Disclaimer: I own Angela and subplot. The rest belongs to Valve.
A/N: Yet again lots of thanks to everyone who's reviewed my story, added to a favorite, and such. Also, if every chapter has been a refreshing glass of water to a parched reader, then this glass has a lemon wedge in it (hint hint). For those who don't know what "lemon" means in writing, it's a term to describe sexual content. You have been warned.
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Chapter 6 – Golem of Prague
The doors opened to an entire floor that was under construction. Sections of the walls were nothing more than framework, while a few had drywall in place. Nearly the entire floor was without bordering walls, leaving it exposed to the open air, turning one false step into a twenty-eight story asphalt nosedive. Most of the lighting was out, the generators having long since run out of fuel. Save the occasional flash of lightning, the falling rain and approach of dusk offered very poor visibility. A few palettes of building materials were strewn around, creating makeshift obstacles for the infected to hide behind. Several common infected were sitting on the floor or leaning against the walls, looking as though they hadn't slept in days.
"There should be roof access somewhere on this floor," Louis said to no one in particular. The five began to traverse the floor, earning little attention from the scattered common infected. Angela noticed the virus had run many of them to the point of exhaustion. She crept up behind one leaning on a wall and casually elbowed him in the back of the neck, dropping him in near silence.
Bill noticed, seeing where Angela was going with this. "Everyone," he said, "lights off and do not shoot unless absolutely necessary." Francis was about to retort, but Zoey placed a finger to his lips and pointed at Angela. She was working like an assassin, knocking out the small pockets of infected without alerting the others.
The team was able to cover a large part of the floor this way, all of them using the butt of their weapons to quietly put the infected out of their misery. They had already gone around the majority of the construction when Francis saw an infected leaning next to a support pillar near the edge of the building. He couldn't help himself. Creeping up until he was about five feet away, he suddenly lurched forward and body checked the unaware infected off the ledge, who fell to his doom without even flailing his arms.
"Well that sucked." Francis said disappointed, looking over the edge. "I was expecting a yell or something." Turning around, he got his wish as one of the other infected had already taken notice and was running at him, screaming and flailing his arms. Francis was quick, side-stepping at the last moment while delivering a foot sweep to the reckless attacker. This one made a bit more noise as he toppled over the edge to join his buddy countless feet below.
"Great job Francis," Louis remarked dryly as more common infected were drawn to the noise. Several had appeared out of the partially finished rooms and from around corners, running towards the commotion. "So much for subtlety," he said as he pulled out his pistols and began dropping the runners. The rest of the group began dealing with the extra attention, hoping it wouldn't escalate into a full blown horde.
Angela had managed to avoid the majority of the attention Francis drew to the group, as she was already a good distance ahead of them. While the survivors were traversing the edge of the floor, she was working her way through the center, slipping through the unfinished walls. Since she didn't have any extra gear and was one of the infected, it was easy for her to slip through the walls without putting herself in a compromising position. Though she was making faster progress, she was concerned the entire situation could get out of hand very quickly. She was mostly worried about Louis, but she knew the four of them would be able to handle a standard horde. Special infected, on the other hand, could prove deadly if they waited in ambush. She continued moving through the framework of several of the unfinished walls to look for any serious trouble waiting to surprise the survivors.
As she neared the edge of the floor, her senses tingled. A large number of concrete bags had been piled up for storage, creating a makeshift wall. Peering through one of the cracks between the bags, she saw the hulking form of a tank. "This is bad," she thought to herself. He had the element of surprise. The four unwary survivors would come around the corner of those concrete bags, and one punch from that juggernaut would send them right off the edge, plummeting to the streets below. Looking around, she saw a small hole between the bags and a collapsed wall. The hole in the collapsed wall would be a tight fit even for herself. There was no way a person loaded down with gear would ever squeeze through without alerting the behemoth.
Listening, she could hear the four survivors battling it out with the rabble. The occasional cries of "Boomer," "Hunter," or the like could be heard through the gunfire. They were getting closer, the tank beginning to let out irritated grunts and growls. In a minute this thing would be pummeling them unless she acted fast.
Angela squeezed through the small hole, ending up right behind the tank. Looking around quickly, she noticed the tank was standing in a makeshift hallway, the concrete bags on his left and a finished drywall on the right. He was blocking the only path towards what appeared to be a potential way to the roof. He would have to be moved. "Hey ugly!" she yelled at the tank, trying to divert its attention. The tank turned around to regard her for a moment, but didn't pay her any mind as it turned back towards the approaching noise. "Well, this at least explains why a lot of the infected don't simply maul each other," she thought to herself. "They must be able to sense a chemical excretion off other infected." She shook her head. This was not the time to analyze the situation. It was time for plan B. Stealthily, she crept up to the tank until she was only a few feet behind it. Holding her breath she drew back her arm, one claw extended, preparing to stick it to the tank like a proctologist with bad depth perception.
.
.
After 'detonating' another Boomer from a safe distance, Zoey realized Angela was nowhere in sight. The crowd had been thinned out, leaving only a few stragglers. The four were making their way towards the next corner of the floor, hoping to find a ladder or something, as they had almost gone 360 degrees. There was a large pile of concrete bags, forming a makeshift wall up ahead. Turning that corner would bring the survivors to the last stretch of the floor. "Uh guys," she said, drawing the attention of the men who finished mopping up the remaining infected. "Have you seen Ang..?"
Her sentence was cut off by a very loud, very surprised sounding roar nearby that started off deep, sounding like a tank, but rose higher in pitch as though he'd been kicked in the groin. The sounds of shrieking and crashing could be heard next, followed by Angela half-running, half-sliding from around the concrete bags. She dove towards the survivors, narrowly dodging an airborne bag of concrete aimed for her head that instead flew off into the open sky.
"Big surprise coming!" she said, getting to her feet as the tank rounded the corner, looking very irate.
"…The hell did you do? Shove your claws up its ass?" Francis yelled as he and the others began opening fire and retreating.
"You don't know the half of it," she thought, trying to make a hasty retreat. The tank was solely focused on the 'traitorous witch' despite the gunfire coming from the four survivors. Bill noticed this and had an idea.
"Angela, can you outrun it?" he yelled, yanking a Molotov from his belt and lighting it.
"I think so. Why, what are you…?" she asked before seeing him ready to throw the makeshift firebomb, her glowing eyes widening in surprise. "Oh shit! At least give me a head start! He's already pissed off at me!" she yelled before darting through the uncompleted walls. The survivors ran over to the concrete bags to hide as Bill lobbed the Molotov in the tank's direction. As he threw it, he noticed the tank's tattered pants had been ripped open near the rear. Bill let out a laugh before diving behind the concrete bags.
The Molotov hit, igniting the tank and his rage. Unable to spot who threw it, he assumed the traitor infected was to blame and began crashing through the half-completed walls to catch up to her. Angela looked back to see the muscle-bound fireball gaining fast, but at the cost of destroying a lot of the support beams for the floor above. A plan forming, she doubled back, darting past the tank to his right. He swung his fist wide, barely missing her and clipping another unfinished wall instead. The building began to shake as parts of the floor above came crashing down. The tank picked up a chunk of concrete to hurl at the escaping witch, but as he hoisted it over his head, a piece three times its size fell from above, crushing him on the spot.
Angela turned back to see the extinguished tank become buried by more falling debris. When the dust settled, all that remained was a large pile of concrete and other building materials. Breathing a sigh of relief, she hurried back to the group.
"Safe house, up ahead!" Zoey yelled, spotting the house marking on the wall. Angela caught up, and the five ran towards the open red door. They made a quick sweep of the immediate area to ensure it was cleared. "Clear! Lock the door!" Zoey yelled, as Louis slammed and barred the door.
"Woo hoo! That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!" Louis cheered as he pulled Angela into his arms. "Honey what you did took guts! I never knew you had it in you."
Angela smiled, "I caught him waiting to stick it to you guys, so I stuck it to him first." Bill laughed hard, catching the inside joke while the rest looked at him puzzled. "Bill," she said turning to him exasperated, "you're a clever old bastard, but you're crazy!" Everyone laughed at this rather obvious observation.
"Ah take a pill, doc!" Bill quipped, joking with her.
"Actually that's not a bad idea," Angela said, turning to Louis, who knew exactly what she wanted. Pulling another pill from the bottle in his pocket, he gave it to Angela. When the laughs subsided, the five decided to heal and look around.
"Wow. Looks like the construction crew had their priorities straight," Zoey noted with a hint of sarcasm. The 'safe house' revealed a lot more than a simple room. It was more like a small walled off set of living quarters. It was the first (and at this point only) part of the floor to have power routed from the main part of the hospital, rather than from a generator. There were supplies and ammo, but also a kitchen and a small sitting area with television and a fold out couch. Near the back was another reinforced door which led to a stairwell, which likely led to the roof. To the right of the door, there was a completed section of the floor with two enclosed patient recovery rooms and a shared bathroom. Both rooms had been converted into temporary sleeping quarters, each with a small twin bed and nightstand. The closets were left open, with hospital garments and work clothes hanging from within.
As the group reemerged into the main area, a crack of thunder sounded followed by the heavy pitter-patter of rain striking the building.
"Really comin' down out there," Francis noted.
"Yeah. Not a chance that chopper's coming in the next several hours," Bill added. "We should all try and relax for a bit… wait this out."
"Dibs on one of the bedrooms!" Louis said, raising his hand. The others looked at him, the realization dawning on everyone that none of them had slept, eaten, or bathed in quite some time.
"First dibs on the shower!" Angela called, claw in the air, before disappearing in a flash around the corner.
"Ah crap!" Zoey said pouting, her hand already halfway up. "Guess I'll see if there's any mac 'n cheese or ramen noodles around here or something, I'm famished," she said as she began rummaging through the pantry area.
"You guys can fight over the other bedroom, I'll take the couch." Francis said, plopping down and pushing his boots off with his feet. He found the television remote, turning on the TV. He scowled. Every channel had nothing but white noise and test patterns.
"Phew! I think I'll have another cigarette." Bill said, the stink of Francis' feet reaching his nose. Bill was actually more content to begin cleaning his M-16. Lighting up another cancer stick, he sat down at the table, pulled some gun oil and a cloth from his cargo pants, and began to work.
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Angela entered the bathroom from the left side patient room after stripping off and tossing her tattered digs on the bed to mark the room as hers and Louis'. She was fortunate to find some towels, toiletries, and a change of clothes in the room's linen closet. The bathroom was very spacious, having been designed for the sick or disabled. The toilet had handles on the wall, and the shower was large enough for two people, with hand rails and a seat built onto the wall opposite the shower head. After starting the shower so it would warm up, Angela stepped in front of the sink, turning on the water to remove the dried blood from her claws. As she finished rinsing, she looked into the small mirror in front of her. The face that stared back was hard from combat, caked with blood and grime, and wore the tired expression of a soldier who'd seen more death than any person should. Quickly, she threw some water on her face and washed away what she could. Once that was done, she decided to assess her current physical condition more closely. As a doctor, she would have to perform all sorts of tests to record the exact effects the virus had on her body, but as a woman, she simply needed to reassure herself that she was still sexy.
The body is a temple, and Angela prided hers on being worship-worthy. Angela had been a chubby kid, so she grew up with many years of teasing and verbal abuse from her classmates. As a result, she threw herself into numerous after school activities (mostly sports) to keep herself trim. Even after medical school, she made certain to eat healthy and kept herself in shape with a rigorous exercise program. Her creamy complexion and wrinkle-free face was from keeping out of the sun as much as possible. Her soft blond hair and vibrant green eyes were nature's gifts from her mother, and she attributed her steady surgical hands to her father's calm demeanor. Now, her smooth yet tough skin was as gray as a rainy day. Her beautiful blond hair had become a matted platinum white mess, and her gorgeous green eyes had turned a sickly glowing amber. And her hands… her hands had become instruments of destruction. She would have to be so careful not to scratch Louis whenever she wanted to hold or hug him. Her skills as a surgeon were pretty much wasted. She couldn't even pick up a pistol with these long claws, let alone a scalpel.
Thankfully most of her body had retained its human-like form. "At least I still have my curves," she thought, looking herself over and running her palms over her body. Her arms felt toned and more muscular from all the 'physical exertion' she'd had in the last several hours. She traced her palms over her shoulders and down her front. She cupped and lifted her ample breasts. They still felt firm and perky, jutting proudly from her chest. Her nipples had turned a darker gray, but she noticed they were still as sensitive as ever. Traveling further, her palms flowed over her firm stomach, then around to her lower back. Sliding over her heart-shaped rear, she continued her journey down her thighs and calves feeling the same (if not more so) toned muscle mass that had formed from many hours of tennis and kickboxing. Sliding her palms slowly back up to her body's pleasure apex, she looked down to see the same platinum white colored hair between her legs that adorned her head. The joints of her thumbs rubbed against her 'crowning glory,' sending an involuntary shiver of pleasure up her body. A sultry moan escaped her pursed lips at the accidental stimulation. Angela had spaced out for a moment, imagining Louis' hands rubbing and teasing her into a sexual frenzy. She shook her head to bring herself back to reality; until now she hadn't realized how much she missed his touch.
She choked down a sob. It didn't matter. Louis would never find her attractive now. She had become a vicious, hideous, gray and white Halloween monstrosity that invaded children's nightmares. "All I need is the pointy hat and broomstick," she whispered with a half laugh-half sob to no one in particular. The reality hit her hard that she may never get her physical appearance back, and she began crying, placing her clawed-hands on the sink and looking down as the mirror fogged over with steam from the shower. As Angela's tears ran down the drain, taking her confidence with them, she decided she may as well get clean. Better to be a clean freak than a dirty one, after all. As she stepped into the shower, the door to the bathroom slowly creaked open, unnoticed by the depressed doctor.
A/N: Again, please review (anonymous as well). Do you want more? Less? Let me know.