The air smelled fresh and clean compared to the stuffy air in the building. To my right was a metal pipe bolted to the wall. It might’ve been an electrical duct but it was too thin to be a drain. It seemed to be well anchored and strong enough to support our weight. Although we weren’t very far off the ground, I decided it’d be better to climb down that pipe than to jump.
“We can get out through here!” I shouted, looking back inside.
In quick succession, the others lifted the eleven backpacks full of drugs up to me and I threw them out the window. Twisting and turning, I slipped through that gap with the grace of an arthritic acrobat, and descended hand over hand, clinging to the pipe for all I was worth.
The first thing I did was look around nervously. There were only four bullets left in my Glock. If any Undead had come around the corner, I’d have had to run for it. I got lucky; there weren’t any around. For the moment.
I watched Prit slip down the pipe, his trusty knife bouncing against his kidneys. Then came Marcelo and the veteran sergeant in the neckerchief. In a tense moment, David Broto got stuck in the window. Marcelo had to climb back up to get him unstuck.
Meanwhile, the situation inside degraded with each passing moment. I heard only two guns firing. They could hardly contain the crowd of Undead. One of the soldiers went out the window, with a panicked look on his face, and decided to jump to the ground. When he landed, his right ankle gave a terrible crack. For a second we all forgot about the situation and watched the poor bastard writhe in pain.
I could hear the rhythmic hiccup of only one gun inside the building. Tank headed out the window and turned back, extending his hand to the next guy, a very dark-skinned, pimple-faced soldier. Tank had him by the wrist, but the soldier let out a piercing scream, as something pulled him back into the building.
“Aaaaah, fuck, it hurts, it hurts so bad!” The kid screamed, desperately trying to hold on to the commander’s arm.
Unceremoniously, Tank mumbled a brief “sorry” and released the guy’s wrist. In less than a second, his body was swallowed up and disappeared as fast as a rabbit into a magician’s hat. His screams of agony echoed for a moment and then there was silence.
We were speechless when Tank reached the ground and brushed the dust from his jacket, which was smeared with someone—or something’s—blood. In addition to the young soldier, we were missing another legionnaire and a sergeant, who’d also been left inside. We all did a head count but no one dared say a word. Of the original eighteen who’d started out less than an hour before, only eight remained: Marcelo, Pauli, Tank, Broto, the veteran sergeant, the soldier with the broken ankle, Pritchenko, and me.
“What’re you waiting for?” Tank growled. “Get in those tanks before we have company!” So much for German sensitivity.
Without a word, we grabbed our backpacks (we had to leave three of them behind at the wall) and followed Tank.
Those were some weird-looking vehicles. They had four huge wheels instead of tracks, and a turret with a humongous cannon. They’d been designed by an engineer with no sense of aesthetics, but they looked really powerful.
“What the hell is that?” I asked, trying to catch my breath.
“A Centaur,” the veteran sergeant said as he untied the handkerchief around his neck and wiped his forehead. “A light armored reconnaissance SUV. It’s really ugly but it runs great! I had one under my command in Bosnia years ago.”
“If it can get us out of here, it’ll be the sweetest ride in the world,” I muttered, not sharing the soldier’s enthusiasm for that pile of steel. “Think it’ll start?”
“Sure!” said the sergeant with a smile as he climbed aboard and opened the hatch. “Those babies are tough. If it’s got some fuel, it’ll run.”
While the soldier bent over the vehicle’s controls, I walked over to Prit. The Ukrainian was sweaty, but he didn’t look tired. Gasping to catch my breath, I made yet another promise to quit smoking.
“Why do you think they left them behind?” I asked between breaths.
“Good question. Either this heap won’t start or they didn’t think it was worth taking.”
“Why’s that?”
“Look at them. That huge cannon won’t do us any good and only four people can squeeze in them. They wouldn’t be very valuable in an evacuation, compared to a bus or a truck. If they had only a few drivers, it’s logical they left them behind.”
Just then, the Centaur engine let out an asthmatic cough, followed by a series of mechanical gasps. Amid a dense cloud of black smoke, the tank sprang to life with a roar, as the sergeant revved the engine.
The sergeant poked his head out the hatch and said, “All set. Let’s get outta here!”
Eager to go, I picked up my backpack and started to climb in. I was halfway up in the tank when Broto made a noise like he was choking, his eyes wide as saucers.
“Not so fast, sergeant,” Pauli said menacingly. “Get out and raise your hands where I can see them. Let’s go.”
Stunned, I looked up. Pauli pointed her HK at the stunned sergeant. Marcelo stood beside her, aiming the MG3 at us from the turret of the Centaur. The soldier with the broken ankle limped over and disarmed us, tossing our weapons inside the tank.
Marcelo’s voice was as cold as a dagger. “Gentlemen, you’re staying here.”
43
“Who are you? How’d you get in here?” Heavy protective gear muffled the voice. “Hey, you aren’t wearing a hazmat suit! You can’t come in here!”
Lucia turned. Behind her, a woman in her fifties peered through the visor of a hazmat suit. She was standing next to a microscope, holding a tray of beakers in one hand and a clipboard in the other.
“You’re injured!” The woman cried out in alarm, pointing to Lucia’s nurse’s uniform. “This is an isolation zone! You could get contaminated!”
Before Lucia could utter a word, shots rang out on the other side of the door, followed by grunts and banging noises, then more shots. Then Basilio Irisarri’s booming voice shouted, “Eric, help me the fuck up!” And then silence.
The older woman approached the door and pressed her face to the small window. What she saw made her jump back.
“They’re out! The Undead are out! Six cubicles are open!” She turned to Lucia, her eyes flashing with anger. “Did you let them loose? Answer me!”
“Hey, calm down,” the girl replied, coolly. “Those two guys out there are—”
“I can’t see anyone out there,” the woman muttered, as she rushed over a computer and keyed in a code. A siren immediately started blaring.
A doctor in the next office, also dressed in a hazmat suit, stuck his head in, clutching a gun, disoriented by the alarm. “Eva! What the hell’s going on?” When he caught sight of Lucia, his eyes grew wide. “Who’s she?”
“I don’t know,” Eva said and turned to Lucia. “That’s a good question. Who are you, young lady?”
“My name’s Lucia and I work in this hospital. People are shooting at each other on the upper floors. It’s a madhouse. There’re dead and wounded everywhere! Two men followed me down here and are trying to kill me. They killed Sister Cecilia! You have to help me!” Lucia realized her story didn’t make any sense, but she couldn’t calm down after being so close to dying.
“Calm down. Security will be here soon and they’ll handle everything, okay?” Eva put a hand on Lucia’s shoulder. “While we’re waiting, why don’t you take a seat and try to calm down?”
A wave of relief flooded Lucia’s body. She was safe. Everything would be okay.