Suzanne Robb - Contaminated - A Zombie Survival Novel

Arthur fumbled around for his gun, but the thing was coming at him hard. He tried to scream out for help, but fear stole his voice. The two tumbled to the ground and he reached over and grabbed his weapon as drops of liquid fell onto his mask from the mouth hovering above him. The thing opened its maw and brought it down on Arthur’s chest.

He felt the teeth, and panicked. In the rush, he pushed the dead doctor off him, fired the Baby Eagle without thinking, and put a hole the size of a baseball in the man’s chest. Arthur noticed it then, the nametag, Smith . He ripped it off as he held the gun up to the nose of the thing as it ground its teeth and snarled at him.

The noise echoed throughout the room and Dixon ran over. He took in the scene and seemed to come to some sort of silent conclusion he didn’t feel like sharing.

“What the hell happened? You okay?” Dixon asked as he reached a hand out to help Arthur up.

Arthur accepted the offered hand and nodded. “Just peachy.”

Benson arrived and they glanced back at Smith who checked the bodies of those on the ground. Arthur slid the patch into his backpack and hoped he could convince her that her husband must have been able to survive somehow and went for help.

“Smith, we need to get going. Clear whatever’s on the other side of this door and then the next floor shouldn’t be too bad. On my map it’s marked as ‘monitor room,’” Arthur said.

Dixon paled as he spoke. “Your map isn’t exactly right. There are monitors, along with soldiers in full protective gear.”

“We can’t take them on if they’re contaminated, we’ll be overrun. There has to be another way,” Benson pled.

“I hate to say it, but the weenie’s right. I’ll lay down cover fire and you three run like your life depends on it,” Dixon ordered.

“Our lives do depend on it,” Smith mentioned absently.

Arthur put a hand up. “Before we start doling out medals to people for stupidity, why don’t we see what’s on the other side of this door, take care of it, go up the stairs and actually look at the other level. Once we have an actual idea of what we’re up against, we can come up with the kamikaze martyr missions, okay?”

XM-25 loaded, Arthur opened the door and was greeted by – nothing. A dimly lit, short hallway to the stairwell entrance at the end, about five offices, and one observation room stood between them and their current goal.

“Well, this isn’t so bad is it?” Arthur asked the others. From the expressions on their faces, he knew doors were opening as they had on the level below them. “Right, start shooting then.”

Arthur found it difficult to aim since visibility was so poor. He pulled the trigger when he felt his shot would hit at about the average height of a man. Dixon stood beside him firing away. Benson and Smith stayed in the back passing them new magazines when needed.

Arthur’s ears rang due to the constant sound of gunfire and his hand ached, but he didn’t stop. At one time, he looked up from reloading, into a skeletal face, with bite marks covering the skin of what might have once been a beautiful woman. The thing moaned and lunged for Arthur, and he put his hands out to stop it. The momentum caused him to lose his balance and fall into the hallway they were trying to clean up.

With his shoulder leaning against one wall and the contaminated snapping at his face, then deciding to latch onto his right arm, Arthur freaked. “Dixon, I need some help here.”

“Kinda busy, take care of it,” Dixon yelled over the sound of his weapon.

Arthur felt himself slipping. The strength to hold the thing off and himself up at an odd angle were too much. He slumped to the ground, his limb still the main focus of attention of the dead woman.

Arthur brought his left arm out and grabbed the hair on top of the contaminated’s head. The scalp peeled off her head and he gagged at the smell permeating his mask. Thick dark fluid oozed down the sides of her face, but she paid no attention. Arthur let go and closed his eyes as he jammed his thumb into the eye socket as far as possible. The things mouth went slack and Arthur stood with his gun at the ready.

Dixon looked at him. “You’re supposed to be a doctor. Where the hell did you learn all this stuff? You fight like a…”

“I fight like a man who wants to live. I have kids that I’d like to see again someday, even if they hate me. As for where I learned this stuff, video games, and you have no idea what a Russian guard will teach you after enough Vodka,” Arthur said before putting a bullet, dead center into the head of a shadow lurking their way.

Dixon nodded with a new respect in his eyes. “Good to know, now let’s finish this.”

Arthur fired again to signal his agreement, but something told him they were a long way from the end of whatever started here today.

Frank stood in the middle of the room. The best mercenary’s money could buy, as well as top of the line gear and a five-man strike team took down weaponry. Whatever happened to them, it affected their mind and reflexes to the point they were moving bags of meat. Their brains were nothing but a collection of mush. He lifted his foot and examined the gore on it, confirming his suspicion.

The bodies were decayed, rotten, and essentially dead. Yet, they still moved, and they could take several rounds to any part of the body and keep coming at you. Frank wondered what they were dealing with. So far, it didn’t make any sense, and he hated that. He never went into combat situations without knowing every possible scenario he might come up against. If he got out of this, he was going to wring the bony neck of Hooks with pleasure, then do it again if the guy came back to life.

At the moment, he needed to get past his frustration and lack of understanding, needed to accept these were not fellow comrades in arms. They were sick or infected with something and they needed to die in order for him to complete his mission.

“So, you want to tell us what the hell’s going on now, or are you still going to play dumb?” Carson yelled.

Frank stayed in the same position as he answered. “You know everything I know about this mission, as for these things.” Frank kicked the head of one of the things he’d taken down. “I have no idea, and that’s the truth. The only advice I have is don’t let them corner you. Other than that, I’m learning as I go.”

Carson stepped in front of Frank to block him. “I don’t buy it. Stuff like this doesn’t ‘just’ happen,” Carson said, indicating the piles of bodies around them.

Frank let his SCAR fall from his hands to hang from the shoulder strap. He grabbed Carson and pulled him close. “Listen, I know as much about these nasty things as you do. There is nothing more I can tell you, so you either believe me, or continue to start petty arguments and get someone killed.” Frank pushed him away and moved forward.

“Behind this door is the armory, probably a few men, things, nasties, whatever you want to call them. We’ll clear the area and grab as much ammo as we can stuff in our packs.” Frank opened the door, not caring if they followed or not.

Lightfoot appeared next to him and fired off a burst taking out one of the things by the exit. As the body fell, the brains coated the wall behind it. Frank tried not to let the image bother him, but like the dogs in the other room, something about this situation was getting to him. He fired off a shot taking out a female soldier with her guts hanging out her side. The thing next to her lunged at Frank, bits of what he guessed to be from the woman he’d just downed, dangling from his mouth.

When it hit the ground, he crushed its head with several angry kicks. Something inside of him snapped. The mission, the lack of information, the rancid smell of death, the inability to figure out what was going on. When he finished, the skull beneath him was a pile of toothpick-size bones, and what was once grey matter. The others were otherwise occupied clearing the floor, also known as giving their boss some obviously needed space, even Carson kept his mouth shut.