long after the others had gone.
Standing with his face close to the gate, Harry looked through the high iron rails into the snarling faces of a swarm of the infected. James took a step nearer, concerned on some level that the damage to his friend’s soul from all the lives they’d lost tonight might compel him to do something… not good.
An image of Harry in Helmand cradling the shredded body of a twelve-year-old boy, killed by an IED, stabbed James’ heart. Harry had barely recovered from the emotional damage of that mission… and now this.
After an hour’s silence, both men stood staring into the faces of the creatures separated from them by metal and disease. Looking at his own reflection in the milky, grey eyes of an infected child wearing bright red Converse kicks, Harry finally spoke.
“They’re dead you know, James.” He gave a small almost imperceptible nod at the girl. This wasn’t a normal state of mind for Harry. The desolation poured from him with such intensity James could almost smell it.
They’d each of them been there before and they’d pulled each other back from the precipice of despair. Harry needed to work through his actions. He needed perspective on his deeds and to find the tools to justify and excuse them. He needed to put tonight’s violence in a little box and close it away forever, and he needed to do so quickly. James laid a hand lightly onto his friend’s shoulder but stayed silent.
“They don’t think, not really. They don’t breathe, had you noticed, James?”
James hadn’t noticed, but looking at the mass of creatures crushing each other against the metal, no fog of breath around them condensing on the cold Edinburgh air, he felt like slapping himself. For missing that. The revelation brought several other characteristics to the forefront of his mind. Things that his subconscious had squirreled away during the battle.
The infected didn’t blink or react to blows. They fed for only a few mouthfuls and tore themselves away to hunt their next victim. He’d relay these details to the team later.
Harry cocked his head to the side and watched his reflection in the dead girl’s eyes a little more closely.
“They’re not really people at all anymore. They move and attack and devour like predators. Like a swarm of locusts or a hungry beast, one that’s carved out the soul of the human that once resided there and taken every cell of the empty… the hollow vessel for its own dark needs.”
James felt a surge of concern for his friend and squeezed his shoulder a little for reassurance.
“They’re hollow, yes. Empty predators, devoid of any reasoning, morals, love, hate or joy and propelled by a need to devour us.”
Harry took a step towards the fence. The legion of dead behind the barrier surged a millimetre forward. Some clacked their teeth at the air. Some bit at the bars or pulled chunks of necrotic flesh from the infected in front of them. All tasted Harry’s scent or sweat on the wind and were driven ravenous by it.
James drew his blade, ready to slash out at any hands that grabbed too closely.
As was common, Harry, with his talent for reading a person’s physicality, had foreseen a subtle change and moved to take advantage. The girl he’d been looking at was almost small enough to fit through the bars… almost. And then suddenly the weight of her brethren, the crushing of her skull and pulping of her muscles, made her the perfect size to slip through.
Harry reached out and caught the dead girl before she hit the ground. He cradled her in his arm, right hand behind her blood-soaked hair. James watched as he slipped his stiletto blade around her neck and into her brain stem.
Pulling her flaccid remains a metre away from the fence, he traced his finger around an oddly familiar rash in the shape of a circle of little roses on her cheek.
Harry laid a hand on her cheek, covering her Ring o’ Roses mark.
“I’m sorry that we failed you, my
Standing with his face close to the gate, Harry looked through the high iron rails into the snarling faces of a swarm of the infected. James took a step nearer, concerned on some level that the damage to his friend’s soul from all the lives they’d lost tonight might compel him to do something… not good.
An image of Harry in Helmand cradling the shredded body of a twelve-year-old boy, killed by an IED, stabbed James’ heart. Harry had barely recovered from the emotional damage of that mission… and now this.
After an hour’s silence, both men stood staring into the faces of the creatures separated from them by metal and disease. Looking at his own reflection in the milky, grey eyes of an infected child wearing bright red Converse kicks, Harry finally spoke.
“They’re dead you know, James.” He gave a small almost imperceptible nod at the girl. This wasn’t a normal state of mind for Harry. The desolation poured from him with such intensity James could almost smell it.
They’d each of them been there before and they’d pulled each other back from the precipice of despair. Harry needed to work through his actions. He needed perspective on his deeds and to find the tools to justify and excuse them. He needed to put tonight’s violence in a little box and close it away forever, and he needed to do so quickly. James laid a hand lightly onto his friend’s shoulder but stayed silent.
“They don’t think, not really. They don’t breathe, had you noticed, James?”
James hadn’t noticed, but looking at the mass of creatures crushing each other against the metal, no fog of breath around them condensing on the cold Edinburgh air, he felt like slapping himself. For missing that. The revelation brought several other characteristics to the forefront of his mind. Things that his subconscious had squirreled away during the battle.
The infected didn’t blink or react to blows. They fed for only a few mouthfuls and tore themselves away to hunt their next victim. He’d relay these details to the team later.
Harry cocked his head to the side and watched his reflection in the dead girl’s eyes a little more closely.
“They’re not really people at all anymore. They move and attack and devour like predators. Like a swarm of locusts or a hungry beast, one that’s carved out the soul of the human that once resided there and taken every cell of the empty… the hollow vessel for its own dark needs.”
James felt a surge of concern for his friend and squeezed his shoulder a little for reassurance.
“They’re hollow, yes. Empty predators, devoid of any reasoning, morals, love, hate or joy and propelled by a need to devour us.”
Harry took a step towards the fence. The legion of dead behind the barrier surged a millimetre forward. Some clacked their teeth at the air. Some bit at the bars or pulled chunks of necrotic flesh from the infected in front of them. All tasted Harry’s scent or sweat on the wind and were driven ravenous by it.
James drew his blade, ready to slash out at any hands that grabbed too closely.
As was common, Harry, with his talent for reading a person’s physicality, had foreseen a subtle change and moved to take advantage. The girl he’d been looking at was almost small enough to fit through the bars… almost. And then suddenly the weight of her brethren, the crushing of her skull and pulping of her muscles, made her the perfect size to slip through.
Harry reached out and caught the dead girl before she hit the ground. He cradled her in his arm, right hand behind her blood-soaked hair. James watched as he slipped his stiletto blade around her neck and into her brain stem.
Pulling her flaccid remains a metre away from the fence, he traced his finger around an oddly familiar rash in the shape of a circle of little roses on her cheek.
Harry laid a hand on her cheek, covering her Ring o’ Roses mark.
“I’m sorry that we failed you, my
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