“Okay, someone tell me that guy was wearing the best body armor ever,” Newell joked.
Frank got to his feet and approached the body, no bulletproof vest. The unnatural color and dark substance on the man’s face confused him until his foot hit the body of the second man on duty. Frank didn’t know his name and since his shirt along with most of his torso was shredded, he doubted he ever would.
Hawkins ate the other guard. Hawkins didn’t have any body armor on. Hawkins took multiple rounds to the mid-section without flinching. A shot to the head took him down. What the hell happened to Hawkins?
Hawkins ate the other guard. Frank’s brain stuck on that point. They couldn’t turn around; Hooks would kill them and get another team ready if he did.
“We need to open the door to the stairwell and make our way down to Level 2.” Frank stood and checked his ammo level, one round left. He ejected the magazine and popped in a new one. For no reason he could explain, he scooped up the empty one from the ground and held onto it.
“Get it off of me!” Felt yelled.
The group turned to see the body of the presumed dead guard with its mouth locked on Felt’s neck. When the jugular was ripped open, nlood sprayed everywhere. Like a limp dishrag, their friend fell to the ground, his face paling as life poured out of him. Frank fired first, the bullets landing in the center of the guard’s head. The forehead caved in, as the back of the skull flew back and the body fell forward.
“What the hell is going on here? These things are coming back from the dead,” Carson yelled.
Frank walked over to the body and kicked it with his foot. The thing seemed dead; then again, he thought it was dead when he saw it had been emptied of all essential organs.
“Monroe!”
A hand grabbed Frank’s ankle and he stared down in shock into the eyes of Felt. The man was white as a ghost and moaned as if in pain. With slow movements, he pulled himself closer to Frank. With a sad shake of his head, he fired a short burst into his friend’s head, turning it into a pulpy mess of brain matter and shattered bone.
“Let’s go, I don’t think I need to stress the importance of being careful,” Frank said as he approached the staircase.
“What the hell are we up against here, Frank? I think there are some details we should know about if we’re going any further,” Carson protested.
Frank stopped his movement as he thought about what to say. Carson, as much as Frank hated to admit it, was right. The problem at hand, the dead coming back to life, Frank didn’t know about, which meant he was just as blind as his team. With this new development, he wanted to turn around, but knew the outcome of that choice. Instead, he opted to let them know what he knew.
“The truth is this craziness is news to me as well. They didn’t tell me anything about reanimated people. The last we heard and saw was an explosion on Level 15, Dr. Covington’s lab. I can only assume whatever he was working on is the cause of this, which means if it spread this far, we have another fourteen levels of these things to deal with.”
“Great, a suicide mission, so why don’t we just turn around?” Newell asked.
Frank shook his head. “We do that, and Hooks will kill us for what we saw here, and then he will send in a new team. So pick your poison, continue on with me and maybe make it out alive, or quit and go back to face certain death.”
None of the men left, but a few did grunt their hesitation. Frank continued to the door, expecting to use a small explosive device since an automatic lockdown had been engaged. The handle turned under his hand with no resistance.
“Isn’t that supposed to be locked?” Newell pointed out.
“All I can say at this point is to be ready for anything. It won’t be long before we have guests on our tail,” Frank answered.
Chapter 7 –
Arthur let loose a spray of bullets aimed at the kneecaps of the dozen contaminated coming at them, disabling them first seemed like the best approach. One at a time, they were no threat, but a mob of this size would overpower them fast, and he had no intention of dying that way. As the ones he hit fell to the ground, they continued to claw their way to the group using the bodies of the fallen for traction.
Arthur took a moment to make sure none of the nasty things snuck up on them, a door behind them opened and a contaminated came out in a pair of overalls coated with soot. Arthur aimed, and fired. The man fell to the ground, but another took his place. The one in a medical gown, which was open in the front, from the open Y- incision baring all of her internal organs to those present, it was apparent an autopsy of some sort had been interrupted. Arthur put a bullet in her head and watched as a woman in a mask, surgical gloves, and clear plastic goggles ambled his way. Her nametag said Watkins. Another blast from his gun, and another splatter pattern was on the wall.
“Guys, we got a room behind us letting these things out like an assembly line,” Arthur warned.
Dixon ejected another magazine out of his Sig and slid a fresh one in. Two rounds into the head of a man wearing a security uniform, with his right arm missing and thighs full of shrapnel from the grenade. Benson took out a woman near him, her lower jaw hanging on by a few tiny threads of flesh. Smith held the M4 in shaky hands and fired wide shots.
Arthur made his way over to her when no more came out of the room behind them, and only a few remained on the ground grasping their way toward them on cracked fingernails and split fingertips. He shot a man he thought might be some sort of maintenance worker through the eye. The milky white orb popped like a zit and a rank smelling fluid spilled out.
“Smith, hey, it’s me Arthur. How are you doing?”
The woman stared at him, her eyes telling him everything – she was terrified.
“Look, I know you’re scared. I’m about to wet myself, but you know what? This Dixon guy is pretty bad ass. He’s going to get us upstairs to your husband.”
She grabbed his arm. “You really think so?”
Arthur nodded, not wanting to commit to the lie any further. Smith straightened and fired a few shots into one of the contaminated on her right side, missing the head completely. Arthur saw Benson lift his Glock and aim it at the back of Dixon.
“Benson! What are you doing? That’s Dixon, he’s not one of them,” Arthur yelled.
Dixon spun and Benson lowered his weapon. The big guard narrowed his eyes and Benson shrugged his shoulders in response then looked away.
“The door to the stairwell is over here. It’s unlocked, as expected. We need to get you out of here as soon as possible, Dr. Covington. Let’s go.”
Arthur ran to the elevator. “Give me a second, it’s worth a shot.” He tried to open the panel, spoke to it, did everything but offer it money. Nothing happened.
While he walked back, he looked down at one of the victims. Benjamin stitched on a blood-covered nametag. “What about taking the name tags, so we know…”
Dixon shook his head. “We don’t have the time. Our goal right now is to get the hell out of here.”
Arthur followed behind Dixon, Benson and Smith brought up the back. The silence overwhelmed Arthur. The normal sounds of people talking, doors slamming shut, machinery chugging away, or ventilation systems at work were all absent. This lack of distraction let him think about things he didn’t want to.
Why would someone go to all this trouble to get him? Maybe it was his work or the samples they were really after. He remembered the door labeled for testing and wondered what that was about. Hell, he wondered why an autopsied woman came at him. That certainly didn’t fit with a facility meant for testing space rocks.
Monroe told him the level above was another lab floor. Why would they need two? Too many questions and not nearly enough answers. He hoped the people on Level 14 would be able to clear things up for him, if they were alive. Looking around the corridor, which resembled a battlefield, his hopes for others being uncontaminated
