A/N: 7 Chapters in...and I have a grand total of 4 reviews. Go me. :p Anyway, I've probably said this before, if you're reading this, please leave a review you can, even if it's a negative one, as constructive criticism is approved. Anyhow, on with the story...
Chapter 7: Unexpected Aid
September 26th, 1908 hours
The window easily shattered outwards into shards that cut into his jacket, but not his face luckily. He fell for about 8 feet and landed hard on his front, expelling a lungful of air as he made contact with the hard ground. Pain flared up and down the front of his body, but he had to ignore it and get moving. He was already pushing himself to his feet as the figure of Chief Irons appeared in the broken window and opened fire, his shots pinging off of the ground on either side of Dean's body. Once he was upright, he pushed himself into a run, dashing away from the station as fast as he could, the gunshots ringing out behind him. He didn't know where he was going, as long as it was safer than here.
Chief Irons stopped to reload, but when he looked back outside, the figure of Dean Travers had vanished from site into an open alleyway. All that remained were the few solitary zombies on the abandoned street.
"Damn!" he cursed, before taking his frustrations out on a few stupid zombies that were still at the far end of the corridor he was currently stood in. "Ah well, he's doomed anyhow," he scowled, lowering his weapon. "He'll meet his doom sooner or later."
The chief was about to make his way back upstairs, when he suddenly stopped and looked back down the corridor. Although he was in his office during most of the R.P.D siege, he had managed to discover that some of the officers that had been cut off from the others and were trapped within the Western Wing. That meant more potential for a hunt, so his fun wasn't completely ruined. He grinned to himself as he raised his weapon once again, heading into the West Wing corridor.
"There's still time for a good hunt…"
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Dean Travers reclined back against the wall and sunk down into a seated position, burying his hands in his face, fighting off the overwhelming urge to burst into tears. His trip back to the station had been a complete waste of time, as by the time he'd managed to get there most of the surviving officers were either dead, were zombies, or had already left the station to attempt an escape attempt. Ben was amongst them, and he didn't know if he was still alive somewhere or already dead.
There was Marvin though, who was still alive when Dean saw him, but close to death. He'd promised to come back for the wounded Lieutenant, but with that fat fuck Irons now roaming the station he didn't want to risk a return visit. Speaking of Irons, he suddenly remembered what the unstable chief had mentioned about Umbrella being to blame for destroying 'his town'. Were Umbrella somehow responsible for the state the town was in? That corporation practically owned the entire town; it was their main base of operations in the U.S.A. So why would they destroy all that by unleashing these 'zombies' on the town? Unless they had a more clandestine motive in mind other than medical and pharmaceutical developments…
He didn't have much time to ponder this as more moaning snapped him back to his senses. He got to his feet as a trio of zombies, all male, appeared from his right, their arms held out towards him as they moaned hungrily and shuffled after him. Right now, he was getting sick of the sight of these freaks and wanted nothing more than to snuff out as many of them as he possibly could. He couldn't kill every one of them, he knew that, but every one he put down made him feel a little better. Just a little.
"Come on then!" he shouted to them. "If you're hungry, then come and get it!"
He cocked and fired, tearing a huge rent into the lead zombie's torso, throwing it backwards and killing it instantly, while the second one was only clipped by the pellet spread and staggered back a couple of steps before resuming it's attack. The human didn't give his inhuman opponents a chance to get any closer and he fired twice more, blowing apart a rotten head in a spray of visceral crimson and bone fragments, and shattering the knees of the third and final zombie with a low-aimed blast. Even without the use of its legs, the creature continued to pull itself towards Dean at a slow pace, its broken fingers trying to get a decent grip upon the concrete ground. Dean showed no it mercy, striding up to the fallen zombie and smashing its head into a bloody pulp with a single stomp. He shook some of the blood off his foot before proceeding.
The alley turned a corner and opened out into a small courtyard, where a small group of zombies were gathered, a few of them feasting upon another dead body lying in front of a set of trash cans. Some of them noticed his presence and approached slowly, seemingly speeding up as they got closer to him.
Deciding to save some ammo for his powerful shotgun, he slung it over his shoulder and drew out his Beretta instead. Taking aim, he dropped 3 zombies in rapid succession with perfect headshots, their newly-dead bodies collapsing face first into the dirt as the others began to rise up from their meal and turned towards the intruder, stimulated by the sound of gunfire. They too followed the same fate as their fellow flesh-eaters, face down with a bullet lodged into their ugly faces. With them dealt with, Dean holstered his weapon and walked over to examine the dead body and former zombie meal. The torso and face had been so badly mauled it was impossible to figure out what gender the body originally was, or even any basic facial features. Those zombies got this person bad…
He noticed a customised M4A1 assault rifle lying next to the corpse, exhausted of all its ammo, and with numerous shell casings surrounding the scene. Looks like this person made a last stand here. Come to think of it, a few of the zombies that he'd just killed were pockmarked with bullet wounds across their bodies, such as from a rapid fire weapon. Flipping the body over with his foot, Dean was suddenly taken aback when he saw a familiar red and white symbol embossed on the back of the man's jacket. The Umbrella logo.
"What the hell?"
This was the same logo that he had seen countless times around Raccoon City, usually on the signs above the doors into various pharmacies and other Umbrella-owned services, along with the numerous advertising billboards across the city. But this logo was slightly different, in that it had a pair of swords crossed through the symbol. Dean looked over the corpse again, and now noticed it was wearing a black tactical vest normally issued to military personel, along with various ammunition pouches and even a bandolier of hand grenades yet to be used. He concluded this man must've been a soldier originally. But why would a random dead soldier have the Umbrella symbol on his gear?
He'd have to ponder that later, he thought, as he searched the body, turning up a few full clips of 9mm rounds, as the fallen soldier still carried a SIG Pro pistol that hadn't been drawn yet. He also carefully removed the man's grenade bandolier and clipped it around himself, as he thought they could come in useful for large groups of zombies and any potentially larger enemies he'd come across. When he was set, he turned and left, pushing through a gate opposite from where he'd come from.
Pressing on, he came across another massacre, where nearly a dozen dead zombies lay in a bloody heap in the centre of the passageway, most of them riddled with numerous bullet wounds, and a few with missing limbs and heads. Among the pile lay another fresh human victim, a man dressed in military gear similar to that last body he'd found. The Umbrella logo adorned his tactical vest, and he was still clutching a broken S.P.A.S 12 shotgun in his hands. This body wasn't as badly mauled as the last one, so Dean could make out that the man was wearing cream-coloured fatigue pants along with a green jacket under his tactical vest and black combat boots. Were there more of these mystery soldiers nearby? As he pondered this, dean stooped over the dead man and began to search through his pouches, turning up several un-used 12 gauge shells that he dropped into his sidepack. Like the last man, this guy also carried a still-holstered SIG Pro handgun, and Dean turned up 3 spare handgun magazines from his body. As he did, Dean began to notice the man's features a bit more.
He had short blonde hair, and a rather slight frame. A wound on his neck suggested that a zombie had taken a bite out of it, which was probably what killed the man. He looked young, barely 20 years old. Why the hell someone this young would be sent into this Necropolis made the mind boggle. Either way, he had to keep going. Once he was done with ransacking the corpse, he moved on, carefully stepping over the bodies, accidentally treading in some loose entrails with a squish.
"Ugh!" he shouted, quickly stepping out of it. He shook off some flecks of blood from his foot and quickly carried on, his Beretta drawn in front of him. As he moved further along the alleys, he came across more signs of recent battle, loose shell casings on the ground, bullet holes pock-marking the brick walls, spent shell casings from some form of shotgun, and even more dead zombies, many of them missing their heads. And blood: there was always plenty of blood, splattered up the walls and across the floor. He was hoping whoever had done this much damage wouldn't get freaked and ventilate him without a second thought if they came across each other.
He has walking into an area of town that was currently having construction work done, as half of the buildings had a frame of scaffolding around them, and materials such as piles of unused bricks, steel rods and tarpaulins folded up and ready to be used. Several shot-up corpses of construction worker zombies lay nearby as well, so he was getting closer to the trail of the mystery soldiers. Suddenly, his gaze settled upon an old paper map of the Uptown area of Raccoon City, pinned to the wall above an old dumpster.
"This'll help nicely," he thought, walking up to it and tearing it down to take a closer look. Someone had apparently torn it down and pinned it back repeatedly, as it had numerous small tears and a few fairly recent blood splotches on it, but it was still readable. Tracing a finger over it, he passed over the R.P.D station building, and followed it to the North, in the direction he had run from the building. He saw that he was only a few blocks away from the Raccoon Zoo, a fairly popular attraction for both the local and tourist kids alike. It could act as a potential shelter to him, but then again, it could be over-run with zombies like everywhere else, but still he had to try that possibility.
Gunfire from somewhere quite close by made him half-jump in surprise and shock. He quickly folded the map up and thrust it into his pocket.
"Jesus! Shoot the fuckers!"
"Fuck's sake Taylor, go for the fucking headshot!"
"Bring it you rotting fuckers!"
Shotgun blasts and rapid-fire, possibly from assault rifles, broke through the night. Carefully moving up to the corner of the alleyway he was currently occupying, Dean dared a peek around the corner into the street beyond.
About 40 feet away, a group of men, all of them dressed like the dead soldiers from earlier, were firing into another approaching throng of undead. There were 8 of them, and most of them were armed with M4A1 rifles, firing on full auto, tearing into the crowd like they were made of paper. A couple of them carried S.P.A.S 12 shotguns though, and one of them was armed with a massive M249 .50 calibre machine gun, which was being used to literally tear countless zombies into chunks, their blood spraying onto everything in range. Far as Dean could make out, they were all of varied ethnic backgrounds and skin colour, as he could make out a thick-set African-American man wearing a green beret at the centre of the group, and an Asian-looking man wearing a green bandana, his tactical vest over-loaded with grenades and other explosive devices.
A young man with mid-length blonde hair and wearing a woollen beanie hat kicked out at an approaching zombie dressed in a blood-soaked raincoat, before pulling a small dagger out from his tactical vest and tossing it into the creature's left eye, killing it instantly. After that, he grabbed the shoulder of the man in the beret and dragged him around so they could face each other.
"Boss, now would be a good time to order a fall-back manoeuvre!" he shouted as loud as possible.
"Fine," replied the other man, who was obviously the leader of this little well-armed group. He turned back towards the other soldiers and waved his arm. "Fall back now! We can't take all of them on at once! Lee! Give them something to regret!" A few seconds later, the Asian soldier unclipped something from his vest and threw it into the crowd as the other soldiers broke off and ran away out of sight, as a pair of small explosions, one after the other, suddenly consumed the crowd. Dean ducked back around the corner as blood and body parts showered down all over, and he narrowly missed a severed eyeball that bounced off of the ground by his left foot and was reduced to sludge.
After a few seconds, Dean stepped back out and saw the extent of the devastation, as the zombie crowd had been reduced to just a few hapless cadavers with their lower bodies blown or torn away, dragging themselves around on their arms, as the mangled remains of their former companions littered the street.
"So there's more of those soldiers?" thought Dean aloud, stepping out into the open street. "Still, all that firepower's no good when fighting a city full of zombies," he continued, making his way past the massacred flesh-eaters, snuffing a couple out by stamping on their skulls, and followed after the soldiers, his shotgun drawn and fully loaded. He guessed these men were heading for the Zoo as well, or at least the North West side of town. Hopefully he could join up with this group and they'd stand a better chance by staying together in a single well-armed group.
Or at least he hoped so, if they didn't mistake him for a zombie because of stress and trauma, and ventilate him at close range. He told himself to stop being so pessimistic, as he turned another corner onto a fairly sheltered street, complete with more steel scaffolding on both sides, giving anyone coming this way very little to move about amongst. Ahead of him, he could make out a couple of bodies lying in the middle of the street, and he cautiously approached, shotgun raised.
Above and behind him, something clicked on the brick of the buildings, like steel or maybe even bone. He stood deathly still for a couple of seconds, and then suddenly whirled around, his shotgun aimed up towards the roof of the buildings behind him. There was nothing there, just shadowy corners. As he breathed out slowly, he turned back around and continued on towards the bodies, his eyes scanning for any potential threats from above.
The first body was of another of those soldiers, killed by a wicked-looking slash mark across his torso, exposing his sternum and several of his ribs into the bargain. The massive amount of congealed blood pooling about the body showed that he'd bled out in seconds. He was clutching onto an empty SIG Pro handgun, rigor mortis having set in to prevent anyone from prising it from his cold, dead fingers. Moving on, Dean got a closer look at the second body, that of a civilian lying prostate on his back, and he gasped in shock.
The man's throat had been savagely torn into, and he could make out a mass of muscle and ruptured vessels visible within the wound. The man's face was the most disturbing aspect of the corpse though: his eyes were opened fully wide, his face set in an expression of pure terror and agony, his skin strangely pale. Despite that, he didn't look much like either body had been killed by zombies, as neither of them had bite marks on them.
Click.
That sound again, from somewhere above him and to his right. Slowly, he rose to his feet and readied his shotgun.
Click. Click. Click.
It was getting closer and more frequent now. Quick as he could muster, he spun around and aimed his shotgun towards the source of the noise. Without stopping to identify what his potential target was, he fired, the boom sounding much louder in the narrow street. The shot gave up a spray of green fluid from a shadowy, hunched figure that seemed to be hanging onto the wall. A god-awful shriek that threatened to deafen him into submission soon followed.
"What the hell?!" he asked.
A split second later, something huge and green dove out of the shadows and landed hard in the street, just past the second dead body. From what he could make out, Dean saw a huge, bulbous cockroach on steroids. As it turned to face him, he could pick out its other features, from its multiple legs sporting hooked sickle-like claws, the thick hairs covering its segmented thorax, and its face, a hideous bug-like face with round, green eyes and razor-sharp mandibles that were dripping with thick, slimy drool and blood. It also seemed to be lacking a lower jaw.
"What in God's name is this?!" blurted Dean loudly, slowly backing away from the thing as it clawed its way towards him slowly. Finally, he got enough of his co-ordination back to open fire. He cocked the shotgun, and the thing scuttled towards him at a faster pace, probably alerted by the sound of the weapon being readied. He fired into its thorax, spraying green blood onto the ground and walls, but the creature barely reacted to the shot, only stopped in its tracks momentarily and flinching for a split-second.
Dean had barely cocked his weapon again when the beast suddenly stood up on its hind legs and scurried in a haphazard manner towards him, flailing its arms in a rather comical manner and shrieking at the same time. Dean was totally taken aback by this sudden move and fell onto his back with a thud, the beast still bearing down on him with its multitude of claws and legs. With barely any time to react, he fired again, his weapon kicking high due to the recoil. Most of the buckshot caught the thing smack on in its throat, throwing it onto its back, while the spread shot tore through the joint on one of its front legs, and that was blown away in a small spray of green blood.
Wiping away the sweat forming on his forehead, Dean quickly got to his feet, seeing that the bug thing was now on its back, its remaining five legs flailing around in a pathetic attempt to right itself onto its feet. He saw that a huge rent had been blown through the monsters torso and throat regions, and green blood was still spurting from the open wounds. Determined to finish it off with his next attempt, Dean walked around until he had a clear shot at the beast's head, and took aim.
Cocking the weapon, he fired nearly point-blank into its ugly visage, and it exploded like a pus-filled balloon, spraying most of the area around it in green blood, scales and brain matter. Some of it splashed onto Dean's jeans, making him look down at the stain and almost balk at the hideous smell of the stuff. He'd hate to think what that could do if he got it in his eye. Carefully eyeing the monster's dead body, he reloaded his weapon. It had taken 4 shells to finally put it down. He'd hate to have the displeasure of running into anymore of these freaks…
"Jesus Christ, what the hell are you supposed to be?" he asked the mutilated giant bug's corpse, leaning up against a wall to catch his breath. Zombies and he understood, but where the hell were sickle-clawed monstrous bugs coming from?
Click. Click. Click.
Shit.
He looked up to see another of those bug things clinging onto the wall about 12 feet away from him, staring straight through him as drool dripped from its mandibles as it sized up its next potential meal. Dean slowly raised his shotgun to aim at it, not taking his eyes off it, not even for a split second.
It let of a bone-jarring shriek and suddenly launched itself through the air towards the cop, who in turn blew it out of the sky with a well-aimed shotgun blast. The creature let off another shriek and fell to the ground hard, breaking something in the process, but in seconds it was on its feet and charging at him, flailing its claws much like the first one had. He fired twice more in quick succession, the second blast tearing into its torso and throwing it onto its back, where it thrashed around in pain before it finally stopped moving and bled out in a lake of green blood. He breathed out a huge sigh of relief, reaching for more shotgun shells to reload his weapon.
He turned around, and nearly died of shock as something huge tackled him forcefully into his stomach, throwing him to the floor and sending his shotgun and a handful of spare shells flying away from him. He gasped loudly, as the wind had been knocked out of him, and looked up to see yet another of those bugs towering over him, but this one was different from the others: its skin was a sickly green colour, and its body mass was more considerable compared to the first two. It also had two heads, both of them equipped with sharp mandibles and bulbous, bug eyes. He could see inside the purple-coloured recesses of its open mouths. It clawed towards him, and he instinctively kicked out, striking it in the left face and stunning it momentarily.
As he scampered backwards on his rear, he suddenly remembered he still had his sidearm on him and drew it, firing into the area between its necks. Blood spurted out from the wounds, but it didn't even slow down.
"Damn…" he muttered, feeling that his life was going to be over right there as it raised a hooked limb to strike out at him.
Suddenly, what sounded like the rattle of a fully-automatic firearm rang out, and the monster staggered backwards, blood spraying from countless wounds being torn into its hide. There was a slight break in the firing and the thing shrieked out and surged forward again, but one final burst exploded its right head and it slumped onto the ground front-first, blood pumping out of the severed neck joint for a couple more seconds. Breathing hard, Dean slowly got to his shaky feet and turned to see who had saved him from becoming a bug's dinner.
It was one of the soldiers from earlier, more specifically the blond-haired one wearing the beanie hat. He was holding a smoking M4A1 at that moment, and he swiftly loaded a fresh magazine into the weapon, tossing aside the empty clip casually. Once he was sure that it was safe, he slowly approached Dean, picking up the discarded shotgun by its stock as he did so.
"You all right sir?" he asked, in a rather concerned tone. Dean had to catch his breath a few times before he gave his reply.
"Yeah, I'm good: good for nearly being filleted alive by giant bugs." He eyed the corpse of the most recent kill warily, stepping away from it and stooping to pick up the spare shells he'd dropped when he was tackled. It looked dead, but he didn't fancy pushing his luck anymore. As he straightened up, his weapon was nearly shoved into his arms.
"I believe this is yours?" said the soldier, as Dean took the mighty weapon back and reloaded it with 12 gauge ammo. There was a somewhat awkward silence as Dean got his breath back before he finally spoke up.
"So what's your story?" he asked, "Are you the cavalry or something?"
"Something like that," replied the soldier, lowering his rifle towards the ground. "Myself and my comrades were sent in to rescue the civilians, but we weren't expecting this much…"
"Wait," said Dean, holding a hand up. "I kinda noticed that emblem on your back. Do you guys work for Umbrella?" The soldier turned to look down at his back.
"Oh forget that, we're not officially working with the company, we're just mercenaries, hired hands. We sign up to clear up Umbrella's mess, but it looks like we bit of more than we can chew with this one…"
"Sorry, cleaning up Umbrella's mess?" asked Dean, cutting off the other man mid-sentence. "You're saying Umbrella's got something to do with this whole shit fest?"
There was another long silence, as the man seemed to be thinking of a suitable answer to that question. To Dean, it looked like this was the proof to back up Chief Iron's claims from earlier.
Another jarring shriek made them both spin round with their weapons aimed down the alley, just as another two giant bug things came scuttling towards them along the ground.
"Jesus, how many more of these things are there?!" asked Dean rhetorically.
"Worry about that later!" shouted the soldier in response as he opened fire on the beasts, quickly followed by Dean. One of the things quivered as it received multiple shots to its front, before it let off another shriek and leapt onto the nearby wall and scurrying along it for a bit, before a close-range shotgun blast blew it off its perch and it landed on its head with a crack, dying instantly from the force of impact. The second one continued on its course, soaking up rifle rounds like they were shots from a water pistol, not a high-calibre weapon. Soon, it was within range to attack and lashed out with its hooked limbs, but luckily both men hopped back to avoid the wild swiping. A few seconds later, a combined barrage of rifle and shotgun ammo put it down on its back, most of its head and a few legs blown into mist.
Both men panted for breath and checked their weapons, with Dean turning to finish up his conversation with the unknown soldier. He suddenly caught something out of the corner of his eye.
"Look out!" he shouted, pointing to the wall behind his new companion. The man turned to see another giant bug monster, just as it propelled itself towards him, claws outstretched. But reacting with almost inhuman reflex, he leapt up and met the thing head on with a spinning roundhouse kick, his boot striking it hard right in its ugly face and throwing if off course so it collided hard with the unforgiving ground. Then even before it tried squirming back onto its feet, the man was stood over it, driving the barrel of his rifle into its face and firing a single round, blowing apart most of its skull.
The man wiped some green blood away from his leg as he turned back towards Dean.
"Nice move," said Dean in admiration.
"Thanks," came the reply. "Now where were we?"
Before anything else was said, the pounding of feet on the ground preceded several more figures, all dressed the same as the blonde-haired soldier, suddenly appear from around the corner and level their weapons, before stopping to take in the scene of carnage in the alley. A tall, lanky man with a black buzz-cut hair cut and some stubble walked up to one of the recently-dead bugs and gave it a kick with his boot.
"What the fuck are these?"
"Never mind that right now," shouted a powerful voice from somewhere in the back of the group. "Taylor, are you there?" A second later, a powerfully built figure with black skin and wearing a green beret atop his head appeared, an M4A1 slung over his shoulder and a look of concern on his face. He had dark-coloured eyes and his head was closely shaved.
"Yeah boss?" asked the blonde soldier, now known as Taylor asked, stepping forward.
"Next time you decide to run off like that," the other man said, stepping forward, "At least have the courtesy to wait up for us before you potentially get yourself killed!" Taylor lowered his head slightly.
"Sorry boss. I just didn't want to see anyone else get killed, that's all."
"Hey, that's fine," replied his superior. "But if you get yourself killed, how are we gonna cope with that?" he finished, half chuckling to himself. His gaze then settled on Dean. "And who are you?"
Dean cleared his throat and straightened himself up before replying. "Dean Travers, formerly of the Raccoon Police Department, before they were all killed. I was looking for some shelter before these bug things attacked me, then your man here turned up just in time to help me out."
"Ah I see. Well Taylor went running off when we heard the gunfire," replied the leader. "That was probably you fighting them off, wasn't it?"
"Could say that," replied Dean, looking around the assembled group of men before him. "So um, who are you guys supposed to be again?"
"We're with the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service," said a man holding a S.P.A.S 12 shotgun. "We get the duty of cleaning up Umbrella's mistakes."
"I'm Lieutenant Nicholas Johnson, leader of Delta Platoon," chimed in the beret-wearing man. "You've already met out scout, Taylor Drecker," he continued, indicating the blonde man who offered a little wave towards Dean. "And this is our Sniper, Robert Devlan," he finished, indicating the tall man with the black buzz cut. Dean now noticed the man had a telescopic sight affixed to the top of his modified M4A1.
"Yeah well," replied Dean, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Introductions are good and all, but something tells me that you know more than you're letting on about what's been happening in this city. Care to divulge further?"
Another piercing shriek made all of the assembled figures jump and aim all around them to determine where this new threat was.
"Maybe we should re-locate to somewhere a bit safer before all that?" said the Lieutenant, indicating down the street. Dean just nodded in response, and without a word the whole group took off at a jog down the road, just as a clicking sound began to follow them out of the alleyway.
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Several blocks away, a solitary riot van trundled through the derelict streets of Raccoon City, dodging around wrecked car pile ups and solitary zombies wandering blindly about. In the driver's seat, Simon Jefferson of S.W.A.T was practically sweating bullets as he guided the large vehicle down the street, being careful not to crash into anything moving or otherwise, lest they pop a tyre, and if that happened they'd be up to their necks in shit. In the passenger seat, Ben Campbell watched the road in front of them, pointing out anything the elite officer might have missed.
"Just nice and slow, there's no rush," reassured Ben as he patted Simon's shoulder.
"Easy for you to say," muttered back Simon, turning the wheel to go around a lone zombie. He was a bit too slow though, and the former human ended up being dragged under the van's bulk, the sound of bones breaking reaching their ears as the van slightly rose up on one side and came down again. Ben grimaced slightly as he made his way back into the rear compartment.
The few remaining survivors from the R.P.D massacre sat huddled up against the walls of the van, some of them talking amongst one another in hushed voices, but others just stared straight ahead, among them the burly man in the leather jacket known as Cliff, his hand seemingly glued to the Mossberg shotgun propped up next to him. The grey-haired officer, Roger, looked up at Ben with heavy, sleep-deprived eyes, his look telling him much more than words could.
We're screwed aren't we?Roger seemed to be saying, we're only a handful of people in a city filled with the walking dead, and it's only a matter of time before we're all dead, isn't it? Ben had to push away those thoughts and remain optimistic, even if their chances were 1 in 10 million. If they didn't remain hopeful, it wouldn't help them well along the way.
"Look guys," he said, getting the attention of several pairs of eyes on him, "I know it's not looking good, but I assure you'll me and my colleagues will get you out of here to safety. You have my word on that."
"And how can you be so positive about that?" sneered a voice from the back of the compartment. It was that electrician who had rigged up the parking lot gate to close by itself. Ben mentally kicked himself for not knowing the man's name. He looked towards the man now and raised his finger towards him.
"Look, um…"
"Cal."
"Cal. I know it's a very grim outlook out there, but we can't just roll over and let fate win over. We have to at least make an effort, show the world that we're not dead yet."
"But the entire city's probably succumbed to whatever's creating those zombies," chipped in another voice, this one belonging to the young woman in the R.P.D vest. "And the army's cordoned off the city limits. What's the likelihood they'll even let us out if we make it that far?" Ben sighed deeply and thought for a while before he replied.
The truth was, he didn't know what to say. He wanted to say that they'd all be fine and they'd make it out of this hellhole in one piece, but with everything he'd seen so far, he couldn't make any guarantees or promises. And he didn't fancy lying to them, so he said what came to mind, which was the way he'd always been.
"We won't know until we at least take a chance. We've got nothing to lose, either way."
There was a long silence as those assembled looked at one another, seemingly waiting for one of them to bring up something else relevant to their survival, but no-one came forward to speak up. Even Cal the electrician seemed to agree with Ben's notion, and he slumped back into a seated position, staring at the wall next to him, seemingly intently enough to stare straight through it. Ben nodded slightly as the situation had been diffused, and turned back to go to the front compartment. As he went past Roger, he exchanged glances with the veteran officer, a glance that gave the younger officer a bit of hope. He smiled slightly as he worked himself into the front passenger seat and sat himself down.
I just hope that we have a chance of getting out of here, he thought, as he stared out at the empty streets ahead of them.
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"Wow. Sounds like you've been through quite a lot."
Dean and the other Umbrella soldiers had taken up refuge in an abandoned store, most of the men there either pacing around or lying on the floor and stretching their legs and arms out to stop cramp setting in. Devlan and a tall man with brown hair and a powerful physique armed with an M249 .50 machine gun stood at the front window which was mostly boarded up, looking for any potential threats to approach from outside. Dean, Nicholas (who insisted he be called Nick) and Taylor were stood talking in the back room, where cases of supplies such as ammo and medical goods were laid out, indicating they were thinking of using this area as a temporary base.
"Yeah," said Dean, after the man's reaction to his story about the events of the day so far. "So anyways, how many more of you are there?"
"We had 4 platoons," explained Nick, his beret set on the side of a nearby counter at the moment. "Alpha, Beta, Charlie and Delta. About 120 men in all, but as far as we know most of us were killed within minutes of touching down. We simply can't get in contact with anyone else from any of the other platoons."
"Damn…" replied Dean grimly.
"Our bosses clearly underestimated the danger of sending us down here," said Taylor chipping in. "They wanted us to extract any surviving civilians, but it looks like there's no-one left to extract at this rate. Everyone's turned into a zombie," he said solemnly, looking down at the floor.
"So why's Umbrella sending in troops in the first place?" asked Dean suddenly, wanting some answers that he nearly got from Taylor before giant bugs cut their conversation short.
"Well," said Nick as he raised his hands in an attempt to explain things to Dean clearly. "This might be a bit hard to swallow, but Umbrella are, in a way, responsible for this whole mess."
Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Umbrella? But they're the reason this town's been doing so well lately."
"Well that's just the public face of Umbrella," said Taylor, chipping in, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair. "They've been doing research into B.O.W's for a long time."
"B.O.W's?" asked Dean, furrowing his brow.
"Biological Organic Weapons," explained Nick. "Basically, living organisms used as weapons. And central to their research is a virus that turns humans into zombies. You remember the murders back in July?"
"How can I forget?" replied Dean. "It was all over the headlines for weeks Hell, I even attended a few of the murder scenes."
"Those murders were the result of an outbreak of this so-called virus. And since then, it's been gradually working its way into the city. Until…well, you see for yourself."
"A zombie virus?" asked Dean, almost in disbelief. "Well a virus being responsible would explain why everyone was turning so fast. But why would Umbrella have a zombie virus in the first place?"
"Because they're greedy bastards," spat Nick, putting his beret back on. "But in the end, we're just the boys who wipe the shit up. We don't get told the whole story. Why would we? We're expected to all die on every mission we go on." After that little tirade, he stormed back into the main store area.
Taylor and Dean followed him back, where other U.B.C.S soldiers nodded in acknowledgement. A soldier with Asian features and wearing a green bandana and with his body over-loaded with grenades and other explosives approached Taylor and held his hand up, and Taylor replied with a high-five.
"Nice to see you back in one piece, Tay," said the Asian man, his voice holding a trace of his accent.
"You really think a few over-grown cockroaches would get the better of me?" Taylor replied in a cocky manner. "Oh, by the way Dean, this is our demolitions expert Lee," he said, giving the man now known as Lee a slap on the back. "You need something blown sky-high, come see Lee and he'll set you up for life!"
"Oh you're too kind!" replied Lee with a smile.
"Oh you're good," replied Dean with a smirk. "I saw some of your handiwork earlier. Give 'em something to regret?"
"Oh, so you were stalking us then?" asked Taylor in a joking manner.
"Well I wanted to make sure that you guys didn't mistake me for a zombie and ventilate me on sight," replied Dean with a smirk. There was a bit of laughter before Nick suddenly called them over with a wave of his hand. The whole group gathered around the wooden table with a map of Raccoon City lay open upon it. A few key locations were circled with red marker pen.
"OK ladies, listen up!" half-shouted the Lieutenant. "Our designated extraction point is at the St. Michael's Clock Tower to the North of our position, on Raccoon Street. Our orders state that once we've rung the tower bell, the extraction chopper will fly in to take us out of this city. But due to the amount of damage the city's in most of the streets are blocked off by fire or other damage."
"So we might have to take the scenic route," chimed in Taylor, pointing towards an area on the map near to the clock tower. "Bowler Avenue would be the most direct path to take, so we'll attempt to take that route, but if that doesn't work out we could try the back alleyways instead."
A mumbling went up from the assembled troops.
"Actually," said Dean suddenly, intervening. Several pairs of eyes fixed on him. "I've seen that the largest concentrations of zombies in this city tend to be found on the main streets and roads. We'd be a lot better off if we stuck to the smaller roads and streets." There was long silence before Nick finally broke it.
"Well you do have the home advantage Dean, I'm sure it'd be wise following your instincts," he said, putting his beret back upon his head, making sure that it was aligned perfectly. A few of the other mercenaries just grumbled and shook their heads, not content with being shown the best route by a lowly civilian.
"So when do we move out?" asked a man in his 30's with a large pack on his back and a white circle with a red cross intersecting it on his sleeve. Probably a field medic, thought Dean. His voice also had a trace of British in it, and he had a Union Jack stuck to his left shoulder, indicating he was a Brit.
"In 30 minutes," said Nick, glancing at his watch. "Let's get some rest before then, all right?" A chorus of agreements went up from within the store, before everyone dispersed in their own direction. Dean sat himself down atop an abandoned cardboard box, and rubbed his stomach as it grumbled. Reaching into his side pack, he pulled out a candy bar, ripped off the wrapping and devoured it in seconds, so long since he'd eaten, and also since he'd used a lot of energy since. Having finished that one off, he'd quickly reached for another one.
"Hold on, you'd best not eat all those at once," said a familiar British accent. He looked up to see the field medic sitting down on a box just opposite him. Closer up, he could see that the man had blue eyes, along with shortly-cropped brown hair and a clean-shaven appearance. "Here," he said, offering him what looked like a ration pack. Reluctantly, Dean took out something from the package that was wrapped in paper. It looked like a sandwich, but when he bit into it, he grimaced slightly.
"What the hell is this?!" he asked.
"Military-grade rations," the Brit replied. "It's just food high in carbohydrates and calories, designed to just state your hunger. Not much, but it keeps you going at least."
"Well to be honest," admitted Dean, lowering his head, "I might get to like this more than my partner's cooking skills." The medic barely suppressed a massive grin.
"That bad huh?"
"Yep," nodded Dean, taking another bite from the ration meal. "I keep thinking he'll watch the cookery channel, but he never gets the hint." The medic chuckled again, as he passed Dean a water canteen.
"Oh, where are my manners? I'm William Daniels, but everyone calls me Will. A pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said, offering Dean a gloved hand to shake. The cop graciously accepted the hand and shook it firmly, in between taking a swig from the canteen. The water was lukewarm, but it still did the trick at quenching his dry throat.
"Dean Travers, R.P.D. Or rather, I used to be. Looks like I might be the only one left now due to…current events."
"Geez, sorry to hear that," replied the medic. "Wish there was something I could say to help you out."
"Forget it," said Dean. "No-one could've seen this coming."
"Uh, guys, we got company!" shouted Devlan from his place at the window. "We got more of those things coming, boss!" Nick and Taylor ran over to the window to have a look outside.
"Here we go again," said Dean, throwing the empty ration pack aside and walking up the window to have a look outside.
From the right, another crowd of zombies were approaching, shambling towards their current position in a slow but relentless manner. There were at least 20 from what they could see, but many more were bringing up behind the initial group.
"Just great," muttered Taylor, as Nick readied his M4.
"OK guys, mount up and let's go! Leave behind anything that'll slow us down!" he shouted to his men, as they scattered in all directions to gather up supplies and ammunition. Nick then turned back towards Dean and patted a big hand on his shoulder. "Once we're out of here, I trust you to lead the way, ok? It's not often I do this, but for once I'm breaking protocol to help all of us out Don't let the others make you think otherwise."
"Fine," replied Dean, cocking his shotgun for effect. "If I save even one person from this place, it'd make me a much happier man."
Nick gave a grin and turned back towards the door.
"Joel!"
"Yes boss?" shouted back the soldier with the M249.
"I want you to lead our breakout. Shred 'em!"
"Sure thing, boss," replied Joel, grinning.
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They shuffled towards the abandoned store, some of them dragging broken or twisted limbs behind them. They could sense that there were survivors inside, ripe for being feasted upon. Ever since the virus had infected them, they were being consumed by an unending hunger for still-living human flesh, a hunger that would drive them to the ends of the earth if needs be. Unbeknownst to them though, the virus in their system had made them hungry in order to spread its evil influence as far as possible, to consume as many lives as possible.
But they didn't care. They only wanted to feed. That's all that mattered to them now.
A second later, the door crashed open and a man holding a large machine gun charged out, levelling his gun at them. But they knew no fear in their new state, and many of them moaned loudly, extending their arms towards the man and shambling towards him at a faster pace.
The man fired his huge weapon and it roared, tearing apart several infected citizens in a shower of crimson, but more were always there to plug the gaps in the crowd. One man wearing a blood-stained white shirt was struck a few times in the torso and was literally blown apart, left as nothing but a pair of legs that slumped to the floor lifelessly. A middle-aged woman still in her nightdress took a bullet directly between the eyes and her face exploded into crimson. The armed man continued firing for several more seconds, scything through their ranks like he was harvesting corn, before he stopped and shouted something over his shoulder.
"Go! Go! Go!"
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They stormed out of the store, weapons raised and covering each other in pairs, to ensure there wouldn't be an ambush or surprise attack of any kind. Dean, sticking close to Taylor and Nick, looked over to see Joel making an almighty mess of the zombies approaching them from afar. For his lack of subtlety, he had to admire the man's sheer firepower. He didn't kill the zombies so much as put them through the blender.
"Joel!" shouted Taylor, as the machine gunner finally lowered his weapon and took off after the rest of the group, a smirk plastering his face. They sprinted away down the road, towards where Bowler Avenue was located. Soon, they'd left behind the zombie pursuers, but a few lone ones were still wandering about the street, easily avoided or dealt with via accurate headshots. Now that Dean was with these other well-armed survivors, he was positive that they'd be able to escape this damned place easier. Along the way, he hoped they could find his friend Ben, and then they'd all escape this place together.
Or so he hoped.