for where I learned this stuff, video games, and you have no idea what a Russian guard will teach you after enough Vodka,” Arthur said before putting a bullet, dead center into the head of a shadow lurking their way.
Dixon nodded with a new respect in his eyes. “Good to know, now let’s finish this.”
Arthur fired again to signal his agreement, but something told him they were a long way from the end of whatever started here today.
Chapter 8 –
Frank stood in the middle of the room. The best mercenary’s money could buy, as well as top of the line gear and a five-man strike team took down weaponry. Whatever happened to them, it affected their mind and reflexes to the point they were moving bags of meat. Their brains were nothing but a collection of mush. He lifted his foot and examined the gore on it, confirming his suspicion.
The bodies were decayed, rotten, and essentially dead. Yet, they still moved, and they could take several rounds to any part of the body and keep coming at you. Frank wondered what they were dealing with. So far, it didn’t make any sense, and he hated that. He never went into combat situations without knowing every possible scenario he might come up against. If he got out of this, he was going to wring the bony neck of Hooks with pleasure, then do it again if the guy came back to life.
At the moment, he needed to get past his frustration and lack of understanding, needed to accept these were not fellow comrades in arms. They were sick or infected with something and they needed to die in order for him to complete his mission.
“So, you want to tell us what the hell’s going on now, or are you still going to play dumb?” Carson yelled.
Frank stayed in the same position as he answered. “You know everything I know about this mission, as for these things.” Frank kicked the head of one of the things he’d taken down. “I have no idea, and that’s the truth. The only advice I have is don’t let them corner you. Other than that, I’m learning as I go.”
Carson stepped in front of Frank to block him. “I don’t buy it. Stuff like this doesn’t ‘just’ happen,” Carson said, indicating the piles of bodies around them.
Frank let his SCAR fall from his hands to hang from the shoulder strap. He grabbed Carson and pulled him close. “Listen, I know as much about these nasty things as you do. There is nothing more I can tell you, so you either believe me, or continue to start petty arguments and get someone killed.” Frank pushed him away and moved forward.
“Behind this door is the armory, probably a few men, things, nasties, whatever you want to call them. We’ll clear the area and grab as much ammo as we can stuff in our packs.” Frank opened the door, not caring if they followed or not.
Lightfoot appeared next to him and fired off a burst taking out one of the things by the exit. As the body fell, the brains coated the wall behind it. Frank tried not to let the image bother him, but like the dogs in the other room, something about this situation was getting to him. He fired off a shot taking out a female soldier with her guts hanging out her side. The thing next to her lunged at Frank, bits of what he guessed to be from the woman he’d just downed, dangling from his mouth.
When it hit the ground, he crushed its head with several angry kicks. Something inside of him snapped. The mission, the lack of information, the rancid smell of death, the inability to figure out what was going on. When he finished, the skull beneath him was a pile of toothpick-size bones, and what was once grey matter. The others were otherwise occupied clearing the floor, also known as giving their boss some obviously needed space, even Carson kept his mouth shut.
“Hey, boss, you should see this,” Lightfoot called out, hesitation lacing his words.
Frank made his way over to a small area for showering, to the right he noticed Newell and Carson talking in hushed voices, Grimwood loading up his pack. Frank sighed, knowing Carson was up to something and Frank would eventually have to deal with something unpleasant, like a double cross on Carson’s end. He’d been a problem before, but he was a damn good fighter so they kept him on. Frank had kept silent about the gambling debts to his boss, and wondered if trying to help his friend inadvertently made things worse for everyone, including this mission.
Lightfoot stood in the dark area with a strange expression on his face as Frank made his way in. Emergency lighting in a shower room was non-existent, so they were depending on the flickers coming in from the other room. Frank saw Lightfoot’s small flashlight and in what direction it pointed. One of the things was stuck in a glass shower stall. It just stood there and thumped against the latched door repeatedly. A trail of something was left in place, only to be washed down with intermittent sprays of water.
Frank pulled out his FNP-9 and motioned for Lightfoot to undo the latch. The smell caused both men to step back, and Frank had less than a second to spare before the thing was on him. He fired a round into its chest out of instinct, which did nothing. He moved back more to gain some room and punched it in the face with the butt of his gun. The nose broke with a loud crunch, fluids dripped out, and the left cheekbone caved in.
It still came at Frank. Lightfoot fumbled for his flashlight in the dark. Frank kicked out its knee, the snap of the joint echoed in the chamber, and Frank wondered how much abuse these things could take before they stopped. The damn thing hobbled toward him and in the beam of light, he saw the skin had swollen, distended from the exposure to the hot water. Frank swung at it again and heard its neck break.
Frank sagged in relief, but it was short lived when the only side effect of a severed spinal column was a slight tilt of the head. He raised his gun and put a bullet between its eyes. The body fell like a box of hammers and Frank took a moment to get his bearings. He glanced in the other stalls, but he didn’t find any surprises.
“Lightfoot, I think we need to take these things a lot more seriously. Whatever it is that infected these people could be spread in a multitude of ways, so keep your eyes open.”
“No kidding, let’s get out of here before I puke. This place gives me the creeps.”
The two men exited the room and filled their backpacks with magazines and other assorted items. Frank told them all to grab an extra flashlight for areas in which lighting was out completely. As they prepared to enter the stairwell, he mentioned what they were going to have to deal with next.
The door to John’s office burst open and he glanced up with an annoyed expression. “You better have answers for me, or you can get out.”
Barrows nodded. “Sir, I think we found out who played…I mean was on someone else’s payroll while working for us. His name is Louis Collins, and he’s currently employed with Simard Industries. The address indicates they’re only a few blocks from here.”
John’s brain sparked at the name. “Get Collins in here now.”
Barrows cleared his throat. “There’s more. I passed the picture around. It seems the man on Level 8 doesn’t work for us and we can’t identify him through any databases. As for what Dr. Smith and Watkins were working on, today was a trial test of something called TV-9. Files describe it as a vaccine for Alzheimers disease.”
“Good work, now bring me Collins.”
As Barrows scurried out of the room, John thought about his team inside. He didn’t have any idea what was going on, but it wasn’t good. The press was sniffing around, the smell of blood in the water. Incident reports from smaller homes around the compound were causing a stir.
He poured over the recordings, irritated they could not fix the lights inside. He scowled at how long it took the video links to come back online. They knew someone helped them, and while he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he wanted them off his back.
Fifteen minutes later, a knock on his door and Collins was brought in.
“Mr. Collins, I remember you. How nice to see you again,” John said with a deadly smile.
“Look, I don’t know what this is about, but I did my work for you and moved on. Why the hell are your goons kidnapping me?” Collins demanded.
“Because you did more than we asked. You helped someone else gain access to our systems and I want to know why, and exactly what they can do.” John said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
