Suzanne Robb - Contaminated - A Zombie Survival Novel

Easy part done, now they faced the first of many barriers, at least this was non-lethal , Monroe thought.

He tapped on the metal not really knowing why. On a whim, he grabbed the emergency tool for opening elevators, shoved it, and then hammered until he made some headway.

The others stood behind him and he felt their stares. A snicker caught his attention and he knew it was Carson, because he’d been acting like an ass since he arrived. Frank knew he’d have to make sure the guy understood the situation and who was in charge, but it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t get these doors open.

Lightfoot stepped next to him and with a grin, took the other side of the claw and pulled. To the shock of all men present, Frank most of all, the doors actually moved.

“Carson and Newell, help Lightfoot, Felt and Grimwood, get on my side,” Frank ordered.

“Wait, we should put our masks on just in case this actually works,” Felt said.

Frank nodded and waited as everyone secured their gear in place. As soon as they finished, they went to work on the door.

The progress was slow but consistent. Within ten minutes, they had the bombproof doors open. Frank ignored the voice in the back of his head warning him not to proceed further. The voice warning him this was a set-up of some type that had been put into motion while the place was under construction, most likely earlier if he were to be honest.

“Why the hell were we able to do that?” Newell asked.

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s get out of these harnesses and secure Reception,” Frank said as he slipped his backpack onto his shoulder and stepped into the darkened room. M4 held at the ready.

The emergency lights were intermittent. No guards manned the desk, but footsteps could be heard. As Frank and his team moved forward, he saw a shadow in the back of the room. When he turned to get a better look, it was gone.

“Do you hear that?” Lightfoot asked.

“I can’t hear anything with this damn thing on my head,” Carson complained.

“Shut up, idiot,” Lightfoot hissed back.

Frank listened and sure enough, his ears picked up on something. He crouched low to the ground and moved forward. The noise came from behind the desk. When he rounded the corner, he fell back at what he saw and scrambled backward, causing a few of the others to lose their balance and trip as well.

“What the hell, Monroe,” Carson yelled.

At the same time, one of the duty guards stood and ambled toward them; his lower face covered in a dark liquid.

Frank fired a round into the guy’s chest, then another, and then four more. Hawkins, according to his nametag, wasn’t even fazed. The others let off several rounds and after three simultaneous shots to the head, it exploded, and he dropped.

“Okay, someone tell me that guy was wearing the best body armor ever,” Newell joked.

Frank got to his feet and approached the body, no bulletproof vest. The unnatural color and dark substance on the man’s face confused him until his foot hit the body of the second man on duty. Frank didn’t know his name and since his shirt along with most of his torso was shredded, he doubted he ever would.

Hawkins ate the other guard. Hawkins didn’t have any body armor on. Hawkins took multiple rounds to the mid-section without flinching. A shot to the head took him down. What the hell happened to Hawkins?

Hawkins ate the other guard. Frank’s brain stuck on that point. They couldn’t turn around; Hooks would kill them and get another team ready if he did.

“We need to open the door to the stairwell and make our way down to Level 2.” Frank stood and checked his ammo level, one round left. He ejected the magazine and popped in a new one. For no reason he could explain, he scooped up the empty one from the ground and held onto it.

“Get it off of me!” Felt yelled.

The group turned to see the body of the presumed dead guard with its mouth locked on Felt’s neck. When the jugular was ripped open, nlood sprayed everywhere. Like a limp dishrag, their friend fell to the ground, his face paling as life poured out of him. Frank fired first, the bullets landing in the center of the guard’s head. The forehead caved in, as the back of the skull flew back and the body fell forward.

“What the hell is going on here? These things are coming back from the dead,” Carson yelled.

Frank walked over to the body and kicked it with his foot. The thing seemed dead; then again, he thought it was dead when he saw it had been emptied of all essential organs.

“Monroe!”

A hand grabbed Frank’s ankle and he stared down in shock into the eyes of Felt. The man was white as a ghost and moaned as if in pain. With slow movements, he pulled himself closer to Frank. With a sad shake of his head, he fired a short burst into his friend’s head, turning it into a pulpy mess of brain matter and shattered bone.

“Let’s go, I don’t think I need to stress the importance of being careful,” Frank said as he approached the staircase.

“What the hell are we up against here, Frank? I think there are some details we should know about if we’re going any further,” Carson protested.

Frank stopped his movement as he thought about what to say. Carson, as much as Frank hated to admit it, was right. The problem at hand, the dead coming back to life, Frank didn’t know about, which meant he was just as blind as his team. With this new development, he wanted to turn around, but knew the outcome of that choice. Instead, he opted to let them know what he knew.

“The truth is this craziness is news to me as well. They didn’t tell me anything about reanimated people. The last we heard and saw was an explosion on Level 15, Dr. Covington’s lab. I can only assume whatever he was working on is the cause of this, which means if it spread this far, we have another fourteen levels of these things to deal with.”

“Great, a suicide mission, so why don’t we just turn around?” Newell asked.

Frank shook his head. “We do that, and Hooks will kill us for what we saw here, and then he will send in a new team. So pick your poison, continue on with me and maybe make it out alive, or quit and go back to face certain death.”

None of the men left, but a few did grunt their hesitation. Frank continued to the door, expecting to use a small explosive device since an automatic lockdown had been engaged. The handle turned under his hand with no resistance.

Crap, more problems , he thought to himself.

“Isn’t that supposed to be locked?” Newell pointed out.

“All I can say at this point is to be ready for anything. It won’t be long before we have guests on our tail,” Frank answered.

Arthur let loose a spray of bullets aimed at the kneecaps of the dozen contaminated coming at them, disabling them first seemed like the best approach. One at a time, they were no threat, but a mob of this size would overpower them fast, and he had no intention of dying that way. As the ones he hit fell to the ground, they continued to claw their way to the group using the bodies of the fallen for traction.

Arthur took a moment to make sure none of the nasty things snuck up on them, a door behind them opened and a contaminated came out in a pair of overalls coated with soot. Arthur aimed, and fired. The man fell to the ground, but another took his place. The one in a medical gown, which was open in the front, from the open Y-incision baring all of her internal organs to those present, it was apparent an autopsy of some sort had been interrupted. Arthur put a bullet in her head and watched as a woman in a mask, surgical gloves, and clear plastic goggles ambled his way. Her nametag said Watkins. Another blast from his gun, and another splatter pattern was on the wall.