"We Don't Go to Ravenholm,"
(part two)
The fire lapped voluptuously at its own fleeing smoke. The wild light filled Gordon's glasses. It smelled of burnt pork and rotten eggs and chemicals in the laboratory. Bodies impaled on spikes in a bonfire…Dante's Inferno, High School English, his least favorite class, his least favorite work…such cruelty…
Gliding over the rooftops on icy wings: the moan of the damned. A ragged chorus of demons in reply. Their language was pain.
Gordon and Alyx were running.
The fire blazed behind them as they sprinted down the narrow cobblestone street – Spectral shadows were dancing on the brickwork walls…Zombies were emerging from the bowels of the buildings around them, like ants from a smashed hill.
Alyx yanked Gordon by the arm. They turned to the left. Down an even narrower alley. Into a small grassy court enclosed by apartments. Metal scaffolding led up one of the buildings. Three zombies were there, already roused by the moaning, turning to face them -
CRACK. KRAKOW.
Gordon hit one with the crowbar, bursting the back of the headcrab and spraying yellow-green slime. Alyx launched a garbage can – it bowled the second zombie into the wall, where it left green and red stains on the brick. The can ricocheted high into the air. Alyx caught it in the gun's pincers and fired again – KRAKOW. The third zombie's head ripped off, and the body collapsed to the ground, twitching.
Behind them – the moans, the shuffling and stumbling of feet -
"You've practiced with that thing," Gordon said.
Alyx couldn't help but grin.
"And the alley will funnel the others," Gordon added. "Like that one movie…"
"The Lion King?"
"That's the one."
"Up the scaffolding," Alyx said. "We can see the church from up there. That's where the man said Chekov was. I remember – it was to the north I think -"
BZAP.
A floodlight turned on above their heads, along with several apartment windows. And the whole metal scaffold shot sparks – long, blue and white – KRAZZZZZZZAMP – A plume of blue smoke wafted up from it.
Alyx and Gordon leaped back.
The ladder now hummed with dangerous energy, and the joints occasionally jittered with more sparks.
"What-?" Alyx shouted in surprise.
Gordon pointed. They looked up together.
There: a small surveillance camera was staring down at them from one of the windows.
"Chekov," Gordon said. "He's watching; he's giving us a 'trial' –" But Gordon was interrupted by Alyx seizing and launching the trashcan's lid at the camera. It shattered the lens and knocked the device askew. The can lid rebounded, did a thousand flips in the air, and landed on a rooftop.
"Gordon!"
"Yo."
"Can you scale walls?"
Gordon looked at the brick and cement. "Not quickly."
Alyx launched the trashcan again at the approaching horde. She bowled the front lines over.
"I'll bet there's a circuit mechanism for the fence up near the camera," Gordon suggested.
"I should climb up?"
"I'll hold my own down here."
Alyx gave him a severe look. "If you find another way out of this, do that." She handed him the gravity gun and the Colt Python, and, like a cat, began to scrabble up the brickwork, her fingers gripping the gaps and cracks. Gordon could hear her snarl under her breath every time she slipped or scraped her skin.
Gordon faced the undead.
They were packing into the alleyway – shoving against each other, raking their bodies against the brick walls, like grubs under a rock, stumbling half-blindly forward, always letting out that awful groan…but mixed beneath it…haggard, hoarse diaphragms moaning…moaning…you could almost hear what they were saying –
Gordon, curious, aimed the gun at a headcrab and tried to pull it off.
The gun crooned – no effect.
Gordon tried an arm.
No effect.
Fascinating, Gordon thought.
Now he was really thinking – and the thoughts went lightning fast. Disconnected. Like leisurely photons. The sight of Father Grigori's pyre had numbed him somehow and maybe the stench of death had shut his gag reflexes down and his subconscious jukebox started playing Disco Inferno by The Trammps as he worked out the problems around him –
Chekov is watching from the cameras. They had Grigori put cameras all over. And remotely activated traps.
/ The zero-point energy does not negate willful movement.
"To my surprise, one hundred stories high…"
- What is here for me to throw at these guys?
Chekov could have waited and electrocuted us on the scaffold. But instead they warned us. It isn't a booby trap, but a challenge.
/ It's downright anti-Newtonian. It respects will.
"People getting loose y'all, gettin' down on the roof…"
- Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty zombies. Halfway to me, two miles and hour. I've got a garbage can, a garbage can lid…
Why test us? To see if we're worthy of the information they have. But what kind of information requires worthiness?
/ I'll have to conduct more tests, of course…
"Folks are screamin'…"
Gordon pulled the trigger – the garbage can slid towards him, but it would not contest the strength of the zombies.
/ Even more interesting.
"Out of control…"
Focus Gordon.
300! The movie was 300…
The zombies were getting too close. They were packed into the alley – Gordon pulled the garbage can lid from the rooftop. It took a few moments –
Mmmaaaaahhhhhhh…
Aim –
"It was so entertainin'…"
Fire –
The lid slammed in between two of the foremost zombies, wedging between them, forcing them even harder against the walls…
They couldn't move. They were stuck, like an overfull bookcase.
That should buy some time, Gordon thought. But what now?
"When the boogie started to explode…"
Hazard suit.
How much would I need?
D[A]/dt = -Ki[A]^n || Kcal + Cps || dT/dt – (d[A]/dt)(deltaHrV) –
Leg – He unclamped the leg piece for his left thigh, and quickly dissected it – there, what he needed, a yellow wire, one of several -
"Knife?" he shouted up to Alyx.
"In a moment!" she shouted back. She was on the window ledge. With the handle of her Bouie knife, she cracked, cracked, shattered in the glass.
The zombie horde was starting to climb over the comical blockade.
"Gordon!" He turned, caught the knife with the gravity gun, released it into his hand. He slit the yellow wire, pointing the leg piece towards the alleyway. A clear fluid sprayed out, like a cut throat. He was sprinkling the zombie blockade with hazard suit juice – one, two, three seconds – Gordon was counting – the blockade was going to burst at any moment, the zombies were ramming against it – spilling over it -
Gordon tossed the leg piece towards the sparking scaffold.
A single spark met a droplet from the hazard suit.
"I heard somebody say…"
P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-POW-!
A string of explosions, like a cluster of cherry bombs, louder than gunshots, brighter than gunpowder. Gordon was blinded for a moment and his hearing was clogged with tinnitus.
White. Nothing but white –
….
….aaaaa
aaaaaaaaAAAA
aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAHHHaaAHAHHAAAAAAAHHHHH!
aaaaapppphhhPLEASEAAHAAAAAAAHHHHH!
aaaaaAAAGGGHHGODHELPAHHHaaAHAHGODOHHAAAAAAAHHHHH!
Gordon came to.
The horde was ablaze.
"'Burn baby burn…'"
The front line was already destroyed. The explosions had set their soggy flesh aflame with chemical burn – they were being consumed within seconds by leaping blue-white tongues. The air shimmered with heat. All their moisture was vaporizing instantly into green-gray steam that billowed up into the clouds, as their bodies crumpled to the ground. And the fires did not stop there, but caught onto the others: first the clothes, then the hair, then the flesh – shimmering, shimmering, diamonds and sapphires - Their long, spindly arms raised up in the air, as if in supplication. It smelled like smoking iron – Gordon could feel the heat on his face…
His glasses were filled with fire.
"Saaaaatisfaction! Came in a chain reaction…(burnin') I couldn't get enough! Until I haaaaad to self-destruct…"
Sutral Dicyanoacetylene – Lesser Combustion.
It was beautiful.
The zombies were stumbling towards him, but before they could lay hands upon him, they collapsed in a growing, smoldering heap at his feet.
Gordon turned his head downwards, as if in prayer.
The scaffolding had stopped sparking.
Alyx was calling his name, leaning out from the window.
"Yes?" he replied.
"What the actual **** did you do?!"
"I'm fine. How are you?"
"What…what kind of fire is that? I don't recognize – Gordon, where's your thigh guard – did you use-?"
Gordon did not respond. Instead, he tossed the Colt Python at the scaffolding. Nothing happened – no sparks.
He gripped it. No sparks.
He began climbing, as the flames began dying of their own exuberance. Some struggled to maintain themselves on the grass, but met the corners of dirty snow. Sizzling steam rose up…
Gordon was eye-level with Alyx now. She took a deep breath – she was shaking. She began climbing out of the window to join him. They stood together on a platform of the scaffold, the remaining fire lighting them from below.
"Are you okay?" Gordon repeated, holding her shoulders. She gripped his arm back – it sent a wonderful energy up through his body, like it was remembering something.
"Just some headcrabs in there, was all," Alyx replied.
Her arms were calming down, but Gordon noticed a gash across her right forearm.
"They got you," he noted.
"They did, the nasty ****s. Sorry," she added, "I keep swearing at you. Sorry."
"We're in hell. I don't care."
"I care…whatever. Are you okay?"
"I'm not sure. Let's finish this as soon as possible."
"Absolutely."
They ascended up the rickety, rusted staircase, and climbed onto a flat rooftop. The chemical fire still smoldered below them.
Three stories high – thirty feet. The breeze was more present, up where no buildings could block it. It was bitter cold as ice. Perfect snowflakes, like dying fairies, drifted down past Gordon's flashlight. The moon, a shining eye, peered through its curtain of clouds.
Ravenholm was laid out around them, like a model train environment. The industrial revolution mingled with the reformation and the middle ages: metal, brick, wood, stone, all by turns.
The undead choir murmured in pianissimo throughout the labyrinth.
There – the church – Alyx pointed to it silently. A dark spired dome – no, two of them – they rose up from a small white complex at the top of an incline; for, the town was built half on a hill, and the church crowned the top. On the canvas of night sky behind it, a faint flicker of lightning revealed the ragged horizon line. Gordon thought he saw the spectral silhouette of the citadel…
"Well done, brother!" shouted a voice from behind them.
Gordon and Alyx whirled around on the sloped roof. They had both drawn their guns.
There, perched on a chimney two buildings away, was the mad monk – "Father Grigori." He had his arms outstretched in welcome. He would be invisible if not for his handheld lantern, set on the chimney's edge, which clothed him in pale fluorescent light. His ruddy, filth-smeared face, his bald, round head, his broad hobgoblin grin, made him look like a jack-o-lantern scarecrow, crucified before the field.
"Well done, sister!" Grigori added in the same jolly tone, apparently unfazed by their defensiveness. "De ce atât de surprinși? I have already introduced myself, and you have already met, heh, my congregation…heh heh heh…aheh aheh haha haHA HAHA HAHAHAHA!"
Several voices howled in semi-reply – mmoooAAAAAAAOOOOhhhh…
"That man is not well," Gordon said simply, "and I'm Gordon Freeman."
"I was going to say that about myself," Alyx replied.
Neither of them lowered their pistols. It's like that one movie people were always talking about, Gordon thought absently. Shoot, what was it called…It had been repulsively violent, a delirious film – Gordon remembered it had a murderer, who was saved from death by miraculous probabilities, and afterwards he got religion and said something about a shepherd…
"Gordon?"
"Hm?"
"If we threaten him," Alyx said, "do you think Chekov would care? Is this guy a blackmail option?"
Gordon blinked. "I don't think so. I actually think Chekov is a computer program…"
The mad monk interrupted him, "You've stirred up hell! You're after my own heart! Chekov, he is impressed! He has informed me to give you this, as encouragement!"
He pulled from behind his back a black stick – no, a rifle? No, a shotgun…
"If," he continued, grinning with either mischief or malice, "you can get it."
He hurled it towards them, up into the air. Gordon instantly calculated the trajectory. Alyx had the gravity gun. "Ten feet short!" he said quickly. Alyx instinctively switched to the gravity gun, and just barely managed to seize the shotgun out of the air.
It was a SPAS-12 tactical.
The monk guffawed. "Well done, again! You will need that, for the test is far from over – Domnul fie cu tine!"
"What happens if we kill you?" Gordon called out suddenly.
"Ha!" Grigori grinned. "I think I would die, yes? And you would not speak to Chekov, I assure you!"
- Gordon noticed something while they spoke -
"What if," Alyx was saying, "we just shoot your kneecaps out?"
"Ah ha! Și Dumnezeu te-ar pedepsi pentru asta! But go ahead and try!"
- Figures…more scarecrows…there, there, and there… -
Suddenly Grigori drew out another gun – his rifle – from somewhere on his silhouetted person. In a single fluid motion, it was up to his shoulder, cocked and ready to fire with accuracy. Alyx almost fired on him.
Gordon remained still, tense as a tuning fork.
"And you would have one more monstru to fear," Grigori was saying, his voice drained of good humor.
- Spindly beings standing still on the chimney tops behind Grigori…they were so still, too still, no sign of breathing, but zombies didn't need to breathe…they swayed slightly, like corn in a field…yes, yes their heads were upturned. They were staring at the moon. They were so thin…why were they so thin? Nothing but bone and muscle…nothing but…
"Leave Ravenholm, if you like!" Grigori was saying. "But my friends, you would miss the show! Tonight is very special, very special…my congregation, they have grown unruly again…And if you would speak to Chekov, you endure it…you endure our crucible. Yes?"
Silence.
"Yes?" Grigori repeated, obviously expecting an answer.
"Yes! We want to see Chekov!" Alyx shouted back, exasperated, then, privately: "Gordon, you're spacing out again – what, do you see something…?"
Gordon watched –
- as Grigori shifted his foot –
BAZAP – SHOOM SHOOM SHOOM –!
Floodlights.
They blazed on, from several chimneys round about, shining down upon Gordon and Alyx. The light was blinding –
And in the background was…what was that…? A call, a scream…but it was somewhat muffled, it sounded like it came from a speaker…
"Seek the church!" Grigori called out of the blinding white.
Gordon's eyes adjusted in another few moments. There was no sign of Grigori or the spindly figures behind him.
Gordon, compulsively, seized Alyx by the arm and ran.
There was a second blood-curdling scream, somewhere in the night, answering the first. But this one was real. So very, very real…it was a blast of hot air wrung from a ragged larynx; a tire screech produced by vocal cords; a buzz saw scraping metal…
Chekov, Gordon thought. Another trap. Draw in the zombies with lights and speakers. That sound is their call, I bet. I don't recognize it. Those spindly ones are different. They are…older ones, aren't they? Amphetamine crabs…they're amphetamine crabs…too much brain juice…
They reached the edge of the roof – JUMP –
Slammed onto another flat roof. Run north, run north – towards the church –
BZAP!
More floodlights sparked on. The speakers followed them. Alyx cried out angrily -
The heaving of breath…and the galloping of hands and feet behind them…a gurgling sound, like someone trying to talk with a split tongue …
At the edge of another roof – JUMP! –
Gordon stumbled – his suit was heavy – and the dusting of frost and snow was dangerously smooth beneath their heels. Dodge the chimneys – BZAP! – more lights, nearly blinding, couldn't see, the speakers howling, screeching, moaning…
They could hear more savage screams tangle together in the night… HOOOOOWWWWWWWLLLLLOOOOOCCHHHH—
Two skeletal silhouettes appeared at the edge of the roof – slobbering, gurgling, hurtling towards them –
KABANG! BANG BANG!
The forms crumpled, one fell from the roof – no time to stop and see what they were no time no time at all to hesitate just JUMP!
BAM, BAM! Onto a slanted roof – Alyx's foot slipped – Gordon caught her by the arm – groaned as he hauled her back to her feet – several rotten shingles slid down to the ground below –
Run, run – but the slant was too dangerous – Gordon tried to reach the peak of the roof –
RRRRAAACCHHHHHH-!
KRAKOW!
Gordon didn't see what happened. Something had leaped nearby, and screamed – Alyx had fired the shotgun – tinnitus in Gordon's ears again –
At the edge – JUMP -!
No more floodlights were turning on. But the monsters continued behind.
- no, wait, a single light –
It shown like a spotlight ahead of them, a bright tower piercing the veiled sky.
JUMP!
Gordon and Alyx had no time to change direction, no idea what lay on either side of them. The only way was forward…
JUMP!
Galloping limbs…slobbering breath…
They were at the spotlight – there was a trapdoor in the flat roof –
Alyx and Gordon slid down it, and with a fluid motion, Alyx triggered the gravity gun. She caught the door - it slapped shut behind them, just as they both skidded across the floor.
HOOWWLWLLCCHH!
They heard heavy footfalls and furious scrabbling above. Snarls, gurgles, cut throats screaming…
"What is chasing us-?" Alyx hissed.
"Crabs on meth," Gordon said simply.
Meanwhile, he quietly took the shotgun off her hands and compulsively reloaded it. He glanced about the room. It was lit by a single incandescent bulb. They were in some kind of storage closet, with heavy boxes everywhere. No windows, but there was an old style, metal cage elevator in the corner – the gate was shut. And near to that was a door out of the room – it was the only door.
Any cameras? Any cameras? "Any cameras?" he repeated out loud.
Alyx answered with a gesture towards another corner of the room. "I don't know if I should destroy it…how many of these things are there?!"
Growls from upstairs. Scrabbling limbs.
Huh, Gordon thought. Maybe they can't grip the handle. They're too jittery. Or they literally don't know how to open a door…
"Yo, Chekov," Alyx was saying to the camera. "You having a good show? You sadistic maniac?"
Scratches and scrabbles on the ceiling…the bulb bobbed and swung a little, sending all the inky shadows into seizures.
And Alyx suddenly threw up on the floor.
"Alyx -?" Gordon exclaimed.
"Oh jeez…" she said, unsteady.
She slumped against a wooden crate. Gordon was there in a second. "I'm fine," she assured him. "Nausea again. Very…the smells are terrible. Ha…"
From above…HOOOOWWWLLLCCHHH-!
The light flickered for a moment.
"We need to keep moving," Alyx continued.
The bulb flickered, and Alyx threw up again. Soupy sludge sloughed onto the floor. Alyx was shivering in Gordon's arms…
What is happening to her…? Gordon thought –
Then he saw it. Black bruising on her forearm, where the gash had been. Some pale green, but mostly black and purple. It spread across her whole forearm, wrist to elbow. The whole area was throbbing with inflammation, and there was a thick, dark discharge starting to bead like dew from the wound's ground zero.
"That's not a…flesh wound…" Alyx noted, with some difficulty.
Gordon's eyes widened.
He knew that brackish, bitter-sweet syrupy smell. It shot straight to his olfactory bulb.
An image: a beast with one giant swinging testicle…barreling right towards him.
"Alyx," he murmured, "what color were the headcrabs that gashed you?"
"They were covered in blood, and the light was bad. I don't know."
"They were dark? Black?"
"I just assumed it was blood –!"
Gordon was already rummaging through their supplies. Everything medical, or remotely medical – and what would counteract the venom anyway? Think, Gordon, think, quickly…you can figure this out, you can…just remember. Just remember, all the facts…
Crack!
The elevator sparked.
Chekov… Gordon thought.
The gates opened.
A dozen headcrabs spilled out. Snarling, gurgling – clamoring over each other –
"Gordon-!"
There was a pile of boxes nearby.
Gordon seized the gravity gun from Alyx, and with it, yanked one of the boxes out from the tower's foundation.
A quarter ton of packaged merchandise – textbooks, apparently - collapsed on the whole cast of crabs with a sickening, collective crunch.
Not one managed to escape.
…
Gordon approached the camera.
"Nice try," he said quietly. "I think you should change tactics. Because I will make her pain your pain, her death your death."
And he crushed the camera in with his crowbar.
Through the door, out of the closet. Gordon was supporting Alyx as she hobbled along. "This makes us uneven," she wheezed. "You need to…get shot again or something…"
Down a hallway. The scrabbling on the roof followed them. At least a dozen pairs of frostbitten, mutant feet…
They smell her wound, Gordon thought.
Through another door – Gordon blasted it open with the gravity gun.
Inside was a makeshift infirmary, on the upper floor of a used book store. There was a down-staircase in the right corner.
The walls were lined with bookshelves, but most of them had been hurriedly cleared, and the books kicked into ruinous piles in the corners. In their place were test tubes, medical supplies, laptops long out of battery. And in the center of the room was a row of cots – six in total. Four hosted long rotten bodies, one with an empty IV drip still hooked to its wrist.
The stench was intolerable – it coated Gordon's lungs. Alyx heaved – but nothing was left in her stomach to vomit.
Focus, Gordon. Focus.
Alyx's wound is discharging the ebony honey from Xen. The kind that those titan monstrosities produced, when they fused with the fungus.
She was infected by black headcrabs. I've never seen black headcrabs before. But they are somehow associated with the fungus-fusion, with the ebony nectar. So, the headcrabs are evolving. They're readapting to Earth, importing their old ways…
Focus.
Gordon leaned Alyx against a wall, and began ripping through every scrap of paper in the room. A few things were in English. Some French and German he could make out. But a great deal was scrawled in what he assumed was Romanian – and all in the same handwriting. He handed those papers to Alyx.
"Your arm is infected with a Xen compound, specific to headcrabs," he explained. "I'm looking to see if this infirmary took any notes on it. Can you read these?"
"Barely."
"Let me know what you find."
"Do we have…time for this?" Alyx coughed.
"We have all the time in the world to gain," Gordon replied soberly.
The scrabbling continued above. There were bangs and thuds and…splintering wood? No, not yet…
"The terminology…" Alyx said, her throat raspy, "is beyond…me…but…no! Here. 'fiara neagră - infecție bacteriană – beast black, infection bacterial - deșeuri de mitoză: waste from mitosis includes sfingomielinaza acidului mutagene and compusul feromonic accidental.'"
It's bacterial, Gordon thought. The venom is a byproduct of the bacteria dividing.
"We have to…counteract…" Alyx murmured, "the mitosis and the venom. Kill the…bacteria and…but…the venom's in my bloodstream. Heart's been…pumping…"
"Will Vortigaunt blood help?"
"I don't know…I've never heard…of poisonous headcrabs…but…" she coughed. "No, I don't think… sfingomielinaza acidului mutagene…yes, it would help. If these papers are…true. V-blood combined with –"
"A strong disinfectant," Gordon finished, while searching their supplies, "and cretolonic base, correct?"
"No," Alyx corrected. "Cretolics reduce the boiling point…for…the boiling point for V-blood, for the yeosynthytes in the blood…not a good idea."
"What, then?"
"Gonadril…gonadril would work—LOOK OUT!"
Flesh Gullet Maw – A headcrab, long and spindly and fast – had leapt from the corner of Gordon's eye. It had landed on the side of his face – its spidery limbs digging into his scalp, clamoring around, a gigantic bug, both clumsy and fast. Gordon had seen the inside of their circular maw many times and he had never gotten used to it –
Without thought, Gordon had taken Alyx's knife and slammed it into the headcrab's side, slicing open his own nose to get to it. Its juices sprayed out, it released a wretched warble and death rattle – its maw had gotten a half grip on his face and was biting down –
Gordon twisted the knife, pulled it out, stabbed again – he had fallen onto his back, and was writhing on the floor to get the crab off –
Gordon saw Alyx stumble to her feet, the shotgun in hand. She aimed and fired at something – BANG!
Gordon stabbed a third time– cut a nerve. The crab released him and fell limply to the floor. Gordon scrambled away – but now he saw two more bandy-legged crabs scrabbling up his legs towards his face –
Alyx was shooting at something else - BANG! BANG!
Gordon rolled, as fast as he could, until he rammed into one of the infirmary beds. The beasts had to abandon ship – Gordon sprang to his feet –
They were running back to him – he stamped one beneath his bootheel – SPLURCH – but the other was on his leg – he kicked up into the bed and cracked it between his shin and the cot's frame. It fell limp and twitching.
Blood was in his right eye. It stung like saltwater. Blood was on his lips. It tasted like iron. His unprotected thigh had two deep gouges from the crabs' legs, punctured through the fabric of his clothes from Black Mesa East.
Alyx had switched to the gravity gun, and launched a bookcase down the stairs.
Mmmooooooooaaaauuuuuu
"Horde coming up!" Alyx shouted. "You okay?!"
"Sure – you?"
"Adrenaline high!"
Gordon's mind whirring – "Keep them busy!"
"With pleasur—" but she retched again. Then she sturdied herself against the back wall, and seized a thick textbook with the gravity gun.
maaaAAAALAUUUULLL
Gordon was ransacking the room for supplies.
There was a horrible cacophony downstairs…
Battery, battery, battery anywhere…this is useful though, grab that, this too, grab this…
Something scrambling up the stairs, over the bookcase – SHA-BANG – Alyx caught it with the book missile – it was another spindle crab –
Gordon used the knife to slice a slab of meat from one of the corpses -
"…realize there's nowhere left to run…You feel the cold hand…And wonder if you'll ever see the sun…"
MMMMAAAAAUUUUUU
Something much larger leapt up the stairs –
"WHAT THE -!"
SHA-BANG!
Alyx launched a textbook into its face; the force threw it back down the stairs, into the dark and out of view.
"Zombie! That was a full zombie!"
Gordon did not answer. He was almost ready to arm the bomb –
Desperate slobbering sounds, the gallop of hands and feet –
SHA-BANG-!
RRRRRRAAAUUUUUUAAAH!
A figure leapt up from the stairs at an angle, dodging the book-missile. It was facing Gordon – it was in the air, leaping, with a screeching war cry -
Gordon went for his gun –
The beast collided with him like a sack of wet concrete – it threw him off the ground, slamming him into the wall.
The beast was upon him in another second.
It was skinned alive, skinned to muscle and bone – viciously red, slime preserved muscle – it smelled of black death – its screams threatened to snap Gordon's ossicles, as they rippled out of the corpse's throat – yes, Gordon could see the victim's jaw – the headcrab, its long and spindly legs dug into the man's shoulders and neck, had enveloped only half of the skull, covering the eyes and nose, but leaving the mouth, so it could scream with it –
And it was consumed with demonic rage.
Gordon had managed to raise an arm up, before the zombie began ripping and tearing savagely at him, trying to get at the flesh of his face. Two malformed hands, nearly a foot long now, tipped with bloody talons, raked across his hazard suit, nail breaking on metal – it tried to seize Gordon's arm and rip it away – Gordon kicked at it, tried to grab his gun – with one hand the beast seized him by the scalp, and digging painfully into his skin, tried to throw him off balance – another hand clawed at his face, knocked his glasses aside, trying to flay him, make a rug out of him –
But then, for a moment, as if in frustration, as if boiling alive from the inside, the monster stopped attacking, leaned back, and with its hands almost in supplication, howled upwards at the roof, at the night, at the moon – a skeleton weeping with anger –
And then Alyx was behind it.
She had positioned the gravity gun – the head-crab was now between the pincers.
She turned it on, as if to pull the head into the energy field.
The beast seemed to sense something, but it had fallen still and silent.
One moment, two moments –
Wumwumwumwumwum
mmmmm—
The beast's head swiveled 180 degrees on its neck.
The headcrab burst and flew apart like a popped water balloon. The ruined skull underneath, hairless and shrunken, imploded at the temples, bursting soupy brain matter out of the eyes and ears like a grape.
Then the whole head caught fire for half a second – and then exploded, painting Gordon and Alyx and the surrounding room in hot human sludge.
Pause.
"Holy ****," Alyx said, wide-eyed. "That is not…I pulled the wrong trigger…I meant to just hit it…just hit it with lightning…I didn't think that would happen…Holy *********."
"Fascinating," Gordon murmured aloud.
There were moans and screams from downstairs. Gordon could barely see what was happening, but no more zombies were in the room.
Alyx, forcing herself out of shock, picked up Gordon's glasses with her good hand – but even it was shaking with fatigue.
"These things…are indestructible," she said, placing the glasses gently on Gordon's face.
Gordon didn't answer. He saw, over her shoulder, that she had blockaded the staircase with several more bookshelves and a cot.
And even then, there was a thump, and the whole barricade jumped.
Gordon returned to the table where he had nearly assembled the bomb. Calmly, as if nothing had happened, he wrapped the battery in flesh, and clutched it in his fist.
He noted that the scrabbling feet were no longer on the roof, but downstairs, especially near the staircase.
The bookshelves leapt in place again –
A clawed hand reached out, scraping at the floor –
"Gordon!"
He crushed the battery capsule in the meat, and shoved it down the spine of a ruined hardback textbook. He shoved the textbook across the floor, through the gap opened up by the reaching zombie.
"Merry Christmas," he said.
And then ran, as fast as he could, with Alyx, to the hallway, to shut the door behin-
KABOOM.
Gordon came to.
He was facing away from the infirmary. No fog.
He managed to turn back. A thick cloud of yellow fog.
So I haven't been out too long. It hasn't dissipated much yet.
His head was throbbing. He reached up and felt an ugly gash on the side of it. Concussion.
Alyx was beside him, already awake.
Distant howls still filled the air, but much quieter now.
"Just…gave you a…a dose of…V-blood," Alyx managed, heaving for breath.
Gordon nodded.
"Can you…do…me…?" she asked. "Pretty…tired…"
The black wound had enveloped her arm. A puddle of black honey was on the floor beside her.
The howling sounded closer.
"They're…come…for arm…yeah?" Alyx whispered.
Gordon sat up, and nodded. His heart was already pounding again. Everything stung, especially his face. He was going to have some scars after this.
He fished through their supply bag, which was slung over Alyx's shoulder.
"I already…" Alyx managed, "…the needle is…over there…" She pointed to it, lying on the floor nearby.
Gordon nodded. "I know. I'm finding the gonadril. I grabbed some while making the bomb."
"Yes…!" she breathed in obvious relief. "Thank you…"
He pulled out a small vial of a pitch black, thin liquid. She smiled at the sight of it. Gordon unscrewed the vial, and wafted the odor towards her. She confirmed: "It's gonadril. It has to be..."
Gordon could barely see into the infirmary, due to the smoke. But the door was half-blown off the hinges, and he could tell the floor was mostly gone.
Alyx was a mop of sweat and blood, but she was smiling now; albeit, weakly. And Gordon was striped with bloodstains down his face and onto the hazard suit. His wounds were rapidly closing, but the blood remained. He returned the smile.
In this strange little moment, he felt so warm inside. The dull glow of stars…
"Gordon…?"
"Just thinking."
"You do that a lot," she said affectionately.
Gordon helped her inject the V-blood through her forearm, as she dribbled the black solution externally. She winced and ground her teeth as the gonadril seeped into the sores, and the V-blood coursed through her circulation.
The swelling immediately began to reduce, almost like a deflating balloon.
The blackness was already going away.
For a moment Alyx had a look of ecstasy, relief from pain –
But then she looked scared –
"That's working really fast…that's too fast…" –
But as the reaction slowed.
They both calmed down.
"Is it okay?" Gordon asked.
"I think so…" Alyx replied. "It feels much better…sooooo much better…**** *****…"
She leaned over and hugged Gordon tightly. He did his best to hug back.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
Gordon sighed. "Yeah, yeah I'm alright."
They remained in embrace for a few more moments.
…
They separated.
Gordon coughed. "We can't do anything too strenuous, for a while."
"I know."
"We could barricade ourselves somewhere."
The howling was closer still. Gordon eyed the puddle of black honey.
"Honestly," Gordon continued, "I think it would be much easier to traverse this place in daylight. We don't have a time limit, do we? For Chekov?"
"The monk didn't mention anything…" Alyx flexed her arm – the pus had already dried up, and the coloration was already returning to normal. "This is incredibly fast…"
"Fast to act, fast to flee?" Gordon suggested. "The poison, I mean."
"I don't know…" Alyx said. "Anyway; this is a bookshop, right? I remember, a lot of the stores in Ravenholm had cellars. That would be our best bet, I would think, for hiding. We might as well use this building, even though there's this puddle here. We don't have to clear it out over again. But up on the rooftops, those…things…those running zombies, they can find us too easily…I didn't know zombies could run."
"I think it takes a while," Gordon explained, "for them to get like that – and I think they'd have to dry a few heads of cerebrospinal fluid before they got this bad…"
More howling. Closer.
Without speaking, Gordon and Alyx began moving. Back towards the infirmary – they crouched at the edge of the floor: the bomb had blown out eighty percent of it, leaving a gaping hole of splintered wood edges – jagged and round like the mouth of a headcrab. The air was still full of irritating yellow smoke. Below, on the ground floor, the majority of the upper floor was scattered like a half-finished jigsaw puzzle, with several of the beds fallen on top, their rotten occupants strewn about nearby.
And the zombies. There had indeed been a horde below them – maybe thirty-five walking corpses. The blast flung them against the walls, breaking half their bones, filling them with shrapnel. The ones still able to move were dragging themselves, like injured bugs, across the ruined floor: a sorry and disturbing sight.
Alyx took the gravity gun and began picking off these last zombies with lumps of wood shrapnel. While she worked, Gordon dropped to the floor preemptively to look around. There was not much to see, however, since the blast had turned everything into a generic landfill: broken wood, crumbled stone, pages and pages from used books, metal beams and bars…as well as two dozen broken bodies twitching in the corners, and half a dozen headcrab corpses, not moving at all. He jabbed one with the crowbar to be sure.
Then he noticed something –
The bodies were all moving in the same direction – towards the same corner of the room.
The one's Alyx had already picked off – they were outstretched, as if in prayer, towards this one corner.
There…in the corner…
There, there…
A hole in the floor.
"I think I found the cellar," Gordon said. "I'm going to check it out."
He was already upon it, colt python at the ready.
The trapdoor had, apparently, been blown off, along with a chunk of stone flooring.
A zombie, blown in half, dragged up behind him. Its intestines were unwinding from its open gut, in a long trail behind it. It's arms were outstretched towards the hole.
Gordon absently kicked it away with his bootheel.
HE cast his flashlight down into the cellar.
Something was there, five feet down.
He adjusted the light –
It seemed to be a headcrab zombie…at least, a hand, arm, and back…perhaps two zombies, in fact. They seemed perfectly still for the moment – and naked. Gray, greenish flesh…but with pulsing purple veins…
A caught a whiff of ebony honey – it must be from the puddle upstairs -
Alyx hopped down to the ground floor. The sound startled Gordon.
"What is it?" Alyx asked.
Gordon didn't answer. So Alyx looked for herself.
"Here," she said, readying the gravity gun again.
SHA-BANG.
A piece of stone collided with one of the arms. Both bodies jerked wildly, revealing their forms more clearly –
The bodies were fused together.
And they were fused with other bodies in the cellar.
A worm of corpses, strung together helter-skelter.
Faces fused, arms shared, spines swapped – every head – men and women – hosted a headcrab, nestled on top, quietly breathing, siphoning fluid, and pumping more in…gray-green bodies, woven together over years of the headcrab's gardening and pumping… For, Gordon understood.
They made a fungus garden out of people.
And if they made a fungus garden, that means a headcrab could have fused…
Alyx was poisoned with the black honey. By black headcrabs…
They've produced titans – a "mother" crab -
There's a titan around here. A queen crab, a swinging gonad…a 'gonarch…' it's here…it's a possibility…a trial…
The smell of black honey was growing.
The remaining bodies became more desperate.
In the distance…Rrrrraaaaauuuuuhhhhhooowwwllllleeee…
Alyx was paralyzed.
"I…" she managed, as she stared into the pit, "I don't understand…"
Gordon gestured roughly – "We need to go now."
"Yeah…right…I think you're right…"
…rrrrraaaauuuuuhhhhhhh…
They both made for the front door of the shop.
"We could check a nearby building," Gordon was saying. "Maybe…maybe there's an empty cellar…"
Alyx seized him by the shoulder before he exited through the front door.
She pointed.
Camera – in a corner, still hanging from the remaining ceiling, staring down them and the door.
Gordon nodded to her.
Stepping back, Alyx fired the gravity gun. A bolt of yellow lightning leapt out, slamming the door open.
There was a creaking noise.
SLAAMMM!
A rusty blue VW beetle fell, full weight, onto the shop's outside porch.
After a few moments, it was lifted back into the air by a metal cable looped around it. Glass and metal chips fell to the ground like raindrops.
"Nice," Gordon said. "Think we can just duck and roll under it quickly?" Alyx did not respond. Gordon, meanwhile, managed to break in the camera's glass with the crowbar. He then began examining it, to see if any cords or wireless transmissions might be connected with the car trap.
"You know more about electronics," Gordon said aloud. "You want to take a loo –"
Alyx was keeled over.
"Alyx!"
Gordon rushed to her side.
"I…" Alyx whispered, "I think…"
Gordon looked at her wounded arm.
The skin was pulsing from underneath.
"I think…I miscalculated…" she said. "Oh God…"
"It's fine. We can fix this, I can fix this –" Gordon was saying. And round and round through his head went every chemistry class he ever took – Williamson synthesis…unsymmetrical ethers (ROR')…an alcohol and a haloalkane…in the general summaries…ROH + Na → RO–Na+ + ½H2…RO Na+ + R' X → ROR' + Na+X–
"AAHH!" Alyx screamed, reeling back onto her feet.
"Alyx?!"
He saw something boiling under the skin –
"ALYX!"
Her arm exploded.
A bone and blood grenade.
Red sprinkled Gordon's glasses.
The combustion knocked Alyx to the side, where she crashed in an unconscious heap, oozing blood from her raw-meat shoulder.
Matthew Ashwell: killed in the barrel chamber airlock.
Gordon was at her side. He ripped off her coat, forced it against the wound –
Bill Guthrie: transformed into an alien monster in his office.
- found the bag, grabbed more V-blood – one syringe left –
Rupert Godwin, Alice Maheswaran, Emmett Kyle: killed by a lightning blast.
He stabbed the syringe into her shoulder; he emptied every last drop into her veins.
Christina Rockwell and Andrew Weatherbee: shot by marines.
"Alyx," he whispered, taking her head in his hand, as he pressed the coat in with his other arm.
Arlene Fischer: shot by Combine soldiers.
"Alyx, honey…please don't go…"
Alyx Vance: chemical accident – arm exploded.
"No," Gordon whispered, enraged. "You are not going to die…Yo, skullface!" he shouted. "G-man! Make yourself useful, yeah?! You want my cooperation, yeah?! You're gonna make this work, do you hear me?! SHE IS NOT going to DIE!"
No response, but for the constant approaching moan… Mmmaaaaauuuucccchhhh…
Gordon wiped his tears.
He tied the jacket around Alyx, cinching it up to keep the pressure on the gaping wound.
One of the zombies, still barely dragging itself around, reached out to touch her. Gordon, in an instant, pulled the colt python – BANG – put a point-blank bullet into the center of the headcrab. It stopped moving.
Gently, he moved Alyx into a corner, away from any other roving bodies.
Then he stood up to his full height, the gun still smoking, placing himself between the exit door and Alyx.
He could see now, down the street – zombies marching – could they smell the honey? Or was Chekov guiding them? Did they hear the explosion? Were they going to the cellar?
It didn't matter. They were here, they were coming.
Yes, and there: the sprinters, the meth zombies, trampling out of the crowd, rushing for the doorway –
It's going to be a long night.
He hefted up the gravity gun –
One of the sprinters leapt into the air -
RRRRAAAWWWWWHHHH!
Gordon pulled the trigger.
The gravity gun seized the shop door, and drew it shut on the zombie.
KABANG! - the sprinter had slammed into the shut door, nearly breaking it inwards.
Gordon toggled the triggers, launching the door back open. The zombie, busy peeling its face off the wood, was now thrown aside like a shuttlecock.
Just then, another sprinter leapt into the air, aiming for the newly opened entrance –
CRASH!
The car, triggered by the door, caught the zombie mid-air and crushed its head and spine beneath it.
Gordon hustled forwards to the car, before it began lifting into the air again. He peered out of the shop door and to looked up to see where the car was heading – yes, there: the car was hoisted aloft by a hydraulic pulley system rigged off the building's side.
Gordon aimed at the mechanism -
There was a metallic screech – metal on metal – as the gravity gun ripped out a critical piece.
The car, by now a foot off the ground, crashed down again. The sprinter, who had just started twitching, was crushed a second time, and fell completely still.
Gordon dropped the pulley piece to the side, in case he needed ammo. Then, pulling the forward trigger at the car –
SHA-BANG—
A mustard bolt of lightning shot out into the car's side, launching it forwards seven meters in a second. It then rolled another twelve meters, ending on its roof. The streets echoed with the cacophony of metal on stone.
The frontline of zombies was near, like an angry mob in the street - but several seemed to hesitate, sensing the immanent blockade –
Another sprinter leapt forward - RRRRAWAWWWW!
SHA-BANG—
Gordon launched the car again, standing closer this time, angling up with the gun –the car jumped up several feet in the air, ten meters per second – thirty-six kilometers an hour, twenty-two miles per hour – The sprinter rolled off the car like deer, and crunched onto the ground in a twitching heap.
Gordon kept marching. SHA-BANG— he mowed down the front line of zombies – SHA-BANG— SHA-BANG— green and red painted the streets – Gordon's jukebox sparked on - "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas…"
Gordon began to feel a little nauseous; there was an aching pain growing in his arms and chest. Pressure…he needed to calm down…he needed retreat…
A final launch – and then Gordon about-faced and hustled back for the bookshop door. He could hear howls from the rooftops – he saw a sprinter leap in front of the naked moon. He had left Alyx too long – too long, was she -?
He reentered, slamming the door behind him.
Alyx was still in place.
He rushed up to her side – checked her wound. The blood was already clotting. He checked her pulse – it was slow but present. The veins in her neck were colored green.
Could they hold up here for the whole night? Would that make any difference?
"Seek the church." Was the church the end? Home base? Safe?
Gordon's thoughts were stabbed through by yet another loud interruption – an electric fire alarm began to blare throughout the building.
BING BING BING rrooooooowwwwwww BING BING BING rroooooooowwww
Gordon leapt in place, heart pounding. The noise shot through his eardrums – he hated that sound – he hated all of these blasted sounds – he wanted to shoot something -
Is the fire alarm still working?! Where is the fire-?!
No - Chekov. Chekov set it off remotely.
But I smashed the camera –
Gordon turned to look at the camera in the corner, its lens shattered.
But not the sound… Gordon realized. The blasted cameras have sound…
That means he heard me to the G-man.
But there was no time to think about it.
Something was coming out of the cellar.
A single, pale, bloated hand grasped at the floor –
Gordon shot it with the Colt Python. It disappeared. There was a horrible retching sound from the cellar – just barely audible over the clamorous alarm.
Black honey…I smell black honey…
Gordon knew what it was.
As fast as he could, Gordon searched through the bomb rubble for a sufficient slab of wood. Upon finding one, he used the gravity gun to drop it next to Alyx's body. Then, as gently as he could, he lifted and placed Alyx upon the wood slab, a makeshift stretcher. And then, after a deep breath, Gordon carefully aimed the gravity gun at the slab again.
It lifted up – with Alyx's body remaining upon it, though jumping slightly.
Hallelujah.
Gordon, making sure to keep the board level, made his way back to the door –
Something was heaving itself up out of the cellar, like Cthulhu through the doors of R'lyeh –
Gordon kicked the door open – rushed outside – Alyx slid a little on the board and Gordon caught his breath –
Outside, Ravenholm's denizens screamed and sang into the night air – it was louder than rush hour traffic –
It's happening…it's happening again…
Flashbacks of Xen…
The Gonarch's den, the webbing, thousands and thousands of crabs and lobsters they swarmed and ate each other and then came out of each other and the tendrils so many tendrils blue purple green everywhere and so much pulsing like hearts beating and -
Gordon raced through the streets with Alyx lifted before him - His whole body was aching, pressure in his veins – but it didn't matter now. Lesser of two evils. Seek the church, seek the church…
He heard a horrible lurching and splurching far behind him, from the bookshop –
Gordon's only light now was the moon – the sky had cleared and only the twilight of the waxing gibbous led the way. The world was black and gray now.
Dim shadows flashed overhead – sprinters leaping over the rooftops, crying out…
North, north, up the roads, up, up, up…
There! There, ahead!
A chain-link fence! Ten feet high! Barbed wire! A rickety, haphazard structure, wretchedly imposing – but there behind it –! The church! The church! The domes and spires -! All black against the sky – sinister, brooding – gnarled trees clawed at its sides in silhouette – It was a two towered structure, at least five stories tall – a front tower, sporting two impressive iron doors, served as the entrance for the main chapel.
Gordon reached a kind of plaza, as if the buildings themselves were making way for the church. He came directly up to the fence – it was clearly a recent addition – something drilled into the plaza's cobblestone within the last few years, to keep the zombies out of the yard -
He set Alyx down with the gun, and began to think of how to cut his way through –
The church doors opened.
Bright yellow light flooded into Gordon's vision, blinding him. When his vision returned, he saw the heavy-set shape of Father Grigori descending, a silhouetted angel, down the church steps to the light-colored courtyard, and approaching the surrounding fence.
"Well done, brother!" he cried jollily. "You are almost through!"
"How do we get through the fence?"
For a moment the monk did not speak. He stared past Gordon, into the gullet of the town that had vomited him up.
"It is time…" he murmured.
"How do we get through?!"
"This is holy ground, brother," replied the monk suddenly, and with a broad smile. "You cannot enter heaven until you have vanquished your demons."
Gordon pulled out the Colt Python and aimed to shoot the man through the chain links.
Grigori merely grinned. "Heh heh…We have been through this already, brother!"
The sounds of Gordon's pursuant echoed through the streets behind them – the choir of the damned accompanying it –
"They are coming…they are coming…heh heh…Slay the demon, brother!" Grigori shouted, his voice almost hysterical. "After this last trial, I will show you the way through! Yes, I will show you – but you must fight…"
Gordon could hardly even see the mad monk – he was a silhouette in the church's light, a laughing specter…
Gordon turned.
The bright church doorway cast a long rectangle of light across the plaza – and into this light lumbered a seven-foot tall, black, hunchbacked figure…
"Yes…yes…!" Grigori shouted in ecstasy.
It was an assemblage of bodies.
Two pairs of legs had fused together into thick fleshy pillars, facing backwards to resemble a goat's hindlegs. The feet were missing – instead there was a horrible, purple and black growth on both feet that served as a kind of toed hoof. The legs melted into a bloated, upside-down human chest, the shoulders and arms still connected – one arm splayed out uselessly to the side, while the other gripped the side of a building to balance the creature's unwieldly bulk. The chest locked into three more upright chests, fused together into a single upper torso. Four arms fused into two, while the third pair had migrated frontwards, towards the beast's head – a lustrous black bulb enfolded within the triumvirate of torsos like the stigma of a flower – the arms dangled from either side of this bulb, like the feeding pincers of a mantis.
And it was swarmed in black headcrabs. At least half a dozen scrabbled and clung to its pale, gross flesh, digging into it, irritating it, looking for something desperately.
Gordon was paralyzed in horror.
"They grow…more beautiful…each time…" Grigori managed. "Heh heh…ha ha…aha, aha ha ha haha HAhaHAHAHA AHAAHAHHAAHHAHAHA!"
The monstrosity moaned in reply, the sound emanating from around the bulb; it sounded like a score of goats screaming their last at once – mmmooooa-AAAAARRRHHHHHH!
Gordon stood between the beast and Alyx.
He dropped the Colt Python, seized the shotgun – he ran away from Alyx, hoping to draw the fight away from her -
The monster charged – barreling forward on its goat legs towards Gordon…
KABANG – KABANG –
MRRRAUCK-!
A hundred metal pellets pelted the beast's pale hide, forcing it to cringe – some of the pellets hit its bulb, but seemed to have no effect. But green slime slewed through the air from the pale human chests –
Suddenly, with one of its arms, it seized a poison crab from its back and flung it headlong at Gordon –
KABANG -
He blasted it out of the air –
The beast threw another with its other arm –
KABANG – clean shot again -
The beast threw its weight forward; Gordon cocked the gun and aimed – it was too fast, too big – The bulb was right before Gordon's face, a pair of arms, a pair of hands – cold, human, intimate – they seized him roughly by the sides of the head – the beast buckled backwards, dragging him up, straining his neck – he saw the poison headcrabs, clinging desperately to the beast, gnawing at its skin, trying to find the nectar –
Trying to find the nectar…moving towards the bulb…
Gordon was flung through the air.
SLAM-!
Onto his back, fifteen yards away.
The suit had cushioned much of the blow, but it was greatly weakened – everything felt heavy –
The shotgun was several yards away from him now – he heard galloping feet and hands – he stumbled to his feet – only then did he realize that his glasses were gone –
Gordon could not tell if Grigori was laughing or sobbing…
There! The glasses, within arms reach – they weren't broken, how were they not broken – Gordon had suspicions but now was not the time for it –
MRRAAUUCCKKK!
Just as Gordon had placed his glasses the beast was upon him – it rammed him in the chest and threw him into the air like goring bull -
SLAM-!
Sharp and aching pain –
The beast seized him again by the face – it smelled sugary sweet and bitter as death – he listened to the crooning headcrabs –
He still had Alyx's knife –
He swung wildly, and forced the blade deep into the black bulb – it was heavy, thick and leathery – the knife only made it halfway in –
MRRRAUUUUHHHHH-
Ebony sap spurted out around the knife –
The beast threw him furiously to the side –
Gordon, with his other hand, had reached up to grab his own face, forcing his glasses to stay in place -
SLAM!
Gordon wasn't sure if he could get back up – his head was dizzy – everything ached, he felt like a bug in a tin can –
MRRAAUUHGGHH!
Gordon looked up –
The beast had gone berserk – it was seizing and flinging its headcrabs in every direction, as if trying to get them off –
Trying to…
He saw hordes of zombies, armies of headcrabs, gathering at the edges of the plaza, swaying in place, desperate to enter the fray, but somehow confused…? They normally chase the titan, they normally suckle at its swinging sack – but this monster doesn't have a normal sack – they're confused – the black crabs are trying to find it and it doesn't like it –
He saw a black crab land near to Alyx.
His heart stopped for a moment –
But the crab paid her no mind. It immediately righted itself, and leapt back towards the flailing and wailing monster, to a tiny puddle of honey spurted from the knife wound – hungrily it sucked it up – screeching and crooning – Gordon rushed back towards Alyx, seized the gravity gun –
A black headcrab hit him in the face.
He fell backwards, almost splitting his head on the cobblestone.
It hit him with its maw facing away from him – it was dazed for a moment, but it was trying to right itself –
Gordon screaming – smacked it with his arm – caught it with his elbow and cracked its carapace against the ground – stood up, stomped on it –
MRRRRUUUUUHHHNNNNN-
The beast was facing Gordon again –
It charged –
Gordon readied the gun –
Pulled back the trigg-
Wrong timing.
The monster threw Gordon into the air – SLAM!
….
Gordon came to a few moments later –
The monster was already upon him.
It seized him by the head – Gordon could barely lift his arms – he could barely think –
It lifted him up, and seemed about to slam his head back into the ground – crush it to pulp –
BANG-!
The monster hesitated, flinching.
BANG!-BANG!-BANG!
It dropped Gordon – he knocked his head again but it was manageable –
Alyx was awake.
She was leaned against the fence –
Father Grigori had done something – he had somehow made larger holes in the fence – how? It did not matter – he had made holes large enough for his thick arms, and head reached through the fence to help keep Alyx upright, and steadied her remaining arm, preventing the wrist-breaking recoil of the Colt Python she was firing.
"Finish it brother! Destroy the bulb! Feed my congregation-!"
Gordon, in the few seconds of hesitation, stumbled to his feet, thrust the gun at the monster – just as it turned back towards him, placing its own bulb right between the gun's pincers –
Gordon pulled the trigger.
Wumwumwumwumwumwum
The bulb rippled like water.
The monster reeled back, out of the gravity gun's influence –
No… Gordon thought.
The beast roared vengefully at the moon – its bloated fists flailing -
And then the bulb finally tore.
A fount of black sap gushed up, and showered down upon the plaza like blood rain.
The crowd, the denizens of Ravenholm, could not restrain themselves. They rushed the plaza at once, to devour the nectar of Pan. The beast, still alive, was swarmed with hundreds of headcrabs – their weight dragged it to the ground – they were drinking it alive – its arms threw them off but they cared not for their preservation anymore -
Gordon, only showered with a few drops of the honey, ran to the fence, on the outskirts of the orgy –
"Yes, brother, come!"
Gordon took Alyx by the waist, cradled her in his arms – she nearly pushed him to the ground with her dense, muscled weight. Meanwhile, Grigori was doing something to the fence – he was rolling it back, making a larger and larger hole – the chainlink stretched and warped and bound into thicker bands as the ragged circle expanded…
I know what this is, Gordon thought. This was a proto-technology at Black Mesa...
"Quickly, brother! Through!"
Gordon looked down at Alyx, almost tearing up again.
"Thank you," he said to her.
She smiled back weakly – "Could you…give me…a hand?"
"No, no puns," Gordon replied, refusing to smile.
The zombies were paying them no mind.
Gordon lifted her with a groan, and handed her through the fence to Grigori, who placed her gently on the ground.
Gordon slipped through –
Grigori, his hands like spiders, rolled the fence back into place, vanishing the holes.
For a moment, they stood silently on the church lawn, looking out at the riotous black mass in the plaza. The beast, the abomination, was still struggling for life beneath the advancing hordes. There were far more participants than there was honey – they compensated by turning on each other, ripping each other apart to get at just another drop of the drug.
Gordon turned away in disgust.
He looked at Father Grigori, who stood at Gordon's side, watching the orgy with almost exaggerated fascination. He was not a tall man – only medium height, and therefore Gordon had to look down at him. His head was perfectly bald, making his face look rounder. He had a poorly cut black beard that invaded his neck. His eyes were dangerously sleep-deprived, dragged down by almost hideous, wrinkled, discolored bags. He smelled remarkably awful – perhaps years of grime had built up on his body, years for his unwashed sweat to ferment. He wore a dark blue blood-stained wool jacket, over an even darker blue Sunday sweater. Under that was his white clerical collar, spattered with green and red, and a beaded necklace, from which hung a small golden cross. He had dark gray fraying slacks, and a pair of faded red and white sneakers.
His eyes were the most interesting feature, however – they were dark, but yet they glinted intelligently – even cunningly. There was, Gordon sensed, some measure of cold-hearted irony in them, mixed with a measure of wearied sincerity – and Gordon could not tell which was worse.
"Are we safe?" Gordon asked.
"Yes, brother. For the time being –"
Gordon cracked the monk across the skull with the crowbar. He crumpled to the ground.
Without a word, Gordon lifted Alyx again in his arms, and carried her towards the light of the church.
"Not sure…about that one, Gordy…" Alyx breathed.
"No, no puns or 'Gordy.' And you would have done the same thing."
"No excuse…"
Gordon heard Grigori laughing behind him.
"I understand brother; do you want another swing? I was only out for a few moments! Ha ha!"
Gordon did not even turn to look at him. "Maybe I should shoot him," he suggested.
"He helped…me shoot…He saved you..."
"I know, I know. Don't talk. Just rest."
And together they entered the church, with Grigori limping behind.
The bowels of the chapel vaulted over them like the ribbed belly of a whale. Rows of padded pews…chandeliers overhead, hosting electric lights, and several floodlights thrumming in the corners to pick up the considerable slack. The walls were ornately painted and carved with classic Biblical scenes – Abraham and Isaac, the Flood, Jesus calling the Apostles, the Annunciation, the Three Wise Men - it was no cathedral, but the craftmanship was impressive nonetheless. And a the back of the chapel, at the pulpit and altar –
The whole space was gutted.
In its place was a complex of computer servers.
I knew it, Gordon thought, as he placed Alyx down in a pew.
"Behold, my friend and master," Grigori said, in a tone both mocking and reverent.
The servers were working hard – they made a mighty rushing wind with their internal fans, on top of the wintery cold. And above the network, hung from the ceiling, amidst wires and cables, was a bulbous mechanical contraption…and from this, there extended a kind of robotic arm, clutching a small, specialized projector. It was not yet on.
A voice emitted through the chapel, echoing like the voice of God.
If, that is, God were British.
"Are they here? Is that them?"
"It is!" Grigori replied.
The projector's arm flexed, and moved into place. A series of lights flickered on, and a monochromatic, holographic figure appeared at the pulpit – the figure of a man in a kind of astronautic jumpsuit. He was lanky and somewhat awkward looking. His features were squarish and angular. He wore a pair of large, rectangular spectacles. His blonde hair was thinning. His expression was curt, with a touch of wry humor. His arms were folded behind his back.
"Hello," he said briskly, almost cheerfully, "I am CHICOV. Care to know the acronym? Characterized Holographic Interface for Comprehensive Operations Viodrive. So, there you go. My spine and cerebral cortex are in that jabberwocky of a machine up there; and, according to my most recent file dig, I sported the most unfortunate name of Dr. Rory Wheatley Mungo. If you know who that was, please let me know – especially the flattering bits. I'm sincerely curious.
"Enough about me. Congratulations! Despite my quite considerable efforts, fate has stubbornly favored your survival at every turn! If you could see behind the scenes, you would be even flabbergasted at your sheer good luck! Convenient malfunctions in my traps, quick noticing of my cameras, lucky evasion of roaming hordes, et cetera et cetera…if everything had gone according to plan, you would be very, very dead right now, like the other thirteen or so poor chaps Eli sent through here – I think you actually met the remains of one. Blew his head clean off with a garbage can. He was conveniently looking the other way. In fact, you've been so incredibly lucky, that my statistical calculations show there is only a 0.00001% chance your survival was not the result of intelligent extradimensional interference!
"So, that all being said…" and the hologram leaned forward, smiling darkly, "Would you care, my dear, delicious Ripley Point, to explain who this 'skull-faced G-man' is?"
Merry Christmas, y'all! Happy Holidays, and a Happy New Year! Thank you for your patience, and I hope it is worth it! Let me know in your comments! What did you like? What didn't you like? Don't be shy! I mean, please be nice obviously, but I want to know what people honestly think so I know how to improve and move forward and entertain the living daylights out of you, hopefully!
The next chapter is going to have to be, essentially, a Ravenholm part 3. Just 'cause, we need some time to process all of the big surprises I've just dropped on you. Like Alyx's injury, or my implied Portal crossover that I assure you has ample explanation. But please let me know if the changes I've been making here are too much, or if you don't like it - obviously, I haven't exactly explained a whole lot, so it's hard to put a judgement call on it. I promise it isn't meant to be super, super extensive; but when I do finally finish this first half-life 2 "retelling," I would want the to do the episodes with some much stronger crossover elements with Portal, and either work a more satisfying conclusion into that second story or go big and do a whole third novel, making a freaking trilogy in, like, ten years, at the rate I'm working. At the very least, I'm finishing this half-life 2 story. I have a satisfying ending in mind, so it can stand alone if it needs to, but I've always wanted to continue on to write my own half-life 3.
Anyway, those are just some thoughts, to keep you sufficiently informed without spoiling anything! Once again, Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and happy new year! Thank you so much for reading!
