Flying over the outer and inner walls, we are about ten feet above the height of the White Tower, hovering slowly across the grounds. Rabids are drawn to the sound of the helicopter, excited by the prospect of fresh meat. We see them running out of the buildings that surround the perimeter of the inner wall, running towards the ground below us. This is gathering them into a larger group but not all of them; some are just staggering around and seem oblivious to our arrival, while others just stand still like statues watching the Lynx, as if waiting, waiting to see our intentions.
"Boss, the noise is drawing them in," Dan's voice comes through my earphones.
"Hold your fire, Dan, let’s get as many as we can together. They are like moths to a flame!"
"Affirmative, waiting for your order," Dan responds.
"Some are holding back, mate, be aware," I tell him.
"I see them."
Slowly, I fly the Lynx, manoeuvring around the West side of the Tower, giving time for as many Rabids as possible to follow, and the ones that do are hysterical. Fighting breaks out between themselves to get into the best position, some of them seeming to forget us completely; one pair fall to the ground in a frenzy, clawing and biting at each other.
Coming around the Tower, I take the Lynx between the Tower and the Waterloo Block, flying sideward above the concourse that separates the two buildings. The Rabids follow us down the concourse, with more of them joining from different directions; there must be a hundred or so in the group now. We pass the main entrance to the Waterloo Block with the Fusiliers Museum coming up behind us. How ironic it is that this fight is going to happen in front of a Museum dedicated to the Fusiliers, when so many of them are below us, infected with a virus that has turned the soldiers into something inhuman.
“I think we’re set, Boss.”
“Yep, agreed; just give me a second.”
I position the Lynx directly above the Museum, near enough in the middle of its flat room which hangs between four small turrets. We are now at a height just about level with the top of the Tower.
With the number of targets there are below, Dan has no chance of shooting them all if some or all scatter when he engages, no matter how many rounds his Minigun churns out a minute. A second shooter to clean up as many as possible that try to escape would be a big advantage, but all I can do is watch from the pilot’s seat and be ready to move.
“Clear to engage, Dan. Update me where you want me to reposition.”
“Will do.” Before Dan quite finishes his response, he lights up the Minigun.
The amazing firepower of the gun is something to behold; it doesn’t make a fast banging noise that you may associate with machine guns, but rather an ultra-fast, loud spitting noise. And when the trigger is held down as Dan is doing now, the spitting noise almost melds into one constant hiss. Spent bullet cases and belt spill out from the bottom of the gun at an unbelievable rate, pouring out onto the hold floor all around Dan’s feet and then washing out of the open door to the ground below. Smoke too is expelled from the gun and adding to this the flashing red and green light of the tracer rounds being loaded, the whole scene becomes almost mesmerising.
The Rabids in Dan’s sights do not stand a chance, head shots almost inevitable with so many rounds being fired; even for those Rabids still wearing their army-issued helmets, there is no protection. Dan starts his attack at the front of the main cluster of Rabids and then moves his fire back deeper into them, unrelenting.
Heads explode and even bodies! Arms and legs are ripped apart and ripped from torsos. Rabids are hit backwards off their feet, which knocks over others who are also shot before they hit the ground or knock into the next one behind. They fall like dominos and this happens at a fantastic rate. The red and green tracer fire glows in the shadow of the dusk which is falling as the sun starts its retreat from the city, directing Dan's fire as it flashes into the Rabids.
Those who have a chance, try to escape, scattering away from the reach of the hailstorm of bullets; some manage to escape before they can be cut down, but not many. Dan’s face is deadly serious as he concentrates on his targets, his cheeks vibrating as the shockwaves from the gun travel up through his arms and shoulders into his neck, making his head vibrate at the same frequency while the rounds are being ejected from the Minigun.
The majority of the main cluster of the Rabids are despatched quickly, piling up in a mass of shredded flesh in the middle of the causeway. Blood starts to seep out from the edges of the pile, staining the concrete crimson as it soaks into it. The odd movement can be seen in the pile of bodies, an arm moving here, a head there, Rabids that have somehow missed a shot to the head are still moving—but they don’t move far.
The carnage that the Minigun reaps gives me a bitter-sweet feeling; it has cleared many Rabids from the grounds below which may give us a chance to see if there are any human survivors left down there, sheltered in one of the many buildings, and to see if Josh is among them. Not that we have seen any sign of human activity yet. With the amount of Rabids shot wearing Fusilier uniforms, it doesn’t bode well for finding any that haven't turned. For all I know, Josh was in the main cluster ripped down by the Minigun; again, dread ripples through my body.
Dan adapts his fire as the targets in his sights
