Extinction Cycle: Recovery by Baillie Owen

Author:Baillie, Owen [Baillie, Owen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: INfected
Publisher: Kindle Worlds
Published: 2016-10-18T04:00:00+00:00

9

Zabenko was resting against the wall with his knees up, his brow furrowed with the worry of an uncertain future. Gibbs squatted beside him. Wearing the full MOPP suit made it a challenge to keep his balance. “Eiesman in there is getting sick already.” Zabenko looked up, adjusting his spectacles. “You were wounded before Eiesman. Why aren’t you sick?”

Zabenko pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I don’t know.” He paused, thinking. “Maybe it’s the magnitude of the wound.”

A heavy thud sounded from the other side of the hallway. Gibbs turned towards the office where they had left Eiesman. Charman had hold of the door, leaning away from it with the full weight of his body. Eiesman was jumping around. Gibbs stood and sprinted towards the door.

“He’s going crazy,” Charman said as Gibbs arrived.

Splashes of black gore covered the table and floor. “What the fuck is that?”

“Spew! He vomited it up.”

Standing over the table, Eiesman convulsed, shooting out another spray of blood. His mouth opened and closed, as if he was trying to cough up more. Blood oozed from his eyes and nose. His face looked white, almost as though the blood was running out of him. He looked up at them with a fright in his eyes that Gibbs had never seen before. The other men arrived with Zabenko in tow, his eyes growing wide behind his thin spectacles.

“How do we lock this fucking door?” Gibbs asked.

“Use the card,” Zabenko said.

“Where is it?”

“I gave it to Eiesman,” Acreman said.

“I have one.” Zabenko clumsily reached into the front pocket his lab coat and pulled out another of the plastic cards. He handed it to Gibbs, who waved it near a small plastic plate and a red light appeared along with a metallic click. Charman released the handle and stepped back.

Eiesman came around the other side of the table and approached the door. There were dark bruises underneath his eyes, and the whites had turned a horrible bright red. A trickle of blood oozed from his left ear.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Phillips asked.

Gibbs glanced around at all the men, a similar expression of incredulity on their faces. Trev and Harding maintained their weapons on the hallway. Gibbs’ gut stirred, reminding him of Grace’s death. The familiarity of losing a man returned. What could he do? Nothing. There was nothing to be done to save Eiesman. Gibbs pledge to himself to look after the man had failed already. Grace would have been disappointed.

Eiesman began to speak, though his voice was muted through the glass. He turned to the wall, as if somebody was in the room with him, and began to wave his hands and shout. He took a step towards it and slammed the back of his fist against the plaster.

“Look at his skin,” Trev said.

The flesh of his back and sides had taken on red, blotchy color. Eiesman scratched at it as though some insatiable itch existed. Red lines appeared on his pale flesh.

Philips rapped on the window.

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