“How is he?” Lewis asked.
They exchanged a quick glance before André answered. “He seems to be in a deep sleep. We can’t wake him. He keeps making moaning sounds, and he’s very hot.”
Lewis nodded and bowed his head. “Do you want us to do it for you?” he asked softly. There was no easy way.
They shook their heads in unison.
“We’ll do it a little later on,” André answered. “We’d like a quiet moment with him first. After you’ve gone.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” He paused. “Look, are you certain I can’t convince you to come with us,” he started to say but André was already shaking his head vehemently and Alžběta would no longer meet his gaze. He stopped what he was saying and took a breath. “Just make sure you don’t get any blood on you. And don’t leave it too late.”
Lewis watched as his soldiers got into the vehicles. Private Bruce Matthews was the last. He had lingered at the back, desperately hoping for a change of intentions that never came. As they drove away Lewis’s final glimpse of them was seeing Alžběta’s hair swaying in the breeze as she watched from the main entrance. When he had said farewell she had had the same look in her eyes as before, a look that made him wonder whether forcing her might actually have been the right course of action. The shutters then came down and they were out of sight. He could imagine the sound of padlocks being applied as they returned to their self-imposed prison and their destiny, whatever that may be.
“Did we get the ammo we needed boss?” Corporal Berthon asked cheerily.
“Yeah, I’d say they gave us a lot more than we gave them,” he replied sombrely.
“Do you think they’re gonna shoot him in time? Do you think they’ll make it, or will they end up infected as well?”
“Ah, I think they’ll be okay. They seem like survivors and it’s a pretty secure setup they’ve got. As long as they deal with Stuart pronto then there’s no reason why they can’t hole up there for the foreseeable. Nothing can get in, they’ll be bored to tears, but at least they’ll be alive.”
“I’m not sure I share your confidence in them,” Wood muttered darkly.
After the vehicles had departed the evening before, Group Captain Denny had stood silently watching them until they were no longer visible.
“Boss?” Sergeant Vallage finally broke the silence.
“There’s no way I’m going to allow any of these damned creatures onto my base,” he mumbled to himself. Then he abruptly faced his soldiers. The five stood still, waiting for him.
“They’ll be here soon,” Denny said. “We have work to do. Come.”
He led them quickly to the medical centre. The six of them stayed together, all with guns brandished and ready. After all, they did not know how long they had or from where the attack would come. Their enemy might arrive at any moment; or not at all. His plan was simple but surprisingly elegant. They took the corpses of Privates Hanson and Howes and laid them on the grass by the long-drop toilets. They were to be used as bait. Denny reasoned that the vampires would be back for blood and what better than a body that doesn’t fight back? The six of them would hide in different locations but all within sight of the area. Then they would wait.
Sergeant Vallage and Corporal Gillen took up position by a window in the kitchens. Flight Lieutenant Walkden and Corporal Bell were by another window in the dining hall. Denny himself was hiding inside one of the toilets and Leading Aircraftman Neale in the other. Denny reasoned that the vampires clearly had enhanced senses and so would be able to smell them easily. Those hiding in the kitchen and dining area would therefore dowse themselves in water infused with garlic. Whilst garlic may or may not have the mythical properties of warding off vampires, it did have a strong odour which should hopefully hide the scent of the humans themselves. Denny had clearly thought the plan out carefully. For himself and Neale he reasoned that the stench of the toilets would be sufficient camouflage and as it was his idea, he was willing to suffer the discomfort. As for Neale, he was the most junior and over the previous weeks had been exposed to the toilets more than any of them due to his chores, so he accepted his burden uncomplainingly. Walkden drilled some holes in the toilet doors so that the soldiers could see anything approaching. Then they took up position. Each had a radio and weapon, and the waiting began.
The sun’s descent cast long shadows over the station’s grassy lawn. The bodies were approximately five metres from the toilets. They lay on their backs in a surreal pose, arms by their sides, staring forever up to the blackening sky. Even in death they could still aid their comrades one last time.
The shadows lengthened. They reached stealthily towards the door to the kitchens. Sergeant Vallage wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Ahh, I’m not cut out for this stake-out business,” he whispered to Corporal Gillen. “All of this subterfuge – it’s just not me. I’m more of an ‘out in the open’ kinda gunslinger, sort of like the O.K. Corral.”
“I think I’m more a ‘sit in a bunker buried safely underground and press a button to instruct the drone I’m commanding several thousand miles away to deliver its payload’ kind of fighter myself,” Gillen replied and Vallage chuckled softly, nodding his head in agreement.
“So in an ideal world, which clearly this isn’t,” Gillen, whispered, warming up to his usually taciturn sergeant, “what would be your weapon of choice?”
Vallage remained quiet for a moment, and Gillen wondered whether the banality of his question had irritated the older man, but eventually Vallage started to nod.
“Hmmm, long range it’d have to be a shogun,” he mused. “The infected often seem to come in groups so you could hit several at once and you’d be less likely to miss. And short range I’d go for a light saber; it makes almost no noise and provides light as well. Perfect. And you?”
“Long range, I agree. And that would also make it easier to hit the vampires. Short range, I reckon I’d go for one of your chilli dishes, laced with extra garlic. They’re absolutely lethal and, again, that’d deal with the vampires too.” It was something that he and Corporal Bell had been joking about the day before, but it did not seem to go down well with Vallage. Gillen feared his burst of bonhomie had prompted him to overstep the mark.
After what felt like an age Vallage finally smiled. “One of my chillies, hey? You cheeky wee bastard. Well I’ll take that just this once, but don’t make a habit out of it.”
“You really think they’ll come,” Gillen asked, changing the subject rapidly, the temporary interlude of humour being replaced by the ever-present feeling of fear.
“Well the boss certainly seems to think so.”
Just then there was a hiss from the radio.
“Movement!”
It was Denny’s muffled whisper. Vallage leant forwards. He was so close to the window that it started to fog up every time he exhaled. He held his breath as he listened for tell-tale signs of someone approaching. Dusk was well upon them now. It was that time when it is hard to distinguish shadow from reality and he strained to make out details. The wind blew the branches in the trees back and forth with a surreal sense of motion. Leaves were caught up in circular drafts forming eerie, dancing silhouettes in the half-light. He could see nothing. He turned to Gillen who was similarly positioned. Gillen shook his head. Several minutes ticked slowly by and there was no further instruction from Denny. The radio was silent. Vallage suddenly had the feeling that they were being stalked and twisted round in his chair. After all, there was no guarantee that any approaching vampire would indeed be drawn to the corpses laid out for them like a buffet. They may very well prefer their dinner fresh and not be fooled by the concealing scent of garlic. There was nobody behind them but he adjusted his position so that he could watch over his back.
“Sorry, false alarm,” Denny’s voice crackled.
Sergeant Vallage wiped his forehead which was now moist and slowly allowed himself a quiet exhalation. He rolled his eyes at Gillen who tried to grin, but with the fear
in his eyes it looked more like he was in pain. A moment later, too quickly for Denny to say anything on the radio, an indefinite shadow flitted across the lawn. Vallage gasped and jabbed Gillen in the ribs, pointing out into the night. Something at the corner of his vision had caught his attention although when he had moved his head he lost it. For several seconds he searched frantically, forgetting about checking his six. The scene was still. Then a creature slowly crept into view. He relaxed and breathed hard. It was nothing more than a fox; a sight that several days ago would have been enough to make him charge outside shouting in defence of his beloved chickens - but not tonight. Not with bigger prey to lure. He could feel his pulse beat irregularly as he tried to recover and he shifted in his seat. As he started to relax once more the hairs on the back of his neck inexplicably leapt to attention. There was a tingling sensation all down his arms. He could see Gillen beside him visibly stiffen, his hands tightened and his shoulders rose an inch. The thumping of Vallage’s heart in his ears was replaced by the sound of rushing blood. His field of vision narrowed. He was unaware of anything other than what was directly in front of him. With short gasps of breath, he tried to calm himself down as he searched outside frantically.
Luca had come to the military station easily enough. Farzin had been specific about its location and even now in his confused state he had the wherewithal to find it. His blood was on fire and his head was splitting. Pain pulsed in his joints, thoughts were no longer entirely his own and his grasp on reality was intermittent.
After the attack in the church he had fled from the horde and outpaced them easily. He could feel the heat in his belly straight away and for some time remorse had enwrapped him. His wounds did not bother him. It was the taint that had passed into his blood that was all-important now. He had wandered aimlessly for a while. Each time he had encountered one of the diseased he had dispatched it instantly, without thought or guilt, knowing that slowly and slowly he was now fated to become one of them. He found himself back at the Princess Margaret Alexandra Hospital of Harlow, as though habit and familiarity had led him there. He followed the same path he had taken previously, up the stairs to the top floor and through the barricades to the ward where the humans had been laid out. Their corpses were no longer there. All that remained were tatters from their clothes and blood stains on the floor. He climbed onto the roof, as before, and sat hugging his knees to his chest as he looked out over the buildings below. All the while the fire in his veins intensified and the clarity of his thoughts diminished. He resolved at one stage to cast himself off the roof, in the hope that the fall might just end his suffering but before he attempted it the thought had gone, eclipsed by the rushing and swirling that now replaced rational thought.
And so, several hours later when he was barely recognisable as the stylish and coiffured vampire of countless years, the insatiable thirst in his stomach now drove him to the only place that, even in his confused state, he knew would have an accessible source of nourishment.
He scaled the perimeter wall without stopping to think about it. The camp was still. Despite the inferno in his brain his intuition was strong enough to lend him stealth. He furtively slipped in and out of the shadows as his lucidity came and went, corresponding with the pain in his body that gave him intermittent spasms. With every fresh burst of agony his rage increased and his grasp on reality reduced. All was quiet as he circled the base but his senses told him otherwise. He was drawn to the main building where so many scents and odours lingered. There was no movement and no light, but that did not necessarily mean there was no life. His thoughts were a jumble and he found himself by the back of the main building. He paused and stood up straight for a moment, looking all around and wondering whether he should just leave, but then another surge of pain and hunger took hold of him. He crouched down like a beast, baring his fangs. There were two shapes on the grass lying side by side. Somewhere in his memory he knew that he had encountered a scene similar to this in the recent past but the thought was fleeting and it slipped away. He moved quickly, but even as the prospect of a feed fuelled the pollution inside him with impatience, even with the insanity that now claimed the majority of his being, he still knew that something about this scene was not quite right. He bounded over towards the bodies and paused by them only for the briefest of moments. Clearly they were not fresh but the blood would provide him with a modicum of satiation. However, there was something else, possibly the lightest of scents, a slight sound, or maybe just his instincts, so finely tuned after so many years of having to survive in inhospitable climes. He looked up at the wooden constructions not five paces away and realised that perhaps they offered better prospects.
Sergeant Vallage gasped and recoiled when he saw the figure. It was only visible for the briefest of moments on the edge of the small clearing. For only a second it hunched down in the darkness and then sprang forwards, more animal than humanoid. It stooped over one of the corpses and seemed to be about to bite into its neck when suddenly it straightened and sniffed the air. It all happened so quickly that Vallage hardly had time to react. Feeling as though he was moving in slow motion, he started to raise the weapon to his shoulder. His head lowered and he closed one eye to aim. His finger fumbled for the trigger but beside him there was a deafening bang and a flash as Gillen beat him to it. Glass shattered in front of them. The jolt unsteadied Gillen who fell backwards off his chair. Another bang rang out from the dining hall and in the confusion Vallage lost sight of the creature.
Luca was already moving when the first volley rang out. He leapt with a snarl towards the long-drops. The contamination in his blood hardly slowed him. He still moved with formidable speed, madness adding urgency to his actions. The wooden door offered no barrier and he ripped it off its hinges. Cowering inside was a young man, a little younger than he had been himself when he had been turned. The man had no time to react. His finger was over the trigger and as he fell back he fired a solitary shot. The bullet skimmed Luca’s leg but did not deter him. He knocked the gun from Neale’s grasp and grabbed him around the throat, picking him off the floor and raising him up.
Denny was fastest. He gave a righteous bellow and charged from the sanctity of his hiding place, confronting the terror alone. With a torch in one hand and a 5.56mm selective fire, gas-operated SA80 assault rifle in the other he was ready to defend his station and personnel from all enemies. His finger was covering the trigger and he squeezed involuntarily as he moved. A short burst fired uselessly into the night sky, wide of its intended target. However the noise was enough to distract the beast that Luca had become. It was enough to save Neale’s life. It was enough to seal his own fate. Luca cast the boy backwards against the long-drop’s far wall and whipped around. Denny was just aiming again at the indistinct silhouette. He raised the rifle with fear catching in his throat as Luca towered in front of him. The beam of light illuminated the blazing eyes and gaping fangs. The sight of the abnormal apparition before him made him recoil, as it had once before. His heart lurched and his finger paused. Luca leapt sideways and smashed the gun from his hands before he had a chance to recover.
From Sergeant Vallage’s vantage point he saw the creature dive forwards, bowling his commanding officer amongst the trees and out of view. Kicking back his chair he raced for the door with a speed he had not displayed since youth, leaving Gillen standing. Denny’s discarded torch cast distorted shadows of two creatures writhing on the ground. There was the scream of a wounded animal and the growling of a beast. A flash and bang came from the other toilet as Neale fired and the growl turned into a screech. Vallage was a dozen paces away. With his rifle at his shoulder he slowly and methodically squeezed the trigger as he walked very deliberately forwards. His head ordered his feet to obey although his terrified heart screamed otherwise. With each stride he fired off a single round at the dark shape that ripped and tore at his commanding officer. Luca reared back, standing upright and faced him. The torchlight gave him demonic features, making him appear more like
some warped mannequin. He held Denny in front of him with his feet dangling loosely off the ground, his arms hung by his sides and his head lolled backwards. The dining room door burst open and Walkden also emerged firing his gun, but Luca ignored him. Still facing Vallage the snarl on his face fell away. For just a moment there was clarity and comprehension. For just a moment there was memory and guilt. He lowered Denny and dropped him to the side. For just a moment he focused on the human before him, before he closed his eyes for the final time.
The shots rang out, tearing through his body from three angles. His life-blood spilled upon the grass, ending the taint of corruption of recent hours and distant ages. His body jerked backwards and fell, coming to rest beside the motionless corpse of Denny, his last, his bravest, his most defiant victim.
CHAPTER 9
Private Darby’s road-kill victim lay as a welcome door mat for their arrival back at GVF. The cadaver was unmolested by infected and ignored by all but scavenging birds. Beyond it the body of Boxall also remained where he fell, remnants of Darby’s finger probably still lodged in his throat. For a long pause the Bedford stopped short of the entrance, Corporal Berthon lost in thought and bitter memories as much as Lewis. Finally, without exchanging a word, Berthon slipped the lorry into gear and trundled the last fifty metres towards the perimeter fence, taking care to avoid the corpse.
After a deep breath Lewis spoke into his radio. “Look alive lads and pray you stay that way. Everyone out.” He did not need to add ‘weapons ready’. With nothing more than a couple of hand signals he indicated that Sergeant Straddling was to set up a defensive cordon. Then he instructed Bannister and Hutchison to move the three delivery trucks that blocked their entrance.
“Time to put that misspent youth of yours to use,” he said to Bannister, but there was no mirth in his voice and no merriment in his eyes. This was not the time for humour.
Twice Bitten, Twice Die (The Blood of the Infected Book 3) Page 15
