For all disclaimers: See Chapters 1 and 2.
Note: Graphic violence and adult language is used in this Chapter. Read on and you were warned. This symbol denotes radio communication.
CHAPTER NINE Lost Souls/June 8th 1996, central Iraq/
"He's dead, he's going to /die/. I'm going to cut him into component parts, slice those into hams and feed them to every carnivore I can find. I'm going to grind his bones to powder, mix them with cement and drive over the road their part of every weekend for the rest of my life. I'm going to burn down his home with everything he ever loved inside it and throw in every family photograph. I'm going to track down everyone he's ever loved and torture them until they can't bear to live in any country he ever set foot in they'll hate him so much for what he's made me do. I'm going to keep his eyes and his organs in a jar together and send photographs to everyone he knew not here now for as long as I live every year I live. I'm going to slice off the top of his head and make him eat bits of his own brain-" Serena Baccarin was ranting, she was angry as Hell and she knew it, but she didn't care.
She'd just seen the bloody, mangled remains of one of the few real friends she'd /ever/ had in the world breathe his last in front of her before dying in a pool of his own blood. She'd had to walk over to him, her boots splashing in his blood, and shoot him in the head to make sure that he didn't rise again as one of the abominations they'd been fighting their way through since they'd gotten in here. He'd spasmed briefly, his body jerking, then gone away forever...
She'd walked into a room full of the brutalised, shredded, horrifically mangled remains of people young, middle-aged and old, of animals large and small. Blood was hanging from the ceiling in huge deep, dark-red drips, sliding down the wall in a way which suggested it had been forced between every single one of the joins and against every surface for maximum effect by an act of obscenity. Blood drenched the floor and every metal stretcher, mixed in with scattered physical remains. Fingers, toes, arms and legs, bones, bits and pieces of everyone and everything were everywhere. Shattered glass was obvious in a back room, a buckled metal door indented with the shape of human fists having been blocked from the inside. It took no guesses at all to think through what had happened or where the doomed men had tried to take cover. It hadn't mattered at all either, as the tormented, seriously injured Aaron had managed to haltingly let them know once he'd recovered consciousness, aided by Smelling Salts Serena had practically forced up his nose.
Tom Walker was dead, Aaron was effectively a cripple and as good as immobilised, incapacitated at the very least. Webb was a traitor, which simply meant that she was going to begin by cutting off all of his fingers and both thumbs when she found him before she went to work on the larger parts. Stamper, who had finally woken up, had thrown up everything he'd ever eaten on sight, including some blood, then finally made his way to the back room to go through all of the documents, records and anything else that had been stored there on the off-chance that there could be something useful. Chris...Chris had lost all colour on seeing the inside of the room, but had recovered somewhat and was now kneeling by the battered and bloody Aaron, just like her.
She carried a pair of gauze surgical gloves in a sealed pack in with her gear for emergencies-she was qualified to perform Field Surgery, among other things-and was now wearing them as she probed the big mans injuries with a touch so gentle that almost anyone she knew wouldn't have believed her capable of if they hadn't seen it. There was a good reason for that, but that was her business.
In her time she'd killed a man by gutting him with her bare hands and stabbed a man in the heart while kissing him to stop his screams. She'd killed a man with a set of car keys, garrotted another with his own shoelaces and bitten out another's windpipe. She was all about death, suffering in a number of cases too, but she was, in the end, an Assassin, a killer-Death, truth be told. She'd killed and she'd killed and she'd killed with her own two hands, with things held in them of every size, shape and description. She didn't have blood on her hands any more, she'd taken the Devils Shilling and wallowed in death, blood and violence with the worst. She /was/ the worst, but she was incapable of processing just what she was seeing here. Just because you did your duty for your country and were capable of any act to get the job done you didn't just become evil, no matter what you did. This place stank of madness, pain and death in ways that turned even her stomach-she just didn't show it, of course. Only those as sick, twisted and Fucked in the mind as anyone you could ever meet were capable of anything like this, but this...this was a special form of evil. It reminded her of why she was there...
You sell your Soul to save the world-after your country, of course-and you have some right to expect reasonable return, or at least she thought so. What had happened here would have finished her Faith forever if she still believed in anything, but the only trust she had in anything any more was her own skill. A Patriot she might be, but General Lucas Moralto and his like set the standard she aspired to. To think that he might even possibly have willingly sent along on a mission like this a man like Webb, a piece of shit who should have been ground up in a mincing machine while alive and fed to pigs if Aaron was telling the truth, something which she had no reason to doubt... That man had to die, and she was going to kill him. Finishing with Aaron, she forced herself to calm down as she looked him in the eyes.
"Alright, Aaron, listen carefully. You have, I am certain, a skull fracture, a bad Concussion, at least one broken rib, three more cracked at best and an arm broken in two places, compound fractures. On top of that, your breastbone is cracked and if it breaks it could stab you in the heart or lungs and kill you. If you fall asleep or pass out in this state you will never, ever wake up, matters are that simple. That, of course, is excluding a strong possibility of internal bleeding given your impact injuries, those I simply can't properly diagnose under these circumstances... but at best, a basic examination suggests you have significant bruising to your kidneys and possibly your stomach. I'd add spinal trauma as well depending on just how hard and where you were hit. If you try to move you could be committing suicide, but we can't carry you or leave you here. Its your decision" she said, pulling the blood-slick gloves off and placing them in a disposal bag she replaced in her uniform, kept especially for such circumstances.
Aaron just looked at her with a face where every last shred of his agony was visible in his eyes and on his drawn face, a look on his face that told her what she already knew. He grinned through the pain somehow, blood-streaked face and bloody teeth making him look as though someone had worked him over with a straight razor after kicking him in the chest as hard as they could a few times. Despite it all, his eyes were bright and shining with resolute determination and intelligence-and stubbornness. She had to admire that, stupid or not in his state. Personally she'd have gone looking for some Zombies with a Hand Grenade and nuked them with her in a last blaze of glory...
"I'm too young to die, so I'll come along, thanks" he managed, speaking slowly around his broken jaw. Then he slowly winked. "Besides, I saw what that asshole did. I'm going to live to twist his head right off if it's the last thing I ever do..." he added.
"Only if you get there before me" replied Serena, smiling back. "Now hold on, I have to set and splint this arm of yours or you could loose it the state your in. Stamper, did you see anything in there we could use to splint an arm?" she called out. They all had to wait several long moments before the evidently distracted man answered.
"This cabinet has metal struts, that any good?" he called back, sticking his head around the corner and glancing at her even as he scanned the documents he was holding. She nodded and he disappeared again just as quick. Without being asked, Chris rose and went into the storeroom. Grunts of effort sounded soon after, then a distinctly metal crack sounded like a gunshot. A second followed soon afterwards, then he came back holding two pieces of slightly warped metal strut which were both a little shorter than the massive Aaron's long arm. Fortunately, his guess estimate had actually been very accurate. She didn't bother to explain what she was doing when she ripped off Aaron's shirt and started slicing it into bandages with her knife, although she couldn't stop herself from glancing quickly at his magnificently well-developed chest muscles. He noticed, but didn't make anything of it, in too much pain to care.
She wrapped Aaron's Desert Eagle with a piece of cloth around the barrel and put it in front of his mouth. He bit down on it without hesitation, hard. Good, that was the point. She shifted to directly over Aaron's injured arm, placed her hands both side of the first and lowest break and looked Chris Redfield in the eyes as he crouched opposite her. "Get a real good grip and hold him down until I say otherwise, but watch his chest, clear?" she asked. Chris nodded yes, so she turned to look Aaron in the eyes. His face and gaze were full of pain, but she also saw hope there, along with a distinct feeling of faith-in her, if she was any judge. He trusted her...she didn't know whether to pity him or wish him luck. Certainly/she/ couldn't be relied upon...
"Aaron, I'm going to fix these breaks now. I don't have enough in the way of Painkillers to calm you down first, so I'll do it after. Until then, don't crack a tooth when you bite down on the damn gun, okay?" she asked. Aaron looked at her for a long second, then nodded.
"Was that a /joke, Miss Enigma?" he stage whispered, meaning everyone in the room heard him. She just smiled, flexed her fingers-and snapped the bone back into place with an almighty wrench. Aaron howled, a muffled shriek coming from his mouth past the gun. His muscles and veins abruptly stood out from him like steel cables and his good arm jerked wildly, nearly lifting Chris right off the floor, his feet scratching the ground beneath. Chris held on through sheer physical determination, giving her time to quickly set the other break with dextrous fingers and a powerful grip, muscles standing out on her arms as Aaron's own massively muscled physique worked against her. She succeeded despite that, of course.
Aaron had bitten the inside of his mouth, fresh blood evident on his lips, but, trembling aside, he was fine otherwise. She drew and loaded a syringe with a Painkiller, picked one of the still distinct veins standing out on Aaron's arm and injected him with it, tossing the syringe away afterwards. Once the trembling stopped and Aaron had calmed down, she used the metal struts and sliced apart uniform shirt pieces to efficiently and professionally bind up his arm in a set position. Moments later, he smiled at her slowly. It was all she needed to see to convince her he'd be all right, at least for now. She replaced the Desert Eagle in his hip holster after reloading it for him.
She motioned to Chris to grab his good arm, bent down and, arms around his waist, on the count of three slowly helped Aaron to his feet. Somehow, he didn't scream in agony despite nearly biting through his lower lip.
He stood up on shaking legs, braced himself and shook his head to clear it. "I'm fine" he said, slowly and clearly, distinctly, so that they could certainly understand. Then added, so quietly that Chris missed it but Serena didn't, "But I have been better..."
"Ow... hey, guys-er, and lady?" called Stamper, coming out of the back room with a handful of documents held in both hands. He paused to rub his eyes with the back of his hand before going on, as though his eyes were giving him trouble. Serena silently wondered whether or not he had any idea just what was happening to him yet. "I found something your not going to believe in here-what!" he asked, glaring at Chris, who was staring straight at him. Chris raised a hand and pointed at the slow but steady flow of blood running down Stamper's arm from his hand wound, where the Zombie child had bitten him earlier. He didn't need to say anything. Stamper cursed, flicked his arm around, failing utterly to even slow down the steady flow of blood, then grabbed at the sheets of paper he'd been reading through again regardless.
"To Hell with it...okay...well, the long and short of it is that there was a cadre of Scientists who could have worked for South Africa pre-Mandela without raising an eyebrow here running this place with the cooperation of the Iraqi's, permission coming straight from Hussein himself. Their plan was to create a Biological weapon that could be used on human test subjects which would remove their freedom of will and thought while granting them superhuman physical characteristics instead of simply killing them. If they were successful, they would have created humanoid weapons that would follow explicit commands to damage or destroy any object or kill any specific individual with total, unquestioned obedience" Stamper began, flicking through the pages as he summarised for his attentive audience.
"They were attempting to achieve this with a Virus farmed from a source that isn't covered in any of the records I've seen so far, since it enhanced the physical characteristics of those in question while destroying higher brain functions. Unfortunately, or not depending on your point of view, they couldn't stabilise the results enough to maintain a viable Test Subject for any length of time since the Virus bred like a Parasite, quickly spreading through the whole system of anyone infected and causing the body to decay from the inside out until it dissolved into a new form of the same Virus which would then go on to infect others. This Virus utterly destroyed the Host in hours at most, every kind of human and animal experiment was a total failure-the "Zombies we've been running across are examples, if you're wondering.
/HOWEVER/...there was a catch, isn't there always. Certain individuals, such as the dead creature just inside the back room and others like it, were created by some kind of freak mutation reaction to the Virus when it caused their DNA to change radically rather than killing them. They have a list of what they came up with, but most of its been cleaned out as unsafe and lethally dangerous-they kept samples of course. There were only two left, actually: that thing back there, they call it an Ares Hound, and something they called a Behemoth. I don't have the slightest idea what that is, but if its as dangerous as it suggests here I never want to be in the same building with it if its loose" said Stamper, before glancing up and around at each of them for a moment.
"One last thing: does everyone remember that the Failsafe was stated to have been activated according to the computer due to catastrophic system failure? Yes? Good, because that is a /serious/ problem. This placed is rigged with enough C4 to take out every floor of the Empire State /before/ bringing down the building, taking the roof right off in the process. There is no way at all to turn it off from within the facility. I have no idea how long we have left to live until I get access to a computer. Fun, eh?" Stamper finished, leaving everyone staring at everyone else, even Serena for once unsure just what they were going to do next...
Chris cleared his throat loudly to get everyone's attention, then glanced at Serena for a moment before speaking. "Might I just say, you can live with failure but death is final? It's this simple: we find what we came here for, get out of here fast as we can and dismember Webb on the way if we see him. If not, Serena tracks him down later and brutally murders him unless one of us does. We see a computer, Stamper Hacks it and we find out what we need to know. Otherwise we run like hell, anyone disagree?" he asked, loudly.
"Yes" came back Stamper, without hesitation, "What about Aaron? He can barely move, let alone walk. What about /me? If I'm reading this right-and I /am/- I could be infected with the same thing killed them. There is an Anti-Virus for cases like these, there always is, so I /have/ to find it. Do you want to argue about /that, Chris?" asked Stamper, just as loudly. Chris glared at him and moved to reply, but Serena cut him off as her diamond-sharp eyes cut into Stamper's with an almost physical force, making him literally take a step back at her expression.
"You /are/ infected, you bloody fool, any open wound injury sustained from one of these things will make you one of them in six hours if your lucky. The Virus is a Chimera, it adapts to its environment where process of delivery is concerned, air, water, physical contact, whatever, get it and your going to die. As for the Anti-Virus, take a look around you, Stamper. Do you really believe that we'd have run across nothing but walking Corpses and mutant abominations rattling around loose and free in this place if any of the staff had access to it? Including the ranker we found at the entrance we used? Remember /that? There is no Salvation in this place. We are in Hell. Get used to the idea" snapped Serena sharply, her face bereft of expression but her eyes glittering with barely suppressed anger.
Stamper was smart enough to simply shut up and surrender the argument at that point, even as he and everyone else stared at Serena with expressions that suggested they'd just felt an army march over their graves. Stamper just stared at her for a long moment, then sat down heavily and put his head in his hands, fingers over his face, face pale and empty of any feelings or expression of anything at all. He looked as though he'd just been told that the world was ending tomorrow and his loved ones were dying first. Chris didn't blame him...
Y
"Damn it..." muttered Webb, pressing the bloody bandage to the back of his head. Aaron had really done a number on him, the wound on the back of his head just wouldn't stop bleeding. He couldn't even stop and bind it up, he didn't have the right gear in his First Aid kit. Worse, if made a mistake while trying and got jumped by a Zombie or worse... well, whether or not he'd been Vaccinated the creatures could still easily tear his throat out or cripple him with a lucky strike.
Moving at a steady jog along a memorised route through the complex-the only hazards were the occasional Zombie, not a threat as long as he didn't run out of ammunition really-he was heading for Professor Robert Creig's secure base area in the centre of the complex. With the possible exception of Serena, who was an unknown quantity since he hadn't been able to dig up anything at all on her during his quick Hack before the mission start, a fact which half-worried, half-annoyed him, it would take all of his "team" at least an hour to reach this point unless they knew the way. Not one of them, again bar perhaps Serena, was dangerous enough for that to matter, so he wasn't worried.
The C4 Plastic Explosives would go off in just under an hour, 58 minutes and 43 seconds according to his watch. His plan dictated that he dump his team-all dead by other causes, preferably-with an hour free, collect Creig and retire on the primary Escape arena, the helicopter, with half an hour to spare. He'd take off with Creig, watch his team get nuked, then go to Baghdad, where CIA contacts would move the two of them out of the country discreetly. He'd return a heroic, battered survivor, everyone else on the mission dead, get a clutch more medals and be reinstated in his command-two million dollars richer. Life would have been good... But not being sure about what was happening made life bad for him. Just carrying the injured Aaron might not even slow them down if Serena took it on herself to scout ahead...
He saw the lab at last, paused to pop two Zombies with his Desert Eagle, stood in front of the door and waited for the Security Camera to centre on him. It did and the door opened, the grey-haired Creig appearing, dragging a young woman who appeared to be drugged she was having so much trouble even standing up, let alone focusing on anything. Then, before it registered, Creig whipped out a syringe filled with some liquid he didn't recognise and stabbed him in the Jugular with it, emptying the whole of the contents straight into his bloodstream.
Webb doubled over with a howl of pain, clutching at his neck, ripping out the syringe. His eyesight changed, flickering from normal to red-filmed to all white to a "normal" so enhanced in detail that his brain nearly shut down as he couldn't take it in. He suddenly became capable of distinguishing grains of dust. His heart nearly cracked his ribs a moment later, literally, then he felt rather than heard his shirt and trousers tear. He straightened up and stared at himself, bulging muscle rippling to impossible proportions, the slightest step seemingly almost firing him through the air, the feeling in his body being that he could shape steel in his bare hands to begin with, all of his senses screaming impossible detail into his mind. He staggered, nearly threw up, then stared murderously at Creig as his whole world shifted around him. "/WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME, YOU PIECE OF-/" he screamed, the sound alone almost deafening to his new sense of hearing.
Creig cut him off, his voice cool and disinterested. "Umbrella Steroids, jack up everything you have by a factor of ten for twelve hours or more depending on the dosage, the basic for you. I thought you might need an edge based on what I've seen so far. Shall we go?" he asked. Webb did nothing but stare at Creig for several long moments, homicidal fury in his eyes...
Y
"Serena, lets just be clear on this if we can be-YOU /KNEW ABOUT THE VIRUS!" shouted Chris, staring in almost-angry disbelief at the woman he'd just started to think he really liked. Her indescribable good looks, delicious tawny skin and sapphire-blue eyes didn't hurt either...
"Yes. Military Intelligence and the CIA working together dug up all kinds of information of the "Eyes Only" variety going back to 1990 concerning weapons of a, shall we say, supremely dangerous and supremely insane nature relating to Biological Weapons. The kind of weapons, since you ask, which can only be tested on people who'll never be seen again or the dead since if anyone came looking for them they'd have to be killed to and that creates Security complications. I wasn't cleared to brief any of you, but this little catastrophe has well and truly thrown the baby out with the bathwater so Regulations are totally fucked and I'm telling you now. Be quiet and listen, Stamper" said Serena, waving a hand to shut him up as he tried to ask a question.
"The Bio-Weapon is both Life and Death. It can repair damaged cells but it also destroys, through mutation, living ones, almost always resulting in a fatality where anyone or anything infected is concerned. The real problem, though, is that it doesn't stop there: the mutated cells are reactivated by the Virus using the electricity the brain retains for a while even after death, creating a semi-sentient creature which obeys only the most basic needs, to feed and breed, on and in humans or other living creatures if your wondering. This means that the only way to kill them is severe cranial trauma or complete decapitation, clear? They've been trying to find a way to control these things and prevent them self-destructing here, but they never succeeded while I was watching. How they got dead is a mystery I wish I could answer, but it could mean or be because of anything. Foul play is /always/ first choice where subjects like this are concerned, though, so expect some lunatic who has a God complex and his finger on the trigger to be around here somewhere-probably with Webb by now. You see him or her, kill them. You can talk now, Stamper" said Serena, with a smile at Chris which he returned after a second.
He just couldn't stay mad at her, he was discovering, a fact which she'd noticed. In fact, in all likelihood he was falling for her the way he was behaving around her... She wasn't sure if that bothered her or not. With Tom dead under such horrific circumstances she could use a shoulder to lean on, maybe even an ear to confess to...
"Fuck" said Stamper, that one-word exclamation saying all that needed to be said as far as he was concerned. He looked up and around, meeting everyone's eyes, Serena's last, then said "Fuck" again, with feeling. He looked as though someone had walked over his Grave as he glanced at Serena again a second later, his eyes haunted. She didn't blame him, to all intents and purposes someone had.
"Hey! Can we GO now please? I really don't want to still be here when some more of these things come looking for a snack, you know?" said Chris, waving his free hand to get everyone's attention even as he shifted the strap of Tom's AK-47 across his shoulder so that it rested more comfortably across his chest. Aaron had taken Tom's Magnum, since even injured he was one only three people on the team strong enough to use the gun properly. Serena herself had taken the rest of his gear and hidden it away about her person.
Stamper looked as though he was considering murder as he glared at Chris, but Serena just nodded in silent agreement and the battered, bloody Aaron just leaned on Chris more heavily, a sign to anyone who thought about it. The big man was in no shape to do anything but die if anything or anyone else got to him, so his Vote went to "Running like Hell". Stamper saw all of this, threw up his hands and stood, his face a picture of misery as he drew his Glock.
Serena and Chris carefully manoeuvred Aaron about, then Serena left the physically stronger Chris to act as the bigger mans crutch as she scouted ahead. Stamper strode quickly forwards and joined her, a little to her irritation as she slipped past the heavy door and let her gaze briefly take in Tom's ruined, torn-up and blood-drenched body, but she couldn't let distractions like that deflect her focus so she shut it all out for now. Besides which, she could guess why Stamper wanted to talk to her, the real reason he was there...
"Serena, are you /absolutely/ sure that there is no way /at all/ I might even possibly find an Anti-Virus or at least something that might retard the Virus's progress in this place anywhere, even if I have to go through every Zombie in this place to be sure? Long enough for me to come up with something more permanent, maybe" he asked, desperation edging into his voice as he spoke. His eyes were gleaming with a combination of his impressive intellect working hard and outright fear. Fear was only natural in a situation and place like this, but she needed Stamper on edge and ready, not frantic and useless. She considered what to say for all of five seconds before replying.
"I wouldn't sign the Cheque in blood, no, but your smarter than I am and everyone, everything we've run across so far has been stumbling around in a way which doesn't allow for argument. Think it through after adding in just who would have been working in a place like this, especially if some of the people were from outside of Iraq. One thing, though" she replied, glancing at him and deliberately holding his gaze for a long moment. "Did you notice that there was an Ares Hound lying with its brains over the floor in the room back there?" she asked, to a slight nod from Stamper which told her everything she needed to know-he was thinking what she was. Something was going on here that had no business being anywhere outside of some very/VERY/ secret secure labs...
Y
They headed inwards towards the centre of the facility as best they could, slowly due to Aaron's injuries. He was sweating heavily but was still mobile under his own power and lucid, which were the absolutely critical things in this situation. He was not, however, doing so well dealing with the pain of his injuries, so Stamper and Chris had been forced to switch positions so that Stamper could deliver Painkiller injections as possible and necessary. He couldn't supply the kind of support Chris or Serena could-Serena was stronger and far more resilient than most men her height and weight, that was a fact and he knew it-but Aaron could compensate using him as a huge crutch and was doing just that.
Chris was rearguard while Serena was scout and front line, ranging ahead and coming back quickly, occasional gunshots sounding as she dealt with Zombies off to the sides and in front of them. Stamper clutched his Glock tight in a sweaty hand and occasionally rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to clear his eyes. His eyesight seemed to be getting almost...foggy, as though something was affecting his eyes and likely his brain, maybe even the optic nerve. It /was, he was dying and there was nothing he could do about it, or so it appeared. Hell, he was going to wish in maybe a few hours, maybe a few /minutes, that he was /just/ going to die... "There is a cure, there is a cure, there is a cure" he kept repeating under his breath, increasingly desperately, eyes darting back and forth for the slightest sign, the slightest possibility of /anything/ at all...
Serena's voice abruptly cut across everyone's thoughts as a sharp order sounded over the radio. "This is Reaper, everyone double time on my position. That is immediate, highest priority" she said, her tone of voice cold as ice, something being.../odd/ about the way she said it. It was almost as though she was, perhaps, worried...?
"This is Airman, I copy, on our way"came back Chris Redfield's voice, just before Stamper heard the young Pilot jogging up behind them. He ducked under Aaron's splinted arm, grimaced at fresh sight of his injuries, then wrapped an arm around the big mans waist to help out him and Stamper.
Chris's manoeuvre Aaron to walk more or less normally. At a steady walk, they advanced to Serena's position as quickly as possible. When they got there and saw what she had, it was all that Stamper could do not to scream...
Y
Robert Creig was not a happy man. Although, of course, it was technically impossible for a true perfectionist to be happy. What had made him truly unhappy in this case, though, was his chosen tool of survival, the soldier who called himself Mickey Webb. Extensive combat training and experience he had, the ruthlessness to use it efficiently he had too. A weakness for large amounts of money, soft women, willing or otherwise, and a large amount of recreational drugs, all of which actually made him very easy to manipulate for a truly intelligent man...yes, he had all those things.
He now also had Umbrella-created Steroids making every part of his body work a great many times harder and faster than nature had ever intended, though. Extensive conditioning and training could adapt anything to extended periods of use, yes, but Webb just did not have that. Meaning that for every beat of his heart there was a chance of him suffering a massive heart attack at best, at worst a complete and total catastrophic organ failure that would effectively makes his internal organs liquefy.
While they worked Webb could wrestle a car, out-last a Horse and tie steel bars into neat Pretzels if he wanted to. He wouldn't even notice much pain from any source unless the injuries he suffered were absolutely catastrophic-Creig had seen with his own eyes a teenage boy plucked off the streets of Paris not even notice taking a point-blank Shotgun blast to the chest while on them-but the injuries would kill him regardless. With Alice slung over Webb's shoulder Creig certainly wasn't physically burdened by anything but his samples, research and CD's containing vital information which now existed no-where else, but he was burdened by irritation verging on worry.
He knew Webb was volatile and extremely dangerous if pushed the wrong way too hard and too fast, but he could deal with that. He knew Webb could break him into small pieces with his bare hands with a smile, but he could deal with that too. No, what he was /really/ unhappy about was the fact that, although Webb thought he couldn't hear him, the soldier wouldn't stop going on and on under his breath about a "Miss Enigma" and how he was going to teach her some respect...
Y
"Central Holding" had apparently once been a combination extremely high-tech sealed and secured lab crossed with a Prison Cell. A massive central area was created by a once-solid eight-foot wide metal ring that went from floor to ceiling with only two reinforced glass viewpoints either side. The steel was three inches thick and would have, in Serena's professional opinion, withstood a regular tank round-so the six foot wide hole torn in one side of it, apparently from the inside out by the pattern of impact damage and torn-up metal, extending from floor to ceiling, was something of a surprise.
Computers of all sizes, shapes and descriptions were dotted all around the area of the secure lab, along with a massive variety of feeds leading deep inside the ring which appeared to have been literally inserted into whatever was once in there. Feeding tubes, IV lines, pads and lines for monitoring every single vital function were in all there somewhere...but most of them had been torn right out of the thing when it had escaped, presumerably soon after the Virus had been released and monitoring had stopped.
A dark-black substance which appeared to be an oil-thick and sticky form of blood mixed with flecks and pieces of grey hide, as though the thing had had an Elephants hide. Stamper would have staked his left arm on that not being the case. But what that meant, he didn't even want to try to imagine.
Chris Redfield was staring at the hole in the wall which was roughly the same size and shape as the one in the ring. He was also staring at the massive tears and dents all over the corridor leading away from the secure lab apparently caused by this...thing. If he was any judge of physical dimensions this thing was eight foot tall and four wide, at least. Worse than that, given the obvious dents in the floor wherever its feet had pressed, he'd guess at its weighing at least half a ton...whatever it was made of, come to think of that.
Chairs were scattered around the lab, as were the remains of crushed and summarily dismembered Zombies obviously torn to pieces by the escaping thing on its way out. Given the way the trail of destroyed Zombies lead straight out the hole in the wall Aaron, even through the mists of pain clouding his mind, could tell that the thing which had torn its way out of here had literally just walked right over anything in the way, only pausing to rip bits off inconvenient obstacles until they moved.
"Do I speak for all of us when I say "Oh, Shit, what now!"" asked Stamper, rubbing his sore eyes again before he started scratching his injured arm. It felt soft and tender, the skin and flesh around the wound was starting to turn dark with what looked like infection. The blood running from the wound which just wouldn't close was still red, but he could almost taste the rot in it. He felt bile in his throat and his guts roiled, but he held it down. Serena was right, he was running out of time /fast/...
"Yes. Stamper, hack the mainframe and see what there is in there, anything useful at all. Chris, watch out for anything coming through the damn hole. If you see anything bad scream your head off. Aaron, sit down before you die" said Serena, snapping out Orders like a Drill Sergeant even as she righted a chair for Aaron to use, which he sank into with a massive sigh of heart-felt relief. Not one of them questioned her assumption of Command after Webb's disappearance for even a second, while Chris and Aaron were actually glad to be shot of the arrogant Delta Force man.
Stamper didn't care for a variety of reasons, but would never admit that he would far rather stare at Serena all day than Webb. However, social and command issues were the last thing on his mind as he sat down at the main computer, sweat starting to bead his brow for no good reason. Preparing himself, he accessed the main program to be challenged by a Secure ID Log-In. With a grim smile, he cracked his knuckles and started playing the computer keyboard like a Maestro. This wouldn't take long...
Chris didn't notice Serena coming up next to him until he was abruptly aware of a dark presence standing to his right. He managed not to blink at the sudden apparition-then almost died of shock as she lifted a hand and ran her fingertips across his right cheek in an unmistakable caress, setting every single one of the nerves there on fire. She let her fingers slide off of his face down to his shoulder, where they squeezed with just enough strength to get his attention, an attempt at reassurance he presumed, then stepped sideways slightly so that her shoulder was actually touching his.
"I don't suppose you've actually seen "Dawn of the Dead" have you?" she asked quietly. Chris considered various responses to such a question at such a time, discarded all of them and tried to work out what she meant. After a moment he gave up and tried the simple truth.
"No, I have enough in the way of real horrors to deal with personally, let alone professionally, thanks. I prefer films like "Top Gun" to be perfectly honest, laugh if you want. Why?" he replied, curious despite himself.
"I only watch horror movies unless I can come up with a romantic comedy, to be perfectly honest. "Dawn" just seemed to be appropriate given that it focuses for most of the film on a group of people trapped inside a Shopping Mall under siege by Zombies, who have to find a way to escape at the end. Horror is one of the few things that makes me feel alive now, sorry to say, my world and my life have become so much about violence that nothing else means much of anything any more" replied Serena, with the slightest shake of her head.
Chris had to wonder just where this bizarre conversation was going next given such an awful revelation, but he couldn't stop his next comment in time. Later, he wouldn't be sure whether or not it had been a mistake...
"What about sex?" he almost blurted, then immediately wanted to die as it occurred to him just what he'd said given just who he was speaking to. Serena Baccarin didn't say anything at all for some seconds as Chris wished the ground would open up and swallow him, even while he felt so embarrassed that he almost wished they were being besieged by Zombies. Then she looked straight at him, a sly smile on her face, a look in those incredible eyes that just swallowed him whole.
"/That/ depends on who and what. If we get out of here, buy me dinner and I might just let you show me what you mean... Although I should warn you its all or nothing with me. There are things you don't know you'd need to, as well..." she replied, so softly that it was clear she was /only/ talking to him. Her words trailed off in a way which suggested more clearly than saying so would have just what she had in mind. Chris's mind had fused the moment he realised just what the flesh and blood fantasy standing next to him had said, but it didn't stop his imagination running riot.
He already felt sweat-slicked silken hair and skin sliding across his own like the most perfect, flawless soft silk sheets imaginable. He could just about feel firm, sculpted curves and long limbs pressing against and wrapped around his body so tight it hurt, taste the sweet strawberry nectar of those lips and that mouth, sense the perfect contours of that flawless face and body so close to his that he could literally touch them. He could already smell her musky Beech-tree scent all over his skin...
"Aw...no..." exclaimed Stamper, in a way which suggested that he'd just received the final details about the coming Apocalypse. Chris's train of thought derailed as he had to abruptly stop fantasising about Serena and focus on what was happening around him again. He was startled again when he realised that Serena was already standing next to Stamper when only a moment had passed and he hadn't seen or sensed her moving at all. The woman was the definition of a Spook...
Her expression and Stamper's exclamation as they both stared at whatever he'd dug up on the computer told him everything else he needed to know...
/End of Chapter Nine. All Reviews welcomed/
P.S. this is the last but one Chapter, things are going to happen VERY fast in Chapter Ten and there's going to be an awful lot going on. I hope that anyone out there still reading this finds it a worthy pay-off for their efforts in getting this far... (HINT HINT REVIEW?)