Read All The Beautiful People (A Dread Novel Book 1) Online
Authors: Jonathan Yanez
The helmets were too bulky, much like most of the Kevlar. Taylor settled on a lightweight black vest built for movement more than durability. What she needed now was body armor capable of stopping a bite or a scratch, not a bullet. Kneepads, elbow pads, and fingerless black gloves rounded out her attire. For weapons she chose a variety of firearms. She wouldn’t be caught without a bullet again. Twin forty-caliber Glocks rested against her hips with an AA12 drum-equipped shotgun hanging from her back. A customized AR15 assault rifle completed her arsenal.
“I’m sorry I can’t send men to help you,” Melissa said with a frown. “I barely have enough to secure the rooftop.”
Taylor double-checked the magazine on her AR15, slammed it into the gun, and released the safety. She wondered exactly how many times the gun had been fired, if at all.
“It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” Taylor’s eyes drifted toward Cidney. The girl was already strapped into a chopper clutching her backpack as if it were a life preserver. “Take care of Cidney.”
“Of course,” Melissa said.
“Do you have a read on Wade, Jason, or Frank?” Taylor asked. Even though she could hear Captain Martin issuing orders, the radio waves remained silent when it came to the others.
Melissa’s fingers danced over the display screen on her electronic tablet. “Wade and Frank are evacuating the remaining members of our tech team. The last report from Jason, he was going down to help Captain Martin hold off the—”
Taylor heard enough for her to know how Melissa was going to finish the sentence and started back into the building.
She reached the door and a hint of nausea touched the pit of her stomach. Was she really going to do this? She was going to go back into the madness below?
As a dozen different reasons for her to stay and board a chopper gripped Taylor’s mind, her radio echoed in her ear.
“This is Captain Martin to all units.”
The captain’s voice was strained. A plethora of gunshots and inhuman snarls set the tone for his next words.
“We are going to lose the lobby. Get Mr. Castor to shut off the power to the elevators so none of them have a free ride up. We’ll retreat through the stairwell. Get those choppers off the roof now!”
Taylor shook herself free the wave of doubt that made her feet feel like cinder blocks. Ashamed at her own moment of hesitance, she yanked the rooftop door open and ran for the nearest elevator. “Hold that order a minute longer!” she yelled. “I’m on my way.”
The radio was silent for a moment. The only noise other than Taylor’s boots running down the deserted hall were the echoes of automatic gunfire below.
“Is that you, Taylor?” Captain Martin asked.
“Yes,” Taylor responded breathlessly as she skidded to a halt and hit the button to call the elevator.
“Well, we could use your help. What’s your ETA?”
The silver doors in front of Taylor dinged open. She lifted the barrel of her AR15 in case any infected lurked within. It was empty. Taylor rushed inside and hit the shiny plastic button with the lobby emblem emblazed on its surface. “I’m coming your way now. ETA sixty seconds.”
“Roger.”
The elevator doors slid closed. Music played in the elevator as the cables lowered her into the war below. The music’s upbeat tempo reminded her of a jazz beat she once heard as a child, a distant memory she didn’t have time to focus on now.
Her heart was thrashing deep inside her, as if it was being squeezed from her chest. Taylor set her jaw and lifted her rifle once again. The elevator finally came to a stop.
The jazz song picked up in volume behind her when the elevator opened to a world of death and destruction. The singer hit a high note as Taylor stepped out of the safety of the steel box.
As soon as she was out, her finger was squeezing the trigger as fast as she could aim into the target-rich environment spreading out in front of her like Thanksgiving dinner, her own weapon joining those of the surviving defenders.
The lobby was a wide hall of elevators mirroring each other on both sides. A circular reception desk sat toward the back of the room with glass double doors opening up into the rest of the grounds on the opposite end.
Captain Martin and his remaining soldiers were holding the reception booth well. Fanning out, they held their ground like the defenders of the Alamo. Fire spat from every barrel as they focused on the shattered glass doors. Taylor joined them, opening fire to her right, on the never-ending wave of maddened humans.
The crazed were an army. Far more than any Taylor had ever seen. A myriad of blood drenched humans pushed through to the entrance of the lobby. Dried blood around their orifices looked black against their skin. Nothing detoured their need to advance. A growing pile of dead already waist high was hindering their progress yet they continued to push through. The scene was something out of nightmares.
Taylor aimed and placed bullets between the eyes of as many as she could. She walked backward to the reception desk to take her place in the line of remaining soldiers under Captain Martin’s command. She took down a balding man dressed in a white chef’s coat, his lower jaw already missing. Next was a teenage boy minus a left arm, a bloody stump now in its place. As fast as Taylor’s brain could recognize and target, a bullet was released. Still they came.
After a full minute, Taylor backed into the side of the booth. Shell casings littered the floor, providing uneven footing. The noise in the hall was deafening at this range. Taylor found herself wondering how Captain Martin had managed to be heard over the radio at all.
Releasing the trigger on her rifle long enough to change magazines, she took a quick look at the remaining soldiers holding the lobby. Fear was written on all but a few of their faces. They knew what was going to happen. Hope at holding their position had vanished faster than a weak mist.
Jason was standing near the edge of the lobby desk and did a double-take when his eyes met Taylor’s. “What are you doing here?” he yelled. “You were supposed to get Cidney out!”
Reload complete, Taylor vaulted behind the desk and stood beside him. She gave him a grim look then directed her attention back down the length of her barrel. “Cidney’s safe. You needed me down here.”
Though she couldn’t see his face, she could feel his stare. “You’re crazy. You know that right?”
“I’ve been told.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m not glad to see you but you should have stay—”
The rest of Jason’s protest was interrupted by Captain Martin’s voice. “Taylor, how’s the evacuation going upstairs?”
Taylor paused the slaughtering of the demented in front of her to change out clips again. This time she refused to break eyesight with the swarming mass of moving bodies a hundred yards in front of her. “They were nearly done when I left. Just waiting on Wade and Frank to bring the rest of the tech team.”
“Good, I got a report that they’re there now. Frank, shut down the elevators as ordered. We’ll be taking the stairs. And, Miss Hart?”
Something in the captain’s voice made Taylor pause and give him her full attention. Taylor was surprised at what she saw.
In place of the strong, commanding leader she was used to seeing, the captain’s face spoke of relief, even gratefulness. He smiled in the midst of being overrun by a horde of the infected. “It’s good to see you.”
Taylor’s lips twitched up into a smile the slightest bit at the show of camaraderie. How long had it been since she felt like she was a needed part of a team? Ever? Never?
“Sir, I’m out of ammunition. The others are running low too.”
Expectant eyes from more than a few looked to the captain for answers. With a booming voice that could easily be heard over the gunfire, the captain said, “We’re pulling out!” He pointed with a gloved finger to the stairwell behind them. “Go for the stairwell. We’ll keep these monsters back as long as we can while we make our way to the roof. The last choppers are there waiting for us. Let’s move!”
Eager nods and hasty salutes followed his words. Taylor directed her attention to the mass of bodies at the entrance. The crazed humans waded through the corpses of their fallen brothers but now with renewed vigor. It was as if they knew that their chance for fresh blood and meat was escaping. With terrifying grunts and screams, the maniacs surged forward.
The raving crowd of diseased closed the distance faster than Taylor thought possible, squirming their way across the lobby. The diminished firepower, along with the retreating soldiers under Captain Martin’s command falling back to the stairwell caused them to lose their slim advantage in distance.
With every second the monsters who used to be human advanced. A click told Taylor she was empty. There were no more spare ammunition clips to use. Without missing a beat, she dropped the heated AR15 to the floor and reached down for her twin Glocks. In one fluid motion she raised her guns and opened fire as fast as her fingers could pull on the triggers.
They were so close now Taylor smelled them coming over the odor of the gun powder. Twin thunderbolts blasted from her hands as she met the attacking host with bullets. With every human that had fallen to the darkness that dropped two more took its place. There was no holding them back. There was only running. As if to cement her thoughts, Jason yelled over the commotion, “Come on! We’re getting out of here!”
She, along with Jason and the captain, were the last of the defenders holding the reception kiosk. Everyone else had retreated and taken up positions around the stairwell door. All three ran for the stairs. What little ammunition the soldiers had left was spent covering their escape.
Jason and the captain were running full sprint toward the door, the maniac pack behind them slipping over shell casings and their own blood as they gave chase.
“Go!” Captain Martin yelled to his men. “Up the stairs!”
The soldiers disappeared through the doorway. Taylor, Jason, and the captain sprinted through the door as fast as their legs would manage. As one they turned to slam the door shut behind them.
It was too late. Even as Taylor put her back to the door and braced her feet against the slick cement floor, a wiggling mass of legs and arms shot through the narrow space between the door and the archway.
Sweat from exertion and panic beaded Taylor’s brow. If her heart was racing before, it thundered in her chest now. Inches from her, snarling mouths and clawing hands worked to not only open the door but also to reach her from the other side.
“Push!” Jason yelled. He stood beside her with both palms braced against the door. “For your lives, push!”
Taylor put her back into it. Dropping her pistols, she planted her feet against the floor and gave everything she had into getting the door closed. Hands pressed flat, her muscles burned. The AA12 shotgun on her back dug into her skin, grinding against her tissue as she focused past the pain and heaved against the door. Seconds passed and with a gasp Taylor knew there was no hope.
There were too many of them on the other side of the door. The infected were free of any of the pain limbs caught in a door jamb would naturally bring. Driven by their desire to maim and disfigure, their lust knew no bounds.
The sound of the stomping feet belonging to the retreating remains of the captain’s unit up the stairs was a whisper compared to the cacophony of madness coming from the opposite side of the door.
“This isn’t going to work,” Taylor said.
“I agree. Any ideas?” Jason asked.
They had seconds left, the crush of infected bodies would break through. Past the sweat that was rushing to her eyes, Taylor looked toward the captain.
He was on the other side of Jason, his left shoulder pressed against the door. His eyes were shifting, face grimacing under the pressure. Beyond the expressions of exertion, Taylor knew he was searching for an answer. Deeper still, Taylor knew the captain would concoct a plan that would ultimately involve his sacrifice for their escape. The loss of the men and woman under his command was too great a burden to bear. If he was able to save others through a sacrifice of his own, then he would do it. Subconsciously, he would demand it of himself.
But Taylor had seen enough people die.
Reaching behind her, she wedged the AA12 on her back from its cramped position between the door and her spine. The steel casing scraped against her skin as she maneuvered it into her hands.
“I’ve got this bad boy loaded and ready to go. On three we release the door.” Taylor looked Jason and the captain each in the eyes. Fear, worry, panic, hope—it was all there. “I’ll cover our escape up the stairs. Make sure those choppers are ready to fly.”
Jason shook his head. “Tayl—”
“One.”
The captain tried then. “Taylor, there are too man—”
“Two.”
Both men looked at each other and exchanged nods. “You better be right behind us,” Jason said through clenched teeth.
Taylor tightened her grip on the shotgun, preparing herself for the weapon’s recoil. “Three!”
Jason and Captain Martin released their hold on the door and ran for the stairs. Taylor pivoted from her position with her back to the door in time to see the stream of bodies flow through the entrance.
They were so close she could reach out and touch them. The stench of dried blood and gore enticed her stomach to empty its contents on the ground in front of her. Instead, she emptied her shotgun.
The first blast mowed down an entire wave of the infected. At such a close proximity, bone was turned into mush and skin was torn into a dozen different pieces.
She walked backward up the stairs, working like a machine to keep the infected at bay. All there was in her mind was,
“Aim, fire and repeat.”
In the confined quarters of the stairwell, the aiming took care of itself. Round after round shot from the barrel like a dragon breathing fire.
The shotgun heated in Taylor’s hands but it was a feeling of safety. Amongst the ocean of cold bodies screaming and struggling for her, the warmth of her weapon was a pleasant experience.
As more and more bodies fell victim to her firearm, Taylor couldn’t help but notice their screams and howls stayed the same. Even those she shot in a non-lethal place, like their arms or legs. Their pitch of insane screams didn’t change. Those that were able to walk or crawl after meeting blasts from her AA12 did so. Blood splattered the walls and floor of the stairwell.
Then it happened, the noise that Taylor was dreading. She had managed to make it up two flights of stairs when the sound that signaled her doom echoed in her ears. While she was aiming at a pair of new leaders in front of the infected horde—a woman in a gore-covered business suit and an elderly man dragging a leg behind him—her shotgun ran dry.
The simple click of the empty chamber echoed in the stairwell. To Taylor the sound was even more frightening than the noises coming from the hundreds of ravaged throats below her.
She turned and ran. With any luck, she had bought Jason and the captain enough time to signal the choppers to go. It was a silly idea but maybe, she would even be able to make it herself.
Pounding up the stairs as fast as she could manage introduced her to a new kind of fatigue. Her muscles screamed in protest. Despite the pain, Taylor forced herself to press on, her eyes always on the steps in front of her. The last thing she needed was a misstep to take her tumbling back into the opened arms of death hounding her a few steps behind.
Somehow in the chaos she had lost her earpiece. There was no way to tell who had made it to the choppers or if anyone was still on the roof waiting for her at all. A tiny whisper told her that they had all gone. It was every man and woman for themselves and she had offered to stay behind. Why would they wait for her? They didn’t owe her anything. Taylor didn’t even really know them. Why would they stay and wait?
Thoughts such as these battled her mind as her legs quivered with every step forward. She didn’t dare look behind her. The clattering of feet to her rear told Taylor all she needed to know. Her pursuers were much too close behind for her to feel any kind of relief.
Her lungs burning and legs aching, Taylor finally saw the exit above. It was only a few more flights up. If she could only demand a few more seconds from her legs, she would make it to the roof. What she would find when she got there, was another question entirely.