Killing The Dead (Book 18): Sacrifice

by Murray, Richard

  Sacrifice.

  Killing the Dead: Season Three Book Six

  By Richard Murray

  Copyright 2019 Richard Murray

  All Rights Reserved

  All Characters are a work of Fiction.

  Any resemblance to real persons

  Living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Some scenes are based on real locations that

  have been altered for the purposes of the story.

  Chapter 1

  The helicopter spun wildly, fuselage almost vibrating beneath me as I held on for dear life. Its engines whined, the ‘whoop’ of the rotors spinning, slowing and becoming more drawn out as we lost height rapidly.

  Thick black smoke mixed with the falling snow, obscuring our already limited visibility, and I came to the unpleasant realisation that we might actually die. If not from the imminent crash, then from the horde of undead that our descent would have attracted.

  My eyes went to Briony, tied rather effectively and strapped into a seat. She met my gaze without flinching and even had the audacity to smile. Infected as she was with the zombie parasite, she would be the most likely to survive the crash.

  If I could have released my hold long enough to draw my knife, I might have tried to kill her out of spite alone. As it was, if I released my hold or unstrapped the harness, I would have been flung across the small cabin space.

  “Brace for fucking impact!” Isaac called out, a note of hysteria in his voice.

  I strained to see through the roiling smoke and flurries of snow, to what lay beyond, in the dim light of evening. It was to little avail and I found myself swallowing past a sudden dryness as thoughts of Lily and my children came to mind.

  It seemed, that as death approached, I was not so very different from normal people. My thoughts lingering on those I cared about.

  How very mundane of me.

  With a grinding screech we hit something large, the helicopter vibrating and shaking hard enough to throw us about in our harnesses. Something snapped with a loud crack, spinning away from the helicopter and Isaacs low litany of curses that had been coming steadily through the headset cut off abruptly.

  The door was torn away, and the icy air rushed in along with a piece of the rotor a foot in length that embedded itself into the minion seated beside me. I had one moment of surprise before something struck me hard and everything went dark.

  I had no idea how long I was unconscious for, but I came to with a start, staring around and immediately pulling away from the zombie minion strapped into the seat beside me. Fortunately, it hadn’t managed to figure out how to take the hood off, else I may well have already been bitten.

  As it was, I had time to draw my knife and stab the blade down into the unfortunate minion's skull. He died silently and I sucked in a deep breath, coughing immediately at the acrid smoke that filled my lungs.

  “Release us.”

  I flashed a grin Briony as I hit the release for my own harness, ignoring her demand for the moment. My eyes narrowed as I tried to see through the smoke, then I crossed the cabin to where Gregg had been strapped in.

  He sagged in his harness and I pressed two fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse. I felt something close to relief when I found it, weak but steady beneath my fingers. That would save me an awkward conversation with his sister.

  I hit the release on his harness, and he fell forward into my arms. It was a little awkward to get him up and over my shoulder in the confines of the cabin, but as soon as I did, I carried him towards the open door.

  There was no way of knowing what awaited me out there, but the alternative was to stay inside the helicopter and judging by the way the smoke was increasing, I didn’t think that would be for the best.

  At the door, I hesitated, peering out into the darkness. The cold wind buffeted me, blowing the smoke away from me and letting me breathe in a lungful of clean air.

  “Damn,” was all I said as I hopped out of the helicopters damaged fuselage and down onto the flat rooftop carpark.

  I staggered a little as I moved away from the helicopter, legs wobbling and as soon as I judged that I was far enough away, I dropped my friend. Without waiting, I left him there and returned to the helicopter.

  A quick check of my minions left me with fresh blood on my blade as all but one of them was dead. I pulled her from the wreckage and left her beside Gregg before heading back for Isaac.

  He was slumped forward in his seat, blood caking his too pale face. I swore repeatedly as I dragged the large man from the cockpit, uncaring about any damage I might do him as it was all I could manage to drag him.

  Taller and wider than I was, he was built like the proverbial brick shit house and probably weighed as much as one would too. Even so, I managed to drag him across the roof, adding only a few more scrapes to his already beaten and bruised body.

  I dropped down beside the three unconscious survivors and wiped sweat and blood from my face as I sucked in deep breaths of cold air. I needed to go back, of course, our supplies were in there. So too was Briony and as much as I would have preferred to kill her, I would need her.

  So, gathering what little energy I had left, I pushed myself up and staggered back towards the burning helicopter that was balanced precariously on the edge of the rooftop. Something that I hadn’t previously noticed.

  The back end, or at least what was left of it, hung over open air and since all our backpacks had been stored in the rear, that meant an unpleasant experience for me. As I pulled myself back up and into the cabin, I glanced from Briony to the backpacks containing our food and water

  “Release us now!”

  “Hush, I’m thinking.”

  I needed all the weight I could get in the forward part of the helicopter's fuselage. If I’d had the sense to realise the danger, I would have gathered the backpacks while the weight was stabilised with my friends.

  As it was, I had removed them, thus ensuring that as soon as I crept into the rear section, I would be at risk of my weight shifting the whole thing and sending me tumbling down to the ground below. Four or five storeys if I were to guess. Far enough that I probably wouldn’t die on impact and would just lay there waiting to be eaten.

  “Damn you! Release us!”

  I considered that for about a second. She was useful to me, yes, but if I died then I didn’t need her so what did her survival matter to me? Plus, I needed her weight at the front of the helicopter to help balance mine.

  Besides, she would likely survive the fall anyway.

  “If I die,” I said with a cocky grin. “Feel free to eat me.”

  I ignored her howls of impotent rage as I pushed past the dead bodies of my minions, towards the rear. The helicopter shuddered and I stopped, arms outstretched as I almost stumbled. The last thing I needed was to lose my balance and fall.

  My head felt cloudy and whether that was due to the bump during the crash or inhaling the black smoke, I wasn’t sure. Either way, I needed to be done and quick.

  With careful and small steps, I edged closer towards the backpacks that were secured with netting. Every step I took caused a fresh groan of metal and at any moment, I was sure it would shift, and I would fall.

  My knife was used to sever the ties holding the netting in place and I grimaced, hunching down as the backpacks all tumbled out, hitting the floor with a solid thump. I held my breath as I waited for the helicopter to fall and breathed silently when it didn’t.

  One by one, I picked up the backpacks and tossed them through the open door. Briony didn’t take her eyes from me and I could feel the hate there. She’d no doubt expected my betrayal, but even so, it seemed to have upset her.

>   That and her capture, or possibly the long scar that ran down the centre of her torso. I had sewn it together rather neatly, at least to my eyes, giving her time to heal from the wound I had inflicted. Even so, she hadn’t been pleased when she had awoken.

  The last bag went through the doorway and I inched back, taking my time and keeping a watchful eye on the doorway. If the helicopter shifted, there was always a chance I could leap through it before it fell.

  Of course, that would mean leaving Briony, but she was the type to hold a grudge and if she survived, she would come after me anyway.

  “Now, us!” she hissed as I neared her.

  With a grin, I hit the release on her harness, and she fell forwards into my arms. I shoved her to the side as she snapped her teeth, trying to bite me and gave her a solid kick in the ribs to distract her while I pulled a hood from the head of a dead minion.

  She glared as I approached, unable to kick out or do much more than wriggle her body due to the manner in which I had bound her arms and legs to her body. An advantage of her being undead meant that I had no need to worry about cutting off her circulation and so could bind her so tightly that she couldn’t move an inch.

  I punched her, hard, in the face and her head rocked back. She lay there stunned, just long enough for me to stuff the bunched-up hood in her mouth. A length of bandage from my pocket was enough to form an effective gag around her mouth, holding the hood in place.

  Once more, she glared as I grabbed her feet and lifted, dragging her across the floor to the door. I hopped out and pulled her towards me, bending as I pulled her forwards so that she fell out of the helicopter and onto my waiting shoulder.

  With a grunt, I lifted her and staggered across the rooftop carpark to where the others were starting to come to.

  I dropped Briony unceremoniously a short distance away from them and stood, hands on hips as I stretched the aching muscles of my back. There were few cars visible but the ones there were had slowed our wild skid across the rooftop, judging by the way they had been battered about.

  Either Isaac was incredibly lucky, or he was a better pilot than he had let on and had used them purposefully. I imagined it was the latter and gave him a small nod of acknowledgement.

  Not that he was conscious enough to notice.

  “The hell happened?” Gregg muttered, pressing one hand to his aching head.

  “Crashed,” I said.

  “Where?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere near the centre of a large town.”

  “Fuck.”

  Yeah, that was one way of putting it. Our crash would have attracted every damned zombie in the town.

  “Colchester,” Isaac mumbled as he pushed himself up to a seated position, wincing. “If I’m right we’re in Colchester.”

  “Where the fuck is Colchester?”

  “If I’m right,” Isaac said, running one trembling hand down his face. “We’re about fifty miles from London.”

  Not too far off target then. Just with no minions but the one, still unconscious one, few supplies, no radio to contact Lily and coordinate with the army she was sending and several million zombies between us and Genpact's hidden bunker beneath the streets of the former capital of the UK.

  “Well then,” I said with a laugh. “This is going to be fun.”

  Chapter 2

  The Calf of Man was around two and a half kilometres square, or six hundred and eighteen acres, in size. Small when compared to the main island we called home, but even that was small compared to the world we had lost to the undead.

  Just off the southernmost point of the Isle of Man, it was separated by a narrow stretch of water. That stretch of seawater, combined with the rocks that surrounded the island, made it an ideal place to have new arrivals taken for assessment before letting the across to the main island.

  Back in the before times, when the world was whole, it had been a bird sanctuary. As part of that role, it allowed visits from volunteers and ornithologists and had accommodation for around eight people in some rather basic self-catering accommodation.

  That accommodation, along with the four lighthouses, were the only buildings on the rocky little island. The rest of it was just grass and heather, birds and the seals that had colonised the rocky coastline.

  Which made it ideal, really. The accommodation was home to medical staff and a small complement of CDF soldiers. Materials had been ferried across to begin building more shelters, much needed in the cold of winter, for when the first of the refugees were brought in.

  The lighthouses had a small staff set in each, mainly to act as lookouts more than anything else. If their attention was often directed inwards, towards the island, well that was a good thing. If Genpact decided to send more infected people to our shores, we would be prepared.

  My visit, though, was for something else entirely. With Admiral Stuart and Samuel, along with a small complement of Ryan’s acolytes playing bodyguard, we trudged through the heavy snow to the large, single storey building that had been set up for our research staff.

  I had learnt my lesson well and while I understood their need to be able to research the undead and the parasite they carried, I wouldn’t allow that to be anywhere the zombies could escape and hurt more of my people.

  Built of aluminium panels over a steel frame, it was beyond basic. A wire mesh fence surrounded it with razor wire running across the top. Four squads of CDF soldiers patrolled and stood guard at all times and beyond them, were the Dead.

  Ryan’s people, who wore black death shrouds to signify that they were no longer of the living. They lived only to obey my lover and enact his will, which pretty much meant killing zombies and protecting the living.

  Fanatical in their belief that Ryan was the living personification of Death itself, their zealousness frightened me more than a little. But, at the same time, I knew that there would be no others that I could trust more.

  Which is why I was comfortable leaving my twin babies back at the apartment with a gaggle of black-clad acolytes playing childminder. Such a bizarre thing if I thought about it, which is why I didn’t.

  “The electronic locks are in places,” Admiral Stuart said with a nod towards the building as we approached. “My technicians finished them this morning.”

  I glanced up at the older man. He was taller than me by about a foot, slim body with a square jaw and eyes that had seen far too much horror. Unlike many of the island’s inhabitants, he kept his face clean-shaven and his hair cut short, eschewing warmer clothing in favour of his military fatigues.

  Despite his sour countenance, I liked him. More than that, I respected him. When the world had gone to hell, he held his crew together and went in search of other survivors. The vast majority of the twenty odd thousand people on our island was entirely due to his work.

  When the world was normal once more, they would probably build a statue in his honour and while he would hate that level of recognition, he would deserve it.

  My other companion didn’t say much in reply, though his eyes narrowed as he stared at the small groups of the Dead loitering near the building.

  Ryan’s second in command and the zealot behind the rise of the cult of the dead. It was he, who began the legend of Ryan. He, who began recruiting others and converting them. He was dedicated to Ryan in a way that few could understand.

  I did, though. I knew about the family he had lost, about the helplessness and the anger that he felt. About the sorrow that wreathed him. He needed a purpose when he had none and someone to believe in when the world had fallen to hell.

  He found both with Ryan and didn’t look back.

  I smiled when he caught me looking at him and he returned it warmly. Many had come to see him as Ryan’s shadow, the administrator of the day to day activities of the cult. They looked at his rail-thin figure and a wild shock of hair that stuck up no matter how much he brushed it, and they saw someone they could dismiss.

  That would
be a mistake. If anything, there were few I would consider dangerous when compared to Ryan, but he was one of them. If not for his fanatical devotion to my beloved, I would have worried.

  “Ma’am.”

  The soldier saluted as he spoke, the movement of his arm crisp and precise. Behind him, the rest of his squad did the same, earning the slightest nod of the head from the admiral. High praise indeed.

  “May we see your ID badges, please?”

  There was a slight flush to his cheeks as he asked, and I smiled encouragingly. It was no doubt ludicrous to him to have to ask for our ID as the three of us were well known. Still, both the Admiral and I had insisted on there being no exceptions.

  I pulled my own official – and laminated – badge from my pocket and he made a show of looking it over before nodding. While he checked the other two, I slipped the lanyard over my neck so that the badge hung down before me. We would be expected to show it several more times.

  When the guards were satisfied, the squad leader pulled out his own ID badge and pressed it against the electronic lock. It buzzed quietly, though clearly audible even with the slight breeze, and the soldier pulled the door open.

  We stepped inside and were met by another squad of soldiers a mere five feet in before another door. Once more we went through the process of showing our ID before we were let through into the room beyond.

  A young man sat behind a desk, sipping at his cup of tea and tapping idly on the keyboard before him, his eyes fixed to the monitor. He glanced up, eyebrows rising as he quickly put his cup down and rose to his feet.

  “Good morning, ma’am. Er, sir’s, how can I help you?”

  “We’d like to speak with Doctor Cassidy,” I said, hiding my smile at his nervousness.

  “Y-yes, of course.” He reached for the intercom button but stopped himself, fingering hovering above it. “Would you like her to come here?”

  “No,” Admiral Stuart said, his stern expression doing little for the young man’s nerves. “We will go to her.”

  “Ah, of course, sir.”

  His finger pressed down on the button and he spoke rapidly into the intercom as I feigned interest in one of the ancient magazines set on the coffee table beside the waiting room chairs.