Green Fields (Book 9): Exodus

by Lecter, Adrienne

  I nodded—nothing I could add to that. “Must be some shit they did with the serum.”

  “Like what you shot me up with?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “That’s supposed to be the stable version,” I reminded her. “But if it’s not, do me a favor? Keep chewing on Hamilton if you get to him. Even if it makes him harder to kill in the long run, I’d love to see him realize what’s happening to his presumably immune ass.”

  “You bet,” she joked, but it was impossible to ignore the fear in her eyes.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I said, patting her shoulder to try to lend my voice the conviction it was likely lacking. “There’s a good chance they killed Nate’s brother exactly because what I shot you up with was the next upgrade for the serum. Just… it’s gonna be okay.” All out of platitudes, that was all I could give her.

  I saw her look around briefly, taking in the assortment of plastic material everywhere. The temperature control had long since stopped working, leaving not a trace of cool air in here, but probably a lot of mold in petri dishes thankfully locked away in refrigerators. “Think that was all of them?”

  “I saw something moving out here before they came through the airlock. We’re not alone. We still need to get to the others.” I made sure that I had the next spare magazines in easy reach before I turned to the door. “You open that. I shoot everything lurking on the other side. We run. Sounds like a plan?”

  I got a dejected stare from her but she reached for the handle after slamming a fresh magazine into her M4. “Sure does.”

  I was ready to empty my entire magazine at a moment’s notice, but the corridor outside was empty. Well, not empty—the two shamblers I’d mutilated were about halfway down the hallway, but I ignored them. As much as I might strain my ears, I couldn’t hear anything but them, either. Gita hesitated but then hastened along the corridor to the next lab door that would lead us through that room to the central corridor once more. I followed, using slow, deliberate steps, my focus snapping to the downed shamblers every few seconds. She effortlessly wove through the workbenches but halted at one of the doors—and, instead of aiming for the middle corridor, went back to the outer. I was about to jump forward and hold her back, but she stopped inside the door frame, pointing. Joining her, I saw what she’d found: one of the panels in front of a maintenance space was knocked loose, revealing lots of lines and cables—and enough space behind all that for us to squeeze through.

  I only hesitated for a second, then stepped outside and checked up and down the corridor. The downed shamblers had been aiming for the door we’d disappeared through before but immediately switched course now that they saw me again, but that was it. I gave Gita the silent signal to follow me and went to inspect the tunnel, hating having to stick my head in first. Barely any light filtered in around me as I blocked the entrance, helping my eyesight improve immediately. The back wall was made of concrete, impenetrable to anything biological, but the shamblers must have spent plenty of time digging out insulation and other layers, widening the space reserved for the power lines and other shit except for the ventilation system. It was pitch dark inside either way—and I could only see so far—so I had to trust that nothing was lurking in here. I absolutely hated that, but it was the kind of alternate route that we had been missing so far. At least nothing would be able to slam into me here—or so I hoped.

  Switching the light on my M16 on, I shined it down the passage the way we had come first, then forward. Still nothing, not even a rat scurrying away, but then the facility had been blissfully vermin-free—except for the bipedal sort. I had to pull my shoulders in as much as possible to manage to squeeze into the passage and still keep my pack on—turning sideways, it would have been easier—but it was possible. Burns, or even Nate, wouldn’t have fit, but Gita and I for once had the advantage here. With no time to waste, I only waited until Gita had squeezed in behind me before I moved forward, trying to make as few sounds as possible.

  It was slow going, and I absolutely hated how the walls pressed in around me, making it impossible for me to even look back over my shoulder. It took me a good minute to reach the next access panel, what I estimated were three lab spaces out in the corridor. We had easily five times the distance to travel so I kept going. And going. I stopped at the next panel, waiting until Gita caught up with me, her movements almost silent but in here they were easy to pick out. I was just about to suggest dislodging the panel and checking on the corridor when I heard something—right on the other side of the panel. Both of us froze, Gita’s hand barely touching down on my upper arm, her fingers squeezing me tightly for a second.

  I let out my breath slowly, then inhaled through my nose, ignoring my lungs as they were screaming for more air. The air back in here smelled dank but the entire complex had that latent chemical stench I’d long ago come to associate with labs. Aimes had smelled of gunfire and blood; the zombie I’d thought I’d killed, of blood and something more animalistic, yet not the typical scent of decay—which was usually more like an olfactory bomb than mere hints. I hadn’t exactly had the time to get more than a whiff of it. Now?

  The sound repeated itself—a soft scratching, but I couldn’t place it. It was definitely coming from beyond the panel. I was itching to shoot right through the wall, sure I would hit whatever was lurking out there. But then I hesitated. I really didn’t want to give away our presence—let alone position—if I didn’t have to. Maybe whatever was hunting out there would go away if we just waited—

  Something grabbed me, from above, and I knew that I’d hesitated that one second too long. Strong fingers dug into my arms and shoulders, heaving upward hard enough that I lost my footing—and my balance—flailing around uselessly. My hip collided painfully with the concrete wall, but at least that gave me a single point of reference to orient myself. I kicked at where I hoped the wall was, connecting painfully enough that agony exploded through my right ankle and knee. As I’d hoped, that created enough of a sideways force for whatever had grabbed me to have a hard time continuing to pull me up. Somehow I managed to get my M16 pointing upward, the light blinding me as it fell on concrete, cables, pasty white flesh—

  I pulled the trigger, praying that I wasn’t going to end up shooting myself somehow. My left cheek twinged with pain as a freshly ejected shell casing glanced off. Something wet sprayed my face, then my right arm was free, vertigo hitting me as I half fell, half pulled that thing down with me. Pain exploded across my right temple, disorienting me to the point where I couldn’t keep up from down—and then, the sensation of being flung.

  My back hit the panel full-force, driving the air right out of my lungs, but my body wasn’t done being in motion. The force of my impact dislodged the panel and sent me tumbling out into the corridor, the muted but much-brighter-than-darkness lighting outside added to my sense of vertigo—and then I crashed into the floor, my leg, hip, and thigh exploding with pain that made the previous impacts pale in comparison. A small part of my mind wondered if the titanium parts of my femur had just cracked the adjacent bone, pulverizing everything between my knee and hip joint. That was how it felt, at least.

  My lungs screamed for air but I couldn’t draw breath, my body not cooperating. I rolled over—or tried to—but going right was impossible, so I had to roll onto the left half of my body, which was not a good idea. The pain got so bad that I blacked out for a second, gasping with anguish—but at least that finally brought oxygen back into my body. Adrenaline hit me like a freight-train, my pulse skyrocketing, my heart beating hard enough that it felt ready to burst out of my ribcage. Muscles tensed of their own volition, and suddenly I was staggering to my feet, still uncoordinated and disoriented, my body moving as if on autopilot. From the corner of my eye I saw something coming at me. I ducked, evaded, and came up again to kick, hitting squarely at the center of mass, all without my mind giving clear commands to do so. The zombie was hurled across the corridor, smacking into the wall next to the dislodged panel—tha
t I found halfway between us on the floor, warped from my body’s impact.

  Rage, white hot and all encompassing, flooded my mind, narrowing my focus on the freak zombie as its sole target. I took a running jump at it, slamming shoulder-first into it, bones crunching under the impact. I reared back, my left foot slipping for a moment as my leg almost buckled under the strain after twisting the wrong way before, but I hardly felt the pain exploding up to my hip. It was easy to ignore, beyond the inconvenience of not having perfect balance. Feeling that drawback made me even more mad, and my fist came up before I could properly plan it, smashing into the zombie’s temple. More pain, my fingers going numb after a second of agony, but that didn’t matter. The shambler was folding in on itself, and I followed, elbow first, slamming it right into its face—and again, and again. As soon as I got control back over my fingers, I grabbed that thing by one arm, pulling as hard as I could, flinging it over me, across the corridor, where it smacked into the opposite wall and slid down into a lifeless heap.

  I tried coming after it as it was still in mid-fling, but my body locked down, mental clarity returning. I half screamed, half inhaled as my lungs finally got the air they needed. As quickly as I’d lost control, I got it back now, that immeasurable anger receding into the pit of my stomach. My body snapped back into full awareness, but with that came all the neural feedback I’d been able to ignore for the past several seconds. It hurt so fucking much that I had to bend over just to make it through the next, struggling breath. My mind was still in hyper-awareness mode, and I realized that it only took a little effort to wipe all that pain away, stuff it into a box, and push it to the very back of my awareness. To dip deep into my reserves, to find the strength to not just get up but tear that zombie to shreds—but I was also aware of how much of a finite resource my energy was. Already, I was running at sixty percent at best, exhaustion like a massive storm brewing on the horizon. Only that once that well ran dry, I wouldn’t be crouching on any floor, tired and still panting for breath. No, I’d be dead, and nothing in the world would be able to bring me back from that brink.

  Moments before, none of that mattered. Now, it scared the fucking shit out of me, making me hesitate to even move a muscle in fear that it would burn up too much of my remaining strength. But I had to move. I had to get up. I had to—

  “You need to get up,” I heard a raspy voice mutter next to me, imploring, laced with dread.

  My head snapped up, my body kicking into overdrive immediately, ready to physically spring into action. A quick check confirmed—the zombie still wasn’t moving, and the angle of its neck made me guess I’d severed its spine. No idea if that would be enough to keep it down for long, but for now, it was. The corridor was empty in the near vicinity, the damn cripples still trying to come after us. The voice, of course, belonged to Gita, who was crouching next to me, her eyes bright with fever—and fear. Of me, the nasty voice at the back of my head supplied. Of our fucking circumstances, I told that voice, and to go fuck itself.

  I pushed myself up, doing a quick check on myself. Everything was still operational, but my left leg was definitely not up for a repeat performance of this. My rifle was nowhere in sight, but when she saw me looking, Gita bent back into the hole left by the panel and pulled it out. I checked it quickly, deciding I’d have to trust that it was still working. The optics and light were a bust, but the rest seemed okay. Last, I did a check on the running countdown we were on, confirming what I’d guessed—we really needed to haul ass.

  “Come on, let’s go,” I told her in as low a tone as I could manage and still be heard. “We’re going to make a run for it.”

  I didn’t wait for her to respond but set off instead, trying for a light-footed, even gait but probably looked like a clomping, lame horse as I made my way down the corridor. I didn’t check the doors we passed but instead let my subconscious run through any clues, visual or auditory, that it might pick up. I could survive another two or three attacks like the last—but if it came to that, we might just be out of time, and it didn’t matter what ended up killing me. Gita running behind me was a distraction, but also a familiar comfort. I thought I picked up more, moving to our left, far behind, but I ignored it as it wasn’t an immediate danger. Maybe it was Aimes. Maybe it was an entire band of freak zombies. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was to get out of the fucking lab spaces.

  I stopped as we closed in on the security station at the very end of the labs, where the intersection lay that led to the bioreactors. Somewhere close, Nate and his group had to be holding down the fort. I could hear faint scuffling sounds from up ahead. Looking back the way we had come, I tried to locate whatever had been lurking behind us, but couldn’t find anything.

  “Can you lock the doors back here?” I asked Gita, trying to guess if the heavy fire doors would be enough to hold back what might be coming after us. With the tunnels and ventilation system, it was anyone’s guess if they’d even try.

  Breathing heavy from the short sprint, Gita forced herself to straighten as she pulled a device out of her pocket, blinking stupidly at it for a few seconds. “I think I’m locked out of the system,” she finally replied, her voice slurring slightly. “I’d have to try from the terminal at the server room.”

  “Never mind,” I told her, stepping past the checkpoint so I could clear the way ahead. “We’re out of time.”

  As I neared the intersection, it was impossible not to see the signs of battle. There were cartridges littering the ground, bullet holes all over the floor, walls, and ceiling, and no short amount of blood. Someone had made a stand here—and they’d pushed forward.

  I checked that my com unit was still working. Somehow, it had survived me being flung into a wall and through another. At least the LEDs were still blinking. “Lewis here. We’re outside the labs now. What’s your status?”

  This time, I got a response almost immediately, from Tanner. “We’re still locked down here. You’re just in time—we’re making a push from both sides to break through the main recreational area and get to the exits.” He paused briefly, and I thought I could hear someone shouting in the background. “There are more of them hiding by the reactors and up in the office levels,” he told me. “Your best bet is to make a run for it and get to us before they get to you. How far away are you?”

  I did a quick calculation, the image of the blueprints vivid in my head. “Fifty yards down the corridor, then two bends, and then we should be in the corridor outside the rec area.”

  “That’s where we’re bogged down,” he affirmed.

  “Okay, we’re coming to you,” I whispered, giving Gita the signal to halt. I considered, then made the hand signals to tell her to take the lead—and run. I had a certain feeling that my voice had been loud enough to draw attention from everything moving around the corner, and if I went first, they’d get her before I was halfway down the corridor. If they got me, I still stood a chance to get up again. Gita shook her head vehemently, but I gave her a stern glare that made her rethink and finally nod.

  I inched the rest of the way to the intersection, careful to make as few sounds as possible. A first look both ways revealed empty corridors, but I didn’t trust that assessment. Closer now, I thought I could make out the sound of someone reloading a weapon, but I couldn’t be sure. Might have been wishful thinking, too.

  Exhaling slowly, I forced my body and mind to quiet before I gave Gita the signal to move forward. She didn’t hesitate—bless her—but even her light footfalls made me wince. Turning to face the bioreactor wing, I started walking backward, trying to keep my attention on everything all at once.

  I was less than three feet away from the intersection when I caught movement down the hallway—and not just from one figure.

  “Tanner, we will be coming in hot,” I said as I got ready to fire. “At least three targets.”

  It was Burns who responded instead. “Acknowledged.”

  The left-most of the zombies lunged, and I fired. Rather than tr
y to kill it right away, I strafed the entire corridor, hoping to make them pause—and buy us the time needed to get to the others. Behind me, I heard Gita’s steps increase into a full-out sprint, my own mind yearning to follow her. My body, though, had other ideas, as I felt a new wave of adrenaline wash through me, making it sound much more fun to hurl myself toward the enemy rather than away from it. I continued shooting as I kept backing away, sending short bursts at each alternating target. Three became four became five, none of them looking impressed by the hits they took. The last shot left my magazine, and for a moment I was tempted to simply throw away the M16 and hurl myself forward instead. What the fuck was it with this suicide serum?

  Dropping the empty magazine, I got a new one ready, still backing away. From the corner of my eye I saw that I was at the first bend in the corridor. It was the perfect point where to fling myself around and start running instead, so that’s what I did—after emptying the full new magazine into the closest two shamblers, bringing them both to a halt as the wounds in their legs became inconvenient. I didn’t take another moment to check whether they’d fall or not, nor to reload—I ran.

  Howls and screams started up behind me, the resulting primeval fear jerking my brain stem into giving me extra speed. My balance wasn’t perfect because of how banged up my left leg was, but it didn’t need to be. I knew I was so close. Just sprint, turn, sprint, turn, and my people would be right there—

  Only that when I careened around that last corner that brought me onto the straight leading toward the common area, there was nobody in the corridor. Also no barriers to use for cover, no nothing. What the—