by M. D. Massey
I typed my employee number in, 24556, and the thick steel gate sprang to life, quietly and quickly opening. My nerves were calm, but butterflies fluttered around inside and I wasn’t sure why. I mean, this was a security guard position. Nothing ever really happened anyway.
My phone vibrated in my left pocket, distracting me momentarily as I drove through the gate and entered my new world. I dug it out and flipped it open, staring at the seemingly simple and plain building that only had about two dozen cars scattered about the massive parking lot. The message was a text from Becky.
Hey baby, I just wanted to tell you to have a wonderful day at your new job. Call me on your lunch break and fill me in on the people you work with. Lol. Love you so much!! J.
I cracked a smile and closed my phone, spotting a sign that directed me to the rear of the building. The facility was fairly large and had a few windows sporadically placed in certain sections. Must have been for the big wigs to look down at us mere mortals. Foot traffic was null, even for a regular work day. I hoped I wasn’t late or anything.
I made it to the back of the building where there were a handful of other vehicles and two semi trailers docked at a loading bay. I whipped into one of the empty spots and turned my car off. I sat there for a brief moment, gathering my nerves. After a minute or two of telling myself it was going to be a great day, I slid out and hit the ground.
For some reason, things start to get hazy then. Up until that point, I can remember nearly everything that went on that morning, but as I near the entrance, everything becomes cloudy. The next thing I remember is I’m in a small room filling out paperwork. I have no idea who brought me there and what the hell I was even filling out. A small but subtle humming noise distracted me for a second, sending my eyes looking around. Guess it was the air conditioner or something.
When I looked back, I was standing in what I’m guessing was the warehouse, talking with someone. He looks to be wearing the same type of uniform as me. His name badge is out of focus, but I can see some of his face. He looks just like Ray.
His voice sounds drowned out as he talks to me, telling me I need to put on my name badge. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the badge, peering down as I pinned it to my uniform. I looked back up, and walked around some long aisles of nicely polished steel that were barren of any souls, but were loaded to the gills with containers. I checked my watch. It was 2:15 P.M.
Did I even remember to call Becky on my lunch? Did I even go to lunch?
I don’t remember being told and I’m not sure why, but I just know that I was supposed to be overseeing some shipment going out. I headed to the dock and approached one of the bay doors that were rolled up. Two men, dressed in black combat gear, turned and just stared at me. No words were spoken. They just stood there like they were waiting for something. I looked into the trailer and saw more of the massive, solid containers that were fixed on platforms throughout.
I felt extremely light on my feet and my head was swimming in confusion. The two men kept their motionless pose as my equilibrium bounced all over the place. I looked around for someplace to sit down and gather myself, but fell like a drunken fool to the ground. Lights out.
What seemed like seconds later, I cracked my heavy eyes open and found a bright ass light giving me the third degree in the face. I laid on my back on some sort of table or something. It was cold and smooth, sending chill bumps all over my body. I could faintly hear the low chatter of people talking around me. I could see the outlines of their bodies, but that was it. I tried to speak, but my tongue was lying dead inside my mouth as I slowly bobbled my dizzy head from side to side.
Black. All I saw is blackness. My wrists and ankles felt like they were restrained with leather bands—the kind you’d see in a nut house.
I moved my head around a little more and pulled up on the restraints. The stinging bite of something pointed and sharp plunged into the side of my temple. It hurt like hell and my brain instantly turned to mush. I yelled as loud as I could, but not a peep sneaked out. Just cold dead silence.
Get that damn thing out of my head!
I wake from my nightmarish state, panting like a dog in heat and sweat pours out of every pore as my back flips up and off the cool concrete floor. My heart pounds like a snare drum and I look all over for the assholes that were sticking me like a pin cushion.
I’m alone, aside from the dead bodies lying around me. I reach my right hand to my back and feel for the gash that bled me good. It’s scarred over and dried, crusty blood flaking off my skin.
Why am I now remembering what happened that day? Maybe my brain is finally breaking down the walls that had been put up around that event. Event? Not sure if that is the right word for it. It seemed pretty f’ed up. Not something you hear about on the daily news.
But it did bring some clarity to my present situation. Ray is the dead soldier lying next to me. It’s all connected somehow and yet I’m still so confused by it all. I wish I’d remember something, anything on where they brought us. Lab rats. That’s what I feel like I am now. Knowing that they injected me with something doesn’t make me feel any better either. There is something inside me, festering and changing me into God knows what. I need answers more than ever now.
I get to my feet and look around, still paranoid from the relived episode that I just awoke from. Nothing stirs, not even the dead. Still as can be. It’s not surprising though; the murder of dead flowing through here earlier appears to be less interested in me and more interested in other things. A few curious flesh-munchers are to be expected, I guess. Glad that’s all it was. I have plans to get back to my Becky soon.
I actually feel better. My eyesight is coming back, my strength is on the rise, and I don’t seem to be as worried about the dead walking around. Despite what I remember, every time I slip into a temporary coma state, I awake feeling much better than before. Hopefully, this is the last time that happens.
With my new youthful vitality in check and my recent visions of past events shedding some light on my blurred memory, I take a knee next to the soldier’s body and fish out his wallet. I crack open the plain looking black leather wallet and find little to be desired. No money, no credit cards, and no identification.
Shit!
Undeterred, I check the rest of his chewed up body, going from pocket to pocket in search of something useful. Again, I come across nothing, but finally find some light at the proverbial end of the dark tunnel—an access card with three bold black letters imprinted in the upper right side.
TGP
The name doesn’t ring a bell, but then things from that day have slowly started to creep their way back inside my head. Maybe I’ll get another flashback of what the letters stand for and it will give me a better scope of things. Lord knows I need all the help I can get right now.
I slip the card into my back pocket, figuring that eventually it should come in handy. I go out on a limb and rummage the other dead bodies, digging through their blood-soaked clothes. I check every pocket and any other possible places for some information, but come up empty. Hey, it was worth a shot, right?
I get back up and stare down the hall that Alice and the grimacing, undead tore off into, wondering if she’s still alive or now a soulless demon preying on the flesh of the living. I also don’t see Deacon’s body, only a small puddle of blood that is streaked in the same direction. Looks like everyone split. Can’t say I blame ’em. This is one of those worst case scenarios, and I doubt they have a book on what to do when caught up in a infected infestation.
I don’t know why I didn’t notice this earlier, but everything seems to have a light green hue about it. Like I’m wearing night vision goggles or something like that. The lights are still struggling to come on and there’s no natural light coming into this seemingly solid structure. Another possible side effect of the concoction they injected me with? If so, it should come in handy.
Okay, so what to do now? Keep with my original plan and get to the security room
and see if there is a way out of here, or do I dig deeper for what lies beneath this Frankenstein-ish experiment that has gone south?
Screw it, I’ll have to do both. I know my Becky is probably wondering where I am, and if I’m coming back to her. She must be beside herself with grief, worrying about me. Those bastards. But wait, what if they told her I was dead, or some bull crap cover up story like that? If they sold it well enough, anyone might buy it. They would have to have some kind of contingency plan for when they snatch people up, wouldn’t they? Eventually, someone would notice.
I feel my mind racing and losing control, rage settling deep inside me that boils to a point of a volcanic eruption. But I have to keep my composure together and think logically in this illogical experiment, if that’s what it really is.
I finally calm myself down and center my brain after pacing back and forth among the dead bodies. Collected once more with clear vision of my goal, I get a better idea of where the dead are and find out what the hell is going on. I still have the schematic laid out in my brain. No more pacing, it’s time to get moving. When I find who did this to me, I’ll kill them all.
10
I can feel every cell in my body changing, mutating or some crap like that. It’s an alien sensation, my skin acting as if it’s moving around and doing its own thing— like I’m the back seat driver in my own flesh. I guess it’s not all bad though. My eyesight is better than ever and I feel as strong as a raging bull. But what ultimately keeps eating the back of my now confused and stressed mind, is what side effects come along with this. It’s like those ads that say “hey, take our pill and you’ll be able to sleep better,” but the side effects most times are worse than the cure. I guess right now I can view this as more of a gift than a curse, or at least until I get out of here.
I shake the currently pointless and non-important thoughts from my head and get back to the business at hand. I’ve been cautiously following the guide that has been leading me through the bales of this complex. No sign of the dead, but their presence is all around. Blood smears the walls and their stench looms in the air, refusing to dissipate.
I’m getting close to the video surveillance room, only a few more corridors to work through and I’m there. There’s so much junk and random crap scattered through here, making my eyes work double time in the event that there might be an undead ambush waiting for me. I don’t think they’re smart enough to come up with a scheme like that, but I could be wrong.
Even though I’m armed with some “sensory enhancements” and maybe other “gifts” I’m not aware of right now, it would be more comforting to have a gun, knife, or any object I can hit, stab, or mutilate with. You know, just in case I run into a world of hurt that might make taking out the undead, or the bastards who are running this show, a little easier.
I access the vivid schematic in my head and locate an armory that is to the right of the approaching junction and down the corridor. It doesn’t look very far and it’s in the same hall as the video room. I don’t see any need in weighing if this is a smart move. Having weapons in a hostile environment is always a plus and generally well worth the risk.
At this point, I’m not even sure if I can seriously get hurt, or dare I say it, die. Every time I’ve been at death’s door and faded away, I’ve come back with a vengeance. I hope there isn’t another episode where I turn geriatric and fall to the floor like a withered old man. That mess is getting old.
I hit the junction and stop in the middle, peering to my right and down the pitch black hall that has flickers of light spitting out at different points. I’m thinking some wires have been ripped out and torn open or something like that. In any case, it doesn’t look any better or safer then every other place I’ve come from.
My new night vision eyes have a short field of view and beyond that point, it becomes grainy and distorted. Up close, I spot hairs growing out of unseemly places on the infected, but far away, it’s not as useful.
I twist my head to the other side and find the way to the surveillance room to be about the same, dark as a black hole, minus the flickers of convulsing wires. For once, it would be nice to have a clear path that wasn’t set up like some damn horror movie where the odds of something lying in wait are a sure thing. Oh well, maybe my luck will change soon.
No use dwelling on the things I can’t control. I’m not scared by any means, but the likelihood of getting injured or being severely eaten on goes up in this type of situation. If anything is waiting for me down there, then I guess I’ll have to find out first hand.
I turn and start my way down the hall towards the armory, keeping my third eye on the schematic in my head as I cautiously move around the mounds of boxes and other crap scattered about. Water squishes beneath my feet, and more leaks drip from all over, echoing throughout every inch of the hall. The sparks from the wires temporarily give brief snapshots of what’s coming. So far, so good.
Three doors down and it’s on the right.
I make haste and maneuver my way through the labyrinth of clutter, finding spent casings all over the floor and bodies lying about in distressed manners. All have been mangled beyond recognition and left for the flies to feast upon. It’s almost a landfill for the dead. Looks like whoever fought back got some of the undead before they perished or retreated.
I would feel sorry for them, but I’m not sure if they’re a part of what’s happening here or just some poor bastards that were caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time. I guess what they say is true, when hell is at your doorstep, kill ’em all and let God sort ’em out.
I count down two doors and have the third in my sights, finding more bodies scattered around as I see the armory to my right. Blood streaks and bullet holes that have ripped through the door from the inside greet my eyes as I stop cold. Standing there, I give a quick glance around for any waiting predators or trigger happy gunmen. Nothing stirs except for the hand of death sweeping through this building.
I grab the handle, pushing down. No dice. Locked, jammed, or just plain fubared. I instantly start calculating how I can get in, only coming up with a brute force approach that involves breaking the damn handle off. Might not be the best idea, especially if I get surprised by those things and need to separate myself from them.
Damn it!
Looking at the door and pondering other solutions, I notice a black square device located off to the right a little from the door handle. It has no markings of any kind and no lights showing what it might be.
It could be some kind of access panel for a security card or something like that. I’ve seen a wide variety of these over the years and figure it’s worth a shot. I dig into my back pant pocket and pull out the card, hoping it’s what I think it is. With a quick prayer to the man upstairs, I swipe the card over the black box.
Nothing! Not even a laugh or a “you’re screwed pal.” Not deterred from the minor setback, I swipe it again and hold it to the box for a little bit longer. I see no activity and feel like ripping the damn device out of the wall, but when a green light appears, my heart feels a sense of relief.
I owe you, Big Man!
The door clicks and pops open, allowing me access to hopefully a Mecca of various killing utensils. I take a step back and slide to the left, grabbing the handle and gently opening the bulky door. I don’t hear any movement, but that doesn’t mean much. There would be no reason for anyone or anything moving around just for the hell of it. But the door opening could stir up the undead or some skittish gun toting fool that shoots at the site of his own shadow.
A soft, luminescent light crawls out of the room and greets my eyes, a rare and unfamiliar site that I would welcome ten times over. My night vision fades away, the green hue transforming to my normal sight.
So far, I don’t see or hear anything, but the smell of those things is strong and the odor of gunfire is tantalizing my nostrils. I’m not sure what I’m walking into, but I’ve come this far and having some weapons is really outweighing anything tha
t might be stirring in there.
I peer into the room and scan it over, spotting a few more dead TGP soldiers lying on their backs with their stomachs and other organs hanging out their bodies. It’s a gruesome sight, but my feelings of sorrow and sadness for them is escaping me. Oh well.
I continue inside, looking over every single inch of the cluttered room. Black crates and dull gray shelves chop up the fairly large room. So many available hiding spaces for some flesh-eater to stow away and wait for some unsuspecting sucker.
It’s still so quiet, making me think that I’m all alone in here. But I guess that’s when it’s the worst—the calm before the storm.
I walk over more spent shells littering the floor, and head to the two dead and defiled men on the far side of the armory, checking to make sure they’re really dead. I kneel next to one of them and reach for his slender and form-fitting helmet, his black as night visor completely blotting out his face.
I unlatch the taut strap from under his chin and slowly pull the helmet off. His face looks normalish and his eyes have that wonderful brown pupil, no black eyes or any sign of the infection. At least the dead did a good job of finishing them off for good.
I toss the helmet to the side and go over to the other poor bastard, wondering how much getting your organs ripped out like that hurt.
I kneel next to the body and reach for his helmet.
In the soldier’s visor, I get a glimpse of something stirring behind me, emerging from between some of the oddly shaped black wooden crates. I knew this room was too good to be true. The infected’s clothes are shredded to bits and its body looks like it’s been run through a meat grinder. Mangled and ripped are understatements. It’s covered in blood, most likely belonging to the two soldiers laying here with their entrails making a break for it. It’s looking at me with those devouring eyes, like a lion stares at a gazelle—cold and focused with its dried crusty lips split apart. Streams of blood and spit mixed together ooze out of its mouth and other infected open sores that litter its face and body.