Monday 2100 hrs.
Wilkes flattened himself against the wall the remainder of his men grouping around him. He checked his weapon for what was maybe the tenth time knowing that the ammo count was low, but not nearly ready to check for sure. The ten seconds that he took to check might make the difference between living and getting off a shot and getting his ass chewed down on.
Mason and Gibbs two privates that were never more than ten feet away from each other at any time crouched close by. The looks on their faces said it all; dirt-smeared and exhausted, their eyes trying to track in every direction at once. Their pistols were clutched in sweaty hands the barrels pointed towards the ground but ready to be brought to bear at a moments notice.
Next to those two knelt the teams demolitions expert, Fripps, his pistol still holstered and his rifle solidly held in both hands. A new addition to the team several months ago replacing the then team member. He had been invaluable in his chosen line of work and had saved himself and the team on more than a dozen occasions.
Of the rest of the ten men that he had taken with him, two had been sent to scout the other end of the village and the rest … the rest.
Wilkes tried to stop himself thinking about the rest. Five good men torn apart by the things that they had come to contain.
He rested his head against the rough brick of the wall at his back, his body slumping in on itself in a huge sigh.
They had made it into the centre of the village without incident, their confidence in their combat abilities foremost.
Wilkes had sent the two men of to the other end of the main street with orders to try and find and survivors and hole up until morning, they would reconnect then. It had been sergeant O'Sheas' idea to investigate the bingo hall in the centre of the village. And God forgive him, it had been Wilkes who had agreed to the action.
In hindsight they should have checked; it had been too quiet, too … dead. It had been the start of a rapid downward spiral of major screw-ups that had, ultimately, led them to where they were now. They had opened the double doors and probed their torches into the interior. Nothing moved, not a thing stirred. Two of the men had moved inside, the rest taking up flanking positions on the edges. Wilkes could still hear their voices in his head as they had whispered clear lines of sight where they moved.
They hadn't expected what happened next.
With their torches spearing swathes of light through the darkness they all watched as the soldier bent down, hand stretched towards the prone body of the old woman on the floor. His torch wavered as he bent low trying to turn the figure over. Not having the strength to do it one-handed he put his torch on the floor aiming the disk of light at the woman and slung his rifle unto his shoulder. He reached under her and hauled her as gently as he could unto her back.
She didn't move.
He put the two fingers of his right hand on her neck and pressed gently. Nothing.
He stood and shook his head and reached again for the light.
The attack came from nowhere.
One second there was no-one near, the next the soldier was on the floor. The shadows thrown by the lights made dancing shadows inside the darkened building. Figures moved through the beams and everything seemed disjointed and confused.
Then the screaming started.
Weapons were levelled and although the others knew the soldier was gone they held on to the little hope that they had that he could still be alright. They couldn't fire, wouldn't until they knew for sure.
That had been the second mistake.
While they had been concentrating on the scene that was unfolding in front of them, another group of infected had come in from the left. A soldier on the fringes had been caught unawares and everyone had spun when he had screamed a dead man hanging off his back, its teeth buried into the back of his neck. The man jerked as the teeth severed his spine and his finger tightened on the trigger of his rifle. Bullets flew towards the group and they had ducked, rolling this way and that.
One man wasn't nearly fast enough though. The bullets started at the top of his thigh and marched across his stomach and chest punching through his body like it was made of nothing more substantial than paper. Wilkes was the closest to him and he could have sworn that he saw the spark off life leave the mans eyes as the last bullet from the other dying mans weapon caught him high on the temple. Wilkes felt the hot spray of blood as it hit his cheek.
The creatures that had made it to the unformatted man now fell on him with a hunger that he had never before witnessed and tore the body apart. He managed to get to his feet and aimed his pistol. Bodies fell as fast as he could pull the trigger, some falling and then starting to get up moments later, others staying where they fell as a shot took them between the eyes or tore the tops of scalps off in showers of blood and gore.
Wilkes willed himself to run away from the scene shouting for his men to do the same. Figures ran past him as he stopped to see how many had made it away.
Stopping for a moment to drop the magazine from the .45 and slam a fresh one in. He thumbed the slide release and the solid steel of the barrel slammed into position loading a fresh round.
He fired three times, each round catching a creature as they neared closer and closer.
It was as he was turning, getting ready to run himself when he heard it.
'Help … help me.'
He looked back the way they had come from and saw that another of his men had not been fast enough.
Wilkes levelled the weapon at the man and a mutual look of acceptance passed between them.
They had estimated their numbers, had underestimated their strength, but he would not let this man down if he could help it.
He fired.
One shot.
Then, not looking to see what happened next, turned and sprinted after the remainder of his men.
Not hearing anything behind him he put on a further burst of speed that belayed his age and didn't stop until he caught up with them.
He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and sighed once more.
He climbed back to his feet and turned to face his men.
'Okay, rests over, let's see if we can find anyone still alive and get the hell out of here.'
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
'Dad, I can hear fireworks.'
Philip stood next to the curtain still looking out into the street through the crack in the curtain.
The scene beyond the fabric was, or rather, had been the same as earlier but now the crowd of bodies that were out there were dispersing. Most moving off towards the sounds from the other end of the village.
He knew what fireworks sounded like and what was happening somewhere out there it was not them.
'Sounds like it doesn't it?'
He turned and smiled at the boy trying his best to comfort him with a look. The boy smiled back. It was a strained twitch of the lips, but it was still a smile.
Philip looked back to where he had been looking. If there was one thing he knew the difference between it was fireworks and gunshots. Out there someone else other than he and his son where fighting for their lives.
'Stay away from the here, I'll be right back okay?'
The boy nodded and moved away from the window.
Philip bent and kissed him on the top of his head and then went out of the door into the hallway. He moved with the ease of familiarity up the flight of stairs to the second floor and went to his closet. Reaching inside he grabbed the small box that he knew was there and pulled it out.
He tore the wrapping paper off and threw the scraps on the floor. Opening the lid he pulled the small semi auto from inside and reached into the drawer at the side of his bed, he pulled the still full box of shells and started to rapidly load the two magazines that were also in the lidded box.
He slid one of the full magazines into the pistol and, standing, put the other into a front pocket.
He stood and stepped towards the door ready now to get back downstairs.
His sons scream pierced the silence of the night.
Philip ran as fast as he could.