RAGE (Descendants Saga (Crisis Sequence One)) (16 page)

Behind him, Sharon and her army of station patrons seem to be gaining. Their growls grow louder as they draw near to him. They are like hounds dogging his heels. At any moment, they will have him.

Hu cries out for help, but his voice is very muffled. There is no way anyone can hear such a plea, and no one seems interested in helping him. The people in the light have gone, and the light is fading.

He wants to hide, but there is nothing but the rough concrete walls of the tunnel. Dim colored lights mark the tunnels trajectory which seems to go on into the distance forever. The growls and screeching cries behind him draw ever nearer. Hu cannot bear the thought of looking back at his pursuers.

Fingers reach out for him, but he stays just ahead of them. Hu feels them brushing his back, ragged fingernails raking the cloth of his scrub top over and over but never quite catching hold. He must run faster. He has to get away.

A body hits him from behind, driving him down to the gravel. It’s
Sharon. His eyes are fastened shut, but he knows it is her. Fingernails claw at him and fists pound at his back and head furiously. Hu doesn’t give in. He’s trying to get up, but even her slight weight is oppressive to him.

Hu hears her growl. Her fingers grip into his arm and fasten tightly to the side of his head.
Sharon comes down on him. Her jagged teeth sink into the flesh of his shoulder.

Hu screams himself awake. Officer Chambers star
es at him through the clear protective partition separating the front and back seats in the patrol car. Hu’s eyes dart around, taking in his surroundings. Sharon is nowhere to be found.

“Are you all right, sir?”
Officer Chambers asks.

Hu’s breathing is labored. He sweat
s profusely. The pain of his cuts and scrapes and bruises filter back into his awareness as the dreamscape fades from his mind. He’s with the officer from the station. They are in his patrol car.

Hu finally nods, focusing on the officer in the front seat. The man’s
expression is slightly concerned. He waits patiently for his passenger to reply.

“A nightmare,” Hu admits. “I must have dozed off for a minute.”

Officer Chambers nods with a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay, sir. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised with what you went through tonight. Let’s get you inside the precinct house for some coffee, eh? You’ll feel better, I think. We even have a psychologist who would be glad to speak with you about your experience. It might help.”

Hu wraps his blanket a little tighter around himself. “Thank you, I’m fine. That coffee sounds good.”

Chambers exits, closing the driver’s door and opening the rear door for Hu. He gets out into the chill night, huddling beneath his blanket, eager to get inside the police station where the air will be warm. He doesn’t know which precinct they’ve driven to, or what road they’re on. At this point, it doesn’t matter. He just wants to get inside where there’s warmth and light and the safety of an entire building filled with police officers.

Twenty minutes later, Hu sits on a couch inside the police precinct with a cup of hot coffee in his hand. A blueberry muffin waits upon a side table. Hu hasn’t touched it. His stomach feels upset, like he might become sick.

Officer Chambers
has gone somewhere in the department. Hu does not know where. He was promised he would be able to give a statement very soon, but no one comes to speak with him.

Hu stares into his cup, at the steam rising from the dark liquid. He feels the heat fading through the ceramic. A listlessness com
es over him, gradually but steadily. He feels the aches and pains of the wounds he received during his ordeal. Movement hurts, so he remains very still, breathing, wanting to sleep but unable to rest.

Scraps of conversation come to him from the room.
Hu hears officers speaking about the tunnel attack. He notes a number of police officers are said to be injured. Many are on their way to one or more local hospitals at this very moment. He questions this in his mind. There is something bad about the news, but he isn’t quite sure anymore what that is.

Should he ask one of the officers? He thinks he should warn them of the bad, but he can’t remember why. Besides, his arms and legs ache. A numbness settl
es in with the stillness. Numb is better than pain, so he feels better remaining where he is on the leather couch.

A man is brought in at some point. Hu doesn’t recognize the man. He is not dressed in a uniform. The man is young
, and he smells of sweat and smoke. Hu is able to smell a great deal of things in the squad room.

The clock on the wall above one of the doors is an old style analog timepiece, the cheap kind with a paper face, flimsy tin hands and a tiny AA battery driven motor in the back. Time pass
es, but Hu does not regard it. Things like time and warnings and wounded officers grow meaningless in his mind.

The attack in the Tubes
seems of little consequence now. Already, he cannot remember the face of the person who tried to kill him. Hu begins to wonder why he sits here in this place. Is he here for some purpose? Officer Chambers, the last person to actually speak to him when he gave him the coffee and muffin, fades from his thoughts.

Something is clenched in his hands. It was warm some time ago, but the heat
is gone. He hasn’t drunk any of the liquid. It smells pungent and unpleasant, not something he wants to ingest. Why is he holding it?

His grip on the cup relaxes. Coffee pours onto his lap, but Hu only notices his leg is now wet. This doesn’t awaken any desire to move. It is not troubling. It simply is.

The man sitting on the couch next to Hu laughs.

“Good one, mate,” he says
, snickering.

Hu turns his head to look at the man. He cannot remember seeing this thing before. He wonders what he’s looking at. A person? What is a person? Terms have no meaning in his thoughts. He feels
like things he once understood are slipping away, shadowy wisps that make no sense to him now.

He cannot keep his grasp on them. This does not trouble him. Hu doesn’t want those thoughts any longer. They becom
e foreign to him with every passing tick of the thing upon the wall. Its purpose and function are meaningless.

However, as many things slip away in his mind, Hu is aware of a feeling growing inside him. A desire build
s. A need rises, assuming a place of utmost importance. He cannot remember what was there before.

Nothing.

There is only this need now.

There is only hunger.

Friend or Foe

Regardless of their motives, it’s hard to call someone an enemy when they’re trying to keep you alive—Jonathan Parks

The elevator doors part, revealing only an empty hallway. Each of us in the square box lets out a little sigh of relief. I know I was expecting the worse. Holly, at least, shared that fear. After all, we have seen the nightmarish creatures that roam these corridors. Four of them are dead, that we know of, but that still leaves four others.

We step into the hallway cautiously.
Looking both ways, we find no one nearby. If not for the alarm lights still flashing at intervals in the corridors, it might not be apparent an emergency situation exists at all.

Holly and I
stand in the front with Garth and Cassie behind us. We both have guns, so it seems practical at this point. Listening, I hear distance cries for help coming from different locations. Some of the voices are male, some female.

“Which way?” I ask Holly.

Before she can answer, a squelch comes from a speaker in the ceiling nearby.

“Holly, is that you by the Sector Four elevator?” a young man’s voice asks over the intercom.

We all look around. I know the sound came from a speaker, but how did they see Holly?

“We can see you on camera from the lab,” the voice says. “Nod if you can hear me.”

We locate the nearest camera at an intersection ahead. Holly nods in that direction.

“Good,” the voice replies. “Several of us are trapped in here. The doors won’t respond to pass codes. Might be the alarm. This is Scott. I’ve patched us into the video feed.”

“Scott Bishop,” Holly informs our group. “He’s one of our virologists. Bit of a computer guru also. Makes sense he would be the one to crack the network.”

“But he said they’re trapped,” I note. “What can he do from inside?”

“I’m not sure,” Holly says. “He may be able to get word to SIS though. Stop them from cleansing the Tombs until we can get out.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Garth says. “Maybe we can get them out from our side
.”

Holly looks at the camera again, pointing to our group and then to the camera.

“You’re coming to us?” the voice asks. “Excellent, but be careful. I see a lot of people down. And there’s one of the hospital attack victims trying to get into the lab. She’s pounding the windows, looking for a way inside.”

“A lot of people down,” Holly says quietly. “He didn’t say dead.”

“What does that mean?” Cassie asks.

“It probably means they could be infected now,” I reply.

“They shouldn’t be dangerous so quickly,” Holly says. “But it does mean they probably will become that way with time.”

“How much time?” Garth asks.

Holly looks at me then back to Garth. “I don’t know. As the virus passes from host to host, it may turn them faster. The lab employees would be third generation. With each new generation, as Immune responses that slow it down are overcome, the new information may be incorporated to make it more efficient.”

“Then we
have to get to the lab as quickly as possible,” I say. “They have access to computers. If we can break them out, then we might have a chance to escape the whole facility. This Scott guy can probably do more at the control center you mentioned.”

Holly nods and starts down the hall.

I follow with my weapon ready to fire now, just in case. At least we know one of them is somewhere outside the lab windows, agitated and trying to get inside. Still, that leaves more running around. As fast as they move, we have to be vigilant.

Behind me, I hear the ring of metal as Garth removes his katana from its scabbard on his back. “Just don’t come up short and run
your sword through my back,” I say.

“Keep your eyes ahead, newbie,” Garth replies. “I don’t cut anyone unless I mean to.”

Garth ruffles my feathers a bit, but I bite back any further comments. Arguing with him is pointless. I need to watch for attacks. After all, by the time we spot one of these things it’s almost too late to respond. Thinking we might be on the verge of facing an entire facility of these creatures scares me to death. Time is running out for the infected lab employees and us.

We move from the nearest intersection to the right and soon we pass the front of the cafeteria again. One of the doors
is knocked open, nearly torn from the hinge. There are people inside and blood on tables and the floor.

Holly motions for our group to crouch low. I spot the reason. It’s not that we’ve simply found employees of the lab that have been attacked. There is still activity.

An infected man near my size kneels over a body. From here, it’s difficult to know if his victim is dead or not. They may only be unconscious, but they are almost certainly bitten and infected. I remember my own wound, the one that has healed over already.

Holly said
, the third generation might turn faster. Anyone bitten by the hospital victims would constitute this third generation. I would be among that group.

I still don’t feel anything wrong. I’m not sure what it
should feel like. Surely, there is some sort of symptomatic phase, changes that overcome the person until they are fully transformed into one of these killers. I feel completely normal. I’m certain, though, Holly is keeping her eye on me, just in case.

The infected man, wearing his orange jumpsuit, turns. I freeze. The others do the same. The bloodshot eyes scan the front of the cafeteria where we are crouched beyond the busted door.

I recognize this person. It’s Tom Kennedy. I wondered where he might be in the complex. Truthfully, I hoped not to have to see him ever again. There’s just something about the familiarity that is over the top creepy. It reminds me I could be one of them, any of us could, at any moment.

I’m nearest the door, really the only one who is visible. The others crouch out of sight below the line of windows that runs along the wall looking in. My orange jumpsuit is particularly bright at this moment. I curs
e the color, but Tom hasn’t reacted to my presence.

My breaths
become slow and deliberately shallow. I have no idea how much movement will trigger a violent response. Maybe he can see well, maybe not. I am sure, though, movement is a key factor. After watching Tom in the cell across from my own, I know stillness can keep them docile.

Even though my breathing is at a bare minimum right now, the smell of Tom
remains overpowering. Urine and feces stain his orange jumpsuit darkly mixed with the blood of his recent victims. His skin is blotched red, with several new wounds apparent around his face.

Possibly
, he received these lacerations from his victims as they fought to keep him away. There is one bullet hole at his right shoulder. I can’t see that he pays it any mind. Certainly, he’s not cradling it, or favoring it in any perceivable way.

Holly and the others motion
to me from their covered position. They want me to come with them away from the doorway, out of Tom’s sight. If I move, he’s bound to notice. I spent too much time in my former cell experimenting with that reaction. I wonder if that is something Holly and Dr. Albert even knew about.

The others grow more insistent beside me. We cannot afford to waste time like this. At the very least
, there is the danger of the facility undergoing a cleansing from those in charge above in the SIS Building.

T
here is also the possibility the next generation of infected victims will complete their transformation at a faster rate. I don’t know how many people work in this facility, or how many have been attacked by the eight that were set free, but Holly’s earlier expression made me think it was a lot. Probably enough to overwhelm our little group of survivors.

There is something else
, though. Finding Tom Kennedy this way. I feel very bad for him. Yes, he broke my arm. Yes, I’d love to have another chance at slugging him in the mouth. However, this fate is too much. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, not even Tom.

I feel like I have to do something for him
. It’s the only decent thing. I have no way to cure him. Containing him is pointless. He would still be what he is. All I can think is I have to end this for him.

I contemplat
e the best way to go about this. If I jump up and go for him, Holly is going to have a fit. She might just shoot me herself this time.

However, she and the others wav
e at me frantically in my peripheral vision. I’ve remained frozen like this for nearly one minute, staring at Tom. Watching him, watching me, the uncertainty gnawing at my gut.

I begin to back away, going slowly, but keeping my eye on Tom. He look
s right at me. There’s no way he can’t see—

Tom screams suddenly, shooting toward the door after me. Holly and the others scoot back away from the door, trying to put more distance between themselves and the howling creature rocketing full speed for the entrance to the cafeteria.
I don’t follow.

Instead, I jump to my feet in plain view, stepping fully into the doorway. Tom
definitely sees me. I knew it would only take a slight bit of movement to set him off. In the back of my mind, I hoped it would trigger this response. I can’t leave him like this—not even Tom Kennedy. And, in a way I really don’t understand, it’s my fault he ended up like this.

I raise my
gun. Somehow, I feel calm about this. I’m not sure if it’s the familiarity of knowing Tom, of having interacted with him before he became this mindless rage monster, or if it’s just the desire to end this nightmare for him.

My hand
holds steady. Tom gets better than halfway to me. Holly screams for me to run. There’s no time for her to get to me, though I hear her steps behind me. She will never get the shot off in time.

He’s close, wide-eyed, his teeth stained with blood, his clothing wet and splattered with gore. Tom will leap at me in less than a second, if my limited experience tells me true. I fire the weapon. A single shot connects neatly over his right eye. Tom’s eyes roll up into his head and his body loses strength
, like a switch turning off the power. Hands out in front of him, Tom sprawls onto the linoleum tiles right in front of me.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” I whisper.

Holly stands right behind me. I was right, she didn’t have time to get a clear shot. Her heavy breathing is close, but I hear her letting it go now, relief washing over her.

I turn around to face her. “That was Tom Kennedy.
”

I can see by her expression
, she already knows.

“It was only right I be the one to do it,” I say. “I got him into this, after all.”

“He got himself into it,” she says, correcting me. “It’s not your fault.”

My expression of disbelief must be very hard. Holly lowers her eyes in response.

“How can you believe that?” I whisper. “You don’t really believe it, and neither do I.”

Garth interrupts. “You mind telling me what that means?”

Holly intercepts the question meant for me. “There’s no time for this now. We have to move.”

In response, a moaning cry comes from the cafeteria behind us. There
, among several bodies strewn across the floor and tables, a woman in a lab coat moves. Another body, of a man in a security uniform, also stirs.

We all duck down out of sight reflexively.

Holly curses. “I knew this might happen,” she hisses.

“They’re turning?” Garth asks.

Cassie’s eyes are wide, looking between me and Holly. I meet her gaze, giving a slight nod.

“We’re going to the lab,” Holly whispers tersely.

She doesn’t wait for a response. She just moves, and we follow, crouched low until we get beyond the windows that look in on the cafeteria. We take a left and then a right and we’re almost running.

“Maybe we should have barred the doors,” Garth offers to Holly. She lead
s the way, and I bring up the rear. “We could have trapped them inside.”

“No time,” I interject. “They were already beginning to move.”

“I was speaking to Holly,” Garth shoots back.

“Jonathan is right,” Holly says. “I’m not going to waste time trying to wedge that busted door shut just to hold a few of them. They might
attack us in the process, and those few are only a drop in the bucket.”

Garth accepts her reproof grudgingly, but he doesn’t bother to argue the point further.

We come upon another intersection. Holly checks the mirrors again and stops short. I look for myself and see the bodies in the hall. They don’t appear to move, but one of them wears an orange jumper like me. This is definitely one of the original eight from St. Mary’s.

We stand with our backs pressed against the wall. There doesn’t appear to be anyone else moving in the mirror
s going either way. The bodies are still.

Holly peeks
around the corner, her movements deliberately snail-paced. When she can see, she pauses. A moment later, she waves us on, pointing down the hall.