Contaminated: A Zombie Survival Novel (11 page)

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.

Chapter 9 –

The sounds of Dr. Covington and Smith blocking the door were easy to identify. The things they heard scratching at the door earlier seemed to have gotten bored and moved elsewhere, but Dixon heard footsteps shuffling towards him.

He took calming breaths in an effort not to freak out, but when he turned the light on, one of the morbid faces of the things they were fighting snapped at him. The thing scared him so bad that Dixon almost pissed his pants. A noise to his left caused him to fire while turning, the thought of survivors long gone as his basic survival instinct now ruled him. The short burst blew open the neck of a guard and the head flipped to the side held on by a few strands of muscle and flesh. The body hit the ground and Dixon put a round in its head for his own peace of mind.

A moan and he fired as he spun once more. This time, he hit one of them in the chest, knocking it back a few feet. He fired again, turning its head into mist. A quick sweep revealed two more, their milk colored eyes focused elsewhere, even though they made a beeline for him. He fired into the head of the closest one ignoring the gore that splattered him and covered the thick clear plastic of his mask.

He turned his weapon toward where the other two were and shot one in the mouth. It made a gagging noise as it spit up part of its tongue. Dixon fired again, this time a clean shot to the head. He pivoted to take out the other one, but didn’t see it.

Dixon made a full circle becoming unnerved, because it had disappeared. He knew there were two. He was positive. He focused on the sounds, but his breathing intensified and echoed inside his mask. He raised a glove-covered hand to wipe at the gore covering his vision, but only succeeded in smearing it everywhere.

He took small steps, making sure to check behind him every few seconds. The things hadn’t demonstrated any sort of intelligence. In fact, he thought they were on par with a rock when it came to smarts. However, that didn’t make them any less dangerous. In fact, he often found the less intelligent people of the world were the ones you needed to be the most wary of.

The flashlight flickered then went out. He shook his Sig and got it back on, but at a lower strength. Would anything go their way, he wondered? He’d searched the whole floor and didn’t find the thing. Maybe he imagined it, his hands were shaking and he knew it was only a matter of time before nerves got the best of him. He went to the weapons locker and grabbed a fresh flashlight when something latched onto him from behind.

Dixon struggled with it, but the damn thing had a death grip on him. He felt it biting into the back of his suit and heard a tearing noise.

Crap,
he thought.

He ran backwards, hoping to ram the thing between him and a wall, or some other hard surface. He felt the jolt and crushing of ribs against his back as they impacted with support column made of reinforced steel on the other side of the room. The hold on him loosened and Dixon grabbed one of the arms, trying not to notice the way the flesh moved as if oiled along the muscle underneath his grip.

A second later, he came face to face with his squad leader. The man who ordered him to go and baby-sit the new arrival for the next shift. Dixon hesitated a moment, and that was all it took for the creature to reach up and rip off the protective mask. Dixon stopped breathing and fired in panic mode. His weapon emptied and the body in front of him had nothing but a pulpy mess on top of its shoulders as it slid down to the ground.

Dixon raced for the supply closet, grabbed the emergency mask from one of the survival kits, and threw it on. He secured the straps and sucked in a breath of air, then another, and another. He was freaking out. He didn’t know if he was infected or not. Did some of the gore from his former CO get on his skin? When he reached around and tried to find the hole in his suit, he sighed in relief at the small size, but still worried the skin inside might have been split and infected by the bite.

He opted not to say anything to the others until he felt sick. No need to worry them, especially if nothing was wrong. Benson would kill him before he could explain what happened.

Dixon did a run through of the floor with a Mag Light and came up with no other hostiles. He sighed in relief. As long as they kept moving, his mind would be occupied with other things than whether or not he was going to turn into a flesh-eating maniac. He knocked on the door three times and watched as it opened in slow increments.

Arthur stood with his weapon raised until he noticed Dixon was alone. The three entered and Dixon motioned them to the supply lockers.

“Grab a couple of flashlight attachments for your guns and pick up extra magazines. I checked, and there are no grenades on this level. Looks like Dr. Covington’s plan better work with what we have on hand,” Dixon said with false enthusiasm.

“What happened to you sacrificing yourself as we made a run for it?” Benson asked.

“Shut up, you ass,” Smith said as she smacked him on the arm.

Arthur remained silent as he thought about what they were about to face.

“Hey, there are extra masks in here. We can put on fresh ones and buy time,” Benson said as he reached for one.

“Wait, we can’t. If the contaminant is airborne, we can’t risk taking the masks off at what is essentially ground zero. All it would take is one molecule to get into the breathing apparatus.”

Benson ignored him and grabbed a mask.

“Put it down, or I will blow your damn hand off, you ass wipe,” Dixon yelled.

Arthur watched as Benson did as told with reluctance.

“Fine, whatever you say.”

***

Frank waited for the outburst, especially from Carson. Floor activated sensors with C4, were placed randomly, which even Frank didn’t know the location of what they faced now.

“Well, since you’re our fearless leader, you best lead us,” Carson said not bothering to hide the sneer on his face.

“This level shouldn’t be too bad. It’s an access point for air vents, plumbing, and electrical junctions. At most, there are four people on duty monitoring everything, making repairs or upgrading the system.” Frank pulled the door open to Level 3 with forced casualness.

A blast rocked the room, lifting him off his feet, and then blowing him back into the others. The door swung wide, then ricocheted off the wall and rebounded into Newell’s leg with a crack. He screamed in pain as the others grunted.

“Damn it, I think my leg is busted,” Newell said through gritted teeth.

“What gave it away? The fact the bone is sticking out of your pant leg, or the sound of it breaking when the door hit it,” Carson asked.

“Go to hell, Carson, and get the hell off of me,” Newell spat.

“Piece of cake,” Lightfoot said with a laugh as he pushed Carson off Newell.

Frank was the first to get up and see inside the room. Lights flickered on one side and on the other they were out completely. Two things walked around in what might have once been work uniforms, but were now just canvases for splattered blood and gore. He assumed the strings of muscle and tissue that hung from the swaying lights were the remains of other technicians who wandered over a couple of the pressure plates.

“Hey, Boss, Newell’s leg is in bad shape,” Lightfoot whispered.

“I heard that, you idiot,” Newell yelled.

Frank’s eyes roamed the area for a few more seconds to make sure there were no imminent threats before he turned to examine Newell. “Lightfoot, keep an eye on them. Let’s see if they set off a few more of the sensors for us. I’ll take care of Newell.”

Carson was right. Newell’s tibia broke through the skin. Frank knew what needed to be done and he didn’t look forward to it. “This is going to hurt like hell. You want a shot?”

With clenched teeth and a pale face, Newell shook his head. “Do what you need. The shot will just mess me up, and considering the current situation, that’s not a good idea. I’d rather be coherent and in pain, than unaware one of those things is chomping on my liver.”

“All right, Grimwood and Carson, you’re going to hold him down while I re-align the bone as best I can. Carson, provide some light.” Frank wiped his hands on the sides of his pants in an effort to dry them.

Grimwood gripped both of Newell’s shoulders and nodded he was ready.

“Here goes.” Frank yanked the leg straight and made sure the bones aligned as straight as possible under the circumstances. He poured providone-iodine over the wound as well as some water.

Newell struggled, but Carson and Grimwood kept him from screwing up Frank’s work and putting the bone out of place. Frank pulled a can of spray once meant to capture police suspects, and now used by his company as a temporary cast in emergency situations.