We were two hours into the second run and the time had gone much like before. The unnatural green of the night vision straining our eyes, we caught the first signs of what we hadn't wanted to see.
In the middle of the road, two figures fought, neither taking notice as we flew closer and watched their aggression rage. It was clear one of the pair was stronger than the other, only the weaker taking notice as our unmissable din flew over.
Circling back, I set a hover, letting Spicer take a good look. He climbed to his stomach as he called for me to get us closer. He wanted to see for himself and narrated as one of the infected overpowered the other as he bit down into his arms.
I had him repeat over the radio and he did, adding detail. The stronger was biting, ripping flesh with his teeth.
I put distance between us and Spicer let a single burst release. The chatter of the gun took me back to Afghan; took me back to those days I had such mixed feelings about, but as each round flew from the machine gun, I knew we were closer to keeping our families safe.
After another hour of flying and even knowing what we were looking for, we were still unprepared as we came across a slow-moving glow of heat on the horizon.
With the first signs of the morning at our backs, we each removed our goggles and saw what could only be described as a herd. Tens of people, maybe a hundred, we couldn’t take a more accurate count. They were walking, stumbling, falling into each other. It was clear these people were in pain.
Stubbs reminded us in our ears; there was no cure.
We had a job to do. We had to protect our own.
I called it in but knew what the response would be and had already turned the airframe side on, thinking of my kids, thinking of my wife as Spicer racked back the slide and began decimating the crowd.
28
At first it felt like an RPG strike. In Afghan, we'd been told of a Chinook pilot who'd survived such an attack, the grenade exploding moments before its target. The door gunner had somehow hit it mid-air, but he'd paid the price. A scrap of shrapnel from the shoulder-fired launcher shredding his neck after missing his body armour. Dead, because he flinched left, not right.
It was only as I swung us around we saw the fireworks rising from the ground. I set about scouring for the target, the air between us showered by colourful exploding sprays. I pivoted the door side-on for Spicer to take his aim. It wasn't long before I heard through my ear the poor infected bugger had been laid to rest.
What happened next is still unclear. Turning us away and heading to sweep up the remains of our last targets, there was an explosion in the rear and the world went black. Another ignition came soon after. There was no way Spicer could have survived.
The next few moments barely registered. My scolding-hot world rolled around as if I was in a tumble dryer, then, hit in the face, I was out cold.
I woke upside down and couldn't move my neck. Must have blacked out a second time as I released my straps, not realising the consequences. Crumpled in a heap on my head, I struggled to my feet. I couldn't hear anything but a deep ring in my ears.
Stubbs was dead with a length of metal protruding from his right eye, his arms hanging down from his side. Blood poured in a steady stream.
The upside-down cabin was mostly empty. Spicer gone, the mount for the MG still in place on what was now the roof. The weapon itself was nowhere.
Stumbling out of the door, I saw the scattered contents of what had been inside and my gaze followed the path where we'd rolled, staring at the grass crushed and mud churned.
The world swam before me. Nausea rose and fell in waves. My feet wouldn’t place where I asked, like the wiring in my head had been swapped around. The sleeve of my flight suit came back red as I wiped it across my face, contrasting dark against the olive green. I touched my forehead and watched in slow motion as blood ran down my hand. Letting go, the warmth trickled down my face, spreading like warm chocolate from a fountain.
Soon, parts of my senses regained. I recalled how I'd come to stand with the world upside down. Thoughts turned to the reason I had a gun strapped to my thigh and remembered we hadn't taken care of all the infected.
With my head swaying under the weight of my helmet as I bent, I slid the Glock from the holster, pulled back the slide and took my first steps onto the solid ground.
First things first, I had to find and pay respects to my friend.
29
LOGAN
“If you can understand me, don't move a muscle,” the man in the olive-green flight suit shouted, blood spraying from his mouth as I crouched by his dead colleague. I listened carefully to the words he exaggerated as if he was in a foreign land.
With the rest of my body still, I let my fingers creep forward to touch the cold of the pistol still sitting in the dead man’s holster.
With my gaze fixed on his scarlet face, I watched his unsteady walk as he swayed forward in slow, careful steps. I caught sight of the camouflage Union Jack on his chest
