Chapter 2: One Becomes Four
(KEVIN)
Bullets tore up the pavement around Kevin as he sprinted down the street, squinting down the integrated sights of a G36 he'd liberated from a soldier who…wouldn't be needing it again. He fired a short three round burst into a window up ahead and was rewarded with an agonized cry as at least one of his bullets found a home. Unless, of course, the bastard was just playing dead. In which case, this was going to get ridiculous.
They were strung out along the street, spaced far enough apart that no opportunistic soldier with a machinegun could mow them all down at once. Still, they were getting hammered from all sides, and Kevin was beginning to doubt any of them would make it through the next few minutes.
One of the Umbrella mercenaries took a knee and fired one of his bizarre explosive darts through a window. There was a brief flash, a loud bang, and a bloody mist shot out. Kevin was pretty sure whatever the man had been shooting at was dead. It was a lot harder to fake being vaporized.
Kevin ducked behind a wall and checked his magazine. His assault rifle had come equipped not with the high-capacity double-drum, but the standard 30 round box magazine. The nice thing about the G36 was that its feed devices were transparent, allowing Kevin to see he had about ten shots left, after which the weapon would be empty.
He sighed, then vaulted over the low wall, landing on a smooth paved sidewalk, the kind that seemed to be some sort of zoning requirement for all the ritzy shopping districts in Uptown. He clicked his rifle over to semi, hoping to husband his remaining bullets until he could find more.
He dashed forward, scrambling up a small concrete barrier. He saw Lieutenant Mathison doing the same, firing his M14 one handed while he did, and was momentarily taken about by the ridiculousness of it.
The others were making their way up the street behind him. Kevin realized he and Chase had somehow found their way into the vanguard. The only friendly people ahead of them were Dustin and Karl, who flitted in and out of cover like the shadows cast by a candle in a haunted house. To his left he heard an M249 light machinegun open up, a muscular black man taking the weapon for a walk, firing from the hip, a big stogie dangling from his lips like something out of a bad Vietnam movie.
Kevin watched as more black-clad soldiers poured out of the surrounding buildings, and began to wonder if they were any safer in the rat's nest of Uptown then they had been back on Main Street with the freakish giant. The ambush he'd thought they'd left behind had apparently followed them; he was beginning to doubt anywhere in Raccoon City was safe.
Kevin watched the Umbrella soldier named Karl enter close combat with one of the faceless soldiers. Karl swung his G3 like a pro, snapping the man's head to the side and causing him to stagger back. Before he could recover, Karl double tapped him in the chest with the battle rifle, dropping the other man to the sidewalk with a surprised groan.
One of the other mercenaries was helping Dean Travers along. The man was dragging one leg behind him; Kevin remembered how he'd been shot during the last ambush, wounded apparently for the sole purpose of luring the others out of cover. Miraculously, he'd managed to escape further injury, but that didn't mean he was much good in this particular fight, armed as he was with a shotgun and 9mm handgun. He lacked the reach to hit anyone in the upper floors of the buildings.
Kevin saw David knee down beside the mortally wounded soldier Karl had shot and calmly loot his still warm body, snatching up two FN FAL magazines in addition to the battle rifle itself. When the dying soldier feebly tried to protest, David calmly flicked out his extremely illegal switchblade and slit the man's throat, before going back to what he'd been doing before he was interrupted.
There was a squeal of tires from up ahead, and Kevin looked up to see three big black armored vans swerve into the intersection, their gleaming bodies unmarked. The doors at the back swung open and still more soldiers began to leap out, including a big one who looked like nothing more than Darth Vader carrying an RPD machinegun.
Darth Vader, machinegunner, opened fire, cutting down a pair of Umbrella mercenaries and Ivan Korsakov, one of the few remaining SPF officers. In retaliation, the Umbrella merc with the dart gun shot him in the shoulder. The resulting explosion knocked the big man off his feet, but didn't dent his armor.
Holy shit Kevin thought, shooting another man twice in the chest as he dashed forward, firing an AK-74 from the hip. We've got to get out of here.
Three more vehicles swerved onto the road, two more armored transports and a big flat bed truck with some sort of canon mounted on the back.
"This way!" Karl shouted, standing beside a staircase leading beneath the street and waving frantically, his G3 clutched in his left hand.
There was a rattling boom from the flatbed and a small antitank shell flew straight at him, throwing him into the side of a building. The turret mounted recoilless rifle swung around, firing more explosive shells into the frantically dashing survivors. Kevin saw Chase drop to one knee and double tap the soldier manning the weapon with his M14, knocking his body off the truck and causing him to land with a dull thud. He didn't get up again.
The Umbrella mercenary carrying the M249 got into an ill-advised duel with Darth Vader, realizing too late his armor was bulletproof. The enemy machinegunner cut down the man in a matter of seconds, spraying lead wildly.
Kevin, George, and Cindy sprinted over to Karl, who was coughing and staring at the sky in a daze.
"Karl, can you hear me?" Cindy was asking as she and George knelt beside him.
Karl didn't respond. There was blood running from his mouth, nose, and ears, and his eyes were unfocused; clearly he'd been stunned.
"We don't have time for this" Kevin said brusquely, motioning for George to help him lift the wounded man. "C'mon, let's go!"
Together, the three managed to drag the heavily armed man down the stairs, into the dark catacombs below. A second later, a shell struck the stairwell, causing it to collapse.
Kevin and George sat Karl down on a bench, then looked around. Kevin spotted Alyssa, Jim, Yoko, Mark, and David, plus Dustin. Along with he, George, and Cindy, that meant there were ten survivors down here with him. That meant the rest were still trapped up on the street. And with the stairwell collapsed, they had no way to help them.
Kevin turned to Jim. "You! Do you know where we are?"
Jim nodded slowly, studying the walls. "Uh…yeah…I think this is the Uptown station. That'd make sense."
"Is there a track that leads out of the city from here?"
Jim nodded. "Yeah. And since the power's out, we shouldn't have to worry about the third rail. We can take the tracks, and we should be home free."
Kevin nodded slowly. "Great. Okay folks, let's all take five. Then we move."
"What about the others?" Yoko asked, pointing at the ceiling, where the sounds of gunfire were already dwindling.
Kevin shook his head. "There's nothing we can do. Maybe if we can find our way back to the surface, we can go looking for them. Otherwise, my priority is to make sure you all get out of here safely."
"So?" David asked, standing up, casually holding his newly policed FAL one handed. "Why are you in charge? I don't remember electing you to anything. Officer."
Shit Kevin swore mentally. Just what I need: a pissing contest with this asshole.
"Hold up" George said, raising his hands. "Officer Ryman here's the only authority figure we have. He's with the police. We've trusted him this far, and we're all still alive."
David shrugged. "Whatever. I don't give a fuck." He shook his head. "The city belongs to the Boogey Man anyway. It's pretty damn clear they don't want us around anymore." He turned and began to walk away. "I'll listen to you, Officer…for now."
(CHASE)
Chase saw Karl the Umbrella soldier take the recoilless shot and go airborne, and came to his own conclusions about getting off the street. He dropped to one knee, lined up the gunner's chest, and squeezed the trigger twice, the big M14 kicking hard into his shoulder as two 7.62mm rounds were propelled from the barrel into the man's chest. The gunner hadn't even hit the ground before Chase was back up and waving to the others. "Follow me!"
He sprinted across the street, toward a building he knew for certain had enemy soldiers inside. Rita, Karen, and another patrolman named Long were right on his heels. Behind them were Rebecca, that pushy librarian lady, and her gaggle of kids, who'd somehow managed to come through this nightmare unscathed.
Chase braced his foot against the boarded up door and kicked as hard as he could, breaking timbers and watching it swing open wide. He brought the M14 to his shoulder, hunting for targets as adrenaline kicked in.
Breaching was always like this: time seemed at once to slow down and speed up; Chase could count his heartbeats, yet everything seemed faster. He fired the M14 without aiming, winging a solder who was charging forward and sending him crashing into a wall. He shifted targets and shot another sprinting down the stairs in front of him, the dead man rolling down the last few feet. He shifted again, this time managing to put a bullet through the skull of a man to his left, the man's mirrored helmet exploding from the impact of the .308 bullet.
Then the foyer was clear, and other officers swept into the building, and Chase had enough time to sling the battle rifle and switch to a better close quarters weapon. He yanked his Browning from its holster, flicking off the safety and gently pulling back the slide for a brass check, before turning to watch the way they'd come.
Rebecca took up a position opposite him, holding the Remington she'd managed to pick up God knew where. The children and Loretta the cranky lady filed in, looking absurd as they hurried in, not breaking ranks despite the bullets flying past them. Chase suspected it was because Loretta scared them more than the gunfire.
"Come on!" he shouted, waving to the Umbrella soldiers. Two broke from cover and tried to dash toward them. One went down immediately, a bullet slamming into his gut and spinning him in a circle. The other got within three feet before a round found his head, his skull exploding from the thin balaclava he wore. He dropped limply to the ground, his blue eyes shocked and wide.
Rebecca gagged, shaking her head, her face pale.
"Get back inside" Chase ordered, a second before bullets from the black-armored machinegunner stitched the wall above her head. Rebecca flinched, then did as she was told. Chase followed her, backing into the darkened foyer as the machinegunner continued to advance, firing his RPD from the hip.
"Clear!" Karen reported, swapping magazines in her UMP. Apparently a few other soldiers had tried to make a stand, but didn't fare so well against the police up close and personal.
"Get to cover!" Chase shouted. "We're about to have company!"
The machinegunner kept coming, firing his weapon from the hip, his bullets tearing into the building's thin walls. The Umbrella soldiers and police still on the street behind him kept firing, but their bullets didn't punch through his armor, and they had other problems, as more and more shooters kept pouring into the shopping district.
Chase unslung his M14 and opened fire, putting a round into the man's chest. The machinegunner staggered back, but his oddly shaped armor seemed to disperse most of the impact. The bullet didn't do much more than rock him back on his heels.
"He's coming in!" Rita shouted, firing her Browning at the soldier, her bullets having no discernable effect on him.
Chase pointed to her. "Get the kids upstairs. Things are gonna get ugly."
She nodded, then hurried over to Loretta.
Rebecca readied her shotgun, standing just inside the doorway. Chase hurried over and took a position opposite her again, slinging his M14 in favor of the Desert Eagle he'd taken from that traitor Michael Guthrie. The .50 magnum handgun would work better up close. He suspected he and Rebecca would only get off a few shots before the machinegunner cut them down. All the same, that was better than nothing.
The window in the next room shattered. Chase saw Karen tense and raise her UMP, then lower it immediately. "Friendly!" Billy the marine shouted.
"Hey, leatherneck!" Chase shouted. "Bring Thumper up here, and give this asshole a present!"
"Roget that" Billy replied, jogging forward with the M79. He dashed across the open doorway and fired the 40mm launcher from the hip, spinning back into cover next to Rebecca.
There was a dull thump, and an irritated groan from the soldier. "Ebaka!" he shouted.
"He's too close!" Billy called out. "The grenade didn't have time to arm."
"Shit" Chase growled. He reached down and grabbed a small blue cylinder off his vest. "Watch out, flash bang!" he shouted, hurling it blindly around the corner…only to have the flash grenade come rolling back inside. "Motherfucker…"
There was a blinding flash of light and a deafening explosion. Chase's world went white, then red as something slammed into him and threw him to the ground. Slowly his vision cleared, only for him to find himself staring at the wrong end of an RPD. The thought he expected to be his last was Damn, this view sucks…
Then the machinegunner staggered, like he'd been punched in the spine. Chase saw Rebecca standing almost right behind Darth Vader, pumping the shotgun again. She must've closed her eyes; she was temporarily deaf, but hadn't been blinded like the rest of them.
The soldier swung around and struck her with the barrel of his weapon, slamming Rebecca into the wall, causing her to drop her shotgun. He brought the weapon and squeezed the trigger, only to have the weapon click at him.
"Chyort" he muttered, calmly dropping the weapon's magazine and reaching for a fresh one. Billy tried to step in, but the soldier kicked him in the gut, then slammed the butt of his machinegun into the side of his head, knocking him out cold. Then the big man pulled the charging handle of his weapon, chambering a round and preparing to finish off the still dazed Rebecca.
Chase painfully climbed to his feet, then took a step forward and planted the Desert Eagle directly between the man's helmet and chest plate, at the cloth joint where his neck was. He fired the magnum one handed, the recoil killing his wrist, the bullet itself killing the soldier, who dropped like a stone. His finger tensed on the trigger, big machinegun rounds tearing through the building as he fell. Fortunately, everyone was either upstairs or flat on their back, so his reflex trigger missed.
Chase let out an explosive sigh and slumped to the floor. Outside, the battle raged on.
(DEAN)
He'd never learned the name of the mercenary dragging him along. He was white, American, and had a masterful gift for firing a fully-automatic rifle one handed, with varying degrees of accuracy. Still, it kept the enemy away, which Dean suspected was the purpose of the exercise.
The mercenaries carried a variety of weapons from all over the world, from NATO standard assault rifles to FN FAL battle rifles, and even a few knock-off Chinese Type 56s, the Ak-47 of the Far East. Then, of course, there was the explosive dart gun one merc carried. Dean had never seen anything like it, though he suspected it was the sort of weapon the Brady Campaign had nightmares about. Dean was just glad it wasn't pointed at him. He was also glad he wasn't in charge of finding ammo for these guys. They were a walking logistics headache.
The police were getting ahead of the mercenaries. Dean suspected it was because, aside from Chase Mathison and Kevin Ryman, everyone was carrying a pistol caliber weapon. The mercs had to do the log range heavy duty lifting.
As a result, they were getting cut to pieces. There had been about fifteen when they retreated off the main street and into Uptown. Now there were seven.
Dean saw one merc get blasted into the air by a rocket, then saw Kevin and George the doctor drag him into a subway tunnel. A few civilians and another merc followed. Another rocket struck the tunnel, sealing it. Five left
Dean watched the police enter a building. He saw two mercs try to follow and get cut down. Three left.
The machinegun soldier waddled into the building. Dean heard a few small arms shots, then a long burst of automatic weapons fire and silence. The police were done too.
"Ah, fuck this!" snapped the merc shouldering Dean along. "I've seen this movie!" He shouted to the man carrying the big dart gun. "John, we've got to get off the road!"
"John" was a somewhat rotund, barrel-like man with a shaved head visible because like most of the mercs he eschewed a helmet, crooked teeth, and a nose which had clearly been broken several times. He also had a thick Cockney accent that sounded at once comical and slightly insane, which somehow went perfectly with his weapon of choice. "Y'know," John said, leaning up against a car, the arm he'd mounted the dart gun on clutched tightly to his chest, "ya moit be onta somethin' there." Without waiting for a response, he turned and fired a dart into the tightly locked door of a shop to their left. There was a faint beeping noise, then a loud explosion as the dart went off, making a hole through which he frantically beckoned. "C'mon!"
"Don't need to tell me twice" muttered the man shouldering Dean, who awkwardly scuttled forward, into the dark façade. That left the only other soldier still outside, firing an M16A4 wildly in all directions.
"C'mon, bitches!" he shouted, his burst-fire assault rifle throwing lead in all directions. "C'mon! Get some!"
"Mac, let's go!" John shouted, eyes wide. "There'll be plenty a' time ta kill the bastards later!"
Mac, the third man, didn't seem interested in listening at first. He kept firing, casually changing magazines in his weapon when it ran dry.
The soldier who'd been carrying Dean, whose name he still didn't know, rolled his eyes. "Can you fight?" he asked Dean tersely.
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Just don't expect me to go anywhere."
"Great" the other man said, sitting him down and clapping him on the shoulder. "Anybody not me, John, or Mac comes through that door, you blow 'em away. Got it?"
"Yeah" Dean replied, but the other man had already sprinted into the street.
Dean readied the SPAS-12, resting it awkwardly in his lap, where he could blast anyone running through the front door. He heard a muffled groan from outside immediately after an abrupt stop to Mac's shooting, and then John was hurrying back inside, the nameless man dragging the over zealous mercenary behind him.
John looked around at the three men he now shared a building with. "This it?" he asked, somehow managing to make that sentence sound like it was one word.
The nameless mercenary nodded slowly. "Yeah."
John's opinion of the situation was at once creative and foul, so much so that Dean was quite impressed despite himself, and pledged he'd learn to swear that…artistically before he died. Given the way Raccoon City was, he suspected he'd better learn fast.
"Wot aboot Carlos?" he asked.
The nameless man shook his head.
John proved he hadn't exhausted his store of exotic swear words.
"We shoulda been out there with 'em!" Mac shouted, angrily, pointing back out on the street. "Better dyin' out there than hidin' in here."
John fixed him with a glare. "Ya wanna go back out there, Lewis 'n me won't stop ya."
Mac blanched a little, but didn't back down. "Well, we coulda called for air support or somethin'. Got some back up."
John shook his head. "Ya don't get it, do ya? Those fuckers out there, the ones shootin' at us. They get their pay checks the same place we do."
"What?" Dean and Mac asked at roughly the same time.
John nodded. "Yeah. We just almost got bushwhacked by an Umbrella Security Service team. Maybe two."
"Why…why would they do that?" Mac asked.
Lewis, the previously nameless man, glanced out the window. "Gentlemen, maybe we oughtta relocate to another venue if we want to continue this discussion" he said nervously. "The…uh…staff here are coming this way. I suspect they're going to ask us to leave."
John nodded. "Roit. Lewis, pick up our police officer friend, and let's get a move on. Out the back, quickly!"
Dean stood up painfully on his own, daggers of fire shooting through his leg, but no more blood flowing. Rebecca had done a good job bandaging it up, and he reminded himself he'd need to thank her…before reminding himself he'd just seen her get killed. He was very likely the last member of the RPD left.
And how long is that gonna be? he wondered as they set off.
(CARLOS)
Carlos Oliveira had managed to sniff out the trap and avoid it. Unfortunately, stuck at the back of the column, encumbered with Lieutenant Mikhail Victor, who he'd rescued from one of the armored vans in the confusion, he'd been in no position to warn anybody else about it. He and his officer had survived, but it was very likely no one else had.
Now he and Victor were hunkered down in a tram car. The windows were still intact, and there were barricades all around it, so it was a good place to hole up against both the living and undead.
Unfortunately, the tram's engine was in pieces all around the front of it. Carlos had some mechanical expertise (growing up in the favela, the horrible Brazilian shanty towns, had taught him that). Still, this was a job that would take him hours, and he was still missing several key components, which were gone for reasons he couldn't explain. There was no battery, for example. And no oil. Carlos had strong, thoroughly reasoned opinions of that, which he voice loudly in his native Portuguese, as well as the Spanish he'd been picking up and adopting since joining the UBCS. Both were fun languages to swear in.
Still, Carlos knew he had to buckle down. He'd burn the bridges ahead once he got to them, but first things first.
He slung his M4 across his back. "Let's get to work" he muttered in English.
