CHAPTER 18

  "The only thing a gambler needs

  Is a suitcase and a gun..."

  -The Animals

  ...

  "We should leave Carl. Now."

  "I know buddy, just a second...look at this."

  He held up what looked like a colt .45. The pistol had what appeared to be Russian writing on the side of its stainless steel slide. There were numerous different holsters hanging from hooks. He spotted a thigh holster and strapped it to his leg, dropping the pistol in and snapping it secure. There were some suitcases and duffel bags in a pile on a shelf. He grabbed a duffel and dumped out the clothing it was filled with. He jammed every box and crate of ammunition he could find, pistol, shotgun, and an assault rifle. He picked out a nice assault rifle, the one with the least amount of attachments. Whoever had owned these weapons had insisted in filling every bit of their picatinny rail with whatever would fit. Ridiculous. There were stacks of preloaded mags. He stuck five to his waist and Nano let them sink in a bit. He grabbed a 12-gauge and threw it over his shoulder. The bag was too heavy for a regular person, but Carl lifted it easily. He slung it over his shoulder as well, moving the rifle and shotgun a bit so they all stayed in place.

  "Alright, I'm good. Finally a backup pistol. You'd think with all these worlds that..."

  "Carl. We must leave."

  "Youre right, I'm going."

  He started up the stairs.

  Glass shattered somewhere above.

  A single thump, then another. Bodies hitting the floor.

  Footsteps followed, not footsteps exactly. Shuffling. Dragging. Too many of them.

  “Oh, fuck.”

  His helmet snapped shut.

  Carl took the stairs two at a time. The noise above multiplied, floorboards groaning under gathering weight. By the time he reached the basement door, the house already sounded full.

  He threw it open and slashed.

  The blade carved through dead flesh, necks parting, torsos opening, but the bodies didn’t fall away fast enough. For every one that dropped, two more pressed forward, collapsing into the space they left behind.

  They were forcing him back.

  Carl hacked and stabbed, arms burning, footing slipping on bloody wooden stairs. The mass surged, relentless, a wall of rotting meat and grasping hands.

  “Dammit!”

  He broke contact and ran, boots pounding down the stairs. The basement swallowed him whole. He spun, searching for something, anything.

  The window. Too small.

  The walls. Underground.

  No way out.

  He had seconds.

  "Think..."

  He came up with nothing, the mob was pouring in.

  Carl seized the metal shelving stacked with jars and heaved. Glass exploded as he swung it into the oncoming mob. Pickled food and brine rained across the floor, the rack bowing as bodies slammed into it.

  “This is stupid,” he snarled. “We’re trapped. This was a horrible plan.”

  “We still have options, Carl.”

  “WHAT OPTIONS?! Just...I'll figure it out!"

  The shelf screamed under the pressure, metal warping, bolts shrieking. Hands clawed through the gaps, fingers snapping, jaws gnashing inches from his visor.

  Carl roared and lifted the rack, swinging it like a battering ram. Heads cracked. Bodies toppled. It bought him a breath, nothing more. If this was him "figuring it out", he was doing a piss-poor job of it.

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  The weight hit him all at once.

  The shelf broke.

  Carl went down hard, swallowed by the pile. Rotting bodies crushed against him, pinning his limbs, smothering him in heat and stench.

  His right hand flashed into a blaster, firing blindly into the mass. When the heat warning screamed, he ignored it, he was making headway.

  "Carl, if the power source is too overheated, we will not be able to get back through the rift!"

  He finally retracted it and let the claws slide free, carving space inch by bloody inch.

  He couldn’t see. The visor was slick with gore. Everything smelled like decay.

  When the pressure eased, barely, Carl dug in. He wedged his feet beneath him, muscles screaming, and pushed.

  His fist burst through the heap. Then his head. He hauled himself upright, the duffel and guns were becoming a real problem, but he refused to let them go. He ripped free from the pile of bodies collapsing back into the basement floor.

  The stairs were clearer now. Only a handful remained, stumbling down toward him.

  Carl adjusted the things on his back and charged.

  He cut legs from under them, sent bodies tumbling, and forced his way upward. The hallway beyond was packed — no space to open doors, no room to breathe.

  Then he understood.

  They weren’t attacking him anymore.

  He looked down.

  He was drenched in their blood.

  He stank like them.

  “Of course,” he muttered.

  The realization lasted half a second.

  The mob seemed to pause, many of them sniffing with half rotted noses at the air.

  Carl was aware of the sweat pooled inside the suit as he bolted for the stairs. They were on him again. He hit the second floor, slammed into the first door, bathroom. Window too small.

  “Of course.”

  He spun, sprinted to the next room —

  A bedroom.

  A window.

  Finally.

  "Carl, the power source is still over heated. I can use it for a single burst to get us through the rift."

  "I DONT HAVE ANYWHERE ELSE TO GO!"

  He could hear the din behind him, the groans and shuffling feet. They would be in the bedroom in minutes.

  Below him the house was surrounded, as if every zombie for miles had come for the promise of fresh meat.

  "I have an idea...give me a single claw on the end of each of my boots."

  A single slightly curved claw extended from the toes of both his boots. He swung himself out onto the window sill and jammed his toe-claw into the wooden siding on the house. He jabbed his left hands claws in and let his right foot slide off the sill.

  It was working.

  He punched his right foot in then his right hand, he made his way to about six feet above the ground. The zombies were reaching up and he was kicking, jabbing the toe-claw into their heads. There was no end to them though.

  "Any chance its cooled down enough to fly to the rift yet?"

  "Not yet Carl."

  Carl sighed. Nothing could ever be easy in life.

  "Well...here we go."

  He dropped into the crowd and started slicing his way through. They were more spaced out so it wasnt as hard to move as inside. He got past the barn and into the field, his visor shifted for a moment. Running Matt's program, he could see the rift in the dark.

  "Let's get the hell out of here!"

  His thrusters fired and he shot up, a zombie still clinging to his leg. He kicked at it but its hand had ahold of the duffel strap. He pulled the pistol aimed and shot the creature in the head, it fell off of him. He flew backwards through the rift, his thrusters sputtering out as he entered the hub world. He hit the ground with a sickening thud.

  Andy ran over and grabbed his arm to help him up.

  "Oh my god! Are you all..."

  "NO! LET GO...SHIT! You have like rubbing alcohol or something?"

  "Uh, yeah, why?"

  "Go! Wash that shit off! Its some kind of zombie virus over there."

  Andy ran to his bag, grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol and dumped it on his hands.

  Carl watched him and attempted to stand up. The fall from the rift had jarred him, he didnt think anything was broken, but he was going to be feeling it for a few days.

  "Lets get back Carl."

  "Can't. Suits overheated. Go, tell Royles I'll be back in a few."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah, I'll be alright. Just go, I'll be 30 minutes behind you."

  "Alright."

  Andy grabbed his stuff and headed for the rift home. Carl still lay on his side, he holstered the pistol he still held, then pulled the duffel and weapons off his shoulder and rolled onto his back.

  "I could really use some Fun-dip right now."

  "I do not understand how flavored sugar..."

  "Just trust me buddy."

  He limped through the rift and set the bag down. It was soaked in blood, you couldnt even tell it used to be olive green. He dropped the assault rifle and shotgun and waited. They had cameras pointed at the rift, someone would see him. He was still covered in blood and bits of zombie. There had to be some kind of decontamination process...right?

  He waved at the cameras.

  "Hey!"

  Hopefully someone was watching.

  Silence.

  Of course not. He rolled his eyes.

  "Nano, can you burn this nastiness off?"

  "I can, but you must exit the armor."

  Carl stepped backwards out of the armor. Nano vibrated until the armor heated up and incinerated all the organic material.

  "I must go into standby mode Carl."

  "Ok, but lets get you out of the rift room at least...Nano? Shit."

  Burning the crap off had used the last bit of his power. The suits power source was going to need hours to recover.

  Due to time dilation, he was back hours after Andy, it had been twenty minutes for him. The facility was quiet. He nodded at the guard in the booth, he slid the jump log through the hole at the bottom of the window. Royles had them logging everything. His hand shook as he tried to write the time and his name. He shook his hand out and wrote "returned" without shaking. He felt weak, probably exhaustion.

  He nodded at the man again and started to turn away. The guy pointed at Carl and then at his own cheek.

  "You've got some red on you."

  Carl licked his thumb and wiped his cheek, blood spatter, his helmet had been up when he decapitated the lady in the basement. Good thing it didnt get in his mouth. That was close, too damn close.

  He walked to his apartment, ready for a shower, tired, glad this days nightmare was over. This job could be a real bitch sometimes.

  After his shower, he sat on the couch, in his boxers and a t-shirt. It was too hot in his apartment. He checked the thermostat, it was still set to 68, with the rooms temperature at 69 degrees. So why was he so hot? He pulled off his tshirt and tossed it on the floor, the bedroom had a ceiling fan. He lay down on the bed with the fan on high. That was better. He still felt off, but he just needed sleep. He had pushed himself to the limit in that rift. He closed his eyes, hoping sleep would take him sooner than later.

  Penny lay in bed, she was worried about Carl. He hadn't come back with Andy, Andy had laughed it off, said Carl was waiting for his suit to cool down. She should go check and see if he'd returned. She almost got up, but decided against it. She'll see him in the morning. She closed her eyes, she needed sleep anyways, the serial killer case had reached a standstill. She had to hit the streets tomorrow, see if she could shake something loose. No one's perfect. This guy had to have left something, some clue...

  There was a knock on her door.

  Hes back.

  Thank goodness.

  She opened the door.

  Andy was on his hands and knees, his eyes bloodshot, his clothing soaked with sweat.

  "Somethings wrong, I need help."

  "Oh my god! HEY, SOMEBODY!"

  She took his arm and threw it over her shoulders. She struggled for a minute, but he was still able to get his feet under himself.

  "Jesus, youre burning up. SOMEONE HELP!"

  Where was the night guard? She got him into the infirmary and laid him on a bed. She pushed his legs up and covered him with a sheet.

  "Stay in the bed Andy, I'll go get help."

  He nodded weakly.

  She ran straight to Matts apartment and beat on the door. Nothing.

  "MATT! GODDAMMIT! WHERE IS EVERYBODY?"

  She ran to his lab, he was there hunched over a desk reading a thick textbook.

  "Matt! We have an emergency, Andy is in the infirmary. He needs help. I'm going to call Royles, Andy said Carl was in sone kind of zombie rift...this could be bad."

  He didnt reply, just nodded acknowledgment and ran to the infirmary. Penny ran to the nearest phone and called Royles.

  Royles walked into the infirmary, wearing blue jeans and a blue flannel shirt.

  "Status report."

  Matt looked up, and paused for half a second at seeing Royles out of his customary suit and tie.

  "Uh...it appears to be a very aggressive virus. I've got him sedated, but I'm not gonna sugar coat it...hes going to be out of commission for at least six months."

  "And Carl?"

  "I...I dont know. Is he even back yet?"

  Royles sighed. He walked out to the lobby booth.

  "The log please."

  The guard slid the clipboard through the slot.

  Carl had returned. The question is, healthy or not?

  "How was he acting when he logged in?"

  "A little shaky, but normal."

  Royles nodded and headed to the rift room. Nano stood there, eyes dark.

  "Nano?"

  The suit remained silent.

  There was a bag on the floor, soaked in dark rust brown blood.

  Royles backed slowly out of the room.

  This was his fault.

  They had no decontamination protocol in place.

  The horror was sinking in.

  He might have just killed Andy.