Author's Note: I apologize for the delay in the last couple of chapters. Life and all that.
Furthermore, I do not, not have I ever, owned any of the intellectual property directly or indirectly pertaining to the Resident Evil series of games or movies. My work here is simply a bit of fan fiction designed for the amusement of other Resident Evil fans.
I don't have any money to speak of.
Don't sue me.
Please.
Once inside the building all of us stood there, panting, for several minutes. The helicopter could still be heard outside, but eventually the sounds of its rotor blades faded. Braddly was carrying both cats, which were still shivering with fright. I finally took a moment to survey our surroundings. I had never been here before. Lubbock wasn't exactly a large town but it was large enough for there to be plenty of buildings that I wasn't familiar with. From the looks of things this was one of those old, mostly unused buildings like they have downtown. One of those post-great-depression industrial revolution era buildings that used to be some kind of factory or something and finally just gave out some years later.
There was unidentifiable machinery strewn about. Maybe an old printing press... or a textile plant... some of the rusted machines had the look of a loom or some similar contraption. Just to our right there was a set of metal stairs suspended from cables that reached to the ceiling. The seemed to lead to some sort of office area.
Darrell sat down, groaning as he favored his wounded arm. Most of our first aid supplies had been in the trunk of the police cruiser, along with our food and water. Rummaging through my pack I discovered that I still had a 20 oz bottle of 'Dasani', 2 boxes of shotgun shells (100 count), and a box of pop-tarts, and a small first aid kit left. Retrieving the kit I moved over to where Darrell was sitting, easing myself down in front of him.
"Ok man, let's ahve a look at that," I said, reaching for the bandage.
"I'm sorry guys... I'm just slowing you down at this point," Darrell said.
"Don't worry about that. Long as you can point that gun you're useful," I chuckled.
I was actually pretty worried. He was looking a bit pale. It hadn't looked like he had lost that much blood. That thing that hurt him, maybe it was poisonous... or worse... infected with the same stuff that made the zombies. Darrell hissed as I pulled the bandage away. His wound was bleeding, but not as much as I had thought. The wound itself was beggining to look bad though. Brad had done a decent job stiching it, but there was puss oozing from it now along with the blood.
As I dabbed the blood from D's wound Jeff began to look around.
"Don't go too far," Brad said.
"Yeah, this'll just take a minute, may not be totally safe in here," I added
Jeff didnt say anything, but did limit his explorations to a direct line of sight, which wasnt very far due to the machines lying around. I had started applying some antibiotic ointment, hoping to help stave off infection, when something odd happened. The area under Darrell's wound twitched. It wasnt one of those involuntary twiches of the muscles, it was more like the wound itself twitched to avoid my touch. Darrell obviously felt it, and he looked at me with wide eyes.
"That felt... wierd," he said nervously. The comment was accented by another unusual twitch from the wound.
I scrambled away from Darrell. I did it almost on reflex. The cat's lept from Braddly's arms, scratching him again, and hid together in a small pipe. Wedge mewed frightfully. Braddly cursed for a moment then turned his attention to the source of the disturbance.
"What's wrong?"
I looked at Darrell, his eyes were pleading.
"N-nothing... something moved, I think it was a rat, it startled me."
About that time Jeff came back.
"Nothing in the immediate area...." He pulled up short, looking a the awkward scene, "Um. Everything okay?"
"Scott saw a rat and spazzed," Braddly giggled.
Darrell had quickly wrapped a clean bandage around his shoulder. I felt sick to my stomach, with a knot of fear growing deep in my bowels. Gathering ourselves up we started to explore the dark old building. No one, especially the larger of our number, seemed too keen on dealing with the old metal stairs suspended by cables, so we decided to clear the ground floor first.
As we moved through the maze of old machinery, each step kicked up a small dust cloud, leaving a footprint in the dust. Jeff and I were up front, weapons at the ready. As the group moved forward I could see the two felines slinking through the machinery, keeping pace with us. Reckon they felt safer there, more cover. The dust was hanging thick in the air, and some of the machines must have been leaking oil because the area smelled sort of like a garage.
My eyes strained in the dim light that filtered in from the skylights above. We hadn't found any power switches, making the large suspended light fixtures above us useless. It looked like the building was bigger on the inside than we had thought at first. This bothered me. The night and day spent running for my life had given me a certain dislike for large open areas. Too easy to get surrounded. I was thinking more and more about making for those stairs and holing up in that office for awhile when the cats began to growl.
Everyone stopped and looked at Wedge, who was hunkered down inside a piece of metal tubing. Mara was concealed somewhere near him, I could see the glint of her cream-colored fur. They were both growling in a very uncharacteristic fashion.
"That's... not a good sign," Brad sighed.
"SHH!", I hissed as I raised my shotgun to my shoulder and turned around. I could hear something, there was a soft clicking or tapping sound coming from ahead of us. Jeff picked up on it just after I did. He gripped his pistol with both hands and raised it.
"Oh crap..."
I turned my head to see what Darrell was worrying about. There was a dog standing behind us. Looked like a doberman, or german shepherd, hard to tell in the dim light and with half the skin missing. At the same time two similar looking beasts stalked around the corner of a nearby machine, eys lowered, glaring at us angrily. These looked like the undead... but they moved with a feral grace that the zombies we had faced before couldn't muster. I didnt have time to wonder why.
"WASTE EM!" I screeched as I fired my shotgun at the nearest dog. The flesh tore from its shoulder where the pellets hit, but it only seemed to anger the beast. The pair in front of us launched themselves forward. Jeff opened fire while I pumped the spent shell. His rounds hit somewhere in the body of the lead dog. I could hear Darrell cursing and firing his pistol, but I couldnt turn to help him as one of the gruesome animals lept towards me. I only had time to bring my shotgun up to block, placing the gun's length squarely between it's jaws. The force of the impact knocked me down, and I found myself wrestling with the beast for control of my weapon.
There was gunfire and shouts and curses all around, but all I could see was the red-hot hatred burning in the eyes of the animal that was perched on top of me, shaking the gun in it's mouth violently. It reeked of rot and something else more foul that I couldnt identify. The dog let loose of the shotgun and lunged foward past my defense, jaws opened wide to reveal impossibly sharp teeth and a rotting tongue. I gasped and struggled but it moved towards my throat unhindered... but was suddenly flung aside with a sickening crunch of breaking bone. Braddly was standing over me, my staff in his hands. He held it like a baseball bat and had, in my book, just scored a home run.
The wounded zombie-dog slid across the concrete and his one of the nearby machines, losing more of its flesh on the jagged edges and exposed blades. It hefted itself back to its feet, snarled angrily, and bolted back for us. Just as it reached my feet it lept, aiming for Braddly. I aimed my shotgun and fired, sending the beast, sans torso, flying up and backwards. It fel limp on impact. I scrambled to my feet, looking around. Jeff was emptying rounds into a barely moving dog, and another one lay nearby, twictching its hind leg fitfully, a clean bullethole in its head.
There was no sign of Darrell...