Purification by David Moody Page A

resistance. Although wiping them out would not allow the soldiers any more freedom, this was unquestionably a perfect opportunity to take back some of what they’d lost. The defensive position they’d intended to take had already become offensive and attacking. If they could destroy enough bodies and beat the remainder back to a far enough distance and keep them there, they would be able to fortify the entrance to the bunker and properly clear and secure the exhaust vents. Although there was still no way the military personnel could yet survive outside the base, the officer immediately recognised the psychological importance of ridding themselves of the tens of thousands of cadavers which plagued and complicated their already miserable existence.
    ‘Shall I give the order?’ Cowell asked. Jennens looked around the battlefield again. In the short time he’d been stood there his troops had made even more progress through the diseased crowds. The enemy (if they could really be called that) were defenceless against the comparative might of the military. All the dead had were numbers. Jennens knew they had nothing to lose.
    ‘Do it,’ he commanded.
    ‘Can’t see,’ complained Baxter, edging closer to the soldiers charged with protecting the hanger entrance. ‘Can’t see a bloody thing.’
    ‘Stay back, Jack,’ Michael warned.
    A sudden familiar noise from behind the small group of survivors startled them momentarily. Cooper span around to see that the decontamination chamber doors were opening again.
    ‘Shit,’ he cursed as a second ragged column of nervous soldiers appeared from the depths of the base. There seemed to be almost twice as many of them this time.
    ‘What’s all this about?’ asked Heath anxiously.
    ‘My guess,’ Cooper answered as he watched more than a hundred troops file past, ‘is that they’ve decided to try and clear them away. This is the showdown we’ve been promised.’
    As they emerged from the shadows into the light of the hanger the soldiers increased their speed, breaking into a gentle jog for a few paces before accelerating and sprinting out into the semi-darkness with weapons held high, ready for battle. The light outside was deteriorating rapidly. The survivors stared anxiously into the gloom as the guards at the front entrance parted to allow the re-enforcements through.
    ‘This isn’t good,’ Baxter whined, feeling his stomach churn and twist with nerves. ‘This is not at all good.’
    As the fighting outside increased in ferocity and volume, the small group of survivors again herded towards their transports. Michael climbed into the motorhome and found it already crowded with frightened people, each of them clutching the few personal belongings they’d managed to grab hold of in the sudden confusion. In the front seats Donna had taken his usual position behind the wheel.
    Emma was sitting next to her.
    ‘You two okay?’ he asked, leaning into the front cabin.
    ‘Just great,’ Donna answered through teeth clenched together with nervous anticipation. She gripped the steering wheel tightly in readiness should they suddenly need to move. Emma looked up and flashed him a momentary smile.
    ‘We’re okay,’ she said quietly. ‘Are you going to…?’
    ‘I’m going back to the others,’ he said quickly. ‘There are enough people in here already. Listen, Donna, if anything happens you just put your foot down on the fucking accelerator and get out of here.’
    ‘Be careful,’ Emma pleaded. ‘Look, why can’t you stay…?’ she began to say but he had already gone.
    There was clearly no more room in the motorhome -
    because of its more comfortable and open design many of the survivors had gravitated towards it rather than shutting themselves away in the insides of the more secure but claustrophobic prison truck. Michael found, however, that the prison truck (with Steve Armitage ready as ever behind the wheel) was also virtually full. Cooper called him over to the