HHoD: As promised, the epilogue of my first RE fic, "World of the Undead" has been re-written to suit the latest developments of events in Project Lucifer. Actually, I wouldn't really say rewritten. I just added a scene and fixed a few sentences to make everything fit nicely.
Astral Slayer: Yeah, go ahead and use Kenny.
E-Z B: Ooh, now THERE'S an idea I'm gonna have to steal from you! ;)
XXXXX
Jack and I bolted back to the school as fast as our legs would allow. He had a skateboard tucked under one arm – and for the first time in my life, I was thankful for the thing. We always used to make comments behind his back – and sometimes to his face about bringing it to school. It made sense, really. He lived quite a distance from our school. The only school in the downtown area was a private institution called St. Michael's Catholic High, one that his guardians were too poor to afford. I shouted for him to use it.
"One," he replied, "I ain't leavin' you here to fend for yourself against these things. And two, those things will be on us by the time I get some good speed on this thing. Runnin' is the best way, trust me!"
He wasn't going to leave me to fend for himself? I was touched, especially after everything I'd done to him since he came to the school. But faced with such a perilous situation, petty rivalries became just that – petty. And I wasn't expecting him to zoom off and leave me. That skateboard could've fit the both of us easily … right? How the hell was I supposed to know, I've never skateboarded in my life. Then I noticed the piece of tape wrapped down the middle of it, remembering that Phil told me he'd snapped the thing. I cursed Phil silently in my mind as we continued for the school. My lungs were burning by now, and a quick glance backward revealed that the birds would be on us in a few seconds. The front stairs were within sprinting distance. We were so close to safety!
I noticed a drunk man, a bum, actually, who emitted the most horrid smell I'd ever come across, wandering aimlessly in front of the main door. The steps he took her small and lazy, his toes barely leaving the ground. He seemed oblivious to the murder of crows approaching quickly, despite their loud cawing and deafening flap of their collective wings. Well if he wanted to get pecked to death, he could go right ahead. I bolted past the man and nearly gagged as I got a sniff of his body odor, the full brunt of it as I'd only been a foot or two away. As I darted past, I could've sworn he reached out and tried to grab me, but in the confusion of everything going on, I couldn't be sure.
Jack stopped and grabbed the man's forearm, and tried pulling him into the school with us. "Please sir," Jack said, "you've got to come in with us!" I swear he did it just to make me feel like a bad person, convincing the drunk guy to come in with us while I happily left him for the ravenous crows. But instead of following Jack into the building, the bum leaned forward and almost fell into him, as if he was trying to knock him over. Jack lost his balance and stumbled onto his rear on the ground.
I was holding the door open now, waiting for Jack to follow, but instead, I saw him wrestling on the ground with the strange, smelly bum on top of him while Jack struggled to get to his feet. The bum bent his head down, jaws wide open while his victim screamed in horror, moving his head aside to avoid the vicious bite meant for him. Noticing that this guy, whoever he was, was clearly not on our side, I ran back out and delivered a swift kick to his head.
"Get the hell off him!" I screamed, seizing Jack by the collar and hauling him inside the building. The flock of crows were so close now, the breeze of their flapping wings blew my hair into ripples. There was no time for Jack to get back on his feet. He kicked at the first birds to approach us while I pulled him into the building, past the bum who was now rising slowly to his feet, and slammed the door shut behind us.
The swarm of birds were pecking at the window set into the metal doors, smashing it so hard with their beaks that they were splattering it with their rust colored blood. To our horror, a few of the birds had begun pecking the bum, ripping bits of flesh off his body. I wanted to look away but was frozen with terror at the sight. Even stranger was the fact that if the stranger felt the pain, he wasn't screaming. Hell, he wasn't even paying attention to the birds attacking him. Instead, he walked right up to the window that Jack and I were looking outside from with that same slow, lazy walk and started beating against it with open palms.
"Holy shit!" Jack cried. We both stumbled backwards with fright as the thumps against the door got harder and harder.
"What the fuck is wrong with that guy!" I said, pointing a shaky finger.
"You know if he pulls the handle on that thing …"
"Shit!" We both made a dash for the door, seizing the handle and began pulling with all our might. If he pulled on it from the outside, it would open and he would get in. We didn't know the hell this bum was on, but one thing was for sure. We weren't going to let him in with us. There was something hostile about him – aside from trying to bite Jack. There was something about him that made our skin crawl. He was comfortable – way too comfortable being in the company of those crows.
"What in the world is going on out here?" somebody cried from behind us.
"Mrs. Bietelbaum!" I cried, noticing her. The ruckus had caused class interruptions, and I knew Bietelbaum didn't like interruptions, second to her number one pet peeve, late students. "Get the principal!"
Our history teacher put a hand to her mouth and gasped in terror, having the same reaction Jack and I did when we saw the man getting pecked to death by crows. Only it didn't seem like he was dying, unless he was already dead … I took a look at his skin – a sickly gray, but he looked nothing like the zombie in the picture at the precinct. He just looked … drunk, really.
"Let the man inside!" she demanded.
"No way!" Jack protested. "The guy tried to bite me! I ain't lettin' some loco come in here and …"
There was the smashing of glass, and a strong hand came through the window, seizing my wrist. Little glass cubes fell all over us, but it was the hand that worried me the most. It had a powerful grip and as strong as it was, the hand was cold and stiff. Revolted by the touch of this bum, I reared backward and screamed, lifting a leg up and stomping down hard on his forearm and fingers. I scratched my own arm with the bottom of my shoe, but I didn't care at that point. I just wanted to break a few fingers so he'd let me go and run away crying. Then again, if he wasn't feeling the crows devouring him as the stood there trying to devour us, I'm sure he couldn't feel the impact of my foot against his arm.
Jack had let go of the door and wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, struggling with all his might to pull me from the sick bum. But our combined strength wasn't loosening the grip, not to mention I felt like my arm was about to be pulled from its socket. Then in a split second, I caught a glimpse of a large, brick-like fist come crashing down on the bum's forearm, and heard a loud, audible snap that rang in our ears. I suddenly felt the grip loosen on my arm and I was yanked backwards by Jack, who hadn't realized what was going on either.
We were sent crashing to the linoleum floor, all over the little cubes of glass. That goodness that was tempered glass or we could've ended up with far more serious injuries that just a few bruises. Looking upwards, I saw Mrs. Bietelbaum rooted to the spot in the exact same position she was in when she first noticed the bum and the crows. Standing by the door was Phil Barrett, a baseball bat in his hands, waiting for the bum to reach in again so he could smash whatever appendage came through the windows. A big guy like Phil was intimidating enough unarmed. I shuddered to think of the damage he could do when armed with a baseball bat.
A crow tried flying through, but its spread wings made its body too wide to fit. It was stuck there, cawing at us as it tried to get closer, but yet was unable to move forward. Phil took the opportunity to strike, swinging the baseball bat downwards onto the skull of the bird, knocking its head off clean.
"We've got to seal off this window!" he cried. "Mrs. Bietelbaum, get a table or something to prop up against the door. Jack, Kenny, both of you help her! I'll keep these things busy!"
"There!" Jack said, pointing at a student art display just beside the grand staircase that led to the upper level. Mrs. Bietelbaum and I followed in suit, clearing the table off all the sculptures with one fell swipe, hearing them crash to the ground in shards of baked clay. It hurt my heart a little, actually. I'd always been a fan of art, but now was definitely not the time to appreciate it. Even with the three of us lifting the table in a joint effort, the thing felt like it was made of bricks. Might as well have been, the tough table, definitely good for holding up all those clay sculptures. Jack, Mrs. Bietelbaum and I huffed and puffed as we bought the thing over to the door, where Phil stepped back from his post, helping us prop the table up against the door. Mrs. Bietelbaum's eyes were wide, her lower lip was trembling in fear, and her round face was pale with fright. Despite that, she managed to be more of an asset to our little makeshift team.
"I demand to know what is going on," she finally said when we'd propped the table in place. "Who is that psychotic gentlemen outside with all the birds around him?"
"Ain't no gentlemen, that's for sure," Jack said.
"That's the same guy that tried to take a chunk outta me earlier this morning," Phil said, rubbing his arm as he looked toward the door, now boarded up by a giant art table.
"He tried to bite you?" I asked. "How long has this guy been hanging around out there?"
"I don't know," Phil replied, shrugging. "This morning he was sitting in the same spot, scratching himself. I told him to go see a doctor and he agreed. But when I gave him my hand to help him up, he looked at it and then just went for it like it was a piece of steak or something."
"Did he manage to draw any blood?"
Phil shook his head. "I pulled my hand away and decked him in the face the moment I felt his teeth on my skin," he replied. "Then he said sorry and walked away, holding his face. But now it looks like he's some kind of fuckin' cannib..."
Something had clicked in all of our heads at that exact moment. "You don't think he's got something to do with those murders, do you?" I suggested.
"Then we must inform the authorities immediately!" Mrs. Bietelbaum declared. "Remember now, children, what did the man look like?"
"Overgrown beard, wool cap," Phil said.
"Gross yellow fingernails and torn jeans," Jack continued.
"Missing a right shoe and smelled like shit," I added.
"Do you think he's still outside?" The four of us looked towards the door, noticing that the noise beyond it had stopped and all was quiet once again, save for the yapping in the class that Mrs. Bietelbaum had left.
"I'll call the police right now," Phil said, digging his cell phone from his pocket.
XXXXX
August 20, 1998
"Chief, I really think you should take into consideration everything that I've said so far." Never in my history of working with the Raccoon City police department did I ever imagine that I'd ever be this straightforward with the chief. But his actions – or lack thereof were really beginning to frustrate me. These strange incidents were becoming a regular occurrence and he hadn't lifted a finger to investigate it, let alone stop it. The citizens of the city, whether they were from uptown or downtown, we were all in trouble and left to fend for ourselves while the chief of police sat on his fat ass and stuffed his face with doughnuts all day.
"I've already given you my reasons for my actions," Chief Irons replied, chewing the last bits of a chocolate doughnut with the crumbs stuck to his thick mustache. "And I told you I don't want you leaking any of this to the public."
"It's kind of hard when these attacks happen to be IN public!" I insisted. This was getting ridiculous. I had Chief Irons on one hand pretending like nothing was going on, and Chris on the other who knew what shit was hitting the fan but was refusing to tell me. I was so angry, at Chief Irons, and Chris, and at myself for not knowing what to do, I swear I could've quit on the spot, taken Chris's advice and left the damn city to its fate. But I didn't. Damn conscience.
"I've said it once, and I'll say it again. Forget about what happened." Chief Irons could have repeated that all he wanted but I wasn't going to accept that. And if the other citizens of Raccoon knew just what his approach to the matter was, I doubted they would either.
"As a tax paying citizen of this city, as a victim of not one but two attacks, of all people in this goddamn town besides the next of kin who've already died from these attacks, I deserve to know what's going on more than anyone else in town! We have the right to know if it's safe to continue living in the city. Why are the streets deserted on usually busy days? Why do we hear strange moans at night far off in the distance? Why normally gentle animals suddenly aggressive and attack every breathing thing in sight? Sir, I have not come to talk to you as Kenny, the high school volunteer who works hard for free eight hours a day. I'm visiting you as a civilian, one of the people you and the entire police department are meant to protect. And I want some answers."
The chief didn't respond. Instead, he stuffed a hand in his pocket and brushed his mustache with the other, standing up from his desk. His calm demeanor intimidated me, but I had a point and refused to be shaken by his authority.
"Very well, Kenny," he said, nodding his head slightly. "You want an explanation?"
"Yes, sir," I said quietly. Great, there went any form of integrity I had established.
"Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company has been running illegal biological tests on creatures with the intent of creating weapons of mass destruction. The creatures have escaped from their secret labs in the Arklay Mountains following the explosion of the Spencer Estate and are now terrorizing the city."
Anger rose in my throat. Did he take me for a child? What was this sorry excuse for a horror story? He was belittling me, tossing away my worries away, making up some childish fairy tale to shut me up. A pharmaceutical company who creates cough syrup, first aid sprays and band-aids creating biological weapons of mass destruction? I couldn't contain my anger anymore. And exploding in front of the chief wouldn't have been a good idea if I wanted to keep working in the precinct.
"Does that answer your question, Kenny?" he asked, leaning forward, resting his weight on his palms as he closed the distance between our faces with his.
"Crystal," I said through clenched teeth. "Thank you for your time, sir. I need to get back to work."
"I'm sure I need not show you the way out."
XXXXX
After my little confrontation with the chief, I walked out of his office feeling a little foolish. I was sure that I'd been doing the right thing, but the way I just accepted his excuse for an explanation must've totally confirmed what he thought of me – a mere child working for an organization far bigger than I could ever hope to climb the ranks in. I spent the rest of the work day being ultra submissive. I wanted my co-workers to know that I was a dedicated worker, walking about with my head hung low, calling people by their official terms. I wanted to prove that I could one day be an asset to the team. Perhaps I'd gotten too comfortable that I'd forgotten my place.
The summer heat was getting the better of me. I felt sleepy and nauseous at the same time, and the police precinct, being made practically of windows, didn't do anything to intensify the heat. I walked down the hallway, past the statue holding the red jewel and down the corridor to where the S.T.A.R.S. room was. In my arms, I held a silver tray in one hand with boxes of doughnuts of all kinds – chocolate dip, maple dip, long johns, sprinkled … In the other I had a huge pitcher of coffee about twenty five percent of my height. It weighed my arm down to the point where my shoulder was starting to cry out in pain by a series of throbs.
I opened the door to the S.T.A.R.S. room, albeit with a little difficulty with my full hands. The overwhelming stench of body odor assaulted my senses as the S.T.A.R.S. members ran about the room in a frenzy like nobody's business. I headed over to Captain Wesker's desk at the head of the room. Since his death at the mansion, the S.T.A.R.S. members have been acting a little differently. I expected them to show some remorse. I mean Wesker was a cold guy, but you'd think that working in such close quarters with someone will form some kind of bond between the both of you, right? It felt as if I was the one to be most affected by his death. The only person kind enough to help me out was Rebecca, the nice rookie of the entire group.
"That looks heavy," she said, taking the coffee pitcher from me.
"I can handle it," I said, grasping back for it. Rebecca only rolled her eyes.
"Boys…"
"Hey! How's my favorite little tike?" Chris asked, simultaneously rubbing my head, thus crushing it into my shoulders with one hand, grabbing a doughnut off the tray with another.
"I'm okay, Mr. Redfield," I replied.
"Tch, Mr. Redfield," Chris scoffed. "I told you, I want none of that formality bullshit."
"Oh, let it go, Chris," Jill called from her desk as she waved her hand. "Kenny's just being polite, like any respectable prospecting police officer should be." She turned her attention to me. "You have any mail for me this morning, hun?"
"Yes ma'am," I replied, walking over to her desk. I reached into my shoulder bag and pulled out a stack of envelopes, handing it over to her. Jill sifted through her mail quickly, pausing as she got to a magazine. "Playboy August edition, huh?" she asked, raising her eyebrow at me.
"Oops, I think that belongs to Mr. Redfield."
Chris overheard and choked, a nice chunk of chewed up doughnut flying from his mouth. "Ah … put that on my desk, heh heh."
"Yes sir." I walked over to the table adjacent to Jill's and placed the magazine onto the table. I reached back into the shoulder bag, looking for more mail with Chris's name on it and placed the enveloped on the table. However upon turning around, the shoulder back scraped some stacks of paper off his desk, scattering them all over the floor. I instinctively crouched to the ground and gathered them as fast as I could. "I'm sorry."
I never saw Chris move so quickly in my life. He dashed over from the doughnut pile on Wesker's desk over to his and began helping me sort out the papers. "Don't worry about it, kiddo, let me handle this one."
"But I …" that's when I saw what he was so worried about. I held up two plane tickets in my hand. I hardly had time to take a good look at it when he viciously snatched them from my grasp. "Sorry, Kenny. Classified information. You didn't get a good look at that, did you?"
"No, sir."
"Bullshit."
"Yes, sir. You're leaving for France in a few weeks. How come? I didn't record any vacation leaves this month, at least none from the S.T.A.R.S members."
"This is a top secret mission, Kenny," Jill explained calmly. "Nobody is supposed to know about this, not the police officers, not even Mr. Irons himself. So please, don't tell anyone about this, okay?"
"I won't."
"She means it, kiddo," Chris said, grabbing me by the shoulder and wagging his finger at me. "Do not tell ANYBODY."
"Yes, sir."
