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.
