by M. D. Massey
I open my strained eyes once more and find that I’m alone again, the door broken open and hanging by a single hinge. Alice and Trenton are gone like the wind. I wipe away the excess from my crusty lips, noticing the thick, yellowish red paste on my hand. The smell is nauseating and damn near makes me want to empty my stomach.
I sit up and lean back, squinting as I run my dingy hand down my face, trying to reel in my fractured mind. The up and down roller coaster I’m on is getting annoying and worrisome. My body and mind are literally being torn in every possible direction.
Before I was unsure what was going on, but now I know it has to be what I was injected with. Whatever is growing, festering inside my body and mind, it’s fighting like hell to completely take me over—consume me to the point where I’m lost and probably will never be found. I’ve got too much at stake to just give in and let it do its thing. It may take my body and try to warp my mind, but this thing will never have my soul.
Beep, Beep! A low buzzing noise breaks my subdued moment of peace, if you want to call it that. I look in every direction, trying to track the odd sound, and spin around in the squeaky chair, my black eyes greeted by a flashing red light. I’m confused and lost, not sure what it means or where I should be looking. I glance over the CCTV’s and find that one of the feeds that was snowing is now back up and running live. It’s of an elevator set off by itself with no access doors or any visible rooms that I can see. I take control of the camera and pan to the left and right, finding nothing stirring among the faintly lit hall. My insight is limited, but I could care less. This is my entry point to S-2 in the lower subsection and I’ll face whatever gets in my way.
I quickly check the other corridors that lead directly to the elevator, finding that some are blocked or signs of the dead lurking about. I really wish I would’ve had the forethought to hold on to the blueprint of this place. It seems that every time I look it over in my head, everything gets jumbled around and shifts like a damn labyrinth. But griping will get me nowhere, except wasting time and probably on the dinner plate.
I trace out a secondary path through some duct work and other large rooms, bypassing the blockage that is f’ing up my world. It’s really sloppy, but I haven’t got a choice. I could still make for the surface now and hope that once up top I’m not greeted by the dead and am able to escape. But again, what the hell would I do?
The way Alice looked at me with her sorrow struck eyes didn’t leave me with high hopes. I know I’m screwed, or at least one of the voices inside my head keeps whispering its sweet nothings to me, but I’m not going down until the bastards that did this to me become as dead as I am.
14
What the hell just happened to the lights?
I’m kneeling here on the floor, checking the .45 and loading some shells into the shotgun, when the lights die and everything instantly turns to that light green hue color. I peer around the room and train the .45 at the door, making sure nothing is trying to slip in unnoticed.
My ears pick up the faint sound of the overhead lamps trying to come back on. Must’ve overloaded the circuits or the power source is on the fritz. If that’s the case, not sure how bad this screws me over. I’ll add it to the list of things I could’ve done without, which by now is very long.
I hurry along and finish checking the weapons, slipping the .45 back down my pants and slinging the extra clips and flares over my shoulder. I secure the knife then grab the shotgun and stand up, pumping it once and loading a fresh shell in the chamber. I’m not going to use the flashlight right now. It will only bring more attention than what I’m really wanting.
I make for the door and pause, training my ears to see if I hear anything rustling about in the open. For once, everything appears to be dead and this time, in a good way. I guess the sun does shine on a dog’s ass every once in a while.
I hug the cold brick wall on the opposite side of the hanging, loose door, and sneak a peek down the hall, my eyes penetrating the blackness. I don’t see any dead or living, just more random spots of rubble and parts of the structure that have been gutted.
I slide to the door frame and twist my head slowly and cautiously out and around the corner, finding the dead bastard I put down on top of the blockage earlier is now gone. The leftover blood splatter from its head remains, but the body is nowhere to be found.
A thought pops into my mind, and I wonder what happened to Alice and Trenton. Did the sight of me writhing in that chair freak her out and send her dashing out the door without care or pause, Trenton following fast in her wake? Hopefully she made a beeline for the exit and is almost there. It would be nice to know that someone living actually made it out of this mess, even if it’s not me.
I shoulder my shotgun and train the barrel straight ahead, slipping out into the open of the dead silent hallway. The shotgun sweeps from side to side, checking the open doorways for anything that might strike.
Still . . . no movement.
My insides gurgle and churn over and over again, but nothing feels like it’s trying to escape from my stomach, for now anyways. I can also feel my brain losing its grip, my focus and thoughts hopping from one thing to the next.
An image of Becky materializes out of thin air and hovers in front of my face, her pink, moist lips whispering “I Love You” as she cracks a smile and bats her eyes at me. I try to suck in every little inch of her warm and inviting being, but her face quickly melts away and another vision forms up from the leftover daydream I was trying to hold on to.
A memory that I can’t quite place or even try to sort through begins to play back. It’s all hazy and distorted, like I’m out of it or something.
Drugged maybe?
I can hear more voices talking all around, but can’t understand what they’re saying. I catch a brief glimpse of their crisp white lab coats as they walk by and spot that insignia again—TGP. Not sure why I can pick up that and nothing else, but it really doesn’t matter.
There are three, no wait, four doctors standing with their backs turned to me. A short, pudgy man holding a syringe that looks more like a damn lawn dart jabs it into something. Immediately, they back away, revealing a person strapped to a gurney. A few seconds later, the he-she, hell, maybe it, convulses hard and bellows out an ear shredding shrill that chills even me to the bone.
Everything suddenly goes from a foggy enriched dark state to the lights literally coming back on, ripping me from my apparent hallucination. I’m disoriented to the point that I have no clue how I made it here. I swing the barrel of the shotgun around wildly, looking for anything that is moving or even twitching. I’m almost unsure who the more dangerous threat is here, the walking dead or the people that have created this real life gore fest.
My heart beats fast. I’m relieved to actually feel the blood gush from my internal engine and course through my body. Although I’m still doubtful how much longer that will continue to happen.
Finding nothing stirring about, and my brief memory lapses subsiding, I take a deep breath and close my eyes, finding Becky’s image smiling at me once again. It soothes the savage monster fighting to tear its way out of my body, and allows me to take hold of things.
With a clear, well semi-clear, mindset and my shit back together, I peer straight ahead and find that I’ve reached the electrical room. I have no clue how I got here, especially unscathed and not able to retrace steps from just a bit ago.
The gray door is free from any bloody claw or handprints and the handle feels fully intact. Not locked, but pulled and latched to the frame securely. It doesn’t really mean much as I could still be walking into a hornet’s nest. But the possible thought of not having something dwelling inside, ready to feast or fill me full of hot lead, brings a little ease to my already high tension.
I shoulder my shotgun and pull down on the chilled silver handle, hearing the latch retract and the door creak open. The low grade humming sound of electrical currents, continuously surging through the room, fills my sensitive ears.
I swing the door all the way out and find an empty space. No dead or living person on the verge of becoming a raging cannibal lector.
I quickly step inside and pull the door back, concealing my presence from any curious things that might come stumbling by. There are no locks on the inside, which sucks, but I figure if I stay quiet, then I shouldn’t draw any attention. I scan the thick, metal tubing running along the ceiling, and the other set of conduit work that scurries up the wall in the same direction. It fades to black in the dying light, making it appear to be a black void that will suck me in and never let go.
I sling the shotgun over my left shoulder and access the schematic again, hoping it hasn’t shifted or reconfigured from my mind doing crazy things. The distance from my current position to the next room I need to get to seems short and mostly straight. A few turns here and there, but nothing too dramatic, or at least from what I can see.
I start up the short climb of conduit and cautiously peer up and over the blackness that greets my eyes, the green hue taking hold and shedding some dull light on the tiny space. There’s little wiggle room and if I come across anything along the way, it’s going to be hell trying to defend myself. I guess I just need to say some Hail Mary’s and hope I don’t find myself up a creek without a paddle. Not sure how the Big Man upstairs views partially living people.
I don’t see or hear anything other than the surging current flowing above and under me, breaking in and out with a stutter and then firing right back up again. I pull myself up and slide into the confining space, the metal pipes invading my chest and nether regions. The backpack nudges the pipes overhead, wedging my frame within the snake pit of metal.
I move forward, army crawling with my arms folded in front of me and my feet pushing me along the way. My breathing is in check and I don’t feel remotely tired, just extremely motivated. My eyes play over every little inch of the confining space, probing the nooks and black voids for any unwanted things. I pick up the faint but all too familiar sounds of the infected shrilling, reverberating off the metal I’m incased in. It’s not anywhere close to where I am, as far as I know, but I’m not going to take advantage of my current situation. I could get hit with a fecal storm real fast.
Bumps and vibrations stir the pipes underneath me, stopping me cold, and my head twists back as far as it can. I see nothing and hear no movement or heavy breathing, probably just my heightened senses working overtime and relaying any and all possible threats.
I dismiss the distractions and keep on my way, the green hue picking up bursts of steam emitting from what I figure is fractured pipes in the ceiling. My first junction is up ahead, where I take a left and keep going strong. I pause for a second and watch the steam vent hard and short, cycling about every 30 seconds. I count down ’til I need to scurry past the blast, when I get a sudden flourish of something watching me crawling up my skin.
I pan my eyes to the right, finding nothing but more metal pipes and cobwebs galore. I pan back to the left and come across another section that jets off into oblivion. Either I missed this on the schematic or my mind just decided it is a need to know basis and that I really didn’t need to know. If that’s the case, it makes me wonder how much other crap I don’t remember.
I peer down the darkened space and spot a body lying motionless, face down. It’s pretty far away and my eyes are having a hard time picking up much detail, only showing that its hands and head appear to be more human than deformed. It has a dark gray jumpsuit on and random patches of hair that look to have been ripped right from its forehead, leaving bloody, wet patches in its wake. I’m not sure if it’s dead or just unconscious, but I really don’t care to find out.
Clang! Bam! A sudden strike somewhere along my path fills the cramped space, sounding like a canon exploding right in my damn ears. It hurts like hell and rattles my skull. My teeth chatter like those wind-up teeth with feet. I look around to see what happened and find the motionless thing down the way is now up and at ’em.
It lifts its head up and bobbles it in place long enough to spot something it wants to investigate further. Its nose has been smashed in and its right ocular area is void of any flesh—or an eyeball for that matter. Fluids pour out of its mouth and seep into the metal pipes beneath it as it crawls my way. It’s missing its left hand, but its right hand is good to go and its legs are doing more than enough to close the gap between us.
I train my eyes and thoughts back at the steam that’s holding me up, hearing its hungry growl in my mind. I can nearly hear it licking its lips, savoring the hopeful meal to come. The steam shuts off and I move forward to pass, but get stopped cold by my right boot slipping down between the tight metal pipes.
Are you freaking kidding me!
It doesn’t really surprise me though, as I’ve been getting pissed on this entire horror show. I’m used to cutting it close by now and working through shit storms that seem to hover over me constantly. Thank goodness I’m resourceful and semi-patient.
At first, I just jerk my foot, tugging and pulling and hoping it will pop free and I can move on. But that’s a no go. It seems to have twisted sideways and wedged inside the snake pit of metal. I can hear the undead breathing and clamoring along the pipes in a frenzy to see what’s up ahead. My eyes bring it more into focus with every forward crawl it makes, which sucks. I’m going to have to do something fast. I don’t want to fend this thing off with my foot trapped and gear strapped to my back. I could squeeze my hand under me and grab my pistol, but that might work against me. Discharging it could cause an explosion. Uncertainty is a bitch sometimes.
I continue to wiggle my foot about, moving it every possible way I can think to free it. I know I should probably calm down and slow my thoughts, but that would make too much sense. I’m in that fight or flight scenario again and I don’t want to fight with this thing in close quarters if I don’t have to. At the moment, it has the advantage.
The stench of its soulless body and the putrid spray of its breath wafts my way, stinging my nose and making me tug harder on my foot. I think it has finally realized what’s caught in its web of metal. It gets more excited and breathes heavier as it picks up the pace.
Shit!
My boot slightly loosens and I think I’ve figured out which way I need to contort my limb in order to free it. I concentrate on nothing but that and maneuver it around, feeling the grasp of the metal pipes letting me go. My boot pops out.
Just in time too, as I turn my attention back to the unwanted dead visitor who grabs me with its one hand and goes in for the kill, rotted yellow teeth first. I flip to my side somehow in the cramped space and grab it by the throat, my pack pushing against the wall of pipes and driving me towards it. It flails around, trying to get closer, positioning its legs on the lips of the pipes and pushing forward. Fluids galore leak from every open hole in its body, the stench fighting me as well as its overpowering aroma filtering in through my nose.
I dig harder in its throat, squeezing with all my might as I reach down to my leg and scramble for my knife. Of course the damn thing would be latched down and secured tightly in its sheath, making me fight with it. I wish I could call a temporary time out, but I don’t think this thing is playing by any rules.
Wrestling with pulling my pant leg up and trying to unbuckle the stubborn sheath, I let up on my grasp. The thing advances, snapping at my arm. Its teeth find their mark and dig into my flesh, slicing away the pale skin and going for the more meaty and succulent muscle. Blood flows, but it’s thick and pasty, oozing out and looking more like a thick spaghetti sauce staining the creature’s teeth and mouth. I can feel the pressure from it going ape nuts, pulling and tugging like a damn pit bull at a knotted rope. It doesn’t hurt though, or at least something is keeping the pain from shooting up the dead nerves that would be bombarding my brain right now with searing agony.
I finally get the sheath to cooperate and remove the knife, ripping my tattered and chewed arm from the creature’s flesh ridden mouth. Chunks of my s
kin lay packed between its multilayered rows of jagged and irregular teeth, my thick, mutated blood quenching its thirst momentarily.
It looks at me with its one and only black eye, mouth ajar and its heavy ass breathing shoveling out fluids like a waste dump. It starts for me again, but my knife finds its mark in the side of its temple. Either my strength is gaining or this thing’s head is as ripe as a damn melon. The handle and part of my fingers completely embed inside its skull.
I jerk the handle back and free the blade, blood trailing in its wake, and a squishing sound echoes from the gaping hole where my fist lay. Now lifeless once more, the creature’s head falls like a stone to the pipes and hits hard, decayed brain matter oozing from the exposed portion.
I wonder if that’s what my brain will look like—a jumbled up mess that will leave me dwelling within madness. A prisoner within my own mind and body, lost forever.
I inspect my arm, looking past the flesh and seeing part of my femur showing through the ravaged muscle. It looks nasty and well deserved of a field dress, but I don’t even bat an eye at the sight of my own exposed bone. I’ve seen much worse. Plus, I don’t see any need in trying to properly dress the wound. I figure I should tear a strip from my shirt and wrap it in case I come across any living people. The last thing I want or need is for someone to spot this right off the bat, and try to put me down without asking any questions. Funny how the tables have turned on me; that karma thing is a real bitch.
I tear a strip from my shirt and wrap the bite, the thick blood absorbing into the dingy whitish cloth and staining it dark red instantly. I guess there’s no reason to be concerned with getting an infection.
The mash up of the creature’s flesh and chunks of its shattered skull cling to the tainted red blade, dangling from the serrated edge in multiple clumps. I flick my wrist sharply and sling the decayed brain matter off, wiping the blade and my hand clean on my pant leg. I place the knife back in its sheath and fall flat on my stomach, training my thoughts back on getting to where I need to be and off the dead again corpse lying in its own fluids.
