Resident Nice
Chapter 3
A large door stood at the end of the hall. Greg crouched with the light shotgun aimed by slightly shaking hands at the door. Claire stood on one side of the door, John on the other.
"OK," whispered John, "On 3, 2, 1." Claire kicked the door hard. With a slight shudder it swung smoothly open. John whipped round, holding his magnum in both hands and straight ahead of him. A large, dark room yawned at him. Everything was still, quiet, deadly.
"Well, it looks clear." Muttered John to his companions, but none of them dropped their guns to their sides. Greg stayed in the door as cover, Claire skirted the edges, her eyes squinting through the darkness, but John had his sights on a door at the far end of the room, in a corner to the left of a pair of big double doors. A sign illuminated by a small green neon light showed the emergency exit symbol of the stick man running through a door with fire at his back. But John was more interested in the sign just underneath the emergency one. It read, 'SERVICE ELEVATOR'. He knew that the one thing that stayed in operation after an emergency system shut down was the service elevator.
Meanwhile, Claire was scoping the room for signs of the virus's outbreak. She didn't have to look long. On a table in between two squashy couches was a spilt cup of coffee, and a standing, half-drunk, mouldy one. She also noticed an overturned chair nearby, and three shotgun shells on the floor by the coffee stain made by the spilt coffee.
"Jesus, what happened here?." Her S.T.A.R.S training told her to sniff and take samples of the coffee and a shell, but she knew that if one molecule of that coffee got anywhere near her mouth or nose she'd be undead within hours.
"Hey Claire, Greg! I've found our passage to the top floors!"
Claire looked up. Through the gloom she could just make out John signalling energetically.
Greg had been peering back down the hallway they had just come from when he heard the call. He could see the lit lobby, the reception area where they had met Claire, and he could just make out the zombies outside the main doors and, if he listened very carefully, he could hear their muffled moans echoing down the hallway. John's shout brought him out of his stupor. He turned and walked over to where John was waving to him. Claire was also strolling over. She had an eyebrow raised.
"Oh yeah?" she said with a half smile.
"Service elevator." Grinned John. Now both Claire's eyebrows were up, but not in sarcasm.
"Really?" she asked, "Where?"
"Right.there!" said John triumphantly.
"Hmm, very good handsome."
"Right," said Greg quickly. He had seen Johns face turning slightly red, and couldn't bear another Claire-John bickering battle.
"Let's go, OK?" he said, looking at the both of them hopefully.
"Yeah, yeah let's go." Said Claire through gritted teeth. She brushed imperiously past John. Holding her Beretta dead straight, she nodded to Greg, inclined her head bitterly at John, then got to one side of the door, her hand on the knob. "3, 2, 1!" she whispered. On "1!" she turned the knob. In the same instance Greg kicked the door, which flew open. John stepped forward into the dim green light of the neon sign, his gun held firmly in both hands. The smell of a packed wardrobe that hasn't been opened in years mixed with rotting fish hit them.
"Eurgh!" exclaimed Greg, and made a face.
"God!" said John in disgust.
Claire's nose wrinkled, but other than that she didn't move an inch.
Until the sound shuffling feet and a moan of hunger followed the smell out of the doorway.
Their eyes snapped up to the darkness beyond. A tiny light at the end of the small hallway lit up the metallic doors of the service elevator. A shadow was moving near their end of the hall. Then it shuffled into the light.
It was a zombie.
It was quite fresh, but was showing signs of decay. It top lip had partly rotted away, giving it a permanent grin. One eye was wide and staring, the other's eyelid half covered the yellowing eyeball. Its tongue lolled horribly out of the side of its mouth. It had been a police officer. It still had its uniform on, but it was ripped and dirty in places. Its hands were curled and slightly green.
And now they were reaching for John, its eyes lighting up at the sight of fresh meat, clean flesh. It gave a moan and began to shuffle closer. Greg and Claire stepped out from the shadows at the side of the doorway and raised their guns at the zombie. It paused in its shuffling and took in the arrival of the two new people. This pause was gave John the second he needed to pull himself together. He aimed his magnum at the thing's lifeless heart, then at its head.
"Physical shock or rupture to the head right?" he asked Claire out of the side of his mouth.
"Right." Said Claire, and her voice was deadly, experienced.
"Let's take it down." Growled Greg. The dark hallway was suddenly lit up with flashing lights and filled with bangs and one huge boom as the threesome began to empty their guns at the creature. The berretta slowed it but it would have kept coming if the magnum had dent taken a chunk out of its left arm, flinging its body sideways, then out of its right shoulder, flinging it back the other way. This movement was just enough, however, to put the shotgun off its target. The booming shot ended the shooting spree. A huge, gaping hole appeared in the zombie's stomach and it was thrown backwards and to the right. It smashed through a flimsy wooden door which none of them had seen. It was obviously a broom cupboard though, because there was a great clanging and banging as the creature plunged headlong into a pile of brooms, mops and vacuums. There was a smash and cleaning fluid was spattered over the three people and the walls. With a crack the block of shelves above the zombie, now squirming on the floor, gave way and fell with a crash on the stricken creature's head and back. John raised his gun and began to pull the trigger. He had a strange desire to pump bullets relentlessly into the thing. It filled his whole body. Hatred was the only word he could put to it. It coursed through his veins; he quivered with it. A calm, soothing but firm hand held the magnum and brought it up and away from the limp form of the zombie.
"No, John. We need the ammo and its finished anyway. It wont be getting up again." Said Claire quietly.
"Alright, alright."
"You OK John?" asked Greg. He had concern in his voice. He had never seen his friend look so angry.
"Of course I'm OK!" John snapped. He gave a false laugh. "C'mon, we gotta get moving."
They walked up to the elevator doors. "Here goes nothin'."
John pressed the call button.
TO BE CONTINUED
Chapter 3
A large door stood at the end of the hall. Greg crouched with the light shotgun aimed by slightly shaking hands at the door. Claire stood on one side of the door, John on the other.
"OK," whispered John, "On 3, 2, 1." Claire kicked the door hard. With a slight shudder it swung smoothly open. John whipped round, holding his magnum in both hands and straight ahead of him. A large, dark room yawned at him. Everything was still, quiet, deadly.
"Well, it looks clear." Muttered John to his companions, but none of them dropped their guns to their sides. Greg stayed in the door as cover, Claire skirted the edges, her eyes squinting through the darkness, but John had his sights on a door at the far end of the room, in a corner to the left of a pair of big double doors. A sign illuminated by a small green neon light showed the emergency exit symbol of the stick man running through a door with fire at his back. But John was more interested in the sign just underneath the emergency one. It read, 'SERVICE ELEVATOR'. He knew that the one thing that stayed in operation after an emergency system shut down was the service elevator.
Meanwhile, Claire was scoping the room for signs of the virus's outbreak. She didn't have to look long. On a table in between two squashy couches was a spilt cup of coffee, and a standing, half-drunk, mouldy one. She also noticed an overturned chair nearby, and three shotgun shells on the floor by the coffee stain made by the spilt coffee.
"Jesus, what happened here?." Her S.T.A.R.S training told her to sniff and take samples of the coffee and a shell, but she knew that if one molecule of that coffee got anywhere near her mouth or nose she'd be undead within hours.
"Hey Claire, Greg! I've found our passage to the top floors!"
Claire looked up. Through the gloom she could just make out John signalling energetically.
Greg had been peering back down the hallway they had just come from when he heard the call. He could see the lit lobby, the reception area where they had met Claire, and he could just make out the zombies outside the main doors and, if he listened very carefully, he could hear their muffled moans echoing down the hallway. John's shout brought him out of his stupor. He turned and walked over to where John was waving to him. Claire was also strolling over. She had an eyebrow raised.
"Oh yeah?" she said with a half smile.
"Service elevator." Grinned John. Now both Claire's eyebrows were up, but not in sarcasm.
"Really?" she asked, "Where?"
"Right.there!" said John triumphantly.
"Hmm, very good handsome."
"Right," said Greg quickly. He had seen Johns face turning slightly red, and couldn't bear another Claire-John bickering battle.
"Let's go, OK?" he said, looking at the both of them hopefully.
"Yeah, yeah let's go." Said Claire through gritted teeth. She brushed imperiously past John. Holding her Beretta dead straight, she nodded to Greg, inclined her head bitterly at John, then got to one side of the door, her hand on the knob. "3, 2, 1!" she whispered. On "1!" she turned the knob. In the same instance Greg kicked the door, which flew open. John stepped forward into the dim green light of the neon sign, his gun held firmly in both hands. The smell of a packed wardrobe that hasn't been opened in years mixed with rotting fish hit them.
"Eurgh!" exclaimed Greg, and made a face.
"God!" said John in disgust.
Claire's nose wrinkled, but other than that she didn't move an inch.
Until the sound shuffling feet and a moan of hunger followed the smell out of the doorway.
Their eyes snapped up to the darkness beyond. A tiny light at the end of the small hallway lit up the metallic doors of the service elevator. A shadow was moving near their end of the hall. Then it shuffled into the light.
It was a zombie.
It was quite fresh, but was showing signs of decay. It top lip had partly rotted away, giving it a permanent grin. One eye was wide and staring, the other's eyelid half covered the yellowing eyeball. Its tongue lolled horribly out of the side of its mouth. It had been a police officer. It still had its uniform on, but it was ripped and dirty in places. Its hands were curled and slightly green.
And now they were reaching for John, its eyes lighting up at the sight of fresh meat, clean flesh. It gave a moan and began to shuffle closer. Greg and Claire stepped out from the shadows at the side of the doorway and raised their guns at the zombie. It paused in its shuffling and took in the arrival of the two new people. This pause was gave John the second he needed to pull himself together. He aimed his magnum at the thing's lifeless heart, then at its head.
"Physical shock or rupture to the head right?" he asked Claire out of the side of his mouth.
"Right." Said Claire, and her voice was deadly, experienced.
"Let's take it down." Growled Greg. The dark hallway was suddenly lit up with flashing lights and filled with bangs and one huge boom as the threesome began to empty their guns at the creature. The berretta slowed it but it would have kept coming if the magnum had dent taken a chunk out of its left arm, flinging its body sideways, then out of its right shoulder, flinging it back the other way. This movement was just enough, however, to put the shotgun off its target. The booming shot ended the shooting spree. A huge, gaping hole appeared in the zombie's stomach and it was thrown backwards and to the right. It smashed through a flimsy wooden door which none of them had seen. It was obviously a broom cupboard though, because there was a great clanging and banging as the creature plunged headlong into a pile of brooms, mops and vacuums. There was a smash and cleaning fluid was spattered over the three people and the walls. With a crack the block of shelves above the zombie, now squirming on the floor, gave way and fell with a crash on the stricken creature's head and back. John raised his gun and began to pull the trigger. He had a strange desire to pump bullets relentlessly into the thing. It filled his whole body. Hatred was the only word he could put to it. It coursed through his veins; he quivered with it. A calm, soothing but firm hand held the magnum and brought it up and away from the limp form of the zombie.
"No, John. We need the ammo and its finished anyway. It wont be getting up again." Said Claire quietly.
"Alright, alright."
"You OK John?" asked Greg. He had concern in his voice. He had never seen his friend look so angry.
"Of course I'm OK!" John snapped. He gave a false laugh. "C'mon, we gotta get moving."
They walked up to the elevator doors. "Here goes nothin'."
John pressed the call button.
TO BE CONTINUED