One
“What the fuck is that? Weren’t we supposed to be raiding a fucking cannabis farm?”
“Mate I don’t know what the fuck they’re growing but that ain’t like any stinking weed I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah and we all know how much you like to smoke up every now and again don’t we, Sanders?”
“Fuck you, Hill. I’ve not touched that shit since University and you fucking know it.”
“Will you three shut the actual fuck up? Jesus Christ, it’s like being back in the fucking girl guides listening to you gents bitch and gossip!”
“Yes Ma’am, sorry,” Sanders replied in the most apologetic manner he could muster, and checked his watch; thirty seconds until one am. “First three units should be heading in soon.”
“Good. Keep your wits about you because we, along with Echo Team, are here to make sure no dirty fucking grower makes it out of here without spending at least a night as a guest of Her Majesty. Capiche?”
“Yes Ma’am,” he three charges replied, diligently.
Thank fuck for that. Sanders, Hill and Watts were decent blokes. Hell, she would’ve taken a bullet for each and every one of the bastards, and then some, but they could talk more shit than a salon full of middle-aged women.
The crack of gunfire ringing out through the crisp, early February air, brought Cait Foster straight back to reality. It was to be expected though. No self-respecting weed farmer, however dirty and disgusting she might consider such a person to be, would go along without some kind of security. Intelligence told them there was a security detail of six individuals, ex-army who desperately needed the cash.
Units Alpha through Charlie though, they were the bollocks. Like the farm’s security they had all served but each and every one of them was ex Special Forces whereas Delta and Echo teams had been plucked from more mundane lives in the Emergency Services.
“That’s a fuckload of gunfire, Ma’am.”
Hill was right. Too much.
“Foster, I’m taking Echo Team in to lend a hand.” The voice coming over the radio paused momentarily and that time was filled with the crackle of static. “The shit’s really hitting the proverbial.”
“Rickman, we’ll split and cover your former position.” It was Foster’s turn to pause, and she briefly did so. “Just don’t get in the way of our ex-specials. You know how much that fucks them off.”
“Looks like we’re on the move, Hill.”
“Stay in radio contact,” Cait said, sternly. “And Watts?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Don’t do anything fucking stupid.”
“Roger that.”
***
Cait fumbled through the thick, choking smoke, with Sanders at her six as the two of them sought the missing half of their team.
Both carried a modified P-90, as was standard for the recently formed United Kingdom Drug Squad but the barrel mounted torch was next to useless, doing nothing more than illuminating the fact that when it came right down to it, they could see very little through the smog.
“What the fuck went wrong?” Sanders asked, mumbling through his shirt that he had hastily raised to cover his mouth in order to limit the amount of who-knew-what he was inhaling.
“Someone fucked up in a massive way,” Cait replied, she too, talking through the fabric of her garments. “There’s no way this is a fucking weed farm. More like a secret research facility, or some shit.”
“Then how the fuck did we get our intel so fucking wrong?” Behind Foster, Sanders stumbled, tripping over something upon the ground. He managed to keep his footing though, and together they attempted to see exactly what it was over which he had tripped.
“Fuck! It’s Hill.”
“Is he dead?”
“He’s got a fucking hole through his chest, Ma’am.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she replied. “Fuck it.”
“Let’s…” Sanders was about to suggest that he and Foster move on in search of Watts and potentially members of other teams, too, but a fumbling at his feet stopped him before he had really got started with the sentence.
Before he knew what was happening, it became very evident, very quickly, that a hand was in the process of snaking its way around his ankle and as if it knew that such a thing was required, the choking smoke in the vicinity cleared just enough for Sanders to look down and see that the hand belonged to Hill, despite the huge gaping hole in his chest.
“What the..!?”
Foster did not have time to react before the supposedly dead Hill sunk his teeth into Sanders’ calf and the man yelled out in pain. Flipping the P-90 around he used the butt to pummel Hill’s head, though despite what should have been several knockout blows, he remained latched onto Sanders until Foster kicked him in the head with a punt that would have made an NFL kicker proud.
That kick did not put the man down though. It knocked him back, sure, but he was coming right back at them within seconds, his breathing odd and gait uneven.
“I’ve had enough of this shit.”
Foster fired a single shot straight into Hill’s skull. The man did drop at that and Foster grimaced. She crouched down beside the body of her fallen comrade and shook her head, slowly, as she studied the now-dead face.
“This is too fucking weird,” she muttered. “Sanders, have you ever seen anything like this? Look.”
“Only on the telly,” he replied. “But are we seriously considering zombies here?”
“You got any other explanation for what happened to Hill? Still coming at us, despite the hole in his chest and you battering the shit out of him?”
“I dunno, Ma’am… It sounds a little bit, y’know…?
“Oh I know,” Cait replied with a shrug. “I guess we’ll know in a few hours, considering you’re bleeding like a good ‘un where he took a chunk outta’ you.”
“He doesn’t have hours, Ma’am.”
Both Foster and Sanders turned upon hearing Watts’ voice behind them. The man looked like he had been through absolute Hell and been flung out the other side.
“Hill turned within minutes of getting bit. I tried to follow him but lost him in this damn smog.”
He turned to face Sanders and addressed the man directly.
“Sorry, mate…”
“A fucking zombie?!” Sanders yelled at noone in particular. “You’re telling me I’m about to turn into a fucking zombie?! Fuck that, this isn’t…”
Sanders dropped heavily to a knee, as if his body was suddenly unable to keep him in a standing position and as his eyes rolled back into his skull and his body lolled forwards, Watts grit his teeth and put a bullet straight into his former comrade’s brain.
“Whatever this place is Ma’am, it definitely ain’t a grow-op. Now grab Hill’s weapon and let’s move. Fuck knows how many people were turned and how many escaped. We need to round them all up before they find their way to a population centre that consists of more than handful of cows.”
It was in an almost stunned silence that Foster obeyed the command of her subordinate, though when she had a P-90 in each hand, both ready to fire as and when such a thing was necessary, she shook herself rigorously.
“Is there anyone left alive?”
“I think I saw a couple of the Beta guys chasing one of the bastards down,” Watts replied, shrugging. “I guess we won’t really know ’til the smoke clears.”
