“When did Haddenfield join the project?”
“He joined one month after the return of the spaceplane.”
“After the discovery of Ambrosia?”
“It’s possible, sir.”
“And at that time he was a part of the Coalition?”
“Yes.”
“So either he was acting on his own without the Director’s knowledge, or he was assigned there by the Director and it was an off-the-books job.”
“It could truly be either, sir.”
“You know what that also means, Elizabeth,” Maxwell said, reaching for his cigarette packet. He scrutinized it for a moment, then upturned it, the final cigarette falling out. He took it, lit it and tossed the empty packet into the trash.
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to specifically, sir.”
“When they created the Ambrosia strain, it suggests to me they wanted to create something that was controllable. After all, Ambrosia was the food of the Gods, and eating it was said to confer immortality. The strain from Genetic Material X, seemed to solve the problem of life after death, just not in the way they may have been hoping. With either virus, there would’ve been obvious implications that would be very valuable to the right groups. I suppose this whole thing was kind of inevitable: either they would’ve used the Ambrosia virus to create an army of super soldiers that would’ve destabilized specific targets, or with this Genetic Material X version of the virus, they’d have the option to bring a city or a country to its knees. Did the creators intend for it to be released across the whole world? Maybe not, but we don’t have all the facts yet so we can’t begin to fathom the originally intended end game. Whatever they wanted, what we’re facing is what happened.”
“It looks increasingly likely, sir.”
Maxwell took a pull of his cigarette and looked at his watch. He nodded, as though responding to an unspoken question, and stood up. He retrieved a sidearm from the drawer of his desk - the first time Hall had ever seen him armed - and slipped it into the holster on his hip.
“Going somewhere, sir?”
“I’ve a meeting to attend.”
“Should I accompany you?”
“No, Hall. Until I return, you’re in charge here. If I don’t return, then you’re going to be in charge a lot longer than that,” he told her, a smile spreading across his lips from the confidence he was placing in her abilities. There was no comfort in it for Hall, however, as she couldn’t understand why he was being so cryptic.
“Sir—” She started.
“That’s all I have to say on the matter, Elizabeth,” Maxwell said, cutting her off as he moved around his desk. “Send word to my pilot, I want my bird ready to lift off by the time I set foot aboard it.”
Hall took a deep breath, looking at the steely determination in his eyes, then nodded.
“As you wish, sir.”
“You’ll do fine, Elizabeth,” he told her, reaching the door, the smile returning for a brief instant. “Use my office for now. You can get some good thinking done in here,” he added as he opened the door, stepped outside and closed it behind him without another word. Hall looked around the space, hoping there might be some clue as to what he was up to, but there was nothing. She felt a strange emptiness settle over her, drawn from a deep pit of concern for her commanding officer. In a way he was more than that, though. Maxwell, as mysterious and calculating as he could be, was also her friend and she wished more than anything he’d let her help with whatever obvious danger he was walking into.
“Hall, it’s Jack,” she heard in her earpiece. Taking another deep breath to steady her, Hall tapped the earpiece to unmute, briefly considering whether she should inform him of Maxwell’s solo venture. The decision was instantaneous: Jack had enough to deal with in the Redshield facility, and she didn’t want to distract him with what their superior was doing.
“Go for Hall.”
“We’ve found a card to take us down to the third floor. It’s an orange-purple keycard, whatever that might mean,” Jack informed her.
“Understood, Major. Report back when you have more to update me on.”
“Will do. Ramsay out.”
Hall was left alone in the office. She turned to the door, hoping to see Maxwell on the other side of the glass, but he was gone.
Chapter Eight
JACK WENT BACK TO THE elevator that they had partially barricaded with the vending machine. After retrieving the orange-purple keycard that would allow them access to the third floor from the shredded jacket of a scientist’s remains in ‘Laboratory 1’, Jack had declared the plan to be the same as before: he, Tyrone and Smith would take the elevator down and attempt to secure a foothold on the next floor. A discussion was taking place in the security room, which Jack had chosen to ignore, but as they were about to set off, Alex suddenly became more talkative.
“Before you go...” he started, causing Jack to stop with his hand on the door.
“What?” Jack wanted to know.
“We’ve never been down there, but there’s some stuff we heard that might be useful.”
“I thought you didn’t want to help us?” Tyrone quizzed sharply.
“I don’t, but Maria made that choice for us and now if you don’t get us out of here safely, we’re completely screwed.”
“So what do you want to tell us?”
“The third floor is subject housing, both for the in-use subjects and the spares, as they were called.”
“Spares?”
“Uninfected subjects,” Alex told them, the gravity of his statement causing a flare of anger in Jack’s gut.
“You mean your uninfected victims?”
Alex’s face turned ashen, and then he nodded.
“It’s a much larger floor than any of the others to accommodate the pens for the infected and the quarters for those who haven’t been exposed yet.”
“Where did you get your victims?” Jack wanted to know. He had an idea, but he wanted to hear the villainous scientist say it aloud.
“I don’t—”
“Where?” Jack growled.
“Off the street, mostly. Some were volunteers when we thought we were getting close to a successful product. We tricked them to think it was a medical trial.”
“Can I shoot the son of a bitch, sir?” Smith asked Jack, her own rage bubbling over.
“No, Smith, I got this one,” Bridges announced, standing from the computer console and taking a step forward.
“No one’s going to shoot him,” Jack declared. “He’s going to survive so he can one day stand trial for what he and the sick bastards like him have done. Everyone will know he was an architect of the horror that’s engulfed the world, and a jury can decide what he deserves.”
Bridges looked at Jack, then reluctantly shrank back to his chair.
“Fair enough,” Ridgewell said suddenly. “But if it's me or him, then I’m plugging him in the leg and leaving him to his zombies.”
The anger still turning his gut, Jack opened the door and led his team out to the elevator. They clambered over the vending machine and took on a firing line position: Jack in the middle, Tyrone on the right with Smith on the left. Checking first that they were ready, Jack leaned over and swiped the orange-purple keycard through the reader then pressed the button down to the next floor.
“Hopefully most of the infected got loose and were on the other floors already,” Tyrone said as the elevator rumbled into life.
“That’s a question though, isn’t it,” Smith said suddenly.
“What’s that?”
“How did the infected move so easily between floors? They tend to go docile when there’s no obvious sign of life around them. I get that a few would’ve made it into the elevators, but the number we’ve seen on the floors above doesn’t make sense.”
Jack didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of that himself. He supposed it was because he was too busy thinking of the infected in tactical terms: obstacles that he needed to defeat
in order to complete his objective. But now that Smith had raised the question, it left an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. Could this have been less of a loss of containment and actually been some kind of attack? The thought made his head spin. It tied in somewhat with what Emma had said about her escape from the Bluefields facility; someone unleashed the infected and, using their remote access in the system, helped her to escape. Could someone have done the same thing here? A sudden, more bizarre thought occurred to him in the same instant: could there have been some method that allowed the infected to be controlled? It wasn’t the time to consider such thoughts in detail, but his first instinct was that perhaps it was carried out through some form of sound - maybe noises put through a speaker system to guide the creatures as they shuffled around seeking fresh prey.
The elevator clunked and began to slow down, the short journey to the next floor having passed by in the midst of a cyclone of thoughts and speculations that Jack forced to one side as swiftly as possible
“Get ready,” he declared, more to himself than his team members. The elevator came to a complete stop, and a moment later it dinged and the doors began to slide apart. The moment they did, stenches hit his senses: decay, blood and the sewage smell that sometimes accompanied pure unadulterated terror. In the next instant, the savage roars of the infected assaulted his hearing. The lights were out on this floor, but the illumination from within the elevator spilled out and highlighted the undead faces of a dozen or more creatures waiting for them. Jack opened fire immediately, joined in tandem by Tyrone and Smith; bullets tore through faces and skulls, shredding the infected as they surged towards them while moaning excitedly as they anticipated a fresh meal. Jack kept his composure and exercised trigger discipline, firing a single shot per target, shifting his aim quickly to line up the next shot and fell the next creature while his companions did the same. The first half dozen fell within seconds, the rest moments later, but there were more - so many more. A full horde that Jack couldn’t even begin to count was waiting for them in the elevator lobby, and despite how quickly they were gunning down the forerunners, others were taking the place of the fallen immediately.
“Holy shit!” Smith exclaimed.
“Ty, get the doors!” Jack ordered. Tyrone took a moment to lean forward and hit the door close button - just as the first of the infected slammed their legs into the vending machine lying protectively across the doorway. Without it, the creatures would’ve swarmed into the elevator and they would’ve died, of that Jack had no doubt. Now, however, the infected were blocking the doors, and no matter how aggressively Tyrone pressed the switch, the safety sensors prevented them from closing.
The front infected didn’t seem to understand what was obstructing them, and Jack didn’t give them a chance to figure it out. He fired quickly, finishing the first few off while Smith took the next couple as Tyrone began firing from his position, which was closer to the control panel.
“We’re hearing shots echoing up the elevator shaft, Jack. What’s going on?” Emma asked over the radio.
“Contact with the infected! Lots of contact!”
“Do you need help?” Ridgewell wanted to know.
“Hold your position, we’re coming back up!” Jack responded quickly, shooting the first of the next wave of infected to slam up against the vending machine, crunching the bodies of the fallen beneath their feet as their hands clasped onto the sides of the elevator doors in an attempt to pull themselves forward. The weight of the creatures being exerted forward forced the vending machine back a little, so Jack braced his right foot against the machine, lending his strength to help keep the obstruction in place. The trio were firing almost non stop, bullets tearing into the creatures heads, destroying their brains and blasting out sections of skull and biological matter that spattered the undead behind them. Some shots passed through multiple targets, and yet they kept coming, their corpses flopping forward against the vending machine - and worse still obstructing the doors and preventing them from closing despite Tyrone hammering the button while firing his weapon.
“The fucking doors won’t close with them piled up like that!” Tyrone snapped, ejecting a spent magazine as he yelled and loaded another.
From behind the main throng of infected, there were characteristic screeches of runners, likely forcing their way through the mass to get to the front, and, perhaps more distantly, Jack thought he heard the muffled groaning of a boney. The threats to come however, were less concerning to Jack than the pressing masses of regular infected attempting to force their way over the vending machine. He reloaded his weapon, Smith and Tyrone covering for him while he did so, but they were simply stalling the inevitable: they needed a plan of escape and they needed it quickly. Jack looked up and saw there was an emergency hatch in the back right corner of the elevator, a possible avenue of escape, but it would be difficult for them to get through and keep the undead at bay.
“Ty, get the hatch open!” Jack barked at him, knowing it was their only chance despite the difficulty. Tyrone looked first at Jack, then at the area where Jack was indicating with his head. A fresh heap of infected surged into the vending machine, forcing their defense barrier back a few more inches, though Smith was also now shoring it up with her boot while continuing to fire. Their cacophony of roars and moans were nearly overwhelming, and as the bodies piled up, Jack knew the creatures would soon be able to simply climb over their dead and get inside.
A few shots behind him followed by some metallic sounds caused Jack to glance back, to see Tyrone had fired up into the lock of the hatch, the round luckily shattering the lock rather than ricocheting off and hitting one of them. While Jack turned back and continued firing, Tyrone reached up, his considerable height and muscle mass allowing him to force it up by simply stretching. Jack knew getting on top of the elevator would be difficult, but it was now definitely their only chance to escape their metal tomb.
“Smith!” Tyrone called out. “I’ll boost you up!”
She glanced at Jack, who nodded his affirmation to the plan, then Smith turned, let her weapon hang on its strap, and ran towards Tyrone. Using her momentum, she sprang towards Tyrone’s laced fingers and placed one boot on the foothold he was offering, her arms raised reaching up towards the hatch. Tyrone hoisted her up and a moment later she had a firm grip on the edge of the hatch and was pulling herself up the rest of the way. This, however, left Jack alone on the firing line. The zombies were forcing the vending machine back inch by inch, gaining more ground in the elevator and reducing the amount of time before they were overwhelmed. Jack risked a quick look back and saw her legs disappearing, then he was forced to focus ahead again. He looked into the hate-filled, glassy eyes of the undead, their jaws snapping, their hands swiping, and ground his teeth, exerting so much strength against the vending machine his leg was braced against he could feel it burn. He was firing as quickly and precisely as he was able, killing everything before him while hearing movement behind - likely the sounds of Tyrone going up with Smith’s assistance. Jack held his ground, however, knowing he needed to buy his people every second he could until they could help him to escape.
“Jack!” Tyrone called out loudly. Jack glanced back at him and saw that Tyrone was reaching down through the hatch, his muscular arm ready to help Jack make his own escape. Jack looked back ahead, fired off several more shots to clear the leaders, and readied himself to turn and run. He’d have only moments before the vending machine was forced backwards, and then the infected would be on him. As Jack was about to spin on his heel and head for the hatch, the lights flickered inside the elevator and it made a clunking sound before moving slightly up and down. The doors dinged and attempted to close, but rebounded almost immediately as there were three active zombies in the doorway and a number of corpses - then suddenly, the elevator car began to move upwards at an alarming rate.
“Shit!” Tyrone exclaimed and it sounded like Smith let out a panicked sound. Jack, still looking ahead, saw the infected m
ass beyond the door disappearing as the elevator moved upward, the undead clinging to the vending machine remaining until they were violently crushed and mangled by the elevator doors closing. The elevator had made several mechanical grinding sounds, but the power of the mechanism had won out against the weakness of the undead flesh, and they were torn apart.
“Hold on, Smith!” Tyrone called out from above. Jack, wondering what had happened, turned quickly and went to the hatch. Letting his weapon hang he leapt up to grab the edges and hauling himself up looked around. Tyrone was off to the right of the elevator, currently helping Smith climb back up onto the top of the car; having apparently slipped off with the car’s sudden movement.
“Bridges, did you manage to override the elevator control system?” Jack asked, heaving himself up so he was sitting in the open hatchway.
“Uh, no, Bossman, I hadn’t even thought to try,” Bridges responded.
“Then what the fu—” Jack started when he realized the terrible howls and baying sounds of the infected were still close by. He realized the doors to the elevator shaft below were likely still open, and as the elevator hadn’t gone far, they might still be in danger. As this thought occurred to him, Jack heard the sound of wrenching metal below; he looked down and saw massive claws had penetrated the bottom of the elevator and were peeling away the floor. They were retracted and then a second set appeared, making the hole bigger and causing the heavy vending machine and infected corpses to fall through. The gaping hole in the floor showed the dark expanse of the elevator shaft beneath; the scant illumination from emergency lights like pinpricks as the shaft descended further beneath the earth. He could hear the metal pieces from the elevator and the bulk of the vending machine clunking down into the depths, before it was drowned out by a resurgence of howls and groans. Jack saw infected falling down into the shaft from the open doorway below, just as the boney began looking for a place where it could gain enough purchase to attempt to climb into the elevator car. Jack looked around and saw that between him and the space for the elevator car were girders and metal struts which could be something for them to escape to. A plan formulated where they would blow out the cables tethering the elevator after clambering over to girders when an unknown male voice came over the radio.
The Z Directive (Book 2): Mutation Page 13