Interval 03: Epidemic
The flickering of the monitor lit the solitary figure, sitting within the darkness of his office, for a mere second at a time. One of his legs was leisurely crossed over the over, elbows resting on the armrests of his chair, fingers forming a steeple just under his chin. His blonde hair was perfectly combed, but the dark sunglasses resting on his nose was not enough to conceal the ambition and hunger for power within his eyes.
Eyes that currently watched the news from a small city in the Northern United States. Not too far from Raccoon actually.
"There is still no explanation for the recent rash of violence that has plagued the city over the past few days. The National Guard is already being sent in to quarantine the city. Citizens are told not to leave the city boundaries," the Riverton reporter said. There was an edge to her voice, fear, Albert Wesker could recognize that emotion anywhere.
A small smile crossed the man's face, though it didn't give him a friendly look, instead making him seem more like a wolf ready for the kill.
The events in Riverton could be of importance to him, and to the underground remnants of Umbrella.
Wesker needed only a brief second to figure out who the best man was for the job. His hand strayed to the armrest of his chair, where various buttons were arrayed for various tasks. His fingers found the communication keys.
Whatever secrets lie hidden within Riverton, he would discover them soon enough.
Col. James Henderson sat behind his oaken desk within the relative solitude of his office. A black inked pen scribbled across the various forms that found their way into his responsibility.
The air force's responsibility for the quarantine of Riverton had largely fallen upon him. There was way too much paperwork bullshit involved in simply keeping aircraft out of the infected area.
The aging and tired man looked up when he heard his office door open. A man stood there wearing the standard navy uniform. His hair was close cropped blonde, with cold blue eyes that seemed to pierce James to the core of his soul. He had never felt this way under one of his subordinates before.
Adding to his feeling of unease, was that James did not recognize the man that was standing before him. He knew everyone who worked in this building that would have any connection to his job. Who was this stranger that now stood before him.
"Col. Henderson?" the man asked, voice controlled and tight, pure professional. It also sent a shiver of fear up the older man's spine. If this man wanted to do anything he could do it before James would be able to call for help.
"That's me. What do you want? Who are you?" the air force officer demanded, trying to get at least a little hold over the situation.
"Who I am is unimportant. What I want is the required paperwork to get into Riverton," the blonde haired stranger replied, no change in his tone. He was a pure professional.
"Into Riverton? I need to know who you are before I can let you in there, it's under quarantine," Henderson responded, this entire visit was about his job, and he took that very seriously. American lives depended on it.
"I'm no one. The paperwork is for SEAL team six. Get it done; my men are ready to move once your done your part. I'll be back within the hour to pick up what I've asked for," and with that the man left, not even waiting for James' response.
James ran a hand through his mostly gray hair as he quickly replayed the exchange through his mind. He knew it would take more than an hour to get the documents legally. He didn't have that long apparently. There was something about his visitor that let him know that if he didn't get his job done, things would not bode well for him at all.
James took a deep breath. He had always done things by the book, but now he was being brought into a cloak and dagger game. It was time to stoop below the radar.
The sound of sizzling bacon filled the house, accompanied by the humming of Sherri Dallas. Kevin could hear it from his bedroom, where he lifted his body towards the ceiling for his fortieth and final pull-up. He let go of the bar letting his bare feet touch the floor for the first time in a few minutes.
Sweat coated his skin as he walked towards the bathroom, time for a cold shower after his daily, morning time workout. Stepping into the cold water, and feeling the grime washed away from his skin felt like a small piece of heaven. Cleansed for the moment, Kevin stayed beneath the cascade for a few moments enjoying the peace of being at home. He'd been away for too long, living in the dirt of Afghanistan for nine months. Such was the life of a soldier.
Kevin closed his eyes, letting the water run down his face, and the memories flashed back at him.
"Ready Sarge," came the nearly silent voice of Cpl. Chris Payne over the personal radios they carried.
The six man team was positioned around a house in a small Afghani village in the middle of the night. It wasn't a large house, but the man inside was a drug runner, a bomb maker, and a major supporter of the Taliban. Kevin's team had been asked to make him… disappear.
"Go," Kevin replied, and Chris silently opened the door after carefully checking it for booby traps.
Four men stormed into the house while Cpl Michael Morello the section C9 gunner and MCpl Hank Richards, the section marksman stayed outside to provide exterior cover.
Chris led the remainder through the house, checking every shadow with his silenced C8 carbine. Their night vision allowed only the section to see the green laser emitting from the end of their rifles as they moved silently through the household.
They found their target sleeping in his bed. Cpl Derek Striker, the section grenadier looked around the rest of the room while MCpl Richard Clark, the section second in command, took a roll of duct tape from his tactical vest, took a large strip off and placed it over the target's mouth.
He immediately woke up as Chris gave him a quick pat down to make sure he wasn't carrying anything. He started trying to scream, even reaching for the duct tape at his mouth, but Kevin's gloved fist connected with the man's nose. There was an audible snap and blood spurted from his nostrils as he collapsed into unconsciousness.
"Shut the fuck up," Kevin said, as he and Richard grabbed the man by his armpits and started to drag him back through the house.
Once outside the section spent an hour dragging the unconscious man into the emptiness of the desert, before stopping in the middle of no where. Kevin pulled his pistol from it's holster on his thigh. He cocked the action back as the men under his command watched without comment.
This wasn't the first time they had done this, it wouldn't be the last. The all watched the target rather than Kevin, they knew what had to be done. They were professionals, they were killers from a country that was supposed to be the dove of the world, and here the were performing acts that most from their country would say was nothing better than murder.
Kevin aimed the pistol at the back of the target's head, and without hesitation squeezed the trigger. A small hole appeared in the back of the man's head, blood leaking out and running through his hair. The sergeant knew that the man wouldn't have too much of a face anymore though, already blood was soaking through the sand around the man's wound.
"Let's go," Kevin said, holstering his pistol.
Without a word, the men of the Canadian Shadow Regiment walked into the darkness of the night.
Kevin shook his head, spraying water across the walls of the shower. It was just one memory of many. He tried to push them back whenever he was home, to just be himself and spend time with Sherri, and little Ricky, his new born. He had become a father the week before he had come home. It had hurt him a little, but the joy of simply being a father was more than enough.
Kevin emerged from the shower, grabbing one of the towels from a nearby rack to dry himself off. Through the bathroom's door he heard the phone ringing. Probably a telemarketer or something.
Pulling on his pants Kevin looked up as the bathroom door opened. Sherri stood in the doorway holding the portable phone in her hands. Her expression was a mixture of anger, fear and sadness.
It was that expression alone that told Kevin who was on the other end of that line. Still Kevin took the phone.
"This is Sgt. Dallas," Kevin said immediately.
"Dallas, this is Maj. Thorton. We have a situation that we need your team to clean up," came the 'too happy to always be taken seriously' voice over the miles of phone line between him and the base of operations for the CSR.
"Roger that sir," Kevin said, and hung up.
There was a moment of silence as Kevin walked through the house to hang his phone up on its base. He stood there a moment simply staring at the phone; he had been promised three months at least of leave. Now they were recalling that, some major shit must have hit a large fan.
"You're going aren't you?" Sherri quietly said from behind him.
"Yes," Kevin said without even turning around. Despite all his love for his wife, and the pride of being a new father, Kevin was loyal to the nation before anything else. Perhaps that was his downfall, one of many at being a good human being.
It was within a few minutes that Kevin was clad in his military uniform, a black beret usually reserved for tankers sitting on his head, a duffel bag clutched in his left hand. As he walked from the front door to his truck he could feel Sherri watching up from the open doorway, holding Ricky in her arms.
Throwing the duffel bag into the passenger seat and climbing into his truck, Kevin looked up at his wife, noticing the tears slowly running down her cheeks. Kevin couldn't think of anything to say, so he simply started the truck off and pulled out of his driveway, leaving his wife alone in the house once again.
Kyle Hamilton aimed his 9mm sidearm at one of the creatures' heads. The instant he knew he would get a hit he squeezed the trigger. The back of the monster's head broke open, blood, brains and chips of brain spraying out through the exit wound.
Some of the nurses who were still alive screamed as the thing fell face first, landing with the crunch of a breaking nose.
"Get the fuck out of here!" Kyle yelled at anyone who wasn't already dead, who wasn't dead and trying to eat the living.
Another one of the creatures came around the corner, but Kyle's quick aim had it's brains splattered across the wall behind it and the zombie slowly slumped to the ground.
Zombie… Kyle was still getting used to the word, but he'd seen enough cheesy horror films and played enough video games to recognize them.
More started coming down the hall, their bloodied arms outstretched, mouths hanging open moaning for hot flesh to consume. Blood and drool ran down the front of their clothes. Doctors, nurses, patients, paramedics, none of them were immune to whatever had claimed their lives and turned them into the flesh crazing monstrosities they had become.
Kyle took quick well aimed shots, only missing a handful of times. Every time a bullet struck the wall sending plastic dust floating to the floor he had to wince. Every time there was a crimson spray with small gray chunks he felt elated.
But there were so many, and they were getting so much closer. Kyle fired one last shot, earning himself a solid hit in a zombie's face, but the slide of his pistol didn't move forward.
"Fuck," Kyle said, thumbing the magazine release, ignoring it as it clattered to the floor. He quickly slammed his new and last magazine into place, and let the slide forward.
He immediately fired a shot at a zombie that was lunging for him. It's head rocked back, blood and bone spraying more undead behind it, even as it's body fell to the hospital floor.
There were more just behind it, the hall was filling with blood drenched creatures of the damned.
"Fuck this!" Kyle said turning and running as fast as he could towards the stairwell. He kicked the door open and revealing a zombified doctor feasting on what had once been a quite pretty nurse. Her stomach was pulled open and the doctor had greasy loops of intestine in his mouth and hands. The nurse was somehow still alive, though unable to speak through the intense pain.
The doctor looked up in time to receive Kyle's kick straight in the face. The creature was sent flying back, crashing down the stairwell, cracking it's skull open on a few of the steps.
Kyle quickly put a bullet in the nurse's head out of pity. He didn't look at the damage the single round had done, instead started running down the stairs in an attempt to get the hell out of this hospital.
Tearing through hallways, past undead doctors, secretaries and nurses, the police officer fired off only a few shots to save what precious little ammunition he had. Everything was a blur as adrenaline pumped through his veins, pushing him even though he should be a little tired for sprinting, dodging and punching his way through the entire hospital towards the lobby. The entire building had gone to complete hell.
His partner was outside, they had to get to the cruiser, find some semblance of order in the quickly deteriorating city.
Matthew hid beneath the white sheets of the bed. It had been an effort to even get those sheets over his face, there were so many broken bones in his body. Every movement shot jolts of pain through his skeleton and flesh. So here he sat, terror clouding his brain as the shouts of horror reverberated through the hospital.
Just like in Raccoon city, the building that was once a beacon of hope and health had become a pinnacle of death and blood. So here he cuddled like a lost child, waiting for death to come for him, for there was no escaping hell for a second time. He had fooled the devil once, this time the beast would claim him.
