Chapter Seven: Eliminator
"This is Dr. James Marcus. Please be silent as we reflect upon our company motto. Obedience breeds discipline, discipline breeds unity, unity breeds power, power is life!"
The voice filled the entrance hall. It seemed to come from everywhere, as though the words seeped out of the walls. Rebecca snapped her head around for the voice, but stopped once she realized that it was only a recording. It seemed almost…wrong in this place. She could picture people bustling about in this foyer. But it was dead.
"Hey," Billy said. She glanced over her shoulder. He stood just a couple of steps below her. "You okay there."
"Yeah," She replied, her grip on the Beretta tighten. "It's just quiet…"
"Yeah…thinking that there are more of those…things here too?"
Rebecca glanced around. There had to be some kind of entrance…there! Directly opposite of the staircase, hidden in shadow, stood two gray, iron wrought doors. Two suits of armor, glistening silver against the dim light, stood on either side of the entrance. The walls seemed to press in around her. It felt like hours since she was in the open air, even though it had only been little more than an hour. She wanted to go outside, out into the night and breathe the crisp air. Maybe then this night wouldn't seem as bad as it was—or it was all a bad dream, and when she walked through those doors she would find herself in her bed in her tiny apartment in Raccoon.
No, she told herself. I have to find the others. After all, hadn't Richard said that he and Forrest went to a mansion? Rebecca's stomach still clinched. Billy followed her gaze, his eyes also lingering on the double-doors.
"Don't even think about it," she said. Billy rounded on her, his eyes narrow and the shotgun slack in his hand.
"Yes," Billy said, a smirk gliding across his face. "I would bolt out into a forest full of zombies and God only knows what else. I love the possibility of certain death. Not to mention, I would totally leave you to fend for yourself in this shitstorm. You've got me really nailed on the head, Mrs. Independent."
Rebecca rolled her eyes. She gestured her gun to the double doors on their left. Billy sighed and turned in that direction.
"You know, you have the sense of humor of a cactus," Billy said.
"That doesn't even make sense," Rebecca muttered, following him. Despite herself, a smirk curved the corner of her mouth.
As Rebecca and Billy walked over to the door, they didn't see the leech man standing on the balcony above, half hidden in darkness. Its blank eyes followed the two tread across the foyer, and disappear into the servants' dining area.
So, they still lived.
The man in white opened his eyes, and he felt his children break apart. The hot lump in his chest felt swollen, and that heat radiated throughout the rest of his body. The murders—he was sure that the train crash would have been enough to kill them. Several children gathered around his feet and arched up, as though gazing up at him. The computer monitors caused the leeches to shimmer in their own juices.
He could hear their thoughts leap onto him—more images and emotion than any words. The same anger burned within them as well. They wanted to go—to make the murders pay—No! The man grunted. This wasn't the plan. Those two had just lumbered in. They weren't his target.
But they harmed our children. The man cleared his mind, but the rage remained. Finally, he released a roar. No, he wouldn't let them go about the facility. He glanced up at the screens. There had to be something here, something to dispose of them quickly and painfully. Send us, his children pleaded.
"No," he muttered. They were too few due to the train incident. The man scanned the monitors spotting one of a narrow passage lined with cages. Even through the lined, blue image of the screens the concrete walls and the floor gave the room a cold look. For a brief moment, a thin, squat hand reached out between the bars—reaching out for something that wasn't there—before retracting back.
Yes, there were other ways.
Rebecca scrunched her nose, as the stench of rotting meat hit her. However, despite the rancid smell, she didn't feel her stomach lurch. It had become a smell she'd grown accustomed to that night—much more than she would have liked. The room formed an L-shape, with a banister beside Rebecca and Billy—dividing the main area of the room for the shorter side. Three long tables, all fitted with china plates and bowls, were pressed against each other. Flies zipped across the room, making the room hum with an incessant buzzing. However, another sound came from the other side of the banister—a crunching sound.
Rebecca grunted. She turned her head toward the sound, but it moved with difficulty. A zombie hunched over another's body, which slumped against the wall. The creatures head bobbed up and down as its jaws opened and closed. It stopped, raised its head, and stood. With a low moan, the zombie turned, revealing the left side of its face was missing. Red meat flexed as it opened its mouth its left eye nearly hanging out.
"Poor bastards," Billy muttered beside her. Guess that answers your question, Rebecca thought. Billy sighed, but then raised his shotgun. Rebecca motioned for him to lower the weapon.
"No," she said, drawing her Beretta from its holster. The creature took a stumbling step forward. "I've got this." Billy glanced between the approaching monster and the young woman.
"You sure?" Billy asked. Rebecca didn't say anything. She focused the crosshairs between the zombie's blank eyes. She can do this. Hadn't she already done it already? But they were people once…like Edward…A lump raised in her throat. Billy shifted feet. The creature was only a few feet away. Its arms raised, ready to grab her—BANG
The creature's head snapped back, and its body slumped to the dirty white linoleum. Despite herself, Rebecca's hand shook as she replaced the weapon in its holster. She felt Billy's gaze on her back. Rebecca didn't acknowledge it. She didn't think she could. That blank expression when she finished that creature—that man. Had there even the slightest trace of him behind, locked up deep in there?
"I'm sorry," Billy muttered.
"For what," Rebecca asked, glancing over her shoulder. Billy's expression looked softer than she had ever seen in, and his eyes scanning her as though her body were about to collapse.
"For your teammate…Edward?"
Rebecca felt as though she had just been punched in the stomach. She willed her limbs not to tremble, but her burning eyes made it difficult.
"Listen…" Billy said. "It's not your fault. He knew what kind of job he was getting into—"
"I said I was fine!" Rebecca said, walking quickly over the corpse to the door past it. The last thing was to talk about Edward, especially with Coen. He knew what he was getting into? Did he know that when he stepped into that helicopter that he would nearly be torn apart? Did he know that he'd die and raise back to try and eat his comrades? No, he didn't know what kind of job he was getting himself into. Her hands clenched into fists.
It wasn't fair.
She opened the door and walked into a narrow corridor. A loud humming echoed throughout the hall. A short flight of stairs descended to her left, while the hall ended in a window to her right. A door stood to the left of the window. The thought of going downward made her stomach tighten even more, so she walked quickly to the right and threw open the door.
Rebecca heard Billy call behind her, but she didn't care. She just had to keep moving. Now she stood in a dark storage room cluttered with broken furniture and covered items. Several portraits lined the wall opposite her, beneath windows with half-circle tops. A metal shelf stood to her left, cutting the room in half. The door banged against the wall behind her. A moan came from behind the shelf, and shuffling footsteps scraped across the floor. Before she could think about it, she aimed just as the zombie rounded the shelf, and fired. Rebecca jumped onto the ladder before she saw the creature fall.
"Rebecca, wait!" Billy called from the door.
Rebecca's arms burned, reaching up for the next ring as quickly as she could. She felt cool air brush against her face when she reached the top. Rebecca almost laughed. Fresh air. It seemed like ages since she last smelled the open air. She climbed onto the landing—a balcony which turned a corner a few feet ahead. Over the side ran a chasm so deep it was impossible to see the bottom. Even in open, she was still trapped.
"Rebecca!" Billy said, dull clinks echoing in the room below as he climbed the ladder. She took a few steps forward. Her mom was right. She should have never taken this job. She didn't know what she was getting herself into—Rebecca rounded the corner, and something large and white crashed into her. She flipped over, unable to stop—and then falling, reaching out for anything.
Billy's hand shot out and clutched her wrist painfully. Rebecca hung, legs dangling over nothing but dark woods. She wanted to scream, but it felt like a bubble rested in her throat.
"I got you," Billy said. Rebecca glanced up, finding Billy's wide blue eyeshadow he leaned over the side of the walkway. She reached up with her free hand and latched onto his. Billy heaved—something leaped onto his back. It reminded Rebecca of a baboon, with its hunched posture and large forearms. However, its fur and face were white, and its mouth protruded, showing large, pointed teeth beneath its cracked lips. Billy jerked to and fro—the handcuff attached to his right hand jingling- trying to throw the monkey off. Rebecca rocked back and forth with him, and a scream escaped her lips. The creature clung on, letting out a screech.
Billy flicked his right hand and caught the free handcuff. He brought his fist up. The metal handcuff connected with the monkey's head. It tumbled off and rolled off the side of the walkway. Rebecca took a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived as she felt her hand slip from Billy's. Billy wrapped his other hand around her wrist and pulled. Rebecca pressed her knees against the stone wall, to help climb up. Her heart raced. At any moment Billy's grip would slip again, or another monster would leap out at—Rebecca clamped her eyes shut, trying to force the thoughts out of her mind. Nevertheless, her body tensed.
After a few moments, she felt her body being heaved over the edge, and come to a rest the grainy walkway. Rebecca just lay there. She was alive. She was really alive. A tiny laugh escaped her mouth, but it quickly turned into a sob. Her eyes burned, hot tears trickling down her cheeks. Her body shook. This wasn't possible. None of this were possible. People don't raise from the dead. Leeches don't morph into men.
The more she thought about it, the harder her sobs became.
"Rebecca," Billy said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Rebecca couldn't stop. She didn't want to. She just wanted to lay there. Maybe if she lay long enough, she would just wake up. This couldn't be real. Wake up, she told herself. Wake up, Goddamn it! But she remained there—trembling on the cold, hard stone.
Billy hoisted her up and wrapped his arms around her.
"It's okay," he cooed.
Rebecca pushed away, but it was so light that Billy didn't notice it. So, despite herself, she slumped into him.
"It's not fair," she muttered.
"I know it's not," Billy replied, rocking her to and fro.
"I…I wasn't prepared…"
"No one could be," Billy said, his voice soft. Rebecca buried her face into his chest. Billy's tank top stank of sweat and sewage, but she didn't care. Her hands gripped onto his arms. Who was going to be the one who told her mother she was dead? Rebecca remembered the last time an officer came to their house. Her mother nearly collapsed where she stood. You're not your father, Becky.
"I'm sorry," Rebecca muttered. "I'm so stupid…"
It took about ten minutes to calm down. Eventually, she wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and leaned away from Billy. Billy stared down at her, examining her tear-streaked face. Rebecca looked out into the night sky, her face reddening. Stars glimmered up above, more stars than she had ever seen in Raccoon.
Billy raised tentatively, as though expecting her to collapse again. When Rebecca remained upright, he stood.
"Thanks," Rebecca said, though her voice sounded monotone.
"No problem," Billy said.
"Why though?" she muttered, more to herself. Billy's eyebrow cocked.
"Why…?"
"You had all those times to kill me," Rebecca said. "You could have let me fall just now…would have made it easier for you to escape…"
"Murdering damsels in distress isn't my thing?"
Rebecca stared at him. He glanced off down the walkway, keeping his posture away from her longer than she thought he should. Billy's jaw tightened.
"But why?" She pressed on. After all, wasn't Billy Coen a psychotic murder? But…he's not.
"Some of us…" He said, voice even. "Some of us get the short end of the stick. Anyway, you good to go?"
Rebecca nodded. She stood, bracing herself on the wall. Her limbs still trembled, but she forced them to stop. She won't die. She would survive this. Rebecca's fist clenched. Billy approached a door at the end of the walkway and Rebecca followed, feeling a little less alone than she had felt before.