Wincing as his knuckles crumpled in protest, Ian unbuckled the other arm restraint. He sat up to see a flash of silver, his hands snapping up to clamp onto the scientist’s own. The steel point of a needle hovered just shy of his face.

  His muscles shook, holding back the bloodied scientist’s desperate attempt to stop him.

  Ian jerked to the side, away from the needle as it punched through the air where he just was a second ago. To hell with it!

  So he spat at him.

  The globule pelted the scientist’s eye, sending him recoiling with a curse. Letting go, Ian slammed his hands against his chest, sending the man staggering back into the wall before he flicked the leg restraints open.

  Footsteps pounded towards him and on instinct, Ian kicked his legs out.

  A sickening crack greeted him, and something gave out underneath his feet. As Ian leapt off the table, the scientist crashed into a wheeled table. Glass vials shattered as they were flung off the toppling table, sending the man toppling back head first into the grey wall. Without even a whimper, he crumbled to the floor like a sack of bricks. Out cold.

  Standing over the scientist, Ian shuddered and panted, his eyes drifted down towards his hands shaking in front of him. Just… how did I get the strength again to break out?

  Squeezing his hands shut, he shook his head. No time. I still need to get out.

  He scanned the wreck of the room, blocking out the bloodied face of the scientist before scooping up a pair of scalpels. Let’s just hope I don’t need these.

  He crept through the door to find himself in a grey corridor where metallic lamps hung from the ceiling. Along the sides, identical steel doors hung open, revealing virtually identical rooms to his own.

  How many people were they going to be doing tests on? He questioned, reminded of that callous remark of Hagen’s… what did he call him and the others? Subjects… but where are they?

  A weight did float off his shoulders. There was no one else in sight. Nor did any voices come echoing down the corridors. At the very least, he had some breathing room.

  The corridor itself ran out to either side of him. With a final glance to either side, he picked a direction and got moving.

  No one stepped out to stop him and the air remained silent as he made his way through the corridors, cringing when a step sounded with a crack. Only slowing to cast a glance through the odd open door into another cell. Every so often, instead of a cell, Ian would find himself staring into a small lab, where all the desks had been stripped clean of all the vials and tools he would expect.

  So much for the threat of Feral attack.

  As he advanced further, the corridor began to change too. Steel gradually changed to wood, the lights appeared to brighten and his footsteps became muffled as he stepped onto black carpet. Beyond the wooden doors were smaller store rooms and even a recreation room.

  Rounding another corner, a shiver ran up his body. Chewing on his lips, he whipped his arms left and right, trying to get the blood flowing through his limbs. Maybe I should have took that guy’s coat or something…

  That was when a glint blinked to his left. A window.

  No one was in sight. I might as well try and work out my bearings.

  If it even offered a view outside.

  Ian leaned forward, resting a hand against the cool glass as he tried to peer through.

  It didn’t lead outside, instead, he got greeted by another laboratory of some kind. Metallic tables littered the room below, topped with blinking computers and colourful test tubes. Grey walls with steel doors flanked the cuboid room, save for a single wall dominated by square lockers. White-clad figures hurried around the room, clearing their stations as a single black-clad figure patrolled the edge. Guard…

  However, towards the centre of the room, near the lockers, a trio of scientists stood around a long object, covered with a bloodied white blanket.

  He was already backing away when one of the figures raised a pale and limp arm into view.

  The temperature dropped a few more degrees. “Damn it.” He cursed to himself, the urge to thump a wall or something nagged away at him. Can’t be stupid now. I’v-

  “So, why haven’t these guys got onto the choppers yet?”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  -shit!

  He spun around, scanning up and down the corridor. He couldn’t see anyone, but he knew the owners of those voices weren’t far. And they were getting closer. He began to step back, only to for his back to bump into something. He spun to find a wooden door and mounted on it, a sign. Storage.

  Ian dove through, wincing as he nearly slammed the door shut. He felt his way round to the side of the door, pointed corners brushing against his legs before he could finally press himself against the wall.

  “I mean, we should be getting out of here by now! Why do we have to keep babysitting these eggheads in the basement?”

  Laughter boomed through the door. “You can say that twice. Orders are orders though.”

  “Seriously though. It must be something to do with some pet project.”

  “Elevation Initiative.”

  “Shut up. You know about it?”

  Ian tensed, Come on. Move on.

  “Only heard one of those eggheads mutter it. You wouldn’t believe how much some of those guys’ drink. It was either that, or something he called 002.”

  “Okay, then I think his info isn’t… reliable.”

  002? What? And that Elevation Initiative… Hagen had mentioned it before.

  “Yeah… it was just the way he said it. Guy looked ready to shit himself crying.”

  The door swung open and a single beam of light shone into the room. Ian froze, heart pounding regardless. He couldn’t move. Not an inch.

  “Well… he was drunk.”

  “I guess. Bastard probably trying to look like some movie asshole.”

  The beam vanished, “Well. Not in here, just another twenty rooms to go.”

  The door slammed shut. The room almost seemed sigh around him in seeming relief. That was, of course until Ian realised it was his sigh. Cursing to himself, he leaned towards the door. The muffled voices of the guards faded away into nothing.

  Feeling his way around the door, Ian searched for the familiar touch of cheap plastic or cold metal. Smooth wall gave way to the former, allowing him to switch a single bulb on. Ian pressed himself against the door as his gaze drifted across the room, loaded with open crates. A flap of cloth here, a hammer there, a piece of tartan, a-

  Like a dog on a chain, his attention was yanked back. Towards the front of the mess, tossed over the edge of a large wooden box was a loose piece of red tartan. Stumbling forward, Ian took hold of the fabric. The rough outer shell and the soft fur lining brought a smile to his lips well before he saw the intact jacket within. Right next to that, almost casually discarded, was his old Sten and it’s magazines.

  As he lifted the tartan jacket and the weapon out, the smile vanished. He glanced around the room; each box had the odd flap of cloth hanging over the edge of the crates. There was even the glint of a golden watch as he pulled his original one out.

  The image of the corpse flashed by.

  How many people have they captured? Experimented on? Kill? And for what?

  Sensing his anger beginning to surge up, Ian drew in a few slow, steady breathes as he began to search the room for only a moment. He quickly threw a random grey t-shirt on that he figured just about fit, taking a second longer to sigh as the jacket settled into place. He lifted the Sten, checking a magazine was secure before checking his watch. Ten hours since I last checked... He could only guess at when the Ferals had launched their assault on the city walls, but it had to have been within the last few hours.

  He still had time. Again though, he had to get out of here, then he could work out how to get out of the city.

  And hope against hope that the others were alive.

  Gun at the ready, Ian pulled the door open, swept the corridor with the weapon, and set off again. Luckily, the guards had unwittingly given him all the information he needed. They couldn’t cram all this in the warehouse. He had to have been underground.

  Rounding the next corner, he found and climbed an open stairwell, pushed through the only doors he could find and into an empty corridor. At the far end were another, but familiar set of double doors. He tightened his grip on the SMG as he stepped forward, keeping the barrel pointed towards the ground but set to spring up within a single blink.

  Taking a breath, Ian pushed the door open. Already scouring the sight of the room…

  A single bang rang out, boots stomping into concrete on cue with his entry.

  Eying a steel box, Ian dove behind it with an audible clang. Clamping down on his tongue, he snapped his head around the crate.

  Charging across the familiar storeroom were armed soldiers, rifles in hand and covered head to toe in that black military-grade armour. “Move it! The choppers will be here any minute!”

  The dozen or so soldiers stomped past, followed behind by two similarly dressed figures who walked behind them. “What about the scientists?” came a different, feminine voice.

  “I’ll get them moving.” replied the first, “You get the conscripts to the helos. Those Ferals are going to break through the wall sooner rather than later. Once I’ve got the eggheads, I’ll be setting up 002. You better be clear before then.”

  With a sharp nod, the female soldier jogged after the others. The commander spun around on his heel with a squeak and marched towards Ian.

  He snapped his head back, each step almost a thump in his ears as he drew closer. Holding his breath, Ian inched around the crate. Praying that he didn’t make a peep of noise.

  The guard stormed past the crate, eyes fixed on the doors as he barged his way through and out of sight. Across the way, the footfalls ceased and the storeroom fell silent once more.

  Ian could feel his throat start to burn, and panted out a grunt to let it cool again as he got back to his feet.

  But there was no time to settle.

  Someone is going to find out I’m gone soon… and if those Feral’s get through the walls now…

  He already knew the answer. If a breach was opened, it didn’t matter what anyone did. Birmingham would fall.

  He jogged back across the room, headed for the doors leading back to their original entry point. He would take the tunnel out, compromised or not, it was better than sneaking through the rest of the compound.

  He slowed as he reached the centre of the room, the shelves that he had been thrown had been pulled back up; now devoid of their contents. Any trace of blood was washed and mopped away out of sight. As he walked past, the only indication that any fight had happened at all was a single oval dent in the shelving unit.

  A sore sensation rolled up Ian’s back. He could almost see the Nyúlfur – Travis’ blade ready to kill him, the guard’s execution at his hand. Then that scream…

  With a shake of his head, Ian whacked the doors open. He wanted nothing more to do with this damned place and as far as he was concerned, it was time to go.