Chapter Thirty-Seven: Firefight
The doors to the facility's main storage area parted and Azulu carefully padded out onto the metal walkway overlooking the warehouse below. He had been alarmed to find all the doors on the subbasement level unlocked. Somehow his targets had managed to override the automatic lockdown and gain access to corners of the plant they had no business being in. It set his teeth on edge, knowing he had underestimated the group once again.
They were never supposed to make it this far.
Azulu knew Kuznetsov would be leading his new companions to the facility's emergency evacuation tram and had been planning on heading them off there but now found himself playing catch up once again. He enjoyed chasing down prey as much as any apex predator but even was beginning to find this game of cat and mouse vexing.
The clock was ticking down to sunrise and Raccoon City's annihilation. He wanted his mission accomplished and his team out of here. Azulu knew there was no more time for him and his men to spend playing with their food. They needed to eliminate their targets as quickly as possible and while he was disappointed he wouldn't get to listen to their screams as his knife played over their faces and other soft spots of their anatomies such circumstances were as dictated by necessity.
First, we need to find them.
Azulu swept the walkway from left to right and back again. The path was clear. At first he feared he and his men were too late, that their targets had already reached the evacuation tram and were already beyond his reach but he could see the door to the train control was still sealed, its key card reader glowing red.
Had the group been unable to release the lock on that particular door? It seemed unlikely given every other room in the subbasement's main hallway was unsecured. Perhaps they were simply hiding out inside there after discovering the plant's staff had already used the tram to flee the plant following the T-virus spill. If so, locking the door would only keep his team at bay for so long. Azulu tapped a few keys on the portable computer strapped to his arm and called up the appropriate access codes.
He had just found the right sequence when something made him hold up his fist, signalling for the rest of his unit to hold their positions. Hahn ground to a halt on his right while Henkel and Tepetski threw on the brakes on his left.
"What is it?" Hahn asked in a low whisper.
"I'm not sure," Azulu replied, feeling the fine hairs on the back of his neck rising. He had spent enough time killing and preventing himself from being killed that his instincts had become fine-tuned to the presence of danger. Azulu Takimbe knew when there were eyes on him. "We're being watched."
"Orders?"
"Hahn, you're with me. We will sweep right. Henkel, Tepetski, take the left side." Azulu waved his men forward. "Flush out whoever's out there."
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Danny ducked back as the paramilitary troopers split into groups of two and continued their approach towards his hiding place. He stood in an alcove on the western side of the walkway. It had given him a post to spy on the entrance way to the warehouse from while remaining concealed but he was going to be forced to give up the cover in a matter of seconds.
At least I'll be able to keep the element of surprise.
The marshal knew that was his greatest weapon in the firefight that was to come. He had taken a moment to check his ammo supply as he waited for the Umbrella team to enter. He was down to the last clip for his M4 and SIG Sauer. Neither was full. If he was going to emerge as the victor from this confrontation then he would have to rely on ambush tactics.
Of course, surviving the encounter was secondary. Danny reminded himself that his primary objective was buying enough time for Sarah, Tommy, Kuznetsov and Drake to get away.
The thought made him want to laugh.
I spent so much time trying to track that bastard down and when I finally get my hands on him, I'm risking my neck to help him escape. Danny shook his head and drew his handgun. Maybe this place has finally driven me batshit crazy but I actually believe the son of a bitch might be worth saving.
Drake Lincoln had been far from what Danny had been expecting.
He knew the ruthless killer who had left New York City littered in bodies during the turf war between Freddy McShay and Romeo Capelli but that wasn't who Drake was. During their time navigating the horrors of Raccoon City, the man had demonstrated the capacity for selflessness and even heroism. Sarah was alive because of Drake's actions and, although it pained him to admit it, Danny knew he was too.
He wondered what and who Drake would have become if he had never become entangled in the feud between two of the most powerful mob families on the planet. He wondered what and who Drake would have become if the head of one of those families had never taken away the one person, the one thing he cared most for.
I think I understand you now. Danny stared back towards the doors to the tram control room as he flattened his back against the alcove wall. I think I understand why you did what you did. I think I understand why you came here and –
Boots scrapped across the metal walkway and Danny steeled himself. He held his pistol loosely in one hand and braced his knees. The barrel of an assault rifle slipped around the corner of his hiding place.
Let's go.
Danny leapt out of the alcove, using his free hand to push the barrel of the rifle up and away. At the same time, he drove the business end of his SIG Sauer into his assailant's armpit where his flak jacket failed to cover. The marshal pulled the trigger three times, the crack of the gunshots muffled by the trooper's body. The man sagged against him, his rifle clattering to the ground.
The remaining three Umbrella cleaners turned on him then and opened fire. Danny held the dead man up and ducked behind him, using his body as a human shield. He felt the impact of each round that hammered into the trooper as his squad mates shot with wild abandon. The man's vest prevented some of the bullets from penetrating but others tore through Kevlar, flesh and bone to go screaming past Danny's ears.
Needing to escape the barrage, the marshal staggered towards the railing, half dragging, half pushing his shield with him. He felt his hip hit the edge of the metal barrier and then he and the dead Umbrella soldier went tumbling over it.
Danny experienced a moment of weightlessness before crashing down atop a pile of cardboard boxes stacked on one of the pallets below the platform. He felt their contents shift and crunch beneath the combined bulk of his body and that of his passenger. He shoved the trooper's corpse away and threw himself off the skid as more rounds ripped into the stack of boxes from above.
The marshal dove across the floor as bullets sparked and pinged off the concrete. He rolled hard to his left and came back to a stop underneath the platform he had just plummeted from. Danny found himself on his back starring up threw the grate at the soles of a pair of black combat boots.
Extending his pistol in both hands, Danny opened up. The trooper above him screamed as bloody holes punched through his feet and knees. He fell face first onto the platform. Danny registered the surprised look in the man's blue eyes before he put a pair of rounds through his forehead.
The slide on Danny's pistol locked back, out of ammo.
"Shit."
Shuffling footsteps sounded on the other side of the catwalk. Danny regained his feet just in time to see the last two troopers repositioning themselves to clear the skid and get a clear shot at him. He took off, their assaults rifles chasing him with bursts of automatic fire.
Danny bellowed as one of the rounds struck a glancing blow across the back of his thigh. A line of fire traced down his leg as he dove behind another pallet piled with supplies, momentarily confounding his attackers' aim.
He took a moment to examine his wound. Blood trickled from a cut in the back of his pants but the injury was little more than a graze. Ignoring the sharp ache, he holstered his pistol and unslung his M4.
Two down, two to go.
Finishing the fight would be easier said than done. Danny had sprung his trap. He couldn't spring it again and he was still outnumbered.
"Hahn!" One of the men called above him, his voice tinged with an African accent and tight with rage. "Pursue!"
Danny heard more cardboard crunch and plastic tear. He realized one of the troopers had jumped down onto the skid across from him. He moved deeper into the maze of pallets in an attempt to further throw the pair of killers off his trail.
They might know my neighbourhood but they don't know my address yet.
Danny pressed his back flat against the stack of boxes and listened. He could hear the racket as the trooper extricated himself from the containers piled on the skid he had used to break his fall. He moved closer to the source of the noise, keeping his head low and M4 trained ahead of him.
The marshal reached the spot where the soldier had dropped in, noting the cave-in that had occurred in the tower of boxes overhead. Through a hole in one of them, Danny spied rows of glass beakers used for measuring chemicals. A few had been crushed into shards but others remained intact. The sight made an idea swim to the surface of his brain and Danny reached in to remove one of the jars.
Crouching low, he crept towards the corner of the skid on the right. Straining to hear, he was just able to make out the soft scrapping sounds of the pursuing trooper's boots on the concrete floor. Judging by the sound, the man was just steps away from rounding the corner.
Danny leaned back and hurled the beaker over the top of the skid, in the opposite direction of the soldier's approach. The sound of it shattering was quickly dwarfed by the bark of an assault rifle as the trooper spun and opened fire in the direction the noise had come from.
Got you.
Raising his carbine, Danny swung around the corner of the pallet and watched as the Umbrella soldier sprayed bullets back into another skid behind him, tearing the boxes it contained to shreds. The marshal took aim at the back of the man's head and pulled the trigger twice. The trooper's gun fell silent as he fell to the floor, dead before he hit the ground.
Shooting a man in the back was a rotten thing to do but only part of Danny felt bad about it. Another, larger part of the marshal knew it had been a necessary thing to do. He knew his assailant would have afforded him the same courtesy had the situation been reversed.
Lucky for me, it wasn't and –
The sound of pounding footsteps on the platform above made Danny realize his mistake. The trooper above had used his companion as a decoy, to flush Danny out of hiding. The marshal spun around, looked up – and found himself staring down the black throat of a 40MM grenade launcher mounted under the barrel of the Umbrella soldier's assault rifle.
Uh oh.
Danny took off, charging for what meagre cover the maze of pallets offered. He made it two steps before his ears registered the whump the launcher made as it was fired then all other noise was lost.
The sound of the blast deafened Danny. The heat of it seared the exposed skin on his arms and face. The impact knocked him off his feet and tossed him across the room. Pain, hot and sharp, cut deep into his side as he slammed into a skid at the far end of the warehouse and hit the ground amid an avalanche of cardboard boxes.
His ears ringing, his limbs turned to jelly by the concussion of the blast Danny coughed and sputtered, trying to pull air into his lungs. It felt like an 18 wheeler had just run over his chest – twice. Agony arced along his ribs like electrical current with each breath but the pain reminded Danny that he was still alive, still in the fight.
Not for much longer though if you don`t get off your ass, Danny Boy.
The marshal battled his way out from under the pile of debris and whirled back in the direction of his attacker. He fired three rounds at but he was dizzy and disoriented from the explosion and his aim was hurried and sloppy to boot. The bullets bounced off the metal guard railing the Umbrella soldier was leaning over and the man ducked away, taking shelter in one of the alcoves on the platform.
"Son of a bitch," Danny growled as he ducked back down and checked the magazine in his M4. Two shots left. "Son of a bitch."
"Hey, fat man," the Umbrella trooper called down from above, his voice cracking and trembling with fury. "You're going to die down here! You know that, don't you?'
"Weight jokes seem a little petty at this point given the gravity of the situation, don't you think?" Danny replied, his replaced the clip in his carbine and leaned out around the corner of the skid he had taken shelter behind. He could see into the alcove his adversary was hiding in but couldn't draw a bead on the man himself.
A dull thud echoed through the room followed by something metallic rattling across the steel grating overhead. Danny saw the spent grenade casing roll into view. The Umbrella soldier was reloading his launcher.
Son of a bitch!
Danny doubted he possessed the ability to dodge two 40MM explosive rounds. He doubted he even possessed the ability to remain standing for much longer. The first blast had left him woozy and faint. He struggled to catch his breath and every inhalation sent a fresh wave of pain racing down his left side.
I need to end this now.
He heard his opponent fumble for another grenade followed by the sound of the launcher being cocked.
I don't have a shot. I don't have a fucking shot! He's going to step around the corner and turn me into hamburger in two sec –
A flash of colour in the corner of the alcove where the trooper had taken shelter to reload caught Danny's eye. Gleaming beneath the overhead fluorescents was a red hazard labelled glued to the body of one of the acetylene tanks. He was too far away to read the wording on the label but he could make out the symbol.
Danger. Contents under pressure. Flammable and explosive.
Danny cradled the stock of the M4 against his shoulder and placed the tank between his sights.
"I'm going to send you to Hell, fat man!" The Umbrella trooper bellowed.
"See you there," Danny muttered as the man began to round the corner.
He squeezed off his last two rounds. The first punched a hole in the acetylene tank, sending a jet of compressed gas hissing into the air. The second struck the metal casing, the resulting spark turning the jet of gas into a fireball.
The Umbrella trooper screamed, high and loud, as the flames engulfed his body. He went up like a funeral pyre, cloaked from head to toe, in swirling tongues of fire. He flailed and thrashed and shrieked as he burned. His cries rose to a crescendo that was violently cut short as the heat caused the grenade still chambered in his assault rifle to detonate.
Danny watched as the man literally blew apart like a human firecracker. Nothing remained of the trooper but a few scraps of burning cloth and scorched fragments of flesh and bone. The marshal ducked as the gruesome debris came raining down on him. A moment later the section of the platform where the Umbrella solider had been standing let out a mighty groan and collapsed in a tumble of metal railings and steel grating.
"Holy shit," Danny mumbled, staring transfixed at the grisly scene.
He gave himself a mental shake and reminding himself that he was still on the clock. He had no way of knowing how long had passed during his battle with the Umbrella hit squad. The marshal told himself to get moving again.
Danny took a step towards the staircase leading back up to the tram control room – and let out a sharp cry. Sharp fangs of pain bite deep into his side, sending him down to one leg. The marshal tentatively reached under his arm and glanced down at fingers that came away damp with blood.
Gingerly, lifting his arm higher he surveyed the damage done to him. There were a half dozen jagged pieces of metal embedded in his rib cage, shrapnel from the grenade attack. His vest had prevented the shards from punching clean through, had probably saved his life in fact, but the wound was still a bad one, one that had already spilled a considerable amount of blood.
Doesn't change anything, Danny told himself, struggling back to his feet. You need to get out of here, Danny Boy. Clock is ticking.
Gritting his teeth to steel himself against the worst of the pain, Danny plodded one step forward. Then a second and a third and a fourth. It was slow going but before too long he was climbing the steps to the upper level, to the tram control room, to an escape from Raccoon City.
Almost there. Almost home free.
Danny repeated those words in his mind with every step he took, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.
Author's Note: Please read and review.