Necropolis 2 by S. A. Lusher

infirmaries, armories, fortify our position. The center is easily defensible. There are no vent openings big enough to allow Stalkers, there are only three ways into or out of the center.”
    “ Sounds like a plan,” Billings replied.
    “ So where's this guardian angel of yours?” Kyra asked.
    “ Thomas? I'm not sure, but he must be watching over us, doing whatever he can. For some reason he just can't communicate. We shouldn't rely on him, but I do want to find him. We wouldn't even be alive if it weren't for him.”
    They came to the armory. Greg ran his card through the slot by the door, as it was locked down, and went in gun-first, wary of lingering agents on either side of the alive-undead spectrum, but again he was alone. It seemed as if this part of the ship had been abandoned in favor of more important areas. Greg surveyed the armory.
    “Damn.” Billings stepped in.
    “ Well...it's not totally empty,” Kyra replied.
    The armory was vacant. Racks, shelves, and tables made bare by the needy hands of Dark Ops troops. However, as Kyra had pointed out, they weren't completely shit out of luck. Greg spied a sleek, black-barreled shotgun lying on the floor next to a box of fat red shells. He grinned, crossed the room and knelt.
    “Hello,” he murmured, scooping up the gun and feeding shells into the slide. “Grab as much as you can. We need to arm as many as possible.”
    Kyra and Billings moved to comply, scavenging over the abandoned armory. Greg filled up the weapon and pocketed the rest of the shells. He stood, slung the shotgun over his shoulder and crossed to an armor cabinet that was ajar. Pulling it open, he found none of the fancy suits of black full-body armor, but there was a nice selection of bulletproof vests. He pulled one on, passed Kyra and Billings their own.
    “This is it?” Billings stared at the black vest.
    “ Yes. It'll have to do. We're going to need to be really careful until we can find something a little more substantial. How are we doing on weapons?” Greg replied.
    Kyra held up a pair of rifles and already had a shotgun slung over her shoulder. “Besides the rifle that Billings has, this is all we've got in terms of more powerful guns. Three pistols, a fair amount of ammo. Nothing else.”
    Greg sighed. “Fantastic. Gather it all up, ammo belts, shoulder straps, pouches, everything we can.”
    They hurried, the pressure of time heavy upon them. Greg envisioned Dark Ops getting their shit together, containing the Undead, coming for him and the others. This time it would be different: brutal and bloody and with a hard end for them all. No, they needed to make this work and fast. He refused to go back to prison.
    Once they had cleared out the armory, Greg made for the door, checking up on Powell and Cage. He poked his head out as he called them up and screamed as something swiped at him with wicked claws. He heard Kyra shout behind him as he fell back on his ass, bringing the shotgun into play. A former technician with a pallid skull-face and pools of deep space for eyes bore down on him, reaching for him with jagged, bloody claws.
    Greg squeezed the trigger. The zombie's head vaporized into a thick plume of black blood, brains, and bone fragments, spraying all over the corridor and door frame. The body was thrown several feet back where it slammed to the deck, twitching spasmodically for several seconds until it became still.
    “Holy shit , Bishop.” Billings cried, and then began laughed wildly.
    “ Are you okay?” Kyra helped him to his feet.
    Greg caught onto Billings' laughter. “Uh, yeah...yeah, fine. I just...wow, that was close.” He shook his head, and laughed.
    “Was there something you wanted?” Cage asked.
    Greg had forgotten he'd put in the call. “Just checking up.”
    “We're fine, but busy. Might have to go dark for a little bit. Call you back when we're free. Lots of Dark Ops around.”
    That was that. Greg left them to it, putting his trust in the pair. If