Dark Days az-2

by Manel Loureiro

  “Get on my shoulders!” Pritchenko yelled in my ear so loud, I thought my eardrum would explode. Several hands grabbed my backpack and lifted me onto Prit’s shoulders. With a shove, Prit lifted my head level with the window.

  The window was about two feet square. It looked like it hadn’t been opened since the building first opened its doors. Its hinges were ringed with rust; a layer of dirt let in only a thin film of gauzy light. I clung, white-knuckled, to the metal frame and looked out the window. I could barely make out a small parking lot. Over time, sand, ash, and cracks had obliterated most of the lines painted around the parking spots. At the back of the lot, two heavily armored, olive green vehicles sat quietly. Their cannons had been carefully wrapped to protect them. There wasn’t a soul around. Any Undead wandering around must’ve been drawn inside by our gunfire.

  I jiggled the lock, but it wouldn’t budge. I didn’t have time to ponder the situation. With the butt of my Glock, I bashed the window. It broke with a loud crash and a shower of glass fell outside. Hurriedly, I brushed the glass off the frame and stuck my head out.

  The air smelled fresh and clean compared to the stuffy air in the building. To my right was a metal pipe bolted to the wall. It might’ve been an electrical duct but it was too thin to be a drain. It seemed to be well anchored and strong enough to support our weight. Although we weren’t very far off the ground, I decided it’d be better to climb down that pipe than to jump.

  “We can get out through here!” I shouted, looking back inside.

  In quick succession, the others lifted the eleven backpacks full of drugs up to me and I threw them out the window. Twisting and turning, I slipped through that gap with the grace of an arthritic acrobat, and descended hand over hand, clinging to the pipe for all I was worth.

  The first thing I did was look around nervously. There were only four bullets left in my Glock. If any Undead had come around the corner, I’d have had to run for it. I got lucky; there weren’t any around. For the moment.

  I watched Prit slip down the pipe, his trusty knife bouncing against his kidneys. Then came Marcelo and the veteran sergeant in the neckerchief. In a tense moment, David Broto got stuck in the window. Marcelo had to climb back up to get him unstuck.

  Meanwhile, the situation inside degraded with each passing moment. I heard only two guns firing. They could hardly contain the crowd of Undead. One of the soldiers went out the window, with a panicked look on his face, and decided to jump to the ground. When he landed, his right ankle gave a terrible crack. For a second we all forgot about the situation and watched the poor bastard writhe in pain.

  I could hear the rhythmic hiccup of only one gun inside the building. Tank headed out the window and turned back, extending his hand to the next guy, a very dark-skinned, pimple-faced soldier. Tank had him by the wrist, but the soldier let out a piercing scream, as something pulled him back into the building.

  “Aaaaah, fuck, it hurts, it hurts so bad!” The kid screamed, desperately trying to hold on to the commander’s arm.

  Unceremoniously, Tank mumbled a brief “sorry” and released the guy’s wrist. In less than a second, his body was swallowed up and disappeared as fast as a rabbit into a magician’s hat. His screams of agony echoed for a moment and then there was silence.

  We were speechless when Tank reached the ground and brushed the dust from his jacket, which was smeared with someone—or something’s—blood. In addition to the young soldier, we were missing another legionnaire and a sergeant, who’d also been left inside. We all did a head count but no one dared say a word. Of the original eighteen who’d started out less than an hour before, only eight remained: Marcelo, Pauli, Tank, Broto, the veteran sergeant, the soldier with the broken ankle, Pritchenko, and me.

  “What’re you waiting for?” Tank growled. “Get in those tanks before we have company!” So much for German sensitivity.

  Without a word, we grabbed our backpacks (we had to leave three of them behind at the wall) and followed Tank.

  Those were some weird-looking vehicles. They had four huge wheels instead of tracks, and a turret with a humongous cannon. They’d been designed by an engineer with no sense of aesthetics, but they looked really powerful.

  “What the hell is that?” I asked, trying to catch my breath.

  “A Centaur,” the veteran sergeant said as he untied the handkerchief around his neck and wiped his forehead. “A light armored reconnaissance SUV. It’s really ugly but it runs great! I had one under my command in Bosnia years ago.”

  “If it can get us out of here, it’ll be the sweetest ride in the world,” I muttered, not sharing the soldier’s enthusiasm for that pile of steel. “Think it’ll start?”

  “Sure!” said the sergeant with a smile as he climbed aboard and opened the hatch. “Those babies are tough. If it’s got some fuel, it’ll run.”

  While the soldier bent over the vehicle’s controls, I walked over to Prit. The Ukrainian was sweaty, but he didn’t look tired. Gasping to catch my breath, I made yet another promise to quit smoking.

  “Why do you think they left them behind?” I asked between breaths.

  “Good question. Either this heap won’t start or they didn’t think it was worth taking.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Look at them. That huge cannon won’t do us any good and only four people can squeeze in them. They wouldn’t be very valuable in an evacuation, compared to a bus or a truck. If they had only a few drivers, it’s logical they left them behind.”

  Just then, the Centaur engine let out an asthmatic cough, followed by a series of mechanical gasps. Amid a dense cloud of black smoke, the tank sprang to life with a roar, as the sergeant revved the engine.

  The sergeant poked his head out the hatch and said, “All set. Let’s get outta here!”

  Eager to go, I picked up my backpack and started to climb in. I was halfway up in the tank when Broto made a noise like he was choking, his eyes wide as saucers.

  “Not so fast, sergeant,” Pauli said menacingly. “Get out and raise your hands where I can see them. Let’s go.”

  Stunned, I looked up. Pauli pointed her HK at the stunned sergeant. Marcelo stood beside her, aiming the MG3 at us from the turret of the Centaur. The soldier with the broken ankle limped over and disarmed us, tossing our weapons inside the tank.

  Marcelo’s voice was as cold as a dagger. “Gentlemen, you’re staying here.”

  43

  TENERIFE

  “Who are you? How’d you get in here?” Heavy protective gear muffled the voice. “Hey, you aren’t wearing a hazmat suit! You can’t come in here!”

  Lucia turned. Behind her, a woman in her fifties peered through the visor of a hazmat suit. She was standing next to a microscope, holding a tray of beakers in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

  “You’re injured!” The woman cried out in alarm, pointing to Lucia’s nurse’s uniform. “This is an isolation zone! You could get contaminated!”

  Before Lucia could utter a word, shots rang out on the other side of the door, followed by grunts and banging noises, then more shots. Then Basilio Irisarri’s booming voice shouted, “Eric, help me the fuck up!” And then silence.

  The older woman approached the door and pressed her face to the small window. What she saw made her jump back.

  “They’re out! The Undead are out! Six cubicles are open!” She turned to Lucia, her eyes flashing with anger. “Did you let them loose? Answer me!”

  “Hey, calm down,” the girl replied, coolly. “Those two guys out there are—”

  “I can’t see anyone out there,” the woman muttered, as she rushed over a computer and keyed in a code. A siren immediately started blaring.

  A doctor in the next office, also dressed in a hazmat suit, stuck his head in, clutching a gun, disoriented by the alarm. “Eva! What the hell’s going on?” When he caught sight of Lucia, his eyes grew wide. “Who’s she?”

  “I don’t know,” Eva said and turned to Lucia. “That’
s a good question. Who are you, young lady?”

  “My name’s Lucia and I work in this hospital. People are shooting at each other on the upper floors. It’s a madhouse. There’re dead and wounded everywhere! Two men followed me down here and are trying to kill me. They killed Sister Cecilia! You have to help me!” Lucia realized her story didn’t make any sense, but she couldn’t calm down after being so close to dying.

  “Calm down. Security will be here soon and they’ll handle everything, okay?” Eva put a hand on Lucia’s shoulder. “While we’re waiting, why don’t you take a seat and try to calm down?”

  A wave of relief flooded Lucia’s body. She was safe. Everything would be okay.

  She dropped into a chair, exhausted. As she stretched, she felt the sting on her leg where she’d cut herself with the scalpel. She looked up to ask those nice people for a little hydrogen peroxide, but the woman had her back to her.

  She focused her attention on the other doctor as he stood under some bright lights; his visor reflected the female doctor like a mirror. Just as Lucia was about to open her mouth, Eva made a gesture that struck terror in Lucia. The doctor pointed to the man’s gun, then drew her hand across her neck.

  The woman said, “I think we’d better wait inside that—hey! What’re you doing?”

  Lucia sprang to her feet and threw her arm around the woman’s neck, holding the scalpel at eye level. Then it dawned on her that she didn’t have a clue what to do next.

  “I want outta here. Now!”

  “Calm down! Let Dr. Méndez go! Please!” The other doctor’s voice trembled as he raised his gun.

  Lucia was pretty sure that this guy, probably a lab assistant, didn’t have the nerve to shoot. “You have to be a special breed to shoot someone as you’re looking him in the eyes,” Prit once said. Lucia was pretty sure the assistant didn’t have what it took. So she took a deep breath and squeezed the doctor’s neck tighter.

  “I want outta here. Now! Or I swear to God, I’ll slit her throat from ear to ear.”

  “Listen, you can’t leave!” Dr. Méndez gasped. “The Undead in the lab have hurt your leg; you may be infected. Just let me go.”

  “Nobody hurt my leg,” said Lucia, tersely.

  “You’re bleeding,” the other doctor pointed out, as if that wasn’t obvious.

  “I cut myself! I was holding a knife and I stumbled and fell. I accidentally cut myself. Got it?” She had little hope they’d believe her.

  “Sure, sure you did. You cut yourself with half a dozen infected Undead surrounding you. I heard that story at the Valencia Safe Haven a million times.” Eva gasped. “Hey… you’re…choking… me…”

  “Is there another way out?” Lucia asked slightly loosening her grip on the doctor’s neck. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, but she had to escape. If they thought she was infected, she knew all too well what the “treatment” was.

  “There’s another airlock that leads to the dispatch area.” The lab assistant’s voice wavered as he pointed to the door behind him.

  “Dammit, Andrés! Shut the fuck up!” Eva snapped, her eyes shooting daggers.

  At that moment, Lucia loosened her grip. That was the chance Dr. Méndez had been waiting for. The doctor drove her head backwards, bashing her headgear against Lucia’s forehead. For a moment, colored spots danced before the girl’s eyes. She elbowed Lucia in the chest, knocking the wind out of her, then broke free and jumped to one side.

  “Shoot, Andrés, shoot! She’s infected!”

  “I can’t shoot, Eva! I can’t! You do it!”

  “Give me that, asshole,” Dr. Méndez growled and yanked the gun out of his hand.

  That struggle gave Lucia time to slip into to the next room, whose open door beckoned to her. She flung herself through the airlock and slammed the door behind her. At the last moment, a hand appeared through the door, clutching her arm.

  “I’ve got her, doctor, I’ve got her!” The assistant’s voice sounded triumphant until Lucia plunged the knife deep into his forearm, forcing him to withdraw. “Aaayyyy, I’m hurt, doctor! I think she bit me!”

  Lucia slammed the door and pressed the button on the wall. Seconds later, the chemicals burned her eyes again. After two long minutes, the light turned green and she entered a cluttered office with papers and books piled everywhere. Lucia stumbled through the mess and came to a window that opened onto a dimly lit ventilation shaft. Attached to one wall was a fire escape ladder that led to the upper floors. Without hesitating, the girl started to climb up to street level.

  Outside there was chaos. Hordes of people pushed their way through the crowd and shoved each other down the stairs, stumbling, shouting hysterically. A group of nurses were trying to treat the wounded in the hallways, but the flood of people overwhelmed them. Gunshots still came from inside the hospital. Some of the security forces must not have realized they were chasing their own shadows.

  “Hey, you, come here!” A stocky, dark-skinned male nurse grabbed her arm. Terrified, Lucia tried to break free, but the man was too strong. “Calm down, honey, I just want to help you! Here, let me see those cuts.”

  Before Lucia realized what was happening, the nurse swept her into a garden area where a doctor had set up a makeshift hospital.

  “The cut on your leg isn’t very deep, but your forehead took a good hit. What the hell did you get in your eyes? Someone must be spraying tear gas,” he said as he flushed her eyes out with distilled water. Lucia instantly felt relief.

  “I’m fine, thanks, I’m fine,” was all Lucia could mutter.

  “You don’t look fine. Better take it easy for a while, at least until things get sorted out.” The nurse gave her a scrutinizing look. Just then, two orderlies set down a stretcher; on it lay a soldier with a gaping gunshot wound in the chest. When the nurse turned his attention to the wounded man, Lucia slipped out the side of the garden.

  A few feet from the hospital, she stopped, hoping her head would stop spinning.

  She leaned against an empty shop window and stared at her reflection. She looked like she’d been through a hurricane. Her hair was matted from the chemical showers, her white pants were stained red from the cut, her eyes were red and swollen, and she had a huge bump in the middle of her forehead.

  No wonder people’re staring at me. It’s strange that they aren’t running away in terror. I look like a junkie strung out on crack.

  A group of civil guards came running down the sidewalk. Lucia’s first impulse was to tell them what had happened. Sister Cecilia and Maite had been killed before her very eyes. The police needed to catch the killers. They might still be in the area. She shuddered and glanced around fearfully.

  She started to cross the street, but a dark thought stopped in her tracks. If you tell those guards that crazy story about gunmen, a nun, and some Undead, they’ll probably lock you up while they investigate that mess. Especially looking the way you do. Those doctors in the lab (the Zoo, they’d called it) were probably giving the hospital guards a detailed description of a nurse with red eyes who was “wounded” by the Undead.

  Those doctors wanted to kill me. I didn’t do anything wrong, but they wouldn’t listen. They’d wanted to kill me. But why? She was on the verge of tears.

  Because they’re afraid of you, idiot. They’re terrified of another outbreak of that virus and they think you might open that door to hell.

  But I haven’t done anything wrong! I didn’t even get near the Undead.

  Think anyone cares about that? The voice in her head laughed bitterly. Now, be a good girl and run along. Save your own neck.

  Keeping her head down, Lucia walked past the guards. The honk of a horn startled her. A heavy military truck roared up and screeched to a stop in front of the hospital. Heavily armed legionnaires jumped out and ran inside.

  With a shudder, Lucia took off running in the opposite direction. She realized she had nowhere to go. She was a fugitive.

  44

  MADRID

  “What
the hell is this?” growled the sergeant, too stunned to move. “Some kind of sick joke!”

  “This is no joke, asshole,” Marcelo replied slowly, almost chewing his words. “It’s simple. We’re leaving, you’re staying.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Broto shouted. “The Undead’ll be here any minute! We gotta get the hell out of here!”

  “Oh, we’re going, just not to Tenerife. We’re headed to Gran Canaria.” Pauli kept her eyes glued on us. “Those drugs are the property of the legitimate government of Spain. Is that clear?”

  Tank had been too shocked to talk, but he couldn’t stay silent anymore. Fuming, he walked up to the soldiers perched on the vehicle, ignoring the weapons pointed at him.

  “Fucking Froilists! You royalist scum! You miserable traitors! Where’s your honor and dignity?” he spat out.

  “You’re the traitors!” Pauli shouted. “You people think you can blow off the laws! You betrayed the legitimate democratic government and installed that phony Republic!”

  “You call that damn Froilist government democratic!” Tank was livid. “What’s legitimate about it! You’re just a gang of soldiers hiding behind a child. You’re using him to promote your own interests and calling it a democratic monarchy!”

  “That child is the King of Spain! He’s the legitimate government! Only a traitor or a communist would set up a republic behind the people’s back!” Pauli’s voice broke.

  “Nobody went behind the peoples’ back, you fool! The republic is democratic!”

  “Democratic? Like hell it is! When were elections held? Or a referendum?”

  “What about you? Has your damned monarchy held an election? Nein! You don’t give a shit about legitimizing what you claim!”