Stick samples and scientist in lab.
Move on to better job.
Now, as he sat and watched analysts prepare a mission plan for the strike team, determining possible ways to enter the silo and collecting as much data as possible for them, he wanted to shoot himself for being so thorough. Hooks told him to make sure the silo was impenetrable.
Well, he did that and then some. In his mind, a situation like this would only be caused if someone tried to sabotage or break into the silo. An explosion in the lab would not have caused all the bells and whistles they were hearing, as well as shutting them off completely from the inside.
Something else was at work, and Frank didn’t like it when he didn’t have all the cards. He and his men were going into a situation with unknowns and variables, and he hated it. He also didn’t like the fact he was under orders not to say anything to the rest of the team.
An analyst was explaining that whatever had occurred, the security system rated it as catastrophic, therefore the power was the first thing to go off. Communication of any kind would be impossible with the outside world. Lastly, each floor would have a security measure they would need to bypass, and not average ones at that. Frank already knew this part.
He rolled his shoulders as he prepared to break into a facility, which he spent two years ensuring could not be breached.
“Monroe, the team members are in the air. We have ten minutes to find a way in,” one of the analysts said.
Frank nodded and walked outside as he pulled a cigar from his breast pocket. Most likely, it would be the last one he ever had. He forced out the mental images of some of the test runs on the prevention tactics he’d instituted.
The terrors they had awaiting them were meant for other bad guys, not him and his team. He hoped a few of them made it out, or at least the ones that died didn’t owe him money. His attempt at morbid humor did nothing, and he puffed away, wondering how his life ended up this way.
He’d had good parents and a sister at one time. He was the football star in high school and a great college student until the phone call. He rushed home as fast as he could, but his whole family died before he could offer a hand of comfort or whisper a reassurance.
After that, he went on a drinking binge, which ended up in him being kicked out of college. The military found him, or he found it. He couldn’t quite remember. Either way, he served eight years before a man named Simard approached him. He said Frank was wasting his talents and he would pay him five times what he was making at the time.
The offer seemed too good to be true, but when Tim Lightfoot called him up, someone he’d done a tour with, he listened. His papers came down and he was honorably discharged. A day later, he went to Simard’s office and accepted the position, not even knowing what it was.
For years, he spent time on security details, taking care of problems, and spent spare time tinkering with ideas about new weapons. Frank never forgot about his family. He remembered the pictures of the wreckage of their car after the bomb went off. He also remembered the name of the suspected bomber who was trying to make a political statement at the expense of a few tourists.
The sounds of a helicopter approaching roused him from his musings. Revenge had driven him his whole life. He’d never bothered to get married or have kids, and now he was going to die without fulfilling the promise he made when he spread the ashes of his family – that he would avenge them. Instead, he would be going into a security-laden silo of his own design.
Things were not going to end well.
“Barrows, where are you? Get the hell in here!” John yelled. Over fifteen minutes passed since the explosion and he didn’t have a live feed. Even though the place went into lockdown, he’d spent a fortune installing fiber optic cables and insulating them in case of an emergency like this.
The door opened and a red-faced Barrows entered. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hooks, I was putting the last minute details together for the strike team.”
“Don’t feed me that crap of an excuse. Tell me why I have no cameras? Why can’t I see what the hell is going on in there? The electronics division should have made this their priority dammit!” John yelled as he felt his pulse race.
“Sir, please try to calm down. I’ll go and find out everything I can from the technicians.”
“Wait, I need you to take this image from Level 8 and find out who it is. They don’t look familiar to me and I know every face that went in there. Second, I need you to find out all the experiments they were working with today on Level 14.”
“Yes, Mr. Hooks.” Barrows left the room in a rush.
Dixon ejected the magazine out of his Desert Eagle and slid in a new one, pulling back the slide to chamber a round. He loved the gun, but found its limited capacity an irritation at the moment. The armory was about thirty yards down the hallway and he hoped they didn’t run into any other problems.
The group approached the first door after the lab, the supply closet. Dixon raised his hand so the others would stay put as he slowly turned the knob. There might be something the others could arm themselves with, if they were lucky. The breath was knocked out of him as he took in the smell of rot.
Two bodies lay in a twisted tangle. When their vacant eyes set on Dixon, they pulled themselves out of the small room with decayed fingers. He didn’t know who they were, no lab coats or patches were visible.
Benson jumped over the bodies scaring the crap out of Dixon and he went into the closet. A second later, he reappeared with a mop in hand. If two contaminated people with blood spewing from their mouth were not attempting to stand up and attack him, Dixon might have laughed.
Instead, he was taken by surprise when the lab rat broke the handle and jammed one of the halves into the back of one of the creature’s heads. The splintered end protruded from the nasal cavity with ample amounts of grey matter.
The second one, less than four feet away from where Dixon now stood, opened its maw and let out a moan. Scared, it was calling others. Dixon put a bullet in the center of its forehead. As it fell to the floor, the head cracked open, leaving a slippery mess on the floor.
“Dixon, you only have like five shots left. How the hell do you plan to get to the end of the hallway? This area had a lot of people at the time of the explosion. If we’re operating on the premise they’re all contaminated, we need to think outside of the box,” Benson said.
“Fine, the rest of you look in the closet and see if there’s anything you can use as a weapon,” Dixon ordered and questioned why Benson was remaining so calm.
He kept an eye on the other end of the hallway, as they rattled around, making too much noise for his comfort level. He eyed the fire hose and went over to it. Inside was a nice and shiny sharp axe. He debated for three seconds before he smashed the glass with the butt of his gun and grabbed the wooden handle.
A few practice swings later, he felt comfortable enough to use it. He holstered his Desert Eagle and joined the others. A broken mop handle for Benson. Smith held a thick length of pipe left over from construction, and Covington stared awkwardly at the hammer in his hands.
Dixon wondered how the guy made it through puberty, let alone middle age. Then again, considering what they were up against, he doubted they would make it to the next floor at the rate things were going.
With axe in hand, Dixon moved the group forward. Ten feet later, he saw a door marked
He peered inside and felt his stomach flip at what he witnessed. A small group of people were kneeling over two bodies. Their protective suits were shredded, ripped to nothing more than ribbons. He felt his gorge rise at the ghastly sight as long ragged strips of flesh were torn from the stomach of one body and the thigh of the other, their vicious growls echoing off the walls.
The backup lights illuminated the grisly scene, making the blood soaked floor appear black. Someone knocked into him, causing the door to open further. He glanced over his shoulder and sneered at Covington.
“What is it? What’s going on in there?” the idiot asked.
Dixon moved to the side. “Have a look.”
