Afflicted_Patient Zero_Book 1

by Derek Shupert

  “I’ll tell you if you’re going to do it, you need to move fast. I overheard one of the soldiers say they’re packing up and moving on. And with these kinds of people, they don’t leave a forwarding address, if you know what I mean.”

  “How much time do you think we have?”

  “Not sure. They drugged me up pretty good, so I can’t remember a whole lot, but if he is still here, he’ll be making damn sure he has all of the data and records of what went on. This isn’t their first facility and it won’t be their last.”

  “We’ll see about.”

  26

  “Take this and get out,” I say to Natasha, handing her my pistol.

  “I can help you. That son of bitch has done so much to so many, he deserves to get what he has coming. I would love nothing more than to place a slug in that fucker’s skull myself.”

  Sorry, but that pleasure will be all mine.

  “I know he does, but someone needs to get up top and tell everyone what went on. Like you said earlier, this wasn’t their first facility and won’t be their last unless we do something about it. Besides, you know more about what went on here.”

  The truth is always a hard pill to swallow, especially when you’re craving the sweet succulent taste of revenge. I can see it on Natasha’s bloody face. Her brows narrow and her eyes fill with rage. She wants that bastard as dead as I do, but she knows I’m right. She takes a deep breath and sighs.

  “It’s your rodeo, Mike. Good luck to ya.” Natasha cocks the pistol and walks past me into the darkness. She doesn’t give a second look or any additional words of wisdom. Good luck indeed.

  She disappears up the stairs as gunfire trickles from the hall above. The bleeding from my wounds has slowed to a trickle, but the meat is still tender and restricting my movement. I feel sluggish now. Oh well. I was given this unwanted ride and now it’s time to bring it to an end, once and for all.

  Machine gun in hand and my grit filled with piss and vinegar, I head out the opposite way. I don’t have the time nor luxury of playing it too safe. With the ticking clock on this place threatening to blow me to bits, Slade flying the coop has my back up against the wall. That tracking bracelet would’ve come in handy right about now.

  I hit a steel door and grab the handle. Opening it up, I throw caution to the wind. It creaks and squeaks, but I don’t care at this point.

  Cold, dead silence hits my ears. I push a little more and slip out. Beyond the door’s edge, I find more dead bodies laid out like a butcher block. The undead and soldiers are twisted together in piles of flesh and blood. Kind of sad that the sight doesn’t affect me in the least anymore.

  Staring at the massacre, I think: If Slade is really planning on destroying this place, you think some sort of general alarm would sound to warn all of his men. Perhaps they already know and are trying to fend off the murder of dead long enough to get what they need before they leave. Either way, I imagine a lot of them won’t make it out alive. Expendable men. Aren’t we all!

  Stepping over the mangled bodies, I snake my way through the valley of death and reach the other side. I can still hear gunfire echoing through the corridors ahead, shrills and moans playing right along. I keep moving, trying to be as cautious as possible, but it’s hard.

  The lights go out and it’s back to black. I stop as the pitter patter of feet shuffling towards me sends my gun up, trying to find the target. Shit!

  I’m having a hard time seeing now. It’s getting close. It’s silent now, as if whoever or whatever just vanished.

  Power is restored and the lights kick back in, an undead soldier horribly disfigured right in my personal space. Too close for a head shot. Ground and pound.

  I strike it in the face with the stock end of my weapon. Its head flops back, then springs forward just as fast. It looks pissed, as do they all. I go for another shot to the head, but it manages to knock the gun loose from my hands. Fuck, now they’re coordinated? Another mutation of the virus?

  It grabs me by my shirt and throws me against the wall, my body bouncing off the concrete like a rag doll and hitting the floor. Rattled, the pain rising fast in my shoulder and leg, I tilt my head to the side. I think I spot a knife, or at least something sharp and jagged, but can’t be sure. The lights cycle once more and everything’s dark again.

  I scramble to where I think the knife is. It grabs me and pulls me from the ground. Holding me up, its breath burning the flesh from my face, it dives in. I jam the piece of metal clutched in my right hand into its left ocular cavity. Something wet and thick squirts out, hitting me in the face and mouth. Its hands release me and it stumbles backwards, falling to the ground.

  The lights spark to life. I wipe away the fluid from my face and spit out the remainder from my mouth. I scoop up my gun and move out, limping.

  I encounter more resistance along the way from both the undead and the soldiers. The amount of living soldiers is dwindling as the tide appears to be shifting more to the undead variety. Not a bad thing really, at least until the dead learn to wield weapons.

  Teeth and bullets. That’s all I come into contact with now. I’m either smashing in a rotted skull or placing some slugs into a living person’s chest. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, but it’s something that needs to be done. I wish I could have one more moment, one brief second to hear Becky’s voice and just tell her how much I love her. I know she knows it, but saying it always means so much more. I love you, baby!

  I come to a junction where a handful of soldiers are pinned down behind tables and other various junk, fending off the murder of dead. The infected clawing and trying to wade through the junk, their heads explode and limbs are torn clean from their bodies. The dead still surge and push forward.

  The soldiers don’t seem too concerned with anything else, their eyes focused straight ahead. I slip past unnoticed and continue on to Slade’s office.

  Some of the overhead lights are working, but most have blown out or are too weak to fully operate. It’s probably from the continual cycling of the grid.

  I don’t hear or see anyone. It’s silent. From the way things look, seems everyone has flown the coop. Offices have been emptied and desks look like a tornado came through—papers all over the floors and trails of blood leading off into multiple directions. I only have a few shots left, so I need to make them count.

  The buzzing from the fluorescent lights plays in my ears, and sparks spitting from loose wires look like sparklers on the 4th of July. I sweep the room, left to right and back again like a typewriter. A few dead bodies lay between desks, blood all over and portions of their insides resting next to them. No need to check them. They look pretty dead.

  Almost there. Slade’s office is partially lit, but I don’t see any movement through the glass door. I’ve been down here for so long that the shadows look like people or the undead lurking, waiting for me. At least this hell is almost over. I’m thankful for that.

  I step lightly to the door and take a deep breath, grasping the doorknob and twisting it. It turns without noise, the latch coming free and the door opening. I look up. Thanks for that one.

  Palm on the door, I push it open and move in with the barrel of my gun leading the way. Slade’s desk is empty, the vintage looking desk lamp catching snap shots of the dust fluttering about. Shit! Is he already gone? Am I too late?

  I move in a little farther to check out the room. The door slams closed on my left side, glass shattering against my body. Shards of the door slice my face, tiny fragments embed into my left eye. I’m knocked off balance from the impact. I bring my gun about, but something grabs the barrel and knocks the gun free from my hands. A swift punch to the jaw and I’m on the floor.

  “You’re like a freaking cockroach, Mike. I try to stomp you out and you always scurry back,” Slade says, kicking me multiple times in the ribs as I try to get back to my feet.

  I crumple, my hands raking across the glass spread over the floor. Vision in
my left eye is now shit, and I think he broke a few ribs. Disoriented, I give my head a shake. Didn’t see that coming.

  “You’re definitely one tough SOB. I’ll give you that. Everyone else who’s gone through the program is dead and gone now, but you refuse to die. Why won’t you just die?”

  Slowly, I climb back to my feet, both legs now shaky. Slade jabs me in the face and follows with an uppercut. My head snaps back, a blood-spit cocktail spewing from my mouth as I reel back.

  He comes in for more, throwing a right cross, which I manage to block up high. I rabbit punch him in the kidneys a few times and bury my left knee deep in his abdomen. He gasps for air and doubles over, stumbling back. I collapse to one knee, feeling like hammered dog shit.

  “Damn, you got a little fight left in you still, don’t you, Mike? Regardless of the fact you look like holly hell,” Slade says with a chuckle that sounds a tad winded.

  “Don’t worry. I got enough left to finish you off,” I reply.

  Head dangling and my eyes peering at the floor, I try to calm my breathing. I catch a glimpse of Slade swinging a fire extinguisher at me, and get back to my feet, catching his arm in midflight. I hurl him across the room. He slams into a glass wall, the fire extinguisher in his hands cracking it upon impact. He manages to stay on his feet, laughing for whatever reason. I’m not finding the punch line anywhere.

  Slade’s eyes dart down, spotting the gun which is much closer to him than me. A wicked grin slides across his face, blood dripping from his busted bottom lip. He darts for the weapon and scoops it up.

  I take off towards him, limp and all.

  He trains the gun expertly at me and fires, catching me in my upper stomach as I spear him. We both break through the glass and fall to the concrete below.

  The impact steals the air from my lungs, and my head slams against the ground with such force that everything goes black for a moment. Thick blood runs down my legs and sides. I don’t even bother trying to put pressure on the gaping hole. I’m nearly finished with what I started, anyway.

  Slade gets to his feet first, groaning and grasping his right arm. Cuts cover his cheeks and forehead. “You know, Mike, you’re cutting into my departure time here.”

  He grabs me by the shirt, pulling me from the ground, and throws me against the lab equipment. I have no clue where we are now. Moving my hands to push my beaten body back up, I rub across a screwdriver on the floor.

  “What’s your wife’s name again? Oh right, Becky. I bet she tastes just as good as she looks, doesn’t she, Mike?”

  I give no response as I struggle to get to my hands and knees.

  “No matter, when I get out of here I think I’ll pay her a visit. See how she’s coping with your tragic and accidental death. Maybe she’ll be longing for some comfort. At least you can die knowing I will do her right.”

  Slade turns his back to me and walks towards the gun. Digging deep within and ignoring the pain, I get to my feet and race toward him. I grab him by the throat, and jam the screwdriver into the mid part of his back where he can’t reach it.

  “I hope it doesn’t hurt too badly,” I whisper in his ear.

  He yells out like a wounded animal, elbowing me in the gut and knocking me hard to the ground. Reaching behind him, Slade tries to grab the screwdriver embedded in his back, spinning about in a fit of panic and agony.

  I can hear the dead all around, a loud banging sound on the walls and doors. At this point I’m ready to just die and stay that way, but not until I see Slade go first.

  He stares at me, the smirk long gone, and rage filling his red face. His teeth bared and a lone vein protruding from the middle of his forehead, he barrels towards me.

  With my last ounce of strength, I manage to pull my legs up and ram them hard into Slade’s chest as he leans in for me. I drive him backwards and knock him off his feet. Then, as if everything is paused and started back up in slow motion, I watch with an eager and satisfied gaze as Slade lands on his back. The screwdriver digs in even more, his body releasing a single exhale.

  Not so funny now, is it?

  Seeing that he’s motionless, I relax and let go. Eyes closed and in my final moments in hell, I lay motionless on that hard concrete floor, thinking of nothing but Becky. A tear springs from my eyes, trailing down my face as the mix of emotions overwhelms me. My breathing shallow, I wait for the end.

  27

  Something grips my left hand and pulls, jerking my body. I figure it’s the dead coming to ravage me, so I don’t fight or resist. Take this rancid meat, you bastards, and I hope you choke on it!

  “Christ Mike, wake your ass up! We don’t have time for a nap.”

  Am I dreaming or in some state of euphoria? That sounds like Natasha, but she’s long gone. Something flat and hard bashes me across my face, knocking my head to the side. “Get up!”

  My eyes explode open. I’m disoriented and unsure how long I’ve been laying here. Natasha kneels over me, looking panicked as she glances over her shoulder.

  “It’s about damn time. I was planning on slapping you a little more for good measure,” Natasha says with a chuckle. “I see you got that son of a bitch.”

  “What are you doing here?” I groggily ask.

  “Never mind that. We’ve got no time left and need to get out of here. So get off the floor and let’s get moving!”

  Natasha grabs both my arms, wrenching me to my feet. My legs are like Jell-O, but I manage to brace them as best I can. My body aches all over, stomach tumbling and feeling as though it’s on fire. The crashing noise intensifies. I think whatever’s out there is getting close to breaking through. Natasha puts my arm over her shoulders and spins me around.

  “There’s a freight elevator over here that’s used to transport supplies and such to the surface. It’s a non-stop trip as long as it has power.”

  We pass Slade’s body. I’d like nothing more than to give him a good kick to the ribs, but figure that might come across as crass. Natasha drags me, dead weight, through what I think is some kind of lab or testing place. We reach the elevator and Natasha palms the lone button on the wall. It lights up and the hum of the cables rolling brings a moment of joy.

  “I can’t believe he almost got the best of you. Man, and here I thought you were some bad ass walking dead punisher.”

  “Yeah, I’m slipping a bit. I think I need a vacation after all this.”

  The elevator dings and the worn, scratched, forest green doors part. The carriage stops midway in the opening. “Well, it’s better than nothing.”

  Natasha faces the lab as she helps me into the carriage. I struggle to pull myself up, the strain on my injured midsection defeating my efforts. She hoists me up as best she can, half of my body still dangling off the edge. I scrape and pull, dragging my worthless ass in.

  Natasha starts to climb in as I lie on the floor. A single gunshot rings out. Her eyes widen, her grip slips, and she falls to the ground. I crawl over and look out, finding her flat on her back. She’s still alive, but unable to move very well. I track down the shot to Slade, whose shaking arms train the gun he’s barely able to hold up.

  I should’ve stabbed him again, just to be sure.

  “Looks like it’s a trip for one,” Natasha says, coughing up blood that seeps out from her pale lips. “You need to get going.”

  A loud crash from the opposite end of the facility gets my attention, the moans and shrills of what sounds like hundreds of infected pouring into the space. Slade smirks, apparently feeling like he accomplished something as he drops the gun. It’s soon wiped away as a massive, mutated creature wraps its hand around Slade’s head and rips it clean from his torso. A pack of undead quickly converge and start feeding, tearing into his body.

  “Sit up and reach for my hand!” I yell to Natasha.

  The murder of flesh-eaters barrels towards us, growling and knocking over equipment to get to us. I stretch as far as I can, but don’t think I’ll be a
ble to pull her up before they get here. I try nonetheless.

  Natasha lifts her weakened arm, but doesn’t reach for me. She slaps the button on the wall and the doors begin to close. I pull my arm in and watch as she gives me a warm smile, the murder of dead mere inches away from her as the carriage door shuts. Silence.

  I lay my head back and exhale. Tremors rattle the shaft as the carriage is pulled up. I can hear explosions that are muffled but intense. I think of everyone I encountered on this nightmarish journey, wishing at least one of them was here.

  Another thunderous boom rattles my bones. I dig into my pocket and remove the memory stick the good doctor gave me. If I make it out of this, I’m going to bring these bastards down.

  Boom, Boom! More powerful eruptions toss the carriage about. I try to hold onto something and brace myself, but there’s nothing to grip. Metal crunches and contorts as something billows up the shaft, racing towards me. I ready for the impact.

  The force of the explosion slams into the carriage and thrusts me upward at warp speed. My body is glued to the floor, the skin on my face feeling as if it’s being stretched apart. All I can do now is wait for the ride to end.

  Metal grinds on metal. I’m not sure if this coffin will hold together much longer. As I wonder where the end is, the carriage starts to slow. I’m still coming in hot and it’s going to be a rough stop.

  Bangs and clangs clatter inside the carriage as it jostles about violently, suddenly stopping and throwing my body against the walls like an unloved toy. Smoke filters in, filling my lungs, and I hack hard. A beam of light weaves through the opening of the doors and captures my right eye.

  The carriage is off kilter and the floor feels like it’s on fire. I wearily struggle to my feet and head to the door. I look out past the smoke, trying to see where I am. Seems to be some kind of warehouse with the entrance just ahead. I can see daylight and it’s never looked better.

  I push through the opening and stumble over debris from the shaft, sparks spitting all around me and the sound of fire eating away at this place buzzing in my ears. Guess there’s no welcoming committee to do a meet and greet. There’s not a soul in sight, living or dead.