by Wick Welker
Houser resisted their force and buried his head down into the hole of the rubber suit, frantically chewing, until they all saw a bright burst of blood erupt from within the rubber of the suit and spill out to the floor.
“We need to get out of here right now. Louis, get over here!” Stark yelled.
The three men grabbed hold onto Houser’s leg and pulled, finally breaking him free from his grip on the bloodied technician below. They continued pulling Houser across the room as the rest of lab team fled to the door.
Stark too, moved toward the door, when Louis yelled over to him. “Dr. Stark, we’ve got to help this guy out of here!”
Standing at the door, looking over the explosion of chaos that had erupted over the room, he shook his head. “He was bit, there’s nothing to do,” Stark said.
“I’m dragging him out. We can at least get him into the anteroom.” Louis walked over to the technician on the ground, bent over, and held the man’s heels in his hands.
“Do not bring that man out of this room, you idiot. We’re leaving right now.” Stark said, briskly walking to Louis, and grabbing onto his arm.
Louis ripped away from his grasp, and dragged the bitten technician, who started to kick and flail his arms.
Houser in the corner of the room was now attempting to get to his feet, while coughing up a large amount of black blood that spilled down his uniform.
“He’s already turning. Let’s fucking get out of here right now,” Stark said, bending over and grabbing Louis by the shoulder again, who no longer resisted. Running past the open door, Stark turned and pulled the lever, slamming it shut. He turned a pressurizing valve on the wall and filled the anteroom with new air.
“Oh my god,” Stark said, peering through an oval window in the door. “How did Houser break free of the magnetic field?”
The team was silent behind him, waiting for him to decide what to do next.
Through the window, he saw Houser crouching on his knees, trying to stand up as if he still had both his legs. He kept collapsing forward when he tried to put weight on his bloodied stump. After another moment of struggling, Houser fell to the ground and crawled across the room, which was now scattered with cutting blades, overturned trays, and bloody boot prints. Houser crawled along the tile until he approached a spread out pile of scalpels that had been strewn across the floor. Reaching out, he picked up a scalpel blade, and wrapped his fist around it.
“What the hell is it doing?” Stark asked, looking through the window.
Houser propped himself up on his knees and ran his thumb over the edge of the blade, focusing his gaze on the scalpel. Passing the scalpel to his other hand, he moved his fingers along the length of the handle, and felt the sharp edge again. He then ran the length of the scalpel along his arms, and then quickly licked it.
“He’s rubbing a scalpel all over his body. I’ve never…” Stark trailed off as he continued to watch.
Houser kept licking the blade and then arched his neck back as he stuck the scalpel into his mouth, blade-end first, and pushed the handle down.
“Holy shit,” Stark said.
“What is it?” Louis came up from behind for a view through the window.
“He just ate a damn scalpel.”
“What? Have you ever seen them eat something like that?”
“Never.”
Chapter Eight: Mexico City
Dave’s sleep had been broken among the rowdy conversations of the squad. Throughout the flight, most of the squad had become anxious; getting up from their seats to walk along the small corridor or moving to the cargo area of the plane to snack on whatever food they had in their baggage.
Early in the flight, Douglas had tried to get the squad to settle down and stay seated but gave up after two hours of exhaustive yelling.
Dave had dearly wished he had taken a shower before he reported to the briefing and went up to the bathroom to wash up. He walked past Jacobs, a muscular man in his late twenties, who was generally quiet in the group.
“Hey,” Jacobs said. “How you doing, man?”
“Good. I’m feeling a little gross, need a quick sink shower,” Dave said.
“You scared?” he asked.
Dave hesitated, unsure if he was being sincere. “Yeah, I am.”
“Scared of the infected?”
“No, I’m feeling just a little freaked about jumping out of the plane.”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t think we’ve had enough training exercises. If it makes you feel better, I don’t feel fully prepared myself.”
“Doesn’t help too much.” Dave gave a forced laugh.
“Don’t worry, it’s not like you’re going to be hanging off a skyscraper. You’ve got a parachute this time, right?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Dave said, diverting his eyes away.
“Oh, sorry, I’m not trying to drum up bad memories for you.”
“It’s okay.” Dave walked past him, into the narrow bathroom, where he took off his shirt, and splashed water on his armpits and face. Cupping his hands, he filled them with water, and then dumped it over his head and down his chest. He stared at his reflection for a moment and wondered if he really had changed at all from when he was hanging eighty stories up from an antenna, with thousands of the infected clawing at him. I was just a small man that only escaped out of dumb luck, he thought. I only got into this squad because of my experience with the outbreak. I would otherwise just be the same lonely person. He often enjoyed his small moments of self-loathing, for reasons he never really understood.
The squad outside of the bathroom laughed loudly as two of the men, Wang, and Yen, wrestled each other down to the floor in the aisle between the seats. Douglas yelled at them from behind. Wang ignored him and finally pinned Yen to the floor.
Dave stepped out of the bathroom and looked down at the two men in front of him. “We’re going to be dropping down into an infected city and this is what you guys are doing?” Dave spoke out loudly.
Wang got to his knees. “Just chill out, old man. This is how some of us like to relax before something big. Sorry that we don’t need to sleep all the time, like you.” He got to his feet and walked the opposite direction of Dave, and sat down.
Douglas turned to Wang. “Are you going to ignore me once we’re down in the city, you stupid asshole?”
“No sir,” Wang replied quietly.
“All right everyone, listen up,” Douglas yelled out. “We are deploying from the cargo area in one hour. I need everyone to suit up and be ready now. This will be different from our training, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to be doing anything different once we are there. I have the location of the shock tank and the rest of our equipment, which will be sent to your GPS locators in a minute. Once you land safely, we will rendezvous at the tank, and immediately begin advancement into the city. Our Stryker brigade boys are already down below taking care of business with the Mexicans. Let’s get going!”
The squad moved into the cargo area in small groups where they changed into one-piece suits that covered their fatigues. Dave found his helmet by the rest of his gear and pulled it over his head. He threw his parachute backpack over his back and brought the straps around his shoulders, cinching them together by a middle strap that crossed over his chest and abdomen.
Jacobs was bringing up his suit over his shoulders in front of him.
“Hey Jacobs!” Michaels shouted over the noise in the cargo bay.
Jacobs turned. “What?”
“Were you in the outbreak?” Michaels asked.
“No, but I know you were.”
“Yeah, I was.”
“And?”
“You learn a lot about yourself when you have to kill a bunch of normal people that just got caught up in something they had nothing to do with. This isn’t a normal enemy. We’re going to be fighting ourselves—the person at the coffee shop, or the mom shopping for groceries.”
Jacobs brought his helmet down on his head. “Yeah, I get it.”
; “Just remember that they’re already dead. Even though they’re walking around, there’s nothing anyone can do for them, not even the mighty Dr. Stark,” Michaels said.
Douglas walked into the cargo bay. “Everyone finish up and get in formation. We jump in five minutes. Remember the ten second intervals between jumps, people.”
Dave felt a rush in his stomach as he realized his headache and hunger pangs had disappeared. The squad lined up along a metal railing as the bay door opened. A rush of wind filled the bay as Dave braced himself on the railing. The door lowered from the ceiling until it finally fell open to the empty sky. Douglas had positioned himself at the back of the line and yelled out to the front of the line to jump.
Looking ahead, Dave saw Michaels at the first of the line let go of the railing, and steadily walk to the middle of the ramp. She stood for a moment, then bolted forward until she was at the end, and then jumped forward into the sky and disappeared downward from the bay. After ten seconds, the next in line followed after her, and also leapt from the edge of the ramp.
Dave counted ten seconds between the jumps and watched as each person ahead of him disappeared. His thoughts ceased as the person in front of him stepped away and ran down the ramp. Counting down from ten, he stepped back and looked out at the square of sky framed by the edges of the fuselage. He stepped away, walked to the back end of the ramp, and ran straight at the edge. The wind swept around his body as he leaned forward and came to the ledge. With one last push off with his boot, he floated up for a moment, and then plummeted straight down from the plane into the sky below.
He saw a trail of soldiers below him spread out in a neat line across the brown landscape of his aerial view. He sailed peacefully only for a moment but soon tumbled forward. A slideshow of the brown land and the plane in the sky cycled in his vision, as he continued to summersault toward the ground. He heard only the howling wind blowing by his covered ears, as he struggled to stop the tumbling.
“Tripps!” Douglas’ voice echoed into his ear. “Relax your arms and legs and arch your neck up!”
Dave realized the tenseness in his limbs was causing the wind to push his body around, making the tumbling worse. Relaxing his shoulders, he let his arms fall loosely in the wind while slackening his legs. Tumbling slower, his abdomen naturally faced the ground as he arched his neck and finally assumed a stable position where he could look out over the terrain.
“I’m good,” Dave shouted.
The color of the landscape developed texture as he plunged deeper toward the Earth. Organized blocks of streets adjacent to longer slabs of farming areas formed into view. As he descended farther he made out distinct city blocks, and noticed that several billows of smoke dotted the city landscape. Adjusting his arm angles, he moved slightly to the right as he tried to follow the trail of his squad that was just below him, falling in a single file line.
He heard Douglas again. “Once everyone lands, follow the GPS beacon to the tank sight. All of our EMP weapons will be there. In the meantime, use your firearms and blades.”
The earth expanded below Dave as he made out individual buildings and cars in traffic. There were numerous fires in all directions and streams of people running through narrow streets. Looking at his altitude meter, he knew he needed to deploy the parachute soon. Feeling around his shoulders for the cords, he held them in between one hand, and watched the meter. Below him he saw some of the squad had deployed their chutes and were gliding to the streets. He looked at the meter on his wrist again, waited another moment, and then pulled the ripcord by his shoulder.
The chute deployed upward and expanded in less than a second, thrusting his body up with it. Fitting his hands into steering straps, he looked down at the squad falling below him, and maneuvered his body in their direction as a strong wind blew across him. A pillar of smoke lifted up from the ground in the path in front of him as he attempted to steer to the right. The size of the stack of smoke was much larger than he anticipated, and his vision darkened as he flew in. He lowered his breathing into small bursts of air but couldn’t avoid a coughing fit as the smoke filled his mouth. Clearing the smoke, he looked down and saw the roofs of buildings just several hundred feet below, but lost sight of the rest of the squad behind another billow of smoke directly ahead. Holding his breath, his parachute brought him into the black smoke, where he felt the heat from fires below.
After a long moment he cleared the smoke only to be swallowed up into yet another cloud, where he completely lost sight of the city below, and the sky ahead of him. As his head began to spin from holding his breath, he finally let it out, and inhaled in the thick smoke—making him cough and wheeze.
“Tripps! Stay clear of the smoke!” Douglas’ voice rang out in his ears.
Dave continued to choke as he took in small controlled breaths, but his need for oxygen became too strong, and he gulped for air. He flew through a small pocket of clear air between the smoke streaming through the sky and deeply gasped. He could briefly see the tops of hundreds of heads streaming through the streets. Ahead of him again was another wall of smoke.
Douglas’ voice screamed once more into his ears as Dave struggled to stay conscious in the gray fog, but he couldn’t understand what Douglas was saying anymore. I’m getting low, he thought. I’m getting real low. A real and immediate heat surround his legs, but he didn’t see flames as he sunk lower. His head spun, and the voice in his ear became a tiny echo of nonsense as he tried to remember where he was. Coughing and then choking on the air, he briefly caught hold onto the fact that he was passing out on a parachute as he landed into an infested city. He vomited a small amount of fluid into the warm smoke around him. I’m going to die, he thought as he reached both arms up over his shoulders and pulled on the emergency release straps that immediately dropped him from the upward pull of the parachute.
Dave fell through the smoke, his body heavy and dull as it plunged through the glowing fog. The smoke suddenly lifted from his eyes, and he saw the moving façade of a white washed building sliding past him. Before his mind could register what was happening, he slammed through several planks of wood, and crashed down on top of a wooden table, splitting it in half with the legs splintering as the table flattened out to the floor.
Looking up, he saw the blown out remains of a decorative wooden scaffold from where he had fallen through. The surreal thought of waking up in his bed the morning before with a hangover crept into the back of his mind but was cast away as he looked past the fractured wooden roof to the billowing smoke pumping out into the sky. Realizing that Douglas’ voice had stopped, he brought his finger to his ear, and found that his earpiece was missing. Bringing his hand down to his side, he felt the cold comfort of his MP443 Grach sidearm snuggled tightly to his thigh. He unlatched the gun, got into a kneeling position and tested his body for injury, but only felt a hard pounding in his head. Taking in another couple breaths of air, he rose to his feet, and moved to the edge of the patio.
He discovered that the patio overlooked a street that had erupted into the chaos with which he had become familiar. The narrow road below was entirely blocked with stationary cars, with most of the windows broken into, and their drivers presumably dragged out. Whatever battle had happened on that street, it was clear that the infected had won. Bodies of the sick were squeezed into every available space between the parked cars and the small, two-level homes. They moved slowly, investigating each empty car, and grabbing at one another’s shoulders to climb over. They were particularly interested in staying clear of the building directly across from Dave, which was completely engulfed in flames. A small semicircle of space formed around its walls as the infected avoided the heat.
Dave ducked behind the wall of the patio to think. He looked into the room of the home that came out to the patio and didn’t see any movement within. Unzipping a pocket on his jacket, he pulled out a small GPS device, and took it out of its sleeve. The screen was shattered.
“Piece of shit,” he yelled and then
cut himself off, realizing he was surrounded by a horde. He got to his feet and moved over to the door that opened into the home. He grabbed a radio from his hip, and turned it on, which buzzed with static voices that he couldn’t make out. Quickly, he turned the switch off out of fear of drawing attention.
Sliding the door open he slowly stepped in and saw a couch in a small living room full of bookshelves, and a rounded television teetering on a small nightstand. Looking past the room, he couldn’t see anything but a hallway that went around a blind corner, so he slowly stepped forward with his gun drawn. He walked with his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the street, and trying to differentiate it from any sounds that may be in the home. As he approached the hallway he heard something: the low slurping sound of feeding. They were in the home.
He reached behind his back, unclasped a latch around a handle, and pulled out a long, slender blade fashioned like a streamlined machete. Holding it in front of him with one hand, he advanced down the hallway toward the sound. As he approached, he heard the sound grow louder, with intermittent gurgling. He turned a corner and saw a small group of the infected huddled around a body. They were on their hands and knees in the middle of the kitchen floor. Nothing has changed, he thought. They only want one thing.
Walking briskly into the room, he brought down the blade directly into the skull of a man whose head was buried in the open abdomen of the body. Putting his foot on the man’s back, he pulled the blade out, and kicked him down toward the carcass.
A thin woman in a polka dot dress looked up at him and swung her arm out, lost balance, and fell sideways over the man, whose brain was now bulging from his hair.
Dave quickly stepped forward over the woman and swung the blade down at her neck, slicing through the skin, and crunching through the spinal cord. She choked and struggled as he pulled the blade out, releasing a flood of blood from her neck. With one more swing, Dave completely separated her head, as another infected man had managed to get to his feet.