Neither of the security guards said a word, but they did not have to.
A big, great-white-shark smile grew on Gant's face as he waved the pistol toward the Asian guard and told him in stilted speech, "Answer it and clear them to land."
The guard responded in rough but defiant English: "Fuck you."
Gant raised the Makarov and fired a solitary round directly through the man's forehead. The rear half of his skull exploded in a backfire of bone, gray matter, and blood. One side wall became a piece of impressionist artwork of a most gory kind, completely covering a map of the facility in all manner of sickly colors.
The sound of the shot filled the small room and threatened to burst an eardrum or two while the dead body went straight down and, unlike many of the security team at the complex, stayed dead.
Stacy gasped what was nearly a scream and put a hand over her mouth, allowing the gun barrel to droop. Thom's smile did not waver as he leveled the handgun at the European guard.
Without hesitation the second man followed the order, approaching the radio and answering the call.
"Uh, Dolphin One this is Nest. You are, um, clear to land. Sorry for the, um, delay."
"Roger that, Nest, stop jerking off down there and pay attention. You're going to get the bosses pissed off."
"Ummm … yeah."
Gant slashed a hand across his throat and the guard understood to cut off the conversation.
"You go sit in the corner over there and shut your mouth," he told the guard, and then told Stacy, "If he moves or speaks, you put a couple of rounds in him."
She nodded her head, but the loss of color in her cheeks suggested she was more likely to throw up than shoot someone.
Gant approached the main console and took stock of the images coming in from the security cameras around the complex. Some of the monitors showed empty, sealed rooms. Some showed stretches of corridor flooded with fungus-infected corpses bumping into walls and closed bulkheads. Other cameras carried images of the base's technicians and soldiers, also trapped behind the containment bulkheads that had managed to stop the spread of the infected by separating everyone inside the complex into compartments.
"Beautiful," he spoke aloud, still beaming. "You have this place sealed up tight."
He leaned in close to the bank of monitors and eyed a pair of technicians — one of them that Englishwoman — sitting on the floor, waiting for rescuers, while a horde of animated corpses lurked just a few feet away on the far side of a protective bulkhead. On another monitor he watched a couple of zombies ripping at the technician he had seen in the hall pushing a cart a few minutes ago. Yet another monitor revealed a group of soldiers in biohazard gear huddled between a pair of closed doors, conversing heatedly about their predicament.
"Yes, you have things buttoned up really nice," Gant repeated.
Another monitor looked in on the Specimen Containment area where Gant had almost died. The fog of PX gas was lifting as it — as well as the monsters of that room — filtered out through the jammed bulkhead. He saw what remained of that slaughter: discarded firearms, a couple of limbs, and a few cadavers representing those cases where a guard had managed to destroy the fungal core of a creature.
"Yes, you have everything under control, don't you? Let's see what we can do about that."
His eyes widened and seemed to glow in the electronic reflection from the monitors. Gant's hand then went to the levers — one after another — and turned, raising the containment doors. The barricades between zombies and what remained of the base's personnel lifted, allowing the slaughter to begin anew. The images played on the grainy security camera footage like a silent movie.
Pearl and her technician friend watched in horror as the door rose and a wall of walking dead swooped down on them. Pearl tried to run but a rotting hand snagged her white lab coat. By the time she pulled her arms free of the sleeves another creature — one without legs but still mobile enough — tackled her by the ankles. As she disappeared beneath the horde, Gant saw one of her ears get bitten off.
The squad of arguing guards put aside their differences as the bulkhead protecting their unit withdrew to the ceiling. Automatic rifles spewed barrel flashes and smoke, knocking a few of the charging animated corpses to the ground, some permanently. But the ranks of the undead had swelled exponentially due to the failure of Waters's counteragent. The mob that attacked the security detachment included zombies wearing the same hazmat clothing as that of the soldiers, although in much less pristine condition.
Any semblance of organized resistance crumbled as the mob smashed into the squad. Gant saw two guards break free of the zombies and run, but most were tripped, pushed, or tackled. Despite a few extra seconds of time due to the biohazard gear, once the soldiers were on the ground they were as doomed as overturned turtles.
All of these images of murder played on the video monitors, the light from which reflected in Thom Gant's wide, angry eyes. His smile did not fade, but it became more sinister; as if he were a devil enjoying the tortures of the pit.
"Burn," he growled at the monitors. "Burn, you son of a bitches."
Stacy shifted uneasily, her eyes switching back and forth between the subdued guard sitting dejectedly in the corner and Thom Gant's relish at the destruction. Finally her conscience demanded that she speak.
"What are you doing? "
"I told you," he answered without diverting his attention from the video monitors. "I told you I was going to burn this place down. And this is just the start."
"Why? We had them sealed up. We have a radio now."
He pulled his attention away from the carnage and took two steps toward her. Anger exuded form his every pore, to the point that she was intimidated into retreating a pace.
"After what they did on Tioga, here, to you and me, to Costa, and maybe even to Jupiter Wells, how can you even ask that?" He pointed toward the big window at the front of the booth that looked out on an empty hall. "They are getting what they deserve. This is the fruit of their evil. And let me tell you something else, Dr. Stacy. This is our job."
Her eyes glanced around him toward one of the monitors, where a zombie had cornered a hazmat-suited soldier, who fired bullet after ineffective bullet. The walking corpse seemed to dance with the impacts before diving in for the kill.
Gant repeated, "What did you think was going to happen? We would arrest Waters, Monroe, and his staff? Put them on trial so the world could see that zombies are real? That there is a parasite that could turn the dead into biological war machines? No, Dr. Stacy, you are not in that world anymore. This is what I did not want you to see. This is why I did not want you on this mission or visiting sublevel six. You now live on a whole new level, where nightmares aren't just dreams, and it is your job to stop them."
She could not reply; her mouth just hung open.
A buzzer grabbed their attention. A light on the console directed Gant to a monitor separate from the others. This one overlooked the garage area at the base's entrance.
There stood Terrance Monroe, briefcase in hand, wearing a golf shirt and khaki shorts as if it were casual Friday at work.
"This is Monroe. Open up. And tell Dr. Waters to meet me in my office immediately."
Gant slid into one of the chairs, leaned forward, and placed his hands on the console. He stared at the monitor for a moment and then examined the array of buttons and levers beneath the garage camera. English labels made it easy to find the words "outer door" over one switch, which he pulled. As the outer door locked and sealed, automatic lights flickered on in the garage.
Gant saw a tiny joystick on the console and worked it, panning the camera side to side to see that Monroe was, in fact, all alone.