Purification by David Moody

soldiers marched outside and thought for half a second about how he should have been among them. ‘Try and put yourselves in their shoes,’ he continued, ‘we don’t know much about what’s happened, but we know a hell of a lot more than they do. We might not have the hardware they’ve got, but we’re far better placed to deal with all of this than they are. All they know is they can’t breathe the air outside because it will probably kill them, and that those bloody things out there are preventing them from getting the clean air they need. You can understand why they’re seeing the bodies as the enemy. The only option they think they’ve got left now is to blow the fucking things to kingdom come and be rid of them.’
    ‘But don’t they understand…?’ Baxter began pointlessly before Cooper interrupted.
    ‘No they don’t, not fully. They haven’t seen half of what we’ve seen.’
    ‘But the bodies won’t stop, will they? They’ll keep coming until there’s nothing left of them.’
    Outside the first troops had made steady progress. The area immediately surrounding the base - which already resembled a churned and bloody first world war battlefield
    - was swarming with movement. The bodies approached from all angles and were beaten and battered into the ground by adrenaline-fuelled soldiers who had been kept waiting underground too long. Every last man and woman laid into the approaching cadavers with anger and force, driven on by fear and pent-up frustration and emotion.
    Those who had not been above ground before, although shocked and disgusted by the bizarre and relentless battle unfolding around them, were surprised by the relative ease with which the corpses could be destroyed. Having been outside for only a few minutes, however, to many of the troops the vast numbers of the dead and their unstoppable nature had yet to become apparent.
    Heavy artillery was quickly deployed with mortars and shells being fired into the endless crowd beyond the perimeter of the base. In the near distance constant explosions shook the ground and tore the bodies apart.
    Closer to the entrance the personnel carrier had almost reached another exhaust shaft. Walking alongside one of the vents, and shielded from the battle by the protective ring of fire which surrounded the convoy, the senior officer on the field, Jennens, watched events unfolding around him with a degree of cautious satisfaction. His men and women were already doing well, despite appalling conditions. The gloom of the afternoon’s rapidly fading light was worsened by hissing rain that poured down on the scene relentlessly, drenching everything. The ferocious heat of the flame-throwers turned the grimy pools of water which had puddled in the churned, furrowed land into steam.
    Underneath his boots Jennens crunched charred and cindered flesh and bone into the mud.
    The vent was secure. Jennens peered into the gloom beyond the scattered remains of the hundreds of bodies which had already been destroyed. He’d seen some appalling sights in his time, but never anything like this.
    The size and ferocity of the apparently endless crowd was remarkable and terrifying. He watched with disgust and a morbid fascination as still more of the dark, skeletal creatures scrambled, tripped and crawled through the mayhem towards his soldiers and towards certain destruction. In the midst of the confusion Cowell, one of his most trusted men, appeared at his side.
    ‘We can do this,’ he said, shouting to make himself heard through his facemask and over the wind and rain and sounds of constant battle. The muddied ground shook momentarily as a small mortar landed short of its target and exploded nearby, sending a gruesome shower of random body parts shooting into the squally air. ‘If we’re going to do this at all, then we should do it now.’
    Jennens thought for a moment. Cowell was right. The opposition, although huge in numbers, was weak and offered no tangible