by Ricky Fleet
The swell of excitement was pushing more and more into the water. If they had possessed any intelligence, it would have been a simple task to swarm forwards and fill the river with bodies to create a bridge. Thankfully, the flowing water gave them pause, but with each passing minute dozens more zombies splashed into the stream. The tide was at its weakest and it would be at least an hour before the receding current would drag the thrashing creatures away. At the current rate, the horde would bridge the gap in less than half that time.
“Ok, I want everyone to concentrate fire on the rear. We need to relieve some of the pressure on the riverside. Short, controlled bursts and aim for their heads. Centre mass will not kill them, understood?”
A cheer of affirmatives was the captain’s answer. Charging handles were pulled and safeties switched off.
“On my mark. Three… two… one… fire,” Hayward yelled and all hell broke loose.
The quiet morning was torn apart by the chattering of guns as they opened up on the ranks of the undead. From their elevated position, their slugs tore through the tightly packed horde, blowing apart heads in clouds of green mist. Curving tracer rounds from the machine guns blazed red as it cut lines across the rear of the multitudes. Heavier calibres took heads off completely before gradually losing power as they punched through several bodies. Decapitated, still the zombies remained standing, held in position by those around them. Only as they too were ended by high velocity jacketed slugs did the crowd start to drop away.
Eldridge was yelling her hatred, sighting the festering faces and picking them off cleanly with each shot of her rifle. The machine gunners were doing a tremendous job of scalping the dead, mowing their fire across the top of the pack. Missed shots whistled past, throwing dirt, grass and stones into the air in the fields beyond. Changing out her magazine, she looked right and left, fiercely proud of the men and women at her side.
The tank’s chain gun was chewing its way through the eastern fringes of the dead and the river was starting to run green with the gore of the fallen. Chunks of flesh and sundered appendages went flying from the crowd, splashing into the water and adding to the taint. Hayward watched as the torn bodies toppled under the Challenger’s barrage and risked choking the mouth of the river. Ordering the hulking machine to stop, he returned his attention to the central mass of undead. Thousands of zombies had been destroyed and with each wave that fell, the burden on the front diminished. Seeing the immediate danger had gone, the captain ordered everyone to ceasefire and resupply from the trucks at the rear. Thirty-five minutes had passed since the first shot and countless bodies lay strewn across the fields.
“I haven’t seen them this happy since before the apocalypse,” said Holbeck, nodding at the jubilant soldiers as they collected fresh ammunition, “You’ve given them hope, sir.”
“On the contrary, sergeant,” Hayward replied proudly, “They’ve given me hope. If we can secure Thorney, and then Portsmouth itself, we may just have a chance.”
“A chance at what though, sir? Living in a world of walking corpses?”
“Until we wrest it back from them, yes,” Hayward frowned, “Why the sudden scepticism?”
“My apologies, sir. I was just thinking about the millions more waiting for us outside this island, and the billions across the planet.”
“One step at a time, sergeant.” Hayward could sympathize with the herculean task before them, and patted him on the back. “Now help me with these casings.”
Hayward strode over and took a broom from one of the junior soldiers who was sweeping up the spent brass.
“Sir, that’s my job. You’re an officer,” complained the private, trying to take it back.
“I’m no better than any one of you,” Hayward declared, “Now go and get a drink before we finish this.”
“Yes, sir,” muttered the soldier, trying to find another broom to complete his work.
“Now, private!”
“Aye, sir,” he said, scurrying away to sip reluctantly from his canteen.
“Do you think we should utilise mortars, sir?” Holbeck proposed, “They’re sitting ducks.”
“Not right now,” Hayward replied, scooping casings into a bucket, “We need precision instead of force.”
After the resupply and a short break to ease their knotted limbs, the line reformed and Hayward ordered the next strike.
Heavy staccato bursts issued from the barrels of the heavy machine guns and the bodies at the rear were sent pinwheeling as their heads exploded. Faced with the unforgiving wall of hot lead, the zombies fell by the hundreds. Small fires had taken hold among the slain as tracers ignited dry clothing. The smoke drifted lazily north towards the ruin of Emsworth village and the troops were grateful for the fortuitous wind direction. A further forty minutes and they were left with the front rows of reaching corpses. Each exploding face was no longer met with a cheer, but a sad realization that amongst the dead were friends and family. Recognizable features had been erased by the slow decay which caused the skin to tighten and tear, spilling mucus in a ring around the shoulders and chest.
The tinkling of brass landing on top of other casings was like the sound of winter bells ringing for Christmas and Eldridge shook her head in sorrow. Never again would she tear open presents with her family and eat turkey dinners to excess. Her sister’s beaming face would never brighten again when she returned from an overseas deployment. Guns falling silent, her fellow soldiers all felt the poignancy of the moment and bowed their heads. The last zombies to be shot either fell forward or rolled down the bank into the water which had commenced its unceasing flow back out to the ocean. Torrents of emerald blood flowed from the riverbank and sluiced into the sea. Not one square inch of the field could be seen through the fallen bodies and the twitching blanket of flesh showed they still contained dangers.
It was a contingency Captain Hayward had planned for and he pressed the transmit button on the radio, “Sniper teams, fire at will.”
From the watchtowers and roofs of the nearest buildings, muzzles flashed as the guns spat solitary rounds into the heads of the living dead. Everyone was grateful to those brave souls who didn’t have the luxury of detachment. The Schmidt and Bender scopes provided crystal clear clarity of their target’s face as it snapped and strained under the crushing weight of its friends.
“Sir, can we clear the bridge now?” Holbeck asked, nodding towards the soldiers stationed on the Vikings, “We didn’t want them forming a ramp to gain access during the battle.”
The sergeant was pointing at the remaining eighty zombies which had compressed together into a vile amalgam of rotting flesh. It was hard to tell where one ended and the other began and the putrid mess was only exacerbated by the expelled innards.
“Yes, end them now,” replied Hayward with a grimace of disgust.
With a nod, the troops shouldered their rifles, letting loose their own horror with fully automatic fire into the mound of corruption. Small eruptions of blood jumped like geysers from the melded flesh under the shower of bullets and soon all was still on the bridge. Only the cracks of the sniper rifles broke the eerie silence. Cocking their heads, the troops realised that the incessant groans had become a familiar background noise to their daily lives. Like tinnitus in a person with hearing damage; always there but largely forgotten with the passing of time.
“Sir, the bulldozers and excavators have been serviced and prepared. Shall we begin the burial today?”
Hayward pondered the idea for a moment before shaking his head, “No. The noise of the alarm may well bring more of the dead down on us. I want to be sure that any large groups in earshot have been neutralised before I risk a single one of you setting foot from this island.”
“As you wish, sir,” Holbeck replied.
Turning to the waiting soldiers, the captain had been correct in his assumption that these were true warriors. Stern faces peered back, aching for more opportunities to kill the godless monsters which had risen from the dead.
“You’ve achieved a great victory here today and struck back in the name of humanity. These were but a fraction of the forces we will need to overcome in the war for this world. We will be fighting for every inch of land, for every breath we take from this day forward. And do you want to know something?” Hayward asked, looking at each in turn, “With soldiers like you to count on, I think we might have a chance.”
Standing to attention and saluting, their boots scattered the empty casings far and wide.
“Now let’s clear this mess up and get some breakfast.” He returned the salute before picking up the broom again, “And make it snappy, I’m bloody starving.”
Their sombre chuckles carried out across the blanket of dead and the tinkling commenced once more.
****
Morrow stood over the old army map that hadn’t seen the light of day for years following advances in satellite imagery. Eldridge had her own field map unfurled and watched as the UAV specialist explained his findings from the past few hours. He was bubbling with excitement as he circled important features on the laminated cover.
“After Lieutenant Baxter bombed the first people I discovered, I made sure to keep searching the same area over and over on a loop.”
“Good thinking, private,” replied Hayward.
“Thank you, sir. I only wish I’d known what he would do and I may have been able to save the others.”
“What’s done is done, sadly. Now, tell us what has you so excited,” urged the captain.
“Well, sir. I hadn’t given much thought to the coast as it is so densely populated, I assumed it would be swarming with the dead. But after trying my luck with the River Arun, I figured I had nothing to lose so I gave it a sweep. An area above Selsey town called Ham has a few isolated farms amongst the boggy land of the peninsula. Two of the homes have heat signatures with only minimal undead in the vicinity. Most of those that migrated in that direction are simply stuck in the mud or have sunk without trace from what I can see.”
“That’s excellent news,” Hayward remarked.
“But that’s not all, sir, not by a long shot. After checking inland, I followed the coast all the way to Brighton. There are pockets of survivors on every pier and also Selsey lifeboat station,” Morrow exclaimed, excitedly, circling the points on the map.
“How many?” Eldridge asked, breathlessly.
“Eight to ten in the farm buildings. Twenty or so in the lifeboat station and several hundred spread across the piers,” Morrow explained with a satisfied grin.
“How on earth have they made it through the last few months?”
“Well, the people on the piers have simply blocked or destroyed the entrances,” Morrow explained.
Hayward rolled his eyes, “I’d figured that much. What I meant was how have they managed to survive without food. That many people would consume a massive number of calories.”
“Sorry, sir,” Morrow blushed, “I’ve noticed there are vessels anchored nearby or tied to the structure itself. My grandfather used to go fishing from the end of Bognor pier, so I assume they may be supplementing their diet with seafood?”
“Clever bastards,” Hayward said with respect.
“Other than the farms, what sort of resistance are we facing at the lifeboat station and pier?”
“Massive,” Morrow answered with less enthusiasm, “Many hundreds at the lifeboat station, a few thousand at Bognor pier and tens of thousands in Brighton as it’s a major city. There is also one other place that I found but it will be far more dangerous.”
“Where?”
“There is a holiday camp to the west of Selsey and there are survivors inside the entertainment complex.”
“And why would it be too dangerous?” Hayward was puzzled.
“Because most of Selsey town is at the doors, sir. I estimate around four thousand undead.”
“Shit,” Eldridge hissed with frustration.
“How many survivors do you think are inside, private?” Hayward asked.
“By the heat signature, anywhere between thirty and fifty, sir.”
“And they’re trapped?” Eldridge wanted clarification.
“Totally. They are hemmed in on all sides,” Morrow replied.
“What are you thinking, Eldridge?” Hayward wondered when she stared at the map, deep in thought.
“The distance from the farms in Ham to the holiday park is only two miles as the crow flies and the warthogs can easily travel over the marshland. Being totally cut off means they are running out of whatever supplies they have with each passing day.”
“I agree, so what do you suggest?”
“If we can clear the Farms, it will give us a staging post to launch an attack on the entertainment complex. The dead can’t follow over the terrain so if we can create a distraction and reach the people, we can just do an extraction with minimal danger.”
“That kind of mission would add several days to your journey. Surely the best use of your time is on the larger concentrations of survivors? I don’t mean to be heartless, I’m simply playing the numbers game.”
“The way I see it, sir, is that those on the piers are safe and secure. A few more days won’t mean life or death to them, but may to those trapped inside the holiday park.”
“And if I may, sir? Can’t we ask Admiral Wright to send a craft to make contact with the people on the piers? It would be a whole lot safer than trying to fight through the cities,” Morrow added.
Hayward pondered for a few moments, then nodded brusquely, “I’ll put in the call. Private, get back on the stick and find me more survivors.”
“Aye, sir,” Morrow saluted and left the room.
“Sergeant, you haven’t had much to add to the discussion,” Hayward said to the silent individual.
“Private Eldridge’s thoughts mirror my own, sir,” Holbeck replied, “I think we need to head out as soon as possible before we have a few days of sub-zero temperatures and the bog becomes passable.”
“Ok. Can I leave the selection of the teams to yourselves?”
“Of course, sir.”
“How many soldiers will you require?”
“I was going to request eight in total, sir. Four per vehicle which gives us plenty of room to ferry the survivors home.”
“Granted. The only people I can’t spare are any medical staff, I’m afraid. Command has designated them high value and they aren’t to be put in harm’s way.”
“We all have first aid training anyway, sir,” Holbeck replied, “Besides, the only cure to a bite is a bullet in the head.”
“And I’ve seen how surgical you are with those.” Hayward smiled. “Make it so, sergeant.”
“Yes, sir,” Holbeck saluted, then turned to Eldridge, “Did you have anyone in mind before we see the list?”
“I do, sir,” she said, handing over a piece of paper with six names written down, “What do you think?”
Scanning the list, Holbeck smiled, “I think you’ve picked a great team. Now we just need to see if they’ve been crazy enough to volunteer.”
CHAPTER 20
“Shut the fuck up while I take a look!” Hombre hissed down the dank tunnel.
Pushing against the plywood cover, he encountered no undue weight and climbed the first step. Looking at the surrounding area, only a handful of the zombies remained from Mike and Debbie’s arrival.
“Coast is pretty much clear,” he whispered, “Only a few up there which we can take care of.”
The men nodded in the torchlight and Hombre heaved the sheet out of the way. Making a slapping sound as it hit the ground, the zombies all turned to face them.
“Hustle,” Hombre urged, pulling people out of the hole.
Slit, real name Vince Tester, chambered two shells and raised the shotgun, “Get out of the way!”
Hombre grabbed the weapon and twisted it from his grasp, “You fucking idiot, do you want to bring them all down on us?”
Narrowing his eyes further, which was close t
o impossible, he started to panic, “They’re getting closer, give me back the gun!”
His nickname derived from the permanent facial expression which consisted of half shuttered eyes, and not the false skill with a blade which he boasted about. Constantly smoking marijuana didn’t help the look at all, and his drug addled paranoia heaped more danger on the expedition.
“Have you smoked a joint this morning?” Hombre growled, stepping forward to sniff at the man.
The unmistakeable stink of weed was strong and Slit backed away, now more afraid of the living than the dead. “I needed it to steady my nerves,” he protested.
“You wanker!” Hombre was furious and punched him. “You know when we go out we don’t take anything. It’s too dangerous!”
The zombies were getting even closer but the other senior men didn’t want to seem like pussies and ignored them. Slit licked at the blood on his split lip and was nearly crying.
“Get the fuck back inside, I’ll deal with you later,” Hombre said with disgust and threw him down the hole.
A yell of pain accompanied a crack of broken bone and the others replaced the cover without pity.
“Now listen up, if anyone fires a gun at the zombies, I’ll kill you myself,” Hombre declared, ignoring the female zombie lunging for him.
The group gasped collectively, but he just ducked away to the side and grabbed the creature by the throat. Squeezing tightly, he stared into the milky eyes and whistled, “Hey, good looking.”
Yellow and brown pus streamed over his fingers as he tightened the grip further around her windpipe. Wrenching his arm back, he tore the zombie’s throat out and sent her sprawling with a kick to the chest.
“Declan, catch,” he laughed, tossing the stringy mess at one of his men who shrieked and jumped back to avoid the gore.
“You’re fucking sick,” he complained, wiping at the spots of green blood which had splashed onto his trousers.
“Sticks and stones, Declan,” Hombre chuckled and stamped down on the woman’s head, shattering the skull and spraying more noxious liquid at the men.