Ace of Spades Chronicles : Book One Page 8

  Yates shook off the impact when a 5.56 casing flicked off his brow. The first thing he saw through the cracked windscreen was an infected male dressed just like he was, coming at the front of the car with unsettling speed. He heard a crack from the SA80 over him and took in a sharp breath as Xander shot the infected soldier in the face. Yates turned and realised that they were surrounded. Xander was doing his best to keep them back, but even he couldn't shoot in opposite directions at the same time. He reached over into the back seat and plucked one of the Benelli semi-automatic shotguns from the pile of weapons, then shimmied his way up through the sunroof to join Xander.

  The girl covered her ears as the car filled with the clamorous discourse of firepower above her head. Occasional spent shells or bullet casings fell into the cockpit and bounced off the bonnet as she ducked in her seat, watching infected after infected get blown away on both sides of the car. She threw her sword onto the dash board and reaching for the steering wheel, pulled her self over into the driver’s seat. She jumped when an infected man bashed against the side window, then jumped again when Yates shot him at point blank range in the top of the head. The power of the shotgun at such close range disintegrated the entire skull and the man fell as suddenly as he had appeared, leaving a huge splash of dark, frothy brain matter across the glass. She took in a deep breath, closed her eyes and turned the key. The engine cleared its throat and dry coughed as it tried to issue a spark. “Cunt!“ The girl cursed and tried again. This time the engine spluttered for a second and protested when she turned the key mid fire. She shook the steering wheel in a combination of frustration and panic, pumping the accelerator and clutch pedals with her feet when suddenly, the car lurched forward. Confusion muddled her thoughts as she quickly attempted to analyse what had just happened.

  It's still in third gear... a voice shouted at her. She looked up and caught a glimpse of Yates, snarling back at her through the sunroof. Her hands trembling, she pressed down with her left foot and grabbed the gear stick. The rewarding way it slipped into first was a relief and she turned the key again, keeping her foot down hard on the clutch. The engine rumbled to life and she stamped on the gas. The BMW's tyres screeched as the front of the car pushed against the police cruiser, but it would not budge as the belly of the car was welded to the road. She selected reverse and hammered the rear end into another vehicle that was behind them and in the opposite lane, crushing an infected female who got caught between the two cars around the pelvic region, then jammed the gear stick back into first. This time she kissed the left hand side of the cruiser and forced it over by a couple of feet; then back into reverse, turning the crippled female to pulp as she slipped down beneath the two vehicles. She repeated this, running over the hapless infected woman one final time until she was able to move beyond the burnt out police car and floored the BMW towards the traffic lights, then made a sharp right hand turn as she passed a blue Vauxhall Corsa and headed towards a small car park behind some residential buildings. Blocking her way stood two cars connected by a line of taut barbed wire. She gripped the steering wheel and pressed her right foot down as far as the accelerator pedal would allow, then crashed between the vehicles and dragged them and the barbed wire into the car park. The wire snapped under the strain and one of the cars span wildly into a wall, pounding an infected boy into the brick work; the other tipped and rolled onto its side as the wire recoiled on itself across the front and roof of the BMW like snapping sinew, marginally missing Xander and Yates as it cut through the air. One infected took the full force of the wire, and it sliced through his mid section, spilling sour intestines and portions of rotting internal organs to the ground. Four or five infected were flattened as the rolling

  car bulldozed through them and came to rest on its roof at the foot of some steps, next to a large black, smouldering pyre of dismembered bodies. The girl slammed on the breaks, sending Xander and Yates violently forward.

  Shaken and a little whip lashed, Xander turned and quickly took in the view. He saw a long, grey palisade fence adorned with severed heads; below this lay a mountain of infected in a not quite orderly line. Some were speared onto palisade rails that protruded from the upright fencing. Each of these had been decapitated and most were missing an arm or two. He watched as the girl kicked open the driver’s side door and shouted "Get to the gate." Immediately, he understood the goal; clear a path to the side gate at the end of the palisade fence and get into the compound beyond. He leaned past Yates and fired at the infected that obstructed a safe path for her. He bagged two, paused and leaned back, allowing Yates to drop back down into the cockpit. In a few short seconds, Yates had reloaded and exited the car from the open driver’s door, blasting heads with the Benelli, just as the girl reached the side gate and pulled out a set of keys. Xander climbed out of the sunroof and stood on the bonnet. He estimated that he had five, maybe six rounds left in his magazine, and used these to drop any infected that were closing back in on the vehicle, then he switched to the P226. He saw the girl open the side gate and run into the compound, turning with her sword raised in case any fiends managed to slip in behind her. Yates was next, and he took up position in the mouth of the gate. Xander jumped down, opened the back door and pulled all the weapons out, then passed them to the girl through the palisade rails. He noticed the skeletal remains of a dog lying amongst the scattered bodies as he heaved the Bergen onto his back and sprinted for the open gate. Yates knee capped one infected that blocked his route. Xander finished him off with a perfect 9mm shot to the top of his head, right through the crown, and dived into the compound, shaking the Bergen from his back. Yates kicked the gate shut and locked the padlock with the keys, then tossed them back to the girl.

  "Nice moves," he said, and the girl smiled as Xander walked behind her; he holstered the SIG, slotted another mag into the SA80 and patted her twice on the shoulder.

  "Thanks. That was quick thinking." Xander expressed with a sincere nod of the head and grinning raised eyebrows. The girl simply bowed her head and shook some blood from her sword. "Do you… live here?" Xander asked between long breaths.

  "No," the girl said. "It’s my friend’s place."

  Yates fleetingly glanced at the bodies on the other side of the fence. There had obviously been a violent siege here. “Looks like you had your hands full,” he said as he admired the security measures that were constructed onto the inner side of the gate; two police riot shields attached to the metal work with woven barbed wire. He noticed a blood stained spade leaning against the wall before looking up at the severed heads, skewered to the anti climb points atop the palisade fencing like trophies. He swallowed and stepped behind the girl, moved over to join Xander, and whispered in his ear, "I like what they've done with the place."

  "Mmm," Xander replied disparagingly, looking at one particular head that looked remarkable like Father Ted mid 'feck'. "Very."

  The girl started to make her way up a flight of concrete steps which led to a white door, moving swiftly, taking three steps at a time. "You better wait here," she said over her shoulder. She paused and turned to look at the two soldiers. They looked up at her as she removed her mouth guard and protective goggles, revealing a pretty oriental teenage face with eyes as old and as deep as the universe. Xander and Yates exchanged a quick look of respect. Her countenance spoke volumes. God knows what she had been through to get to this point.

  "Take your time," Yates said.

  Her eyes seemed to brighten for a moment. She smiled and twirled the set of keys around her forefinger, then turned and opened the door. She ran into the house like an excited child returning from a stimulating school trip, calling out a name that they could not quite hear. Her voice could be heard as a soft note, travelling from room to room, and then there was silence.

  Xander's attention stirred back to the car park infected. They had eliminated around twenty five between the three of them since leaving the main road, including those that were levelled by the spinning barricade and whipping barbe
d wire; but there were still many more, spilling in from the surrounding roadways and pavement. Some were naked or semi clothed; some charred or missing limbs. Most were in an advanced state of decay. He scanned the palisade fencing. It had been built well, designed to keep opportunists and vandals out. But he doubted very much that when it was erected, the tradesman commissioned to complete the task had considered repelling a vehement horde of infected. He turned to Yates. "Do you think this is going to hold?"

  Yates looked at Xander, then the length and height of the fence, then the wall of walking corpses moving with an almost hive mentality towards them.

  "Let's not find out." He said, taking a step back. They gathered the Bergen and all the weapons and climbed the steps quickly, just as the girl was heading back down the long, galley style kitchen beyond the white door. "Is your friend ok?" Yates asked, concerned that the girl looked quite troubled.

  She shook her head, shielding her eyes from the rising sun; fresh tear tracks lined her slightly flushed, olive cheeks. "He's not here," she sniffled. She was holding a 400 page Pukka Pad, which she held up for them to see. She flicked through the pages, displaying page after page of handwritten notes. "He left this for me." On the first page, written in bright red, felt tip pen, were the words…

  'For Rinko.'

  Ace of Spades

  PART TWO

  FOR RINKO

  'Hello...

  I'm your mind giving you

  someone to talk to...'

  Evanescence... Hello

  ‘SOME TIME AGO…’

  I heard the first wave of sirens at around 3am and had slovenly fallen asleep on the sofa with Moya, my border collie, thinking nothing more about them. It’s an all too familiar sound in a city of this size, so why pay them any more attention than they deserve; that was my reasoning. If only I knew then what I know now. Sunshine cut through the net curtains and danced a foxtrot in my brain with the muddled waves of a spicy rum hangover, at around 8am. I reached for the TV remote and flicked on the set as I rolled my first cigarette of the day. It was going to be gorgeous. I thought about taking Moya for a long walk down by the river; maybe find a quiet pub and get drunk. No such luck.

  According to the local breakfast news, a headless body had been found in the grounds of the mental hospital just down the road. The gruesome find had been discovered by the grounds staff, and a Police spokesman at the scene confirmed that the death was not being treated as suspicious. He said investigations at the hospital were under way and officers had started inquiries to establish the circumstances around the death, but early indications were that the deceased was a homeless man who had died in the undergrowth several weeks ago, and it was thought that animals had removed the head after gnawing through his neck. They had probably eaten through the soft tissue, popped the skull from the spine, and then dragged it away into the brambles that the grounds staff had been clearing all that week. An exterior shot of the hospital revealed what I thought at the time to be an excessive Police presence, and as the reporter handed back to the studio, my marinated mind was already drifting. I needed my morning coffee hit and went downstairs to the kitchen, with Moya following eagerly at my ankles.

  We were out of sugar and Moya was in need of her morning walk. We were also out of dog food, and a quick inspection of the cupboards told me we were pretty much out of everything else. I had a few tins of soup, a jar of marmite, a dozen or so cans of Special Brew in the fridge; but that was it. I made a shopping list, grabbed my wallet and put Moya's collar and lead on. We always took our morning amble through what was laughingly called a nature reserve by the local council; but the green open space was large enough to allow dogs off the lead, and was only five minutes from home. It backed onto the grounds of the mental hospital mentioned in the morning news and overlooked the supermarket, so it was a convenient detour whenever we needed some supplies; and a good excuse to stretch Moya’s legs and smoke a crafty one.

  I let Moya off the lead as soon as we were through the gate. I walked passed the dew pond, she trotting happily by my side, and headed towards the path that snaked in a looping fashion behind the hospital’s security fence, as we did every morning. An attractive family of five played with their pet greyhound. I waved good morning and they waved back. The mother and father tossed a Frisbee between themselves and their three perfect children. I used to see them every other morning, but I haven’t seen them since…

  Moya wanted to join in, but I called her back with a series of clicks that I made with my tongue. I would use lots of positive reinforcement; not only did it bring out the finest qualities in what was essentially a domesticated wolf, it raised my own vibration to a level of self satisfaction, knowing that her good behaviour was a combination of her breeding and my training. That was the last time we were able to do this.

  What was the date?

  Never mind...

  The hospital is huge. A complex of two and three storey buildings, fabricated in red brick with white borders, it was not unpleasant to look at. On first glance, it actually looked more like a college campus. There was a central glass atrium and every access road had its own name and road markings. The surroundings were landscaped with birch and spruce, larch and Scots pine, and the entire block of about thirty acres was girdled by a strong, seven foot high security fence topped with long, wiry spikes. It was signposted as a community health centre and dealt with addiction, psychiatric intensive care and violent offenders with mental health issues, and it was well known that they used electro-convulsive therapies and often took in dangerous convicts. They were delivered to the doctors in the back of a Police van, usually with a medium sized support escort.

  As the grounds stood opposite the supermarket, very often, the less aggressive 'residents' were allowed to visit the store unaccompanied to buy treats and cigarettes. Most were just junkie kids; polite and harmless, they walked with eyes glued to the ground and their ears permanently plugged into their mp3's listening to music or updating their Facebook status via their expensive smart phones. But some were the type of people you cross the road to avoid. Unpleasant, crazy eyed types; with far too many prison tattoos and an unpredictable nature.

  We made our way around the loop. Moya stopped several times and sniffed the air, and I wondered whether she could detect the aroma of decay that must have lingered around the spot where the decapitated homeless man had been found and disturbed by the grounds staff. I could see a couple of Police officers in yellow high visibility vests, prodding around in the shoulder high bramble, and I could hear the faint whine of an internal alarm going off in the facility. Through the imposing boundary fence, I saw a patient running between the wards and units. He or she was soon followed by six or seven of the medical staff. I heard a scream of remonstration and then the remnants of its echo. I saw another yellow jacketed figure, hunched over by a large rosehip bush on the hospital side. He looked like he was coughing, or perhaps gagging. I was far enough away for him not to notice me, but when Moya growled, I decided not to hang about. I put her lead back on and we headed for the supermarket.

  I could hear lots of sirens on the main road as we exited the reserve. The facility alarm was much louder now too, and stayed with us as we walked the well trodden path around the hospital perimeter. You can't really see the main road because of the trees and the relative height difference between path and highway; but you know it's there. Even on a quiet day, the noise from the traffic interrupts a peaceful walk. I could see flashing blue lights through the hawthorn branches and hanging silver birch limbs, and realised that the traffic going into the supermarket car park was backing up considerably. Passing the underpass that led to a foot bridge, and then into a fairly new housing estate and on towards the local primary school, I noticed a brightly coloured, hand drawn poster advertising the school’s summer fair. There would be much fun to be had, with face painting, apple bobbing, clowns and games all day long. 9am - 5.30pm. Dogs were welcome; I remember looking down at Moya and asked her whether s
he wanted to go. She just licked her nose and pulled me forward.

  When we rounded the corner, I saw that Police had blocked vehicle access to the hospital, and this was having a knock on effect which was playing havoc with the morning shoppers. The petrol station affiliated to the store was filled to capacity, and the traffic attempting to exit here was getting caught in the entrance bottle neck. We passed a crocodile of children accompanied by fussing parents, on their way to said summer fair. They were happy and smiling in the warm morning breeze. They all carried bags of shopping laden with crisps and fizzy drinks, and their excited laughs brought back memories of my own, free-spirited youth.

  Police vans lined the entrance road to the hospital but there were only a handful of officers present. There were several people swarming around the entrance but the officers seemed to be keeping their distance. I saw one person, a doctor I think, female; staggering through the crowd, heading towards the supermarket. She wore hospital whites and moved as though she were intoxicated or had recently suffering a knock to the head. I secured Moya to a metal rail by the front door and went into the supermarket, passing the creepy children's ride called ’THE STORY BUS’ as it giggled its disturbing call to insert money, and headed for the tobacco counter. I bought 50g of rolling tobacco and turned just in time to see the female doctor enter. She was behaving deranged and I thought it peculiar as she staggered behind the check outs and barged her way through the people who had paid, bagged up and were trying to exit. I noticed that she was missing a shoe and her left sleeve was dotted with what looked like blood; she coughed, sending spittle through the air, and I heard someone shout 'hey, what's your problem?' as they exited the store to pack their car.