His bravado sounded convincing, until two more guards arrived behind their position, putting them in an untenable crossfire.
The newcomers wore level-A hazmat suits, just as they had on Tioga Island. That suggested the base had initiated some sort of containment protocols.
Regardless of garb, the two newcomers had open shots at the escapees from a distance of twenty feet.
They did not offer to accept any surrender. Gant knew not to bother raising his hands. They were far beyond that point. So he turned about, intending to go down with his gun blazing. But before the events of his life had time to flash through his mind, the two soldiers who had caught Gant and Stacy in a crossfire were instead caught in a crossfire — of sorts — themselves.
A wall of walking dead came around the corridor from behind the men, dragging whiffs of smoky PX gas around their feet and shoulders as the ineffective agent clung to its intended victims.
Their guards never fired their weapons. First came an impact of weight from the mob, then claws and teeth. Both fell under the rolling tide, their screams turning from shock into horror almost instantaneously.
Gant turned to face forward once again, where the first soldier watched the goring of his comrades, his eyes open and his jaw unhinged in an expression of utter disbelief. The major put two bullets squarely in his chest, but the third shot from his gun ended in an empty click.
"Damn, I'm out of ammunition."
His words broke Annabelle from the hypnotic sight of the two hazmat suits being ripped open like tightly wrapped Christmas presents in the clutches of a child. Stacy glanced at him, then back at the creatures enveloping the dying guards, and said, "Hold on a second."
She ran toward the mob of zombies, some of whom were already leaving behind those victims to find new ones.
"What are you doing? Get back here!" Gant shouted.
Stacy ignored his command, walked between two of the animated cadavers, who paid no attention to her, and grabbed a discarded AKM. She then returned to Gant, sprinting between and past several of the creatures, who, again, did not even notice she was there.
"Here you go," she said and handed him the rifle.
"What the hell?"
"I'm sort of immune right now, but I don't know how long that will last."
His eyes narrowed.
"It's a long story."
"Okay … I think. Damn it. Let's go. We do not have much time," he said. He led her along the passage with his new rifle, scanning the space ahead for targets, yet he remained aware that most of the mob that had come to their rescue was following them — or at least him — in the hope of claiming more victims.
As if to accentuate that thought, a Klaxon blared through the hall, red spinning lights coated the corridor in a crimson glow, and the automated announcement system blared, "Level One Containment Initiated."
The images on the security cameras caused both of the security guards in the control booth to raise up off their seats like sports fans in an arena watching an intense play. In this case the “play” was not a touchdown, a goal, or a home run but rather hordes of ghouls.
Despite a glowing red light claiming Specimen Containment had been sealed off, it seemed that the creatures had frustrated both the PX gas and the bulkheads and now had filed out into the complex at large. Worse, the monitors showed a smaller group of infected corpses approaching along the western corridors.
Members of the internal security team hurried to the barracks room, donned biohazard gear, and moved to intercept the growing mobs while technicians and researchers ran away from said mobs, barely outracing the arms of the shambling zombies.
"Lower the containment doors," the Asian guard told his European counterpart.
"Hang on, hang on."
"There's no time! Do it!"
The European obliged, knowing full well that lowering the heavy bulkheads would stop the spread of the creatures but it would also isolate the security units. Based on what he was witnessing on the monitors, the PX did not appear to be working, and the number of zombies was increasing in direct proportion to the dwindling number of guards.
He moved his hands over to a bank of ten black levers and turned them, one after another, lowering the containment doors. He watched on one monitor as a mob of infected units chased Pearl and another technician. Containment doors came to their rescue, lowering from in front and behind, trapping them in a stretch of hall but locking out their pursuers. Pearl took a knee and appeared to be either laughing or crying in great relief.
"Finish sealing them up," the Asian said. "Then we'll sort this shit out."
One of the bulkheads threatened to close directly in front of Gant and Stacy as they raced along the main corridor with a mass of corpses — some fresher than others — in pursuit.
"Hurry, damn it! Hurry," Gant encouraged both himself and his companion as six feet … five feet … four feet of open space remained between a closing shield and the floor.
"Dive!"
And she did, right alongside Gant, although she went headfirst while the major's jump resembled that of a runner in a baseball game sliding in to second base.
Regardless of technique, they both made it. The divider shut solidly behind them, cutting off the pursuit and leaving them alone in a fifty-foot stretch of corridor.
Well, not entirely alone.
Ahead stood the Security Control booth. Exactly where Gant wanted to be.
The two interlopers approached from the side, staying clear of the window looking out on the passageway. His hopes of gaining easy access faded, however, as they neared the door and he spied a security lock.
Frustrated and unable to think of a better way, Thom raised the AKM with the intention of shooting the lock off. Stacy tugged at his shoulder and flashed the security badge she had stolen during her escape from the test chamber.
Gant smiled, shrugged, and waved his hand at the lock, inviting her to open the door.
She slid the stolen access card through the magnetic reader and a bolt retracted. Before the sound of that retracting bolt had faded, Major Gant pulled open the door and burst in with his gun at the ready.
The two guards had been so intently watching the video feeds that they had not been ready to face a more direct threat. Both the European man and the Asian guard reacted to Gant's entry and his weapon by raising their hands without hesitation.
"Away from the console," he ordered as the door shut behind him.
Both men complied.
"Easy, gentlemen," he said, handing the AKM to Stacy. She did her best to look menacing and she did know how to use the weapon, but her expression appeared more strained than tough.
Gant produced the Makarov pistol and his expression was more than menacing enough to compensate for any weakness they might have seen in her eyes.
"First things first. Where is your radio?"
The men glanced at one another but said nothing.
Gant received an answer to his question in the form of a radio transmission coming from a cabinet at the back of the small room.
He stepped in that direction without taking his aim away from the targets. When he opened the cabinet he found a communication station, including a rather large phone as well as a more traditional radio, from which the transmission had come.
"Dolphin One to Nest control, do you copy?"
Another sound caught Gant's ear: a beep. He traced the noise to the main console, where he saw what was clearly a radar display showing a contact closing fast.
"Dolphin One to Nest control. You are ordered to respond."
"I am going to make a guess," Gant wagged his finger at the men. "That's Terrance Monroe on his way in, right?"