Karma jumped to attention, her brain rattling with the wheels of the armored caravan as it rumbled through the desert. It was nothing like she thought; the windows were barred and shut, blocking out the world outside.
The commander, Talon, grabbed her by the scruff of her drifter suit, her reflection dancing off his helmet. Bullets of light sparkled through tiny holes in the metal.
"Pay attention, Harper," he barked through the radio attached to her ear. "Playtime's over—”
“Maybe she wants her mommy,” someone quipped.
The others laughed and Talon told them all to shut it. She closed her eyes to take her mind off being sick. It was her first time in a vehicle—her first time outside the Nest—and she felt like she was going to puke. The only reason why she didn't was out of fear of being trapped inside the drifter suit with her own vomit.
"Now everybody, listen up," Talon instructed, hidden behind the mask of his own drifter suit. They all looked like aliens, thought Karma, like a squad of rubber tires come to take over the planet. "This is the drill: Once we arrive at our destination, we clear it of any threat and search the sector. Keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. If you see any Flesh Rotters, eliminate on sight.” He turned to Karma. “You, Harper, stick with Davies. He’ll cover your rear—”
“I didn’t come on board to babysit,” Davies mumbled from the back of the caravan.
“That’s enough, Davies,” Talon growled. “Just remember, if something goes wrong out there, your life may depend on this little lady whether you like it or not.”
No one had anything to say to that.
"All right, boys," barked Talon as the caravan jerked to a stop, rattling them in their seats. Guns were clenched in their fists. Karma was the only one without one. "Shows on. Let’s move out and remember to stay together! Any sign of Flesh Rotters, take ‘em down and do it quickly!" He looked at Karma. “Hope you’re ready for this, Harper. Welcome to the Dead World.”
Karma blinked back the sunlight as the rear of the caravan opened and they all filed out. She grabbed her medical bag and stumbled out after them, staring up at the bleak sky. It was like watching a movie through someone else’s eyes. The sun blazed down from a cloudless sky, blurred by the tint of her helmet. For miles and miles, she saw nothing but dry, open land. A cluster of mountains lingered in the distance.
For some reason, she expected more—
"Harper," Talon said, snapping her out of it. "Let's go. Remember what I said—pay attention."
If only Ben could see this, she thought to herself as she followed the watchmen, armed and loaded, past a chain link fence, crushed on the ground. It may not have been much, but it was enough. They wandered toward a compound of white buildings. Bullet holes and craters from bombs peppered the entire perimeter, including the runway, where a series of damaged planes and cargo trucks sat, missing parts from their chassis or corroded beyond repair.
“If there’s any Flesh Rotters,” Talon said over the radio. “Then they’ll be inside where it’s dark.”
Karma glanced at the structures and the blackness that rested beyond the broken frames of their dusty, cracked windows. Some of them had no windows at all; a perfect hiding spot for things that didn’t want to be seen.
“No sign of any heat signatures, sir,” Roman croaked from in front of them, clutching a radar device between his gloved hands.
“Good,” Talon buzzed back. “Keep moving.”
They continued on, marching past a dented sign, half buried in the dirt: Private Property—Restricted Area—No Trespassing Beyond This Point—Photography of this Area is Prohibited!
Karma wondered if they were stupid for not listening—
"We secure the outside first," Talon's voice crackled over the radio; dirt pelted and clung to the creases of his suit. "Once inside, make sure you go night vision and use your heat sensors. When the perimeter is cleared, we meet back at the caravan. Understood?"
A bunch of "Aye-aye's" and "yes, sir's," sent them on their way, and despite Talon’s original orders to go with Davies, he ordered her to stick with him. She imagined it was because he was the only one who seemed to like her. Since boarding the caravan, the others did nothing but pick on her, giving her a sense of what Ben went through. Girls could be cruel, she knew, but men with strong arms and even stronger egos could be crueler.
“Looks like they left in a rush,” Mackey commented from the other side of the compound.
“There’s no bodies or nothin’,” noted Swanson.
Talon said, “Flesh Rotters are cannibals. If there were any bodies here, trust me—they’re gone now.”
No one spoke for a long time. Sand carried across the land as they weaved between the buildings; some of the smaller structures were reduced to nothing more than rubble and scrap, the remnants of a lost war. From the stories her grandfather used to tell, the Black had spread so fast that the government, not even the army, could stop it. In a matter of months, the world was overrun by Flesh Rotters, and without a cure, the survivors ran to the safest place on earth; they went underground.
"Anything yet?" asked Talon as they rounded the back of a large white building.
Davies answered, "Negative, sir. The entire compound is abandoned."
Any fool could see that, thought Karma. There wasn’t a bird or a critter in sight. After patrolling the perimeter, they stopped before a huge, white structure with no windows. It was the biggest building on the compound. The steel door was locked, but it wasn’t a problem for Talon and his squad. Roman exchanged his radar for a torch and began melting away the frame. Bright orange sparks gleamed off their helmets and minutes later, a red ring bordered the door. Mackey, with a heavy boot, kicked it open. The door caved in and slammed against the floor, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Davies sparked a flare and tossed it inside, filling the darkness with a brilliant red glow, revealing a mid-sized lobby where an empty desk sat. Beyond it, was a long, narrow hallway, and an abyss of blackness.
Everyone shuffled inside, taking stances on either side of the entrance. Karma came in after them, checking every corner, every shadow for Flesh Rotters. Talon withdrew a flashlight and aimed it down the hallway. There was nothing but doors and dust motes, the size of his fist, floating through the air. No monsters, not yet.
“Clear,” Talon rumbled over the radio. “Swanson and Davies, you stay here and watch the entrance. The rest of you, follow me.” He looked at Karma. “That includes you Harper.”
Karma couldn’t get her heart to stop racing as she followed Talon and the others down the dark hallway, expecting an attack at any second. A large door sat at the end with a busted keypad. The sign above it read: Approved Personnel Only. A tiny barred window revealed another hallway beyond it. This time Roman didn’t need his torch. He grabbed the lever and yanked it open. Karma shivered as a gust of cold air flowed through it and pressed against her drifter suit like a cold breath. Talon sparked another flare and tossed it through the doorway: an elevator glittered in the light with its doors pried open.
Another flare was lit and tossed down into the gap. It fell for several stories and landed on top of the elevator that appeared to be stuck between two levels.
“It’s blocked,” Talon said. “We’ll have to take the stairwell.”
Karma swallowed. The stairwell. From that point on, no more flares were used. Talon ordered them to switch to night vision and, with a little help from her superior, her world turned to bright green. All the shadows were erased, and an endless metal stairwell appeared before them, looming into darkness beyond a door marked for emergencies only.
She took a deep breath and down into darkness she went, clamoring down the stairs after her squad.
She couldn’t begin to describe the things she saw: It was dark and depressing, filled with dented animal cages and skeletons of dead animals. Microscopes took up every tabletop, covered in cobwebs and dead insects, caught in the webs. Spiders scattered away from their feet as they c
runched over broken glass and test tubes. It was a laboratory.
“Now this is what I’m talking about,” said Mackey, picking up a bottle of medicine off the floor. “We could use some of this stuff back at the Nest.”
“Don’t touch anything,” Talon said. “It hasn’t been tested—”
“Sir.” It came from Roman. “We have movement, nine o’clock!”
Faster than you could flick a switch, all the watchmen went into battle mode, forming a tight circle. Talon ordered Karma to get behind him, and Mackey and Roman flanked her sides; Nelson took the rear.
“Ready to fire on my call,” Talon muttered at the sound of something moving through the darkness. First, it came from behind her, then beside her, then in front of her, even though nothing appeared to be there. Her helmet fogged with her breath; she couldn’t control it, sweating like a pig beneath her drifter suit, minutes away from becoming face to face with a Flesh Rotter.
“Twelve o’clock, sir,” Roman shouted and all at once, they opened fire. At what, she couldn’t say, but they shot at the air, the shadows, the dust—anything within their path was ripped to shreds. Moments later, a rat came scurrying out and disappeared through the door, whipping its tail behind it.
There were curses and shared laughter.
A second later, Davies and Swanson were buzzing over the radio, but Talon assured them everything was fine.
“That was the biggest darn rat I ever saw,” muttered Nelson.
“This never happened,” Mackey said. “You tell anyone about this Harper, and so help me God I’ll—”
“Shut up,” said Talon. He stepped forward, pointing to the wall. “Look, you idiots. It’s a door.”
They joined Talon’s side, eying the heavy door outlined in the wall. There was no keypad, no lever, no visible way to open it.
“Can you get it open?” asked Talon.
Roman took out his torch and went to work. Not even five seconds later, he turned it off and turned to Talon. “It’s too thick. We’ll have to blow it.”
Blow it? Karma hoped it didn’t mean what she thought it did.
“Plant the charges,” Talon told Roman, and instructed everyone else to find cover.
Karma didn’t want to find cover, she wanted to run. It was the stupidest idea in the world, to her. Using charges to blow up the door could end up killing them all, burying them in hundreds of feet of rubble, but Malik wasn’t kidding when he said he had chosen his best men for the job. Like a professional who had played with dynamite his entire life, Roman planted tiny, round bombs meticulously around the door, took cover in the hallway with the rest of them, and blew the charges with the tap of a button. The explosion was so loud that it rattled their helmets and the walls. A cloud of smoke and ash blew out into the hallway and debris flew through the air, settling with the dust.
“Guns ready,” Talon ordered, and ducked inside the laboratory. The others followed and, reluctantly, so did Karma. Rubble crunched beneath their boots as they approached the sealed door that now sat peeled back like an opened tuna can.
Talon ordered them to turn off their night vision and lit a flare and tossed it past the barrier of smoke, lighting up the room. “Roman, Nelson,” he said. “Clear it out. Me and Mackey will follow. Harper, you stay close behind. There could be Rotters in there.”
Karma shivered. She could do this, she told herself as the watchmen filtered through the peeled opening in the wall. But even as she thought it, she doubted herself. She’d never forget the story she heard about a single Flesh Rotter taking out an entire silo—
“Sir,” Roman murmured over the radio. “Do you see this?”
“Holy . . .”
Talon lowered his gun. They all did. The room was another laboratory, just like the other one, except this one had a huge tank inside it, large enough to fit a horse, and inside it, encased in ice, was a person.
“Is he alive?” someone muttered.
Karma didn’t know who said it; she was too hypnotized by the blurry image of the person trapped inside the icy tank. She placed a gloved hand against it. It stung her skin right through her suit.
“Cryopreservation,” she uttered.
“What was that, Harper?” asked Talon.
She turned to them. “It’s called cryopreservation,” she said. “My mom uses it for the fruit and vegetables they grow in the hydro-farms. It freezes them, maintains their life.”
Nelson stepped beside her, staring up at the tank in awe. “How long you suppose he’s been in there for?”
“Forever, by the looks of it,” Mackey grumbled.
“Can you get him out?” Talon asked Roman, who was at a control panel, skimming over a series of buttons.
“Negative,” he said. “The entire switchboard’s out.”
“Maybe we should leave him in there,” said Mackey. “For all we know he could be in there for a reason.”
“It’s incredible,” Nelson breathed, rubbing his gloved hand across the tank, leaving dust trails in his wake. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Stop gawking,” Talon said, “and help us find a way to get him out of there.”
“I got an idea,” said Mackey and aimed his gun.
“No, Mackey!” Talon bellowed, but it was too late. Gunfire filled the room, flashing like fireworks around them. The bullets bounced off the glass and everyone hit the floor as they ricocheted across the room and stuck in the walls.
Talon scrambled to his feet. “Mackey, you idiot—”
Suddenly, there was a sound. A crack and then another. Everyone turned to the tank as a fissure webbed across its surface, spreading across the glass—
“Get back! Everyone find cover!”
The tank exploded, bursting into a million pieces. Everyone ducked for cover, hiding behind desks, cabinets, anything they could find as broken glass, ice and liquid went flying across the room. Karma used her medic bag as a shield; glass and ice sticking to the canvas as it flew past her. The flare went out with a hiss, and suddenly they were engulfed in darkness.
Moments later, she heard Talon’s voice crackling in her ear over the radio:
“Everybody okay?” he asked, out of breath.
Karma’s ribs ached, but other than that, all her limbs seemed to work just fine. A flashlight was lit to replace the flare that had gone out, and the room filled with light. Mackey was a few feet away, crumbled against the wall; Nelson and Roman were next to him, one caught on a desk, the other clinging to a cabinet, picking ice off his helmet. Talon was on the other side, sitting up in a puddle of liquid, cursing to himself.
“Good job, Mackey,” Roman grumbled.
Mackey spat, “He said get him out of there, didn’t he?”
There was a crackle over the radio. “Talon, you guys okay down there?” came Davies ruffled voice.
Talon clicked over. “Fine, Davies. Just ran into a little situation. We found someone, possibly a survivor.”
There was static, then Davies said, “Pardon me, sir, but did you say . . . survivor?”
Everyone turned toward the tank. Talon shone the flashlight and laying on the floor in front of the tank, surrounded by chunks of ice and puddles of strange liquid, was the man who had been trapped inside it. He was young, younger than she imagined, not much older than herself, and naked as the day he was born, curled into a ball. He wasn’t moving, or even breathing by the looks of it.
“No heat signature, sir,” said Roman.
“Negative,” Talon replied over his radio. “Looks like he didn’t make it.”
Karma hobbled to her feet and wandered over to the stranger. He was as cold as ice and his skin was blue. She dropped to her knees and searched for a pulse but couldn’t feel it through the stupid drifter suit. The thing was like one large damper keeping her from doing her one and only job.
Without thinking, she peeled off her glove—
“Harper, don’t,” Talon shouted, but it was too late. Her glove was off, and her fingers were presse
d to his neck. There was a pulse, a faint one, but one, nevertheless. She couldn’t believe it.
She looked at the others, staring at her in utter disbelief. The flashlight beam fell across her helmet.
“He’s alive,” she said, a smile touching her lips. “I don’t believe it. He’s still alive—”
Suddenly, a hand grabbed her wrist and she looked down into the stranger’s face. His eyes were black, as black as oil, staring at her, his expression wild and terrified. And the last thing she remembered was Talon’s voice, ringing through her ears—
“Get away from him, Harper! Harper . . .”
Chapter Nine
A child rests on a metal slab, scared and trembling. A beam of light shines from above, illuminating a small table of utensils, laid out and labeled. A door opens and two men enter, masked in green hazard suits; the boy’s terrified image mirrors off their masks as they get to work: One strap goes over his chest, securing him to the table. Two straps. Three straps. Four straps; tying down his arms and legs. Another one goes across his forehead, holding it in place—
"Bereiten sie die extraktion vor," says someone over a loudspeaker.
The door opens again, and another table is wheeled in and placed directly next to the child. Something is strapped to it, but it’s not another child, it’s a dog. It whimpers quietly, half sedated, half frightened, just like the child.
"Initiiere phase eins," says the godlike voice.
A needle is produced, connected to a long, clear tube, attached to another needle, both are connected to a machine. The child squirms uselessly beneath the restraints as they slide it into his arm. The other end is inserted into the dog’s vein. Both lock eyes, wide and terrified.
“Start,” says the voice.
A button is pressed and the men in hazard suits disappear, leaving the child alone with the dog. There is a beep and a hiss, and slowly, the machine begins to vibrate as it pumps the child’s blood from his vein, filling the clear tube with a thick, dark red substance. It twists and winds its way through the tube like a snake, slithering its way toward the dog. Again, they lock eyes. The animal’s pupils are wide, pleading, helpless, and within seconds, the blood winds its way to the poor creature, covering the gap between them, and slips inside the dog’s vein.
The Black (The Black Trilogy Book 1) Page 6