Chapter 35: Final Flight
October 3, 1998
4:34 AM
Arklay Mountain Research Station, Helipad
"They're going to know we'll be right up behind them," Zeke said as the lift hummed upwards, "so odds are they'll be waiting for us as soon as we arrive. Stay inside the elevator, stick to the inside walls until I give the word to move out. When you move, move low and be ready for anything. Understood?"
Pierce and Wesley nodded taking up positions on either side of the elevator gate, hugging the inside walls to stay hidden. Zeke moved up behind Wes, settling the stock of his AK against his shoulder. The Brit turned and fixed the lieutenant with a lopsided grin.
"Ready to catch the final flight out of Raccoon City, boss?" He asked.
"Don't get your hopes up yet, Wes," Zeke advised, "there's more than one step left in this journey."
Somberly, Wesley nodded and returned to watching the gate. Steadily the lift rose, brining them closer to their quarry and escape. Zeke cared little for the prospect of escape though his thoughts had already turned to fulfilling the promise he had made Skip. He would get every last one of them – no matter what the cost.
I'm coming for you Da Silva. I'm coming for you Owens. Zeke thought, tensing his body for action. You've been living on borrowed time since the first moment I found out who you were and now the clock is winding down. It's time to die.
All that was left to do was finish off the cleaners, execute the traitor and secure the chopper. Then he could get his men – along with Shank and Eddie if they had survived their skirmish with Goldeneyes – to safety. After that was done Zeke's oaths to the dead would be complete and his desire for vengeance satiated and then – what? He would find a shrink? Quit the army? Eat a bullet?
Probably the latter, he decided, but too many options to consider right now. Take care of the most pressing business first.
The elevator came to a halt, a cool wind blowing through the mesh gate to caress the lieutenant's face. Wesley gripped the bottom of the gate in his hands, looking askance at his friend. Pushing all thoughts save for killing from his mind, Zeke nodded to the Brit.
"Move," he said.
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Autumn's crisp, gentle breeze blew across the helipad of the Arklay Mountain Research Station, drying the sweat that had accumulated on Scott Owens' brow. Overhead twilight was giving way to dawn as the stars faded and the sky was painted a soft purple as the sun rose to its place high above the earth. Owens inhaled the clean air and smiled softly from where he crouched beside the elevator with Rico at his back. The loud thrumming of the lift letting him know that Lieutenant Wilcott and his companions were on their way up.
A couple shots in the back and they all take a nice, refreshing dirt nap, Owens thought with a grin. Hardly honorable, but, then again, I never claimed to be.
The mole checked his watch. There was a little under twenty minutes left until the self-destruct sequence was complete. Plenty of time, he mused, plenty.
Ahead of the spy, strolling across the asphalt of the helipad towards the waiting Black Hawk as if he had all the time in the world was Smith. The supervisor moved with a leisurely gait, the sample case tapping against his hip as he moved. He would be the bait for their trap, the first thing Wilcott would see upon exiting the lift.
And in the state he must be in by now, the good lieutenant would pounce on a shadow. Owens eased the bolt back on his rifle as he heard the elevator rumble to a stop and the mesh gate fly up. Bye, bye, LT.
"Freeze!" Zeke's voice carried easily in the wide-open space as he spied Smith. "Stay where you are!"
Owens resisted the temptation to laugh. Still too proud to shoot a man in the back, eh Zeke? Peeking around the corner, Owens watched as the lieutenant, Wesley and Pierce stepped off the lift, the elevator already slipping back down into the darkness of the floor below. All three had their weapons on Smith's back, their eyes stuck to the back of the supervisor's head.
Fools, Owens thought disdainfully as Rico touched his shoulder.
"Now." The Latino said and Owens stood, rounding the corner with the major at his back, both men moving as silent as the fall wind itself.
Carefully, the pair slipped in behind Zeke and the two other Rangers. Owens frowned. Hadn't there been more men with the lieutenant when they last met during that short exchange in the hall below, a black man and another fellow with enough hair on his face to be mistaken for a bear? What had happened to those two?
No matter, Scott told himself, leveling his muzzle with the back of Zeke's skull as his men advanced on Smith who now stood still with his hands held high. Maybe Rico's grenade took care of that pair – or something else did. Even if he left them below as guards he'll be dead and we'll be long gone before they can come looking.
Starring down the sight of his weapon, Owens pressed his finger to the trigger as Rico took aim beside him. Part of the mole's mind, the logical, professional part, told him to fire, to kill Wilcott then and there before the lieutenant had any clue of the trap he had just blundered into but Owens' emotional side spoke louder. It wanted Zeke to see the face of his killer, to understand that his trust had cost him his life and the lives of so many others. Yes, it was petty and perhaps even somewhat childish but Scott was like that sometimes.
Only fools trust. He grinned.
"That's far enough, lieutenant!" Owens called out, unable to stifle the smile that creased his face, as Zeke froze in mid-stride. "Not another step, you hear? Drop your weapons and turn around real slow."
Inside his mind, the mole giggled with glee. The look on Wilcott's face would simply delicious! Owens reminded himself to savor the moment, his grin widening with anticipation of the moment.
Finally, Owens thought, a little enjoyment tonight.
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"Drop your weapons, all of you!" Owens shouted at Zeke's back. "I won't ask you again, now do it before I lose my patience!"
Zeke forced himself to stop, cursing beneath his breath. Stupid! Stupid! I should have cleared the area first. It had been impulsiveness that led the lieutenant to do otherwise. The sight of the B.O.N.E.S. trooper walking lazily towards the lone helicopter, his back turned arrogantly towards them had been too sweet an opportunity to pass up though and Zeke had ordered his men to charge without noticing the absentees. His impulsiveness was about to get them all killed.
Why doesn't that smug little shit just pull the trigger then? The voice in Zeke's mind fumed with a nearly incontrollable rage. Why doesn't he just shoot us all in the back like dogs and end this goddamn game? Go ahead, just do it, Owens. I'd welcome the bullet.
He might have welcomed the peace of mind death brought but would Wesley and Pierce? Zeke doubted it. Despite everything he had seen and experienced, Wes still believed whole-heartedly in his friend and Ryan had a family to get back to. Both men were counting on him to take them home – and Eddie and Shank too, if they were even still breathing. Deciding his incompetence had made enough widows for one lifetime, Zeke nodded to his men.
"Disarm." He instructed them in a tone that forbid any challenge.
Pierce's face, cool and tempered as always gave away no insight into his feelings but Wesley's cheeks had turned a dark crimson, his lips tight and hands trembling with the anger he fought to suppress. While he remained outwardly as collected as Ryan, Zeke sympathized with his friend. He was certain they were sharing much the same thoughts.
This is wrong. Wrong.Zeke's mind screamed as he turned to face Umbrella's plant, the snake in the grass. The dead deserve their justice. Owens deserves to die. It can't end this way, it can't.
"Hey Zeke," Scott smiled amiably as the three Rangers turned to confront him, hands at their sides as they tossed their weapons down. "Been a long night, huh? I know you're probably really pissed with me right now but I just wanted to let you know that I'll look back on these past couple of days as a bonding experience. Seriously, I felt that we sincerely connected on this gig."
"You can sit on your dull wit and spin, Scott." Wesley spat venomously. "You two-timing bloody piece of horse shit."
"That hurts, Wes, honestly." Owens frowned, his voice tight with false injury. "Anyway, we've only got about, oh, fifteen minutes or so before this place goes up and my associates and I have an appointment to keep so I'm afraid our parting will have to be blunt."
"Just shut up and cap him already." The B.O.N.E.S. trooper next to Owens said in thick Latin accents. Zeke recognized the voice: Major Da Silva.
"Goodnight, LT." Owens smirked, raising his rifle.
"How'd you do it, Scott?" Zeke interjected quickly. Clearly Owens was trying to toy with them and seemed to be enjoying every second of it. Perhaps, the lieutenant thought, he could capitalize on that. If he could keep Owens talking long enough it would give him time to weave a plan together though at that point Zeke was skeptical that anything less than divine intervention would save them from their current predicament and he had stopped believing in God the instant he had put that bullet through Skip's forehead. "I guess I can understand the why but not the how. How was Umbrella able to sneak you into the Rangers without raising any red flags?"
Owens chuckled, lowering his M-4 slightly. "Come on, lieutenant," he chortled, "you aren't a dumb guy. Think about it. Umbrella is the most powerful corporation on the planet. Do you know what it takes to maintain that level of dominance? It takes other people with power – lots of it. You'd be surprised just how many members of the Chiefs of Staff are on Umbrella's payroll." He shrugged. "Sneaking me into your unit was just a matter of sending the right papers to the right people. Along with a healthy cash incentive as well, of course."
Keep him going. Zeke reminded himself. Try a little ego stroking.
"And the chopper crashes?" The lieutenant asked. "There were too many for that to have been a coincidence. Your handiwork?"
"Naturally." Owens beamed with boyish pride. "I used timed thermal grenades. They melted those engines as if they were butter. Sorry about the bumpy ride but it was pretty impressive, huh?"
Tick tock, tick tock, lieutenant. Zeke thought. You are working against the clock here and the hourglass is almost out of sand. If you're going to come up with something it had better be fast.
Daring to take his eyes off the traitor for a moment, Zeke glanced around the helipad as quickly as he could, soaking the information into his brain as if it were a sponge sucking up water. Owens and Rico in front with weapons pointed in my face; One more Umbrella asshole at my back, probably drawing down on me too. The chopper is at the far end of the pad – we'd never be able to survive a run to it though. There's a ditch running around the edge of the pad, deep enough to crouch in – good cover if we could get to it. The elevator behind them is – coming back up? Is it Eddie and Shank though or – something else?
The two goons in front don't seem to hear it coming back up but what about the one behind? I can't count on the cavalry for this one then. We'll have to try and make it into that ditch then keep low, make a run for the Hawk once we're down there. It'll be a race to the bird then and if we make it there first Ryan can lay cover fire with his pistol while I get us airborne. If not, well, then the fat lady might as well start singing.
The entire plan passed through Zeke's head and by then the lieutenant was already sliding over to the ditch surrounding the helipad, trying to make each step as invisible as possible while hoping the other two Rangers had the sense to follow his lead. Zeke noted with relief that they did and soon all three soldiers were baby-stepping to the right. Surreptitiously, the lieutenant brought one hand closer to the grip of his Colt pistol.
"I'm surprised at you, Scott." Zeke said, using the tactic of banter to keep the mole and his comrades distracted now. "I always figured you had a conscience, strong morals, but here you are, smiling and laughing, after you murdered Judges, Sullivan, Harris." His face darkened, starring at Owens now with a palpable hatred. "You killed Rachel."
"Wrong!" Owens snarled, his eyes clouding over with fury as he edged a step closer. "The virus carriers killed Judges and the captain. Gravity killed Harris! I never even touched Rachel so don't try and pin any of that shit on me, Zeke! I was just doing my job." The spy's face was burning as brightly as Wesley's had been.
Good, Zeke thought as they inched their way towards the ditch. He'll focus on his anger not our feet. Let him see how it feels to concentrate on nothing but guilt and hate.
"I'm not responsible for their deaths, Zeke!" Owens shrieked, eyes wild. "Not me! If it's anyone's fault then it's yours. It was your command. You should have been looking after them. They died because of your mistakes."
"Tell me about it." Zeke muttered. He could feel the weight of the handgun brush against his fingers now. The ditch was less than a foot away.
"I didn't want to make this personal, lieutenant." Owens said, his tone strangely pleading now. "You have to believe that. I was just supposed to keep you guys delayed, collect my data, and then leave you. I wasn't supposed to kill anyone on this gig and I didn't. Not yet. I have to now thought because you just had to go and make things personal!"
The elevator is getting louder, Zeke realized, but they still haven't noticed it. He wrapped his fingers around the grip of the .45. This is going to be tight.
"You're insane, Owens." Zeke sneered as he and his teammates moved inexorably if agonizingly slowly, towards the goal of the ditch. "You do despicable things for money. That makes you nothing more than a prostitute. A whore. You murdered all those people tonight even if it was indirectly. You put them in positions to die. You're just not man enough to admit it. You might think of yourself as a soldier, Scott, but you're nothing more than an overpriced thug!"
"Enough talk!" The Umbrella cleaner at the lieutenant's back shouted. "Owens, kill then already."
"With pleasure." The mole hissed, steadying his rifle. "Bye, bye, LT." Owens touched his finger to the trigger. Zeke tensed, ready to draw. Behind Owens and Da Silva, the lift clattered into place.
There was the ripping, hissing sound of the air being torn as a bolt of shining silver lanced through the weakening darkness. Owens cried out, falling to one leg as a knife the length of a man's forearm embedded itself in the side of his knee. Bleeding profusely, Umbrella's mole hit the ground revealing his attacker, Zeke's savior.
Shank stood propped up against one corner of the elevator, looking bone weary but smiling wryly nonetheless. The Psycho's thigh dripped crimson fluid and his face and shirt were covered in a thick black liquid the lieutenant could only think to describe as tar. Glimmering in the big man's right hand was a silvered throwing dagger.
Wide-eyed, open-mouthed and disbelieving, Owens turned as he fell, spinning in the direction of his assailant and loosing a burst of gunfire instinctively. Three smoking holes appeared in the stained material of Shank's shirt, bowling the biker back into the lift with a muffled grunt. His heart wrenched out of his chest at the sight of the big man's sacrifice, Zeke silently thanked Shank for the time he had bought them, the distraction he had given and the momentary chaos it wrought. All Zeke had needed was a moment.
At least there will be one death tonight that wasn't in vain. He drew his pistol before the thought was finished.
The Colt jumped in Zeke's hand twice, the rounds cracking through Owens' skull below the rim of his helmet, to leave bloody flower blossom marks in their wake. As the mole's body crumpled like a house of sticks, Da Silva brought his rifle around in Zeke's direction and the lieutenant hit the dirt, diving beneath a spray of hot lead. Wesley landed on the asphalt next to his friend, scooping up his M-4 and unloading a quick burst at the B.O.N.E.S. major. The shot was poorly aimed and hasty though, only one of the rounds managing to strike the trooper in the shin. Out of the corner of his eye, Zeke saw Pierce spin, draw and fire all at once. Behind them came a startled yelp of pain.
Cursing, Da Silva discharged his weapon as he fell, sending a bullet through Wesley's shoulder and another skidding across the back of Zeke's thigh. Returning fire quickly, Zeke succeeded in grazing Da Silva's forearm with a shot before he wrapped an arm around Wesley and rolled them both into the ditch. Dust and hunks of pavement pelted the Rangers as an automatic ate up the space they had occupied only a moment ago.
More gunshots rang out as Zeke and Wes dropped into the narrow ditch with dry grunts. Peeking over the edge of the platform, Zeke saw Pierce staggering backwards, one arm held tight against his left side, soaked through with blood now. The sniper was firing his pistol one-handed at the Umbrella soldier closest to the Black Hawk, striking him twice in the neck and sending him kicking to the floor but this only left him open to Da Silva. The B.O.N.E.S. major fired once, the round ripping a bloody path through Ryan's leg. With a sharp groan, the sharpshooter toppled over the side and into the ditch four or five feet from where Wesley and Zeke crouched, just barely hidden by the helipad's platform.
"Are you alright?" The lieutenant asked his friend. They were practically hanging off the edge of the AMRS now, dangling out over the jagged, spear-points that served as the tops of the cliffs lining the Arklay Mountain paths. The wind howled, cold and merciless, out on that thin ledge, forcing Zeke to yell to be heard.
"Never better." Wesley shouted back with a shaky thumbs-up, wincing as he clamped one hand over his gushing shoulder wound.
"Sit tight. I'm going to get Pierce." He said, pointing to where the fallen Ranger lay. "Cover me."
Wesley nodded grimly, taking in a deep breath and grunting softly as he leaned over the edge of the platform to open up with his carbine. Zeke heard a voice curse in Spanish and the lieutenant was off like a shot. He moved faster than a hare with a wolf on its tail, keeping his head low and the injured sniper in sight.
Hang on, Ryan, he willed the other man, absently wondering how much time was left in the facilities fail-safe. Ten minutes? Eleven? No, doesn't matter. Focus on getting to Pierce, focus on not making his child an orphan.
Bullets whizzed and snapped past Zeke's head and the lieutenant pressed himself flat beneath the helipad's overhang. A moment later, Wesley's M-4 made it's report and the droning chorus of gunfire pining him down vanished. Risking a glance, Zeke raised his eyes above the ledge to see Da Silva darting towards the chopper, his left arm leaking blood now in addition to his limp. Then the lieutenant saw something that made his throat lock as if he had tried to swallow a stone.
The blades on the Black Hawk were spinning! Someone had reached the bird's cockpit. Gripped by panic and adrenaline, the lieutenant surveyed the impromptu battlefield. Shank's body lay prone in the back of the freight elevator. Owens' corpse was still seeping blood and brain matter out onto the cold ground. Wesley and Ryan were on either side of him, Da Silva was still making a mad dash to the relative safety of the helicopter.
The cleaner Pierce shot, Zeke realized, he's not where he should be. His blood is but his body's not.
It seemed impossible. Zeke had seen the marksman pass a pair of .45 caliber rounds through the man's neck. He had seen the body fall. No one got up from that and yet, there behind the clear glass canopy of the chopper's cockpit was the gas-masked figure himself.
Son of a bitch, Zeke thought then pushed aside his awe as if it were a pile of refuse. This is Raccoon City. Everything that happens here is impossible.
The fact that the cleaner had survived Pierce's shooting meant little in the grand scheme of things. He was alive and he was stealing the last ride out of the city. The final flight, Wes had called it.
"The hell you do." Zeke whispered then shouted to Wesley as he took aim, "Fire on the cockpit, don't let the bastard take off!"
Shifting targets from the battered major to the Black Hawk's driver seat, the Brit opened up full auto as Zeke chimed in with his handgun a moment later. Sparks flew as the torrent of bullets bounced off the glass, screeching as they ricocheted every which way. Ducking, Zeke cursed and heard Wesley swear from a few feet away.
"The bugger is armour-plated!" He shouted.
Cursing a second time, the lieutenant crouched lower as a steady stream of lead swept back and forth through the air above his head. Da Silva was backing away to the chopper now, keeping the Rangers held down in the ditch with suppressive fire. So much for a direct attack, Zeke grimaced; the murdering bastards are going to get away Scott-free and their employers with them. Meanwhile, what happens to the steady lieutenant and his loyal troops? We get to sit here and die in a ditch. A fucking ditch! The universe has one twisted sense of humour.
Over the edge of the helipad and above the seemingly endless crack of Da Silva's AK, Zeke could hear the Black Hawk's engine powering up, roaring as it began its slow rise into the air. That sound was Defeat itself, sucking out the last remnants of Zeke's willpower. Closing his eyes, the lieutenant sighed as all the weariness, all the guilt and horror he had been holding in check for so long broke free and swept him away in a mudslide of loathing self-hatred.
I'm so sorry, he thought, shaking his head mournfully, I'm so sorry, captain, Coop, Rach. I let you all down. If I had just been smarter or more cautious I could have gotten you all out of this mess but I wasn't, I'm not. I failed and now Umbrella is going to come away smelling roses after butchering an entire city. I never expected it to be like this, I never expected things to get this far south…
Zeke blinked. This far south. South. Numbly, he reached into his hip pouch and removed his last grenade. If things go south, use that, he had told Eddie before leaving the rookie to his confrontation with Goldeneyes. An idea burned to life in the lieutenant's mind.
We'll probably still die, he decided, but at least we won't go down alone.
"Sergeant Pierce!" He called above the screaming of the Black Hawk's rotars and the rush of icy wind.
"Yes, sir!" Came Ryan's response, the tension in his tone telling Zeke the man was clenching his teeth to fight the pain.
"Can you use your weapon, soldier?"
"Yes, sir!" Pierce answered fiercely, rolling over onto his side. He was pale as death but as grimly determined as Zeke had ever seen him.
"Good. Wesley!"
"Yes, lieutenant?"
"Do you still have your grenade?"
"Bloody right I do."
"All right," Zeke said, mopping sweat from his face with the back of his hand. "Here's the plan. It's going to be a tight one."
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Rico only paused in chewing up the pavement with his rifle when his feet were firmly planted on the deck of the Black Hawk's passenger area. Tossing aside his empty AK-47, the major unholstered his pistol and elbowed the pilot's seat with no small manner of aggression. Or desperation for that matter.
"Get us in the air!" He hollered.
"What did I tell you before about patience, major?" Smith said, flipping switches and stabbing down buttons as the chopper continued to shudder to life.
"Patience my ass!" Rico spat. "Just get us the hell out of here!"
Smith offered no reply but that was fine with the major – he was too busy contemplating how fast everything had fallen to shit. In a matter of hours his entire squad had been exterminated, a valuable if repulsive spy had been killed, Rico himself had been injured and to top it all off that redneck Wilcott was still alive!
Not for much longer though. Rico mused with a half-grin as he felt the Black Hawk begin to rise. Eight more minutes and then he's nothing more than another unpleasant memory. Serves the hick right. I'm going to need more stitches than a fifty-year old sofa.
Aside from the scars he had received, the Raccoon adventure was not a complete waste. True, his boy scouts were dead and while Rico regretted their loss he had also understood from day one that they were expendable – tools to be used. As for Owens, his only purpose was to gather Umbrella's combat data and Smith now carried that so, if anything, by dying the man had served the company the expense of having to pay him – or kill him. Above all else though, they had the T-variant sample. That alone had to make the mission a success.
Saint Jude's is in flames and soon this place will be too. Rico's smile widened as he watched the helipad begin to fall away. No evidence to tie this debacle to Umbrella and a fat paycheck for me. All in all, not such a wretched ending to a bad beginning.
A heavy, concussive blast from below drew the major out of his happy reflections. A great cloud of dust had sprung into being on the helipad, radiating up and out to obscure half the landing zone. Large chunks of rubble rained to the ground. Rico frowned.
"What was that?" Smith shouted into the back.
"I'm not sure." Rico answered, straining to see through the thick mist. "Looks like they tried to fling explosives at us – maybe a grenade or something?" What were they hoping to accomplish at this range though? There was no time to ponder the query further though as Rico caught a hint of movement in the smoke. A figure in filth-encrusted army fatigues stood in the center of the cloud, his arm cocked back. Suddenly, the reason for the first explosion was clear. A smoke screen, cover for them to get out of their hidey-hole.
Snorting at the pathetic desperation of the plan, Rico raised his pistol to fire – and stopped when he saw the mist-shrouded figure lob something through the air. Even as the object sailed through the sky, Rico recognized it as an anti-personnel grenade. He swore as it landed by his foot with a noisy clunk.
Heart tightening, Rico scrambled for the explosive and snapped it into his palm. It was not an impact grenade, there would be a timer for the detonation, most likely a five second primary with a five to ten second back up. The Ranger who had thrown it should have known that.
Here's your present back, you son of a bitch. Rico thought, jerking his arm back, ready to return the soldier's unwanted gift. The chopper's blades were thinning the smoke now though and a splash of color to his right made the major pause. Stretched out over the edge of the landing pad was yet another figure in tattered, grimy camouflage. He held a handgun extended, starring down the barrel with one eye closed, an expression of supreme concentration on his white face.
"Oh sh – " Rico said before the pistol's muzzle flashed, sending a bullet through the goggle of his gas mask and out the back of his skull. The major's lifeless body teetered backwards, the grenade rolling from between his nerveless fingers to settle under the co-pilot's seat.
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Standing on the helipad, the dust clearing off, Zeke watched as the explosion lit up the violet sky. The Black Hawk was pulling away from the AMRS rooftop, nose leaning forward, when his grenade detonated, sending great gusts of orange flame out the sides of the metal beast. The smoldering, flaming craft was thrown forward then dropped into a death spin out over the cliffs of the Arklay Mountains. Rushing down to meet the massive craggy peaks the helicopter fell out of sight but the sounds of churning metal and crunching glass spoke of its fate. A moment later there was a second detonation.
Nice knowing you, Major Da Silva, Zeke though coldly as Wesley ran up behind him, Pierce's arm slung across his shoulders.
Zeke knew that he should have felt something with the demise of the Umbrella soldiers: relief, satisfaction that justice had been served and the dead could rest. On the contrary, he felt neither. All that remained in the Ranger was a yawning, bottomless chasm. All he could muster the strength to feel was the thirst for more blood, the hunger for revenge.
There's not enough blood in the entire world to bring back Rachel or Coop or any of the others though, Zeke thought, clenching a fist unconsciously, but I'll be damned if I don't at least try. Hell, I already am.
"Zeke?" Wes asked tentatively behind him. Ryan coughed softly, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.
"Let's get out of here." The lieutenant said, taking Pierce's other arm as a plume of smoke drifted up from below. "Let's see if we can find Burke's underground train."
Together, leading their wounded comrade across the helipad, the two weary Rangers stalked past Owens' corpse without a second look at the traitor. Zeke slid the gate shut as they climbed into the lift and nodded to Shank's body.
"Check him, Wes," he said, feeling more tired than he had at any point in his life, "just in case."
Nodding, the Brit crouched down beside the Psycho's still form as Zeke hit the button for the sub-basement. Pressing his fingers to the biker's neck. Wesley waited a moment then sighed, shaking his head. "He's gone, Zeke." Gently, Wesley closed Shank's unseeing eyes.
Thanks for all the help, big guy, The lieutenant thought, looking down at the bearded man's haggard body as the elevator continued its descent. Thanks for trying. I'm just sorry you thought I was worth the effort.
Zeke checked his watch as alarm bells squealed all around him, sirens painting the lift's interior in alternating shades of red and black. Five and a half minutes left.
There was not much time or hope left but there was some. For the first time in what felt like ages, Zeke Wilcott had hope. Not much but some.
Author's Note: Here's the new update, read and enjoy. As always, please do not forget to leave a review as well. I crave the feedback. Three Days In A Nightmare will conclude in the next installment but please stay tuned for the epilogue which will follow. Thank you and enjoy.