Chapter Six

Kenneth felt the door swing open behind him and struggled to regain his balance. Enrico faded as the scout's arms circled, teetering for a split second before arms wrapped around his neck and he was yanked back against a human form.

Kenneth cried out in surprise, squirming furiously. He caught a glimpse of a white, bald face as teeth snapped closed an inch from his neck. They would have caught his artery if he hadn't been thrashing. Furiously, he brought his gun up, hard, smashing it in the nose.

It didn't slow. Desperately, Kenneth jerked his head to the side, hoping to knock the man's jaw aside with his skull. His attacker's incisors scraped along his cheek, drawing blood. The chemical expert threw himself forward, pulling out of the cannibal's grasp before slamming into the wall and falling to the floor. Kenneth rolled, coming to his feet a second later, gun coming up. The sight of the firearm didn't slow the murderer in the slightest. The STARS member fired, a hole appearing in the murderer's chest.

That didn't slow it either. That was when Kenneth had a moment to see just who his attacker was.

Rotted clothes hung on a drooping frame. His arms were extended in front of him, flesh drawn back from yellow fingernails. His head was bald, lumped; bare skull was revealed in spots. His eyes were yellow, clouded pupils rolling this way and that. Blood dribbled from his lips, dripped from the hole in his ribs. His skin was scraped, almost falling off him.

"Romero flick" flashed across Kenneth's brain as he staggered backwards.

So did "zombie".

Quickly succumbing to panic, he let off a shot at the zombie's head, but was high by far. He fired again, but plaster only exploded in the ceiling. Kenneth turned and ran, sprinting down the hallway, only able to think that *that was a zombie, a real zombie I'm not trained for this, I have to get out of here!*

Kenneth came to a corner, turned, and found himself in a small room. Windows were set in one wall and furniture was in the corner. He only saw this for a fraction of a second before his foot caught in the carpet, his centre of gravity was suddenly far past his feet, and he crashed to the floor. His head hit an end table as he went down.

Kenneth didn't feel himself hit the floor. One second he was running full tilt, next he was on his gut, stars in his vision, moaning from the hall. All he knew now was that he had to keep ahead. He had to keep ahead, otherwise he - wouldn't.

*What?* Did he have a concussion? Kenneth rolled over onto his back, seeing that the zombie was already entering the room. He lifted his pistol, firing. A section of doorless doorframe exploded right beside the zombie's head. It was pushed backwards, turning slightly, as one hit its shoulder, spraying blood.

"No - get away from me. Get away! - " Kenneth's feet scrambled underneath him, searching for purchase. He rolled over on his hands, seeing a white door, his salvation, just feet away. He crawled, on hands and knees, palms leaving carpet and hitting hardwood. His fingers were reaching, just inches from the polished brass doorknob, as a steel hand wrapped itself around his left calf and yanked backwards. Kenneth was jerked back, away from the door. He tried to roll, twisted, and saw the zombie bending over, reaching for his throat. He fired - too low. The bullet hit the zombie's kneecap, tissue exploding outwards on the other side. The zombie suddenly dropped, hitting the floor, head rebounding, teeth chattering, moan still coming from the back of its throat. Freed, Kenneth leapt, landed on the doorknob, opened the door and landed halfway through the doorway. He slid the rest of himself through, swivelled, and grabbed the door. Paint cracked beneath his fingers and he swung it closed, the zombie out of sight.

Suddenly in silence, Kenneth remembered to breathe. His heart was racing. He brought up his Beretta - or at least, the hand that had held it.

That's when he realized he had left both the gun, and Forest's radio, back on the other side of that door.

.

Richard felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, listening to Enrico's hard shouts through the radio. His left hand, unconsciously, traveled to the butt of his shotgun, gripping it tightly. He slowly began to stand, forgetting the pile of junk, realizing just how heavy the air was, just how oppressive this -

*Crunch.* Richard whirled, shotgun coming up. The torch illuminated feet for the shortest of moments, a crushed Christmas bulb underneath. But the circle of light was still rising, flickering over ragged clothes, stopping on a face. There was a hole in its cheek. The hair was thin and stringy. Richard stopped, eyes bulging, seeing a fly land on the decimated cheek and begin a feast. The mouth was open, revealing yellow teeth and a black tongue. The eyes were wide, milky white circles. As Richard stared, transfixed, the white eyes blinked in the sudden light.

That simple act, so odd now, snapped Richard out of his reverie. His hand went on the trigger, the other pumping the shotgun. "Stop right there!" He shouted, fighting down panic. His voice - suddenly two octaves higher - sounded much calmer then he felt. "This is the police! Lie down with - "

It didn't stop. Suddenly, much faster than the attacker's plodding pace, arms shot out and wrapped around Richard's neck. Unable to breathe, the communications specialist thrashed, panic swiftly flushing through his system. He was yanked towards the cannibal, too close to use the shotgun, close enough to smell its breath in his nostrils. Richard suddenly remembered when some sort of animal - he couldn't remember what - crawled under his porch in the middle of summer before dying, when he was away for the weekend. That was what the breath was like - rot and death. Richard heaved, yanked to one side and the other, and attempted to pry the rotting man's fingers off his neck. It didn't work. *So strong,* Richard thought desperately, slinging his entire body to the right. It didn't loose the iron fingers, but it moved him some inches - enough.

Richard's own fingers closed about the ice pick, feeling the smooth wood of the handle underneath his palm, and swung it hard. The point stabbed into the side of the skull, piercing the bone and going in up to the handhold. The man made a sort of surprised grunt, staggering backwards.

Richard broke free of his hands, ducked low, grabbed the wall and slung himself around the corner. Rebounding off the other wall, he charged forward, remembering the dresser only too late. His hips smashed into the edge of the cheap furniture, flipping both himself and it over. He hit the ground, shotgun bouncing out of his hands, going off into the ceiling. Chips of whatever the ceiling was made out of rained down on his head. Grabbing the shotgun he rolled, the circle of light landing on the cannibal -

Still at a plodding pace, and coming around the corner, arms out in front of him. The ice pick still stuck out the side of his head, dark blood just beginning to dribble down. A sigh escaped his lips.

*Ghoul.*

Flesh-eating undead. Ghoul.

Richard brought up the shotgun and fired. The ghoul's head exploded in a spray of red-black gore, slamming back against the cheap painting. He saw the ice pick come spinning out of the splash, bouncing on the floor as the headless re-corpse slumped to his knees. The circle of white light hovered like a spotlight, illuminating the body as it finally fell on its side.

Richard was silent for a long time. "Oh, my god," he said, finally.

.

While most of the walls in the mansion were soundproofed, there was no door between the tunnel Enrico was in and the lobby. This allowed the sound of the unearthly howl to rush out of the openings to the tunnel, and assault Kevin's ears. He felt every hair on his body raise, was suddenly very cold. He struggled to stand. "Enrico!" He shouted, voice echoing back at him even higher than usual. "Enrico, what's going on? What is that?" Kevin knew the captain couldn't possibly hear him, not over the sound of the howling, but didn't care. He was going to shout for help and no logic was about to stop him. A biting pain attacked his leg as it took weight, but Kevin forced himself to ignore it, knowing something was very wrong, when the roar stopped and something on his waist started moving.

Yelping, Kevin staggered back, back against the wall, and slapped ineffectually at the moving object before he realized it was his radio. It vibrated madly, sending strange sensations along his skin, and it was a few more seconds before he could get it off his belt. He remembered what Enrico had said about limited batteries and knew something was big.

He thumbed on the transmitter and spat loudly into the radio, voice cracking. "This is Kevin Dooley, repeat Kevin Dooley, over!"

He only caught the end of it. *" - wrong with this place, Edward, I want you to tell Forest, I -" The rest of the words were drowned out by what seemed to be a shriek from what sounded like Kenneth suddenly came through the radio. This was followed by gunshots before he was cut off, no longer transmitting. Kevin, horrific thoughts raising unbidden in his mind, pressed again on the transmit button. "This is Kevin, can you repeat the order, what did you s-"

He felt the wall swing away behind him and hands clamp on to his shoulders.

It was luck, really. When the hands had touched Kevin, his knees immediately gave way under him before the grip could tighten. He dropped to the floor, shrieking loudly, and rolled to the side. His radio laid beside him.

"ENRICO ENRICO HELP ME ENRICO!" Kevin was screaming, hands going to his Berettas, as he was on his back and saw what had attacked him. In a split second he saw a grey corpse, torn clothes, all standing upright and coming right for him, and even in his state he paused, a sudden realization hitting him like a ton of bricks.

*What the crap is a zombie doin-* The zombie dived, and Kevin brought out his Berettas, but had only time to fire once. Both bullets missed, badly, and as a hand hit his throat he was pushed down the dozen or so stairs.

Kevin's shouts for the captain turned into a loud wail as his leg bumped over the steps, landing roughly on the carpet. Scrabbling, he pushed himself backwards with his hands, knowing he had to put some distance between him and the zombie. It took tried to step on the stairs but stumbled, rolling down and landing where he had been. It slowly stood, thick blood seeping out of a slash on its forehead. Kevin brought up both Berettas and shot at its face, but head shots are hard and both went wide.

That's when gunshots rang out from the right, from Enrico's pistol. Classic shooter's stance, legs apart, both hands on the gun, five rounds punched through the zombie's chest, dropping it to the floor. Enrico moved forward, looking suspiciously at the prone zombie - and fired, twice more into its back. It let out a gurgle and fell still, a puddle of blood forming about it.

"Are you alright?" He asked, turning to Kevin. Kevin nodded, too shocked to speak, as the captain knelt by the body and touched its crown lightly.

"This skin is rotting," he breathed, quietly, but the pilot heard. "It's like its been dead for a while already. Like it's a - "

"Zombie?" Kevin substituted. Enrico shot another look at him.

"Where did this guy come from?" he asked, not answering Kevin's question. The pilot pointed up the stairs. Where they had thought there was a wall, part of a large painting, was an open rectangle - a doorway.

.

Five fingers touched the cold glass. Water streamed down the outside, but the fingertips stayed dry. A woman was in the glass; a long, black robe wrapped tightly about a tall, striking figure. Red lips on a white face, red nails on ivory hands.

With a crack and a roar, the night flashed white. The woman's skin was the white of decay. The black robe was a rotting sack, the sculpted face angular bone. Fingertips and lips were dripping blood. The woman became a witch.

He leapt back from the painting before the light ceased, too shocked to even gasp. His extended fingers curled into a fist, ready to fight, while his feet prepared to fly. The Beretta was brought up, pointing at the witch, light flashing off the scope's glass. Eyes widened, long hair attempted to stand, and skin shone with cold wet. The lightning faded, and the witch became a woman, but Forest would not touch the window again.

Feathers suitably ruffled, the sniper did an about face and leaned on the railing. He blinked repeatedly, trying to get the image of the witch out of his mind. He had only seen it for a second, but a fleeting glance was somehow worse than viewing it in clarity. He had thought, for a split second, the witch was about to attack him.

The double doors at the end of the room creaked, and Forest tensed. It was a conscious effort to keep his gun by his side as someone stepped through, only relaxing when he realized it was Edward. The pilot looked around, squinting in the dark, before turning on his gun's flashlight and shining it around the room. He flashed it across Forest's face and held it there, both men's faces lighting up.

"Forest! There you are!" Seeing Forest grimace and put up an arm in front of his eyes, Edward turned the torch away from his comrade. "Vampire," he muttered, under his breath. Forest started to walk to the side, rubbing his eyes.

Edward fully entered the room, closing the door behind him. He stepped in the trail of blood, traced it to the corpse just a foot away from him, and stared at it a moment before speaking.

"Say, Forest, Enrico gave us a rather intense radio call. Seeing as how yours is with Kenny at the moment, I thought I should let you in on current events. He said there's something, or somethings, really weird in this place. He said they're definitely not human, and though he didn't explain, I don't think he meant dogs. I'm not really sure _what_ he meant, but anyways. Shoot on sight - on sight, Forest. We're cops. Whatever's in this mansion must have him spooked pretty bad. In any case, what's up with your friend here?" Edward turned and pointed downward at the corpse - or, at least, where it had been. Currently he was pointing at a pair of very erect legs. Confused, Edward followed the legs upward, to a straightening waist, outstretched arms, and finally the wet, rotten face of the body, which had finally finished standing and was staring right at him.

"Forest, what - !" Arms shot out and grasped Edward by the shoulders, yanking him towards the corpse's maw. His gun came up uselessly, firing into the air. Forest, his back formerly to Edward, swivelled at the gunshot. His eyes widened as he saw the teammate grappling with an opponent. His gun came up - but it was impossible, Edward's attacker had pushed him against the railing and in Forest's line of fire. Before the casing from Edward's shot had hit the floor, Forest was moving, sprinting by the wall. He grabbed a statue and slung himself around.

Edward was not a small man, and he wasn't foreign to fistfights ether. But the bastard was _strong,_ despite being immobile less than a minute ago. Edward struggled, saw the teeth coming again, and slammed the butt of his gun into them. Had he the angle he would have pointed the barrel into the mouth of the "corpse", but he was clasped too tightly to move far at all. The strike was powerful enough to knock out at least one tooth, but to no avail. Thrashing, and slippery from rain, he was able to get halfway out of his opponent's grasp before it regained its hold, this time holding by the back. Edward shook and kicked, but it did nothing, and he could feel its cold breath on his neck -

When he saw a flash of blue to his left that was Forest. The vehicle specialist didn't even slow as he reared back a fist and swung at Edward's rotting attacker, the metal of the gun smashing hard against its temple. Without pause, he smashed the butt of the pistol down on the brow of the "corpse". It knocked its head back enough for it to release the pilot, who staggered forward and away two steps before gasping. That's when Forest stepped back, and Edward swivelled, and between the two of them blew three holes in the cannibal's chest. As dark blood flew up the walking corpse grabbed Forest by the throat and yanked him forward, teeth sinking into his right shoulder.

Forest, too shocked to cry out, reared back as the teeth gnawed at his flesh. His hand came up and smacked his opponent in the throat, trying to push him away. At the same time his scoped Beretta smashed it in the jaw, as best Forest could in the situation. The cannibal was pushed away, just a few inches, enough for Forest to direct a kick into its sternum. As it was knocked back, into the doors, both STARS members raised their pistols. Four bullets from Edward and three from Forest penetrated the chest of the walking corpse before it slid to the ground, leaving a trail of red on the door, walking no more.

Edward's eyes were nearly popping from his head. Gasping for breath, he pointed his gun at the stilled body, unwilling to believe it was dead. "Jesus Christ, did you see that?" he asked, rather pointlessly. "He - it - it was dead! I swear to god it was dead! How - are you okay?" He shot a concerned look to Forest, to his bleeding shoulder. Blood was running down his uniform, and Forest's hold on the bite was tight, but the sniper just waved a hand dismissively, nodding. His eyes didn't move from the corpse, if it could still be called that.

"You'd better check that out when we get back," Edward continued, breath coming easier now. "Human bites, the worst, you know..." *If it was human, that is.* Edward hadn't ever seen humans with flesh rotting off them, at least not in a condition to get up and attack people, and hadn't seen humans eat ten bullets before dying either. He cautiously poked the body with his foot, nearly firing into its crumpled chest when the head rolled over from the push. Edward looked up at Forest.

"So, ah...I guess that's all I wanted to say...keep your guard up and shoot on sight. Keep in touch, I'll be where I was, and, uh, good hearing from you." He smiled weakly, turned and exited the double doors. Forest watched him go.