DEAD CELLS

by Adam Millard

  'Shane, are you okay?' Billy asked, leaning close enough for Shane to smell the foul odour that only came through several days of poor hygiene.

  Shane pushed himself up onto his elbows and glanced around the room. Over in one corner, the guards were talking amongst themselves and smoking cigarettes. Marla was sitting on the floor, pushed against the wall, with her knees drawn up. She was awake, but looked tired.

  'You were having a nightmare,' Billy said. 'A bad one, by the looks of it.'

  'No shit,' Shane mumbled. 'Whatever happened to puppy-dogs and ice-cream.'

  Billy helped Shane to his feet. There wasn't a chance in hell of Shane returning to sleep, not now, not after that.

  'Do you want to talk about it?' Billy asked.

  'Never,' replied Shane.

  They walked the length of the room to where the guards were sat. They broke their conversation off – something about Death, unsurprisingly – as Billy and Shane approached. Michaelson pulled another cigarette from a box and lit it.

  'Any chance I can have one of those?' Shane asked.

  The guard stared up at Shane silently for a second; Shane didn't know if he was considering parting with a cigarette, or whether he was gobsmacked that Shane had the audacity to ask for one.

  Jenson didn't take his gaze off Michaelson, not wanting to miss the guard's decision. When Michaelson reached in and retrieved another cigarette from the box and handed it to Shane, Jenson shook his head in disbelief.

  'You'll be gagging for that one when you run out,' Jenson smiled. 'I bet you.'

  'Probably,' Michaelson said as he handed Shane a solitary match. 'Won't matter much, though, will it? Not if we're gonna end up hunted down by those fucking things.'

  Shane struck the match and lit the cigarette, savouring the smoke as it reached his lungs. It had been a while since he last smoked, but it was like riding a bike; you always climbed back onto the saddle with confidence, and before you knew it you were riding without using the handlebars.

  'Bad for you,' Billy said.

  'If we get out of here,' Shane smiled, 'I promise I'll get some patches.'

  'Cheaper to smoke,' Michaelson said, drawing deeply on his cigarette. 'I can't afford to quit.'

  There was something disturbing, yet true, about what the guard said. As Shane sucked in more smoke, he knew that he would start smoking again should they get out alive. Holly wouldn't mind, would she? And Megan, well she was old enough to know that Daddy was a much nicer man when he was smoking. Cigarettes, he would explain, took the edge off certain situations. In a way, they were lifesavers; perhaps not his own, but other peoples'.

  'Any action out there?' Shane asked, stepping gingerly towards the large window overlooking the yard.

  Michaelson clambered to his feet and joined Shane. 'Just the usual,' he said. 'Lots of them, bumping into shit, eating stuff from fuck knows where.'

  'Any chance we could get to the fences?' Shane said.

  Michaelson shook his head. 'Not with all those down there,' he said, pointing to the creatures in the yard. 'Maybe one or two, then yes, but there must be fifty now, and there were more earlier. I have no idea where those ones have gone, and don't particularly want to find out.' He paused, then took a final drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out against the window. 'The best thing we can do is find out the new codes and get out through the doors.'

  'What are the chances?' Shane asked. 'Where are the codes?'

  Michaelson pointed across to the computer that sat atop Charles Dean's desk. 'But I have no idea how to work the damned thing,' he said, shamefully. 'Never been one for computers.'

  'If we need those codes,' Shane said, 'then let me try. I was pretty good once.' He was. He had taken a course at the local college so that he could teach Megan and help her with homework.

  'Then there's always the small matter of getting down to the basement level,' Michaelson said, not convinced. 'I don't like our odds too much.'

  'I prefer our odds with the codes,' Shane smiled. 'Let me see what I can do.'

  Michaelson stepped away from the window and rejoined Jenson, who began to ask questions that Michaelson shrugged off impatiently. Billy remained with the guards for the time being. Shane glared towards the computer, hoping that he could locate the codes and at least give them a fighting chance of escape.

  'No substitute for a good book,' Terry Lewis said, startling Shane. Terry nodded towards the computer. 'I've never used one, personally, but from what I've heard people are using them now to read books on. Don't see the point, myself. Can't exactly take that thing to bed with you, can you?'

  Shane laughed. 'I guess not,' he said. He liked Terry. He seemed to be genuine, and not at all dangerous. He would have liked to have known him before everything had gone to hell. Circumstances had drawn them together, though, and that, in itself, would have to be enough.

  'God has a plan for us all,' Terry said, as if the conversation had already been predetermined. 'Are you a man of God, Shane?'

  That, Shane thought, was a question he couldn't answer, at least not yet. He had the bible in his pocket, which he had picked up subconsciously whilst searching the chapel for weapons. Had he known then that he would meet Terry, a man of God? Was that even possible.

  He reached into his coveralls and retrieved the book. When Terry saw it, his eyes lit up as if it were made of solid gold. He licked his lips, purely to moisten them, but in that moment he looked like Fagin as the thieving bastard orphans emptied their pockets for him.

  'Do you mind?' Terry asked, holding out a trembling hand.

  Shane handed him the bible and smiled. 'Not at all,' he said. 'Don't think I'll be getting into it anytime soon.'

  Terry rubbed the leather cover as if it were satin, and then held it up to his nose so that he could smell the richness of the material. 'You can keep your computers,' he said. 'This is all I need.'

  As he wandered back to the corner of the room, leafing gently through the first few pages, Shane felt an overwhelming sensation; he had not meant to pick the bible up for himself – as he had first thought – but for Terry Lewis, a man who clearly had faith and could put it to good use.

  'What was all that about?' Billy asked, sidling up to Shane.

  'Oh, nothing,' Shane replied. 'Just made the guy happy, that's all.'

  Shane turned to the computer and sighed. He had work to do, and he needed to get started if they were to get the codes before daybreak.

  He sat in the leather chair and booted up the system. Billy Toombs watched across his shoulder, and Shane noticed, for the first time, that Billy was struggling to breathe, and when he did it was terrible, as if something was dying inside of him.

  *

  The password, which Shane thought would have been the first obstacle, was surprisingly easy. When the screen appeared prompting an eight-figure configuration, Shane was initially stumped, daunted even. He pulled open the desk drawer and retrieved an address book – an old-fashioned thing that had been covered with what looked like wallpaper. Written upon it in calligraphy were the words: 2011. That was all.

  'What are we looking for?' asked Billy, leaning too close for Shane's liking. The breath that hit him was rancid, and it was all that Shane could do not to vomit. How could he possibly inform his friend of the problem, though? What should he say? Can you take a few steps back, please, you're starting to fucking honk? He swallowed hard, hoping that Billy didn't notice his discomfort, and began to flip the pages of the book.

  'Anything with eight letters,' Shane said. 'A name, or something unique.'

  He worked through the book, which contained notes about the prison and a few choice cuts on what he would do when he retired, but it wasn't until the final page that he found what he was looking for.

  SERENITY.

  'What does that mean?' Billy asked. 'That sounds like a code to me.'

  Shane shook his head. 'That's the name of his daughter,' he said, pointing to the framed photograph sitting on the desk. 'I think I've hear
d the guards talk about her before.'

  Without a second's hesitation, he typed the name into the computer and pressed Enter. There was a whirring, and then the little blue doughnut on the screen kicked into life to signal that the computer was doing something. For a second, Shane didn't think that he was right; perhaps his daughter's name would have been too obvious, that he had instead opted for something more difficult. But then the doughnut stopped whirling and the desktop loaded up.

  'Well done, Bill Gates,' Billy chuckled, and then coughed. He covered his mouth, but Shane could still smell the ghastly putrescence behind his clenched fist.

  'Are you okay?'

  'I'm fine, man,' Billy replied, fighting back another bout of coughs. 'Just think I need a drink. You know, calm the old nerves a little.'

  'Knock yourself out,' Shane said, pointing across to the open drinks cabinet. 'I think it's a free bar tonight.'

  Billy tapped Shane on the shoulder and headed off to numb the pain that had started to return. His shoulder was throbbing, but now the rest of him was tingling, as if he had pins and needles all over his body. It was a strange sensation, and one that he didn't want to share with the rest of the group. What if he was turning? What if he was dying and coming back as one of those things?

  He knew, as he poured himself a large whisky, that he was, and there was nothing he could do about it. Shane knew, too; the way he kept turning his head away at the computer made Billy question his own scent, and as he breathed into the full glass, hoping for the scent of whisky, he was almost sick. The stench that hit his nostrils was Death. He downed the whisky in one, and refilled his glass, hoping that he didn't hurt any of the group when he did finally change.

  If...

  *

  There were countless folders on the desktop, and some of them were certainly not options for the codes; family photos and videos were instantly dismissed, and Shane continued to trawl the C drive in the hope of locating the file.

  There were employment records of all the guards, with pay-grades and background checks. There were several expenses folders, which had been altered drastically according to the system. No surprises there, Shane thought.

  He opened up the programs-list, and found what he was looking for about halfway up. A program called GenaLock, which was apparently software designed to generate codes for a thousand and one purposes, but in this case, it generated the codes for the facility doors.

  He loaded the program up and managed to navigate the functions as if he was a seasoned professional. It felt good that he was doing something, anything, to help. In the hands of the guards, the computer would have likely been wiped of its memory.

  There was a calendar icon in the corner of the screen. Shane ran the mouse over the icon and clicked. He found today's date, clicked once more, and that was that.

  7471.

  'I've got the code, I think,' Shane said aloud, trying not to sound too sure, just in case he was completely mistaken.

  'How sure are you?' Michaelson said as he pushed himself up to his feet. Jenson did the same.

  'Pretty sure,' Shane said. 'It was dated today, and it was all I could find on here.'

  Marla stepped into the conversation; her eyes were full of sleep and she yawned. 'What we got?'

  'Genius here reckons he's got the codes for the basement doors,' Jenson said, far too condescending for Shane's liking. He'd like to see Jenson – fucking prick – operate the computer with as much savvy as he had.

  'Is that all we need to get the fuck out of here?' Marla asked, perking up a little.

  'No,' Michaelson said. 'You need us for the fingerprints and voice-scan.'

  'In that case,' Marla smiled. 'We'd better make sure that you stay alive.'

  'Glad to hear,' Jenson said. 'Probably fucked up your plans, though, hasn't it?' He directed that in Shane's direction, a look of genuine distaste in his expression.

  'I have no idea what you mean,' Shane smiled, knowing that it would provoke the guard further. 'I love you like a brother, man.'

  Billy spluttered a laugh, and then cut it off as soon as Michaelson shot him a warning glance.

  'So, what are we waiting for?' Marla said. 'Let's get moving.'

  'Hang on a minute, sweetheart,' Jenson said, with about as much chauvinism as possible. 'We can't just go out there, guns cocked, with our dicks in our hands and hope for the best. We need to set some rules. We need to make sure that we're all on the same page.'

  Terry was already beginning to move the barricade. 'We're all on the same fucking page,' he said. 'We're getting the fuck out of here tonight, and I don't care if I have to spend the rest of my years behind bars, so long as those bars are as far as fucking possible away from those creatures.'

  Jenson was about to reprimand Terry when Michaelson intervened.

  'He's right. The only way we're going to make it out alive is if we trust one another. Usually, I wouldn't trust you guys,' he gestured to everyone in the room wearing coveralls, 'to make me a cup of tea and piss in it properly. But we don't have a choice.' Jenson once again tried to pipe up, but Michaelson cut him off. 'I know that whatever is happening out there has changed things, but we all just need to figure out what to do once we make it out. Is that the page that you were talking about?'

  Jenson shook his head. 'I was talking about trusting a bunch of fucking prisoners with our safety,' he spat.

  'If you think that you'll be better off on your own,' Terry said, sliding the remaining wood away from the door, 'then by all means, make a run for it.'

  Officer Jenson opened his mouth, let silence escape, and then closed it again.

  'Thought so. Now, you two have the guns, which means that we're placing a helluva lot of faith in your aim. If either of you feel that you can't handle the pressure, then please hand the gun to someone who can.'

  'Fuck that!' Jenson cried, staring around the room. 'I can handle this gun just fine; better than anybody else here, so you just keep your ideas to yourself, old man.'

  Terry nodded. 'Okay. Just make sure that you aim for the head. Anything else and it won't make a blind bit of difference. You can shoot them a hundred times in the dick and they'll just keep on coming.'

  'What about him?' Marla asked. She pointed to Billy Toombs, who was using Charles Dean's desk to hold himself steady. Sweat poured from his head, and he looked as pallid as ever. 'Who's going to take care of him?'

  'Me,' Shane said without a moment's hesitation. 'He'll be my responsibility from now on—'

  'I'm nobody's respons—'

  'You know what I mean, man,' Shane said. 'I'm going to make sure that you get out of here, just like the rest of us.'

  Billy sighed, accepting his fate – although his fate, he knew, was a lot worse. It was simply a matter of time.

  'Okay,' Michaelson said as he pulled his pistols from the holsters. 'If you both fall behind, though, then you both get left. It's that simple.'

  Shane nodded. 'I'd expect nothing less from you.'

  'Glad that's all clear,' Jenson said, edging closer to the door with his shotgun trained at head-height. 'Shall we?'

  'We shall,' Terry Lewis said, and pulled the door open.

  *

  The lights in the corridor were flashing on and off, which was not the best for visibility. Luckily, though, there were no creatures to greet them as they shuffled nervously from the governor's office. On the ground, surrounded by all manner of nameless viscera, were three bodies, bodies that hadn't been there a few hours before.

  The things were either dragging bodies around, or starting to eat their own. Perhaps the weaker creatures were becoming targets for the others; it wasn't beyond the realms of possibility, not with what had already happened in just a few hours.

  Terry and Jared, along with Officer Jenson, remained on the left of the corridor; Shane, Billy and Marla stayed behind Michaelson, who seemed the more adept of the two guards.

  'Slowly,' Michaelson whispered to his followers. There was a corner coming up, and it
wasn't wise to all go throwing themselves into danger. Michaelson held a hand up, telling the others to stay put, and then took a peek.

  His face relaxed a little as the corridor was empty, apart from a single body slumped against the wall. He signalled that it was clear and moved forward.

  One thing was for sure; those things were close. Sounds of scratching and moaning came from an indistinct direction. Every now and then there would arrive a guttural growl, loud enough to cause some concern amongst the survivors, but they continued forward regardless, hoping that it was too far away to actually harm them.

  The lights continued to flicker, the soft buzzing noise as the bulbs flicked off and on becoming annoying quite quickly. There was a stench in the hallway, a pungent redolence of dying flesh and faeces. It was a noisesome fetor, the kind that you could easily associate with an abattoir. It burnt the nostrils, lingered for what seemed like an eternity, and threatened to stay forever. As they pushed on through the corridor, Marla found herself wishing that her senses would simply disappear, all apart from sight, which would probably come in useful between now and the basement.

  They reached a door. It was locked, but the fingerprint scanner on the wall at the side was still functioning. Michaelson holstered his right pistol and slid his thumb across the panel. There was a bleep, and then the red flashing light which had been dancing beneath the panel ceased, replaced with a constant green.

  There was a metallic thunk between the door and its frame.

  'Well, that went well,' Terry sardonically said from the side of the corridor.

  Michaelson ignored him and pushed the door open. He muttered something beneath his breath as he stepped into the room – probably a profanity aimed at Terry for his sarcastic reproach.

  'What is this place?' Marla asked, stepping past the guard. Hanging on the walls were posters of naked women, provocatively posing for some low-brow porn magazine. There was a fridge, which continued to buzz in the corner of the room. The lights were steadier than in the corridor, yet still occasionally flickered. On a table in the middle of the room was a card-game that had been abandoned; cards were scattered haphazardly, and there were a few on the floor surrounding the four chairs.