Chapter Two
Harley had seen the inside of more than a few police HQs, and so far the Raccoon City PD building was shaping up to be one of the weirder ones, even without the zombies and monsters. It had to have been a mansion or a museum or something in its past life. For every down-to-earth, all-business room she and Claire searched for survivors there were two more that looked like they belonged in Victorian England or somewheres. Harley didn't think much of it, her attention mostly on the little details, forensic-type clues and hints as to the chaos that had been swirling in the city for what must've been several days now.
In the briefing room, after Harley batted three zombie cops who'd been up to their elbows in the guts of some fat guy, they got the clearest picture of how things had slowly fallen apart. It was all up on a whiteboard in magic marker, how the station had been used as a shelter, command post, and fortress, how the cops had kept all the civilians outta the lobby and off to a side area on the building's east end, near the garage, probably thinkin' if the zombies came they'd come in from the front and the people could get out through the car ports.
Accordin' to a memo stuck to the floor — more of a blood-stained post-it note, really — that hadn't worked out so great. Seemed some dumbass had forgotten to close one of the garage doors, and in came the zombies... Harley could only imagine what had happened then, 'cause it seemed no one had updated the whiteboard after.
Up a dark flight of stairs the police station took on the air of a crappy museum, the kind without dinosaur exhibits. Thick carpet on the floors, paintings on the walls, even a pair of Greek-lookin' statues at the far end, each one holdin' up a fat red jewel that made Harley's eyes sparkle. She thought about takin' 'em, but with all the cops dead and in pieces all over the floors stealing didn't seem like it'd be as much fun.
Past the hall with the statues was a library, a big one considering they were in a police station. With several doors leading out of the room, they had to make a decision on which way to go.
"Maybe we should split up," said Claire. "We could cover more ground that way."
Harley laughed. "What are you, an idiot? Haven't you ever seen a horror movie? 'We should split up,' is what the soon-ta-be-dead ones always say. Go off on your own if ya want, but don't expect to...oof!"
Something hit her hard in the back, knocking the wind out of her and riding her to the floor. Her baseball bat went rolling off towards some bookshelves and she had a split second to cuss herself out for not keeping an eye on the little balcony above them where one of those damn skinless tongue monsters had probably been hangin' out.
There was a dry, snapping noise. Claire screamed and dropped her shotgun. Whatever was on top of Harley grabbed her by the back of the head and slammed her face into the floor, then again, and again until she tasted stars and saw blood.
There was a lot of yelling, sounds of a one-sided struggle. Another dry snap, a whip. Harley felt the familiar sensation of handcuffs being put on her wrists and ankles, then she was hoisted and thrown into an armchair. It woulda been a comfy seat if not for her wrists being behind her back and her nose and throat bein' fulla blood.
She heard voices. Women talking. One of them... she blinked until the stars went away and saw who'd jumped her. Black cat-suit, a whip... talking to Claire.
"Oh, look, a stray cat," Harley said, getting Catwoman's attention. "How the hell did you get in here, little kitty?"
Catwoman turned away from Claire and snapped her whip in front of Harley's face, coming within a centimeter of removing the tip of her nose. "Shut up," said the Cat. "What are you doing here?"
Harley spit a wad of blood onto the floor. Her head hurt like hell and she was pissed, but decided not to let Catwoman see that. She couldn't be sure, but had the impression Catwoman had been in Raccoon City for a little while now. Her boots were caked in blood, there was a tear in the tight cloth on her left arm, she looked tired.
Harley grinned at her with bloody teeth. "Looks like a Halloween party to me. Guess you and I finally got some competition for the costume contest... ow!"
The whip had cracked, severing one of the bells on Harley's hat. It hadn't hurt, but another few inches in the other direction and she'd be out an eye.
"Hey!" said Claire.
"Quiet, you have no idea who you've been dealing with," said Catwoman, glaring at Harley. "I'll ask you one more time, what are you doing here?"
Harley pulled against the handcuffs as hard as she could, not caring if she lost some skin in slipping out of them. No dice, Catwoman had fixed 'em tight, she'd have to shed a finger bone or two if she wanted to pull free. "Where is he? Where's Mr. J?"
Catwoman coiled her whip. "I was going to ask you that same question. Is he alive? Did he tell you to meet him here?"
Alive. Is he alive.
Harley wanted nothing more than to leap onto the Cat and chew her face off, to smash her head in, but she couldn't. Instead she focused on taking long, long breaths, to hone that anger into something useful for the situation.
"Nah, nothing like that," Harley said. "I'm actually here lookin' for my brother, Chris..."
"What?" said Claire. "I'm here looking for my brother, Chris. You said you came here looking for... Mr. Jay?"
"It's J, as in Joker," said Harley, briefly confusing her interogators. "A little while back I got sent a note... all it said was Raccoon City, but the envelope, you could say, had Mr. J written all over it. I ain't seen him, though. Now, what the hell are you doin' here, cat?"
"I'm here to steal something, of course," she said, tucking her whip into a hook on her belt. "Which reminds me, I should be going."
"Hey, wait," said Claire. "You're here to steal something?"
Catwoman stopped and turned. She looked Claire up and down then nodded towards the shotgun lying on the floor. "Grab your gun and come along if you want. Guns aren't my style, but neither are zombies and monsters."
Glancing sideways at Harley, Claire picked up the shotgun. "Um... what about her?"
"Hmm," Catwoman purred. "She'll be safe here. We'll secure a way out, then come back for her. I know about an escape route, but I could use some help locking it down."
Harley almost felt bad for Claire, but didn't think she had the credibility to properly warn the girl about the dangers of associating with someone clearly suffering from clinical lycanthropy and kleptomania, plus whatever the hell disease made someone think a whip was a decent weapon outside the bedroom. And so she kept quiet, watching Claire wrestle with her conscious, watching justification and rationalization come out of the stands to whack Claire's conscious with steel chairs while the ref was distracted.
"I'll come back, I swear," said Claire. "I'll bar the doors..."
"Don't bother," said Harley, and spit some more blood onto the floor. "I'll be outta these cuffs inside the hour and when I catch up with you, I'll shove that shotgun so far up yer..."
"Goodbye," said Catwoman loudly, leaving through one of the smaller doors by the bookshelves.
A cold, blank expression fell over Claire's face as she went with Catwoman, leaving Harley alone in the silence of the library.
Harley waited ten minutes, then slid out of the chair. Catwoman had hit her harder than she'd thought, and she lay on the floor for a little while in pain, not really wanting to catch up the Cat and Claire quite yet. Gingerly, for the cuffs were rather tight, she tucked her legs and brought her hands around to her front. Her hands found the pouch with her lockp... "Oh, goddamnit!" she shouted, shattering the library's hushed atmosphere.
Her utility belt had been emptied of anything that would've been useful in removing a pair of handcuffs. She checked herself over frantically to find out what else Catwoman had stolen, breathed a little easier when she found her revolver and its bullets where she'd left 'em, nearly broke her damn teeth when she figured out what else the Cat had took. Pretty much everything except some cosmetic stuff.
She might be able to use the gun to blow the cuffs off her feet, but figured that was also a good way to get herself shot. A quick look around the library told her she wasn't gonna find anything useful there, so finally she settled on her only other option, hoping she wouldn't have to roll around into too many dead cops before she found one with keys that would fit these cuffs.
She was bunny-hopping across the room when the door in front of her opened and she found herself starin' down the black barrel of a nine-millimeter held by a woman in a red evening dress. There was a long pause between them, neither too sure what the other was lookin' at.
"Hi, I'm Harley, nice ta meet ya. Lovely weather this evening isn't it? Hey, can you get me outta these goddamn handcuffs, pretty please n' thank you?"
The woman lowered her gun, just a bit, as she appraised Harley, who appraised her right back. Harley could tell two things right away, that the woman wasn't from around here, and despite what her tight red evening dress suggested she was no civilian.
"I'm Ada Wong," said the woman in red. "I didn't know the circus was in town."
Harley didn't think she could draw her revolver fast enough to shoot Ada before Ada shot her, not with the handcuffs on, so she just smiled through bloodstained teeth and shrugged. "I don't suppose you've seen another person clownin' around town, have ya? I'm lookin' for this one in particular, green hair, white face, adorable red lips, dreamy bloodshot eyes, you'd know if ya saw 'im."
Ada shook her head as she stepped back in the hall, kneeling by one of the dead cops on the floor. She plucked his handcuff keys and tossed them to Harley, who used them to swiftly free herself. "I gotta use the john, come with?" Haley said.
Ada gave a nod, telling Harley to lead the way. Harley was now convinced Ms. Wong was no innocent bystander, not like Claire had been. She was risking a bullet in her back, but she supposed Ada might value having backup, even if it was from a beaten-up clown.
There was a washroom near the STARS office. It was cramped, as though someone had designed the entire RPD building without a single bathroom leaving some other schmuck to put one in after. Ada covered the door while watching Harley remove her ruined cap and bells and wash the greasepaint and blood from her face. Once she was clean, she tied her yellow hair into pigtails and reapplied the paint, adding a black Clubs design to one cheek and a red Diamond on the other.
"There, who doesn't like a midgame costume change?" she said to her reflection. "So, what's your story? You don't look like a local, or much of a tourist."
"My boyfriend, John, works for the Umbrella company. I hadn't heard from him in weeks so I came here. He was stationed in one of the Umbrella labs outside of town, but he's not there and I heard a rumor there was another lab beneath the city."
"Is that so?" Harley said on her way back to the library to collect her baseball bat. "I'd say I'll buy about half of that story."
"Buy as much as you want," said Ada. "In any case, I could use some help reaching the labs. I think there's a way in through the sewers, but getting there might be a little tricky."
"Through the sewers, huh," said Harley dreamily, slapping the palm of her hand with the bat, letting the weight of it settle her thoughts. "Ya know, it seems like the underground zombie factory is where the real party is after all, so sure, why not? Lead the way."
She now doubted very much that Mr. J was involved here and there was no reason she shouldn't circle back to her motorcycle and leave this ridiculously-named city in the dust, but someone had definitely wanted her to come here and she had a feeling they wanted her to go and check out Umbrella's secret operation, so why the hell not?
Besides, she still owed Catwoman and Claire Redfield a beatdown.
After following Ada Wong through the building for all of two minutes Harley no longer believed any of her cover story. For one, Ada seemed to know exactly where she was headed, for two she was a damn good shot when it came to putting down the zombies roaming the halls and side rooms of the PD. What really cinched it for Harley was when one of the nasty tongue monsters came scuttling around a corner only to have its brains out by three tightly grouped shots from Ada's handgun.
Harley said nothing and twirled her bat as if she were on a stroll through the park. They went through the police station lobby by way of the second floor balcony. This side of the station was a little more in keeping with what a police HQ was expected to be, with interrogation rooms, offices, and storage lockers.
"I already looked these over," Ada said. "There's nothing useful."
Harley wondered how long Ada had been creeping around the police station, and for what purpose if she already knew the way out. Her thoughts were interrupted after they'd gone down to the first floor and through a door that opened into a long hallway, one filled with half a dozen shambling corpses. They'd come in from the courtyard outside, it seemed someone had failed to close the steel shutters above the windows.
"I got it," Haley said, dislodging the brain of the zombie closest to her, a shirtless man with a mop of blond hair. Ada stood back and let Harley work. When the zombies were all left twitching upon the ground Harley took a deep bow, looking up to see Ada was either impressed or bewildered. It was hard to tell which, but Harley was happy with either.
"Take a rest, I don't know how bad it's going to be down there," said Ada, pointing with her gun at the basement staircase, a wide, gray passage into darkness.
"The basement of a zombie-infested building? How bad could it be?" said Harley, skipping down the stairs two steps at a time. At the bottom was a door and she fumbled for the knob. Harley laughed when she saw the basement proper. Slate-gray walls, red emergency lights, and the overwhelming smell of rot greeted her.
"Ugh... I forgot about the smell," said Ada. "This is the area they broke through. I'm guessing most of them are still here... we may have to find another way."
"Nah. It's like cat pee, the smell stays even when the body is long gone," said Harley, who'd disposed of a corpse or two in her time. She figured a zombie was no different than a normal stiff, except for all the walkin' around and moanin'.
It was then Harley heard a familiar sound, one that warmed her clown-shaped heart and all her other clown-themed organs, the patter of dog feet through congealing blood.
The mutts came running around the corner, skinless with dead, milky eyes. One leaped at Harley and was met midair by her bat, the blow knocking its brains out and splattering them all over the wall. Ada's gun went off, a cannon in the tight, concrete hallway. A dog yipped. It had been about to take a chunk from Harley's leg when Ada's bullet shattered its neck, robbing it of its ability to close its jaw with any real force. Zombies might not feel pain, but they still needed muscles and tendons to work properly. The third dog's leap was stunted by more of Ada's bullets and it only hit Harley in the shoulder, knocking her off balance. Ada's gun kept firing, the dogs were all dead. Deader than they had been at least.
Harley got up, now aware that the red mood lighting had been concealing the fact that most of the basement was covered in blood. "That's sad," she said, looking at the dead dogs, using her bat to finish one that wasn't quite done yet. "They're in the arms of the angels now, I guess."
"I suppose," said Ada, as Harley began humming that song from the abused animal commercials; the one by that singer who was super famous years back.
They walked slowly, almost on tiptoes for the while their passage was clear they could hear zombies in the other rooms bumping into things, letting out frustrated moans and pained wails. Harley couldn't tell how many there were in all, only that she wasn't up to tangling with every single one.
"Up ahead, that's where we want," said Ada. "There's a way into the sewers from there."
They were in a wide passage. The door Ada meant was at the end, but a big set of double doors in the middle of the hall caught Harley's eye. Printed on the doors was the word "morgue" in big white letters.
The morgue in a zombie-infested police station... She had to know, she just had to! Harley stepped close to it, put her ear against the safety glass that had been papered over from the other side.
"What the hell are you doing?" said Ada. "Don't go in there... that's where they were putting people before anyone realized they'd be getting back up."
That only made Harley's toes curl as she imagined what it must be like inside the morgue. Were the zombies all standing around packed asshole to elbow? Were they all lying in wall boxes shaking with hunger as they slowly liquefied? Harley wanted desperately to find out, but while she liked her thrills she wasn't suicidal. It also dawned on her that she was hours, maybe days, from a good shower and already was spattered in stinking zombie blood.
"Alright, alright," said Harley, certain she'd heard a moan from inside the morgue.
Ada led the way through the door at the end of the hall. A new smell greeted their noses, dog urine and feces, a welcome reprieve to what they'd been smelling since coming down to the basement. "There, a manhole cover," said Ada, pointing to a corner of the T shaped room where cleaning equipment and odd items had been piled. "We'll need a pry bar..."
"Hey! Who's there?" someone shouted. It was a familiar voice to Harley's ears though she didn't immediately believe them.
Around the corner was a row of cells. Built for people they'd been repurposed for dogs... and now it seemed they held Riddlers.
Edward Nigma stood in the middle of his cell leaning on his question-mark themed cane, dressed in a green coat speckled with question-marks. His derby hat matched his coat and he was sporting a purple domino mask. Nothing weird there, thought Harley while Ada kept shaking her head in a struggle to believe what she was seeing.
"What the hell are you of all people doin' here?" said Harley, strolling up to the bars and running her bat over them to make a clamor.
"Shh!" the Riddler hissed. "You'll draw them in here! I just got the last bunch to clear out by playing dead!"
"Excuse me, but do you two know each other?" said Ada.
"Yes," said the Riddler just as Harley said "I've never seen this asshole in my life."
"Okay, yeah, we've met," said Harley. "Seriously, Riddler, what the hell are you doin' here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," said Riddler, his tired eyes traveling up and down Harley's figure, likely taking stock of her weaponry.
"I'm here lookin' for Mr. J. You seen him? And I swear to god if you answer me with a #$%ing riddle..." she drew her revolver and pulled back the hammer.
She wasn't sure which had scared the Riddler more, the gun cocking or her name-dropping the Joker, either way he didn't seem in the mood for riddles.
"I haven't seen him, I haven't!" said Riddler, wobbling on his cane. He'd hurt his leg somehow... a sprain or a twist, there was no blood. "Did... did he do all of this?"
Harley holstered her gun and re-thought every thought she'd had that evening regarding that particular question. She must've been pondering for some time, for when she was about to answer she realized Riddler and Ada had been talking for a bit.
"I saw you early on, during the first attack," said Ada. "I didn't see you around after."
"That's because I did the smart thing and hid," said Riddler. "But I found out rather quickly there's no safe place in the entire building, except here. I'd invite you in, but..."
Harley drew her revolver again and shouted, "What the hell are you doing here!? Answer me or I'll blow your knees off!"
Ada stepped away while the Riddler quivered. "I told you! I was hired by Umbrella to test their security systems! They were all puzzle-based... at least they were in the mountain laboratory that was breached... I never got the chance to inspect the labs, so I don't have anything to tell you!"
"You must know somethin'," said Harley.
The Riddler smirked. He was about to tell a fucken riddle, Harley just knew it, and when he didn't she'd blow his smug, satisfied, unshaven... the unmistakable sound of steel double-doors being broken open by a mob of zombies who'd been locked in a morgue was heard, followed by scores of pained wails.
Harley realized two things immediately: One, she shouldn't have yelled so loud as to attract zombies. Two, that there was no ready way out of the kennel area that wasn't filled with hungry morgue-zombies. Ada realized all of this as well and went running for the manhole cover, trying desperately to pull it up with her fingers. "We need a pry bar!" she shouted.
The door they'd come through wasn't up to holding back the crowd of rotting flesh that had come to feast and the lot of them came spilling into the hall, overpowering in their numbers and stench. Harley figured that if she fired every last .357 round she had and nailed a perfect head shot each time she'd still be looking at over a dozen zombies, a lot to manage especially in a tight space. She thought about forcing the Riddler to open his cell and let her in, but the notion of being locked up with Edward Nigma while a horde of zombies drooled over her sounded worse than death.
She was about to go out in a blaze of glory when the Riddler whistled. "Here, use this," he said, tossing Harley his cane. "As interesting as it would be to see you get eaten alive, it would only prolong the... hey!"
Harley threw the cane to Ada who used the hook of the question-mark to pry up the manhole cover.
"Harley! Never trust this fellow's grin. His teeth..."
Harley fired her .357 into the oncoming wall of pale, drooping faces, drowning out whatever dumbass riddle the Riddler was trying to rattle off. A few zombies went for the caged man, stopped by thin iron bars. The rest went for Ada and Harley.
Ada went down the manhole ladder first. Harley almost jumped right on top of her, but saw that in their haste to come and chew the flesh from her bones some of the zombies had tripped, causing those behind them to also fall. Only the lucky and those with undecayed fine motor skills made it through the tumult. Harley felled one with her .357, the second shot she pulled only took off the zombie's face. Moments from being overwhelmed Harley slipped down the manhole leaving the cover to fall over her head.
Her descent into darkness wasn't long. She knocked Ada off the ladder and fell onto the woman when they landed.
"Ow, my ass," said Harley as Ada turned on a tiny, powerful flashlight, illuminating the scummy walls of the service tunnel they found themselves in.
"Are you hurt?" said Ada with a groan in her voice.
"Just my ass, like I said," said Harley, looking up the ladder, hearing the hoard above pawing uselessly at the concrete and iron. "Did you hear the rest of that jackass's riddle? I got, never trust this guy's grin, then somethin' about teeth..."
"Alright, I've had enough," said Ada, getting to her feet. "Before we go another step further, you need to explain to me why you're dressed as a clown and why that man up there was question-mark themed."
Her pretty face was mostly shadow and harsh light, but Harley could tell she was quite serious and wouldn't take no, or some other bullshit for an answer. "Fine," said Harley. "I guess the continuity does get a little confusin' if you're dropped in the middle of it. Tell you what, you lead the way and I'll fill you in on the Gotham City scene."
"I'll bet it's one hell of a scene," said Ada, helping Harley to her feet.
To be continued...