The Lingering (11 page)

Location: eighteen miles North West of mission drop zone

Date: June 23rd 2013

Time: 3 p.m.

Archer stopped and checked his GPS. They were making good time, and if they kept up their pace they would make the outskirts of Melbourne just after nightfall. He turned and looked at his team. Luckily, it was the southern hemisphere’s winter, subsequently the weather was more hospitable for a long hike, and his teammates still looked fresh.

“I think it’s time to stop for some grub,” said Archer as he dropped his pack to the ground. “Dallas, take the watch.”

“Damn it, Boss, I always get the watch when it’s time to eat. Can’t Bouchard or Fairclough take it, I’m starving.”

Archer pulled a ration pack from his kit, and dropped to the ground beside his gear. He stared at Dallas as he began to dig into his dehydrated meal.

“Fine!” exclaimed Dallas as he kicked at the dirt.

The young warrior headed for a small nest of rocks with his head hung low. He looked like a sulking child being sent to his room.

“Hey, mon ami,” called Bouchard after him. Dallas turned. “I will enjoy this all the more knowing you are ‘ungry.”

The large Frenchmen laughed and sniffed at his rations, he then rubbed his stomach, and licked his lips mockingly.

Dallas flipped him the bird and said, “Screw you, Frenchy, I hope it tastes like shit!”

As Dallas watched over them, they ate their meagre meals and talked about what had happened earlier that day. They talked about the herd, and how it had reacted at the demise of one of its own. They discussed what it meant to the mission, and more importantly, what it meant to the world at large.

Fairclough stowed his empty ration pack back in his gear and shook his head slowly. “All I know is I’ve not seen anything like that before. Now I’m not saying I’d want a herd that size roaming around the countryside, but I must admit they seemed harmless.”

Bartholomew nodded her agreement. “They are harmless, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t cause harm.”

Bouchard looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”

She stretched out and leaned against her pack. “While most of The Lingering aren’t like biters. To be exact, only nine percent of the Lingering pose a physical threat through attack. The bigger hazard posed by them is disease. For instance, about seventy years ago a herd stumbled into a dam in China. Within six months thousands had fallen to a water born version of The Lingering virus. So with that in mind, we need to control them from a health point of view. Does that mean sending them here is right? Well, I’m not so sure of that.”

Archer stood and stretched his back. “What would you do, Doc? You say they pose a health risk, so what else can we do with them?”

She shaded her eyes and looked up at him. “Isolation
is
the only way, but not like this. We have an obligation to treat them with dignity. Letting them wander under a baking sun isn’t right. We should make sure they have shelter, and when their end is near, we should dispatch them humanely. Simply letting them rot to the point of collapse is wrong.”

Bouchard lowered his helmet over his eyes and said, “I ‘ave to agree with the doc. I ‘ave always thought The Lingering ‘ave been treated like animals, yet they are what we all become. I say we put the doc in charge of looking after all The Lingering.”

Archer let out a short laugh. “That’s very magnanimous of you, Lucien, but maybe Kathryn would like a future without dealing with the walking dead.”

Bouchard raised his helmet on one large finger. “Since when did you start calling the doc Kathryn?”

Archer felt his face flush. “She’s a member of the team; I call you all by your first names from time to time.”

Bouchard blew him a kiss and lowered his helmet. “Sure, Boss, whatever you say.”

Archer took a step closer to the big Parisian, but stopped when Dallas’s voice reverberated in his ear.

“Boss, we got company heading this way.”

Archer turned and looked towards Dallas’s location. “Show time people, you know the drill.”

Bouchard and Fairclough jumped to their feet and reshouldered their loads. Archer offered Bartholomew his hand, but she shook her head and got to her feet on her own. Within seconds all four were dashing for Dallas’s high ground.

Archer hunkered down beside Dallas and gestured for him to pass him his binoculars. Dallas handed over the high-powered set of lenses and shuffled sideways on his stomach.

“I’m going to shovel down some chow before the action starts,” said Dallas in a low voice as he pulled his rations from his kit.

Archer surveyed the distant horizon and saw a cloud of dust slowly heading their way. He increased the magnification to the device’s maximum, and zoomed in on the cause of the dust storm.

Six Lingering, all clearly biters, were chained to the bull-bar of a heavily armoured four wheel drive. To Archer, it looked like the biters were being used as bloodhounds, and he and his team were the prey. He focused on the windows of the large vehicle, but its window tint made it impossible to see how many people travelled inside. It was big, and he guessed it could hold as many as eight people.

He lowered the glasses and turned to Dallas, who now franticly devoured his food.

“This is why I give you watch so much. You have a keen eye, and you never let me down. Good work.” He turned to Fairclough.

“We have an armoured vehicle heading this way, and it’s using six biters to sniff us out. I want you and Bouchard to stay here with the doc, and I want you to set up that jamming device you have.

“Me and Dallas are going to head out and draw them to us. We’re going to try and get all the occupants of the vehicle out in the open. If that happens, then you two are going to pick them off quick smart.

“No matter what happens, don’t move from here until I give the okay. If things go wrong, then I want you to make for the extraction point and hightail it back home.”

Bartholomew tapped his leg, and he looked down at her. “Yes, Doctor?”

“If you two get — well — you know, why can’t Bouchard and Fairclough try to get me where I need to go?”

Archer looked towards the nearing dust cloud, then back to her. “Clearly someone has figured out we’re here, but with luck they may not know exactly where. We can jam their radio, which will buy us some time. But if things go wrong, then the mission is a bust and there’s no point continuing.”

Archer looked at Fairclough, and his old friend nodded. He then turned to the youngest of his men and said, “Right, Dallas, if you’ve finished, you’re with me.”

The two men descended from the lookout point and started jogging away. They headed North-West, which would put the sun behind them, and directly in their hunter’s eyes. It took almost twenty minutes for the approaching vehicle to spot the pair, but when it did, it made a bee-line straight for them. Both men ceased their jog and turned towards the approaching caravan of death.

“Stay sharp, and don’t make any moves until I do,” said Archer out of the corner of his mouth.

The vehicle and its biters were now so close that the pair could smell the rotting flesh of The Lingering. They could also hear the creature’s hungry growls. Dallas shot his boss an anxious glance, and Archer returned his subordinate a reassuring nod.

The vehicle drew to a stop with the biters less than an arm’s length from the two. The decomposing creatures swung wildly at them, and Archer could feel their drool splattering against his face. He could sense that Dallas wanted to react. But if he did, they would both be dead.

“Steady, Dallas, not ‘til I give the go ahead,” uttered Archer in a low voice. His young comrade settled, but only a little.

“Put your hands above your heads!” boomed a voice from speakers set atop the four wheel drive’s roof. “If you make any sudden moves, we’ll let loose the biters!”

“We’re from the HMS
Singleton,”
shouted Archer, improvising a story on the spot. “Our chopper went down just off the coast, so we headed for land — thank God you found us.”

“Shut it! Don’t try to bullshit your way out of the mess you’re in. We know your story is crap, so the best thing you can do now is comply.”

“Okay, okay, you’re the boss,” replied Archer in the most intimidated voice he could muster. “Just keep those things off us.”

“I want you to slowly back away from the biters, and drop to your knees with your hands behind your heads.”

A winch on the front of the vehicle’s bull-bar burst to life, and started to wind in the biters to a shorter leash. Once the snarling creatures were all but pinned to the front of the vehicle, the doors opened and two large men in khaki appeared.

The one to the left levelled an M16 at their heads. The one to the right strolled towards them casually, and laid a boot into the side of Dallas’s head. As the young warrior at Archer’s side hit the ground, the head of the thug standing over him exploded, as did Mr M16’s.

The doors to the vehicle slammed shut, and the six biters suddenly leaped towards Archer and his fallen teammate. Archer acted without hesitation. One hand went for his throat mike, the other pulled his weapon.

“Take care of the biters!” he yelled into the mike as he sprang to his feet. “I’ll take care of the vehicle.”

Without paying any attention to the biters heading his way, Archer ran towards the four wheel drive with his gun raised. The heads of the biters closest to him began to explode like ripe pomegranates left out in the sun too long. He raised his SA80 carbine and started pommeling the windscreen of the slowly pulling away vehicle. In less than a second the windscreen yielded to the barrage of bullets, and Archer watched on as the driver slumped to the wheel, dead. There were two others in the now stationary four by four. Panicked, they hurried to bring their weapons to bear on him, but they were too slow. Archer cut them to ribbons with one withering burst of gunfire.

With the tip of his carbine still smoking, Archer turned to lay down fire on the biters, but Fairclough and Bouchard had left him none to deal with. He lowered his gun and reached for his throat mike.

“Area secure. You better double time it down here because all this blood will attract biters for miles around.”

“Understood,” replied Bouchard. “On our way.”

Dallas began to groan, and tried to lift himself from the dirt. Archer dashed over to him and knelt at his side.

“Steady, you took a nice shot to the head.”

Dallas released his chin strap and allowed his helmet to fall to the ground. The left side of his face bore the imprint of a boot. His hand went to his cheek, and he moved his jaw side-to-side. “Nothing seems broken,” he said as he spat a tooth on the ground. He looked around at the carnage. “Damn, I missed the party.”

Archer stood and offered him his hand. “Come on, we need that four wheel drive cleaned out. This place will be swarming with biters soon, so we need a quick exit strategy, which means we’re taking their wheels.”

Dallas grabbed Archer’s hand and hauled himself to his feet. “Let me guess, the inside of the car looks like a bloodbath, and we need to wash it clean.”

Archer smiled. “Not we … you. I have to stand watch ‘til the others get here.”

Dallas threw his hands in the air. “Man, why do I get all the shit jobs.”

Archer laughed and slapped him on the back. “Because you’re the baby of the team.”

Location: twenty-four miles North West of mission drop zone

Date: June 23rd 2013

Time: 4:45 p.m.

By the time the others reached Archer and Dallas, two things had happened. The first was Dallas had all but finished mopping all the viscera from the vehicle. The second, and more alarming thing, was a large number of biters had formed on the horizon.

Through Dallas’s binoculars, Archer stared at the swarm building in the distance. When he’d first spotted them, he’d needed maximum magnification, but now he only needed a low setting to make out their grotesque features. He estimated the swarm was less than two miles from their location, and what made matters worse, they stood between them and their target. They would have to plough through the swarm to make it to Melbourne.

Archer lowered the glasses and turned to his team. “There’s a swarm heading this way, I’d say they number at least six or seven hundred. The swarm is too big to go around, so we’re going to go through it.”

They all looked at him, and he could see the disbelief in their eyes, but he continued anyway. “We’ve handled swarms before, this is no different.”

Fairclough stepped forward. “With respect, Boss, this is a whole lot different. We had backup then, and we weren’t in hostile territory.”

Archer stared at his old friend for a few seconds. “We have a mission to carry out, and this is just an obstacle.”

Fairclough took him by the arm. “Nathan, this isn’t an obstacle, it’s a dead end. We need to pull back and find another route.”

Archer guided him away from the rest of the team. He knew the others would follow wherever he and Fairclough went, but if his oldest ally showed any kind of dissent, then the team would no longer function.

Once they were out of earshot of the others, Archer asked, “Have I ever steered this team wrong?”

Fairclough gazed towards the concerned looking group, then back to his battle-hardened companion. “Nathan, we’ve known each other a long time, and I’m not trying to undermine you, but you need to think about this. If the car was intact, then maybe it would be worth the try, but with the windscreen shot out — well it’s just crazy. We should pull-out.”

Archer rubbed at his forehead. Why couldn’t his friend see what he could?

“Pete, we’re not pulling out, we’re continuing with the mission as ordered. If we pull out we won’t get another chance, so I’m not throwing this opportunity away.”

Fairclough shook his head. “What makes you think we won’t get another pop at this?”

Archer pointed to the four-wheel drive. “That does, Pete! They know we’re here, so in the future they’ll be locking this place down tighter than a drum. They’ll be no more chances after this one, so this is it. Either we succeed now, or we give up and forget it.”

Fairclough turned and stared at the bullet-strewn car. “I’m getting old and slow minded, you’re right, as usual.”

Archer slapped his friend on the shoulder and headed back to those watching them intently. “Bouchard, I want your grenade launcher and all its rounds.”

“Sure, Boss.”

Bouchard swung his gear off his immense shoulder and laid it on the ground. He knelt, and rummaged through his myriad of equipment.

A moment later Archer reached him, and the Frenchman handed over the compact weapon and all its ammo. Archer turned his gaze back towards the swarm, which was now so close he could smell their stench.

“Bouchard, you take the wheel. Fairclough, I want you beside him riding shotgun. Dallas, you’re behind Fairclough. Make sure he never runs dry, and look after the doc. Kathryn, I need you as far back in the car as you can get. I also want communications left open and clear shout-outs if any of you have a problem.”

“Where will you be, Boss?” asked Dallas as he clicked off the safety on his gun.

Archer pointed to the vehicle’s heavy-duty roof rack. “I’ll be up there, clearing a path with the grenades.”

Bouchard started to shake his head, but Archer raised his hand. “I don’t want to hear it, Lucien, just get behind the wheel and give me a smooth ride. Now let’s move.”

Archer stood on the sidebars of the four by four, and placed the launcher and grenades into the six-inch high cage of the roof rack. He heaved himself up and plopped down beside them. The cage of the rack covered the entire roof of the vehicle, and at least two-thirds of it brimmed with equipment and supplies. He quickly set about the task of clearing enough room for himself and his weapons. In little over a minute, he’d managed to clear a sizable space. He used the ropes, which had tethered the equipment to the rack, to tie himself securely in place.

He picked up the launcher and placed the sight to his eye. The swarm was now only a few hundred yards away, and it was closing in on them fast.

Archer yelled into his open mike. “Bouchard, punch it!” He then let loose the first of his grenades.

The tiny projectile tore towards the mass of walking dead at near ballistic speed, and Bouchard did his best to keep up with it. Both the four by four and the grenade headed for the swarm on a collision course. However, the grenade found them first. The diminutive explosive erupted, vaporizing at least a dozen of the closest biters, and maiming roughly another twenty.

Mere seconds before the fast moving vehicle ploughed into the swarm, Archer fired again. The car lurched violently as it made contact with the wall of rotting flesh and bone. Bodies exploded, and viscera sprayed into the air like waves breaking on a rocky shore.

Archer heard the grind of gears as Bouchard dropped the vehicle into its low range and ploughed on. Now Fairclough’s gun peppered the onslaught of living corpses, many of whom were trying to enter through the open windshield. Again, Archer let loose a grenade. Three more and he would be out.

Suddenly from behind, he felt a hand clawing at his helmet. Without taking his hand off the launcher, or his eyes off the swarm, he grabbed up his carbine with his free hand and fired backwards over his head. He felt the warm, sticky sensation of blood on the back of his neck, but he ignored it. He dropped the carbine, and loaded another grenade, then another, and finally the last. His final barrage of grenades cut a swathe of blood and guts through the onslaught, and Bouchard took full advantage of it. The car accelerated hard, slamming Archer backwards into the boxes and cargo still on the rack.

Stars filled his vision, and it took several precious seconds for them to clear. Archer opened his eyes wide, and for the first time, spotted a biter perched atop the boxes above him. Its mouth opened wide in a cavernous display of teeth and filth. In one fluid, almost beautiful move, Archer pulled his knife and sliced the ropes tethering him to the roof rack. A second later, his blade found the right eye of the biter, finishing its miserable existence.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his gun from his side, and moved quickly to inspect the rear of the car.

Archer climbed over the boxes and other miscellaneous objects blocking his way. As he passed the limp body of the biter he’d just dispatched, he paused. Instinctively, he let loose with a boot-clad foot, and sent it crashing over the edge of the rack and into the horde below.

He was on the move again, and made light work of the boxes and crap barricading the rear of the vehicle. Finally, he reached the rear and peered down over its edge. Three biters clung to the spare wheels attached to the doors, but his carbine made quick work of removing them.

He turned to look at the onslaught. They were well over half the way through the swarm, but without the grenade launcher, the going would be tougher. He leaped to the front of the roof rack, and opened fire on the creatures trying to mount the bonnet.

Fairclough’s voice suddenly rang in his ear. “Boss, we got trouble!”

“Talk to me, Pete,” yelled Archer as he emptied his clip.

“The engine is overheating. The radiator must be blocked by all the biters we’ve ripped through.”

Archer looked back at the rack’s cargo, and stared at something he’d only spotted moments earlier. A fire extinguisher marked H2o.

“I’m on it, just don’t slow down,” said Archer as he threw his weapon over his shoulder, and grabbed for the red cylinder filled with high-pressured water. “Fairclough, I’m coming down onto the bonnet, so watch where you’re shooting.”

Without further warning, he tucked the extinguisher under his arm, and leaped down. Instantly he dropped to his stomach, so his teammate could resume his relentless pommeling of the swarm. Archer felt bullets whizzing past him with only inches to spare. He knew he only had a few seconds before the biters would grab him, so he wedged the extinguisher between the bull-bar and the grill, and started washing away the chunks of flesh strangling the cooling system.

As he expected, hands started clawing at him, but Fairclough dealt with the owners of the hands indomitably. Each time ravenous fingers grabbed for him, Fairclough would first sever the arm with a single shot, then end its unfortunate owner with a bullet to the head. However, as efficient as Fairclough was, the number of biters lunging for Archer were quickly becoming too much to handle. Soon Fairclough’s valiant efforts would not be enough to keep his leader safe.

“Boss, hurry the hell up!” screamed Fairclough as he grabbed another gun from Dallas’s hand. “They’re coming too quick.”

“Two more seconds!” replied Archer.

Fairclough looked at Bouchard, and both men moved as one. Each lunged through the open windscreen and grabbed one of Archer’s ankles. Then in one fluid motion, they yanked him backwards into the car.

Archer landed in a crumpled heap beside the gearshift, and the expression on his face showed an indignant displeasure.

“Sorry, Boss,” said Fairclough as he resumed his attack on the hungry horde. “We didn’t have two seconds to give you.”

Archer opened his mouth to reprimand his old friend, but before he could utter a word, the sound of breaking glass forced his attention elsewhere. The sidebars, which ran along both sides of the vehicle, now seemed to be carrying an inordinately large number of biters, some of which had just managed to break into the vehicle.

“Bouchard,” yelled Archer as he pulled his sidearm. “How long ‘til we clear the swarm, and how’s the engine looking?”

“One to two minutes, Boss, and the engine temp is dropping fast. Looks like you did a good job with that extinguisher.”

Archer raised his gun and obliterated the heads of two biters trying to get to Bartholomew. “Gun it, Lucien, we’re running out of time!”

Archer dashed towards the rear of the vehicle, where Dallas had his hands full defending the doctor. Two biters now had their whole upper torsos through the broken windows, and they were desperately trying to pull the rest of their bodies through the jagged glass. While Kathryn Bartholomew kicked wildly at the head of one of the biters, Dallas pommelled the other with the butt of his gun. Archer knew using his gun was not an option. The biters were just too close to his teammates, so he threw it to one side and pulled his knife. He leaped towards the melee and plunged his knife deep in the back of the closest biter. Then using the knife as a handle, he hauled the creature into the car, and out of his way. The biter slammed to the floor in the centre of the vehicle, and as he passed the writhing pile of decaying hunger, his boot found its head. With one swift stomp, it posed a threat no more.

The other biter was much larger than the one he had just dispatched, and much fresher. It looked only a few months into its long existence, and because of its relatively in-tacked physique, it was proving harder to beat. Both Dallas and Bartholomew struggled with it, but they were losing ground fast. Another inch or so, and it would have its hands around the doctor’s throat.

“We’re clear!” announced Bouchard through the open communication’s link. “We did it, we’re fucking clear!”

Archer had no time to celebrate. Instead, he launched himself onto the biter’s back and began to pull against its onslaught. He could feel every muscle and sinew of the biter working towards its goal. A goal he would never allow it to achieve.

With a roar of exertion, Archer threw his whole body weight into pulling the biter off Kathryn. A second later, the snap of the foul things spine resonated through the now almost silent vehicle. Archer tumbled backwards with the biter still tightly in his grip, and fell onto the one he’d dispatched seconds earlier.

He now had a thrashing living corpse on top of him, and a dead one below. The thing in his grip thrashed with a renewed vigour, and its head smashed into his nose, sending blood gushing over his face. Smelling the blood, the biter’s attention turned to the man restraining it. It now tried to turn so it could sink its teeth into his face.

Suddenly the biter went limp, and Archer looked up into the face of his old friend, Fairclough. He returned his eyes to the biter, and saw a knife handle sticking out of one of the biters ears, and the tip of the blade out of the other. Archer shoved the now limp body off him, and got to his feet.

“Bouchard, put at least ten miles between us and the swarm; then stop so we can clear out these bodies.”

A gunshot caused him to flinch, and he turned to see Dallas shooting a biter still clinging to the car. He turned back to his old friend.