Author's Note: "The Savior" is 100 property of writer Eazy E 4 Life, and Resident Evil is all Capcom. This fan fiction is a follow-up story of Easy E 4 Life's series. This mini-series is, however, my work (based on, of course Capcom's game, Resident Evil and Easy E 4 Life's series).
Tying Loose Ends
It had been nearly three days since Jen had last seen Matt or Josie, and she was almost certain neither of them were still alive. Three days. Two since she had last encountered another survivor. Five since Canada had been devastated by an unknown enemy. Four since she'd seen Kevin torn apart in the streets. Kevin...
Jennifer Gray snapped away from her recollections as her foot skipped a chunk of concrete a few feet down the broken sidewalk she was on. Cursing herself for not being more careful, she glanced around her, looking for any sign of life. At least, whatever could be considered life in Montreal. Her search yielded nothing. The cookie-cutter office buildings lined up on either side of the deathly quiet urban street were silent and still. Nothing moved beyond the dark windows; nothing stirred inside the darkened alleyways.
"Okay." Jen whispered to herself, relieved that her slight blunder had not become a major problem. Still, she couldn't help but kick herself inwardly. Even with the Glock she had taken from the North End Montreal police precinct, Jen wanted to avoid contact with the monsters roaming around Canada as much as possible.
So far, her plans for escaping Montreal were limited. Jen couldn't think. All she wanted to do was think. Still, any time she stopped somewhere for too long, the monsters caught up to her or found her or both. Besides, thinking would probably only mess her up even more. All she could think to do was find a radio or something. She was sure that the phones in the buildings were working fine, but she did not dare venture in. Into buildings. Into hallways. Into small spaces. Into a trap. That would be bad. So, where to find a radio?
The answer came in red, white, and blue. A Montreal police car was parked along the curb, it's driver's side front door open and the lights on top still spinning. In the fading light of dusk, the lights atop the cruiser were very pronounced, sending red and blue ghosts flickering over the grey building facades. The whole thing gave Jen the willies, but she ventured on anyway, silencing her instinct and forcing rational thought to the center stage.
Retrieving the handgun from the small of her back, Jen moved quickly toward the squad car. With the failing daylight, it took Jen a second to comprehend what she saw on the side of the car. After a few second, she finally grasped that what she was looking at; a long smear of blood, starting from the back of the open door and tapering off near the top of the back tire. Forcing herself to ignore the macabre sight, Jen pressed on, hurrying forward and stepping into the car, slipping in behind the wheel.
The car was almost empty. An empty Styrofoam cup sat in one of the cup holders, the rim around the top of the cup twisted and torn from a habit Jen was all too familiar with. A few crumpled candy wrappers had been tossed carelessly into the passenger's seat, and, when Jen shifted slightly in the seat, her foot sent an empty McDonald's bag rolling around the floor. Greasy napkins littered the cruiser's console. However, it wasn't the mess that caught Jen's eye, it was the computer nestled into the console and, more importantly, the car's CB radio secured to the dash board just above the screen.
Jen snatched the receiver from the black box attached to the dash and held the small microphone to her mouth, but hesitated before activating it. What would she say? What would you say when in a situation like this? Jen had been so focused on finding a radio, she hadn't thought about what she might say. In all the movies she'd seen, the desperate survivor would break into a near panic whenever given the opportunity to make contact with other survivors. But Jen couldn't help but wonder what good that did. Just stay calm. she thought, then thumbed the receiver button.
"This is Jennifer Gray. Can anyone hear me?" she asked, then released the button. Seconds ticked by. Ten of them. Twenty. Thirty. Jen considered making another call on the station, then leaned forward in her seat to get a better look at the radio on the dash. She swore quietly, then mashed the small red button labeled "ON/OFF". A small red light came on close to the button. The voice that came from the radio was so sudden that it caused Jen to drop the receiver and jump in her seat, almost falling out of the squad car.
"This is Corporal Kyle Streeter with the Land Force Command. If there is anybody out there that can here me, respond immediately. Repeat, if there are any survivors in the North End Montreal vicinity, respond immediately." To Jen, the unknown voice sounded authoritative, almost bossy in a way. Still, adrenaline surged through her veins. The Land Force Command was the Canadian Army! Jen unzipped the track jacket she was wearing then picked the receiver up from the mass of straw wrappers, then thumbed the button.
"Yes, hello? This is Jennifer Gray. Can you hear me?"
"Yes, Jennifer, I can hear you. Can you tell me where you are?"
Jen paused for a second, thinking carefully. She hadn't been paying much attention to street signs, but the name of the street she was on was somewhere in her mind. Mom and I drove down here when I was learning to drive. Jen reminded herself.
"Lifford." she finally said. "Lifford Avenue."
There was a pause over the radio and for a brief moment Jen was afraid that Corporal Streeter had lost the radio signal. Then, finally, there came a response.
"You're not far from us, Jennifer. Do you think you could make it to the community center on North 12th Street?" Streeter asked.
"I know where that is." Jen replied immediately, clenching her left, empty hand into a fist to keep it from shaking. "I can be there in about thirty minutes."
"Good." came the short reply, then he continued. "We'll be in a helicopter in the parking lot. Is anyone with you?"
For a brief moment, Jen's thoughts went back once more to Kevin and the others, back to everyone that had been lost. She blinked and wiped a tear off her cheek, then answered, her voice shaky.
"No, I'm alone."
"Understood." Kyle said after a pause, seeming to detect the quiver in her voice. "Just get here as quickly and carefully as you–" the line suddenly went dead, Streeter's voice replaced by a crash and then static.
Jen swore to herself then dropped the receiver and stepped out of the cruiser in a panic. The only person she had heard from in days had just dropped out of the airwaves like a plane shot down by a missile. In her hurry, Jen failed to notice the sounds of movement from underneath the car. She did, however notice the blood-slicked hand that found a strong purchase on her right ankle just above the top her sneaker. The thing under the car pulled itself out from under the vehicle and, in an attempt to back away, Jen fell flat on her back. The back of her head cracked sharply against the sidewalk, and darkness began to eat at the corners of her vision.
I'm going to die.
The single thought surged its way through her mind like a jolt of electricity, and as if on a delayed reaction, adrenaline poured through her veins like ice water.
A strong hand gripped Jen's collar, dragged the connected arm, then body practically on top of the teenager. Jen bit back a gag as what once was a police officer released a hot breath of biting odor from its rotting long. For a second, Jen was worried that she may black out again as blood-stained teeth bared, separated, then snapped forward in a toothy maw.
Jen twisted to her right, tilting her head out of the way. Her attacker's blow fell mere inches from her, the monster's face slamming into the pavement. A few gooey flecks of sticky blood danced across the survivor's left cheek. Using the ex-cop's own momentum against it, Jen pushed the creature up and off of her, rolling to the right and onto her feet. Shaky hands fumbled for the Glock at the small of her back as the creature stumbled to its feet, nose split open but seemingly unaware of the injury, and let out a raspy snarl that sounded more like air escaping through a hole in a hot air balloon, then shambled forward, reaching out with gnarled, claw-like hands. Jen couldn't understand why her fingers hadn't closed over the pistol's handle until she realized that the automatic was still in the car.
The zombie had moved between her and the car door. The monster was moving faster than Jen had expected and was already within arm's length. Without time to think about her next move, Jen lunged forward, ramming her shoulder into the monster's chest. The thing staggered back, giving her enough time to dance around it and half-fall, half-jump backwards through the open car door. She landed uncomfortably, sprawled across the two seats and the car's console. The Glock's handle dug painfully into Jen's back, prompting her to pick it up and take a sloppy firing position, supporting her right shooter's arm at the wrist with her left hand. The zombie stepped into the door way and exposed it's chest and Jen, without hesitation, fired half a dozen bullets in rapid succession.
Blood spattered onto the steering wheel, driver's seat, and across Jen's jeans as six holes were ripped into the ex-cop's chest. The thing staggered back and it's bloodied face, protected by the car's roof just seconds ago, became visible and Jen saw her chance. Using the skills that she'd developed over the past few days, she took quick aim, then fired three more bullets, all of them slugging into the zombie's face and turning the monsters slack-jawed features into a sticky, pink pulp. The thing fell back, tipping like a tree cut down by a lumberjack, then landed on it's back, shreds of skin and chunks of grey brain matter flapping and splattering onto the pavement.
In seconds that felt like hours, the threat had been neutralized. Jen scrambled out of the cruiser, the Glock in her hand held in a white-knuckled grip. Trying her best to side-step the growing pull of blood, Jen moved around the body then raced down the street. Streeter may have been dead, but she had to know. Besides, if they were a Land Force Command organization, they might have better weapons– the Glock, Jen had noticed, had a tendency to jam up in a tight situation.
Once Jen had rounded the corner, her rushed pace slowed to a steady jog, then changed once more to a fast walk. She had learned early on that wasting stamina when not necessary was foolish. Her heart still thumped and her pulse still pounded in her ears as she walked down the first of four blocks to get to North 12th Street, the adrenaline that was still pumping through her veins ebbing away slowly and leaving Jen feeling cold in the fading light. With a sigh, she zipped the track jacket back up to her chin– then stopped in her tracks as the sound of scrabbling claws on concrete caught her ear.
Jen spun around, facing the sound only to find an empty street and dark buildings. A light gust of wind blew a few crumpled newspapers along the sidewalk, putting an image of a cliche showdown in Jen's mind. But the most obvious question lingered, what was she facing?
Not taking her eyes off the street, Jen ejected and pocketed the magazine from the Glock. It still held eight .40 S&W rounds, but Jen didn't want to take the risk. Fishing the other, fully loaded clip from her jacket pocket, she tapped the top of the metal cartridge holder against her wrist, leveling the bullets, then shoved the magazine home.
Almost as if on queue, a horrible creature that almost resembled like a skinned body-builder leapt from a side alley, its huge claws gouging out pieces of concrete. A meter-long tongue, studded with spikes and tapering off in a sharp point, curled from its grinning mouth, twisting sadistically.
Unlike every character in horror movies who waited to see what happened next, Jen snapped the Glock up, already squeezing the trigger, and fired a hollow-point slug at the creature. The hot bullet pounded into the monster's chest, blowing a large piece of flesh away and sending a hot spray of red mist spattering on the pavement. The monster howled and staggered back but recovered almost instantly and leaped forward.
Jen tried stepping back and away, but in her panic she stumbled and fell back. For a second, she thought she was a goner. However, as luck would have it, the creature dove right over her. The monster landed a foot and a half from the top of her head, giving Jen enough time to roll to the left, rise to a crouch, then bring up the automatic. The creature turned, exposing it's toothy, eyeless face. It's mouth curved into a snarl and it's tongue lashed forward. Jen fired the handgun, the bullet ripping through the monster's head just as one of the sharp barbs on the tongue tore a strip of fabric from Jen's left sleeve, barely missing the skin underneath.
Jen scrambled to her feet, using her left hand to push herself up, her right holding the Glock that was still trained on the dead creature's head. One of the toes on the monsters right "hand" twitched, and Jen didn't hesitate to put another bullet in the other side of its brain.
Jen stood frozen for thirty more seconds before breaking into a run. Stamina be damned, the sooner she could get to Streeter, the better, and Jen didn't plan on wasting any time getting there.
Corporal Kyle Streeter stared blankly at the CH-146's open door. Kyle was vaguely aware that leaving the door open and unguarded was a serious security risk, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Besides, he was the only one left alive on the Griffon, anyway. Well, the only one that wasn't rotting or being eaten.
A growl from nearby caught his ear, and Streeter slowly tuned in to the other sounds in the helicopter's cabin. A nasty, chewing, smacking sound came from somewhere to his left. Kyle rolled his head in that direction to see a crimson-red creature hunched over the body of Lieutenant Lewis Strong. The thing's back was turned to the corporal, but Kyle knew exactly what the monster was doing.
Chow down, you ugly fuck. Streeter thought bitterly, silently drawing an M9 from his shoulder holster and taking careful aim at the back of the creature's head. Laying on his left side and aiming up with his right arm wasn't exactly the easiest shot to take, but the creature was close. So close that Streeter was sure he wouldn't miss. He squeezed the trigger– and almost swore as absolutely nothing happened.
Kyle remembered how he'd been knocked unconscious, how the rest of the aircrew had been killed. The zombie– if that's what it could be called– before him, still clad in a loose-fitting, grey suit, had moved like the lightning, sneaking up on the helicopter in spite of the flood lights, then springing through the open side hatch, knocking the crew chief back, causing him to knock his head against the curved inside wall of the Griffon. Streeter knew how fast these things moved, and he wasn't sure if he could chamber a round in the M9 and fire before the thing could turn around, snatching away his opportunity to finish the creature off easily.
Kyle glanced around and saw Lieutenant Peyton Hall, slumped on his left side, blank eyes staring at the corporal, a huge chunk of flesh ripped from his throat. But Streeter's eyes, instead of drawing to the gruesome spectacle, gravitated to the holstered M9 under Peyton's left arm.
It doesn't have a round in the chamber. Streeter thought bitterly to himself. Lieutenant Hall was even more of a stickler about his weapons– and the care of them– than Kyle was. But my carbine does. The light bulb came on in his mind, and the corporal's eyes darted around the part of the cabin he could see. He quickly found the weapon, tossed against the concave wall.
Streeter looked back at the creature. It was still busy enjoying its meal. Moving as quickly as possible, Kyle grabbed the C8 carbine, turned and fired. The monster, noticing the disturbance behind it, had turned and was already starting a leap when a 5.56x45mm bullet ripped through its right eye. Already partly in the air, the creature was sent sailing backwards, the round blowing through the back of its head and lodging in the metal ceiling.
Streeter didn't waste any time getting out of the helicopter. If the thing he'd just killed had buddies, the corporal didn't like the idea of taking them all on in an enclosed space. It would be too easy for something to sneak around the front or back of the helicopter and Kyle wouldn't have a target until whatever it was was practically diving into the Griffon with him.
The instant Streeter's feet hit the ground, the corporal took a knee and turned toward the helicopter, glancing under, the C8 raised. There weren't any zombies, but he did see something at the edge of the parking lot, moving quickly. Too quickly to be a zombie, but too organized to be one of the creatures that had killed Strong and Hall and probably would have killed Streeter.
The corporal moved to the nose of the helicopter, leaning against it with his left shoulder and pressing the stock of the C8 against his right. The ELCAN C79 scope was a weak one at just 3.4x28 power, but it was sufficient enough to see the approaching figure. Great, now I'm stuck babysitting. Streeter thought, noticing the survivor was a teenage girl, about seventeen. Her jeans and jacket were spattered with blood, both of which sported rips and tears.
Streeter couldn't help but wonder if he looked much better. In the reflection of the helicopter cockpit's glass, he could see a trickle of blood that ran down the side of his face, curving down just past his left eye and the corner of his mouth. A red stain that he had picked up from the puddle of gore pooling around Lieutenant Hall was spread over the right elbow of his jacket. Could be worse. Streeter thought, then moved an inch or two away from the helicopter's cover.
"Hey!" Streeter yelled, shifting slightly to get a better firing position in case things didn't go as well as he hoped. The girl jumped, surprised to hear another human voice. She didn't look around though, instead focusing instantly on the helicopter.
"Corporal Streeter?" the approaching survivor called back, cupping her hands around her mouth and starting her advance again, this time at a slow walk.
"Who's there?" Kyle demanded.
"Jennifer Gray. We talked on the radio."
The radio. Streeter thought. The minute or so before the helicopter's attacker had clubbed him in the head were hazy. Jennifer, however, brought much of it back.
"Right, I remember you." Streeter said, more to himself than her. The corporal lowered his rifle then moved around the helicopter and met Jennifer a few feet away from the domed glass of the cockpit. "Glad you could make it." he said with the slightest of grins. Suddenly he realized that babysitting was better than having no one watching his back.
"So what's the plan?" Jennifer asked. In the thirty minutes since she'd first met Corporal Kyle Streeter, he'd already rearmed her with an M9 Beretta and C8 carbine and given her a crash course in firing a fully automatic rifle. Granted she'd used one in the North End Montreal police precinct, trying to exact revenge on Matt and Josie. However, she had omitted that fact to the corporal. Plus, she'd had trouble firing the weapon, and wasn't one hundred percent sure how to hold and handle the carbine.
"I'm not real sure how my C.O. back at base would like me handing out military rifles to civilians, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right?" the corporal said, shrugging his rifles sling over his shoulder and letting the C8 hang between his side and right arm. Jennifer followed suit. It was less comfortable than wearing it across her back, but after a few practice draws, she'd discovered that the underarm technique made it a lot easier to get her weapon ready quickly.
"So, I'm thinking that we'll head to Fort Farley. See if we can find an evacuation team." Streeter continued. "I'd be willing to bet that the guys back at base could keep these monsters at bay."
"You don't know?" Jennifer asked, raising a brow at the corporal.
Streeter seemed to shift uncomfortably, then jumped down from the helicopter to the pavement. "We lost contact when we landed. I'm no communications expert, but I'm guessing that the buildings blocked our signal."
Jennifer nodded silently, then jumped down from the helicopter to join the corporal. "So how far is the base?"
" 'Bout fourteen miles outside Montreal." Streeter answered, studying the empty parking lot carefully before setting off toward the street. "So, I say we grab a car. I've seen enough movies to fake my way into hot-wiring it– assuming I cut the right wires."
Jennifer couldn't help but smile at the corporal's optimism. The only person she'd been around for the past two days was herself, and she knew her hope for escape was rapidly dwindling. However, she hadn't known about the Land Force Command base in Montreal, and Jen felt a sudden spark of hope, a feeling she hadn't really felt since she'd been on the bus with Kevin, Tom, Mitchell, Phil, Matt, and Josie. They had all been so confident. So ready to be out of the city, eager to get to the precinct. They were so sure the police had been professional enough to effectively defend the police precinct from the zombie invasion. They'd been wrong.
"Let's move it!" the corporal called, abruptly bringing Jen back to the present. Streeter was half in-half out a canvas-roof Jeep. She quickly jogged the distance she'd lost while venturing down memory lane.
Let's see if the Land Force Command fared any better. Jen thought, then ducked into the passenger seat while the corporal slid behind the wheel, turned the keys that were miraculously still in the ignition, then stepped on the gas.
"Jesus Christ." Streeter whispered, pulling up to the Land Force Command's Montreal base of operations. Jen, sitting in the seat next to him, snapped out of her unfocused daydream and took a look at the spectacle before the Jeep. Her jaw dropped.
Streeter saw the outside of the base as it should have been-- a brightly-lit facility, surrounded by a low concrete wall. However, in the harsh, white lights of the military base's stadium lights, Kyle could see the front gate, twisted and broken by an over-turned military transport truck. Thick, black smoke choked out several of the lights at the far end of the establishment. After closer observation of the base, the corporal saw exactly why he'd lost contact with base a while ago: The large communications array that had once towered over the facility now lay sprawled across the burning ruin of the base's mess hall.
Kyle swallowed hard, then eased his foot down on the gas, spurring the Jeep forward and through the decimated gate, then took a hard right and pulled the vehicle alongside the high wall just inside the gate. Streeter quickly picked up his C8 from its former place, leaning against the Jeep's console, then popped open the door. Sounds of movement from the other side of the landrover told the corporal Jennifer was following suit.
"I don't want to take our only mode of transportation further into unknown territory." Kyle explained, glancing up and seeing the obvious question etched into Jen's features. "Bad planning. Besides, if we need to book it quick, I want the Jeep to be close to the exit."
Jen nodded. "So, should we split up and look for survivors?"
The corporal scrutinized the teen in surprise. She was probably seventeen, barely old enough to drive, and yet the corporal, easily ten years senior– and with military training, to boot– was less gung-ho than a school girl. Still, despite her readiness to brave the unknown and prowl about the wrecked campsite, Streeter couldn't help but question her mental integrity. Granted, her almost eager mind set and voluntary search and rescue may just be sheer bravery, but, so far, she'd spoken little, and seemed distant. The corporal had seen situations like this before. During desperate situations, people tended to either pull together and form a band of surviving humanity, or they took on an offish, separated personality. People who chose the former tended to have a higher will to survive and had, thus far, been unaffected by the crisis they were enduring. Those that took the latter had lost hope one way or another.
Hostage, negotiator tactics. Streeter thought in sudden recognition. She's lost someone. Maybe several someones. That last thought sent an anxious shiver down Kyle's spine, and the corporal immediately forced all thoughts of The Omen out of his head.
"That's probably a good idea." Streeter finally replied. "If you run into trouble, fire a few shots and I'll come running. Just... mind your targets. Make sure that they're actually targets instead of survivors." He'd heard stories of battle-panicked rookies killing civilians or even fragging their own teammates out of terror and anxiety.
The corporal tried getting his bearings, turning in the direction he thought was west, failed, tried facing north, failed again, then said, "I'll take that side of the base," he pointed to the right of a long, narrow street that cut the facility in half, "and you take the other."
Jen nodded absently, moving around the Jeep to stand near the corporal. "When should we meet back here?" she asked, checking her watch.
Streeter shrugged, then said, "Whenever you've checked the area and feel it's safe. Once we've met back here, well do a paired effort and thoroughly sweep through the base and see if there's anything here we could use." As he was finishing his sentence, Kyle was already on his way in the first of six buildings on the campsite, his left hand on the lever handle, the right holding his carbine, supported on its sling, one handed.
"Be careful." Jen said from behind him, surprising the corporal enough to make him stop and turn. He eyed the girl awkwardly then, recognizing this comment as what could be her first personal remark, gave her a lopsided smile.
"You too." he said, then slipped through the door into a darkened hallway, the door snapping shut behind him.
Jennifer heard the latch click into place behind the soldier with a sharp clack and had the sudden, sinking feeling that it would be the last time she'd ever see Corporal Kyle Streeter. She remembered Sergeant Nicholas Black with the Montreal Police Department. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been setting off to check out a small gun shop he was sure held rifles, leaving Jen outside to watch the entrance. She'd turned to look through the big, front windows just in time to see Black disappear behind the corner, not a shot fired, not a scream released. She'd barreled through the door to see a blood red almost-human digging into the already-dead officer, the cop's throat totally ripped out.
Let's just hope Corporal Streeter is a little more intuitive than Officer Black. Jen thought, almost bitterly. She didn't want to lose someone else, but she was slowly learning to shield herself from the mental and emotional injuries of the all-too-possible. Streeter must have thought she was crazy, but she knew by severing any potential bonds, she was saving them both problems.
The corporal, however, seemed quite a bit more confident than she. Jen liked Streeter. He was friendly, and seemed to be trying to make the best of the situation. She even felt bad for keeping such a distance from him. Still, she knew that being aloof was the best option for the situation.
We can be friends later. Jen thought. Now's not the time.
Dismissing all thoughts unrelated to the task at hand, Jen started at a brisk walk toward the nearest building. It was fairly large, and upon nearing the big, double doors she saw why. The word Administration was placed in large letters in a utilitarian line above the door. A quick observation through the small, bar window set to the inside edge of both doors proved that the small lobby inside was just as basic as the outside of the building and, undoubtedly. A long counter and two narrow corridors that branched off from the lobby were the only other things visible in the dark room.
Feeling that the lobby was safe enough, Jen pulled the unlocked door open, then stepped inside. The lobby smelled of floor wax, an odd, unidentifiable smell, and the faint scent of death. By now, Jen could identify that putrid smell anywhere. The horrid smell of decaying flesh and rotting tissue. That acrid, rancid, nauseating stink seemed to have settled like a thick, senses-piercing blanket over all of Canada. The other smell wasn't quite as easy to identify.
So much for the army's combat superiority over law enforcement. Jen thought, pulling the charging lever on her C8 back a fraction to see if the glint of brass was present in the chamber. Sure enough, the bullet was there, resting like a coiled snake in its place. Jen took a shallow breath of the stale, dead air, clicked on the Surefire flashlight attached to the rifle, then made her way into the lightless room, the single, white beam cleaving a path through the darkness.
The lobby wasn't very interesting, furnished only with a row of six uncomfortable chairs on either side of the room, staggered by a few tables stacked with military and firearm magazines, a stand holding an array of recruitment pamphlets, and the long, low counter at the far end of the room. One of the two halls that branched off from the lobby stretched from behind the counter and ended in a square of light at the end– a back exit to the building. The other broke off from the room perpendicular to the very end of the right row of chairs. A door she hadn't noticed before stood shut just beyond the left row, symmetrical in location to the corridor.
As Jen crossed the room, her shoe rolled over something and sent it scattering forward into several more small objects, causing the room to momentarily fill with the loud, repeated chirp of metal on metal. When the noise stopped and Jen released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, she turned the carbine down to see what she'd hit. Hundreds– no, thousands– of brass shell casings littered the floor, the pattern broken regularly by pools and smears of blood. Jen's heart pounded as she turned the carbine back up to circle around the room. More crimson smears painted the walls. Suddenly, Jen knew what the scent was she couldn't identify earlier. That coppery, metal smell. Blood. Brass. Damn.
But where are the bodies? Jen thought. A split second later, as if in response, a dull thump sounded from behind the closed door to the left of the room. Jen jumped at the sound, bringing the carbine to bear. Never turning away from the door, she carefully crossed the remainder of the room, checked behind the counter. Nothing. With nothing else to stall her, Jen moved forward toward the door.
What's behind door number one?