The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 4) (34 page)

She saw Stan glaring back at her. He raised a questioning eyebrow and nodded towards the spot where the wounded man had been standing.

“He was bitten earlier today,” Al informed the group. “He was with me in the sewers trying to find a way through when we got jumped. He knows he’s already dead, but he’s a tough bastard, and will never give up.”

“Sounds like a good man,” Taff added thoughtfully.

“He is,” Tina confirmed, staring at the dirt around her feet.

Stan nodded, watching her for a few seconds before turning his attention back towards the maps laid out on the ground and the men assembled around him. He began his summary of the operation, ensuring that everyone understood what was required of them.

Charlie would move first, followed by Taff towards their respective task locations. Shortly afterwards, Stan and Tina would begin making their way through the tunnel with the main body of the survivors from the base, headed towards the rendezvous with Taff.

“Once in the RV, we’ll set up a perimeter, and wait on the buses. Make sure that your people are in good order. Keep them two abreast in the tunnels and tight together,” Stan instructed Tina. “Keep them quiet. We don’t want anyone flapping and giving the game away because they lose their nerve.”

“What happens if there’s no vehicles that can be used at the depot?” Al asked. The question had been weighing heavily on his mind.

“We’ll have no choice but to walk,” Tina shrugged.

“What about your two anti-tank guys? The one’s you left outside?”

“What anti-tank guys?” Taff grinned.

“Bluffing cunts,” Al snorted.

“We needed an ace card of some sort, mate. Yeah, we were bluffing,” Taff grunted. “For all we knew, you might have thrown us in a pot.”

“We’re not quite at the stage of cannibalism just yet, mate,” Al huffed.

“Grab as much ammo as you can,” Stan ordered to Taff and the rest of his men before turning back to Al. “We don’t have much, so would you mind sparing some?”

“Sure thing.”

“Get your comms and troops together,” Stan said, turning to Charlie and Taff. “You’re moving out in five minutes. We’ll be right behind you.”

“Stand by,”
a voice shouted from behind them.

It was Paul, warning them that he was about to dump the last of the fuel onto the infected. The gates were once again beginning to rock as the flames died and the dead regained the initiative and relaunched their assault.

Everyone dropped to the ground and covered their faces, curling themselves into a tight ball. The fuel exploded like napalm, engulfing hundreds more of the attacking dead. The heat blasted through the walls and the gate, causing the already terrified civilians to scream and throw themselves into whatever cover they could find.

“Keep moving,”
the soldiers around them cried, ushering them towards the tunnel.
“Get up and keep moving.”

Stan turned and looked up in time to see the orange and black fireball as it mushroomed over the wall. He felt the heat wash against his face and the ground beneath him rumble. That was the last of it. There was no more fuel now and nothing to stop the dead.

“That’s it. That’s us. Charlie, Taff, grab your radios and get your guys moving.”

18

Within just a few minutes the advance groups had disappeared into the mouth of the tunnel, moving towards their jumping off positions and ready to begin their charge through the sewers. Sent forward by Stan to clear the route and secure their objectives, they were to act as the pathfinders for the main body of survivors.

“That’s us in position. Moving now,”
Taff’s voice crackled through Stan’s earpiece over the radio-waves.

Stan was standing at the entrance and peering into the gloom. He could not see Taff, but he could see the individual lights of the assembled men and women of his team, bouncing from one wall to the other as they took off running into the darkness. They needed to move fast, to clear the sewers as quickly as possible, and reach the bus depot and the rendezvous because Stan and the rest of the survivors from the base would be moving very soon. Once they were deeper into the tunnel, and especially within the sewers, communications between the groups would cease and no one would know how the others had fared until they were out in the open again.

“Good luck,” he called after them.

He stepped back and looked around him at the others that were anxiously awaiting his commands. It was cold and the clouds of their steamy breath came in plumes as their hearts thundered and their bodies shivered. The sound of the dead battering away at the walls and gates had reached the point where ordinary speech was impossible. The thunder of guns and the hollers of the living mixed with the crescendo, creating an atmosphere of terror that surged into the souls of the men and women assembled.

Sebastian was doing all that he could to console his dogs, speaking to them soothingly and assuring them that all would be okay. There were three of them standing beside him, pulling at the chains that were wrapped tightly around his wrists, barking and whimpering alternately.

The two German Shepherds were foaming at the mouth, bearing their teeth and wanting to break free and attack the hordes of infected. Their instincts to protect their human owners were overriding their own need for self-preservation as they attempted to pull away and charge towards the dead. They jerked and snarled, their hearing and sense of smell driving them wild as the legions of reanimated monsters pressed in with their siege.

“Okay, it’s going to be okay,” the dog handler cooed.

He crouched down to comfort his favourite animal, a Border collie named Lucky. He turned and looked back at Tina.

“I think they know more than we do about the situation.”

Ron was standing a few metres away looking bored and smoking a cigarette while, supposedly, helping to maintain control of the assembled evacuees that were lined up and ready behind him. Even by Stan’s composed and mysterious standards the man seemed remarkably reserved. Ron noticed that Stan was watching him and turned to face him with a questioning, almost challenging jut of his chin.

“Are those VHF sets you gave us likely to work?” Stan asked.

He asked the question in order to judge Ron’s mind state. The man did not look right as far as he was concerned.

“Fucked if I know,” Ron grunted, shrugging his shoulders and flicking his cigarette to the side. He turned away and walked back towards the rear of the first group of evacuees.

Stan watched him as he went. The man did not even turn to see if there was any kind of reaction to his passively hostile attitude. He really seemed to care nothing about what was happening or for the people around him.

What radios they had, and believed to still be in working order, had been centralised and redistributed amongst the three groups. Not even the militia that were still manning the perimeter had any communications now, and the two advance groups were carrying radios that could not be guaranteed to work over any real distance. They had tested them, but they could not be sure that once they were mobile and the range between the groups grew, that the radios would still be powerful enough to transmit and receive. Stan at least wanted Ron’s reassurance. Instead, he received an overdose of insufferable arrogance.

He felt his blood begin to simmer, and for a brief moment, he considered raising his rifle and putting a round through the back of the man’s head. At another time and place he would not have hesitated or given the matter a second thought once completed. The only thing that stopped him now was the fact that such an action would cause panic to erupt from within the ranks of the nearby civilians who were already close to the point of breaking. He decided to leave the matter for now, but he would never forget it. Being a forgiving, or even tolerant person was never something that he was particularly well known for. Beneath his white-washed exterior lurked a monster that bubbled and toiled, always having to be restrained by a conscience that barely kept him within the ranks of normal civilised behaviour. He turned his attention back to more pressing matters.

Up on the wall the gunfire continued, but it was incapable of holding back the tide of dead. As far as Stan was concerned, the troops on the defences were wasting ammunition and time. The infected, numbering in their hundreds of thousands were now smashing at the gates at the east and west again, having lost huge numbers to the fires but remaining determined to break through. The barricades were holding, but only just. Time was running out, and there was still no sign of the second group of civilians that were slowly making their way through the complex towards the tunnel.

“Get your guys down from the walls,” Stan ordered to Tina. “It’s no use now. We can’t hold them, and they’ll be trapped if those things break through.”

She was standing beside him with Flash and Greg close by. She turned and nodded to Flash who then jumped up and sprinted off towards the west, headed for the gate and the militia on the far side of the base that were putting up a valiant resistance there. From their position, they could not see what was happening on that side due to the buildings of the inner complex, but they could clearly hear the intensity of the gunfire beginning to rise.

“Where’s the second group?” Stan asked impatiently.

“Still moving,” Greg replied before breaking into a bout of sputtering coughs that ended with bloodied spittle dripping from his lips.

“Still moving?” the veteran gasped with disbelief. “Who’s leading them? Miss-fucking-Daisy?”

Greg’s face was ashen and drawn. He was sweating profusely and clearly becoming weaker by the minute. He stared back at Stan with shining, fevered eyes from deep within their hollowed sockets. Stan had seen that same look a thousand times over the years. They were the eyes of a condemned human being. Someone who knew they were going to die but would meet their end while standing on their feet rather than their knees.

“The rec-room is at the far end of the complex, and there’s nearly a hundred people in that group, including the sick from the med-centre,” Tina replied.

“For fuck sake,” Stan uttered, turning around and checking the progress of Taff and his troops in the tunnel. “They’re taking too long.”

Behind them was the first column of civilians that would move forward. They stood in silence, shivering from the cold and fear, their faces pale and filled with uncertainty and staring at the door to the tunnel. There were many children within the group, huddling their parents and looking around with terrified eyes, flinching with every gunshot that echoed from the walls. Their parents did what they could to console them, but they too were clearly frightened and agitated, unsure of what would happen and hoping that they would soon be moving.

“Prepare the move,” Stan uttered with a sigh, knowing that they had no choice but to hope that the second group would make it there before it was too late.

From just a hundred metres away came a gigantic clang. The unmanned north entrance was under a heavy assault as the dead hurled themselves at the barrier. The assembled civilians yelped and hollered and began to push forward, eager to gain as much distance between them and the gateway as possible.

“Kyle, bring your team up,” Stan ordered with urgency.

He could see the crowd of evacuees beginning to surge and knew that a rout was imminent. Once the panic took hold there would be no way of stopping them, and the evacuation would instantly crumble into an uncoordinated stampede. He peered into the tunnel’s entrance and saw the faint lights of Taff in the distance. It was time for them to move, regardless of whether they were all there or not. The second group from the recreation room would just have to catch up or be left behind. It was clearly that simple as far as Stan was concerned.

The veteran made his way towards the head of the column with his gun-group. There were seven of them altogether, carrying three of the machineguns from the vacated towers. The soldiers moved forward, bristling with belted ammunition that criss-crossed over their chests and protruded from their pouches. They sweated and panted as they struggled with the weight of the heavy equipment and followed after their new commander. Kyle had chosen the most experienced of the soldiers available to aid him as the fire-support group. Each of them had been gunners within the towers and knew how to handle the heavy weapons.

“Put two of your guns on point, and leave one here with me,” Stan instructed him. “When you reach the far end, go firm and wait for me to catch up.”

Kyle nodded, and pushed into the enveloping blackness, leaving two of his men behind to act as a support group for Stan and the main body of survivors.

Outside the cold air was thick with the smell of fire and the nauseating stench of burning flesh, but in the darkness of the subterranean passage and despite the claustrophobic confines, it felt strangely less constricting and the air tasted fresh in comparison to what was outside. It was much colder in the tunnel. A chill seemed to creep down from the surface and seep through the walls, bringing the temperature down to near freezing. The sounds of the gunfire and the moans of the dead melted away into the distance, seeming as though they had crossed through a porthole in space and descended into a different world.

Kyle took in a deep breath and felt his lungs fill with the cool air as his troops closed in around him. He looked back at the entrance and saw Stan silhouetted in the light from outside, snapping orders and attempting to maintain control. The veteran turned to his group. He did not want to leave Stan to lead the evacuees on his own, but he had his orders and needed to follow them in order to ensure that the operation was successful.

“Come on,” he said to his gun-group, turning away and breaking into a run.

The fires had eased the pressure on the western gate, but the flames could not be maintained for long. The base was now out of fuel and despite the weapons of the guards, the dead continued to hammer at the gates. For now, with the extra heavy equipment piled up against them the barricades were holding, but the veteran knew that it would not last for long and he was just as anxious as anyone else to get moving. However, once at the far end his intention was to leave his gun team to protect the entrance while he returned to assist Stan.

In the open the firing suddenly ceased and for a brief moment, a strange calm seemed to settle over the crumbling defences of the FOB. Stan looked up and saw the militia from the eastern gate stomping their way along the walkway with Paul in the lead and making their way towards the main body. It was time. The defenders were falling back, virtually out of ammunition and leaving the walls and hastily reinforced gates as the only means of holding back the army of infected.

“Go, go,” Stan roared, stepping to the side and allowing Greg to begin leading the first group of civilians into the tunnel. “Get them in there and keep them moving.”

He turned and grabbed the two men carrying the machinegun that had been left behind from Kyle’s group. They looked frightened as they watched the men and women begin to hurriedly file in through the tunnel’s entrance, clearly wishing that they could join them in the evacuation. Instead, they had been left behind with this strange, mad man.

“Stay close, and do exactly as I say,” Stan ordered them.

Up above them, with the air silent apart from the growl and bark of the dogs and the wail of the infected, Paul stopped abruptly before reaching the stairs and turned his attention towards the west. His face gradually changed from one of confusion to a look of complete shock and horror. He began to holler, waving his arms down at Tina and Stan and then pointing across towards the western gate.

That is when they all heard it. There were other noises occurring from the far side of the base. The unmistakable grind and clang of heavy metal. There was no longer any gunfire coming from that area, and the noise was clearly not being made by the defenders.

Flash suddenly appeared, sprinting towards them from around the far corner of the inner complex. His face was a portrait of fear, and he was screaming unintelligibly while frantically waving his arms. Another two figures shot out from behind him, instantly identifiable as members of the guard-force, except neither of them were carrying their weapons. They were running as fast as they could and glancing back over their shoulders at something that was evidently following them but not yet visible to Stan and the others.

“The gate’s gone,” Flash howled between breaths, his feet sending up loose shingle around him as he charged for the safety of the tunnel. “It’s fucking gone. It’s collapsed. There’s hundreds of them coming in.”

“Get them in there,” Tina roared, grabbing the nearest civilians and pushing them towards the tunnel. “Faster, move, move.”