Gehenna (Part One)

August 3

Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne,
He travels the fastest who travels alone.
– Rudyard Kipling

All hope abandon, ye who enter in.
- Dante, Inferno, Canto III, line 9

----

The plastic card made a click and a beep as I passed it sharply through the reader. The light changed from red to green, and with a deep rumble and a hiss the heavy blast door began to open, revealing a long, wide metal corridor.


This was to be an off record investigation. We had word that the Umbrella Corporation was closing a branch office and one of their laboratories.  Routine downsizing. Nothing unusual.

But the closure was happening fast, in a matter of days, and we had heard rumours of an industrial accident.

While we could have made a very public display, a site seizure and full investigative team, it was decided that I would go in alone.  Even with a rapid response team, we would need time, and more than rumours, to obtain the necessary warrants.  Any delay allowed Umbrella to finish the process of expunging data and constructing the scenario they wanted to present.


We needed to act fast and we wanted a minimal footprint. Gather what information we could without them being aware that we knew. Let them bury the facility in concrete under the illusion that their darkest secrets were safe.

No Alliance issue uniform this time. Just the lightest of body armour under street clothes. I would use an employee identification card and some sketchy information on the layout of the facility obtained by people we had monitoring Umbrella for some time.

I was given a series of injections, none of which I recognized. I would carry some mission specific items for sampling, recording, and packaging evidence.  A flashlight, a med kit, a knife, rope, a breathing mask, a machine pistol with a sound suppressor completed my equipment list - and more ammunition than I could ever imagine needing.


The corridor let out into a small foyer. Four elevators were stationed here, none of which responded to the call button. Double doors, at the back of the room, led to a set of stairs.

Access to the roof was blocked.  I would find no exit here, should I so require.


The lights were working well in this section, but the area below was cloaked in darkness. I descended into the gloom, my footsteps echoing in the stairwell.

The area at the foot of the stairs was lit only by the colourful glow of several vending machines.


There were shell casings on the floor.  A few hits on the back wall, and one on the side of the steps. There were no bodies however. It was like someone had been firing at shadows under the stairs while in a desperate rush to leave the facility.


As I approached the next set of doors, I could hear the sound of rushing water.

---

I found myself on a raised hallway overlooking the main lobby.


The rushing water was an indoor waterfall pouring down the wall of large windows separating the passage from the lobby below. The flow of water had been designed to be soothing and to add moisture to the dry climate controlled atmosphere. Now, uncontrolled, it had all the comfort of a burst pipe.

There was an elevator to my right. It was a crime scene, in and of itself.


Each drop of blood can tell a story.

There is on average 4.7 liters of blood in the human body. With the complete severing of a carotid artery, 100 ml of blood is released under pressure with each pulse of the heart. This process will last for approximately 30 seconds.

I did the calculations. About three liters...  I shone my flashlight around the car. Yes, that's about right.


Given the height of the stain, the first gush struck the left wall. The victim was then pulled down and to the right. There were no bullet holes, no shell cartridges. The streaks on the floor ending at the door indicated that the remains were dragged from the elevator on another floor, before the car made its last lonely journey to this level.


I took a small sample of blood and placed it in a sterile evidence vial.  I checked my weapon and then moved on.


The lights were working in the main lobby. A reception desk was situated near the steps. Comfortable furniture of soft white leather sat empty. Tables and chairs at the far end had a functional look about them, as if the area doubled as a lunch room.

Two blast doors were situated along one wall.  My identification card did not work on the left door.  This did not trouble me. I was informed that it would not work on every point of entry.  I had to try regardless.


The right door opened to a short corridor. There were shelves against one wall. Crates here and there covered by tarps bearing the corporation logo.  A window at the far end gave a glimpse of a laboratory waiting beyond.

Cautiously, I walked forward, weapon ready.


I stopped short upon hearing a sound. A single moan of someone in pain. The moaning grew louder, joined now by a second then a third voice.

They shuffled around the corner. Men and women, their clothing torn, their skin pale or discoloured, their features distorted.  The moans became a chorus of hisses and groans. They surged forward arms outstretch, mouths open.


I pulled the trigger and began a slow withdrawal to give myself room.  With tight controlled bursts, I targeted the closest and the fastest.



A woman collapsed.  A man staggered backwards.

A second man struck in the chest, fell heavily to the ground, but after the briefest of moments, he rolled onto his side and began to stand up again.

My blood turned cold, but a small detached voice in my head remarked, “Ohhhh, that is why there were no bodies under the stairs.”

I fired again, striking the neck and forehead. He fell once more and this time remained still.


I sprinted past the fallen, through a set of swinging doors.  I passed through the laboratory, stopping, turning and firing at a figure now in pursuit.


He wore blue overalls and a cap, like someone who loaded boxes or perhaps pushed a cart.  His arm swung out wide as he fell, sweeping across the nearby shelf, bringing beakers and flasks crashing to the floor.

---

The room was now still and quiet.  I had a chance to examine my new surroundings.


This was a show laboratory. No serious research would have been done here.  It was too near the main doors.

Visiting dignitaries, stockholders and community leaders would have gathered in the main lobby and a great production would have been made giving them surgical masks, gloves and white coats. They would be led through the door past serious looking workers. They would believe themselves to be privy to the latest in product development. In reality, they were being treated to a carefully stage managed presentation.

A quick examination of the work stations and computers confirmed my suspicions. There was nothing here of value.

The next room was deceptively quiet.  A few cabinets, tanks of compressed gas squatted against the walls.


I turned the corner and almost walked into three figures standing silently in front of the next blast door.  They turned and, with fresh groans, started forward with the same inhuman urgency as the others.

I was forced to take defensive action from an empty side chamber on my right.


I tagged one on the leg. He went down with a crash then continued crawling towards me unabated. His eyes were coloured with a film of icy blue.

I carefully aimed and fired.


---

The next door opened to a warehouse. It was a cavernous space. Large shipments would have been dispatched from here.  The space gave a good line of sight but no cover. A scattering of cargo containers waiting for transport were too large to climb and too few to shelter me from view.


I used the opportunity to put some distance between me and the show labs. I was unsure how effective my bullets had been, and the sounds of violence may have drawn more of the afflicted.

I ran then stopped, listening for any sign of pursuit, before running forward again.


A loading bay lay beyond the warehouse.  It had a low ceiling. It was brightly lit.  Smaller shipments were stacked on skids.  A train waited on its tracks to the left.


Somehow, I doubted this would have been part of the tour.  You would not install a private subway to serve a small laboratory and a warehouse.

A small group of the afflicted lingered on the platform. The sound of the door opening drew their attention.  Like the others, these few were dressed in the manner of employees.


Crossing the platform was difficult.  The loaded skids proved to be effective obstacles.  Rather than clearing the room, I focused on clearing a path, keenly aware that I may have to deal with this group later when leaving the facility.

I dashed up the stairs and proceeded deeper into the complex.