The Dead Walk The Earth II

by Luke Duffy

  “Christ, I needed that,” she gasped as she felt the influences of the nicotine rush to her head. Her vision spun for a moment and she felt lightheaded due to her body not being used to the influx of the drug through her bloodstream.

  They sat for a moment in silence and lost in their own thoughts. They had seen more than their fair share of horror since the plague began but watching the scientists as they clearly enjoyed their work was sickening. To the men and women in the basement, the world had become nothing but a huge playground where they could indulge their macabre theories and conduct unrestrained experiments with the government’s backing.

  “Do you think they’ll ever find out what’s causing this?” Melanie asked with a sigh as she stared up at the stars.

  Samantha took another drag from the cigarette and stared down at her feet.

  “I don’t think it matters whether they do or don’t, Mel. Whatever this thing is though, I don’t think the human race is supposed to understand it.” She paused for a moment and blew out a long cloud of smoke. “Or survive it.”

  To their left and at the far end of the building they could see an area lit with spotlights and vehicle headlamps. They saw a number of figures moving within the beams, and recognised the silhouettes of soldiers and heard the anxious voices of frightened civilians. Melanie and Samantha moved to investigate and found themselves standing on top of a wall and peering down into a walkway that led into the basement from the rear of the building. Soldiers stood flanking a number of trucks as doctors, wearing protective equipment, unloaded men, women, and children, then bustled them in through the doors that led into the accommodation beside the laboratory.

  The eyes of the civilians shone wildly in the reflections from the lights and their frightened, questioning voices betrayed their uncertainty. Children clung to their mothers and the men argued with the guards and the doctors, demanding answers and the opportunity to speak with whoever was in charge.

  The doctors assured them that they were being taken to a facility for treatment and good care would be provided for them. They were trying hard to sound soothing but their voices came across as more mechanical and automated with very little in the way of understanding or sympathy for the terrified refugees.

  A man to the rear of the group decided that he was going to stand his ground and refused to go any further until he had spoken to the senior doctor. Before he could complete his demands, a soldier stepped forward and struck him across the side of his face with the butt of his pistol. The man yelped and dropped to the ground with a gash suddenly appearing around his eye and blood pouring down over his face. Two other soldiers stepped forward and hauled him to his feet. They grabbed him under each arm, dragged him along the walkway, and in through the doors ahead of the group while his feet trailed behind him and scuffed against the cold, hard concrete.

  Samantha caught sight of Doctor Warren standing to the side of the vehicles as he watched the wretched procession. He glanced back at her and shook his head slightly. She could see that he was just as disgusted with the situation as she was and his dishevelled appearance and exhausted expression was evidence enough that the circumstances were beginning to wear him down.

  “Looks like there’s been another outbreak at the camp,” Melanie said as she watched the civilians disappear through the doors.

  Samantha said nothing but nodded as she stared at the unfortunate group.

  A mother and child who had been at the very rear of the line were the last to enter into the basement. They walked holding one another’s hand and with their heads bowed in silence as though accepting of their fate. They passed the two guards at the entrance and before the doors swung shut, the little girl turned and stared back up at Melanie.

  The child’s eyes, still sparkling with life behind the fever that burned beneath her flesh, almost glowed in the darkness. They held a sadness that penetrated deep into the soul of Melanie as they held each other’s gaze for that fleeting moment. For the short while it took the door to close behind her, the little girl spoke a thousand words and asked a million questions. Her eyes held no accusations or blame but Melanie felt guilt and regret stabbing at her heavy heart.

  The entrance was sealed and a sob suddenly sprang from Melanie as she was overcome. The child’s unflinching eyes remained imprinted upon her memory long after the doors had closed on them.

  13

  All was virtually silent inside the pressure hull of the U-boat. Many of the men were still asleep and all that could be heard was the low electrical whine of the motors, the occasional drip, and the dull clunk of the deck plates as the crew on duty moved about within the cramped and dank interior. They had been travelling submerged for almost a full day and the humidity within the boat had risen substantially. The air was stale and the lack of space was beginning to make some of the soldiers feel claustrophobic and short tempered. Those that were not used to life on a submarine could not wait to get out into the fresh air and feel dry land beneath their feet again.

  Up on the surface, the sun had already set and fifteen minutes earlier the Captain had ordered them to switch to red light to help their natural night vision adjust in anticipation of continuing their journey above the waves. As the boat entered into the Thames estuary, Werner ordered them up to periscope depth so that he could take a look around and check their bearings. A few minutes later, after confirming their exact position, he turned to his chief engineer and gave the order to surface.

  The Chief blew the ballast tanks and ordered an upward angle on the diving planes. With a loud hissing noise and a series of gurgles as the compressed air was pumped into the tanks, the men on board could feel the boat begin to rise. In the dim glow of the red light, the crew moved about and attended their stations with an expertise that came natural to them due to years of practice. They barely had to look where they placed their hands. They knew exactly what each valve and wheel did, and they were able to carry out their duties in pitch darkness if the situation occurred when they needed to.

  “Tower is clear, Captain,” the Chief announced a minute later.

  The Captain nodded and instructed the Chief to equalise the air pressure inside the hull and began to climb the ladder leading up into the cramped conning tower. As the atmosphere inside the boat changed, Werner threw open the hatch and pulled himself up onto the bridge to have a look around. The watch crew, along with Stan and the other team commanders followed him up into the cool night air.

  The wind had picked up considerably while they had been submerged and the clouds had grown heavy overhead in the dark sky. A few cold droplets of rain splashed against the faces of the men on the bridge and they knew that it would not be long before the heavens fully opened up on them.

  “Visibility is shit,” Captain Werner grumbled to Stan who was standing beside him in the conning tower. “But we have radar and at least the wind and rain will allow us to use our diesels without being heard for miles around.”

  Stan nodded as he continued to scan the blackness all around him. It was hard to distinguish where the sky finished and the water began. It was virtually impossible to see anything beyond the bow of the boat, and he wondered just how many untethered vessels there were adrift within the river and across their intended path. Crashing into a rogue ship would not be his idea of a good start to the mission.

  “All stop on the electric motors, Chief. Start-up both main engines and ahead standard. Come to bearing two-six-five degrees.”

  The diesel engines sputtered to life and began to chug rhythmically from within the hull while the exhaust spewed out the noxious fumes into the cool night. The boat picked up speed and made a slight alteration to its course. Ahead of them, they could see the bright white glow of the bow wave against the rolling black sea as the submarine reached a cruising speed of thirteen knots. Behind them, an almost luminescent wake stretched out into the darkness as the starboard and port screws churned the water to a bubbling froth.

  Minutes later and the Type-XXI was
cutting its way through the swell towards the River Thames and the heart of London. Before long, they had made their break-in on the main river and as the channel began to narrow, they saw the first of the ships that were sitting at the river’s edges. Their huge shapes loomed out from the wall of gloom surrounding the boat. They were dark and silent with no signs of movement and the black silhouettes of the city’s buildings behind them were just as devoid of life.

  “This place is nothing but a graveyard,” Captain Werner mumbled thoughtfully as he stared out at the dark landscape.

  Stan grunted and nodded beside him. He could feel the chill in the air against the bare flesh of his neck but the cool temperature was not what made him shiver. As soon as he and his men stepped foot off the boat, they would be virtually on their own and cut off. No help was immediately to hand and he had serious reservations about whether or not they would all make it back.

  With each passing minute, they ventured deeper into the infested capital. Even on the submarine and in relative safety, the mood was tense and fear burned brightly in the eyes of many of the crew. They were in the heart of their nation but it was a heart that was no longer beating. The city was as dead as its new occupants were, and the crew of the boat were deliberately sailing right into it.

  More and more ghost ships emerged on either side of the river. Some were small fishing craft and others were huge cargo transports and tankers. All were silent. The abandoned vessels sat slowly rusting away at their births, still tethered to the dock walls by their mooring lines and rocking gently against the tide.

  “Right full rudder, Chief, right full rudder. Make it quick,” Werner suddenly called into the voice pipe in alarm.

  Stan snapped his attention back to the front of the boat and saw the stern of a river ferry just metres in front of the bow of the submarine. It had appeared out of nowhere and they were almost on top of it before they knew it was there.

  Down in the Control Room the Chief acted quickly. The Captain had not explained why he needed the sudden turn to starboard but the urgency in his voice relayed the importance of a fast reaction to his commands. They avoided a collision with just centimetres to spare as the rudder was thrown over into a tight turn.

  Werner continued to curse under his breath as he watched the towering ship pass by on the port side. Visibility was worse than he had expected and their outdated radar was clearly struggling to cope due to the volume of ships that were still in the river.

  “Slow to one-third, Chief,” he ordered then turned to Stan with a shrug and a wry smile creasing the corners of his mouth. “Slowly does it I’m afraid. It would be embarrassing if we sunk ourselves.”

  At a reduced speed, they continued westward along the Thames. By now, the anticipated rain had begun to pour and it was not long before the men exposed on the bridge were saturated through to their skins. It beat down upon them in thick sheets and reduced visibility to less than one-hundred metres as the watch crew tried desperately to see through the squalls that lashed against their faces and the outer hull of their boat. Werner ordered a further reduction in speed and they continued to crawl along the river.

  “Well, I think it’s safe to say that the summer has come to an end,” the Captain commented as he turned his face up towards the rain.

  An hour later and they were approaching the Thames Barrier. The rain and wind had begun to ease off and visibility had increased slightly, allowing the sodden men on the bridge the ability once again to see their surroundings. Carefully, they squeezed through the narrow gaps between the gates and were soon approaching the prominent curve of the river that passed by the Isle of Dogs. To their left, a giant white structure emerged from the darkness. The buildings close by were dwarfed in comparison to its sheer size. It reached high above anything in the vicinity and spanned a wide area close to the river’s edge.

  “Fucking Millennium Dome,” Captain Werner grunted with disdain as he eyed the colossal structure. He spat over the side of the conning tower and glared at the arena with loathing. “A complete waste of money that turned out to be.”

  Stan looked back at him and studied his expression for a moment as they passed by the dome that was situated on the northern tip of the Greenwich Peninsula. The man clearly despised the building and the motives for its construction, but Stan was not going to get into a political debate over the reasons why at that moment.

  “Stand-by on the first drop off,” Werner called down through the hatch in a loud whisper. “We’ll be at the pier in about five minutes. All stop on the main engines, Chief. Switch to electric motors.”

  The diesels suddenly cut out and once again, the air around them became silent as the batteries took over the responsibility of propulsion in order for them to remain undetected. The wind was down to a blustery breeze and visibility was improving steadily.

  In the city surrounding them, the ghostly wails of the dead drifted out from the streets and buildings and floated across the choppy waters of the Thames River towards the men in the boat. They sounded tortured and lost in an eternity of agony and misery. Their woeful cries protesting against their existence as they continued to walk the earth while their bodies decayed from around their bones. Then there was the reek of rot. It hung in the air like a heavy cloud. All the bodies that packed the streets between the buildings had been decomposing during the particularly hot summer and their foul stench was seeping out across the waters of the Thames like a creeping fog.

  The men on the bridge staring out into the darkness swapped nervous glances. They watched the first soldiers as they gathered on the foredeck and prepared to go ashore. The crew in the tower observed them with a muted respect and a deepening sympathy. Everyone knew that not all of the men aboard the boat would return from their tasks. The soldiers themselves understood the high risk and were extra aware of the fact that some of them would never leave the city.

  There were to be six drop off points along the river. At each stop, a team would disembark and move off towards their task locations and set up their positions. The first men to step onto the soil of London would be a team from the Pathfinders. As Werner brought the vessel in close to the pier, he stopped the engines and allowed the momentum of the slowly turning screws to bring them in at a drift.

  The first men that were gathered on deck prepared themselves in silence. Their heavy equipment was secured on their bodies and their weapons were held at the ready. In the conning tower and on the aft deck, dozens of weapons were trained on the pier and its surroundings as the submarine slowly drew up alongside it in silence.

  Every eye was focussed on the dock and the multitude of shadows and dark recesses that could hold the spying eyes of the dead. There was no sign of movement on the shore and when the boat came to a shuddering stop as the hull came into contact with the huge rubber tyres along the dock wall, the four sailors in charge of handling the gangplank went to work and secured the aluminium walkway against the pier.

  The first team quickly moved off and spread out around the pier head, taking up fire positions as they waited for a few minutes. A short while later and Captain Werner saw the flash of green light from the team commander that indicated the area was clear and they were about to move off towards their patrol lane. One by one, the men disappeared into the darkness of the harbour and headed inland.

  “Good luck, boys,” Werner whispered then mumbled down into the voice pipe for the Chief to manoeuvre them away from the dock wall.

  Stan and his men were the second to last team to be dropped off. All had gone well with virtually no incidents during the landings, except for when one of the SAS troopers had misplaced his footing and slipped from the deck and into the river. His splashes and cries of panic as his equipment attempted to drag him under rang out into the surrounding area and soon began to attract the attention of hundreds of infected.

  They appeared in droves and came out from behind every shadow and every building. They lumbered towards the dock and their moans of excitement and aggressiv
e snarls grew louder as the mass advanced. As the boat pulled away and the sailors hoisted the half-drowned soldier back on board, dozens of ravenous walking corpses surged towards the water’s edge. They tumbled into the river and were sucked under by the currents as they blindly reached out for the U-boat. The landing was aborted and a secondary drop off was chosen a few hundred metres further along the river.

  “Okay, Stan, this is you, old friend,” Captain Werner said quietly as they approached Tower Bridge.

  Stan looked out at the iconic structure and saw nothing of the internationally recognisable bridge that it had once been. During the outbreak, the government had ordered the quarantine of the entire southern half of the city and most of the crossings had been blown. The only one to escape the carnage of high explosives was the Dartford Bridge, situated further to the east. All that was now left intact of Tower Bridge were the suspension spans on either side of the river. In the centre sat the smashed ruins of the two towers still sitting on top of the piers and the twisted fragments of the bascules that had once formed the centre. Its black shape stood out against the charcoal coloured clouds that swept by overhead. Its broken and warped remains looked like the carcass of some colossal monster that had fallen there and rotted away to its bones.

  Down on the foredeck, Taff and the remainder of the team waited patiently for the boat to slowly manoeuvre into position. Stan turned to Werner and nodded. He thrust out his arm and took the Captain’s hand in his own.

  “I’ll see you back at the island when it’s all over. Good luck, Stan,” Werner said as he locked eyes with his old friend and forced a smile.

  “You too, and thanks for the lift,” Stan replied, simply.

  Down on the deck, Stan positioned himself at the head of the team and waited for the gangplank to be brought into position. He would lead the way, as was his habit. A good commander always leads from the front, he was always fond of saying. He turned and looked at the faces of his men lined up behind him. He could see the tenseness in their eyes and he would have been lying if he said he did not feel apprehensive himself. They were about to walk into a city holding an estimated three to four-million reanimated corpses so it was understandable to feel a degree of trepidation. However, he refused to show it. His men were extremely experienced and tough but the sight of fear etched into their commander’s face would undermine the resolve of any man.