They shook and Burke asked, “Are you alone?”
Morrison’s tone grew wary as he said, “There are . . . others with me.”
Burke nodded, pleased to hear that not everyone had perished in this mess. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the barricade. “I’ve got some men on the other side of this thing, one of whom is a doctor. If any of your people need medical attention, we can deal with that before we get you all out of here.”
“Out of here?”
Burke bent down, put his fingers to his lips, and whistled down the length of the tunnel. An answering whistle from Drummond quickly came back. They were ready. Over his shoulder, Burke said, “Right. Allied Command sent us to be certain that Queen Veronica gets out of the city safely.”
Morrison hesitated. “Queen Veronica?” he said at last, putting emphasis on the first word.
As Burke straightened, he realized his faux pas and mentally kicked himself for being such an idiot. The captain was a British subject and therefore no doubt loyal to the King and Queen. Burke had just told him, in no uncertain terms and with absolutely no tact whatsoever, that the King and Queen were dead.
Burke opened his mouth, intending to apologize, only to have a woman speak up behind him.
“My parents . . . they’re both dead then?”
Burke winced and shot a glance of apology at Morrison, but the furious expression on the captain’s face told him he’d be getting no sympathy there. Burke knew that Veronica was probably here somewhere, but he certainly hadn’t expected her to be within hearing distance. She should have been under guard somewhere away from the barricades.
Unless of course it was just Morrison and her.
He turned to face her . . . and was momentarily at a loss for words.
Queen Veronica was not what Burke was expecting.
She stood just beyond the doorway from which she’d emerged, a dozen feet away, but he could feel the impact of her personality just the same. She was younger than he—mid to late twenties would be his guess—with long auburn hair that was pulled into a loose braid on one side of her smooth-skinned face. Her eyes were a deep green, almost luminescent in the light, and they caught and held his glance without flinching.
She was dressed in a button-down blouse, now smudged with dirt, blood, and other unrecognizable stains, and a pair of men’s pants that tapered to calf-high riding boots. A pair of leather belts crisscrossed her chest and stuck through them on either side was a large-barreled revolver.
She was dirty, disheveled, and obviously distraught at the news he’d just inadvertently delivered, but she was also the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
He took a few involuntary steps forward and then nodded once, briefly, before bowing his head for a moment in recognition for her loss. When he thought he’d given it sufficient time, he introduced himself.
“Major Michael Burke, Military Intelligence Division, American Expeditionary Forces, Your Majesty,” he said.
He expected her to fall apart at the news about her mother and father, to turn away weeping and need to be consoled, but she simply closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her composure as she digested the news.
When she opened them again, there was determination in her eyes and in the hard set of her jaw.
“All right, Major. We will be happy to accompany you and your team back to Allied Command. We will need to retrieve several items from the British Museum before doing so, but after that . . .”
She stopped when she saw Burke shaking his head. “Is there a problem, Major?”
“No offense, Your Majesty, but yeah, there is. We’re not going to be making any side trips. We’re going right back to the Reliant and getting the heck out of London as quickly as we can.”
The Queen frowned. “Perhaps I wasn’t making myself clear, Major.”
She walked over, her back straight, her eyes full of determination as she stood in front of Burke and glared at him, trying to stare him down from her position of a foot shorter in height.
“The items I intend to secure from the museum are directly relevant to the national security of the British Empire and I will not leave them behind.”
Burke bit back the quick retort that sprang to mind. This was the Queen of England, he reminded himself. Behave accordingly.
“That’s all well and good, Your Majesty, but I have orders to take you back to the Reliant as swiftly as possible. Once there I am to turn you and your party over to the captain of the vessel, Captain Wattley. What he chooses to do at that point is entirely up to him. Unlike me or my squad, Captain Wattley is a British citizen.”
Which makes him one of your subjects and therefore bound by his oath to you and the Crown, Burke finished silently.
His orders were to see to it that Her Majesty made it back to the Reliant alive and in one piece. What happened after that . . . well, that was in someone else’s hands, not his. He was here to do a job, and that was what he was going to do.
Noise behind him caught his attention and he turned to see Doc Bankowski squirming his way out of the barricade. Once he was clear, Sergeant Drummond followed suit. Introductions were made and Doc politely offered to see to the injuries of anyone in the Queen’s party.
“We’re all that’s left,” the Queen said sadly as she came forward and let Doc examine her briefly. She was a bit bruised and battered, but otherwise unharmed, as it turned out. Captain Morrison, on the other hand, had a nasty cut across his scalp, which Bankowski cleaned with the help of some alcohol from his medicine bag, and then Doc bandaged it with clean gauze to try to keep infection from settling in.
While Bankowski worked, Morrison explained how they’d been in hospital when the German bombing run had begun and about how they’d subsequently made the decision to stay put and wait for rescue when the bombs finally stopped. They hadn’t anticipated the effects of the gas and had almost been overrun when the transformations had first begun.
It had been the Queen’s idea to seal off the stairwells and the upper floor, an idea that would cost the lives of several of her men but that would, ultimately, mean the difference between life and death for the Queen and Captain Morrison. Just the same, it had effectively trapped them here ever since.
In turn, Sergeant Drummond gently explained to the Queen what he knew regarding the fate of her parents, how he had stayed with them following the initial attack, how the palace had ended up surrounded by shredders in the wake of the gas, how the King had eventually ordered several of them to try and reach help. He told her about his journey to Southend-on-Sea and of how he’d stumbled upon Major Burke and company just in time to escape with them back across the Channel to France and then of their subsequent return to Buckingham Palace. A tear slid down the Queen’s cheek when Drummond told her that they’d removed the bodies of her parents in order to give them a proper burial and Burke, watching from the side, was struck with the sudden uncharacteristic urge to reach forward and gently wipe it away.
When Drummond finished and Doc signaled he was done treating their injuries, Burke explained that the rest of his squad was waiting in the buildings just across the street from the hospital. It was his intention to leave the hospital the same way they’d gotten in—through the courtyard at the end of the west wing—and then regroup with the rest of the squad for the short trip back to the Reliant.
Morrison wasn’t thrilled with the plan, but he also recognized that they couldn’t stay there; eventually, the shredders would find their way inside. After a short consultation with the Queen, he, too, agreed that it was the best option available to them and soon they were ready to go.
They made their way over the barricades one by one, with Sergeant Drummond and Captain Morrison leading the way to secure the area on the other side, followed by the Queen and Doc Bankowski, with Burke guarding the rear. Thankfully none of the shredders had yet found t
heir way to the second floor, and they were able to retrace their steps down the stairwell and back to the first floor without difficulty.
Drummond ducked around the corner, saw the coast was clear, and led the others back down the long hallway toward the administrative offices at the end of the west wing. As they approached the door to the courtyard, however, Drummond slowed so dramatically that Captain Morrison nearly ran into his back.
“Sergeant! What do you . . .” Morrison began indignantly, but Drummond cut him off with a single whispered phrase.
“Shut up!”
Drummond’s voice was full of such deep fear that it shocked even Burke into silence, and he was at the back of the group. He understood what had frightened the man a moment later when the people in front of him shifted position slightly and he was able to see past the others to the courtyard outside.
It was teeming with shredders.
They were wandering back and forth, their attention caught by the walls that held them in place more than the building behind them. As a result, they had yet to notice Burke and the others. The minute they did, however, they’d be on them like lions among the sheep.
Which was why Drummond began moving backward slowly and quietly, taking short little steps to keep from stumbling and drawing attention to their group, forcing the others to do the same lest he walk right over them.
The shredders had found some way to climb the fence; that was the only logical explanation. Although that didn’t make Burke happy, it was a hell of a lot better than thinking the shredders were getting back up again after taking a bullet to the skull. Semi-intelligent shredders were bad enough; shredders that could resurrect themselves repeatedly, no matter the injury, was a nightmare of epic proportions.
He prayed like hell that it was the former.
After moving backward for several yards, the group swung about and started running back the way they had come, trying to put as much distance between them now that the shredders weren’t right on top of them. If they could reach the stairwell and get back behind the safety of the barricades, they could still get out of this alive. They could contact Jones somehow, figure out a new plan . . . there were plenty of options available.
First, they had to get to safety.
They might have made it, too, if it hadn’t been for the hound.
Burke was now in the lead and he was racing for the entrance to the stairwell, Queen Veronica on his heels, when something stepped into the hall from a room to their right.
Burke recognized it immediately.
The last time he’d seen one he’d been running for his life over no-man’s-land, a wounded Private Williams in his arms, while a pack of such creatures chased after them and Richthofen tried to gun Burke and his companions down from above in his brilliant red aircraft.
Burke didn’t know their official designation, or if they even had one for that matter, but his half brother Jack had called them hounds and in Burke’s mind the name had stuck.
They were one of the new breed of zombies produced in the hell of Eisenberg’s secret labs, their bodies and senses twisted and warped by the gas to meet the specific needs of the German war machine. In this case, trackers.
The hounds ran on all fours, faces close to the ground, and had their sense of smell constantly enhanced by a cloud of gas that filled the strange helmetlike contraptions that covered their heads. How they could smell anything through the glass faceplates they wore was more than Burke could fathom, but then again he couldn’t have imagined morphing the bodies of the dead into these hideous creatures in the first place.
This one looked up, saw them, and let out the ear-shattering howl that called the rest of their pack.
The answering bark of Burke’s Thompson submachine gun mingled with the boom of Veronica’s Webley, and in the next instant the creature went over backward, its mask and skull shattered from both bullets.
But the damage had been done.
The shredders in the courtyard behind them turned at the sound, saw their prey racing away down the hall, and charged after them in hot pursuit.
Chapter Twenty-three
WITHOUT THINKING, BURKE reached back, grabbed Veronica’s free hand in his own, and took off running, no longer concerned with trying to be quiet. Behind him he could hear the others follow suit.
Already the shredders were starting to close the distance.
The stairs to the second floor were out of the question now. They would barely make the first barricade before the shredders would be upon them, and they wouldn’t have the time needed to scramble over the top to safety. Caught with their backs to the enormous pile of junk the Queen and her troops had previously erected, Burke and his little group would be cut down where they stood.
Burke glanced around frantically as they ran. They needed an alternate route, and they needed it now!
His gaze fell on the double doors at the end of the hallway, the ones that led to the main building, and he headed for them as fast as they could go. They could shoot out the locks and then find something to brace the doors with from the other side against the oncoming horde . . .
Gunfire filled the hallway as Drummond and Morrison began firing into the oncoming shredders, knocking down the front ranks and causing those just behind to stumble over the bodies as they charged forward. It would only gain Burke and the others a few seconds of respite, but even a few seconds might make a difference.
Burke skidded to a halt in front of the double doors, a good half-dozen yards ahead of the rest of the group. He dropped Veronica’s hand and brought up his gun. He was about to fire into the locks holding the doors closed when Veronica stepped in front of them, fumbling with something in her hands. Burke opened his mouth, intending to holler at her and tell her to get the hell out of his way, when he realized that what she had in her hands was an iron ring full of keys.
She started shoving them into the keyhole one at a time, testing each one, hoping to find the correct one before it was too late.
Come on, come on, Burke thought, willing the next key to be the right one. If it took much longer, they were going to be fighting the shredders hand to hand, and in these tight quarters they didn’t stand a chance. Doc Bankowski had already caught up to them and was standing off to the side, taking shots with his Enfield past the forms of Morrison and Drummond as they continued their orderly retreat in the face of the oncoming shredders. Less than fifteen feet now separated the two groups.
The Queen let out a whoop of success as the lock clicked open. Before Burke could stop her, she shouldered the door open and stepped inside.
For one heart-stopping moment Burke imagined her stepping into the waiting arms of a pack of shredders, but she stuck her head back out a second later, a grin spreading from ear to ear.
“It’s clear!” she called to the others. “Hurry!”
Burke and Doc Bankowski scrambled through the open doors, with Captain Morrison and Sergeant Drummond right on their heels. The four men grabbed the doors and swung them shut just as the shredders slammed into them from the other side. Burke was convinced there was no way they were going to hold, that another blow like the last was going to knock them all aside, leaving the door open and them to their fate, but suddenly the Queen was there, a long, thick crossbeam in her hands, and the men were able to get it up and into the slot across the door where it belonged just before the shredders tested their defenses a second time. There was a thunderous crash from the other side as multiple bodies slammed into it, but the door held.
Just to be extra safe, the Queen used the keys to relock the door from their side. It might not add that much more protection, but Burke still felt safer seeing her do it.
They found themselves in the grand lobby of the main building. It featured a wide reception desk and several rows of comfortable chairs for those waiting to see doctors or loved ones. Another set of double
doors opposite the entrance led to the east wing, identical to the west but for male patients rather than female.
Burke didn’t care about any of that; he had eyes only for the afternoon light coming in through the front entrance. Now was the time to make a break for it, he realized. He could see shredders wandering around the grounds outside the front door, but they had not focused their attention on the entrance yet, had not gathered outside it in a mob so dense that it would be impossible for Burke and company to fight their way through. The time to go was now, while they still had the chance!
He gathered the others about him, speaking quickly but calmly, showing his confidence in voice and deed. They were only going to get one shot at this . . .
“We’re going out the front door and through the gate at the end of the drive while the opportunity is still available to us. Don’t shoot until you absolutely have to, for the minute we do we’ll be calling the others down on our heads. Stay close, keep the Queen in the middle, and whatever you do, don’t stop moving. Let’s go!”
He didn’t give them time to think, just stepped over to the front door, hauled it open, and headed out into the open air beyond.
Thankfully, they all chose to follow.
For the first few seconds it seemed that things might go their way. The steps outside the doors led to a circular driveway that surrounded a large flower garden several dozen yards wide. Grassy lawns and well-trimmed hedges spread out on the far side of the driveway, ultimately leading to the tall iron fence that surrounded the entire property. A few shredders could be seen milling about the garden and the lawn areas, but if they hurried, Burke thought they might just make it to the main gate.
He led them down the front steps to the crushed gravel of the driveway.
There were two large courtyards on either side of the main entrance, nearly impossible to see from the front steps due to the thick green hedges that covered all but the narrow gates leading into them. The dozen or so shredders milling about in the courtyard, worked up by all the noise coming from inside the building, caught sight of Burke right about the same time he saw them.
On Her Majesty's Behalf Page 16
