by Ricky Cooper
'Not bad, not bad at all, but it's not what we want from you.'
The six men looked aghast, Kerr's mouth opened and closed several times before he decided against speaking, Baker nodded to the man, knowing it took a lot of willpower not to speak out.
'What we want. From you six especially, is a Rapid Reaction Team; one that can drop into a hot zone and rip the stomach out the fire before it has a chance to take hold. Your drops perfect, your control perfect, your landings, got you killed.'
The men once again looked shocked, this time Kerr lost all semblance of control.
'What do you mean killed? That was textbook stuff.'
Baker smiled although there was none of his previous levity behind it.
'What I mean is, textbook drop training is no good for an Infected controlled hot zone. In the time it takes for you to land, roll, and draw in your chute, your head and neck would be half way down an Infected's gullet. The whole point of R.R.T, is to get boots on the ground quickly. In some, if not all situations, the team would be dropped right into Infected central; so what we want to see is a landing-on-the-run, for you to hit the ground running; ready to drop the first Infected that's dumb enough to stick its head out. It's why the rifles you carry, the Diemaco L.M.G, are set up on the rapid release quick draw mechanism across your chest and not strapped to your gut, like they otherwise would be. Now, I'm going to let this slide, for now.'
The six men looked relieved. 'But trust me, when I say you're doing it all again. For now your job is to secure this location and accompany me. The rest of your training team is below in the village hunkered down in the post office. You will; in approximately thirteen hours, pass by their position and set up a staging point of your own; I will leave it to you to find out the details from your mates on the ground, oh, and one last thing all of you must leave your rifles here; only side arms and knife are to be taken in, now get some grub down your necks you'll need it.'
16
Davies leant against the window frame staring out into the unfolding maelstrom beyond the glass. It wasn't a sight he cared for; the streets crawling with Infected, their skeletal semi-emaciate forms stumbling through the litter strewn thoroughfare. He watched with a well practised-sense of caution as one of them caught a scent, its vaporous form carried on the air, teasing the weather dulled senses of the decrepit Infected.
Its head turned, a questioning look crossing its dried and hollow features as it searched for the source of the enticing odour. Its fingers slid over the window only inches from Davies face as he watched through the parted slats of a venetian blind. The malodorous being slipped off, passing out of Davies field of vision and onto parts unknown, shaking his head he turned away from the window; his fingers slipping from the dust coated metal of the blind letting the slats snap closed.
Sighing, more from boredom than any real feeling of emotion he turned running his hand over his closely cropped hair; feeling the coarse fibres of his own epidermis pass over his skin he wondered just what the hell had caused them to come into being in the first place. Rumours had it about, that a virus had caused some dormant brain functions to activate in the Infected people. He snorted derisively, infections and viruses could do strange things to a person, he knew that, he just couldn't get his head round what he was seeing despite what Baker had shown them earlier that day.
It made him dizzy trying to think it all through and the fact that all the empirical and irrefutable data dredged up by that Russian scientist only added fuel to the already raging inferno that was his brain. He stepped into the store room and tested the taps; a smile crept across his face as he watched the first spluttering rust tinged dregs of fluid drip from the mouth of the tap.
'Typical, decent security but no damned water, it's Borneo all over again.' He turned to walk out the door when a loud clunk echoed up from the floor. He turned sharply mild surprise registering as the tap sent water crashing into the stained porcelain basin.
'Well, guess I was wrong.'
Davies gulped down the cold liquid as he scanned the faces of the men in front of him. 'Water's working.' Baxter nodded before turning back to the window, worry etching the corners of his eyes as he watched the passing tide of Infected, their massed forms bumping against the windows making the aged and brittle glass creak and rattle in the old worm eaten, semi-rotten wooden frames.
Their luck, such that it was, seemed to be holding, and as long as they kept quiet they were safe, theoretically any way; making his way upstairs Davies checked the Browning on his hip. His mind turned inwards as he began methodically running through the minor checks as he continued up the stairs. He nudged the door with his shoulder. The aged timber swinging inwards with a soft creak as he began scanning the room. He was halfway through the door before he realised he was still holding the pistol in a partially disassembled state, shaking his head he quickly slid the weapon back together and walked over to Sharp.
'Hey boss, what's the verdict?'
Sharp pushed away from the window and sighed, shaking his head slowly.
'Don't know to be honest, unless we find food out here we're going hungry for three days, I know we've done it before as well as the Special Boat Service boys, but the others I don't know. With regards to the building, the upper levels were clear, but the attic was locked tight and I ain't alerting shuffle brigade out there to the fact we're in here.'
Davies nodded, 'Makes sense, and to be fair where the hell would you go once up there anyway?'
Sharp nodded as he listened knowing that Davies was right on the money with his own supposition. Davies held up his half full canteen and shook it letting the sound of the sloshing liquid catch Sharp's attention.
'Water works then?' Davies nodded as he handed the canteen to Sharp and let the man drink. Night fell quickly, and with it everyone's morale.
The Infected outside, their humble bastion began to prowl incessantly as the light finally left, their feral snorts and growls filling the night like the cry's of wolves as they searched for any form of sustenance. A high pitched squeal made several of them wince as a hapless creature was snatched from the cover of night and devoured by the ravaging horde that descended upon its screaming form.
****
Woodwrow led the R.R.T unit across the roof tops as the first tinges of dawn's new day began to form on the horizon. All six men moved as quietly as possible, their feet barely skimming over the semi-flat roofs of the small village high street. Dropping to their knees as they reached the edge of the last roof. Woodwrow tapped his upper arm, index and middle finger held tight together as he watched the floor below.
Crawling forwards rapidly on his stomach Sheperd wormed his way along the roof to where Woodwrow now lay hidden by the slight rise in the roof line.
'What's up Kev?'
Woodwrow looked Sheperd in the face, condescension vying for control of his features as he began to speak.
'We have thirty Infected in the alley below us and a sixty foot leap to the next roof, I can't make that sort of leap and I ain't about to risk wading through that lot down there.'
By the time Woodwrow had stopped speaking the rest of the group had made their way to him, all silently mulling over a viable solution that didn't involve a bone breaking fall from trying to leap the miniature chasm.
Brooks lay there his mind churning over ideas, rapidly discarding one after another as he ruled them out. His eyes lit up as he grasped at the tender beginnings of a possible solution.
'There are cars below us yeah?'
His hushed tones caught the men's attention as he began rattling off his still prepubescent idea.
'They must have batteries that still have some juice left, why not see if we can bust open a window and set off an alarm to draw the Infected out to the main street. Then we drop down and sprint to the post office.'
The others chewed over the idea for a few minutes before Woodwrow pointed out something none of them had considered.
'Yeah that's all well and good, but th
e boys in the post office don't know we're here, what happens when we get there and get stuck outside with our arse's in the wind.'
Brooks tried in vain to think of a sharp come back before finally he fell back on a simple shrug.
'Fucked if I know. I never said it was a good idea, did I.'
The six men lay there in silence, the chill wind running over their backs as they held themselves still. The rasping swarm below was only a misplaced hand away from a three storey fall into their eager arms. Turning to Williams, Woodwrow beckoned him over, a question hanging on his wind chapped lips.
'Williams you got your survival tin handy?'
The man nodded. Rolling on to his side he dug into the thigh pocket of his cargo trousers fishing out the twelve ounce tobacco tin.
'Always, never know when you're going to need it, as this proves.'
Snatching the tin from the soldiers grasp Woodwrow stripped off the taped seal and popped the lid.
'Whatever, we only need the signal mirror in it.'
Lifting the lid clear of the tin he flipped it over exposing the polished side to the sunlight, a golden hue cast itself over his face as he moved the piece of metal in his hands. It glinted slightly the light catching it's gleaming ripple-free surface as he directed the polished piece of brass coated tin into the path of the sun. Reflecting the light, he watched the windows of the post office intently as the light glinted off the dirt stained glass. Spots danced in his vision as the flashes of white incandescence lanced his eyes. Squinting he peered out through eyelash hazed slits as he continued the signalling.
Sharp and Davies saw the rhythmic flashing coming from just above the roof line of the building opposite them. They soaked in the information as it flashed and blipped from the roof edge. Snatching up a note pad from the table in the corner of the room, Davies began to scribble, the more the pencil danced its way over the dog eared pad the more became apparent as he continued to watch the flashing piece tin dance in the sun.
'Infected in alley. Cannot make jump. Going to set off car. Make break for door. Put kettle on.'
Shaking his head, Davies chuckled.
'Cocky fuckers, Boss, expect another six for dinner. I'll tell Riley to stand by on the door.'
Sharp held out the mirror even before Davies had finished speaking. 'Pass me the mirror I'll signal back the okay.' Davies chuckled as his request fell onto an outstretched hand, taking the mirror he nodded his thanks, and began to send his message.
****
Woodwrow watched intently as a reply was flashed across, jotting it down he smiled.
'Son of a bitch has only asked if we want sugar.'
The rest of the team chuckled as a response was flashed across.
Sheperd took careful aim at the window of a car up the street, its rusted and peeling paintwork lent little in the way of comfort that anything would come from Shepherd’s next action.
He hefted the small lump of brick testing its weight in his palm, glancing over his shoulder he looked at the small pile of rust red blocks and snorted slightly, one thought drifting through the mass of jostling word jumbles that plagued his mind. 'At least I’ll have spares if I miss.' He pulled his arm back and made ready to let fly, the piece of brick sailed through the air covering the distance in a mater of seconds, for the men watching the spectacle time dragged out as the air borne section of masonry passed further and further out of their reach. Woodwrow's heart hammered in his chest as he tracked the projectile's path its spinning form looping through the void like a snail through molasses. Then with a collective wince they watched as it connected with an ear splitting shattering of glass; the window caved under the impact as the lump of rust coloured block-work shattered the vehicles rear window.
For over half a minute nothing happened, time dragging onwards as the men held their breath all waiting for something, anything to happen. Then with all the urgency of a drunken cow the lights of the car began to flicker and blink as the alarm sluggishly began to wail.
The Infected turned as one, the wailing alarm drawing their sluggish forms towards it. Sheperd watched as over a dozen Infected split from the throng as the herd trudged towards the braying rusted hulk. His eyes widened only slightly as they twisted as one their eyes locking onto his with an undisguised hunger. With the rapid wiggle of a crack addicted snake he slithered away from the roof edge, a desperate need to hide from the eye's wanton gaze.
'Okay lads time to go.'
The empty alley below beckoned the six men, Woodwrow clinging to the lip of the roof rolled off the edge and dropped to the floor spinning his body away from the wall as he fell. The three floors rushed past him as he descended, everything elongated as he passed a second story window, distance, time none of it had any meaning as he floated there staring at his own reflection. He watched as it shimmered and danced over the impact crazed glass, the dark russet tinge of blood caking the tattered shards in the pane. He wanted to reach out, feel his fingers trace the lines in the window pane. He pushed down the need to reach out knowing it to be what it was. A stupid idea.
Feeling his feet touch the ground he folded at the knees, tumbling over his left shoulder as he rolled absorbing the shock. Pushing himself to his feet Woodwrow was up and running two seconds later. Woodwrow spun sideways as a body smashed into his side, fingers clamped round his throat as a toothless mouth descended towards his face.
Curling his knees to his chest Kevin sent the Infected over his head, fingers clawing at his clothes as its weight carried it away from him. The twisting screaming form landed in a crumpled heap amidst a stomach churning crunch. Woodwrow rolled backwards over his shoulder and glanced at the twisted lump of flesh, black brackish blood already seeping out around it in an ever expanding halo.
Glancing back he saw all of his fellow Paratroopers rising to their feet, six other Infected lay motionless on the floor. Weapons levelled and steady they hurriedly made the crossing to the door within ninety seconds of the alarm starting. Smashing his fist into the door, he pounded on the oak slab as tension mounted within him. Woodwrow gritted his teeth as he raised his fist again hammering the solid lump of wood.
The door didn't move as it sat resolute in its job, the entrance before them sealed by the gloss blue monolith of oak and nail. Kevin watched the writhing mass of Infected already hemming in the Paratroopers against the walls of their salvation, their eyes gleaming at the thought of a fresh meal.
'Come on, come on!'
He began to pound on the door relentlessly. The rapid thumping drawing curious glances from the Infected only one hundred metres away. The team formed a tight semi-circle weapons raised sighting on anything that moved. Slamming his foot into the door Woodwrow began to panic slightly as he bellowed into the blue glossed timber in front of him.
'Open the fucking door!'
Sharp spotted several Infected beginning to lose interest in the wailing hunk of scrap metal and starting a slow march towards the warm fleshy bodies of the six paratroopers. Raising his fist once more Woodwrow pounded on the door just as it swung in wards. Stumbling and tumbling over each other the six men piled through landing in a heap in the Post Offices small waiting area.
'So lads, one sugar or two?'
Woodwrow kicked the door shut with his foot and rose to his feet as his panicked gaze turned into a scowl of pride-stung-sullenness at being made to panic so quickly. Turning he stuck his hand out as Davies grinned.
'Kevin Woodwrow, One Para. These are my boys, Richard Kerr, Dominic Williams, Steven Shepherd, James Clarkson and Robert Brooks.'
Woodwrow motioned from one to the other as they each nodded in turn, 'Nice to meet you all, but it still doesn't answer my question, one sugar or two?' Woodwrow smirked, the lines around his eyes deepening as his mouth curled upwards.
'Two please, dash of milk if you have it.' Davies chuckled, his voice harsh and sharp as he replied.
'Afraid the milk was off, milkman should have been here this morning but I think traffic was a bit dodgy
.'
The men filtered off to other parts of the room as Davies lead Woodwrow through to the small kitchen in the back.
'Just so we're square mate, Sharp is C.O with us and to make this easier I am going to ask you to step back and let your boys run under him.'
Woodwrow's eyebrows arched upwards, as he watched Davies stance shift slightly in anticipation of Kevin's retaliation.
'Okay.'
Davies rocked on his heels slightly; surprise mingling with shock squirmed across his face as Kevin's answer slowly sank through his war-torn-hide. Davies nodded, his mind still bouncing from the unexpected reply, as he rooted in the cabinet for something to use as a mug.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of monotonous boredom and restlessness, the soldiers lounged across every available surface, Davies shoved Reilly's leg out of his way as he searched under the counter, he pulled out a battered tape-bound wooden box, the sun-bleached-top flapped backwards as he lifted it clear, a soft thump echoed up from the dust scarred work surface, Small motes drifted through the dull evening sun as the tired washed out rays forced their way in through the grease smeared glass of the bay front window. He found the key to the basement nestled in the depths of the box, a yellowed and cracked piece of paper trailed on a length of frayed brown twine from the hooped end.
Davies, Riley and two of the paratroopers methodically cleared the basement, the dark hanging over the four men like an unwelcome blanket. A set of storage doors that seemed to have been for delivery use stood atop a small set of steps their water stained planks warped and split into a seemingly mocking smile as the grain twisted against the thick iron nails driven through their surface. The night's air filtered in through the worm eaten gaps and empty knot holes. Breathing deeply Davies scanned the room, taking it in with practised eased. From the trap door set into the ceiling; leading to seemingly nowhere and the green oxidised remnants of copper-pipe-work jutting out at odd heights from the walls.
