‘For all our sakes I hope we do. Now can we get things moving please?’
Parker nodded.
Coley shook von Boeselager’s hand. ‘Thank you. Good luck.’
‘You too, Lieutenant.’
Wilkins sat on the back of the bike and wrapped his arms around the German’s waist. High above them, Escobedo hung precariously out of the top floor window looking down. When he saw they were ready, he pulled the pin from a grenade and hurled it as far as he could across the packed square. Then another.
Two loud blasts in quick succession. Wilkins felt them travel up through his feet and into his belly.
One more grenade. Their meagre stock was being rapidly emptied.
Another explosion, then a deep, growling, thunderous noise as what was left of a café collapsed in on itself like a house of cards.
‘Do it,’ Wilkins ordered.
‘This is madness.’
‘I know. Fun, isn’t it?’
Von Boeselager kick-started the bike, and on the third attempt it roared into life. He rocked back, then powered forward, straight up the low ramp they’d built, and over the top of the wall.
If the grenades didn’t distract them, thought Wilkins, then we’re dead men.
The bike crashed down into an area of relative space on the fringes of the crowd, the suspension almost giving out under the weight but just about holding up. The back wheel threatened to kick out from under them, but von Boeselager instinctively hung out the other way to compensate, then swung back and accelerated hard.
The plan appeared to be working. When Wilkins looked up (he’d initially had his eyes shut and his head down) he saw that the explosions and the crumbling building had, mercifully, distracted many of the hundreds of rabid corpses which had continued to swarm here in the town square. It had left this side of the square – the area through which he and von Boeselager now rode at speed – relatively clear. Those members of the massive dead army which were interested more by the bike than the bang now found that they couldn’t get through. With half the rotting crowd trying to go in one direction and the rest of them the other, very few of the corpses were actually going anywhere.
Von Boeselager accelerated again, weaving this way and that, still nowhere near sure they were going to make it.
From his high vantage point Escobedo watched the motorcycle race away. The two men were out of sight in seconds, but the engine of the bike could still be heard minutes later. And, to his selfish delight, he noticed that their noise seemed to be of incredible interest to hordes of the dead. Sections of the vast rotting crowd had begun to move en masse, fruitlessly chasing after them.
The soldier ran down to the others who were waiting for him in the rubble downstairs.
‘This gonna work?’ asked Lieutenant Coley.
‘We’ll soon find out,’ Lieutenant Parker replied.
Their escape route had been planned, both in terms of getting away from the immediate area and getting out of Bastogne and on to Assenois. Working quickly and quietly, Parker and Gunderson scaled a wall then reached back for the others and their supplies. It took little more than a couple of minutes to complete the evacuation. Coley cleared a few undead stragglers out of their way. One of them came hard at him, but a fist to the face followed by a bowie knife between the eyes dealt with the threat.
Gunderson went for another one of the creatures, but Parker held him back. The dead woman was walking away from them, hypnotised like so many others by a combination of the ruins of the collapsed café building and the distant whine of the disappearing motorbike.
‘We good?’ Lieutenant Parker asked, looking around at the others. He didn’t need to wait for an answer. He knew that they were.
11
The motorcycle raced out of Bastogne. Wilkins held onto von Boeselager for dear life. The German struggled to stay focussed, such was the number of horrific sights they witnessed as they sped away from the town and out through the Belgian countryside. A Mark V Panther blocked the road and von Boeselager had to swerve around to avoid its stationary cannon. The tank was as dead as its crew. Just one soldier was moving. White suit, cold flesh… he reached out for the bike as it powered past but could only grab at the warm air it left in its wake.
The dead were somewhat fewer in number out here, though they were never far. Wilkins had naively hoped that because the town had been so heavily clogged by these despicable creatures, the countryside might be relatively clear. How wrong he’d been. Von Boeselager lost control of the bike when the front tyre sank into a pothole which had been hidden by snow, and despite his best efforts, he and Wilkins were sent skidding along the track. Von Boeselager immediately saw to the bike, leaving Wilkins to defend their position because a swarm was already nearing. He used his clasp knife to dispatch several of them until the German had righted the machine and was ready to leave. Wilkins, who was grappling with a particularly noxious foe, put a bullet between the dead man’s eyes then shoved the lifeless corpse away.
‘Behind you!’ von Boeselager shouted, and Wilkins span around to see another hideous cadaver coming at him at speed. The creature was close enough for its outstretched fingertips to brush Wilkins’ tunic. He kicked the monster away and ran for the bike.
‘Just go!’ he shouted, and as the bike began to move, Wilkins looked back over his shoulder, his heart thumping, at the place they’d just been. The dead were crawling out from between the trees in ever-increasing numbers. It was almost as if the forest was alive.
Mile after mile, Von Boeselager struggled to balance speed with safety. If anything, he drove too slowly, not wanting to risk losing control again. Last time they’d been lucky, but they both knew luck was in short supply these days.
A fork in the road.
To the right, the fighting at the front. To the left, everything else. Wilkins still gripped his pistol and wondered whether he’d need to use it or whether von Boeselager would continue to play ball. He was relieved when the German asked, ‘which way?’
‘By my reckoning I need to travel another two miles west.’
‘West? But that’s back towards the fighting.’
‘I know.’
Von Boeselager was distracted. More dead soldiers were approaching. Gnarled faces and twisted bodies. ‘We need to move.’
‘What’s your first name?’
‘What? Now is not the time for this.’
‘I don’t think I’ll see you again, old chap.’
‘Erwin. My name is Erwin.’
‘Pleased to have met you, Erwin. I’m Robert.’
‘And have you gone quite mad, Robert?’
‘Not at all, my friend. I just thought it was important for us to part as men, not soldiers.’
The dead were nearing.
‘You want to part here? We must keep moving.’
‘We need to go our separate ways. We both have important missions ahead of us. Yours is to return to your family and keep them safe. Mine, I’m afraid, is a little more onerous.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘And that’s probably for the best.’
Wilkins dismounted. Von Boeselager looked at him with incredulity. ‘What are you doing?’
‘My duty,’ Wilkins replied, and he stepped to one side and fired a single well-aimed shot which brought down the nearest corpse.
The sound of the motorcycle’s engine was like a call to the faithful. As they’d both expected, the periphery was alive with movement now.
‘Go,’ Wilkins said. ‘I’ll be fine from here. Thank you.’
Von Boeselager paused, clearly unsure. ‘Wait… before we part…’