Darkness Arises: Reborn
By Metal Harbinger
Chapter 10: Deadly Respite
"Viper, what the hell are you doing?" Jake shouted to fellow masked gunman.
The continuous rattle of automatic fire was his only answer, followed by the dying screams of civilians.
A lone gunshot soon followed.
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Jake bolted upright in a cold sweat, panting heavily as he awakened to find himself in the very office he had been directed to after his arrival several hours ago. The room had been converted into a sleeping quarters and was crammed full with people when he had first gotten there, to the point where blankets and pillows had become a luxury item reserved only for a "first come, first serve basis."
Now, the room was empty with blankets, pillows, backpacks and other personal effects scattered about. Looking up at a wall-mounted clock, it was well after one in the afternoon and most of the other refugees had probably departed for a much needed lunch.
A sharp pain suddenly jolted across his upper chest in the very spot where his scar lay. He clenched his eyes shut and rubbed forcefully against the area, like he usually did whenever it came back to him.
"Same dream again," he thought to himself, "Last time I was in a bank, this happened. Damn it, hanging around here isn't helping matters much either."
Trying to force the thoughts from his head, he stood up and stretched his limbs out. Reaching down, he snatched up his trench coat and carefully pulled it over his form, making sure none of his ammo would fall out, and then grabbed his shotgun and sword. Placing the weapons in their respective holsters, he made one last inspection to make sure nothing had been taken while he slept.
"I doubt any of them would've been stupid enough to take anything," Jake thought as he stepped around the items littering the floor, recalling some of the frightened looks the citizens had given him as he made his entrance.
"At least I hope they weren't,"he whispered to himself before making his way back into the hallway.
It had been shortly after 1:30 in the morning when he had arrived at the bank and sleep overcame him quickly. He was surprised he had managed to sleep as well and as long as he did after what he had been through. A lesser man would have been reduced to a gibbering wreck within minutes and wouldn't have been able to sleep for nights afterward.
Perhaps the horror of his experiences before Raccoon City had desensitized him to much of what he had seen.
The hallway led to the spacious front lobby, where several officers armed with shotguns, submachine guns and even a few assault rifles had established a defensive perimeter. Several comfy looking couches and chairs had been piled in front of the double doors, believing that the zombies would automatically make a play for the front door. Given their limited intelligence, it was hopeful that they didn't understand the concept of back doors, which is how the survivors entered after they were dropped off.
A radio had been set up in an office behind the front counter and Jake could hear an officer communicating with a dispatcher back at the station, trying to further formulate any possible evacuation procedures.
According to additional radio chatter he had overheard, he found out there had been additional emergency shelters set up at the city post office, high school, shopping center, municipal building, power station and public library. By now the area around the hospital had been cleared enough to admit a few lucky survivors and there were still armed officers present to assist them. From what he had also heard, the stations set up at the fire department and R.P.D. itself had been holding up well so far.
Aside from the officers present in the lobby, this former place of commerce had been transformed into a full blown fortress that would serve for multiple tasks: casualty collection, rallying points for civilians and emergency personnel who needed treatment, rearmed or just for temporary shelter.
Numerous offices had been converted into sleeping quarters for the survivors, but it raised concerns for many due to the fact that it would allow possibly infected citizens to intermingle with those who had not yet been exposed to whatever was converting them into the walking dead. As a precaution, Jake had slept with his shoes on and his guns in his holsters.
The small employee break room served as the cafeteria with crates of provisions shipped over from a nearby food storage warehouse. Unfortunately, there were too many survivors present and along with the officers, there wasn't enough food to provide a full meal for everybody, forcing them to have to regulate what was passed out and to whom.
A makeshift infirmary had been set up down the hall from the cafeteria, where a surviving bank security guard had been posted. He watched as a man in a sullied smock emerged with a white trash bag slung over his shoulder. Blood swished around inside, probably from a bunch of used bandages and other linens for treating injured survivors. It gave the hitman a bad feeling and again had him placing a hand over his pistol, almost expecting a zombie or some other abomination to come rush out in search of a fresh meal.
In the adjoining office an armory had been set up and two officers clad in full riot gear stood guard, ready to prevent anybody who would attempt to steal the weapons inside and try shooting their way to freedom. One of the guards had taken notice of Jake's Berettas and gave him a sharp stare from underneath his visor. The hitman paid him no heed and continued towards the break room.
Jake was also certain that a "morgue" had probably been set up somewhere on the premises. Shortly after his arrival, he noticed two officers hauling a body covered by a blanket away on a crude stretcher. The sight created an uproar which the officers were barely able to quell and it was only through the skillful oratory of an intelligent-looking man in a blue business suit that they had managed to avert a full blown catastrophe.
"I just hope they were smart enough to shoot those things in the head," the hitman thought to himself as he finally reached the break room and stepped inside.
As he expected, the room was full of people who had somehow been corralled into one tight little space, and he ended up pushing around many smaller people with his muscular form. He received a few frustrated grunts and cries of surprise, but nobody complained aloud when they finally noticed he was a tall man clad in black with a sword strapped to his back.
Two workers from the food storage warehouse stood at the front of the room, handing out rations to survivors waiting impatiently in line. A burly officer stood with the workers, his shotgun in plain sight to deter any belligerent behavior.
When it was Jake's turn, he was given a bottle of water and a ham and cheese sandwich and then told to move along, the worker speaking in the robotic monotone of someone who must have repeated the same process a hundred times already in one day.
With no space to stand in the break room, he suddenly took notice of a reading room off to the side and stepped in to have his small meal.
A group of people had congregated around a television that had been set up and near the front of the room, a lone man whined irritably.
"What the hell are they thinking? They can't do this to us! As a citizen of this nation, they should be doing everything in their goddamned power to protect us! They should be getting us out of here as fast as possible instead of trapping us in here like a bunch of cattle waiting to be led to the slaughter!"
The complaining man was a short, slightly overweight middle-aged fellow with short reddish-blond hair and wearing blue jeans, a white button up shirt and a brown jacket with one of the sleeves torn off. A teenaged girl with short blonde hair and wearing a pink t-shirt and brown shorts clung to his arm, which he assumed was probably his daughter.
Jake walked over to an African-American man in a grimy white dress shirt and gray slacks standing near the TV set and took a position next to him. He now saw that they had been watching the American News Channel (A.N.C.) where a reporter was currently reading from a script, but could barely be heard above the overweight man's constant whining.
"What's his problem?" the hitman quietly spoke, catching the man by surprise.
The man composed himself before speaking, "It's the government, they've placed Raccoon City under quarantine."
An explosion occurred within the pit of Jake's stomach and he stared at the man in disbelief, "Are you serious?" he half-shouted.
"See for yourself," another man spoke up next to him, wearing a yellow and red Burger Kong employee's polo shirt. Having the remote in hand, he pushed a button and the volume rose.
"As announced earlier in the day, Raccoon City has been placed under quarantine by order of the Pentagon," a female voiceover announced as the scene shifted over to a blockade outside of the city limits.
The main road leading into the city was shown, blocked off by a picket fence lined with barbed wire. Armed soldiers in gas masks and biohazard gear manned the barricade and at each side of the entrance were two Humvees with forest camouflage paint schemes; both had a lone soldier manning the gun turret. An Apache attack helicopter could be seen flying overhead, perhaps for a reconnaissance run.
"At this moment, there is still no official word on what is actually happening inside the city as all attempts to contact any local government agencies have failed to connect.
"However, an aide to Mayor Michael Warren, who managed to escape before the quarantine was put into effect, is blaming a radioactive leak at a chemical storage facility within the city limits.
"The lockdown went into effect at daybreak, in compliance with U.S. safety regulations. The 32nd National Guard Infantry Brigade from the nearby Douglas County Garrison has been activated to enforce the fortifications, and will be assisted by units from the Fort Caledonia and Fort Roosevelt Army Bases."
The scene then switched over to a dark-haired man in his early forties clad in combat fatigues. A banner at the bottom of the screen identified him as Maj. Derek Clayton of the 32nd National Guard Infantry Brigade.
"At this point, our duty is strictly to contain this spillage and prevent it from spreading beyond the city limits. Our superiors are still awaiting orders directly from the Pentagon before we can enter the city and further investigate the matter, as well as carrying out any possible rescue missions," the Major reported.
"Unfortunately, this also means that a majority of the population is still trapped inside, including several prominent city officials. No word has been heard regarding the status of Mayor Warren himself, nor any of his cabinet."
Another distressing sight followed as dozens of refugees who had managed to escape were now shown, held in a special containment area set up by the Army. Many of them were shown inside a tent lined with row upon row of cots, while others stood in line waiting to be tended to by army doctors.
All of them showed signs of their ordeal, both physical and mental. Some of them were crying and screaming, while others just stood around staring blankly into the camera. All were covered in blood and filth, a telltale sign of the magnitude of this disaster.
Members of the Minnesota State Patrol and Douglas County Sheriff's Department were on hand to receive them and keep them at bay until the all clear was given. A black riot van containing members of the S.W.A.T. team from nearby Latham could be seen pulling up, their members ready to assist in crowd control.
The reporter's voiceover then resumed, "Dozens of refugees have thus far managed to escape and several centers have been set up around the city limits. However, the volume of arrivals was much greater than expected. Members of the Minnesota State Patrol, Douglas County Sheriff's Department and Latham S.W.A.T. Team have been dispatched to handle the centers. As of right now, the number of survivors is estimated to be between the 300 and 500 range."
Cars were also shown pulling up, carrying concerned relatives who had by now caught wind of the story and were showing up in droves to find out whether or not their loved ones had made it out alive.
The scene then switched over to a chubby woman in her late fifties with graying brown hair and wearing bifocals. She was identified as "Elaine Langbeck, Concerned Parent."
"I was just talking to my daughter, who goes to school here in Raccoon City, last night and making plans for when she would be coming home for Thanksgiving and next thing I know, the line went dead. We had no idea what was happening, until we started hearing reports about a radioactive leak and the city being cordoned off. Right now, we're praying to God that she's alright," the woman spoke, unable to hold back tears that now streamed freely down her face.
The newsroom was then shown, where the Asian-American reporter sat alone at her desk.
"For further coverage, we now go to Kip Willows from our local affiliate station NMSM Channel 7, who is on hand at the refugee center along Hwy. 121 to give us further details regarding the matter."
A lone reporter in a beige suit with slicked back blond hair stood in front of the compound entrance.
"Connie, as you can see it is total pandemonium here in the refugee center as people are heavily distressed over the recent calamity.
"According to some of the survivors' testimonies, we are not dealing with just a radioactive leak around here."
A red-headed woman was then shown, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders that mostly covered a small child who clung obsessively to her side. A tale of woe would escape her lips.
"I was just taking my son through the park for a morning stroll…when I found this man and…oh god…he was eating this old woman!"
Another group of survivors was shown, all huddled closely together as they sought comfort in the presence of fellow human beings.
"I was just out for supper with some friends at the Grill 13…" a man in a Minnesota Barbarians coat and Twin Cities cap trailed, struggling to complete his story, "…when we heard all these screams and next thing I know…there were people running around and attacking everything in sight."
"They weren't just attacking them," a young dark-haired man with glasses finished, "…they were eating them. Those other people, they were still alive…screaming their lungs out while those things ate them…"
The young brunette-haired woman he held began sobbing uncontrollably at the mention and the camera feed cut away from them.
"Radioactive waste my ass!" the black man spat, "This is the living fucking dead we're talking about here!"
"Tell us about it," the Burger Kong employee sardonically retorted.
Silence was the hitman's only reply. He couldn't believe it; he was trapped in this hellacious city with no means of escape once he completed his mission. Then again, was there even a mission left to complete by now?
If a government-ordered quarantine had been put into effect and the entire city was surrounded by the National Guard, then would that mean Birkin was still trapped inside too? Furthermore, had he already fallen to the zombies and other possible monstrosities lurking with in?
Thoughts of those red-skinned creatures with the long tongues filtered into Jake's mind, along with those crows, the demon dogs and the bazooka-wielding brute.
An icy feeling loomed within the young hired gun as he realized he was trapped and would probably die here along with everybody else if some kind of drastic measure wasn't taken.
"I can't think about that, not now," he told himself, "I've had the deck stacked against me plenty of times before and have come out alive and kicking in the end. There has to be some way out."
Jake began to think of his uncle, a veteran who had fought in Vietnam.
There was a story he had often told him, his siblings and his cousins while they were all growing up, about a time where he and several of his squad mates had been taken as prisoners of war behind enemy lines. They were in a situation much like the hitman was now, one where there was no hope of survival at all, one where it wouldn't have mattered how many enemy soldiers they killed in the end, they would still die regardless of the circumstances.
Thanks to a mixture of ingenuity and sheer, superhuman determination, his uncle had managed to band his captured allies together and fight their way out through sheer brute force. It was like "a scene straight out of an action movie" in his uncle's own words. In the end, his brave uncle had been rewarded for his heroism, but had lost a leg and much of the hearing in his right ear as a result.
The overall moral stressed in the story was to fight your way out, no matter how dire the odds were. As long as you had an ounce of breath in your system, you thought about staying alive and fought. It had served him well plenty of times in the past and hoped it could help him survive this nightmare.
A loud argument sounded from the small cafeteria, bringing the gunman back to reality. Many braced themselves as they recognized the whiny and grating tone of the overweight man from before.
"Come on, you're supposed to be a bunch of highly-trained professionals! You should all be able to handle a situation like this!"
Jake stepped back into the break room, where the ill-tempered slob was shouting in the face of a dark-haired officer, who the hitman recognized as being one of the officers Kevin had been conversing with back on Main Street after the explosives were detonated. The teenaged girl still clung obsessively to the fat man's arm, a fearful look on her face that was shared by several onlookers in attendance.
"I'm sorry Mr. Rosso, but we've never received any training for a situation like this. This is the living dead we're dealing with here, not some frenzied rioters," the officer said shaking his head, before turning to address his colleague who had been guarding the food workers, "The only thing we do know is that you have to kill them with headshots."
"Then again, you're going to need all of Fort Caledonia to pull that off with the number we have running around here," the burly officer spoke up.
"Wh-What?" Mr. Rosso whimpered.
"I'm sorry, but right now there's not going to be any cavalry to come and rescue us. We've overheard the news broadcast that the government has placed this city under quarantine and that they have to wait before they can come in and rescue us," the dark-haired officer continued, "Right now, we are not able to reach the rest of our colleagues, so we have to make due with what we've got!"
"What?" Rosso screeched, "You mean to tell me that you guys are the freaking law in this city, yet you don't even know how to protect an entire building full of innocent bystanders? What the hell kind of cops are you?" he ranted and got nose to nose with the officer, flailing his arms wildly and forcing the cop to raise his arms protectively.
"Daddy, stop it! Please!" the girl sobbed, making a weak attempt to pull her father back.
"Not now Lucia," the man snapped, now identifying his daughter by name.
"Sir, you need to calm down!" the burly officer demanded, stepping out from behind the table and walking over to assist his colleague, "Calm down goddamn it!" he shouted, trying to pull the oafish man away.
A few men in the room stepped up to assist the officers in subduing the crazed man, while everybody else just stood back in terror, some looking like they were looking for the nearest exit, fearing that the situation would escalate into full-blown violence.
Two more officers eventually had to step in to help calm the situation, one of them ready to draw his mace if provoked.
"I think I've overstayed my welcome here," the hitman thought to himself, now realizing he hadn't had the chance to touch his lunch yet and decided to find someplace quieter so he could eat in peace.
Jake walked through the hall and decided he would head back to the office where he had spent the night.
Many of the officers paid him no mind, focused on guarding the front lobby. They were particularly concerned about the large windows, not knowing if those zombies would have the strength to break them down or not.
"Andy! There you are!" another voice suddenly called out, catching the attention of a brown-haired officer who had taken a position behind the counter.
Looking towards the hallway he was about to head down, the hitman caught sight of a man running towards them who stood about five feet nine inches in height, with a lanky build, clean-shaven face and short, neatly combed brown hair. He wore a mustard-yellow colored combat vest, camouflage pants, black combat boots and a white t-shirt underneath. As the man got closer, he took notice of a patch on the man's left shoulder.
"S.T.A.R.S." Jake thought to himself as the name instantly rang a bell. They were the group of elite special agents who were sent to investigate the area around the Spencer Estate back in July, according to some of the files he had received.
Here he was now, encountering one of them in the flesh and immediately, something wasn't right about the guy.
"That guy is a S.T.A.R.S. member?" the hitman asked himself, "That guy looks like he's afraid of his own shadow!" he mentally remarked, taking notice of the man's sniveling, fidgety disposition. "If this loser is a S.T.A.R.S. member, then I must be the Pope."
"Brad?" the officer called Andy asked, staring at the newcomer as if he were looking at a ghost.
"What the hell?" another officer asked, "I don't believe it, 'Chickenheart' Vickers? What brings you back after all this time?"
By now, several of the other officers had taken notice of the S.T.A.R.S. member and received him with varying responses, some chuckling quietly at him, some worriedly like his appearance was an omen of some major catastrophe to come, and others like they were ready to punch his face in.
"Uh Andy, can we please talk somewhere alone…its urgent!" Brad called out, taking notice of the glares he was attracting.
"Alright, we can go to that one office down the hall," Andy replied, scooping up an MP5 submachine and following the S.T.A.R.S. member down the hall.
"This should be interesting," Jake thought as he found himself suddenly intrigued by the newcomer. He didn't know exactly what caused it, but a good guess would have been the man's indirect connection to the Spencer Estate incident, which was allegedly also linked to Umbrella.
Following the two men at a safe distance, he waited for Andy to open the door and both of them stepped inside, seemingly unaware they forgot to shut the door completely. Standing at a spot where he knew he would be out of the other officers' direct view, he hugged the wall and inched himself over to the slightly opened door.
"Brad, what are you doing here? More importantly, where the hell have you been?" Andy asked, "Redfield and the others were going nuts trying to find you after you skipped down when the team got suspended indefinitely!"
"Andy, that's not important right now," Brad replied, "I need your help finding somebody."
"Who?" the officer replied, "Whoever you're looking for, you sure came at a bad time to try finding them."
"Have you seen Jill Valentine around anywhere? I have to find her, it's really important," the former S.T.A.R.S. operative pleaded, "I've tried calling her, but the phone lines are out and I can't get over to the Cedar District due to a blockade!"
"Nobody has seen her around the station in over a week," Andy replied, "it's almost like she's vanished off the face of the earth!"
"Damn it!" Brad cursed bitterly, barely stifling a sob as he could be heard kicking something over.
"Calm down, what's the matter? Why do you have to find her?" Andy asked, probably having grabbed the man by now.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you…" Brad replied, in a darkened, morbid tone, "…nobody believed us when we came back from that hellhole of a mansion! Everybody thought we were under the influence of drugs."
"Brad, I've always been a friend of yours and you can tell me what is going on. You have my word that if nobody else believes you, then I will. I don't think I have as much reason to be skeptical after everything else that's been going on," the R.P.D. officer replied trying to soothe his friend's anxiety.
"Okay…" the ex-cop started, "…there's this 'thing' out there that's after S.T.A.R.S. members, I know because it can talk. It's big and has one eye, and it's wearing a black trench coat. It also has a rocket launcher!"
"Are you serious?" Andy asked, almost sounding as if he was questioning himself for wanting to believe his friend.
"I'm positive!" Brad shot back defensively, "It blew up Barry Burton's old house trying to get to me!"
A tense silence followed before Andy spoke, "Okay, okay just try to stay calm. As you can see, we have a bunch of people here who need our protection already. You're more than welcome to stay here, where we can back you up against this 'thing' that you speak of."
"No," was the ex-S.T.A.R.S. member's sharp reply, "I can't sit around in one place for too long. I have to find Jill and get her out of here before that thing finds her. I've spent the last two days running from that monster and it'll find me if I don't keep moving. It's relentless!"
"Okay, do what you have to then," Andy sighed in defeat, "I can't force you to stay here, but watch yourself if you have to go back out there. Jill is a tough girl and I know she should be alright. I don't think the Army or S.T.A.R.S. would have accepted her if she were one of those 'damsel in distress' types."
"God I hope you're right," Brad replied.
"Time for me to split," Jake thought as he started making his way towards the office he had been staying in. "So S.T.A.R.S. boy is familiar with that brute too. If it's after S.T.A.R.S. members, then why the hell did it come after us?"
The hitman now found a small group of people had congregated in his makeshift quarters and chatted quietly amongst themselves.
Sitting at the desk was an older woman in white slacks and mauve colored top whose once black hair was now almost completely white. Seated at the end of the desk with his own chair pulled up, was a younger man wearing a turned around blue cap, tan vest and blue jeans. The t-shirt underneath his vest identified him as an employee of RCNN and he had his video camera still with him, with which he appeared to be replaying some footage he had already recorded.
On the nearby couch sat three more people, one a teenaged girl with long brownish-blonde hair in a ponytail and wearing a red t-shirt advertising the popular rock group Vic E, the next a teenage African-American male with short black hair styled in a crewcut and wearing a red basketball jersey, blue and white track pants, yellow t-shirt underneath and basketball sneakers, and the last a short, plump, balding man in a white dress shirt and black slacks, both stained with dried blood. A Colt Python rested on the arm in front of the man's hand, ready for him to grab it at a moment's notice.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of them was another teenager, this one a Caucasian male whose hair was covered by an army green colored beanie and wearing a black t-shirt with a long sleeved white shirt underneath, blue camouflage pants, ratty black combat boots, spiked bracelets and a studded belt. His chin rested on a closed fist and sticking out from the corner of his lap, a Glock-17 could be seen.
"Welcome to the party," the boy on the floor grunted, prompting the others to turn and acknowledge him.
"I see you're caught up in this mess too," the balding man spoke in a heavily Italian accented tone.
"You don't know the half of it," Jake replied, lowering himself to the floor and stretching out his tired legs.
"So what's your story then?" the teen on the couch asked, pointing to him and motioning for his name.
"Jake, Jake Smith," the hitman replied, "I was just passing through when everything went to shit."
"Been the story for a lot of people," the teen replied, "I'm R.J. by the way," he said and then motioned towards the girl and the older man, "This is my friend Denise and our boss Mr. M."
"Santino Maritato," the man spoke, "Everybody calls me Sonny though. I run…or I should say ran Sonny's Sicilian Eatery." The pained look that followed told that he didn't wish to explain things any further.
"I'm Jason," the gun-wielding teen announced, "those things ripped apart a gathering me and some buddies were having."
"No doubt underage drinking was involved," Sonny added.
"Shut the fuck up, you fat pig!" the teen snapped, "Like it's any of your fucking business what me and my friends did together!"
"Hey, easy you two!" the older woman shouted and then walked over to Sonny, "Come on Mr. Maritato, maybe we should see how that Trina lady from your restaurant is doing."
"Yeah, sure thing," the older man grumbled, shooting a filthy glare in Jason's direction before turning and leaving the room. R.J. looked to Denise and whispered something to her, before getting up and following after his boss.
"Should I even ask?" Jake said, staring back and forth between the two teens.
"Old asshole thinks I'm a bad influence on his nephew," Jason grumbled, staring suggestively at his Glock-17, knowing that he wanted to put a bullet in the man's face.
"Don't forget you also vandalized his restaurant and his house after he fired you," Denise interjected, crossing her arms defensively.
"What goes around comes around!" Jason scoffed, "I'm surprised you haven't done the same to that fat toad. He's a fucking slave driver!"
Jake largely ignored the conversation between the two teens and now focused on eating his sandwich. Again, he ate slowly, wanting to savor every bite that he could, rather than wolfing it down in one full bite.
With the way things were looking right now, it was safe to assume the cops would probably try to keep him and the others cooped up in here for more than a day. Judging by the brief exchange between Jason and Sonny, he knew things would be volatile amongst some of the others, leading to possible violence.
Having finished his little meal, the hitman went over to toss his wrapper and empty bottle into the small trashcan next to the desk, when he took notice of the cameraman still checking over the footage he had recorded.
"The late night news?" Jake asked stepping up behind the man, who didn't turn to face him and instead remained focused on the scene before him.
"It started out as that…" the man replied.
"Whatever it is, I know it's not pretty," the hired gun spoke, taking notice of the blood splattered across the man's back.
"Have a look for yourself," the cameraman said, offering the camera to his new companion.
What initially started out as footage from late last night, where the familiar gray-suited reporter was just finishing his interview with Dorian before the smoking craters in the aftermath of the bomb blasts, switched over to another horrific scene as the camera was switched on again hours later.
This new scene took place on another war torn street, where a mob of undead citizens came marching towards the camera, all with their arms outstretched and sounding their intent as they spotted the still living humans.
"Holy shit, Russ are you getting all of this?" a Hispanic man in a blue windbreaker asked, speaking directly to the camera.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the gray-suited man shouted, "Turn that damned thing off, those people don't want to see this!"
"How the hell do you know that Gideon?" the Hispanic man asked the suited man, "The people are going to need to know what the hell is going on if we ever get this footage outside the city limits!"
"Oh my god, look!" a feminine voice called out from behind the three men.
The camera zoomed past Gideon and the other man, where the crowd had begun to thin out and in between the staggering zombies; another small group could be seen feasting on the remains of an older couple.
"Don't just stand there filming that shit," Gideon shouted, grabbing the cameraman by the shoulder and swinging his focus over to the same RCNN news van he had seen being attacked by the zombies. "We have to get the hell out of here now!"
Another scene then came into view, where the Hispanic man now lay motionless on the group, blood gushing from a fresh wound in his neck. Above him was another one of those skinless creatures from the hotel.
The screeching of tires was heard from behind and the camera spun around, showing the RCNN van taking off down the street.
"No, Gideon don't go!" the same woman shouted from before, now revealing herself as a petite brunette in a green jacket and denim shorts.
Five more familiar faces stepped into view and Jake smiled as he took notice that they were still alive.
George Hamilton, Jim Chapman and Cindy Lennox from the bar were shown, along with Ralph and the S.W.A.T. officer Tyson.
"Come on, we're heading for the hospital!" George shouted over the rattle of Tyson's MP5. "We have to-"
The tongue monster leapt into view and soon the brunette woman would fall, slashed deeply across her back. Everything went black as the camera was shut off.
"Damn, that's brutal," Jake said, setting the camera down.
"Yeah, all because that bastard Gideon abandoned us," Russ the cameraman grunted bitterly.
"I don't think you'll have to worry about him anymore," the hitman replied, "those things got him on Durgan St."
A dark silence followed. He could tell that the man must not have cared much for his boss, but at the same time probably felt that he didn't deserve such a gruesome fate in the end.
"Right now, all I care about is getting this footage outside of the city so we can show the world what really happened in here. That radioactive waste crock of bullshit will only cover their tracks for so long," Russ said as he checked his camera over to make sure it was still in good working order.
"Alright, I don't know about you, but I've gotta take a major piss," Jake said and exited the cramped office.
A stampede of heavy footsteps sounded from around the corner and the hitman found a fleet of riot officers rushing towards him for the back door everybody came through.
"We've gotta get over to high school!" one of the officers shouted to an unseen colleague, "They're low on ammo over there and some more of those things are on their way!"
"Pardon us," a cop at the front of the pack called out, nearly knocking Jake over in his mad dash.
"Looks like things are heating up again," he grimly observed as the last cop disappeared through the door.
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"Are you sure she's alright?" Beatrice McCurdy asked as she hovered over the prone woman lying on the couch beneath her.
"She's going to be alright, I'm positive!" Shawn Gallagan snapped as he held his unconscious wife's hand.
"I don't know, she looks awfully pale and clammy for someone with just a bump on her head," the bank employee observed as she closely studied the bloody bandage that had been wrapped around her forehead.
Shawn and Trina Gallagan had been at Sonny's Sicilian Eatery celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary when a group of blood-drenched, sickly looking people showed up and started attacking everything in sight.
Total bedlam ensued and Trina had been knocked out after a big man tackled her to the floor. Shawn had been forced to break a chair over the man's back, but even then, he still charged after them like nothing happened.
In the end, only Shawn, Trina, the owner Sonny and two of his employees, R.J. Farrell and Denise Carlson, managed to escape after a kindly farmer had been passing through and allowed them to hop into the back of his pickup truck. They eventually crossed paths with an R.P.D. officer, who directed them to the bank, and here they were now.
Ever since then, the young man maintained a protective vigil over his wife and insisted that only he treat her, refusing to allow the police medic present to even touch her.
"You just hang in there sweetie, we're going to make it out of this if it's the last thing we do," he whispered to his wife, kissing her hand before placing it on her stomach.
Beatrice, R.J. and the Burger Kong employee Marty Grimes all stood nearby, watching the woman closely. They were being visibly cautious after what they had seen take place over the past two days, Marty in particular as he recalled the broken form of his co-worker Burt lying on the ground after a fall that should have fractured his skull, only to rise a few hours later.
Sonny meanwhile stood near the desk in the corner of the office, where a stocky man with short dark brown hair, week old stubble and prominent eagle tattoo on his right bicep, had turned it into his personal workspace.
A reloading tool sat in front of him and surrounding it were several empty 9mm. and 12-gauge shotgun cartridges, all of which were being filled with black powder.
"You sure you can do that Mr. Kendo?" Sonny asked with great concern, "I've heard of those things and they're illegal," he spoke in reference to the enhanced ammunition being produced.
"They've got bigger things to worry about right now," Joe Kendo replied, unworried about the cops filling the place, "With all those damned freaks running around outside, I seriously doubt they'll have time to bust me for a couple enhanced rounds."
Joseph Kendo knew exactly what he was doing. He had been a weapons specialist in the Vietnam War and now ran the Kendo Gun Shop in conjunction with his younger brother Robert. Both of them were well-known amongst the R.P.D., in particular the former S.T.A.R.S. team they had provided weapons for plenty of times in the past.
"Besides, I bet they'd forget those laws pretty fast if those things come knocking on our door again," the gunsmith chuckled, proudly displaying one of the finished blue cartridges for the restaurateur.
A loud moan escaped Trina's lips as she lay in a tortured slumber, prompting everybody except her husband to stop what they were doing and stare in horror. R.J. and Beatrice both quickly backed up.
"Hang in there honey, everything's going to be alright!" Shawn said as he began rubbing her shoulder.
"Dude, I seriously don't like the sound of that," R.J. blurted out as he inched his way towards the entrance.
None of them did, it reminded them too much of the zombies from the streets.
"Are you sure she just has a bump on the head and that's it?" Beatrice asked as she again took in the woman's pale complexion.
"I tell you, I'm positive!" Shawn declared, "Now please, just help me watch over her!"
"I don't believe you!" Marty growled and pushed the unstable husband aside. Reaching down, he pulled up the woman's right arm, which had purposely been hidden underneath one of the couch's creases, and immediately took notice of the blood covering her wrist and hand. Turning her arm to the side, he instantly noticed the deep bite mark on her forearm, similar to the one Burt had shown him at work.
"Well I'll be…" he muttered and raised the arm for everybody else to see.
"Shit man, we've gotta tell the cops about this!" R.J. shouted to the others and hurriedly rushed toward the door.
"You will do no such thing!" Shawn hollered and produced a .38 caliber revolver he had begun carrying after he and his wife were accosted by that member of the Jokers in Raccoon Park. With a squeeze of the trigger, a gunshot echoed throughout the building.
R.J. Farrell collapsed to the floor with a crimson stain blossoming on his chest. He convulsed violently as blood gushed from the fresh wound and struggled to breathe as he coughed up even more blood. Following a sick gurgle he moved no more and his eyes stared to the ceiling forever opened in anguished horror.
"My god…" was all Beatrice could gasp, while the other three men in the room stood silent in shock, still not having registered what just happened.
Quickly turning his gun on Marty, another shot resounded at the Burger Kong employee fell over with a round to the face, dead before he hit the ground.
The second shot was enough to break the others out of their trances and they started to move, but Beatrice wasn't fast enough and took a round to her shoulder as she turned to run. Falling to the floor, she could only scream in pain as the hot metal seared through her flesh and left her unable to move her arm.
Sonny saw the mentally unhinged man coming and dove for cover behind an alcove; while Kendo had overturned the desk he sat at and raised his own gun to return fire.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The gunshots echoed throughout the bank, everybody jumping as they suspected the worst.
"That came from down the hall!" Jean Ross shouted to his colleague Andy Parsons and both men quickly bolted towards the sound of the shots.
"Do you think one of those things got inside?" Andy asked as he struggled to withdraw his Beretta and run at the same time.
Jean didn't reply to his inquiry and just focused on getting to that office. He skidded to a halt in front of the opened office, to find the barrel of a gun thrust in his direction.
Shawn Gallagan stood tall over the corpses of the Burger Kong employee and that one teenager who worked at Santino Maritato's joint, R.J. he believed his name was. Both of them had been shot to death, by the .38 revolver the young man carried.
Nearby, a senior bank employee named Beatrice McCurdy writhed on the floor in pain, a bullet wound through her shoulder. Her agonizing cries struck a nerve with the veteran officer and prompted him to act.
"Freeze! Drop your weapon!" Jean ordered, never taking his eyes away from the unstable armed man.
"No! I'm not letting you take her away from me! Never!" the young man screamed at the top of his lungs, his tone indicating sheer insanity. He even looked the part with his matted down, curly strawberry blond hair and wrinkled, bloody clothes, a dark green tie still hanging around his neck that looked as if it had been dipped in a bucket full of blood.
Raising his gun, Gallagan fired two shots in Jean's direction. The officer ducked out of the way and the man's bullets pinged off of the metal doorframe.
Andy saw his partner's quandary and fired at the man, who quickly dove for cover behind another large sofa in the room. From his angle, he could see the man crawling on all fours behind a nearby counter and tried for another shot, but the couch and some small filing cabinets would have prevented it from connecting.
The young man suddenly realized he had been separated from his wife and peeked up over the counter.
"Oh god, Trina!" he shouted, only to duck a second later as more bullets whizzed in his direction, coming from the other side of the room.
"Help us! This guy's insane!" the unseen shooter called out.
"Gallagan, this is your last call. Drop your weapon and come out with your hands up! We can end this like civilized people!" Jean called out, trying to act as "by the book" as he could in a testy situation.
"Screw all that diplomatic crap, just kill the crazy fucker!" the unseen man again shouted.
Andy was ready to open fire, knowing the man was now considered a serious threat, and went to raise his gun, only to be stopped by Jean.
"What are you doing?" the young cop hissed towards his veteran colleague, "That guy just killed those two people, wounded another and now he's trying to kill you!"
"Andy, we can't just shoot this guy," Jean explained, "We've gotta do this as we were taught whether we like it or not."
Sure, he was angry at the man for killing those two civilians and then wounding another. Part of him really wanted to blast that man for what he did, but the more logical side of his mind remained in control, reminding him that it would be against his principles as an officer of the law.
"What's going on here?" a new voice cut in.
The duo turned to see their burly colleague Ray Wilkes charging towards them with his shotgun in hand, two more officers behind him.
"Some bastard just snapped in there," Andy replied motioning towards the opened door.
Another shot rang out and the officers jumped as a portion of the wall exploded across from them.
"Well it's going to end soon!" Ray said with a pump of his Benelli M3.
Jean could only stare in disbelief, knowing that Ray Wilkes was not somebody who could be contained by his more logical approach. The man was a Grade A hard ass who couldn't be stopped once his mind was set to busting a bad guy, even if it meant lethal force would have to be applied.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Jake had been in the middle of washing his hands after relieving himself when the string of gunshots filled the air.
Now, he was racing through the front lobby with his shotgun out, bobbing and weaving around the civilians who stood in confusion and horror at the sudden racket, and the officers who struggled to calm them.
Reaching the hall where the shots were coming from, he found five officers surrounding an opened office, and the same burly officer from the cafeteria with his shotgun out, firing a few blasts into the room.
One of the officers heard his footsteps and turned around with his hand raised to halt him, "Hold it right there! It's too dangerous to come here!"
"What's going on?" the hitman asked as another civilian approached, a man in a plaid vest and camouflage hat armed with a hunting rifle.
"Some guy's gone ballistic," the officer replied, his nametag identifying him as "D. Cahill."
"Hands in the air where we can see them!" the shotgun-toting officer suddenly shouted and charged into the room.
"Oh god Trina!" an unseen male called out, followed by an ear-piercing shriek of pain and the officers charged in after their colleague.
Rushing over to the doorway, Jake watched as four of the officers struggled to pull an auburn-haired woman off of a curly-haired man in dress clothes, a revolver falling out of his hand as she tore into him. Two corpses lay on the ground, one he immediately recognized as R.J. from the office and that Burger Kong employee from the TV room. The woman who left with Sonny and R.J. was also present, a visible bullet wound in her shoulder as Officer Cahill attempted to treat her.
"Help me get her off of him goddamn it!" the burly cop shouted as he gripped a handful of the woman's hair and managed to pull her head back, bloody chunks spilling out of her mouth as she gnashed her teeth viciously.
The man fell to the floor as blood gushed freely from his neck wound and one of the officers took his grip away from the woman to kneel down beside him. Grabbing his wrist, the cop felt for a pulse and then shook his head.
"He's dead!" the cop had to shout over the woman's snarling and grunts of his co-workers as they fought to restrain her. Eventually, she managed to shake her head free long enough to turn and sink her teeth into the burly cop's hand.
"Ugh…shit!" the man shouted before grabbing onto her and throwing her to the floor.
The officer from Main St. quickly reached for his cuffs and attempted to restrain the woman, but was pulled off by the bigger cop, who had now recovered and pulled out his sidearm.
BANG!!!
The woman's head struck the carpeted floor hard as a bullet entered the back of her cranium, its contents spilling out like a split watermelon.
There was no immediate reaction as the officer's colleagues and other survivors stood around in shock at what had just transpired.
"Is it safe to come out yet?" Sonny called out, peeking his head out from behind the pillar he hid behind. As Jake stepped into the room, he took notice of a grubby-looking man in a plaid shirt sticking his head out from behind a pock-marked desk.
"Ray, what the hell are you doing?" the Main Street cop asked, looking over to Andy as he finished his question.
"Saving your ass for one, and two, getting some payback on that bitch for fucking biting me!" the burly cop now identified as Ray grunted in reply, pulling out a handkerchief to place over his fresh wound.
"But you killed her-" his colleague spoke.
"Before she could kill you," Ray snapped, "sometimes you can't always do this liberal 'by the book' crap Ross! You should've gotten that through your thick skull when that one damned Joker killed that rookie Winowicz three years ago!"
"You shut the hell up about that!" Ross shouted back, only to be stopped by Andy getting between him and Ray.
"Guys! You guys! Settle down!" the younger officer pleaded, having to restrain Jean while the other stepped up to hold back Ray.
"Hey, if any of you haven't noticed yet, there's a woman here who needs our help!" Cahill shouted to the others.
Finally settling down a little, both Ross and the other cop made their way over to help their friend out with the wounded woman, while Ray walked out of the room to find the medic.
"Oh god R.J.!" Sonny called out as he ran over to inspect the corpse of his newly-deceased employee. Feeling the eyes of Jake and the other civilian staring down upon him, he looked up with tears forming in the corners of both eyes.
"He was a good kid, a damned good kid," the owner dolefully sighed, "had so much going for him and now it's all gone."
"Happened to a lot of people these past two days," said Kendo, stepping up behind the two men.
Jake ignored the gunsmith's comment and stared cautiously at the man who had just been murdered by his own wife.
By now the blood flow from his neck wound had begun to slow and congeal. His eyes and mouth remained open, much in the same spirit of the man he had found torn apart by the demon dogs in that back alley.
Aside from his jugular vein being torn out, the hitman wondered if the dead man would still reanimate, believing his spinal column to still be intact and thus, his brain still untouched. The thought had him gripping his gun protectively, yet he knew he probably wouldn't be able to do it right in front of the other cops present, who still reeled from what their colleague Ray had just done.
"I'm gonna go calm the others," Officer Ross spoke, rising back to his feet, "the rest of you, get some blankets, tarps, whatever you can find. We need to get these bodies out of here."
An idea suddenly popped into the hitman's mind.
"I'll stand guard," Jake announced to the officers, who eyed him suspiciously.
"Are you sure?" Ross asked, looking him up and down like he must have recognized him as one of the civilians traveling with Kevin from the night before.
"Positive," the hitman replied and displayed his shotgun prominently.
"Yeah, I will too," the plaid-shirted man spoke up, "just worry about helping that poor woman."
"Alright, but if anything happens, come get us immediately," Ross replied as both Cahill and the other officer struggled to help the woman back to her feet, getting help from both Sonny and the rifle-wielding man.
Jake waited until the officers were out of the room and turned to the burly man, "Thanks man."
"No problem," the man replied extending his hand, "Joe Kendo."
"Jake Smith," the hired gun introduced himself under his alias.
"That's some pretty heavy duty firepower you got right there kid," Kendo said motioning towards the hitman's shotgun, "Know how to use one of those well?"
"I wouldn't carry it if I didn't," Jake retorted, "I've had to use it to take down quite a few of those 'things' out there," he explained, careful not to mention the true nature of those tongue creatures he encountered. He wasn't sure if everybody knew of their existence and didn't want to cause further alarm.
"Have some of these," the older man said, pulling out a box full of blue shotgun cartridges.
The hired gun instantly recognized them as Black Taurus rounds. Deadly, powerful and illegal, they packed twice the punch of normal 12-gauge shells, he knew from having used some in the past.
"Thanks," Jake muttered and returned his attention to the dead man on the floor. "If I were one of those cops, I'd be worried about that chump lying there on the ground."
"Who, that Gallagan fellow over there? Kendo asked staring down at the man's corpse himself.
"Yeah, that woman bit him," Jake motioned towards the woman shot dead by Ray. "She was carrying whatever those zombies outside had. I wouldn't be surprised if that 'Gallagan fellow' suddenly rose back from the dead himself."
"Are you sure about that?" Kendo asked again, "She tore his throat out pretty bad, how can we know if he'll come back from that. Hell, how can you be certain those things out there are even 'zombies' for sure?"
"They have to be," the hitman continued as he observed R.J. and the other man's corpses, "Those two died from bullet wounds, so I don't think we'd have to worry about them."
"How can you know? Have you actually seen one of those things transform?" the older man continued, "All I know was that I was on my way back to my brother's and mine gun shop when those things started coming out of the woodwork and tried to overturn my van with me inside."
Again, Jake's mind traveled back in time, back to the staff room at J's Bar when he watched the dying Dale Jeffers come back as one of those 'things' and try taking a chunk out of George.
"I have," he flatly replied and reached for his Beretta. Opening a pouch on his belt, he pulled out his silencer and screwed it onto the end of the pistol, "and there's only one way we can prevent this."
"You're serious?" Kendo asked flabbergasted, staring intently at the gun his companion now pointed at the dead man's head.
"I am. The only way to kill these freaks is either through immolation, decapitation or a shot to the head, and I'm going to make sure it doesn't happen to this guy."
Leveling his gun on the man, he squeezed the trigger and with a muted puff, ended Shawn Gallagan's chances of ever becoming one of the living dead.
Author's Notes: Okay, that concludes the latest edition of "Darkness Arises: Reborn" for your viewing pleasure. Normally I haven't been talking much towards the end of my updates, but I have quite a few random, fun notes to address this time around, just for the sake of absolute randomness, or in case there were a few instances where you are like "now that sounds familiar" and what not:
Andy – Andy is not an original character of mine. For those of you who haven't played it (myself being among them, but knowing this thanks to the joys of the internet), after you beat the "Desperate Times" scenario of "Resident Evil: Outbreak – File 2," Andy becomes a playable character, the guy who is bitten up pretty badly right away.
Burger Kong – Thanks to an RE2 strategy guide I own, where the author had too much time on his hands, I was able to pick this fictitious business out and throw it in for my own sheer amusement. Judging by the color scheme of the bag, I wanted to make Marty's outfit similar to that of the Well Stacked Pizza employees seen in "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas."
Joe Kendo – Joe Kendo does indeed exist. In "Resident Evil 3: Nemesis," he is mentioned by name in the "Fax from Kendo Gun Shop" file you find in the S.T.A.R.S.' fax machine.
Politics – Despite the snide comment where Ray criticizes "liberal 'by the book' policies, I just want my readers to know that I am neither a Conservative nor a Republican-leaning voter. I just wanted to throw in a hard assed cop character with an edge, similar to the cops seen in "Manhunt."
Minnesota Barbarians – A parody of the Minnesota Vikings football team.
Indeed that "Mr. Rosso" was Dario from RE3 and the girl was supposed to be the same girl that Jill spots briefly on the street, later finding her corpse outside the warehouse where she started.
I know the RE3 guide explains that Jill used to be a member of the U.S. Delta Force, but according to Crow T R0bot, that has to be impossible because 1.) She is a woman and apparently Delta Force only accepts males and 2.) You have to be 22 years old to join, which would have to be an extremely BRIEF tenure she had on the Delta Force if that was the case. Again, thanks to Crow for pointing that out.
Well that's enough out of me so until next time, this is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME!!!