Then deciding to recce the courtyard myself, I quickly join Stan who is motionless looking down at the shocking faces about level with his waist. The thought hits me that this would probably be the first time he’s seen these infected Rabid things in the flesh and not through the screen.
“They certainly aren’t pretty, Stan, are they?” I say in a low voice, but Stan does not reply.
There must be at least ten to fifteen of them to each side of us, with their twisted faces at the window, some trying to bite at the windows and the sound of their teeth clanking against the glass is chilling. Others are banging the windows with fists or heads, or both. The sound is dulled somewhat by the thickness of the glass, but not a great deal.
At each side, other Rabids are grabbing at the arms and backs of the ones at the sides, trying to get up to the window, trying to pull the ones there down to make room. There is nowhere they can go though, because behind and just below the ones at the windows, are many more pushing and clawing, trying to climb closer. It reminds me of the throngs you get at a large rock concert, everyone fighting to get to the front.
There is a sudden movement farther back; a Rabid is running across the top of the masses below it, running over and on their heads. And then about ten rows from the front, it jumps—flies—what seems an impossible distance and height through the air, and it lands, crashing onto the windows just above our heads, both Stan and I ducking in reflex.
“Holy shit!” Stan exclaims.
We both straighten, the window-rattling a little but holding. We watch the Rabid, which looks from what I can tell to be a young black teenage kid. It, or he, slides back down the window until the creature’s soiled white High Top trainers come to rest on the heads of the ones below.
The kid is going crazy, its eyes so wide that surely its eyeballs must pop out of their sockets, its mouth and teeth gnashing uncontrollably at us and its arms outstretched, hands like claws trying to dig into the glass. The kid is wearing a black t-shirt with a large luminous green plectrum on the front, with the words Ibiza Rocks. The kid is going so crazy that he loses his balance and falls backwards, rolling down the hill of bodies behind.
The kid soon comes to a stop, however, and tries to get back to his feet, staring in our direction. But just as he about manages to stand, a foot slips, the kid falls and—this time—he is swallowed up into the mass of Rabids below.
“Stan.”
“Yes, Andy?”
“You need to get to the Tactical room. I think we have just found out what the other build-up is for.”
“Yes, I think you’re right, I’m on my way.” Stan sounds relieved, turns and walks at speed towards the lift, something telling me he will be happy to get back to watching this on the television.
“Stan, arm yourself!” I shout after him and he swerves towards one of the trolleys containing the M4s.
That second wave could come at any time, but judging by what we just saw with the kid, they need to do a bit more building first or it will fall back into the mass. Maybe that was some kind of test, or maybe I am overthinking them, and it’s all just random.
I see Steve is now positioned to the side of where I am, and that he’s arranged some cover for himself, consisting of two filing cabinets on their sides and stacked one on top of the other, giving him a good solid shooting position. Going over towards him, I also see that he has his M4, a large stack of magazines for it, and an assortment of grenades.
“Steve, what do you make of that?”
“God knows, Andy. That hasn’t happened before, but it looks like some kind of charge is coming.”
“I agree, this is where they are going to attack.”
Adjacent to Steve on the opposite side of the window, one of the other men is also covering the windows with pretty much the same setup, but more cover is needed here.
“I’m going to get two more men out here with you, Steve. Get them set up covering this section of window. Stan will let me know of any other build-ups if they happen and we can adapt to compensate, okay?”
“Yep, no problem, Andy.”
“Good, we will be moving to the higher floors soon and locking it down here, hopefully before any drama, but we need to get as many supplies up there as we can first. We don’t know how long we are going to have to hold out for up there.”
“Sounds like the best plan, but how long you think?”
“Really not sure, buddy. I’m going to see how it’s going now. Let me know of any change or movement, okay?”
“Will do.”
Away to my left, Mick is patrolling the far windows overlooking the courtyard with an M4 across his chest which is now covered in body armour. I decide to leave him where he is; it would be no surprise if another build-up of Rabids were to form in that area considering how many there are down there. He would also move quickly to cover this position with Steve if needed.
In front of me is the canteen and through the open doors, I see Dan talking to the civilian members of staff stranded here. Walking toward the doors, it becomes clear there’s a mixture of both men and women, most of whom don’t look too happy. And who can blame them? They’re all seated at one of the longer tables in the middle of the canteen, listening to Dan. The canteen is quite a big area with tables scattered around, some bigger than others, then there are a few
