CHAPTER THREE
Charlie charged towards the call. Over a hill, through a small cluster of foliage, a jump over a small stream, and he was there. The remnants of a camp, placed quite shrewdly in and amongst a grouping of trees, sat in front of him. But things were very wrong indeed. A battle had very recently taken place. The tents lay flat, collapsed and damaged. Mud and debris littered the area, whilst smoke rose into the air from the centre of the camp. But what was most horrible of all was the casualties. The entire vicinity was covered in uniformed bodies. The Captain slowed his run to a walk, pulling his pistol, preparing himself for the worst.
Cautiously he walked into the camp, his sharp eyes darting everywhere, apprehensive of an attacker lurking somewhere close by. He was very careful not to tread on any of the dead, which were strewn everywhere in disarray, stepping over them one at a time. It didn’t take him very long to realise - each and every one of the dead men were wearing the British uniform. There was no enemy amongst them.
‘They’ve been obliterated,’ he said, in a hushed voice.
He stopped and knelt down, studying one of the deceased. The soldier was armed, his gun still in the grip of his firm dead hand, the barrel was empty. The man looked so young, his horrified eyes still staring vacantly into the sky. But there was a touch of strangeness as well. His skin was tainted with a blue ink colouring, and his veins were incredibly prominent, swollen and purple. Most bizarre of all was that the dead boy had no bullet holes or knife marks on him. Instead, in his chest was an empty syringe, embedded deep into the body, its shell jutting out of him. For a brief moment Charlie contemplated the scenario, looking around and seeing the other men laying all in the same manner. He carefully folded the boy’s arms across his chest, and closed his eyes gently, before muttering a short prayer under his breath for him.
‘Hello,’ he called out, in a dispirited voice, that bounced off the surrounding area. There was no answer. ‘Hello,’ he called again, much louder this time.
‘Over here,’ came a feeble reply.
Charlie turned and walked towards the source of the call, treading his way through the slain men. On the edge of the camp stood his own squadron, safe and intact, all looking absolutely shocked at the grave situation laid out before them. Careful as they went, they joined their Captain, until together, they found the caller. Squeezed together between a group of dead bodies was a lone man. Muddied hair, bruised face, bloody uniform. He looked completely exhausted, and on sight of Charlie his reaching desperate hand buckled, collapsing on the bodies next to him.
‘On the double, boys,’ ordered the Captain.
Yankee and Doodle moved fast, levering the dead bodies apart as Charlie and Billy grabbed the man and dragged him out, propping him up against a large crate of supplies.
‘Water. Now,’ he ordered a second time, holding an impatient hand out, in the direction of Specks. Promptly he passed the Captain his flask, who poured the remaining contents over the soldier’s head and into his mouth. ‘Come on. Wake up.’ Within a moment the soldier woke - startled, dazed, confused. He coughed on the water, choking it back up, looking wide-eyed and terrified, gasping for breath. ‘Easy, easy boy. It’s alright, soldier. You’re safe. Now, take a moment and catch your breath.’ Charlie’s voice was calmer and more friendly than the squad had heard in months. ‘I’m Captain Charlie Crumble.’
‘Private… Wallace Campbell, sir,’ he wheezed, in a thick Scottish accent.
‘Good to meet you, Campbell. Specks, make yourself useful and check the man for injuries.’ The small geek moved in close and began with his duties. ‘Now, just what happened here?’ asked Charlie.
‘We were ambushed, sir. Came out of nowhere, sir. Took us all out in barely a few minutes.’
‘How many were there?’
‘Just one, sir.’
‘Just one? Who did this?’ he enquired.
‘Not who. What!’ His reply was gripped by fear, and he shook his head feverishly. He winced as Specks started to bandage a large bloody wound on his left leg. ‘Big hulk of a man. Built up like a tank. Bloody thing charged into the camp like a bulldozer crashing through hay! Knocked us all down with tree trunks of arms! Shooting syringes into everyone. Bullets just rebounded off him.’
‘Damn. There’s more than just one,’ whispered Billy.
‘Where did it come from?’ asked Charlie, paying no attention to Billy’s comment.
‘It all happened too quick. Bloody thing caught us unawares. But if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it came from the north-east, sir.’
‘Did you see where it went next?’ pressed Charlie, his voice raising a little.
‘No, sir. Didn’t go anywhere.’ The Scottish soldier began to laugh to himself, clutching at his ribcage in pain as he did so. ‘Managed to pull a grenade on the bugger. Thing went down. But… blew myself halfway across the camp in the process. Ha… worth it though.’
The soldier leant his head against the crate and let out a pained sigh as Specks discovered more and more wounds over his body - the situation was far graver for the lone survivor than everyone had hoped. Yankee and Doodle, ever the optimists, offered complimentary words on his solo accomplishment, as a fruitless attempt at distraction.
‘Good job, soldier,’ added Charlie, patting the man on the shoulder, before standing up. ‘Where are its remains?’
‘Somewhere in that direction, sir,’ he pointed a wobbly arm over to the left of the camp. ‘Saw… it go down… and everything… fell on top of it…’
‘Rest up. We’ll take a look. Specks, you keep an eye on him. The rest of you, you’re with me.’
Charlie, Billy and the brothers walked over to the heap of debris pointed out to them. Mud, dirt and a group of large shattered tents made up the majority of the mess. Together they removed some of the heavier items, throwing rocks and wreckage to the side until all that remained were the tents, which housed a rather large, and rather obvious dead lump underneath. The men were a little dubious about getting too close, Billy clenching his fists and the brothers resting their fingers on their triggers, so Charlie leant forward and pulled the debris away without due caution.
The noise was ear-splitting and horrific, but the sight was worse. On the floor lay another one of the Manipulated Men. But its legs had been blown clean off, and now all that remained was half of the creation - its entrails sprawled out on the floor behind him. It reached out for them, clutching at the snow-covered dirt, and dragging itself towards them in an automatic and all too desperate attempt to kill them. It screamed inaudible words with its damaged robotic tones, its goggled eyes cranking clumsily from one man to the next.
The men were quick to back away, as the thing dragged its tattered remains towards them all. It was clearly finding it difficult to manoeuvre, but nonetheless it still tried, lifting itself up to an awkward angle, leaning on one hand inelegantly, before lifting its other balled-up fist and revealing several syringes protruding from it. All but Billy looked confused. It instinctively aimed at Charlie and fired the syringes. The Captain dodged the first shot, but more were coming. Billy snapped his quick shield to life, jumping in front of Charlie and deflecting the remaining syringes to the ground. Enraged, the Manipulated Man swiped at Billy, sending the young man bouncing across the camp at an alarming rate. The thing lurched towards Charlie, but Yankee and Doodle stepped forward, unloading half a clip each into its torso. It screamed and gargled, but at no point stopped in its mission. But Charlie wasn’t scared. To the shock of his men he moved forward and began taunting the thing with words best left unsaid. The words soon turned to occasional kicks to the thing’s upper body, and that in turn, sadly, progressed to Charlie stamping on the thing’s head as it looked up at him with its strange goggled eyes. All the men could do was watch on in horror as their Captain let himself have his twisted fun. After too much of a time he was finally finished, giving in to exhaustion, wiping the sweat from his brow and glaring down at the thing in disgust.
‘Boys.
Go get me some rope, and do what you do best,’ he ordered.
‘What’s that, Captain?’ they asked in unison.
‘Be cowboys!’
The brothers did as instructed, quickly ploughing through the camp in search of supplies, whilst Charlie kept the Manipulated Man occupied, as Billy watched on, much to his dislike. Charlie was literally toying with the thing, allowing it to almost catch him time and time again, before pulling himself away at the last minute. Billy shook his head in repugnance as he watched his Captain tease and torture it. But then, Charlie tripped over one of the dead bodies, and for a very brief moment he thought he saw one of them move. The Manipulated Man went to grab him, but Billy appeared, moving rapidly towards the situation and dragging the monster backwards with its fleshy mechanical entrails. It arched its head and awkwardly began reaching out for the young man.
‘You know… I should just let this thing get you!’ exclaimed Billy.
‘Well, why didn’t you?’ demanded Charlie, immediately.
‘Why are we not just killing it?’ asked Billy.
‘Because I wish to better educate myself, boy,’ he replied.
The beast clawed its way towards Charlie, dragging Billy with it like he weighed next to nothing. Just then Yankee and Doodle reappeared on the scene, loud, proud and all too excited.
‘Ride ‘em, cowboy,’ screamed Yankee at the top of his voice, who was now perched on a large branch of a nearby tree, holding one end of a long rope and saluting the men, idiotically.
‘Yee-ha,’ yelped Doodle, who was spinning a lasso above his head and dashing towards the tail end of the Manipulated Man. ‘Better move yourself, Billy.’
Billy did so, and just in time! Doodle threw the lasso with skill and enthusiasm, snagging the bottom of the beast on his first attempt.
‘Nice catch, brother,’ shouted Yankee, who instantly jumped from the tree with the rope firmly in both hands. His descent was slowed down by the taut rope as it dragged the thing across the ground against its will. And as the American reached the floor the Manipulated Man’s body was lifted, dangling upside-down, violently lashing out at them all. ‘Easy there, fella,’ said Yankee, tying the rope around the tree and securing their little project.
‘He is way more ugly than the last one,’ added Doodle, who began swinging the creature back and forth with his brother. ‘I think his name is Dave.’
‘Na. It’s Phil,’ replied Yankee, straight away.
‘You’re both crazy. His name is Thomas,’ added Billy, eager to get involved.
‘Specks. Here, now,’ barked Charlie, who remained distant from the capture. The geek hustled over, leaving the Scottish solider to rest up. He approached Charlie, ready to give him his diagnosis of the injured man, but Charlie had other ideas. He pushed Specks towards the upside-down Manipulated Man. ‘Study it. Do what you do. I want to know how it works. How it doesn’t. And if possible, where it was manufactured.’ His voice was flat and without sentiment.
‘But, Captain…’ stuttered Specks, looking over at his patient.
‘You’re my Science Officer. So, just do it,’ he snapped, finishing the conversation.
Specks hustled himself into a rapid fluster, as he got to work on the dangling Manipulated Man under the watchful eyes of Charlie, who was simply glaring at the creation in cold silence. Billy and the boys did their best to hold it in place as it reached out at the small probing man, quickly concentrating his attention on its back, more specifically its spine and head. He began trying to remove the metal plating that was grafted immediately into the skin either side of the spinal column, but to no avail. Gradually he made his way round the entirety of the thing’s torso, and slowly but surely, over a course of painstakingly long minutes, Specks’ deductions began to mutter from his mouth.
‘Its muscles seem to have been influenced somehow… most likely by the constant use of a powerful drug… at a guess, whatever it is that’s being pumped in via these tubes…’ But whilst they listened to the science officer’s theories, no one noticed what was going on around them. All the bodies littering the camp had started to twitch. ‘But muscle mass pushed to such extremity would require continuous dosage… otherwise it would not have the energy to keep functioning…’
‘Meaning?’ asked Charlie.
‘They have a battery life, sir,’ answered Specks.
‘Well, that’s good right?’ posed Yankee.
‘This armour is not a suit… it’s grafted directly onto the flesh… with stitches…’ he probed further, ‘… and soldering… it must have been agony…’ Meanwhile, in and amongst the pile of dead men, arms and legs began to spasm awkwardly, going unnoticed by everyone but the Scottish soldier, who suddenly thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He shook it off, and summed it up to exhaustion.
‘You mean to say this guy is technically naked?’ suggested Doodle.
Billy smirked and shook his head at the statement, before Charlie pressed Specks for further information. But behind the group, the bodies were gradually starting to shift, bloody red and blue hands were reaching out clumsily in all directions, grasping haphazardly at one another. Bewildered, the lone soldier watched on in awe, speechless at the remarkable act unfolding before him. All the while the squad concentrated on the Manipulated Man, that was now speaking in an inaudible language to them, as Specks poked around its helmet with a knife. Perhaps by mistake, he managed to reveal a small compartment on the right side of the head, pulling it open with the tip of his knife and revealing a series of cogs turning in quick succession.
‘What the heck is that?’ asked Doodle, peering in at the clockworks.
‘If I had to speculate… and that is exactly what I’ve been doing this entire time…’ Specks looked almost as dumbfounded as the rest of the men. ‘I’d say… wow this is incredible…’
‘Careful there, Specks. Or Billy is gonna get jealous!’ laughed Yankee.
‘Forgive me… it’s merely an impossible guess… but I’d think…’ Behind them a small group of the dead men had managed to drag themselves up to their hands and knees. Blood and blue liquid oozed from their open mouths, their eyes were dark black and their exposed skin was tainted with the sight of a manifestation of veins. ‘Based on where this device runs in and out of the head…’ With his knife, he carefully pulled back a grouping of wires, revealing that they were running directly from a drilled hole in the head. In turn they ran into a small electrical boxed device, immediately coming out the other side and back into a secondary drilled hole further back in the skull. ‘I believe this design is for the purpose… to bypass…’ continued Specks, ‘… more precisely, for the means of bypassing this man’s own self… his decision making abilities… but without affecting the brain’s other directives… such as walking, breathing, moving of the limbs… things we do without consciously thinking about. Unbelievable!’
But no sooner had Specks stood back from the examination and taken a moment for himself, quickly jotting his findings down on his notepad, than things suddenly got a whole lot worse.
‘Captain Crumble,’ called the Scottish soldier from across the way.
Charlie turned and saw the poor fellow pointing a quivering finger at something. The squad turned, but instantly froze to the spot, forgetting about the hanging Manipulated Man immediately. They were unable to speak, unable to move, as the revelation in front of them overwhelmed all of their senses all at the same time. All they could do was watch in horror as little by little every single dead man in the camp got up to their feet. They shuffled clumsily from side to side in every direction. They moaned and groaned like sleep-walking idiots. Their heads were lop-sided, their faces devoid of character, and a mixture of red and blue liquid dripped from their bodies. Their sunken, soulless eyes suggested only one thing - somehow, the dead had risen.
‘What the…’ said the brothers in unison.
‘Oh my…’ stuttered Specks.
‘Uh-oh…’ exclaimed Billy.
But no one finished their sentences. The squad were in too much shock. The Scottish soldier tried to get up, unfortunately for him causing a considerable amount of noise in his direction, and drawing attention to himself. The horde of the dead men turned and watched, intrigued by the struggling man. Immediately they began to shuffle towards him, and before anyone realised what was happening, they had surrounded him. Yankee stepped forward to help, but Charlie put a firm hand on his chest, stopping him and pushing him straight back. But it was already too late, anyway. The horde wasted no time showing the men exactly what they did. They fell over each other, ham-fisted and docile in their actions, but the end result was still the same. The squad weren’t sure if they heard it first, or saw it first, but the horde began to eat the poor man. Astounded, the squad watched as a trio of dead men feasted on the Scots legs, whilst several more chewed on each arm, and the rest ripped away at his stomach, desperate to feed their all too obvious appetite. It was only when poor Wallace Campbell’s terrorised voice stopped screaming and the man was no more that the men were finally able to blink. Wide-eyed, the frightened squad looked on at the horrendous feast that was hurriedly running out. Charlie lifted a hand, ordering his men to remain still and quiet.
‘Did they just… eat that guy?’ whispered Doodle.
The horde turned and locked eyes with the squad, quickly dropping the leftovers of the Scottish soldier and shuffling towards them. Everyone glowered at Doodle, who cringed back at them in embarrassment.
‘Weapons at the ready,’ ordered Charlie. Yankee and Doodle grabbed their respective favourites, Charlie and Specks pulled their pistols and Billy snatched Yankee’s spare rifle from his back. ‘Drop them, now,’ ordered Charlie.
Quick as a flash the squadron shot at the horde, each man firing generously into the approaching wave. The dead men were close, easy to target, and dropped like flies one after the other. Before long they were once again a pile of bodies.
‘That was weird,’ said Doodle.
But the horde immediately began to move, clawing and crawling along the floor in unnatural ways. They struggled back up to their feet, their bullet holes oozed blood, their shot-off limbs hindered their movement, but that didn’t stop the horde from coming. Slow, unsteady, they approached once again. Dozens of the dead, hungry and crazed, edged ever closer. Charlie and his men were hesitant, hastily reloading their weapons, all the while keeping their eyes on the impossibility. Charlie was first at the ready. He raised his gun, ready to unload a second barrel. But he stopped himself. Right in front of him was the dead boy he had not long ago laid to rest and uttered a short prayer for. He didn’t know what to do. The guilt overwhelmed him as the dead man shifted closer, looking at him with cadaverous black eyes. It leant forward, eager to get its hands and teeth on Charlie. The Captain couldn’t wait any longer. BANG. A shot straight to the heart. It did nothing. BANG. A shot to the leg. The thing went down, but continued to crawl, slowly picking itself up and trying again, all the while limping. It reached out for the Captain, barely inches away. Charlie aimed his gun directly into the things forehead.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.
BANG. He took the shot, sending the bullet straight through its skull, passing through its brain, and straight out the other side. For Charlie it felt like an eternity as he watched his own bullet pass through the skull of such a young soldier on his own side. But the dead man went down, and there he stayed, without twitching, and without returning to life.
‘Head shot,’ said Charlie, loudly.
The squad were grateful for the information, and wasted no time. Specks was useless, missing almost every one of the dead as his shaky hand sent the bullets astray. Billy had his fair share, taking pot shots and flooring a handful of the men. But it was Yankee and Doodle that did the most, wiping out the dead men by the bucket load. Doodle stepped forward, keen to use his shotgun at close quarters, whilst his brother rarely took his finger from the trigger, finishing off the last of the horde within half a minute. Once the firing had stopped the men went quiet. They reloaded their guns, looking sorrowfully at what they had just done. Charlie walked through the twice-dead bodies. One reached out, looking at him with soulless eyes. The Captain put his pistol to its head and pulled the trigger.
‘Yankee,’ whispered Doodle to his brother. ‘Did those dead guys just come back to life and try to eat us?’
‘Yes, little brother. That’s exactly what just happened,’ he whispered in reply.
‘Specks,’ called out Charlie, as he continued his search. ‘Theories.’
All eyes fell on the little geek who was quickly working his way through his notepad.
‘Erm… yes… that is to say… the men may well have been infected with something. The vessels… syringes, found in their chests… the blue liquid… it must have some poisonous properties, as well as … yes… a virus that perhaps, when mixed with the bloodstream, causes this reanimation into these… mindless… flesh eating… drones.’
‘Could we have saved them?’ asked Yankee.
But Specks only had time to shrug his shoulders in response, as Charlie barged his way through his men and marched off, leaving the camp behind him.
‘Let’s go,’ he ordered.
‘But, what about this thing?’ called Billy, pointing at the Manipulated Man.
‘We leave him. He’ll be a warning for passing soldiers of a potential threat in the area.’ Charlie’s reply was cold and logical, not even bothering to turn his head.
With reluctance, the squad started to follow their Captain, but the atmosphere was tense and Yankee was clearly fuming about something.
‘You know I could have saved that little Scots man,’ he said. ‘But you just let that soldier die.’
‘I needed to see what they were designed to do.’
‘That ain’t right, man. That ain’t right.’
‘The boy was as good as dead anyway.’
Yankee stewed on the words for a moment, struggling to swallow them.
‘And just where the hell are we going this time, Captain?’ he yelled, unable to contain himself.
‘North east.’
‘Why? What’s north east? Some other stupid fool’s errand you want us wasting our time over? You ask me, we’ve spent too long letting the war pass us by. Seems a group of guys as talented as us should have our skills put to good use.’
The Captain stopped his march, turned on the spot and faced Yankee head on.
‘When I say you’re dismissed, that’s when you can do what you want. You can be an idiot with your brother. Drink beers down by the lake, shoot tin cans off a fence post, ride horses till you fall off and waste your time as best you please. But until that time, until I say we’re done, you will follow my orders, without question. Now, do I make myself clear?’ His words were resolute, his voice unyielding, his stance daunting. The men had never seen him act in such a way.
Yankee didn’t reply. He was too angry to speak. Doodle placed a friendly hand on his shoulder but he pushed it off. Instead he lowered his head and waited for Charlie to move off. Once he did, Yankee fell into line with the rest of the men and followed. Without word, or eye contact, the group moved along, leaving the strange ordeal behind them. They hoped that was the end of it. They hoped things would ease up for a while. And they hoped their Captain would return to them. They were wrong.
The Shoebox Pursuit - Part 3 - Poppies and Warpaint Page 4
