Dead Hunger IV: Evolution (50 page)

“Jimmy!  Nikki!” shouted Flex,
finally shaking off the effects of his encounter with the behemoth rotter, and leading t
he group
quickly down
the corridor
. 
Five shafts of light  from their headlamps shone
all around them, snaking up and down the walls and along the floor. 

Silence greeted them.  On the right were
eight built-in desks
with chairs,
partitioned on the sides and
separated
from the opposite, identical desk
by
thick
glass.  Telephone handsets were mounted on the walls beside the seating areas on both sides.

West was behind Flex, and then the two boys.  Waylon Bell brought up the rear. 

From the corner of his eye, Flex saw movement on the other side of the glass.  He involuntarily spun left and dropped to one knee, his gun raised.

The zombie was on the
contained side of the divided building
, a prisoner who had likely been seeing a visitor.  That visitor may have been any of the completely devoured bodies near the chairs they had just passed.

Flex heard Eddie cry out in surprise, and fire his gun.

“No!” shouted Flex in reaction, but it was too late. 
The round ricocheted off the glass and hit metal twice more before it fell silent.

“Eddie!” he shouted.  “It’s bulletproof glass, buddy!  It can’t hurt you!”

“And that bullet could have
h
it any one of us,” said West.

“Sorry, guys,” said Ian.  “Eddie just got scared.”

“I wasn’t
scared
, I was surprised,” said Eddie.  “Everyone all right?”

All answered in the affirmative.

The rotter on the other side of the glass walked with them, clawing and biting at the transparent wall made of an invisible material that it no longer comprehended in death.

“Keep moving,” said Flex.  “Hey, I think that’s a guard up there.”

The clothing was different, the shoes were black and
shiny, and the body was intact.  This had been a guard that turned.  Flex knelt down beside it and double-checked the head wound.

It looked well-placed.  He nudged it with his Daewoo.

Nothing.  It was dead. 

It leaned against the painted, block wall, and Flex pushed it to its left and it slid away.

The smell of dried shit and decay blasted his nostrils.  Flex gagged, then choked it back.

“Never get used to this fuckin’ smell,” he said, checking the clips on the dead guard’s belt.

“Shit,” said Flex.

“Nothin’?” asked
Bell
.

Flex patted the corpse’s pockets.  “There’s something in here, and it
feels
like keys.”

He put his gun on the floor and pulled the pocket out, sliding his other hand inside.  It
wasn’t
tight, because the body had
deteriorated substantially
since its final death
, shriveling within its clothes
.

Flex withdrew a ring of
keys and
turned to the others
, smiling
. 
He
held them up.
 
“
First time’s a charm
, but this creates another problem.”

“What’s that?” asked West.

“Well, when we tell this story, p
eople will say this was too easy. 
Anyway, h
ang onto
those keys, Waylon
. 
Now we can move.”

“Gotcha,” said
Bell

“Ian, you’re a little quiet,” said West.  “You doing okay?”

“I’m good,” said Ian.  “Just … staying focused, sir.”

“You do that,” said West.

“Feel that door before you open it,” said Eddie.  “I’ve seen that in movies.  In case there’s fire on the other side.”

“Good idea,” said Flex, placing his palm on the metal door at the end of the corridor.  It was cool.

He put his ear to it and listened. 
Nothing
.

Before opening the door,
Flex
whispered
, “
Everyone be ready.”

He reached for the doorknob and pressed down.

It turned.

Flex looked at West and
Bell
, blinded momentarily by the lights that shone off their foreheads.  He averted his eyes and said, “This door is unlocked.  The door we came through was, too.  This could mean Ji
mmy and Nikki found this way inside
.”

“I hope so,” said Eddie.  “What are we waiting for?”

“Guns ready, and don’t shoot me,” said Flex, pushing the door open.

This door led into a
large room; a
reception area where visitors signed in and waited before seeing their incarcerated friend, client or family member. 
There was an administrative area with several desks, file cabinets, computers, shredders, and the other usual office suspects.  The front part of the room, separated only by a standing-height counter, was lined with several chairs against the wall.

They had not all
yet made it into the
new space when the smoke hit them and they saw the pink glow of eye vapor
moving in the back of the room
.  The crimson gas was
accompanied by the low moans, growls and snarling of the starving rotters
that everyone in Concord – and likely the world –
had come to fear and respect in their single-mindedness. 

All headlamps trained on them at the same time.  Seven.  No, scratch that.  Ten of them
.  Six men, two with sparse, gray hair, and two younger females with an
obvious
difference: 
The
ir
eyes shone a bright red. 

One moved along the left wall, then sank from sight.  The other had broken right, and disappeared the same way.

Flex felt a chill, and not just from the cold,
New Hampshire
night in a prison made of concrete
. 
These creatures were the smart ones; the women with whom Hemp had become so concerned. 
Just from their limited exposure to
them,
Flex knew
they rested, they strategized, and they recognized
and avoided
danger.

Worse, they also
had some sort of control over
the others who were not like them
.  They were also
apparently not f
ooled by WAT-6
, and clearly
had the
intelligence
to conceal themselves when threatened.

“Listen up,” said Flex, raising his hand.  Everyone turned their eyes to him
.  “We’ve got
some of
the smart ones in here and
the rest of
‘em
have the knockout vapor,
so
if
you’re not on WAT-6,
stay back until you know they’re dead.”

When everyone turned back to the room, their headlamps criss-crossing the walls and furnishings, the creatures were gone.

 
Flex was dumbfounded.  From the
dead
silence of his group,
it was apparent
they all were.  Beyond the counter was just
furniture and walls.

“Where the hell did they go?” asked
Bell
.  “We looked
away
for a second!”

It was true.  When Flex had gotten their attention, the rotters had been staggering toward them from the center of the room.  Now they
appeared to be
gone.

Not gone, thought Flex.  Crawling, by order of the
red-eyed
management
.

“Back up!” shouted Flex.  “Get to the front of the room and stand on
one of the chairs, now!”

The waiting room was lined with
low-backed armchairs
, so each of the five took positions standing
on
them, their backs pressed against the wall, their guns held out.

Flex noticed that Ian struggle
d
while mounting his chair.  The kid was probably wiped out.

They trained their headlamps on the room
stretching
out fo
r thirty feet in front of them.  There were
several
hiding places
in which
a determined zombie looking to wage a stealth attack
could conceal itself
.

“Shh,” said Flex.  “Listen.”

The wind howled in the distance, whistling through the tall grass and the heavy, chain link fencing
outside
.
  With the lack of other ambient noise, it was a constant sound, like traffic on a distant freeway.

But inside
the room, just feet away, they heard
ever so faintly, the low sound of feet sliding along linoleum.

The hidden monsters
advanced.  The two females
appeared suddenly on the west and east side of the room and
leapt – yes –
leapt
over the top of the counter, landing
on the other side
with agility, their legs already pumping as they hit the surface of the floor. 

Flex was taken
by surprise
.  The others appeared
suddenly
, standing upright again on
the forward
side of the counter, and moving
toward them.  They were
not as fast as the two red-eyed speedsters, but
far
faster than he had seen
them move before
.

“Fire!” shouted Flex, and his thumb quickly flipped his switch from single-shot mode to full automatic.

By the time he brought the gun up to shoot, the fast female was within three feet
of him
.

He stitched across her head, blowing the cap of her skull away.  The body staggered forw
ard and crumpled to the floor, leaking its version of blood, a bile-tinged, black-red fluid that stank beyond description
.
  The smell was so pungent that Flex felt as though it burned the hairs in his nostrils, but he refused to breath
e
it into his open mouth.
 

Flex forced his eyes away. 
He’d lost track of the other one.  West,
Bell
and Eddie were firing down the middle,
taking
out several of the others, but in the blind shooting, he wasn’t certain how accurate their shots were
;
if it would be safe to step betwe
en the growing pile of bodies
for fear they were still capable of scratching and biting
.

Standing on the chair closest to the door, stood Ian.  He
wasn’t shooting
his weapon or even holding it up
.  His gun hung by his side, and he held his chest with one hand.

“Ian!” shouted Flex.  “Protect yourself!”

“I’m shot,” he said, his voice weak.
  “From earlier.”

Flex wasn’t sure he heard the words clearly.  It had sounded like Ian said he was shot. 
His mind whirled.  Eddied had fired into the bulletproof glass earlier.  Did the bullet pass through Ian’s body before ricocheting through the rest of the room?

He needed to get to the boy.

As Flex checked the ground to find a path through the bodies that may or may not still be dangerous, he looked up
in horror
to see t
he other red-eyed female
rise
up like a specter beside
Ian
, as if out of nowhere.

Did she know he was vulnerable?  Just how much could this new breed absorb from a situation?  From their  observations.

Flex
jerked his weapon up, but
could not shoot
.  The creature
was just inches away from
Ian
, and closing the gap fast. 

He could only watch helplessly as her
mouth opened wide and her teeth
tore into
Ian’s exposed
neck
with frightening speed
and ferocity
.

Blood gushed from his carotid artery as the creature’s hands clutched his shirt and yanked him from the chair
, down
onto the floor.  Like a
n entire
pack of dogs all rolled into one
animal
, it dug in and feasted
with satisfied growls
.