Part I : Raccoon City
10
2:00 P.M., Northern Section, Raccoon City—Downtown Ryuken Street
A light haze looms over the maze-like terrain of Raccoon City's buildings, housing projects, and various small shops across Ryuken Street. The translucent brown mass hovered indefinitely, fogging the sky like a dense, dirt-laden pollution. The sun was now very hot, searing the 25 mile radius of Raccoon City and baking its land like the daytime Nevada heat at its all-time high. Weather like that was not usual for a budding city from the state of Oregon—it was the kind of weather that drew daily reports of potential heat waves and other paranoid bits of information. Meteorologists predicted "one skin bakin,' smog congested Summer," while scientists formed an hypothesis linked to the effects of greenhouse gases and the Greenhouse Effect accompanying it. Yet even though the height of knowledge did a wonderful job of informing the public using its fancy schematics and advanced predictions (since news and media is a great part of their job), nobody came to think that any of it was nothing but euphony.
Like what the menacing voice that terrorized Claire Redfield said earlier that day, today was a special day for Raccoon City (No cops, no securitynothing to get into your way). The Greenhouse Effect and the "one skin bakin', smog congested Summer" were mere euphemisms for the real cause of the ninety degree heat wave: city-wide chaos.
"At this present time, the situation involving the chemical contamination within Raccoon is under process of immediate control," the image of an urgent Brian Irons reported over a Sony Trinitron television on display behind the glass window of Yuki's Electronic Boutique (I beat your low prices better than your average wife-beater!). "In the meantime, we are investigating the plausible causes associated with the known suspect of the recent contaminationany further notice surrounding the case will soon be provided to ensure public safety in Raccoon City."
Right before KEVL news anchorman Ben Bertolucci could step into the TV and question the Chief of Raccoon City Police, the shadow of a crowbar cuts across the Sony's monitor, and the glass window of Yuki's Electronic Boutique suddenly finds itself glistening over the concrete sidewalk and various appliances around the store. The noises of gunshots, police sirens, muffled screeches of tires, and screams of hundreds rush into Yuki's shop and bring the loud volume of the television down to a whisper.
Rows of R.P.D. officers dispatched by the station spill their cars into the street and open fire on the looters and crazed rioters once emerged from their battered vehicles. The commotion continues when some of the rioters return fire to the police and brush holes across some of their cars, leaving the windshields with enough cracks and holes that it comes to resemble an uneven fishnet with holes melted through it. A nervous policeman firing away from behind his opened car door has his chest impaled by three bullets from an unknown shooter in the crowd. Before falling away on his back towards his death, he reaches out with his .38 revolver and blows a nearby gunner's head away. The gunner from the rioter crowd stumbles back and tips over toward the asphalt, where he receives two more bullets to his dead body: one on his left thigh and the other right into his navel. The war continues for a long period of time until both sides are unsure why they began firing at each other in the first place. Moments later the police continue forth and try to maintain "control" by means of drawing away the urban swarm in an almost recognizable fashion reminiscent from the racist South of the early 60s. They are simply following orders, as they say in between their hostile brutality.
"—Officers from various precincts all around the city, along with a few specially hired from selected precincts across the nation, have been dispatched to handle our current crisis." The uninterrupted voice of Irons continues to speak amongst the violence—nobody seems to be listening as the newscast continues, for they all seem preoccupied with their own matters.
"And what are your feelings regarding the contamination?" the rather cool, but aristocratic voice of Ben Bertolucci asks the burly figure standing beside him.
"In regards to the chemical contamination, if the crisis advances to yet another level beyond critical controlthen immediate quarantine of Raccoon City will be an imminent factor—if so this decision be taken into action, nobody in Raccoon City will be permitted departure or even entrance within a safe distance of city limits."
Right before Irons could finish or possibly explain more, his image blips off into mute blackness as somebody unplugs the Sony television and carries it off toward Down-town Ryuken Street through the heavy crowds.
The wise owner of the expensive tailor across from the corner of Yuki's now battered electronics store was wise enough to close his lovely shop before this incident and to also be fortunate enough to be on vacation. Below the stone surface wall where the ARUKAS sign and canvas entrance peak lies suspended from (YOURS TRULY is printed over it in bold white letters), there is the large vacant shadow of the building outlined with brass-colored diamond patterns from the metallic security gate. If a curious onlooker was behind that cage of a gate protecting the ARUKAS store, he or she would have seen the rows of cars crunched into one another like some sort of hellish nightmare train dreamt by a twelve-year-old. The dazzled eye would then make out the large over-emphasized curving sign of Yuki's Electronic Boutique behind the crushed sedans and two-doors across the street before noticing dark trails of smoke rubbing its way up into the fading atmosphere. Perhaps the last and most terrifying detail the interested observer may attempt to see happening on Downtown Ryuken Street is what some of the people in the street were doing to themselves.
A great number of them—an increasing number—were biting each other.
And nobody could figure out why.
11
2:05 P.M., Central Section, Raccoon City—15 miles South of Downtown Ryuken Street
Nancy Garcia brought her gold-colored, Lexus LS400 to a stop at the Washington Hospital Visitor Parking. Her eyes brushed the entrance of the building. There were guards everywhere—even policemen. Yet she also wondered why there were so many of them sent to protect a hospital like Washington. It looked as if it didn't need human guards—more like a retributive computer system was the real security.
Above its main sign housing the heart symbol with its large cross implanted in between where the two bumps on top of the shape were, stood an enormous piece of modern construction from where Nancy's eyes rose. She noticed the sleek architecture the simple square-based structure had. It looked more like a lab than a hospital itself. She sighed to herself while leaving her car, shaking her head lightly.
"If the mayor has enough funding for a building like this, then shit, they should start paying me more," Nancy muttered to herself as she made her way toward the Lobby entrance. A loud, deafening siren across the street from behind caught her attention. She turned her head and saw three ambulance cars—one after another—shrieking its way through rows of swerving cars before stopping behind the hospital where she assumed was ER since that was the place where everything went on. Supposedly so.
She shrugged to herself and continued, her finely-shaped hand (as described from many of her peers) ran up to her sunglasses and slowly peeled them off, revealing her sharp, brown eyes. The sliding door leading to the Lobby was darkly tinted, giving Nancy hardly any visibility to see what she expected behind those two doors. In her mind she could see the volunteers—at least two, maybe up to three of them seated calmly behind that large desk bending across the back of the lobby like a fortress. She could see their eyes full of a future and ambition on college life. She knew everything about how the vol-unteering system worked, even though she had never been a volunteer herself.
Although Ian—her nephew—had been one prior to his disappearance.
She remembered the look from his mother, Ely, when she ran up to her, sobbing painfully into her shoulder and yelping the same phrase in Spanish: "Mi hijo esta perdido! Busca mi hijo, Por favor Nancy, Busca mi hijo."
Ely believed her son was missing—kidnapped in fact by them, the nameless force. She was one of those superstitious women who always drew her conclusions toward the supernatural or any of that crap already proven incorrect through modern-day common sense. Nancy wouldn't be surprised if her sister Ely had believed the Chupacabra had taken him, rather than something more credible.
"Ely, don't worry about what kidnapped to our poor Ian," she tried assuring her in fluid Spanish. Her plump face was still buried onto the surface of Nancy's shoulder. "We'll find him, somebody will find him soon, I promise."
Ely would never be convinced of Nancy's words until she had seen some kind of
ghost or beast to accompany the evidence that Ian was there, and breathing in front
of her. Nancy was
Yet, it was a good try.
Her sobbing ceased a little, persisting into quiet sniffs until they ended in silent tears drenching Nancy's shoulder-blade. She then spoke in clear, flawless English. "All right sister, you go find him. He's strong—I know he is—just please bring him home."
"I will, Ely. I'll try my best." Nancy hugged her sister tight and gave her a warm peck on the spot above her ear. She smiled warmly. Her sister found the right person.
Ely had
From the way she saw it, it almost seemed to her that Ian was merely a child from how Ely seemed to speak and brag about, but he wasn't. He was 19, fully responsible, and had a bright future—yet he mysteriously disappeared. Ely had thought at first that spirits had kidnapped him to repay for her wrong-doings of the past, but she knew better. As far as Nancy could tell from her recent investigation, it had something to do with the city and the hospital he had last volunteered in himself.
And what seemed to revolve around Raccoon City and the hospital was, strangely enough, Umbrella Corporation—the soda company, or whatever they said they were.
Although she wasn't allowed to head out and investigate personal matters invol-ving family, the promise she had given her sister was true and had enough life to be deemed worthy of a promise. Her current investigation involving the biological terrorist (William Birkin, or The MeatHook Mangler they called him) was linked to her search for Ian (and probably the others vanished with him), and was led into this building she was now entering. What frightened her the most was the fact that Ian's disappearance proved to be a lot more serious then she had expected—and that is what scared her the most about it.
She wasn't sure if she could keep her promise for long.
The Bureau had already provided much support and background evidence for the sloppy R.P.D., which have done nothing but confuse and blur the investigation on William Birkin. The Chief have already told the Bureau (bragged actually) about their recent advancements on the Birkin case and how by around late-afternoon they would have him in "no time." The possibility of the Department's success at Birkin had some clarity, but Nancy herself didn't believe they had any sense whatsoever. Brian Irons and his motley crew of investigators were full of bullshit, and she knew it well enough. The Justice System itself was even aware of it.
In case Irons was really full of it, the Bureau had sent out five undercover agents throughout Raccoon City to do "a more thorough investigation." Nancy was one of them, and her partner Marcel were to be stationed at Washington Hospital in case anything out of the ordinary showed up there.
And already, they were told that something was going on there.
The first set of double doors quietly slid open as she strolled through the entrance of the hospital. Through the second set, she could see the large desk sitting right before her in the lobby. The information desk, she thought to herself.
After the second door closed behind her, she continued toward the bulging desk where the volunteers were seated calmly. She saw only two.
The two volunteers seated before her looked to be of Asian descent. They wore burgundy polo shirts and had a brownish complexion as if they had tanned the week before. One of them, seated to her left and facing her was a weary but bright-looking boy with a shaved head around the same age as Ian. Seated to his left was a younger girl with long, brown-dyed hair extending down her back of about sixteen. The girl's lips and other facial features were filled with make-up, probably making her very attractive towards the males in her age group. Nancy didn't necessarily need make-up to look beautiful herself, she looked good enough without such tricks of the face. But anyway, she looked irresistible with make-up on.
The boy with the shaved head looked up at her and gave her a welcoming smile. Nancy noticed the boy had a rather muscular build as she saw his bulging arms spring into action. She smiled back politely. At least there's some decency around here, she thought.
"Hey," the boy said to her. She noticed the girl right next to him try to say something but clenched her mouth shut. "Anything you need help in?" the young man continued.
"Yeah," Nancy replied, noticing both volunteers' name tags. The boy was named Nathan Lieu, while the girl's name tag said in capital letters: SOFIA DELACRUZ. Her attention focused back onto Nathan. "I'd like to know where Mercedes Gamboa is."
Nathan looked up at her questionably with a confused expression. "Uh, can you spell out the last name."
"Yeah, it's G-A-M—"
"Thank you," Sofia's soft voice replied. They both suddenly started typing in their computers. The girl seemed to have brought out the last name faster than Nathan as she came up with Nancy's answer before he did. "Yeah, Mercedes Gamboa," she continued while her eyes were locked on the screen, "she's on 3 West, Room 17."
Nancy heard Nathan mutter out something that sounded like "Oh, you good," but she wasn't sure. Seemed to have been some kind of friendly race of some sort. She smiled. "Thank you very much," she nodded at Nathan and Sofia before turning to head towards the elevators to her left.
Her eyes then abruptly swept toward the large sculpture hanging on the wall behind the volunteers. It was a large heart—the outline being the exact symbol of Washington Hospital. Inside the large cross placed in the heart frame was a staff and serpent slithering over it like a vine. She noticed that the staff belonged to an ancient Greek deity of the name Aesculapius, the god of healing. Interesting. Surrounding the staff and cross were nameless objects of little meaning to Nancy as she then drew her mind away and back onto the hospital. She had one more thing to do.
She reached into her black leather coat and gripped a yellow folder as she turned around and headed back towards the desk. She would have to lie in order to do this—obviously a central part of her job; it was the only aspect that made her cover a lot less conspicuous.
The boy named Nathan looked up at her again, so did his pretty partner.
"Um, I know this may be a little too much coming from a stranger and all, butI was wondering if the two of you can do a little favor for me," Nancy crafted the phrase in her nice, but quirky voice.
The boy gave a pleasant expression with his face (she saw it as either a smile or a cute smirk)it almost made Nancy feel special for some strange reason, nearly giving the awkward impression she was talking to her new dream lover or some other type of uplifting persona. She smiled back without being hesitant.
"Yeah, I'd be more than happy to do that," he said as he began giving her more of that same expression, "as long as you're not telling me do to something like walk your dog' or change your kid's diapers,' I'm your servant, lady. That's what I volunteer for, to bring out the limited slave outta me." Nathan grinned. "So what you want?"
An almost breathless chuckle came out of Nancy's reaction—surely Nathan seemed as welcoming as his first smile to her, and to put it simply, she saw him as not too bad of a volunteer. That just made things better.
"Well," Nancy smiled, "I just need the both of you to hold on to this folder for me, it just has some important stuff for Anna Brown. I'll need for her to pick it up later."
"Oh, okay, justleave it here, I'm pretty cool with that," Nathan said.
"What department is she from?" Sofia asked. She seemed to have some suspicion about the Anna Brown Nancy conjured from the back of her head.
"Oh, Admitting," Nancy replied. The most favorite aspect of this part to her undercover operation was the fact that she could make up almost anything the young volunteers could believe or casually not care about. They were simply kids, and Nancy did not worry so much as she would if adults were the prime obstacle in her path toward finding Birkinor Ian.
A puzzled look appeared on Sofia as her face looked as though it had picked up some bad smell from the toilet. "That's kinda weird, I never remembered hearing about an Anna Brown," she then looked at Nancy. And then she shook her head with her eyes closed. "Ah forget it—I don't care, they don't pay me for this shitty job anyway."
Nancy smiled again. It was the blissful smile she gave to her ex-boyfriend on the day he tried proposing to her. "Oh well, then. Just leave this in some drawer and she'll pick it up later this afternoon—will any of you be here after that?"
Nathan rested his hands behind the back of his head. "Yeah," he said calmly. "Because of the emergency today, they're making us stay for a whole extra four shifts—that's the whole friggin dayand I got no clue why. At least they're doubling our hours for today—which then means I'm gonna have enough hours to graduate, finally."
"And I'll have enough to get out of this shithole and get a real job," Sofia added to Nathan's comment. "Almost got killed this morning by some psycho."
Dammit, Nancy thought. She should of just said her partner Marcel was going to pick it up, since that was the truth. His cover was a hospital security guard. How could she be so stupid by making up some crap like that? But anyway, Marcel would just come at around eight, and by that time, the volunteers wouldn't even be curious enough to look at all—just worried about going home. So it was nothing to worry about after all. She almost felt like cursing the hospital itself for making them (as Nathan said) stay a whole day in a place that could be so dangerous at this time. It just wasn't right for two kids like the ones here to be so unaware about the potential appearance of a biological terrorist/ serial killer in this hospital.
And what was the deal about Sofia saying she "almost got killed this morning by
some psycho?" Did Raccoon City have more problems that the Bureau must have
overlooked? They shouldn't have, because if they did, then that would have to be one
big shit-load of a problem to miss. The Feds themselves would surely want to shut
themselves down if they looked at this place and saw only William Birkin but missed a
whole shebang of an apocalypse coming instead (not like it was predicted, but it's
something stirring in the mind at the moment). That was just funny to think
aboutthat since Birkin and Umbrella have some faint connection to one another, a
kind of a hellish, book of the dead-type fate could come up here in Raccoon City. A soda
company and a biological
And here I am undercover with a folder to deliverthinking this thought.
"So, you going to hand in that folder?" Nathan said. It abruptly interrupted the string of thoughts going on in Nancy's head.
"Oh, surethanks a lot for it," Nancy replied happily.
She handed the yellow folder to him.
For a brief nanosecond, it seemed as if her Glock .40 strapped to the left side of her body would actually fall out and her cover would be blown. But as always, thank Godit didn't. She should invest in a new holster once she had the time.
She then smiled again, as always, and began to walk away towards the elevators to the volunteers' right.
Nathan glanced at the yellow folder the fine woman had given him. He then looked up at
the Jennifer Lopez look-a-like. She was about 5'7" with her heels on
"Hey, we'll promise not to look at it," he said with that warm volunteer tone.
She turned around, and with that pleasant smile she kept giving him and Sofia, she replied, "You better, because if I ever catch you two, it's going to be another long shift for the both of you!" She then disappeared into the elevator area.
Sofia didn't leave her eyes from her. "You know," she said as she began to roll closer to Nathan with the comfortable office chairs they had, "don't you think that she was really pretty?"
"Yeah (Of course), I think she's decent-looking," Nathan agreed without drawing his eyes away from the folder in his hands.
"Decent-looking? Is that all you can say she is? Come on, Nate, you don't have to lie to me about this—admit it, she's like hella fine, ain't she?"
Nathan smiled a little and looked at Sofia. Was she jealous? Nah, couldn't beNate himself liked everybody, and Sofi here was probably the type that could get any guy if she just about gave them the look. Beauty wasn't necessarily skin-deep for Nathan—every girl to him was fine in one way or another (Although occasionally there are some exceptions to that).
But every girl was pretty much nothing compared to Fiorella Lai—but that was another tale saved for another day.
"All right, she's fine, she's hella fine, Sofi," Nathan said while he placed the folder on the Lobby Desk where Crewcut last stepped over while trying to demonstrate his hate for Asians in Raccoon City. "I just gotta say, she looks like Jennifer Lopez."
Sofia nodded with a smirk. It made her look cute, and at the same time, nearly beautiful. "Yeah, she does. Jennifer Lopez, that one chick from Out of Sight. I loved that movie." She looked at the folder on the desk. "You ever wonder what's in that folder?"
Nathan shrugged. "I don't know, I wouldn't look at it—it's probably full of boring stuff for whoever it was forthat Anna Brawn, Brownor whatever."
"Well, I'm just bored—I should've been home right now or at the mall with my boyfriend now that school's out for a while." She then paused, and suddenly grit her teeth. "But it was hella fucked up what just happened to us this morning, Nateand they're still keeping us here!"
"Hey, just calm down," Nathan tried reassuring her. In a matter of hours following their recent episode with Mr. Crewcut, Sofia began losing her calm he last saw her in the morning with. It almost looked as though she had a severe case of PMS once she downed that nut-case with the switchblade. This was definitely not the same Sofia Nathan had known, but just what seemed like an aggressive side.
Sofia blew a sigh from her (rather pleasant) mouth. Her cheeks and lips puffed up a little from the way she let the air exiting her mouth fill up inside her jaws. Then her eyes widened to the point that it seemed to say, Damn it, Nate! Don't you have any fucking clue? I'm having a baby right now and the contractions are killing me! Don't just sit there and gawk at my pretty face! Do something!
But of course, babies were very far from the situation the two of them were in.
Instead she said, "Calm down, Nate? They have us fucking trapped in this hospital while the city's going insane with riots here and riots there'—and if that wasn't all, there's a contamination people say could spread all over across Raccoon—I heard that in the Surgery Lounge—and it's got people rushing to this hospital, Nate! To you and me, and at the same time, they're keeping us in here for crying out loud! They're just fucking keeping us here for no reason"
"SofiSofia, one thing here: can you please cut out fuckings' and we've been through this already. We're going to be fine," Nathan tried calming his nearly hysterical partner. This was the second time. "Just take a deeeep breath," his eyes widened as his voice grew incredibly soothing. The shrinks would most likely laugh at him. "Calm down Sofia, calm downyou see me going around screaming like that psycho with the crew-cut did in the morning?"
She shook her head after taking the deep breaths he told her to. "No, Nate," she whispered in her dulcet voice as her eyes began to close.
"We just have another six hours—that's a school day right there—but the best part is we'll get double hoursthen you can get out of this shithole and go work at Burger Kong or some other, better place."
"I hate Burger Kong," she began to smile with what looked like a highly sarcastic one. Her voice now seemed a little more on the borderline of tranquilized. She then sighed again—this time it looked more like her usual self that Nathan had barely known for around two weeks. "I'm also beginning to hate this place. I mean really hate it."
Nathan wasn't surprised from that reaction. For a rather fine and rebellious girl like Sofia, doing a job where her parents forced her into (as what she had told him) and not liking a single bit of it did not necessarily bring happy results from this bonita Pinay. Even though Nathan's parents (actually mom) somewhat forced him to come work here since the end of his Sophomore year—like most things, he began to enjoy it to some extent. He actually liked discharging patients out the hospital; riding them in wheelchairs through the slim corridors where all the rooms originated from and eventually watching them leave into their rides with smiles of satisfaction all over their faces. Today, he and Sofia had discharged at least forty people ranging from old ladies with bad cases of arthritis to hulking men who could actually walk by themselves despite their serious injury. Nathan remembered an occasion where a man just told him, "I can handle it from here," briskly got out of his chair, and walked off to his car. From the looks of it, the man had just finished surgery in the liver or some serious treatment. So volunteering wasn't such a bad idea, although it did have the college-bound, success freak in mind, it was simply volunteering—probably something to impress over after all.
Which was until Nathan heard of the disappearances. Then there was Ian.
Volunteering at Washington Hospital for over a year and a half in the 6:30 till 8:00 PM weekend shift, Nathan had come across other volunteers who had either quit soon (like Sofia in the next week, most likely), graduated if they were seniors (something Nathan himself was going to do), continued until they simply became old and frail (while wearing that 10000 hours pin), or, just recently, disappeared without a trace.
Nathan had known Ian Garcia for a while after the disappearances began—he was a good volunteer, probably better than Nathan ever really needed or wanted to be. In fact, Ian was his partner before the replacement by the name of Sofia came in two weeks ago. He was a cool type of person—always with a sense of humor along with a sort of hip personality that seemed to spring him to life. Whenever he and Nathan would read the magazines saved for the patients, he'd always point out the funny or kinky sex-oriented articles from magazines such as Cosmopolitan or People. Nate himself simply checked out the pictures (and also the fine women). Since the end of the school year was coming up for the both of them, they were ready to graduate—and talk about what to do following that glorious day. Ian had seemed so enthusiastic on what he planned to do on graduation night: get drunk, fuck some cheerleaders, and go home smelling like the old cognac. But sadly, like most tragic cases, he may never will. And that was most likely.
Because he simply disappeared without a trace, like the two other volunteers.
Since Ian had also volunteered under Critical Care with the addition of doing the Lobby Desk with Nathan on his side, Nathan was a little suspicious of the hospital not knowing his whereabouts. He had disappeared while he was in his Critical Care shift. The investigators believed he had disappeared outside, in the parking lot of the hospital instead of inside Washington itself. But Nathan believed—in his heart, and simply his gut instincts, that he was taken by something associated with this hospital.
And that was what made him (along with others) extra worried of volunteering in
this place after the
Every disappearance (including Ian's) so far has involved a parking lot.
Now there was Ian—nearly a month later; his disappearance being as mysterious as the last two. Since Ian's abduction, Irons, the Chief of the R.P.D., announced to the public about the importance of personal safety in Raccoon City along with all that other crap people saw as worthless in the search for Gene and Ian. In truth, it seemed Irons was too wrapped up in his own murder and multiple homicide cases to even give a shit about what was happening to the hospital's volunteers. Besides, the crime rate in Raccoon has doubled since the last two years and Washington was the only hospital in Raccoon City—the residents had no choice but to hope things would improve around both the city itself and its now notorious health center.
So it did make some sense for Sofia to say she really hated this place. It was getting worse every week. The increase in complaints and lawsuits against the Washington Service League piling up from the parents of the vanished and deceased was enough to overwhelm even the mayor himself. And just about inching its head toward Nathan with every impending day, was the fact that he was beginning to believe that Washington Hospital itself is behind all the kidnappings. He had been questioned for Ian and his family's predicament last week, but as Nathan tried his best, there was nothing he could do to helpall he could simply say was that Ian was a good partner.
And suspect Washington—or some other force affiliated—was behind it all.
Sofia sniffed and brought her hands into her black bag. Who knows what else could be hidden in that bag of tricks she just used to conjure the Mace and the tazer. Although instead of a weapon, as Nathan had thought she might pull out next, there came out instead the worst-tasting can of shit Nathan had ever known.
"So, you hate this place also?" Sofia asked as she opened the silver can of Umbrella Cola. The cylindrical container looked like some kind of generic drink sold from those underground fleamarket-type bazaars.
Nathan pretty much ignored the question. "You actually like that stuff?"
Sofia sipped the condemned beverage and nodded. "Hell yeah, Nate—there a problem? Shit's the best I ever tasted since Pepsidamn, the new Blue Coke's nothing compared to this." She took another sip; this time it looked more like a gulp. Nathan felt like he was going to puke.
"I have to warn you, Sofia: Umbrella Soda may be pretty new, but I swear to your beauty that thatcrap is the nastiest thing you can drink. I mean, Cho Cho Cola is hella better than that. And I even hate Cho Cho Cola!"
She blinked in a manner that seemed like she was fluttering her eyelids. She then smiled a little—more like a smirk. "Nate" She giggled. "You're starting to piss me offjust stop it. It tastes like Jamba Juice! Come on, it's not that bad!"
Nathan shook his head. "All right Sofi, obey your thirstI tried that shit once already—and it was horrible."
He saw her shake her head with a smile as she held the silver-white can. The octagonal red and white logo of Umbrella right beside the curved lettering of Umbrella Cola ran across its length. It was such a rip-off of Coke and Pepsi.
"Any-ways," Sofia continued with her pleasant voice, probably hoping to change the subject, "now that I feel more relaxed, and you're just a little uptight nowdid you hear about Umbrella opening one of their labs here?"
"Yeah, I knew about that. I don't get why all a sudden a soda company starts opening a lab under a hospital. The most whacked out dealI don't get it."
Sofia shrugged. "They probably don't have enough room in Raccoon to make up a new one, I guess."
Nathan shook his head. It just couldn't happen. "Nah, that can't be. Our city is surrounded by forests and plains—they would've had plenty of land."
"Ah, but Umbrella's environmentalist," Sofia's eyes seemed to glisten. "Since they're already here, Nate, expect more of this." She shook her can at Nathan while grinning sweetly. "I think they'll start giving away some to people who work here, including volunteers."
Nathan fell back in his chair and let his neck go limp until he was staring at the ceiling. "Oh shit, damn am I thrilled!"
12
She knew it had to happen sometime.
The monotonous drone of the motor on Claire's bike slowly waned from a continuous thudding to an echoing sputter. Her speed on the Harley fell as the sound of her powerful motor did the same. In minutes, she suddenly found her bike unable to go any further in the hot desert highway spanning towards eternity.
"Dammit," she said to herself as she tried stomping the starter in hopes her bike had yet some life left in it. All she got in response was the same guttural sputter.
Claire gave out a grunt and then looked up at the road ahead of her. There were absolutely no cars or other vehicles in sight; the sun was literally lighting her up, and she was surrounded by desert plains.
And she was going to be late.
She took out her silver canteen once she had taken off her black, sweat-drenched helmet and drank all that was left of the water she brought. While strapping her canteen back onto her motorcycle, she came to realize that she had at least a hundred or maybe two hundred miles left before finally making it to Raccoon City—that was around one or two hours on the road if she overdid the speed a bit, and she'd be able to make it before dark.
Only if she had some gas.
She remembered her tank being full before she had left; full after she was forced to refill her tank after it had unexpectedly ran dry the first time—she was actually positive without a doubt that it was totally, extraordinarilyfucking full to the shitload! How could it be? Just how?! Definitely her mind was in the right place. Unless
Someone was trying to set her up. She sighed. It had to be.
Claire rested her head against the right clutch of her Harley. She felt the soft, light- brown hair of her long sideburns rubbing against her right arm as she closed her eyes. At this rate, she would never avenge the death of her friends; her family, and therefore she'd be stuck in the Circle for as long as her body would allow. Sometimes all she wanted was to die, to die the shameful way, instead of spending another minute with what owned her now. Sometimes she felt like killing herself.
Yet, like some elixir of life, while she had these thoughts, everything would then be just right again once she thought about Chris, her family, her dead friends, Teresa, andthat one hit man
Ethan Combs.
Then she'd feel welcome into this world again, like what she felt like now.
Claire walked her bike off the road and into the gravel-filled dirt. She smiled as she saw the blue sign that said, Call Box, over it in bold white letters. Sitting upon the sign, the solar panel with the fuzzy antenna mounted on the top shimmered from the afternoon light. It seemed to smile at her.
She walked up to the yellow, oval-shaped box and grabbed the phone within it. Claire then reached into her daisy duke-length shorts (or course, there was the black spandex partially running down her thigh, she was no hooker) and pulled out some change before dropping them into the phone's money slot. She was going to call Ethan.
Combs was the only person she could trust—and at the same time—was the only person she knew (or was comfortable with) that was also in the Circle. In the exception of being a hit man for Bartowen, Ethan was, pretty much so far in Claire's short life, the sweetest guy she had ever come to know. It was clearly a shame she had forgotten to talk to him in the morning—his pleasantly soothing voice would have been a lot better than any type of caffeine or anti-depressant for the life she was living in now. So it was confident to say she was already in love with him—and he was madly head-over-heels for her in return. But what seemed to bother her most about Ethan was the fact he worked for Bartowen—he was part of the same army of hit men who dressed in black, carried those pistols in their sleeves, spoke in raspy whispers to their clients, and, worst of all, perfor-med much of the same deeds that had taken Teresa and her family's life.
But Claire, now cursed in her own life, wouldn't have been able to make it this far without him—as of now, her image of him seemed to mean more to her than Chris ever had in her lifetime (which also meant he was losing his importance to her), but really, that never meant she wouldn't care about her beloved brother anymore. To place it in simpler terms, Ethan was simply the best thing that had ever happened since her entry into the Circle. Without him, she was alone; alone since Chris had left her in the dark.
She now missed him. Him just being there with her seemed to be enough, even though Claire wasn't at the stage yet to actually die for Ethanhe was still something that meant more to her than most things in her life. Nights with him were bandages for her tortured soul. She never felt any better and more comfortable whenever he came over and expressed his concerns—Ethan always seemed to have come to her at the right timeshe was a friend as he was someone to be comfortable spending time with. And it was bliss for her to lean on him—usually she had on panties and a T-shirt, and occasionally a silk night-gown. It was nice doing that; as nice as he was. He would comfort Claire, stroking her soft, shoulder-length hair while she'd sometimes close her eyes and rub her head against his shoulder. And she didn't mind being intimate with him—it was natural. There were times when they kissed; she'd pretty much kiss him everywhere as he embraced her, sometimes he slid his hands over her ass and down her thigh while she leaned her head against his, panting wildly like some porn star.
And whenever they had sex, they didn't necessarily have sexthey made love. Nights with Ethan were unforgettable, mostly because he was the first one. She didn't feel any shame or sign of nervousness to go with her times with him; she opened herself to this dream lover, and he was one of the very few people in her life where she truly opened herself to. Unlike some women being stripped of their virginity, Claire's deflowering nearly came as smooth and gratifying as her first Moto Cross Championship trophy. Her clothes slid off first; then his, her bra; his boxers, and her underwear. She remembered the almost heavy sigh she gave as he filled his hands with her soft breasts while feeling her nipples harden between his fingers. She kissed him deeply, letting her tongue wet its way all over his and never forgot the one phrase he said that changed her outlook of him forever: "I love you, Claire, wherever you areI'll be there and on your side at all times." He slowly slid himself into her at that moment—almost as if being careful not to hurt her—and they both let out breathless moans as they rode with each other till they touched the sunrise. Yet Claire wasn't necessarily some nasty vixen, she was as decent and cute-looking as any 5'7" female; there were less intimate times than there were serious times for her. She was pretty much a normal person in her early twenties.
Claire dialed the number for Ethan's cell phone he only used to talk to her with. While hearing the internal ring from the receiver, she began to think of him again.
In a very vague way, in a reason probably because she had loved her brother so much (and it was not that way), along with him being so caring for her, she sort of saw a little of Chris in Ethan. Not that she was now attracted to her brother or anything, it just seemed a bit symbolic to her.
One of the reasons why Ethan had cared for her so much was the fact that Bartowen had forcefully recruited her as a part of the painful Circle. It was almost similar to rape. He had no part in the death of Teresa's family, and since meeting Claire, he had always wanted out from the immense empire of Bartowen's Circle.
"You know Claire," he said to her, "since you know I'm a hit man and all—to tell you the truth, I grow pretty fucking tired of the job pretty quick."
Claire looked up at him with shiny eyes. "You don't need to work for Bartowen, Ethan, he's giving you more pain than you can already handle yourself."
He sighed. "You're right, Claire—I don't need no fucking fat-ass pushing me aroundI need you." He held her hand. At first, his callused fingers were cold against Claire's palm, but eventually she felt it getting warmer. "You know, the first time I met you" he began to smile, nearly seeming to show he was blushing. "Actually, a while before I met you, I kinda had some feelings against the Circle and what they made me do to people like you. I had some thoughts of packing up and leaving—but you can't do that if you're with Bartowendeath is the only exit out of the Circle—and death of a loved one is a way into the Circle, that is, only if you're acceptedyou know that Claire."
She closed her eyes for a brief second before opening them again. Teresa and the family quickly rushed its way through her enclosed eyelids. She began to give a little squeeze to Ethan's hands. "Yeah, I know."
Claire suddenly felt Ethan's already warm palm gently feel her cheek. She brought her hands to them as she closed her eyes again. She almost felt a tear squeezing its way out of her eye. He was opening old wounds again.
"I hadn't thought much of leavinguntil I met you and learned what they had done to Teresaand your Moto Cross team and all."
"So you really want to leave, is that what you're telling me Ethan?"
He nodded. "Actually, I was planning to run with you out of the Circle and into a safer place where they can't find us, while helping you avenge them by dealing with Bartowen himself. But mostly, I was also thinking of helping you see your brother again since you missed him so much."
Claire smiled. This time, she was the one blushing. "Ethan, that's real sweet"
He smiled at her. The smile he gave her looked painful, seemingly reflecting the body count inflicted by his hands. "I'm doing this because I love you, and I'm also thinking about this because they not only hurt me real bad, but they have brought pain to you also."
"But Ethan, you don't really have to do thisI don't want you to get hurt over someone like me."
"Claire, you're worth everything in this world to me, nobody—not even Barto-wen—is going to keep me away from you. Just promise to me then Claire, that we'll be able to do this someday—not now, but we will." While he was talking, his gaze onto her made her feel more involved with what he was saying.
She sighed. "Okay, I promise."
Now that Claire came to think of it, as she was dialing the lover she knew as Ethan, she decided that she would die for him. She really loved him, and nearly forgot about it within all that was happening to her today. She heard somebody pick up the phone.
"Hello?" a familiar voice answered.
"Ethan, it's me."
"Uh, which one are you, the blonde one, or the brunette chick?" he asked. Claire's heartbeat rose a little when she heard this.
"Uh, the one that's ready to kick your ass, Ethan," Claire said, smiling.
She heard a chuckle through the receiver. "Just playin with you baby, what's up?"
She let out some air. "Some shit, honey. I think one of them set me up. I'm out of gas and stranded at a highwayI need to get to Raccoon City before duskbefore, you know what, happens."
A faint rumble came out of the phone and into Claire's ears. It sounded as if he shot out of his chair. "What? They sent you out to Raccoon in a condition like—"
His voice was cut off by a loud click!
Claire strained her ears against the phone. "Hello?" she asked frantically, "Ethan, you there? Ethan?!" All she heard was silence.
"Nice to talk to you again, Redfield," the voice shattering the deadness of the line rasped through Claire's ear, like small claws squirming to scratch whatever organ they could find inside her skull.
She began giving out breaths of anger. You, she thought.
"What's wrong, rather speak to Mr. Combs than one of his humble partners in crime?" the voice whispered. It chuckled.
"I'm out of gas—again," Claire replied coldly without thinking of the question.
He breathed into his mic, causing her to hear that loud, grainy noise that sounded like the wind blowing through a narrow opening. "You think I give a shit, Claire? You think Bartowen gives A FUCK?!"
She grit her teeth together, grinding whatever small thing was between them. "Without any gas, I won't be able to get to Raccoon City—and your job won't be done."
Silence. Then what sounded like a breathy hiss.
"This is a matter of trust, Redfield, it's a test from the Circle itself—you fall short because of gasyour head's mine, milady."
"So where should I meet you?"
"Don't worry about that—we'll find youand I recommend you to handle this smoothlyThe Master is coming to town."
Claire's eyes lit up. "Bartowen? He's coming?" Somehow, the thought of Bartowen actually appearing at Raccoon City was as frightening as it was wonderful.
"Tonight's a special night, Claire—I've told you that already—so unlike most of the shit you've done for ustry making this one a lot more meaningful than the rest of your fucking attempts you pink crop of bitch shit." Unlike what the voice was like before, it sounded like it lost control over its anger. That was to be taken into advantage.
Claire lifted an eyebrow. "Why? Cause you think I can actually pull out this job of yoursafter you set me up, you bastard?!" Like last time, she was talking in a manner that was liable to get her killed again.
The voice behind the miles of phone line between them began breathing rapidly, as if in rage to whatever pissed it off. "You watch your back, Claire," the voice said in its true voice for the first time; the man's real tone sounded harsh and deep, probably revealing to Claire that it was a lot larger to her than simply a whisper.
Click! She then placed the phone back into the yellow box.
Claire smiled as the sun scorched her lightly tanned skin. The sweat all over her body made her look like one of those models from the exercise machine commercials. For some strange reason she almost felt like advertising one of those products. She laughed. Certainly, she was going insane, but she was happy.
Because she felt like the end was near. Some endeither hers, or Bartowen's.
Although Claire didn't smile for long. She saw an ebony object floating in the sky, and it grew in size until Claire could identify what it was. A crow, a rather large one.
She stared at it as it landed about two feet away from herand onto one of the clutches on her Harley. It was literally drenched in blood.
All over the crow's beak, tail feathers, and splotched all over its breast and belly, were the large dark-red spots where the blood must have splattered upon. Nibbles of white flesh—or whatever it was—was sandwiched between the bird's beak.
It cawed,
She shivered and kept her distance from it—it seemed to have the ferocity to peck
her to death if she
She had to find some gasquick.
The crow cawed again, its sound carried through the air by echo.
Claire had sworn she heard several other caws in the distance.
13
2:31 P.M., Umbrella Laboratory, Washington Hospital—500 feet below the surface.
Carl Tudor was a scientist for Umbrella Corp; he was a special scientist. He wasn't anybody's hand-picked lab rat—he was a professional man. A very professional man with an ambition. Just recently, his close associations with fellow colleague Kyle Somers granted him a new position toward the experiments. Ah, delicate fuel for his burning ambition. He was going to be Chief Coordinator for development of the new G-Virus. Yes, the real money was soon to come. When Tudor first heard of the proposal, he not only grew excitedhe was, beyond a doubt, thrilled to the point of feeling shocked.
"Chief Coordinator?" His eyes widened before his reflection in the mirror. He turned around and faced Somers from across the bathroom. The tall, blonde scientist was turned away from him, standing in the distance while he urinated in his bowel.
"Carlthat is exactly what I articulated," Somers said calmly. He seemed to be unaffected from the rolling splashes his urination brought out. "And if you want that put into other words, Carl, it simply means I want you to take my position."
Tudor kept his stare at him until his colleague's discharge ended. He was content with the sudden switch, but at the meantime, he was worried over Somers and his present situation in the labs. "But Somers, that's your position over the experiments"
Somers zipped up his pants and turned around. "Kyle, Mr. Tudor, please call me Kyle from now on, you got that?"
He nodded. "Will you be resigning?" Tudor asked.
Kyle brought his hands into the basin and the faucet switched on. The hot water streaming from the faucet's tip draped his hands as it quickly slid through his fingers. The steam rushing from the sink rose upward and into Kyle's face. The steam enveloped it like a pair of hands brought up to a blooming gesture. His gaze did not meet Tudor's. Instead, his eyes were directed at anywhere but Tudor.
"No," Kyle said, "I will not be resigning. I'll be" He took his dribbling hands from the sink and tore out a towel from the dispenser. He then turned around and stared right into Tudor's eyes. Those eyes, according to Tudor's memories of that very day, were the most frightening eyes he had ever seen. They were maliciousspiteful, and as if to top that, they brought steady pricks up his spine whenever his mind recalled it.
"I'll be making sure Umbrella will pay for what they've done," Kyle finished.
Tudor continued to keep his eye on him for the moments following that erratic comment. From whatever Kyle seemed to say, he sounded like he was joking with Tudor—merely toying with his emotions, but the case was a lot more serious. A lot more.
He watched as Kyle strolled out the bathroom, leaving Tudor alone in the fluorescent light while he cherished his new placement for the experiment. He shrugged.
Whatever that was bothering Kyle was something Tudor had no part of. All Carl could think about was successsuccess and money. Success for being able to embellish the new muta-genic toxin. Money for what the success brought. He'd finally bring home the finance he dreamt about daily! The vacation he planned over weekly! The prostitutes he fantasized about hourly! Oh, and it was such a nice thing, being held up in a prestigious position. Carl was a scientist all right; he was a professional man all right, and by next month, he was going to be a rich man for sure!
But Carl Tudor couldn't enjoy any of that. Yes, it was true, he couldn't. In fact, he couldn't even enjoy the feeling of life at all. And the reason came to one thing
Carl Tudor was dead. He was murdered at approximately 7:30 A.M.
The blood smeared from one side of the lab to the opposite corner still had its warmth fresh from the homicide of the morning. The blood was shed by a hooka very large hook—a meat hook.
The MeatHook Mangler was here. The murderer whom the society of Raccoon identified as William Birkin left his mark on Umbrella. And this particular mark was red. Spread across the floor, the red droplets trickling from the remains of Carl Tudor's legs made brisk contact with the metallic floor of Lab B4-12. His limbs, like big branches stripped from a tree, were mounted on a large meat hook. The hook was barbed at the end—it made them look like enormous fishing hooks. Tendrils of sinew bloomed from where Tudor's legs were split from his body. The silver hook coiling through his legs suspended itself from the ceiling. They were burrowed into the area of his anus, while making their way out through the spot of his groin—the pronged end protruded from the area where his penis laid. The legs drifted in midair, swinging to-and-fro in small arcs. They continued to move in that same manner.
Upon seeing the remains of Tudor dangling from the lab's ceiling, the frightened observer of the crime scene would then wonder where the rest of his body was. The answer simply lies on the severed torso from across the room.
A trail of intestines were stretched forth from where Tudor's body was torn off. The large mess made it all look like a jellyfish from how the organs were strewn about. They extended themselves six feet down the lab's floor. Their slimy texture reflected the fluorescent lights above. They were splayed everywherelike the blood.
Splattered blood remained on the wall, as if an artist went overboard with the bucket of red paint. Thin entrails winded down across the cold surface, drenching and coloring everything with a darkening red. Dark clots similar to the kinds following a nosebleed slithered from Tudor's nostrils and ears. His still eyes were emotionless, cold, and brought out the essence of death. The saliva oozing from his gaping mouth slowly formed a shiny puddle from where his tongue lay rested on the table top. Below his left hand, under his open palms, a file stood flat beneath Tudor's drenched palm. It read:
Confidential: Raccoon City Experiment, Code Name: CONTAGION.
CLASSIFIED
Umbrella Corp., Raccoon City Experimentation. Source #3415AG.
The Orders of Contagion
1st Order of Contagion: Establishment of microbe/toxin within city limits.
Objective1: Study of effect on inhabitants within allotted given ranges for the G-Virus. The effects of the T-Virus will be studied as well.
Objective2: Produce key carriers.
Method1: Disperse Umbrella Brand Air Freshener
Method2: Offer selected beverage drinks of Umbrella Cola
Details: The T-Virus was originally conceived as a demobilizing weapon used to neutralize enemy forces. Although in recent discoveries, the end result has altered the substance into becoming a deadly weapon capable of mass bodily harm. In the first stages of infection, the virus inside the host immediately takes control, gradually assimilating various parts of the body. During its early stages, the T-Virus appears relatively harmless to the host, at worse developing symptoms identical to the flu such as a fever, apparent weakness, or cough, etc. After following a number of hours on to a number of days, the severe conditions begin appearing. Skin rashes develop over all areas of the body, beginning with a mild, red rash that soon deteriorates tissue all over the body. Soon, the victim's skin disappears, revealing strands of muscle tissue and other components of the body. At the moment of extreme tissue loss, the most terrifying qualities of the T-Virus immediately emerge. The virus begins invading the nervous system, devouring any memory the victim has had while changing the behavior and eating habits of the host. This ultimately causes a shutdown of control over the nervous system. In moments, the victim loses feeling and at the same time, motor skills are effected. By this stage of development, the carrier begins metabolizing at an alarming rate while in desperate need for a diet that is preferable to raw flesh. Studies have shown that the victims suddenly "became ravenous cannibals tearing and devouring off of each other." These set of symptoms increase in scale until the host is reduced to a state of "zombification." Through the efforts of the T-Virus, the nervous system is lost, enabling no pain to be felt from the victim while in the state of becoming a "zombie." A number of the test subjects from our labs have shown to withstand at the most twelve shots with a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver before being denounced as dead. Dr. Wyatt recently reported in his notes from the '97 subject experimentation that the effects of the T-Virus on human as well as other animals presented "a direct link between life and death, therefore bringing up the possibility of a living dead.'" In earlier findings based on research from the Mansion in the Raccoon City forest, Dr. Faust wrote in his journal:
2nd Order of Contagion: Observe effectiveness of key carriers from the resulting establishment of the muta-genic pathogen.
Objective1: Allow the T-Virus to destroy city. Influence of G-Virus shall follow.
Objective2: Study the spread of virus through contact from host to new host.
Method: Contain the citizens of Raccoon City under all circumstances. No member of the city population shall escape the city following the immediate quarantine. In the meantime, entering Raccoon City will be prohibited from all ends of the city. From this point on, Raccoon City will be considered an official biohazard zone. Persons forcing themselves into city limits cannot escape.
3rd Order of Contagion: Study the destructive capabilities of specimens created by the G-Virus.
Objective1: Observe the damage created from the specimens of the G-Virus.
Details: When Dr. William Birkin discovered the possibility of a toxin housing deadlier effects than the Tyrant Strains of the T-Virus, the result became the newly-formed G-Virus. The G-Virus was ultimately produced as an upgrade to the Tyrant Strain within the T-Virus. The virus creates the ultimate living weapon out of its hosts. From developments of claws from average ligaments, to grotesque transformations too intricate to detail, the G-Virus has become a monumental leap for Umbrella's overall progress. Various specimens have been created from the G-Virus, including specimens A34-8.5, B45-B714, and P-346—rooted from the Umbrella-manufactured Folitana plant. Even certain forms of enlarged animals ranging from the tarantula spider to the larvae of flies were created using the G-Virus. With its destructive potential, the capabilities of the G-Virus is a true aspect of fear. Recorded from the journal of Dr. William Birkin, he states as follows:
"I am thoroughly impressed with the results my new creation has brought along. Finally, I have succeeded in my attempts toward a weapon that strives more in trying to rewrite the host's DNA. Although doing so has greatly disturbed me somewhat, since the capabilities of my creation have far surpassed my overall expectations. The G-Virus can be rooted to form so many more different strains, along with that, more powerful creatures out of a living man. Besides focusing on the deterioration of the body' aspect the T-Virus was based around, I concentrated on trying to produce a muta-genic toxin capable of producing a biological weapon that was to surpass certain specimen models of the T-Virus. (The Hunter,' I believe, had a flawed design because of its lack of ability to scale walls like the newer models of G-Virus specimens that are capable of) In doing so, my efforts have succeeded into producing deadlier organisms. Through future enhancements, I hope Umbrella will truly benefit from my findings."
4th Order of Contagion: Introduce Tyrant Strains for mass termination of surviving organisms.
Objective1: Using the Tyrant Strains, eliminate all surviving specimens in the city. Study the rate of death among the area.
Objective2: Observe the effectiveness of G-Type specimen, Tyrant-103.'
Details: (incomplete)
The first three orders began appearing within Raccoon City the previous monththe fourth order was to follow next. But somehow, it didn't happen.
Nobody knew why, not even the Umbrella officials based in Europe knew what exactly went on below Washington Hospital that morning. Whatever it came out to be resulted in both Tudor's and the experiment's death. But the slashed legs belonging to Carl continues to sway as if unaffected by the awareness of the situation.
The grotesque corpse whom the MeatHook Mangler managed to rip apart stood on the table, lying still as it always been since 7:30 in the morning. Reflected over the open eyes of the body, a blinking image silently projects itself to flash during momentary intervals. The message on the monitor lights up the pale face of Carl for a brief second before disappearingand reappearing once more. The message is very urgent. Too bad, for all of Umbrella's personnel sealed 500 feet below Washington's grounds were killed—by way of unnatural causes. Some shared a fate similar to Carl Tudor's—either shredded to pieces, hung up from the ceiling on a meat hook, or simply lacerated to the point of no return. A great number of others became the living dead, slowly lurching around and skulking the dank halls around Labs in the West Area and Security Rooms. All of them shared a fact, and that fact was what they did not know about the message on the screen blinking over Tudor's face, it read:
WARNING, BIOHAZARD DETECTED.
FUSION REACTOR HAS BEEN ACTIVATED. AUTOMATIC SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE SET. ANY FURTHER BREACHES IN SECURITY WILL RESULT IN COUNTDOWN. WARNING, BIOHAZARD DETECTED WITHIN LABORATORY FACILITY
14
Nathan held his breath among the distant chatter of the airport. His sweating palms dampened the plastic bag he was holding, causing it to make that squishing sound whenever he squeezed at it. He looked up at the mounted monitors and saw Flight 47—its initial departure being from Melbourne, Australia. Nathan smiled and shook himself to keep him from being any more nervous. He then let out a deep sigh.
I'm gonna meet her, he thought, I'm actually gonna meet her.
The screeches from the runway brought his attention to the panoramic windows. A dozen of the planes sat outside, housed and ready to unload their cargo. Nathan knew for sure that one of those planes was prepared to unload one nice piece of cargo.
A Boeing 747 brought its enormous nose toward the terminal's windows. Its aluminum alloyed face nearly filled up the window. The dark slit leading into the plane's flight deck silently gazed down at Nathan. He took a deep breath.
Nathan Lieu was here to meet Fiorella Lai.
According to Nathan's heart, there was absolutely nobody else in the world more special to him than Fiorella. This girl had his heart. Nights were spent thinking over her lovelinessalong with how he could hold and caress that loveliness. Thoughts, even plans were made to devise new ways for him to express his love. Either way, he loved herthe fact was simple. He loved her simply because she loved him—he didn't care whether or not she was thrilling to every male's hormonally-charged fantasy, he only cared about trying to make her the happiest person. That's all he wanted.
"Flight 47—from Melbourne to San Francisco—will be offloading soon at Gate 12," the feminine voice announced over the ambience of the airport.
Nathan briskly stepped toward the gate and waited for the oncoming passengers. His eyes widened while his pulse increased when he saw the uniformed women hoisting open the doors leading into the tube-like port attached to the 747. A group of women standing beside Nathan leapt up in excitement. One of them nearly fell over his small frame and almost caused him to tip over.
"Stacy, you whore, grab the cameras, quick! He's coming!"
"Hold on to your fat-ass, Peg, I'm workin on it!"
Nathan shook his head and squeezed his way toward the other side of the entrance.
Once he placed himself at a corner that gave him a greater view of the whole area, he already saw the passengers entering the terminal.
The gate abruptly lit up as the constant click-click-click of the cameras and their flashes illuminated the people pouring forth from the entrance. The audience of family members, friends, distant lovers much like him, and bands of eccentric people displayed flurries of emotion towards the offloading passengers. One aging woman was crying, bawling helplessly over a man's shoulder while he tapped her back. The man kept on saying, "I know, I'm here, and there is no need for you to be afraid anymore."
The same group of women that nearly made Nathan fall over grew hysterical while a man of about forty stepped from the gate. One of the them, an overweight, mean-looking woman who seemed to have more of a home at Jerry Springer, cried out in screeching words yelling, "My God, Tommy! Come over here! I've been waiting my whole life for you! I love youuuuuu, Tommeeeee!"
The man by the name of Tommy simply turned around, took a furtive glance at her, and continued to walk off without responding to her displayed affection. Nathan could hear the women behind him screaming as they burst their way through the crowd of people to chase him. He laughed to himself.
"I'm lucky I'm not that guy," he said to himself, smiling. He then looked at the gate.
Three women left the entrance. All three of them were beautiful. But the third one was the loveliest in the trio. His eyes focused on them.
The first one had a face similar to that of a supermodel genetically engineered to grace the cover of Victoria's Secret. While her brown hair brushed and swayed with every step, her seducing eyes turned to slide past Nathan's glance. He saw her tongue slowly curl back to lick her lips. As her tongue slithered back into her mouth, Nathan saw that her head was tilted high up as if she were some aristocrat entering a world she was too rich and good for.
Stuck-up snob, Nathan thought. He then directed his attention to the other lady.
The second woman had the looks and body of a tropical princess straight from the heart of the islands. Her eyes shimmered from the brown complexion of her tanned face. Blond streaks ran through the fine texture of her shoulder-length hair. Her hair rested over the straps to her grey, low-cut tank top. And from under that tank top revealing her midriff, her large breasts nodded and bounced with Nathan's frozen gaze. The small bumps her nipples made in the shirt stuck out, probably being deadly enough to poke out Nathan's eyes if he stared for too long. He felt like whistling at that exotic beauty passing him, but he didn't. And the reason for that was followed behind her.
The third one immediately caught his attention afterwards. This one stared at him and smiled. She was walking through the threshold towards him. Her fine hair, barely able to scratch the peak of her shoulders, moved in the same way the first woman did. This woman looked two years older than Nathan. Her pretty face kept her calm as she walked up to him. Nathan smiled at her and began to bring himself to move down to where she was appearing from. Nathan slowly shook his head before the beautiful thing before him, smiling in a manner that looked as if he were to shed tears of joy. She looked into his eyes and smiled as well. Her smile was bright, lighting up her face as if it were a glamour shot, rather than her real face.
When they drew closer, trying to keep their faces still as if they didn't know each other, Nathan noticed her other aspects. Her height matched his—being 5'3"—her hips were smooth, curving under the light-blue flares she had on. The tight jeans clung to her figure, showing their shape into his bright eyes. Nathan noticed the white tank top she wore. It wasn't like the one the exotic second woman wore—this one looked to be more from a place like Bebe, rather than an athletics store. The thin straps of her tank top looped over her shoulders, and Nathan could notice the thin strap of her bra poking from under those shoulder straps of her shirt. Nathan sighed one of those wondrous sighs that meant nothing else but a good thing. He looked into her eyes and stared into them, hoping in some way she can absorb all of his affection from that stare. The cute eyesthe cute, bright eyes that looked just like his shone back at him. He felt himself melting before her; his body was growing warm while it began to ache with that greatness called love.
Fiorella Lai giggled as she spread her arms around him. When he wrapped his arms around her, feeling the cushion of her warmth against him, his head dipped to the side and rubbed against her neck. Even though he wasn't looking at her face, he knew for sure she was smiling. Those teeth behind her sweet lips were lighthouses for his lost soul.
Nathan's hands felt around her soft back. The light bump from the placement of her bra touched his hand from under the shirt. Her auburn, streaked hair fell over the rough surface of his bald head. He let out a breath that warmed the smoothness in her skin. The creamy arms holding his neck felt like the texture of silk. The certain texture of silk he could feel and caress for endless hoursand even days to go along with that.
She brought herself back from his embrace. She had her arms rested around his neck again. The light-brown pigment of her eyes looked into Nathan's. The features defining her pretty face moved to bring out another heartwarming smile.
"I missed you," she said in her breathy Australian accent.
Nathan felt heat rushing up his face as he smiled. "Yea," he chuckled, "I did too."
Fiorella kept her smile on him. "You know, since the first day I met you online," she said into his face while accenting each line with her lovely accent. "There was this one thing I always dreamt about doing once I actually met you and you know what that was?"
Nathan shook his head. "Nah, I don't know, what is it?"
She suddenly pulled his head in and kissed him. Yes, she kissed him. And this one kiss—Nathan's deepest, juiciest, and most memorable kiss, was happening that very moment. Her lips massaged his own as she brought herself closer into his arms, letting him sink into the pool of warmth her body provided. Her tongue reached into his mouth and scooped up his tongue, gripping and hugging it within its velvety grasp. Her saliva drenched the surface of his mouth, tasting sweet while it trickled away in steady raindrops. The kiss then ended. She brought her head back to face him again while gasping over him from a slightly parted mouth.
"I love you," Nathan said tenderly, "and I want to continue loving you for as long as my life can go on." His fingers came up and felt the side of her cheek. "I don't care what happens to you, Fiorella, you can grow old, fat, ugly—I don't give a shit. What I care about is that bright, shining part of you that cares for me like nobody else canthat loves me, and andwill always be happy."
She breathed out from her clenched jaws, smiling through them. Her face grew pink from her blushing.
Nathan held her shoulders and looked at her in a way he wasn't able to look at anyone that very same way—it being the brightest, happiest look that actually made him look pretty attractive from his own perspective. "And I'll never give up loving you, Fiorella. To some people, you may not be the finest eye-candy a guy has ever tasted using his eyes, but damn you'll always be the most beautiful thing in my own eyes, either young or old."
Fiorella giggled, her light voice rippling. "Stop it, Nate," she smiled, "you're being too mushy. I could melt up and get all nasty around you—I don't think you'd want that to happen now, don't you?" She raised her eyebrows.
Nathan pulled back his lips, grinning at her. "Oh Hell yeah do I want that to happen, baby." He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze.
"Nate?"
His head tilted a bit. "Yes, my Outback beauty?"
She giggled. "There's—"
"—Nate, Wake up!"
Nathan brought his eyes up and looked at Sofia sitting in front of him.
"Nate!" She brought her arms up over her. "You okay? Anything I can provide?"
Yeah, you can start by shutting up, Nathan muttered in his mind. He shook his head. Nah, I take that back, I'm the one who should be straightening out herejust sitting here thinking about the past is not exactly the best thing for the mind. Yeah, it isn't. Because the past can hurt, and it affects your future
"Anyways," Sofia said as she spun around to face him again. Her long hair swirled with her body and twirled around her neck. So soft, that hair was. She crossed her legs and sat before him with her hands placed over them. She looked like a model ready to be interviewed for her first shoot in the Bahamas. A curious smile lit up her dark face. "So Nate, what's that picture you got there?"
Nathan looked down at his wallet. He was staring at Fiorella's school ID photo, staring at it for at least several minutes. "Oh," he chuckled, "I was just checking out some old love, that's all."
The eyes shining from Sofia's complexion widened in interest. "Oh really," she said in one of those impressed tones. "Nate here had a lover!" She placed a flat hand over her mouth and pointed at him. "Pimp shit, pimp shit!" Sofia called out. She brought her head back and giggled.
"Yeah, you know," Nathan said coolly while smiling to himself.
"Can I see her picture?" Sofia asked as she rolled closer to him.
"Sure." Nathan handed her his wallet. He noticed the fragrant smell coming from Sofia as she sat on her office chair rolled close by him. A scent of fruits, flowers, and garden favorites emanated from her neck. The fragrance was arousing, intoxicating Nathan's sense of smell with the fires of lust. Damn, did they always have to make perfume (or was it lotion) smell so nice?
Sofia nodded. "She's pretty," she said, rather amused. "I'm kind of surprised you can actually get a girl that looks good!"
Nathan glared at her with narrowing eyes.
"Okay, just kidding! I was just kidding, Nate!"
"You better" Nathan said in a mocking tone of anger. He then laughed at her. "You know I'm not that type, Sofi. I'd never lay a finger on you"
"I guess so's," her sweet smile came up, "yeah, I know you be that nice guy all there being sweet and all." She smirked a sugar-coated look at him. "So what kind of Asian is she—and what kind of Asian are you, Nate? I was kinda trippin over how you were either Vietnamese or Filipino."
Nathan puffed out a small snicker. "I look Filipino?" He smiled. Now that was definitely a compliment, and he wasn't even being sarcastic. There were a few times when some people mistaken him for being Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and even Hawaiian! So Nathan was used to it—he didn't mind looking like a bunch of other races. As a matter of fact, that idea felt kind of cool.
"Yeah, you look like a Filipino" Sofia said, "all dark and beautiful like our race is—just kidding, don't mean to be making my race seem better than yours—that's hella messed up."
"Nah, it's cool."
"So then you're Vietnamese, right?" Sofia asked.
Nathan nodded. "It's Viet', Sofi, just say it sounds better. And another thing, don't say Vietnamese,' it's Vin-a-mese.'" Nathan nodded again. "Yeah, that was just a lil Viet-Pride in me speakingyou know I have to show some love for my mother-land and everything." He laughed a little and leaned back in his office chair.
"Oh, my bad, Nate," Sofia's voice breathed out. "Then that means you better say Flip,' instead of Filipino,' cuz I'm tryin to show my Flip Pride' for my motherland too!" She brought herself to chuckle a little before resting herself back on the chair. She handed back Nathan's wallet. "So I take your lover's a Vi-ET' also?" The way she stressed the word "Viet" sounded funny, like an overblown speech therapist.
"Actually," Nathan said as he placed his wallet into his pocket, "She's half Viet and Chinese, and so happens to be placed in one perfect' place, called Australia—freakin like half the world's distance is between us."
Sofia shook her head while making that tsk-tsk sound with her tongue. "Damn Nate, that's hella far. You could've at least chose someone farther than that."
"Yeah—I know. I met her online—these things always make you fall for people from afarbut I love her, and I basically want her to be happy, that's all."
Another smirk appeared over Sofia's mouth. She tilted her head while rolling closer to him with her office chair. "You're sweet, Nathan," she said in a warm tone that almost made him want to reach out with his lips and kiss her. "You're cool. So how is it going between you and her?"
Nathan sat there, silently looking at the ground. Should he tell her? No, he shouldn't. Some secrets unlocking the past were best kept in the mind. If he ever let it out, then it'd be too much for him to hold back for in the future. And the thing was too sad, too sad for Nathan to talk about. He would definitely be unable to handle it. He had loved Fiorella that muchthe thoughts of her hurt him as much as it made his day better.
"Me and her?" Nathan asked before continuing. "Oh, we're doing okay, I guess."
Sofia's eyes narrowed in that curious, investigator sort of way. "What you mean, Nate? Did something happen?"
He let out a small, unnoticeable sigh. Guess he'll just tell her a little hint. "Well," he said while keeping his eyes lowered, "something did happen between us, but it wasn't really big—we just talk every now and then. Kind of recently, though, we haven't been keeping in touch. It's beginning to worry me a lil, but I'm fine as fine can be."
"But you still love her very much" Sofia acknowledged.
Nathan nodded. "Yeah, I do. No matter where she's headed, I want to let her know that at least someone out there cares for her—you know what I'm saying? I want her to feel great living on this earthand I'm just one of those people who are trying to help make that possible for her."
"OhI see," she nodded, drawing an impressed look around his body. "For being such a caring guy, Nate, you've got one nice body working for you" She felt her hand around the bulging bump in Nathan's biceps.
Her touch against his arm loosened a lot of the tension from that area. His eyebrows rose as he watched her slender hand rub around his thick muscle. He was enjoying that feeling she was giving him—that sudden splash of warmth around his body.
"You been working out, I see," Sofia said. "You're not as big as my boyfriend, but you can at least drive some girls crazy"
"No way," Nathan shook his head. "I'm no super pimp, Sofi. I just began working out in the gyms once I started going to boot camp every summer."
"Oh really?" Sofia said, looking impressed. "My boyfriend goes there too!"
"Yeah, in those places they can show you how to really be like a man."
"I heard. My boyfriend told me they taught him in almost the same way they did in the Marines—like how to manage some guns and other shit like that"
Guns. Nathan remembered the firearms from boot camp. He recalled the day when they drilled him on the M-16, while handing him that behemoth M-60 to try out. Nathan was able to gain a bit of understanding from both weapons pretty well. Same with the pistol. He impressed his friends when he was able to hold one pistol in each hand while firing away at multiple targets like Lara Croft on her best day in the tombs. But there was one weapon that Nathan had barely any knowledge of, and that was the shotgun. During camp, he never had the chance to try out the shotgun, whether it be Remington, Winchester, or Browning. So when a day came for Nathan to actually try out a shotgun—he knew he'd surely miss the target the first time. Almost positive.
"Gosh, just talking about my boyfriend makes me miss him sooo much," Sofia said.
She was seated close enough to him for their arms to touch. In other words, she was right beside him. She suddenly brought her head to rest on Nathan's shoulder. Her arms went around his back, forming a sideways hug. Nathan went along with the flowif the girl wanted to hold and caress him, then he'd let her do it! There was hardly anything better than having a fine girl by his side, nudging and sharing her softness with him. He rested his head against hers also. He remained quiet.
"I miss him, Nate—sorry if I'm doing thisI'm probably making you feel too comfortable right now, but I just need someone to rest my head against."
"It's all good," Nathan said happily. He was close enough to smell her body—the fine scent of the tropics and the sea of nature flooded his nose. It was sweet, rushing into his chest as he breathed in. And her hairGod, was it lovely. The silky feeling against his cheek felt moistalong with being soft and brushy. All that combined with the warmth of her pretty face that was clean and flawless at every corner.
Ever thought about modeling? Nathan asked her in his head. Surely, Sofia was at her normal self now. Just a minute ago before his daydream, she was a raving PMS bitch—but now hours later, she was this cuddly, sexy thing wrapping her arms around him.
"I think you're the nicest guy I've ever met," this sexy thing said.
"Nah, it can't beI'm not"
"Stop denying it, Nate, you always can't accept a compliment, I swear."
"Butdoesn't your boyfriend treat you better?" Nathan asked. Surely, he couldn't be the nicest guy to this fine thing embracing him. It just sounded too good to be true.
"Oh, he just enjoys fucking me" Sofia said harshly, "but I still love him" She paused for a moment. "You know I was just joking, right?"
"I got you."
"Yeah, he really thinks of me—"
"CERBERUS!" A child's voice shattered the blissful peace. A roaring dog's bark accompanied the voice. "Don't act up on me now—Cerberus!" The voice continued.
Nathan broke away from the heaven he was experiencing and stood up. He saw a blonde-haired girl literally being pulled into the Lobby by the biggest Rottweiler he's ever seen. The big black thing looked to be almost 4 feet long from where Nathan was obser-ving. The girl screaming commands at the dog looked about twelve years old. She was strangely dressed, though. She looked as if she was dressed to go to some private school in Japan. A gold locket hanging from her neck swayed as she moved. The circular case at the end of the necklace hung low, while touching her stomach area. The dog continued to bark, growling as it commenced to drag the girl farther into the hospital.
"Whoa, whoa" Nathan said, bringing his hands up. "No animals in the hospital! You gotta leash that beast outside!"
The dog stiffened, stopping short as Nathan came closer to it. It growled, giving out that guttural rrrrrrrrr sound. Its dark lips were pulled back, revealing a set of its menacing teeth that were equipped with fangs long enough to shred past Nathan's neck.
It barked, crashing its sounds straight at Nathan's face. It leapt at him, but it didn't reach him. Thank God for that leash, he thought. The limp, leather strip abruptly grew taut, straightening out as the Rottweiler struggled into trying to break free from its collar enclosing its neck. Its whole collection of enclosed teeth sneered up at him.
"CERBERUS!" The girl screamed again. "Stop it, I command you. Stop it!"
The bark suddenly faded. The dog began to calm down to a point where it just sat there, panting while it wagged its tail. Nathan saw the little girl bend over and face her pet.
"Good dog, Cerberus," the girl slapped its face, "good dog."
Nathan stood there, keeping his eye on Cerberus as he stepped his way closer to the little girl. "That's a nice dog," he said.
The girl didn't say anything. She kept her head down facing the floor.
"Okay, sorry for the little inconvenience," Nathan said, "but policies are policies, and I can't let you in unless you leash that dog out there."
The girl continued to stare at the floor.
Nathan stood there looking down at her. She was about 4'11"—courtesy of Nathan's professional height estimation. The look on her face, as she continued to stare down at the ground, housed a certain degree of disgrace and fear.
"Sowhat's your name?" Nathan asked.
The girl took a moment to respond. "S-Sherry," she said quietly.
That was funny, Nathan thought, one moment she was screaming louder than I ever couldand the next, she has problems with communication.
Nathan crouched low so he stood shorter than Sherry. The dog was now right beside himit grinned through its eager panting. He looked up into her eyes.
"Hey, Sherry" he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, I can't let you in here unless you keep good ol Cerberus on a leash outsideI know the dog's probably dying to meet new people and all, but some of those people can"
"suffer from allergic reactions ranging from the strands in their fur to dust mites inhabiting their hidesthis also includes cats, andand other mammalswas I right?"
Nathan's eyes widened. Whoa, kid genius here, he thought. He nodded as he smiled. "Yeah—yeah, you're more than rightso, you think you can do that?"
Sherry paused again. "Yeah. Cerberus was acting a little strange today—I tried giving him some of my breakfast, andand he still won't stop trying to kill everyone!"
"Well, the big guy looks calm now, you can try putting him away before he snaps and ends up tearing off my arm or something."
"Okay, I'll be back then," she said silently. There was something wrong with the little girl that Nathan could see. The child was definitely lacking something. From the looks of it, she seemed as if she didn't have any confidence in herself—but at the same time, looked like one of those kids that were really smart at school. He waved at her.
"You take care," Nathan said. She didn't respond. He could see she was a shy person, and Nathan had to give shy people a chancethey weren't exactly born to be stand-up comedians or politicians by that matter, but they always made you terribly worried in one way or another. He watched her walk past the sliding doors to exit the hospital.
"Nate," Sofia called out once he made his way back to the desk. She was leaning back in her seat, looking dreamy as she was looking up. Actually, while she was caught in that gaze, she was beginning to look like she was horny. "You think I look better this way?"
Nathan stopped and looked at her polo shirt. The three buttons on the top of the shirt were undone. A V-shaped opening was spread apart on her polo shirt. It revealed a bit of skin for his eyes to peek, but it wasn't enough to show any of her breasts though. So in conclusion, it made Nathan think a little about sex, but it didn't look make her look all that different.
"Sofi," Nathan said, "for the sake of volunteering, you look like a slut—for the sake of sex appeal, you look gorgeous."
"So your answer is?"
Nathan looked around the desk. He saw the reminder about the pharmacy orders he had to do. He then looked back up at Sofia. "My answer to you is that I've gotta do the pharmacy orders now," Nathan said. He felt rather apologetic.
A yearning expression came into her face. "Ah, Nate! Why you gotta leave me here alone! I need you right here by me!"
"It's gonna be quick, Sofi, I'll be back, I promise."
"Promise?" Sofia smiled. She fluttered her eyelids at him.
"Yeah, I'll come back and we'll finish that quality time we had, okay?"
She nodded, laughing. "I was playin, Nate. When you go up there, say hi to Duane for me, and tell him I think he looks hella nice."
"I will." Nathan smiled. Duane Tobalezthe nurse. He'll say something to him once he got up there. The guy needed to be taught a lesson after he beat Nate 14-6 in basketball last week. Oh yes, a little talk will do.
"Good," Sofia said. "I'll see you later then, okay?"
"Yeah, no problem," Nathan replied. He left for the elevators.
That was the last time he ever saw Sofia for a very, very long time.
15
2:45 P.M., Coroner's House, Northwest Section.
Elliot Edward stood among the crowd of investigators milling around the crime scene. He dug his fingers into the brown bag and pulled out a donut. It was one of those powdered kinds that make the tips of your fingers white after you finished them. He forced it into his mouth and took a large bite out of it. Fragments of the feathery crumbs broke away and settled onto the floor.
"Hey Eds! How's my gut-buddy doin?!"
Elliot's shoulders leapt up. He almost dropped his bag while his eyes widened. It was Willie. Goddamned Willie and his scare tactics. For a while, it almost seemed as if today was the day he'd finally choke on a donut and die. He snapped his head around.
Elliot mumbled from his donut-filled mouth. His small outburst sent out a flurry of crumbs. "Christ Willie, you almost gave me a heart attack!"
Willie tapped his shoulder, smiling to himself. "Eds," he said while giving out a disgusted expression, "man, why you gotta be eatin donuts, you know that shit will give you nothing but gut!"
Eds chuckled, his mouth continuing to send out bits of the donut. "Willie, you need not worry about that belly of mine," his hoarse voice growled. "As far as I'm concerned, its already all nothing but gut!" He laughed out loud, spewing out a cluster of soggy crumbs.
"Eds, you worry me," Willie shook his head as he snickered, "someday them donuts gonna catch up on you and make you the fattest man alive."
"Ha! I won't live to see that day" Eds replied. He bit into another donut. "I'm already old, Willie, its too late for the bastards to catch me!"
Willie shook his head. "Whatever, Eds, you're just the average pitiful old man striving to survive." He laughed playfully.
"So where's LeonMr. Kennedy, I presume?" Eds asked.
"Ah, he's stuck" Willie then burst out laughing. "He's stuck on a patrol in the Northeast Section!"
Eds chuckled, then began guffawing violently. The Northeast Section was a joke for all cops. Nothing happened up therethe most serious threats included parking violations and jaywalkers. "Now that's a laughing matter!" Eds cried out.
"And you figure the little guy needs bigger assignments" Willie added.
"That Irons," Eds grunted, "he's gotta be a bastard for sending him up there."
"I know" Willie then calmed himself from his fit of laughter. "So what's the deal down here? I was called a minute ago. Was about some homicide, right?"
Eds crumbled his bag in between his fists. "Yeah, another homicide involving the MeatHook Manglerbody's in the bedroom. Looks as if we've got Fedsand even Internal Affairs pressing their noses in."
"Ah, damn, another one involving those jackass, tight-necks?"
He nodded his head. "The Bureau now confirms he has a direct link to Umbrella. They're now suspecting him to be involved in some sort of conspiracy having to do with the contamination."
"Then why's he killing people then?"
"To prove his point." Eds placed his hands in his pocket. "Irons told officials that Birkin was very sure of his demands, and he'd hang anyone that stood his way."
Willie scuffed at the floor with his shoes. "So what we doin standing here, then?"
"I needed to finish my donuts," Eds replied.
"Ah, screw your donuts, old man, we got a world to save!"
Eds picked up a styrofoam cup and sipped the coffee out of it. "You go ahead without me, Willie, I'll catch up after you."
He shook his head. "Eds," Willie said, while adding some scorn in his comment, "I can't imagine what you're gonna be like in the next ten yearsyou probably gonna be runnin around, chasin down them crooks with your silly walker." He then chuckled.
The foam cup Eds had in his hands compressed and ripped away from his squeeze at it. "Nah," Eds chuckled in return, "I'll be hot down their trails with my speedy electric wheelchair. And I'll also have my own personal siren on top of my head to go along with."
Willie laughed for a while, then abruptly stopped. "You crack me up, old man," he said sarcastically. Eds gave him a nervous smile in return.
Willie then nodded and left.
"I gotta tell you, Will," Sergeant Ty Roberts said, "I've seen some of the work this sick fuck has donebut I've seen nothing as bad as this."
Willie patted Ty's shoulder, "Don't worry bout it, Ty, I'm as black as you are, I can take it."
He looked back at Willie with a set of fearsome eyes.
"Okay," Willie said apologetically, "I'll be keeping a serious face, I promise."
Ty kept a stare at Willie. "You better, Burrow, because this isn't a laughing matter." He slowly pushed the door open, unveiling the whole murder scene.
Holy shit, Willie said in his mind as he saw the bodies on the bed.
Behind the yellow tape Willie had to duck under before stepping into the room, the investigators and various agents probed around the most disturbing piece of visage Willie had ever laid eyes upon. Two bodies—one that must have been Coroner Dr. Havenry, and the other some prostitute he picked off the street, were suspended in the air, locked in a sexual position. A meat hook was lodged through the both of them. The girl was on top of him, her head was slumped forward while the metal of the hook crawled from under Havenry's lower back, up through where his penis should've been, and further up through the girl's midriff. Their floating bodies gently swayed from the movement of the other officers around the area. Geez, it looked like something out of a James Patterson novel.
"When this happen?" Willie asked Ty, "and how many more of these cases are we gonna expect?"
"As I believe, this happened around two days ago—we're still not even sure yet. And all I can say to answer your next question is that I'm not sure about that either."
Willie crouched and examined a patch of dried blood on the carpet. "So you're telling me that there is no way we can determine anything out of this investigation?"
Ty nodded. "For some reason, Will, Irons is the only guy with the solution to the Birkin case, and It's at the barn"
"But don't you think the barn is a little of an obvious place to bag this lunatic? I hate to break it to you, Ty, but this solution we have in meeting him at the barn sounds a little too good to be true in my own head to even give a shit about."
"The man's good," Ty said, "all I know of is that he's damn good. Nobody else can be as confident of his whereabouts as well as Irons is."
Willie stood up. "Know what, Ty. I've got a really bad feeling about a lot of this. I mean it, something ain't right around about this whole MeatHook Mangler thing. I feel like its some set-up, if you know what I mean."
"Don't be so full of bullshit, Burrow, I may slack off in my work sometime, but I at least keep my head straight—"
"No, you listen to me for once, my beloved, ebony brother. I was called here to check this body out—that's fine with me. Now, as we are speaking—in case your stuck-up ass hasn't been keeping up to current events lately—the station is being attacked by things we're referring to as zombies,' and if—"
"Zombies?" Ty asked skeptically.
"Zombies," Willie acknowledged, "Ty, I've never lied to you, man. They keep tellin us over and over, zombies."
"Butno, Will, now this ain't no—"
"It ain't no fucking joke, Roberts. The station needs me down there now, and if you think another murder regarding that butcher is more important, then you're dead wrong. As far as I'm concerned, Ty, Irons wants us to focus on something else that's less important for our heads right now than what really is important."
"You go along, Willie, I can't join you on your struggles. I need to help finish this investigation—this is my priority, and if Irons needs me at the barn by the late afternoon, then I'm gonna have to be at that barn, you got that?"
Willie gave out a casual, brushing shrug. His head shook around. "All right, Ty, you do your thingbut I better not be catching you with your ass relaxed when we're gonna be in need of your help."
Ty nodded. "I've been a cop for almost 6 years, Will, and I've never let a man in need down. You know that."
"Yeah, I do," Willie replied blankly. "And I better be sure of that."
Willie then turned around and left the house; he headed straight to the station.
16
3:00 P.M., R.P.D. Station, Central Section—dangerously near the Northern Section.
David Ford kept his wits intact. The screams of his fellow officers were overwhelming to his thoughts. They assaulted his senses, serving only to numb him more than to add question on what exactly made them scream. His hands were bloody, and the silver of his .38 Smith & Wesson was streaked with that dark redness. He shuddered.
They were out there, moaningtrying to reach through the windows.
David unlatched the cylinder of his gun and let the six empty casings fall out over his bloody self. One of them fell onto his wound, causing it to sting and lay heavy surges of pain through his arm. He winced.
"I'm dyin, babybut I'm not gonna die" he said to himself in a way that made it sound like he was singing. The words hummed through the hot air. He closed his left hand over the nasty bite-wound splitting his arm. One of them had been able to sink their teeth into his right arm. Damn it hurtand damn he was also beginning to lose feeling in it from every few minutes since he was bitten. He looked down at his pistol and slowly loaded the bullets, one by one.
Once he finished reloading his .38, David took the time to reorient himself around the situation and his surroundings—he felt too dazed to remember what had just happened before. And he was beginning to feel even more confused to go along with that.
The station was silentit was dead silent. David was sitting down, resting from the last attack they encountered a minute ago. They thought they killed them allthey were mistaken. When they attacked again in the noon, they took six more officers. The remnants of the R.P.D. were then not prepared for the next wave. And it was too late. He remembered seeing Sergeant Black being grabbed from the window by a pack of arms—bloody, shredded arms. They pulled him out while he screamed for his life. He was literally sucked out. Nobody could save him. All they could hear was the squishing, ripping noise that ended in Black's blood being flung from the windows.
And they were terrified, when Winston became one of them. His eyes had left himwhile growing white. He began making low, indistinct noises. David could remember. How could he ever forget that? David was the one that put the bullet into his head afterwards. Everybody else was too frightened to respond.
And nowDavid felt like he was beginning to become one of them also. He didn't know how it came to bebut he concluded that it had something to do with whether they already bit you or not. And David then gasped to his sudden realization.
Everyone had been bitthat was seven in all for his squad.
Enough of that, David thought. He was already worrying enough whether the things would actually crash through the windows like they had done in the last encounter. He needed someone to board the windows. They had to board up the windows of the Southwest Hallthey had to.
And what about thoseother things, his mind flashed.
David shivered again. He shivered so violently that some of his sweat went into the wall. Yes, there were the other things.
With Drake's help, while costing the life of Helmsworth, David managed to kill off one of those things that crawled on the walls. Thosecreatures with the tongues. It lashed through Helmworth's neck, slicing it open. There was so much blood spouting from that large slit. But Drake was able to weaken the thing by firing at it with his pistol. David was then able to ram the broken leg of a table down its exposed brain. He remembered it wriggling as it screamed. Its scream was a scream he'd never forget.
Lickershis mind called out again, they were called Lickers
Goosebumps bulged from the back of his neck and down his arms. If the Lickers came, then they'd surely be finished. If they barely stood a chance against the zombies, then the Lickers were impossible to ward off.
Where the hell was Irons? Where the hell were all the other cops? David grew impatient. There were hundreds of them filling up the station a few hours ago. They were gone now. But they were definitely coming back. David made sure of that.
They better come, he thought, they better
Something crashed through the window from the hallway. David heard it coming from behind him. He turned his head to looked back.
An arm, with missing patches of skin and blood leaking from its fingers crawled into the forced opening it made. It felt around, probing for something to grab. David saw the body of Lieutenant Randy below the searching hand. The hand felt around the wall, leaving streaks of blood all over it. It came around Randy's head and stopped.
It then seized the body's head, clenching the upper jaw with its fingers. Randy's lower jaw fell, as if he were screaming from what was happening to his dead self. The arm pulled the body up, its fingers holding it from its mouth. Lieutenant Brad Randy, 2nd year into the force, having a family of two kids and a loving wife, and was one of the more enlightened cops of the R.P.D., had his body pulled out the window.
The sound of tearing cut the silence away, filling it up with noisy slurps and squirms echoing across the hall.
As the sound continued, David looked up and saw several shadows beginning to appear through the window. Scuffling noises, like the lazy tread of shoes being slid across the pavement, poured into the hallway. David's grip on his pistol tightened.
They better come he thought, shaking, they better come down hereor else
The sound continued through the halls, growing louder, more intense.
David heard a series of moans wailing from the windows behind him.
He slowly got up to his feet, limping a little in almost the same way those zombies were. He struggled himself to turn around while raising his pistol.
A darkened figure appeared through the broken window, peering in at him. Its head was tilted to the left—locked in that position as it made stiff movements toward the window.
David pulled the triggerhe kept on pulling the trigger while maintaining a drunken aim at the windows.
He never stopped firing his gun.
17
Now that Claire thought of it, she wasn't expected to get to Raccoon City as planned. The whole process of trying to find gas, then riding through two-hundred miles to reach the city before nightfall instantly became more of fantasy. She had a rough estimate before, that being there by 8 P.M. sounded reasonable to her judgements, but now, that idea was simply bordering toward the impossible.
11 P.M. sounded more reasonablemaybe even 10:30 if she got lucky.
Claire scooped some dirt up with her boot. The yellowish haze sent from her frustration curled in the air and dissipated as it spread over. She was pissed, no doubt. The demands were way too far-fetched to satisfy at this point.
But she continued to walk anyway. The road ahead seemed to be endless, dropping mirages at one time while twisting into a barren plain in another. And that sun, thatsun. It was roasting the hell out of her!
Sweat soaked the areas she had her clothes on. Damn, she felt like taking them off or some other idea similar to that. Butno, that was a dumb idea. Really dumb. Those crows could come back and tear her to shreds. Yeah, those big, black birds that scared her back at the Call Box. She wondered if they were still hanging around her bike, sitting there while waiting for her to return with those large, blood-soaked beaks
She shivered. Claire crossed her arms. She felt so alone, so afraid on this empty road.
"Ethan," she said to herself, hoping that somehow he could hear her. "When I come back—or when I see you again, I'm gonna give you one fat, Big Red kiss." She then looked at the clear, blue sky. "And that's because I miss you very, very much, my baby."
Claire didn't know why she said that, but it helped her ease with the loneliness she was feeling. Yep, she didn't exactly know why, but she did say it.
The sky was actually beautiful at this time. It glistened, bringing out that radiant glow from the sun. Claire couldn't help but feel better from it. The blue color of the sky when seen with the gold desert landscape brought meaning behind its beauty. A cactus standing in the middle of the desert looked harmless within its thorny hide. A brown little squirrel scurried across the dirt, causing its fluffy tail to stand erect. Among the grass, a pair of roadrunners skipped within the thin blades. The small shrubs wobbled kindly to her. Everything scanned by Claire's eye brought a panoramic view of peace and serenity. Now that seemed so strange, since it appeared so threatening a while ago.
Claire stepped on something.
At the first thought, she should've paid more attention to the ground she was stepping on, but now as she came to think of it, Claire wished she hadn't looked down. Whatever her heel came down upon, it felt soft below her foot. It cushioned her step. It feathered it the same way those Nike air bubbles did.
It was a hand—an arm to be exact. An arm of a dead corpse.
Claire's heart jumped as she reacted, frantically stepping back as if to avoid its clutch on her. It was protruding from the hardened soil. A recent mudslide in the area must of buried the body, while leaving the arm sticking from the ground. Orshe paused to think a moment, it could've been because of something else. She continued to keep her eye on it. The arm was dry, withered to an awful purplish tint. The skin, failing to decompose from the dry heat, had that scrunched look. It gave Claire the impression its skin was rough, being wrinkled to the point of resembling a crumpled bag. Large shreds of the arm's leathery tissue were splayed around, revealing some shriveled flesh into her eyes.
The crows must of done that, Claire thought, thosecrows pecked at him.
Claire focused her eyes on its hand. Something was clenched in its palm. She crouched to examine what its hand was holding. It looked like a piece of paper rolled neatly in between its fingers. Whatever it was, it must be of some value—anything was practically helpful to her at this very moment. She might as well take advantage of it. Claire then tried forcing the hand open using her fingers. The white bone of its knuckles wiggled in its slots. With some effort in trying not to be squeamish, Claire managed to finger the note out, brushing away at it with the back of her palms. She unrolled it, hearing the crisp crumple from its aged texture. She looked closely at it. The wording was a bit hard to make out, but she was able to identify the words. It read:
Welcome to the World of Survival Horror
-- Courtesy of CAPCOM USA and the DRTiMoNk
Claire paused for a moment, her faced housing that disgusted look. Who the hell was sick enough to write this? she thought. Survival horror? What exactly was this, some kind of joke? Claire stood there and pondered the question. Was the body expecting someone like Claire to pick up that note, getting one hell of a laugh while she continued to worry over it? Well, whomever that person was, he deserved to be buried this way. Definitely. Claire always hated this kind of suspense, it always made her feel more vulnerable than she already was.
And who and what was "Capcom USA?" Some demented company bent on making her days a lot worse? What about "DRTiMoNk?" The dirty bastard that started it all? Claire shook her head. What a world.
She ripped up the note and let it scatter into the wind. Nothing else made her more angry than a worthless message trying to foreshadow things to come. Especially if it was something "horrible" she had to live or "survive" through.
She gave out a sigh and looked at the road spanning far ahead of her. If she was being welcomed into this "World of Survival Horror," then she better hope it meant she'd survive it. Geez, just thinking about it gave her the creeps. Claire wasn't an ill-tempered person, nor did she lack a sense of humor, but something like this was way too far. Here she was alone in a place that looked more like Nevada than Oregon, being without gas while she had to make a deadline with El Diablo himself. Sorry kids, but Claire Redfield has no vacancies for jokes this time of day. Real answers is what she needed. Some real good advice on how to get the fuck out of this situation!
She then began her stride down the road. She felt like she was on PMS, but it was fine. Nobody was here to witness it. Nobody except that dead body buried down there. She was to get to Raccoon City before it was too late. She didn't care if it took all day, as long as she could get there, it'll be fine for her. Fine enough.
As Claire Redfield walked away from the arm poking itself from the ground, it began to move. Like the zombies plaguing Raccoon that very moment, the arm inched around, probing the ground surrounding it. It then brought itself up, waving a "goodbye" to Claire's turned back. It then burrowed itself back into the ground, disappearing from viewand from this story.
18
The elevator doors opened, jerking as the twin metallic layers slid away. They split from one another, causing Nathan to peer through an opening leading into the ground floor. A rolling countertop with large lettering that said: WHEA, and under it: ACTIVITY CENTER, welcomed him. Standing beside it, some vending machines also ushered his entry. One of them dispensed candy, while the other gave away red cans neatly embroi-dered with the logo: CHO CHO COLA.
Now, I'd rather drink that shit than the crap in Umbrella Cola, Nathan thought.
He strolled into the brightly-lit ground floor of Washington Hospital. The whole underground floor was consisted of a maze of halls leading into a whole variety of rooms. Come to think of it, Nathan saw the halls as being quite creepy. He stood in the middle of a corridor that stretched far enough to lose sight of a person in the far end. And in the far end, it was dark—being enclosed by shadows from the lack of light caused by the dim fluorescent beams. I wonder what could be hiding back there, Nathan thought to himself while adding a small tremble. At night—when most of the staff has gone home, and the hospital becomes a dark place, what can bring itself to hide back there? Something can be back there this very minutewatching me. Nathan took his eyes away and shook his head. He was being paranoid, most definitely. You're here to do pharmacy orders, Nate, quit worrying about what's not gonna happen! There is absolutely nothing back there for you to worry about!
"I'm going crazy," he said to himself, "I'm worrying my ass off."
He passed by a heavyset door that had a tiny peephole. PBX. Nathan didn't exactly remember what the letters stood for, but he knew the first two were "Public Broadcas-ting," which was all he had to know, basically.
You call PBX and tell them it was all an accident—you accidentally pressed it.
Nathan's face distorted a little while the voice of Crewcut passed over him. He barely had any idea what the psycho's name was. He was just known as Crewcut. But to Nathan, at that moment, he was sure glad that mama's boy was taken cared of. It'd be a real bitch if the fucker showed his face here again.
A band of doctors and nurses passed by him. For a floor under the hospital, there were sure a lot of personnel milling around. Then again, as Nathan thought about it, today was the day of that so-called "contamination." Nathan shrugged it off. He could care less about that city-wide scare for nowhe was tired, tired in that sleepy, irritable sort of way. He needed some sleep.
Nathan Lieu was one of those few people that could stay up all night and still function normally the following day. Last night was one of the longest evenings he had to struggle with. There was history homework to do, Physics questions to ponder, AP English essays to tackle, and, worst of all, there was Pre-Calculus. If there was anything else in the world other than Umbrella Cola to hate, there was always Pre-Calculus. And that math teacher. That fucking math teacher.
If it wasn't for that bitch Mrs. Kennedy, he wouldn't have had to stay up all night trying to study those stupid logarithms and polar equations. He was practically failing that class from her constant barrage of tests and impossible "outcomes" one had to finish in order to pass her class. And she couldn't teachwhich rose his hatred for Pre-Calculus even more. When asking her about the principle of mathematical induction, she simply said, "Nate, my boy, why don't you just do the math since that is what we're all doing!" The following test for that chapter had him studying for nearly three hours a day. He earned a 45%—an F, in other words. Etched over his test paper from her fat red marker, she wrote, "I SAID TO DO THE MATH, BOY. YOU DIDN'T UNDERSTAND." Nathan was haunted by that statement for the whole week. He was determined to prove that bitch wrong. If she wanted him to do the math, then math was to be done in the kick-ass, Lieu-patented tradition.
For the next test, Nathan tried her formula of "doing the math." This time he hired a tutor, studying for at least four hours a day prior to the test date. He made multitudes of notes for the chapter. He absorbed all the information. Hell, he even tried praying.
Nice trybut life isn't fair.
A thick 53% was engraved into his paper. Nathan was furious. He felt like shredding his paper while using its remains as spitballs specially prepared for the teacher. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ENGLISH," the next degrading message displayed.
The next day, Nathan showed his test paper to another math teacher next door. He simply wanted to see if he was really being cheated or not. The situation could, after all, turn out to be one bad case of affirmative action.
"This isn't right," the teacher said while tapping his pencil over Nathan's paper, "I think Mrs. Kennedy was nice giving you 53%—if I were your teacher" His eyes then narrowed. "I wouldn't even give you credit—I'd simply have you retake this test. It's all wrong, wrong!"
So Nathan was confused—was it the system that was driving him up the wall, or was it his own self? Nathan simply blamed the math teacher. She was the one who began his streak of failure for mathematics. He was doing well in every other class, excelling in all subjects except Pre-Calculus. In matter of speaking, Nathan Lieu was nobody's dumbass—he was college-bound, and if some corrupted, Irvington math program wanted to stop him from doing so, then fine, it was war! He wanted to graduatethen decide what was right in his life.
So he studied all last night—from dusk till dawn, only to find out that school was out because of the contamination. Yes! So basically, what Nathan was now looking forward to was a good long nap to rejuvenate some life into his soul. And it was going to take lots of good sleep to recharge his much-needed batteries.
Nathan put his hands in his pockets once he made it to the hospital's pharmacy. A large window with a metallic countertop stuck out from the wall. It reminded him of those ticket booths in front of movie theaters. He'd almost expect the pharmacist to talk to him from a little speaker installed over the wall beside him. Nathan pressed the red button located near the glass. A sharp buzz sawed through the interior of the pharmacist's room.
A short (like Nathan), quirky man of about 5'3" came peering out from the window. He pulled it up. The thick glasses over his gawky face hung unevenly from him, as bundles of his white hair clumped its way down his head. The guy looked like Mr. Kawamura, Nathan's Physics teacher.
"Hello" the pharmacist greeted clumsily, "how are you doing, Nathan?"
Nathan smiled a little while resting his arms on the countertop. "I'm a little tired, Mr. Chau," he said wearily, "but I'm doing fine, thanks."
Chau chuckled, his head
"Yeah," Nathan said, "I was supposed to have my math test today, but that contamination's going on"
The expression energizing Chau's face erased itself. "Oh, don't talk too much about that Nathan," he said in a manner that made it sound a lot more dangerous than it really was. "Umbrella here tell us not to worry about it! Just keep quiet!"
Nathan kept his face still. He nodded. "Okay, Mr. Chau, I'll do that. I mean, the worst I have to worry about will be that damn test tomorrow."
Chau nodded. He did that solemnly. "No worry about that test, Nathan," he said while dipping under to get the pharmacy folder. "I believe you'll do real well."
Nathan laughed a bit. "Yeah, it'll take an act of God" he said while beginning to wonder about what Chau said before. He had said something about Umbrellathat he needed not to worry about something. "Hey Mr. Chau, what did you mean about Umbrella telling us not to worry about the contamination?"
The folder slid across the counter and into Nathan's arms. "Since police is suspecting Umbrella of the contamination, they keep telling us that, that all," Chau said.
"What, really? The police is after Umbrella?" Nathan asked enthusiastically. So maybe he won't be seeing Umbrella Cola again after all—now that was another triumph for mankind. He'd better go tell Sofia thatshe'll probably go mad over it!
The lights went out. Everything became devoured by the shadows. It blanketed the whole floor in darkness, causing Nathan to become disoriented from his sudden blindness. The lights shortly came on again, resuming the brightness that kept the ground floor visible.
Nathan glanced around him, confused. He looked at Chau. "What just happened there?"
Chau kept his stern face. "Power outage, Nathan. It must have been our generator growing weak."
"Weak generator? You think its going to be safe for me to use the elevators?"
"Yesll be fine. Whenever the first generator goes out, the auxiliary takes over" Chau paused for a moment. He began to look down, deep in thought.
"Mr. Chauis there anything wrong?"
Chau broke away and looked at Nathan. "Well, there just might be a slight problem when our power goes out again."
"Oh yea? What's that?"
"Because of previous outages in the last week, I think our auxiliary generator has grown weak. I don't think the hospital can withstand another blackout in this city for at least another three days."
That startled Nathan. What would happen if there was going to be another blackout? Would everybody be trapped? Nathan wanted to clarify from the tone of Chau's voice that it wasn't such a big deal. "Is that a really bad thing?"
"Wellyes, in a way, Nathan. If the power for the hospital goes out, then our auxiliary generator will leave us with nothing but dim lights and hardly any electricity."
"So that is a really bad thing?" Nathan tried to clarify.
"Yes," Chau acknowledged. "Just don't worry, Nathan, by the time you leave this hospital, the problem should be fixed."
"Oh it better," Nathan said with some contempt. "I don't think Washington Hospital can take any more lawsuits, I mean man I better make it out alive before my shift's over."
Chau laughed, rocking his head while pointing at him. "Don't worry, Nathan," his voice squeaked, "you'll be fine, I promise!"
The pharmacy folder Nathan had in his hands began to dampen from his sweaty palms. Whatever Chau said better not happen—it better not. "Okay then, Mr. Chau, you take care," Nathan said as he left walking down the hall.
"Goodbye, Nathan," he heard him respond. From his tone, Nathan assumed he was just as afraid of this situation as he was. Chau was, anyway, working at Washington.
And to Nathan's theory, Washington Hospital was full of many disturbing secrets.
It was a routine job to deliver the pharmacy orders. Nathan thought a little about it while he began walking around the halls of the ground floor. The Washington Hospital Volunteer Service requested him to begin doing the favor last month when they decided to have volunteers carry the deeds rather than the nurses working above. What the job simply consisted of was to have a volunteer just like Nathan travel up the designated floors of the hospital while collecting pharmacy orders from each of the Nurse's Stations for each floor. After that, he'd simply return the folder to the ground floor pharmacy and continue on his shift. Nathan actually liked doing this—even though it seemed boring as hell, it sure beat sitting there behind a desk daydreaming of better times. Although now, since Sofia was up there, he felt like being behind that desk.
But who cares, it didn't hurt to burn some calories before they accumulated.
Nathan sighed as he crossed the closed doors of each room down the hall. A room with a thick door and peephole much like PBX caught his attention. The Security Room. He remembered venturing into that place while Volunteer Services conducted their tour. All he remembered about it was the dozens of small bluish screens showing almost every area within the hospital.
So that's how they caught Crewcut, Nathan thought.
He then began passing by more rooms that included X-ray, Radioactive Chemo-therapy, Furnace Area, Medical Staff Pool, and Media Room before stopping at a fork in the hallway. He looked around, turning his head towards the sufficiently-lit left side, then pivoting around to glance at the shadowy right end. To the left were the elevators where he was supposed to go, but to the right as Nathan kept his stare, there was
Umbrella.
He stood there, head turned, pharmacy folder in hand. His eyes were wide with curiosity. The Umbrella Laboratory. Nathan never had a chance to check out what the new place looked like since they had their Grand Opening last month. He never cared about it. But today, his stare down that hall was as concentrated as any proud consumer of their "prized" products. His sight of an empty wheelchair underneath the shadows caused a slight chill to crawl up his spine. Damn, and he thought the rest of the ground floor looked creepy.
A number of hospital beds lied still beside the walls. They were empty. The dimming fluorescent bulbs glimmered above them, casting a pale, saturation of color upon them. On each bed, tubes twisted down a metallic rod, coiling around like vines. The bag where the contents of the tubes descended from were filled with a reddish material that must have been at least a few days old. Reflecting from the plastic surface of the bag, the glowing entrance to Umbrella glowed. The entrance was surrounded by an aura of red light from its special light source. It lit the darkness in conjunction with the dimming lights. Nathan took a few steps toward the entrance while examining it briefly.
It was a large double door—a heavily layered, wall of steel. It was full of electronic dials, card slots, key holes, and glowing displays flashing the corporation's symbol. To put it in simpler terms, it looked a lot different than the other doors Nathan passed by earlier. While the other doors of the ground floor had their best form of security being nothing but a key to unlock, the entrance to the Umbrella Lab looked more like a bank vault than its puny counterparts.
All that for a soda that tastes like shit, Nathan thought, noticing the large label printed over the left door. It had its official red-white symbol and everything.
"Nice touch," Nathan commented, "now it looks like a larger version of the soda can." His eyes scanned over the right side of the double door. He paused, studying every detail for a moment. His eyebrows narrowed in that perplexed, well-looky-here kind of expression. The upper portion read in oversized, scripted letters:
Birthplace of your Favorite
Fragrance and Beverage!
And under the immense lettering, Nathan saw a much smaller sign which should have been a lot bigger than the rest of the other ones. Dwarfed from the other gargantuan labels sur-rounding it, this one read:
BIOHAZARD
CAUTION
BIOLOGICAL
HAZARD
This Laboratory
Conforms to
USG P4/EK3
Genetic Protocols
That was the best piece of modern irony Nathan had ever seen. He laughed to himself. Now that was why he never came close to touching their piece-of-crap colas (let alone their fragrance products!). There were more messages under that sign as Nathan read in wonder. Right under the Biohazard symbol they read:
CAUTION
TERATOGENIC SUBSTANCES
PREGNANT WOMEN AVOID EXPOSURE
TO AREAS BEYOND THIS POINT
DANGER
RADIOACTIVE ISOTOPES IN USE
CARCINOGENIC POTENTIAL
Now what the hell was this? Nathan thought, smiling at the warning labels. I thought they specialized in drinks and fragrance products! This fucking sounds more like a chemical weapons factory! He had no idea what the scientific jargon meant on those last signs, but whatever it was, it was definitely not something he wanted to find next to his favorite drink. Hell no. Nathan laughed, his voice echoing through the hallway. It was time to get going. He turned around and walked back to the elevators down the hall.
While he stood before the sliding doors of the elevator, he looked back at the halls.
One last glance at the silly Umbrella entrance would be a nice thing to do
The smile on his face disappeared. Nathan felt his heart skipping beats.
The outline of a man stood in the middle of the darkened hall. His silhouette stood there as if he were a statue suddenly appearing out of nowhere. He was in front of the Lab doors. He was staring at him, staring straight at Nathan with his arms at his side. The man continued to stand there, watching himstudying him.
Nathan turned and rushed into the elevator once it opened by his side. Once he was in, he leapt at the control buttons by the door's side. He frantically jabbed the CLOSE DOOR button with his thumb. When the elevator doors slid to close in front of him, Nathan still saw the figure out there—in the same position and in the same stance. Nathan shook his head as he pressed the button for the 3rd floor. He wasn't ever going near the Lab entrance again. That was for sure. Pussy or not, Nathan knew about Washington, and the last thing he needed was to end up like Ian and his fellow exploited volunteers.
The image of the man in the hall came flashing back into his head.
Nathan shuddered as his weight shifted from the elevator pulling up. There were two details stuck in his memory from that dark shape in the hall. One of them was the whiteness that looked like a lab coat the man was wearing. The other detail—which was enough to scare Nathan away at a glance—was the fact resting in the man's right hand. In a hand that looked too massive for a person of that size, a large pole was enclosed within his grip. And that pole, Nathan remembered, was the biggest fucking pole he's ever seen.
19
Nancy Garcia sat herself on the bed of room 17 in the third floor. The room of Mercedes Gamboa. Except there was no Mercedes Gamboa—she didn't exist. Her partner Marcel made up the name so they can share the room for private meetings. Nancy made sure the room was closed, and that nobody outside could know she was in here. She slowly brought her hand under the mattress and retrieved a filing folder. She untied the top and rested it over her lap while pulling out the contents.
Inside was a group of files from her partner. They had to keep communications down to relying on messages faxed from the Bureau headquarters. Any updates in the assignment were to be made in approximate times she was scheduled to receive these documents. Special orders had to be followed from these.
Nancy thumbed through the layers of notes and information regarding the biological terrorist (The MeatHook Mangler), the status check for each agent around the area, the structure of the hospital, and etc., etcetc.
It was a good thing she was already acquainted with most of the information from recent studies at home. She didn't have to waste time here reading over the material again. Actually, she kind of wanted to be home this minute. Just sitting on this bed reminded her of the comfort at home. She felt like stripping down to her T-shirt and underwear while curling up in bed with the case files in one hand and a café latte in the other. She'd also feel a lot better with a muscular member of the opposite sex by her side, caressing her. A nice backrub to go along with that would be an extra touch of bliss. Oh yes, a nice squeeze in the shoulders and a hand over her stomach. Nancy shook her head. She needed to remained focused, but for the time being she could need some comfort and satisfaction.
Nancy found a note under the status sheet written from her partner Marcel. She looked it over and smiled. Scrawled over it was a poem, with a little of some tender affection courtesy of her partner. So, Marcel wanted to go out on a little "date".
"4 West, room 14," Nancy read out while her smile brightened her face. "Marcel, if you ever want some real quality time with me, then you should consider asking me face to face." She giggled to herself. Nancy couldn't help it, every agent pretty much wanted a piece of her. And the thought was only half as disturbing as it sounded. Here they were, men mostly in their thirties who never hesitated to ask this "young, feisty agent" for dinner. Give me a break! She only went for guys like Marcel—who was totally absent of that cold, silent, stereotype for an "G-man."
Anyway, Nancy never had a decent relationship. Maybe because she was too sexy, or too voluptuously irresistible someone once told her. She knew men mostly wanted her for her nice ass, or probably for the fact that she had a certain resemblance to that actress Jennifer Lopez. It never occurred to Nancy she could rile up most men with those qualities. But she knew—and this through experience with the manipulation of the male hormones, that she could definitely force any man to do her bidding in bed. Oh yes, she was a skilled professional at that. When it came to sex, Nancy Garcia had the whip, and she wasn't afraid to use it.
Enough of that, her feminist side whispered, you know in the end, women will rule the earthyou know that, don't you, Nancy?
Nancy pulled out her Glock, holding it with her right hand while gripping the slide with her left. She pulled back at it, causing the pistol to load the bullet into its chamber.
I don't think so, her more submissive side responded, I can't live in this world without men, and if you want me to take your side on this, then the only thing I can agree on is that men are nothing but sex and a source of money. It's true, women hold a certain control over the decisions of men, but we need them around us in order to feel comfortable.
Nancy shook her head, shaking off those thoughts. She never quite associated them with her real life, thank God. Those ideas usually drove her insane.
She holstered her pistol and stood up, straightening her jacket while pushing her hair back. She wasn't quite sure as to be wary of the potential dangers in the hospital. For the time being, it seemed a nice place. Most of the troubles were to be handled at the barn by the late afternoon. Not here. The hospital was a quiet, serene place at this time. Nancy can indulge on some pleasures. She'll go see Marcel and see what he's got in store for her. And if it was something sexual, then that was fine with her.
The door to the fictitious patient, Mercedes Gamboa, closed behind Nancy. The silence in the hall of the third floor made her feel uncomfortable from the noise she was making. The area was devoid of all people. This only made Nancy wonder where all the nurses went. She walked over toward the double doors leading into the main area of the floor and pushed it open.
It was like opening a portal to a different dimension. A far more menacing one.
Deafening chatter, screams, noises from various medical machines, and arguing among the personnel and customers assaulted her in all directions. Nancy stopped in front of a passing flock of nurses as they guided a bed across her. She looked around in widening eyes.
Forget the idea of indulging on pleasures, this place looked like it was in a state of Hell!
A rushing nurse caused a plate of instruments to fall over a table while an injured woman screamed—bile began trickling from her open mouth. Nancy heard shrieks curling its way from various hospital rooms. She swore she caught glimpse of an elderly woman sitting up from her bed with her eyes all white as her hands tore away the tubes worming through her frail body. Nancy blinked, hoping what she was seeing was nothing but a figment of her imagination.
It wasn't.
A doctor whose arm was soaked in blood tried dragging a screaming boy whose tears were flung about from his constant flailing of himself from the man's grip.
"Don't wanna shot," the boy wailed, sounding dazed—he was lacking emotion behind the voice. "Don't wanna get shot, hate needles, Pleeaaaaaaase!"
Then Nancy saw him pull in the doctor's hand, spreading his teeth over the doctor's fingers. The kid bit off his fingers. The boy actually tore off his index and middle fingers! She drew back as blood came gushing from the opened wounds.
The man screamed. "No! What do you think you're doing, you bastard! No! It can't be! Not my fingers!" The doctor shook the boy's head away, causing it to slam into the hard floor. The boy lied therehis pupil and iris rolled up to form the blanking whiteness in his eyes. He was convulsing, twitching rapidly as the fingers stuck out from his mouth. Droplets of blood waved from the fingers as the boy continued to vibrate. The nurses came shortly after.
Nancy began taking careful steps through the chaotic scene. The doctor was taken to ER, while the nurses carried the boy away on a bed. Nancy felt like she was about to vomit. Her body lurched itself over, while she kept it from coming up her throat. She paused for a second, staring at the ground.
Just a while ago, the place seemed so fine. It was actually peaceful.
"Nina, are you feeling all right?" Nancy heard a doctor ask someone.
"West" a light voice responded—must have been a nurse for all Nancy knew. "I'm not feeling too wellI think I'm coming down with the flu."
"Relax Nina," the doctor said, "I need you to finish the shift, you got that? I need as many people I can grab, because this place is falling apart."
"I'm scared, West, you know that? I'm so fucking scared, what's happening here? Why are the rioters coming down here?"
Nancy turned and looked at West. The handsome, but stern-faced man was holding the nurse in his arms. "They're not rioters, Nina," he said, "I know you have trouble believing me in this, but I'll have to tell you. People are calling them zombies, and the police are trying to hold them off for us right now."
"What?" Nina's expression grew terrified. "Please say you're not bullshitting me," she said while sniffing up a runny nose. "Please, West, please. You know how much you love me and—"
"I promise, I really am sure about it. Just try to keep calm and I'll just—"
Nancy saw Nina throw his arms away from her. "Cut the crap, West! You actually think I can keep myself calm after this is happening to our city right now? You know everyone's already dead, West! We're all gonna die!"
Nancy turned and walked away from the estranged couple. She began to make her way down the crowded halls full of frantic nurses and yelling physicians.
They were going to need backup for this operation. As far as Nancy was concerned, this whole incident involved more than just The MeatHook Mangler. She was to see Marcel and have them contact the Bureau now. After that, she'd guess it was all up to her and Marcel to restore order in this hospital.
Zombies? Her mind pondered the subject. Zombies, how could that be? What the Hell was that West doctor talking about? Why wasn't I informed of it earlier?
Nancy kept her observations true to her head. In the last few minutes, she wanted to know whether the images back there were actually credible to her own belief. She did, from her own eyes, see a boy chew off a man's finger, an elderly woman ripping the tubes from her body, and heard the word zombie mentioned from some of the personnel, didn't she? Was that the fact, or Ripley's believe it or not? Shit, if she only knew.
Nancy passed by a short guy who looked rather familiar. He was standing in front of a male nurse that stood more than a foot taller than he was. The volunteer had a large folder in his hand. It was the baldness in the boy's head that caused Nancy to recall his name.
"Okay Duane, look," she heard Nathan Lieu say, "just piece it all slowly for me to hearjust what is going on here? I mean, the place looks as if it's been hit by a storm or something. They gonna make us leave early or what?"
As Nancy passed the both of them, she heard Duane's voice fading from her as she continued to walk toward the elevators. "Nateman, I don't know, the news says the riots' have been fuckin spreadin all around Raccoon and"
Great, Nancy thought. So it wasn't just the hospital that was being affected—it was the whole city she had to worry about. Fantástico!
Nancy felt around her legs and pockets, making sure she was carrying the extra clips of ammunition for her Glock. Three magazines and 18 bullets eachthat made a total of 54 bullets. Good.
Nancy Garcia was gonna need every single bullet for this occasion.
20
"You know, Nathan," Duane said over Nathan's smaller self. "That one lady that just passed us by looked damn fine! Shit, now that's someone I wouldn't mine bucking till the end of time"
Nathan chuckled before trying to restore his seriousness. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Jennifer Lopez woman leave into the elevators. He then looked back up at Duane. "All right Duane, I'll agree with you on that one. I wouldn't mind doin some bumpin and grindin with the lady, but we got an issue to discuss."
Duane looked down at him. His face was excited, filled with some exhilaration for the strange things going on around them. "I know what you mean, Nate-dog. I feel yah, but you just gotta keep yourself cool on this. What's happening now is the highlight of my career, man!"
Nathan's casual look on Duane instantly became a glare. "Fuck the highlights, you just told me there were riots happening around the city this very moment, and they were spreading—"
"No shit there are riots—I just told you! Where the hell you've been? I swear, you've been behind that desk for too long—you don't know jack-shit! The whole city's goin down, and you didn't even know!"
Nathan's urge to speak died down. He looked at the ground for a moment, thinking over the whole situation. It just wasn't happening. No way, not the city he lived in. The riot was coming here? Why, was it because of that damn contamination? He looked back up to Duane.
"So they catch The MeatHook Mangler, yet?" Nathan asked.
Duane shook his head. "The police said they already have a lockdown of where he's headed and everything. So far, they plannin on sendin some SWATs and a whole bunch of cops to handle it."
Nathan's eyes widened. "Oh damn," he said. "And what about the riots?" Nathan added.
"What else? They got the riot cops out there handling it right now. Northern Section was hit the hardest, while Northwest, South and our very own Central Section should be hit soon."
Now Nathan was beginning to get angry. Why wasn't Duane actually worried about this? What was his problem? "Duane, so you telling me, we have a contamination making everyone sick, a serial killer out there killing everyone, and the cops on their knees tying to hold back on rioters coming this way?"
The excited face of this jolly brown giant smiled while he nodded.
"So you gonna be happy staying here wearing that smock of yours while the hospital gets run down by the rest of the city?"
Duane's gleeful face nodded again. "I'll be getting hella commission for it."
Nathan sighed. He then felt Duane's hand pat his shoulder.
"DudeNathan," Duane said, "you hella trippin, man—it's not gonna be that bad. We got a fine line of cops backing the city. You know this whole thing is gonna end before tonight. It's like that one time when hella people were scared from that forest fire a few months ago when something out there exploded, right?"
"I heard it was some house that did," Nathan replied, "A mansion, I think."
"Whatever," Duane scratched his head. He had been scratching it since Nathan met up with him. "Anyway, that was just a small thing like this one—it was over the next day. I know the shit-thing happening today will be like that one. So don't worry, man. Don't let it get to your head."
Nathan saw Duane beginning to scratch his back once he finished with his head.
"Duane—dude, you ok?" Nathan asked. "You been scratching yourself for hella days. You get some skin rash or something?"
He brought his hands away from wherever he was clawing at and looked at Nathan. His enthusiasm was gone. "Nah, man. I just been hella itching since this one bitch bit me a while ago."
Nathan grew surprised. "What? For reals?"
"Yeah—she just bit me for no reason. I was out for lunch, and this one blonde chick with these fat-ass titties came up and tried takin a piece of my arm. Hella crazy."
For the first time, Nathan was seeing a sense of worry in Duane's face.
Duane broke out a smile. "Yeah—well anyway, speaking of some crazy, but lovely women, how's nice Sofia doin?"
Nathan didn't feel like changing the subject—he wanted to hear more about the buxom lady who bit him. "Ohshe's all good," Nathan said reluctantly, "she said hi,' by the way."
A small laugh echoed from Duane's mouth. "If you see her down there, tell her to suck it,' cuz she needs some."
Nathan smiled. "Man Duane, you and your wrestling philosophies."
Duane laughed again, filling up the chaotic air with some of his happiness. "Know what, Nathan, I wonder how she's doin down there without youshe probably giving everybody the wrong directions."
"I'm not so sure about that," Nathan said. "She kicked some big guy's ass this morning—you should've seen it!"
Duane chuckled, his head pulling back to nod at him. "Yeah, I heard. Was some white guy, right?"
"Yea, it was. So I don't think she's having that much trouble now."
Sofia DelaCruz threw herself below the lobby desk. She crouched under the marble surface the same way she did when that psycho attacked them in the morning. Her back was leaned against the inside-front portion of the desk. Her tazer and pepper spray were clutched in both hands. The low droning of her stun gun was the only thing she could hear.
And that scream a few minutes ago was still in her head.
Sofia remembered hearing it about a half hour after Nathan left to do his pharmacy orders. Its pitch was high, screeching in that bloodcurdling way to make it sound like it was right beside her own ear. She turned her head in the direction she last heard it from. If she was right, then the sound must of originated from the hallways near the Meditation Room. And those hallways were so close to the lobby.
"Nathan" her soft voice whispered, "where the fuck are youI need you here now." She began to shiver to herself. The surface of her skin rose in steady goosebumps causing chills to brush over her body. She then looked up toward the bottom of the desk.
The panic buttons. Yes, the panic buttons!
She brought herself up and hooked her forefinger over the red buttons. She jammed her fingers in to press at them rapidly. Sofia then backed away into the desk and sat with her arms hugging her bent legs. PBX should call her any minute. They always did whenever they pressed the buttons. They did that in the morning when the crazy guy was here. After they called, the guards usually came. They always made sure everybody was okay
But this time, they didn't call back. Sofia felt like crying, but she held it off.
After a few minutesaccumulating to several minutes, she continued to sit there in that same position, waiting for that possibility that the ground floor would call her. The telephone remained silent. Sofia gave out a whine. She was sounding like a little girl.
What am I supposed to do? she thought, shit! I don't know what to do! What's going on around here? Why does this have to happen now! Why couldn't it happen some other time when I'm not in this fucking shift!
The faint sound of glass breaking rattled into the lobby from another corner of the hospital. Sofia heard gunshots after that—they were muffled from the distance. And screaming—men screaming as if they were dying from something trying to tear their throats open. Sofia shot out from under the desk and grabbed the phone sitting on the desk. If they weren't going to call her, then she'd best call them. She ripped the handset from its resting place and pressed it to her ears. There was no dial tone.
There was nothingshe heard nothing. The phone lines were out!
Sofia bit her lip, placing the phone back as her hand shook its way down. She then slowly ducked under the lobby desk, bringing herself to that same position of embracing her legs. She had it—she was definitely fed up. Her eyes then sharpened, beginning to shape themselves to look more like tiger eyes than a sad girl's. So the fuckers out there wanted her to get nasty. That was fine. Nobody fucked with Sofia Delacruz. The only thing in her world that had the right to associate the word fuck with her was her boyfriend. Everything else can kiss her nice ass.
She heard another sound travel into the lobby, but she didn't care anymore. There was no need to care once a girl got bitchy.
Her hands picked up her two weapons. Her right clutched the spray, while her left held the stunner. Whatever came to duck under the lobby desk for more than a look was gonna get the bitch treatment from Sofia herself. Uh huh. She knew that, and she was capable of that. She was sure that white boy in the morning was already aware of that.
She heard more gunshots. This time it sounded like it came from ER.
Sofia grit her teeth together, showing them out in a sneer. The buzzing crackle from her stun gun came to life, splitting its way into her ears. She felt her soft hair spreading to cover her back. It poured over her shoulders, feeling soft and comfortable.
Unfortunately, at this time, her hair was the only thing about her that was soft and comfortable. Everything else was made to kill.
"Simple to say, in humans—people as I attempt to include, the T-Virus transforms normal individuals into walking corpses thirsting for the blood of others. Their bites inflicted on victims will transmit a mutated form of the pathogen that is basically the same virus with an increased development rate. This will mean the new host, once bitten, will immediately enter its zombified state within a matter of 2 hours without treatment—five times the rate of development when compared to being transmitted in other methods. This observation has led to my heightened fear of the T-Virus. And in animals, the results are nearly similar, except that they become more terrifying, I will add. Animals become far more dangerous than their human counterparts; dogs will undergo a certain aggression similar to rabies and attack anyone within their range. Some species of birds including crows, ravens, and sparrows have also been observed to display these similar forms of behavior. And while being a scientist responsible for such studies, I am becoming increasingly afraid of the horrors we are creating. I am now very afraid."