Chapter 20 ~The Horror Within~

Claire and Nighthawk reached the front door of the building and silently drew their weapons. Claire's index finger lightly tapped on the trigger guard, tensely impatient for Nighthawk to signal them to enter and attack whatever opposed them. Claire, always so calm and collected in times of danger such as this, had a shocked irritation about her like she'd just been kicked in the chest and had not yet managed to take a breath.

The survivor felt like she could not shoot real people, instead of living people! Even if they want to arrest and kill her. Yes, there were drills and self-taught techniques to subdue attackers, but something about taking another life on a whim bothered her. The thing about using weapons in self-defense most of her targets were abominations or already deceased.

There was the time Claire shot an explosive gas tank at an Umbrella facility, and it stunned a room of guards. It was a conflict of interest and did not cross that line for murder. Relishing and perpetuating death, that was not how Claire was wired.

Nighthawk took off his mask for a breather. The clear look of bleakness communed a great deal of fear and emptiness.

Even though Claire did not spend that extended time with the pilot, she can recognize the feeling.

It was the same look that Claire had seen repeatedly on the faces of survivors—the haunted guilt in their eyes. This will make it even worse, knowing it was his sibling, flesh, and blood that could die now. It was the same kind of dread that ate at her when she searched for her brother. That's the thing about having brothers consumed with their personal mission, they tend to forget their family.

Claire's concern eventually seethed in frustration. She had grown attached to the two of them, a fact she is not yet willing to admit. When they find Hunk, Claire will be sure to smack him on the head for making his brother worry so much.

The renewed self-assurance had Claire pat Nighthawk's shoulder.

"Let's go," He whispered. Claire nodded back at him, and the two kicked the door together. The survivor turned her back to the pilot, gun ready and aimed for anything at their rear.

Inside they were in a hallway that had multiple rusted doors that had seen better days. It's strange how this building looks like it had not been used for years. Lights were on, and it seemed even their breaths were inaudible. Like the duo entered a bubble of some kind.

Nighthawk spotted a red light sneaking from beneath an ajar door, a few feet in front of him. "Claire, over there."

The pilot turned his back to her to watch their rear once again. Something interested him in this hallway, and he was planning to check it out.

"Roger!" Claire whispered and went on ahead, she stopped in front of the door. Slowly but surely, she pushed it open and aimed.

It was a small room that had several monitors showing something. Claire came in forward, worried about what she might find out in there.

Her heart started beating against her chest. At first, she did not know what she looked at. However, once her eyes adjusted to the bright colors, she was speechless.

The camera was pointed at a massive creature, a giant mass of meat that the figure that resembled a tyrant. This one was different, it looked like it had no skin and large muscles like the thing was made of a plant. All green surrounded the creature.

The survivor remembered Nighthawk's words. 'If this creation is awakened, Hunk is dead, and we are all doomed.'

"This is bad!" Claire checked the desk. Looking through papers, pads. Anything that could lead her to the location of this room.

Nighthawk came in, and his temper flared within seconds. "This bitch is completed!" He screamed. "Let's go, girl. There is still time to put an end to this."

The pilot did not wait for her, immediately moved out of the room. Claire followed him as fast as she could. All the way to the end of the hallway.

Nighthawk shouted as the zombie fell under his knife. "Out of my way!"

Claire walked backward, shooting nonstop at an incoming lizard as she likes to call them. The creature jumped to the ceiling and charged down at her.

Claire felt the claw, graze her shoulder as she dodged to the side. Nighthawk fired his shotgun, a clean headshot. The creature's eyes exploded, and blood sprung out. It wound must have been near a blood vessel from how it sprayed on the walls.

Claire followed it with a swift kick on the creature's leg while she was in the ground. Nighthawk finished him off with another bullet to the head from his shotgun.

"We must hurry," Nighthawk shouted again. Urging her to hasten, the clock is ticking.

The pilot does remember this cursed building. He rounded and left and an automatic door opener. The amount of force created a loud echo. Claire and Nighthawk were inside what it seems like a treatment operation room. There was a bed in the middle and a light above it—a sink with cupboards and everything Claire expected.

Nighthawk used the nearby table for his weight, a moment to take his breath. The sounds he was making worried her. It was like he is tired enough he cannot take his own breath.

"Are you okay?" Claire asked.

Nighthawk whipped his forehead, still avoiding her eyes. "Yeah, I'm just under the weather, I suppose." That did not sit well with her at all.

Claire touched his hand and chose to speak her mind, Nighthawk is much calmer and open to talk.

"You know, I have a brother too. I almost had a heart attack when he vanished without a trace." She paused for a moment, recalling the horrifying incident of Rockfort Island.

"It felt like I stopped living. I couldn't eat or sleep." The survivor glanced back at him. "It's not a sin to admit you are afraid and worried."

Nighthawk was silent, thinking about her words for a moment. He was both surprised and weirded out at the same time. No matter how much the pilot believed that he figured out her character, Claire surprised him again.

"You are a strange woman." The pilot commented. "Do you know that, Claire?"

Claire felt obliged to smile at him.

'No wonder he fancies you.' Nighthawk thought to himself. Maybe he should talk to her because whether she likes it or not, they will be coming after her—the price of associating with them.

A situation he was one hundred percent sure, she never faced. People like her are the supposed Heroes. Where conviction would overpower the end instead of the collateral damage.

"You better be prepared to defend yourself." He broke the silence.

Claire was shocked for a moment to hear such words from him. It was like Nighthawk was reading her mind, about her greatest fear of getting tangled in this place.

Claire remembered from the numerous firearm drills with her brother, she needed to be careful with her aim. One wrong bullet could rupture a vital organ for internal bleeding and leave a prolonged and agonizing death. The gut reaction of some people is the line well shoot them in the leg. Bad idea, there are major arteries in the upper thigh, and the constant blood flow would quickly end the target's life. The bullets will often do ricochet off bones, changing where the bullet travels inside the body.

That does not account for the type of ammunition the survivor prepared, Jacketed Hollow Point or J.H.P. When a hollow point strikes the target, the hollow causes the bullet to deform and spread outward. It is like a mushroom meant to inflict much pain within the target. The reason for this was because other bullet types would do a thing referred to as over-penetration. It is usually better for a bullet to go through flesh that stayed inside. It still would cause pain, but it would be quicker to treat. Over penetration is not the best option when dealing with undead corpses, however. Claire needed something that does more than putting holes in the infected, she needed a bullet type to devastate them.

The survivor did not think about how she would encounter living opponents; she did for general self-defense, but nothing for this scenario.

Nighthawk touched Claire's hand. "Self-defense does not make you a bad person. In the end, it's your choice."

Nighthawk let go of her and started checking the room, to make sure there was no camera, no one is there to watch their steps. Claire's grip tightened around her gun, they need to keep moving. The nightmare is far from over.

Nighthawk opened the door at the other side, and it opened to a square hall, where there was a stairway leading to two doors. While there was a large double door and another door at the corner.

Nighthawk hoped beyond hope that his memory did not fail him. The double door should lead them to where Hunk has been taken. With a great deal of caution, the two started going forward. Claire watching their rear as best as she can.

Once again, there was nothing but silence, their own footsteps echoed loud enough to make her feel fear. What if someone is hunting them within the shadows?

The moment they reached the door, it did not open as he expected. "Claire!" He called out for her.

As she gazed back at him, there was a large round-handle over the door. "Roger."

On cue, the two started to open the door. The handle was heavy to the touch, it felt like their energy spent on this one door.

The door made a loud sound as steam escaped from beneath it. A cold breeze greeted them inside, and the gust of air escaping the confined space. It was blank white, full of water vapor.

Ice cubes were scattered on both sides of their vision. Right before them, they saw a machine, then a big glass window overlooking an industrial cavern-hall below.

Most likely dry ice. Have to refrain from touching anything.

"This is it, I remember this place." Nighthawk's eyes glanced left and right.

"My God!" He heard Claire speak up in a sorrow-filled tone. Following her eyesight, there on the ground, he spotted a torn uniform and a stained mask.

Hunk's uniform!

Anger flared up within him, like a wildfire. Many ugly images recurred within his mind.

The pilot backtracked and took a breath. Bending his knees, the pilot prepped himself, he did not wait for Claire to say anything, Nighthawk then sprinted at full speed toward the glass and jumped.

The glass shattered all over, though Nighthawk managed to land, roll, then get back on his feet safely.

Bits of loose glass rolled along in his uniform, showering the gridiron floor. The pilot heard the sound of a loud thud near him. Claire landed close, but she felt several leg muscles flare in pain.

Her arms were bruised in several places. This is going to hurt for a while. "Hunk owes me big time for this." She mumbled.

There was a moving slideshow that bordered both sides of the hallway. Upon it, Nighthawk saw displayed creatures he never saw before, they looked humanoid, but they had scales and large claws for fingers. The sight made him sick to his stomach, his mind went blank for a moment.

Nighthawk does not remember clearly why this sight hurts, but it did affect him.

He counted seven, three on the left and four on the right. He knelt down, coughing blood all over the floor. Something didn't feel right for some odd reason.

"Are you okay?" Claire touched his shoulder. This was not a good sign. Claire could not believe her eyes, this sight was beyond disgusting.

She had seen creatures, but humanoids like this? Freaky. She would have nightmares for a month if she survived this ordeal.

It took Nighthawk a moment to finally calm down, there were pain tears in his cheeks.

Whatever they were or what they were for, he couldn't say. However, he did not care. For now, he should get Hunk back, then revenge will befall them all.

"So, you finally came." Someone spoke, followed by a clap, "Little Mike."

Claire gazed up at the other side of the hall and spotted a middle-aged man behind the glass. Nighthawk gritted his teeth and aimed his machine-gun at the glass. "Where is James, you bastard?!"

John laughed as he paced back and forth. "Unfortunately, the two of you are disposable."

A loud sound of a siren echoed through...as soldiers started gathering over to them.

"Uh-oh," Claire whispered with great fear.

Nighthawk pulled Claire back. "Stay behind me!" Then he grabbed her left hand and set it on his left shoulder.

In the distance, there were men in various outfits; they all had body armor, ammo pouches, and various weaponry. The metal hallway had several lights, so several dark figures skittered in the distance in response to the duo. The closest one had an enemy mercenary widened his eyes and whistle to the rest.

"Sir, we got visitors!" One of the mercs shouted. There was no way to tell how many mercenaries stood in the way. Three mercs, including the one that spotted the duo, revealed themselves from the shadows. They had grenades, assault rifles, and handguns. Then they raised their weapons from the hip and opened fire.

Claire hunched over and fired the right side of Nighthawk's hip. Several bullets struck Nighthawk as he stumbled for a moment then readjusted his posture to use his A.U.G. to fire back. Claire noticed the damage and rapidly patted his shoulder to point at the closest crates for cover.

"He's not going down!" A baseball cap merc bellowed. The same merc was shot four times in the body armor and had the wind knocked out him by Nighthawk's A.U.G.

The hallway was ten feet wide with crates, flatbed rollers, and old equipment sprawled about. Between the duo and the enemy mercs were several parallel rooms. Nighthawk knew those were labs with plenty of cover. The pilot's indignation fueled his purpose as they successfully reached the crates.

Claire slid to the crate, and Nighthawk knelt down.

"You're hit, let me help you." Claire reached into one of her pouches for a bandage.

"No need." Claire noticed the bullet holes and the blood seep out of his uniform. Nighthawk brought his forearm up and used his free hand to point with his index finger. From there, he poked the bullet wound to push the bullet through. Claire was about to take his forearm to bandage it, but she saw the skin reseal itself.

"It's an endurance factor, not a healing factor." Nighthawk ejected an A.U.G.'s empty magazine.

Claire put the bandage back in her pouch.

"Aim for their heads!" A different merc spoke with an accent.

"Let me get their attention again. I will create an opportunity for you to use one of the rooms along the hall. Keep pressing forward, we'll regroup at the furthest door. Got it?"

Claire blind fired her handgun. "Yeah, I got it!"

Nighthawk nodded, then he aimed for the various lights along the hall. The pilot used close to half of his magazine to destroy the lights for the low glow of red emergency lights.

"God damn it! Can anyone see them!?" The third merc shouted. "Get your flashlight ready!"

Before Nighthawk stood up, Claire noticed the pilot flick something near his temple. Then the red visor of his glowed a bright red before fading out. It was night vision, and he set his weapon to single fire. The pilot approached the merc nest, which was about thirty feet away, and charging an enemy position is not the most straightforward task.

Among the flashes of orange light, Claire could see Nighthawk moved ahead by five feet. "Now, Claire!"

Claire Redfield hoped over the crate, sprinted to the closest door, and pressed her shoulder into it so the door would swing open from the force. It did, and she was no longer in the death hall. There were several giant reinforced glass tubes with mysterious liquids at the edges of the lab: computer monitors and various chemical sinks and emergency shower. When the survivor peered onward, two more mercs were positioned on the far side. One was kneeling while the other stood behind him.

Glass beakers and computers shattered while loss paperwork exploded from the gunfire. Claire instinctively flinched from the lead-based onslaught and fired back. A bullet did hit the standing merc in the throat, and he dropped his weapon then to his knees. Gurgling and grasping at his supposed comrade.

The crouching merc shrugged the wounded one-off of himself. "Not bad bitch. Not bad!"

Claire ducked down and slid behind a metal table. It was bolted into the ground since it possessed a sink. The survivor evaluated her condition and noticed a bullet grazed her arm. The blood seeped out but was not a critical injury. For the reload, it racked loudly and echoed.

"Ready to go again, bitch!?"

Claire frowned then nudged to the edge of the table. Peeking out now would make her an easy target. The back of Claire's head tapped the table then looked up. The reflection of the test tube lets the survivor see her opponent move from his position to outflank her. Without sticking her head out, Claire's gun near the top of the table and fired at the overconfident merc.

Each of the bullets missed but did force her opponent to get down. "Try harder than that!"

By now, the two were ten feet away from each other.

Claire mentally played different scenarios within her mind's eye. The hairs on the back of her head stood on end, and she assessed the situation with several trial scenarios. Claire was about to peek out from her location until two enemy gunshots rang out and caused her to yank her head away. In that fleeting moment for the survivor, she knew that waiting too long would mean that a new enemy merc with a grenade of some kind would end this confrontation.

Claire's eyes widened with an idea.

"You got nowhere to go bitch! Come on out! I won't shoot!"

Claire then took off one of the spare pouches and hoped the stuff inside helped increase the weight. From there, she took one long deep breath. 'If this works…' The survivor then tossed the pouch over her shoulder to land near the merc. Once it smacked the ground, it kicked up a small puff of dust.

"Shit!" The merc grunted.

'Got you!' Claire thought to herself.

The merc crouched then lunged to the closest table. Knocking over more equipment and landed on his back on the other side. By the time he did that, he had got up and readied to aim at Claire. There was no explosion, and he mentally cursed himself as a bullet struck the handguard of his weapon.

Claire retaliated, and one of her shots hit the merc's weapon. The force gave the merc's wrist a jolt of momentum and dropped it. No unable to shoot back, he looked up to see Claire hop out of cover and assault him in hand to hand. The merc gripped the handguard to shove the survivor back. Perhaps he could create enough space then draw his sidearm.

"Come on, you bitch!"

Claire sidestepped the frantic shove and, with the opening, kneed his pancreas, and while he crouched, she lifted her right leg and brought her foot down on the back of his head. He hit the ground hard and fell unconscious.

Claire took several deep breaths for the close call. The beat of her heart drowned out all other noise then retrieved her spare pouch. After a moment, she meagerly approached with her weapon to where she shot the other merc. He rested against another bolted table, one hand on his throat and the other limply on the ground. He bled out during the confrontation.

Claire grimaced and felt her stomach drop. But knowing that she was going to run out of time to regroup with Nighthawk. She carefully sidestepped the dead merc and approached the far door.

At the same time, for Claire's confrontation.

Nighthawk charged forward down the hallway, then stopped in a gap in the hall to press his back against it. The pilot needed a moment for his endurance factor to seal several wounds.

"Take this!" One of the mercs shouted by tossed a smoke grenade between them and Nighthawk. It was quick as the area was not darkened out, but it did intensify the emergency lights.

After that, there was a moment for both sides to hear firearms klak and latch new magazines. The three mercs were arranged against the walls. Two on one side and one on the other, resting behind several crates. Not the best method, but it was enough for the job they've been hired to do.

The dark smoke and red emergency lights gave the area a murderous aura. The hallway was still until the red visor glowed brightly, illuminating the pilot like a black shadow. The figure approached with deadly conviction.

"Open fire!" A merc had his words cut off as he was shot in cheek as bits of flesh and bone spurted out his head.

"You motherfucker! You're dead!" The baseball cap merc screamed before he ducked down. He took out a new magazine but fumbled the reload and had to take out a new one. The merc could not spare the valuable milliseconds to stop the pilot.

Nighthawk was less than ten feet away from the mercs and was suppressed in cover by his A.U.G. Wood, ricochets, and the thunderous gunfire set filled the mercs with anxiety. This was enough for the pilot to sprint forward and use vault over the barrier to kick the baseball cap merc down. The other merc at the barrier lunged at Nighthawk from behind. Nighthawk whipped his left shoulder back to knock his attacker's jaw and brought his fist around on the cheek. In confusion, the merc then unsheathed a knife and stabbed Nighthawk. The pilot drew his Nine oh Nine handgun and put five rounds into the merc's chest at point-blank. Despite the metal plates and the kevlar, the merc died before he hit the ground. The knife still wedged through the fabric.

The baseball cap merc coughed as he leaned up with his assault rifle. Nighthawk stomped on the stomach, then brought his boot down again on the merc's temple. Coughing blood and exhaled slowly.

"Son of bitch man! That guy owed me money!" Two more mercs revealed themselves running down the hallway. Nighthawk had to quickly get to cover because he could feel a little dizzy and needed to collect himself. To keep the pressure, Nighthawk took several pot shots with his handgun while he speedily reloaded the A.U.G. Now, having used about half his total ammunition.

The enemy mercs hasten their approach, it would be harder to aim at the move. But there was the need to pin the pilot while they still had the chance.

"Cover me!" A long-haired barked.

"Fuck you, cover me!" The bald merc spat out as he sprinted further ahead.

The bald merc made it to be five feet away from Nighthawk's location. By the time he leaned out to fire, Nighthawk had appeared before him and used his left leg to sideswipe the bald merc's right leg. Dropping to his knee and Nighthawk used his left hand to pull the merc's head back.

"You should have stayed home," Nighthawk muttered

"Wait! W.A.-" The pilot shot the merc in the head.

The long-haired mercenary took the opportunity to shoot Nighthawk. Unlike before, Nighthawk flinched several times as his body armor took the brunt of the damage. Then took one bullet to the left calf. The pilot lost his balance and fell backward.

"Yes! I got the fucker!" The long hair merc stood up in triumph. When he did, Nighthawk leaned up and shot the long-haired merc seven times. All there was to it was the confusion and anger on his face.

Nighthawk got to his feet and patted his chest. Nine mushroomed bullets popped out of his body armor as he picked several other bullets out of the kevlar.

"What kind of monster are you?" The baseball cap merc muttered as he limply crawled to the wall. Blood seeped out of the mouth and groaned in pain. Unlike the others, this merc knew it would be fruitless to try to fight.

Nighthawk's endurance factor in overdrive, there was the discomforting moment to feel the metal and lead expelled from the body. A bullet remained outside on the skin, and Nighthawk pulled it out like a tick then did the same to knife in his back. He did notice the subdued merc, Nighthawk extended his Nine oh Nine outward with one hand and shot the baseball cap merc in the head.

The cap flew off while the pilot approached the furthest door to the parallel lab. It opened for a relieved Claire.

"You okay?"

"Never better." Nighthawk nodded.

Moving onward, the pilot and survivor approached the crates that became the makeshift cover. Nighthawk removed a blue cylinder from the vest and tossed it forward. It was a flash grenade that bounced off the top of the crate in front of the enemy mercs. Neither of them prepared for the flash, and one frantically rested his sub-machine gun on top of the crate to shoot back. Before that happened, Nighthawk slowed and leaned down to offer his upper back like a footstool. Claire sprinted toward him and jumped off Nighthawk's back. Claire flew through the air, and by the time she was over the crates, she split her legs apart to force both enemy mercs to crash on their backs. From there, she quickly kicked away their weapons, and Nighthawk stomped on their stomachs. Both reeled in pain then swiftly kicked in their foreheads.

The survivor sensed the opportunity for a versatile firearm, she picked up a submachine gun that was a P90 large magazine and compact enough for close quarters. Nighthawk noticed Claire adapting to the situation and leaned down to scavenge a harness with P90 ammunition pouches. The last two guards were lucky that someone actually cared about their well-being, if he was alone, Nighthawk would put a bullet in each of them before moving on.

"Hey, Redfield." Nighthawk lightly tossed the harness to Claire. "Do you know how to use that gun?"

Upon hearing that, Claire made sure to rack the weapon loudly. Nighthawk scoffed lightly and shook his head.

Nighthawk then felt a wave of exhaustion take over as he leaned against the wall.

"You said you were okay!" Claire frowned.

"I'm fine, no need to worry." Nighthawk reached for his right thigh and took out a yellow blood bag.

"What's that?"

"Blood plasma." Nighthawk opened a compartment in the back of his body armor. Then pulled back his right sleeve then reeled out surgical tubing built into the sleeve. As he attached the needle, Claire noticed several patches of blood over his body. After several moments, Nighthawk pressed the needle into his wrist and used medical tape to hold it down. With the plasma elevated from his upper back, Nighthawk adjusted his uniform to continue the mission.

By the casual demeanor, Nighthawk had to apply this treatment to himself on many occasions.

"I can keep going. James needs us."

Thank you for reading

I wanted to make this chapter much longer but...I feel like this goes well. The next chapter will be rough one.

Thank you The95Will