James Knapp - Element Zero

Vika’s body blurred in front of me, and I felt tears in my eyes. I slammed my fist against the cold ground next to her so hard I saw stars.

“Goddamn it!” I screamed, and my voice echoed down the tunnel.

Cracks in the tarmac thumped under the tires as I picked up speed, easing around a large, glassy crater. Snow accumulated on the wiper blades as I huffed past the burned-out husk of a jeep that lay on its side.

Heinlein proper was mostly dark, but I could make out the red lights that ran up the length of the transmitter. The huge curve of the dish was just visible against the moonlight. They hadn’t destroyed it yet.

Normally Heinlein’s security deactivated any nonregistered JZIs inside the perimeter, but it looked like the field was down with the rest of their systems. I pulled up an aerial view and began scanning for revivor signatures.

There were hundreds of them clustered inside the processing plant and some of the surrounding buildings as well. Pratsky was empty, though; the Leichenesser had worked. Signatures clung to the outside of the building where the ones that made it were forced to retreat. It was possible they hadn’t detected me.

I had the computer sift through the signatures and start pulling IDs. Most of them either weren’t on file or had been moved over from the processing plant earlier. I didn’t care about them.

“Come on …” The filter flagged an entry and brought it to the front as a ragged shelf of blacktop appeared in front of the car. I cut the wheel, fishtailing on the wet snow.

Fawkes, Samuel.

He was there, outside Pratsky. There were three other revivors with him. They were separated from the bulk of them, who looked like they were beginning to crowd around the entrances. They were preparing for the coming assault, but not Fawkes. He was moving away from the rest, following the building’s perimeter back toward the rear of the facility.

The transmitter. He was heading for the dish.

I pulled up the layout of the Pratsky Building. Like the other structures at Heinlein, it was built low to the ground. A lot of it was underground, but it still covered a significant area; it would take him a while to make it all the way around. The transmitter could be accessed from the southern side of the building, which was a straight shot from an underground entrance in the northwestern parking garage. Fawkes couldn’t cut through because of the Leichenesser, but I could.

I veered around another huge scar burned into the tarmac’s surface. The guard posts were dark and the floodlights were out, but with the help of the computer I was able to call out the ramp up ahead. A group of signatures had massed down there, but they hadn’t organized in force yet.

A concrete pylon whipped past on the driver’s side as I aimed for the garage entrance and gunned it. Through the snow, I made out a pair of eyes as they flashed in the dark up ahead, then a second pair.

Gunfire punched through the car’s side, but I didn’t see the source. Before the revivor in front of me could take aim, it was crushed against the grille. I saw it tumble across the hood, and its head left a divot in the windshield before it spun past the passenger’s window. The car caught air for a second as the ramp descended, then the undercarriage scraped the concrete and the car lurched toward the guardrail.

The right headlight popped out as I glanced the rail. I hit the brakes and turned as the ramp circled around, tires shrieking as I flew out between two rows of parked cars. More eyes stared from the darkness ahead. The computer put three of them at the entrance.

One of them fired, and a bullet punched through the windshield a foot to my left. I accelerated, bearing down on the two I could see as car alarms squealed behind me. When I hit the first one, I stomped on the brake. The momentum carried us into the second one before the car slammed into the pylons in front of the entrance. I felt the rear tires come up off the ground and the seatbelt dig hard into my chest as I was thrown forward.

A spray of black splashed across the windshield as the rear tires crashed down. I could hear footsteps moving outside the car as I groped for the seat belt and released the catch. Fingers had already begun to claw at the door when I pushed it open and drew my gun, sticking the nose through the crack and pulling the trigger three times. A dark shape fell back, but more footsteps were close behind it.

The entrance was up ahead. I climbed over the body crumpled between the pylons and ran. The glass door was shut, the scanner dark. I pulled it open as several figures darted from between the vehicles parked to my left and began to run toward me. An organic smell blew over me as I ran through.

Halfway through the small lobby, I heard something slam into the door behind me. I turned and saw several figures at the door, eyes glowing in the darkness. I caught the rustle of cloth as a cold hand clamped down on my wrist and something big crashed into me.

I fell back onto the floor as fingers pawed at my face. I managed to land two shots but it didn’t stop. Teeth flashed as the body pushed down, forcing its way closer.

Something began to hiss, and I felt cold air with the stench of decomposition blow into my face. Through our tangled arms I saw white mist bubbling from the skin of the revivor’s face. The door slammed behind it.

It leaned back, holding up one hand and watching as the fingers shriveled, then dissolved to expose the yellowed bone underneath. There was no comprehension on its face.

Before it could react, I slammed my fist into its chest. The softened tissue underneath gave way and a jagged edge of bone cut into my knuckle. It tipped back, the shirt collapsing around the dark pocket in its torso. Kicking back, I broke free and climbed back up on my feet. The hiss had gotten loud as the revivor was consumed, disappearing into the mist.

I ducked through the doorway and into the building. A small fire smoldered in the far corner, throwing shadows between rows of cubicles where shell casings were littered. Shapes were sprawled across the floor.

I approached the closest figure. It looked like a body in uniform, but when I nudged it with my toe, I found the clothes were empty. The shirt and pants were still in the shape of a man, pant cuffs still tucked into the boots, but the only things left inside were pieces of metal. A mechanism that housed a long bayonet poked from the end of one sleeve. There were more uniforms crumpled on the floor ahead. It looked like they were headed farther into the building when it happened.

A gun went off somewhere up ahead, and I ducked through the office door next to me. A bullet punched through the cubicle wall on the other side and into the computer monitor on the desk behind it. Two more shots went off; then I heard someone mutter something.

“Hold your fire. I’m a Federal Agent!” I yelled.

The office window exploded and the cubicle across from me was riddled with bullets. I spotted the shooter, a young male, taking cover behind a support column. I fired and clipped his arm. Blood dotted the drywall as he pulled back, but not fast enough. I put the next bullet in his head, and he staggered back against the wall before crumpling to the ground.

I darted out of the office and stepped through the scattered clothing toward the figure. The young man made a choking sound, and red blood ran from his mouth. He’d been human.

Reloading, I stepped past the body. An exit on the far side of the room was the most direct route to the transmitter. That’s where Fawkes would be.