by Park, Grant
A high pitch scream came from Sarah.
“....and one on the left....” Jim continued, almost casually.
Ethan weaved the truck through the streets trying to shake them off, bumping over pavements and smashing through fences. He aimed the truck so as to pass tightly by a telegraph pole on the left and remove the First Gen on the side, he managed to do so but not without connecting heavily with the back of the husky jolting the vehicle so much that the creature on the top was left dangling from the back for a while, but not for long, it soon managed to heave its self back on to the roof.
“I’m sorry folks, but I’m going to have to do something drastic here!” Ethan shouted over the battering against the windscreen.
He pointed the truck towards some high fencing which looked to have a deep dip in the land behind it, there were wires stretched across in front of them; he was aiming straight for the railway lines. Before Cassie could say anything they were bouncing off of the kerb, through the fence and were air born again.
The cables above passed close to the roof of the Husky, snatching away the First Gen that had seen fit to take up residence there, the other one gripped on tightly, riding the truck like a bull, rage strewn across its face.
Cassie felt the time spent in the air stretch before her; blue skies and fluffy white clouds gave way to lush green trees beyond the First on the bonnet, which in turn gave way to the light grey gravel on the rail tracks.
The grey chips exploded as the Husky made contact with them, hurling the First from the bonnet. The Husky bounced in the air and landed again hard on top of the creature, tearing it to shreds beneath them and rattling across the tracks. They came to rest on the other side of the rails, steam rising from the bonnet.
“I can’t decide whether that was the smartest or stupidest thing I have ever seen,” Greg said from the back whilst rubbing his neck.
“Probably the stupidest,” Ethan said as he tried to turn over the engine, it coughed and spluttered but refused to start. “Definitely the stupidest,” he turned the key again and the engine reluctantly roared into life, though it didn’t sound very healthy as it did, the truck limped away with a loud screech and an incessant clunking noise from the front right; which even to Cassie’s limited knowledge of engines, didn’t sound like it could be fixed in a hurry.
They travelled down the tracks fully conscious of the fact that they were still being pursued, the Husky could only make it to thirty miles per hour without it sounding like it was going to rattle its self to pieces, and that was only once they had reached tarmac. Ethan took a side road and rolled up to an old abandoned building, the sign outside said Shap Abbey. They hid around the back with a morbid view of countless gravestones stretching out before them.
As soon as Ethan shut off the engine he popped the bonnet and everyone jumped out of the truck to stretch their tired and battered limbs. Jim slid quickly underneath the front of the truck while Ethan opened the bonnet and released a wave of steam.
“Well it looks like the axle has gone down here,” Jim’s voice came from below.
“Yeah, I thought as much. The radiator is buggered up here and we have some fractures to the chassis. This puppy is going nowhere in a hurry!” said Ethan.
“Can it be fixed?” asked Sarah worriedly.
“I’m afraid not. We have to make a decision,” Ethan said, “and judging by how bad my last decision was, I am going to put it to the group.
“The way I see it we have two options; we can either cut back into the town just down there to the south east to look for another vehicle, or we can gather as much equipment as we can and head off into the hills to the west on foot.”
“On foot?” asked Greg. “Those things will catch up to us and kill us! I vote for another truck”
“I don’t believe they will Greg!” Cassie put in. “I think they have been following the sound of the truck, that’s why they found us! If we head off in an easterly direction from here that will throw them off course from the way we arrived. We should escape them!”
“And what if you’re wrong?” Greg asked with more than a little heat in his voice.
“If she’s wrong then we shoot them!” Ethan said defensively. “I’m with Cassie.”
“Well there’s a surprise!” Greg muttered under his breath only loudly enough for Cassie to hear.
“I’m up for a walk!” said Jim as he headed for the back of the Husky.
“Me too!” said Sarah as she followed him.
“It’s settled then,” said Ethan, “we had better move fast, they won’t be far behind us!”
As they unpacked the back of the Husky Cassie soon realised that they had far more equipment to carry than she first assumed; there were five large packs, all equally heavy. Ethan and Jim quickly sorted through the packs, taking several items out of two of them and placing them in two of the others. The two lightened packs were given to Cassie and Sarah, the two heavier ones Ethan and Jim took, and the untouched one went to Greg; who harrumphed and hawed as he put it on his back. They weren’t light, as Cassie put hers on her back Greg raised an eyebrow to her to suggest that she had made a mistake, it only proved to settle her resolve.
They headed east, through the graveyard.
_________________________
‘What a bunch of useless ingrates!’
Michaels watched from the passenger seat of the Land Rover as the soldiers swept the area, taking down anything that moved, they ran this way and that, reminiscent of headless chickens, between two large grey tin buildings. Unfortunately the area had been deserted, which made it quite easy to break in to, but it didn’t have any soldiers remaining at their posts that he could take command of.
This was all he had to work with, this bunch of useless ingrates, the dregs of the Great British Army that had been stuffed into a hole in the ground to keep an eye on some half arsed scientists trying to play god. It was their entire fault, all of this, those very same scientists had done this to his beautiful country, and now they were trying to destroy his attempts to fix what they had broken.
He wouldn’t let them, he couldn’t let them. This was his world now. It was his turn to play god!
The troglodyte, Knox, came up to the window to report.
“Area is clear, Sir. The boys are just breaking into the armoury now.”
“I want everything on that list, Knox, and I mean everything! Assuming that any of them can actually read, it shouldn’t be too hard a task; I know for a fact that all the items on the list reside behind those doors!”
“They will do their job, Sir. I guarantee it!”
“Be sure that they do! Once that task is completed you can give them permission to take as many weapons and as much ammunition as we can carry, pile it on top of Fosters if you have to!”
“Yes Sir!”
The troglodyte marched away at a slow lumbering gate. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box, but he was loyal, he knew his place and he kept the soldiers in theirs. What he couldn’t do with a few more morons like him!
‘You can only piss with the cock you’ve got.’ he had once heard someone say, and it couldn’t be truer now.
Michaels stepped out of the Land Rover and waved away the Plebe that attempted to be of assistance to him. It seemed like forever ago since he had last stepped foot in this place, the Grey warehouses on either side of him looked a little weather worn but it still looked the same.
It really wasn’t his fault what happened here before; it was the fault of yet another inept outfit of soldiers that couldn’t follow the simplest of instructions, they were the ones that couldn’t secure the area, they were the ones that couldn’t stop the infiltrators, they were the ones that let them escape with millions of pounds worth of army equipment!
But he was the one that took the fall; he was the one that got court marshalled, disgraced, the family name tarnished, pushed down into a hole in the ground. It was only the family name that saved him. How his father would be turning in his grav
e.
Michaels felt the bitterness rising within him like bile from his stomach; the army had been everything to him, and they had cast him aside like an unwanted toy.
Michaels laughed wildly at the sky making both grunts jump out of their skin. Who would have thought the hole in the ground would be his saviour? Who would have thought that the downfall of his career would propel him to the highest commanding officer in the army? His army! Major Michaels? Why not General?
Or King?
He looked around at the area that he once coveted so much; the largest stockpile of weapons of war in Great Britton. What an honour it had been to be in charge of this place. Had he been allowed to he would have stayed here, and become one of these loathe full creatures. Was it fate, or was it sheer luck that had brought him here? No! It couldn’t be luck, not when that bastard Fosters and his bitch of a daughter had destroyed so much of his plans.
But then, what would be the point of being king of a bunker when he could be king of the whole country? Were they doing him a favour? He knew one thing; he would definitely be paying them back in kind. He would destroy their plans whatever they may be. ‘That daughter of Fosters would make quite a nice queen for me, or maybe just a concubine,’ he thought to himself, ‘willing or not! It’s my world now, my rules!’
The rest of the plebes were coming scurrying back to the Land Rover carrying as many weapons as they could, led by the troglodyte.
“Knox! You and these two can come with me!” Michaels said gesturing to the two plebes before marching down the road, “And bring some torches!” he shouted back to them.
He led them down past the long grey warehouses and round to the right where he knew there laid a moderate sized dark green shed, very unassuming to look at, but that was the point really. He strode up to the door of the shed and turned the old rusted handle one way and then the other, a small panel slid to the side just at eye level revealing a numerical key pad; he hoped the key was the same; the place hadn’t been touched by the raid after all. He punched in the code 95828356, his fingers almost did it themselves through the memory of repetition from so long ago; he heard a satisfying clunk and pulled on the handle.
The door looked like a thin shabby shed door from the outside, but as he opened it you could see that it was at least four inches thick and solid steel. The lights came on as Michaels entered, much to his surprise there was still power to the shed.
Knox sent the plebes on ahead to sweep down the stairs and along the hallways as they made their way through, Michaels still had to keep reminding them of which route to take through the maze of hallways. Rooms illuminated before him as he passed through; as they should for a king.
Eventually they came to another door with a keypad blocking their way, he punched in the same code as before but in reverse, 65283859, and the door opened.
The smell hit them like a wave, a smell that any soldier worth his salt recognised, the smell of death.
The plebs turned and wretched, Michaels pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth, and Knox just filled his nostrils like he was greeting an old friend. As the troglodyte moved into the room bright lights lit up and silhouetted him raising his rifle to sweeping the area. Michaels moved swiftly in behind him to peruse the items he had come for, still holding the handkerchief to his face. Knox moved over to the adjacent wall and crouched down leading Michaels to curiosity as to what he had found. A body lay slumped against the wall surrounded by empty army ration wrappers and other assorted survival equipment, it also looked to have hacked upon its own leg to feed its self, a sorry sight indeed. It held what looked to be a modified G36 rifle aimed at the door they had just entered.
“How can you stand the smell, Sir?” a plebe asked Knox, with his hand muzzling his common accent.
“When your job is to kill, you can’t afford to fear the scent of death, soldier!” said Knox, which was perfectly suitable macho rubbish from the muscle bound moron.
Just then the corpse’s eyes burst open with a struggled wheezing from its throat and the G36 peppered the inside of the door with holes. Michaels jumped backwards, followed by the plebes; Knox fired a single round into the corpses head and it stopped leaving the shots echoing around the concrete walls.
“Hmmph...!” Michaels said, regaining his composure, “Right! Well, let’s be on with this then shall we?”
Michaels headed down between two large metal racks of shelving running down the centre of the room pulling sheets off of them exposing all sorts of strange looking weaponry, from hand held Gatling guns to laser guided rocket propelled grenade launchers. Dust motes flew into the air as he cast the sheets behind him and he heard whoops of joy from the plebes, he even heard words of wonder from the troglodyte; an uncommon show of emotion.
As he came to the end of the rows of shelving he saw what he was truly looking for, he was already sick of bouncing around in that crap heap of a vehicle, the huge lump sat covered in a thick white cotton cloth in front of him. Michaels grabbed the cloth and gave it a hard tug, it whipped into the air sending dust particles dancing in the bright fluorescent lighting, landing in soft rumples at his feet and exposing the matt black bodywork of the TC-360 Urban Pacification Vehicle.
He heard one if the plebes whistling behind him in amazement, it was a splendid vehicle; unfortunately it had proven far too expensive to put into mass production and was only wheeled out in order to impress certain American dignitaries. Having had the honour of presenting the vehicle on many occasions he knew the full spec; twin 50 cal 360 turret, left and right 180 side Gatling guns, front and rear flame throwers with side flame skirts, grenade launchers, three litre turbo diesel hybrid engine with emergency fuel cells, armoured long range fuel tanks, twin rocket launchers, road safe full tracks, deflective explosive armour, I.E.D neutralizers, 360 degree cockpit cam setup, all fully functioning with a minimum of four crew, with room for four more passengers; oh, and adjustable cup holders; he had always thrown the joke in at the end for the Americans simple little minds. In essence it was a modernised urban tank, perfect for the task in hand.
Michaels walked round the vehicle with his hands behind his back inspecting it, recalling all of the times he had dreamed of riding it into battle. True, he hadn’t actually ever been to the front lines during battle, but this was the machine in which to do it. He tentatively placed his left hand in a hole on the side of the TC-360 and the door popped open, he let out a sigh of relief, the hand print locks were fitted with a safety device which removed the hand of anyone whose print was not recognised, luckily his prints were still in the system.
“Knox! Gather some weaponry from the shelves behind you, nothing too cumbersome, we need to be travelling light if we are to catch up with Sergeant Rigby and the other deserters.”
“Yes Sir!” the dog barked, and then barked orders at the plebes.
Michaels climbed aboard the TC-360, took a seat in the cockpit and switched on the onboard computer; screens lit up around him and the engine started, the forward facing camera showed a ramp before him, he pressed the button on a key ring hanging above him and daylight broke through the slowly opening shutters at the top of the ramp. Yes, this would do nicely, perfect for the job in hand.
Chapter
13
Blood on His Hands
Frank rode on the wind. The ground rushed by beneath him as he skimmed the barren earth with wide open arms feeling the wind blow through his fingers. He saw a zombie in the distance at the side of the road and climbed down from the chrome railings at the back of the cab and picked up an oar, steadying his feet as Caleb weaved the truck through the abandoned traffic. He shuffled to the side of the truck and prepared himself. It was one of the scabby slow ones that looked more like a skeleton than anything else; he liked those ones, they usually just stood there and took it, no need to waste ammo, this one was no different. He raised the oar up over his shoulder like a baseball bat and swung down with all his might.
WHAM!
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br /> It took its head clean off, sending it tumbling down the road. Frank danced about on the back of the truck to the sound of the Angels rejoicing all around him, that was five out of five with the oar, he wasn’t so good with the rifle; but those other ones moved so fast, and the road was bumpy.
The truck started to slow down; Caleb had his arm out of the window and was pointing to the left. Frank looked up the road to see a left hand turn approaching, leading up and into the hills. It looked like Franks little game of whack a zombie was over. He dropped the oar and took a rather disappointed seat on the inflatable life craft.
‘“Why do you let another dictate your destiny?’ the angels asked.
“No man dictates my destiny!” he said to the heavens. “I give this man aid so as to gain his trust and make him the first of my army; an army I build for you, to send forth the souls of the dead. Doth this displease you my Angels? If so then direct me, I am yours to guide!”
His words were met with silence. He waited; eyes to the heavens. Finally they answered, “All is well.”
“All is well,” he whispered back, relieved to be on the path of righteousness.
The path chosen was not a well travelled one, least not by cars; it was more suited to ramblers and cyclists than trucks. Frank soon found himself tying the life craft to the rail he had been stood on at the back of the cab and banging on the roof for Caleb to stop and let him in.
“Woof! It’s getting a bit bouncy in the back there,” Frank said as he climbed in the back.
“Aye! Me and the boy were taking bets on how long you would last!” responded Caleb.
“Who won?”
“Me! But only because I was taking a rough route to try and shake you off,” Caleb said jokingly.
“HA! You weren’t far off it mate, you weren’t far off it!” Frank took pleasure in sharing some idle chit chat with Caleb, safe in the knowledge that his actions were blessed by the angels and leading him to a higher purpose. Caleb led them well through the rough terrain high up into the hills giving them some spectacular views, ‘this truly is god’s country,’ Frank thought to himself, ‘my country...! Am I a god? He heard a faint laughter in the back of his mind. ‘Will I be a god...?’ ‘One day, Frank, one day.’ With that he was content.