“The wall, Alan, they are climbing up the wall. They are trying to get up here!”
They both concentrate fire on the targets climbing up the walls of the flyover. Aiming for the ones climbing highest, these fall back from the wall, into the mass below, taking others with them, but still more come.
“Keep firing, Alan.”
Mike grabs a grenade that is attached to his body armour on the side of his chest, pulls the pin and throws it down towards the base of the wall. A few seconds pass before the explosion, then boom, a hole is made in the mass of bodies at the base of the wall, followed by a rising plume of smoke. Some screeches can be heard following the explosion, but the hole is filled before the smoke clears. Mike grabs the other two grenades he has, pulls the pins and throws. He then turns and grabs two more off Alan as the first two explode behind him.
“We’re gonna need a lot more grenades, mate,” Mike shouts.
“No shit…and more ammo, I’ve only got two mags left!” Alan shouts back.
Suddenly, a roar of rotors can be heard over the gunfire and then the two men are buffeted and blown by strong gusts of wind from the downdraft, as what looks like a brand new Wildcat helicopter moves over their heads and takes up a position hovering five metres or so above and away.
The door gunner sees them, and Alan immediately signals to the gunner to engage the mass of targets coming from under the flyover and trying to climb it.
The gunner sees the signal, gives a thumbs-up and immediately opens up with his 50 calibre. He starts the attack by firing on the wall and taking out all the targets that are climbing it. The gunner then concentrates his fire at the mass on the street below and the stream coming from beneath the flyover.
The firepower of the 50 calibre is immense; the raw of the rapid-fire, over 500 rounds per minute, overpowers everything and cuts the mass of targets to ribbons, body parts flying everywhere. Limbs fly off, bodies are cut in two and heads explode.
The flood from below seems to have been stemmed. Mike and Alan allow themselves a small smile of relief, but they are too soon. Another bigger mass of targets bursts from below the flyover and, this time, they scatter at speed in all directions instead of massing at the base of the wall and trying to climb it.
Many can’t escape the 50 cal’s fire and are cut down, but far more do, running up nearby streets, running under the helicopter and beyond out of the 50 cal’s range. Others crash through doors and windows of adjacent buildings across the street, many even into Paddington Green Police Station directly across from them.
The two soldiers open fire again, Alan with his automatic and Mike with his rifle; they shoot as many as they can, but these things are all over, scattering in all directions, and it is impossible to stop them all.
The Wildcat hovers to the left and lower, closer to the police station, giving the gunner a better angle to fire underneath the flyover at the source of the flow, and it works. The flow slows and then is stopped again, so much so that the gunner can slow his fire to shorter bursts as needed.
Mike catches something out of the corner of his eye, flying through the air off the top of the police station. He is just in time to see it hit the rotors of the Wildcat. The body explodes with a sickening thud on impact and it vaporises immediately, a cloud of red mist being blown downwards and covering the Wildcat with blood. The helicopter’s engine strains slightly, then it is instantly back up to full throttle. “Holy Shit,” is all Mike can shout before another body hits the rotors from above, to be vaporised.
These aren’t dead, lifeless bodies; the infected people are jumping from the roof of the station and are doing it willingly in some ghastly attempt to stop the helicopter firing on the masses below, on their kin.
Mike is stunned, but the horrific show doesn’t stop, each body followed by another and another, and there are more following. Some of the bodies land in the centre of the rotors and some farther out towards the edges. Some of the bodies miss the helicopter completely and hit the street below, their blood splattering across the street as they hit it, adding to the rain of blood already coming down from above as the blades spin. Most of the bodies are vaporised on impact with the helicopter’s rotors, chunks of flesh ejected downwards or flying out sideways.
The scene is sickening but it’s working; the firing has stopped, and the gunner has taken refuge from the gore raining down. He is now back inside the helicopter’s hold.
Now drenched in blood, the Wildcat’s fuselage is mainly dark red; there must have been seven or eight bodies hitting its rotors in the space of a few seconds, each making the engine strain more. The pilot takes evasive action and lifts the helicopter up, but as he does so, a body hits the very front edge of the rotors, explodes and completely drenches the front of the cab in thick, dark red blood. The engine now sounds very laboured and smoke starts escaping from its engine compartment.
The pilot’s windscreen is covered in blood too; the wipers come on and do manage to clear some away but the engine starts to labour even further, and more smoke appears.
With the engines struggling, the helicopter tilts slightly forward and then lurches as the engine coughs and splutters. Control is slipping away from the pilot; its rotors close in on the police station and then they slice through the glass windows of the building’s upper
