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

by Antony Stanton

  When it was done Straddling slipped quietly back to join his team. He was panting, and even in the half-light they could see how pale he was, how the sweat ran freely down his brow. They could not see, however, how much his hands were trembling, or how strongly the feeling of nausea was sweeping through his stomach.

  He turned to Pellegrini. “There lad; that’s what we’ll do if we see any of those damn festering mutants.”

  Several tense minutes passed and there were no more sounds. Then suddenly the shooting began. If the silence had been bad enough, the shooting was worse. It was a clear indication that two of their number were at that very moment in dire peril, fighting for their lives. A shot was fired. There was a pause, then several more. Then the screams. The moments thereafter, waiting and hoping, were tortuous. Straddling mumbled something to his little team, something preparatory, but none were listening, and in truth he was barely aware of what he was saying himself. They all stood in varying degrees of fear. Their hearts were beating as fast as the two fleeing soldiers, preparing themselves for action and jeopardy. Then there was the sound of running and more screams. The time had reluctantly come.

  Straddling looked to ensure his men were ready and then led then out in a rush. They started down just as Bannister charged by. The mob was right on his heels. Too close, Straddling thought briefly. Too damn close. Sergeant Hutchison stood guarding their door as the three soldiers tore down the stairs. Straddling almost tumbled in his haste, his feet skipping a couple of steps. As they had hoped, the diseased had all chased the soldiers into the passageway. There was the sound of a gunshot. For the moment the infected were preoccupied at the other end of the corridor. Gray and Pellegrini fumbled with the doors but then quickly shut them; too quickly in fact. The doors swung through the closed position and banged fully open against the walls inside the corridor. The noise alerted the nearest man, a blood-soaked wretch. He shrieked and started back towards them.

  “Quickly now,” Straddling barked.

  The two young soldiers grabbed the doors and managed to secure them, just in time. Just before the man made it back to them. Just as Hutchison yelled a warning.

  A straggler had arrived. Clearly not all the infected had been trapped within the corridor. Straddling was preoccupied watching his soldiers secure the door and did not see the attack. The first he knew was the feel of rough hands on his shoulders as the youth leapt at him. He landed on his back, with a screech of victory in his ear and spittle and rancid breath on his neck. Sergeant Hutchison abandoned his post and raced to his friend’s defence but he was too late. There was no way he would be able to get there in time to stop those contaminated jaws from fastening upon flesh.

  As soon as he felt the hands upon him, Straddling instinctively jerked his head back into the face of his assailant. There was a satisfying crack. For someone so stout he jumped rearwards with quite some agility. He crushed the man into the wall. The hands on his throat released and he drove an elbow hard into his ribs, bringing another crunch of bones. He may not have been as fit as he had been in youth, but he was still strong. Seemingly oblivious to his injuries and pain, the young man leapt at his prey again. Straddling tried to swing his rifle around. He brought the butt up and between them, but the lunatic’s teeth came within reach of his face. Fresh blood spurted and Straddling tried to push him away. He managed to jab the rifle into his attacker’s face, adding to the blood now flowing freely from them both. The man staggered and Straddling swung his rifle with all his might. The man sagged and after another couple of head blows he collapsed to the floor.

  Hutchison was at his side shouting but Straddling was not listening, so intent was he on dealing death to this creature that had, in turn, been so intent on bringing the infection to him.

  “Stradz,” Hutchison shouted. “Leave it. Let’s get out of here.”

  It took all three soldiers to drag the heavy sergeant away and up the stairs, through their door and to safety.

  Through his thin pane of glass Lewis could see the activity at the far end of the corridor, but not clearly enough to watch his senior sergeant getting injured. As soon as he was sure his own door had been secured he rushed upstairs, followed by the others. They met Straddling’s team on the first floor and all quickly made their way to the cafeteria. Anxious faces greeted them.

  They had waited an awfully long time until the shooting had begun. Then they had huddled together, nobody talking or even looking each other in the eyes. As the doors burst open and the ten soldiers stormed in there was a collective gasp of relief, followed by horror at the blood all over Straddling’s face.

  “Oh my god you’ve been bitten!” Squadron Leader Singleton cried out.

  “Get him cleaned up,” Lewis shouted. “Now.”

  “I’m okay,” Straddling grumbled ruefully, but Singleton was already wiping the blood away. Dr Handley rushed to fetch his scissors and medical bag.

  “Where have you been bitten?” Singleton shrieked. Everyone fell silent. Nobody else moved. All eyes were upon them. She forced him down into a chair. “Show me. We can sterilise and cauterise it to try and stop the contamination spreading. Quickly…”

  “It’s all right,” he tried to protest. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Look, we still have a chance to save you,” Lewis yelled at him in desperation. Despite their past differences, despite the arguments, a bond of survival, of common purpose and of kinship linked them all to each other.

  “I’m okay, really.”

  “Please, don’t give up,” Singleton pleaded in frustration, tears flowing as she struggled to hold him down.

  “For the love of all things good,” Straddling cried and stood up, brushing them all aside. “Will you not listen to me? I’m all right. I was not bitten.”

  There was a stunned silence.

  “But…” Singleton stammered. “That’s your blood. You’re bleeding. I can see it.”

  “Yes,” he exhaled noisily, “it is my blood. But no, I’ve not been bitten.”

  “Well what then?” Lewis asked, confused but cautiously relieved.

  Straddling sighed and took a deep breath. “I knocked myself in the face with my own rifle when I was fighting that disease-ridden mutant. I’ve just got a wee nosebleed.”

  “Why on earth didn’t you say?” Lewis asked exasperated.

  “I was going to deal with it myself. I felt a little foolish, that’s all. I’ve not had a nosebleed from someone barely out of nappies for quite some time.”

  Lewis gripped Straddling warmly by the shoulders and there was laughter all around the room. Straddling tilted his head forwards and pinched his nose to stem the bleeding.

  “Thank God you’re ok,” Hutchison clapped him on the back. “I’d never have forgiven myself.”

  “I told you before pal, I’ll not be having one of these damn festering mutts nibble on my behind.”

  As the gathering dispersed Lewis approached Bannister and Matthews. Both men looked totally spent and were barely talking to anyone.

  “I just wanted to say well done to you both,” he said.

  “Ah, it was nothing…” Bannister muttered.

  “Actually, what you two did today was damned heroic. You didn’t need to volunteer, but you did anyway.”

  “Someone had to protect his lanky bones,” Bannister dug Matthews in the ribs. “I couldn’t have let him go alone.”

  “Well you both did really well. Take a night off guard duty tonight and get some rest. You must be exhausted.”

  They started to wander away but Lewis took hold of Bannister’s arm. “You don’t have to play the hero to make up for Millington you know.”

  “No sir, I wasn’t doing that.” He shrugged. “I was just doing what was right, s’all.”

  Lewis was not convinced. Even as Bannister answered him, his eyes immediately went to the floor and his shoulders sagged. “You’re a bloody good soldier and a valuable part of this team,” Lewis said. “You’ve proved yourself time and time
again and we need you alive. I don’t want you to blame yourself for what happened, nor to endanger yourself unnecessarily. That’s an order, okay?”

  “Yessir.” Bannister smiled. “And sir,” he said as Lewis turned to leave, “if ever we manage to find a cure for all this madness and get society back on its feet I’d like to make a request.”

  Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “I don’t think we should allow fox hunting to take place ever again. It’s not much fun being the bloody fox.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The past couple of weeks had been utterly exhausting, both emotionally and physically, and they all needed a rest, albeit brief. The next day nobody strayed beyond the limits of the secure zone. They all remained close to each other, trying to recover and feeling safer in one another’s proximity. It was only when the pace of life calmed down for a moment that the majority of them started to notice the aches and injuries they had picked up, be it a sprained wrist, a cracked rib or a broken nose. The medics were busy administering to everyone but still had to make time to look at the laptop and work through Dr Boxall’s instruction manual for a cure.

  While they had been at Headley Court life had slowly started to acquire the feel of familiarity. They had fallen into routines and begun to make plans for the future. Now it felt to Lewis as though they had reverted back to living hand-to-mouth, struggling to provide even the basic amenities of life once more. It was demoralising and Lewis had to work hard to convince himself they had made the right decision to move to GVF.

  Even whilst they rested and regrouped there was a shared, unspoken awareness that this was only a temporary lull. There was no escaping the fact that sooner or later they would have to venture out again. The remainder of the building needed to be cleared of any lingering infected and now there was the issue of the other laboratories behind. These facts were never far from the surface, never far from Lewis’s thoughts, constantly troubling him, hovering like phantoms in the shadows.

  There was also another problem that nobody had foreseen - that of feeding the infected. Squadron Leader Singleton mentioned it to Lewis and Straddling, and it took them both by surprise.

  “What?” Straddling blurted out. “You’ve gotta be kidding. We’ve been trying to kill them for weeks and you think we should start feeding them now? This isn’t a bloody bed and breakfast you know.”

  Lewis was quick to realise that Singleton had a valid point however. “I think what the good doctor is saying, Sergeant, is that they’re no good to us if they starve to death.”

  “Exactly,” Singleton said. “At the end of the day whatever their illness is, they’re living breathing creatures and so without nourishment of some sort they must surely die eventually. We’ve risked a lot to capture them, and we desperately need them if we’re going to find a cure. So, we’ve got to feed them. Either that or we’ll have to catch some more when these lot die.”

  “And how do you suppose we’ll feed them then?” Straddling asked, still unconvinced. “There are nine of them. We’ve barely got enough food for ourselves, let alone them.”

  “We’ve cleared enough corpses away from the living areas of this building,” she replied. “I say we just give those to the mob. We cut a couple of small holes in each door and shove chopped up limbs through.” At the look on Straddling’s face both Singleton and Lewis had to stop themselves from laughing out loud. “I’m not saying it’ll be pretty but it should do the job.”

  And so on top of the security and basic tasks of living, the soldiers also had to care for their new house guests, never an easy undertaking. ‘The Incarcerated,’ as they became known, seemed to quieten down once the initial excitement was over. They wandered back and forth along their passageway, venturing into the offices apathetically. Occasionally they would furiously rattle the doors at either end, as though experiencing a brief flashback to having been ensnared, but for the majority of the time they were relatively placid. They did not seem to sleep much at night, but often, at random times of day or night, they might be seen slumped on the floor as though unconscious for a period. Invariably though at least one of them would be prowling about and as soon as they saw someone peering in at them they turned apoplectic and charged at the door. For this reason Lewis insisted that they try to feed them as surreptitiously as possible and commanded that soldiers on patrol check the integrity of the doors as discreetly as they could. This was not an order that anybody felt like contravening as it was highly disturbing to be in such proximity to the Incarcerated. Their wailing could occasionally be heard in the canteen which tended to end any conversation immediately. Everybody would stop to listen, trying to gauge whether the sounds were getting closer and clearer, a sure indication that the security of the corridor had been breached and they were all in significant and imminent danger.

  The children had been insulated from as much of the horror as possible, which was not easy and tended to keep Williams and Newman occupied. Nonetheless, they seemed to sense the fact that life was not as easy as it had been when they had first got to Headley Court and both were subdued. The shock of all they had undergone had made them withdrawn and only as they started to relax in the safety of their military guardians did normal emotions return. They cried a lot and needed almost constant comforting and reassurance, but Singleton was convinced that their tears were healthy. The two of them had provided a beacon of optimism for every single one of the soldiers. Protecting them had given everyone a reason to live, if not for themselves then for these two vulnerable creatures. Their well-being became almost like a mascot – if the children could survive then there was a chance for all of them and for humanity at large.

  Bennett seemed to be in good physical condition. Whilst not yet back to full strength he was now active and a fully contributing member of the unit, although his mental and emotional health was still far from perfect. He rarely smiled, he would often sit alone, lost in thought, and at night the others were sometimes woken by his screams. During the day he worked hard alongside the medical team. The information on Boxall’s laptop clearly had the greatest meaning for him, both the file that Boxall had specifically written in his last few days, and all the other associated files. Whilst Bennett was specialised in working with animals, his job had required a good working knowledge of other aspects of drug production. Dr Boxall had not known whose hands his laptop might fall into. Whilst the subject matter did obviously require a significant degree of previous knowledge, he had had to anticipate that the information might end up being used by someone whose level of medical learning was no more than a GP, for example. He had therefore written his instructions as simply as the task itself permitted. Bennett could understand much of it, but full comprehension was still beyond even him. A lot of it was just not his field of expertise. That, and the fact that Boxall’s final instructions had been purely hypothetical, completely rushed and were entirely untested, left him feeling decidedly less than optimistic, a fact that he did not share with anyone but the doctors.

  Darby had been taken down to the ground floor and put inside one of the inner laboratories attached to an office. This meant that both the laboratory and the office could be locked giving a secondary layer of protection. He was no longer under sedation and they devised a method of feeding him similar to the Incarcerated. He seemed to be more belligerent than the other infected however and would hammer at the door for hours. Fortunately his confinement seemed to be secure and there was not too much concern about his breaking out. There was more concern over Vida.

  Her condition had not improved; it had not worsened either. Her temperature would stabilise for hours and it seemed that she must surely be on the way to recovery. Then it would shoot up and the tormented moaning would recommence. Her limbs would thrash about and her ranting became more raucous. She would scream unintelligibly and her eyes would open wide, rolling back to the whites like someone possessed. Then as abruptly as the attack had begun she would quieten down and looked to be sleeping peacefully. Sen
ior Aircraftman Ric Masters stayed with her throughout, rarely leaving her side. They were placed in one of the rooms near the dining area. On occasion he would take a break and one of the medical staff would sit with her. Otherwise he spent most of the time keeping a solitary vigil. The doctors checked on them a few times every day, as did the patrolling soldiers, but otherwise they were largely alone. Everyone had their own problems and torments to deal with.

  “What do you think’s wrong with her?” Lewis asked Singleton as they attempted to force down an unappetising meal in the canteen. “Could it just be that she’s suffering from loss of blood and she’s in a coma?” He asked the question without any real hope. It was obvious to anyone that her condition was something entirely more sinister. For the first time now they had a chance to actually consider what to do with her.

  “Well,” Singleton was shaking her head already, “some of her symptoms are those of shock or loss of blood, it’s true. If it were only those then I would agree. But taken as a whole I don’t think so. The fever, the thrashing about, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen, and I’m just out of ideas as to what to do for her.”