Bishop's War, Andrew Scorah [books to read for teens TXT] 📗

My name is Charlie Bishop, and I was a worried man. I am stationed on beautiful, windswept Bardsey Island, one point nine miles off the Lleyn Peninsula in the Welsh county of Gwynedd. Its welsh name means "The Island in the Currents." This was my home for six months of the year, manning Bardsey Lighthouse, on the southerly tip of the island to guide vessels passing through St George's Channel and the Irish Sea. It is the only square lighthouse maintained by Trinity House and my honor to be the guardian and beacon for the ships that pass here. It had been four days now since I had lost contact with the Coast guard at Aberdaron. Operational procedure stated I had to radio in twice a day if all was well. Contact was lost when I made my morning call four days ago, the operator had answered, my call but was cut off. I did not think any thing of it at the time till I tried at the end of the day, I received no answer. But even then I was only slightly worried, putting it down to atmospherics, which was not unusual in this area. By the third day my anxiety peaked. I tried the local police on the satellite phone, tried calling ships which may be in the area,same result, Nada. I went through every one in my phone book with the same result. Yesterday the supply ship never arrived. Now I was very worried, I had taken the Land rover over to the north east of the island and used my binoculars to scan the mainland, it had been a waste of time as I saw nothing. Also most unusual was the fact I had seen no shipping traffic since losing contact with the mainland. This was a very worrying sign, a constant stream of ships normally pass the island during the day, trawlers, tankers even the odd day sailor.

So here I was, sat on a lawn chair, out side the lighthouse. The smell of the sea and the Rock Sea Lavender plants mingled with the smell of moss helped me relax, it was the smell of home. For the first time in days the sun was beating down out of a nearly cloudless sky and the wind, though strong was not the gale force monster it had been for the last couple of days. I had checked through my stores and found while I would not starve just yet, I had maybe a weeks supply left of main meal items, less on tea and coffee. I tucked into the chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle I had just made and considered my options, which seemed few. I did not have a radio or TV, so I had no idea of any news from the main land or the rest of the world for that matter. I preferred it this way. The last time I had heard any news was four months ago when I started my stint on the island. My feelings swayed between duty and self preservation. I mean what if I made it over to the main land and every thing was ok and it was just a radio glitch? What if it was not OK?

I had no family, my parents had died three years ago and I was not married, and any way who would put up with the kind of life style I led. The upside being, I did not have to worry about other people worrying about me. I took a sip of my coffee, and gazed out over the wind buffeted sea. I watched several sea gulls dive bombing the waves searching for a meal. My options played through my mind, I had a row boat with a small out board motor, down by the old ferry landing, and it would be my last hope if I did not make contact soon. Although I did not relish rowing to the mainland. The wind ruffled my hair as I stood up. I walked toward the lighthouse but a strange noise stopped me in my tracks. Turning I saw a helicopter heading in from the north, my excitement grew, this could be a rescue mission, was the first thought that shot through my mind, but it looked as though it was in trouble, dipping and wobbling in its flight path. I grabbed the binoculars from the Land rover. It appeared to be only sixty or seventy feet above the ground. I focused on the cockpit and it appeared the pilot was fighting with some one. This was not a rescue mission, this was something else entirely.

The chopper flew above the old village, deserted now after the last resident left a year ago, getting lower until with a lurch, its nose lifted up and it appeared to freeze in mid air, then it dropped to the ground like a one way Yo Yo. The crunch of metal as it hit could be heard even at this distance. Throwing the binoculars onto the passenger seat, I jumped in and headed off for the crash site. My mind was in a whirl as I shot down the only paved road on the island which cut down the spine of the land. Contact with the outside world, hoping to find some one alive, I pulled up eight feet from the crash site, surprised to see no fires. The tail of the chopper had been severed from the main body which was lying at an angle, the rotors all twisted. It was totally black in colour, a Sea King Commando model, the type used by the air force, but it had no markings. I recognised the type from my days as a Marine in 42 Commando, rode in them many times but not one totally black.

Climbing out of the land rover I gingerly approached the wreckage. I was not squeamish, having seen my own fair share of blood and guts in my time but after seeing the action in the cockpit I wanted to be cautious. Rounding the nose of the chopper i saw the pilot half hanging out the windshield, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. The sight brought back images of my best friend who I had tried to rescue from a burning Humvee and I shuddered, pushing the image out of my head it was to upsetting.

The door on the side of the chopper slid open and a man in a orange jumpsuit half fell, half climbed out. Landing on his back on the grass. Blood was pouring down his face from a wound on his head. I took a step back and the man looked toward me, his eyes seemed full of a strange animal madness. They reminded me of the eyes of a rabid wolf I had seen once. He spoke, his voice low and guttural,"Where am I?"
"Bardsey Island," I told him, "Your injured, let me help you."
Before I could turn back to the land rover to retrieve the first aid kit, the man rolled over into a squatting position then launched himself at me, growling and hissing. A shot rang out and his head exploded sending bits of bone, brains and blood flying in all directions. I looked over at the chopper to see a black clad figure half out of the doorway, holding a .45 Glock pistol.
"A little help here please," he said, "I think my legs broken"
I skirted round the still twitching figure on the ground and helped the man out of the chopper, laying him gently on the ground. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, I examined his left leg, the shin bone was broken. There appeared to be no other wounds except for what looked like a bite on his left cheek.
"What's your name Lighthouse?" he had a south London accent.
"Charley Bishop." I said.
"Well Charley, my names Nick Tyler and i want you to take my take my gun," he held it out butt first, "Cause if I change into what he was you're gonna need it"
"Don't be daft, soldier."
"The fucker bit me, what he had is transmitted in the blood, you work it out."
I took the Glock from him and placed it in the pocket of my jacket. I had so many questions I wanted to ask this man, judging by what had just happened was I to conclude the rest of the world had suffered some kind of biological attack. I voiced my fears and the man laughed.
"If only mate, the world has gone to hell on a horse cart." He went on to explain every thing that had happened, all of Pandora's wonders had been unleashed on the world. Israel had been nuked by Iran, that was the precursor for what came next. The west had retaliated with nukes of their own, totally devastating Iran. The Muslim extremists rose up aided by the Chinese and Russians, unleashing hell on the rest of the world. London was a nuclear wasteland and the country was basically leaderless. Biological bombs exploded here there and every where finishing the job the nukes started. The joint red army was storming over Europe, crushing every thing in its path. It was only a matter of time before they arrived on our shores.
"And that guy?" I said, looking at the dead man, "Where do you and him fit in.?"
"I am, was part of an experimental unit from Portland down.," he said, "He was a prisoner infected with a biological agent that was supposed to create super soldiers, it was unstable." He gestured at the dead man, "That is the result."

A deep sense of hopelessness past through me, I sat down next to Nick and ran a hand over my face.
"We need to get that leg sorted," I said.
"Leave it I'm done for, his poison is already coursing through my veins. I can feel it"
"How bad is it over there?" I nodded in the general direction of the mainland.
"Bad enough, a lot of poisoned areas, society has broke down, armed gangs roaming the land."
"I can't believe it has all happened so quick, I mean I knew there was trouble in the world," I said,"I came here three months ago and no inkling of this about to happen."
"A month is all it took, it's amazing what can be achieved when hate takes over from common sense." He groaned and clutched his head.
"Get back, its beginning!"
I jumped up and stepped away from Nick, he clutched at his head, making noises like he was having some kind of seizure. Blood and spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes bulged, the veins on his neck stood out like thick ropes.
"Please!" he growled, "Shoot me now, before it's too late." Tears streamed down his now swollen face.
I knew I had to do it, but still I hesitated. I had killed before but at a distance and that had been self defense, well what the hells this, I thought and quickly brought out the gun.
Nick was grunting and snarling now, some part of his remaining humanity was holding him back.