Once it got close enough, its instincts took over and it stooped to meet the presented flesh. It lowered its mouth onto his arm and Ethan screamed.
McCaffrey adjusted his hold on the restraining pole so he could reach around to operate the bite controller mechanism. He let out the screw-handle just enough for the creature to partially close its jaws. As soon as its slimy teeth punctured Ethan’s skin and blood bubbled to the surface, McCaffrey quickly turned the handle in the opposite direction to open out its jaws again, frustrating the creature’s ravenous impulses.
Still screaming, Ethan took one glance at the staggered pattern of incisions and haemorrhaging and passed out.
McCaffrey pulled the specimen to a safe distance and Grant moved in to examine his precious test subject, lifting one of Ethan’s closed eyelids.
‘He’s OK. He just fainted. He’s not exactly in great physical condition, but he’s still young. I’ve estimated it will take approximately 48 hours before the infection becomes life-threatening.’
The terror Ethan had been subjected to at the hands of his superior, and the matter-of-fact way in which Grant was dealing with the aftermath of his unethical experiment, had pushed Osgood to his limit.
He shoved Foster out of his way, rushed over to the bench to collect a syringe pack and a vial of Lazarus serum, and charged towards Grant and Ethan.
Grant attempted to block his path, but a combination of age and anger allowed Osgood to muscle his way through. He tore open the packaging to the syringe with his teeth and removed the safety cap from the needle.
McCaffrey was struggling to hold the specimen at bay with the pole when he saw what was about to happen. He removed the knife from his belt and jammed the blade into the creature’s left eye to put it down.
Osgood was almost ready to inject the serum directly into Ethan’s fresh bite wound when McCaffrey tackled him. He expected the usually mild-mannered doctor to give up, but to his surprise, he fought back by going on the attack and charging at him.
He forced McCaffrey back across the lab until they collided with the bench, nearly knocking Foster to the ground in the process.
Osgood knew he wouldn’t have the upper hand for long and reached for the soldier’s holstered weapon. He made a grab for it just as McCaffrey did.
Foster saw what was about to happen and did her best to get in between them and pry them apart.
In the confines of the airtight laboratory, the single gunshot sounded more like an explosion, sharp and ringing in their ears.
McCaffrey, Osgood and Foster all looked at each other and then down to check their bodies. A circular patch of blood began to grow from the hole in Osgood’s lab coat. The bullet had entered his stomach at point blank range.
He shivered at the sudden realisation he’d been shot and slid to the floor.
Foster immediately dropped to her knees, supporting the back of his neck to keep his head up, applying pressure to his wound.
Bewildered by what he’d witnessed, Grant staggered over to them.
‘Good Christ, Donald!’ he said.
McCaffrey was just as shocked at what he’d done, still clutching the smoking weapon and gazing down at his dying victim.
‘I- I’m sorry. It was an accident.’
‘Don’t just stand there. Help Foster to get him on a gurney so we can get him to the medical bay,’ Grant said.
McCaffrey holstered his gun, knelt down and placed his hand on top of Foster’s to apply further pressure to Osgood’s wound.
‘I’m sorry, Osgood. I didn’t mean to, but you shouldn’t have done that,’ he said.
Osgood, who had started to tremble from shock, looked up at him and said ‘Bite me, asshole,’ his teeth dulled by the blood that had already risen from his throat.
‘We’re going to operate and you’re going to be fine,’ Foster said.
No sooner had she spoke, another piercing sound penetrated the lab area - the shrill, angry buzz of the security alarm.
McCaffrey jumped to his feet, ran over to the console by the door and checked the on-screen alert and the schematic that indicated the specific location of concern.
‘Fuck me! Someone’s opened the door to the holding area,’ he said. ‘There must be 60 or 70 specimens in there.’
‘Where’s Crawford?’ Grant said.
‘She should be holding the rest of the civilians in their living quarters.’
‘Find her and contain the breach.’
‘What about him?’ McCaffrey said, looking back at Osgood.
‘We can’t move him until we know there’s a safe route to the medical bay. Now go!’
McCaffrey steadied himself and set off from the lab to head towards the alarms.
6
Fause stood at the open door of the holding area, bathed in the flashing red of the warning lights.
He couldn’t hear the groans over the sound of the alarm, but he could feel their presence emerging from the darkness. One by one, their ravaged faces revealed themselves as they filed out into the corridor. The sea of flesh-shredded bodies parted in the middle to navigate around their quasi-human liberator.
Fause closed his eyes and raised both arms so he could feel the oncoming baptism of rotten flesh with his fingertips. He was almost there now. Soon, he would succumb and then reawaken to join the procession. A procession that would consume the facility and anyone taking refuge in it.
It wasn’t long before every last creature from the holding area had passed by him and turned the corner leading to the northeast wing of the complex.
Fause was alone again, barely clinging to the strange half-life he’d become accustomed to since his confinement. His legs gave way and he fell to the floor, using the wall to aid him. He would rest there, and later, he would return to his feet to join his brethren and feed on the living.
Episode Eight
Day of the Dead
1
Salty and Jason narrowly avoided a collision when they exited their rooms and rushed into the corridor of the living quarters.
‘You know what that’s all about?’ Salty said, referring to the screech of the security alarm.
‘Nah, man. I was in bed, just like you,’ Jason said, buttoning up the flies of his jeans.
‘The trumpets of the seven angels will signify that the Seventh Seal has been broken.’
Alerted by his voice, the two men realised that Edwards was standing a little further along the corridor, clutching his bible.
‘Then the seventh angel sounded, and there were loud voices in heaven, saying “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of Our Lord and of His Christ; and He will reign forever and ever.”
‘Y’know, I hate to break it to you, Father, but these voices you’re hearin’ ain’t comin’ from heaven,’ Salty said. His eyes widened and he turned his attention back to Jason.
‘What?’ Jason said, noticing the disturbance in his expression.
‘Why are we the only ones standin’ out here?’
Salty made for the nearest door, knocked once, and then checked inside. Ethan should have been there, but it was empty. He immediately checked for Raine and Darla. Both absent.
‘What’s going on?’ Jason said.
‘Finish gettin’ dressed. We’re goin’ for a little walk,’ Salty said.
Jason ran back to his room to throw on some shoes and a shirt.
‘You comin’ with us?’ Salty said.
‘I will face the final judgement alone,’ Edwards replied, blinking the panicked sweat from his eyes.
‘Have at it,’ Salty said with a shrug. He was already fully dressed, but he still had to go and fetch his pistol, hatchet and his tattered baseball cap.
Once ready, Salty and Jason headed west towards the inner roadway, leaving Father Paranoia to his religious mania and his faithful book.
2
The herd of stinking specimens jockeyed one another in the narrow corridor, occasio
nally gazing up at the flashing security lights fixed to the ceiling.
The mob represented diverse walks of life—different races, ages, religious denominations. A firefighter stood shoulder to shoulder with a lawyer. A school teacher pushed against a man dressed in the bottom half of a pink bear costume. An old aged pensioner stumbled along next to a child wearing his little league baseball uniform. All were united in their reanimated deadness.
Leading the motley crew was the vomit-inducing stench of decay.
It may have been this horrendous smell that crept beyond the gap in the door to the restricted area and down the steps where Raine lay, blood seeping from the gash in her shaven scalp. Its potency probably tweaked her dulled senses and roused her enough to cause her right hand to twitch before settling in the dust again.
Fortunately for her, the flesh parade moved by the slightly open door without realising a free meal waited just inside.
3
O.B. stirred from his sleep. He was too out of it to know if his waking was natural or if he’d been disturbed by an external noise.
When he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a face looming over his bed with a finger to their lips, urging him to remain silent. The darkness obscured their features, and at first, he thought he was receiving another visitation from the half-eaten corpse of his cousin Bruno, but as his eyes adjusted, he realised it was Darla.
He sat up and she crouched low, pointing towards the glass front of the medical bay.
It was then that he heard the muffled sound of the alarm and the red lights flashing in the corridor.
‘What’s happening?’ he whispered.
‘Hell if I know. Sit tight for a sec. I’m goin’ out to take a look,’ Darla said.
She grabbed one of his crutches and crept to the door. She stayed low, wielding the crutch by its central strut, ready to club anything that attacked her. With each rotation of the security lights, a red hue danced across the walls.
On reaching the corner leading to the next corridor, Darla noticed shadowed outlines of multiple figures projected on the white wall.
The smell of decay hit her and she threw herself against the concrete slabs. Still holding the crutch by her side, she tentatively peered around the corner.
The carnival of flesh staggered on, crammed into every inch of wall space, led by the flashing lights in the ceiling. They no longer moved independently, but as one mass of bodies propelled by its collective energy, growling and moaning in a dispassionate response to the screeching sirens.
Darla snapped back behind cover and side-stepped her way to the medical bay.
As soon as she closed the door, she grabbed an empty food cart and used it to barricade the entrance.
‘What is it?’ O.B. said.
‘If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me,’ she said.
Once she’d obstructed the way in, she crawled back to the bed and helped O.B. to get down on the floor. They remained silent and watched as the herd passed the front of the bay. Many of the dead gazed inside and drew their filthy hands across the glass, smearing it with dirt and pieces of necrotic flesh. The majority of them lost interest and stumbled on towards the cross-section leading to either the living quarters or the laboratory area, but at least fifteen to twenty stayed. They pressed their ragged bodies up against the bay front, trying to force their way inside—using their collective weight in the hope it would shatter the barrier between them and their prey. It was impossible to know for sure if the dead had sensed the two of them huddled in the dark, now under the bed, but something had caused them to separate from the rest of the herd and it didn’t seem as though their focus was about to shift any time soon.
‘Where is everyone? I ain’t heard a single shot,’ Darla whispered.
O.B. examined the entrance, his injured left leg sticking out from underneath the bed frame at an awkward angle. Two creatures were pushed against the door, prevented from entering by the heavy food cart.
‘They’re pretty spread out,’ he said. ‘If you opened the door out and used the cart to shield you from the other side, I reckon you could break their lines and make a run for the living quarters.’
Darla adjusted her body so she could look at him.
‘Let’s face it, there’s no way I’m going to make it out. On crutches, I’m no faster than they are. If I stay here and you can get help, it’ll give us both a chance,’ he said.
‘Here’s an idea. Why don’t you shut your piehole and leave the survival shit to me? Martyrdom don’t suit you, kid.’
‘What’s your plan then?’ O.B. said.
‘I’ll tell you soon as I come up with somethin’.’
Whatever that plan might be, Darla knew she would need to think of something soon. If a few more of the dead added their weight to the door, it could force the cart from its position, and there was no way to tell whether the others were trying to get to them, being eaten, or escaping the facility for good on the chopper.
4
Raine woke with her senses dulled and the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. The alarm sounded distant, but as soon as she’d fully regained her wits, its intensity rattled through her head.
She used her upper body strength to lift herself from the cold floor and immediately felt the sting from the bruise already starting to form where she’d been struck by the rock. She reached up to it and her fingers got snagged in the section of hair that was matted together with blood.
Her thoughts gathered, she remembered why she was down there and why she’d ended up unconscious. She turned towards the cells. The two specimens were docile again and had moved to the back wall.
Fause’s cell door stood open. By the time Raine had got to her feet, she’d pieced his motivations together. She knew exactly why the alarm was sounding and what it meant for her and her group.
The one thing that surprised her was the light coming from the crack in the security door when she uneasily climbed the steps to the entrance. He’d also left her with her knife, which she used to great effect to take out a couple of stragglers in the corridor.
After she’d put down the second one and snatched the blade from the side of its uneven skull, she was struck by a spell of dizziness. She had to use the wall again to prop herself up. Regaining her balance, she remembered that O.B. would still be in the medical bay unless it had been evacuated since the breach.
She edged around the corner, careful not to expose herself. There were still over a dozen corpses pressed against the glass of the bay. Raine assumed that O.B. must have been inside, but she was in no condition to take on that many hand-to-hand.
Reluctantly, she double-backed to find an alternative route to the lab area. From there, she could get around to the west side of the facility if the dead weren’t already blocking the access corridor to the living quarters.
The siren rang out loud and clear when she entered the communal laboratory, but the warning lights were situated on the periphery, so the large room was predominately relegated to the darkness.
She dodged around the workbenches, making certain she didn’t knock over any equipment that would give away her position.
As she was about to enter the next section of the lab, she came face-to-face with McCaffrey. They both froze about thirty feet from each other. Raine placed her hand on the hilt of her knife and waited for him to respond.
‘Did you do that?’ McCaffrey said, glancing in the direction of the flashing lights.
‘Your prisoner. He wants to put an end to what you’re doing here, and after what he told me, I’m inclined to agree with him,’ Raine said.
‘You don’t have the first clue what you’re talking about. This work is everything.’
‘Creating genetic hybrids to replace the human race? Is that what you believe in, McCaffrey? Is that what you’re risking your life for?’
McCaffrey shook his head violently, as if he were trying to shake her questions from it. Then he raised his rifle
to her. ‘Let’s see your hands,’ he said.
Raine let go of her knife and began to follow his instructions. Before she got them above her head, she ducked and threw herself behind the nearest workbench.
McCaffrey opened fire, spraying the bench with a volley, sending woodchips flying.
The trained soldier was controlled in his attack and only released a short burst. He took aim again to see if he could pinpoint Raine’s current location. As he stepped towards the target area, he heard a screech of wheels and a portable table hurtled off to the right of the bench. McCaffrey hit it with another burst. The force from the bullets tipped the trolley on its side, and before he could switch his aim, Raine tossed a glass beaker at him. It struck his forehead and shattered.
He only closed his eyes for a few seconds, but felt something ghost by his legs. He recovered in time to see Raine roll behind another bench nearby. He pulled the trigger again, expending the remaining rounds.
Flipping the rifle vertically, he released the clip and fumbled with his belt for a fresh one. It was then he felt the sharp burn scorching across the back of his thigh. His leg partially gave way and he glanced over his shoulder to see what was causing the strange sensation.
Blood pumped from the deep gash that Raine had inflicted. She’d nicked his femoral artery and McCaffrey knew immediately. The realisation sent him tumbling to the floor. He sat upright, his back against a workbench, still trying to line up his magazine to jam it into his weapon.
Sensing that Raine was standing over him, he hesitated and looked up. She held the knife that had sealed his fate in front of his face.
‘Nice move,’ he said, trembling as his body went into shock.
‘Where’s Ethan?’ Raine glared down at the blood pooling around his legs, aware that she didn’t have much time to get the information out of him.
‘Grant’s lab, but you’re already too late. Phase one of the procedure is complete.’
Without a second thought, Raine snatched the rifle and the magazine from his weakened grasp and then removed the pistol holstered at his waist.
Everything Dies [Season Two] Page 20