Josh Murphy slowly came back to the world of the conscious. He
instinctively gauged his surroundings, and soon came to the obvious
conclusion that he was still in his Jeep. Reflexively, he reached down
towards his hip, and was pleased to find that he was still wearing his
Glock 17 handgun. Another quick search of his S.T.A.R.S uniform revealed
that he was also still carrying all three clips for the gun, making a grand
total of 68 rounds. The self-check also revealed he was still carrying his
combat knife. He allowed himself a smile despite his pounding headache; at
least he was still armed. Something he couldn't figure out, however, was
how he had come to crash his Jeep. It was obvious that he had crashed, the
windshield in front of him was broken, spidery lines traveling across
nearly the entire surface of the glass, but he couldn't remember for the
life of him how he'd gotten there. Then, it hit him.
Josh, along with three other members of the St. Louis branch of the Special Tactics And Rescue Squad, S.T.A.R.S. for short, had been traveling down a strangely deserted section of highway towards Lambert Airport, when they heard the noise. A loud, hissing noise, and then they saw the missile. The smoke trail, from what Josh could see from his Jeep, seemed to have come from off the side of the road somewhere, but that observation was quickly cut short by the missile's impact. The projectile had hit the road just between the two cars, and that was when Josh blacked out.
Josh was shocked from his flashback by a dull thumping noise, coming from outside the car. He couldn't see shit, but he turned towards the noise anyway, hearing it distinctly from the passenger side door. The thumping continued and eventually started rising in both frequency and volume, in time with Josh's own madly beating heart. Josh reached back in the seat, remembering that there was a flashlight among the cargo he was carrying, and blindly groped for the metal object. He soon found it, nestled under a crate of medical supplies, and brought the flashlight up to face the still thumping window. He flicked the light on, instantly pointing his pistol towards the center of the beam of light as it came on. However, he was completely unprepared for the sight that met his eyes as the light fell on the thing that was generating the thumping sound.
It was human, or at least, had once been. The thing's hair was long and scraggly, as though it hadn't been washed in some time. But that was hardly the oddest thing about it. The man's flesh had apparently partly rotted off, one entire cheek missing all its skin, muscle showing under the monster's face. The eyes were blank white, and more skin was missing from the ghoul's hands, which were pounding rapidly, hungrily, against Josh's car window. Josh's mind instantly flashed to the conversation he had had with his old buddy from the Air Force, Chris Redfield. Chris had said something about a virus, being made by the Umbrella Pharmaceutical Corporation of all things, which turned people into some sort of zombies. At the time, I thought he was crazy, Josh thought, but I suppose I can count that out now, can't I? The thing grabbing at his window certainly fit the mental image that Chris' phone call had summoned, and there was no reason to suspect Chris was lying about Umbrella. The zombie's hand smashed hard against the window of Josh's Jeep, and as it hit, a thin line broke out from the window. Zombies may not be smart, Josh thought, but they sure are determined. He grasped backwards at the driver side door handle, found it, and twisted madly, rewarded with a click as the door opened, and then bitter disappointment as the door hit something, probably a tree branch, preventing it from opening. Josh's eyes widened as he realized what trouble that put him in. Guess that meant he had no choice but to shoot his way out. Josh had seen enough crappy old zombie movies to guess that shooting it in the head was probably the best way to kill almost ANYTHING undead. Grasping that assumption, Josh raised the barrel of his Glock up to the window, sighting carefully in on the center of the zombie's skull. It wasn't a hard shot at all, but Josh took his time sighting it up, wanting to waste as little ammo as possible. Centering the sights of his pistol dead center between the zombie's eyes, Josh gave it a cocky smirk.
"Say goodbye, asshole," Josh said, and squeezed the trigger. The nine-millimeter bullet flew forward, straight through the window of his Jeep, and hit, dead between the creature's dead eyes. Blood spurted out from the head wound, spraying the window red, and the zombie fell over, not even having time to emit a dying moan before all brain function ceased. Josh smiled grimly and kicked at the passenger side door, knocking it loose from the already damaged Jeep without bothering to try opening it. Josh made his way out from the destroyed Jeep, scrambling madly for where he assumed the road was, blindly hoping that, wherever they were, his comrades were alright.
Josh, along with three other members of the St. Louis branch of the Special Tactics And Rescue Squad, S.T.A.R.S. for short, had been traveling down a strangely deserted section of highway towards Lambert Airport, when they heard the noise. A loud, hissing noise, and then they saw the missile. The smoke trail, from what Josh could see from his Jeep, seemed to have come from off the side of the road somewhere, but that observation was quickly cut short by the missile's impact. The projectile had hit the road just between the two cars, and that was when Josh blacked out.
Josh was shocked from his flashback by a dull thumping noise, coming from outside the car. He couldn't see shit, but he turned towards the noise anyway, hearing it distinctly from the passenger side door. The thumping continued and eventually started rising in both frequency and volume, in time with Josh's own madly beating heart. Josh reached back in the seat, remembering that there was a flashlight among the cargo he was carrying, and blindly groped for the metal object. He soon found it, nestled under a crate of medical supplies, and brought the flashlight up to face the still thumping window. He flicked the light on, instantly pointing his pistol towards the center of the beam of light as it came on. However, he was completely unprepared for the sight that met his eyes as the light fell on the thing that was generating the thumping sound.
It was human, or at least, had once been. The thing's hair was long and scraggly, as though it hadn't been washed in some time. But that was hardly the oddest thing about it. The man's flesh had apparently partly rotted off, one entire cheek missing all its skin, muscle showing under the monster's face. The eyes were blank white, and more skin was missing from the ghoul's hands, which were pounding rapidly, hungrily, against Josh's car window. Josh's mind instantly flashed to the conversation he had had with his old buddy from the Air Force, Chris Redfield. Chris had said something about a virus, being made by the Umbrella Pharmaceutical Corporation of all things, which turned people into some sort of zombies. At the time, I thought he was crazy, Josh thought, but I suppose I can count that out now, can't I? The thing grabbing at his window certainly fit the mental image that Chris' phone call had summoned, and there was no reason to suspect Chris was lying about Umbrella. The zombie's hand smashed hard against the window of Josh's Jeep, and as it hit, a thin line broke out from the window. Zombies may not be smart, Josh thought, but they sure are determined. He grasped backwards at the driver side door handle, found it, and twisted madly, rewarded with a click as the door opened, and then bitter disappointment as the door hit something, probably a tree branch, preventing it from opening. Josh's eyes widened as he realized what trouble that put him in. Guess that meant he had no choice but to shoot his way out. Josh had seen enough crappy old zombie movies to guess that shooting it in the head was probably the best way to kill almost ANYTHING undead. Grasping that assumption, Josh raised the barrel of his Glock up to the window, sighting carefully in on the center of the zombie's skull. It wasn't a hard shot at all, but Josh took his time sighting it up, wanting to waste as little ammo as possible. Centering the sights of his pistol dead center between the zombie's eyes, Josh gave it a cocky smirk.
"Say goodbye, asshole," Josh said, and squeezed the trigger. The nine-millimeter bullet flew forward, straight through the window of his Jeep, and hit, dead between the creature's dead eyes. Blood spurted out from the head wound, spraying the window red, and the zombie fell over, not even having time to emit a dying moan before all brain function ceased. Josh smiled grimly and kicked at the passenger side door, knocking it loose from the already damaged Jeep without bothering to try opening it. Josh made his way out from the destroyed Jeep, scrambling madly for where he assumed the road was, blindly hoping that, wherever they were, his comrades were alright.