Vial #127

Chapter 24: Blinded by Perfection

I sigh in relief. They know that I am here. "Corporal, that isn't possible; this place is infected."

"The scan is sensing a body laying down in the lower levels; I can see them breathing," I hear a rough exchange of some sort of device being transferred from person to person.

"How are we going to get them out?" they start talking in low voices.

"Hello, is anybody out there?" I hear somebody shout out. I know I can't respond to them without drawing unwanted attention.

"They can't respond, the wanderers will get there first," the Corporal says, understanding my dilemma. They start to make a plan; a rescue mission.

"We can't risk our men for this, we'll just shoot in attempt to get her out," I can hear protest as some of them disagree with the decision. I need to contact them. Then I remember the radio. Maybe there's some universal signal everyone in a certain distance will receive. I pull it up to my mouth and speak, "Don't leave, don't you dare," I threaten.

I hear the footsteps stop, a voice comes over the transmitter, "How are you not being attacked?"

"There's a dead one on top of me, masking my scent," I reply urgently.

"Okay, we'll try and get you out, just hold on," I feel the air catch in my mouth. There's gunshots and the array of biters start to collapse, covering me in blood. The group is communicating with each other, always on each other's back, protecting each other. Finally, I can see the outskirts of the swarm. Three figures dressed in black clad armour; dark masks covering their faces. They're armed to the hilt.

"Where is she?" The Colonel speaks out. A slightly taller figure points to me, sending the shortest to my rescue. He pulls the biter off, a huge weight off of my chest.

"Got her," he turns around reporting to his superior. In that tiny millisecond a biter comes up behind the Sergeant, he's too focused on his men to notice. I quickly raise my gun and shoot and the biter collapses; a bulls-eye shot from fifteen meters away.

His head turns to look behind him and then to me, where smoke is drifting from the end of my gun. He raises his visor, stunned that a girl my age could do something that takes men years to train for. He thanks me and then takes me to the helicopter where I take seat at the edge. He gives me a towel to wash up and when I'm done, the fabric is permanently stained a gruesome red.

"How did you manage to get yourself into this mess?" the man asks after introducing himself as Sergeant Davidson.

"I was with my group. We had a busted tire. We went down to fix it and got taken down. They left me; thought I was dead but then I used the radio to tell them where I was. They're coming back," I smile trying to sound assured but all the while fiddling my thumbs.

"How many are in your group?" he asks. I have a feeling he is seeking information and not just making small talk.

"Eight including me," I say, counting each one in my mind. A pang in my chest swells up. They left me and didn't even try to save me but they are coming back. I force myself to believe that. "They do care about me." I think to myself.

"How long were you under the wanderers?" the next voice resembles the voice of a police interrogator.

"About an hour, I think. I really don't know, lost track of time," I respond honestly, not sure whether to lie or not. He gives me a clear bottle of water. The liquid is fresh and cold, with an unusual after taste but my body craves the drink so much that I chug it all in less than two minutes.

Davidson gets up, rubbing his prickly brown beard, then goes to talk with the other members of his squad. They speak silently, occasionally looking around in a secretive manner.

I take advantage and poke around the helicopter. It has rows of ammunition and guns and grenades. Against the far wall is bottled water and packets of dehydrated food. I sit down in the middle seat, placing my feet on a square tile. At the rim of the tile is a deep valley. The tile looks more like a secret door. I look to the huddle; the three figures are still in conversation. I reach down, fumbling to reach my nails down. I feel pinches against the sensitive skin.

Finally, I pull up the trap door, revealing sharp knives and weaponry. There are devices that look like they'd be used in a torture chamber; sharp cylinders, poison and worse. I shut the door, making sure that my weapons are still in tact. I don't want to be caught off guard.

I hop out, resuming my original position. The three men double back, side glancing at each other; they have their visors down. "Emma, why don't you come with us, we'll pick up your friends later?" One invites in a definite ordered tone.

"I'd rather stay here. They won't have gotten far. Besides they're coming for me." I insist. "You guys can head off if you'd like, I'll be fine," I maintain a causal tone.

"Are you sure because where we are is safe? We have food, water, warm water and shelter. There are others there, too," now he's trying to convince me to join him.

"Can't we just wait for my friends?" I plead. "I really don't want you to have to waste fuel going on an extra trip."

"It's no problem," he smiles a smile that masks his evil grin.

"I really just don't want them to worry." I say. "I can wait here and you guys can go back to your camp. Then come back this evening to pick us all up," I suggest. That plan will leave a window of time for my group to come pick me up and get the hell out of here.

The men look at each other and then nod, taking taunting steps towards me. "Come on Davidson, lets just take the bitch," I raise my gun, for protection, ready to shoot.