Dusk of Humanity

by M. K. Dawn

  It wasn't.

  Sloan rolled over and yawned. “I need to get into the morgue and perform those autopsies as soon as possible.”

  Archer had figured she wasn’t going to drop this, but he didn’t think it would be the first thing out of her mouth this morning. “Good morning to you, too.”

  “I need to get to them before the cremation.”

  “Weren’t you told no?”

  Her brow furrowed. “We can’t get a clear picture with just one autopsy.”

  He didn't know if he could stomach another stint in that room. The smell alone was enough to keep him at bay. Pair that with the slicing open of two of his men and the whole situation made the bile rise in his throat. “Fine.”

  “You don't have to go. I can manage by myself.”

  Archer wasn't sure if this was one of those situations in which the girl told him he didn't have to go but really meant he was expected to go. But Sloan was different from anyone else he'd dated before. “I'm not sure how to respond.”

  She climbed out of bed and frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you want me to go or not?”

  “I'm confused. I said you don't have to go.”

  “Yes.” Archer sat up. “Women say that all the time even though they really mean the opposite.”

  Sloan's frown deepened. “Why would they do that?”

  “It's a test.”

  “A test of what?”

  Archer shrugged. “Loyalty.”

  “That's ridiculous. I know how uncomfortable you were with the autopsy yesterday—and with disobeying a direct order. If you don't feel comfortable, then don't come.” She rummaged through her drawer and pulled out a pair of scrubs.

  Then he remembered what the dead had turned into and thought better of it. “You know, I can sit on the counter or wait outside. Just in case.”

  Sloan slipped on her clothes. “In case what?”

  “They change—turn? I don't know the proper description.”

  “From what we learned yesterday, neither should.”

  Archer reluctantly climbed out of bed. “Yesterday we learned a whole bunch of nothing. They didn't seem to know much.”

  “True, they didn't know every detail, but we learned plenty.”

  “Still, I would feel better if I came with you. At least check out the room and the bodies.”

  Sloan laughed. “And how would you checking out the bodies help?”

  “Well…” he stepped closer until they were inches apart, “I could make sure...”

  “Make sure what?”

  Archer brushed his lips against hers. All his arguments disappeared and were replaced by one naughty, enjoyable though. “I got nothing.”

  Sloan kissed him—though this was more of a chaste kiss than he would have liked. “You want to make sure the room is secure?”

  “I want to make sure you're safe.”

  “Then come. Inspect the room and the bodies. Then wait outside, if you'd like. But whatever you decide, it should be quick. I need to get going.”

  Archer sighed and slipped on a pair of jeans. “Fine, but you know what they say about all work and no play.”

  Sloan threw him a t-shirt. “Playtime was last night. There are more important things to worry about this morning.”

  “More important than sex?”

  “Funny. I'm going to make some coffee.”

  “Make it strong. I have a feeling this is going to be a very long day.”

  “Probably. You want anything else? Bagel, fruit?”

  His stomach rumbled. Neither was going to be enough. “Maybe I can bribe someone to bring food to the medical ward—while I wait in the hall, obviously.”

  “I've met many coroners who ate while performing autopsies.”

  Archer's stomach turned. “That's disgusting, Slash. Couldn't just keep that little tidbit of information to yourself?”

  Her face brightened. “Where's the fun in that?”

  ***

  They headed toward the medical ward as soon as the coffee was done. Sloan hadn't bothered to ask if he was ready to go; she just waited impatiently at the door while he tied his shoes.

  “Russo's back on guard duty,” he said as they made their way down the hall.

  “Do you think the execs will tell the other occupants of The Bunker the truth?”

  It was a question he’d mulled around but didn't expect her to ask at that moment. “I don't know. Right now, there doesn't seem to be a reason they need to know. We can't return to the surface.”

  Sloan stopped. “That's the thing. We could return to the surface. If we wanted to.”

  “With those...things? Three highly-trained men went down in a matter of seconds. What do you think would happen to a bunch of civilians?”

  “There could be others out there alive and in need of aid.” Her voice was low, almost tearful. “We have so much and they have...nothing.”

  Archer scratched his head. “We don't know what they do and don’t have.”

  “Communications are down,” Sloan argued, “which probably means everything else is. That means no electricity, no running water, no stores. Even the President is here. There’s nothing that even closely resembles modern civilization.”

  “I get that—really I do—but if we venture to the surface, where would we go first?”

  She lowered her head. “I don't know.”

  “Hey. Let's not worry about it now. First things first. We need to learn more about these...things. God, we need a better word.”

  “Alien?” Sloan suggested.

  He didn't like that any better. Reminded him too much a B-list movie. “We need to confirm what the execs told us and anything else that would be important. No one is leaving The Bunker without a comprehensive understanding of what we are dealing with and how to stop it.”

  “You're right. It's just —”

  “I get it. But focus on the task at hand.”

  She took a deep breath. “Yes. The autopsies. I think we also need to bring a lab tech into the mix. Someone who is capable of analyzing the samples on a deeper level.”

  “Agreed. While you're working, I'll put in the request.”

  “Thanks.”

  Archer tilted his head in the direction of the morgue. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  They continued down the hall in silence. There was an edge to Archer's mood; it happened mostly when he was on a mission and something felt off. More times than not his gut was right, but on a few occasions, when other factors interfered, he was wrong. He hoped this one was one of those off days. “Morning, Russo,” he said as they approached the door. “How are things today?”

  “Archer. Dr. Egan.” He nodded. “What can I do for you?”

  “Dr. Egan would like to examine the remaining two bodies,” Archer said.

  “That has not been authorized.”

  “Fine,” Sloan said. “I would like to reexamine Cale’s body.”

  “‘Fraid that’s not possible, ma’am.”

  “Why not?” Archer asked.

  The muscles in Russo’s jaw worked. “His remains are no longer here.”

  “What was done with the body?” Sloan asked.

  “Placed in the water chambers for cremation last night,” Russo said.

  Sloan was a master at keeping her emotions hidden, but Archer could tell she wasn’t happy with that response. “The other two bodies? Have they been taken to cremation?”

  “No. They’re still locked in the cold storage.” Russo removed a set of keys from his pocket—an unusual sight considering everything else was unlocked by their wristsbands. “Keys are with me and haven't left my possession.”

  “Good. I want to see them.” Sloan glanced at Archer then back at Russo.

  “Dr. Egan, that’s not allowed.”

  “Do you know what happened to those men?” Archer asked. “What’s out there?”

  Russo’s eyes widened. “I do.”

  “Then you understand C
olonel Archer—as head of security—would feel more comfortable if he were to see the bodies himself.”

  Thank God for Sloan and her quick thinking. “That I would. As head of security, it’s my duty to protect the entirety of The Bunker.”

  “Yes, sir. I understand that, but I have been given direct orders from General Davis not to allow anyone to enter this room.”

  Archer took a menacing step forward. He was done playing nice. “Open the damn door, Russo or I swear to you I will make your life here a living hell.”

  “You can’t threaten me. General Davis—”

  “Is my father,” Archer cut him off. “Yeah. Who do you think he’s going side with, you or his only son?”

  Russo scowled, threw open the door, and led them inside. “As you can see, there is nothing here except for the medical equipment and the deceased.”

  “Can you open the first cooler?” Archer asked. “That's what they're called, right?”

  Sloan smiled. “Close enough.”

  “Box one is with,” Russo snatched the small medical chart from its holder, “Jones. Do you want me to read his chart?”

  Archer watched as Sloan bit her lip to keep herself from snapping. “Not necessary. I know the cause of death. If you could just unlock it so we can see the body.”

  He stuck the key in the lock and turned. “Fair warning: this is not going to be a pretty sight.”

  “Thanks for that, Russo,” Archer said, his annoyance growing by the second.

  “Hey, don't want anyone passing out on me. This is pretty gruesome stuff.”

  “Agreed,” Sloan said. “You're welcome to wait out in the hall if you would like.”

  Russo's face blanked. Guess he wasn't so much trying to psych them up as he was himself. “Do you want me to unlock the others before I leave?”

  “That would be helpful.” Sloan grinned. “Thanks.”

  “Martinez is in four,” he said as he unlocked the cooler just below Jones. “I’ll wait outside and make sure no one spots you. Be fast, okay? I don’t know when they’ll send someone for the bodies. They are scheduled to be cremated today.”

  “Thank you,” Sloan said.

  Archer couldn’t believe Russo’s sudden change in attitude. “That’s very cool of you, man.”

  Russo snorted. “You’ve dragged me into your shit. If you’re caught, I’m screwed.”

  “I could knock you out. Tell ‘em I got the best of you.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Archer.” He stormed out and slammed the door.

  Sloan grabbed the handle of door number one, seemingly untroubled by the outburst. “Ready?”

  “Are you asking or telling?”

  She swung open the door and peered inside. “Shit!”

  “What is it?” Archer rushed to her side and yanked on the drawer. It flew out much faster than expected. Too fast. “Where’s the body?”

  “It’s empty! Why is it empty?” she shrieked. “It's not supposed to be!”

  “Calm down, Slash.” Archer stroked her arm. “Let's check four.”

  “You do it.” Her voice shook.

  “Okay.” He took hold of the handle and hesitated. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Sloan didn't budge. There was so much fear in her eyes. Not that he blamed her. She'd been attacked by one of these monsters just a few days ago. If there was a chance one of those things got loose…the thought alone would be enough to scare the crap out of anyone. “I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding. The chart on the wrong unit.” Archer held his breath as he opened Martinez's box. Double shit. “Maybe both were miss-labeled?”

  “Russo,” Sloan screamed, “get in here!”

  The door flung open. “What part of keeping a low profile—”

  “They're missing!” Sloan yelled.

  “What?” Russo rushed over, keys in hand. “That's impossible. Maybe we opened the wrong ones.”

  Archer tugged at the next two. Each opened with ease. Each were empty.

  “Can...” Sloan stuttered. “Can...they be...opened from...the inside?”

  Archer and Russo froze.

  Sloan gulped. “Do these have that ability?”

  “What ability?” Archer asked.

  “To be opened from the inside,” Sloan repeated. “In case...in case someone who was not really dead was locked inside.”

  “Maybe. But it's still locked,” Russo argued.

  “It would be. It doesn't unlock the door. It’s just one of those that can open from the inside.” Her thoughts were choppy, scattered. Very much unlike the calm, rational woman he knew. “What do we do?”

  Russo looked at Archer. The terror in the man's eyes told Archer he knew the danger that could be out there.

  “Remain calm. Russo, is there a log? Before we panic, let’s make sure the bodies weren’t moved to a more...private location. That's still a possibility.”

  Russo rushed to the panel on the wall. “Status on Jones and Martinez.” His voice was frantic. “Nothing. No change in status. They should be here.”

  “We need to tell someone,” Sloan said. “Operations, maybe? Put The Bunker on some sort of lockdown?”

  “Yeah,” Russo agreed. “Better safe than sorry.”

  “Wait!” Archer said. They were both in full-fledged panic mode. He expected as much from Sloan, but from a trained soldier such as Russo? Where the hell did the execs find this guy? “We aren’t even supposed to be here.”

  “I think we’re well past trying to save our own asses,” Russo said.

  Archer rubbed his eyes, trying to think. “Fine. Let me call ops. Talk to someone I trust.” He lifted his wrist. “Wu, Steven.” The connection buzzed but remained silent. “Wu?” Still no answer.

  “What does that mean?” Sloan asked.

  “It doesn't mean anything,” Archer reassured her and himself. Coms went down all the time around here. Okay, maybe not all the time but enough that this could just be a coincidence. “We need to get a hold of someone. Can you try Fletcher?”

  Sloan nodded and spoke into her wristband. “Barnett, Fletcher.” The line was silent. “Fletcher? It's Sloan. We have an emergency on the medical ward.”

  That was the last thing Archer wanted her to say. God only knew who could be listening.

  “Fletcher?” she repeated.

  A cough echoed through the room. “What, Dr. Egan?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “A touch of the flu,” he rasped. “What's the emergency?”

  Sloan peered at Archer, who nodded for her to continue. “The bodies from the morgue. The men who were killed on the surface.”

  “What about them?”

  “They're…they’re…missing.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Did you hear me, Fletcher? The bodies. They’re missing.”

  Fletcher groaned. “I thought you were smart enough not to overreact.”

  The bitterness in his voice caught Sloan off guard. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re overreacting, Dr. Egan. The bodies—which you have not been authorized to examine—have been relocated.”

  Her mouth fell open but nothing came out. The panic within her began to subside. The bodies were accounted for, not wandering around The Bunker in search of their next victim.

  “Now if you don’t mind, I would like to get back to my nap.” The line disconnected with a click.

  “Why would they do that?” Russo asked. “There’s no record of the transport.”

  “Because,” Archer said through gritted teeth, “they’re hiding something.”

  “After everything we’ve been told, all the lies, they wouldn’t…” Sloan argued halfheartedly. But even as the words left her lips she didn’t accept them. “What are they hiding?”

  “The truth,” Archer said. “What killed those men. Why we’re really down here.”

  “Then why not destroy the bodies?” Russo asked. Funny how not twenty minutes ago he was doing his best to keep them out of this room. Now he was ques
tioning everything he thought he knew.

  Sloan was silent, trying to think of the best answer. It was simple enough. If you didn’t want anyone stumbling across those men and discovering the horrors that they went through, you cremate them. All evidence would be gone. “Maybe I should talk to Fletcher.”

  “You just got off the phone with him, Slash. He's a dead end.”

  “No, he knows what's going on but refused to speak of it. There's a big difference between the two.”

  “Now what?” Russo interjected, “you going stroll up to his room and demand he see you?”

  She didn't hesitate. “Yes.”

  “Fine.” Archer huffed towards the door. “If you think that will work, let's go talk to the bastard.”

  Sloan placed a firm hand on his chest. “Not you. I have to go alone.”

  “That's not a good idea,” Archer said.

  “You heard, Fletcher,” she retorted. “The bodies have been moved. They’re accounted for. There is no threat.”

  Archer swiveled around and ran a hand through his hair. “Still…”

  “You don’t trust me?” Sloan asked, confused as to why she even cared enough to ask.

  “This isn’t a question of trust, Slash.” He’d turned back around to face her. “I have this gut feeling that something isn’t right.”

  Sloan knew he’d relied a great deal—too much, in her opinion—on intuition. Even when faced with the truth. It was part of the reason he was so incredibly stubborn. “If you accompany me, Fletcher will refuse to speak.”

  Archer grumbled but didn’t disagree.

  “There are better, more useful things you could be doing while I meet with him.”

  “You want to split up?” Archer frowned. “I don’t like it.”

  “I’ll go with her,” Russo said. “I’ll hang back, down the hall. Close enough to keep an eye out and far enough that Fletcher won’t know I’m there.”

  Archer’s eyes narrowed. “I could do that.”

  “And if Fletcher checks your location?” she asked. He was being overprotective—a trait she didn’t find attractive in a man. Her father raised her not to be a damsel in distress. “I’m not asking for you to stay back.”

  “What, you giving me orders now?” He was angry, which wasn’t getting them anywhere.