The New Haven Incident - Part Nineteen

Mendez followed Sebastian down winding, empty streets. He kept his eyes and ears open, scanning the surrounds for any threat. It was unnecessary, he figured. Sebastian had everything handled. Mendez watched him with a mixture of awe and fearful bemusement.

The man had killed more infected with a handgun and a knife than his entire unit had managed with several automatic weapons. The way he moved through the swarm; it was both unnerving and mesmerizing. Mendez shook his head to clear his mind. He needed to figure out his next move. If Harding hadn’t lost his mind, he would probably be heading to the laboratory underneath the university as planned, in the hopes that Team Four were there as they were supposed to be. Mendez would have to head there to reunite with his team.

They were dangerously low on ammunition, he’d lost several of his guns, and was completely ignorant of the layout of the city. Going alone would be suicide. For now, he had to rely on Sebastian. So he quietly followed the sullen man, struggling against his injuries to match his guide’s speed and silence.

They paused at an intersection, on the diagonal of which stood the police station. It was an old building, much shorter than the skyscrapers that surrounded it, and made entirely of stone. Two tall trees stood on either side of the gated entrance, which now hung open, off its hinges. It likely had been someone’s manor when it was first built. The only clue as to its use now was the large sign at the front of the building.

Mendez shook his head. “Looks haunted,” he murmured.

Sebastian grunted, and Mendez’ had to content himself with that being the closest thing to a laugh he would ever get from the agent. Sebastian turned to him. “Stay here,” he said.

Mendez nodded, pulling out his combat knife. He was not especially skilled with it, but it was all he had left. Sebastian nodded back to him then, keeping low, crossed the intersection and disappeared into the building. Mendez crouched behind a car, feeling exposed, and waited. Moments later, Sebastian appeared at the doorway and signalled Mendez. Breaking cover and keeping low, Mendez ran across the street. He squeezed through the opening in the gate and up the stairs, into the building.

It took a surprising long while for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. The door behind him closed with a heavy thud. Sebastian remained with his back to Mendez, leaning on the door a moment, before he straightened and turned. He looked as exhausted as Mendez felt.

“Fancy,” Mendez noted.

Though the power no longer functioned, it was clear to see the empty interior lived up to the promise of the exterior; even in the gloom. The reception desk was solid wood; polished walnut. It held space for two people. One of the monitors remained untouched on the counter. The other had toppled backwards, shattering onto the pale granite floor. The reception area was large, with tall ceilings that extended up to the second floor. A wide stone staircase extended up from the centre of the room onto a second-floor landing that merged into a U-shaped balcony with various doors along each side.

“Weird to see it so empty,” Sebastian answered, coming to stand beside Mendez. He shook his head and clapped Mendez on the shoulder. “Come on. The armoury is upstairs.”

Mendez nodded, following Sebastian up the steps. They both climbed carefully, aware that the eerie silence did not mean that they were safe. Sebastian turned left at the top of the stairs, walking along the narrow balcony to the third door. He stopped.

The door, an old thing of carved wood with the original brass door knob still attached, looked like something out of a Victorian manor. The long brass handle gleamed in the centre from years of hands rubbing it as people entered and exited. The rest looked dull and pitted. The door itself was ajar, revealing a pale blue light in the room.

Moving slowly, Sebastian opened the door and peeked in. The room was empty, the blue light emitting from the only computer monitor in the room. The Department took great pains to be operable even in the greatest emergencies. It did not surprise Sebastian one bit that this room was the only one in the precinct that still had power.

With silence answering his surveillance, and nothing seeming amiss in the room, Sebastian entered. He walked carefully to the desk in front of the glass-partitioned office, where the computer monitor flickered. It was empty, but something in the office caught his eye. He moved past the assistant’s desk and gently pushed the glass door of the office open. He closed his eyes and turned his head a moment.

“What is it?” Mendez asked in a whisper. He followed Sebastian and peered over his shoulder.

On the floor, one foot up on the seat of the expensive leather office chair, was a skeleton. It had been wearing what might have been jeans, a shirt and leather jacket. All that remained of the clothing were scraps; some still clinging to the skeleton. The bones had been picked clean. The skeleton lay face-down on the ground, one hand outstretched towards the door, where, on the floor, sat a revolver.

“Oh shit.” Mendez stepped back as Sebastian stepped into the room. “You know him?”

Sebastian didn’t answer. He knelt by the skeleton and gently rolled it over. The front of the shirt, brown with blood, rolled with it. A patch on the breast pocket identified the skeleton. Sebastian rocked back on his heels and bowed his head a moment.

“A friend?” Mendez asked.

Sebastian nodded. “Close as I came, anyway,” he answered. Looking down at the grinning skull, he said, “I’m sorry, Greg.” Sighing, Sebastian stood and turned. He left the glass room, squeezing past Mendez to stand before the computer. He didn’t bother to sit in the chair. He simply leant over and logged on.

Mendez stared at the skeleton a while longer before turning to Sebastian.

“How come the computer is working?”

“It’s The Department,” Sebastian replied, as if that answered anything at all.

“What does that even mean?” Mendez demanded. “What is The Department?”

Sebastian glanced at him briefly, the corners of his lips twisted up in a slight, sly smile.

“Classified,” Mendez muttered. “Got it.”

Sebastian opened a programme, entered the required code and the wall behind him clicked.

Mendez turned to stare at it. Sebastian walked to the right side of the wall, found a hidden handhold and then pulled it open. He revealed a small-ish room with cages along three walls and a row of lockers in the middle. The cages were full of guns. Mendez’ jaw dropped.

“What the f…” Mendez could not move. He watched as Sebastian walked into the room, opened a locker and pulled out a black tactical vest. It was quickly followed by knee and elbow pads. Properly dressed, Sebastian turned and opened the first cage. He withdrew, inspected and put about his person three handguns, a rifle and a shorn-off shotgun. Turning, he opened the next locker and began pulling out ammunition, loading his weapons and storing it all in various pockets on his tactical vest and belt. Whatever doubts Mendez had about Sebastian’s story vanished, as his weapons expertise became readily apparent.

“So,” he said conversationally, “Berkley, huh?”

Sebastian barely paused as he inspected and refilled each of his weapons. “Yep,” he said at length. He stopped briefly, his eyes glazing over. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “That’s when I started using.” He turned to Mendez, and the hard iron of his eyes had vanished. In its place was the maelstrom of guilt and pain that Sebastian had endured since his twenty-second birthday and his escape from Cedarwood City. It lasted but a moment, but the flash of the wounded boy beneath Sebastian’s icy exterior sparked a pain in Mendez’ chest. His mind jumped to his young cousin. Had Luis suffered the same storm? How had he never seen it?

Mendez could find no response, so he simply nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian scoffed. The steel had returned. The boy was gone, locked behind impenetrable walls of ice and iron. Armed to the teeth, Sebastian exited the room. “Take what you need.”

Mendez grunted. He walked into the room and paused, trying to take in the sheer number of weapons and ammunition at his disposal. Taking a deep breath, he began replenishing his arms. He glanced over to Sebastian. The agent rummaged around in a cupboard, pulling out a rectangular box. Mendez turned to the open lockers.

“Grenades?” he demanded, louder than he meant to.

“Yeah,” Sebastian said, not really paying attending.

“What the fuck do you need grenades for?”

Sebastian turned to him with a frown. “To blow shit up.”

Mendez blinked, then laughed. “I’m taking a few of these puppies,” he said, grinning.

Sebastian’s lips twitched as a smile threatened. He shook his head at Mendez’ childish glee and turned back to the old shortwave police radio he had placed on the desk. He plugged it in and started playing with the dials. From one of his vest pockets, he pulled something small and black and placed it on the desk beside the old radio. It looked a little like a pager. He pulled an earpiece away from it and put it in his left ear. He grabbed the chair that had been tucked neatly behind the desk and pulled it out to sit down.

The world heaved suddenly, and Sebastian had to grab the edge of the desk to stop himself from falling over. He scowled hard as the room danced to and fro in his vision, and he fought to regain his balance.

“You okay?” Mendez asked, clapping Sebastian on his shoulder. The touch pulled Sebastian out of his daze. Grunting, Sebastian nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck feeling the beginnings of a migraine settle where his head and spine met.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Just tired, I guess.”

Mendez nodded. “Withdrawal?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Maybe? I don’t know.” Shaking his head to rid it of the remnants of his strange vertigo attack, he sat down and played with the radio a little while longer. After a moment, he picked up the microphone.

“This is Agent Sebastian Connors. I’m reaching out to any survivors.” He paused, waiting for an answer. There was none. He tried again. “This is Agent Sebastian Connors. I’m reaching out to any survivors. Please respond.” Silence.

Mendez watched quietly as Sebastian tried to raise a response. Though the man’s expression did not change, there was something about him that told Mendez he was anxious. 

“I thought you said there were jammers?” Mendez said.

Sebastian nodded. “Sigma tech is a little more advanced than this,” he said, waving the microphone attached to the old radio around. “I’m hoping whoever is responsible for jamming the signal was too impressed with their own intelligence to consider older tech. This radio works on a different frequency.”

“Seems flimsy.”

Again, Sebastian nodded. “Yeah. But I have to try.”

Try he did. Mendez took this time to rest with his back against the wall, helping to support his weight. He remained silent and simply observed.

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