Salby Damned (23 page)

In the absence of the C.O., command fell upon the shoulders of Major Paul Sower. He was a man of experience, having risen through the ranks to his present position. There were some who saw him as a relic of the old British Army, outside the modern fighting force. Men like him were no longer the ideal of the pen-pushing politicians, who constantly bickered over the budget of the armed forces.

The major had instructed the guard commanders to attempt to take some of the infected alive, sedate them, and transport them to the military cells block on the base. The rifles had gone to the guard posts about an hour after he had watched the team and his C.O. leave in the helicopters, heading for the Salby installation. He hoped that they had made it and that it was all going to plan. The technical wizards that formed part of the Royal Signals had managed to access the company laptop and recovered information from it. There were many personnel files and details of those on shift at the time of the explosion. Each record contained information on the employee, such as aptitude test results and any disciplinary procedures that had been invoked.

The file on Brin Garrett made for interesting reading; it threw some light on why he'd ignored instructions not to drill near the town boundary. The major looked through a file labelled confidential; it was now in paper form for him. Flicking through it, he noted the company psychological evaluation that was performed on all employees when they started. The evaluation of Mr. Garrett indicated that he was strong-minded, anti-authority, but with exceptional problem-solving skills. He'd been employed by the company for twenty years and had worked on large contracts; in almost all cases, the projects had been finished well ahead of schedule, and he'd been financially well-rewarded for his efforts.

The major spotted an entry from the previous month about an internal company investigation that had been launched against Mr. Garrett; it hadn't been completed. It seemed there had been unexplained changes in his lifestyle, and by association, his newfound wealth had concerned the company. One Colin Snape, the assistant chief executive officer, had sanctioned the internal investigation. Now why would that be? the major thought.

He noted that Mr. Garrett was only five years away from retiring which, given his years of service, would have cost the company a substantial amount in pension payments at retirement. Would that be reason enough for an internal investigation? There must be something bigger, the major thought, as he closed the file on his desk. He stood slowly, intent on overseeing the capture of the first infected victim. He was just about to head for the door when he heard a knock.

“Come,” he said, as he sat in his chair again.

Corporal Simms approached his desk, well turned out, as always. She marched towards him, stopping short of the stained oak heavy table, before her right foot dug into the carpeted floor of his office and her arm came straight out sideways, in a perfect arc to finish with her forefinger just touching her cap badge.

“At ease, Corporal. What can I do for you, young lady?” the major said.

He had taken her under his wing when she first arrived, thought very highly of her, and admired her determination in everything she did. If truth be known, he had a fatherly soft spot for the girl.

“Good morning, Sir. I am sorry to trouble you so early, but I have something that might interest you. It was given to me by two employees of SGFC, Sir, late last night. I apologise for the delay in getting it to you. I did try, but what with the meetings and all, I simply didn’t get chance,” she replied and handed over a small metal-cased object.

“It’s quite alright, Corporal. I know you have been kept exceptionally busy over the last few days and it doesn’t go unnoticed, I can assure you. What do we have here?”

“I think it is part of a computer, Major. The two employees seemed very on edge and desperate to get it to either yourself or the C.O. urgently. I came with it as soon as I could, Sir.”

“You have done all you could, Corporal Simms. I will see that it goes to the technical boys straight away. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. With any luck, it will help in our investigations. You look exhausted. When was your last R&R?”

“That was the weekend, I think, Sir,” she said quietly, not quite sure of the weekday.

“Right, there is nothing pressing for the rest of the day unless the C.O. returns. I don’t want to see you in uniform until tomorrow morning, Corporal. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” she said. She beamed a smile despite trying to remain formal as she braced herself for a salute, before turning on her heel and marching out of the major's office.

***

At the guard fences, sporadic fire could be heard; the infected had resumed their assault on the base defences. The influx of survivors continued to keep the base resources stretched. Several successful supply missions had been completed, bringing in much-needed food and essentials. Lists were constantly forwarded to the teams for urgent items, and the helicopters rarely stopped unless to refuel or for maintenance.

Both tranquiliser rifles had been sent into action; one on the west side at tower two and the other on the north fence at tower one. The medical teams had been placed on full alert, and the secure cells had been prepared in readiness for the first of the arrivals.

The major dropped the flat metal box into the technical team, giving instructions to crack it and find out what it held, and he headed for West Tower Two on the perimeter fence. The sun had risen on a beautiful day, now nearing 1000 hours; it felt good to have the heat upon his face.

As the officer approached the tower, he heard timed shots after verbal warnings had failed to halt the approaching figures. The major wondered if anyone had considered, at the time they made this virus, what would happen if it accidentally got loose, as it undoubtedly had. If not, then that's one hell of an oversight, he thought as he climbed the steps to the platform.

“Good morning, Sir,” said a soldier, though it sounded more like “sar.” The veteran senior non-commissioned officer exaggerated his address.

“Good morning, Sergeant. Are we set for the first of our patients?”

“Yes, Sir. The duty guard commander told us we need to choose targets of different ages and ethnic backgrounds if we can. Given that we haven’t yet tried the tranquiliser rifle, I would suggest a young target first, Sir. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Good thinking, Sergeant. It would be prudent to see if the anaesthetic does the trick and to see how long it takes to render someone unconscious. Keep your eyes peeled for a suitable target, and by all means, shoot when ready.”

“Yes, Sir,” the sergeant replied.

It took almost half an hour for a younger victim of the virus to break through the woodland scrub. The sergeant spotted the girl, early teens, in faded jeans and a T-shirt that read, “Rock Yeah!” across her front. He held her in the crosshairs of the large day scope, mounted on his own AWM sniper rifle, measuring her steps before he passed the weapon to the major.

“Loaded, safety on, Sir. Look over by the tree line at your two o’ clock. Young female, Sir, white T-shirt.”

“I see her, Sergeant. She would be the perfect first patient. When you’re ready, see if you can bring her in closer first, but be sure she doesn’t reach the minefield.”

“Yes, Sir, will do.”

The major took the loud hailer, which crackled as he switched it on.

“Attention! Do not fire upon the approaching girl. Repeat, do not fire upon the approaching girl. I want her alive and unharmed. We will take her, so stand by to recover her once the anaesthetic knocks her out. Guards, lay down covering fire.”

The sergeant placed his sniper rifle on the small table, picking up the gas-powered tranquiliser rifle. It had only a very basic sight system, and unlike his sniper rifle, there were no mil-dot markings for distance.

With the girl rapidly approaching the mined area, he estimated the range to be no more than forty feet, tops. Given the reduced power of the weapon and the weight of the dart, he would allow an inch for drop. Fortunately, there was only a light breeze today or it could have been tricky. Ideally, he wanted the dart to puncture her chest as close to the heart as possible, without hitting the breastbone, to ensure that the dart penetrated and remained in place. This would speed up the action of the anaesthetic.

Raising the rifle, he took a deep breath in, exhaling slowly until the sights settled just below her chin. He needed to allow her room to fall forwards without landing on the mines. A couple more steps, two more; in, out, one more in, out now, hold, and fire. The rifle recoiled and sent the dart at surprising speed over the top of the fence to drop slightly, losing inertia and drifting downwards towards the girl.

It struck her just below her left breast and embedded itself in her skin. The sergeant began to count. One, one thousand, two, two thousand, three, three thousand, four, and the girl’s legs buckled beneath her as she crumpled into the grass, a mere two feet from the edge of the mine strip.

“Well done, Sergeant,” the major exclaimed, impressed at the execution.

“Thank you, Sir.”

With twenty or so rifles and the sergeant back with the AWM on the tower covering them, a group of five soldiers hurried towards the prone girl. Two of them hooked under her arms, lifting her clear of the ground, while the other three formed a triangular shield with weapons facing the woodland. They walked swiftly back through the gates, which were closed and locked behind them.

They placed the youngster into the back of a waiting Land Rover as the major sat in the passenger seat, his service Colt drawn as he covered the unconscious girl to the Military Police building. A group of doctors and medical staff, all in brilliant white coats, were ready with a wheeled stretcher to take her inside. Leaving the Land Rover, the major followed the stretcher into the foyer and down the narrow grey-coloured hall to the cells block, making sure there was a secure area for the girl and she would be comfortable, even if not aware of her surroundings.

Inside, the cell had a wheeled bed of the type found in hospitals; this one had been modified to allow arms, chest, and feet to be strapped. Within a few minutes, the girl was connected to intravenous feeds supplying fluids and sustenance. The aim was to keep her in a stable state, but unconscious, for her own safety and that of the staff.

The medical staff wasted no time taking her vital signs, connecting heart and blood pressure monitors, and taking DNA samples from the inside of her cheek. Then they took fingerprints to try to help identify their new young patient, along with digital images of her face.

She looked peaceful but her eyes were fully open and as black as night; it was hard to tell that she was sedated. One of the nurses gently closed the lids, holding them there until they stayed shut on their own. She then placed a filtering mask over her patient’s mouth, which allowed her to breathe and would prevent saliva contamination.

The girl was about seventeen years old, 5-feet-6-inches tall with short cut dark brown hair that was slightly matted, and looked as if she’d been reasonably fit. Her white sneakers were covered in soil and the faded jeans had been torn in places, scratching the skin at her thighs and lower legs to reveal the jelly-like blood that had self-sealed the wounds as she had walked.

She had one other injury: a bite wound to her right shoulder. While the wound looked deep, it had sealed quickly, with only the smallest blood residue before the virus had taken over her system. They swabbed the tiny bloodstain in the hope that there would be enough to identify her blood type, which would be held on record.

Content that the operation had been a success; the major thanked the medical staff for their assistance and left instructions to be kept informed of progress. He would give them a few hours before attempting to take another live victim of the virus, by which time the C.O. would have returned from Salby.

***

Now, feeling the need for a change of scenery, the major wandered slowly towards the activities hangar. Despite his sixty-two years, he did like to keep his hand in and he felt it important that he should be up to speed with what was happening on the base, and not just those issues that were immediate. He entered the play area hangar. The first thing he noticed was the noise level, reverberating off the sheet metal roof around the cavernous ceiling. Is that normal? he wondered.

Amid the sea of small bodies, there were tables and chairs scattered around, each overseen by a volunteer child-minder, mostly female but a few males too. Bundles of coloured paper were scattered over one table, along with pipe cleaners, bits of wire, scissors, and a small pair of pliers. Folded tissue paper, pots of watercolour paint, and a dubious-looking tub of sticky glue with a forlorn-looking caked brush rapidly sinking into the gooey substance sat perilously close to the edge of the table to his left. He tugged at the wooden handle of the brush, pulling quite hard against the quicksand-like glue. and pulling it free, he set it on a piece of scrap paper at the base of the tub.

He looked across the table and saw a small boy and girl sticking bits of coloured paper to a picture they had made. He stopped at the table, watching them as they worked.

“Hello,” said the young girl, looking up from her picture.

“Good morning, young lady, who might you be?”