Satan's Gate

by Walt Browning

  “They can’t see us in the dark,” Shader whispered. “Hold your fire until I set it off.”

  The sounds from the three Variants were quickly becoming louder as each doorway they’d passed was bumped into or slapped as the creatures moved closer to them.

  Shader could hear Lazzaro quietly cursing as he fumbled with his lock pick set and started sliding the metal rasp back and forth in the keyhole.

  “Make it fast, Lazzaro,” Shader said quietly as a Variant threw itself against a door just around the corner.

  “Fuck, Shader,” he replied loudly. “It’s not like I’m playing with myself here.”

  Shader was about to dress down the Marine for being so loud, but the sound of a chirp and grunt from the hallway grabbed the team’s attention.

  The creatures had heard Lazzaro’s voice. Not that it would have made a big difference in the grand scheme of things. The infected would have gotten to them anyway. The three Variants exploded forward, sprinting around the corner and right into the hail of bullets from two terrified Marines and one startled SEAL. They dropped instantly as multiple rounds tore into their diseased flesh as well as the wall behind them. The bullets hit the concrete block, creating miniature explosions that sounded like a hammer smashing brick. Small sparks erupted as the lead hit the hard, cement surface. The combination of sound and light was the last thing the team needed, and within seconds, the combined noise of an inestimable number of Variants came from down the hall. Hundreds of screams reached the four men. The fireteam had been found and there was no way out.

  Shader knew instantly that they were screwed, but maybe they could buy enough time to get inside one of the doors.

  “Follow me!” Shader barked loudly. “Lazzaro. Keep working on that door!”

  The time for stealth had passed. Shader grabbed Gonzalez by his webbing and flung him ahead.

  “FIRING LINE. NOW!” Shader yelled as he stood next to the small Marine.

  Keele, Shader, and Gonzalez formed a line facing back to the main concourse.

  “Kill those bastards!” Shader yelled.

  Three M4s began firing at a very angry and hungry-looking pack of Variants. The creatures pushed and shoved each other, their tongues flicking and slapping about as they rushed toward them.

  Shader grabbed a grenade from his webbing.

  “FRAG OUT!” he called, as he tossed it in front of the advancing horde.

  The three men turned and crouched as the hallway erupted about twenty yards away.

  WHUMP!

  A muted flash followed by a small cloud of smoke hung down the hall where the M67 fragmentary grenade erupted, sending shards of metal into the advancing creatures. Several high-pitched “zings” sung in the air as multiple chunks of metal flew past the team.

  The pause was only momentary, as those behind the wounded Variants pressed forward, crawling over the pile of bodies the team had put down.

  “Frag out!” Keele yelled, sending another green, metal ball down the hallway.

  Another explosion rocked the building, creating an even higher pile of bodies.

  “Lazzaro! Tell me you’re through the door,” Shader barked.

  “Fuck, I can’t get it.”

  “Get up here! I’ll do it,” Shader yelled.

  Lazzaro sprinted to the hallway and stared down at the carnage.

  “Jesus Christ! They can climb the fucking walls!” Lazzaro yelled as a couple of Variants had taken to the ceiling.

  Shader watched the pile of bodies slow down the mass, but now they were climbing the walls like crazed insects.

  “Keep shooting! I’ve got this!” Shader yelled as he ran back to the last door in the hall.

  Shader cursed himself for not picking the lock to begin with. Breaching barriers was standard training for a SEAL, not a Marine. But Lazzaro had claimed to know this skill. Obviously, not a trick he’d practiced under stress.

  The sound of battle raged, each man taking shots one at a time to preserve ammunition and to be as precise as possible. They needed to sever the spine or hit them in the brain box to be effective. As long as Porky heard semi-automatic fire, he knew he still had time.

  Shader took his tension wrench and shoved it into the lock, then began to work the tumblers with one of the set’s hooks.

  Ten seconds passed, then twenty, before he felt the tumblers drop.

  Shader triumphantly twisted the knob and was rewarded with a full turn.

  “Got it!” he yelled as he pulled the door open. Or at least he tried.

  The door didn’t move. It was bolted from the inside.

  Just then, automatic fire began. They had run out of time. The Marines wouldn’t be spraying unless the Variants got within ten yards.

  Shader cursed loudly, then brought up his M4 to his shoulder and placed the green laser onto the advancing horde.

  “Rally on me!” he yelled, and all three glanced at him. Their shoulders slumped when they saw the closed door.

  The three men turned and began to run down the hall toward Shader.

  “FRAG OUT!” Lazzaro barked as he threw his grenade forward before sprinting toward the SEAL.

  Shader raised his rifle and spat out several rounds, hitting a Variant that was crawling around the corner on the wall over six feet above them. His bullets struck the creature in the neck, sending it to the ground screaming, but paralyzed.

  Shader knew they were done. He’d gone through six of his nine magazines and not even put a dent into the oncoming creatures.

  “Make ’em count,” Shader said as he raised his rifle for one last fight.

  “I wish I could blast that bastard lieutenant just one time,” Shader said quietly. “Nothing in the building, huh? That son of a bi—”

  Shader felt himself being grabbed from behind and flung back. He dropped his battle rifle and instinctively reached behind him to cushion his fall, but there was nothing but air. He landed on his back and hit his head with a heavy thud. If it wasn’t for his helmet, he’d have been knocked out.

  Shader reached for his sidearm and whipped it out, his head still ringing from his collision with the floor. He saw a shadow in the doorway he’d just been pulled through. The sound of automatic fire from outside the room shook the air around him.

  Shader jumped up just as Gonzalez was thrown next to him. Shader realigned his NVG, which had retracted up on its cantilever hinge when he’d been thrown back. The eyepiece came to life.

  Keele sprinted into the room just as another grenade erupted outside. A painful cry came through the open door. The shadow disappeared and came back, dragging a struggling Lazzaro with it, leaving a thin smear of blood on the concrete floor.

  The shadow slammed the door closed just as a mob of infected flesh crashed into its steel frame. Then the apparition turned toward the fireteam. It was a normal, uninfected man.

  Their savior dropped a metal bar down in place. With an outside swing to the door, there was no way for the creatures to force their way in.

  “Who are you?” Shader asked.

  “Don’t worry about me. You better take care of your man.”

  Shader saw a small pool of blood forming next to Lazzaro, who was sitting on the floor a few feet away.

  “Flashlight!” Shader said, and the four men lifted their monoculars off their eyes, shutting down the NVG. If they exposed the intensifier tube to normal light, it would burn the monocular out, rendering the device useless.

  “We all clear?” Shader asked.

  “Aye,” they replied, including Lazzaro.

  “Let’s have a look at that,” Shader said.

  Lazzaro had taken shrapnel to his leg.

  Shader produced a folding blade and cut Lazzaro’s BDU. He spread the slit open and gently wiped the wound. It bled freely but didn’t pulsate. No arterial tears. That was good.

  The wound was a four-inch gash, just above the knee and was about an inch deep. Muscle spread easily as he flexed the man’s leg. They’d have to splint his knee to
keep the wound from re-opening once Shader had sutured it closed.

  “He gonna be all right?” Keele asked loudly.

  “You have to be quiet,” the shadowy man said. “They won’t stop if they hear you.”

  The screams and pounding were deafening as Shader pulled an IFAK off of his web gear. He had learned to carry a basic suture set-up and although he wasn’t a squad medic, he was trained in advanced first-aid. Going behind enemy lines, like the SEALs were oft to do, meant they had to be their own doctor.

  “Embrace the suck, Lazzaro. This is going to hurt.”

  Lazzaro pressed his lips together and nodded.

  Five minutes later, the pounding diminished slightly, and Lazzaro was sutured and bandaged, with an improvised splint in place. It was only then Shader had a chance to shine his SureFire flashlight around the space.

  They were in a large utility room with HVAC air returns and compressors anchored to the floor. Duct work snaked in and out of the walls, while the back of the room had an open doorway with a dim, flickering light spilling out of the other side.

  “Come on,” Shader commanded.

  Keele and Gonzalez bracketed Lazzaro and helped him move. The four men hobbled to the door and stepped in. They stopped and stood in silence as they came face-to-face with the man who had saved them.

  “My name is Alejandro Morales. I am supervisor of maintenance for the Forum,” he said. “And these people,” he added, “are the rest of the survivors.”

  The room was lit by several makeshift candles. People were huddled against the far wall. Shader counted over a dozen. Many were frightened and weak-looking, their faces gaunt and their eyes sunken into their sockets.

  “How many?” Shader asked, after introducing himself and the men to Morales.

  “Fourteen, including me.”

  “You’ve been here how long?”

  “Since the beginning. Most of us were Forum employees when the infection started. I brought as many as I could in here.”

  “Find a place for Lazzaro,” Shader said to his Marines.

  Gonzalez and Keele moved to the left and put the wounded man on an empty metal table.

  “Do you have any food?” a weak voice croaked from the group.

  “Not much,” Shader replied. “Just a few snacks. We weren’t supposed to be here very long.”

  “The little girl could use something,” Morales added. “She’s awful weak.”

  Shader dug out an energy bar and handed it to Morales. He walked over to the crowd and picked up a frail girl who had been sitting against the wall. He placed her in a nearby chair and broke off a small piece and gave it to her. Her eyes were vacant, and she barely moved her lips. Eventually, she managed to chew and swallow the piece of peanut butter bar. She washed it down with some water. Her eyes began to respond, and she took another piece, chewing it more aggressively than the first.

  “We’ve been without food for a couple of weeks. We’ve eaten everything we could scavenge, now all we have left is a bunch of vegetable shortening. That and some newspaper make good candles, but we haven’t been able to eat it. Every time we try, most of us just puke it out. Then we’re weaker than before.”

  The others began to ask for food, and Shader distributed all of their edibles. From their appearance, they didn’t have much longer to live. Many could barely move unless some of the stronger ones helped.

  “You’ve done well,” Shader said to Morales as they gave out the last of the food. Shader noticed he hadn’t eaten any of their meager supplies.

  “I used to be fat,” he replied with a smile, pointing at his sagging pants.

  “That’s a hell of a way to lose weight,” Shader added.

  Morales broke the last bar in half and gave it away.

  “Can we speak?” he asked as he nodded to the other side of the room.

  “Are you four the only ones?” he asked Shader after they had crossed the room.

  “No. We have a full platoon of Marines forming outside.”

  “Are they here to rescue us?” he asked incredulously.

  “I hate to break this to you, but no one has a clue there is anyone alive in here.”

  Shader gave the man a quick summary of their predicament. Morales just bowed his head and shook it back and forth.

  “This place is crawling with the infected,” Morales said. “Many of them have been using this place as a home for weeks. That’s why we couldn’t leave. Then, when the bombing started, the place filled up even more.”

  “How many are here now?”

  “I don’t know. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. They just kept coming in. I haven’t taken a look in days.”

  “You go out there?” Shader asked incredulously.

  “Sí. I used to have a flashlight to see where I was going, but that died a few days ago, right after the explosions started outside. We were sure that the building was going to drop down on us, but the bombs never came.”

  “You didn’t just walk around, shining the flashlight?” Shader asked.

  Morales began to chuckle, his droopy facial skin jiggling from the laughter. “No. I suppose not,” he replied sarcastically. “I didn’t walk out onto the concourse and shine the light around. I used the ducts.” Morales pointed back to the utility room where they had first entered.

  “Ducts? They’re big enough to crawl through?”

  “Some of them, yes. The main return is huge and runs under the Forum. It’s wide and tall enough to squat and walk through. It will take you to the main floor. At least four of the branches off of it can be navigated as well, but you have to crawl through those. That’s how we rescued the little girl.”

  “Rescued her?”

  “Yeah,” Morales replied with a grim frown. “Rescued. It’s horrible. You can’t imagine what these things do to the people they catch.”

  “What do you mean, ‘catch.’ Don’t they just eat them?”

  “Oh, yes. They do. But some people, they don’t eat right away.”

  Morales stopped and caught his breath.

  “You don’t understand, Shader. Sometimes, they bring them back here alive. They keep them like cattle until they’re hungry, then they feast on them.”

  Shader couldn’t comprehend that. Having a human farm inside the Forum couldn’t be possible. How could they manage a farm? They weren’t supposed to have the intelligence to do something like that.

  “I don’t get it. How do they keep the people they catch from escaping?”

  “They glue them to the walls,” Morales whispered. “They vomit out some kind of sticky, crusty paste that hardens and keeps people stuck to the walls or floor. Then they just grab who they want, when they want, and eat them.”

  Shader couldn’t believe what he was hearing. If true, it meant there were groups of Variants clustered throughout the city.

  “The storm drains,” Shader said quietly after several moments of silent thought. “There must be nests all over the city’s storm drains.”

  “No doubt,” Morales replied. “They love the dark. I thought about the same thing. The drains could hold hundreds of thousands of these things.”

  “Do any of the ducts lead outside?” Shader asked.

  “None of the returns do. They’re all from the main floor and smaller ones are from the concourse. The only thing that goes to the outside are electric runs. And most of those are too small to get through.”

  “You said most of them. Are there any that someone could navigate?”

  “I never gave it much thought because I’m too big to even try,” Morales said as he pulled at the extra fabric on his now too large shirt. His weight loss had been staggering.

  The big man stood silently in thought, mentally walking himself through the schematics of the building’s arteries and ductwork.

  “There is one conduit,” he said tentatively. “But no one much bigger than a child could get through. It goes to the garage and ends next to a large panel on the wall near the service entrance. But it’s a
real narrow tube. I wouldn’t want to try it.”

  Shader looked back at his men and nodded in their direction. “What about Gonzalez?”

  Morales looked him over and shook his head. “The short one? He’s too wide.”

  “Gonzalez. Come over here,” Shader commanded.

  The diminutive Marine jogged to Shader and reported.

  “Strip off your gear. Nothing but pants and t-shirt,” Shader said.

  “Chief?”

  “Just do it.”

  Gonzalez shrugged and removed his loadout. By the time he’d put the gear on an adjacent table, he was nearly fifty pounds lighter and showing off his wiry body.

  “Hell, I didn’t realize how much stuff you guys carried around,” Morales said.

  “You’ve no idea,” Shader replied. “Sometimes, we’re humping over a hundred pounds.”

  Morales looked Gonzalez up and down then walked around the confused Marine.

  “It would be very tight. I don’t know, but it’s possible he could make it.”

  “Possible is good enough for me,” Shader said. “Let’s do this.”

  “Do what, Chief?”

  Shader had an idea. It was the first time since they entered that God forsaken underground garage that he felt somewhat in control.

  “Okay,” Shader said with a smile. “Here’s the plan…”

  — 7 —

  Underground Ducts

  The Inglewood Forum

  SCPO Porky Shader

  “If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

  WINSTON CHURCHILL

  Shader’s quads were burning. The Forum’s main return duct was large enough for a man to squat and walk through without hitting his head. But Porky was on the downslope to the big five-oh, and his legs were letting him know that he was playing a young man’s game in an old man’s body.

  Duck-walking his way through the tunnel required several stops where the SEAL would stretch and shake his legs, trying to get the building lactic acid in the muscles to move on through his bloodstream. In years gone by, recovery time from any physical exertion took mere moments. Now, he had to wait almost a minute to prevent leg cramps from disabling him.