by LC Champlin
Perhaps he could manually disable the transceivers. The drone scouting had shown the devices at the skycam access points. His rifle would enable effective shutdown of the discs.
But what if the men had come from the government? They might even now work to cut the stadium’s power. Should he engage them in conversation? No, for they could easily hail from LOGOS and its affiliates.
Turning, he followed the passage away from the mechanical room. The hall led him in a roundabout way, necessitating a review of the map Kenichi-san had provided.
He emerged on the second floor. Opening the stair access door a few centimeters provided a glimpse of the concourse. Cannibals wandered along it in groups. They moved with the assurance and poise of predators in their own territory.
Perhaps the third floor would yield fewer monstrosities, though the escalators around the stadium provided access from all levels.
Judge led the way up the stairs, while Albin trailed, pistol ready. Perhaps he should have listened to his companions and avoided the mission. But could he turn down the possibility of finding Mr. Serebus? The possibility also existed of Kenichi-san lying about finding the man here, but why would the inventor dissemble? Offering Albin the opportunity to halt LOGOS’s plan would elicit a similar response from the attorney: entering the stadium and eliminating the transceivers. Then again, two incentives proved better than one.
Repeating the cautious opening of the door at this third level, Albin pressed his eye to the gap, while Judge pressed her nose to it below. More cannibals sauntered through the area.
Shouts echoed from near the escalator to the left. Two figures—one in a white coat and the other in combat equipment—dodged two cannibals’ attacks. Bursts of gunfire from the armed man felled both abominations.
Judge wagged her tail as she attempted to nose out the door. Evidently she wished to join the fray.
With this route also blocked, only the other side of the stadium offered a chance. He set off for it, but Judge remained at the door, whining.
“Come, girl. We have work to do.”
She only pulled the more, and scratched at the door.
“What is it?” He peered out the gap again.
Many running footsteps rang. A horde of cannibals barreled down the concourse toward the two.
“Birk, bathroom!” the man dressed as a SWAT member barked.
That voice belonged to—Mr. Serebus! Albin froze. Kenichi-san spoke the truth: Mr. Serebus had entered the stadium. Shock mingled with relief at the sight, but the situation’s danger quashed both as the cannibals closed in on the dark man.
Mr. Serebus and Birk—had he truly brought the traitorous researcher?—sprinted for the cover of a washroom on Albin’s side of the passage.
The cannibals charged after them.
Even if Albin engaged the horde, he could not slaughter the entire mass in time. But perhaps . . .
He moved into the concourse but held the door open. “Over here!” he roared as he bashed the slide of his Glock into the steel barrier.
As he yelled for the abominations’ attention, Judge began barking. The cannibals outside the washroom turned to stare at him. Then they charged.
Two more seconds of shouting to keep their attention, then Albin dodged back through the door. Thuds echoed against it an instant later.
A deep breath helped slow Albin’s thundering pulse. He shushed Judge, who whined, barked, and scratched at the door. “Mr. Serebus no doubt is acting on a plan. I shall continue mine.” He could do little to help the man directly at this point anyway. “Come.”
When man and dog reached the opposite side of the facility, Albin again stole a glimpse outside the concrete bulwark shielding him from the cannibals. More of the creatures hunted here. Then a group of men in combat equipment dashed past. The monsters watched them, but they did not attack. Evidently the men carried the repellent device that Kenichi-san had spoken of on the DVD.
With cannibals and troops about, accessing the arena to eliminate the transceivers would prove difficult. The difficulty level of locating Mr. Serebus once more did not bear considering. The opposite side on the second level might provide more opportunity, assuming the combatants congregated on the third floor. Blast, he wasted time by this game of hide and seek.
According to the map, an alternate maintenance and electrical room occupied this side of the stadium. Accessing it to cut the power might provide a more achievable goal, considering troops of unknown affiliation roamed the halls inside and out. At least in the employees’ halls, no cannibals stalked him.
Back down the steps they went. However, more booted footsteps echoed down the passage. Holding his breath, Albin pulled Judge back to shelter in the stairwell.
A squad halted. More tread in the hall indicated another group joined them. Voices murmured.
Albin edged closer to hear the exchange.
“The exits are covered, sir,” a man announced.
“We have them on the cameras,” another added.
“Good work. Special Agent Saito is putting snipers in place. The DHS team is covering the west side. The bastards won’t get out.”
Saito? Questions still remained regarding his loyalty to the side of truth and justice. The men who attempted to take Albin and the others to New York claimed to follow his orders.
“I don’t know why they didn’t lock him up and throw away the key,” snarled a female.
“We’re about to rectify that mistake,” the apparent leader responded. “Serebus has pissed his luck away.”
Albin went cold. They hunted Mr. Serebus. If he escaped, this would explain his presence here. But for how long would he remain free of the FBI’s grasp?
“Let’s move,” the leader ordered.
Albin already moved up the steps. At the third floor, he reached for the door, but it opened before he could touch the knob. Two agents in SWAT gear stared at him. Judge barked, drawing their attention.
“What are you waiting for?” Albin snapped in his drabbest American accent. “He said move! We don’t want these terrorists escaping.”
Behind him came the two squads of FBI agents. In the swarm of law enforcement, Albin stepped aside. Each group assumed he operated with another team.
He pulled Judge back through the door and into the stairwell.
Now two problems faced him: stopping LOGOS and locating Mr. Serebus.
Chapter 74
Caped Crusader
Last One Alive – Demon Hunter
“Let’s go.” Nathan moved out with Birk beside him. They wore their night-vision goggles. The normally useless twat proved capable of holding the blanket for concealment. They slunk down the hall, keeping close to the concrete wall.
A few cannibals remained, but the activity in the stands beyond the exit tunnels absorbed their attention. The darkness and Mylar concealed the invaders.
A little farther . . . There, an entrance to the stadium. With Birk still holding the blind, Nathan deployed his keys at the door. A section of metal blocked the tunnel. In non-plague times, the custodians would use it to seal off the interior from weather.
Click. The lock opened, sending a wave of dread through Nathan. According to Birk’s and Sophia’s information, the authorities had distributed the cannibals through all three levels of the stands to give them more room. The Dalits could not reach the other levels without taking the stairs. Or by taking a thirty-foot drop over the railing. The architects had recessed the second tier underneath the cheap seats on the third and highest level, making a roof for the middle level and the United Club windows behind.
According to the plan, Birk should stay behind now, safe but close enough to offer assistance. But with the creatures roving the concourse, that plan sprang multiple leaks.
Wait, a janitor’s closet set in the wall of the tunnel, near the concourse. Nathan waved Birk back. “That door,” he mouthed, pointing to the closet. The key opened it.
Now, should he leave Birk with the keys to the kingdom and hope he didn’t flee? Or should he keep them and hope Birk didn’t need to unlock a door to save his life?
Shit. Before rationality could take over, Nathan shoved the keys into Birk’s lab coat pocket. “If you run out on me, you’ll be at the mercy of the cannibals.”
“Yes, yes. Now hurry up and get out there.” Birk closed the door, leaving only a slit between it and the frame.
With a last look of warning, Nathan trotted for the exterior. He put his shoulder against the barrier’s frame, carbine ready. One, two, three—He cracked it enough to glimpse the stands. No cannibal in the passage. But the tunnel walls and the angle of the level’s incline—close to sixty degrees—blocked most of the view. A cool breeze wafted through the tunnel, bringing the stench of nearly a hundred thousand unwashed, ill bodies.
He pulled the Mylar composite blanket around himself, tying it at his throat like a cape a kid would make when playing Superman. If only he could fly like Superman. Or use Batman’s Baterang and utility belt.
He eased through the gap between barrier and frame. Careful. Peeking around the concrete walls, into the seating area, revealed a horror-movie scene: Cannibals meandered about in the stands, but the majority clustered around the exit the herd had breached. On the second level, near the end zone, under the bronco statue that topped the scoreboard, a section of seats smoldered in wreckage from Sophia’s grenade attack. Dalit bodies lay strewn about, while their fellows ignored them.
Nathan clicked his squelch, signaling he’d reached the target level. Now Sophia needed to keep them away from him while he climbed to the skycam. Staying low, he looked around the wall at the stairs, which led to the highest and worst row of seats.
The cannibals nearby glanced his way. He froze. Don’t breathe. Don’t blink. But their eyes slid off. They turned away.
Go! He began his crawl up the steps. I’m not terrified. Nothing terrifies me. To show terror was to give power to the object of fear. God had sent him here for a reason.
Muscles trembling, blood roaring in his ears, mouth so dry his saliva production might never resume, Nathan reached the last row of seats. Overhead loomed the skycam access.
Focus ahead. A padlock secured the ladder cage’s front access. And . . . he’d given the keys to Birk. Fucking hell, now what?
One foot on the back of a seat, he pushed upward, catching the top of the perimeter wall. Don’t look down. Too late. The edge of the stadium dropped away, giving an unobstructed view of the city. And of the ground.
The wind picked up. Wonderful. He pulled closer to the steel support, chest against the metal. What kind of lunatic did this for a living?
As he hoisted himself farther up, several of the cannibals turned to look at him. They stared as if they had never seen a man in a cape climbing over the edge of a stadium before. Then they began to approach. Not at a lope, but at a stalk.
Nathan pulled himself around to the rear of the ladder cage, placing the pillar between him and the Dalits. The square support had a solid wall on the left and right, while rungs ran up its length to form the bottom / inside wall of the cage—the only things separating him from a fatal plunge into the stands.
More rungs shielded his back on the top / outside wall, or they would once he squeezed in. Worming between them required effort thanks to the width of his shoulders and his chest rig’s bulk.
The cage had the opposite effect of what the creators intended: it inspired breathtaking panic. The cannibals swarming below did nothing to calm him.
One, two, three—Finish the job before they learned how to climb. Look up at the next rung. One more, then one more, then one more . . . Hand over hand until he emerged on the catwalk. Assuming one could call a two-foot-wide strip of grating encircling the stadium a walkway. The lights bordered the inside of the loop.
Now, the skycam. According to Birk, the control box should be—There. To the left of the ladder waited a metal box the size of a large space heater. Buttons and indicator lights glowed on its face.
Sssssaaaahhh.
Cannibals gathered at the base of the ladder, some feeling along the cage. One climbed onto the edge of the stadium wall. One of its fellows scrambled up beside. It knocked the first Dalit off balance. Clawing for purchase, it grabbed the offender. Both toppled over. A wet thud followed.
All the more reason to get the satellite transceivers under control. If he could master the situation, he could save these people. They were not zombies—not reanimated corpses. In them still resided a human soul. The cannibal contagion simply caused a severe form of dementia with psychosis. If he couldn’t reverse it, he could at least stop LOGOS from using them. Let the infected bastards die a peaceful death devoid of murder and cannibalism.
Chapter 75
Leap of Faith
Only One – The Score
Nathan punched the button to call the skycam trolley toward him. It hissed along the cable, heading home to the support / ladder.
Back into the cage. More crawling brought the camera mount into view. A black disc the size of a long-play vinyl record but six inches thick occupied the frame.
To reach it, he would need to inch out onto the unprotected ladder. Thank God for climbing gear. A device designed to play out cable at a controlled rate occupied his harness at his waist. It functioned like a seatbelt, locking if the speed of deployment exceeded a set rate. Unlike a seatbelt, though, it would slow the cable-feed rate first.
He clipped the cable’s carabiner onto the ladder. With the crowd of cannibals below increasing, he crept out onto the ladder, which arched over the stands at a thirty-degree angle. Lying on his stomach, rungs pressing the chest rig into his ribs, he reached the target. There he deployed his screwdriver. A bit of work freed the device.
Baring his teeth in a grin of triumph, Nathan pulled himself and the disc into the safety of the cage. Hopefully the transceiver would have the repellent frequency as Birk claimed. On the back, a frequency dial running from 0 to 10. A green light glowed under the words, Repel. Middle of the road at 5 should suffice. At that strength, the cannibals should stay at arm’s length.
From a pocket he withdrew a black drawstring bag. He slid the disc inside, then attached the bag to his tac vest along his left flank.
The thrill of achievement rippled through him. Now that he possessed the “prototype,” he needed only to shut off the other transceivers around the catwalk. Aside from the mile-high hike, it shouldn’t prove too difficult. The government could retrieve them. Then he could assist in developing a shut-off switch. Sweet freedom for him and for the infected victims awaited!
A breeze ruffled his hair, fresh from the mountains and sweeping away the stench of cannibals. He stepped up a rung and onto the ladder he had vacated a moment ago.
“Stay where you are!” a male’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers. Nathan froze. Did they mean him?
“Nathan Serebus, stand down.”
He should stop asking questions.
“This is Special Agent Greg Saito of the FBI and Joint Terrorism Task Force. I repeat, stay where you are. You are under arrest.”
Muscles locked. Dread skipped fear, emerging fully grown as panic. “We had a deal!” They couldn’t hear him. The cannibals could, though. They looked up, expectant as dogs awaiting a steak. Those by the exit turned upon seeing their comrades’ interest.
“New evidence has come to light. The plea deal has been revoked.”
“That’s not how plea deals work!” Or did they? He didn’t have a lawyer to ask. Not anymore. In this situation and the military tribunal, the government could likely do what it pleased.
“We have snipers on your position. Put down your weapons and keep your hands where we can see them until we’re able to send officers to your location.”
Triumph evaporated in the wind. “I failed,” he murmured. No, they betrayed him! According to the deal, time still remained for him to carry out h
is end of the bargain. No one described Nathan Serebus as a man of his word, certainly, but he prided himself on keeping his deadlines.
“I made a deal,” he shouted. “I said I would admit to all charges leveled against me, or I would kill myself.” He smiled. The star-strewn sky spread before him, an infinite ocean. “And I don’t feel like spending the rest of my life in a cell.”
He took a running leap off the end of the ladder.
Weightless.
Flying.
Falling.
Slowing.
Too late.
Fuck!
++++++++++++
After finding the second maintenance room as well-guarded as the first, Albin resorted to shadowing the FBI forces.
Now confusion reigned among the squad nearest Albin’s hiding place in an access doorway: “He jumped? What do you mean—”
“Yes, the exits are covered—”
“Cannibals breached the arena fully? How—”
Albin’s heart dropped as if he had fallen with Mr. Serebus. Surely . . . surely he survived. Surely he followed a plan. Surely he would not kill himself.
Why not? reason asked. He has attempted it before.
“I must know.”
Chapter 76
More than Skin Deep
Elastic Heart – Written by Wolves
Hands grasping, tugging, plucking.
Sssssaaaaaahhh.
Dark bodies surrounded Nathan. The crowd of cannibals had broken his fall. They grabbed at his arms, feet, legs. He pulled into a ball between two rows of seats. His mind went blank except for—the repellent frequency can work any fucking time now!
Animal instinct propelled him forward. He slid along the non-skid floor. Why didn’t they attack him with their usual fury? Perhaps the repellent frequency on the machine did work, and it prevented them from tearing him to pieces.
