image queued up for repression. I turned away quickly.
I wiggled, pried, and pushed.
The doors parted, then slid apart. I adjusted my footing and my grip so that I could avoid the sliding door, then I stopped and listened.
I heard howling. I heard gunfire. I heard screams, but I didn’t hear or see anything on the fourth floor.
Luck?
I climbed past the door to where I could peek into the hall through the gap between the doors. Two infected squatted in the hall between the elevators, looking at me as curiously as I was looking at them.
None of us made any aggressive moves, but the infected looked around at the ceiling, the walls, and the closed elevator doors. Sound was everywhere and they were trying to identify a source they could get to. The elevator doors across the hall seemed to be piquing their interest the most.
I climbed out of the shaft and planted my feet firmly on the floor. With my machete in hand, ready to do the necessary work, I reached down for my Glock as a backup. It wasn’t there, and I recalled that I had given it to Steph. A curse was on my lips, but I felt better with her having it. She needed at least one weapon.
With both infected facing away from me for the moment, killing the first was easy. I swung hard at the back of her neck, severed her spine, and she crumbled. Blood spewed across the waxed floor. The other infected looked down at his partner rather than over at me. He seemed transfixed by the glossy, pooling blood. When he did see the blade of my machete swinging toward his throat, he tried vainly to block the blow but lost all the fingers on his right hand. The blade gashed his neck open anyway.
But he wasn’t dead.
His bloody, fingerless hand reached out for me. His mouth opened and closed, trying to scream or bite. I jumped back and he fell on his face, adding his blood to the pool on the floor.
I jumped back into the elevator door through which I’d come and waved up the shaft, holding out four fingers.
From above, a voice yelled, “Four!”
More gunfire followed.
I crossed the hall, jammed my machete into the seam between the elevator doors, and in moments I had them pried apart. Sergeant Dalhover was on the service ladder, looking back at me. I leaned in and looked up the ladder. It was full of our people. I didn’t look down to see if we’d lost any in their attempts to climb around the wall and make it over to the ladder. That was useless information that only held bad memories and nightmares.
Dalhover worked his way around the wall with the athleticism of a spider monkey, and within seconds was standing on the floor beside me.
“Any trouble on ten?” I asked.
He shook his head. “The diversion is working, but we lost one. She slipped and fell trying to get to the ladder.” Dalhover read the question on my face. “It wasn’t Nurse Leonard.”
“I’ll clear this floor while you get everyone out.”
Dalhover looked down at the two dead.
“There may be more.” I shrugged as though I needed to provide some kind of excuse for the two dead Whites. Intellectually, I knew they were murderous cannibals, but they looked as human as me. Some emotional artifacts of morality are hard to slough off.
I took off at a jog around the corner, peering into any open door, looking for movement. Closed doors I left alone.
Chapter 14
Five more infected on the fourth floor died under my blade by the time I rendezvoused with the group at the elevator bank.
Twenty or thirty of us stood close, shuffling nervously, pointing weapons up and down the hall.
A soldier was firing his pistol up the elevator shaft that I’d come down. I was wishing he wouldn’t, but he knew the risks as well as I did. A scream echoed out of the shaft and the soldier jumped back. The now-familiar sound of bodies crashing into the medical equipment below drew every eye to the door. The soldier anxiously frowned and said, “They’re coming down the shaft!”
Dalhover asked, “McWilliams,
I wiggled, pried, and pushed.
The doors parted, then slid apart. I adjusted my footing and my grip so that I could avoid the sliding door, then I stopped and listened.
I heard howling. I heard gunfire. I heard screams, but I didn’t hear or see anything on the fourth floor.
Luck?
I climbed past the door to where I could peek into the hall through the gap between the doors. Two infected squatted in the hall between the elevators, looking at me as curiously as I was looking at them.
None of us made any aggressive moves, but the infected looked around at the ceiling, the walls, and the closed elevator doors. Sound was everywhere and they were trying to identify a source they could get to. The elevator doors across the hall seemed to be piquing their interest the most.
I climbed out of the shaft and planted my feet firmly on the floor. With my machete in hand, ready to do the necessary work, I reached down for my Glock as a backup. It wasn’t there, and I recalled that I had given it to Steph. A curse was on my lips, but I felt better with her having it. She needed at least one weapon.
With both infected facing away from me for the moment, killing the first was easy. I swung hard at the back of her neck, severed her spine, and she crumbled. Blood spewed across the waxed floor. The other infected looked down at his partner rather than over at me. He seemed transfixed by the glossy, pooling blood. When he did see the blade of my machete swinging toward his throat, he tried vainly to block the blow but lost all the fingers on his right hand. The blade gashed his neck open anyway.
But he wasn’t dead.
His bloody, fingerless hand reached out for me. His mouth opened and closed, trying to scream or bite. I jumped back and he fell on his face, adding his blood to the pool on the floor.
I jumped back into the elevator door through which I’d come and waved up the shaft, holding out four fingers.
From above, a voice yelled, “Four!”
More gunfire followed.
I crossed the hall, jammed my machete into the seam between the elevator doors, and in moments I had them pried apart. Sergeant Dalhover was on the service ladder, looking back at me. I leaned in and looked up the ladder. It was full of our people. I didn’t look down to see if we’d lost any in their attempts to climb around the wall and make it over to the ladder. That was useless information that only held bad memories and nightmares.
Dalhover worked his way around the wall with the athleticism of a spider monkey, and within seconds was standing on the floor beside me.
“Any trouble on ten?” I asked.
He shook his head. “The diversion is working, but we lost one. She slipped and fell trying to get to the ladder.” Dalhover read the question on my face. “It wasn’t Nurse Leonard.”
“I’ll clear this floor while you get everyone out.”
Dalhover looked down at the two dead.
“There may be more.” I shrugged as though I needed to provide some kind of excuse for the two dead Whites. Intellectually, I knew they were murderous cannibals, but they looked as human as me. Some emotional artifacts of morality are hard to slough off.
I took off at a jog around the corner, peering into any open door, looking for movement. Closed doors I left alone.
Chapter 14
Five more infected on the fourth floor died under my blade by the time I rendezvoused with the group at the elevator bank.
Twenty or thirty of us stood close, shuffling nervously, pointing weapons up and down the hall.
A soldier was firing his pistol up the elevator shaft that I’d come down. I was wishing he wouldn’t, but he knew the risks as well as I did. A scream echoed out of the shaft and the soldier jumped back. The now-familiar sound of bodies crashing into the medical equipment below drew every eye to the door. The soldier anxiously frowned and said, “They’re coming down the shaft!”
Dalhover asked, “McWilliams,
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