By the time Russell reached the lower level, he was a little worn out. His final descending step to the last platform was heavy and painful. The struggle with Dimitri and running that day had started to take its toll. His movements were slow and arduous. Another narrow doorway drew into focus. It was the area that led into the main hallway system. It was the worst place to be ambushed.
Russell lifted his gun and angled back toward the wall. He slid his back up against the surface and slowly maneuvered his body toward the door seal. The coast seemed clear. The hallway was empty. Russell looked left and then right, canvassing the location with his fading flashlight, which was slowly tapering out to a muddled and dim yellow glow. He moved his heavy body into the hallway and stood for a moment, taking in the silence. His ears were tuned to the deadness of stillness.
Then a noise arrived. It was perfect timing — almost as if it was a planned trap. A distinct sound of a person whispering the soft tune of a lullaby. It sounded like a mother humming to a restless infant. It was inviting and distinctively human. It’s Gail, he thought. He snapped into action and moved toward the noise with relief. Each step helped bring the noise closer. Each step toward the end of the long corridor made the humming more distinct. It was clearly a female’s voice. It was starting to sound more like Gail. The voice seemed to drift out into the hallway from another doorway. Russell was getting hotter.
Russell’s large body silhouetted the threshold of the open door into the new room. The space was different from the others. It was a mechanical room. There were generators, power supply boxes, and conduit everywhere. It had been, at one point, the heart of the facility. The brains. The machinery was frozen in time, engulfed in the darkness, and rusted into motionlessness. Russell’s struggling flashlight limped across the landscape. He could make out a set of legs lying on the ground in front of him about sixty yards or so. He lifted his gun and whispered, “Gail?”
The humming stopped immediately. Russell stepped forward, keeping his light angled down in the direction of the legs.
“Gail? Is that you?”
There was no reply.
“Come on. We need to get out of here.”
Russell moved closer to the person. It was clear it was the lieutenant. Her camouflage cargo pants and boots gave it away. Her back rested against a wall near the base of another staircase. Her head was drawn down toward the floor. Her hair flopped over the side of her face like a wet mop.
Russell lowered his gun and stuck it into his pants under his belt. It would make do as a temporary holster. Hopefully it doesn’t go off, he thought as he wrestled it away from his vital areas.
“Jesus Christ, Gail. What the hell are you doing?”
Russell moved in quickly, separating the distance with four large, heavy steps. He reached down toward Gail’s shoulder. He was towering over her with impatience.
“Come on. I’m going to get you out of here. Let’s go,” he urged, keeping a watchful eye over his shoulder.
Gail’s head began to move. Her hair slid from her face as she slowly angled up toward the light of the flashlight.
Russell’s face drained with a realization. Something was wrong with her. Her face was ravaged with open wounds. Pus and blood erupted from large bumps from her cheekbones to her eye sockets. She resembled a person burned with radiation. A portion of her forehead had peeled back. Her face was moist with a mixture of sweat and blood. Her eyes fluttered open. They were glossed over with a gray, cloudy haze. She stared back at Russell with dread. Russell stepped back in a hurry. The sight panicked him.
Gail’s blistered lips slowly opened, tearing a layer of dry skin from the crack of her mouth. “Run,” she pleaded.
Russell tripped backward, almost falling over his own feet. It was as if he had been shoved. Emotion ripped through him like a freight train. His legs were jolted and shaken to the bone. He managed to find the edge of a concrete pillar, which he used to brace his heavy body. It took him a moment. His eyes were locked on Gail’s hemorrhaging face peering back at him from the corner. Her head fell back to her lap, and she returned to her lullaby, slowly descending into surrender.
There were other sounds Russell had to address. The sounds of movement were all around. The dark shadows seemed to come alive. He retrieved his gun from his waistband and aimed it wildly across the landscape. Where are you, you sons of bitches? He shuffled back toward the exit and hustled the best he could toward the hallway he had just arrived from.
The hallway was empty in the direction Russell was heading. He staggered into the long corridor and dashed toward two large doors toward the end. He had run so fast that he forgot to look back. The arrival of a moaning and a growling triggered him to stop. The sound was distinct — like a pack of lion cubs feeding on a dying zebra. It was the sort of animal sound that triggered thoughts of misery and aggression all in one breath.
Russell reacted to the noises and slammed on the brakes. He stopped in midstep, keeping his back to the sound. His retreat was pointless. Many of them were standing forty or so yards away, preparing for a chase. I’ll just lead them back to the others, he rationalized. That’s if I can outrun them. But he knew better. That goddamned knee, he thought as he looked below his waist. His escape was improbable.
He clenched the Browning with his sweaty palm. His thumb slid around to the opposite side of the barrel and pushed the safety back. The weapon was ready to fire. Russell stared at the ceiling.
He pivoted back. At the end of the hallway was a gang of gnarly creatures looming in the shadows. They stared back at him through the dank darkness with their long blackened eyes. They were equally fixated with anticipation and intrigue. Russell stared them down with a cold, determined scowl. Let’s see if they’re bulletproof. He lifted his weapon and fired three rounds. Two of the creatures slumped over, and the others charged toward him like a pack of hyenas. Their limbs flailed around wildly as they toppled over one another to get to Russell. He fired again and charged toward them with the dedication of a Kamikaze.
Hanna reacted to the faint, distant sound of gunfire. The noise trickled up to the room as little more than a small series of muffled pops. It was enough to shake Hanna from a deep, analyzing daze. She looked up at Pierce, who had also heard it.
“Was that a gunshot?” she asked quietly with a perplexed expression.
Pierce looked off with a defeated head nod.
She jumped up and dashed toward the exit. Pierce was quick to his feet and cut her off, blocking her from escape.
“Move,” Hanna demanded.
“You go out there, you’re as good as dead,” Pierce replied with confidence.
“I said move.”
Dimitri spoke from the corner. “He’s right.”
Dimitri’s interjection shocked Hanna. She glared back toward him with an audacious scowl. “I can take care of myself.”
Dimitri looked away dismissively.
Pierce smirked and returned his focus on the woman. It would take little effort for him to hold Hanna back. She was mainly skin and bones — more of a ballerina than a wrestler.
Hanna tried to go around the stocky soldier, but it was pointless. He grabbed her forcefully and tipped her back toward the floor. She was weak and powerless in his mind, and asserting his will was not only easy but somewhat arousing.