by Mark Tufo
“Stay here, Gem,” I yelled as I started down the metal stairs, taking them two at a time. “Keep your Glock ready.”
I reached the first floor landing and pushed the door bar slowly. The door opened, and smoky, fuel-enriched oxygen and sunlight poured through. I saw nothing straight ahead, but as I stepped completely out, the wall behind my head exploded, a diagonal zipper pattern appearing on the surface just above me. I dove to the ground, landing on my elbow and hip and swung my rifle in the direction of the incoming rounds, and fired off a two second burst that put twenty rounds in the direction of what I hoped was the source.
I was apparently pretty close, because the gunfire stopped long enough for me to jump back to my feet and run for a small alcove in the building’s wall to the right of the door. “Hemp!” I shouted.
“Over here,” he said, and it sounded like he was just on the other side of the outcropping where I was taking cover.
“Cover me!” I called, and it was followed by machine gun fire. I dove around the outcropping and back to the solid brick wall, and he was beside me, crouched down, slamming another magazine into his Heckler and Koch.
“Where are they?” I asked, trying to keep my voice as low as possible.
“In one of the patrol Jeeps,” Hemp said. “I’m not sure why they’re shooting at me, except maybe they’re a tad on edge about now.”
“Did you try to identify yourself?”
“They can’t hear anything over their own gunfire, unfortunately. We’re just going to have to –”
His words were cut off when the open-cab Jeep drove past again and two uniformed men, one brandishing a machine gun of his own, came back into view. Hemp and I said nothing. We both raised our weapons and sent a continuous barrage of lead at the vehicle and its occupants.
The driver was clearly hit. Crimson spray erupted from his head and his body flew out and rolled as the small truck spun sharply toward us, and onto two wheels. My gun was empty, but Hemp had deftly ejected his magazine and slammed another one in. As the jeep’s undercarriage and fuel tank were exposed, Hemp fired into it, turning it into an instantaneous fireball.
We watched it for a moment, hoping there wasn’t another vehicle behind it. After two minutes of no movement or activity, we approached the body of the man who had flown free of the burning four-wheeler. Hemp knelt beside the man.
“We’ve got our key card,” he said. “I just hate that we had to kill more uninfecteds to get it.”
“They didn’t give us a choice, Hemp. You know that.”
“I know. But I’ve a feeling we’re going to be alone enough in this world. I can’t stand making it more so.”
I patted him on the back and he stood. The key card Hemp held in his hand had the metallic strip intact, but a clean 9mm bullet hole ran right through the man’s photograph. His name was Louis Franklin, he looked to be about 24 years old, and thankfully, Hemp did not know him or his family.
Chapter 222
We went back to the truck, checked on the dog, who was lost in what was apparently a pretty good dream when we arrived, and loaded up on ammo again. We’d not intended on using so much in one fell swoop, which just served to remind us that you never knew what you were going to encounter, so better to be over prepared, even if it meant carrying a little extra weight.
We closed the door and started back toward Building #2’s entry door.
“You going to name the dog?” Hemp asked.
“I think we’ll let Trina do that,” I said. “She needs something to occupy that little mind of hers besides her family. She’s never going to see them again – at least from what it looks like now.”
Hemp put a hand on my shoulder as we approached the entrance door. We wouldn’t need to be buzzed in this time. Hemp swiped the card. “Flex, I know we’re all clinging to a bit of hope here, but you do realize your sister’s condition is unlikely to ever be reversed, don’t you?”
I pulled the door open about an inch and looked at him. “I know that. In my heart I know that holding on to this particle of hope is foolish, but meeting you and learning your background has given me that much more hope,” I said, holding my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “Just that much, but it’s enough. I can’t even tell you what she means to me.”
“Let’s go find Max,” Hemp said, nodding at the door. “He may be able to give us more, which might further our ability to make a game plan.”
I pulled it open and we went inside, and back into the stairwell.
When we got back to the second floor landing, Gem was sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, and Trina curled up against her. The Glock was in her hand, resting against her knee.
“Finally,” she said, getting to her feet. “What happened out there?”
“Couple of guards just started shooting at us. Had some pretty high-powered guns themselves, but we got the jump on them, because one was driving and only one was shooting.”
Hemp swiped the card to the second level and the door latch clicked. He pulled it open and poked his head into the hallway. “Clear,” he said.
We moved out into the hallway as a unit, same formation as before with Hemp in the lead, Gem pulling Trina along by her hand, and me bringing up the rear. The level was clear. The lab in which Max was locked was just 50 yards down the hall, and we made it there without incident. Hemp rapped on the door.
A round face peered through the wire-reinforced glass, then smiled. A moment later the lock clicked, and the door swung in.
“Dr. Chatsworth!” shouted Max, as though he had found a long-lost friend. He took Hemp’s hand and clasped it with both of his. “I can’t tell you what a relief it is to see you!”
Max Romero was a short man, around five-and-a-half feet tall, bald with hair on both sides of his head. He wore wire framed round glasses, and his skin was a medium brown tone as a result of his Mexican heritage.
“Max, please meet Gem, Flex and little Trina here. We’ve got a dog in the car, but no name for her yet.”
Max took everyone’s hand and shook them as introductions were made, except for Trina, whom he patted on top of the head, letting his hand pause on her cheek. “It’s so good to meet all of you. It’s been harrowing here all by myself. I’ve kept my eye on that camera, but you’re the only ones to show up so far.”
“We met a couple of your guards downstairs just now,” I said. “Unfortunately, they tried to kill me and Hemp, and we had to turn it around on them.”
Max looked confused for a moment. “Hemp? Oh, Hemp! Sorry, Dr. Chatsworth. I knew you went by that, but our relationship has always been on more of a professional level.”
“Please,” Hemp said. “Just call me Hemp at this point. Max, what have you learned about this thing? Anything?”
Max shook his head slowly. “Not much, I’m afraid. The headaches that precede the main symptoms, which can drive you crazy on their own, are powerful. A couple of colleagues I was speaking with had the headaches, and trying to ask them questions about it was like trying to get a 2-month old puppy to focus on learning a trick. The pain was intense and completely distracting. At that time, I had no idea what it would become.”
“Did they say anything about dreams?”
Max’s eyes went round. “Yes, they did, as a matter of fact. Horrible dreams the night before. Then they woke up with the headache, and . . . well, we know what comes next.”
“Do you have a plan, Max?” Gem asked the question. Her eyes were intense. “What you’re going to do?”
He nodded. “I made a commitment to the CDC, and as an extension of that, to the American people. So, if you can help me secure at least this building, I’d be content staying here and helping direct anyone else who might come this way looking for help.”
“It is the most logical place,” I said. “It’s the first place I considered coming. Even before I ran into Hemp, here.”
“I’ve got what’s basically a Ham radio here, and I’ve set it to automatically scan
the frequencies. I’ve heard a few snippets of people talking. As far away as Texas. So there are others out there.”
“Have you spoken to any of them?” I asked.
Max nodded. “Only so far as to tell them that the infection is here in Georgia, too. And that for all intents and purposes, the CDC is out of commission. If they stop by, I can direct them to where I know the uninfecteds are located, but there’s no sense in them coming here if we’re unable to offer any real assistance.”
I nodded, knowing he was right. It would be good for people to know what frequency the CDC was on, so that Max could give out any information he was able, but as for them coming here, it wasn’t helpful. The living, uninfected needed to get together with others. Safety in numbers.
“I’m concerned about your generator, Max. You’re not going to be able to stay here long if that runs out. You said a couple of weeks. Is there enough food here to hold you?
“Absolutely. I could eat here for a couple of months, since the generator also keeps our main freezer going. But that gen is going to have about another 11 days before it shuts down hard, and for good.”
“How do you refuel it?” Gem asked.
“We have some huge above-ground LP tanks here, as well. Not feeding to the generator supply tanks, but we keep the additional LP gas on hand for many other uses. Burners, heaters, torches. Behind this building.”
“How far from the generator tanks?” Hemp asked.
“I have no idea where the gen tanks are buried, but I assume they’re close to the gens themselves. Northeast corner of the building. And the above-ground tanks are on the same side of the building, but about a hundred or so yards away.”
“Okay,” Hemp said. “Max, are you staying here? Or do you want to join us?”
Max didn’t hesitate. “I have to stay, Dr. Chatsworth. I feel an obligation.”
“Okay, then. I thought you’d feel that way,” Hemp nodded. “But here’s what we’re going to try to do.” He turned to me. “Flex, if we can find enough black pipe, I want to run it from the spare tanks to the feed for the underground LP tanks. Depending on the size and how full they are, that ought to keep Max here up and running for up to a month or more if power draw is minimized.”
“Yeah,” I said. “And in a month, we never know what course this thing might take. The infecteds might all be dead, and at that point Max could leave the building safely.”
“It could go the other way, too.” Max looked at Hemp with concern in his eyes.
“Let’s hope not,” Hemp said. “Max, are there any of the mobile labs downstairs? Those converted motor homes?”
Max nodded. “We have six of them down there. One is brand new. A 2011 that we just took delivery on. Nice 40 foot with four slide-outs.”
“I know this might go against your grain, but would you mind if we took one?” Hemp looked directly into Max’s eyes.
Max laughed. “Dr. Chatsworth, if you’re going to take the time to increase my lifeline here, then of course you can take what you need! Having you out there working on this thing is about all I can ask for. I know you’ll do what you can to find a cure or a way to stop this thing. Don’t ask, just take.”
“I think I’ve got an idea,” Gem said. “Trina, I want you to stay here with Dr. Romero, okay? He’s going to give you a soda.” She looked at Max and nodded, and he nodded back. “We’re going to go out and clear the rest of this building of anything we find.”
Max walked us to a building layout diagram on the wall. He pointed. “We’re here right now. Above ground there’s one level above this floor, this level, and the first floor. Below ground we have the garages where the mobile labs and other vehicles are located. I’d guess you start at the top, work your way down. The key card you have should get you into restricted areas, too.”
“Any areas we should stay out of? Perhaps due to airborne contaminates?”
Max shook his head. “No experimentation with anything extraordinary right now. You’re safe, aside from the obvious.”
“Okay,” I said. Let’s get this done. Then, if we’re smart, we’ll secure all the doors, get a nice long nap, re-pipe the LP gas line, and pick our lab and go.”
“I need a bigger gun before we do this,” Gem said. “And I’d like to bring our furry girl inside, too.” She smiled.
We had our plan. We went outside to get the dog and Gem’s favorite Uzi.
After returning to the lab with no confrontations of any kind, we began to wonder where all the infecteds were. Max had told us that there were 110 to 130 people in building #2 at any given time, particularly at the time of the first encounter with those who had turned into whatever they had become.
Hemp had also been vocalizing his questions about how the virus or infection might evolve, and how quickly it might happen. Would these creatures become more aggressive? Smarter? Would their senses evolve with their growing hunger, allowing them to better find their prey?
Too many questions and not enough answers – yet. But they would come, we knew, in time.
“Elevator this time?” Hemp said.
“Why not? We’re loaded up with magazines and we’ll need to preserve energy,” Gem said.
“Let’s go,” I said. “This building’s not going to clear itself.”
We got into the elevator, which was already on the 2nd floor. Hemp slid the card and the lights flashed on. He hit the 3 button and the hydraulics kicked in.
We rose smoothly to the top floor and the car stopped. The doors didn’t open immediately, but when they did, we all involuntarily jumped back.
The room was filled with feasting infecteds. Blood and gore was strewn all around the landing, and bloody handprints were smeared on the walls. The stench blasted us in the face the moment the doors opened, and Hemp began slamming the palm of his hand on the second floor button again the moment he laid eyes on the horrifying scene in front of us.
Then, all at once, every creature within eyeshot raised their dead faces and looked right at us.
“Fuck. Hemp, swipe the card! The card!” Gem’s gun was held out in front of her, but she didn’t pull the trigger. None of the infecteds had moved yet, but from our short distance away, it was uncanny how we could see their dead-looking nostrils flare to twice their former size.
Smelling us.
Then they were on the move. Simultaneously, it seemed. The things stood straight up, and as though listening to one command, they all moved toward us at once.
Too fast. Gem fired her Uzi at about a five and a half foot height, and took out six abnormals with one lateral spray of bullets. Their heads turned into pulp and their bodies twisted to the left and right depending on how they were hit. One of the creatures survived the shot only taking a hit in the shoulder, and as his body spun around, he launched himself forward toward the elevator door.
And then the man-thing was lying on the elevator floor between us, its disgusting mouth constantly masticating, its remaining teeth scraping along the leather outer of my shoe as its hand reached out and snatched hold of Hemp’s leg. He was dressed in a lab coat, once white, but now smeared with gore and blood. Grey matter sprinkled the shoulders, and he immediately lost a tooth trying to bite through my leather boots as I tried to kick him loose.
“I don’t want to shoot your foot!” Gem shouted, then threw her submachine gun over her shoulder and pulled the Glock from her waistband. She put it against the thing’s head, angling the barrel away from my foot, and fired.
The shot rang in our ears in the confines of the elevator car and the thing’s head exploded, its body crumpling to the floor. The doors closed, then bounced open, hitting the creature’s legs.
“Jesus, we have to move him – in or out!”
More of the things were moving toward us from a distant hall.
“Let’s get out, then!” Gem shouted. “We came up here to clear the floor, right?” Her voice was high-pitched and her accent was prominent under stress. I looked at Hemp and we knew she was right. H
e yanked his leg free of the dead thing’s grip, and we all jumped out, our weapons back in the kill position.
“Stand back, cover this area in thirds!” I shouted. “I got left, Gem, you get the middle, and Hemp, get the right!”
Two of them, formerly young women, which was fairly evident from the long, flowing blonde hair on one of them and the above-the-knee length skirt on the other, were munching on another woman, this one older, evident by the grey hair and a mustard-colored pantsuit. The young women’s legs were grey-green with the now familiar roadmap of veins running just beneath the opaque skin. One had been doing a good job on the center of the woman’s back, specifically the fleshy part at the waist, and the other had been gnawing on the side of the woman’s neck. Aside from their jaws pulling the meat from her body in stringy mouthfuls, the woman’s body lay still. She was now dead – mercifully so.
But I must have smelled better, because they were drawn to me without question. The flaring nostrils as they rushed toward me mesmerized me for a moment, and in each of them I saw Jamie. I held my weapon out, wanting to pull the trigger, but wondering in the back of my mind who once loved them, who might be unaffected and be at home, barricaded in the house, perhaps even calling their cell phones wondering why they weren’t answering, but fearing – no, knowing – the worst had happened.
Now they moved. Almost as though they were supercharged by electrical probes, they rushed toward me in a jerky-quick motion. I was still trying to put who they once were straight in my mind when I heard that voice – the grounding voice – call out.
It was Gem. “Flex, shoot them!”
I did, finally. I sprayed them with two quick two-round bursts, dropping them for the last time in a splatter-spray of red and gray, along with a mist of unknown fluids that added to the horrific stench in the room – the stench of decaying flesh and the unbreath of the undead.
Hemp had just fired on and extinguished the hunger of two more abnormals heading straight for him, their incisors working and grinding together in anticipation of fresh flesh. That finished his magazine, and he ejected it and tried to snap another in, but he didn’t see the abnormal that had just slid around the corner – and I mean slid, leaving a slimy, bloody smear-print of its tattered form along the wall.
