“Get a move on!” someone yelled behind us, spurring the legionnaires on. I recognized Tank and Marcelo’s voices hustling their men up the stairs.
The situation was growing worse by the minute. The foot-long bolts holding the staircase to the building became deadly projectiles as they flew out with a clang. A section at the very top came loose. With a loud bang it bounced down several floors then came to rest on the ground, hundreds of feet below. I heard a cry of pain when someone was hit by a piece of steel, but I couldn’t see who it was. A cloud of cement dust enveloped us and I couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of me.
I grabbed Broto by the sleeve and vaulted into the building. Prit followed, leaping like a gazelle. Right on his heels, a knot of two dozen terrified legionnaires rushed up the tottering structure. Suddenly, everyone wanted to be first inside.
It was pitch black inside, but wonderfully cool compared to outside. Even with the flashlight, I could barely see through the dust. Broto recoiled with a muffled shout; someone must’ve run into him. I turned, my arms outstretched, blindly feeling my way. I took a sharp jab to the groin and doubled over in pain, trying to breathe. A shadow knocked me down and a heavy boot tripped over my leg. All around, guys were shouting, cursing, and gasping for breath. We couldn’t see a thing with all the dust in the air. Just then, the ladder fell completely away with a monstrous roar that shook the building. A second later, we heard hundreds of tons of rusted steel crash onto the parking lot; the Undead answered with an enraged roar. The structure had crushed hundreds of those bastards. A drop in the bucket, but at least it was something.
Coughing, I tried to sit up. All around me the shouting multiplied. I heard Tank yelling orders and another voice shouting for a john, but everything else was gibberish.
Tank gradually regained control of the situation. Here and there flashlights gradually lit up the room with a dull glow. I looked around. The first image that came to mind was of the firefighters at the World Trade Center on 9-11. Covered in a thick layer of dust and ash, we all looked ghostly. When the staircase fell, the plaster ceiling in the room came down around our heads. The floor of that airless room was covered with a layer of ash nearly a foot thick. When we rushed in, we’d stirred it up. Through a crack in the door, I could make out the faint afternoon light falling on Madrid.
Tank called out our names. Each name was answered with a raspy “yes” or “present,” along with coughs and sneezes. But seven names didn’t answer. They must’ve been the guys who were bringing up the rear who now lay dead (one would hope) on the parking lot, felled by the twisted wreckage of the stairs.
Prit crawled to my side, his thick mustache completely white. “You okay?”
“Nothing’s broken,” I said, as I patted down my body.
“You’re bleeding.” Always a man of few words, the Ukrainian simply pointed to my forehead.
“Oh, man, that sucks!” I muttered. I touched my face and my hand came back bright red. Blood was streaming down my face, but I hadn’t noticed. In all the confusion, a piece of plaster must’ve gashed my scalp.
“I’m fine too, thank you. Don’t worry about me,” Broto said bitterly, sneezing hard.
“Lucia’ll kill me,” Prit said, ignoring the computer guy as he bandaged my head. “I promised her you’d come back in one piece. You’ve been trying to break your neck from the minute you climbed out of the helicopter. Your head looks like a cocoon,” he said, punching my shoulder.
Then he turned to Broto. “You sure you’re okay? Let me take a look.” He grabbed the computer guy by the arm and pulled him close. After giving him a thorough going-over, he handed him his canteen.
“Flush your nostrils first, then take a drink. Just one. Got it?” he said menacingly. “We’re not gonna find any water here, so we have to ration what we have.”
Broto wasn’t listening. He was in shock over the scene before us. In fact, it was a miracle he didn’t drop the canteen.
I whispered, “Prit, what the hell is all this?”
34
Gasping for breath, Lucia dashed into a three-foot square cubicle. The floor and walls were covered with a smooth, springy material instead of tiles. At the back of the room was a door with a small window. Lucia shook it hard but it was locked tight. Bolted to one wall was a small metal bench. On another wall was a flashing red button.
Lucia didn’t think twice and pressed the button on the wall. A red light went on overhead and a small horn went off behind the door. Frightened, she stepped back but another door, concealed in the wall, locked behind her. She was trapped. Lucia’s ears plugged up when a blast of air sealed the room. Before she had time to wonder what was going on, she heard a fist pounding on the door behind her.
She turned quickly. On the other side of the small glass window, Basilio Irisarri peered in, red-faced, trying to catch his breath. The sailor shouted something Lucia couldn’t hear.
We’re completely cut off, she thought, fascinated. Not a sound coming in or out.
The sailor made it crystal clear he wanted her to open the door.
“Oh, sure, that’s just what I’m gonna do,” Lucia mouthed and flipped him the bird.
Basilio’s icy, shark-like gaze turned diabolical. He pointed at Lucia, stepped back, doubled-checked his HK, and aimed it at the door.
“Shit!” Lucia screamed and dropped to the floor.
The door was so thick all she could hear was the muffled patter of the bullets as they struck the airtight door. She looked up in amazement. That door was not only waterproof, it was bulletproof. The only damage she could see was a deep scratch on the window. Slowly and cautiously, she stood up. Just then, a fine mist that smelled like disinfectant started to fall from sprinklers in the ceiling. At the same time, another dense chemical cloud wafted out of conduits in the wall, making Lucia’s eyes water and her throat burn.
That bastard is gassing me, she thought, but Basilio’s puzzled expression proved he’d had nothing to do with it.
She realized she was in a decontamination airlock. You idiot! What were you thinking? You activated the system when you pressed the red button.
The next thing she thought was that she wasn’t wearing a hazmat suit.
On top of that, she didn’t know if the gas would kill her.
On the other side of the glass, Basilio looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack. The sailor hurled the empty HK at the door and turned to the red-haired guy.
The Belgian pressed his face to the window. At first all he could see was a lot of steam. He finally spotted Lucia, who stared back at him, helpless, huddled on a metal bench, her eyes red and raw from the chemicals.
Eric’s smile would’ve seemed loving and tender if it hadn’t been for the cold, dead look in his eyes. The Belgian rarely smiled, which was fortunate since people didn’t live long after seeing that creepy smile. But that afternoon he was having a damn good time. In the last ten minutes he’d racked up so many fantasies, he’d be jacking off for days as he relived them. Catching that chick would be a perfect end to a perfect day.
Excited, he licked the glass. A small sliver of glass pierced his tongue and left a trail of blood, but he didn’t notice; his eyes never left Lucia. She was mesmerized like a rabbit with a snake. Then she threw up from all the chemicals.