Chapter 5: A Nitro-Cadmium Ride Into the Belly of the Beast
| 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) | 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.
The monster didn't move, but neither did Stymie, and he hoped the others wouldn't, either, because it would be tough to avoid that thing when it propels itself at a victim in such a way that it did at Lassart. But at least it was nice to put a face with a voice... or a scream.
"We need to get out of here," Will whispered, moving his lips as little as possible. "We're unarmed, and if that thing makes up its mind and decides it wants to come get us, we'll be dead in seconds."
"We stay right here," Ysborne replied, her voice so hurried and quiet that Stymie had to play it back in his head before he understood it.
The thing panted loudly, a foul-smelling breath of air escaping its pudgy, wrinkled nose. It quickly craned its neck toward them, bringing its ugly face only inches away from Ysborne. Ysborne turned her head to one side, trying to avoid its soul-searing stare, its malevolence, its foul breath, the dripping blood that only now was beginning to dry.
"Nine minutes until destruction of base," the intercom voice warned, and the Tyrant-2 looked around, turned, distracted by the voice as if it were in a dream-like state.
"Run," Will whispered, trying hard to not make the Tyrant-2 notice him. "Go." No one budged. "Run!" Will broke away from the wall and sprinted toward the stairs and Stymie and Ysborne did, too. Stymie hit the first step in a dead run, heaving his tired body up as he heard the thing behind him scream like a thousand angry, charging elephants. He looked back and looked and saw the Tyrant-2 raise two arms up in the air while it took a swipe at Will passing behind it.
Stymie made it up the stairs and grabbed two of the four discarded rifles, chambering a much-needed bullet in each. He took a position by the side of the door, his back to the wall, while Ysborne and then Will barreled up the stairs. They moved aside and Stymie positioned himself at the doorway, watching as the thing reached the foot of the stairs and wondering how it could move so fast when it was just a huge, green, mindless bulk.
He aimed both guns and fired, two echoing bullets furiously darting toward the Tyrant-2! The kickback sent him sailing into the wall behind him and he felt his vertebrae ache painfully when he hit. He wondered if he'd hit the Tyrant-2, but as Will and Ysborne picked up the remaining rifles, he didn't care. He looked down at the rifle in his left hand and noticed that it was empty. Great.
He heard something leap heavily up the stairs. "Let's get moving!" he yelled and stood, darting to the staircase on his right that led up to the hangar bay.
Stymie looked up at the hangar, seeing an inviting view of the stars that lay beyond the clear glass bubble that guarded them inside their artificial atmosphere. Floodlights faced down at them, illuminating the entire hangar bay, an empty area aside from one lonely ship, much smaller than the one in which they'd arrived. It was pure pavement with painted lines marring the surface, surrounded by a huge field of grass that was bordered by a white curb. A shower of water resembling a downpour of rain currently fed the grass. Stymie ran to the ship, almost forgetting the monster that was chasing them, and noticed that a thick, white hose attached it to some console near the compound. He looked at the painted markings on the pavement and noticed that the ship was double-parked.
The door to the ship hung open and he bounded up the clattering, metallic stairs and into the cockpit. He looked over the controls and saw only one display lighted. It read, '20% Prepared'. Oh, great, he thought. It's running behind and we're about to be eaten by an irate grizzly. I wonder if it's uploading Half-Life.
Will saw Stymie bound up the stairs into the hangar and followed him, waiting as Ysborne moved ahead of him and keeping his gaze on the outside. He heard the thing move up, heavy footsteps thundering on and probably breaking each step as it went. The room echoed--BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!--as the thing leapt up, the clattering and shaking getting closer. It was heavy-footed, but maybe it was bred that way to increase fear in its victims. Ysborne reached the top of the stairs and he turned, but stopped, looking back.
The monster had reached the last step into the hall. Will tripped back on the step behind him, falling down on the staircase, his back pierced by its sharp concreteness. The Tyrant-2 slowly turned to him, using a suspenseful sluggishness that contradicted its quick-striking nature. It stared right at him, obviously noticing him. It waited. What was it doing, toying with him? Did this thing actually have a freedom of choice somehow, instead of straight, one-track-mind programming? Did it feel like playing before it killed him?
Will fired, a single shot piercing its leathery chest! Or did it even pierce? The monster seemed unaffected--
--as it gathered velocity, tearing across the short hall and straight at him! Will scrambled up the stairs, backpedaling his way up while the monster gained ground!
It struck! It embedded its long, deadly talons into the concrete steps, palms facing upward, just inches below Will's feet as he turned to rush up the stairs in a frontward direction. The Tyrant-2 tore the stairs, forcing its mammoth hands up and bringing the steps with it! Will was sent sailing in the air and sailed over the stairs, landing on his stomach outside where he was suddenly bathed in the illuminated hangar! The wind was knocked out of him, but he slowly stood up, aware that the monster was right behind him. And he certainly hoped that, when the Tyrant-2 chose to play, it played nice. No rending of limbs allowed.
He turned around and watched as it barreled toward him, slamming against him and sending him sailing in a wide arc that landed him meters away against the hard pavement right by the white curb. He looked over toward the ship, seeing Stymie and Ysborne inside the cockpit.
"Stay here!" Stymie yelled to Ysborne. The ship was only at 40% readiness, and wasn't going nearly as quickly as he'd like. "Make sure it keeps going and try to turn a weapons system or something on!" And then he scrambled out the cockpit and down the staircase, watching as the monolithic mutant grizzly snorted and watched Will uncomfortably stand up.
"Eight minutes until destruction of base," the intercom voice warned. What happened to eight-and-a-half minutes? Stymie thought. Did I miss somethin'?
"Hey!" Stymie yelled, jumping and waving his hands at the Tyrant-2 to get its attention, hoping that it would give Will more than enough time to recover and hoping that he wouldn't die in the process and oh, boy. It was looking right at him.
"Let's get busy then," he said as he readied his rifles. The thing began charging right for him, like a rampaging rhinoceros. Stymie dropped one rifle, letting it clatter on the ground as he took the remaining one in both hands. He fired at the beast, but it only continued toward him faster, so he readied the gun and fired again, and repeated the process but the thing just kept running toward him.
It was upon him and, wide-eyed, he ducked and rolled to one side as the thing sprinted past his position. It hit the grass behind him, and Stymie could hear heavy, muffled footsteps slow down. He looked up at the beast and watched as it turned around slowly and looked at him again. No smile. No thin eyes. Just cold, calculated terror watching him as he stood up and scrambled off in one direction and he could hear the thing pick up speed.
It ran toward Will, who had stood on the grass, the water beating down on him. It started off in the distance, but seemed to instantly gain a top velocity, no speed pickup. Will stood his ground and fired at the beast, hitting something because he saw its right half recoil. At least the Tyrant-2 could feel. He readied the gun and fired again, readied, and fired a third time, and then heard his gun click empty.
Great. No bullets. He ran to one side and watched as the thing reached him and sliced the ground where he'd stood a second ago, picking up a clump of dirt and grass as it did. It brought its claw-hand up, essentially tossing the turf away.
Will reached Stymie's side and grabbed the discarded rifle, throwing the empty one aside. "Any ideas?" he asked.
"Kill it," Stymie replied.
"Great. Could you work on that idea a little more?"
Ysborne watched the seconds tick by. The ship was only at 50% readiness. What could take it so long to fuel?
She ran a hand nervously through her hair, turning around. And something caught her eye. It looked like a set of mechanically-sealed, high-tech coolers of some sort. A carrying handle sprouted out of each grey-and-red case. Ysborne walked toward them and crouched down, reading the hastily-written labels on the tops. 'T-Virus Samples and Files', she read, the blue ink scrawled on peeling masking tape.
No wonder they had a ship ready even though the whole activation was a trap. This thing is probably programmed to send these samples back to Earth in case this scenario happened!
She grabbed the first of three cases and, as heavy as it was, dragged it to the front of the ship. She had to yank on the handle, unable to actually pick it up. She reached the ship's embarking stairs and yanked it out. It tumbled down the stairs in sharp, heavy, clattering metallic thumps. She looked up, exhausted after having heaved only one of the sample cases to see Stymie sprinting away from the Tyrant-2. They were holding their own against it by simply dodging to one side as it reached them, but they looked like the fight was taking its toll. In the lighting, Ysborne thought she could see sweat drenching Stymie's forehead.
Will lifted his rifle and fired a shot at the monster's back to no effect. It just wouldn't be hurt! Ysborne slowly brought her arm around behind her and felt for her rifle, grabbing it as she found it. She brought it up and fired once at the monster, who was only a few meters away. It stopped and flinched at the bullet, deciding who to chase next. It seemed to not notice Ysborne aside from the fired bullet. She chambered another round and fired again, this time sure she hit the back of its head. It didn't react, probably having felt it like a human would feel a buzzing mosquito. It thundered angrily after Will, and Will had to roll to his left to avoid being crushed by its momentum against a wall. Ysborne lightly jogged a few paces forward to make careful aim at the thing.
The computerized voice warned them that there remained only six minutes until the explosion would cascade through the entire compound, and she wondered where the time went.
The Tyrant-2 turned around and began bounding in the other direction, straight at Will as he stood. Will was only about fifteen feet in front of Ysborne, so she called to him, "Will! Get out of the way!"
He looked up and at the thing and ducked again, rolling underneath its titanic legs as it ran! Ysborne took this opportunity to fire, hitting the Tyrant-2 square in the chest. She readied another bullet, but... the chamber clicked! The rifle was empty.
Will watched as the thing ran past him, relieved that he had a second's respite to find some better cover than being out in the open. He stood up. It didn't stop, bounding toward Ysborne! It passed her, and suddenly she had no head! Her body stood, but it ended at the bloody stump that was her neck!
He couldn't look away, and watched as the Tyrant-2 quickly turned and stabbed through her chest with both clawed hands! It spread them, and soon her body was in two halves, her entire carcass split down the middle in a tangle and mess of bone and other remnants! The two pieces landed in bloody pulps at the Tyrant-2's sides. It looked up at Will and Stymie, still holding her head in one hand. It licked its lips with a long, snaking tongue and held her shocked, wide-eyed head up, as if displaying it to them. It crushed the head, bringing together its claws in a tight fist as slime and gore was squeezed out of the skull from top and bottom. It threw the head behind it, now just a misshapen remainder.
Stymie stood next to Will and said, "I think it's time we get on that ship."
"I agree. How do we keep it from tearing through that thing when we get aboard, though?"
Stymie looked at him. "You figure it out. I'm exhausted!" He looked up and ducked out of the way as the thing rocketed past him, dripping a trail of crimson goo as it ran!
He got up. "I'll meet you there," he said before beginning his run toward the ship, leaping over half of Ysborne's body as he reached it. Will looked behind him and saw the thing stampeding toward him. Wide-eyed, he dodged to one side and let it scrape the pavement with a clawed hand, scooping up nothing but air and sparks as it brought its hand back.
He took aim and fired a shot, hearing the blasted warning from the compound that there only remained five minutes. What were they going to do against this thing? It was impossible, but there was no way to hurt it, no way to make it even flinch in pain!
Stymie looked at the progress display and saw that it was at 80% now, a little more encouraging than coming in to see that it was only at 30%. Some of the lights had blinked on, and he looked across the controls to see how familiar he was with them. Not very, but it would have to do unless Will knew something more than he did about piloting a ship back to Earth. Otherwise, they were in big trouble but there could be a way to shut down the self-destruct procedure, but he wasn't about to burst through the horde of zombies that could still be picking their teeth clean of Ed so that they could start chowing down on him. That wouldn't exactly be his dream come true.
He looked over the ship, resting his rifle on one seat and taking in the dashboard controls, the consoles, even the piloting wheel, and noticed one small display above it that blinked something that he couldn't read because of the glare from the overhanging lights. He leaned down, reading the display and saw that it said 'Autopilot activated; Takeoff in 90 seconds'. A shocked, grim feeling sluiced through him, and he looked back at the progress display. It was at 90%, and Stymie suddenly felt the urge to lean out the door and scream at Will to get his butt into the ship. If this thing was on autopilot, it was going to take off when it hit 100%, whether Will was on it or not. He looked back at the autopilot display and watched it count seconds, passing eighty-five.
"Will!" he screamed and ran for the door, bounding down two of the three steps. "Will!" He watched Will dodge to one side of the monster as it sliced at where his head was only a split second before. "Will, you'd better get in this ship! It's gonna up and leave you behind if you're not here in about one minute!" He turned to scramble back into the ship to grab his rifle, when he added, "And that's a literal minute, not a figurative one!"
Will overheard Stymie screaming something about getting into the ship in about a minute. This caused his heart to race as he noticed that now the Tyrant-2 stood between him and the ship. Just perfect. If he had only one minute to kill the thing and board the ship, they were certainly screwed. Or he could, perhaps, just board the ship. The coming explosion that would dispose of the entire compound would certainly be enough to lay waste to the mutant grizzly. Or perhaps not. None of the fifteen or so rifle shots it took had even caused it to recoil, aside from that one to its side. He decided that fighting grizzlies sucked.
"Four-and-a-half minutes until destruction of base," the intercom voice boomed, and Will had decided he also hated female, computerized voices. He was learning a lot about himself during this mission.
The Tyrant-2 began walking toward him, threateningly watching him as it stepped. Will could hear the slap of its bare feet against the pavement as it moved, its steps fluid and unyielding. Then it tore toward him! As if snapping from one speed to the other instantaneously, it now bore down him, a raging behemoth! Will dodged to one side, but it didn't work this time. The monster was through playing and it reached out and grabbed him in its massive hand, pulling him back toward him and staring him down as it continued running!
But it stopped and held out its mouth! It quickly moved to bite his head off, initiate its violent attack. Will had to think quickly! He jammed the barrel of his rifle up into its mouth to block it.
The thing tried to move its head back but leverage prevented it. Will acted quickly. He angled the rifle up and pulled the trigger!
He could hear a splattering sound, and the Tyrant-2's eyes opened wide with a demented realization. It was actually stunned. Will chambered another bullet and fired again, readied and fired again. And again. He repeated the process time after time, until the rifle was empty, and he heard the deadened click of the hammer dry-firing. Blood, milky, thick, and red, oozed out of the Tyrant-2's nose. He looked into the thing's face, seeing that one eye had exploded and the messy socket was now seeping the same blood that its nose was. The other eye had fallen out; apparently the rifle fire had screwed up its skull so much that nothing was left to which it could be attached. The Tyrant-2 fell backward, and as it did, Will stumbled to his feet and dropped the rifle.
He couldn't stop, though. He broke into a run, making a beeline for the ship. He bounded up the stairs in one leap. "How much time?" he asked, his breathing chopping his words into hyperventilated fragments.
"Fifteen seconds," Stymie replied. He stabbed at a bunch of keys, trying to do anything to take control of the ship, but to no avail. It wasn't a huge matter, however. The ship was presumably going where they wanted to go, and since neither were great pilots, this was probably the best option.
The time had elapsed. As the echoing voice outside warned them of the imminent explosion occurring in three-and-a-half minutes, the hatch began whirring. Both Will and Stymie looked at it to see that it was rising, the stairs folding into the ship as the door lowered, closing the gap.
Will sat in one of the command chairs that overlooked the hangar outside. The small craft began its liftoff by picking itself up from the hangar's pavement flooring. It angled to the right, tilted slightly, and gave them a perfect view of the body of the dead Tyrant-2 outside, lying on the flooring across from the bloody remains of Ysborne. The refueling tube that was connected to the ship detached as the ship reached a certain altitude, the tube tugged off.
Stymie took the other command chair. "With their tanks and their bombs and their bombs and their guns," he sang, barely audible over the external bubble hatch opening to release them into space.
The ship lifted out of the bubble, and, for a split second, they could watch it close behind them as they fired off toward Earth. The stars outside streamed back in white, hot streaks, reminding Will of what he saw when they'd first arrived at the moon. After a few minutes, he was sure they were burning asteroids, but realized they probably needed to be near Earth's atmosphere so that entry through the ozone would burn them.
Stymie pressed a few buttons and rotated some dials, trying to see if he could affect or perhaps aggravate the ship in any way. "So, I told you," Stymie said as he looked over what was laid out on the console in some seemingly-random pattern, groups of buttons that Stymie probably had no clue about.
"Told me what?" asked Will. He raised an eyebrow and turned toward Stymie.
"This wasn't some free trip to the moon. Things aren't always the least fun scenario."
Will shrugged his shoulders and leaned back, a smile spreading over his face for the first time since he was able to stand up after the ten-hour trip to the moon. He counted in his head the final seconds before the compound exploded, and even glanced back to see if he could see it. No, it was too far back. He looked over to his shoulder, and as he did, could see the communicator icons, one after another, turn from their natural green state to red. First Watchreid's communicator icon, then Coldwart's, then Ysborne's, all the way down to the last one: the one belonging to their deceased friend and platoon-mate, Ed.
They all blinked red except for his and Stymie's. Will turned from it and tore it off his shoulder patch, dropping it onto the floor. He proceeded to close his eyes, lie back, and cradle his head in the cup made by his interlocking fingers.
Home was now only an aching butt away.
Boonword strolled down the hall, trying to make it to the sergeant's office as soon as he could without dropping the tall stack of papers he had heaped in his hands. He had to look to their side as the stack was too tall for him to peer over it. His glasses and thin frame made him look weak, like he would only ever amount to a desk jockey for the rest of his military career, but he was tough, fast, and good under pressure. Or so he thought, but he was never sure of what others would say about him were he ever to get caught in a hostile situation.
He plopped the stack of papers down beside the open door of his destination and looked at the uniformed, mustached, pudgy man seated at an old oak desk in front of him.
The sergeant, in his early fifties but highly decorated, looked up as he knocked. Boonword saluted when he did. The sergeant saluted back and said, "At ease."
Boonword released his tight stance, bending down to grab the stack of papers and lift them up. "Sir, here are those papers you called about," he replied, hoping not to sound too much like a pencil-pusher. He tried his best to make the sergeant know he was destined for greater things than paper delivery.
"Excellent. Thank you, Private Boonword," the sergeant replied. "Did you check up on that ship like I'd asked?"
"Yes, sir. It left almost ten minutes ago with part of its cargo intact. Apparently, one of the containers had been removed from the plug, but the other two duplicates remain."
"Removed? That's strange."
"It may have just gotten dislodged, sir. Apparently, those containers have a tendency to do that."
"You might be right, private. Thank you."
"You're welcome, sir. The expected weight of the cargo, however, is about three hundred pounds heavier."
A quizzical look appeared on the sergeant's face. "Three hundred pounds heavier? That's strange."
"Very strange, sir, but not to worry. We'll find out in a few hours. It's probably just a miscalculation the physics department did when trying to evaluate the weight versus propulsion formulae. You'll be sure to greet the cargo on site, anyway. Right, sir?"
"True enough. Thank you again, private. You are dismissed." Whatever that cargo was must have been pretty important, Boonword remarked; the sergeant was making a huge deal about having it secured as soon as the ship landed.
"Yes, sir," he said and snapped to a quick salute, hoping it was impressive enough to perhaps help him toward a promotion to more active duty.
The sergeant saluted back and said, "You are dismissed, private. Please close the door on the way out."
Boonword proceeded to exit the office, closing the sergeant's door behind him. He noticed the nice, brass, emblazoned nameplate on the door, dreaming of a day when he could have his name on a plaque adorning his office door. The door's nameplate read 'Master Sergeant Edwin Chesholm', but would sound so much better with his name.
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