by Mark Lingane
Further examination of the foyer revealed several large rooms and a staircase. They were standing in the stairwell, contemplating what could be beneath them, when they heard the sound of scraping metal echoing from below. They looked at each other and quickly made a decision.
They made their way up the wide steps. The severe gray bricks and concrete stairs made the stairwell feel claustrophobic. Their lanterns illuminated several steps ahead only, and they worried what each corner was going to bring.
Several minutes later, and slightly out of breath, they reached the top landing and stood in front of a solid wooden door covered with several rusty old signs, now illegible.
“My legs hurt,” Sebastian said.
Melanie shushed him.
She placed her ear to the door and listened. He went to complain again, but she raised her hand, indicating for him to be quiet. After a moment that felt like an eternity, she placed her hand on the door handle and gently pushed down. It clicked open. She pushed slowly and peered in. Nothing jumped on her, so she opened the door wider and stepped into a corridor.
She took a couple of cautionary paces. There was a big hole in the wall on her right where something had obviously smashed through it. The wall appeared to be thin; she was sure she could punch her way through it herself. She relaxed a little and turned back to gesture for Sebastian to follow her. Something ran across her foot and she suppressed a scream. It squeaked, revealing itself to be a rat. She sighed and beckoned Sebastian. He stepped over a pile of freshly dead, half-eaten rats and entered the corridor behind her.
They found another small foyer at the end of the corridor with a large table in the center. A pile of bones lay behind it: a skeleton from decades, possibly centuries, ago. They crept past and entered a large room. It was divided into a series of small cubicles, separated by waist-high partitions. Each cubicle contained broken and rusted technology from a bygone era. The perimeter of the large room, forming the outside wall, was made of glass.
They moved over to the glass wall that looked out over the river and the city surrounds. For a moment, and for the first time in weeks, they were in absolute silence. The peace wrapped around them.
Sebastian yawned and rested his head against the great glass wall.
“Do you notice anything?”
Sebastian mumbled a response.
Melanie pointed. “Lights are appearing in some of the buildings. This city is far from dead.” She glanced at Sebastian; he had his eyes closed. “Get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”
He slid down the window theatrically and curled into a fetal ball. She stroked his hair and sat down with him.
“Thanks, Mom,” he mumbled as he drifted off to sleep.
She smiled. She felt sorry for him. Nearly everyone he knew had been taken away from him: his family, most of his friends. He’d had a tough ride, and it was only going to get worse, according to this time-traveling message Albert had talked about.
She thought about it. It seemed beyond comprehension. She reflected on an aphorism her father used to say: “Things that appear too good to be true often are.”
She thought about the coincidental and fantastical nature of it all. No matter what they said, it couldn’t be true. She had to tell herself that, otherwise there was no point doing anything. Free will was just a joke. There was no such thing as chance or coincidence.
She shook her head. For the moment she would choose not to believe. She would wait and see what came beyond belief.
She heard a delicate noise.
She turned her head, listening harder. She heard another delicate click, like fingernails being flicked together. She glanced back at Sebastian, who was sound asleep.
She turned off the lantern and picked up her sword. She made her way over to the door and placed her ear against it. She could hear breathing. She stepped back and leveled her sword toward the door. She reached slowly for the handle, placed her fingers securely around it, and wrenched it open. She plunged her sword into the space on the other side, but found no resistance. The corridor was empty.
She ducked her head out and looked in both directions. It seemed clear. She stepped out and took several steps down the corridor. All was quiet. Behind her, the door slowly closed. She turned. Standing before her was one of the infected. Before she could scream, he leaped at her. Her reflexes were lightning fast and she had the creature impaled on the end of her sword before he could blink. She pushed him off the end of her sword, surprised at her own speed.
She heard a slithering, creaking, hissing sound behind her. She spun around and was confronted by an enormous snake slithering toward her along the corridor. It was four feet wide, with a head big enough to swallow her in one bite. It rose before her, its head hovering inches below the ceiling.
She looked into its baleful yellow eyes and saw the evil intelligence. “I’m only afraid of spiders,” she said.
The snake spat at her. A black ball of venom spun past her, hitting the wall. The wall started to smolder, releasing a thin gas. The smell of it made her gag.
The snake lunged for her. She stepped nimbly aside and sank her sword into the side of its head. It let out a half-shriek half-hiss and tried to hammer its head against her, knocking her into the wall. She placed one foot on the wall and rode the undulation of the head, leaping up and over it and landing on the other side. She plunged her sword in behind its head and tore through the scales, severing the head from the body. The giant snake twitched and went still.
“That was good,” she said, feeling vibrantly alive.
There was another hiss, louder this time, coming from inside the room.
“Sebastian,” she whispered, and flung open the door.
Sebastian groaned and rolled over. His head knocked against the window, jolting him awake. He looked up into the eyes of one of the infected. It was staring at him. He looked down. It wasn’t a male one. From out behind her stepped another two, all staring at him. There was something of Bindi’s look in their eyes: a look of desperation and longing; a desire so deep and intense it twisted them into huddled shapes.
With the blink of an eye, one was right next to him, an inch from his face. She inhaled deeply, reveling in his scent. She leaned closer and ran a long tongue up his face. It felt like sandpaper. The smell from the three infected females in front of him was sickly sweet, and reminded him of rotting fruit.
He tried to edge away, but was trapped against the window.
The one in front of him reached out with claw-like fingers and fumbled with the buttons on his tunic. The one on his left leaned toward him, baring her teeth. They were black and sharp, and in several rows. A faint gas drifted out of her mouth and floated toward him. He blew at it frantically.
The one that had licked him looked down at her chest. Sebastian followed her gaze. The end of a sword was pointing through her.
“Keep your hands off him, you bitch,” Melanie cried.
68
IN ONE SWIFT movement, Melanie had ripped out the sword, spun around, and swung it into the second infected with such force that it knocked her into the third, which flayed ineffectually until Melanie brought the sword down, spearing both of them.
“Wow,” Sebastian said. “That was amazing. So fast.” Then he threw up, repulsed by the encounter.
“Did they cut you?”
“What?”
“Did they touch your blood?”
“No,” Sebastian said. “They just licked me. It was like watching those extreme fans at concerts. I know what those guys from No Bearing feel like now.” He shivered. “I don’t think I can ever shower enough to get rid of that image. I might even have to wash my hair.”
There was a long howl from the corridor. Sebastian looked at Melanie.
“They had a pet, which I might have killed, a bit,” she said. There was a hammering on the door. “I guess we’d better get going.”
They picked up their packs and ran along the perimeter of the glass wall, away from the
hammering. They turned a corner and were confronted by five infected. Without a pause Melanie slashed into the first, pirouetted and brought the sword around into the second, sliced up into the third, and speared the fourth. The fifth ducked, hesitated and fled. Melanie shouted and ran after him, disappearing around another corner.
She reappeared a moment later, running at full speed. Chasing her was a hoard of the infected, crashing through the furniture, bouncing off the walls and into each other, all trying to get at her. They clawed and scrambled over the partitions. Like a sea of green flowing up the room they came, emitting a rank and repugnant mist that floated above them.
There was only one word Sebastian could think of at a moment like this, and it contained four letters. Before he could utter it, Melanie grabbed him.
“Run!” she shouted.
With Melanie half-dragging, half-pushing him, they charged through the room and burst through the door out into the corridor—into the waiting claws of an infected. He coughed at them, releasing a green mist that hit Melanie full in the face. She inhaled before she could slap a hand over her mouth. The corridor spun and she fought for balance. Sebastian stabbed the infected with his own sword and dragged Melanie away.
Melanie shook her head to clear it. She was still uneasy on her feet, but she was able to run down the corridor, occasionally bumping off the walls. They ran into another pack. The air was thick with the noxious mist, and this time Sebastian got a lungful before he could react.
Melanie slashed through several of them, kicking away others. All the exits were occupied. Behind them were three dark chambers that led down to the foyer.
Melanie grabbed Sebastian, who was fighting against two infected males, and they leaped into one of the chambers. They clutched at the hanging metal cable and slid down, using their boots to take most of their weight and speed. The ropes were secured to a metal plate at the bottom. They landed, and the plate bounced slightly.
Melanie jumped to her feet.
“Wait.” Sebastian tried to focus his mind. He fought against a swirling feeling.
All the cables in the chambers snapped. The infected that were climbing down them plummeted down to the ground.
They leaped out of the chamber, into the large foyer and ran toward the entrance. Swarming up the steps outside came another sea of infected. They turned and Sebastian kicked open the door to the stairwell. They tore down the stairs, stumbling as they ran.
They kicked through another door and ran out into a large concrete cave. Next to them was a sign for level-B parking. The cave was illuminated by thin strips of light on the ceiling that flickered rapidly, flashing across the scene in front of them. There were beds scattered everywhere, most containing two or more infected, hands crawling over each other, biting each other’s faces.
“Oh, this is sick,” Melanie said, taking in the debauchery in front of her. “But I can’t look away.” Activity on one side caught her attention. “Yes I can. I really wish I hadn’t seen this. I feel sick.”
Then they were spotted. The infected came for them in the flashing brittleness of the neon lights. Melanie thrust and parried with her sword through the attacking force, Sebastian defending her flanks. All the while, the creatures exhaled the pungent gas. Melanie cut her way through to a ramp. There were noises from above—tribal whoops, the banging of drums—and bodies soon appeared.
Continuing downward was their only option. The infected followed.
They ran down the concrete slope into the second level of the underground cave. Lights flickered and stuttered on and off. The gas was everywhere. The air was thick with it, giving a green tinge to everything.
Melanie swiped with her sword and staggered backward. She fell against the wall, fighting to keep her eyes open. She slumped down to the cold concrete floor. Hands lunged at her, but Sebastian, in a barely conscious haze, lashed out, cutting deeply into their attackers. They shrieked and recoiled.
He took a shaky step forward, swaying back and forth. The creatures retreated, then lunged forward again. Some scraped ineffectually against his armor. He stabbed into one, which shrieked, then swung the sword around. He lost his battle against gravity and was pulled to the ground. He collapsed back against the wall. He glanced sideways. Melanie was lying on the floor out cold.
The infected charged forward. He desperately tried to raise his sword with an arm that felt like lead. He slid sideways, knocking his head on the floor. He heard laughing, then screaming, as he fought against the blackness. He waited for the clawing and ripping of the demented creatures, but instead there was fire, pure and brilliant.
69
THEY WOKE AT the same time. Their initial reaction was to sit bolt upright and breathe in deeply, but they were yanked back down by an elemental impulse to gasp for clean air. A gentle cool breeze blew down over them. It carried a strong mint scent.
Melanie flailed for her sword, but found her arms manacled in heavy chains. Sebastian tried to lift his own chains and groaned. They were thick, heavy, and rusted. The floor was covered in patches of blood. Behind them, the wall was covered in bullet holes.
“This could end very badly,” Melanie said as she took in the scene.
She glanced at Sebastian. He wasn’t radiating the same concern. His eyes ran slowly over the room, then over their bonds, examining them closely.
Heavy footsteps echoed from beyond the door. They stopped. The lock rattled, then groaned under the weight of age and poor maintenance. There was a loud click. The door swung open. In stomped a heavyset figure, flanked by two more carrying rifles. Each wore heavy leather armor and gas masks that concealed their entire heads. Their eyes were hidden behind large, green-tinted goggles.
The two men with rifles lifted them and aimed at the two prisoners.
Melanie quickly raised her hands in front of her face, cowering behind them. Her eyes darted around, looking for something to use as protection or a weapon. Sebastian was silent, watching the men intently. He gave them a wave.
The first man reached up behind his mask and pulled it over his head. Long dreadlocks fell down around his shoulders. His dark skin glistened with sweat as he gave them a suspicious appraisal with his dark eyes. Without looking, he slowly placed the mask on a bench. He waved the other two men away. They saluted, turned and left.
“We had to wait to see if you’d been infected. You’ve passed the quarantine period, so you’re clean. We can talk.”
“Good,” Sebastian said. He concentrated. The manacles around his and Melanie’s wrists snapped open and clattered away.
“That’s an interesting trick you have there, young man.”
“It’s not a trick. It’s a responsibility,” Sebastian replied.
“And with great responsibility comes great power?”
They looked blankly at the man, then at each other.
“Don’t worry. It’s similar to something I heard a long time ago. Introductions. I’m General Nana Abioia, but you can call me Abi. And who are you?”
Sebastian and Melanie introduced themselves.
Abi nodded. “I assume you have some mental condition. Otherwise, why would two sane people walk through this infected hell without gas masks?”
“We didn’t know about the gas,” Melanie said indignantly. “How could we?”
“Follow me,” he said, beckoning them out of the room. “You didn’t see the warning signs?”
“We thought they were more like guidelines,” Sebastian said.
“This place is swarming with the infected. One decent gouge on your bare skin will kill you. At least you’re wearing armor. But, if you breathe the gas, you’ll pass out and they’ll rip you to shreds.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Melanie said. “Surely only a madman or someone with a mental condition would choose to stay.”
“I have my reasons. But everyone else who’s in the facility is a part of the rebellion.”
“Okay,” Melanie said, “give us the info dump. We’ll make oursel
ves comfortable. If I close my eyes, it’s because I’m listening deeply.” She sat down in an old chair. It let out a small hiss and she bounced lightly. “It was the chair,” she said.
Sebastian gave her a skeptical look and sat in another one. It tilted backward. He leaned forward and found a balancing point before sitting stock-still.
“I’ll call in some of the soldiers to recount the horrific story through the medium of interpretive dance,” Abi said.
Melanie looked impressed. “Really?”
“No. I’m going to bore you with my monotone voice. But I do have some pictures that go with it.” He turned around and touched the wall behind him. A square of light appeared and dissolved into a picture of a group of grossly overweight people looking miserable. They all wore yellow shirts.
“Cool, telescreens,” Sebastian said. “We haven’t seen one of those for ages.”
“A long time ago,” Abi began, “lots of people were fat. Generally speaking, they didn’t want to be fat, but they didn’t want to put in the effort to exercise.”
“What’s ‘The Biggest Loser’?” Melanie said as she read the words along the top of the image.
“No one’s sure anymore, but we assume it was a post-modern play on words in an overly civilized world where beauty and success was measured by waistlines rather than achievements or intellect.”
He clicked a small, flat silver stick and the image slid sideways, immediately replaced by another of a group of people wearing small goggles and white coats. They were staring at vials and test tubes.
Melanie studied the slide. “Which one is Charles Fizzer?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You don’t know.”
“I said it doesn’t matter,” he repeated sternly.
“He doesn’t know,” Melanie whispered to Sebastian. The chair hissed as she swiveled. “It was the chair!”
“Well, the chair better not smell or I’m leaving,” Sebastian said.
“I assume you’re not children, although evidence seems to be pointing in a different direction.” Abi cleared his throat. “There was constant research into how to lose weight. Eventually the wrong things, either by accident or design, got mixed up. One research strain mutated and we ended up with a product we called Famish.”