Ace of Spades Chronicles : Book One (18 page)

As we round the corner above the compound car park, we see that the road is covered with infected. I think to myself, 'we chose the wrong day to go exploring,' and I verbalise this thought to Rinko. She replies with a kind of forlorn laugh and a series of quick nods. Between us and the side gate there are at least fifteen of the bastards. More are tripping over the barbed wire between the two cars that block the entrance. They are jumpy and twitch their heads in every direction. I don't know if it was the sound of the helicopters or our unexpected appearance at the top of the steps that made them so, but we didn't waste any time getting back into the compound. Once the gate was slammed shut and locked, I still felt vulnerable as the palisade fence was rushed by twenty or more. The spare rails did their job and several infected got their bellies torn open on the triple headed spikes. I dropped my spade. Rinko kept repeating “I’m so sorry.“ She systematically side stepped along the fence line, thrusting her sword through the railings, stabbing heads, hacking off outstretched limbs, sawing through necks; each reiterated outburst growing more infuriated with every kill. My shoulder was so painful, it felt like the entire left hand side of my body had been injected with snake venom, and I slumped onto the kitchen steps.

My eye is burning. We catch our breath.

2.10

Ace of Spades

DENOUEMENT

‘I can’t tell you the way I feel...

Because the way I feel is oh so new to me…’

Oasis… Columbia.

For over an hour, Yates tried unsuccessfully to raise any kind of response via the satellite radio. At the very least, he expected to get the emergency beacon, or a short-wave civil defence message; but there was nothing. No chatter of any kind, not even from other Fire Teams in the field. Every effort was nullified by harsh white noise and his frustration was making him tired and stressed. The cable ties around his legs were cutting off the circulation to his feet and he needed sleep; something Xander had beaten him to. The Lance Corporal had bagged the double bed at the front of the property and was lying flat on his back, snoring like a dog. Yates rubbed his face and arched his shoulders before standing back from the knee high coffee table, next to the sofa where the girl sat, reading the notes that were scrawled into the Pukka Pad.

“How are you doing? Are you okay?" He asked, aware that his voice had all the quality of an overly concerned adult.

Rinko looked away from the Pukka Pad and her eyes met his. She nodded. "Yeah, you?"

Yates smiled and cracked his sternum, then pointed to the hall. "I'm going to freshen up. You should try and get some sleep."

"I will, once I've read this. I guess we‘re not getting out here any time soon?"

Yates smirked. “You picked up on that, I see?” The girl nodded. “It’s probably nothing. Most likely a glitch in the satellite relay. It happens from time to time. I’ll try again later. We’re safe, that’s all that matters. Does your friend say where he went?" The girl shook her head. Yates acknowledged the emptiness of the reply with a single empathic nod and left the room. He glanced in on Xander, who had not moved since his head had hit the pillow, and then went into the bathroom. He closed the door and walked over to the hand basin. He looked at his watch; it was a few minutes before 08.00am. Speckles of blood dotted the back of his hand. He saw a packet of wet wipes on the window sill and grabbed them. He pulled out a couple of sheets and proceeded to rub the blood away, looking up at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His eyes were sunken and ringed with an almost purple shadow. He had left Beachley Barracks clean shaven, but now he looked like he had not put a razor to his face in over a week, even though they had been on mission for less than thirty hours. He used another wet wipe to clean his grubby brow and removed the knife from his belt, then dropped his trousers and started to remove the money bags strapped to his legs. Zola was
a fucking idiot
but he was on to something when he had decided to stash his share of the supermarket takings. Yates looked at the bath and tapped the side panel with his foot. He smiled when it rattled and wobbled as his boot made contact, and was able to remove it with little fuss. After pulling his trousers back up, he carefully stacked the plastic wallets in piles of ten beneath the bath and sat on the floor, his back resting against the radiator, and extracted the remaining wallets from his pockets and the lining of his vest. When he was done, he replaced the panel and stood up. He tapped the panel with his foot once more and smiled. It would be safe there until they moved on. And he knew exactly what to do with it, too. He would make an anonymous donation to the army benevolent fund and keep fifty grand back for himself. He and the wife could buy that tax free time share in Lanzarote, plus put the kids through a couple of years of college. At least, that was the dream. Before leaving the bathroom, he checked himself in the mirror one last time, straightened his collar and tucked his shirt into his trousers. Ship shape and Bristol Fashion, he commented to himself. Stepping out onto the landing, he heard Xander exhale, followed by a yawning snore. He glanced to his right and for the flickering of a nanosecond, thought he saw the door to a cupboard, quiver, as if caught by a draft from within. He held out his hand and let it hover above the door frame, but he couldn't feel a difference in air temperature; or feel any kind of air-current travelling through the tiny gap. He pushed the door with his palm and thought he heard what sounded like material scuff against material. He put his ear to the door and reached for the handle.

***

Rinko closed the Pukka Pad and reopened it at the first page. She read the first few lines again, picturing her hung over friend, lying on the sofa she now sat on with his border collie bitch called Moya; then flicked back through the pages to the point where she had left off. She felt an incredible undulation of sadness swell through her as she continued reading.

***

My shoulder was so painful, it felt like the entire left hand side of my body had been injected with snake venom, and I slumped onto the kitchen steps.                           My eye is burning. We catch our breath.

As I sat on the step staring at the sky, I rolled my shoulder forward. There was a fierce stabbing pain and we both heard a crack. Rinko rushed over and sat next to me, her arm carefully hooked around my waist. She said that she was sorry; that it was all her fault. I tried to tell her that she was blameless. That what had happened to me was my own stupid error. I had been careless and paid the price. I should have kept my goggles on.

I should have... 

She put her hand to my face and kissed my cheek. I turned my head and kissed her lips. She reciprocated. I couldn’t move as she cradled my face and started to cry.

It's not your fault Rinko.

It's not your fault.

In a dreamlike state, I watched as more helicopters flew overhead; definitely military and in a hurry. They all seemed to be heading east, probably looking for a suitable landing zone, somewhere open; I guessed. The Septix turned and watched as if they were witnessing a mass migration of birds, then one by one, they followed the aircraft and left the car park. We built a signal bonfire of bodies and watched them burn. Done in, I lay back as an excruciating surge shot through my neck and drilled into my brain. I tried to stand but the discomfort was crippling and I slumped back down on the hard kitchen steps. Eventually with Rinko's help, we got back inside and Rinko inspected my collar bone; she thought it might be broken and I was inclined to agree with her. As I write this now, it still hurts like a bastard. She raided the first aid kits we had swiped from the cars and I took a cocktail of Aspirin, Paracetamol and Ibruprophen, washed down with some of the single malt, then I fell into a feverish slumber for about two hours. When I awoke, Rinko had strapped my arm up pretty good across my chest with bandages, gaffer tape and used Moya‘s chain lead as a sling; now she was busy making a joint from all of the dog ends in the ash tray. I told her that she should go. She should take the BMW and find the army; they would be able to protect her, they would

have guns. She said that we should both go, but I knew that she would be able to travel much quicker without me slowing her down.

We smoked the joint. It was not half bad, considering it was made from ash tray scraps. It went straight to my head and I sank into a deep sleep. I drifted in and out of consciousness, catching foggy images of Rinko as she leaned over me. Her delicate voice spoke to me, but I couldn't tell you what she was saying; not complete sentences anyway. I heard her say that she would get help. I heard her say that she would take the car; and when I woke up, she was gone.

That was yesterday.

I think...

I wish I had told her that I was grateful; that I was glad that we had met. I wish we were a couple; that the age difference was not a problem. I wish we had a family. But there's none of that now; no chance of any come back tour. No chance of getting the band back together. I have no kids. No wife. No parents. No family. No dog. My friends are scattered and no doubt in as much shit as I am. No one will mourn me, or stand by my grave when I'm gone. All that will be left of me will be this chronicle of what happened; as I saw it.

So much for making it to the coast. I wonder if Jonny B managed to get there?            The fat fuck...

For some reason I can't get this line of dialogue from Poltergeist out of my head...You moved the cemetery but... you... didn't... move... the... bodies!!!                   Funny how your mind latches onto something and won't let it go. Here's one for you and you're going to love it.

Ready?

Did you get that?

Discuss.

***

As I stood at the lounge window, hoping and wishing and willing Rinko to appear, I saw a big helicopter fly over the supermarket and drop something; then, a short time later, another Apache turned up. I could hear the distant peal of heavy gun fire; the Army has definitely landed. Couldn't very well authorise a full scale military invasion on home turf without there being a bloody good reason… I suppose. I feel very dehydrated. Is this it? Is this the meltdown? Or am I just thirsty? Oh shit! There's more gun fire. I can't see any movement from my window. There's some smoke. More gun fire. They'll shoot me when they find me.

I'm scared. Really scared. Fuck that… I'm terrified….

I'm getting out of here. No. Bad idea.

***

I want to look in the mirror because I’ve forgotten what I look like! But I don’t want to go into the bathroom because I will see Jonny B trying to rape Rinko. I will see ex-lovers taking a bath. I will see me taking a bath with ex-lovers. I will see me taking a bath with Rinko. My eye is burning hot. I can feel the virus inside me. I can feel the exudation of mucinous discharge within my meibomian gland, and the veins surrounding my vitreous cavity bulging and contracting. My brain is dying and my reticular formation is being messed with. So I will not look at the face in the bathroom mirror because I know that the reflection will not be my own. I made ourselves... Me and the virus, that is… a little den in case those bastards broke through our defences and got into the house. It's cosy. Moya would have liked it. All cushions, sleeping bags and the kind of stuff you would take camping. I'm drinking a lot of water and writing this by candle light. Pretty soon everything is going to be redecorated with shit coloured puke, and I’m afraid I won't be able to make our luncheon appointment. A viral alien computer program is going to rewire my hard drive and I will be reborn as a fucking zombie...

What would Jonny B have said? 'Very moody.'

So Rinko... I think this is it baby. I'm going to leave my little cave just long enough to plant this note book where you will find it, if you ever return. I wish I was younger. I wish you were older. I wish I could turn the clock back four weeks... But then we would never have met. When I've finished writing this line, that's it… I'm done… Whatever you do...

Rinko slapped the pages of the Pukka Pad closed in a clapping motion and looked up, holding her breath, just as Yates called out "Hey, what's in here?" She could hear him attempting to open the boiler cupboard door, and she wanted to call back, but no words would come. She jumped off the sofa and instinctively reached for her sword but found nothing; a mental image of it leaning against the cooker downstairs in the kitchen, entered her mind. She pulled the SIG-Sauer from its holster and stepped back, further into the room. Yates let out a single gasp of shock before someone, or something, exited the boiler cupboard with incredible speed and struck him with such force, he slammed into the banister and cart wheeled over the wooden rail, falling head first onto the hard stairs; his neck snapped and he rolled down the carpeted steps, landing in a crumpled ball on the kitchen floor. A series of shuffled foot falls were heard followed by a choking, ripping noise as Xander was attacked in his sleep. She tried to shake the depiction that was forming in her head, as the sound of flesh being flayed from muscle, and muscle being wrenched from bone, played across the landing. Rinko leapt across the room and stealthily closed the door. Panting, her heart racing, she backed herself into the opposite corner and shakily aimed the sights of the 9mm pistol at the door handle. She quickly glanced over her shoulder; beyond the net curtains, down into the compound and across to the car park. Infected numbers were escalating and the palisade fencing was beginning to sway under their combined weight. Her head turned to look back at the door, her eyes passing quickly over the stockpile of weapons that the two soldiers had left on the sitting room carpet. She took in a deep gulp of air and applied more pressure to the pistols hand grip, letting her finger lightly caress the trigger.

She caught her breath.

And she waited.