The Hurst Chronicles (Book 1): Hurst (9 page)

Chapter Twenty

The helicopter sat squat on its haunches beside the lighthouse, its rotor blades drooping slightly towards the ground. A couple of the bolder kids crept closer. They circled the aircraft pointing and laughing, trying to peer through the window into the cockpit. Inside, the pilot was talking animatedly into his headset, the top half of his face obscured by a grey visor. One of the soldiers whistled through his teeth and gestured for the boys to keep their distance. They got the message and backed away.

Tommy strode over to one of the soldiers, chin up, hands thrust into his pockets. His patience exhausted, he wanted answers and he was fed up of waiting for someone to tell him what the hell was going on. His bravado was paper-thin though and his confidence stuttered, unsure of whether to go through with his plan.

The soldier held up the palm of his gloved hand cautioning Tommy to stop as if to say: “
That’s close enough.”

Tommy’s confidence evaporated when he saw the gun close up. It was a black Colt M4 Carbine, a weapon he had used many times, though never in real life. Playing 
Call of Duty
 and other computer games he had a good knowledge of military hardware, enough to know that this M4 was not fitted with the grenade launcher the Navy Seals used. Awkwardly, he extended a hand of friendship waiting for the soldier to stride over and shake it warmly. The soldier remained motionless and left Tommy’s hand hanging there. His hand dropped back to his side, feeling a little foolish. The soldier looked straight through him as if he wasn’t there.

Tommy had had enough of this. He sneered back and looked the soldier up and down, sizing him up. He was wearing black boots, dark blue camouflaged combat gear, overlaid with webbing and pouches. Underneath was what looked like body armour, metal plates protecting his chest and abdomen. He reminded Tommy of an American footballer in all that gear, accentuating his size. The soldier was enormous, several inches taller than Tommy who himself was no midget. He gulped as he noticed the sleeves of his shirt bulging with what Tommy imagined must be heavily tattooed biceps like Arnold Schwarzenegger. A proper corn-fed American redneck he thought. He laughed nervously looking down at the soldier’s feet and back up at his face, taking in his size again.

There was something about the soldier’s attitude and unfriendliness that got right up his nose. Weren’t they on the same side?  He felt emboldened, staring up in to his mask, trying to eyeball the guy.

The soldier remained static, motionless like one of the Queen's guards at Buckingham Palace facing a tourist. He repositioned the semi-automatic weapon a little on his shoulder, glanced at his partner and made sure Tommy saw him check the safety was on. He flexed his trigger finger before straightening it again and resting it back on the outside of the trigger guard. Tommy got the message and stepped back, his arms raised, head down submissively.

Behind Tommy and from the relative safety of the crowd, there was a palpable sense of excitement, mixed with anxiety. What did this all mean? Where had they come from? Had they come to rescue them? There were so many questions they each wanted to ask. Scottie was the first to break the silence and took up the inquisition, shouting out: “Where have you come from?”

Before the soldiers had time to answer, Scottie’s question was quickly followed by a flurry of others as they each gave voice to their hopes and fears.

“How did you get here?”

“Are there more of you?”

“Where’s your ship?”

“Are you here to save us?”

“How many have survived?”

The soldiers looked back at each other, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, but said nothing.

Scottie answered for them, calling back over his shoulder whilst still staring at the helicopter. “He cannae say. They’ve been told not to speak to us. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Why? We’re on the same side, aren’t we?” said Tommy hopefully.

“Clearly not,” shouted one of the others, frustrated at their refusal to cooperate.

“I’m sure they’re just taking precautions. They dinnae know we’re not sick,” offered Scottie.

“Maybe the States didn’t get the sickness like we did,” said Sarah, one of the teenagers.

Scottie shouted back. “Naw Sarah, I wish that were true. Don’t you remember? It was everywhere. You must remember on the news, before everything went dark? New York, Washington, Chicago, Los Angeles. Every major city experienced outbreaks. Everyone and everywhere. There was nowhere to hide.”

“So why would they come here then if they’re not here to save us? Perhaps we’ve got it all the wrong way round. Maybe it’s them that need our help?” Tommy laughed and those around him joined in.

“That’s a very good question,” repeated Scottie. “Why are they here?”

In the distance, they could hear the low chugging of the 
Nipper’s
 engine just before she rounded the headland and hove into view. Tommy ran down to the jetty and waited patiently to catch the bowline from Sam and together they helped tie her up, bow and stern. Jack turned off the ignition, grabbed his bag and stepped ashore. Tommy fell into step beside him. As they walked towards the lighthouse, he brought Jack up to speed on the events thus far and led him to where Terra and the American were waiting inside.

Tommy knocked lightly on the sun-blistered wooden door, its off-white paint peeling and flaking. They heard footsteps inside and the door opened wide. Lieutenant Peterson was sitting upright and alert at the kitchen table, his face dimly lit by a single kerosene lamp. He held a steaming cup of black tea in what looked like one of Jack’s camping mugs he used for fishing trips. The American made to stand and his chair scraped back on the slate floor. He strode over to greet Jack, passing Terra who stood warming her back on the stove. The door swung closed behind him, leaving Tommy out in the cool damp evening air of the approaching nightfall.

Chapter Twenty-one

On the crest of a small man-made bank overlooking the hospital, Zed and Riley were lying flat on their fronts on the grass. He scanned the outside of the buildings through some pocketsize Zeiss binoculars. They were both watching carefully for any movement, hidden from view beside a small coniferous tree, a scattering of daffodils at its base. 

They had parked the Land Rover a discrete distance away in a quiet back street and walked the remaining quarter mile. Keeping to the shadows, stealing from cover, they had raced across any open ground one person at a time. They were taking no chances.

Zed passed the binoculars to Riley and whispered: “What do you think?”

Riley took them, put the strap round her neck and slowly brushed aside the daffodils in front of her with her free arm to clear her field of view. She did a slow sweep of the buildings from left to right, lingering a couple of times before continuing her scan. “You know what I think.” There was an edge to her voice. “I told you already. This is a suicide mission.”

“And I told you already, we aren’t leaving Will here.”

“Zed this isn’t our style. You’re putting the entire group at risk and for what? We don’t even know for sure he’s in there. You want to know what I’m thinking? Well, I’m thinking: is this a rescue or some weird macho bullshit revenge mission? Because that’s what it feels like. Take a look around you. Your little ‘band of brothers’ doesn’t stand a chance against these guys. They’re better armed and there’s probably a whole army of them down there. We go in, there’s a strong chance we don’t come out.”

“Riley, you’re not listening. We’re not going in guns blazing, ok? We wait till it’s nice and dark and creep in ninja like round the back where no one’s watching. We’ll be in and out again before anyone even realizes we were there.”

Riley laughed sarcastically, but the look in her eyes was deadly serious. “Zed, it’s your call. OK, I’m not going to argue with you in front of the others. But I’m just telling you, I don’t like this. It’s risky. And it’s not too late to change your mind and turn back. No one will think less of you. For all we know, Will could already be dead or moved someplace else, anything. It’s a big call. What if more of us get captured, or one of those psychos decides to start shooting? What then?”

Zed looked down for a second, clenching his fist. He tore out a handful of grass and held the blades up to his nostrils, inhaling deeply. It was intoxicating, like pure bottled summer. He was reminded of mowing the lawn on a hot mid-August day, collecting the clippings, sitting in a deckchair reading the paper, t-shirt off, enjoying the sunshine. He closed his eyes for a second savouring the memory. He looked down for a second before sighing deeply and turning to face Riley. With a raised eyebrow he answered in barely above a whisper.

“We just have to make sure that doesn’t happen. Trust me, when have I ever let you down?”

He winked playfully and instantly regretted it. Riley wasn’t in the mood. She handed the binoculars back and slid back down the bank to join the others who were resting up against a crumbling old brick wall. Under her breath she muttered: “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Zed looked over his shoulder and watched her go before continuing his surveillance. Looking back down the grassy bank he swept the maintenance area of the hospital. Industrial bins overflowed with hospital waste. Trash now littered the entire parking area. A ten-foot high fence was flecked with bits of newspaper caught in the mesh like a fishing net. A gust of wind toyed with sheets of newspaper, dancing in the air, accompanied by the scrape of a cardboard box as it scuttled across the tarmac. Litter carpeted the whole area. In the corner, several vehicles had been abandoned, windows smashed in. An ambulance sat with its contents disgorged around it, tyres deflated, its bay doors swinging open in the breeze, broken. He moved twenty meters to his right so he could get a better look round the corner into the large staff parking area. The chimney for the incinerator towered over the main building, a wisp of grey smoke escaping from the rim. There were about twenty vehicles, a few of them abandoned wrecks, harvested for parts or fire damaged. Parked in a line closer to the main entrance, he saw several serviceable cars, trucks and a Tesco lorry backed up for unloading. Behind them all, he could make out the rear of a Range Rover, top of the line, parked up under an awning. His hunch had been right all along.

Zed shook his head and crept back down on his hands and knees to find the others who were talking quietly below him. The fence was the problem. It protected the whole of the back of the hospital from unwanted intruders and he had to assume that this fenced off area was also monitored by a guard on the roof or by a patrol. Judging by how these guys operated, observing the scavenger group when they had grabbed Will, watching the convoy of vehicles, how they disembarked and worked as a team, with almost military efficiency, Zed knew this crew was not to be underestimated. On his own he knew he could infiltrate this facility, but with a couple of kids in tow and an inexperienced team, he was less sure. Perhaps Riley was right after all, was this a risk worth taking?

Their best chance of entry was via a tree whose branches overhung part of the fence. If they could climb the tree and shuffle along a sturdy looking branch then he was confident they could make it over. Their next challenge was going to be getting in unseen to try and find where they were holding Will. They needed to find the right point of entry, a door or window, somewhere quiet and unseen. He had found what he was looking for on his final sweep: a fire door behind one of the industrial waste bins. The fire door would have been alarmed when the power was still on, but would now be protected only by a simple metal rod that locked in place top and bottom. The doorway was almost completely hidden from view by the waste bin and a burned out estate car. They could work on breaking in without fear of interruption.

After one hour of observation, he was satisfied that there were no patrols. If they could get over the fence, they had a good chance of getting in without being discovered.

The group would need to sit tight for another hour waiting for dusk, though not too dark that they couldn’t see what they were doing. Torches were a bad idea as they could be seen from miles away and would attract unwanted attention.

The hospital was a prime site and could comfortably host several hundred people, a much bigger group than Hurst. Its location in town made access to food and stores relatively simple. Zed didn’t fancy his chances in a firefight. From what he’d seen of their weapons and organization, stealth was their best option.

Once inside, Sean said he’d been to this hospital before so knew the approximate layout. The maintenance area was unlikely to be occupied and from what they’d observed, the overnight patient wards on the first or second floor of the east wing were the most likely places they’d be holding Will. And if not, that was as good a place to start as anywhere else.

They checked their equipment. As well as the revolver and the shotgun, they had an eclectic assortment of weapons. Between the others they also had a machete, an ivory handled dagger, plus the double-headed mace which Zed still had strapped between his shoulder blades. Riley un-cocked the sawn-off shot-gun she carried, peered down the barrels to make sure they were clear, loaded two shells and snapped the barrels closed with a satisfying click. In the side-pocket of her rucksack she carried a further box of shells and made sure she had a couple of spares in her hip pocket for easy access. Sean was lying on his back against the rucksack, meticulously sharpening the blade on the ceremonial sword he’d found earlier with a small metal file. He tested the edge with his finger every few seconds to check its sharpness before continuing. 

Mila sat cross-legged on the grass, watching the others, her back to a tree. Her khaki shorts had ridden up, exposing a three-inch scar on her right thigh. She tied her hair back and picked a blade of grass out of her mouth, wiping it on her knee. Joe sat opposite her and took a long swig from his canteen before offering it to the others, who shook their heads. Despite their meagre diet, Joe’s early onset middle-aged spread had proven resilient. Everyone else seemed to be losing weight but him. He was fed up of being the butt of their jokes. Lard-ass, fat-boy, tubby. He had heard them all. But he was thick-skinned and laughed it off, refusing to let them get to him. Deep down, he was hurting but too proud to let them know they had landed a punch. He had been watching Mila all day, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Ever since she’d arrived at Hurst, he’d been crazy about her. She was at least fifteen years his junior, no more than eighteen, but she had so much vitality about her. She was athletic and slim-hipped and knew the effect she had on men. He hadn’t figured out whether Mila and Sean were just friends or something more. It had been bugging him for days. She caught him staring absent-mindedly and he looked away embarrassed.

“What you looking at Joe? Seen anything you like?”

Joe mumbled something back, struggling to hide his blushes. Sean grinned at the pair of them and mischievously threw a small stone at Mila, hitting her on her ankle. She looked up angrily. “Hey!” He ignored her protest and muttered: “Don’t waste your time Joe. She ain’t worth it.”

“Thanks a lot Sean. Just because I don’t fancy you, don’t mean nothing. Perhaps you’re just not my type,” said Mila coquettishly.

Zed shushed them and they fell silent again. “Alright that’s enough. Let’s get our heads together. Do you want me to run through the plan one more time?”

They all shook their heads. “No Zed, we get it,” said Riley wearily, unfolding the piece of paper with a crude map of the hospital and its layout.

“And we’ll keep going over it until it’s locked and loaded. Planning is what keeps us safe. So, one more time. Is everyone clear? I’m on point, Riley you’re bringing up the rear, the rest of you stay alert and focused. Two teams sweeping the first and second floors, here, here and here,” he said pointing to the overnight wards. “Hand signals only. We can’t afford to make any noise. We don’t take any chances. OK? Now everyone get some rest. We move out in 30 minutes.”

They all nodded. Mila closed her eyes and started humming an old Aretha Franklin tune “
Respect
”. She finished tying back her long dark hair in a ponytail that reached down past her shoulders and part way down her back. When she was done, she put on a grey baseball cap from her rucksack that cast a shadow over forehead, blue eyes, petite nose and narrow lips. She wore no make-up and had a smear of mud or grease across her left cheek and part of her chin. It didn’t matter. Joe thought she looked beautiful. He titled his head back, put his cap over his face and rested his eyes for a few minutes.

Zed sat back against a telegraph post and tried to relax. Inside his heart was beating unusually fast. This was a big call, taking an inexperienced team into a well defended and densely populated environment that he knew virtually nothing about. They would need luck on their side. He looked around the group and weighed up their pros and cons, strengths and weaknesses. They were fit and able, from what he’d seen of the new arrivals. If they had to get out of there quickly, Joe was a weak link, heavy and slow. He had taught them all what little he remembered about self-defence and hand-to-hand combat. Joe was powerful, threw a good punch. Riley and Sean showed some skill with a knife. As for the rest, he had no idea. Did they even know what they were letting themselves in for? Riley did, Mila looked terrified but was hiding it well from the others. The others were hard to read, but chances are they were all bricking it.

If they could find out where they were holding Will, then maybe, just maybe they could get him out from right under their noses without anyone noticing. They owed it to Will to at least try.

He closed his eyes and ran through the plan one more time in his head. It was up to him to get them in and out safely, without casualties.