Last Stand (The Survivalist Book 7) (20 page)

Tanner and Samantha continued down the Metro line, retracing the soldiers’ footsteps. It made sense that if they had been attempting to seal the tunnel leading down to the infected, they might have done it in stages, blocking the egress point first, and then moving out to the larger Metro tunnel entrance.

About a hundred feet down the tunnel, they discovered rubble blocking a nondescript metal door set into the wall. The blast had done a fine job of mangling the door, as well as collapsing part of the stone block wall above it. It hadn’t, however, fully sealed the entrance, which explained Captain Prince’s berating of Sergeant Merkel.

Tanner stepped closer and clicked on his flashlight. There were small passages through the rock and crumpled door, but they weren’t big enough for him to crawl through. Samantha picked up on his train of thought.

“I’ll go in and see if there’s a way down. No need to move all this rock if it’s a broom closet.”

“Let’s see if it’s safe first.” He stomped the pile of rubble a few times. A handful of small stones fell, but everything seemed to be fairly well set.

“See, it’s fine,” she said, slipping off her backpack. “I’ll be in and out, lickety-split.”

Samantha squatted in front of the largest hole and pushed her rifle in ahead of her. Once it was all the way through, she ducked her head and crawled in. Tanner immediately knelt beside the hole, ready to attempt to squeeze his way through the narrow passage, should it come to that.

“Well?”

Samantha stood up and turned on her flashlight. She was standing in a ten-by-ten-foot room, an antechamber of sorts, only this one didn’t seem to go anywhere.

“It’s just an empty room.”

“There aren’t any stairs?”

“Not that I can see.” She began knocking on the walls, hoping to detect the hollow sound of a secret passage. There wasn’t one. Everything sounded, and felt, like solid rock. The only things of any interest were a first-aid kit and two flashlights that had been hanging on the back of the door. The blast had broken open the kit, littering the tile floor with several gauze bandages. As for the flashlights, they looked like someone had driven over them with a tractor and then backed up for good measure. “There’s a first-aid kit and a couple of flashlights, but they’re all broken.”

“Nothing else? You sure?”

Samantha squatted and examined the floor. It was neatly laid out in one-foot square tiles, ten one direction and ten in the other. A winding maze-like pattern had been etched into the floor, and she began to trace it with her fingers. When she got to the middle, she discovered a small black handle, the top of which sat perfectly flush with the tiles.

“I think I found something.” She gave the handle a tug. It didn’t budge. “There’s a secret handle on the floor, but I can’t get it open.”

“Hold on, I’m coming.” Tanner stood up and began clearing off chunks of rock. It would have taken hours to dig the whole thing out, so instead, he focused on widening the hole that Samantha had passed through. Ten minutes later, he thought it looked about right for a man of his size.

Samantha squatted down and peered out at him.

“If you make it any bigger, I’ll be able to walk through standing up.”

“It had to be big enough for the packs.” Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed her backpack and tossed it through the hole. His was too heavy to throw, so he pushed it forward along the ground. “Now, stand aside. I’m coming through.”

She moved out of the way.

“Okay, but don’t get stuck.”

“I swear, sometimes you act like I’m a—” He stopped as he felt himself becoming lodged between two blocks of stone.

“You were saying?”

He grunted, inching forward ever so slightly.

“I think I have some butter in here somewhere,” she giggled, pulling her pack closer.

He stretched a hand out. “Quit lollygagging and give me a hand, will you?”

Bracing a foot against the rubble, she grabbed his hand and pulled.

Tanner slowly squirmed his way through the gap, but not before scraping a little bark off his back. When he finally got to the other side, he lay there for a moment, collecting himself.

“I’ve got one word for you,” she said.

He cocked an eye in her direction.

She smiled. “Salad.”

Tanner reached up and pulled her to him, tickling her mercilessly. She giggled and squealed until her eyes were watering.

“Please,” she begged, “please stop.”

He finally let her go and rolled onto his stomach.

“No fair,” she said, rubbing her ribs. “You have hands the size of baseball mitts.”

“Let that be a warning to you.”

Tanner got to his feet and came over to inspect the handle on the floor. Samantha moved up beside him, still wiping tears from her eyes.

“I tried to pull it up, but it’s too heavy.”

“That’s because it’s meant to be turned.”

“Turned?”

“Yep. You ready?”

She nodded. “Let’s just hope it’s not one those poison gas traps.”

Tanner gave her a confused look.

“You know, like in secret agent movies. They push some button, and the little room fills with a cloud of poison green gas.”

“Why would anyone build a room with a handle that poisoned the person inside?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m not a diabolical mastermind.”

Tanner groaned softly and twisted the handle. There was a slight hissing sound, and the outer floor tiles began to lower.

“Quick, come closer!” he said, pulling Samantha to him.

Standing in the center of the room, they watched as the floor slowly descended into the darkness below. When it finally stopped, they found themselves standing on the landing of a boxy spiral staircase.

“Whoa,” she said, peering over the side, “that was way cooler than poison gas!”

Tanner leaned out over the staircase. It was too dark to see anything.

“I think we found our way in.”

“Does that mean…?”

“Yep. This is where we pipe in the good doctor’s blood.”

She eyed the darkness below. “Let’s just hope it works.”

Tanner withdrew the first bag of blood from this backpack and gently kneaded it with his fingers. It was still lukewarm, and the contents seemed unchanged, no clotting or clumping. He held the bag out to Samantha.

“Here you go.”

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“You’re the medic.”

“Which makes you what exactly?” she asked, taking the bag. “The guy who constantly needs medicking?”

“Sounds about right.”

Tanner sat down on the top stair, and she moved up beside him. It took Samantha less than a minute to apply the rubber strap, find the right vein, and insert the needle. Once she had it taped down, she stood back up and watched him, holding her rifle in both hands.

“You planning to shoot me?”

“Only if you turn into a psycho zombie that wants to eat me.”

“Fair enough.”

They waited for the bag to drain. Ounce by ounce, the dark red blood transfused into Tanner’s body.

When it was finished, she removed the needle and said, “Do you feel any different?”

He rubbed his forearm. “Not really.”

“All right. You do me now.” She swapped places, handing him the other bag of blood.

Tanner snugged the rubber strap around her upper arm and felt for her vein. She noticed that his hands were shaking.

“Do you want me to do it?”

“You want to stick yourself?”

“No, but I don’t want you to poke the needle through my arm either.”

“Just hush and sit still,” he said, slowly sliding in the needle.

She winced but said nothing.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “Fine. Just filling my body with liquid evil.”

“It’s not going to make you evil.”

“You ever met any sweet zombies?”

Tanner’s mind flashed back to the woman at the reservoir.

Samantha smiled. “I hope you get a chance to see her again.”

“Who?”

“The woman you kissed.”

“Who said I was thinking—” She smirked, and he stopped in midsentence. “Whatever. Besides, I told you—I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me.”

“Either way. Maybe we’ll see her down below.”

“Highly unlikely.”

Samantha squeezed her eyes shut and let out an anguished moan.

Tanner put his hand on her shoulder.

“What is it?”

“My head hurts.”

He studied the bag. It was still half-full.

“Hang in there.”

“Unh,” she groaned, “it’s getting bad. Really bad.”

He felt of her forehead. It was warm and slick with sweat.

“You’ve had enough,” he said, sliding out the needle. “Lay your head down on my lap.”

She did as instructed, her eyes still pressed shut. It took nearly three full minutes before she relaxed and opened her eyes.

“It’s better now.”

He smiled. “It was probably just too much evil for someone so sweet and innocent.”

“Probably.” She looked up at the half-filled bag of blood. “Do you want the rest?”

He started to ask why and then realized what she was suggesting.

“Oh, that one hurt.”

She smiled and sat up.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Samantha leaned over the stairs to look down into the pit. Oddly, it didn’t seem quite as dark anymore.

“Come on,” he said, standing up and testing the stairs. “We’re on the clock.”

As they slowly descended into darkness, she said softly, “A murder.”

“Huh?”

“A group of crows. They’re called a murder.”

“Well, aren’t you just a bucket of sunshine.”

Chapter 13  

Mason wasn’t sure of exactly what he was looking at. The creature was nearly as tall as the tunnel and generally humanoid in shape, with two arms, two legs, and a head. But that was where the similarities ended. Its body was thick, plastered like papier-mâché, only in this case, the packing material consisted of human waste, toilet paper, used condoms, children’s toys, and a collection of other oddities that had somehow managed to find their way into the sewer. Its hands had developed claws as thick as that of a grizzly bear, and its mouth had mutated into a toothy annular ring that pinched shut from all sides.

Mason began to backpedal as he brought up his rifle.

Leila ducked her head through the drain hole.

“Quick, grab my—” She screamed and fell back as the creature swiped at her.

“Stay up there!” shouted Mason.

The sewer monster paused to reach up into the hole, dragging its heavy claws across the decontamination chamber’s tile floor. Bowie snarled and bit its hand, but the creature paid him no attention.

“Over here!” Mason shouted, taking aim and firing a quick burst into its chest.

Undeterred, the sewer monster eyed Mason, lowered its head, and charged.

Mason did the only thing he could. He shrugged off his backpack and ran. Water and muck splashed his pants legs, but any worries he’d had about soiled clothes were quickly replaced with the raw desire to survive. Even as he ran toward the sewer entrance, he knew that continuing in that direction would only lead to his being caught and killed. His only chance was to somehow evade the creature and circle back to Leila.

Spotting the particularly foul-smelling tunnel to his right, he skidded to a stop. As he did, his feet slipped out from under him, and he sat down hard. His flashlight fell from his grip, rolling away. Afraid to go after it, he scrambled into the tunnel on his hands and knees. It wasn’t quite tall enough to stand upright, but he managed to get back on his feet by hunching over. He felt his way down the dark tunnel a short distance before turning back to see how the creature would react to his escape.

The monster had stopped in front of the opening, blocking out the faint glow of his lost flashlight. It let out a loud belching noise.

“I’m in here, and you’re out there. Get used to it, pal.”

Mason brought his rifle up again, figuring that he would try for a few well-placed shots if the creature was dumb enough to stand still. What happened next surprised him. The sewer monster pressed itself against the opening of the tunnel, and as it did, its body seemed to compress as if its bones had somehow become malleable.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Mason squeezed the trigger, and once again, the bullets were absorbed by the mass of crusty packing material surrounding its body.

Not wanting to risk being grabbed, Mason turned and felt his way further down the tunnel. The problems that he encountered were twofold. First, the tunnel was both dark and wet, leaving him to stumble and slip every few steps. And second, the stench was growing steadily worse. His eyes watered, and his gut began to cramp. He thought it likely that the air contained methane and hydrogen sulfide, both of which could be deadly if breathed in high enough concentrations. The watery eyes and stomach pains were telling him that his body was headed for trouble if he didn’t find fresh air, and fast.

He felt of his pocket, issuing a silent prayer of thanks that his lighter hadn’t fallen out during his less than graceful spill. He was about to strike a flame when he recalled that a sewer main had once blown up in New York City thanks to the careless flick of a lit cigarette. The resulting blast had reportedly shot manhole covers thirty feet into the air.

He hesitated. Could the gases around him be combustible? If so, they weren’t only dangerous to him; they might also be the way to stop the 400-pound human poo monster chasing him.

Stuffing the lighter back into his pocket, Mason shuffled ahead as fast as he dared. He needed a little distance, not to mention a hefty dose of good luck, to get out of his current predicament. The tunnel gradually curved to the right, and as it did, the stench grew even more intense. He retched, his breakfast spilling out into the darkness.

Pausing only to wipe his mouth, he continued on. With every step he took, the sound of the creature’s incessant clawing grew fainter. That growing lead, however, wasn’t going to mean much if Mason dropped unconscious before finding a way out of the noxious fumes.

A faint glow of light appeared from up ahead, but he couldn’t be sure if it was real or simply a hallucination brought on by the gas. Clutching his gut, he stumbled forward. With consciousness fading fast, Mason heaved himself out of the narrow tunnel, landing on his knees in a puddle of wet muck. He closed his eyes and forced the wretched air from of his lungs. Tipping his head back, he took a deep breath. And then another. The world seemed to steady, but the churning in his stomach remained.