The Phoenix Trilogy (Book 1): World On Fire (12 page)

    “Medical
log for Dr. Baspine as follows. Today marks the... fuck's sake, what is it, two
hundred fifty fifth day? Two hundred fifty sixth?” Her scowl deepens as she
flips through a sheaf of papers.

    “Two
hundred fifty sixth day, since the first strain of virus was released. We are
now looking at the eighth strain. The constant changes in the make-up have been
preventing the workers from isolating any decent cure, not to mention the drain
on resources, both physical and mental.” The screen flips to video feed from a
security camera as the narration continues.

    The
room it reveals is filled with zombies that have been strapped down to gurneys.
There are countless of them, being wheeled in and out of the room like
clockwork. A closer look reveals they are of varying ethnicities, from
different age groups, and
in various stag
es of emaciation
.

    “We've
been attempting to get a better read on how the body is being affected. So far,
we've made a fair amount of progress at isolating the impact on the brain and
muscular system, more precisely. Much as it pains me to say it, practice makes
perfect, and we've certainly been getting plenty of practice.” There is a hint
of something else hidden in her tone, though whether it is amusement or disgust
is uncertain.

    The
video cuts to another camera, this one showing a room nearly identical to the
first. The exception seems to be that the gurneys here are filled with live
humans.

    “Volunteers.
We need them to track the symptoms and note whenever there seems to be a change
in the virus' usual pattern. You never know what might prove useful, and as
much as I recognize the necessity of it
all, I can't help but feel it
is... dirty work.” The narration is cut by a momentary silence, and judging by
the sound of her voice, she is not pleased with the situation she finds herself
in. The doctor continues in a low mutter.

    “Considering
the amount of time elapsed between the release of each of the previous strains,
we'll be seeing the ninth version by tomorrow morning. All of these people will
be replaced by new ones, and their deaths will have amounted to nothing.”
Finally, the video clips back to the doctor. Her weariness has turned bitter,
and she stares into the camera with intensity.

    “I'm
giving you all that I have. Even with everything that's been happening, we
remain ahead of the curve over here. If you want that to stop, you're going to
have to do something more severe.” She glances over her shoulder as a
silhouette passes beyond the window behind her.

    “Security
is tight, and everyone involved is motivated to get this done with. You're
going to have to move soon or everything is going to be lost. I'm uploading a
rough schematic of the outpost that I've drawn up. Keep in mind, I don't have
the clearance to go everywhere, so this map isn't complete, but that shouldn't
matter.” A radio on her chest crackles to life, requesting her assistance with
a medical emergency. She sighs, before looking into the camera one last time.

    “Remember.
All you need to do is remove the medical and science teams. Without them, it
all falls apart. I'll update you again when I can, but hopefully that won't be
necessary.” She cocks a brow as if for emphasis, before growling into her radio
that she is on her way.

    “Move
fast,
sir.”
She spits the last word, before the video ends abruptly.

    
The commander's fingers are steepled again
as he considers his options. Dr. Baspine was a tough pill to swallow, but if
she said he needed to raise the stakes, he was inclined to take her word for
it.

    “Something
more severe...” He let the words linger on his tongue, mulling them over.
Nodding slowly to himself, he stood up from his desk. A visit to the lab should
give him just the thing he needed. His lips curved into that same tight smile
as he stepped outside of his office, a plan beginning to form in his mind.

   
 One of the less obvious problems in the apocalypse is
the ability to tell time. Unless you're an expert survivalist, there's
virtually no way to know what day it is, or how many hours have passed. It was
the first thought that came to Natalie's mind as she came out of her fitful
nap.

    
Marco was on watch, his face pressed low
to the door. He winked casually at her as he noticed she was awake. Natalie was
too tired to bother with glowering at him, opting to ignore the look instead.
She pointed at the door and cocked her head, trying to see if there was any
news.

    
The smarmy exterior Marco surrounded
himself with cracked at her inquiry. For a second he almost seemed scared,
before he reflexively countered her unspoken question with an annoyed shrug. It
didn't take a genius to decipher his response:
How the fuck should I know?

    
Wrinkling her nose, Natalie realized she
should have expected that. They might be safe enough for now, but they'd have
to leave sooner rather than later. Their current hideout wasn't exactly
suitable for scouting out the enemy, and when they did make their move to
leave, there was a very good chance they'd be flying blind.

    
Time passed slowly, Natalie taking pains
to try and find anything to focus on beyond the knot in her gut. She couldn't
hear any sound coming from outside, which was about as good a sign as they
could ask for.

    Rico
and BJ were resting, but Marco had apparently had enough of that. He tapped at
each of their boots, and a second later the men were alert and ready to move.
Natalie wasn't surprised at how quickly they woke up, but she was impressed.
They were adjusted to this kind of stop-and-go life, while Natalie's own mind
was foggy from the poor rest.

    
A thud at the door did wonders for her
grogginess. Marco hadn't woken the rest of the team for nothing, it seemed.
Another thud, this one more insistent. The entire group froze, doing their best
to breathe as silently as they could.

    
Natalie tried to recall any noises they'd
made, anything that could have given them away. The door rattled under the
force of another swing from the
creature outside. To her
memory, there was nothing. Beyond that, the banging at the door didn't sound as
frantic as she was accustomed to from the undead.

    
It was almost certainly a zombie outside,
although it didn't appear to be hunting. But if that were the case, why was it
trying to get inside? Rico was equally perplexed, offering a shrug when Natalie
looked to him for input.

Through all of this, BJ
was calm. He was resting with his rifle centered on the door while Marco
continued to peer under the bottom, trying to divine more about the situation
they found themselves in. Frustration was mounting on his face, and he flashed
an angry signal.

    
One
biter, standing. The sound it is making doesn't seem to be drawing any others,
either. Maybe they left?
Natalie's adrenaline began to kick in, and she felt herself getting antsy. As stupid
as she knew it was, she was looking forward to the fight ahead.

    
The feeling was becoming almost addictive,
and it was wholly alien to her. Natalie wasn't violent, or at least she had
never believed herself to be. Yet, she couldn't deny that she wanted a
conflict. Her internal struggle was cut short as the men stood up and prepared
to act.

    
If they wanted to get out, they would need
to remove the shelf they'd placed in front of the door. Any sound they made ran
the risk of alerting the creep on the other side, which was an added threat
they couldn't allow.

    
The banging at the door held a steady
pace, slow but persistent, and Natalie hoped dearly they'd be able
to keep it that way. BJ motioned for the cousins to move the shelf
out of the way, his weapon hovering at the ready in case the door gave in.

    
The whole scene was reminiscent of a bomb
defusal, every movement painstakingly slow and precise. The comparison seemed
reasonable to Natalie, considering that any mistake they made was likely to
land them in a very bad situation.

    
As Rico and Marco gently lifted the
shelving unit away, Natalie watched the door with greater intensity. It was
sturdy, but the dead had already proven their strength to her in the past.
Sturdy didn't mean quite as much as it used to, these days.

    
Quickly as they could afford, Marco moved
into position behind the door. From there, he should be able to open it and
allow the zombie into the room while keeping it as a barrier between them. His
face betrayed the stress he was enduring, but his commitment to discipline
held.

    
In fact, it was only BJ who looked
perfectly at ease. He had gently placed his rifle down, leaving Rico to the
emergency weapons duty. In its place, he now held a particularly savage
tactical axe. It was well sharpened, but had seen a great deal of use. Natalie
shuddered, uncertain of if she was more afraid of the undead or whatever BJ was
capable of.

    
Crouched beside Rico, Natalie waited for
BJ's signal to open the door with bated breath. She held her crowbar firm,
having ignored every rational part of her brain that told her the shotgun was a
better choice. She wanted to hit something, and it took a great deal of
willpower to stop herself from focusing on why she
felt that way.

    
Almost casually, BJ raised his hand,
getting a feel for the timing of the knocks at the door. Having found a rhythm,
he gave Marco the order to release the beast. Gripping the knob, he did as he
was instructed.

    
All at once, the zed behind the door
pitched forward into the room. It had been mid-swing, and its complete lack of
balance sent it stumbling into the wall. Marco had barely shut the door behind
it before BJ had stepped forward and buried his axe at the base of the
monster's skull. Satisfied that he had severed the brain stem, he pulled his
weapon free before bringing it down in another swing, cleaving a gash into the
zombie's head.

    
It was a brutal and precise kill that made
Natalie wince, but there was something more primal that was bothering her. She had
been so prepared for a battle that she couldn't help but feel as if the
conflict had been anti-climactic, a small part of her secretly hoping they
would be forced to deal with more.

    
Natalie realized she might get her wish as
the men agreed it was time to move out. There were bound to be more undead
loitering around, and as much as the thought ignited a spark of fear in her
heart, it was undeniably tempered by her darker desires.

    
After a few more minutes of waiting to see
if their altercation had brought any visitors to the door, the group felt
confident they were safe for the moment. Moving back into formation, BJ retook
point and opened the door into the building proper.

     
Natalie was immediately taken aback by the
thick metallic scent of fresh blood. The piles that had served
as a buffet for the dead had been refreshed with new meat, and a
lot of it. The floors were slick and sticky, making their boots creak as they
moved.

    
There wasn't anything to be done for it.
The tile was uniformly hidden by the mess, so they would just have to make due
as best they were able and hope they stayed lucky. Given the unstable setting
around them, relying on hope and good luck was far from ideal.

    
At least for now, they appeared to be in
the clear. The room was filthy and nauseating, but empty. Approaching the door
to peek outside, they were greeted by yet more stillness. No sign of the
biters, and no indicators of where they may have gone after they left the gas
station.

    
Readying themselves to resume their
journey while their good fortune lasted, Natalie hesitated. She tapped at BJ's
shoulder, causing him to turn a quizzical eye her way. She gestured between the
bodies back inside and the gasoline pumps around them, miming out an action
like lighting a match.