The Dead Walk The Earth II (27 page)

“Fuck me,” he howled over the din of the explosions with popping ears. “I hope those pilots know what they’re doing.”

As the men sat gasping and trying to recover from the second wave, Stan forced his shaking body up to the lip and peered out over the second target. As with the first, the junction had become a wasteland of scorched earth and charred bodies. The flames from the first two objectives had merged into one large inferno and had begun to spread along the streets and buildings that led into the intersections.

Studying the effects of the strikes, Stan eyed the third and final junction. It was just three-hundred metres away and he began to feel that they were too close for comfort. Danny, Bull, and Marty crawled up and took a look for themselves. They were all beginning to think the same thing and turned to Stan with questioning looks.

“Taff, how we looking in the street behind us?” Stan asked urgently.

“Still plenty of them out there, Stan. Not as many as there were, but enough to ruin our day. You thinking of bugging out or something?”
Taff replied from the foyer.

Stan did not answer but turned and reached for the satellite phone. He fumbled with the buttons and cursed himself under his breath as he struggled to make contact with the command centre on the Isle of Wight.

“Danny,” he said as he raised the phone to his ear and heard the dial tone, “get the LTD ready and pointed at the first junction. Make sure it’s secure because we won’t be here to correct its aim if it slips.”

Without needing to be told, Bull and Marty began checking their own weapons and ammunition, grabbing only what they needed to fight and dumping their heavy packs to one side. They pulled out their water bottles and began taking large gulps then passing them onto Stan and Danny who were both busy with other matters.

“Taff, Bobby, prepare to move in one minute,” Marty called into his mouthpiece while Stan sent his situation report to HQ and informed them that they were withdrawing from their over-watch position.

Ready to move, the team headed for the door of the stairwell. Stan followed at the rear as the others began filing through and descending the first flight. There had been no time to guide in the next wave of airstrikes but with the ground ablaze, it would be impossible for the pilots to miss their targets. They had their approach bearings and the LTD had been left aiming its laser into the centre of the closest junction.

Stan took a glance back over his shoulder before passing through the door. Far off in the distance he saw a new set of dark objects making their way up from the south. They were bulkier than the first two waves and moving at a much slower pace. They were the first of the assault troops moving up in the Chinooks. The break-in had begun. Stan knew that at that same moment, a column of vehicles would be thrusting northwards from the airfield to open a corridor of resupply and reinforcement for the forward elements. They did not have enough helicopters to transport them all so a ground element needed to be established also. Soon the southern outskirts of the city would be a war zone as the advance pushed forward through the streets, clearing the buildings and destroying the infected that remained in the area.

Something else caught Stan’s ever-vigilant eyes. Above the black silhouettes of the CH-47s another cluster of specks appeared. It was the third wave of bombers. They were approaching fast and ahead of schedule. Stan’s eyes grew wide as he realised that they were out of time. The Tornados and Typhoons would be overhead within a matter of seconds and they were only just beginning their descent into the staircase.

“Move,” he yelled down to the rest of his team as they reached the bottom of the first set of stairs. “Incoming, incoming. Move, move.”

Without pausing, Danny, Bull, and Marty began bounding downwards, clearing each short flight of steps in just a few strides. Stan was racing along behind them, screaming at them to run faster before the bombs began falling. By now, the sound of the jet engines had grown to an ear-splitting screech as they streaked over the apartment block and shook the building. The thunderous roar reverberated within the confines of the stairway and the men instinctively ducked their heads as they continued downwards. Stan knew that the bombs had been released and were already falling through the air towards their targets. It was only a matter of seconds before they detonated.

A dazzling white light filled the staircase, momentarily blinding the men of the team and forcing them to shield their eyes as they stumbled and crashed into the walls and bannister. Then the building seemed to lift from its foundations and crash back to the ground, throwing the men to the floor and pressing them into the hard concrete. The blast wave, like a hurricane travelling at the speed of light, ripped through the apartments, blowing the windows in on themselves, tearing doors from their frames, and warping the walls as the structure struggled against the violence of the explosion.

The air disappeared from around Stan and his men, threatening to suck out their innards in the vacuum and causing their eardrums to burst and their eyes to bulge as the fuel-bomb ignited and spewed out devastation in a wide arc. The heat wave scorched its way through the building, incinerating everything around it and almost boiling the blood within the veins of the living men.

A second later, another detonation, not as large but much closer than the first, rocked the building from further down the staircase. Debris flew in all directions, crashing into the walls, bursting into flames and smashing against the bodies of the soldiers who lay pinned to the floor, gasping for air and screaming with pain and shock.

Within just a second or two, but seeming like a lifetime, the immediate effects of the bombs subsided. Although the air was clogged with debris, dust, and smoke the four men could once again breathe. The apartments around them were burning wildly and the smoke was quickly filling the stairwell to the point where it began to choke Stan and the others. The men dragged themselves to their feet, holding onto one another for support and calling out into the swirling black clouds enveloping them.

Stan was screaming down to them from somewhere above. His words were unintelligible and distant in their rattled minds. He continued down towards them, holding the sleeve of his shirt over his mouth and nose to stop him from succumbing to the smoke. He felt a body in front of him and recognised it as the huge bulk of Bull.

“Marty, Danny,” he called urgently as he pushed Bull forward into the blackness. “Answer up for fuck sake. Marty, Danny…”

“Stan, we’re here,”
the answer came with the distinct Glaswegian accent of Marty from below on the next flight of stairs.
“We’re okay… I think.”

Stan and Bull crashed into the others and quickly realised that their escape had been cut off. The next two flights of stairs had disappeared from beneath them. A result caused by the S-Mine detonating when the blast wave hit the building and ripped the trip-wire away from the firing pin.

Without hesitation, Stan turned and began to climb the stairs, heading towards the roof again. More bombs would be falling soon but this time, they would be high explosive. Now that the fuel-bombs had created the initial damage and set the dead on fire, spreading the flames amongst their ranks and igniting the buildings in the immediate area, the HE detonations would finish them off, blowing them to pieces and damaging them to the point that they were no longer mobile. It was also hoped that the high explosives would help contain the fires by blasting them apart and at the very least, making them more manageable once the mopping-up operations commenced.

“Up to the roof,” Stan called over his shoulder. “Get up to the roof, quick. We’ll go down by the ropes.”

From far below them, the voices of Bobby and Taff could be heard calling up to them through the wreckage of the stairway. Miraculously, both of them had somehow survived the devastation and they were in a good enough condition to have control of their senses. Mixed in with their calls were the distinct dull snaps of their silenced weapons as they fired at something unseen to Stan and the others.

Stan clicked his radio and called into his microphone. It was dead, damaged in the explosions. He paused just long enough to lean out over the mangled bannister and shout down into the chasm of what remained of the staircase.

“Taff, bug-out, we’ll meet you at the ERV.”

Bobby raised himself to his feet and loosed off another volley into the wall of gaunt faces that were spilling in through the gates of the parking area. He fired with rapid single shots, peering over the sights and relying on the accuracy of his instinctive shooting skills. Even at a range of fifty metres, many of his rounds were slamming into their intended targets. He squeezed the trigger again and saw the head of the nearest body snap backwards and a dark mist plumed up behind it as the 5.56mm bullet ploughed its way out from the other side of its skull. Its legs collapsed from underneath it and Bobby turned his attention to the next corpse in line.

Above, he could hear the voice of Stan but he was unable to understand their commander’s words while his ears still rang, the flames around them crackled, and his M-4 snapped unremittingly as more of the dead converged towards them. He felt a hard slap on his shoulder and allowed his attention to be fleetingly snatched away by Taff.

“We’re bugging out, Bobby,” the Welshman screamed into his ear. “If the airstrikes or pus-bags don’t get us, this building definitely will when it falls on our heads.”

Bobby nodded and snatched up the small med-pack he had tucked into the corner of the barricade. He quickly slung it over his shoulder and continued to fire at the approaching infected.

“What about the others?” He asked as he secured his kit and fired another group of five shots, dropping two of the infected.

“They’re heading back to the roof,” Taff called back over his shoulder as he began scrambling over the pile of ruined furniture stacked against the doors. “The stairs have been wiped out so they’re brushing up on their abseiling skills. We’re heading for the ERV.”

On the other side of the barricade, Taff stood his ground and began despatching the grotesque figures that lurched towards them while Bobby climbed out from the foyer. From the rear of the group, a flurry of movement caught Taff’s eye. He turned, pointing his rifle towards the potential new threat. A runner, moving fast, had shot through the gate and was racing towards them from between the parked cars to the left of the parking area. Taff fired, the first shot missing the creature by just a few millimetres and hitting the corpse of a woman behind it. The round punched through her breast bone, causing her body to twitch but otherwise showing no sign of damage. He fired again, and again, missing with each shot. With just a few metres to spare, his fifth round finally hit its mark. The speeding copper plated missile blasted its way through the man’s lower jaw and virtually severed his head from his brittle spinal column. The corpse dropped to its knees, its head lolling to the side for a moment before it crashed face first into the tarmac.

Bobby was now over the obstacle and joined Taff in the melee. He fired rapidly and downed a number of bodies before the bolt locked to the rear within the body of his rifle, revealing an empty chamber and magazine. He had already turned and was moving to the right towards the narrow walkway that led along the side of the apartments and connected them to the factory complex through the old rusty gate. It was pointless to stand still and change out his ammunition, presenting himself as an easy target. A magazine change should always be done on the move, either while advancing or withdrawing.

“Magazine,” he urgently called out to Taff.

He fell back and headed for the corner where the wall met the alleyway. His right index finger pressed against the protruding release catch just in front of the trigger guard. The empty magazine dropped and clattered against the ground while simultaneously, Bobby’s left hand had already closed over the replacement that he dragged out from a pouch on the left side of his assault vest. With a single, well-practiced motion, Bobby clicked the fresh magazine into place, thumbed the bolt release catch, sending a round into the chamber, and brought his weapon around to bear as he turned and covered Taff’s withdrawal.

“Taff, move,” he shouted out as he began to fire again.

Still using his instinctive shooting skills, Bobby kept both eyes open, maintaining visual contact with Taff as he turned and headed towards him. Bobby adjusted his aim as the short stocky Welshman bounded for him in a semi-crouch. Careful not to shoot his partner as he sent rounds heading towards the wailing bodies, Bobby swayed to the side as he fired, his rounds snapping by, very close to Taff’s head as he hurtled for the alley.

In the narrow passageway, Taff and Bobby bounded along beside the wall and headed for the gateway leading into the factory. A loud crunch above them made them look up just in time to see a large bulky shape hurtling through the air and away from the roof’s edge. Three more bodies quickly followed the first figure. It was Stan and the others. They had made it to the roof and were flinging themselves into thin air, using the ropes to control their fall, but slowing them only marginally.

The first to land was Danny. With just a metre to go, he expertly tightened his grip to the point where the tips of his boots lightly touched the ground before his heels made contact and he came to a graceful landing with bending knees that absorbed the impact. The rest were nowhere near as elegant in their descents. Bull, the least of all.