Suzanne Robb - Contaminated - A Zombie Survival Novel

“Just a flesh wound, right, Monroe?”

“Yeah, nothing to write home ab--”

Another blast, this time Lightfoot fell on top of them, though he made sure to avoid Newell by grabbing hold of Frank and pulling his shoulder damn near out of its socket. The sticky splat sound of things hitting the wall around them made Frank look up. An eye, which seemed to peer back at him, slowly made its way down the back wall. A half a face was next to it, stuck in place.

“Lightfoot and Grimwood, you get Newell back up to reception, put him by the elevator so any rescue team that comes in if we screw up, find him,” Frank ordered.

Lightfoot leaned over and pulled Newell to his feet, the man didn’t scream, but from his tense posture it was obvious he wanted to. Grimwood threw his shoulder under Newell’s other arm and they headed up the staircase.

Frank assumed there were probably only one or two remaining things wandering around, and if they set off one of the motion sensors on the other side of the room it would be wasted. So far, there was an eight-foot gap between him and the first triggered pressure plate, which he could see. About two by two feet, and seven feet down from there another one had been blown just a tad to the right.

The third one was on the other side and wouldn’t help them if it were blown up over there. Frank stared at the ceiling as he thought. There had to be a way through this. Lost in his thoughts, Lightfoot startled him when he appeared at Frank’s side.

“We’ll need to leave Newell here and pick him on the way back up,” Lightfoot said.

“I can still hear you, idiot,” Newell reminded him in a terse voice.

“Why? More trouble on the other floors? They should be empty,” Frank said.

Lightfoot cleared his throat. “Actually, the door was locked going back up, seems the only way for us to go is down.”

Frank nodded as the news sunk in. There really was no going back. “He’ll be fine; I’m more concerned about how we proceed. I can’t just toss things to see if there’s a plate, needs at least two seconds of a weight of a hundred pounds or more, and none of us are sprinters.”

“Why don’t we just toss Newell in there, it’s not like he’s any good to us now,” Carson said.

“Shut up, prick,” Newell mumbled.

“What about leading that last thing toward the center of the room in some way?” Lightfoot offered.

Frank nodded, but wasn’t really paying attention. No matter what happened, he needed to be the one to lead. He pounded his fist on the metal door and watched the former maintenance man raise a sunken face painted with dark liquids. If he didn’t know better he’d say this one just fed and that’s why it wasn’t after them right off the bat.

It moved toward them with slow shuffling steps, and on an impulse Frank took a giant step forward and shut his eyes as he ticked off the seconds in his head. Nothing happened, so he took another large step, which landed him on the disarmed trap.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lightfoot yelled.

Frank smiled as the thing switched its heading and went for those in the doorway. “When it gets to you shove it in a straight line toward me. Then drag Newell in and position him against the door, he’ll need a safe place to stay while we move on.”

“You’re going to leave me here? What if one of those crazy people comes back?” Newell asked.

“You know we can’t take you. With that leg, you’d slow us down and time is not a luxury right now. You’ll have your weapons, so if anything comes near you, just shoot it,” Frank reasoned.

Lightfoot grunted when the former maintenance man lunged at him. He grabbed it, forcing it back with effort. “One rather rancid smelling bomb detector coming your way, Monroe,” Lightfoot said in an amused voice.

Frank watched as his friend raised his leg and kicked the thing in the chest. It toppled backwards as it stumbled toward Frank. He caught it and did his best to ignore the odor of death coming off it. As Frank turned to face the exit, teeth gnashed against his armor and he pulled the head away from his chest. Short strands of hair came away, as did a patch of greasy looking skin, and several blackened teeth fell out, leaving a slimy trail along his arm.

With a knot in his stomach, he positioned the thing so it faced forward and provided momentum with a swift kick to its ass. With jerky movements, it ambled forward about six feet with no consequences. Frank ran after it and shoved again. He waited a few seconds and sighed when nothing happened once more.

This might just work after all , he thought.

“Alright, guys, bring in Newell and prop him in the corner by the door. Then follow after me, step exactly where I do.”

Frank listened as the others went to work securing their team member. Forty feet remained to the end of the room and he hoped his plan continued to work. At that moment, the thing made a wide turn to come back at him, a groan and grinding of teeth issued from it.

One wrong step and another blast rocked the room, large bits of the venting and water system fell from the ceiling. Frank sat on his ass waiting for his hearing to come back. He moved carefully as he turned to check on the others. The group was covered in a mess of ruptured organs, shredded flesh, and shattered bone. None seemed to be injured, and for the most part, they appeared more annoyed at the thick goop coating their masks and weapons, than the situation they were facing.

Barely half way across, Frank tried to come up with another idea to get them from point A to point B without dying. While he listened to Carson bitch about scraping something off his gun, and Lightfoot trying to assure Newell everything would be fine, the lights flickered and went out.

“Are you kidding me? If I didn’t know better I’d say someone was screwing with us,” Carson’s voice echoed the thoughts of the others.

Frank wondered the same thing. Since he’d received the phone call starting this mission, things seemed to be going wrong. He focused on his breathing, and tried not to think about the narrow corridor or the levels above him, or the thousands of tons of dirt. He’d never done well in confined places, part of the reason he left most of the onsite work to someone else. He felt down the length of his SCAR with his fingers to flip on his flashlight, and screamed when two white eyes, half a nose, and a skeletal head greeted him. “Christ, where did this one come from?”

“You okay, boss?” Lightfoot asked.

“Fine, one of these damn things caught me by surprise.”

Frank put his hands on its shoulders and held it away. Though it struggled to get at Frank, it lacked the strength to do much. As it snapped at him, Frank refused to use his gun. This was his last chance to get them out of there. He felt a tug on his foot and knew there was a second one. They must have been in the ducts working and were freed by the explosions.

Frank fought with the one climbing his body and realized the clothes it wore resembled more of a uniform than worker’s overalls. A quick look also revealed armor and a holster. Frank knew it could be one of the guards from a different floor, but the fact they lacked an insignia led him to think they worked for someone else, someone who might be messing with them.

Whoever was behind it would send more than two, more like six or seven. Perhaps have them split into two teams. He sighed as things got far more complicated and kicked the side of the thing on him in frustration.

“Guys, be on the watch. We have guests and I could use some damn help!” Frank yelled, and then saw several beams focus on his position.

“We’re like three feet behind you, chill out, I got this one,” Carson said in a mocking voice.