Afflicted_Patient Zero_Book 1

by Derek Shupert

  I meet up with the wall and start feeling it up all over, my hands frantically sliding all over every little inch looking for that sweet spot. I lose my train of thought on the explosive charge I set, hearing a boisterous clap of what sounds like muffled thunder sound off behind me and the floor beneath me shakes. The lights above me dim and flicker a few times as I hear a rush of something winding down the passageway.

  Oh shit!

  I pick up the pace and press everywhere I can, the tidal of fire and shrapnel clawing its way to me. I’m calm but panicked at the same time. I mean, I’m partly dead, but my sense of self-preservation is still there. Or at least, it feels that way.

  I keep feeling along the smooth surface until part of the wall pops open, allowing me to get my finger tips in the tiny opening. It’s heavy and not moving very well. I pull even harder, the muscles in my arms and chest tightening as I force it open just enough to get myself through.

  The inferno is nearly on top of me and ready to swallow me whole, giving me that little extra bit of motivation that I need to swing around and dart inside. I lunge out of the way and off to the side as the fiery beast reaches the end of the hall; the door slams shut. Sirens bellow and the main lights cease. The few backup lights kick in and cast the room into partial darkness once more.

  Well, that was close.

  Sitting there on the wet floor, I wipe the grime of sweat from my face. The water shuts off, the sirens stop, and silence reclaims the room.

  I get to my feet and train my machine gun straight ahead, sweeping the dead silence for any movement. It looks as though the area has been tossed, papers scattered about and tables of all shapes and sizes turned over and dented. I’m finding puddles of blood and splatter streaks on the walls and tubes. I don’t see any lab workers or anything of that nature yet, but this area is big and with all the clutter about, anything could be lurking within.

  I work my way towards the epicenter of the room where a rounded workstation is set up with multiple computer stations and other equipment. My gun is ever vigilant, moving like an automated turret system ready to dispense without prejudice.

  Most of the screens have been destroyed, and are busted and sparking. I happen across one that is still running, a hairline crack running diagonal from the top right to the bottom left. It’s distorting the images on the screen, but it’s all I’ve got. I pause and look over what’s displayed. A single phrase that says it all yet tells me nothing.

  System purge complete of all specimens.

  Specimens? That doesn’t sound good.

  I hit the enter key on the keyboard, hoping to find something more out, but get nothing other than invalid password and the screen going blank. I shuffle through the papers scattered about on the workstation, trying to come across something that might give me a crash course in what I’m dealing with here. It’s all Greek to me and for any of it to make sense I’d probably need to think like a psychopath with some crazy ass degree.

  Aggravated, I knock a pile of papers from the desktop and turn my attention to the slew of cylinders that apparently housed some sort of specimens. I’m hoping it’s the slow, unresponsive variety that was let loose and not the nimble, larger ones that had me stuck like a pig.

  I move in for a closer look, going from one hard plastic tube to the next. I notice various intravenous wires filtering in from the top with screens attached to the right. Most are broken while others survive, flickering randomly. I pause at one of tubes. The hard, plastic shell is busted to shit and chunks of what looks like meat cling to the jagged edges. Since I don’t see any bodies, dead or undead, this doesn’t inspire much confidence.

  I grip my gun tighter and move on, passing a few cylinders housing bodies. The screens are completely off, so I don’t know what their status is. I look inside one of them, trying to see its face. I can’t tell if they’re undead as a shield of some kind is keeping it secret.

  Something short circuits and sends a loud crackling noise through the air, instantly followed by a short burst of electricity that shoots sparks onto the ground. I twist around, poised and ready. My trigger finger rubs the kill switch as I look for the culprit.

  Damn man, keep it together. Don’t lose it now. Just a monitor spewing its guts.

  I lower my gun and take a breather, focusing on continuing my search and moving on. I take a few steps forward and head to the next filled tube when I feel a hand grab me from behind.

  By primal instinct now, I spin around and grab whatever it is by the arm and slam its face into the cylinder next to me, cracking the hard plastic. I must have dislocated its jaw, as one side hangs loose, blood pouring out of its decrepit mouth. It’s not moving very fast and struggles to get upright, swaying from side to side like a drunken sailor on an all night drinking spree.

  It moans and groans, quickly finding its second gear that turns into a growl. It comes for me once more, mangled arms stretched outward, reaching for me as it ambles forward. Its right leg is mostly devoid of flesh, its reddish tinted femur showing; its knee cap is scrapped and nicked to shit. Its left leg is turned sideways, dragging behind like a useless, unwanted item.

  I grab its head and flick my wrist, ripping its skull away from its lower half. Its body shuts down and crumbles to the ground, falling at the foot of my boots. I toss the severed head off to the side and turn around. Whitish lab coats, soldier getups, and other various dead shuffle in through a door from across the room with all eyes on me. I guess some have already reaped what they’ve sown.

  I train my gun and take aim at one of the walker’s ambling towards me, the moans and uncoordinated shuffling filling my ears. Looking dead ahead and ready to drop some corpses, I fire a single shot.

  Bull’s eye! Right between the eyes. The splatter from the back of its head exploding does little to deter the others. I didn’t think it would.

  It falls face first to the ground as the others continue on. The one behind it is marked with the dead one’s flesh and bone all over its ripped and mangled face.

  I train my gun again and squeeze the trigger. Something grabs me from behind, sinking its teeth into my shoulder. My finger clamps down on the trigger and sprays the room wildly with ammo as it tugs and jerks like a voracious animal. I manage to wiggle free and get myself turned around, feeling the other posse of dead inching their way closer to me. I lay eyes on what just snacked on my shoulder, feeling surprised and let down at the same time.

  Deacon!

  “Deacon, it’s me,” I say, hoping that some part of him still remembers who I am. I know we only met briefly, but I think I made a lasting impression.

  He stares at me with those vacant black eyes, his face scratched to hell and parts of his chest gnawed on. My thick blood covers his lips, part of my clothing and flesh dangling from his stained teeth.

  “Deac-”

  He lunges for me once more, pinning me against some equipment.

  He’s lost, gone from the living and now part of the mindless horde converging on me. He grips me by my tattered shirt, and leans in for the kill, my naked neck teasing his ravenous appetite for human meat. I snap my arms up fast and break Deacon’s grip, kicking him in the stomach hard enough to knock him flat on his ass. I pull out my pistol and train it on his head as he gets to his feet.

  You’ll be at peace shortly.

  I’m ready to squeeze the trigger and put Deacon down. A stray bullet plows through his head from the right and exits out the left, blood and skull matter trailing in a thin line as Deacon falls to the ground motionless. I scan the room, looking for the shooter as the dead surround me. Their moans resonate in my ears as my eyes finally capture the gunman, waving his arm from side to side and pointing his finger at me. I think maybe he’s trying to tell me something.

  I peer over my wounded shoulder and spot one of the dead reaching for me, its flesh ridden fingertips mere inches from me. I whirl around and grab it by the arm, throwing it to the ground and placing a slug right in
its head. Two other men, dressed in TGP gear, emerge from the darkness and mow down the remaining dead. It’s a total blood bath as they smash and rip with the blunt weapons they’re wielding.

  I raise my pistol and take aim at the men, not sure if they’re on my side or just getting the dead out of the way before they try to take me down. I don’t see any guns except for the one that killed Deacon. If they’re here to bring me in, bringing a pipe to a gun fight probably won’t work out in their favor.

  “You take one step towards me or scratch your ass in a way I feel threatened by, I drop you like a bad habit,” I say aloud.

  The two holding the bloody, flesh-covered weapons hold still as the faceless gunman approaches me from my left. He’s short and skinny, although the get up they’re wearing probably adds some weight in their favor. I quickly train my pistol on his head, stopping him cold in his tracks. He raises his hands in the air, shouldering his weapon and cautiously reaches for his helmet.

  “I’ve got one hell of an itchy finger, so I would use good judgment here,” I say as he lifts off the head gear.

  Oh my!

  “If I wanted you dead or incapacitated, you’d be on the floor either way right now. So please, lower the pistol. We’re on your side,” the woman says with a harsh but stern tone. Her black hair is a dirty mess and her stone cold face gives no signs that she’s playing around. I kind of like this chick already.

  “Who are you?” I ask, lowering my pistol some, but keeping it at the ready. “You’re wearing the same getup as the other assholes that have been trying to kill or capture me.”

  “We worked for the company, but now we’re independent.” She stares at me long and hard. Her eyes scrutinize my face and stroll down my body. “So, you’re one of the group they’ve been watching and studying. You look like shit, you know.”

  “Yeah, I met captain dick a little earlier,” I snidely reply back. I cough, tilt my head to the right, and spit out a vile, reddish loogey that hurls to the wet floor below. “He had me strapped to a table and was about to play operation on me when I killed his two lab goons. He unfortunately left before I could get a better look at him.”

  “Slade,” she mutters under her breath. “How rapid is it? The change I mean.”

  “I have no clue,” I reply, wiping my cotton mouth free of the blood I just ejected. “I feel fine now, depending on what your definition of fine is. I’m not doubled over and drooling like an invalid, so that’s a plus.”

  “You’re definitely one of the lucky ones. Most others that we’ve encountered that have been injected, bitten, or scratched, turned rather quickly.”

  “Somehow, I don’t feel super lucky.”

  I check out the two guys out of the corner of my eyes to make sure they’re staying put. One is just staring at me and the other is peering out the door.

  “Why are you down here? If you’re trying to find your way out, you’re going the wrong way.”

  “I’m not leaving until I get some answers on what the hell they’re doing here and how to cure me. And maybe kill a lot of people responsible for all this?”

  “Cure?” she snickers. “I’ve seen a lot down here and have yet to come across any kind of vaccine.”

  “Well, I have to try. I can’t exactly stay like this,” I say, coughing again.

  “You’re not going to try and eat me or anything are you? ’Cause that won’t work out too well for you.”

  “Hey, we need to get moving,” the man standing watch outside the door says flatly while holding his hand to his right ear. “Their sending another unit and I’ve got eyes on some stragglers heading our way. There might be some of the faster moving ones along with them.”

  “All right, Stone, secure that door. What’s your name?”

  “Mike.”

  “I’m Natasha, that’s Hound, and the other over there is Stone. You a pretty good shot with that?”

  “Yeah, I can hold my own,” I reply. I know I look like one of them, but for now, my reflexes are still razor sharp. Well, maybe a little more on the dull side.

  Stone slips inside and grabs the heavy steel door, pulling it closed as its joints squeak and beg for oil. Nearly shut, the moans and shrills from the dead converge on us, sneaking in from the outside. A mutated arm slips in and grabs Stone’s hand. One good jerk and twist and Stone’s hand is ripped cleaned off, sending him stumbling backwards and the door flying open.

  “Stone!”

  Natasha and I train our guns at the door and open fire at a rather large infected that is grossly disfigured, the bullets tearing through its muscular frame and exiting out its back. Its mouth is ajar and peering around, looking at all the tasty morsels waiting to be devoured. We work our way towards Stone, who is on the ground and bleeding out like a wounded animal. Hound wields his blunt weapon and strikes it right in the infected’s face, smashing its mangled nose back into its skull. It stumbles backwards and shrills loudly, allowing just enough room for Hound to grab the door once more and slam it shut, locking it.

  Natasha takes a knee next to Stone to assess the damage. I stand watch with my pistol gripped in my hands, my eyes scanning the room. The ravenous beast beats at the door, the metal pushing in towards us with every hammer like toss it throws.

  “Shit. He’s bleeding bad and it looks like it scratched the hell out of his arm as well.”

  I look down at Stone, his face going pale and the signs of change showing rapidly. His eyes flood with the blackness and soon he will become one them. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he won’t be leaving this room— alive anyways. “Check out his eyes.”

  Natasha looks into the tearful eyes of Stone, who is now convulsing and spitting up blood. With a heavy sigh, she gets back to her feet and holsters her sidearm. She trains it at his head. “I’m sorry.”

  The pistol sounds off, sending a slug into Stone’s head. Multiple rapping sounds at the door resonate in my ears as Natasha looks at her fallen friend. Not a single tear falls, but her stern lips and emotionless stare say it all.

  “Natasha, we need to get moving now,” I say.

  “I’ve got that unit coming in hot and ready. ETA is just a few minutes out,” Hound adds.

  “I’ll take point, Hound in the middle, and Mike, you’ve got our backs.”

  The mounting murder of dead at the door is becoming too much for it to withstand. Their crazed moans and incessant pounding has brought our only barrier to its knees. “Stay close and keep up. You fall behind, I will leave your ass without a thought.”

  Natasha hugs the wall, returning the way they must have come in, and opens the door, her pistol the first on the scene. She quickly sweeps the area, looks back at us with a nod, and disappears into the blackness beyond. Hound moves without thought as gunfire and shrills play in the air behind me.

  The cavalry must be here.

  I dart out into the unknown and trail closely behind the two rogue soldiers, wondering where they’re going and if I’m being led to the slaughter.

  19

  The tidal wave of ravaged flesh and teeth we left behind has occupied the TGP soldiers for the interim. The moans and gun fire has faded to my back and so far, both Natasha and Hound have not given me a reason to place a single slug in the back of their heads. Like everyone else I’ve encountered though, they’re all just one pull of the trigger away from the curtain call.

  Natasha slows up the pace as we come to a corner; raising her left hand in the air and her right gripping the pistol that’s hovering at the edge. She peers out around the corner. Hound has his hand trained to his ear, listening intently and relaying positions of the roaming patrols.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, bent down and training my gun down the way we came.

  “Looks like we’re clear for the next few corridors, but we need to move now,” Hound whispers.

  “To get you your answers,” Natasha replies flatly, attention still straight ahead. “Ok, let’s move!”


  We move down another long stretch of corridor that has been untouched by the death and violence that has consumed everything else I’ve seen. I look towards Natasha frequently, and see her peering up towards the ceiling.

  She stops, holds us up for a few and then waves us on. There are cameras mounted in the corners moving from side to side—no doubt big brother keeping an eye on its experiment that has gone awry.

  My thoughts drift around more and more now and I’m finding it increasingly harder to stay focused on anything. I’m not tired, just scatterbrained. When a thought forms in my head it dissolves as quickly as it came, going to the next almost instantly. I’m trying to think ahead and have a plan in case I find myself in a tough spot, but I’m barely able to keep my attention on both fronts.

  Hound grabs my shoulder and pulls me around, his finger placed over his mouth, indicating for me to keep silent. We’re concealed behind some crates as I see Natasha looking dead ahead through a small crack in the thick plastic containers. Curious, I stand up a little to try and see what she’s looking at. Hound grabs my arm and yanks me down.

  “Stay down and keep quiet,” Natasha sternly orders.

  I manage to get a brief glimpse of two soldiers standing guard, one on either side of a double metal door. There are no markings of any kind and a single camera pans from side to side. A lone keypad is off to the right and illuminated in a light blue haze.

  Natasha digs into her left pant pocket and pulls out something. I can’t see what it is, with everything happening so fast now, I’m feeling like I’m sinking in quicksand and can’t get out. I try to focus on what she’s doing; pointing her arm straight ahead and holding it steady at the TGP soldiers.

  Hound still has his hand snug up to his ear, listening intently and turning to Natasha’s shoulder, patting it once and giving her a thumbs up as she nods. She brings her arm back down and places whatever it was back in her pocket. She looks at Hound and gestures with her hand. Maybe some signal or code, of which I’m clueless. Hound sounds off over the mic connected to his headset.