by RR Haywood
‘Fine. Be ready to drive it. What the fuck is taking so long?’
‘Nothing here, Boss,’ Blowers pants down the radio.
‘Axe…sledgehammer…on way back,’ Clarence snaps the words out through the radio.
‘Lads, back here now.’
‘On way.’
‘Reginald, you’ve got your rifle but we can’t leave anyone here with you. If it all goes wrong then get back to the fort.’
‘Wrong? Oh my…’
‘Reginald,’ I force calmness into my voice and lock eyes on him, ‘we will not leave survivors to face that lot. We’ve never done it. We will never do it. Search those windows, find out which buildings have got survivors in.’
‘Oh gosh this is very dramatic.’
I turn round to see Meredith waiting at the back of the Saxon with ears pricked and eyes flitting in every direction as she senses the change in energy. I wish I could communicate with her and tell her to get to the survivors. Find them and protect them. Instead I head over and pour more water into her bowl knowing she’ll need every drop for what we’re about to do.
‘Dave,’ Clarence shouts running back towards the vehicles, ‘need a blade on this axe.’
‘Pass it,’ Dave says jumping down from the back of the Saxon.
I look over to see Clarence passing him a long handled single head axe similar to the ones the lads use.
‘You want your axe back now?’ Nick says running back with the lads.
‘Keep it,’ Clarence says, ‘I’ll use this,’ he adds hefting the sledgehammer.
Three, maybe four minutes since we came running out of the van, ‘load up, we’re moving out.’
Twenty-Three
I slam the door closed and start the big engine while the others cram into the back. The sweat is already pouring down our faces so we drink while we can. Passing bottles of Lucozade around to guzzle the sugary glucose. Dave’s hands blurring as he scrapes the blade of the new axe to something like a scalpel.
Clarence in the front with me gripping the composite material shaft to the bloody great big sledge hammer. His knuckles white and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. He seethes but quietly. Dangerously. Eyes fixed on the road ahead and his nostrils flaring.
One mile from the farm to the town. Only a couple of minutes but time becomes stretched with every second feeling like a minute. The image of the two children burnt into my mind and that man turning with the ultimate sacrifice giving his own life that his children may live.
This day just became sinister and my soul starts burning with incandescent rage that is pure and makes my heart race faster and that darkness that threatens to swallow me whole is now off the scale. As my hands tighten on the wheel so my right foot pushes harder forcing the Saxon to roar defiant and loud. The big engine deep and throaty as though desperate to be in amongst it now.
I clench my jaw feeling tears stinging my eyes as I see the face of the little girl and the disbelief she showed at being caught like that. The way she looked up into the faces of the demons with an expression of utter incomprehension. I press my foot harder feeling the tyres rumbling over the road surface while a tear runs down my cheek but I’ll take that sorrow and turn it, use it and force it into every muscle of my body and deeper into my gut so the hatred for them builds to drive me on.
‘Plan?’ Blowers shouts.
‘Plan?’ I hesitate for a second easing the speed off to navigate the roundabout as we start the final push into the town proper, ‘red door. We clear that and get inside. Dave and I will hold them off. Get everyone together and wait for Reginald to tell us where to go. Clear?’
‘Yep,’ Clarence nods once and firm.
‘If we get separated we go back through the towns we’ve been through. Aim for that golf hotel or worst case the fort. Bags on. Weapons ready. We’re going in.’
We scream past the roundabout and into the main road going past the squat police station building on our left and the fire station on our right. Past shops and stores with windows smashed but up close now and I can see some efforts have been made to secure some doors and entry points with wooden planks hammered in place. Spray painted symbols on doors that speak of a system developed by survivors doing the best they can until thousands of infected descended on their town. The fact we brought them here weighs heavy in my heart. That if not for us those people would not have been killed. Our vanity, our pride and thirst for death. My vanity. I did this. I made this happen with cocky arrogance that burns my cheeks in shame.
Towards the crossroads we go. Still accelerating as Clarence reaches for the mouthpiece of the public address system. He presses the button down, tapping on the plastic grill as a dull thudding sounds outside. That it’s still working after everything we’ve done is testament to the engineering of this vehicle and the army that used it. Organically that thought whirs instantly into images of the army and soldiers while I realise that so few of us crammed into the back of a now obsolete armoured personnel carrier are all that’s left. Just us. We have to clear them away and get those people out. There is no one else coming. No rescue for us. No army or police now. The desperation is profound and deep.
‘Reginald…we’re going in now…’ I thumb the button under my shirt seeing the crossroads coming rapidly towards us.
‘Mr Howie…yes I’m searching now,’ Reginald’s panicked voice comes back earning a sharp glance from Clarence to me. I shrug. Nothing we can do to help him now.
*
The silence hits. Three minutes ago everyone was crammed into the van staring at the screen but now they’re gone and the noise of the Saxon’s big engine fades until all that’s left is the sound of his own heart pounding.
Reginald looks round feeling suddenly vulnerable and isolated. His eyes fall on the assault rifle propped against the desk with his bag of ammunition left beside it. With one hand holding the drone steady in the air he reaches out to draw the rifle closer. Both hands on the controller but the worry builds so he pulls the rifle closer then lifts the heavy thing up to rest across his lap with the barrel pointing to the still open back doors.
The next problem presents itself. Two controllers are used for the drone. One for the drone and one for the camera. How can he operate both? He has to fly the blasted thing, gain the position and sweep the buildings for survivors then somehow find a safe route which will mean examining the maps. How long will the battery last? What if it fails? What if he makes a mistake and gets everyone killed?
He places the camera controller on the desk then quickly gets his hands back on the flight controller and curses inwardly at trying to figure out where he is. He goes higher, forcing the drone engine to increase to gain height before reaching out and trying to rotate the camera directional function on the other controller to pan down for a bird’s eye view.
As that’s it. The square is right below him still showing in full high definition quality. Infected swarming in what looks like every direction. Chaos and from that chaos he is expected to find order and come up with a plan? How? How can anyone look at that lot and find and sense of cohesion within it? This is absurd. Bloody ridiculous. Still, he watched with horror at the two children being killed and despite having seen the same thing many times before under the power of Marcy he still feels the incredible shock and innate sadness of such an awful tragedy. It was different back then. The infection that held his mind desensitised him to those horrors and took away the personal connection to what pain and suffering are but now he felt it. He saw it and felt it. Not just the fear for himself either or his own disgust at seeing such gore but the unfairness of it. The loss of life of two so young and innocent. That’s it. The innocence. There must be an opposite though. In order to feel happy one must know sadness. To know innocence is to have guilt in the world so the infection is that guilt. It carries that guilt for doing what it is.
An intelligent man and those thoughts pour through his mind in a matter of seconds until he reaches the conclusion that he mu
st do what he can. After all, he is relatively safe here and not crammed into the back of the Saxon going into a battle they cannot hope to win. Or can they? Is it about winning now or about surviving? Get the survivors and get out. That’s the objective.
He stares harder at the screen. Resolute and determined not be outwitted by a crass infection still mastering the ability to form words.
There is always a method. In chaos there is always order for nothing is ever truly random. Isn’t that the point in principle for this day? Therefore if nothing can ever be random then those infected must be running for a reason. He looks harder trying to find sense in the lines and groups sprinting in all directions within the square but feeling the urgency to be searching the buildings and seeking survivors.
No. These infected will show him the survivors. Of course! Closer again he leans towards the screen staring and seeing the order taking shape. Each door is a point of entry and towards those doors the infected run but they don’t run to the closest but somehow groups within the mass all go towards one location while others run past them towards yet another. Yes. Groups within groups. Like Blowers leading his team within the larger team under the direction of Mr Howie.
The doors then. The points of entry. He examines the thickest parts of the dense crowds realising there are set distances between the nucleus of the densest part of each section. They gather thick at the door pushing in. Stragglers hanging back almost as though waiting for runners. Then a short distance down and again a thick nucleus heaving towards the doors.
Each nucleus must represent where the survivors are. He guides the stick back on the controller gaining height to see the whole length of the building line running the side of the road bordering the square and infected running towards each door.
Time is precious so method must be applied. He must start at one end and go along the whole building checking each window. Yes. One sweep along on the first floor then up to the second floor and back down.
He banks the drone to the side gliding it along the building line towards the crossroads and the first building. He has to reduce height now which means adjusting the camera but reducing height while changing direction requires two hands. Gosh, this is hard. He drops the height first bringing the drone to a hover before reaching out and trying to tilt the camera but the drone drops a few feet plunging too close to the infected below. With a snort he pulls up, overcompensating and shooting too high into the air and losing his sense of placement as the camera is now swivelled up too much and is facing the sky.
The Saxon will be there any second. He must hurry. He snatches a breath and pans the camera down again before moving his hands back to the drone controller and starting the drop back down to first floor. He goes a few feet then a camera adjustment. A few more feet and another camera adjustment but it’s taking too long and the pressure builds as the sweat beads to fall down his face.
‘Hello?’
Reginald screams out spinning in his chair as he snatches the rifle from his lap. A man at the back door lurching away into the front of a horse stood a few feet behind him. The horse snorts and tosses its great head sending the man back towards the van as Reginald screams again.
Neal Barrett had followed the road from Flitcombe seeing the signposts for Stenbury and dreading finding the larger town and the inevitable death within it. From his last diary entry in Flitcombe he had felt the urgency within Jess to keep moving. If she was exhausted from the great distance and the awful heat she didn’t show it. She sweated and drank water but kept pushing on. Even when he tried to slow down and ease the pace, part in need of rest and also because of the building fear at what they will find she ignored him and kept on and if anything her pace got faster.
The sound of an engine then greeted them. Something big and throaty that was increasing in speed. He followed the noise down the main road and tried correcting Jess when she started to veer towards the farm track but she was having none of it. She was going up that track and nothing he could, short of shooting her, would change her mind.
They got closer to the farmhouse until he finally slipped from the back of Jess and started walking steadily into the open parking area, pausing on sight of the armoured van. Edging closer he strained to listen while scared witless at what he will see. Jess again pushed on, impatient and annoyed at going so slow. She nosed his back, lurching him closer with heavy snorts until he reached the back door and clapped eyes on the man wearing glasses staring at a monitor on the desk.
As Reginald lifted the rifle in panic so Neal tried running backwards but again Jess had other ideas and with a firm shove of her nose she sent him back towards the van while he scrabbled to bring his own assault rifle round on the sling. Both Reginald and Neal gibbering and yelping at the sight of the other wrestling with an automatic rifle. Both of them panicked and fumbling. Neal not having the presence of mind to go left of right but repeatedly trying to go backwards and getting pushed forward. Reginald trying to heft the rifle and seeing a terrified man running forward and backwards while shouting out. A few seconds and both of them hold rifles aimed and shaking with the barrels wavering round in circles.
‘Who are you?’ Reginald squeaks rushing his words out.
‘Don’t shoot me…don’t shoot me…’ Neal gasps closing his eyes in fear then remembering he has to open them to see where he is firing.
‘Who are you?’ Reginald says again, his voice high pitched and terrified.
‘Neal!’ Neal Barrett shouts matching the other for tone and pitch, ‘don’t shoot me…I’m a scientist…’
‘A scientist?’ Reginald squawks.
‘A scientist,’ Neal squawks back, ‘don’t shoot me…I won’t shoot you…’
‘You won’t shoot me?’
‘I won’t shoot you please don’t shoot me.’
‘I don’t want to shoot you.’
‘I don’t want to shoot you either…’
‘A scientist?’ Reginald asks again.
‘Yes!’
‘And you won’t shoot me?’
‘I don’t want to shoot anyone,’ Neal says still rushing his words out, ‘oh God, Jess…stop pushing me…’
‘Gosh…eyes! I think I need to see your eyes…no, I know I need to see your eyes because….because the infected have bloodshot eyes and…’
‘I know! I’m a scientist…’
‘Yes yes, you did say…er…may I see your eyes.’
‘Yes,’ Neal says twitching as though wanting to move forward but feeling the need to run away, ‘er…so…I have to come closer?’
‘Yes…come closer.’
‘But…your gun is pointing at me.’
‘Oh I am so dreadfully sorry,’ Reginald says automatically and lowering the rifle before realising the other man still has his raised so lifts his back up.
‘Oh God don’t shoot me,’ Neal yelps seeing the other man lift his rifle back up.
‘I won’t but…yours is still up.’
‘Mine is up because yours is up.’
‘You go first then.’
‘Me? You’ll shoot me.’
‘Gosh no,’ Reginald says feeling a rush of sense permeating his head with an instant recall of the task he was meant to be doing and with another yelp he drops the rifle and rushes back to the drone gliding gracefully down through the sky towards the infected in the square. He jabs the stick once again forcing the drone to go back up.
Neal stands frozen staring in confusion at the other man dropping his rifle and rushing back to his desk. He goes to move then stops, twitching and about to say something but then seeing the other man suddenly becoming very focussed and feeling an idiotic reluctance to disturb him.
‘Reginald…we’re going in now…’
‘Oh gosh…’ Reginald says snatching the radio up, ‘Mr Howie…yes I’m searching now…oh my, oh my they’re almost there…I can’t do the camera and the drone…gosh…’
‘Drone?’ Neal asks finally lowering his M4 assault rifle with the folding
stock.
‘Ah yes, Reginald shouts turning towards the back door at the man, ‘Scientist…can you operate a drone?’
‘A drone?’
‘Yes a drone?’
‘What drone?’
‘This drone. It has two controllers,’ Reginald says holding both of them up then cursing again as he struggles to hold the stick steady and therefore keep the drone hovering, ‘I cannot do both controllers. Mr Howie left me here but I cannot do both controllers.’
‘A drone?’ Neal says again shaking his head.
‘Oh my yes, indeed…you see the drone has to go to the first floor windows to find which buildings have survivors so Mr Howie can find them…but I can’t operate the camera and get the drone in position and study the maps and find a safe exit route all at the same time! Really I can’t. I wish I could but I cannot. Oh my this is catastrophic,’ Reginald flops back down into the seat setting the controllers down before going back to operating the drone and taking it down towards the windows. ‘Do forgive me for ignoring you but many lives are at stake and…’
‘May I come in?’ Neal asks tentatively still twitching as though ready to flee but slowly understanding that something important is happening.
‘Yes. Yes do,’ Reginald says struggling to adjust the camera angle, ‘this is…DAMN AND BLAST…right, you must come here and take this,’ Reginald says ordering Neal into the van who responds by stepping up and walking slowly forward towards the controller being held out. ‘Quickly now,’ Reginald snaps, ‘take it, man. Watch the screen.’
Reginald shoves the controller into Neal’s hands and sinks back down into his chair, ‘I operate the drone…’
‘Oh my god!’ Neal sputters staring in shock at the screen and the mass of infected raging within the square, ‘where is that?’
‘Stenbury. I don’t have time to explain. There are survivors in these buildings,’ Reginald says quickly tapping the screen, ‘Mr Howie is taking his team in a fools attempt at rescuing them…’
‘There’s bloody hundreds…’