Afflicted: Patient Zero

by Derek Shupert

  “All units, package and baggage spotted in section G. Proceed with caution as possible infected may be present as well. Converge on targets and terminate anything non-living. This is a top level priority and all TGP tactical soldiers should respond.”

  I glance at the soldiers standing guard and see them look in each other’s general direction. They nod to one another and quickly head off in the opposite direction.

  “Good job, Hound. That bought us a few minutes. Won’t take ’em long to figure out it was a bullshit call. Let’s go!”

  Natasha and Hound cautiously slip out from behind the containers and race over to the keypad. I’m not as graceful and feel like I’ve been on an all-night drinking binge—my head swimming and my legs feeble. I try to make it look natural or not as bad as what I know it seems, but I stumble into the wall. I look over and see Natasha striking the pad, her face calm and collected as Hound keeps his ears to the ground.

  “Shit! They’ve changed the access code.”

  “What are we going to do?” I ask.

  “Hound, you’re up!”

  Natasha slides to the right and draws her pistol, training it down the hall as Hound settles in front of the pad. He pounds away, fingers moving so damn fast it’s almost a blur. “What’s it looking like, Hound? Don’t think we have too much time here.”

  “They’ve added some additional security measures. I need five minutes for the work around.”

  “You got three, so get cracking! How you holding up back there? You’re looking worse now!”

  “I’m . . . fine,” I sluggishly reply back, rubbing my eyes and trying to remove the mental cobwebs.

  “Just so you know, Mike, if you go all flesh-eating happy, I’ll put two right through the middle of your skull.”

  “As long as you promise to do so.”

  Hound continues to work his magic, his fingers dancing over the keypad and the flashes of light changing every second. My approach probably would’ve been a little less tactful. A bullet through the control pad generally works well.

  A loud, single shrill erupts from I don’t know where and sends our heads pivoting around in every direction, our guns sweeping to find the source. A small burst of gunfire follows, silencing the all too familiar sound.

  “Where’d that come from?” Natasha asks while looking over her shoulder. “Hound, we need that door open now!”

  Multiple moans and shrills chime off in unison as more gunfire echoes throughout the halls. It seems as if it’s coming from all over and rushing towards us like a massive tidal wave of death itself. Down the corridor, I spot a burst of light and pick up the distinct noise of empty casings bouncing off the ground.

  “Hound! Get this damn door open now or we’re all shit up a creek without a paddle!”

  “Two minutes!”

  Two TGP soldiers back out of the adjoining corridor down from me, firing in an erratic behavior and scrambling away as if their lives depend on it. They look in our general direction, but pay us no mind as the murder of flesh-eaters break into my view.

  “How’re we coming on that door?” I ask, training my pistol dead ahead and taking aim at whatever looks at me cross eyed, which is everything.

  “Thirty seconds!” Hound says, his voice steady and not a hint of worry in his tone.

  Two deformed flesh-eaters plow over the concrete, racing along the walls on either side. Chunks of rock hurl into the air. The soldiers fire wildly, missing mostly, but connecting some.

  It does little to deter the masses as the two ravenous beasts leap from the walls and tackle their prey, instantly ripping into them and devouring their insides with little effort.

  The trailing herd moans loudly, and stammers about, arms stretched out in front of them and all eyes fixed on us now. The two beasts ripping the flesh from the soldiers’ bones stop and pause, starring in our general direction as bloody meat clings to their jagged teeth. Their human appearance is nearly gone, leaving nothing more than a bad experiment gone wrong. Or right. Depends on whom you ask.

  “Ok, got it!” Hound exclaims.

  Access override accepted . . .

  The door begins to open, but stops suddenly, leaving enough room to fit just part of our body through.

  “Damn it!” Natasha growls, kicking the door with her thick-soled combat boots.

  The murder continues their advancement as they move past the two feasting on the soldiers. A few get ballsy and take a place at the eatery, reaching in with skinless hands and arms, exposed muscles showing through. With a quick growl and snap like a dog not liking the company, one beast strikes the unwanted corpse in the upper chest. It’s talon-like claws slash it open and lop off its head as its body slams into the passerby’s. The soldiers they ravaged are nothing more now than a bloody mess, clothing and meat mixed together into one nasty, pulpy, red concoction.

  “Come on, help me get this open!” I say, gripping the top portion of the left side of the door. Hound grabs below me and Natasha takes the opposite side. I do not like our odds, but I’ve got to give it a try, for my Becky. “Everyone, pull as hard as you can!”

  At once, we all pull, straining and trying to concentrate, not looking back toward the advancement of flesh-eaters on our heels. The hot, stomach churning breath of rotted human meat and a soulless body does little to affect me now. I am one of them or close to it.

  I wonder if these soulless demons still want to devour me or have I been accepted into the brotherhood of the damned?

  The door gives some and makes a loud screech, piercing the veil of moans and blood lust. “Pull harder!”

  We pull once more and my energy level continues its roller coaster ride. I feel more energized now and less lethargic. I need to take advantage of the upside while I can before it heads down the other side of the tracks. “Take my piece and lay down cover fire. Natasha, do the same.”

  I shove my pistol into Hound’s hand and nudge both of them out of the way. I stand in front of the stubborn door and grip both sides of the metal.

  “What the hell you doin’, Mike? You can’t open that yourself?”

  “Just kill those bastards, all right!”

  Both guns sound off immediately and the sweet melody of slugs tearing through skulls plays in the air. It warms my somewhat beating heart.

  I grit my teeth and start pushing outward at the door, every muscle fiber teaming with some kind of extra juice that has me raging like a steroid freak. The door gives. I push even harder, my Becky’s voice entrenched in the back of my mind spurring me to keep pushing. It gives even more, allowing me to fit my body into the narrow space and push it open further.

  “All right, come on!”

  The lights flicker overhead and the door reengages, trying to shut and crush me in the process. I lock my arms in place and bear down, determined to come out the victor in this battle of wills.

  The dead drop in droves, but so many are filtering towards us that it does little to diminish their numbers. The two larger beasts that have finished their snack get up and look me dead in the eye. No pun intended. They snarl and advance our way, smacking the animated corpses off to the side like insignificant lumps of meat.

  “Shit, I’m out!” Natasha yells as she holsters her pistol and slips under my arms and into the room.

  My arms are giving out and the door is overcoming my willpower. The dead are within reach as Hound’s pistol jams. He smacks the steel a few times, trying to pull the hammer back. Giving up, he turns to dart under my arms. A handful of the dead latch onto Hound and pull him back, digging their rotted teeth into his flesh.

  Panicking and flailing his arms wildly, Hound tries to fight off the unholy terror dragging him back into hell. He reaches for me, his eyes wide and his hand shaking. Like leeches attached to his neck, arms, and other places, they rip into him and tear chunks of meat from his body, sending blood spraying all over me.

  The dead take him down and a crowd of hungry flesh-eater
s converge on top of him, grabbing at anything and everything they can. His screams subside and only the moans remain.

  I catch a horribly disfigured woman out of the corner of my eye as she lunges at me, teeth leading the way. She bites into my forearm and before she’s able to rip it away, Natasha shoves a crowbar right through her skull. Her teeth release and she falls to the ground in a dead heap of animated meat. Natasha grabs my arm and yanks me inside, the door slamming shut, blocking us from the dead mere inches away.

  20

  The rapping at the door does very little to spring my nerves as I’m slump down, resting my back against the cold metal. I look at my forearm, inspecting the deep bite mark that has my pale, dying skin looking bruised and beyond heinous. It doesn’t hurt, the skin just feels pulled and jerked out of place.

  “Damn it!” Natasha exclaims, kicking over some boxes.

  The clamoring of the empty containers plays off the walls in the small room. It’s dimly lit and filled with more containers and other odds and ends. Not sure why all the security for a bunch of junk, but there must be some reason behind it.

  “I’m sorry about your friends.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Natasha says flatly. She tries to compose herself, fighting back the urge to cry, scream, or do something really stupid. Not sure which. She down at my arm, pointing at the bite. “You sure you’re not going to go all flesh-eating happy on me?”

  “To be honest, no, I’m not sure. So far, I haven’t had the urge to eat anyone. As a matter of fact, I really haven’t had the urge for much of anything in the realm of food.”

  “Well that looks bad, as well as everything else going on with you.”

  If she keeps talking like this, I’m going to get a complex.

  “Yeah well, right now this is the hand that I was dealt, so I have to play it the best I can.”

  “You better play right or I’ll put you down like those pieces of crap out there.”

  After everything I’ve gone through and had done to me, I’m still not sure if I can die. I feel the words creeping near my lips to test the theory, but quickly swallow’em back. I’ve come so far and am too close to be done in by a lack of good judgment.

  “Now that we’re trapped in this small ass room with the Grateful Dead playing on the door, what’s the plan?” I ask.

  Natasha, still fuming and looking like she would pull the wings from a fly just to make it suffer, kicks some boxes out of her way and topples over some silver containers on the far side of the wall. I guess at this point it really doesn’t matter if we’re loud or not. The cat is so out of the bag.

  She presses part of the wall with her right hand about head high, the solid surface separating and ejecting a light blue scanner. Natasha places her right eye in front of what looks to be some sort of optical scanner and pauses.

  “Wow, pretty involved security for just some boxes and containers,” I add, watching Natasha closely.

  A row of red lines starts at the top of her eye and quickly sweeps down, pausing for a brief moment. After a few seconds, the blue diminishes and the scanner lights up a dark green.

  Natasha takes a step back as the scanner slips back into the wall and a seamless door pops free and slides open. I guess it’s a good thing I happened across Natasha’s path. She knows her way around, and where to find the hidden places to keep us out of the lime light. With the dead roaming through the facility, hopefully that will keep the action away from us, and most importantly me.

  “So, where does this magical little door lead us?”

  “It’s a holding pen for failed experiments and other things,” Natasha replies, ejecting the clip from her pistol. “There’s a lab within where they are tested. I’m not really sure, as I’ve only been down here once and didn’t stay long. Place creeps me out.”

  “So like a morgue where the dead are actually dead and not all walking around?”

  “Huh,” Natasha snickers, bending down and pulling a fresh clip from inside her boot. “You just wish it was that easy. Then again, you’ll probably fit right in.”

  “Are we just passing through the freak show?”

  “Yes, unless you want to hang out and get acquainted with your kin.”

  “No, I’m good,” I reply, looking at the ground for anything that I can use as a weapon. Since Hound bit the dust and took my piece with him, I’m feeling very naked right now.

  My eye catches the overly large crowbar that Natasha used to kabob that woman’s head, brain matter and chunks of skull still clinging to it. I scoop it off the floor and grip it tight, peering at Natasha who looks poised and ready to move out.

  “Keep close and quiet. The infected in there are in cells, but we don’t want to rattle their cages and get them all worked up. Might draw attention to us. Stay on my six and watch my back and this should be a walk in the park.”

  Yeah, right. A walk in the park.

  Natasha nears the door and pulls it open all the way, a musty and pungent odor instantly filtering into the room. She coughs and gags, placing her hand over her mouth and plugging her nose. It does nothing to me. She turns to me and nods.

  The holding section for the experiments is large, and cells line the walls on the floor below. We creep along the catwalk, Natasha looking down, and her pistol following her every motion. It’s quiet and loud at the same time; odd and strange noises emit from all over, but do little to rattle my nerves. I look over the rusted railing and peer below, finding a round station with two guards tucked nicely inside. From here, they look pudgy and not the typical soldiers I’ve seen everywhere else. Guess there’s not much to watching over a bunch of caged animals.

  Our boots play over the grated steel like trumpets announcing our arrival. Natasha seems less worried about that than she does someone coming out of the blue and laying out the welcome mat for us.

  I wish I had something more than this damn crowbar. Up close and in someone’s face it’ll be fine, but far away I’ll be pissing in the wind and have to rely on Natasha to take them out.

  We hit the stairs and Natasha keeps her eyes focused on the two guards as she methodically inches towards the bottom floor. They look distracted and completely unaware that we’re even here. She pauses.

  “We have to get inside the control station over there to get through here,” Natasha whispers. “I know these two jerk offs. They are probably watching Sports Center or something like that. Just keep quiet and I’ll take care of them.”

  I stay put and watch Natasha move towards the control station, her pistol double gripped and trained ahead. All of the ambiance floating around teas my ear, pulling my attention to the cell to my left. I take a quick glance at Natasha, who is halfway there and looks to be in the clear. I move towards the cell cautiously and carefully, the groaning and strange noises getting more intense the closer I get.

  There’s a Plexiglas front with multiple tiny holes all over and a steel plate behind it. I pause once more and look over at Natasha, who gets into position and bends down. She hugs the metal structure and slithers around the control station and out of my sight.

  In front of me is a small window within the steel door. Since I’m here, might as well sneak a peek at what’s behind door number one.

  I lean in close, placing my hands on the plastic barrier, and peer through the opening. The room is all white and I see nothing stirring about. Actually, I don’t hear anything anymore.

  Come on, come on. Give us a look-see.

  I hear a noise from up top and twist my head around instantly, scanning over the catwalk for its perpetrator. Nothing. The TV or radio, whichever the plump guards are listening to, echoes off the walls in here.

  I bring my attention back to the window and look back in, nearly shitting my pants at the sight of a horribly disfigured face spewing fluids from open sores littering its head. It shrills loudly and begins to beat on the steel door separating us.

  Two consecutive gun shots sound off followed by a
repetitive siren that goes off every ten seconds. I make a beeline for the control station and find the overweight guards face down on the floor, blood splattered over the controls and dripping to the floor below.

  “Damn it!” Natasha growls, relieving the two men of their weapons. “Here, that crowbar won’t do shit to save your ass when they get here.”

  She hands me a Glock and a few extra clips. I pop the clip out and check the goods, joyful that I’m sitting pretty with a full clip and his friends lying in wait.

  “What happened? I thought you had this?”

  “Don’t start with me, Mike. I’ll add a third body to the count here and won’t think twice about it,” Natasha sternly replies. “I got this fat fart first but this piece of crap tripped the alarm before I could drop him.”

  I stow away the extra clips and chamber a round as the sound of boots and tactical gear tickle my ear. It’s coming from behind and up top. I’m not sure how many soldiers are behind us, but it sounds like a lot.

  We both stay low and well within the confines of the station, bending down with our pistols clutched tightly in our palms. I glance at the two guards, hoping a frag grenade, chemical grenade, or just something that looks like a damn explosive will appear before me, but find nothing of the sort. The soldiers’ weapons cock and train at our backs.

  “So, do you want to go out and talk to them or should I?” I say jokingly. Right now, I’m kind of feeling virile. Good thing too, looks like I’m gonna need them.

  “I think I’ll let you take this one. After all, they probably want you more than me,” Natasha says with a smirk.

  She keeps low and inches forward some, looking up at one of the security monitors that the two dead guards failed to keep an eye on as we strolled in. She seems unshaken, her head still and motionless as she stares at the screen. I try to get a peek from where I am, only seeing a blur of black bodies within the gray CC TV. Natasha takes a few steps back and sighs. I’m not sure if she wanted me to hear it or not.