Diaries of the Damned (29 page)
Neil Mayberry arrived, walking up the long flight of stairs, humming a jaunty tune, eagerly anticipating his first cigarette of the day. He had tried to quit on numerous occasions, and had managed it twice…for a month at least, but sooner or later the pressure of his job got to him, and the smokes were the first thing he reached for. Alcohol was banned on the base, one small mercy he was thankful for. Had it been permitted, or even possible to bring such contraband inside the perimeter, he would have happily drunk himself into a coma whenever he was off duty.
The morning was cool. A frost had settled on the fields, coating everything with an icy finish. His breath left his body in dense clouds, and as Neil exhaled after a long drag, he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander. He had not left the base for more than a week at a time in seven years, and even then he was under close observation. He longed for the day that
retirement would come his way…if they ever allowed him to retire, that was. Being the oldest active officer on site (only being surpassed by three of the scientists – one of whom was pushing eighty) the whole retirement process was a great unknown.
Before he had gotten half way through the first of the two cigarettes he allowed himself before a shift, Neil was distracted by a frantic call coming through his radio. With a sigh he picked it up and headed inside, flicking his cigarette into a bucket of rainwater that stood by the door. It made a small hiss of disapproval and then died.
Neil was at the end of the long flight of stairs that led to the underground laboratory when another burst of chatter came through. This time, the sound was a scream, and it ended with a burst of gunfire. Neil broke into a run. Only he and the other guards were supposed to be carrying firearms, but the shots that sounded over the radio were not from the automatic rifle they carried. It was a series of single shots, most likely from the pistol that was kept in a locked security box within the laboratory. The scientists were kept separated from the military personnel during work hours; a must, given the materials that they worked with.
Neil arrived at the laboratory to find the long window of his station was covered with blood. A coating so thick, that all events on the inside of the lab were hidden from him. He stood and hesitated. They were forbidden to enter the laboratory, but there were always extenuating circumstances. Another shot rang out, and Neil moved. He slammed his first through the
protective casing and pulled the lever that powered up the high powered air filtration unit and ran around to the laboratory’s main entrance. The carnage inside the lab was obscured by a pink mist, and it was not until Neil crossed the threshold that he came face to face with the cause.
The scientists worked in three teams of seven, and at a quick count, Neil noted five bodies on the floor, although it was hard to tell who the scientists were. They had been turned inside out and their organs spread around the room.
From the corner of the room, behind the door he had come in from, Neil heard a strange squishing sound. He turned as a blood-covered figure leaped at him. The body collided with a heavy force and knocked Neil from his feet. They collapsed to the floor, tipping over the one remaining table, sending a shower of instruments and beakers tumbling to the floor. Neil recognized his attacker, but only just. Dr. Deborah Jennings, normally a reserved and mild-mannered woman in her mid-forties was naked and covered in blood. Her grip was like a vice as she crushed Neil’s arms. She growled and spat at him, her snapping teeth inching ever closer to his neck. Neil tried to resist, but he was powerless, pinned to the floor by the woman he had often fantasized about being with.
When the gunshot rang out, Neil though he had died, it was so loud, magnified by the stainless steel surroundings. Dr. Jennings’s head exploded with a meaty pop, like a water-balloon. A mist of blood, brain and skull filled the air and added to the already heady aroma of gore. An eyeball landed on the floor besides Neil and stared at him, the hatred still beaming through its unseeing pupil.
Neil looked around for his rifle, which he had dropped when he fell. Grabbing it, he turned as Dr. Walter George limped toward him. The doctor was in pain, his right ear was missing, and it looked as if someone had taken a bite out of his neck. When he brought his hand away from the wound, blood spurted in thick jets. Neil saw he had also lost the first three fingers of his right hand.
“Dr. George…
what the fuck is going on?” Neil asked, sweeping his eyes around the lab. There was nobody else left alive.
“Move! You need to leave, no
w, and lock the door behind you,” the scientist whispered his voice hoarse.
“No,
don’t be stupid. You need help…your hur…” Neil began, but stopped when he saw a change come over the doctor’s face. It was a fleeting glimpse, but it looked as though a flash of anger so intense took hold of him, that it made his soul scream.
“This was a test. We knew what we were doing. You need to leave now. Everything is chronicled for the following team. They know what they must do.” The scientist inched his way closer to Neil, and when he reached out for him, the strength in his grip did not match his weakened condition.
“I don’t understand… you did this to yourself?” Neil’s head spun, and he felt giddy from the death fumes that surrounded him.
“You don’t want to. Now go! I cannot be allowed to leave this place.” With a shove, the lead scientist of the base forced Neil out of the door. He entered a code on the keypad and locked the door from the inside. The last thing Neil heard as he was taken through the two cleansing chambers that removed all traces of whatever it was they were working on from his body, was a gunshot. The next time he saw the lab it had been cleaned up and the incident was never spoken of. Two weeks late
r, the announcement was made that Dr. George had retired, and his team had transferred to another facility to start working on a new project.
Neil never spoke a word about what he saw. That just wasn’t how things worked in the military.
* * *
Three Years Later…
Neil stood in the open field that bordered the farm, smoking his third morning cigarette. He knew he should stop, or at least try to cut down. Ever since his encounter with Dr. George and his team, smoking was the only thing left in Neil’s life that made him feel. He had slowly become numb to the world, to himself. It was not that he was depressed – far from it. He could laugh, cry, perform all of his normal duties, and mean the emotions he displayed. He just didn’t feel them anymore.
Dragging the cigarette until the flame lit the filter, Neil released the smoke with a sigh. He flicked the butt to the floor where it fizzed in the thick layer of frost that had settled during the midnight hours.
Turning, he headed back into the abandoned barn, whereupon he lifted up a false crate and exposed the staircase that would lead him back to the labyrinth. That was what he had christened his place of employment. He found it apt, given the meandering corridors and the numerous laboratories that branched off each passageway. The living quarters were just as complicated to access, with keycard operated doors every few hundred meters, and an iris scanner at the final entrance to each lab and living zone. After eleven years in the same location, Neil had forgotten everything else. This was his world, and he loved it.
The facility was a buzz as Neil reached the center. The scientists had been preparing for something. He didn’t ask…not anymore. He knew that they worked with diseases and various other aggressive biological agents, but the details were of no interest to him.
“Hey! Hey, Neil, can
you give me a hand with this?” a young scientist called out. He had been at the compound since the day he left university, which was coincidentally the same day Neil had joined. The two had become close; not quite friends. The unspoken knowledge of what went on within the labs stopped them from become anything more than acquaintances.
“Sure. What is it?” Neil turned before he got the answer.
“Just a couple of crates. They need to go to the surface. I can do it, but it would be easier with two of us to lift.” Charlie Clogger gave a smile and his thick glasses slipped down his nose. They were poorly adjusted, so Neil assumed, because they never appeared to remain in place for more than a few moments.
“What the crap do yo
u have in here? It weighs a ton,” Neil huffed as he struggled to adjust his grip on the crates. They didn’t look strong enough to hold anything that heavy.
“Come on, Neil, you know that I can’t tell you someth
ing like that. Not yet at least.”
T
he answer was not the one Neil had been expecting. He knew the protocol directed people toward non-disclosure, but something so simple as a couple of crates being taken to the surface…normally it meant throwing away old equipment.
“Fine, man, fine. I’m not going to push.” Neil further adjusted his grip and they resumed their ascent. Charlie was right. They had a trolley that allowed them to climb the stairs with a heavy load, but it was awkward and cumbersome. The old fashioned approach was always the best. “Why is this junk not going through the services elevator?” Neil asked, unable to stop himself.
“Because it isn’t junk. It’s a test.” The word echoed in Neil’s head. He froze and almost dropped his end. In that instant he saw his (almost) friend’s face change from a healthy natural color to bleached in an instant.
“Watch out! Jesus Christ!
If you drop that stuff in here…we are all fucked.” Charlie tried his best to control his anger. “Sorry, I mean… just… be careful,” he stuttered.
Once on the surface again, they carried the crates out of the barn and placed them on the ground. None of it felt right to Neil. The crates were being left out in the open, but not in the regular pick up location.
He had a bad feeling about everything. It tickled the back of his neck and made his body shudder.
“Thanks, man. I’ve got it from here. I think
you are needed by the main lab,” Charlie called, his voice nervous. He was clearly lying.
Neil turned to leave, but walked only a few steps before he ducked into the barn. He turned to his right and hid in the shadows. Neil peered through a crack in the warped wooden side, and waited.
A chill ran through him as he saw Charlie open both crates and crouch down onto his haunches. He reached into the box and pulled out a large canister. Setting it on the ground, he worked hurriedly to unscrew the cap. Neil wanted to call out, but he knew that whatever it was, it could not be stopped anymore. He had a flashback to Dr. George and his team: The blood, the body parts strewn about the place, and then the cover-up… retirement. The memories returned in a flood.
With trembling hands, Charlie reached inside the canister. It looked as though he were unscrewing a secondary cap. Vapor rose from the container while Charlie’s hand was s
till inside. He jerked backward, screaming as he did.
Neil reacted without thinking and ran over to his friend. The steam continued to escape the canister.
“Charlie, get back,” Neil called, unsure as to how the canister would react.
“Neil...what are you…
get away from me. Stop, it’s too dangerous!” Charlie screamed; the force of his words enough to stop Neil dead in his tracks.
“What do you mean?” Neil asked, holding his breath as soon as he had finished talking. Images of three years ago played in his mind like a flashback sequence in a bad movie.
Charlie didn’t answer. He had turned his back and was once again kneeling over the canister. His hand disappeared inside the vapor cloud. It appeared to be translucent, but Neil couldn’t see Charlie’s arm through it. It was as though the light was refracted around any object that it came into contact with. After a few moments, the vapor disappeared and Charlie withdrew his hand. He collapsed to the floor.
Neil made to move toward
him, but his friend shouted, in a much weakened voice, that he needed to stay away. Charlie rose into a seated position. This simple movement seemed to take all of his concentration and effort. His face was pasty; his eyes red and weeping. He looked sick. “Stay back man, get inside,” Charlie insisted, his voice growing weaker by the second.
“Call Dr.
Templeman. Tell him there is a problem… a leak. Too much escaped. Go, get inside, now!” Charlie’s strength was failing him.
Neil was caught; trapped between a feeling of moral obligation to help Charlie, and to listen to him; to get inside and raise the alarm. While he dithered, Charlie pulled out his revolver and raised it to his head with a trembling hand. He fired one shot, but his strength failed at the last seco
nd. His hand fell and the bullet ripped through his throat. It entered just above his shoulder and blew a gaping hole on the other side. Blood sprayed from the wound and with a rush of air, Charlie died.
Neil turned and ran into the barn, bounding down the steps at a speed that hovered on the edge of his control. Twice he felt his balance leave him. His legs were moving too fast. He caught himself at the last moment on the hand rail, yet refused to let his pace slow. He needed to report what had happened. He needed to speak with Dr.
Templeman. He needed answers.
