Authors: Mark Campbell
Orange spray-paint had dribbled down the wall and pooled on the floor, mingling with the blood and spent brass. It left him with an uneasy feeling, but he had more pressing concerns at the moment.
In order to get to ‘F Block’, and his brother, he first had to get past the locked security grille.
Behind him, he heard the moans of the infected as they approached, slowly gaining ground, lurching forward.
Richard slid the pistol underneath his belt and grabbed the grille with both hands. He groaned and strained as he tried to slide it open, even while in his weak state.
It was no use.
It was locked tight and wouldn’t give an inch.
He knew that he needed the torch that the military’s execution team was using.
He had an idea on where to find it.
Outside, he heard a helicopter approach overhead.
40
R
ichard slid the ‘E Block’ sliding door open. With its lock torched off, it slid effortlessly along the track.
The corpse of a white-suit that was slumped against the door collapsed backwards out into the corridor at Richard’s feet.
The white-suit’s abdomen had been eviscerated and his lower extremities had been practically gnawed down to the bone. A burst of automatic gunfire through his shattered mirrored facemask had been his only salvation. In his left hand he held an orange spray-paint can and in his right hand he held a
Heckler & Koch MP5
SMG.
The paint can rolled from out from his dead grasp out into the middle of the corridor.
Richard slid the pistol under his belt and pulled the MP5 out of the corpse’s hand. Stepping over the sprawled corpse, he entered the housing unit, nearly choking on the coppery stench of blood mingled with the overpowering stench of decay.
Half of the cells were wide-open; the housing unit guard never managed to lock down the entire unit in time during the initial outbreak and the besieging military got more than they expected when they cut their way into the tomb.
Countless mutilated body parts were strewn throughout the unit amongst tattered bloodied piles of clothes. Inmates wearing khaki uniforms shuffled aimlessly throughout the unit, mouths caked with gore. The inmates swiped at each other and bit chunks of flesh off one another. Their stomachs were grotesquely bloated and many of them were missing entire appendages. A few of the inmates crawled across the floor with their hands, devouring their fallen comrades that no longer had any appendages to drag themselves away with.
Four guards, each badly mutilated by bites, shuffled amongst the inmates. A few scattered white-suits, the few that were still able to walk, shuffled amongst the walking dead, moaning behind their mirrored facemasks; their MP5s slung at their side.
It was a horrific scene; the entire housing unit’s population gorged on itself as it paced back-and-forth.
All of the walking corpses stopped and stared at Richard as he entered the unit. Moaning, they slowly advanced towards him, staring at him with their soulless eyes and blank expressions.
In the center of the unit, near the bloodied, tattered remains of a white-suit, Richard spotted the small cutting torch.
The inmates continued to shamble towards him from all sides, their bellies bloated and their arms extended.
Richard aimed the MP5 into the crowd and opened fire, sweeping the weapon side-to-side, screaming.
The automatic gunfire tore through the encroaching horde, rupturing their bloated stomachs and sending pools of acidic bile and half-digested human remains onto the floor. A few collapsed as an errant round struck through their head, but the rest simply continued to push forward towards Richard, unmindful of their wounds.
Like the soldiers before him, Richard ran out of ammunition.
Panting, he quickly surveyed the room.
He had no choice.
He dropped the MP5 and sprinted towards the cutting torch, jostling infected out of his way.
An inmate moaned and grabbed him, snagging his shirt.
Richard tore himself free and kept running–
He slipped in a pile of bile and slid across the polished floor, knocking anybody in his way down like bowling pins. He slid to a stop a few feet away from the torch–
A crawler grabbed Richard’s foot–
Richard drove his other foot into the man’s face and pulled free.
Infected started to converge on all sides–
Richard quickly crawled over to the cutting torch and scooped it up, panicked. He frantically searched for the gas canister’s control valve.
A cluster of inmates swarmed him. They piled around him on all sides, scratching at him, trying to bite.
The clustered horde let out anguished cries as they were engulfed in flames. They stumbled back off of Richard, ineffectively batting at the flames that spread across their bodies.
Richard stood, wielding the cutting torch in front of him. He had the flame extended as far and as hot as it could go. He pointed the cutting torch at two nearby infected inmates, pointing the bright blue flame directly at their face.
The inmate’s flesh charcoaled and their uniform shirts engulfed. They swatted at the torch before collapsing onto the ground, tousling blindly.
Richard ran back towards the exit, burning anything that shambled its way into his path.
Near the exit, a white-suited soldier lurched out towards him.
Richard pointed the torch at the white-suit.
The flames had no effect, aside from a slight darkening of the suit’s material; the white-suits were highly flame
retardant
.
The white-suit moaned and–
Richard pulled the pistol out from under his belt and shot the white-suit twice in the face.
The white-suit turned out to not be so immune to bullets.
Richard jumped over the white-suit, ran out into the corridor, and slid the door shut, panting madly.
The infected in the corridor were closer and would be right on top on him in a minute. The S.O.R.T. officer led the horde, limping single-focused towards Richard, moaning.
Richard ran towards the locked security gate and started burning through the locking mechanism, anxiously looking over his shoulder.
With an unexpected burst of stamina, the S.O.R.T. officer hobbled faster, snarling, excited to grab his prey.
The flame finally cut through the locking mechanism and the lock fell against the ground with a hollow clang.
Richard slid the gate open and ran over to the other side.
The S.O.R.T. officer grabbed Richard’s arm–
Richard spun around and fired his pistol three times into the officer’s face.
The officer’s weak grip loosened and he collapsed against the ground.
Richard leaned down and snatched the handcuffs off of the officer’s duty belt and then kicked the officer’s corpse back away from the gate’s track. He slid the gate shut and secured it by handcuffing its iron bars together, preventing it from sliding open.
Infected clustered against the security gate, swiping their boney hands in-between the iron bars towards him.
Richard backed away from their reach and collected his breath.
Slowly, he turned and limped towards ‘F Block’.
“F Block, cell 22,” Richard said. “I’m coming, brother.”
At the ‘F Block’ door, he ran the cutting torch down the locking mechanism. The lock disengaged.
Slowly, pistol in hand, he slid the heavy door open–
An infected guard lunged towards him and vomited on his chest.
Richard shot the guard point-blank in the face.
The guard floundered backwards and collapsed against the cement floor, motionless.
Richard stepped forward, staring down at the man. It was clear to him that the other type of infection, the slower variety caused by the government’s experimental antivirus, hadn’t made it inside ‘F Block’ yet.
The housing unit was quiet and all of the cells were locked.
Richard walked into unit cautiously, footsteps echoing.
“Andy?” Richard called out loudly.
The entire unit immediately awoke in an uproar of banging, snarling, and pounding as the infected inmates tried to break out of their cells. Hundreds of emancipated faces stared at Richard through narrow cell door windows. Most of the cells were empty, but ‘F Block’ was the mental illness and protective custody ward, so it never had a full house.
Richard slowly started walking towards cell 22. He didn’t see any movement inside the cell and that made him pick up his pace. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the nurses’ station next to the officer’s station.
The nurse’s station was empty and her desk was still intact; she never even showed up for her post during the crisis. The unit normally required a mental health nurse to be in house at all times. Richard remembered her… she was always so nice to him.
His head throbbed, making him freeze and wince in pain.
He shook the memories out from his mind and continued walking towards cell 22.
The infected inmates furiously pounded against the cell doors all around him, making his headache even worse.
A helicopter hovered overhead and pointed its harsh searchlight through the housing unit’s skylight windows. The bright light sent the infected into even more of an uproar.
“Shut up!” Richard screamed, covering his ears. His voice only agitated the infected more.
Richard ran towards Andy’s cell and nearly collapsed against the door, panting.
“Andy?” Richard asked through the door. “I’m here!”
No response.
Richard peered through the cell’s narrow window, but it was pitch-black inside. The light switch was off. He pulled on the cell’s door, but it was locked tight.
He took the cutting torch and ran the flame around the locking mechanism, creating a shower of sparks.
The lock disintegrated as the flame gutted it.
Richard kicked the cell door open.
It swung inward and revealed a darkened tomb.
He stepped inside and slapped a hand against the light switch, turning on the single overhead light.
The metallic bed was made and had fresh linens on it. A single tube of institutional shampoo, a bar of lye soap, a cheap toothbrush, and off-brand toothpaste sat on top of the bed. Next to the neatly stacked items, a new ‘Bureau of Prisons Inmate Orientation’ booklet sat unread.
Richard’s eager expectation fell flat. The cell looked clean and ready to take on a new inmate. There was no sign of Andy. He started to panic.
He turned, about to run outside the cell, and then gasped.
“Andy! I didn’t see you standing there!” Richard said, ecstatic.
Tall and lanky, with dark brown hair, Andy was a sight for sore eyes. Burns covered half of his body and his dress shirt was badly tattered and covered with blood. Stubble covered the non-burnt portion of his face.