Designated (Book 1): Designated Infected (4 page)

Baker's mind rebelled at what his eyes were seeing, the
featureless dirt road before them stretched off to the horizon, its
rust coloured surface rolling left and right tucking itself like a
blanket under the edges of the buildings around them.

Baker turned slowly, his feet moving of their own accord
as he tried to fathom where his sanity had gone.

Rawlings' signal wavered slightly the static making
Baker wince as pain lanced through his ear drum.

'Then what the hell were we shooting at?'

Baker didn't answer; his attention suddenly drawn by the
startled yelp behind him. Turning, rifle raised, Baker sprinted back
to where he had last been.

'Dimi, answer me. Dimi you little fucker, where are
you?'

Baker screamed into the microphone receiver pressed
tightly against his throat.

A sharp, scrambling scrape drew Baker down a side alley;
the dust swirling about his ankles as he crept forwards, rifle
pivoting as he scanned the slightly darkened corridor formed by the
buildings.

'Baker!'

Derek ignored the warning tone in Rawlings' voice and
ploughed ever further into the dimming gloom of the alleyway.

'Baker, stop!',Again, Derek ignored the pleading tone
underlying the call as Rawlings stared down his scope, a small tear
sliding down his cheek as he gazed at the sight unfolding below.

'Baker, seriously, stop mate.' Again Derek ignored him
and once more ploughed on, heading ever deeper into the darkened
depths of the shadowed alley. Heads snapped round at the pain soaked
roar issuing from the shrouded mouth of the alley. Kingsley hared
down the small side street sprinting as fast as his legs would carry
him, his feet skimming the harsh grit covered surface as if the
hounds of Satan were snapping at his heels. Skidding to a halt,
Kingsley felt his stomach lurch as he cast his gaze upon the scene
before him. Baker clasped Dimi's rapidly weakening hand in his own; a
deep claret halo was slowly making its way past his boots.

The syrup-thick pool clung to the soles of Baker's boots
like molasses, gluing him to the floor as he knelt beside Dimi.

'Did, we....?'

A hoarse hacking cough rolled up from the boy's lungs,
blood bubbling up and over his lips coating the sides of his mouth as
he tried in vain to speak. Baker smoothed back the young soldier's
blood matted hair, shushing him gently like a father consoling a
frightened child.

Dimi locked his gaze with Baker's, reaching up slowly he
tried to pull himself upwards. Sensing what he was trying to do,
Baker gently pushed back. Forcing him back down, he eased Dimi back
to the floor while forcing a smile.

'Lay still mate; you got a bit of a nasty cut on your
side. We wouldn't want you making it worse.'

Dimi grinned. 'Yeah, I know, boss. Those rag heads stuck
me good but I gave 'em a thrashing. Kicked the living snot out of
'em.'

Baker once more pasted a grin over his features as he
gazed down at the slowly fading light in Dimi's eyes.

'I know, kid, I know.'

'Chief, did we....did we win?'

Baker smiled again.'Yeah kid we won'

A soft smile danced across Dimi's features as he began
to grow heavy.

'Good.'

Like a dying star Dimi faded, the light behind his eyes
floating away, carried off with the last, soft breath he took,
vanishing forever. Baker gently lay the boy's head on the ground,
sliding his eye lids shut, the dead stare holding his gaze was not
something he could hold any longer. Standing, he looked down at the
now slowly cooling body of his friend. Stepping back, Baker glanced
at his hands, a rapidly drying sheen of blood clinging to his palms.

'Chief, you okay?' Kingsley looked down at the mangled
body before him; Dimi's torso from his chest down was torn asunder.
The tangled limp mass of his intestines lay strewn across the width
of the alley, caked in dirt and clotted blood. The ragged torn
remnants of his lower chest and stomach hung in a limp mass over the
jagged splintered remains of his rib cage, the pale jutting peaks of
bone caught Baker's eyes like a hook through a fish's mouth.

Kneeling down he slowly inspected the pitted dented
scrapes marring the blood stained bone.

'They ate him, King; they fucking ate him.'

Tatters of Dimi's uniform clung to the walls of the
buildings, held aloft by gobbets of flesh like a macabre meat
wallpaper. Grey, flesh caked shards of femur lanced through his
trouser leg, like icebergs floating on a star strewn ink black sea.
Kingsley could hardly process what he was seeing. The ferocity and
senseless slaughter that lay before him was akin to nothing else he
had ever seen. His mouth hung agape as he looked around him.

'Who did this to him?'

Baker's eyes darkened.

'Not who King, it's a what, this is the same thing that
happened in Abu Naji, you just didn't see it when we were there.
Believe me if I get my hands on what ever did this to Dimi, they are
going to wish they had stayed dead.'

Reaching down, Baker curled the steel ball chain of
Dimi's dog tags in his hand and with a short, sharp tug tore them
free. Righting himself, he slipped the tags into a breast pocket on
his battle vest before tapping in the GPS co-ordinates of where he
stood.

'If we can, we're coming back and bringing Dimi home.'

Kingsley nodded before turning and walking out the
alleyway. Lifting his fingers to his throat Baker opened a connection
to Pottergate.

3

Pottergate's slightly nasal tones buzzed in Baker's ear
a split second later, the buzzing back feed making his ear itch with
the irritating noise.

'Baker?'

Baker paused for a fraction of a second as he ran his
next words over in his mind.

'Dimi's dead.'

There was a rolling silence that seemed to drag, time
elongating as it stretched out between them as Baker waited for a
reply.

'Noted; carry on as directed, we can deal with it once
the village is secure.'

Baker cut the connection not bothering to reply, anger
and sadness vying for control as he walked away from the carnage
behind him. Marching past the others Baker quickly fed a fresh
magazine into his rifle.

'Let's move, we got a village to clear.'

Baker heard the curious call rolling over the dust laden
air to him.

'Sergeant, where's Dimi?'

Baker never broke stride as he moved towards a worm
rotted plank door, he lifted his boot as he replied.

'Dead.'

Slamming his foot into the rotted wood, he kicked it
open, the brittle worm eaten timber splintered under the assault,
spinning against its hinges.

The weight of the door tore the hinges from the dry
crumbling block work sending it pin-wheeling into the room. The
muffled crash of the aged timber hitting the straw strewn floor
echoed out into the darkening sky’s.

Charging headlong into the small one story building
Baker scanned left and right. His optics casting a small, green, glow
over his eyes, encasing him in the daemonic glow of ethereal green
light. His rifle barked in his hands as he squeezed the trigger,
rounds arcing through the air as they tore into the soft flesh of the
creatures before him. The bright flash of his muzzle cast dancing
shadows over the walls as he moved with clinical ease through the
room.

The team struggled to catch up as Baker left the
building and careened into the next. Slamming shoulder first into the
door, Baker tumbled, rolling over his shoulder as he made it through
the doorway. He slid across the floor on his reinforced knee pad, the
illuminated optical sight dancing from target to target as Baker
fired driving a five point five six millimetre bullet through every
forehead he found.

The other four members splintered like a piece of rotten
drift wood smashing against a rock. Higgins and Dalescue moved onto
the next dwelling, the door hung ajar swinging gently on the swirling
breeze. Higgins slowly nudged the door with the barrel of his rifle;
the squeaking hinges set Dalescue's teeth on edge, as he peered into
the gloom. Dust hung thick in the air, Dalescue's breath caught in
his throat as he gazed at the scene before him.

The floor was awash with blood; it clung to everything
it touched. The acidic copper tang clung to the inside of their
throats like a limpet, sucking the oxygen from their lungs until the
all consuming scent of another humans blood filled them entirely.
Dalescue's feet shot out from under him as he stepped forward. He
slammed back first into the floor, the soft pattering splash of blood
echoing through the stillness of the room. The sound rumbled through
Higgins' ears as he watched the rippling crimson fluid flow over his
boots.

Looking up he cast his eyes on the mangled heap before
him, a soft lapping akin to the noise of a dog drinking wafted up
through the stillness to the two soldiers. Higgins slowly stepped
into the rapidly clotting mire of blood and raised his rifle to his
shoulder as he continued moving.

Gazing through the sights, he scanned the room as
Dalescue clambered to his feet. The blood clung to his boots, gluing
them to the floor as he tried to rise. His armoured knee pad, lifting
him slightly, as he managed to rise to his knees.

The sound of Dalescue's cumbersome movements through
the slime like pool of viscous fluid, made both men want to vomit.
The only thought that went through Higgins' mind was how much the
sound reminded him of wet glue covered Velcro as he lifted his foot
again, freeing it from the wet, gelatinous muck.

The noises stopped, both men froze where they were,
Dalescue's hand slowly inching towards his holstered side arm, his
rifle left sitting in the congealing pool beneath him as it hung from
its sling. Slowly the mass before them shifted, the lapping sound
replaced by the tumbling of dead meat hitting the wet surface beneath
its shifting bulk.

'Oh, Jesus.'

Higgins opened up, his rifle on full auto as he pumped
round after round into the pile before them. They descended upon the
two hapless men like wolves, teeth tearing into them before their
spent and empty shell casings hit the floor. Dalescue's screams
rolled down the hillside, echoing off the rock faces surrounding the
small village as his life was irrevocably taken from him.

Higgins' screaming form slammed through the door sending
it crashing back into the wall. Rawlings watched as he clawed at the
dirt, his fingers digging deeper and deeper into the harsh gritty
surface as he desperately tried to pull himself free. Rawlings
levelled his sights over Higgins' tear streaked face as he was slowly
and inexorably drawn backwards into the dark blood soaked hell he so
desperately wanted to be free of.

'Sorry, brother.'

The words left his lips in a soft whisper as Rawlings'
finger tightened on the trigger sending the seven point six two
millimetre round sailing into the cooling air of night's embrace and
through Higgins' head.

Baker and Jenkins slipped through the building, their
shadows dancing around them as they fired. The high velocity rounds
stitched through the soft, damp filled walls, pin pricks of light
arcing through the room, cutting through the gloom that hung like a
hot suffocating blanket over all it touched. Jenkins sprinted
forward, his blood pumping through his veins. The sound of his blood
pumping rang through his ears like a maelstrom, the rhythmic thump of
his own heart raging in his mind.

Turning, he headed up the stairs to his left, rifle
pulled tight into his shoulder as he moved upwards. His weapon arced
upwards as he stared up the stairway; the steps unfolding in front of
him sent images of M. C. Escher paintings skating through his mind.
Snapping left as he reached the top of the staircase; he moved along
a corridor the sounds enveloping him. He knew he was getting closer
and still above it all was the rhythmic, eternal, drumbeat of his
life moving him ever onward.

His gun spat as he fired on the move, dropping rounds
with precision into the heads of anything that came his way.
Dropping to a knee, he slid for several feet before coming to a stop
at the corner of an intersecting corridor.

'So, which way, boss?'

When no one answered, nothing replied, he glanced about
him scanning in every direction. It was then and only then that his
bravado and courage slipped. A cool snaking whisper of fear began to
worm its way through his mind as he realised finally just how alone
he had become.

4

Baker sprinted after Jenkins his mind boiling with the
anger he felt for the young Lance Corporal, his teeth ground down as
he muttered to himself.

'Damned whelp, just fucks off and leaves me in a room
full of Infected. I'll rip his fucking bollocks off if I find the git
in one piece.'

Shouldering the door out the way, he sprinted for the
stair case. As his right foot left the floor, his left flew from
under him. Turning in the air, he stared down into the face of
someone who by all rights should have been very much dead.