by Ricky Cooper
Rawlings' voice shivered through the airways making Baker flinch subconsciously at the sudden intrusion. The sharp static chopped words were deafening as they shattered the silence that had enveloped them all.
'What the....Baker, where the hell did they go, I slotted at least a dozen myself but I can't see a damn thing.'
Baker's fingers drifted to his throat mike as he stepped forwards, freeing himself from the confines of his covered position.
'Watcher, I have no freaking clue. There's nothing down here but us, no bodies, no blood, nothing.'
Baker's mind rebelled at what his eyes were seeing, the featureless dirt road before them stretched off to the horizon, its rust coloured surface rolling left and right tucking itself like a blanket under the edges of the buildings around them.
Baker turned slowly, his feet moving of their own accord as he tried to fathom where his sanity had gone.
Rawlings' signal wavered slightly the static making Baker wince as pain lanced through his ear drum.
'Then what the hell were we shooting at?'
Baker didn't answer; his attention suddenly drawn by the startled yelp behind him. Turning, rifle raised, Baker sprinted back to where he had last been.
'Dimi, answer me. Dimi you little fucker, where are you?'
Baker screamed into the microphone receiver pressed tightly against his throat.
A sharp, scrambling scrape drew Baker down a side alley; the dust swirling about his ankles as he crept forwards, rifle pivoting as he scanned the slightly darkened corridor formed by the buildings.
'Baker!'
Derek ignored the warning tone in Rawlings' voice and ploughed ever further into the dimming gloom of the alleyway.
'Baker, stop!',Again, Derek ignored the pleading tone underlying the call as Rawlings stared down his scope, a small tear sliding down his cheek as he gazed at the sight unfolding below.
'Baker, seriously, stop mate.' Again Derek ignored him and once more ploughed on, heading ever deeper into the darkened depths of the shadowed alley. Heads snapped round at the pain soaked roar issuing from the shrouded mouth of the alley. Kingsley hared down the small side street sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him, his feet skimming the harsh grit covered surface as if the hounds of Satan were snapping at his heels. Skidding to a halt, Kingsley felt his stomach lurch as he cast his gaze upon the scene before him. Baker clasped Dimi's rapidly weakening hand in his own; a deep claret halo was slowly making its way past his boots.
The syrup-thick pool clung to the soles of Baker's boots like molasses, gluing him to the floor as he knelt beside Dimi.
'Did, we....?'
A hoarse hacking cough rolled up from the boy's lungs, blood bubbling up and over his lips coating the sides of his mouth as he tried in vain to speak. Baker smoothed back the young soldier's blood matted hair, shushing him gently like a father consoling a frightened child.
Dimi locked his gaze with Baker's, reaching up slowly he tried to pull himself upwards. Sensing what he was trying to do, Baker gently pushed back. Forcing him back down, he eased Dimi back to the floor while forcing a smile.
'Lay still mate; you got a bit of a nasty cut on your side. We wouldn't want you making it worse.'
Dimi grinned. 'Yeah, I know, boss. Those rag heads stuck me good but I gave 'em a thrashing. Kicked the living snot out of 'em.'
Baker once more pasted a grin over his features as he gazed down at the slowly fading light in Dimi's eyes.
'I know, kid, I know.'
'Chief, did we....did we win?'
Baker smiled again.'Yeah kid we won'
A soft smile danced across Dimi's features as he began to grow heavy.
'Good.'
Like a dying star Dimi faded, the light behind his eyes floating away, carried off with the last, soft breath he took, vanishing forever. Baker gently lay the boy's head on the ground, sliding his eye lids shut, the dead stare holding his gaze was not something he could hold any longer. Standing, he looked down at the now slowly cooling body of his friend. Stepping back, Baker glanced at his hands, a rapidly drying sheen of blood clinging to his palms.
'Chief, you okay?' Kingsley looked down at the mangled body before him; Dimi's torso from his chest down was torn asunder. The tangled limp mass of his intestines lay strewn across the width of the alley, caked in dirt and clotted blood. The ragged torn remnants of his lower chest and stomach hung in a limp mass over the jagged splintered remains of his rib cage, the pale jutting peaks of bone caught Baker's eyes like a hook through a fish's mouth.
Kneeling down he slowly inspected the pitted dented scrapes marring the blood stained bone.
'They ate him, King; they fucking ate him.'
Tatters of Dimi's uniform clung to the walls of the buildings, held aloft by gobbets of flesh like a macabre meat wallpaper. Grey, flesh caked shards of femur lanced through his trouser leg, like icebergs floating on a star strewn ink black sea. Kingsley could hardly process what he was seeing. The ferocity and senseless slaughter that lay before him was akin to nothing else he had ever seen. His mouth hung agape as he looked around him.
'Who did this to him?'
Baker's eyes darkened.
'Not who King, it's a what, this is the same thing that happened in Abu Naji, you just didn't see it when we were there. Believe me if I get my hands on what ever did this to Dimi, they are going to wish they had stayed dead.'
Reaching down, Baker curled the steel ball chain of Dimi's dog tags in his hand and with a short, sharp tug tore them free. Righting himself, he slipped the tags into a breast pocket on his battle vest before tapping in the GPS co-ordinates of where he stood.
'If we can, we're coming back and bringing Dimi home.'
Kingsley nodded before turning and walking out the alleyway. Lifting his fingers to his throat Baker opened a connection to Pottergate.
3
Pottergate's slightly nasal tones buzzed in Baker's ear a split second later, the buzzing back feed making his ear itch with the irritating noise.
'Baker?'
Baker paused for a fraction of a second as he ran his next words over in his mind.
'Dimi's dead.'
There was a rolling silence that seemed to drag, time elongating as it stretched out between them as Baker waited for a reply.
'Noted; carry on as directed, we can deal with it once the village is secure.'
Baker cut the connection not bothering to reply, anger and sadness vying for control as he walked away from the carnage behind him. Marching past the others Baker quickly fed a fresh magazine into his rifle.
'Let's move, we got a village to clear.'
Baker heard the curious call rolling over the dust laden air to him.
'Sergeant, where's Dimi?'
Baker never broke stride as he moved towards a worm rotted plank door, he lifted his boot as he replied.
'Dead.'
Slamming his foot into the rotted wood, he kicked it open, the brittle worm eaten timber splintered under the assault, spinning against its hinges.
The weight of the door tore the hinges from the dry crumbling block work sending it pin-wheeling into the room. The muffled crash of the aged timber hitting the straw strewn floor echoed out into the darkening sky’s.
Charging headlong into the small one story building Baker scanned left and right. His optics casting a small, green, glow over his eyes, encasing him in the daemonic glow of ethereal green light. His rifle barked in his hands as he squeezed the trigger, rounds arcing through the air as they tore into the soft flesh of the creatures before him. The bright flash of his muzzle cast dancing shadows over the walls as he moved with clinical ease through the room.
The team struggled to catch up as Baker left the building and careened into the next. Slamming shoulder first into the door, Baker tumbled, rolling over his shoulder as he made it through the doorway. He slid across the floor on his reinforced knee pad, the illuminated optical sight dancing from target to target as Baker fired driving a f
ive point five six millimetre bullet through every forehead he found.
The other four members splintered like a piece of rotten drift wood smashing against a rock. Higgins and Dalescue moved onto the next dwelling, the door hung ajar swinging gently on the swirling breeze. Higgins slowly nudged the door with the barrel of his rifle; the squeaking hinges set Dalescue's teeth on edge, as he peered into the gloom. Dust hung thick in the air, Dalescue's breath caught in his throat as he gazed at the scene before him.
The floor was awash with blood; it clung to everything it touched. The acidic copper tang clung to the inside of their throats like a limpet, sucking the oxygen from their lungs until the all consuming scent of another humans blood filled them entirely. Dalescue's feet shot out from under him as he stepped forward. He slammed back first into the floor, the soft pattering splash of blood echoing through the stillness of the room. The sound rumbled through Higgins' ears as he watched the rippling crimson fluid flow over his boots.
Looking up he cast his eyes on the mangled heap before him, a soft lapping akin to the noise of a dog drinking wafted up through the stillness to the two soldiers. Higgins slowly stepped into the rapidly clotting mire of blood and raised his rifle to his shoulder as he continued moving.
Gazing through the sights, he scanned the room as Dalescue clambered to his feet. The blood clung to his boots, gluing them to the floor as he tried to rise. His armoured knee pad, lifting him slightly, as he managed to rise to his knees.
The sound of Dalescue's cumbersome movements through the slime like pool of viscous fluid, made both men want to vomit. The only thought that went through Higgins' mind was how much the sound reminded him of wet glue covered Velcro as he lifted his foot again, freeing it from the wet, gelatinous muck.
The noises stopped, both men froze where they were, Dalescue's hand slowly inching towards his holstered side arm, his rifle left sitting in the congealing pool beneath him as it hung from its sling. Slowly the mass before them shifted, the lapping sound replaced by the tumbling of dead meat hitting the wet surface beneath its shifting bulk.
'Oh, Jesus.'
Higgins opened up, his rifle on full auto as he pumped round after round into the pile before them. They descended upon the two hapless men like wolves, teeth tearing into them before their spent and empty shell casings hit the floor. Dalescue's screams rolled down the hillside, echoing off the rock faces surrounding the small village as his life was irrevocably taken from him.
Higgins' screaming form slammed through the door sending it crashing back into the wall. Rawlings watched as he clawed at the dirt, his fingers digging deeper and deeper into the harsh gritty surface as he desperately tried to pull himself free. Rawlings levelled his sights over Higgins' tear streaked face as he was slowly and inexorably drawn backwards into the dark blood soaked hell he so desperately wanted to be free of.
'Sorry, brother.'
The words left his lips in a soft whisper as Rawlings' finger tightened on the trigger sending the seven point six two millimetre round sailing into the cooling air of night's embrace and through Higgins' head.
Baker and Jenkins slipped through the building, their shadows dancing around them as they fired. The high velocity rounds stitched through the soft, damp filled walls, pin pricks of light arcing through the room, cutting through the gloom that hung like a hot suffocating blanket over all it touched. Jenkins sprinted forward, his blood pumping through his veins. The sound of his blood pumping rang through his ears like a maelstrom, the rhythmic thump of his own heart raging in his mind.
Turning, he headed up the stairs to his left, rifle pulled tight into his shoulder as he moved upwards. His weapon arced upwards as he stared up the stairway; the steps unfolding in front of him sent images of M. C. Escher paintings skating through his mind. Snapping left as he reached the top of the staircase; he moved along a corridor the sounds enveloping him. He knew he was getting closer and still above it all was the rhythmic, eternal, drumbeat of his life moving him ever onward.
His gun spat as he fired on the move, dropping rounds with precision into the heads of anything that came his way. Dropping to a knee, he slid for several feet before coming to a stop at the corner of an intersecting corridor.
'So, which way, boss?'
When no one answered, nothing replied, he glanced about him scanning in every direction. It was then and only then that his bravado and courage slipped. A cool snaking whisper of fear began to worm its way through his mind as he realised finally just how alone he had become.
4
Baker sprinted after Jenkins his mind boiling with the anger he felt for the young Lance Corporal, his teeth ground down as he muttered to himself.
'Damned whelp, just fucks off and leaves me in a room full of Infected. I'll rip his fucking bollocks off if I find the git in one piece.'
Shouldering the door out the way, he sprinted for the stair case. As his right foot left the floor, his left flew from under him. Turning in the air, he stared down into the face of someone who by all rights should have been very much dead.
Their cold lifeless hand clasped tightly round his ankle as he aimed his rifle into what remained of the poor soul's face. Pulling the trigger, Baker watched as its face burst in a spray of crimson gore that spattered the wall and floor behind them. Wrenching his foot free, Baker rolled over and pushed himself upwards. Running up the staircase once more, he ignored the growing pain in his lower back and the ominous crackling click of what he didn't doubt was cracked cartilage in his knee.
The pain was pushing him to his limits as he continued upwards, the growing throb in his knee and lower leg akin to a thousand red hot needles being slowly pushed into his tender flesh. Grinding his teeth together, he felt one chip under the pressure as he pushed onwards, heading further up the staircase, he didn't bother to ruminate on what lay ahead.
****
Jenkins snapped his head to the left as the slapping of bare feet drew his attention. Dragging his rifle to the left, he managed a few poorly aimed shots before he found himself tumbling backwards as the soft, malleable, flesh coated slab of anger slammed into him and smashed his stunned form into the unyielding concrete wall. His breath left him just as quickly as any semblance of his training with the sudden jolt, his lungs paled under the sudden impact.
Spittle hung from his chin as he struggled to breathe; his juddering strangled gasps lost in the tumult of rage filled screams issuing forth from the thing railing against him. The form flailed against him as it attempted to rend him limb from limb. Driving his fist down into the base of its neck, Jenkins sent its stunned form face first into the floor and took off running blindly as his eyes welled up, his breath struggling to enter his still shocked lungs. Stumbling and groping blindly, he ran for all he was worth, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and his assailant. He fled deeper into the clear, welcoming arms of the corridor heading in as straight a line as he could manage.
Then his world inverted. His eyes widened as his brain registered that he was falling, his body tumbling forwards into the non-existent arms of the hot, dry noon day air. The first Jenkins knew of his fall was also the last as he attempted to scream.
Opening his mouth he managed no more than a parting cry of alarm before he collided with the unyielding floor below. He was luckier than some with the swiftness of his end; as his body collided with the dark russet coloured floor his neck snapped like a dry autumn twig ending his life in an instant. Jenkins' life's blood flowed freely from his shattered body as he lay crumpled at the foot of the building, his head twisted into an unimaginably impossible angle, the vertebrae crushed to dust under the weight of his own body.
Baker stormed through the door, his rifle pulled so tightly against his shoulder it bruised his muscles sending a dull ache echoing through his battered and tired frame. The door swung back crashing into the dry, plaster covered wall so hard it buried the handle in the sodden water stained surface as his sights zeroed in on the Infected barre
lling towards him. He squeezed the trigger once, his finger curling around the concave metal barb and a soft pop echoed off the walls as the bullet left the muzzle. Baker watched as the back of the Infected Arab's head burst in a glistening shower of bone and brain matter. The trickling patter of wet bone and cranial tissue rolled through the still, warm air as Baker surged onwards.
'Jenkins, where the fuck are you? Jenkins, you scrawny Irish bastard; where the fucking hell are you?'
Bakers gaze alighted for a second on the discarded rifle lying in the middle of the corridor, the sling torn from its mounts and the stock was cracked and split. Pieces of matted hair and scalp were caught in the fissure running through the butt plate. A hard lump settled in Baker's stomach as he neared the end of the corridor, the smooth featureless walls drawing him to the only other place Jenkins could have gone.
Baker's throat went dry as he neared the open window, he knew what he would find at the bottom as much as he refused to acknowledge the thought. Staring down through the haze ridden air he saw the broken crumpled form of his squad mate lying on the roadway below. 'Fuck.' His ear bead crackled as he stood there staring down at the body below him. Lifting his fingers, he gently pressed against the small buzzing object caught in his ear.
'We got two down; Dalescue and Higgins are down.'
Baker cursed under his breath as he moved his hand to his throat.
'Confirm status.'
He dreaded the reply; although, no doubt lay in his mind as to what it would be.
'Confirmed KIA.'
Baker's heart dropped as his fears were confirmed. Swallowing back his first reply he pushed gently against the transmitter and spoke.
'Acknowledged, confirmed KIA, relay confirmation of Jenkins to top; he is confirmed down and KIA also.'
Baker cut the connection and flipped himself out the window, vaulting the edge of the window like a professional gymnast. His feet kissed the ground as he rolled with the impact absorbing the shock and rolling up to his feet he paused. Reaching down, he tugged Jenkins' dog tags from around his neck, and then set off in a dead sprint towards the end of the street.
