by Tim Moon
He was pleasantly surprised by the three vending machines that stood next to the ice machine. One was a snack machine with chips and candy, one had fancier snacks like sandwiches, and the third machine held drinks. Seeing them made Ben smile, at least they wouldn’t starve. And the sandwiches and other snacks might cheer up Charlotte.
Ben set the plunger down and raised the ice bucket to fill it up, but a sound caught his attention. It came from further down the hallway, from the stairwell. Ben waited, holding his breath, for the sound to happen again.
It happened again.
Someone, or something, was definitely walking around in the stairwell. The idea of one of those monsters coming up the stairs made his stomach sink.
Shit, shit, shit, he thought. Ben wondered if maybe he should run back to the room but the noises were getting close. Hiding felt like a better choice.
Ben picked up the toilet bowl plunger and stepped back in between the ice machine and the vending machines.
The steady thump of feet climbing stairs reverberated down the hallway. Ben’s hand clenched the plunger. He almost laughed at what a pitiful weapon it made.
The sound trailed off, and Ben wondered if maybe it was made by several people because of the way the sound started and stopped. If it was more than one of the monsters, Ben knew he was probably fucked. Fighting Eric alone had been difficult enough. Ben couldn’t imagine fending off more than one of the infected.
Blood thumped through his body quicker than he imagined it could. The noise drew near. Ben drew himself as close to the wall as he could, squeezing further between the ice machine and the drink machine. He cringed at the thought of getting caught and dying over some stupid ice.
The sound happened again. It was definitely more than one creature. They moved, paused, then they’d move again. Footsteps began to pass by Ben’s hiding place, they sounded purposeful not like the creatures he’d seen so far. Curiosity got the better of him and he inched his head up to peer over the top of the ice machine. As he moved, the handle of the plunger scraped against the side of the machine.
Damn it!
Adrenaline burst into Ben’s veins, and a wave of goose bumps rushed down his arms. It sounded so loud.
A figure swung toward the noise. The silence burst into a flurry of loud bangs, as multiple objects struck the wall and ice machine. Ben ducked down between the machines, sliding almost to the floor. Through his shock, Ben realized that they were gunshots.
“Don’t shoot,” he yelled.
Whoever it was, at least they were alive.
“Hold your fire, Private,” a grizzled voice said. “Please come out slowly with your hands up.”
Ben stood up raising his hands over his head. He still held the plunger and ice bucket.
“Drop whatever’s in your hands!” one of them yelled.
Ben dropped his stuff and looked over to see a soldier staring back at him with his rifle raised. Another soldier was at the edge of the room, all Ben could see of him was half of the soldier’s head and the rifle barrel aimed at his head.
“Hello, sir. I’m Sergeant Riggs – U.S. Army. We’re here to help you,” said the soldier at the edge of the room.
“What the fuck happened to your face, man?” the other soldier said.
“Shut it, Jones,” Sergeant Riggs said, stepping out from behind the wall and lowering his rifle.
Ben just stared at them, smiling. He lowered his arms slowly. “You have no idea how good it is to see you guys.”
Sergeant Riggs looked at him. Ben felt like the sergeant was waiting for information.
“My name’s Ben. I’ve been hiding here with my friends. We have, um, five in our group, including me,” Ben said, nervously. “I was just getting some ice for my face. Is it okay if I do that really quick?”
“No, we should move. If any of those things are here they’ve definitely heard us,” Riggs said, shooting a look at Jones. The soldier looked embarrassed but didn’t say anything. “Besides you won’t need it where we’re going.”
“Okay.” Ben started to reach down for the bucket and the plunger, but stopped. With soldiers and guns around, he wouldn’t be adding anything to the equation with a goddamn plunger. So he left them on the floor.
“Jones, you and Markham watch this end of the hallway,” Riggs said.
“Sure thing, Sergeant.”
“Watch your trigger finger, Jones.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
The two guys that Riggs had pointed to walked back toward the stairwell and stood with their rifles at the ready.
Ben led the soldiers down the hall to the room with two in front of him, two behind, and Sergeant Riggs next to him. Ben wasn’t sure if he should feel like a VIP or a prisoner. Either way, he was grateful for their presence.
Everyone stopped. Ben nearly ran into the soldier in front of him, but Riggs put his arm out, slowing his momentum.
“What’s that?” a soldier asked, glancing back at Ben and gesturing toward Eric’s body with his rifle barrel.
“Um, I guess you could say we had a casualty.”
“Is that why your face is all jacked up?” Sergeant Riggs asked.
Ben nodded, embarrassed.
“Right here,” Ben said, pointing to the door next to Eric’s body. He slipped his keycard out to open the door.
Riggs made a few hand gestures to two of the soldiers who nodded. They walked to the end of the hallway to guard the other stairwell. Now both ends of the hall were secured.
Sergeant Riggs nodded at Ben. He unlocked the door and Riggs pushed the door open and held it wide.
“Hey guys, we’ve got company,” Ben said with a smile.
Oliver looked strangely excited once he saw that soldiers were here. He peered around Ben and the Sergeant trying to look into the hallway.
“Well get in here and shut the door,” Charlotte said.
“It’s cool, they have guys watching the stairs,” Ben said, as the remaining soldiers filed into the room. “This here is Sergeant Riggs.”
Anuhea stood and nodded at the Sergeant, “Hello.”
“Thank God. Now we can get out of here,” Ty said, excitedly. He stood up with a smile.
“Hello, everyone. As you know we’ve got a serious outbreak happening. We’re collecting survivors and bringing them to the quarantine center for evacuation,” Riggs said, looking at each of them. “If you folks would please pack up your essentials – medicine, mobility devices, et cetera – we’ll move out in ten minutes. No food, drinks, or extra clothing is necessary. The quarantine center has everything you’ll need.”
With that announcement, Sergeant Riggs gave a quick nod as if the matter was settled and walked over to the window. One of the other two soldiers in the room followed him, and they began chatting in hushed tones. The other soldier stood by the door.
“Well, this is a nice turn of events,” Ben said, smiling. “We’re finally headed somewhere safe.”
Ty high-fived him. Charlotte gave him a quick hug. Anuhea grabbed the first aid kit and downed a bottle of water. Oliver continued staring at the soldiers in awe.
Less than ten minutes later, everyone was ready and the group was escorted down the stairwell and out of the hotel. As they exited the hotel, Ben took a deep breath of fresh air and smiled. They were loaded into several humvees that sat in front of the hotel. Moments later, with soldiers manning the humvees’ machine gun turrets, they began the ride to the quarantine center.
I may not be heading home but I’m heading somewhere safe and that’s a start, he thought.
Dead Horde
Necrose Series Book Two
Prologue
13-Months Ago | Undisclosed Location | North Africa
It lay on the table.
Orange coveralls glowed brightly under the harsh florescent light. Arms at its sides, legs straight, head flat and all of it strapped securely to a metal table. It seemed almost peaceful. If David Aguilar had not known better, he would have guessed it w
as a normal detainee tied down.
But Aguilar knew better.
Inside the room containing the detainee, a solid metal door featuring only a peephole, retracted into the wall to Aguilar’s left. A stainless steel rolling cart came through the door pushed by a short lab assistant in a white biohazard suit, hands encased in blue nitrile gloves. Resting on the cart was a variety of medical instruments. The lab assistant glanced up from the cart and looked toward the one-way glass. Aguilar couldn’t determine if it was a man or woman.
As soon as the lab assistant entered, a moan rumbled out of the detainee’s gaping mouth and its teeth gnashed the air. Light glinted off a string of discolored saliva that ran down the prisoner’s cheek. Its fingers flexed wildly in a vain attempt to break free and grab the scientist.
Aguilar looked on, a mixture of interest and disgust framing his hard discerning eyes. As a veteran of both Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom, he had seen many tragedies and triumphs. Yet he could not help the knot that twisted in stomach.
Behind thick, one-way security glass, he stood next to perhaps the most repulsive man he had ever had the displeasure of meeting. Aguilar glanced sideways at Arman Davidson, Black Tide’s manager for the project.
When Aguilar had first heard of his selection for this assignment, he had tried to decline the position as diplomatically as he could. He went so far as to forward several names of operatives better suited to the task than he was.
However, Aguilar’s boss, John Breckenridge, insisted he accept the assignment, citing their previous work together when they both served in the military. Not willing to risk his career over what he assumed would be a boring, paper-pushing assignment, he finally agreed to the posting.
As the liaison for the project, code-named BITE or Better Infantry Through Enhancement, Aguilar normally pulled desk duty, as he had feared. Today was one of the rare times he left the office for anything interesting.
“This man has been dosed with Necrose, correct?” Aguilar said.
“Yes. If Subject 13 wasn’t strapped down, you would see it going after our lab assistant with the ferocity of a mother bear,” Arman said with the slippery smile typical among salesmen.
“It?”
“Yes. A subject’s human gender is irrelevant.”
Aguilar frowned slightly in annoyance and discomfort at the way Arman referred to the subject.
Officially documented as Crescotine, Black Tide had developed the compound and described it to Congress as a performance-enhancing medical treatment. The idea was reportedly to boost performance metrics among Special Operations soldiers in the military. In reality and in its current iteration, the compound was called Necrose-7A. It had effects that would certainly not enhance the performance of soldiers.
Aguilar had graduated West Point with a dual-degree in chemistry and biology; one reason the brass requested the agency select him as the Department of Defense liaison for this project. However, the level of scientific work before him now was far beyond his level of expertise. Since graduating and before joining the agency, Aguilar’s primary focus had been on military doctrine and his duties in military intelligence. He had not kept up with current scientific research and methodologies.
“Breckenridge sent me here to observe a preliminary performance demonstration.”
“Indeed. But first let me explain what Necrose-7A is and what it does without all the cover-your-ass-BS that we submit for congressional review.”
As Davidson explained the science and intent behind this new compound, it became clear to Aguilar that they were really discussing was the development of a new biological weapon. A strange and powerful new weapon, if it functioned as described that is.
Continuing to work, the lab assistant ran through a series of tests and tissue samples. They were drawing an enormous syringe full of black fluid while Davidson continued talking. He moved beyond the science and covered a variety of possible delivery methods on targets, the incubation period, effects of the substance and other relevant details.
“So, you’re saying we can deliver Necrose remotely and roughly 13-18 hours later all hell breaks loose?” Aguilar said, intrigued by possible applications.
“That’s correct. Although, we would say the incubation period is more precisely in the range of 12-24 hours. A surprising level of individual variation, if you ask me.” He cleared his throat. “In any case, after initial infection and incubation, the virus spreads throughout the body and terminates the subject as it morphs them into the…creature, shall we say, that you see strapped to the table,” Davidson said, nodding toward the table. “At that point, they become highly aggressive and will pursue live human subjects in order to spread the virus. Preliminary tests show it’s very effective.”
“Do they retain consciousness or self-awareness? What level of skill do they retain from the…original…person or subject?”
Davidson broke out laughing at that. His sharp cackle ricocheted painfully around the metal and concrete observation room.
Aguilar winced at the sound. The knot in his stomach tightened.
Davidson finally composed himself enough to respond.
“No measurable skill transfer occurs and no, they do not retain consciousness as we would recognize it. Nor do they retain any memory of their previous life. Their consciousness dies. They lose their humanity. What, or who, they were before infection becomes supplanted with the desire to kill. All thanks to the virus. They are persistent and tireless which makes up for the lack of motor skill and reasoning.”
“Do they attack livestock or animals? Is the virus transmittable to other species?”
“No, humans only,” Davidson said.
“It sounds like you’ve done some interesting work here. Breckenridge will be interested to hear my report,” Aguilar said.
“We still have the demonstration to go through, Mr. Aguilar. I wouldn’t expect you to take my word for it. I’ll show you something far more impressive than an invalid strapped to a table. Are you ready for the demonstration?”
“Please proceed. It’s why I’m here.”
Davidson smiled as he pressed a green button on a small panel beside the window. “Lucy, we’re going to move to demonstration level Alpha-Delta-Six. Please proceed immediately. Acknowledge.”
Aguilar was only mildly surprised the lab assistant was a woman. Lucy turned to the window and nodded, giving them an okay sign. She returned the instruments to the rolling cart, carefully placed several vials of fluid into a case, and then exited the room.
“I hope you have a strong stomach,” Davidson said with that salesman smile.
The glint in Davidson’s eyes was unsettling to Aguilar. He had seen that look before. Sometimes during combat men would find they rather enjoyed killing, finding a deep sense of joy in the act of ending another’s life.
Aguilar nodded; a stern look settled over his face.
Inside the room, a red light above the door Lucy had exited through flashed on, briefly bathing the room in an eerie glow.
“Test lab 3-Bravo secure,” a voice said, blasting out of the speaker on the panel beside the window. “Commencing demonstration Alpha-Delta-Six in 3. 2. 1.”
The restraints holding the creature on the table clicked as they disengaged. Aguilar realized the subject no longer thrashed about as it had when Lucy was in the room.
Seeming to know it was now free to move, its head rose up scanning the room with wide, ebony eyes. Sparse patches of hair clung to the pallid flesh of its scalp. It pushed up and clumsily stumbled to the floor. It shuffled slowly toward the door where Lucy had exited and began pawing at it.
On the back wall, another red light flashed on, followed by a single, short beep. The creature slowly turned its head. Aguilar noted the response.
Davidson leaned forward eagerly, like a child at a zoo straining to get a good view. Aguilar could feel the excitement radiating from Davidson. It made his skin tingle in disgust. He imagined that if Davidson had a musta
che, he would twirl it with glee like a cartoon villain.
Below the light a panel retracted into the wall, much like the door had. Behind the panel, in a shallow closet-like compartment was another orange-clad man. This one was clearly not infected.
Looking across the room, the man screamed in fear at the sight of Subject 13. He turned and banged on the wall of the compartment. There was no exit.
A low moan rose from the creature. It started forwards, toward this welcome delivery.
The sound sent a wave of goose bumps racing down Aguilar’s arms. A chill crawled up his spine to his neck as he realized what was about to happen.
“Davidson, what’s going on?”
“You came for a demonstration, Mr. Aguilar. This is the compound at work. This is how it spreads itself and cripples our enemy.”
The creature’s jaws began gnashing at the air again. It shuffled toward the unarmed man who was now cowering in the far corner of the room. It sounded like the man was praying, but Aguilar could not understand the words.
Even moving at a relatively slow pace, it did not take the creature long to cross the room. As it neared, the man in the corner yelled and lashed out with a pitiful kick. The creature reached for the man even as it stumbled back from the kick. Its desperate fingers raked across the man’s face, gouging small troughs in his skin. He bent over, howling in pain.
“Fight, damn it,” Aguilar said softly, urging the man to survive.
He had seen many men die and had even helped with interrogations in Iraq. Somehow, the idea of seeing the man torn apart by this beast of science seemed so much worse.
The man stood up. Blood dripped down his face, obscuring his vision. The creature was on him again, fingers outstretched eagerly seeking its prey. Sensing his predicament, the man lunged at the creature with a fierce snarl. Swatting aside the creature’s arms, the man began to pummel the creature in the chest and face.