Necropolis (Necropolis Trilogy Book 3)

by Sean Deville

  Both Secret Service agents were men, and they were clearly doing their job, scanning the area for threats, even though there shouldn’t be any. You never made assumptions when lives were at stake, especially now. Davina veered off slightly. Even with his training, one of the agents gave her an appreciative once over, and she smiled at him seductively, only to then take that away, looking at anything but him and his charge.

  Edna. That had been the name her mother had given her. Edna Jane Gossman. In her thirty-fourth year, the Gossman was removed to be replaced by Rodney in a marriage that today was still the happiest day of her life. The only thing that had spoiled that was her inability to have children. She had married a man she loved, a powerful man, who had risen to be the most powerful person on the planet, but she had been unable to give him his legacy. He said he didn’t mind, said that she was enough for him, but it burned within her on those occasions when she lay in bed at night, her husband sleeping peacefully beside her. She felt like she had failed him, despite his protests to the contrary.

  But none of that mattered now. The lack of children was perhaps a blessing, because who would want to have children in this world, a world at the edge of oblivion. That thought had come to her as she had been lifted off the White House lawn by helicopter, the reports of violence and mayhem spreading throughout the city. Mount Weather, as secure and luxurious as parts of it were, was no place for children. And yet there were hundreds of them here, and at some point, she would be obliged to see them, to read to them, to do the things that the First Lady was expected to do in the outside world. How tedious most of that was, doing something merely because it was expected of you.

  The sound was loud and it made her jump. She knew it was a gun. When she had moved into the White House, she had asked the head of her protection detail to take her down to the gun range, to teach her how to shoot. That man had become her friend, and she turned with her heart in her throat to see him falling at her feet. Two more shots sounded, the shooter just visible to her, and the other Secret Service agent and the sergeant both died at the hands of someone who shouldn’t have even have had a gun. The woman was striking in her beauty, and Edna had given her a jealous glance just moments before. Edna was still slim, but age had wearied the First Lady, the wrinkles forming despite the creams and the treatments.

  The woman stepped up to her, the gun levelled at her head. Along the street, people were panicking, and a whistle was sounding, calling help.

  “If you want to see your husband again, Mrs. Rodney, you will do exactly what I tell you.”

  11.30AM, 21st September 2015, East of Newquay

  Snow saw the beast drop onto the APC in front of him, watched in disbelief as it began attacking the roof. He saw the APC lurch forward, more infected dropping from the trees. Then the monster ripped the roof hatch clean off. Such force had been used to pull off the roof hatch, that the huge infected lost its balance and fell into the road, rolling away. One of the smaller infected scuttled up on top and dropped inside Hudson’s vehicle. With the front APC now moving onto the railway line, Snow angled to try and crush the abomination under his treads, but it dodged away, and he brought the APC back on track. There were tall hedges on both sides of the railway tracks as well as a wall of earth that would make it impossible for their vehicles to climb, so the only option was to continue along the tracks. So that was exactly what they did.

  All three APCs turned right onto the railroad and travelled along the line away from the blockade, infected running after them. Three infected came rushing at them along the tracks, but all of them fell under the treads, Snow crushing them a second time. A fourth infected jumped onto the lead vehicle, but its head exploded before it could drop into the gaping hole, and it fell off into the bushes.

  After about three minutes, an opening on the left appeared, and Vine followed the leader off the tracks, crashing through an old dilapidated barbed wire fence and into a field that gave the appearance that it had recently been ploughed. With no restrictions now, the three vehicles spread out and began to make enough speed so as to outrun the infected that were chasing them.

  Behind them in the field, Brute stopped running, as did most of the infected. They weren’t going to catch them, not in this terrain; it was too uneven, a poor surface for feet, even those belonging to enhanced beings. The collective mind still had a notion for strategy despite its continual degeneration. There was nowhere for the APCs to go, nowhere for them to hide, and sooner or later, they would encounter more of the infected. And then the hunt would begin again.

  But the emphasis of the infected was changing. Already thousands of their number were heeding the call that came on the wind. It wasn’t a voice this time, because the originator of the call was dead, words now as meaningless to it as to ants. Instead, the broadcaster sent forth a feeling, an image, a command that very few infected could ignore for long. Now with the heat of battle lukewarm, Brute sniffed the air, felt the pull, felt the need to go where so many were now heading. To head south and cross the narrow sea.

  But not yet. Brute had been denied his prize, had been denied the chance to feed on those in the metal box. It wanted them, needed them, and with hundreds of its kind still of a similar mind, they made their way across the field to the road. The collective told them where to go, the most likely place for the humans to flee to. There would be no escape, Brute would see to that. Off in the distance, all three APCs stopped moving.

  11.33 AM GMT, 21st September 2015, Mount Weather, Virginia, USA

  The café was empty apart from Davina and her captive. Davina supposed she didn’t really need to have killed those three people, but why take the chance? Of course, it wasn’t Davina making the decisions here, it was the Overmind, and despite her best efforts, Davina couldn’t break out to reclaim control. It was like she was trapped in a glass box in her mind. She could see and hear everything she was doing, could feel the cold metal of the gun she held in her hand, could sense the anticipation of an intelligence far greater than her own. It wanted something, and it was using her to get it.

  “Why are you doing this?” the First Lady asked. There were no tears, and the woman had even tried to hit Davina when she had been forced into this dining establishment. A swift swipe of the gun across the face had knocked all the resistance out of her, as well as two teeth by the looks of things. That was why the First Lady’s voice was slightly slurred, her upper lip now swollen.

  “You humans, you will never understand,” Davina said, although it wasn’t Davina creating the words. “But you will learn the futility of your existence soon enough.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you?”

  “Who I am is not for the likes of you. Now please, cease your conversation, I grow tired of it.” The Overmind could sense the humans outside, knew they were contemplating storming the café, and sent out its tendrils to put the suggestion that this would be a bad idea. This would result in the death of Edna Rodney.

  “You in the café,” came the booming megaphone enhanced voice. “Come out unarmed with your hands in the air.”

  “I will talk to your president,” the voice of Davina shouted. “I will talk to him within the next five minutes or I will be throwing pieces of this woman out to you.”

  “How do we even know she is alive?” the voice boomed again. A reasonable question thought the Overmind, and it commanded Davina to move the gun, pointing it at Edna’s right foot. Davina’s finger pulled the trigger, sending the bullet into and through the flesh of the shoeless foot. The shoe had fallen off outside in the struggle. Edna screamed.

  “Now you know she is alive. The next bullet will be in her kneecap. I can cause her great pain before she dies. Bring me your president.”

  Rodney was frantic. His country was falling apart, his dream had evaporated, and now his wife was being held hostage in what was supposed to be one of the country’s most secure facilities.

  “Who the fuck is this woman? How the hell did she get in her
e?”

  “You would need to ask Senator Goldman that, sir. He signed off on her. She also had CIA credentials.” Ben Silver handed the president the file as they walked down the well-lit corridor, three secret service agents accompanying them.

  “How the fuck does this happen?” Rodney turned to the chief of his Secret Service detail, his anger needing somewhere to vent. “Aren’t you people supposed to stop this sort of thing?”

  “We lost two men in the attack, sir,” was all the agent said. Rodney snorted a response. Whilst walking, he briefly scanned the documents in the file Silver had given him, then thrust the file back into his Chief of Staff’s arms dismissively.

  “I’m going to have someone’s head for this.”

  Rodney had always wondered if he’d actually ever loved his wife. She came from a powerful family, and it had been Schmidt, the now dead mastermind of the world’s oblivion, that had introduced them at a fundraising almost fifteen years ago. They were both attracted to each other physically, and she could see that he was a man going places. But was it love? Or was it just the convenience and the contacts and the money she brought to the table?

  That question was answered now. There had never really been an incident where he had been in fear for her safety, not like now, and he found that he was feverish with worry. For some reason, he found that he needed her, and it was almost as big a shock to him as discovering the world was now home to the undead. Why the fuck was this emotion in his head? He hadn’t even thought himself capable of love, perhaps because he had never been shown it as a child. His parents had been cold, distant, treating him like a commodity rather than an offspring. Look at my son the senator, they would say; look at what he has achieved. His father had been a wealthy industrialist, and his mother had been a borderline alcoholic.

  But what did it mean? It was a weakness he did not think himself capable of, being a sociopath as he was. Rodney had always found such things ridiculous, even amusing. Such shows of affection to another person surely left you open to manipulation and were the epitome of human weakness. And yet here he was, worrying about the woman he had married, the woman he had been faithful to since making those vows. He had to get her back.

  “Your five minutes are up,” the Overmind stated matter of factly. Edna Rodney was on the floor, trying to stem the flow of blood from her destroyed foot, the towel she had wrapped it in already soaked through.

  “The president is here,” said the voice from outside.

  “This is President Rodney,” another voice said. “Let my wife go.”

  “Yes, I will do that,” the Overmind said. “But first you must do something for me.” It could hear arguments out there, knew from its tendrils that the Secret Service were struggling to stop Rodney from just rushing in here like a fool. Its control over these humans was minimal; all it could do was nudge and suggest. They had tried and tested systems ingrained in their training, and there was no way it could counteract that. So it worked on the part of Rodney’s mind that gave it the most chance of having what it wanted. There was a further surge of oxytocin and serotonin, as thoughts of his wife drifted into his mind.

  “What do you want?”

  Davina’s body stood from where she was sitting, and she knelt down in front of the First Lady, the gun placed right on her forehead. With her free hand, Davina grabbed hold of Edna’s damaged foot. And squeezed.

  “Stop that, you bitch, tell me what you want,” came the president’s pleas at the screams of his wife.

  “I want one thing, and it’s such a small thing really. You give me that and then I give you back your wife.”

  11.34AM, 21st September 2015, East of Newquay

  Hudson’s APC stopped in the field, and the others stopped with it. The two other drivers watched the back of the APC open and Hudson stepped out. He held a gun in his hand. Scanning the field around him, he motioned that it was safe to come out.

  Croft opened the top hatch and quickly checked the surrounding field himself. Off in the distance, he could see figures where the railway line was, but they were far enough away as not to be a threat. Pulling himself back into the APC, he walked to the back and opened the rear door. With little effort, he jumped down to the ground. Hudson was about five metres away.

  “That close enough, Major,” the captain said. Croft could see that his face was covered in blood. “I won’t be coming with you any further.”

  With the top hatch gone, one of the infected had been able to jump into Hudson’s now-vulnerable APC. From that point, it was all over for everyone inside; there really hadn’t been any hope. Upon landing inside, the infected had instantly leapt onto Lane, who had managed to hold him off with gloved hands. That was until the infected had vomited into Lane’s face, instantly disengaging from the man to find a fresh target. Lane felt the weight on him relieved and Badger pulled the infected away from him, throwing the creature towards the back of the vehicle. It was like fighting someone with the strength of three men.

  Badger had drawn his pistol with a speed that even surprised himself, but the first shot into the stomach hadn’t stopped the deranged attacker from renewing its rampage, and it had flung itself forward with a force that defied the bullets impacting into it. Three bullets were in it before Badger was pushed backwards, blood pouring all over the SAS man’s legs from the infected’s abdominal wounds. The blood quickly seeped through the material, where the virus hungrily wormed its way through the surface to the blood vessels underneath.

  The two men in the front of the APC might have escaped if not for Lane. Enraged and not thinking straight, after wiping the foul, blood-stained stink from his eyes, he had picked his automatic rifle off the floor and had shot the infected, careful not to hit Badger. Unfortunately, his aim was off, as one would expect in such a confined space. Instead of landing in the head and maybe stopping the abomination cold, the bullet went through one side of the creature’s neck and out the other, severing both carotid arteries. The blood spray shot out everywhere, and close to death, the infected pulled itself free of Badger and span around in a death frenzy. The blood painted the inside of the vehicle like some deranged artist intent on being centre stage at the Tate modern.

  The fluid coated Hudson. Fairgood nearly got away with it, but three single drops landed on his cheek, the wetness enough for him to register, the red smear visible when he wiped his hand across his face. This was the story Hudson told Croft now. This was how four more of the Queen’s finest came to die. Of course, as always, there was more to the story.

  Croft looked into the back of the APC, and saw the two dead soldiers lying in the back.

  “We could all feel it taking over. Even now, I can feel my intestines starting to churn.”

  “You killed them,” Croft said, matter of factly.

  “They didn’t deserve to become one of those things,” Hudson answered. There was no need for him to apologise for his actions; he could see in Croft’s eyes that the major understood. Hudson had looked at the three men he was with and had ordered the APC on. It had been Badger who had shot the second infected who had tried to jump into the APC. All through that short drive, Hudson had watched the three men, had watched Badger take out that photo, gazing at it with resignation etched firmly in his face. He had seen it before, that look in the eyes when men had accepted the fact that they were going to die.

  All through the drive, Fairgood had been almost chanting, saying over and over that he was okay. He had been the one Hudson had shot first. Neither of the other two men had made a move to stop their captain ending their lives. Hudson knew that Fairgood wouldn’t have been coped with the threat of being shot, so he had taken the man by surprise.

  “Badger even thanked me. But I couldn’t save them. I couldn’t save any of them.” Suddenly, Hudson fell to his knees, the gun falling from his fist, utter despair finally falling upon him. He started to weep, something he’d never done before, not even at the death of his mother. “I thought we had a chance, you know, I really d
id. But no one can survive this.”

  “Captain, look at me.” Croft waited till Hudson’s eyes lifted up from the ground. There was a hint of red in them “You didn’t fail anyone. And you’re right, nobody can survive this. But we keep on trying. That’s what we do.” Withdrawing his sidearm, he cocked it and held it ready.

  “I’d shoot my own brains out, but I’m a fucking Catholic. Even after all this, even after what I’ve seen, I’m still too afraid to take my own life.” The tears turned to an anguished laughter.

  “You are one of the best goddamn soldiers I’ve ever served with. Fuck me if it wasn’t an honour,” Croft said. Hudson smiled at that, and then the smile turned to a frown.

  “I can hear your heart beating,” were the last words Hudson uttered. All thought was suddenly obliterated from his mind as Croft’s bullet blew the front of his skull off. In the distance, the sky roared with the song of the infected.

  11.37 AM GMT, 21st September 2015, Mount Weather, Virginia, USA

  Rodney stood in the Mount Weather control room, the man with the Football at his side. His wife was still being held hostage in another part of the facility by a woman who shouldn’t even have been here. This Davina, or whatever her name was, wasn’t an essential part of the government hierarchy. She was a sadist paid by the CIA to extract information from terrorists and foreign agents in their black sites. The whys and the recriminations would come later though, and they would be biblical. Right now, the important thing was to save his wife. He would do what Davina asked of him.