The Romero Strain (Book 2): The Dead, The Damned & The Darkness

by Ts Alan

  On the first attempt only three of the undead made it onto the elevator and exited at lobby level. The second attempt was much more fruitful with nine that made it into the car, but as Liz was making her escape, jabbing at the ravenous creatures with the improvised weapon to ward off their attack, two of them grabbed hold of the spear and tore it from her hands. These undead were highly agitated and did not want to exit when they reached lobby level; instead they stayed in the car jumping up toward the open hatchway in an attempt to fill their need to feed.

  Upward they went climbing the narrow ladder back to the 23rd floor, and then crawling over to the next car that was waiting for them. Down into the car they lowered her, upside down with their makeshift harness made from telephone cords and computer cables. The buttons had been pushed, the car descended, they prepared themselves, but the undead were ready, waiting by the elevator doors. They charged before the doors had fully opened. Liz plunged the replacement spear at the horde as its leader lunged at her. It pierced the lead attacker through its left eye, running through its head and lodging in the back of its skull. But there were too many and James and Jonas were not quick enough. The undead latched onto her long blonde hair that had partially fallen out of the back of her blouse, having been tied back and tucked under a bra strap. Liz screamed in agony. Her hair was being ripped out in large chunks. The elevator descended as they finally got her through the hatchway. The blood flowed from the large area where the flesh and hair had been torn away. The wound was a dark mass, but the blood that ran down her face and soaked into her white blouse was rich and red. She looked like Carrie the night of the prom.

  It was imperative to get to the 14th floor. Liz needed immediate medical attention. Though her head wound was severe it was not life threatening, not yet, not unless it became infected. The journey up was long and arduous, and the pain for her excruciating, far more than she could take. She fell in and out of consciousness, which made the trip up more difficult and hazardous.

  James had all the contingencies covered he thought, but he hadn’t considered an injury. So as he pried open the elevator door he knew that it would be up to him to try and get the medical supplies that were now urgently needed.

  However to risk his life foolishly was neither noble, heroic; nor was getting himself killed effective. A new plan was needed and it was needed now. James needed a real weapon, not a stick. As he paced the floor back and forth talking to himself, Jonas overheard him muttering about needing bullets or another pistol.

  He commented, “Too bad my brother isn’t working today; he’d have a gun.”

  “What did you say?” James asked. “Why would your brother be carrying?”

  “Because he’s an assistant chief of building security. That’s how I got this job.”

  “He carries a weapon. Are you sure? I’ve never seen any guard here carrying a hand gun.”

  “That’s because floor security isn’t allowed weapons, but those in the command center are.”

  Without knowing it Jonas had come up with a possible resolution. If his brother carried a weapon, then perhaps there was another security officer who had been on duty in the command center who also had a weapon.

  ***

  Anyone could access the command center floor; it was on the first basement level that was shared with the mailroom department. As the elevator opened both Jonas and James stood poised with spears at the ready, but there were no undead waiting.

  They stepped into the corridor. The sign on the wall in front of them pointed left for the direction of the mailroom and right to the command center. Sensors allowed for lights to be turned off when there was sufficient daylight or an office was vacant. The doorway that lead to mail room operations was dark, but the opposite full height glass entry wall revealed a well-lit corridor beyond its archway.

  A chilling, sinking feeling shivered through them. Either someone was still alive or there were undead moving about behind the closed doors. They cautiously walked the short distance of the corridor toward the main reception area of the command center. As the long reception counter came into view they could see no one stationed behind it. As they made their final approach, just feet ahead they could see the tell tale signs that there had been a struggle. Distinct bullet holes had riddled the wall across from the counter, and there were clear signs that some kind of blood splatter coated the floor, though its color was not consistent with human pooling. James concluded it was of the undead. As they rounded the right of the counter, there on the floor, chewed beyond recognition, was a man dressed in what was left of a grey suit. His pistol was feet from him in the midst of a large pool of the man’s coagulated blood. James had no choice but to retrieve the weapon, but to his dismay the ammunition in the clip had been expended.

  To each side of the counter was a door. To the left, the sign on the door stated. ‘Offices.’ The one on the right read, ‘Locker Room.’ Above each door was a security camera and to the right of each was an access card reader. James tried the door handle to the offices, but it was secured. He removed the dead guard’s identification/access card. He swiped the card through the reader and the door release clicked. The door they chose to enter first was to the security offices. This to him was the logical choice to find weapons and/or ammunition. It was where Jonas’ brother, Jason, had his office.

  As the door swung inward, out charged an enraged creature. It lunged at James and impaled itself directly onto the sharpened broom handle he had outstretched. The creature kept its momentum and the wooden fashioned spear drove through it, the tip of James’ weapon protruding through its back. The creature was relentless and it furiously thrust James backward, almost knocking him off balance. The creature crept closer, impaling himself further down the shaft of the spear. Jonas raised his lance up and thrust it under the monster’s chin, driving it upward into its skull, but the thrust was not hard enough to penetrate into its brain. The ravenous undead creature grabbed frantically at them, trying to drive itself completely down the spear in order to get a hold of James. They both drove the creature back, pushing down the corridor of the offices and slamming it into the adjacent wall.

  The end of James’ lance punctured the interior wall and abruptly stopped. The creature grabbed onto his arm, dug its nails into him, and pulled itself closer. Only inches away from being able to sink its teeth into James the creature grew even more frantic. With one final upward thrust Jonas put all his weight behind his weapon and drove the creature’s head to the wall, ramming the broom handle into its brain and through the skull. The tip of the now dulled weapon imbedded slightly into the partition. The zombie went limp, its body now held up by the imbedded broom handles supported by the shaken two. They both released their weapons. The creature fell forward, its torso sliding along the last few inches of the shaft that had been impaled through its midsection, and flopped to the floor.

  Jason’s office was locked and the key card James had taken from the reception guard did not allow access to any security director’s office. The secured doors were too difficult to penetrate without some type of tactical entry tool, such as a ram or hammer, and there was no time to go searching.

  The creature that had attacked them had been a well-built, black male in his early to late 50s—Jonas having guessed, based on having been introduced to him by his brother when he first started his employment with Hearst Publishing. James rolled over the corpse to search for a weapon. His name had been Herbert Lee Smith, according to the picture identification he wore around his neck, and he too, like Jason, was an assistant head of the security for Hearst Tower. Under the man’s buttoned suit jacket was a shoulder holster. Herb was carrying a New York City Police Department Glock 19 with a magazine capacity of 15 rounds not including one in the chamber.

  Like James’ U.S. Army issued Berretta M9 pistol, the Glock also used 9x19mm Parabellum cartridges and both weapons had a reversible magazine release button that could be positioned f
or either right- or left-handed shooters, which was preferable since James was left-handed. But 16 cartridges would not be enough. He hoped Mr. Smith kept additional ammunition in his office.

  James relieved Herb of his keys and security badge, and went to his office. Inside the bottom right desk drawer of the assistant security director’s large oak desk—rank having its perk of real wood—was a small, rugged, grey-colored, survivor dry box. James probably could have just knocked open the small lock, but instead he used Herb’s keys. The box’s contents revealed two loaded clips of ammunition and two 20 round boxes of Speer GoldDot ammunition. Though one box was partially empty, James was sure there was enough ammunition to adequately eliminate the undead of the 14th floor.

  4

  For a New Life Bound

  October 14, Day 189.

  J.D. Nichol’s team parked the Stryker facing the Franklin D. Roosevelt Drive underpass at South Street, between the yellow New York Water Taxi ticket booth and the pea soup green colored South Street Seaport Museum Visitors Center. There was more than enough room for a large helicopter to land.

  J.D. watched and waited, gazing not at the sky but back across South Street, past the Heartland Brewery, beyond the Fulton Market building, up the plaza toward the Titanic Memorial Lighthouse at Pearl Street. He was watching to see if anything was coming, but the night was motionless.

  Dawn was approaching, but for the moment he had time to do one final gesture of friendship for the man who was going to keep Marisol safe and protected, and that was to give him a birthday present.

  He closed the upper hatch and lowered himself back into the truck. J.D. picked up a camouflage backpack from the cabin floor, turned to David and spoke, “Happy birthday, DD,” and then handed him the bundle.

  “Birthday?” he asked taking the pack.

  J.D. was astonished. “What? You forget what today is? It’s October 14th.”

  “Shit. Didn’t even think about what day it was. How did you know?”

  “It was Julie. We were planning a surprise party for ya, but I guess you won’t be getting any cake this year ’cause it’s back at the armory. Chocolate I think.”

  “Double chocolate fudge,” Kermit corrected. “And that would be an incorrect assumption. I packed some cake in my duffle bag. You’ve spoiled Julie’s surprise.”

  “I just suck don’t I?” J.D. announced. “It would have been nice if someone would have said something,” he snapped with slight irritation, glaring at Kermit.

  Julie consoled him. “It’s okay, J.D. I didn’t know about the cake either.”

  When light finally broke, J.D. threw out a smoke flare to indicate their position. It was only a few minutes before the distinct sound of a helicopter broke the silence of the dawn. Sam pointed out it was an HH-60 Pave Hawk. J.D. was actually going to miss Sam’s rambling lectures and excessive information. The helicopter landed, its side facing them with its manned machine gun protruding out the cabin window. It wasn’t as foreboding as the helo he remembered with the large caliber machine gun mounted in the cabin door like from the film Apocalypse Now, but was still surrealistic as its blades echoed, cutting through the silence of the derelict sea port.

  Everyone knew what was expected of everyone. Their departure had been thought out carefully. The men would immediately take up defensive positions protecting the girls while they got aboard the helicopter. Then they would follow, first Sam, followed by Kermit, then finally David.

  J.D.’s pleasantries with the helicopter crew were brief. When the payload had been handed off to the crew sergeant, he signaled to his team, they deployed as discussed. Marisol came first with Max on his leash, then Julie leading Otter on his leash. But their rescue was suddenly interrupted. The half-mutes were coming. The sound of the helicopter had attracted their attention.

  “I got unknowns coming in, unknowns coming in!” the gunner sergeant called out. J.D. saw the gun move and the half-mutes running toward his friends from the plaza. They had only a moment before they would reach the pier.

  He helped Julie get Otter aboard.

  “Half-mutes,” J.D. said aloud, shouting over the propeller noise, which now began to spin up. “If you shoot you’ll only attract more. My team can handle them,” he told the sergeant. “Just get ready to go.”

  He quickly moved away from the chopper toward the Stryker. Kermit and Sam were already running toward him, while David covered their retreat. He met David half way. The half-mutes were nearly upon the two of them. J.D. pushed aside his carbine and unsheathed his bolo machetes.

  J.D. quoted him the character Kane’s line from the film Highlander: The Final Dimension, about seeing him in hell.

  David’s pause was brief; he correctly responded with Connor MacLeod’s line about being the judge of that. J.D. was going to miss their interchange of challenging one another to movie quotes. He hadn’t known another person who was as good as David and it was rare that J.D. could best him.

  J.D. couldn’t stop them all. A few ran past. He heard the whirling blades of the chopper grow louder, and then the roar of its machine gun. He didn’t have time to look behind; he had just hoped David had made it. He thought he heard Marisol’s cries as the helo lifted off. Then something struck him. His leg collapsed under him. He went down. He had been shot from behind. He saw half-mutes falling in front of him, but saw more coming. He knew he was too far from the safety of the Stryker. He struggled to stand. His thigh flared in penetrating pain. He tried to work through it, but he knew he wasn’t going to be able to stand very long. He could feel the blood flowing out of both holes the bullet had made when it passed through him.

  The rattle of the machine gun stopped, the helicopter moved away. He had been left behind even if he had wanted to go. There was no escape for him now. More half-mutes came running toward him. He tried to escape to the water, but it was as far in distance as was the truck. He would have to make his stand where he stood. He twirled his blades ready for the onslaught.

  J.D. looked up to the sky. The helo had gone, but he gave one last challenge to David. He spoke the same final words as the Nexus-6 replicant Roy Batty uttered right before his death in Blade Runner, except left out the part about dying. J.D. didn’t expect David to shout back a response. The helicopter his friends had departed in was heading to rendezvous with a transport plane that would take them to England, where a coalition of British and American forces had established a refugee community. The antiviral they were carrying back with them would help that population’s survival. Unfortunately, J.D. could not go. He did not want to be a lab rat because of his mutations caused by the virus. Besides, someone had to protect Ryan and Doctor France, who were totally inept at survival. He wasn’t sure who he’d miss the most, his human friends or his canine buddy.

  J.D. took a battle stance as the half-mutes drew down upon him, and then shouted, “Okay, David,” his voice resonating throughout the South Street Seaport. “This one’s for you!”

  When the first one came at him he was able to decapitate it. But then there were two more, followed by a third. He dispatched them, too. Then there were six more furious creatures charging. He killed three before the rest struck him down. His blades fell with him, releasing from his hands. More of the half-mutes joined in, clawing at him, biting him, trying to rip him apart.

  Then came a feeling, something he had never felt before, so primal, so evil, so overwhelming. It was a need to survive, but more. It was a need to kill those who threatened him. He felt his mutation surge. A loud, ear-piercing screech came from deep within him and burst forth. The creatures that were trying to slaughter him suddenly released him and covered their ears. The deafening sound that J.D. made rang out filling the city’s silence. It was an unnatural, frightening screech.

  In that moment, the moment the creatures released him, he pulled his MPK5 around and fired it into the creatures before him. As his father had told him many times, �
�If you don’t have a backup, you don’t have a plan.’ Those that had stopped in their tracks as they ran to join in the frenzy now began their rush toward him once again. J.D. quickly rose. He felt no pain; he felt nothing, except the need to kill. He moved toward them and let out another deafening cry. He raised his weapon up again and was going to fire when he heard a familiar reply. It was the call of Luci. She too was a transmute, but more genetically altered than he was. The calls from the rear sent the half-mutes into a panic; they feared the loud piercing sounds. J.D. unleashed a barrage of gunfire at them as most began to flee, but his weapon quickly went silent. There were less than a dozen remaining and showed no sign of desiring to retreat. Two bold creatures appeared to be hungry for his flesh. They continued their advance. J.D. unshouldered his weapon and threw it to the ground. He ripped the gloves from his hands and exposed his short but razor-like talons. He ran toward them to meet them head on, to show them he was not intimidated, and to show them he was the apex predator. One suddenly changed its mind and fled, but the others held their ground. Suddenly Luci appeared, seizing one, and knocking it to the ground. A frenzied brawl commenced. Screeching from Luci and guttural noises from the half-mute filled the air.