Empire's End

Thirty-Seven / In Every Man

“That barricade isn’t gonna hold,” Zane said.

“Where do we go? Upstairs?” Dalton shook his head.

“How about into the damn street then?” snapped Rhodes.

“Calm down. I know another way.” Zane started down the hall. “Follow me.”

The doctor led them down a stairwell and through a pair of doors labeled PATHOLOGY. Producing a set of keys, he unlocked an unmarked door. “More stairs.”

This stairwell was pitch dark and smelled of disinfectant. Feeling his way down, Dalton silently chastised himself for coming into the city. Either way, there was nothing he could have done to save Briggs, but at least he could’ve stayed out in the field and been of some use.

Zane pushed open a heavy steel door and flipped a light switch. The three men entered a long room lined with counters, upon which sat clipboards and vats of preserving fluid. Dalton was sure of what the liquid was, because inside the greenish soup twitched severed hands and feet.

“Shit,” Rhodes whispered. He approached a tank containing a coiled spinal cord and brain. The eyeballs were still attached; they drifted over towards him, and the pupils shrank. “Fuck!” Rhodes jumped away.

“This is where they were studying the plague,” Zane said. “I guess none of the docs have gotten here yet this morning — guess they won’t be coming in at all, will they? Anyway, the Senate allotted a bit of pocket change to let these guys poke and prod. Pointless, really.”

Dalton picked up a clipboard and read the notes scribbled there. “Were they trying to find a cure?”

“Doubt it,” said Zane. “The last generation of scientists gave up on that. I don’t know what exactly they hoped to understand by playing with these body parts. I think they just didn’t know what else to do with themselves.”

“‘Spiritual constitution,’” Rhodes read from a clipboard. “‘Quantifying the temporal bond.’ What is this shit?”

“Let me see that.” Zane took the clipboard. “Oh dear. Looks like they bought into the ol’ spiritual strength versus rate of infection nonsense. They really were scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

A dull thud resonated through the room. Dalton and Rhodes drew their weapons. “It came from down here,” Dalton said softly.

Another thump. At the far end of the room, Dalton noticed a tiny porthole set into the wall. Creeping towards it, he reached out the counter beneath the glass and found that it pulled away from the wall. The porthole was set in a door. He pressed his face to it. “Lord.”

A priest lay on the floor of a dimly-lit eight-by-eight cell. He looked to be in his seventies, perhaps older. It was hard to tell because of his gaunt, sickly expression. He had to be infected.

Zane joined Dalton at the porthole. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“What in God’s name are they doing to this man?” Dalton breathed.

“Don’t you see? He’s a man of God. They’re testing the virus on him to see how long it takes. They’re testing his spirit.”

“This is insane!” Dalton cried. He pounded on the glass. “Sir! Father!”

The priest stirred a bit. He looked up through slits and opened his mouth. Saliva ran from his lips to the floor.

“We’ve got to get in there.” Dalton felt along the wall. There had to be a way to open the damn door. They couldn’t have just sealed him in there… could they?

“Forget it,” Zane said. “He’s a lost cause.”

“But he doesn’t deserve to die like this!”

“Don’t waste another bullet!” Zane retorted. “It’s still a long way out of the city.”

“So you know of a way out? Down here?”

“Maybe. It’s been so long since I snooped around down here, I don’t know if it’s still here. But I’m betting it is.”

Dalton looked at the priest. The old man reached a pale hand toward him. Dalton threw himself against the door. “C’mon!”

“Let it go, man!” Rhodes pulled Dalton back. “We’ve gotta save the uninfected! That means us!”

Zane knelt and crawled beneath the counter. “Here it is.” He pried at a grate in the wall. “Help me out.”

Rhodes ducked down and kicked the grate with a loud BANG! It fell away.

“Thanks.” Zane crawled through the hole. “Follow me.”

Dalton shook his head sadly at the priest, mouthing “I’m sorry.”

The old man shook his head in response, as if to dismiss the matter, and gave him a small smile.

They made their way through a cramped passage and rose in an enormous tunnel. Zane produced a penlight and illuminated a set of metal tracks. “Old subway system. They closed it off years back. I just knew they meant to use it as an escape route. Tricky bastards.”

“Did you hear that?” Rhodes pointed his Glock down the tunnel. From around a sharp bend they saw moving lights. Electric torches.

Dalton took point, peering through his scope. He saw the silhouette of a man in uniform. “Army,” he whispered, and quickened his pace.

“Hey!” he called as others came into view. They trained their weapons on him. “I’m one of you!” he yelled.

A sergeant approached him. “Where did you come from?”

“They hospital. I have two civilians with me. Can I get them out through here?”

“We’re not letting anyone out,” the sergeant replied gruffly. He turned to his men, and for the first time Dalton saw what they were doing, hunched along the walls — laying charges.

“What?” Dalton gasped. “You’re going to blow it? You can’t! There are tens of thousands of people still in the city!”

“It’s a hot zone,” the sergeant said. “No one gets out. I’m afraid that includes you, soldier.”

“Are you fuckin’ with me?” Rhodes pushed past Dalton and grabbed the sergeant by his shirt. “You’d better—”

A pistol was pressed against his temple. “Back off,” a private stammered. “Let him go.”

“Better do what he says,” the sergeant muttered.

“You can’t just sentence all those people to die!” Rhodes cried. “You’re supposed to protect people!”

“We are! We’re protecting the other cities!”

“Let him go, Rhodes,” Dalton said.

The cop released the sergeant and threw his arms in the air. “This is bullshit!”

“Sergeant,” Dalton pleaded, “you’ve got to let us evacuate civilians. They can be placed under quarantine as soon as they get out! Just let them out for God’s sake!”

“That’s directly defying the Senate’s orders,” the sergeant said.

“To Hell with them! They’ve never been part of this war! We’re all the same to them — one of these days it’s gonna be your ass on the line, Sergeant!”

“My ass is already on the line, son!”

“Those people up there aren’t dead,” Zane said. “Even if the Senate’s written them off, they’re not dead. Not unless you do this.”

“I don’t take orders from—” the sergeant snapped, then stopped.

“From who? Civilians? Is that what you were gonna say?” Dalton stood toe-to-toe with the sergeant. “For the love of God, just give us a little time. We can get people out through here. You don’t have to help. Just don’t blow the tunnels yet.”

“I… I can’t.”

“Yes you can.” Dalton looked at the other soldiers, who were all watching the confrontation. “Is this what you want to do? Is this how we win?”

“Sergeant,” said Zane. “Women. Children.”

“Shit.” The sergeant turned from them. He looked into the faces of his men and said, “Shit!”

He stabbed his finger into Dalton’s face. “I’ll give you a few hours. That’s it. I can’t give you any more than that. Understand?”

“All right.” Dalton gave the man a crisp salute. “Thank you.”

“I can’t stop the others in the other tunnels. I can only give you this.”

“It’s enough,” Dalton said.