Green Fields (Book 9): Exodus

by Lecter, Adrienne

  Even though the glare must have been just as bad for them—or maybe worse—there were zombies still about here, in several clumps. The first were two of them eating a third, a truly macabre display as all of them were still alive, or as alive as they got. Hill kicked them out of the way, likely upsetting the power balance. None of us cared.

  The second heap turned out to be what was left of Aimes—not much beyond torn-apart gear and cracked bones. Why waste a perfectly good body that might still have been lukewarm as whatever kept it going stopped working?

  The third were the two shamblers I’d felled, a good ten of the more intact ones feasting on them. One or two noticed us but they were too occupied to care. I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to draw too much attention to ourselves from the sound, but Cole had no such reservations, emptying an entire magazine into any head he could reach—which was pretty much like shooting fish in a barrel. Murdock and Burns helped, until none of the freaks were moving.

  The forth heap we found, in the middle corridor, was teeming with snarling, bloody shamblers, and I started shooting as soon as we were in close enough range to ensure headshots. Either alerted by the others—or smarter—they turned on us in full force. Hill had the right idea, again switching to his sledgehammer rather than a semi-useless rifle, the corridor just wide enough to let him swing unhindered. I ducked behind him, taking a knee to shoot from a crouched position whenever I had free sight. Richards broke one hand getting flung into a window, and all of us got knocked around somewhat good—but eventually, we prevailed so we could check on what was left of Tanner—or all seven major parts that had once been Tanner, in places already gnawed down to the bones.

  I really didn’t want to continue, but I had to. Because there was still one clump of snarling undead ahead, at the very end of the right-most corridor, inside one of the labs bathed in violet light.

  My eyes were tearing up to the point where my entire vision swam, making it impossible to properly focus on anything. But it was obvious what that huddle of shamblers, crawling all over each other to be able to continue their feeding frenzy meant.

  Except that there were drag marks and bloody handprints leading away from it. Across the room, underneath one of the workbenches. Across the shelves at the opposite wall, up to…

  “Fuck me,” I mumbled, blinking rapidly to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. Nope, that was definitely a body—bloody, bruised, and beaten, but looking positively intact—that lay curled up inside the box of the laminar flow hood, blasted from all sides with UV light so bright that even squinting didn’t let me focus on it.

  He’d definitely put up quite the fight—now that I could concentrate on the signs, I saw them everywhere. He must have killed the two shamblers that the others were feasting on, but that wasn’t everything. Two heavy desks, a shelf, and a workbench had been overturned to create as much of a maze in the room as possible. Anything light enough to be thrown—except for the fire extinguisher by the door—was upturned, one of the windows to the corridor cracked from a desk centrifuge ending up there, now destroyed on the floor below. Tanner’s death must have bought him some time—and he’d made the best of that time that he’d been able to.

  The sound of my voice, even drowned out by the wet squelch of tearing flesh, was enough to draw all the unwanted attention I really didn’t need right then, but my body flew into action even if my mind was incapable on focusing on that right now. Rather than limit myself with a firearm in the tight space of the lab, I grabbed the heavy fire extinguisher from beside the door and used that to bash at anything bloody and snarling that came at me. And then I was past them, leaving the guys to take care of that problem. My boots slipped on the trail of blood as I careened around the corner, barely catching myself as I pulled myself along the benches. My fingers were shaking as I reached for the lid of the hood cover, yet a hand slamming against it—from the outside—made me halt for a second. Richards was standing beside me, a gun in his uninjured left hand, giving me a quick, jerky nod to go ahead. Right. There was that conversation thing that might end with me getting my face chewed off. Not that I cared right then.

  Nate’s body barely fit into the space of the hood, and I banged his head good as I pulled him back out, the added weight making us both topple backward to the floor. Where not covered with torn pieces of clothing, his skin was burned and had started to blister in places, but that was still better than dismemberment. He was unresponsive, but the blood slowly dripping from his nose frothed every twenty seconds or so with a shallow breath. I didn’t dare take off the mask, seeing as the ionized hydrogen dioxide could easily get into the labs through any open doors, but he seemed stable enough for now. As far as I could tell, all parts were still attached, but he was bleeding badly from several deep wounds, the blood loss making the few patches of his skin that weren’t burned ghostly white.

  “You grab one leg, I’ll get the other,” Richards told me. “And grab the key.”

  “Key” was a nice term for our severed head, but I didn’t protest. My body was still so worked up that crouching on the floor over Nate’s prone body was torture; being able to move was a lot better. The others were still busy with the shamblers and gave up as soon as we were out of the lab, dragging the lifeless body between us. Burns took point, the others remained behind us, trying to keep the shamblers from following. Realizing that they’d just lost some juicy bits of warm flesh, they came after us, howling and screaming, alerting the others—and the chemical mist still diffused in the air only held them back so much.

  I only realized how much when we flew out of the lab area and past the checkpoint into the corridors leading to the main part of the complex, and suddenly there were answering howls and growls coming from everywhere at once.

  “Run?” I asked no one in particular.

  “Run!” Cole agreed loudly from behind me before shooting down a corridor we passed.

  So that’s what we did, skidding and careening into corners and silently praying that we would be quick enough. My mind locked up in a litany of “please don’t die”—and I wasn’t entirely sure if I only meant Nate or all of us. Being brave in the face of my own suicide was one thing, but being responsible—again—for someone else’s, not so much.

  But we reached the exit corridor without getting torn to shreds, and while a few shamblers had wandered back in, they were much too interested in the easy food already on the ground to get in our way. Burns stopped just before the security checkpoint, waving our unencumbered runners forward before herding Richards and me along. I lobbed the head toward Hill, watching in a moment of macabre fascination as he fumbled with it. Behind us, I could hear the horde coming, the darkness so deep that I couldn’t make out more than shapes. “Hurry up!”

  Hill caught his burden for good and held it up to the checkpoint. As soon as that door opened, he took off, and we were on the home stretch. My shoulders and lower back were killing me, my lungs burning with exertion and lack of air to the point where I started seeing blotches all over my vision, but I forced myself to push through. Only one more door, then we were safe—relatively speaking.

  Cole reached the door first, taking up a defensive position, Murdock dropping to a knee beside him. Hill didn’t bother with stopping but let the door itself slow him down, pressing the head into the sensor field. Nothing happened for endless four seconds, then the lights turned green and the lock disengaged. Hill pretty much fell into the room; Cole and Murdock crawled through backward, their rifles trained down the corridor. One last, gigantic pull and Richards and I managed to trundle through, forcing Burns to vault over us as he hadn’t slowed down. The others were still there, even Hamilton—somewhat to my surprise—but had been smart enough to move out of the way. Russell and Munez stood ready by the door, pushing it shut as soon as we cleared it. I hadn’t planned on falling to my knees but my legs simply gave out, spilling me onto my back, just in time to see a good twenty zombies make a run for the closing gap. The door “thunked” sh
ut not a moment too soon, the sound of several heavy impacts on the other side making not just me shudder. While everyone else was either on the floor or bent over, panting heavily, Cole tore at the cables next to the scanner panel, putting it offline for good. It shorted out with a satisfying rain of sparks, making him yelp and jump back.

  “No one’s coming through that ever again,” he observed, shaking his right hand, his gloves smoking faintly. I allowed myself the hint of a grin after I tore my mask off, but that was all the attention I had to spare, forcing my mind to snap out of flight mode pronto.

  In the harsh glare of the flashlights, Nate looked even worse than the few glimpses in the lab had let me assess. I blindly groped for a water bottle from my pack, wetting one of my spare shirts so I could wipe off some of the blood to get a better look at where it was still coming from, easily taking off a few layers of skin that way. I winced but continued, glad when Burns held out a knife to me so I could cut through shredded gear where it made no sense to preserve it. Nate was no longer bleeding from his nose, but I figured that might just be a good sign.

  “Parker, glue!” I called, not looking up from my grisly work. When no one handed me that damn tissue adhesive, I looked up, not caring to cut down on the wave of annoyance that rose within me. The medic remained huddled in the back part of the room, glowering at everyone and me in particular, not moving a muscle. I narrowed my eyes at him, my mouth opening to send a scathing tirade his way, but Cole snapped first, stalking over to Parker, towering over him. No words were exchanged but they weren’t necessary; Cole returned with two first-aid kits and a satchel that he dropped onto the floor next to me, already opening them to get me what I needed.

  “You know that shit’s only a temporary fix?”

  I nodded, taking the first syringe he handed me, tearing the safety cap off with my teeth. “One of the first things I did after the shit hit the fan was to dig what was left of the glue, plus pus and necrotic flesh in abundance, out of his chest. Martinez had to patch him up after a rebar speared him through the chest.” The memory made me crack a smile. “That rebar should have gone through me, probably. Didn’t because he pushed me away. You could say this is kind of our thing.”

  The worst-looking wounds were all superficial—and would leave some scars that could rival those on my hip and leg—but some were still bleeding enough to make me curse as I tried to plug them. One in the crook of his neck, two on his torso, and one so close to the femoral artery on his right leg that I could confirm that he had, in fact, not been going commando, and the goods looked properly tucked away still. That done, I allowed myself a simple sigh of relief as I rocked back on my heels—but that didn’t mean much. In a day or two, I’d have to cut the glue out and hope I could sew him back together. Maybe after that things would look up. They had to, really. There was no alternative.

  I checked on his breathing next, this time in earnest. There was some wet rattling going on that I really didn’t like but he was still breathing, regularly if slowly. I could only passingly check his burns and we didn’t have anything with us for that so I slapped on some gauze and moved on. I peeled his lids back next, trying to check his eyes, not sure what to expect. They weren’t looking like cooked egg whites so that was good, but I knew that so much UV light would have wreaked havoc with them as well. Next came the part I couldn’t do on my own but Burns and Cole were ready to lend a hand—happy align-broken-bones and pop-joints-back-in-place time! I didn’t doubt that we’d have to do more of that later, once he was conscious enough to let us know what didn’t move as it should.

  “Are you done yet?” Hamilton asked as soon as I took a moment to wipe my bloody, grimy hands on the even more bloody, grimy rag formerly known as my shirt. “We need to get going.”

  Glaring up at him I found that even tired enough to keel over, I was still angry enough to be ready for a fight.

  “What’s ten more minutes to you? Getting bored already? It’s dark outside, anyway, so what’s the difference?” Dark, in a city that had given us barely a glimpse at its undead population in daylight, which had been enough already to give me nightmares for years.

  “Me? I could watch you play dilettante patch-up for hours. But those undead fuckers on the other side of the door have gotten mighty quiet. Wanna bet they’re smart enough to use one of their exits to the surface so they can wait for us when we finally make it up through the elevator shaft? Just a thought.”

  A very sobering one, and one I hadn’t considered. Rather than kick myself for that, I inclined my head, if grudgingly. “That’s all I can do for him right now. Do we have something we can make a stretcher out of, once we’re past the shaft?” I figured someone would likely have to pull Nate up the old-fashioned way.

  “Check on your other patient while we get everything ready,” Hamilton told me.

  I was ready to grouse at his dismissal, but then realized that he was talking about Gita. The guilt that I hadn’t yet felt as we’d stumbled over Tanner’s remains came crashing over me full force now as I turned to where she was hunched over in a corner, looking incredibly small and all alone in the world.

  Crouching down next to her, I checked her temperature first. At least she was still responsive and hadn’t seemed to get much worse in the meantime.

  “You didn’t find him, did you?” Her voice was weak, barely more than a croak.

  I debated with myself what to tell her. I would have wanted to know the truth—but I’d gotten a second chance today that she’d never have. Adding to her obvious grief didn’t seem smart, so I shook my head, hoping that none of the other idiots would later contradict me.

  “Nope. I’d love to tell you there’s still a chance—”

  “I know that there isn’t,” she offered, closing her eyes for a second—and then visibly pulling herself together. “I hope he took a lot of them with him before they got him. He always said he wouldn’t want to die, toothless and senile, in a bed somewhere. Just didn’t think it would happen so soon.”

  “It’s always too soon.”

  She let me pull her to her feet, and I went over her gear and weapons check with her. She still had two spare magazines, which was more than she’d probably be able to use. The nasty voice at the back of my head helpfully supplied that those were two spare magazines I could grab should push come to shove. I tried to ignore that knowledge as best as I could as I got myself ready before checking on Nate again. Burns was done wrapping him in his spare jacket, and the torn leftovers of the old one did a good job patching up the holes in his pants. I’d make sure to get him all bundled up once we were in the boats.

  If we made it back to the boats.

  That had felt like a small detail when we’d descended into the underground complex, not like the insurmountable feat it had turned into now.

  Nobody was leaving here unscathed. Munez was actually the one with the less cuts, bruises, and broken bones, and considering that he was likely infected, that was saying a lot. I wasn’t the only one who had trouble now ascending the elevator shaft. If not for the small electric gimmicks that helped, Richards with his broken hand—and utter loss of five of his fingers because of that—would never have been able to get out of there. Getting down had been an affair of minutes; getting everyone and what was left of the gear back out took over an hour and was far from stealthy. Somehow we managed, because what was the alternative? Exactly.

  It was as we sneaked up the stairwell to the ground level that I felt the first effects of the booster finally wearing off. I hadn’t kept track of it anymore after we’d ventured into the hot lab, but the sudden sensation of vertigo, followed by a spell of weakness that almost brought me to my knees, was an unwelcome reminder that I was running on borrowed resources. It passed quickly enough, but it was a warning I absolutely could have done without.

  The foyer of the building was still empty, but predators—bipedal and more—had taken the last hours as an invitation to come after the corpses our cleanup effort had left. There w
as gore, streaks of fluids, and parts of bodies everywhere, a grisly welcome mat if there’d ever been one. But that wasn’t the only nasty surprise waiting for me.

  Because of my physical limitations—and this time not even those due to Raynor’s precision work—I couldn’t be used for hauling gear or the wounded, so vanguard duty it was. Since we had Nate and Gita to carry, and Richards couldn’t shoot, it was down to Munez and me to sneak outside and find a way for all of us back across the entire length of the plaza and down to where the boats—hopefully—were still waiting for us. I hated the idea of having to leave Nate’s side, but I hated the idea of Hamilton shooting me in the face out of principle even more, so out into the biting cold and darkness I went.

  The last traces of light in the sky were long gone, leaving the city in utter darkness. The weather had turned for the better, the storm moving on while we’d been busy underground; only light gusts of wind were still blowing, chasing the last tendrils of fog away. It was a clear, starry night, and under different circumstances I would have loved to enjoy the view. At least there was enough light left for my eyes to work well, but that also meant the shamblers would see us, too.

  I stepped out through what used to be one of the huge windows next to the grand portal, pressing myself against the cold slab of stone next to it. Munez mirrored my move on the other side, looking around nervously. My side was the one farther away from the river, toward the cube-arch thing towering above the plaza. From here, I could see the open spaces leading up to it well—and the easily over a thousand strong mob of shamblers that slowly trundled from one side to the other. There was no sense or direction to their motions so it wasn’t simply a streak passing through. Why they didn’t seek shelter, I couldn’t say, but I didn’t like how those closest to us stopped more frequently to sniff the air. I knew I was reeking of disinfectant, but to their fine-tuned senses I probably also smelled of blood—Nate’s, that of the freaks I’d killed or fended off, and maybe some of my own as well. Or maybe it was something else that triggered them, who was to say?