A moan and he fired as he spun once more. This time, he hit one of them in the chest, knocking it back a few feet. He fired again, turning its head into mist. A quick sweep revealed two more, their milk colored eyes focused elsewhere, even though they made a beeline for him. He fired into the head of the closest one ignoring the gore that splattered him and covered the thick clear plastic of his mask.
He turned his weapon toward where the other two were and shot one in the mouth. It made a gagging noise as it spit up part of its tongue. Dixon fired again, this time a clean shot to the head. He pivoted to take out the other one, but didn’t see it.
Dixon made a full circle becoming unnerved, because it had disappeared. He knew there were two. He was positive. He focused on the sounds, but his breathing intensified and echoed inside his mask. He raised a glove-covered hand to wipe at the gore covering his vision, but only succeeded in smearing it everywhere.
He took small steps, making sure to check behind him every few seconds. The things hadn’t demonstrated any sort of intelligence. In fact, he thought they were on par with a rock when it came to smarts. However, that didn’t make them any less dangerous. In fact, he often found the less intelligent people of the world were the ones you needed to be the most wary of.
The flashlight flickered then went out. He shook his Sig and got it back on, but at a lower strength. Would anything go their way, he wondered? He’d searched the whole floor and didn’t find the thing. Maybe he imagined it, his hands were shaking and he knew it was only a matter of time before nerves got the best of him. He went to the weapons locker and grabbed a fresh flashlight when something latched onto him from behind.
Dixon struggled with it, but the damn thing had a death grip on him. He felt it biting into the back of his suit and heard a tearing noise.
Crap, he thought.
He ran backwards, hoping to ram the thing between him and a wall, or some other hard surface. He felt the jolt and crushing of ribs against his back as they impacted with support column made of reinforced steel on the other side of the room. The hold on him loosened and Dixon grabbed one of the arms, trying not to notice the way the flesh moved as if oiled along the muscle underneath his grip.
A second later, he came face to face with his squad leader. The man who ordered him to go and baby-sit the new arrival for the next shift. Dixon hesitated a moment, and that was all it took for the creature to reach up and rip off the protective mask. Dixon stopped breathing and fired in panic mode. His weapon emptied and the body in front of him had nothing but a pulpy mess on top of its shoulders as it slid down to the ground.
Dixon raced for the supply closet, grabbed the emergency mask from one of the survival kits, and threw it on. He secured the straps and sucked in a breath of air, then another, and another. He was freaking out. He didn’t know if he was infected or not. Did some of the gore from his former CO get on his skin? When he reached around and tried to find the hole in his suit, he sighed in relief at the small size, but still worried the skin inside might have been split and infected by the bite.
He opted not to say anything to the others until he felt sick. No need to worry them, especially if nothing was wrong. Benson would kill him before he could explain what happened.
Dixon did a run through of the floor with a Mag Light and came up with no other hostiles. He sighed in relief. As long as they kept moving, his mind would be occupied with other things than whether or not he was going to turn into a flesh-eating maniac. He knocked on the door three times and watched as it opened in slow increments.
Arthur stood with his weapon raised until he noticed Dixon was alone. The three entered and Dixon motioned them to the supply lockers.
“Grab a couple of flashlight attachments for your guns and pick up extra magazines. I checked, and there are no grenades on this level. Looks like Dr. Covington’s plan better work with what we have on hand,” Dixon said with false enthusiasm.
“What happened to you sacrificing yourself as we made a run for it?” Benson asked.
“Shut up, you ass,” Smith said as she smacked him on the arm.
Arthur remained silent as he thought about what they were about to face.
“Hey, there are extra masks in here. We can put on fresh ones and buy time,” Benson said as he reached for one.
“Wait, we can’t. If the contaminant is airborne, we can’t risk taking the masks off at what is essentially ground zero. All it would take is one molecule to get into the breathing apparatus.”
Benson ignored him and grabbed a mask.
“Put it down, or I will blow your damn hand off, you ass wipe,” Dixon yelled.
Arthur watched as Benson did as told with reluctance.
“Fine, whatever you say.”
Frank waited for the outburst, especially from Carson. Floor activated sensors with C4, were placed randomly, which even Frank didn’t know the location of what they faced now.
“Well, since you’re our fearless leader, you best lead us,” Carson said not bothering to hide the sneer on his face.
“This level shouldn’t be too bad. It’s an access point for air vents, plumbing, and electrical junctions. At most, there are four people on duty monitoring everything, making repairs or upgrading the system.” Frank pulled the door open to Level 3 with forced casualness.
A blast rocked the room, lifting him off his feet, and then blowing him back into the others. The door swung wide, then ricocheted off the wall and rebounded into Newell’s leg with a crack. He screamed in pain as the others grunted.
“Damn it, I think my leg is busted,” Newell said through gritted teeth.
“What gave it away? The fact the bone is sticking out of your pant leg, or the sound of it breaking when the door hit it,” Carson asked.
“Go to hell, Carson, and get the hell off of me,” Newell spat.
“Piece of cake,” Lightfoot said with a laugh as he pushed Carson off Newell.
Frank was the first to get up and see inside the room. Lights flickered on one side and on the other they were out completely. Two things walked around in what might have once been work uniforms, but were now just canvases for splattered blood and gore. He assumed the strings of muscle and tissue that hung from the swaying lights were the remains of other technicians who wandered over a couple of the pressure plates.
“Hey, Boss, Newell’s leg is in bad shape,” Lightfoot whispered.
“I heard that, you idiot,” Newell yelled.
Frank’s eyes roamed the area for a few more seconds to make sure there were no imminent threats before he turned to examine Newell. “Lightfoot, keep an eye on them. Let’s see if they set off a few more of the sensors for us. I’ll take care of Newell.”
Carson was right. Newell’s tibia broke through the skin. Frank knew what needed to be done and he didn’t look forward to it. “This is going to hurt like hell. You want a shot?”
With clenched teeth and a pale face, Newell shook his head. “Do what you need. The shot will just mess me up, and considering the current situation, that’s not a good idea. I’d rather be coherent and in pain, than unaware one of those things is chomping on my liver.”
“All right, Grimwood and Carson, you’re going to hold him down while I re-align the bone as best I can. Carson, provide some light.” Frank wiped his hands on the sides of his pants in an effort to dry them.
Grimwood gripped both of Newell’s shoulders and nodded he was ready.
“Here goes.” Frank yanked the leg straight and made sure the bones aligned as straight as possible under the circumstances. He poured providone-iodine over the wound as well as some water.
Newell struggled, but Carson and Grimwood kept him from screwing up Frank’s work and putting the bone out of place. Frank pulled a can of spray once meant to capture police suspects, and now used by his company as a temporary cast in emergency situations.