Page 33 of Shadow Boxed (Shadow Warriors #2)

Chapter twenty-seven

Oswald Brown looked exactly like the picture attached to his employee file, only more so: more timid, more slumped through the spine, more mousy.

He wore a mechanic’s uniform, looking like a bullied adolescent rather than an adult in his late twenties.

He slouched through Clark’s office door with a red toolbox dragging down his right shoulder.

“Mr. Nantz?” Oswald set his toolbox down and offered his right hand.

Clark stared at the sweat slicking the palm and repressed a shudder. No way was he shaking that thing. He turned away instead and slipped around the corner of his desk toward the concealed elevator.

“Alright then.” Clark glanced behind him where Oswald still stood, hand outstretched, as if he thought Clark might backtrack and shake it any second. What a moron. “Join me here, please.”

Oswald finally dropped his hand and shuffled over. His mouth formed a surprised O when Clark pressed the hidden latch and popped the paneling open, exposing the elevator. Good God, based on the nerd’s reaction, that hidden elevator must be the coolest thing the moron had ever seen.

Clark waved a hand at the open elevator, waited for Oswald to enter, and followed him inside. He maneuvered around Oswald, who stood frozen as though afraid to move.

“What I’m about to show you is known to only a handful of people.

” He pressed the button that said B . “Normally, I have maintenance staff assigned to the basement level—” which was true— “but I gave them the day off to attend a coworker’s wedding.

” Which was not true. “Sadly, my generosity has proved problematic. There are two security panels down there that are malfunctioning. I’ve tried reprograming them, but they continue to fail. I need you to manually disable them.”

“Disable?” Oswald squeaked as the elevator began to drop. He backed up, bracing himself against the back wall.

“Yes. Disable.” Clark’s voice sharpened with impatience. “Cut the wires or something. Make sure the panels can’t be accessed to unlock the doors.”

“I see,” Oswald mumbled, although from the confused look on his face, he clearly did not, in fact, see.

Clark rolled his eyes, then tensed as the elevator stopped. Only seconds now until Oswald was exposed to the grisly secrets of the basement. He’d have to keep a close eye on the nerd and grab him if he tried to run.

At least nobody would hear his screams down here.

When the elevator door opened, Clark positioned himself on Oswald’s right and grabbed his elbow, hoping to block the maintenance worker’s view of the specimen lab.

“The two panels I need disabled are as follows—the panel locking the door ahead on your right, and the one at the back of the corridor next to the exit door.” His voice brisk, he urged Oswald forward. “We’ll do the lab panel first and then the exit door’s.”

Security to the specimen lab was the top priority.

It was crucial his specimens remain tucked inside their cage.

However, the door to the exit tunnel was almost as important.

If whoever turned off the security panel and tried to release the specimens targeted the tunnel doors next, he was screwed.

If they accessed the basement and got into his labs—Clark shuddered.

That could not happen.

But his main problem right now was the specimen lab, or more accurately, the corpses in it.

If Oswald got a good look into that room, it was a safe bet his compliance would evaporate.

Sure, he was bound to see through the window embedded in the lab’s door, but if Clark’s luck held, Doctor Comfrey would be blocking his view.

Comfrey, at least, was clothed and looked like she was alive.

So far so good. Oswald hadn’t seen anything terrifying, and the security alarm hadn’t gone off on his phone. Nor was the basement full of shambling corpses.

“Hurry up.” Clark urged Oswald forward while strategically positioning himself to block the nerd’s view to their right. They’d almost reached their first target when Oswald’s feet stopped moving.

“What the hell…?” Oswald’s voice entered an entire new level of squeakiness. He stumbled to a stop.

Clark’s head snapped around to face him, noting the sudden whiteness to the nerd’s face. Wide, wild eyes joined his slack jaw and pale face. Damn . Oswald had seen the lab specimens. Clark tightened his fingers around his captive’s pointy elbow and forced him forward. Or tried to, anyway.

“Yes. Yes. I’ll explain everything while you work on the door,” Clark said briskly, urging a spooked Oswald forward.

“But…but…those people…” Oswald dug in his heels, and their forward motion ground to a stop. “Are they dead?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Would they be standing if they were dead?” Clark tugged on the skinny elbow, but the tall, stooped frame refused to budge. Good God, who would have guessed such a skinny frame would have so much strength? “They’re sick. That’s all. A severe skin condition.”

“Sick?” Oswald repeated, his voice shrill and suspicious. “They look dead, not sick. For Pete’s sake, that one’s missing half her head. A skin condition wouldn’t do that.” He yanked his arm loose and turned around.

With an exasperated breath, Clark let him go. No use in continuing this charade. At least Oswald hadn’t started screaming and running...yet.

Oswald stared through the glass with fascination.

“They look like zombies. Some even have autopsy scars.” He leaned in for a closer look.

“Their chests aren’t moving, so they aren’t breathing.

” His gaze shifted to Dr. Comfrey. And his head cocked.

“Or at least most of them aren’t.” He shook his head without looking away from the glass. “What happened to them?”

It wouldn’t hurt to satisfy the nerd’s curiosity. He wouldn’t be leaving the basement anyway.

“We were working on an innovative medical nanobot technology. Unfortunately, Doctor Comfrey skipped the safety precautions, and the bots infected her.” He sighed, filling his voice with regret.

“After that, the bot infected the specimens we had stored in the morgue and...apparently...reanimated them.”

Oswald took a long step back. “Those things can infect people?”

“Yes. By touch. Through an excess of caution, I’ve reassigned everyone in the labs and sealed the basement off.” He studied Oswald’s face. The nerd looked more transfixed than terrified.

This was probably a science fiction dream come true for him. No doubt he imagined himself as the hero in a new zombie show.

“They’re perfectly harmless, as long as they don’t get out and start touching people.”

Oswald make a huffing sound of disbelief. “If they can’t get out, why bring me down here to disable this lab’s security panel?”

“Because I appear to have a hacker problem.” Clark scowled.

“Someone accessed the security panel and unlocked the door. I was monitoring the situation at the time, and barely got it locked back down before the specimens escaped.” He paused to let that sink in, then spread his hands and shrugged.

“Since I can’t trust the electronic system, I need both doors physically disabled.

It’s the only way to prevent remote access. ”

“Ah.” Oswald offered a small nod. He peered intently into the glass. The zombies passively stared back. “What did they do after they were infected?”

“What do you mean.”

“How do the bots change them? In movies, zombies become violent, driven by hunger for human flesh or brains.”

Clark shrugged. “Once the bots infiltrate their host’s brains, the infected stand around and stare.”

Oswald looked disappointed.

Although there had been no standing and staring during the prototype’s first two tests. Back then the bots followed their programming and turned their hosts into violent lunatics.

What had happened to their programming since then?

“What would happen if someone not infected stepped into the room? Would your zombies attack them?

The morgue specimens hadn’t attacked Comfrey or her assistants. Not that Clark volunteered that information. Instead, he lifted his eyes and smirked. “You offering?”

Oswald scoffed. “Not a chance.” He finally ambled up to the door and studied the red-lit plastic panel. “How is the locking mechanism setup? Will the door automatically unlock when the panel is disabled?”

“No. The lock won’t release.”

“Considering your hacker, you better check again before we get started,” Oswald said, as he set his tool kit down.

“We’re good.” Clark confirmed after a quick scan of his phone.

Oswald picked up a battery-operated drill and fitted a Torx screwdriver head into the shaft. Seconds later, he had the plastic cover free. The faces in the window stared blankly at Clark. None of them seemed to care what Oswald was doing.

Other than the lab’s camera, it was the first time Clark had seen the specimens up close.

It was creepy how the whole lot, breathing and not breathing, stared at him with the same blank expression.

No spark of life in any of those eyes, or on any of those faces. Not even the ones who were still alive.

Although the commonality ended there. Comfrey and her two staff members were still dressed in their slacks and lab coats. The other specimens were naked, their autopsy scars and fatal wounds on full display.

Clark stepped closer to the glass, squinting over Comfrey’s shoulder at one of the Karaveht specimens. What looked like white fuzz appeared to be crawling across the gaping, bloodless wounds of her head and chest.

What was that shit?

He leaned in for a closer look and realized all the Karaveht specimens he could see exhibited the white fuzz. It was filling in the corpse’s wounds. Too bad he couldn’t get a sample.

The fluffy substance must be something the NNB26 bots had created, but for what purpose?

Were the bots attempting to seal the wounds?

With no heartbeat and no blood flow, the specimens’ ability to heal was gone.

Was this white substance the bots response to damaged flesh?

The fluff did seem concentrated in the damaged areas.

A light clatter pulled his attention from the window.

He turned to find Oswald had dropped the plastic panel on the floor.

Without saying anything, he bent to grab a pair of wire cutters.

Clark took another look at his phone and the security program.

Everything was still red, locked tight. But while Oswald was busy dismantling the panel, Clark stealthily withdrew the Glock from his pocket.

If things were going to head south, it would happen now.

“You’re good to go,” he told Oswald, who grunted in reply.

Oswald clipped the three colored wires, along with the ribbon cable, then dropped the wire cutters back into the toolbox. After picking the drill back up, he refitted the screwdriver head and backed the four screws out of the thin, green control board.

“This sucker should be powerless now with the internet and electricity cut. But might as well remove it too.” Oswald had just removed the green rectangle when the security alarm on Clark’s phone screamed. The shriek startled them both. Oswald twitched and dropped the board.

Clark flinched, his fingers contracting.

A deafening boom drowned out the shrill scream of the alarm.

The smell of spent fireworks filled the air.

His ears ringing, Clark stared at the red bloom spreading across the Oswald’s chest, and soaking his gray uniform.

The maintenance worker stumbled back until his back hit the door.

“Uh....uh...” A startled look fell over Oswald’s face as his legs crumpled.

The door handle twisted, and the door started to open. Clark spun and charged for the elevator at a dead run.

His heart pounded. His legs shook. His breath exploded from his mouth. Beneath his explosive breathing and the shrill cry of the alarm, he heard a low, rattling cough behind him, followed by a choked plea.

It came again. “Help…”

Oswald’s voice, squeakier than ever.

Clark didn’t turn around, didn’t look back. He just kept running.

It took forever to cover the forty or fifty feet to the elevator. The entire time that his legs were pumping and his heart was pounding, he expected a hand to land on his shoulder.

He reached the elevator, stumbled inside, and smacked the button to close the door. As it slowly slid shut, he spun to look down the hall.

Nobody was in pursuit of him. The hallway was empty and silent. Oswald sat slumped and still against the lab, his neck canted forward, chin resting on his chest.

By some stroke of luck, Oswald’s weight against the door had kept the infected from shoving it open and bursting into the hall.

They wouldn’t remain contained much longer though.

A muffled scraping sound drifted to him as the lab door inched open.

Oswald’s body slowly slid to the left, and he fell over, his temple thunking against the floor.

Oswald made no sound as he fell. Clark couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Was he alive, or dead?

Did it matter?

Just before the elevator door slid shut, Comfrey sidled through the narrow gap between the edge of the door and its frame and stepped over Oswald’s limp body.