Chapter 2 - The Professional Gets Back to Work
Some time later, a BSAA vehicle comes cruising up the median. One of the men steps out and taps on Leon's window. "Agent Kennedy?" he inquires when Leon rolls it down, and Leon affirms his identity. "We've been sent to escort you into Dundee. Follow us, please." The BSAA driver motions for Leon to pull into the shoulder.
Their two-car convoy bypasses the congestion with ease, and before Leon knows it they're swinging off the highway and into the town. A makeshift base has been set up in an empty lot, where BSAA operatives are busy unloading supplies from their trucks. Among them, a familiar blonde is handing out equipment to the newly-arrived soldiers.
"Sherry!" Leon calls, raising a hand in greeting.
Her face lights up upon seeing him. "Hi, Leon!" She scrutinizes him with a frown. "Wow, you look like shit."
He grimaces. "Don't you get started on me too…"
"Maybe I wouldn't have to if you'd take better care of yourself," she says with an arch of her eyebrow. "Are you sure you can work like this?"
"Yeah. I'll manage. You ready to move out?"
"I'm the one who's been waiting for you to show up," she pouts, and he laughs and ruffles her hair in apology.
They gear up and report to the BSAA captain on site, who seats them in the next departing vehicle with the rest of his squad. As the Humvee rolls down the road, Leon peers outside at the rain-sodden buildings along their way. Like many coastal towns, Dundee boasts a seaside promenade that winds along the entire length of the shore. The coastline curves landward into a small bay, and at the outermost point a lighthouse stands proudly on the pinnacle of a rocky cliff, its dazzling white beams piercing through the misty sea air. The shops along the promenade are like something out of a postcard photo, quaint little brick constructions painted an assortment of reds and yellows, though the weather today has glazed their cheerful colors with melancholic grey overtones.
"Awfully empty out here," he observes, nodding toward the barricaded storefronts lining the street.
"Most of the civilians have been evacuated to Bangor," comes the captain's reply from the passenger seat. "We have teams working to assemble those who were unable to leave before the blockade went up. And then there are survivors who got caught up in the attacks. Currently, there's still a school group being extracted, a third-grade class of twenty-two. They were on a field trip at the cannery—" he points across the bay's restless water to a factory building in the distance, "—when B.O.W.s overran it. That's where we're headed now. It's one of the first places that was hit, besides those poor saps out in their fishing boats this morning."
"Did the fishing crews make it?" Sherry asks quietly.
"One man's in critical condition. We're still searching for the others."
Leon places a hand over hers in sympathy. "Any info yet on what we're dealing with?"
"Delta Team reported downing a couple of them just now, so we have some bodies for a start. You can take a look once we get there. Fair warning, though, these things are… well, I think it's better if you see them for yourself." The captain tips his PDA screen toward them. "These are the photos Delta sent."
From beside him, he hears a sharp intake of breath. "Jesus Christ," he whispers in agreement.
The images are low-resolution and were obviously taken in a rush, but it isn't difficult to discern rows of pointed teeth and a roughly lizard-like form. Leon's brow furrows. At first his mind flashes on Hunters. But the shape is all wrong, and he's never encountered a Hunter so pale before. From the bewildered look in Sherry's eye, she's probably even more clueless than he is.
"I felt the same when I saw them too," the captain confides when he sees their horrified stares. "Whatever they are, I wish you good luck in getting to the bottom of this, Agents."
The cannery is located on the far end of Dundee's harbor; the loading bay in the back of the building opens out to the water, allowing easy access for boats. Delta Team are waiting in the parking lot when they arrive. Several members surround a school bus parked at the front entrance, from which many rows of small faces are staring out forlornly. The school group being rescued, Leon surmises. A matronly woman—the teacher—paces by the bus door, occasionally pausing to listen intently to the nearest soldier's radio whenever a new transmission comes in. His jaw tightens grimly as he pieces together the situation: there are children still trapped inside.
"Good afternoon, sir," the Delta leader greets as the captain alights from his seat. (Leon checks his watch. How has half the day flown by already?) "We've secured all but three of the survivors. The hostiles are putting up a hell of a fight—" Right on cue, an ear-splitting roar rattles the windows of the massive building. "We've got most of our men engaged with them on the first floor while Tulling's gone upstairs to look for those kids solo. There's a lot of ground to cover, so we'd really appreciate the backup."
"Got it," says the captain. "Good work holding them off. We'll lend a hand with those hostiles." He gestures toward Leon and Sherry. "These two are with the DSO. They're here to see the dead ones."
The Delta leader nods. "Follow me." He leads them to the docks behind the cannery, where a soldier is standing guard over a tangled mound of ashen body parts. "We had to move them over here because, y'know… the kids." He jerks his thumb in the direction of the school bus.
"Understandable," Leon responds solemnly, thinking of all those young eyes that have already beheld more horrors than are their due.
Crouching by the bodies, he inspects the topmost specimen. It's Swiss-cheesed from all the heavy fire that eventually ended its life, but he recognizes its lizardy shape from the photos. Up close, its white skin is smooth and shiny, not scaly as he'd expected—the pixels on the PDA did a terrible job of conveying its texture. Its toes are webbed and each tipped with a long, curved claw. If he wanted to be pedantic, he'd classify it as more of a salamander than a lizard.
"It stands up on two legs most of the time," the guard adds, holding his hand a foot above his head to indicate its height.
"Look at that," Sherry breathes. She points at the top half of the body.
The creature's head is the same width as its body, and dominated by a single feature: its mouth. The cavernous maw hanging open before him is covered with countless jagged triangular teeth, just like a shark's. Shreds of fabric and chewed-up debris are caught in its crevices; Leon shudders inwardly, hoping Sherry hasn't also noticed them. From this angle, he has a good view into the shadowy folds of its throat, and it's killing him trying not to imagine the kind of things that have disappeared down there.
He looks up at Sherry. "What do you think?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know what to make of it. We should start by reporting this in, I suppose. Take samples, send one of these bodies to the lab if we can. They can trace the genetic origins and that might lead us somewhere."
"Good idea." Leon steps aside so she can photograph the body. He taps his earpiece. "Hunnigan, we've just secured a B.O.W. specimen, courtesy of the BSAA. Sherry's sending you some visuals of… of…"
The rest of his sentence falls away into silence as his train of thought is abruptly T-boned off its rails. He's been staring absently toward the cannery as he's speaking, and as his eyes wandered to the upper windows just now he could swear he saw someone watching him back.
Someone in red.
But then he blinks, and when he looks again, the figure in the window is gone.
"Leon? Are you still there?" Hunnigan's voice brings his mind crashing back to the ground.
"Y-yeah," he replies. "Just got a little sidetracked. Did you receive those visuals yet?"
They're interrupted by a sudden burst of activity from the BSAA radios. Garbled shouts and bursts of gunfire send the Delta leader into a panic as he grabs at his own earpiece and hurriedly demands an update. His brow knots at the staticky reply.
"Is everything okay?" Sherry asks.
"Tulling's found one of the kids, but there are hostiles blocking their escape. Alpha's moving in to evacuate the two of them."
"Then there are two more still lost inside," Leon deduces.
The team leader nods, grim-faced.
Leon's gaze sweeps searchingly over the windows. Had he really seen someone there, or did he just imagine it? There's an awful itch starting to build inside him, an itch that won't rest until it's seen the interior of that cannery.
"Seems you guys could use some assistance," he says carefully, his tone measured. "I wouldn't mind lending an extra pair of eyes to help look for the survivors."
The Delta leader looks hesitant.
"I-I'll help too!" Sherry volunteers.
He turns to her in surprise. "Sherry, you don't have to—"
"I'll help."
She's glaring at him, her jaw set in determination, and he throws his hands up in surrender. This is a battle he's not going to win.
The BSAA agent looks from Leon to Sherry and back again. "Alright," he agrees. "Let's go meet up with the others and we'll revise the plan."
As they circle back around the building, Leon can't help feeling a flash of guilt. Sherry may have been adamant, but it was still his idea that got her involved. And now they are both headed straight for the lion's den, about to come face to face with some very angry B.O.W.s. If this rescue mission goes bust…
But he can't think like that right now. Whatever is up there, he will find it, one way or another, without risking anyone.
He just hopes it's what he's looking for.
Next one's a long one and things will finally start picking up! Hope to see y'all next Friday.
