Someone shone a light past the holder of the AK-47.
"What have we here?" The speaker had a deep voice with strong a southern twang.
"Looks like some fucker from Umbrella Corp," The new voice was female, pushy.
"What should we do with her?" This came from the holder of the AK. It was gruff, as though he'd been screaming a lot. Or like he'd recently been strangled. My own throat still ached from my recent brush with death, and I might have sympathized had he not been ready to blow my head off.
"I say we shoot her now." I was liking this lady less and less.
"Why waste a bullet?" This was from the man with the gruff voice again. "I say we leave her for the infected out there. Let the little Umbrella employee get to know their creations a bit better."
"I'm not working for Umbrella Corp," I said. Anymore. Once I had been on their security as part of the cover for the Hive. That was before the virus had ever known anything but the inside of a test tube, back when there was only one of me. Back when waking up to an alarm was the norm, not a muzzle in my face.
"You're flying their helicopter," said the man with the AK-47. My eyes had adjusted enough for me to see his profile. He was about six feet tall, lean, but even in the dark he looked like he was packed with muscle.
"I came from one of their bases a few hours south of here. I hijacked the copter after the infected swarmed the complex."
"That's a pretty story," drawled the other man. "Too bad you can't prove a shred of it."
"Stop wasting time. Just shoot her and take her gear." The woman elbowed the first man. I would have told her that it was a bad plan to jiggle a shooter's aim, but instead I took the opportunity to kick the gun towards his face.
The barrel connected with his nose, and he screamed. My ears, as acute as any of my senses these days, picked up the soft popping of the cartilage breaking, but I had already used the momentum of my kick to bring me out of the enclosed space of the helicopter and into a crouched position in front of the drawler.
I punched upwards towards his crotch and his grunted in pain. As he keeled over, the woman brought up her gun, but I yanked her arm aside just as she pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the soft dirt behind me, landing harmlessly.
My fist landed, much less harmlessly, slamming into the woman's throat. She fell back, gagging, just as Broken Nose came rushing for a second try. I dodged his rush, grabbing his nose as he launched past me, and twisted.
He howled again as I pulled his face towards the ground and my knee towards his stomach. As he fell to the ground, I yanked his undrawn pistol from the holster on his hip to point at my last assailant...
...who had his own pistol pointed at me.
"What are you?" he asked, staring at me. "Nobody can move that fast."
"Surprise. I can."
He shook his head. "Give up," he said. "You're outnumbered."
"Hardly," I said, gesturing with my other hand at his pals who were writhing on the ground. "Look, I could have killed all of you. I didn't. Just let me go, and we can all walk out of this alive."
"I could just shoot you right now," he cocked the pistol.
I didn't want to shoot him. Granted, it would be nice not to have to kill someone wearing my face, but it would be even nicer to not have to kill anyone. I'd only been awake for ten minutes. I should at least be awake for half an hour before I blew someone's head off. And it didn't seem like he wanted to kill me either. He laughed.
"I always liked those old Western movies as a kid. My brother and I used to stand off against each other with water pistols, just like this."
Just like this, except someone would die this time.
"He your brother?" I asked, kicking my foot towards his partner with the broken nose. He was still hissing in pain on the ground. The would-be cowboy's face lost all traces of humor.
"No. He's dead."
Damn.
"I'm sorry." I said.
"Me, too." He said. I didn't think he just meant about his brother.
"Just shoot her already Jemison!" the woman on the floor groaned, rasping through her throat.
I had to do something fast. "Jemison's" two companions would be up again soon, and I'd be right back where I started, only they'd have more of a reason to shoot me. Not that they needed much of one in the first place.
Time had run out. I pulled the trigger.
Click.
Shit.
Who carried around an unloaded gun?
"Ran out of bullets," said Broken Nose, and even under the bloody already crusting his mouth I could see his smirk.
Bastard.
"I guess this is good-bye," Jemison said, then his eyes widened, and he shot.
Author here: I finally put this story under a category: "suspense". It's the closest thing to a disclaimer you'll get about ending every chapter on a cliffhanger. I'd promise another update soon, but my life is prone to Infected attacks (aka: homework). I can't always escape with my braincells intact.