Twice Bitten, Twice Die (The Blood of the Infected Book 3)

by Antony Stanton

  “Before we carry on,” Lewis whispered to them all, “can anyone think of a reason not to continue with this? Anything at all? Have we overlooked something? Gentlemen, please feel at liberty to voice your thoughts. If we’re about to embark on an entirely foolhardy plan then I’d rather call it off now and rethink, rather than a significant possibility of further deaths…”

  Nobody had an answer. They would continue.

  This was to be where they would ensnare their prey; or at least that was the plan. With wood ripped from tables and desks they reinforced both sets of doors in this corridor as quietly as possible. These would have to hold the infected for a prolonged period of time; a substantial risk, but hopefully one worth taking. The weakest link, as far as Lewis could see it, were the door hinges. If those trapped within started to throw their weight around, exactly how long would they remain ensnared?

  The furthest doors were propped open and the soldiers withdrew. Straddling, Hutchison, Gray and Pellegrini went upstairs to the first floor, ready to spring the trap.

  Lewis prepared himself to lure the diseased. “Is everybody ready?” he asked.

  Nods all round. As ready as they would ever be to actually summon the infected to them, rather than avoiding them, as they would all be more comfortable doing. He checked on the radio with Straddling and then gestured to Bannister who started to bang a spoon loudly on the base of a saucepan. All six soldiers began yelling. It was most peculiar. Having been creeping about and trying not to draw attention to themselves, now to be advertising their presence felt dangerous and wrong. At first they were hesitant and muted. As time slowly passed they grew bolder and noisier. After a minute however Lewis held up a hand. They all listened, expecting to hear the onrushing cries of insanity. There was absolutely nothing. Nobody approached. Getting impatient and jittery, he aimed his pistol down the corridor and fired a single shot, deafeningly loud in that confined space. They waited. There were no screams of rage, no creatures hurtling to attack them from the shadows. The building stood defiant, silent and still.

  “Bloody typical,” Lewis grumbled. “The one time we actually want them to come and there are none to be seen. Suggestions?”

  “Time to go fishing?” Bannister asked.

  Wood nodded in agreement. “Bait.”

  Clearly they could not possibly know that Denny had had the same idea. Nor the fatal consequences. If they had known, they may well have changed their plans.

  “I think you’re right. We don’t have an alternative,” Lewis said. “I guess we need a couple of volunteers, preferably our two fastest. I’m happy to be one of them, if ‘happy’ is the right word. I can’t expect any of you to do something I’m not prepared to do myself. Anybody else. Anyone going to join me for a quick run around the building?”

  They were all silent; this was not exactly going to be a picnic and to actually put oneself in harm’s way to such an extent felt like nigh on a suicide mission. Lewis stared around the group and finally Wood shrugged. Even he was reluctant. “What the hell. It’ll be a blast…”

  He had barely finished however before Private Matthews interrupted. “Nah, nah, nah. Sorry Sarge but that shit ain’t right. I’m ten years younger than either of you. I’ve done a fair bit of athletics in my time and you can bet your bottom dollar I’d leave both of you standing. Besides, Sarge - you’re the sharp-shooter who’s gonna watch my back and keep me safe whilst I’m out there racing zombies. And sir - you’re our leader, we need you here, safe and alive.”

  Lewis and Wood exchanged a glance and Lewis shrugged. Matthews was totally correct. He was tall and lean with a sprinter’s muscular build, and his toned, black limbs looked every bit the part. If any of them stood a chance it was he.

  “You and your big mouth - idiot. Why couldn’t you have just kept quiet?” Bannister cursed. “He’s right, and I can’t exactly let him go out there by himself. I’ll do it with Matthews. I’m faster than either of you two old timers.”

  “All that running away from the police, hey?” Matthews quipped.

  “Listen you,” Bannister rounded on him with mock seriousness, “just remember, I don’t have to be faster than the zombies out there. I just have to be faster than you, lanky, and there’s no doubt in my mind of that.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Matthews retorted with a confident grin. “I’ll leave your skinny white ass for dust.”

  The two soldiers stripped down their equipment to the bare essentials. They carried a Browning and torch each, but no rifle and no extra equipment. As Bannister stared out into the gloomy corridor ahead he had never felt so alone. In weeks past he had believed that all the horrors and deaths had acclimatised him to the prospect of his own demise. However, now that death felt so very imminent he was far from ready for it. They all stood quietly, waiting for him to move. Perhaps, he thought, if he waited long enough the diseased may just come of their own volition. But the corridor remained empty.

  Finally, he turned to Matthews and flashed a smile that he did not feel. “All right then soft lad, let’s get this done.” Matthews, with eyes wide, nodded and followed.

  Lewis watched them go, and then raised his radio. “They’re away,” he said softly.

  Bannister remembered everything about the passageway from a few days previously. The corridor opened out as the building turned through right angles and the stench grew. This was where Freddie Samuels had almost retched. He held his breath, knowing what was coming. In any other circumstances he would have smirked as Matthews gagged at the odour. Ahead lay the door into the laboratory area but also the stairs upwards. From here on they could not be certain that infected would not get in behind them. When they finally decided to flee back to their colleagues they may well run straight into one or more of them, but there was nothing they could do about it. Life was risk. Bannister glanced over at Matthews to check he was prepared, and then nudged the doors open.

  It was dark inside, as he had known it would be. They entered and stood very still, allowing their eyesight to become at least a little adjusted to the low level of light. Again the building was silent. Bannister was about to step forwards when Matthews jumped and squealed. Immediately Bannister clamped a hand over his mouth.

  “Rats,” he whispered, and Matthews nodded, his eyes bulging.

  Bannister worked his torch back and forth and found what he was looking for - a couple of pens on one of the work stations. He opened the fire doors and wedged the pens underneath. When he released them the doors creaked threateningly but did not close. He wanted there to be no obstacle to their escape route. As he was finishing the task there was a high-pitched screech from somewhere in the building that grew deeper and more bestial. Both of them froze, listening and shining their torches all around. The cry died away leaving them in hush once more.

  “Good lord!” Matthews exclaimed quietly. “Is it time?” but Bannister just put his finger to his lips. They had to get deeper into the building first. Just a little deeper should do it.

  Carefully they crossed the room, checking behind all laboratory stations, in case there were any potential assailants. Bannister cleared their path as he went, moving toppled stools and chairs. The doors on the far side opened onto another corridor and Bannister remembered the female cadaver lying in greeting with the chair leg through the base of the skull. A little further was the corpse of the man. The memories came to him in flashes, vying for attention with the reality that he now faced. This corridor had offices on either side, and whilst they had checked them last time, who was to say that some of these damn lurchers had not gone into them since then? There was just so much potential for them to be trapped. He had to force such thoughts from his mind. Focus kiddo, your life depends on it.

  All too soon, yet it could not have come quick enough for them both, they were standing in front of the next set of doors.

  “How about now?” Matthews asked. “Surely this is far enough?”

  Bannister nodded. “We’ll just open these doors,
make merry hell and then scarper. You ready?”

  “Bloody right…” Matthews started to say but he did not finish. The doors burst open and merry hell came to them.

  A young woman shoved through the doors and was on top of them before they could react. She seemed as surprised as they were, and she stumbled back as they gasped in fear. Bannister’s instincts saved their lives. Without pausing to consider that on this occasion they did not want to actually kill the diseased, he fired without aiming properly, a reflex action. The woman’s face turned to red mush as she was flung back against the wall.

  Matthews was already away as though Banister’s gun had been a starting pistol, sprinting for the safety of his colleagues. Bannister made to follow him but professionalism kicked in. His survival instinct screamed at him to run but he knew that they were there for a purpose. He kicked the doors to the rat section open and fired his gun several times at the ceiling. He saw movement all around but did not have time to register how many people there were. With shouts of rage in his ears and the fear of God in his soul, he turned and fled.

  Matthews had at least ten paces on him. As he charged across the open laboratory section and through the doors beyond, the pens that they had wedged to hold the doors open slipped. The doors started to swing shut with agonising sloth. Although Bannister could not look around, there was the sound of heavy breathing and rasping from just behind him. He could sense the diseased chasing him down like a pack of foxhounds. As the doors swung towards him he realised to his horror that they would be just about swinging fully closed by the time he reached them. He knew he would have to slow down as he barged them open. He was just not sure if he had time enough before the mob would be upon him. He half turned and saw a man only a couple of steps away. His bloodied fingers were extended and reaching. Unable to aim any better, Bannister fired backwards over his shoulder. A scream of anger or pain gave him hope that his shot had been true. He grabbed a stool and overturned it in his wake as he sprinted. There was the clatter of someone falling as he reached the doors. He charged into them painfully with a shoulder, smashing them open. He stumbled but managed to keep upright and continued the race of his life.

  Matthews crossed the open area and was on the homeward straight. As they had feared, a diseased woman must have come down the stairs from the floor above, as she had somehow got between the two soldiers. She was running after Matthews but not going very fast. In order to outpace his chasers Bannister had to actually catch her up and overtake her, which gave him a dilemma. With unknown numbers behind him however he had no choice. He caught the woman just as he was half way along the first corridor. She screeched in rage and surprise and he smashed her in the face with his gun. He was now within sight of his colleagues. Lewis was standing by the far doors shouting and Wood knelt just beyond, sighting down his rifle. Matthews was still half a dozen paces ahead. Bannister started to feel a surge of hope. Escape was surely within reach. The woman careered into the wall as he dodged by. She fell but unfortunately clipped his ankle with her outstretched hands. It was the slightest of touches but enough to make him stumble. The Browning clattered from his grasp as he sprawled headlong. The wind was knocked from his lungs as he hit the floor. The yelp of the woman was drowned out by the shriek from the horde right behind. Bannister desperately scrambled to his feet as they closed in upon him. Steely fingers fastened around his upper arm. Lewis had seen the situation develop and immediately charged to his aid. He propelled Bannister along the corridor before ramming the butt of his rifle into the woman’s already bloodied face and following his corporal.

  There were cries of elation as the mob anticipated their prey. Matthews was now safe but the other two were still five paces away. Lewis could sense the hands upon his neck and shoulders, dragging him back and tearing him apart right in front of his troops, when a solitary gunshot rang out. Wood fired between the two soldiers at the nearest of the infected. He caught her in the shoulder. She span around and tumbled, causing a collision with the next infected, and the two soldiers burst through the final set of doors. Immediately the doors were slammed shut as Lewis braced himself against them. A padlock was applied and broken chair legs were instantly shoved through the door handles. Even a couple of golf clubs were jammed in place, holding them tight. The diseased crashed into the doors making the soldiers all recoil, but fortunately the woodwork held. The troops collapsed, panting for several seconds. Lewis could not believe that they had cheated death, nor how close they had come to disaster.

  “That was supposed to be minimum bloody jeopardy,” he panted to nobody in particular. But then everything these days carried with it a not-inconsiderable amount of risk.

  Matthews stood looking wretched. “I thought you were right behind me,” he choked the words out through heaving breaths.

  Bannister was lying on the floor gasping and trembling. “Nope,” he looked up and shook his head. “That was one of them you big Jessie. You lost me when you bolted.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. I almost did the same. And at least you had the balls to be there in the first place. But you,” he rounded angrily on Wood, “I thought you were supposed to be covering us. Why didn’t you shoot the woman?”

  “I did,” Wood said evenly.

  “Yeah, right. You barely winged her when she was only a couple of yards away. Why didn’t you kill her? And how long were you going to leave it?”

  “I didn’t kill her because that was not the plan. And I would only have left it another yard or so.”

  “Strewth! You’re really something, you know that?”

  Wood smiled. “Well, I don’t know about that but I do know that I just saved your life. So, does that mean we’re friends yet?”

  “Hell’s teeth!” was all Bannister could muster as he shook his head.

  Lewis still stood against the doors in case they gave way. They rattled as the diseased banged against them but they seemed to be holding, for now. After a couple of seconds the noise suddenly ceased. Through the glass panel Lewis could see the mob being lured away by something at the other end of the corridor. It was Straddling.

  Straddling and his troops had been poised on the first floor. Lewis’s voice had come over the radio. “They’re away.”

  “Ready now lads,” Straddling muttered. “We’re not at home to Mr Cock-Up. If those others are risking their lives then let’s make it count.”

  Pellegrini had a puzzled look. “Sarge, nobody’s cleared the area on the top floor yet have they?”

  Straddling shook his head in irritation. Why was the boy mentioning this now? There were more important matters to concentrate on.

  “Well what happens if there’s one of these diseased up these stairs here, and it comes down before Bannister and Matthews get back? They’ll run right into it won’t they?”

  Straddling would not admit it but the thought had not occurred to him. There were two staircases that the diseased could potentially come down, and this one beside them was one of them. The plan was good as far as it went, but clearly there were significant loopholes. Unfortunately, it was too late to stop now. They would just have to hope.

  “Well clearly we’ll shoot it, won’t we lad,” Straddling retorted, sounding less confident now. “That’s part of what we’re here for, obviously.”

  “But surely shooting it will make a lot of noise and may attract any others that might be up there,” Pellegrini said. Despite his irritating line of questions, again he was right.

  “You just concentrate on the task in hand sonny, and leave the thinking to me,” Straddling rebuked him more gruffly than he intended, but now he was starting to feel decidedly concerned.

  For several minutes there was no sound. The four soldiers stood by the fire doors, waiting to spring into action. Gray and Pellegrini held wooden chair legs, a couple of golf clubs and a chain with a padlock. They were ready to run down the stairs and jam them through the door handles the moment the infected ran into
that bottom passageway. Straddling would watch over them with his gun and Hutchison would guard their own door, there on the first floor. They were all listening for any signs as to how the two soldiers were doing or even if they were still alive, but there was only silence.

  “I don’t like it,” Pellegrini breathed earning a scowl from Straddling. Then suddenly the hush was broken. A high-pitched scream that grew steadily deeper, sounding like an animal, belted out from somewhere nearby. The cry was immediately followed by the clatter of footsteps coming down from the top floor. They were not regular paces. They were haphazard, staggering, limping steps, one foot placed heavily, the other dragging behind. Even something so potentially innocent as the sound of footsteps, when so obviously contorted and abnormal, was both hideous and terrifying, waiting for the twisted creature to shuffle into view. Through the slim, glass panel Straddling could see nothing.

  “Get back,” he ordered his team and they flattened themselves against the wall, out of sight.

  Straddling watched as a figure came shambling down the stairs. It was a man in a blue suit with gashes down his cheeks and blood stains on his shirt. Straddling stood quietly behind the door, watching and waiting. He could feel sweat running down the back of his neck. His skin prickled and his hands were clammy. The man paused on the first floor stairwell and turned towards him. The lighting was low and Straddling stood very still, biding his time, agonising moments. The man stared at the door and it felt that he must surely be staring right at Straddling. He held his breath. He could hear the blood rushing through his head, could feel a pulse in his temple. Somewhere distant in the building a door banged. He did not move, did not even dare to blink. After several seconds some internal decision making process must have occurred and the man turned to limp away. Still barely moving, Straddling gingerly eased the door open and stepped out, alone. The man was only two strides away and had not heard him. Straddling braced himself for action. As he released the door it gave a soft squeak. Straddling froze. The man turned. He was staring right at Straddling now, a mere arm’s width away. The other soldiers watched in horror from the other side of the door. The man opened his mouth to scream some guttural obscenity. His mouth was full of rotting teeth and death but Straddling cut him short. Holding the muzzle of his rifle he swung it like a bat and struck the man full in the face. There was a dull clunk. As the man fell to the floor he swung again and again. Blood splattered the walls and the man jerked but he did not make another sound.