Chapter 8

Samantha scrounged up every bit of items the mad scientist had on him before inching down slowly into the lower depths that were the basement floors. Almost immediately, a wave of repulsive stench effused throughout the bottom of the stairway, causing the adrenaline-sick Sam to gag. No one should have to go through this horror, she thought, wondering just how, if even given a chance, she would survive the ordeal.

Damn it, why? Why me?

She blinked hard, knowing that getting all panicky at that moment would most definitely get her killed.

"Don't want to end up like the others, right?" she told herself shakily, just the thought of her coworkers' deaths causing a shiver down her spine. Continuing into the rather tight and dark corridor, she flickered on the flashlight she foraged from before, the light dimming every few seconds; a signal that if she didn't hurry, she'd not only be alone in a nightmarish lab, but also in the pitch dark.

Shots were fervently being shot above, the sounds echoing into her ears like knives on a chalkboard. At that same instant, she glanced down at the gun in her hands, some blood still fresh from the sickening event before. She prayed she wouldn't have to use it, but at the same time feeling a kind of comfort she couldn't really explain. She obviously didn't have any experience with a gun but it was all she had for now.

Sam felt a trickle of sweat drip down her back, then down her forehead. Despite the dankly frigid basement air, she felt feverish, her body shaking from both nervousness and the temperature difference. She stopped mid-stride and gasped sharply when her foot sank into something. She wildly flashed the light at it, instinctively backing away ever so slowly as she realized it was some muddy trail that continued down the hall. It wasn't until the smell worsened that she paused briefly, and the realization smacked her in the face just as she discovered that the trail was blood, not mud. Filthy, rotting, repugnant blood.

So much, so much blood. Can't be, just can't be. . .

It seemed to trail onward and onward, Sam merely following the trail with the dying flashlight, the blood trail just barely curving around the corner in which she could not see. She hesitated for what felt like minutes, hardly noticing that she was emitting a whining sound of fear and disgust.

"I have to keep moving," she thought, "if I go back now, I could get in the way of their gunfight. But if I just stand idly here, the light will go out and. . ."

It was enough motivation. She kept up the pace, her rubbery legs ready to get her away from any possible danger. The corner itself had some sort of box set in the wall, apparently some sort of device for the electricity in the basement. The wiring inside of it was all cut, the wires sliced symmetrically; somebody had done it purposely. Her heart then sank even lower than it already had as she came around and saw, as much as heard the horrific death.

She gave out a strangled, involuntary gasp that disturbed the creature's feast. About several feet away, the hunched over figure of what looked like a person was eating a person in a lab suit. No, the flesh was still intact. It was-

-sucking the blood . . . !

It turned its face around so abruptly, Sam had no time to react. Its face was as pale as the other embryos that came out of both the scientist and Timothy Jones. Only something was quite different about it. Its sudden gaze startled her, her unsteady hands letting go of the flashlight in her panic. The light went amuck, the final view of the violent, skinny creature leaping for her blood. She started for a sprint back where she came, her right hand on the wall, guiding her as she heard the thing scrabbling at the sticky floor, breathing high-pitched and heavily with a bloodlust she could not recognize. The vampire monster let out a high screech of frustration a second later as if not able to navigate to her quick enough. Sam reached the stairs, fumbling for her gun– and fell straight on ass, part of the steps pressing painfully against her right thigh.

Ugh, no!

In a desperate response to save herself, she flung her arm forward and fired two quick shots, the ping of a shot going off. A few seconds later, she listened carefully for any sounds. There was a gurgling, liquid noise coming from the ground just a few feet in front of her. Was it dead?

Using her only free hand, she felt her way up the stairs, her heart pulsing from her chest to her skin. The gun was aiming at the distant darkness, at the sound of a creature that was hopefully dying.

She noticed that the firing from the floor above had ceased. If the other two were dead, she, too, would meet her maker. The slightly ajar door behind her, the one leading back up, was suddenly thrown open, a deep breathing sound coming her way. She struggled to let out a word, any word that would call over anybody who lived, but the fear in her gut and the pain on her hip were too excruciating. She was either saved of doomed.

In the lovely, marble-floored room, the double doors swung slowly open, startling the dark-skinned man in a black tux and a long-haired man donning a ponytail and a blue tux. The sound of high-heeled shoes clattered softly against the floor as the lady came over toward the desk of the man in black.

"Hey, you called?" questioned the lady dressed in red as she reached black's desk. Blue moved over a bit as red leaned against the dark brown davenport.

"Ah, I see you finally found the time to speak with me," black responded, a mirthfulness behind his dark eyes.

"Don't forget, you're holding my money." Blue smiled at her, but she paid him no mind. "I managed to pay a visit to that 'pharmaceutical corporation' you spoke of earlier."

"Oh really?" blue replied from the side, his long, brown hair and blue eyes adding to his youthful look. "You must really be serious about this, huh?" Red just rolled her eyes away from him.

"Well? How did it turn out? Was it what you had expected?" Black put his hands together upon his desk, looking more interested than before she arrived.

"Hmph, they forgot to roll out my red carpet," red replied in kind. "They definitely weren't the most hospitable types. Then again, if they even took a glance at me, they would tell you-know-who. It'd be a rap for the both of us."

Black nodded briskly, looking down at his papers and twiddling his fingers on the desk. He grabbed hold of a sheet and lifted up for her to see. Blue leaned forward to take a glimpse, and red angled aside a little instinctively.

"It seems he has gotten his way after all," black stated simply, his mood becoming more foul-sounding than his previous amused one. "Somehow, he has gotten a sample of the Los Plagas and used it to gain access to the B.O.W. cache. He must have 'bugged' several of my higher ranking men." He glared mildly at red and then at blue.

"Impossible. What I gave him was-."

"Yes, I know." Black kept his eyes on red, searching for any look of guilt or defiance. He only saw slight agitation hidden under a cool gaze. Blue had just been looking down.

"My only last guess is that somebody synthesized the true sample before you got a chance to grab hold of it," black said, his stare still locked onto red's.

"Well, it couldn't have been the Spaniard. He couldn't have had the time or chance. Maybe it was. . ."

Blue interrupted her even before black could do so. "Why don't we continue that investigation before we proceed to newer ones, huh?"

"That won't be necessary," black said. "I'm already a step ahead. Lets have him thinking that he's in charge, at least for a little while. I want you two to begin looking into the American government. They've been notoriously shady as of late."

Red had already thought about a way that could be accomplished when black broke out again.

"You've both been pretty sloppy about the cover-ups. Let's hope this time will be much smoother."

With those last words, red and blue started for the door, not saying a word, starting for their next mission.

S H A W N

The words tore at him, giving way to unwanted feelings that Shawn had held in for hours. "No rescue?" How could that be possible? What were they thinking! His fury was gaining dominance over his sorrow, building and burning after everything he had underwent thus far.

"NO, there must be someone who can get us out! They couldn't just leave all of us here!" There was a brief pause as Jim sighed inwardly.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked, Shawn calming at the simplistic tone in his voice. "Have you noticed something strange about this operation, I mean about those that were deployed?"

". . . they're the same people we're always deployed with, Jim. What's the point?"

"Doesn't this particular scenario remind you of anything at all, Shawn?"

The changing strain in his voice began to scare Shawn. He had a pretty good idea at what he was hinting at, but . . .

"Just what are you getting at, Jim? What are you implying? Is it . . . no it can't be."

Jim just nodded slowly, his eyes appearing dowsed with tears that wouldn't fall. Shawn knew. It was Operation Biohazard, the operation gone awry. The same one the government denied, that nearly everyone told him was just a dream. And Jim had known. He knew it. It was never a dream. With that thought, he also finally realized help wasn't on its way.

"Damn it, Jim! What're we gonna do! If the government is against us for whatever the reason, what can we do!"

"Shawn," Jim called out, his voice one of reason, his eyes those of stern truth. "Freaking out won't help us, now. We need to get to the others and hurry. We need to get the hell out of this fucked-up land and get help. We'll save those we can along the way, but that's it. There no longer is a need to fulfill our duty. If we can find a safe passage, everything will turn out . . . well. We can go back and drink this off, pay our respects to our fallen comrades, and get those political scum for this! That, I do promise. For those that died needlessly here. . . and at that miserable operation."

Jim himself had been trembling slightly, but nonetheless, he was strong. His spiky blond hair revealed more sweat dripping from his scalp; he must've been exhausted. Shawn raised the shotgun and turned around.

"Well, I'll take the lead. Tell me where to turn."

"You sure, I mean it'd be easier if I just led." Shawn shook his head.

"You look beat, Jim. I'll take the lead." Jim smiled weakly, taking one last look at the mangled body of the beast with the nails he had sniped.

The two of them stared at the hole in the ceiling. Shawn spoke out first.

"If this door is locked over here, how did you get to the second floor?"

"Where I came in from, the stairs led up to this floor. For a minute, I'd have thought I was already on the first floor, and that this were a basement or something." Jim gave him a shrug, then pointed up. "Mind giving me a boost? I'll pull you up and we can go back the way I came." Shawn helped him up. He jumped up to grab hold of Jim's hand and pulled himself over. He couldn't help but wonder how cold his hands felt. It was quite chilly inside the eerie mansion, but his own hands were hot and sweaty from running and shooting.

Dismissing his curiosity, Shawn took in his new surroundings, noticing a lavish grand piano, a couple of well-kept couches, and several candles still lit, some overturned and burnt out, probably from the impact of the giant monster leaping through the floor. Another gaping hole led to a third floor, but going through the trouble was worthless; they had a strict time frame.

A dead body lay face-down, right below a hung painting of a man getting ready for an execution via guillotine. An ironic, yet depressing and frightening image. Several bullet holes were strewn not at the head, but at the chest.

"Let's go," Jim insisted. They passed through the next door, a hall extending to a solid wall. More bodies were riddled through the hall, two of them a white sickly color. Those two were also completely nude. . .

"Jim, I-."

Shawn noticed Jim scratching persistently at his neck, at the right side. He grabbed his arm to stop him and peered at the red rash. There were two holes punctured deep enough to look like bites, the holes clogged slightly with dried blood and puss.

"Jim, how- when did you get this?" he asked, his gaze sharp and worried. The expression on Jim's face betrayed a look of fear and acknowledgment, that the reason why Shawn asked was because of something horrible. Each one of the dead vampire zombies had two holes on their necks. What popped out from their chests were nothing human, but embryo-like. And Jim knew it all. His denial had boosted his morale, his hope. It gave him the strength to keep going, but the recognition hit him like a ton of bricks, and he was suddenly sweating profusely.

"Shawn, follow me," he commanded, his voice low and shaky. He walked calmly through the hall and toward the end. Shawn proceeded a few seconds after, feeling dizzy with anxiety and dread. How could he be. . . ?

"Jim, I-."

"Shawn, this is it. This wall spins around to some bedroom. We'll-."

Whatever he was going to say was drowned out by a large crash coming from the room they'd just come from. The door slammed open and off, the door flying out the window in an array of shiny glass shards, and out came the monster with the claws, many vine-like whips spurring out from where its head should have been. In a matter of seconds, the horrible face was remodeled by the tendrils perfectly, just the way it had been before. The whips disappeared and in the next moment, it was dashing toward them.

"GO!" Jim shouted, and he shoved Shawn into the revolving wall, to be left alone, to hear Jim's machine gun go off behind the stone wall.