Even The Dead Will Bleed

by Steven Ramirez

  “Berta,” Warnick said, tilting his head towards the rocks.

  Without hesitation she adjusted the strap of her weapon and began climbing. She was small and lithe, and soon had reached the halfway point. Then she slipped, sending gravel down the side of the rock. Catching herself, she continued to the top—all in less than three minutes.

  “You expect us to beat her time?” I said.

  Warnick gave me a look. “Just get up there safely.” Then he turned to the rest of his squad.

  Hen was next, followed by Ryan and Ziggy. I expected that round kid to be wheezing after the first boulder—especially considering the enormous backpack he was carrying—but he was like a spherical mountain goat, silently ascending with little effort.

  “Vlad,” Warnick said. “Then Maritza, John and Dave. I’ll go last.”

  The Russian adjusted his body armor and gripped the rocks. As tough as he was, I don’t think he’d ever rock-climbed in his life, and he struggled to get a foothold.

  “Focus on each step,” Warnick said. “Wait until you have a good grip.”

  In no time, though, Vlad had caught on and continued slowly up the face of the boulder.

  “My turn,” Maritza said.

  “No singing Mexican songs,” I said.

  “Shut up.” She punched me and started up.

  We watched as Maritza made her way slowly up. When she had reached the top, Berta helped her the rest of the way, grinning. Warnick turned to John.

  “Not like hiking in the Black Forest,” he said.

  Surprisingly he made the climb easily, taking his time. At one point he slipped and came sliding down a couple of feet when he caught himself and regained his footing.

  “I’m okay,” he said and continued up. When he got near the top, Hen reached out and pulled him up the rest of the way.

  “How’s the leg?” Warnick said to me.

  “Hasn’t bothered me for a while.” This was no time for sympathy.

  “Then what’re you waiting for?”

  “I’m going!”

  Back in Tres Marias when I was busy fighting the undead with Holly and Warnick, I had learned to become physically versatile. Giving myself time to assess the situation I carefully placed my right foot in a depression in the rock and gripped a small ledge and drove myself up. It had only occurred to me halfway up just how high I was climbing. Though I wasn’t really afraid of heights, I knew that if I fell, I would mostly likely break a lot of bones and would be useless to the others.

  This is what it meant to undertake a dangerous mission. You were an asset until you were a liability. And sooner or later everyone became a liability, whether from age or accident. The only thing that mattered was finishing the mission. And putting off death for another day.

  As cold sweat dripped from my forehead I looked up and saw Maritza smiling down at me. Without knowing when or how, I knew in my soul that she had given me something to live for. Having lost everything I had come here to die. Now I wanted to save the Russian girl and try to make some kind of life. Maybe with God’s help I could make that life with Maritza.

  As I paused to catch my breath she crouched down, still smiling. “Move your ass, wedo.”

  Obviously pleased with the reference, Berta joined in, grinning like a criminal. “You heard her. Wedo.”

  Gritting my teeth I continued up till I saw Ryan, whose hand was already extended. “Nice o’ you ta join us,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Not bad,” Maritza said, taking my hand.

  “For a white guy?”

  Smiling, she kissed my cheek. We watched as Warnick came up, breathing hard. Though he looked out of shape he had little trouble getting to the top. Despite the cold, his face and neck were shiny with sweat. We looked down at the facility, which lay dark and silent before us. The rock face made for a steep drop.

  “There’s no way we’re climbing down that,” I said.

  Warnick looked at Ziggy, who set down his backpack and removed a long climbing rope, a sling, carabiners, screw links and tools. Silently and with precision he drilled a hole into the rock, blew the rock dust out using a plastic tube, hammered in a bolt, tightened it with a crescent wrench and attached the rope. In no time he had the sling set up and we were ready to descend.

  Starting again with Berta, we descended the treacherous rock face, one by one. This time, everyone was silent, focused solely on not getting killed. By the time we had reached the ground it was nearly two-thirty—a half hour later than our rendezvous time.

  “What about the rope?” John said.

  Warnick glanced back. “We leave it and hope no one finds it. We need to get to the south side to meet Erck. We’ll go that way. Make sure to stay close to the buildings. The drones are still up there.”

  We slid single file along the wall of the main building, facing out. The drones circled overhead, at times coming close. We’d covered one side and turned the corner. As we continued on, the strap from John’s rifle caught on something. As he pulled at it he stepped away from the building. A drone swooped in and hovered close-up, observing us.

  “Don’t move,” Warnick said, his voice a dark whisper.

  Then the drone flitted away like a frightened bird. Emergency lights came on and we could hear a high-pitched alarm blaring across the compound.

  “Run!” Warnick said.

  Out in the open, we ran towards the south side of the building where we discovered a set of concrete steps leading up to a metal door. Warnick trotted up the steps and gripped the handle. The door was unlocked. We followed him up the steps and into the building.

  Emergency lights flashed in a pattern, creating a strobe-like effect that made it hard to see. Inside, the alarm continued to echo. I wondered if Erck would be waiting. Then Berta pointed towards something in the distance.

  “Look!” she said.

  A single figure limped towards us, one hand stretched outward. “Over here!” he said.

  Pointing their assault rifles, Berta and Hen trotted towards the staggering figure. When Warnick felt it was safe, he signaled for the rest of us to follow. I could see the figure clearly—a man dressed in a security uniform, tall with jet-black hair and eyes like a rodent’s. His arm dripped fresh blood and he looked like he was losing consciousness. Then he dropped to his knees.

  Berta and Hen helped him onto his back.

  “It’s Erck,” Ryan said.

  As I came closer I saw that Erck was white with shock, babbling something over and over. Vlad pushed through and knelt next to the security guard, grabbing him by the collar and lifting his head up, oblivious to his condition.

  “Where is Sasha?” he said. “Tell me. Now!”

  Pink saliva bubbled from Erck’s lips and it wasn’t until this moment that I noticed the blood pooling on his shirt front.

  “Where is she!”

  Desperately Erck looked from person to person, trying to recognize a familiar face amidst the terror. The blood kept coming. I reached in and grabbed Erck’s shirt, tearing it open. Maritza had to cover her mouth to keep from screaming.

  “Dude . . .” Berta said and looked away.

  “Can we save him?” I said to Warnick, who only shook his head.

  As Erck reached towards me, shivering, his pale intestines pulsed, unused to being exposed to the light. He was bleeding out, and maybe had a couple of minutes.

  Unfazed, Vlad persisted. “Tell me where my sister is.”

  Erck said something that was almost a whisper and lay back down on the cold concrete floor in his own blood.

  “Get out,” he said. “They’re everywhere.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Touring the Facility

  Gutted, bled-out and dead. That was Erck.

  As we rose to shake off the disgust of what we’d witnessed, someone said, “Freeze!”

  Turning, I saw the silhouetted figures of at least a dozen men standing against the harsh light of a hallway beyond an open set of door
s and pointing their weapons. Berta made a move for her gun, but a warning shot that ricocheted off the concrete floor near her feet changed her mind for her.

  “Drop your weapons,” the grey-suit in charge said.

  We did as we were told. As they swept in, moving as a single line, something flashed past. I couldn’t make it out. One of the agents fell, grabbing his throat as a fountain of bright blood spurted through his trembling fingers.

  “Spread out,” the agent in charge said, waving his hand violently.

  In the confusion we grabbed our weapons and ran as bullets rained. Holding Maritza’s hand, I followed Warnick across the vast space to a storage area with high racks that held stacks of wooden crates filled with lab equipment. When I looked back I realized that John hadn’t moved fast enough. More agents had been cut and, as the survivors attempted to regroup, John faced them, unsure of what to do next.

  “John!” I said, keeping my voice low.

  As if drugged, he turned towards us, eyes questioning. Another flash of movement. Another agent down. The remaining few were screaming orders and counter-orders at each other, trying to evade the invisible menace. John seemed to snap out of it and, grabbing his weapon, he retreated to safety. When he reached us, I gripped his shoulder.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Senior moment. Whatever’s killing those men, there’s more than one.”

  I looked at Warnick. “Cutters. They must’ve gotten loose. That’s why this place has gone dark.”

  “We must find my sister,” Vlad said.

  Warnick touched his arm. “We will.”

  I touched Maritza’s hand. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. So how do we make it past those agents?”

  “No problem,” Berta said and looked at the rest of the squad.

  Grabbing their assault rifles, she, Hen, Ryan and Ziggy marched out into the open and began firing, killing anything that moved. When the last agent was dead, Warnick signaled for the rest of us to proceed towards the lighted hallway.

  “What about the cutters?” I said.

  Hen checked his weapon. “Let’s hope we see them first.”

  Up ahead in the doorway, Berta waved us on. The others were already in the hallway, and I assumed that they were securing it. Following Warnick, we kept our weapons pointed and moved forward, looking from left to right as we ran.

  From out of nowhere a grey-suit appeared and began firing. I caught a bullet in the chest and fell back. Furious, Maritza pushed me out of the way and with both hands pointed her weapon at the grey-suit. He had stopped firing and was grinning at her, his eyes like black pools.

  “What’s so funny?” she said and emptied her clip into his chest. He fell where he stood.

  “Son of a bitch,” Ziggy said.

  I checked to see where the bullet had gone and saw that my body armor had stopped it. Grabbing Maritza’s hand, we headed for the doors. “I owe you!”

  When the last of us had reached the hallway, Berta closed the doors and said to Maritza, “Nice shooting, sista.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ziggy removed a long white plastic tie from his backpack and secured the doors.

  “Ryan, can you see if you can kill that alarm?” Warnick said.

  “On it!”

  Taking off his backpack, Ryan trotted towards a far wall and moved across it till he found a panel. Using power tools, he drilled out the bolts and removed the cover. Then he tested sets of wires with a probe. Next he removed a small black device the size of a pack of cigarettes and attached it to the wires without cutting them. A series of lights began flashing in sequence. In a few seconds the alarm stopped.

  Vlad looked impatient as Warnick and Ryan huddled over the laptop, examining a floor map. “The hospital wing is here,” Ryan said, pointing.

  “On this floor?”

  “No, down.”

  I walked over to the elevator doors. “We need a card key.” Without waiting for a response, I headed back to the doors leading to the outer room. “Ziggy, can you cut this tie?”

  “David, you’re not going out there,” Maritza said.

  “We need a card key. One of those agents must have one.”

  “I’ll go,” John said, pushing past the others.

  “John,” I said. “It’s fine, I can do this.”

  “You have your whole life ahead of you, Dave. Don’t be an asshole.”

  I felt guilty letting the old man go, but he was determined. Ziggy looked at Warnick, then cut the tie with a pair of clippers. Glancing back, John opened one of the doors and went out, Ziggy closing the door after him. Through the glass we watched as John assessed the situation and proceeded forward cautiously, pointing his assault rifle at the darkness. Agents’ bloody bodies lay everywhere, rigored and pale. John moved quickly towards the closest one and knelt down.

  I grabbed one of the door handles and slipped out. “I’ll cover him.”

  John went through the agent’s pockets while I kept watch next to the door, pointing my weapon. Eventually he found a card key and slipped it into one of the pockets of his coat. As he stood I saw something flash past in the shadows.

  “John, get back here!”

  John grabbed his bleeding arm and, frightened, double-timed it as a cutter with straight black hair and dark eyes skated towards him, carrying a shiny butterfly knife. I raised my weapon and fired a stream of bullets at the assailant. He was quick and the bullets whizzed past him. Then one struck him in the chest. Stopping, he looked down, then at me, grinning viciously.

  By now, John had reached the doors and slipped back inside. Carefully I took aim and fired again, this time hitting the cutter in the face, which blossomed into a dirty red flower of flesh and bone. Dropping to his knees, he continued breathing, his one good eye staring at me defiantly. And he was still grinning. Slowly and painfully he got to his feet and staggered towards me, refusing to die.

  “Dave, get inside!” Warnick said from behind.

  Reluctantly I slipped back in and slammed the door shut so that Ziggy could secure it. A sudden thump on the glass and the bloody, faceless monster peered through the glass, screaming like an animal.

  “He should be dead,” Vlad said.

  Shaking her head, Berta walked up to the glass and screamed something in Spanish at the demon.

  “You done?” Hen said.

  “Yeah. I feel pretty good actually.”

  “Remind me later why I hired you clowns,” Warnick said, grabbing the card key and walking towards the elevators. “Ryan, fix John’s arm so we can get on with this.”

  Warnick had definitely changed.

  When the elevator doors opened we entered a corridor. Directly opposite stood a set of glass doors, and beyond that a massive laboratory. Inside, rows of high tables with microscopes, centrifuges and other electronic equipment filled the room. Along the walls stood conference rooms and offices. Because the emergency lights no longer flashed, the lighting was dim.

  We’d expected to encounter people and came out pointing our weapons. But the room looked deserted.

  “Where is everyone?” Maritza said.

  Warnick signaled for his squad to enter the lab and fan out, then pointed to Vlad and John. They took off to check out the offices. Maritza and I stayed with Warnick. It took us only a few minutes to cover the lab. We didn’t find anyone—not even a body.

  “Hospital’s this way,” Ryan said from across the room.

  Regrouping, we followed him into the next room, which was even darker than the first. As Maritza and I approached the doorway, I noticed a bright blue glow emanating from inside. When we entered, the others were already standing there, staring.

  The entire floor was covered in identical shallow tanks the size of coffins, organized in crisscrossing rows that spanned the room. Fascinated, I came closer and found naked men and women lying motionless in liquid. All appeared to be in a coma. Sensors attached to wires covered their bodies. The bluish glow came from submerged lights inside the tanks.
r />   “Any ideas?” Warnick said.

  “Targeted temperature management,” Ziggy said, dipping his hand in the liquid and sniffing his fingers.

  “Care to explain?”

  “Normally, it’s used to reduce the risk of tissue injury from lack of blood flow. Heart attacks, stuff like that.”

  “And you know this how?” Berta said.

  “I read a lot.”

  “Figures.”

  I dipped my hand into the cold liquid and realized that it was water. I looked at Ziggy. “And what about the brain?”

  “Protects that too.”

  “It must have something to do with the virus,” I said. “They’re trying to control the negative effects on the brain.”

  “I don’t understand,” Maritza said. “Are they asleep?”

  “Probably induced coma. Look. Each one has an IV.”

  “Where are the bags?” Vlad said.

  “Maybe the drugs are administered centrally.”

  I moved from tank to tank, looking at the sleeping bodies with Maritza following. I stopped at a woman who looked to be around Sasha’s age, with raven hair and flawless, pale skin. As I leaned closer, the woman’s eyes flew open and she stared at me. Screaming, Maritza tottered back. I caught her and steadied her. When I looked at the woman again, her eyes were closed.

  “We need to keep moving,” Warnick said.

  “What about them?” I said.

  “Leave them.”

  The doors leading to the next room were closed. When we opened them we were greeted by the cries and howls of hundreds of lab animals—rhesus monkeys, dogs, cats and mice. Their eyes gleamed in the darkness, their voices pitiful. Some cowered in their cages, others viciously attacked the fronts of their cages. My instinct was to put them all down to end their misery, but our priority was the Russian girl.

  I turned and saw Maritza reaching towards a small mix-breed dog. “Careful,” I said. “They’re most likely infected.

  “How much farther?” Warnick said to Ryan.

  “After this next room we’ll reach a hallway.”