Enemy Lines: Navigator Book One

by SD Tanner

  The reception area should have a flashlight, it was one of their emergency procedures, but the corridor was pitch black, and he was relying on his memory to find one of the tall counters. Using the wall as a guide, he was sliding his feet very slowly along the floor, trying to make as little noise as possible. The floor around him was cluttered with items he couldn’t identify, and he tried to push them aside quietly. Whenever he heard the sound of high-pitched static squealing, he would pause and wait. When the noise subsided, he would continue his silent sliding along the wall. If he was lucky, he might find a service cart used to feed the patients, and as a last resort, he could find one of the medical staff rest rooms. There was always a fridge, coffee facilities and water cooler in them, and hopefully the food wouldn’t be spoiled.

  Running his fingers along the wall, only air remained, which meant he’d reached the end of the corridor. There would be a three-foot-wide gap between the wall and the tall counter. He slid around the corner, and slowly reached his hand out to where he should find the surface of the seating area behind the desk. Touching the smooth wooden desk, he began to run his hands gently over the surface. The flashlight should be tucked away behind the flat screen monitor. Using his hands to feel for the monitor, he ran one behind the screen, and found a tall, cylindrical object he assumed was the flashlight. It was one of the few times he was grateful for the pedantic nature of his profession. They were always told there would be a flashlight kept there, and sure enough there was one.

  He hadn’t thought beyond the problem of being able to see, but holding the heavy flashlight in his hand, he hesitated to flick it on. Emergencies didn’t only happen during working hours, and there was never a time when the hospital was shut down, it was always busy at every hour of the day. Now without power or patients, it was strangely still, and sound was echoing down the corridors in a way he’d never heard before. Standing in the pitch black, he had no idea what was around him. Slight breezes were moving past him, but he wasn’t sure if it was due to movement in the corridor, or there was an open window somewhere. The moment he flicked the switch on the flashlight he would be able to see and be seen.

  When he was a young boy, he’d been frightened of a witch under his bed. He thought she could grab his feet and drag him under the bed, and being tall for his age didn’t help. He had no idea why he thought she was there, but to avoid any chance of his toes dangling over the edge, he would bend his knees and curl into a fetal position. Unlike many children, he’d preferred to deal with her alone, and he hadn’t shared his fear with anyone. If he was going to have a fight with a witch, then he’d sort her out on his own. Around that age, he’d also seen a horror film where red eyes had peered through a dark window, and it had made him paranoid about open curtains at night. Stuck in an isolated area of the family’s large home, he’d always secured his curtains so no sign of the night beyond was visible, and slept like a baby curled up in the womb.

  Holding the flashlight steady, he continued to blink his eyes at the blackness, as if that would help him see in the inky dark. Eventually he gave up and decided whatever was in the dark, he was just as prepared to fight it now as he had been when he was eight years old. Not wanting to be trapped behind the tall counter, he silently felt his way around the desk, until he was on the other side of the reception area and standing in the corridor.

  Tensing and preparing to run, he flicked the flashlight on, and the corridor lit up sharply. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and he quickly absorbed the chaos down the corridor. Equipment, bodies, medical supplies and papers were scattered between the wide walls. Doors were open and wires were hanging down from the ceiling. He’d seen enough, and he flicked the flashlight off, quickly moving to the opposite wall to an open door. As he did, something brushed against him, skimming him lightly. A high-pitched squeal with a background noise of static filled the corridor, and he ducked behind the wall of the room.

  While it continued to squeal angrily in the darkness, it moved along the corridor, disrupting the scattered items. As an oncologist and a surgeon, he’d learned how to force himself to remain calm under pressure. The creature was looking for him, but it didn’t know where he was, and he held his ground. With his back against the wall, he held the flashlight with both hands, and gently bowed his head and waited. His heart rate remained steady, and found the place inside his head that was always calm and held onto it. Thanks to his job, he and death were old friends. At least half of his patients eventually died, and often the best he could offer them was a little more time to settle up. Some of them died filled with fear and anxiety, but others would go quietly into the night. It was those people he admired the most, and over the years he’d tried to learn the secret of their peace. They had a faith and acceptance of themselves and their lives. Through them, he’d learned to live his life honestly and to be the person he truly was, always finding something to be happy about each day.

  The noise in the corridor subsided, as whatever it was left the area. It was probably still looking for him, but he needed to make his way to the next level. His memory was excellent, and he had only to be shown something once to remember it as a detailed picture in his mind. Now knowing what was in the corridor, he headed to the stairs at the end. When he bumped into something soft, he now knew it was a body. When he felt something solid, he knew it was equipment. At the stairs, he flicked his flashlight on again, and once the image of the bodies and papers had burned into his mind, he turned it off and headed up the stairs.

  He’d worked at the hospital for seven years, and the layout was as familiar to him as his own home. On this level he would find several operating theaters and a refreshment area for surgeons and their staff. In retrospect, he suspected he spent more time at the hospital than anywhere else in his life. He supposed he could have gotten married and had children, and he probably still would. There was a part of him that resisted allowing anyone else into his life. Maybe his patients needed everything he had to give, and until he was confident he could take care of them, he didn’t want the additional overhead of a family.

  Edging along the corridor, he knew there was a door that would lead him into an operating theater. If he cut through the theater, he would find another door that would take him to a small preparation room. On the other side of that room was an even smaller area with a bed and a fridge. It was used for quick rest periods and was always stocked, but being the size of a large closet it wasn’t used much.

  The heavy doors of the theater room swung open slowly, and once they closed behind him, he flicked his flashlight on again. What he saw surprised him. The heavy metal table in the middle of the room was surrounded by equipment he recognized, but what was lying on the bed didn’t make any sense. Leaving his flashlight on, he moved to the bed and played the light across the body on the table. The smell of rotting flesh washed over him. The face was clogged with breathing apparatus, and a sanitized disposable blue cloth had been draped across its hips and legs, but the abdomen and chest were open. Various metal instruments were pinned to the blackened, rubbery flesh, leaving the entire chest and gut exposed. He should have seen organs, fat and bone, but instead there was a gaping black hole. The patient must have died on the table, but their body was no longer human. Picking up an abandoned scalpel from a tray nearby, he prodded at the black surface of the wound. It was hard and solid like the tires on a car. Leaning closer, he sniffed at the hole, and it stank of burned rubber and putrid flesh.

  Placing the flashlight so it lit up the man’s head, he pulled the tubes from his withered mouth, and the skin pulled away. Similar to peeling an orange, the man’s face rolled back over his head, still attached to the plastic tubing. Undeterred, he scraped away the last of the skin, revealing a pitch black face with a small round opening at the mouth. He prodded the scalpel into the man’s nostrils, but they were sealed. Pushing the skin away from the side of his head, he prodded at the indentations where the ear holes should have been, but they were also closed. Like a petri
fied mummy, the man’s black eyes appeared to be closed, but when he dug the scalpel into them, it became obvious the man had no eyelids.

  He looked around the operating table until he found a pair of gloves and pulled them on. With his hands protected, he grabbed the man’s arms and began to pull at the flesh. The rotting, soft skin sloughed away, and a black skinny arm appeared. Holding the man’s arm firmly, he tugged the skin down until it slid over his hand, revealing black, thin fingers with large joints. Determined to understand the full nature of the change, he ripped away the blue cloth covering the man’s lower body. He was naked underneath the sheet, and his skin was pale with blue botches. Screwing up his face in disgust, he began to pull and peel the skin from the man’s hips and thighs. When he was done, all that remained was a sexless, black, rubbery looking creature. The joints were large and rounded compared to its skinny limbs. Featureless and barely creased, the creature looked like a molded doll. He knew it had once been a man, but nothing about it looked even remotely human now.

  The body was hard and impenetrable, and it made him wonder how it could be killed. It didn’t seem to have any internal organs. As a final act, he stabbed it with his scalpel and the blade snapped. Whatever these creatures were, it wasn’t going to be easy to kill them. It was only then he realized they were trapped in a building full of monsters just like the one in front of him, and even if help was coming, he wasn’t sure what they could do.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: Last man standing (Leon)

  Their next landing wasn’t as bad as their last, but the base was in chaos. Civilians were standing or sitting along the roads and between the buildings. Men and women in uniform were rushing across the base, and near the main gate four trucks were being loaded with weapons and other gear. There didn’t seem to be enough people in uniform compared to the civilians, and he wondered where the army were.

  Walking across the tarmac with Tuck, Lexie, Donna and the soldier they’d met on the plane, he was greeted by a Staff Sergeant. “Get to the trucks. You’re heading into the city.”

  With that abrupt command, the Staff Sergeant saw something he didn’t like, and stalked away shouting orders.

  “What the hell…?” Tuck muttered.

  He’d lost his pack and his gun at the last base, and hoping to replace his kit, he walked across to the trucks being loaded. Lexie was carrying her heavy boxes and she asked, “Do you think we can take one of the trucks to CaliTech?”

  “I doubt it,” he replied. “I’m guessing they’re earmarked to go into the city.” Stopping, he grabbed her armored arm. “You should come with us.”

  “Why?”

  The soldier they’d met on the plane was listening to them. For some reason his nickname was Trigger, but he hadn’t had time to ask why. Trigger leaned into Lexie’s visor and said sternly, “Because you can help us deal with the bad guys.”

  With the added strength her hydraulics gave her, she pushed Trigger away and he lurched sharply. “Firstly, I’m not trained to deal with anything other than the gear. Secondly, you were the one that said you needed more of this kit and it’s in CaliTech. And, thirdly, I don’t work for you, so piss off.”

  She’d saved his ass twice now and he was grateful, but her attitude was getting on his nerves. She didn’t seem to want to get involved, and yet she was part of the situation whether she liked it or not. Grabbing her arm more firmly, he said, “Cut it out, Lexie.” Waving his arm at the frantic activity at the base, he said angrily, “All hell has broken loose and you are where you are. There are civilians in the city that need our help. You’re coming with us, and when we get back we’ll talk to command about going to CaliTech.”

  “What command?” She asked in disgust.

  Soldiers in less than perfect combat gear were loading ammo and other kit into the trucks. There should have been more than one Sergeant shouting at them to get it right, but other than the large Staff Sergeant, they seemed to be working without direction. Lexie was probably right, and there was no one senior enough to command the base.

  Turning back to her and seeing his face in her visor, he thought he looked washed out and tired. Trying to not to let his frustration show, he replied firmly, “Whoever’s most senior is in command.”

  Lexie snorted. “Given the state of this place, that could well be you.”

  He was only a Staff Sergeant himself, and in army terms that put him pretty close to the bottom of the totem pole. If he was ever put in charge of a base, it would mean the entire country had fallen. The thought of being in command made him smirk, and he replied with genuine warmth, “C’mon. We need to join one of the trucks going to the city. You can bitch at me all the way there and all the way back.”

  While she walked with him towards the truck, she complained, “I’m not bitching. I’m raising valid issues. Don’t invalidate me.”

  Rolling his eyes, he looked at Trigger walking by his side. “She’s actually not too shabby in combat, but she does like to bitch.”

  Trigger gave Lexie a sidelong look and nodded. “As long as she can bring it, then she can bitch as much as she likes.”

  “I’m not getting any respect,” Lexie complained loudly.

  “You don’t expect any, which is why you moan so much,” Donna replied dourly.

  Flicking Donna a grin, he was starting to understand how Lexie ticked. Her constant complaints were just her way of letting off steam. She’d complain and they’d ignore her, but when the fight started she’d kick ass. He decided it was an attitude he could work with, and walked over to the truck with the least number of soldiers loading it.

  He called to the woman standing on top of the truck, “Staff Sergeant told us to join one of the trucks.”

  The woman looked up from the gun she was working on. “Who’s the ninja?”

  “New tech we’re testing.”

  “Does it work?”

  “Well enough, but it bitches a lot. Just ignore it.”

  “Nice introduction, dipshit,” Lexie muttered.

  Giving her a broad grin that he wasn’t sure she could see through her visor, he replied, “Just telling it like it is. You should come with a health warning.” The squad of three were heaving crates of ammo into the truck, and he pointed at the remaining boxes. “Make yourself useful and help us load this gear.”

  While Lexie easily lifted the heavy crates, he spoke to the woman on the top of the truck. “Who’s in command?”

  The woman gave a sharp laugh. “It wouldn’t help to know. Our COs keep dropping like flies.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They either turn into homicidal maniacs or are killed by one.”

  “So, who’s ordered us into the city?”

  The woman shrugged. “There was some order from one of the government bunkers, but I dunno who gave the order or what happened to the CO who got it.”

  “What’s happened in the city?”

  She shrugged again. “According to the civvies who’ve made it out the place is a mess. Dead bodies everywhere. People have turned into killing machines and are murdering anyone they can find.”

  “Are the killers still in the city?”

  “Guess so.”

  “Great. We’ve been ordered into a city full of killers.”

  “Oh, it gets better than that,” another voice chimed in. “They’re almost impossible to kill.”

  “Yeah, we know. It’s fifty cal or above.”

  “Yep, and that’s what we’re packin’,” the man replied. Waving his hand at the gun in the turret on the MaxxPro armored truck, he added, “That’s an M2.”

  The ‘Ma Deuce’, as it was fondly called, was a .50-cal machine gun usually used by a gunner in the turret. It could fire single shots or forty rounds per minute. At a push it could fire eight hundred rounds in a minute, but that would burn through the ammo and wear out the gun. It was a fairly flexible weapon in that it could be mounted in the turret or used as a standalone weapon. Nodding at the man, he stepped forward into the Max
xPro, and saw several Barrett Sniper Rifles plus a Desert Eagle next to neatly piled boxes of .50-cal ammo. He’d lost his pack and weapons on the previous flight, and he eyed the Desert Eagle with interest. It was a big handgun, and like a S&W 500 Magnum revolver, it fired .50-cal rounds. Picking up the Desert Eagle, he nodded to himself and decided he’d just found his new favorite handgun.

  The woman working on the Ma Deuce seemed to be in charge of the squad, and he liked the way she was thinking. Stepping back from the truck, he looked up at the woman and asked, “What are we supposed to do in the city?”

  “Get a sit rep. This is a recon.”

  “And who are we gonna report it to?” He asked in surprise.

  “Whoever’s in charge when we get back,” the woman replied firmly. Climbing down from the top of the truck, she winked at him and said, “I’m Sergeant Jenna Carter. I was put on lead…unless you want the job.”

  “No thanks. I’ll manage the nav,” he replied dourly.

  “Is that what they call the tech?”

  “Yeah, when we’re done here, we need to get her to Johnsondale in California where there’s more of it.”

  The Staff Sergeant came to talk to them while they were preparing to leave. He didn’t have much to add to their orders, other than to tell them to kick ass and come back alive. It seemed they had a patchy line to one of the bunkers, and they were asking for a situation report about the city. The Staff Sergeant was staying at the base to continue to sort out civilians and supplies. According to him, people had been told to make their way to the base, but he wasn’t sure why. It didn’t look like they had anywhere near a full complement of troops, and there was no guarantee the people wouldn’t turn into killers. He really didn’t understand why anyone would think it was any safer at the base than anywhere else. When he asked Lexie if she could see anyone green through her visor, she’d shrugged and said there were too many people clustered together to be sure.