Day 14: Quarantine
Sergeant Harold Tunney, 38th Engineers, 19th Light Infantry, British Royal Army
The Land Rover Defender sped down the road, Leftenant Marks sat on the passenger side, his eyes wide. Each of us wore our standard gas mask and rubber, and we burning underneath it. It was official, Prime Minister Blair had enacted a voluntary quarantine. Our mission? Collapse the Chunnel ASAFP, As Soon As Fucking Possible.
I gripped by L85 assault rifle tightly, what had happened? What had caused these people to become such monsters? Why did we deserve this? As the lorry sped down the streets, I caught a glimpse of a house with a man on the roof. He was in what was designated as "Red Zone". Forsaken territory, outside the wire. Current orders were to stay out of the Red Zone. Other engineering units were working their arses off to secure it. Their mission was even more difficult than ours.
Our Land Rover tore down the M20, and I glanced around our vehicle. Leftenant Marks, as mentioned before, was in the passenger's seat to my left. Corporal Fox was driving, his knuckles white. To my immediate right was Lance Corporal Flemmings and the charges. Lots and lots of charges. Each of us had our rifles and chemical gear. The virus was extremely contagious, one drop of blood, saliva and (God forbid) semen could infect you within seconds. The scientists called it the "Rage Virus". Other, more practical people, called them zombies. I don't like calling them that. Zombies are something of fiction. This? This was very, very real.
Suddenly, the Land Rover screeched to a halt. Looking out the window, I could see why. Thousands of screaming people were there, all trying to get to the Chunnel. I could see why they hadn't succeeded yet, two large green Challenger II tanks were posted right outside the entrance. The hatches were closed, and it looked downright scary. "Out, out, out!" I heard Leftenant Marks bark, as we all opened the doors. Flemming hauled up his pack of charges as the other Land Rovers in our convoy, including members of the 18th Mechanized Infantry (Our babysitters). We began to push through the crowd, and we weren't very well received.
"Go to hell, Army boy!" one man screamed at us.
"Fuck the Royal Family!" another cried.
"You're as bad as the Yanks!" a woman declared, as the Riot Police made us a narrow path through the people. Their cries fell on deaf ears, as my own mind was somewhere else.
Day 10: Roslyn
It had been a quiet night; the outbreaks of the so called "Rage Virus" hadn't been as bad as the night before, setting me and my girlfriend's minds at ease. There had been talk of the military being activated, but with things looking up it seemed that it wouldn't be necessary. I'd just woken up, and noticed my girlfriend, Roslyn, was out of bed. Glancing at my watch, I read the illuminated display. 2:17. Sighing, I rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. I stretched, and stood up slowly. I got a little dizzy from the blood rush and perhaps dehydration. Stabilizing myself, I walked out of the bedroom. The first thing I noticed, was that it was slightly cold. As if someone had left a window open. But, at the time, it meant little to me. I continued down the hall "Rosie, babe. Where are ya?" I asked, rubbing my eye and stretching. My short blond hair was standing on end from the cold, and my steel blue eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep.
I entered the kitchen, and felt water under my feet. Surprised, I looked down. To my horror, it wasn't water but blood. Suddenly alert, my combat instincts from Afghanistan returned. I looked around the kitchen and found the source of the blood. There was a body slumped at the door. Alarmed, I grabbed a steak knife off the counter and reversed it. It was one of the smooth bladed ones, no serration. More like my combat knife than one of the others. Eyes alert, I approached the body.
I couldn't recognize it, the features were distinguishable but I didn't recognize the bloke. He was definitely dead though, he had multiple stab wounds all over his body. Looking around, I figured Rosie had been attacked…But why hadn't she come for help? That's when I heard it, a quiet growling. A very human growl.
There was a scream, and the sound of feet running across the tile behind me. Turning, I saw a blur of pink and then it was on me. It was growling alright, hands grasping at me. As I fended it off, I realized to my horror that it was Rosie. My knife had been thrown across the room, and useless to me. I struggled underneath the monstrous Rosie. I grunted and said "Rosie! Roslyn! It's me! Harry!" but she didn't seem to recognize the words. She kept trying to bite me, scratch me. Just hurt me. With a burst of effort, I shoved her up and pulled a move learned from the Army. I was suddenly ontop of her, and I grabbed her neck and twisted. There was a sicke-…you know what. She died. Let's just leave it at that. She just fucking died, and I killed her.
Afterwards, as I sat there on the kitchen floor crying, Leftenant Marks appeared in the doorway. We were mobilizing after all.
Day 14
I'm awoken from my daydream (Nightmare) by a rock. It struck the side of my helmet, and fell to the ground. Ignoring it, I kept walking. The chemical gear, ammunition, body armor and fear caused me to sweat profusely. We kept moving towards the chunnel, and the crowd kept screaming at us. Turning towards the crowd, I caught sight of a small child. Her eyes were gaunt, and her dress blood stained. What I assumed to be her parent was screaming at us. But that kid kept on looking, and I couldn't help but imagining what she saw. The tall, skinny, blonde hair, blue eyed Sergeant? No. She saw the fatigues, the layers of rubber and charcoal, the gas mask and the bullpup assault rifle. I probably looked as scary as the monsters running around to her.
Turning my head back towards the chunnel, we keep walking. I grip my rifle tightly, shoving the stock into my shoulder. It comforts me somewhat, and we keep moving. I'm not a true engineer, that's Flemmings' job. He's the guy who will set the charges and get the mission done.
Of course, it's not that simple. The best laid plans never survive the battlefield. True story. It was about that time that the screams started. Screams of fear, and a few of pain, but mainly fear. The infected were here. My heart began to bang in my chest, my breath quickened. The Police formed a protective barrier around us. For some god forsaken reason, Flemmings decided to start priming the charges then and there. I was just lucky the poor sap only primed one charge and was on the other side of the tank when it went off. I was thrown several yards and blacked out. I barely remember what happened next.
As I faded in and out of consciousness, this is what I remember. I woke up inside a building, I had gone in through the window. I saw the infected numbers growing. More blackness. I watched as Leftenant Marks stood atop one of the Challengers, the one that had absorbed the blast. It was out of commission and Marks was making a stand as the infected surged towards him. He looked calm. A few of the civilians tried running into the Chunnel, but whenever one got near the entrance Marks shifted position momentarily and slotted them. More blackness. The last thing I saw was the other tank. It was stuck, and the commander was up in his hatch yelling something to one of the Mech Infantry. I heard a dull roar, it was a jet. Then an explosion, and I saw green mist disperse into the horde of infected just as the Commander slammed the hatch shut.