by M. D. Massey
Nothing.
I feel as if I’m hanging on by a thin thread that’s unweaving now.
Sweating profusely, I dig at my eyes. The drops of stinging salt burn and fester inside my sockets. I turn to walk away when the dead man emerges out of the cell and grabs me by the shoulders.
Its hands dig in, hitting my still tender wound and overpowering me. It leans in for the kill, teeth aiming for the nape of my neck and its black hollow eyes wide open. I shove my left forearm against its throat. It’s got a nasty half inch gash running from the corner of its right eye down to its cheek bone. It forces me against the cells behind me, chomping and making a low moaning noise.
Damn! I dropped my weapon, which is on the walkway right in front of me. There’s no way I can reach it without letting this thing have free rein on me.
I push forward with my forearm to give me some space. I lift my sore leg up and jam it into its ribs. It’s not much, but enough room for me to reach down with my free arm and un-holster my pistol. This thing looks like the doctor from earlier. Then again, all the eggheads here look like twins. Besides, if it is him, he’s already toast. Sorry, but time to die for good.
I slide my forearm down from its throat to its chest. Arms flailing about and its legs still driving forward, it keeps its eyes focused on me. I bring the pistol up and bury it under its rotting chin. I chamber off a single round. The top of its head explodes in a mist of blood and brain, chunks of its skull flying out in every direction. The sound of the gunshot reverberates loudly inside the metal tomb. My ears ring.
Get off me!
I push it off and take a deep breath. Some of its brain matter splattered my face. I wipe it free from my face with my dirty sleeve. It probably made it worse. Oh well.
I holster my pistol and scoop up my machine gun. That clanging sound comes again, but this time it seems more consistent than before. Not like some mindless cold dead body banging around without a purpose, but more like someone who is trying to signal that they’re there.
I move further in, the banging noise increasing the closer I get. I train my machine gun ahead, scanning from side to side for any more little surprises. Next time I see a body and if it even remotely looks like it’s dead, I’m going to do my due diligence and place a slug in its head. Better be safe than sorry at this point.
Most of the cells are open and empty. No bodies or blood for that matter. Seems as if they opened them and left—used their get out of jail free card. The ones that are closed, I stop and peer inside, the interior light flickering on and off, giving me snap shots of what’s lurking within.
A few more soldiers and lab coats sit on the benches or pace about. Possible mutiny? Some are at the small window, looking out and asking me for help I think—pleading with their eyes as their mouths move a mile a minute. Regardless, if I don’t know or need them, I leave them be.
I reach the cell where the knocking is emitting from. I approach cautiously, just in case I’m mistaken about who or what is lurking within. I lean in and peer through the grimy glass, trying to spy what I’m dealing with. The cell is tossed and in disarray. The cot has been broken down and torn to pieces. Parts of the frame are missing and strewn across the floor. I keep silent, not wanting to alert whoever’s inside. They seem pissed and might not be too receptive to anyone, friend or foe.
My eyes dart to the left.
Nothing.
They cut to the right and find someone, a woman I think, with her back turned to me, beating on the steel wall with part of the cot frame. I can’t get a better look at her face or anything else that might indicate who she is. Crap! I don’t have time to wait to see if they happen to turn around.
I flip my weapon around and ram the butt end of the gun into the door once. She continues to beat the steel wall. I do it once more, but harder this time. I hope she hears it as the sound echoes down the narrow corridor. I’m taking a big risk here so she needs to throw me a bone. Give me something.
She pauses, motionless for a few seconds before disappearing from my sight.
Where the hell did she go? I continue to look, pressing my face to the glass. Playing I spy with this chick, I roll my head from side to side, my broken nose crackling. Another noise captures my attention from behind me. I turn around and train my weapon, waiting patiently for whatever is coming. It stops and is silent. My nerves are really on edge. Better to be jumpy than lethargic I suppose.
Now where did you . . . Oh Christ! She’s standing right there, staring at me and sending me reeling back some. Instinct takes over and I raise my weapon, taking aim at the small indention right between her eyes. Her face is bloody and looks like she’s been worked over. Her left eye is blackened and swollen shut and her bottom lip is split open.
Natasha?
It takes me a moment to get through the bruised and vacant look. I lower my weapon to my side and walk towards the glass. Her one not-so-swollen eye stays locked on me, narrowly blinking as her lips keep rigid. I’m not sure she even knows who I am or what’s going on. For all I know, she could be changing into one of the infected.
“Natasha, it’s me. Mike!”
I have no clue if she can even hear me, but she continues looking distant as if no one is at home. I glance to the right and find an intercom switch above a keypad. Hitting the button, I try again.
“Natasha, it’s Mike. Do you understand me? Are you okay?”
The vacant look remains. I take a few steps back and aim at the keypad. Here’s my authorization! I open fire and decimate the pad, spark’s shooting up and out like fireworks. Smoke billows from the metal pad as the door jerks and gives. I lower my weapon.
“Natasha, are you-”
She bolts out of the cell with something in her hand, a grimaced expression over her face. Teeth clinched and her eyes narrowed, she takes a swing at me. The jagged piece of metal catches my shirt and rips it open, barely grazing my decaying flesh. She takes another attempt, jabbing at me repeatedly. I grab her arm and knock the weapon free from her hand. I flip her around and shove her forward, her head smacking into the edge of the cell.
“You need to give me something here or I’m going to put you down right here, right now!” I yell while training my gun at the back of her head.
She sits there for a moment on the steel grate, her right hand rubbing the fresh gash on her head. Her erratic breathing appears to be coming under control and her body relaxes. At ease and seemingly calm, she turns around.
“Damn, was that your gentle side,” Natasha says sarcastically. A line of blood trails from the right tip of her forehead down the side of her face. “Man, you look like shit.”
“Have you looked in the mirror lately? Looks like you got worked over pretty good.”
“Yeah. Kind of happens when you become a traitor and all. Who knew killing your employer’s men would get you locked up?”
I lower my weapon and extend my hand to Natasha. I help her to her feet and glance down the corridor.
“Expecting company?”
“More than likely. Just waiting for them to ring the doorbell.”
“Seems like their hands are full. They brought me down here after working me over. I felt the explosion, but didn’t know what it was,” Natasha says, glancing at my wounds. “I take it doc’s little feel good mix didn’t hit the spot.”
“Sure seems that way,” I wearily reply. “Speaking of the mad scientist, where is he?”
A solemn sadness washes over Natasha, her eyes puffing, and red lines flare out across her corneas. She’s a tough chick, one of the toughest I’ve come across in a long while. She catches herself and reels in the feminine side before it throws up everywhere. Her reaction says it all still. “They killed him . . . in front of me.”
“I’m sorry. He seemed to be a good guy.”
“He was,” Natasha says flatly. The tears have been sucked back in and the fleeting moment is gone. Back to business. “So, why the hell are you still here? I figured you’d be long gone by now.
”
“I’ve got unfinished business to attend to,” I wearily reply. “Plus, I had a moment of weakness and thought I better come down here and save your ass. You can say thank you at any time.” I chuckle and cough hard.
Natasha looks at me with a peculiar stare. “From the looks of it, you couldn’t fight off a paper bag, much less Slade.”
“Yeah well, we’ll see. I just want to take that piece of crap down before he gets out of here.”
“I’ll tell you if you’re going to do it, you need to move fast. I overheard one of the soldiers say they’re packing up and moving on. And with these kinds of people, they don’t leave a forwarding address, if you know what I mean.”
“How much time do you think we have?”
“Not sure. They drugged me up pretty good, so I can’t remember a whole lot, but if he is still here, he’ll be making damn sure he has all of the data and records of what went on. This isn’t their first facility and it won’t be their last.”
“We’ll see about that.”
26
“Take this and get out,” I say to Natasha, handing her my pistol.
“I can help you. That son of bitch has done so much to so many, he deserves to get what he has coming. I would love nothing more than to place a slug in that fucker’s skull myself.”
Sorry, but that pleasure will be all mine.
“I know he does, but someone needs to get up top and tell everyone what went on. Like you said earlier, this wasn’t their first facility and won’t be their last unless we do something about it. Besides, you know more about what went on here.”
The truth is always a hard pill to swallow, especially when you’re craving the sweet succulent taste of revenge. I can see it on Natasha’s bloody face. Her brows narrow and her eyes fill with rage. She wants that bastard as dead as I do, but she knows I’m right. She takes a deep breath and sighs.
“It’s your rodeo, Mike. Good luck to ya.” Natasha cocks the pistol and walks past me into the darkness. She doesn’t give a second look or any additional words of wisdom. Good luck indeed.
She disappears up the stairs as gunfire trickles from the hall above. The bleeding from my wounds has slowed to a trickle, but the meat is still tender and restricting my movement. I feel sluggish now. Oh well. I was given this unwanted ride and now it’s time to bring it to an end, once and for all.
Machine gun in hand and my grit filled with piss and vinegar, I head out the opposite way. I don’t have the time nor luxury of playing it too safe. With the ticking clock on this place threatening to blow me to bits, Slade flying the coop has my back up against the wall. That tracking bracelet would’ve come in handy right about now.
I hit a steel door and grab the handle. Opening it up, I throw caution to the wind. It creaks and squeaks, but I don’t care at this point.
Cold, dead silence hits my ears. I push a little more and slip out. Beyond the door’s edge, I find more dead bodies laid out like a butcher block. The undead and soldiers are twisted together in piles of flesh and blood. Kind of sad that the sight doesn’t affect me in the least anymore.
Staring at the massacre, I think: If Slade is really planning on destroying this place, you think some sort of general alarm would sound to warn all of his men. Perhaps they already know and are trying to fend off the murder of dead long enough to get what they need before they leave. Either way, I imagine a lot of them won’t make it out alive. Expendable men. Aren’t we all!
Stepping over the mangled bodies, I snake my way through the valley of death and reach the other side. I can still hear gunfire echoing through the corridors ahead, shrills and moans playing right along. I keep moving, trying to be as cautious as possible, but it’s hard.
The lights go out and it’s back to black. I stop as the pitter patter of feet shuffling towards me sends my gun up, trying to find the target. Shit!
I’m having a hard time seeing now. It’s getting close. It’s silent now, as if whoever or whatever just vanished.
Power is restored and the lights kick back in, an undead soldier horribly disfigured right in my personal space. Too close for a head shot. Ground and pound.
I strike it in the face with the stock end of my weapon. Its head flops back, then springs forward just as fast. It looks pissed, as do they all. I go for another shot to the head, but it manages to knock the gun loose from my hands. Fuck, now they’re coordinated? Another mutation of the virus?
It grabs me by my shirt and throws me against the wall, my body bouncing off the concrete like a rag doll and hitting the floor. Rattled, the pain rising fast in my shoulder and leg, I tilt my head to the side. I think I spot a knife, or at least something sharp and jagged, but can’t be sure. The lights cycle once more and everything’s dark again.
I scramble to where I think the knife is. It grabs me and pulls me from the ground. Holding me up, its breath burning the flesh from my face, it dives in. I jam the piece of metal clutched in my right hand into its left ocular cavity. Something wet and thick squirts out, hitting me in the face and mouth. Its hands release me and it stumbles backwards, falling to the ground.
The lights spark to life. I wipe away the fluid from my face and spit out the remainder from my mouth. I scoop up my gun and move out, limping.
I encounter more resistance along the way from both the undead and the soldiers. The amount of living soldiers is dwindling as the tide appears to be shifting more to the undead variety. Not a bad thing really, at least until the dead learn to wield weapons.
* * *
Teeth and bullets. That’s all I come into contact with now. I’m either smashing in a rotted skull or placing some slugs into a living person’s chest. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, but it’s something that needs to be done. I wish I could have one more moment, one brief second to hear Becky’s voice and just tell her how much I love her. I know she knows it, but saying it always means so much more. I love you, baby!
I come to a junction where a handful of soldiers are pinned down behind tables and other various junk, fending off the murder of dead. The infected clawing and trying to wade through the junk, their heads explode and limbs are torn clean from their bodies. The dead still surge and push forward.
The soldiers don’t seem too concerned with anything else, their eyes focused straight ahead. I slip past unnoticed and continue on to Slade’s office.
Some of the overhead lights are working, but most have blown out or are too weak to fully operate. It’s probably from the continual cycling of the grid.
I don’t hear or see anyone. It’s silent. From the way things look, seems everyone has flown the coop. Offices have been emptied and desks look like a tornado came through—papers all over the floors and trails of blood leading off into multiple directions. I only have a few shots left, so I need to make them count.
The buzzing from the fluorescent lights plays in my ears, and sparks spitting from loose wires look like sparklers on the 4th of July. I sweep the room, left to right and back again like a typewriter. A few dead bodies lay between desks, blood all over and portions of their insides resting next to them. No need to check them. They look pretty dead.
Almost there. Slade’s office is partially lit, but I don’t see any movement through the glass door. I’ve been down here for so long that the shadows look like people or the undead lurking, waiting for me. At least this hell is almost over. I’m thankful for that.
I step lightly to the door and take a deep breath, grasping the doorknob and twisting it. It turns without noise, the latch coming free and the door opening. I look up. Thanks for that one.
Palm on the door, I push it open and move in with the barrel of my gun leading the way. Slade’s desk is empty, the vintage looking desk lamp catching snap shots of the dust fluttering about. Shit! Is he already gone? Am I too late?
I move in a little farther to check out the room. The door slams closed on my left side, glass shattering against my body. Shards of the door slice my face, tiny fragments e
mbed into my left eye. I’m knocked off balance from the impact. I bring my gun about, but something grabs the barrel and knocks the gun free from my hands. A swift punch to the jaw and I’m on the floor.
“You’re like a freaking cockroach, Mike. I try to stomp you out and you always scurry back,” Slade says, kicking me multiple times in the ribs as I try to get back to my feet.
I crumple, my hands raking across the glass spread over the floor. Vision in my left eye is now shit, and I think he broke a few ribs. Disoriented, I give my head a shake. Didn’t see that coming.
“You’re definitely one tough SOB. I’ll give you that. Everyone else who’s gone through the program is dead and gone now, but you refuse to die. Why won’t you just die?”
Slowly, I climb back to my feet, both legs now shaky. Slade jabs me in the face and follows with an uppercut. My head snaps back, a blood-spit cocktail spewing from my mouth as I reel back.
He comes in for more, throwing a right cross, which I manage to block up high. I rabbit punch him in the kidneys a few times and bury my left knee deep in his abdomen. He gasps for air and doubles over, stumbling back. I collapse to one knee, feeling like hammered dog shit.
“Damn, you got a little fight left in you still, don’t you, Mike? Regardless of the fact you look like holly hell,” Slade says with a chuckle that sounds a tad winded.
“Don’t worry. I got enough left to finish you off,” I reply.
Head dangling and my eyes peering at the floor, I try to calm my breathing. I catch a glimpse of Slade swinging a fire extinguisher at me, and get back to my feet, catching his arm in midflight. I hurl him across the room. He slams into a glass wall, the fire extinguisher in his hands cracking it upon impact. He manages to stay on his feet, laughing for whatever reason. I’m not finding the punch line anywhere.
Slade’s eyes dart down, spotting the gun which is much closer to him than me. A wicked grin slides across his face, blood dripping from his busted bottom lip. He darts for the weapon and scoops it up.