Contaminated: A Zombie Survival Novel (8 page)

Everything went to hell from that moment on, the infection spread quickly. The moment for him to put his plan into action. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and dialed.

“
Yeah
,” a gruff voice answered.

“It’s Simard. I need you to get the team ready. You go in as soon as your feet hit the ground.”

“
Yes, sir
.”

A knock sounded on his door before it swung open and someone from the tech department rolled in with several monitors and wires to hook them up. Ten minutes later, six monitors skipping through the various floors at random lined the back of Marshall’s office.

The sound quality was poor, but there was no mistaking the screams for help and gunfire, when the system switched to a new floor. The technician tried to steal a look, but Marshall thanked him and ushered him out.

Marshall had one last call to make. As he dialed the number, he watched as over two dozen men in full gear fell to the ground.

“Collins,” a male voice answered.

“It’s me, I need you to make sure all the locking mechanisms are disengaged for the team going up, and the one going down, but don’t let either of them backtrack.” Marshall played with a pen as he watched someone slowly corner another and attack them, then rip them apart with their teeth.

Interesting turn of events
, he thought.

“Monitoring now, if you need anything else let me know,” Collins said.

“One thing, what’s going on with the lights? I thought you said we’d have control over them,” Marshall asked in an annoyed tone. He’d adjusted his monitors several times before he realized it wasn’t an issue on his side.

“I’ll look into it, but my guess is the generator was over worked after the explosion. I have minimal control.”

Marshall sighed. “That will have to do for now, we have other tricks up our sleeves to set in motion later.” Marshall hung up with a smile.

On one of the screens, a spray of blood covered the camera and he leaned back.
This was better than a movie,
he thought.

***

Frank repelled down the elevator shaft and two hundred feet later came in contact with the top of the elevator carriage. He shook his pack off and switched on a small light attached to his mask. The pry bar was cold in his hands for the first few minutes but warmed up.

Using all his strength, he jammed it into the emergency exit on the roof. Seconds later, it popped open. With a sigh, he dropped into the elevator as the other members of his team landed on the roof. Lightfoot stood next to him a moment later and the both of them put the claw tool into position and eased the doors open.

Easy part done, now they faced the first of many barriers, at least this was non-lethal
, Monroe thought.

He tapped on the metal not really knowing why. On a whim, he grabbed the emergency tool for opening elevators, shoved it, and then hammered until he made some headway.

The others stood behind him and he felt their stares. A snicker caught his attention and he knew it was Carson, because he’d been acting like an ass since he arrived. Frank knew he’d have to make sure the guy understood the situation and who was in charge, but it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t get these doors open.

Lightfoot stepped next to him and with a grin, took the other side of the claw and pulled. To the shock of all men present, Frank most of all, the doors actually moved.

“Carson and Newell, help Lightfoot, Felt and Grimwood, get on my side,” Frank ordered.

“Wait, we should put our masks on just in case this actually works,” Felt said.

Frank nodded and waited as everyone secured their gear in place. As soon as they finished, they went to work on the door.

The progress was slow but consistent. Within ten minutes, they had the bombproof doors open. Frank ignored the voice in the back of his head warning him not to proceed further. The voice warning him this was a set-up of some type that had been put into motion while the place was under construction, most likely earlier if he were to be honest.

“Why the hell were we able to do that?” Newell asked.

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s get out of these harnesses and secure Reception,” Frank said as he slipped his backpack onto his shoulder and stepped into the darkened room. M4 held at the ready.

The emergency lights were intermittent. No guards manned the desk, but footsteps could be heard. As Frank and his team moved forward, he saw a shadow in the back of the room. When he turned to get a better look, it was gone.

“Do you hear that?” Lightfoot asked.

“I can’t hear anything with this damn thing on my head,” Carson complained.

“Shut up, idiot,” Lightfoot hissed back.

Frank listened and sure enough, his ears picked up on something. He crouched low to the ground and moved forward. The noise came from behind the desk. When he rounded the corner, he fell back at what he saw and scrambled backward, causing a few of the others to lose their balance and trip as well.

“What the hell, Monroe,” Carson yelled.

At the same time, one of the duty guards stood and ambled toward them; his lower face covered in a dark liquid.

Frank fired a round into the guy’s chest, then another, and then four more. Hawkins, according to his nametag, wasn’t even fazed. The others let off several rounds and after three simultaneous shots to the head, it exploded, and he dropped.

“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.

Crap, more problems
, he thought to himself.

“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 faded.

Arthur stopped and waited for Smith to be even with him. “What were the testing rooms for? There were people in there. I saw a woman…”

Benson passed them and Dixon continued a slow but steady pace to the next level. Arthur wondered why they didn’t just take the stairs all the way to the top and then he saw the reason. This staircase ended on Level 14. To get to the staircase to take them to Level 13, they had to cross the corridor and enter a new stairwell. He pulled the plastic map out of his pocket and looked at the levels he was allowed access; this was not one of them.

He understood it from a safety perspective. Zig zagging the stairs was an effective security method. However, in the case of having to cross floors saturated with enemies intent on eating you, he thought it was the dumbest idea ever.