The Screaming (Book 2): Refuge Read online

  Every flank was ever decreasing and becoming the hunting ground of an encircling horde of flesh starved creatures. North and south banks met and were rapidly indivisible. All hope and optimism drained from the groups defensive posture, as the rapidly firing Glock abruptly clicked, with the smoking top slide wedged firmly to the rear of the weapon, as the ammunition ran dry.

  “I’m sorry. I tried my best.” Zac uttered to Fee as he took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

  “Okay, the water isn’t looking so bad now!” Max blabbed, as he peered over the edge into the cold uninviting waterway.

  As the first beast to reach the group moved in for the kill on Janet’s flabby neck, his head instantaneously exploded in a misty cloud of fragmented brain and skull. Flesh and bone seemingly disintegrated before them. A covering of the blooded scraps of cerebrum, temporal lobe and spinal cord caked the group in a bizarrely relieving blanket of innards. An ear-splitting thunderous drone of continuous rapid fire exploded overhead and snarling plagued bodies, imploded before the stunned group. Charging hunters were cut in half, dismembered and downed by the endless fire. Infected men, women and children, cut down where they stood. Their shredded remains littering the tracks, much like their unfortunate victims under the concourse.

  Without warning the droning whirl of the twin rotor helicopter shattered the unsteady silence that had descended on the centre of the bridge, as it announced itself with another salvo of machine gun fire from the rear door gunner. As persistent screamers strove over the fallen corpses of their comrades, they were rapidly met with a similar fate. Wave after wave of infected aggressors launched themselves towards the fragile four and were met with the same explosive desolation.

  A carpet of butchered bodies coated the tracks and the giant helicopter made no hesitation in descending upon the new make-shift landing pad. The twin engines roared with a whining wail as they settled on the freshly felled corpses. The down draft of the metal beast threw dust, grit and clouds of blooded matter in every direction. As the craft planted its flexing undercarriage on subsequently crushed, bursting carcases, the booming repetition of the steaming machine gun slammed to a halt as the airman eased his finger from the trigger.

  “GO, GO, move it!”

  Suddenly, in one well drilled movement, six soldiers filed off the rear ramp and spanned out, in an all-round defence of the aircraft. Each trooper was efficiently donned from head to toe in green camouflage clothing, much like Max’s, with heavy brown boots, a Kevlar lined assault vest, and topped with a helmet. Their rifles were already raised and firing at the bloated expanse of advancing creatures, who one by one were halted by the cutting accuracy of aimed rounds, only to be hurdled by the equally flesh hungry replacement that took its place at the head of the pack.

  “RAPID FIRE, MAKE THEM COUNT!” One of the engaged soldiers yelled.

  Zac blinkered through the hurricane of dust and debris that churned around the helicopter, grit battered his face and hands as he cupped his palm around his eyes in an effort to see the skirmish unfold. He turned to see the Airman gunner on the ramp, frantically waving the group over.

  “QUICK, MOVE!” Zac yells, as he grabs Fee by the hand and leads off towards the waiting aircraft, desperately stumbling over bodies of massacred infected to the base of the ramp.

  The group burst into the darkened enclosure of the aircraft frame and snapped to a halt, as Zac ran into the barrel of a raised rifle, pointing at his head. His ears pop at the sudden change in ambient noise and he blinks to re-focus in the gloomy interior. Red cargo netted seats lined each wall of the craft, and large green metal boxes dominated the centre, strapped down with heavy duty tension belts. Further along, towards the front of the aircraft stood a large clear polythene tent. A yellow sign on the front read, DANGER CONTAMINATION DRESS CAT 4R.

  The soldier stood before him was dressed differently to the others, underneath the familiar assault vest and helmet, he wore a carbon lined chemical suit, large rubber gloves and over boots. On his arm he wore three stripes, topped with a crown. A large black twin filtered respirator covered his face and muffled his voice when the subsequent demands boomed from his mouth.

  “FACE DOWN, ON THE FLOOR, NOW!”

  All four confusingly lowered themselves to the floor. Outside the engagement with the infected was continuing. Rounds popped and bodies dropped in quick succession, only to be instantly replaced, by those behind. But one by one the soldiers filed back onto the helicopter, until only two remained outside the rear ramp, firing on the advancing monsters.

  The whirling engines fired up in an explosion of power and being laid face down on the floor, Zac could feel the instant lift of the craft. As the heavy bulk of the machine started to rise. The last two soldiers turned to enter the ramp. The surging mob of ravenous infected had become overwhelming. Suddenly the last soldier was ripped from the rear of the craft and instantly buried in a sea of bodies. Arms frantically tore at the screaming troopers clothing, and soon exposed flesh was torn from torso and limb alike, by twisted, desperate hands and explosively disseminated through the pack of beasts dominating the immediate vicinity.

  Shots rang out around the helicopter. The second soldier was also in trouble and indiscriminately popped off rounds at the clawing creatures. The aircraft ascended high above the bridge in a swift stomach churning thrust, two snarling infected had grounded the soldier on the ramp and were climbing his legs, embedding claws in his thick fleshy thighs before burying their disfigured, fragmented mouths into the fleshy meat and sending blood gushing from the subsequent arterial wound. The frightened young soldier screamed in pain and squirmed in desperation.

  Suddenly two pops in quick succession, and almost instantly both the heads of the infected feeders, dropped limp on the trooper’s blood soaked fatigues. The young trooper crawled free and looked up at the figure clutching the smoking barrel of the saviour’s weapon. The soldier in the chemical suit!

  “Thank you Staff Sergeant.”

  But the Staff Sergeant didn’t reply. He watched through the misted goggles of the respirator as the young trooper writhed on the floor. Fee started to raise herself, in an instinctive effort to help the young weeping man, but quickly felt the hard poke of a rifle barrel in her back, pushing her prone. The look of relief instantly drained from the young soldiers face, replaced by one of terror, as the Staff Sergeant raised his rifle at the young soldier.

  “What are you doing?” Fee says, attempting to get to her feet once again, before feeling resistance on her shoulder.

  But it wasn’t the cold of a rifle barrel preventing her from rising this time. She turned her head to see Zac. His hand firmly placed on her shoulder. He smiled back at her with a look of subdued reassurance, as he shook his head. Fee looked at him with a shocked confusion, before their attention was snapped back to the squirming youthful combatant, bleeding out on the ramp and the realisation hit Fee.

  “Staff please! I’m fine, I feel fine!” The boy pleaded, but the old soldier barely blinked.

  “Maybe I’m one of them, maybe I’m NI.”

  The Staff Sergeant remained unfazed. Nobody moved, as the young soldier, snivelled and blubbered his relentless appeal, until slowly words started to break and structured sentences dwindled into a mumbling squeal. The tears of desperation in his eyes, burst into a stream of red as his pupils dilated behind a thick coat of blood. Wheezing turned into a sharp cough until a projected gush of plasma filled vomit, blasted from his mouth and he exploded into a strident thunderous scream. The Staff Sergeant didn’t move or even flinch, but instinctively flicked the safety catch on his rifle to single shot and squeezed the trigger.

  “Taylor, McClean, suit up, four Romeo, Bag him!” The staff Sergeant ordered, as he turned and walked past two stunned soldiers, before he disappeared into the cockpit of the aircraft.

  Chapter Five

  A prickly numbness choked Zac’s whitening hands, as the rigid plastic cuffs ate into his wrists. His arms started to cramp and h
e looked desperately at the soldiers who stood over him to his left and right, desperate for some relief. Strapped to the cargo netting in front of him was a black zip-up body bag, containing the body of the young infected trooper. A label strung to it read,

  24341228 PVT T MILLS, A+.

  One by one the rest of the group had been lead through the plastic flaps into the make shift tented area. First to go through was Max. Zac could hear his booming voice arguing with a nurse and demanding to be freed from the cuffs. He was inside for about ten minutes, until Zac saw his stocky figure being moved to another area behind the plastic and being sat down. Next in was Fee, followed by Janet, each spending about ten minutes in the tent before being moved next to Max.

  Then it was Zac’s turn. Two soldiers emerged from the tent and approached him, their rifles slung over their shoulders. Each grabbed an arm and lifted him to his feet.

  “Your turn mate!” One of the soldiers muttered.

  Zac was lead through the flapping plastic and into a forward area of the helicopter. This area was more open, with no clutter, strapped down containers or idling troops. All four sides were coated in plastic sheeting, taped together with yellow and black tape to form a large enclosed sterile space. To Zac’s left was another flap, through which he’d seen the others leave after their ten minutes within the room. To the right were several large camouflaged bags, some had red crosses on and were bursting with various packets of sterile medical instruments and equipment.

  In the middle of the room was a green fold out chair, stood over it was a small woman, smiling back at him. Zac was somewhat taken back. While calmly waiting his turn he had built up an image in his head of more troops with guns, and some kind of horror film torture chamber beyond the flapping plastic. In contrast, the smiling pretty blonde was a welcome reality.

  “I’m Sergeant Thorne! Please, take a seat.”

  Thorne was wearing fatigue trousers and brown boots, much like the other soldiers. On her top half she wore a sandy coloured T-shirt with the initials RAMC embroidered on the chest. Around her neck hung a stethoscope and she grasped a clip board and pen in her petite hands. Zac moved to the chair and sat down.

  “Good. Now, a few questions. Let’s start with your name.” Thorne said, raising the clip board and clicking the pen.

  Zac sat trust up on the chair, answering Thorne’s questions, like he was taking part in a bizarre submissive job interview. She started with normal questions at first, such as name and age. Then moved into more medical based questions, height, weight and blood group. She then moved on to questions about his family.

  “Is there any history of disease, ailment or sickness in your family?”

  Zac’s instant thought was of his mother and her suffering. He cleared the lump from his throat and replied.

  “Yes, my mother. Alzheimer’s. She died.”

  “I see.” Thorne replied as she scribbled on the pad.

  “Why are you doing this?” Zac was starting to get wound up by the intrusive line of questioning.

  Thorne looked at him and smiled again. But it was becoming clear to Zac that the smile was simply a nurses’ bedside manner. Another form of camouflage used by the military.

  “Just a few more.” She patronisingly replied.

  “How did you survive in the city?”

  “What?” Zac angrily replied.

  “From the infected! How did you survive?”

  “By running and hiding!” He snarled. He’d had enough now.

  “Okay, just one more question. Did you come into direct contact with any of the infected?”

  Zac’s head sunk again, flashes of Emma and fighting for his life in the bath tub filled his head. He slowly raised his head again and looked at Thorne, with tears forming in his eyes.

  “Yes.” He uttered.

  Thorne looked down at the clipboard and her pen hovered over a box on the form. Zac glimpsed at the form as she wrote, NI NEGATIVE.

  “Okay, we’re done with the questions. We need to just get a quick blood sample and a DNA swab.”

  “Why?” Zac was feeling violated and vulnerable. His barriers were right up.

  “No way.” He angrily belted.

  Thorne looked at him calmly placed the clipboard on top of one of the camouflage bags. The smile rapidly dropped from her face and her mouth reformed into a teeth grinding grimace.

  “PRIVATE.” She shouted.

  Instantly, one of the soldiers appeared through the flap in front of Zac.

  “Yes Sergeant?” He yelped, like a performing dog.

  Thorne didn’t say anything. She simply nodded towards Zac and the soldier instantly wrapped his arms around Zac’s neck and pinned him to the chair. Zac wriggled and thrashed but it was to no effect, especially with his hands still restrained. After several seconds, he sunk into the chair and accepted the needle. She abstracted three vials of blood from his arm, labelled each one and sealed them in a plastic bag. She then pulled out another packet, which she ripped open to reveal a white straw with a comb like end and a small plastic container. She pulled the straw from its packaging and leaned down in front of Zac.

  “Open wide!” The smile was back.

  Zac stared at her with distain and distrust, but as bulky limb around his neck started to tighten, again, he conceded and opened his mouth over the hairy forearm restricting his airway. Thorne swabbed the inside of both his cheeks before sealing the comb inside the plastic container and placing it in another plastic bag.

  “Right! Good!” Thorne said as she nodded once again to the soldier.

  The vice grip around Zac’s neck loosened and he gasped at the thin air for breath. He soon found himself being lead through the second flap of plastic and sitting next to the others. Fee leaned forward and looked across Janet at Zac.

  “Are you ok?” She whispered.

  Zac just looked straight ahead, his blood still boiling. Slowly he calmed his breathing and turned to Fee.

  “What does NI mean?” He quizzed the young doctor.

  “It means Natural Immunity! Fee explained.

  “They’re looking for a cure!” Max added.

  Suddenly an atmosphere of well drilled anxiety absorbed the aircraft. Crewmen in flying suits hurried about strapping down equipment and barking at soldiers stood about the airframe. Soldiers instantly reacted and jostled for a seat along the netted walls, like a highly hostile game of musical chairs. The Staff Sergeant could be heard bawling orders to his men.

  “MOVE IT! BRACE POSITIONS!” He roared.

  The brightly illuminated interior was thrown into darkness and within a split second, replaced by red emergency lighting. The twin engines roared into life as an obvious thrust of power was belted through them and the aircrafts speed increased massively. A young crewman, hustled his way past Zac without breaking stride when he cluttered into his legs.

  “Get strapped in, brace yourselves.” He blurted as he burst on past the others without looking back.

  “We can’t, you prick!” Max sarcastically indicated, as he tried in vain to point out their bound hands.

  “What’s going on? Fee pleaded, but the crewman disappeared through the plastic with no response.

  The aircraft was clearly losing altitude, a sick plummeting feeling devoured Zac’s stomach and the pressure built in his ears, until a relieving pop allowed the whirling engine noise to flood his head once again. A speaker system distributed around the aircraft screeched into life with a burst of white noise, swiftly followed by an oddly calm voice.

  “ALL HANDS, BRACE, BRACE.”

  Fee looked at Zac, with an uncontrollable blubber of fear that coated her face. Zac stared back, helplessly, but found the strength to smile and pointed his nose to the ground. Soon all four were staring at their feet and huddling together in a tight cluster. An immense burning white light burst through the aircraft and Zac found his eyes welded closed as a searing heat fired through the porthole windows that lined the aircrafts skin. The almost pure white angelic li
ght seemed to fill the aircraft for eons, before it slowly started to fade and Zac braved opening his cooling eyelids to find the craft in a silent darkness, with only a single red light offering a shadowy summary of his surroundings.

  “What the fuck was that?” Zac cried.

  “STAY DOWN.” Came the cry from a crewman somewhere in the darkness.

  A pummelling force suddenly threw the aircraft into an intense spin. It banked down and to the left as it spiralled out of control. The engines sharply cut out and all sparks of power suddenly evaporated from the aircraft, as if the life had been sucked from its body. The hollow dead shell started to fall faster and faster as the large rotor blades slowed and became bulky weights adding to the downward forces applied to the tumbling craft. A deafening claxon alarm spluttered and struggled to fire a rapid tone, as the aircraft fought back against the force extracting its energy. But it was too little too late. The large aluminium frame buckled as the massive craft smashed into the ground, sending yelling bodies hurtling around the interior and into walls and cargo like bugs on a windscreen. Bodies shattered and cracked as they were crushed under the weight of the collapsing ship. Rotor blades sliced through the soft dirt before striking rock and splintering off and slicing through the skin of the airframe tearing it into pieces. Darkness filled the wreckage and screams filled the air.

  The drab grey sky came into focus, as Zac slowly came round. A blizzard of black ash raged across the tops of the maize crops, that he found himself cradled within. The warm glow of dusk had been absorbed by a dark, violent and cold bleakness. He was laying on his back and staring motionless, straight up. Like a sudden gun shot, his hearing zoned in and his head was teeming with the noise of painful, desperate screams.