by Steven Booth
“Wow, Scratch with short hair? This I gotta see.”
“I hope I get to see it again, too. Now let’s get a move on.”
Rat whispered instructions into her chest mike. Miller started walking. They moved together through the smoke and gore splatter, staying low, sliding down the hall close to the walls. Rat and her men stayed spaced apart to have proper fields of fire and distance should anyone else get bit.
Losing patience, Miller jogged ahead to lead the way. She took them all back towards the main lobby of the Serenity Center. When they were close Miller slowed down. They paused near a service elevator. Rat motioned them all to drop into a low crouch. She used her hands to signal one man to go forward and have a look down the next corridor. Miller wasn’t even breathing hard. Her pulse was pounding with unused energy. She checked the load on her submachine gun for the third time. It was a full magazine, but that only meant about thirty shots. This group of professionals would be smart, tight and conservative with their supplies. She’d need to conserve ammunition, and only ask for a reload if necessary.
The soldier crawled down the last few yards on elbows and knees. He peeked both ways, up and down the corridor. He signaled the rest of them forward. Rat got them all to their feet. They took off again. The siren was still wailing. They heard random shots from other parts of the building.
As they ran down the corridor—at snail race tempo when compared to what Miller was capable of at this stage—the stench of decay increased. Above and beyond smelling their strange body odor, Miller could almost sense that the undead were nearby. That odd feeling gave her the creeps. She sped up, and soon left the others behind. When she came to a waiting room, nearby a place that split into four new corridors, she held up her hand and the group stopped moving. She used her fingers, warned the others to walk carefully. They gathered around. Rat arrived first.
Miller spoke in a low voice. “There’s a boatload of zombies around here. Watch out for the triads, they set traps with one or two as bait. They can be especially dangerous.”
“Triads?”
“You see two, there’s one more hiding. You see one, he’s setting up the other two. They started doing that shit back in Colorado. It’s a mutation, I think.”
One of the men said, “Jesus.”
“Rat, just stay frosty. You’ll understand when you see it.” Miller didn’t have the patience to explain further. “Let’s go find Scratch.”
Miller took them up to the main floor of the rehab. It was a madhouse. People were running in every direction, many of them wearing the generic, egg-white Serenity Center scrubs. Some were already splattered with blood. Others may have already been bitten and were sure to spread the infection. Miller saw her country music idol helping another patient toward the exit. Most of the guards were bloody and injured in various ways. Miller didn’t sense any zombies nearby, but she kept sniffing the air. Her instincts were flaring. She knew that the original zombie virus created that awful decomp smell almost immediately, right after someone had turned. No one nearby seemed to have cemetery breath, so she ignored them. Anyone who wasn’t Scratch didn’t interest her right then.
“Let’s go.”
The smoke grew thicker, bringing more flashbacks of her experience at the lodge in Colorado. Miller could feel the heat increase as they moved through the building, getting closer to the fire. And along with that heat, the sound of screaming and the sickly-sweet smell of death. They were close, she could feel it.
“Up ahead, Rat.”
Miller sped up. She jogged down the hallway, rounded the corner—and immediately wished she hadn’t.
The next corridor was filled with bodies doing a St. Vitus Dance. It was slaughterhouse. She saw a strange mix of the dying and the dead. Miller brought the group to a halt. She quickly surveyed the twitching horde, looking for anyone who looked like Scratch. No one jumped out at her, figuratively or literally. Miller stood frozen as she tried to think of a way to get through the steadily exploding carnage without running out of ammo and getting her team killed. Something had to give. They couldn’t turn back or go forward. Miller lost a few seconds trying to decide.
Rat made the decision for her. She started firing. The rest of the team joined her immediately. They just unloaded on the horde before them. She was firing without mercy, assuming everyone there was bitten and already doomed. Body parts flew, blood splattered like garish paint, chunks of bone rattled along the tiles like groupings of white dice. Some of the shots had gone wild, hitting the zombies in the body instead of the head. The few surviving members of the horde turned their way and shuffled forward.
“Aim for the brain.” Miller and Rat shouted simultaneously.
“And watch out for ambushes,” said Miller, looking behind them and to the sides. “They can work in threes, remember.”
She turned. Sure enough, two members of a triad were sneaking up from the rear—a female in a pink slip and a male in boxer shorts. Miller swung her weapon around. She shot the two in short order. She looked for their leader.
The third appeared from the other direction. Miller blinked. He looked familiar.
It was Ramon the escort. He was naked. His lower face had been partially torn away. There were teeth missing, and his eyes were sunken and bloodshot. He was clearly a zombie now, but Miller hesitated for a second. This was still Ramon. A very strange feeling rushed through her, a mysterious kind of empathy. She had known him, and still knew him in a way, even though he was dead. Ramon was real to her. Not just one of “them.” Miller didn’t want to destroy him. She could almost feel his pain and despair. What the hell is going on with me…?
Ramon’s head evacuated in a splash of brains and gore. He fell backwards, and that weird feeling of connection vanished.
Miller turned to see Rat still aiming where Ramon was standing a moment before.
“What were you waiting for, Penny?” called Rat. “Are you trying to get us all killed?”
The gunshots also brought Miller back to reality. She took stock of their situation. The haze and smoke seemed to be gathering into one dense cloud. The fire was dying down. The area was clear. The shouts and screams had been temporarily silenced. The room was filled with the stench of innards, blood and cooling flesh. On both sides of the corridor were what looked like offices. They’d have to check inside of those spaces and fast.
“Start clearing rooms!” Miller shouted. “Careful, there is something going on around here.”
Rat signaled her men. They followed directions. Miller turned to the closest office and pushed the door open to look inside. The room was empty. She went on to the next one. That door was locked. She almost moved on, but then she looked down at the nameplate on the door.
Dr. Arthur B. Rubenstein, Director.
Rat was facing the other direction. Miller put her ear against the office door. She could hear faint shouting coming from inside. She pounded on the door with the butt of the submachine gun. “Is anyone in there?”
“Fuck off,” shouted a man’s voice. It was not Rubenstein.
“This is no time for macho games, cowboy. You want to stay alive, evacuate the premises.”
There was some low murmuring, and then silence.
“What’s going on?” asked Rat. She stepped up behind Miller, one eye on the room to cover their flanks.
“We got a real hero in there along with your guy.” Miller turned to the door. “Stand clear in there, I’m shooting the lock off.”
Miller stepped back what seemed a safe distance. She aimed carefully and shot out the lock. She tried the knob again and this time the door opened easily. Inside was the most beautiful thing she could have ever hoped to see.
Scratch was standing inside, towering over a shivering Dr. Rubenstein, threatening his sorry ass with a fire axe.
“What have we here?” Miller asked casually, barely masking her joy.
Scratch grinned. “Penny? Goddamn it’s good to see you vertical. You were absolutely right. Dr. Evil here has been runnin
g a true house of horrors and I’ve got all the proof we need.”
“I swear to you, Scratch, I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Rubenstein’s face lit up when he saw Rat standing next to Miller. “Major Hanratty! Oh, thank God you’re here. We need to evacuate at once. Please help me!”
Rat stepped forward, Miller thought perhaps a bit reluctantly. She raised her submachine gun just enough to be threatening. “Easy Scratch, I’m going to have to ask you to stand down.”
“If you’re arresting him, I’ll stand the fuck down. If you’re rescuing him, you’re going to need a bunch of little sandwich baggies to pick up what’s left of him.”
“Major?” Rubenstein whined. “Please handle this man.”
As much as she was enjoying the scene, hell was still outside and closing fast. Miller couldn’t let Scratch take the chance of getting shot. Rat had made her orders clear.
“Drop the axe, Scratch. I’ve got Rubenstein covered.” Miller gestured with her own weapon. “We need to retreat, now!”
Scratch smiled. He lowered the axe. “This is for what you did to Penny.” He leaned over and spat in Rubenstein’s face. “Fuck you, skezix!”
Rubenstein wiped his face. He got to his feet carefully. His hands were trembling. “Can we please get out of here, Major?”
Scratch leaned on the axe handle. He grinned like a Halloween pumpkin. Miller thought maybe he didn’t look half bad with shorter hair. Although she’d missed the beard, he was already working on getting stubble back. “As much as I hate to agree with Artie here, we’d all better rabbit. You ladies can tell me where the hell Rat came from some other time.”
The mercenaries were fanned out in the hall, starting to look nervous. The stench was awful. Rat led them back the way they’d come. Miller stayed with Scratch. She wanted to kiss him but not in front of the others. They hurried, dropping into the easy rhythm of people who finally knew just where they were going. They moved quickly, not searching for anyone, just looking for a safe way home. They raced down the corridors, went out the way they’d come in, rushed past the half-dozen fallen zombies and back into the main lobby of the Serenity Center. The firing in the other part of the building increased again as soldiers mopped up.
“Almost home,” Rat said. “All we need to do is get to the choppers.”
“That doesn’t sound so hard,” said Scratch. Miller couldn’t stop staring at him. He was awful cute, even in the middle of all this dog shit. She decided he did need to grow his hair out again.
Rat shrugged. “We all hope you’re right. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
They ran as fast as they could now, all but Miller who just trotted along like a prize mare. She was leading the way but still moving at less than half strength. The others were soon wheezing but they were only human. For Miller it almost was like being out for a Sunday stroll. She slowed up a bit. She knew that the others—particularly Rubenstein—could never keep up with anything close to her top speed. One part of her was frightened by having been juiced up again, but the rest of her found the sense of power exhilarating.
The smoke got thicker. The sprinklers kicked on again, right overhead. Miller sniffed the air. Her senses were cranked up to eleven. She checked every cross-corridor and dark doorway for zombies or frightened security guards. They weren’t getting the job done. She was impatient and uncomfortable with their pace. For humans they were moving quickly, but Miller felt like they still were in an open field with targets painted on their backs. The fire was spreading, and she had no idea how many zombies were still on the loose in the area.
Getting back to the lobby seemed to take far less time than searching for Scratch. They knew their way and had a good sense of where there might be traps. Miller led them into the right area and waited for them to catch up. She still wasn’t breathing hard. She could smell zombies closing fast; somehow feel them close by, a turbulent mix of primitive rage and despair. She now thought they’d make it in time, though. It wasn’t long before they could see the glass doors again and Miller could smell the clean salt air blowing in through the broken entrance. They had done it. Scratch was safe. They were almost home.
Rat took over. She used her radio to alert the choppers not to fire. She led the way outside into the fresh air. They ran for the waiting helicopters. Two of the men stayed back to cover their rear as the others boarded. Miller looked up at the foot of the steps. Alex was already on board. The mercenaries helped Scratch into the craft and a waiting seat. Rat motioned for Miller to go next. Miller motioned for the mercenaries to get on the helicopter. She waited with her eyes and weapon pointed towards the empty doorway behind them.
No zombies emerged.
Rubenstein got on board. Then Rat and Miller went last. Onboard, Rat touched Miller’s thigh with something that looked like a thick pencil. Miller tried to flinch back. The device snapped, stinging her like an insect.
“What the fuck was that, Rat?”
“Decelerant, Penny. We’re out of here. You don’t want to stay accelerated forever, do you? It can burn out your heart.”
“If it wasn’t for Rubenstein, I wouldn’t have been accelerated at all,” Miller said, as she strapped herself into the seat. “I can’t believe you’re actually rescuing him.” The chopper blades thrummed overhead, picking up speed, and she had to shout to be heard. She and Rat both put on their headsets. “Why save Rubenstein?”
Rat shrugged. “I already told you. This is his party, Penny. He’s writing the checks. Don’t push your luck. If I ever have to make a choice, I’m going to have to leave you behind.”
“No one’s getting left behind, Major,” said Rubenstein. He was already puffed up, clearly full of his own importance. “The mission was to bring us all back safely.”
Miller turned to look at Alex, who had donned his own headset. “Are you okay?”
Alex studied his hands. “I’m cool. I just… Leslie and I were in this together. I’m pissed we couldn’t save her. Nobody should have to go out that way.”
Miller nodded. Alex was a beginner at this. “Believe me, I know.”
Alex looked up. “I’ll be okay, Sheriff. Thanks for saving my ass.”
Miller glared at Rubenstein, who had strapped himself in and closed his eyes. “You’ve got a lot to answer for.”
If Rubenstein responded, it was sotto voice. Miller couldn’t hear him over the increasing sound of the engines. The chopper rose up into the sky and the bloody battleground fell away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ABOVE SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA, EASTBOUND
They headed east into the blistering sun, nearly five thousand feet above the Los Angeles Basin, the giant Black Hawk’s rotors straining to pound the air into submission. A layer of haze squatted over the edge of the city like a ball of rusty steel wool. Even at their modest altitude, the morning sky above it was gin clear and almost painfully blue. Miller felt her body sag into the canvas seat as the new drug Rat had injected took effect. Her super powers faded away. Her heartbeat slowed and her system returned to normal.
Miller glanced around the small cabin of the helicopter. Alex sat opposite Rubenstein. The out of shape doctor was facing backwards, jammed into his seat on the starboard side of the aircraft. A mercenary sat between Rubenstein and Scratch, tense as a referee between prizefighters. Meanwhile, Rat was across the cabin next to Alex, thus facing Miller and Scratch. Two of the mercenaries sat immediately next to Rat. The cabin felt cold and drafty. The ship grumbled and swayed through the sky. They all wore communication headsets to drown out the noise, but soon fell silent, as if to properly absorb and process the bloody chaos that had just ensued.
Her gaze fell on Rat. “Now, do you want to tell me what the hell that was about and where you guys came from?”
“Funny,” Rat looked at Miller with a shrug, “I was just about to ask you the same…” Her last few words were obscured by the thumping rotors.
“Hold on.” Miller adjusted the volume on her headset. “Rat, if y
ou’re going to be a smart ass, I want to be able to hear you loud and clear.”
“If that’s what you heard, then you are reading me wrong.” Rat leaned forward in her canvas and steel tube jump seat. “When you popped up on our radar five days ago, I was shocked as hell. Look, I searched that entire burned-out wreck of the lodge in Colorado, looking for you and Scratch and Terrill Lee. I thought you had been eaten, killed, and burnt to a crisp, more or less in that order.”
“I came damn close to being a Christmas turkey,” Miller said.
Rat reached across the aisle to take both Scratch and Miller by the hand. She squeezed. “I’m just so happy that you’re alive, Penny.”
Miller found herself strangely affected by the impromptu show of emotion, perhaps because she was back to being a normal human being. It mattered more than she would have expected. She looked over at Scratch, who was smiling from ear to ear. Of course he would, he’s got two hot women touching him at the same time, the hound dog.
Scratch winked. “She likes us!”
Rat dropped both their hands. She leaned back. “Scratch, don’t get all carried away. I said I was glad to see you.” Her face returned to the slight scowl of harried professionalism she traditionally affected. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to adopt you.”
Now even Miller smiled. “That’s the Rat I know.” She chuckled into the microphone and heard a popping hiss in her headphones. “I was beginning to think them pod people from outer space had replaced you with a kinder, gentler Francine.”
“Call me Francine again, I’ll tear your head off and go bowling.”
Miller snorted. “Sorry, Francine.”
“Are you hearing this shit, Lovell?” Rat looked over Miller’s shoulder back into the cockpit. “I fucking save Penny’s life again, and this is the thanks I get.”
Kurt Lovell’s voice came back over the headset, deeper and louder than the others. “Yeah, yeah, we’re all thrilled. You guys were starting to go all kissy-poo back there. The conversation was getting really boring. I like it better when you cat fight.”
