The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 3)

by Luke Duffy

  “There, doesn’t that feel better?”

  Bobby did not speak but eyed his surroundings without moving his head. There were five men in the room with him. One appeared to be a doctor. Another seemed to be the second in command, and the remaining two were clearly soldiers. The two soldiers were vicious looking, and they stared back at Bobby with an expression that he could only interpret as hunger.

  He glanced down at his own body. He was bare chested with only the blood-stained scraps of his trousers providing him with any coverage. There was a large white dressing over his right thigh with spots of blood seeping through and more bandages wrapped around his abdomen and chest. In his right forearm was a tube leading out from a cannula that had been inserted into one of his veins and attached to a bag of transparent, pale yellow fluid hanging from a tall, flimsy looking metal frame beside his chair.

  “We’re not barbarians, Bobby. We look after our enemies,” the man said, attempting to sound affable.

  Bobby’s eyes narrowed. The man knew his name despite the fact that he carried no identification tags. He wondered just how much the man in front of him knew about him and his teammates and what information he could possibly be hoping to gain from him.

  “Why did you ask my name if you already knew?” he slurred.

  “It was more for your benefit, son. I just wanted to know if you were on the same planet as us right now. If you could see yourself, you’d understand why.”

  Bobby glanced from one face to the next. His head swam, and he felt nauseous. The pain in his chest was getting worse with each breath. He looked down again and recognised the valve poking out from between the blood soaked dressings over the right hand side of his torso. He had suffered a wound, probably a bullet or shrapnel fragment, that had pierced his chest cavity, causing his right lung to begin folding in on itself as air flooded into the cavity. The valve was preventing the lung from completely collapsing and causing a tension pneumothorax that would cause him to suffocate. Bobby grunted and nodded his head, now understanding his injuries and the state that he was in. He looked around again and took in the objects within the room, ignoring the five men that sat staring back at him.

  There was only one door leading in, and from what he could tell, there were no windows. The light above him was dim and cast the room in an eerie glow. In the far corner and to the left of the entrance, a number of gurneys sat pushed up against the wall. On top of the gurneys were a number of long, dark green heaps that had a sheen finish and zips. He recognised them for what they were—body bags. His blood turned cold as it coursed through his veins, and he shifted in his seat as he remembered the people who had been with him in the vehicle when they set out from the farmhouse. He turned, and looked at the man in front of him, fixing him with a hard but unfocussed stare.

  “Where’s the rest of my group?” he demanded, his eyes flickering to the left as they were inadvertently drawn to the gurneys.

  “I was going to ask you the exact same question. Where’s the rest of your team? We know that we didn’t get all of you.”

  “I don’t know,” Bobby said, shaking his head and then immediately regretting it as the pain rippled through his body. “I don’t know where they are.”

  The man sighed and stood up. Bobby thought for a moment that he would lean across and punch him. He tensed his body and waited for the impact. The man turned and headed towards the nearest of the gurneys. He paused and turned to Bobby. His features, now cast in shadow, looked more rodent and elongated than they had done beneath the low burning light in the ceiling. He smiled, baring his crooked teeth.

  “My name’s General Gibson, but I am guessing that you’ve already worked that out for yourself by now. I’m also guessing that you know why I’m here. We know that you’re part of a special team, and we know that that spineless bastard, Thompson, handed you the launch codes for the missiles that are still sitting in the silos.”

  Bobby stared back at him, feeling his rage building within him and his mouth becoming a thin white line as he kept his lips firmly sealed. He knew the man only by reputation, but already he was living up to the rumours he had heard about him. It was true that he had no morals when it came to getting what he wanted.

  “That little stunt you pulled…” Gibson continued in a casual manner as he turned his attention to the nearest of the body bags. “Putting your bio-trackers on a bunch of walking corpses; pretty clever trick. Took us a while to work it out, and I lost a couple of good men in the process. It’s true what I heard about you boys; you really are an inventive bunch.”

  As Bobby continued to watch him, Gibson reached down and grasped the zipper of the nearest body bag. With a deep buzzing noise that filled the otherwise silent room, he unzipped the bag, slowly and methodically. The lower flap sagged over the side of the gurney with the weight of fluids seeping out from the body inside. Eventually, it collapsed under the weight and a flood of dark red and coagulated blood flooded out from the body bag, pouring onto the floor with a sickening splatter. Gibson stepped to the side, deliberately affording Bobby a clear view of the corpse contained within the bag. At first, it was difficult for Bobby to see clearly, but as his eyes slowly adjusted, he recognised the mass of long black hair and the pale and unmoving features of the slender face. It was Samantha.

  Gibson pulled back the top flap further, revealing the upper half of her naked body. He peered down at her in silence with an expression of sadness and concern on his face. He shook his head slowly, tutting as he did so, and sounding regretful.

  “Shame about her, Bobby,” he said, still staring at Samantha’s face. “She was a looker and from what I can tell, in great shape.” He pulled the bag over to cover her remains again and turned back towards his chair. “It’s hard to tell for certain, though, especially when you see her from the opposite angle. What a mess…”

  Bobby, feeling his pain and anguish surge within him, threw back his head, and let out an agony-filled roar. With all the strength he could muster, he thrashed his head and pulled at his restraints. The chair shifted and rattled as it was forced from the spot with the violence of Bobby’s writhing. The more he struggled, the more the chair danced across the room. He screamed endlessly, his burning and hate filled eyes remaining locked upon Gibson. By now, the wounds had begun to open again, and blood was seeping through his dressings, and the large gash across his head began to bleed again. His blood cascaded back down over his face, giving him the appearance of a screaming devil foaming at the mouth with rage.

  Gibson did not flinch or speak while Bobby continued to thrash and struggle against his bonds. Eventually, the chair toppled and both man and seat were sent crashing to the floor. By now, Bobby’s energy was spent. His attempts at breaking free had exhausted him of everything he had remaining. Now, he lay on his side, still strapped to the chair and sobbing into the cold and dust covered concrete floor. The two vicious looking soldiers hauled him upright and replanted the chair so that he was directly facing Gibson again. His head sagged, and his breath came in wheezing gasps.

  Gibson cleared his throat with a series of rumbling coughs and adjusted his seating position so that he was more comfortable for the coming interrogation. He nodded to the doctor who then stepped across to check on Bobby’s wounds and his pulse rate. The man nodded at Gibson before stepping back again. For a while, nobody spoke as Bobby remained slumped in his chair, drooling and struggling to breathe.

  “You were the only survivor we found, I’m afraid. So you’re our new best friend. We want the launch codes that Thompson gave to you before he shot himself. We want the nukes. We already have a few, but nowhere near enough to rid our lands of those things out there. Don’t you see that this is for the greater good, Bobby?”

  “You’re fucking mad,” Bobby grunted, and let out a gurgling laugh that developed into a pain-filled sputter. “Do you want to know where the codes are?”

  Gibson remained silent but watching him intently.

  “Up your fucking arse,�
� Bobby snarled.

  He glanced back at the bag containing Samantha’s body. He wanted to be cut free and given the opportunity to tear out Gibson’s throat. He wanted to taste the man’s blood as he sank his teeth into the soft tissue of his neck. However, he knew that was never going to happen. He was in a bad way, bleeding heavily, and becoming weaker by the minute. As much as he would like to hold out against them and maybe even break free, his own medical knowledge told him that his wounds would eventually get the better of him. No matter how determined he was, he could not hold out forever.

  Glaring at Gibson, Bobby rolled his tongue over the rear teeth of his right lower jaw, searching for the cap that covered the detonator to the small explosive device that had been surgically implanted into his skull below his ear. His tongue brushed over a soft and pulpy gap between his molars. His brow furrowed for a moment with confusion as he continued his search. Finally, he noticed the amused look on Gibson’s face as he sat watching him in silence with his arms placed across his chest.

  “You looking for something in particular?” Gibson taunted with a smile. He unfolded his arms and held out his palm, displaying the white tooth and the small detonator that was attached. “You didn’t realise that we knew about your little gadgets, did you?”

  “Cunt,” Bobby slurred as his head sagged at the realisation that his last hope of freedom had been snatched from him.

  The interrogation went on with Bobby refusing to cooperate. They asked him over and over on the whereabouts of his team and the launch codes and what they intended to do with them. Even if he had known where Stan and the others were, Bobby would never have told them. Gibson made threats one minute and then offered care and compassion the next. None of it had the desired effect. All that he received was Bobby’s obnoxious answers and ridicule. After an hour of fruitless questioning, Gibson finally stood up and let out a long and disappointment filled sigh. He turned towards the doctor and the other officer in the room and then nodded to the two burly men that were standing beside the door.

  “Your determination and courage are admirable, Bobby,” Gibson said with a note of respect. “But I’m afraid it doesn’t help the situation for either of us. You have information that you’re unwilling to give, and I have no time to fuck around.”

  He turned on his heel and headed for the door, the doctor and his second in command following him. Gibson paused, and whispered something into the ear of one of the soldiers and then glanced back at Bobby.

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier nodded.

  As the three men left the room, the two soldiers closed in on either side of Bobby. He tensed his body, dropped his head and clenched his teeth. The beatings and torture began. His howls of pain could be heard from far beyond the door as his tormentors set about inflicting as much agony as they could upon him, stopping short of killing him. It went on for a whole hour, Bobby taking the hits and the soldiers sweating profusely.

  At first, it was slaps across the face, but as Bobby laughed at them, the open-handed whacks turned into clenched fists that rained down blow after blow. Still, Bobby refused to speak and taunted them all the more. There was nothing that he could have told them. He had no idea where Stan and the others now where.

  When the soldiers realised that punching him would not work, they turned to causing him more discomfort in the wounds that he had already sustained, digging their fingers into the hole in his leg and enlarging the lacerations across his abdomen. Bobby did nothing but roar for the whole time, losing consciousness from time to time and being brought back to the real world with freezing cold water. Even the two men that were dishing out the punishment were beginning to tire, knowing full well that they were getting nowhere, while fearing that they would fail in their task.

  Eventually, the door opened and Gibson stepped back into the room. He turned to the two sweating soldiers and raised an eyebrow. Their faces coated with perspiration and their eyes laden with fear, they looked away, refusing to meet his gaze. Gibson turned to Bobby and watched him for a moment. The floor beneath his chair was awash with blood and more was dripping in a steady stream from the seat. His face was twice its natural size, swollen and bloodied, leaving wafer-thin slits where his eyes used to be. All of his dressings were sodden and useless and it was clear that he was fading fast. His head rolled and lolled to the side as he coughed and sputtered, bringing up more blood that only added to the pathetic appearance of the man.

  Gibson nodded, understanding that Bobby would not, or could not give him the information that he needed. He stepped forward and placed his hand upon Bobby’s head, patting gently with affection, and nodding his acknowledgement of the man’s bravery.

  Bobby stared up at him, too weak to be able to say anything. Slouched in his chair, the best he could manage was a pain-filled grin that showed a row of broken teeth and split lips. His shoulders juddered slightly as he laughed internally, and tears began to pour from his eyes. He knew that he had beaten them, and the satisfaction of it was his final reward to himself.

  Gibson shrugged and smiled down at him. Again, he lightly patted Bobby’s head and then lowered himself into a crouch so that their eyes were level with each other. There was a sadness in Gibson’s eyes, but it was impossible to know whether or not the emotion was genuine.

  “Well done, son,” Gibson applauded with resignation. He smiled again and nodded, keeping his eyes locked on Bobby. “You’re one tough bastard, I’ll give you that. A true soldier. I only wish I had a battalion of you lads, I really do. I could storm the heavens with more men like you, Bobby. It’s just a shame that we found ourselves on opposing sides in all this mess. I could’ve used men like you.”

  Climbing back to his feet, Gibson pulled a pistol from his belt. He raised the barrel and pointed it at Bobby’s chest, staring into his eyes. Bobby glared back at him, still grinning mutinously and nodding his head. His body stiffened as he kept his attention focussed on Gibson, staring him down to the very end. He welcomed the bullet, embracing it as a friend coming to release him from all the pain and suffering.

  As the shot cracked, Bobby’s head arched back for a second as the round smashed through his ribs and blasted its way through his heart. He slumped back down into his chair, his head dropping to the side and still displaying the remnants of the defiant smile.

  Gibson paused and watched the blood-soaked body settle before stepping back and turning for the doorway.

  “What about him?” his second in command asked, nodding to Bobby.

  Gibson stopped and glanced back at the body for a moment, considering what to have done with the courageous soldier he had just killed. Eventually, his face turned blank, and he shrugged as he turned and walked out through the door.

  “Leave him to wake up,” he called over his shoulder with indifference. “Cut him loose and he can feed on the body of his pretty girlfriend if he wants.”

  The Major closed the door, leaving the lifeless corpse of Bobby locked inside.

  21

  There was a tangle of tubes and wires connected to him, feeding him with oxygen and nutrients while the machines beside his bed continued to emit pings and display jagged lined readouts as they monitored his condition. Al remained still, his eyes closed, and the life-support machines being the only thing preventing him from fading out of existence. His chest moved as the ventilators pumped air into his lungs, but that was the only indication of life.

  The dressings around his head covered much of his swollen face. Not only had the bullet smashed a hole through his skull, but he had sustained a number of other injuries as his limp body dropped and tumbled down over the hard, steel steps. The area around his eyes was swollen and almost black in colour. His nose was broken, and his lips were lacerated and bloated. He looked far removed from the man they had all been used to seeing on a daily basis. He was unrecognisable now. He had also sustained a broken arm, fractured hip, and a number of cracked ribs during the fall, and it was a wonder that he was still alive, though barely. Luckily, the
re had been no damage to his spinal column, and the medical staff considered it as a miracle that his neck had not been broken.

  “We’ve done all we can for him with our limited resources and equipment,” the doctor said in a matter-of-fact tone as he checked the monitors and studied the medical charts. “The bullet fractured his skull but luckily missed his brain as it exited.”

  Tina looked across at Tommy. He sat watching Al, bare chested and with his arm in a sling. He had refused to leave his friend’s bedside since he had been brought in. He looked tired; the dark rings beneath his eyes appearing like deep and dark holes in his face. He had not slept the entire time as he maintained his vigil over Al, and even while the crescendo of battle broke out beyond the walls, Tommy remained where he was. The worry in his face was plain to see and if it was not for Tina, he would have gone without eating, completely forgetting that he also needed to take care of himself.

  “What happens now then, doc?” he asked in a flat tone and without taking his eyes away from the lifeless form lying in the bed.

  The doctor shrugged and leaned over Al’s body, taking a closer look at his dressings and checking his pupillary response. He watched his face closely, looking for any indication of a reaction to the light or the pinching and prodding that he carried out on the soft underside of Al’s arm and ear lobes.

  “We’ll keep him under for another couple of days and see if there’s any improvement. Eventually, it will be up to him whether or not he will pull through this. There’s only so much we can do here. If he makes it through the next few days, my main concern will be the long-term effects.”