Salvation: Secret Apocalypse Book 5 (A Secret Apocalypse Story) (5 page)

Kim passes back out and I’m pretty sure she’s dying.

“Have you seen anything like this?” I ask George.

“Yeah.”

“This bad?”

He nods.

“How long do we have?”

“Not long. Cardiac arrest will soon follow.”

“What?”

“The heart stops.”

“Goddamn it. OK, we need to move. I need to get these meds.”

George shakes his head. “I don’t think there’s time. I don’t think she’s
going to make it.”

“Don’t say that. We have to try.”

“It’s too risky. And besides, you’ve seen this before. You know how it
goes.”

I pause. I didn’t actually see the
Evo
Agent
die. He was taken away by General Spears. He could’ve died from withdrawing
from the nano-virus. Or he could’ve been executed.

My money was on death by execution.

“You have seen this, right?” George asks again.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Sort of. We. Maria and I. We were locked up in a
shipping container. The General locked us up.”

George shakes his head. “Crazy son of a bitch. Doesn’t surprise me.
General Spears had been doing that more and more frequently. He didn’t trust me
or anyone else in the prison system. He didn’t want to have anything on file.
He didn’t want anything to be recorded on CCTV. He would use the inner sanctum.
He would use the shipping containers. Use them to hold people for as long as he
wanted to. It was a form of torture.”

“Torture? You don’t say.” And as soon as the words leave my lips I am
surprised at the level of sarcasm.

I chalk it up to being starving and dehydrated. And you know, actually
being tortured.

“For the first few days we were locked up,” I continue. “We shared the
shipping container with a soldier. He called himself an
Evo
Agent. And he was struggling. He was displaying all the same symptoms as Kim
is. The black vomit is the most... distinctive one. He told us that they had
been given nano-virus injections. And that he needed regular injections.
Monthly. Or he’d go into withdrawal. But I don’t know what actually became of
him. He was taken away. I’m guessing he was executed. Apparently the
Evo
Agent had been sent here by the company to kill the
General. At least, that’s what General Spears thought.”

“The company?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure what the General meant by that.”

And I think to myself that maybe General Spears was talking about
YoshidaCorp
. But I don’t know for sure, and there is no way
to find out, so I push the thought out of my mind.

“So this soldier, this EVO Agent,” George says, “He was suffering from
the same withdrawal symptoms as Kim?”

“Yeah. Exactly the same.”

“Then he was a dead man either way. And I know you don’t want to hear
it, but Kim is probably not going to make it. She...”

“You’re right,” I say, cutting him off. “I don’t want to hear it. I know
it doesn’t look good for her. I know it’s a long shot. But I’m not going to
stand here and do nothing. I’m not going to stand here and watch her die. And
if we want any chance of getting out of here alive, we need her. We need her up
and functioning and moving. We can’t leave her here because I won’t leave her
behind. So I’m going to get the NVX. And she’s going to make it. And she’s
going to be fine. And that’s all there is to it.”

George nods his
head and slowly comes to the understanding that I am going to go through with
this with or without his help. “The sick bay is tough to get to,” he says.

“I don’t care.
Just show me where it is.”

“And I should
stay here,” he adds. “I can guide you. I’ll man the CCTV. I’ll be your eyes and
ears.”

“Yeah, that
sounds good.”

“I mean, I would
go. But I’m better off here. I’m more useful to you if I stay here. Do you know
how to work this security system?”

It was a
ridiculous question. Of course I had no idea how to work the security system.

“No, of course
not,” I say. “It’s fine. You don’t have to make excuses. You don’t have to
justify not coming. I’m prepared to do this. I
want
to do this.”

He moves over to
the book shelf and retrieves two walkie-talkies.

He turns one on
and a blast of loud static erupts from the small speaker.

“Turn that thing
off,” I say.

He doesn’t turn
it off, but he does turn the volume way down. “We need these to communicate.”

He handed me one
of the radios.

“Won’t this be
too loud?” I ask. “The static, the noise will attract the infected in no time.”

He gave me a
pair of head phones. “Plug these into the walkie-talkie. That’ll take care of
the noise. I'll do the talking. You just listen. Only talk back if you need to.
Make sure you whisper. Remember, you can't let them hear you. You can’t let
them see you. You need to be invisible.”

And I say, “You
don’t need to remind me.”

He grabs the blueprints and rolls them out so they are flat on the
table. “These blueprints are online. But since everything was shut down, and
the passwords were all changed, I haven’t been able to access anything.”

“Thank god for backups and hard copies,” I say.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

He keeps the blueprints spread out on the table and uses his
walkie-talkie as a paper weight to keep them flat. “We are here,” he says,
pointing. “The sick bay is here.”

“Is the sick bay near the interrogation rooms? Is it near that crowd of
infected people?”

“It’s relatively close. But it’s completely separated. You should be
safe from them.”

“Should?”

“I can’t guarantee it. I told you. Rock and a hard place.”

Great, I think to myself as I begin to freak out. “
It’s
fine,” I say, playing it cool. “Where’s the NVX stored?”

“So the sick bay is basically a small hospital room,” George says.
“There should be about six beds.”

I study the blue prints. We are near the holding cells and the admin
offices. Next along are the interrogation rooms. Then the sick bay. Next to the
sick bay is a small cafeteria. Each different area is separated by heavy duty
security doors.

At the very end of the corridor that contained the holding cells, the
corridor that is outside of this very room, is a stairwell that leads down to a
double set of security doors. On the other side of the security doors is
another long corridor.

It is the access point to the military prison.

I make a mental note that this will probably be our escape route. It is
the closest exit point out of this area. The only problem is, I have no idea
where it leads to or what is waiting for us down there. The alternative to this
option is to get all the way to the subway station. The subway station is the
main entry and exit point for this part of the facility. But this is a long way
away. And again, we have no idea if the station is overrun. And we have no idea
what is lurking in those subway tunnels.

George lays another set of clear blue prints over the existing ones. The
clear blue prints show the air vents.

“You need to crawl through the air vents and pass through five
junctions,” he says. “Once you are through the fifth junction you should see a
grate. You should be able to remove the grate by loosening the screws that hold
it in place.”

He hands me a small screw driver.

“This grate should be directly over the sick bay,” he says.

“So all I have to do is open this grate and drop down into the sick
bay?”

“Correct.”

“Should I get food or water from the cafeteria?”

“Maybe. If it’s at all possible. But your primary concern should be her
meds. I don’t think you’ll have a lot of time to go looking for food or water.”

“What do you mean? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying there are a lot of infected people on the loose down here.”

“How did so many get loose? How did they get in here?”

“I’m not sure. It’s like this all over the entire facility. All over the
Fortress. They started coming in through the subway station. Coming out of the
tunnels. Coming out of the dark. So yeah, you need to be quick. You need to be
quiet. If they see you, hear you, you’re screwed.”

He keeps reminding me to be quiet. It’s kind of getting on my nerves. I
want to tell him this
ain’t
my first time. But I
think better of it. He’s about to become my eyes. My ears.

I do not want to piss him off. I do not want to upset my eyes and ears.

Instead I tell him, “OK, I’ll be quiet. I’m ready.”

I say I’m ready even though I’m not entirely sure that I am. But I don’t
have a choice. I need to get Kim’s meds. Whatever the hell they are.

The nano-virus.

NVX.

It’s keeping her alive. The same thing that is going to kill me in
approximately fifty-two hours.

The same tiny, microscopic robots. The same nano-bots but with different
programming. One is designed to save life. One is designed to kill life.

I shake my head. I ignore my impending death. I need to save my friend.

I convince myself I am ready to do this.

I climb up into the air vent and slide my way towards the sick bay. I pass
through the first junction. And then the second. Each junction is basically an
intersection. Air vents lead off in four different directions.

Up.

Down.

Forwards.

Backwards.

I am going forwards. I pass through another intersection and I feel like
leaving a trail of breadcrumbs so I don’t get lost. I pass through the fourth
junction and I think to myself,
the
breadcrumbs were eaten by birds
. Hansel and Gretel still became lost.
Pebbles. I need to leave pebbles as a trail. But I don’t have either. No
pebbles. No breadcrumbs. No food. No water. I have almost nothing.

I come to the fifth and final junction and I physically slap myself in
the face so I can try and regain some kind of composure and focus. I peer
through the grated air vent, down into the sick bay.

George was right; it’s basically a small hospital room. From my vantage
point I can’t see much.

There are about six beds.

I strain my ears. Listening for the familiar sound of the infected.

Their moaning, howling scream.

Shuffling feet.

Snapping jaws.

I hear nothing. No sounds.

The room appears to be empty.

But then I look closer. Each bed contains a dead body wrapped up in the
bed sheets. Each body has a bullet wound to the head. A small patch of dark
blood stains each white bed sheet. This is an ominous warning sign. And I have
no choice but to ignore it.

I remove the screw driver from my pocket and attempt to unscrew the
grate so I can climb down. It takes a while because my right hand is all cut up,
and the screws are screwed in tight and caked in dust, but I eventually loosen
them. I slide the grate out of the way and climb down, feet first.

The room looks like any normal hospital room.

There are six beds.

There is monitoring equipment beside the beds.

A few chairs for visitors.

A curtain that can surround the bed for privacy.

A clipboard hooked on to the end of each bed.

I move over and pick up one of the charts.

The chart reads:

Patient has suffered possible exposure to airborne strain of the Oz
virus.

Observable symptoms include...

Facial hemorrhaging.

Bloodshot eyes.

Aggression.

Increased strength.

Restraints absolutely necessary.

Patient is unresponsive to questions.

Speech appears to be impaired or completely impossible.

Initial high fever followed by extremely low core body temperature.

No heartbeat.

Symptoms appeared within minutes of patient presenting.

No response to vaccine.

No response to NVX.

Below the notes is a large red X. I can guess what that meant. All the other
charts read the same. A few of them simply had a large red X on them. No notes
at all. No need for notes. At the far end of the room was a long and narrow
walk-in storage area.

“Do you see the storage area?” George asks over the walkie-talkie.

I readjust my headphones in my ears and turn the volume up slightly.
“Yeah, I see it.”

“The NVX injection pens should be in there. They usually come in packs
of three.”

“Got it.”

This is where I will find the meds. The shelves line the walls of the
walk-in storage area. They contain all the necessary medical supplies anyone
could ever want.

Bandages.

Surgical tools.

Hypodermic needles.

But I can’t see any boxes or vials labeled NVX. No injecting pens.

At the end of the narrow walk-in storage area is a glass door. It leads
to a secured, sealed off section.

The glass door has a keypad security lock.

I am about to ask George if he knows about the sealed off room. If he
knows the access code, but then I see something that should definitely not be
in a medical supply room.

It is a machete.

It is covered in blood and small chips of bone and small slivers of
flesh and ligament and clumps of hair.

Before I can figure out what the hell this means, I hear a groan coming
from back out in the sick bay. I hear the howling scream. I hear running
footsteps.

I turn around, picking up the machete in the same movement. The infected
person is almost on top of me. His arms are stretched out, reaching for me. I
swing the machete in a wild, swooping arc. And when I swing the machete I close
my eyes.

I don’t know why I close my eyes.

The machete is sharp and heavy and it doesn’t quite fully decapitate the
infected man, but it does the next best thing. It slices through the top half
of its head. It slices clean through. It does this easily. Like a hot knife
through butter. It was the weirdest sensation. And to be honest I kind of feel
like trying it again. But I’m not going to get the chance.

As I swung the machete and half-decapitated the infected man, I let go
of the handle and the machete went flying out into the sick bay.

I don’t know why I let go.

Maybe because I wasn’t ready for the attack. Maybe because the blade was
surprisingly heavy. Or maybe because I didn’t expect it to slice through so
easily. But yeah, I let go of the blade and it went flying back into the
hospital room and landed under one of the beds.

And then I see another infected person.

The reason I didn’t see them initially is because they were standing
behind one of the curtains in the corner of the room.

They were just standing there. Motionless.

Dead.

But alive.

And now they have sprung into action.

There was fresh meat on offer. A fresh host.

The infected person is walking towards me. They are still caught up in
the curtain. They are almost tangled up.

But they continue walking forward. Coming for me. And they eventually
walk through the curtain and it falls away. And then I see this infected person
is wearing a white lab coat, and I think that maybe they used to be the doctor
to these patients and maybe he was the one who wrote all those notes and all
those large red X’s.

Once he sees me, he charges.

I have no time to run out of the storage room to retrieve the blade.

So I back further into the storeroom.

I have nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

No escape.

I place my hands on the shelves on each side of the narrow storeroom and
lift my legs up to kick the charging zombie. I make contact with its chest and
it goes flying back. The thing quickly gets to its feet, and I wonder for how
long I can keep doing that.

Long enough for George to show up?

Would he even show up?

The infected man is already charging again.

I raise my legs and kick him back. My legs feel heavy. I am already
beginning to tire.

This is not good.

My hand reaches for the walkie-talkie. “George!”

Static. No response.

“George. I need help.”

Maybe I can kick the infected man back further and further.

Make a run for the machete.

Get my hands on a weapon.

And I’m still trying to figure out what the hell that machete is even
doing here? And before I can answer my own question, the man in the gas mask
appears and grabs the former doctor by his coat and pulls him to the ground. He
pins the man down and picks up his machete. He decapitates the infected man and
kicks the head away, under one of the beds.

After the last kick I performed, I fell back.

I am sitting, sprawled on my ass. And now I am paralyzed.

I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

The man in the gas mask steps forward. Stands over me. He raises his
machete, his blood covered sword. He smashes the security camera that was
located in the corner of the storeroom, just above the entry.

And then he stares at me.

He stares at me with those black tinted goggles, those black lifeless
eyes.

He looks like a monster. An alien. Something inhuman.