Necropolis (2 page)

Chapter 03

–
Survivors
–

The creature was human, or it had been, once.

An awful reek emanated from it, filling the security office. Greg beheld this visage of terror, eyes wide, hands shaking. The thing appeared to have been a technician. The torn, bloodied uniform and tool belt were both testaments to this fact. Now...it was something much, much different. He appeared to have been a young male, but looked as if a powerful decay set in, eating away at his flesh, leaving it ruined, mottled, and gray. Blackened veins pressed against ashen flesh, and the eyes flooded with congealed blood, making them black and without pupils.

The thing took a step into the room, reaching for Greg. He squeezed the trigger without thinking. The bullet punched through the thing's eye and exited out the back of its skull in a plume of black gore. It stumbled backwards, crashing back out into the corridor it had emerged from. It jerked violently for a few seconds before becoming still. Greg coughed as the vicious stench hit him harder than before.

He felt the need to vomit and desperately wanted to be back outside. Stepping quickly over the not so fresh corpse, Greg came into the corridor. He hurried to the end and hit the access button. It opened and he was hit by a fresh breeze of chilled, midnight air. He stumbled back out into the rain, collapsing to his knees, nearly dropping the pistol. His stomach churned and twitched. Nothing but dry heaves, his stomach was still empty. He coughed and spat several times, trying to clear his mouth and stop seeing the…whatever it had been.

When he looked up, he noticed headlights coming at him from the darkness. He shot to his feet, his encounter with the, the–he had to admit it–with the zombie, was overshadowed by this new development.

He limped toward the lights, gun at ready. He had no idea what to expect. Too many unknowns happened here, too many surprises. A crash? Okay. A necropolis of an infirmary? Getting weirder, sure, but...a fucking
zombie
?

The vehicle came to a sudden halt near the infirmary.

“Who goes there?” Greg called out.

He squinted in the harsh glare of the headlights, trying to discern how many people were in the vehicle, an all-terrain jeep. The engine died, but the headlights remained on. Someone climbed out the driver's side.

“Don't move!” a female voice called back.

The light glaring at him broke as someone came around the front of the car. She held a pistol, aimed in his direction. He kept his own piece pointed at her. The woman stopped a few feet away, hesitating.

“Who are you?” There was a sense of urgency in her voice. She tossed a quick glance back at the vehicle.

Greg kept his finger on the trigger. “Greg Bishop.”

This woman had an air of desperation about her, as if she might start firing off rounds at the drop of a hat. He recognized the uniform she wore as a variation of the technician's outfit on the zombie he'd just killed.

“
Fuck it.” She lowered her pistol. “I don't have time for this shit. I need help. Now. Come on, hurry.”

She turned and hurried back to the jeep. Greg hesitated for a moment, then mentally shrugged and lowered his pistol. He approached the vehicle. The woman opened the back door, leaned in, and struggled with something. He came around and peered within, spying an unconscious man in the back. He was bleeding from a wound on his arm.

“Come on.”

The woman noticed him just standing there. He jerked at her voice, shoved the pistol down the back of his pants, and moved forward to help. After everything else? Sure, why not? Together, the pair of them managed to get the unconscious man out of the back.

“Where's your infirmary?” She looked around.

“
Over there, but it's not clean.”

“
At this point, I'm beyond giving a shit.”

They carried the man toward the infirmary. Greg hit the access button with his elbow and screamed. He jerked backwards, losing his grip on the body, as another zombie lurched out of the open doorway.

He heard the woman curse while he fumbled for his pistol. There was a brief thump as she dropped her friend. A shot rang out and he glanced over, the woman held her own piece like a professional, barrel still smoking. The zombie dropped to the ground, twitching. They waited a few more seconds in their prone position, Greg on the cold, wet ground, the woman standing rigid and unyielding, pistol pointed at the door. They both waited in rain-drenched silence, tense as thick on the air as the moisture.

When nothing came, she holstered her pistol and cursed sharply, staring down at her friend. She quickly knelt and grabbed him by the armpits. Greg pulled himself to his feet. Now his ass and his back hurt, too. He managed to get a good grip on the man’s boots and they carried him inside, maneuvering him through the doorway.

“What happened to the power?” the woman asked in a hushed voice as they laid the body down on an examination table.

“
I...I don't know.”

She looked up at him, as if judging something, then grabbed her pistol and flicked the flashlight on.

“Help me find a bone saw.” She headed deeper into the infirmary. Greg lingered.

“
A
what
?”

“
A goddamned
bone saw
.”

Greg sighed and pulled out his own pistol, using the flashlight to help in their search. The pair moved without speaking for several moments. Something metallic made a scraping noise, followed by a victorious 'ah
ha
'. Greg watched the woman emerge from the darkness, her flashlight beam bobbing as she made her way back toward the examination table.

“
Hope this is battery powered...” she murmured, setting the portable bone saw and a small medical kit down next to the injured man.

Greg watched as she injected the unconscious man with two hypos, and then powered up the saw. His eyes widened as he realized what she was going to do.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“
What he asked me to,” she snapped.

The woman turned her attention back to the man on the table. She stared at him for a moment, and then brought the bone saw to life.

“Sorry, Tom...” she whispered, and then used it on his arm, just above the wound that Greg suddenly realized was a bite mark.

He watched in horror and sick fascination as she severed the limb, cutting through flesh, tendon, and bone. She turned off the saw, threw it aside, and grabbed something from the medical kit. She cracked it open and began pouring a powder across the stump that was gushing blood. Greg didn't know the substance's name, but recognized it as a clotting agent. Within seconds, the blood flow ceased. The woman took a deep breath and let it out, leaning against the table. She glanced over at Greg, as if just noticing him, again.

“I'm Kyra Mercer, by the way.” Greg blinked. Kyra managed a small laugh. “So, Greg...what happened to your outpost?”

“
I...well, I don't know. I'm not from here.”

The prospect of telling this woman he had no memory was daunting to say the least. He wasn't sure how, but he felt that, in some way, she might take advantage of him. Then again, she might not. She appeared to have trust issues with him, but she'd trusted him enough to help carry in her dying friend. He studied her in the dim light of their flashlights. Her eyes were chips of blue ice, wild and wide. Her hair, short and brunette, was pulled into a rough ponytail. She had pale skin and was nearly as tall as he was, her frame thin and wiry.

“Where are you from? Your uniform is local, but you seem to be missing some armor.”

He glanced down at his uniform, noting the emblem on his chest. He still hadn't been able to remember what it meant, but noted that it was different than the one on hers. He glanced back up at her uncertainly.

“You don't...you don't know what that uniform means, do you?”

Greg decided it was time to come clean and lay his cards on the table.

“I don't,” he admitted. “I woke up in a ship about an hour ago not far from here. Everyone else was dead, it crashed I think. I couldn't remember anything at all. I've picked things up, like I know how to use a gun and it feels familiar...I guessed that I might be a soldier or security guard, maybe.” He shrugged.

“
How did you remember your name?” Kyra eyed him with suspicion.

Greg went to tap his nametag, but when he touched torn cloth, he realized he’d left it behind in the ship.

“I had a nametag.”

Kyra twisted her lips in consideration, and then nodded. She turned to look back at her friend, still unconscious, who twitched every now and then. She frowned and pulled out more instruments from the medical kit.

“What are you doing?” Greg moved closer.

“
Checking his blood pressure and heart rate.”

He watched her work in silence. When she finished, she frowned at the results, and reached for her pistol.

“So...you have no idea what's going on around here, do you?” She didn’t look at him, instead opting to stare at her friend.

“
No, none.”

“
Do you have
any
memories?”

Greg struggled for several seconds and sighed.

“Nothing solid, just...I don't know, impressions, I guess. Like ghosts of memories. I mean, I know language, how to operate some equipment, how to work a gun, and I know what things are...just nothing specific to me.”

Kyra considered this in a long silence before responding, and then began painting a gruesome picture for Greg.

“Whatever it was...well, I'm not sure when or where it started. The first indication that something was wrong was when the radio went out. We didn't think anything of it at first...then the zombies started showing up. We didn't know how to react–well, some of us didn't. I did. I was the one to fire the first shot. I was at a small radar installation a ways north from here, there were about twenty of us. There was a big argument when we put down the last one, some people thought we were monsters, killing them...they didn't want to believe. When another one came around, we tried to capture it...

“
Fucker bit three of us before I had to shoot it in the head. And then, well-”

The man behind her began to stir.

Kyra brought her pistol to bear. Greg was familiar enough with zombies, something he didn't know
why
he remembered, but he did so firmly enough to know what might be coming next. They both watched with rapt attention while the unconscious man shifted on the table.

“
Tom? Can you hear me? Are you okay? Tom?”

The man, Tom, continued shifting around, and then his eyes snapped open. Black veins bled into his retinas. There was nothing human left in Tom’s gaze. Kyra leapt back, tracking his head with the pistol. She squeezed the trigger but the shot missed as he jerked up and stumbled onto uneven legs. He roared, spittle and blood flying on the air, and made a grab for Kyra.

Greg blasted off a round from his own piece and caught the inhuman thing in the neck. It staggered and fresh blood, not yet wholly corrupted, sprayed from the wound. Kyra regained her balance, leveled the sidearm, and fired. Half of Tom's skull tore away in the blast and he stood for another second, a violent seizure shaking him before he crashed back into the table, sending it and the medical supplies flying.

“
Shit,” Kyra snapped, staring at the mess. “I really thought I got here in time...”

Greg waited while she stood over the body, perhaps performing a mental eulogy. He wondered what Tom had been to Kyra, just a co-worker, a friend, or...more, maybe? He didn't think so, but his experience with Kyra Mercer so far seemed to indicate that she was tougher than he was. Then again, he might not be tough at all.

He couldn't remember.

“
So.” Kyra turned to face him. “The database in the jeep pegged this place for a communications relay, an important one in the area. Any idea what state it's in?”

“
Bad. Torn to shit.”

“
Well, I don't suppose you know anything about radio equipment, or-” she looked up at the dead lights above them. “-power stations?”

Greg shook his head. Kyra smirked.

“Guess you're in luck then, seeing as I'm a certified genius.”

Chapter 04

–
Power & Communications
–

Greg wasn't sure if Kyra was a genius, but she seemed both confident and competent. The pair made their way across the rainy, uneven ground toward the central hub of the camp: the communications array. Kyra went first, playing her flashlight across the dreary corridor. She eyed the fresh corpse and then stepped into the radio room.

“
God
damn
,” she whispered, staring at the ruined equipment.

She spent a few moments inspecting it, making unhappy noises while she did so. Greg kept watch, his back to her, mulling over the recent developments.

So it
was
zombies. Stumbling, drooling, biting zombies.

Images of mottled flesh and blackened veins dredged up bursts and flashes of memories. Countless novels, vids, and games were dedicated to the subject over the centuries, and he seemed to remember experiencing much of this media. Greg found it ironic that he, a man without memory, was more mentally suited to handle the undead than the average person. The status of this outpost seemed to hold up to the fact that the general population hadn't done well, probably spending too much time with the whole 'I refuse to believe this is happening' mentality.

“Shit!” Kyra’s loud curse jarred Greg from his thoughts. He twisted around and glanced back into the radio room.

“
Something wrong?”

“
Yes, this entire thing is shot to shit. I won't really know how salvageable the situation is until the power is back on. If the power station is anything like this...then we might just as well head to a different outpost.”

Kyra emerged from the room and Greg followed her back out into the rain. He scanned for more of the walking dead, but the area remained void.

“There are more bases here?” Greg asked as they approached the station. Kyra nodded, she rubbed some rain from her eyes.

“
Yeah, a storage complex and I think a mining operation. Maybe more, I didn't have time to look at the map and I'm not too familiar with the area this far from my base.”

“
Mining operation...maybe that's where they came from,” Greg suggested, his mind working, trying to find some reason for the zombies.

Kyra shrugged. “Maybe. It's weird though...out of all the crazy shit out here among the stars, traditional zombies were the
last
thing I think anyone expected to find.”

They reached the power station. Greg was happy to be out of the rain as they moved into the small lobby. Kyra holstered her pistol so she was able to squeeze water from her ponytail. Once finished, she grabbed her pistol and led the way. He was content to let her do so, as she seemed to know that much more about the situation than he did. The power station held just a few rooms connected by a single corridor.

Each room housed some kind of equipment, big panels or large pieces of machinery. Most of it, Greg guessed, monitored the different processes of the plant. Kyra spent a few moments in each room, studying the equipment. At least inside the power station the emergency power worked, even if the lighting was low and dim. After they cleared the building, Greg stood guard, feeling useless. He played with the sight on the pistol while Kyra worked behind him.

“
So...any luck?” he asked after several moments of uncomfortable silence had passed. All he could hear was the wind and the rain.

“
Yes.” Kyra’s voice carried back to him from somewhere deeper within. She sounded the happiest so far since they’d met.

A loud
click
followed her response. The sound made Greg jump. The lights, clear, beautiful, and yellow, flickered to life, replacing the eerie crimson glow. Kyra emerged from the generator room she'd occupied with a big smirk on her face.

“
Told you. I'm a genius.”

Greg couldn't help but return the smile as they made their way back outside.

“So, what's the plan?” He glanced around the area.

“
Well, if we can repair the radio and get in contact with the real world, even if there's a real world
left
to contact, we’ll ask for a pick up.”

“
And if it's broken?”

“
Well...”

Kyra took a deep breath and let it out slowly. They stepped into the comms building and stood in the corridor, now lit in a pleasant glow. Greg frowned as he stared at the corpse he'd made, all the details made obvious in the bright light. He winced and rubbed his temples. His headache was coming back.

“Either we take our chances out there, trying to find another working radio, or...set up shop here and call it home for a while. Which…” Kyra looked around and sighed. “I have to admit, I might like to do. At least for a little while. I'm really tired. And if you were bit you would've turned by now, and you haven't tried to rape or kill me, so I can at least trust you that far.”

Greg's gaze darkened in confusion. “Has...has that been a problem?”

Kyra opened her mouth, and then closed it. “I don't want to talk about it.”

She stepped into the comms room then, and Greg resumed guard duty. He considered setting up shop in the outpost. Several more minutes passed in silence as Kyra tinkered with the now sparking equipment. Every now and then she cursed. Greg listened for signs of more zombies, but couldn't hear a thing save for the humming of the power and the rain beating against the exterior.

“So...say we do decide to stay here. What would we do first?”

“
Did you lose your logic along with your memories?”

“
No, I just...like hearing you talk.” He realized how awkward that sounded as soon as the words left his mouth and kept silent, not wanting to say anything else to make the situation even more uncomfortable.

“
Oh.” Kyra sounded surprised. After another few seconds, she continued, still working. “Well, we'd clear the base, all the rooms. Then collect all the bodies and burn them outside. Then mop up all the blood. I don't want to risk contamination. And then, I don't know, if we're here long enough and just need something to do...probably make some minor repairs and straighten up. We'd also have to do an inventory of supplies and an arsenal. Aw,
shit
.” Kyra broke off her monologue and came out of the comms room.

“
What is it?”

“
The whole thing's a mess. From what I can tell, I can still make it work, at least at base capacity. There's one problem. There's a part that needs replaced, a critical piece. There
should
be a spare in storage. I'm pretty sure I saw storage sheds coming in, across from the infirmary. Come on, let's go check it out.”

They made their way back out into the rain, crossing the open space between the buildings. The three storage sheds were as Greg remembered them: bland, single-story metal structures. Kyra hit the access button on the first one and stepped in, her pistol raised, ready for anything. Greg followed directly behind her.

The interior of the shed was a dimly lit collection of metal crates, all stacked up high and ringing the interior wall. There was a pool of emptiness in the center. Greg relaxed, there was nowhere to hide. Kyra looked at all the labels printed on the sides of the crates. Greg inspected a few. They were all marked 'Power Station Spare Parts', with various subtitles.

“
Shit,” Kyra muttered and returned to the rainfall.

Greg joined her.

The next shed held an unpleasant surprise. Greg decided maybe he should go first this time. As soon as he hit the access button, the reek of death and blood hit him. Something came stumbling toward him through flickering yellow lights. He raised his piece.

“
Wait!”

Greg hesitated, took a step back as the thing continued to lurch toward him, reaching blindly, fingers curling. Black blood oozed from where its jagged fingernails had cut into the palm. It let loose with a low groan.

“What?” Greg took another step back.

Kyra moved to the side of the door, her pistol raised, and squeezed the trigger as soon as the zombie stepped out. Obsidian blood, like oil, and brain matter came out in a thick spray.

“We don't know what's in there and I didn't want you accidentally shooting anything important or volatile.” She kicked the body out of the way and stepped in.

Greg considered this, then shrugged, and followed her. The interior was a disgusting, bloody mess, but didn't hold much more than more spare parts for the power plant and some for the infirmary. The final shed was that much more disappointing, a random collection of parts they couldn't just scan over. Greg and Kyra wasted fifteen minutes hunting through the crates, seeing if any one of them were for communications, and eventually came up empty.

“Now what?” Greg asked once they were back out in the rain.

Kyra seemed to consider the situation. She stared at the comms building, particularly the antenna on top. She started walking toward it.

“I saw an elevator in there. Chances are it goes down as well as up. Up for the tower, down for more storage and equipment for the radio maybe.”

They went back into the comms building and approached the elevator. Greg stared at it as he came to stand in front of it. The sliding doors were dented and bloodied. He reached out to hit the call button, but then hesitated, his finger hovering over the button.

“What's the hold up?”

“
I'm not sure. Just...a bad feeling, I guess.”

Greg continued to hesitate, until Kyra sighed and stepped forward. She went to hit the button herself, but also hesitated. She glanced over, caught Greg's eyes and a shared sense of horror transmitted between them. She looked back at the elevator and muttered, “This is stupid.”

She pushed the button. There was a soft hum. The lift was coming from above. Both raised their pistols, taking a step back. Time passed, laden with tense dread. The elevator settled into place and the doors opened.

The interior was bloody, but empty. Greg let his breath out slowly and followed Kyra in.

“Oh.” She studied the control panel.

Greg began to ask what, and then saw what was troubling her. Someone had painted a skull and crossbones in blood, with an arrow pointing to the down button. Greg opened his mouth again, and closed it once more as a sound came to him.

It was soft at first, so quiet that he wasn't sure if he had really heard it or not. After a few seconds of straining his ears against the silence, he picked it up again. It remained consistent enough that he grew more certain about its existence.

“
Do you hear that?”

Kyra turned to face him. “What?”

Greg raised his hand and then continued to listen.

After a few seconds, Kyra nodded. “What is that?”

A soft, pounding sound carried up to them. Greg was positive that it came from below. He made the connection between the noise and the bloody skull and crossbones. Something dark unfolded in his mind.

“
Something's down there,” he murmured. Horror chilled the blood in his veins. “Something...big.” He swallowed hard.

They continued to listen. The heavy, plodding sound filled the dark void of silence. The lift doors began trying to close and Greg shoved his arm through them, forcing them back open. The two of them stepped back out of the elevator.

“So...now what?” Greg finally took the breath he hadn’t realized he held.

“
Well, the other outposts might have the part we're looking for or even a working radio.” She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “I'm exhausted. I don't know about you, but I need to sleep.”

Greg agreed with her, he literally couldn't remember the last time he'd laid down, let alone gone to sleep.

“First…” Kyra walked back outside. “We need to get you checked out, make sure you don't have a concussion or something. I'd hate to be alone again.”

They left the comms building. Greg followed her across to the infirmary, trying to ignore the blood and the bodies as they came in. He hopped onto the cleanest examination table they could find. Kyra ran a series of quick tests on him. After five minutes, she seemed satisfied that he wasn't going to go to sleep and not wake back up.

“So, you hit your head hard enough to lose all your memories, but not get a concussion. Talk about luck.”

They left the infirmary and made their way to the as yet unexplored building, presumably the living quarters.

“Strange definition of luck,” he said quietly

Kyra was silent for a moment before she spoke up. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

“I know. It's all right. I'm just...frustrated. It's not fun having a hole for a head.”

They entered the final building, a low rectangle with a corridor cutting down the middle. Doors were set on either side of the central passageway with names above them. Dormitories. Another, larger door stood at the back. The two of them moved quick and easy, finding each of the bedrooms small and simple things. They checked out each one, looking for zombies or survivors.