Blood on my face, blood on my hands. Grained into the skin. Still there. Still there now. Impossible to shift. Always carried with me. The blood. The guilt. My guilt.

  His head snapped back. His eyes crossed and rolled up and the weight of him sagged. I lowered him to the ground. He let out a weak groan.

  Everyone was staring. Hassan, Mleczko and the rest had all frozen over Stiles, and Cannock and Hendry were in the cockpit door. Chas was at the main door of the craft, looking in. He looked down at Tidyman and then up at me.

  Shit.

  We looked at each other for a few seconds that lasted a lot longer for me. Chas had been there too, that day in the desert, outside the city. He'd seen what I'd seen, been part of what I'd been part of. He understood. But at the same time, he'd stayed in when I'd left. Maybe he was just a tougher nut than I'd been, I don't know. Or maybe it was just that he'd been in too long; had nowhere else to go.

  After a moment, he nodded and turned away.

  Lomax stood there watching, about as easy to read as the fucking Sphinx. After a moment, though, he nodded too. I breathed out. Then I picked up the P226 and unbuckled Tidyman's gunbelt, strapped it round my own waist. Well, he wasn't going to need it now. Shiny Kit Syndrome again..

  Cannock looked from me to Tidyman and back again. "Thanks for before," he finally said.

  "Mention it. Chas?"

  "Sarge?"

  "See to the Squadron Leader, if you would. Get Hassan to look him over once he's finished with Stiles. In the meantime, better place him under restraint."

  "Copy that. What about the men?"

  I wiped my face. It felt cleaner, but traces of blood were still on my hand. "Stand them down for now. We're in the same boat as the locals. Better off pooling resources."

  "Makes sense."

  I stepped out into the rain and looked across at the farmers as Chas barked out orders. The big man with the shotgun gave a slight smile and nodded. I nodded back. Finally a response. I wondered how much he'd seen.

  Chas drifted up. "He's in cuffs for his own good, but he's still conscious and he's coming round. My guess is he'll be breathing hellfire and damnation. Want me to give him a little tap on the head?"

  Tempting, but perhaps not. "Maybe later, Corp."

  "If you say so."

  "I do. Want to see how Hassan's doing with Stiles?"

  "Not particularly," sighed Chas. He half-turned away, then turned back. "You know, Sarge, you probably could've disarmed him without smashing his hooter like that."

  "What's your point?"

  Chas grinned. "Good to have you back, Robbie," he said, and moved off.

  Time to talk with the natives again.

  I made my way over. Most of them had drifted away by now, but the big man was still there.

  "Looks like we'll be staying here for a while," I said at last.

  He grunted. "I could have told you that, lad."

  "Aye, well. We'll not be a bother to you."

  "Come in handy, having you lot around. If those bloody things come back."

  "Things?"

  "Don't piss about, lad. You know what I'm talking about."

  I nodded. "We're better off co-operating."

  "What I thought. You want to get your lads in out of this?"

  "Where did you have in mind?"

  He gestured. "Pub's down at the end of Pendle Row. They can still pull a decent pint, even in this. Might be the last chance to get one in for a while."

  I nodded. "Just keep 'em away from the optics to be going on with."

  "We'll manage, I'm sure." He offered his hand. "Ged Wynn."

  "Robbie McTarn."

  I headed back to the chopper. "Chas? Move the men into the pub. Just leave whoever we need to keep watch on this." I gestured to the Chinook.

  "You mean Tidyman."

  "I mean both." I climbed aboard. Stiles was still out. Tidyman too. "Thought he was waking up again."

  "Had a bit of a dizzy spell," said Chas. One thing about Chas Nixon, he could always keep his face admirably blank if he wanted.

  "That'll give us some peace." I pushed through into the cockpit. "Sir?"

  Cannock and Hendry looked up. "Either of you know where it is we're supposed to be going?"

  Cannock shook his head. "Not exactly."

  "Not exactly?"

  Hendry chipped in. "It's in the Cotswolds somewhere, Sergeant. That's all we were told. The only one with the exact location is Squadron Leader Tidyman."

  I took a deep breath. "Please tell me we have a contact frequency."

  "Yes. And a call sign for them. Windhoven. Twice a day - oh-nine-hundred and twenty-one-hundred."

  And we were nowhere near either. Fuck.

  "I suggest we get on the radio, and see if we can raise anyone else - army base, airfield, anything."

  "Good thinking."

  "Aye. Parkes!"

  "Sir." Parkes showed her face at the doorway. She looked terrified.

  "Work with the pilots. See if you can raise anyone who can point us in the right direction." I looked over at Cannock. "Do you want to see if you can get anything helpful out of Tidyman when he's a bit more awake?"

  Cannock nodded. "Will do."

  "Sergeant?"

  Lomax. "Aye?"

  "We'll need to secure the chopper. I mean physically secure it, in this storm. There's some tarps and guyropes in back. Am I OK borrowing a few of yours?"

  "I'll see to it."

  "Thanks."

  I clapped Chas on the shoulder and we stepped down. Ged Wynn was still standing by the drystone as we approached, the broken shotgun over one arm.

  "Haul three of the lads in to help Lomax. Get the chopper secured and then all we've got to do is sit tight till the storm clears."

  "What about Tidyman?"

  "Think the aircrew'll back me up. Frankly, Chas, as long as we're not leaving these poor sods completely fucking helpless I'll be happy facing the music. Worst comes to the worst, you just followed my orders."

  He grinned. "Might be a plan securing a perimeter out here."

  "Could be right. But we're not near a major population centre. Bit of luck, all we need to do is sit out the storm."

  "Ged! Ged!"

  Someone was running up the footpath.

  I felt my hands moving of their own accord to slip the SA80 from behind my back, closing round the barrel and pistol grip. My thumb was on the safety catch.

  Ged ran towards the newcomer, catching him as he almost fell. We reached them a few seconds later.

  "Billy!" Ged shook the lad by the shoulders. "What's up?"

  The lad was about nineteen, at a guess, with a round pallid face. He looked from face to face, like a scared kid half his age. "They're coming," he said. His voice sounded thick, slurred, as if something was wrong with his mouth. "They're fucking coming."

  "You were saying, Sarge?" muttered Chas.

  "Chas?"

  "Yes, Sarge?"

  "Shut up."

  "Yes, Sarge."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Crouched in the doorway of the Tea Rooms, halfway down Pendle Row with Ged and Chas; dozens of the nightmares massing already at the Y-junction at the bottom of the road, all facing our way. Slack, empty faces; glowing eyes. All I saw at first. But looking closer, the details sprang out - clothes, hairstyles. Men, women, and - aw Christ - children. Some as young as five. A woman held a baby to her breast, its arm waving. It couldn't be alive. It couldn't be.

  If it didn't have teeth, maybe I wouldn't have to shoot it.

  The child kneeling in the dust. Baba. Baba.

  Ged stared past me at them, lips pressed together white, breathing deep, eyes wide and bright. Billy was across the road behind a parked car, rocking slightly, humming faintly. Pale. His lips twitched. Poor bastard looked ready to piss his pants. What was his mental age? Eleven, twelve? If that, from what I'd seen of him; he'd lolloped back down to Pendle Row with us like a kid off to play soldiers. Retarded or not, though, they'd given him a 12-bore over-and-under shotgun. Please God, they'd taught him to use the damn thing properly.

  Up ahead a stocky, short-haired woman in her forties knelt behind a 4X4, aiming a deer rifle at the nightmares.

  "Some of them came out before," Ged's voice wasn't completely steady.

  "Yeah?"

  "Aye. 'Bout an hour or so before you got here."

  The nightmares stood, watching us. The rest of the locals from the meadow were with us, in doorways or behind walls or parked vehicles. Everyone else was scrambling for the higher ground.

  "Chas!"

  "Sarge?"

  "Get Joyce and Mleczko down here." I looked around. There was high ground each side of Pendle Row, one to our right, behind the farm opposite the Tea Rooms to our left, the other near the junction with Barley Road. I pointed there first. "I want Mason up there with the Minimi, Andrews and Levene up there." Behind the farm. "You and Akinbode get the blooper round the other side of the Hill just in case."

  "Copy that."

  "Get as high up as you can. They might come from more than one side. Keep the rest of the lads on standby with the other Dinky. Copy?"

  "Copy."

  "And Chas? Headshots only, single rounds or short bursts. No wasting ammo."

  "Got it."

  Water sluiced over my boots. The stream running down from the Hill had overflowed. My feet were cold.

  "Been pissing down all week." I looked at Ged. His breath puffed out white as he spoke. "Just thought it were more of the same. Flood warnings on telly. We rounded the sheep up. Stayed in. Didn't want to get caught out in this.

  "Then telly went off-air. Then the radio. Then the electricity went. Nowt we could do but wait it out. Then..." He pointed down at the Row. "We just saw it pouring into the valley. Heard folk screaming, but there was nowt we could do. What's been bloody happening out there?"

  I told him. Classified, of course, but I was past caring.

  "Dear Christ." He shook his head. "We knew it was bad, but... so it's everywhere?"

  "'Fraid so."

  "Bugger." He nodded down the street. "Should've guessed when those things bloody turned up. There were only a dozen or so that first time. Shot a couple. Rest just fell back."

  I nodded. Retreat and regroup, then attack again. "Looks like they've brought friends this time."

  Ged gripped his shotgun. "Hard to tell, state they're in now, but... that one there - think that's a bloke called Hargrave. Runs a farm about half a mile down the road. And that one... looks like..."

  He stopped. I decided not to push it. At least I wasn't likely to meet anyone I knew. Although I wouldn't put it past Dad to swim down just to take a chunk out of me. Vindictive old bastard.

  The young woman holding the baby might have been pretty once. She had dark blonde hair, bedraggled and rat's-tailed. Her eyes were clouded and glowing green. Something had bitten a chunk out of her face. The baby was in a romper suit, a small hand beating the air.

  I pulled back the bolt on the SA80.

  Beside her stood a tall man, long hair hanging limp and wet. Goatee beard, pasty skin; he would have looked satanic even alive, with or without the Slayer T-shirt under his open cardigan. If you wanted a poster boy for the carnivorous walking dead, here it was.

  Behind them was another man, taller still, at least six-three and built to match. Another long-hair. Thick full beard. Looked like a Viking. They seemed to be sticking together. Maybe they'd been friends.

  Don't focus on any of them like that. Don't see the people they used to be. See the target. The enemy. The monster.

  For once, at least, there was no thought at the back of my mind about the enemy being some mother's son.

  It didn't help.

  Levene and Andrews were in position. Alf ran past, down one of the little yards branching off the Row, hopping the fence at the end and scrambling for the top.

  "Alright, everybody. Don't panic. Remember you need a headshot."

  "Sarge." Mleczko didn't look like a joker any more. His face was hard and tight.

  I spoke into my personal communicator. "Levene, Andrews, make sure none of them get past you, and keep them out of the buildings."

  "Copy, Sarge."

  "Alf - what's Barley Road looking like?"

  "Chocka, Sarge."

  "Alright. They start moving, aim for the head. Sweep across, try and whittle them down before they get here."

  "Copy that."

  I turned to Ged. "If I were you, I'd get behind us. We've got more range. Your shotguns'll be handier if they get in close."

  Ged shrugged. "You want to put yourself between them and us, you're more than bloody welcome."

  I moved towards the riflewoman. "You want to move back too?"

  She glanced at me. A wide, impassive face; a small gold ring in each ear. "Not particularly." She turned back to watch the nightmares.

  "This is gonna kick off any minute, hen."

  "Why do you think I'm here? And don't call me hen."

  "Fair enough. Can you can shoot straight?"

  "Just watch me."

  I studied the back of her cropped head. "Were you in the army?"

  "No. Why?"

  "Should've been."

  She glanced back, grinned.

  "Sarge!" Joyce. "They're moving!"

  I shouldered my rifle. "Pick a target, lads. Fire on my mark, not before."

  They lurched drunkenly along Pendle Row, dressed in a sodden array of coats and colours. Farmers in their Barbour jackets. Hikers in boots and cagoules, some still wearing backpacks. Caught out on the fells, trapped in their cars, up to tour the Witch country.

  I sighted on the blonde girl. I didn't want her to get closer. I might see the child properly.

  Her eyes glowed. I was looking right into them. That strange glow. It was fascinating. You could look at them all day long, somehow, wondering how they worked.

  Keep staring at them right up until -

  "Pick your targets and... fire for effect!" I yelled, and pulled the trigger.

  Even when you think you're a hardened bastard, however many times you've killed, some deaths stay with you, and always will.

  The rifle butt driving back into my shoulder. The bolt snapping backwards. Smoke darting from muzzle and breech, brass cartridge cases jumping out and to the side. A perfect three-round burst.

  The woman's head snapping backwards as a shot took her through the left eye, rat's-tailed hair flying wild as the bullet exited the back of the head, tearing the ear loose to dangle from a skin flap.

  She dropped forward and lay still. I let out the breath I'd been holding and snapped back into the real world.

  The noise crashed in on me first, gunfire erupting left and right. I'd almost forgotten just how fucking loud a gunshot is. Falling shellcases tinkled on the wet ground, hissing as they hit the water. Eight nightmares down. A couple staggered - hit in the neck, scalp wounds - but kept coming.

  I aimed for the satanic-looking one.

  And then the nightmares charged. A sudden scuttling burst of motion, jerky but fast, like a bunch of horrible wind-up toys.

  "Fuck!"

  Focus, Robbie.

  Satan-boy was weaving. Not intentionally, at least I didn't think so - just the convulsive, flailing way they moved. I fired and missed, catching the Viking in the shoulder. Didn't slow him for a second.

  I fired at Satan-boy again, but he was almost on top of me. A bullet tore off an ear, but he kept coming.

  I jumped back, fired again. This one hit him in the face. The Viking knocked him aside as he fell, lunging for my throat.

  I got the rifle up to block him and we went down together. I shoved the barrel crossways into his mouth. His teeth gnashed at it, eyes blazing inches from my face.

  "Shiiiit!"

  The chattering of an automatic weapon.

  "Control your fire!" I roared out. A villager ran in to help, but one of the nightmares leapt on him. He staggered, screaming, and two, three more fell upon him. Blood sprayed up.

  The Viking hissed and snarled round the metal of the gun, pushing me down. Beyond him, more nightmares were lurching forward. But a heap of them were on the ground too.

  A gun butt smashed in to the side of the nightmare's head. It juddered and collapsed as Alf Mason stood over me, put the Minimi to his shoulder and fired another automatic burst, sweeping left to right at head height. Almost the whole front row of nightmares went down, and most of the ones behind. Behind us, another volley of gunfire rang out. Two more nightmares, nearly on top of me now, jerked and dropped.

  I rolled the dead nightmare off me; Alf helping me up. "You OK, Robbie?"

  "Thought I told you to get the bastards on the road."

  "They've stopped coming out of the water. You seemed to need the back-up more."

  "Alf!" Another nightmare seized his arm and sank its teeth in. Alf bellowed. I shot it through the top of the head.

  Four of them were still snarling and tearing at the fallen villager. He wasn't screaming anymore. The woman ran forward, shot one in the head, swung the rifle to crush another's skull, but the third seized the weapon and grappled for it. Then Mleczko was there, Billy stumbling in his wake, and blew its brains across the nearest wall. The fourth nightmare lunging towards him - he swung back and shot it. Billy fired first one barrel, then another, flinching back from the fire and smoke; another nightmare fell. Then he was falling back with Mleczko and the woman.

  Maybe twenty nightmares remained, staring at us with those glowing eyes. I put the rifle to my shoulder and aimed.

  Then one by one, they turned and started walking away. One by one, they walked back down Barley Road towards the deep water.

  Alf had slumped to his knees, cursing and groaning. I made for the fallen villager. Blood splashed out around him, steaming. Chunks of flesh and organs lay in it. I walked on, pleading to the God I didn't believe in that the poor bastard was dead. He was. One prayer answered today.

  Something was wriggling out from under the blonde woman's corpse. Something small, wearing a romper suit. It hissed. The small cowled head turned. I glimpsed a tiny, snarling face, two empty sockets blazing with green light.

 

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