Fall of Man | Book 3 | Firebase:

by Sisavath, Sam

  “You should probably run now,” that same woman said.

  Run? Run where?

  Footsteps, coming from the Guests side of LARS, echoed. That was followed by loud huffing, as if he were listening to a mountain of a man coming toward him. Images of Gargantuan and how hard it had been for Cole to put the beast down flashed across his mind’s eye.

  Cole didn’t run, though. Instead he held his ground and lifted the Remington, and waited.

  A red face peeked around the corner all the way down the corridor. All Cole could really see was one bloody eye, but it was clearly a man. A big man. He might have been just as big as Gargantuan, except Cole would have to see the rest of him to be sure.

  The man was not giving Cole a good look—or an easy shot at him—as he snuck a peek instead of running headlong down the passageway.

  Cole was lifting the shotgun when the face vanished.

  “He’s not the only one,” the female voice said. “And they’re not all going to hang back like he did. You should definitely take my advice and run.”

  He was sure it was a voice outside his head now, even if he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Cole glanced around, trying to find the source.

  Speakers. There had to be speakers somewhere along the walls, because the voice was echoey and not quite natural-sounding. Something was transmitting it.

  But he couldn’t find whatever that something was.

  What the hell is going on here?

  He couldn’t find the woman, or what she was talking to him through, but apparently it wasn’t the same for her. “Yes, I can see you. I can also see them.”

  Them? he thought.

  As if she could read his mind, the unseen voice said, “Them. The ones with blood-red eyes. Yes, there are more of them down here. Which is why you should run now, before it’s too late.”

  Cole glanced behind him just to make sure another crazy hadn’t snuck up on him while he was busy with the first two.

  There was nothing back there.

  For now.

  “I assume you came down here for a reason,” the female voice said, “or you would have run back to the elevator already.”

  “Someone knows way too much about us,” the Voice said. “I don’t like that.”

  Yeah. Me neither.

  He began backing up, before turning and stepping over the psycho he’d just killed. Then he went around a woman sitting with her back against the wall, a fork buried in her neck and a spoon in her right eye.

  “Good choice,” the unseen female voice said.

  Where was it coming from? It seemed to originate from all around him and, at the same time, nowhere.

  “Welcome to LARS,” the woman said just before a door in front of him, on the right side wall, slid open.

  Cole stopped too quickly and nearly slipped on some coagulated blood on the floor. He spun around, looking for things—or people—to shoot.

  The same lone bloody orb that had peered at him from the Guests side of the corridor had returned. It was staring back at him from across the distance.

  “Get in already,” the female voice said, “before more of them show up.”

  “She’s got a point,” the Voice said.

  It could be a trap.

  “It probably is. But what the hell? You got a shotgun, right?”

  Yeah, I do.

  “Besides, she’s right; if you wanted to run back to the elevator, you would have already. But you didn’t, because you came down here for a reason, and that reason hasn’t gone anywhere.”

  The Voice was right.

  Goddammit, it was right.

  Cole turned around and stepped through the open door with the shotgun at the ready. The door slid closed behind him with a soft, almost elegant swooshing sound.

  “Good call,” the unseen voice said. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  Chapter 4. Emily

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He might be in trouble.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  She didn’t answer the question the second time. Instead, Emily stood up from the chair she’d been sitting on for way too long and left the office.

  “Emily,” Zoe said, chasing after her. “Do we go down after him?”

  She didn’t answer the other woman and continued walking.

  “Emily!”

  She stopped and turned around. Zoe, running after her, barely kept herself from running right into Emily.

  “Stay here,” Emily said.

  “Where are you going?” Zoe asked.

  She glanced over at the elevator. “I’m going after him. But I need you to stay here with the others.”

  Zoe shot a quick look back at the office. The others had stayed behind but were all either looking out the windows or the open door at them, waiting for some kind of resolution. They looked scared. Even Bolton and Greg. Emily didn’t blame them one bit; they’d seen what Cole could do, and if he was in trouble…

  “You’re going down there by yourself?” Zoe asked her.

  “It’s better that way,” Emily said.

  “One of us should go with you.”

  “Who?”

  Zoe struggled for an answer. She finally said, “I don’t know, but one of us. You can’t go down there alone. If Cole’s in trouble—and he’s probably the most capable man I’ve met yet—then it must be bad.”

  Emily looked at the older woman for a moment, remembering all the things Cole had told her about the civilians. Her husband had given her a thorough rundown on every single one of them, intel gathered from the first three days of the infection.

  Zoe and her daughter Ashley had been with Cole the longest. After that, Dante and Fiona had joined their group. Bolton was the last member, and Cole knew the least about him. Not that either Emily or Cole needed to know all that much about Bolton. They’d met hundreds of guys like him—ex-vets that had adjusted pretty well to civilian life but still maintained some of that Army gruffness about them that they would never be able to fully discard.

  Emily was still trying to decide what to say to Zoe when Greg came outside. The former contractor—she guessed he was still a contractor, just not a working one at the moment—had the look of a man who had already made up his mind when he said, “I’ll go down with her, Zoe. You stay with the others.”

  Both Emily and Zoe looked back at him.

  “You sure?” Zoe asked.

  Before Greg could answer, Emily said, “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?” Greg asked.

  “I’m going down alone.”

  “The hell you are.”

  Greg put his hand on the Glock in his front waistband. He was touching it with his left hand because his right was still heavily bandaged and bundled up in a makeshift sling. They didn’t have nearly as many guns to go around as Emily or Cole would have liked. That was partly Emily’s fault as she’d rushed to the chopper with Savannah and Greg when Cole arrived, and had forgotten all about the extra weapons and ammo in the three bags inside the backroom of the house. At that moment, with the crazies swarming around them, getting the hell out of Arrow Bay had been all that mattered.

  “Greg,” Emily said.

  The big man shook his head. “I’m going down there, and you can’t stop me.”

  “You can barely do anything with your left hand.”

  “I can do enough.” He drew the pistol from his waist as if to show her that he could. “It doesn’t take much to use this thing. Even with my left hand.”

  Emily thought about all the bullets Greg had wasted at her house trying to hit some of the psychos.

  She shook her head. “You need to stay up here. I can’t afford to look after you, too.”

  Greg might have blushed. Or maybe he flinched. She wasn’t sure, but he definitely looked as if she’d just slapped him in the face.

  “I’m sorry,” Emily said, and turned
to go.

  “Emily,” Greg said.

  “Stay up here with the others. I’ll be back with Cole.”

  She walked quickly toward the elevator, determined not to waste more time arguing with Zoe and Greg. She heard footsteps behind her and figured it was Greg, since Zoe wouldn’t have been that loud—

  A scream, coming from outside the building.

  Emily stopped and turned toward the twin hangar doors on her left, all the way across the warehouse.

  Greg, just a few yards behind her, did the same. “Was that a scream?”

  “Yes,” Emily said.

  “Was that a scream?” Zoe said, running over to join them. “I thought I heard someone scream.”

  Emily didn’t answer her. She ran toward the doors instead.

  It was easy to tell that Anton had chosen what was supposed to be an airplane hangar as his entry to the LARS facility below. There were two massive double doors in the middle at the front. Both of which were closed, with Emily and the others having entered through a much smaller side door to the right of them.

  Emily ran toward that lone entrance/exit now, the Glock already in her hand. She could hear Greg behind her, his breathing just as loud as his footsteps. Zoe may or may not be somewhere behind him, but Emily didn’t glance back to confirm.

  Sunlight from the large windows that ringed the entire structure provided all the light they needed, but she was dreading still being here—or at least up here—when night fell. That, though, was up to what Cole did ten stories below them now.

  Cole.

  I’ll be right with you, sweetheart, just as soon as I deal with this.

  The hangar doors ran on power that didn’t exist, so they couldn’t be opened from outside or inside. Fortunately, the side door was easier to pry open. They’d done it while keeping the locks intact so they could close it back up later. But just as it’d been easy for them to break their way in, she had no illusions it would be any more difficult for someone else who wanted to come in.

  “Emily, wait! Wait, dammit!” Greg, behind her.

  She didn’t wait. Greg was still playing the knight in shining armor even though he was the one in distress right now with his gimpy right arm. She didn’t remind him of that, of course; men would be men. Even Cole had ordered her to stay up here with the others instead of taking her down below with him, despite knowing she was the most capable person available to watch his back. She’d only acquiesced because of the baby growing inside her, that only she, Greg, and Cole knew about.

  She was almost at the door when something struck it from the other side—a loud, echoing thump! that was followed by a long, shiny object piercing through the sheet of metal.

  It wasn’t exactly a sword and not quite a spear, but maybe a combination of the two. All Emily knew was that it was long and sharp, and it cut through the door like butter and kept pushing in for at least a foot before finally stopping. Fresh, bright blood dripped from the edge even as someone, again, screamed outside.

  “Emily! Don’t open that door!” Greg, still shouting behind her.

  Open the door? Emily thought. She had no intentions of opening the door. Did Greg think she was stupid?

  Emily slid to a stop five feet from the front wall, and Greg almost collided into her but managed to stop himself just in time.

  The big man was out of breath. “Don’t open the door. We don’t know what’s out there.”

  “I know,” Emily said.

  “You know?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  They both stared at the door as the spear-sword-whatever-the-hell-it-was disappeared back through the hole it’d produced, leaving behind dripping blood on the slick, smooth surface. They waited for more screams, but there were none. Whatever had happened out there, it had either run its course, or—

  “You hear that?” Greg asked.

  “Yes,” Emily said.

  She looked up toward the nearest high windows. They were as open now as when they’d found them. Because of that, she was able to hear a growing noise from outside.

  It was getting louder…and closer.

  “What is that?” Greg asked.

  “Run!” Emily shouted, just before she turned and did just that.

  Greg followed suit (Thank God), and the two of them sped up even as the sound grew even louder.

  It was an engine.

  A very loud engine that was getting closer.

  …and closer!

  Emily saw Zoe, still across the warehouse from them. The single mother seemed stuck in place, unable to decide whether to run toward them or away from them.

  “Get back to the office!” Emily shouted at her. “Get back to the office!”

  Zoe didn’t wait to hear why she should flee. She just did.

  Emily looked past her and at the others, (unfortunately) piling out of the office near the back. Or, at least, everyone that could walk. Dante was nowhere to be seen, probably because he couldn’t squeeze through all the bodies in front of him while confined to his wheelchair.

  There was puzzlement on Bolton’s face as he took one, then two steps in her direction.

  Emily opened her mouth to scream for Bolton to retreat when the source of the growing engine crashed into one of the hangar doors behind her. The entire warehouse, from foundation to roof, shook against the impact.

  “Don’t stop!” she shouted at Greg. “Keep going!”

  Greg nodded and did just that, but Emily stopped and turned around. She needed to know what had happened, needed to take stock of what she was dealing with.

  Step one: Know your objective.

  Step two: Gather intel.

  Step three: Formulate a plan.

  And finally, step four: Execute that plan.

  “Jesus Christ,” Emily whispered under her breath.

  Or maybe she had just thought the words in her head. She wasn’t entirely sure what she did—or didn’t do—because she was too busy staring at what had come through The Welcome Room.

  It was a semi-trailer truck, hot-rod red “fire” decals along its sides, parked on top of the crumpled metal heap that used to be one of the two large hangar doors. The vehicle was missing the trailer in the back, and whoever was behind the wheel had gotten it into their head it was a good idea to try to batter down the massive steel structure with the semi.

  It’d worked—mostly.

  A thick swatch of afternoon sunlight poured into the warehouse. The semi’s front grill was badly damaged, smoke wafting from underneath its hood, which now looked more like an accordion. The big truck looked as if it were in the process of using the battered-down door as some kind of jumping ramp but had gotten stuck in mid-leap.

  Emily looked for the driver, but couldn’t see him or her through the shattered front windshield. She gripped the Glock tightly at her side, ready for just about anything. The last time she’d faced psychos, none of them had driven vehicles. Cole and the others had said the same thing—the infected seemed more than willing to run around killing as many people as possible. They didn’t even use guns, for whatever reason.

  “Emily!” Greg, behind her. “What are you doing?”

  Even as he called out the question, the semi’s driver-side door creaked open and a man jumped out. The driver had to jump out because of the truck’s raised height. It was a man wearing torn denim jeans and a striped, long sleeve work shirt. He landed in a crouch on the hangar door buried underneath his vehicle.

  Emily took a step, then three more toward the semi, raising the Glock to fire, the thoughts Secure the door. Secure the door at all costs! racing through her mind.

  The semi’s engine had shut off, and she could smell spilled diesel fuel filling up the building. It was a good thing there wasn’t a fire, or they’d really be in trouble. Not that they weren’t already in trouble in the first place.

  “Don’t shoot!” the driver of the truck shouted. He sprang up to his feet and stuck out both hands toward
her.

  Emily’s eyes searched for the telltale signs of infection, but instead of two scleras swimming in a sea of blood, she saw wide brown eyes staring back at her.

  “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” the man shouted.

  Emily looked past him and out the warehouse. She couldn’t see anyone or anything outside, but what were the chances the man was alone? What were the odds he’d made it to the facility in that big and shiny and oh-so-loud truck of his without a single one of the psychos noticing and following?

  Then she remembered the screams and the spear-sword thing that had left a hole in the door next to the now-wide-open entrance into the warehouse.

  Emily didn’t lower her gun as she moved toward the man. “Stay there! Don’t move! You move, and I’ll shoot your eyes out!”

  The man’s eyes bulged. He was young—maybe early twenties—with long, shaggy brown hair. She imagined him riding broncos at a county fair somewhere, not bashing his way into a private warehouse in the middle of nowhere with a semi. Was that even his? No, she didn’t think so. What would a man in his early twenties be doing with a semi?

  “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” that same man said now, his arms still raised. Then, glancing over his shoulder, “They’re coming.”

  “What?” Emily said.

  “Who’s coming?” Greg said as he caught up to her, his own pistol gripped tightly in his left hand.

  “Them,” the man said. “Them.”

  Emily and Greg exchanged a glance, and she saw the puzzled look on Greg’s face. He had no idea who the man was talking about, even though it was obvious. At least it was to her.

  Emily turned back to the idiot that had just knocked down their door. “How many?”

  “How many?” he said.

  “How many are coming?”

  “All of them,” the man said breathlessly. “All of them.”

  Chapter 5. Cole

  “Fucked or just screwed?”

  Shut up.

  “I’m just asking questions.”

  You ask too many questions.

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  I thought your job was to be a royal pain in my ass?