A little government and a little luck are necessary in life, but only a fool trusts either of them.
- P.J. O'Rourke
The tunnel lit up with the residual energy that came with the flame shot. A bullet pierced out of the Exeter, but as soon as the oxygen in the surrounding area came into contact with it, it exploded into a single shot of fire, mixing in well with the steel properties of the projectile.
The flame shot burst once again, separating from one burning projectile into five slightly smaller variations, all of which slammed right into the Licker's face, engulfing the monster and setting it aflame. It's screeches of pain filled the previously silent room as it backed away from the tunnel, the flames still visible over top of the hole leading inside of the tunnel.
The sleeve that was caught on a piece of the tunnel ripped audibly, pain lancing through his upper arm as he suddenly began to descend, the flames falling after him in the aftermath of the blast, leaving one shoulder near completely bare.
All three things occurred at the exact same moment, in the span of a moment it takes to bat an eyelash.
The SeeD slid down the pipe leading downwards and suddenly decided that jumping down a hole that didn't appear to have an ending to it upon first glance wasn't such a great idea after all. His arm was throbbing, and whenever the pipe curved, Squall found himself colliding roughly with a corner before continuing his descent.
After hitting a third corner, the dark haired youth found himself sliding upside down, facing back in the direction in which he had fallen from. It wasn't a comfortable position for him, having to crane his neck in order to see behind him. The flames were no longer following him, but he didn't hold any illusions that it would remain that way and, soon enough, he found that behind him the pipe was beginning to get brighter. Just before he hit another corner that propelled him back the way he had jumped in he noticed the smothering pile of burned debris that was following him. The Licker must have fallen in after the flame shot had consumed it's entire body.
After what felt like an eternity, Squall finally saw an ending to the winding ride and he fell from the tunnel a good four feet before hitting the ground and tumbling away from the opening just as the monster landed onto the ground with a sickening thud.
Squall lay where he had landed on the cement floor, desperately trying to catch his breath, breathing through his mouth in order to avoid smelling the rotting burning decay that lay no more than a few feet away. He didn't dare move to inspect the creature in case it was still alive. Bullets hadn't killed it, even when he had hit it in the face.
After a moment, he managed to force himself into a sitting position, intending on examining his left arm. There was a long cut along his upper arm, starting from just below the shoulder and stretching diagonally down the bicep, ending halfway to the elbow. It was still bleeding, the skin having been torn when he had finally been freed from the piece of the pipe that had held him just inches from the Licker's grasp.
Trying not to think about it, Squall frowned thoughtfully as he inspected the wound, keeping an eye open just in case he was attacked by the creature. He didn't have any potions to heal the wound, nor did he have any kind of first aid kit in store to clean it. The fabric that had been torn away from his shirt was probably a burned mess by now, having remained near the top as he had begun plummeting down the hole, so he didn't have anything to bandage it up.
Taking in a deep breath, he slowly let it out as he came across his final option. Magic. It had failed him earlier, the spell dissipating before it could completely take form, but right now it was his only option. He couldn't risk infection, especially since he had no idea where he was, or whether his surroundings were sterol.
Positioning his hand over the cut, he closed his eyes and searched his mind for the appropriate spell, taking in calming breaths as he hoped it would work that time. He found the spell and immediately felt a warm soothing feeling dance along his arm, the healing properties of the cure spell working to stop the bleeding and to close the wound, at least partially.
When the spell was finished, Squall dropped his hand and breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever it was that had prevented him from using magic was apparently wearing off and, as Squall rose to his feet, he realized that the Licker wasn't getting up anytime soon. He went to examine it closer, just in case it was still alive and simply couldn't move, but after a couple of steps he was forced to abandon the action, covering his nose with his right hand as he took a few steps backwards. The Licker had reeked something awful before, but now it smelt like someone had somehow managed to mix any and all forms of items that stank foul all into one. It was something Squall believed should be prevented at all costs, and yet here it was, lying in front of him, lifeless.
When he was back far enough that he couldn't smell the corpse nearly as well, Squall hesitantly removed his hand and wiped his eyes of the water that had built up due to the odour. Running an hand through his hair, he bend down, trying to look up into the pipe without having to stand over the rotting corpse, but couldn't see a way back up to where he had come from.
From the fifth floor to the… what floor is this anyway?
Squall took in his surroundings for the first time since he had landed and was surprised to find noticeable differences from the Presidential Residence to where he was at the moment. The walls appeared to be made entirely out of cement, the floors mirroring the same substance, and were layered with dirt, moss and some other stuff Squall didn't really want to have to identify. The room he was standing in currently had no other exit, besides a small gap that possessed no door. He had no idea where it would lead him, but it was his only way out of the room.
Exactly what I thought about the pipe… Squall thought to himself bitterly. Wonder where this'll lead me.
Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly (despite the smell) he walked out of the room, making sure that all of his ammunition and weaponry was still with him.
That was one good thing that had happened to him so far.
He walked straight for a little while through the dark cavern, folding his arms across his chest when he became cold, still clutching the Exeter in his gloved hand. He knew it wouldn't do him any good, but he wished he had been able to save his jacket. If those things didn't kill him, then the cold and dampness of this place would.
His thoughts trailed back to the others, wondering how they were doing. Whether they were still alive, or if they had been attacked by now, he didn't know. He had seen the scratches on Irvine's face and held no illusion that he wouldn't have turned had he not been killed by the dogs, and he pitied the sharpshooter. Either way, he had been screwed. But as far as he recalled, no one else had been bitten or scratched, so there was still hope for them…
Right, the SeeD thought pensively. Unless of course they get bitten and scratched along the way.
He didn't know how he was going to tell the others about Irvine. He wasn't the best candidate for relating bad news. Normally he'd just blurt it out as though he were making a report on a standard mission. He knew that wasn't the way to divulge such sensitive news to the rest of the group (assuming that they were all still alive), and he would have to come up with another means.
After a few minutes of walking, he came to another entrance way, the arched gap much larger than the one he had walked through previously and, upon reaching it, he stopped in his tracks, taking in his surroundings.
There were two pathways on either side of a large moat of water, rushing towards his current location. The pathways led straight down but from where Squall was standing, he couldn't make out exactly how far down he would be travelling. If it hadn't been for the tell-tale smell, he would have thought himself to be back inside of the Tomb of the Unknown King, located Northeast of Deling City.
I'm traveling through a sewer… that just tops off my night…
Moving towards his right, Squall managed to find a ladder that would position him atop the platform (he wanted to avoid jumping into the murky sewer water at all costs) and began to make his way down the winding path, weapon at the ready just in case he needed to use it.
Nothing happened. He kept his eyes trained on his surroundings, his hearing focusing on the natural sounds of the sewers, just in case he heard something out of the ordinary from behind and he couldn't see it off hand.
But nothing happened.
Not at first, at least.
It was when he had followed the curving platform around the first bend towards the right when he heard a strange noise. The sound was too distant to make out clearly, and , levelling the Exeter, he reached into his pocket for the .45 and whirled around, taking aim but finding nothing following him. After a moment, he slowly turned back around and continued on his way, weapons raised in case it happened again.
Some time later, he heard the noise again, only this time it was coming from his left. Turning only marginally and aiming the .45 in the direction it had come from, Squall kept his eyes trained on the rest of his surroundings, in case it was merely a diversion.
I need to stop thinking as though those things can come up with complex strategies. They're not intelligent enough to be able to form a thought let alone a plan.
Still, the senses had been drilled into him since basic training, and forcing himself out of this particular habit was like forcing himself to become socially interactive. It was a possible tactic, but it would be difficult to accomplish.
The sound became louder, and when Squall listened to try and identify it, he realized that it was miniature squeaks. Raising an eyebrow, he slowly continued straight, hoping to avoid an encounter with anymore zombified type creatures.
So you're calling them zombies now? His mind chastised him and Squall shook himself of such thoughts. Zombies didn't exist. It was illogical. True, there were monsters out there who were classified as undead creatures, and they were easily dispatched by healing type magic, like cure or regen, or curative items, like potions, but these creatures were far different. Unlike the looming beings who were trying to feed off the survivors of this incident, the undead monsters he had fought off in the past had been capable of intelligent thought patterns, poisoning their prey with magic and other abilities in the hopes of weakening them. These beings could hold the world's simpliest and deadliest weapon and still not know how to use it.
Shaking himself out of such thoughts, Squall tried to focus on his current situation instead. The squeaking sounds were slowly approaching his position and, even as he continued moving ahead, he could hear them converging on him from the path he was currently taking. Keeping both guns ready, he quickened his movements, the clanking of his steel-toed boots pounding off the cement beneath his feet.
The SeeD Commander took in deep breaths, trying to reign in his thoughts and desperately willing himself not to panic. That was the absolute last thing he needed given the circumstances. He had gotten away from the Licker creature, as well as a mound of those creatures who had been looking at him as a meal. If he remained calm and focused, he'd be able to get himself out of the trouble he had managed to put himself into.
It was when he turned another junction of the winding pathway and chanced a look around that he finally discovered what it was that was following him. The creatures were very small in size, less than a foot in height, and probably just over a foot in length. The hair that combed their bodies looked coarse and weathered, as though something had tried to rip their skin off their very backs. Their tiny four legs managed to make them move far faster than it appeared at first glance, and their long noses stuck out in front of their faces, whiskers at either end twitching as they sniffed the air around them. Their beady little eyes appeared hallow, even lifeless as they continued scurrying down the tunnel after him, their tails dragging behind them as they did and their teeth glinting in the near no-light surroundings.
Unlike humans, these creatures could thrive in this sort of environment, the darkness masking their presence as they scurried about searching for food and shelter. They were mostly harmless, if you weren't worried about tetanus or rabies, and because of their size, they could squeeze into practically any crevice they could find. Perhaps this was why they were called what they were:
Sewer rats.
Squall immediately began the process of backing up. It wasn't that he didn't like rats. Normally, he wouldn't have really cared. It was the fact that they looked (and smelt) half-dead that put him on alert.
First humans, then dogs, and finally half-dead mutated creatures. The thoughts that ran through the SeeD's mind were so bitter, he could taste it in the back of his throat. Of course there'd have to be rats.
He quickly turned and ran the length of the platform, the small rodents racing after him in hopes of catching a meal. It didn't occur to the teenager to start shooting at the creatures, and even if it had, he didn't have the ammunition to take them all out. It would have just wasted precious bullets, and he couldn't afford to do just that.
Even as he climbed up another ladder and continued further down a northern junction, the small creatures kept chasing after him, and Squall wondered briefly if they would give into exhaustion eventually before immediately squashing that thought. If they didn't register pain, what was to say they would eventually tire out? All they did or cared about was eating!
When Squall focused his attention in front of him, he immediately stopped in his tracks, nearly stumbling forward by the action. More of the critters were approaching him from the opposite direction, their dead eyes gleaming in the darkness as they moved. The SeeD turned back to see the rats continuing to converge on his position, from either end, with the only way around them being through the murky water to his left.
Looking around desperately, Squall noticed a pipe directly overhead. It was thinner than the one he had grabbed a hold of in the cafeteria, but he wasn't complaining. Without further thought, he jumped up, grasping its circumference with both arms, and hauled himself up before the rats could cling onto him. He bent his legs at the knee, creating more distance between the ground beneath him as he continued to pull his weight onto the metal object. The rats swarmed over where he last stood and he bleakly wondered just how long he would be able to hold out like this.
He received his answer when the pipe shuddered under his weight.
Cursing mentally, he didn't have a chance to even string a thought together as the whole pipe broke apart from the rest of its section, forcing the SeeD to fall to the ground below, landing roughly onto his back. The rats that hadn't been flattened by the added weight on their backs immediately responded, converging on him as a drowning victim would grab a hold of a floating board and Squall quickly rose to his feet, stepping on and throwing off the miniature creatures as quickly as possible, trying desperately to avoid being scratched. The vermin were tenacious and continued to come after him, even after he had managed to free himself of the ones that clung onto his t-shirt, ripped by their seemingly long nails, but thankfully without having them ripping into his skin in the process.
Squall wasn't watching where he was backing up, concentrating solely on keeping the rats from biting and scratching through his jeans, t-shirt and leather gloves. When his foot met with empty air having reached the edge of the platform, Squall's weight became unbalanced and the SeeD Commander unceremoniously fell into the sewer water with a large splash, taking some of the rats with him.
When he made it to the surface, the first thing he noticed was that the rats had lost their grip on him and were failing to surface themselves. Splashing around in the water, Squall tried to discern up from down, having become disoriented by the fall as well as the waves that had been caused by said fall, treading water as he searched. The current he had fallen into was stronger than it had been when he had first discovered his surroundings earlier, and he managed to hit his back against the steel bars that made up the gating of the tunnel. Shaking his head slightly, he was finally able to come to the conclusion of which direction was up and swam the width towards the opposite platform, never failing to notice that the rats were jumping into the water after him, falling beneath the surface and not coming back up.
Squall doubted very much that this would stop the dead creatures and, as soon as he was on dry land once again, he ran back the way he came, hoping to at least take advantage of the head start he had gained as he jumped passed the ladder positioned in front of him, landing onto his feet and continued to run.
However, even as he turned the corner, he ran into something solid, but did not fall back down. Instead he immediately pushed back against a man dressed in mostly yellows and browns, his head caked in dried blood as his milky gaze was fixed on the dark haired teenager. He leaned forward, his blackened stubs visible as he opened his mouth to bite his victim. He would have succeeded had Squall not immediately pushed back against the dead man's head, keeping his teeth at bay before an audible crack was made, the man falling limp into the SeeD's arms and very nearly overbalancing him at the same time.
Squall dropped the body and continued heading in the direction he was facing, looking back only to see that the rats were surrounding the still body of what he could only guess to have been one of the sewer workers. He just hoped he didn't run into any more down of them there.
He didn't stop running until he found a path leading into another corridor, ducking behind the corner to still his breathing. He reached for his weapons, but as soon as he grabbed a hold of the USP, he noticed dismayed that his hands were still trembling from his recent encounter. He gripped his right hand with his left and mentally willed the shaking to stop. He was panicking, and he couldn't afford to panic at a time like this. He closed his eyes, counting backwards from ten and was relieved when he noticed the shaking subsiding, if only slightly. Taking in gulps of air, he managed to return his heartbeat to normal before examining the weapon, all the while concerned with what this entire situation was doing to his nerves.
He frowned when he unloaded the clip from within the USP, cursing the sewer water as he found that the charge was completely soaked. He threw the weapon away in disgust, not having any more ammunition to fill it in, as he examined the .45, surprised to find that the weapon was, in comparison, only a little damp. Opening the clip, he was astonished the find the clip was bone dry and replaced it into its compartment, dropping the weapon into its holster as he examined the Exeter. While the riffle was wet, there was a water proof container installed within the barrel of the weapon, positioned there to keep the bullets from getting wet and, therefore, preventing any misfire from occurring. He figured Irvine had had this done in case he was forced to travel through watery areas.
Whatever the reason, he was thankful the sharpshooter had thought ahead.
He had started with four weapons, having run out of bullets for the first three and nearly depleting his final clip for the lone weapon left before pilfering his dead comrade (he still felt bad for having to do that) for whatever weapon reserves he could find. He had lost two out of four of the guns he had secured, and waterlogged the third, leaving only the original .45 and the custom made riffle as his only defence.
Checking his belt, his frown deepened when he discovered that they were empty; the ammunition having fallen out during his impromptu swim in the sewers and he cursed aloud at his misfortune. The only bullets he had left were already loaded inside of the weapons. Six out of ten bullets for the .45, and two fire ammo for the Exeter. He didn't like his odds in the least.
Now I'm back where I was hours ago. Squall thought to himself bitterly. How am I going to get out of this one?
Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard footsteps approaching from nearby. He cursed under his breath before he flattened himself against the wall, retrieving the .45 from its holster and placing the Exeter against his belt. He couldn't afford to use up all of the fire ammo, because they seemed very affective against the creatures and he'd need them for later, so his best bet was the weapon he had the most ammunition for.
Taking a shuddering breath, Squall nodded to himself reassuringly as the footsteps became closer. He had very little ammo remaining, and very few options to choose from. If it came down to it, he could always take himself out and prevent them from turning him into a flesh eating monster like themselves. At least then, he wouldn't attack any of the others, if they were still alive. It would be a last resort. He'd keep a bullet or two left in the .45 and if he found himself trapped with no other option, he'd use them.
The footsteps echoed in the quiet tunnel and Squall prepared himself to step out and to shoot his pursuer. He'd have five bullets left to work with, at least two of them reserved for later, but it wouldn't matter if he couldn't get himself out. Counting from three, he stepped out and took careful aim, his right hand positioned over his wrist, taking in the appearance of the being who had by then stopped moving.
He was dressed near completely in black, the trench coat making it seem that way. He wore black loafers on his feet, not entirely adequate for a trip to the sewers. He wore a blue dress shirt and black pants with thin white stripes running vertically from the cuffs to the black belt he wore. His short dark hair was the only thing frazzled about his appearance, and the sunglasses he had worn when they had first met were gone, his light eyes drawn back in shock. Positioned on a strap secured around his left arm (probably from the shoulder; Squall couldn't tell since the trench coat was blocking it from view) was a MP5K sub machine gun. Along his waist were four holster, two on either side, were 45 LDA's, and there was no doubt in the teenager's mind that the man was further equipped closer to his shoes. In his hands at the moment was a Steyr TMP sub machine gun, however rather than pointed directly at the SeeD Commander, it was positioned off to the side, the barrel pointed more to the ground. The only indication that he had come into any contact with those things were the scratches and tears in the nearly immaculate materials he wore.
Squall didn't lower his weapon despite the relaxed state the man before him had taken. The SeeD kept his eyes solely trained on the weapon held in the man's grasp and, after a moment, he appeared to realize this before raising both of his hands into the air. "It's okay," he said when the tense silence continued. "I'm not going to shoot you."
It was at the sound of his voice that Squall finally relaxed. After having seen one of those things carrying an axe, he hadn't been at all convinced that the man hadn't turned. Since they weren't exactly known for their ability to speak intelligibly, he had just asserted that he was normal.
Yeah, but for how long?
Still gripping the weapon in his left hand in case those creatures came after them, Squall addressed his attention towards the male standing in front of him. "Why did you come down here?"
"Isn't it obvious?" the man asked. "I was looking for you."
Squall's confusion must have shown on his face, because the man cleared his throat as if to explain himself. "Those things overran my business colleagues, and soon I was surrounded by all of them, but I managed to get out without harm. I thought about leaving town, but when I thought about it, it made sense that the whole city would have been overrun, including the residence. Since I obviously couldn't walk through the front doors without being trampled on, I thought that there might be a secret passage through the sewers."
"How did you come to that conclusion?"
"With this." The man pulled from his pocket a small handheld device and Squall instantly recognized it as a palm pilot. The screen on the PDA revealed a sort of floor plan, and, from what Squall recalled about the paths he had taken, he came to the conclusion that at the moment it was showing them the floor plan of the sewer system. "One of my co-workers has a contact that works with the Estharian government. He received a downloaded file that involves the schematics of the entire city. I narrowed it down to the sewers, figuring that there had to be a tunnel leading into the Residence."
"There's one that leads out of it," Squall stated, taking a close look at the screen. "I just came from it."
"Well that was rather lucky," the man said. "I can take us back the way I came from. Another of my colleagues said he could have a transport waiting for me within the next three hours, but I told him that I wasn't leaving without you, and since I've found you already, we have more than enough time to make it there in order to leave."
It took a moment for the SeeD to suddenly realize that there was, in fact, a way out of the city. That there was an end to the madness besides dying. If this man was right, they'd be out of the city within the hour.
But what about the others?
If he left now, he would never know if they survived or not. And if they were still alive, he could never live with himself, knowing he had left them behind at the first opportunity for freedom. If he was cracking under the pressure of defending himself against these creatures, he didn't want to imagine how the others were holding up, how Rinoa was holding up.
Taking in a deep solid breath, he knew what he had to do. "I'm not going."
The man looked at him as though he had grown a third eye in the middle of his forehead. "Squall, this is serious –"
"And so am I," Squall deadpanned. He had made his decision. "There may still be people alive in the Residence."
"That's ludicrous! Even from the building's front door I could tell it's been overrun. I doubt that anything could survive in that."
"I did. And there's still a chance that the others did too."
The man was about to argue further, but Squall cut him off. "You can go to the transport if you want to. But I'm not leaving my friends behind to fend themselves off against those things."
Sighing, the man frowned thoughtfully, and Squall vaguely wondered what it was he could possibly do. He was running very low on ammunition, and by the time he found his way back to the surface, there was no telling how much he would have left to defend himself. But he didn't care. If at least one other person was still alive, he wasn't leaving them to fend for themselves.
Even if it was suicide.
"You do realize that this is sheer madness," The man stated in front of him before checking his watch. "We have approximately two hours before my contact secures a transport and if we're not there by then, he leaves without us."
Squall was about to argue back, but this time, he was cut off. "Nevertheless, I do understand your drive. It's the same one I had when leaving my colleague. Very well," he pulled out the MP5K from his hip holster and tossed it towards the SeeD, who caught it with both arms. "I trust that you're running out of ammunition? If that's the case then you'll need that," he pulled out two out of four of the LDA's and handed them to the teenager, "and these. They have a full clip inside, so you shouldn't need to reload right away. Shots to the head, in case you didn't know."
Trust me, I know. Squall didn't voice his thoughts aloud. There wasn't time.
The man seemed to understand that time was precious, so he immediately shifted the PDA between the both of them, so they could both see it. "We need to head east from here and veer towards the south in order to find the hidden entrance to the Residence."
Once Squall acknowledged the information, the man spoke again. "I trust that this is nowhere near the time to introduce myself as you're 'good-old-dad' to the rest of your team if – when – we find them."
Squall nodded in agreement before the man continued. "So, for the meantime, if you so desire, you may address me as my alias…"
Once again, Squall's confusion must have given him away, since the man trailed off. "What? You thought I could get a descent job given my past record? I had to officially change my identity, in order to make a living." Clearing his throat, he continued once more. "So, up until this whole mess has been dealt with, you and your friends may call me Nicholas Griffith."