The office of
Chief Elena Mets was as obliterated as the security office in the
hospital, with the exception of having no beasts eating the Chief's
dead body. The office was a shambles; books and documents stained
with blood everywhere and the painting on the wall ripped down. The
wooden desk was dripping with blood, and had the body of the chief
propped upon it, her face twisted in horror and suffering, her obese
body shredded and exposing her ribs. It seemed that she had been
attacked by a zombie, but she had taken care of it before she had
died, the corpse of her killer on the floor, its head caved in.
Misty backed off, swallowing bile back and holding her handgun
tight. She had found more ammo on the chief"s body, a clip
containing six bullets. It wasn't much, but it was good enough. She
and Bruce needed all the ammo they could get.
Next to the chief
was a book which caught Misty's interest. It seemed to be the diary
belonging to the chief.
"Perhaps she knew something we
don't," Misty said to herself, and picked up the book, flicking
through the pages.
"Day Two:
Things have been going wrong
from the start. I have sent many officers to rescue the civilians
that have not been gathered to the precinct. I ensured they left well
armed and reinforced. The Mayor seems to be under the impression that
it is an Umbrella assassination attempt, and is growing very
impatient. He is becoming an asshole, and I wish he would leave me
be. The noise outside suggests that the zombies are gathering around
the precinct. I had better help out and secure the surviving
civilians."
Misty scratched her head, and moved on to the
next page.
"Day Five:
They got in somehow, I don't know! I
went to check the cells and found that they were all empty of life.
All that remains in there are the zombies of the survivors we
gathered. We gathered the living members, but the zombies separated
us. I haven't seen Mayor Wilkins in a while, but I couldn't care
less. I am in my office now, locked in with Officer Billy Dole. He
was bitten by one of them, and seems to be getting ill. I hope he
gets better: I'm not trained in first aid."
Misty turned the
page, only to find that it stopped at day five. Misty now knew how
the chief had died: she had let the infected in, and that was her
downfall. She was caring for her fellow officer, and it had been her
demise.
It was a pity, but she couldn't dwell on it.
"Rest
in peace, Chief Mets," she prayed, and walked out of the office,
ready to enter the other door.
Bruce looked around the cells,
and sighed with relief. There were eight zombies behind bars, and
none of them were Harv Baker. The cells room was huge, about twenty
cells and two desks for the cell guards, who now lay dead, hardly any
flesh left on them. The smell of rotting flesh and excretion had been
too much, and Bruce had vomited in the bin next to the closest desk
when he had entered. Now he was getting used to it, and it made him
feel worse than he had when he vomited.
The moans of the dead sent
him back to the nightmares, and again he was there with his mother
and father, in the alley behind his house, his mother crying, his
father pulling out his gun, the shots fired.
He shook his head.
This was not the time to go down memory lane, and he knew that more
than anyone. His nightmares would have to wait until he got out of
the current one he was in.
The door behind him slammed, and
instinctively Bruce dived towards the wall, turning around and
pointing his shotgun at the figure that had entered. The man was
African-American, and was built like a wrestler. He wore a black
shirt, baggy blue jeans and a brown baseball cap. The man held a
steel pipe in his hand. He had a black, thick mustache and a shaved
head.
"Who are you?" the man asked, his manner gruff.
"I
ask you the same question," Bruce threw back harshly.
The
man lowered the steel pipe, and relaxed his body. He held out his
hand, and Bruce took it. The man hoisted him up easily, and Bruce was
hoping that the man was not hostile, as many of his encounters had
been.
"The name is Cal Blake, and I am one of the surviving
prisoners of this place."
Bruce nodded. "I'm Bruce
Campbell, local reporter. So you are a prisoner? Any reasons why that
is so?"
Cal raised his eyebrow, and responded coldly. "I
am not a criminal prisoner, if that is what you think. I was forced
in here by the police for my safety. I tried resisting, but the
bastards here wouldn't let me save my wife. Since the zombies broke
in, I have been wandering around, helping as many as I can. I have
saved a few people, and now I have saved you."
"Saved
me?" Bruce asked. "From what?"
"From wandering
around and probably end up like them." He pointed at the zombies
in the cells. "Those poor people were put in there, like I was.
We were considered dangerous because we were desperate to reach loved
ones, so they locked us up. In the end, only I escaped here, hence
the open jail cell. It was lucky I was locked up on my own. Wish I
could say the same about the others."
"Have you seen a
man, a reporter? His name is Harv Baker. He was in the city reporting
the riot incident here, which is now obviously more than a riot."
Cal
looked towards the ceiling, then back at Bruce. "I did see such
a man, but it was four days ago. He helped me bust out of my cell,
claiming I should not have been locked up. I tried asking him
questions about the situation, but all he replied was that his name
was Harv and he was going to bring down Umbrella."
"So
he is not one of the ones you have saved?"
Cal shook his
head. "Afraid not, sorry. However, I'll help you find your
friend, and-"
Instantly, the door swung open, and Bruce
gasped with shock as he saw who it was. Three men, all in black robes
with their hoods up. The men moved swiftly. One jumped in the air and
kicked Cal in the face, knocking the man into his open cell,
unconcious.
Before they could approach Bruce, he smashed the butt
of the shotgun on top of one's head, and blinked as he heard the cry
of the man. A fist flew into his face, and before he fell into
darkness, he heard one scream an order.
"Let's go now, we
have got-"
Barry woke up to the sound of the door close
quietly, and raised his handgun at the intruder. It was a young girl,
wearing a half tee and jeans. It took him a while to see it was a
survivor, but he did not lower his weapon.
"Who are you, and
what do you want?" he ordered sternly, holding back a yawn.
The
girl raised her hands in surrender. "Don"t shoot. My name
is Misty Walker, and I am looking for someone."
Barry stood
up, his eyes and gun on the girl. "Well you are in the wrong
place. Everyone here is dead, except for me."
He watched as
the girl lowered her hands, and put away her gun. Realising he was
being stupid, Barry holstered his weapon.
"I'm sorry,"
he apologised. "I haven't seen anyone in ages who is alive. The
survivors around here take a shot at anything that moves, so I
usually avoid human contact. Who are you looking for?"
The
girl, Misty, put her hands on her small hips. "He is a reporter
by the name of Harv Baker. I need to find him for a friend."
"Sorry,
don't know anyone by that name, but I did see a reporter. He was
hassling the chief about her views on this incident. That was about
five days ago." She nodded in disappointment, and he continued.
"I can help you find him if you want to. I might not be a
military type, but I can do my best."
Misty smiled at him.
"Thanks, I'd appreciate it. First, we need to find my friend,
Bruce. He is the one who is really looking for this reporter. Perhaps
if we work together, we can find a way to leave this place."
"There,
I can help you," Barry grinned. "On the Town Hall roof is a
copter, capable of carrying up to six people including the pilots. If
we hurry, we might find this reporter and the four of us can fly
off."
"Won't we need a pilot?" Misty asked.
"Not
to worry," Barry smiled. "I am an expert. Before my days of
being Mayor I was a pilot for the police. Now all we really need to
worry about is-"
The door shattered into pieces, and as Barry
had dreaded, he saw two men in robes walk in. The girl ran from them
and to Barry, making Barry feel an anger rise within him.
"Don't
move, scum!" he yelled, feeling powerful as he pointed his gun
at them. "I will shoot you if you touch myself or the girl!"
The
men looked at each other, and before Barry could blink one of them
threw their sword straight into Barry's chest. He shook his head in
confusion, and looked at Misty. She was staring in horror, her eyes
wide and frightened.
"I'm sorry," Barry tried to say,
but only made a coughing noise as blood rushed out of his mouth.
The
world was going black, and suddenly Barry fell. The last thing he saw
were the feet of one of the men, and heard the screams of the girl as
they taken her away.
