Designated (Book 1): Designated Infected by Ricky Cooper Page B

his uniform hung in tatters; his body or what remained
was shredded, the flesh peeled back from his bones like skin off a
potato. The steaming coils of his entrails spread out around him in a
twisted homage to a halo.
    They hung like vines from the
ceiling, the thick rubbery lengths of intestine looped around the
shattered pendant lights. Limply swinging through the still air like
party streamers; blood sliding along their rippled lengths to drip
free; falling in swirling orbs into the pool below, the whole scene
punctuated by the soft limping drip of blood, the resounding wet echo
the only constant in the oversized tomb.
    Stepping forward through the brass strewn mire of blood,
Baker reached up and gently began to work lose the iron rods, the
echoing clang rolling through the room as one by one they hit the
floor. Baker glanced up into Pottergate's face, his cooling bronzed
skin already beginning to tinge blue as the last vestiges of oxygen
left the lifeless shell of a body. 'Sorry sir,' Baker muttered as he
locked gazes with the cold dead eyes of the man he had called his
friend.
    Fadei watched on as Baker gently lowered Pottergate's
corpse to the floor falling to one knee as he gently lay Pottergate
to rest on the cold, uncaring concrete. He continued to watch,
stunned, as Baker began to rifle through the man's pockets, stepping
forwards he made to stop him. 'Don't say a word Fadei; I'm only doing
as he asked.'
    Fadei's forward progression stopped dead, consternation
and surprise rising in equal measure. 'How can you be doing as he
asked? He is dead!'
    Baker laughed a short, sharp, mirthless bark. 'He said,
that in the event of his death I was to deliver an envelope to his
wife in Guernsey. Despite being his ex-wife, she is his only living
relative and as you so kindly pointed out, he is dead. So in short I
am doing what he asked of me.'
    Fadei nodded. 'Very well, but make sure to take his
ammunition as well; you know he no longer needs it.'
    Baker was silent for a moment before he stood, slipping
a red tinged white envelope into the map pocket of his trousers.
    'What do I look like an idiot?'
    Fadei glanced at Baker, as he replied.
    'Do you want me to answer that?'

8

    Bolton moved forwards past Kingsley quickly, dropping to
one knee as he moved into position and waited for the others to catch
up. He jumped slightly as his ear bead crackled; listening to the
voice coming through his blood ran cold. 'King, did you just hear
that?'
    Kingsley's deep dulcet tones rumbled through Bolton's
ears. 'Yeah, I did'
    Rawlings stood silent as he gazed through the darkness,
a single loan tear rolling down his face behind his gas mask. In his
ten years as a soldier, it was the one time he was glad to be wearing
it. 'The chief's dead.'
    Bolton shook his head at Kingsley's reply. 'How though,
the chief was fucking bullet proof.' Kingsley listened to the chatter
over his radio before replying.
    'Wasn't a bullet that killed him, it was,' Kingsley
paused as he struggled to take in just what was being said, 'was
something else.'
    Slipping left Kingsley's torch flickered across the
corner, the warm amber glow of his torch flowing sedately from the
mouth of the tunnel as he patiently waited for the others to catch
up.
    Bolton slid past him and quietly sunk to his knee, rifle
pulled tightly to his shoulder as he tracked his torch back and forth
slowly across the tunnel, eyes boring into the darkened passage
searching for anything, everything, and nothing all at once.
    Rawlings trickled in behind Kingsley falling to a knee
as he faced back out the tunnel; Bolton motioned over his shoulder
with his left hand as he braced his rifle against his shoulder.
    Turning quickly Kingsley rapped his knuckles on
Rawlings' helmet as he stood; scurrying forth in a semi-crouched run
he made it to a safe spot just ahead of the others. His eyes widened
as his gazing dark eyes registered what they saw. Slowly his hand
crept to his throat, fingers brushing over the