The two creatures appear as dark shadows, the dim light coming from above and behind them from the tall walls of windows in the open area of the first floor. Both of the creatures are in a state of stasis. They barely move, standing still as they wait for new prey to awaken them. I don’t plan to be on their breakfast menu and reposition myself to bring the M4 to bear, pointing the rifle down the corridor at them.
Before I take a shot, I use the sight of the rifle to scan the reception area closer, checking for other Rabids that could be hidden in the dark patches where the light fails to penetrate. I can see only the initial two targets and focus the sight on the Rabid that is slightly further away. This Rabid is considerably bigger than the second nearer one. This Rabid is not facing this way; it is turned facing the stairs leading up to the first floor, that is out of my field of vision. My rifle travels to the right to get the other Rabid in its sights.
My heart stops in sheer panic and fear when the rifle's sight fixes on the target. The Rabid is awake and staring directly down the M4, its head tilted menacingly forward as its mouth begins to open. I can’t afford for it to make any sound, not even a groan. If it alerts the other Rabids that are sure to be covering the first floor, they will be swarming down this corridor in no time.
The M4’s trigger depresses, and a bullet spits out. The shot muffled by the silencer screwed to the muzzle of the rifle. The Rabid’s head bursts open like a soggy old fruit, splattering brain and bone everywhere before it drops to the floor. I am taken aback by the eruption and struggle to understand why the head exploded. I can’t afford to dwell on it now, and my aim moves to the other Rabid but my second of delay is too long. The Rabid screeches a bone-chilling noise as it turns in my direction. It is moving already, so I flick the M4 to auto and fire, filling the Rabid’s neck and head with bullets; it drops. Sound enters the reception and travels down the corridor to me, the sound of Rabids on the move. Dropping the M4 to my chest, I push off from the wall. Moving across to the trolley as quickly as I can, my foot kicks off its brakes and I push. Straining against the heavy trolley and the doors behind, the trolley starts to move, pushing the doors open with it. A stampede has started, coming for me. The rumble of feet hitting the floor and screeches reverberate down the corridor, getting louder with each passing second. Adrenaline gives me strength that was lost to me moments before and fear drives me to push harder. The trolley picks up some more forward momentum, the doors hissing as they swing in, widening out. Rabids are into the reception; I hear them and feel them down there, racing forward behind me.
“Move, you fucking bastard!” I shout at the trolley, desperate for it to listen. Amazingly it does, the doors straighten out, fully open and the trolley glides into the storeroom.
Rabid noise is close, virtually on top of me. The trolley inside, the doors are free and start to swing back closed. I slip through between the trolley and the closing door, which isn’t hard as the doors are moving at a snail’s pace. Looking up, I see the swarm of beasts halfway down the corridor, their twisted faces riddled with ferocious hatred. They will burst the doors back open and tear me to pieces before the doors have even closed. I ram forward into the trolley, and it judders from the blow and jerks forward, hitting the closing doors. The pistons above hiss louder and the doors swing in quickly. I keep pushing, my eyes fixed on the lead Rabid at the threshold to the storeroom.
The Rabid crashes into the doors, stopping their inward momentum instantly, its snarling head jutting through and jamming in the gap. The black mouth of the creature snaps its long teeth at me, rage burning in its evil eyes. My right hand closes around the Glock at my side and pulls the weapon up and over the top of the trolley. I fill the beast’s face with bullets, and it drops limp in the gap.
I keep the pressure on the trolley with my shoulder and jam each foot down onto the trolley’s brakes. They help but they won’t stop the building pressure from the desperate Rabids pushing to get inside.
My minds works like a well-oiled machine and I turn my back on the trolley, pushing against it for all I’m worth. I bend my knees so that I can reach one of the trolley’s lower drawers and I pull it open. Jackpot, a bevy of grenades show themselves in the drawer, alongside numerous ammo mags.
I grab magazines and shove them into any available pouch in my body armour, two going into my back jeans pockets. Two grenades are shoved into my front jean pockets too; it is tight, but in they go. All the while I’m pushing back, but my knees are bending as the trolley gradually slides back from the Rabid’s force, even with the brakes on.
With three more grenades in my hands, I
