Insidious Valour, page 21
A fire crackled, spitting embers in all directions. A faint whimpering could be heard from up the seating section. Still no footsteps or cackling. Ryan had to go on instinct, leading them both inside and ready to fire.
“Oh my fucking God,” Drinker gasped softly at the sight of the hell that was waiting for them.
Three spit roasts made from seating frames and the blackened, charred remains of five naked adults. Fat and tissue bubbled under what remained of the crisp, blackened skin, making it impossible to even identify the gender. Residue hissed as it dripped onto the open flames.
“Don’t get distracted,” Ryan said forcefully, though unsure if the comment was aimed at himself or not.
They searched each row slowly, methodically. The soft, trembling whimpers came from the back row. A soldier, badly beaten and burned. Their hair was completely missing, skin flaking off. Upon seeing Ryan and Drinker, their expression changed to one of incomprehensible fear, more than the pain they were currently in could’ve matched.
“You can’t be here,” they cried. “They’re coming back, all because of you. Take it and go.” The soldier mustered all strength and threw something at Ryan’s feet.
“Shh. We’re here to get you out.”
“The monsters are coming back. They won’t take me alive.” They drew their pistol and slowly aimed it towards their head. “I didn’t think they were real.”
Drinker acted quickly, kicking the pistol out of their hand. “What are you doing, man? We’ve come here to save you.”
“You came for that.” They pointed at the small, shiny object by Ryan’s feet. “Kill me! Please!”
Ryan knelt, picking the object up. A thumb drive. “What’s this?”
“Just kill me. I won’t go out like my men down there. I won’t.”
A haunting wave of hysterical laughter flooded the screen room. A stampede of feet boomed from down in the lobby, slamming off walls and funnelling up the escalators.
“Get him up, now!” Ryan pointed, slipping the flash drive into his coat pocket and aiming his weapon in front. The soldier screamed and then fell unconscious as Drinker lifted him onto his shoulders. “We need to get out of this room and to the main hall before they get up here. There’s a fire exit behind Screen Room Five. Move!”
Ryan led, and Drinker followed, keeping his footing as they descended the wide stairs to the corridor. From every wall, the laughter and rumbling thundered into their ears. Ryan peered over the edge of the balcony into the lobby, where shadows and silhouettes danced across the walls. Hundreds of Termites flooded in, pounding up the escalators.
Only one more floor separated them, and Ryan resisted the urge to open fire from his advantageous position. There was only so much ammo and time before he would be swarmed and overpowered. He retreated and followed Drinker, passing the gates to Screen Room Four and heading through Screen Room Five to the back wall. He gently pushed the release bar on the fire exit door and stepped out onto the rickety metal staircase. After letting Drinker out, he carefully closed the door and motioned down the fire escape, which clattered as they hastily made their way down and to the ground.
“They actually set a fucking ambush,” Drinker said, adjusting the deadweight body across the top of his muscular frame.
Ryan scanned all around, trying to find any disturbed patches of snow and open doors for an ambush. So far, clear. “They want us to lead them to the survivors,” he agreed. Keeping his aim on the fire exit above. “We don’t have much time.” They pushed behind the back of the supermarket and pro-skater shop, hauling ass into the town centre, while Drinker showed phenomenal endurance to keep up. Ryan led them into the town’s central promenade and up a flight of stairs into what remained of the council building, signalling for them to tread softly on the broken glass hidden under the snow. He kept every motion calculated, pulling open the battered, rusty door into a library. The damp carpet squelched under their feet while they moved through the toppled bookcases, reaching the back wall and out the fire exit, coming to a standstill on a rooftop car park.
Ryan stopped short, pointing to the ground. Footprints, everywhere. He raised his gun, aiming over to the arrangement of cars that blocked the entrance ramp.
“Sheffield?” he called from under his breath.
“Vineyard,” a soft reply came back. One head rose slowly, then another, and more. So many faces of different ages, races. Ryan couldn’t even begin to count.
Termite laughter echoed out from the cinema down the road, and the fire exit doors on all floors crashed open. The staircase structure collapsed under the weight of the barrage, which Ryan watched from the safe distance of the library rooftop. His eyes followed as Termites fell with the structure, the screeching of twisted metal as it slammed into the ground and was met with a nerve-jangling series of crackles. Ryan surveyed the broken mess behind the cinema, realising the structural damage should’ve hidden their footprints. He raised his SIG, keeping a close eye as the second wave of Termites poured out the safety of the cinema’s ground floor exit.
“If they get into the town centre, they’ll see our prints,” Ryan said out loud, watching them begin to pour through the supermarket and skater shop, fanning out in search of them. “Drinker,” he said, “get these people down this ramp and over to the lorries.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to keep them inside the town square. I know this place inside out.” Ryan pulled his gun up. “Keep the engines running until I get there, and be ready to leave. Got it?”
“Aye, man. Don’t be long.”
“Go now.”
Ryan waited as he watched Drinker round everyone up, telling them to keep their heads low as they descended the winding ramp. Once the final survivors had slowly begun to make their way down and follow the group, Ryan closed the fire exit behind him and quietly stepped through the library until he reached the main entrance. From there, he crawled back to the top of the flight of stairs outside the council building and pulled the scope to his eye.
He aimed in at the top of the shopping centre at the opposite end of the high street and fired two quick, suppressed shots at what remained of the windows, sending glass crashing in all directions. As anticipated, a stampede of Termites swarmed out of the supermarket and scurried across the street to the shopping centre with nothing but pure hatred and bloodlust. Some jumped through holes in walls, others just smashed their way through doors, and within seconds, they were all inside and out of sight.
Focusing on nothing but sound, he kept his mind clear and went into his zen, finger ready to pull the trigger at any stragglers who may spot their footprints. Even at two hundred metres, the destruction inside the shopping centre was clear enough across the desolate town. The Termites were tearing the place apart to try and find them.
A motor grumbled in the distance, followed by more. Ryan moved the scope past the shopping centre to the end of the high street, watching four heavily armoured people carriers slowly approach the shopping centre. One stopped outside the building, whereas another two sped up and turned away from the town, disappearing back the way they had come.
“Where are you going?” Ryan’s brain raced, trying to picture where that road led to. His thoughts were cut short as the final vehicle drove straight past the shopping centre and headed towards him, stopping just in front of the library stairs.
Do not give away your position, Ryan reaffirmed himself. They don’t know where our lorries are parked.
Three large, armed men got out, all wearing the same European Alliance uniform that Harper would wear. Grey pants, matching sweaters, and black boots. Their accents were thick, maybe Slavic?
Ryan kept low and still, making sure his misted breath went into the neck of his jacket. The men he watched were pointing in all directions, like they were arguing about where to find something. One of them furiously motioned towards the shopping centre, like they didn’t agree with the Termites running over there. The third one called for silence and pointed to the ground.
Using the scope, Ryan focused on what had brought the conversation to a standstill.
Footprints.
The three men followed them up the stairs and then towards the library doors where Ryan was lying down. “Oh shit.”
One of the men went to pull up a radio, only to drop to the ground after Ryan fired two shots into his chest. The two others raised their guns and fired roughly in his direction as they tried to take cover behind the vehicle. Ryan managed to wound them both with body shots and was just about to head down and finish them off before he looked up. Gunfire was returned from the convoy outside the shopping centre, and the swarm of Termites began to funnel out in his direction.
“Fuck!” Ryan turned and burst back through the library, the heavy fire slamming through the walls and ceiling, sending plaster and brick splinters ricocheting in all directions. He vaulted over the last broken bookcase and rammed through the fire exit, slamming it shut and sprinting towards the exit ramp. Even with his legs still heavily aching, he controlled his steps and didn’t give way to the snow, coming out on the ground floor and thundering across the road. By the time he reached the train station entrance, the library had already been swarmed, with the Termites bursting onto the rooftop he’d just left. He looked right to the end of Ladbroke Road. Two hundred metres.
“Fuck it.” Ryan shouldered the SIG716 and bolted across from his position. He was instantly spotted, and the excited laughter of this brazen attempt to flee had amped up. It was a wall of noise that followed his desperate escape. “Drinker! Start fucking driving now!” he yelled.
Both trucks’ lights shone and started creeping towards the end of Ladbroke Road. Ryan looked over his shoulder. The Termites were already ground level and closing fast.
“Go! Go!” Ryan waved to Drinker in the first lorry, running straight past and jumping on the passenger side of the second truck. “Craig, follow Drinker and don’t slow down,” he ordered, climbing to the top of the vehicle and running to the back. He gripped the safety bar and held on as the truck swung right hard, turning away from the town centre and back to the main road that had brought them in an hour earlier.
Ryan crawled to the back and looked out as the Termites gave up the chase, not even attempting to throw spears at the getaway convoy. He pulled the radio up. “Dominic. We’re on our way back.”
38
The two-lorry convoy moved at a steady pace, following the fresh tyre tracks they had left not one hour earlier. Inside the cargo hold of the first truck were two injured soldiers and seventy-eight civilians, a number higher than the total population of Penbrook at any point over the previous two years.
Ryan sat on top of the second lorry, his legs dangling off the back and his SIG716 across his lap. His body felt ablaze, and he was ready to fire on anyone who should be stupid enough to follow them. The choice to act as a gunner from the rear wasn’t just for security purposes but also to get as much fresh air as possible. The stench of roasted human meat hadn’t only cemented itself in his nose but covered his clothes, too.
Even after the fight he’d just found himself in, and more than grateful to God or whoever out there had been watching over him, his traitorous brain took his thoughts down a road of guilt as the horrors of Screen Room Two hung over like a poisonous cloud.
Did I get those soldiers killed? he wondered. Did I seal their fate? The questions cycled like some kind of masochistic obsession. Of course, he had suggested they break away from the main pack of survivors as a diversion, but it hadn’t been his fault that they had gone into the wrong screen room. It was nothing more than misfortune, and when the cards of bad luck are against you when you’re gambling against Termites, the cost wasn’t just your life. It was a violation of the human body. There were no bounds of morality they were held by.
They actually set a trap. Ryan pulled his left glove off, eyeing over the stumps where his ring and pinkie finger should’ve been. His daily reminder that even though they were the base level of human savages, they could still use tactics to get to you. His focus narrowed beyond his hand and tightened on the road passing under his dangling legs. His eyes followed a rogue set of heavy tyre prints that veered off to the right and down a housing estate.
We haven’t been down that way, Ryan said to himself before his eyes widened. They’ve been down here! He got to his feet and ran along the roof, waving his hands to the lorry in front. “Drinker! Ambush!”
A thunderous whoosh of air came from Ryan’s left, cutting through his warning and ripping into a deafening screech. The back end of the lorry lifted and swung left, throwing Ryan off and landing him on a chain link fence. A torn piece of mesh sunk through his jacket and dug its way into his left bicep, tearing sideways and breaking off as his body weight caused him to thump on the sidewalk. His heels met the icy concrete first, taking most of the impact until they gave out, and the back of his shoulders completed his journey back to earth.
His eyes clocked the vapour trail coming from the wooded area on the opposite side of the road. The back of the second lorry blasted apart, almost toppling over on the left-hand side. Craig got out the driver’s door, holding a bloody gash on his forehead. Apart from their minor injuries, Ryan counted their blessings that all survivors had been kept in the cargo of Drinker’s lorry.
From behind, the roar of an engine grew louder, though still well out of sight. Standing above the snow on the opposite embankment, a figure rose and shouldered an RPG towards Ryan. He fired two shots, one of which hit the assailant in the arm and knocked them down.
“Get in the other truck,” Ryan ordered to Craig, picking himself up and running over to his wounded driver and taking him under his arm. Drinker had pulled the first lorry to a halt and made his way round the back, providing covering fire as the pair hastily hobbled past him and jumped over the driver’s seat into the passenger side.
Once Drinker had gotten in and restarted the engine, Ryan focused on the side mirror and saw two armoured vehicles coming into view. He waited for their lorry to get some traction and continue the journey home before he pulled out the radio.
“Dominic, we have been ambushed on the way home. We are being followed. Two heavy vehicles—they look military. Get ready to open fire.”
“Got it. How far out are you?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Understood. Get those people and your ass back here safe.”
Ryan looked at his blood-soaked parka and ignored it. “You know we will. Out.” He then thumped on the cargo partition behind him. “Everyone, hang on tight. This is about to get bumpy. Floor it, Drinker.”
The Scotsman hit the accelerator hard, and the twenty-tonne beast showed its full potential as it weighed heavily on the snow, smashing through any debris in its way. The back end swung out, and muffled screams echoed inside the cargo hold as bodies were flung violently to one side. Within minutes, they had joined onto the carriageway that would lead them back to Maidville.
After thirty seconds, the two pursuing vehicles had joined them on the final stretch, closing the gap down to a couple of hundred metres.
“Are we going to leave the barricade open for them?” Drinker asked as the lorry bolted towards the checkpoint.
“Yep,” Ryan answered, keeping his eyes on the mirror. “Slow down when you get to it.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Drinker did his best in the conditions and kept the huge vehicle straight, slowing down enough for the back end only to clip a couple of the cars.
“Get them back inside,” Ryan said, jumping out the door and not giving Drinker a chance to protest. As he ran back to the barricade, he knew that he wouldn’t have the time to slide the vehicles into position, especially alone on this icy surface. Instead, he ripped open the door of the black sedan and pulled up the back seats. “You wanna play with fire?” he wheezed to himself, thinking of the explosion that tossed him off the lorry earlier. He dug inside and pulled out the heavy-duty box. Fifteen grenades looked back at him. He took one out and lifted the whole box, sliding it behind the opening of the barricade.
“Dominic. I’m at the northern barricade,” he said into the radio.
“I can see you on the monitor. What are you doing?”
“Just keep your eyes on it, and let me know when they’re coming through. They’ll be on foot.”
Between the gaps in the barricade, he saw the two vehicles approaching rapidly and not slowing. One by one, he pulled a grenade out, removed the ring and tossed it over the barricade. All within five-second intervals. The first one had already detonated by the time he threw the third, keeping his head low and out of the line of sight as they exploded. As expected, the oncoming vehicles skidded to a halt, slowly and agonisingly, towards the area where Ryan was targeted. One by one, the small explosives sent shrapnel into and under the vehicle’s chassis while also kicking up thick clouds of smoke and snow powder. The second vehicle crashed into the front one, and men began to jump out. Ryan took the opportunity of blind confusion and lit one of his flares, standing up and throwing it into the thick white cloud on the other side of the barricade.
He’d hoped the fuel lines had been severed as they drove over the explosions, but if not, the flare would add even more chaos to the mix. He pulled his SIG up and aimed into the cloud, switching to fully automatic. He couldn’t see who or what he was aiming at, but from the cries, he knew that he had at least hit a few and forced others to take cover behind the armoured cars. As he ran out of bullets, the return fire was ordered, which he’d expected. Once again, he one by one tossed the remaining five grenades into the same area, replaced his empty magazine and threw his final flare into the barricade itself, giving him enough visual cover to begin running home.
He had practised this run multiple times, with his best time coming in at a minute and a half, but he’d never done it in the snow nor with a bloody shoulder and hurting heels while wearing winter gear. The road was straight and clear, with nowhere to hide, and once someone stepped through that smoke and onto his final stretch home, the only thing that would keep Ryan alive was how much distance he had put between them and how good a shot they were.
