James Rouch - Plague Bomb

‘Ill have a quick one first, just to get rid of some of the load. Don’t worry, they’ll be plenty left if you fancy giving it a suck afterwards…’

Sensing the beginning of the return of the gut ache he steeled himself for it, but this time the savage cramping struck with tenfold intensity. It didn’t help, only made it worse. Starting in his stomach the spasm wrenched down through his intestines.

‘Oh no, not fucking now…’ Gross hurled himself off the woman even as he was about to thrust forward into her body. Hampered by his loosened clothing, gathering it together about himself, he managed just a couple of steps before his bowels opened noisily.

Foul smelling liquid ran down his legs. He couldn’t control it, and with each spasm came another gush of the watery excreta. Doubling with agony, frightened and weakened by the violent diarrhoea, he collapsed.

At the same instant the whole building reverberated to a sharp explosion and a cloud of smoke blew in from the doorway and rose among the exposed beams of the roof, lit in shifting bands by the light filtering through the high set windows.

‘It hasn’t bloody worked.’ First to reach the still] closed doors, Burke leaned against them, and was precipitated inside as they swung open at the light touch.

‘Phew. Someone has dropped his guts.’ Pegging j his nose with thumb and forefinger, Dooley sidled in and from behind a carved draught screen and looked about the interior.

‘Search the place…’ Taking a step into the smoke-blued gloom, past Burke who was picking himself up, it was Revell who found the first of the civilians, his foot coming down on Professor Edwards’s ankle. ‘…there’re others.’

Cautiously they fanned out to advance along all three aisles simultaneously. It was Hyde who discovered Gross and the woman.

‘Phew, you sure are lucky you can’t smell that fat guy, Sarge.’ Ripper had abandoned the Spartan comfort of the Marder’s bench seat and tagged along behind the searchers. Finding he hadn’t back-tracked far enough, he took several more steps to get clear of the worst of the stench. Times like this I wish I’d had my nose burned off.’

Hyde turned his graft-patched face to the American, but said nothing. ‘Looks like these two were trying to make love, not war. All right, 111 take the man.’ He gripped Gross by the collar and started to tow him back to the door, leaving an intermittent slimy trail on the stone floor. ‘You bring the woman.’

‘Hey Sarge, I can’t do that, I ain’t fit for duty.’ Ripper illustrated his argument by flexing his shoulder, ceasing abruptly when he realized he wasn’t creating the impression he’d wanted to.

Her temperature still soaring, Sherry Kane was unable even to react to the terrible sight of the sergeant’s ghastly appearance. The fever that racked and shook her deprived her even of the strength to exhibit fear. She tried to talk to the other soldier, the young American, but couldn’t. On his face was a curious expression as he stared at her half naked body, it was something she’d not seen any friend or client of hers display in a long time, it was embarrassment.

‘Here, Dooley, can you give me a hand, I got to move her.’

‘So move her.’

‘I can’t, not like this. It just ain’t decent.’

‘Then pull her fucking knickers up.’

Like the others, Dooley had taken a good look at her, but he’d noticed her fever brightened dark rimmed eyes and perspiration smeared make-up as much as her semi-nakedness. ‘All that gabbing you do about the goings-on in those backwoods of yours, I wouldn’t have thought this would have bothered you, or are you going to tell me you only know how to pull them down.’ He kept his thick gloves on and it made the task of making her decent that much more difficult. The tight fit of the fabric to her body didn’t help and he had to keep turning her in order to inch the jeans over her wide thighs a fraction at a time.

‘Shit, it weren’t ’til I were going on for eighteen, when I met some city girls, that I even knew there were such things as underclothes. Back home I shoved my fingers and my tool up a load of skirts, but the only thing I’d ever found in my way was an occasional hand. It’s just that it don’t seem right touching her ‘til we been introduced. Anyhow, I can see you ain’t no gentlemen, keeping your gloves on.’

‘You show me a book of etiquette where it says I should take them off to do this and I’ll think about it, until then I’m keeping them on.’

‘Very sensible.’ Burke had found an excuse to come and oversee the operation. ‘I can feel the heat coming off her from here. Gloves might not stop you catching something, but every little precaution helps. You know, cleaned up, with some of that muck off her face and with about twenty pounds shed off her arse and hips, she’d be quite nice, not special but nice.’

Sherry heard, and the tears that ran down her streaked face mingled with beads of perspiration and went unnoticed.

The sweep down the centre aisle was led by Clarence, and as he came level with the lectern, he heard a noise from a dark corner beyond the choir stalls. Motioning the others to hold back he crept silently forward until he could see all but a small angle of the space.

High overhead there was a ragged bordered hole in the church roof. Bulks of timber and fragments of slate littered the floor below it and for some distance around. Taking another step it was impossible to avoid the shattered pieces and they grated beneath the sniper’s boot.

It was not just the appalling smell of excreta that made him want to be out of there. Every breath he took brought also the oppressive scent of decay that pervaded the whole place, filling it and him to overflowing. ‘Come out. I haven’t the patience to wait long.’

There was no response, but Clarence heard the noise again, like that of an animal shuffling to compress itself into the smallest possible space.

Without looking he double checked that a round was chambered in the Enfield, and took the pace that would bring the whole of the poorly lit area into his field of vision. As he did a shaft of light streamed through the gaping roof and illuminated it graphically.

Stubble darkened Webb’s chin and dust and cobwebs smothered the rest of his person. Concealment no longer possible, he stood and adopting a manner of haughty contempt, brushed himself. ‘I suppose it is your intention to kill me.’ He could not suppress the catch in his voice that betrayed his true emotional state. Fear showed also in his trembling hands, and he stuck them deep into his pockets to hide them.

‘A tempting idea, better not mention it too often, there’s others in the squad who might be unable to resist it.’

Revell came forward, and noticed close by the remains of a human skeleton. A print dress that lay in mouldy folds over the bones and a nearby bucket and mop marked it as that of a cleaner. The skull had been virtually destroyed by a smashing blow, and the weapon lay nearby.

The big metallic cylinder had burst apart on striking the unyielding surface of the floor. Revell pointed it out to the civilian. ‘Have you seen what you’ve been sharing your hidey-hole with?’

‘Of course. Another of your filthy American chemical weapons. You can’t frighten me with it, it has been there a long time, the contents will be inert by now.’

‘When you commie lovers get it wrong, you certainly do it in the biggest possible way.’ Taking up the mop, Revell ran it along the side of the crushed cylinder. ‘We must have some pretty smart armourers, seeing as how they’d have to load munitions where all the handling instructions are stencilled on in Russian.’

‘A trick, to put the blame elsewhere.’