Even The Dead Will Bleed

by Steven Ramirez

The doors leading to the next room were made of reinforced steel. Ziggy and Hen trotted over and each grabbed a handle. Grunting, they pulled the heavy doors open. Inside was a vast soundproof concrete room that reminded me of an indoor target range. The rest of Warnick’s squad ventured in first, their weapons pointed.

  As I entered I noticed a bullet-scarred wall painted in huge pastels of dried blood. A row of steel stands the height of a man, with shiny metal cuffs for hands and feet, stood anchored to the wall. Turning, I saw opposite the bloody wall a long table that ran almost the width of the room. On it was mounted various weapons—assault rifles, shotguns and handguns. Each pointed towards the wall. Behind them stood a series of video cameras on tripods. The floor in the center of the room was made of metal.

  “Is this an execution chamber?” Maritza said.

  Vlad was examining the metal cuffs and the bloodstains. “They don’t kill them.”

  Berta shook her head in disgust. “What kind of sick . . .”

  “Shh!” Warnick said, holding up his hand.

  We stood absolutely silent and waited. Eventually a faint moan broke through the silence. Then another.

  “Where’s it coming from?” John said.

  I crossed to the center of the floor and looked down at the metal. Then, kneeling, I ran my hand over the surface. It was warm. “I think it’s coming from underneath.”

  Ryan trotted over to the rear wall where what looked like a control booth stood. “Found it!” he said.

  A moment later unseen machinery whined and the floor began to descend. A soft beep filled the room, followed by a synthetic voice that said, “Elimination pit door opening.”

  I jumped off and watched as the metal panel slid under the concrete, revealing an abattoir that reeked of blood, urine and feces. Grabbing our weapons we stood at the edge and peered into the darkness. At first there wasn’t any movement. Then a pitiful moan tore through the pit. Warnick took out his flashlight and shone it down.

  “Oh, no . . .” Maritza said, turning away.

  Inside the massive space hundreds of mutilated human bodies lay piled up on top of one another. Though most were dead already, a few moved, lifting fleshless arms. Many had had their faces cut away, leaving only the eyes and the tongue. Because of all the blood it was hard to tell who they were. Many looked like they were wearing lab coats. Others wore security guard uniforms. Still others were dressed in grey suits.

  “The cutters must’ve rounded them up,” I said.

  “Please, God!” one of them said. “Please help us!”

  A loud warning beep filled the room, followed by the artificial voice which said, “Waste compression beginning.”

  Now the sounds of machinery again, only this time it made the room vibrate. The huge mass of bodies began to move as one, and I realized that the walls were closing in on them.

  “Ryan, turn it off!” Warnick said.

  “I’m tryin’ . . .”

  “Ryan!”

  As the walls continued to compress the bodies, heads burst open like rotten melons, spewing brains everywhere. Eyes popped out of their sockets and shot across the pit like spitballs in a middle school English class.

  Maritza became faint and, before I could catch her, she tilted forward and fell into the pit! Panicked, I looked down. “Maritza!”

  She lay barely conscious on top of the mass of bloody bodies. My instinct was to jump in after, but I would end up dying along with her. “Ziggy, give me a rope!”

  “I don’t have any more.”

  “Somebody get something!”

  Warnick ran towards Ryan, who stood at the control panel, trying to stop the horrifying grinding machine. “Everyone, grab those cables on the video cameras and string them together! Hurry!”

  In a few seconds we had a safety line. Warnick ran back to me and secured the line around my waist. Then he and the others lowered me into the pit. Maritza was moving away, still out. As I approached her she regained consciousness and, realizing where she was, screamed.

  “You’re going to be okay,” I said, trying to maintain a calm voice. “I’ve almost got you. Give me your hand.”

  Trembling, she reached for me. I grabbed her forearm and pulled her towards me. Close now, she threw her arms around my neck as the others pulled us both out of the pit while desperate, bloody hands grabbed at our feet. When we reached the edge, Warnick pulled Maritza out, then me.

  Inside the pit the screams became more muffled. Leading Maritza away, I ran towards the control booth and joined Ryan. Sweat poured from his head as he scanned the panel looking for a master switch.

  “I can’t stop it!”

  “Incineration will begin in fifteen seconds. Door closing. Please stand back.”

  Ryan and I watched helplessly as lights flashed and a graphic on a computer monitor lit up, showing what was happening below as a rotating 3-D animation.

  “Come on,” I said. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  Ryan and I returned to the others. I looked at Warnick and shook my head. The floor had closed completely.

  “Commencing incineration,” the demonic voice said.

  As we moved towards the exit I could hear the sounds of gas jets and imagined the crushed bodies being burned to ash.

  “Guess I owe you now,” Maritza said to me.

  Shaken, we exited the room and found ourselves in a long, dark hallway. Consulting his laptop Ryan pointed straight ahead. As we continued on we passed a number of labs, image scanning rooms and supply closets.

  We reached a hallway intersection and began looking for signs. One read Hospital. Ryan led the way, directing us to the right. This hallway was also dark. Something moved up ahead. Instinctively we raised our weapons. I grabbed Maritza’s arm and shoved her behind me. Warnick looked at each of us. Then slowly we moved forward.

  In the dim light three cutters crouched like Neanderthals around a campfire, slicing off strips of flesh from the six or seven bodies that lay on the cold tile floor. When one of the bodies flinched, I knew the victims were alive.

  Maritza was gripping my arm hard, and I could feel her shaking. Warnick signaled to Berta and Hen, who advanced and began shooting. Angry, the cutters leapt to their feet and took off into the darkness. We continued towards the victims. Most were dead. The one who’d flinched—a bloodied, frightened researcher in a lab coat—stared straight up. Most of the skin from her torso had been cut away, exposing red flesh and bone.

  Vlad approached her deliberately. Taking out a hand gun he raised it and fired a single shot into her forehead. She never made a sound.

  Calmly he lowered his weapon. “Can’t save them all.”

  “Where’s the hospital?” Warnick said to Ryan.

  “Through those doors.”

  I focused ahead and saw a set of closed steel doors. “I don’t think our card will open those.”

  Vlad dug through the dead woman’s pockets and found a card key that looked different from the one we’d been using. “This should work.”

  The doors stood approximately twenty yards from where we were standing. All along we’d assumed that Sasha would be inside, safe in one of the rooms. We hadn’t allowed ourselves to think about the possibility of her having been moved—or worse, dead. So we continued on. Something flashed across the hallway. I turned to see what it was and saw Ziggy on his knees, clutching his throat. Blood leaked through his fingers and he made a gurgling noise.

  “Stay together!” Warnick said, moving towards Ziggy.

  Another flash and a horizontal line of blood appeared across Ziggy’s huge waist. The frightened young soldier convulsed, his hand on his throat, as Warnick eased him onto his back. The rest of us surrounded the two, facing out and pointing our weapons. Now two blurs. Berta and Hen began firing. Then the rest of us joined in.

  “Can’t see them!” Ryan said.

  I turned to him urgently. “Only a headshot will kill them.”

  Maritza screamed. When I looked at her, her hand was blee
ding. Filled with rage I scanned the darkness and, spotting one of the cutters, I fired a stream of bullets. He came crawling out of the shadows, holding his balisong knife. As he looked up I blasted his head open and he collapsed, lifeless.

  Turning to Maritza, I said, “Get inside the circle.”

  The rest of us waited. There were two cutters left. One of them raced past, trying to cut John. Vlad saw him in time and let go a barrage of bullets that sent him flying against the wall. As he sank to his knees he left a long red smear. Then Vlad finished him off.

  One left. Berta was the first to see him and shot his legs out from under him. Spinning and hitting the ground hard, he army-crawled back into the darkness. She and Hen looked at each other and went after him. Far off I could hear more shots echoing, followed by a muffled cry. In a few seconds the two soldiers appeared.

  As we quit the circle I took Maritza’s hand. Ryan came towards her with a QuikClot pack and applied it to stop the bleeding.

  “Thank you,” she said after he’d bandaged her hand.

  “Welcome.”

  We’d forgotten about Ziggy. As Warnick rose I saw that the soldier was dead. Without speaking, we approached the steel doors, touched the card key to the panel and pulled the doors open.

  We found ourselves in a kind of foyer. Ahead was a brightly lit hospital wing with a nurse’s station in front. Staying close together we moved forward, our weapons pointed. Ryan stopped at the nurse’s station and consulted his laptop. Then he directed us off towards a side corridor.

  Though I’d expected to encounter more cutters, we were completely alone. We arrived at a long glass wall with a set of doors that stood in the middle. Beyond it was a brilliant white room with a bed surrounded by medical equipment.

  Sasha was sitting upright in bed, looking tired and frightened. She was dressed in a hospital gown, and appeared much the way she had when I first found her. Trower sat next to her, holding a gun to her head and staring at us, his pale blue eye glowing like a cursed gem. The glow from the ceiling lights made his scar look darker—deeper.

  Warnick signaled for everyone except Berta and Hen to fall back and find a position.

  “I’m going in,” I said, gently taking Maritza’s hand and giving it to John.

  Warnick glared at me, saw the determination on my face and relented. “You and Vlad come with me. The rest of you, fall back.”

  Ignoring Warnick’s order, Vlad rushed in first. As we followed him, I could hear the doors snapping shut behind us. When I turned around, Maritza and the others were banging on the doors, trying to get in. I looked at Warnick, who signaled for them to go around. Then the three of us approached the bed.

  Though Trower appeared calm, I could see by the sweat on his forehead that he was agitated—maybe even scared. Had all of the grey-suits been killed by cutters, along with the lab personnel and security guards? It looked like he was alone. He brought his weapon closer to Sasha’s head.

  “That’s far enough,” he said. “So. It’s come to this.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  How Soon Is Now?

  Gripping his weapon, Vlad glared at the freak, with Warnick and me on either side of him. I sensed movement too late as two grey-suits moved in, aiming their weapons at our heads. Without a word, we laid down ours and braced ourselves for the inevitable leaden monologue. As the grey-suits took away our guns, Trower grabbed Sasha and pulled her out of bed.

  He was about to say something when I cut him off. “Is this going to be a long speech?”

  He laughed hoarsely and looked at Sasha to see if she’d gotten the joke, then turned as Walt Freeman stepped out of the shadows, looking sober and weary. Seeing his sloppy, oversized frame sent a bolt of adrenalin coursing through my body. Cold sweat formed on my hands and forehead. Involuntarily I moved closer.

  “Ah-ah-ah,” Trower said as the agents waved me back with their guns.

  “You should’ve left it alone, Dave,” Walt said. He seemed genuinely sorry. “We had it under control.”

  “All those people. How can you possibly defend it? This is all about the money, isn’t it? The IPO?”

  “That’s nothing more than a financial vehicle to position our firm for success. Our young men and women fighting overseas need an edge. We’re going to give it to them.”

  “It’s no good, Walt. None of it works.”

  “It will. I’ve put my faith in science.”

  “So did Mengele.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  Warnick scoffed. “Don’t patronize us. How many more thousands of innocent lives before you figure it out—if you ever do? Can you tell us that, Walt?”

  “It’s called acceptable risk, Warnick. You should know that better than anyone.”

  “D’javol,” Vlad said and lunged at Walt.

  Now he had his hands around Walt’s fat neck and continued squeezing with his thumbs as the agents attempted to tear him away. One of them drew his weapon and fired repeatedly at Vlad’s back. Despite the body armor, some of the bullets must have penetrated and, groaning, the Russian released Walt and sank to his knees. The agent was about to fire at Vlad’s head when Sasha screamed.

  “Vlad!” she said, struggling to free herself from Trower’s grip.

  Warnick and I tried to help our friend, but the other agent kept his weapon trained on us. His face bright red, Walt rubbed his throat and coughed violently. When he’d caught his breath he stared at Warnick and me. He could barely get the words out.

  “I’m sorry for you,” he said. Then to Trower, “Finish this.”

  In a moment Walt had faded into the shadows and was gone, his continued rasping echoing after him. Trower hadn’t noticed, but I did. Sasha’s irises had gone purple. She began mewling violently, freeing one of her hands and clawing at Trower’s face.

  “Get the drug!” he said, fighting to keep her under control.

  As one agent kept his weapon on us, the other ran to a white cabinet with locked drawers. His hand shaking, he got out a set of keys and tried each one till he could unlock the top drawer.

  “Hurry, dammit!”

  Sasha was thrashing like a wild animal, her deafening, shrieking voice cutting the air. Her hair obscuring her face, she tore violently at Trower’s head and neck. Bright, slick blood dribbled onto his shirt collar as he fought to resist long enough for the agent to inject her.

  As the grey-suit returned with a clear glass syringe filled with iridescent purple liquid, time slowed. Sasha screamed banshee-like and with superhuman strength grabbed Trower’s weapon and flung it away, snapping his wrist. As he cried out in pain she sent him reeling across the room like a ventriloquist’s dummy. Out of instinct the agent fired at her point blank, striking her in the chest.

  “No!” Trower said, trying to regain his footing.

  My heart stopped and a wave of loss and dread washed over me. God, I’d done everything you asked to save the Russian girl and her baby. You saw! But it wasn’t enough. I’d failed—just like I did with Holly. There was nothing left to do except kill Trower and the two grey-suits.

  The room had gone quiet as Sasha looked down at the hole in her chest. I marveled at the absence of blood. She touched the wound, almost fascinated. Then, growling like an animal, she lunged at the agent, who was too frightened to move. Driving her angry fist into his chest, she grasped his beating heart and squeezed till it stopped. Shuddering from a lack of oxygen, he sank to the ground as she removed her bloody hand, the heart still in it.

  Seeing my chance, I struck the agent guarding us with one hand while taking his weapon with the other. Then I locked one arm around his neck and, delivering a forceful jerk with the other, I snapped it—only it didn’t kill him. He lay on the floor helplessly, his head permanently turned to the side, waving his arms uselessly and gagging. So I silenced him with a bullet to the head.

  Sasha was on Trower again, gouging out his eyes with her thumbs as he tore at her arms, screaming. He was blind now, bloo
d gushing from his eye sockets as he tried uselessly to get to his feet.

  The Russian girl was calm—almost serene. Glancing at us with cold determination, she glared at the object of her hatred and, reaching out with one hand, she said, “Idi k chertu,” and tore out his throat. “Go to hell.” Gurgling, he fell sideways on the floor as the blood spurted rhythmically to the beating of his dying heart.

  Unsure what to do, Warnick pointed his weapon at the Russian girl. A bloody hand grabbed his forearm to stop him.

  It was Vlad.

  Without speaking, he took his sister by the hand and, together, they fled, leaving a trail of bright blood. Voices erupted in the distance. A few seconds later Ryan entered, followed by the others. Each looked disgusted as they took in the carnage.

  “Where’s Sasha?” Maritza said.

  I shook my head. “She ran away with her brother.”

  “Alright, we need to find them,” Warnick said.

  We were about to leave when I remembered the drug Trower had used to control Sasha. Maybe we could still save her. Crossing to the cabinets I slid open the drawer the grey-suit had unlocked and found a black leather case containing seven syringes filled with the serum. Each was labeled Surrelis Drug Trial 6160. Then I replaced the undamaged syringe from the floor, closed the case and slipped it into my backpack.

  I turned to Warnick. “What about Walt?”

  “Let it go, Dave.”

  “He needs to die.”

  “I said, let it go!”

  I’d never seen such a look of anger and disgust in Warnick’s eyes. I decided to stand down. But I wasn’t finished with Walt Freeman.

  We had no idea where the two Russians might be, and as we moved like a unit through the main hallway I worried that more cutters might be lurking. Warnick and Ryan took the lead. Maritza and I followed, she staying close to me, holding onto my forearm with one hand and gripping her Glock with the other. John walked behind us with a grim expression, carrying his AR-15 in both hands. Berta and Hen brought up the rear.

  “This is never going to work,” I said. “Too much ground to cover. We need to split up.”