Chapter 13: First it Giveth
September 27th 2312 hours
Jessop came upon the camp site a lot more suddenly than he expected.
The trail he'd been walking along for the past few hours suddenly opened up into a wide clearing, ringed by a total of seven log cabins, each of which was almost as large as a modern bungalow house, and featured a wooden porch complete with swinging benches. In the centre of the clearing was the remains of a burnt-out camp bonfire, charcoaled logs lying half-buried in a pile of black ash, surrounded by a series of cut-down logs that acted as seating benches for the camp attendees. Nestled in between two of the cabins was a much smaller building, closer to a hut in size, the sign over its front door reading 'Camp Ranger'. At the opposite end of the clearing he could see a gated dirt road that lead away into the trees, possibly back towards the city.
Arklay Springs had clearly been unattended for at least the last week- there was no sign of litter from visitors or even any other sign of anyone human being there. It was highly likely the troubles of the cannibal murders had scared them all away. Just as well, because it meant less time spent on trying to find and rescue anymore innocent bystanders. All he had to worry about were the remaining survivors from the prison escape.
He'd found another two bodies out in the woods not too long ago- or at least, he hoped it was at least two bodies. They looked as though they'd been thrown into a blender- all that was left were the odd severed limb, badly chewed on, blood-splattered dry grass, and chunks of torn skin and flesh. It was impossible to tell who they were originally, but he recognised enough to know they were from the prisoner's group- one severed leg was wearing the remnants of prisoner overalls.
His mind had been racing ever since then, trying to conjure up something which could have done that much damage. Wolves didn't reside in the Arklay region, so the only other alternative he could think of was a grizzly bear. But the grizzlies in Arklay had never gone anywhere near to where people were likely to hike or camp out, preferring to stay in higher altitudes. But considering how much things had turned to shit in the last couple of days, it wouldn't surprise him if grizzly bears had been driven insane just like all those people who had besieged the prison gates.
He heard a sound behind him, through the trees, and he spun himself around, his heart rate upping a notch or three. It was a low thump, the sound of something large and hefty making its passage through the shurbs.
He swore whatever it was had been following him since he had consulted that guide map hours before. He'd heard the thumps, along with the odd bawling noise and heavy footsteps fingering through the trees and shrubs. His over-active imagination hadn't helped matters much here, and now he'd become convinced that he was being stalked. Maybe it was time to find somewhere to lie low for a while.
He began to walk swiftly, crossing the grassy clearing and passing through the central area, bypassing the long-dead campfire, heading straight for the cabins directly opposite where he had entered the site to begin with. He heard another thump, and he looked over his shoulder quickly, cold sweat forming on the back of his neck. Then there was the rustling of trees, and he heard a low, gurgling bawl. Like something large trying to gargle phlegm in the back of its throat. Then a second bawl came, clearer this time, more forceful.
Jessop began to hurry his step, and soon he was at the front door of the nearest cabin, a brass number '4' hanging on the wooden door. The curtains were drawn. He tried the doorknob, but it just rattled in place. He quickly moved to the next cabin along, just as the trees he had emerged from began to rustle noticeably.
Shit, shit, shit-
The second door, numbered '5', only rattled its doorknob in a futile fashion, much like the first one had. Another bawling sound came to his ears, much closer this time. The trees shook again, much more violently. Beads of cold sweat were rapidly sliding down his back now. The last door- numbered '6'- was his last chance of salvation from being stuck out in the open with whatever it was about to come roaring after him.
He gripped the knob tightly, and gave it a quick rattle. To his utter amazement, it creaked open immediately. He just stood in place for a few moments longer, staring into the shadowy confines of the cabin, and then finally shook himself aware as another bawling cry reached his ears. He dove inside, threw the door shut behind him, and threw the latch into place.
He backed away slowly from the shut door, breathing a welcome sigh of relief. He glanced around at the dusty interior, taking in the coat stand by the door, the small chest of drawers in the near corner, and the two sets of bunk beds, freshly dressed but with the clothes wrinkle-free.
And then he realised that he wasn't alone in here.
"Shit!" he cried, a little too loudly, and promptly pulled out his revolver, aiming it towards the silhouette of a person he could see in the far corner- aiming a shotgun towards him.
"Woah, hey! I'm human! I'm human!" cried a male voice as the shotgun went up to show he wasn't hostile. Then a figure stepped forwards.
"What the...?"
It was Herman Adams- though with his tattered and ripped prison overalls and the blood and dirt smeared across his face, Jessop may not have recognised him were it not for his prisoner number stitched across the left breast of the outfit. He carried a shotgun in his meaty hands, had a Beretta M9 tucked into the front of his waistband, and an M14 rifle slung over his shoulder.
"Jesus, we all thought you were dead," the Aryan said, his normal venom and aggression long drained from him.
"Pity," responded Peyton flatly, suddenly remembering why he'd slogged this far in the first place, raising the revolver and aiming it at Adams' chest.
"The hell are you doing, screw?" stammered Adams, shaking his head.
"Taking you in, that's what," responded Jessop firmly. "Everything might have gone to shit, but I've still got a duty to look out for the rest of you inmates, if you haven't killed the others off yet."
"Jesus Christ, man"-
"I saw what you did to Hector, and to some of the others!" responded Jessop, cutting Adams off mid-response. "Shot them like animals. I knew you deserved to get the needle, but shit man"-
"I had no choice!" snapped Adams in response, practically pleading. "They were sick! They were turning into those monsters, I had no damned choice!"
"Sure you didn't," responded Jessop, not convinced. "And what about the others?"
"Hell if I know!" snapped Adams. "They went their own way when we got attacked in the woods! There's something else out there, man!"
Jessop's aim wavered somewhat. He honestly believed Adams about the part with something lurking about out in the woods, after finding those two desiccated bodies and what he could hear just prior to barging inside the cabin.
"Dammit Jessop," growled Adams, "I appreciate you growing a dick and all that, but now is not the damn time! I barely made it this far, and I'm pretty sure that damned thing's not too far away from this camp. That's why I was holed up in here- trying to lose the tail!"
A sudden roar rang through the night outside, and Adams' face turned as white as a sheet, while Jessop nearly jumped out of his skin and turned around to look back the way he'd come.
"Fuck, you lead it here!" snarled Adams a she pushed past to peer out through one of the windows. Jessop didn't say anything, because for one Adams had the most guns right now and his capacity for sudden bouts of violence was well-known amongst the other CO's. He simply bit his lip instead and moved up to peer out his own window.
They could see it clearly now- the massive, hairy shape that had emerged from the forest and was now snuffling about in the short grass surrounding the central bonfire, following the exact route that Jessop had done minutes before. Then it suddenly stood up on its hind legs, and let out another burst of a roar. Jessop could see clearly that it was a grizzly now- but it wasn't like any grizzly that he had ever seen in his life.
"Oh fuck," he whispered.
The red pick-up truck pulled up at the side of the road on one of the many overpass bridges that crossed Main Street, easily the biggest avenue in the entire city, and also perhaps the most well-populated with zombies. Even after the R.P.D had used explosives to gut most of the street early on in the outbreak in an attempt to wide out the invading undead, a good number of them still remained, continuing to flock towards the largest concentrations of undead they could detect. Why wasn't any of their concern, long as it left them more targets to hunt.
"Just look at them all," sighed Harry Nichols as he got out of the vehicle and peered down the street over the zombies that currently lingered- fifty at least, and they were making no efforts to move away either. They wouldn't need the spotlights or the firecrackers here to lure more to them.
"Hoowee!" laughed Samson as he exited the truck himself, his rifle slung over his shoulder. "At this rate we're gonna be out of bullets before the dawn! What's the tally at now?"
"36 for yours truly," responded Harry with a slight hint of a smile, "and you are on 29 so far. But your little brother's coming up hot behind you with 25. Looks like Ruben finally grew a pair and manned up."
"Yeah, must have," chuckled Samson darkly. "But it'll be a cold day in hell before I let that little runt have me beaten!"
Ruben exited the truck from the opposite side, his face blank and withdrawn. Sure he had caught up majorly over the last few hours, but every zombie he killed only made the memory of that man- lying wounded in the street, screaming his head off- burn more vividly with each rifle shot and dead body that hit the tarmac. They could have saved him. They could have held their fire, saved him from the zombie hordes. But no, thanks to Samson and his father thinking with their gun triggers as always, another body had been added to the ever-expanding list of the dead.
He wanted to get out of there. Be anywhere else but here, trapped in a city filled with the undead. He looked over towards the truck his father was currently unloading the ammo crate from, and saw the dented bodywork and the splashes of blood from where his father had ran down the few solitary zombies who had wandered into their path, hooting and laughing along with Samson as he did. He felt sick at the time, just like he felt sick now.
"Ruben."
He looked up suddenly to see Samson standing in front of him, regarding him with a contemptuous face.
"What do you want, Sam?" asked Ruben, irritated.
"Oh come on, you're still not bent out of shape about that poor bastard I shot, are you?" smirked his older brother. "You can't change the past. Get over it." Samson's callous disregard for that stranger's life made something boil up inside of Ruben.
"Fuck you Sam," the younger brother hissed, suddenly getting up in his brother's face, practically nose to nose. "That guy didn't have a fucking gun on him! We had rifles and we were at least a hundred yards away from him! What kind of threat was he to us?"
Samson shrugged. "Like I said, double points."
Ruben clenched his fists tightly, shaking with anger that was beginning to pour into his body, overtaking all his other thought processes. "You...stupid bastard," he muttered, through clenched teeth.
"What did you just call me?" asked Samson, eyes narrowed. All though this exchange Harry had not made any motion to intervene, physically or otherwise, but he glanced up every now and then from his intended sniper spot at the edge of the overpass. He looked faintly bemused to begin with, but by now he looked concerned.
"You heard!" snapped Ruben, speaking up for a change, letting all his past resentment seep out. "You fucking, lead-brained, gun-nut! You and dad are always the same! You're too busy playing with your damned guns to take any notice of anything else! Everyone is dead, Ruben! Everyone! We could be the only ones left alive in this damned city and all you care about is scoring a few more kill shots before the end!"
Samson just shook his head slowly. "You know what Ruben, you've always been a fucking limp-dick, you know that?"
"I. Don't. Care," growled Ruben through his teeth, "I don't care what you or dad thinks of me anymore! I just want to get the hell out of this shit storm we're stuck in!"
"Yeah, well I don't give a shit what you think," responded Samson, suddenly reaching behind his back and pulling out his nickel-plated Colt M1911, shoving it into his brother's face. Ruben recoiled, eyes wide in shock, hands raised with open palms.
"Samson! What the hell are you doing?" demanded Ruben as he backed away, slowly.
"Samson?" asked Harry, looking up, and then he saw the position his two sons were in, and he cursed loudly. "Samson, no!"
"Doing what I should have done ages ago!" snarled Samson, taking a step forwards and pushing the gun barrel towards Ruben's face. "I should have put a bullet in your miserable little shitty face years ago, Ruben! Then you wouldn't be such a shit stain on the Nichols family name!"
"Samson, no!" pleaded Harry desperately, his rifle now abandoned. "Don't do this! He's your brother!"
"Why not, dad?" hissed Samson as he turned on his father, gun still holding its aim on Ruben. "You're always talking about how much you're ashamed of him, dad! I'm doing this for all of us! Those zombies didn't kill him, so I may as well do their job!"
Ruben saw how Samson wasn't watching him directly. It would be dangerous, but it looked as though there was only one thing to do at this moment. He lunged forwards, hands wrapping around the M191, trying to wrestle it away. Samson immediately turned, trying to wrench it back.
"You little shit!" he snarled. "I'm doing this for your own good!"
"Samson, no!"
Samson was bigger than Ruben, stronger too. But the sheer rush of adrenaline had given Ruben a sudden spurt of extra strength, and he tugged the weapon to the side, trying to peel it out of Samson's hands. But his brother wasn't giving up that easily, even as Harry was pleading for them to both stop.
"Samson, stop it!" yelled Ruben as he frantically shoved the pistol barrel out of his face again.
"I'll kill you! If it's the last thing I do!" screamed Samson, eyes manic, jaw set firmly. He'd gone completely over the edge now- there was no hope of trying to talk him down.
"NO!" yelled Ruben and Harry simultaneously, as the pistol came down, to waist level, two pairs of hands frantically scrabbling over the nickel-plated surfaces. Then after a few more seconds, the inevitable happened.
BAM!
The single gunshot cut through everything else like a knife through butter, and made Harry flinch from the sudden sound. Ruben and Samson both froze; each other's eyes and mouths wide open in utter shock. Then after what seemed like an age, Samson stumbled backwards, hands clutching at his stomach where a deep red stain was already blossoming. The smoking M1911 was in Ruben's hands.
"Samson..." whispered Ruben.
"NO!" screamed Harry as he ran forwards. Samson only let out a muted sigh as he crumpled backwards into his father's arms, limply, his life flowing freely from his body- literally. Already Harry's pants were becoming stained with blood.
"Oh God, Samson...my son, my precious son," whispered Harry, tears flowing freely down his face now. Ruben just continued to stand there and stare dumbly, the utter shock from what he had just done crashing down on top of him. The implications were huge, ugly.
He'd just murdered his own brother, even if it was in self-defence. That horrific sensation of murdering another human being was something that should never have been inflicted on another.
The M1911 fell from his limp hand, and clattered onto the tarmac.
"Ruben...son, go get the first aid kit," said Harry suddenly, in between pained sobs.
"Dad"-
"JUST DO IT!"
Ruben scrambled around, throwing open the truck's rear passenger side door and snatching up the green first aid box inside that they had taken from a ruined clothing store they had happened upon hours beforehand. Ruben knew that it was hopeless, considering the obscene amount of blood that poured from Samson's body, but his father was going through the motions. And Ruben knew if he didn't focus on something else he'd be sick on the spot.
"Come on son...come on son..." whispered Harry as he continued to cradle Samson's inert form. Blood had soaked his own jeans and shoes now.
By the time Ruben had returned with the first aid kit, it was already too late. The pool of blood beneath Samson was incredibly wide now, and Ruben just stood as the widening pool reached the tips of his shoes, the useless first-aid kit held in his right hand.
"He's gone," whispered Harry, his voice scarcely above a hushed whisper.
"Oh God," muttered Rueben as he dropped the green box, cold dread beginning to creep up his spine and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He fell to his knees in Samson's blood, head hanging low. "Oh Jesus, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry dad, but...he was going to kill me." Harry didn't reply, he didn't even look up from his slumped position.
Ruben heard the soft, low moaning a few moments later, and his head whipped around. He could see the zombies approaching from down the street, no doubt drawn out by the commotion between the two brothers. He cursed and grabbed for the M1911 laying in Samson's blood a few inches away. After spending a few moments clearing the sticky fluid out of the slide, he raised the nickel-plated handgun and fired.
The first round tore off half the skull of a teenager in a baseball cap and red shirt, and he slumped to his knees and then onto his face without another sound. He turned and put a second bullet through the left eye of a blonde-haired man, blowing his brains out the back of his head. A third shot took the head clean off a slight woman in a red dress, and a fourth took out the jaw of a taller man in a spray of blood and broken teeth. Two more shots dropped two last zombies, and then he was forced to drop the M1911, the spare ammo clips being on Samson's person or inside the truck.
He grabbed up his S75 instead, not needing to aim through the scope at such extreme close range. Still in a crouched position, he fired, and the .303 round took off the head of a man in a ripped dinner suit, and he quickly pulled the bolt back to eject the spent shell casing. Another zombie, a rather frail-looking woman in jogging gear, came after him at a more hurried pace, and he quickly sighted and fired, the round blowing off the right side of her face and sending her spinning to the floor. He racked the bolt once again.
BANG!
Another gunshot sounded, much louder than before, and he felt a hot searing pain rip through the left side of his neck. He froze in place, only vaguely aware of the hot liquid that seeped out of the hideous wound ripped through his neck. He clamped a hand to the wound, feeling an obscene amount of blood seeping out between his fingers. He fell back, going into shock, the world taking on a rather subdued state as time flowed more serenely, the end surely coming. He looked up at the approaching zombies, reaching out for him with stiff arms, mouths opening and closing slackly.
"W-what...?" he tried to ask.
The second gunshot only lasted for an instant, before he was plunged into eternal darkness smothering his sense.
Ruben fell back onto the tarmac, the back of his skull shot out, leaking blood freely. The shot had come from Harry's own handgun, a cobalt-painted Beretta M9 handgun. There were tears in his eyes still. Harry had taken no pride or satisfaction in the act, after Samson had bled out in his arms.
He had failed them both. Ruben was right- they should have left the city when the troubles started, and now they were all as good as dead. Fit to join the others.
God...I was such a damned fool!
"I'm sorry," he whispered, even as the zombies reached Ruben's body and began to crouch down, ready to feed on the fresh meat. He knew that the others would move onto Harry and Samson soon enough, but at least they wouldn't experience the horror of being eaten alive.
He pressed the barrel of the M9 against Samson's head and fired, spraying himself with blood and brain tissue. "I'm sorry," he repeated, as he ensured his second son would never come back as one of those soulless monsters. And with that, only himself was left.
"I'm sorry," he said for the last time, as he pressed the barrel against the side of his own head, and only hesitated for a moment longer before pulling the trigger. Moments later, the zombies stooped down to feed.
Another family lost in the madness of Raccoon City. Another horrific tragedy.
"Damn it, it's got our scent!" hissed Adams as he pulled Jessop away from the window. The bear grunted loudly, and then began to pad towards them, following the exact trail Jessop had just walked minutes earlier. It snuffled at the ground a few times, and let out a burst of a roar before moving towards them again.
"Oh shit, now what?" asked Jessop, fear getting the better of him.
"You tell me, you're the CO who walked all the way out here to drag me back," responded Adams snidely. Jessop gave the inmate a blank look, even as the latter was moving towards a door at the back of the cabin, that the CO hadn't even noticed until now.
"Come on, down this way!" Adams barked as he threw the door open, exposing a pitch black void beyond.
"What the hell?" asked Jessop.
"Come on, it'll get us the hell out of here!" ordered Adams, and the insistence in his voice compelled Jessop to obey, lest he get messily killed by the freak about to come crashing through the cabin's front door. He was in the process of pulling himself through when the door suddenly rattled in its frame. Then they suddenly splintered in half from a massive force slamming against it from the other side at full force.
Then the door came apart entirely, a huge, furry mass pushing its way through the doorway, breaking apart the frame as it did so. Almost immediately afterwards, an overwhelming stench of blood, rotted flesh, wet fur, and a dozen other hideous aromas forced its way into the cabin, almost making Jessop throw up in disgust. Then that roar came again, this time much more pronounced in the narrow space.
Jessop lifted his revolver up and fired twice, the retorts sounding more forceful inside. Though he clearly saw the puffs of blood emanate from where he shot the thing in the neck, it didn't even flinch, and instead roared once again. Adams grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him backwards down the narrow stairway.
"What is this?" stammered Jessop, the stress of the situation still a bit much for him. "What the fuck was that?"
"This is a maintenance passage," explained Adams, "it leads to the basement, and then there's another network of passages down there that leads us round the entire camp. And hopefully we'll be somewhat safe down there. And as for what that thing is...you got me."
Jessop began to descend the stairs on his own accord now, recognising Adams' logic in leading them both down here. That thing didn't look as though it'd be big enough to follow them down the stairwell, and they could likely find a way around it and out in the process.
Soon enough they found themselves in a dusty basement that clearly hadn't been attended in a while- thick dust coated the walls and most of the surfaces, and patches of mildew were crawling down the walls and across the ceiling from patches of damp ceiling and wall. The old boiler in the corner was rusted too, resembling a relic from the early 1900's. It didn't look as though it would work very well. Stacked in one corner were a few fuel drums, the scent of paraffin and gasoline faint in the air.
On each side of the basement was a single open passage, the darkness yawning beyond not helping to alleviate Jessop's fear right now, but there was a brief suggestion of light just beyond, showing that there was some form of electricity down here.
"There's an entire network down here," explained Adams breathlessly. "It goes around in a circle practically, underneath the cabins. We can just walk around for a few minutes and come out through a different one, get around the bastard."
"How long have you been hiding down here?" asked Jessop as he glanced around.
"Just the last couple of hours or so," responded Adams as he checked the ammo in his shotgun. "That damned things been walking about out there, trying to get my scent again. Guess it just latched onto you instead, huh?" There was a detached feeling in Adams' words as he spoke, much like he always sounded back in prison, behind bars.
Where he should be. But considering he has a shotgun now's not the time to push it.
Instead, he reached a hand out and said, "Can I at least have that rifle back? I'm pretty sure it was mine to begin with." Adams looked at him for a few moments, and then finally handed the old rifle to him.
"There's only seven rounds left in it," the inmate warned, even as Jessop pulled the bolt back to check the magazine.
"Wonderful," responded Jessop.
There was yet another roar, and a sudden splintering of wood as the bear finally forced itself inside the cabin, its sheer weight splintering even the wooden floorboards. Soil drifted down from the ceiling, the creaking following the exact path they had taken. It was following their scent. And consequently, it was trying to follow them down the narrow stairwell.
"Shit! Come on!" urged Adams, leading the way into one of the narrow, dark passages. Though Jessop could now see the odd globe of light that hung from the ceiling, the bulbs were clearly too old or too burnt out to provide any decent amount of illumination. He found himself hesitating somewhat at the edge of the passage.
"What the hell are you waiting for?" hissed Adams, "come on!"
What am I waiting for? Any excuse not to go into that dark passage, for one.
There was another earth-shaking roar, and then the sound of another door splintering open.
"Come on!" cried Adams, and that was all Jessop needed to plunge into the darkness after Adams, and finding himself dropped into a tiny, narrow expanse with only about two feet on either side of him, the odd globe of light above his head lighting the way. He couldn't see much detail, though he could see lichen crawling down wooden-planked walls.
Every now and then they passed a square-sized open space about 15 square feet, giving them a little more breathing room. Each was lit with an overhead bulb like the rest of the underground, and a lot of them contained propane tanks almost as tall as they were. Whatever for was beyond him, and was also the least of his concerns right now either way.
"Damn it, it's following us down the stairwell!" barked Adams angrily as they heard more roaring and baying. "It's gonna follow us all about at this rate!"
"Then we kill it!"
"What?" demanded Adams as he turned around and came to a dead halt. "You insane or something?"
Jessop wasn't quite sure how to reply to that. For one, the thing's bestial roars were beginning to drive him insane, drilling into his skull and not leaving his psyche, so perhaps he wasn't being entirely rational. But the more pertinent point was that as Adams had explained, he'd hidden in here to lose its scent. And if it had their scent now, it'd follow them to the ends of the earth. No, to be able to get away from this beast they'd have to kill it themselves.
"Look, if this damned thing manages to follow us out of here then it'd be nigh-on impossible to lose it again," explained the CO quickly, aware that they couldn't afford to just stand around talking like this. "We kill it here and now, and we don't have to worry about it following us, full stop."
"You're crazy, you know that?"
"That's Correctional Officer Crazy to you," retorted Jessop, surprised that he'd been able to regain his calmness so quickly.
"And any idea how we kill the damned thing?" Jessop glanced around, his eyes resting on one of the propane tanks they had passed by.
"We use those," he said, pointing. "I'm sure one good shot will snap that valve off and ignite the propane, blow the bastard to pieces."
"Oh yeah, and bring the entire ceiling down on your heads into the bargain!" half-yelled Adams, the stress getting to him.
"Well, desperate times call for desperate measures!" retorted Jessop, already taking hold of one of the propane tanks, struggling to move it on his own. "Help me with this!" Adams growled in annoyance and moved forwards to help the CO shift the canister, walking it over towards the group of tanks not too far from them, just before a bend in the passage.
The bear roared once more, its sound amplified within these narrow confines. The walls themselves seemed to shake from the sheer noise generated.
"Damn it, hurry up!" cursed Jessop.
"This thing isn't exactly easy to move, you know!" shot back Adams, as the roar was heard again, along with light thuds as it moved about, trying to get their scent. Then it was moving again, coming closer.
"Here, lie it down, like this!" urged Jessop, easing the canister down so it was laying horizontal on the floor, pointing towards the other canisters, so that when the valve was broken it would hopefully act as a missile, flying into the other canisters and setting off a devastating chain reaction.
But the canister was abruptly dropped for the last few inches, a hollow 'dong' sound reverberating through the passage. The bear's footfalls stopped suddenly, and then another bawling call was heard.
"Damn it, it heard us!" cursed Adams. Then the footfalls were coming again, at a more rapid pace, homing in on them. The light bulbs hanging from the ceiling began to shake, dust cascading down, shaken loose.
"Come on, get back!" urged Jessop, as they rolled the canister into place, made sure it was secure, and then backed well away, weapons raised. "Wait for it to get into position before you take the shot. We'll probably only get once chance at this."
"Well that doesn't make for much pressure, does it?" asked Adams sarcastically as he readied his shotgun. The thundering movements came closer and closer, the light bulbs threatening to drop out of their fixtures altogether.
Then they saw it. It rounded the far corner at high speed, smashing into the side wall as it lost its footing, its massive claws struggling to get purchase on the tiles. Its side slammed into the wall and about 10 feet of passageway simply caved in, wooden boards splintering to dump, several kilos worth of soil into the passage, but its travel was barely slowed down. It began to thump towards them again, bawling and roaring in its deep, throaty roar, the walls splintering and coming apart under its sheer bulk.
"Wait, let it get closer!" insisted Jessop, his rifle raised and fixed on the propane tank they had just moved into position. The braying beast came closer and closer still, clearing six feet with every bounding stride. Adams pulled the trigger on his shotgun prematurely, the discharge magnified considerably within the narrow passageway, the solid lead slug ripping a sizeable chunk of flesh out of the creature's front left shoulder. But it didn't even slow down.
"Shit!" the inmate cursed, "you'd better put your brilliant plan into motion very soon!" he added, his voice wavering.
Just a little closer, willed Jessop to himself, as he let the marauding beast came a little closer, close enough to smell its horrific aroma of rotted flesh and blood, to see the exposed skull underneath the peeled-back fur and skin, to see the dried blood on its massive fangs.
He fired his M14 into the valve of the tank laying on the floor, practically point-blank. The .303 round snapped the valve clean off, and then suddenly there was a hiss of pressurised gas as a jet of propane burst from the busted valve, taking off like a rocket, straight into the other tanks just as the beast was beginning to pass by them.
There was a brilliant burst of light as the entire stockpile of explosive canisters came apart in a huge conflagration of flame that engulfed the roaring monster and also took out about 10 feet of the walls on either side of the passage, causing several kilos of soil to come pouring in, the shockwave almost knocking them both clean off of their feet. Jessop stumbled back from the blast, before looking up, into the still-clearing cloud of smoke and dirt particles before them.
He felt justified, his crazy plan having actually worked-
Then the beast plunged out of the smoke, roaring in an even louder tone than previously, and swung a massive paw that smashed him backwards off of his feet, savage claws cutting open his flesh like a hot knife through butter. He hit the wooden floorboards hard, the force knocking a cloud of fine blood drops out of his mouth.
The monster towered over him now, offering a clear view of its features now. It had been a majestic grizzly once, except now every inch of its fur was matted with blood and chunks of flesh and torn skin, from its previous victims. The explosion had ripped away most of the left side of its body, exposing ribs, broken bones and punctured organs, but yet it was still alive, still with enough energy to rip him limb from limb. A long trail of drool dangled from its open jaws as it roared a victory into the ceiling.
He raised the M14 and fired three shots, all of them punching right through its bulk at such extreme short range and giving it three more dripping wounds to its collection. Then it casually leaned down and clamped its massive jaws around his neck, a brutal crunch of flesh and bone marking the end of Peyton Jessop's life.
Adams struggled to his feet, groaning and muttering to himself over what he would do to that damned CO when he got his hands on him, but the clearing smoke and dirt showed him that wouldn't be an option. The monster bear was hunched over what remained of Jessop's corpse, already torn the man's head off, and was now messily devouring his stomach and chest cavity, breaking apart bones and ripping sinews in order to get at the soft, bloody flesh.
Oh fuck!
He backed away in horror, one hand clamped to his mouth as he retched at the sight, willing himself not to throw up. It didn't work though, and he promptly emptied the contents of his stomach all over the floor directly in front of him.
The sound forced the beast to look up from its meal. It regarded him for a few moments with its remaining dead eye, fresh gore dripping from its teeth, before it roared at him, an angry, hungry bawl. He raised his shotgun again and fired, tearing through the side of its neck, but once again doing little to slow it down at all. It began to move, and he turned and sprinted away as fast as his legs could carry him.
His heart thundered, almost matching the rhythm of the pounding steps that came after him, in between the occasional roar and bawl as the monster drew closer. Turning around another sharp corner, Adams knew that these passages formed a rough square layout, so if he kept running forwards he'd run into the passage that Jessop had bought down by destroying those propane tanks. He didn't curse the CO though, as no-one deserved to die in such a grisly manner.
The monster rounded the corner and slammed into the side walls, crushing the wooden panels like wet paper and causing more soil to tumble down from the side and ceiling, slowing it down a little, giving Adams the precious time to get a few more yards ahead of his pursuer. He knew he had to kill it off sooner rather than later, rather than risk it pursuing him through the thick trees and undergrowth that would slow him down, but otherwise not affect the bear at all.
He found another cluster of propane tanks, and this time he knew that he had to try and direct their immense blast somehow, rather than set them off in an open space, much like Jessop had tried to. He took a hold of the top of each tank in turn, turning it around and dropping it onto the ground, repeating the process until at least six tanks had been laid out on the floor, waiting for the monster to draw closer. All the time his pulse galloped, just waiting for the massive jaws to come out of the darkness and take his head off.
Please let this work.
With all done, he grabbed the valve of the nearest tank and gave it a powerful twist, loosening it somewhat, a hiss of rapidly escaping gas indicating that it had been compromised- and giving him an ignition source. He then back away down the passage, far enough away so that he hopefully wouldn't be caught in the blast that would follow. He raised the shotgun to his shoulder, planted the stock into his shoulder firmly, and waited.
Come on, let's get this over with, you ugly son of a bitch.
The monster bawled again, the sound causing the walls to shudder and shaking dust and dirt particles down from the ceiling. The ground began to tremble afterwards, in motion with the creature's pounding footsteps.
Come on, show yourself!
It came blundering around the corner, crashing through another side wall, knocking out about six feet of wall and some of the ceiling as well, raining soil and plant roots down onto its coarse fur. It roared once more, spittle flying from the corners of its huge mouth, the limited light glinting off the exposed bone of its skull.
Come on, come on-
It came closer with each bounding stride, near to the explosive trap he had set up for it. It was almost on top of the tanks now, still having not realised that it was being lead towards its destruction.
Almost, almost-
It was just in front of the tanks now, passing into the distorted cloud where the propane was gradually filling up that small expanse of passageway.
NOW!
He pulled the trigger, and the shotgun boomed in the narrow passage, the buckshot tearing into the opened tank valve and igniting the volatile gases within. The spark rapidly expanded into a blossom of roaring flames that engulfed the remaining tanks, cooking them off in rapid sequence, a drumbeat of further explosions swallowing the bear up in a blaze of almost-white flames and black, acrid smoke, and then blowing it apart into countless meaty chunks, blood spattering onto everything in range.
The shockwave blasted down the corridor, throwing him onto his back, knocking the wind from his lungs as he landed hard, the stink of smoke and burnt flesh stinging his throat and nostrils. He coughed and retched a few times, yet a smile crossed his lips, glad that the damned thing was dead at least, and he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore-
A low rumbling me this ears, and he glanced around dumbly as he could see the walls giving way, tons of soil pouring in, closing the passageway off, dousing the flames and knocking out several ceiling bulbs. Realising that he was in danger of being buried alive, Adams jumped up and made a run for it down the passage behind him, making for the nearest stairwell back upstairs.
He didn't make it very far until the boards above his head split apart, raining an avalanche of soil down on top of him.
The old dime a dozen store had seen better days, the sign above the front doors long flaked and sun-bleached, the name of its owners almost illegible now, the windows barred off with rusted steel cages to ward off the countless hooligans and gangs that wandered this side of town.
The odd zombie wandered the front parking lot now, moaning emptily and gazing around with hollow eyes, waiting for the first sign of fresh meat to wander past. They clearly weren't as fortunate as the one zombie who had made his way behind the store, and was now gorging himself freely on the remains of maggot-infested meat no doubt thrown out because it went past its sell-by date. The zombie had once been a fairly clean-looking man in his mid-twenties, with cropped blonde hair and with a muscular build, except now it was nothing more but a walking corpse, like the remainder of Raccoon City's population.
It ripped away a long strip of rotted meat, its yellowed teeth chewing through the fat, juicy maggots with hungry glee, not caring on what it fed on as long as it had something to feast upon, something to try and satiate its endless hunger. It quickly devoured that portion and grabbed for another, before it would find its meal rudely interrupted.
There was a low whistling, before a sturdy lead pipe swung into its knee. There was a crunch and the zombie fell awkwardly down, its arms flailing wildly, the piece of meat still lodged in its teeth. Then a second blow was slammed into the side of its skull, a brutal crunch marking the end of its second existence as it slammed into the dumpster and then slid down to the floor.
Lenny Bristol flicked some blood off of the pipe he had just used casually, even as Steven Dreyfuss came up behind him, still clutching his ever trusty fire axe in his hands.
"Not too smart, are they?" reasoned Lenny, pointing his pipe at the zombie's broken form, blood pooling beneath its shattered cranium. "Walked right up behind him and he didn't even realise we were there."
"No, they're not," responded Steven, covering his mouth and nose with a free hand as the combined stench of the maggoty meat and the zombie reached his senses. "On their own, I agree, they're dumb as rocks and easy enough to move around safely. But in groups..."
"Yeah, noted," responded Lenny. "Come on."
Lenny had stepped out of the relative safety of the store as a means to go scrounging for supplies- food and drink, mainly, but as Ryan's wound was beginning to bleed again, medical supplies were vital as well. Though he was intending to go alone, Steven had insisted on coming with him, saying that he needed to 'give the others some space', which seemed reasonable enough considering how Amy and Lenny himself had both taken a shot at Steven recently.
Poor guy.
As always, his family weighed heavily on his mind. Were they still alive, somewhere out there? Or were they still wandering about, having been absorbed into the numerous ranks of the undead? He quickly shoved that second thought aside, knowing that to dwell on it would only drive him insane. He had to focus on himself, on these people that he had met with, the people he would protect, no matter what the dangers.
The dime a dozen was a reasonable enough place to look for food, whereas Kelly had insisted there was a pharmacy somewhere close by as well, which they would seek out once they had loaded up on the essentials. Having gone around the back way, they had encountered very little in the way of zombies. As Steven had just mentioned, the zombies were too stupid and slow individually to be any kind of real threat, so Lenny had picked up the pipe not too long ago as an alternative for wasting his bullets. Speaking of which, his handgun was currently tucked into his waist holster, already unbuttoned for when he needed it the most urgently.
The back service door was open, and they passed through into the (thankfully well-illuminated) interior of the store. They passed by the empty kitchen area, where a sink full of dirty, stagnant water left forever unattended, and past the wooden door that marked the stock room. Though locked, a few sturdy bashes from Lenny's pipe broke the knob away, allowing them access.
Inside the shelves were lined from top to bottom with all kinds of food- cans of fruit, beans and other tinned foods; packets of biscuits, cookies and potato chips; and everything else in between. Of course, they couldn't take it all, so the main concern was what they should take with them.
"Well I think potato chips are always a good choice," reasoned Steven as he retrieved a cloth bag to put the food in. "We don't have to worry about them going off so quickly. We might be stuck here for a few more days."
"Agreed," said Lenny as he dumped a few large bags (of various flavours) into the sack that Steven had produced, and then moved onto collecting some candy bars, just to give a sweeter kick to their rations.
"What about water, something to drink?" suggested Steven.
"None in here," replied Lenny, "there'd likely be plenty of bottles out in the main store in the fridge units, long as the power hasn't been knocked out."
"Sure you want to go out there?" asked Steven. "What is there's more of those things inside, just waiting for someone to blunder past?"
"Well first of all, I won't blunder in," remarked Lenny, prickled, "and secondly, I'm the one with the gun, right?" he finished, showing off the Beretta handgun. "Look, I'm only ducking in there for a few seconds, get in, get out, just like that, ok?"
"Well would you at least scream if something happens?" suggested Steven.
"Of course," snorted Lenny, as he exited the storeroom and moved towards the ajar door that lead into the store proper. He peered inside, seeing only a general disarray of shelf items knocked onto the floor haphazardly, but otherwise no sign of any zombies or otherwise.
"OK, I'm going in," he announced, before sliding the Beretta out of its holster and pushing through inside with his shoulder.
The store was empty, thankfully, though numerous items had been knocked off of the shelves onto the floor, along with the odd bottle of ketchup and other condiments, leaving puddles of dried fluids, all of them different colours. The cash register had been left open, the inside completely cleared out, the shelves beneath it cleared out as well. Whatever had happened here had long since passed on, replaced by the uneasy silence.
"Clear," the R.P.D officer whispered to himself (only realising at the final minute that his partner had been dead since the other day), before holstering his Beretta and walking over towards the large refrigeration unit, throwing open the glass door to examine the rows of bottled water, milk, juice, and other consumables inside. He instantly felt the cold chill hit him in the face, the light humming of its motor indicating that it was still operational.
He quickly took as many bottles as he could feasibly carry in both hands, his pipe temporarily left out in the storeroom. As he turned to walk away, he heard the unmistakable hollow groan from behind him.
"Gah!" he cried, dropping the bottles and spinning around, drawing his Beretta as he did so, aiming it towards the source of the noise, towards the outline of a figure he could see slumped on the floor, beneath a collapsed shelving unit.
It used to be a middle-aged Asian-American man, his forehead wrinkled and his hair rapidly receding, wearing a blue and white striped apron, likely identifying him as the owner of the store. His eyes were as pale and hollow as his body now, the unmistakable stench of rotted flesh hovering over his form. One arm had been badly broken and almost torn off at the elbow when the shelves had collapsed on him, while the other arm reached out for him helplessly, straining to swipe at the thin air to get him.
It was pathetic almost- despite being trapped and with one of its arms shorn off, it still focused entirely on trying to grab at the nearest form of fresh meat, its mind having degenerated to no other form of higher thought process. With a sigh, Lenny retrieved the bottles and turned and walked out of the store without breaking stride or stopping for anything else.
"What's wrong?" asked Steven as Lenny reappeared and handed him the bottles of water. "You find something in there?"
"Nothing, no threat," replied Lenny. "Just another zombie trapped underneath some shelves. There was no way it could get out and attack. We've done here," he then finished, leading the way back out the way they had come in. After a few more seconds, Steven slung the sack over his shoulder and followed the officer outside, keeping a firm hold on his fire axe.
Lenny lead the way back the way they had come, before making a sudden left turn that lead them out into the open street itself. The nearest signpost read 'Harper Avenue', a famous shopping district named after one of the original founders of Raccoon City. Right now, it wasn't so famous, being littered with the dead corpses, the hum of entire clouds of flies attracted to the stench of dead flesh, and the twisted wreckage of cars, trucks and anything else that one could think of.
A few of the bodies were still walking around, though. Steven decapitated the first one that came at them with a single sweep of his heavy axe. There was a deep 'thunk' as the blade severed through flesh, sinews and bone, and then two 'thud' noises as both parts hit the ground hard. Lenny dispatched the second by driving his foot into its shin to force it down to its knees, before pistol whipping it so hard in the forehead he caved its skull in and killed it outright. It let out one last dying groan as it toppled over like a felled tree.
"Ugh," grunted Steven.
"Just come on," hissed Lenny, moving on.
It didn't take them much longer to see the pharmacy in the near distance, if the bright white sign with the red cross on it being any indication. There weren't any zombies hanging around outside thankfully, and the front of the store was still in one piece. Breathing a muted prayer to whichever God was still watching over them, Lenny hurried his pace, reaching the door before Steven did, then waiting for the Englishman to catch up.
"Stay here, I'll be right back," he insisted, but Steven stopped him at the last instant.
"Hold on, you remember what it is we need, right?"
"A roll of gauze, bottle of disinfectant, some painkillers, and something to halt the bleeding as well, I know," responded Lenny irritatingly, before turning and disappearing inside the store, eager to get back to the others. He began to rummage through the shelves, easily finding the bandage and the disinfectant, before turning his attention to the far shelf, pausing when he found an entire shelving rack taken up with Umbrella products.
He remembered what Amy had said about Umbrella being the ones who had caused all of this. If that were true, why the hell would they have orchestrated something this horrific? So many people dead and turned into monsters, and all for what? Why would they inflict such damage upon their main base of operations within the United States? What would they gain from such destruction?
With a sigh, Lenny knew that this wasn't the time or the place. He grabbed a can of Umbrella's miracle cure first-aid-spray, as well as a bottle of their safsprin tablets, yet another well-praised medicine when it had first been released some months ago. All set, he turned and promptly strode out, pausing only to grab a plastic bag with which to carry the items with. There was no point in hanging around any longer than was absolutely necessary.
"All done," he announced as he reappeared into the open street, though when Steven didn't initially respond he soon found out why. Turning to his left, he could see that the way they had come not too long ago was now beginning to gradually fill up with zombies- only a couple of dozen at the moment, but more than enough to be an immediate concern.
"Damn it, they must have followed us up this far," whispered Steven.
"Come on, we'll just have to go a different route," responded Lenny, turning back and leading Steven the opposite way up the avenue, heading for a side street that would take them back to the electronics store that Amy, Michelle, and Ryan were holed up in. If the zombies were starting to come out in force now, he didn't want them getting any unwanted surprises. With the bag in one hand, he held the pipe in the other, ready to be swung into any disgusting faces that dared stand before them.
"Here, let me take those," said Steven suddenly, taking the bag and dumping it into his cloth sack without another word. Lenny just nodded in appreciation, before he drew his pistol in his now-free hand.
"Thanks," he said.
"Well I have to be some use if you're going to keep me around, right?" laughed Steven, though Lenny could tell that it was a forced joke, based on past performances of communication. But Steven was a decent, earnest man in the end, and he was only trying to help out through everything he did.
"Don't worry, you still have plenty of uses"-
"Behind you!"
Lenny turned sharply and swung his pipe into the wasted face of a construction worker, cracking the skull open and dropping the zombie to the ground like a sack of potatoe. Two more zombies came hot on its heels- a teenage girl wearing a blue vest top and cut-off shorts, and an elderly man who was hunched over and in danger of falling over on the spot like a felled tree.
"Damn it, take down one and there's two more behind it," grumbled Lenny, before he stepped forwards and kicked the girl in the stomach, sending him stumbling back, before a savage pipe blow almost snapped her head off to the side. Steven stepped up to tackle the old man meanwhile, one sweep of the axe being all that he needed to take the zombie's head off and drop it to the floor with a wet thud. Behind them, more figures were starting to come out into clear view, drawn out by the sounds.
"Damn it, we have to move! Now!" barked Lenny, beginning to make a run down the alleyway they had been heading towards a few moments ago. Steven ran after him, not disputing in any way.
As ever, the base instinct of survival in Raccoon City came back to the fore.
Major Foster looked at the remains of the poor bastard that had been hauled into an isolated tent, and then grunted in disgust as he let the sheet covering the body drop. Judging by his tattered orange overalls, the man was a prison inmate, likely an escapee from the nearby Raccoon County jail, on the other side of town. If that were the case, he had walked an awfully long way to make it this far, only to be gunned down like some poor wretch.
"Damn it, how the hell did this happen?" asked the Major, partly in honest concern, partly in annoyance. He faced towards Corporal Davies and the few other soldiers inside the tent with him.
"Well sir, we"- began Corporal Davies.
"I mean, how the hell did he turn out like this?" snapped Foster, pointing at the covered form with an outstretched hand. "He was conscious, wasn't he?"
"H-he was, sir," responded Davies, shifting on the spot, "he was walking towards us one minute, and then the next he just went crazy, like one of those...bastards from the barricade the other day."
"Why though?" asked Foster with a scowl, shaking his head. "It's good that there were no press or anyone else here to make a scene, God knows that we have enough troubles keeping order at the moment..."
Yeah, and now Captain Petrucci's over a barrel because of it, thought some of the arrayed soldiers bitterly.
"What about the other camps?" asked Foster suddenly, turning towards the communications officer, Sergeant Prescott. The grey-eyed, shaven-headed man just sighed and shook his head, speaking up afterwards.
"Nothing Major- they've been busy enough trying to maintain the refugees coming in, even if the influx is down to a trickle now. The main concern is people wanting to go back into the city to try and find their families- we had an incident over at the southern centre, where Fletcher's boys are holding the fort."
"And...?"
"A large group of people were trying to force their way past the barricades, didn't get through, thankfully," responded Prescott, reading off a print-out he had been holding. "No-one was seriously hurt, though the troops had to fire into the air, spooked quite a few people in the process."
"Damn it," cursed Foster, his annoyance beginning to rise to the surface, cracking his normally professional exterior. "This is becoming more and more of a headache- stretched to the damned limit and still no word on those damned reinforcements from the 15th Company...what the hell is Richards doing, sitting with his thumb up his ass?"
"That's Colonel Richards, sir"- corrected one of the more foolish privates there.
"Well thank you very much for reminding your superior officer of that fact, private," replied Foster in a droll manner, turning away. "Any word on Corporal Elghan's fire team?"
Despite the fact that the last fire team sent into the city had yet to return(the much-lamented Sergeant William Leland and three others), Foster had insisted on sending in another team, based on the somewhat slim hope that there was a chance Leland and the others could still be safely extracted. Elghan was a solid team leader, perceptive and quick to adapt, so if things were looking hairy, they could easily pull out of the city before any harm came to them.
At least, in theory.
"Negative, Major," sighed Prescott. "We know fine well that all those tightly-packed buildings in Raccoon City have been messing with our radio transmissions- it's probably as simple as the fact that they can't a message to us."
"I hope for all our sakes that's all it is," sighed Foster. "Get a couple of the medics in here, have them take a look at this poor bastard," he said, waving a hand dismissively over the body beside where he was standing. "Jesus, maybe they can figure out just what the hell is going on in this town," he added, as he walked out, rubbing his forehead.
There was an awkward silence for several seconds, and then the others finally relaxed, Caine shaking his head in particular. "Prick," he muttered under his breath.
"A prick with rank," corrected Drake.
"Come on, that's enough," snapped Davies, waving them out. "Find a couple of the medics and get them in here, ASAP. I'd hate for Foster to take his frustrations out on any of us, just because no-one jumped when he said so." A few of them chuckled as they vacated the tent, though Davies remained a little longer.
He looked back at the body they had bought in, pulling the sheet back to examine the sheer amount of damage they had done with just a few seconds of gunfire. The fingers had been ripped away, leaving the hands as stumps protruding shattered bones and ripped flesh, blood still dribbling down onto the ground at his feet. Most of the head had been smashed apart like a ripe melon by his own fatal gunshot too, the only way that these 'sick' people could go down.
"Damn," he sighed, putting the sheet down, just as a pair of medics entered the tent, parting the entry flaps as they passed inside.
"This the specimen?" asked one of them as he pointed towards the covered form.
"Yes," sighed Davies as he stepped back to leave. "Yet another one. There's another half dozen or so in the back if you want to take a look at any others."
"No, I think this one will be enough for now," the medic responded, throwing the sheet back. "Oh boy, look at the decay on you..." he began, sounding almost giddy in anticipation. Davies just shook his head and walked out.
Corporal Thomas Elghan had heard from the missing Leland and Davies about how horrific things were in the city, but seeing it up close and personal didn't do those tales any justice.
It seemed as though a tornado had torn through the streets of Raccoon City- shattering every single window, smashing in every doorway, overturning most of the cars in the street (including a transport bus and a flatbed truck that had been transporting a few tonnes of gravel), and even toppling a few telegraph and lighting poles. Sparks of electricity fizzled out from where one of them had fallen into a puddle of water, still discharging live electricity.
"Come on people, keep it tight," he barked to the other three members of his fire-team: Winters, Abraham, and Scott. They had been advancing down the abandoned street in a wide-spread formation initially, but now they pulled into a tighter wedge formation, staying close to one another if an attack were to come. In which case, they would rapidly pull back to their Humvee transport- parked out of direct sight behind the burnt-out remains of a youth centre- and get the hell out of there. Major Foster had made it clear that this wasn't a search and rescue mission: it was purely a recon patrol, an attempt to try and figure out what was going on in the city.
They were travelling light, but otherwise were still armed for combat. Elghan, Winter and Abraham carried the standard-issue M4A1, while Scott carried a S.P.A.S 12 shotgun instead, a weapon he liked to save 'for close encounters'. Considering the tightly-packed streets they were traversing, that seemed reasonable enough. They were also shorn of their gas masks, reports confirming that whatever had afflicted the city wasn't passed on through the air.
"Anything?" asked Elghan as he looked over towards Winters, who was watching the windows of the buildings on their right side through the ACOG scope on his M4A1 assault rifle.
"Nada," he responded, shaking his head. "After everything Leland and Davies were talking about, you'd think that there'd be more...y'know, activity around here?"
"I think that's what we're all hoping for," retorted Scott, his shotgun's muzzle expertly nosing into every shadow and open doorway they passed by. Who knew what could have been lying just out of sight? A single, fleeting lapse in paying attention could end pretty badly for any of them.
"Come on, let's go a little father in," ordered Elghan, taking command as he could sense the nerves of his men beginning to show a little. "If we come across anything that's too much for us to handle, then we pull out ASAP."
"Fine by me," responded Abraham, M4 aimed down a quiet side street they had just been walking past. A discarded soda can rolled across the tarmac, its rattling note being the only other sound they could hear, save for the whistling of the early morning wind.
"I don't like this," announced Scott as they came up to what used to be an apartment block, but fire had gutted its insides utterly, its windows blackened and scorched, the roof partially collapsed in, smoke still drifting into the sky. The others ignored Scott's worried comment as they approached the gutted front doors, peering inside.
"Nothing left," sighed Abraham with a shake of the head.
"Probably nothing left to save," sighed Winters, shaking his head.
"Come on people, focus," said Elghan loudly, just about loud enough to get their attention, but not loud enough to attract any unwanted attention lurking a couple of blocks away- hopefully. "We can't afford to get distracted by every little thing we"-
His voice trailed off when he saw the overturned baby stroller lying just a few feet away from where they were stood. Its pink and white striped patterns were soiled with dirt and something else that he rather didn't want to think about, one of its wheels missing, the pushing handle bent out of shape, likely from whatever impact knocked it over. The others had seen it too, but none said anything as the Corporal approached the stroller, knowing that he'd recently become the father to twin girls, barely six months ago.
He stooped beside the fallen stroller, his face set and grim, before taking hold of the push bar and slowly lifting the carriage up, exposing the bundle of white cotton sheets and blankets underneath, stained with-
He quickly dropped the stroller and stood bolt upright, his teeth gritted together, trying not to dwell on what could have been laying there amongst the bundle of soft fabric.
"You all right Tom?" asked Winters curiously, noticing the Corporal's ghostly white face.
"Yeah, I'm fine," sighed Elghan, "though I know fine well as soon as I get back to the garrison I'm putting in some personal leave and spending some time with my girls."
"Amen to that," smiled Abraham, the only other father on the small fire team.
Then there was a loud clattering sound from somewhere close by, sounding almost as though a trashcan had been knocked over. Immediately all four soldiers spun around sharply to face the source of the noise, weapons clicking and jostling as they were raised.
"What was that?" hissed Winters.
"Something that could tear our throats out?" suggested Scott with a sardonic tone.
"Shut it," snapped Elghan, before he began to sharply make some hand motions as he ordered his fire team quickly and quietly. The others watched like a hawk, quickly taking in their individual commands.
Scott, on me. Winter- watch the streets, if you see any enemy contacts, then signal the rest of the team and we pull out. Abraham- watch the windows and the rooftops, just in case.
They all nodded and moved away to take up their positions, while Scott came to Elghan's side- his shotgun would prove useful in case they ran into any danger in those back alleys, with barely any space left to manoeuvre or otherwise. The two of them moved forwards, side by side, weapons raised, eyes scanning for danger. They both entered the alley, and continued on for several feet, passing by several dumpsters, one of them overflowing with stinking, rotted meat, the air above it buzzing with dozens of flies.
"Ugh," sighed Scott.
"Just stay alert," snapped Elghan as they came out into an open courtyard, littered with more dumpsters and a free trash cans- one of which had been knocked over, scattering its contents of rancid meat, cardboard, paper, and other trash around.
"Something came through here, disturbed it," stated Scott as he nudged the can with the barrel of his shotgun, looking to see if there was any kind of reaction from anything hiding inside.
"Obviously," responded Elghan, sarcastically. "Come on, let's do a quick sweep and move on"-
Another loud clatter nearly made them leap out of their skins, before they both spun around, weapons raised, towards a sheltered storage space, likely a public space used by the building's residents. They could hear something over the other background noise- a low whimpering, the odd sob.
"Shhh," whispered a female voice, surprisingly clear and close to them. "It's ok, honey..."
The two soldiers gave one another a quick glance, before Scott simply shrugged, and then stepped forwards slowly and quietly, preparing to throw aside the rusted sheet of corrugated iron that constituted the near wall of the storage space. He grasped the edge of the sheet, and watched Elghan as the Corporal took up his own position, and then mouthed down from three.
Three...two...one-
Scott ripped the sheeted iron aside with a loud metallic wrenching noise, before swinging around and shoving his shotgun into the darkness, paired with Elghan's assault rifle.
There was a shriek of horror, and then both soldiers stepped back in shock as they realised they were both pointing at a woman- a still-sane woman, clutching onto a young child in her arms.
"Jesus!" cried Scott, as he reeled backwards in shock at what he had almost done.
"It's ok, it's ok!" urged Elghan hurriedly as he slung his M4 over his back, out of the way and out of direct eye contact. "We're sorry! We're not going to hurt you!"
The woman looked back over her shoulder ever so slowly, tears wetting her eyes. Her face was marked with dirt, her strawberry blonde hair dank and streaked with grease and other substances. The boy she was clutching, meanwhile, was a lot cleaner and less ragged in appearance, his golden hair and innocent eyes barely touched by the madness around them.
"Oh my God!" the woman exhaled suddenly, nearly catching the two soldiers by surprise. "Oh my God, I'm- I'm so sorry!"
"Don't worry about it," said Elghan, hands raised, palms facing forwards. "We didn't mean to give you such a shock"-
"I thought that the city would have been totally abandoned now!" she continued, far too relieved to pick up on the Corporal's apologies. "Are you the only ones or-?"
"The rest of our fire-team's just out in the main street," replied Scott, nodding his head in the direction they had just come from. "Any major deployments into the city are strictly forbidden, but our commanding officer sent us in anyway, to see if we can figure out how all of this started."
"Well, good luck figuring that out," the woman sighed, clearly exhausted. "One minute, it was just another day and then the next..." she trailed off there, and the soldiers made sure not to push her any further. She'd clearly been through a lot that any normal person shouldn't have been subjected to. "Why? Why us? Why is this happening to the city?"
"I wish I could give you an answer, ma'am," sighed Elghan, shaking his head, before he noticed that the young boy was looking at him in the way that only a child could- a child who had never seen a fully-tooled up soldier from the U.S Military before. His eyes were full of awe and wonder like he were some kind of comic book superhero.
"Hey there, little man," he smiled, stooping down slightly so they were almost at the same level. "You being a good man for your mom?"
"Uh-huh," the boy nodded, managing a little smile that caused his mother to smile as well, some semblance of happiness amongst all this madness. "I'm being very brave until my daddy gets back. He always finds us again."
"Yes he does," the woman whispered, tears forming once again in her eyes.
"He'll come back and protect us from the very bad men and women," the child continued, "the ones hurting everyone."
"Oh yeah, those people," said Scott flatly, looking the other way. His usual lack of tact shone through clearly in his words and manner.
"Yes," the boy continued innocently. "People like that," he then said, pointing over Elghan's shoulder.
The Corporal whirled around as fast as humanly possible, only to see what the boy was referring to. Standing in the shadowy doorway that he hadn't even noticed until now was yet another one of those 'very bad men'. It was painfully thin and bony, its ribs clearly visible underneath its pale skin, almost ready to burst through the surface. Its long black hair obscured most of its face, but Elghan could still see the blood-smeared mouth filled with broken, yellowed teeth.
And then there was a thundering discharge as Scott fired his shotgun over Elghan's shoulder, right beside his ear. The man's head exploded like a gore-filled balloon, and his dead weight was thrown backwards into the darkness, the woman screaming in terror.
"Shit!" cursed Elghan as he nursed his ear. "What the hell?"
"Saved your skin, didn't it?" retorted Scott. "Besides, I think that's the last thing you should be worrying about right now."
As if to punctuate his point, a chorus of empty groans began to filter back towards them. Elghan's head whipped all around, and he could see them all now- stepping out of open doorways, out of shadowed alcoves, emerging from out of stinking trash bags and other rubbish, and some even dragging themselves out of shattered windows.
"Mommy?" the boy asked.
"Damn," cursed Elghan. "Come on, we're leaving. Right now."
"No complaints from me," grunted Scott as he turned about, S.P.A.S 12 propped tightly against his shoulder. Elghan turned back towards the woman and her child.
"You need to come with us now," he said firmly, "so we can get you out of here, keep you both safe. Stay where I can see you, no matter what happens, understood?" The woman just nodded slowly in confirmation. "And one more thing"-
He reached into one of the pockets on his tactical vest and retrieved a set of padded headphones that he normally used when he was listening to his music while not on frontline duties. He placed them carefully over the boy's ears, before he spoke up again.
"Whatever happens, you keep these on, ok? Me and my friends are going to be making a lot of noise very soon and we don't want you to lose your hearing, right?"
"Lewis," the boy said suddenly.
"What?"
"That's my name, Lewis," the boy continued. "If we're going to be friends, you should know my name, right?"
"Of course," Elghan smiled. "I'm Tom."
"And I'm Langdon," said Scott irritated, "but right now, shouldn't we get the hell out of here?" he then added, indicating towards the nearest crazed citizens, barely 15 yards away from them.
"Come on," said Elghan as he pulled the headphones over Lewis' ears, "let's get away from the very bad people, shall we?"
"Thank you so much," whispered Lewis' mother.
"You can thank me later," responded Elghan as he stood up and retrieved his M4, racking the bolt back to load the chamber. "Right now, there's a lot of work to be done."
Then he raised the rifle and fired, the rifle's cutting bark tearing through the courtyard, the heads of at least two figures bursting like rotten watermelons. Then Scott fired, his shotgun's deep roar forming a marked contrast to the Corporal's assault rifle. A frail female body went flying back, almost ripped clean in two. He pumped a fresh shell into the chamber and fired again, bursting apart another skull.
"They're all around us!" cried Elghan, as he turned and fired, cutting down a couple more figures that had been approaching from behind where he had been conversing with Lewis and his mother. There seemed to be twice as many of those freaks then there had been moments ago. He reached up for his ear piece.
"Abraham? Winters? We're on our way back to you both right now. We found two civilian survivors and we're pulling out, now!"
"Roger that Tom," called back Winters' voice, over the bark of Abraham's own M4 firing. "Looks like we stirred up the hornet's nest here- there's got to be a few hundred of those bastards here at least!"
"Shit!" cursed Scott loudly, as he knocked an elderly lady back with a solid smack from the stock of his shotgun. The blow cracked open her skull, leaving blood and liquefied brain matter to gush out when she hit the tarmac.
"Pull back, pull back!" yelled Elghan as the two soldiers began to move back along the alleyway they had arrived by, making sure to keep the mother and child between them, using their bodies as shields. The Corporal fired off a few more shots, putting down a few more bodies, many of them minus large portions of their skulls.
They emerged out onto the street to find Abraham and Winters standing with their backs to them, firing frantically into the massive crowd of seething figures that were approaching from up the main avenue into the city, spilling out of open doorways, alleyways, and into view from behind buildings. Elghan couldn't help but look over the countless faces before them, and notice the little details.
There were all age ranges in the crowd, all types of build and race too- he even saw the odd child amongst the swaying ranks of adults, featuring the exact same white eyes and blank faces. It was horrific, how an entire city could be taken to such insane and dangerous behaviour. It was exactly as Davies and some of the others had reckoned- there was an illness in Raccoon City, and it was the worst thing imaginable.
Abraham shot the head off of a middle-aged man wearing just a pair of distressed jeans and a white vest, before turning to face Elghan and Scott. "Jesus, what took you so long?" he demanded, before turning and blasting the face off of a teenage boy wearing a punk rock t-shirt.
"Long story," replied Elghan, noticing the terrified look on the face of Lewis' mother, "let's just focus on getting out of here first, shall we?"
"Agreed," said Winters bluntly, before he fired into the crowd. A couple of figures fell, quickly trampled by the others.
The four soldiers began to pull back out of Raccoon City, the mother and child with them, followed by the rotted shells of the city's former citizens.
A/N: And so another chapter is concluded. I apologise again for the long wait between chapters, but there's been a lot going on again, and I'm having trouble trying to get the inspiration to continue this story as well. Which is a shame as I'd hate to leave this story just hanging when it was only two-thirds done.
Speaking of which, there are probably only a few more chapters left for this story, as we revisit some faces we haven't heard from in a while, and expand a little more on the tales of others.
In other news, I have been playing quite a few new games on my weekends and days off from work. First among them is Warhammer 40,000: Space Marine, a pretty solid action title all around, with the emphasis purely on getting stuck into the thick of combat and slaughtering dozens of orks. Then after that was Resistance 3, the third instalment in the PS3-exclusive series that started as one of the games on the console's launch line-up, and this is another pretty decent first-person shooter, with a good story and satisfying weapons. And the online multiplayer is pretty fun too.
Though the most recent game I got, just a couple days ago, is Dark Souls, follow-up to the PS3-exclusive Demon's Souls that came out back in 2009, and for anyone who's played that game, they might know what to expect in Dark Souls. It's an incredibly satisfying game, but also highly difficult- expect to put a lot of time and effort into it to get your full enjoyment out of it.
Anyways, I've blabbed on long enough. R & R as always, people.