Half Life Chapter 7
The Forsaken Travelers
"Morty? What are you doing here?"
"The Larry must get up!" Morty grabbed him around the collar and dragged him into the room, slamming the door behind him and pressing the lock. The steel door rattled in its hinges as zombies pounded on the other side.
"That won't hold stop them," Larry said.
"Then the time has come for us to leave this place."
"Couldn't agree more. Let's move," Larry said as he slowly got to his feet, holding the wall to keep his balance. He suffered a bad blow after the grenade round went off in the hallway.
"The Larry is hurt?" Morty asked.
"I hit my head pretty bad," Larry said. "But I think the bleeding's stopped."
"We will aid you." Morty slipped his right arm under Larry's left and around his shoulders.
"Thanks buddy," Larry said. The vortigaunt grunted in reply and the two shuffled across the warehouse floor and down another hallway. After passing through a few offices, they came to a door to the outside. Through the door's small window they could see the street was empty, except for a zombie chopped in half with an axe protruding from its middle.
Larry tried to think. He was afraid there would be more of those fast ones running around out of sight. But they couldn't hang around any longer and growls echoed in the warehouse behind them. 'Makes me kind of wish I was back there with the manhacks,' Larry thought. It was then he noticed the manhole cover.
"Alright Morty, let's make for the sewer quietly. If we can get down there without being noticed we might be safe." The alien slowly pushed the door opened and helped Larry down the cement steps. They moved to the middle of the street, eyes darting around wildly in every direction, listening for the smallest sound. Larry knelt down and tried to get his fingers around the edge of the lid.
"Hey," he whispered. "Give me a hand." Suddenly the zombie's upper half sprang to life, moaning horribly and dragging itself toward Larry. Morty lifted the manhole cover with two hands and sent it crashing down on the zombie's headcrab. Green slime oozed out.
"That was close," Larry sighed.
"Quickly, into the hole," Morty replied, staring back at the warehouse. Larry looked up to see zombies pouring through the open door and headcrabs scrambling under foot. He hopped feet first into the hole, grabbing hold of the ladder.
"Come on!" The zombies converged on Morty, who was now wielding the sewer cover in one hand like a shield. He whipped it toward the first skinless zombie, severing his spine at the neck, then bashed another across the head. A black headcrab leapt and Morty grabbed it with his middle hand, took a bite out of it and tossed it aside. He batted away another with his shield, then grabbed another fast zombie with his two hands and ripped it in half, all the while backing toward the sewer opening.
"Go!" Morty growled and Larry backed down the ladder. One of the slower zombies grabbed the manhole cover and fought with Morty for it. He pulled and then pushed, holding tight but sending the monster reeling into the other zombies and toppling a few over. Another headcrab sailed toward Morty. He grabbed it out of midair and stepped into the hole, dropping the manhole cover into place behind him and landing next to Larry with a thud.
"Will that hold them?" Larry asked.
"They are not intelligent enough to understand it. They will scratch and claw at it until they lose our scent," Morty replied.
"Well then nice work," Larry said, holding out his hand. Morty held out his, but it was still clutching a live headcrab.
"Holy hell!" Larry yelled, recoiling. The creature squealed and its little legs flailed furiously. Morty brought it up to his mouth and took a big bite out of its side. The headcrab shrieked, then went limp. He offered it to Larry.
"Hell no, that's disgusting."
"Yes, we enjoy them more when they are cooked as well."
"Why do we always end up in the sewers?" Larry asked, scanning the tunnel. "Let me see now, the factory was that way, and the sun was setting over here, so I think we need to go down this way." Morty began walking in the direction he pointed, still munching on the headcrab. After a number of turns, the pair came to a dead end. A pipe poured water at their feet and a chain dangled from a shaft above it. Looking up, Larry could see light filtering into the shaft, forming a square. Larry pulled the chain, and a ladder came down out of the darkness.
"That's strange," Larry said. "It's not even rusty." He grabbed hold of the ladder and climbed up, Morty following. When he got to the top he reached a heavy metal door. Bracing himself with one foot on the ladder and the other across the narrow shaft, he pushed with all his might and flipped the door open.
They surfaced inside a basement. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling. He pulled himself up and Morty did the same. They climbed the stairs and found the rooms to be bare and all the windows securely boarded. They couldn't find a way out, and so climbed another set of stairs to the second floor. Larry approached the first door and opened it. Inside, he saw a sight so beautiful he was nearly moved to tears.
Shotguns and assault rifles hung on wall racks and crates marked "Ammunition" were piled up on the floor. A dozen pistols sat on a table, and another was covered with grenades. Larry lifted one and felt the weight in his hand. He couldn't believe their luck.
"Do you think someone still lives here?" Larry wondered aloud. "Think they'd mind if we borrowed a few? …"
"Morty?" Larry turned to see the vortigaunt hunched over in the corner, his hands fiddling with something. "Morty? What are you doing?" Larry peered over his shoulder and saw what the alien had been so focused on.
There sitting on the floor, was a small television. This one looked considerably newer than the one they'd had in the freight car, and had a slot for a videotape in the bottom.
"Here we go again," Larry sighed. He took a shotgun down from the wall and cocked it. "Alright, grab some guns. We might make it out of here alive after all."
"We do not use weapons," Morty said. "It would be a sin against the Vortessence." He lifted the TV up to his huge eye and peered into the dark screen.
"Well I'm sorry I lost the key to that collar," Larry said and tossed a small machine gun at Morty, who caught it with one of his free hands. "But you're gonna need to do more than swing a TV if you want to make it 10 feet past the door." Morty looked at the gun with uncertainty.
Suddenly Larry felt the cold metal of a rifle's barrel stuck against the back of his neck. The gunman cocked it. Morty spun toward the door and growled at the person holding the gun.
"You've brought a demon to my home, brother," he said. "This town certainly needs no more of those." Larry dropped the shotgun at his feet and raised his hands. He turned, slowly and came face to face with man dressed as a priest. The man was bald, dirty and unshaven. He raised the rifle to between Larry's eyes, close enough that he could read the name "Annabelle" carved into the side. On the man's right hand was a scar in the shape of a cross.
"Uh he's – he's not a demon," Larry stammered. "He's my friend."
"Resist the devil," the stranger said, "and he will flee from you."
"Wait! Wait, you're a priest. You can't kill me if you're a priest."
"I won't kill you, brother," he said, turning the gun on Morty. Larry could see his finger tighten around the trigger. "But I will exorcise your demon."
