by Alan Spencer
He gasped. “I don’t know. I have no idea.”
Then came the groan and bend of metal; a shelf was being pushed over. Herman was seized before it crashed down, his flashlight ripped from his hands. He managed to get off one shot. Then the gun was wrenched from his grip, clanging against the floor and kicked across the room.
Herman’s words were heavy with fear. “Addey—RUN!”
His body disappeared in the shadows, his form covered up by many warring, gnarly hands. Shifting to avoid them herself, she tripped backward over a grill. Smacking her tailbone, she crab-walked until she slammed her back into a wall. She yelped at the collision, yet she kept her focus on the beam of light ahead of her and the barrel of her gun.
Fuck the flashlight, keep the gun. You’re giving yourself away.
She heaved the flashlight across the room and changed positions. She heard wet noises, sucking, biting, masticating and ingesting. Herman was at their mercy. They showed none.
Addey fired once. “Eat me instead, you bastards. Leave him alone!”
They can die like anybody else.
Laughter echoed from high and low. They had crawled on top of the shelves and were looking out to find her. She could make out their forms, bending and maneuvering, so strange in the shadows. Gunfire wasn’t going to save Herman’s life. There were more voices than she had bullets.
She was simply outnumbered.
A soft mewl was quickly snuffed out; it had to be coming from Herman. Pissed off and desperate, the words slipped out of Addey, coming from a place she never knew existed. “It sure sounds a lot like when I punched through the head of one of the zombies in the sublevel. I kicked the shit out of them. Sent the maggot-dicked assholes to hell.” She snarled, “And I enjoyed it!”
Shuffles. Faster clopping. The glint of eyes—the color of a developing Polaroid in its first stages—zoomed left and right, leaving trails of color. She was astonished at the number of eyes. She prayed it was a trick of light.
She started to smell them in the corridor. They weren’t putrid, but they were chemically treated. Bodies ripe and ready for the casket.
They were the level-one dead.
But they don’t eat human flesh.
She was anchored in place by her confusion. One approached her, though darkness covered their details. She aimed at the eyes.
BOOM!
The collapse of a body rewarded the shot.
Now they knew her position.
They flanked her from all sides.
She panicked, pulling the trigger and spraying bullets with wild abandon. The pump on her right foot was yanked off. Their nails raked trenches into her flesh. She screamed, but then she ducked into a shelf, pushing aside a container of volleyballs to escape her aggressor. They were at her tail, in front of her, beside her, ahead of her; she couldn’t crawl fast enough to evade them.
“I smell her blood.”
“Her flesh is ripe for the taking.”
“Peel the stitches off to the prize underneath.”
“I think the bitch enjoyed killing our friends too much.”
“But we’ll enjoy killing her more—that I promise!”
She scurried between one of their legs, but then they turned and landed on top of her, pinning her against their lukewarm flesh. Frustrated, she clawed blindly, scratching like an alley cat. Seconds of swiping and digging, then two of her fingers plunged into wet, soft eye sockets. She dug deeper and deeper until she delved into the soft cranial matter within the socket holes.
“Wuuuaaaaaaah!” the zombie shrieked.
Two hands seized her shoulders and lifted her up to a standing position. Teeth attempted to bite into her arms, but she kicked one in the stomach and shoved the other one aside, using her fear to her advantage, adrenaline her best weapon. They were weak, their bodies held together by pins, needles, staples and false-flesh. But what they lacked in physique, they made up for in ravenous hunger.
It was at that fighting moment she remembered the Ka-Bar knife sheathed in her belt. She clutched it, ready to inflict damage. She struggled to recoup her bearings, this time crouching on her knees and waiting. The dead regrouped too.
She expected them to attack with full force, but instead they congregated at the front of the storage unit. Mutters of conversation echoed sharp and conniving. Clangs of steel, the drag of metal—they were gathering gardening tools.
They’re going to carve me up.
The dead spread out again. She had only moments to counter their attack. Her knife was suddenly meaningless, as useful as a paperweight.
She listened for Herman, but she couldn’t detect anything except her enemies’ approach.
Damn it, you old man, you better be alive.
She couldn’t stay still and let them swoop in for the kill. She launched up to her feet and accidentally struck her head against a shelf, banging it hard. It wasn’t a shelf. It was a box. She couldn’t see it in the dark, but she traced her hands on the surface. Glass. Next to the box was an emergency lever. She pulled the lever instinctively. An ear-piercing alarm went off, as did the overheard sprinklers. A white light blinked on and off, illuminating the darkness with strobe flashes.
The box housed a fire hose.
The incoming dead were yards from her, crawling over tipped-over shelves, clutching pitchforks, garden trowels, shovels, axes, pruning shears and other harm-inflicting devices.
She had seconds to react, so she smashed the glass with her fist. She unrolled the hose, turned the nozzle on, and out shot a thick jet of spray. The high pressure struck a woman in a pink dress like a punch, the pressure cutting her in half, torso and legs shooting across the room and hitting the wall. Addey arced the water to the left, where another’s head was separated from the neck, the flesh parting like wax paper until a bare skeleton framed a scream and collapsed to the floor. Spinning, spraying, killing, she aimed at the stomach of a beefy zombie. His flesh, organs and bones were shredded and destroyed until there was a huge empty hole in his midsection.
“That’s for Herman!”
Swiping, slashing, cutting, the pressure broke up body after body. Blood and bile and guts washed up and piled in the center of the room, which had become a large pool of standing water. Twelve bodies bobbed in the water, the pieces twitching.
She turned off the hose, sensing she was safe. The torso and head of one of them belched black blood near her feet. The dead man spewed his final words. “We’ve always craved flesh. We hate human food. It tastes like shit, but the vampires promised us good things if we kept lying. You’re so easily swayed into thinking you were safe. You don’t know what’s coming. It won’t matter what heroics you pull off. Soon enough, we’ll have control again. This island won’t protect anybody from us.”
She swung the iron nozzle of the hose onto its head until the face caved in.
Then she remembered Herman.
Moving forward through the human flotsam and jetsam, she called out, “Herman, where are you? Answer me. Don’t die on me!”
She stamped through the bile puddles. It wasn’t long before she located him slumped against the wall, bleeding from both arms and his shoulder. Agony played on his face, though he managed to smile at her. “You’re one crazy bitch. You’re going to make it, you know that?”
“And so are you.” She helped him to a standing position. “Come on, you’re not that hurt.”
He grunted and moaned, playfully mocking her. “I guess you’ve been through worse, is that what you’re going to tell me?”
“Yeah, something along those lines.”
The sprinklers were soaking them, and the cold water kept them moving toward the exit. The door shot open by itself. A familiar face appeared. It was Grace Mooney. Behind her, two men carried body bags, but they were sourly disappointed at the carnage behind them. The disappointment showed on Grace’s face too. “How in the hell did you survive?”
Addey pushed through her and yelled outside for the med unit. “Herman needs med
ical care immediately! Move your asses, come on!”
Mary-Anne Higgins heard the call, running toward them. She became Herman’s crutch and two more kitchen staff joined her. She looked Herman in the eye, trying to inject love and confidence into him. “You hold on. Promise me you won’t give up. You’re the only friend I’ve got in this place.”
Grace breached the gap between them as Herman was carted off. “I know about you, and you’re not getting away with anything!”
“Go to hell, you ugly bitch. You locked us in there with the dead, didn’t you?”
Addey didn’t wait for her answer. Cocking back her arm, she landed a solid punch on Grace’s chin. Grace toppled over with a feminine yip, but she quickly recovered and aimed a pistol at her chest. “You hold it!”
“You tried to kill me, and it didn’t fucking work. Those were level-one dead. They wanted my flesh. They eat human flesh. You understand? Are you hearing me? They tore up Herman in there. They’re cannibals. They’re no different than those pus bags under our feet.”
“That’s enough from you,” Grace snapped. “It doesn’t matter what you know. You should be more interested in what I know about you. Brenner knows about Richard’s team of spies, and he’s been dealt with accordingly. Brenner sent me to kill you, so I’ll put you to work on the third floor until I decide how to do just that.” She touched her jaw, cradling it. “And it will be slow and painful. Think about that during your shift.
“Send her to the third floor,” she instructed the two men at her side. “You do whatever the shift manager sees fit.”
“What about Herman?”
“He’s a doddering old man.” Grace laughed. “He’ll heal, and we’ll put him to work in the sublevel.”
“You bitch!”
Grace landed a blow to her stomach, returning the favor. Addey crumbled to the ground, gasping for breath.
“This isn’t right,” she pleaded to Grace. “They’re planning an attack. I’m not sure what exactly, but it’s going to happen soon. Everyone’s in danger.”
The woman wasn’t impressed by the information. “We’re preparing for that. Brenner’s warned me. Everybody’s on high alert.”
“Except the workers. But oh, let me guess, we’re expendable.”
“You guys have always been expendable. Nothing’s changed.”
The two guards forced her toward the elevator in the main dining hall. “Watch your back, Addey,” Grace added. “Richard will be watching his back too. The wolves are always hungry.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Richard woke to the innocent sounds of an owl hooting in a tree. Air whistled between the thick populations of trees. A creek trickled effortlessly in the distance. The aromas of pine wood and rotting needles stewed about the enclosure, as did the rich droppings of ravenous animals. The perimeter walls were painted as scenery of more woods. The sky was amazing, so realistic with a full moon and evening darkness. The artificial effect came from a simple screen, like a huge LCD monitor. It was always night in the wolf enclosure.
Lumped up against a concrete wall, he was near the only opening into the enclosure, what was a security alcove. It was blocked by an electric fence. He stayed in place, unable to see the wolves yet, but they certainly could smell him. How long he’d been unconscious, propped on a pile of dirt, he wasn’t sure, but according to the divot Grace had delivered to his head that was caked over in a scab, it’d been at least an hour.
Grace had sided with Brenner. He couldn’t blame her. Order and rank were dissolving in the face of the island’s possible termination. The secret chamber Addey had discovered affirmed an uprising.
His gun holster was empty, as was his knife sheath and flashlight holder. He kept low and worked toward the creek that circled the arena. He splashed and muddied his face and arms. Staying hidden was key to surviving.
Richard hadn’t seen a single wolf yet, nor any other animal. He scavenged for weapons, the only feasible ideas pebbles and shards of rock, though nothing substantial against a hulking werewolf. He cased the walls for an opening, a grate, a flaw in construction, but there was nowhere to hide.
A long whuuuuuum rattled underfoot. The electric fence was opening. He thought of running through it when a horde of deer and buffalo stormed out in skittish confusion.
And that’s when the wolves showed themselves.
The beasts leaped out of bushes and trees on all fours, their back legs propelling them onward. Their muscles bulged beneath the wiry scruff of hair over their skin, easily three to four hundred pounds of lean muscle pulsating and working. They pumped and cycled their limbs to obtain their kill, like cheetahs in speed. Spittle rolled off their mouths, thick as paste, their lips textured like raw meat, their incisors and canines protruding four to five inches—a saber-tooth’s choppers. The collective monsters were shrieking, “Braaaaaaaaaaarrrgh!”
Talons soon pinned deer to the ground, the wolves’ working jaws rendering meat from the throat, many times the first bite removing the head completely. The felled kill was easily devoured, the tissue, muscle and organs consumed without prejudice. Dozens lurked about the patch of woods, continuing the hunt. The bison were picked up by two wolves and dashed against the rocks.
The show unnerved Richard.
It would be him next.
The best strategy was not to move. Had he walked among them undetected, he wondered, or had they smelled him and been temporarily distracted by the feast of animals?
The wolves clacked on bones, sucking out the marrow, digging into the earth for traces of flesh and neglected tidbits. They were still hungry. The wolves sniffed the air, their hackles raised erect as porcupine quills. Their torsos swelled with their meals, thick as the gas tank of a semi. They licked their chops, relishing their kill and savoring the prospect of a new meal.
They knew he was near.
The pack acted as individuals, one racing against the other to beat their fellow pack members. Richard couldn’t hide anymore. He launched to his feet, sprinting up a hill of loose, crumbling dirt. Every limb went hollow, fearing any second a slashing talon could turn into many talons that could dismantle him alive. Would he feel them eat his body, or would he die instantly from the shock?
He reached a level running ground. The wolves were a solid wall behind him, charging in. Forward was his only option. He weaved between the trees, the space so dense. The maneuvering would slow the wolves down, but once he hit the wall on the other side, he’d be cornered.
He couldn’t bring himself to check his peripheral vision. He sensed the heat at his back and the mutated testosterone and pheromones released in the air, a gamey smell.
Perhaps throwing yourself at the electric fence isn’t such a bad idea.
He stopped at the tree in front of him, and not knowing what else to do, he scaled up to the first limb without thinking. He completed the next stage, and the next, and the next, pumping his limbs. Soon, he reached the middle of the adult tree. Wolves surrounded the tree, more than a hundred at a glance, the swarm clawing, rendering, beating, chomping, punching, kicking, shoving and howling at the tree to knock it from its roots.
In seconds to a minute, the horde would fell the tree.
And soon, he would plummet right down into the crowd.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Loose dust and mortar coated Brenner’s head as he forded deeper into the secret tunnels. He faced a darker chamber yet. His flashlight combed over carved-up walls and hills of broken shards of chalk-like rock. The monsters had worked over the foundation and the walls to create tunnel after labyrinthine tunnel. He wasn’t sure which direction to investigate next. On the west end, six holes for tunnels could take him anywhere, and on the east, ten more passages offered even more mysterious options. The tunnels wound on, crooked and jagged and without end. Tools were strewn about the crunchy gravel walks. Pickaxes, trowels, the blades of knives without the handles, and random steel objects. Many were weapons given to the criminally insane upon entering th
e vampire arena. They had enabled the monsters to commit this kind of work, he realized.
He stopped and listened. Not even breathing. He heard voices. They were muted conversations. Too distant to understand, he followed the words, sneaking down the tunnel farther. The tunnel ended at a steel grate, and he was able to peer into a room with pink silk walls and a bed in the shape of a heart. A topless woman gave one of the sublevel worms a lap dance. In another tunnel he traveled, a new grate showed a movie screen and an audience laughing at what was obviously a comedy.
They have access to our facility. And they haven’t attacked.
What are they waiting for?
Every tunnel and cubbyhole in this chamber led to an outlet of the PAM Complex.
The bastards want to escape. Why not now, damn it? It doesn’t make sense. What’s holding them back?
Brenner rushed back into the main walkway. He kept moving, critically analyzing every inch of space.
“Hraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
He was sliced between his shoulder blades down to his buttocks. Warm blood gushed down his legs, the razor talons inflicting blinding flashes of agony. Brenner’s body returned the favor, an instinct he had no control over. Down his back, ropes of mutated muscles ripped free in sinewy strands, wrapping around his adversary. The enemy was lifted and dropped in front of him with a neck-breaking snap. Writhing within a net of muscular tissue and constricted veins, what had shot out of his body, was the creature. The werewolf was swatting, snarling and biting at its restraints.
The pink and purple and fuchsia web tissue stayed strong, holding the thing back. “How did you sneak up on me, you ugly fucking dog?”
He hadn’t heard steps or heavy breathing. The wolf had simply materialized. Was the creature guarding the tunnels, or had it bumped into him by chance?
The wolf wasn’t a rational creature, and questioning the rabid fiend was a waste of words. Brenner willed it, and his body obeyed. Every rope and tendril of modified flesh squeezed the wolf like a sponge. The beast was instantly crushed.
