Author's Note: Before I begin the story proper, I have a shoutout.
J.A. Swartz: I don't understand your review. I'm not an American, nor a communist, nor a woman.
Chapter 3: The Church2200 hours
We were…well, if not safe than at least out of danger for the time being.
After several minutes of running, we managed to duck into a wide alleyway, out of the zombies' sight, and possibly out of their minds. Hopefully. Chavez and Boehm blocked off the mouth of the alleyway with two nearby Dumpsters.
We gathered in a circle in the middle of the passage, and sat down, weapons still at the ready. A brief glance around revealed the fear and apprehension in everybody's faces. They were leaderless, and needed a new chief to lead the way. At least, some of them. The mercenaries from SpecOps units didn't.
"Okay people, this is what I think," I spoke.
"The mission is a clusterfuck. We're outnumbered, and have already lost three men. There is no hope of us clearing out the zombies from the city, not without more men, air support, artillery, tanks, maybe not even that.
"We've all been cut off from everybody. The powers that be didn't give us the frequencies of the other teams, so we can't contact them. Plus, TOC is now out of range of our radios. As far as I know, Anderson was carrying the radio that could reach TOC. There's no way we can get some sort of backup.
"Alpha-1's original mission was to rescue and resupply Bravo-1. That's all. We don't have to slog through Raccoon City; we don't have to clear it. I propose heading towards the extract point, and get the hell out of here. We don't clear the buildings, we don't do anything stupid, all we do is just survive until we are evac'd. Anybody with me?"
A Hobson's choice. There was no other way out. The Army had sealed off all routes in or out of Raccoon City, except by air. To clear the whole city with the five of us is suicidal, no matter what firepower we had.
The men saw that, and they all agreed.
"Okay. Let's take the fastest way out. According to my maps, we go straight down this alleyway, and travel in a straight line. We might have to detour through a few alleys, but it won't take long," I said.
We formed up again, and checked our gear. We recharged partially empty weapons, checked our pistols and ammunition, and redistributed our ammunition so that everybody had at least 300 rounds.
When that was done, the men lined up, and moved out. Traveling down the passageway, I noticed the grime and dirt-caked walls, covered with graffiti proclaiming all sorts of things. More rats scurried about, looking for anything they could feed on. In a city of the dead, only the animals thrive.
Leaving the alleyway, we came to an open street, and fanned out, covering all angles of fire while keeping our backs to a wall or a person. I looked around, seeing the remains of a concrete jungle. Houses and shops lined the streets, devoid of life and light. The streetlights provided amber patches of light, aiding the stars and moonlight.
Right in front of me was a church, a three-storey structure built of white-painted concrete and topped by a cross. The architecture was faintly European, with steep sloping roofs and solemn appearance. It used to be surrounded by a wooden fence, though it had collapsed in some places. The gate leading to it was locked, secured a sturdy lock, though it was unnecessary now.
My ears picked up a faint, feral growl at my 2 o'clock. Turning, I saw several dog-shaped shadows in an alley. They plodded deliberately towards us, coming out of the shadows and into the light. I raised my carbine, and so did the others.
Another growl came from my 11 o'clock. Even more dogs appeared out of a shadowy alley, and approached us menacingly.
Overhead, an unseen murder of crows cawed and shrieked, as though, and quite possibly, baying for living flesh and blood.
"On three, run for the church," I whispered, voice just loud enough for everyone to hear.
"One…"
The dogs started growling continuously. I spotted one of them in the light, barely fifty meters away from me. It had no skin, just muscles and sinews, tinted orange under the light.
"Two…"
They prepared themselves to pounce on us. I aimed at the head of the closest dog.
We were pre-empted. Before I could form the word 'Three', they leapt at us, barking wildly and jaws snapping.
"RUN!" I screamed, pulling the trigger, firing a three-round burst.
The three rounds struck through, lifting the dog and throwing it backwards several feet in a bloody spray. I saw its head snap back and dissolve as I started to move. The mercs fired, muzzle flashes and reports filling the air with fury and sound, rattling off long bursts. Some cries of pain were the mercenaries' only reward.
Charging forward, I made for a breach in the fence, as the crows started to dive. Instinct told me to sidestep; I did so, just avoiding a crow. I didn't bother shooting it; that was a waste of ammo.
Adrenaline coursed through me again, and everything went into a bizarre state of slow motion, as though someone had fast-forwarded and slowed down the current situation simultaneously. I dived through the gap, rolling as I hit the ground. Picking myself up, I made for the door, Chan and Boehm ahead of me.
Boehm reached the door first. He tried the door handle, discovering that the door was locked. He gave it a kick, but nothing happened. Chan and he slammed their body mass into it, to no avail. Finally, the Chinese-American withdrew his 17-in-1 kit, unfolded a knife blade, and jammed it into the lock.
"Cover me!" he cried, just as we reached him.
Turning around, I raised my carbine. The others had made it through, and followed me. I saw a dog leap through the air over one of the gaps in the fence, and pumped three rounds into its center of mass. The bullets dug into it, yawed, and burst out the other side, flinging it into the air.
Thompson's machinegun spoke, firing off burst after burst at the incoming dogs. Looking up, I saw the crows coming towards us. Placing the carbine's stock on my hip, I pointed it at them, and pulled the trigger, emptying carbine in one long burst, scattering the murder. A few of them fell from the sky, torn apart by the fusillade.
"Chan, any time now!" I shouted, reloading the M4A1.
"Almost…" he grunted.
A pair of dogs jumped through a breach. Aiming at the first one, I fired another three-round burst into it, slamming it into the ground and breaking its spine. Turning to the other, Chavez and I fired another burst at it, ripping it to shreds of blood and meat. Chavez reloaded his carbine with shaky hands, on the verge of panic.
"Done!" Chavez yelled, opening the doors.
We piled in through the entrance, Thompson providing a one-man rearguard with a withering barrage of gunfire. When we were through, he entered the church, and shut the door, just in time to hear a dog or two slam its head into the heavy door and break something.
Turning around, I beheld an unlit room, covered in shadows. The only light came in from the windows high above, not nearly enough to dispel the dark. I lowered the NVGs.
"…Anyone else here has NVGs?" Chavez asked.
"Me," I replied, switching the goggles on.
The world transformed into shades of green, allowing me to make out details. We were in the hall, or whatever the main room of a church was called. Aisles of chairs filled the middle of the room, in front of an empty stage and pulpit. An organ stood at the backstage.
The stink of death hung in the air, as though—
"Ugh…" something moaned.
I turned to face the sound, seeing a zombie get up from behind an aisle. Pointing the carbine at its chest, I fired a five-round burst at it, seeing it jerk around a little before collapsing.
"What was that?" Thompson asked.
"A zombie," I replied, "cover me. I'm going to finish it off."
Keeping my carbine raised, I walked over to it, ready to deliver the coup de grace.
There were several problems with the night vision gear we had. They had a limited field of view, since it only uses one lens to view everything. It also reduces vision to 20/40 or so. Finally, it is nearly impossible to aim anything with it on, unless one had iron sights. Unfortunately, the NVGs made aiming with the iron sights nearly impossible, thanks to its design.
I approached the 'dead' zombie. It was still twitching, despite the five smoking, bloody holes in its chest. I placed the muzzle of the carbine near its head, and pulled the trigger.
Without warning, Chavez screamed, his cries becoming liquid. Turning around, I saw a long…object…embedded in his chest. Turning to face its origin, I saw a four-legged creature matching Johnston's description, clinging onto the walls.
"Shoot where I shoot!" I shouted.
Raising the carbine, I fired a burst at it, and so did Thompson. The other mercenaries caught on, and fired roughly where we were shooting. It staggered under the force of the shots, but it didn't collapse. Instead, it dislodged itself from the wall, leaving a bloody trail. It landed on all fours, and started crawling towards me at high speed.
Biting off a mental curse, I fired another burst at it, sweeping its body as best as I could, seeing it approach me. Finally, it went limp. Walking over to it, I saw its cause of death: a destroyed brain. The other bullets penetrated its body, but remained lodged inside for one reason or another, so they didn't perform as advertised. As expected.
"What was that?" Chan asked.
"Anderson called it a 'Licker'. How's Chavez?"
"No good; he's dead," Boehm replied, examining his body.
"…Okay, take his NVGs and ammo. We'll have to push on."
Strangely enough, Boehm closed Chavez's eyelids, and made the sign of the cross before grabbing his dog tags. No time for proper mourning until we were home free, if ever. Then, he removed Chavez's NVGs and wore them.
"Okay, how do we get out of here?" I asked, recharging the carbine.
"I don't know. I think there's a back door somewhere," Chan replied.
The remaining four of us formed up, and made our way through the hall, keeping to the right wall. Keeping my carbine raised, I scanned for threats with my NVGs. Nothing.
Stepping forward carefully, we kept everything to a minimum; light, sound, noise, anything that may give our position away. My breath came in ragged spurts, anxious to refill my lungs before the next battle.
"Tango, 12 o'clock!" Boehm yelled.
Turning, I saw a zombie pick itself up. Then, I noticed that there were more bodies lying on the floor amidst the aisles, and some of them were getting up, too. Only one thing to do.
"Fire at will!" I shouted.
The four of us burst into a firestorm. Raising the carbine, I gunned down the closest zombie, seeing it collapse. Boehm's Uzi spat out a string of explosions, contrasting with the sharp chatter of the M4s and the roar of Thompson's machinegun. Time slowed just so, and everything became sharp and clear.
Rotating right, I shot down another zombie just as another man did the same, tearing off most of its flesh. Boehm was making continual headshots; his weapon could be aimed normally, NVGs or no.
A pair of zombies were chopped in half, and I fired a short burst at one of the survivors. It staggered backwards, and then its head snapped back, courtesy of a headshot. I turned my attention to an approaching trio of zombies, and fired off the hip, burning the rest of my magazine into them, seeing them fall under the scythe of lead.
I executed a speed reload, and looked up again, seeing another Licker approaching us. In the confusion, it had gone unnoticed, until now. I fired a burst at it, shouting a warning to the others.
Too late. The Licker's tongue shot out, and Chan screamed.
Something snapped.
"BASTARD!" Thompson screamed, temporarily forgetting where he was.
We focused our fire on that one monster, firing long bursts into it. A second later, its head virtually exploded, and it collapsed. Looking up, I saw a final pair of zombies moving towards us. I pointed the carbine at them, and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
I slung the carbine over my shoulder, and drew the P1 on the right, going into a Weaver stance: one arm bent, one arm locked, one leg leading, one leg behind, and semicrouched. I focused on the front sight of the pistol, placing it over the head of the closer zombie, and started to squeeze the trigger.
The target disappeared. I looked for the other zombie, seeing nothing. Lowering the pistol, I saw the zombies were on the ground, dead, dying, whatever.
Holstering the pistol, I turned to the M4.
It was jammed, in this case a double feeding. Two rounds were stuck in the chamber, so neither would fire. Ejecting the magazine, I cocked the M4A1 several times, and saw the bullets fall out and hit the floor.
Then, I swapped the spacer clip within the carbine for a fresh one. Such a jam is caused by either faulty ammunition or faulty magazines, and it would be stupid to re-use a bad magazine.
I looked at Chan.
He was okay, after a fashion. He had sidestepped at the last second, so the tongue caused a clean in-and-out wound on the right side of his abdomen. It missed everything important, and Chan could walk, albeit with a lot of pain.
Removing his body armor, Boehm dressed the wound with Chan's personal first-aid pouch, and wrapped it up with a field dressing when the bleeding stopped. Boehm could not give Chan anything for the pain, since it would cloud his judgment. While Chan knew the reason, that did not mean that he liked that notion.
"Will he be all right?" Thompson asked.
"Yes…if he doesn't get hit again, and if we CASEVAC (casualty evacuation) him soon. The bleeding's stopped, but there's a high risk of infection. We need to get him out of here, and fast," Boehm replied grimly.
"All the more reason to get out of here. Tony, can you walk?" I asked.
"Barely…" he grunted, standing up.
"C'mon, let's go."
We continued our journey, in search of an exit
Killing is a sin, especially in a house of God. Perversely enough, the Bible contains many passages about war and death: David vs. Goliath, Jericho, the plagues inflicted upon the people of Egypt. Some times, it's enough to drive a man away from religion.
War is the ultimate judge of men and nations. Death is the end result, of course, death by the hands of men. Still…
Some things weren't worth thinking about.
There wasn't a back door at the left end of the church. Making our way through the dead and almost-living zombies, we crossed over to the right side, guns ready. Every time we saw a body twitch, we pumped it with several rounds. We never took any chances in the game of death.
Finally, I saw it. There was a door marked 'EXIT' at the extreme left end of the church. Making our way there, I tried the door. It was locked. Looking at the lock, I noted that it was a dead bolt.
Still, there was another way…
"Howard, think you can kick this door down?"
He walked over to me, and inspected it through his night sight.
"Yeah. The door's made of wood, and the hinges look like they're rusty. Only one way to find out," he said.
Taking several steps back, he took a deep breath. Then, he charged at it, achieving his maximum velocity just short of the door. At the last second, he lashed out with his boot, targeting the right side of the door.
The door came off its hinges with a massive BANG, and a long vertical crack developed on the left side of the door. The section attached to the dead bolt stayed where it was, while the rest fell backwards, yielding to Thompson's strength.
Squeezing through the door, we entered another back alley, in a city full of back alleys. This one was lit by electric lights mounted on the walls, about twelve feet high up. There was a red-painted metal gate at the far end, beckoning us.
We formed up again, and walked towards it.
John Milton once said, "Long is the way and hard that out of Hell that leads up to the light."
He didn't account for this situation.
Author's Note: I'm back. Sorry for the delay; I had a case of writer's block, and I have to juggle many tasks at once. Unfortunately, I need reviews, preferably constructive criticism. I won't have much time next year to write, so I need to know whether or not I can continue with this story.