Z-Level 10: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel

by Cole, Michael

  Initially, they both wanted to urge Reimer to go first. But there was no time to argue. Gordon went first and ascended the eighteen-foot climb. The hatch was closed above him, with a steering-wheel shaped opening mechanism. At the top of the ladder, he grabbed the wheel and spun it to the left. The locking mechanism detached from its slot and the hatch yawned open, spilling a grim twilight into the dark tunnel.

  Gordon pulled himself out onto a grassy area. Kneeling a meter away from the hatch, he panned his eyes over the surrounding area. Only a few stray corpses lumbered between some boulders in the distance. Nothing appeared to be coming out of the tree line.

  Dunn was next. At the final ladder bar, he practically sprang like an insect up onto the grass. On his hands and knees, he poked his head back into the tunnel.

  “Come on, guys!”

  Reimer and Bell had already backed to the foot of the ladder.

  “Get up there,” Reimer ordered Bell.

  “No dude! You first! I’m heavier and will take a little longer to haul my ass up. GO!”

  Reimer grimaced as though in pain. But again, there was no time to argue. He strapped his weapon behind his back and hustled up the ladder. Bell fired off numerous shots until Reimer’s boots were as high as his face. With his bag hung over his shoulder, he quickly ascended behind the Corporal. Reimer moved quick to give him space.

  But the horde had closed in. Bell had climbed four feet off the floor when he felt teeth and nails tearing into his legs. Reimer whipped his head down at the sound of Bell’s screams. Several arms were ahold of the former tank operator, their combined strength pulling him down. His feet came off the bars, his hands still gripping tight.

  Reimer skidded down several bars and reached to grab him.

  “Come on, soldier!” he yelled. Bell looked back up, tempted to accept the help. But with the infection having broken the skin barrier, Bell knew he was pretty much dead already. Holding tight to the ladder with one hand, he whipped the explosives pack up to the Corporal.

  “Get out! It’s gonna get hot in here in ten!” he yelled.

  “BELL!”

  The soldier released his grip, falling back into the river of corpses that filled the corridor beneath. As he landed on top of them, he pulled two grenades from his vest. Reimer hustled, accepting the extended hands of his fellow Marines. Together, they hauled him up onto the grass. Dunn shut the hatch door and sealed the lock.

  Now encased in darkness, the ghouls tore at Bell, their teeth severing muscle tissue from his arms and shoulders. Finally, the two grenades went off, engulfing the flesh-eaters in a blast, amplified by the tight quarters.

  The marines felt the concussion from above. It felt like a tiny earthquake, the blast itself sounding like a car crash taking place below. Reimer sat in the grass, staring at the few undead that approached them. Dunn took the pleasure of dispatching them, driving his knife into each one.

  “At least he died on his own terms,” Gordon muttered. Dunn yanked his blade from the last ghoul and shot Gordon a frustrated look.

  “His terms? No. He died on someone else’s terms!”

  “Oh, Jesus, Dunn. Not now,” Reimer said.

  “Yes, now,” Dunn said. “We’re stuck here. We’re all that’s left. That scientist woman is nowhere to be found. What are we gonna do?”

  “I don’t see any tracks,” Gordon said. “She definitely made it out of there alive. That’s why those inner doors were locked. Those corpses we ran into in the tunnel must’ve followed her in. There was no body as far as I could see. She might still be alive.”

  “That’s what you’re thinking about?!” Dunn barked. “Bolden, Bell, and Keegan are dead, and you’re all about saving this idiot who shouldn’t have been here in the first place?”

  “I get it, Dunn, but it’s what we’re here for. If we don’t find her, then they all died for nothing!”

  “Believe me, they have!” Dunn said.

  Reimer sat, his mind in a haze. He heard every word spoken between his friends, knew he needed to intervene, yet couldn’t seem to bring himself back to reality. It was as if his brain had powered down, rendering him inoperable.

  “Corporal? CORPORAL?!”

  As if awakening from a dream, Reimer shot to his feet. Dunn was now looking at him with questioning eyes.

  “Did you guys get a signal out to Border Command?” Dunn asked.

  Reimer hesitated. “Negative. The equipment had been destroyed in the previous attack.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dunn muttered. “Then we’re screwed. We are absolutely screwed.” He started looking around, appearing to be in a state of panic. “There’s got to be a vehicle around here. Let’s just get a vehicle and get the hell out of dodge. There were rumors that undead activity was low in northern Canada. We can go there.”

  “Dunn, I know we’re friends, but holy shit man. You need a slap upside the head,” Gordon said.

  “Speak for yourself buddy,” Dunn retorted. “We’re alive now, but believe me, we are SCREWED! The government was always shitty, but now it’s completely made to benefit the elites. You’ve probably noticed how they’re forcing everyone to have jobs, and taxing them at, what? Fifty percent is it now? Now forced military service, laws forced by people who’ve never served. You really want to go back to that place?”

  “That’s enough, Dunn,” Reimer finally spoke up. “We’ll make for the radio tower. There’s gotta be something there that can reach home base. We can get a ride out of here. Then you’ll be a civilian again.”

  “Says you,” Dunn said. “Keegan’s dead. My luck has run out. If I get back, they’ll just put me with another unit and use me till I’m too broken. Same with both of you.”

  “Well, until then, I’m the ranking officer,” Reimer said, his voice assertive. Dunn stared at him, his face appearing angry and hopeless.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.

  “I don’t have time to kid,” Reimer said. “Too many guys have died. We need you to get your shit together.”

  “I’m the ONLY one with my shit together,” Dunn barked. “Don’t you see, I’m the only one who can see the strings around you puppets!”

  “I’m pulling rank here, man!” Reimer said.

  “Fuck your rank,” Dunn said. “All the times you’ve froze up! All those hesitations…you’re as dead as I am.”

  All three men jumped back as the hatch burst upward, the square segment launching several feet into the sky. They stood in unison, slowly backing away with their muzzles pointed toward the opening. Claws rose from the passageway, the nails tearing into the dirt. The disparate head of the mutant lifted into the twilight air, its yellow eyes quickly turning toward the marines. It bared teeth, almost appearing to smile. It hissed like a cat, gradually pulling its body out from the tunnel. Reimer held both arms out, goading both his men backward.

  “Run.”

  CHAPTER 17

  The marines ran, dodging trees and other obstacles as they retreated from the horrific mutant. The creature darted between the trees, its feet kicking gravel with each step.

  It staggered, its head jolted by several rounds fired from Gordon and Reimer. Dunn didn’t bother shooting, well aware that they couldn’t penetrate the skull.

  “I already told you, you idiots!”

  “Yes…you did,” Gordon muttered, amazed by the creature’s resilience. Reimer aimed low, putting bullets into its torso and legs. The rounds broke the skin, possibly splintering bones within. But the creature clearly didn’t feel any pain. Though the gunshots slowed it, it didn’t detract from its goal.

  Reimer lagged behind to attract its attention while the others ran ahead. The mutant came to a stop, watching both Reimer and the others as though deciding which to attack. Whatever this beast was, it was capable of basic thought and decision making. And it made its decision, choosing the nearest target. However, it lacked knowledge of weaponry beyond that it was aware its skull had evolved to withstand gunfire.
Reimer knew this. Otherwise, it certainly would know to avoid the grenade he threw at it.

  The creature marched at him with claws extended, taking no notice of the metal ball bouncing from its hip. The grenade hit the ground and detonated, the resulting concussion throwing the beast to the ground. It crashed against the trunk of a tree, covered in its own blood. Like the ghouls, its flesh was dead, yet, somehow functional. It pushed itself off the ground, its toothy face still fixed on its prey.

  Reimer backed several steps, then turned and accelerated into a full sprint. Now he was terrified. Even a grenade explosion couldn’t kill its brain.

  The creature stood back up, its right leg mangled by the blast. Much of the muscle tissue had been severed, leaving exposed bone beneath a few strings of wet flesh. It leaned forward, putting some of its weight on its elongated arms like an ape.

  Reimer could hear it starting to gallop as he cut through a patch of trees. Mud splashed under his boots as he zigzagged between obstacles. He dug his feet down to a full stop, hearing running feet approaching from ahead.

  Dunn and Gordon emerged from a veil of fog, both shouting in surprise upon nearly colliding with Reimer.

  “Not that way!” Gordon said. Looking past them, Reimer saw the silhouettes of several ghouls in the fog. Several heads moved above the brush, soulless eyes fixed on the fresh meat.

  Reimer glanced back, unable to see the mutant. But he knew it was there, somewhere behind those trees. Going back was certainly suicide, as was going forward. He turned to the right and ran with his team mates. Their lungs burned and muscles ached as they traveled another hundred yards. They reached another clearing, their boots landing on solid rock.

  “SHIT!” Dunn yelled. Laying several feet ahead of them was the edge of another cliff, leading to a steep fall of twenty feet or more. All three marines twisted in place, digging their boots down to stop themselves. Reimer, catching his breath, peeked over the edge. The bottom was composed of several rocks. The wall itself was jagged, with plenty of space to climb.

  “Unpack your gear. We’re going this way,” he said.

  “Corporal?” Dunn said. At first, Reimer suspected it was another protest. Then he noticed the marine pointing his M4 toward the woods. He followed the barrel, seeing its muzzle pointed toward the mutant. It limped from the trees, mouth agape. Its lips peeled back, fully revealing its bloodstained jaws. A strange slurping sound reverberated from its throat.

  Its claws were still red with the blood of their comrades. Pieces of meat dangled from its teeth. Thick fluid oozed from the bullet wounds in its head, as well as the gash in its right leg. But it felt no pain. In its world, pain only existed in its prey. It was the same for fear.

  The creature sprang forward, its injury slowing it down. With no time to rappel down the cliff, the team spread out. Gordon and Reimer ran to the right, putting several rounds through the creature’s torso and neck. Dunn moved left, focusing his shots on its skull.

  The creature started to go after the other two. But the numerous impacts on the back of its skull diverted its attention back to Dunn. The PFC fired another shot, hitting the beast square between the eyes. Skin and blood tore from the skull as the bullet ricocheted from its forehead. The creature bellowed, as though angry, and lunged. Dunn squeezed the trigger again, only to find that his mag was empty.

  The creature closed the distance, drawing its arm back to swat him like a fly. The marine dove to his right, taking himself over the edge of the cliff. He rolled and reached out, his fingers finding a bump in the rock. He held tight, his chin and hands above the ledge. Everything else dangled twenty feet above the rocky floor. Dunn glanced down, seeing certain death below his boots. His eyes then went back up, as another certain death approached the ledge. In that moment, he debated which fate he’d prefer.

  The creature stumbled, blood spraying as a round punched through some of its teeth. It whipped itself around to face Reimer, who struck it with another shot. The Corporal took steady breaths, focusing his aim. The creature leaned forward, ready to spring toward him. Its own blood seeped in thick globs from its mouth.

  It launched itself, its head jolting back and forth from repeated hits. It turned its eyes back at him, shrieking as it drew down for the kill. Aiming carefully through the scope, Reimer fired one last shot.

  The mutant’s eye exploded. Its arms slumped at its sides, the forward momentum throwing its body several feet past the Marine. It hit the dirt, rolling twice before settling near the ledge.

  Reimer reloaded, keeping the muzzle fixed on the beast. Gordon, panting heavily, inched toward it. Though it seemed dead, he had learned enough to never be too sure. It was laying face up, its remaining eye appearing glazed. Its jaw was slack, blood pooling into the back of its throat. The right eye was completely gone, strands of thin wet tissue hugging the sides of the socket. Deep down was minced tissue that was its brain.

  “I think you got it...” Gordon looked at Reimer, “Sir.”

  Reimer hurried to Dunn and pulled him back up from the ledge. Dunn struck his hands over his uniform, still coming down from the fright. As he calmed, he glanced at the mutant’s dead body. He then turned to Reimer, his mind remembering the things he had said moments ago. Things that were proven wrong. Before he could say the apology, he picked up his M4 and pointed to the woods. Reimer and Gordon turned, seeing several dozen ghouls stumbling from the tree line.

  “Son of a dick!” Gordon shouted. He was teetering back and forth, his rifle aim swaying from exhaustion and frustration. “You’d think we’d get a break.”

  “It’s a Z-level 10,” Dunn said. “Nobody gets a break here.”

  “Can we still rope down?”

  “These freaks don’t care about the ledge,” Reimer said. “Even if we got down, they’d be raining down on us before we could even set foot. We wouldn’t make it in time.”

  “They’d probably miss,” Gordon said.

  “Tell that to Fisher,” Dunn said. He watched the horde, counting at least twenty. “Want to take them on, Corporal?”

  Reimer let his M4 rest on its sling, opting to use his two Berettas. He could already hear his arms trainer in his mind, “Only an idiot would actually use a pistol in both hands.” Reimer allowed a small grin to form. He felt that adrenaline rushing through his veins, though this time, he was forcing himself to find a thrill in it.

  As he prepared to charge, the air filled with shouts and hollers from behind the trees. Like ancient warriors attacking an enemy camp, five men dashed from the trees, wielding hatchets, baseball bats, and pistols.

  The one in the lead, a man in his mid-thirties wearing blue jeans and a denim shirt, held a large serrated knife. The entire back of the herd turned toward the new assailants. The denim wearing man lifted his knee and thrust a hard kick into the nearest flesh-eater, driving it back into two others, creating a domino effect of falling bodies.

  As they fell, he rotated to the left and plunged his knife into the skull of another ghoul. Baseball bats and tire irons creased the air, smashing into skulls. The strangers moved with precision, hitting one ghoul and moving right to the next one.

  Two of the members, men of Japanese descent, moved at incredible speed. They zigzagged between the undead, driving pipes into their temples. The denim wearing man kept up his assault on the far right, rupturing bone and flesh with his knife and hatchet.

  Suddenly, Dunn felt a sense of competition.

  “Not sure who these guys are, but I’m not letting them have all the fun.” With his rifle at his shoulder, the marine led the charge. He fired rounds into the nearest ghouls, opening their heads like broken ceramic pots. Several ghouls turned in place, now drawn to the cracks of the assault rifles. Reimer followed, firing both Berettas into the horde. Gordon took the right where the ghouls were more scattered. Unlike his friends, he opted for the use of knives, plowing the blades through eye sockets.

  The Japanese duo took the advantage of the ghouls’ distraction. Running up behin
d them, they plowed the sharpened edge of their pipes through their craniums. The fourth man, a black-haired individual with the frame of an NFL linebacker, swung an aluminum baseball bat.

  A fifth man wore a tattered park ranger uniform and ball cap. He followed the burly man, swinging a machete into the neck of an attacking ghoul. The blade cut through skin with ease and snapped the bone. With repeated hacks, the head fell free and slumped in the soil, resembling one of the rocks scattered along the cliff.

  The denim-wearing cowboy drew down with his hatchet, cleaving the skull of the last remaining ghoul. The blade sunk deep, separating both hemispheres of its head. Jaw slack, the corpse dropped to its knees and fell backward.

  The clash was over in less than a minute. Bodies littered the ground, their rotted flesh permeating the soil. Dunn and Gordon panted heavily, the former now so exhausted he was on the verge of collapse. Reimer holstered his pistols, checking some of the nearby corpses to make sure they were really dead. Like his friends, he was so exhausted he felt he could sleep for a month. His uniform was now soaked in his own sweat, his pants covered in grime. But behind the exhaustion and physical ache was a feeling of gratitude. He looked to the man in denim, believing him to be the leader.

  “Thanks for your help, Mr…?”

  “Where’s Dr. Hill?” the man said. He sheathed the knife and hatchet into his belt before clutching the handle of his revolver. Reimer stopped, cautiously grabbing his Carbine.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Gordon and Dunn both aimed their rifles, spurring the park ranger into drawing his Glock. The two groups stood at a standstill, the two Japanese men standing off to the side. Their hands reached behind their backs, clutching the handles of snug-nose revolvers, ready to draw should the situation escalate further.