“Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the little saints, these sons of bitches are fast!” Robbie Moore, trying to find his bearings in the eerie green glow of a room seen through NVGs, aimed the adapted M4 Benelli pump action shotgun straight at the snarling face of the Taint. He fired. And missed. “Fuck!”
“Seriously? From six feet away? Who taught you to shoot? Your grandmother?” Terry Warner screamed abuse at his oppo and fumbled with his own M4. As inanimate objects are wont to do at the most inopportune moment, the damn thing stubbornly refused to co-operate. “Shit! Shit!”
“Okay, ladies. We all knew this was coming. Breathe.” The calm voice of Colby Flynn cut through the screaming and mayhem. “Terry, stop panicking. Safety off. Rob, prime and squeeze the damn trigger, don’t yank on it. You’re shooting a Taint, not giving yourself a hand job.” Colby wanted the newbies to get their first kill for themselves this time, rather than having to step in for them yet again. And preferably before the rest of the pack of slathering, wild-eyed Taints came barrelling through the door and tore them all to pieces, if you don’t mind lads, thank you very much.
An M4 blasted out a cartridge filled with liquid, spraying a fluorescent pale-green mist into the air, like someone had shaken a can of soda and pulled the tab. Colby checked the two men. It was Robbie Moore who had finally got his shit together and managed to fire off a second shot. “Adda boy.” He melted back into the corner of the room and watched how the two men handled a close-quarters confrontation with one of mankind’s most terrifying creations, a second-generation Taint with an appetite and an attitude. After the initial god-awful fumbling and general fuck-uppery, the two men started to get themselves organised. Their training – if it was ever truly possible to ‘train’ for your first full-on Taint attack – finally kicked in.
The Taint recoiled as the fine mist drenched it from the top of its oozing scalp to the large hole the M4 projectile had punched through the middle of its chest. It took a few microseconds for it to realise it had been hit. The Taint looked down at its chest, and then back up at Robbie. “In three… two… one…” Colby counted down, ticking the seconds off on curled fingers. “And…”
The Taint went rigid and splayed its arms out. Orange lines snaked through its body, visible under the surface of the skin, like rivers of lava flowing through its veins. Its skin started to bulge and blister. The Taint threw its head back and let out a wail. The incensed creature started to convulse and dropped to the floor. The spasms grew increasingly violent, and there was a loud crack as it twisted so savagely its spine snapped. It thrashed on the floor, screaming like all the souls of Hell were crying out as one voice. The creature’s fists smashed into the concrete floor and its heels drummed violently. The orange rivers became a tsunami of fire roaring through its body.
The explosion, when it came, was a bit of a relief to be honest. All that thrashing and screaming always gave Colby a headache. The liquid-filled projectile finally did its job, but it was more of a wet fart rather than a proper ‘boom’, rather like a damp feather pillow splitting. A shower of sparks and ash mushroomed upwards and filled the room.
“There ya go!” Colby grinned at the two men. It was their first close-quarters incendiary. They’d done decapitation, which was shocking enough, but relatively drama-free. Decapitating didn’t cause all that noisy thrashing about and exploding. But a blast from a M4 adapted to deliver a deadly organophosphur payload was a whole different story. It was always interesting watching the newbies react to their first full-on, heel drumming, concrete punching ‘party popper’, as the lads called them.
The two men stared at Colby. Through their night vision goggles he looked like a very muscular, very menacing green goblin. This particular grinch, though, wasn’t interested in ruining Christmas. He was focused on training the new kids to stay alive beyond their first sortie.
Flynn’s relaxed posture and nonchalant expression verged on the ‘seen it, done it’ arrogance that all the veterans of Alpha Unit had. But both newbies knew he was perfectly entitled to at least a certain level of arrogance. After all, the guy had, in fact, both seen it and done it. For real.
Colby grinned at his charges and pointed to the open door. “Um, incoming?”
Warner and Moore spun around. “Ah, crap…” In the green landscape created by their NVGs the men could see a set of long, sinewy fingers curling around the doorframe. Ragged, razor sharp nails that no French manicurist could ever redeem tipped off the insectoid-like digits. They dripped with venom. The latest generation of Taints had evolved yet again, developing tubes that ran underneath the skin and ended at the base of each nail bed, delivering a toxin that would paralyse the victim in seconds.
This new development meant that getting ‘up close and personal’ with a Taint had a whole new level of risk. Q division was working on clothing made from a Kevlar-mesh cloth that would protect the teams from accidental scratches, including gloves, full combats and balaclavas. But they were still a few weeks from going into production. Right now, all it took was one slash, one tear through the outer layers of skin and into the subcutaneous tissue beneath, and you were flat on your backside, paralysed rigid but still fully aware as Taints started to rip into your flesh. Never had the term ‘keep the buggers at arm’s length’ been taken so literally.
Right behind these toxin-laden fingers emerged a face that only a mother Taint could love. The skin on its face was lacerated into tramlines, and every wound was infected. A glimpse of white bone shone behind one particularly broad slash that stretched from its eye socket to the corner of its mouth. A mouth that, as to be expected, was filled with needle-sharp teeth also dripping with toxic juices.
It locked its gaze onto Terry Warner, two eyes filled with hate, vitriol, and probably even more damn venom. These second-gen Taints weren’t just mutant vampires – they were walking chemical factories as well.
Colby waited to see how Warner would react. Eye contact was one of the toughest tests anyone wanting to join the Unit would face. That whole thing about vampires having the ability to mesmerise their victims wasn’t a myth. The Old World vamps had it, and now, so did the Taints. That blood-curdling, bone-chilling gaze could stop even a fully trained member of the Unit in their tracks. It froze your soul. It coursed down your veins and nerves like crackling ice. It touched a primeval fear that every human being carried in their subconscious. That ‘look’ could crash though centuries of evolution and turn the most hardened, fully-trained and combat-experienced soldier into a gibbering, pitchfork-waving idiot villager in a second. It was the same cold fear that a human feels when they stare into the eyes of a wolf. That realisation that guess what, buddy, you’re no longer the apex predator. However, the bugger in front of you with the golden eyes, snarling face and big, fuck-off fangs most certainly is.
But the look that froze your soul and turned you into a dribbling, compliant moron could be beaten. Its power lay in convincing you that you were helpless in the face of this hellish horror. As in any combat situation, resisting the urge to freeze would be the only thing that would keep you alive. If you were getting the ‘look’, it meant that the Taint was within a few feet. And that was never a good place to be.
The newbies had been warned. What was commonly referred to as ‘getting a dose of epic stink-eye’ was right there in week-one training. But in all the fury and confusion of a hunt, Warner had done what all newbies do on their first outing – forgotten everything that really mattered. He flipped up his night vision goggles and gazed into the eyes of the Taint. His arms went limp and the M4 dropped to his side, his finger still curled around the trigger. If he it squeezed now, he’d probably shoot his own damn foot off.
“Terry! Terry, you idiot, snap out of it! Terry!” Robbie tried to get through to his oppo, but the mesmerised berk simply stood, gawping at the slathering, snarling Taint. Robbie cursed, swung his M4 up and blasted wildly at the creature. He didn’t miss this time. The Taint’s head exploded, closely followed by the rest of him
.
Then came more. So many more. A writhing avalanche of snarling, slathering Taints poured through the door, screeching and slashing those venom-laced talons towards the two men. Within a heartbeat the Taints were all over them. To their credit, the lads went down fighting. But underneath a rugby-scrum’s worth of Taints, they didn’t have a prayer. Their own screams joined in with those of their devourers…
Colby Flynn watched the Taints overwhelm the two men. “Damn it!” He glanced up at a corner of the room and made a cutting gesture across his throat. “End program!” A loud buzzer sounded.
The Taints melted away.
All that was left were two whimpering men, lying in a foetal position in the middle of the floor, their M4s abandoned at their sides.
“Well, that went well…” Colby sighed and let out a sharp whistle between his teeth. “Upsy daisy, ladies!”
“Real enough for ya, Col?” A voice crackled over a tannoy, followed by a nasty little chuckle.
Colby glanced up to a corner of the room and spoke back to the disembodied voice. “Cox, you’re a sick, twisted son of a bitch, you know that? A damn genius, granted, and obviously a serious gamer with a Resident Evil addiction, for sure. But sick and twisted nevertheless. Loved all the thrashing and the drumming, though. Super real. When did you upgrade the VR programming?”
“Ah, there was nothing on the telly last night. So, ya know. Idle hands, devil’s work and all that shit…”
“Remind me to make sure you stay busy, you bloody lunatic.” Colby glanced at the newbies, who were slowly starting to uncurl and get back up to their feet. They both looked utterly embarrassed and brushed the dust off their combats, sheepish looks on their faces. Colby turned back up to the corner of the room. “One thing, Micky, that second one? Too slow, fella. Way too slow. We’re not dealing with zombies here, mate, we’re going up against genetically-altered, batshit-crazy vamps. Speed ‘em up a bit. Make it more realistic.”
Terry Warner flipped his NVGs up and glared at Colby. “More realistic? More fucking realistic? Are you actually kidding me?” A blank stare from Colby reminded him he was talking to a superior officer. “I mean, are you actually kidding me, sir?”
“Corporal Warner, you are currently standing in a puddle of your own piss after having been well and truly freaked out by a virtual-reality Taint that, if I’m honest, has some flaws that need to be ironed out–”
“Hey! I thought you liked Binky!” Micky’s voice crackled over the tannoy again, interrupting Colby mid-rant. He sounded mortally offended.
Colby paused, and looked straight at Warner, who responded with a shrug and a ‘Yeah, I heard that too…’ look of wide-eyed astonishment.
Both men looked up at the tannoy and spoke together “Seriously?”
There was a short pause before an indignant voice responded, “What’s wrong with Binky?”
“What’s wrong with you?” Colby shook his head, and returned his attention to Warner and his interrupted rant. “Listen, fella. This?” He waved an arm around. “It’s a simulation. Nothing more. It’s designed as a cold-body experience to get you used to facing a Taint up close and personal before we assign you to a unit. This is just like any other kill house, Warner. A training exercise. Nothing more. Okay, granted, it’s a kill house with a truly astonishing level of technical wizardry and the latest in virtual reality immersive training, courtesy of that nutjob up there,” he jerked a thumb towards the tannoy.
“I can still hear you, you know!”
Colby ignored the hurt, disembodied voice. “But that’s all it is, just a training exercise. So if you find this disturbing then, trust me, mate, facing a warm body is a whole ‘nother level of crazy shit. And in that situation you can’t just yell ‘player one out!’ and hope Micky turns the VR off before you go all pant-pissy and foetal again.” He drew a breath and studied the shocked Warner. “Look. Be honest, okay? If you can’t cope with this then just say the word and we’ll RTU you. Nobody will think any less of you. This gig isn’t for everyone, believe me–”
“No, sir! No, that’s not what I meant. I… shit. I’ve got nothing here…” Warner glared at the floor. “Ah, bollocks. You’re gonna RTU me anyway, aren’t you?”
Colby shook his head. “We don’t return someone to their unit just for one fuck up. Everyone fails their first kill house. But if you are selected to join the Unit then bear in mind that, out in the real world? Facing real Taints?” Colby shrugged. “Yeah, you only get one shot at that, mate. So fail in here, survive out there.” He pushed himself off the wall and stood a few inches from Warner. The newbie was still breathing heavy, and the slightly acidic tang of ammonia wafted up from his damp combats.
Colby’s normally jovial look melted away, and Warner faced Flynn’s own heavy-duty version of epic stink-eye. The big man’s pale green eyes were hard, and the hint of a smile that usually pulled at the corners of Flynn’s mouth had vanished. “But screw up a second time, or give me any indication that you could end up putting your oppos’ lives in danger and I promise you, mate, I promise you, you’ll be back peeling spuds in the Catering Corps before you can say Dauphinoise potatoes.”
“I was with the Guards, sir.”
“Same difference.” Colby sniffed, and wished he hadn’t. “Go and get yourself cleaned up.” He threw a glance at the silent Terry. “Both of you.” They paused, looking awkward and apologetic. Colby glowered, his eyes narrowing even further. “And you’re still here why, exactly?”
Without another word, the two newbies turned and trudged out of the room. Their body posture spoke of defeat, dejection and a mortal fear that an RTU order was in their future at some point.
Colby watched the two men shuffle listlessly out. The frown was still etched on his face, but now he focused it up at the corner where the speaker and camera were hidden. He jerked a thumb towards the door. “You get all that?”
There was a click and a woman’s voice – soft, authoritative and well spoken – responded. “They’re on their first run-through, Col. It’s a beasting nobody expects the first time around. Give them a second go at it and we’ll be able to make a decision from there. They’ll either get their shit together, or they won’t.”
Colby sniffed, rubbed his nose and nodded. “Yeah. Guess we all pissed our pants the first time, huh?”
“Speak for yourself, Mister Flynn!”
“Uh-oh!” Colby laughed out loud. He was in for a smack around the ear later from Yolanda for that one. He could tell – the only time she called him ‘Mister Flynn’ was when she was going all Sandhurst on his arse. “Okay. Get Micky to do a reset. We’ll go again at oh-two hundred. Zero warning. I want this to be as realistic as possible.”
“Copy that. I’ll get him to speed Binky number two up a bit as well.”
Colby rolled his eyes and sighed. “Seriously, Yol, Binky? Fucking Binky?”
“Honestly? I have no bloody idea. I think Micky’s a Discworld fan or something.”
The tannoy crackled then went silent. Colby flipped his NVGs down and scanned the room. It was too empty to make things realistic. If these guys were to become competent Taint hunters, then they needed to be pushed. Hard. He made a mental note to get some furniture put into this room. It could be an obstacle or a weapon, depending on how the guys reacted.
In the distance, four pops sounded in rapid succession. Colby frowned. There shouldn’t be anyone else in the kill house when they were training, so who was shooting? He thought for a moment and then shrugged. “Meh, probably one of the lads on the range.” Sound tended to travel in funny ways sometimes, thanks to the topography of the surrounding hills. He forgot about the gunfire and glanced at his watch. “Ooo! Chow time! Thank Christ for that, I’m starving!” His stomach let out a strangled gurgle and he pressed a hand on his abdomen to still the beast. “Yep. Deffo chow time.”
As he trotted out of the room and made his way down the corridors and stairs towards the ground floor, Colby mentally assessed the two lads. T
erry Warner lacked confidence, but had shown real potential up until the most recent debacle. Leaving the safety on was unforgivable in a sweep-through of a known or even a potential hot zone. And he had frozen when he encountered Binky’s stink-eye act. Robbie Moore’s aim was atrocious. The lad needed at least a fortnight on the range and another week or two in the live-ammo kill house to get up to standard. But he had reacted according to his training, and saved his partner. So okay, both had messed up, but out of the two, Moore was probably worth a second chance…
“Whoa!” Colby threw an arm out to balance himself as his foot slid away. There was something greasy and viscous on the floor, as slippery as engine oil. The air had a strange metallic tang, mixed in with pungent top notes of shit and opened bowels. The hairs on the back of Colby’s neck rose, and he glanced at the floor. A smear, like a sauce flourish on a top-end restaurant plate, formed a crescent where his boot heel had skidded. The liquid was thick, dark, and in the iridescent light of a full moon Flynn could see vapour rising off it. So it was warm, then. And fresh. Very, very fresh.
He crouched, flipped his NVGs up and out of the way, and dipped a finger in the liquid. He rubbed it between his finger and thumb. As he pulled his thumb and finger apart, the liquid formed a hair-fine connection before snapping and creating two globules, one on each finger. Colby scowled. “Damn…” He knew that consistency. Only one fluid in the world felt like that – blood.
He pressed the button on his radio with his left hand. His right instinctively curled around the butt of a Glock 17 that sat in a holster strapped to his thigh. He flicked the safety off and disengaged the coiled lanyard that the Health and Safety lot insisted on attaching to the gun for no apparent reason other than that they knew it annoyed the ever living shit out of him. He cradled the butt in his hand, ready for a quick draw if necessary. “Micky, I’m in corridor two. Confirmation please, mate.”
SNAFU: Hunters Page 20
