Patrick***
The whiskey on the rocks rippled in the sunsets sunlight, the ice tapping against the crystal of the glass making that magical sound that made me fill the empty glass over and over again, day after day, to drown out that oppressive feeling of boredom.... the boredom that every retired Special Forces officer faces. When you're on duty or on an operation, you're always living in the moment, either waiting for the end or waiting for the end of the operation. Because there's always a goal or a perspective. And when you are on leave first time money is enough and grey civilian life is brightened up by random women alcohol and drugs. I also tried to get a family more than once, having retired from the official service, but living by murder, adrenaline rush and proximity of deadly danger and relatively easy money, can not completely retire, and constantly lying to the beloved woman where you disappear for days and weeks sometimes, is not the best idea .... so it was easier to drink in the evenings in pathetic attempts to suppress this oppressive boredom..... I've had enough and I haven't had a contract in a long time since I gave up the last one a few years ago. I had accumulated a lot of money during my years of non-departmental service and it allowed me to live out my life without bothering to work. Having such a past I never decided to get close to anyone for a long time. Although the success with women tall lean middle-aged man of athletic build was approximately enjoyed. I was disabled only at heart, despite the excessive consumption of alcohol.
The ringing of the telephone tore me from my gloomy thoughts.... no, not a normal phone, I'd been using it for days. it was a "phone" that had last rung a few years ago, but which I always kept on for obvious reasons.
• Hey, Colonel, how are you?
• Can't complain, Gordon.
• General Gordon Patrick, General.
• What does rank matter if you're calling a senile old pensioner, an old wreck?
• Don't be pompous, Patrick, but you're generally right.
• Got a job Gordon?
• Yes, I do.
How bad is it?
I'm afraid it's more serious than I thought.
Is this it? Gordon?
Yes, Patrick, and you realise I can't call anyone else on this side. You know what I mean, don't you?
Yeah Gordon, I wish I did.
About the reward.
I get it. you have to come back alive to discuss the reward.
Yeah Patrick, that's right. Everything is at stake. This assignment will be the most important one you'll ever get. But it will probably be your last. But you're the only one who can come close to succeeding.
I hear you and sitting on my arse isn't really my thing. even after all these years.
What about the crew? Supplies? Resources? Coordinates?
The crew is up to you. I also have a couple of reliable people. As long as they know what they're signing up for, or not. it's up to you. There's no plan, no preparation, no design. Instructions are in place, gear is in place. There's hardly any time.
The Tower?
Yeah, you got it right, I knew I was right.
It couldn't have been any other way Gordon. Sooner or later they're gonna get it up and running. They're way behind schedule on the activation. With all this bacchanalia of viruses and vaccines. Anyways, they've been spraying everything into the air for a long time.
Patrick, we'll stop there, the system is keyword based and even closed channels and hidden numbers are covered.
Roger that, General.
Good luck Colonel. Standing by for a signal to be on zero alert.
Copy that.
Kwin***
An excellent education at one of the prestigious universities of the corporation. Outstanding analytical skills, high stress tolerance, good physical shape, and martial arts training since childhood. Immediately after graduation and receiving the diploma, a man approached him, without any particular features, emanating confidence and power from a mile away. He made an offer I couldn’t refuse.
And the very next day, he ended up at the training center of that service that is not usually spoken of. Years of rigorous training, studying various disciplines, impeccable weapon training, all made me the perfect agent, capable of carrying out practically any task. But for the second year in a row, I have to sit and rot as a middle-level manager in the corporation’s Tower, wiping pants at a job suitable for any idiot with average education and very average intellectual abilities. And what the hell?
• Kwin, maestro! You’re three minutes late again!
• Get lost, you fat creature.
• What??? I’m your boss, by the way!
• Oh, excuse me, Mr. Poc, did I say that out loud? It won’t happen again!
• Kwin, you scoundrel, my name is Pots! This happens almost every day! I don’t know why management hasn’t fired you despite all my reports! Impeccable graduate, perfect worker, bah, on you!
• Well, screw you…
• What???!!
• Damn it, did I say that out loud again?
Kwin smirked.
• Hell yeah!
• Sorry, boss, won’t happen again.
• I want the report on my desk by lunch!
• Of course, boss!
He couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face.
• Well, screw you!
That fat piece of crap finally left for his urgent matters. And here I am, supposed to hang out in this idiotic position for who knows how long and wait for who knows what. (Thought Kwin)
The assignment simply stated to perform work duties, live the life of an ordinary clerk, not to form particularly close relationships, but also not to be a recluse. In other words, to be like a gray mouse or an office plankton. But with my appearance and physique, it’s hard to look like a gray mouse, but what can you do, I’ll carry out the task as stated. Of course, many dream of working in the Corporation’s Tower, the pinnacle of human civilization’s creation. It towered above the city to a height of about a kilometer. Hundreds of thousands of tons of concrete and steel packed with the latest defense and weaponry technologies. Contrary to all architectural standards, the tower’s foundation consisted of cast steel columns of unimaginable thickness fused together by the latest thermo-molecular atomic fusion method. This structure, at any height and length, and at all joints, formed a monolith and had corresponding properties. Such a structure could withstand any tectonic collapses. Between the columns, floors of the latest plasto-concrete were built, which also played a role in vibrations. All walls and partitions were made of thick armored glass. A powerful transparent polymer based on carbon could easily withstand the impact of a sub-caliber armor-piercing shell. Moreover, in any case, ballistic weapons were no longer used, as the artillery had long since adopted the forgotten but now celebrated Tesla technologies, and instead of a shell hitting the target, lightning struck from a tank generator of static electricity. At this point, within a radius of 20m from the heavy electromagnetic field and residual electricity, everything living perished, and most structures remained intact. Thanks to its metallic high-strength base, the tower completely ignored such weapons by grounding itself to a great depth. Gamma emitters were used to aim the lightning at the target, saturating the point of impact with particles, and hitting with precision to the centimeter, the lightning had a power of millions of volts, and all power structures of the new world had switched to such a class of weapons, as had all military equipment. Old firearms were decommissioned as costly, dangerous, and ineffective and were universally withdrawn and destroyed. The very possibility of owning personal weapons in this world was erased from memory. Only the corporation’s military forces had weapons and military equipment, just like all the power in this wonderful new world. Because governments were unable to control the economic downturn and the spread of the new virus. All of this was originally conceived to devalue the power of the global community and concentrate power and global control in the hands of one structure. Codes of laws and rules, restrictions on freedom and the spread of information. All this did its job and established a certain order of things. Everyone dreamed of being part of the corporation, and even being on such insignificant positions and being a crooked rusty cog in this system, people saw no greater happiness than this.
So much has changed since the onset of the first pandemic, with thousands of unexplained deaths and global panic, chaos, anarchy, and utter hopelessness. But the main management of the “Alternative” Corporation and thousands of branches worldwide were prepared for this, as everything had been meticulously planned from the start. From the first case of infection to the first “miraculous” vaccination, it seemed clear and understandable… overpopulation and all that. But as it turned out later, it wasn’t quite so… the ultimate goal was different… but Kwin will never fully grasp that now…
• Queen, dude, how’s it hanging?
• Hey Mike, same old crap at the crappy job as usual!
• Are you all right in the head, man? Thousands of people would give their left nut to switch places with you!
• Yeah, Mike, I know, but I’ve always felt destined for something greater.
• Oh come on, Kwinslow, everyone thinks that. Everyone believes they’re part of something bigger while secretly jerking off into an old sock, fantasizing about their friend’s wife…
• You don’t understand… Oh never mind, damn it, Mike, you wouldn’t get it anyway, although you do think rather intelligently. Let’s catch up later!
• Beers tonight? Weekend’s just around the corner.
• Yeah, beers sound good, see you tonight, man!
• See you tonight!
As naive as it all seems in light of subsequent events… but who could have thought…
The ring of the “other” phone snapped Queen out of his heavy thoughts. He had been waiting for that other phone call for years.
• …
• Understood.
• …
• What? Let them in? Who?
• …
• Where? Understood, I’ll handle it. By the circumstances?
• …
• Main task: let them in. Coordinates for the hideout?
• …
• Understood, gearing up and awaiting signal. What signal will it be?
• …
• Understood, will handle it.
I rose and quickly made my way to the utility room two levels up the corridor. I turned the corner, and a solid blue door concealed the utility room. Inside was the emergency fire station. Behind the fire hydrant box, beneath the hose sleeve, was a double-bottomed compartment. Inside lay… the damn MP5 Kurtz, beige solid Kevlar vest worn beneath a shirt with a suit. Stitched into the pockets were eight black magazines, each holding 30 rounds. And strapped to the back was a kukri machete, positioned so the handle pointed downward and to the right, allowing for easy retrieval with the right hand from behind. Heavy and relatively short, the kukri was highly effective in close combat. Sometimes in the old world, they used it to chop off a pig’s head during butchering. All of this fit snugly under the classic beige jacket one size larger than mine. The MP5 Kurtz was an ancient and highly reliable 9mm submachine gun. And most importantly, it was the shortened version. It could fit into a lady’s purse, and then be pulled out to watch as the scoundrel robbers galloped away, tripping over themselves while escaping from the rapid automatic fire. The same went for the magazines. Eight of them could easily be distributed among the pockets. This version had undergone some changes. The caliber was changed to 5.56, and thanks to the reduced caliber and rifle-shaped bullet, the exit velocity and accuracy increased accordingly. Moreover, the short magazine easily held 30 rounds. The size of the cartridge was significantly reduced due to the use of a more efficient, advanced substitute for gunpowder, which, despite being half the volume, produced a more powerful exhaust. Of course, the stopping power noticeably decreased, but this barrel was designed for professionals, for precise headshots in confined spaces.
An interesting twist, thought Kwin, why would such an unusual but very narrowly focused arsenal be present in such a place? He had no idea what this change of scenery would ultimately lead to for him…
Anna***
Nervously wiping water stains off the glasses behind the bar counter, Anna stood lost in thought about life. She thought about the past, the present, the future... what she had already accomplished, what she would still accomplish, or wouldn't? Did she want to accomplish anything? And what to accomplish? Life had become ordinary, boring? But she always wanted to settle down and taste the life of an ordinary woman, feel a strong man's shoulder nearby, have children... the glass had already begun to squeak nervously as it was rubbed by her strong female hand all this time. She snapped out of her foggy thoughts and placed the glass on the rack above her head, among similar ones. Silently, she downed a shot of bourbon, prepared in advance for the end of the workday. Just an ordinary workday for an ordinary woman of 35+. Leaning on the counter with her hands folded in front of her, she lit a cheap cigarette with a petrol lighter in the shell of a fifty-caliber cartridge... laughter and nothing else, but nothing else suited her. The cigarettes weren't bad, and it's not like Anna really needed the money; her past exploits allowed her to live quite decently. She worked just to keep from going crazy with boredom in this wonderful "ordinary" life. These cigarettes just reminded her of the ones she smoked for eight long years in the special forces special unit. She never had children... there were men, but she still missed that strong shoulder, because to most of her ex men, that shoulder she might break in three places without breaking a sweat... she just used them for her own health, not really hoping to meet that special someone... Although she did meet someone special this evening, without even suspecting what this encounter would bring into her life on the eve of an ordinary weekday evening on this rainy day. Her hands, folded one over the other behind the bar counter, spread apart, and her right hand protruded from under her armpit with a dull click as she cocked the hammer of the short eleven-and-seven-millimeter barrel of the five-shot Judge revolver, staring into the dark corner at the other end of the room, where Anna had felt someone's presence for several minutes. Only in movies does the sound of cocking a hammer or safety catch accompany a loud click, for idiots who need it to be heard throughout the cinema. Properly cleaned, adjusted, and lubricated weapons make no extraneous sounds.
- Cap, tell me it's you...
- Getting old, huh, Ann... and besides, I haven't been Captain Anna for a long time.
Patrick smirked.
- How rude, Cap, not very polite to a lady, huh? I just wanted to give a stranger a chance before splattering someone's brains on the wall. And besides, I know it's you, Colonel, but Cap just feels more natural in combat.
Anna returned the smile.
- And you were going to blow my head off from that distance with this shorty? With that barrel, you wouldn't hit the fat ass of your director at point-blank range.
- Don't flatter yourself, Patrick, it's loaded with plate shot, ten in each round. The charge, as you understand, is also enhanced, so one would be enough for you.
She winked playfully.
- I recognize the old Ann, no small calibers, only serious ones. How did you recognize me?
- Hardly anyone else in this city could have approached me so unnoticed. And you survived only out of boredom and curiosity. Why did you come, Cap?
- Straight to the point as always. Recognize the old Ann. Nothing has changed.
- On the contrary, Pat, everything has changed, absolutely! This life has changed, this damn normal life! Everything is there, money, time, I don't want to live! But what to do, Cap? What's the point of living without a goal, without a task, without something to live for or die for?
- I understand you, Sergeant, like no one else.
Patrick lit up, using a regular match. The same cigarettes as Anna's, for unknown reasons or not, but you probably wouldn't be interested. He took a deep drag, released a puff of blue smoke, and continued leisurely.
- As you already understand, our meeting wasn't accidental.
- Well, yes, you wouldn't just come to visit old Ann.
Anna smirked again.
- Ann, you know the rules, in the civilian world we're on our own, and they won't let us peacefully hang out together, sitting behind the bar counter, knocking back a couple of shots of whiskey, indulging in past memories. We've caused too much trouble, and we know too much and can do too much for them to allow us to spend time together, otherwise...
- Otherwise what, Patrick?
- Otherwise, we would have been together a long time ago, Ann, you know it yourself.
- If only it were so...
- Stop kidding... you know it, it's just easier this way.
Okay, what's done is done, Pat, spill it since you're here...
---
**Thrice**
The stone chips and fragments of the metal shells of bullets whistled and scattered from the not-so-high granite fence of a cozy provincial village, where people heard gunshots only in movies, and even then, not later than the evening chants in the local temple. Amidst the sounds of gunfire and the scattering of stone shards, a frightened male voice drowned, breaking into a scream, trying to outshout the sounds of gunfire.
- Thrice, darling, lower your weapon, please!
- Gordon, you scoundrel! I told you back then not to come near me ever again!
- Thrice, I beg you, let's just talk!
After another volley, the windshield of a parked inconspicuous van behind the fence, where the owner of the frightened male voice hid, shattered.
- Thrice, damn it! It's been 8 years! Seriously!
- You abandoned me like some whore from Miami Beach!
Another volley pierced through the innocent van, sparks scattering in the places of the bullet holes in the body.
- Are you using armor-piercing rounds?! Have you gone mad?!
- I told you never to cross my path again! Traitor!
- You shot at me!
- You were wearing a bulletproof vest!
- How do you know!?
- Well, you're here alive, aren't you?
- And that's why you took armor-piercing rounds?!
- I never repeat my mistakes twice, Gordon!
- What's the matter, Triss?! Let's talk!
- You abandoned me, you bastard!
- You shot at me, you hysterical woman!
- It's all because of that overdressed bitch at the shopping center! I saw everything!
- That was just part of an advertising campaign, the girl hugged me, it was a performance! Good Lord, who am I explaining this to...
- You abandoned me! Without explanation!
- You SHOT at me! I understand that this conversation is over!
- Because of that... oh, to hell with it! You were wearing armor! And you could have tried again!
- I wasn't sure I'd survive a second attempt, Triss.
A dull clang of a concrete strike from a thrown empty magazine store, then a click of a spring from the catch inserted in its place, and the sound of a cocked bolt chambering a cartridge into the chamber.
- It's all clear now... I'm coming out, Triss! And this time, I'm not wearing a vest! Do as you please, if we don't come to an agreement, then to hell with it all!
- Step back, Gordon!
The barrel of a short-barreled M416 assault rifle looked at Gordon, its barrel smoking from overheating, emitting a thin stream of smoke after prolonged firing.
- One more step, Gordon! You know me!
- Yes, I know you, Triss, that's why I came out... and if I'm still alive, then I'm incredibly lucky... and they won't cope without you... and if they can't handle it, then none of this matters anymore...
- You're lucky that I don't have Period now!
- Oh yes... that's for sure! That was my mistake, forgetting to check your cycle... a fatal error!
A click of the safety lever being released was clearly heard by Gordon, Triss deliberately clicked it loudly.
- I understand everything!
Gordon raised his hands in reconciliation.
- I'll be quiet, I'll be quiet!
- Gordon, just one more word!
- Understood, ma'am!
They finally left the yard, once a beautiful embodiment of the "American Dream," their little house in a quiet provincial area, with friendly neighbours, a manicured lawn ordered from the best lawn manufacturer in the county. Weekly barbecues with the whole neighbourhood, pleasant social conversations of housewives, and oily jokes of their balding potbellied husbands sharing their successes in bowling and whose fishing rod was longer...
The house was nothing special, neither expensive nor flashy. A cozy family nest, beautiful curtains elegantly drawn and tied to the walls, cornices with twisted finials. Rugs on the laminate floor, comfortable classic furniture in khaki color, and a beautiful set of family photographs on the walls. However, there were no children or men in these photos, only old army photos of a young, fair-haired beauty of medium height with green eyes and plump inviting lips, her figure hiding equally appetizing, though not ostentatious, forms. Many asked the beauty what she found in the service and why she chose this path. After all, relatives prophesied her at least a successful career on TV. The same was true of her photos with her beloved dogs, two elite trained Dobermans who tirelessly watched the new guest, sitting quieter than mice under the grass in different corners of the living room, not daring to turn an ear without their mistress's command. They knew perfectly well what she was capable of in anger. And yes, in the bedroom upstairs, far from prying eyes, in a frame, carefully kept and dusted every day by caring hands, there was only one photo of Beatrice with her husband and her little son, who didn't live to see 5 years old, only a week, he couldn't beat leukemia, and she doesn't distinguish between people. Neither money nor connections helped... her husband couldn't take it anymore and jumped out of the window from the 20th floor of his office. Living with his wife was getting harder and harder, and his only joy was his beloved Thomas. The only thing that made Triss shed a bitter tear every night before bed, wiping the photo with a caring hand of a mother killed by grief. Killed but not broken. She no longer sought happiness because she didn't believe she would find it, and she wouldn't survive another shock, she would either end this path herself, or take with her who knows how many people in a fit of anger. Whiskey, cigarettes, and antidepressants didn't make her finally give up.
- Well, Triss, won't you offer a drink to an old friend?
- Bourbon as usual, and for a snack, a cheap cigarette of your favourite brand?
- How well you know me, darling, almost too well, I would say.
- Yes, indeed...
- A second ago, I was balancing between life and death, and now I'm drinking with you in your living room and about to light a cigarette without leaving the house.
Gordon smirked and winked at the hostess.
- Maybe it's really a stroke of luck that you don't have period?
Triss just barely moved her index finger as both Dobermans synchronously rose to their feet and gutturally growled without opening their mouths.
- Alright, alright, Beatrice, I got it, trust limit reached.
- Spill it, Gordon, you've been living too long, and you still haven't interested the bored lady...
---
Gordon, ahem ahem. General Gordon.
• Gordon, how is the recruitment going?
• The squad is ready.
• Really? Why don’t I see a list, photos, portfolio, or service record?
• They don’t know yet that they are a squad.
• They don’t? And when were you planning to report this to me, Gordon?
• General Gordon.
• It doesn’t matter.
• Very well.
• Soon, General Gordon, the last thing that will matter is your rank and merits before the Federation.
• I’ve already reported that the squad is ready. What other questions do you have? Or is my word and authority not enough? I don’t think you would have come to me if my reputation raised such doubts.
• It’s all right, General, it’s all right. You do your job, I’ll do mine. Everyone has their superiors. It’s just that there are some concerns about the operation and the squad you’re planning to recruit. They haven’t been in the game for a long time and lead a somewhat uncertain lifestyle, so to speak.
• These are the best people I know, I vouch for each of them!
• And for Triss too?
• Advisor, I’d prefer to keep discussions about Triss to myself.
• Well, of course, it’s not the case where one precise shot from an offended woman can ruin a globally important operation.
• I’ll deal with Beatrice myself, it’s my problem, my people, my responsibility, and my problem. Moreover, none of them are in the Tower’s database. The automatic security system doesn’t recognize them.
• Yes, of course, General, you’ll handle it, no one doubted that. It’s just that if you don’t, it instantly becomes a problem of global scale.
• I understand the degree of your concern and anxiety, Advisor.
• I wish someone really understood the extent of my anxiety…
• And one more question, Gordon…
• I’m listening.
• Why Quinn? Gordon, why him?
• It’s necessary.
• Gordon, he’s not just one of the best, he’s the best! Gordon, he’s the very best! Why did you decide to send him to slaughter?
• Only the best will do for this task, the best of the best! No one will do this job better than him.
• But he won’t be able to get out of there, General! The best agents trained him, millions were spent on him, he could solve any problem, any task, perform any complex operation…
• He must complete this task. Any of your best agents can handle any complex operation, but only He can survive with the limited ammunition and equipment. Only He can put a magazine in the submachine gun and squeeze the trigger ten times.
• Such expenses, Gordon, years of training and practice, undercover work, all for one operation!
• If he fails this mission, nothing else will matter, Advisor, and you yourself must understand this!
• If he doesn’t make it out, it will be on your conscience, Gordon.
• None of the participants wear rose-colored glasses, Advisor.
• But at least they’re aware.
• Everyone has their role here, sir.
• Your conscience, Gordon, your conscience.
• I already have too much on my conscience, Advisor, in our line of work, it’s not the last instance… as much as it may sound like it.
• I hope you know what you’re doing, Gordon.
• I have no other choice, and no second chance either.
• Everything needs to be double-checked and recalculated.
• Everything will be in the best shape, Advisor.
• Understood, General, good luck.
Quinn
It all started suddenly, precisely at noon. I was already equipped and calmly sipping coffee in the break room while people were working and gathering for lunch. The new Kevlar jacket fit well, the submachine gun under my arm slightly pulled the holster straps, spare magazines were neatly arranged in specially fitted pockets inside the tactical jacket, next to a couple of grenades. Also, the Kevlar vest was worn under the jacket over the shirt. The handle of the machete slightly protruded under the jacket’s hem, so Quinn stood leaning against the table, lazily sipping coffee, keeping an eye on the surroundings. He didn’t know what was supposed to happen; he only knew what needed to be done at any cost. And he understood that such an arsenal wasn’t prepared for him without reason, although what could possibly happen here? Was he supposed to shoot almost everyone here? Although with a cartridge on the head and 8 magazines of 50 rounds each, that would be enough for at least two departments… plus the machete, hands, and feet, which in itself was a deadly weapon.
It all happened suddenly… precisely at noon… the barely noticeable ringing in the ears suddenly intensified, there was a slight darkening in the eyes, a light tremor ran through the body, and a barely perceptible vibration spread throughout the tower’s structure. Some stopped, some froze for a few moments, some grabbed their heads, some spilled coffee, dropping their cup from their hands, some dropped their trays or crashed into a column. For a moment, all monitors and screens went dark, and the growing hum became slightly more audible.
• Damn you, fucking piece of metal! What a damn piece of junk! Nothing works!
• Calm down, Bobby, why are you so worked up?!
• Screw you, Jim! And you, Carl! And you, and you, and you!!! Screw you all, you damn morons!!!
The sound of a copying machine cracking after being hit by a water canister torn off from the cooler echoed through the room.
• Bob, what the hell is this?!
• Go to hell, all of youuuu! Urrrghh hroooolll… buuueeee….!
Bob began to vomit some brownish liquid, and the crack of his neck that had been twisted backward made everyone flinch! He stood like that for several seconds, then Jim touched him on the shoulder, and his head returned to its place with a crunch, but the crazed look with pupils dilated to the maximum and feverishly clicking jaw didn’t bode well. The creature jumped on Jim, biting off a piece of his trachea with its teeth…
• You idiot…
Jim’s last words were choked with blood… and then it all started… What used to be Jim just a minute ago also stood up and lunged at the bystanders, and pseudo-Bob jumped on the next onlooker… Jim and his new friend continued their frenzy, and chaos ensued!!!
People froze for a while in a fit of insane fear, and then frightened screams, sobs, and just human shrieks began. All this was abundantly accompanied by wheezing and growling of the newly converted creatures. They didn’t differ much from humans, except that their heads would sometimes tilt backward, sometimes turn inside out, and back again; this was a kind of activation of the infection process and the rupture of old neural connections in the spinal column, plus the subsequent formation of new hybrids. The murky and crazed gaze of bloodshot eyes, the dilated pupils almost covering the entire iris, the jaw chattering spasmodically, constantly repeating chewing movements. The gait was altered, the back hunched, the movement more resembling the jerky motions of a marionette puppet with an unskilled puppeteer, but unlike a puppet, these creatures turned out to be quite agile!
Some had to die first, and then rise and attack after a few seconds. Some lay for long minutes, and then slowly got up and walked somewhere, mumbling and drooling. Someone, barely bitten, immediately convulsed and underwent an almost instantaneous transformation! Someone, like our recent friend Bob, hung for 30 seconds, then a fit and transformation began. Every clerk in this tower, no, not just a clerk, every worker from a janitor to a high-class military guard, had been vaccinated since the second pandemic. Everyone, everyone except Quinn. He managed to tamper with the documents only with the help of the secret service and implant an additional chip to deceive the scanners that stood in the Tower at every step. After all, all vaccines starting from the first ones had a digital trace, and special super-sensitive equipment was created for its scanning, which, after its official “acceptance” under the Geneva Convention, was legalized. It had been working even before, from the first vaccinations, but it was installed secretly and worked unofficially, tested and calibrated for several years.
Now, however, these scanners of global coverage transmitted an unknown signal on unknown ultra-secret frequencies, and previously administered vaccines from different manufacturers and brands turned “marked” people into dumb, hungry, aggressive, and merciless creatures.
Many understood this, many spoke about it, many refused and protested, raised riots and demonstrations. But in the end, many were killed by soldiers, many were imprisoned with compulsory vaccination. Many were forced to retreat because in the new world order, there was no place for paper and paper money. All data, history, chronicles, and chronology of events related to humans were encoded on chips, which were the vaccines themselves.
In addition to the main action of "protection" against the virus, the components of the vaccine's nano particles were assembled into separate modules, kind of microprocessors, and connected to the global network of scanners - retranslators, carrying on themselves all the information of each specific individual second by second. The problem of high data capacity read from the carrier was solved by constant streaming synchronization with the nearest scanner-retranslator. These were the first initial levels of the vaccine, then they came up with the 2nd and 3rd. Each subsequent one carried new nanobots, as well as microscopic genetically modified symbiotic microorganisms. These, in turn, connected to the neural centers in the brains and firmly attached themselves to the brain for further influence on consciousness and decision-making.
Since the vaccines were from different manufacturers and at different times, this explains the strange and atypical behavior of the infected. The scanners-retranslators of the main Tower transmitted the same frequency, and it affected everyone differently, but even those who miraculously didn't succumb to the influence, after death or a bite, still somehow transformed and joined our newly formed "dead" army.
Among them, of course, was not Quinn, as well as those aforementioned participants in this operation, because they all managed, by hook or by crook, to avoid vaccination, as they were initially able to think for themselves, for which General Gordom respected and valued them. And that's why assembling the team became the most difficult part of this operation. Because the Tower's defense systems continued to operate in autonomous mode, and the Tower wouldn't let anyone with a digital trace different from an employee's through. And they, it turns out, were invisible to the scanners - retranslators.
Waiting for the right moment, when he could no longer attract unnecessary attention, Quinn moved from the coffee break room towards the top management service elevator. The regular staff had no access to it, and in an emergency situation, the elevators were automatically blocked, but the management elevator always worked with the appropriate level of access.
A short transmission sounded in his earpiece.
- 78th floor, west side, detonator in the glass photo frame to the right of the entrance. We need a draft in 8 minutes.
- Understood, moving out!
The MP5 Kurtz habitually lay in his right hand, the magazine clicked into the MP5 Kurtz, the bolt of the MP5 Kurtz clicked down and away with a familiar motion. With his left hand, he pushed the semi-transparent door, and immediately sounds of death and chaos were drowned out securely by the double 5-chamber glass. Quinn immediately kicked one hanging beauty with a "spartan" kick. The cycle was almost complete, and it would be a mistake to look for survivors. Somersaulting in flight, what was not long ago an attractive girl contorted with a crunch and a hiss, leaped back on unbending legs in one jump, and was nearby with a hiss, opening its mouth to receive a short burst in the face. The expansive bullets split the head like an overripe watermelon, spraying darkened blood on the snow-white walls of the corridor. A too long corridor of 40 meters. Because the entrance to the service elevator was two floors above, and he needed to run up the fire escape.
Quinn cursed himself for his recklessness, as the gunshot still attracted unwanted attention. The first undead to arrive burst out of the former department head's office. It turned out to be Mr. Potts, with the same dumb expression on his face, not much changed, roaring from the gut, he leaped at Quinn. Step, jump, turn, a blow to the chest, the crunch of bones, a stifled roar, the heavy body hitting the wall and the floor. The boss instantly got up and jumped to his feet and with one leap was on Quinn's right rear, reflexively catching the head that fell from his shoulder, the corpse stood for a moment showered by a fountain of black blood, collapsed like a sack of shit, dropping the head that continued to wriggle and make funny faces. Mr. Potts, of course, didn't hear the faint hiss of the pulled Kukri from its sheath. Step, bend down, move out of the line of attack, a side strike with a reverse grip of the Kukri from the left hand meeting the opponent, the head separated from the body by inertia remained on the shoulders for a few more moments. Without turning around, a swing of the machete Kukri with a sharpened movement struck through the air, brushing off the black-greenish blood from the polished steel, returned it to the sheath on the left side of his back.
These forty meters between the office corridor turned out to be the longest in Quinn's life, although the sprint took no more than a minute. He was lucky that he caught many of the undead by surprise, calling them zombies just didn't feel right, and they even seemed to increase in speed. Coordination was certainly lacking, but the speed and strength were an order of magnitude greater than when they were humans. One undead hung in front of the door, examining its severed arm with interest, another crawled out from under a pile of still forming corpses. It was Gilbert, a good man and a model family man who came to work on time, kissed his children goodnight, and never cheated on his wife. Now he was gnawing at his colleague from the workshop, Miss Lane, with fervor and rushed at Quinn when he spotted him. "Damn it, why did it all have to start from my department!?" Quinn hissed through clenched teeth. He hadn't gotten particularly close to anyone, but after a couple of years, any company becomes warmer to you. People you see every day, even if they're not always good, sometimes outright bastards. But they still didn't deserve such a shameful end. Becoming victims of such a ruthless global experiment. Or, on the contrary, a precisely planned, skillfully directed, cruel and merciless action. Quinn wasn't briefed on the operation's details. He didn't have access to classified information and didn't know that what was happening now in the corporation's main Tower was happening all over the world. Each link of the operation performed its task, in which it was better than anyone else. And everyone knew only what they needed to know. An excess or lack of information could play a cruel trick on the minds of seasoned fighters and jeopardize the operation.
Gilbert took two bullets almost point-blank in the forehead, spraying his brains on the back wall. Miss Lane had already completed her transformation and feverishly clicking her jaw had begun to lift her head from the floor towards Quinn. Without much thought and without stopping his run, he simply stepped on her head, transferring all his weight to his front foot. The skull cracked like a rotten melon. Quinn almost slipped on the smeared brains, cursing, already raising the gun at a new enemy. There, between the glass-ceramic semi-transparent walls of the corridor, several undead were running towards him in a chess-like order. The first one received a full swing overhead with the left hand, and the skull bones crunched, twisting inward. The temporal part of the skull is the most fragile; the infected fell to the floor without reaching his target. Two others received two and three bullets in the face, "roses" of expansive bullets, expanding inside the skull, often tearing it apart. The "Death Rose" - an expansive bullet that, upon hitting the target, due to perforation on the head, unfolds inside the target like a flower, tearing and cutting everything around with its petals, it continues to spin around its axis for some time. The entrance hole is 9 millimeters, and the exit hole is 10 centimeters. Truly a frightening projectile for close combat.
Jump, roll. Dodge from the sweeping strike of the zombie, semi-squat, a blow with the rifle barrel in the face, the bolt instantly counted two more smoking shells, and the head shattered into pieces, spraying brains and dark blood all around. Another face, grimacing, grabbed his left forearm with broken sharp teeth, damn creature! Shift the gun to the left, squeeze the trigger, shooting until he only saw fountains of blood from the severed neck stub of the headless body... kicking away the corpse with a kick of his foot, shifting the gun to the right, he doesn't have time to lift it to the trigger point, a burst to the legs of the next zombie, shattering its knee joints, the dead man falls like a felled tree and tries to reach Quinn's boot with his hands. The ringing thud of the dropped magazine hitting the floor and the click of the replacement in the rifle. The bolt returned to its place, sending the next "rose." Jump, roll. On the exit from the roll, a blow with the rifle to the face of another lovely beauty, smiling with just the upper jaw and remnants of the lower one. She fell silent and thankfully, she was a good-looking girl, sigh... after that hot night at the party, I didn't even call her, and now it's a hundred times awkward, oh Missy, rest in peace... wherever you are. A bite on his left leg, unnoticed, the left hand is already swinging the machete. The strike whistled, the dull squelching of flesh being cleaved, and the crunch of bones splitting the skull in half. The Kevlar jacket and shield inserts under the pants reliably protect from bites, not even leaving scratches on the body. Hmm... how did they know what equipment to prepare for me? Everything fits almost perfectly for such a confrontation. Quinn thought.
"No, it can't be! Although everything is clear, well, what can I say, there's a task, no time to think. Everything is as it should be..." Quinn muttered to himself as he reached the end of the corridor to the fire escape, to the right of the main elevator shaft. The undead, conveniently, opened the door to the stairwell in front of Quinn, who sent it into an uncontrolled flight with a powerful kick from a turn in the soul. Knocking down the door behind him and conveniently blocking back down the two zombies still rising after him.
"Strike!" Quinn smirked crookedly and continued his upward jumps along the stairs, skipping 4 steps at a time. Meeting the running zombie from above, he met him with a passage between his legs and a throw behind his back, rolling further down the already knocked down zombies on the stairs.
"Strike, damn it!" Quinn's grin was almost animalistic now. Running, adrenaline, shortness of breath, his heart jumping out of his chest, his throat parched from this insane march. On the next floor, he reached without incident, stopped in front of the door, caught his breath, glanced at his watch, another 3 minutes.
"It's good, you could say I'm not falling behind schedule."
Sure, here’s the text translated into English while preserving the literary style and punctuation:
Standing behind the semi-transparent door of the stairwell and ensuring that everything remained quiet beyond it, Quinn cautiously cracked it open. Nothing unusual happened until the door closed behind him, muffling the sounds of chaos, pain, death, and suffering on the lower floors. After a calm survey of his surroundings and another glance at his watch, the fighter briskly moved toward the coveted door. The floor, covered in synthetic red carpeting, muffled the sound of his heavy army boots as he walked. He quietly and calmly opened the door, a decision he would soon regret.
A deafening crack, a flash, a blow to the chest, a gleam in the eyes, and a ringing in the ears… A brief flight, a crash to the floor, and darkness…
Transformed into a zombie, the guard somehow retained muscle memory and reflexes. He stood quietly behind the door, aiming the barrel of his heavy army 40mm semi-automatic shotgun loaded with heavy shot at the first person to enter. No chance. But the encounter still ended, and the zombie looked surprisedly at the smoking barrel, then directly into the muzzle itself, and repeated the trick once more… It boomed so loudly that the body, dressed in a blood and ash-stained beige business suit made of Kevlar, convulsively twitched in the far corner of the corridor and continued to move its limbs in an attempt to find itself and stand up.
The zombie’s body, deprived of its head and the nearest part of its chest, as if someone had bitten off its head to the sternum, released the smoking shotgun from its hands and collapsed to the floor like a sack of dung against the backdrop of walls splattered with brown blood.
“Disqualified, Cadet Quinn, damn it! Disqualified!”
The fighter spat blood on the floor and hissed to himself. Training didn’t allow him to stay unconscious for long, and the second shot quickly brought him back to consciousness, despite everything that had just been blown out of him.
“You have to be such an idiot! Forget there’s standard security here! Michael, you were a good fighter, nothing will extinguish your reflexes, damn you! Fucking guts.”
Quinn got up, shook himself, glanced at his watch once again…
“10 seconds… DAMN IT!”
Barely avoiding slipping, not even bothering to pick up the fallen weapon, he rushed into the doorway, covering the remaining 5 meters to the door with two jumps. A sharp turn to the right, a leap, and an elbow strike to the portrait hanging on the wall in a glass frame…
Flash, explosion, another brief flight, a blow… a slight dizziness, ringing in the ears… Although the explosion was directed towards the street, to remove the ceramic glass from its fastenings, the shockwave was still quite powerful. But this time Quinn got away with “light fright.” Another way to break the window was practically impossible due to its high strength and bulletproofness. A large 20-liter fire extinguisher, located in a wall niche under the picture - a detonator, suddenly cracked and burst at the seams, pushing out the glass and filling the surrounding space with an instantly inflated safety bubble activated by a built-in compressed CO2 cylinder. The system worked on the principle of an airbag in a car. Literally a moment later, three people in descent, burning red, exo-suits with activated shock compensators flew into it one by one through the empty window frame 3 by 5 meters, dispersing the paratroopers in different corners of the office. One of them was almost thrown back into the window opening, but he was caught by the hand by Quinn, who had just regained his senses.
“Thanks, son, you came just in time. I thought the party was canceled today… damn it, Gordon! The suit will withstand everything, don’t worry, Patrick!… hmm ‘don’t worry, Patrick’ such a joke! Next time you’ll be the bird yourself!”
“Quinn Collins, sir!”
“Yeah, I know, son, I know. Just call me Patrick.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Enough of that, Quinn, there’s no ‘sirs’ or ‘sergeants’ here… I think you already understand that this lottery has a questionable jackpot.”
“Indeed.”
“Well, that’s great. Anna! Beatrice! Are you both okay?!”
“Oh, spare your formality for General Pat!”
“Alright, En.”
“Just a cavalier, damn it, you’d better help the girl get up!”
“Bea, as always, in her repertoire,” Patrick grinned crookedly.
Gordon, Patrick, Triss, Anna… And Smuti***.
The roar of the engines of the multi-purpose heavy flyer drowned out almost all sounds in the cargo compartment as it was traveling at maximum speed. And time was calculated down to the second. All communications were conducted through transmitters in the helmets of the lightweight “Whisper” class exo-armor. It lacked the absolute armor and strength of a rhinoceros, as it was lightweight assault armor, and cramming four people into a heavy army “Goliath” was not feasible. Moreover, it didn’t boast much mobility. In this case, maximum speed and maneuverability were needed, plus the “Whisper” had sufficient durability for the operator to survive a not-so-soft landing and still had some armor plates.
• Gordon, what the hell?
• General Gordon, Patrick!
• General Gordon, what the hell?
• Pat, we’ve discussed everything, you agreed to hear the operation details on site to avoid the risk of leaks.
• Yes, General, the details, yes, BUT! I didn’t sign up for supersonic…
• Subsonic, nobody would survive supersonic…
• What the hell difference does it make?! We’re supposed to jump from a 2 km height at 700 km/h and smash the armored glass of the Tower’s facade with our crap? Are you serious, Gor… General?!
• My man will open a window for you, Patrick.
• Really?! And then what? Will he catch each of us in his caring strong arms? Or maybe he has three “stasis” charges in Rutgane? He could have Rutgane, right?
• Pat, you know that weapons of that class can’t be smuggled into the Tower under any pretext, and the security is so tight that even I couldn’t take it on such a pretext.
• So what do you suggest then?
• My man will handle everything, it’s all set up correctly. No problems will arise. “Soft landing” is guaranteed.
• Your soft landing is designed for an emergency landing of a light flyer, it won’t be soft for us!
• Everything will be fine, trust me, Pat.
• Trust?! You? Hahaha! What if your guy doesn’t make it, what if he’s killed by the shockwave, what if the detonator fails? What if the airbag doesn’t deploy, what if the window doesn’t pop out, what if your guy says: shouldn’t we all just go to hell!!! We won’t even need parachutes, Gordon! At this speed, there won’t be even snot left!
• You must understand that even with open parachutes, the Tower’s defense system will gut you with Tesla discharges immediately. If the guy can’t handle it, you’re screwed anyway! But he’ll definitely handle it! He’s the best of the best!
• And you’re sending him to his death? He’s probably still young. You can’t just bring random pensioners like me into the Tower. What about you, Gordon?
• That’s none of your business, Major! This is my burden, don’t you dare teach me how to handle affairs!
• And what then?
With a smirk, Patrick spat it out.
• This is your last warning…
Patrick took a step, and two cold, unblinking gazes met each other. There was not a hint of fear in either of them, just grim determination…
• So, boys, are we going to measure guns now, and in front of the ladies…
Triss gracefully stood next to the men and, as if by accident, waved her light blonde curls, spreading a pleasant scent of her delicately chosen perfume throughout the cargo hold.
• Triss, did you remember to get a manicure before the battle? Probably put on stockings too?
Anna quipped, adjusting her hair, tightly pulled back into warrior-style braids.
• Ann, my dear, a woman should be perfect in everything, not just knowledgeable about weapons, loving heavy artillery, and having traces of gun oil under her nails.
Anna gritted her teeth, the leather gloves creaking, and tightened her grip on the stock of her high-capacity automatic shotgun. Triss barely shifted from the attack line and cast a brief glance at the two Dobermans sitting in the corner. And then Patrick had to intervene in this awkward situation.
• En, what are we really?
• And what about me? It’s Gordon who decided to take this dimwit!
• She’s the best specialist in high-density explosives!
• She brought her dogs on the plane!
• Well, darling, what if we see each other for the last time, I have to say goodbye and kiss Trixie and Malcolm on their wet noses.
• See! She even gave them the names of Santa Claus’s elves…
• Girls, come on, everyone’s on edge, let’s at least calmly get there. Each of us has a seismic stabilized container with 30 kilograms of the densest and most powerful explosive in the world, with a detonation speed of 8 kilometers per second. Specifically designed to blow up heavily armored fortifications.
• Tricyclic urea. • The “Chinese Destroyer,” 1 kg of it in explosive power equals 22 kg of TNT, and the detonation speed, chemically slowed down, is 8.6 km/s.
• Yes, Triss, we’re aware that you’re an explosives expert, and yes, we understand that in case of an explosion from the plane, there won’t be a single screw left, and the Tower will witness quite a serious fireworks show on its windows trembling from the shockwave.
• Well, boys, isn’t that delightful? Don’t make a mentally unstable lady with high detonation speed nervous.
• Okay, girls and boys…
• And lovely doggies!
• …and lovely doggies… Triss, darn it!
• I’m silent, dear…
Beatrice smirked slyly. Gordon slapped himself in the face, sighed, and continued:
• Once again, according to the plan. The Tower is essentially impenetrable. And even if intruders manage to breach it, the defense system will react to them by reading their digital footprint and wiping them out. Attacking it with artillery or missiles is also pointless because there are anti-aircraft guns and seismic protection on the roof, and the structure itself consists of a very strong monolithic frame that can withstand any earthquake and even direct hits from most missiles and projectiles. Damaged sections are simply isolated and bypassed. Of course, there are missile launchers on the Tower with state-of-the-art missiles and reconnaissance drones for fire guidance and correction. So any military activity to attack the Tower will drown in its own blood. And, of course, we don’t have such resources. It can only be destroyed by sabotage from within. This, too, is very difficult and costly. It took years and tens of millions just to make it possible to plant our agent there. So the flyer will take you to the edge of the detection system zone, and you’ll be loaded into launchers and missiles specially prepared for you, where you’ll be the actual payload. The missile bodies and thrusters are made of a special fiber similar to carbon fiber. You won’t leave a thermal trace, and the detection system won’t find you. Only during close approach, it will be visually noticeable when you drop the carriers and then, using the aerodynamic elements of the exo-suits, jump into the window. For added certainty, Smuti and I will slightly violate the Tower’s airspace and draw fire onto ourselves, and then disappear from the radars. On the 80th floor, a window will be opened for you, and there’s also an entrance to the service elevator for top managers, which will be the only one still operating. You should reach the 100th floor on it. There’s a large open lounge with an artificial garden, and it’s convenient and fast to approach the main support columns there. After that, after setting the charges, you’ll have to descend to the ground level parking and install charges in a tight ring to cut the main support columns. Before that, on the 100th floor, you set charges on the north side so as not to interfere with the columns, but only to make a directional explosion. As a result, after setting the charges on the upper floors, you descend to the bosses’ elevator to the parking level and lay the remaining charges, and then leave the Tower through emergency gate opening. The agent inside has a master key card for access to most of the Tower’s premises. It all seems quite transparent.
• Yes, it all seems simple and transparent, General, but for some reason, we’re in assault exo-armor and with quite large calibers just to plant six charges and leave into the sunset.
• Yes, that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about, Patrick. As you probably already understand, the key point in this operation is the modified and implemented worldwide magical multi-stage vaccine. It is the key moment. And its main element, control and alteration of consciousness with subsequent body transformation, will be launched in the Tower’s Main Relay exactly at noon. A special frequency transmission will start from the Tower and will transition to all the world’s relays like a Chain Reaction. And only in the first hour after the launch of the trans-signal will it be possible to breach the Tower and do everything we planned. But there’s a catch. Along with the transmission in the high-frequency range, the transformation, alteration of all people surrounding the Tower will begin. And then this effect will cover the whole world in a matter of hours. So we have no second chance. And you might have to face several thousand not quite human beings. But, of course, you won’t be running around the Tower and attracting a horde of monsters to yourselves, but nevertheless, you should keep that in mind.
• Yes, General, of course, I assumed something like this, as did we all, but on such a scale…
• Work is work.
• Ladies and gentlemen, as unpleasant as our conversation was, everything has its time. Right now, it’s time to occupy your reactive assault bots in the launchers.
• Triss, Patrick, En…***
• Gordon, for heaven’s sake, don’t be silent!
• …
• Gordon, damn it!!!
• Pat, I’m not silent, I’m doing calculations…
• What calculations, Gordon?! We’re about to splatter against the armored glass like bird droppings on asphalt!!!
• Don’t worry, everything will be fine.
• Don’t worry?! Three minutes, damn it!!!
• Pat, calm down and relax, enjoy the flight, fasten your seat belts and don’t get up from your seats until the aerobus comes to a complete stop…
• What?! What the hell are you talking about, you bastard?! We’re about to splatter any minute now!!! The window is intact! There’s no one there! Two minutes! Gordon!
• Don’t worry, everything is under control.
• I’m not worried, I’m furious!!! If anything of me remains, it’s coming for you!
• Pat, you know, I’ve been wanting to tell you…
• No, En! No! Gordon, damn it! One minute!!! Gordon!
• Patrick, everything is under control, according to the schedule.
• Uuuugh… damn…
• Triss!
• What, Triss?! Could you let Pat die quietly without your screaming?!
• What do I see, you ask? Shit, Pat, shit!!! Warm and hot on approach, just the lid is closed!
• 30 seconds, General! It’s a shame it turned out this way…
• Patrick, Triss, En, report in 30 seconds after landing!
…
• Gordon
• Quinn, what’s the situation?
• …Quinn, do you copy?
• Quinn!!! Damn it, respond!
A bead of sweat rolled down the General’s cheek, the filter of his cheap cigarette burned his fingers, and with a dirty curse, the General flicked the butt onto the deck.
• Smuti, what do you see?
• General Gordon, well, how can I put it?
• Just say it as it is, don’t piss me off!
• What do I see? There’s no entrance! The window is intact! No activity. The thermal imager is silent. There’s warmth but no movement. Only turned-away figures…
• What about optics???
• I don’t see any matte finishes on the window. The panel isn’t activated. There’s no one there!
• Quinn, respond! Answer, damn it!!! May you all go to hell! Smut!
• General?
• Can we pick them up?
• Absolutely not, sir!
• Damn it! Why?!
• We won’t have time to brake! We’ll all crash together.
• Bastard! And the rockets, Smuti?
• The defense system will burn them along with the squad. 30 seconds, General!
…
• Deploy, Smut…
• General, how can we…?
• Execute!
• Copy!
…Gordon reached for the bottle, took a swig straight from the neck, and lit a fresh cigarette. With his head lowered, he stared at the clock. 10…9…8…7… The bourbon in the bottle swirled from the tilting flyer, executing the turn. His eyes betrayed moisture.
• How could this happen???
• …
Patrick, Anna, Triss, and… Quinn?***
• 10 seconds, ladies! It’s been a pleasure…
• Screw you, Pat! Shut up!
• Pat… I…
• No, En!
4…3…2… explosion!!! The window frame of armored glass is torn from its fastenings, the upper charge instantly smashes downward, dust, ash, boom, shrapnel whistling, jagged splashes of glass and steel hitting the armor… joints and fractions between armor plates tear clothes and skin, causing severe bruises with larger fragments… a thud, impact… silence… Darkness… The end…
An eternity seemed to pass, and suddenly, as if being at the bottom of a deep well, a voice was heard from the surface…
• Sir! Colonel!
• …
• Sir, how was the flight, sir? Are you all intact?! Welcome aboard!
• Thank you, son, you came just in time…
- Anna, Beatrice, ma'am? How are you?
- Oh, thank you, handsome, I'm feeling much better already. Help a bored lady get up, would you kindly?
- Yes, ma'am...
- Oh, what formality, weren't we just chatting normally, Quinn?
- Sorry, ma... Beatrice...
- Oh, come on, darling, Triss, just Triss...
- Triss, ma'am.
- Oh, never mind...
- Where's En?!
Patrick had already gotten up and gathered the debris after the explosion and the heavy fall. When Quinn grabbed his hand in the window frame, he hardly remembered it, he just instinctively grasped the hand that caught him, and then it was very difficult to release it even without consciousness...
- Sir... Patrick, Anna is already monitoring the perimeter at the exit to the corridor. Her landing was closest to the planned schedule.
- I see, En is always on time and immediately on task. Well, that's good. And Triss?
- I'm here, darling...
Taking a sip of coffee from a tall paper cup with a plastic lid, Triss mischievously winked at Patrick.
- Want some?
- Some things never change...
- What's wrong?
- Where did you get the coffee from?
- Well, we're in the office! There's coffee everywhere here! And this one someone just didn't finish...
Triss turned the cup around and showed Patrick small blood stains.
- Why let a good thing go to waste...?
- Oh, I'd rather be dead...
- What's this?
- Oh, forget it... alright, let's get moving, status report!
- Yes, Colonel Patrick Stone!
Triss mockingly saluted like a boy scout.
- Triss!
- All set! Status: healthy, whole, and ready for battle! Weapons and ammunition in place! Explosives in place, stable! No critical suit damage! No critical injuries. Condition satisfactory!
- Acknowledged! En, report!
When Patrick turned towards Anna, Triss cheekily stuck her tongue out at him from behind, but when he turned back, her face showed nothing, only her eyes were laughing.
- Patrick, everything's clear on the floor. I'm okay. Whole and ready for battle.
- That's good to hear! Quinn, son, why such an unfriendly welcome?
- Shot of heavy shot in the abdomen, sir!
Quinn showed black spots and splattered with blood on his abdomen, mixed with torn fabric and Kevlar fibers...
- From how far?
- Point-blank...
- How are you?
- I'll live, the Kevlar suit did its job, won't hinder me in battle.
- Are you sure?
- Affirmative!
- Understood, let's move out!
- Yes!
Patrick calculated all possible scenarios, what could go wrong. Well, everything could go wrong, damn it! Most likely, that's how it'll go. Most likely, nothing will go according to plan. In such missions, nothing ever goes according to plan. That's why they send the best of those left alive. Those who can effectively act in a completely failed plan, relying on their experience, intuition, and unknown luck. Yes, you heard it right, luck plays a crucial role here. And commanders usually see those soldiers who really have luck on their side. Anticipating the entire rough layout and knowing that Gordon specifically called him, it means luck is the last thing left, despite experience and skills.
- Son, what's the plan? Where to next according to the plan?
- Sir... Patrick, I've been tasked with taking you to the 80th floor to the general open hall, which goes through the entire tower across, and there's a huge winter garden, with columns exposed and stylized as the Amazon Jungle landscape. It's kind of a relaxation and fresh air room, there's plenty of space, so it's rarely crowded. Almost everyone can find a corner there for privacy.
- Understood, Quinn. What's the personnel status for security? People, not people, survivors.
- Survivors are present.
- Good...
- But there are no people or security.
- Hm...
- Not-people are present. I wasn't prepared for this. They started turning almost immediately after the Tower retransmitter was activated. Not all at once, one or two every 30-40 people. But this one started jumping around and killing everyone so quickly that dozens and hundreds quickly got infected. Those who were bitten turned almost instantly. Some got up with their tracheas torn out after a few minutes. Some were very fast and dangerous, some just staggered and only activated next to a living person. Some were just on autopilot, banging their heads against the transparent glass wall trying to pass through. But they're all somehow very dangerous. Everyone who didn't turn from the high-frequency transmission turned after the bite or after death. Only those who weren't vaccinated didn't turn, that's you and me. Some were partially turned, just like the one who emptied his shotgun into me. He was from security. He already had the same dull, meaningless look, I barely noticed how he raised his weapon. The reflexes remained. Well, who knows what vaccination procedure the security underwent, they were specially trained fighters and were supposed to be on the upper floors with the elite, the top managers of the company. But I didn't go that far, and this one met me just outside that door. Right across from the one you entered. So others may be on the way somewhere too. I understand that the entire top has already been evacuated on flyers from the lounge area on the roof.
- Not surprising, expected, although it sounds somewhat reckless... to abandon everyone and leave. Although if that was the plan...
• Well, we don’t need to go all the way to the top, we’re just about halfway there. And I don’t think we’ll be able to make it alive to the top anyway. Our goal should be to reach the destination without any losses. And even that would be a big success.
• What about enemy data?
• Most of them are on the lower office levels. This segment should be cleaner. And the winter garden hall should be completely empty. There were no motion sensor signals in that area until the moment when the power was still on and the security and emergency lockdown systems weren’t working.
• Understood. Alright, boys and girls, if everyone’s ready, then let’s move out.
• I’m not!
Triss raised her hand in a stopping gesture.
• What’s wrong?
Silently finishing her coffee in big gulps from a large paper cup, tearing off the lid, Triss continued to hold her hand up until she finished.
• There! I’m ready!
• Triss, did I imagine it or did you just decide to call a mentally unstable middle-aged lady with a bunch of problems, disorders, and psychological traumas, who also happens to have thirty kilograms of tricyclic urea behind her back, a clown?
• Patrick, darling, did it seem to me or did you just decide to call a mentally unstable middle-aged lady with a bunch of problems, disorders, and psychological traumas, who also happens to have thirty kilograms of tricyclic urea behind her back, a clown?
• Triss, undoubtedly you imagined it! Damn it…
• Well, that’s just great, honey.
Triss blew Patrick an air kiss, to which he nervously grimaced and quietly spat on the ground beneath him. Poor guy!
The squad began to move down the corridor towards the service elevator, which only stopped on this floor except for the winter garden hall and the top penthouse, the last 5 floors of the top management - their own little shopping mall by area. The carpeted corridor rustled quietly as the soldiers moved without making any unnecessary noise, only the muffled steps of the soldiers in their exo-suits could be heard. Although made of lightweight alloys and super-strong polymer composites, each of the suits weighed about 50 kg plus or minus, depending on the size. There were no longer any traces of the recent battle on the walls and floor, and in almost complete silence, they reached the junction and hall, where the elevators were located and where the 4 corridors from the 4 sectors of the tower converged. Near the elevator, there was a rustling sound and everyone turned, raising their weapons, then a muffled hissing sound and several thumps, followed by a dull thud. Quinn tucked the kukri machete behind his back, deftly wiping the blood and saliva off it. The decapitated zombie’s face froze with a slight look of reproach and disappointment.
• Why create unnecessary noise?
He whispered. The others nodded briefly and moved on, avoiding the elevators and heading towards the hidden door of the super-speed service shaft. There was another rustle, then another, and not just one, indistinct moaning from around the corner. A quick glance around the corner, instant counting, as they were taught in training. Patrick readjusted his M249 from the old world, equipped with a fitting for attachment to the slot on the exo-suit behind his back. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to keep it with him during such a lively flight.
• Contact, guys, stealth won’t work.
• Well, here we go, and I was already getting bored, maybe we’ll even find some coffee there.
Triss smiled. Patrick didn’t say anything, just rolled his eyes silently.
• The elevator is on the other side of the shaft, so we’ll take the expert analyst department hall. Otherwise… contact!
Quinn said and raised his shorty. There was a short crack, and the overturned one, with two neat holes above his right eyebrow, collapsed to the floor, barely opening his mouth. And in the same second, the moaning and rustling were replaced by a multivoice roar and stomping, as if a football team was attacking.
• Forward! Wedge formation! I’m first, En and Triss behind me, Quinn at the rear! Run!
• Yes!
In unison, the response came in three gulps. Peeking around the corner, Patrick squeezed the trigger on his machine gun, and the nearest four zombies, rushing towards a new victim, fell lifelessly to the ground with their heads smashed in. Patrick was shooting accurately, despite the long burst. The suit’s servos dampened the recoil, and the suit’s gyrostabilizers allowed him to calmly fire along the head line. But because of the jerky and irregular movements of the zombies, not all bullets hit their heads; some went through, knocking them off their feet and throwing them back. He kept firing without stopping, one zombie with a pierced chest, trying to reach him, received a bullet to the temple from Triss’s assault rifle. She was carrying a short-barreled CQB M416. An excellent choice for indoor work and close combat. Patrick was swinging to the right, En to the left. The heavy assault shotgun drowned out the sounds of battle around it, turning zombies into mush and tearing flesh along with bones, leaving huge head-sized holes, while limbs simply flew off. Patrick paused his fire momentarily to let the barrel cool down. A former clerk who had jumped out from behind a table agilely leaped towards the group. Patrick met him with a direct Spartan punch to the chest, throwing him several meters to the side. The sound of bones cracking could be heard by everyone. Another one managed to grab onto the right arm that held the machine gun near the elbow. The servo-enhanced arm with a clenched fist split the skull like an overripe pumpkin, and bloody pulp splattered in all directions as the zombie collapsed to the floor, leaving only the broken, bulging eye that had fallen out of the shattered eye socket. En selectively shot from his shotgun, picking off the nearest approaching zombies.
• “Reload!” Patrick shouted, dropping the box magazine and stepping aside to let Anna move slightly forward and to the left. Behind and to the right, Triss fired single shots from the staff canteen side and cast a mournful glance at the shattered coffee machine.
• Swiftly, a nimble zombie darted out from under the table, aiming to latch onto Patrick’s right hand. With a sharp twist, Patrick’s left jab, reinforced by servomotors, broke the zombie’s upper jaw, along with the cheekbone, sending it flying in the opposite direction. A brief spray of blood, mucus, and teeth, and the subdued zombie collapsed at Triss’s feet.
• Keeping in the tail of the wedge, Quinn methodically shot two rounds at a time, picking off those coming from the opposite side. Since the goal wasn’t to kill everyone, just a few thousand employees, there simply weren’t enough bullets for all. Quinn didn’t move forward because he was the only one who knew the tower’s layout and the only one without an exo-suit. His Kevlar jacket wasn’t bad, but the protection wasn’t absolute.
• “Grenades, Anna! Upfront!”
• “Got it!”
Anna tossed the shotgun on her shoulder and, after retrieving two grenades, struck the arming button against the thigh armor plate, then hurled them forward and slightly to the side. The explosion scattered the nearest groaners and minced them, splattering the walls. The others began to turn towards the explosions, momentarily losing interest in the fleeing ones. It was enough time to dart around the corner and regroup.
• “Anna, with me! Cover! Quinn, elevator! Triss, watch our backs!”
• “Understood!”
Patrick’s machine gun sprang back to life, shredding skulls and creating a bloody mess, sparking off steel columns. Occasionally, the shotgun roared, practically tearing the groaners apart.
• “Reloading!”
• “Got it!”
• “Quinn, what’s the hold-up?!”
• “It’s not working!”
• “How is that possible?! We don’t have time for this, Kid!”
• “Working on a backup!”
Lowering his MP5 onto his shoulder strap, Quinn didn’t notice a limping zombie sneaking up from the other side. In the moment when its jaws were about to snap shut on Quinn’s ear, Triss jerked and impaled the zombie on a one-foot bayonet from below, beneath the chin. The zombie immediately went limp, its eyes rolling back.
• “You can’t do that, kiddo. It’s not nice to sneak up like that when Uncle Quinn is busy.”
• “Did you understand me?”
Triss affectionately purred, still holding the secondarily dead zombie on the bayonet under its chin. With a movement of her hand, she nodded the zombie’s head.
• “You won’t do it again, will you?”
The dead head shook negatively.
• “You’re such a good kid!”
Finally, Triss dropped the corpse and wiped the knife on it.
• “You really are…”
• “What, darling? Did you want to say something?”
Triss raised an eyebrow in bewilderment, toying with the huge knife between her fingers.
• “…you look great in that suit.”
Quinn quickly corrected himself.
• “Oh, well, thank you, sweetheart. I was starting to think you wouldn’t say anything at all!”
Quinn rolled his eyes and continued to finish off the control panel, realizing that in such company, it was better to watch his words.
• “So, Kid, what’s the deal?! The guests have overstayed their welcome, and it’s time for us to bail!”
• “30 seconds!”
• “That’s too long!”
• “25!”
• “Oh, for crying out loud!”
Patrick tossed the machine gun behind him onto a fitting with an overheated, smoking barrel and pulled out a rail from the luggage compartment attached to his suit. It was a heavy strip of metal sharpened on one side and had a handle… made of hardened steel. It was as heavy as a lumberjack’s axe to an ordinary person. But for the exosuit’s servomotors, it was no heavier than a ruler. With a few swings, Patrick decapitated the nearest and fastest zombies and halved the fourth one from collarbone to navel. It opened up like a flower, standing for a few more moments, generously watering the carpet with blood, before collapsing on its back. Another one, kicked in the chest, flew into the wall, but as it tried to get up, it was pinned to the floor with a steel boot, spraying a vinaigrette from its shattered skull. Descent exo-suits were certainly not Guardian assault suits, but the operator was many times stronger than an ordinary soldier. And the armor was more focused on the torso and head to provide greater mobility, but even between the armor joints, the meta-polymer was very durable, although a direct hit from a large caliber might not withstand it. Anna periodically shot off zombies getting too close to Patrick, while Triss dealt with the inventive ones who decided to bypass them from the flank. The battle lasted no more than two minutes, but it felt like an eternity!
• “Quinn! Hurry up…”
• “Done!”
• “Anna, grenades on my mark, 5 meters!”
• “Got it!”
As the doors opened, Quinn and Triss jumped first, followed by Patrick, who threw away the cooled machine gun and dropped an empty magazine, inserting a new one. Anna set the detonators and tossed three grenades onto the floor 5 meters from the entrance.
• “Masks!”
The helmet visors clicked shut, and the three paratroopers shielded Quinn. Patrick’s M249 growled, the heavy shotgun roared, and Triss’s M416 barked briefly. The turned ones poured in like a solid stream, stumbling and tumbling over the bodies. The doors closed slowly in emergency mode. Bullets were still not infinite, and the squad was in a tense situation. If the elevator doors didn’t close, it would be tough—they would be piled up and tearing at the armor. Although the three in exo-suits could sell their lives dearly and maybe even break through, with Quinn among them, there was simply no chance in this situation. And at some point, the zombies reached the doors, and three defensive grenades exploded simultaneously, reacting to the approaching heat signatures. The squad was hit by a shock wave, shrapnel, and a bloody mist, but they held their ground, and the door finally closed, with a severed zombie hand that had reached the doors still clawing at the floor with its nails. But no one cared anymore…
A silence fell, only disturbed by heavy breathing and the wheezing of noses broken even in training. And then, the familiar and pleasant music started playing, just like in any respectable elevator in the luxurious headquarters of corporations.
“The Heart of the Tower”
The ringing in their ears gradually subsided, making way for the dim glow of neon lights in the elevator’s shaft. Quin sniffed, wiping the soot and dried blood from his face and ears. While the armored suits provided some protection, they couldn’t shield Quin from the concussion entirely.
“Almost a typical day for an ordinary clerk. We’ll reach the cafeteria level soon; could even grab a bite,” Quin remarked.
“Triss, hold on… Son, how are you holding up?” Patrick interrupted.
“Huh?”
“Alive?!”
“Yeah, damn…”
“It’ll pass. Can you stand? Girls, help the lad up. He can rest at home later… maybe,” Patrick said.
“Pat, your motivational skills never fail,” Quin commented.
“Just doing my job as a personal growth coach,” Patrick replied.
“Just like a psychotherapist,” Quin added.
“Right on target, Triss.”
Patrick smirked. “Don’t be modest, sir. I know you auditioned for this role.”
Triss chuckled. “Oh, Beatrice, where did you dig that up? Seriously?”
“From the depths of our glorious and youthful memories,” Beatrice replied.
“A lifetime flashed before my eyes, not a good sign… Damn you and your jokes,” Quin grumbled.
“How uncouth, my dear, to speak so in such refined company,” Patrick teased.
Patrick rolled his eyes in silence.
“So, Triss, En, any breaches in the suits?” Quin inquired.
“Intact, seals unbroken,” En confirmed.
“Got it. Triss?”
“Like the day before prom. No one made it to ‘second base’,” Triss smirked.
“Or didn’t survive?” Colonel retorted.
“Getting cheeky, sir?” Triss squinted playfully.
“Oh, mademoiselle, did you mistake my compliment for impertinence? Can one endure a ball with such a fatal beauty without losing oneself?” Colonel replied smoothly.
“Your humor, Pat, melts like ice in spring…”
“Very transparent and delicate?”
“Yeah… wet, slippery, and cracks with every step.”
Anna chuckled, then blushed under Colonel’s reproachful gaze. Quin, still not fully alert, didn’t pay much attention to the elaborate banter of his old friends. He pondered his own thoughts, evaluating the situation, priorities, options, and chances. The more he thought, the more troubled he became.
The supersonic lift dragged on treacherously due to emergency power limitations. They had a few spare minutes to reassess the situation locally and globally, but Quin found little comfort in it. Just like the odds. At some point, everyone sank into introspection, staring into space. Even Triss momentarily dropped her mocking mask, touching the locket under her suit containing a photo of her late son. But it was brief. Feeling Quin’s gaze, Triss winked meaningfully at him and smiled ferociously. Quin looked away, hastily adjusting his tattered jacket and brushing off dust and debris. Triss stretched her plump lips into an even wider smile, painting Quin’s face red. He always had a way with women, effortlessly charming almost any of them with a snap of his fingers. Yet, in this particular case, he felt like a mouse caught in the gaze of a satisfied boa constrictor. Or even more so, an anaconda. This seemingly relaxed and carefree woman evoked such apprehension.
Ding!
“We’ve arrived,” Patrick announced softly.
“Good, let’s move quietly,” Colonel said.
All three nodded silently, while Quin merely read their lips. He wouldn’t hear whispers like this for a while. If ever.
“The Heart of the Tower” Part 2
The elevator doors silently opened, and the group stepped out cautiously, holding their weapons at the ready. Tension filled the air as they anticipated encountering zombies at every turn. But it was eerily quiet. Suspiciously quiet, even. The group passed through the airlock corridors separating the passageways and public areas from the main attraction on these four floors: the vast atrium of the Winter Garden.
The Winter Garden was more of a mini-preserve in size and volume, with four distinct climatic zones housing different vegetation. As they entered, a pleasant breeze greeted them, carrying the clean, cool air of the steppe. The airlock doors opened, allowing air from inside to fill the space, maintaining negative pressure to keep foreign odors from mixing with the pristine air of the Winter Garden.
Despite its name, the Winter Garden wasn’t strictly a garden; it was more like a mini-sanctuary, with sandy dunes, a temperate forest with small hills and a mountain lake, hot jungles with azure sand and ocean waves, and a touch of Arctic chill from the glacial zone. Each zone seamlessly transitioned into the next, with sculpted columns representing the environment of each zone. These columns were the target of their expedition, as they were the only place in the tower accessible without hindrance.
Walking along the path leading to the central clearing, where paths diverged into different climate zones, the group started feeling uneasy. Everything was quiet, but it was unsettlingly quiet. As they approached the final turn leading to the open space of the central clearing, Anne raised her hand in a closed fist, signaling the group to stop. She led the advance, followed by Patrick, then Quin and Triss bringing up the rear.
Just as Colonel was about to speak, Anne made a grimace of disgust, pressed a finger to her lips, and motioned silently for Patrick to join her. Understanding, Patrick approached the small rise where Anne was crouched and peered over it.
His eyes widened in astonishment, mirroring the grimace of disgust on his face. He beckoned the others over with the same gesture, signaling for silence. When they joined him, they were met with a truly horrifying sight.
In the center of the clearing, where a fountain should have stood for beauty and elegance, there was nothing to be seen. Surrounding the area and within a few meters of it were individuals, some pristine and well-kept, while others appeared as though they had been through a meat grinder, their faces contorted in agony. But they all shared one thing in common: they stood facing a man-made sun towering above the fountain, approximately twenty meters below the Winter Garden’s ceiling. They stood perfectly still, like statues or a jade army, as if frozen in hibernation.
None of the team harbored any hope that the motionless figures would cease to be a threat. Furthermore, without access to the central clearing, dispersing into the relaxation zones of the different climates was impossible. Their path was blocked by man-made ramparts, forest belts, and jungle thickets. Maintaining four different climates in an open space was undoubtedly challenging. All eyes turned questioningly to Patrick, who in turn looked to Quin.
“Empty, you say? No motion sensor signals?” Colonel whispered, practically incinerating Quin with his gaze.
“I don’t understand! I checked everything. The cameras showed that it was empty!” Quin replied.
“Maybe it was empty until now…” Anne interjected.
“What do you mean, Anne? You’re not suggesting that…”
• “I mean, we need to figure out why everything is like this in the first place?”
• “But it can’t be…”
• “Quin, who knew about the operation?”
• “Only my handler, and I didn’t have any information until the very last moment of activation.”
• “Alright, but still. The cameras and motion sensors and thermal readings all showed that the garden was empty. Quin, isn’t it unusual for it to be empty here, with thousands of employees?”
• “You’re not suggesting that they’re being coordinated, are you? That the bosses have long gone or…”
• “Did you see the video showing it was empty? Where you said you were greeted by that semi-intelligent zombie guard with a shotgun?”
• “In the corridor before the last door to the office where I opened the window for you.”
• “What was he doing there? A guard for top managers with a heavy shotgun? And why was he semi-intelligent?”
• “Sounds odd.”
• “Indeed, Quin. It seems Gordon will have to answer a few more questions if the opportunity arises. It appears we’re caught in the crossfire of two competing interests, each with its own agenda but well-informed about the other’s goals.”
• “Indeed, but who could gather them all here? And how? They can only growl and bite.”
• “Apparently not only that. It seems the relays not only broadcast the conversion but also control elements. You understand, son, that if we fail, the whole world will be like this. A test pulse to the surrounding lands, and once all the relays around the world activate, it will all end there. We have very little time, Quin.”
• “I understand, Colonel. There’s no turning back.”
• “There hasn’t been since you said ‘yes’ to that man in the black suit after your graduation.”
• “…”
• “Like all of us, son… like all of us…”
• “That was…?”
• “Gordon. Now General Gordon.”
• “Understood.”
Throughout this conversation, they spoke to Triss.
• “Pat? Any ideas?”
• “Major, they’re on the clearing, and there are four paths leading to the four zones. We can’t get there without passing them, and we don’t have enough ammo to take out over a hundred whisperers.”
Meanwhile, Quin was crouched behind the squad, silently observing the swaying figures of the turned, brooding about something.
• “Darling, maybe we should hit the center with one shot of tricyclics? We have plenty to spare!”
• “One cartridge would be enough to turn the minced meat of a hundred of those silent ones into a mess on the windows.”
• “Good idea, Major, but how do you propose we get it there? Throw it like a grenade? And have you ever thrown a grenade in exo-armor? One wrong move, and it’s game over… for us and not just us. But detonating all the charges anywhere other than the columns won’t guarantee the tower’s collapse. Most likely, several floors will be left with nothing but columns, but that won’t solve the problem.”
• “Pat, what if we split up? Two draw fire while the other two run to set charges.”
• “Not a chance, Anne, not without cover. While one is setting up, the other has to cover. It’s highly potent and unstable explosives in the state it’s in. There are almost no stabilizers in it. Or maybe…? Quin, son, where is…? Quin? Where is he? Damn it! Quin, come in, what’s going on?!”
Patrick growled into the communicator, beginning to understand where Quin had disappeared to.
• “Colonel… Patrick, it’s necessary. There’s no other chance, there are too many of them for us to handle without taking them out. I’ll lure them away, you’ll figure it out yourselves there.”
• “Lieutenant, stand down! Quin, don’t you dare! Come back, we’ll come up with something!”
• “We don’t have time for that, Patrick.”
• “That’s an order, Lieutenant!”
Patrick roared in rage.
• “K…”
• “Quin…”
• “Do your thing, Colonel, on my signal!”
• “What signal?”
• “You’ll understand.”
• “Damn it! Patrick, honey, I’m missing two cartridges from the container!”
• “Will we have enough with the remaining?”
• “With plenty to spare.”
• “Understood. Load everything we have. The kid will buy us time.”
Patrick said dryly, but his eyes betrayed him, threatening to moisten with tears. The comm in his chest made him clench his teeth until they creaked, often making it hard to breathe. There was no time for reflection, but “Damn it!” Another young and skilled fighter plunges into the abyss so you, old demon, can live on! Patrick had lost count of such sacrifices…
Triss sniffed disdainfully, while Anne simply wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. Her will was as steely as ever.
Patrick struggled to say something, but a series of explosions shook the ground, and dust and paint flakes fell from the walls. The zombies seemed to switch on as if on cue, and almost synchronously turned their noses into the wind, heading towards the direction where the explosion had occurred. In just a few seconds, and less than a hundred undead rushed towards the spot where Lieutenant Quin Collins fulfilled his duty to his country. The crackle of gunfire in short bursts broke the remaining soldiers out of their momentary stupor.
• “Those were just siege grenades for now…”
• “Yes, so get ready for an even bigger fireworks show soon. Triss, the charges won’t detonate prematurely, right? After Quin sets the charges?”
• “They shouldn’t. I assume he’ll go down a couple of levels, and there’ll be enough concrete there to prevent premature detonation of the main charges.”
• “Well then, ladies, let’s get to work!”
• “By the way, mademoiselle.”
• “Triss, you’re North! Anne, West is yours! I’ll cover the junction! Then we regroup, run!”
• “Got it!”
The girls replied in unison. Despite Beatrice’s stubbornness, when it came to work, her mask fell off and an experienced, ruthless panther took charge, devoid of doubts and pity. Anne, on the other hand, was always composed and didn’t waste time and energy on wordplay and farce. Two swift shadows darted off in their respective directions.
Patrick, with a habitual gesture, checked the ammo box on his machine gun, clicked the lock. Dropping the machine gun on the fitting behind his back, the Colonel pulled out his .40 Glock with an extended magazine and screwed on the silencer, earlier than expected. He hunkered down, waiting behind the nearest hill. Of course, in the event of a massed attack, he would have to resort to the machine gun, but the last box of armor-piercing rounds had to be saved for emergencies, and making unnecessary noise wasn’t worth it.
Triss swiftly bounded through the tropical thickets, cursing silently at the realism of mud puddles and creeping bushes. The ferns whipping against her makeup also didn’t add any charm. Her hair had long escaped the tie at the back of her head, and unruly strands kept getting in her eyes. But there was no time to stop, thankfully the exo-suit helped navigate most of the terrain, and she could ignore most of the relief features. When she reached the column arranged like a ridged baobab, she cursed again and began to search for the thinnest layer of fake bark to place the charges skillfully, not losing an ounce of power per square millimeter, because if there wasn’t enough, it would all be for nothing…
Anne also wasted no time. She was luckier; the ice-decorated column she had to deal with easily blended in with the stock, and she didn’t even need to pull out the fifty-centimeter rail, ten-millimeter thick, razor-sharp, traditionally called a machete. Everything was going smoothly; she just had to set up the two plates of charges and connect the detonator circuit. She was deeply engrossed in her task and relied on cover, so she didn’t hear the crunch of snow under bare feet… and when she did hear it, it was already too late. Turning without looking, she raised her weapon, but before she could even pull the trigger, she received a sharp blow to the face, akin to a smeared slap. The face shield of her helmet flew off along with a couple of lower teeth on the sides, thankfully her jaw held up, saved by the lower part of the helmet. Her vision dimmed for a moment, and she raised the shotgun again, but once again, she didn’t have time, coordination failed her. With a powerful kick to the stomach, the snarling creature sent Anne into a short flight, and the subsequent impact against the wall knocked all the crap out of her. Broken ribs throbbed with wild pain, and the bent armor plates held off fatal damage, but the lightweight drop suit wouldn’t withstand another blow like that. The Major understood this, feverishly considering her options for resistance. Meanwhile, the beast with its predatory grin and semi-insane, bloodthirsty gaze slowly approached her. It looked somewhat human, but not quite. Torn shirt and pants, through which disproportionately large, vein-covered limbs protruded, hands and bare feet. The mouth, more of a maw, filled with sharp-looking enlarged teeth. The predatory grin and semi-insane, bloodthirsty gaze indicated that this undead wasn’t quite dead, retaining coordination and reaction, not allowing an easy self-shooting, and there wasn’t really anything to… the shotgun lay in the snow, and it was unknown whether it was intact or damaged, and she couldn’t feel the pistol in its holster after that blow. With difficulty catching her breath, she looked into the eyes of the creature slowly approaching her. It didn’t rush.
Seeing that her prey was almost defeated, she savored the moment. Anne, however, didn’t try to convince the undead of its complete and unconditional victory and merely rested her head on its chest, partially covering her eyes. Suddenly, a quick, bulky shadow darted towards her. With a short stroke of white lightning, the creature reflexively ran a few more meters, then collapsed like a sack of dung, splattering dark blood. Its head, still blinking fiercely, seemed puzzled for a moment, then its eyes rolled back and went out. On the brink of the critical zone, gathering all her remaining strength, Anne made her final leap, feeling the machete fallen in the snow from the impact. Waiting for the creature’s final lunge, when it could no longer stop itself, Anne pushed her body with her feet, shifting away from the attack angle, and swung with all her might at the spot where the zombie’s head was supposed to appear. It was a gamble, but there was no other way out. Once again, the bet paid off; the Major cheated death, grateful to the universe for the opportunity to go another round… Rising and shaking herself off, regaining composure and her former calmness, she finally found her .45 in the snow and went to look for her shotgun. As expected, it was practically broken, with a bent barrel and magazine receiver. Well… gripping the machete in her hand and holstering the pistol, the girl headed to where Patrick was waiting.
From Triss’s side, there were short bursts of gunfire, three in a row, followed by silence. Anne wasn’t worried; everything was fine with that rogue; she always managed to get out of any trouble like a cat with a broken nail. Moreover, if she were facing mortal danger, the remaining charges in her backpack… well, let’s just say it would be Loud.
They met again at the junction. Triss, as expected, was perfectly intact and flirting amiably with the slightly irritated and wrinkled Patrick, standing next to a dozen bloodied motionless bodies.
• “How are you, Anne? What’s the status?”
• “I’ll live… for some time. The injuries aren’t critical, just lost my pistol. Charges are in place.”
• “What happened? Who got you like that?”
• “Modified. Not like the usual ones. Semi-sentient. More like an animal than just a zombie.”
• “It doesn’t get easier with time.”
• “You got your share too.”
• “Nonsense, just a couple of scratches. Though I emptied four pistol magazines. These were simpler, but faster than usual, smarter too. Didn’t follow everyone, returned, or they were returned…”
• “Yeah, that’s the question, darling, that worries me the most. My boys followed the trail too.”
• “Looks like we’ve been bought out somehow.”
• “No wonder, with the fireworks our guy set off, maybe he’s still alive, and we did a good job together by the elevator. Of course, someone has something on their mind. But the question isn’t even that. The question is what to do next? We need to stash the remaining gifts under the tree and bail out through the chimney.”
• “Yes, the sooner, the better, before more surprises show up.”
• “Patrick dear, could you spare a couple of M-class magazines? I think your box and a few should be enough.”
• “Here you go.”
Triss deftly caught two magazines and tucked them onto her combat belt. Anne just stepped back a bit, as if not expecting the throw.
• “Anne, are you sure you’re okay?”
• “Yes, Pat, everything’s fine.”
• “Really?”
• “Cross my heart!”
• “Don’t joke, don’t follow a bad example…”
• “From whom, darling?”
• “Oh. Forget it…”
Once again, Patrick ran his hand from top to bottom of his face, exhaling loudly through clenched teeth.
• “So, let’s get going! We’ll group the remaining charges and install them together, then connect them to the detonators.”
• “It would have been quicker to split up.”
• “Of course, Anne, but we’ve already split up and almost left too early.”
Catching their breath, the trio paused behind the last hill before exiting the winter garden zone. The remaining sets of charges were installed without further surprises. They were connected into a single circuit and linked to the detonators into a single wireless network on an ultra-short range. An old system, but in current realities, the most reliable, impervious to hacking and sabotage by digital means. And a distance of several miles for the signal wasn’t a problem. Hunkering down, they observed about two dozen zombies milling around, devoid of even a hint of intellect. Assessing the situation and grabbing their weapons more comfortably, the team dashed towards the exit in the direction of the elevator, to return to the landing site, and then see where it goes from there.
The zombies barely heard the sound of boots clunking on the carpeted floor from composite armor. Some rushed towards them, some walked, and some simply shuffled slowly towards the source of the noise. Patrick’s machine gun roared, and like two overripe watermelons, the heads of the fastest ones leaped over the hill separating the channel leading out of the winter garden. The girls stayed close behind him. Anne pressed her left hand to her chest, gripping a pistol in her right, while Patrick tried not to notice. Triss, bringing up the rear, fired a short burst from her 416 at the agile ones trying to catch up, and they, stumbling like broken dolls, fell to the ground. One bullet added a third eye to one, while another shattered their legs, yet they still attempted to crawl. No one paid attention to them anymore. Suddenly, a door squeaked open around the corner, and a huge, fat yet surprisingly agile zombie lurched out of it. But before it could reach out towards the fleeing prey and bare its carnivorous grin, it stared in bewilderment at the two neatly planted olives in its forehead. Anne quickly fired a double shot from her .45, leaving no backside to the head. “War Roses,” as they were called for their expanding bullet properties, after making a neat entry wound, opened up inside the body like roses, causing irreparable damage and ruptures incompatible with life. Since the .45 caliber didn’t object and knocked down with such force from such a distance. Passing by the stairwell landing, stepping over bodies, they quickly made their way to the coveted elevator, which should have been waiting on the floor. Along the way, they shot down the occasional stray zombies, or rather, wanderers. All of this happened in what seemed like minutes, yet felt like an eternity. Upon arrival at the elevator, the doors were closed, but Patrick, pushing aside dark thoughts, touched the sensor panel and the doors began to open. Before he could even exhale with relief, the colonel’s eyes popped out of their sockets. He didn’t even have time to raise the machine gun; a flash-bang exploded, and something heavy struck his chest. Tumbling several meters, Patrick managed to notice smoke coming from the barrel of a heavy shotgun. Damn you, Quinn! Thankfully, they were shooting lead, not armor-piercing rounds. Anne struggled to get up, coughing heavily, wiping the bloody foam from her cheek with the back of her hand, she staggered aside towards the stairs. Triss helped Patrick to his feet, while his ears were still ringing and he was trying to catch his breath. The shotgun blast to the chest knocked some of the arrogance out of the brave Colonel. In the elevator cabin stood four zombies, four healthy, tall special forces operatives, formerly the elite guards of the tower’s top managers. And they were shooting with precision, skillfully using flash-bangs. They weren’t mindless zombies. They retained a fragment of intellect responsible for combat skills and reflexes. And it definitely led to the logical conclusion of how the Tower’s radiation affected vaccinated people. That it affected differently, depending on the system’s needs or the individual’s body or the brand of vaccine. And even worse, they were all dressed in heavy siege exo suits. They advanced slowly and deliberately. Their fire seemed to have a specific goal: not to kill, but to neutralize. Beatrice’s assault rifle bullets only sparked on the armor. Anne occasionally fired, trying to aim at vulnerable spots around the head from behind cover. The nearest one’s head twitched slightly from the hits, but it didn’t have much effect. After all, it wasn’t a human inside anymore. With a long roll, Patrick found himself behind cover denser than tables and office partitions, a pedestal with a broken column of Porphyry, stylized as ancient decor, kneeling and shouting:
• “Triss, do you have grenades?”
• “Got a couple left.”
• “Three together! Touch-detonated, overhead!”
• “Got it!”
The magnetic fixators clicked, and 3 grenades became one. The overloaded detonator squealed as the sensor touch was triggered. The bundle flew with a whistle straight into the head of the nearest zombie. It reflexively waved its hand and exploded. Half of its helmet was torn off, and the temple was damaged by shrapnel. The zombie convulsively pulled the trigger, and the automatic shotgun emptied its drum, spraying pellets against the walls. The noise was incredible. After twitching for a few more moments, the zombie fell silent. The system registering operator damage kicked in. The suit began to replace itself, kneeling halfway. Taking advantage of the momentary confusion of the zombies, Patrick, kneeling and leaning on the shoulder stock of the machine gun, relying on the gyro stabilizers of the suit, pulled the trigger, emptying the last box magazine of armor-piercing rounds into the head of the next zombie following the first.
The heavy siege exo suits were difficult to penetrate even with armor-piercing rounds. Despite sparking from the helmet’s steel tips, the bullets eventually reached the skull, stopping one zombie and blocking the path for the rest. Patrick ceased fire, aiming the barrel at the next one, realizing he had only a third of a box of rounds left. At most, one more, and that wasn’t guaranteed. But it was worth the risk, though what to do with the remaining rounds? As Patrick prepared to shoot, he suddenly heard a weak voice in his earpiece.
• Colonel, save the ammo… cough cough…
• Quinn? Son, you’re alive? But how? Those explosions…
• Not quite, sir. I’m gone. I gathered them together and blew up in the center. It was quite a fireworks show. But there were still dozens more… cough… cough…
The voice in the earpiece coughed and wheezed.
• In short, Patrick, there are four more like them coming up the second elevator, and whisperers similar to the ones in the hall are running from the upper floors. They released them on you. They realized they could disarm the charges themselves. Without the remote, they’ll explode immediately.
• But what do we do?
• Run down three floors, and there, just like in the beginning, there will be a door, on the same side but lower.
• But what about us? And what about you?
• You’ll figure it out, Colonel. I deliberately tuned in only to your channel. Run downstairs, and you’ll see.
• Quinn, my boy, we won’t forget.
• I know, Patrick.
An explosion of such force erupted that even the remaining zombies in exo suits staggered and fell, clumsily trying to get up. Triss rolled over Anna, who had been lying motionless for several moments. Patrick landed next to the girls in one leap.
• What was that, Pat…?
Anna asked heavily and quietly.
• That was Quinn…
• Where is he then?!
• Um… that was Quinn… was…
• Oh my God! Can you walk?
• I don’t know.
• Damn it, Anne! What’s wrong with you?
• Underestimated… cough cough
Bloody foam appeared at the corners of Anne’s mouth.
• Damn you! cough
Patrick lifted Anne onto his left shoulder, slinging the machine gun strap over his right shoulder, and they ran towards the stairwell. Smashing the door with his foot, they ran over the bodies, occasionally leaping and stepping over them, but more often straight through them. Quinn had done a great job of holding them back. Triss peppered a couple of zombies that popped out from the next floor with lead like a pincushion. Nerves were fraying, and adrenaline was doing its job. Patrick crushed the head of a zombie trying to get up, and it crunched with a guttural squelch, splattering brains on the floor. They ran down the stairs as fast as possible to avoid slipping and falling, as Patrick carried the weakening Anne on his shoulder. Occasionally, something crunchy and squishy squelched under their feet, as the weight of an adult man, a sturdy exo suit, plus the weight of a girl in a similar suit, turned whatever flesh lay underfoot into a bloody mush. With a crash, they smashed through the door to the lower floor, and two agile zombies sprang out, quickly identifying their target. The first one, still mid-air, snarled, grabbing a burst of lead from Patrick’s hastily raised machine gun and fell next to the wall splattered with dark burgundy blood. The second one was much quicker and, in the manner of a parkour enthusiast, leaped several meters up the staircase wall, reaching out with hooked fingers towards Anna, who was lying on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick, unable to do anything in time, merely shifted away from the attack line. The hand, almost reaching Anna, only grabbed the air, and the zombie stared in confusion at the stump just above the elbow. Triss reacted instantly, lunging forward to let the zombie pass and deftly slicing the hapless zombie with her standard machete. Not waiting for it to recover from its unexpected surprise, the wily one plunged the blade into its head from behind, cleaving it in half as if it were a pumpkin, right above the collarbone. Half the magazine was left. There was no other weapon. After all, they hadn’t planned for a siege. Patrick nodded satisfactorily and moved on. Despite his burden, he still went first because he had the heaviest weapon, and there were about thirty rounds left. It was treacherously little for a machine gun, but it should be enough for a couple of such jumpers, and Triss would cover them; of that, he had no doubt. And doubt, in any case, had to be dispelled earlier… before entering the gates of hell…
Reaching the desired floor, they carefully pushed open what was left of the doors and looked inside. The shockwave had obliterated all partitions, doors, and tables. Everything was clear, and the charred remains of corpses resembled overcooked steaks.
There was no fire anywhere, the fire suppression system worked independently of the power supply. The remnants of water trickled down the stairs slowly, and it was quiet. The only thing that pleased the Colonel was the draft. A sure sign that Quinn had indeed left a vent open. They continued on to where there used to be a corridor and many office doors. Now there was only a huge hall and piles of broken construction material. Patrick did his best to block the doors with a heap of rubbish and furniture, securing them with bent reinforcement bars. It wouldn’t hold for long. The elevator shaft was blocked so that the doors couldn’t open. Positioned a few meters from the shattered window opening, where there was neither ceiling nor floor nearby, turned to dust by a powerful explosion. Gently laying Anna down on the floor, he began to open the chest part of her armor. She opened the hatch and coughed up blood, her lips tinged with crimson. The lower part of her torso beneath her left ribs was bruised, filling with internal bleeding.
• En, how could you? Why didn’t you say something?
• The wound was fatal… cough.
• But still…
• You wouldn’t have left me there, and we would all have died.
• But…
• And this way, I made it, and you’ll be able to bury me properly later…
• En… don’t you dare!
• I really don’t want to perish in this hell, Pat…
• Damn! No! Do you hear me! Right now… a mobile base awaits us two hundred meters away. Where’s the blood from on your thigh?
• I got caught in a jump, after cough… taking out the head of that fast one… Pat, take care of me…
She lightly caressed his cheek with a weakening palm.
• It’s a shame it had to end up like this…
• Shh, shh, my dear… just a little longer. Let’s sit down now, and I’ll patch you up.
• Pat…
• Don’t say anything, just hold onto me…
She embraced him around the neck, then the lock mechanisms clicked shut. Patrick couldn’t let her go alone, even though the emergency parachute seemed undamaged in its case behind her back. But that impact against the wall… he didn’t want to risk it.
• Triss, are you alright? Is your emergency parachute intact in its case?
• All good, darling.
• Excellent. I hope the suits can withstand one more landing… well, here goes nothing!
*** Exodus
And they leaped into the charred, molten glass, once a beautiful panoramic floor-to-ceiling window. Made of the toughest thick armored glass, but the tricyclic urea “Chinese destroyer,” the most powerful explosive on the planet, enhanced by specialists for maximum temperature, did its dark work. This was, so to speak, the first trial run. Before the second round of explosions, it was necessary to retreat, preferably a kilometer away, to avoid the blast wave; after all, nearly a hundred kilograms of the most powerful explosive material at such a height had its consequences and could compete with the heaviest aerial bombs, if not several. The air hit their ears again. Patrick no longer tried to cover his ears. He was well hit, and the armored glass spider-webbed, although it held up, and a breath of fresh air wouldn’t hurt after the stifling, humid, bloody haze mixed with the smell of smoke, excrement, and dust, treacherously settling in their lungs. It wasn’t easy; if not for the latest suits, they wouldn’t have made it halfway, although Quinn’s Kevlar held out quite a while; damn it all! It was time, and the emergency cases shot out parachutes made of woven carbon fiber, low enough to avoid anti-aircraft fire, as the automation was calculated. The strength of the carbon fiber allowed it to withstand opening loads at super-low altitudes, even with double cargo. Patrick was so absorbed in his oppressive thoughts that he didn’t notice Anna’s hands weakening. The landing was much softer than when the Colonel was still a cadet undergoing training, a leap back years ago, into another, full of happy and moist hopes.
• Triss, status!
• Pat…
• What? Oh, God, En! Baby, wake up, we’re almost there! We’ll patch you up now!
He continued to shake the pale girl, but she never opened her eyes again.
• Oh, dear God… En, how could this happen? We were just a few dozen meters away!
• Patrick… she lost a lot of blood, and we wouldn’t have been able to stop the internal bleeding, plus her lung… the bloody froth in the corners of her lips. She did everything right; if she had said something and we had delayed, it would have been the end. It’s time for us to go, Pat…
• En…
• Colonel, we have guests!
• What?
He looked back and saw several dozen fast-moving undead, converging on them from the main entrance in jagged lines. He threw the machine gun to his partner.
• Cover me!
She deftly caught it and, spinning in the air like a queen’s guard, fired towards the attackers. Two shots rang out, and two of the fastest boars, tumbling and breaking legs, fell in heaps on the concrete, splattering brains and blood from their shattered heads. Throwing the rifle over her shoulder on its strap, Triss retreated backwards towards the dissected underpass of the highway, a huge school bus, which could have appeared at first glance as a mobile base for special operations. It looked almost identical to a regular school bus, except for its larger volume due to the armor. Of course, the armored wheel protectors were slightly wider and thicker, as they had to carry all that armor. The engine and exterior, of course, underwent coordinate changes. Naturally, instead of open windows in the empty cabin, there was only a holographic projection, creating the illusion of empty space inside. They didn’t have much time to run, but worn out from battle and various injuries and burdens, they ran very slowly. The suit batteries had long shown bottom, and now, in emergency mode, they were counting down their last seconds. With completely drained batteries, the suit became an immovable cage, and moving in it was practically impossible. And removing it in such a state was not a simple task. Only emergency jettison, tearing the armor apart into segments with built-in charges and turning it into a pile of unconnectable metal junk. Patrick stumbled and fell to one knee, which sparked against the concrete. Triss, firing single shots, took down a couple more particularly fast undead, discarding the now useless machine gun, and rushed to help the Colonel, who continued to kneel in depleted armor. On his shoulder still rested Anna’s body; he couldn’t bring himself to leave her, despite the threat to his own life. Removing the armor now would be a big mistake.
• Forgive me, my girl…
Wiping away a tear, Triss unfastened the almost depleted, but still only almost, battery and clicked it into the slot between Patrick’s shoulder blades. He instantly got up and briskly trotted the remaining dozen meters to the lifesaving armor. Triss lingered a bit, dealing with the Colonel’s battery, letting the nearest zombies pass by. Hearing the snorting and guttural growls, she quickly turned one hundred and eighty degrees and almost flung the rifle, tearing it off her shoulder.
But before she could, with a powerful swing, the creature knocked the weapon out of the girl's hands and with another blow, knocked her onto the concrete, the broken visor of her helmet hanging on wires. Grinning triumphantly, it leaped towards the fallen girl, anticipating victory. Its jaws closed inches from Triss's face, her body went limp, and her eyes rolled back for good. Knocked off balance and nearly sent into a deep knockout, she managed to instinctively unclip the machete from her right thigh and thrust it into the chin of the snarling monster up to the hilt... her body remained hanging like a marionette doll on a single machete. Pulling out the blade, she spun around, sweeping off a few more limbs with a flurry of blows, particularly fast pursuers, but it wasn't enough; the horde was rapidly catching up, and the density of the enemy increased with each fraction of a second. Jump, roll, lunge, another abomination ran on without a head...
Strike, disorientation, fall, roll, rise, strike, splatters... blood from a broken face blinds her, unable to wipe them with gloves, strike, jump, roll, a severed arm slaps the concrete, strike, retreat, direct thrust, retreat, strike, strength fading, another monster falls without half a tower. Strike, jump, the machete sharpens into the nearest undead's collarbone, without time to retrieve it, she throws the handle, turns, a backfist pulverizes the temporal part of the next zombie's head, turning its contents into mush.
- Pat!!!
Unable to react under the onslaught of the enemy, Triss falls on her back, watching the beast's snout lean over her face, a shotgun blasts, once again, the face is splattered with a foul-smelling bloody mess... pushing the corpse with a severed head off her, she rolls backward, gets up, the shotgun blasts twice more, a couple of sacks of shit tumble through, pierced through and through by heavy buckshot... in the doorway stood Patrick, pulling out the twelve-gauge pump-action shotgun from the van, reloading the bolt with one hand, reminiscent of a famous actor from the past century...
He throws the shotgun, and Triss deftly catches it in mid-air, immediately blowing off the boisterous head from the shoulders, firing a couple more shots, then swiftly throws herself into the open door of the "school bus," firing the last shot into the mouth of the next champion runner, and the door slams shut with a clang, the turbocharged motor roars like a furious bull, the tires tear the unfortunate concrete, and twelve cylinders of fury carry the multi-ton machine away from the increasingly approaching zombies. Triss falls on her back, breathing heavily... hitting the emergency release, a series of claps, the joint mechanisms clang, and the armor falls off in chunks of iron next to the girl's heated, sweat-drenched body, mixed with her and others' blood.
- Patrick, let's go...
- Triss, are you okay?
- Yes, they got a bite in, but I'm fine... Patrick, the detonator...
- But how? Triss, everything will be okay...
- Patrick, we don't have time.
- We need to move further away, the explosion...
- Just do it, damn it!!!
The squeak of the primed transmitter of the remote detonator, a click...
A bright flash briefly blinded Patrick in the rearview mirror; roughly halfway up the tower, a powerful explosion from a thermite charge shook the four columns, and the shockwave tore through the building, smashing all the remaining glass and sweeping away the interior partitions, a huge "soapy" bubble spread in all directions, and within a kilometer radius, there were no intact windows, and the nearest dilapidated structures shattered into pieces. The crowd of zombies, several hundred meters away, was simply smeared on the concrete into a bloody mush; the rest, farther away, became broken dolls, losing limbs, scattering in all directions along the path of the shockwave. Patrick's "school bus" was hit by a blast of compressed air mixed with debris and wreckage of buildings and pieces of bodies. Patrick, barely holding onto the controls, maneuvered between falling columns and abandoned cars.
The tower trembled and began to tilt swiftly to the west, and the broadcast signal from the obelisk ceased. The terrible ringing in their ears disappeared simultaneously, and thoughts gradually returned to normal. The zombies rushing around the city simultaneously stopped and blissfully stared ahead with unfocused, cloudy eyes, but no longer moved or danced in the mad horror park...
- Patrick, I've been bitten.
- Triss, it's okay, everything will work out, we won.
- No, Pat, it's not that simple...
- Triss, what are you talking about...?
- I can feel it inside me, I don't know how... I don't want to... Tell Gordon that...
- Triss...!
A shot rang out, and the bloody mist, mixed with gunpowder smoke, reached Patrick, and he understood everything.
He didn't want to turn around; he already knew that Beatrice didn't accept half-measures. There were no options... it was all over.
What’s Next?
On the circular view cameras, suddenly, the Colonel noticed that the Tower’s fall had abruptly stopped. Judging by the flashes of maneuvering rocket engines, the emergency system had kicked in. The Tower’s tilt was slowing down and practically came to a halt. In contrast, on the side of the falling Tower, emergency propulsion closer to the top of the building kicked in, burning thousands of tons of rocket fuel, preventing the Tower from collapsing entirely…
• Gordon?
• I’m still here, Patrick.
• What luck! I thought you were already enjoying cigars and brandy back at headquarters.
• Very amusing, Patrick…
• We have a problem, General.
• I can see that.
• What’s the plan? There is no plan…
• The Twins?
• How did you guess?
• What other options do we have?
• You’re right, none. Triss, Anna?
• General…
• Did she say something?
• Yes… she asked…
• Understood, Colonel, next communication session on execution.
• Gordon…
• …yes?
• At ease…
Gordon and Smuty
• Smuty.
• Yes, General?
• How long will it take to reach the Tower at full throttle?
• About twenty seconds, sir. What are you planning?
• Well, Smuty, there are no other options.
• But how? Never mind, I’m with you till the end.
• Stand down, Captain.
• But, General, what about…? I refuse!
• Alright, Smuty, whatever you say. What needs to be done?
• Calculating trajectory, full throttle with full ammunition set to detonate on impact.
• Understood. Floor it, Smuty!
• Aye, sir! Buckle up!
• I’m doing it now.
• Okay!
• Smuty.
• Yes?
• Is autopilot engaged?
• Yes, but I’m on manual.
• Set autopilot with auto trajectory calculation. We can’t afford to miss, it’s a one in a million chance!
• Aye, sir. Autopilot initiated!
• Will it be able to reach the target on its own now?
• Yes, but I’ll need to monitor it to the end to ensure the system doesn’t shut down.
• Understood.
• General, what are you…?
• Good luck, Smuty.
• NOOOO…
The emergency release lever clicked, the canopy ejected, and the pilot’s seat, along with the pilot, catapulted out. The lever remained in the General’s hand.
• You’ve done your part, Smuty. The rest is between me and them…
The emergency seal closed the yawning gap of the canopy, and the wind ceased to whistle in their ears. Gordon sat back and casually lit one of the two cigars prepared for himself and Patrick.
• Well, you bastard, let’s see what you’re made of…
Patrick
The communication went silent, and Patrick noticed a fiery meteor flashing into the tilting building… But… a moment earlier, as billows of impenetrable smoke billowed out, the massive spire of the tilting Tower suddenly shot upward, separating from the tower and not even flying a hundred meters before its maneuvering engines kicked in, soaring into the sky at the speed of a first-space launch, beginning to move away into the heavens and disappearing behind the clouds. A moment later, the explosion of the supersonic heavy flyer ejected into the building echoed. The structure couldn’t withstand it, and the tilt value crossed the critical mark. The nearly kilometer-high, tallest and most dangerous Tower in the world, snapped in half, hurtling down from half its height. The impact was so powerful that the earth trembled… At some point, something heavy, falling from above, struck the front axle of the armored vehicle, and Patrick lost control. The multi-ton machine tumbled through the air like a boot kicked off after a failed kick at a ball. After several shifts in the horizon line, Patrick was struck against the side instrument panel, and the light finally went out…
Epilogue
Silence, ominous silence…
But no… ringing, ringing in the ears… where from?
• Pat… darling, are you alright?
• What?
He blinked and couldn’t believe his eyes.
• Am I dead? Is it all over?
• What nonsense, darling, you’re alive, everything’s fine, look at yourself. You’re okay.
• Yes, but where am I? And how did I…?
• We just moved you to a comfortable room in the surviving hotel.
• What about my armor…? Why am I in… a robe? Why am I in a robe?
• We just thought you needed freshening up.
• Weapons, armor, where?
• Patrick, darling, everything’s fine, everything’s okay. Everything’s in place, waiting for you in the hallway if you’re so worried. Right, Triss?
• Of course, Anna, dear, everything’s cleaned, lubricated, and ready for immediate use.
• Triss, Anna? What do you mean?
• Yes, darling, everything’s fine, we’re here.
• But how?
• Anna just lay down to rest and soon woke up.
• But how is that possible? I closed her eyes myself.
• Well, in the heat of battle and adrenaline, you simply didn’t notice that there was still life in her. I just administered first aid, and then the special regenerator from the armored vehicle did its job. It’s that simple, darling.
• But… Triss… you shot yourself in the twelfth, there was nothing left of your head, I was splattered with blood.
• Where did you get that idea, Pat? Where did you get the idea that she shot herself?
Anna approached too quietly and placed her hands on his shoulders, startling Patrick.
• But I… she said…
- What does it matter what she said...
Anna leaned in and gently kissed him on the lips, enveloping him in the alluring scent of her charming body. As if she hadn't been on such a difficult mission. Not a single bruise or scratch. Strange. The medbay doesn't work like that. There should have been something left. And Triss, there wasn't even a tower there, just the heavy fall of her body and the splashes of a shattered skull with brains, and then the slapping of chunks of flesh torn from the remains of her neck... Patrick had heard many of these sounds throughout his life and couldn't mistake them. Something wasn't right here. But damn it, Triss and Anna, they're alive! The only close people in the whole world, they're still alive after all. Patrick stood up and looked around, Anna looked very fresh and alluring with her sleek, panther-like body. And Triss... her white locks cascaded over her large, rising chest, and her full lips in a light, seductive half-smile hinted very unmistakably that she wasn't just feeling nostalgic. Patrick suddenly felt a strange desire, he wanted both of them, together. Thoughts were swirling in his head, and he decided he needed to catch his breath, preferably away from the company of these beautiful, risen-from-the-dead ladies.
- Girls, where's the bathroom around here?
- Right and to the right from the corridor, darling. Don't dawdle there.
- Thanks, Triss.
Patrick washed up and brushed his teeth, realizing that today was no longer today, but tomorrow... what had happened to him for almost a day? After finishing his cigarette, he went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, but in the hallway, he bumped into the girls. Naked girls. Anna looked at him with desire, pressed tightly against Triss, whose ample, firm chest rose with a deep breath. The girls' gaze clearly hinted at their impatience and extreme arousal. Patrick was lost in conjectures, lust clouding his eyes... he couldn't hold himself back and almost succumbed, passing by Triss, he accidentally brushed her ample chest with the back of his hand and almost gave in. If it weren't for one BUT. Anna, she had never behaved like this. Not even when they had a romance back in the distant past in the Far East during their service. And Triss... she had loved Gordon her whole life, leaving her because of his career... even though she married and bore a son from her husband, Triss couldn't love him and soon after their son's death, they separated. Triss never let anyone get so close to her again. Despite her ostensible coquettishness and looseness, she was always categorical about these matters. None of this made sense to Patrick, and he realized he needed to catch his breath and preferably do it away from the company of these beautiful, risen-from-the-dead ladies.
- Girls, let's not act like teenagers in the hallway, make yourselves comfortable in the bedroom, and I'll quickly freshen up, it's awkward feeling like this.
And he kissed one passionately on the lips and then the other. It took all his strength to pull away...
- Alright, darling, just don't take too long. In this state, ladies can't wait for long... or we'll start without you.
She sent him an airy kiss and caressed her exposed ample chest, and her nipple immediately stiffened. Patrick nervously swallowed and headed towards the bathroom, watching the girls. They embraced and floated into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. They were behaving very strangely, and this intense arousal completely knocked out his thought process. And yet, how did they know that I wanted both of them? It was too simple. And yet too difficult. It's too simple to throw oneself into it all and lose oneself in the stream of passion and desire, what else does a heart longing for female love need. Patrick's life experience taught him that nothing is ever too simple. And at the same time, it was very difficult to refuse all of this, but the Colonel understood that this was the only right decision in order to gather his thoughts somehow and try to understand what the hell is going on here?! Patrick turned on the shower and loudly closed the bathroom door from the other side. At the same time, taking a deep breath, he quietly went out, closing the entrance door behind him, grabbing the weapons and the armored suit case. He checked the battery, it was charged, with a couple more in reserve. Strange, of course, but that's good. A shotgun and a couple of dozen rounds for it. That should be enough for now. Entering the elevator, after the doors closed, Patrick placed the suit case tightly against the bulkhead and pressed the activation button. The servo drives hummed and, with a rustle of bearings, the drop exo armor opened again, ready to accept the operator.
Patrick turned around, stepping into his boots, leaning his back against the open frame of the armor. Then, sliding his hands into the manipulator gloves, he clenched both fists simultaneously, activating the exo-suit. The servomotors hissed again, and the armor, creaking at the joints, sequentially closed, concealing the operator behind layers of super-strong composite and steel. Securing the shotgun in the mount on his back, Patrick checked the machete on his thigh; there was no pistol, no holster. We'll make do. The elevator chimed, and the doors opened on the first level of a rather decent hotel. Patrick was already thinking of reaching for his weapon, but everything seemed fine. There were scattered belongings, broken glass, and damaged furniture in places, but no one was running in panic or fending off bloodthirsty zombies. And there were no corpses or zombies. Ordinary people peacefully collected shards and debris, sweeping, cleaning, and wiping away traces of yesterday's carnage. They all seemed like ordinary people, smiling peacefully as they passed him by. But something was off. How could everything be okay when there were casualties, wounded, corpses, and body parts scattered around after the explosion? Patrick was puzzled. It wasn't possible to localize, remove, and process so many bodies within a day. It would take weeks under normal circumstances, let alone now. The Colonel slung the Winchester shotgun from behind his back, snapped the bolt latch, and briskly moved towards the exit.
"Where are the bodies?" he asked a passing chambermaid. She, with a sweet smile on her face, looked at him bewilderedly and said, "Are you joking, sir? That's very funny indeed… hehe."
"What's so funny about it? Yesterday after the Tower explosion and collapse, there were casualties here. Around two to three thousand people. Haven't you heard?"
"Wow, so many casualties, but where from? How did you come up with that, sir? Oh, yes, the Tower is gone. It was demolished by a controlled directional explosion. Everything was carefully planned. There are no casualties because there was a planned evacuation of the staff. Why do you ask? Is something wrong? Should I call the manager?"
"No, no, it's nothing. I just got hit on the head with a brick yesterday after the planned tower explosion, and then instead of painkillers, I drank a bottle of whiskey, so my memory is a bit fuzzy."
"Well, well… surprising. You should report it to the administration. They should compensate you and provide medical care!"
"And then I'll become just like you…"
"What, sorry?"
"I mean, I'll become as healthy and happy as you."
"Oh, of course! Should I inform the manager? He'll contact the administration responsible for demolishing the Tower and escort you to the nearest medical center. Our company lawyer will also be there."
"No, dear, that's unnecessary. I was just about to head to the administration… (wherever it may be…)," he added to himself.
"Thank you for using our hotel's services, sir. Have a nice day. Come again, we're always glad to see you."
"Thank you, ma'am."
Patrick stepped out onto the street and inhaled the fresh scent of a new world. He hadn't fully understood what had happened yet, but he had a rough idea. The strangest thing was that no one seemed to notice his armor and weapons. Normally, people would immediately notice and either be terrified or watch someone in such gear very attentively. But these people, with their blissful smiles and slightly distracted gaze, as if they simply didn't notice him. And if he addressed someone, they would politely engage with him, then bid farewell and go about their business. As if a healthy, armed soldier in a combat exo-suit was something they saw every day. Patrick glanced in the direction where the Tower always used to stand. There was nothing there. Yes, he could hear machinery working, clearing away the rubble, but there was nothing else standing. And the Colonel distinctly remembered, before he forgot, that the upper half of the Tower collapsed, while the lower half remained standing. And yes, he remembered that the Tower spire, which wasn't really a spire, detached and launched into space on rocket engines, apparently towards open space. Presumably towards the Moon. But how could such a thing happen?
"Did you think it would be so easy, Pat?"
Unexpectedly, the sound of the suit's speakers startled Patrick. He instinctively shifted to the side from the attack line, rolled over, and crouched behind the hood of a parked car, holding up his shotgun and resting the weapon on the hood.
"Did you think it would be so easy to fly into the most heavily guarded object in the world, shoot everyone, blow it up, and calmly drive off into the sunset? Did you, Pat?"
The Colonel remained silent, listening intently. Let the mysterious interlocutor expose their cards as much as possible before starting a dialogue.
- "But you turned out to be smarter and stronger than I thought. Although I rarely make mistakes. I didn't foresee this. Giving up the company of the two most desirable girls was your strongest and most courageous act. After that, I even begin to believe in people again, although it's not as important anymore. You've impressed me greatly, sparked my interest, so to speak."
- "Who are you, and what the hell do you want from me?"
- "Oh, I have many names, Patrick. Many well-known ones, and even more unknown ones. But what does that matter now?"
- "...Advisor?"
- "Oh, how informed you are. Commendable. But no, aim higher, Pat, much higher."
- "How did I earn such an honor?"
- "It just so happened that you're one of those who are immune to the new and the beautiful."
- "To your damn virus? But I didn't get vaccinated, just like Triss and Anna."
- "Come on, Patrick, the vaccine wasn't the only way. The girls were breathing the air in the Tower. There were many converts there. Yes, they lasted longer than others; the vaccine was a catalyst. And they might have lasted even longer, but their old lives were cut short. But new and beautiful ones began! You could say they just underwent an upgrade. They retained all their old attachments and memories."
- "Well, they also acquired a few new ones…" Patrick smirked crookedly.
- "Yes, there are always adjustments to any outcome. But it's much more interesting to think about what to do with you, Pat. After all, neither of the three affected you. That's somewhat unsettling to me."
- "Well, I suppose if you could do something, you would have already done it."
- "Oh, Patrick, I could snap my fingers, and your new friends would tear you apart, or rather, just crush you in a fit of insane love."
- "So, is this your idea of a new beautiful world? How are they any different from zombies then?"
- "For me, they're not different at all, but for you, they're practically everything. There's always something you have to sacrifice. But people like you have no place in this new world."
- "So, I'm not alone, that's already more cards on my side."
- "Don't flatter yourself, Colonel. You're alive only because I'm very interested in meeting you and talking face to face."
- "I'm afraid you won't survive this encounter, Savaof!"
- Loud, piercing laughter drowned out the speakers, and the harsh yet insinuating voice echoed directly in his head.
- "You first have to make it to our meeting, and then we'll see…"
The connection was cut, and the voice in his head quieted down. But Patrick understood something for himself. He activated the ultra-short wave scanner on familiar frequencies used by long-distance travelers and radio enthusiasts and discovered something. A sporadic transmission, mixed with interference…
- "…anyone he…rs?! Anybod…sane left? Respond! Some…e!"
- "Smutty?"
- "Patrick? But how?"
- "Seventh closed."
- "Seventh closed understood."
Patrick switched to the closed military channel, and the connection was much better.
- "Patrick, would you mind if I borrowed your Challenger sixty-nine for a couple of days?"
- "Hell no, you bastard!"
- "Oh my God! It's really you, Colonel! How glad I am! General Gordon sent me…"
- "I know, Smut, I know."
- "What are your orders, Colonel?"
- "We need to find those who haven't changed."
- "I've picked up some radio broadcasts where people are looking for the sane ones."
- "Get ready, we have a lot to do, Smut…"
"Roger that!"
Alternative 22
© Copyright: Äìèòðèé Øóëüãà 2, 2024
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