by Ray Daley
wearing my regular glasses, I was going to be able to see my first foray into monster killing very clearly.
Real horror-show, like.
We went out first, street team clears the street. I had my oppo at my left shoulder, I wasn't fussed where he stood as long as it wasn't anywhere that blocked my arcs of fire. It seemed pretty quiet but we walked cautiously, checking around long abandoned vehicles and making sure all the front gardens were empty of possible threats.
The only twitchy moment was when one of the boys went into a garden near the end of the street and disturbed something that wasn't human. Fortunately for him it wasn't vemp either. Nothing more than a feral cat but it scared him enough as it bolted out from under a hedge.
Enough to make him cock his weapon.
The fact that he'd done that didn't scare me. The fact that he hadn't done it already and had been walking around with an empty chamber truly scared me. I'd locked and loaded the moment my feet hit the street. It earned me a few stares but I was determined to stay alive, no-one had said we couldn't have one up the spout and we'd been told the threat level was incredibly high.
If we were expecting trouble I wanted to make sure I was more trouble than they were worth. Screw going into that good night, gently or otherwise!
We patrolled down to the end of the street then turned around, switched sides and checked it all again back to the opposite end. Apparently this was standard procedure I found out later, far better to check twice, let two sets of eyes analyse everything.
It turned out to be a lesson learned, in the past they'd checked once only to be jumped by vemps who'd concealed themselves well enough from the cursory glances most patrols were giving back then. No-one wanted to be out there any longer than they had to be.
Once we completed the secondary sweep we secured each end of the street, facing outwards, safe in the knowledge that nothing was going to jump us from behind. A few shots were fired, away to my left, some of the team were slotting vemps, single shots only being fired. The remainder of the team provided cover as they policed up the used shells. These would be recycled, resources weren't easy to come by these days so we tried to reuse as much as possible.
Teams one and two went into the houses, they'd done the FIBUA training so they cleared each house room by room. Every nook and cranny got checked, even the smallest cupboards were opened, child sized vemps were known to secrete themselves in places like that.
Teams five and six went out once the houses were fully checked, they secured the back gardens, sheds and garages. Once a street was cleared we'd do the streets at each end and work outwards. Hotspots were made cold.
Sometimes vemps nested, other times they wandered. We tracked the ones we killed, constantly using the information to try and establish their habits and patterns of movement. Anything to gain a potential head start.
My first half dozen forays into securing the outside world went easily enough, I even slotted my first vemp on mission two. The red eyes were darker than blood, every tooth a fang. I dropped him faster than a hot potato. Better to not think about who'd he'd been, far easier to think about what it was. He wasn't just a kid, he was just one less vemp now. Better dead than red and bled.
We were doing good work, reclaiming the world for the masses.
Rumours filtered down, the Queen and the P.M. were holed up in high security bunkers somewhere. No doubt some other poor sap in green on the job was risking their life to keep them alive. The great and the good were safe and well.
That safety didn't extend to the rich and famous, however. One of the patrols came back from somewhere in London. They'd slotted this female vemp up close and personal. It turns out someone had hesitated for a moment because they'd recognised her face. Another team member had to kill her, he had no problem slotting Madonna.
Celebrity slot, that went on the wall of fame back in the briefing room.
Each mission hopefully meant less vemps, every new trip out was just as dangerous though. We lost our first person in my second week on the job. Halfway through the first street sweep, over a dozen of them jumped out from behind a big hedge. It was raining that day.
I used to like rainy days. I'll never enjoy another the same way now.
As his oppo I was mere feet away, he slotted the two closest to him in short order. I concentrated on the ones I could drop without any risk of hitting him. He had a stoppage and two more were on top of him within seconds. I cleaned up those trying to rush me, attempting to stay calm under extreme pressure.
With him down I had used up over half a magazine on my own, by the time I managed to waste the two biting him, he was already too far gone. I put one in his head for a quick send off, it was the least I could do for him under the circumstances.
We'd hit a smallish sized nest in that house, we lost two more people inside and the mood was dark and low on the journey back to camp. By an unspoken agreement we gathered to mourn our losses and toast our fallen friends and comrades as soon as the NAAFI bar opened. I don't think anyone was surprised to see me in my red dress that night.
I sank a large cold one for my oppo and two more for the other team members. I made my excuses and bailed, I saw no point in getting wasted for the sake of it. Having a hangover wouldn't help keep anyone else alive tomorrow.
Weeks and months passed, we gradually reclaimed the civilised world street by street, cheek by jowl. We lost people here and there but we took way more vemps than they did of us. It finally seemed like the tide was turning in our favour at long last.
When your number is up, you can't refuse to go.
That day was a standard sweep like many others we'd done before, a few new team members had joined our ranks. My oppo had been plucked from the space cadets. We were that desperate for the manpower now. He wasn't even old enough to buy me a beer.
It'd been the return sweep in a seemingly quiet street, we were on the last house. Glenfield Way, I'll remember that to my last breath. Four of them came over the wall, at the same time they were attacking en masse from every other garden. I was slotting them left and right, purely running on instinct, no time for conscious thought. The little shit behind me froze, he never fired a single shot.
As far as I can reconstruct the event, I was splashed on the left hand as I slotted one mere inches away from me. I wiped my hand clean on his back as he fell past me. No-one saw me get blooded. With nothing threatening from my front I quickly glanced around, there were violent firefights still going on so I grabbed my opportunity with both hands and offed my oppo.
Single head shot. I later claimed he'd been splashed, frankly I just wanted him dead for freezing on me like that. He'd cost me my life, whatever there was left of it.
I raised another cold one back in the bar that night in order to maintain appearances. Red dress, yellow armband, black sunglasses. And no questions.
By morning my eyes had gone beyond blood red, looking way worse than they ever had when I'd haemorrhaged after my second lot of laser eye surgery.
I had no idea how long I had left, I cried off that days mission by pulling a "drunken". Everyone was allowed at least one per month without any issues so I chose to abuse mine.
The cough came on from nowhere.
During the afternoon I caught up with my fashion fan. I dropped the bombshell right away, sunglasses lowered slightly and teeth flashed.
She took a noticeably large step back away past arms length as I replaced my shades. "Listen to me, I've not turned yet, okay? I just wanted you to tell them something from me. There's another tell. It's a persistent cough, like a dry tickly throat. And make sure if I get buried, they leave me dressed like this please?"
She was crying as she bolted, sprinting full pelt towards the guard room. The shout went out over the radio and it didn't take long before they found me where she'd left me, sitting on the curb. I heard them coming and at least went out standing.
I died with my boots on.
Guard Room Incident Report.
SACW John
son reported that the target openly identified himself under the recognition terms.
The target also provided Intel of a new, fourth tell, a persistent cough.
For providing this intel, the targets final request will be honoured.
His remains will be incinerated as found.
Items:-
Red Lycra Dress
Black Nylon Tights
Black Leather Boots.
Next of kin to be notified, killed on active service.
THE END
Terms and slang explained
Lizzy - Queen Elizabeth II, the British Monarch
Federale - cop
civvy - civilian
purged - cross dressing term, to throw all clothing items away.
oppo - opposite number, second member of a paired team.
FNG - F**king New Guy, generally used as a slur.
NAAFI - Navy, Army, Air Force Institutes. They run service bars & shops on base.
SAC - Senior Aircraftman or woman. The RAF no longer uses the rank SACW, it's classed as sexist.
civvies - regular clothes, any item of clothing that isn't issued uniform.
Lizzie’s Flying Club - slang term for the Royal Air Force.
Blue on Blue - Official military term for friendly fire, hitting one's own troops.
Future's so
