CHAPTER SEVEN

 

 

“WHAT THE HELL’S going on, sir?” Rick was standing on the grass verge, bathed in flashing blue light. The sirens were off but the warning lights pulsed, pulsed, forcing an unwanted rhythm inside his brain. He stared at D.I. Harper, meeting the man’s gaze, and refused to budge an inch.

“I dunno, son. This whole thing is a fucking mess.” The big man shook his head, a sad look in his eyes. He was losing his grip, approaching an edge that he had previously skirted with ease.

“But... but what we saw in there, what we did. That wasn’t normal. Any of it. There were people... dead people... fuck me, sir, you know what I’m talking about.” Rick tensed his jaw, maintaining his gaze, flexing his fingers over the handle of the holstered Glock. It was a nervous habit, one he’d only just acquired. He wondered if it would be a keeper.

“Dead folk?” said D.I. Harper, his face a weird colour in the glow of the emergency lights. “Is that what you mean? Dead folk getting up and attacking us? Even our own men.”

Men and women in uniform – police, ambulance, fire crew – were busying themselves at the scene, moving in well choreographed routines to secret music that Rick was unable to hear. His waltz was done, for now; but he was certain that it was too early to put away his dance shoes.

“Like I said, it’s a mess.” D.I. Harper had softened. His voice was low, slightly menacing, as if he were sharing a grim secret.

“What do you think caused all this?” Rick finally broke his gaze, glancing around at the activity. From the outside it no doubt looked frenetic, unfocused, but in reality everyone had a job to do and knew exactly what was expected of them.

D.I. Harper lit up a short fat cigar with a battered tin lighter. He rolled the lighter in his beefy hand, rubbing its well-worn surface with his fingers, as if it meant something to him – a gift, a memento. “My guess is that I have no guess. We could be looking at a new virus, or chemical warfare, even some sort of mass hallucination. But this is happening all over the city – all over the country. I suspect tonight is the culmination of events that have gone on for days, maybe even weeks.”

Rick blinked, his eyes stinging from the smoke they’d run through inside the building. He was still focused, still in fighting mode, but some of his reflexes had slackened. “What are you saying, sir?”

D.I. Harper shook his massive head. His eyes were like those of a wise old dog, one that’s seen just about everything the world has to offer yet is still capable of registering surprise. “Call me a conspiracy freak if you like, but this is too damn strange for my liking. It could have been anything, really. Bugs. Space aliens. That experiment over in France, the one they rigged up to re-enact the Big Bang. Fucking hell, it could even be some kind of Internet super-virus aimed at Bill Gates for all we know!”

Rick knew that he should think his superior officer’s wild theories funny, but he couldn’t find it in himself to laugh. The things he’d seen, the bloodshed he’d been part of... none of it made sense, not in a sane world. Maybe this was the result of something being passed through the world’s computers, or a mutated virus let loose during illegal genetic experimentation. Who knew? Not him; not them. Nor was it their job to know, or to even think. Their job was to clear up the mess. To always, always just keep the hell quiet and clear up other people’s messes.

Dark clouds passed overhead, their shapes writhing in the sky like stricken behemoths. The air turned damp, edgy. It would rain soon, possibly even snow. Rick thought of Sally, sitting there at home worrying, watching the news reports of all this madness and checking all the doors and windows.

He excused himself and walked to the edge of the building. Two men were loading a body onto a gurney, strangely silent as they worked. The body was covered in a white sheet with red stains. Near the top of the body, the sheet was a lot flatter than it should be. Rick wondered if the corpse was that of his friend Hutch.

He leaned against the wall and retrieved his mobile phone from a zippered pocket in his trouser leg. He took off his glove using his teeth, and then switched on the handset. The screen glowed, faintly at first but then brighter as the battery warmed up. When he was asked for his password he typed in the appropriate digits and waited for the handset to allow him to access the phone’s memory.

The light grew brighter, stuttered, and then began to fade. He had two new messages, each of them from Sally. He listened to them both and smiled at the sound of her voice. She seemed wary but not terrified; worried but nowhere near to panic.

He dialled his home number.

A message appeared on the screen:

No network coverage.

He tried again and got the same result. Either everyone was clogging up the satellite relays and ringing their loved ones, or there was a problem with the signal. Of the two options, he preferred the former. It was easier to remain calm and focused if he thought that the reason he was unable to contact his wife was because the networks were busy – just like they got on the big holidays like New Year’s Eve and Christmas Day – rather than imagining that the entire satellite grid had gone down.

Rick returned the handset to his pocket, forcing himself to remain in control. It was crucial that he was in charge of his emotions. He’d seen too many good men go down because they lost their heads in a crisis.

Like Hutch. He’d certainly lost his head in this crisis.

Not funny. Not fucking funny at all.

He stepped away from the building and joined a group of men he knew from his unit. They were jogging round to the back, checking that the perimeter was still secure. This was what he needed: routine, training; the ability to focus on his job, no matter how insane the situation. It had kept him alive in Afghanistan, and saved his skin in Iraq. Now it would keep him going long enough to get to Sally, and he’d work the rest out then, once she was in his arms, the warmth of her breath against his neck.

D.I. Harper nodded at him as he passed by, speaking into a two-way radio. He sounded stressed again, like he was hanging on by his fingertips. They all were. There was no other way to hang, not here, not now, amid this insanity.

A crowd had gathered to watch the clean-up. Most of the onlookers were on edge too, just like D.I. Harper, but their edginess was different: it promised yet more violence. Faces peered at him, their eyes huge and bright and perched on the precipice of panic. Sirens wailed across the rooftops; the fires still burned in the sky; distant gunshots punctuated the music of the city, an off-tempo rhythm section.

“Get back! Just get back! We have this under control. Please return to your homes and go about your business.” A suited man Rick did not recognise was screaming into a bullhorn, his cheeks puffing out like those of a crazed cartoon character. “Return to your homes. Clear the area!”

Nobody moved. They just stood and stared, violence brewing. This was their turf; these were their streets. Nothing was allowed to happen here without them knowing, or even granting permission.

“This is going to kick off. Big style.” The man next to Rick had a high-pitched voice, but he was broad as an ox. “They’re just about to blow.”

Rick said nothing. He simply watched and waited.

More bodies were being brought out of the building. There were no survivors. The terrorists had all been killed – most of them twice – and those officers who’d fallen under fire had been taken care of. The other corpses were those which had been discovered in some of the other flats, the departed loved ones of drugged-up tenants who’d been confused by the sudden death and resurrection of their friends and family members.

It had become obvious almost immediately that anyone who died would rise again within minutes, and they would attack whoever was nearest. The only way to prevent this was a headshot.

Rick had witnessed D.I. Harper shooting an unmoving corpse through the temple. Just to be sure, to be safe.

“God,” he muttered. “Holy God...”

“What’s that?” said the man next to him, the one with the high voice. He had beautiful clear blue eyes – young eyes in a baby face.

Before Rick had the chance to answer somebody started yelling.

The crowd began to surge, just a small movement but one that was building slowly, a ripple from the back that became a wave when it reached the front row of the massed onlookers. A barrier fell forward. There was no one to pick it up; everyone’s attention was focused back at the building, where that yelling was still going on. The crowd shifted forward, forcing their way close to the action.

“Oh, shit!” Babyface ran towards two more men and another sheet-covered gurney, his gun drawn in an instant. The man on the stretcher had pulled himself upright by clawing his way along the ambulance man’s arm. The other ambulance man was backing away: it was him who was doing all that yelling. He was crying for his God, his wife, his mother. For anyone who might listen.

Babyface ran at the corpse on the gurney, clearly unaware of the information those inside the building had been party to – not knowing that you had to shoot them in the head.

The dead man was already biting into the ambulance man’s arm. The victim pulled away, stumbled, and fell beneath the gurney, stopping it dead. The dead man rolled off onto the ground, hands clawing, his arms flapping. He was still trying to reach the felled ambulance man.

Babyface arrived at speed and kicked the dead man full in the face. Unfortunately, the dead man had his mouth open and Babyface’s foot smashed into the top row of teeth as it entered the gaping maw. The dead man bit down, a quick reflexive action. Blood spurted from Babyface’s boot, and then as the dead man jerked his head to the side, the end of the boot came away. Along with a few of Babyface’s toes.

Rapid bursts of gunfire. The dead man was blown to pieces.

Babyface screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

Rick turned away, making a decision that would eventually dictate the course of the rest of his life. Fuck this, he thought. I’m out of here.

“Nutman!” It was D.I. Harper. “Don’t even think about it.”

Rick was too stunned to speak. How had the D.I. known what he was about to do?

He watched as the big man approached, striding towards him with a cigar clenched between his teeth. “I know that look. I saw what you were about to do. I need every good man to remain at his post – particularly men like you: men with combat experience.”

“Sir.” Rick was unsure how to react.

“This is turning into a war, Officer Nutman. A fucking war. I’ve just spoken to the boys at the station, and they’re under attack. Running battles all over the fucking city. Reports of walking dead are coming in thick and fast. We have a combat situation on our hands here, and we don’t even know who the enemy is.” He grabbed Rick by the lapel, pulled him up onto his tiptoes. “So you’re staying put. Just like everyone else.” The benevolent father-figure had vanished; now, in his place, stood a warrior, a leader of men.

“Yes, sir.” Rick gently took hold of D.I. Harper’s big-knuckled hands, tried to prise them from his clothing, but the man’s grip was like iron. “I’m with you, sir. I’m with you.”

D.I. Harper relaxed then, as if realising that he was stepping over the line. He let go of Rick’s collar, stood back, and glanced around at the mayhem. “This is all so strange. So very strange.” He had a faraway look in his eye. “I’ve seen some awful things in my life, son, some truly awful things, but never anything like this.” His shoulders slumped, the energy spent. Then he looked up, directly into Rick’s eyes. “Just stay with me, son. We all need to stick together, to act as a team. If we’re going to get through tonight, we need to stand together like brothers, all of us pulling in the same direction.”

The man’s platitudes sounded vaguely ridiculous, as if they’d been scripted, but Rick nodded in agreement. He felt obliged to obey his superior officer, no matter how much the man seemed to be losing his grip. Obeying orders – both those of his unit and his own body – had helped keep him alive. But he couldn’t remain here for long, whatever he was told. Sally needed him. He’d give it another hour for things to settle down, then leave quietly, without causing a fuss.

Mere seconds after this decisive thought, Rick’s attention was drawn by the sound of many running feet. The watching crowd had finally been stirred into motion, and even now they were pushing a line of uniforms out of the way to get at the building and see for themselves what was going on.

Officers moved in, weapons aloft, and Rick closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath before joining his colleagues in their positions at the front line.

Rick knew what was coming. He knew it intimately.