‘Your mate?’ Leon whispered, stepping gingerly over a lump of something on the floor.
Once again, Steve looked down at the body, turned back to Leon and shrugged his shoulders.
‘I don’t know,’ Steve replied softly.
‘Well, at least he didn’t come back, man,’ Leon said, shaking his head.
‘Not much of a consolation,’ Steve thought to himself, averting his eyes from what looked like a partly chewed ear on the floor.
It was then that Steve noticed the third body in the lab. Slumped in a corner and covered with a sheet, this corpse showed no signs that it had been attacked by the Dead. When Steve pulled the sheet back to reveal Dr Morris with a thin, but fatal, slash across his throat, he knew the scalpel blade he’d tossed Alice had at least managed to even the score a little. Perhaps Alice and her baby had even managed to escape this slaughter. He hoped so.
‘Come on let’s…’ Steve began, turning to Leon as he stood.
Stepping through the doorway was Clarkes, or rather, what was left of him.
‘Look out!’ Steve shouted, as Clarkes lunged clumsily towards Leon.
Spinning to meet the danger head on, Leon let one of his knives fly from his fingertips. Before the knife had even met its target, he was reaching for its replacement from the channels sewn into the front of his jacket. However, just as the knife was about to hit home, Clarkes slipped slightly on the wet floor, causing the knife to land harmlessly deep in his cheekbone.
‘Fuck!’ snapped Leon, taking a small step back from the Dead man reaching for him.
Clarkes had been a real A-grade bastard in life and deep down, Steve was not sorry to see what had become of him in death. The wounds inflicted on the man during his attack had obviously caused him to bleed to death. Much of the flesh from his throat up to and including his bottom lip was now gone, together with the all-important arteries and veins. A ragged tear of skin and bloody flesh ran from the corner of his mouth to just under his ears, exposing his blood smeared jawbone that was dotted with lumps of sickly yellow fat. In fact, if not for a few remaining tendons keeping it in place, Clarkes’ jaw would surely have fallen away from his face entirely. With a cry, Leon suddenly launched himself at the Dead solider, his blades gripped tightly in the hands he held high above him. With a ‘thunk’, Leon’s fists connected with the side of Clarkes’ head and for a split second nothing happened. Then, as the knives ripped through his Dead brain, the arm that had been reaching for Leon fell uselessly to his side. Piece by piece, Clarkes’ brain began to shut down and within a few seconds, his body collapsed to the floor, truly dead this time.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Leon said, removing each of his knives from Clarkes’ head with a swift tug.
‘Yeah,’ Steve agreed. ‘Alice and her baby aren’t here. Let’s hope the others have had better luck.’
Stepping over Clarke’s body to leave the Med lab, Leon suddenly pulled Steve down into a crouch.
‘What?’ Steve whispered, looking about him for more danger.
Leon silently pointed over to the holding truck where two, very much alive, soldiers stood with their rifles pointed at Imran and Patrick. Standing by the two unexpected arrivals, Hills and Streiber, was also a woman. She had clearly been on the wrong end of a good beating and even from where Steve sat, hidden from view; her vacant glassy expression told him that she had been forced to endure more than she was capable of coping with.
‘Shit!’ Steve muttered, wondering what to do now.
***
‘And Steve said it’s pretty standard to drive…’ said Phil to himself, as he climbed into the holding truck cab and looked at the alien controls.
Like Steve and Leon, Phil, Imran and Patrick had crept through the camp thinking that at any moment the Dead would lunge at them from the shadows. Thankfully, despite the mournful calls that drifted to them on the breeze, they had only encountered the bloody evidence of their passing. As Phil was the only one who had driven anything larger than a family car, it was decided he would drive the holding truck. Now that he was sitting there trying to figure out what the various dials and levers were for, he realised there was a world of difference between this monster and the old butcher’s van he used to drive.
Outside, Imran and Patrick had gone to the back of the truck to check on the civilians. Relieved that the door was still bolted from the outside, the pair hoped their friends, safely locked away, had been missed by the Dead that had brought such rampaging slaughter to the rest of the camp.
‘Keep watch and I’ll check out inside,’ Imran whispered to Patrick. ‘Fingers crossed…’
Slowly, Imran pulled back the bolt and swung open the door. Holding the door wide, an oblong of silver moonlight seamed to spear the darkness within. Stretching across the floor of the truck and partway up the end wall, it highlighted the body of a man with one arm raised above him. It was only when Imran looked closer that he could see the raised arm was actually handcuffed to a ring on the wall above. Imran did not recognise this man but from what Jen had told them, the convoy had been collecting people for the last few days. Whoever this poor soul was, he had surely been stolen away from those he loved just like the rest of the Lanherne group.
Stepping into the truck, Imran let his eyes become accustomed to the dim shadows and it was then that he could see the people for whom he had been searching. Like the unknown man, Cam, William, Damian and Rich, together with another male stranger, had all been restrained with handcuffs. The women and children of the group were also thankfully there. Nicky sat slumped against Rich with a floppy looking Samantha in her drooping arms, while Penny was lying on the floor, her hand reaching out to Alex who was lying motionless nearby. Little Jimmy, Samantha’s brother, had also collapsed on the floor near Bailey, for all intense and purposes looking like a pair of puppets with their strings cut. There was also another woman on the floor, Imran did not recognise her either, but as her hand seemed to be stretching towards one of the unknown men, he assumed she was the woman Jen had told him about that had decided not to try to escape but stayed with her husband. Imran’s first thought was that they were all dead and at any moment, they would jump up on mass and attack. But as he stood there, the bow in his hands ready to consign his friends to the oblivion their deaths deserved, he realised there didn’t seem to be any signs that these people were dead at all. The soldiers would not have killed them. They had spent too much time collecting this precious cargo and even if they had not been fed and watered, surely it hadn’t been long enough for any of them to die of thirst. Stepping further into the shadows, Imran knelt down next to Penny.
‘You better not bite me, girl,’ he muttered, moving his head slowly down to her chest.
What he heard there made a smile creep slowly across his face, a heartbeat, slow but steady, pounded in her chest. Moving over to Alex, he was relieved to find the small child was also only unconscious. What made all of them lapse into this fairy tale slumber at the same time was beyond him, but at least they were all alive and safe.
‘They’re all okay,’ Imran whispered, turning to Patrick. ‘They seem to be knocked out but…’
Imran’s words faltered. There, standing in the doorway, was a soldier with a rifle pointed at him.
‘Well, what the fuck do we got here?’ said Hills, casually targeting a point on the young man’s head. ‘Drop it, Raghead.’
With that one word, Imran knew they were in trouble. If this was the sort of man who still bothered to pass judgement in a world where the Dead walked and life was so fragile, he didn’t hold out much hope for getting out of this with just a discussion. Slowly, Imran lowered his bow to the floor. From the disturbed look in the man’s eye, he could tell this man was just waiting for an excuse to blow his head off.
‘Outside, Robin Hood,’ Hills snapped, jerking his rifle towards Imran.
With his hands behind his head, Imran walked past the soldier and back out through the door. As he had expected, there was another so
ldier with a rifle pointed at Patrick who was on his knees in front of him. Surprisingly, there was also a woman in torn clothes hanging back slightly behind the second soldier. Imran glanced at her, catching her eye. She had been badly beaten and it didn’t take a genius to guess by whom. As their eyes locked, she pulled the tattered remains of a sweatshirt tighter about her and Imran saw a strange mix of shame and rage dancing behind her eyes.
‘What the fuck have you two cunts done?’ Streiber spat, forcing the muzzle of his rifle under Patrick’s chin. ‘You think you can just waltz in here and shit all over her Majesty’s forces? Well?’
‘We’re just getting our friends back,’ said Patrick, trying to tilt his head away from cold metal of the rifle. ‘The Dead were already in the camp when we got here.’
Like Imran, Patrick knew a man who revelled in the dark pleasures of life when he saw one. These men were unhinged in a dangerously sick way, their grasp on sanity dancing precariously on a knife’s edge. He would put nothing past them.
‘Now, that’s where I think we’ve got a bit of a problem,’ Streiber began, glancing over at Hills with a strange smile on his face. ‘See, in that truck there is some fine pussy and we’ve gone to a lot of trouble to find it, you understand me? Now you calmly say you’re here to take it back? I don’t think so, you fucking pair of shits!’
With the last word, Streiber swung his rifle round and slammed the butt hard into Patrick’s face. With a flash of pain, Patrick’s head jerked backwards and he tasted his own blood in his mouth. Spitting a mouthful of blood onto the snow, Patrick looked up at blankly the man who held his life in his hands. He knew no matter what he did or didn’t say, this man had already decided his fate.
‘You’re in for a world of hurt, boy,’ said Hills, ripping off Imran’s Kufie cap and chucking it into the darkness. Leaning in close so he could whisper in Imran’s ear, he continued, ‘Streiber and I cut our teeth dealing with the likes of you over in Afghanistan. I know lots of fun games we can play. Believe me, you’ll wish you were dead by the time I’ve finished with you.’
Suddenly out of the darkness, a streak of silver flashed through the air. Catching the movement out the corner of his eye just in time, Hills jumped aside. However, his reaction had been a fraction too slow and Leon’s knife sliced through his left cheek.
‘Fuck!’ he said, his free hand clasping the side of his face, where already his blood was flowing freely.
Now was the moment Marie had been waiting for. She did not know who these two men the soldiers had at gunpoint were and did not care. All she knew was that now was the time for her to reap her revenge. She would see them pay for what they had subjected her and her husband to and even if it cost her life, she would have their blood.
With a wild scream, Marie threw herself onto the back of Strieber. Shocked that the broken woman had dared attack him, Strieber reached behind him to pull her off. However, with a strength borne of bloodlust and hysteria, Maria held tight. As he tried to shake her off, Strieber turned his head to look back at the wild banshee latched onto him, as he did so, his eyes widened in fear. Held tightly in her fist was a small tube looking blade and it was flying towards him. With a satisfying pop, the potato peeler sunk into the flesh of Streiber’s neck but Marie was not finished and even as the man cried out and twisted beneath her, she yanked the blade free and plunged it in again. Again and again, her arm rose and fell and as Streiber’s blood sprayed over her, she turned the flesh on his neck to a bloody pulp. Finally, his body could take no more abuse and he collapsed to the ground. Even now, Marie was unable to stop her rampage and she simply transferred her attention to his back, stabbing his already dead body over and over again.
Finally, a single shot rang out and Marie was thrown from Streiber’s back to land in a tangle of limbs beside the man she had just killed.
‘Move and you’re as dead as that bitch,’ Hills snapped to Patrick and Imran.
Slowly walking over to Marie, Hills kicked her body so she rolled over onto her back.
‘Fucking bitch!’ he spat, levelling his rifle on her head.
He knew she would come back and her hungry corpse was just one more problem he could do without right now. Pulling the trigger again, Hills sent a single bullet through the woman’s head and already dismissing her from his concerns, he turned back to the men he still had to deal with. It was then that he noticed two more men running towards him from the direction of the Med lab. Torn between targets, Hills brought his rifle up to fire at the two approaching men. Because of this, he was not aware of the large man throwing himself from the roof of the holding truck until it was almost too late. Swinging back just in the nick of time, Hills lifted his weapon to fire on the falling man and as the man’s heavy body collided with his own, he managed to get off a single shot.
‘No!’ shouted Imran rushing forward with Patrick.
Without thinking, Imran grabbed for the dropped weapon Marie had used and with an animalistic cry, he launched himself at the soldier. Before Hills could fully pull himself clear of the man on top of him, Imran was on him. With a punch, Imran’s hand connected hard with Hills’ chest.
Suddenly, a tight sensation began to spread across Hills’ chest and for some reason, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. The young man’s punch hadn’t been that powerful… something was wrong, something was very wrong, he just knew it. Looking down, he simply couldn’t understand what he was seeing. A circle of red was seemed to be spreading across his chest and at its centre was the wooden handle of the potato peeler. The kitchen utensil had been buried in his chest up to the hilt and as his lungs began to fill with blood and his sliced heart began to fail, Hills wondered what would happen, if he pulled it out. However, he would never find out, because seconds later, his heart stopped beating and one more monster was consigned to the darkness.
‘Imran,’ said Patrick.
He was looking at the hand he had used to roll Phil over onto his back gently. It was wet and covered in Phil’s blood.
‘Well, don’t just sit there,’ Steve said running over with Leon at his side. ‘Pick up his legs and we’ll get him to the Med lab. We need to stop the bleeding.’
With Steve’s words, Imran and Patrick snapped in to action. Imran was about to reach down for his legs when Patrick moved him aside.
‘No time,’ he grunted, pulling Phil’s large body up into a fireman’s lift. ‘Just watch for the Dead, and close the door to the truck. No one else is dying tonight.’
Taking a deep breath, Patrick gripped tightly onto Phil’s hand and legs and walked purposefully, if a little shakily to the Med lab. Even through his jacket, Patrick could feel a growing wet patch of Phil’s blood on his shoulder and hoped there was something they could do to save the brave foolish oaf.
‘Here,’ said Steve, ripping a sheet from one of the beds to cover the gore splattered examination table. ‘Lay him down. Leon, Imran, start looking for something to stop the bleeding, a sewing kit… anything.’
No sooner had Patrick lowered Phil’s head down onto the bed, than Steve had ripped open the injured man’s jacket to see how bad the wound really was.
‘What do you think?’ Patrick said, looking hopefully at Steve for answers.
‘I’m not sure,’ Steve replied, knowing he held a man’s life in his hand, a man who only a few hours ago had risked his own life to save Steve. ‘There’s an exit wound on his back, so that means the bullet went right through’
‘And that’s good, yes?’ Imran asked, thrusting some sterilized wadding into Steve’s hand.
‘Depends on what damage it did on its way through, I guess,’ answered Steve, dividing the wadding and applying half to each bullet wound. ‘That’s where my medical knowledge ends. I guess we’ll have to sew him up and just hope for the best.’
‘We can’t just hope for the best,’ Imran said, looking at the pale and drawn face of his friend. ‘We can’t let him die.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,’ came th
e cold voice of Sergeant Blackmore standing in the doorway, his rifle pointed at them.
Immediately, everyone in the room froze.
‘Thought I’d gotten rid of you already, boy,’ Blackmore said, glaring at his son.
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ answered Steve, quickly glancing down to make sure he was still keeping the pressure on Phil’s bullet wound.
‘Nothing that I haven’t come to expect from you,’ Sergeant Blackmore continued, contempt dripping from his words. ‘Since the day your useless mother brought you into this world, you’ve been one big disappointment to me…’
Steve looked at his father, hate rolling off him, as he tried to find one good memory of the man, but he couldn’t.
‘You know, when the Death Walker plague came I was actually pleased,’ Sergeant Blackmore continued. ‘Humanity finally had a chance to rid itself of the useless, the crippled and the weak. I even thought it would make a man of you, but I was wrong. You’re weak… I should have left you on the mainland like that pathetic mother of yours.’
‘Oh, go fuck yourself!’ Steve spat.
With the words, Steve had always wanted to say to his father finally spoken, he knew the circle was complete. His own father, who had given him life, was now going to take it away again and he could do nothing about it. Sure enough, Sergeant Blackmore raised his rifle and his finger began to apply pressure to the trigger.
Suddenly, Sergeant Blackmore took a sharp intake of breath and made a small stumbling step forward. With a ragged cough flecking blood on his lips, he looked down in surprise at the long blood smeared blade that appeared through the front of his chest. With a grunt, Liz kicked the Sergeant’s heavy body forwards, letting him fall to his knees. While he fell, the end of her sword slowly disappeared from his chest as he slipped down its length.
Five More Days With The Dead (Lanherne Chronicles Book 2) Page 30