Tide of souls, p.20
Tide of Souls, page 20
Half a dozen guns fired as one, and it toppled.
And then there was only the guns' fading echo, the thunder's distant rumble, the rain's relentless sound as it rinsed the clotted slurry of blood and brains into the clogged quagmire of the ground.
The ground was empty. Forty or fifty still stood in the water, silent, watching, but made no move towards the land.
I aimed. We waited. The gun's barrel hissed, steam rising; the rain beat down so hard I could only see the glow of their eyes.
Then, as one, they turned and walked back into the water.
"Yeee-hooo!" whooped Billy, in what he doubtless thought was a rebel yell. He leapt over the wall, danced a clumsy jig. Mleczko, jogging back from the water's edge, shook his head, grinning wearily. "All fucked off, Sarge."
"Good work."
A ragged cheer went up. Rifles and shotguns shaken in the air. From the distance came firing, scattered shots, but they died away.
"Chas? Jo? What's your status? Report. Over."
"Clear, Sarge. Over."
"Clear," said Jo. "Over."
"Good work."
The farm vehicles were parked up. Joyce climbed down, staring out over the torn, broken corpses.
Ged glanced over, smiled slightly, and began reloading the SPAS-12.
I could still hear cheering, through the whining in my ears, as Joyce's men waded in, finishing off the crippled nightmares with blows from rifle butts. A couple of shots rang out; Joyce's sandpaper voice, berating whoever wasted the ammo.
"Yee-haa!" Billy skipped and gambolled round the still-flaming patches of ground, in among the bodies, kicking at a torso here, a severed head there, waving his over-and-under shotgun in the air. "Got them! Got the smelly fuckers! Ha-haaa! All fucking dead! Got them!" He whirled back towards us, waving the gun in the air. "Got them, Danny! We got them all!"
"Billy!" I heard Mleczko scream.
On the ground lay a nightmare; everything gone from the waist down, guts trailing in the dirt, an arm and half its face torn away. But one eye still glowed, and one arm remained.
And jaws. It still had jaws.
The nightmares could move incredibly fast when they wanted, even in a state like that. Only in short bursts, but that was all it needed to grab Billy's ankle, yank itself forward, and bite into the meat of his calf.
Billy screamed, first in panic, then in pain. Mleczko yelled something and ran past me, dropping to one knee as the nightmare's head reared away from Billy's leg, torn meat hanging from its mouth. Blood spurted from the wound. Mleczko fired, and the nightmare collapsed.
Mleczko ran towards Billy. I followed; Ged too.
Billy was wailing, clutching his wounded leg with both hands. Blood streamed through his fingers.
"Ow, fuck! Fuck!" Fright stole over his face as it dawned. "Fuck!"
He looked up at Mleczko. "Help me. Please, Danny, help me!"
"Alright, mate," Mleczko said in an older, wearier voice than I'd ever thought to hear him use. "Alright."
Billy was crying. "You can make it better, can't you?"
No-one spoke. Like I said, he was simple. Not the full shilling. What Mleczko later told me they called a 'not-right' where he'd grown up in Salford.
"You can, can't you?" His wide, wet eyes darted from face to face. "You can make it better." Poor bastard was blubbering openly, now. "Make it better, Danny, please. I don't want to die."
"You're not gonna, mate." Mleczko crouched beside him, squeezing his shoulder. "We'll get you right again, no worries. Not getting out of twatting those fuckers that easy."
I opened my mouth to speak, but Ged put his hand on my arm.
Billy was grinning, however tightly, through the tears. "You're gonna be fine," said Mleczko. "I hadn't shot the fucking thing, it'd've died from biting you. Fucking hell, I've been there when you've let one rip. Poison fucking cities, you could."
Billy was laughing, even as he cried. Mleczko patted his shoulder again. "You'll be right, pal. Just hang on. I'll go get Saddam to take a look at you."
"Saddam," giggled Billy, as Mleczko walked away from him. "Saddam. That's fu-"
The three-round burst blew most of his head apart on impact; the rest flew clear of the body.
I leapt back from the blood; with his head gone, it hosed and splattered the ground. The body dropped forward onto the churned, blackened turf.
Mleczko stood over him for a moment, as if computing whether he'd need to shoot again, then lowered his rifle.
Ged went to him, reaching out a hand; Mleczko twisted away with a warding-off gesture, and walked off, brushing by Joyce like he wasn't there.
Bodies choked Pendle Row.
The nightmares lay on tarmac and pavements, draped over the cars dragged across the road, crumpled against the walls where they'd fallen. Others lay scattered down Barley Road. Empty bullet cases crunched underfoot.
The bay's surface looked flat and innocent.
Chas came towards me, face furrowed and sombre.
"We lost four," he said. "All locals."
"Shit."
"Could've been a lot worse."
"Aye."
The rain hissed down between us. "Want me to clear this lot away?"
I shook my head. "They could be back any minute."
"Thought you said we'd keep them away longer like this."
"That's the plan, but they might have a different one."
Chas nodded. "Well, best get ready for them then, hadn't we?"
"Besides, we leave their bodies where they are, it'll slow them down. More to climb over."
"Every little helps. So what do we do about the next one, Sarge?"
"See if we can get 'em again."
"Same trick?"
"Aye."
"Think they'll fall for that twice?"
"We'll see."
"Same place?"
I shook my head. "Thought you could give it a try."
Chas looked dubiously up and down the Row. "Where'm I supposed to put a bunch of tractors?"
"The Newchurch Road. They can sweep down and hit them here at the junction."
"Try anything once. Stiles said anything?"
"He's out for the count. Checked before. Drank himself stupid."
"Maybe he's got the right idea."
"Fucksake, Chas."
"Sorry, Sarge."
"I need you of all people with your head screwed on right."
"Yeah, I know. Sorry." He grinned. "Fucking hell, Jock, I thought I was supposed to keep you on the straight and narrow."
"Sergeant Jock to you, grotbag."
The rain kept driving down, harder than ever before.
Still was two hours later, when they attacked again.
The second try...
God, just thinking about it...
The Deep fucking Brain.
It's learning fast.
They threw a big load at the Row, or so it looked.
Chas and his men did as we had, hid the main force and left a skeleton crew visible, then hit them hard with heavy fire and Molotovs before whistling the vehicles down. The nightmares falling back.
And then the second wave came out of the water.
They hit the farm vehicles. Overran them. Jamming the wheels and tracks with sheer weight of numbers - pushing, rocking - a tractor keeled over, a mechanical digger seemed to rear up and crash to the ground like some weird beast in its death throes. Most of the drivers got clear. Not all.
And then they overran the Row. Andrews, about twenty other defenders - all killed.
They fell back, laid down heavy fire. But they kept coming.
And next I knew, the call was coming out.
"Robbie! Robbie!"
Rapid, muffled explosions in the distance. "Chas?"
"They've taken Pendle Row. We couldn't hold them off. They've broken though onto the lower slopes behind it. Need help now."
"On its way."
Jo got the Landrover with the Mk19 onto the open ground behind Pendle Row. The nightmares staggered through in droves, but Chas scrambled aboard and opened up on them with the launcher, hitting them hard.
I brought Joyce, Mleczko, a good thirty defenders with me, all with SA80s, and it didn't look anywhere near enough.
The survivors of Chas's team were running back to us. Just him and Jo left on the Dinky covering their retreat, Chas firing the blooper into the nightmares' ranks, blasting fragments of them skywards, until -
It stopped firing. Chas grappling with the blooper. A jam.
And that was when the nightmares, milling closer, broke into a run.
Jo gunning the engine, trying to turn.
The nightmares smashing into the vehicle, tipping it over.
Jo on the ground rolling, scrambling to her feet with rifle raised as I screamed for covering fire.
Chas landing under its shadow as it toppled towards him.
Scrambling clear - almost made it - almost -
Almost.
The Landrover crashed down, belly-up to the sky, the full weight of it coming down on his right leg, just above the knee.
Chas bellowing, scrabbling at the earth, tearing his nails to bloody pulp. Jo beside him, firing this way, then that. A nightmare fell, then another - but never enough. There were always more.
Blood seeping out from under the Landrover. Chas yelling at Jo. Jo shouting back, shaking her head. He yelled again. She ignored him.
Leave me. Save yourself.
No.
Almost automatically, as if my hands were moving of their own volition, I found myself sighting on Jo. Her first, then Chas? Or the other way around? If she was going to stand her ground till they got her too, it'd be a mercy.
Chas tearing the WP grenade from its harness, pulling out the pin.
Jo staring back at him.
Click. I couldn't've heard it over the gunfire, the screams, the explosions, the dying, but I'd swear I did.
Click.
As he released the handle, it fell away and the fuse began to smoke.
Jo screaming.
Chas shouting at her to go, go, go.
Jo running - nightmares barring her path. Mleczko firing, me too, cutting them down.
But I didn't sight on Chas as he lay there, the grenade smoking as the nightmares rushed in on him and -
Mleczko pulling me down. A vivid sheet of flame, then the explosion followed by several others as the remaining grenades in the Landrover, the Dinky's fuel tanks, all went up.
I scrambled up. Flames. A gouged, blackened crater. The Landrover's wreckage crashed back down into it. Of Chas Nixon, nothing remained.
Jo lay on the ground, unmoving.
The nightmares pouring through. Mleczko yelling in my ear, wanting orders.
Joyce running forward, shooting. Nightmares leaping up at him, pulling him down.
Focus, Robbie.
The voice sounded almost like Chas. Except that he'd've said Jock, and - no. Don't think of that now. I aimed on one of Joyce's attackers and fired. Mleczko too. Joyce scrambling free, slinging Jo over his shoulder, staggering back, a wound gaping in the side of his face - half his cheek torn away. But he kept going, till other hands took the woman from him and carried her away, and then he turned and walked out to meet the nightmares, firing on them till the gun was empty and they pulled him down.
But before they could finish him, I did. I did what I'd been going to do for Chas, what I should've done for Billy. I sighted on his head and fired a burst that tore through his skull and that of one of his attackers. They both went down and the others swarmed all over Joyce, biting, tearing, chewing...
Aim and fire. Aim and fire.
I glanced left at Mleczko. His SA80's barrel moved this way, then that, shellcases jumping from the breech. Too fast, it seemed. He was firing wild. But when I looked, I saw a nightmare go down each time.
Fucking hell, he's good.
Aim and fire. Aim and fire.
The bolt locked back. The nightmares, yards away, wading in, jaws yawning open.
"Fall back. Fall back."
I heard myself screaming the words, but felt oddly calm. Everything moved slick and easy. The SA80's empty magazine sliding free as I ran. The replacement clip sliding neatly into place.
Turn to face them. Two nightmares closing in. I dropped the first, tracked right, fired again. The second one fell too.
But still they came.
"Grenades!"
I was already overarming the first one. Mleczko sent another sailing in. Then everyone dived to the ground and tried to burrow into it.
The two explosions sounded so close together it was like a single blast. I felt an intense wave of heat and could see the explosion even through squeezed-shut eyes.
"Fall back! Fall back!"
And so we did. We fell back up to the next line of defence and dug in.
And we waited.
But for now, they didn't come.
For now.
Jo sat in a corner of the farmhouse living room, blank-faced, rocking to and fro.
She'd dived for the ground before the blast went off. Knocked unconscious, but barely scratched. Hassan said she should be fine. But she hadn't spoken a word.
I crouched beside her. "Jo?"
No answer. Just rocking.
"Jo?"
Rocking.
"Joanne."
Endlessly rocking.
"Fuck you then."
A blink, a reaction; reddened eyes focussing on me.
"That all you're gonna do for Chas? Sit in a corner crying? That what he died for? Him and Joyce? What a fucking waste of two good men."
Her whole face flared, and her hand flew out. I caught it at the wrist - just. The fury, vibrating in her muscles, trying to tear free to try again.
"Better," I said.
Her voice was thick. "Bastard."
"Aye. I'm a bastard." I knew I was. But this had to be done. "I need you, Jo. I need your help. You'd've made one fucking hell of a good soldier. I can't afford to let that go to waste."
Eyes wet and bright; a shuddering breath. Then a sob and she pitched forward. I gripped her tight.
"I loved him," she whispered.
"Me too."
"I would've died with him. I wanted to."
"My best mate."
"I should've stayed. When he took the grenade out. I should've died with him."
"He gave his life."
"That's what you do if you love someone."
"That's what soldiers do."
"I should've stayed, but I ran."
"That's what he wanted. Jo, hen, I'm gonna need you to stay alive a wee bit longer."
I let her go. She sat back, looking at me. "What do you want?"
"I need someone to take care of the other survivors. The ones who can't fight."
"Katja -"
"I've other plans for her." She looked at me. I lit her a cigarette. "You're to keep them alive long as you can, if those things break through."
"When."
"If." I felt like the prize fool of all time for not just owning up and admitting the truth, but if I didn't act like we'd make it, who bloody would?
She opened her mouth to argue, then shrugged.
"If there's no hope left, it's your judgement what you do."
She nodded. A silence. "That everything?"
"Pretty much."
A knock at the door. "Who is it?"
"Mleczko, Sarge."
"One minute." I turned to Jo. "You up for it?"
"Alright."
"Get going." She nodded and stood. "Can you tell Katja I'd like to see her?" She nodded again. "Come in, Mleczko."
He stood to attention as the door closed behind her.
"You wanted to see me, Sarge?"
"Aye. At ease."
"She OK?"
"What do you think? Take a seat."
I uncapped the bottle, poured two Isle of Juras.
He grimaced, but choked it down. Strictly a lager man, Mleczko. Not like Chas. I almost smiled. Almost.
"Sarge?"
Focus, Robbie. Focus.
"I need a new Section Leader, Mleczko."
"Sarge?" Then it dawned. "Serious?"
"Seriously. Consider yourself promoted. Assuming you want it."
His face lit up. "Yeah, Sarge. Won't let you down."
"I know. You'll need a 2IC."
"Got anyone in mind, Sarge?"
"I was thinking of Katja." His eyebrows rose. "Any problem there for you?"
"No Sarge. She's good. I'd've gone for her myself."
"I'll bet." He was still young, after all. "Just keep your mind on the job, OK?"
"Course Sarge."
I nodded. "Get your head down, Corporal. Dismissed."
He got up, saluted, went out.
"What do you reckon, Chas?"
No answer; he was dead.
"You reckon he'll do?"
No answer; he was dead.
"I reckon he'll do."
No answer; he was dead.
"Fuck, Chas. What the fuck am I gonna do without you?"
No answer; he was dead.
"Fuck."
Chapter Eighteen
The night has passed, thick with rain, lit only by lightning and dying fires.
They haven't come back yet. But they will. You can put money on it. It's the one inevitability left. Death isn't as final as it was, and taxes - well, there's always an upside.
I'm going to give this to Katja when I'm done. It's going in a safe place, along with her account and Stiles' notes.
Maybe they'll be of some use to someone. Maybe someone else will read them all one day. Someone from Windhoven, maybe.
Maybe this will just be a curiosity by then. Maybe the nightmares will be gone, or at least contained. I like the idea that this will run its course, and the dead'll be dead again. At last. Permanently...
Focus, Robbie.
I haven't much time. I want to explain something.
I want to talk about the desert road.
7th November. Winter back in Scotland, but in the desert, it was still hot.
I read somewhere that a breakdown isn't normally down to one single traumatic event. It's cumulative, like erosion - one thing after another. Maybe it'd been building for a while. I'd helped fight enough dirty little wars, after all. Sooner or later, questions get asked. If only in the silent places at the back of your mind.
