Authors: Ian D. Moore
“This one’s Dr. Eebie, this one’s Naffam, this one’s Tom, you can tell by the wavy hair, and this one’s meeeee!” she said, with another giggle as she returned to stand by Tom. They were both beaming from ear to ear.
“Well now, let me see. I believe I promised a reward for such effort, is that right?”
“Yes, Sir, yes please.”
“Let me see now. Would you hold the picture, Sergeant Cross, while I have a little look in my cupboard here?”
“Pleasure, Sir,” he said. Nathan took the picture, feeling an immense sense of pride for the young children in his care.
The officer moved around to the side of the huge wooden desk and pulled open the door to the metal storage cabinet, digging inside. He lifted out a large packaged toy helicopter and handed it to Tom.
“Wow! It’s, it’s huge, thank you, Sir,” he said, as Holly began to jump up and down on the spot; such was her excitement.
The major turned again to the cabinet, reaching inside. He handed Holly a large toy baby doll that apparently cried, sucked its thumb, and laughed.
“It’s a baby, look, Naffam, Major Paul got me a baby, awwww, thank you, Major Paul.”
The major turned again to the cupboard, reaching slightly higher up this time, as both children stood looking at their new toys.
“And these are for you both to share, no fighting mind. I had to call in a favour or two to stop the troops eating them all,” he said, handing over a tub of mixed sweets.
They put down their toys, and without a word, they walked to the officer, who was partially bent down to give them the tub. Tom took the tub and looked at Holly. They both hugged the Major’s waist and thanked him for their presents. The major was visibly moved by their action.
“Thank you to both of you for your hard work, a good job deserves a due reward. It is a beautiful picture and I shall hang it right there,” the major said, indicating a space he had made directly behind his desk.
“Thank you, Sir, you have made their day,” Nathan said and braced, ready to be dismissed.
“Sergeant Cross, when you find their mother, I would very much like to meet her. In the meantime, I have every respect for you and Dr. Shepherd for the care that I have seen you give to them. One day, you will make a first-class father, I’m sure. Dismissed.”
“Thank you, Sir,” he said and turned to lead them out of the office.
Both Tom and Holly were excited to play with their toys, and it took all of Nathan's limited child psychology skills to persuade them a bath was needed first. They stopped at the dorm hangar, placing the toys out of sight. Nathan picked up the bag he had filled from the warehouse. He fished inside, pulling out a bottle of shampoo, deep foam bubble bath, and a huge yellow car sponge, which would do for use in the tub. Rummaging deeper, he found underwear for them both; finally, they agreed that a bubble bath might be fun.
*******
Meriam and Brian dressed quickly after they finally managed to leave the makeshift bed and each other alone. They were both in good spirits, still on a high from their lovemaking, when they left the small room for the main stairwell exit, hoping there would be something left to eat. By late morning, the chefs were preparing lunchtime meals. They noticed Colin walking and then jotting something down, and then repeating the same, over and over again.
“He’s getting timings for his master escape plan, I think,” she said, half-jokingly.
“Do you think they've recovered the data yet from what we gave them?”
“I think we would have heard something by now if they had, Brian. A couple of burly guys with handcuffs would be leading him away kicking and screaming with any luck.”
“Oh, wouldn’t that be a sight to see? Or it could be us, of course?” He left the question hanging, with only the barest feeling of woe inside.
If that slippery little weasel put us in the frame, it’ll be hard to prove …
They watched Snape for a little while and then made their way to a free table in the cookhouse marquee, having some coffee before going for food. They stared as a Land Rover whizzed past at speed, noticing Major Sower in the passenger seat on their side, as it turned a corner with a sign that read, “Military Police HQ, Alnwick Barracks and Medical Centre.” Neither were aware that the Land Rover carried one of the infected.
After doing his observation rounds, taking timings and noting positions, Colin Snape sat on the edge of his bed, glaring at the blank screen of the laptop, even though it wasn’t turned on. He was hoping that a flash of inspiration might give him the password. He rubbed his head at his temples to ease the tension, trying to think of any clues from the file he had on Garrett. He let out a long sigh, resigning himself to staying another night. He would need to go through the day’s notes and observations anyway, to make sure they were similar to the previous day.
The plan of escape depended upon routine, something the Army was exceptionally good at. For him, it had been a fruitful day. He'd managed to acquire a torch, some food supplies, and a bag, and it hadn’t cost a lot at all. Snape would tell Meriam the plan later over coffee maybe. His delusions continued as he imagined seeing her and even undressing her. He pushed the thoughts from his mind as the priority was putting some distance between him and this base, before they came looking for someone to blame.
With Garrett now dust, it would be him in the firing line next; he was sure of that, and he wasn't going to carry the can, not for anyone, despite the benefits.
***
For Corporal Simms it had been a good day, having had some rest and recuperation on the orders of the major. After her bath, she had dried, dressed, and brunched at the cookhouse. As an added bonus, she'd had a clear view of the comings and goings of Colin Snape. He hadn’t even noticed her in her casual clothes; this turned out to be the best cover for any soldier in a base filled with military people.
She watched him intently as he took his notes and moved on. Physically he was no threat to her; she could handle him with, or without, weapons. She doubted that he had the ability to break his way out of a wet paper bag, let alone the base. In her experience however, sometimes the people those least expected proved to be the most dangerous of all. She finished her brunch and made her way to the day care and activity hangar, volunteering her services to childcare to complement others doing the same; children were their future, she thought, and if this whole fiasco had taught her one thing, it was that in a crisis, people could be very resilient.
Corporal Simms spent her day with the children, helping, taking them for food, playing games, taking part in a craft class, and even producing a model windmill that she gave to a little girl who appeared to be fascinated with it, and lots of other simple things. The sun, all too soon, began to descend below the trees as the evening returned. This signalled bedtime for the youngsters.
She helped to clear away the tables ready for classes and entertainment the next day and then headed back to the cookhouse for her evening meal. She was joined by a few of her colleagues for a rare catch-up; they all had their duties so time to socialise was always appreciated. She briefly saw Sergeant Cross leading Tom and Holly, presumably avoiding the queue that would soon develop for the washing facilities, heading in the direction of the residential block.
***
Nathan filled the bath, underestimating the foaming qualities of the bubbles so that they spilled over the side, much to the kid’s amusement. He took a huge cupped handful and asked them to see if they could see a snowman inside. As they strained to look, he clapped his hands together, sending a myriad of bubble flecks all over them.
Fits of laughter and an impromptu bubble fight with two against one ensued. Nathan came off worse, with several damp patches on his jeans and T-shirt and a blob of bubbles in his hair. He lifted them into the bath, sitting one at each end to save time and water and let them play for a little while before washing their hair. It was good to see their innocence and smiling faces, simply having fun as the world outside lapsed into anarchy and chaos.
By the time Nathan reached the dorm hangar carrying Tom and Holly, his arms were about fit to drop off. He watched as they went for their toys. Tom showed him all of the things the helicopter did; he was clearly impressed. Holly asked Nathan to make the baby suck her thumb and this needed the batteries activated, which Nathan did. He placed the babies thumb in its mouth, watching as a wide-eyed Holly saw the soft plastic face imitate the sucking actions of a real baby.
“You’ll have to think of a name for her, Holly,” Nathan said, as he watched Holly cradle the baby, almost instinctively.
“She’s called Polly, Naffam. So that when you need us you just have to say Holly-Polly!” Holly said, and Nathan laughed loudly at the child’s logic.
With the night now closing in, he settled the children down to their beds, sitting between them while he made up a short story. He thought about Evie and the children’s mother too, hoping that both were safe.
***
It was dark outside when Evie checked her wristwatch. She hadn’t noticed the night team arrive nor had she noticed the brightness of the tube lights as the sun dropped in the sky. She completed her examination and picked up the notes she had so she could study them later. Then, handing over to the night staff, she stopped by at the hanger to see if Nathan had returned.
Her heart melted when she saw him prostrate on the bed as the children slept. Evie noticed their new toys and the plastic doll next to Holly. She kissed their small foreheads, taking care not to wake them before kneeling at Nathan's side. She stroked his arm but he didn’t stir, worn down by his early start and busy day. She'd let him be, and kissing him lightly, she headed for the main residential block.
Evie knew that more infected victims might be caught during the night, and she really wanted to be there. Sadly, her body told her that it needed some rest and her mind told her that she should take the opportunity while she could.
***
Chris came to wake Nathan up at 0130 hours, mindful not to wake the children in the process. He had even considered the children and their needs whilst his best mate was out with him, so he'd brought a volunteer to look after them. Chris bent over towards Nathan, rocking his shoulder until his eyes snapped open. Chris signalled for quiet and pointed to the hangar doors with his fingers splayed in a five-minute motion. Nathan understood, five minutes, and gave the “okay” hand gesture.
He hauled himself from the bed, picked up his boots, and grabbed the bag containing the new T-shirt and underwear taken from the warehouse, swapping it for the well-worn ones he had on. Weaving through the sleeping bodies, tracking towards the floodlights of the base, he spotted the two figures waiting for him. There were low tones of their conversation as he neared.
“Ahh, sleeping beauty awakens. Here, figured you’d need this,” said Chris and handed Nathan some hot coffee in a polystyrene cup.
“Cheers, mate. You'll make someone a good wife!” Nathan replied, taking the cup with gratitude.
“This is Jonesy. He’ll be keeping watch on the little ‘uns while we’re out.”
Nathan extended a hand to the squaddie and thanked him for standing in. Nathan told him they rarely woke during the night, but if they did, to come for him at West Tower Two.
“We should be back by 0600 hours, but use the bed, buddy, if you want. No sense just sitting there for that long; you’ll be having your own shit to do tomorrow, I guess.”
“Yes, Sarge, cheers,” the young soldier replied.
Leaving Jonesy to settle in, Chris and Nathan made their way to the armoury to collect their weapons, already discussing the night ahead. The tranquiliser rifle would be handed over from the duty stag team on the tower when they arrived.
Grabbing their kit, they made their way to the tower. They could hear shouts and gunfire reports; a busy night was likely. Rain had just started for the first time in almost a week. It wasn’t a heavy downpour, but the sky looked thick, heavy, and black with low cloud cover and no stars visible.
They arrived at the tower and completed the hand over procedure, noting the number of tranquiliser darts that remained; the orders for their use were repeated to them. After banter, usual between military personnel, they set up their weapons and covered an overlapping arc of fire on the tower. The rain continued to fall; they were fortunate to be under the cover of the tower canopy.
*******
It wasn’t long before the infected began to charge the fences, some falling victim to the mined area, which was now harder to detect in the rain. A group of three deadheads approached, two moving faster than the third. Nathan locked his scope onto the lead male, 200 yards straight ahead. He looked over to Chris and signalled three sighted, then the number one, indicating that he had the lead runner.
Bringing the rifle slightly to the right, Chris picked out the second of the group. The third was a woman who was some way behind and walking rather than running. They waited until the first two approached, close enough to be heard. Chris shouted a warning for them to stop, which went unheeded, as previously. He placed the crosshairs at the top of the second male’s head, counted the steps, gauging the rise and fall of the body in relation to the motion. He made a minor adjustment for the wind, which was driving the rain at a sharp angle now.
Nathan steadied his aim on the first of the two men, using the scope to take a look at him in the process. This was a youth of seventeen years of age, possibly younger, and he moved quickly through the undergrowth. It seemed that he had not long fallen victim to the viral infection and was an ideal candidate for the tranquiliser. The previous guard had said that an older male or female were to be the targets. Nathan kept the sights on the young man, seeing the branded jeans now the worse for wear. The youth’s shoes were caked in the mud, and he covered the ground between the tree line and the minefield fast.
“Stand still! Armed personnel. You are approaching a minefield. Do not move!”
The warning Nathan shouted was an indication to Chris that the youth was now dangerously close to leaving this world forever … in bite-size pieces.
Chris kept his sights locked on the second of the two males. He heard the crack of Nathan’s weapon as it delivered its lethal cargo to the youth, hitting him through the chest and lifting him backwards mid-step. For an instant, the victim was horizontal, a couple of feet off the floor; then his body returned to Earth with a squelchy thud, displacing a shower of mud and twigs as he came to rest face up. Nathan targeted the head of the motionless youth, watching for any sign of life. He was sure, however, that the shot had taken out the heart of the boy and that he wouldn't have to expend another bullet. There was no movement from the youth, so he spun the rifle left to engage the third of the group; she was an older woman, moving slower than her two male accomplices.
Chris shouted his final warning to the second of the infected men, waiting a short period for any sign of response, as the deadhead ploughed towards the edge of the mines. Standard practice was to engage before anyone reached the mines; it was very dangerous to remove bodies, or body parts, from the minefield.
Pulling back on the trigger, Chris tracked the trajectory of the round. A .300 calibre bullet travelling at 950 feet per second was never going to take too long to hit the target. He preferred headshots and this one found its mark first time around, hitting the man right between the eyes at the point where his nose met his forehead. The impact was so neat that the man took two more steps before falling forwards. His brain relayed the last of the messages it would ever send to his legs; they buckled beneath him.
The woman in Nathan’s sights didn’t appear to be in any hurry; something felt odd—it didn’t feel right. He looked at her through the scope as she raised her right hand to her left arm, seemingly scratching at an open wound; why would she be scratching?
Deadheads don't feel pain; they don’t
feel
anything!
Nathan picked out the wound on her arm as she walked; it looked pretty deep and had signs of blood that was already well sealed and not bleeding now. Nathan zoomed in and saw the skin torn from the surface; it was clearly a bite wound. He scanned to the woman’s face; it showed a blank expression—as if lost in a dream. Her steps were measured and careful, without once faltering, as she crossed the rough ground towards them.
She was in her late thirties, early forties at most, pale in the UV light, with dark hair and darker skinned than the youth before had been. She wore a short-sleeved top with dark tailored fit bottoms and a sturdy pair of training shoes. She walked in zigzags, as if she had lost her house keys and was scouring the ground to find them; something wasn’t right.
“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, though 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.