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Authors: Dave Jeffery
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their faces, suffocating them with molten, bubbling rubber and plastic.
The remnants of the truck smashed through the road block, the Challenger 2 cast aside, spinning into a garden where its munitions erupted, tearing the vehicle and crew to pieces in a series of spectacular explosions.
Breathing heavily, Kunaka stared at the devastation in his windshield. It had been some time since he’d seen such carnage. He never thought he would see it here; not on the streets of the UK.
How fragile it all is, this life we have . It was Grandpa Joe again, and this time Kunaka nodded an accord.
“ Update? Over.” O’Connell said in his ear. “Stu? Are we at war out there, over?”
“ Fuck knows,” Kunaka replied honestly. “But we’re clear to proceed. Repeat: we are clear to proceed. Over and out.”
The Mastiff moved forward. Its 6x6 drive would make easy work of the debris, just so long as he steered clear of the burning puddles in the streets. It was only Kunaka battling his reluctance to go any further that made the next part of the journey slow going.
***
Shipman had barely suggested that Colonel Carpenter take a look at the CCTV screens in the ops room, when muted shouts of alarm came from next door.
There was a rapid knocking on the door to their temporary office, and the young woman from the COM burst in without waiting for authorization to enter.
“ Sir! Sir! You’ve got to see this! It’s a nightmare!!” The woman’s face was ashen; her eyes dull with disgust and disbelief. Carpenter had seen her expression before: in the black and white faces of the jury at the Nuremburg war trials. He watched the full footage at Sandhurst thirty years ago, and the eyes of those judges, the unmitigated horror at man’s inhumanity to man was alive and well in this young woman.
“ Easy, soldier,” Carpenter said, coming to the door, but the woman had turned away to vomit in the hallway; her small frame pumping out more than most would have thought possible.
The other five soldiers in the Operations Room were huddled around the VDU, their faces grim and pale, three of them had the drawn look of people trying to hold onto the contents of their stomach. The other two had dark smears on their tunics.
At the Colonel’s approach the Corporal glanced up, his eyes haunted by the images on the screen.
“ They were dead,” he muttered. “We were sure of it, Sir.” His voice had a lilt to it, as though he were fighting back tears. “But they can’t be.”
Carpenter was watching the screen. Brindley Place again, the bars, the canals; but the buckled bodies were no longer strewn amongst the tables and chairs; no longer sprawled on the tow path.
They were walking .
Their limbs fixed and twisted, their gait slow and unsure, their faces vacant and dead. Yet they were still walking.
Although Carpenter knew of Whittington’s experiments, had seen the lone figure ambling through Broad Street and colliding with a lamp post, seeing a group of dead-but-not-dead people shambling along was something different. Here he could see the potential; here he could see the scale of what could happen if this terror Whittington had released upon the world escaped the cordon.
But the CCTV gave up its final terrible treasure; a shape was amongst them, a figure that moved differently; its limbs flailing, dark splashes arcing into the air.
Someone alive. Someone being eaten alive!
A face broke free of the shapeless mass, mouth open in a silent scream, man or woman it was hard to tell, one cheek had been ripped off; the bottom lip was gone exposing bloody teeth, one of the un-dead was gnawing off an ear. Then, mercifully, it was gone, lost amid the biting tearing throng.
“ This is what we can expect if the Lazarus Initiative gets loose, Colonel,” Shipman said bluntly. “Those who aren’t eaten alive will become zombies if bitten.”
“ Timescale?” Carpenter asked. There was anger inside him now. Such things were not warfare.
The remnants of the truck smashed through the road block, the Challenger 2 cast aside, spinning into a garden where its munitions erupted, tearing the vehicle and crew to pieces in a series of spectacular explosions.
Breathing heavily, Kunaka stared at the devastation in his windshield. It had been some time since he’d seen such carnage. He never thought he would see it here; not on the streets of the UK.
How fragile it all is, this life we have . It was Grandpa Joe again, and this time Kunaka nodded an accord.
“ Update? Over.” O’Connell said in his ear. “Stu? Are we at war out there, over?”
“ Fuck knows,” Kunaka replied honestly. “But we’re clear to proceed. Repeat: we are clear to proceed. Over and out.”
The Mastiff moved forward. Its 6x6 drive would make easy work of the debris, just so long as he steered clear of the burning puddles in the streets. It was only Kunaka battling his reluctance to go any further that made the next part of the journey slow going.
***
Shipman had barely suggested that Colonel Carpenter take a look at the CCTV screens in the ops room, when muted shouts of alarm came from next door.
There was a rapid knocking on the door to their temporary office, and the young woman from the COM burst in without waiting for authorization to enter.
“ Sir! Sir! You’ve got to see this! It’s a nightmare!!” The woman’s face was ashen; her eyes dull with disgust and disbelief. Carpenter had seen her expression before: in the black and white faces of the jury at the Nuremburg war trials. He watched the full footage at Sandhurst thirty years ago, and the eyes of those judges, the unmitigated horror at man’s inhumanity to man was alive and well in this young woman.
“ Easy, soldier,” Carpenter said, coming to the door, but the woman had turned away to vomit in the hallway; her small frame pumping out more than most would have thought possible.
The other five soldiers in the Operations Room were huddled around the VDU, their faces grim and pale, three of them had the drawn look of people trying to hold onto the contents of their stomach. The other two had dark smears on their tunics.
At the Colonel’s approach the Corporal glanced up, his eyes haunted by the images on the screen.
“ They were dead,” he muttered. “We were sure of it, Sir.” His voice had a lilt to it, as though he were fighting back tears. “But they can’t be.”
Carpenter was watching the screen. Brindley Place again, the bars, the canals; but the buckled bodies were no longer strewn amongst the tables and chairs; no longer sprawled on the tow path.
They were walking .
Their limbs fixed and twisted, their gait slow and unsure, their faces vacant and dead. Yet they were still walking.
Although Carpenter knew of Whittington’s experiments, had seen the lone figure ambling through Broad Street and colliding with a lamp post, seeing a group of dead-but-not-dead people shambling along was something different. Here he could see the potential; here he could see the scale of what could happen if this terror Whittington had released upon the world escaped the cordon.
But the CCTV gave up its final terrible treasure; a shape was amongst them, a figure that moved differently; its limbs flailing, dark splashes arcing into the air.
Someone alive. Someone being eaten alive!
A face broke free of the shapeless mass, mouth open in a silent scream, man or woman it was hard to tell, one cheek had been ripped off; the bottom lip was gone exposing bloody teeth, one of the un-dead was gnawing off an ear. Then, mercifully, it was gone, lost amid the biting tearing throng.
“ This is what we can expect if the Lazarus Initiative gets loose, Colonel,” Shipman said bluntly. “Those who aren’t eaten alive will become zombies if bitten.”
“ Timescale?” Carpenter asked. There was anger inside him now. Such things were not warfare.
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