The Dead Walk The Earth II (6 page)

4

The long stalks of grass were swaying gently in the mild night. A breeze blowing in from across the open countryside brushed against the men’s faces and cooled their flushed skin. It was a full moon and visibility was good enough for them to see for a considerable distance. Marty, kneeling beside his pack, pressed the red button on the satellite phone and folded down the antenna.

“Five minutes,” he whispered to the other two.

Bull and Danny were both squatting in the soft soil close by. They grunted their acknowledgement and continued to watch their arcs. The continuous rustling of the wavering stalks of unharvested wheat kept their senses turning. They honed their hearing as they stared into the blackness of the night and listened for anything that would indicate someone or
something
was approaching.

Other than the swish of the oscillating grass and the whispering gusts of the summer’s night air, the land was still and quiet. Nothing moved. Gone were the sounds of traffic on the roads and people in their homes. The skies were silent and the only indigenous noises were the sounds of nature. However, it was a very different story in the towns and cities. They were packed with the infected corpses that roamed the streets and hunted the living. Their moans and wails echoed through the urban areas and anyone left alive that could do so, had long since left. The remains of the civilised world were now the possessions of the dead.

Far off to the west, the distant thump of rotor blades could be heard slowly growing in volume as they approached.

“That’s them,” Marty announced.

He reached into one of the pouches on his assault vest and pulled out the infrared light, known as a Fire-Fly. He held it up high so that it was facing out towards the west and switched it on. No light could be seen emitting from the device with the naked eye, but anyone wearing night vision goggles could not miss the bright pulsing signal beacon that flashed out at one second intervals.

While Danny continued to cover the area, Bull began preparing their equipment and getting ready to board the helicopter the moment it touched down. With the noise of the engines drowning out their ability to hear and the downwash hindering their view of the landscape, they would be vulnerable to attack. The sooner they were aboard, the better.

The crate was heavy and awkward to manipulate. It was over a metre long and deep and half as wide again, and weighing an estimated ninety kilograms. Bull heaved it up, grabbing it with both hands and placing it against his knee as he prepared himself to run forward with his cumbersome burden, as soon as the Chinook’s tailgate was lowered.

Danny, keeping his rifle aimed into the wall of darkness that surrounded them glanced back over his shoulder and then down at the case in his friends grasp.

“For fuck sake, Bull, don’t drop that thing whatever you do.”

Bull stared back at him and scowled at the fact that Danny had felt obliged to remind him of the care he needed to show while handling the large heavy package. He tightened his grip on the handles at either end and growled under his breath.

“You just watch your arcs, dick head.”

The CH-47 was drawing near. Already the din was enough to drown out the sound of the moving grass around them. Within seconds they would find it difficult to communicate verbally as its whirling blades hammered at the air and its motors screamed their high-pitched whine. It was then that they would need the helicopter to land as quickly as possible, leaving them exposed for as little time as necessary.

Marty, still holding the infrared light aloft pulled himself up into a crouch and readied himself to spring forward. Suddenly against the deep blue, almost black sky, an even darker silhouette emerged. The bulk of the fuselage was clearly visible as it began to slow its approach and lose altitude. The noise grew to a crescendo and the howling downwash rose into a storm as it beat at their bodies and their senses.

Within seconds, the aircraft had passed just a few metres above their heads and touched down with a bounce onto the dark earth. Its heavy wheels absorbed the landing and as the giant helicopter settled, a faint slither of light appeared at the top of the rear ramp. Moments later, the interior of the Chinook, bathed in an eerie green glow, came into view as the Loadmaster stepped forward and signalled for the men to board while he covered their withdrawal with his rifle.

Marty, Bull, and Danny wasted no time in moving. They stood together and rushed forward towards the tail end of the aircraft. Danny covered the rear while Bull who was weighed down with the heavy crate hobbled forward, puffing and panting with the strain. Getting onto the tailgate was a struggle. The big muscular Bull needed to time his approach with precision to ensure that he did not waste energy and precious seconds trying to climb aboard with clumsy footing or worse, slip and drop their delicate cargo. The thought of him taking a tumble with the crate in his hands caused a shiver to run the length of his spine.

Danny, the last to leave the ground, stepped up and onto the sloping ramp of the Chinook and nodded at the Loadmaster as he passed by. All were aboard and already the tailgate was closing and the pitch of the engines was changing.

That was when the worst happened. Unable to see the deck of the aircraft and the raising ramp causing him to constantly adjust his balance with his heavy load, Bull fell. Stubbornly gripping onto the crate, he crashed to the floor with a silent scream becoming lodged in his throat as he felt the cumbersome box slip from his grasp. He screwed his eyes shut and winced as he and his charge were sent sprawling across the interior of the helicopter.

Danny and Marty froze to the spot. They were not concerned about Bull or the injuries he may have sustained in the trip. Instead they watched in horror as the crate bounced across the hard surface of the passenger compartment. The crunching sounds of the impacts were audible even over the roaring engine as it came to a skidding halt against the long row of seats on the starboard side.

“You useless clumsy spaz,” Danny howled at the top of his lungs as he leapt over the prostate Bull who was still lying on the floor with his head tucked deep into his shoulders and his eyes screwed tight.

Marty jumped across and grabbed the large heavy box and pushed his weight against it to hold it in place. He knew full well that it was not likely to move any further than it had done already but he somehow felt urged that he should secure it as best he could. He looked across at Bull and shook his head disapprovingly.

Bull opened his eyes and stared back at him, feeling ashamed but mouthing the words,
‘fuck off’
.

An hour later and the helicopter was over the Isle of Wight. The three soldiers, having been on the mainland for over three weeks and tinkering on the verge of exhaustion, sat slumped in their seats with their heads lolling to the side and bouncing with the turbulence that buffeted against the aircraft. On the floor in front of them sat the bulky crate with each of the men resting their feet upon it as a way of keeping it close and secure.

“Why have you brought a coffin on board?” The Loadmaster leaned forwards and shouted across to Marty.

His voice was barely audible over the noise but Marty’s senses were finely tuned and despite the fact that their mission was over, it would be a while before his brain would allow him to relax completely.

“It’s none of your fucking business,” Marty bellowed back at him with a grin and without bothering to open his eyes. “And it’s not a coffin, it’s an armoured crate.”

“Looks like a coffin to me.”

“Bit small for a coffin, you crap-hat,” Bull barked, referring to the Loadmaster with the same insult that was reserved for
any
member of the armed forces that was not in the Parachute Regiment.

“Could be for a dwarf,” the Loadmaster smiled.

“Well, unluckily for you, you’ll never know, will you?”

For four months the aircrew and the team had grown to know one another very well. The team had come to rely on and trust in the abilities of Melanie and her men. The pilots were of a special breed and were never afraid to take them to wherever they needed to go, despite the dangers involved. For Marty and the others, the crew of that particular CH-47 were guardian angels, pulling them out of trouble on numerous occasions as they conducted their dangerous missions on the UK mainland.

However, despite their maverick ways and appearance, both the helicopter and the members of the team were expected to follow orders and respect the chain-of-command. Regardless of their wishes or preferences, Marty and the others were required to report directly to their headquarters on return. It was something that they always loathed.

Since their dramatic rescue at Manchester Airport by Melanie and her crew, the surviving men of the team had settled themselves into an old, partially reconstructed, barn that had been in the process of being converted into a house on the southern tip of the island. While the politicians and army commanders kept themselves in the central hub of Newport, the team considered themselves as being out of sight and out of mind. They could have chosen to live in comfort in one of the many villages and houses that had been commandeered but they valued their privacy more than the amenities of civilised life.

Still, they had not sat idle and the barn had become more than just a shelter. It was home to them. Over the months, through their outstanding ability to procure whatever they needed by whatever means, regardless of the logistics involved, they had made their own little corner for themselves within the island. They had a generator, partially running water that was gravity fed from a tank, and warm sleeping bags. The dead plague had interrupted the owners from fully installing the heating system and the kitchen, but they got by and considered themselves to be blessed to have their own place away from the daily influences of central politics and command. All three of them were looking forward to getting home but first they needed to brief the army commanders on their findings during their patrol.

As the Chinook approached the landing pad the Loadmaster hit the button to begin lowering the ramp. Bull and Danny took a handle each on the cumbersome box and stood ready to exit the aircraft.
The men felt the wheels touch the pad and the fuselage rocked slightly as the machine settled into place. Marty, standing at the front and watching as the tailgate slowly lowered, suddenly turned to Danny and Bull with a sour expression on his face.

“Heads up,” he shouted back to them. “I think we’re in trouble, ‘Kevlar Knickers’ is already here, waiting for us.”

Bull peered over his shoulder and saw Samantha standing beside an army Land Rover on the helicopter landing pad. She was standing with her arms folded across her chest as usual and staring back at them. Her expression was hard to read, as always, and it was difficult to work out whether or not she was there to greet them or escort them back to Newport and ensure that they reported to HQ.

“Bollocks,” Bull grunted as he tightened his grip on the handle of the box. “I should’ve known she’d be here.”

Marty knew exactly why Samantha had come to meet them. She would don the guise of being interested solely in their mission and that she wanted a summary of their report before the in-depth debrief with Gerry, the Operations Officer. However, her real motive was that she actually cared and over the previous four months, her façade of indifference had become more and more brittle.

“Why doesn’t she just admit that she thinks we’re fucking awesome?” Bull shouted into Marty’s ear.

“Because she’s a woman. She’s stubborn and likes to play hard to get. Have you not figured that out yet?” Marty grinned back at him.

Outside on the concrete pad, with the sound of the Chinook’s engines winding down and the hot exhaust fumes filling the air, Samantha took a couple of steps towards them. She took a mental note of each of them and silently assessed their condition. After being away from the island for so long and dragging themselves through the mainland the three of them looked dirty and unkempt. Their beards were thick with grime and the dirt and grease matted into their hair made it stand out on end from their scalp. She dreaded sitting in close proximity to them and breathing in their foul stink.

“How did you get on?” She asked while eying the crate that Bull and Danny carried between them and began loading into the back of her vehicle.

Marty shrugged.

“The usual,” he replied casually as he headed for the passenger seat. “The urban areas are getting pretty congested. I wouldn’t recommend buying property there just yet.”

Samantha climbed in behind the wheel as Danny and Bull jumped into the rear compartment and made themselves comfortable.

“What about the airfield and the routes in?” She asked as she turned the key in the ignition and pulled the Land Rover away from the landing pad.

Marty smiled at her and watched her for a long moment. She kept her attention on the track that led them onto a narrow and twisting country lane. She could feel his eyes studying her, but she refused to meet his gaze.

“You always have to be the first one in the know, don’t you, Sam?” He said finally as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to her but she shook her head.

“Still not smoking then? How long has it been?”