by Dead Again
Now he had to turn back to the mission. The real mission. He had to get his team out of here, and to the island.
But now, it was a vastly different situation. Now, all those things up there knew exactly where they were, and they had no other distractions. There would be hundreds of those things clustered outside that door, and many hundred more outside the hospital. Breaking out up there again was not an option. They were stuck.
“It’s your fault, Commander,” came Washington’s voice. “You saved a few civilians. So what? Now we’ll never make it out of here. Now we’re trapped down here, with the others. You’ve jeopardize our mission to save a few civilians, but at what price? It could mean the lives of millions of people around the world. Was it worth it for just a few?” Washington snapped.
Peterson stared back, cold and hard, and surveyed the room, looked at the face of Doug, that ten year old boy, who stared back in with a huge smile.
“Yes,” Peterson finally answered. “Yes, it was.
Washington’s glare hardened.
“When we get back,” he said, “I’ll have you know that I’m going to report you, and you’ll be court-martialed, if not worse.”
Peterson laughed in his face, a short, dark laugh. “If you survive.”
Peterson turned away. He didn’t care about Washington, and was tired of pompous face.
“I’m proud to serve you sir,” came a voice.
Peterson turned and saw Johnny-Boy standing there, looking up approvingly. “And I know you’ll find a way out of here for us.”
Peterson nodded back in gratitude.
He then turned and surveyed all the faces, and he couldn’t help noticing that they were all looking to him, as if waiting to take orders from him, like he was their Messiah, ready to lead them to the promise land.
The problem was, he had no other way out. He was as stuck as the rest of these people.
But as he scanned the room again, something caught his eye. Something gleamed, in the corner of the room; it caught the light, just for a second.
He took several steps closer, and looked up at the ceiling. It was hard to make it out, but up there, it looked like some sort of remnant of ductwork.
“Nurse Dee!” Peterson yelled out.
She came running up alongside him.
“How many years did you say you worked at this hospital?” he asked.
“Oh my, at least 10 years now,” she said.
“Did you ever have occasion to come down to this basement?”
She shook her head. “Sometimes, yes.”
“Has there always been central air-conditioning here?”
She looked back, thinking. “As far as I can remember, I’d say yes.”
“Do you know where the air processor is?” he asked, an idea starting to warm up to him.
She shook her head, blankly. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t.”
Peterson scanned the walls, carefully.
“What are you thinking, Commander?” came Armstrong’s deep voice, standing next to him. His team crowded around close, and stared at the ceiling with him.
“I’m thinking that’s another way out of here,” he answered.
He took several steps forward, reached up with the point of his machine gun, and poked the ceiling. A solid sound came back. But he kept poking as he walked, and suddenly the solid sound turned hollow, metallic. He poked harder, and it clanged back.
“Bring me that crate!” he ordered a civilian.
Within seconds, a crate was at his feet, and he jumped up on it and in one motion, banged hard on the aluminum with the butt of his gun.
It bent at first, but as he continued to hit it, finally, it crashed open. He reached up, took the aluminum, and yanked it down. It was a wide air-conditioning duct. He stood up higher, and stuck his head in
“A flashlight!” he commanded.
Within seconds, another civilian thrust a flashlight into his hand. Peterson stood on his tippy toes, put his head all the way in the duct, raised the light, and looked.
As far as he could see, the light shone. It was blackness all the way. But the same time, there was no end to the light. The ducts went on forever.
“Sir! I found this!” came a voice.
Peterson stepped down and saw another civilian hurrying over, with a large, bound notebook. She flipped it open, and Peterson saw it was filled with floor plans and designs of the hospital infrastructure.
They all crowded around close, as Peterson flipped the pages, and traced a diagram with his finger.
“It’s definitely ductwork,” he said. “It looks like it leads up a flight, and then out to the rear the hospital.” He looked back up at the ceiling, then back to his men. “It looks like this just might work.”
“Yeah, and what if it doesn’t?” came Washington’s nasty voice. “That could be our death trap, too.”
Peterson looked from the book to the ceiling again, ignoring Washington. He nodded, coming to a decision.
“This is our way out,” he decided. He faced his team. “We’ll rest up here tonight, stock up on food, medicine. Tomorrow, at 0500, we’re up and out, through the ducts, and out to the parking lot.”
“Wait!” yelled a civilian. “What about us? You can’t leave us in here!”
Peterson scanned all the faces, and saw the desperation. As he did, he came to a decision.
“I’ll come back for you,” he said. “When we finish our mission.”
Doug tugged on his sleeve.
“Do you promise?”
Peterson looked at Doug’s father, who was lying on the floor, bleeding badly from his bite wound. He was infected and soon to die.
Peterson then looked into Doug’s eyes, long and hard. They were his brother’s eyes, and they were the eyes of the child he never had.
“I promise,” he replied.
COMING SOON…
Book #2 in the Zombie Diaries
Please visit George’s site, where you can join the mailing list, hear the latest news, and find links to stay in touch with George on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads and elsewhere:
www.georgemagnum.com