Dead Cells - 01 (22 page)

He moved down to the next step. His knee almost gave way beneath his weight, but he managed to grab onto the railing to prevent falling completely. He groaned, grunted, but not too loud; he didn't want the others to know where he was going, and he certainly wasn't going to share his food with them when he got there.

He had eight more steps to go, and he would traverse them as carefully as he could. He could almost taste the blood in the air by now, and it tasted sweet.

He couldn't wait.

*

'Shouldn't there be more of them?' Jared asked, though he was glad that there weren't.

'We're a couple of corridors away from the main facility now,' Jenson said, swinging his shotgun around with something akin to boredom. 'We might come across a few stragglers, but I reckon the rest of them will be chowing down on the bulk of the dead meat, which is roughly a hundred metres
that
way.' He stopped swinging the shotgun long enough to stab it towards the direction he spoke of.

'Good to know,' Marla sighed, although whether she was going to trust the guard's theory fully was an entirely different matter. He was, after all, dumb enough to be swinging a shotgun around as if it was nothing more dangerous than a rubber ball. Turning to Shane, she said, 'Are you okay?' She said it quietly, loud enough for only Shane and, perhaps, Terry Lewis to hear, but Terry was mostly harmless.

'I'm fine,' Shane mustered. He was still withdrawn, but not as badly as he had been. Killing your cellmate was hardly something that you could forget in a hurry. It wasn't as if Shane and Billy had had a bad relationship; they were friends, buddies, willing to die for one another.

In the end, though, the dying had not been an option, and neither had the killing.

'We're gonna get through this, Shane,' Marla said, and there was something about the way in which she said it – with honest-to-god determination – that made Shane believe her.

All he could think about was Holly and Megan, and whether they were okay. Perhaps the infection wasn't as widespread as first thought. Was it plausible that the virus might have only reached the outskirts of Jackson? Shane hoped that it wasn't too late to reach them, his wife and daughter. When he
did
, he knew that everything would be okay once again. Billy's death would haunt him for eternity, but with his family around he would be able to stifle the memory so that it became bearable.

Noticing that the rest of the group had slowed to a stop, Jenson placed both hands on the shotgun. 'I hope you're not making any fucking plans,' he said. 'I'll shoot you before you even have time to think about it.'

'Lower the gun,' Michaelson said; it wasn't a request. 'You're being a fucking idiot. Haven't you figured it out yet? Are you so fucking dumb that it hasn't sunk in? Everything has changed. These people aren't prisoners, not anymore, at least not until everything goes back to the way...to the way it
was
. Even
then
I think it'll be out of our hands. Fuck, we're not even
guards
any longer. You, me,
them
, we're all the same. We're just people, people trying to live through the night, and if we do, if we make it until morning, then I don't have a clue what we're going to find out
there
, but I promise you something: you, and me, we won't be fucking friends. You're too much of a
cunt
.'

Stunned silence prevailed, but Marla felt like applauding such a fine speech. Officer Jenson's face dropped about an inch; he looked like he'd been kicked in the bollocks constantly for an hour. His mouth eventually opened, but nothing fell out. In fact, he looked ashamed. When he hung his head, Michaelson didn't know whether to feel sorry for him, or give him another round.

'We need to move,' Shane said, pointing into the darkness. 'How far to the gates?'

'Not far,' Jenson sighed. He looked deflated; the shotgun hung loosely at his side.

It was a poor choice of timing to allow the dejection to hit.

Out of the shadows came the figure, screaming incoherently. By the time any of them realised what was happening, the man had relieved Officer Michaelson's holsters of their pistols.

'Watch out!' Terry cried, but it was too late; the figure was already moving through the darkness, a pistol in each hand.

Jenson hoisted the gun upwards and managed to get off a shot. The recoil sent him staggering backwards. From the darkness came a agonising cry.

The lunatic had been hit.

What happened in the next ten seconds was a blur to all of them. Shane, Marla and Jared threw themselves to the ground; Jared was whimpering profusely. Michaelson, being a few steps ahead of everyone else – and the closest to the maniac who now possessed both of his guns – didn't know what to do. He managed to fall to his knees, which was a lot harder than it sounded since every muscle in his body had seized up. Terry Lewis remained standing, for reasons only known to himself. Shane stared up at him from the ground, and could see that the man was praying silently; his eyes were closed, and his mouth moved quickly as the whispered words passed through it. Even in the darkness, Shane watched as a single tear rolled down Terry's cheek and landed on the collar of his coveralls.

And Jenson, who was a few feet in front of Terry Lewis, fired again. There was no pained reply this time, though.

The only response came in the form of bullets.

Lots of them.

Officer Jenson's body replied spasmodically as each bullet hit home. Blood sprayed out, showering the surrounding walls. The guard didn't –
couldn't
– cry out as he was riddled with gunfire, but from the floor Marla was screaming.

A shrill screech that seemed to go on forever, long after Jenson's lifeless corpse hit the corridor floor.

When the gunfire stopped, the ringing continued to echo through the hall. What should have been a shocked silence was, in fact, a high-pitched aftermath. Jared was still whining, Marla was screaming, Terry was silently praying, Michaelson was grumbling, and Shane was listening to the sound of his own heartbeat as it thumped incessantly inside his ears.

'Well, well, well?' the voice in the darkness said. 'What do we have here?'

*

Ahhhh, the gunfire was a message, a sign that he was on the right track. When it came, he had been contemplating altering his direction. There was a door, and he had been about to walk through it when the banging started.

The sign.

He continued onwards, knowing that whatever had made such a racket was close by. He could almost smell the blood, but maybe that was just a trick his new body was playing on him.

His stomach, what remained of it, seemed to lunge, as if it knew that the time was almost upon it. A tendril of intestine that had previously been hanging from his stomach slipped down and landed at his feet, but he didn't notice it, even when it wrapped around his foot and almost tripped him up.

He dragged it with him for almost five minutes before it freed itself and lay abandoned by the hallway skirting.

*

The unmistakeable stench of gunfire lingered on the air, its sole purpose to sting nostrils and make eyes water. Nobody spoke – nor
could
they – for the thirty seconds that followed the gunning down of the guard. Glances, fearful and confused, were exchanged, and the possessor of the pistols watched intently, trying to figure out if anyone was stupid enough to make a move.

'Well
this
is all nice and cosy,' Rooster said, taking a surreptitious step towards the shocked clique. As he moved, Marla flinched; Jared simply whimpered, as was his wont. 'What, did you think you could just run out on me? Leave me here to fucking
die
, like the rest of those things?'

Michaelson, being the only guard – and the only person with any semblance of authority – shook his head.

'Hill, that wasn't the plan at all.' The way in which he spoke was akin to that of a counsellor trying to convince a junkie not to toss himself off a seven story building. Almost patronising, but not intentionally.

Rooster turned to face the guard. 'You and your little buddies here were trying to escape,
weren't
you? Off to greener grass, leaving the rest of us here to rot.'

Terry Lewis, who had been standing stock-still and reciting excerpts from the bible in his head, held out a pacifying hand. 'We didn't know there were any more survivors,' he said, the tiniest hint of laughter at the end to embellish the claim. 'We were just trying to get away from those fucking things while we still had a chance. If we'd known you were here, and not infected – which I
assume
that you're not – then we would have come for you.'

'
Bullshit
!' Rooster Hill spat, and he actually did spit; a globule of phlegm landed on his chin. Nobody watching, though, was brave enough to tell him about it.

'He's telling the truth,' Shane said. 'We all met up trying to find a way out. It's not like we had a plan.'

'Well, if you did, and I'm pretty fucking certain that you
did
, then I'm about to toss a spanner in the works.'

Like we need any more spanners in the works,
Shane thought.

'Let's not be stupid about this, son,' Michaelson said, and then snapped his mouth shut as Rooster lifted one of the pistols up and pushed it to the guard's temple.

'Stupid? I'm not being stupid. I'm the only one here sensible enough to see what's going on. Well, I'm not about to let you all go running off and leaving me here to die
—
'

'You can come
with
us,' Shane said. It was then that he realised that he was still cowering on the floor. He pushed himself up to his feet; at least he would be standing if Rooster was crazy enough to shoot him, which was a hell of a lot more admirable than crawling around like a worm looking for a place to shit.

'I could come
with
you?' Rooster said, clearly thinking it over. 'Yeah, I
could
, couldn't I. I could come with you, and then you and your merry band of fucking men could turn on me and feed me to those things as soon as the chance arrives.' He cocked the pistol, the one that was pushed against Officer Michaelson's head. The guard closed his eyes, anticipating the shot that would kill him. 'I don't think I want to come with you, not
now
. In fact, I think I'll be better off on my own. Well, not
entirely
on my own. I need somebody for company,
don't
I?'

His gaze dropped. Marla Emmett's expression changed so drastically that she seemed to mutate into a completely different person.

'Leave her alone,' Shane said, stepping forward, knowing that he was apt to get his kneecaps blown off if he moved too quickly. 'If you need to take anybody, take me.'

Rooster chuckled. 'Why the fuck would I want to take you when I could have
her
.' He licked his lips, the blob of phlegm gathered on his chin slid across to the other side of his mouth. 'Fine piece of ass, that one. I'll bet she could suck a fucking golf-ball through a length of hosepipe, couldn't you, honey?'

'Fuck you!' Marla grimaced. She thought, for a few seconds, that she was actually going to be sick; she managed to swallow it down.

'I'll bet you
will
, too,' Rooster smiled. 'Now, sweetie, I want you to get to your feet, and don't be trying nothing stupid, 'cos I will shoot you where you stand. I'll shoot you, and then I'll
fuck
you.'

Marla didn't know what that meant, but didn't want to question his intentions, not while he had a gun pointed towards her chest.

'Slowly,' Rooster said, licking his lips again. 'If you move too fast, I might slip with my little friend here.' He nodded to Michaelson, who still had his eyes shut tight.

Marla manoeuvred herself carefully, trying not to give the gunman an excuse to blow the top of the guard's head off.

'That's nice,' Rooster said. 'Nice and slowly, hmmm-mmmm, just like Momma used to do.'

When she was on her feet – feet which felt like they were liable to crash beneath her at any moment – Rooster told her to move towards him, then threatened to shoot the next man who moved.

'This isn't going to get you out of here,' Terry said. 'Son, believe me. There are other ways we could do this.'

'Do
your
ways get my dick wet?' Rooster asked. 'Didn't think so.'

'I'm not gonna get your dick wet, either,' Marla said, and she meant it.

'Oh, you
will
,' Rooster replied, shoving the pistol forward to emphasise his point. 'You will, and it will be sooo fucking good.'

Jared, throughout the exchange, had been backing away. The darkness of the corridor made it almost impossible to see, but Rooster did, and that was enough.

He removed the gun from Michaelson's temple and sliced the air in front of him with it. '
Don't
!' he snapped. 'I promise you, it'll be the last thing you fucking do!'

Jared dropped to his knees and began to beg, crying uncontrollably. It was almost embarrassing, but Shane felt sorry for the poor guy, who clearly wasn't cut out for this sort of thing. It made him wonder what Jared had done in the first place to end up in prison.