World War Moo (36 page)

*   *   *

The bang blew away the last remnants of sleep clinging to Tony, who had only just woken in alarm with the blare of the Klaxons. He hauled on his trousers and ran outside in his bare feet. Glen had emerged from his neighboring room, and together they looked at the cloud of smoke rising above the buildings.

“It's started,” Tony said, switching his gaze to the sky to see what was dropping out of it. He saw nothing against the dark sheath of clouds.

Glen had his radio out and was talking urgently into it. “Is it an air raid?”

Tony didn't catch the reply.

“Car bombs?” Glen said.

“No, cow bombs,” the crackly voice on the other side said, more loudly.

Glen and Tony stared at each other incredulously.

“What the fuck is going on?” Tony said.

“I have no idea. But we're clearly under attack.”

“We need to get the sub out now.”

Glen got on the radio again, giving orders as the screams of wounded men reached Tony's ears. This had to be the first phase of the attack. While he couldn't see the warplanes, he was sure they were tearing overhead somewhere and about to follow-up on the ground assault. And if they were here they would also be over London. All of his carefully laid plans were shattered. It was too late for a deterrent, and Piers would never answer his calls now the attack was underway. He was too cowardly for that. The rage came on, so strong that he didn't even think of Spock. Margot and Vanessa would be safe in the bunker, for the moment at least. He wouldn't survive this first wave, but that no longer mattered. All he knew was that the moment he'd thought so much about was upon him. He didn't rehash all of the moral arguments, didn't think of the lives that would be lost, didn't think of anything except the one action he could take. It wasn't too late to keep the promise he made to Vanessa. Even if they launched their neutron bombs, there would be no reason to continue with the next wave once the virus was out. Margot and Vanessa could emerge from the bunker in a few weeks, into a new world where nobody would try to kill them because they were different.

“Tell them to fire the missiles as soon as they get to open water,” he said, his voice low and guttural.

“Gladly,” Glen said. “Now let's get to the control room.”

 

32

“How many did we get?” Scholzy said into the radio as Ruan gaped at the black cloud drifting toward them.

“I'm not sure,” Geldof said. “There's a lot of smoke. I can see at least a dozen coming toward the explosion.”

“Then we'll try to go around them. Geldof, talk us in along a clear path. Make sure that mad Irishman keeps them pinned down.”

Scholzy stood up, shifting the strap of the RPG launcher slung across his back. He also had his automatic weapon, and the pockets of his cargo pants were stuffed with spare clips. The other two mercenaries were similarly well-armed and protected by body armor. Ruan had her pistol with fresh clips provided by Scholzy. Lesley toted Mick's automatic weapon. Fanny and Tom clutched bows. Scott had his staff. Andy carried a bag of grenades, foisted on him after he'd initially insisted he would stick to his eggs. Nayapal had only his fists, which Ruan had a sneaking suspicion would be of limited use against a hail of bullets.

“We're going to have to do it the hard way,” Scholzy said. “Are you ready?”

Absolutely not
, Ruan thought. She'd been in enough combat to understand what it took to face death. This was different. It would be like stepping into a proper war zone: bullets and grenades flying from all angles, a distant enemy trained to kill, noise and fury and pretty much certain death. But she had to do it. She'd bought Lesley's argument that a missile launch from that submarine would prompt an instant nuclear response. That meant they would all be dead anyway. Lesley's story leading to the attack on Britain being called off was a slim hope, but it was the only one they had. She nodded along with all the others. Their fear was apparent in the stark, shadowy lines drawn around their mouths.

“We're going to have to stick the last charges onto the sub manually,” Scholzy said. “Me, James, and Peter will lead. Try not to get in our way or get shot. Consider yourself substitutes. If one of us goes down, pick up the gun and follow whoever is left.”

Giving them no time to answer, Scholzy and his men sprinted toward the hole in the fence. They moved with easy confidence, like this was something they'd done a hundred times before. Of the others, only Fanny looked like she belonged with them, an arrow nocked in the bow and a half smile on her face as she loped alongside Ruan.

“Can you try not to look like you're enjoying this so much?” Ruan said. “I'm crapping myself.”

“Can't help it,” Fanny said. “I've wanted to storm this base for over twenty years.”

Geldof instructed them to turn left, away from the concentration of troops and the smoke that would obscure their vision. They ran along the fence, Ruan's pulse hissing in her ears as she waited for bullets to come spraying among them. A cluster of trees hid the column of smoke from view as they emerged into a large car park where bright fluorescent lights shone down on dozens of bulky military vehicles. They ducked from one to another, keeping low. The radio crackled into life.

“You'd better get a move on,” Geldof said. “There's loads of people around the sub, all climbing down the tower thing on top, and a couple of guys are untethering. It looks like they're getting ready to go.” The radio went dead. When Geldof came back on a few seconds later, his voice was urgent. “Soldiers, coming your way from the right.”

Scholzy motioned them to a halt and they crouched behind a truck. Ruan lay down and saw boots weaving toward them. Scholzy nudged Andy, who plucked a grenade from his bag and tossed it over the truck. As soon as it exploded, the three mercenaries ducked out and opened fire. Andy lobbed another grenade. This time, the explosion was so close that shrapnel pattered along the ground under the truck.

“For fuck's sake, try and get them a bit farther,” Scholzy shouted.

“I told you I couldn't throw grenades,” Andy said. “The weight's all wrong.”

Lesley, her face chalk white, ducked out from the other side of the truck, intending to fire. She skipped back in when bullets whined off the bonnet, and cowered behind the thick tires where those without guns were already taking shelter.

“Geldof, I need Mick to take these buggers out or keep them pinned down,” Scholzy shouted into the radio. No answer came. “Geldof? Mick? Where the fuck are you?”

*   *   *

Geldof watched the group take cover behind the truck, growing cold with vicarious fear as soldiers fanned out and took up positions behind cars. Their weapons spat out ribbons of green fire, sending tracers zipping toward the truck.

“Mick,” Geldof said urgently.

The Irishman didn't look up from where he was reloading. “I know,” he said. “Give me a minute.”

As Geldof fretted, something brushed against his trouser leg. A second later he felt a sharp nip.

“Ow!” he said and twisted his neck around.

Squatting on his calf, a feral look on its tiny face, a skinny rabbit was busy trying to gnaw through the thankfully thick fabric of his trousers. Geldof scrabbled to his feet and shook his leg. The rabbit hung on by its teeth and refused to let go. He hit it hard with the binoculars to force it to release its grip and delivered it a hard boot. It sailed away into the night like a furry football. Mick clicked a new magazine into his rifle just as another dozen rabbits hopped out from the bushes.

“Yegads!” Geldof shouted.

In their eagerness to face the human threat, they'd forgotten about the dangers lurking in the woods. Scholzy's cry for help fizzed through the radio, which lay abandoned on the grass.

“Shoot them, Mick!” Geldof shouted.

The Irishman, now aware of the new danger, shook his head. “Not at this range. Try to stop looking so much like a fecking carrot and deal with it.”

Geldof stared at the rabbits closing in. Down below his family and friends were engaged in deadly combat with fierce soldiers. Up on the hill, he was about to do battle with fluffy bunnies. Given his fighting prowess, it seemed pathetically apt. Even though he felt like a prize tool, his frustration at being so crap and his irritation at the Mick's ginger jibe bubbled over. He let out a fierce battle cry and stepped forward to meet the charge. He began by trying to stamp on the rabbits but they were too fast. One by one they avoided his blows and leapt at him, until they'd all fastened themselves to his clothing—save for one that was nipping at Mick's legs, forcing him to stop shooting and club it with the butt of his rifle. Geldof flailed and spun, but the rabbits wouldn't be dislodged. He could feel their little teeth grinding through his combat outfit, pinching his skin. They would never be able to nibble him to death, but it would only take one of them to gnaw through his clothes, and he would have the virus.

He looked down at the biggest rabbit, which was clinging on to his black shirt between his nipples. Its baleful gaze was fixed on his.

You can't even beat a cuddly bunny
, its eyes seemed to say.

Geldof, utterly humiliated, stumbled backward and tripped over Mick's outstretched leg. Small bones snapped as he thudded to the ground.

“Roll!” Mick shouted.

Geldof understood Mick's intention and rolled for his life. The rabbits still wouldn't let go, and he grimaced as his body weight mashed them into the ground. The ball of boy and rabbit gathered pace as it went downhill, squeaking like a kid's toy. When the last of the squeaks died away, Geldof dug his hand into the grass to arrest his momentum. He got to his feet shakily, looking at the ruined balls of fur strewn around him.

“Congratulations,” Mick said. “You've got your first kills. Now get your arse back up here.”

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Geldof stumbled back up the hill and grabbed the radio. “If we get out of this alive, you'd better not tell anybody what just happened,” he said before pressing the button.

*   *   *

The fire from the soldiers intensified, flashes of light crackling across the concrete like sparklers as slugs ricocheted around the truck. Everybody was now cringing behind the enormous wheels of the thankfully bulky vehicle, which rocked on its suspension under the force of the incoming projectiles. The air hissed out of one of the tires as a bullet found it, sending fragments of hard rubber pattering onto the concrete. As Ruan pulled her body in even tighter to the wheel's metal rim, the windscreen of a nearby car shattered. The zips and whines that filled the air seemed like expressions of frustration from the bullets that had yet to find their intended targets. Ruan knew they wouldn't be frustrated for long.

“We need to do something fast, or we're fucked,” Scholzy said. “They'll probably bring out the heavy artillery any minute.”

Ruan blinked rapidly, trying to picture herself in a sunny field just to deliver a few seconds' respite and clear her shell-shocked mind. She found herself in a field all right, although she was accompanied by a herd of zombie cows keen to substitute cud for her juicy buttocks. She remembered then how she'd herded the assault cows into the truck.

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” she said, and peeled off the fleece and blouse she'd borrowed from Fanny.

“I'm not sure a naked protest will help here,” Fanny said.

“They don't know we're uninfected yet. I'm going to let them know, see if we can stir them up a bit.”

She took off her boots, wrapped the clothing around them, and moved back just far enough to allow her to toss the packages over the truck in different directions. The gunfire continued unabated for a few seconds, then slackened off on her side off the truck. In its place came angry shouts. The radio crackled again and Geldof's voice came through. “We're back. Mick's going to try to keep them pinned down.”

That was as good as it was going to get. Before good sense could return, Ruan scrambled out from behind the tire and sprinted toward the soldiers, praying that her plan would work. From behind the truck, her comrades sprayed bullets toward the soldiers who were still firing. Those soldiers returned fire at their assailants, leaving Ruan free to continue her advance. Near where the fleece had landed other soldiers were running from cover, guns forgotten in their eagerness to reach the source of the enticing scent. She curved close enough for them to get a whiff of her, knowing she had them when the closest soldier bared his teeth and changed direction to follow her. The soldiers on the other side—one or two still in pajamas—quickly got the message and began scrambling over the bonnets of cars. They didn't make it far. Something streaked through the air from the other side of the truck, so fast that she barely registered it, before a jeep, and the soldiers flowing around and over it, disappeared in a searing wall of fire and noise. A blast of hot air buffeted Ruan, and she fell sideways, not even trying to break her fall. When her shoulder smacked into the concrete, she used the momentum to roll under the truck.

Some of the remaining soldiers fell as automatic weapons chattered. The others remembered their training and raised their weapons to return fire. The ensuing firefight could have lasted ten seconds; it could have lasted ten minutes. Ruan just pressed her body to the ground, her nostrils full of the stink of engine oil and cordite, and hoped a stray bullet wouldn't find her. When the guns stopped, there was absolute silence before the moans started. She peeked out and saw that all of the soldiers who'd been following her were on the ground. Two of them were writhing on the spot; another was pulling himself along the concrete on his arms, his wild gaze fixed on her. He only managed to travel a few meters before the light went out of his eyes and his head flopped to the ground. She rolled the rest of the way to the other side of the truck and lay there looking up at the sky, not trusting her legs to bear her weight.