"Are you ok Sir?" checked White after several moments.
Nelson licked dry lips. “How......how much damage would such a device create in the UK, Chuck?”
White took a steadying breath before answering. “Following such an explosion Sir there um.......there would be no UK.”
For several seconds Nelson couldn't speak. “None?”
White nodded. "None Sir, this will be our final solution.”
"We can't tell the British," whispered Nelson.
Chapter 21
"Armageddon”
Jeremy Boardman seemed totally unaware of The Preacher as he approached. At less than six feet the disoriented scientist turned to face the giant spectre bearing down on him, swaying on unsteady legs as he screwed up dust filled eyes.
"I....I know you," stuttered Boardman. “You’re....you’re The Preacher."
The Preacher looked down on the man, the man who had much to answer for with the misery he had created in this plague ridden world. It was Boardman who had developed the White Lightning that had enslaved and ruined so many lives, it was this man who had created the monster Mutants and drained blood from the child Hope.
Boardman looked past the man before him, his eyes sweeping the area behind him. “Where......where are the others?” croaked Bruger’s scientist. "Where is your army?”
The Preacher fixed eyes on the cowering man that burned bright with the rage within. "There are no others.”
Boardman looked around in disbelief, a sweeping arm taking in all of the devastation within The Keep. “You alone...did all this?”
The scientist took a step back as The Preacher pulled the Tomahawk axe from his belt. "Wait..... wait," he pleaded, raising his free hand and still backing up. "I have information, I can help you," he pleaded.
The Preacher’s hand paused, the axe half out of his belt. "What information is worth your life Boardman?”
"The future of Fort London," blurted the desperate scientist. "The lives of every man, woman and child within its walls.”
The Preacher pushed the shaft of the axe fully back into his belt. "Thirty seconds to make your trade.”
The scientist licked his lips. “You....you have to promise not to kill me, make a solemn oath to your God.”
The Preacher replayed the scientist’s words inside his head. “The future of Fort London, the lives of every man, woman and child". "You have my oath Boardman, now give me the information that you have valued as equal to your life.”
The scientist chewed his lip for several seconds, bloodshot eyes assessing the man in front of him, weighing up the validity of his oath against the fact he had just single handily destroyed The Keep.
The Preacher pulled the axe free, spun it once and caught it cleanly by the handle in a grip of steel. "I'm rethinking that oath Boardman.”
"OK, Ok......I overheard Bruger talking on the radio, he was talking about a discovery in Scotland.”
"You’re gonna need to expand on that Boardman, because right now......you’re coming up well short at the bargaining table.”
"He....he has something in a place called Port Leith, something that will wipe out Fort London. He said it would be over at the push of a button."
The Preacher’s narrowed eyes assessed the poor excuse of a man in front of him, looked deep into bloodshot eyes that constantly skipped from his to the ground, assessing if truth in any quantity lay within and that’s what frightened him because it was, truth was there. “Anything else?” pushed The Preacher.
Boardman ran a furry tongue over cracked lips, he had one last ace to play. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out what looked like a push button key fob for a car. “This," he whispered, offering it to the giant in front of him.
For a second or two The Preacher simply looked at the fob. "Wasn't looking to trade my jeep in."
"Not a car," smirked Boardman. “It’s an insurance policy."
"My patience is getting thin," growled The Preacher, placing his hand back onto the Tomahawk axe.
Boardman spoke in a rush, his eyes never leaving the axe. “Bruger has four Mutant guards, guards who......who never leave his side. I....I created them.”
"Created them?”
"I infected them with the virus and placed communication implants into their ears, it's done so they can be controlled at a distance.”
The Preacher simply drew the axe, this man had to die.
"They’re walking bombs," pressed on Boardman, lifting his eyes from the axe to the brooding features of the nemesis in front of him. “I placed a dab of semtex into each ear piece, each one will take out anyone within ten feet." Boardman was desperate, the man in front of him was about to boil over. “Press the red button and you can take out Bruger from up to thirty feet away."
The Preacher snatched the fob from the shaking man and worked hard at controlling the rage within, a rage that screamed at him to cut down the animal in front of him but he had made a pledge, a pledge not to kill him.
Boardman took several steps back. “You...you promised you wouldn't kill me."
The black giant rammed the axe back into his belt, closed on the cowering scientist and grabbed the clear bag of white powder still gripped in his hand. Clamping Boardman’s jaw in a powerful grip, he slammed his head back against a section of wall. “I always keep my word, I'm not going to kill you."
Boardman’s eyes were wide, flicking from The Preacher's smouldering eyes to the bag of white lightning that he had lifted above his head. "Open your mouth," hissed the black avenger.
The scientist’s head could only manage the tiniest of shakes, a whimper escaping his throat. "Open," barked The Preacher.
Boardman closed his eyes and opened his mouth. The Preacher poured the white powder into his mouth and while much of it cascaded over his face to fall to the floor, much of it went down his throat. As he started to gag and choke, The Preacher threw down the bag, placed one hand on the top of the scientist’s head, the other under his jaw and clamped the man’s mouth closed as he bucked and kicked to no avail, the iron vice like grip holding his head still. Twenty seconds later the scientist went limp, his eyes rolling back in their sockets as the overdose of white lightning bled in through his stomach into his system giving Boardman his final terminal trip. The Preacher let the man drop to the floor in an untidy heap. "Promise kept," he spoke quietly. "I'm not going to kill you."
Boardman’s eyes rolled down momentarily to stare up at him.
The Preacher lowered his head, he wanted Boardman to hear him. “That shit you created will do that for me." He turned and walked away returning to the slash in the fencing, checking for WDs as he removed the clips that held it closed and eased through. Back at his Jeep he took out his specialised first aid kit and sprayed the slash on his rib cage with an antiseptic of his own creation before stapling it closed, wincing as each one closed the gash. Five minutes later he stood in the road and looked south to Fort London where he knew friends waited Turning, he looked north where Scotland and Bruger lay. Climbing into his vehicle he turned the key and started the huge motor, slipping it into first gear, he pulled away. Scotland was waiting.
#
The morning after Bruger had dropped the insulting bomb-shell on Blade that he would once again be playing a secondary role, the enforcer stood looking down on the vast storage yard that at one time had held goods from every corner of the earth. Now it stood empty and acted as a perfect training ground for Bruger and his Mutant army. His four shadows were never far behind him as he strutted back and forth putting the never flinching, never questioning monster brigade through endless moves. Dive to the ground, run left, right, stop and in one sickening finale, run down and kill the dozen prisoners released at one end of the yard who tried desperately to outrun the savage troops who were given leave to feed on their prey in a savage frenzy. Blade had to admit that his leader was now controlling his pets with a high level of precision and speed, clearly revelling in the power it gave him. He watched the Fort Warwic
k leader call off his pack from the feeding frenzy and order them to get back into ranks as the freezer wagons came onto the yard. He was about to feed his army and the 200 strong troopers howled as one in recognition of the flesh they knew was about to be thrown out to them. Blade felt a shiver run up his spine, not only in reaction to the chilling, wailing sound but also in recognition that the monsters were learning, their awareness evolving. They had linked the freezer wagons to meal time, a tiny simplistic step Blade realised but a step none-the-less. Where would it end, how far would these crazed creatures develop? Blade pulled his eyes away from the horrific scene of the feeding army as Bruger approached. He would try once more to get his leader to change his mind and allow him to be part of the attacking force. Bruger had learned from Intel that there were only two compounds of any size and influence in Scotland, one in Glasgow and one in Livingston. Once these fell the other smaller units would fall in behind Bruger, swelling his ever growing army.
"Looking good Karl," simpered Blade.
Bruger stopped and turned to look for just a few seconds, at his feeding army. “There is no one who can stand before us Blade." Turning suddenly, he marched away towards his new toy, the type 45 Destroyer.Walk with me Blade, we have things to discuss before I leave tomorrow.”
"About that Karl," responded Blade determined not to miss out on the battles to come. “I wanted to have a word.”
Bruger’s pace never slowed. "You can have as many as you like Blade, long as none of them are about you joining me. Need a good man here to ensure this ship is ready when I get back." The Ex Drug dealer stopped suddenly and turned, causing Blade to have to either skid to a halt or cannon into his crazed leader. He chose the first option. "Apart from that Blade my orders were pretty clear," warned Bruger. "And if you were to challenge them again then........." Bruger paused, “I would have to question your loyalty to my cause, to operation Vanquish.”
"No....no, it wasn't about that," lied Blade, reading clearly the danger that lay within his leader’s bloodshot eyes. "It um ...was just to confirm a few points before you leave in the morning, Karl."
Bruger gave a rare smile, he liked the answer. "Let’s walk and talk," he instructed, turning and heading once again towards the Destroyer.
Blade listened to his instructions once again, nodding at each and feigning interest where there was none. Make sure the ship was ready for Bruger’s return was the overriding brief, make sure all weapons were fully operational and as the pair stepped onto the gang-plank a new task became evident as their radios chirped into life.
"Mr Bruger this is Jackdaw. We're just arriving at the docks Sir."
"And that would interest me directly for what reason?" snapped Bruger.
"We have a prisoner Sir," informed Jackdaw quickly.
"Then drop him off to the freezer team, you asshole.”
"I think you’re gonna want to talk to this one before the Mutants eat him sir. It’s The Preacher, we captured The Preacher.”
#
The entire populace at Fort London knew there was a broadcast coming from Steve Knight, the elected President of the People’s Council. All over the Fort over a half a million people sat around countless radios waiting for what they had been told was an emergency broadcast. Craig Anderson, Tom, Hog and Bull all sat around the conference table that had seen a thousand meetings over the years, seen thousands of decisions made that had been difficult and at times almost impossible to reach. Today’s however was the most difficult Knight had ever had to pass onto the Pure that made up the population he had dedicated himself to protect, today he had to tell his people that the sanctity of Fort London was untenable. He would tell them that the constant attacks from Bruger had weakened them to the point that it was only a matter of time before the crazed Fort Warwick leader and his Mutant army over-ran them. He would give them the unpalatable fact that Bruger was set on their destruction and they did not have sufficient trained men, or the armoury, to defeat him. He would close by telling them of the very thin lifeline that the President of the United States of America had thrown them, of the precedence of getting Hope to a place of safety for the child carried in her blood the future of all mankind. In closing he would be honest with his people, the speed that the Americans could evacuate the populace would be glacial compared to the speed that Bruger was coming at them. Many would not make it, many would be swallowed up by the Mutant tidal wave that was coming so a priority selection order for evacuation would be imposed on the populace. Healthy people under the age of thirty would be first to go, married couples from thirty to fifty would take priority over singles in the same age range, criminals, the aged and those in poor health would be last to be transported. It was a clear death sentence for hundreds of thousands of the population as Steve Knight estimated the length of time a full evacuation would take. Each and every listener knew full evacuation would never happen before Bruger’s army swept over them. It was Armageddon.
Those surrounding the table watched the man seated at the head click off the microphone that sat in front of him and sigh deeply, his eyes tightly closed. "Now we wait," whispered Knight.
"For what?” questioned Tom.
The President opened his eyes and looked to the ex-SAS man to his right. “Fans running Tom and the shit’s on its way.”
Within minutes the streets surrounding the Barbican where The Council of the People was housed, was a sea of people. An armed team of twenty troops placed by Anderson stood their ground, as the baying mob armed with a mixture of iron bars, pickaxe handles and small side arms grew. Preventing them from storming the building was going to be difficult. Their raised shouts and screams turned into a raucous storm of sound that rolled forward and up the face of the building to where Knight and the others stood looking down through a huge plate glass window as the angry crowd below them gave vent to the fear of the future that Knight had painted for them.
Anderson lifted his radio to his lips as the crowd pressed forward towards the line of troops below. "Place a volley over their heads," he ordered.
The five men watched as the line of seasoned troops lifted their mixed weapons and sent a thundering volley just feet above the crowd in front of them, bringing them to a stunned halt. The crowds at the back continued to press forward still screaming their anger, that and fear creating a dangerous cocktail, the ones at the front remained silent and back peddled initially but came to an abrupt halt and then began sliding forward once more due to the weight of numbers pressing behind.
"Three second burst over their heads," snapped Anderson.
Once again the troops raised their weapons and sent out the volley. Now the silence spread further and eventually a low rumbling murmur was all that could be heard as the forward surge faltered and stopped.
Anderson picked up a loudhailer sat on the conference table and stepped out onto a narrow balcony. "I want every one of you to clear the streets and return to your homes," he ordered.
"You’re supposed to protect us," shouted a lone voice from below. Many more added their weight.
"You've sold us out," came another. Once again the toxic energy of the angry crowd began to build. It was an infectious, contagious mix that spurred them forward towards the thin line below.
"A volley over their heads is not gonna work again," warned Tom, coming up behind his leader.
"I know," sighed Anderson. “Two second burst into the crowd," snapped the Fort London security chief.
Below him, his team acted with a mixture of shocked reluctance and professionalism, their twenty weapons spitting out a withering spray of death to the closing crowd. The remaining crowd reacted as one as they stampeded away into the streets they had arrived from. The front tier barged into the layer of protesters behind, the layers of people at the back turning and fleeing, just because others were, completely unaware of the carnage at the front. Left behind was a tangle of dead and wounded whose screams filled the square, chilling the blood of the troops below and the five men looking down from
above. Each was a seasoned fighter but the act of having to fire upon Pure was sickening for each and every one of them.
"Attend to the wounded," instructed Anderson to the troops below.
The four other men watched as Anderson turned and launched the loudhailer against a wall to shatter into several parts followed by his hand radio. They remained quiet, watching as the white hot anger that was flowing through the huge man simmered as he paced back and forth, glancing through the plate glass window to the street below at the scene of carnage, one that he would carry with him the rest of his life for he had ordered it, he had rained death down onto people he had spent years protecting.
"You had no choice Craig," tried Tom eventually.
Anderson stopped his pacing and with his back to the others looked down at his troops attending to the dead and dying. "Doesn't help Tom, and now we have a real problem."
Bravo Two Zombie (Book 3): The Final Solution Page 16
