The Containment Team (15 page)

I WAS TEMPTED to look above the cubicles to see if Pratt was in his office, but refrained from doing so. I imagined him standing at the window, having just seen the door open and shut without anybody entering the room.

He could be heading our way now.

My heartbeat thudded in my ears and I could smell the sweat coming off Pete from where he crouched several steps away.

“I’ll go around the corner,” I said, “make sure it's clear, and then you go to your desk.” I looked at the bright red gasoline containers. “Leave one with me, just in case. You’ll also move faster that way.”

Pete shook his head, glaring at me. “Don’t be cavalier with the gas. This isn’t like the cement box we call home. A fire in here will do a lot of damage. I’ll want the data we have here if things really are going to hell. All I need is a minute. My computer is booted up, I just have to log in and get the information. Use your shotgun to hold Pratt at bay. That gas is only a last resort.”

I didn’t reply as I poked my head around the corner because I didn’t like his tone. I wanted to point out there were sprinklers on the ceiling and the greater danger was they could keep us from being able to kill Pratt, but it wasn’t time for an argument.

Pete was right, we just needed to get the contact information and go.

The way was clear so I waved Pete forward.

“Remember, gas is the last resort.” His whisper was barely audible and when I didn’t respond he looked like he was on the verge of repeating himself. I nodded and motioned for him to go. I’d heard him the first time. Just because I’d burned that ball of blutom back in our dorm, he now assumed that I was some kind of sick pyro. I didn’t appreciate his assumption but tried to push away my annoyance.  

Pete moved like a three-legged dog, holding the gas with one hand and using the other to crawl forward. I hadn’t noticed before that the floor was carpeted, but I was glad to see that it was dampening Pete’s movements. I could still hear him as he slid across the carpet, but I doubted anybody further than ten or fifteen feet away would hear anything.

Just before Pete got to his desk a dog howled from inside the room. Its bloodcurdling cry was answered by two others. Figuring that our moment of surprise had passed, I sprung to my feet as Pete quickly closed the distance to his desk.

I thought about the smell I’d noticed earlier and wished I’d thought to mention it to Pete. Still, I couldn’t help but feel irritated Pete hadn’t been forthcoming about the fact that there were guard dogs on the premises. Intentional or not, what else had he not told us?

I spun around in place, trying to pinpoint the direction the dogs would come from. The cubicles, combined with the enclosed space of the office, made it very difficult to get a bead on them. Pratt was looking through the window of his office as I climbed up onto the nearest cubicle desk in hopes of seeing our new attackers before they got to us.

From my peripheral vision, I saw Pratt open his door but go no further. A brief glance didn’t tell me much other than that he was watching me through slitted eyes. It would have been enough to make my blood run cold if my heart wouldn’t have been beating more than a hundred times a minute.

Even though I assumed Pratt knew Pete was here as well, I decided I wouldn’t call out to Pete unless it was necessary to save his life. If Pratt knew what Pete was up to, he might approach and we’d have to deal with him as well as the dogs.

A dog whipped around the corner of the next row of cubicles and a cold sweat immediately covered my forehead.

This wasn’t just a guard dog.

It was in the process of losing its fur. Most of what was on its head had fallen off and the blood film gave it a garish cast.

There was no hesitation on my part as I fired off a shot, aiming for the legs and leading just ahead of it in the way I did when I shot clay pigeons at the range. Even though it was loud and my ears rang afterward, the concussion from my weapon was a comforting sound. The front right leg and shoulder of the dog turned to a twisted mess of blutom, sinew, and bone. The dog rolled but then was back on its feet and continued to come on three legs.

I pumped back on the shotgun, ejecting a shell, and then loaded another as I aimed for the body. I’d become used to fighting the larger boned human variety of the monster and hadn’t taken into consideration the smaller body of the dog. I squeezed the trigger—

“Slammer! Behind you.”

Cursing and letting up on the trigger, I spun around as another dog rounded the corner of the cubicle and jumped up onto the desk with me. Lashing out with my foot, I caught it in the jaw and sent it sprawling onto the floor. As it came back up, I lined up my shotgun and fired. The head and front part of the dog was ripped up as if I’d sent it through a blender. The back legs were still in decent enough shape that the monster twisted around and came at me tail first. As it sprang up, I kicked it back.

In my hurry to find high ground I’d left the container of gas on the floor and I regretted not bringing it up with me. Another shot into the rear hindquarters of what was left didn’t stop it from wiggling around but did put an end to its ability to jump. By that time the three-legged dog had joined it.

I was surprised to note the marked difference between the two dogs. The one I’d blown apart had been a smaller dog. Perhaps my assumption these animals had been guard dogs was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t another example of Pete holding something back after all.

Howls filled the air and echoed around the enclosed room, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. How many of the cursed animals were there?

“There’s two more coming from behind.” Pete stood on the desk of the next cubicle over. With everything else going on I hadn’t noticed his approach. I hoped he’d had enough time to get the phone number of the containment team because I doubted we were going to have another chance at getting to his computer.

“You got your gas?”

Pete shook his head ruefully as he held it up. “Looks like the only way out is going to be setting the place on fire anyway.” He said it in such a way that implied he expected me to be happy to burn something else.

“Light up what’s left of the dogs on the floor below us.” I sprung off my desk to one across the way so that I wouldn’t have Pete directly in my line of fire. The first of the two newcomers howled and I almost laughed at the site. It was a little chihuahua. The one beside it might have been a German shepherd before it had shifted, but it was hard to tell with all the fur gone.

I had two more shells before I would be empty. Trusting that Pete could deal with what was left of those on the floor beneath us. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and inhaled the ghastly smell of carnage. Trying to not let the gagging get to me, I rested my front hand on the cubicle wall to steady my arm and fired, aiming square for the chest of the shepherd.

It was satisfying to see the front of it shred into dozens of pieces. The head was badly mangled and both eyes were now missing. One of the legs was ripped clean off, but the other was left largely untouched. The Chihuahua lunged forward as the shepherd took a dive. It arrived below me and leaped, but didn’t make it even halfway up the length of the desk. 

Keeping my eye on the shepherd, I aimed for its back legs and fired. I missed, the buckshot ripping to shreds the cubicle wall that had been the backstop for my shot. A large hole appeared in the padded wall.

Cursing, I slung my shotgun over my shoulder and switched to my pistol, firing without aiming. The force of the shot sent it careening under the desk of the closest cubicle. Bits of blutom, flesh, and bone flew back and covered the cubicle.

I felt the hot barrel of my shotgun resting against by back. Why hadn’t I opted to get the extended magazine tube? I couldn’t remember, but it seemed now to have been one of my stupider decisions. If I got out of this alive, that was going to become a top priority. I also wished I’d thought to pull my bandolier over my head, but it was back in my bag. I hadn’t thought that getting the phone number would be so involved.

“Fire in the hole.” Pete had made a wad of paper from a pad of sticky notes he’d pilfered from the cubicle and had lit it on fire. I recognized the smell of gas and saw Pete’s empty canister as the burning wad fell to the floor. It had been there for the last minute or so but I’d been too preoccupied to notice. The floor was covered with paper, books, and even a blanket that Pete had managed to wrangle up from somewhere.

Pete covered his eyes as flames sprang to life on the mangled moving remnants of the dogs below us on the floor. The Chihuahua howled as it was engulfed as well. Call me sick or cold blooded, but the little runt’s cry was music to my ears.

My joy was short lived. It wasn’t as sharp as it should have been. 

I’d been on the fence as to whether or not these monsters felt pain but as I watched the last remaining fur on the small dog burn away and its flesh turn to blackened char, it looked a lot like the dog was howling in alarm. It wasn’t shrill enough to reflect pain.

When the Chihuahua’s howl was answered by a chorus, I let out a long string of curse words. I’d been hoping we were almost done with what Pratt had to throw at us.

Pete flashed a smile, which looked strange on his soot stained face. “Man, Buckshot, I haven’t ever heard you curse like that. I think I learned a few new ones.”

“I’m out of shells.” I looked down at my pistol. I didn’t know how many rounds were Ieft in the magazine, but I had another full magazine in my pocket. I would have felt a great deal better with a fully loaded shotgun. “I wasn’t expecting this to turn into rise of the dog zombies. A minute, indeed. You get what you needed?”

“Yep, I got the number and a couple of others. I was hoping to get more but…” He shrugged and looked around, not needing to finish the thought.

Pratt’s office was empty.

“You see where Pratt went?” I asked.

Pete shook his head.

I sighed. The dogs weren’t too us yet, but it wouldn’t be long before they came into view. All of the animals had come from over by the executive suite. I wondered if there had a been a kennel in one of the offices and that is what I’d smelled earlier.

A pack of dogs turned the corner and it was Pete’s turn to swear. There were five animals and they were all the size of Great Danes. I echoed his sentiments but I was busy lining up my sights on the first dog, aiming for a shoulder. My shot did significant damage, ripping out large chunks of flesh, but the beast kept coming.

“Run!” I jumped down from the cubicle, intentionally landing on the yapping blackened charred Chihuahua. There was something satisfying about the way all the bones in the body snapped as I landed. I doubted it would be getting up again anytime soon. We were thirty feet away from the door but we were out of options and I didn’t know what else to do. Pete vaulted over the wall of his cubicle into the row on the other side.

I scooped up the gas container I’d abandoned earlier. Holding my pistol with my thumb and forefingers I used the rest of my fingers to unscrew the top. The liquid sloshed up onto me as I ran, I cringed when some of it got onto my pistol.

Things just kept getting worse. I didn’t dare fire my pistol while it was covered in gas. It shouldn’t be longer than a few minutes before most of it had evaporated, but we could be dead by that time. Knowing I could do nothing else with it, I holstered my pistol and fished out my lighter.

We were halfway to the door when the pack came around the corner. I emptied the gas on the floor while flicking the lighter to life. I was careful to hold it away from me and prayed that fumes from my hand weren’t bad enough to catch fire.

The dogs were five feet away when I stepped back and reached out to light the gas. The hounds pulled to a stop as flames roared to life. Not knowing how long it would stop them, I ran towards the door.

Pete was already there and had snatched away Ron’s shotgun from the lad. He was pointing it my direction.

“Don’t shoot!” I cried, but it was already too late. Two pellets tore into the flesh of my arm and shoulder. Another grazed my cheek. The next moment, I was on Pete, ripping the weapon out of his hands and shoving him through the door as I followed.

I yanked it shut. Seconds later the dogs were barking on the other side.

“What’s wrong with you?” I shouted. “You could have taken an eye!”

Pete stood his ground as he pulled out his phone. “They were right behind you. That little trick of yours with the gas didn’t do a thing to stop them.”

I about slammed him into the wall, but he held up his hand and pointed to his phone.

“I need to call the containment team.”  

ONE OF THE dogs on the other side of the door howled, setting the hair on the back of my neck on edge. As I looked around the stairwell, I could tell I wasn’t the only person who was affected. Madelyn wrapped her arms around her chest as if to keep warm. Her eyes were wide and her face pale. Ron looked down the stairs and opened his mouth. He didn’t speak, as if afraid that his voice might crack and show his fear. The only one that didn’t seem bothered was Pete, all his attention was on his phone.

The dog howled again and it was joined by a chorus from the others that was punctuated by scratching as they tried to claw their way through the door. A moment later it all stopped.

That was when the thumping started, all at once, just like it had been when we’d been trapped back in the women’s bathroom.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It was coordinated and while the door was thick, the hinges looked as though they wouldn’t stand up to much extended use of blunt force. 

It was a lucky thing I hadn’t thought to ask Ron what type of ammo he’d been carrying in the shotgun. If I had learned it was just for trap shooting, I’d have insisted he take some of my buckshot. That little oversight had saved me from having more serious damage. Back at the gas station, his first shot had been a slug. He must have loaded a variety of ammo.

I stifled a groan, knowing that it could have been worse wasn’t much consolation. My arm stung in two different places. The blood trickled off and was making a puddle right in front of the door.

I snorted when I saw it, a dark thought crossing my mind. After all the shooting I’d done tonight, it was the only blood I’d seen. I’d shot off monster’s heads and used the shotgun as if it were bone saw, but the only person that had bled was me.

What a bloody mess this all was.

I set Ron’s shotgun against the wall. When he moved to pick it up, I glared at him until he backed away. He had no way of knowing how bad Pete was with understanding the technicalities of guns, but given that it had just been used to wound me, I wasn’t anxious to hand control of it over to somebody else just yet.

Madelyn reached for my arm. When I jerked it back on instinct, she affixed me with a glare of her own. “I promise I’m not going to twist it.” She grabbed my hand and gingerly looked at the wounds. “Pete did a number on you.”

“Just wait until we get through this,” I growled but Pete didn’t notice.

He’d walked down the stairs and had one hand covering his ear. He was talking but I was unable to make out a word through all the noise while the thumping continued unabated.

I pulled open my bag and after I’d slung the bandolier over my shoulder, I loaded my shotgun and filled the pockets on either side of my pants. I wasn’t going to be caught empty handed again. An hour ago, when we’d first walked into Ron’s convenience store, taking off my bandolier had seemed the prudent thing to do. That wasn’t the case any longer. With the ease and speed with which people and animals shifted, things were moving too fast to be caught empty handed again. 

After rifling around in my bag, I found the athletic tape we’d used to make the Molotov cocktails and offered it to Madelyn.

“Could you tape up the wounds after I take care of them?”

“We don’t have any gauze.”

I shook my head. “Even if we did, I wouldn’t want to use it.” I ripped the top off one of the Molotov cocktails and handed the bottle to Madelyn. “Hang on to this.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my pocket knife. It had a tweezers tool that I extracted from the side. “Dig out the pellets, if you can.”

Madelyn made such a twisted look of horror that I wished I’d been in a position to take a picture.

“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” Gritting my teeth, I plunged the tweezers into the wound.

Thump. Thump. Thump. The door rattled.

“We need to get out of here,” Ron said, his voice squeaky like a terrified child.

Ignoring him, I was able to pull out the first pellet and went after the other. Pete was still on the phone. He was yelling now so that he could be heard.

“Did you hear me?” Ron shouted.

“I’m bleeding you, fool! If I don’t get this taken care of I run the risk of turning into one of them.” I nodded towards the door as I ripped up the other pellet. The wound on my face didn’t need the impromptu field surgery because it had just scraped me as I flew by. “If I do, the first one I’m coming after is you.”

I held out my arm to Madelyn. “Pour the gas on the wound, just a little, mind you.”

She stared back at me for a long second.

“Come on!”

She poured the gas in the place I was indicating. Unfortunately, she wasn’t as surgical about it as I would have liked. I pulled up my shirt and wiped around the area until the only remaining gas was directly atop the wound.

Then I pulled out my lighter.

Madelyn cursed when she saw what I was going to do.

“Morty, please, think—”

I thrust the flame into the wound and bit off my scream of pain. The flame was gone in a moment. I hadn’t been as careful removing the excess, but the wound was closed.

“Tape it, and pour gas on the other.”

“Of all the stupid—”

“Do it! We’re running out of time. Do you need me to tell you how much blutom there is on the other side of that door? Did you hear all the shooting? It’s either this—”

She pushed a strip of tape onto the wound and I bit off another scream of pain. She’d been rough about it, but I wasn’t going to say anything considering the way her eyes were trying to sear holes into me. Afterward, she grabbed my arm and drizzled gas onto the other wound. Then took the lighter, gave me a wicked smile, and lit it.

Once that was taped, all that was left was the one on my cheek.

“You sure you want me to do this?” She asked. “This one is going to hurt the worst. It’ll leave an ugly scar.”

“Get it over with.”

Her eyes flashed again and I imagined that some part of her deep down felt like this was payback in some way, though, what is was for, I couldn’t say. 

I turned my head as she used the sleeve of her shirt to apply the gas so it didn’t run down my neck. The flame wasn’t as big, but it stung the worst and I was unable to do keep my scream of pain bottled up.

After it was over Madelyn but another strip of tape on the wound, this time, she was a great deal more gentle about it.

“Everything is taken care of.” Pete ran up the stairs. “Containment was already called in. I just got off the phone with one of our other directors, Claire Kinsey, and she said that they have a plan to handle this situation.”

I wondered if Pete was trying to play some sort of sick joke. It seemed ridiculous to think that it was just as simple as that. “Already on it? Did you ask her—”

The top hinge on the door burst off and the door buckled.

“Everybody downstairs.” I racked a shell into the chamber of my shotgun.

The dogs on the other side howled and Ron was already down to the next landing when it was answered by dogs from below. Madelyn bit off a shriek of terror as Ron let out a yelp of his own and came back upstairs.

“This is your fault,” Ron yelled, red in the face, making as if to swing the shotgun at my head. I ducked out of the way.

“I didn’t make you stay.” It took everything I had not to shove him down the stairs, but I was able to restrain myself. In the end, I suppose it was the fact he was right that kept me from doing it. When I saw my own blood, I had freaked out and let concern for myself blind me to what I should have done for the others. Madelyn was on the stairs going up, looking at me, her face a mixture of fear and terror. I could tell she expected me to push him. I stepped back. “Get upstairs!”

I was making for the steps myself when Pete grabbed my wounded arm. I yelled out and landed a punch right on his mouth. It felt good and I made to do another as he blocked it with his meaty hand. Heaving, I bared my teeth. The anger I’d kept at bay all night finally burst its dam.

“We can’t go up there,” Pete yelled. “There’s no place to run.”

The door fell down just as the other dogs came up the stairs and we were left with no other choice. A flaming ball of fire landed in the midst of them and exploded. It was followed by several more.

The Molotov cocktails. I’d been looking forward to using them—maybe Pete was right about me being sick—but now I just wished we didn’t have the need.

I fired a shot at the closest dog, obliterating its front shoulder and taking out the head of the one behind. Another cocktail landed nearby me and even though my pants were doused with some of the burning liquid, I used the distraction to turn and head up the stairs. I stopped before I got too far and kicked my leg on top of the flame, smothering it.

Pete passed by before I continued up. Ron lit another cocktail and sent it whizzing by my head, a malicious look on his face. Grinding my teeth, I let it go. I didn’t know how much tolerance I had left, but it wasn’t much. The kid was making it more difficult with every attempt. Madelyn yelled at Ron to watch what he was doing as she lit a cocktail and lobbed it down. 

At the top of the stairs, I grabbed a container of gas from Madelyn and chucked it down towards the dogs. Whipping up my shotgun, I shot it in midair. A few seconds passed as the mist of gas settled onto the scene below.

Then it lit on fire from one of the cocktail remains and all the dogs that been underneath were swept up into flame. The blackened Chihuahua that had been nipping at my heels sprung through the fire. There wasn’t any fur left on him to burn and it looked as though the blackened skin had created a hardened crust of protection that kept him from being affected by the worst of the flames.

Hadn’t I stomped that little creature and broken its bones in a dozen places?

The blast from my shotgun was drowned out by the unholy cacophony of fire, howls, and rage as I sent the little Chihuahua monster back into the flames. Ron and Madelyn had continued to toss down cocktails but I stopped them as they’d been about to throw down one of the last remaining canisters of gas. We only had two left and I was pretty sure we were going to need them before we got out of here.

“Upstairs, now!”

They didn’t need to be told twice. On the next floor up Pete was fiddling with a lock on the door. He lunged, pushing his weight against it but it didn’t move.

“Out of the way.” I slung my shotgun over my shoulder, yanked out my pistol, firing as soon as I had it up. I prayed the gas have evaporated and it wouldn’t explode in my hands. I aimed for the locking mechanism above the door knob. I wasn’t under any illusions that I could just fire a shot and break the lock off, but we had seconds before the dogs downstairs would be on us. My pistol had an almost a full magazine and I emptied it faster than I’d ever fired it before. My ears rang as I reached out and tried the door. The handle was a twisted wreck, and it gouged my skin as I pulled it down. Even after all the lead, it refused to move.

“Let me try again.” Pete rammed the door, but it didn’t budge.

I ejected the empty magazine, it bounced to the floor and down the stairs before I thought to catch it, and loaded a new one. I yanked Pete back, and emptied my pistol in less than three seconds, aiming specifically for the place where the latch connected. The wood of the door was hashed by the time I was done and I could see the metal peeking out through the chewed up wood.

I nodded at Pete who kicked the door, aiming his foot just above the latch. The door popped open just as Ron fired his shotgun at the dogs below.

I spun around, holstering my pistol and bringing up my own shotgun. “Mad! Mad! Get in there.” I elbowed her back as I fired down the stairs, firing each shot off as soon as it loaded.

I couldn’t remember the brand of shotgun, but I’d heard about a weapon that had been used in one of the world wars that would continue to fire while you held down the trigger. If I remembered correctly, it was called a trench broom or something like that. I’d never fully understood what that had meant until this moment, as my buckshot rained down on the surging dogs below, sweeping them down the stairs as it ripped them to shreds.

I was out of ammo in seconds and the dogs were still coming. I lifted up one of the gasoline containers, prepared to chuck it down the stairs, hoping that I’d have enough time to load a shell and blow it apart. There were still enough flames down there that it would light without a problem.

Mad grabbed my arm. “Time to go, Morty!” When I continued my swing, she grabbed the container. “We’re going to need that.”

I let her take it and drag me back as I loaded a shell into my gun, firing it off as soon as it was loaded and ripping a former great dane’s head to shreds. Bits of meat, brain, blutom, and bone flew back onto the other dogs that were raging forward.

As one of the dogs jumped over it, Pete pulled the door shut, smashing its head in between.

I loaded another shell and racked it into the chamber. “Watch out.”

Pete barely had time to step back as I fired into its mouth from point blank range. Even as I did so, I was cautious to step forward to minimize the risk that a stray pellet would hit Pete.

Something I wished he’d done for me.