Five More Days With The Dead (Lanherne Chronicles Book 2) (12 page)

Like Steve, Matt and all the other children of the chosen few, soon found out their childhood was to be a brief affair and any thoughts of life returning to normal any time so
on were brutally put straight by Professor Farrell and Major Carden. They were told in no uncertain terms that this was to be their life for the foreseeable future and anyone who didn’t pull the line was invited to swim to shore and take their chances there. To ram the point home, they were then shown INTEL footage that was shot from a chopper, which had just flown over from the mainland. As gasps of horror filled the auditorium, the children and lucky spouses of the chosen, watched the Dead rampaging through a small town, tearing into any of the living unlucky to fall in their path. No matter how bad life was to be for them now, they would put up with it, because the alternative was beyond contemplation.

Technically,
the base started out under Farrell’s CDC command, but after a few mishaps involving some active Dead specimens, Major Carden had taken control with an iron fist. Using the loyal muscle of the squadrons under his command, one of which was led by Stephen’s father and the three SAS men that had arrived just before all hell had broken loose, Carden had soon put Farrell in his place. From that point onward, he decreed that any children or non-essential personnel above the age of fourteen were also to be conscripted into Carden’s forces. Major Carden was no simple power mad idiot though. He knew he ultimately needed Farrell and the skill of his team of scientists to find a cure or vaccine and he made it his job to make sure Farrell came up with the goods. He pushed Farrell day and night for results and he pushed him hard. As months became years and still no effective vaccine had been produced, Carden went so far as to force Farrell to push the boundaries of acceptable scientific practices. It was from that point on that something dark and savage descended upon the base. Troublemakers, the weak and anyone who rocked the boat would disappear and when strict orders were given that no unauthorised non-medical personnel were to enter the labs, it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. By the sixth year, the suicides began. They were not only restricted to the number of mentally frayed soldiers, living in fear for their lives but also among the scientific staff who could no longer cope with the things they were being forced to do in the name of research. One consolation was that, at least on the base, weapons were easy to get hold of and those who killed themselves, stayed dead. Not that Matt and his sister found much consolation in that fact, when one breezy May afternoon, one of the science team came to break the news that their mother had shot herself in the head. It was only when their numbers dwindled noticeably that Carden and Farrell decided to make the ‘rescue’ missions to the mainland.

For the last few rescue missions, Farrell’s team had been looking for something specific among the small groups of survivors they came across. There had been hushed conversations and muc
h consulting of scribbled notes whenever they found somewhere new. However, just what they were looking for, Steve and the rest of the squadron were kept none the wiser. Apparently, the scientists had made some sort of breakthrough and needed to test their theory. They had heard all this from them time and time again over the last seven years and still the Dead tried to eat them, so Private Steven Blackmore wasn’t holding out much hope.

Suddenly with a
‘beeping’ sound, each of the soldiers began to receive orders through their earpieces, telling them the Convent was a ‘go’ situation in five minutes and they were to make last minute weapons checks prior to rescue mission Alpha-Nine commencement.

‘Copy
,’ each of them said in turn, as they relayed receipt of their orders.

With a clattering of boots, gear and weapons, the soldiers made their way s
moothly out of the canteen tent to join the rest of their squadron by the three Jackal armoured vehicles. At that moment, Farrell’s right hand man, Dr Frank Morris, came scurrying out of  Staff Sergeant Blackmore’s tent and over to the mobile med-lab. With sheets of crumpled paper held firmly under one arm, he frantically typed data into his hand-held console. The window for their only satellite connection back to base was due shortly and Frank needed to keep Farrell up to date with any developments his field team had come up with. As the door closed behind Dr Morris, Steve caught a glimpse of the survivor they had rescued yesterday. There had originally been two of them but the man she had been travelling with had turned out not to be suitable for rescue, so now only she was to join the other seven rescued civilians in the holding truck for her journey to a new home. She was having blood samples taken by one of the doctors at the moment while another checked some figures on a computer screen. Even in the split second that their eyes locked, Steve could see the hate and sense of betrayal the woman was feeling. The man obviously must have meant something to her.

‘Fuck,’ Steve said to himself
. ‘This isn’t right.’

‘Shh
!’ Matt said in harsh whisper, his eyes flicking to the med-lab and instantly knowing what Stephen was thinking. ‘You want to get yourself killed… or worse?’

‘We all know what going on here,
so why are we bullshitting ourselves into thinking it’s something it’s not,’ Steve replied, checking his weapon.

‘Look, I don’t like it any more than you do
, but what choice do we have? You want to end up like Jones?’ Matt whispered, checking the magazine of his SA80 assault weapon was fully loaded.

At the mention of the name, Steve froze. What his father had done to Jones had earned him a seat in hell as far as Steven was concerned, let alone all the other bastard things he had done since.

Unlike Matt and himself, Jones had not been one of the conscripted. He had already been a soldier for a few years prior to the arrival of the Dead. He had been a professional soldier. It had been his career and that had made what he had done appear even worse in his father’s eyes. Jones had been caught by Dan Hills, one of the SAS Commandos, trying to desert the squadron two weeks before with nothing but his assault rifle, some ammo and a bag of supplies to take him into a new life. He had simply had enough and he knew he had to leave or he would end up, like so many of his comrades, putting a bullet in his own head. Putting yourself before your duty was the most heinous of crimes as far as Staff Sergeant Blackmore was concerned and he meted out Jones’ punishment with self-righteous justification.

‘Some good old fashioned justice,’ he told the men, as Jones knelt in front of the assembled squadron
. ‘Lance Corporal Jones should be shot for his desertion but I will give him a chance to live the life outside of the army, he was so desperate to have.’

Jones had lo
oked up at Blackmore, even then knowing any hope he had that the man would let him go was misplaced.

‘But,’ Blackmore continued,
and Jones in that moment knew he was doomed, ‘we cannot take the incident of theft so lightly, I’m afraid. Lance Corporal Jones, you have been found guilty of stealing one SA80 Assault weapon, 60 rounds of ammunition and multiple food stuffs from our already depleted stores.’

With a flick of his fingers, Hills eagerly moved in with Streiber, one of the other SAS men, and began to wind wire tightly about Jones’ wrists. Steven still remembered seeing the wire pulled so tightly that Jones’ hands were soon slick with his own blood.

‘Hold him,’ was all his father had said, as he stepped forward, drawing his long sharp bayonet from its sheath.

By the time Staff Sergeant Blackmore had moved onto the second hand, Jones’ screams had become unbearable to hear. So when the job was finally
completed, his throat raw and bloody, Lance Corporal Jones was unable to plead for his life when the two Commandos took him from the camp. Leaving behind the two severed hands and a pool of drying blood as a warning to the rest, Blackmore had seen the whole affair as a good exercise in discipline. In fact, he was quite glad that Jones had been so stupid to get caught. No one else would think of leaving, because he had drawn the line and now they all knew the consequences of crossing that line.

‘Right, I want this to go by the numbers,’ came Staff Sergeant Blackmore’s commanding tone, gaining the immediate attention of the group assembled soldiers in the makeshift compound
. ‘The Convent might be more fortified than we’re used to but I don’t foresee getting any more trouble than we’re used to. I want smooth tactical formations when we get in, a full sweep of all buildings room by room and all civilians gathered together ready for Dr Farrell’s team to process by zero-nine-hundred hours. Any questions?’

As always,
no one dared voice any doubts they might be harbouring. To do so would bring Blackmore’s disapproving gaze upon them and that could be dangerous. Blackmore had no use for a man who questioned his orders. They were here to do as they were told not think for themselves.

‘Right, let
’s get this over with,’ Blackmore said, instantly dismissing the men from his thoughts.

With practiced drilled movements, each man silently took up their positions in their assigned Jackal armoured vehicle and as the engine roared into
life, each of them prayed to their gods for forgiveness for what they were about to do.

The Jackals
in which they rode, had originally been designed as rapid assault support vehicles and had been built to protect personnel against roadside explosions and mine attacks. With just an addition of a few extra sheets of metal to the already armoured structure, they had been transformed into something that resembled a small tank and had proven their weight in gold in the war against the Dead. Each vehicle could carry three personnel, two of which would be manning the formidable machine guns and as Steve stood, slowly pivoting the large weapon he held, he made a three-sixty sweep of the terrain. Behind him, he could see the third Jackal, the Med lab and then the civilian holding truck came up the rear. Unlike the Jackals and the Med lab, the holding truck didn’t have the luxury of air-bag suspension and was bouncing about quite dramatically as its large wheels dipped in and out of the large potholes dotting the road. Catching movement in the corner of his eye, Steve swung the machine gun round on its pivoting gun ring just as a decrepit looking Dead woman stepped out from the roadside hedgerow and onto the road. As always, the noise of their convoy attracted the Dead as effectively as a dinner gong but as long as they only appeared in their ones and two, firepower would not be wasted on them. Sure enough, as his vehicle sped past her decayed reaching arms, she was clipped by the Jackal behind him and pulled under its large heavy wheels.

‘Contact imminent,
’ came his father’s flat voice through his earpiece.

‘Copy that, Jackal
one. Over,’ Stephen replied, while ahead of him, the vehicle carrying Staff Sergeant Blackmore pulled up to the large external gate of the Convent.

One by
one, the convoy came to a stop behind the lead Jackal, waiting for the living within the Convent to make their move. Surprisingly, the gate had already started to open slowly.

‘Idiots,
’ Steve said sadly to himself, as he watched a man frantically winding a winch to open the gate for them, unaware of what he was letting into his home.

Once the internal gate had also been opened by their welcoming host, the three armoured Jackals pulled into a practiced formation within the convent’s grounds.

‘No, Damian!’ Came a woman’s hysterical cry from along a walkway that ran the perimeter of the high wall.

Looking up at the
middle-aged woman, he could see her waving her arms at the man as she ran towards a ladder.

‘Perhaps they’re not all idiots after all,’ Steve thought to himself
. ‘This one knows trouble when she sees it.’

‘Take up positions
,’ came their order through the earpiece.

Like a choreographed dance troop, the soldiers disembarked their vehicles and smoothly going down on one knee, their assault rifles cocked and aimed, formed a tactical wide arc.

‘No!’ screamed the woman from the walkway, as she threw herself down from the ladder and ran over to a group of small children, desperate to protect them.

Behind him, Steve could hear his father removing his helmet. Showing the locals a human face behind the armoured façade was a proven way to gain trust and Staff Sergeant Blackmore was always one to use all weapons at his disposal.

‘Now there’s no need to worry, Miss,’ he began, the sincerity dripping from every word.

Steve briefly glanced to his left, catching Matt’s eye. They both knew there was every need for all those living here to worry but
they could do nothing about it. Their fates were sealed, one way or another.

‘I’m Staff Sergeant
Blackmore, and my men and I are here to help you. You have nothing to fear from us,’ he continued. ‘We’re here to rescue you.’

However,
his words did little to put the woman at ease. Steve could see it in her eyes; she didn’t trust this man offering her salvation from the Dead.

‘Stand down,
’ his father said and slowly each of the men rose to stand in a purposefully relaxed looking stance; their rifles now aimed safely to the ground.

Suddenly
a second woman burst from a doorway and ran to stand by the woman with the children, putting herself noticeably in front of one of the boys in particular. She was quickly followed by two men, one of whom ran with a pronounced limp.