LuckyNumber1: Slowly but surely, they're getting there ;).
Arkham Knight: Much appreciated. And he looks up to her alright. Or did. It's very complicated. We'll get there, when we delve into HUNK some more.
evolution-500: Thank you very much, it was my intent to make Carlos a sort of counterbalance between HUNK and Jill, both of those two on opposite sides, Carlos sort of a middle. Despite all he's been through he's probably the most stable personality, balanced, not that he doesn't have his own problems. And his personality adds the humor factor, the way he can play off a personality like HUNK's or Jill's, which will recur for sure. I tried to balance horror, realism, humor and other themes where applicable. I was very much working to flesh out all the characters, make them more real, glad to see I succeeded. No matter how much I edit there's always some mistakes it seems lol alas.
Akira-Hayama: The Jill not telling Carlos will come up again, and is related to those reasons you posited... and I'm sure Tyrell will turn up at some point. Where weapons and variety are concerned I wanted to have Jill use as many of them as possible, as the protagonist, it being her game, so to speak. Obviously she couldn't just lug them all around at the same time like Doomguy lol so I have her gain and lose some as time goes on. Whereas HUNK and Carlos mostly stick to their basic weapons, what they started with. Thank you kindly, I strive to keep Jill Jill, where the remake I felt altered her personality a bit too much. Made her more coarse and an action hero, less overtly empathetic, able to read people (part of her job to after all). Her personality is very important to get right, especially in a story like this where she plays off a man like HUNK. Despite what she's been through, and some conflict I'll put her through, she will remain 'good'. And that is vital to unthawing HUNK gradually. A man who has done a quite a bit of evil in his career, even if he took no pleasure in it, serving the interests of criminals at Umbrella. I will delve into him in regards to his abusive relationship to Umbrella as well, for contrast with his relationship with Jill. Much appreciated for the review, as ever.
xxSnowIxx: Much appreciated. Don't worry lol HUNK and Jill will get some rest at some point. Just be careful what you wish for. Yes, things will continue to get a good deal more complicated and tension filled between them on both sides. As they go on. We'll see how much HUNK reveals. I think the important thing right now is that she can read him and empathize, understand him even while he's hiding under the mask and full gear. See's through the armor, so to speak. See's him as nobody else does, or has. Hope you continue liking what I do ;).
Kaioo: The Operation Raccoon City Delta Team exists in my universe, but don't physically factor into this particular story. I have some ideas for them in the future, if I get to a sequel. We shall see.
Thank you all for the reviews. On with the show for our beleaguered heroes:
September 28th, 1998, 10:41 PM
Rear Carriage Wreckage, Outskirts Of Saint Michael Clock Tower, Northern Raccoon City.
Throbbing, pulsating... that was the first thing that greeted her, penetrating even the darkness that had been surrounding her on all sides. There were no thoughts, sounds, sensations, ideas, emotions... anything else for what felt the longest time. There was only throbbing, numb and distant starting in her back, then circulating through each of her limbs... and moments later, the throbbing certainly didn't lift, but the numbness did. Pain... so much of it, shooting through her entirety,and sound returned, her own breaths... and a moan escaped her lips of its own accord, she was unable to keep any of it at bay. Her head pounded raggedly, everything distorted... and she felt her fingers grasp on to cool metal, and she hooked her fingers into some slots on it, steadying herself.
"Oh God... what... where...-
The ground beneath her was rigid and uncomfortable, and causing even more of the soreness she was experiencing. It didn't matter... she was alive... she just needed time to reassemble herself, and recall everything. The distortion of her ears remained, but she could hear crackling, steadily picking up around her... and it was only then that she realized her eyes were still closed. She could see brightness, even with them closed, but still she did not open them. Pain was the only thing she felt... followed by heat, from an outside source... and lacking fear in that moment, she forced herself to sit up groggily on the spot... and miraculously her body responded. Her next action she directed herself into was far more painful and uncomfortable, and took a great deal of energy out of her. Were she in her right mind, she would have stayed where she lay... but she felt no fear, and her thoughts did not trouble her.
She rose up to her feet gradually, leg stinging and throbbing, releasing the cool metal on the ground her fingers hooked, as two heavy objects swung back from her shoulders... she'd been laying on them, but did not care, as a rushing wave of vertigo descended on her the second she righted herself. Groaning again, the nausea of it all almost made her vomit... and she rose a hand to her temple, hands pressing against her hair and running through. She wanted nothing more than to fall over and go unconscious again... to rest, but knew she couldn't... because there was some danger to her, somewhere that she couldn't quite remember... but she knew that if she fell unconscious again, she was done for. She felt more pain and sickness than she could remember, and it took all she had to stay on her feet. Seconds, or minutes ticked by, she didn't care which... and just as it felt like she'd never be right again... the haze began to recede, trickle away gradually, starting from the edge of her perceptions, like a storm cloud parting. She did not strain herself to think, or do anything but remain where she stood, holding her temple. The pain would not be going anywhere... but the last thing she needed on top of it was the sickening vertigo returning and stunning her.
Pain she could work through, exhaustion was much more difficult, and combined with pain would be too much for her to last long. She gave the vertigo a few more seconds to clear, even after she was sure it was gone... and slowly, she opened her eyes again... blinking once, twice, and moving her head slightly. Taking in her surroundings, the vertigo and haze entirely gone and her sight crystal clear, returning with her thoughts. She had landed onto a sidewalk, in the wake of jumping off the train... and one boot stood upon the metal she had been gripping, some grating of a sewer storm drain. Raising her eyes over, she was not surprised in the least to find the side of the exploded red rear tram carriage, tipped over slightly on its side. Although she could glimpse the entirety of the rear carriage, still miraculously connected to the front. Said front carriage had crashed all the way through the outer wall of the clock tower, as well as the side of the building, a large gaping hole situated in the stone beside the cable car.
A giant metal pipe had been torn almost entirely loose from the wall and hung down against the side of the train... and debris, rubble and glass was scattered everywhere. She could not see from where she was exactly what lay beyond the hole in the wall, exactly what side of the clock tower they had crashed... but there was an turned over table, and a few other items. It didn't matter she supposed, she'd be finding out one way or another. Her blue, tired eyes lowered from the crashed cable car and outer wall, down to the front of herself, and she started examining her limbs... a few extra bruises and cuts, but otherwise she seemed no worse off than she had been. Thank God. If she'd broken her already injured leg, or some other thing, it would have cost her her life in this city. She examined her weaponry and equipment next, and quickly, to find everything in order... M4 Assault Rifle, SPAS-12, her and Brad's Samurai Edges... it had all been made well. She patted Rebecca's medical bag, studied her dagger knife, and even the radio on her strap had not been damaged in any way... by virtue alone of not having landed on it. Lucky... very lucky.
Jill shook her head slowly, tiredly, her sluggish, pained state only slightly improving... and the only thing she could hear was the crackling of the fires behind her, much of the wreckage consumed with it. It had been miraculous there wasn't any fire further up towards the front of the train... but she supposed it made sense. It was the back of the train, where the engine and fuel was located... so it made sense the fire was... oh God. Behind her. The street. The road. The monsters they had driven through. The Tyrant's pursuit. The Captain's sacrifice. The window breaking. The muffled, authoritative voice that she had followed unquestioningly out the window.
Hunk.
Memory returned, and even surrounded by a hellish inferno Jill felt an icy cold spreading through her insides, and her senses were shot entirely awake. Her heart racing like she'd been on the receiving end of an adrenaline injection, and she whirled around. How in the hell had she forgotten about him? His quick thinking had been the reason she'd even jumped off the train. She had followed him. Hunk... thinking of him brought the other survivor to mind... Carlos... where in the hell was he? Had he not jumped off with them in time?
He had been right behind her... she had thought... well, there was no time to think about that, not really. Not when she realized and took in the sight that was behind her, just beyond the sewer grating. If she had not remembered him, and known what she was looking for, she probably wouldn't have found him, with how well blended into the fiery wreckage of the broken train he was. The smoke and fire rose high and powerfully over the street, both it and the rear carriage, both intact sections and scrap metal, cutting off almost the entirety of her view of the road beyond, and even of the night sky above. Hunk's back was visible close, but not close enough to the edge of the flaming scrap heap, the antenna from the device connected to his back poking out, the familiar dark bodysuit partially visible, along with the vibrant red reflective lenses of his mask as the fire leap and danced in it. But, it was the sight of the U.S.S. Agent's gloved hand poking out of the rubble that shook her to her core, made her heart race.
"No... Hunk... please..."
One of the train wheels lay heavily across him, covering up most of his form and pressing him down further into the fire that leap around him and the wreckage seemingly on all sides, save part of the front. Jill's eyes bulged at this sight... how long had he been laying there like this? How long... was he even still... he wasn't moving, he had to be... no. No. Too much had been lost. Too many. Not him too. She wouldn't let him go too. Jill snapped into motion and ran over to the edge of the fire, the powerful heat washing over her, and the longer she stood so close in its intensity, the more sweat poured down her forehead and back. Action was all that mattered... she could not be too late, she couldn't be. She didn't care about the pain it would cause... she didn't even hesitate for a second, but did brace herself for what was to come. Gritting her teeth and holding her breath as she leaned closer, she grabbed the flaming, heated metal wheel, and uttered a hiss of pain between her teeth as both hands latched on to the spokes and were stung, the flesh instantly flushing an angry red.
A scream of pain threatened to erupt from her lungs, a shout, as every second of contact felt a millennium... flames leaping over her exposed hands and scorching them all the way to her upper wrists. Inflaming the nerve endings. She acted as quickly as she could, without any thought... she felt herself almost reverting to something primitive, as rage and agony almost overtook her, and she did not bother looking down at her hands as she strained all her muscles and shifted the wheel off Hunk's prone form. Adrenaline surging. Somehow, she managed it a bit at a time... the weight wasn't the main problem, not yet for her, but the hot metal was another story... and her pain was not over. Not by a long shot. Sections of the train's flaming scrap metal lay on Hunk as well... and what she couldn't kick off of his form with her boot, she was forced again to grab and toss aside further into the roaring bonfire... and by now, even the pain was too much for her to keep quiet. She couldn't keep repressing her pain, releasing an agonized sound and she accidentally inhaled some of the smoke, coughing raggedly, shutting her up as tears started to stream from her eyes and down her cheeks.
"No... can't... black out..."
The putrid sour smell, the intensity... she couldn't take it... she would die here if she wasn't faster. Suffocate and pass out... burn with him. Burn together. Unacceptable. Forcing a hand over her coughing mouth, pain wracking through her lungs, burning them as the fire did her hands, she kicked a bit more of the debris and rubble out of her path, clearing it and exposing the rest of Hunk. Her hands were throbbing, pained, so much so that she felt no pain anywhere else... her hands burned even when she touched nothing... the heat of the fire around her was only worsening the sensation. With one last burst of energy, she forced her mind clear and grabbed both of the shoulder straps on Hunk's body armor, gripping it in a death grip, and straining her muscles further, she managed to pull his heavy form loose of the remaining debris, and out of the fire, his MP5 and shotgun sliding across the ground with him. She did not let him go... even after she got him to safety on the sidewalk just past the sewer grate... but she did collapse back to the ground again, coughing and retching, and struggling for breath.
"Hunk! Don't you... don't you die on me... not you too..."
She fought with it, close to being overcome as her vision remained dim, and the tears didn't seem to stop. But little by little, away from the fire, she was able to take some invigorating breaths of relatively fresh night air, and gather herself. She sat on the sidewalk with Hunk's helmeted head in her lap, her throbbing, stinging hands still gripping the backs of his straps... and she wasn't the only one grasping anything. Somehow, one of his gloved hands was still latched defiantly on to his TMP... and in the midst of everything, her agony, she had not glimpsed the red laser sight leaping around every which way. Even when she had collected her breath, she did not stop to examine her hands... rather, she examined him, leaning in close to his mask, and hoping... praying for a sign. For an instant... she thought she was too late... and was prepared to administer CPR... but then she heard it, very faint. A muffled breath... and a slight wheeze as air escaped the mask. A consistent, slow pattern. She breathed as well, in deepening relief spreading through her.
"Oh... thank God..."
He was, without a doubt, unconscious... but his thick armor, mask and potentially inflammable material of his bodysuit had saved him, evidently. And luck. Just as it had spared her. For the moment. Luck did not last forever. Jill released another breath she had been holding. One of relief, ragged relief, as she wiped away the tears the smoke inhalation would not cease providing her, even after the sting cleared away. She stayed there with him for a minute or two... hoping he would wake up. She shook him a bit, whispered to him... to no avail. He had to be out like a light, and there was no telling when he might return. All she knew was that she needed to get him to safety... true safety, before their welcome was worn out on this street corner. She propped him up a bit more on herself, and took his TMP, prying it from his hand and clipping it to his belt for safekeeping. She took the time to examine his limbs, to check for any fractures or broken bones... thankfully, this was not the case as far as she could discern. Though there was no telling within him. Unfortunately, before she could even try to rise herself, get him off the ground to move... it occurred to her that she was quite right in her fears.
She had stayed too long.
Jill heard it, off in the distance... and her head slowly rose in its direction. She heard it, even over the fires. Heard them. The sound she was well acquainted with... moaning, low moaning somewhere in the night, and gradually closing in that much more. The moans, snarls and cries of the ravenous dead. The shuffling of movement from the streets around the clock tower. She closed her eyes for another second... and even though she had control over herself... the fear returned, the understanding of their situation, the danger they were in. She hurt all over... she wanted to die... but she could not. She could not afford the luxury. The pain was a blessing... right now at least. She was alive. She still had a chance. Opening her eyes on the on fire that was the back of the train, she glimpsed them... pieces of fire moving in a manner it should not have been. Living torches, writhing and shuffling, over the wreckage, stumbling ever closer. Zombies on fire, visible through the smoke... so many of them, and from how loud this group was, there had to be far more beyond them. The horde they had driven through came to mind, intruded upon her thoughts, her frantic mind working as fast as it could. They would be on top of her the moment she managed to get Hunk to his feet... the closest ones at least.
She had to buy herself more time. Buy them more time to flee. Remaining where she was, sitting on the ground, one hand cradling Hunk's head, she shrugged her right shoulder, and the rifle dropped to the ground where she took it up. Releasing his head, she rose it to her shoulder, peering down the barrel, and she opened fire with the M4, firing single shots, every squeeze of the trigger sending stinging pain through her entire digits and hands. The recoil worsening it. Her eyes were still blurred, and she only hit a couple of them in the head, dropping them among the wreckage... but the others remained undeterred, merely staggered slightly from the impact of the rounds. With every step, her panic intensified, to the point she barely held on to herself... and without a thought, before she could regret it, she flicked the safety off the grenade launcher, took aim and squeezed the trigger.
There was a low thump, and the grenade within came flying out of the under barrel, striking dead on in the midst of the group and the wreckage. The force of the deafening explosion blew all of them to flaming pieces, and sending the wreckage everywhere, some of it just narrowly missing Jill and Hunk. Gasping for breath, breathing even harder, she popped open the under barrel, and slipped her shaking left hand into one of her pouches, producing another cool grenade shell from within. The coldness was no relief to her fingers... it only hurt worse, and somehow her shaking digits didn't drop the grenade. She slipped it inside the under barrel and pumped it hard, before slinging the rifle back over her shoulder, setting Hunk gently to the ground and rising up to her feet. Unslinging the rifle again on instinct, she peered down the sights again... glimpsing them... the silhouettes of the horde just beyond the wreckage... so goddamn many of them. She didn't have nearly enough firepower.
Even if Mikhail had survived, Hunk were conscious and Carlos were there with her... none of them would have been enough against the sheer numbers. As such, she was forced to make do with what little she had. She was certain she'd gone through most of the rounds in the drum barrel magazine... but the grenades, few as there were, would have to compensate. She slipped her finger into the secondary trigger, and leveled the barrel just a little bit above the first group of the oncoming horde. Squeezing it, her arms shook back slightly at the dull thump that was again issued. Even before it impacted in their midst, spraying fire and concrete, along with gory limbs everywhere, causing them chaos, she had already slung it again, not bothering to reload.
She grabbed the front straps of Hunk's body armor, straining hard to lift him up off the ground, and get him into a supporting position. Managing this was worse than helping Mikhail at the train station... now she was alone, and had to support all of his weight and the weight of his gear. Even with all the fitness training, weight lifting she had done, as a woman she simply didn't have the upper body strength to make any of this easy. As Chris or Barry probably could have. She could almost imagine them laughing at her struggle, as they had jokingly teased her at the gym. 'Girlie Weights'... she'd show them. Absurdly, she nearly laughed at the sudden memory, even in the middle of this inferno... with the dead drawing closer. And 'Death's' life in her hands, it seemed.
"Come... on you... big lug... not leaving you here..."
Little by little, exerting herself, heart beating faster, she managed to get him up to his boots again. She cursed loudly and nearly toppled over the instant she let him lean against her... but she managed to hold fast, digging her own boots into the concrete. Slinging his arm over and around her shoulders, and fastening her other arm around his waist. Slowly, very slowly, she began to move forward with him. Unconscious as he was, he could not take steps, only worsening an already hopeless situation. Having to half carry, half drag him. All her muscles flexing and straining. The pain in her hands almost unbearable, adrenaline or not. The moans in the wake of the explosions were only picking up further as she limped them up the sidewalk and towards the gaping hole between the clock tower and cable car. Her exhaustion and panic fought one another for control, one threatening to topple her to the ground, the other filling her with the alertness she needed to keep going. She moved as though the monsters were right on her heel... and she knew they soon would be. She could already hear their shuffling as they moved over the wreckage of the train, these ones fresh, avoiding the fires. Though the sight of a few of them going up was welcome... the more of them the better. Gripping the agent tighter, she spoke to him loudly, encouragingly.
"Come on... soldier... let's move it! You are not going to die here!"
No response came, save his muffled breaths and the moans of the living dead. They would not stop... there was no chance of it. Burning or not, they hungered. She would die before she let them have him. She would not drop them and save herself. Too much had been lost. She had lost too many people already. Not him too. Jill, holding Hunk even tighter by the waist and arm, hefted the taller man closer forward, the two of them reaching the hole in the wall and scrambling over the broken great pieces of concrete and road. Fortunately the train had crashed in such a manner that it was a near perfect divider between the wall and building. There was only one path through which the horde could get... and she was on it. An advertisement hung on the side of the wall to their left, still mostly intact, its bold lettering vibrant.
Big West Hotel Restaurant.
What she'd give to be holed up there in a room with him, minus the outbreak. Enjoying a breakfast in bed together... him devoid of that damn mask and armor. Their forms intertwined. Her wounds on the mend. Or not having them altogether. Rather than being here and now of all places in the city, exposed on the streets. Jill forced aside the pleasant, slightly naughty daydream, the stinging pain of reality grounding her. She pulled Hunk through the hole in the clock tower wall... the hole tall and wide enough to cause them little problems... but the debris on the other side did, forcing Jill to take a glance in front of herself. The side of the train had plowed through part of a well furnished bedroom, knocking out a section of the wall, turning over a fine large wooden cabinet that had landed on the bed in the center of the room, a small yellow table, and scattering various books and picture frames, all of which were broken and knocked to the ground.
Welcoming electric light lit their way from all sides when they entered the room, and Jill shuffled through all the debris, kicking aside one of the picture frames that had fallen, the process slowing her and Hunk to the same amble as the undead... but gradually, they waded through, into the uncluttered forward section of the bedroom, and again Jill's eyes darted about the area. There was a table and a couple chairs, as well as a plant pot in the west corner, while over on the eastern wall, just behind the bed, a dresser was visible in the corner, a crooked picture frame on the wall, and close by, a bedside table illuminated, along with a tipped over vase and couple bottles of unopened wine. None of it was of much importance to her... the mere byproduct of a mandatory cursory glance for threats. Mercifully finding no infected or mutations within waiting for them. She found what she wanted almost at once, dead ahead on the northern wall... the door out of their particular nightmare.
"Well... I wanted to get you into a hotel room... not very romantic now though... for some reason..."
Jill murmured grimly to herself and him, but she breathed a sigh of relief as they reached the door... for the shuffling of the undead could be heard not far behind past the hole in the wall... they had reached the sidewalk at least, and would only keep going from there. She let go of Hunk's arm with her left hand, and it slumped around her shoulders without her supporting it, and she grasped the cool, burning metal of the doorknob, before twisting it. Once. Twice. Three times... to no avail. Oh no... not the door too. Jill uttered a frustrated growl as she kept twisting the locked knob... difficult to keep doing while holding on to Hunk. Another solution was required.
She looked over towards the dresser, to find a chair in front of it, just beside the door, so she limped him over to it and set him back in it, his helmeted head slumping down the moment she had him settled. Breathing more deeply, and her arms unrestricted, Jill moved back to the door and unslung her rifle, anger burning in her system at the obstacle that threatened to pitch them right into the hands of the rotting. No... she wouldn't... she had survived too goddamn much. She rose the rifle to the door... finger on the trigger... but froze before she could go through with it, rational thought penetrating even her frustration and fear. Deep down, she knew if she shot the door down... or blew it down with the grenade launcher, she would only be hanging a 'welcome' sign over the door for the undead for the horde to join them in the clock tower. It was a very sturdy, heavy door, probably lined with metal within, enough to keep them out... but not if she went in guns blazing. There had to be another way... had to be. There was always another way. Her eyes swept frantically about the room, looking for a key among the debris and tables. She moved quickly around the room, one hand holding the rifle by the carrying handle, tearing off the covers of the bed, turning over the tables, pushing over vases and crashing them to the ground. Breathing so hard she was panting, feeling the sweat running down her face and back, knowing how wild she looked from a glance at a hanging mirror. Barely recognizing the crazy young woman in it.
With each passing second she grew all the more frantic, searching the bedside table and entire western wall... to no avail. Then... there came their footsteps, louder than before... their moans filling the room, and Jill whipped around from her position in front of the door. The front bulk of the horde had reached her, and made it into the bedroom, stepping gradually over the debris, some of them slipping and falling, but most getting in. Feeling nothing but ice in her heart, not knowing how many shells she had left, she raised the rifle and peered down the sights, lining up her first shot. Forcing away her trembling, knowing what was counting on her. The man in the chair behind her, who could have probably killed them all if he were conscious. Who could protect her... who she believed would have, as he already had. Now he was counting on her, even if he didn't know it... she intended to reward his faith. She squeezed the trigger, releasing a high powered round through the closest zombie's head, exploding the back of its skull. It toppled back into the bunch and knocked some more of them down, tripping up the front line of them... and she fired five more shots, three of them making head shots, the other two impacting uselessly into limbs.
Lips thinning, she made no more mistakes with her rounds... shooting a former teenage girl through the eye socket, a middle aged heavily rotten businessman through the temple, a big figure in fireman gear through the helmet, a mechanic, a cop and a news woman. They all toppled around the room... and Jill, very much in the zone, feeling an unnatural calm, shot eight more rounds, and killed just as many, spraying blood and gore all around the room as the rifle gradually ran out. She shot one of the glowing eyed infected she'd seen out on the road... and to her silent shock a purple, gaseous cloud burst from the wound as it fell, coating the others... but not effecting them. Some kind of toxin... most likely. Or something worse. Had it mutated? Had the T-Virus become airborne? Panic flared inside her, wishing she were wearing a gas mask as he was... but it dissipated quickly, and she hadn't breathed any of it in. Now wasn't the time to fear that. Jill squeezed the trigger three more times, to receive only the much dreaded click of emptiness... and she finally breathed. This time, not a breath of relief. Infected were scattered all over among the debris, twitching, and had knocked over many others as they fell... but it had only bought her moments. Still she would put said moments to good use, glancing back over to the eastern wall... specifically, to the crooked picture frame she had spotted earlier... a painting actually, now that she bothered taking in the details... of a woman. The frame had parted slightly, revealing dark metal beneath, and an open space.
A safe? It was all she had to go off of, she acknowledged, slipping her shaking, burnt fingers back into her pouch, producing her last grenade and popping it back into the under barrel of the rifle. Yet, she needed a bit more time, just in case. She formulated a plan for utilizing the grenade. If this failed, and she couldn't find the key, she would have no choice but to shoot the door down with her pistols, grab Hunk, and hopefully flee somewhere safe beyond the door... provided there weren't already things inside there waiting for them, thus attacking from their front and behind. At that point, it would all be over... but it had not reached that point. She remembered Carlos mentioning an 'Echo Team' that was supposed to be holding the clock tower... wanting to hope it was true, that they were burst through the door and save the day, but not daring to. They were on their own now anyways, with no help in sight, and needed to stay realistic. It was down to her not to fuck this up royally. God help them both. After sliding the cool shell into the rifle, Jill cocked the under barrel roughly, for the final time, and aimed the barrel into their midst, just as they righted themselves, raising their arms and staggering closer to her and Hunk, glazed eyes seeing their prize. But she didn't squeeze the trigger, not then at least. She tilted the barrel up a good ninety degrees to the ceiling above the swarming creatures... then she squeezed the trigger.
Like the rounds that had echoed within the room, the low thump of the launcher was audible even over the moans. The explosive shell flew to the end of the room and slammed directly into the ceiling over the zombie's heads and detonated, sprawling napalm over that section of the room, lighting the moaning zombies up... before a large section of the roof from the room above caved in and fell down on them, dust swirling through the room and putting out the fires. The roof was not the only thing to fall on them... Jill found, to her numb shock, and another distant pang of absurd amusement, choking back a laugh. A big, sturdy piano had been up there... it dropped down through the hole and crushed several of them, including a former old woman... and she half expected its feet to roll up, like the Wicked Witch. Even amid her pain and exhaustion, Jill almost laughed at the thought... but it was gone instantly, as the piano began to shift, creatures beyond it pressing against it, the crushed zombies shifting and moving beneath all the rubble. Working together to try to shift its great weight and resume their advance, the chorus of moans filling the bedroom.
Still, she had bought them more time... perhaps enough of it. Jill slung the spent rifle again and ran over to the picture frame, tearing it off the wall and peering inside the open, hollowed out space within, illuminated by an overhead light. There were a couple of thick books within and some papers... probably financial related or some such thing, or clock tower records... but Jill couldn't be bothered to care. Her eyes snapped to the small piece of metal within the space that the light caught... glinting off its silvery surface. Jill grabbed it without hesitation and examined it... just what she was looking for, the key to the clock tower... this must have been the owner's bedroom... she could barely fathom her rare good fortune. It probably opened every door in the building... if she was lucky. Jill pivoted on the spot and ran back to the door... just as the creatures toppled over the piano, their hungry moans only impeded, like their movements. Jill slid the key into the lock and turned it... successfully, the locks clicking within as they retracted. Jill sighed with proper relief this time and, pushing the door open, tucked the key away safely, moving over to where Hunk lay helplessly in the chair and grabbing his shoulder straps again.
"Up you get, big guy... we're almost there.", She murmured under her breath as she strained to slowly lift up his heavier form once more, throwing his arm over her shoulder again and holding his waist. "Might want to consider carrying a hell of a lot less, next time. Or... I need to hit the gym some more..."
The infected were half way inside the burning room... just as she reached the door with him and started through. Well, most of them were only half way inside. She felt a hand grasp the shoulder strap of her rifle and tug... with it still connected to her, she was drawn partially backwards, her heart exploding with shock... and instinctively she pushed Hunk's unconscious form through the doorway without examining the room. Getting him to safety. His body moved forward slightly before toppling down, slamming head first to the carpeted floor unceremoniously, and remaining as unmoving as before. Jill had no time to study the room... she was already whirling around on the spot, thinking she would spot a zombie, but finding something else instead. Something chilling her blood even as her flesh burned.
One of the tall, thin, emaciated pale things from the street was holding on to her shoulder strap, before tugging the rifle free from her grasp, taking her off guard. Its bloodied face leering at her, razor teeth gnashing. Its flesh was even more sickly, waxy up close, to the point this white thing almost had a blue hue, and its near featureless face saw her somehow. Unlike the others, with their snapping jaws, and hungry moans... this one was silent, and its mouth closed. Blood and saliva flowing from between its teeth, down taut lips. The infected seemed to linger just behind it... keeping a slight distance, as it had been in the streets. Stopping themselves, in spite of their hungered moans. The sight of them deferring to it was as unnerving as the thing its self. Recovering herself, Jill grabbed the butt of the rifle and tried to pull it away, to get it back... but the creature's grip was too powerful. In spite of how thin it was. Perhaps she could have pulled it into the room with her, and killed it after closing the door... or even simply wrench it from its grasp... but she was too tired... and the rest of the moaning horde was too close now. She had never faced something like this before either, and wasn't taking the risk.
Not with his life at stake if she failed.
Instead, feeling anger swirling through herself at the loss of such a fine weapon, Jill summoned all her strength. She let go of the rifle, and kicked the monster solidly in the stomach with all she had left. The sudden impact drove the tall, thin thing back into the infected behind it, knocking down some of them on to the carpet like bowling pins. But the other infected on either side swarmed in, cutting off her view of the pale abomination, encircling it, moaning and steadily closing the gap towards her, filling it in. Just as a few of them reached for the door, one with the glowing eyes the toxic one had had, Jill slammed it shut in their rotted, mutilated faces, cutting off her view and theirs. In a flash producing the key again and locking it behind her. She did not tuck the key away again, as their hands brushed against the heavy door, their moans and snarls now muffled to her ears. They pressed against it with their body, struck it with their hands... but she had been right. It didn't even shift in the door frame... sturdy. She merely turned around on the spot, and when she was assured the next room of the clock tower was devoid of other creatures... she simply slumped against the door, allowing herself to slide down it to the floor, breathing deeply.
With the last of her strength, she looked to and grabbed the back of Hunk's shoulder straps, and drew him over to her again, gasping at all the exertion she had put herself through, just to reach this point. From the sidewalk to this floor couldn't have been far... but it felt like a marathon... and had been far worse than one. Outrunning... or out limping, death. She wrapped her arm around him and pulled him against herself, cradled him protectively, drawing her Samurai Edge at the same time. Leaning in to listen to his mask. He was still breathing. Good. She felt his chest moving against her arm. Then it hadn't all been for nothing. Slowly, her eyes rose from his mask... and although they remained open, and stared straight ahead... she could not truly see the room, wherever they had ended up. Just knew that it was clear of monsters. Nor could her ears hear the muffled bangs of the horde's hands on the door... not really. They grew distant... almost everything did. Even her pain seemed to recede, as she lay in relative safety. She had been right. The door did not even move slightly as the many hands pressed against it. The architecture in the clock tower was old and reliable, with metal bracing this particular door, and it stood fast. Buying them a respite.
Jill thought of the pale, featureless inhuman face sneering back at her again, grinning as though enjoying a joke. More alien it had seemed than a living corpse. The horde somehow deferring to the pale, grisly thing. What the hell had it been? And how had something like it seemed intelligent? It hadn't been a Tyrant... and infected were supposed to be unintelligent. Were they developing? Changing? She didn't know what it was, what it could be... and knew she didn't really want to. She had to force its visage from her mind with all she had, holding Hunk tighter. Looking to his rising and falling chest. Focusing on the life in her arms instead of the tidal wave of death lurking just behind them on the other side. Futilely banging on the door... a sea of ravenous unending appetites and rotting flesh.
They would not be following her any further. At least not in this direction. And not them. Looking back at her troubled, exhausted, flushed face in his red lenses... she dared to breath again. She had done it. They were at the end of the line. Had survived the journey. She slowly forced her eyes shut tightly. Trying to wake up from the nightmare. Will it away along with the pain all over her body... the stinging and throbbing. Not daring to look at the extent of her growing list of injuries.
"It's ok...", Jill murmured soothing, to him and to herself, holding him closer. Breathing heavily... still trying to recover herself. "It's going to be ok, now. We've made it. We're almost there. Please... just hold on."
Despite her gentle assurances, she knew they still had to find Carlos. Signal for escape. Reach the chopper. Above all, she tried not to think about the looming dread that surely awaited ahead of them on that path. Unavoidable. The nightmare of whatever it was they would have to survive next to reach their final escape. For now, she felt content as she was with him... despite all they had gone through, despite an entire city infected and burning... somehow, they were still alive.
That was all that mattered just now.
September 28th, 1998, 10:41 PM.
Forward Carriage Wreckage, Courtyard Of Saint Michael Clock Tower, Northern Raccoon City.
A low, pained groan erupted from Carlos's lips as he lay back in rough, uncomfortable ground... propped up slightly by something. A cold wind passed over him, and he shivered, goosebumps rising all over himself. He was not entirely sure when consciousness returned... his eyes were closed, but images stirred back in his thoughts. Of creatures... of men he had known... himself firing a rifle... his stream of thought was left jumbled every which way. Pain was the first clear thing to return, within his head, a splitting ache, as something warm dripped down it. Beyond his closed eye lids, light... irritating painful light still shone through and hurt his eyes... causing him to turn his head and look away from it blindly. At some point, he became aware that he was still breathing, his chest gradually rising and falling... he heard his own muffled sounds through the ringing in his ears that started as a low hum and only got worse.
"Need that vacation... anytime now..."
His limbs were wracked with soreness and deep throbbing... how long he lay there, he wasn't sure... he wasn't sure of anything, couldn't trust his own mind as of yet... but there was one impulse within him, to get back up. To try to steady himself from whatever he had gone through, and hopefully figure it out. Groaning again deeply, every inch of movement costing him a bundle, he rolled off his side, and peered his closed eyes up above, before gradually parting the lids, forcing himself to, in spite of the pain and additional headache of the light. His eyes opened only part ways... and he could not force open the stinging left one very much... but it was enough to see what he needed to.
He saw light washing down on him... but above all, he saw the night sky... there were no stars, it was cloudy, but not only in a natural way. Smoke billowed up high into the night wherever he lay, wafting in lazy, scattered patterns the higher it got... but below the highest trails of smoke, it all emanated from a consistent source. Right now, Carlos could not be bothered to care about said source... between the pain, and difficulty keeping his eyes open, he had bigger fish to fry. First thing was first. Standing. He had to will himself for awhile to even move, mentally shouting at himself amid the ringing in his ear that just didn't cease. He could only take it step by step, knowing deep down that if he stood all the way at once, he'd just be hitting the ground all over again.
He moved up a little, not even bothering to examine his surroundings... one of the many things that could wait. He knew he was in danger... that the others were... wherever they were, and who they were, names that were close, but eluding him in his pain. He struggled to rise... he was wearing some heavy items that made him all the more sluggish. Two objects on his shoulder, weapons... one larger heavier object, a backpack on his back. He felt like some kind of pack mule, who had fallen and could not get up... but forcing part of his mind clear, he struggled up to one knee, peering down at the ground beneath, still breathing hard as the warm liquid from earlier ran down his face. And when scarlet droplets landed on his front and pants, he knew full well it wasn't raining. He wiped his bloodied face, pressed his fingers to his cheek to find where the blood was emanating, a long deep wound across it... but it wasn't much of a deal right then.
He could take care of it later... it wasn't vital, and certainly wasn't the most painful part of his body. Still... nothing appeared to be broken. Mercifully.
He knelt in a pile of bricks and grass... an odd combination, but the specifics were unimportant. He could move... that was all that mattered, his legs were relatively intact and functional, but stiff from laying as he had been, his tan pant legs covered in dust and dirt. He found himself almost exhausted, just performing that... getting to his knee pad... but little by little, some of his energy was returning, in spite of how distracted his mind was. When he had just a little more energy built up, he rose, quite unsteadily, back to his boots atop the rubble and grass beneath him. Keeping his head low and eyes averted away from the light, instead turning away from it and staggering, limping over to the closed object he could on his right side. Pressing his hand against the side of the train's front carriage and leaning against it, closing his eyes again, attempting to jog both his memory and senses.
The train... of course he remembered that much... he was not too far gone. It was propped up on something it had crashed into, and towered over him higher than usual, the wheels and spokes visible. He... recalled the hassle of getting it running... the fight at the train station... the giant thing interrupting their escape... Mikhail's death. He had it all, all the disturbing pieces, and remembered them... they were just jumbled and out of order, harder to seize on to with his sluggish mind. He reached into his belt with one hand, retrieving his canteen and unscrewing it, before taking a deep drink, attempting to shock himself back the rest of the way. The refreshing liquid relaxed him a bit more... enough to almost fully get a hold of himself. Standing up had given him a bit of vertigo, made things spin slightly... but it wasn't as bad as other times he'd experienced it, surprisingly enough.
He remembered the crash... part of it at least... the others had escaped, he had wanted to join them, but had failed... and the last thing he remembered after that was waking up mere moments ago. He peered back hard into the side of the train... some of its metal surface clear enough to catch his reflection in. He stared groggily back at himself, muttering a curse under his breath at what he saw... but he was not altogether surprised.
His cheek was indeed cut pretty badly, the wound deep and ragged... but his left eye was swelling as well... a black eye, before long, having struck it against something in the crash. He supposed he could have fared worse... although how he had gotten out of the train, and was laying outside, he could not piece together. Maybe he had managed to climb out, and fell unconscious... or been jettisoned out one of the broken windows. Either way, it was a damn miracle he was still breathing... he was grateful he had been spared... how would he be now if he had remained inside? Probably splatted against some wall or railing, and dead. Overall, he felt not a single trace humor or amusement in the least, or cared enough to pretend anymore at this time... his eyes were narrowed hard, glaring back at himself... and he felt anger, among other base feelings circulating through him, even when he knew he should be glad to be alive. And he was grateful.
Silently, he withdrew his crucifix from his collar and gave a short, grateful prayer, giving the Lord His due. Trying to calm himself through it, center himself, before tucking it away again. Breathing steadily, and thinking back. The others... Jill... HUNK... he didn't know if they were still alive... and feared the worst... but part of him could not give them up for dead. They had probably fared better than him, certainly... they were probably waiting somewhere... or in the vicinity. Besides, if the stories were true, HUNK could not die on a mission... and surely he would protect Jill, the way they had been looking at each other. The touches and murmuring when they thought he wasn't looking. Or at least, he hoped as much... there was no knowing the man, what he might do to accomplish his mission. For all Carlos knew, he had taken off in the crash and left them for dead, not requiring them any longer. He hoped he was wrong.
Even if they had been present, he would not feign his usual jokes and optimism. He was sick of the masks... the hiding. He just wanted to get the hell out. Signal the chopper and fly out. He'd find them before long... it was just a matter of...- Carlos stopped... but remained leaning against the train. Gradually, in the wake of drinking the water, swallowing... his ears began to clear. He still heard the low hum... and a crackling behind him... but overall, he heard it, and knew what it was at once. Moaning... the moaning of the dead who should not have been capable of doing so. Of course... he should have expected to hear that sound again... he had only escaped one section of a dead city that had something that wanted him killed at every corner.
Even hearing the sound, his senses did not fully return... the moans were far away... it seemed... outside the area, but he did look up and over from his reflection, back in the direction he and the front carriage had come from. Finding himself staring unblinkingly at the burning wreckage, of the smashed front carriage, and the wall it had plowed through on the way to the clock tower... the train had nearly run right through the locked and sealed front gate entrance, but had instead veered off to the side of it, entire columns of stone taken down. Leaving only a flaming pile of rubble, brick and greenery that had presided before the crash, strewn all over the pathway to the gate... everywhere really. The smoke poured into the night courtesy of this spot... and the front carriage, as well as part of the back one that he could see, plugged the gap in the wall, mercifully keeping out whatever lay beyond.
Well, not whatever... he knew damn well what lay beyond the clock tower walls, and it was only the manner the train had crashed that he had not been eaten alive as he was unconscious. Another small stroke of luck... it only came in doses, compared to misfortunes as of late. Though he worried about the mutations that could climb walls as the zombies couldn't. As of yet, they hadn't arrived. Carlos tucked away his canteen, and was about to turn his head back to the train and lower it again... when and explosion erupted. He looked back in its direction, silent... and before long a second explosion rang out as well. Not long after that, gunfire erupted... not automatic shots, but single shots, a bunch of them... each familiar, from somewhere over the crashed train and fiery wreckage. The rear carriage out of sight beyond the breached wall. Some of the moans were cut off... but certainly not all of them. Carlos's eyes widened slightly... he knew the sound of that rifle... carrying one himself, and knew which of the other two survivors was carrying one. Jill... she was alive, at least for the moment... he needed to get to her, as soon as possible.
He listened closely... the gunshots seemed to be emanating not from the street, but from somewhere within the wall... and as he pealed his ears, there came a third muffled explosion. The grenade shells he had given her sprang to mind... and he knew at once what needed to be done. He had to find her, before it was too late. He could not afford the luxury of stopping any longer and catching his breath... instead, his eyes narrowed and he unslung his rifle, holding it close in both hands, and he turned around on the spot, away from the wreckage, the front carriage, the crumbling wall and main gate. He took a step forward... but found himself stopping, pausing, to study what lay ahead... and where he resided. He'd not bothered getting acquainted to the sights around him, too distracted in his pain and thoughts... so in the here and now, he examined it all, rather impressed.
His half of the train had crashed head first into the clock tower courtyard, the gardens... there were various chipped and cracked old stone pathways along the grass, leading to different sections and sides of both the garden and main building. The light that had been blinding him earlier, came courtesy of carefully positioned black cast iron light posts placed strategically around the courtyard, with one rather close to his position among the rubble. The place was well lit, but there were small areas where shadows resided, particularly in the corners. Every section of the actual garden, consisting of various plants, small tree's and shrubs were enclosed separately within short risen stone split face walls, filled with dirt, and kept separately of the pathway, thick dark grass running around the area in concentrated amounts. Carlos took the time to marvel at it all, looking over to the high risen walls surrounding the courtyard... walls that had a classic old architecture, consisting of stain glass windows, pillars and archways. But most of his attention was taken to a statue, in an empty fountain further down the path, and closer to the main door leading into the building.
It wasn't the only statue in the courtyard, or even the only fountain... there were others, comprising of white stone birds carved from the granite... but the one that caught his eye dominated with ease over the other statues in the Gardens. A tall lady in white presided over all the others, standing clad in a dress, hands spread open compellingly and staring out over the courtyard. Carlos wasn't certain... but if he had to wager a guess, she represented an angel of sorts, which went hand in hand with the 'Saint Michael' part of the area. There had to be an old chapel or church somewhere around here... Carlos had seen many statues similar to this one, of religious importance... and he felt no less awe studying the statue than he had those others. Absently, he played with his collar, the concealed necklaces he wore, one with his dog tags the other his crucifix... and for a moment, he felt humbled, and grateful... not angry or alert. Perhaps he did have someone, or something looking out for him after all. He should have died in the crash... but he'd been given another chance... either from coincidence... or some intervention. A chance to do it right.
He didn't know... he didn't know much of anything when it came to that. To his faith. It was all he'd had for a long time, growing up... before and after he had foolishly been tangled up with Communism... but when he had come to America, he found religion less than... wide spread, here. An obsession with the material over the spiritual. He didn't know what to think... but if there was something out there, he uttered a silent thank you to it as he peered at the lady's kind expression, and he uttered a low breath. He was going to start moving again down to the entrance beyond... but he remained where he was, looking past the lady's statue, and above. A story above the statue, just over the archway leading to the main door, a rather spacious stone balcony resided, hanging over the entrance, with stone railings... from how far away he was, he could barely discern much in the way of detail of the balcony and what was on it. And as his eyes rose even further, he found he did not care... fingers slackening on his rifle slightly.
Rising a number of stories above the ground was none other than the clock tower he had glimpsed in the distance when they had been back on the train... but standing much closer to it now. It was no longer a distant speck, but nothing short of an impressive monolith of stone, brick and craftsmanship. It was a Gothic masterpiece... the kind of design Carlos had only ever seen in the movies, never in life... it was larger than life... and he found himself uttering a low whistle. It must have had a lot of history... had probably been built around the time the town was first constructed. Carlos had the feeling that the clock tower's base, the building around it, had not been constructed first. It seemed as though layer after layer had been build around it, with the tower firmly in mind. That was but one of the many things that impressed him about America compared to where he had grown up... far more impressive old architecture. This place would not look out of place in the Victorian or even medieval era.
The clock tower was like one somebody would see in England, the great glowing white clock shining down over the courtyard and city like a moon in its self... the large second hand ticking away. Just above it were another pair of glowing stain glass windows, shining with some type of gold light behind them at the very top of the tower. A metal ladder was visible attached to the front of the tower on the balcony, leading all the way up to the top. Crows and other black birds swooped around the air around the tower, cawing, some flying off the ground and up to their fellow birds... while others flew down to the main door of the gardens, just out of sight. He could hear them all cawing away freely... and kept in mind the likelihood they were infected, having encountered such tiny yet dangerous creatures before. Carlos had a watch he could have looked at on his wrist, but he didn't bother... there was no need to. An hour and a bit remained until midnight.
Not bad... they were making good time, at least, for awhile Carlos had been convinced they wouldn't reach this place until later tomorrow, if at all. Had they not encountered Jill and HUNK... that probably would have been the case. While thinking of them did fully bring back his intent to find them, he'd kept it at the corner of his mind. By now the gunshots had ceased, though the moans remained... and all that was left was his objective. Part of him wanted to explore the grounds, and entirety of the building... and he resolved to do so, but only after he knew, with absolute certainty that they were ok. Carlos rose the rifle in front of himself carefully, and continued forward down the stone path away from the crashed train, deeper into the gardens, his eyes flickering about for any signs of danger. He ignored the moaning of the dead on the street... they were not his concern... the birds were. He watched them fly this way and that... but as the seconds passed, each of them flew down to the entrance, just past the fountain... a whole concentration of them squawking.
They would be trouble... and unavoidable trouble at that, taking the front door... he could have always taken a door he spotted on the western side of the courtyard to avoid them. There was no telling how much time doing so would add to his search for Jill and HUNK, or how many creatures he might run into on the way. For all he knew, they were already infesting the whole building. Based off the position of all the gunfire, Jill had to be somewhere on the eastern side of the clock tower... and given there was no door on that side of the courtyard, taking the front door was his only logical option. Carlos continued along the pathway... but stopped, just before the fountain and a pair of cast iron, high rising lights... when he heard a rustling from one of the bushes off to his right... and then the same sound from one to his left.
Carlos's lips thinned, and he backed slowly away, back to the front of the crashed trained, and he looked between the bushes... as low growling began to emanate from each. Familiar growling, and Carlos had a damn good idea what was creating it. There was a snarl, and something burst from the bushes on the right hand side of the path. Without hesitation, Carlos fired a trio of shots into its midsection and knocked it to the ground... and it released a pained whining... an infected doberman, and it was not alone. With the dog momentarily disabled, the gunfire alerted the others, two more, who leap out of the bush and away from the garden, landing on the path near Carlos. He fired several more times at them, missing as they had leap... and he was forced to hold his breath and concentrate, shooting the closest one through the head and killing it instantly. Its rotting, blood soaked carcass landing on the path, its rib cage laying up in the air, exposed.
Unfortunately, he was not as fast with drawing a bead on the other one, and he was forced to jump to the side, rolling out of its path, the creature's snarling, drooling and deadly jaws narrowly missing him. Keeping a firm grip on his rifle, Carlos aimed from where he lay, and took off the top of the dog's head before it had a chance to spin all the way around and bear down on his prone form again. It twitched and writhed in front of the train for a few moments as he stood up, but by the time he aimed at it again, it was already dead. He could still hear the first dog he had shot whining, having been unable to finish it right away. Carlos ignored the additional soreness his dive had cost him, having landed not in the grass, but back in the rubble, and moved back down the path, aiming and snapping off a shot into the injured creatures head, exploding its brain matter from the back of its skull, and ending its writhing. Carlos lowered the smoking barrel slightly, made his way back to the fountain and angel statue, stepping around the dog's bodies.
"Bad dogs..."
He was almost sure all the hounds had been dealt with... the rapports in the night would have alerted any others in the area already. Hell, his firing had probably alerted the ravenous zombies beyond the wall... but fortunately the bastards couldn't find a way through. Yet, at least. It felt like only a matter of time, with so many of them in the streets... but with luck, the evac chopper would get to the courtyard first. Carlos continued forward, sidestepping slowly around the statue and main fountain... but paused the instant he glimpsed what had been behind it, in front of the main doors into the clock tower and overhanging archway. There were two more white stone statues, of women similar looking to the one on the fountain sitting down comfortably on low risen pedestals... but it was what lay on either side of them, on the stone pathway to the door, that alerted him.
The birds from earlier... even as he had been firing, they'd not been interrupted from what they were doing. Wings flapping, talons slashing, beaks pecking away raggedly, their dark feathers and mouths stained with wet and drying blood, patches of feathers missing off some. Although he walked quietly... as he paused, his boot tapping against the stone... every one of them stopped suddenly, and turned their heads and blank eyes in his direction... at least a dozen of them altogether, their cawing cut short, and growing as silent as the grave. No, his rifle shots hadn't spooked these things... but the moment they sensed an addition to their dinner, fresh meat at that, it got more than their attention. Staring right back at their beady, unblinking eyes sent a shiver not even the cold could manage through Carlos. Slowly, carefully, he flicked the switch on his rifle to full auto and took aim again. He did not even hesitate, knowing damn well they would all fly at him at once, and he'd be dead or infected in no time.
Carlos had seen what they could do to people, especially in swarms like this... he wasn't about to give them an advantage. He sprayed right into their midst, automatic fire raining down upon them, and they started their insane squawking as the rounds tore them to shreds. Only a couple of their number managed to make it off the ground, only to receive a burst each for their troubles. Bloody, tiny limbs and feathers sprayed everywhere around the body they had been feasting upon, as each of their twitching remains were spread along much of the walkway. The rifle clicked empty as he killed the last one... and he took the time to pop in a fresh magazine... only having two of them left in his pouches. Cocking the rifle, when they all stopped twitching, he moved closer to the body, peering down on it. At first, in the midst of the dark feathers and blood, how badly mauled the body was, Carlos could not make out any identification, other than it was a man with a torn off face. The bite wounds were not just those of the birds tiny beaks... but much larger, those of the dogs he had killed before the crows.
"A murder of crows, alright..."
It made sense... the infected crows were more like vultures, feasting off any leftover meal, but did not turn up a fresh live one if the individual presented themselves, as he had. He wasn't sure how the infected detected... somehow, even ones without eyes, like this corpse or much left could sense when the living were around... he was no scientist, but he had always wondered about that, in the movies... now it was a thing of reality. And then there had been the pale things out on the street, watching their train pass without any eyes. Creepy shit. Looked more like Xenomorphs from the movies than zombies. It took a more careful examination with his flashlight to recognize the vest the man was wearing, and a few of the remaining military green spots not touched by gore from his various gaping, leaking wounds, a spreading puddle beneath the man. A fellow U.B.C.S. mercenary... missing his dog tags, and most of his neck and face for that matter. Carlos tried to block out the foul smell as he leaned over the body.
"Rest in peace, man... damn..."
A member of Echo Team... it had to be. The figure was tattered and torn up beyond recognition. Between the corpse and the infected animals, it wasn't a good sign... but it was possible the rest of them had survived and were holed up somewhere. He would search every nook and cranny of the mansion after finding Jill and her masked companion. With luck, they could find some backup to help hold down the clock tower until the chopper arrived. Maybe clean it out. There was no telling what already lurked the halls of this almost mansion sized building... or what else would find its way in as it reached morning. Carlos paused only a little longer, long enough to examine the fallen mercenary, armed with the same rifle he and Jill were, with spent brass casings laying all around in his blood... good. It wasn't entirely a waste. Carlos searched the vest and pouches, retrieving a few more magazines for his rifle... but more importantly, he found something laying just under the soldier's arm... a grenade case, another one of the shell variety, but based on the markings on the outside, it was neither merely an explosive, acidic or incendiary variant... rather, cryo rounds. A potent combination of explosives and liquid nitrogen packed into one case... one of the many variants and creations of Umbrella when it came to weaponry.
Carlos found himself smiling, to a very small degree, and he popped open the case, peaking in at the six blue tinted shells, pressing his fingers to one... sure enough, to find it ice cold. A tiny glowing button on the base of each indicating the cryogenics were functioning... each a self contained unit. He did not envy any monster he ended up using it against... but they would more than deserve it anyways. He'd seen the results of such rounds before... it froze monsters to the spot, if it did not outright obliterate them. A single follow up round was usually all that was required to scatter what remained to pieces... or simply a good kick. He truly was becoming a pack mule, with how many shells he was carrying by now. He removed his backpack for a moment and tucked the case away inside, before zipping it back up and putting it on again, rolling his shoulders and stretching them.
He was going to have to get used to all the weight, at this rate. But considering how much firepower he was hefting, he could not find it in himself to mind altogether. He would have to find more explosives of the other varieties... but this was a damn good start.
Carlos had no clue the identity of the dead man in question... but like all the others, he thanked him silently. Wished him the best, wherever he was going, and gave him a quick prayer. Carlos tore his eyes away from the eyeless mercenary, and rose them ahead to the door. He had been sidelined enough already... so he didn't bother examining anymore of the statues, rather raising his rifle and stepping around the body, moving beneath the archway and balcony. The clock tower disappearing from sight beneath... and he paused in front of the great wooden double doors, grasping the handle with one hand. He laid out his game plan... get inside, deal with any creatures that might be there... make his way to the eastern side of the tower and search for the others.
From there, he could begin his scavenger hunt anew, as he had Downtown. Recover more supplies they might need, make himself useful. They were so close now, Carlos could almost taste escape... and it tasted far better than leaving the train yard had. They had reached the end of the line, and the near catastrophic journey was over. This was it... they were not half way to the end, they were mere feet... this courtyard would be where they would all evacuate, before long. But danger remained until then, perhaps worse than it ever had been. There was always something about being so close to the finish line, that something terrible would tear you screaming away from it. He refused to allow that to happen... not here, and not this time. They would secure the clock tower, and get the hell out of the city. There was nothing else. Drawing in another fresh breath of air, Carlos nodded to himself, his thoughts comforting, along with the images of a chopper in his mind's eye.
Steadying his nerves, his brows narrowed with concentration. He opened the great door, which creaked as it parted, and without waiting, he stepped inside the great hall and took up his rifle in both hands, slamming the door shut after himself. The sound carrying through both the main hall that greeted him, and the night he had left behind.