Resident Evil:
Untying the Noose
July 26th 1998, 7:00am
It's the fragrance of the forest, the smell of salty pine misting in the morning air. It was a new smell, like the smell of a newborn child, the smell of growth. The forest was its own entity in itself, there were never enough eyes to see everything that happened in it or smell what was wafting in the air, but sound was a different story.
Combusting flames and charred wood clustered in the air as the rising fireball rose like fungus in the Arklay Mountain air. The explosion of the old mansion could be heard for miles, but it was unknown if any ears heard it in the early morning hours. Though, the incident had already caught one corporation's interests.
Heavy breaths took in the salty pine smell, the aroma straining through the chemical gas mask that adorned the user's face. The scent came in deep through the downed ramp of the modified Chinook Helicopter.
A decorative circle of white with four red triangles pointing inward, forming a type of plus, warped in the middle of it, labeling the side of the helicopter, the branding of the Umbrella Corporation.
Three bodies hung around the outside of the helicopter, dressed in greenish gray jumpsuits, just the first layer of their outfit, knee pads, elbow pads, dark green bulletproof vests, thick, padded gloves that covered the middle and ring finger, a mix of metal and plastic black chemical gas masks, and adorning matching grayish green helmets fitted over the jumpsuits. They were soldiers, Umbrella's Secret Service.
One with a slander body, too slander to be a man's, paced up the ramp, stopping in front of the still sitting in the staled helicopter.
"So, is Mr. Death having second thoughts on this mission?" Her voice was tough, but still remained feminine.
The sitting body stirs and then rises over her own. "No, just going over the objectives." It's said cold and emotionless, the usual from the one they call Mr. Death. That's not what was on his mind, what was, was the fact that they would all be dead by the end of this mission, expect for him. He was the best that there was, always got the mission done, but always came back empty handed. Umbrella was starting to think it would be best that they just start sending him in alone to save on the casualties. There were so many slaughtered in the last mission that white allowed only three USS members under him for this mission.
"What are the mission objective perimeters, Hunk?"
"First, is to secure and eliminate infected in the area that may have escaped the explosion. Two, is to retrieve "The Subject." That is our main priority; we can't leave the area without it.
"The Subject?" White expects us to retrieve a BOW that they don't even know if it survived the explosion?" She speaks roughly.
Hunk turns away from her, facing the wall of the Chinook that holds three MP5s in a special designed rack. His fingers lace around the handle of one and pulls it out of its locked restricts, like a samurai pulling out his Katana.
"It's out there. I can feel it." He cocks the gun, loading the first bullet into the chamber. Hunk grabs two spare clips and holsters them in a hip pack. A blacken steel chest lies underneath the gun rack. Hunk looses the lock on it and lifts the top open. A hiss of steaming vapor cooled from the chest. The walls lined with sub-zero ice and in the bottom, under the foggy haze, two clear canisters were packed in the ice. The dark blue liquid that filled the empty space in them stayed settled as Hunk's fingers laced around it.
The woman extends her finger to the other wall of the Chinook, two bulky clear tubes extending from the floor to the ceiling, large enough to fit a cow in each. "Is that for what we are after?"
"Yes, we secure the specimen and place it in the tube for transport." Hunk speaks without even looking at what she was pointing to. He nimbly straps the canister to his back and than slips the other one over his back as well.
The dispersing sunlight flares over the trees as Hunk walks down the ramp, his hand clasped on his MP5 like it was his baby.
As he came from the darkness of the Chinook, the two other members that wondered around outside, gave him a hard look through their covered eyes.
"It's time that we go." A bitter sternness came from under his mask. Those were the most words that he had spoken in a long time. He was too serious to speak.
"How's the forest look?" Hunk commands from the other man.
"I haven't seen many infected in the area, they seem pretty dispersed. Shouldn't be too hard to move through. Also, there has been no sign of the "The Subject."
"Sounds good, Riot. Ivy, we're moving out."
Ivy shifts from the helicopter readying her own MP5. She gives a quick look around to the rest of the members. "The forest is waiting boys."
The trees walk with them. They had traveled a mile through the mountainous forest and haven't encountered anything, not just infected, but the normal animals that would roam the forest. Most like scared off by the explosion of the old mansion, but it could be something else. And Hunk knew that this was the right path.
The bushes rattle a yard in front of them, the team as a whole tenses their muscle for the action. Hunk takes the lead, the bush rustles again as he creeps next to it. With his hand he moves the braches and leaves aside.
A tender scream reverberates from the dying deer behind the bush, deep and tattered chucks of flesh were missing over its body, pieces of bone surfacing through the wade of muscle. It squeals again as Hunk covers the bushes back over it.
Scuttle hands, parched and flaky, seize Ivy's simple shoulders, squeezing them with their dead grip. Not even a sense of panic comes over her as she un-holstered her Vp70 and leans it over her shoulder. With out the aid of eyes, she takes her shot and the gripping hands are gone.
A crisp moan comes from its mouth; it escapes from the new hole in the back of its head as well. Withered muscles pound the forest floor. Ivy places her side weapon back into its glove and slowly turns around.
"Damn zombies." She knew what they were and where they came from. You learn fast in Umbrella's Secret Services.
The four of them stand around it, the gray putrid tone of its flesh revolting to look at. It was a man or once was. Its eyes glared with a glaze of egg white. Parts of its lips torn away or dropped off from the rotting. It remained shirtless, the creature's chest sunken in, its rips exposed from malnourishment, its once nice dress pants were reduced to ragged shreds that only take to the zombie's knees.
"We have to keep moving. More will be drawn by the gunshot." Hunk pulls away from the sight of the creature and returns to the walk.
Just a few steps crunch the dewy grass under it, they shuffle with twisting bones. It came from the sides of the path that the team was on. Hunk stopped and eased his eyes down towards the noise. It was alone, another rouge that wondering the forest for whatever food it could found. Another tailed behind it and another. They were working in a pack, just like they did when they did research together.
Spits of fire burst from Hunk's MP5 sub machine gun, the bullets firing their marks into the creature's soft foreheads. They collapse on the path, like falling columns.
"Be on alert. It seems that the further that we go in, the more infected there are." The words grease fro Hunk's mouth.
No response comes from his team, just grunts of pressing muscles. Hunk didn't even realize that a group of them had come up behind them. Ivy struggled with another zombie, a woman about her height, her short black hair oily and flat, her clothes were the attire was that of a researcher, black shirt, white turtle neck, and white lab coat. Her flesh has turned grayish white, blotted with spills of red blood and torn muscle.
Ivy holds the zombie's throat with her free hand, extending her MP5 to the temple of the snarling zombie. The gun clattered, the fire from the barrel replaced by a rupture of thick and gooey blood that spurts on the other side of its head.
The one that they call, 'Iron Mask' chambers another shell into his Remington Combat Shotgun as three zombies cluster around him, the first shot peppering a large hole in the stomach of closet zombie, letting the contents seep through the rotting flesh. A cautiously aimed shot peels away part of its skull, killing it instantly. Greedy hands compress on Iron Mask's forearm and as the zombie's gaping mouth comes down to bite, its neck is halted by the barrel of the Shotgun. The zombie snarls and swings its head, trying to get loose from the Shotgun's hold on it. Like a rippling wave, the shotgun kicks with its shot. The dead creature's neck becomes no more than a stump as the head that roosted on it, flowed with the wind. The last one hobbles towards Iron Mask's backside, if he turned around right now it would still be too late. It's forehead splits with a round hole, the size of a quarter.
Riot gives Iron Mask an OK sign with his fingers as he lowers his MP-5. Iron Mask ignores him, turns his back to him and reloads the used shells that he just spent. Riot wasn't surprised by Iron Mask's reactions, he was used to them. All of the Special Force members knew of him, his emotionless cold front. He barely spoke, but that wasn't why he got the codename Iron Mask, it was the fact that no matter what he always had his mask over his face. None of them had ever seen him without it on, giving him more of a chilly presence.
"We have to keep moving. The more we wait, the further "The Subject" gets way from us." Hunk's words couldn't have been more right, because as the last of his sentence came from his mouth, a deadly scream, like a vicious ghostly animal came over the trees.