The Genesis Plague

75

Ramirez blazed like a thunderbolt through the cave, determined to return to the outside world in record time. Doing his best to keep the light directed towards the dodgy ground, he pumped his arms and legs like pistons, remembering how it felt to sprint the fifty at high school track meets. Normally he’d be looking over his shoulder for anyone sneaking up in his wake. For this race, however, he wasn’t looking back.

He could barely stomach the idea of his niece’s caged gerbil, Felix. The hell with Felix. Felix was nothing but a pimped-out mouse.

But rats? A cave full of huge, filthy rats? Repulsive. Made his nuts pull up into his stomach. And these rats seemed to be out for blood. The way they came at him like that? Pursued him? That couldn’t be normal. Rats didn’t eat live meat, did they? he wondered. But they sure liked the taste of Holt. The poor bastard was covered in the things. And there was nothing Ramirez could’ve done about it. It’s not like he could’ve swatted them away or shot them off Holt’s chest. There were so many of them.

There was only one option: run … hard.

Back in the cave, when he’d discarded his M-16, he’d barely glimpsed Hazo marooned on top of one those sadistic breeding kennels where some twisted psycho nurtured those flesh-eating-rodents-from-Hell. He’d be sure to send some guys with flamethrowers and grenades back inside to fry the critters and pull Hazo out — assuming he didn’t die from demon pestilence first.

As Ramirez tore through the tunnel, the squealing din faded and he became confident he’d make it out from the mountain unscathed. In fact, it sounded as if the rats had stayed inside the cave.

Ramirez’s relief, however, instantly withered when up ahead in the tunnel’s dark throat, a series of bright flashes coincided perfectly with the metallic hammering of automatic gunfire delivered at point-blank range.

The bullets struck him low — one shattering his left kneecap, six more to the groin and thighs. His legs instantly went out and his face slammed into the ground like a pile driver. It was so fast, so shocking, that he didn’t even scream. With all the adrenaline pumping through his system, even the pain was slow coming.

But when the gunman emerged into the glowing cone of his fumbled flashlight, the sting of treachery came instantaneously.

‘Crawford?’ he groaned, blood streaming into his right eye from a ragged gash that split his forehead. ‘Wh — why?’

There was no answer. The colonel simply pressed the M-16’s muzzle against Ramirez’s head and delivered the kill shot.