Rotter World (31 page)

One swarmer each clawed at a limb, using their bony fingers to strip off clothes and flesh. Thompson was frantic from panic and pain. Every nerve in his body screamed with agony, overriding all his other senses. His bowels and bladder emptied. His vision narrowed. He was only vaguely aware of his own screams and the munching of the swarmers as they chewed his flesh. He thrashed around, mostly out of instinct, trying to break free. Three swarmers held him down, bending over to feast on the meat of his thighs and right arm, ripping off chunks of skin and muscle between their teeth. A fourth swarmer twisted at the colonel’s left arm, ripping it out of its socket like a chicken wing. Once the skin and muscles tore free, it jumped up and dashed to the corner to feed in peace.

Two others dropped to their knees on either side of Thompson and tore open his abdomen. His agony spiked as they plunged their hands into his open cavity, clutching at anything that looked edible. A swarmer in Air Force fatigues wrenched out the colonel’s stomach and bit into it. The organ exploded, covering its face in undigested food and stomach acid. It barely noticed the burning on its skin as it devoured the delicacy. The larger of the two clutched its fingers around a length of intestine and pulled it out, unwinding the slippery coils as it shoved as much as possible into its mouth. Attracted by the dangling coils of moist food, the two swarmers near the colonel’s legs lunged for the intestine, clutching it in decayed hands. The three creatures fought over the intestines, ripping it apart until each had its own length, shoving it into greedy mouths.

By now Thompson had slipped into shock. He did not even feel the last swarmer as it knelt beside his head and placed its hands into the colonel’s mouth. It yanked his jaw open, then bent over and began feasting on Thompson’s tongue.

The remaining eight swarmers tried to find a place to feed, but were driven back by the others at each attempt. They soon gave up and moved toward the door, attracted by a human voice coming from down the hall.

* * *

“Colonel,” called out Jennifer as she approached the lab. The open door to Compton’s private lab was fifty feet away. “Are you there?

On hearing the chorus of moans coming, Jennifer started to back down the hall, her eyes fixed on the open door. She gasped when three swarmers stepped into the corridor. They looked around, trying to find the source of the noise. Finally, the lifeless eyes of the closest swarmer, a large man in Marine Corps battle fatigues, fixed on Jennifer. It snarled, desiccated lips rearing up over a skeleton-like mouth. The other two spun around, catching sight of Jennifer, their snarls joining in the chorus of death. The three bolted down the corridor toward her, with another five racing out of the lab to join in the sprint.

Jennifer knew she could never beat them to the exit. Her only chance, slim as it seemed, was to seek refuge. Sprinting the ten feet to the main research lab, she opened the door and rushed inside, slamming it shut and flipping the lock just as the swarmers reached it. They pounded and scratched on the thick glass, moaning in unison for the food on the other side. Jennifer pushed her weight into the wood, trying to hold it shut as she slid the deadbolt into place. She reached for the keypad, hoping to engage the electronic bolt lock, but cursed when she remembered that with the power off it would not be on line.

Each time the swarmers slammed into the door, it strained on its hinges. It wouldn’t hold much longer. Her eyes scanned the lab, looking for an escape. Unfortunately, the only way out was right into the jaws of the swarmers.

Removing the radio from her belt, she keyed the microphone, looking for help.

* * *

Robson watched the nightmare unfold on his monitors as a cold emptiness gripped his stomach. The situation was spiraling out of control, and he remained helpless to do anything about it. A minute ago he had watched O’Bannon murder Tatyana by injecting her with a concentrated dose of the Zombie Virus. Now he stared at the monitor as swarmers dashed out of Compton’s private lab and hunted down Jennifer. He assumed that the power outage must have released the locks to the special containment chamber the doctor had rigged which, if he was correct, meant close to a dozen and a half swarmers were now loose inside the facility. He watched as Jennifer ducked inside one of the labs and closed the door behind her. She was safe, but only for a few minutes. Robson could tell by the way the swarmers pounded at the wood that it would not hold up against their weight for long. He checked the monitor for the lab, realizing it was one of those in which the security cameras had gone blank. Damn, he had no way of know—

“Please, help me.” Jennifer’s frightened voice crackled over the radio. “I’m trapped in the medical lab with a bunch of swarmers trying to get at me. Is anyone there?”

Robson grabbed his radio. “It’s Robson. Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she huffed. “But not for long. There’s a bunch of swarmers outside the lab trying to break in.”

“I see them.” Robson already was on the move, grabbing his AA-12 as he ran out of the security room. “I’m on my way.”

“Hurry! This door won’t hold them out for long.”

“I’m halfway there.” Robson bolted down the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.

By rushing out of the security room when he did, he failed to notice the small group of twenty rotters entering the access tunnel from the far end, shambling toward the Angels from their rear.

* * *

Tatyana’s eyes popped open. She stared blankly at the ceiling, the image colorless and murky. It did not register with her, though. Nothing did. All cognizant thought had died along with her body, leaving only basic motor functions and the need to quench the hunger that consumed her. Tatyana rolled onto her side and unsteadily climbed to her feet, shaky arms using the bottom bunk to support herself. She had no conscious thought of her movement, going through the actions simply out of instinct. She stood erect and teetered precariously, her sub-primitive mind trying to adapt. Slowly she grew used to the strange numbness in her legs and took a few tentative steps forward. Cloudy eyes searched her surroundings, catching sight of the open door leading into the hall. Noise came from that direction. Though devoid of all rational thought, her mind registered the sound and equated it with food.

With shuffling and faltering steps, Tatyana slowly headed for the door.

* * *

The battle inside the tunnel had been raging for only a few minutes, but it already had taken on a perverse rhythm: the crack of a rifle shot, followed by the dull thud of a bullet striking meat, and the thump of a corpse collapsing to the ground. A mist of congealed blood and brain matter splattered the walls and those rotters to the rear. Amy emptied her magazine first, taking down eight rotters in rapid succession. She stepped back behind the second line to reload. Tiara took her place. As each of the Angels in the first line expended their ammunition, they also fell back, allowing one of the girls from the second line to pick up the fight.

The stench of hundreds of living dead mixed with the acrid odor of spent gunpowder. A cloud of whitish-blue smoke formed around the Angels, unable to dissipate within the confines of the tunnel, burning their eyes and making it difficult to see. Even worse were the insects. Every shot that tore through one of the rotters kicked up flies and wasps, many of which now swarmed around the Angels. Each of the girls had to pause every few seconds to cough, clear their eyes, or swipe away the insects. Many of the girls were stung in the face by the crazed wasps, distracting them as they slapped at the bugs. The drop in the rate of fire gave the rotters a slight advantage, allowing them to close the distance between them and the Angels more quickly.

Like the rising waters of a flooded river, the horde of living dead continued to surge forward, undaunted by the onslaught of bullets. For every one dropped, another took its place, oblivious to everything but the food in front of it. The gap between humans and rotters steadily narrowed.

* * *

Tibor whipped open the door to the dorm building, nearly colliding with O’Bannon who was on the way out. The human skidded to an abrupt stop, then backed down the hall, his eyes warily fixed on the vampire. Tibor stepped inside and let the door close behind him. He stood in the center of the corridor, blocking the way out.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“Just stay the fuck away from me.” O’Bannon continued backing down the hall.

Tibor followed, keeping pace with the human. O’Bannon dropped the papers he was carrying. Holding a cloth pouch in his left hand, he used his right to open the flaps. He removed a hypodermic needle from inside the pouch, pulled off the plastic coverings protecting the plunger and needle, and clutched it in his left hand. His thumb hovered warily over the plunger.

When Tibor reached the papers, he bent down and picked them up. He recognized them as the maps Robson and Natalie had prepared outlining the northern route back to camp.

“Going somewhere?” asked Tibor as he stood. Rolling them into a tube, he shoved them between his pants and the small of his back. “And without inviting the rest of us?”

O’Bannon withdrew his revolver with his right hand and aimed it at Tibor. “Just give me back the maps before I have to hurt you.”

“
You
hurt
me
?” Tibor laughed, but not from any sense of amusement. He was tired of playing games with this human. His teeth morphed into fangs, which he extended for O’Bannon’s benefit. “I’ll show you what pain is.”

O’Bannon stopped backing up, leaving a good ten yards between him and Tibor. He held the revolver in one hand and clutched the hypodermic needle in the other like a knife. “Don’t come near me or I’ll do to you what I did to Tatyana?”

“Where is she?” snarled Tibor.

At that moment, Tatyana stumbled out of the dorm room twenty feet behind O’Bannon. Both men stared, taken aback by the image. Since Tatyana had died in her vampiric form, she had reanimated the same way. A monstrosity hovered in the doorway, half undead and half living dead. She was unsteady on her feet, bracing herself against the wall. Her head lolled for a second before lifting, catching sight of O’Bannon. Something flashed in her cloudy, dull pink eyes. Tibor wasn’t sure if it was merely one of the living dead recognizing food or the last synapses of Tatyana’s cognizant thought remembering her murderer. In either case, she growled and lunged at O’Bannon, her taloned claws poised to tear him apart.

O’Bannon spun around to face her. Raising the revolver, he took careful aim and fired a single round. The bullet struck Tatyana in the forehead directly above the left eye, punching through her head and ripping out of the back a chunk of brain and skull that plastered the white wall. It hit with such force that it knocked Tatyana backwards onto the floor. He quickly spun around again to face Tibor, threatening him with both the revolver and the needle.

“Okay, asshole. You’re next.”

Tibor responded with a deep, sinister chuckle. “I don’t think so.”

From behind O’Bannon, Tatyana climbed back to her feet, her head bowed. He turned around, his eyes widening in horror. The gaping hole in her head was healing itself. Her brain regenerated, chunks of organic matter forming in the space torn away by the bullet, while the fractured plates of her skull extended over the wound. Within seconds it looked as though she had never been shot.

“You forgot that the rotters take over the characteristics of their host,” sneered Tibor. “For us, that includes rapid regeneration.”

Tatyana’s head shot up, her eyes fixed on O’Bannon. He raised the revolver to fire again, but this time Tatyana was ready. Her left arm shot out, slapping O’Bannon’s gun hand with such force that the bones in the wrist shattered. He cried out and dropped the gun, his hand hanging limp. Tatyana plunged both hands into his chest, stopping only when they slammed against his sternum. O’Bannon gasped. He reached out, weakly clutching at her arms in a futile attempt to stop her.

“Please,” he rasped.

Tatyana leered at him. Grabbing O’Bannon’s ribcage, she yanked to the sides with her considerable strength. A loud crack echoed through the corridor as the sternum fractured and broke in half. The ruptured ribcage tore open his chest, shredding the skin and spraying Tatyana in blood. O’Bannon’s body went limp, remaining upright only because Tatyana still clutched him by the ribs. She lowered her head and began to feed from his exposed chest.

* * *

Compton looked at his watch, shifting his wrist until the face caught the red glow from the emergency light. Unconsciously he reached into his pocket and withdrew his lighter, fumbling it in his hand and occasionally slipping open the top. Something definitely was wrong. It had been almost fifteen minutes since the alarm had sounded and ten minutes since the power had gone out. O’Bannon should have been here long ago. Maybe he had changed his mind about betraying the others. Or maybe the alarm was because someone had found him trying to steal the maps. If so, the others would be coming for him next. No matter the reason, siding with O’Bannon suddenly seemed like a liability.

Not that it mattered. The primary objective was to get the vaccines and the accompanying data back to Omaha, even if that meant sacrificing everyone in the facility to achieve that end. Leaving O’Bannon behind was a no-brainer. He would like to have had the maps prepared by Robson since they would have provided him with a pre-planned route that avoided blocked roads and revenant activity, but he could no longer afford that luxury. Each of the Humvees parked topside contained maps of every state east of the Mississippi, so he would have to make do with those.