Suzanne Robb - Contaminated - A Zombie Survival Novel

“Guys, we got a room behind us letting these things out like an assembly line,” Arthur warned.

Dixon ejected another magazine out of his Sig and slid a fresh one in. Two rounds into the head of a man wearing a security uniform, with his right arm missing and thighs full of shrapnel from the grenade. Benson took out a woman near him, her lower jaw hanging on by a few tiny threads of flesh. Smith held the M4 in shaky hands and fired wide shots.

Arthur made his way over to her when no more came out of the room behind them, and only a few remained on the ground grasping their way toward them on cracked fingernails and split fingertips. He shot a man he thought might be some sort of maintenance worker through the eye. The milky white orb popped like a zit and a rank smelling fluid spilled out.

“Smith, hey, it’s me Arthur. How are you doing?”

The woman stared at him, her eyes telling him everything – she was terrified.

“Look, I know you’re scared. I’m about to wet myself, but you know what? This Dixon guy is pretty bad ass. He’s going to get us upstairs to your husband.”

She grabbed his arm. “You really think so?”

Arthur nodded, not wanting to commit to the lie any further. Smith straightened and fired a few shots into one of the contaminated on her right side, missing the head completely. Arthur saw Benson lift his Glock and aim it at the back of Dixon.

“Benson! What are you doing? That’s Dixon, he’s not one of them,” Arthur yelled.

Dixon spun and Benson lowered his weapon. The big guard narrowed his eyes and Benson shrugged his shoulders in response then looked away.

“The door to the stairwell is over here. It’s unlocked, as expected. We need to get you out of here as soon as possible, Dr. Covington. Let’s go.”

Arthur ran to the elevator. “Give me a second, it’s worth a shot.” He tried to open the panel, spoke to it, did everything but offer it money. Nothing happened.

While he walked back, he looked down at one of the victims. Benjamin stitched on a blood-covered nametag. “What about taking the name tags, so we know…”

Dixon shook his head. “We don’t have the time. Our goal right now is to get the hell out of here.”

Arthur followed behind Dixon, Benson and Smith brought up the back. The silence overwhelmed Arthur. The normal sounds of people talking, doors slamming shut, machinery chugging away, or ventilation systems at work were all absent. This lack of distraction let him think about things he didn’t want to.

Why would someone go to all this trouble to get him? Maybe it was his work or the samples they were really after. He remembered the door labeled for testing and wondered what that was about. Hell, he wondered why an autopsied woman came at him. That certainly didn’t fit with a facility meant for testing space rocks.

Monroe told him the level above was another lab floor. Why would they need two? Too many questions and not nearly enough answers. He hoped the people on Level 14 would be able to clear things up for him, if they were alive. Looking around the corridor, which resembled a battlefield, his hopes for others being uncontaminated faded.

Arthur stopped and waited for Smith to be even with him. “What were the testing rooms for? There were people in there. I saw a woman…”

Benson passed them and Dixon continued a slow but steady pace to the next level. Arthur wondered why they didn’t just take the stairs all the way to the top and then he saw the reason. This staircase ended on Level 14. To get to the staircase to take them to Level 13, they had to cross the corridor and enter a new stairwell. He pulled the plastic map out of his pocket and looked at the levels he was allowed access; this was not one of them.

He understood it from a safety perspective. Zig zagging the stairs was an effective security method. However, in the case of having to cross floors saturated with enemies intent on eating you, he thought it was the dumbest idea ever.

“Dr. Covington, did you hear me?” Smith asked.

“No, sorry, I was thinking. What did you say?”

“I don’t know exactly what the testing rooms were for, but about two weeks before you arrived, they were put into use. Only those with the highest security clearance went in, but some people never came out.”

“Thanks, and please call me Arthur. I think we can do without formality.” He smiled.

“I think it’s irrelevant. I’m more comfortable with Covington.”

“Whatever you want, just trying to make this more bearable.” Arthur smiled, but was unhappy the woman was dead set against getting to know her fellow teammates, especially when their lives depended on trusting one another. God knows what they would face once the door to the next level opened.

“All of you get your butts up here,” Dixon hissed at them.

Frank twisted the handle, still unsure what to think about finding it unlocked. Level 2 was the first of many trials, and even though he knew what to expect, it didn’t make it easier. He’d designed the security measures to not only deter, but also eliminate enemy threats.

Certain things would trigger them on each floor. Sometimes it was a pressure sensitive, or opening a door. Others you didn’t have to do anything, the mechanism kicked in automatically when the alarm triggered.

Those were the floors he dreaded the most, and Level 2 was one of them. He peered over his shoulder at his team and sensed the tension. No one spoke about what happened in the reception area and he hoped it stayed that way. The thought of the place being full of dead cannibals terrified him, and he did not intend to let the others know.

“Have your guns at the ready. We have canines on this level. I don’t know the safe word, if they’re too riled up, we’ll have to put ‘em down.”

As the others chambered their weapons, Frank opened the door. The lights flickered on and off and people moved about everywhere. For a moment, he thought everything was going to be fine, the guards here weren’t affected, and then one of them turned toward him. His scalp slid to one side exposing his skull. He walked with a limp and Frank noticed the man was missing his left foot. The flickering lights made the pallor to their skin a strange, a greenish blue, which he associated with corpses long dead.

From behind, a shot was fired and the man went down, his brow imploding from the force of what could only be Carson’s Desert Eagle. All hope slipped away from Frank at that moment as a horde of undead soldiers headed his way with their arms raised and moaning for their dinner.

A growl from the shadow of a desk made Franks skin crawl. A moment later, a dog…correction, what was once a dog, ambled toward him. The animal frothed at the mouth, a reddish pink substance no one needed to ponder.

“Carson, put your weapon away and use something with a hell of a lot more bullets, and a lot less noise, if you plan on making it out of here.”

Frank moved his men out so they weren’t trapped. Even though the stairway was an escape route, there was no going back. He raised his SCAR-Light and squeezed off short bursts aimed at the heads. One of the dogs went for Newell, but Lightfoot took care of it.

“Monroe, how many of these damn dogs do we have to worry about? The guards boxing us in are hellish enough,” Newell said.

“There are a dozen dogs and their handlers, as well as about fifteen guards, maybe more. Make the shots count. This piss poor excuse for emergency lighting is going to make it easy for them to sneak up on us,” Frank warned.

The team took a V formation and fired at anything that moved. The guards didn’t seem to be going down. Frank noticed the spark when a bullet hit one of their heads as well as the tink sound.