David Bernstein - Machines of the Dead

They trekked onward for what seemed like an hour. Jack was beginning to think he’d made a mistake and was about to speak up when they came around a bend and saw an identical door to the one in Reynolds’ office.

“We made it,” Zaun said.

“We don’t know what’s on the other side, ” Jack warned. “So be ready and careful.”

Jack was about to swipe the keycard when a blast of gunfire erupted from behind. Sparks flew as bullets pinged off the wall. Maria let out a groan before ducking into a small crevice. Zaun and Jack flattened themselves against the opposite wall.

“Hold them off until I get the door open,” Jack said.

Maria began firing back, Zaun doing the same.

Jack went to swipe the card and in his haste, missed the reader completely. Trying a second time, moving a tad slower, he swiped the card, then entered the code on the keypad. The green LED came on and he yanked the door open.

“Let’s go,” he yelled, producing his. 45 and firing down the tunnel, giving the others cover. Zaun backpedaled towards the door until he was inside. Jack watched as Maria pulled a flashbang from her belt and tossed it down the hall. He covered his ears, seeing Maria do the same. After the grenade went off, Jack moved aside, letting Maria exit the tunnel before he slammed the door shut.

They were in a small room with cinder block walls and a single overhead fluorescent light. Elevator doors stood to the left and a set of steel stairs took up the back wall.

“They must have a key,” Maria said, out of breath.

“Or blew it open,” Zaun suggested.

Either way, Jack thought, they had company. He went over to Maria and checked on her. “You okay?”

She looked at her arm; the jacket sleeve was torn and bloodied. Removing her jacket, face grimacing, Jack saw a gash on her upper arm.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“We should clean it; make sure.”

“No time. It’s just a graze; painful but I’ll still be able to use the arm.” Maria slipped her jacket back on.

They took the stairs up five flights before coming to a landing with another security door, keypad and all. Jack slid the card and punched in the code. When the green light came on, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Ready?”

The others nodded.

Anything could be on the other side. They were getting closer to the surface, were probably there already.

With the. 45 in hand, Jack grabbed the handle and pulled the door open.

A long cinder block corridor, extending into the gloom stood before Jack. A body, dressed in camouflage-patterned fatigues, lay a few feet away. Blood was pooled around the body, light from the room shining brilliantly off it. There was no way the person was alive, not with the amount of blood surrounding it. The coppery odor of death filled the air, causing Jack to turn away for a moment.

Pulling out his flashlight, he scanned the immediate area. The olive green walls were layered with old blood, the colors various shades of reddish-brown, like rust spots on an old car. Only in a few places were there fresh streaks of glistening red. The man on the floor had died recently; some time in the last twenty — four hours, Jack guessed.

He stepped from the doorway, shining the light over the body. Bullet holes, for what else could they be, littered the corpse’s back and head. Shit, this wasn’t good. What the hell was going on? Maybe word about the bunker had gotten out and the dead man that lay before Jack had tried to help? Unlikely, but looking at the walls-the splattered old blood-he knew people had died here before. Some kind of kill zone? Execution area? He shook his head. None of this made sense.

“What the hell?” Zaun said, stepping up to the doorway.

“Ay Dios Mio,” Maria said, shoving between Jack and Zaun. “This can’t be good.”

“We need to keep moving,” Jack said, “no telling when the others will be on us.” He wanted nothing more than to sprint down the hall and find the busy streets of Brooklyn or Queens. He had always hated the noise, loving the quietness of his apartment, but now he longed to hear it.

Jack took the lead, stepped onto the corpse’s back, avoiding the blood-pool surrounding the body. The cadaver hissed and farted, Jack’s weight forcing out the trapped air.

The group remained quiet, listening for any sound that they might be walking into a trap. The sharp, coppery aroma lessened the farther they got from the body.

Jack wanted the Mossberg in his hands, but needed to hold the flashlight as he led the way. Up ahead, he saw an open doorway on the right. The group approached carefully, inching along the wall. Jack flashed the light inside the room for a second before pulling his hand back. Not receiving any gunfire, he nodded to the others and peeked into the room.

The place was filled with old televisions, furniture, lamps, a rug, dusty art work, and rats, their beady eyes glowing eerily back at him.

“I hate those fucking things,” Zaun said, standing beside Jack.

Moving on, the corridor led to another door, but this one appeared to be made of wood. The entire handle part of the door was missing, looking blown off. Squatting, Jack shone the light through the hole.

“Another room, ” he said. “Looks empty.” Standing back up, he pushed the door open, the hinges squealing like frightened pigs.

Finding a light switch next to the door, Jack flicked it up and the overhead lights came to life. Another dead body lay against the left wall, slumped over with a large, gaping hole in the side of its head. All around, the walls were caked with old blood as if a bomb had gone off, or a grenade. An elevator stood to the right and a set of stairs leading up, stood off to the back left.

The corpse’s leg twitched. Jack raised his weapon and fired at the thing’s head, but the leg kept moving.

“What the…?” Zaun began. “Thing should be dead.” He fired two bursts at the thing’s head, obliterating it.

“Wait,” Maria said, as a small rodent head came from a hole in the corpse’s leg.

“Fucking rat!” Zaun yelled. “Damn thing almost gave me a heart attack.”

“All right. Leave it. We need to save ammo,” Jack said.

They were definitely in the basement of a building.

“Guess we go up,” Maria suggested.

The stairs led to another security door. Jack opened it quickly and looked out into a high-ceiling, hangar-like room. The large overhead lights were on, but the place appeared vacant, as if it had emptied out a while ago. Computer stations, desks with chairs, some overturned, took up most of the floor space. Sheets of paper were strewn around the floor and garbage pails were overflowing. Multiple coffee cups littered the desks and floor.

Jack saw a few dead bodies laying about, appearing to have been gunned down, the closest crumbled up against the wall, facing away.

They were outside Manhattan-had to be, yet something bad had happened here. Jack had thought Reynolds’ superiors would be in Washington, and maybe they were, but he was clearly in the bunker’s most immediate outside-operations center.

“This isn’t good,” Maria said.

“No,” Zaun said, “but at least we didn’t have to fight our way in here. Looks like we have the place to ourselves.”

“This must be where Reynolds reported to,” Maria added, then excitedly, “Hey, we have a live one over here.”

Jack turned to see her running over to the prone figure. She placed her M4 on the ground and knelt over the body. “Sir, are you all right?”

He couldn’t believe she’d used the word “sir” but guessed it was so engrained in her, that it was a natural way of talking to someone in the military, even if that someone was part of a corrupt, underground project. Either way, a living body might get them some much needed answers.