The Zone: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Infection Chronicles Book 1) (15 page)

Steele went over every scrap of information that he had extracted from Norman. He tried to recall every detail. With a broken leg from the Vantage’s crash, Norman reached his pain threshold rather quickly. He was more than forthcoming about Raddick's compound. 

It was a 30,000 square foot facility, 60 feet underground, with 3 levels—including a detention area. It supposedly had the appointments and ambiance of a five star hotel. Bedrooms, showers, latrines, kitchens, dining hall, and common’s area. There was even a home theater room. The compound was completely self contained and self-sufficient. It had a high capacity septic system. Three, 1000 kilowatt generators. A medical center with doctors of various specialties. Raddick had been careful to recruit members into his organization that would be valuable during a societal collapse. 

The complex had its own workshop, laundry facility, and sustainable bio-farm with grow lights. It had a maximum capacity of around 100 people. There were a year’s worth of medical supplies, fuel, food, and water. NBC (nuclear, biological, chemical) filtration systems kept the air fresh and safe. Geothermal heating and cooling kept the environment comfortable. 

Steele milled over the details. The HVAC system, and the three generators, would definitely require an exhaust port. These ports would empty into a common shaft that led up to the surface, Steele thought. With any luck, that shaft would be big enough for a man, or woman, to squeeze through. But where was the shaft?

Steele was lost in his own thoughts when Parker’s voice interrupted him. “Chief, it’s working.”

He glanced up, and sure enough, the S9 was melting its way through the blast door. It was just taking longer than usual. Finally, the glowing red gel worked its way through the thick metal. With the butt of his gun, Steele punched out the locking mechanism. The massive chunk of metal clamored on the grated metal floor on the other side. Steele winced with regret at the sound. So much for a covert entrance. Parker readied her weapon, and Steele hefted the door open.

The door opened into a staircase that spiraled down 60 feet. A voice called up to them from below. “Harrison, is that you?”

The stairwell was a concrete shaft that plummeted straight down. Metal switchback steps spiraled below, accessing all three levels—each enclosed with its own fire door. There was another stairwell just like it on the opposite side of the compound. That was the main entrance. This secondary escape route was only to be used during an emergency.

“Chuck?” Steele yelled back, hoping—praying—that Norman hadn’t lied.

“What the hell is going on?” the man below said.

Steele breathed a small sigh of relief. Through the grated floor, he could barely see the outline of the man on the first floor landing. Norman had said Chuck regularly took the night watch at the back entrance. It seemed that Norman had given up some good intel. 

Steele dashed into the stairwell and angled his weapon over the railing. Before the man could react, Steele
 
squeezed off a subsonic round. The silent bullet split the air and tore through Chuck’s skull. His heavyset body collapsed, and his blood sprayed against the first floor fire door. Crimson blood speckled the door’s polycarbonate window and dripped down slowly.

Chuck should’ve been standing on the landing behind the blast door, or so Norman had said. But with all the commotion, Chuck just couldn’t help himself. He got curious. Steele figured he must have gone down to the first floor to get information. He imagined him peering through the window repeatedly, pacing back and forth. Anxious and frazzled and not paying attention. Just like Steele had anticipated. So far, the plan was working.

Parker and Steele plunged down the steps to the first floor landing.

“Check him for keys,” Steele said, as he peered through the fire door’s window. He saw a large common area with leather couches and flatscreen TVs. If you were going to ride out the apocalypse, this was the place. But he didn’t see any people. They were either on the surface, responding to the explosion and casualties. Or they were following a security protocol, huddled away in a safe space somewhere.

Parker knelt down and rummaged through Chuck’s pockets. She came up with a set of master keys. “Bingo.”

“Let’s secure these doors.”

Parker pulled out the S9 applicator and switched it to weld mode. The nano-activator adjusted the temperature and duration of the gel. It allowed the gel to melt the metal, then cool instantly after fusing together. Parker applied the gel between the door and the frame, fusing the two together within seconds. She repeated the process at the access door to level 2. The doors weren’t impenetrable now, but it was going to take a helluva lot of effort to get through them.

Steele and Parker made their way down to level 3.
 

“Let’s rescue some hostages,” Steele said.

THE DETENTION AREA was like a small jail. It had a prisoner processing station, storage area for personal effects, and an evidence locker. The only thing it really lacked were a finger print station and equipment for mug shots—neither of which were necessary in a post apocalyptic justice system. Though, the idea of justice seemed highly suspect in this situation. Steele figured that Raddick would be the sole judge and jury of anyone in his camp that broke his law.

The holding cells looked like a solitary confinement unit at a supermax prison. Rows upon rows of steel doors with reinforced polycarbonate viewports and food slots. It seemed there were enough cells to detain the entire population of the compound. Raddick was well prepared for any civil unrest. 

The detention center took up a third of the overall square footage of level 3. There were two cell blocks, A and B, that branched off from the main corridor. The rest of level 3 was allotted to generators, storage, weapons, and medical.

Keeping detainees isolated would make them easier to break down mentally and reprogram. This wouldn’t be the first time Steele had rescued hostages or prisoners of war. He knew these types of situations could present unique challenges. Hostages can often be reluctant to leave, despite the deplorable living conditions. They begin to identify with their captors—seeing them as their only source of survival. 

Steele hurried down the corridor, glancing through the viewports. The first several cells were empty. About halfway down the corridor, he saw a woman curled up in the corner of one of the rooms. He nodded to Parker, and she unlocked the cell with a master key. At first, the woman was terrified when the cell door opened.

“It’s okay,” Parker said. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

The woman looked haggard and bruised. She couldn’t have been more than 30, but her eyes were deep, and anything youthful about them was gone. It was clear that she had undergone routine beatings. It took her a moment to realize this wasn’t going to be one of those beatings. The tension washed from her face, and probably for the first time in a long time, she looked hopeful.

“Can you walk?” Parker asked.

The woman nodded.

Parker extended her hand and helped the woman to her feet. “What’s your name?”

“Elizabeth.”

“You’re safe now, Elizabeth.” Parker led the woman into the corridor. Then Parker rushed to the next cell and unlocked it.

Steele was bouncing from cell to cell, frantically searching for Chloe. “All of these are full,” he said, calling back to Parker. She dashed from door to door, unlocking them. Elizabeth helped Parker coax the other prisoners out. Soon, the hallway was filling with hostages. 

Steele kept searching for Chloe, but he found something he didn’t expect—a man. He was sitting on the bunk in the sparse cell. Was this guy a hostage, or an inmate? Every other cell contained a woman—part of Raddick’s plan to repopulate the new world. For an instant, he thought about telling Parker not to unlock this man’s cell. Then he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Whatever this man did or didn’t do, he deserved a fair shake.

Steele found Chloe alone in a cell near the end of the corridor. A wave of relief washed over his face. Steele called back to Parker and motioned her over. 

Parker shouldered her way through the crowd and unlocked Chloe’s door. The murmur of voices in the hall was starting to grow into a cacophony of sound.

“Keep them quiet, or were going to have the whole compound down here,” Steele said. Parker dashed off to settle them down. 

Steele pulled open the cell door. Chloe’s eyes lit up big like saucers when she saw him. She ran to him with her arms spread wide. Steele knelt down and embraced her with a big hug. “I told you I’d never leave you.”

“That’s good, because you need me to keep you out of trouble around this place.”

A rare smile curled up on Steele’s face. “Come on. We’re getting out of here.” Steele picked her up and carried her out of the cell. He weaved his way through the crowd and found Parker. She had unlocked the last of the cell doors. Some of the hostages were from Xavier’s camp, but many weren’t. Some were curious and full of questions. Others were mute. There were maybe 20 women in total, ranging in age from 16 to mid 30s. Raddick didn’t seem to have much use for women past childbearing years. Some of them had been in there for months. Some of them for days. 

Then there was the solitary man. He was disheveled and hadn’t shaved in months. Quiet, almost sheepish. He kept to himself, staring at the floor. Who was this guy, Steele thought again.

“There is a woman in cell A-19 who refuses to leave,” Parker said.

Steele glanced at Parker. “None of us are going to get out of here if we don’t go now,” he said. “See if you can find anyone who knows her.”

Parker nodded and began to query the crowd. 

Steele set Chloe down. “Stay right here, okay?”

“Where you going?”

“I’m just going to the end of the hall to see if it’s clear.”

Chloe nodded.

Steel jogged back down the corridor to the fire door. He peered through the window—the stairwell looked clear. He pulled open the door and nosed out into the stairwell. It sounded quiet. He stepped to the railing and looked up through the center of the switchbacks to the top of the shaft. The stairwell was empty. Except for Chuck’s body. It was still lying on the first floor landing above him. His blood had trickled down through the grated floor and dripped onto the railing.

Steele ducked back into the detention area. He ran down the hall to Chloe and took her hand. “Parker,” he hissed.

She was standing in the doorway to cell A-19 with Elizabeth, trying to coax the occupant out. It didn’t seem to be working. Parker’s eyes snapped to Steele and she just shrugged.

“We’ve got to move,” Steele said. His eyes scanned over the crowd of hostages. Their faces were eager and scared and hopeless and hopeful, all at the same time. He had seen that look a thousand times before. In the faces of soldiers and refugees who had seen things they never should have seen. Experienced things that people should never have to experience. “Follow me, and keep quiet. We’re going to get you to safety.”

Steele pulled Chloe down the corridor, and the others began to follow. 

The woman in cell 19 still refused to go. When Parker tried to forcibly remove her, the woman shrieked in terror. Parker let go of her and stepped away. There was nothing she could do. Parker backed out of the cell and brought up the rear, herding the hostages along. 

Steele pushed open the fire door, giving one last glance into the stairwell before proceeding. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. 

The snarls of the infected were echoing off the concrete walls. Hordes of them tumbled down the staircase from above. Steele clenched his teeth and his blood pressure shot through the roof. He was furious. Finn had likely forgotten to close the doors to the tunnel entrance. It must be the blood, Steele thought.

Infected are like mosquitoes, or sharks. Mosquitoes can sniff out CO2 in the air from 2 miles away. It’s how they can find you out in the field at night. Just like sharks can smell a drop of blood in a square mile of water. Chuck’s blood, wafting up through the concrete shaft and out through the escape tunnel, was like an all-you-can-eat buffet sign. Now a horde of lurkers had staggered their way into the stairwell, looking for their next meal. 

Steele glanced back to Chloe. He pulled his 9mm from the holster and handed it to her. “I know you know how to use this?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” she said in her adorably sassy voice.

“I’m going to take care of those things. You stay here until I clear the way. If anything happens to me, you shoot those bastards right between the eyes.”

“Duh,” she said.

“Don’t get any blood in your eyes or your mouth.”

“I’ve been doing this longer than you have,” Chloe said.

Steele smiled. “Right.” 

The lurkers’ footsteps clanked against the metal staircase. The shaft began to fill with the putrid smell of the infected. 

Steele drew his blade and launched up the stairs. His boots clanked against the metal steps, echoing up the concrete shaft. It mixed with the discordant snarls of the infected. They packed into the stairwell incessantly. 

As Steele rounded the level 1 switchback, he saw a man inside the compound, trying to get through the fire door. They saw each other through the polycarbonate window. The man was yelling and screaming and ramming his shoulder into the door. But it wasn’t opening. The welds were holding tight. Steele gave the man on the other side of the glass a slight smile. It only made the man more furious, frothing and spitting as he yelled. The man slammed harder into the door. He might get through it eventually, but it was going to take a battering ram and several men.