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.”
“I am no fool, and I hope you aren’t either. Can’t you see your boss is finished with you? He let us take you out of that office without so much as lifting a finger. Do you think he cares if we send you back?” John roared.
Collins shrank back. “Okay, it wasn’t a big deal. The guy told me he worked for the government and they had a paper and everything telling me they were legit. I set it up so they could access the cameras and the communications, but that’s it.”
“What about the data on the servers? Do they have access to that?” John yelled.
“No, they just told me they wanted to keep an eye on you.”
John stared at the pale man and nodded to Barrows.
“The computer files indicate that he didn’t receive any money before, during, or after the assignment. He might be telling the truth,” Barrows reported.
John stared at the flickering monitors on his desk. Gunshots were being fired and his people were in danger.
“Fine, get him out of here and send in reinforcements. I want our guys to have backup, and make sure they wear masks.”
With his office empty, John wanted to hit something. Simard was behind this, he knew it. Others had to be involved, but there was no time to find out who. All he could do now was damage control. More and more reports popped up on his screen about police disturbances near the facility.
A nitroglycerin tablet went under his tongue and he waited for it to dissolve and ease the pain. Time to create an escape plan. He pulled out his phone once again, and then put it away. The building they were in now was designed to keep out airborne pathogens when in lockdown. He needed to get his wife and Covington here before it was too late.
Covington would know what this mess was all about and help the team he had here to work on a solution.
“I can’t find him! Where is he? Do you think he was able to escape? Why wouldn’t he come for me?” Smith rambled as she searched for a familiar face among the dead bodies in the hallway.
Arthur was happy that only a dozen or so came out for them to deal with, and even happier when Dixon ordered them to clear the offices. They were a wealth of information and he shoved several important looking documents as well as multiple flash drives into his backpack pockets. He lucked out and found a small netbook with a fully charged battery. One way or another, he’d find out what the hell they were doing here.
One office in particular held interesting tidbits. The name on the door read Watkins. Arthur gathered several more data sticks, a tablet, a bag of pills, and when he found a locked drawer, he used the gun to blow the lock off. He’d always wanted to do that. Inside, he found envelopes with red stamps all over them; Top Secret, Confidential, For Perry’s eyes only, and on the last one, Must Read, Threat Imminent.
Arthur packed them away wondering what the hell this place was really being used for. He knew it only recently opened, so to speak, but he had a feeling several current projects were moved here so they were more secure, and from the looks of it, out of the public eye. Why else would people sign on to work underground?
Last he checked, space rocks and testing on human subjects had no connection, so why stick him in here unless they wanted to, or were using the samples he’d gathered for other purposes. He heard Smith lose it again and he went into the hallway to try to calm her down.
“Hey, you’re forgetting the doors to go down don’t open. He couldn’t go to get you, so he probably went up to get help for us.” Arthur put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her.
“Alright, we’re done here folks. Let’s move up to the next floor. We need to assess the situation and decide what we’re going to do,” Dixon said.
As they started to move, Arthur glanced around. “Where’s Benson? He was supposed to clear out those offices over there.” Arthur pointed down the hall on the left side.
“I saw him go down there, but not sure what happened after. I was checking bodies for--” Smith choked out.
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. He’s a big boy and can take care of himself. Dixon and I will go find him.” Arthur smiled.
Dixon sighed, but followed behind the scientist.
“You cleared the ones on the right side?” Dixon asked.
“Yeah, only discovered one contaminated. You took care of the break room, bathrooms and all that, right?” Arthur countered.
“Uh huh, you know that Benson guy rubs me the wrong way. Not sure what it is, but I don’t trust him,” Dixon said as he peered around the corner into one of the offices.
Arthur looked over his shoulder and saw Benson leap up from the chair he was sitting in. The glare of a computer screen lit up his face.
“What the hell are you guys doing? I thought we were meeting out front?” Benson asked, as he moved around the front of the desk.
Dixon put a beefy hand on the smaller man’s chest. “Why don’t you tell me what you were doing?”
Arthur ran around the desk to see if he could catch a glimpse of what Benson was doing, but nothing remained but a C: prompt. He awkwardly typed in a few commands, but everything came back as “invalid search.” He felt his stomach sink and wondered what new level of impossible Benson had just initiated into them.
“I was checking to see if there was an internet connection so I could send an SOS,” Benson replied with indignation.
“Funny, considering there isn’t even basic power. I don’t believe you. From now on, you stay where I can see you.” Dixon released the man and exited the room, waiting for Benson to follow.
Arthur went last and noticed Benson made some additions to his backpack, then again, Arthur did as well, so he couldn’t say anything about it. Though he knew, Benson did it for ulterior motives, unless he worked for a government agency that performed good deeds and protected people. Arthur had to stifle a laugh at the thought as they met up with Smith.
The three went up the stairs with heavy steps; all of them knowing someone was likely going to die on the next level if what Dixon said was true. Arthur stared at the door then at Dixon. A security floor he’d called it. Dozens of armed men in full gear. Why all the firepower and personnel for this place? Arthur’s mind kept circling around the possible reasons this facility had been built. His need to survive and escape renewed with each new bit of information he gathered.
When Dixon cracked the entryway, the danger was tangible. The emergency lights weren’t lit on this floor, not even a flicker or spark.
“Well, that’s not a good sign,” Dixon said, as he shut the door and leaned against it, a thoughtful look on his face.
The contaminated inside must have seen the sliver of light from the stairwell, because they started scratching and groaning on the other side of where Dixon’s back was. The handle started to turn and both Dixon and Arthur put their full weight into bracing it.
Smith sat on the stairs and stared into space, thoughts of her husband taking over, Arthur suspected. Benson watched them, and when he made eye contact with Arthur, he shrugged. “What, there’s not enough room for me to help,” Benson said defensively.
“Dixon, how many grenades do you have?” Arthur asked.
The big man shook his head. “Not enough to knock any sense into that idiot,” Dixon said with a smile.
“Just give me a number,” Arthur said in an impatient voice.
Dixon raised an eyebrow, but answered, “About seven, give or take.”
“That’ll work, and how well do you know the plan of this floor?”
“The part we’re about to go into is a changing slash ammo storage room. On the other side of the door, there’s an open room with several monitors watched by security personnel, as well as anywhere from twenty to forty men in full gear. As soon as the lockdown was triggered, they would have taken defensive positions,” Dixon answered.
“Any of those safety protocols, or whatever you called them, on this floor?” Arthur asked.
Dixon shook his head. “Not until Level 12.”
Arthur nodded. “We can do this, just need to think about it. Who has a flashlight?”
“I do, but I can’t get it right now.” Dixon let his bag fall to the floor.
Arthur glanced at Benson and wrote him off. “Smith, open the bag and pull out the flashlight and five grenades.”
Smith did nothing at first, but after a few seconds of patient prodding from Arthur she was more herself and opened the backpack. She set the items on the floor beside the two men.
“Smith, I need you to take over for me while I do something,” Arthur said as he readied himself to swap places with her.
Smith nodded with a serene smile, which scared Arthur more than her staring off into space. He grabbed the flashlight and Dixon’s Sig, using strips of gauze from a first aid kit in his bag to attach it to the end of the weapon.
“We go in this room and hope there are minimal bad guys. Dixon you’re going to have to do most of the work since there’s only one of these.” He indicated the flashlight in his hand. “And you have the best aim, so…”
“No way, we’ll be sitting ducks,” Benson said in a high-pitched voice.
“Relax, tough guy. I don’t think he’s expecting you to come in, right?” Dixon looked at Arthur with a knowing expression.
“Just clear the first room and we can deal with the second one, trust me. We’ll use the grenades as distractions. They follow sound, so all we do is toss them in multiple directions. As soon as they go off… we make a run for the door,” Arthur explained.
Dixon sighed as he strapped on his Sig. He flipped on the switch for his makeshift light and opened the door. Arthur watched him go, wondering if he would see the man again.