by L. T. Ryan
The room wasn’t exactly as he expected it to be, based on the blueprints. For one, there was no wall running through the center. It was large and open, with four cellblocks, one in each corner. The cells were open air, enclosed on all four sides and on top by thick steel bars. There was one main gate leading to each block of cells. The gates were all open.
After determining that nothing in the room was moving other than the SEAL team, Turk began to cross the floor. He took three steps and slipped, managing to regain his balance without having to place his hand on the floor, and into whatever he’d slipped on. It crossed his mind to shine his light down to check it out, but he decided against it. Better to not know.
After fifteen feet, it became impossible to walk through the room without stepping on a body. This time he did pull out his light and panned it across the floor. The sight repulsed him. The first thing he noticed was that not a single body was left undisturbed. In some cases, faces were missing, torsos had been ripped open, entrails strung about, flesh torn from various body parts. There were a few that had bullet holes in their foreheads. Presumably they were the beings they’d seen scattered about. After he had processed the gruesome sight, Turk began to take note of the clothing they wore. Most of the bodies were clothed in stained gowns, like those they’d seen being worn by the previous beings they’d encountered. A few of the bodies were wearing khaki pants and white or blue pullover shirts. Drop holsters were attached to their thighs and utility belts strapped around their waists. Security, Turk figured. They’d done an awful friggin’ job. Finally, he noticed several men with M4s clutched in their dead hands, their bodies clothed in ACUs.
Rangers.
The bodies of the men they’d been sent to rescue. Would they even be able to recover them?
The buzzing sound in the room increased. Were dead lights returning to life? Turk wouldn’t argue if they did. At the very least he’d like to collect each man’s dog tags to be returned to their families.
“What the…?” one of his men said from behind.
A series of screams and shrieks erupted from across the room.
Turk looked up and swung his flashlight side-to-side, the glow lighting up the darkest recesses of the room.
Dozens of green and blue and brown eyes reflected against the high powered beam.
The screams grew louder.
“Open fire!” Turk yelled.
Chapter 11
Jules wrapped his hands around the chair’s armrests, leaned forward and coughed, something he’d been doing more frequently since waking. Sean thought that he’d noticed a few drops of blood mixed in with the man’s saliva.
“How’re you feeling?” Sean asked.
Jules shook his head. The motion was anything but fluid. His chest and shoulders convulsed. “Not… not so… good.” He tried to smile, but his upper lip only managed to jerk up a couple times on the left side of his face.
Sean wanted to approach his friend and comfort him. But he didn’t. He was scared. Scared for what Jules was going through, as well as what was to come. Sean was under no delusions that his friend was going to make it out of this alive. He was also frightened by the prospect that in the next few hours, he too might be suffering in the same manner.
Jules fell forward and placed his head between his knees as he coughed. The floor below him became spattered with thick dark mucus and blood. He stopped coughing and pushed off of his knees and lifted his head. Blood that originated from the corner of his eyes dripped down his cheeks. The spasms seemed to have stopped, for the moment at least.
Welcome relief, Sean thought, if only for a few brief seconds.
“What’s happening to him?” Sean said, looking away from Jules and toward Knapp.
Knapp sighed as he leaned forward in his chair and studied Jules for a moment. “Looks like he’s ruptured his sinuses. Now, is that from all the coughing, or the cause of all of it? Does it matter? He doesn’t have much time left.”
“Give me a real answer,” Sean said.
“A real answer.” The old man seemed to contemplate humoring Sean. “The microbes are attacking the cells in his body, infesting and feasting on them,” Knapp said. “They’ll continue to do so until each cell can take no more, at which point it bursts and dies. Judging by the amount of coughing and the blood and mucus, I’d say it’s his lungs that are being destroyed.”
Sean shook his head, looking between Knapp and Jules, saying nothing.
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Knapp said, “but the best thing you can do is take your gun and place it to your friend’s head, then pull the trigger.”
Sean’s eyes welled up at the thought, more so because he had been thinking it himself. He didn’t need Knapp to tell him that killing his friend would be the right thing to do. He looked at Jules, and saw the man nodding.
“Do it,” Jules whispered between heavy shivers. He brought his hand to his face and wiped across his nose, dragging a thick line of bloody mucus over his cheek. His breathing was ragged and sporadic. “Do it.”
Sean stood and unholstered his M9. He stepped forward and extended his arm. He tried to take aim, but his forearm and wrist were shaking and prevented him from lining up an accurate shot. He reached out with his left hand, cupped his right, and steadied himself. Tears blurred his vision, distorting his best friend’s face. It wasn’t murder, he told himself. At worst, assisted suicide. Jules was dead no matter what. The man lacked the strength or wherewithal to turn his own gun on himself, and therefore relied on Sean to do it for him.
“Get it… over… with.”
Sean rotated his head and blinked to clear the tears from his eyes. He took aim and placed his finger on the trigger. The plating was cold against the pad of his fingertip.
“Now!” Jules managed to yell.
Sean let out a guttural scream. “I can’t do it.” He lowered his weapon to the floor and his head followed.
“Get out of the way,” Karl said. “I’ll put him out of his misery.”
Sean looked up. First thing he saw was Jules straighten his body and lean his head back. The man’s lips quivered and rose and fell in a tepid attempt at a smile. His shoulders broadened, then he pulled them back. He was making a target out of himself. Sean knew then that Jules was prepared to die.
Sean felt Karl push past him, a Sig Sauer P226 in his right hand. Karl lifted his arm and took aim at Jules.
“Don’t,” Sean said. “Don’t you fucking shoot him.”
“Look at him, Sean. He wants to die.”
“Die… want…” Jules said.
“Then I’ll do it,” Sean said. “I’m his best friend. I’ll do it.”
Karl turned his head and looked Sean in the eye. He lowered his pistol, letting it hang by his side. “Have at it.”
Sean took another step forward, but instead of aiming his side arm at Jules, he pointed it at the scientist.
The old man threw his hands in the air and pushed back in his chair with his legs.
“What can you do for him?” Sean said through clenched teeth.
“Wh-what?” Knapp said.
“I know you can do something for him, old man. What?”
“I-I don’t… there’s nothing we can do.”
“Easy there, Sean,” Karl said.
Sean knew that Karl didn’t give two craps about Knapp. His primary concern was most likely whether or not Sean had flipped, and if so, how he would deal with it.
“What can I do for him?” Sean said.
The old man shook his head. His eyes locked onto Sean’s and he rose from his seat. He took a step forward and waited, presumably to see how Sean would react. When Sean did nothing, the man took another few steps, coming to a stop a few feet in front of him. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing that can be done.”
“No,” Sean said as tears welled in his eyes. “You did this to him. You made this. You have to know how to fix it.”
Knapp nodded. “I’m as much of a monster as those things t
hat roam the halls, encasing me in this small tomb.” His hands gestured through the air around him. “I let things get out of hand, that is true. But know this, if there were a way for me to cure him, I would.”
Sean grabbed the man by his collar and pulled him close. He pressed the barrel of his gun under the scientist’s cheek, jamming it tight to the bone. Knapp’s eyes grew wide and he stuttered, but couldn’t get a word out.
“One of these,” Sean said, “is reserved for you.”
He released his grip and pushed the old man back a few feet, never breaking his stare.
“Sean,” Karl said.
“What?”
“Look, man. Look at Jules.”
Sean blinked and turned toward his partner. The tortured expression on Jules’s face had relented. He now looked calm and at peace. Jules lifted his eyelids, revealing eyes that reflected the light around them, glowing with the color of amber. He shut them tight. His deep breaths became ragged and loud.
“What in the name of all that’s holy?” Sean said.
Knapp stepped forward, stopping within two feet of Jules. He leaned over and inspected the man. Jules eyes opened wide, causing Knapp to fall backward onto a desktop.
“He’s turned,” Knapp said. “Oh my God, he’s turned. Kill him. Do it now!”
Karl brought his arms up and extended his pistol. “You better do this Sean, or I’m going to.”
Sean walked up to his friend and knelt in front of him. He reached out with his left hand, placing it on Jules’s shoulder. He gave his friend a reassuring squeeze and a half-smile. Jules returned the smile, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. He looked at peace, something that Sean was sure would fade soon as Jules transformed further into one of the afflicted.
Sean rose and walked around the chair. He placed the barrel of his gun against the back of Jules’s head. Then, closing his eyes and reciting a prayer he learned as a child, Sean pulled the trigger and ended his best friend’s life.
The shot echoed throughout the room and the smell of cordite filled Sean’s nose, causing him to cough in an attempt to flush the smell and taste from his mouth.
“I’ll move him,” Karl said, already pushing Sean out of the way. Karl lifted his right arm and coughed into the crook of his elbow. “Hope I’m not coming down with this.” He smiled at Sean. “If I am, there better be someone else around to kill me. You take too damn long.”
Sean smiled, unsure of the reason why. He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t Jules he’d killed. Jules was gone, replaced by a monster.
“It had to be done,” Knapp said. His tone was sharp, and his speech curt.
“No,” Sean said. “It didn’t. It’s because of you it had to be done. It’s because of you that these beings wander the halls and the area outside, lost and confused, full of deranged thoughts leading them to kill. It’s because of you that U.S. soldiers are dead.”
“Don’t take that tone with me,” Knapp said. “You sons of bitches, Americans, you did this to yourself. Who do you think funds this place? Nigeria? Get over yourself, man. You brought this upon yourself.”
Sean lunged and extended his hands. His palms lifted the old man by his chest and he hoisted him into the air and threw him against the wall. Knapp’s body hit with a thud and fell to the floor, causing him to land on his side. He yelled in pain, then groaned.
Sean rushed up to him. “What’s in your pocket?”
Knapp looked up while feeling around for his glasses. He found them, and then placed them on his head.
Sean started feeling around Knapp’s shirt and chest. He’d felt something in his shirt pocket. Something hard. Was the old guy carrying another weapon, waiting for the right moment to use it?
“Get away from me,” Knapp yelled as he fought and clawed against the intrusion.
Sean wrapped his left hand around Knapp’s collar, then balled his right hand into a fist. He struck the old man across the face. Knapp’s body went limp. Sean reached inside Knapp’s breast pocket and pulled out a syringe, capped on the end. He held it out in front of him, stretched across both palms. He couldn’t tell if it was empty or full, so he stood and walked over to stand underneath the brightest light. Tilting each end of the syringe up then down, he saw fluid moving inside the tube.
The doctor sat with his back against the wall, watching Sean.
“What’s in this syringe?” Sean said.
Knapp shook his head.
Sean aimed his gun at the man, noticing that bits of blood, skull and hair were stuck to the end of the barrel. “Tell me.”
“It’s an antidote,” Knapp said, lowering his eyes. “The only one left. There’s a couple doses in there at most.”
Sean felt the room start to spin, and his knees went weak. He could have saved Jules if only he’d pressed Knapp harder. But he didn’t. He’d murdered Jules when his life could have been spared. He steadied himself by placing his left hand on the back of a chair. Then he reached down with his right and retrieved his M9.
“You son of a bitch,” he said as he lifted his arm and aimed the gun at Knapp’s head. He didn’t bother to steady himself, or to think it over. He simply pulled the trigger.
Chapter 12
The bullet tore through his forehead, ripping off half of his skull. His body bowed backward into the wall, then folded over itself as it fell to the floor, leaving behind a silhouette of blood and brain and bone.
“Got you, you bastard,” Turk yelled.
All around him bullets flew from the barrels of the SEALs’ MK 14 EBRs and their HK MP7 submachine guns. Turk watched the advancing line of the beings, picking off the ones that broke from the ranks and charged them. For some reason, they moved at a slow pace while crossing the room. He presumed that not all of them had the ability to move as quickly. But in a group as large as the one they faced, there had to be at least a few. Was it because of the bodies that littered the floor, blocking a clear path? That had to be it. They couldn’t cross the distance because of all the debris, if you could call the fleshy shells that a soul once occupied debris. He then recalled that one had tried, but tripped and crashed to the floor. It was the act of falling that had caught Turk’s attention, and now he knew that was because he hadn’t seen it move from the wall to the body because it had covered the distance in no time at all.
He noticed several of their shots were hitting the things in their chests. While not an ideal shot, it did slow them down even further and caused additional congestion within their ranks. As they bodies piled up, the shots became easier to pull off. Turk didn’t have to readjust his sights as much in order to line up his shot. He’d hit one and it’d go down and the next would be right behind the one he’d wounded or killed a moment before. He took a moment to survey the line and saw the other SEALs were operating in much the same manner as him.
The beings weren’t organized. If they had managed to work together, it wouldn’t have even been a match. Close to a hundred of them and only ten SEALs. With the speed and power those things possessed, Turk estimated they should have been able to kill half of them, at most. But now there were only a couple dozen left.
He continued to pick them off, one at a time. Tall, short, fat, thin. It didn’t matter to him. He killed indiscriminately, like they did. He remained calm when he had to reload, as did his men. Every time they did, the line of beings advanced a little further. Despite that, the SEALs maintained control and stayed focused on the task at hand. Maybe they hadn’t been trained for this exact scenario, but their training prepared them to handle anything and to think outside the box. That skill was necessary now more than ever.
Turk noticed the remaining beings changed tactics. They had been shuffling through the bodies, dragging their feet on the ground and pushing the corpses around. One stepped up and stood on top of a body. Not an easy task for the clumsy being. It bounced around a few times before settling in.
Turk took aim, but not before he caught a glimpse of the other afflicted doing the sam
e. He squeezed the trigger, perhaps a second too soon, and shot the being in the shoulder. It jerked back, then squared up. Before Turk could fire again, the guy was right in front of him, reaching for Turk’s gun.
Turk pulled back and fell to the floor. He yelled, but knew that amid the gunfire, no one would hear him. The being held the barrel of his weapon, and no matter how hard Turk tugged, its grip would not loosen. Turk angled the gun, then fired. The round entered underneath its chin and blew out the top of its head.
Turk scooted back until he found the wall. He used it to help him get to his feet. He saw four of his men falling back, firing wildly at the remaining beings who huddled together around the other five members of his team. The group had all charged at the same time and overtook the five SEALs in the blink of an eye. It was pure luck that they didn’t follow the first one through and converge on Turk.
Turk looked back at the surviving men and yelled, “Go! Get your asses out of here.”
The gunfire ceased as Brady, Schmitty, Bates and Steele escaped through the door into the stairwell.
The buzzing sound increased as the things bit and tore through the flesh of his men, not all of who were dead yet. Turk heard their pained screams and cries for help. Ruiz’s head poked out from the pile of carnage. His eyes were open, staring right at Turk. His mouth was wide, but he couldn’t scream.
Turk aimed his rifle and fired, sending a bullet through the top of Ruiz’s skull. He kept his sights on the group as he walked backward toward the stairwell door, firing every few steps. One of his men flung the door open as he approached. Turk turned and ran the remaining distance.
They huddled together behind the closed door. The stairwell, though open and far from safe, provided them with respite from the feeding frenzy going on in the room.