Smoke billows from the generator room and fills the corridor, creating a thick, throat-clogging haze that moves further into the complex. The device attached to my wrist is now nothing more than a useless paper weight, sparks spitting from the sides and the screen severely cracked. As I unlatch it from my arm, I hear gunfire and loud shrills in the distance. I can only imagine how hungry and famished the infected are, spilling into this all you can eat meat heaven.
A handful of dead emerge from around the corner ahead and spot me. They pause for only a moment before heading my way. Deformed mouths open wide and mangled arms stretch out. I remove my pistol and fire at will.
Splat . . . Splat! I instantly drop two with head shots, the bullets cratering in their skulls and blowing out the back of their heads as they skid across the floor face down.
I holster my pistol and swing the rebar that is still clutched in my right hand, smashing into the side of a mutated woman’s head whose face has been partially burnt off. The sheared end latches onto remnants of her skin and peels it off, her neck snapping as her head cocks to the side.
I pivot back around and swing the meat covered weapon up, sending the jagged end through the other one’s mouth. The tip pops free from its skull, its lone eye rolling into the back of its head and its chomping mouth becoming still.
It falls to the floor, more screams and gunfire melding with the bone curdling shrills that emit from everywhere. I’ve got my work cut out for me.
25
That sickening feeling hits me like a Mack truck on steroids, and my body loses balance and falls against the wall. I can hardly catch my breath and my head is spinning, my vision a little dense and blurry. The recent injuries to my shoulder and thigh are bleeding pretty bad, not showing signs of healing. My body has taken a beating and looks as though it is unable to recoup.
The ground looks inviting. I could just sit down and take a moment to recover. But who am I kidding. If I go down, I’m fearful I’ll go down for the count. 1-2-3, YOU’RE OUT! TKO!
Enough of this standing around like I have nothing better to do. Suck it up and get your ass in gear. You can bitch and die later. Right now, you have work to do.
Placing my grimy hands against the scorched, cracked concrete wall, I push off and get back up. My injured leg buckles some, but it hangs on. The hole in my shoulder is gaping, my middle finger probing the decaying, mushy meat. I can’t hang around here any longer. More soldiers and dead are likely on their way, and in my current state of flux, I need to give myself an edge, however small it is.
Luckily, my machine gun is still intact and unscathed by the blast. It’s just covered in dust. I toss the small chunks of busted concrete away.
I blow the debris from the side and eject the clip, dust falling and settling in the undead pool of thick, lumpy blood. Not sure how or why, but a crazy and totally insane notion forms. Won’t help me much with the soldiers, but it might get the murder of flesh-crazed infecteds off my back.
Popping the clip back in, I sling the gun over my good shoulder. I kneel down and palm the pool of blood, bringing it up to my face. I smear it all over, sliding my hand around my neck and then down my body. I get some more and finish up, hopefully selling the look.
I strain to get back to my feet when another lost soul ambles into sight. Slower moving and its broken neck tilting its flesh challenged head to the left, it comes my way. I hold firm and stay still, ready to draw my pistol if need be, but I want to see how it takes. Sink or swim.
It nears me, mouth split apart and blood oozing out and dripping down to its deformed, mutated feet. My finger slips over the trigger, palm resting on the handle. Moaning, it peers directly at me as it continues on. No hesitation or curiosity, acting as if I’m one of its own. Phew!
I ease up on my pistol and move on, limping away into the fluttering blackness as fire rages from the destroyed generator room. I still remember how to get to the holding cells, but I’m flying blind as to where the soldiers and dead are lurking about. No matter. I’ll deal with it as it comes.
In the madness that’s surrounding me and all of the death and destruction, Becky is the one and only guiding hope that keeps me going to see this through to the end. I have accepted the harsh reality that I’ll never see her again. I can’t. As much as it pains me, I have let that notion go. Her memory is all I need.
The mass of dead roaming down here now is crazy. I think they all migrated to greener pastures in search of more food. But fortunately, my getup is still working. Pockets and pockets of the flesh-eaters have ignored me, passing through as they feast on fallen men. I have encountered some resistance from the soldiers, and managed to take them out as best I can. The wounds sustained in my shoulder and leg are healing slowly, but still throb and hinder my movement.
The holding cells are up ahead, set off in a corner and down a narrow flight of stairs. Doesn’t seem to be much in the way of foot traffic so far. It’s fairly quiet. Well, no dead or soldiers lurking about anyways. Guess they’re too busy killing each another. Fine by me. Let ’em kill one another and the devil will sort them out.
Thumps and bumps grab my ear as I near the entrance, my gun training at the solid gray door that has smeared blood and fragments of bone embedded across the middle. The power flickers on and off, casting shadows. My eyes start to have trouble seeing in the darkness.
The lights extinguish for what seem like an eternity, then surge back to life. A puddle of thick, chunky blood lies as the welcome mat. Funny, I don’t feel welcomed.
The door partially ajar, I approach with caution and slip the barrel of my almost empty machine gun inside, carefully swinging the stout door open. The hinges creak as if they could use a drink. I step to the side and try to sneak a peek.
A faint trail of light crawls out. It does little good to brighten up the inside. I push the door open further and step lightly, my weapon trained and ready. A converted solider to the dead lies on his back. His head smashed in and his chest turned to Swiss cheese.
That same knocking and clanging noise happens again, echoing up through the metal rich interior. Stepping over the dead body, I slip further into the belly of this place. I descend the stairs, my leg throbbing with the slightest pressure. Blood pumps out with every step I take, the muscle tender and not wanting to be exerted much.
I finally make it to the bottom and stop. It’s dark as crap and I’m struggling to make anything out further than five feet. Dimly lit yellow lines running on both sides break up the darkness.
Take it slow. I have no idea what might be down here.
That knocking noise again! I train ahead as the power surges on, my index finger teasing the trigger ever so gently. Nothing except for a long metal walkway with cells recessed into steel walls. No soldiers stand guard.
The first cell to my right is halfway open, the door swung out towards me, keeping me from being able to see if anyone or anything is inside. I notice a few more cells down the way that are the same. I’m going to have to do a cell by cell check. Not sure who’s down here, if anyone. Might be a ghost town or a morgue.
With my weapon pressed firmly against my good shoulder, I make my way to the first cell. I stay distant and closer to the other side. Coming into view, my eyes snake around the door and spot a man dressed in a white lab coat lying on his side. He isn’t moving. Streams of blood race down the back of his head and drip from the edge of his cot, staining the concrete below. I can’t tell if he’s alive, dead, or just comatose to the world. I’m not on a free all mission here. I’m only looking out for a select few.
I decide to move on when a low groan of pain emits from the cell. I pause and glance back. Still, no movement. Damn curiosity. Checking this out is a waste of time and one that I’ll probably regret, among everything else.
One foot in front of the other and my weapon trained at the back of his head, I walk towards the cell. I narrowly crest the opening when the lights die out once more. In the darkness, I can still make out the man’s o
utline, which isn’t moving or twitching. More clatters from the walls swirl about, my attention being pulled in every direction. I don’t know if I’m sinking further into madness or not. The cocktail the good doctor gave me could go either way—might band aid the problem or just accelerate my demise. I was hopeful, but now I’m starting to think otherwise.
Screw this! Get what needs to be gotten done. No more charity cases. I don’t have the time for it. Literally! I can’t take the chance.
The tarnished lights spawn back to life, the lab coat still as a corpse. Chuckles. Footsteps to my right and behind the door. I whirl about and pause, training my weapon ahead and peering down the walkway.
Nothing.
I feel as if I’m hanging on by a thin thread that’s unweaving now.
Sweating profusely, I dig at my eyes. The drops of stinging salt burn and fester inside my sockets. I turn to walk away when the dead man emerges out of the cell and grabs me by the shoulders.
Its hands dig in, hitting my still tender wound and overpowering me. It leans in for the kill, teeth aiming for the nape of my neck and its black hollow eyes wide open. I shove my left forearm against its throat. It’s got a nasty half inch gash running from the corner of its right eye down to its cheek bone. It forces me against the cells behind me, chomping and making a low moaning noise.
Damn! I dropped my weapon, which is on the walkway right in front of me. There’s no way I can reach it without letting this thing have free rein on me.
I push forward with my forearm to give me some space. I lift my sore leg up and jam it into its ribs. It’s not much, but enough room for me to reach down with my free arm and un-holster my pistol. This thing looks like the doctor from earlier. Then again, all the eggheads here look like twins. Besides, if it is him, he’s already toast. Sorry, but time to die for good.
I slide my forearm down from its throat to its chest. Arms flailing about and its legs still driving forward, it keeps its eyes focused on me. I bring the pistol up and bury it under its rotting chin. I chamber off a single round. The top of its head explodes in a mist of blood and brain, chunks of its skull flying out in every direction. The sound of the gunshot reverberates loudly inside the metal tomb. My ears ring.
Get off me!
I push it off and take a deep breath. Some of its brain matter splattered my face. I wipe it free from my face with my dirty sleeve. It probably made it worse. Oh well.
I holster my pistol and scoop up my machine gun. That clanging sound comes again, but this time it seems more consistent than before. Not like some mindless cold dead body banging around without a purpose, but more like someone who is trying to signal that they’re there.
I move further in, the banging noise increasing the closer I get. I train my machine gun ahead, scanning from side to side for any more little surprises. Next time I see a body and if it even remotely looks like it’s dead, I’m going to do my due diligence and place a slug in its head. Better be safe than sorry at this point.
Most of the cells are open and empty. No bodies or blood for that matter. Seems as if they opened them and left—used their get out of jail free card. The ones that are closed, I stop and peer inside, the interior light flickering on and off, giving me snap shots of what’s lurking within.
A few more soldiers and lab coats sit on the benches or pace about. Possible mutiny? Some are at the small window, looking out and asking me for help I think—pleading with their eyes as their mouths move a mile a minute. Regardless, if I don’t know or need them, I leave them be.
I reach the cell where the knocking is emitting from. I approach cautiously, just in case I’m mistaken about who or what is lurking within. I lean in and peer through the grimy glass, trying to spy what I’m dealing with. The cell is tossed and in disarray. The cot has been broken down and torn to pieces. Parts of the frame are missing and strewn across the floor. I keep silent, not wanting to alert whoever’s inside. They seem pissed and might not be too receptive to anyone, friend or foe.
My eyes dart to the left.
Nothing.
They cut to the right and find someone, a woman I think, with her back turned to me, beating on the steel wall with part of the cot frame. I can’t get a better look at her face or anything else that might indicate who she is. Crap! I don’t have time to wait to see if they happen to turn around.
I flip my weapon around and ram the butt end of the gun into the door once. She continues to beat the steel wall. I do it once more, but harder this time. I hope she hears it as the sound echoes down the narrow corridor. I’m taking a big risk here so she needs to throw me a bone. Give me something.
She pauses, motionless for a few seconds before disappearing from my sight.
Where the hell did she go? I continue to look, pressing my face to the glass. Playing I spy with this chick, I roll my head from side to side, my broken nose crackling. Another noise captures my attention from behind me. I turn around and train my weapon, waiting patiently for whatever is coming. It stops and is silent. My nerves are really on edge. Better to be jumpy than lethargic I suppose.
Now where did you . . . Oh Christ! She’s standing right there, staring at me and sending me reeling back some. Instinct takes over and I raise my weapon, taking aim at the small indention right between her eyes. Her face is bloody and looks like she’s been worked over. Her left eye is blackened and swollen shut and her bottom lip is split open.
Natasha?
It takes me a moment to get through the bruised and vacant look. I lower my weapon to my side and walk towards the glass. Her one not-so-swollen eye stays locked on me, narrowly blinking as her lips keep rigid. I’m not sure she even knows who I am or what’s going on. For all I know, she could be changing into one of the infected.
“Natasha, it’s me. Mike!”
I have no clue if she can even hear me, but she continues looking distant as if no one is at home. I glance to the right and find an intercom switch above a keypad. Hitting the button, I try again.
“Natasha, it’s Mike. Do you understand me? Are you okay?”
The vacant look remains. I take a few steps back and aim at the keypad. Here’s my authorization! I open fire and decimate the pad, spark’s shooting up and out like fireworks. Smoke billows from the metal pad as the door jerks and gives. I lower my weapon.
“Natasha, are you-”
She bolts out of the cell with something in her hand, a grimaced expression over her face. Teeth clinched and her eyes narrowed, she takes a swing at me. The jagged piece of metal catches my shirt and rips it open, barely grazing my decaying flesh. She takes another attempt, jabbing at me repeatedly. I grab her arm and knock the weapon free from her hand. I flip her around and shove her forward, her head smacking into the edge of the cell.
“You need to give me something here or I’m going to put you down right here, right now!” I yell while training my gun at the back of her head.
She sits there for a moment on the steel grate, her right hand rubbing the fresh gash on her head. Her erratic breathing appears to be coming under control and her body relaxes. At ease and seemingly calm, she turns around.
“Damn, was that your gentle side,” Natasha says sarcastically. A line of blood trails from the right tip of her forehead down the side of her face. “Man, you look like shit.”
“Have you looked in the mirror lately? Looks like you got worked over pretty good.”
“Yeah. Kind of happens when you become a traitor and all. Who knew killing your employer’s men would get you locked up?”
I lower my weapon and extend my hand to Natasha. I help her to her feet and glance down the corridor.
“Expecting company?”
“More than likely. Just waiting for them to ring the doorbell.”
“Seems like their hands are full. They brought me down here after working me over. I felt the explosion, but didn’t know what it was,” Natasha says, glancing at my wounds. “I take it doc’s little feel good mix didn’t hit the spot.”
<
br /> “Sure seems that way,” I wearily reply. “Speaking of the mad scientist, where is he?”
A solemn sadness washes over Natasha, her eyes puffing, and red lines flare out across her corneas. She’s a tough chick, one of the toughest I’ve come across in a long while. She catches herself and reels in the feminine side before it throws up everywhere. Her reaction says it all still. “They killed him . . . in front of me.”
“I’m sorry. He seemed to be a good guy.”
“He was,” Natasha says flatly. The tears have been sucked back in and the fleeting moment is gone. Back to business. “So, why the hell are you still here? I figured you’d be long gone by now.”
“I’ve got unfinished business to attend to,” I wearily reply. “Plus, I had a moment of weakness and thought I better come down here and save your ass. You can say thank you at any time.” I chuckle and cough hard.
Natasha looks at me with a peculiar stare. “From the looks of it, you couldn’t fight off a paper bag, much less Slade.”
“Yeah well, we’ll see. I just want to take that piece of crap down before he gets out of here.”
“I’ll tell you if you’re going to do it, you need to move fast. I overheard one of the soldiers say they’re packing up and moving on. And with these kinds of people, they don’t leave a forwarding address, if you know what I mean.”
“How much time do you think we have?”
“Not sure. They drugged me up pretty good, so I can’t remember a whole lot, but if he is still here, he’ll be making damn sure he has all of the data and records of what went on. This isn’t their first facility and it won’t be their last.”
“We’ll see about.”
26
“Take this and get out,” I say to Natasha, handing her my pistol.
“I can help you. That son of bitch has done so much to so many, he deserves to get what he has coming. I would love nothing more than to place a slug in that fucker’s skull myself.”
Afflicted: Patient Zero (An Outbreak Zombie Infected Horror Suspense Series, Book 1) Page 19