Dead State Box Set [0-5]
Page 6
I am hesitant to probe further into the reason he is here. I’m unsure if I want to know more. From his flustered demeanor, it doesn’t appear to be good. “What’s going on? Is it Dr. Stevens?”
The radio goes off again, but the voice is a garbled mess. Clint sighs. “Say your last, over.” He looks at me, the red coating his face from the emergency lights on the ceiling just above my entrance. “We’re missing some folks.”
I draw a sharp breath. “Oh no. That’s not good.”
“No, it is not. We’ve got multiple staff members MIA, and I’ve got two men that are missing as well.”
The radio crackles once more, followed by a panicked voice bleeding through the static in the speakers. “I found Rutledge and Barnes.”
Relieved, Clint exhales. “Thank God. What’s their status?” Silence “Cobb. Come in. What’s their status, over?”
Cobb groans. He pants over the speaker and the mumbles under his breath. “Sorry, sir. Got a little banged up.”
Clint brings the radio closer. The microphone is but a scant inch away from his lips. “I need you to focus here, and tell me where Rutledge and Barnes are.”
Cobb grunts. “They attacked me. I came across them in the back room of the commissary. They were... eating one of the scientists. I managed to take down Rutledge, but not before he bit me. I shot Barnes in the chest three times, but he tore ass and left before I could finish him off.”
Clint purses his lips. His face fills with anger as his eyes squint. He is pissed. “Hang in there, Cobb. I’ll head your way shortly.”
Cobb guffaws. “Don’t bother. We’ve seen what happens when you get bit. You get infected with whatever they have. I’m not going to turn into one of those things, sir.”
“You just hang in there, and we’ll get this sorted-”
A gunshot rings out through the speaker. He flinches. He stands there, shock filling his wide eyes. His face contorts with rage. He draws his arm back, and acts as though he wants to slam the radio against the wall, but refrains from doing so.
Clint growls. “Damn it!”
I offer a sympathetic nod.
“I’m sorry about you’re men.”
He lowers his arm, and clamps the radio onto his belt.
The faint groan of a tortured voice looms from the deep red vacuum of the hall to our right. Clint spins on his heels, and drops to one knee. He brings his rifle to bear.
Silence. Not a word escapes his lips. He is poised to strike. His form is steady, free of any hesitation. I suck back into the door jamb, and watch with a timid gaze.
Heavy footsteps pound the tile floor. The silhouette of a body comes into view. It pauses, but only for a moment. A man, outfitted with thick black boots, and a dark gray winter set of pants and coat like Clint’s rushes headlong at us, grunting and growling as it closes the gap. Clint remains focused and vigilant, keeping perfectly still.
The man doesn’t look like Kylan. It has to be Barnes.
Fire spits from the end of Clint’s rifle. The orange glow of the muzzle lights up the space. Barnes’s head flies back violently. A faint mist of blood erupts from the back of his skull as his body crumples to the floor.
Clint holds his steadfast position a moment longer before standing back up. He keeps his rifle pressed firmly to his shoulder with the barrel trained at the motionless corpse on the floor. He approaches with caution, and nudges the man’s arm with the toe of his boot. There is no reaction to the touch. He lowers to the ground, and grabs Barnes’s right arm.
Clint pulls him onto the flat of his back. I crane my neck, and pull my phone free from my pocket. I turn on the light, and shine it toward the body.
His skin is pale, mouth drenched in blood that encompasses most of his face. A lone hole resides in the middle of his forehead. Clint places his hand on top of his padded chest, and lowers his head. A moment of silence is offered to his fallen friend.
My ears pick up the faint whispers of heavy breathing in the blackness beyond my sight. I move the phone’s light up, and try to penetrate the veil of red that shrouds the hall.
Clint stands up, and makes his way back toward me. He pulls free a pistol from its holster on his side, and hands it to me. “You know how to work this?”
I eject the magazine, and take stock of the ammo. I slap it back in, and chamber a round without fault. “My father was in the NRA.”
“Good to know.” The ominous noise brings Clint’s attention front and center, then back to me. “Stay close and keep your eyes peeled. If it’s more of those things, when I tell you to, run.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
This nightmare has spiraled out of control. What was once a slow progression into the unknown, has turned into a free fall into death and madness.
I want to remain strong, but every second that ticks by seems as though the virus is collecting another soul. And soon, I fear the dead will outnumber the living.
Clint doesn’t seem to have the same worry as myself. He is focused. His body is coiled, and ready to lash out at any infected that dare to cross his path.
Anger spews from his pores. Contempt for the dire situation we are trapped in is palpable. I don’t envy those who receive the brunt end of his frustration.
We leave my room, and venture out into the void of the research center. The red hue swathes the abandoned halls in its dark, rich lather. The afflicted souls cry out from the shadows.
I stay glued to Clint’s backside. He has attached a silencer to the front of his rifle to reduce the weapon’s cacophony, so it won’t attract any undue attention.
A ghastly gray shape appears from the ether ahead of us. Clint stops cold, and holds us up. The figure steps closer, revealing more of their identity.
It’s a female scientist, dressed in a bloody white lab coat. Her face is filled with rage. Her teeth chatter rapidly as her hands twitch. She rushes us in a dead sprint.
Clint opens fire. His precision is on point. He refrains from shooting the infected woman in any other place except for her head. His weapon discharges, and her frantic body drops to the floor. I am only to use my pistol in need be situations.
The only saving grace is that there is a skeleton crew onsite. Nora never mentioned the exact number of individuals, though.
We go to move, but Clint suddenly holds me up. A disturbance to our right grabs his attention. He turns toward the noise. He sweeps from left to right, trying to discover the source.
A body, draped in a white lab coat stained with blood, emerges. Clint pulls the trigger, but nothing happens. The rifle clicks empty. His magazine is spent. He turns toward me as the shadowy figure charges us.
“Get out of here, now.” I take aim with the pistol, and prepare to fire. Clint grabs the gun, and pushes my arm down. “Save it. We don’t want to attract anymore that might be close by. Now move!”
Clint drops the rifle to the floor. He retrieves a blade from the sheath that is attached to his upper right thigh, and offers me a final nod before charging the infected.
The two collide. The infected chomps at the nape of his neck. Clint stabs the deranged man repeatedly in the stomach and chest.
I am paralyzed by indecision. Clint saved my life, and it feels wrong to just abandon him in his struggle for our survival.
The pistol I wield is trained in their direction. My hand is unsteady. It trembles with indecision. I can’t get a clean shot without the risk of hitting Clint.
Distressed, he calls out to me. “Madison, get out of here, now!”
“I can’t fire without possibly hitting you.”
More infected are inbound. The pounding of their feet races toward Clint. I have surrendered to the fact that the entire research center has been taken over by the virus. I guess that’s why a part of me doesn’t want to leave Clint. I don’t want to be alone.
He continues to fight with the rabid man. The wetness of the blood gleams off the floor, and off Clint’s garb. My legs are jittery. Fear has assumed control over my body, and
forces me to flee in the opposite direction.
Guilt floods my system as I run away. I am not strong enough to stay and help him. I can’t muster the courage.
The pistol stays glued to my hand as I flee. I don’t know where I am going, or where it is even safe to be. Aside from Clint, I haven’t seen another soul who hasn’t been defiled by the devil’s touch. I’m not much of a religious person, and don’t rely on the hopes of prayer. Given my current situation however, I might consider it.
I round the corner of the grim corridor, and am met with mischievous clamor. Faint yowls and footsteps abruptly skid along the tile floor, stopping me cold. I try to find the source, but can’t. The cold hand of death creeps up my spine. I fight to brush it off, but am powerless to do so.
It lurks within the shadows, playing a cat and mouse game that I am forced to participate in. Panicked, I glance to my left, and make for the door.
My fingers grab the handle and jiggle, but the door doesn’t budge. I can see the figure approaching from down the hall. It is hard to tell if it has spotted me or not from its distracted movement.
A hushed voice whispers to me from the shadows to my right.
“Madison, over here.”
Instinctively, I raise the pistol, and train it in the direction of the weakened voice. Nora stands within the shadows of the lab she is taking refuge in.
She pantomimes me over. I dart across the hall, and into the lab. She quietly closes the door, and turns around.
She keeps her voice low, and her movements subtle. “You ok?”
I shrug, and bob my head. “I guess. Is everyone else infected?”
“I don’t know.” Nora stays off to the side of the door. She cautiously peers out into the hall. One of the research center’s staff appears suddenly in front of the glass window.
She presses her face against the surface as her eyes search for a target. Nora deflates against the wall as I retreat from the woman’s wandering eyes. After a few moments of intense breathing, and grunting, she moves on.
We sit there in the darkness of the barely lit lab. Silence fills the space between us as I gather my thoughts. I crawl over to one of the desks, and lean back against its chilled wooden exterior.
The red from the hall bleeds through the windows of the lab. Nora’s face is filled with sorrow as she sits is prone on the floor with her legs pulled up to her chest. Her arms rest on her knees as she glances my way.
“Have you seen Clint by chance?”
My hand brushes against my face as I look away. I clear my throat, and swallow the lump of regret. “The last I saw, he was fighting with the infected. I’m not sure after that.”
Nora sighs, then shakes her head. “How about the rest of his men?”
“As far as I know, they’re either infected or dead.”
“Great.”
I place the pistol on the floor next to me, and expel a breath of tension. “I contacted Vincent before we lost power. I told him what all was happening here. He said it would be at least a day or so for them to be able to reach us because of the storm.”
“I know. He told me as much.” She runs her hand through the matted strands of her hair. “Before we lost power, we got some results in from the carbon dating on Tak.”
“And?”
“You were right. He’s roughly 40,000 years old,” Nora states.
“Speaking of, what will happen to him if we lose the generators,” I pose.
“Depends. If the backup generators fail, then the chamber he is stored in will discontinue operating. Which means, we will lose him.” Nora cocks her head from side to side. “Which also means that the system that is containing the so-called virus will stop functioning.”
I grimace. “Am I safe to assume where this is going?”
Nora confirms with a tilt of her head. “Baring that whatever has infected everyone here originated from Tak, the likelihood of us becoming infected before help arrives is slim but it is possible. That is, if we don’t freeze to death first.”
“Perfect.”
“The facility is insulated well, so it wouldn’t happen fast. But it can happen.”
I give thought to Nora’s disconcerting words of doom that bore into my fragile mind. Given what we currently know, that the virus can be spread from Tak’s chamber, any sort of rescue team could be walking into a lethal contagion.
“We need to make sure that they are adequately prepared before arriving here. I’m not sure Vincent understood everything I was saying to him earlier because of the bad connection we had.”
“We can’t. Communications are down, and our one and only sat phone is inoperable. They are supposed to be bringing us a replacement upon their arrival.”
Irritated, I grab the pistol and pull myself up from the floor.
She gets her feet under her as well and looks at me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to communications to see if I can get through and warn them.”
She balks. “The system is down. Remember, no power.”
I spoil my tone with a heavy dose of indignation.
“What about the generators? Don’t they kick over if main power is lost?”
Nora points up to the ceiling, then around the lab. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but the generators only provide basic power. All other systems go offline. Thus, the reason we had the sat phone.”
I am finished debating. I walk toward the door, and she steps in my way.
“You’re not going out there,” she bluntly says. “If they see you leave, it will draw them here.”
“If that happens, then I’ll deal with it,” I retort.
“You’re not leaving, Madison.”
Without thought, my arm springs up with the pistol clutched in my hand. I train it at her head. “Move. I’m not going to ask again, Nora.”
We stand there in the shadows, toe to toe, as we eye each other. My hand is steady this time. My mind is made up.
Nora clenches her fists. Her body tenses. She starts to speak when something blunt rams into the door. The glass window shatters, sending the two of us reeling back.
Two infected scientists’ clamor to get inside. They back away, and rush headlong into the obstruction before them. The repeated blows dislodge the door from the jamb.
Wood splinters.
Glass crunches under our feet.
The door flies inward, and the infected funnel in. I open fire. My aim is less than perfect, striking the ravenous woman, to our left, in the chest.
The impact knocks her off balance, and she stumbles back into the wall. I chamber off another round, this time connecting with her head.
Nora is thrown to the floor by the remaining male aggressor. She hits hard, and ceases any further movement. He grunts, and growls as he reaches for her. I open fire, but nothing happens. The pistol is jammed.
My instincts take hold. I flip the gun around and pistol whip the man in the head. It diverts his attention away from Nora’s motionless body.
He charges, driving me backwards. I lose my footing and stumble to the floor. The back of my head slams against the desk drawers facing. Stars instantly fill my gaze.
The gun rips from my grasp as we grapple for control. He snarls and fights for a clean shot at my flesh as I struggle to keep him at bay.
My hand reaches up, and swipes across the desk’s tabletop. My fingertips discover a pair of shears. My fingers wrap around the cool metal. I bring my arm down, and repeatedly stab him in the back of the head.
The pointed tip penetrates his skull. His warm blood coats my fist as I continue my assault. He crumbles on top of my legs.
Spent, I drop the shears. I heave his bulk off me. I am drained, both physically and mentally. My heavy eyes peer over to Nora, who is still lifeless. I pull myself up off the floor and manage just a few steps before I collapse next to her.
The back of my head feels moist, like it’s wet. My vision is becoming distorted as I try to blink the stars away.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
My body feels weightless. I try to move, but can’t. A resounding pressure fills my head. My body aches. Every inch throbs with unrelenting aggression.
A suppressive hand presses firmly against my shoulder. “Ms. Price, can you hear me?”
Discombobulated, I crack open my eyes. A bright light flashes in front of them, causing me to squint, and divert my gaze. My ears are bombarded by a thundering sound, which makes it hard to hear him speak.
In a weakened tone, I answer. “Where... am I?”
The harsh light ceases, and an older man’s face appears above me. He has a brown beard with white sprinkled throughout. His inquisitive eyes look me over.
“You and your friend here are 30,000 feet in the air above New York. We’re heading back to the states. You’re lucky we got to you when we did.” My head tilts to the right. Nora is secured on a gurney next to me. She has a mask over her nose and mouth. “The research center went black. The generators had given out from the bitter weather you experienced.”
My mouth is dry, and feels as though it is stuffed full of cotton. My lips drag along the dried, sticky skin. It takes me a moment to comprehend what he is saying, but I finally do.
I jerk my arms up. The padded straps, attached to my wrists, restrict my movement.
“Why do I have these restraints on me?” I hiss.
He holds his hands up in an attempt to stay my mounting frustration. “They were put there for your safety.”
My head lifts up from the gurney. I franticly search for Tak. “Where is the body? Have we been exposed to the toxins?”
He tries to calm me down once more, his voice smooth and even toned. “Ms. Price, the chamber the body was housed in suffered power loss, and was not salvageable.”
“What about the security detail for the center?” I inquire. “Were there any survivors?”
“Most of the centers personnel and security team was found dead.” He calmly remarks.