End Days Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  The thrust sent him stumbling backward shouting with pain. He tripped over his pants and hit the tile floor on his back. In haste, Veronica jumped to the ground and pulled his 9mm pistol from its holster. Douglas struggled like a turtle on its back, holding his throbbing crotch with one hand while trying to pull up his pants with the other. Despite the immense pain running from his groin to his stomach and then spreading all over, he remembered his gun.

  The moment he sat up, however, Veronica was already there. She pushed a pillow against his face, held the pistol against the pillow, and pulled the trigger. The back of his head exploded like a watermelon and his brains dumped onto the white-tiled floor. His body flew to the ground in an instant. The ordeal was over in no time.

  Veronica gripped the pistol tightly while the handcuffs dangled from her wrist. As much as she had tried to muffle the sound of the blast, her ears still rang in pain. She shifted her aim directly at the entrance door, fully expecting others to rush in. She waited and waited, but nothing happened.

  Without wasting another moment, she crawled over to Douglas’s corpse and yanked the key ring off his trousers. She jumped up from her knees, zipped her jumpsuit up, and ran to the door, clutching the pistol in one hand and the key ring in the other.

  She pressed her ear against the door and couldn’t hear anything. The room was silent, and the body of a dead man was sprawled in the middle of the floor. Blood was everywhere. There was no turning back now. She ejected the magazine and examined how many rounds she had. The tiny hole on the side of the magazine indicated six rounds left. She thought of Greg and how he had shown her how to do that.

  She pushed the magazine back in and chambered a round with one pull of the slide lock. She was ready. After another quiet prayer, she slowly turned the door handle and pushed it open a crack. It seemed as though no one was coming down the hall in either direction. She knew the minute she stepped out of the cell, she’d be a target. The bright hallway before her was equally long in both directions. There were no windows of any kind in sight, only doors—just like hers —and all closed. She had a strong feeling that Greg was in one of the cells but had no way of knowing which one. She’d have to try them all—roughly ten rooms on each side.

  Once outside, she closed the door, hoping to never have to look at those walls again. She walked to the next room over, and as she held up the key ring, the sound of footsteps came down the stairs at the end of the hallway to the left side of her. Silhouettes formed in the glass panes as the figures neared. She turned around the other way and ran to the other side of the hall, right through the door and into a darkened stairwell.

  After shutting the door, she leaned against it and listened. The footsteps continued toward her. She heard voices—the sound of two men talking, and they were getting closer. Veronica had no choice but to run down the winding stairs into what felt like a dank cellar. She stopped at another, dimly lit and smaller hall with one room on each side. She had to choose.

  From atop the stairs, she could hear the door into the stairwell open. The two men began walking down. There wasn’t much time to act. Her eyes darted between both doors, trying to make a decision. She hurried left and pushed the door open. It was unlocked. She shut the door lightly and looked around the room for a place to hide. Instead, what she saw horrified her.

  The room looked like some kind of lab. There were lights everywhere, hanging over black countertops sitting in rows like some high school chemistry class. There were microscopes, freezers, test tubes, scales, and medical tools lying about—sharp tools: surgical saws, scalpels, and small, circular electronic cutters. A stereo in the back was playing light rock music. Aside from the medical equipment, everywhere she looked there were corpses.

  The room was filled with wheeled gurneys—some openly displaying bodies, and some with bodies zipped in black body bags. It could have been a coroner’s lab, but nothing about the mutilated bodies conveyed the idea that these were conventional autopsies. It was quite the opposite. Veronica covered her mouth in shock and gagged as a sickness clutched her stomach.

  Two torsos—a man and a woman—lay on the table in front of her, covered up to the neck with a small blue sheet. On the next counter over, the severed head of a man sat in a petri tub with wires coming out of his head connected to electric modules. At the end of each wire were long needles that had been inserted through his skull into his brain.

  The skin of another body had been completely peeled away, leaving only the red muscle. The more Veronica looked around, the more terrified she felt. She couldn’t take another minute in the room and turned to go. Just as she was about to run as fast as she could from that horrific place, she heard footsteps outside, heading right for the very room she was in.

  She looked at the grotesque displays surrounding her and desperately searched for somewhere to hide. There was a bolt on the door from the inside and she quickly locked it. The handle on the door jiggled, and she ran to the far right corner of the room, past the countertops and to a large filing cabinet. She squeezed into a space between the wall and cabinet and waited.

  The door unlocked and swung open. She peered out from the side of the cabinet and could see two men enter, both dressed in white medical gowns, like doctors. They walked into the room, holding small brown paper bags and chatting up a storm. Veronica hadn’t seen the men before; they looked different from most people at the base. But there was a reason their faces were new to her.

  Dr. Kagan and Dr. Costa, former CDC representatives, had primarily lived underground since the beginning of the mutiny, with free rein to conduct their experiments. They had promised Bill Hodder and his men that they could discover a cure for Ebola, or at least a breakthrough treatment; so confident were they in their abilities.

  However, time had passed and their research had shifted to other, more unconventional experiments that had nothing to do with Ebola whatsoever. Soon their surgeries and autopsies didn’t seem to have much scientific merit, but nonetheless, Hodder frequently sent them fresh test subjects, some alive and some dead. There was no doubt that the time spent underground had had an unexpected effect.

  “Did you lock the door?” asked the skinny balding man, whose name was Dr. Kagan. His counterpart, Dr. Costa, the heavier man with a ponytail, shook his head.

  “No, I didn’t, did you?”

  “Well, someone did.”

  “How many times have you locked yourself out of this room?” Costa said. He held up three fingers. “Three fingers. Count ‘em.”

  The men set their paper bags on the only clean table in the room, well away from their “experiments.” Arms, legs, and ligaments were lined up in clear bags at the last long counter directly in front of Veronica. She couldn’t believe her eyes as she watched the two men empty the contents of their brown sacks onto the table. She saw a sandwich and a pack of crackers fall out of each bag. The doctors then unwrapped their sandwiches and dug in.

  “You know, if we don’t start showing Hodder some results, we’re going to lose certain privileges," Dr. Kagan said, talking with his mouth full.

  “What privileges are those, exactly?” Dr. Costa said. “You call this job a privilege?”

  “These turkey sandwiches, for starters,” Kagan answered. “They don’t grow on trees.”

  “Well, if I gotta slice up one more perfectly fine-looking cadaver for signs of Ebola, I’m gonna scream.”

  “Patience, my friend, we’re on the cusp of a medical breakthrough. I can feel it,” Kagan said.

  Suddenly, a voice called out to them from the shadows. “The only thing you’re going to feel is a bullet through your head.”

  The two doctors dropped their sandwiches and looked over to the side where Veronica stood, aiming a pistol at them. Dr. Kagan was first to put his arms in the air. Costa soon followed.

  “What do you want?” Kagan asked.

  Without further hesitation, Veronica pulled the trigger and shot him in the head. The bullet burst through his skull and his
body collapsed against the table and onto the floor. Costa jumped back and began choking on the food that was still in his mouth. He struggled to breathe, chew, and swallow at the same time. Losing air, he hacked until the chunk of moist warm bread and turkey flew from his mouth.

  “Please. Don’t shoot me,” Costa said, breathing heavily and trembling.

  “Where am I?” Veronica said.

  Costa looked confused. “Base 42?”

  “I mean this room! What have you been doing to these people?”

  Costa didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think he could explain it. Where would he begin? “This is our research lab. We’ve been trying to develop a cure for Ebola.”

  Veronica inched closer. “Last time they moved me from my cell, they put a blindfold on me, but I know that we’re underground. How do I get out of here? How do I get above ground?

  Costa’s arm shook as he pointed in the direction where she had come in. “T-take the stairs up. Go down the hall, take another set of stairs up, and you’re outside.”

  “Where are the guards?”

  “They’re posted at the door. You can only get out with a code. I don’t know what you plan on doing, and I don’t care. Just don’t kill me, please.”

  “Last question. Are these the only holding cells on base?”

  Costa thought for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure of it. There’s only two underground bunkers. The other one is for supply storage and the armory.”

  Veronica lowered her pistol. “Very well.” She began to walk away. “You stay in your little room of horrors and stay out of my way, and I won’t hurt you. I just want to get out of here.” She pointed her pistol at him. “Got it?”

  Costa recoiled against the wall with his hands outstretched defensively. “Yes, yes! I got it.”

  Dr. Kagan’s body remained slumped on the floor. She started to walk toward the door again when something caught her eye on one of the medical tables. It was something small and fragile. She approached the table as Costa inched along the wall, looking like he was prepared to run away. Upon closer inspection, she could see that it was the body of a young boy. His chest cavity had been crudely torn open and his organs had been removed.

  A heart, lungs, and bladder sat in small dishes circling the boy’s body. His pale blue skin indicated an empty vessel. His eyes were closed and he looked at peace. Next to the boy was a clipboard with documents affixed to it. She picked it up and read from it.

  “Sedative experiment failed. Subject expired 11:47 a.m. Results inconclusive. Will examine mass density of organs to reach conclusion of mythos surrounding healthy eating among children.”

  She dropped the clipboard to the ground in disgust and looked over to Costa. He stood petrified against the wall, shaking.

  “It’s not what you think. The boy was ill. We were trying to save him. We didn’t know he was allergic to a particular barbiturate. It was a mistake!”

  Veronica raised her pistol without saying a word.

  “We didn’t know! Please!”

  In the middle of his pleading, she fired a single shot. He never said another word.

  Cell Block

  With three bodies in her wake, Veronica was on a mission. In her sneakers and jumpsuit, she ran up the dark stairwell up to the holding cell area. As she ascended the winding steps, her mind counted her remaining pistol rounds: six rounds, two fired; four rounds left. It was simple math, but she wanted to be sure. She had no idea what was waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

  Once she reached the door leading into the holding cells, she paused and listened. No movement could be heard. Her hand slowly pushed the door open into an empty hall. The cells along the walls intrigued her.

  How many other people were they holding?

  It would take some time to figure out which one Greg was in, if he was even here at all. Arbitrarily opening each door posed its share of risks as well. Veronica hesitated. For a moment she stood there, in the middle of the hallway, with no clue what to do. Her only option, it seemed, would be to start at any door and go down the line.

  The doors were each covered in a thick green paint, chipped in spots. She started at the last door to her left. She knocked and called Greg’s name. There was no immediate answer. She knocked again and moved to the next door.

  She tried the second door and heard the unfamiliar voice of a man. It was a scraggly, desperate voice that begged for help.

  “Who’s there? Please let me out of here! I can’t see a thing!”

  She moved onto the next door and heard the muffled voice of a woman. “Release me, you bastards!” the woman shouted.

  At the next door over she heard nothing and was getting discouraged and desperate. Time was of the essence, and if she didn’t find Greg soon, they would surely die, especially after Hodder and his men discovered what she had done. The next room was hers, and she needn’t waste a minute finding out what was in there. She moved to the next door over and knocked.

  “Greg, Greg!” she said, in the loudest voice she could manage above a whisper. She heard nothing and pushed on, only then hearing a faint voice call out her name. She turned and rushed back to the door, nearly falling over along the way.

  “Greg, is that you?”

  “Veronica?” the voice shouted. Greg. She almost fell to her knees. Of all places, they had put Greg in a cell next to hers. Had she known he was on the other side of the wall, she would have called out to him earlier. She pounded on the door.

  “Greg! I can’t believe it. Hold on!” With the key ring dangling in her hand, she flipped through the door keys—all twenty of them—and tried the first one. It was frustrating to say the least.

  “I’m going to get you out of there,” she said, glancing constantly to the end of the hall where she expected Hodder’s men to storm through at any moment.

  The keys weren’t numbered or labeled in any way, but she had faith that she would find the right one in time. Her nervous fumbling didn’t help though.

  “What’s happening?” Greg shouted.

  Her thin black hair hung in her face as she frantically went from key to key, fitting each one in the hole and turning it. On the tenth try, she heard a click and turned the handle. Ecstatic, she swung the door open and rushed in, leaving the keys still hanging in the doorknob.

  With the lights on in the room, Greg was lying on a wooden slab attached to the white walls in the corner of the room. He was tied at his wrists and ankles with thick zip-ties. His badly beaten face shocked her. He had purple bruises from forehead to chin, a swollen eye, and dried, crusted blood under his nose. She was appalled at the sight, frightened and angered at the same time.

  “What did they do to you?” she said, rushing over to him.

  He took one look at her face and thought the same thing. Her cheeks were swollen and her right eye was half shut. For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes, shocked at the other’s appearance.

  “I’m going to get you out of here,” Veronica said. “I managed to escape from my cell, but we don’t have much time.”

  Greg held up his bound hands. “They got me hog-tied at the moment. Do you have anything that can cut this?”

  Veronica looked around the room in haste. It was an empty white room with a portable toilet and sink just like hers. An idea flashed across her mind. She didn’t like it, but it was the only way.

  “I know of a place, but it’s downstairs. I’ll be right back,” she said, running off.

  “Veronica!” Greg shouted. But she was already gone. She closed his door and yanked out the keys just in case. Her legs ran at a speed unknown to her since running on the high school track team.

  Racing down the hall, her vision got blurry and she became lightheaded. She couldn’t stop no matter what. She made it down the winding stairs and entered the room of horrors, looking just as she had left it. She turned away from the bodies on the operating tables and grabbed the first scalpel she saw, then bolted back up the stairs with no desire to eve
r see that room again.

  Greg lay in the room, squinting at the overhead lights. His heart pounded in anticipation of Veronica’s return as well as fear for her safety. He couldn’t believe that she had managed to escape. He didn’t know all the details, but he knew there wasn’t much time. Their only chance for escape and survival was to wage an all-out assault on Hodder and his men. Those men didn’t intend to let him and Veronica leave the place alive; that much he knew.

  He heard the keys jingle outside the door and felt himself heave a sigh of relief. Veronica rushed back into the room holding a scalpel in her shaky hand.

  “Easy there,” Greg said. He held his wrists out. “Take a minute to breathe and focus.”

  “OK, I got this,” she said, leaning down. She placed the scalpel over the zip-tie and dug into it with a quick sawing motion. The thick plastic split and Greg’s wrists came apart.

  “Awesome,” he said. “I’ll get my ankles.” He held his hand out for the scalpel and Veronica handed it to him. With one cut, he was free. He noticed the 9mm in the side pocket of her jumpsuit.

  “Where’d you get that?”

  Veronica looked down. “I got it from one of the guards. He… Well, let’s just say I won.”

  Greg asked no more. He didn’t even think he wanted to know. He stood up from the wooden slab and tried to regain his equilibrium. His legs were wobbly and he nearly fell into Veronica. She caught him and he found his balance. In that moment, they wrapped their arms around each other and clung together without moving.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” Veronica said as her eyes welled up. She moved her head from his shoulder and kissed him on the lips, taking Greg completely by surprise.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

  “It’s, uh. It’s quite all right.”