Disclaimer: I don't own any of the names, characters or places lifted from the already existing Resident Evil universe. Nor do I own any of the products mentioned in the text. I don't get any profit from this. In fact, if you want to give me piles of cash because you think the story is so good, you can't.
Before anyone starts laughing and pointing I'd like to apologize for any misspellings and grammatical curiosities. (Translating into English forces me to think and it really slows me down.)
As a last note I'd like to warn that the text does contain some bad language and violence (mostly zombies getting their heads smashed in), so if you are offended by this, or just aren't interested, I suggest you turn around right now.
Resident Evil: T-QR
Episode 03:"A Rollercoaster-ride Back to Town"
Nat hadn't been driving for more than five minutes when the first burst sang through the forest. After it, several more, both single shots and bursts. From Nat's point of view it seemed to be coming from far away, but different parts of the woods. And from both sides of the road. Now and then what sounded like explosions lit up in the distance.
Then it suddenly let off. Nat kept his attention to any signs of the battle starting up again and getting to close for comfort. But he didn't hear it again for a while, and when it did appear again he wouldn't have to worry about noticing it.
Half an hour after the last round rang a lump passed the pickup on the right side. The forest road was full of piles of stuff, so at first Nat didn't notice. Half a blink of an eye later, how ever, he realized it had been a body. He hit the brakes and backed up about 15 feet.
The dark coloured man was dressed in a black tactical suit, like some especial ops soldier, or something. The arms on his jacket had pockets. The legs on his pants had pockets. His vest was absolutely covered in them. They had probably held weapons, ammunition and all kinds of special gear. And all were now empty, except for two grenades hanging from hoops on the side of his vest.
Round as baseballs with handles down one side, and of course the notorious ring, they were heavier than they looked. Nat walked over to the passenger side and opened the door. He put the two grenades in one of the side pockets, and was startled as something moved in the bushes.
Turning towards the back of the car he spotted the wet shine. The beast was standing on all fours just by the rear lights. The oversized tongue spat out. Nat ducked and drew. The limb sliced through the side of the car like it was made of tinfoil. Side window shattering above him, Nat opened fire.
Because of his position he hadn't pulled more than one gun, and the seven rounds went in no-time. But this time he saw they hit. Thick droplets of dark blood scatting out as the bullets penetrated its shoulders and head. A second later it had gathered itself and moved away, behind the car.
Nat switched guns immediately and heard the licker crawl up along the other side of the Ford. It stopped, beyond doubt preparing for the attack. Seeing what the ting could do with a window or a door, Nat knew that it would get him before he could get the car started. He had to face it off.
Closing the door he expected the licker to attack over the roof or around the front. He didn't know why, it just seemed natural, but as the thought became clear to him, he suddenly realized it was wrong. The crawling bastard would of course attack from underneath.
His heart jumping with the revelation - he didn't know how it managed it, in the middle of its already wild gallop – and he jumped up on the platform side. As he did so the whipping tongue sliced through his ghost ankles, stirring up grabble in its wake. The head and shoulders showed up not long after, up side down.
Waiting just long enough to get something solid to hit Nat emptied the Colt with only that in mind: Getting as much lead into that ugly head as possible. The beast pulled itself back under, but Nat saw its movement had changed. He reloaded and jumped back down. It was twitching in the dark, and Nat fired till it stopped.
He rose with a shiver running down his back. Adrenaline made the night air feel thick like wool and his ears throbbed lazily. He gave him self a pat on the shoulders, for a job well done. Unfortunately the place was a little occupied. A gloved hand had grabbed him, belonging to the dead soldier. The man's other arm tried to assist, but being shredded from the shoulder down it only flapped at his side.
The zombie jerked as Nat pulled free, its grip firmer than Nat had expected. He had the muzzle almost in the man's face as he fired. The last three rounds in the gun made hollow clanks as they hit the inside of the helmet, ricocheting of the armoured metal and scrambling things about.
Ego back in place Nat quickly replaced both clips. He circled the car to the driver side, and standing to open the door his ego hit the bumpy forest road. In the outskirts of the bright headlights three figures moved, low to the ground and glistening.
Ripping the door open he threw himself in and got the gear in first. Letting go of the clutch the four-wheel drive spun only a second before the Ford jumped into action. Jumped meaning it jolted forward. Nat had in the sudden hurry all but forgotten the carcass under the car. He almost lost control, but only a second later the heavy pickup was back on track.
The lickers initiated their attack as soon as they realized the boy would flee. The unexpected movement of the vehicle however forced them to rethink their approach. One of them didn't get out of the way soon enough and the chromed fender hit it in the side. Half a heartbeat later it rolled, and went under the wheels. Again the car jolted, and again Nat just barely saved it from the ditch.
In the mirrors he could see one of the lickers seemingly out of the game. The other two however threw themselves around and took up the hunt. He would have floored it if it hadn't been for the state of the road. Rolling over in the roadside or breaking an axel in a pothole right now would be a quick death at best.
Still the speed was adequate, and with an open mouthed, closed jawed grin on his sweaty face he saw the beasts fall back. Five minutes later he ran over a fishing line stretched across the road. Only because the trap was meant for a slower moving game, and the trigger was set to four seconds, Nat and the Ford got away clean. He took cover, shocked by the sudden explosion at the side of the road and the metal fragments whistling through the air.
Getting up again Nat wheeled the pickup to the side, by a hair's width avoiding the man in the road. He was dressed like the dead guy; a black combat suit with stuff hanging off all over the place. He had a gun to, a nasty looking one with two barrels and several magazines, looking like it could do everything except firing itself.
Almost vertical to the road from not hitting the guy Nat had to restart the choked engine. The guy was at his window, in a movement which seemed rehearsed, with the nasty weapon thrust against the glass. "Get out off the car! I'm taking over this vehicle!"
Nat froze, not knowing what to do. The Ford was running, and his hand had stopped inches over the stick.
"You deaf, boy!"
Nat still didn't move.
"…!" The angry man opened his mouth to yell some more when something caught his attention. It was coming down the road, and there were two of them.
The guy turned around. His gun made a hollow pop, like high pressure suddenly being released, and parts of the all ready bad road up ahead exploded. He followed up with automatic fire for a few seconds. As the gun clicked and he grabbed a new clip he yelled to Nat; "Don't move an inch!" He sent a few more glowing projectiles towards the dodging beasts.
"We can get…!" was the last Nat heard of the guy as he span the hell out of there.
Lights were still blinking behind him as Nat turned a corner. He had slightly too high a speed, and salvaging the course took up most of his attention. For that reason Nat was probably the more surprised as the third tactically dressed man came way too close for comfort. The right side of the hood took the blunt force, but some body part also slammed into the windscreen.
The man must have been carrying a revolver, because one jumped in front of the screen like a cockroach on a hotplate before one particularly vengeful pothole made it disappeared off to somewhere. He must also have held something bigger and heavier. A bag; big and square, made a serious dent in the front of the grill and the hood. It got thrown up and over the roof, hit the platform with a nasty clank before it knocked the tailgate open.
As Nat returned his gaze from the rear view mirror he was shown why you should never take your eyes of the road for too long at a time. One of those sharp-tongued monsters came at him at a run. As mentioned before the beasts didn't have any eyes, but it seemed surprised enough as it hit the grill.
In a shower of blood the naked body splashed on to the bonnet. It slid, kicking its legs and twitching to find foothold, into the windscreen. The bare brain left an imprint of greyish pink on the cobweb of cracks. Sprawling for a second it slid off.
Nat turned on the windscreen wipers, and had to supply with the washer to remove those hard to get stains. The headlights had taken on a pink haze which compromised their efficiency. He knew it was tempting fate, but he stopped the car and switched the empty clips with full ones before he sped up again.
Things seemed to calm down. Two or three minutes passed without incident, but then he made a small hill and down on the other side four creatures were hunched over two finished-off-turkey-shaped bodies. All four sat up as the lights hit them.
The narrow road was blocked, but Nat didn't slow down. Something made him keep his speed up. It was probably instinct or reflex, up until now keeping the Ford rolling had been the only thing keeping him alive. However, the rational part of his brain told him that that tactic might not work here. The carcasses certainly weren't going to move, and it didn't seem like the lickers were ready to leave the table just yet either.
The slightly effeminate pink headlights were on the crowed in seconds. Nat threw the car to the right, missing the main mass of the dead bodies, but taking off a leg or two. The four huge tires skidded sideways towards the road ditch. One licker didn't get out of the way end got sliced in half across the back. The two others in the immediate range jolted sideways, but one got kissed on the hip.
Sliding into the relatively deep ditch at the side of the road the Ford started to loose speed. The front wheels struggled to climb up the loose grabbles. All three lickers had taken up the chase, and one could almost taste the car. It jumped forwards and planted its claws in the lowered tailgate.
For a moment it was dragged after the car, but it got foothold and kicked itself on to the platform. Nat, watching the whole thing in the rear view mirror, hoping the ugly mother wouldn't make it – saw it brace itself before it came diving forwards. The rear window shattered in a million shards, and suddenly some herpes infested dickhead on steroids, with its own six feet tongue, was ravaging the inside of the cabin.
Nat tore out a gun with his left hand and emptied the magazine into the pulsating brain at point blank. The beast shrieked in a hoarse, high-pitch note, and when the gun clicked it lay there twitching in random spasms. The tongue lay motionless over the gearshift and down among the pedals and Nat's feet.
Then the front wheels found traction or the ditch narrowed out; the Ford jumped back on the road, and Nat barely saved it from a repetition on the other side. The speed hadn't been that great down in the roadside. Slow enough in fact for the other two lickers to come right up alongside the car. They stumbled sideways as the car went back on the road, but kept up the pursuit.
Noticing the company Nat tried to speed up, but the horrible condition of the road kept him at a sprinting pace. It seemed for a moment that he had, if not lost, at least thrown them back; when a sound like someone attacked the door with a gigantic can opener begged for differ. The glinting red shape clung to the side of the car, slowly tearing through metal sheeting, framework and polished, genuine leather interior.
Nat drew with his right hand, and steadying on his left arm he fired into the door. The bullets went straight through, and there was no doubt that they hit what they were supposed to on the other side. The licker shook with every hit and lost its grip before Nat had fired the last round.
Behind the car the wounded, but not defeated licker rolled like a stumbling horse down a steep hill. The other licker dodged his comrade. It cost them a couple of feet, but soon they were back on his tail.
The road not giving any signs of flattening out Nat realized that he wouldn't loose these stalkers just with high hopes and persistence. He needed a stronger remedy. The kind that went boom. Not really wanting to touch the huge, naked brain bleeding between the seats Nat tried to move it over with his elbow. It was surprisingly heavy, and the shoulders were jammed in and held fast by the broken glass.
Still he managed to pull the bag towards himself and get a glimpse of the two grenades. It didn't exactly come as a surprise that the window didn't respond to the little plastic button on the door panel. He had to open it by other means.
Using his left hand to steer he fumbled behind his back and pulled out to new magazines. He held the guns against the steering wheel while he replaced the clips. It didn't feel completely safe, with the bumpy road and bad lights, but it went without incident, although the speed had subsided slightly, and the lickers gained on him.
He wasn't sure if the glass would explode, or what. Attempting to protect as much of his face as he could he elevated his left arm and shoulder, and lower his head. Then he rested the gun hand on the arm and fired. Five slugs pounded through the window, making it milky white, but not removing it. It had however gotten pulverized, and as he punched through with the muzzle it popped out and was gone.
With the gun back in its holder, Nat bent over and fished up the first grenade. A complete virgin on the field, ha took a few seconds to orientate himself with the boom-fruit. Holding it in his left fist he secured a firm grip around the handle. Fumbling for the ring with his tongue he caught it in his teeth.
Hesitating for a second he pulled the pin. The two beasts still chased him, no more than 30 or 40 feet behind. He didn't know how long a fuse these things had, but he guessed five, or six seconds. That would mean the grenade would be far behind them as it went off.
Aware he might be doing something stupid he let go of the handle. It flung itself away in a spring-loaded dive, but Nat didn't let go of the grenade. He held on till he had counted to two, then he simply dropped it. It hit the gravel road, and in its only bounce barely reached three inches. It rolled, and came to rest in a small, but comfy hole.
Three seconds later the fuse hit the charge and the metal ball exploded. Two figures had just passed, and the grenade's sharp fragments cut through flesh and bone. They both shirked their high-pitch screams. One of them didn't get up.
Nat straightened up from his brace-position and noticed that only one of the creatures continued the hunt. It might very well be that he had won this round, but he didn't intend to take any chances. He bent over the naked, bleeding head and snatched up the last boom-fruit. More into the routine and feeling much more secure about the whole operation, he yanked out the ring and held the grenade handle-free for a few seconds before he let it drop.
From his sunken position he saw the sudden explosion erupt almost directly underneath the licker. It got lobbed up in the air, in several pieces, along with smoke, fire and road. Shrapnel struck the car this time too, and Nat felt himself twitch a little at the sound. It felt like they were flying right past his head.
As if the night actually had the power to undo the last hour's events, the road was left empty, silent and dark for almost a mile. Nat sat there driving with the eco of gunshots, explosions and screaming wheels in his head, unable to believe how silent the forest had gotten. He couldn't remember it ever being this quiet.
And as if lady luck, charm or destiny, or who ever had taken over the string pulling around here, decided to apologise gun bursts again filled the air. It had to be more than two, probably three automatic guns going off at ones. Blinking lights between the trunks, just around a turn, betrayed the battles location.
Nat halted the car and turned off the lights. He could hear orders being shouted in between the bursts. Suddenly a stray bullet clonked through the passenger door and disappeared into Mr. Brain. Nat jumped as the limp head wobbled like a thick bag full of jelly. If it hadn't been there, neither would Nat anymore. He wondered if he should feel grateful towards the thing, but only came to the conclusion that not asking such questions was what he should be worrying about.
He had to get out of here, and there was only one road. He replaced the partially spent clip, noticing there was only two left on his back. Easing the vehicle around the corner, hoping he wouldn't get spotted right away. Down the road, where it broadened out slightly, three black draped people were barely holding off seven or eight lickers.
Still with the lights off Nat slammed the hammer down, the Ford roared furiously. He tried to get it up to third along the short strip. He was spotted almost immediately, but no one took any action before he was halfway there. One of them, a young woman, opened fire towards him. Several rounds hit the engine compartment and four or five pierced the windscreen, but no one got close to him.
The first he hit was a licker. It had raised itself up on its hind legs, and took the blunt force of the Ford's passenger side headlights in the hip. It somersaulted like a rag doll out of the way. The car got pushed to the right and adopted a slight skid.
A fraction of a moment later another licker received the skidding front wheel over its spread out back. Both its ends bent up, and for a moment the tongue shock like it were electrified. The Ford jumped and levelled itself out for a second, but then its ass started to swing. It showed up on the right side, as the wheels lost traction on the gravel. The lights and lowered rear-gate fender-bended one of the soldiers out of the road.
Two lickers on the other side of the now broken circle tried to get out of the two-ton runaway steel plated ram. Caching first a leg, and thereby holding it in place, the Ford spun up ones back. Desperate for traction on the wet, slippery surface the deep tracked front wheel dug through spine and intestines and spat it all out sideways as Nat was pulling the steering wheel to straighten up the car.
This was where the road cleared up a little. It got a little broader and it got a little wider. Nat used it to its fullest and sped up, the four or five lickers picking up the chase not really worrying him. He knew the conditions would only get better as he neared the city, and no way could they keep up with him on asphalt.
Calmed by these jolly feelings something strange was happening up ahead. As the deep forest started to give and the road straightened out, he could see further. It was like the road wobbled. Almost like it was liquid. Then he realized, in the pink glare, that it was – and it must at least have been – two dozen lickers coming dead at him.
A 35 to 40 feet section of the road glittered in stripped muscles and tendons. At this point Nat was in no doubt. He could do nothing but step on it.
Hitting those first lickers was like suddenly entering winter conditions. After the Ford's front had jumped, and slammed back down, the car struggled to find grip. All four tires spat blood and muscle tissue. Nat felt the ground move and change as he desperately tried not to loose too much speed.
One rear and one front wheel finally struck road, and the car jolted forward. It was uneven traction it had found, but it lasted only for a few seconds. In what felt like a heartbeat the road was clear in front of him. The lickers had moved out of the way, and the car shilly-shallied slightly as it sped up, Nat realizing he was flooring it.
Claws and tongues tried to grab hold of the car, so Nat wasn't going to slow down despite the ominous lack of control. He was past the parade in moments, but noted with a fast glance in the few still percent mirrors that it had taken up chase.
The trees giving out meant the road was also getting better. The gravel foundation and twisting path still made 25 feel like almost 60, but at least he was loosing his tail. A shivering grin creeping up on his stiff lips Nat released a nervous laugh.
The trees giving out also meant more light was allowed from the stars and the moon high above him. The world was painted again in shades of black and Nat could just make out the ravine and the bridge up ahead. The ground was now sloping and had it been daylight he would have been able to see all the way to town from here. At night the white, yellow and read lights was the only thing revealing that there was actually anything out there in the ocean of dark.
The road had straightened out too, and nothing kept Nat from bringing the hammer down. Except one tiny tinkle in his gut, telling him something wasn't quite right. Ignoring it at first he became aware of this "something" that his subconscious obviously already had noted.
There was something strange with the bridge. It had things bending upwards, like steel beams or something. And the middle section seemed to be missing.
Slamming the breaks in panic Nat stared at the support beams bending up like they had at some point been no more solid than H-shaped strips of soldering led. Quick glances in the mirror showed the army of darkness tumbling over each other coming out of the woods.
His alternatives were rotating fast in his head. Problem was; there was only one alternative, and the lap time kept getting shorter. With no more time to think Nat released the clutch and the Ford impatiently bolted into a slow jog. Gearing up to second the car sped up to a good run, and at third it was sprinting.
Bumps were magnified as Nat was pushed unto his seat. He saw the remnants of the bridge slightly bending up like a ski jump. The clutch united the engine and the driveshaft in fourth and new power seemed to be injected into the very soul of the Ford just as it hit the jump.
Under the bonnet something roared like a caged lion, the car seemed to hit a solid wall, and Nat's world view was suddenly dominated entirely by the stars and moon high above him. He experienced a moment of complete silence, although the V8 was showing off more than ever. His tender cheeks left the leather seat and the only thing keeping him in place was the seatbelts and his death grip on the steering wheel.
The heavy engine caused the car to tilt forward into a dive, but before the angle got too steep the flight was over and Nat slammed into the seat to the sound of something solid braking. He bounced back up once and hit his head in the sealing.
In the confusing seconds following he didn't se much. Nat felt the car was behaving strangely, it didn't respond to the commands he gave it trough the wheel, and instead it screamed like some iron animal with two broken legs. It had taken on a dangerous U-turn which was leading them both back towards the ravine edge.
Reflexes kicking in before reason - just as well - Nat put all his weight on the breaks. The Ford stopped almost instantaneously. The kid sat there breathing heavily; knuckles white and his fingerprints permanently imprinted in the genuine leather covering the steering wheel, his shoulder joints would probably rip off before his grip. The nose of the car just peaking out over the vertical drop, Nat had been given a panorama view to the spectacle that was about to take place.
The lickers still came hurtling down on him. The pinkish headlights illuminating them dead on; naked brains glistering, tongues whipping like alien tentacles and shoulders working with frightening strength. As the red herd neared the missing piece of landscape they started to skid. Massive claws dug into the ground, but the speed was high and the once behind kept pushing on.
Some skidded sideways off the edge; four legs spread out like the support beams on heavy cranes and diggers and the claws leaving deep grooves. Some simply dived, desperately trying to find foothold in the relatively loose soil, but failing and disappearing in the dark. Some took a chance, and jumped. But the distance was too great, and they too disappeared out of Nat's view.
Barely a fourth was left on the bank when the lemming-impressions had ended. They lay there on all fours sniffing in the air, trying to sense another way over, Nat guessed. He tore the Ford in reverse and the rear wheels practically pulled the rest of the car backwards. Solid scrape marks were left in the dirt.
So far back Nat could no longer see the cliff side he finally halted the worn out car. It almost seemed to thank him as he turned the ignition and the engine stopped. Stepping out with his flashlight the damage became clear. There wasn't a single panel without scratches, dents, rips and holes. There was more scratched up metal and smeared blood than metallic dark blue.
And of course the front wheels had almost disappeared into the hood. Bent up and inwards they looked like some failed imitation of retracted landing gear. The Ford had defiantly served its purpose. Nat checked the glove compartment, without finding anything of use, before he pulled the bag out. He refilled the empty magazines and started walking towards the light.
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