Suzanne Robb - Contaminated - A Zombie Survival Novel

Frank counted them, five in total. They were rail thin as if the fat inside of them was leaking out, which would explain the ooze covering the floor. Frank kicked at the first one, hitting it in the head. It rocked back and took down three of the others. The one left standing didn’t seem fazed and continued forward with its rigid movements.

Lightfoot hopped over the rail, used his knife, and jammed it into the ears of two of the ones on the floor in quick precise movements. Frank leapt down the remaining few steps and used his blade on the one still standing. Something moved on the floor and Lightfoot was there a second later putting the fourth one out of its misery before it tried to take a chunk out of Frank’s boot.

“Let’s see what the inside looks like. Carson, Selena, you stay back.” Frank peered around the door, scared of what he would find, if they’d made it into the stairwell something was forcing them out, or there were a ton of them.

“Why do I have to babysit the chick?” Carson whined.

Frank turned with a glare.

Lightfoot joined him at the door. “There’s too many in there for us to take out. No corridor for them to bottleneck, a completely open space for them to wander and surround us.” Lightfoot wiped his knife on one of the nasties next to them.

“I know. The floor was designed that way. We knew a silo would feel confining so we created this place to offer some semblance of space,” Frank said.

He closed the door a bit, as one of them got too close for comfort. They needed to cross the floor. There was no maybe, no alternative; they had to do it. Problem was the things inside seemed unharmed for the most part, which made Frank wonder if the deterrent had been activated. Hell, his mind was so fried, he couldn’t even remember what it was.

Pounding his head against the wall reminded him that he wore a mask, and now he had a headache and was worried he’d put a microscopic crack in the face plate and was going to turn into one of those dead things.

He needed to think about something else. What the hell did he recommend for this level? Frank searched his mental collection of traps and thought about what would be idea for this floor. Then it hit him, flooding. They were right below all the plumbing for the showers and bathrooms. He figured it would be perfect now, so why not two years ago.

As he peered in, he knew they needed to find a way to keep the door propped open here, and the one on the other side. The stairwell they needed to use would fill eventually. He also needed to figure out a way to avoid being bitten by these things as they floated near them. Of course, this was all speculation. He might be wrong about the water, or unable to set it off, and worst-case scenario was he didn’t get to the other door before it locked and they all drowned. He wondered if they died would they come back as the nasties and spend the rest of their lives dying over and over again in a deep murky, watery grave. The thought sent his claustrophobia on high alert, so he forced himself to derail the panicked images in his head.

Frank explained their situation to the others and waited. It didn’t take long for Carson to speak out.

“First, why hasn’t the mechanism been triggered? Those things have been walking around since the alarm went off. Second, are you insane? You want us to flood out the lower area where we’re heading? You’ve--”

Frank ignored the rest of what Carson said. He was right about one thing. Why hadn’t the mechanism gone off yet? The damn floor hadn’t flooded for the same reasons the doors to the stairwell weren’t locked, and repelling cables were in one of the exterior missile bays. Whoever orchestrated this didn’t want to put their team in danger and flooding all the lower floors would be a disaster.

Confident he didn’t have to worry about drowning, Frank tackled the next problem. A room full of dead things. He glanced inside and decided they would need to create a barricade of sorts. A Ping-Pong table could be upended, and if they maneuvered it into the corner while someone provided cover fire, they might be able to stack something on the sides to keep them at bay.

Not the cleverest plan, and he foresaw many problems with it, but it was the best he could come up with in a limited amount of time. He explained to the others what he needed them to do and Lightfoot volunteered to provide cover fire. Selena offered to pull smaller pieces of furniture to flank the table.

Frank went in first, taking out five targets with precise shots to the head, and grabbed the table. It scraped like nails on a chalkboard as he dragged it to a cornered off section of the room. Lightfoot took out half a dozen of the nasties, and then helped Frank flip the table. Selena and Carson grabbed some stackable chairs and a cheap coffee table painted with wild flowers.

“Alright, Selena, you get behind us. Anything starts to go bad, you get in that staircase, got me?” He waited for her to nod before he looked away.

“Make the shots count. We need to conserve as much ammunition as possible.”

A man in a white apron came toward them with a spatula gripped in his hand. Frank fired a round and hit him in the cheek. The utensil fell as half the man’s face blew apart. A woman in shorts and a tank top made her way over and Lightfoot took her out with a well-aimed round to the nose. Another man, this one wearing a robe, ambled toward them. Carson fired and the sound of it echoed throughout the room.

“Boss, before you bitch at me, listen. We need them to come to us. We need to conserve ammo, so using this loud ass gun solves two problems. See, here they come, and I’ll have rounds left for my M4 and FMG.”

“Fine, just try not to deafen us, move to the side or something,” Frank said.

Frank tried not to look at the face of the people he gunned down, but a young woman made him pause. He remembered recruiting her from a promising career as a research scientist at some university. She’d talked to him about her plans to cure cancer and the grants she was being offered. Frank trumped them all. Sunset Inc. had deep pockets and wanted her. She was a rising star and now she was dead.

He wondered how many people were now dead because of him. Actually, he decided, they were dead because of Dr. Covington. That bastard caused all this to happen. Frank made a promise then and there the good doctor would pay. He didn’t know how or why, but that greasy haired scientist did something he shouldn’t have.

A thin layer of smoke wafted around the room. Bodies littered the floor and oozed liquids of all sorts onto the ground. Frank moved around the table and shoved the plastic chairs out of the way. He walked into the main area and looked around for movement. Nothing caught his attention. At least fifty bodies in various states of decay were sprawled out around him.

“Jesus, Frank, if this stuff got outside…” Selena didn’t finish the sentence, she didn’t need to.

“Let’s keep moving, we still have a ways to go.” Frank reached for the handle of the door and cried out in shock when it flew toward his face. Someone in a white suit and mask held a gun to his head.

“What the hell?” Frank said.

The man’s face registered shock as the gun lowered.

“Well, open it,” Smith said.

Arthur checked his Sig once more and blew out a breath, no more stalling. He turned the knob and pulled. In front of them was exactly what the map detailed, a boiler/back-up generator room.

Of all the levels they’d been on, Arthur found a small bit of irony in the fact this was the most poorly lit. They both turned on their flashlights at the same time, Smith following close behind him as he entered.

Something shuffled to their right and Smith fired blind hitting a pipe. A blast of hot water missed Arthur’s face by inches, and then trickled down to a stream.