My own curiosity is getting the better of me. “Wasn’t she wearing her safety garb? Gloves, mask, and such?”
“She had everything on except for a mask. It wasn’t required since he was secured within the chamber. She got blasted in the face when the seal ruptured. Only lasted a few seconds before she sealed it. What if, after exposure, it somehow mutated inside of her? Couldn’t a virus from that time period affect us differently than people from that era?”
“Like I stated earlier, it is possible, but there’s never been a documented case before, as far as I know.” I sit back in my chair with my cup of fruit in my hands. “These are some bold claims to be making. Nora hasn’t mentioned anything about a containment breach. Neither has Vincent. Have you brought up these concerns with them?”
A sour look floods her face. From her disgusted reaction, she doesn’t appear to think highly of them.
“Nora already knows about the breach. After the incident, she had the lab sterilized per operating protocol. I imagine Vincent was informed, but can’t say for sure. You know he’s wanting to bring that ice man back to the states within the next few weeks, right?”
I shrug. “That could be accurate. I’m not sure.”
“That’s the last report we received.” She removes her nails from her mouth, and mashes her finger against the tabletop. “I’m not crazy. Like you said, all of this is plausible.”
A noise to my right captures her attention as two members of the security team enter. Her breathing escalates. Her chest heaves. She quickly stands up and grabs her plate from the table.
“Hopefully, I’m wrong about all of this. If I’m not, then god help us.” She lowers her head and makes for the trash can in the corner of the room. She dumps her plate and leaves the commissary.
And me with a lot more to chew on.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Strange. Every minute that ticks by seems as though this place is being driven to the 6th dimension of hell, and I’m stranded for the ride.
At least, at the moment, I do not have to concern myself with a chance encounter with Dr. Stevens. The security team is currently tracking her in another portion of the facility, after reports of her being seen in the area.
But still, the frantic woman’s concerns, nay borderline ravings, bore deep into my mind.
Although I am not a viral scientist, or whatever they are, it is true that certain diseases can linger within and around a burial site if the conditions are right. It’s also hard to gauge how people would respond to being exposed from an unknown toxin.
As much as the woman’s hypothesis of a thousand-year-old virus being kept in a dormant state, and altering Dr. Stevens’s condition after exposure is a huge leap, I can’t dismiss it for some reason.
The woman’s words of dread and utter doom gnaw at me like a festering parasite going deeper into my skull. I’m lost in thought as I make my way to the storage room. The meager blanket they have provided has done little to keep me warm.
I try to debunk everything that she said. Find ways to say it isn’t what she says it is.
To be honest, if I hadn’t seen the bite mark, and Dr. Stevens’s strange behavior before the incident, it would be much easier to do so. I continue chewing on the idea, trying to digest this outlandish and twisted picture she has painted for me.
The more I dwell on her words, though, the more I want to get what I need, and retreat back to the safety of my room.
The squeaking sound of my shoes against the tiled floor play as background noise to my thoughts. I’m submerged in “what if” scenarios that have me distracted from my surroundings.
I approach the double doors of the storage section of the facility. I peer through one of the clear plastic windows molded inside the door. It’s black as night. The darkness has consumed the space. My eyes shift from left to right, struggling to pierce the veil that cloaks room.
My left-hand digs into the back pocket of my jeans and removes my phone. I switch on the flashlight. I expel a deep sigh of air.
I’m starting to hate this place. The unsettling sensation that eyes maybe watching me from the ether sends a shiver of fear through my body. That each dark corner of this facility is a door way to hell itself.
I press my forearm against the cool, rigid texture of the door, and push softly. The hinges squeak. The angst residing within me forces me to listen for a reaction. There is none. I push a bit further, and thread my frame through the narrow opening.
The phone’s brightness sweeps over the space. The light is my weapon against the darkness. It brings to life rows of shelves that run horizontal to my position. Shadows morph and move over the steel fixtures that are sparsely stocked with various can goods and other non-perishable items.
The fans, mounted on the walls to my right and toward the ceiling, whir listlessly as they slow to a stop.
I narrow my eyes, and scan for any blankets that might remain. I spy none from where I stand. Although bright, the phone’s light only goes so far.
Crap.
The light switch is eluding me. Despite how much I want to erase the darkness, I don’t want to waste any more time than needed in here. I just want to get it done and over with.
I venture further into the maze of shelves. The silence is deafening. Each step I take sounds like it is amplified ten times over. I cringe, hoping it isn’t as loud as I think it is.
As much as my anxiety wants to conjure up a demon waiting for me within the void of darkness, the rational part of my brain tells me to calm down. I heed its advice.
Rack after rack, the light washes over the shelves, until I catch sight of the green folded fabric. Set off to my right, and toward the corner of the room, a short stack of blankets resides on the next aisle over.
Finally.
I carry on to the next row and enter the corridor of steel that surrounds me on both sides. It’s tight and cramped, without much room to maneuver in. My heart pounds. Palms gush with sweat. Just grab and go. That’s what I mutter to myself.
As I near the blankets, I spy a tiny gap between the wall and the racks. There isn’t much space, but enough for a person to pass through.
I lay hands on the rigid green woven fabric. A strange noise stirs.
Grunting.
Heavy breathing.
It stops me cold. I move the phone down, and press the light against my pants. The darkness envelops me, erasing the shreds of visual context.
I turn my head slightly to the right, and listen intently. It is hard to tell if my mind is hearing things or not. There is no more noise. It has grown silent.
I listen for a minute more before raising the phone back up. The light reveals a man dressed in dark blue coveralls standing in a void of darkness beyond the racks.
Shock steals my voice. I want to scream, but can’t. Fear has robbed me of that.
He stands rigid, with both hands clenched tightly by his sides. Blood covers the front of his suit as his bloodshot eyes look in my direction. He has a chunk of skin missing from the right side of his neck. His sunken face tilts slightly to the left as his teeth start to chatter.
My legs begin to slowly move backwards down the constricted aisle. He grunts harder, and growls as he narrows his eyes. He starts advancing towards me.
Veins populate the surface of his pale face. His hands tremble wildly, fingers twitching at the nothingness that is before him. He slams his arm against the rack repeatedly.
I back pedal down the aisle. He gives pursuit. I am scared, frightened to a degree that I have never been before. My thoughts are fractured, diced up in bits of incoherent decisions.
His heavy footsteps are right on top of me. The raging grunts that part his bloody lips whisper in my ears.
I hit the opening between the rows of shelving, and bolt to the right. Before I realize my poor decision, it is too late. I have gone the wrong way. The exit to the storage room is actually to my left. My only salvation now is the room beyond the door directly in front of me.
I swing open the door and dash inside. I throw it closed just as he reaches for me. It shakes under the violent protest of the deranged man. His fists hammer. The doorknob jiggles and twists. I press my mass against the door.
Each blow vibrates through the dense wood. I glance up through the frosted window, and shine the light. His face is contorted, mouth ajar as he continually beats at the door with malevolent eyes. The man shows no signs of stopping his assault. I have to figure out my next move if I hope to survive.
I flip over my phone, and turn on the screen. No signal. Great. I turn about, and lean against the trembling door. I hold the light up, and take stock of where I am.
The space is small and filled with various tools and other equipment. The smell of grease permeates the room. My nose crinkles from the stench. I franticly search for anything I can use as a weapon. Anything to allow me to defend myself.
I push and move the wrenches, screwdrivers, and a small ball ping hammer about. Each blow against the door sends a shockwave of fear coursing through my body. It is hard to concentrate. I struggle to focus, and formulate a plan.
The wood frame of the door starts to give way to his bulk. My breathing escalates. Panic swallows me whole. If I don’t move fast, I’ll be at his mercy.
My hand grazes over something thick and dense. The light focuses, and I narrow my gaze on what I have found. A crowbar. I can’t afford for him to gain entry to the room. I’d surely perish. I have to act now.
A plan starts to gel through the terror that is flooding my brain. Actually, it is more of a last-ditch effort to save my life.
I retrieve the crowbar from the pile of tools, and turn my attention back to the door. The phone drops as my fingers wrap around the solid piece of steel.
The light illuminates the small space in an eerie luminescence as I spew a breath of tension.
Wood splinters.
The door gives way.
He rushes in.
His face is framed in a portrait of pure rage.
Without further thought, I act.
Wielding the crowbar, I swing with all my might. The bent end connects with the side of his head. His skull crunches and crackles. The impact knocks him off balance, and into the door.
Dazed for only a moment, he twists his head up, and looks at me. I swing again.
A wail escapes his bloody lips as he stumbles out of the storage closet, struggling to keep his feet under him. He collapses to the ground. No words are spoken, just grunts and incoherent ramblings.
The light strains to reach out into the bleakness. Only the man’s silhouette can be seen. My eyes adjust some to the darkness. I watch in disbelief as he starts to get back up. Two blows to the head should’ve put him down, but it hasn’t.
He reaches for me from the flat of his ass. His fingers tickle the air as he growls through clenched teeth. He’s blocking my path to escape from the storage room. He isn’t going to stop until I’m dead.
I take the pointed end, and jam it into the middle of his forehead. I push with all my might, burrowing the steel tip in as far as it will go.
A final grunt escapes his mouth as his lifeless hands drop to the floor.
He’s dead.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Taking a man’s life. I’ve never done that before. Regardless if it was in self-defense or not, it was still hard to do.
My body is tense. Neck tight. My once pounding heart has slowed down. Sweat bubbles on my forehead, and races down my flush face. My eyes sting from the salt invading them.
I tug at the crowbar, but it doesn’t budge. It is buried deep. Every pull brings the man’s lifeless head forward. I consider leaving the crowbar, but what if there are more like him out there? Although not a killer, I’m not opposed to defending myself.
My hands wrap around the crowbar tightly as I place my right boot against his chest. I pull and push at the same time. A squishing sound fills my ears, making me gag, but I pull harder. The pointed tip finally wiggles free.
The man’s body hits the floor with a dense thud. I blow the stray hairs in front of my face out of the way, retrieve my phone from the closet, and make for the swinging doors.
I toss them open, and enter the hall, only to find Nora standing to my left. Startled, I raise the crowbar in defense.
Her arms spring up in a defensive manner. “Woah, Madison, it’s just me.” Her body recoils, naked fear in her eyes. Coming down off the high of adrenaline bombarding my system, I slowly lower the crowbar to my side as my body deflates. “Christ. You scared the hell out of me.”
“Yeah, sorry. I was just coming to check on you.” She looks me up and down. “What the hell happened to you?”
Spent, I glance over my shoulder at the storage room. “I went to get an additional blanket for my bed, and found some guy in blue coveralls just standing in the darkness. He just attacked me. Or tried to. He had me cornered in some closet. I found this crowbar and... defended myself.”
Nora’s face is thick with shock and disbelief. She glances to the storage room, then back to me. She cautiously walks over to the doors, and opens them slowly. She disappears into the darkness, and turns on the lights.
The toll of the intense encounter weighs heavily on me. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. I calm my thoughts as best I can, and take in a deep gulp of air. I release it slowly.
Nora screams.
She runs out, the light from the overhead lamps bringing to life the dead man sprawled out on the floor. Blood is smeared over the linoleum, and pooled under his head—a gruesome scene that the darkness spared me from.
“It’s Stan, the facilities general handy-man and mechanic. Why would he do that? He’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met.”
I shrug, and point to the right side of my neck. “It looked like he was attacked himself. He had a nasty bite mark here.”
She doubles over. The heels of her hands rest on the soft parts of her knees. She appears as though she is going to throw up. After seeing the aftermath in the light, I feel much the same.
“What’s going on here?” I ask.
She places the palm of her hand over her mouth as her body convulses. The gagging noise torments my stomach even more, but I maintain.
Nora keeps the contents of her lower region down as well. I’m thankful for that. I’m prone to upheaving rather easily if I so much as catch a whiff or sight of the vile stuff.
She swipes her hand across her lips, and turns toward me. She pants, eyes full of confusion and disgust. “I have no idea. I’m just as lost as you are.”
My head cocks to the side, lips pressed together. For some reason, I’m not buying her naive response. Not after what I have just been through.
“So, you have no idea why that crazy bastard in there had a chunk of his flesh ripped from his neck, and attacked me like Dr. Stevens would’ve attacked me?”
“Of course not, Madison.” Her confused state quickly fades, and turns to that of a defensive posture. Her body tenses, and eyes narrow at me. “I have never encountered anything like this before. I have no earthly idea what is happening. I can’t believe I’m actually standing here defending myself to this.” Nora takes a step back and sighs. Revulsion clouds her face as she looks away from me. She is pissed from my question. I am either completely wrong to ask, or hit a nerve that tells me she knows more than she is letting on. I decide to press further.
“The only reason I ask is because I recently spoke with one of your staff members. They speculated that Dr. Stevens’s odd behavior and ailment could be due to her being exposed to some sort of contagion or virus when one of the seals on Tak’s chamber failed.”
Nora glances back at me, and pulls her sh
oulders close to her body. She shakes her head, and crosses her arms. “Cynthia.”
I shrug. “I didn’t catch her name. She didn’t offer and I didn’t ask. She seemed to have a whole lot to say on what is happening around here. Although intriguing, I took what she said with a grain of salt. After what I just went through, though, I’m inclined to give it some credit.”
“That woman is delusional. I think she’s been onsite for too long. People can get stressed out when they are stationed in remote locations for long periods of time. I think she’s at her breaking point,” Nora hisses. “I told Vincent that he needed to send her home, but he declined that request. He wanted her to stay and help out. Much like everyone else here, he feels she is of great value. Don’t get me wrong, she is a smart and talented scientist, but she can also cause problems. Likes to force feed her conspiracy theories down other people’s throats whether they want it or not. Vincent knows this, but still insists that she is fine overall.”
“So, Dr. Stevens wasn’t exposed to any toxins when the seal ruptured?” I redirect.
Nora’s eyes remain deadlocked with mine. “When the seal ruptured, some air vented out of the chamber. Dr. Stevens was exposed, but only briefly. Shortly after the incident, she was examined, and found to be perfectly fine with no side effects. It was only later that she fell ill.”
I hold my hand up to my face. “Why wasn’t she wearing a mask while in the lab?”
Nora sighs, and shakes her head. “The chamber that he is stored in was designated as being more than sufficient by myself and even Vincent. However, since that incident, it has been required that any personnel entering the lab wear safety masks in case of a repeat failure.”
“Has the rest of the staff been briefed on what had happened?” I pose.
“Yes. All base personnel were informed of the incident, and the updated protocols, promptly,” Nora answers with an angered tone. “Listen, Madison, let’s get one thing straight here. I don’t work for you. I work for Vincent. It is at my sole discretion to divulge what I want to you, and how to run this facility. Other than examining Tak, and giving us your input, you’re not entitled to anything else. The situation was handled per protocol, and within operating procedures. You just worry about doing what Vincent paid you to do.”
Dead State Box Set [0-5] Page 4
