Strength
Timothy D. Tucker
Chapter 1
September 26th, 1998
In his dreams, Jason Hamilton could not run fast enough. The cries of the dead echoed from all around as he ran and ran. The streets were empty with abandoned cars and storefronts, and the only sound was his ragged breath and pounding footsteps. Behind him, his assailants always caught up to him. He dared not look behind him, but he knew what they were. He could almost smell the rotting aroma drifting off their tattered bodies and see the deformed faces hungry for blood. He continued to run until he felt their cold fingertips against his back. Clammy hands took hold of his shoulders and forced him to the concrete. He was being pulled in every which direction, ghastly fingers tearing at his clothes and flesh. Finally, he felt the teeth puncturing his body. Jason screamed out in pain as his flesh was torn by their vice like jaws. He was going to die...
"No...no...no...no...no...no...NO! NO!"
As Jason awoke from his nightmare, he still found hands gripping him tightly. Not from the wraiths in his dreams, but strong, rough hands. Human hands.
"Pull yourself together man! Snap out of it!"
He felt a hard slap jostle his face violently, and Jason was instantly awake. He had feel asleep in the waiting room, while he was supposed to be keeping a safe-guard on the civilians.
Jason groaned incoherently and wiped his eyes. How could I have fallen asleep? He thought miserably. His fellow officer helped him to his feet and for the first time since he awoke he caught a glimpse of his face.
Oh shit...
It was officer Andrew Meyer, notorious for being a real hard-ass when it came to rules and protocol and not to mention one of the best mark-men on the entire Raccoon Police Department force. Meyer light-heartedly grinned and slapped Jason on the shoulder. He crossed his arms and leaned against the receptionist desk, still smirking at God only knew what. It had often amazed Jason how Meyer could always find amusement in the most dire of situations. Here they were, with over half of the forces officers wiped out, the city under siege, and the lives of over a dozen of civilians in their hands, and Meyer was here, beaming from ear to ear like a kid in a candy store.
"It's okay Hamilton." Meyer said. "We're all on edge from everything that's been going on. Believe me, we could all use a good sleep. What the hell were you doing here anyway?"
"I came in here to find some more sheets for the civilians. How long was I asleep anyway?" Jason asked, rubbing his cheek where Meyer had slapped him.
"About four hours. It wasn't long before the civilians started freaking out because their 'fearless watch-man' had gone missing, and they took me away from my position to find you. Boy, I tell you, these people need to show some fucking initiative. It's hard enough having to watch after our own asses but then when you factor in scared, untrained citizens, it really becomes a total mess, you know?"
Selfishness, a fine trait for a police officer. Jason thought, shaking his head. Meyer was beginning to become more and more unworthy of the uniform he was wearing.
"When we first took the oath to wear these badges, we took an oath to serve and protect the people no matter what the circumstances. No matter how fucked up it may be out there, we just can't throw away civility and order." The heavy weight of his R.P.D. badge was a comfortable feeling against his heart. He wanted so desperately to believe his own words but even he knew the situation was becoming increasingly bleak.
"This badge is only worth so much Hamilton." Meyer retorted. "Come with me, I want to show you something."
Jason reluctantly followed Meyer to the back of the room behind a wooden enclosure. They walked to the window and stopped.
"Here, take a look out there."
Jason hesitantly looked out of the window and saw nothing that remotely surprised him. He was staring out into the court-yard, adjacent to the Raccoon Police Department. Morning sun rays cast a dream like glare through the window and over the court-yard, but Jason could still make out the figures shuffling about below him.
There were about twelve of them, lurching back and fourth across the once neatly cared for garden. One of them continued to walk mindlessly into a pear tree, its reasoning not strong enough to just walk around it. The others heads were fixed on the second-floor window, their ghastly hands stretched fourth at their unattainable prey. He hadn't wanted to say it before, but there was no denying what the citizens of Raccoon City were being killed by and becoming-----------
----------zombies...
"Look at them..." Meyer had joined Jason next to the window. He spoke with a clear sense of disdain at the citizens he once served. "Trust me Hamilton, don't hold yourself to such a high regard just because you wear a badge and carry a gun. How many of those people down there do you think saw you as a god when this shit first jumped off? How many do you think had to find out the harsh reality? When it boils down to it, we're just like them. Confused, scared, and desperate. The only difference is...well, the only difference is we wear a badge and carry a gun. Hmmmph, I tell you, zombies...they creep me out."
Jason felt a tinge of regret prick at his heart. Meyer was right, how many people had died due to there naïve trust in the Raccoon Police Department? The city was in chaos, and any chain of command inside the R.P.D. had all but disappeared. Unless the military intervened, there was no hope.
Jason and Meyer continued to stare out to the court-yard in silence when the door to the main hall burst open. The two officers drew their guns in tandem at the sound, and were relieved when officer Penelope Martinez briskly jogged to their position. Martinez was a new recruit brought in during the summer to replenish the numbers from the disbanded S.T.A.R.S. and Select Police Force. According to her official transfer papers, this was only her first week on the job. A youthful Latina, Jason had often wondered what would drive such a pretty young woman to law enforcement, before finally accepting the fact that The Law held no boundaries.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were with the survivors." Meyer asked.
"We have a problem." Martinez responded. Jason could see concern in her light brown eyes.
"What's going on?"
"One of the survivors we brought in was wounded, it looked like a bite mark or something. When I tried to clean it for him he went into a seizure. I didn't know what to do---
Meyer cut her off. "A bite mark?"
"Yeah, he had it covered by his jacket, I didn't notice until I saw the blood..."
Meyer again interrupted her, this time pushing her aside and unholstering his Berreta side-arm. He started to make his way out of the room.
"Wait! What the hell are you doing?" Martinez shouted at him. The two of them raced to catch up to Meyer as he clicked the safety of his gun off.
"Something you should have done..." Meyer responded.
They made their way into the grandiose main hall. The sound of their rapid footsteps echoed loudly in the once active precinct.
"Listen to me Meyer! You just can't burst in their with a gun! Those people are scared shit-less, you'll only just make matters worse!" Martinez pleaded.
"She's right Meyer." Jason added,
Meyer turned and faced them in a sheer fit of frustration. "What the fuck do you mean she's right!? Do you two even know what we are dealing with? This is a plague! A biological impossibility, the like of which we've never seen before! Do you know what happens to a person who is bit by one of those things? They come back man, they come back and they kill! You think it's just in your movies and your video games, but you don't realize it's too late when they're crowding your streets, banging on your front door, putting innocent lives in danger." He pointed towards the detectives room on the west side of the main hall, the room where all of the civilians were kept.
The color had drained from Martinez's face. "Have you seen this happen?" She asked tentatively.
She wasn't with us last night during the parking-lot massacre. Jason thought.
"It's not a question of seeing with your very own eyes. The truth can only get you so far. Just look out-side. Those things used to be citizens of Raccoon City. I don't know whether this thing is air-borne or not, if that's the case, we'd all be infected, but it's obvious that the number one mode of infection is coming into contact with them, a bite, or scratch."
They continued to make their way to the detectives room, passing underneath a massive stone sculpture of a female carrying a water basin, no doubt a remnant from the time the precinct was an art gallery. The three of them stood out-side the door. Frantic cries could be heard coming from the other side. Without hesitation, Meyer stormed into the office. The room was big enough to accommodate the survivors, with lockers adorning the east wall and a long table running the length of the room, covered with all kinds of miscellaneous items. Now, several of the survivors were crowded behind the table, frantically crying about in confusion and horror.
Martinez and Meyer rushed past the perplexed civilians, trying to get to the wounded man. Jason lagged behind them, having to lean over peoples shoulders to see what was going on. An older man was lying on the floor, convulsing rapidly. His face was deathly pale and thick streams of saliva ran from his open mouth. Jason could see a horrific gash just above his wrist, it's surface a sickly shade of crimson. A young girl was kneeling next to him crying and clutching his arm. Probably a relative. We can't let Meyer do this in front of her.
Martinez took hold of the girls shoulders. "Come with me sweety. We're going to take care of him, alright? Don't you worry."
The girl was hysterical, clutching the old man with all the strength she could muster. "I'm not going to leave my grand-dad!" She screamed. Meyer stood over the spectacle, his gun held menacingly in his right hand.
I wish he would put that damn thing away...
Martinez continued to soothe the young girl. Her grand-father seemed to be trying to say something. His lips quivered uncontrollably as he fought to speak.
"S—s---so cold. I'm so—so cold! Oh God it itches! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
His speech was again lost as spasms contorted his body. Several people screamed, including his grand-daughter. The old mans eyes began to roll in his head, his irises becoming a milky white.
"SOMEBODY HELP HIM! PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP!" His grand-daughter cried.
Martinez still tried to ply the girls arm away from him. It was too late before they realized that it was actually her grand-father clutching her tightly. He pulled his grand-daughters arm towards his gaping mouth and without reluctance bit into her exposed arm. Total chaos erupted amongst the survivors. Jason was knocked backwards and nearly trampled from the crowd wanting to retreat from the sickening scene. Above him Meyer sprung into action, kicking the old man in the side of the head like a soccer ball. The impact loosened the old mans grip on his grand-daughter and Martinez was finally able to get her free. Meyer stood over the once human man, his gun trained on its head.
"EVERY-BODY GET BACK!" He shouted.
BANG! BANG!
Two shots rang out in the detective room, obliterating the old mans head. A hush of silence fell over the room, the only sounds being the whimpering of the little girl and others. Meyer holstered his weapon and took a step back. The zombies head was mercifully out of view from the table but Jason could still see the blood seeping across the floor and splattering the walls.
Meyer then proceeded to Martinez and the young girl. A bloody handkerchief covered her wound and she cried into Martinez's shoulder. Martinez silently pleaded with Meyer with watery eyes.
"Por favor." She begged. " Ella es apenas un niño."
Meyer knelled next to her and whispered something in her ear. She silently nodded and took hold of the girls uninjured hand.
"Come with me." Martinez urged the girl. "It's going to be okay."
Martinez gently pulled the girl to her feet and led her to the door.
"Hey, where are you taking her!?" One of the survivors yelled.
"You're going to fucking do her in too!? She's just a kid!" Another one shouted.
Nobody stopped the two from leaving. The throng of people parted as Martinez and the girl exited the room.
"Now, I want any-body else who has been injured to step forward!" Meyer demanded.
Nobody budged an inch. "That's what I expected. Hamilton, help me with this body."
Jason did not hear him. His eyes were fixated on the survivors. Men, women, children, with various ages and walks of life, some lived life to the fullest, others not even given the chance to. The surviving police couldn't afford to lose these people's trust. Jason vowed to protect these people until, God forbid, there was no one else to protect.
"HAMILTON!"
Jason snapped from his musings and faced Meyer. "I said help me with the body." Meyer had thankfully placed numerous newspapers around the dead mans head, covering the gore. He under-hooked the corpses arms and midsection and lifted as Jason grabbed hold of its legs. They lifted and heaved the body towards the door. Jason could feel the eyes of the survivors burning through him.
"He's not a piece of trash! He was a good man!" A woman shouted.
Jason and Meyer continued to heave the body to the door. "They just don't understand..." Meyer whispered. "They just don't fucking get it..."