Suzanne Robb - Contaminated - A Zombie Survival Novel

Arthur noted it was male on top, but goat legs had replaced the bottom portion. He thought of the mythical creature Pan. Aside from an attempt to bring back ancient mythology, he saw no reason for any of this.

“I remember reading an article in a journal about meshing humans with other species to see which ones blended together the best. Sounded like it was far from actual human trials,” Arthur said, “what I don’t get is why they came back. They’re dead, so how the hell did they inhale anything?”

Smith looked at him with a horrified expression. She ran to one of the back walls and read dials and knobs that meant nothing to him. As she did, his heart almost stopped when he realized whatever the security measure was on this floor, it hadn’t kicked in, unless it was dropping giant water balloons on them, which he doubted.

“They weren’t dead; they were in a state of suspended animation. According to the notes on the files, they were put into this condition seconds prior to death. They’ve been feeding them a solution mixed with oxygen from here.” Smith turned with unfocused eyes.

“Okay, that’s horrible, but it certainly explains how they came back so quickly, and supports the airborne contaminant theory, so now let’s get out of here.” He grabbed Smith and dragged her a few feet before she yanked her arm away.

“I can’t leave them like this, it’s inhumane.” Smith fired her weapon at the rows of hanging bodies.

“Are you insane? Do you want to die?” Arthur yelled.

“I have no intention of dying, but if it were you in one of these bags, would you want to be left like this?” Smith started firing, not waiting for a response.

Arthur yelled at her to aim for the head at least, so they weren’t releasing them from one hell, only to unleash a whole new one on themselves. She didn’t hear him, but after the third warning she did her best. Doing a quick count, he realized there were well over a hundred bodies, and more bags still hanging.

He squatted as he took aim and blew the heads off the ones Smith missed. His ears rang and he needed to stop every few minutes to reload his weapon. When Smith’s magazine emptied, she tossed the weapon down and used the Walther P99 until Arthur handed it back to her, newly loaded. He didn’t know when their positions reversed, but for the moment, she was kicking ass, so he went with it.

The Sig worked like a charm and he decided not to think about how desensitized he’d become to shooting someone in the head and turning a blind eye to the gore and bone bits flying in every direction. Or how a well-placed bullet ended up with the skull erupting in a shower of dark colored brain matter.

One especially nasty shot got one of the hybrids in the teeth. Arthur watched as the lower jaw was knocked loose, but not free. A gaping hole in the center of its face let a tongue slither its way out as if locating them like a snake would.

One look at their white water logged eyes and he knew without a doubt that their vision had to be close to zero. His theory about their smell attracting seemed to cement further. Whatever it was, he didn’t care. They were gaining ground, and he knew some sort of horrible security measure would kick in soon unless the moved their asses.

Smith yelled, “I need more ammo, dammit.”

Arthur struggled with the magazine in the Sig and had to use his Baby Eagle to take out one of the former bags of meat four feet away from them. The things might not move fast, but when in a horde, it didn’t matter. They could overcome you in seconds.

“Great, I’ll reload it myself,” Smith whined.

“Don’t get pissy with me. You’re the one who decided to free the damn things, and your aim sucks long range,” Arthur yelled.

No response came his way and he glanced over as he let the empty Baby Eagle magazine slip out as he fumbled around for another. Smith was holding the patch he’d taken off of her husband. Tears slid out of her eyes and her hands shook.

Arthur took out three hybrids; one was harder than it should have been due to the metal plate stapled to the top of its head. More were coming and he didn’t have time to be empathetic to what she was feeling. He should have tossed the patch, but he thought she might want it later.

“Hey, you need to keep it together. Look around, they’re going to gain on us in less than a minute.” A bullet shattered a woman’s face. “Please, I need your help,” Arthur begged.

“You should’ve had the balls to tell me.” With that, Smith slammed a magazine into her gun and sprayed the oncoming masses.

Arthur thought they might make it out of here after all, until he noticed the ceiling seemed lower. All the gunfire left his ears numb with a ringing sensation, but he felt it in the ground. Some sort of mechanism was at work lowering the ceiling.

“Crap, Smith, we gotta move. The ceiling’s going to crush us.”

Arthur picked up the bags and cringed at the lack of ammunition they had left. He yanked Smith by the back of her suit, using his strength when she refused.

“Leave me here, the only reason I kept going was the hope he was ahead of us, waiting for me,” she cried.

“Did he love you?”

The question had the intended effect and caused her to lose her balance as she tried to look indignant. He used the momentum and forced her to the exit.

“If he loved you, then he wouldn’t want you to die, not like this,” Arthur continued.

They needed to bend after a bit, and behind them, the sound of gushing water could be heard as bags burst and pipes broke. A collection of liquid, blood, gore, bone, and organs sloshed around their feet. He glanced back and saw the things being compacted, no sense of self-preservation as they were slowly compressed by the hydraulics lowering the ceiling.

Arthur fell to his knees, Smith followed suit. Arthur tried not to think about what they were wading through. As soon as the door came into sight, he reached up and turned the knob pushing at the same time. Smith went first and Arthur’s foot was caught. He twisted and turned until it came loose. His ankle looked like ground beef, and he worried about the contaminated fluids soaking into his flesh.

Smith pulled the first aid kit out and threw it at him as she made her way up to the next level.

“Good luck, Dr. Covington.” And she was gone.

Arthur pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and doused his ankle with the contents, squeezed an entire tube of anti-bacterial ointment onto it, then wrapped it in gauze. He fell back on the floor to try to detect if he felt anything strange in his lower extremities. His hands trembled, heart pounded, and his mouth was as dry as the Sahara, but he chalked that up to terror and the adrenaline rush.

He waited a few more minutes before condensing his two backpacks into one. He made sure to keep the vial, flash drives, and rock samples, as well as other tidbits he’d collected. He was down to four magazines for the Sig, two for the Baby Eagle, and three for the FNP9 he’d grabbed.

He pulled out his map and noticed Level 9 didn’t have a designation. Crap, he thought, as he got to his feet. Smith had no idea what she was heading into. For that matter, neither did he, but he’d learned from experience that floors with no designation were likely scary places.

Frank glanced to Selena. “You know how to use that?” He indicated the gun she held.

She nodded. “Point and shoot, right? Not that hard.”

“Right, then you won’t mind releasing the safety?” he asked.

She fumbled for a second or two, but did as asked and smiled at him when it clicked. He resisted the urge to grin back, facing forward instead. Level 6, held the dormitories and showers floor; likely to be full of people and the remnants of poisonous gas; another of his favorites. At least this time, he knew what to expect.