Thom felt the tap of a truncheon on his shoulder as two guards moved in and encouraged him into the hall.
"Don't give up, Doctor," he called back to her as he was pulled from the room. "Do whatever it takes to survive."
And then he was in a hall that seemed to cut across one end of the oval-shaped facility. He noted additional doors that might be offices and storage rooms on either side of the corridor, but not a lot of people.
"While I can guess what you have in store for me, what is on her schedule for the day?" he asked.
"I'm afraid I cannot discuss that. I'm sure you understand," Dr. Waters responded.
"Tell me something, Dr. Waters, do you really need all this detailed information prior to releasing your biological weapon, or do you just have fun treating people like test animals?"
They came to one of the main corridors and directed Gant to the left.
"I am a scientist. In order for our project to be successful, we must account for every variable. The data I collect today will have direct results on application of the organism in the field."
Gant stopped. A pair of clubs quickly touched his shoulders. The other two guards — the ones with AKMs — raised their rifles. However, the major did not attack or try to escape. He simply met Waters's watery eyes with a penetrating stare.
"You know what I think? I think you are afraid. You are still back in your childhood village, facing the monster that came out of the river. On some warped, insane level you think that if you can create enough of your own monsters, then you will finally beat it."
The doctor's mouth opened but sort of hung there. His expression alternated between a hint of a crazy grin and something like a frown.
"You won't, you know. You won't ever beat it. It has already won, Doctor."
"You are forgetting, Major, I survived."
Gant shook his head.
"No, you didn't. It gobbled you up like everyone else in the village. You are just so far gone that you do not realize it."
The doctor stood quiet for a moment. He blinked once, then twice, and then he grunted and pointed his cane at a door along the wall. Two of the guards shoved Thom in that direction, a third stood off covering them with a weapon, and the fourth pushed a button that caused the heavy metal door to slide open, revealing darkness.
At that point the escort split, two going off to perform other duties, the remaining two following Gant and Waters inside into what appeared to be an observation area highlighted by a big rectangular window looking in on a test chamber similar to Costa's final resting place.
The outer door slid shut. Almost all of the light in the room came from the adjoining lab, which was, again, almost pure white and brightly lit. Gant could nearly see the future; a future where those white walls were splashed with his red blood.
Waters regained his poise and said, "Okay Major, it's your turn in the barrel."
One of the two guards in the room drew his sidearm, which Gant recognized as a Makarov pistol. The other used a hand and his club to direct Gant into the next room, where he passed a small, empty table.
"Against the wall, Major, just for a moment."
Gant did as instructed, placing his hands against the far wall, although before he did he noticed another door off to his right, this one with a big red label depicting the number fifteen.
He heard a sound — a rattle maybe — and sensed the guards retreating. A moment later the exit slammed shut with a corresponding clang.
Gant took his hands from the wall and turned.
The room was so bright white that it seemed surreal, like some TV show version of heaven's waiting room. However, the big dark rectangle on the interior wall — the window — from which Waters and the two guards watched spoiled that illusion.
Dr. Waters had told the truth; they were giving the major a gun for this particular test. That made him feel worse — not better — about his predicament.
A burst of feedback announced the activation of a microphone, and then came his host's voice.
"Major Gant, thank you for participating in today's activities. As you can see, we've placed a firearm on the table in front of you."
Gant identified the weapon: "An AKM, type 68, standard issue for North Korean infantry."
"Used by a great many militaries in the world," Waters corrected. "But that is immaterial. As you can see, I have also provided a magazine. Unfortunately, it is not entirely full. If you count — and please be my guest — you will find twelve 7.62 rifle cartridges."
He approached the table and picked up the detached magazine. Given the circumstances and his experience in handling weapons, Thom guessed Waters told the truth.
"Okay, so what?"
"So let's go over what you know, Major. You know that people killed by those who are infected reanimate due to a parasitic fungus growing inside their bodies. You know they can regenerate tissue and overcome various injuries. You know the surest way to destroy one of these units is to find and eradicate the central core, approximately the size of a golf ball and potentially located just about anywhere on the creature's body."
Gant put down the magazine and picked up the AKM. He looked it over once, then glanced through the glass at Waters, who said, "Be my guest."
He then put the AKM through a function test, cycling the bolt and confirming proper operation of the trigger mechanism. All seemed in good order.
"Satisfied, Major?"
Gant did not respond.
"Very well. You may load the weapon."
This time he did respond, slipping the magazine into place and sliding the bolt, chambering the first round. His mental counter set to twelve.
"Let me guess. I represent your standard soldier approximately one week — maybe less — from the initial outbreak."
"Good, Major, but we're actually estimating two weeks after initial outbreak in an urban environment within an industrialized nation. Under these conditions, do you know the ratio of units to military personnel we anticipate?"
Gant glanced at the door labeled fifteen and figured the answer to Waters's question waited behind that bulkhead.
The researcher went on, "We estimate six infected units to every armed member of the law enforcement, paramilitary, or military. Do you know what that means, Major? In terms of our test, that is."
Gant sighed and answered, "It means six zombies are coming through that door in a moment. But wait a second, if you want an accurate test I will require more bullets. Most military or law enforcement with assault rifles have full magazines; thirty rounds at least."
"I appreciate your concern, but we will extrapolate the data based on your performance. We think it is better if your supply of ammunition is limited. Oh, in case you're giving it any thought, yes, this glass is bulletproof. I recommend you don't waste any rounds in my direction. Good luck, Major."
The door labeled fifteen slid up. Of course Gant noticed the mob of zombies waiting to be released, but he also noticed that there was another door in the holding pen, one leading to another room. He remembered seeing an area labeled "specimen containment" on their way in and wondered if that might lurk on the far side.
In any case, he had bigger problems to worry about. The monsters noticed him and started into the chamber the way the woman in the jogging suit had stumbled after Costa, except this time there were six of the things.
Preceding the mob came a rancid odor; the smell of decaying bodies. He had not noticed that scent as much on Tioga, probably because the "dead" people were much fresher than the crop attacking him now. Indeed, Gant saw that these poor souls did not hail from that resort island. Their clothes were torn and ragged but also rather cheap looking, some in what were obviously prison jumpsuits, others in the type of ramshackle outfits one might find on a homeless bum or street addict.