*****
We stepped inside and looked in both directions. I felt better with a death grip on one of the several Daewoo K7s we’d confiscated, and Hemp was trying out one of the three Heckler and Koch MP5s we’d nabbed.
The H&K was the most widely used submachine gun among law enforcement, and looked pretty badass besides. Nice and compact, with a 30-round magazine and a 2-round burst setting, Hemp had a full magazine installed and two jammed in his belt.
Gem brought up the rear with Trina in her arms. She looked exhausted, and I knew she’d never say anything. I knew from experience that Trina, despite weighing only about 40 pounds, could start to feel very heavy after hauling her around for just a short while.
“Baby, are you okay with carrying her?” I asked.
Gem nodded, but pulled back and looked at Trina. “Trini, baby, do you think you’d like to walk and hold Gemmy’s hand for a little while?”
“Uh huh,” she said. “I can walk. Where are we?”
“We’re in a big building, and we’re going to a laboratory to see friend of Hemp’s.” Gem put her down and she looked up at us and held out her hand. Gem took it.
“I’m not tired,” she said, yawning.
“I know you’re not, baby. You don’t get tired because you’re a big girl.”
I smiled at Gem. “Stay about eight to ten feet behind us. If anything’s up here, we’ll dispatch it before you two know what happened.”
“Stairwell’s on the left here. Or do you want to take the elevator?” asked Hemp.
Unlike most buildings with backup power systems, this facility had a large generator capable of running nearly every piece of powered equipment that might ordinarily operate, with the exception of some minor, non-essential devices. As Hemp told us on the road, they could have to survive in this building for some time, and the capability to continue the experiments necessary to find an antidote to any given virus or infection was crucial.
“I think your friend might be right,” I said. “Let’s forget the elevator. We can push the doors open and get the lay of the land. That way we can avoid the ‘Here’s Johnny!’ factor and enter at our own speed.”
“Stairwell’s here,” Hemp said. He pulled open the door to the left of the entry. Steel corrugated steps led up to the second level in two flights. Hemp craned his neck, pointing his gun up the well. We could see through the steel stair treads, and it appeared to be deserted. Hemp confirmed it and waved us onward.
“Hemp, you go first. I’m bringing up the rear. Gem, you and Trina between us.”
We got organized and headed up. It was a quick trip up the 20 steps to the second floor landing. Hemp held his MP5 pointed upward, and his hand on the door. “Everyone ready?” he asked.
We nodded. He pulled. It didn’t move. Our eyes fell on the card reader mounted on the wall to the left of the door and all of us groaned at once.
“Fuck. I forgot about this.” Hemp looked guilty.
“I see our vernacular is catching on. Don’t worry about it. We’ll just take the elevator,” I said.
“That won’t work, either. We’re going to have to get a card off . . . well, a body, if we can find one. The elevator will open, but you won’t be able to make it go anywhere unless you’ve got a swipe card.”
“Well, to be fair, Max might have reminded us of that,” I said.
Gem sighed. “I think we can chalk it up to a bit of stress and give him a pass on that oversight.”
“I’ll go back down and find something somewhere,” I said. Hemp waved his hand.
“Nope. Me. I know where to look, I know how to handle this weapon, and I should’ve thought about it. You three stay here, and I’ll be right back. I don’t think this will take too long.”
“Okay, buddy. Be careful,” I said. “If you’re not back in ten, we’re coming after you.”
“I’ll be back in five,” he said, smiling. He trotted down the stairs with more energy that I was feeling, and Gem and I watched him disappear down the stairwell and around the corner.
“Bollocks!”
I looked at Gem and shrugged. She smiled at me.
“What’s wrong, Hemp,” she called.
“I can’t get out.” His voice echoed up the concrete and steel stairwell.
“That door’s locked too? I thought this was a fire escape.” Gem looked confused.
“Hold on,” Hemp called up. “Okay, okay. I got it. The doors to the interior levels lock automatically. There’s another door down here that leads outside, so I just have to go out and have Max let me in again. Sit tight. Start your ten minute counter.”
But I didn’t have to wait ten minutes. We heard the door click open and Hemp screamed. Just as we heard the first rounds explode out of the barrel of his MP5, the door clicked closed and we heard nothing but silence again.
“Hemp!” I yelled. Nothing. He was outside with whatever had caused him to discharge his weapon.
“Stay here, Gem,” I yelled as I started down the metal stairs, taking them two at a time. “Keep your Glock ready.”
I reached the first floor landing and pushed the door bar slowly. The door opened, and smoky, fuel-enriched oxygen and sunlight poured through. I saw nothing straight ahead, but as I stepped completely out, the wall behind my head exploded, a diagonal zipper pattern appearing on the surface just above me. I dove to the ground, landing on my elbow and hip and swung my rifle in the direction of the incoming rounds, and fired off a two second burst that put twenty rounds in the direction of what I hoped was the source.
I was apparently pretty close, because the gunfire stopped long enough for me to jump back to my feet and run for a small alcove in the building’s wall to the right of the door. “Hemp!” I shouted.
“Over here,” he said, and it sounded like he was just on the other side of the outcropping behind which I was concealed.
“Cover me!” I called, and it was followed by machine gun fire. I dove around the outcropping and back to the solid brick wall, and he was beside me, crouched down, slamming another magazine into his Heckler and Koch.
“Where are they?” I asked, trying to keep my voice as low as possible.
“In one of the patrol Jeeps,” Hemp said. “I’m not sure why they’re shooting at me, except maybe they’re a tad on edge about now.”
“Did you try to identify yourself?”
“They can’t hear anything over their own gunfire, unfortunately. We’re just going to have to –”
His words were cut off when the open-cab Jeep drove past again and two uniformed men, one brandishing a machine gun of his own, came back into view. Hemp and I said nothing. We both raised our weapons and sent a continuous barrage of lead at the vehicle and its occupants.
The driver was clearly hit. Crimson spray erupted from his head and his body flew out and rolled as the small truck spun sharply toward us, and onto two wheels. My gun was empty, but Hemp had deftly ejected his magazine and slammed another one in. As the jeep’s undercarriage and fuel tank were exposed, Hemp fired into it, turning it into an instantaneous fireball.
We watched it for a moment, hoping there wasn’t another vehicle behind it. After two minutes of no movement or activity, we approached the body of the man who had flown free of the burning four-wheeler. Hemp knelt beside the man.
“We’ve got our key card,” he said. “I just hate that we had to kill more uninfecteds to get it.”
“They didn’t give us a choice,” Hemp. “You know that.”
“I know. But I’ve a feeling we’re going to be alone enough in this world. I can’t stand making it more so.”
I patted him on the back and he stood. The key card Hemp held in his hand had the metallic strip intact, but a clean 9mm bullet hole ran right through the man’s photograph. His name was Louis Franklin, he looked to be about 24 years old, and thankfully, Hemp did not know him or his family.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dead Hunger: The Flex Sheridan Chronicle Page 19
