Ripple Effects

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Winter, 2010. Fort Augustus, Scotland.

"We're to start this bastard mission in the dead of winter then, are we?"

"You heard the Major. We start as far north as the weather allows and move south. We turn the corpses that aren't too far gone, and if they wake up, well, good for them."

"I dunno, man. Sounds like a never-ending job, like. How do we even know they'll come back?"

"Didn't you see Kyle bring in that batch the other day? All twitching and shit? They weren't trying to bite, weren't snarling. They were waking up. Travis said they're in the labs now being tested. They've got fuckin' heartbeats, mate."

"So that dead girl really did have the cure in her?"

"Don't let Kyle hear you calling her that – he'll take your head off."

"I don't see him around. It just fucking sucks we're being sent north when it's already started to snow."

"Maybe the cold will slow the rotting process. Keep 'em fresh for when we give them the cure. Make them less feral too, hopefully."

"Fat fucking chance, mate."

Spring, 2011. A truck on the A7, Scottish Border.

"Did you want to share my blanket?"

"That's okay, I've not had a chance to clean up."

"The blood looks like it's dry, and I'm used to the mess. Really, it's okay."

"Thank you."

"You're alone?"

"For a long time. They picked me up on the coast near Middlesbrough a few days ago. I lost my husband in the summer. Last summer, that is."

"They caught us in Carlisle. That's my daughter asleep, feral as she is. She's not used to people, of course. Didn't know whether the soldiers were friendly or, you know... The other kind of men."

"Oh, yeah, I've had some close calls. Think that's why they let us keep our weapons, you know?"

"I wouldn't have come if they'd said otherwise. Did they tell you the same thing? About a cure?"

"They had to show me the other truck to convince me. Some of them were twitching, but others looked like they were sleeping peacefully. No rot."

"Fuck me. Wonder who we've got to thank for that? Reckon it's a fucking miracle?"

"Nah. One of the soldiers said it was because of a girl. She was the first one not to turn, and it's her blood they're shooting them with."

"Sounds like a miracle to me. What's her name?"

"You'll have to ask one of the soldiers. My memory is shot; been smacked in the head too fuckin' often."

Summer, 2011. Helles Barracks, North Yorkshire, England.

"How're you finding your new accommodation?"

"Mattress could be memory-foam, Sergeant."

"I'll put it on my shopping list. We'll be depending on army bases like this for a long time, and survivors are coming in almost regularly now. I wouldn't get used to having your own room."

"Got used to dead people trying to eat me pretty quick, reckon I can stomach a roommate."

"Not with your attitude, Tommy. Well... I'm glad you're up and walking. Tomorrow, we'll get you an assignment, keep you busy-"

"I want to fight, Sergeant."

"Tommy-"

"Nah, sir. I ain't no good at cooking, or cleaning, or fixing wounds. I can fight, and I want to help."

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