Jeff Somers - Digital Plague

He stared a moment, then fished the gun out of his pocket and held it awkwardly, his finger along the barrel. “Okay,” he said, trembling. I felt sorry for him then. He’d spent his life in a lab and never looked for this. This was the universe being unfair to him, too. I patted him on the shoulder. “Look, I need you. I’m going to try to keep you alive.”

It was as honest as I could be, and he seemed to appreciate it. It didn’t matter, of course, if one more person died because of me; the list had gotten endless. But I didn’t have to sit back and let the fucking world shit on me, shit on everybody. Something had to start making sense again, and soon.

Wordlessly we all crept forward into the room. Belling and Lukens hugged the wall to the left, and I put Marko between me and the wall on the right, my gun in hand, eyes everywhere.

The smell crept up on you. The first few steps I was concentrating on the first row of seats still bolted into the floor, each one filled with a half-eaten corpse. In the flashes of light from the broken lamp, I could see they weren’t in as bad shape as I’d thought. A lot of their chest wounds had skinned over with puckered, pink flesh that looked healthy and new. I couldn’t be sure, but it almost looked as if a few of them were breathing in slow, unhurried movements. A skinny blond girl had been so eaten away her head had sagged over the back of the chair at an unnatural angle, and the huge wound had skinned over to hold her head permanently upside down against her back. As we moved along the wall it was as if I’d crossed an invisible line, and the smell was all over me like oil. It was something I couldn’t identify, something my whole body instinctively wanted to crawl away from. It was like breathing death itself.

We made our way toward the corner. I kept one hand on Marko’s sweaty back, urging him forward, and my eyes on the bodies we passed. Ripening, I thought. One moment we’d be lit up bright as day, everything sharp edges and deep shadows, the next we’d be in darkness, only the cheerfully colored signs suspended from the ceiling casting a ghoulish watery light. I could hear my own loud wheezing and Marko’s frightened panting next to me.

“Do you still need me, Cates?” he gasped in a stage whisper.

I kept my eyes on the bodies we passed. Their seats had dissolved into wreckage and they were sprawled in a pile on the floor, limbs entwined, crusty gore everywhere. “Every time you speak,” I replied, “I reevaluate.”

I knew how it would come. If I were ambushing someone in a darkened room filled with decoys I’d be in among the bodies, lying still, picking my moment. I’d be positioned far enough in to draw my quarry away from the doors, and I’d create a bottleneck to make them change course or slow them down. In one of the lamp’s flashes I saw a spot just beyond the corner where a trash can and a pile of intact chairs appeared to have been tossed together haphazardly, and I thought, There. That’s where I’d be waiting.

Tensing, I forced myself to keep moving at the same pace, raking my watery eyes over the jumble of bodies around this spot as they vanished and reappeared in the flickering of the lamp. They all looked dead to me. I was vibrating with adrenaline and wanted to breathe, really breathe, so much I thought it might be worth it just to let the whole fucking world die so I could get some air.

As we drew close to the trash can, past a jumble of moist-looking bodies, there came the tearing snarl of the shredder followed by half a dozen shots from one of Belling’s pistols, an extra flash twenty feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a blur of movement and then a hand was on my ankle, the grip strong, painful. With a jerk it pulled me off-balance, and I had to take a handful of Marko’s shirt to keep myself from being flipped onto the floor. I fired twice into the mass of bodies and then a figure was rolling away, jumping to its feet with eerie grace and in silence as the nova lamp flickered off. I fired twice more where it had been, but light, slapping steps told me my attacker was barefoot. I shoved Marko behind me and put every neuron I had left into my ears, listening, but another burst of fire across the room briefly muscled all the other noise out of the way for a moment. When it faded I held my breath and heard two soft slapping noises right in front of me as the lamp flickered back on.

I swung my arm up and froze, squeezing the trigger out of reflex and shooting her in the shoulder almost by accident. She was just a foot away, her shoulder a sticky mess of blood and bone, her neck and chest just a fused wrinkled mass of new pink flesh. For one second her blue eyes-perfect, preserved, and every bit as flat as when I’d last seen them-stared into mine.

“I told them,” I whispered hoarsely, “to fucking burn you.”

Without expression Glee spun around, shot her arm out, and sliced a deep gash down my face.

Night fell as the nova lamp flickered off again, and I heard the soft sound of her bare feet against the floor for a second or two and then another burst of terrible shredder fire from across the room. I sank onto one knee, yanking Marko down with me, and felt the breeze as her blade sailed through the air above me. I had a decent shot-in the dark, but I could sense where her body had to be-but I didn’t take it. It was Glee. It wasn’t Glee, but it was, and I kicked out with my bad leg, using my good one for support, and knocked her off-balance. In the darkness I heard her hit the floor but there was no grunt, no intake of breath-nothing.

I could feel blood on my face but didn’t feel the cut. Coughing something salty and chunky from deep within my chest as the nova lamp came on again, I was amazed to find Glee on her feet already, as if she’d immediately and perfectly flipped up off her back like some sort of fucking undead gymnast. Her face wasn’t mottled with bruising anymore, although starting at her jawline, the new flesh that had covered her wounds was tight-looking and unnatural. Her red hair had been cut raggedly down to a spiky minimum and she was still wearing the oversized suit I’d given her the day we’d headed uptown, but it was her eyes I couldn’t stop looking at. They weren’t hers. They were flat and steady, and she didn’t blink. There was nothing of Gleason left in them.

“Mr. Marko,” I coughed, razors in my lungs, “you might want to run now.”

“Fucking hell,” I heard him mutter, and then I forgot all about Mr. Marko, because the lights went out again and I heard the tiny slaps of Glee’s feet. I jerked back and felt her blade slice the air just beyond my nose. I ducked again and she sailed over me, her blade carving down my back as she went over. I jumped up and threw myself to the right, diving awkwardly and landing on a jumble of limbs that were soft and disturbingly warm for corpses.

The light bloomed again, and through the red spots in my vision I saw Glee sailing up into the air again, her murderous dead eyes locked on me without a hint of recognition. For half a second I could only stare at her. Whatever demon this was that had taken her shape, I still couldn’t shoot her. I rolled a second too late and she landed square on my left arm, pinning it under her surprising weight. I coughed a trickle of bloody phlegm onto the dusty floor, feeling hot and shaky, took a firm grip on her loose pant leg, and rolled again, pulling her off-balance and letting her drop to the floor, head bouncing once, while I rolled another few feet and pushed myself up, gun in hand.

She was already coming at me so fast I fired three times without thinking, instincts kicking in. She seemed to change direction in midair, rolling up into a ball and crashing into a mess of broken chairs as my hand trailed her, my bullets a second too late. Just before the lamp went dark again I saw her flip backward onto her feet and whirl around to face me. I thought, Little Gleason’s going to kill me, right here and right now. She didn’t even look winded-hell, she didn’t seem to be breathing. When the lamp died again I was almost relieved.