Afflicted: Patient Zero Read online

  I don’t know why, especially with the undead clawing at the doors to get at us, but I want nothing more than to walk over there and rip Pete’s head off myself and kick it across the room. The man sure has a complex about him.

  My inner rage peaks and I am nearly in motion when I see A.J. pop up, his face already showing signs of the unknown pathogen and his eyes as black as night. I don’t even have time to say anything before he grabs Tony from behind and wraps his arms around his torso.

  Teeth bared, and looking like an untamed beast, A.J. digs into Tony’s neck and pulls away, tearing a massive chunk of flesh out. A severed artery sprays blood like a punctured soda can. Tony raises his arms in an attempt to shake A.J. off his back, firing his machine gun uncontrollably and sending a spray of bullets towards us.

  I manage to hit the ground in time as the ordinance comes in hot, striking the grimy covered window behind me. Jagged pieces of glass fly in every direction and hit the ground all around us. Man, I want out of here now!

  “Deacon, hurry your ass up!” I yell, getting off the ground and shaking the debris free from my back. Alice is on the ground next to me, her hands still covering the top of her head. I help her to her feet as Deacon stumbles out of the office in a panic. He has the blueprint folded in no particular way, looking like he finally gave up and just smashed it together.

  The now undead A.J. has stripped Tony of his life and feasted upon his blood-soaked flesh. He looks in our general direction with those black eyes. Tony’s body is limp and his gun lays on the ground among the pooled blood that rests beneath his feet.

  “You son of a bitch, I didn’t like your sorry ass anyways.” Pete slams the butt of his machine gun into A.J.’s face, knocking him backwards and sending his arms free from his victim. Tony falls to the floor like a lump of coal, allowing Pete to take aim and fire.

  The barrage of slugs cut through A.J. like butter, but do little to slow him down. Most of his chest and stomach region have been dug into and clawed open, exposing portions of his rib cage and organs that are on the verge of falling out.

  Cindy lets out a bloodcurdling yell that sends my head searching for the cause of the commotion. I didn’t realize what had happened with all the chaos, but Deacon’s saddened expression causes me to take pause and look in his direction.

  “Oh God, Cindy,” Deacon mutters. She caught one of the stray bullets from Tony’s machine gun in the middle of her head, staining her light blonde hair dark red. At least it was quick and painless and much better than being feasted upon by the infected and turning into a soulless demon.

  “Come on, Casey,” Deacon says in a soft and gentle tone. “You have to let her go.”

  “There’s nothing we can do for her now. She’s hopefully in a much better place,” I say plainly. “We have to move now though.”

  Casey keeps kneeling next to Cindy, her wavy brunette hair spread all over her chest, crying uncontrollably. She holds onto the body and doesn’t let go.

  I swivel my head back towards Pete, watching as A.J. marches forward, driven only by the instinct and hunger for human flesh.

  “Damn boy, why won’t you die already?” Pete yells, placing two rounds into A.J.’s decaying forehead.

  A.J. stiffens, then falls lifeless to the ground. Pete walks over to Tony and places the muzzle of his rifle just above his head, popping off two rounds which crack his head open like a coconut.

  “There, loose ends tied up,” Pete says flatly.

  The undead keep pressing against the double gray doors, peeking through the many bullets holes that have Swiss-cheesed the metal barriers. The lock has been shot to shit and the handles are on their last leg. I can sense the things’ hunger by their screeches, and they eye me as if their next meal lays beyond the doors. It is an uneasy feeling that I don’t want to become a reality. No more messing around. It’s time to leave.

  “Listen, Casey, I am sorry about your friend, but if we don’t get moving now, you’ll be joining her.” I hear the metal handles give way even more. “So get your ass up now or I will leave you here!”

  She must have taken me seriously or something, as she lifts her head off the dead body and gets to her feet. She doesn’t even look my way. Alice grabs her and holds her close. Deacon takes point and the ladies follow close behind, heading to the only other exit out of there.

  I grab Tony’s gun from the ground, which unfortunately he doesn’t require anymore. I don’t have a pot to piss in at the moment and am banking that there may be a few shots left in the weapon. Something is better than nothing.

  Pete flies by me and keeps running as the handles to the door pop loose and the sound of metal being torn apart reverberates in my ears. I turn tail, running away from the swarms of undead that are nearly through the doors. I hear the handles and chain hit the ground and the dead flooding into the room, moaning and screeching loudly as they round the corner.

  I glance over my shoulder and see a mixture of slow and fast paced dead, each disgusting and disfigured in their own unique way. Their mutilated arms, covered in blood and other nasty fluids, reach out for me. The slow ones amble along as best they can while the Olympic sprinters break from the pack, a vile concoction foaming from their dried out and torn lips.

  I can feel them gaining on me with every step I take, their limbs nearly caressing my tasty flesh. Up head, the others rush out of this tomb and into a hopefully better place, Alice screaming at me to move faster and pointing worriedly. Yeah, I know what’s behind me.

  I dig deeper and turn on the after burners—my legs feeling like they’re on fire. Pete pushes Alice out of the way and raises his gun, training it on what looks like my head.

  That mother . . .

  I figure I’m as good as dead, him shooting me in the head and giving the hungry masses something to deter their raging appetite. If I’m going down, then that worthless pile of horse excrement is going with me.

  Pete looks me dead in the eye and squeezes the trigger, rattling off a single round before I can even get my gun up. It’s like time stands still and I am caught in the middle of a time loop, watching the bullet create ripples in the air as it locks onto my skull.

  I’ll see you in hell, you bastard!

  Bracing for the impact that will hopefully kill me on contact and not let me feel anything afterwards, the bullet grazes the left side of my head, digging out a fraction of the skin as it moves past me.

  “Hurry up, damn it!” Pete yells as the ordinance strikes a flesh-eater right in the middle of its bloody, mangled skull. It bellows as the bullet blows out the back of its head then fell falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

  I dive into the room and hit the concrete hard, sliding on my side as Deacon and Alice push the thick metal door closed and lock it.

  “I bet you thought I was going to blow your brains out and leave you out there for those bastards, huh?” Pete asks, shouldering his rifle and sticking out his hand. “I thought about it, but figured it would be better to keep your annoying ass around a little longer since my other two boys are now dead.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.” I grab his hand and get off the ground. The mass of undead begin their endless bashing at the metal barrier, moaning and screeching loudly with a crazed tone. I hope this door is able to hold up better than the last.

  “So, what do we do now?” Alice asks over the insistent thrashing at the door.

  6

  “I’ve got the blueprints to the facility. We are going to try to work our way through it and out the exit,” Deacon replies. “Mike is going to lead the way.”

  “Out the exit . . . Whose brilliant idea is that?” Pete asks snidely. “I want out of here as much as you do, but does anyone here have the foggiest idea if those dead walkers are roaming around out there?”

  “No we don’t, but we can’t stay in here much longer either,” Deacon snaps back. “Eventually, our luck is going to run out, and I would rather try to get the hell out
of here than wait for one of those things to gnaw on me.”

  The tension in the room is getting heated to a point where tempers and the size of a man’s manhood is going to come into question, bringing an already intense situation to an explosive powder keg level.

  “You’re both right. We can’t just walk through the exit and hope for the best, but we sure as hell can’t stay here anymore playing tag with those things.”

  “So, what the hell do you suggest we do, fearless leader?” Pete asks, his right hand gripping the strap to his rifle and a look of frustration smearing his face.

  “Running through the halls, I noticed some cameras placed here and there. So there should be some sort of video or surveillance room showing a landscape of the facility and hopefully the outside perimeter as well,” I reply, hearing the crumpled up blueprint rustle under Deacon’s shirt.

  “That is a big hope you’re going on, buddy,” Pete says. “This place looks like it’s been abandoned for God knows how long, and even if there is some sort of video surveillance room, how do you know the cameras are even working?”

  “I don’t, but considering all our other options seem to be lacking, I think this is going to be the best idea,” I say to the group and more so to Pete. “But hey, if you don’t care for it, you can take your chances on your own. I’ll show you the way out of here and you can be on your way.”

  To be honest, I have no idea how I became the so called “leader” of this rag tag bunch. I was just trying to find a safe haven for a little bit before finding my own way out of here. The last thing I wanted was to have a bunch of strangers and dead weight slowing me down. I’ve got the layout of this facility mapped out inside my head and I can still work my way to the security room on my own. But, as always, I hear the overpowering voice of my Becky telling me to do the right thing. I love her more than anything, but sometimes I wish she would just shut the hell up.

  “I’ll stick with you for now, you’ll probably need me after you screw up and nearly get us killed,” Pete says.

  “Whatever . . . suit yourself,” I say while having visions of Pete being ripped limb from limb by one of those things. Horrible of me? Very much so, but I really can’t stand the bastard.

  “How are we doing on ammo?” I ask, popping the clip from the machine gun I scooped up earlier.

  “I got about half a mag left and one full cartridge ready to rock ‘n’ roll. That is if we don’t run into a gang of them along the way,” Pete replies, placing the half used mag back into his rifle.

  “I’m sitting low on the Beretta,” Deacon adds.

  “And I’m nearly up a creek without a paddle.” I slap the last little bit of salvation back into the equalizer in my hands. “Deacon will take point, Pete can hang in the middle, and I’ll bring up the rear. Is everyone okay with that?”

  Everyone nods their heads in agreement; even the pain in my ass, Pete, thinks it’s a good idea. If he didn’t agree, he sure didn’t let on. Thank God.

  Standing there while the others get into a tight single line formation, I instantly feel my world rocked and my vision blurs a bit. My equilibrium is thrown hard to the left, and a precise sharp shooting pain spreads through my temples. Worst possible time to get a freaking migraine! I use to get them many years back, but had been free from their painful grasp for some time now. Christ, when it rains it pours.

  I try to shake it off and keep the rest of the group oblivious to my discomfort, figuring Pete might get a little trigger happy and want to put me down like Old Yeller.

  Alice turns around, giving me a worrisome stare, even though she doesn’t say anything. She must have picked up on my inner turmoil.

  I cough a couple times and nod my head, sending her attention back to the dangerous task at hand. I’m not feeling worth a damn at this point, and would give anything to plop my ass down to regain my thoughts. I don’t know what is going on, but the odd sensation coursing through my body now is so foreign that I’m unsure what to think.

  The tattered blueprint is wadded back up and placed in Deacon’s back pant pocket. His Berretta is clutched tightly in his right hand as he moves towards the door that leads into the corridor. Casey keeps tight to Deacon’s side and Pete shoulders his rifle, keeping his finger over the trigger as we all move together. The lights in the small room flicker on and off, creating a low buzzing noise that meshed with the dead beating at the door.

  As I blink and open my eyes widely, my left eye becomes blurry and itches uncontrollably, like a bug is festering deep inside the cornea. It makes it hard to see clearly what is happening ahead or even around me. I don’t mind going out fighting, but I don’t want to die because I can’t see it coming. Some might not mind that, but I do.

  Looking through the thick haze that is now my left eye, I watch the half faded outline and half solid shape of Deacon placing the side of his head to the door that leads out of the room. Still as a corpse, he stands for a few seconds, hopefully hearing the sweet silence of nothing. Although, that has backfired before.

  “What do you hear, old man?” Pete asks, getting a sharp wave of Deacon’s hand indicating he should shut up. “Maybe someone who isn’t a trillion years old should take a listen before we go strolling out there.”

  Deacon removes his head from the door and steps off to the right, his Berretta clutched tightly. It’s go time, I can’t see for shit, and my body is falling apart. Awesome! I’m ready, even if my body isn’t up to par.

  7

  Glancing back at us with his back against the wall, Deacon grabs the loose knob and slowly turns it to the right. It squeaks and pops loudly, creating a boisterous noise amidst the silence. Rotating the knob all the way down, Deacon cracks the door and lets his Berretta take point.

  The hinges must be thirsty for some WD-40, creaking as Deacon peers out into the partly lit corridor that is filled with crates and other miscellaneous crap engulfed by the darkness. It’s hard for him to make anything out from his vantage point, opening the door a little wider and cautiously stepping out into the unfamiliar space.

  I glance at the door holding back the tidal wave of claws and teeth, checking to make sure it’s still holding. It gave some, but held firm, for the moment anyways.

  Deacon disappears from our sight briefly, leaving a loom of doubt in the air of what discoveries he’s making. Is the hall deserted of anything with teeth and a raging appetite or is he being devoured by the infected? Crazy shit like that runs rampant through my mind in the course of a few seconds, but stops suddenly when a jarring noise sends everyone on their toes.

  “What the hell was that?” Pete asks alarmed, training his weapon at the partially lit door. I follow suit. Better to be safe than sorry. “I hope that old bastard didn’t bite it. He has the damn blueprint.”

  “Shut up, you insensitive asshole!” Casey snaps, looking back at Pete with the evil eye. She doesn’t want to lose anyone else. That is going to be a stretch.

  “What, all I’m saying is it would suck if he was being torn apart right now and the blueprint got destroyed, that’s all.”

  Another jarring noise sounds, like something is falling or being tossed around out in the corridor. No moans of any kind are heard and Deacon doesn’t yell out in a panic or as if he is being eaten alive.

  “Deacon, everything all right out there?” My voice cracks a little and gives wind that I’m not one hundred percent, but no one seems to care at the moment. Hell, to a certain degree I don’t either. I just don’t want a raging, decayed body to come busting through the door.

  “Deacon, you all right—”

  The door flies open suddenly, and Deacon looks panicked, his face flushed and his Berretta shaking in his hand.

  “Christ man, what the hell is wrong with you . . . coming in here like that. We could have blown your freaking head off!” Pete bellows, looking as if he has shit himself.

  I thought I smelt something fowl.

  “You okay?” I ask, my heart
beating like a damn snare drum.

  “Yeah, some damn rats came shooting out from underneath some empty crates I was looking around and scared the holy hell out of me,” Deacon says, trying to reel in some much needed air. “I hate those damn things.”

  “Well, I hope all the racket you were causing didn’t alarm those creatures.” Pete lowers his weapon. “Might as well get a bullhorn and tell them to come and get it!”

  “Well, at least he had the balls to go out there and look, so why don’t you back off, all right?” Alice says sharply said, sending Pete’s head swiveling around. If looks could kill then Pete would have fallen over dead where he stood.

  “Everyone calm down,” I say in a commanding tone. If the infected don’t do Pete in, then someone with a damn heartbeat will. “So, what’s it looking like out there?”

  “Looks clear as far as I can tell. It’s pretty dark and cluttered in both directions, but I didn’t notice any sort of movement.”

  “What if they’re out there just waiting for something to come along,” Pete chimes in. “There could be dozens of them we can’t see.”

  “If you want to stay here and do whatever, then that is your bit. We are getting the hell out of here,” I say matter-of-factly. “So, either man up or shut up!”

  I am tired of the incessant whining by the grown man with the attitude of a little kid. We face an insurmountable task ahead and don’t need to complicate things any more with trivial and counterproductive jargon. “Deacon, lead the way.”

  Deacon gives a quick nod and faces the blackness of the corridor with his Berretta trained straight ahead. Casey follows close and steps in sync with Deacon, shadowing his every move as the two of them enter the corridor. I guess Pete, or at least I hope he did, got the hint and shut up. He moves forward and catches up with Casey.

  As he enters the silent and eerie hall, his weapon cuts from side to side, looking for anything that poses a possible threat.