by A. P. Fuchs
A series of rapid gunshots made her jump and the voices ceased. The man in the lab coat raised his hands in surrender. Bastian lowered his weapon as dust and debris from the ceiling settled at his feet.
“Better quiet,” he said. He said something in German to his brother.
“Yah,” was all Sven said.
He’s going to have to teach me some of that one of these days, she thought. Billie kept her gun trained squarely at the man in the lab coat’s head. “You have the barrel of a gun aimed at your temple, you have a man in front of you with a machine gun, and the man who just let you out holds a giant crowbar not to mention he could break your neck faster than you could scream,” she said. “Just letting you know who’s in charge.”
The scientist—a young man with messy brown hair, at least three or four days’ worth of stubble, and a set of out-of-place-amazingly-blue eyes—simply nodded.
It was decided before they opened the door that Billie would do most of the talking because of Sven and Bastian’s thick accents. “I want your name, who those people are, and how you got in there to start. Got it?”
The man nodded, his hands still raised. She wasn’t about to tell him to put them down. “My name is Greg Undersall, engineer. Those people in there are my team. We were put in there by these men, strange men. They looked like people, but there was something about them that made everyone uncomfortable. Once one of them . . .” He bowed his head.
“Once one of them . . . ?”
“He was able to control one of my assistants. Not like a robot, but he had this influence on her that was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.” Greg nervously glanced at the elevator, then back at Billie.
“What?” she asked.
He didn’t speak.
Billie nodded to Sven, who quickly wrapped his big fingers around the back of Greg’s neck and squeezed.
“Okay, okay,” Greg said, “tell him to stop. I’ll tell you.”
Billie let Sven hang on a moment longer then told the gentle giant to let him go.
After gasping for air and catching his breath, Greg said, “There’s . . .”
From inside the elevator. “Don’t say it!”
Billie scowled.
Greg shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “There’s a body. One of my group, his name was Steven, started to lose it after being trapped. He wouldn’t . . . wouldn’t stop screaming and pushing against everyone else. Eventually he got violent and” —she gave him a moment to take a breath before finishing— “things got out of hand and we—and I mean we as we all decided to take responsibility—ended up smothering him, our own safety our only concern. It was wrong. I’m haunted by it. He came back and immediately went on the attack, but we wrestled him down and broke his neck. Don’t know why I just told you that straight up. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry to me,” Billie said. “Back to the matter at hand: those men who trapped you, what did they look like?” She simply needed confirmation that those they encountered in the lab below were the same despite the connection being obvious. If being a computer enthusiast had taught her anything in her old life, it was that information was valuable and there was no such thing as too much of it, even redundancies.
Greg went on to describe Dr. Moore along with several others that matched the hairs and outfits some of the other zombies had.
“Those men weren’t what they seemed,” Billie said.
“You’re telling me. So, what now?”
“I ask the questions.”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. Apparently his newfound freedom was making him cocky.
“Put him back in,” Billie told Sven.
Sven grabbed Greg on either side of his coat collar and shoved him toward the door.
“No, wait! I’m sorry. Don’t put me back!”
People called from inside the elevator, begging to be released.
“Stop,” she told Sven. “Listen, Greg, the three of us here don’t have time for games or some sort of stupid power struggle. We’re the ones in charge. Either you and your people get with that or we throw you back.”
“Okay,” he said softly, “okay. You win. I’m sorry.”
“Good. What about the people in the other elevator, or were you fourteen it?”
“You’re right. There was more than fourteen of us, nineteen, actually—and I’m talking about those of us involved with the underground research here since the creatures took over—but we had some military people here, too, overseeing what we were doing and coordinating.”
“Coordinating what?”
“That’s classified.”
“You’re about to become classified if you don’t speak up.”
Sven shoved Greg against the door, slamming him into it hard. Too hard, Billie thought, but was glad for Sven’s support. Greg rubbed his shoulder. She could tell he wanted to take a swing at Sven, but it was also apparent it didn’t take much for the engineer to hold himself back from going up against such a big guy. “You guys don’t let up, do you?”
“Nope,” Billie said with a grin. Really getting used to this gun thing.
“There are plans for an attack underway. Those are the things we were working on.”
From inside the elevator, a female said to those within, “He told them.”
Greg didn’t seem to pay her any mind. “I don’t have all the details as our job was simply to keep our heads down, work, and come up with ideas for items that would be more effective against the creatures given the resources we have, which aren’t many.”
Not many? she thought, recalling the amazing facility downstairs. Perhaps compared to what you were used to before all this.
Billie took it all in, then told Sven to close the elevator door. He did despite the shouts of protest from within.
“Okay,” Billie said, “you come with us and we corroborate your story. We’ve encountered our quota of liars for the day and we’re not about to exceed it.”
Sven took a firm hold on Greg and the four of them went into the stairwell and climbed the eight flights to the twenty-fifth floor. Once there, they followed the same plan except Greg was the one to speak through the door and get the attention of those inside.
“We heard gunfire, what happened?” said a gruff voice from the other side of the doors.
“I’ll let these people explain,” Greg said and was tossed over to Bastian, who held him fast while Sven worked the door.
Sven suddenly stopped and shouted through the crack between the doors. “Put weapon down or we shoot, okay?”
The big guy waited a moment and, seemingly satisfied with the compliance from within, he opened the doors like before, only enough room for one person to squeeze through. He grabbed Greg; Bastian stood before the door with his machine gun.
“Back down, stay calm,” Bastian said. “This be over in minute.”
A man, who was at least in his forties, wore military fatigues and had leathery skin like someone who’d spent way too much time in the sun, came out. “What in the blue blazes is going on here, Undersall?”
Billie gave Greg a hard glare.
Greg said, “I’ll just defer to the young lady here.”
The man eyed Billie up and down. “You’re takin’ orders from a kid? Because I sure as heck ain’t.”
Sven stepped forward.
The man said: “Intimidation doesn’t work with me, son. Try something new.”
Sven snapped out his arms lightning quick and grabbed the man by the ears, lifting him off his feet. The guy screeched like a cat in water. Sven set him down.
“Wanna try again?” Billie said.
The man held his ears like they would fall off, and judging by how big Sven’s grin was, she thought they just might.
“Let’s start with your name.”
“Lieutenant . . . Lieutenant John Nole.”
“And those are your men inside there?”
He nodded.
This makes it easy. “Greg here told me about you guys
coordinating an attack. I need to know more.”
“And why’s that, young lady?” the man said in between winces.
Because I know who you’re going to try and fight and you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. She decided to keep the supernatural side of the equation to herself for now. “When was this attack going to take place?”
Nole eyed Sven, who held the pry bar aloft against his shoulder. “We didn’t finalize a date, but we were looking into a fifty-to-sixty-day timeframe.”
Too long. “Why do you need to wait so long?”
“Why do you need know?”
Sven reached with one hand for the lieutenant’s ear.
Nole sidestepped a couple feet. “Okay, okay, easy. Some of the weapons are complete, others in the prototype stage.”
“We saw them below.”
“You did?” He looked to Greg for confirmation, who gave it. “And those who put us in the elevators?”
“Dead,” Billie said. “By us, I might add. We also hold the key to your freedom so if anything, you owe us your allegiance.” The statement sounded a little too video game-ish, but she’d played more than her fair share of them in her day so it was to be expected.
“How did you take them down?”
She gave the boys a wink. “We’ve been at this a long time. That’s all you need to know.”
They all stood in silence for a few moments.
Nole asked, “What’s next? Any more pertinent questions or are you guys going to let the others out? They’re thirsty, starving, and there’s a bathroom issue you don’t want to know about.”
Billie slowly shook her head. “Not yet. We don’t trust you and we’re not going to trust you, and we’re especially not about to let a whole lot of you out until you show me you’re willing to comply with our demands.”
Nole was clearly getting impatient, but was keeping himself in check lest Sven tear his ears off for real this time. “What are your demands?”
“I need to know more about this attack.”
“I can help with that,” Greg said.
“You’re not saying anything,” Nole replied.
“We don’t have a choice, Lieutenant,” the engineer said. “Let the tough guy thing go or, if not, we can just go back in the elevator and wait for the next group of people to come waltzing through here to let us out. If they even find us, that is, and you know full well aside from those who trapped us, we’ve been alone in this building for over a month with no one in or out.”
Lieutenant Nole crossed his arms, and said to Billie, “Okay, lead the way.”
“No,” she said, “you lead. I need a shield in case any of those monsters surface.”
* * * *
24
Spill It
After being on the roof, Joe, Tracy and the others returned inside. First order of business was inventory, and though there was a record of what came in and what went out, everything was thoroughly double checked. Weapons were plenty for the amount of people there; there was also body armor, enough for one piece of protection per person. It was better than nothing. The intel from Dale, who periodically went up to the roof to check on the undead gathering beyond, said they were still coming together as of twenty minutes ago. It was difficult to say how long it would be until the undead force was at its peak.
Dean assembled everyone, filling the kitchenette completely. He stood on the countertop so everyone could see him. Joe and Tracy stood on the ground on either side.
“We don’t know what the creatures are doing,” he said, “but it’s clear they’re doing something. I know that some of us are strangers, which is fine, but when it comes to this place and to each of our own safety, we are friends. We have to be. I will pair you off and whoever you end up with will be your partner until I say otherwise. Tracy, fill them in.”
She switched places with Dean, and Joe did his best not to stare up at her like a love-struck fool, but instead put his game face on so everyone knew that she meant business. Ah, but to see such a strong woman up there made him want to take her down and back to their little room.
“My name is Tracy, and I was appointed head of this operation. What is it, especially if we don’t know what the creatures are doing? Simple: we are to be ready for any event, anything, no matter what. It is clear that something is about to happen. Maybe it’ll be a miracle and those giants and the other ones out there are getting together just so they could leave. Or maybe it’s going to be a lot worse and what we’ve known of the creatures over the past year was only part of the story.”
“So what’re we going to do?” a guy asked from amongst the crowd.
“I’ll answer questions in a moment. First order of business has been taken care of. We know where we stand with firepower, who is here and what their skills are. You have been paired together according to those skills to complement each other. Do not deviate from your partner, and if you and your team are paired with another, this is also coordinated so that both teams will work fluently together based on your skill set. Next, safety. Everyone has been assigned a piece of body armor—all we have—again based on your talents. Third, right now this safe house is indeed what its name says it is. We are safe here and we will stay here despite what we hear outside, if something goes down. At no time will we leave this place until commanded to, or until you are the only survivor and you have no choice but to leave. Should we be discovered and an attack on the safe house takes place, we have created a roster and set of orders of door watchers and what to do in that event. Again, both you and your partner will work together.” She lowered her voice a little. “At the same time, I understand some of you have been down here for a long time and the thought of possibly going topside to fight is frightening. I want you to try and relax and take comfort in your safety down here; just don’t take it for granted and remain on the alert. Should you fight, you know the rules: only use bullets when necessary in an effort to conserve ammo. Always, always, always go for the head by killing the brain. Decapitation is fine, too. Try to keep shots and-or blows to the body minimal unless it’s a means of self-defense. Speaking of which, these two gentlemen here” —she pointed to two large black guys—Hal and Rob—in grungy sweat suits off to the side— “will be coming up to pairs starting now and throughout the night to give a refresher on how to take a zombie down. Any questions?”
“What if we don’t want to fight?” someone asked.
“Are you serious?” Tracy said. “If you choose not to fight, don’t count on anyone to defend you. If you are not willing to stand beside your fellow man now, then get out. We have no room for you and are much safer without you.”
“What if we run out of ammo?” someone else said.
“Then see if your partner has enough to spare. If not, you’re going hand-to-hand.”
“Are we really going to battle?” asked another.
“Weren’t you just listening? We are staying here and are hoping for the best, but are preparing for the worst.”
Tracy answered a few more questions then hopped down off the counter as Dean dismissed everyone.
“Nice job,” Joe said.
“Can’t believe some of the people here,” she said.
“Don’t hold it against them.”
“Don’t go soft on me.” Her voice was firm. She looked him deadset in the eye. “Despite this thing we got going, I need you to stay as you are, don’t change. Not for me, not for them. And I mean that, Joe. Don’t compromise anything for me because I sure as heck am not going to compromise anything for you.” She headed off down the hallway, leaving him with a twinge in his heart and a head that felt like it was being filled with sand.
“Maybe I’m wrong about this whole thing,” he said. Or maybe she’s right. This isn’t the time to think about “us.” If we go to war, it’s about more than a relationship. It’s about the survival of a species. Still, the thought didn’t bring him much comfort.
* * * *
Billie tried to hide her
yawn from Lieutenant Nole unless she wanted to show weakness. She was in dire need of a nap, even a full-night’s sleep, but until this issue about the forthcoming strike against the dead was settled, she was going to stay awake. Her headache didn’t help any either. Now down in the lab room in the basement, Greg and Nole stood with them around a large table after securing the room that had the mirrors on the off chance the deceased creatures within somehow came back to life.
“The strike’s codename is Operation Romero. Think what you want, but it seems fitting,” Nole said. “It’s about getting at the root cause of this, we hope.”
Billie wasn’t completely sure it would be, though. She knew what really lied beneath the rotten visage of each creature: a blood thirsty demon whose first allegiance was to the devil and to bring victory to their fallen angel leader in a pre-emptive strike before Armageddon. At some point she knew she was going to have to come clean about it, but she also needed to understand the supposed plan of attack first. She wished Nathaniel was here to help guide her.
“Operation Romero is being coordinated with remaining military agencies around the world,” Nole said. “Once our preliminary attacks failed against the undead—and you need to understand that we certainly could have come in and nuked the bastards, but if we did, the fallout would make this planet inhabitable well beyond any survivor’s lifetime; in fact, some raids needed to be conducted to stop certain parties from doing just that—anyway, listen, when the preliminary attacks failed, we tried again and made some headway, but eventually the sheer number of the things was enough to trump even our most sophisticated weapons. One of the challenges was controlling the outbreak, not after the Rain because that caused its own chaos, but once that was over and we learned what was happening and how one could be infected—by the time procedures that were in place for the plague were activated, it was too late. It’s not a one-man operation and it takes plenty of people. They were all changed over to be like those creatures faster than we could replace them. A retreat was the only option.” He cleared his throat. “Correction: a feigned retreat. Over time, we were able to reestablish connections via radio communications, power generators, and the like. Human beings are not that incompetent to not keep a few mechanisms running even in total chaos.”