Capital Falling Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Winkless, Lance

  At any second now, the window is going to cave in, and I’m amazed it hasn’t already. We can either wait until it does, or take the initiative now and eliminate as many of these beasts at the window while they are lined up. Hell, it’s time to take the initiative!

  Taking aim at the forehead of the Rabid front and centre to me, I give the order.

  “Prepare to fire!”

  I pull my trigger and as soon as I do, the men in front of me pull theirs. Through my gun sight, I see the window explode, as does the head of the Rabid in my sights. Glass and Rabids cave into the foyer, falling all around with a pile of bodies in the centre close to where the window was. I carry on selecting targets and firing, concentrating on targets I can pick out trying to get up from the floor. I shoot six more, taking head shots each time. I can hear two of my colleagues are firing automatic rapid fire. Looking up, I see it’s Steve and Digger, both aiming at the pile which is still moving like some writhing knot of ghastly worms; it is difficult to differentiate between separate bodies and body parts, but at last, a head emerges from the twisted pile and I take the shot.

  Suddenly, Rabids start flying in through the opening where the window used to be, landing all over the front of the foyer. Some are shot in the air, but they are coming through thick and fast and even the majority of the shot ones don’t stay down. Hitting head shots with targets moving this fast is by no means easy. One lands to the right and before I can get a shot away, it jumps again; it is so quick and gets so much height, it is fearsome. I follow it with my M4 muzzle, waiting for a good shot. But before I get one, the Rabid is suddenly filled with bullets and drops to the floor. A wet splatter hits my face. I lower my rifle, and Mick lowers his at the same time; he nods over to me. Nodding back, I raise my hand to my face, wiping it downwards. My palm has a bloody stain on it, but a dark red blood, not human-looking. A thought flashes through my mind that this blood could be contagious but there’s no time to worry about that now; there are more pressing matters.

  I turn back to the opening and raise my M4. Targets are everywhere in front of the covering positions, Rabids landing and now running through into the foyer en masse. The lads are keeping them back but only just, and it’s taking a massive amount of ammo to do it. The firing is constant, and we cannot keep this up, we have got to retreat. Dan must have evacuated everyone else by now!

  As I’m about to shout the order to retreat, the opening in the glass wall goes dark. For a second, I can’t make out why because of the bright sunlight behind.

  A surge of Rabids flows through the opening and down the pile of dead ones at the front. I flick my M4 into auto and open up into them. There are too fucking many and it is virtually impossible to guarantee a head shot; no matter how many bullets I fire, it seems to have little effect. They head straight for the position where Steve and Ian are to my left. Both men are firing and firing into them but the wave crashes into the filing cabinets they are positioned behind. The cabinets tumble backwards, sending Steve sprawling onto his back whilst Ian staggers backwards still firing, trying in vain to keep the tide back.

  Steve is swamped immediately by Rabids, their mouths wide, ready to devour him. I’m sure I hear his deathly screams from below the pile of Rabids engulfing him, eating him alive.

  Ian, still firing, is hit by one which sinks into teeth his arm, and his rifle is knocked sideways sending bullets into two of the other windows. They shatter and come crashing down into the foyer. Other Rabids quickly join the feeding frenzy on Ian, jumping all over him and on top of each other, trying to get to him. One of the fuckers’ teeth are chomping down at Ian’s nose, Ian staggering backwards and falling onto the pile of Rabids. With Steve at the bottom, more Rabids pile on.

  Digger and the other lad are already retreating towards me; they are coming backwards firing constantly and just about managing to hold the tide of Rabids off them. I grab a grenade off my chest, flick the pin and throw the grenade into the throng in front of me and then start firing again.

  Rabids are coming at me in numbers, my mag goes, ‘Fucking Hell!’ I eject it and swiftly push in a fresh one and resume firing, as the grenade explodes. The explosion is dulled, however, by the number of Rabid bodies around it, the blast makes little difference. They are coming at me too fast and I have no time to try and push the button for the lift which is a few feet to my left. If I stop firing, they will be on top of me. I have to keep moving backwards and shooting, leaving the lift behind.

  A feeling of dread creeps into the pit of my stomach again, remembering how Emily is upstairs waiting for me, and Josh… Josh is out there somewhere in this mayhem, so I've got to get out of this and get my children safe. These things are relentless though and coming straight at me. I am straining my mind for an option. The other lads and I, Mick included, are starting to converge in the middle of the foyer, all moving backwards slowly and firing to keep the hoard of Rabids at bay. But we are struggling now, and they are gaining on us.

  We cannot keep this up all the way through the canteen to the kitchen and then to the lift and stairs beyond. If we turn and run, they’ll be on us in a flash. I know well how quickly they move, and my mind races, searching for a way to survive.

  "Covering fire!"

  Dan's voice bellows out from behind me, and I can't describe the feeling of relief in hearing those words from that man; it is nearly overwhelming.

  Rapid gunfire from multiple M4s explodes from the rear and more Rabids start to fall, taking some of the pressure off us four men retreating, and we start to move faster towards the canteen doors. Maybe, just maybe, I will survive this.

  The four of us are about five meters from the canteen doors. Something comes at me low, and I hesitate for a split second but then shoot its legs away. A boy who couldn’t be much older than Emily falls on his front. The boy lifts his little head, screeching at me; he looks like a boy, but he is a thing, a beast, a hideous creature. Its evil eyes piercing, it is still trying to get at me, pulling itself along by its hands, but this young Rabid is soon trampled over by other Rabids that have also been shot and are collapsing too.

  We are now close to the door, constantly firing at anything coming at us. There must be over a hundred Rabids in the foyer, more even, all coming at us in one way or another—and just how many have we shot? I can only guess but it must be well over the same amount again, how many more are out there, preparing to attack us?

  Dan shouts, "Grenades!" I see at least six of them pass over our heads and into the mass, two more rolling through low across the floor, followed by a shout of, "Run".

  The three other lads turn and make a break for the canteen door. Mick is first through followed by the other two lads, and I take my last couple of shots and then turn and run for the door. Just as the explosions hit almost in unison, I make it through past Dan and his men, with the blasts pushing my back helping me along. Immediately, I turn around, raising my rifle in case the Rabids are still coming. As I do, the last two grenades explode and more Rabids are torn to bits by them, then all that can be seen is a cloud of smoke.

  A relative silence draws over the room and I inch forward towards Dan, my rifle still pointing, looking for targets in the smoke. Nothing comes at us through the smoke; have the multiple grenades finished them off?

  Sunlight from the windows, or what’s left of them, starts to pierce through as the smoke begins to clear. Before the foyer becomes visible again, the chilling sound of Rabids moaning and snarling can be heard and grows louder.

  Out of the smoke, one appears, a middle-aged, white balding man in a white shirt and navy-blue tie with matching navy trousers and brown loafers, its head down as it stumbles forward. The right side of its body is shredded and singed, and dark red blood has stained through to the left side of its white shirt but it’s his right side that is shocking.

  The blast from one of the grenades has blown a hole in its body as if someone has taken a big bite out of it. Most of its rib cage is gone, the remaining couple of ribs han
ging down and swaying as it stumbles to walk. Its spine is visible but no organs can be seen; they are either gone or they have minced together. Half of its right arm is gone too, the remaining half missing most of its skin, only the bone, some muscle and tatters of flesh remaining. How the fuck can it be alive, and on its feet, still coming towards us? That is the most shocking thing, we all have seen gruesome battle injuries before, but this thing’s body has catastrophic injuries, yet it is still snarling, ready to attack again. It has us all mesmerized!

  “Let’s get these doors closed and secured,” I instruct, quickly regaining my composure.

  This seems to snap everyone back into action; the canteen doors are hastily closed and a radio call to Stan upstairs gets them locked, all main doors can be locked electronically throughout the building. The relief as the doors are closed is obvious, we all feel it and we all relax very slightly. The doors will keep the horde of Rabids contained, at least until we’ve evacuated to the higher floors.

  "Boss, Steve and Ian?" Dan asks the question I was waiting for.

  "I'm sorry, mate, they didn’t make it; there was a sudden surge of hostiles and their position was overwhelmed in seconds. I didn’t think any of us were going to make it, there were just so many of them and they kept coming. You got back to us just in time; thanks, mate, I owe you another one," I tell him sombrely.

  "You don't owe me for that one, Boss,” he says looking down. “We should have been there earlier, but we got caught up in getting the staff and the supplies upstairs. I was on the sixth floor when I heard the gunfire. Jill was frantic when I arrived back down, and Steve and Ian are on me." Dan looks pretty dejected.

  “Dan, this isn’t on you. You and the lads just saved my ass and the other men that were in there; if you hadn’t got here when you did, I don’t think we would have got out. There is no way you could have known it was going to go down like that.”

  Dan looks down. “Maybe, Boss. Thanks.”

  “Look, Dan, I think we are faring better than most caught up in this shit storm and we have got to carry on doing whatever is necessary to get through, to survive, okay?”

  “Okay, you’re right of course. What next?”

  “We need to get off this floor. I expect Emily is wondering where I am,” I say only half joking, trying to lighten Dan’s mood.

  “She will be, no doubt. Your face has blood on it, maybe you should wash up before she sees you…and Catherine too.”

  “Okay, mate, let’s get moving.”

  One of the lads is tying the two canteen door handles together with a belt; where it has come from, I don’t ask. Mick, Digger and the other lad who were in the foyer with us are over by one of the tables taking a breather, letting what just happened sink in. Digger is sitting on the table and Mick in a chair, whilst the lad I’m not familiar with is standing; he looks some years younger than us older veterans and is looking a bit shaken. I go over to them, but Mick is very stony-faced which is not surprising. He and Ian were quite close, had spent time in uniform together and then worked closely again out of uniform including here at Orion. So, he, as we all did, knew Steve well.

  “Alright, lads,” is all I can think of to say at first when I reach them. I get a couple of alrights back but don’t get much from Mick.

  Turning to the new lad, I introduce myself. His name is Tom. He is around 5’10” and well-built with short blond hair and a close-cut beard, my guess would be that he’s in his early to mid-thirties. I ask him if he is okay after the contact in the foyer and he assures me that he is. It is clear that he is shaken, however, but then again so am I; you just hide it better as you get older, I suppose.

  I speak to Mick directly, and he comes around a little. “At least Ian’s back with his wife now,” he says. I really hope he is right and that he has not turned into one of those monsters beginning to bang and push at the canteen doors, but I keep that thought to myself.

  Chapter 13

  As we move out of the canteen, we gather together any remaining supplies and weapons. Almost everything has already been cleared out though; it looks like the civvies pulled their fingers out in the end.

  There is a constant bombardment of the canteen doors, some of the crashes and bangs against them quite severe. The doors are visibly jolting inwards and vibrating from this attack. Rabids are snarling and screeching feverishly just the other side, in their determination to resume our battle. I wouldn’t put any money on the doors holding them back for long.

  We move through to the kitchen, which has also all but been cleared out. I tell everyone to double check, however. I radio Stan to lock the doors between the kitchen and the canteen and we tie the door handles together again. The kitchen shutters that open out into the canteen are already down and secured.

  There is a mirror on the wall by the sinks and I go over to see how much Rabid blood is on my face. Dark red splatters of dried blood pepper my skin; these have been turned into streaks down the middle of my face where I tried to wipe the blood off in the middle of the battle. It doesn’t look or feel good at all. My mind fools me into believing that the virus is crawling all over my face. At least, I hope it’s just my mind playing tricks.

  A bottle of anti-bacterial surface cleaner sits on the back of the sink next to me, and I turn on the hot tap, put a towel next to the sink and place my M4 on the worktop next to it. While the others check for any remaining supplies, I twist off the top of the anti-bacterial cleaner and then proceed to scrub it into my face and hands, washing it off with the now piping hot water. The cleaner stings my eyes and the hot water scalds my skin, but I ignore the pain and repeat the process. Again, it goes through my mind that the blood could be contagious; am I already infected? I put that of out my mind once more; there is no way for me to know and if I am, I will deal with it when and if it becomes apparent. I repeat the cleaning process for the third time.

  By the time I have finished disinfecting, my skin feels raw and dry, my eyes still stinging slightly. Most of the men have moved out to the corridor at the rear of the kitchen where the service lift and stairs are. Dan, Digger and Tom remain; I quickly finish drying myself off, pick up the M4 and then check in the mirror a final time to see how I’m looking before we get upstairs. My irritated skin makes my face bright red and blotchy, and I can only hope this subsides quickly.

  “Beautiful,” Dan jokes as I look in the mirror.

  “Hardly, but thanks. I always knew you had feelings for me.” Dan left himself open for that one.

  “How right you are! Are you set, Boss?”

  “Yep, let’s get out of here.”

  Leaving the kitchen behind, we go out into the corridor to join the rest of the men, all waiting for us with the lift doors open. The service lift is big enough to take us all in one go, even with the last of the supplies we have managed to scavenge, and we all pile in. This lift only goes as far as the sixth floor. The journey up is quiet, all of us reflecting. We soon reach the sixth floor though, which is a good thing; we don’t want to start dwelling on events if we can help it.

  As the lift doors open, we find another of the lads stationed outside, rifle at the ready. He knew we were coming. Dan had radioed ahead that we were on our way up, and he tells us that everyone is in the main area sorting out the supplies. The sixth floor has a communal area with its own kitchen, similar to the lounge on floor seven but quite a bit smaller. This floor is allocated to operations, usually concerned with planning and implementing customers’ requirements. I spend a lot of time on this floor and have a second office here.

  Suddenly, I panic thinking of Josh and retrieve my phone from my pocket. I have been ignoring my own comms what with all that has gone on. There is nothing on the phone, though, from Josh. I am not sure if it is a good thing or not; he could be in trouble and not have contacted me because he has no time, or his phone isn't working…Or, if he is still okay, he may not have contacted me either. I phone him quickly, and his phone rings but there is no answer. I don't leave him a mess
age on his voicemail but send him a text asking him to let me know his situation; receiving voicemail is time consuming and a pain.

  There is, however, another message from Colonel Reed, a text message again, asking me to phone him urgently. He will have to wait a while longer, as I need to speak to the staff here on floor six and get up to Emily as soon as I can. However, I am very keen to speak to him as soon as possible.

  Catching up with the men making their way to the communal area, I pull Dan to one side just before we get there.

  "Listen, mate, I'm concerned about the blood that hit my face, it is possible that it was carrying the virus and also possible that it infected me. Keep an eye on me, and if you see any changes, tell me so we can deal with it, okay?"

  "I'm sure you’re okay, Boss," Dan says lightheartedly.

  "No, Dan," I say sternly, "we don’t know the score with this virus at the moment and I won't put anybody at risk. In fact, we need to keep an eye on everyone in case anybody’s caught it."

  "Okay, yes; you're right. In fact, I think we need to tell everyone to be aware?"

  "Good idea, I am going to speak to everyone now and I'll cover that too," I say. And we both carry on walking.

  We reach the communal area and it seems the supplies have been sorted because almost everyone is sitting in the seats scattered around, most watching the news on the TV. The lads who have just arrived from downstairs are gathered around one of the tables with supplies stacked on it, and are refuelling after the adrenaline rush they have just had. I too am hungry again, but want to get on and speak to everybody so I can get back upstairs.

  Before I get a chance to speak, Jill sees me and comes straight over, looking very concerned and upset. She is repeating my name while still a few feet away.

  “Andy, Andy, I am so sorry I didn’t get help in time, I couldn’t find anybody,” Jill says exasperated. She looks in shock.