by M. D. Massey
Taking the fallen soldier’s radio and earpiece, I get on the move. Activity seems to be the same as it was before. Most of the soldiers are being routed to the various entrances to contain the murder of dead, leaving just a small portion to protect Slade and patrol the halls. Perfect.
I’m almost done, my love. I can see the horizon.
The thick metal door creaks and squeaks as I open it. I slowly let the barrel of the machine gun pop its head out first.
Silence.
I glance back over my shoulder, looking over the dead bodies spread across the floor. That could’ve been me. They’ve tried and failed yet again.
The door squeaks more as I push it open just enough for me to narrowly slip out into the hall. I get moving, my eyes ever vigilant and my ears tracking the slightest noise as I hug the wall. My weapon stays at the ready in case things get ugly. As I near the T in the road, I glance down at my wrist and see a single blob stationary the way I’m going. I peer around the corner, spotting the lone soldier pacing back and forth. He’s not too far from me and he’s walking the opposite way, his back to me.
I sling the machine gun over my right shoulder and slip around the corner, hurrying towards him and wondering when he’s going to turn around. I close the gap fast and reach for his helmet with my hands, gripping it tightly and flicking my wrist. He crumbles, and I catch him mid-fall. I give a quick glance about, checking for any more company. Clear. The main generator room for the complex is just ahead. Damn, this guy is heavy.
Heaving dead weight, I drag the soldier the rest of the way and make the door. The squeaking of my shoes on the floor sounds like an f-ing marching band. Hope it’s just me.
Grabbing the doorknob, I twist and push forward, opening the solid door, and slip inside. I drag the dead soldier in and shove him into a corner. The silent humming of the generators fills my ears as I peer around. I’m on top of a steel grate catwalk that leads to the left and runs down along the wall. I check the layout on my wrist, but getting nothing except static and snow. Guess I’ll just need to be extra careful.
Shouldering my weapon, I make my way across the grate to the stairs, my eyes locked below for any activity. I’m not so much concerned with the dead being down here, but more so with any soldiers or engineers roaming about. So far, I don’t see or hear anything except for the generators, but it looks like it expands back further than what I can see.
My boots hit the landing and I slowly start descending, keeping close to the wall, my weapon trained ahead. It’s so quiet, the sound of my boots catching onto the rigid metal grates and my other various arsenals shifting seem like thunder.
I make the bottom rung and step to the floor, pausing as I scan left and right. Nothing. Just steam being vented by some of the generators. It’s dark and dank. My eyes adjust to the blackness, the green hue taking hold and bringing everything into a much clearer picture.
I need to locate the main shut off switch, wherever the hell that is. I really don’t have time to search all over. They’ll soon discover the mess I left and then the cat will be out of the bag. Perhaps next time I should be a bit more tactful and not kill everyone right off the bat. Just a thought.
I begin to move further in when gunfire erupts from behind me, shells buzzing past me and narrowly grazing my scalp. I catch a round in the upper left shoulder, the bullet tearing its way out the other side. I twist around and return fire while backing up, the bright yellow flashes of my muzzle spitting out death dealers as the hail storm of gunfire continues its onslaught.
Whatever happened to “Freeze” or “Drop your weapon”?
Getting low and darting in between some of the generators, I hold up for a few, allowing the soldiers to expend their ammunition. The rounds ping off the metal tubes. Blood trickles from my shoulder and down my arm, clopping to the floor.
I return fire, calculated and more precise this time, and manage to take out two of the soldiers. Throat and head shots are always kill shots. I count three soldiers left that I can see.
The remaining band of brothers split up and take different tactical positions around me, trying to box me in. “Sir, we’ve got a situation in the generator room,” one of the soldiers says over the radio, gunfire echoing in the background.
“You idiots, be careful down there and watch what you’re shooting at. You knock out too many of those generators and the infected on the other side of those doors will get through.”
“Yes, sir. We’ve got him boxed in and should have him shortly.”
The line goes silent once more as the gunfire let’s up. I hear them chattering to one another, low and hard for me to make out. They’re more than likely scheming and trying to figure out how they’re going to come in here and get me. Good luck with that.
“We’ve got you surrounded and there’s no place for you to go. Throw out your weapons, come out with your hands up and you’ll not be harmed,” one of the soldiers orders, his voice deep and stern.
Yeah. Not be harmed, huh? I might be deadish, but I’m no fool.
I hold tight and keep my position, not offering a single response. Not a “go to hell” or “come and get me.” I pick up a faint noise to my left coming towards me slowly. It’s pitch black where I’m at, which is good for me as it’s adding some cover. It has to be one of the soldiers trying to flank me.
Lying in wait, I conceal myself between some of the equipment as he approaches, cautiously stepping with one foot in front of the other as his pistol trains all over. He walks past me, no clue to my whereabouts. I step out and grab him from behind, removing the knife on his hip and jamming it hard into his lower back with one fluid motion. His body goes limp and I gently lay him down, trying not to arouse any suspicion.
Time to turn things up a notch.
“What’s your status? Did you get him?” one of the soldiers quietly says over the radio.
Static . . .
“Damn it. Take the far end and flush him out towards me. I’ll be waiting,” the soldier orders his last and only backup.
These fools still have no clue that I can hear everything they’re saying.
I ready a flash bang grenade as the soldier slips out from behind his cover and advances. I pull the clip and toss it, the clanging sound of the metal rattling on the ground stopping the soldiers cold.
Boom!
The sound is loud and disorienting, the light so immense it even rattles me. The soldiers stumble about. I dart out of my hiding space and take out one of the soldiers with a single round to the head, dropping him instantly.
The other soldier opens fire, wildly spraying anything and everything as he stumbles into some equipment. Bullets scream past me as I run for cover, sirens and red flashing lights illuminating everything in a blood red color.
Pockets of steam vent from the numerous bullet holes, hissing loudly, and the massive cylinders convulse violently. Time to get while the getting is good.
Up and on the run, I dart for the stairs and hit the bottom rung.
Zing!
A single round whizzes past my head and impacts the concrete wall right in front of me. I cock my head to the side and find the lone soldier advancing, his weapon trained at my head.
“That was a warning shot. Now put down your damn weapon and place your hands behind your head. You’re coming with me.”
He’s more concerned with bringing me in and not the fact that this place is in a total melt down.
“DO IT NOW!”
Rivets on both ends of the cylinders shoot out in every direction, the metal bowing out from the pent up pressure. I catch a glimpse of one of the gauges twisting freely around like a carnival ride, shaking uncontrollably.
Weapon still clutched in my hand, the soldier readies to fire. Behind him a cylinder explodes, hurling his body across the room and into the wall. The blast knocks me flat, my eyes bouncing around in my skull.
I pick myself up off the flight of stairs and get moving, the chain reaction jumping from one cylinder to a
nother. Explosion after explosion make the stairs rattle with intensity and the ceiling crumbles as fire erupts and engulfs the area. Chunks of metal and rock blow past me, indenting the walls and striking my body.
There’s the door. My feet touch down on the catwalk and I run for it. A solid piece of the ceiling jars loose and falls, striking the catwalk behind me and ripping the steel support clean from the wall.
I crest the doorway just as the catwalk falls into the fiery inferno below, and another blast propels me out of the room. I slam into the wall across the corridor, cratering the concrete as the pressure blows out the walls. Chunks of rebar and concrete land around me as the deafening noise and the heat from the fire reach into the hall.
Rattled and disoriented, I pick myself up, dust and bits of concrete falling from my back. I get to my feet and look ahead, the lights now gone and a few backup red lights flashing on and off. A bit more theatrical than what I wanted, but it’ll do.
Damn it! My radio’s toast. The receiver’s cracked and its guts are hanging out. I rip the ear piece from my ear and toss the scrap heap to the side.
Blood races down both sides of my face and a jagged piece of rebar has skewered my left thigh. I grip the rigid tip and pull the metal out, scraps of skin clinging to the end. Let the bloodletting begin.
Smoke billows from the generator room and fills the corridor, creating a thick, throat-clogging haze that moves further into the complex. The device attached to my wrist is now nothing more than a useless paper weight, sparks spitting from the sides and the screen severely cracked. As I unlatch it from my arm, I hear gunfire and loud shrills in the distance. I can only imagine how hungry and famished the infected are, spilling into this all you can eat meat heaven.
A handful of dead emerge from around the corner ahead and spot me. They pause for only a moment before heading my way. Deformed mouths open wide and mangled arms stretch out. I remove my pistol and fire at will.
Splat . . . Splat! I instantly drop two with head shots, the bullets cratering in their skulls and blowing out the back of their heads as they skid across the floor face down.
I holster my pistol and swing the rebar that is still clutched in my right hand, smashing into the side of a mutated woman’s head whose face has been partially burnt off. The sheared end latches onto remnants of her skin and peels it off, her neck snapping as her head cocks to the side.
I pivot back around and swing the meat covered weapon up, sending the jagged end through the other one’s mouth. The tip pops free from its skull, its lone eye rolling into the back of its head and its chomping mouth becoming still.
It falls to the floor, more screams and gunfire melding with the bone curdling shrills that emit from everywhere. I’ve got my work cut out for me.
25
That sickening feeling hits me like a Mack truck on steroids, and my body loses balance and falls against the wall. I can hardly catch my breath and my head is spinning, my vision a little dense and blurry. The recent injuries to my shoulder and thigh are bleeding pretty bad, not showing signs of healing. My body has taken a beating and looks as though it is unable to recoup.
The ground looks inviting. I could just sit down and take a moment to recover. But who am I kidding. If I go down, I’m fearful I’ll go down for the count. 1-2-3, YOU’RE OUT! TKO!
Enough of this standing around like I have nothing better to do. Suck it up and get your ass in gear. You can bitch and die later. Right now, you have work to do.
Placing my grimy hands against the scorched, cracked concrete wall, I push off and get back up. My injured leg buckles some, but it hangs on. The hole in my shoulder is gaping, my middle finger probing the decaying, mushy meat. I can’t hang around here any longer. More soldiers and dead are likely on their way, and in my current state of flux, I need to give myself an edge, however small it is.
Luckily, my machine gun is still intact and unscathed by the blast. It’s just covered in dust. I toss the small chunks of busted concrete away.
I blow the debris from the side and eject the clip, dust falling and settling in the undead pool of thick, lumpy blood. Not sure how or why, but a crazy and totally insane notion forms. Won’t help me much with the soldiers, but it might get the murder of flesh-crazed infecteds off my back.
Popping the clip back in, I sling the gun over my good shoulder. I kneel down and palm the pool of blood, bringing it up to my face. I smear it all over, sliding my hand around my neck and then down my body. I get some more and finish up, hopefully selling the look.
I strain to get back to my feet when another lost soul ambles into sight. Slower moving and its broken neck tilting its flesh challenged head to the left, it comes my way. I hold firm and stay still, ready to draw my pistol if need be, but I want to see how it takes. Sink or swim.
It nears me, mouth split apart and blood oozing out and dripping down to its deformed, mutated feet. My finger slips over the trigger, palm resting on the handle. Moaning, it peers directly at me as it continues on. No hesitation or curiosity, acting as if I’m one of its own. Phew!
I ease up on my pistol and move on, limping away into the fluttering blackness as fire rages from the destroyed generator room. I still remember how to get to the holding cells, but I’m flying blind as to where the soldiers and dead are lurking about. No matter. I’ll deal with it as it comes.
In the madness that’s surrounding me and all of the death and destruction, Becky is the one and only guiding hope that keeps me going to see this through to the end. I have accepted the harsh reality that I’ll never see her again. I can’t. As much as it pains me, I have let that notion go. Her memory is all I need.
* * *
The mass of dead roaming down here now is crazy. I think they all migrated to greener pastures in search of more food. But fortunately, my getup is still working. Pockets and pockets of the flesh-eaters have ignored me, passing through as they feast on fallen men. I have encountered some resistance from the soldiers, and managed to take them out as best I can. The wounds sustained in my shoulder and leg are healing slowly, but still throb and hinder my movement.
The holding cells are up ahead, set off in a corner and down a narrow flight of stairs. Doesn’t seem to be much in the way of foot traffic so far. It’s fairly quiet. Well, no dead or soldiers lurking about anyways. Guess they’re too busy killing each another. Fine by me. Let ’em kill one another and the devil will sort them out.
Thumps and bumps grab my ear as I near the entrance, my gun training at the solid gray door that has smeared blood and fragments of bone embedded across the middle. The power flickers on and off, casting shadows. My eyes start to have trouble seeing in the darkness.
The lights extinguish for what seem like an eternity, then surge back to life. A puddle of thick, chunky blood lies as the welcome mat. Funny, I don’t feel welcomed.
The door partially ajar, I approach with caution and slip the barrel of my almost empty machine gun inside, carefully swinging the stout door open. The hinges creak as if they could use a drink. I step to the side and try to sneak a peek.
A faint trail of light crawls out. It does little good to brighten up the inside. I push the door open further and step lightly, my weapon trained and ready. A converted solider to the dead lies on his back. His head smashed in and his chest turned to Swiss cheese.
That same knocking and clanging noise happens again, echoing up through the metal rich interior. Stepping over the dead body, I slip further into the belly of this place. I descend the stairs, my leg throbbing with the slightest pressure. Blood pumps out with every step I take, the muscle tender and not wanting to be exerted much.
I finally make it to the bottom and stop. It’s dark as crap and I’m struggling to make anything out further than five feet. Dimly lit yellow lines running on both sides break up the darkness.
Take it slow. I have no idea what might be down here.
That knocking noise again! I train ahead as the power surges on, my index finger teasing the trig
ger ever so gently. Nothing except for a long metal walkway with cells recessed into steel walls. No soldiers stand guard.
The first cell to my right is halfway open, the door swung out towards me, keeping me from being able to see if anyone or anything is inside. I notice a few more cells down the way that are the same. I’m going to have to do a cell by cell check. Not sure who’s down here, if anyone. Might be a ghost town or a morgue.
With my weapon pressed firmly against my good shoulder, I make my way to the first cell. I stay distant and closer to the other side. Coming into view, my eyes snake around the door and spot a man dressed in a white lab coat lying on his side. He isn’t moving. Streams of blood race down the back of his head and drip from the edge of his cot, staining the concrete below. I can’t tell if he’s alive, dead, or just comatose to the world. I’m not on a free all mission here. I’m only looking out for a select few.
I decide to move on when a low groan of pain emits from the cell. I pause and glance back. Still, no movement. Damn curiosity. Checking this out is a waste of time and one that I’ll probably regret, among everything else.
One foot in front of the other and my weapon trained at the back of his head, I walk towards the cell. I narrowly crest the opening when the lights die out once more. In the darkness, I can still make out the man’s outline, which isn’t moving or twitching. More clatters from the walls swirl about, my attention being pulled in every direction. I don’t know if I’m sinking further into madness or not. The cocktail the good doctor gave me could go either way—might band aid the problem or just accelerate my demise. I was hopeful, but now I’m starting to think otherwise.
Screw this! Get what needs to be gotten done. No more charity cases. I don’t have the time for it. Literally! I can’t take the chance.
The tarnished lights spawn back to life, the lab coat still as a corpse. Chuckles. Footsteps to my right and behind the door. I whirl about and pause, training my weapon ahead and peering down the walkway.
