Plague of the Dead (30 page)

    “Here they come,” Anna whispered. “
Carriers
.”

    “Dinner time for the sick fucks,” Mason said.

    The first of the infected reached the front door, fixing the startled intruders with a frenzied glare before being cut down in a hail of gunfire. Though the monitors didn’t capture sound, they heard the blasts all too well through the ceiling above them. Before the first infected had even hit the ground, another had appeared to take its place. This one, too, was gunned down-but there were plenty more still coming. The intruders fanned out, one stationing himself in front of the broken window, another pair guarding the door. The heavy blows of the battering ram continued all the while.

    “It’s working. They’re splitting their attention,” Anna said.

    “Glad these bastards are good for something,” Mason agreed. “Let’s get into the catacombs before they bust through these doors.”

    “I’m right behind you!” Julie shouted, fumbling for a jewel case and stabbing a finger at the CD tray’s eject button.

    Mason heaved open the heavy door that led down to the tunnels below the house. Behind him, Anna shouldered her pack and tossed a third to Julie, who quickly stuffed the discs in the half-open top before shoving herself away from the terminal and rushing to catch up.

    Mason ran in a full-out sprint down the gently sloping ramp. Ahead of him was a narrow entryway that widened into the tunnel proper beyond. Their electric cart was still parked, waiting for them to make their getaway. In his hurry, Mason made a mistake.

    He didn’t notice the second cart.

    As he ran through the entryway an arm shot out of nowhere, clothes-lining the rogue agent. Mason slammed into the concrete floor with a grunt of pain. He looked up in time to see a polished shoe descending towards his head. He rolled to the side just as the foot hit the ground where his temple had been a moment before. Mason sprang up, holding a hand to his chest and struggling to pull in breaths.

    “I knew you’d come back this way if I sent men in the front door,” said his attacker, falling back into a ready stance. “Like rats fleeing a sinking ship. You’re too predictable, Mason.”

    “
Sawyer
,” Mason uttered, spitting on the floor in front of his adversary. He risked a glance down the tunnel, looking for other agents-but there was no one else. “Where’s your backup?”

    “I came this way alone,” Sawyer said. “I wanted to finish you off myself. I’m not even armed.”

    He stepped back and showed a wide grin. He then spread his coat open, proving that he indeed carried no weapons.

    “Mistake,” came a voice from the entryway. Sawyer flicked his eyes over in the direction of the sound and saw himself staring down the barrel of a sub-machine gun wielded by Anna Demilio.

    “Doctor. It seems we were in this situation once before, only then it was I who held the weapon.”

    “
Don’t
,” Mason told her, holding up a hand. “
Let me
.”

    Sawyer nodded almost imperceptibly. He’d expected nothing less from Mason.

    “Oh, bullshit,” Anna said, clicking off the safety on the weapon. “Let me kill him now, before they get through the doors.”

    “No, hold your fire. Sawyer here might be a worthless pus-fuck, but I did run out on him. Call it a…”

    “… Debt of honor, perhaps?” Sawyer said, finishing Mason’s sentence for him. “I figured. Like I said, you’re too predictable.”

    “And you’re too overconfident,” Mason retorted, shedding his jacket and tossing his weapons to the floor.

    The two agents squared off, circling slowly and watching one another for the telltale signs of an attack.

    “This is ridiculous!” Anna called out. “We don’t have time for this!”

    Neither man responded. Their eyes were locked on each other. The agency had made hand-to-hand combat a major part of their training regimen. Like the armed forces, both men worked on a solid base of boxing and jiu-jitsu. It might lack the poetry of karate, but it was more than effective.

    It was Sawyer that threw the first punch, a quick jab that flashed out so fast Mason didn’t have time for a block. The blow landed on his chin, staggering him back a half step. Sawyer wasted no time in pressing the attack. A flurry of punches came at Mason-a second jab, which he slapped aside handily. A roundhouse came next, but Mason ducked his head, and Sawyer hit only air. The next attack was a brutal uppercut, and might have ended the fight right then if Mason hadn’t leaned back just enough. Even so, Sawyer’s fist clipped his chin, jarring his head for a moment.

    As Sawyer followed through with the uppercut, Mason saw an opportunity. He stepped in, throwing a quick one-two combination into Sawyer’s unguarded stomach. The agent expelled breath in a pained gasp and fell back a half step. Mason took a chance, throwing a roundhouse of his own aimed directly at Sawyer’s right temple. Sawyer raised an arm, stopping the punch before it reached him, and stepped forward, slinking one leg behind Mason’s and planting a hand on his chest. He shoved hard, sending Mason sprawling to the ground. The takedown was considered one of the most basic combat moves. Mason would have berated himself for opening himself up to it if he’d had time, but Sawyer was already hovering over him, raising a leg to stomp the agent as he lay on the ground.

    Mason kicked out hard, nailing Sawyer in the kneecap. He grunted, falling to his knees, and Mason leapt up, full-body tackling Sawyer.

    For a split second, Mason flashed back to his hand-to-hand class. The instructor’s first lesson was a simple one.

    ‘
Almost all fights start with both combatants on their feet
,’ the instructor had said. ‘
But you’ll find that in almost every case, both fighters will be on the ground within seconds. From there, it’s like chess: the endgame. Every move must have a purpose, or you’re dead. It’s as simple as that
.’

    Mason had an advantage. He found himself on top of Sawyer. He wasted no time, wailing mercilessly about the agent’s head and neck with a furious flurry of punches, bloodying Sawyer’s nose and mouth within moments.

    Sawyer was helpless to block the blows, but he wasn’t done yet. He locked his leg around Mason’s, reaching up with one hand to grab at the fabric of his shirt. Mason felt the grab and knew what was coming-but the move was already set up. Sawyer heaved. His positioning gave him plenty of leverage. The pair found themselves rolling, and when they came to a rest, their positions were reversed-Sawyer sat on top and Mason was pinned beneath.

    Sawyer managed one or two heavy blows before Mason flat-palmed him in the chin, cracking his jaw back and sending spit and blood flying through the air. While Sawyer reeled, Mason pushed back on his chest, freeing himself from the pin. He attacked again as Sawyer recovered, quickly locking both legs around his opponent’s chest from behind and working an arm up around his throat, his other arm holding Sawyer’s forehead back.

    The fight was over. Mason knew it, and Sawyer knew it. From his position, Mason could snap Sawyer’s neck in one quick movement.

    But Mason did neither. Combat simply ceased with both agents locked in their hold on the cold concrete floor.

    “
Do it
,” Sawyer croaked. “
Finish it
.”

    “If I did that,” Mason said, whispering in Sawyer’s bleeding ear, “I’d be no better than you, you piece of shit.”

    Instead, Mason tightened his hold, closing off Sawyer’s air supply. The agent choked and gasped, struggling for air, beating his elbows into Mason’s ribcage, but the blows were weak, and grew weaker by the moment. It took no more than twelve seconds for Sawyer to slump into unconsciousness. Mason released his grip, letting his opponent fall face-first onto the floor.

    The pain of Mason’s injuries started to creep into his mind as the adrenaline rush of the fight began to wear off. He felt weak, shaky, and the thought of lying down and taking a nap was very appealing. He might have actually considered it in his foggy state of mind if Anna’s MP-5 hadn’t started chattering out rounds one after the other. Mason sprang up, looking back in the direction of the safe room. The attackers had battered down both doors and Dr. Demilio was giving them something to think about before they went poking their heads in.

    “It’s clear!” Mason called, picking up his own weapons and rushing to join the renewed fight. “Get in the cart! Quick!”

    He hammered down, taking Anna’s spot and providing suppressing fire. Julie had already climbed in and started up the little buggy while glaring over her shoulder impatiently at her two compatriots. Anna jogged back to the cart and jumped in the back, pointing her weapon back in the direction of the safe room, covering Mason’s retreat.

    The agent skipped backwards, sending rounds like raindrops in a spring shower back into their formerly safe hideaway. Return fire began to come in his direction from weapons held blindly around the corner, bullets ricocheting off the concrete and zipping around the concrete tunnel. One hit the only bulb in the entry ramp, plunging a section of the catacombs into darkness. Mason used the opportunity to turn tail and bolt for the cart. He jumped over Sawyer’s prone form, still moving full-bore, slamming into his seat and barking at Julie, “Go! Go! Go!”

    They took off. The cart wasn’t a speed demon, but it moved at a pace that would keep up with your average human sprinter. As an afterthought, Mason turned around and fired again, this time sending his rounds into the second cart that Sawyer had obviously arrived in. Sparks flew from the cart’s panel and a plume of oily smoke rose up from the ruined board. Satisfied, Mason nodded to himself and turned forward once again.

    Anna was still firing, forcing the men in the darkened corridor to remain covered. Even still, as the entryway receded in the distance, bullets chased after them. One winged the back of the cart with a loud crack, making Julie jump in the driver’s seat.

    “Save your ammo,” Mason said to Anna. “We’ll probably need every round.”

    The cart careened around a corner. Julie had taken a random turn, which was probably for the best; it might help throw off the pursuit that would most certainly be following. Mason allowed himself to fully relax. For the time being, they were safe enough.

    Anna shouldered her weapon, then shoved Mason hard in the shoulder.

    “Hey,” protested the agent. “What the hell?”

    “You almost got us all killed back there!” Anna yelled. “If you’d taken ten more seconds with that stupid fight with Sawyer we would have been run down by those guys coming in the front door!”

    “Oh, come off it,” Mason groaned. “First of all, there’re always a ton of ‘
ifs
’ in combat. For example, Doc,
if
those carriers hadn’t shown up and stalled that assault team, we’d have been killed for sure.
If
I hadn’t seen those footprints we wouldn’t have had any warning at all.
If
Sawyer hadn’t been such a pompous bastard in thinking he was going to take me down unarmed and by himself we would have been dead too-so don’t shove that crap down my throat. Besides, we’re alive.”

    “Yeah,
for now
,” Anna replied, unconvinced.

    Back at the entryway, the five remaining members of the assault team struggled to secure the safe room. The house above was packed to bursting with carriers of the Morningstar Strain. Every blast from a weapon had been like a dinner bell to them, beckoning them to the noise that meant warm, uninfected bodies, and since the doors had been battered down there was nothing hindering them. The remaining members of the assault team were doing the best they could, holding the broken door up in its frame and pressing against it with their body weight. The door shuddered under the blows of the carriers on the other side, but they could hold it for a while longer.

    One of the assault troopers had clicked on a flashlight and was searching the entry tunnel. The beam landed on Sawyer’s unconscious form.

    “
Damn
,” breathed the trooper, chuckling under his breath. “Asshole had it coming to him.”

    He kneeled next to the agent, holding a pair of fingers to Sawyer’s neck. Finding a pulse, the man’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected the rogues to let him live. Shrugging to himself, he slapped his hand on Sawyer’s cheek.

    “’Ey. ’Ey. Wakie-wakie, sir,” he said.

    Sawyer coughed, groaning and rolling his head to one side, batting the man’s hand away.

    “Want an aspirin?” chuckled the trooper. Sawyer glared at him, holding up a hand to his bruised throat.

    “What happened?” he croaked, voice brittle and weak after Mason’s strangulation.

    “They got away. We could have gotten ‘em if we hadn’t got some company of our own,” said the trooper, jerking a finger over his shoulder at the three men holding the door up. The angry moans of the carriers and undead beyond were evident.

    Sawyer sat up and pulled himself to his feet, gritting his teeth. Mason had been right. He’d been too overconfident. Well, that wasn’t a mistake he’d make again. He tossed one regretful look at the tunnels where Mason, Anna, and Julie had made their escape, then strode briskly into the light of the safe room. The trooper followed slowly, weapon at the ready.

    Sawyer cast about, looking at the disturbed equipment and splintered door panel. He was a seasoned agent-looking for leads was a big part of his job. His eye fell upon the computer and the open CD tray in the tower.

    “
Hmm
,” he breathed, walking over to the terminal. He was seemingly uninterested in the peril they were all in with the carriers on the other side of the flimsy doorway. Single-minded, as always. He cracked his neck slowly, reading over the data on the screen. In her rush, Julie had left the browser open. His stare drifted downwards, until it reached the last few lines of text.

    …
in closing, findings indicate a tendency toward metabolic restructuring in most hosts. Until further information is available, suggest allocating resources to study this effect. All data classified top secret/eyes only. Further reports should be sent to CRF, Central Research Facility, Omaha, Nebraska.