Free Contaminated: A Zombie Survival Novel by Suzanne Robb Page A

to be honest.
    “Why the hell were we able to do that?” Newell asked.
    “It doesn’t matter. Let’s get out of these harnesses and secure Reception,” Frank said as he slipped his backpack onto his shoulder and stepped into the darkened room. M4 held at the ready.
    The emergency lights were intermittent. No guards manned the desk, but footsteps could be heard. As Frank and his team moved forward, he saw a shadow in the back of the room. When he turned to get a better look, it was gone.
    “Do you hear that?” Lightfoot asked.
    “I can’t hear anything with this damn thing on my head,” Carson complained.
    “Shut up, idiot,” Lightfoot hissed back.
    Frank listened and sure enough, his ears picked up on something. He crouched low to the ground and moved forward. The noise came from behind the desk. When he rounded the corner, he fell back at what he saw and scrambled backward, causing a few of the others to lose their balance and trip as well.
    “What the hell, Monroe,” Carson yelled.
    At the same time, one of the duty guards stood and ambled toward them; his lower face covered in a dark liquid.
    Frank fired a round into the guy’s chest, then another, and then four more. Hawkins, according to his nametag, wasn’t even fazed. The others let off several rounds and after three simultaneous shots to the head, it exploded, and he dropped.
    “Okay, someone tell me that guy was wearing the best body armor ever,” Newell joked.
    Frank got to his feet and approached the body, no bulletproof vest. The unnatural color and dark substance on the man’s face confused him until his foot hit the body of the second man on duty. Frank didn’t know his name and since his shirt along with most of his torso was shredded, he doubted he ever would.
    Hawkins ate the other guard. Hawkins didn’t have any body armor on. Hawkins took multiple rounds to the mid-section without flinching. A shot to the head took him down. What the hell happened to Hawkins?
    Hawkins ate the other guard. Frank’s brain stuck on that point. They couldn’t turn around; Hooks would kill them and get another team ready if he did.
    “We need to open the door to the stairwell and make our way down to Level 2.” Frank stood and checked his ammo level, one round left. He ejected the magazine and popped in a new one. For no reason he could explain, he scooped up the empty one from the ground and held onto it.
    “Get it off of me!” Felt yelled.
    The group turned to see the body of the presumed dead guard with its mouth locked on Felt’s neck. When the jugular was ripped open, nlood sprayed everywhere. Like a limp dishrag, their friend fell to the ground, his face paling as life poured out of him. Frank fired first, the bullets landing in the center of the guard’s head. The forehead caved in, as the back of the skull flew back and the body fell forward.
    “What the hell is going on here? These things are coming back from the dead,” Carson yelled.
    Frank walked over to the body and kicked it with his foot. The thing seemed dead; then again, he thought it was dead when he saw it had been emptied of all essential organs.
    “Monroe!”
    A hand grabbed Frank’s ankle and he stared down in shock into the eyes of Felt. The man was white as a ghost and moaned as if in pain. With slow movements, he pulled himself closer to Frank. With a sad shake of his head, he fired a short burst into his friend’s head, turning it into a pulpy mess of brain matter and shattered bone.
    “Let’s go, I don’t think I need to stress the importance of being careful,” Frank said as he approached the staircase.
    “What the hell are we up against here, Frank? I think there are some details we should know about if we’re going any further,” Carson protested.
    Frank stopped his movement as he thought about what to say. Carson, as much as Frank hated to admit it, was right. The problem at hand, the dead coming back to life, Frank didn’t know about, which meant he was