Designated (Book 1): Designated Infected (16 page)

'Hey boss, what's the verdict?'

Sharp pushed away from the window and sighed, shaking
his head slowly.

'Don't know to be honest, unless we find food out here
we're going hungry for three days, I know we've done it before as
well as the Special Boat Service boys, but the others I don't know.
With regards to the building, the upper levels were clear, but the
attic was locked tight and I ain't alerting shuffle brigade out there
to the fact we're in here.'

Davies nodded, 'Makes sense, and to be fair where the
hell would you go once up there anyway?'

Sharp nodded as he listened knowing that Davies was
right on the money with his own supposition. Davies held up his half
full canteen and shook it letting the sound of the sloshing liquid
catch Sharp's attention.

'Water works then?' Davies nodded as he handed the
canteen to Sharp and let the man drink. Night fell quickly, and with
it everyone's morale.

The Infected outside, their humble bastion began to
prowl incessantly as the light finally left, their feral snorts and
growls filling the night like the cry's of wolves as they searched
for any form of sustenance. A high pitched squeal made several of
them wince as a hapless creature was snatched from the cover of night
and devoured by the ravaging horde that descended upon its screaming
form.

****

Woodwrow led the R.R.T unit across the roof tops as the
first tinges of dawn's new day began to form on the horizon. All six
men moved as quietly as possible, their feet barely skimming over the
semi-flat roofs of the small village high street. Dropping to their
knees as they reached the edge of the last roof. Woodwrow tapped his
upper arm, index and middle finger held tight together as he watched
the floor below.

Crawling forwards rapidly on his stomach Sheperd wormed
his way along the roof to where Woodwrow now lay hidden by the slight
rise in the roof line.

'What's up Kev?'

Woodwrow looked Sheperd in the face, condescension vying
for control of his features as he began to speak.

'We have thirty Infected in the alley below us and a
sixty foot leap to the next roof, I can't make that sort of leap and
I ain't about to risk wading through that lot down there.'

By the time Woodwrow had stopped speaking the rest of
the group had made their way to him, all silently mulling over a
viable solution that didn't involve a bone breaking fall from trying
to leap the miniature chasm.

Brooks lay there his mind churning over ideas, rapidly
discarding one after another as he ruled them out. His eyes lit up as
he grasped at the tender beginnings of a possible solution.

'There are cars below us yeah?'

His hushed tones caught the men's attention as he began
rattling off his still prepubescent idea.

'They must have batteries that still have some juice
left, why not see if we can bust open a window and set off an alarm
to draw the Infected out to the main street. Then we drop down and
sprint to the post office.'

The others chewed over the idea for a few minutes before
Woodwrow pointed out something none of them had considered.

'Yeah that's all well and good, but the boys in the post
office don't know we're here, what happens when we get there and get
stuck outside with our arse's in the wind.'

Brooks tried in vain to think of a sharp come back
before finally he fell back on a simple shrug.

'Fucked if I know. I never said it was a good idea, did
I.'

The six men lay there in silence, the chill wind running
over their backs as they held themselves still. The rasping swarm
below was only a misplaced hand away from a three storey fall into
their eager arms. Turning to Williams, Woodwrow beckoned him over, a
question hanging on his wind chapped lips.

'Williams you got your survival tin handy?'

The man nodded. Rolling on to his side he dug into the
thigh pocket of his cargo trousers fishing out the twelve ounce
tobacco tin.

'Always, never know when you're going to need it, as
this proves.'

Snatching the tin from the soldiers grasp Woodwrow
stripped off the taped seal and popped the lid.

'Whatever, we only need the signal mirror in it.'

Lifting the lid clear of the tin he flipped it over
exposing the polished side to the sunlight, a golden hue cast itself
over his face as he moved the piece of metal in his hands. It glinted
slightly the light catching it's gleaming ripple-free surface as he
directed the polished piece of brass coated tin into the path of the
sun. Reflecting the light, he watched the windows of the post office
intently as the light glinted off the dirt stained glass. Spots
danced in his vision as the flashes of white incandescence lanced his
eyes. Squinting he peered out through eyelash hazed slits as he
continued the signalling.

Sharp and Davies saw the rhythmic flashing coming from
just above the roof line of the building opposite them. They soaked
in the information as it flashed and blipped from the roof edge.
Snatching up a note pad from the table in the corner of the room,
Davies began to scribble, the more the pencil danced its way over the
dog eared pad the more became apparent as he continued to watch the
flashing piece tin dance in the sun.

'Infected in alley. Cannot make jump. Going to set off
car. Make break for door. Put kettle on.'

Shaking his head, Davies chuckled.

'Cocky fuckers, Boss, expect another six for dinner.
I'll tell Riley to stand by on the door.'

Sharp held out the mirror even before Davies had
finished speaking. 'Pass me the mirror I'll signal back the okay.'
Davies chuckled as his request fell onto an outstretched hand, taking
the mirror he nodded his thanks, and began to send his message.

****

Woodwrow watched intently as a reply was flashed across,
jotting it down he smiled.

'Son of a bitch has only asked if we want sugar.'

The rest of the team chuckled as a response was flashed
across.

Sheperd took careful aim at the window of a car up the
street, its rusted and peeling paintwork lent little in the way of
comfort that anything would come from Shepherd’s next action.

He
hefted the small lump of brick testing its weight in his palm,
glancing over his shoulder he looked at the small pile of rust red
blocks and snorted slightly, one thought drifting through the mass of
jostling word jumbles that plagued his mind.
'At
least I’ll have spares if I miss.'
He
pulled his arm back and made ready to let fly, the piece of brick
sailed through the air covering the distance in a mater of seconds,
for the men watching the spectacle
time dragged out as the air borne section of masonry passed further
and further out of their reach. Woodwrow's heart hammered in his
chest as he tracked the projectile's path its spinning form looping
through the void like a snail through molasses. Then with a
collective wince they watched as it connected with an ear splitting
shattering of glass; the window caved under the impact as the lump of
rust coloured block-work shattered the vehicles rear window.

For over half a minute nothing happened, time dragging
onwards as the men held their breath all waiting for something,
anything to happen. Then with all the urgency of a drunken cow the
lights of the car began to flicker and blink as the alarm sluggishly
began to wail.

The Infected turned as one, the wailing alarm drawing
their sluggish forms towards it. Sheperd watched as over a dozen
Infected split from the throng as the herd trudged towards the
braying rusted hulk. His eyes widened only slightly as they twisted
as one their eyes locking onto his with an undisguised hunger. With
the rapid wiggle of a crack addicted snake he slithered away from the
roof edge, a desperate need to hide from the eye's wanton gaze.

'Okay lads time to go.'

The empty alley below beckoned the six men, Woodwrow
clinging to the lip of the roof rolled off the edge and dropped to
the floor spinning his body away from the wall as he fell. The three
floors rushed past him as he descended, everything elongated as he
passed a second story window, distance, time none of it had any
meaning as he floated there staring at his own reflection. He watched
as it shimmered and danced over the impact crazed glass, the dark
russet tinge of blood caking the tattered shards in the pane. He
wanted to reach out, feel his fingers trace the lines in the window
pane. He pushed down the need to reach out knowing it to be what it
was. A stupid idea.

Feeling his feet touch the ground he folded at the
knees, tumbling over his left shoulder as he rolled absorbing the
shock. Pushing himself to his feet Woodwrow was up and running two
seconds later. Woodwrow spun sideways as a body smashed into his
side, fingers clamped round his throat as a toothless mouth descended
towards his face.

Curling his knees to his chest Kevin sent the Infected
over his head, fingers clawing at his clothes as its weight carried
it away from him. The twisting screaming form landed in a crumpled
heap amidst a stomach churning crunch. Woodwrow rolled backwards over
his shoulder and glanced at the twisted lump of flesh, black brackish
blood already seeping out around it in an ever expanding halo.

Glancing back he saw all of his fellow Paratroopers
rising to their feet, six other Infected lay motionless on the floor.
Weapons levelled and steady they hurriedly made the crossing to the
door within ninety seconds of the alarm starting. Smashing his fist
into the door, he pounded on the oak slab as tension mounted within
him. Woodwrow gritted his teeth as he raised his fist again
hammering the solid lump of wood.

The door didn't move as it sat resolute in its job, the
entrance before them sealed by the gloss blue monolith of oak and
nail. Kevin watched the writhing mass of Infected already hemming in
the Paratroopers against the walls of their salvation, their eyes
gleaming at the thought of a fresh meal.

'Come on, come on!'

He began to pound on the door relentlessly. The rapid
thumping drawing curious glances from the Infected only one hundred
metres away. The team formed a tight semi-circle weapons raised
sighting on anything that moved. Slamming his foot into the door
Woodwrow began to panic slightly as he bellowed into the blue glossed
timber in front of him.

'Open the fucking door!'

Sharp spotted several Infected beginning to lose
interest in the wailing hunk of scrap metal and starting a slow march
towards the warm fleshy bodies of the six paratroopers. Raising his
fist once more Woodwrow pounded on the door just as it swung in
wards. Stumbling and tumbling over each other the six men piled
through landing in a heap in the Post Offices small waiting area.

'So lads, one sugar or two?'

Woodwrow kicked the door shut with his foot and rose to
his feet as his panicked gaze turned into a scowl of
pride-stung-sullenness at being made to panic so quickly. Turning he
stuck his hand out as Davies grinned.

'Kevin Woodwrow, One Para. These are my boys, Richard
Kerr, Dominic Williams, Steven Shepherd, James Clarkson and Robert
Brooks.'

Woodwrow motioned from one to the other as they each
nodded in turn, 'Nice to meet you all, but it still doesn't answer my
question, one sugar or two?' Woodwrow smirked, the lines around his
eyes deepening as his mouth curled upwards.

'Two please, dash of milk if you have it.' Davies
chuckled, his voice harsh and sharp as he replied.

'Afraid the milk was off, milkman should have been here
this morning but I think traffic was a bit dodgy.'

The men filtered off to other parts of the room as
Davies lead Woodwrow through to the small kitchen in the back.

'Just so we're square mate, Sharp is C.O with us and to
make this easier I am going to ask you to step back and let your boys
run under him.'

Woodwrow's eyebrows arched upwards, as he watched Davies
stance shift slightly in anticipation of Kevin's retaliation.

'Okay.'

Davies rocked on his heels slightly; surprise mingling
with shock squirmed across his face as Kevin's answer slowly sank
through his war-torn-hide. Davies nodded, his mind still bouncing
from the unexpected reply, as he rooted in the cabinet for something
to use as a mug.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of monotonous
boredom and restlessness, the soldiers lounged across every available
surface, Davies shoved Reilly's leg out of his way as he searched
under the counter, he pulled out a battered tape-bound wooden box,
the sun-bleached-top flapped backwards as he lifted it clear, a soft
thump echoed up from the dust scarred work surface, Small motes
drifted through the dull evening sun as the tired washed out rays
forced their way in through the grease smeared glass of the bay front
window. He found the key to the basement nestled in the depths of the
box, a yellowed and cracked piece of paper trailed on a length of
frayed brown twine from the hooped end.