by Dana Fredsti
Nathan jerked his head at me.
“Take care of this, would you?”
I stabbed down with my blade, using extra force to penetrate the hood and the zombie’s skull. I did the same thing—preemptively—to the other fallen techs, knowing it was just a matter of time before they got back up, too.
Nathan, in the meantime, used the fire extinguisher on the flames that were licking at the edges of the wide-open double doors, also wedged open with hunks of metal. Someone wanted this fire to spread, which meant that someone had set it on purpose. Great. As if zombies weren’t enough, we had a frickin’ arsonist on the loose— and on the payroll.
Through the double doors it was a hell of flame and smoke. I could see several figures staggering around, whatever clothing they had long since burned off. The metal tables were all empty, the restraining straps no doubt burned into ash. Even through the smoke I could see that the holding pens in the back of the room were empty, their metal doors slung open.
Fire burned in places I wouldn’t have thought could catch, like the metal tables and cement floor. It licked up the walls, reaching hungrily for the ceiling. The smell of melted plastic, chemicals, and what smelled like gasoline seeped through the mask’s protective filter, and the heat from the fire was nearly unbearable.
We didn’t have much time.
“Simone!” Even muffled by the mask, Nathan’s voice rang out over the low roar of the flames.
Was it my imagination, or did someone answer? Even with my enhanced hearing, I couldn’t be certain.
“Did you hear that?” I said.
Nathan shook his head.
“Not sure.” He yelled Simone’s name again, the word ending in a series of rattling coughs that sounded like they hurt. The masks weren’t meant for this sort of exposure—they were designed to get someone to safety, and quickly.
Why isn’t the sprinkler system kicking in?
I was ready to go back the way we came and get the hell out of there when I heard, very faintly, someone call for help, followed by a dull thumping on a hard surface.
“Someone’s alive in there,” I said.
But I needn’t have bothered saying anything; Nathan had heard it, too, and was already spraying foam from the extinguisher to clear a path through the flames. I took the initiative and ran ahead, silently praying that we weren’t collectively hallucinating.
Two flaming zombies staggered toward me, and even as I dispatched them with my katana, I found myself giggling. The phrase “flaming zombies” conjured some very politically incorrect images in my mind. I blamed the smoke inhalation and kept moving, honing in on a closed door to the left, in between the dissection tables and the holding pens. Melted paint bubbled on its surface.
A lone zombie clawed at the door, slowly sinking to the ground as the flames that engulfed it finally ate through its connective tissue. Nathan sprayed more foam, clearing a path for me to reach the door. I pistoned the heel of one foot into the foot of the zombie’s skull, then kicked it out of the way.
Without bothering to do the “is it hot?” test, I just grabbed the handle.
Shit!
Yes, it was hot, and I’d have blisters. The door also didn’t budge. I looked up and noticed a lock and hasp on it. The lock was engaged, and there was no key in sight.
“Nathan, it’s locked!”
“Stand out of the way.”
I did, and Nathan charged the door, hitting it dead center with his right shoulder. The wood shuddered, but didn’t give way.
“My turn,” I said, then sent my right heel into the door with a side kick. Nathan followed up with a kick of his own.
The wood began to give way.
We kept kicking until we’d cleared a hole large enough to reveal a fairly roomy supply closet. Lying on the floor, with a cloth pressed over her face was Simone, coughs wracking her body as more smoke poured into the space. Her white lab coat was spattered with gore, blood oozing from what looked like a bullet hole in her right arm.
Nathan immediately pushed past me, impatiently yanking large chunks of wood out of his way, clearing enough space for us to get inside. He dumped his duffel bag on the floor and extracted another evac hood. Pulling the cloth out of Simone’s hands, he started to tug the hood over her head, but she resisted, pulling it away as another coughing fit wracked her body.
Nathan held her until it passed, then spoke to her.
“Simone, can you hear me?”
She nodded weakly.
“You have to put this on,” he said. “There’s too much smoke and shit in the air here for us to get you out without it.”
“These...” Simone pulled a blue bag from behind her, one of those soft insulated coolers. What sounded like bits of glass were clinking together inside of it. “Take—”
“I have it.” Nathan took the bag from her and set it off to one side. “Now put this on.” Simone reached for the mask, trying to help pull it on with fingers unable to complete the motion. Her eyes rolled up in her head.
“Shit,” he said. “Help me, Ash.”
“What about that?” I nodded at the wound on her arm.
“It’ll wait. We have to get her out of here before she asphyxiates.”
I held Simone steady as Nathan pulled the evac hood over her head as gently as possible. I snuck a quick look at his expression. If ever a man’s feelings for a woman were evident, it was at that moment.
Blazing heat beat against my back as ribbons of flame dripped from the ceiling, which in turn started to melt like wax from a candle. The walls may have been cement, but the ceiling was made of acoustical tiles, probably with a crawl space up above. I saw sprinkler heads up there. Why the hell didn’t they activate?
Another chunk of tile fell onto the floor, hitting a patch of liquid that immediately flared into a wall of fire in between two metal tables and the path leading out of the lab.
“Nathan...”
“Here.” He shoved the fire extinguisher at me, hoisting a now unconscious Simone in the classic fireman’s carry, duffle bag once more slung over his shoulder. “Clear us a path.”
Sweat poured down my face under my mask as I shoved my katana into its sheath so I could handle the extinguisher and pointed the nozzle at the base of the flames. Squeezing the lever, I swept the nozzle from side to side... but nothing came out. The damn thing was empty.
We are so screwed.
As if to emphasize how screwed we were, another section of ceiling plummeted to the ground near the exit, connecting with another wide ribbon of flame and creating a nice little ring of fire. I consciously willed Johnny Cash to get the hell out of my brain as it wilted from the heat. The double doors to the antechamber were now completely blocked, the air shimmering like a desert mirage.
“Can we make it?” I looked at Nathan, who didn’t appear to feel the weight that was draped over his shoulders. My eyes and lungs burned, even with the protection. If we didn’t get Simone out of here immediately, she would die.
“We have to try.”
“Wait.” I dashed into the closet and grabbed a couple bottles of water. The plastic was tacky to the touch. Unscrewing the lids, I dumped the contents over him and Simone.
“Let’s go,” I said, tossing the bottles aside.
Nathan sprinted into the flames, vanishing through them into the antechamber. I heard the thud of his footsteps on the metal stairs. They’d make it.
Good.
I started after them, then noticed the bag Simone had pushed at us, still sitting on the floor. If it was important enough for her to protect, I’d bring it out. Slinging it over my shoulder, I took a couple of steps, only to have a blast of heat send me scuttling back into the closet for momentary refuge. I needed another bottle of water to give me some degree of protection. I grabbed for one, but my fingers sunk into the plastic, the water pouring out and evaporating onto the floor.
I scanned the room, trying to breathe through the increasing smoke and heat. The evac hood had prett
y much done its job—and then some—but I couldn’t expect it to do any more.
Another section of ceiling tile, larger than any before, fell right in front of the exit. Fire and smoke billowed up, obscuring the rest of the room. I laughed, and then started coughing, then choking as my fire-evac hood gave up the ghost and started letting the toxins in.
The coughing continued, leading into full on hacking as I tried to bring up the crap that was infiltrating my system before it could kill me. But the shit poured in faster than I could void it.
Sorry, Lil, I thought, remembering the promise I’d made to her.
My head throbbed as I slumped to the floor. I closed my eyes.
Damn. I really hadn’t expected to die today.
SAN FRANCISCO
Tiffany made her way carefully out of the ladies’ room at the Royal Bank, trying to ignore the fact that each step on her Steve Madden heels felt like she was navigating a tightrope. She’d only had three... or maybe four gin and tonics. Hard to keep track during happy hour.
Hell, who wants to keep track during happy hour, right? Especially with a hot date like Geo.
Tiffany stifled a laugh. Okay, that had to be a fake name, ’cause who would, like, name their kid after a car, right? At least they hadn’t named him Mini. That thought set her giggling again as she rounded the corner to the stairs that led back up to the restaurant.
Fucking stairs. There should be a law against having the restrooms up or down stairs from the bar. It was a liability issue, a lawsuit waiting to happen—booze and stairs, especially when combined with high heels. Seriously, like, how many women her age going out on hot dates were going to wear flats, right?
Someday she’d be able to afford Jimmy Choos and Manolo Blahniks. Full price, no more remnant sales. Until then, eBay and the less expensive designers were a girl’s best friend.
As she wobbled her way up the wooden stairs, Tiffany thought she heard... was that screaming? Usually Tuesday nights in the Financial District weren’t that rowdy, even during happy hour.
She neared the top of the stairs and almost ran right into an attractive brunette, with two men right behind her. One of them was one of the waiters, a real hottie. Tiffany had flirted with him during many a happy hour. He’d always been friendly, but disinterested. Now he couldn’t follow this other woman fast enough.
What the hell did a brunette have that she didn’t? Tiffany glanced down and sneered. The other woman was wearing flat-heeled boots with her black skirt and red sweater. Heels would have made the outfit.
“Turn around and go back down.”
It took a few seconds for her to realize the woman was speaking to her.
“Huh?” Tiffany said. “My date’s waiting for me.”
“Don’t go in there—it’s not worth it,” the woman snapped. “You don’t want to see—”
Ri-ight... Tiffany shook her head, making herself a little dizzy, and shoved past the trio. Going back into the restaurant, she left them to run down the stairwell and disappear from sight.
“Whatever.” If they want to get all kinky, that’s their problem.
She tottered her way toward the front of the restaurant, where Geo waited for her at her table. Some sort of ruckus was happening at the bar, a fight maybe. She heard shouts and swearing in Irish accents. Definitely a bar brawl.
What the fuck?
As Tiffany neared the table, she saw another sitting woman on the bench seat next to Geo, looking like she was giving him the King Kong of hickeys.
Oh, bring it on, bitch.
She didn’t stop to think—just marched over to the table, grabbed the woman by the shoulder and snarled at them.
“What the fuck? I’m gone for five minutes and you think you can just—”
The woman turned around, chunks of red meat falling from her gaping mouth. Her eyes looked blind or something, yellowed whites shot through with veins of blood, the corneas milky white and just wrong.
For a heartbeat, Tiffany wondered if Geo had spiked her G&Ts. This has gotta be a hallucination. Then the nightmare bitch who’d stolen her seat grabbed her wrist and bit into it, and the agonizing pain convinced her it was all too real.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
* * *
Something wet and cool dripped onto my arm.
First just a few drops, and then a steady stream.
My head throbbed as I forced my eyelids open to see water pouring down from a sprinkler head right above me.
I sat up, pushing the nausea and pain back so I could pick myself up off the supply closet floor. Bleary-eyed, I looked across the lab and saw a path to the doors, water pouring down from a few operating sprinkler heads around the room. Flames still licked across the floor and walls, but the water held them back from taking over the entire lab, and even extinguished the fire in spots.
Okay. Time to go.
I staggered out of the closet and into the room, still carrying Simone’s precious bag and breathing as shallowly as possible. I tried to stay under the working sprinklers until I made it past the antechamber, back into the stairwell leading up to the med ward.
The smoke was still thick and toxic when I hit the stairs and with every step it felt like I was weighed down with lead. My eyes watered from the acrid fumes, making it almost impossible to see. Even with the protective hood, each breath seared my lungs as I pulled myself up the stairs by the railing, vaguely aware that the heated metal was crisping my hand. I did my best to ignore the corpses that Nathan and I had dispatched, and which now were draped on the stairs.
Crunch.
Ugh. Kind of hard to ignore it when you step into the middle of a flash-fried rotted corpse.
Just when you think things couldn’t get any grosser.
Fuckin’ zombies.
Why couldn’t it have been an outbreak of, say, bunnies or French bulldogs? Then we’d just have to deal with lots of inoffensive pellets, or drool.
“Zombies... zombies, it must be zombie-e-ees,” I sang softly and off-key, as I neared the landing.
More water poured down onto my head, as if I had my own little rainstorm following me wherever I went. Sort of like Pig Pen and his perpetual cloud of dirt.
Oh god, I need oxygen...
When I reached the top of the stairs, I quickly retraced my steps down the hallway and back to the med ward. Most of the fire damage had been sustained at the far end, where the smoldering zombies had staggered through the door. As they’d collapsed onto the nearest cots, the flames had ignited the bedding and created more charred corpses. ones with bullet holes in their heads.
It was just wrong.
Even more wrong was the merrily burning fire and thick cloud of smoke that now danced through the med ward. I was just too damn tired to fight my way through another gauntlet of flame and smoke, so I headed down the hallway away from it. Smoke had spread down this way, but the flames hadn’t, making it a friendlier option even if I had no clue where it went.
It had to go somewhere, right? I mean, who would build a hallway that dead-ended? Well, aside from Jigsaw or some other psycho killer.
Luckily for me the hallway led to a door with a nice big green exit sign above it. That led to another staircase, one that deposited me on the ground floor of Patterson Hall, outside at the rear of the building. Stumbling past a few startled looking people, I fell to my knees on the grass next to the sidewalk. Dropping Simone’s bag to the accompaniment of the sound of bits of glass clinking together, I ripped the hood off and coughed up no end of black gunk, with deep wracking coughs that felt like my internal organs were passing through my throat.
“Ashley?”
A familiar voice said my name, and hands fell on my hunched shoulders, firmly patting my back until the coughing spasm had passed.
“Here, have some water.”
A plastic water bottle touched my lips, and I gratefully took a swallow, rinsing out my mouth—which tasted like the granddaddy of all ashtrays. I spit before taking another mouthful and swallowin
g. The cool water hurt going down, but it also tasted like smoky ambrosia.
“How are you feeling, Ashley?”
I looked up to find none other than Dr. Albert peering down at me with what looked like genuine concern on his rodent-like face.
“I’m just swell,” I said, then started giggling again, the smoke inhalation and near-death experience making me giddy.
“Yes, have some more water.” The doctor held the water bottle up again. “Your enhanced metabolism should kick out the effects of the smoke very quickly.”
Oh, goody. I shut my eyes as the world spun around me.
“Dizzy,” I muttered, and my eyelids felt like lead, coated with concrete.
“Just sit still for a few minutes and—what?”
The “what”—uttered on a rising note—was followed by a dull thump. The sound of flesh hitting flesh.
I forced my eyes open in time to see two male figures dressed in black, their faces covered with dark balaclava masks, dragging Dr. Albert’s prone body off into the darkness. I heard another one just in time to stop him from smacking my head with what looked like a policeman’s baton.
Fuck you, I thought, and grabbed the asshole’s forearm as he brought the baton down toward my unprotected noggin. Lurching to my feet, I reversed the path of the baton, so that it landed on my attacker’s head with a solid thunk on his skull.
He collapsed bonelessly to the ground.
I grabbed the baton and staggered after the two assailants who were dragging Dr. Albert off toward a dark-colored van parked in between Patterson Hall and the adjacent building. I heard the sound of an engine revving, and did my best to hurry up my pace, trying to ignore my pounding head and lurching stomach.
A sliding door opened on the passenger side of the van and someone inside reached out to help drag the doctor into the vehicle. I threw myself forward, smashing one of his abductors on the head with the leading end of the baton, then whipping it around to clock the other man solidly on the chin with the butt end.
The guy in the van gave a shout of surprise, letting go of Dr. Albert and grabbing for a gun on the floor. I kicked out as hard as I could, knocking the firearm out of his grasp, sending it spinning onto the ground just as Dr. Albert collapsed onto the concrete sidewalk, oblivious to the battle being fought over his prone body.