Tide of Souls, page 14
Oh Jesus, no.
A thundery, rolling boom and its head exploded. The rest of the body, torn and mangled by the shot, twitched and was still.
Ged pumped the shotgun slide. The cartridge case clattered on the ground. His hands shook. He dragged a sleeve across his eyes, then turned away without a word.
Alf's face was grey. Mleczko wrapped a field dressing round the wounded arm. "Get him to Hassan," I said.
Billy stood staring down at them. "D'you want any help?"
"Er, yeah." Mleczko took Alf's bad arm. "Giz a hand here, yeah?"
"Yeah. Yeah." Billy was nodding as he looped the other arm about his shoulders. "Upsi-daisy!" He grinned.
The woman clapped Mleczko's shoulder. "Cheers for before."
"No worries." Mleczko and Billy marched Alf off, almost dragging him.
Past them, Ged was trudging up the Row, head down. "Is he OK?" I asked the woman.
She looked savage. "What do you think?"
Ask a stupid question.
She let out a long breath, closed her eyes, pointed at the dead girl. "See that?"
"Yeah."
"That was his daughter. Clare, her name was. Nice kid."
I looked at the bloodied rag doll beside her. "Was that..?"
"Yeah."
"Fuck."
"He'll be OK." I looked at her. "Well, not OK. But he'll cope."
"What I thought."
She cleaned her rifle butt on Satan-boy's T-shirt, then offered a hand. "Jo."
"Robert. Thanks for your help. You did a good job."
She half-grinned. "Cheers mate. You weren't so bad yourself."
She offered me a cigarette, lit her own, leant back against the 4X4.
Inside the Chinook, Stiles lay on a blanket with another pulled over him. Tidyman likewise, only cuffed. Hassan had splinted his nose and secured it with a bandage across the face. Sadly he was conscious now.
"What happened?" he demanded. I ignored him. "Sergeant?"
Hassan unwound the dressing from Alf's arm. Electric lamps inside the helicopter shed a cold, antiseptic glow. "Shit. That's a mess."
Hassan started cleaning the wound. Alf bellowed. "Fucking twat!"
"Sounds more like it," I said, and managed a grin. But Alf was crying with pain. Shit.
"I'll give him a shot." Hassan swabbed Alf's forearm and jabbed a morphine ampoule in. Alf grunted, closed his eyes.
Hassan inspected the damage. "There's a whole chunk missing. Best I can do is pack the wound. What happened?"
"What do you fucking think? One of those bloody things bit a piece out of him."
"He was bitten?" I looked round. Tidyman was sitting up, staring at me. He had a brace of beautiful black eyes too, I noticed. A Glasgow kiss can do that. "Sergeant, you have to listen to me. Was he bitten?"
"Yes. OK? He was bitten. Sir."
"You have to kill him."
"You fucking what?" I scrambled over, shoved Tidyman up against the bulkhead. "What did you fucking say, you arsehole?"
"You've got to kill him!" Tidyman screamed it, all composure gone. "You don't understand. You have to kill him."
Focus, Robbie. Get control. Breathe in, count to four; breathe out, count to four. "Why?"
"The bite. It's poisonous. Everyone bitten by those things dies. Every one of them. There's no cure. Antibiotics won't stop it. Nothing will. And when they die, they come back as one of them."
"Fuck off."
"It's true. Why should I lie about it?"
Good point. "Then why didn't you tell us?"
"There wasn't time."
"Lying bastard."
Tidyman tried to wriggle away from me. "It wasn't my choice. It was decided that if the men knew, they'd be less likely to get the job done."
"You fuckers. You fucking fuckers."
I let him go and turned away.
"You've got to kill him, Sergeant. It's the most merciful thing you can do."
Alf was out for the count, by the look. Thank heaven for small fucking mercies.
"Flying Officer Cannock?"
The pilot didn't answer. "Cannock?" Tidyman demanded again.
"Sir?"
"Can we take off yet?"
Cannock looked at me.
"Flying Officer Cannock? Why are you looking at that man? He is not an officer in Her Majesty's Royal Air Force. I am. I am your commanding officer. Answer my question. Can we take off?"
Cannock cleared his throat. "Not yet, sir. We've secured the Chinook against the weather, but we'll have to wait out the storm."
Tidyman's face worked, but finally he got himself back under control. "Alright, Flying Officer. But I expect to be told the moment we're able to fly. I don't intend to wait here any longer than I have to."
Prick.
"And in the meantime, you can let me out of these cuffs." He held his hands out. "Immediately."
Cannock looked over at me.
"Cannock!" It was a scream. A fleck of spittle hit my face. "Stop looking at that man! He has no authority here! I am your commanding officer and you will let me out of these cuffs immediately!"
Cannock didn't move.
"Flying Officer Cannock!"
I moved towards Tidyman. He shrank back. "Sir, I suggest you calm down and be quiet. You're staying as you are."
Tidyman was trying to stay calm. "Alright, Sergeant. Now, I accept you had to do what you did before. I overreacted. But I'm perfectly alright now. So please let me go."
I shook my head. His face whitened with fury. "We have to get out of here. That man is vital."
"Stiles? Why? What is it he knows?"
Tidyman compressed his lips and gave no answer.
"I'll make a deal with you, sir. You tell me why Stiles is so important and I'll consider undoing the cuffs."
He spoke through his teeth. "It's classified."
"So they didn't tell you either. Need to know only, right?"
"Sergeant McTarn. I am giving you a direct order."
"Tell you what," I said. "Give me the location of the Cotswolds base and we'll see."
He blinked at me - he almost looked surprised - then smiled. "I don't think so, Sergeant."
"What about this all-important mission of yours, Sir?"
"I don't trust you to carry it out, McTarn. Anymore than I do to keep your word and let me go. No," he leant back, "I have something to bargain with here, don't I?" An odd smile twisted one corner of his mouth. "We'll see who cracks first."
I turned back to Hassan. "Do what you can, OK?"
He nodded.
"What shape's Stiles in?" I asked. I could almost feel Tidyman's ears pricking up.
"He'll be OK," Hassan said. "My guess would be he decided to kill himself - perhaps because of all this - but had to get drunk to do it." He smiled. "So drunk he passed out before he could cut anything vital."
I had to laugh. "Well, thank fuck for that. Put the bloody tin lid on it if we'd come all this way for nothing."
I left Hassan at the helicopter with Hendry and Tidyman. And Alf. I was trying not to think about what Tidyman had said. I didn't want to believe it.
I stationed Parfitt on Alf's former position with the other Minimi, kept Levene where he was and moved Andrews to an upstairs room at the Pendle Inn. Guard and lookout duty would rotate hourly. I posted Joyce and Akinbode on top of the Hill.
We moved the booze out of the Inn to one of the nearby farmhouses. It was a large place and empty, so it would serve as a billet, meeting place, and if necessary an informal boozer. The Landrovers were stationed outside, ready to be mobilised at a moment's notice. Chas had put the one with the grenade launcher to good use earlier - the nightmares had been coming out of the water on the far side of the Hill towards Clitheroe, but a quick fusillade from the Mk19 had put them to flight.
I allowed myself a small tipple, the Inn had had some decent single malt in. Isle of Jura; not bad at all, though for me it's really got to be one of the Islay malts like Laphroaig or Lagavulin, but I wasn't going to complain. There wasn't much chance of me tasting a good whisky in the future. I tried to remember how far above sea level the Inner Hebrides were.
Besides, the spirits might be a lot more useful for other purposes - Molotov cocktails, not to mention for a steriliser if Hassan needed it.
The rest of the section congregated in the front room, along with a few of the villagers. Lomax leant against the wall and sipped a Coke, surveying the proceedings with a fine disdain. Mleczko perched on the arm of the sofa, with Billy sat on the floor beside him, gazing up with what looked suspiciously like hero worship in his eyes. Jo sat on the sofa next to Chas. They were chattering away nineteen to the dozen; he said something and she not only laughed, but reached out and ruffled his hair. And Chas Nixon - as the God I don't believe in is my judge - actually fucking blushed. Now I knew it was the end of the world.
"Lads!" Heads turned. "Just wanted to say - well, I think we can safely say no-one else has ever had to deal with anything quite like we have today." That got a few grim chuckles. "You all did bloody well. I'm proud of you." The words felt false, like any of this still mattered. "One beer apiece. Everyone takes a turn at watch tonight." Groans. "Corp?" I gestured towards the kitchen. Chas nodded and got up. "Parkes, you too."
"Sorry, Corp," I murmured as we went. "Hate to break up the romance."
"Piss off, Jock."
Ged, Cannock and Hendry were waiting in the kitchen. I took a sip of the Jura, resisting the temptation to gulp it down. Outside the wind howled, dashing rain against the windows.
"Situation's this," I said. "For the time being we're stuck here. Big question is where we go when the storm clears."
Ged was watching me closely. So was Chas.
"According to Tidyman, there's a secure location we're supposed to take Stiles to. Problem is, only he knows where this fabulous place is, and he won't talk unless I let him go. Which I don't fancy."
"He wants to get out of here, doesn't he?" snorted Chas.
I nodded. "Thinks he can wait us out. Meantime, we've a contact frequency for them, and designated times to try them." I turned to Cannock again. "Just how much fuel do we have for the Chinook?"
"Enough to get to the Cotswolds, certainly; even enough to spend some time searching for the base. But from what I understand, Windhoven is an underground bunker, and, obviously, hidden from plain sight. We could search forever and not find it."
I nodded. "So unless we can scavenge further fuel supplies, we've got one shot."
"You got something in mind, Rob?" Chas.
"I have. For the minute, we're going nowhere anyway. We can't fly in this, and we don't know what the national situation is. Parkes?"
The radio-op looked up from a pint of Foster's she didn't look old enough to legally drink. Not that that mattered anymore. "Sarge?"
"Any luck?"
"None, Sarge. But the electrical storm's playing hell with our comms."
"I thought we had top of the line sat-comm equipment."
"We do, Sarge, but it's not much good if you can't connect with the satellite. Again, our best chance will be when it clears."
Pretty much what I'd expected. "So we can't fly, and even if we could, we wouldn't know where to go. On top of that we don't know what Windhoven's status is, or that of the regional control centres. For all we know, those things have overrun them all. So till we know better, we're on our own." I looked over at Ged. "While we're here, we can help organise the defence of the village, search for other groups of survivors. Then, when we do fly out, you're not all left completely in the lurch."
Ged nodded. His face was expressionless, and he had a large brandy - triple or quadruple at the least - on the go. Was making pretty good headway with it, too. I didn't think he'd said a word since the fight on Pendle Row.
"If anyone's got any better ideas, let's hear them."
No-one did.
"Alright. Light 'em if you've got them. Unless anyone has any objection?"
Ged shrugged, the faint memory of a smile curving his lips. "Never liked that fucking smoking ban anyway."
Cannock went to mind the chopper around twenty-one hundred, taking Parkes with him, to try Windhoven again.
The storm was still raging. Fresh cracks of thunder rolled in every few seconds. Ged told me there was a local saying that if you could see Pendle Hill it was about to rain, and if you couldn't, it was already raining, but even by local standards it was fucking well pissing it down.
Then the first shots rang out.
"Oh shit."
I snatched up my rifle, pulled back the bolt. My PC crackled. "McTarn."
"Sarge? Joyce. They're coming out of the water, over."
"Shit. Location?"
More shots. "Just looks like a localised attack. Near the two pools."
The pools were just north-east of the Hill, on a wide flat stretch of open ground beneath a wooded slope.
"On our way," I said.
"Don't think there's any need, Sarge." A few last shots, then silence. "Looks like that was the lot."
I sat back down. "You mean you woke me up just for that?"
Muffled laughter.
"Keep us posted, Joyce."
"Will do, Sarge. Out."
I looked at Chas and grinned.
Then more gunshots. From right outside.
I broke outside, into the pelting rain, Chas at my back. Ged and Mleczko followed, Billy stumbling after.
"Sarge! Sarge!"
Parkes. She ran towards us fast, head down.
"What? What is it?"
"Tidyman, Sarge. Got loose somehow. Knocked Hassan out, maybe killed him. Shot Cannock. And -"
"What?"
"Private Mason, Sarge. He shot him in the head."
"Bastard." I unslung the rifle, passed it to Chas. "That'll be no good where I'm heading." I drew the P226.
"Need any back up?" He asked.
"We start firing rifles at the Chinook, we could fuck our ticket out of here."
"Copy that."
"But we need to keep Tidyman occupied. Get a couple of the lads to the chopper and bang a few off, but for fuck sake aim high."
Chas nodded. "Mleczko?"
"Sarge?"
I thought of how he'd done back on the High Street; a man you'd want with you. "Can you use a pistol?"
"Yeah."
Hendry and Lomax had joined us. "Mind if Mleczko borrows your gun, Sir?"
Hendry, face pale, nodded, and handed it over. "Thank you, Sir. Mleczko, you're with me. Priority's keeping the Chinook in one piece. Tidyman's gone apeshit so if you have to, drop him."
Mleczko nodded. He didn't seem to have a problem with that. If anything, he looked pretty bright-eyed at the prospect. Then again, that could've just been Shiny Kit Syndrome, at getting his hands on the pistol. He handed his rifle to Chas.
"Need another body?" asked Lomax.
"Always handy. You're a good shot?"
"I can hit a barn door."
There was a coughing sound from the Chinook. "Just don't hit anything important. Chas, ready to fire. Mleczko, Lomax, move your arse."
Shots rang out behind us as we ran low across the field. A bullet whined and buzzed past my ear. Too fucking close. Sparks flew from the cockpit canopy.
"You do know," Lomax huffed as we went, "the Chinook's got two Gimpys mounted in there?"
I did, but I'd been doing my best to forget that. Hopefully Tidyman would content himself with Hassan's rifle.
Something lay in the grass outside the helicopter. It was on fire.
The rotors were turning.
Shit.
But thank fuck, the side door was ajar. I ran faster.
Then the door flung wide. Tidyman stood in it. He was holding a SA80. Probably Hassan's.
Oh shit.
The rifle's muzzle spat flame. I dived. Bullets whined overhead.
I brought up the P226, fired three rounds. Tidyman ducked back.
I got up and ran. Lomax's heavy boots pounded the turf behind me. Tidyman popped back up, fired again. Lomax cried out; a body hit the ground. The rifle arced towards me, but Mleczko fired first; Tidyman screamed and dropped the rifle on the ground.
I was almost at the chopper now. Tidyman was clutching at the door, trying to drag it closed. I fired at his hand as I ran; the bullet spanged off the door, and he scrambled back inside.
I dived through the door as Tidyman fired a pistol at me from the cockpit. Cannock's, I guessed. Blood splattered the inside of the cockpit canopy; Cannock himself slumped forward in his seat.
Tidyman aiming for another shot. I fired twice, a double-tap. More blood splattered outwards across the cockpit canopy. Tidyman fell back across the instrument panel, staring at me, then dropped to his knees and fell forwards.
Alf Mason lay where I'd left him, only with a neat bullet hole behind his right ear and the left eye forced half-out of its socket. Stiles was unmarked, but still unconscious. Hassan was crumpled against one of the bulkheads; alive or dead, I couldn't tell.
The Chinook was rocking. Mleczko scrambled in. "Sarge?"
"I'm fine. Fine. Get Hendry. We need to shut this fucker off."
I went to Tidyman. I put my foot on his Sig-Sauer and slid it away, out of his hand. His head was turned to one side, eyes open and sightless.
Dead, but will he stay that way? Now there's the question.
I checked Cannock. He hadn't been shot; Tidyman had smashed him in the head with the rifle butt. Made no difference in the end - the blow had shattered his skull. I closed his eyes for him.
Then I remembered Hassan. No bullet wounds. Just a lump the size of a chicken's egg behind one ear. I checked the carotid pulse. He'd live.
Stiles too. Still completely dead to the world. Whatever he'd been drinking, I made a mental note to get myself a bottle if the opportunity ever presented itself.
Feet thudded on the grass outside, then clanged on metal. Chas, Mleczko, and Hendry scrambled aboard. Hendry stepped over Tidyman's body and gently moved Cannock's to one side. The coughing roar of the engines died and the rotors quickly wound down.
Lomax sagged against the doorway, clutching his arm. "You OK?" I asked. He was white.
