woman. She seemed happy in the picture, almost embarrassed as if someone had taken the picture by surprise.
“Shit,” Lane said handing the picture back. There was a jerk as the APC slowed, and Badger put the picture back into its protective pocket. O’Brian had been the best soldier he had ever known, bar none, and a good mate. And yet, one of the most terrifying things he’d ever done was asking the man’s permission to marry his daughter. And now he was gone like so many others. If a guy like that couldn’t make it, what hope was there for the rest of them?
“Coming up on a roundabout,” Hudson said up front. “Roads blocked ahead; we will have to go left.” As the APC reached the roundabout, it swung into the only available exit, the three others following it.
Gavin saw the first APC at the end of the driveway, but he was still trying to figure out how to drive the fucking truck. For some reason, he had sat there like a lemon until he’d finally heard their approach. There were gears and levers everywhere, and he still hadn’t put it in first gear by the time the first APC moved past.
“Bastards,” he shouted to himself and tried again, the vehicle making a grating sound as the gears ground against each other. The second APC passed by and he felt the 1st gear clunk into place. This was not an easy thing to do with one arm encased.
“Yes,” Gavin roared, and he put his foot down on the accelerator. Of course, a truck weighing several tonnes doesn’t just shoot off, zero to sixty in three seconds, but it moved and began to gain momentum. He had wanted to hit the first APC, but now he would just have to do whatever damage he could do. In his peripheral vision, he saw the first of the infected arrive, drawn by the sound of his earlier shots.
The third APC passed, and then he exploded into the road, the truck crashing head-on into the front of the fourth APC, smashing it to the side, trapping it between the truck and a high brick wall, which crumbled slightly onto both vehicles. Gavin was almost flung from his seat, and his whole body was briefly rocked by the force of the impact. It was fortunate that he had put his seat belt on, because that was probably the only thing that saved him from serious injury.
He sat there for several seconds, still stunned by the collision, a finger slowly releasing the seatbelt mechanism, so that the crushing weight was released from his chest. Gavin turned the engine off and ripped the keys from the ignition. He felt dazed, his muscles in his neck and shoulders seizing up. To his left, the other three APCs still hadn’t stopped. Stepping from the now-smoking truck, he almost fell from its cabin, staggering as his feet hit the road’s surface. The APC was well and truly wedged in, and whoever was driving it was trying to reverse the vehicle. There was movement, but Gavin could see nobody was going anywhere in that thing. The APC was trying to reverse, but it was trapped. To make certain, he took the keys in his right hand and threw them off into some bushes in the distance, bushes that now had infected in front of them.
“All yours, boys.”
“Shit,” Croft said. He couldn’t see the cement truck, but he was getting a blow by blow account from the driver of the APC the truck had tried to squash. The only one who could see out of the vehicle was Snow through the d
river’s periscope, and that was useless with regards stuff behind them. The Bulldog was secure, but that was also one of its weaknesses. To have a good look around, you needed to open up the hatch or the back door. Croft would have stuck his head out the top, but he wanted to keep that hatch closed. There were infected in the street around them now.
“It came out of nowhere,” the groggy voice said. “There’s no way we can get past it.” There was a pause, and then the radio squawked again. “Christ, was someone driving that fucking thing? We have infected all over us.” Croft contemplated going back, but the reality was the men in the crashed APC were probably lost. There were too many variables and too many risks involved. Even if they could turn an APC around in this road, which was pretty narrow, what exactly could they do? If there were infected there, nobody would be able to leave the APCs. How could they when the merest touch from an infected individual could doom you?
The two propane cylinders rolled down the slight incline towards the cement truck, Gavin walking behind them carrying the full can of petrol. Two infected ran past him, almost sending him flying, and they ran down to where the APC was, slamming themselves into the metal of its side. The thing was covered in them now, at least two dozen. One of them howled that godless sound they were always making, and in the distance, that call was answered a hundred fold. More were coming; many, many more.
Both propane tanks collided with the cement truck and came to rest. Seconds later, Gavin was there, and he stepped around his battering ram to the APC. He had to push the infected out of the way, which was far from easy. They generally ignored him, but one actually turned and pushed him, sending him sprawling into the road, the can toppling from his hand, its contents leaking everywhere. Nothing attacked him though, so intent were they on getting at the soldiers in the APC.