When Arthur arrived at the top of the stairs, the door was almost shut. He caught it before the latch clicked and peered inside. The lights were lit and he made out several bedframes lined against the right wall. A large red cross painted was on one side and a small room in the back with a glass window with Dispensary, etched on it.
With shaking shoulders in the center of the room, Smith held a tablet. Arthur approached her with caution. The floor lacked the smell he’d come to associate with the contaminated. His eyes scanned the area, but found nothing dangerous.
“What is it?” he asked.
She held out the tablet for him in silence. He accepted it with raised eyebrows. Flipping it around, he scrolled through the open document. Names along with ID numbers were in the first two columns. The third column was left empty except for the header, Illness introduced on. Then his breath caught, because at the bottom of the list he noticed his name, Dr. Arthur Covington. In fact, all the names were doctors.
They’d planned to use the people who worked in the silo as test subjects when they ran out? That didn’t make sense. The only logical conclusion was they expected something to happen and prepared this floor as a precaution, or they intended to make something happen. The beds weren’t made up, the floor wasn’t marked as anything on the map, and clear plastic sheeting covered the chairs and medicine shelves in the dispensary.
Arthur moved around and examined the corner where dozens of portable IVs stood collecting dust. Sheets wrapped in plastic filled a cabinet, as did cloth masks and boxes of rubber gloves. The lights flickered just once and somehow he knew he was being told to move on, time was getting short.
“Smith, we need to beat it. I don’t care if you hate me. I did what I thought was right when I took that patch. I just wanted to make sure you got out of here with me.”
She didn’t say anything, but followed him to the exit. As they left, he swore he sensed someone watching him. He didn’t dare look back, in case he was right and came face to face with something.
“According to the map, the next floor is where they keep the water heaters, generators, back-up machinery, and everything else we don’t care about. Not likely to be a lot of contaminated people up there.” He glanced at Smith, but she refused to make eye contact. At least, she wasn’t running from him, he thought, as he raced up the steps to the next level.
“Not to put a damper on this, but I think we lucked out by not having to deal with whatever the security measures were on the last floor. Level 8 is likely going to have a doozy of one since it is the major hub of power for the silo.”
Arthur didn’t mention he felt as if someone was using them as pawns in the world’s most screwed up game ever. They triggered none of the so-called badass security protocols. He suspected there was a reason for it.
“Just shut up, I can’t stand the sound of your voice. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it and get the hell out of this place. Then I’m going to go find the people at Sunset Inc. and kill them all.”
Arthur kept his mouth closed. The smartest decision he made all day.
Frank rounded the stairs and came face to face with one of the nasties. Instinct caused him to raise his weapon, but Lightfoot’s words about low ammunition echoed in his head. Frank pulled the knife from the sheath strapped to his leg and ran toward the nasty. When he had it pinned between him and the wall, he stuck the blade up to the hilt into one of the eyes.
He twisted it and the thing moved no more. He let it slide to the ground and then he wiped the weapon on the body before he stuck it back in its sheath. “Okay, from now on, if you find yourself able to take one out without using a gun, do it.” Frank continued down the stairs.
Level 7 beckoned them with an open door and a few stragglers who perked up as Frank and his group neared. They moved in unison and moaned; a noise Frank was growing to detest. Arms held high as if to hug their victims, the nasties came at them, a giant wall of death.
Frank counted them, five in total. They were rail thin as if the fat inside of them was leaking out, which would explain the ooze covering the floor. Frank kicked at the first one, hitting it in the head. It rocked back and took down three of the others. The one left standing didn’t seem fazed and continued forward with its rigid movements.
Lightfoot hopped over the rail, used his knife, and jammed it into the ears of two of the ones on the floor in quick precise movements. Frank leapt down the remaining few steps and used his blade on the one still standing. Something moved on the floor and Lightfoot was there a second later putting the fourth one out of its misery before it tried to take a chunk out of Frank’s boot.
“Let’s see what the inside looks like. Carson, Selena, you stay back.” Frank peered around the door, scared of what he would find, if they’d made it into the stairwell something was forcing them out, or there were a ton of them.
“Why do I have to babysit the chick?” Carson whined.
Frank turned with a glare.
Lightfoot joined him at the door. “There’s too many in there for us to take out. No corridor for them to bottleneck, a completely open space for them to wander and surround us.” Lightfoot wiped his knife on one of the nasties next to them.
“I know. The floor was designed that way. We knew a silo would feel confining so we created this place to offer some semblance of space,” Frank said.
He closed the door a bit, as one of them got too close for comfort. They needed to cross the floor. There was no maybe, no alternative; they had to do it. Problem was the things inside seemed unharmed for the most part, which made Frank wonder if the deterrent had been activated. Hell, his mind was so fried, he couldn’t even remember what it was.
Pounding his head against the wall reminded him that he wore a mask, and now he had a headache and was worried he’d put a microscopic crack in the face plate and was going to turn into one of those dead things.
He needed to think about something else. What the hell did he recommend for this level? Frank searched his mental collection of traps and thought about what would be idea for this floor. Then it hit him, flooding. They were right below all the plumbing for the showers and bathrooms. He figured it would be perfect now, so why not two years ago.
As he peered in, he knew they needed to find a way to keep the door propped open here, and the one on the other side. The stairwell they needed to use would fill eventually. He also needed to figure out a way to avoid being bitten by these things as they floated near them. Of course, this was all speculation. He might be wrong about the water, or unable to set it off, and worst-case scenario was he didn’t get to the other door before it locked and they all drowned. He wondered if they died would they come back as the nasties and spend the rest of their lives dying over and over again in a deep murky, watery grave. The thought sent his claustrophobia on high alert, so he forced himself to derail the panicked images in his head.
Frank explained their situation to the others and waited. It didn’t take long for Carson to speak out.
“First, why hasn’t the mechanism been triggered? Those things have been walking around since the alarm went off. Second, are you insane? You want us to flood out the lower area where we’re heading? You’ve--”
Frank ignored the rest of what Carson said. He was right about one thing. Why hadn’t the mechanism gone off yet? The damn floor hadn’t flooded for the same reasons the doors to the stairwell weren’t locked, and repelling cables were in one of the exterior missile bays. Whoever orchestrated this didn’t want to put their team in danger and flooding all the lower floors would be a disaster.
Confident he didn’t have to worry about drowning, Frank tackled the next problem. A room full of dead things. He glanced inside and decided they would need to create a barricade of sorts. A Ping-Pong table could be upended, and if they maneuvered it into the corner while someone provided cover fire, they might be able to stack something on the sides to keep them at bay.
Not the cleverest plan, and he foresaw many problems with it, but it was the best he could come up with in a limited amount of time. He explained to the others what he needed them to do and Lightfoot volunteered to provide cover fire. Selena offered to pull smaller pieces of furniture to flank the table.
Frank went in first, taking out five targets with precise shots to the head, and grabbed the table. It scraped like nails on a chalkboard as he dragged it to a cornered off section of the room. Lightfoot took out half a dozen of the nasties, and then helped Frank flip the table. Selena and Carson grabbed some stackable chairs and a cheap coffee table painted with wild flowers.
“Alright, Selena, you get behind us. Anything starts to go bad, you get in that staircase, got me?” He waited for her to nod before he looked away.
“Make the shots count. We need to conserve as much ammunition as possible.”
A man in a white apron came toward them with a spatula gripped in his hand. Frank fired a round and hit him in the cheek. The utensil fell as half the man’s face blew apart. A woman in shorts and a tank top made her way over and Lightfoot took her out with a well-aimed round to the nose. Another man, this one wearing a robe, ambled toward them. Carson fired and the sound of it echoed throughout the room.
“Boss, before you bitch at me, listen. We need them to come to us. We need to conserve ammo, so using this loud ass gun solves two problems. See, here they come, and I’ll have rounds left for my M4 and FMG.”
“Fine, just try not to deafen us, move to the side or something,” Frank said.
Frank tried not to look at the face of the people he gunned down, but a young woman made him pause. He remembered recruiting her from a promising career as a research scientist at some university. She’d talked to him about her plans to cure cancer and the grants she was being offered. Frank trumped them all. Sunset Inc. had deep pockets and wanted her. She was a rising star and now she was dead.
He wondered how many people were now dead because of him. Actually, he decided, they were dead because of Dr. Covington. That bastard caused all this to happen. Frank made a promise then and there the good doctor would pay. He didn’t know how or why, but that greasy haired scientist did something he shouldn’t have.
A thin layer of smoke wafted around the room. Bodies littered the floor and oozed liquids of all sorts onto the ground. Frank moved around the table and shoved the plastic chairs out of the way. He walked into the main area and looked around for movement. Nothing caught his attention. At least fifty bodies in various states of decay were sprawled out around him.
“Jesus, Frank, if this stuff got outside…” Selena didn’t finish the sentence, she didn’t need to.
“Let’s keep moving, we still have a ways to go.” Frank reached for the handle of the door and cried out in shock when it flew toward his face. Someone in a white suit and mask held a gun to his head.
“What the hell?” Frank said.
The man’s face registered shock as the gun lowered.
“Well, open it,” Smith said.
Arthur checked his Sig once more and blew out a breath, no more stalling. He turned the knob and pulled. In front of them was exactly what the map detailed, a boiler/back-up generator room.
Of all the levels they’d been on, Arthur found a small bit of irony in the fact this was the most poorly lit. They both turned on their flashlights at the same time, Smith following close behind him as he entered.
Something shuffled to their right and Smith fired blind hitting a pipe. A blast of hot water missed Arthur’s face by inches, and then trickled down to a stream.
“Be careful, the last thing we need is to survive the contaminated only to die by scalding,” Frank said in a somewhat joking tone.
Smith didn’t acknowledge him and moved toward where they heard the noise. Arthur followed her and saw the cause before she did. The ceiling had enough wires, pipes, and vents snaking through it to power a small city. When the explosion happened, someone must have been working on patching a hole in the vent, even though that didn’t make sense. The facility was top of the line, brand spanking new.
Arthur tapped Smith on the shoulder and pointed up when he had her attention. The shuffling sound continued as whatever poor soul in the vent tried to get out.
“Give me a lift?” She held out her hands ready to grip his shoulders.
Arthur laced his fingers together and did as asked. He didn’t bother to argue with her, she was doing this to spite him, or she was crazy. When she stood, he wobbled a bit, but maintained. She grabbed the side of the vent and pulled on an area punctured from the inside. A second later, a large hole revealed the feet of the now contaminated maintenance man.
“I’m going to yank on them, get ready to shoot when he hits the ground,” Smith said.
Arthur glared even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “Then you better jump, or I’m going to drop you on your ass.”
Smith struggled with the visible limbs for several minutes, finally freeing the thing from the waist down. Arthur eased her down and they both pulled the rest of the man free. Smith put a bullet in his head a second after it hit the ground.
She moved on, but Arthur stayed. Something about the guy wasn’t right. He used the tip of his shoe to flip him over and shined the flashlight on him. A patch with the crest of Sunset Inc. appeared on his left upper arm. He wore body armor and had what appeared to be a climbing harness on.
“Crap,” he said to himself. This was part of their rescue team. Things just kept getting better and better.
He stepped over the body and came face to face with one of the contaminated. A woman, based on the long hair, though her face had been sliced off. Arthur let out a scream as he fumbled for his FNP. Her arms wrapped around him and she snapped at his neck. The plastic of his mask fogged up from his rapid breathing and no matter how hard he tried to remain calm, it wasn’t possible when a corpse was trying to eat your face.
As she pushed him backwards, he tripped over the body of the dead man at his feet and fell. His elbow sunk into the chest cavity of the corpse. He gagged at the feel of cool organs being smashed below him like rotten fruit. The fact he had a protective suit did nothing to assuage his worries about being infected. The woman continued to snap at him and got hold of part of the strap keeping his mask in place. She wriggled her head and he freaked as he felt the buckles loosen.
Arthur punched her in the face with a gloved hand, and sighed in relief when the strap didn’t break when her head snapped back. He rolled her over, grabbed the Baby Eagle from his waistband, and destroyed what was left of her face.
Breathing heavily, he picked up his backpack as he stood. All the while, he cursed Smith under his breath, they would be much safer if she got over the incident with the patch and went back to operating as a team. Then again, he had to admit for a novice that she had become a rather good shot in very little time. He wondered how many secrets she was keeping. With a shake of his head, he discarded the thoughts as paranoid.
Arthur moved slowly through the corridors of humming generators and water heaters wondering why the emergency power was so screwed up on the lower levels. To knock out electrical and emergency back-up systems, the majority of damage would need to have been done here. Arthur examined the room with a critical eye. Some soot stains on the ground could be explained by poor workmanship. The sparking of wires in some places could have any number of explanations.
Careful to keep a lookout for any of the wandering contaminated, Arthur came across a bundle of Semtex. The timer on it read 1:00. He followed a red plastic coated fuse from behind, and found at least six more packages. He felt his gut seize as he glanced around. Smith came up to him from an area he hadn’t explored, her face ashen.
“You’ll never guess--” they both said at the same time.
Arthur waved his hand and pointed to the bomb. “I have no idea how this gets triggered, but I suggest we aren’t here when it happens. With the amount of fuel and other flammables in here, the whole place will fold in on itself.”
Smith shook her head. “Great, then you don’t want to know that I found several bodies in the back corner, all with one shot to the head. Someone cleared the floor and I doubt it was that idiot Benson.”
“I think I know who it was. The body over there is wearing the logo for Sunset,” Arthur said.
“The one we pulled out of the vent? Why the hell would the rescue team be in there? In fact, how the hell did he get in there? It wasn’t from this level, so whoever cleared the floor is--”
Arthur interrupted, fear of more hazards taking over. “But, we would have run into them…unless they went up? Or they went down and got what they needed from the server room? Hell, they could be anywhere,” Arthur said with resignation, “We missed our chance to get out of here.”
Smith laughed and Arthur cringed at how dark it sounded. “You think whoever did this was here to rescue us? They probably have shoot on sight orders, and you’re forgetting they might also be infected by now. Going one on one with a horde can be overwhelming if you remember. And please use that brain of yours, Benson probably called them in.”
“But we don’t know how many of them were here. Probably not a one on one situation,” Arthur argued weakly.
“Whatever, if you want my advice on how to survive, then you must assume the worst – of everybody.”
Arthur watched her walk away and wondered if she would ever forgive him, or be the same after all this. He knew he sure as hell wouldn’t be. The things they’d seen and done had changed them in a fundamental level. He jogged to catch up to her, because the least he could do was keep an eye on her back.
Frank grabbed the muzzle of the M4 and twisted it out of the hands of the person holding it. He kicked him in the chest and aimed the gun at his head. His finger was a nanosecond away from pulling when he heard the voice.
“Don’t shoot, I’m not one of them,” the man pleaded.
According to his nametag, the guy was someone named Benson. Frank shoved him against the back wall of the stairwell and rammed the weapon against his throat. “Who the hell are you, and how the hell did you get up here?”
“Benson, my name is John Benson. I was assigned to Level 15 to work with Dr. Covington. There was an explosion; everybody was killed except for me. I raided the armory and I have been fighting my way out ever since. There’s something wrong with the others, it’s like their infected with something,” the man rattled off, fear in his voice.
Something didn’t feel right about the story he was being fed, so Frank pressed for more details.
“How does a lab guy like you know his way around weapons?” Frank asked easing up the chokehold a bit.
“I did a tour in the marines, four years.”
Frank stood back, because there was no way this guy was military. If he were, then Frank would have had to struggle a hell of a lot more to take the weapon away. “Everyone else died? You’re the only survivor? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Benson put his hands on his knees as he bent over and responded. “Yeah, just like I said.”
“Where was the explosion?”
“In Dr. Covington’s lab. It was a mess, barely got out of there before the contaminated came after me.” Benson straightened.
Frank tried to size up the man in front of him, which was made a lot harder because of the damn suits he was wearing. Part of him was happy the doctor was dead, though a small part of him wondered if the geek was capable of causing something like this his first day on the job.
“What caused the explosion?”
“I have no idea, the mass spectrometer was analyzing something and ‘boom’ everything went to hell.”
Frank glanced at Lightfoot to get a read on what he thought, but his friend remained stoic as usual.
“Why do you call them contaminated? Do you know something about what’s going on?” Frank asked, since any information at this point would help keep them alive.
Benson nodded rapidly. “Yes, something in the rocks, I think. The doctor ground them up for analyzing, and when the place exploded we figured the tiny particles went airborne and contaminated anyone who wasn’t wearing a mask.”
Frank pounced on him. “We figured? Who is we? You said everyone died.”
“One of the lab techs hung on for a bit, but was taken over by a group of them when we came out of the armory.” Benson refused to meet Frank’s gaze and that didn’t sit right with him.
“I have a few problems with your story. First one being that the doors don’t work for people going up…unless the person is escaping and has knowledge on how to work around the system?” Frank said in a menacing tone.
“Look, I haven’t accessed a single panel. All of the doors have worked fine for me. I thought they were supposed to go into lockdown. I’m just grateful they didn’t. We should really get moving though.”
Benson stepped forward and Frank placed a hand on his chest. “I was sent here to get someone, and even though you say he’s dead, I need to see proof.”
“Boss, the guy is dead. Why are you going to get us all killed so we can go look at his corpse?” Carson asked.
Voices could be heard from below. One was female, and the other one he knew well; his annoying flight companion who loved to ask questions. Also, the man who Benson said was dead. Two figures that had seen better days rounded the corner with guns drawn.
Frank raised his arms and called out to them, “We’re here to rescue you, put the weapons down.”
The two did as asked, but remained where they were.
“Dr. Covington, is that you?” Frank asked.
“Yes, it is. Are you really here to help us? The floor level we just came from had signs of someone taking care of the contaminated, was that you?”
“No, it wasn’t.” Another team, Frank wanted to beat the crap out of someone for one piece of true information.
Frank looked at the timid doctor and then at Benson and wondered what the hell was going on. There was a traitor in their midst, and he only had seconds to figure out who it was.
“I’m here to help, come up here with your friend, and meet--”
Dr. Covington raced up the stairs and tackled Benson. He hit him in the chest area, careful to avoid the mask. “You bastard, after what you did to Dixon, we should have killed you, but then to run off like that and leave us to die. You should be ashamed.”
Frank pulled Dr. Covington off and handed him to Lightfoot who held him in place with a look. The other person then charged up the stairs and kicked Benson squarely in the balls the second Frank had him on his feet.
“I’d kill you if I could get away with it!” the woman yelled.
“Well, Benson, seems like you have some explaining to do. You can start with how these two came back from the dead.” Frank raised his weapon to make it clear he was not screwing around.
“Screw you,” Benson yelled, as he pulled a Beretta from his side pocket and aimed it at Frank. Lightfoot had his M4 out, as did Carson. The woman, Selena, and Dr. Covington moved onto the main floor Frank and his team just cleared.
“You’re a damn traitor, Benson, who paid you off? Who gave you enough money to let something like this happen? God knows what’s going on topside with this crap getting into the air.” Frank gripped his weapon tight.
Benson laughed. “You’re either stupid or a traitor yourself. You honestly think you got down here without any help? You think it’s a coincidence the doors locked behind you? Those trigger mechanisms are not all working at 100%?”
Frank moved a step toward the man. “I’m no traitor, you piece of crap.” Frank glanced over his shoulder at Lightfoot and Carson.
Benson taunted him some more. “I can tell you this much, I had help from someone in this group.”
Selena screamed and Frank turned to see what was wrong. He imagined one of those dead things on her and his rage boiled.
Carson held a gun to her head. “It’s her man, think about it, Frank. She popped up out of nowhere on a level she clearly should have died on.”
Frank stood half in the room and half outside of it. Part of him knew Carson’s logic was sound, but another part of him didn’t want to believe Selena was bad.
Tears flowed down her face as she begged Frank to believe her. She was innocent. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but wouldn’t apologize for living.
Far too many guns were pointed at various people and it made Frank uncomfortable. He tried to move them further away, but wanted to avoid the dead bodies to the right. Lightfoot wouldn’t betray his country, and a few months ago, he would have said the same about Carson. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
As much as he hated to do it, he needed to strike a deal of some sort, a compromise. A shoot out was only going to get people killed, but if they combined forces, they might actually get out of this alive.
Frank lowered his weapon. “You know what, I don’t give a damn who’s a traitor and who isn’t. All I want is to get out of here alive. So, how about we agree to work together and get our asses to the surface. Then we can go our separate ways?”
Lightfoot didn’t move, but Benson signaled his agreement by holstering his weapon. Carson stepped away from Selena, but the irritation in his eyes let Frank know who the other traitor was. The relieved look on Selena’s face was normal given the circumstances, or so he told himself.