Out of Time and Out of Luck
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Resident Evil.
Chapter 2: Angel
It's not every day that everyone in your hotel turns into zombies, leaving you alone hiding in a bathroom, Angel thinks as he's ducking down in the bathtub, gripping the downed curtain rod like a staff, his knuckles white from his tight grip.
It's true. Just an hour ago the Apple Inn was a nice place to catch some z's or have an affair with your kid's babysitter, or any of the other Inn-based, nighttime activities that he enjoyed. Now it's just an utter nightmare. He had already taken care of the zombie in his room (the babysitter mentioned earlier), but there were plenty still roaming the halls.
Why did I have to get a room on the second floor? He asks himself.
He doesn't hear any moaning in the hallways anymore, so he gently and quietly reaches one leg over the edge of the tub, then the other. His denim jeans, red t-shirt, and dark hair dripping from the still going shower. He looks back at the tub, remembering all the fun he had a few hours ago in there.
Too bad, He thinks.
Angel slowly creaks open the door of the bathroom, looking to see if any of them are hiding in his room. All the lights are off except for the light emanating from that poster of Finland hanging on the wall. The only zombie there is the thirteen year old girl with a shower curtain rod-shaped crevice in her right eye, still sitting in the corner. Her long, golden her that was once so vibrant and beautiful now drapes lifelessly over her sky blue nightgown.
Much too bad, He finishes his previous thought. Looks like you won't be getting that pay raise, after all.
After looking around and failing to find a more suitable weapon, Angel moves closer to the door leading to the hallway. He puts his ear to the door, and doesn't hear anything. Gently, he eases the door open a bit, looks around, and finds it empty. He quietly steps out into the hallway, feeling uncomfortable about the narrow space. The Apple isn't a huge inn, merely three floors with maybe twelve rooms to a floor.
There should be a fire escape around here, somewhere, Angel thinks, trying to remember it's location.
He frequents this hotel on a weekly basis for his nighttime escapades, but having a fire, or a horde of zombies nipping at his heels for that matter, is the farthest thing from his mind at those times.
The lobby is just around the corner and downstairs, He almost smacks himself in the head for even thinking that. Even if I made it down there, the lobby is the busiest place in the hotel. It's probably crawled with those things.
So Angel makes a left turn, down the long stretch of hallway toward the stairs leading to the courtyard.
There's an exit down there, if I can make it without seeing more than one of them.
With curtain rod in hand, he silently and gently steps toward what is hopefully an end to this nightmare. He stops when he hears something moving in the next room, a deep moaning and the sound of someone or some thing scraping their feet across the floor.
This isn't the time for stopping. If anything it's the time for moving.
Angel continues his journey to the staircase when suddenly the door he had just passed burst open, and a man in dawned fully in blue denim fell to the floor in the doorway, that is if you'd call it a "man". The thing that was once human slowly lifted itself to it's feet, looking at Angel with a mindless hunger in it's eyes.
Angel decides that discretion is the better part of valor, and takes flight away from his now far behind pursuer. The sound of running footsteps seem to cause a reaction, because now multiple rooms have loud, excited moaning in combination with rattling and pounding on the doors. Another door two rooms behind him opens with a half dressed man and woman steadily pacing out. Apparently, Angel's love of hotel debauchery isn't solely his.
Luckily for him, those ones had also appeared behind him, allowing him to keep his pace, running as fast as he can forward to those stairs. Those stairs and the exit at the bottom of it seem to shine like a glittering, golden gate to heaven. He is running as if his life depends on it, mainly because it does. He is almost there.
Once he gets to the stairway, all his hopes of escape are crushed. There are zombies on the staircase, three of them. One sitting in the corner where the stairs turn a corner begins to stir and rise. Angel quickly backtracks to the nearest room, 206, with not one but two groups of zombies coming for him. Finally, Angel catches a break, because the door is unlocked, but that quickly changes, when he gets inside, slamming the door behind him.
This room seems just little bit bigger than the rest he's stayed in. It must be one of the "luxury suites" he's heard so much about. He's always wanted to see one, since he's such a fan of this place, but teaching eighth grade barely covers the costs of both providing for an alcoholic wife and needy four year old boy and his weekly escapes from reality with the boys babysitter.
The room isn't designed exactly like the others, meaning there are small differences. The room is bigger, for one. There is a table with all kinds of clutter in combination to the cabinet in the corner, perpendicular to each other. Beside the cabinet is a table with some sort of lock box with no keyhole sitting on it, but the most intriguing thing is the poster of Europe all lit up in red.
Proud to be an American, huh? Angel thinks cynically.
Beside the poster is the bathroom. Unexpectedly, the room is pretty well maintained with all the carnage taking place in the rest of the inn. He looks around to find anything he can use, either a form of communication, a weapon, or something to eat. Angel had just realized he hasn't eaten anything since he got off work which was hours ago, bringing his mind to his family.
I wonder if they're alright.
It's not like he actually cares, but it's just a sliver of curiosity that passes by for a moment. He doesn't really cherish a failed marriage and a sissy for a son.
Is there anyone who does? He wonders. Maybe there are some masochists out there that would love that, but I sure as hell ain't one of them.
He knows that the undead await him at the door, silently standing placidly in the hall staring at the only exit patiently.
Or is it the only exit?
He looks at the wall to his right, then to the curtain rod, and for the first time since this whole mess had begun, a smirk crosses his lips.
I'm out of here.
Angel pushes the rod as hard as he can into the wall, punching though drywall and pulls it back. After listening for a reaction from his new "friends" who don't make a peep, but continue to wait at the door, he begins to rip at the small opening he had just made.
If I continue doing this room by room, I'll make it to the lounge stairs. I'm getting out of this place, and I'll leave them looking stupid when I do it.
He smiles tauntingly in the zombies' direction, and crawls through.
