Salby Damned

by Ian D. Moore

  “Chris, check her out. Tell me what you see at your nine,” Nathan called. The static crackle of the radio feeding back as he released the talk button followed his message.

  Chris swung his rifle around to the woman, just to the left of Nathan’s shoulder and out over the fence. He picked her out, weaving her way through the tufted grass mounds. He watched as the furious scratching of her wound peeled away more skin, revealing a thin trickle of blood and not the usual jelly-like substitute. He picked out her eyes, black and shining from the UV light and impossible to distinguish colour.

  Nevertheless, he felt that something was different. He placed the AWM on the bench in front of him and picked up the tranquiliser rifle, spotting her again in its rudimentary scope. He wished he had time to change it for his own, but she would find the minefield by then and that would be the end; something told him that this woman was special.

  “Weird, mate, she’s weird, and I don’t mean just infected. She clearly is, but isn’t acting the same as the others,” Chris shouted over the radio.

  “She’s got company though, fella, look at the tree line behind her. Another three inbound. I can take one, maybe two, and if we’re going to take her, we need to do it now, before she gets to the mines, or the quacks will be examining bits of her,” Nathan added, with another static crackle from the handset.

  He could just see the outlined shadows of the three inbound deadheads, rapidly catching up with the woman who was now twenty feet from the first of the mines and still weaving her way towards them.

  “Gonna make the call, Nate. I’ll take the shot. Reckon you could get to her? Take out one of the ones behind her and then make a run for it. I’ll get the other two and cover you. Don’t step on the mines; there’s a thin track through them. Stay between the red dots ‘cause, if you stand on one, you’re gonna be toast.”

  “Got that. When she’s close enough, knock her out cold. I’ll get to the gate ready, but first, this,” Nathan said as he levelled the rifle at the nearest runner to the woman.

  Within seconds, he pulled back on the trigger, sending the deadhead on a one-way ride to the Promised Land as the round ripped through its skull, spinning the body sideways as it fell; he wasn't sure if it was a male or female. Quickly, he laid his rifle down as Chris raised the pneumatic tranquiliser gun, resting the centre of the crosshairs at the breastbone of the approaching woman.

  “Stop! Stand still. You are approaching a minefield. Stay still and you will not be harmed,” he shouted, raising his hand, showing his palm and gesturing the command.

  To the complete surprise of both men, the woman stopped dead in her tracks and stared at them both. It took a few valuable seconds for them to react; they knew they had found someone they needed to take alive.

  ***

  The two following deadheads were gaining ground quickly; it was now or never and easier to move the woman sedated than to try to guide her. Chris pulled back on the trigger of the rifle, sending the syringe-tipped dart out and over the fence in a graceful arc as it fell towards the chest of the woman where it penetrated her shirt.

  She looked down at the dart protruding from her body just below her breasts and attempted to remove it, but too late to stop the chemical cargo from entering her bloodstream. Chris counted to just before four as the woman dropped first to her knees and then, with one final dazed look as the anaesthetic took away control, falling forwards onto the wet grass. Nathan pushed open the strong metal gate in the west fence. The two guards covered him as he headed for the woman.

  He ran as fast as he could, given the cumbersome flak jacket. He tossed off his helmet to allow him all-around vision. Nathan wanted to see as much as he could in the eerie blue-tinged UV light. He found the woman and approached with caution. He heard a muffled shout from behind him, distorted by the wind. He turned to see Chris waving frantically, trying to tell him something that he simply couldn’t hear. He took off his flak jacket to enable him to carry the woman. Then, tThere was the crack of the muzzle as Chris fired over Nathan's head.

  The body of a boiler-suited man pirouetted into the ground with a thud of flesh upon the dirt. Without looking, he bent over, reaching for the woman, intent on throwing her over his shoulder. He needed to make it back to the safety of the base fence. Nathan pulled at the woman's arm, sitting her up and resting her against both knees.

  Before he could place his hands beneath her armpits, he felt a thickset arm around his throat, pulling him away from her. He grabbed at the arm, forcing it downwards and pushing backwards, attempting to take his attacker off balance while trying to turn and see. The arm left his throat as a huge right hand grabbed the material of his T-shirt collar, pulling it tight against his throat. It popped the seam of the garment as it stretched under the tension. The force of the pull yanked him backwards; then he felt a fire burning at his left shoulder, the flesh tearing in the ensuing struggle as he tried to free himself and searing pain confirming the injury.

  He knew what had happened; he knew he’d been bitten by the attacker, knew what would follow, and how long it would be. In the seconds remaining, he heard another crack from Chris’s rifle, the round whizzing within inches of his own head as it exited through the upper body of the deadhead man, making him spin away to Nathan’s right.

  He could feel prickling in his head, and his senses began to dull, as if a heavy weight was bearing down upon him, stifling his reactions and slowing the events occurring around him. In his last few sentient moments, he reached for the combat knife at his belt, pulling it free from its sheath. He turned for a view of the man who had come from behind, sidestepping as the man spun with the impact of the round. Flesh and bone spattered him as the bullet passed through the deadhead’s right shoulder. He could feel the mounting rage inside as fleeting images of the crumpled car wreck, from which he had pulled the broken, bloodied body of his wife, created horror and rage in his mind; the virus was taking hold.

  His left hand found the throat of the injured deadhead and held it with a vice-like grip as he looked into the shining, dead, black eyes that now mirrored his own. He could no longer distinguish colours; his world was turning monochrome. He felt cold, freezing inside save for the burning sensation of the rage that began to consume him, fuelling a compulsion to kill.

  ***

  With the last remnants of Nathan Cross remaining, he stared into the choking face of the man he held by the throat and brought the huge hunting knife, held by the handle, blade down, up and over the man’s head before forcing it into the top of his skull and pulling downwards until it would penetrate no more. He sensed the twitches of the man as the knife sheared through brain matter. It sliced the tissues like butter and the tip settled in the lower jaw, having carved its way through the cranial cavity to the hilt, unable to enter any further.

  Chris waved frantically from the tower, having just dispatched one of the running infected, but unable to load and aim fast enough as the other came up behind his friend. He had levelled the scope as he watched the attack, firing as soon as Nathan was clear enough and almost skimming his head in his haste to protect him. Horrified at seeing the bite wound, he dropped the sniper rifle and picked up the tranquiliser gun mid-stride, as he ran down the steps of West Tower Two, running for the gate as the guards took aim with their weapons.

  “I want him alive! Hold your fire! He’s mine. I want him alive, cover me!” he yelled.

  Chris pushed his way through the gate, and almost knocking over his colleague, he stopped just before the minefield, dropping to one knee to bring the weapon to bear upon his best friend.

  Nathan became aware of the body gripped by his left hand and something inside screamed “No!” as if instinct were telling him that the man was the same as him. The prickling in Nathan's head loosened the grip of his hand and the body crumpled at his feet. He turned to look at the woman on the ground to his left; that instinct again screamed “No!” and it contrasted the growing urge to kill.

  He heard something, th
ough it was impossible to tell what it was; there were no words as such, just mildly altering tones, like a room full of people all talking at once. Nothing discernible and nothing clear. Nathan looked towards the fence and saw the bright white light overhead, slightly dimmer beyond the steel barriers. Outlined black blotches were scattered in his field of vision at intervals.

  Nathan glanced down and saw material in his jeans fray, but didn’t feel the pain as the low-calibre round entered his upper thigh. Without even flinching, he began to stride towards the dark, low patch he could see at the gate. A low primal growl formed in his throat as he approached.

  “Cease fucking fire, I said, damnit!!” Chris screamed at the guards, unsure who was responsible for the bullet that hit Nathan.

  “I want him alive! Cover the fucking woods if you must shoot something!”

  He watched Nathan release the body of the man, watched it fall to the ground, and through the scope saw him turn, examining the body of the unconscious woman at his feet, as he waited for a clear shot to fire.

  Chris didn’t have to wait long as sporadic fire to the tree line sent rounds pinging past him, the guards laying down cover while he knelt outside the defences with the scope at Nathan’s chest. As Nathan turned slightly to face him, Chris whispered under his breath.

  “Please, live to forgive me, my friend.”

  The dart found its mark, puncturing the thin cotton of the shirt and penetrating the fleshy skin at the right breast, entering deeply as the impact activated the syringe tip and pumped anaesthetic into the striding body of his mate. He counted from the impact, watching as Nathan continued to stride forwards, one step, two steps, three steps, not quite four, and his legs crumbled beneath him, sending him sprawling forwards not far from the body of the woman they had tried to save.

  Chris wished he had not made that call to Nathan now. His stomach turned cartwheels at the sickening feeling inside as he watched Nathan fall. He dropped the pneumatic rifle, sliding it back towards the guards at the gate, and rising fast, he moved towards the unconscious body of Nathan that had just toppled, whilst four of his colleagues followed.

  “You two cover us. You two get the woman. I’ll get Nate. When we get in, someone call the medics and tell them we have two infected and that one of them is Sergeant Nathan Cross, move!” Chris shouted, his frustration clear but had to be controlled, he knew.

  With no need for further orders, two of the four-man crew took defensive positions, cutting down two more infected souls as the other two men carried the body of the woman back to the gate. Chris rolled Nathan onto his back, sitting him up and placing his hands under his armpits; then he lifted until he could lean his friend against him. He rounded quickly to Nathan’s front, allowing gravity to help the unconscious body to fall forwards as he bent, lifting between the legs and carrying him on his shoulder, back towards the gate.

  The two covering guards laid down fire as they retreated to the safety of the base. Someone had already called the incident in and a Land Rover waited with the engine running just inside the fence. Others helped Chris lower the body of his friend gently into the vehicle, laying him flat in the back, side-by-side with the captured woman. Chris popped the passenger door, telling the driver to go, desperate to get them to the Military Police HQ without wasting unnecessary time; he wasn't sure how they could help Nathan, but he hoped beyond hope that they could.

  *******

  All Hands

  Charles Fitzgerald rushed towards the private quarters of Lieutenant Colonel Connell, banging loudly upon the door in haste and having to wait a few minutes before it finally opened.

  “Richard, we have an incident. You need to come quickly, now.”

  “Charles, what is it? Something happened?”

  “Get dressed. I’ll tell you on the way. We need to wake Dr. Shepherd.”

  Forfeiting formal dress, the C.O. donned lightweight trousers, shirt, and shoes before leaving his room. The sense of urgency and concern was rarely seen in the face of his old friend.

  “What is it, Charles? What’s going on?” he asked, as they left the building, striding towards the main residential block.

  “We have captured another infected victim, a woman who displayed different traits to the others. In the process, we have lost one of our own. Sergeant Cross has sustained a gunshot wound and been bitten. We have the two of them stable in the Police HQ building now.”

  “Jesus Christ! Cross? Nathan Cross? I served with him many years ago. A fine lad. Is he stable, did you say? What of the woman, has she sustained any injuries? How did it happen?”

  “No, she’s okay. He tried to save her and was attacked from behind. Chris, Staff Sergeant Stewall, managed to keep one off him, but they just came too fast. One of the guards put a bullet in his thigh after he was bitten, which slowed him slightly. We have him in surgery removing it at the moment. This is going to hit Evelyn hard, Richard. I need your support.”

  “Whatever you need, say the word; you know that, old friend. I’ll have a helicopter and crew on standby. You’ll need to get to the facility as soon as possible; better equipped there. I’ll have the radio ops get word to Salby and let them know we’re coming.”

  “That’s good, good,” Charles said, as he approached the door to Evie’s room.

  He knocked quite loudly and heard the shuffling feet over the floor, followed by the lock turning. She stood, not quite awake but alarmed to see her boss and the C.O., both at this hour; she knew something was wrong.

  “Charles? Sir? What?”

  “Can we come in, Evelyn?” asked Charles gently.

  “Of, of course, what is it? Are the children alright? What’s happened? I knew I should have stayed with them.”

  “It’s not the children, Evelyn. Sit down.”

  “It’s not the children? Then what? Tell me,” Evie said, still standing. Her senses prickled and screamed that something had happened.

  “The night guards have captured another infected victim, Evie, a woman who displayed odd behaviour prior to her capture. However, in the process, Nathan has become infected and sustained a gunshot wound. He is stable and undergoing surgery to remove the bullet.”

  “Shot? They shot him? His own colleagues shot him? Where?”

  “Evie, he’s been bitten. The gunshot wound is to his upper left thigh and not serious by comparison.”

  “No, no, he can’t be. Are you sure it’s him?”

  “Yes, Evie, his security ID card confirms it, I’m afraid,” Charles said and handed her the plastic-coated card.

  She looked at it and gazed at the picture for almost a minute. Charles caught her as she crumbled and held her up against himself as her body shook against him. Richard could only stand and watch. For several minutes, she cried uncontrollably, trying to form words as the tears poured from her eyes. Her mind slowly began to process the information, working out what to do next.

  “Is, is he stable?” she said.

  “We have him in theatre to attend the bullet wound, and he’s stable and will not be aware of the situation. We’re going to move him and the other two to the facility at first light, an hour or so from now. I hate to be brutal, but we have much work to do now if we’re to try to save them.”

  Evie wasted no time, dressing quickly and grabbing the bag she had containing her essentials. She then followed Charles and Richard out to the Military Police HQ building, which doubled as a secure medical facility.

  When they arrived, she could see Nathan but he was covered over with just his left leg visible. A facemask was over him to prevent infection, and there were restraints on his arms and ankles to protect the team of surgeons during the operation. It hadn't taken too long to remove the bullet and put in a few stitches. They wrapped an iodine-soaked surgical pad tightly around it. Nathan, or what was left of him, was then taken back to the secure cell with Evie close behind, keen to take a look at him and make sure that he would be comfortable.

  The C.O. had already ordered a helicopter a
nd crew on immediate standby, and preparations to move the other two infected detainees were well under way. The Salby facility had confirmed they were ready to accept them.

  ***

  The noise of the activity on the base immediately after the incident woke Colin Snape, but it didn’t matter because today was going to be the day. He had meant to ask Meriam to join him, but for some reason, it had slipped his mind; it didn't matter though, there would be others, he thought.

  Snape stood at the window, craning his neck to watch the unfolding events, as people moved quickly from one building to the next and Land Rovers whizzed past, travelling far too fast for the hour. Looking at the horizon out over the base, he could see the sky begin to lighten, signalling the coming of the new day. There had been substantial rain in the night; puddles lay scattered over the tarmac ground and small droplets still remained on the single window of his room. He decided to go and eat, not caring for the excited and usually loud chatter of small children at the start of a day. He preferred silence and the chance to relax while he ate.

  At the cookhouse, he sipped hot coffee and ate breakfast, which consisted of two bacon rashers, a sausage, powdered egg mixture, and a choice of tinned beans or tomato. Not a bad attempt at breakfast, given the situation he thought. He noticed a flurry of staff coming and going in the general direction of the Military Police HQ building and the faint sound of a helicopter could be heard above the constant hum of the kitchen vent system.

  Finishing his meal, he placed the cutlery neatly on the plate but then stared at the knife. Taking a look around to make sure that no one was watching, he secreted the implement. It wasn't the sharpest but he thought that it might be useful later in the day. Snape saw the huge whale-like double rotor Chinook transport helicopter begin its final descent to the landing field. The distinctive chug, chug, chug of the engines increased in volume as it began to close the gap between it and the ground.

  He decided to return to his room to collect the shoulder bag and laptop, then come back to bide his time, waiting for a chance to put his plan into action and leave this place forever, he mused. Meriam could come if she chose, but he didn’t need her; with so much money at his disposal, he could buy anyone he wanted.