The Orphans (Book 2): Surviving the Turned (25 page)

              Ellie laughed, wiping a tear from her eye. McClellan said, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

              Shaun smiled, giving her a quick, tight hug. “No, it’s supposed to make her feel better though.”

              Clary asked, “Sir, do we want anything just in case they come while we are up in the top of the building?”

              Phelps looked at Clary and at Aslin, thinking about their special skill sets. “Clary, you set up something in case they make it out here. Aslin, go play God for a while up on the roof. If it looks like it wants to eat us, put a bullet through its head.”

              As Aslin and Clary headed for the door, Shaun yelled, “Hey! Check out their arms and eyes, don’t forget.”

              Phelps said, “We take the stairs. Clare, we’ll radio down before we go. You make damn sure that if you see anything, and I mean anything, you get your ass on and let us know. I want to be in and out as quick as possible.”

Clare said, “Sir, what do you want me to do if we need something off of his hard drive? I mean, there is more than likely something on there. There is no way he did everything he worked on in longhand, is there? It doesn’t make sense.”

              Kristy yelled, “Let us watch the video. We can let you know. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist.”

              Phelps nodded and said, “Clare, give her your radio. We need to get this show on the road.” He looked at Shaun and Greg. “Safeties off, boys. Make sure you got full magazines.”

The two boys lowered the guns and both pulled back the charging handles, making sure they had one ready to go. They nodded to each other, both realizing that they were going in and were now two men less than before. Greg laughed. “You know, I’ve never missed school so much in my entire life.”

Shaun punched him on the shoulder. “Hey, we’ll be okay. The only positive thing is that this happened on Sunday and there weren’t many cars in the parking lot, so we ought to be okay. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of those things walking around, wanting to rip our heads off.”

Phelps and McClellan both snapped their heads back at Shaun. Phelps said, “Jesus Christ, is that supposed to make him feel better? You guys kind of have a dark side.”

Greg said, “No, I actually do feel better. Yeah, we aren’t dark; we’re just teenagers, what do you expect? Let’s get going. I’m ready to end this shitty party of my day.”

Clare opened the door and let the four pass, taking the rear. All four of them ran to the monitors, hovering behind Kristy, who was watching intently.

*****

Phelps went in the stairway first, feeling tight. His heart was pounding harder than it ever had in time of battle. He was used to having an enemy who was worried about dying, staring back at him. He was a SEAL and was the better trained of the two when in battle, something that helped him and his confidence when going to war. He looked at the edge of the stairwell, feeling better about one thing for sure; there were no downstairs signs, so there should be very little chance of a zombie coming up from the dark of the stairwell. Phelps held the rifle tight and had it up to his shoulder, peering down the sights. He walked the stairwell slowly, taking the concrete steps as quietly as he could.

Phelps led the men up the stairs. Shaun and Greg were in the rear of the line. McClellan whispered over his shoulder, “You guys watch our six. Don’t let anything sneak up on us.”

Greg said, “Yeah, we don’t speak SEAL talk, dude.”

Shaun scooted past Greg. “He wants us to make sure nothing comes from behind. I don’t know where they are going to come from; the door down there is shut, and there is no basement access from these stairs. So if something does come from behind, we are really screwed, because I really don't care for the idea of those things being able to work doorknobs.”

Greg shivered a little at the thought and fell in behind Shaun, rifle ready. They continued up the long sets of concrete steps until they reached the giant, steel fire door that led to Frank’s lab floor. Phelps looked down, not surprised to see dried, sticky blood at his feet.

He tapped the mic button to communicate to Kristy as his final set of eyes and to let him know if he could pass safely… or at least start out that way. “Kristy, how does my entryway look?”

“It looks like a hallway filled with dead bodies. But none of them are moving; you’re clear to go, guys.”

McClellan elbowed Clare, “Damn, Clare, she’s been on the job five minutes and she already has got you beat at it.”

“Blow me, McClellan.”

Phelps snapped at the two, “Get your fuckin’ heads on straight. We’re going into hell, quite possibly. I’d like to think that maybe I have your undivided attention. Is that something that I can feel safe to say?”

The two men didn’t need to speak; it was a question they were smart enough to know they didn’t need to answer. Phelps pushed the heavy metal door open slowly. He peeked his head around, rifle up, holding the door with his boot, and swinging his rifle left then right. He motioned with a hand for the rest to come through after clearing the hallway. He whistled for everyone to move through the doorway. Shaun looked at the floor as he passed through it, realizing there was no way not to step in the darkened blood that painted the floor.

He thought of what Aslin had said in the truck about it being easier to wipe it off of your boots than your soul. He knew there was a good chance he would be spilling more blood before the day was over. He stepped slowly, watching his boots leave a dark-red trail on the white tiled floor.

Phelps whispered as Shaun passed him, “Where is your dad’s office located at?”

Shaun pointed with his rifle and proceeded to walk that way, taking lead. Phelps gripped him by the shoulder. “I think maybe you want to stay in the back, right? It’s better to have someone who has dealt with something like this take point.”

Greg said, “We have dealt with these things, and a few more times than you. We also had to do it with less men and weaker weapons.”

Phelps watched the two boys moving forward, guns up and at the ready. Phelps was in awe at the bravery and valor such young, untrained men were willing to portray. McClellan looked at Phelps like he was crazy though. “Sir, we can’t let these kids take point. Just because we aren’t taking them back with us, doesn’t mean we should let them sacrifice themselves. They think they can take on a damn army of these things, but we both know—or at least I do—that they don’t stand much of a chance. If they miss, they die. From what we’ve seen, if they die, they come back.”

Phelps thought about the two young men, who were already probably quicker than him or his team, and then thought of them enraged and thirsty for blood. He had no doubt he’d kill them if he needed to but didn’t want to have to take that chance if it wasn’t necessary. He nodded to McClellan and the two men got in front of Shaun and Greg. Clare let the door shut slowly, making sure that it did not slam shut.

They walked the hallway as slowly and quietly as possible, stepping over Rogers; the look of anger was embedded in his facial features. The nurse who was on the ground had bullet holes in her chest. Greg said, “It looks like something else went on here once your dad left. I wonder who shot them. I bet it was whoever locked those front doors.”

Shaun nodded. “Yeah, I could see that happening for sure. Makes sense.”

Phelps looked at his soldiers, pointing at the room, and for them to go in and sweep it. Phelps went in first, then McClellan and Clare. They swung their rifles to clear the room. Everything in there was dead quiet… until they heard the faintest of sounds.

McClellan said, “What the hell is that?”

Phelps said, “It sounds like sniffing. Where the hell is it coming from?”

Clare walked around and saw a room with a sign on the door that said, “Live Specimens.” He sighed, thinking that of course it had to be in something like that. He pushed in first with the other two following him. What they saw about made them vomit. This was an animal research facility; animals were strewn across the floor and hanging halfway out of cages. The intestines of rabbits, dogs, and cats littered the floor and hung off from every surface and blood painted the walls. A man dressed in a medic’s uniform was standing and swaying behind the cages, sniffing.

Clare raised his rifle to fire and looked over his shoulder to see Phelps’ “okay.” When he turned back, the man was staring dead at him. Blood was wet and thick on the front of his shirt and pants. A label saying
Gonzalez
on it was barely visible on his uniform. His nostrils were flaring in and out. It opened its mouth, screaming at the men. Phelps and McClellan walked back a step, almost tripping and falling on their asses. Clare took a long, deep breath and steadied his already raised rifle. He sighted in on the thing’s head and it started screaming at him. Clare fired off a shot, missing its skull, and exploding the side of its neck open. Clare went to fire again, but it was already on the move.

He turned to run, not having the space he needed to maneuver and put distance between himself and the monster. He ran for the doors, but it jumped up and landed on his shoulders. Phelps saw this and started firing, as did McClellan. It was too late; the Turned bent down and bit into Clare’s neck, ripping fresh, clean flesh from his neck. The blood gurgled from his mouth, and ran down his chin. The Turned ambulance driver took another chunk from his shoulder, making it spray blood into the air. Clare tried to scream from the immense pain, but only bubbles of red blood poured from his mouth.

He fell to his knees, gripping the wounds on his neck, pulled a pistol from its holster placing it to his head, and cocked the hammer back on the weapon. The turned man gripped his wrist, pulling it up at an impossible angle, and broke his arm. He then bit into the muscle of his bicep. Phelps said, “We gotta take them both out. He’s going to be one of them. Goddamn it, he’s going to turn; shoot them both now!”

They aimed on the two, and as they got ready to fire, Clare’s hand started jerking and pulling the trigger. One after another—
bam! bam! bam!—
bullets ricocheted everywhere. Phelps and McClellan ducked for cover, diving out of the space and hitting the locks on the smoky, tinted glass doors. They lay on the floor catching their breath for a moment then Phelps hit his radio. “Aslin, Clary, we got trouble up here. There was one of those things. It got Clare for, god’s sake. He’s gone! It happened so fast.”

A bloody set of palms struck the glass, making the doors shake. Two red handprints on the other side smeared down the glass window. Phelps rose, waiting to see a head, when a second set of palms hit the door, followed by a loud
boom
as a skull smashed into the door from the opposite side.

The glass instantly spider webbed, which spread each time the same skull smashed into it. One, two, three times, leaving a bigger, bloodier crack. Phelps froze in place when he saw that it was Clare. He saw the bloody eyes and distant look he gave the two men, knowing nothing of who they were—only that they were meals to be had. Phelps fired a shot, but the bullet could not penetrate the thick glass. It only weakened the spot where the man had been smashing his head.

Phelps looked at the lab door, thinking it was the best chance they had to stay away from these things. Shaun heard the gunfire and screamed from the doorway, “You guys want help, sir?”

Phelps screamed
no
as McClellan yelled
get the fuck in here now!
The two boys rushed in with guns raised, aiming everywhere they looked. “Where are they?” Shaun screamed.

The two boys jumped back a foot as the doors on the other side began to buckle. “Jesus Christ, who’s in there?” Greg screamed.

Phelps yelled, “Get the hell out of here! Those things are going to bust through that door any minute. We stay here. You guys get to your dad's office and get those papers. Get downstairs and give them to Clary. Do it now! Get the fuck moving!”

Shaun and Greg took a knee, aiming at the doorway. Shaun yelled, “We aren’t going anywhere. You’re going to want all the help you can get in a second.”

The two sets of hands were taking turns between skulls and fists, smashing on the door and then it stopped. McClellan said, “He turned so fast; Jesus, those kids must have been right about it mattering where they are bit, these things are fucking insane. What do you want to do?”

Phelps said, “Kill ’em.”

“Where’d they go? What the hell are they doing in there?” McClellan asked.

No answer was needed. At once, both doors busted open; Clare and Gonzalez came running, hungry, and ready to kill. Blood spewed from Clare’s wounds. Gonzalez was sprinting, leaning so far forward that he began to switch between his feet and his hands. He soared in the air at them, mouth wide open, and his eyes insane with rage. The four fired off rounds simultaneously. A round connected with the Turned’s skull, dropping him to the ground where he skidded through broken glass, leaving a blood smear on the white tiles.

Clare was unconcerned about his maker; he jumped up off the wall and onto a lab bench. He was twitching and they saw the fresh wound on his arm and blood coming from his eyes. The four trained their guns on him, but he was already on the move again. Greg and Shaun rose to their feet, backing up and keeping distance between Clare and themselves. The two men fired at Clare, but the helmet was bulletproof and ricocheted the rounds. Phelps tapped McClellan on the shoulder. The two men walked backward, slowly firing bullets into the helmet and were unsuccessful. Greg fired twice, startling the two men, but Clare dropped off of the lab bench, still screaming at them but unable to move. He tried to push up to his feet and fell back to the ground. Phelps yelled, “Where’d you shoot him?”