Lurk

Chapter Eleven

“Isn’t that Bridge’s pile of bolts?” Snake asked, basking in the same curious bath of thought as his colleagues. “The mad mechanic, who did a runner a couple of years back?”

There was no answer. The soldiers had seen enough of the impossible to start believing in the stories, and now that they were just a tad possible, the fear of death was all too real. Zombies were one thing: but a maddened mechanic with the knowledge to create an atom bomb? Smith reckoned that it didn’t take two twins to work out that they were neck deep in even bigger shit than they could comprehend.

“That’s it – I’m outta here.” In an arrogant flail of the arms, Duster headed off for the window in a toddler-resembling tantrum.

The twins rushed to detain him, but the shell-shocked sniper was bounding for the gap with all of his remaining speed.

“Dust!”

Snake swallowed his tongue as the soldier’s body hurtled from the window, as if being thrown by an invisible culprit. Not a sound escaped the falling man’s mouth, and as flesh met ground, physics made sure that nothing ever would.

Clank.

“Oh God – we’re fucked.” White rushed over to the windowsill, peering over to inspect the damage.

The sturdy iron ladder slid down the Hangar’s wall with great friction, conclusively slamming down on the body of a dozen zombies – and one less-than-alive sniper. Bloody typical. The first time I stand up for myself and it gets a prick killed.

The twins pulled him away from the wreckage, keen to set up their rifle posts once more.

“Right...” Chalky was blank-faced as he staggered across to a folding chair. “Stay focused... We just need to stay focused and we’ll all get out of here in one piece.”

He’d never know if the others had heard it, but at that very moment in time, a low chuckle echoed off the walls, directly at Chalky. You bastard, Bridge...

“There’s no time, we’ve got to put the population first!”

Dunn was unable to process anything other than his own thoughts, and expected everyone to follow his mark as told. Sprinting towards the main gates, revolver in hand, the fifty-nine-year-old Scot looked at best a little flustered.

Barron let out a resigned sigh, making the final order on his radio. “All surviving units, this is Barron. Forget code, terminology and all that shit for a second: prepare to launch the meltdown codes.”

The sergeant pushed his radio into the hands of his superior, and left the general to make the finishing touches. Standing at the foot of DMB, Dunn could feel a loss of power at having to give up his pride and joy to... well, to zombies. He’d only had a quick glimpse, but there was no mistaking these creatures. The monsters which the maddened Mason had spoken of... It seemed that they were all real.

Barely any live men were to beat the hordes – the only people making it to the gates either dead or dying. The snipers were reluctant not to let anything with the instinct to move pass their sights.

Click. Bang. Click. Bang. The same old rhythm was keeping them alive and kicking, and the thrill of pumping lead through rotten flesh couldn’t be replicated in any other way.

The General observed his home through field binoculars, speechless. He’d built this place up from a WWII shambles into a modern and well-respected site of military technology. Could anyone else say that? Not in his knowledge and that was what kept him going through these later years.

“Sir... You can’t activate the meltdown sequence! There are still survivors here...”

The voice was unfamiliar. “Who is this?”

“Private Smith, sir. I’m holed up in here with a few others.”

Was there still hope? Dunn sighed down the receiver. “Where’s your location, soldier? And who are these others?”

“We’re in Hangar 6, sir. And it’s me, Mason, Snake, Spider and Chalky – err, I mean Private White.”

“Well I’ll be a dog’s bitch.” Dunn almost felt himself well-up at the good news which had reached him through the radio. His men would not all be defeated by these beasts.

“Wait, did he say Mason?” asked a soldier, openly and with eerie implications. Another voice replied, “Damn, I think he did. Well that’s it: those lads are dead.”

It was true: Smith had reported a definitive sighting of Mason. It was strange however that Prisoner 0300 had not taken down White when he had the chance. That had been the plan, and now it was looking bleak. At the back of his head, a collaboration of hissing voices taunted him for his actions.

Looks like your plan backfired, old Dunn...

Mason didn’t kill White, just like you’d wanted him to...

Good luck getting rid of them now.