by James Somers
He has one final item to attend. The bodies of Dr. Albert, the woman, and the two guards must be hidden. He’ll have to bring the boy out that way, and they clearly weren’t killed by zombies. As for the remaining guards and employees, the creatures will do most of the work for him. He just has to be patient now and wait. In less than twelve seconds it’s already started.
Combing the Ruins
If you’ve never had to kill someone before, I don’t recommend the experience. It always leaves me feeling a little queasy—Jonathan Parks
Holly waits for me while I retrieve my orange jumpsuit and underclothes from the locker room next to the infirmary where two guards were attacked, one zombie thing was shot, and I was bitten. So far, I feel fine. The bite wound healed over completely and nothing more has come of it.
Still, I wait. Dr. Albert said they did not know what would happen if I was bitten. Certainly, the possibility at least one of them would get free had seemed unlikely at the time. I still can’t understand it. I was in one of those cells briefly, and I can’t imagine how anyone could escape.
“I’m ready,” I say, zipping up the front of the jumpsuit. I still look like a prison inmate, but after two weeks wearing the orange jumpers, I’m less self conscious about it.
Holly turns around. She wasn’t about to wait in the hall. The locker room only has push-pull doors, but it’s a little better than nothing. From what I’ve seen, movement is a primary trigger for their rage. Much better for them to pass a closed door and move on than see you and attack.
“Do you know how to use a gun?” Holly asks.
I nod my head. I have fired them before. My grandfather had a collection that he taught me to use safely. Besides, I am avid gamer, at least before all of this, and I know first person shooters which are all about using guns.
Holly removes another Glock from her pocket. “This one came from Sam, the first guard who was killed in the infirmary. I don’t know if the other infected are loose, so you better be ready to defend yourself.”
I take the pistol and thumb the latch to remove the clip. I’ve seen this done on television, so I figure it’s standard procedure. Most of what my grandfather owned were rifles, but he had a few pistols—revolvers, but the concept is the same. I look at the magazine. There are nine rounds in the clip. I replace the magazine in the handle and pop it closed. I pull the slide back just enough to see another tenth round already in the chamber from when the agent used it last.
“The trigger is weighted a little heavy, so you’ll have to mean it,” she explains. “Still, it’s probably better to keep your finger out of the trigger guard like this unless you see one of them coming for us.”
She shows me her hand on her pistol. Her trigger finger is laid along the barrel, so she doesn’t accidentally fire the weapon. Holly obviously has skills, so I pay attention to what she has to say.
“It’s not like a video game,” she says, guessing this might be the main point of reference for someone my age. I try not to blush at this. “You have to maneuver the weight of a real weapon, point your aiming arm directly at your target. Use your other hand to provide stability.”
She demonstrates these skills. They’re familiar. I’ve seen them a million times, but doing so with a live weapon is different.
Still, it feels good. My anxiety level lowers just a smidge by having the gun in my hand. Knowing these creatures are alive and can be killed takes away some of the terror. They’re dangerous, but they are human.
“Be sure to keep the weapon down and away from your legs and feet,” she says. “You don’t want to shoot yourself in the foot. That will also keep you from shooting me.”
“Where do we go?” I ask.
Holly thinks for a moment. “If one of them was able to get all the way from the Biohazard Containment side of the facility to our side then the automatic doors must be open.”
“Wait a minute,” I say, “can they do that?”
“These infected individuals have shown almost no problem solving ability,” Holly says. “Besides, they would need to have access to the control center, not to mention good computer skills.”
I sigh heavily. “So that’s a big no, which means someone else had to open the doors. Probably let them out of their cells also.”
“That would make sense,” she says reluctantly.
“What kind of idiot would do that?” I ask.
“Not an idiot,” Holly says, “an enemy. Which means we had better keep our eyes peeled for someone who doesn’t belong here.”
“Or someone who does belong here.”
Holly looks at me quizzically.
“You might have a traitor in your midst,” I add.
She nods. “Possible in this kind of environment,” she admits. “If you want to find the other program participants we’ll have to go to Sector Four.”
“Sector Four?”
“Where program participants are housed and trained,” Holly explains. “We keep them separate. That’s where you were headed before the attack at the hospital. Your connection to Tom Kennedy kept that from happening. We couldn’t put you in there with them, if there is the slightest chance you could transmit the infection.”
“I noticed you didn’t have any problem cleaning my bite a few minutes ago,” I observe.
“I have access to the test data, Jonathan. I think you hold the key to a cure.”
“Does that mean I didn’t infect Tom?” I ask hopefully.
“No,” she says. “I still think you did, but it was the nature of your interaction—the fight wounds introduced the virus from your bloodstream into the Kennedy boy. When I think about it now, I should have been more careful with you in the infirmary.”
I nod. Knowing I’m a danger to others around me is difficult. It makes me wonder how I could ever interact with my family, with the Lemons. Must have just been a particular set of circumstances with Tom Kennedy. No one else had blood to blood contact.
“How do we get to Sector Four?” I ask.
“We take a left then right, walk a lengthy corridor, passing Laboratory One, then through two safety doors to the left, past the cafeteria to the elevator.”
“Elevator?” I ask. “You mean it’s on another level?”
“It’s actually one level below the Tombs,” she replies. “I told you, we keep program participants separate.”
“So they aren’t in any danger from the zombies,” I guess.
“Not directly,” Holly says. “But if they realize up top the facility is compromised, they’ll sterilize everything down here, including Sector Four. The whole place is on one system.”
“Is there any way to contact them from here?” I ask.
“The control center for sure,” she says, thinking. “One of the computer labs would work, but we’d have to go further than the elevator.”
“Scratch that then,” I say. “The less we have to roam the Tombs, with these things running around, the better.”
“Let’s go,” Holly says, taking the point position ahead of me.
I try not to let this bother me, the young lady going out in the lead in a laboratory that may be crawling with zombies. It may seem like I’m chicken, but actually Holly is just that good. I can’t get over being impressed with what she did.
Despite the screaming earlier, when she was unarmed, Holly walks down the corridor, checking corners, with ice in her veins. She has become a different person with the agent’s Glock in her hand. Not like my idea of a scientist at all. I can’t help but wonder if shooting is the only skill I didn’t know about.
Holly keeps looking up as we come to corners, barely glancing around them before moving on. I don’t notice it at first, but then realize she’s eyeballing all of the convex mirrors anchored at corridor intersections. Realizing she’s done this kind of thing before, nags at me.
She pauses, holding her hand back toward me, motioning for me to press back against the wall as she does. I keep my pistol aimed toward the floor and comply. I c
an already hear someone coming. My gaze follows Holly’s.
The corner-mounted convex mirror reflects the image of three shambling, bloody individuals in orange jumpsuits. This can only be the infected hospital survivors. Already we’re outnumbered and they’re coming straight for us.
Holly doesn’t move and neither do I. Having already seen what even the slightest movement causes, I know an advance or retreat will be reflected as significant movement in the mirror. They’ll see it and charge after us.
No. They’ll charge at the mirror. We only have seconds left before they round the corner and discover us. Holly closes her eyes. I’m not sure what’s she’s planning, but I act first.
“Hey!” I shout, waving my arms toward the mirror which, in turn, shows the infected victims me waving and shouting at them.
Holly’s eyes widen with shocked surprise. She wants to stop me, but it’s too late. They’ve seen me. Their reaction is immediate.
They charge down the hall, leaping after Holly and me, only they crash into the mirror. For only a moment, in their confusion, they’re backs are to us. I take quick aim and fire twice. My shots hit the closest man in the left shoulder blade and then the side of the head. Holly fires two shots also—headshots that kill the remaining two zombies.
We’re both breathing hard, from fear rather than exertion. Holly suddenly rounds on me in anger. She twists the pistol out of my hand. I react instinctively, batting it away against the wall. She counters and I counter in rapid succession. When it’s done, she has her gun against my cheek, still breathing hard.
“Don’t you ever do something like that again,” she hisses, trying not to draw any more attention with shouting.
“One of us had to do something,” I say. “They were coming around the corner no matter what. That bought us two seconds to kill them.”
Holly’s furious glare bores into my skull. My eyes roll over to look at the weapon in her hand. “Are you going to shoot me now?”
She lowers the weapon. “Don’t pull any more stunts like that, Jonathan,” she warns. “I want to get out of this place alive.”
She stands back, putting both hands down to her sides again. She’s still tense, but at least she isn’t pointing a gun at me. “We need to go, now.”
“Pretty fancy moves for a science geek,” I say, testing the waters. There’s definitely more going on with Holly than meets the eye.
Her face hardens to stone. “You dropped your gun,” she says and then turns, rounding the corner to the right, heading down the long corridor past the cafeteria.
I pick up the Glock, glancing back the way we came and then to the bodies of the infected on the tiles. I missed one of my shots, but Holly’s were both dead on. Following low in a crouch, I mimic her movements down the hall. I hope I can trust Holly. If worse comes to worse, in a shoot out, I’m a dead man.
Vladimir checks his weapons, keeping an eye peeled for the action on the monitors. From what he can tell there are eight infected individuals now roaming the halls of the lab complex. Within twelve seconds the first pair of guards is attacked.
The infected woman who spots them charges down the hall immediately. It takes three seconds for the woman to cross the distance where the men stand speaking with one another.
In that first second, they notice her coming. Second number two ticks by as they register the fact one of the infected victims of the hospital attack is free from her cell. That second is all that is necessary for an image of her filthy hair, blood matted clothing, torn face full of rage and murderous, hungry eyes to be imprinted upon their minds. The third and final second comes as they make their first movements toward their weapons, but it is too late.
The infected woman launches herself at them from nearly ten yards away, and she doesn’t fail to reach them. Vladimir watches the monitor, stunned by the efficient, predatory nature of the attack. Hands outstretched, she catches them both in her deadly embrace.
The first is bitten and slammed into the wall by her weight and inertia. He is left unconscious. Her arm is hooked around the neck of the other, and she whips around him like Gene Kelly dancing with a lamppost. Landing on the screaming guard’s back, the woman latches onto his neck with bloody teeth. Then she’s gone, moving down the corridor, as though she only wanted one taste.
It suddenly occurs to Vladimir these infected individuals have been fed by the lab while they’ve been incarcerated. Not human flesh to be sure, but fed nonetheless. Without the need to feed, they’ll only attack others to infect them.
He watches the monitors as several other hospital victims find their first kills. Several guards walking their route and a few employees sitting at tea in a break room. The two guards attacked by the woman are still down. The first unconscious, but the second attempting to manage his bleeding wound. He’s likely in shock and may not make it back to his feet.
Vladimir is unsure what process occurs when they bite someone and don’t kill them. However, the hospital attack occurred two weeks ago and London is experiencing an infection rate much shorter than the number of hours he was informed about. He wonders if the strain has now mutated and become more virulent.
Clearly, the infected are pushed by their new instinct to attack with as much voracity even when they only do so to infect. They are driven with an insatiable rage and desire to spread the plague that ravages their bodies. They are not being dissolved by this disease, but are being transformed into something new.
The attacks come very fast now. All of the infected victims from the hospital have killed multiple times already. They just keep moving.
“So fast,” Vladimir whispers to himself.
He watches as some of the guards attempt to get off shots from their pistols. The infected slam them hard anyway and keep moving. One or two take hits, but they don’t go down. More precision is required to end these beasts, and one of the first things lost in a panic is the focus that’s required for a situation like this.
One of the guards manages to activate an alarm. Vladimir searches the console for a way to deactivate it, but sees nothing obvious. Still, the alarm will only exacerbate the panic in the facility.
His eyes catch a flash of light from the monitor showing him the infirmary. When he looks at it, the picture is black. The power to his computer monitor is still on, indicated by a green light.
Vladimir moves the mouse to show him the feed outside the infirmary. A guard lies dead outside the open door. He catches a glimpse of the creature as it leaps through into the now darkened room.
“Someone turned the lights out,” Vladimir notes.
The door to the infirmary closes on its hydraulic arm. Vladimir right clicks the mouse and moves the cursor to thermal imaging. The blackened image of the infirmary changes to one showing various heat sources in the room.
The room is cold except for a few minor sources that are clearly electronic in nature, and four human signatures. One blends for a moment as the creature attacks someone inside. Vladimir has no way to know who the victim is. He can only hope it’s not the boy, but it will only be a matter of time. He must act now and hope it’s not too late.
Sig Sauers in hand, he stands. A face smashes into the Plexiglas on the back side of the control center. Vladimir’s gaze shoots to the zombie attacking unsuccessfully. He kicks the door open, leading into the corridor. The zombie rounds the control center wall, coming for him.
Vladimir raises a pistol and allows the creature to get within striking distance. He fires a shot through its forehead and steps around the body as it falls to the tile floor, leaving bloody smears from its recent kills and its own head wound. It stays down.
He walks down the nearest corridor, finding a terrified group of five employees running toward him. Two of them are wounded, but they aren’t rabid. The other three appear to have only gotten blood and filth on them fighting off the infected creature now coming around the corner after them.
When they see him raise his Sig Sauers, they part in the hall, giv
ing him an easy shot. Vladimir kills the infected man before he can attack the group again. They turn to him with glad expressions and thanks on their lips. The words are hardly out before the twin Sig Sauers fire off five more rounds. He leaves the dead employees in the hall behind him, making his way cautiously toward the infirmary.
Vladimir encounters more employees than guards, or infected people. None of them make it past him alive. He exchanges magazines in his Sig Sauers and moves on. If the boy is bitten, he can still restrain him and get him back to Ivanovich’s science team. He wonders about the boy’s ability to become infected, especially if he is said to be the source carrier.
By his estimate, the infected victims from the hospital have been loose for almost ten minutes. At the rate at which they move and attack, these eight will soon eliminate most of the guards and employees that are in the open areas. There is one group of scientists inside a biohazard lab.
Vladimir sealed them in from the control center. They are forced to remain inside connected to the air hoses feeding oxygen to their environmental suits. The trapped scientists will not realize what is happening out in the rest of complex until it is too late.
In less than five minutes, Vladimir stands before the front entrance to the infirmary where the boy was seen on his control center monitor. The body of the guard still lies on the floor in front of the door. As the assassin approaches, he notices the man is dead already.
The lights are on in the infirmary again. Vladimir scans the hall behind him and then opens the door and enters. He locked the doors, but the guard was obviously foolish enough to unlock this one and go outside. His gun is missing. This stupidity cost him his life.
Inside, Vladimir is surprised by the scene he finds. Another guard lies dead on the floor, his throat torn open by an infected person also lying dead on the floor. A swathe of white powder from a nearby fire extinguisher covers part of the floor and the battered, bloody face of the zombie. A clean shot to the head ended the attack.