He lay there, dead, as the others stood over his corpse. The white eyes, the gravestone flesh…how was it possible? Jim shook his head, more in denial than disbelief.
"I don't get it. Dude never got bit, right? How'd he turn into one of them," he asked to no one in particular. No one seemed to have an answer.
"It's possible he may have already been infected in another way," suggested Yoko.
"What, you mean like something he ate," asked Cindy. George was inspecting the body closer now, deep in concentration.
"I was thinking more along the lines of his injury from the reptilian monster," answered Yoko. She was hunching over now beside George, the two brains examining the facts. Cindy looked over at Jim, his nervous eyes now still and calm. Or were they just tired? He appeared as if he might fall over at any moment, and she realized how hard it must have been for Jim to see Mark like that, the gaping, still smoking bullet hole in his forehead, brain matter collecting in a congealed pool beneath his head. The hero worship had been obvious from day one. She stepped forward to stand by him, and nearly toppled over on the slippery floor. Jim reacted quickly, reaching out to catch her. His hand brushed up against her breast, and she blushed at the intimate contact. It bothered her, though, that he had the nerve to continue staring down her shirt even after she had regained her footing. But now he was pushing her away, his eyes still on the floor.
"All this blood…Doc, you think it's got something to do with all this blood," Jim asked. George turned around and studied the puddle of dark blood. He dabbed his middle finger into it, rubbing it slowly with his thumb.
"Hmm…I think you might be on to something, Jim," he said. "It's likely that Mark died from this blood loss. We have to consider the possibility that he was already infected."
"Are you saying his death triggered the…ah, zombie symptoms," asked Yoko, who was now also looking at the bloody floor.
"If so, that would mean he was already infected. And that would mean we're all probably…" his words trailed off. There was only silence in the small room.
"But what about all the bodies in the main hall then," asked Cindy. "Wouldn't they be walking around too?"
As if in reply, the door behind her began to suddenly buckle as the newest batch of undead pounded hungrily on the flimsy wood.
"Oh, dear god…" cried George, as the wood began to splinter inwards.
-
They had to move quickly. The small boxes filled with reams of paper and office supplies would do little good as a barricade, so they each rose to their feet, utterly exhausted but well versed in their routines by now. George stood by the door, his hand on the knob as the others stood behind him. First Yoko, with her shotgun at the ready, then Cindy behind her with a knife and handgun in hand. Jim brought up the rear, but even he was far too tired to complain about it. He cast one last look at Mark before turning back to the others. He could grieve later, he thought, pulling his cap down over his eyes.
George threw his considerable bulk into the door, swinging it outward and knocking a the closest zombies backwards. He fired a short burst with his assault rifle in the direction they would go, right towards the stairs. They had decided the barricade by the main hall was still too risky, and so they decided to chance the roof and pray for a fire escape of some sort. At least that steel door wouldn't eventually fold under the dozen or so zombies eager to taste their flesh.
Yoko stepped into the hall, firing a wide spray of buckshot into the zombies that had recovered from the doors sudden out swing. She caught a group of three undead solidly in the chest, ripping open their torsos and exposing shattered ribcages and oozing organs spilling from torn bellies. She heard a sudden, loud shot by her ear, and she cringed at its sharp report. Cindy stood beside her, firing at a zombie that had nearly grabbed her from her blind side. They pushed forward, and Jim fired off short barrages with his own pistol, keeping the half dozen or so zombies at bay.
The door to the roof was solid. Luckily, it had a handle, so there was a strong chance the zombies wouldn't be able to open it. Cindy took no chance; removing a black pin from her hair, she quickly twisted it, unraveling the soft metal and jamming it into the doorknob. She tested the handle once, and it refused to turn. George looked at her, rather impressed by her quick thinking and fast hands.
"You learn to keep doors closed without locks when you have nosy brothers like I did," she said, slamming the door shut as they stepped into the humid summer air.
It was nighttime, but the oppressive heat from the day remained. Still, it was better than that oven of a storage room. From their high vantage point, they could see most of the cityscape. Towers of smoke drifted into the calm night air, midnight black even in the darkness. The fires had worsened apparently, but they were still relatively safe…this time. Cindy thought back to that damned hotel. She had spent a weekend there when she had first moved to the city, and she had hated it even then. Add a mixture of fire and skinless mutant monsters, and it was understandable if she preferred never to spend another minute of her lifetime at the Apple Inn.
The roof was a mish mash of raised vents, fans, and short blocks of flimsy, dented metal. One of the vents was torn open; no doubt the access point for the bathroom hunter. The rest weren't large enough for any creatures to lurk behind, so for the time being they were safe. Cindy shined her flashlight down the dark vent just to be sure. There was nothing there.
Jim was rifling through Yoko's bag now, looking to fill his handgun with ammo. It amazed her how he never seemed to have issues with bullets, but that was just Jim's crazy luck at work, she thought. George stood on the ledge, looking rather regal, surveying the area around them. The groans of the hungry undead could be heard in the distance. And from the other side of the door. The handle jiggled, and Cindy breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as her bobby pin held.
"Oh shit…oops," he said. Jim said oops a lot, it seemed. No one seemed to notice, except Yoko.
"What is it, Jim," she asked nervously.
"Um, I think I, uh, tore the inside of your bag…there was this pocket layer thing, right, and it just came—" he started to explain, holding something in his hand.
"Jim, what is that," asked George, suddenly interested.
"Oh this? It was in the pocket, some kind of folded compart—" he began, but George wasn't listening. He stepped forward, snatching it from Jim's hand.
"This is…" George said, as it slowly dawned upon him. He turned his dark eyes accusingly to Yoko, holding it up so only she could see it.
"What is it," Cindy asked. Everyone was looking at Yoko now. Cindy asked again, this time to Yoko. She only stood there silently, her eyes nervous and uncertain. "George...?" she asked weakly, exhaustion in her voice.
"It's an ID card for Yoko Suzuki," said George, pausing. "An Umbrella keycard."
-
The few moments of silence seemed to last for far too long. They had fought to stay alive in a world decided by seconds, so anything more seemed a breathless infinity. They were all standing now, the three of them on one side, Yoko on the other. Her shoulders sagged so deeply she seemed defeated, beaten. The men stood there unflinchingly, hardness in their eyes, accusation in their hearts.
Cindy stepped forward, putting her arm gently around Yoko, who collapsed into her kind embrace. "Shhh, it's okay, Yoko…it's okay," hushed Cindy, both her arms now around the sobbing young girl.
"We need answers," George said. Whether his words were meant for Cindy or Yoko, they were barely out there before Jim vehemently agreed.
"Hells yeah we need some answers," he said. "What the fuck is going on Yoko," Jim stepped forward aggressively, which was surprising in itself, before George held out his hand to quiet him.
"Give her a chance to explain," George said, his voice surprisingly level. Or was it something else? There seemed to be something different in his expression, something…cold. Heartless. For some reason, Cindy suddenly pictured him as a young student in medical school, relying on a ruthless cunning to get ahead of everyone else. But that could just be her imagination. She hoped it was. She turned back to Yoko.
"Yoko, it's okay. Just tell us what happened," Cindy said soothingly. She was now patting the girl's dark hair, easing her racking sobs.
"I don't know," she wept.
"Fuck that bullshit," shouted Jim, who was now actually hopping up and down, his fists clenched. "Stop holding out on us! Is that how you knew so much before? Just come clean," he yelled. Cindy shot him a look of daggers, and he backed down, unsatisfied and still on edge. Jim looked to George, hoping he would step up and get to the bottom of it all; he knew without a doubt that was what Mark would have done. But George just stood there, detached and aloof as usual, and Jim turned away in frustration.
"I…I really don't know," she repeated. "I can't remember a thing. It comes to me in fragments, but that's it…I'm sorry," she said.
"How do you know what you're sorry about if you don't remember jack shit," Jim burst out. He was pacing again, waving his gun every which way, and Cindy felt a bit nervous. Yoko pulled away from Cindy, anger burning in her face.
"What do you know about it, Jim," she yelled. "I don't even remember my family, my friends! They took everything from me," she screamed, her face crimson with sudden rage. Taken aback, Jim stumbled away, grumbling to himself.
"Who did, honey," asked Cindy, reaching out to her again.
"Those bastards at Umbrella," she said. "They wiped me clean, and I don't even…I don't even know why," she said, her anger subsiding, her voice again overtaken by the tears.
-
They sat on the ledge now, their backs to the falling city. A soft breeze had found its way across the nightscape, but it did little to ease the tension between the four survivors. The men were unsure whether they could trust Yoko or her story, but Cindy had accepted her words as truth, without hesitation. She sat beside Yoko now, gently caressing her back in a rhythmic circular motion while whispering in her ear. George looked at them longingly, his intense eyes cloudy and impenetrable.
"So what you think, doc," asked Jim, his foot jittering about nervously.
"I don't think we have a choice, Jim," he answered, his voice weary.
"The fuck…? Of course we gotta choice, man," Jim whispered loudly through clenched teeth. "We don't gotta go where she says," George turned to him.
"And how much longer do you think we can stay up here? That door won't hold up forever, and we have to consider that those hunter creatures got up here somehow," he said, getting up and dusting off his pants. It occurred to Jim that George's gray slacks had somehow kept their neat crease through all the mayhem. He shook his head in disbelief.
"We think Umbrella is behind this, and we know she worked there, for them. And you guys wanna to waltz right into their business? Am I the only one that's not blind to how crazy this shit is?"
"She saved your life, Jim, when Mark…that thing, came after you," George replied. "Doesn't that earn a bit of your trust?" Jim's eyes closed in response, shaking his head a bit, almost reflexively. George wondered if Cindy was right, that Jim had slightly resented Yoko for shooting Mark, even after he had transformed. The truth was, the girl reacted faster than any of the others had; George had hesitated to shoot a person who had just been his patient, and Cindy had always seemed to shy away from killing former survivors who had changed. Jim hadn't even reacted at all other than to try and pull away, his pistol somehow suddenly useless in his hands. It was as if he couldn't pull the trigger on Mark even if his life had depended on it.
"That wasn't—that wasn't Mark," he finally said, his gaze suddenly distant. With that said, he rose to his feet and walked to the opposite ledge, a pensive look on his face. George waited a moment before reluctantly following.
"We have no idea what to expect, but it's not as if she won't be right beside us…she wouldn't dare betray us," he said. "She needs us as much as we need her," he added.
"We don't need someone we can't trust," Jim whispered loudly.
"We need everyone we can get at this point," George said coolly. "I think she's grown quite fond of us…you, especially," he added, nonchalantly, one eye waiting for Jim's reaction.
"Doc…don't feed me that bullshit," Jim said, a bit peeved. "I'm not that easily convinced after being lied to. I know what people think, but I'm no fool when it comes down to it."
"I'm...sorry, Jim," George said. "I didn't mean to insult you." Jim seemed satisfied with the apology, and seemed content to look over the mass of zombies still gathered far below them. A long silence passed before either of them spoke.
"So, um…did she say something to you or Cindy…?"
-