The Smell of Burnt Sugar

The scraping sound inside the vent grew louder, accompanied by a wet, clicking noise that made my skin turn cold.

I scrambled off the metal table, dropping to my knees to gather the scattered medical bottles. The sweet scent of wild berries and burnt sugar was thickening in the small room. It was the exact smell from the skyscraper corridor. The red fog was inside the ventilation system.

The door to the private quarters beeped. The lock threw back, and Garrison burst into the room. He slammed the door shut, his face pale underneath the grime and sweat.

"Get your mask on!" Garrison shouted, sprinting toward me.

He didn't even notice the supplies on the floor. He reached the table and grabbed the respirator.

"The vent!" I pointed upward as I strapped the rubber mask over my nose and mouth. "Garrison, the sweet smell is already coming through the grate!"

Garrison looked up just as the grate shattered downward. A thick, roiling plume of crimson smoke poured into the room, followed by a pale, translucent hand with long, black-veined fingers.

The creature shrieked, a sound that echoed inside the small concrete walls.

Garrison raised his rifle and fired three rounds into the ceiling. The creature howled, falling backward into the dark ductwork, but the red smoke continued to fill the room like a waterfall.

"The main air scrubbers failed," Garrison growled, his voice muffled by his own mask.

He grabbed my arm, snatching my backpack with his other hand.

"The entire elite sector is getting flooded. We have to clear out now."

"What about your father?" I asked, stumbling as he dragged me toward the door. "What about Cynthia?"

"They are running for the lower containment vaults," Garrison snapped, hitting the door release. "But those vaults won't hold if the ventilation lines are compromised. Move!"

We scrambled into the corridor. The sterile white hallway was unrecognizable. Red smoke hung thick in the air, lowering visibility to less than five feet. Sirens wailed in a frantic, broken rhythm. Soldiers were running past us, some missing their helmets, others coughing violently as they fell against the walls.

"Commander!" a soldier screamed, running toward us from the direction of the loading bay.

His face was uncovered, his skin already showing the terrifying black veins pulsing under his jaw.

"The command center is gone! General Vance ordered the automated bulkheads to seal, but they are jammed!"

"Where is the General now?" Garrison demanded, holding the soldier by his collar.

"He went to the secondary escape tunnel with the civilian VIPs!" the soldier gasped, his eyes turning completely red as he spoke.

He choked, a spray of dark fluid hitting Garrison's chest armor.

"They took the last armored rover!"

Garrison pushed the dying soldier away. He turned his gray eyes on me, the fury inside them cold and absolute.

"He left the garrison to die. He abandoned the whole sector to save himself."

"And Cynthia is with him," I said, my voice shaking behind my filter mask. "She knew about the escape route."

"They won't make it," Garrison said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward a maintenance stairwell. "The secondary tunnel passes directly under the primary waste lines. If the fog is in the vents, it's in those lines too. We are taking the service tubes."

We plunged down the concrete stairs, the darkness swallowing us except for the green emergency exit signs. Every level we passed echoed with the sound of gunfire and the guttural, animalistic roars of the newly infected.

"Garrison," I panted, my lungs burning against the rubber seal of the mask. "If the whole sanctuary falls, where do we go? There is nowhere left."

"There is an old military bunker three miles north," he said, not slowing down. "An unmapped survival outpost from the early containment trials. Only the active commanders have the coordinates. If we can reach the surface garage, we take my personal unit."

We hit the bottom of the stairwell, bursting into a low-ceilinged utility tunnel. The air here was clearer, the red fog only a thin mist near the pipes above.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the intersecting corridor ahead.

A figure stumbled out of the gloom, tripping over a pile of rusted iron grates. The fur coat was gone, replaced by a torn, grease-stained silk dress.

Cynthia.

She looked up, her face a mask of absolute terror. Her manicured nails were bleeding, broken to the quick. When she saw Garrison, she let out a desperate, ragged sob and dragged herself toward him.

"Garrison! Please!" she screamed, reaching for his boots. "The General... he pushed me out! The monsters came out of the pipes and he locked the rover doors from the inside! He left me!"

Garrison stopped, looking down at her with cold indifference. He did not raise his weapon, but he did not offer a hand either.

"Karma is a bitch, Cynthia," Garrison said.