by James Somers
“Keep your eyes ahead, newbie,” Garth replies. “I don’t cut anyone unless I mean to.”
Garth ruffles my feathers a bit, but I bite back any further comments. Arguing with him is pointless. I need to watch for attacks. After all, by the time we spot one of these things it’s almost too late to respond. Thinking we might be on the verge of facing an entire facility of these creatures scares me to death. Time is running out for the infected lab employees and us.
We move from the nearest intersection to the right and soon we pass the front of the cafeteria again. One of the doors is knocked open, nearly torn from the hinge. There are people inside and blood on tables and the floor.
Holly motions for our group to crouch low. I spot the reason. It’s not that we’ve simply found employees of the lab that have been attacked. There is still activity.
An infected man near my size kneels over a body. From here, it’s difficult to know if his victim is dead or not. They may only be unconscious, but they are almost certainly bitten and infected. I remember my own wound, the one that has healed over already.
Holly said, the third generation might turn faster. Anyone bitten by the hospital victims would constitute this third generation. I would be among that group.
I still don’t feel anything wrong. I’m not sure what it should feel like. Surely, there is some sort of symptomatic phase, changes that overcome the person until they are fully transformed into one of these killers. I feel completely normal. I’m certain, though, Holly is keeping her eye on me, just in case.
The infected man, wearing his orange jumpsuit, turns. I freeze. The others do the same. The bloodshot eyes scan the front of the cafeteria where we are crouched beyond the busted door.
I recognize this person. It’s Tom Kennedy. I wondered where he might be in the complex. Truthfully, I hoped not to have to see him ever again. There’s just something about the familiarity that is over the top creepy. It reminds me I could be one of them, any of us could, at any moment.
I’m nearest the door, really the only one who is visible. The others crouch out of sight below the line of windows that runs along the wall looking in. My orange jumpsuit is particularly bright at this moment. I curse the color, but Tom hasn’t reacted to my presence.
My breaths become slow and deliberately shallow. I have no idea how much movement will trigger a violent response. Maybe he can see well, maybe not. I am sure, though, movement is a key factor. After watching Tom in the cell across from my own, I know stillness can keep them docile.
Even though my breathing is at a bare minimum right now, the smell of Tom remains overpowering. Urine and feces stain his orange jumpsuit darkly mixed with the blood of his recent victims. His skin is blotched red, with several new wounds apparent around his face.
Possibly, he received these lacerations from his victims as they fought to keep him away. There is one bullet hole at his right shoulder. I can’t see that he pays it any mind. Certainly, he’s not cradling it, or favoring it in any perceivable way.
Holly and the others motion to me from their covered position. They want me to come with them away from the doorway, out of Tom’s sight. If I move, he’s bound to notice. I spent too much time in my former cell experimenting with that reaction. I wonder if that is something Holly and Dr. Albert even knew about.
The others grow more insistent beside me. We cannot afford to waste time like this. At the very least, there is the danger of the facility undergoing a cleansing from those in charge above in the SIS Building.
There is also the possibility the next generation of infected victims will complete their transformation at a faster rate. I don’t know how many people work in this facility, or how many have been attacked by the eight that were set free, but Holly’s earlier expression made me think it was a lot. Probably enough to overwhelm our little group of survivors.
There is something else, though. Finding Tom Kennedy this way. I feel very bad for him. Yes, he broke my arm. Yes, I’d love to have another chance at slugging him in the mouth. However, this fate is too much. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, not even Tom.
I feel like I have to do something for him. It’s the only decent thing. I have no way to cure him. Containing him is pointless. He would still be what he is. All I can think is I have to end this for him.
I contemplate the best way to go about this. If I jump up and go for him, Holly is going to have a fit. She might just shoot me herself this time.
However, she and the others wave at me frantically in my peripheral vision. I’ve remained frozen like this for nearly one minute, staring at Tom. Watching him, watching me, the uncertainty gnawing at my gut.
I begin to back away, going slowly, but keeping my eye on Tom. He looks right at me. There’s no way he can’t see—
Tom screams suddenly, shooting toward the door after me. Holly and the others scoot back away from the door, trying to put more distance between themselves and the howling creature rocketing full speed for the entrance to the cafeteria. I don’t follow.
Instead, I jump to my feet in plain view, stepping fully into the doorway. Tom definitely sees me. I knew it would only take a slight bit of movement to set him off. In the back of my mind, I hoped it would trigger this response. I can’t leave him like this—not even Tom Kennedy. And, in a way I really don’t understand, it’s my fault he ended up like this.
I raise my gun. Somehow, I feel calm about this. I’m not sure if it’s the familiarity of knowing Tom, of having interacted with him before he became this mindless rage monster, or if it’s just the desire to end this nightmare for him.
My hand holds steady. Tom gets better than halfway to me. Holly screams for me to run. There’s no time for her to get to me, though I hear her steps behind me. She will never get the shot off in time.
He’s close, wide-eyed, his teeth stained with blood, his clothing wet and splattered with gore. Tom will leap at me in less than a second, if my limited experience tells me true. I fire the weapon. A single shot connects neatly over his right eye. Tom’s eyes roll up into his head and his body loses strength, like a switch turning off the power. Hands out in front of him, Tom sprawls onto the linoleum tiles right in front of me.
“I’m sorry, Tom,” I whisper.
Holly stands right behind me. I was right, she didn’t have time to get a clear shot. Her heavy breathing is close, but I hear her letting it go now, relief washing over her.
I turn around to face her. “That was Tom Kennedy.”
I can see by her expression, she already knows.
“It was only right I be the one to do it,” I say. “I got him into this, after all.”
“He got himself into it,” she says, correcting me. “It’s not your fault.”
My expression of disbelief must be very hard. Holly lowers her eyes in response.
“How can you believe that?” I whisper. “You don’t really believe it, and neither do I.”
Garth interrupts. “You mind telling me what that means?”
Holly intercepts the question meant for me. “There’s no time for this now. We have to move.”
In response, a moaning cry comes from the cafeteria behind us. There, among several bodies strewn across the floor and tables, a woman in a lab coat moves. Another body, of a man in a security uniform, also stirs.
We all duck down out of sight reflexively.
Holly curses. “I knew this might happen,” she hisses.
“They’re turning?” Garth asks.
Cassie’s eyes are wide, looking between me and Holly. I meet her gaze, giving a slight nod.
“We’re going to the lab,” Holly whispers tersely.
She doesn’t wait for a response. She just moves, and we follow, crouched low until we get beyond the windows that look in on the cafeteria. We take a left and then a right and we’re almost running.
“Maybe we should have barred the doors,” Garth offers to Holly. She leads the way, and I bring up the rear. “We could have trapped them inside.
”
“No time,” I interject. “They were already beginning to move.”
“I was speaking to Holly,” Garth shoots back.
“Jonathan is right,” Holly says. “I’m not going to waste time trying to wedge that busted door shut just to hold a few of them. They might attack us in the process, and those few are only a drop in the bucket.”
Garth accepts her reproof grudgingly, but he doesn’t bother to argue the point further.
We come upon another intersection. Holly checks the mirrors again and stops short. I look for myself and see the bodies in the hall. They don’t appear to move, but one of them wears an orange jumper like me. This is definitely one of the original eight from St. Mary’s.
We stand with our backs pressed against the wall. There doesn’t appear to be anyone else moving in the mirrors going either way. The bodies are still.
Holly peeks around the corner, her movements deliberately snail-paced. When she can see, she pauses. A moment later, she waves us on, pointing down the hall.
Garth and Cassie move around her. I come into the intersection behind them. Several lab employees lie dead on the ground. One of the eight also lies dead. Every one of them has been shot once in the head.
Sure we’ll have no problem out of them, Holly leads our group on through the carnage. I follow last again, looking back to be sure no one comes up behind us. I look at the bodies, as I pass. Precision shots for sure, but there is something else. I don’t find any obvious wounds on these employees.
Holly and the others move quickly. I dismiss the odd scene and move on. I have no time for solving mysteries right now.
We round a long curved wall now, our group spaced out a little by our pace. I hear a voice coming through a speaker somewhere, but the words are not loud enough to be distinct. Holly waves a hand back for us to pause, and we do. Her index finger to her lips tells us we need to be quiet now.
I move up next to Holly at the corner. I hear the growling rage of an infected individual very near. I also see where the wall has been painted with text and a warning symbol indicating biohazards. We have arrived at the lab where Scott Bishop and an unknown number of other scientists are locked inside.
As far as we know, there is one infected woman trying to get inside through the safety windows. Given the nature of this lab, it is impossible she would be able to do so. However, we don’t want to be attacked trying to get the scientists out.
I step back from the corner, motioning with my hand for Holly to do the same. She follows and joins me about fifteen feet back. This seems a safe distance where we can speak.
“I should be the one to go out first,” I whisper.
“Absolutely not,” she replies tersely. “I’m the better shot.”
“You can also get infected,” I say, attempting to reason with her. “I’ve been bitten already and nothing has happened.”
“Doesn’t mean it can’t,” she replies.
“But we both know, I’ve got a better chance,” I explain. “How many guards have you seen walking around here? They were probably good shots, weren’t they?”
Holly doesn’t answer.
“Right, and most of them are probably lying on the floor somewhere in this place changing into zombies. You could miss, and you wouldn’t get another shot before that thing nails you.”
I don’t wait for a response. I just walk past her. She doesn’t try to stop me, which is a little surprising, especially after our confrontation earlier. Maybe, she realizes I’m right about this.
I creep past where Garth and Cassie are standing. I’m close to the corner, my gun ready to go out ahead of me the way Holly told me in the infirmary. “Make it an extension of your arm.” So far, her advice is spot on.
I wait just a moment, listening.
The woman leaps out from behind the corner, screaming bloody murder. We all jump out of our skins in surprise. I back away, trying to put a few paces between us. She lunges for me with bloodstained hands and eyes that are terrible. Her face is swollen and bruised. I imagine she’s been pounding it against the laboratory windows like a hammer.
Those gnarled hands lunge for my throat, her mouth opening wide to tear into my flesh. My gun comes up in slow motion, but I know it won’t be in time. This is what I hoped to spare Holly from. I doubt my immunity from this plague as she comes upon me. I will become like Tom Kennedy, when she’s done with me.
The woman’s head lurches sideways, as a spray of blood hits the opposite wall. I barely register what has happened. A shot fired, but not from behind where Holly was standing. This came from the same direction as the infected woman.
The creatures collapses sideways at our feet. My gaze comes up in time to see a handgun pointed at my head. The person holding the weapon is tall with a muscular build and dark wavy hair. A rugged type. I notice that much even through the suit he is wearing.
His handgun hardly made a sound. This puzzles me for a moment, until I notice the suppressor extending the barrel of the black handgun. It’s silenced.
He appraises our group in a millisecond. I hear Holly gasp behind me, when she sees him. Is she startled by his appearance, or does she know who he is?
His eyes come back to me without pause. “Jonathan Parks?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say hesitantly.
His weapon drops immediately. A smile spreads across his face, as he shoots out an inviting hand to me. “Special Agent Charles Smith,” he says, introducing himself in a smoothly proper British accent. “I’ve been sent down from MI6 to assess the situation here and bring you out safely to a more secure location.”
“What about us?” Garth asks in an annoyed tone.
“Sorry,” Agent Smith says. “I just do what I’m told from on high. Of course, you’re all welcome to leave the facility with us.”
Holly steps forward, lowering her handgun. “Thank you, Agent Smith,” she says. “I’m glad to see SIS didn’t give up on us just yet. I think we can still salvage the situation.”
“Absolutely,” he says.
I notice the badge on his lapel. It does have his picture and name on it. I’m still trying to figure out if Holly knows the man, when he turns to lead us in a different direction, away from Scott Bishop and the others.
“What about the people trapped in the lab?” I ask, as Holly falls in behind him. Has she forgotten them already, just because this guy showed up?
Holly turns to look at me. Garth and Cassie stand with me, looking between us.
“We were on our way to the lab,” Holly says to the agent. “There are people in there. They’re locked inside. We can’t leave them behind.”
“If they’re locked inside the lab then they should be safe, until we can get a full team down here, right?” Agent Smith asks.
Holly stares at him for a moment, considering.
“After all, the lab is full of lethal pathogens,” he adds. “The last thing we want is to make this situation worse. A Hazmat team would be necessary to get them out of here safely, and I’m just not equipped for that kind of operation. One man, you see?”
Holly nods. “You’re right.” She turns to me. “Agent Smith is correct, Jonathan. It will take a special team to extract them.”
“But isn’t this place about to start crawling with those?” Cassie says, pointing to the dead zombie woman lying at our feet.
“Which is why I’m here to see you get out safely, Jonathan,” Agent Smith says to me. “I’m sure Holly can speak to that better than I can.”
“You two know each other?” Garth asks.
“I’ve met Agent Smith before,” Holly says pointedly. “We’re not totally isolated from the rest of SIS just because we work below ground. MI6 agents brought all of you to this facility. Their Hazmat teams also rounded up the eight victims of the hospital attack.”
I nod. She is correct.
“But why send someone just for me?” I ask.
“You may be the key to a cure for all of this,” Holly explains. �
�You said it yourself. You’re immune to the infection. That bite proved it.”
“You didn’t think so a moment ago,” I argue.
Holly grins a little. “I just didn’t want to risk you going out there,” she says. “They’re more dangerous than just biting.”
“Of course,” Agent Smith interjects. “Holly is trying to look out for you. That’s why I’m here, also. We have to keep moving. SIS already has a private jet waiting to receive us at Heathrow.”
“We’re leaving London?” I ask.
Smith looks at Holly. “Those are my orders.”
Penchant for Pain
12 Days Earlier
The air grows cloying. Hu’s body heat rises steadily, as his muscles begin to tremble uncontrollably. He moves from the couch, sliding down to the floor of the police precinct. On his knees, he tries to hold on, but the room spins. None of this makes any sense at all.
The heat becomes oppressive. He tears at the garments covering him. Why do these restrict him? Spasms wrack his body, and he bites through his tongue. Blood pools in his mouth. He is drowning in it.
Hu cannot see. His eyes squeeze tightly shut, and he can’t manage to open them. Heat upon heat, rising and consuming his flesh.
Voices call to him. They make sounds. He knew what those sounds meant. Memories fade, becoming nothing more than ghosts. He feels unsure. Do the voices call him to safety, or do they drive him toward madness?
Heat becomes burning pain, a hunger that feels as though a beast is clawing to get out of his belly. Hu’s mouth opens and he screams, as though a hot poker is slowly driven through him. Every nerve is alive with pain. Every fiber of his being cries out for satisfaction.
How can he satisfy this hunger? He has seen it here. Only moments ago, he looked upon it. His eyes remain shut while he screams. Hands fasten upon him, things that try to restrict him, to hold him down. He must not be contained.
Hu’s eyes pop open. His screams still ring in his ears. Faces hover over him. Arms press down upon him, but they do not stop the agony. The hunger cries out from his very bones. Rise. Kill. Feed. Lessen the burning pain.