Designated (Book 1): Designated Infected (41 page)

'Remember Etienne, they
signed up knowing just as much as you that dying was part of the deal
and I don't think they would want you sitting in a stream of shit and
piss moping while the infected psychopaths that killed them move on
to someone else’s loved one.'

Rising to his feet, Kingsley patted Etienne lightly on
the shoulder. As he walked past he sparred a glance over his shoulder
at the flaxen haired soldier who remained immobile in the rolling
tide of filth ridden water.

Heaving a sigh Kingsley hefted his weapon. Cradling the
assault rifle in his arms he walked away into the dim light of the
tunnel. His footsteps echoed off the corrugated, slime covered tube
as he headed to the shaft of light and the ladder that led out of the
subterranean nightmare they had found themselves tossed into.

Northern
France

Etienne walked up the paved path of the Bonnet
residence.

He swallowed, his throat going dry as he raised his
white gloved hand, a small bead of sweat rolled down the back of his
neck as he clutched the pale yellow envelope in his left hand and
slowly knocked on the door.

Stepping back he automatically went into parade stance
as he stared at the duck egg blue door. He watched, his eyes wide
with trepidation and fear at the looming shadow behind the smoked
inset panel of glass. Swallowing once more he became acutely aware of
the prickling in the back of his parched throat as he saw the door
begin to swing open. The lithe form of Corporal Jean Bonnet's wife
stepped away from the opening door.

Snapping to attention he saluted the unknowing widow,
who simply stood, motionless; dish towel clutched in her hands. He
stepped forwards and held out the pale yellow envelope.

Kensington
South East London

Kingsley sat, his feet raised up from the floor by the
footrest of his brown leather, reclining two-seater sofa. The
scratched and pitted leather felt cool against his skin as he lazily
tousled the coat of his cocker spaniel, the four year old dog resting
its flop-eared head on his right leg as it sat in the warm afternoon
sun streaming through the window.

Kingsley pushed down with his heels, the foot rest
giving a decidedly arduous groan as it slid backwards on the hinged
levers folding itself away into the base of the sofa. His dog looked
at him balefully before rolling onto her back and exposing her
stomach to sun. Chuckling softly Kingsley tickled her belly, her tale
wagging as his fingers tickled the soft skin of her stomach.

Stretching he listened, his shoulders popped loudly as
he flexed his long frame. Bending low he picked his sleeveless
t-shirt from the floor beside the sofa. Lifting his head above the
level of the sofa's arm he whistled catching the dogs attention.

Smiling, he watched as
her ears rose at the sudden noise, her body barrel-rolling as she
spun over on to her stomach, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she
panted with excitement, the thump of tail on the hollow cushions of
the sofa, a steady drumbeat of devoted happiness.

'Who wants walkies?' His singular sentence sent the
straw coloured canine into overdrive; her joy filled barking echoing
off the walls of his one bedroom flat as she bounded across the sofa.

Her tongue lathered his chin and face as she frantically
licked his unprepared visage. Hopping backwards from the arm of the
sofa, the dog barked again as Kingsley dragged a hand over his
smirking face.

'Come on then ya daft pooch, go find your lead.'

Kingsley watched as the dog leapt over the back of his
sofa and ran off into the small kitchen in search of her lead.

North
East London

Essex

Epping
Forest

The sharp frost of late autumn bit at Janet’s
uncovered nose and cheeks, her feet were heavy with the calf-high
Jomsom boots adorning them.

She curled like a cat into Derek's side as they made
their way through the woodland country park, the smell of the wet
frostbitten leaves beneath their feet and the cool crisp air leaving
her feeling comforted; she smiled at the thought that despite what
was raging throughout the world, life, much like the seasons, carried
on.

She let her gloved hand rest on her widening stomach as
she burrowed deeper into Derek’s embrace. His large arm
encircling her shoulders as they walked in-sync with each other's
movements.

'Have you thought of any names?'

After much trepidation, Janet had managed to broach the
issue of her pregnancy with Derek a week after his return from, what
was supposed to have been a combined forces training mission, the
memory still stung Baker. The image of the mangled remains of
Etienne's men lying in the foetid stagnant water driven deep into his
mind. Janet glanced at Baker, her eyes meeting his as she smiled, her
question still hanging in the air between them. He smiled down at the
woman who made his world complete and nodded.

'I have, but I would like to know what your choices are
first.'

Janet chuckled softly, her slightly musical voice
washing away the dark memories that had been slowly bubbling to the
surface of Derek’s mind.

'Fine, well I was thinking of Louisa, Lisa, Maria, or
Elizabeth if it's a girl. John, Dominic, Kevin, or Francis if it's a
boy. Although I'm not to fond of Francis.'

Derek drew his wife in tighter as he spun her to face
him, sliding his hands up to cup her face he leant forwards.

'Those are fine by me, whatever you decide will be the
right choice just as mine was when I asked you to be my wife.'

Janet smiled as she pushed herself up onto the balls of
her feet and kissed him; a small unbidden blush crept up Derek's
cheeks as he grinned down at her. Curling her fingers through his
they carried on along the forest path, the freshly frozen leaves
crackling beneath their feet.

Broadhead
Barracks.

Anastasia's
quarters

Davies sat, the hard plastic of the chair doing little
to ease the aching in his back as he waited for her to finish. The
Autumn and winter seasons meant little to either of them, both having
given up long ago on the fickle meanings, and enraptured capitalism,
that the seasons brought.

'You finished in there yet?' The boredom crept back into
his voice as he called out to her once more. A soft whimsical chuckle
drifted from the far end of the room as his words finally made their
way to her ears. 'Oh I am sorry, is the master soldier getting bored
of a little waiting?' Davies' heavy laughter rumbled from his plastic
confines as he watched her leave the small changing area.

'No I just want to get to the damned bar before the
others drink the bloody thing dry like last time. Besides it's a good
knees up.' He stopped as soon as he said those last three words
knowing that the Freudian slip was going to cost him dearly. She
cocked her head to one side, a frown furrowing her brow as she
struggled to comprehend his meaning; seeing the puzzled look play
across her features Davies smiled. 'Party, I meant party, it'll be a
good party.'

He watched as Anastasia wheeled herself through the room
towards him, a wry smile playing across her face as she contemplated
toying with him. All that vanished when she watched him stand and she
once again saw him bedecked in his full dress uniform.

Davies' eyes widened as he took in what she was wearing,
the form fitting dress clinging to her slim form like a second skin,
his gaze danced over her, from the smooth curve of her neck, to her
trim waist. Anastasia blushed slightly as she saw his eyes widen at
her appearance, 'See something you like?' Davies cocked a grin, as he
stood, bowing low and offering his crooked arm, for her to take.

'I see a lot of things I like and some that I would
dearly love to change, but tonight isn't about that, it's about me
relishing the looks on my friends' faces when I show up with the best
looking woman there. The only thing that makes it any sweeter is the
fact that if you get pissed I don't have to worry about you falling
flat on your pert backside and having to carry you home.'

Anastasia veritably cackled with laughter as she allowed
herself to be semi-pulled along by Davies arm.

'Yes I suppose having one of these does have its
advantages.'

****

The crackling of the fire filled the room with it's
orange glow and the heat rising forth, enveloping the small room in a
blanket of warmth; and yet, it gave him no comfort. He felt no warmth
and took no joy in the crackling dance being played out by the
conflagration in his fireplace.

His eyes burned with the incandescent light and fire of
hatred as he watched the flames weave and flutter. Nothing could
assuage him from the thoughts boiling inside his anger spurned mind,
as he sat silently safe inside his rage filled room; safe from the
bitter winds blowing just outside his frost glazed window.

A cruel vindictive smile curled across his liver thin
lips as he made his final plans for the vengeance he so eagerly
sought. Rising from his chair he walked across the room, passed by
his own personal wet bar, the scotch filled crystal decanter
glittering like a diamond in the dancing light of the fire, and
picked up the brass bound receiver of his 1896 Balmoral rotary dial
phone. His thin talon like finger barely filling a third of the
rotary faces holes as he twisted the dial.

Listening he smiled as a solid click echoed along the
line, his lips curled into a malicious grin as he spoke.

'Give me a line to Unit Twelve.'

Broadhead
Christmas Party

The popping cork made her jump, shooting a quick glance
left she watched the bubbling foam cascading over his fingers as it
spewed forth from the bottle neck.

A loud raucous cheer rose from the gathering as the
bottle clinked against their proffered glasses. The shimmering,
bubbling beverage glistened like amber as everyone raised their
glasses in a toast to the end of another year, and the birth of new
life.

'I would just like to say a toast to our distinguished
commander, without whom some of us would not be sitting at this
table. I would also like to toast his lovely wife, whom we all know
is the real boss here.'

A ripple of laughter rolled along the length of the
table as Rawlings carried on with his speech, the words becoming
increasingly slurred with each glassful. Baker watched with a soft
smile playing across his face as amusement at his comrades' upcoming
embarrassment danced in his eyes. Janet looked at her husband as he
and everyone else watched Rawlings fall ever deeper into his
self-imposed inebriation.

'I would also finally like to say a deep heartfelt thank
you to whoever brought this, 'cos it's bloody lovely.'

Baker laughed as Rawlings was dragged back down into his
seat, his cream white teeth sparkling under the glowing lighting
above them. Janet curled her fingers through her husbands as she
leant her head against his shoulder.

The table slowly bubbled up into sporadic conversations.
Glancing down Baker watched as Janet subconsciously ran a hand over
her burgeoning bump. A soft teasing smile tugging at her lips as she
continued to lovingly run her hand over the dress covered bulge that
was her unborn child. Pushing himself away from the table, Baker
stood planting a small kiss on Janet's cheek as he whispered in her
ear.

'I want to get Johns answer to what we talked about
darling, be back in a few minutes.'

Nodding, she turned, entering into a giggle filled
conversation with Anastasia. The Russian scientist glanced to her
left as Davies pushed himself away from the table and followed after
a beckoning Baker. A curious quirk of her eyebrow followed his
departing form before she dismissed it and turned back to her
conversation with the glowing mother to be.

****

'What's up?', Davies pulled a packet of cigarettes from
his trouser pocket. Cupping his hand around the end of it as he lit
it from the guttering flame of his black Zippo lighter. Snapping it
closed he looked fondly at the grinning image of a stylised devil
before slipping the small black square into the breast pocket of his
jacket.

Baker moved over to the small dividing wall and perched
on top of it. Watching Davies walk over slowly, he mulled over the
best way to ask what was dancing through his head. Sighing
internally, he bit down hard on the proverbial bullet and decided to
be as blunt as possible.

'We want you to be our child's godfather.'

Davies almost choked on his cigarette as he drew in a
sharp breath, the brown paper filter bouncing off the roof of his
mouth as he tried to extricate the still burning stick of tobacco
from between his rapidly singeing lips.

Flicking the ruined fag away he watched as the glowing
ember tip spiralled through the star-lit air to land with a soft hiss
on the frost bitten lawn. Dragging his hand through his hair he blew
out a heavy breath and plonked down next to Baker.