Familiar Hauntings

Chapter Four

"Wow, Eric, what's the deal with you and Devon?" Bobbye asked in a half-attempt to get conversation rolling to help her forget she may be dead before sunrise. They were walking through the parking lot for Bailey Hall, and the Art building was now only a hundred yards away.

"Pssh, he feels threatened by me, because he likes Demi too." Bobbye couldn't help but catch a slightly bitter tone in his voice.

"I don't know about that comrade. It kind of sounds to me like you're the one that feels threatened."

Eric laughed out loud at the comment. "Nope, not me. I can't help it that she would rather spend her time with me. I mean, Devon's known her for years, and nothing's ever come out of it. But now, she's just as close to me, so she has to feel something."

"Bold words…"

They stopped in their tracks as a vacant zombie shuffled past the two of them from behind. It had been behind a truck in the parking lot, and apparently, the commotion had stirred it. However, it didn't seem to take notice of the two, and it stumbled past them, thirty feet away. Eric and Bobbye waited until it was out of range before they started walking again.

"Those things scare the piss out of me…" Eric shuddered.

"Why didn't it come after us? I thought Claire said it could sense us."

"Well, maybe it only smells blood. You know, like a shark or something."

Eric noted that it was also headed near the Art Building, along with a few other zombies. "Either that, or it's after someone else…" Eric's thoughts flashed to Demi.

"Let's go." The two began to run, this time, catching the zombie's attention as they ran by, yet it was much too slow to catch the two survivors. They ran across a street, dodging a few slower moving undead, before arriving on the sidewalk in front of the building. As they turned to face the way they had just come from, they saw many zombies filing out of windows in Bailey hall, also coming towards the Art Building.

Eric shook his head. "Wow, there's so many of them…To think that they were our friends a few short hours ago."

"They're all coming this way," Bobbye noted, blocking out the truth of Eric's words. "Maybe we should have let Devon have this one."

"No, we'll be fine." Bobbye knew that Eric was a lot like her in the sense that he hated to lose. He hated to admit defeat.

"Well, comrade, just don't do anything stupid to get us killed."

"Heh, yeah. I'll find her though. There's no way that bastard's going to find her before me."

They walked towards the entrance of the building, Bobbye keeping a watchful eye on the closing hordes.

"I just hope we can get out before all these guys get here."

****

Claire entered the back door of the small police station. It would have taken too much effort to enter the front, as she only had seven bullets remaining on her. The entire zombified police force was standing out front, not looking at or doing anything in particular. It seemed every other member of the undead on the campus had a destination to reach, which was normally looking for remaining survivors to satisfy their bloodlust. She absently looked around the room for ammunition. It was rather unkempt for a police station, with files scattered messily on the secretary's desk thrown on top of filing cabinets. The room was almost claustrophobic, and she headed into the hallway to the smaller rooms. She shot the lock on the police chief's desk, rummaging around until she found another small nine-millimeter handgun, and a few clips. She inspected one of the clips and frowned. The style of the gun was different than hers and she wouldn't be able to reload it with this. Chances were, this was the standard handgun of this department. She put her gun in her holster on the side of her belt, and proceeded to load the newly found firearm. After she was satisfied that the room was empty, she left for the next one.

She thought about the reunion with her friends from a short time ago. "I didn't have the heart to tell her. Or Devon." She remembered what had happened to Lori's arm, and if it was the Delta Virus they were dealing with, then she would join the ranks of the dead within an hour or so. No more than two. "If Lori and Demi die, then he's not going to want to fight anymore." She sighed uneasily at the words in her mind. "He's strong, but not THAT strong."

She walked into the next room, and found two more handguns on a coffee table, along with the holsters they were carried in. She checked the two guns for ammunition in the chamber. None. "I'm going to have to watch him. Keep him safe." She thought about using another bullet to break open the desk, but just proceeded to hit it with the butt of the gun instead. After a short time, she was successful in breaking the lock. However, nothing was of use for her efforts.

She walked to her the final room in the small hallway, and it too, was locked. She kicked it a few times, only to find that the door was quite well made in comparison to the rest of the small building. She pulled out her handgun, and shot the door lock. And again. Again. Three bullets left in her gun. She kicked at the door again. Nothing. She was startled to see that her commotion had stirred up a few of the cops from outside, and they started to beat on the windows, breaking them easily. "They're getting stronger…" she thought. She was able to finally confirm what had affected these people. "Delta Virus."

The first of them began to filter in, bringing with them the putrid stench of death. She used one of her remaining bullets on one of the zombies trying desperately to get inside through the window. The bullet had found its target, burying directly into its brain. The zombie sputtered and kicked a bit before going limp. She noticed it was still wearing its gun in its side holster. She held her breath to protect herself from the odor, and walked over to it, and began to relieve it of the weapon. To her horror, the decaying man grabbed her forearm, and growled with ferocity as he brought it closer to his gnashing mouth. She released her breath in a cry of surprise as she dumped another round into the man's brain. He was weakened, but was still trying to tear the flesh off her arm. He jerked her to him, in an attempt to pull her arm from its socket, but it lacked the power anymore. Instead, he ended up pulling her out of the window with him, and she screamed as she went through the remaining glass, her clothes ripping and tearing as she was dragged outside again. She landed hard on the ground, and he fell on top of her. He only had one goal on his mind though, and he pinned her down, dripping hot saliva on the top of her leather jacket. Panic assembled inside of her, and she let loose the final bullet in her gun. Stale blood sprayed everywhere, as the zombie appeared to show an expression of pain. She was covered in the nauseating substance, and she felt as if she was going to vomit. To her amazement, the thing still didn't appear to be dead, it was weakly trying to overpower her still, although it was much to weak to put up a fight. She kicked it off of herself, and stood up, dripping in the dead man's bodily fluids. Her face twisted in anger, and she kicked the man hard in the head. It split open, revealing pieces of the rotting brain inside. The vacant expression on the man's face was fixed into a stare, just as if he were dying for the first time.

"So," she thought "The dead still see death coming for them." She mused for a minute, and looked around her surroundings. She was now outside, on the side of the building, and she was attracting attention. She quickly removed the man's holster and checked the chamber of the gun for bullets, as the first of the police force wandered over to her. It stopped roughly fifteen feet away, as if inspecting the scene, as if trying to figure out what had just happened there. Before he had made any advancement towards her, Claire fired a bullet directly into the center of its brain. It looked at her, slightly baffled as to what had just happened. She fired again, and he appeared to frown at her, still appearing to be confused. He raised his shaking hand near his face, and looked deep into her eyes before finally dropping to his knees, and then to the ground. A pool of blood trickled out on the sidewalk, and he was still.

At the sight of this, Claire had a glancing brush with a feeling she had never felt before when dealing with the undead. A part of her felt sorry for killing them. The expression that covered the man's face was similar to someone who had just been an innocent victim in a shooting. It was as if he hadn't deserved the bullets that had ended his life. On some form, were they still capable of logical reasoning? Claire frowned.

Three more policemen had filed out from the front now, and they had their arms outstretched toward the attractive girl, needing to kill and consume her. She raised the gun again, firing more shots into their heads.

"I may feel bad for them," she thought as she fired, "but that's not going to stop me from doing what I need to do." The three undead piled up on top of each other, in a mound of bleeding, rotting flesh. Satisfied they were dead, she searched their bodies with a look of disgust, like a squeamish student dissecting an animal for Biology class. She came away with a few more clips. She looked at her inventory, laying everything out on the ground in front of her. She had acquired four new nine-millimeter handguns, and eight clips. She stuffed the clips in her pockets, and did her best to place the numerous holsters on her body.

"This'll have to do for a while," she thought as she began to walk back towards the Centennial Square once again.

****

"Sir, we've been hearing gunshots on the campus for the past half-hour or so," a masked soldier stated to a man wearing a grey, three-piece business suit. His black tie complemented his eyes, which seemed to be nearly as dark. His wide jaw moved as he started to speak.

"You think it's Redfield." His voice was low, menacing.

"W, well, yes sir. We do."

His eyes scanned the campus, looking for signs of intelligent movement. A nearby group of soldiers opened fire yet again on a few needing zombies, bringing them to death within seconds. "Well, our top priority is to get her out of the way before we conduct retrieval."

"Yes sir," the man said loudly, "You want us to use the Tyrant then, sir?"

The man was silent for a moment, his gaze calculating the area much like a chess master deciding his next move. The man cut his eyes for a moment. He was in the process of thinking, of weighing the outcomes of the decision. Finally, she spoke. "Yes. Bring him out."

With that, the soldier ran to a nearby truck, and radioed in the orders. Before long, the air would be filled with the flood of rotor noises, and the ground would be covered with the blood of the living.

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