Contaminated: A Zombie Survival Novel

fired eight shots. He stood back and let Dixon move in to see the eight bodies for himself.

“Dr. Covington, you have secrets. Your files didn’t indicate you knew how to handle weapons, let alone that you were proficient with them,” Dixon accused.

“I’m sure we all have talents we like to keep hidden.” Arthur went back to the opening and took aim. A man in a janitor’s uniform, who was missing his left arm and right hand, stood about a foot in front of the door. Arthur noticed a woman in a lab coat, her ear dangling by a thin strand of flesh, limping her way toward them.

He fired six more times, dropping the ones furthest away. The janitor, however, now leaned right up against the door and covered the area Arthur was using. Standing up, he reloaded the gun, sliding the magazine into place with a satisfied look at Dixon.

“Half of them are down now. If we open the door and work together we can take out the rest and move up to the next level,” Arthur pointed out.

Dixon lifted his Sig and nodded. Benson and Smith held their M4’s, but didn’t seem as gung-ho as before. Arthur didn’t question it. If he did, he would have to ask why he decided to grow a set at the worst possible time ever.

“Wait, is this thing point and shoot?” Smith asked Dixon.

The guard grabbed her weapon. “This is the safety, now it’s off. This switch here determines how many bullets you fire. I’m setting it to three at a time. When you’re empty, you hit this and the magazine drops out. Grab a new one, slide it in until you hear the click and start firing. Got it?”

Smith looked overwhelmed, but nodded as she stared at the gun in her hands.

“Let’s do this,” Dixon said and kicked open the door, knocking the former janitor to the floor.

* * *

Marshall Simard smiled for the first time in five years. He’d planned meticulously for this moment, and with all the players in place, he intended to make sure he won. Of course, having three specially placed people from his team inside gave him a considerable advantage.

The screen in front of him showed two things at once via a split screen. The side with movement concerned him. Dr. Covington wasn’t supposed to get out of the lab. He didn’t expect that and he hoped his man did his job and kept the scientist safe. More importantly, he wanted those samples. He flipped a switch on the control panel in front of him and watched the progress of Monroe.

He punched a key on his intercom and asked for a second monitor to be set up in his office. Both teams needed to be watched carefully. They didn’t know the horrors awaiting them. A scene of someone in the med lab falling to the floor with convulsions replayed in a continuous loop on one side of his monitor.

Everything went to hell from that moment on, the infection spread quickly. The moment for him to put his plan into action. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and dialed.

“Yeah,” a gruff voice answered.

“It’s Simard. I need you to get the team ready. You go in as soon as your feet hit the ground.”

“Yes, sir.”

A knock sounded on his door before it swung open and someone from the tech department rolled in with several monitors and wires to hook them up. Ten minutes later, six monitors skipping through the various floors at random lined the back of Marshall’s office.

The sound quality was poor, but there was no mistaking the screams for help and gunfire, when the system switched to a new floor. The technician tried to steal a look, but Marshall thanked him and ushered him out.

Marshall had one last call to make. As he dialed the number, he watched as over two dozen men in full gear fell to the ground.

“Collins,” a male voice answered.

“It’s me, I need you to make sure all the locking mechanisms are disengaged for the team going up, and the one going down, but don’t let either of them backtrack.” Marshall played with a pen as he watched someone slowly corner another and attack them, then rip them apart with their teeth.

Interesting turn of events, he thought.

“Monitoring now, if you need anything else let me know,” Collins said.

“One thing, what’s going on with the lights? I thought you said we’d have control over them,” Marshall asked in an annoyed tone. He’d adjusted his monitors several times before he realized it wasn’t an issue on his side.

“I’ll look into it, but my guess is the generator was over worked after the explosion. I have minimal control.”

Marshall sighed. “That will have to do for now, we have other tricks up our sleeves to set in motion later.” Marshall hung up with a smile.

On one of the screens, a spray of blood covered the camera and he leaned back. This was better than a movie, he thought.

* * *

Frank repelled down the elevator shaft and two hundred feet later came in contact with the top of the elevator carriage. He shook his pack off and switched on a small light attached to his mask. The pry bar was cold in his hands for the first few minutes but warmed up.

Using all his strength, he jammed it into the emergency exit on the roof. Seconds later, it popped open. With a sigh, he dropped into the elevator as the other members of his team landed on the roof. Lightfoot stood next to him a moment later and the both of them put the claw tool into position and eased the doors open.

Easy part done, now they faced the first of many barriers, at least this was non- lethal, Monroe thought.

He tapped on the metal not really knowing why. On a whim, he grabbed the emergency tool for opening elevators, shoved it, and then hammered until he made some headway.

The others stood behind him and he felt their stares. A snicker caught his attention and he knew it was Carson, because he’d been acting like an ass since he arrived. Frank knew he’d have to make sure the guy understood the situation and who was in charge, but it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t get these doors open.

Lightfoot stepped next to him and with a grin, took the other side of the claw and pulled. To the shock of all men present, Frank most of all, the doors actually moved.

“Carson and Newell, help Lightfoot, Felt and Grimwood, get on my side,” Frank ordered.

“Wait, we should put our masks on just in case this actually works,” Felt said.

Frank nodded and waited as everyone secured their gear in place. As soon as they finished, they went to work on the door.

The progress was slow but consistent. Within ten minutes, they had the bombproof doors open. Frank ignored the voice in the back of his head warning him not to proceed further. The voice warning him this was a set-up of some type that had been put into motion while the place was under construction, most likely earlier if he were to be honest.

“Why the hell were we able to do that?” Newell asked.

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s get out of these harnesses and secure Reception,” Frank said as he slipped his backpack onto his shoulder and stepped into the darkened room. M4 held at the ready.

The emergency lights were intermittent. No guards manned the desk, but footsteps could be heard. As Frank and his team moved forward, he saw a shadow in the back of the room. When he turned to get a better look, it was gone.

“Do you hear that?” Lightfoot asked.

“I can’t hear anything with this damn thing on my head,” Carson complained.

“Shut up, idiot,” Lightfoot hissed back.

Frank listened and sure enough, his ears picked up on something. He crouched low to the ground and moved forward. The noise came from behind the desk. When he rounded the corner, he fell back at what he saw and scrambled backward, causing a few of the others to lose their balance and trip as well.

“What the hell, Monroe,” Carson yelled.

At the same time, one of the duty guards stood and ambled toward them; his lower face covered in a dark liquid.

Frank fired a round into the guy’s chest, then another, and then four more. Hawkins, according to his nametag, wasn’t even fazed. The others let off several rounds and after three simultaneous shots to the head, it exploded, and he dropped.