A/N: The Survivors' last day of freedom and they lead through the maze that is the Harrison County Vets' hospital and return to the Meridian base. Like always, enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: all recognizable characters (c) VALVe
Chapter 11: Airplanes become Shooting Stars
The next day, it seemed that the Infected could sense the military's plans and wanted to ensure their meaningless survival through killing those left behind. Thanks to their little escapade, Nick and Ellis were up and at it since 4:30 in the morning. "Let's get going; I saw Hunters and Spitters around and I like this suit too much," the conman chided as he reloaded his shotgun and his handgun. His sword lay besides El's and Rochelle's machete, the only three in the group. After showing above-average adaptability in melee weapons during the brief Special-Ops training, Cole granted the Survivors early on to pick their poison. With these, the Horsemen could still clear the land even without ammo. Only Coach refused. "Shit, they're looking hungry today...do you think they know?" Ro asked while watching the chaos downstairs. "I dunno an' I don' care t' find out," Ellis quipped.
The last stretch of the job would have been easier if the Army would also let them use flamethrowers but Mollies would have to do as both the conman and the ex-football player lit their remaining alcohol into the psychotic crowds. "Die, die, die, my darlings, DIE!" Ellis yelled gleefully while the flames consumed everything in its radius. He really took Coach's words to heart and put them to practice. "I think that boy lost his damn mind," the oldest of the team stated. "You gotta admit, it's contagious...oh fuck it, let's just blow this place up!" Nick exclaimed with a grin and a reloaded Uzi, jumping headfirst into the Horde. "Boys will be boys," the ex-reporter smiled before landing a head shot into an Infected woman. Clearing the land as a way to close their job was a tribute to their old lives, to let those 'fond' memories die in peace...until the group entered the hospital.
There was an overwhelming sense of despair within the walls, akin to being trapped in an unlocked room. White walls stood with paint flaking off, falling on piles mixed with the already blackened mounds of remains. Body bags, waiting for transport, now covered in the last flies leftover from the last waves of decomposition were haphazardly piled and some torn to shreds by possible Hunters or worse, Witches. The previous day forced a realization onto the Horsemen: they were still pretty damn human. CEDA posters were covered by military posters denoting the use of lethal force if necessary and Coach couldn't shake the feeling that he and his temporary family would become exactly that: instruments of death.
"Shoul' we split up? Sun's high yet an' we can cover more ground tha' way," the mechanic reasoned, convening for the moment in front of a hospital map, covering all six floors and basement. "Then Nick, take th' youn' un and cover the basement up to the 3rd floor while me an' Baby Girl take the 4th to the roof," the ex-football player commanded, the memory of their last split quite vivid in his mind. "Gee Coach, got any creepier places to send us?" Nick whined mostly humorous and a fraction of apprehension...there was a guaranteed crying whore in one of those floors. "Aw, are yew scared, Nicky?" El shot impishly, for which he got shoved with the assault rifle handle. "Any trouble, just holler!" Rochelle warned before she and Coach disappeared up the emergency stairs.
"How's the itching?" Nick inquired after he sniped a Boomer from three floors above. "Iss almos' gone but man, yer pretty damn good at makin' tats," the mechanic shrugged as he removed the bandages and tossed them aside; the letters stood out against his tanned skin, visible from every angle. "Kid, I'm halfway tempted about asking about your own life…then I remember you're a goddamn open book with speakers," the conman retorted before he jumped over the staircases and landed on top of the halved corpse with nothing but a splash of blood on his shoes. He knew the general aspects of his partner's life and the borderline retarded things he'd done with Keith. Hell, he should've been made like them, that damn hillbilly was impervious to permanent damage! But even he had to smile slightly: Ellis wasn't as dumb as everyone made him out to be…just like everyone naturally assumed Nick was an asshole or Rochelle was the sane one. Girl could come up with insane plans just as well as the hick…
The line of thought came to a stop when the kid dropped down beside the conman, cocking his shotgun to signal he was ready. "We can't go up that way again or we might miss an Infected," Nick said, looking up the emergency stairs. "Whaddya think CEDA an' th' military's gonna do with this dump? It don' look like a great place t' move from Meridian," Ellis reasoned, scratching his hair under his hat. "Lesson learned sport; don't ask questions you clearly don't want to know the answers to," the older of the two shut the discussion and began walking down the basement halls. The bloodstained signs still read "MORGUE", "PATHOLOGY LAB", and "CHAPEL", as well as the unlit arrows to follow to the other emergency stair cases. Both men's eyes lit up as their dilated pupils captured what few light they could, quite different from the infected sickly yellow glow.
The morgue was infested with blowflies and maggots, meaning that whatever was down there had recently killed. "God, I suddenly miss th' bayou..." Ellis hissed, trying to keep the bile down and not add to the pestilence. "Agreed..." Suddenly, they both heard a pitiful wail; crying bitch coming up. That's when the conman noted that most of the fresh kills were in fact Infected..."Careful El, you're Witch candy."
"Whatchu say?" The mechanic almost didn't hear the warning and almost nudged the Special Infected himself before Nick yanked him back. The Witch growled annoyed but not yet startled then returned to her sobs. "Tha' was too damn close!" Ellis mumbled while his partner set up the high caliber sniper rifle. Even in the almost pitch black darkness, Nick located his target, the temples, in his scope, "Like I said, Witch candy," then took one breath. The shot was loud as fuck but it did its job beautifully as red and pink flowered from the Witch's head. "She cleared this floor, let's keep going."
Rochelle never knew how much of her reporting expertise would come in handy here but basic knowledge of biology had her picking up the particular scent of fungi. The sound of coughing was the last she needed to know that a Smoker was near along with other Infected. The stained windows and disheveled beds spoke volumes of the Green flu tearing through the hospital: this was ground zero for the propagation in the city. "Shit...no Molotovs or pipe bombs left, Baby Girl," Coach grimaced while reloading his rifle. "Figures," she groaned but kept her head level as the older of the two led her into one of the open bedrooms. A couple of oxygen tanks were nearby, perfect for bombs only if both could compensate for the metal's resistance. "Or we could make something just as good," Rochelle's eyes lit up with a forming idea.
Grabbing a short pipe and a rubber hose, the ex-reporter tied them together and attached the hose end to the nozzle of one of the tanks. She then flicked a nearby match left by a dead man and watched the fire dance. "Oh hell yeah! Flamethrowers!" Coach hollered and followed her example. By the time he whistled to alert the Horde, both were decimating their numbers and setting the floors on fire. Dragging the cumbersome cylinders to the center of the floor was taxing but well worth the effort; the fire raged on, efficiently killing every last Infected by asphyxia, burns, or jumping to their demise to escape either. "Burn baby bu-OH SHIT TANK!" Rochelle's cheer was cut off by the roars of the biggest Infected known at the moment.
As the pair ran up the side stairs, the rumbling terror chased them up to the fifth floor, even through the flames and the hail of fire. The Hordes came at both Famine and War with the same ferocity, getting torn to pieces by the Tank in its blind rage. "We'll never outrun them!" Ro shouted as her automatic clicked empty and promptly discarded in favor of a Desert Eagle. Now it was Coach's turn to think up a plan and it was his riskiest yet. "Run to them windows and hold on to the edge!" He ordered as they both tackled the large opening. Just as he predicted, the Tank followed them to the edge but missed the crucial step of grabbing onto the building's walls. As Ellis and Nick hurried up the stairs to aid their friends, they both heard a howl then a loud thud noise on the ground below.
"I'm starting to doubt your sanity, Coach!" Rochelle laughed hard while they held tight. "Baby Girl, you can't get outta a zombie apocalypse all righ' in the head!" Coach argued as he tried to pull himself only to be aided a hand in a bloody black suit. "We're guessin' tha' Tank splat was yer handiwork?" The mechanic asked with a grin. "Tank BOMB, thank you very much." There wasn't much left of the Veterans' Hospital left to explore or kill; whatever the Smoker, the Witch, or the Tank didn't find, starvation finished it off. "This is some grim shit..." Rochelle let slip as the Survivors made their way to the sixth floor: Maternity.
There no evidence of babies being born there in the last few weeks, but it was disturbing to see the amount of bloody beds both big and small. "Worst birth control ever," Nick added, practically numb at the sights; he suddenly remembered that his ex-wife, Sofia, wanted kids but for all the wrong reasons. Ellis spotted that quiet change and patted the conman's shoulder while offering a kind smile. "Let's just the fuck out of here; I suddenly miss Cole's threats," he brushed the kid away.
The helicopter hovered over the setting sun like a floating shark over the once-flourishing town, casting its shadow over the Horsemen bloody trail. Of course the pilot never landed on the building but instead hovered low enough for them to hop on and high enough for any getaway. "Damn, we almost hoped you guys would go AWOL!" The pilot, same one that dropped the Survivors off three days earlier, came back for seconds but there was no backtalk today. Contrary to their almost carefree attitude at the beginning of the job, they were sullen and quiet, practically mourning their slowly disappearing freedom. And just as Holden had predicted and Ellis had observed, all four of them nodded off during the two-hour trip in a state of hibernation.
By the time the helicopter arrived, the CEDA workers, in their Haz-Mat suits, dragged each one of the modified Survivors into a restraint bed, to be taken back into the laboratories. Sgt. Cole personally took watch of the situation, impressed at the success rate these things were achieving. "Now if only McKinley could start that vaccine and cure," he said to himself as he closed the Alpha Series file. That mistake and its sole survivor would have to be eradicated soon; the forty-something soldier knew that playing God only made things worse. So he made it his responsibility that not only would these human weapons be kept in check by his command, but also ensure the survival of Meridian and all the remaining Army bases.