by Alan Spencer
“I-I think we're fresh out of time to sightsee. I hear them coming, Boyd. What are we going to do?”
There was only one other direction to go, and Boyd prayed it was a way out. He clutched Cindy's wrist. She gasped at how hard he pulled her along. They crossed a security office. Nothing useful was inside. Only blood.
A flashing light drew Boyd’s attention. He hadn't noticed it before. The blinking light was coming from a keypad next to a security door. Boyd ran to it, trying the door, and just as he thought, it was locked. A security camera hung above them. A red light was blinking at them.
“Who do you think is behind that door?”
Boyd shook his head. “There’s no way of knowing from our standpoint.”
Cindy looked up at the camera and called out, “Help! Show some compassion. This place is full of them—let us in!”
“They won’t listen. It’s probably no one back there. The rest of this place is empty. No one’s alive here. We have to turn back and find a place to hide. Quick."
To the left of them, another hall waited unchecked with a bright exit sign at the end.
The door to the emergency fire stairs was thrown open.
A mass of dead bodies poured forth.
“Get on your knees and crouch down out of sight.”
Boyd kept his eyes glued to them. The corpses paused at the threshold unsure of which option to take. One of the dead intruders took the lead down the corridor into the boiler room. Many of them soon followed. How long would it be until they decided to check this way? It bought them time, if not moments, Boyd reasoned.
“Watch them. Maybe we can lock them in a room.”
Boyd realized the ridiculousness of the notion. They would break through, or crawl up into the ceiling and roam around like at Mariatelli’s. Dozens already occupied the boiler room, and more kept adding to the numbers.
“I’m getting the fuck out of here. What are we waiting for?”
“I don’t know. I had hopes for this place. I'm disappointed, is all. We didn’t find any supplies, or people."
Then the door at the end of the hallway clicked.
The red light turned to green.
Boyd opened the door an impulse.
He lunged inside with Cindy following at his back.
* * *
Hayden watched them enter as the door was closing.
The green light was still on.
The dead beings noticed the two enter as well. The corpses were half-way to Hayden, clamoring for the escaping couple. Hayden lunged to the entrance to beat them, hoping he’d cross the threshold in time. Sprinting and reaching out, Hayden snagged the door handle and threw it back open, forcing his way inside.
The moment the door closed, the light turned back to red.
A New Face
It wasn’t another corridor behind the security door, but instead, a short landing punctuated by a new set of long stairs. Boyd and Cindy clacked down the two flights and cleared enough distance that they slowed to a walking pace.
Boyd smiled at her. “We’re safe now, I suppose. This has to mean something. Somebody unlocked that door. Somebody is here.”
“Yeah,” Cindy agreed, "but are they friendly, or one of the bastards who put us here?”
"We’re closer to an answer now, and that’s about all we can expect for the time being. Just keep your eyes open. We’ve survived so far. You and I make a great team.”
“Scared and terrified, what a great duo!”
Cindy heard the pounding of footsteps from the floor above them. “I wonder what they’re doing up there now? Are they waiting for us outside, or are they plotting for a way to pick the lock?”
Boyd was hit by a sudden pang of weakness. “We need to relax. Those bastards are really taking their toll on us. Every break from them we can get, we better enjoy it.”
“You must’ve been a good cop. You’re sensible under pressure.”
“And you must’ve been an awesome secretary the way you hold that Glock. I wonder how you handled your stationary.”
This time she laughed. “God, you’re ridiculous."
They ascended another set of stairs. The din above them was fading. The end of the stairs brought them to a new security door. A camera was poised above the entrance. The red light blinked at them, indicating no access.
Boyd looked at Cindy. “What do you think?”
“Someone’s behind that door.” Cindy cranked her neck up at the camera. “Why aren’t you letting us in? Face us, huh?"
The door's lock clicked in response.
They hurried through to the other side. Ahead of them was a long hall marked with white tiles and sky blue painted walls. Doors were on both sides of them. There were no office numbers, or signs marking the area.
“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.”
“It smells like bleach...and them,” Cindy said. “I hope none of them are hiding down here.”
Half-way down the hall, they came upon a restroom and a break room with two vending machines. Inside, there was a hot plate on a table and a set of pans drying by the sink. A pot of coffee brewed on the counter.
Boyd’s suspicions were confirmed.
“Someone’s definitely living down here.”
Back in the main hallway, they fixed on a room with double doors and tinted windows. The doors were secure, but Boyd kept trying them anyway. “Everything’s locked up.”
“And it’s locked up for a reason,” a voice called out from the end of the hall. They both glared at the man. He walked forward, his lab coat flapping behind him. “I’ll ask you to step away from that door, please. No entry.”
The man had the esteem of a mad scientist. He was balding with a gray comb-over poorly disguising his exposed scalp. His silver-rimmed glasses hung from a necklace down at his chest. He blinked every two seconds, suffering from a nervous tick.
“You two need to follow me immediately.”
Boyd detected the bulge from the doctor’s hip. A holster housed a revolver. He eyed Cindy and agreed. They would follow the stranger.
Three rooms down, the doctor opened a door and ushered them inside. He locked it behind him and bolted it secure. Boyd was taken back by the large control room, and the row of six television screens, and ten smaller monitors across the bottom.
The doctor sat in front of a keyboard, issuing an annoyed grunt. “One of them followed you inside. But that’s okay. It’s better than the whole mess of ‘em. Now keep your eye on the center screen.”
The camera’s eye zoomed in on a figure skulking down the hall and sneaking into the break room. The doctor pressed a console button, and the door shut by itself. The thing pounded his fist against the door, caught off-guard.
“Trapped him!"
Boyd was puzzled at the man who kept trying the door to break through the door to no avail. “That man, he’s not moving like the other dead people."
“I’ve been watching you two move throughout the entire building. You’ve handled this very well. Many people make it this far, and they die before reaching me. It’s too easy to get trapped, but you guys kept your heads together. This man has been following you the entire time.”
The doctor typed on the console and flipped a switch. The camera focused harder, and it wasn’t until Boyd studied the dead skin mask and the flesh plastered onto its arms and neck that he realized it was Hayden.
“We have him where we want him now. We're saved!”
Cindy’s eyes didn’t leave the monitors. She breathed faster at the sight of hundreds of the dead pounding on the door upstairs. “Are they ever going to give up and leave?”
“Oh sure. It might be a week or two, but it’ll happen. Someone else comes along and distracts them.”
Boyd couldn’t remove his eyes from the screens, like Cindy. “Can you explain this mess? How are these people still alive? What possesses them to do the things they do?"
“I’ll explain that in a little bit,” the doctor said, turning to them fac
e-to-face. “My name’s Henry Glover. Dr. Glover. I’m a surgeon and biochemist.”
“My name’s Boyd, and this is—”
“—Cindy, I know. I’m notified every time someone is thrown into this dreadful place. You’re our special case, Officer Broman, but I’m afraid your use for them is about over.”
“My use for whom, Doctor?” Boyd's body tensed. “What do you know?”
Dr. Glover sucked in a weary breath. “I’m on your side, Boyd. This project should’ve been shut down years ago, even during its initial conception. I’m the only original researcher that’s survived, and I’m the only one who’s still here.”
“You’re all alone?” Cindy was concerned the man couldn't help them. “How come?”
“It's been that way for more then ten years. Three of us were left to find a solution to this problem, a way to stop those fiends you fought off out there. When I say “stop" I mean control them. Master them. Use them. Give them directives. They could rot out if we left them alone, but it’s a self-perpetuating cycle. The new use the old as scrap, like we use transplants and transfusions to renew our bodies.
"My colleagues, Dr. Kurt Jamison and Gloria Nichols, both died in that room I told you is off limits earlier. I won’t tell you how they died, because I don’t want to alarm you, but I took care of the situation before it grew out of control. The root of our problems is in that fucking room, and I’ll reiterate, don’t you ever go inside.”
“What’s in there, Pandora’s Box?” Boyd could only imagine what the doctor was withholding. “We’re here, and according to those bastards knocking on our door, it’s going to be awhile before we escape. Hayden’s locked up; we’re safe for the moment. It’s okay to tell us everything. So speak up, please.”
“You won’t be safe for long.” Dr. Glover couldn’t look them in the eye. He cursed at a whisper, his frustration obvious. “It’s not about me, guys. Please take care to remember that when I tell you what’s going on, but first, let’s have a drink. You two have been through hell.”
Trapped
Hayden cleared the door at the bottom of the stairs before it closed. He stalked Boyd and Cindy close behind them and remained undetected. The echo from above, he could hear the dead rampage. They knew he was down here.
They want to follow their leader. They’ll follow you anywhere.
Every entry was locked, so far. Bleach and embalming fluid saturated the air. Hayden’s uncle, Ned, worked as a funeral embalmer, and Hayden was given a tour of the place when he was ten years old. Uncle Ned babysat him whenever his father, a single man, traveled on business selling vacation homes when Hayden was too young to be left alone.
Hayden learned how a trocar cable sucked the blood and fluids from the organs by a puncture through the midsection. He witnessed how the jugular and femoral arteries could be let of blood. The rest of the work was cleaning the body with antibacterial soap and applying the make-up. Hayden had treated three dozen naked cadavers, pre-funeral, before he was eleven years old.
“They’re skin and bones like us,” Uncle Ned would say as he thrust the needle to insert embalming fluid through the femoral artery. “Death is the great equalizer. Rich or poor, when you’re dead, we’re finally all in the same boat. All fucked."
The dead flesh adhering to Hayden's skin itched. He wondered if anyone among the living caught him down here, would they mistake him for one of the things? Hayden would be shot on sight. He considered peeling the flesh off when he noticed a door nearby was ajar. A break room.
Hayden stepped inside without hesitation, and after taking three steps, the door was thrown shut behind him.
“What the hell?”
Who could’ve shut the door? He tried the doorknob, and it was locked. Hayden pounded the door and eventually gave up. He studied his surroundings: the two vending machines, a hot plate, cookware, and many cupboards. He rummaged through them to find canned goods stocked the shelves. The fridge was occupied with cans of beer, and near the fridge, was a wine rack. Hayden opened a bottle of Pinot Noir and slugged down three gulps. He continued drinking until half of the bottle was finished. He plopped down into a chair with his head buzzing.
That’s when he observed the camera stationed above the door.
“You like watching me?”
Hayden unzipped his pants and pissed on the floor, waving his dick around, and making a real show of it.
He immediately regretted it.
The tang of urine on the open air was potent.
Inspire fear, Hayden, and you become immortal. You tore a man’s throat out with your bare teeth in prison, now you’re pissing on the floor. Nobody will go near you. You’re masked in dead skin. You’re one of them, now. So strong. So unstoppable. You are death.
Hayden missed Richard. The man was an influence that bettered his life. Richard disappeared one night, and Hayden never found out what had happened to him. Hayden was nineteen at the time. Richard’s last words to Hayden were, “I’m going to Hooker Boulevard; I’ll bring back food.”
Richard didn’t return. Hayden waited inside the man's apartment, and by two o’clock the next afternoon, he knocked on Richard's door, to no answer. He used the key given to him and searched Richard’s quarters. He sorted through the man’s bed, rolled in his sheets and enjoyed the smell of him—cologne and shaving cream; a fatherly smell—and counted the plastic bags in the man’s freezer. The flesh Richard had saved up over the years. “When the police smarten up, I won’t be out of a meal,” Richard once explained the large meat supply.
The next morning, Hayden woke alone in Richard's bed. He lingered about the apartment for two more days, and even then, Hayden cased the neighborhoods and Hooker Boulevard for his mentor, and to this day, Richard remained missing, without a cause.
Hayden balled up his fists to the camera, horrified at the remembrance, and pissed off at his entrapment.
“LET ME OUT!”
His demand rang throughout the room with a metallic echo. The words reached no one. Hayden raced to the trashcan, clutching it in both hands to throw.
“I’ll break your fucking camera, how about that? Let me out!"
He was too drunk to maintain a solid grip on the trashcan, and when he flung it, it veered awkwardly into the wall, missing his original target.
The plaster broke and formed a divot.
Hayden traced the break with his pointer finger.
He decided there might be a way out of the room, after all...
About Time For An Explanation
Dr. Glover invited them into a recreational room, with ping-pong table, pool table, dart board, pinball machine, and Pac-Man arcade game. A treadmill was folded up on the far wall alongside a set of free weights and a bench press. There was a wood counter, and behind it, a tall standing shelf of hard liquor. Dr. Glover removed a bottle of Southern Comfort and three highball glasses. The doctor poured each of them a strong drink.
“Here you go, you two. You've earned it.”
Boyd slugged a burning mouthful. He felt light-headed, but his focus remained on the doctor, and the answering of his questions.
“So you’re on our side, huh? Then what is all of this about, Dr. Glover? Please."
Cindy finished the entire glass in one gulp. “Fill ‘er up. My nerves are shot. By the end of this, if there’s an end, I’ll need a nerve transplant. Maybe two."
Dr. Glover eyed her tenderly. He hadn’t had any human contact for a long time, Boyd sensed, and Cindy was an attractive young lady. The doctor’s eyes couldn’t leave her face. “You’re doing fine. You two are troopers. It’s a shame they want to kill you.”
“Who wants to kill us?” Cindy’s relief vanished.
Dr. Glover reassured them quickly. “I shouldn’t have put it that way. I’ll start by with telling you this. Chris Stapleton, a former member of homeland security, ex-CIA operative, and current commander of the Green’s End Project—what surrounds you—is the man who’s been calling you on the phone, Boyd. He’s in
charge of keeping the facility locked down. The military guards this place for miles, and we’re twenty-five miles in each direction from any civilians. Commander Stapleton wants Hayden for questioning, because more of his bodies have been found—something you’ve been told, I assume. It’ll be a private interrogation, and I imagine the tactics will be brash. No one cares to protect the rights of a dead man.”
“I’m a dead man,” Boyd countered, staring the doctor down sharply. “Does anyone care about my rights?”
“I do,” Dr. Glover insisted. “You’re my way out.”
Boyd was confused. “I'm your way out?”
Dr. Glover stole a taste from his glass, and his tired eyes glowed with a flicker of hope. The man removed a necklace and showed them a red plastic card on the end.
“This card unlocks the front gate. I stole it from one of Stapleton’s idiots, his body shields, as I like to call them. Stapleton’s a coward, and that’s why he’s not stepping into the complex, or has yet to for the entire ten years we’ve kept this operation running. The perimeter is rigged with cameras. He’s going to send body shields into this facility for Hayden. They’re on their way, now that we have him locked up. It means there’s no more use for you, Boyd. But it buys us time, guys.”
“You’re getting ahead of everything,” Boyd said. “Why do those things out there even exist?”
“Do you remember Chernobyl, and the nuclear leak? They sent people inside to shovel out the pieces of wreckage protected with a body suit and a face mask. I guess this was before people understood the true nature of radiation. Holding your breath and wearing a paper mask isn’t enough to protect you from cancer, and the long-term affects of exposure.
"And imagine the United States and Russia during the Cold War, with their chemical weapons poised at each other with the readiness of a trigger-pull. China and Japan have always boasted their nuclear capability, and why shouldn’t they feel the pressing need to, what with Nagasaki and Hiroshima? Harry Truman didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. Truman just signed a paper, and up went villages and cities into vapor. And don’t even start me on the Middle East. We’re talking terrorists with big weapons, chemical weapons, and worse intentions.
