Kyle West - Origins

“Hangars?” Anna asked. “Was this place an airport?”

“Could be,” I said. “Each Bunker was assigned a specialization. 108 and 114 were both medically and research oriented. I don’t know Bunker 40’s designation, but this could have been where planes were kept.”

“Would be nice, just to fly out of here,” Harland said.

No one answered him.

“Nice thought,” Lisa said. “But none of us can fly.”

Harland turned to her, eyeing her up and down. “Now, you’re not bad-looking. What’s your name?”

Lisa shot him a venomous glare. “Done grieving already?”

Harland grinned unashamedly. Lisa turned away with a disgusted look.

“What now?” Makara asked.

“The armory’s accessible from the Officers’ Wing as well,” Samuel said, turning from the map. “So that’s where we’ll go. We can resupply whatever we didn’t have time to grab from the Recon. After that, we can find a way out.” He gestured down the hall. “Let’s go.”

As we walked down the deserted corridors, I noticed that the Bunker was surprisingly clean for something that had been infected with the xenovirus. No xenofungus stained the wall, as it had in Bunker 114. There was only the foreboding smell of decay that promised more trouble ahead.

We came to an intersection. Samuel pointed left, and we followed him.

We walked deeper into the cold bunker, our flashlights bouncing off the walls and corners. It felt as if we were being watched, or that Howlers were waiting for us around the next bend. The fact that we couldn’t see anything past our flashlight beams, nor hear anything, made it worse. There was only the smell.

Soon we stood before an arch in the hallway. Bold letters above read “Officers’ Wing.” Hopefully we could find what we were looking for here.

Samuel motioned me to take the lead. The layout of 40’s Officers’ Wing was basically the same as the one in 108. There were some slight differences I couldn’t explain, but could feel.

I pointed to a nondescript metal door on the left. This one stood half open.

“This is it.”

We turned the corner. Half the guns had been looted, but there was still plenty of firepower left.

“Jackpot,” Makara said.

In addition to the expected handguns and rifles, there were also batons, body armor, grenades, heavy machine guns, and submachine guns. We each already had weapons but we were light on ammunition. I had brought my pack, but the rest hadn’t had time to grab theirs. I rummaged through boxes of 9-millimeter ammo, taking as much as I needed.

“Grab all the ammo you can,” Samuel said. “Alex can carry extra.”

Lisa sorted through packs and boxes until she found .308 rounds for her sniper rifle. She cracked a rare smile. Those rounds were rare, so finding them was a huge boon.

I waited while everyone else loaded up. The plethora of guns before us was tempting, but I liked my Beretta. It felt right in my hands and I wouldn’t dream of replacing it.

It was then that I noticed something was off.

“Wait,” I said.

“What is it?” Samuel asked.

All at once, we realized what was wrong. Harland and Drake were missing.

“Hey!”

Samuel’s voice boomed into the corridor outside. He ran out, pistol in hand. He scanned left and right, and looked back at us.

“They’re gone. They’re really gone!”

We all hurried out of the armory. Down the hall was an open door. I could have sworn it had been closed a minute ago. A stairway led down into darkness.

“What the hell are they doing?” Samuel asked.

“I don’t know,” Lisa said. “Maybe they went on without us.”

“Something could have snatched them, or drawn them away,” Samuel said. “I am not leaving anyone behind. Even those two.”

“They left us behind,” I said.

“Snatched them?” Makara asked, with an arched eyebrow.

“I don’t know!” Samuel said. “Just let me think.”

“No,” I said. “Let me. They’re trying to trick us.” Everyone looked at me. “They want us to go after them, so they can ambush us.”

Before anyone could respond, we heard two screams coming from the direction of the stairs. It sounded like Harland and Drake.

“We should just leave them there to rot,” Makara said. “Shut the door, bar it, and find another way out.”

“I said, no!” Samuel yelled. “They need our help. No one deserves to be left in here. Not even them.”

Anna brushed a strand of hair from her eye. “Fine,” she said. “But I think you’re making a mistake. Let’s just finish this quickly.”

“Lead away,” Lisa said.

Samuel strode to the door. He pointed the gun down the stairwell. Makara came from behind and shined her flashlight down. The light revealed nothing but thirty to forty steps descending into a dark, claustrophobic corridor. I knew going down was a bad idea, but I kept my mouth shut.

Samuel started down, and the rest of us followed, our feet clanging off the metal. The stench of death became more pungent as we descended. We reached the bottom of the steps, and there the odor of death in the cold air was nearly unbearable. The corridor opened up into a room.

“Quiet,” Samuel muttered.

The three flashlight beams shot around the chamber, revealing the vertical metal bars of prison cells. We were in the detention center. This one was much larger than the one in Bunker 108. There were twelve cells, six on either side.

And all of them were piled with corpses.

“We need to turn back,” I said.

The door above slammed shut and locked from the outside. The slamming echo thundered throughout the cells.

“So I was right,” I said.

The bodies stirred, convulsed, and began writhing like worms in their piles. The ones that broke free shambled up and charged for the bars, their white eyes glowing and soulless.

“Hold your fire!” Samuel said. “As long as they’re in there they can’t hurt us.”

His voice was barely audible above the din of groans. The Howlers slammed into the bars and doors like wild animals desperate to be free.

One of the cell doors crashed open. Several Howlers lumbered out, moving as fast as their unsteady legs could carry them toward us. Another door crashed open, flooding more Howlers into the corridor.

“Samuel, we have to do something,” Makara said.

They howled in unison, moving as one toward us. They were closer — just feet away.

“Samuel!”

“Fire.”

He ducked, and we unleashed our bullets into the infected people. They roared in pain as the bullets entered their chests, their necks, their heads. They dropped, one by one, but more were coming out of the cells.

The first to fall were already bloating.

“Back!” Samuel said.

We moved as far from the bodies as we could. The first of them exploded by the time we reached the stairs. We were well out of range of the splash zone, but we were running out of space to retreat into.

“Fire!” Samuel yelled. “They can’t get close to us! They have to fall where they stand!”

We fired. I reloaded my Beretta, and shot again and again. About two dozen bodies lay piled on the floor. Some were beginning to inflate.

“Back again!”

We retreated up the steps, about halfway. The bodies exploded, sending streams of goo sailing for the bottom of the stairs. The smell was like raw sewage, and it was all I could do not to gag.

“I think that’s all of them,” Makara said.

That was when the heavy sound of breathing filled the chamber. It was coming from something big.

“The hell is that?” I asked.

A giant, freakishly large Howler appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He was at least eight feet tall and twice as wide as a normal man. His thick muscles bulged under thin pink skin. His head was hairless, and his eyes burned like white fire.