Chapter 2: A Slight Problem
| Sergeant Freemont Lassart | |
| Corporal Wilson Gammon (second-in-command) | Private First Class Andrew Watchreid (strategist) |
| Private First Class William Patton (soldier) | Private Sloan "Stymie" Hackson (soldier) |
| Private Kyle Hedgewick (pilot) | Private Jane Quigg (nurse) |
| Private Haley Ysborne (sharpshooter) | Private Ed Payton (sharpshooter) |
| Private Flora Lamont (communications) | Civilian Benson Coldwart (negotiations) |
I feel since everyone else is doing this, I'll have to as well. Basically, the whole concept of Resident Evil, and a lot of the plot points taken from this story, have been directly grabbed from the Resident Evil series. The characters I created, but the whole concept, and the title 'Resident Evil', belong to Capcom Games. And, of course, legally, I can't accept money for doing any of this unless directly licensed from Capcom Games and, since I'm not, well.... There goes that idea. This isn't a Capcom-approved fanfic, either. Wait for five minutes to let simmer, serve, and enjoy.
Ed stared on at the ship that had just exploded in front of him. He was still in shock, his mouth held agape and his eyes widened with something that felt like a mixture of fright and fury. He stood watching as their only ride home was being washed with flames. Lamont, their communications expert, was aboard that ship. Ed had only met her a few hours ago, hadn't had any lengthy conversations with her, but already he felt the reality of what was going on. She had been alive, and now she was dead. He looked at the wreckage to see if he could find any sign of her, but couldn't. The flames were too high and too thick. Even now, shrapnel and burning embers still hit the ground in a pitter-patter or a clang.
Will moved in front of him and grabbed him by the arms. "Ed, let's go. There's nothing we can do here."
"Private Payton," Lassart barked behind him. "You move, or you get left behind!"
His trance broke and he stepped back into the hall, over the disemboweled human at his feet. They made their way down into the mess hall and he had to move around Gammon's unmoving body. The thing that had eaten him was still hunched over against the wall, thick dribbles of blood coming from its mouth and pooling on the floor.
"Sir, I took a look around out there," Ysborne said as she approached Lassart. Ed remembered her as his sharpshooter partner. "There wasn't anybody around. It was... as if the ship had just exploded!" Ed looked up to see them talking, Lassart sitting on one of the bloody tables while she stood in front of him. "Sir," she reemphasized. "Nobody was there. I couldn't pick up a thing."
"Sir, I'd like to get to the bottom of this," Hedgewick said. "There are too many unknowns happening here."
"I'd like to, too, Private," Lassart responded, seeming half distant. "That ship incident was...." He trailed off.
Ed could feel cold sweat dribble down his forehead. He didn't like unknowns, just like Hedgewick. He couldn't stand not knowing what was going on. When he had a good grasp of things, when he was standing on a tower, watching enemy troops through a sniper's scope, he was fine. But in the thick of things, not even having taken position, not knowing what was happening... he hated that!
"Okay," Lassart began as he stood. "I know you won't like this, but no matter what's happened, we're here to do a mission, and we'll do that mission. I know we're spooked, and I know two of us have just been killed, but we need to carry on. I want two-man teams; we're going to search this area. Even you, Mr. Coldwart. We report back here in twenty. Got that? Any more than twenty, under the circumstances, and I'll consider having your badge. Sound off."
"Watchreid and Quigg," Watchreid called out. Quigg looked him over with a little hint of disgust.
"Ysborne and Hedgewick," Ysborne called out.
It was Stymie's turn. "Hackson and Patton," he responded. Ed looked up, and even though Will was standing nowhere near Stymie, he chose to partner up with him. Made sense, though. In a situation like this, you go with whom you trusted, and the only ones Stymie had served with before were Will and Ed. Ed just figured Stymie picked the first one he saw.
Ed looked around. It was only him, Lassart, and the civilian, Coldwart. He rolled his eyes. He wanted better backup than that. "Payton and Coldwart," he called out, even sensing the uneasiness he felt in his own voice.
"I'll search on my own," Lassart responded. "Keep radio contact to a minimum, but keep it on. If any of you finds the power to this compound, you are to turn it on."
"Sir, won't that alert the terrorists?" asked Hedgewick as he examined his rifle.
"Don't second-guess my orders, Private. Now, move out." Lassart took the initiative and boldly marched toward one of the few doors that led away from the mess hall.
Quigg let a lock of her blond hair fall in front of her face, but brushed it aside with one hand. Her glasses fit snugly under her goggles, but felt a little tight against her forehead. She would probably have imprints soon enough. She looked over at Watchreid, their strategist, and felt immediate discomfort beside him. She was, actually, sickened by him. He hadn't inherently done anything wrong to her, but he was one of them. The other half of the species couldn't screw in a light bulb without a woman's help. It was just too bad that too many of them were in charge of the planet.
"Up ahead there's a turnoff to the right," Watchreid--who had copied Patton's online blueprints of the whole compound--said behind her, and she nodded in acknowledgement. She had her gun trained ahead of her and down to the ground, her medical training telling her that it was best to shoot for the femurs. Or the crotch for those hostiles that had balls. Her gun swayed positions from left to right and back to the left as she moved.
They reached the bend in the hallway and turned. Quigg's goggles met with a dissatisfactory sight: another long tunnel, winding up and to the right. She sighed in annoyance, and then saw the door about midway up and on the left. Watchreid caught up, and she indicated the door, saying, "What's behind the door?" She did nothing to hide her discontent for her partner.
"A... monitor room," he responded, checking the online blueprints. "Could be interesting."
"Let's go, then," she replied, thinking back to the ship exploding. It figured that Coldwart would have escaped death and poor Lamont had to perish. The next hostile they got to, whether it was human or if it resembled that thing that had gotten Gammon, would be dedicated to her memory.
She jiggled the doorknob and noticed that it was unlocked. Good. She didn't want to have to go searching for a key every time they wanted access to a room. She entered the room and the thing that had immediately caught her attention was the foul stench that escaped. She quickly found the source of the stench: two men were hunched over on a large computer console, face down with their backs torn apart. Their spines had been ripped out, severing any connection with the spinal nerves and fluids, and that was probably what they had died of, judging by the blood clotting around the surface tissue. Those must have been some abnormal Lymphs cells, and could have possibly leaked into the brain! Their shirts had been torn in the back, as well, presumably by whatever had removed their vertebrae with the same care and concern as a Mack truck.
It was still dark in the monitoring room, and Quigg noticed that none of the computers were even on, although it looked as if both people were poised at their keyboards, almost as if they didn't know the computers weren't active.
"Sudden deaths," Quigg remarked. She approached the men, the stench getting stronger. She put a mouth to her nose and pinched it. Then she noticed claw marks or stab wounds, sets of three scraping along both men's backs. She traced one with her finger and noticed that it was hardly bloody. The scrapes must have come after the spines were torn out, when the blood had rested. She made sure, seeing purple discolouration where the blood had rested inside the veins and capillary beds.
She turned around. "I've seen enough. Let's keep moving."
Hedgewick entered a room with the title 'Weapons Development' written on it in messy, red-stenciled lettering. Might be a good place to pick up something explosive. The rifle he had just wouldn't do any good against terrorists or.... He thought back to what had eaten its way into Gammon's temple. He shuddered. What was that thing? Whatever it was, he needed something of a rapid-fire class to dispatch it and its siblings.
Ysborne waited at the door for him, quickly glancing back down the pitch-black hall. "What's the holdup?" she asked.
"Sorry, just thinking," he replied and stepped in. What he saw surprised him. It didn't seem like a weapons development area. There were beakers around, needles with computer equipment and chemistry textbooks--! It looked more like a laboratory than a weapons development area. What kind of weapons would someone develop in a lab? He expected to see some really heavy stuff, maybe even some missile launchers!
"There's nothing here," Ysborne finally said.
"No, no," Hedgewick replied, hardly begging, but feeling like he was. "There's got to be something around here somewhere. Let's take another look." He was thankful to have his night-vision goggles on, that he could see, even though everything looked like it was in a Gameboy display. He was hoping to find something, anything that was better than his simple rifle.
A shuffle of feet, and his gaze shot up. Something was attacking him! It was upon him and he suddenly found himself yelling something as he stepped back, out of its drunken grasp. "What the--" He backed into something and felt a sharp stab at his elbow! He readied his rifle. "Ysborne!" he called out as it was upon him again.
The thing was shriveled, angry and hungry, moaning to--to eat Hedgewick! Just like the one that had taken a chunk off of Gammon! The thing was too close, and Hedgewick had to angle his rifle upward at its chin! One shaky yank of the trigger and the whole thing's right side was blasted off.
It fell to the ground, and Hedgewick could see that Ysborne had been taking careful aim behind it, making sure not to hit Hedgewick if the thing suddenly moved to one side. She was a very passive shooter, Hedgewick remarked. He found that his breathing had gotten heavy and laboured, so he put his free hand to his chest in an effort to calm himself down. That was a close call.
"What was that?" Ysborne yelled. "What--"
Another moan! Both Ysborne and Hedgewick looked down to see the thing with half a face trying to get back up! Muscle trauma was making it hard, but the thing was actually still trying to rise!
"Die!" Hedgewick screamed and put his gun right up against the thing's head. He held his breath, and one squeeze of the trigger sent the rest of its skull and grey matter flying in several different directions! Hedgewick was splattered in the face with something and quickly wiped it off with his arm.
"What was that thing?" Ysborne screamed, her eyes wide. "What's going on here?"
A zombie? "Was that thing a zombie?" Hedgewick screamed back.
"Impossible! Zombies don't exist!"
"Then what was it?" His gaze turned from the headless thing at their feet up to Ysborne, a maniacal, wide-eyed expression plastered on his sweaty, bloodied face. His jaw was clenched, and he was open to any other rational explanation that Ysborne could offer.
But she could offer none.
Will entered the room that said 'Electrical Station' first, followed closely by Stymie. They were hoping to find something that would restore power to the dead compound, or at least parts of it. They were tired of wearing the sweaty, sticky, chaffing goggles all day, and were eager to get them off.
"Okay," Stymie started. "Lemme see. What have we got here?" He leaned his rifle carefully against where one desk met a wall and interlocked his fingers, bringing them forward to crack them. Plopping himself down on a chair, he proceeded to look over the controls and noticed that, oddly enough, a computer was already turned on and operating! It must have been a master control computer attached to a self-generator or a battery.
"Hey, Will," he called out. "One o' these things is on."
"Yeah, I see it," Will replied as he approached. Stymie wheeled his chair over to the computer, its green-and-black illumination being a sight for sore eyes. Both Will and Stymie removed their goggles, placing them on the desk next to the live terminal.
Will was surprised to see a menu-based interface. This would be easier than they thought, or at least Will hoped.
"Okay, let's see what damage we can do," Stymie said.
"Right," Will replied. "Try option three."
"What's opt--Ooh, electrical operations. Why not?" Stymie tapped on the 3 key, and they were met with another menu, not as many options as before, but it seemed the fourth one looked just about right. "'Restore electrical power!' How's that for ease of use?"
"I like this," Will replied, a smile broadening on his face. Stymie tapped the key, and immediately the lights flickered on. Will could hear the whirring of something as life seemed to be brought back into the area. "All right!"
"That's how Stymie does things!" Stymie yelled, getting up. He and Will did a high-ten, clapping their hands together in the air before Stymie turned around, bobbing his head like a chicken as he performed a small dance. Stymie sat back down on his chair and pivoted it back around to face the computer.
They looked back at the monitor and saw that the screen shifted around, showing displays of what Will had to assume were large barrier doors. This was strange. What was it doing now? A message flashed at the bottom of the screen, saying 'Basement Doors Now Opening'.
Huge, garage-like doors that were made of thick aluminum pulled up and into recesses in the ceilings. The monitor viewpoint seemed to shift around the entire compound as the basement doors reeled upward. But it was what Will and Stymie saw next that shocked them. As each basement door was yanked away, they saw hordes of what had attacked and killed Gammon crawling, scratching, tripping their way out of the basement! A huge line of what looked like... the walking dead, drunkenly staggering their way up a shallow ramp that presumably led to the main levels. They couldn't be, but they looked like what Will had seen on all those George Romero movies. Zombies!
"Oops," Stymie muttered. The only part of him that moved was his dropping jaw.
General Lassart looked back as one of the basement accesses at the bottom of the ramp opened, shuttering violently and shaking as the mechanisms wrenched it open. His eyes widened with terror; he could hear the moaning and hungry babble of the undead as they stepped forth. The power had been turned back on moments ago--that was certain, since the light bulbs above him were now lit--but this wasn't supposed to happen. What had those imbeciles done? This was the last time he escorted a bunch of pansy privates to the moon.
He watched the horde as it escaped the shadows, a thick wall of zombies stumbling over each other like childish idiots. Zombies had the mental capacity of a brain-dead squirrel, but that was the reason they made the perfect weapon. Their nerves had been deadened, and so had their will of choice. But their hunger and lack of compassion or understanding were insurmountable.
Lassart's rifle wasn't rapid-fire, so he couldn't exactly mow them down. He turned from the zombies as they came within a few meters of him and began sprinting up the ramp to the main level. The ramp may have looked shallow, but it was a pain to have to sprint up.
This wasn't supposed to happen! he kept repeating to himself. He knew that turning the power back on had its risks, but how else was he supposed to get to the rest of the compound, by prying the stupid access shutters open? Who were the morons who designed the compound like this in the first place? Letting access doors release when the power was restored. He had to blame himself, however, for strolling down the ramp. He had thought he'd seen the glint of something that might help, but was wrong. Now a wall of the undead was chasing him back up.
He ran into one hallway that, if he wasn't mistaken, would lead to the laboratories. He had served here a little more than two years ago, so his memory was a little fuzzy. He was almost there--
He tripped, but managed to catch the doorknob with one hand, supporting his weight on it before he could fall flat on his face. He righted himself and quickly tore the door open, then shut it behind him. He locked the door even though he was sure that zombies lacked the mental capacity to even operate a doorknob. Just to be safe, be cautious. Zombies were raging morons, but he didn't want that assumption to be his last mistake.
He found a nearby table in the new hallway and rested, propping his hands against its wooden top. He hadn't had a good run like that since his days in the war. He looked back at the door and could hear the zombies scratching at it, trying to gain entrance, to eat him.
Looks like my work's cut out for me more than I thought in the first place, he thought, cursing whomever it was that had opened those basement accesses. Now the whole compound would be crawling with those T-Virus freaks.
He fumbled for his communicator, but heard a shuffling. Something was behind him.
"Stymie, what did you do? Those... things are all over the place!"
Stymie looked at Will defensively as Will raised a hand to point at the monitor and Stymie could feel a little sweat trickle down his brow. "Nothing! I just did what the sergeant said to do! I turned the power back on!" His heart beat so hard in his chest that he thought he was hosting an alien that was just hatching. "Just call Lassart and warn him. I'm sure everyone's gonna want to know about this."
Will gave him an accusing look as he gently grabbed his radio, hooked to his shoulder, and tapped at an on its display, which Stymie assumed was the 'global page' computer display icon. He put it to his lips, but froze, creasing his eyebrows. He looked back down at the communicator display and his mouth opened slightly. "What the heck? Lassart's communicator is offline."
Stymie snapped up off his chair. "What? His communicator's offline?" He checked his own communicator and, sure enough, the Lassart and Lamont icons were red, while the others were blue. "Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap--Let's just get outta here, shoot some o' those mothers down!"
"Calm down, Stymie. I know you're itching to get out there, but just calm down."
It was true. Suddenly, there was something to shoot. It was no longer just waiting and anticipating and detecting and figuring out what was going on. There was something tangible to shoot now, and he was almost giddy with the anticipation of going against the mass of zombies that they'd seen crawl their way out of the bowels of the compound. He might have been defensive about letting them go, but was happy that there was something to fight. His trigger finger was literally twitching as he held his gun in place and he had to use self-control so as not to go bursting through the door in search of hungry mobs.
And then suddenly he heard it. The moaning of something coming closer and closer and, through the thick door, he was sure it was a whole crowd of them. Zombies. Then the banging began, right on the door, either because they smelled the fresh meat that was inside or.... No, it was positively because they smelled the fresh meat. Stymie looked up at Will and Will back at him, wondering how they would get out with only their Army-issued rifles.
Watchreid heard it, almost as if it was calling for him in some strange manner. He grabbed his M1906 Army-issue .30 caliber and ran out into the hall. His goggles still worn, he watched as a deranged ménage of zombies (he choked on the thought) ebbed up some ramp. He tore his goggles off as the now-lighted hallway was interfering with them, and saw that the zombies had seemed to renew their will to climb when they caught sight or scent of him.
"Quigg, you'd better come see this," he stammered.
Quigg appeared in the hall behind him, and he looked back to see her expression of utter horror. "What are those?"
Watchreid grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back as he ran. "Come on! Stop gazing and let's run!"
She snapped out of her trance and turned to follow him, yanking her arm away. They hadn't made it far from the mess hall, so they didn't have to retreat for long, and were familiar with the path. As they stepped backward, they watched the zombies amble closer. It was strange; all they were was nothing more than a drunken, muttering mob of the undead, but they seemed collectively quick.
Behind him, Quigg stepped through the door to the mess hall and then Watchreid. Watchreid calmed as he slammed the door shut, the pounding of zombies getting closer until they were just beyond the door, scratching and clawing at the feeble construct.
Watchreid inhaled with relief, trying to catch his breath. It wasn't the run that exhausted him; rather, it was the situation. He sat down on a table, being mindful not to sit on anything mushy or bloody. He looked up at Quigg and saw, however, that she wasn't as relieved as he was. Her wide, blue eyes and nodding head told him that she was still rapt by the horror they had seen. Watchreid looked up at the door... and saw it throb. It bent inward as the zombies on the other side pounded rhythmically on it. He stood back up and cocked his gun, chambering a shell to ready it. He pointed at the door as he watched it splinter, and could see the grey, bloodshot eye of one of those monsters peek through it as it was mashed against the door by those behind it.
"Get going," he found himself speaking to Quigg. He never liked her much, found her a lot like a man-hater, hardly even knew her, but here he found himself willing to let her get a head start. "Run," he said as he noticed that she was still engrossed by the pulsating wooden door that threatened to break from sheer pressure. "Go! Now! Or I'll leave you behind!"
She snapped out of it with a whimper and the jerk of her head. She peered up at Watchreid's focused, intense eyes. She got the message. She ran backward through another door and around the corner. Watchreid turned back to the weak door just in time to see it crack open. The first zombie stumbled to the ground as the door, now split in half, gave way with a resistant snap. He raised his gun and fired at the zombie that stepped over the first one. That zombie spilled back with a red splotch of blood at its neck. He cocked the gun and aimed at the next one, but missed, still lucky enough to hit one just behind it, anyway. He began backing toward the door through which Quigg had run, hoping that he wouldn't be met by another parade of zombies coming from the other direction.
He cocked and fired again, and another red flower sprouted from one zombie's head. He watched as two went down, realizing that the force of the .30 caliber bullets was strong enough to smash straight through one zombie and into the next. Their deterioration must have helped.
Great, then, make a single-file line, please, he thought, wishing he had at least a close range .410-caliber shotgun, or perhaps a two-inch twelve-gauge, one of those with a 1145 fps muzzle velocity. Or maybe a tank.
Quigg raced down one hall, grabbing the corner of the wall as she went so that she could use her velocity to her advantage instead of skidding to some uncontrollable halt and then turning. She hated Watchreid, that was for sure, but somehow felt a small stem of compassion welling up for him if he were willing enough to stay back and risk his own life so that she could get away. Maybe not all men were pigs.... No, all men were pigs. Just that Watchreid was one of the smarter ones.
She turned the corner, banging her communicator on it, and stopped! The corridor was grimy enough that she could stop without slipping on the floor, and actually found that her upper-body's momentum kept her moving a couple more steps. But when she did stop, she watched as another parade of those beasts--zombies, whatever--clawed up a ramp, only a few meters ahead of her. She had to do something, and looked frantically left, then right!
She found a door and tried it. It was unlocked! She barged into it, using her shoulder to force it open faster than her arm could, almost not waiting to twist the doorknob. She slammed it shut behind her and found the lock, connecting the heavy, thick locking chain to it. She backed up, and to her horror could still see the zombies through a glass window looking out at the hall. She hoped the window would hold up against their pressure, unlike the door.
Quigg clutched at her communicator, trying not to take her gaze off the hungry mob on the other side of the door. It felt weird. Shocked, she looked down at it. It was broken! The top had popped off and the display had cracked! Wires protruded out and curled back in, and two of the buttons had been smashed.
She backed up against one wall of the room, noticing that it only housed a table and two chairs, slinking down the wall as dread washed her over.
Ed stepped out of a room, silently listening for something as he removed his goggles. He thought he heard grunting and groaning, reminding him of that creature that had taken a liking to Gammon's head. He steadily crept into the middle of the hall, putting a hand up to silence Coldwart. It was his duty right now to protect Coldwart since the negotiator was a civilian and, therefore, wasn't allowed to carry rifles. But, screw it. If it was any of those things coming across the hall as he could hear, he was running for his life. He listened intently for a few minutes, and white noise that he wouldn't normally hear now seemed to be way too loud.
Coldwart strolled into the hall. Ed looked at him, his pudgy belly, thick glasses, and brownish-blondish bed-head a sharp contrast to Ed's own slim waist, toned arms and legs, and black hair. Without making so much as another sound, he took the cross from around his neck and lightly pecked the golden, miniature crucifix on his necklace. He dropped the crucifix and it slithered back underneath his shirt. He grabbed for his communicator and looked down at the display, noticing that both Lassart's and Quigg's icons were in red, along with Lamont's. That was strange. He ignored it and tapped the green global icon, then spoke into the receiver.
"This is Private Payton. I'm just wondering if anybody else is hearing anything weird. It might just be a breeze, but I swear I hear... something. Like that creature we saw before." He released the talk button, and almost immediately another connection cut in.
"Ed!" Stymie's voice, anxious and overpowering. "Get out of there! Now! That creature was a zombie, and the whole compound is being overrun by them! Take cover somewhere!"
It was at that time that Ed's eyes grew hysterically wide. Coldwart looked in the same direction he was watching, and his eyes grew as well. Zombies. Probably about fifty of them, filing around the corner like a collection of rats in a sewer, crawling over and tearing at each other to gain the lead in some attempt to... eat them?
Ed turned in the other direction, pivoting on his heel as he broke into a run. "Coldwart, let's go! Run!"
Ysborne and Hedgewick heard the broadcast, but they stayed put. Hedgewick had closed the door to the 'development' room and locked it, hoping that they would not soon see the same parade that Payton had just seen.
And she thought that it was impossible. It couldn't be zombies. It could be masked men in costumes, perhaps even poverty-stricken people in tattered clothes who hadn't bathed, but not zombies. There was some other logical explanation, and the situation seemed worse because of people's perceptions. She looked up at Hedgewick to see him scratch furiously at something in his eye.
She tried to search for an answer to this enigma, one that fit the realm of believability, but she kept coming back to the same question: Well, then, what were they?
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