The Dead Walk The Earth II (25 page)

Bull nodded.

Another sound close by made them turn and raise their weapons. Two figures stepped out from the gloom and cautiously moved towards them.

“Have you two finished dicking about?” Stan’s voice asked impatiently in a low hoarse whisper. “We’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past hour.”

Bull and Bobby almost laughed out loud with relief. They had been expecting more infected to come rushing towards them but it was their commander coming to their rescue. Danny stood beside Stan and grinned back at Bobby.

“We could’ve done with your help a minute ago,” Bobby remarked as the four of them huddled into the cover of the wall.

“Yeah, we saw your little scrap but we didn’t want to get involved and end up getting our heads bashed in by you both,” Danny replied and indicated the sprawled body of the infected man lying close by.

“Your task complete?” Stan asked, looking from one to the other and keen to get away from the area.

“Yeah,” Bobby nodded. “All in place and good to go. What about the other two bins, did you get them planted?”

“All good,” Stan answered. “Everything went as planned and the baskets are secure. Now let’s get back.”

At the apartment block, the four men skulked back in through the gate at the main entrance and headed up the stairs. Marty had remained in the foyer, keeping an eye on their rear while Taff had positioned himself on the roof to afford a better over-watch and clearer communications with Stan while he went looking for Bobby and Bull.

“Go on, Bull,” Taff sneered. “What kind of drama have you been getting yourself into this time? Stan has been worried sick about you. He was pacing the house, ready to phone the police and report you guys missing.”

Stan checked his watch and looked out over the rooftops. The sun would be coming up within the next few hours and with their initial task completed, the operation would be reaching the next phase. He walked across the roof and checked on the factory to their rear. He could just about make out the gate leading in from the street. He eyed the wall that split the factory from the apartments with suspicion, searching for any gaps or weak points that they had not seen earlier. He hoped that once the music began the dead would not begin wandering in from the rear. The first of the noise boxes was just a few hundred metres away and they should be close enough for the infected to zero in on without too many of them straying into the complex by accident.

“We should try to get some sleep,” he said glancing at his watch again and looking across to the eastern horizon. “The fun and games will begin soon.”

Taff remained on the roof with Danny while the others moved down into the apartment to rest. Once first light arrived, Stan would remote trigger the music and then begin sending situation reports to the operations staff back on the Isle of Wight. The other teams that were scattered throughout the city would initiate phase-two at the same time and before long, there would be a mass exodus of rotting corpses converging on the respective locations and forming themselves into huge swarming targets for the bombers.

“I can see our house from here,” Danny pointed out childishly.

Taff turned and looked over to the north. Against the dark horizon, he could just make out the towering building that had once been their home before the spread of the infection. It was roughly three kilometres away and on the opposite side of the River Thames.

“That’s a shame,” Taff grumbled as he turned his attention back to the south.

“What is?”

“I left a very nice and expensive leather jacket behind in my wardrobe there. It cost me nearly three-hundred quid, mate.”

As first light arrived, the men assembled on the rooftop. They had all brewed themselves coffee and brought their cups up with them while they settled in to watch the beginning of the next phase in the operation. There would be very little for them to do other than observe and send situation reports while ensuring that their LTD, Laser Target Designator, remained aiming into the centre of mass. Taff had already set up the guidance system. It was placed on top of an extendable tripod, close to the roof’s edge and pointing towards the furthest junction where the first of the airstrikes would hit. He had checked the batteries and ensured that the sight was accurate to where the splash of the laser landed. 

Stan squatted close to the lip of the rooftop while the others sat beside him on stools and dining chairs that they had brought up from the apartment, slurping at their drinks with expressions of anticipation. He hit the remote and within seconds, the faint sounds of music began to drift up towards them.

“It’s not very loud, is it?” Taff snorted with disappointment as he strained to hear the low and incoherent sounds that only just managed to reach them.

“What did you expect, Taff, a bloody rave?” Bull replied as he turned his head and angled his ear towards the music bins.

Stan fumbled with the control-pad and finally worked out how to increase the volume. Soon, the entire area was blaring with sounds that the city had not heard in a long time while the men squinted, trying to identify the distorted music. Next, he began initiating the other two sound devices that were closer and within seconds, as he maximised the volume on each, the area became alive with music.

“What’s on the playlist?” Marty asked.

“I think it’s an opera?” Danny replied.

Bull shook his head and held up a silencing finger. The look upon his face was intense and he cocked his ear in the direction of the first junction. He could only hear snippets due to the echoes and distance, and the fact that all three bins were playing together and were out of sync. However, he was sure that he recognised fragments of the music. Finally, he smiled broadly and turned to the others with a glint in his eyes.

“Danny’s right,” he beamed elatedly and glared at Marty. “It’s an opera and it’s by Wagner. It’s Ride of the Valkyries.”

Marty could not hear it clearly but he smiled with pride and delight. He was especially pleased with the fact that the music being played was the regimental march of his and Bull’s old parent unit, The Parachute Regiment.

“You Paras,” Taff scoffed with a grin and shaking his head. “You’re all the fucking same. As soon as you hear that fat chick screeching away, you all get a hard-on.”

“Well it’s far more stirring than the marching tune that your lot used to play. What was it again? The theme tune to Laurel and Hardy, wasn’t it?”

Stan panned his binoculars over the junctions before him. The music had only been playing for a minute or so but already, hundreds of shuffling corpses were appearing out of every doorway and from every street. The sounds of Wagner filled the air and blotted out their moans. The instruments of the orchestra replaced the crashes and bangs of the dead as they bashed about within the buildings. He looked up towards the office block across the street. More faces had appeared at the windows and began pressing themselves against the glass in an attempt to reach the outside and follow their comrades towards the source of the music. He wondered how long it would be before the panes gave way and the bodies began tumbling out into thin air.

“Taff, go and join Bobby in the foyer and keep an eye on our rear. Let me know how we’re looking. We’ll double up the stags while those things are on the move.”

“Roger that, Stan,” Taff replied and moved off towards the stairwell leading down from the rooftop.

Inside the building, the music became muffled but it was still audible enough for him to hear and zero in on its direction. He began making his way down the flights of stairs and stopped to check on the S-Mine that they had stationed on the third floor. It was still securely in place and only needed the wire attaching and the safety pin pulling free to arm it. If any of the infected got inside the apartment block the team hoped that the detonation of the mine would buy them enough time to get out of the building and in to the factory complex or the adjacent street via the ropes they had attached to the roof.

In the foyer, he met up with Bobby who was huddled behind an overturned desk set back from the entrance. Up against the doorway, they had rebuilt the barricade as best they could with the furniture and appliances taken from the ground floor apartments. Bobby was watching the car park to the rear of the building and paying particular attention to the wide gate at the far end that lay open.

“How we looking, Bobby?” Taff whispered as he crouched down beside him and peered out through the buckled doorway.

“See for yourself,” Bobby replied and nodded to the patch of street that he could see beyond the gates. “I take it that the show has started?”

“Yeah. Wagner is in full swing and Bull and Marty are wanking themselves silly up there.”

Taff looked through the sight attached to the top of his M-4 and watched as a crowd of mottled greys and browns drifted along the road beyond the gates. He felt particularly relieved that none of them had ventured into the apartment grounds as yet and that the music seemed to be channelling them all in the right direction.

“Jesus,” Taff remarked open mouthed, “there must be thousands of them out there. This place will be teeming with those things in an hour.”

“I thought that was the idea, Taff?” Bobby asked sarcastically and reached for the flask of coffee he had sitting next to him.

“No strays as yet?”

“Not so far. They’re doing exactly what we want them to do but no doubt, there’s bound to be a few that come wandering in.”

“We can deal with a few of them,” Taff nodded. “I just hope that the batteries don’t die on those music bins. We’ll be up shit creek if that happens.”

“You had to say it, didn’t you,” Bobby glared at him. “Next you’ll mention the rain and then we’ll get pissed on too.”

Taff grinned back at him.

On the roof, Stan pulled out the antenna to the satellite phone and prepared to send his situation report. It had only been one hour since they initiated the second phase of the operation, and for a kilometre, stretching south and dissected by three major junctions, the road was already packed with the bodies of the undead. By now, the sounds of their cries and wails had merged into a crescendo as they competed against the music that was playing at maximum volume. Still, more and more of them were arriving and converging on the epicentres of the three sound devices. They were packed in between the buildings, shoulder to shoulder, and the sea of rotting flesh surged endlessly as they all jostled, pushed, and tugged at the bodies around them. It was impossible even to begin estimating their numbers.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Danny whispered as he sat staring at the closest of the intersections. A river of rot was flowing in from all angles, adding to the seething mass. “I wonder how the other teams are getting on.”

Stan made his call to headquarters. While their commander sent his report, Bull and Marty patrolled around the lip of the roof. They moved in a crouch, ensuring that their bodies were not exposed to the thousands of eyes in the streets below. They stopped at each of the corners of the building and peered down into the avenues running alongside of their position. Nothing of the tarmac or paving stones at ground level could be seen. Everything in the streets had been swallowed up in the torrent of corpses that trundled towards the junctions and the music. The entire city was on the move.

“Lucky for us that those dumb shits are like sheep,” Marty commented as they watched the empty car park to their rear and eyed the wall of the perimeter.

No infected had yet veered from the path of the mass and entered in through the open gates. They blindly followed the bodies in front and showed no interest in the wide open space of the parking lot. Bull bleated quietly as he watched the flow of corpses.

Stan closed down the antenna and turned to the others. His face showed no indication of how his situation report had been received.

“Well?” Bull queried up at him as he sat back into his chair. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Share the wealth, Stan.”

“One of the teams didn’t report in,” Stan began. “It was one of the Hereford bunch that was moving to their LUP through the sewers and tunnels beneath the city.”

“Bad comms or did they run into trouble?” Danny asked.

“Unknown,” Stan replied with a shrug.

“Poor bastards,” Marty huffed.

“I informed them that phase-two was appearing to be going as hoped. The other teams in position to the east and west are reporting similar results in their lanes. HQ will send up a drone later to have a look for themselves and begin an assessment on enemy numbers that can be destroyed once the airstrikes begin.

“Phase-three, the simultaneous assault on the harbour and airfield, and the start of the bombing runs on London, will still be going ahead and will begin at first light tomorrow. We should see the first of the assault troops being lifted into the south by mid-morning if all goes well at the airfield in Farnborough.”

“So we sit tight and wait for the fireworks then? Sounds good to me,” Bull grunted.

Still positioned in the foyer, Taff and Bobby cursed as the first of the dead broke away from the exodus and stumbled in through the gates.

15

Peter stood watching in awe as the Chinook helicopters lifted their huge bodies into the air beneath their twin rotors. The four mechanical giants soared into the sky creating a deafening upsurge of noise as their powerful engines went into high gear. He wondered how such bulky machines were able to get off the ground in the first place let alone fly, yet they lifted with grace and ease.

Flanked by a number of smaller aircraft, the troop carrying CH-47s were accompanied by an Apache ground attack helicopter and two Royal Navy Huey Cobras. The three gunships, glistening with a vast and deadly array of heavy machineguns and missiles, would provide close air support as the assault troops disembarked from the Chinooks at the airfield in Farnborough. Once on the ground, the fighting men and women would begin securing the fuel depot and setting up a defensive perimeter while the menacing attack helicopters hovered close overhead.

The scream of the engines began to fade as the aircraft gained height and headed towards the north, leaving a strange calm to settle over the windswept grassy field where more troops patiently waited with their equipment and weapons for their turn to join in with the attack on the mainland.

Peter and his brother, Michael, sat huddled together in silence and watching the goings on around them. There were thousands of soldiers sitting about in nervous anticipation. Many of whom like Peter and his brother, had been recruited into the civilian militia just three weeks before. Some were quiet and others laughed and joked with false bravado but it was clear that
all
were afraid. With only the most basic of training, large numbers of refugees had been armed with rifles and sent to join in on the retaking of the mainland. Some had volunteered, eager to escape from the squalid conditions of the camps and receive the extra rations that had been promised to those who offered their services. Others had been manipulated and forced into joining the newly formed and ill-trained militias.

The regular troops were to be used in the first waves, with the likes of Peter and Michael being sent in only as reinforcements and auxiliaries, helping with rear guard actions, maintaining security cordons, and facilitating with the immense task of resupply. They had been assured that they would not be used at the front unless it was essential and all they were expected to do was to support the men and women fighting in the line and help maintain the security of recaptured areas.

Still, despite the assurances of the army commanders, Peter remained sceptical of their perceived role. He failed to see how they could not eventually find themselves at the spearhead of the assault. The task was far too great for the amount of professional soldiers that the army had available. He had no previous military training but still, even
he
could see that the regular troops would be hard pressed to accomplish their objectives on their own. With the numbers of infected that they were expecting to come up against, it was only a matter of time before the reserve units and militias were thrown into the battle.

Michael, on the other hand, viewed it all as a big adventure. He was delighted at the prospect of riding in the helicopters and treated the whole thing as a game. On several occasions, Peter needed to remind his brother about the danger they were facing. He even had to remove the magazine from Michael’s rifle to prevent him from getting carried away and shooting himself or someone else from overexcitement.

Peter was scared. He firmly believed that they should all play a part in the recapture of the mainland, but nevertheless, he dreaded seeing what had become of his country. He reeled in trepidation at the thought of facing the immense numbers of infected that they expected to encounter in and around the city of London. All his life, he had been a sceptic and prone to realistic thinking and now, with the operation underway, his thoughts were flooded with pessimistic views on the outcome of the invasion. Looking around him, he watched the other members of the militia. They were far from the toughened, well-trained, well equipped, and experienced soldiers that had just taken off in the helicopters. They were a rag-tag army of civilian men and women of all shapes and ages, and from all walks of life. None of them had received more than two weeks’ worth of training and most of that had been taken up with learning how to handle the weapons safely, never mind how to shoot them with any degree of accuracy.

Peter looked at the grinning face of his brother. The boy was only eighteen years old but his mental ability was much younger. All of his life, Peter had looked out for him. He had sacrificed a career and countless relationships with girls in order to keep an eye on his brother and help him along through a world in which Michael understood very little. When the call to arms had gone up in the refugee camps, Peter had volunteered them both.

For months, they had been living on scraps, surrounded by the sick and the dying, and perpetually at risk of being attacked by other refugees as the strong preyed upon the weak. It was a Darwinian existence within the fences of the camps and the term ‘survival of the fittest’ had become as commonly used as ‘hello’ and ‘good morning’ or, ‘I’m hungry’. Peter and Michael were far from being amongst the
fittest
and their survival depended on them getting out of the refugee camp.

Strange looks and questions had been directed at Michael at the recruitment centre and Peter had feared that his brother would be sent back to the camps. With some quick thinking and clever words, Peter had managed to convince the recruiters that Michael would be a valuable asset in the coming weeks and that he would personally look after him. Now, Michael sat holding his unloaded rifle in his hands, smiling broadly, and constantly shuffling his feet impatiently.

“When are the helicopters coming back, Pete?”

Peter shrugged and reached into his pocket for his cigarettes.

“I don’t know, Mikey. To be honest, I’m hoping they’ll take their time in turning around. This isn’t going to be a fun trip, you know.”

“Helicopters are fun.”

“Not when they’re dropping you off into a crowd of dead people that want to eat you, they’re not, Mike.”

“Oh,” Michael said and looked down disappointedly, “I forgot about them. Do you think there’ll be lots of them?”

Peter shrugged again and was about to answer when a car horn to their right let out a long single blast. Everyone that was gathered in the field stopped what they were doing and fell silent. They all turned and saw a green painted army Land Rover with a figure standing on top of the roof. The man stared back at them and scanned his eyes over the thousands of bobbing heads that watched him expectantly. It was their Battalion Commander, Colonel Moore.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the militia,” the Colonel began as he lifted the megaphone to his mouth. His voice was crisp and clear through the speaker and as always, he reminded Peter of the stereotypical British officer from old war movies.

“As you are all well aware, the counter offensive to reclaim the mainland has begun,” the Colonel continued. “As we speak, the forward elements of the airborne assault are moving towards the airfield at Farnborough. There, they will clear and secure the area in order for our aircraft to begin refuelling. Thus, enabling us to bring in more reinforcements from the island and onto the mainland.

“Simultaneously, a joint amphibious and airborne operation is being launched against the harbour at Portsmouth. Once this task is completed, landing craft will then be able to start delivering troops, vehicles, and supplies onto the mainland where they will begin their thrust northwards to link up with the units at Farnborough.

“There, the assault troops will quickly reorganise and then begin moving forward by helicopter towards the southern outskirts of London. Once the break-in is achieved, a ground column will move up from the airfield in support of the break-in while our Chinooks help with immediate reinforcement.

“With the aid of our Special Forces, large numbers of the infected are being herded into mass groups at key points within the city. Aircraft from the navy and air force are about to begin their bombing missions on these concentrations and should effectively reduce the enemy numbers facing our soldiers within the built-up area.”

As if on cue, a loud violent roar suddenly filled the sky above them as the first wave of Tornado and Typhoon jets took off from the HMS Illustrious and shot overhead, screeching across the heavens towards the north until they became nothing but black dots in the distance. The deafening howl of their jet engines drowned out any sound made on the ground but Peter saw the faces of the people around him and imagined the gasps of awe as they looked on at the demonstration of power and dominance provided by the pilots.

The atmosphere on the ground was one of extreme excitement and confidence. No one doubted that in the near future they would be returning to their homes and rebuilding their lives and their country as the war against the dead would soon be over. Everyone appeared keen to join in with the fight and many began to cry out impatiently, concerned that the battle would be finished before they had their chance to play a part.

Peter was in no hurry. He hoped that the operation would go according to plan and be successful. He wanted nothing more than to be liberated from the camps and the fear and stress of having to survive from day to day. However, he was free from any of the illusions that seemed to infect all those around him. Their enthusiasm, though infectious to most of the other survivors, gained no ground within Peter’s soul. Humanity was on the back foot and severely outnumbered by the army of dead. It was estimated that ninety-five percent of the population either were amongst the ranks of the enemy, or had been consumed by them. The war would not be over any time soon and he was confident that there would be plenty of time and opportunities for the men and women of the militia to get their rifles dirty.

“This will be no easy fight. Our enemy is vast and unflinching in its resolve. The dead feel no fear and are incapable of reason. They have no consideration for the dangers they face and will not hesitate to attack us, regardless of our overwhelming firepower. It will be a hard fight and a fight we must win. Our species depends upon our ability to reclaim our lands and free our cities of the plague infestations.

“That is just the first sortie on their way to London,” Colonel Moore shouted through the megaphone with vigour and pointing towards the faint black specks as they headed towards the northern horizon. “More will take off over the next few minutes and wave after wave will decimate the ranks of the monsters swarming our capital. Our soldiers will walk over a carpet of bone and ash as they victoriously take back our beloved homeland.”

A cheer went up as the crowd surged with enthusiasm. They clapped their hands together and reassuringly grasped the shoulders and arms of the people standing close by, demonstrating their solidarity.

“Listen to your commanders and have confidence in the men and women who lead you. Protect the people at your side and remember, you are fighting for the human race.”

Again, the mass of men and women standing in the field erupted with vivacity and applauded their commander. Colonel Moore gave a nod of acknowledgement to his assembled troops, climbed down into the passenger seat of his vehicle, and headed off, back to the command centre in the town of Newport.

Peter remained unimpressed. Their leader had given them a speech to rile them up and bestowed his confidence in them and their abilities. However, the Colonel would not be joining them on the ground. He would be staying on the island and would command from far behind the front lines with a large body of water acting as a protective moat. His subordinate officers would be leading the fight and it was them to whom the people of the militia would turn to when the battle raged.

“Whatever happens, Mikey,” Peter said as he turned to his brother and held him tightly by his arm, “stay close to me. Don’t allow yourself to get separated. Do you understand?”

Michael looked back at him in confusion. He could not understand his brother’s concern. The thought of sitting in the helicopter was all that was at the forefront of his mind at that moment and he wondered why Peter did not show the same excitement.

An hour later and Peter found himself cursing the Gods as he sat strapping himself into a row of seats along the interior of one of the Chinooks. Somehow, he and his platoon of militia had been selected to be in the first wave of reinforcements to head up towards the airfield. They had been given no information on what was happening or how the counter offensive was fairing so far, only that they, the militia, were moving. Their commander, a young second Lieutenant from the regular army, had ordered them to board the helicopter and all had complied without question.

The aircraft was filled to bursting point with troops and supplies and Peter sat staring at the stacked crates of ammunition in the centre of the fuselage with anxiety. He was no expert but from what he could tell, there must have been a lot of fighting going on around the airfield to require such a large resupply already. He looked about at the nervous expressions on the faces of the other men and women. Their eyes glittered with apprehension and their feet and hands fidgeted continuously.

Michael, however, was beside himself. He was thrilled to be finally getting the ride he had looked forward to so much. He whooped and cheered as he shuffled in his seat, eager to experience the helicopter lift off from the ground. He twisted and turned endlessly, arching his neck so that he could see out through the small round windows behind him and confirming that they were still not yet airborne. He did not want to miss that particular moment. He wanted so much to see the ground receding below them as the aircraft lifted up into the air and gained altitude until the people and buildings below appeared like toys.