The Blood of the Infected (Book 1): Once Bitten, Twice Die

by Antony Stanton

  Suddenly there was a creak from upstairs which made him freeze. He hoped it was merely the noise of the house groaning in the wind rather than his attacker walking to the top of the stairs. Silence returned. In fact there was an eerie stillness in general. There were no noises of traffic or any kind of life from outside, none of the background chatter that one normally expects from living in an urban area. Creepy. At that moment a car alarm sounded, screaming out into the quiet with its shrill tones and the noise was even more alien in this world devoid of the usual detritus of life. The house was in disarray. Furniture lay overturned and broken, there was smashed crockery on the carpet and a bloody stain smeared down one wall. A stale smell pervaded throughout. With a nervous glance at the stairs Abbott moved to the front door. He looked at the sky although in truth the weather did not matter. The weather would never be of consequence again, just as the date no longer meant anything. He was more interested in the time of nightfall. The sun was scuttling quickly westwards, unwilling to loiter and neither was Abbott. He really did not want to be off station and alone when it got dark. The road, although gloomy and unlit, was quiet. There was no movement until a dog ran past, its tongue lolling out. It seemed unconcerned and happy as though everything was normal and for that he envied it. The dog stopped briefly to scratch and sniffed at a wall before continuing. Abbott slipped out and moved guardedly towards his Land Rover. Glass crunched beneath his feet and he tried to walk as quietly as possible checking all around him as he went. It was predominantly a residential street and there were signs everywhere of hysteria. The gate to Campos’s house was off its hinges, rubbish was strewn all around and the windows in many adjoining buildings were smashed. Old newspapers danced in the breeze like modern age tumbleweeds, and there was a distinct smell of burning. On the garden path he noticed the head from a plastic doll, dirty and missing its body. In the garden next door was a child’s plimsoll lying in a patch of dried blood. The shoe was small and pink and Abbott had to force himself to look away and not think too deeply about it. There was still no sign of Sinna and Rohith. At the gate he looked all around, saw no one and felt confident that he was not being watched. Not for the first time that day, he was wrong. Not for the first time that day Lady Luck was smiling upon him more than he would ever know.

  He got into the vehicle and with shaking hands he started the engine. He was well aware that there would be questions on his arrival back at base. He could imagine the anger as to why they had been out alone with no backup. He had no answers, no good reason for their actions, other than the emphatic plea of a young man desperate to find his parents, a plea that he himself could well understand.

  On the short drive back he could not help but notice various corpses arranged in their final resting places. He had to swerve around a body lying in the middle of the road. Another, an elderly gentleman in a pinstripe suit, was slumped against the front door of a house as though asleep. Abbott saw them all but felt nothing. It was as if the attack upon himself, or perhaps the proximity of his own demise, had left him emotionless and unable to empathise. By the time he arrived back at the base the shock and exertion of the violence and the effect of Campos’s death were starting to affect him. He felt exhausted; sweat had dried on him giving him a chill and his arms and back ached as though he had flu.

  Corporal Bannister from the army security regiment at Headley Court was smoking in the guard room. He had been sat on duty with his feet up on a table for the last half hour, his green, military shirt crumpled and open at the neck more than uniform standards would normally permit. His rifle rested on the desk in front of him, pointing into the distance down the empty road leading to the station. He allowed the smoke to escape from his lips, slowly bleeding away until recapturing it in his nostrils, a trick he had admired in an old movie featuring Humphrey Bogart and an attractive lady whose name he could not remember. With his spare hand he casually played with his cigarette lighter. It was in the style of a metallic Zippo but had the caricature of a naked woman on the side, a tacky souvenir from a recent beach holiday with mates. Colleagues had teased him for possessing such a crass object but he liked the fact that the lighter was a vague source of controversy and rarely cared for other people’s opinions anyway.

  From the main road any car that turned to enter the base had approximately forty meters to drive up to the guardroom. When he saw Abbott’s Land Rover swing into the approach lane he took his feet off the table but did not extinguish the cigarette and remained leaning back in the chair. As the sergeant brought the car to a halt he flicked a length of ash on the floor. Slowly he got to his feet and wandered out to unlock the gates.

  “How was your day at work honey?” he began as Abbott wound down his window, then stepped back in surprise and cursed. “You look dreadful,” he spat out.

  Abbott shot him a glance but said nothing. He took in the decline in uniform standards and the informal, almost disrespectful way in which Bannister addressed him, the fact that he was smoking whilst on guard and had been slow to open the gates. However he could not muster the enthusiasm to say anything, something that Bannister would later recall as having struck him as out of character.

  “Where are Sinna and Rohith?”

  “Dunno. They haven’t got back yet?” Abbott asked listlessly.

  “Nope. Hey, where’s Campos?” Bannister asked with real concern in his voice now.

  “Dead.”

  “Oh, hell, no… ” Bannister covered his mouth with a hand as he digested the news. “How?”

  From beyond the guard room they heard a bellowing voice. “Bannister, are Abbott and Sinna back yet?” Station Commander Group Captain Tristan Denny approached the gates but stopped short as soon as he saw Abbott. “Good lord, what on earth happened? Where’s Campos? Are you okay?”

  Not sure which question to answer first, Abbott just repeated himself in a monotone voice. “Dead.”

  Denny stood for a moment staring as he too processed the information and then deflated a little in the shoulders and back, as though certain sections of his body had been punctured. His reaction was similar to Bannister’s; he brought his hands together in front of his face like a monk deep in prayer and closed his eyes. Then they flicked open and fixed nervously on Abbott. “You don’t look so good yourself. How are you?”

  “I’m okay sir, a little tired but otherwise all right.”

  Only then did Denny realise that the other Land Rover was not there. He looked confused. Bannister noticed the vein on his temple stand out as he started to go a little red in the face.

  “Where are the others? I thought two cars went off base?”

  Abbott found it hard to meet his scowl. “Err, we got separated sir. I thought they should be back already.”

  “Separated?” Denny was incredulous. “How on earth did that happen?”

  “It was Campos sir. His parents live close to where we were looking for supplies, so we just popped by to check if anybody was there. We only took a moment and Sinna was supposed to come and join us but he never showed up…” Abbott trailed off as the Station Commander threw his hands in the air.

  Overreacting again, Bannister thought. Finally Denny took a deep breath, heaving his shoulders up and forcing himself to calm down. He turned away from the two soldiers and rubbed his head frantically for a moment.

  “Look, this is really unacceptable,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “I thought we had introduced procedures to avoid this kind of event. Totally unacceptable. But that can all wait. The important thing now is the whereabouts of Sinna and Rohith. I need you to show me exactly where you left them and where you arranged to rendezvous. Then drop the Land Rover at MT, but I want you in my office later for a debrief.”

  Bannister stood fidgeting awkwardly. His gelled, brown hair made his naturally impish features seem decidedly more boyish and mischievous than his twenty-eight years would imply. His dark eyes, ever alert and restless, darted about anxiously. As Abbott drove away Denny did not even acknowle
dge him at first but stood swaying slightly with his head bowed. A light moan escaped him. He had never looked as tired and defeated as at that moment. His ginger hair was greying and slightly unkempt and smudges under his eyes indicated how badly he was sleeping, yet his uniform was still immaculately pressed and his army boots were black and gleaming.

  “How long has he been back?” Denny finally asked.

  “He just arrived that minute sir.”

  “He looked terrible.”

  “Yes sir.” So do you, Bannister thought. In truth they all looked haggard nowadays and the stresses were beginning to tell on Denny more than most.

  “Radio Captain Lewis and tell him to meet me in my office in five minutes.”

  Denny turned and stalked away from the guardroom. Bannister was left feeling vulnerable and alone as he searched up and down the road for any sign of Sergeant Sinna, before going to recheck the padlock. He sank back into his chair, lit another cigarette and nervously picked up his weapon. He looked out at the setting sun, half veiled by clouds. He often thought that the most beautiful sunsets he had ever seen were in England, the frequently overcast sky lending itself to dramatics. The red shafts of light poked through and illuminated the cloud from beneath, as though the roof of the heavens was aflame, although tonight it felt to Bannister more like hell itself was boiling over, spewing forth its contents unto the earth. He was morbidly becoming a little more resigned to the prospect of his own fatality with the passing of each day and every death. He sat staring at the outside world beyond the safety of the fence as the shadows lengthened and gathered around him.

  “Bugger!” Captain Lewis cursed as he left Denny’s office. The news was bad - really bad. Another soldier killed and the whereabouts of two more unknown. As well as that, the thought of going out now as twilight shrouded the station was not one that he relished, and the nonchalant way Denny had mentioned it made his mood even worse. Still, he would have it no other way; as second in command on the base, if two of his men were missing then he would damn well go and find them. He was certainly not going to go out alone though; he wanted three of his best soldiers with him. They would most likely go unmolested but you never knew...

  In less than five minutes they were driving away from the station with Corporal Bamburac from the supply and logistics section hastily locking the gates behind them. Lewis turned to look back, as he always did, as the protection of RAF Headley Court receded out of reach. He was from the Royal Artillery and had been at Headley Court for only six months. However he had served in the army for ten years and like many of his colleagues a lot of that time had been spent in Northern Ireland, Iraq and Afghanistan and thus he had a fair amount of frontline experience.

  “Stay alert lads; let’s not get our names on the list of deceased for today. We don’t want what happened to Parsons to happen to us, do we?”

  With the news of Campos’s death and the other two still missing the atmosphere in the car was sombre. Sat in the back even Bannister’s normally incorrigible manner had been quietened. Beside him sat the dark, hulking mass of Lance Corporal Dean Millington, a black man-mountain from the army security regiment and a reassuringly solid soldier to keep handy. Driving them away from safety was his most senior sergeant, a Scot named Garrick Straddling. He had served for more than twenty years in the army and was one of the most experienced men on the station. He was fairly short and stout with a large chest and belly and thick arms. His gruff, cynical attitude to life in general reflected perfectly his physical appearance and he seemed to have an idiom of doom for every occasion. He had an enormous auburn moustache and was balding on top with a wispy comb-over at the front. Although Lewis found him stubborn and uncooperative at times, he was definitely someone to take along on just such an excursion.

  “Where to boss?” Sergeant Straddling asked.

  Lewis had a map with the locations marked on it by Abbott. As Sinna had not arrived at Campos’s house by the time Abbott had left, it seemed reasonable to start at the supermarket.

  The onset of nightfall shielded their eyes from the worst of the scenes of pandemonium that now littered the roads; scenes that these four soldiers were all-too familiar with and were grateful not to be reminded of yet again. Occasional creatures scurried out of their way as Straddling whisked them wordlessly through the streets to their destination, hands gripping the wheel tightly as he scanned their path.

  They arrived at the store and Straddling warily brought the Land Rover to a halt. No one spoke. Lewis peered out trying to see any movement or sign of their comrades.

  “Odd,” Straddling said.

  “Huh?” Lewis turned to see what had caught his attention.

  Straddling pointed. Near the entrance to the store was the Land Rover. “They never left.”

  “So they’re here somewhere,” Bannister said as he leaned forwards from the rear. “Let’s go get ‘em I say, and then get the hell outta Dodge. Being away from home gives me the willies.”

  “Okay, okay. Just go easy,” Lewis frowned with a growing feeling of concern. “There’s something not right about this. Why is their car still here? Why haven’t they left yet? They should have been back at Headley Court a long time ago.” He spoke into his radio. “Sergeant Sinna? Private Rohith?” but there was no answer. He turned to his sergeant, “Before we get ourselves into any trouble, do the honours please.”

  Straddling honked the Land Rover’s horn a few times, destroying the evening hush and making them all uneasy. Attracting such attention when away from the security of the station was never a wise idea but in this case Lewis considered it inevitable. Only silence answered them back.

  “I guess there’s nothing for it then,” Lewis said.

  Tentatively they all got out of the vehicle, brandishing their SA80 rifles before them.

  “Straddling, bring up the rear and keep checking your six,” Lewis whispered. “Let’s keep it as quiet as possible,”

  “But he’s only just been blasting out the Landy’s horn,” Bannister muttered to Millington, earning him a scowl from Straddling.

  They examined the other Land Rover but it gave no clues. The rear had been half-loaded with supplies and all seemed completely normal. Lewis motioned towards the entrance of the supermarket and the four shuffled forwards with Straddling casting nervous glances over his shoulder.

  By now night engulfed them, and with no lighting, the store was in total darkness. They crept along with torches probing back and forth. There was a putrid smell of decaying food mingling with the stale funk from the dirt of animals. The aisles were littered with goods that had been knocked off shelves. Some had split spilling their guts, making every step crunch painfully. At the end of the first aisle Lewis raised a hand to bring them to a halt. They clustered together, breathing rapidly but as quietly as possible.

  Cautiously he called out into the threatening blackness. “Sinna? Rohith?”

  Nothing.

  They proceeded down a second aisle. It was when they got to the third that they encountered something strange. The produce displays had been absolutely decimated. The shelves had been toppled and packets and cans strewn all around. Something serious had happened here. This was not the action of marauding animals. The shelf units were substantial. To knock one over would have required considerable force, to break one even more so.

  Lewis looked back to ensure the others were aware of the potential significance. Still there was no sign of either missing soldier as they stood amidst the mess. He scanned around but it was Straddling who noticed it and gave a hiss.

  “What is it?” Lewis asked.

  Straddling just pointed. Down - at their feet.

  Blood!

  They were standing in a pool of it; lots of it. It must have stretched for several metres, along the floor and was splattered on the shelving.

  “Bugger me!” Bannister exclaimed with a low whistle.

  Frantically now they widened their search but there was no sign of the soldiers anywhere, just the
ominous streak of blood that looked like something or somebody had been dragged through it, smearing a gory trail along the aisle until it suddenly stopped. There were no bodies or indications as to the source of it. As they stood bewildered back at the scene of so much carnage Lewis was no closer to an explanation. He could not determine from where the blood had come or why the smudged trail ended so abruptly.

  “What the hell happened?” Lewis asked. “If they’ve been killed where are the bodies? And if they haven’t been killed, then where are they?”

  It was all too surreal, too inexplicable. He could not shake the feeling that at any moment they would be attacked themselves. His torch picked up something reflective in the dark and he stooped to pick it up - dog tags. They were printed with the name ‘Sinna’ and his staff number.

  “Oh god no,” he mumbled as his last hope disappeared. Then he shouted - an unnatural sound in the silence. “Sinna? Rohith?” No one answered. His voice died in the darkness.

  There was a trace of blood on the dog tags and the chain had been severed. There was nothing else. No other sign that either soldier had ever been there, no weapons, no bodies, nothing.

  They checked outside and all around the store but there was still no indication as to their whereabouts. The soldiers appeared to have vanished, spirited away for some dark purpose. Finally Lewis turned to his men with a baffled look and repeated his question.

  “What the hell happened?” but there were no answers. They bunched closely and looked about them, feeling ever more vulnerable.

  “Boss, they’re not here,” Straddling murmured, not sounding his usual confident self. “We would’ve found them, we’ve searched everywhere. They wouldn’t have just abandoned the Land Rover. Whatever has occurred, they’re long gone.”

  “They’re dead!” was all Bannister could manage as he peered into the darkness, voicing what they all believed. Millington just stood impassively as always, watching and waiting.