Afflicted_Patient Zero_Book 1

by Derek Shupert

  I start up the short climb of conduit and cautiously peer up and over the blackness that greets my eyes, the green hue taking hold and shedding some dull light on the tiny space. There’s little wiggle room and if I come across anything along the way, it’s going to be hell trying to defend myself. I guess I just need to say some Hail Mary’s and hope I don’t find myself up a creek without a paddle. Not sure how the Big Man upstairs views partially living people.

  I don’t see or hear anything other than the surging current flowing above and under me, breaking in and out with a stutter and then firing right back up again. I pull myself up and slide into the confining space, the metal pipes invading my chest and nether regions. The backpack nudges the pipes overhead, wedging my frame within the snake pit of metal.

  I move forward, army crawling with my arms folded in front of me and my feet pushing me along the way. My breathing is in check and I don’t feel remotely tired, just extremely motivated. My eyes play over every little inch of the confining space, probing the nooks and black voids for any unwanted things. I pick up the faint but all too familiar sounds of the infected shrilling, reverberating off the metal I’m incased in. It’s not anywhere close to where I am, as far as I know, but I’m not going to take advantage of my current situation. I could get hit with a fecal storm real fast.

  Bumps and vibrations stir the pipes underneath me, stopping me cold, and my head twists back as far as it can. I see nothing and hear no movement or heavy breathing, probably just my heightened senses working overtime and relaying any and all possible threats.

  I dismiss the distractions and keep on my way, the green hue picking up bursts of steam emitting from what I figure is fractured pipes in the ceiling. My first junction is up ahead, where I take a left and keep going strong. I pause for a second and watch the steam vent hard and short, cycling about every 30 seconds. I count down ’til I need to scurry past the blast, when I get a sudden flourish of something watching me crawling up my skin.

  I pan my eyes to the right, finding nothing but more metal pipes and cobwebs galore. I pan back to the left and come across another section that jets off into oblivion. Either I missed this on the schematic or my mind just decided it is a need to know basis and that I really didn’t need to know. If that’s the case, it makes me wonder how much other crap I don’t remember.

  I peer down the darkened space and spot a body lying motionless, face down. It’s pretty far away and my eyes are having a hard time picking up much detail, only showing that its hands and head appear to be more human than deformed. It has a dark gray jumpsuit on and random patches of hair that look to have been ripped right from its forehead, leaving bloody, wet patches in its wake. I’m not sure if it’s dead or just unconscious, but I really don’t care to find out.

  Clang! Bam! A sudden strike somewhere along my path fills the cramped space, sounding like a canon exploding right in my damn ears. It hurts like hell and rattles my skull. My teeth chatter like those wind-up teeth with feet. I look around to see what happened and find the motionless thing down the way is now up and at ’em.

  It lifts its head up and bobbles it in place long enough to spot something it wants to investigate further. Its nose has been smashed in and its right ocular area is void of any flesh—or an eyeball for that matter. Fluids pour out of its mouth and seep into the metal pipes beneath it as it crawls my way. It’s missing its left hand, but its right hand is good to go and its legs are doing more than enough to close the gap between us.

  I train my eyes and thoughts back at the steam that’s holding me up, hearing its hungry growl in my mind. I can nearly hear it licking its lips, savoring the hopeful meal to come. The steam shuts off and I move forward to pass, but get stopped cold by my right boot slipping down between the tight metal pipes.

  Are you freaking kidding me!

  It doesn’t really surprise me though, as I’ve been getting pissed on this entire horror show. I’m used to cutting it close by now and working through shit storms that seem to hover over me constantly. Thank goodness I’m resourceful and semi-patient.

  At first, I just jerk my foot, tugging and pulling and hoping it will pop free and I can move on. But that’s a no go. It seems to have twisted sideways and wedged inside the snake pit of metal. I can hear the undead breathing and clamoring along the pipes in a frenzy to see what’s up ahead. My eyes bring it more into focus with every forward crawl it makes, which sucks. I’m going to have to do something fast. I don’t want to fend this thing off with my foot trapped and gear strapped to my back. I could squeeze my hand under me and grab my pistol, but that might work against me. Discharging it could cause an explosion. Uncertainty is a bitch sometimes.

  I continue to wiggle my foot about, moving it every possible way I can think to free it. I know I should probably calm down and slow my thoughts, but that would make too much sense. I’m in that fight or flight scenario again and I don’t want to fight with this thing in close quarters if I don’t have to. At the moment, it has the advantage.

  The stench of its soulless body and the putrid spray of its breath wafts my way, stinging my nose and making me tug harder on my foot. I think it has finally realized what’s caught in its web of metal. It gets more excited and breathes heavier as it picks up the pace.

  Shit!

  My boot slightly loosens and I think I’ve figured out which way I need to contort my limb in order to free it. I concentrate on nothing but that and maneuver it around, feeling the grasp of the metal pipes letting me go. My boot pops out.

  Just in time too, as I turn my attention back to the unwanted dead visitor who grabs me with its one hand and goes in for the kill, rotted yellow teeth first. I flip to my side somehow in the cramped space and grab it by the throat, my pack pushing against the wall of pipes and driving me towards it. It flails around, trying to get closer, positioning its legs on the lips of the pipes and pushing forward. Fluids galore leak from every open hole in its body, the stench fighting me as well as its overpowering aroma filtering in through my nose.

  I dig harder in its throat, squeezing with all my might as I reach down to my leg and scramble for my knife. Of course the damn thing would be latched down and secured tightly in its sheath, making me fight with it. I wish I could call a temporary time out, but I don’t think this thing is playing by any rules.

  Wrestling with pulling my pant leg up and trying to unbuckle the stubborn sheath, I let up on my grasp. The thing advances, snapping at my arm. Its teeth find their mark and dig into my flesh, slicing away the pale skin and going for the more meaty and succulent muscle. Blood flows, but it’s thick and pasty, oozing out and looking more like a thick spaghetti sauce staining the creature’s teeth and mouth. I can feel the pressure from it going ape nuts, pulling and tugging like a damn pit bull at a knotted rope. It doesn’t hurt though, or at least something is keeping the pain from shooting up the dead nerves that would be bombarding my brain right now with searing agony.

  I finally get the sheath to cooperate and remove the knife, ripping my tattered and chewed arm from the creature’s flesh ridden mouth. Chunks of my skin lay packed between its multilayered rows of jagged and irregular teeth, my thick, mutated blood quenching its thirst momentarily.

  It looks at me with its one and only black eye, mouth ajar and its heavy ass breathing shoveling out fluids like a waste dump. It starts for me again, but my knife finds its mark in the side of its temple. Either my strength is gaining or this thing’s head is as ripe as a damn melon. The handle and part of my fingers completely embed inside its skull.

  I jerk the handle back and free the blade, blood trailing in its wake, and a squishing sound echoes from the gaping hole where my fist lay. Now lifeless once more, the creature’s head falls like a stone to the pipes and hits hard, decayed brain matter oozing from the exposed portion.

  I wonder if that’s what my brain will look like—a jumbled up mess that will leave me dwelling within madness. A prisoner within my own mind and
body, lost forever.

  I inspect my arm, looking past the flesh and seeing part of my femur showing through the ravaged muscle. It looks nasty and well deserved of a field dress, but I don’t even bat an eye at the sight of my own exposed bone. I’ve seen much worse. Plus, I don’t see any need in trying to properly dress the wound. I figure I should tear a strip from my shirt and wrap it in case I come across any living people. The last thing I want or need is for someone to spot this right off the bat, and try to put me down without asking any questions. Funny how the tables have turned on me; that karma thing is a real bitch.

  I tear a strip from my shirt and wrap the bite, the thick blood absorbing into the dingy whitish cloth and staining it dark red instantly. I guess there’s no reason to be concerned with getting an infection.

  The mash up of the creature’s flesh and chunks of its shattered skull cling to the tainted red blade, dangling from the serrated edge in multiple clumps. I flick my wrist sharply and sling the decayed brain matter off, wiping the blade and my hand clean on my pant leg. I place the knife back in its sheath and fall flat on my stomach, training my thoughts back on getting to where I need to be and off the dead again corpse lying in its own fluids.

  The steam hisses and vents hard, nearly covering up the sounds of something stirring from the way I came. It ceases and I’m off, quickly crawling past the blast point and snaking my way down to the next junction. I hit the corner and back into the black abyss, training my ears and poking my head out just far enough to spot a disfigured skull looking in the direction I came from. The steam distorts my view some, making it look much more hideous and vulgar within my green tint. It looks around, mouth ajar and its flesh deprived nose trained in the air. Its left hand is mutated fully, elongated fingers gripping the pipes while its right slender spike arm waves aimlessly from side to side. I’m not sure if it’s picking up my scent or that of the dead body lying between us.

  It peers in my general direction, past the steam and dead body and holds its gaze, not flinching or twitching a single muscle. It looks and feels as though it has spotted me somehow, but it’s not shrilling and scampering down the pipes in a feeding frenzy.

  I ready myself for a quick getaway down the tight space, every fiber teaming with a surge of annoyance and adrenaline. I think I can shoot forward and get to the other side without it noticing me, but taking that chance when I don’t really need to would be foolish and outright stupid at this point.

  Christ, crap or get off the pot already! I don’t have all day!

  After about five minutes of this thing acting like it’s got a clue, I teeter on the edge of opening my mouth and telling it to come on, to quit toying with me and come my way if it wants to play. But before my rough and dried lips can crack apart and speak, its head twists around like that of a blood hound in the marsh. It lets out a short, high-pitched shrill that bounces off the pipes. I blink my eyes and find that it’s gone. It probably found a better prospect to explore than this. Whatever grabbed its attention, I’ll take it.

  15

  I dart past the opening, not wanting to take any chances, and continue my way through the maze of pipes that curve and turn through the black void that is highlighted by the green hue. My nuts have seen better days, being squished and probed by the many rigid points within the pipes. It doesn’t really bother me all that much though, which scares me a little. I’m not sure if the twig and berries have lost all life as well.

  I make the last corner and find my exit just ahead, silent as a normal graveyard. A single dim light shines through the grate, splitting it into multiple beams that illuminate my face. I slow my pace some, trying to reduce any noise that could alert anyone or anything roaming around below. Man, this pack is getting on my nerves.

  I creep up to the grate, low to the metal beneath me, and peer out through the narrow slits into the expansive, but cramped, bay. It looks like the backup lights have kicked in and the main power is out here as well. Not sure how long the lights have been burning. I could poke out a single toe and shit could go dark.

  I get my face as close as I can and scan over the mounds of crates and boxes spread all over, trying to get a feel for what I might be stepping into.

  I instantly spot multiple thin beams of light tracing up and down the crates or whatever the hell they are. I count roughly a half dozen men, armed with automatic weapons and dressed similarly to the dead TGP soldiers I encountered earlier. Not sure if they’re looking for something or just making the rounds, checking that nothing, dead or otherwise, has slipped in through the cracks.

  From what I can tell, I’m not too far from the ground and this grate in front of me is rusted pretty badly all around—the dark reddish color eating away at the metal’s body. I grab the jagged slits, not concerned that tetanus is probably breeding within the dying metal, and push out. With little resistance, the grate gives and I reel it back in, laying it next to me. I worm my way up slowly to the opening and cautiously stick my head out, my black eyes getting a much better lay of the land. The coast is all clear around me and below, the darkness swallowing the nook below me and blinding any eyes from penetrating through its veil.

  I glance above me and find a lip of sorts within the structure that might allow me to pull myself up and let me land on my feet. I crawl out of the opening a little more and torque my frame in a way that both of my hands grab the edge, my upper body dangling in the air. I have maybe an inch to an inch and a half of space to hold on to. It’s not much but I’ll make do.

  Gripping the ledge as best I can, and with gravity shoving me down like it’s got a grudge, I pull myself completely out and fall to the concrete below. The landing is less than perfect and my boots hitting the ground makes more noise than I would like. I pause and hold tight, crouched and ready to strike as I wait to see if I’ve got any curious visitors that might have heard the commotion. My ears pick up nothing and no beams of light dance my direction.

  I remove my knife from its sheath and grip it in my right hand, blade turned backwards and the serrated edge pointing to the ground. I’ve got the Glock and shotgun poised and ready to do some damage if need be, but want to keep things as quiet and personal as possible.

  Cloaked in darkness, the green hue illuminating the oddly shaped containers, I move towards the edge and stop. Calm, cool, and mostly collected, I cautiously twist my head out and find a guard walking my way, a sharp light from his gun mounted flashlight crawling across the container and nearly bringing my less than human face to life.

  I instantly pull my head back in and ready my blade, muscles teaming with adrenaline and my ears trained to his every footstep as he approaches his final moments of life. The beam of light is getting tighter and the jingling of his uniform signals his position. The barrel of his machine gun breaks the corner first and passes on by, his unsuspecting mind not bothering to check down this way.

  Big mistake.

  Like a coiled snake ready to strike its prey with lethal precision, I reach out and grab him from behind, reeling him into my dark world. Before he can think of popping off a round or trying to fight back, I plunge the blade as hard as I can into his chest. The tip easily slices through the padded vest he’s wearing and tears into his flesh, nicking some ribs and digging deep within his insides. The struggling dies off instantly and his body goes limp, becoming dead weight that will hopefully not come back to haunt me, literally.

  Sorry pal, wrong place at the wrong time.

  Removing my blade, I pull his dead body further into the darkness and wipe the green tinted blood onto his gear before grabbing his gun. I turn the flashlight off quickly and toss the weapon over my shoulder. It might come in handy.

  I ready the blade once more and creep towards the edge. Peering out, I find that the coast is clear for now. Zero lights trail along the containers and no footsteps that my sensitive ears can pick up. Quietly making my way to the other side of the warehouse, a dim, yellow light from across the way grabs my attenti
on. It’s emitting from one of the containers and pulsating like a beating heart. I know I shouldn’t deviate from my plan, especially since my mind is becoming that of one of those things, but what can I say, curiosity has me by the balls.

  I move fast and low to the light, my pack doing jumping jacks on my back and the newly acquired machine gun jostling around crazy like. I lean against the adjoining container and slither down the rough and ridged steel, my eyes peeled for anything or anyone. The light seems somehow familiar to me, the piss color staining the steel and blinking like an SOS symbol. I hesitate for a brief second, afraid of what might be added to my fractured memory.

  This light feels familiar to me.

  Come on, do it, Mike. It’s not just about you, it’s about Becky. Getting back to her. If it can help, then get your ass up there and sneak an f’n peek.

  I love my inner motivator sometimes.

  I take a few steps forward, keeping my head low and out of the light, and brace for whatever I see. I stand erect and lift my head into the guiding light, the green hue diminishing and the color, well mostly yellow, coming into focus.

  A half-naked man is within, bound to a thick metal stand that has his wrist and ankles restrained by some hefty steel clamps, eyes sealed shut and outfitted in some bright white shorts. Wires galore hang from the ceiling and are feeding into his body all over, fluids of some kind continuously flowing like a river inside of him. He’s definitely alive, well the non-cannibalistic version I think, as he seems to be normal and not showing any physical signs of the change. His breathing is steady, the warmth from his mouth creating smoke within the apparently chilled pod.

  Standing there and peering at the poor bastard, I instantly feel goosebumps roll over me, the cold chill nipping at my nipples and other extremities. The odd sensation of having needles forced into my body and some foreign liquid pumped into my veins. I close my eyes, putting myself in his place. It’s like a bad nightmare that is stuck on repeat, not letting me escape the horror that I think I went through.