Dead Cells - 01 (20 page)

Billy tapped Shane on the shoulder and headed off to numb the pain that had started to return. His shoulder was throbbing, but now the rest of him was tingling, as if he had pins and needles all over his body. It was a strange sensation, and one that he didn't want to share with the rest of the group. What if he was turning? What if he was dying and coming back as one of those things?

He knew, as he poured himself a large whisky, that he
was
, and there was nothing he could do about it. Shane knew, too; the way he kept turning his head away at the computer made Billy question his own scent, and as he breathed into the full glass, hoping for the scent of whisky, he was almost sick. The stench that hit his nostrils was
Death
. He downed the whisky in one, and refilled his glass, hoping that he didn't hurt any of the group when he
did
finally change.

If...

*

There were countless folders on the desktop, and some of them were certainly not options for the codes; family photos and videos were instantly dismissed, and Shane continued to trawl the C drive in the hope of locating the file.

There were employment records of all the guards, with pay-grades and background checks. There were several expenses folders, which had been altered drastically according to the system. No surprises there, Shane thought.

He opened up the programs-list, and found what he was looking for about halfway up. A program called GenaLock, which was apparently software designed to generate codes for a thousand and one purposes, but in this case, it generated the codes for the facility doors.

He loaded the program up and managed to navigate the functions as if he was a seasoned professional. It felt good that he was doing something, anything, to help. In the hands of the guards, the computer would have likely been wiped of its memory.

There was a calendar icon in the corner of the screen. Shane ran the mouse over the icon and clicked. He found today's date, clicked once more, and that was that.

7471.

'I've got the code, I
think
,' Shane said aloud, trying not to sound too sure, just in case he was completely mistaken.

'How sure are you?' Michaelson said as he pushed himself up to his feet. Jenson did the same.

'Pretty sure,' Shane said. 'It was dated today, and it was all I could find on here.'

Marla stepped into the conversation; her eyes were full of sleep and she yawned. 'What we got?'

'Genius here reckons he's got the codes for the basement doors,' Jenson said, far too condescending for Shane's liking. He'd like to see Jenson –
fucking prick
– operate the computer with as much savvy as he had.

'Is that all we need to get the fuck out of here?' Marla asked, perking up a little.

'No,' Michaelson said. 'You need us for the fingerprints and voice-scan.'

'In that case,' Marla smiled. 'We'd better make sure that you stay alive.'

'Glad to hear,' Jenson said. 'Probably fucked up your plans, though, hasn't it?' He directed that in Shane's direction, a look of genuine distaste in his expression.

'I have no idea what you mean,' Shane smiled, knowing that it would provoke the guard further. 'I love you like a
brother
, man.'

Billy spluttered a laugh, and then cut it off as soon as Michaelson shot him a warning glance.

'So, what are we
waiting
for?' Marla said. 'Let's get moving.'

'Hang on a minute, sweetheart,' Jenson said, with about as much chauvinism as possible. 'We can't just go out there, guns cocked, with our dicks in our hands and hope for the best. We need to set some rules. We need to make sure that we're all on the same page.'

Terry was already beginning to move the barricade. 'We're all on the
same
fucking page,' he said. 'We're getting the fuck out of here tonight, and I don't care if I have to spend the rest of my years behind bars, so long as those bars are as far as fucking possible away from those creatures.'

Jenson was about to reprimand Terry when Michaelson intervened.

'He's right. The only way we're going to make it out alive is if we trust one another. Usually, I wouldn't trust you guys,' he gestured to everyone in the room wearing coveralls, 'to make me a cup of tea and piss in it properly. But we don't have a choice.' Jenson once again tried to pipe up, but Michaelson cut him off. 'I know that whatever is happening out there has changed things, but we all just need to figure out what to do once we make it out. Is
that
the page that you were talking about?'

Jenson shook his head. 'I was talking about trusting a bunch of fucking
prisoners
with our safety,' he spat.

'If you think that you'll be better off on your own,' Terry said, sliding the remaining wood away from the door, 'then by all means, make a run for it.'

Officer Jenson opened his mouth, let silence escape, and then closed it again.

'Thought so. Now, you two have the guns, which means that we're placing a helluva lot of faith in your aim. If either of you feel that you can't handle the pressure, then please hand the gun to someone who can.'

'Fuck
that
!' Jenson cried, staring around the room. 'I can handle this gun just fine; better than anybody else here, so you just keep your ideas to yourself,
old
man.'

Terry nodded. 'Okay. Just make sure that you aim for the head. Anything else and it won't make a blind bit of difference. You can shoot them a hundred times in the dick and they'll just keep on coming.'

'What about
him
?' Marla asked. She pointed to Billy Toombs, who was using Charles Dean's desk to hold himself steady. Sweat poured from his head, and he looked as pallid as ever. 'Who's going to take care of him?'

'Me,' Shane said without a moment's hesitation. 'He'll be my responsibility from now on
—
'

'I'm
nobody's
respons
—
'

'You know what I
mean
, man,' Shane said. 'I'm going to make sure that you get out of here, just like the rest of us.'

Billy sighed, accepting his fate – although his fate, he knew, was a lot worse. It was simply a matter of time.

'Okay,' Michaelson said as he pulled his pistols from the holsters. 'If you both fall behind, though, then you both get left. It's that simple.'

Shane nodded. 'I'd expect nothing less from you.'

'Glad that's all clear,' Jenson said, edging closer to the door with his shotgun trained at head-height. 'Shall we?'

'We shall,' Terry Lewis said, and pulled the door open.

*

The lights in the corridor were flashing on and off, which was not the best for visibility. Luckily, though, there were no creatures to greet them as they shuffled nervously from the governor's office. On the ground, surrounded by all manner of nameless viscera, were three bodies, bodies that hadn't been there a few hours before.

The things were either dragging bodies around, or starting to eat their own. Perhaps the weaker creatures were becoming targets for the others; it wasn't beyond the realms of possibility, not with what had already happened in just a few hours.

Terry and Jared, along with Officer Jenson, remained on the left of the corridor; Shane, Billy and Marla stayed behind Michaelson, who seemed the more adept of the two guards.

'Slowly,' Michaelson whispered to his followers. There was a corner coming up, and it wasn't wise to all go throwing themselves into danger. Michaelson held a hand up, telling the others to stay put, and then took a peek.

His face relaxed a little as the corridor was empty, apart from a single body slumped against the wall. He signalled that it was clear and moved forward.

One thing was for sure; those things were close. Sounds of scratching and moaning came from an indistinct direction. Every now and then there would arrive a guttural growl, loud enough to cause some concern amongst the survivors, but they continued forward regardless, hoping that it was too far away to actually harm them.

The lights continued to flicker, the soft buzzing noise as the bulbs flicked off and on becoming annoying quite quickly. There was a stench in the hallway, a pungent redolence of dying flesh and faeces. It was a noisesome fetor, the kind that you could easily associate with an abattoir. It burnt the nostrils, lingered for what seemed like an eternity, and threatened to stay forever. As they pushed on through the corridor, Marla found herself wishing that her senses would simply disappear, all apart from sight, which would probably come in useful between now and the basement.

They reached a door. It was locked, but the fingerprint scanner on the wall at the side was still functioning. Michaelson holstered his right pistol and slid his thumb across the panel. There was a bleep, and then the red flashing light which had been dancing beneath the panel ceased, replaced with a constant green.

There was a metallic thunk between the door and its frame.

'Well,
that
went well,' Terry sardonically said from the side of the corridor.

Michaelson ignored him and pushed the door open. He muttered something beneath his breath as he stepped into the room – probably a profanity aimed at Terry for his sarcastic reproach.

'What is this place?' Marla asked, stepping past the guard. Hanging on the walls were posters of naked women, provocatively posing for some low-brow porn magazine. There was a fridge, which continued to buzz in the corner of the room. The lights were steadier than in the corridor, yet still occasionally flickered. On a table in the middle of the room was a card-game that had been abandoned; cards were scattered haphazardly, and there were a few on the floor surrounding the four chairs.

'Welcome to the guards' mess,' Jenson said, pulling open the fridge and cracking open a can of coke. As he glugged greedily from the can, the rest of the group stared on thirstily. Jared licked his lips and hoped there were plenty more where that came from.

'You perverts eat your dinner in here,' Marla said, stepping forward to investigate the filth adorning the walls. It was pretty full-on; you could practically see what the model had eaten for breakfast.

'We've got to come
somewhere
,' Jenson smiled.

'Plenty of coming goes on in here by the looks of it,' Terry smiled. He made the sign of the cross as he scanned the posters. 'Who does who? Do you pull Michaelson's, or is it the other way around?'

'Fuck you, Lewis,' Michaelson snapped. 'I swear to god you're starting to get on my fucking nerves.'

'Sorry,' Terry said. 'Wouldn't want to do that, would we now?'

'You guys knock it off,' Marla said. She walked towards the fridge. 'Anything in there for us to get involved with?'

Jenson sank to his knees and began to pull out food. 'Seems to be your lucky day,' he grinned. 'Reynolds must have skipped lunch; these are all his.'

He began to stack foil parcels on top of the fridge. In the end, there were eight in total, enough to feed a small family.

They ate. It felt, to the prisoners at least, like the best meal they had ever eaten. Who would have thought that a sausage-roll and a half-inch piece of cheese between two slices of bread could be so good? There was one can of coke left in the side compartment of the fridge, which Marla, Jared and Billy shared. Billy, though, dribbled most of it down his coveralls.

With the food finished, and a quick search of the room for anything that could be utilised as a weapon – there was a mop in the corner of the room which Shane snapped in half and handed to Terry and Jared – they stood in front of the door, once again ready to move.

Just as Marla was about to speak, she was dragged backwards by giant hands. She screamed, and Billy Toombs growled as he snapped for her throat.

*

It was a while before anybody knew what was happening. Shane realised first, and reached out to grab Marla as her momentum – and that of a six-foot odd half-Indian, half-Irishman – carried them towards the ground. When they hit, they hit
hard
. Marla's head met the concrete with brutal force; it snapped to one side, blood instantly oozing from the wound. Her hair turned red on the one side almost instantly. When Shane reached her, he could tell by her eyes – they were wide open, yet lifeless – that she was unconscious. She was at the mercy of Billy, who was thrashing his head from side to side in an effort to meet teeth with flesh. Luckily, the way in which Marla landed forced her torso across his, buying just enough time for Shane to reach her.

'Pull her off!' Shane yelled to the guards, who were standing by her feet with guns pointing towards the creature. '
Fuck
the guns!'

Michaelson holstered his pistols and grabbed one of Marla's feet. He pulled, but only succeeded in turning her a little more; somewhere, Billy was holding onto his intended dinner.

Shane prised those giant hands apart, trying to create enough space to free Marla, but he held fast. In life, Billy had been strong, but this was something else. It was almost preternatural, and as Shane tugged and jostled for Marla's freedom, Billy's bones snapped and cracked as they fractured, but there was no chance he was going to forfeit his lunch.