Suzanne Robb - Contaminated - A Zombie Survival Novel

Dixon stared at him. “It’s called a Baby Eagle 9915R. It’s solid and made to last.”

“Thanks.” Arthur smiled.

“It’s the easiest weapon to use, I figure that point and shoot is best for someone like you.”

The smile fell from Arthur’s face as Dixon shoved a backpack full of magazines at him.

“Alright, one last thing. The next few floors are going to be tricky, but after Level 12, things will get rough. From then on, each floor has a unique security measure to deter people from breaking in.”

Benson snorted, “But we’re not trying to break in.”

Dixon nodded. “I know, but I didn’t design the place.”

Arthur felt the heft of the gun in his hand and liked it. When no one was looking, he grabbed an FNP-9 and slid it into the holster he’d slipped over his shoulders. Dixon’s comment caught his attention. “Why does that affect us? Benson’s right, we’re trying to break out. Logically, the trigger mechanisms would be on the entry portion of the level, and we’ll be entering via the back way.”

“Irrelevant, Monroe made sure no one would survive if they tried to come in or leave with vital information in a situation like this, so we’re going to survive the gauntlet of a sadistic madman and an unknown number of contaminated enemies.”

Arthur saw Smith cringe and remembered her husband was one level up from them. He tried to inject some positivity into his voice. “Well, we don’t know what happened down here spread to the other floors. I’m sure the ventilation system would have stopped it from going any further.”

“I’ve been over this, but if you want to hang out in the land of denial, fine. But mess up and get one of us killed and I will beat you. Now, get ready.” Dixon ordered.

Arthur wanted to ask if there was something, they could do about the covers on their head. How long did the filters last? Did anyone else find them difficult to see out of, and considering their current situation, how that was to their disadvantage.

Carson let himself into the kitchen and saw the rest of the team waiting; Monroe, their leader, as well as Lightfoot, Grimwood, Felt, and Newell. The baddest of the bad. Hooks was serious about this mission. Carson could smell the blood in the air. With a team like this, the worst was expected.

Monroe glared at him. “Nice of you to join us, Carson. Stop to make some bets on the way?”

“Hey, not my fault the pilot couldn’t find the place. You turned off the exterior lights. Did you expect him to use a Magic 8 Ball to find a landing spot?”

“I don’t have time for this. Get in gear, we’re going in.” Monroe pointed to a pile of items on top of the kitchen counter.

“And how are we entering? I thought the place was in lockdown,” Carson asked.

He saw a vein start to throb on Monroe’s forehead. Never a good sign.

“The analysts and I discovered a glitch in the system. It seems the electrical panels were tampered with and the automatic locks disengaged instead of--”

Carson cut him off. “Hooks know about this? This was your project after all. He should be aware that his prodigy screwed the pooch on the company’s biggest pet project, and if I remember right, their most costly one?”

Monroe leapt across the table and wrapped his hands around Carson’s neck. “I have no problem going in there one man short, got me?”

Carson nodded and inhaled deeply when the others peeled their leader off him. Perhaps being antagonistic wasn’t a good idea, for the moment. He slipped into the gear, noticing a MSA Advantage 1000 mask was included, another indicator they were in for some serious down and dirty.

So much for not being antagonistic. “Do I have to wear this? They’re a pain in the ass to see through and you can’t hear a damn thing,” Carson whined.

Monroe didn’t raise his head when he answered, “You don’t have to wear it, but we have no idea what happened in there. We also have a few security measures to pass that involve neuro-toxins, and of course, there’s also the possibility that whoever tampered with the wiring, played around with other things as well. Choice is yours.”

Carson tucked the mask into his belt as he buckled all his holsters and loaded his weapons. He grabbed an FMG9; he loved those suckers. Folding machine guns, what would they think of next?

“Alright, we have access to the elevator shaft, so we’ll repel down. Once we hit the reception area, we’ll do a visual assessment of the damage there, get the guards out, and then continue down to Level 1. We’ll try to pry the doors open, but if that doesn’t work, we use Semtex,” Monroe explained.

Carson slipped the explosives he brought with him into a small backpack and covered them with extra magazines.

“Those are silo doors, at least six feet of pure steel, a nuke wouldn’t budge them,” Lightfoot pointed out.

Carson smiled; at least he wasn’t the only one who saw the holes in this plan.

Monroe brought his fist down on the table. “Look, this is not up for discussion. We have a job to do, now get ready.”

Carson sneered as he followed the group. He didn’t mind one bit about having to put a bullet in Monroe. He imagined he’d rather like it.

Arthur saw the handle to the room they were in starting to turn. He turned to the others and brought a finger to his lips to indicate the need for silence. His hand shot out on its own accord and grabbed it. Scratching and pained moans could be heard.

“They aren’t trying to open the door. I think it’s just them rubbing against the handle.” Arthur let go to prove his point. The handle moved every now and then, but never opened.

“Then what about the other doors we saw open in the hallway?” Benson asked as he fumbled with his shoulder holster.

Arthur thought a moment, and then it dawned on him. “They were pushing on the door as they rubbed against the handle. Since they open in an outward direction--”

“Whatever, we still have a boat load of trouble in that hallway. All of you against the back wall.” Dixon pushed them aside and pulled a grenade out of his pack. He pulled the pin and leaned against the door. It didn’t move.

Arthur panicked. “Are you nuts? You can’t toss that out there, we could get trapped in here or wait, I know – it could kill us,” he said sarcastically.

“Stop complaining and help me get some weight against this. All of them must be trying to get in here.” Dixon strained against the door.

Benson and Smith moved forward to help and Arthur did his best, but there was no room. They managed to force an opening large enough for Dixon to drop the grenade and pull his hand back before the pressure on the door caused it to slam and sever his hand.

A second later, the explosion knocked them all to the ground. Smoke came in through a now warped section of the door. Arthur scrambled to his feet, Baby Eagle in hand. The moans and scratching noises didn’t stop. In fact, what he saw made no sense.

The walls within twenty feet of the armory in either direction were smeared with blood and bits of bone and viscera. The sight of a lung, as it slid down a wall, brought back the bile in his throat. An arm hung from one of the overhead lights. Other than a few burned patches, the hallway looked in good shape. They really did build this place to take a nuke.

The group of contaminated continued to move on the ground. A woman with half her face melted off and missing both of her lower arms pulled herself toward the door with an elbow. A man with his abdomen split walked in a continuous circle, because his foot was tangled in his intestines.

The acrid smell of smoke faded, and soon the stench of death overwhelmed his senses. He moved away from the door and examined the weapons. He might be a science geek, but like every other one of his gender, he spent a good portion of his teenage years playing first person shooters.