Author: Maria C.
Word Count: 1337
Story Notes: I'll ask for some later. For now- pig roast!
Darkness was everywhere. Thick, hot, and smoky like a forest fire. She held a ratty piece of paper between her fingers. It had to be around here somewhere, one of the many headquarters where the Infected hid. She cast a fleeting look at the address again, and stopped walking. There was no structure where she stood. It had to be wrong, the number had to be wrong. She took a few mere steps around the area, looking for evidence of recent activity. Her foot hit something hidden in the overgrown lawn. It felt like a stone, but appeared to be a round piece of metal.
“Wait a sec,” she tugged lightly at it, and its weight gave a little. Pulling more, she lifted the steel door over to her left. Bits of sod and twigs slid from its surface as she flipped it over. Peering downward, she could make out a wide staircase. Its stone surface was cracked, looking to be made of crushed pebbles and mortar. She took a step and placed her foot on the top block, and it held. Placing her other foot on the same step, she did a little hop. Still holding. She continued down the stairs and was soon below the ground. She couldn’t find a light switch, and even her alternate vision wasn’t taking effect yet. Slowly she continued down each step one at a time, and it seemed to take almost a minute before she hit the floor.
Her vision quickly adapted to the lightless area. Something in the air seemed familiar. It was the smell, that scent of death. She glanced towards the floor, and a boot came into view. Its angle gave away its owner's position. It was still being worn on a foot, but the foot did not move. Reaching for her gun in its holster, she tapped the muddy sole with her toe. Nothing. Her eyes averted to the vicinity of the body, which seemed to be untouched. Many more bodies lay about, but only a select few looked to have fought back. Slowly turning her head, she felt someone staring. Staring. She hated when people stared at her, as if they knew what she was.
“You must be from LIMES,” a tall man with light hair stood in a doorway behind her. His entire body engulfed in a blue hue, his eyes wide with anticipation, and his shirt tucked in but unbuttoned.
“Who are you?” Rochelle pulled her weapon around to her face only for her hand fall to her side, “Why did you kill them?” She nodded towards the floor and vast array of bodies.
“Ah yes, Number Four. You’ve probably don't remember me, even if I remember you. It has been so long since that day. I remember you waiting, waiting patiently for them to call your number. Zero. Zero. Zero-“
“Zero Four. I remember my call number. Just tell me why.”
“Why what?” He twirled some of his light hair between his right thumb and middle finger. His opposite hand slid down his hip to his thigh.
“They were your followers. You meant everything to them. So why-“
“Bunch of needy worthless fucks. They deserved it,” His bare feet padded over to where she stood. He was getting too close. Raising her gun quick she saw him jump toward her, she pulled the trigger for a point blank shot at his cheek. He dropped back and lay limp for several moments before twitching.
“C’mon! Quick! I heard a gunshot,” A familiar male’s voice could be heard from above. Thumping down the stairs, two people emerged. Michael and his step-sister Lydia stood barely a foot apart and looked around. Obviously Michael couldn’t see anything, but Lydia seemed as confused as he was. They both walked forward with hands spread out before them calling out to one another.
Looking towards where the mysterious Infected lay. His face half covered in blood, his fingers touching the gash across his cheekbone. The bullet had only grazed him due to the angle. His eyes pierced through the darkness, she could feel the hatred that wafted through the air towards her. He shifted to stand up, eyes still locked with hers. Without realizing how close she was, his arm waving around for something to stabilize his balance, the Infected smacked Lydia across the stomach.
“Michael?” she yelled out, “Was that you?”
“What?”
“Something hit me. Was it you?” she stopped moving now, only feeling around with her hands. The Infected had slipped the opposite way now, Rochelle looked to where he kneeled. Michael and Lydia seemed to have found each other, she could hear their mumblings to one another. As the Infected stood up, Rochelle raised her gun and aimed. Beg for forgiveness, you worthless fuck. The shot rang through the underground space like thunder. Lydia screamed, Michael yelped, the Infected dropped to the ground with a bullet to the forehead. Rochelle pulled from her pocket a small cigarette lighter, clicked the tab and illuminated her face. Michael gasped, Lydia seemed mesmerized by the flame. Pointing the gun to Lydia’s face, Rochelle spoke quietly.
“If I kill her now, you can go free. I won’t say anything if you don’t.”
“Why?”
“If you don’t let me do this, she’ll only get worse. She’ll become a monster.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen it happen. Too many times. Let me kill her.”
“No. She’s fine.”
“Do not oppose someone with a loaded gun,” placing her finger on the trigger, she clicked her tongue twice.
Michael barely heard the shot. His step-sister fell from his arms, her corpse thudded against the ground at his feet. Stepping back, he tripped over something on the floor. Falling into the fresh Infected body, his voice left disappeared from his throat. Amidst trying to scream, he heard feet thudding down the concrete steps. Flashlight beams crossed about as voices sounded.
“Agent Number Four?” Commander Price yelled down the space, “Are you stable?”
“Careful Commander. We have a pedestrian, likely unarmed.”
“You didn’t shoot at this one, did you?” Price hit the last step, waved the flashlight around seeking his agent. His eyes widened at the mass array of bodies on the ground, “Bring some lanterns down here. Lots of cleaning up to do.”
“Over here,” Rochelle grabbed Michael’s arm, he was amazed at her grip. He watched many men in white jumpsuits and paper hospital masks begin their work of bagging up bodies, squirting gel-like liquid on the ground and walls. Some of them had black lights, searching for stains they couldn’t miss.
Cree-eak.
Throwing Michael to the ground with one arm, Rochelle twisted around and raised her weapon, pulled the trigger. The shadow faltered slightly and collapsed, the mass of blue dropped to the floor. A woman, older than Rochelle herself, and her blinkless eyes peered back. Her long dark hair flowed past her shoulders and into the blood puddle spreading beneath her body. Price trotted up behind Rochelle and tucked his paper mask under his chin.
“You didn’t have enough ammo to kill off this many. What happened?”
“They’ve begun to kill their own,” her answer was faint as she leaned down to lift Michael by the upper arm. Looking to him she winced a smile, “Sorry, couldn’t have your pretty face in my bullet’s way,” she shoved him towards her commander.
“Thanks. How about you get yourself looked at?” Price latched a pair of handcuffs onto Michael’s wrists, and pulled him towards the stairs. Motioning for his agent to follow, he twisted Michael around so he didn’t have to drag him up the stairs, “Poor kid. What was he doing here anyway?”
“He was with her,” Rochelle spoke louder now, though her manner seemed confused, “She knew I was coming here. She contacted someone. They kill their own when a threat approaches.”
“You… You… You killed her,” Michael struggled to talk, his shock beginning to wear off now. His complexion filling with pigment, his pale eyes still wide with fear.
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