Chapter 4: Makeshift Armory
The alleyway had been covered in a wet, slime-like substance. It would be impossible to determine what it was seeing as the lighting in the alleyway was like the lighting in someone's basement; dim, poorly-lit and dirty beyond belief. To my surprise, this "escape route" had no signs of the disease carriers. The only evidence of death back here that I saw had been the body of the Special Forces officer. This was a completely enclosed area with a T-shape, I being at the left end and the back door to the kitchen appliance shop. A short center piece of the shape ended with a staircase made of cobblestone. I approached it slowly, holding the Beretta 92 in the air in front of me. Feelings of dread filled me with every step I took down the short flight. For what reason, I could not figure out. The feeling shook me to the marrow of my bones, boiling the cold brisk autumn air around me. At the bottom of the steps lay a wooden door; leading to what, I don't know. I think it's time to find out what is hidden behind this door. I held the 9mm at the center of the metal, reached for the door handle and twisted it. My feet seemed like they were almost spring loaded; I flew back and to my surprise nothing behind the door had been waiting to take my life. I took a step inside the cold dark cellar and felt around in the air about my head looking for a string to flick on the light. The cotton brushed against my hand gently and I clutched it within my grasp. Light revealed a bloodbath; a room filled with rotting cadavers. SWAT, RPD, and Raccoon City civilians with torn clothing decorated the room in a macabre fashion. But the bodies were raided of all ammo and weaponry. How could I tell? In my ten years as an adult, I raided banks, crypts and funeral homes. Arrested twice but I never spent more than two days in jail total. As a teen I joined the Raccoon street gang known as the Blacks. We had been widely known across New York as the Bloods and the Latin Kings were. After this "outbreak", we all dispersed we're all in different corners of the States now. The stench burned my nose almost making me gag. I pulled a handkerchief out and cover my mouth with it. In the other hand I still held the Beretta. On the other side of the gruesome scene of carnage, stood yet another metal door stained with blood. I sloshed through the innards of chunks of human flesh, trying not to vomit the contents of my stomach. At the back of my throat I could feel the stomach acid creeping up the back of my throat into my mouth. Throat muscles seized a hold of the acid and pushed it back down my esophagus. I thrust the heavy iron door to reveal a blood-soaked flight of steps that led to a whole in a brick wall… Slightly suspicious, I told myself. Nothing rang out to me as hazardous but I didn't let my guard down. I gawked at the hole in the brick fortification; out of nowhere I hear helicopters buzzing like mechanical dragonflies over heard. The rotors were spinning in sync with each other. A glance overhead revealed a black, and what appeared to be a steel, container of some sort. What the… fuck? It dropped to hit a nearby roof. I thought to myself, I'm not sticking around for this. My feet thrust me through the hole in the wall into a dark hallway. The silence of the hallway seemed almost too much to bear, as if it became a heavy burden on my back. Ahead I could see lighting ahead, revealing a set of lettering on the door labeling it stairwell to floor 2. Before I even placed my free hand around the door, I heard gunshots: possibly from the floor above me. I hurried up the stairwell to see three people standing there with rifles in their hands. Dim lighting gave me the small advantage of seeing the details of my surroundings. A young child with a rifle; what were they thinking? The child couldn't have been more than 8 years of age. He had a thick-armored vest on, much too big for his petite body. His blonde hair was thickly matted and dirty to the point where I would have thrown him in a washing machine along with dirty clothes he had on his body. Something's not right here, I can sense it. There's something bad coming soon. To put aside the bad thoughts, I focused on the fine feminine figure. It was quite hard to keep my eyes off her body. Curves like a bottle, blazing red hair. Damn I would so tap that.
"Excuse me", I said as I aimed my weapon high.
The trio twisted around, with the rifles targeting my face. "Who the fuck are you? How did you get in here?" The man shook his rifle at me.
"Ooh, nice piece you have there." My trigger hand began to go numb for no reason so I jostled the gun to the other hand; then back and forth. I might have to snatch that before I leave here. There's my inner thief kicking in. Always cuts in at the most essential moments. Stay for a while take whatever I need.
"I'm just another one of those survivors looking for a secure place to stay for the night". The woman gave me a look. A slight hint of a smile curled at the edge of her lips. This woman had some thoughts in her head and planning something for the two of us. I smirked at the thought.
"Joseph, he doesn't seem to be any trouble. Just give him the benefit of the doubt." She winked but Joseph couldn't see. Her long eyelashes batting at me with Maybe it was just me, but I'm pretty sure she thought highly of me. Thing is though she doesn't know my past. My crimes drive all feminine characters far away.
"Just get him in the room". He butted with the end of the rifle, his outsized beard shaking slightly. Joseph had a fat complexion; he had enough rolls to put a bakery out of business. His armor was poorly put together. It looked like pieces of metal just welded together in random spots. No way could he ever survive in this outbreak with that kind of protection. Cold iron pressed into my back, pushing toward the heavy Oak door labeled 206. When the door slid open, inside was a treasure trove of weaponry. It looked like a makeshift armory. This is just way too easy. I call this a thief's paradise. I could make it out of this room with most of these tucked under my arm without them even noticing.
"Amber, settle him in. Let him rest while he's here, even though it won't be for long". Joseph gestured to the bean bags in the left corner of the studio apartment.
I will take what I want and get the hell out of here... I guarantee I will be gone by the end of the day tomorrow…