by M. K. Dawn
Smith confirm the plan. “Those in the rear will hang back. The rest are ready on your command.”
He took one more look around. Damn, he hated moving under the light of the sun. It went against everything he knew. All his previous missions had been done under the cover of the night sky or during the new moon, when the only light was that of the stars. He wished he knew more about their enemy. Their strengths and weaknesses. The unknown was the scariest part of this whole damn thing.
“Should we cut the lights?” Smith asked.
Maybe it was best if he bounced his thoughts off another person. “Dr. Egan believes them to be blind.”
“Has that been confirmed, sir?”
“It hasn’t. Just the word of a scared woman under attack.”
Smith glanced at the ceiling. “But you trust her instincts?”
“Either they’re blind or they can’t see in the light. Or she misread the situation.”
“I’ve met Dr. Egan a few times. She seems like a sensible woman. Has her head on straight. If she says the things can’t see, then I’d be inclined to believe her.”
His thoughts exactly.
With a quick glance upward at the makeshift sky, Archer said a little prayer then signaled his troops forward.
Two steps into the pasture and Archer resolved to take it slow. Call it gut instinct or intuition, but whatever it was, something inside him said if they ran or made a lot of noise, they would attract some unwanted attention.
It was a painful decision. Bile burned his throat with each disemboweled animal they passed. It appeared they only fed on the organs of animals and didn’t take over their bodies as they did with humans.
Halfway to the barn, his wristband blinked. He had the forethought to silence it before they began, but kept the lines of communication open as a way for his lookouts to contact him.
The voice message was translated to a text and skated across the screen: Movement, three o’clock.
Archer held up his hand and the group halted. He quickly scanned his right and then his left for good measure but saw nothing. There weren’t many places to hide; behind the woodworking shed or on the unseen sides of the barn. Other than that, there was nothing. He brought his wristband to his lips as close as he could. There was no keyboard to send messages; only voice activation. “All clear on this end. Moving forward.”
He lowered his hand and they inched forward. They neared the side entrance of the barn. He wouldn’t risk opening the large main doors—they were the noisiest damn things he’d ever heard. He’d asked Alex about that once who explained they kept it that way because the animals had grown used to it and knew when they heard that sound it was time to be fed. It was a big-ass dinner bell and precisely the reason they wouldn’t be opening it now.
Grass rustled in the distance. Archer whipped his head toward the sound—his three o’clock—but still saw nothing. From the elevator, he thought the pastures had been cut short. But as they drew closer to the barn, he realized the back acres had grown up about a foot taller than the rest. It wasn’t much, but it could be enough to hide. If the infected were smart enough to do so.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up. For a second he pictured a lion crouched in the brush, watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce.
“Sir,” Smith whispered. “There…there’s something out there.”
He wanted to tell her she was wrong. Blame it on her overactive imagination, but he’d seen it too. The slight rustle of grass. He had no idea how fast those things were or how many were out there. He didn’t want to run for it. Didn’t think they stood a chance if they did.
The grass shook again, closer, more defined.
“Col…Colonel?” Smith stuttered.
“Go!” Archer pushed forward. “Stay low, stay quiet.”
He led them towards the barn door while keeping a close eye on their backs. The grass continued to shift, but the creatures had yet to make themselves known.
Twenty feet to go. Fifteen. Ten.
For a split second, he thought they would make it.
He was wrong.
The first leapt out of the brush, toppling over two men. It bit each one in the neck with such precision that hardly a drop of blood was spilled—a far cry from the way Sloan had described Russo’s death.
Pandemonium erupted as the infected came at them from every direction. So many soldiers fell—more than he could comprehend. The compassionate person inside him wanted to help, but the rational side knew there was nothing he could do. If Archer turned back he would die alongside them and never make it to the weapons vault. Then where would The Bunker be?
He reached the barn and jiggled the knob. “Son of a bitch!” He pounded on the door. It was locked. Smith and a dozen soldiers joined him, bloodied and bruised, scared out of their minds. Archer prayed none of them had been bitten. He didn’t know what he would do if any were.
“The door’s locked!” Archer screamed over the commotion. “I’m going to try and break it down.”
They spread out, giving him room, all the while keeping their backs to the barn. This wasn’t some rickety old building; the door wasn’t going to cave easily. He would try to kick it in but it might take more than a couple of tries. And it was going to hurt like hell. He looked over his shoulder at the carnage and his stomach turned. The first couple of men had gone down with little bloodshed. Most of the others hadn’t been so lucky.
The first kick did nothing but draw unwanted attention to their small group. A few of the closer infected snapped their heads toward the sound, jagged teeth dripping blood. A low growl emanated from them, sending chills down his spine. Fortunately, there was enough noise, the infected had trouble pinpointing their exact location.
“Shit! I’m gonna need some help!” A couple of the larger men stepped up. “On three…two…one.”
They kicked together. Once. Twice. On the third attempt, the lock snapped.
The noise was enough to catch the infected’s attention. Their stalking turned into a full out sprint.
“Inside!” Archer ordered the few remaining survivors. The door was only wide enough for one to enter at time. He wanted to scream at them to hurry, but knew they were moving as fast as they could. The monsters had slowed. Without the banging on the wood and with all the blood, they must have lost their location. Still, they were close and it wouldn’t take them long to discover Archer and his men.
“Colonel.” Smith seized his arm. “Come on!”
Though her voice was nothing more than a whisper, it was enough to draw the attention of their attackers. He shoved her inside and slammed the door seconds before the monsters swooped in.
***
They sat in the dark for a good thirty minutes—noiseless, motionless—waiting for the chaos outside to end. Archer couldn’t make out the faces of the people who had blindly followed his lead. He didn’t need to. They had seen the monsters up close, just as he had; it was more horrifying then he could’ve ever imagined.
The worst part?
Many of the infected he recognized. Under the translucent skin and altered mouths were the faces of people he swore an oath to protect. An oath he’d failed to uphold. There were so many dead. He didn’t have the chance to count, but it wasn’t hard to do the math. He had led fifty people out into that pasture. Left another four by the elevators as lookouts.
The monsters had outnumbered them two to one.
How was that possible? And in such a short period of time?
“Sir?” Smith was the first to break the silence. “What now? Should we go check on the fallen?”
Archer shook his head, not that anyone could see. “No. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Some of them may not be dead,” another argued. “We owe it to—”
“They’re all dead,” Archer snapped. “A single bite is a death sentence.” Did they not listen when he told them earlier? Or had they not believed him? “We need to keep moving.”
&nbs
p; “How the hell are we going to get out of here?” a man to his left asked. “There are too many.”
“We need weapons.” Archer ran his hands along the wall next to the door in search of a light switch. The darkness was making his already frayed nerves worse.
“We’re not even close to the vault,” Smith said. It was the only voice he recognized as she was the only woman left among them.
“The makeshift weapons,” he reminded them. “Farm tools. Long stick with a pointy end would work best. Now, if I could just find the damn light.”
The lights flickered, on illuminating the room.
“Ask and you shall receive,” a deep, familiar voice said. Cavl Bowers—head botanist and Evelyn’s other half—filled the doorframe, leaving little room for even a gnat to squeeze by. “How the hell did ya’ll get by those creatures?”
Archer glanced between his tiny group. “We started with fifty.”
Cavl lowered his head. “Damn.”
“How long you been in here?” Archer asked.
“We,” Cavl beckoned Archer and his group to follow, “have been in here for about five hours.”
Archer couldn’t believe it. “What happened? Why didn’t you call for help?”
“A couple of those things came out of nowhere. Took a half a dozen people down. Didn’t know what was happening so we hid in here. Called operations and they said they’d sent a few guys to check things out. Then the emergency alarms went off so we waited. After a few hours, no one came and I got antsy. Went to check things out and found a ton of those things killing all the livestock, ripping and eating…” He swallowed hard. “Eating all the animals’ insides. What the fuck, man?”
Archer had almost forgotten the VIPs didn’t know the truth about how the outside world had fallen. They were told it was an asteroid same as everyone else, just years before. “It’s a long story. One we don’t have time to get into now. The ones that were attacked, were they bitten?”
“Every damn one of them.”
“Shit.” Archer scraped a hand through his hair. “Where are they?”
Cavl pointed in the direction they were heading. “In the veterinarian’s office. Is there a problem? A few of them need some medical attention. Their wounds are pretty deep. Others seem to have developed that stomach bug going around.”
“Where are the farm tools? Shovels, pitchforks, hoes?”
Cavl raised an eyebrow. “We have a couple lying about. Most of the planting is done upstairs using hydroponics, so those tools are unnecessary.”
“Is there anything else we could use as weapons?”
“Farm tools? As weapons?”
Archer’s fingers twitched. “We need something to defend ourselves until we can make it to the weapons vault.”
“Are you telling me,” Cavl snorted, “that the weapons vault is down here? What kind of idiot thought that was a good idea?”
“God,” Archer sneered. “I made a fucking mistake, okay? Didn’t think we’d be attacked by organ-eating monsters! Didn’t think The Bunker would ever be used for anything other than trial runs! None of which is important now. The only thing that matters is getting to that vault, getting the weapons, and stopping this shit from spreading even further.”
“Sorry, man.” Cavl held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t know. What can I do?”
Archer took a few deep, calming breaths then marched towards the back room. “First, we need to check on the people who are ill. Possibly secure them.”
“Secure them?”
He really didn’t want to go over the whole spiel again, but Cavl needed to know. “All of those who were bitten are now infected. The ones displaying flu-like symptoms will die first and reawaken as one of those things. The others will suffer the same fate.”
Cavl froze. “You’re shitting me. What is this, a fucking zombie apocalypse?”
“Nope.” Archer sighed. “More of an alien invasion.”
“Damn. The asteroid?”
“Hit ten thousand years ago, bringing with it this alien that eats organs and uses human bodies as a host.” Archer almost busted out laughing as he explained; the rational part of his brain still couldn’t comprehend the impossible.
They stopped at the door to the shop. “So my people. They’re all going to die?” Cavl’s voice cracked. He might look like a bad-ass linebacker but inside he was the softest, biggest-hearted man Archer knew.
“I’m so sorry, Cavl.”
“Should I tell them?”
“Would you want to know?” Archer asked.
“Would I want to know if I was about to turn into a mindless, flesh-eating alien?” He slowly opened the door. “Hell yes, I would.”
***
Most were unconscious when Cavl and Archer entered the small room. Sprawled on the floor, they barely had a breath left in them. Archer quickly checked their bite wounds. None were serious enough to cause such a rapid decline in health; it was the virus inside them that was taking over.
The few that were awake described their symptoms as most others had: extreme fatigue, severe body aches, and flushed skin accompanied with trouble breathing and pressure in the chest. All had been bitten, as Cavl said.
Archer recognized all of them but was only on a first name basis with one: Alex Diaz, the rancher Vicky was matched with. He was one of few still conscious, but from the looks of him it wouldn’t be long before the infection got the better of him.
Alex motioned Archer over. “Have you…seen…Vicky?” he managed.
Archer crouched beside the dying man, careful to stay out of range of his teeth. To an unknowing eye, a few would appear to have been chipped, but Archer knew better. He was undergoing the first stages of the change when people would slip in and out of consciousness and become aggressive, snapping their teeth at anything near. It was why there were so many infected. People’s first instinct was to help a loved one that was ill. This thing—alien—knew what it was doing when it came to attracting prey.
“She’s with Sloan, on medical.”
“Safe?”
Archer thought about how best to answer. He never believed much in comforting those on the verge of death with lies—even going as far as making a pact with his men before a mission to be brutally honest if things went south.
However, this time it was different. Alex had made no such pact. He was scared and confused and his last dying wish was to know the fate of the woman he loved. Couldn’t blame a man for that. “They’re fine. That floor has been secured.”
He attempted a nod but his neck was too weak. “Good.”
Archer glanced back at Cavl, who was comforting a few others on the verge of unconsciousness. No one was panicking, which could only mean one thing: Cavl had a change of heart and decided not to tell them what was going on.
“There…” Alex tugged on Archer’s sleeve. “Medicine cabinet. Sodium Pentobarbital.”
“Seizure medication?”
Alex coughed. “Euthanasia.”
Cavl came over and knelt beside them. “What’s he saying?”
“Asking for Sodium Pentobarbital.”
“Are you sure, Alex?” Cavl asked.
“Don’t…” he cleared his throat, “want to turn into that.”
Archer understood. “Get the medication.”
Cavl stood and quickly gathered the supplies.
“You know what’s happening to you and the others?”
“Yes,” Alex croaked.
He didn’t want to push the man by asking too much, but Archer felt obligated to make sure he did indeed know the truth. “That when bitten you will die and turn into one of the monsters who bit you?”
“Yes. Don’t want to kill.”
“I understand. Do the others know?”
He shrugged—or at least Archer thought he did.
Cavl returned with a medicine bottle and a large syringe. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” Alex squeezed Archer’s hand with the little strength he had left then f
ell unconscious.
“Is this going to work?” Cavl asked. “I mean, once you die, you turn. Right?”
“I don’t know. We have to shoot the monsters in the chest to kill them. I say we inject them in chest as well. That way the poison goes straight to the source.”
“Okay.” Cavl took a deep breath a prepped the needle. “Here goes nothing.”
***
After Alex passed, Archer and Cavl waited more than an hour for him to turn but thankfully he never did. They then decided the most humane thing to do was to euthanize the others—Cavl’s words not his. There were already enough infected waiting for them outside the barn. The last thing they needed was more coming at them from the inside. Two had already passed. They didn’t know how long before the change, but Archer prayed the pentobarbital would kill the monster living inside.
They split up the infected, Cavl taking the right while he took the left. All had fallen unconscious, which Archer was grateful for. He didn’t think he could take injecting a person with a lethal dose of drugs while they lay awake and watched. It was hard enough witnessing Cavl inject Alex, and the man had asked him to do it.
To Archer, it was strange knowing that each prick would end a life, but with weak vital signs and ragged breathing it was only a matter of time before the remaining victims succumbed to the parasite that ate away at them. To end their suffering was merciful. It was what he would want done for him if the situation were reversed.
Once everyone passed, they left the shop and boarded up the door behind them just in case. The others waited outside. Archer had insisted they be told the course of action he and Cavl had chosen. None argued but Archer knew each of them held their own form of doubt. You don’t willingly take a life without it.
The somber expressions of his remaining soldiers conveyed everything he felt and more: pain, regret, sorrow, fear. Every face of the people he’d injected would forever live in his mind, their deaths forever etched in his soul.
“Are they…” Smith began, but couldn’t finish the thought.
