Armstrong entered the room, sweeping his machine gun left right. The rest of the team followed him in.
“This is the central surveillance room,” Dr. Washington said with a twinge of excitement. “We can see the entire complex from here.”
“If it wasn’t torn to shit,” Johnny-Boy remarked.
No more words needed to be spoken. Johnny-Boy moved over the control panel and got to work on fixing it. He was a professional when it came to electronics, and proceeded with great confidence.
“Can you fix it?” Peterson asked, hope in his voice.
“Hard to say.” Johnny-Boy flipped switches and turn several knobs. “Someone really ripped this to pieces.”
“Someone?” Peterson asked.
“It looks intentional,” he responded, “Like someone wanted it destroyed.”
Johnny-Boy spliced two wires and married them together, then flipped a row of switches. A few of the monitors flickered struggling to display images. He then connected two naked wires and repeated the process with several more exposed wires. He then reached into the guts of the machinery, feeling for something.
Derek was dizzy as he was trying to get his head around the situation. “Dr. Washington, you gave a promise that your secrets would all be revealed once we reached this island. Well, here we are.”
Peterson looked at Derek, and Derek at Peterson. They both had the same expression, probably the same thoughts.
Peterson shifted his glance to Dr. Washington.
“Now is the time,” Peterson said to Dr. Washington.
“No, not yet,” Dr. Washington spoke with rapid excitement.
The monitors began to flicker, and then many of the screens came alive, displaying alternating views of the complex. Grainy, black-and-white views of the lab station, captured by surveillance cameras, appeared on the monitors.
“We’re in,” stated Johnny-Boy.
Peterson was growing tenser. “What do we got?”
Johnny-Boy checked the control board. “Hard to say. Looks like about ten percent of the complex.”
“Better than nothing.” Peterson leaned in and looked closer.
“Can you get the main terminal? That is a likely place Dr. Winthrop may be,” Dr. Washington said as he wiped sweat off his forehead.
Johnny-Boy tried another control switch. “No, I can’t.”
“Dammit,” Dr. Washington said. “Try again!”
The monitors flickered again and several distorted images appeared. Static and snow fill most of the screens.
Dr. Washington was insistent. “I can’t see anything. You have to do better. I have to see more!”
Johnny-Boy responded in a pressured tone, “I would need two weeks to fix this terminal. It’s been mostly demolished, Doctor, in case you’re blind.”
One monitor suddenly came to life and broadcast an image of a room with supercomputers, work terminals, and a conference center. Filing cabinets and tables were strewn about, smashed. Paper was littered everywhere. The room had been ransacked. A multimillion-dollar facility in ruins.
“That’s the main terminal,” Dr. Washington exclaimed, thrilled. “The brainstorming center of the entire laboratory.”
The team was drawn in by the image. Sitting on the floor, in the corner of the room, was a man wearing a white lab coat. His back was to the camera. The monitor flickered.
“There’s a person!” pointed Dr. Washington.
“Can that be him?” Armstrong asked.
Johnny-Boy stuck his hand deeper into the guts of the terminal. There was a zapping sound, a flash of blue light, and then smoke. All the monitors went black.
“Shit,” Johnny-Boy barked. “Lost it.”
“That must have been him.” Dr. Washington turned to Peterson, excited.
Peterson turned to the group. “That may be our target. Lock and load, we’re going in.”
“I am staying behind,” said Johnny-Boy. “I’ll try to get these monitors up and running.”
“Agreed,” Peterson responded. “Watch yourself.”
CHAPTER 10
“He’s behind these doors,” Washington warned.
A sign on a doorway read Main Terminal: Security Clearance Required. The squad advanced inside, covering each other ritualistically by the numbers, a sweep and clean maneuver. Towering supercomputers and monitors aligned the walls. Up close, the devastation was even more severe
“Clear,” Armstrong shouted. There were no zombies in the room.
“All clear,” Cash repeated.
Peterson wasted no time. He made his way to the person sitting in the corner of the room. As Peterson grew closer, he noticed the man was rocking back and forth, mumbling to himself. The white lab jacket the man was wearing was filthy, as was his matted gray hair.
“Sir?” Peterson was gentle, sounding as nonthreatening as possible.
The person stopped rocking. He didn’t turn around, only mumbled, “You can’t have it.”
Dr. Washington stepped forward and placed his hand gently on the person’s shoulder. “There is no reason to be afraid.”
Startled by Washington’s touch, the man leapt to his feet and spun around. He was holding a detonator in his right hand.
“I don’t need your help.” The man’s voice was scratchy and hoarse. He was elderly, around seventy-five years old, frail, wrinkled, and had dark circles of exhaustion under his eyes. The hand in which he held the detonator was trembling.
“Washington?” Peterson asked.
Washington inspected the man’s face carefully. “Yes. It’s him. This is Dr. Winthrop.”
Dr. Winthrop raised the detonator above his head. “If I pull this trigger, we all die. Right here, right now. They will not succeed.”
Derek stepped forward. His voice was under control, calm and soothing.
“Doctor, my name is Derek.”
“Back away, Derek,” Peterson ordered.
Dr. Winthrop looked at Derek and saw he was not a soldier. Just a kid really, messy and tired. Very much out of place. Then Dr. Winthrop noticed Barbara and Johann. Clearly not professional soldiers. Civilians. A look of confusion melted Dr. Winthrop’s face.
“Who are they?” Derek asked.
“They?” repeated Dr. Winthrop, puzzled.
Derek answered, “You said they can’t have it. Who are they?”
Peterson noticed clearly that Dr. Winthrop was half-mad. He had been mumbling to himself, rocking. And he was all alone. How long had he been surviving like this? Peterson wanted to drive clarity into Dr. Winthrop’s head.
“My name is Commander Jacob Peterson. I am the leader of Alpha One Pride, a team which has been ordered to rescue you from this facility. Your communications with the mainland had been lost, remember? The Department of Defense believes that you have important information about what is taking place and how to stop it. Dr. Winthrop, many people have died trying to rescue you. I am not here to hurt you, I am here to help.”
Dr. Winthrop’s eyes were wide and glossy. He was struggling to make sense of things, like a man who had been ripped away from reality for too long. “Rescue me from this facility?”
“You can lower the detonator, Dr. Winthrop,” Peterson said in a careful tone, sounding as friendly as he could. But it was hard.
Dr. Winthrop ignored Peterson. He turned to Derek. “You’re not a soldier,” he said with perplexity, and some hope.
Derek thought of the last time he saw his father, a gray-haired gentleman like this man. “No,” Derek responded with kindness and warmth. “I am a volunteer.”
“Volunteer?” Dr. Winthrop lowered the detonator. He was still puzzled, but the fact that Derek was not a soldier made him feel comfortable and trusting. “Volunteers?” He wanted more information.
“Me, Barbara, and Johann are the only volunteers left.” Derek looked at the others as he spoke. “We were in my hometown, about to be overrun by the zombies. These soldiers saved us, and many others. They told us all about you. I wanted to be of
help. We all did. Dr. Winthrop, Commander Peterson is a good man. He saved us all when he didn’t even have to. He led us all here, against all odds… to find you.”
“It took me a long time.” Dr. Winthrop seemed to be almost speaking to himself. “A long time.”
“A long time for what?” Derek asked.
Dr. Winthrop looked him in the eyes.
“To call them zombies.”
*
Dr. Winthrop was rambling, pressured and rapid, half speaking to himself, half speaking to Derek. “They believe the cure is worse than the infection itself. They would rather have dead people walking the earth than the solution which I offer. But they are wrong. Mine is the only solution. Otherwise, the human race will become extinct.”
Dr. Winthrop was speaking in riddles. He wasn’t completely making sense. He kept referring to people who were against him. Paranoia, for sure. Also, he spoke of a cure. So far, getting a straight answer out of him had been futile. Peterson kept trying.
“Please slow down, Dr. Winthrop. Who is against you? What is this cure you are referring to?”
“He’s nuts,” Armstrong said. “It’s a waste of time.”
Dr. Winthrop pulled a thumbnail hard drive out of his front pocket and peered closely at it, like it was a diamond. “Such a small thing. Fragile, really. To be able to hold so much information. Did you know the first space shuttles only had a sixty-four-kilobyte hard drive? Now, the existence of our race exists on three gigabytes.”
“A cure?” Derek asked.
Peterson couldn’t stand it anymore. “What the hell are you talking about! What’s on that hard drive?”
“No, no, no. Not a cure, Derek.” Dr. Winthrop spoke like a kind teacher. He turned to Peterson. “A solution.”
Dr. Washington’s brain was at work. It was a riddle. What could be a solution to the dead walking the earth that was not a cure? He spoke out loud. “You have approached the problem from a completely different angle, haven’t you, Dr. Winthrop? I read a lot about you in school. You have four degrees, doctorates. You dabble in many types of science. Astrophysics, combined math, statistics, evolutionary adaptation, biology.”
Dr. Washington was brainstorming, seeking an answer. Suddenly, Peterson could see a light of realization flow over Washington’s face. “And genetics.”
“They have become mankind’s natural predator,” Dr. Winthrop responded.
“The dominant species,” stated Washington.
“Precisely,” Winthrop responded.
“You have discovered, or created, a species that will prey upon the infected. The zombies are stronger than us, and you have discovered a species which is stronger than them.”
“Very good, Doctor,” exclaimed Winthrop. “Very, very good.”
Peterson was confused. “What do you mean, Dr. Winthrop? How is such a thing possible? What type of species?”
“I was almost done, almost.” Dr. Winthrop held up the USB drive.
“Which can stop the infected?” Derek’s was astonished and hope rang in his words.
Dr. Winthrop continued to stare at the thumbnail drive. “I just needed a little more time.”
Cash stepped forward and ran his finger over his mustache. “What fucking natural predator?”
“What stopped you?” interrupted Derek.
Dr. Winthrop shuffled over to a mostly destroyed control panel. He threw a switch.
Several large flat-screens on the wall came to life. They were the only remaining working monitors, but still enough. One screen broadcast an image of a laboratory. The walking dead shambled in the picture, hundreds of them.
“My research and development lab, located on sublevel five. It is the most sophisticated lab ever created by the Department of Defense.” Dr. Winthrop flipped another switch. An alternative view appeared. The lab was magnificent. Vast in size and packed with cutting-edge technology. It was totally occupied by the walking dead. Zombies in white lab jackets, scientists and other lab technicians.
“They are what is stopping me. Our level is secure, but look here.” Dr. Winthrop pointed to an image on another screen.
A surveillance camera showed a grainy image. It was of a large steel door. Sublevel Two was written on it.
“That is the only remaining door which leads down and grants access to all the sublevels. There are about seven hundred zombies between that door and my laboratory. Once the people who occupied this facility—many my dearest friends. Every level down is the same way, completely occupied.”
“Seven hundred?” Derek repeated.
“But they were not the worst of it.” Dr. Winthrop turned to Peterson. “Your friends.”
“Friends.” Peterson didn’t like the sound of that.
Armstrong understood. “The burning chopper outside.”
“Soldiers,” Cash stated.
“They were sent by your boss. By the Department of Defense,” Winthrop said sadly. “We stopped them, but not before they did considerable damage.”
Peterson was bewildered. “Stopped them from what?”
“From killing him.” Johnny-Boy’s voice came from somewhere outside the room.
CHAPTER 11
Derek looked around. Where the hell did that voice come from? Then he looked up at the flat-screen television, and what he saw confused and scared him.
Johnny-Boy’s face was on the screen. He was standing in front of a surveillance camera, speaking directly into it. Behind him, the only remaining door to the sublevels, the only door to the laboratory, and the only door holding back seven hundred zombies. Johnny-Boy, for some reason, had traveled to that doorway. His voice crackled over the speakers.
“I am sorry, Commander.” Johnny-Boy’s expression was unlike what Derek had seen before. His eyes were wild, and he spoke in a low, matter-of-fact voice. “Your true mission was never to save the life of Dr. Winthrop. It was to get me here alive, so I could kill him.”
“They won’t give up.” gasped Dr. Winthrop.
Peterson had to break through his shock and confusion. “Johnny-Boy, what you talking about?”
“You are a great man, Peterson. The best at your job. But this is not the only reason you were chosen. You are also a man who follows orders without question and, therefore, Command and Control knew you would buy into the mission you were fed. However, much more importantly, you are a moral and ethical man. Your psychological profile, based upon your entire career, dictates that this is so. If asked to kill civilians, you would say no. Wouldn’t you, Commander? Say no?”
“I am not a murderer, Johnny-Boy.”
“Exactly, and that is where I come in.”
Johnny-Boy began to attach C-4 explosive charges to the hinges on the door. He continued to speak as he did. “I didn’t expect to like you so much, to grow so fond of you, so loyal to your leadership. This is hard for me, Commander. You’ll never understand how hard it is.”
Cash couldn’t believe it. “Command and Control gave you different orders?”
“I was planted in your team for one reason. To kill Dr. Winthrop, and to stop this research. He’s a mad scientist, Commander. He has the knowledge and capacity in this laboratory to unleash upon the world a problem much worse than the zombies themselves. A solution which would surely mean the end of human civilization.”
“It’s a lie!” yelled Dr. Winthrop. “They don’t understand. They have been brainwashed! If you destroy those doors all hope will be gone.” Dr. Winthrop turned to Peterson. “We will be overrun. It’s the last barricade. It will be the end of everything.”
“If you open that door, you will die yourself,” Peterson said desperately. He needed to stop Johnny-Boy at all costs.
“I never expected to care for you so much, Commander. For all of you. I can’t live with the guilt and, so, for my deceiving you all, I accept the ultimate punishment.”
Johnny-Boy then said calmly, “Time to die.”
Johnny-Boy turned his back and walked over to the door. Then he spun on
his heels and, facing the camera, snapped a smart salute.
“Please don’t,” was all Peterson could say.
Johnny-Boy took hold of a cable attached to the C-4 explosives.
Before the screen turned to black, for a flat second, a yellow ball of fire could be seen, mixed with the final glimpse of Johnny-Boy’s suicidal expression. It was followed by a big explosion which rocked the building.
Johnny-Boy had just blown up the door, and himself along with it.
CHAPTER 12
“How much time do we have?” Peterson was looking at the monitor, watching as zombies, which were covered in the debris and ashes of the explosion, streamed out of the stairwell.
“Less than five minutes.” Dr. Winthrop’s voice whispered as panic and despair arose from within. “There is nothing stopping them now.”
“Yes, the situation is grave, Dr. Winthrop.” Peterson took one last look at the zombies on the flat-screen. “But it is not over until I say it is over.”
Peterson glanced at the others. “Evacuate, before they reach us.”
“We can’t leave!” cried Dr. Winthrop. “We can’t lose the lab.”
Peterson took hold of Dr. Winthrop’s arm and squeezed forcefully. “But you still have the information, right?”
Dr. Winthrop looked at the thumbnail drive.
Without saying more Peterson yanked Dr. Winthrop along as he, and the all the others, raced for the exit.
*
Everybody was aboard the boat safely, except for Dr. Winthrop and Peterson. They had all moved quickly enough to stay ahead of the zombies, but Dr. Winthrop couldn’t bring himself to leave yet. He stood on the dock, looking at the entrance to the lab and waiting.
Slowly, the doorway to the lab opened. It was a zombie. Then, another.
And another.
“It’s over.” A tear dropped down Dr. Winthrop’s face.
Dead and Back (The Zombie Crisis--Book 2) Page 10
