by L. T. Ryan
The lights flickered above them. Perhaps the power supply was nearing the end of its dwindling life. Or maybe one of the afflicted was sitting in an electrical room chewing through wires. Sean’s hand went to his belt and grabbed hold of the butt of his flashlight. It provided little comfort to him to know that he’d only be able to see a small section of the area in front of him should the lights go out and fail to come back on.
The only noise in the hallway was the constant buzzing that had been prevalent everywhere, except in the command room. He began to wonder if it wasn’t the lights, but rather the life that existed within the building that created the sound.
They slowed as they approached the end of the hallway.
Karl turned to Sean and said, “Let’s take this real slow. I’ll stay high, you go low. We round the corner together.”
“Okay,” Sean said, turning toward Karl and making eye contact with the man.
If he’d kept his eyes focused in front of him, he would have noticed the bloody hand that wrapped around the corner of the wall. Then it wouldn’t have been as much of a surprise when patient zero, the woman on the other side of the control room glass, launched herself straight at him.
Fourteen
“Get your ass off of me,” Turk yelled at the lifeless being whose jaw remained clenched around his arm. He fired again, disregarding his own safety, and landed a shot that severed the right side of the thing’s mandible from its head. He pulled his arm up and through the grate, refusing to look at the damage to his forearm. Instead, he took a few steps back and resumed firing. It seemed that not all of the afflicted had the ability to run fast or jump high. Only a select few had that good fortune. The rest milled about and moved at the same speed as the zombies Turk had grown up watching in horror movies.
He stopped shooting for a moment and scanned the crowd below, taking note of the tortured, soulless faces that stared up at him. Their eyes were bright, but hollow. Their skin was pale, discolored. Some of them had serious wounds on their heads and torsos. Their deep and wide gashes were crusted over, and in some cases, looked to be infected.
“Maybe they are zombies,” he muttered.
He’d have smiled if he weren’t so tired. He turned at the waist and saw his men engaged in combat. Turk shook his head at the decision he had to make. Help them, or continue trying to thin the herd below. He walked the other side of the grate, being careful to stay back should another zombie jump up and reach through for his leg. Once at the other end, he knelt down and lowered his head in an effort to see as far across the room as he could.
Turk found the sight below far from encouraging. The entire room appeared to be packed with zombies. They stood shoulder to shoulder, their eyes fixed on the being in front of them. The zombies closest to the cell block stared at the men in the cages. For the most part, they seemed oblivious to the SEALs above them.
We can’t win this, Turk thought. But he couldn’t leave the men locked up. Maybe it was time to call in and ask for help. Get the Army to send as many men as they could to come down here and fight the creatures below. He shook his head, knowing they’d laugh him off if he mentioned the word zombies. Even if they did take him seriously, how long would it take another company of Rangers to get there? How long had the guys from Delta been in captivity? At least four days from what Turk recalled. Why wasn’t he sure? Why couldn’t he remember simple details about the mission?
“Turk!”
The scream cut through the stiff, stale air like a hot knife through flesh.
Turk looked up and saw that one of his guys was attacking the others. He called out. Steele turned at the waist. Brady and Bates were on the floor, injured, barely moving. Steele held Schmitty’s lifeless body by the neck, a foot off the ground. It appeared that half of Schmitty’s face had been ripped off.
Steele smiled. His eyes shone bright. He dropped Schmitty and hunched over.
Turk lifted his rifle and set his sights on Steele’s forehead. However, before he squeezed the trigger, Steele lunged to the side and finished off Bates, whose final scream was cut short as Steele buried his face into the man’s neck and tore through the flesh, crushing his larynx.
Turk readjusted his weapon, and then fired. The first two shots hit Steele in the side, knocking him over onto his back. The man scooted along the floor, using his elbows to prop himself up, until he reached the wall. He tried to get to his feet, but Turk didn’t allow it. He squeezed the trigger one more time, sending a bullet into Steele’s forehead. The man’s body folded over itself and fell to the floor.
Bates lay still on the floor. Turk didn’t have to kneel down and inspect him to know that the man was dead. He turned his attention to Brady, who dragged himself with one arm toward Turk. His left arm was severed above the elbow, and blood pumped out in rhythm with his heart, forming a dark red river in his wake. He stopped and pushed himself up so that his chest was off the ground. Turk did his best to prevent his disgust at the site of the mangled man from showing on his face. One of Brady’s eyes was hanging from its socket, and his nose had been severed. Deep gashes lined his right cheek, and the wounds continued through both lips. Turk knew they were severe wounds, but they weren’t grave. However, the amount of blood the man had lost, and would continue to lose from his severed arm, was. Turk had to apply a tourniquet if there was any hope of saving Brady’s life.
Turk knelt down and started to turn the man over. However, when he saw the damage to Brady’s abdomen, he stopped.
“Just stay still,” Turk said. He laid Brady’s head down to the floor, then stood up. He walked behind the man, stopped, and aimed his rifle at the back of the SEALs head. “Forgive me,” he said as he pulled the trigger and ended Brady’s life.
He remained still for a moment, looking at the four men he’d served with. All of them had been with him for longer than three years. They’d ate together, trained together, killed together. Now, they’d died together, and he wondered if he’d soon join them.
For the first time, Turk noticed the intense pain in his arm. He flinched at the damage the zombie had inflicted. He laughed when he realized that his mocking them by calling them zombies had become prophetic. Damn flesh eaters. He determined that while the wound looked grisly, there wasn’t enough constant blood loss to require a tourniquet. He’d worry about cleaning the wound if he escaped the building alive.
Turk grabbed the rifles and submachine guns from his fallen SEALs, then moved back to the grate. He stared down at the remaining members of Delta, trapped in their cages like lab rats. The men stared back with faces devoid of hope. Despite Turk’s efforts, the room was packed full of those beings. There was no way he was getting the men out alive.
He slipped his pack off his back and set it on the floor. He reached inside and pulled out a pouch that held two small phones. The first one had no signal. He didn’t expect it to considering it was a satellite phone. The cellular phone would be hit or miss, he figured, although cellular communications was not his specialty. He’d had a decent signal outside, so it was a matter of how strong the antenna was, and what the builders of the facility placed in the ground above him. As he waited for the phone to boot up, Turk glanced around the room and, for the first time, noticed a faint trace of light from the corner nearest him. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder and walked toward the glow.
The light came from a shaft that appeared as though it might reach the surface. The opening was too small to tell if it led into another room in the facility or outside, but it appeared to be the best place to attempt a call. The phone finished booting up and Turk saw that it had a signal. It was faint, but a signal nonetheless. He pressed and held down the number five, sending a call to his CO. The man answered, and Turk began to relay everything that had happened, painting a vivid picture of the scene below him. He felt ridiculous using the word zombie over the phone, and was sure they would have him committed the moment he stepped foot on U.S. soil.
“Sir,” Turk said. “I don
’t know how long those men down there have left. How soon can you get reinforcements here?”
“Stand by, Chief.”
Turk clutched the phone and pressed it tight to his ear. He scanned the room, looking for any signs of movement. Everywhere he looked, he saw shadows dance across the floor and the walls. Upon closer inspection, he’d find nothing there. He wondered what the hell was wrong with him. Was it fear? He glanced at the wound on his arm and wondered if something worse than fear was causing his mind to play tricks on him.
“Get out,” his CO said abruptly.
“Sir?”
“There are no reinforcements, Turk. They’re going to carpet bomb the area. You’ve got an hour, hour-and-a-half max to get your men and get out of there.”
“My men are dead,” Turk said. “The guys from Delta, I can’t get to them.”
“Leave them then.”
“You’re gonna fucking murder them.”
“It’s not my call, Turk.” The man paused. “Just go. Don’t look back. This isn’t on your conscience.”
“Sir.”
There was no response.
“Sir,” Turk said again.
Still, no response.
He looked at the phone and saw that the call had been ended. He raised his arm, prepared to throw the phone, but decided against it. Instead, he crammed it into his pocket and walked past the grate on the floor. He lined the rifles along the wall, grabbed one, then walked back to the grate. The zombies on the floor beneath stared up at him. He looked past them and saw the seven men pressed against the back wall of a cell. He yelled out to them, and then began firing, picking off the afflicted beings below one at a time.
Three of the men in the cell began waving their arms, and Turk ceased fire.
“There’s too many,” one of them said.
“I don’t care,” Turk called back. “Can you open the cell?”
“No.”
“Dammit.” Turk lowered his weapon and wiped his brow. “Bombers are on the way. I gotta get this room cleared out.”
“Oh shit,” one of the men yelled. “They just broke through the main cell gate. They’re gonna get to us soon.”
Turk switched positions so he could see the entrance to the cell block. A line of zombies made their way through the outer hall within the cell block and stopped in front of the group of Deltas. They grabbed hold of the bars that line the cell and began shaking them. Turk knew that at some point the bars would give and crack at the joints. Turk took aim at the zombie at the head of the line. He started shooting. One by one, they went down until he had to stop to reload. That’s when he heard the men shouting to get his attention.
“What?” Turk yelled.
The men yelled in unison, “Kill us!”
Turk shook his head in disbelief.
“Kill us,” they repeated.
“Don’t let them attack us, man,” one called out. “You’ve seen what they do, right?”
Turk had seen what they could do. Ruiz’s pain-filled eyes still haunted him. He saw them as if they were two feet in front of his face, dark and tortured.
“Kill us,” the shouts continued, in unison, from below.
Turk scanned the area from all sides of the opening in the floor. There had to be a way to get them out. But the men were as far away from the stairwell door as they could be. There were hundreds of afflicted in between them and their escape, and now a horde of zombies lined up, a few feet from the men, like they were in line at a buffet. Soon enough, the doors to the restaurant would open, and the zombies would tear the men apart.
When his eyes fell back on the men, he saw that they’d turned their backs to him. They stood shoulder to shoulder, their arms wrapped around the backs of the men next to them. It wouldn’t be murder, Turk told himself. They’d asked for it. Rather than die at the hands of the afflicted, they’d rather another soldier take them out. They wanted a clean death, a warrior’s death, and Turk could give it to them. He had to. He’d want it for himself.
He dropped to one knee and took aim on the man in the middle. He took a second to ask God for forgiveness, and then he pulled the trigger. The bullet entered the man’s skull from behind and his body slumped, but did not fall. The men on either side held him up. Turk paid no attention to the pink cloud that hovered in the air. Tears fell from his eyes as he selected another man at random. One by one, he laid the surviving men from Delta to rest, saving the men on the end for last.
After the last man fell, Turk stepped back, and then fell to his knees. He cursed himself for what he’d done and for what he’d have to do. Time was running out, and he had to escape before the bombers arrived.
He was about to rise to his feet when the door to the stairwell opened. Then, the buzzing that rose up through the grate was matched in intensity by the same sound, only from behind him.
Fifteen
Sean found himself on his back, pinned down by the woman who had lunged at him from around the corner. Her blond hair hung down and fell across his face. The flap of skin that had peeled away from her head hovered inches away from his. He was drawn to her piercing blue eyes, which seemed brighter than they had through the window. He struggled against her grasp, but could not move. Her strength was far superior to his. Another effect of the mutation, he figured.
Why hadn’t she tried to kill him yet? She remained on top of him, her head tilted to the side and her mouth closed.
What happened to Karl? Had she gotten to him first and Sean hadn’t noticed?
She opened her mouth and a thick and phlegmy sound escaped. Small pieces of dirt fell from her lips and teeth and landed on Sean’s cheek and between his parted lips. He started to spit them out, but stopped when her eyes narrowed in response. She continued to produce the sounds until she managed to form two words.
“Help… me.”
Her voice was ragged and deep and gravelly.
“What can I do?” Sean said.
“Help me,” she repeated.
“How?” Sean said through clenched teeth.
She let go of his shoulders and scooted back so that her legs straddled his waist. She settled onto his lap. Her eyes dimmed, then grew brighter, and he thought he saw a sliver of remaining humanity within them.
“How?” he asked again.
She licked her lips, to no apparent effect, then said, “Kill… Kill me… Kill me.”
Sean lifted his torso and propped himself on his elbows. He began to scoot backward. She lifted up to allow him space to free himself. He reached down and felt for his pistol. His knuckles grazed along the inside of her bare thigh. Her skin felt like ice, and the experience sent a shiver up his arm.
He held the M9 in his right hand, cupping it with his left to keep it steady. He extended the gun. His shaky hands prevented him from holding his side arm level.
The woman leaned forward, resting her forehead against the end of the pistol's muzzle. She looked beyond the barrel, into his eyes, and smiled at him. Her eyes were brighter than Sean had ever seen them. She reached her hands out and placed them against the backs of Sean’s, wrapping her fingers into his palms. Her touch was gentle, even if it was freezing. Her lips twitched and she managed to speak one last time.
“Thank you.”
She closed her eyes.
Sean did the same as he pulled the trigger.
He felt her body fall to the side and heard it hit the floor with a slight thud. He reached down and lifted her left leg and pushed it off of his lap. He scooted away from her body, taking note of how at peace she looked. She was no longer the tortured beast who wandered the hallways seeking death. He wondered how long the soul could remain intact before being chased away. At what point did the human disappear, leaving only the zombie to inhabit the body?
“I thought for sure she was going to win.”
Sean looked up and saw Karl seated against the wall across from him.
“I guess she did, in a way,” Karl said.
“You sat there the whol
e time?” Sean stared at Karl in disbelief while shaking his head. “She could have killed me. Why didn’t you do anything?”
Karl raised his arm, revealing a wide gash across his abdomen. His pants and the lower half of his shirt were soaked in blood. “She got me pretty good on her way to you. Don’t know why. I’d have been happy to kill the bitch. Would have made much less of a production over it.” He laughed, which caused his face to contort in pain.
Sean placed his pistol in his lap, then brought his hand to his cheeks, realizing too late that it was covered in the woman’s blood. He used the sleeve of his left arm to wipe her remains from his face. He turned his head and gazed down the hall, past the control room, toward freedom. All he had to do was get up and start walking. If he encountered any zombies, he’d start firing. The important thing would be to keep moving. Besides, how many of them could there be on this level? He hadn’t seen any patrolling the halls. They were either outside or on the floors below. The same place Turk and the rest of the SEAL team were.
Sean knew he couldn’t leave. Not yet, at least. He had to find Turk.
Using the wall, Sean rose to his feet. “I’m going to look for Turk,” he said to Karl. “You keep your eyes and ears open. If anyone but us approaches, you kill them. You got it, Karl?”
Karl nodded and whispered, “Yeah.”
Sean thought about placing a bullet in Karl’s head. After all, if Sean failed to locate Turk, Karl was as good as dead. Sean would be humane about killing the man. Those things wouldn’t. In the end, he left the man alive. He started toward the corner and turned down the adjacent hallway.
Most of the lights were smashed out, leaving the hall dark and full of shadows. Shadows which seemed to dance around when Sean’s eyes focused on another area. He wondered if the hall had been this dark when Turk and the others had come through, or had the woman or another zombie smashed all the lights out recently.
