Designated (Book 1): Designated Infected

by Ricky Cooper

  'Boss, I'm lashed on here, get him out of there!'

  Clarkenwell felt the cord beginning to give as the combined weight of the three men slowly but surely stretched the cable to breaking point. His face was slowly turning scarlet as he fought against the urge to release his grip.

  The cordage, was slowly sliding, millimetre by millimetre though his hand, the woven nylon began to bite into his skin, as it burned through the leather of his glove. He ground his teeth hard, as he ignored the pain shooting through his hand and arm, determined to hold on.

  Hamilton could feel the gradual slipping and knew it was only a matter of a few minutes before the cord would give out completely, the grip on his arm was beginning to slacken. Closing his eyes he bid a farewell to those around him as he settled up with whatever awaited him. Re-opening his eyes he looked Davies square in the face and opened his hand letting his weight hang on Davies weakening grip.

  'Boss just let me go,', he said as he dragged his side arm from the holster on his leg. Gritting his teeth Davies let go of the embedded knife and swung his hand down, grabbing on to Hamilton's webbing strap he curled his hand tightly around it.

  'You go, we go.'

  Heaving upwards with a strength he didn't know he possessed he lifted Hamilton clear from the hole, throwing the twenty-four year old man up and over his head as he himself began to slowly slip forwards. Hamilton found himself slamming face first into the crumbling floor, his body scraping against the grit tarnished floor, as the form of his commander slid past him.

  A strangled cry of anger and pain left Clarkenwell as the para cord bit deep into his hand, blood welling up, soaking through his glove. The polypropylene impregnated line eating deeper into his hand as Davies weight shifted forwards.

  Reflex took over as blood coated his palm, his animal reflexes overriding everything as his hand snapped open and the line spiralled away from him the tension suddenly and irrevocably gone. His eyes widened as he watched it line spin away from him, Davies weight and momentum dragging him backwards. Hamilton shot his hand out as he latched onto Clarkenwell who was trying to maintain his slackening grip on Davies boot, the green coiled line finding its way into his hand as he held his team mates aloft.

  Davies' hands flailed slapping against the floor, sending small clouds of dust flying up as he searched in panicked desperation for his knife still buried in the floor.

  Davies' vision began to swim and blur, the blood pounding 'round his skull as more and more of it forced itself into his cranium, flooding his sinuses and brain. Darkness swam at the edges of his vision as he stared downwards into the face of imminent death. The room exploded in a flash of bright white light, his ears rang as the heavy pressure and high pitched screaming blast of the flash bang rolled over him. The creatures bellow bellowed in rage and what seemed to be pain as the concussive explosive device went off amongst them. Jones and the rest of the secondary team rolled through the door, silenced rifle fire reverberating through the room like the stuttering of an aged lawn mower as darkness edged ever closer in his vision.

  As the smoke dissipated, Davies stared down through bleary eyed semi-consciousness into the concerned gaze of his second in command and the rest of his team.

  'Need a hand boss man?'

  Davies' face was flushed, almost glowing from the blood rushing to his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a strangled gargled slur as unconsciousness fought him for dominance.

  'Jones, that you mate?'

  Hamilton called out as he strained to hold onto Clarkenwell and the now rapidly fraying para-cord line.

  'Yeah, it's me. We missed a room on our swing through this floor, good thing we doubled back too.'

  Hamilton’s anger peaked as he struggled to maintain his grip.

  'Shut the fuck up and listen, I am going to let go of the boss and Clarkenwell, be ready to catch em.'

  'Right'o buddy, send 'em down.'

  Hamilton released his hold on the two men and watched as they slid away from him and over the edge of the hole. Davies' eyes snapped open as he rocketed to the floor, the up rushing concrete below filled him with fear as he plummeted head first towards it.

  'Fuck me!'

  Closing his eyes at the last second, Davies felt himself impact a yielding soft mass, glancing down he came face to stomach with the groaning form of his second in command.

  'Sorry Chris.'

  A shaky thumbs up came into his field of view. 'No problem.' He wheezed out. 'But would you mind next time not landing on my balls.'

  Davies scrambled off, Jones wincing and groaning as Davies' knee slammed into his groin several times in the process.

  'Shit, sorry mate.'

  Staggering to his feet, Jones shoved a hand out patting the air.

  'Shut up, just shut up.'

  The others set Clarkenwell down on his feet, as they surveyed the room around them. The corpses of seventeen Infected lay abound; their skulls split wide open like overripe watermelons.

  'Hamilton.'

  The man's head popped up over the edge of the hole as Davies called up to him. 'Yeah chief, what's up? Well me obviously but what ya want?' Groaning to himself, Davies Gritted his teeth.

  'Shut the hell up and listen, ya idiot.'

  A cautious silence enveloped the pair as Hamilton weighed up the pro's and con's of responding. Staring down into the room Hamilton's eyes widened slightly as he looked upon the carnage. The settee in the centre of the room was stained a deep burgundy as the blood and gore soaked through the heavy fabric. The body of the poor soul who had played dinner to a quartet of the dead was in tatters.

  Flesh and torn skin hung from the bones in limp ragged strips stirring slightly on the soft breeze moving up from the open stairway door down the corridor, fluttering like curtains on a summer wind. The ribcage lay splayed open, ripped from the cartilage; ragged lumps of flesh hung from the gore encrusted slabs of sinew and bone as the tattered remains of the man's lungs glistened in the light of the window.

  The clotting pools of blood shimmered like stagnant water, shining like ruby mirrors; sending Hamilton's reflection back up at him from amidst the half-chewed lungs and butchered heart.

  The man's pale, milk coloured eyes stared up from his slack face, pleading for the pain to end. His broken neck, stretched like overtaxed rubber, left his head swinging from the twisted sinew like a string-less marionette, lolling with a soft sickening grind that seemed to reverberate louder and louder the more Hamilton stared.

  As he once more locked eyes with the dead man the shattered and dislocated jaw flopped open in a silent scream making Hamilton flinch with a cold lance of fear as Jones moved past the arm of the sofa, staring at the vacant gaze, he could have sworn for a second that the dead, milk coloured eyes were pleading with him, shaking his head he turned his attention back to Davies, whose voice was swimming into focus once more.

  Hamilton stood, keeping his gaze locked with Davies, he nodded as a soft shuffling echoed behind him. Hamilton stepped backwards out of view of the hole, his brow furrowing as a mumbled thought slithered from his lips.

  'What the fuck was that?'

  Turning he slowly teased the door open, the handle gripped tightly in his hand as he pulled it open a scant few millimetres at a time. His eyes widening further than he ever thought they could, he let his gaze rest on what lay beyond the now ajar door.

  He snapped his rifle up as he hurriedly stepped backwards, an out stretched arm shooting towards his head as he kicked the door closed. Stumbling, his arms flailed, as he fought against his now, off kilter backwards momentum; he felt the coils of para cord as his feet became entangled in its vine-like lengths. With the sudden seizure of his feet he pitched backwards, his rifle stuttering a staccato burst into the plaster-coated concrete above him. His arms whirled as he grasped at anything in reach as he fell. His gaze lingered for only a second more as he watched the door bounce off the curled, callous covered fingers of an Infected as it levered their a
ged and decrepit form through the slowly widening gap.

  Everyone froze as Hamilton’s cry of shock echoed around the enclosed room followed by his fear-pinched form landing harshly amongst them as he screamed.

  'Contact, contact.'

  27

  A cold chill ran down Baker's spine as he strolled through the barracks, staring at the beds of the eighteen men under his command, images dancing through his mind of those gone before. Shaking his head, he vainly tried to pry lose the image of Wolf's piercing ice blue eyes; he wanted to be rid of the image of them staring relentlessly out from behind the ballistics mask he had worn. Their accusing gaze screaming at him, that he was responsible for their deaths, their blue countenance begging him to make it right, taunting him relentlessly from the recesses of his mind.

  For all he knew, and all he had done, he could not let go of those final furtive images, images of the men sat, waiting for their orders, waiting for him to come back and lead them.

  'Sorry Lads, I am truly sorry. More than you could ever know.'

  Snapping off the light he walked from the room. Baker entered the communications centre, his dominating presence drawing more than one nerve-edged glance. Striding forwards briskly, he moved past the staring faces of his communications team. His stance and bearing screamed out an unfounded sense of urgent concern as he snatched a microphone up from the desk and keyed in to the team's frequency.

  'Team Two, Team Two, this is central, respond.'

  Static crackled and hissed as he released the talk key, a cold bead of sweat sliding down the side of his face as he stared at the speaker, willing it to crackle into life. Stabbing the button down with his thumb he called out again, a thin edge of nervous fear creeping into his voice as he spoke. 'Davies you English prick, answer me.'

  Silence enveloped them once more as every eye in the room fixed itself on the speaker in front of Baker.

  'Didn't your mother teach you not to yell at people. Honestly the manners of some people these days.'

  Baker's face split into a grin as a louder shout of relieved applause ran through the room.

  'Report soldier.'

  A barked laugh echoed through the speaker at Baker's request. 'Bit busy to talk now mum, I'll call you back.' With that last sarcasm laced sentence the link was severed leaving Baker staring at the now silent radio.

  The large wall mounted VDU screen buzzed into life, the smug condescending visage of Colonel Ridgmont slowly unfurled itself across the high resolution screen.

  'Baker.' His curt tone conveying quite clearly the distaste with which he regarded the man he addressed.

  'Colonel, to what do I owe the pleasure.'

  Baker smiled slightly as he watched the man's eyes widen at the barbed twist belying his words; sitting up further in his chair, a blatant attempt at increasing his rake thin stature as he leant forwards over his desk. Skeletal hands pursed as he balanced on his elbows.

  'People are talking Baker, the incident in the tower block has caught the attention of more than one member of the Special Forces Task Group, and we want to know what your contingencies are.'

  Baker shook his head slightly as he prepared to answer. 'We have very little in the way of “Contingencies”, as you put it, simply because of the location of the outbreak. The team inserted into the building are more than capable of handling the situation.'

  The colonel smiled, his tobacco stained teeth setting Baker on edge as he looked up into the smug, smarmy face of a man he loathed.

  'Besides, you know full well I do not answer to you.'

  The man's smugness soon fell from his face at the clear and direct challenge.

  'Baker you may want to rethink your strategy, or have you not read the reports of the level of contamination.'

  Baker's brow furrowed as he heard the whirring of the high speed fax machine behind him, turning he snatched the pages as the spewed forth from the printers mouth.

  'You, how did you get this?'

  He smiled once more at Baker's distressed countenance.

  'Little passes us by Baker; you of all people should know that. You used to be a good soldier Derek, you used to follow orders and take the “correct” course of action.'

  Baker smirked at the screen on the wall.

  'That is of no consequence and not the damned point, how did you get these Colonel. I was never sent this and I now have a team in contact with a force greatly outnumbering them'

  A small light bulb went on in the back of Derek's mind as he looked from the pages to the screen and back again.

  'Kabul.'

  The words were little more than a whisper as they left his lips.

  'What was that Staff Sergeant?'

  'Kabul, this is all about Kabul, you pathetic bastard; this is all because they passed you over for the operation and gave it to us the same as they did,' he faltered his gaze locking on the eyes staring at him from the VDU on the wall, 'Russia.'

  The pages fell from Baker's grip, scattering across the floor in front of him as Ridgmont's high pitched fanatical squeals echoed past Baker's ears, the pieces of a very chequered past slowly falling into place. A cold fire bloomed into life raging through him as he stepped away from the screen.

  ****

  Davies stared upwards, the only way out for the team was blocked by a mass of writhing Infected, their slavering, degenerate forms pacing the hole like a pack of starved hyenas. The slow trickle that had started at the door above them had turned into a flood, in seconds, several Infected tumbled from the hole's edge to land with a bone shattering crunch amongst the trapped soldiers.

  Hamilton pushed himself up off the floor shaking his head as his vision swam, images sliding across one another in a kaleidoscopic dance making him want to heave his stomach dry. Glancing around him, he cursed.

  'Fuck it, watch that first step it's a big one.'

  Davies chuckled involuntarily as he looked about him. Tendrils of fear were pushing at the doors of his mind as he saw the Infected fall from above, cast like rain from a cloud as more and more of the crazed cannibals vied for room.

  Turning to the men and women behind him, Baker bellowed out one single command.

  'Mobilize the R.R.T.'

  As the room burst into a babble of combining voices he turned back to the screen and its wildly gesticulating occupant.

  The soft tapping of keyboards reverberated round the room like gnats in a greenhouse, as line after line of encrypted data was sent out.

  'You, and me, “Colonel” are not, done, we are going to square this away once and for all. Believe you, me; I will not forget this.'

  The sneering visage of Ridgmont faded to black as the connection was cut, Baker dragging his fingers over the back of his neck turned to the duty officer.

  'Kirkland, I want Colinson heading the team, he knows the terrain better than me and get it done quick, our boys are in trouble if Ridgmont's thinly veiled threats are anything to go by; and please tell me you got that on disc.'

  She nodded as she began taping a set of instructions into her keyboard before picking up the headset microphone and relaying the orders.

  28

  The Infected fell like water, hitting the ground below with a floor shaking thump as more and more closed in around the mouth of the hole, their aim uncaring as some landed upon their own comrades in a bid to reach their new meal. Their wild blood-crazed eyes locking on to the ever tightening knot of men. The mass of newly turned flesh moved as one, their sense of self lost beneath a raw swirling vortex of hunger and primal rage as they rose to their feet and descended upon the beleaguered defenders.

  The door leading into the small three-room flat they found themselves in, had long ago been lost beneath the sea of bullet pocked corpses. The air, thick like a woollen blanket, lay cloying and heavy like hot treacle; it stuck to their lungs, choking the life from them a second at a time as their lungs began to burn. The cordite tang scorched their tongues and throats raw as they struggled to breathe through the rapid
ly clogging fabric of their balaclavas, the woven material doing little to filter the already grit infused air as it wormed its way down their throats.

  Hawking up a thick wad of gritty phlegm, Davies ripped off his balaclava and spat, cuffing the dripping spittle from his mouth as he fired his rifle one handed.

  'How many of these god-damned things are there?'

  Davies shrugged, not bothering to look at who had spoken.

  Snapping another shot into a fresh target he shouted a non-committal reply to anyone in ear shot.

  'Well it won't matter too much, we'll run out of ammunition long before they run out of fresh meat to throw at us. These blocks house up to six hundred people, you do the maths.'

  He felt the men on either side of him shudder slightly, the entire team bunched shoulder to shoulder, crushed together like cattle. Hamilton clamped his finger down on the trigger, his target mere inches from the muzzle of his weapon. His mind screamed at him as he pulled the trigger again, the metallic click of an empty magazine rising to his ears.

  Before he knew consciously what he was doing, he felt his mouth open, the words pouring out as he snapped his hand to the holster on his leg and drew his pistol.

  'Side arm!'

  His right eye aligned instantly with the iron sights as he shut his left and squeezed the trigger.

  Like a tape in fast forwards his brain finally caught up, the sounds around him roaring back into focus as his conscious mind regained control.

  'Jones, what you got left, I am down to six in nine mil.'

  Jones grimaced, he had switched out ten minutes ago, dropping his left hand he checked his pouches by feel, wincing once more.

  'I got two mags for my secondary, mains dead as a Dodo's dick.'

  Hamilton didn't bother replying, as he ejected his second magazine in under forty seconds. His pistol was up and firing before he had even realised he had pulled out the third magazine.

  ****

  The aircraft roared over head, the clusters of civilians and reporters stared skywards as seven black dots spilled from the back of the plane overhead. The air ripped at their clothing as if the world itself was trying to throw them off, it roared in their ears as they fell through the sky, like angels cast from heaven they fell, the sound of cloth rippling and snapping filling their minds as they streamlined their bodies and shot towards the ground, sentient missiles on a path to duel with death.