The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 3) (29 page)

“Bollocks, I hit it too hard,” Taff exclaimed as Bobby arrived at his side. He was already moving forward and focussing his attention upon the next of the infected. “Help me nail this one, Bob.”

For a fraction of a second Bobby considered asking why but thought better of it. Taff had his own plan, and Bobby knew that he would not be out there and punching dead bodies in the head just for the sheer fun of it. However, he
did
hope that all would soon become apparent and would make perfect sense as to why they were risking their lives.

Stepping to his right, Bobby zeroed in on the next corpse to reach the hilltop. With his rifle clutched tightly in his hand, he moved forward and smashed the butt of the weapon into the knee of the staggering and half decomposed woman. It snapped loudly as the dried and brittle bones shattered under the impact. Her eyes locked upon Bobby’s as she began to collapse, and he ducked, taking a leap backwards as the infected woman took a swipe at him with her bony fingers. Her hand swept by over his head, and her body spun as she crumpled to the ground, her knee fragmented into a hundred pieces. She twisted and writhed at his feet, snarling as she attempted to drag herself along after him.

“Now what do we do?” he called as he shuffled back, keeping a safe distance from the woman’s clutching fingers.

Taff had beaten another of the infected to the ground and was squatting beside it, pinning it face down in the grass with his knee planted firmly in its back as it struggled to turn itself over. He looked across at Bobby and shook his head, tutting loudly.

“You dozy fucker, we need them mobile. You’ve crippled her. How can she walk now with only one knee?”

Bobby glanced down at the woman and then back at Taff. He could still not understand what he was expected to do or what Taff was doing with the corpse he was seated on top of. For a moment he watched as the rotting cadaver thrashed and snapped its teeth, slamming its face into the dirt over and again as Taff kept it pinned beneath him.

“So what
are
we doing?” Bobby finally shouted as he saw that more of the dead were closing in on them.

Taff jumped up and grabbed the dead man by the scruff of his jacket, dragging him to his feet and steering him towards the downward slope. With a forceful kick, he sent it hurtling down into the throng that was steadily climbing up towards them. The corpse slammed into a number of its comrades, bowling them over, and sending them tumbling down the hill.

Taff, panting and looking excited, trotted across to Bobby while holding out his hand. Bobby looked at his palm and saw a number of small black objects and recognised them as the bio-trackers that they had all removed from their arms the previous night. Bobby looked back at him, still unsure of what they were doing. Taff shook his head with frustration.

“Stan is on his way,” Taff began, spelling it out so that Bobby could understand. “Gibson is close on his heels, and it’s the launch codes that he wants.” There was still no sign of the penny dropping in Bobby’s eyes. “Stan has the fucking codes, Bobby.”

Taff turned and headed for the next corpse. It was the body of a young girl, no older than fifteen or sixteen. Her nightdress was torn and bloodied, revealing her developing form beneath. She was mostly intact, apart from the large bite wound in her shoulder, and it was clear that she had only recently turned. Her expressionless face and bloodless eyes locked on Taff as he stepped closer and threw a kick that caught her in the side and sent her rocketing to the right. Taff followed it through with a swing of his rifle, smashing it into the space between her shoulder blades and knocking her flat. He sprang towards her and pinned her to the floor, just as he had done with the previous one.

“Gibson is after those files,” he continued as he struggled to keep the girl still. He reached around to the rear of his vest and drew out his knife. “If Stan makes it here, they’ll eventually find us. So, to give us some breathing space, and providing that Gibson knows about them, which he probably does because he’s obviously a clever bastard, we stick the trackers into a few of these dumb fucks and send them on their way. Hopefully, it will at least throw them off our scent for a wee while.”

“Why didn’t you say that in the frigging first place, Taff?”

Bobby now understood and jumped to help keep the thrashing girl under control. Taff had used his blade to make an incision in her shoulder and was now pushing the device deep into her cold flesh. His fingers came away a crimson red, covered with coagulated blood. The pair of them hauled the girl back to her feet, avoiding her clutching fingers, and snapping jaws. Just as Taff had done with the previous corpse, they sent the young girl’s body plunging along the slope and scattering the nearest of the infected.

Samantha, realising what it was that they were doing, had jumped out from the second vehicle along with Colin and helped secure the beacons to another two of the cold and bloodied walking corpses. It was gruesome work and a number of the dead, due to their state of decomposition, were dispatched with clubs to the head rather than the four living people having to get their putrid flesh and bodily fluids all over them.

“Okay, we’re done,” Taff announced as the last of the trackers was fitted and sent on its way with a heavy kick.

As the corpse tumbled and rolled out of control and down to the bottom of the hill, the group loaded themselves back into the Land Rovers.

“Did you crazy kids have fun out there?” the veteran quipped from the rear as Taff climbed in behind the wheel.

Taff put the vehicle into gear and began to creep forward and onto the track leading north and away from the house. Within a few metres, they were able to see down into the low ground to the east of their position. As yet, it seemed as though their small convoy remained unnoticed, but he wondered for how much longer that would be. They were sky-lining themselves, perched on top of the high ground and visible to anyone that may look in their direction. As the Land Rover slowly bumped its way along the dirt path, dipping into ruts and bounding over sunken rocks, Taff cringed internally and kept his eyes fixed on the hood in front of them. He felt exposed and vulnerable, waiting for the bullets to come tearing through the flimsy doors and windows at any second.

Nothing happened. Taff was sure that they would have been noticed by now. There were a lot of soldiers in and around the area of the refugee camp, and someone was bound to have been tasked with covering their western flank. Taff did not dare to look. A portion of his mind was goading him to take a glance to his right, but the rest of his brain was screaming for him to remain with his eyes to his front. A distant superstition prevented him from checking on the enemy for fear that they would sense him and take notice.

“Taff, are you mobile?”
Stan’s voice rang out in his ear, sounding much clearer than it had done a few minutes prior.

“Roger that, Stan. We’re approaching the turning towards the west on the coast road, two-hundred metres north of our base location.”

“Roger, we’re inbound, and you should see us in about twenty seconds.”

A few moments later, as Taff continued to plough ahead through the narrow channel and over the rough terrain, Danny let out a gasp. He sat forward in his seat, stretching his arm out ahead of him and towards something he had seen in the distance appearing from between the undulating ground and the low scrub.

“What the fuck is that?” he exclaimed.

“Where?”

“There,” Danny snapped, pointing his finger across to their right. “Half right of us and moving westward. Am I really seeing that?”

Taff looked out towards where Danny was pointing. He caught a glimpse of the white roof of a vehicle as it lurched and bounced along the coastal road, approaching them from the right. Within the blink of an eye, it disappeared again as the track dipped and was obscured by a small hillock. Taff glanced at Danny, wondering whether he had actually seen what his brain was telling him. They were now just thirty metres from the junction where they would turn left and race away to the west. Taff judged that the vehicle approaching from the east would shortly cross their path. Seconds later, and it appeared again as it climbed out of the dead-ground and reached the summit of the next small hill. Now it was in plain sight and proudly on display for all to see as it bounded its way along the road, a trail of murky smoke pluming out from its exhaust.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” Taff mumbled with disbelief.

“Got you visual, Taff. Follow on behind us.”

The Land Rover was still moving forward but Taff was no longer paying any attention to the road. His astonished eyes were alternating between the vehicle that Stan was travelling in and the dumbfounded face of Danny sitting beside him. He gawked open mouthed at the vehicle, unsure if he was dreaming.

“It’s a fucking ice-cream van,” Danny murmured as he stared in astonishment at the strange sight that was now crossing their path.

They could clearly see Bull sitting behind the wheel grinning back at them and giving them a quick wave as he raced across the junction and along the coast road. The man appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself, and for a moment Taff pictured him gripping onto the steering wheel with one hand while holding an ice-cream in the other.

Pressing his foot down harder on the accelerator, Taff began to laugh. His imagination was running away with him, and he could now see Stan in the back dishing out iced-lollies while playing the familiar and hypnotic tones of an ice-cream truck. They joined the road and raced after Stan, headed towards the west of the island.

18

“This thing isn’t going to stand much more of this, Stan. It’s shaking like a shitting dog and ready to fall apart at the seams,” Bull called into the rear compartment.

“Just keep going,” Stan yelled back at him as he hung his body out through the serving hatch on the side of the vehicle. He was watching the progress of Taff and the others following on behind them. “We need to put some distance between us and Newport. It won’t be long before they cotton on that we have what they’re looking for.”

“Then what?”

“We’ll burn that bridge once we’ve crossed it.”

Stan hauled himself back in from the window. He moved forward, peering over Bull’s shoulder and watching the road ahead of them as they sped through the narrow lanes. The roads towards the west of the Isle of Wight were empty, with nothing in the way of activity from the invading troops. Stan wondered whether it was due to a lack of manpower or if there was something else intended for that particular area. As they crested one of the many hills along their route, the answer was there in front of him. Far out into the Channel was a cluster of dark shapes that stood out against the brightening sky on the horizon. He instantly recognised them as ships and realised that the landing of enemy forces and occupation of the island was not yet completed. It was clear that Gibson had concentrated his forces on the main defensive lines and urban areas within the centre of the island, using his small fleet to guard the waters and snare anyone attempting to escape. The attack would have only been the first phase of the operation, and a consolidation of forces would soon follow as they brought the population under their control and subdued the defending units. Stan could see that more helicopters were taking off from the ships and headed towards them, obviously carrying reinforcements, ammunition, and equipment.

“They’re closing the trap,” Stan grumbled as he eyed the distant shapes that were growing steadily larger as the troop carriers closed in. “They’ll begin landing to the west and pushing inland pretty soon.”

“We’ll be cut off,” Bull exclaimed.

“Exactly. That’s why you need to keep this tub of shit moving. If we can reach the western harbour before those bastards turn their attention to it, we just may have a chance at finding a way off this rock.”

Bull nodded and gunned the engine. The road ahead dipped into a stretch of dead-ground flanked by unkempt and leafless hedgerows that reached high on either side of them. It seemed that there had been very little traffic travelling along that particular stretch of road over the previous months, allowing Mother Nature the opportunity to begin reclaiming it. The bare branches whipped at the windscreen and sides of the ice-cream truck, thwacking heavily as the juddering and sputtering vehicle continued into the dip.

It took every ounce of Bull’s concentration to keep the van moving in a straight line. He growled and cursed, wondering when the vehicle had last undergone a service or had its bearings looked at. It felt as though it would careen from the road at any moment, ploughing into the thick shrubs or an unseen ditch.

“This things falling apart, Stan,” he warned again.

In the road ahead of them, a figure suddenly bolted out from the bushes along the left hand side. There was no time, nor intention, for Bull to slow down or swerve. If he had done either, there was a good chance that he would have lost what little control he had over the rickety truck. The dark figure turned as it heard the engine approaching and hesitated for a moment too long. The grill smashed into its midriff, sending it slamming against the hood and into the windscreen with a loud bang and a sickening crunch. The glass broke and instantly turned into a swathe of interlocking cracks that obscured the view of everyone inside. The body, twisted and broken by the impact, bounced to the side and landed amongst the overgrown weeds and foliage. On the left of the windscreen, a large dark spatter of blood and a bulging dent in the glass signified where the figure’s head had collided with the speeding van.

“What was that?” Stan shouted from the rear as he felt the impact and saw the damage inflicted upon the front window.

“Not sure,” Bull shrugged as he leaned to his right in an attempt to find a clear patch of glass that would afford him a degree of visibility. “Someone who obviously didn’t know their Green Cross Code, I suppose.”

“Alive or dead?”

Bull stole a glance over his shoulder and callously shrugged again before turning his attention back to the road. He had seen the figure dart out into the road only when it was too late for either of them to do anything about it. If he had braked, they would have still collided and possibly they, too, would now also be in the ditch. His priority was the lives of the people in his group and all other considerations came secondary. He was not willing to give the incident any further thought.

“Definitely dead now, mate, whatever it was.”

Stan looked back and checked on the other two vehicles in the convoy. He could still see them, racing down the hill behind them and through the thick tangles of overhanging branches that were reaching into the road from either side as though attempting to ensnare them and prevent them from escaping the island. He glanced down at Gerry. The man had hardly said a word since their fight in the command centre and the basements beneath. He was pasty and haggard, with beads of sweat clearly glittering against his blood stained skin. His eyes, appearing sunken and unfocussed, stared at nothing for long periods. He was in shock, Stan surmised.

“Gerry,” he tried, speaking quietly, not wanting to startle the man. “Gerry, can you hear me? We’ll be out of here soon, mate.”

Gerry did not respond but remained sitting with his back against one of the horizontal freezers in the rear compartment of the van. His legs were drawn up with his thighs tucked against his chest and one of his arms wrapped tightly around his knees in a protective posture while he cradled the other against his abdomen. Stan’s words went unheard as he sat staring at the wall in front of him. Stan tried talking to him again, but it was no use. Gerry’s mind was somewhere far away, and he doubted that it would be returning any time soon. He turned and headed back to the front to check on Bull and their progress towards the western harbour. The vehicle was still in a dip and sheltered from view with a blur of greens and browns flitting by on either side of them.

“Gerry’s an empty wetsuit,” Stan grunted as he dropped down into the passenger seat and attempted to see through the wrecked windscreen. “How the hell can you see where you’re going through this?”

“Jedi powers,” Bull huffed back at him.

The vehicle was beginning to rise and climb out from the low ground. The obscured light coming through the windshield was growing brighter as the evergreen bushes became sparser. They were travelling along a typical English rural rollercoaster of small green hillocks and shallow but steep dips. It was almost like riding a heavy sea but less nauseating. Finally, the ice-cream truck burst out from the low ground and into the bright sunlight of the mid-morning. Bull squinted against the sudden change but refused to adjust his speed. He was as keen to get to the harbour as anyone else was. It was their last hope, and he knew it.

“You all good back there, Taff?” Stan asked into his radio.

“Roger, call-sign complete, Stan.”

“Good. We’re about three clicks short of the harbour. Once we get there, I’ll want you and Bobby to cover our rear while we push forward to have a look.”

“No worries. We’ll be…”

A series of booming claps suddenly exploded within Stan’s truck. Glass blasted inwards and support frames twisted and buckled all around them, shattering and adding to the flying debris. Bull, refusing to let go of the wheel, howled with pain as tiny sharp slivers of the van’s windows and frame lacerated his skin. Stan ducked, turning away and burying his face into his chest to protect his eyes against the cascade of broken glass and hot splintered metal that whipped through the interior.

There was a howling whoosh from their right, immediately followed by a white hot flash and an immense concussion a few metres ahead of them as a patch of road disintegrated in the explosion. A geyser of rock and mud thwacked violently against the vehicle’s outer shell as the blast wave threatened to topple it from its trembling wheels. More cracks and dents appeared in the windscreen, making it impossible to see what was in the road ahead. The ice-cream truck, barely remaining upright, powered its way through the point of impact whilst twisting from right to left along the road.

Bull dropped down into his seat as the vehicle imploded violently all around him and was assaulted by an avalanche of molten shrapnel. He gripped the wheel and stomped on the accelerator, instantly understanding what was happening. Ahead of him, a stream of glowing red lines zipped across the road, and a number of flashes erupted from the raised fields to his right. Another flood of deafening cracks split the air around his head, further mutilating the vehicle. They had driven into an ambush.

As Bull fought hard to keep them moving in a straight line, another burst of fire ripped through the truck, punching gaping holes through the sides and blowing out what windows remained. A further torrent of bullets slammed into the front and through the engine, instantly destroying the vehicle’s capability to continue as jets of steam spewed out from beneath the bonnet. The interior quickly filled with smoke as more rounds battered their way through the flimsy sides, shattering anything that they came into contact with on their journey through the vehicle.

“Contact right, Contact right,” Stan was hollering as a row of fizzing red tracer rounds lashed through the space in front of him.

He dropped to the floor as the truck rocked from side to side with each impact. The noise inside created by the bullets displacing the air was horrendous. He began to crawl, looking for somewhere within the tiny space that would provide him with cover. There was nothing, and the enemy fire penetrated everything that it touched. They needed to get out of the vehicle. He looked up and saw Gerry, still sitting in the same position and seemingly oblivious to what was going on around him as debris and rounds tore at the air. Reaching up, Stan grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down onto the floor.

The vehicle was losing speed. All control had been virtually lost as the engine disintegrated and most of the tyres exploded. Bull, with rounds cracking by his head and slamming into the doors and windows, remained at the wheel in an attempt to keep them on the road for as long as possible and push them clear of the killing zone. A few more metres later and the steering column finally gave up. The ice-cream van lurched to the right and headed away from the road. Knowing that there was nothing else that he could do, Bull dropped down from the seat and curled himself into a ball within the foot well as another burst of machinegun fire chewed up the driver’s compartment where he had been sitting just a moment earlier.

With a loud crash and a heavy jolt, the van came to a sudden and complete stop with its front wheels jammed into a shallow ditch at the roadside. All three of the occupants were flung forward and into one another with the sudden halt in the truck’s momentum. They shouted and cursed at no one and nothing in particular but more as a result of the situation that they found themselves in. Enemy bullets continued to plough into them, and a series of large holes appeared along the length of the vehicle and close to the roof, almost decapitating the ruined and smouldering ice-cream van.

“Out,” Stan shouted. “Get out of the truck.”

In one swift movement and without needing to be told a second time, Bull jumped to his feet and flung himself through the serving hatch. He sailed through the air for what seemed a lifetime as rounds exploded all around him, tearing through the remains of their vehicle, and churning up the dirt around the lip of the ditch, splintering the asphalt of the road. He landed on his side and rolled away to the left, knowing that Stan and Gerry would be close behind him. Within seconds, Bull was up and flicking off the safety catch on his M-4 and sending back a torrent of fire in the general direction of their ambushers. He could not see their positions but his aim was not to score accurate hits, rather to force the enemy to take cover and slacken their rate of fire.

Bull’s immediate reaction had the effect that he desired. For a few precious seconds the fire directed towards them wilted and seemed to sail high above their heads as the enemy ducked and pushed themselves into the ground. Bull turned and grabbed hold of Gerry as Stan was climbing to his feet and already turning to follow. Dragging their Operations Officer along behind him, Bull hurled himself from the road and pushed his way through the bushes on the opposite side. Once through, he dropped the still unresponsive Gerry into the dirt and turned to send another long burst towards their attackers as Stan rushed through the foliage and joined him in suppressing the enemy fire.

“Magazine.”

To the right of them, they caught sight of the twisted and smouldering wreckage of the other vehicles in their group. They, too, had been hit just as badly and now sat in ruins and immobile with clouds of thick black smoke pouring out from their destroyed engines. From somewhere to the right, a long drawn out burst of fire erupted as one of the survivors from their group joined in with the fight. It was the veteran, firing his machinegun from the hip and forcing the enemy troops to cower in their positions as his heavy rounds chomped at the ground and snapped at their ears. He was standing in the road, shouting with anger and ordering the remaining survivors to pull back as the shrinking belt of ammunition juddered through the breach of his gun at a blinding rate.