The standoff lasted a further two minutes, Smith’s blood pressure slowly starting to boil. When Nick finally appeared, Smith was ready to strangle the man. Of course he didn’t do anything of the sort. Nick could have laid him flat within seconds.
“Carter, why are you denying me entry?”
“Because I don’t trust you,” Nick answered. He wasn’t wearing his gas mask.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Smith demanded. “I need to get to my patient. This is outrageous.”
“And you will,” Nick stated calmly, “but under my terms.” If Nick had any real choice, he would have kept Smith well away from Jessica and Whittaker completely. But no matter how wary he was of Smith, the army doctor was still needed in the hunt for the cure. Looking at Smith now though, Nick saw the wrongness in him, as if something was broken.
“Tell him to go fuck himself,” the Voice insisted. Despite himself, Smith almost did.
“What bloody terms, man?”
“What happened to your hand?” Nick asked, pointing at the now freshly bandaged appendage.
“I got attacked by one of the zombies in the hospital. It proves that the antiserum works. We lost all that had been produced at the hospital which is why I need to continue my work.” None of the soldiers guarding the building seemed to react to the news of the antiserum’s success.
“And Doctor Patel?” Nick asked.
“He…he didn’t make it.” Nick watched the doctor’s face as he said the words. He didn’t see any guilt or attempt at deception there.
“So the terms. You will not be allowed anywhere near Jessica for the time being. She has withdrawn her consent to be directly used in your experiments. Any blood taken will be by my team.” Smith was about to protest, but Nick put his hand up to stop him. “Corporal Whittaker has also volunteered to give blood, and the same rules apply.”
“Who the fuck is Whittaker?” Nobody had told Smith about the Corporal’s arrival.
“Another immune individual that arrived last night. Captain Beckington will oversee everything as he is army medical corps. We will give you what you need, but I don’t want you anywhere near them.”
“Another immune individual?”
“And what authority makes you think you can make these demands?” That was his ace in the hole. Smith was a full Colonel, Nick only a Lieutenant Colonel, a lower rank.
“Under the authority granted to me by the now deceased Director General, the Security Service Act and the Intelligence Services Act. There’s also a host of other legislation that was never made public that I won’t bore you with. Needless to say, it’s all official, but feel free to make any complaint with the acting Director General…if you can find out who he or she is. I also have the authorisation from the acting base commander, God and these fine gentlemen from the Special Air Service.”
“He can’t do this,” the Voice screamed.
“This is outrageous,” Smith persisted.
“Yes, you already said.”
“I’m going to have your head on a fucking spike for this, Carter.” Even with the words, Nick noticed there was no real anger in Smith’s voice. If anything, he sounded resigned.
“Not really a recognised punishment under UK law, but I’ll take it under advisement. Now if there’s nothing else?” Smith was about to say something, but the sound of unnervingly close machine gun fire ripped the words from his mouth. It was amazing how quickly petty squabbles became irrelevant in a time of war.
The undead were here.
***
Stephanie(Z) led its battalion into battle. Thousands strong now, they came from all directions. Fulwood Barracks was a collection of buildings positioned around two main parking areas. To the north east were two shooting ranges, the medical complex to the north. The whole facility was surrounded by either walls or razor topped wire fences. But as a defendable position it was laughable. It wasn’t designed as a fortress, and perhaps it should have been.
The guards that were on duty reacted too late to have any real impact, the undead washing over them with their speed and undeniable strength. The main bulk of the zombies came at the south gate, the machine gun fire laid down on them barely cutting into their numbers. Stephanie(Z) was near the front of the mob, its body partially shielded by the kin in front of it. Still, it did not come away unscathed. Three bullets entering its lower abdomen. Stephanie(Z) was barely put off its stride.
The front gate was not designed to keep people out. It had been fortified by sand bag emplacements and erected razor wire barriers. Unfortunately, zombies didn’t care if their skin was sliced to smithereens. The hastily constructed wood and wire obstacle collapsed under the weight of the onslaught, soldiers abandoning their defensive posts as it became clear there was no stopping the ravenous legion.
As with armies across the world, the British were slow to adapt to the realities of what the undead truly represented. They were a primal force of nature that used brute force to overwhelm any kind of technological advantage mankind thought they held. There weren’t enough bullets in the country to fight what was coming. Normally an aggressive force could be kept pinned down by sustained and devastating supressing fire, but not the undead. Fractured bones and ruptured organs meant nothing to them, crawling where they couldn’t run when irreversible damage was done to their legs.
They seemed to come in never ending waves.
Around the base’s perimeter, the undead easily scaled the walls. Some got themselves entangled in the razor sharp wire on top of the fences, but with the numbers they had, it was inevitable that the whole structure of the fences would fail in parts. Stone was formidable, but it was no real hindrance to the creatures with the strength to defeat the wall’s inadequate height. Over the walls, they went straight for the buildings, doors and windows smashed in even as the soldiers there fired out in desperation. Within minutes half the defenders were out of ammunition.
With the base officially in the process of being decommissioned, some of it had even been turned into a museum and it was the archway of this structure that the zombies who had attacked the southern gate streamed through. Stephanie(Z) made it past the outer perimeter, and into the main car park which had no doubt once been a parade ground. If it had been human, the wounds inflicted would have been lethal. The already liquefying liver inside of it was virtually blown apart, the large intestines perforated in several places. What was left of the clothes it wore were ruined beyond salvation and a long scar ran down the side of its cheekbone where a bullet had almost performed instant plastic surgery to its warped and visceral features.
The undead were here and they wouldn’t be denied.
***
Renfield couldn’t resist it any more. He had been made a promise that hadn’t been delivered on. Smith had brought him here to kill the woman called Jessica, only there were fucking SAS crawling all over the building like the damnable rodents they clearly were. Those men had not been in evidence earlier that morning when he had stalked Jessica. What was even worse was that those present were watching Renfield like a hawk watches its frightened prey. To merely twitch in the wrong way would likely mean one of them shooting him between the eyes. It was clear that they didn’t trust Smith, and by association that meant they didn’t trust him.
He had watched the exchange between Smith and Nick with growing despair, the urge within him almost at bursting point now. Renfield was well aware that his failure to shoot Jessica that morning had been a grievous error on his part. An opportunity had presented itself and he had likely fucked up his one and only chance. The madness inside him was clear where the blame lay. As Smith argued fruitlessly with Nick, Renfield began to berate himself in his own head, the anger at his own cowardice building. The need to feed his addiction was presently at breaking point. It was inevitable that he would snap.
Then came the proof that Smith had lied to him, the conversation about other immune individuals making Jessica almost irrelevant. Smith had told him Jessica was
the only one, the only chance to save the human race. He had also told him that by killing her, he would ensure no more antiserum was available which left the samples Smith owned the last of it.
“Kill her and you kill the world, and also save yourself.” The promise the Voice had made to him was clear. If he did this one thing, then Smith would give him the antiserum and make him immune to the undead as well. Be one of the few to travel the land without fear.
All lies, it was clear now, the finger moving across his gun’s trigger guard slowly, anger growing inside him to a peak. Then the gunfire started and everything changed. Renfield got the chance he thought he needed.
23.08.19
Pennsylvania, USA
Jaqueline Fairchild was no longer the American Attorney General. She was now the first ever female President of the United States of America. Having just been sworn in, it was now her job to try and gain some order in the country that had so long ago lost its way.
The zombies weren’t the only problem, and the crisis she was faced with presented her with the opportunity only God himself could have dreamt up. America had been wayward of late, allowing heathens and those damned liberals with their loose morals to corrupt the good work done by the Founding Fathers. This was a Christian country and she was going to make sure people remembered that.
She was reassured that everyone in the facility was free of the virus. Whilst a prototype field test for Lazarus had already been developed, conventional blood tests had been used just to be sure. Jacqueline had needed to consent to such herself. The field test would be a game changer and would only require a drop of blood so as to give an answer within five minutes. Basically an antigen test strip, there were already factories setting up production lines to pump these things out. Once ready, everyone in Site R where she would be living for the foreseeable future could be tested as often as was deemed necessary.
Jacqueline was already formulating a scheme to have the field tests distributed country wide. Once ready, she had ordered that road side testing be done in every zombie free city, block by block if they had to. In the areas of the country where the undead were yet to make their presence felt, any incidence of Lazarus had to be stamped out before it got a foot hold. She had been impressed by how Texas had come out against the disease, and this would be the model for the rest of the country going forward.
Jacqueline had Martial Law on her side. She could pretty much do what she damned well pleased, including removing some of the undesirables from the streets of her beloved country. As she sat at her improvised desk, plans began to form in her mind. She was going to mould and shape this country to her image using the King James Bible as the blueprint for how a country should be.
The work would really start when the nuclear football was delivered to her from where it sat in the bowels of the Whitehouse. She had already asked General Roberts’ replacement to put forth a feasibility study on the use of nukes to reduce the numbers of undead and infected in the worst hit cities. Specifically, those replicas of Sodom and Gomorrah that corrupted and festered on the west coast of this great land. The new head of the Joint Chiefs had been picked specifically because she knew he was a hawk and a fellow believer. He had the nickname ‘Fire and Brimstone’ for his somewhat unorthodox views on how to fight a conventional war.
As much as she would put on a suitably stoic act when she finally pressed the button, Jacqueline was rather looking forward to cleansing the sin from this country with the Lord’s own atomic fire. And then she would turn the missiles to those other countries that were so in need of redemption. The ones that decried the teachings of the Lord Our God. She wasn’t just going to change the country. Jaqueline Fairchild knew with every fibre of her being that she had been put in this place at this time to change the very essence of the world. The heathens and sinners had better make the most of the days they had left because God’s holy fire was on its way.
Say his name and speak it loud.
23.08.19
Preston, UK
The old instincts kicked in as if he hadn’t missed a single day without war.
“We have to go,” Nick said in a way that expressed the urgency that was building within him. He was inside the medical facility now, the rest of the team present. They stood in the observation room, Whittaker and Jessica now well aware of the situation outside. Machine gun fire was pretty much unmistakeable.
“What about him?” Natasha asked, indicating Azrael. The assassin looked at them all through the reinforced glass almost blankly.
“We bring him with us,” Nick decided.
“I don’t like that boss,” Jeff added. Nick nodded, accepting the nature of the advice but rejecting it.
“I don’t like it either, but my gut is telling me that he is important. Keep him shackled, but bring him.” Jeff didn’t need to be told twice, and he slapped Brodie on the arm to indicate that the two of them were now in charge of the assassin.
“Where will we go?” Whittaker asked. Inside, the Corporal was panicking, but he wasn’t going to let that show, not in front of his fellow soldiers. Nick didn’t seem to have an answer for that.
“I know where,” Jessica suddenly insisted. “It’s safe and secure and out of the way.” Where better than her brother’s farm, the one place she could guarantee would be secure and virus free. She told Nick her idea, and watched as he clearly mulled it over.
“Let’s get out of here first, decide when we are on the road.” With the extent of the firefight happening outside, Nick knew they had one chance to make it out of this alive and that all depended on Haggard doing what should come as pure instinct. As if to emphasise that fact, the sound of battle outdoors intensified.
When they finally left the medical facility, the sound of carnage was deafening. Close to the entrance two APC’s stood idling with their back doors open, another being driven the short distance from the car park where most of the base’s military vehicles were parked. A lone zombie ran at the third APC, only for it to fall beneath the wheels of the several tonne beast. Even those already dead couldn’t survive that kind of trauma.
It was clear to Nick that there was no saving the base, its perimeter too vast for the meagre defenders who, even now, were easily being overwhelmed. He should have guessed this would have happened, but could you really predict that the undead would hit so strategically and so surgically? Of all the places they could have attacked, they came here? They were supposed to be mindless, but to Nick’s strategic mind, this felt coordinated. The military’s ability to control the streets of Manchester had led everyone into a false sense of security. They had overreached themselves and had ultimately left their flanks vulnerable.
“Everyone into the first APC,” Nick ordered. He was now stood by Jessica, almost protectively, Azrael and Brodie stood beside him. In his peripheral vision, two SAS soldiers could be seen backing towards him as they fired rounds at half a dozen zombies that were barrelling towards the group. They were alternating between head and leg shots, the torso of the zombie a complete waste of bullets for the guns they were using. The technique seemed to work. Any zombies they didn’t kill became crippled, slowing them down considerably. Still the undead crawled for there was nothing else they knew. Nick looked around, but he couldn’t see Smith anywhere.
With everything that was happening, Nick never expected for someone to suddenly push into him and throw him roughly to the ground.
“Down,” somebody shouted.
Nick hit the concrete floor hard, the wind being kicked out of him, the multiple machine gun reports blending into the surroundings. Pain shot through his left arm, a burning sensation that he was all too familiar with. Someone was screaming, and despite the agony that was pouring through him, he scrambled to his knees pulling the sidearm from its holster. At his side, Azrael lay sprawled from where he had speared his captor. Nick instantly knew that Azrael hadn’t been attacking him. If he had been, there would have been more follow through from the handcuffed man. Azrael’s actio
ns had been to protect Nick.
He saw that Jessica was safe, Brodie on top shielding her body. A hand appeared, Jeff helping him up, the awareness of what had just happened still forming in his mind. Someone had fired at them, and Azrael had pushed him aside. Lying there in his hospital scrubs, Azrael appeared uninjured.
“Fucker,” Nick heard one of the SAS soldiers shout before shooting a body that lay sprawled several metres away. The picture began to clarify, Renfield’s corpse evidence of a betrayal that had almost been perpetrated.
“Brodie, get Jessica into the APC,” Nick said absently, only for Jessica’s tear ridden pleas to drag his eyes away from the body of the dead Judas. Brodie had rolled off Jessica and now lay on his back. All around him was mayhem as soldiers retreated to this position, but the centre of Nick’s world seemed to shrink down onto his fellow MI13 agent. With arms that reflected the weakness that was overtaking him, Brodie pulled off his gas mask, blood bubbling into the air as a rasping cough ripped open his shredded lung just that little bit more.
Two of Renfield’s bullets had penetrated Brodie’s right chest, one passing right through, another lodging where it had deflected off a rib.
“He saved my life,” Nick heard Jessica say. The gratitude and the sorrow in those words seemed to clarify what Nick already knew.
“Med kit,” Jeff screamed. “I need a fucking med kit here.” Nick knelt by Brodie and grabbed his hand, trying to assess the damage that had been inflicted. In response, Brodie looked at him with an almost bewildered look. The pain in Nick’s arm melted away.
“Guess…guess I found what I was here for after all,” Brodie wheezed, his breath raspy and forced. Nick used his knife to cut away at the NBC suit concealing the damage done and instantly he knew it was hopeless. A pressure dressing was thrust into Nick’s face and he forced it down onto the bubbling wound despite the obvious futility of it. If they had immediate access to a highly skilled trauma team and several pints of O negative blood, then maybe something could have been done. But the shrinking SAS cordon surrounding them was barely holding the undead off and there were more of the zombie fuckers coming than anybody could even count.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 2): The Rise Page 47
