In the heavy depth of soaked sleep, Jill saw the beginning. Chris Redfield had smiled at her in that cute, half-smirk way, trying to reassure her that they were going out to pick up Bravo Team. Her mind and world was swathed in something like loss with each new monster, and each new death. It was the loss of her comfortable reality. In the mansion, every once in a while the feeling had popped up in the far places of her awareness, buzzing there like a pest. Every time, it had spread through her as if a thick sap, bringing such a sorrow and helplessness Jill wanted so badly to sit down and cry. Yet she couldn't do that in the estate – that was death. Still – that emotion of frustration and grief and fear kept with her, like that resilient Nemesis. Jill could peg it down at each reoccurrence. In the core of her spiritual will, she was begging to time to turn back, for now she knew – what to do, where to go, what to say. The whole thing wouldn't have happened. Forest, Enrico, Kenneth, Richard, Joseph…wouldn't have died…wouldn't have been murdered. But, the pain she felt was of that permanency time had. It was exasperation. Jill found time more as defining past than even being applicable to that nonexistent thing as the future. Time meant a passing of events – events she had no control over, and events she couldn't change no matter how hard her spirit willed that its anguish was enough power to undo an experience.
Carlos soon realized the futility of rubbing his fingers on his pant legs to rid them of the gooey gunk from moving the zombies. His gloves were simply rubbing into the Hunter blood there. He hadn't even a clue how long the stuff and its sweet stench lasted on him until reentering the hospital elevator from the second floor – after going to the fifth and third floors. When the doors were closing, he had stretched his red fingers and found the goo sticking between the digits like old honey. And like he said – useless to try and rub it off on his dirty pants.
This made him clench his teeth and yell fiercely. It wasn't exactly that – it was that he hadn't found shit on his traverse through the hospital after the vaccine base. He'd just been wasting bullets on patients and doctors and nurses – bullets and time.
No tengo tiempo para correr aqui y aya, no buscando por todas partes para nada.
Oh, hell, he had better luck just randomly jabbing at the floor buttons.
So he did.
B3.
Carlos rocked on his heels while changing his weapons to the launcher, trying to calm himself down. Such a display of self control, really. As if his temper tantrum was going to do anything. He ran a quick hand through his hair to push back the few threads wandering out over his face, and flapped the collar of his vest to let cool air onto his bare skin.
Hard, sweaty work, saving the damsel.
He smiled thinking that, because he knew that if Jill heard that one he'd have had a slap already.
When the ding sounded, Carlos immediately had his Eagle up. There wasn't a direct threat, so his nerves were pacified for a moment. With a step, he came out of the elevator, looking for a target. And not finding one, Carlos jammed the gun in his holster and took up the bazooka.
The place was disturbing. It had that same endless silence the whole building possessed, only the hall, a jagged "S", was dark. Really dark. The gloomy green of the walls spread it out until Carlos felt oppressed. It surely was a basement. He didn't like the way it felt, as if something was coiled, waiting. The expression "too silent" came to mind. Now it wasn't at all like the quiet of before. This was dangerous anticipation – it was alive.
There was only one door, and that didn't please him one bit. Hell, he didn't care if that meant less to search. The area was creepy.
Carlos shivered and reached out a hand to open the passage.
In the tender weight of light sleep, Jill saw the middle. Carlos had smiled at her in that young, warm way, sharing the hope of pushing on toward escape. Her mind and world were swathed in something like exhaustion with each encounter with the S.T.A.R.S. predator. It was the exhaustion of the haunt of her lost reality. In the past few hours, escaping Raccoon, the feeling had popped up in the far places of her awareness, buzzing there like a pest. Every time, it had spread through her as if an airless oil, bringing such a fatigue and helplessness Jill wanted so badly to sit down and cry. Yet she couldn't do that in the city - that was death. Still – the emotion of malediction and yield and fear kept with her, like that resilient Nemesis.
The Hunter screamed demonically at Carlos as he stepped inside the space. Like a reflex arc, he put a grenade into its stomach and while it was floored pumped it again. The explosion made him wince, but at that point he was so overflowed in springy nerves he recovered quickly.
Viscid red plasma still burbled out of the beast, though the only part living was an electric twitch in its left claw. The serrated jaw gaped open, eyes sprung wide. Carlos was sneering at it while above the last sludgy bloat of crimson popping and dribbling across slick white ribs, he saw movement.
It came from between the skeletal frame of a stack of shelves – a blur of that Hunter-green murk. The dead one's pair scrambled from behind it, a grenade striking it in a violent flower of light. But before he could even track it with an eyeball –
-the Hunter had flung itself over the line of desks –
-Carlos dived away –
-Rolled –
A swip of air sounded near his ear, and he turned and found his eye level with the slitted pupil of the creature. With an involuntary shout, Carlos bounced up and thrust the launcher's barrel into its cheek, momentarily prodding it away. It made its synthetic shriek, but by that time, he had put distance between it and him.
Severely pissed, the Hunter shook in its rage.
Carlos fired, the shot going wide.
The blast knocked the thing into a stumble, and it swatted at the heat with a rising cry.
He took advantage of its distraction and aimed accurately into its chest.
The Hunter stopped its flinging at the fire destroying and eating its scales. With two scratchy, peaking cries, it flopped over the corpse of its brother.
Thank God…
In the reality robbery of waking, Jill saw the end.
The first thing Carlos saw in the adjacent room were two giant tubes filled with liquid, suspending Hunterlike mutations.
Definitely had a bad feeling about this.
As he ran a scan over the new ground, he continuously looked back at the frog-faced Hunters, apparently unconscious in their stasis fluid. Machines all over the place, humming gently, confused his eye. The initial thing he headed for, however, was the old stack of shelves on the left wall from the door.
Boxes, boxes, painkillers, washers, tools, photos and –
Carlos couldn't believe it.
Could it…?
He scrambled over to a small cup, jerking it up to the weak light to read the label.
What fucking luck.
"Vaccine medium."
And all of a sudden Carlos wanted out of there, his heart flitting too fast. He was just so overjoyed, so fucking happy he actually found the way to save Jill. He wasn't going to lose her. That stupid Nemesis wouldn't succeed in killing her, because Carlos had her salvation in his custody. Soon – so very soon – as soon as he found a syringe – hell, that wouldn't be hard in the certain building you're in – and…
and the right ratio of base to medium.
He wouldn't allow his heart to sink. He was too close.
Frantically, Carlos ran to check every piece of equipment in the room. Even under the Hunter's noses, as bubbles traveled up their tube. On the floor in the corner, stuck under some large console, was a manila folder, proclaiming Medical Instruction. He flipped through it, scanning the tiny type as fast as he could. It was all bullshit, and he felt aggrevated at the file, almost enough to throw it, except…it talked about the vaccine. His breath caught, gripping the papers. There was a machine to help him with the mixing, a device that the folder went with – "To be kept with at all times." Carlos looked up to the thing he had jerked the file out from under.
Next to the Hunters was the synthesizer.
But –
Oh, shit.
…
Goddammit!
Carlos paced the room, flustered. To use the synthesizer –
-he would have to transfer power from the stasis tubes. Meaning good-morning to the Hunters.
…
Hell, why did he even have to think it over?
Carlos glared fiercely at the floating creatures, at their short, thick limbs and claws and reached out, slammed the switch down.
Carlos
…don't go and do this Carlos, you know it's worthless. It's better you just stay and remind me of my humanity or some demented new T-virus creation risking his life for her permanency time had there to rescue civilians Come back
As a loud bubble lurched out of the bottom of the tubes and the slush of draining followed, Carlos dug into the working the synthesizer. It didn't help the thing was a puzzle of five handles and two bars of light. His eye darted nervously to the tubes, the hiss of the rapidly pressed synthesizer almost drowning the drain.
Come on, come on –
The liquid was reaching a point where the Hunters' feet had to come down to the tube floor.
Carlos overshot the power on the right bar. Jesus, man! Calm down.
He let out a breath, long and slow, while trying different sorts of combination on the handles.
The synthesizer hissed and slipped out its product.
The vaccine…!
He stared in dumb wonder at it, handling it gently.
Jill's saved.
A screech pierced the air, startling Carlos. He focused on its source, a Hunter glaring at him intently from behind its glass shell.
No time!
Carlos sprinted, a double squall coming up behind him. As he rounded the machine that sat in front of the door, a rain of glass pelted the floor. He paid it no mind, reaching for the handle –
Pulling it open, pain exploded on his left arm. It all ran into his lack of thoughts in his storm of thoughts and while slipping through the door, fire spilled from his right leg.
-Got out –
Safe, he thought disjointedly, stumbling towards the next passage.
Sound broke his contemplation and limp. Carlos threw a glance over his shoulder –
No.
The frog-headed Hunter opened its jaws hungrily at him.
No!
Carlos brought the grenade launcher around and quickly pressed the trigger. The shot lobbed away from his target – but it was distracted – get OUT –
He fumbled for the door, jerking it open. With another blast at a lunging creature, Carlos slammed the egress. Of course they could open it, but it took a little time to open it, and he used it to bolt for the elevator –
Something powerful pressed into his back and tore away, leaving a scar of steaming anguish. His spine convulsed and he dropped against his will, hitting the hard, cold ground. The Hunter scream erupted while he rolled over, clenching his teeth in pain and popping grenade rounds off. Fire everywhere – just get away –
Carlos scrambled up, but at two steps a claw chopped into his right femur, yanking his leg out of under him. He slammed into the floor again, yanking the assault rifle out –
One of those damned things that had been hunching over him caught a bullet in the eye. It pitched backwards, howling as a spurt of eye humour trailed into the air.
He didn't know what was keeping him going – his thoughts were a painful static.
Carlos got up again, backing away. His right leg was shot, shooting stabs of blinding shock up his body when he put weight on it. The slice on his back stung something fierce and made him cringe.
The second Hunter came bounding up through the dark. The spittle of the rifle was only slowing him
-not stopping –
It swung an arm across its path, gashing into Carlos' stomach. He felt the claw piece the skin in a pop and tear through his belly like a knife through cloth – that resistant rip –
It made the mistake of straightening, catching itself in the bullet spray. With an abrupt, short yelp, the Hunter thrashed out – slashing a wayward claw across his face – a burst of red in his vision –
-and collapsed.
Both dead.
Carlos slapped an arm across his stomach, feeling wretched exposure and sharp stings. With a pained scream, he fell against the hallway wall and slid to the floor. He could feel the warm jelly of his intestines…
God…
He blinked out the hot blood from his eyes, grinding his teeth, trying to see through the pain.
…damn.
Arms shaking sporadically, Carlos released the rifle and pressed against the critical wound. He felt the muscle push in, and his grip almost slipped on the blood pulsating out.
No…
He willed his legs to sustenance, telling them move, get up, anything –
God I can't die here…
With a yell, Carlos shoved himself up out of nowhere, staggering against the wall, squinting to avoid the gash on his forehead bleeding into his eye.
Can't die here…
Not when he had someplace to go –
Where was that?
Was it important?
He almost fell when his torso muscles seizured suddenly, sending such agony through his body he felt weak and sick and dissociated.
Carlos, hypersensitive, blundered to a square of warm light.
The…elevator…
His thoughts were becoming hard to hold. He barely caught one before it was swept up in the next tide of pain.
Was it important?
Carlos fell over the threshold of the lift. A slimy, balmy organ slid across his clenched fingers. His foot slipped in reaffirmage – again and again because he couldn't really feel it. Finally it stopped up against the post of the doors and Carlos could reach up in the thrust and slap the button for the first floor.
There was a rumble. That ding…
He rolled over into the elevator with a groan, hot, thick blood seeping out of his stomach.
Carlos couldn't see.
Can't die here…have to get to…get to her…
It was important.
He could only make jerky movements, having trouble keeping all those sliding things in his stomach…in –
Carlos curled into a ball as his intestine softly pushed out of the gap.
"Saved you, Jill," he whispered in a faint smile.
AUTHOR's NOTE.
Of course, if Carlos never came back…