Bryan guided the bike back into the warehouse and slowed to a halt. Hog jumped off and ran to the door slamming it closed and ramming the bolt across. For several seconds the Angel sat against the door his hands on his knees as he gulped in a lungful of air. Finally he straightened up and looked over to Bryan who was still sat astride the now silent Harley. "Run Forrest?”
The pair broke out into laugher born out of relief that they were both still breathing and, for the moment, both safe.
"OK," gasped Hog after a moment, walking over to the Apache. "Let’s get this beast fired up.”
#
Time 6.50pm GMT 1.50pm New York Time.
"You got some nerve coming here you son of a bitch," came an angry voice from the inky darkness behind the heavy grill gate.
Tom, Bull and his troops were spotted at one of the entrances to Old Hill Station by one of the Tunnel Rats. Tom had cut through two of the heavy chains woven between the thick bars and was about to cut the third and final one when a hail of bullets came pouring out of the darkness beyond forcing Tom and his crew to scatter either side of the gate. "Ease up Tiger,” yelled Tom into the darkness. “Listen carefully, you need to get whoever is in charge up here to listen to what we have to say," instructed Tom, keeping his back pressed up close to the wall at the side of the entrance.
"Case you forgot, last time you were in our tunnels we lost seventy five percent of our people, you can whistle.”
"Let me toss a couple of grenades," hissed Bull from the other side of the gate.
Tom checked his watch then looked to Bull who was holding two grenades at shoulder height. Tom shook his head at him, they had to get into those tunnels and quickly but lobbing in a couple of grenades was not going to encourage the TR to come on side and help them. “Listen....you in there, what’s your name?”
"Roland," came the shouted reply.
"You have got...to be joking," smirked Bull. "Frigging Roland Rat?”
Tom flapped a hand at the trooper. “Roland...you need to listen really carefully to what I'm about to say.” Tom paused to wait for a response, the seconds slipped away.
"You gonna speak, or simply bore me to death?" came the reply from the darkness.
Tom pressed on. "Ok here it is. Karl Bruger is putting together an army like you have never seen, he intends to march from Fort Warwick sweeping away all opposition like a medieval warlord. You, and whatever is left of your group is going to be sucked out of those tunnels and fed to his Mutants."
"Best run back to your Fort then and hide under the bed," came the curt reply.
"There is no Fort," yelled Tom. "It's fallen apart, the remaining half a million Pure have dispersed to the four winds. And those numbers don't include over a thousand wiped out by Bruger’s Destroyer that launched a missile into them. Trust me Roland you are no safer here than we were at Fort London, he will come here and he will destroy what’s left of your community.”
There was another long pause before a man materialised from the darkness and pressed up against the grill. "Why are you here?”
"No disrespect Roland," replied Tom stepping up to the grill, "But I need to speak to the leader of your group.”
"Then keep speaking," snapped the man.
Bull came up to Tom’s side. "You...Roland Rat?”
The man raised the AK 74 hanging loose at his side. “You make a big target friend," came the snarled response.
"Whoa, whoa," calmed Tom, "let me explain." For the next ten minutes, Tom gave chapter and verse of all that had taken place over the previous months, the Mutant army developed by Bruger's tame scientist, the Cutting Sheds created to feed them. He went into great detail about the attempted rescue mission by the Americans, how Bruger’s Destroyer had blown it out of the water, of the second rescue mission being sent by the US President to get Hope and Andrew to the scientists in the States where they had hopes of a cure being developed against the plague. Last but not least he threw in the invitation for the Tunnel Rats to join them, to escape the UK and in essence, escape Bruger who had grown so powerful that there was no force assembled that could stop him.
Roland hesitated before responding, "You will take all of our people?”
"How many are you?" asked Tom.
"175," came the instant reply.
"We have room for that amount," assured Tom.
Roland gave them a long assessing stare before he brought out a key from his pocket, undid the final lock and pulled free the chain. The grill complained as it was opened with a metallic creak. After all of Tom’s team were inside the tunnel, Roland re-sealed the grill and led the small group down into the tunnels. As they walked, Tom spoke quickly, explaining in more detail the war that was coming, a war they could not win. He explained in greater detail about the contacts from America, the mission attempted with the cruise ship and the catastrophe when she was hit with a Tomahawk missile. Then lastly he detailed the second intuitive by the Americans in the form of six Galaxy transport monsters that could take up to three thousand souls to Fort Hope in the States. Tom kept to himself the fact that the Americans had been clear they could not guarantee success during these troubled times when the planes themselves could not be fully tested for such a journey. By the time Roland had led them to their base he was on side, this was an opportunity for his people, an opportunity of a new start in a new land where there was a strong possibility of a cure for the plague.
"So let me get this right," checked the TR leader, “you need to get a little over three thousand people over to City Airport using a tube train, that we haven't got, through a tunnel system that is probably blocked, and all of this powered by that generator," he indicated pointing to a smooth running beast of a unit at the far end of the platform they were assembled on, "that needs linking, through a damaged cable system, all the way through to Bank Station?” checked the TR leader.
"Admitted," grimaced Tom, "there are a couple of hurdles to deal with in that plan."
Roland chuckled before going into a different mode. “Peanut," he snapped, "take half of the men and start working on the switch repairs to get power piggy backed over to Bank. Make it happen guys. Jack," he pointed again, "we need two engines and at least 8 carriages, take the other half and get it done."
"On it," replied the man, gathering his team.
"What about us?" asked Tom.
"You and your team are with me," responded Roland, heading for the mouth of a dark tunnel.
"Wanna give us a clue?” demanded Bull, lumbering after him.
"We need to walk the line from here to Bank, then through to Canning town," responded the TR leader over his shoulder. “We got over nine thousand metres to cover and ensure that we don't have any surprises if we manage to get rolling.”
"If?” questioned Tom.
Roland stopped and turned to face Tom and his team. "You looking for guarantees then you’re looking in the wrong place friend. Only reason I'm getting involved with the crazy scheme is that it frightens me only marginally less than waiting for that psycho Bruger to come calling so yes, it's an if. In all honesty I think the odds of this working are damn slim but the thought of sitting around doing nothing are not an option so unless you have any other questions, we need to walk the line.” There were no questions so Roland grabbed half a dozen rechargeable torches feeding off the generator and led Tom and his team into the dark tunnel. They had just over nine kilometres of tunnels to walk through. Tunnels that the Tunnel Rats did not control, tunnels that were kept locked off from the small areas of safety roamed by Roland and his small band. As they went, each gave a silent prayer that they would not run into any WDs. It was a prayer wasted.
#
Time 7.25 pm GMT 2.25 New York Time.
Anderson, Pump, Spider and fifteen of his best troops arrived at City Airport at 7.25pm. Pulling in through the open gates it quickly became clear that the boundary fences were intact and that the small groups of WDs wandering through the airport had probably entered through the main ga
te.
"Pump, get that gate shut," ordered Anderson jumping from the coach. The fifteen troops fanned out forming a cordon to hold back the sparse WDs already shuffling towards them. As they closed, the troops easily cut them down leaving Anderson free to study the main runway where the Galaxys would need to land, it's 4,000 feet length would be ample as the huge aircraft could land in as little as 2,600 feet so 4,000 would allow for landing and parking of the six aircraft. However at present the expanse of tarmac was strewn with broken down vehicles, several light aircraft and dozens of WD corpses for even WDs would expire eventually once they were starved of Pure flesh.
"OK listen up," yelled Anderson, clapping his hands together. "We have less than seventeen hours to clear this airstrip troopers, but first we need to carry out a sweep to clear the zone......"
Anderson's instruction was interrupted by the crack of Spider’s M24, the troops sniper had climbed onto the roof of the coach, and a shouted warning from their guardian angel, "Dogs.”
#
Time 9.30pm GMT 4.30pm New York Time.
The Preacher was becoming frustrated so risked a glance as he opened the door just a crack. The atmosphere was clearly growing in intensity. The Captain was issuing orders with a clipped no nonsense voice that got men scurrying around the tight space. There was even less chance of escaping his hideout as it seemed that more armed men had crammed onto the bridge, however that would have to change for it was at this moment that the full extent of Bruger’s depravity was revealed as one of the men studying a monitor on the far side of the space called to the Captain to confirm the timing for the launch of the nuclear missile to be sent into Fort London. The Preacher’s head started to spin as the horrifying prospect played out inside of his head, a missile dropped into the stronghold would easily take out all of the two million within. He had to get to a radio.
Chapter 31
"We need to get that damn Chopper working"
Time 9.45pm GMT 4.45pm New York Time
Hog picked up a chair and threw it across the huge void in anger. "Why the hell won't she start?" he shouted in frustration. He and Bryan had been working since they arrived to fire up the Apache, the Apache that had been running sweetly when they evacuated the stronghold just days before.
Bryan wiped his hand over his tired features and slumped down into the armchair he had sat in a thousand times in the past as he and Hog drank coffee and talked shit. "We have to be missing something," he sighed, allowing his head to slump back onto the seat and his eyes to close for a second to try and ease the pain behind them. They snapped open as the soft thumping created by the hordes of WDs banging on the thick corrugated walls of the massive warehouse was drowned by the sound of a solid metallic thump on the area near the door. “What the hell was that?"
Hog was already lumbering across to the door as Bryan rose from his seat and ran after him. By the side of the massive rolling doors was a metal stair case that took them up to a storage and office area on a mezzanine floor. From here they would be able to look down on the area outside the doors. Sliding open a large window the pair leaned out and looked below onto the hordes of swaying WDs illuminated by the milky white light linked to the generator chugging away at the back of the space where the lifeless Apache stood. They alone presented no danger to the pair, however the two Mutants who had short scaffold poles in their hands were a different matter as they pounded the doors.
"I thought they had lost interest when they disappeared," hissed Hog.
"Seem pretty interested now," snarled Bryan.
"We don't get the Apache fired up we are cooked," warned the Angel leader, slamming the window closed.
"Not only us," reminded Bryan, "So is The Preacher."
The two men headed back towards the stairs but stopped in their tracks as the double banging turned into a rolling volley of beats. Stepping up to the window once more the pair looked down onto a gathering swarm of Mutants all armed with poles and sticks, each pounding on the doors.
"We need to get that damn Chopper working," whispered Hog.
Bryan was already pounding down the stairs.
#
Time 9.55pm GMT 4.55pm New York Time
Roland, with Tom's team, had covered all of the track, finding it clear and undamaged, from Old Street through to Bank. Around ten metres from the mouth of the tunnel that led out to the main platform, their lamps gave up the last of their juice plunging the group into an inky blackness. "OK guys," warned Roland, “grab the man’s belt in front of you and Tom you grab mine, I used to roam these platforms regular before your lot decimated the Tunnel Rats.”
Tom decided not to comment on that statement as they shuffled along through the darkness.
"Little farther and we come to a glass topped hall, once there we might get some ambient light if there is a moon out."
"Stop," hissed Bull suddenly. The group all came to a halt, each man still holding on to the belt in front of him.
"What is it?" whispered Roland eventually, from the front of the crocodile line.
The radio crackling suddenly into life as they came into a radio sweet spot caused each man to catch his breath. "Roland this is Peanut, we just made the last connection switch between us and Bank, should be able to send power through to you on your order."
"Damn good timing Peanut, throw the switch."
"No...Wait," hissed Bull.
But his words were wasted as the expansive platform they were alongside suddenly filled with a burning light as dozens of tubes fizzed into life and each man covered his eyes to allow them to adjust from the inky blackness to the blinding glare. Had they any idea what awaited them as they opened their eyes they might have opted to keep them shut tight for then they would not have needed to take in the sight of well over a hundred WDs. All of the experienced troops knew they were subdued within the depths of the pitch black, standing together like a gruesome pack of swaying commuters waiting for the next train.
Bull turned to the group, he would have to whisper, have to warn everyone to keep quiet and move slowly.
"Run," screamed Roland.
#
10.00 pm UK time, 5.00pm New York.
"I don't care how many times you've searched," bellowed Captain John Bower. The ship had dropped anchor at Shoeburyness Beach near the mouth of the Thames. "Well he sure as hell didn't jump over the side you morons,” he continued. “Now get extra men and get that Preacher found.” The two men being lambasted by the Captain of the Destroyer scurried away muttering under their breaths. They had spent hours scouring every nook and cranny on the warship but to no avail, somehow the six feet seven giant black man was eluding them. The Preacher clearly heard the exchange and gave up a silent prayer over his choice of concealment, it seemed God had guided his feet and placed him in safety which as far as The Preacher was concerned meant that he had a plan for him, a plan that he instinctively felt included the child, Hope. It was as this thought went through his mind that the door he was hiding behind suddenly opened and the light flooded in temporarily blinding him and stopped him seeing ten pairs of eye turning to stare at him.
#
Time 10.05 pm UK time, 5.05pm New York.
A pack of around fifty dogs of all breeds and sizes came tearing across the runway skidding around the obstacles. Many slid over onto their sides in their haste to reach the intoxicating aroma that had triggered their rush, Pure flesh.
"Form a line," shouted Anderson, "and wait for my command."
Pump and the fifteen troopers fanned either side of Anderson, weapons raised.
The howling, crazed pack closed to within thirty metres.
"Wait, wait," ordered Anderson.
At twenty metres the cacophony of snarling and growls overlapped with the claws scrabbling over tarmac.
"Wait," calmed Anderson.
At ten metres it seemed nothing would halt the plague crazed creatures.
"Fire!" yelled the Fort London Leader.
The experienced troopers,
who had all switched to automatic, delivered a withering wave of fire power that smashed into the wall of fur. The front runners took the initial force with legs smashed and tore open rib cages yet despite this the dying animals still scrabbled at the ground trying to reach the troopers. At ten metres only around ten of the infected dogs were still coming, at five it was three huge brutes, three it was a lone wolfhound that leapt through the air directly at Anderson whose gun had emptied. In a beat, he reached over his shoulder, pulled free one of his knives and jinking to one side whipped it across the animals exposed neck, severing its head from its body that flopped to the ground twitching.
For a few seconds no-one spoke, each allowing the adrenaline to dissipate "OK," spoke Anderson, "let’s round up the rest of the WDs from the airport, then we got a runway to clear and precious little time to do it."
"Where do you want me Cap?" called down Spider.
Anderson pointed to the control tower. "Up there, you should be able to keep watch over most of the zone from there."
"Any other orders?" asked the Angel passing down his rifle and tripod to Anderson.
"Yeah....keep us alive.”
#
10.30pm GMT 5.30pm New York.
Bravo Two Zombie (Book 3): The Final Solution Page 25
