The Infected: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (13 page)

Sam leaned down and removed the high heel from her foot. The General began to shout some order at the guard, this also happened in slow-motion, his voice coming out slow and deep at half speed. His command turned into a high-pitched scream halfway through, as Sam leaned toward him and drove the spike of the heel into the bulging eye of the General. Everything in slow-motion. Everything amplified. She heard the gruesome squish of the eyeball exploding as the heel punctured it.

The guard raised his weapon but Sam didn't hesitate long enough to allow him to get a beat on her. Instead, she pushed out of her chair. The heavy seat topped over and flew back into the wall. She pulled up on the base of the shoe and dug the heel the slightest bit deeper into the General's orbital socket—which was now flooded with blood and a white gelatinous matter. She twisted the shoe, and the angle caused Soto to cry out again, this one more ghastly than the first, and he stood at once, blocking the path of the gunman. As Sam twisted and turned the shoe, the General moved as she wanted, like a giant marionette connected to a horrific string.

"You're my puppet now," she breathed.

The General screamed.

Sam kicked off the other heel and pulled the General in closer. He wrapped his hands around her wrist in an effort to prevent the spike from digging any further into his head. She worried that his struggling would cause the heel to slip farther into the socket and puncture his brain, and she didn't want that, not yet. She needed him.

"Put your fucking arms down," Sam commanded.

The General did as she instructed and removed his hands from her wrist. The awkward angle of his neck and head caused blood to spill in waves onto the stone floor of the dining room. It reminded her of the way Alex looked in the hallway as she was drug around by President Gates. She took joy in another twist of the shoe. Soto shrieked and turned his back toward her allowing Sam to grab ahold of his sidearm.

The gun was a Desert Eagle, titanium gold, with tiger stripes, a carbon-steel barrel and a black-oxide finish. The magazine inside held eight .44 caliber bullets, and judging by the weight of the gun, four pounds and 12.8 ounces, it was fully loaded. A genuine gas-operated, rotating bolt with a single-action trigger. She didn't know how, but she knew all of this a millisecond after pulling it from the General's holster.

She didn't waste time pulling the slide back. This wasn't the movies, and she wasn't looking to strike fear and intimidation into her foes. She was looking to kill.

She pulled the trigger and the top of Miguel's head exploded. A mist of blood and brain splattered the wall behind. He stumbled back a step and looked at her with wide, unbelieving eyes. His pupils dilated to their fullest and then disappeared under an ocean of blood that poured from the gaping hole in the top of his head. A second later, he collapsed and his service rifle clattered against the hard floor.

"You have a choice, General." Her teeth clenched together but her voice remained steady. "You can tell me what's wrong with my friend, or I can give a slight tug and shish-kabob brain."

"There's a device in my pocket," the General said. His voice trembled and his teeth chattered. "It controls the signal to his brain. There's three buttons. The top button will bring his brain in and out of rest. But you must only press that button."

Sam placed the firearm on the table, stuck her hand deep into his pocket and removed the device. It was a silver square with three red buttons running vertical down the length of it, encased by a thin glass cover. A white letter was imprinted over each button, reading: A, B, and C.

"What do the other two buttons do?" Sam asked.

"There's no time to explain," the General said. As if the words were a cue, the second they exited his lips, the wooden door of the dining room burst open.

The room slowed again as first the white-haired man known as Doc stumbled through. Leo accompanied by two other guards, each armed with assault rifles, followed. Outside in the hallway, lights were flashing. An alarm was sounding. Sam saw it all. She could see the surgical staples lining the jaw of the first guard. She could see the flecks of gold in the brown irises of the second. Her two eyes became many as she simultaneously watched Doc clasp his hands over his ears and flee into the corner and the third guard lifting the sights of the rifle.

In one fluid moment, Sam dropped the remote onto the table and exchanged it for the pistol. She fired three shots because three was all she needed and each bullet flew to its target.

The first bullet lodged into the lead guard's chest. It hit center mass and his olive uniform shirt turned bright red. His eyes widened and then he crumpled to the floor. She thought of Jordan.

The second bullet caught Leo in the chin, and to her horror, the entirety of his lower jaw exploded. The man's fragmented tongue wagged loosely from unseen tendons, and then a moment later, he collapsed into a heap.

The last round hummed through the air. The golden slug pierced the man's skull, right between the eyes, and another spray of blood and gray matter coated the entryway of the dining room. The guard went down like a heavy sack of flour and the room went still.

"How did they know to come?" Sam asked. "Why have the alarms sounded?"

"The cameras," the General said. "We're always watching."

Sam released the grip she had on the shoe and the Soto breathed a sigh of relief. He started to turn around and she pressed the hot barrel of the gun to the back of his neck. He stopped turning and straightened. She switched the gun to her left hand expecting the weight of it to be awkward—her left had always been inferior to her right—but it wasn't. It felt as natural as her dominate hand, and somewhere deep inside of her, she knew it could deal just as much death and damage.

The room was quiet now. Not complete silence though. Sam's senses were too far attuned for there to be complete silence. She heard the alarm's muffled wail behind the thick wooden doors of the dining room and the doctor sniveling in the corner. She smelled ammonia and heard the trickling of liquid hitting stone. The inside of the General's pant leg was dark and wet and a small puddle collected underneath him. Sam took a step back.

"Don't move," Sam said.

"Okay."

She couldn't see his face but could tell that he was crying. "You're pathetic."

"Pl-please don't shoot me."

Sam picked the remote control up with her free hand and thumbed the red button marked
A
. "If I press this button and my friend doesn't snap out of it then you'll taste gunmetal right before I blow your spine out of the back of your neck."

"Wait!" General Soto shouted. The shoe shuddered as it hung from the busted socket. "Hit the middle button."

Sam didn't hesitate. She didn't have to. She heard the fear in the man's voice and she knew he had taken the threat seriously. She mashed the middle button and waited. Cole was everything that she had left in the world. If he didn't wake up then she didn't see much of a point to continue. She wouldn't go on witho—

"Miss Sam?"

Cole's voice brought the desperate thoughts to a screeching halt and Sam's eyes shot open. She spun to see the big man staring back at her. A fragile smile toyed at his lips, but she could tell that he was too scared or too confused to let it shine through.

"Cole," Sam said and ran over to her friend.

The mammoth man had just enough time to stand before Sam threw her arms around his neck and showered him with kisses on his forehead and cheeks. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her high in the air, and for that one moment, all was right in the world again.

"Sam!" Cole shouted.

She turned. The General had taken off in a sprint toward the door. Calmly, she lifted the pistol from the table and discharged a single round. Her aim was lower than at the guards. She wasn't aiming to kill. Only to maim. Her shot connected and grazed the General's knee. Soto screamed in agony. His momentum carried him forward, and he slid to a stop next to the doctor who had crept from his corner toward the door.

"You going somewhere, Doc?" Sam asked, as she redirected her aim.

He shook his head from side to side and Sam lowered the pistol.

"What happened to me, Sam?" Cole asked. He looked her up and down and then touched her cheek. Her nose throbbed when he did. "What happened to you?"

"There's no time to explain," Sam said. She handed him the remote control who took it without question. "Put it in your pocket and don't hit any buttons on it."

Cole nodded and shoved it into the hip pocket of the tuxedo pants.

"Can you walk?" she asked. She worried there would be side effects of the device.

Cole bent his knees, performed a couple of comic mini-squats and then nodded again.

"Good. Grab a rifle from one of the guards by the door," Sam instructed as she walked toward the door.

Soto lay in the fetal position on the floor surrounded by an ocean of blood. Some belonged to the General but most to the fallen guards. She walked over to him and then grabbed the shoe.

"This is going to hurt," Sam said.

"Wait—"

His plea erupted into a scream as Sam plucked the spiked heel from his eye. There was no eye though. Only a mangled, gooey socket remained. The remnants of his eyeball, still connected by the optic nerve, stuck momentarily to the point of the heel and then plopped in a blob against his cheek. Blood trickled from the wound and even more gushed from the hole in his leg.

"Can you patch him up?" Sam asked. "I don't need him bleeding out on the way."

Doc looked around at the bodies, paused on the gaping hole in the General's face, and then back to Sam. His opaque cheeks flushed green and he said, "I'll do my best."

"Don't do your best," Sam said. "Just a patch. He's not a long-term asset if you catch my drift."

"Screw you," Soto said.

Cole stepped past her, lifted a rifle from one of the fallen guards and then walked back toward the General. He grabbed the man by the collar of his uniform and lifted him mercilessly to his feet. Soto cried out in pain.

"I don't even think he needs a patch," Cole said. He pushed Soto so that all of his weight rested on the wounded leg and the General cried harder.

"I think you're right," Sam said.

"Who-who are you people?" Soto asked through blubbery tears.

"My name is Samantha Albright…" Sam answered. Her voice was cold and flat. The blow she had taken to the head
had
jarred something loose. A memory. A vague idea of who she really was and what she was designed for. Everything was still foggy, but she could see the outline of a bigger picture trapped somewhere in her brain.

"My name is Samantha Albright and I'm here to save the world."

7

The placards ascended from 471 to 481 and then finally reached 491. Sam paused for a moment outside of the garish doorway and rested the length of the cold steel barrel against her forehead. The blow to the table had thrown her senses into overdrive—all performing on some higher plane—and they hadn't returned to normal. Now, with her eyes closed, she listened for approaching footsteps of Soto's men but heard nothing.

"Where is everyone?" Sam asked. She thumbed the magazine-release button and let the empty clip fall to the floor. She pulled a full clip from the General's belt clip and slid it into the slot.

"Fortifying their positions," Soto answered. His voice was cold. "Preparing to kill you."

The only opposition they had encountered since leaving the dining room was an ambush by a handful of guards. Sam dispatched them with the same pinpoint accuracy as the first ones. It was as if possessed by some ancient gunslinger. Each time she pulled the trigger of the pistol, she felt the same cold malevolence, the same contemptuous disregard, for the sanctity of the soldiers' lives. Soto's troops protected and enforced the same sick, twisted morals of the bunker that the General had been so proud of. Each of her victims was one less predator feeding off the innocence of the children that ran this place. Now, she knelt outside of the biggest predator's homestead. And she was thirsty for blood.

She listed for a few more seconds. Nothing. "Open the door," Sam said.

Soto looked at her with his one sad puppy dog eye. His other eye—the mushy globule resting on the General's cheek—was still being supported by the thin, red cables of the optic nerve slightly visible through the caked and dried blood. When the General's good eye moved in her direction, Sam detected the slightest of twitches through the remaining mush, and fought the urge to vomit.

"That's not going to happen," Soto said.

"You heard the lady," Cole said and shoved Soto into the wall. The back of his head slammed hard against the gold placard and the General's knees buckled. Cole pressed him against the wall to keep him upright.

"I can't," Soto hissed. "The doors go on lockdown if the alarm is triggered. They can only be opened from the inside or once someone silences the alarms."

The answer was maddening. Sam pushed Cole aside, spun Soto so that his back was facing her and delivered a swift kick to the inside of his good knee. The General cried out as his knees slammed against the floor.

She grabbed a handful of Soto's still perfectly styled hair and yanked back. He tried to scream out, but Cole shoved a white cloth into his mouth. Sam looked to Doc, who was now missing a sleeve from his lab coat, and then to Cole, who offered a coy smile and subtle shrug. She almost allowed herself to return the smile, the long-forgotten facial expression flirting with the corners of her mouth, but forced it away. Instead, she refocused her attention on Soto, and yanked his head back even further, causing him to let out a muffled shriek.

Sam put her lips to Soto's ear, remembering how vulnerable she had felt when the situation was reversed, and whispered, "Seems like that information would have been helpful when I said that we were going to free Alexandria." Sam pressed the steel barrel of the pistol against his throat and nodded to Cole. The big man pulled the sleeve of the coat out of the man's mouth.

"I'm sorry," Soto's words weren't shaky as expected. Instead, they came out filled with venom, "but who the fuck is Alexandria?"

Sam's blood ran ice cold. She let go of Soto's black hair and grabbed the greasy ball hanging against his cheek and pulled. It sounded like a bandage being ripped too quickly from the skin and the slimy organ detached with an unexpected ease.

Soto screamed, but Cole was quick on the trigger and slammed the piece of cloth back into his mouth. The General collapsed to the floor, frantically pressing his hands against the gory, hollow orifice, and wept hard muffled sobs. Sam stared at the repulsive
thing
in her hand and then tossed it down the hallway. She wiped the gook from her hand onto the black dress and spun toward Doc.

The white-haired doctor looked incredulously back at Sam. He held both of his hands up in the air, despite the fact that she hadn't lifted her gun. His eyes were impossibly wide. His mouth stupidly agape.

"I'm sorry," he cried.

"You will be if this doesn't work." Sam said.

She grabbed him by the collar, dragged him to where Soto was standing only moments ago and pressed him against the stone wall. The doctor was even taller than Soto, but possessed none of the arrogance or clout. Sam pressed the barrel of the gun against the doctor's chest. "How are your acting chops?"

The doctor tried to answer, but his words came out garbled and indistinguishable. Sam chalked this up to fear and lowered the gun. She asked again.

"Can…you…act?" She paused between each word, giving the frightened man time to process the question. "Or do you want to end up like this guy?" Sam motioned toward the General.

Doc looked down at Soto and then back to her. "I can act."

"Let's hope so," Sam said and knocked on the door. "For your sake."

Sam pushed Doc in front of the peephole. He stumbled forward, caught his balance and righted himself. General Soto moaned and Cole delivered a swift kick to the man's kidney.

"Shut it, pal."

Soto let out a stifled yelp and resigned to sobbing.

Sam knocked on the door again. This time louder and with urgency. Her super-attuned senses detected movement behind the door and she heard a muffled voice. Sam nodded to Cole who raised his weapon toward the door.

Silence.

She was about to knock again when a feeble old voice spoke, "Who is it?" It belonged to President Gates and hearing it made Sam's blood boil with hatred. She nodded to the doctor who looked back at her dumbstruck.

"Answer him," Sam whispered.

"It's Reyes, my liege. Dr. Reyes." His voice was shaky and frightened and it disgusted Sam to hear the man address the heinous, vile, sorry excuse for a man on the opposite side of the door with such nobility.

"I heard the alarms, Doc," Gates said. "Is everything okay?"

Sam nodded at the doctor.

"Yes sir. Everything is fine."

"But I need you to open the door," Sam whispered.

"I need you to open the door," the doctor repeated.

There was a long pause followed by a very suspicious, "Why?"

"Tell him that you think Alex has been aiding us," Sam said, her voice barely audible. "Tell him that Soto sent you to bring her back with you."

"That would never happen," Doc said.

"Just say it!" Sam demanded, her jaw clenched so tight that she feared it would never open again.

"Dr. Reyes?" Gates asked.

"The girl," Doc said nervously, "General Soto would like to speak with her. He believes she has been aiding and abetting our guests. The outsiders attempted to escape when we were in the dining hall. That's the reason for the alarms, and the reason I am here now."

"And what happened to them?" Gates asked. Sam heard the concern through the doorway.

"Subdued," Doc said. He hadn't looked at Sam for an answer. She thought she detected the slightest bit of confidence as he continued. "We subdued both of them. The men took down the girl but the big one put up an awful fight. That's where the guards are now…" he paused, and then added, "dealing with the behemoth. I'll give you more details, but first please open the door, Jim."

There was another long pause and then the latch unlocked and the doorknob turned.

"I told Soto it was a bad idea to bring them here," Gates sputtered as he opened the door. The old man still wore nothing but the hideous gold chain and the skimpy pair of briefs. "I told that fool they'd be nothing but trouble. Especially that bit—"

President Gates didn't finish his sentence. As he exited out of the doorway, he caught his first glimpse of Sam and Cole standing beside the door. The old man attempted to retreat, but Sam quickly snatched the gold chain along with a handful of chest hair.

She raised the Desert Eagle until it was eye-level with Gates, "Hey there, stud. Mind if we come in?"

"Fuck me," Gates managed. He turned back to the bedroom with enough force that the clasp on the gold chain snapped. The President took off in a sprint into the depths of his lair, leaving Sam standing in the hallway with a handful of gold and gray.

"Dammit," she said and threw the medallion to the floor. She pushed past Doc and sprinted into Gates' chambers, quick on his heels.

As she entered the foyer, her adrenaline spiked again, sending her alien senses into uncharted waters. She could smell ancient oils used to create the paintings hanging on the wall. She smelled the musty, old newspapers framed in their glass cases. She felt every imperfection, each cracked and chipped tile of the finely polished black and white checkered floor underneath her bare feet. Her body and mind merged and ran seamlessly on all cylinders.

The old man disappeared through an adjacent doorway and she pursued him like a lion stalking a gazelle through some African grassland. But she wasn't tracking a helpless gazelle. She was hunting a predator. A sexual deviant. She was trailing a child molester and a rapist. A bastard to the core.

And that was fine, because she was a predator too.

She was a finely tuned machine. A killing machine. And when she caught up to Gates, she would rip his heart out of his chest and feed it to him. Because that's what she had been
designed
to do. Her blood turned cold as the word "designed" repeated through her brain. She forced it away and continued the chase.

Sam sprinted into the next room and her heart lurched. Alex was splayed across the bed, her arms and legs bound to the four posts with heavy chains. Her face was bloody and bruised and she lay motionless.

"Alex!" Sam screamed. She ran over to the helpless girl, temporarily giving up her pursuit.

Thankfully, upon closer inspection, the girl on the bed was moving. Her chest rose and fell so slightly that even a coroner might overlook it. The only other indication of life was the girl's eyelids which fluttered when Sam had screamed.

Sam's heart broke a million times over as she rounded the bed and got her first full look at Alex. The girl's face had been bashed in. Both her nose and her lips were busted and gushing blood. Both of her eyes were swollen like a boxer's at the end of a 15 round war. Despite all the perverted surgeries, Sam thought Alex had been pretty. Now, her face was unrecognizable as human. She dropped the pistol onto the mattress and grabbed ahold of the chain wrapped around her leg.

"You're going to be okay," she whispered as she frantically tore at the metal knot. The girl let out an inaudible moan and the remaining fragments of Sam's heart fractured into even tinier shards. "I'm going to get you out of here, I promise."

A single tear emerged in the corner of her swollen eye and rolled down her cheek.

"Cole!" Sam shouted. "Bring Doc in here."

She finished unraveling the first knot when the girl moaned again. This one filled with fear and panic. Sam grabbed the gun from the bed and spun in the direction she had been chasing President Gates.

Sam took a deep breath, and the moment froze.

She saw Gates running at her, hands extended above his head, clutching a long-handled ax so tightly that his orange knuckles had turned stark white. The ax, an antique battle ax from the 15
th
century, had a four-foot oak handle and a broad, steel blade. Sam didn't know how she knew this, but the information came pouring into her just like it had when she grabbed the General's gun.

More data streamed in. The exact weight and length. The circumference of the blade. Probable manufactures. It flooded into her instantaneously as if a receiver was buried deep in her brain. She blocked out the data-stream.

The details about the weapon that President Gates was holding over his head didn't matter, because this wasn't a disarm-and-pacify situation. This was a murder with ill-intent and cause extreme amounts of damage while doing so situation.

Sam aimed and fired two shots. The report of the gun was deafening, but the high-pitched scream of President Gates was even worse. The two slugs found their mark and disappeared into his groin. Crimson flooded from the seat of his underwear and his face twisted into a knot of anguish and disbelief. His eyes rolled back into his head and he took a staggered step forward. Then he bellowed a guttural moan and crumpled the ground.

The General bounded into the room and nearly fell to the floor. The imbalance caused by the shove of the giant behind him. Sam barely paid him any attention and instead refocused her attention to the chains wrapped around the girl's bruised wrist. Cole and Doc ran into the room a second later, Cole's rifle was drawn and the Doc's eyes were saucer wide.

"Oh, dear god," Soto cried out. "What have you done?" He dropped to his knees and stared at Gates.

"No!" Sam screamed. She crossed the room, blind with rage. "Don't you dare feel bad for this piece of shit." She waived the Desert Eagle at the fallen pedophile. Gates moaned as he convulsed on the floor and held a feeble bloodied hand above his face to shield himself from the oncoming blast.