18. No Safe Haven
The eight survivors made their way through the winding dark hallways of the police station, with Kevin taking up the front leading the way. For the most part the journey was uneventful.
Yoko looked up at Alyssa.
"Alyssa," she asked.
"Yeah?"
"Aren't you afraid?"
Alyssa smiled. "Course I am."
"You don't show it."
"You can't let fear get to you Yoko," she said. "As soon as you do, the darkness, wherever or whatever it is, will win. Besides, we have a lot of firepower on our side, and we've already all been through a lot worse than this. Just stay cool, lil' sister."
Yoko smiled a bit.
David and Mark brought up the rear, with Mark brandishing an automatic shotgun and David a large hunter's dagger, which he acquired from the police van on the way to the station. David crept around deeply focused. Mark glanced over at him, noting his stance and posture.
"Tell me somethin' son," Mark said.
"What?"
"You ever done yo self some killin' before tonight?"
David looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"
"Lookin' at yo stance, the way you walk, the way you handle yo self with that there dagger, even the way you talk. Ah seen your eyes as you killed a zombie, an' it weren't th' eyes of a man who ain't never killed nobody. They is killer's eyes. Ah know, ah seen em before, ah even once saw em' starin' back at me in the mirror. Ah seen enough young men who smelled th' aroma a death as it permeated th' air, who seen their hands covered in blood so often they cain't wash it off no more. Ah know what a man who's done 'is fair share a' death an' murder looks like. An' you more'n fit th' bill."
"What difference does it make?" David said, agitated. "You don't trust me?"
"That ain't it at all," Mark said. "Ah jus' know enough ta' recognize a man who is haunted by the smell a' death, cuz ah am that man. But when ah look at you, ah don' see sorrow. Ah see…anger."
David didn't respond.
"It don' do a man as young as you any goodta' be angry with yo self or somethin' else. Yo anger is consumin', yo eyes speak it well."
"And just who the fuck do you think you are," David said. "My father?"
"Ah don' intend ta' lecture," Mark said. "Ah jus' want ta' relate to you, cuz when ah look at you ah see myself. An'….an', ah also see, Jerome."
"So you think your kid's gonna turn out like me," David said, his tone bitter. "And it frightens you. What you don't know about me grandpa, is I never had a father, or a mother. Those miserable shits left me in a dumpster in the back of some whorehouse. I grew up being told how to act and how to think at the orphanage, and it made me so fucking sick that I just HAD to hurt somebody, just to convince myself that I had control over SOMETHING in my life. Maybe you're son isn't any different. Maybe you push him too hard, or not enough, or maybe you were never there when he needed you. If you're afraid of him growing up to be like me, then I suggest you stop being a fucking guidance counselor, and start focusing your attention on your son. Maybe listening for once instead of lecturing would help."
Mark drooped his head down.
"Yo so right, David. Ah'm sorry," he apologized. "Ah am too tough on the boy, an' ah tend to talk 'im till 'e cain't take it no more. Ah'm jus' always so afraid for 'im, ah want ta' teach him everythin' ah know, cuz my daddy never did that fo me. But kids today are smart, 'e can take care a hisself, ah guess."
"Sometimes," David said. "But we all need help, even…"
"What?"
"Nevermind."
In the front Jim walked behind Kevin.
"You tellin' me Darth Vader couldn't beat Dracula?" Jim said.
"All I'm saying," replied Kevin in a casual manner, waving his gun in his hand for emphasis. "Is that Drac is too quick and smart for Vader. Sure he's got the force and that light sword, but if Drac were to sink his teeth in him he'd make Vader his bitch, and Dracula's got his own magic he can use against him just as well."
"Man I know what this is," Jim said, pointing at Kevin as if to taunt him. "This is about a brothah against the whitest undead fool you'll find. Only reason you backin' that blood suckin' Count Chocula is cuz he's the whitest mothah fuckah on the planet, an' Vader the blackest, baddest SOB in the fuckin' galaxy. The man can jus'" Jim squeezes his hand tightly for emphasis. "Squeeeeeeze 'is hands an' you choke to death like Hugh Hefner chokin' on a Viagra pill."
Kevin laughed heartily.
"If I wanted to choose the whitest man on the planet to beat Darth Vader, I'd have chosen Michael Jackson!"
"Oh no you didn't!" Jim said. "Don't tell me you just assaulted the king himself! Let me tell you white boy, MJ belongs ta' us, no matter what color he got now!"
Jim begins to do a terrible impression of the king of pop, grabbing his crotch and brutally destroying the moonwalk, his sneakers squeaking loudly. He walks backwards towards the wall and does a spin.
"There," Jim said. "Now ain't that some shit? I'm a baaaaaad man. OooooOOOOoooo!"
Suddenly the boarded up window behind him broke and a zombie reached through the window, grabbing Jim from the shoulders. Jim let out a scream that would do the king of pop proud as Alyssa aimed her gun and fired a shot, hitting the zombie directly between the eyes, only inches away from Jim's face. Jim bent over and breathed heavily.
"Hooo," Jim said. "Thanks girl, I owe ya' one!"
"I wasn't aiming for the zombie…" she said.
"Man you really are a cold ass bitch," Jim said. "You needa get yo self some Jim juice or somethin' ta' warm yo black ass heart."
"Easy Jim," Kevin said. "She's not all that bad when you get to know her."
Alyssa glanced at Kevin almost warmly, as if to show appreciation, but without saying a word.
George walked close to Cindy, who hooked her arm around his for comfort. George felt uneasy and nervous, even though he didn't really mind her gesture, but it took a few seconds before he could respond by holding her hand. Cindy looked at him, sensing his uneasiness, and unhooked her arm from him.
"Sorry," she said.
George sighed. "Please Cindy," he said. "I'm still, confused about everything. What happened at the hospital, it was…it was, so very much for me to take in all at once. I'm still nauseous about the whole thing."
"George," Cindy said. "I, I," It was so hard for Cindy to say those three words.
"Yes?"
Cindy stopped herself from finishing her sentence. "Nevermind."
"What's wrong?"
"It's okay. I'll, tell you later, when we get out of this."
"Now that's a good attitude, because we will survive. We must."
"Yeah…"
After stepping through a doorway, the group came upon the corpse of a zombie that lay motionless in the middle of the hallway.
"Is it dead?" Jim said.
"Lemme go ask," Kevin said, pulling out his .45. He slowly crept across the hall, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight, and nudged the zombie's body with his toe. He then kicked it hard on the side of the head, still no response. He holstered his gun and tapped his toe.
"Guess sleepy head here's not in the mood to play," he said.
"The less the better," David said.
Alyssa walked up to a door in the hallway and read the label emblazoned on the front.
"S.T.A.R.S.?" she read aloud. "So this is their headquarters."
"Yup," Kevin said. "For a special tactics force you'd think they'd have a bigger office than that. Guess it's the whole "the few the proud" thing. I've been wantin' to get in this thing so bad."
"Did you apply?" Alyssa asked.
"Er," Kevin said, nervously. "Yeah, but I haven't gotten a response yet."
Alyssa opened the door and peered inside. The room was in shambles, with papers strewn across the floor. Being the nosy reporter Alyssa was, she snooped around a bit, rummaging through papers.
"Is there a reason you're just fumbling through a bunch of papers other people probably ignored?" Kevin said.
"Mind your own business cowboy," she said. "It's my intuition calling."
She reached one of the desks and noted the nameplate.
"Chris Redfield," she said aloud. "Why is that name familiar?"
"I've talked with Chris once," Kevin said. "Not a bad guy, got a temper though."
"Of course," Alyssa said, not really hearing, or perhaps ignoring, Kevin's comments. "He was one of the surviving members of the mansion incident. I sent him an e-mail to set up an interview but he never responded. I was gonna work on the story on my own even if goddamn Stanley wouldn't give me the green light."
"Well," Kevin said. "Good ol' Stanley's havin' trouble keeping his head on his shoulders about now, so I guess you got the green light now!"
"I only wish I'd gotten the chance to see it myself," Alyssa said bitterly.
Alyssa searched Chris's desk then jammed her lock pick into one of the drawers and opened it. From within she found a field report, detailing the events of the mansion incident and the Umbrella Corporation.
"This is what I needed!" she said. "It's perfect! He won't mind if I snag these. He's probably dead by now anyway, not my problem."
"If you were any more compassionate you'd make Mother Teresa lose her sainthood," Kevin said sarcastically.
"Ethics are a thing of the past," she said. "Time to look out for number one."
"And number two, and three, and eight," Kevin said. "C'mon we don't have all day for you to do your Connie Chung thing, who knows how soon those lizard things will break in and storm the place."
"Okay okay," Alyssa said, folding up the papers and stuffing it into her pocket. "Keep your pants on."
The group then makes their way through the station until they reach a lounge area with a vending machine.
"Hey man," Jim said. "I gots ta' get me some eats, yo. Stomach's pissed off I ain't given it some lovin'."
"Okay fine," Kevin said. "Just make it quick."
Jim searched his pockets as Alyssa sprawled herself on a couch. Jim then looked at the machine and back at Kevin.
"Hey hey, anybody," he said. "Got change for a dollar?"
Alyssa then lifted her gun and fired a round into the machine, shattering the glass and causing Jim to leap backward in surprise.
"Holy shit!" he said. "You coulda shot me!"
"That would have been nice," Alyssa said with a smirk. "Gimme a choco bar buster, I need somethin' to keep me awake. I'm down to one eye here."
"Alyssa you could have hurt him," Kevin said, although not in a necessarily serious tone.
"Lighten up Tiger," Alyssa said, catching the soda pop Jim tossed to her. "What are you gonna do, arrest me? I got a better use for those cuffs…" she smiled and winked teasingly.
"Sleep deprivation must be going to your head," Kevin laughed. "Cuz I almost mistook that for a flirt! And last time I checked you needed a permit to do anything that required relating to other people."
"Kevin please," Mark said, interrupting. "Ah'm sorry but I got ta' find mah boy. Is it far? Ah'm so worried about him."
"Why the fuck are we standing around with our thumbs up our asses," David said crudely, stabbing his hunting dagger into the wall. "Let's get moving. I'm getting tense doing nothing."
"Damn man," Jim said, carrying two arm loads of chips, soda pops, and candy bars. "Can't you fools just appreciate a moment a' peace? Grab what you like, it's on good ol' Jim and the ice princess over there! I know you fools got ta' be hungry, none of us eaten anythin' since J's bar went all zombie on us, and runnin' for our lives don't help any. C'mon mister plumber man! C'mon Mario!"
Jim put his arms out to David, whose eye twitched a bit.
"I'm not hungry," he said, but no sooner did the words pass his lips than did a loud grumbling sound unearth itself from his stomach.
"Your butt hole begs to differ!" Jim said, again offering the armful of goodies to David. Reluctantly, David snatched a candy bar from the pile and ate it. Jim handed around the snacks to all the others, who hungrily inhaled them, even Mark.
After their meal the eight survivors made their way through the winding hallways of the RPD until they reached the upper balcony of the main room they had entered from. The steel doors had been ripped open, a gaping hole in the middle. Kevin scanned the area but found no hunters in sight.
"We better keep moving," he said. "No telling how close behind us they are."
The group made their way through the station until they reached a large parking area, where a few police cars were sitting in foreboding silence, their blue and white surface almost mocking the group, promising safety and protection when there was none to be had.
"This is it for now," Kevin said. "The gate leading outside is shut and we can barricade ourselves in until we get word from somebody. There should be some radios in a closet somewhere here, we can try those."
Kevin locked the door to the police station as Alyssa and the others searched through the closet for supplies.
"Okay Mark," Kevin said. "The cells are just down this way," he pointed to a door in the back of the room. "just past the kennel. I'll take you there."
Kevin advanced toward the doorway when he heard a sound. He pulled out his .45 and motioned for the others to wait. He slowly crept low up to a squad car and peered over it. A body lay slumped against the car, the man's eyes shut and his forearm bleeding. Kevin approached the body and put one hand out to check his pulse, when the man jumped up and screamed in surprise. Kevin fell backward but quickly recovered and aimed his gun at his newly awakened target.
"Don't move!" he yelled authoritatively.
"What, what the hell's going on!" the man said. "Who are you? You're a cop…you're one of them!"
"Calm down," Kevin said, holstering his gun. "I haven't been infected. But have you?"
"Oh," the man said, looking at his forearm. "A damn dog bit me," he said. "I, I barely escaped from the kennel and I passed out here, I was just so scared."
Kevin put one hand out to help the man up. He looked him over again and noticed his attire. He was dressed in a long plain white shirt, a red baseball cap, tennis shoes and shorts.
"What was it, laundry day?" Kevin said with a smirk.
"Something like that," the man said with a smile. "The name's Rodney."
"Kevin Ryman," he said.
"Are you the only one left alive?" he asked.
"Possibly," Kevin said. "How'd you get here?"
"They were bringing us here when we were attacked by those dogs. I don't know if anybody else made it, there were too many, and one of them bit me. I saw one kill the cop that was escorting us. I barely made it here alive."
George and Cindy approached.
"You're hurt!" Cindy said.
"He needs to bandage that wound," George said. "or he may lose too much blood."
"I already fainted once," Rodney said.
"Okay then," Kevin said. "George, I'll take you back into the station. There's a doctor's station where you can get what you need. We'll also need to find another vending machine, no telling how long we'll be here. Mark, take someone with you through that door. Just get past the kennel and the cells are right there, I'm sure your kid will be there."
"Me and Yo-Yo Yoko will just chill here I think, yah," Jim said. "Gotta watch over this fool with the cap after all. Gimme a gun so I can cap his ass in case he turns!"
"Jim," George said. "Good idea. Here, give me your jacket, we can use it to stop the bleeding for now."
"What!" Jim urked. "No way in hell you getting my favorite threads all bloody an' shit. Who knows where this fool been? Fuck that!"
"Please Jim," Cindy pleaded. "He may die if you don't do this. You're not a bad person, please help him."
"Here," Yoko said, removing her jacket. "You can use mine."
"Thank you," Rodney said. "I appreciate it."
George wound the jacket around Rodney's wound.
"Okay then," Kevin said. "Let's get moving. I don't wanna be in the station when those things show up."
Kevin, George and Cindy walked to the door that lead to the station as Mark and David made their way to the kennels. Alyssa shrugged.
"Ah what the hell," she said. "I'd much rather hang with those two than stick around Mr. Subway here."
"Sheeeeit," Jim said. "Better watch yo ass girl, cuz I know I am! Ya!"
"Ya?" Alyssa said. "What the hell's ya? Ugh, never mind, it's you we're talking about. Nothin you say makes sense. Wait up for me Davey and Goliath."
Kevin lead the way as George and Cindy followed. They climbed down a stairway and trekked down a long hallway until they spotted another zombie lying on the floor. Kevin approached it and kick its head.
"This one's toast," he said. "Man, reminds me of toasted marshmallows. I'll hafta get some of those when we get through this."
"That's the proper attitude, Kevin," George said. "We must not submit to the darkness, no matter how soothing its caress. Hope is our greatest weapon."
"Jeez no need to get all philosophical doc," Kevin said.
"I like the way George talks," Cindy said with a smile, which George almost reluctantly returned.
Kevin lead the two to a room with a red cross on it. They entered and he guarded the door as they rummaged through the supplies.
"So George," Kevin said. "You say you got a test for this virus?"
"Yes," he said.
"Does it involve…" Kevin gulped. "Needles?"
"Well, yes," George responded curiously. "It does."
"Errr," Kevin said. "If I didn't get bitten by anything, I don't hafta take it, right?"
"We don't know the extent of this virus," George said. "How it's passed between people. I think it should be mandatory."
"That is so cute," Cindy said. "You're so brave and strong Kevin, but you're afraid of needles!"
Kevin rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Can you guys do me a favor? Don't, tell Alyssa about this, okay? I'll never live it down."
George smiled. "Our lips are sealed."
Once the group was done they left the room with Kevin in the lead. They backtracked until they reached the long hallway before the stairs. Kevin stopped suddenly and scanned the room.
"Hey," he said. "Where'd that dead guy go?"
"He's gone," Cindy said. "But how?"
"I don't know," George said. "Maybe it wasn't dead."
"Why didn't it attack us then," Kevin responded. "Those things don't have enough brains to play dead on us."
"Well there's no use arguing," George said. "Let's return quickly before our friend's condition worsens."
The group climbed the stairs and walked down yet another hallway, when suddenly a low growling could be heard.
"Did you hear-"
Before Kevin could finish his sentence the window directly in front of him burst in a shower of glass as a Doberman pincher flew through and landed in front of them. Kevin raised his .45. The dog stared at them and growled, then let out a loud bark that sounded almost un-animal like.
"Alright Fido," Kevin said. "Let's see what you got. You two go on ahead, I'll deal with poochy."
"Thank you Kevin," George said, pulling Cindy through a nearby door. Kevin took aim at the dog, whose stance expressed it was ready for battle.
"Let's see you take a bite outta this, Old Yeller!"
Kevin fired a round that cut through the wind with the ferocity of a razor blade, but the dog quickly and easily dodged to the side. Kevin fired again with the same effect, when suddenly the dog burst forward towards him. Kevin fired again, when the dog suddenly leaped sideways and propelled itself against the wall and straight towards Kevin. Kevin ducked its open jaw and rolled forward, landing on his side. He fired a round off that hit the dog on its side, bursting open its rib cage in a bloody mess. Kevin got to his feet to find that this had only enraged the dog, who then sped towards him and leaped into the air. Kevin fired another round directly into the dog's face, splattering blood against the wall and knocking it back from him.
"You want MORE huh!" Kevin said, only to hear the frightening sound of an empty handgun click.
He reached into his pocket to get another clip when the dog suddenly leaped into the air and knocked his 45 out of his hand. Kevin took a few steps back as the dog, whose face was half torn off its body and its skull protruding the skin, stalked him. Kevin stepped backward against a wall as the dog bent downward then vaulted itself in the air. Kevin ducked and the dog crashed through a window directly behind him, sending it plummeting down at least three stories. Kevin looked out and saw the dog lie motionless on the floor below.
"Bet he wishes he was a cat about now!" Kevin said smugly.
George and Cindy walked down another hallway.
"It's just through here," George said, stepping towards a door.
Suddenly, before he could grab the handle, the door slowly creaked open itself. George stepped back and saw that the hand was a dark crimson. He looked up and saw what looked like a zombie who's entire body was a blood red crimson, it's eyes without pupils and its hands now possessing long, sharp claws, its teeth also having grown straighter and sharper. The crimson head's chest heaved in and out as George and Cindy took a few steps back, then it let out a horrific, inhuman scream and burst forward towards them. They ran in the other direction until Cindy ducked into another room. George followed her and held the door shut behind them.
"What should we do! What was that thing!" Cindy said.
"I don't know," George said, struggling with the door. "We must find another way, quickly!"
The crimson head let out another scream and began bashing and tearing away at the door with its claws. Cindy hurriedly searched the room, but there were no windows or doors. She searched a cabinet and found a large Desert Eagle gun, which was so heavy and thick in her hands she could barely lift it.
"I found something!"
"Good! Now," George said, before the door was suddenly thrust forward so hard it knocked him onto his back. He crawled backwards from the crimson head, who looked down and let out an almost mocking sound, a predator toying with its prey, as Cindy shakingly took aim and fired. She missed at first, and the shot alerted the crimson head. She fired again, her shot hitting its arm. The bullet burst through the bone easily, and with the impact the monster's elbow joint was destroyed and its hand fell to the ground. The crimson head then peered at her menacingly as she fired again, hitting him in the chest with little result. She fired again and again, one shot hitting it directly in the eye, only for it to slowly proceed with little to no reaction to the damage it had taken. Cindy pulled the trigger only to hear the sickening click sound.
"Nooo!" she screamed, throwing her arms up as the crimson head took a vicious swipe at her, knocking her backward and to the ground. George tried to get to his feet, then noticed something glimmering under the desk. He grabbed it and saw it was a lighter. George then stepped up behind the crimson head and turned the lighter on, setting its shirt on fire. The monster screamed in astonishment and flailed around the room, taking swipes at George that barely missed its target. Cindy sat in the corner, horrified, as the monster quickly ran towards George and grabbed him, still set aflame. Cindy screamed as the thing opened its mouth to chomp into George's neck, when suddenly a loud BANG shot through the room. The zombie's head exploded in a fantastic fountain like spray of blood, and its body collapsed to the floor. At the door stood Kevin, who was breathing heavily.
"What in God's name was that?" he said.
Suddenly the body began to spasm, rolling and jerking along the floor. It even took a few swipes at Cindy, who screamed and backed away, until Kevin ran up to it and unloaded an endless number of rounds into it until it finally stopped moving.
"Gawddammit!" he complained, wiping his forehead. "Barbequed zombie meat, nice thinking George. This wasn't a regular dead guy."
Kevin helped Cindy to her feet, when she handed him the silver desert eagle.
"You shouldn't have!" Kevin said, pointing the gun as if it were a gift on his birthday. "What a shame, I didn't get you anything!"
Cindy chuckled as George brushed himself off.
"It was covered entirely in blood," George said, noting his heavily bloodied coat and pants.
"Well, it's dead now," Kevin said. "Um…again…"
The kennel was a mess. Everywhere around the room blood and gore lay, and it seemed every cage in the place was dismantled from the inside, its inhabitants having forced themselves out. On the floor lay small chunks of meat, innards, and even the corpse of another dog, whose rib cage was exposed.
"Looks like we missed a wild party," David said.
"No shit," Alyssa said, gagging. "This is disgusting."
"What happened to these animals," Mark said. "Ah cain't believe this. Ya' know, ah used ta' have a German Shepard. Poor thing, ah'm so glad he ain't alive ta' see what hell the world's in now. Mah boy used ta' love 'im, even though he was an old dog."
"Save the stories for later," David said. "Let's go."
The group traversed the gore soaked cement grounds of the kennel and walked past the line of cages until they reached a door. Suddenly behind them, a loud growling could be heard echoing around the room. The three turned around and saw two Dobermans standing at the ready. David pulled out his knife and Alyssa her handgun.
"Get moving Mark," Alyssa said. "We'll deal with these things."
"Yeah," David said, tossing his knife from his left to his right hand. "You wanna piece a' me, doggie?"
Mark quickly ducked through the door as Alyssa looked at David, who resembled a battle worn gladiator thrown into the arena to do mortal combat, and loving every minute of it.
"You're used to this, aren't you?" she said.
"Shut up and help me kill these bastards," David said, clutching his dagger tightly.
Mark closed the heavy steel door behind him and looked around the room. It was poorly lit, one of the lights hanging above fizzing on and off. He looked at a key holder hanging on the wall and grabbed it, then walked slowly down the hall between the two rows of cells.
"Jerome?" he said. "Jerome…where are you?"
He heard a low scratching sound. He lifted his shotgun up and listened to the echo of his own footsteps against the cold cement floor. He smelled the air, and found the aroma all too familiar. It was the smell of death.
Suddenly in a cage beside him a zombie sprung up and clung to the bars of its cell. Mark lifted the shotgun, ready to fire, but lowered it when he saw no immediate danger. He continued down the long hallway until he reached a left turn. He proceeded and found two holding cells. The first one was dark, but he could make out a figure sitting silently on the bed.
"Jerome," Mark called out. "Is that you? Are you alright?"
There was no answer. Mark fumbled with the keys in his hand and opened the cell. He put lowered his shotgun to his side and approached the figure. It was Jerome, whose hooded sweater covered his face. He sat silently, his body slumped against the wall.
"Jerome," Mark called out again. "It's me, yo fathah."
A low, morose response came. "Uuun…."
"Jerome…"
Mark lifted the hood and recognized the face of his son. The only difference were the absence of color in his eyes, and the immense hunk of flesh missing from his throat. Jerome's corpse looked up at Mark and let out a groan. Mark took a few steps back.
"No….." Mark dropped his shotgun to the side. "Jerome….no…."
Jerome's body lifted itself from its seat and stood up in a slouched position. Mark's body shook fiercely, as if he'd come down with a fever. His eyes began to water and the nerves in his entire body went insane. Tears welled up in his eyes as he watched what used to be his son stand before him in silence.
"Jerome…" Tears poured from Mark's eyes down into his mouth. "Ah'm so so sorry…." Mark openly wept, blubbering like a child. "Oh Lord, please no…don' take mah son…please Lord…PLEASE!"
Jerome's corpse lifted its head, almost painfully, to look at Mark, and its glazed eyes stared coldly at him as if to ask, "why?"
"Ah was jus' tryin' tah be a good father," Mark said, almost responded to the vacant stare. "Forgive me Jerome…please, forgive me…"
Mark stepped forward and put one hand on his son's cheek, which was so cold it nearly gave Mark frostbite. Mark then clutched his son tightly and embraced him.
"Please forgive me…my son…."
The corpse of Jerome stood motionless, then grabbed Mark and slowly opened its mouth, sinking its teeth very slowly into Mark's shoulder. Blood poured from his wound as the corpse of his son began to gnaw and rip into him, but Mark felt nothing. Blood spilled to the floor as Jerome's corpse continued to chew on Mark's flesh, but no earthly pain could overcome the overwhelming emotional torment and deadening of senses that Mark felt. He gave no response to the boy's assault, and only hugged him tighter and tighter, refusing to let go, tears pouring to the ground and mixing in with his blood.
David emerged around the corner and peered into the cell. Slowly he lifted a handgun and aimed, then fired a round off, which hit Jerome's body directly in its temple. Jerome's corpse then loosened its grip, its eye lids closed and it fell silent, drooping its head over Mark's shoulder like a wilting flower. Mark dropped to his knees, still holding his son's body in his arms, tears never ceasing to flow from his squinting eyes, which burned with overwhelming passion and misery.
David stepped into the cell as Mark looked down at his son's body. It was at peace. Mark lay Jerome's head softly to the ground and touched his cheek again, running his fingers through the boy's hair. Bombs burst around him, and he was back in Vietnam, the young soldier dying in his arms. He knew hell, he had lived it, and lived to survive it. But this was worse than hell, so much worse. Again he was overwhelmed, and he pulled Jerome's lifeless body to his own and let out a wail like no man has ever heard before. He was nearly at the point of screaming, though his voice was muffled by his smothering himself in his son's chest. Alyssa came from around the corner and saw the sight. She gasped.
"Oh God, no," she said. "We're too late."
David was faced away from Mark, his arms crossed and his head tilted downward, as if out of respect. Alyssa covered her mouth with her hands and began to feel tears well up in her eyes. After all the times she had been cruel to Mark, it finally hit her how much he had been through. He lost his best friend that night, a man he had known all his life and had gone through Vietnam with him, the very epitome of hell, and now his only son was dead. She became unable to fight back her tears, and she turned away from the others to let herself cry.
Mark lay Jerome's body on the cold floor and crossed his arms over his chest. He bent forward on his knees and cried again. Then, unprovoked, got to his feet and turned David around, and shoved him hard against the wall.
"YOU KILLED HIM! You killed him you son of a BITCH! You son of a bitch…" he sobbed. "Why…WHY GODDAMN YOU! It shoulda been me…Ah should be the one dead… NOT HIM! NOT HIM! OOOOH LORD!"
Mark dropped to his knees pitifully and screamed, his hands grasping David's shirt.
"Ah killed him…ah killed mah own son…A MAN SHOULDN'T HAFTA BURY HIS OWN CHILDREN! OH GAWD!"
Alyssa suddenly bolted into the cell and clasped her arms around Mark in an embrace, both of them shedding tears. She caressed his bald head, her tears dripping down along his forehead and mixing in with his own. Mark returned her embrace, putting his head against her shoulder and grabbing onto her tightly, almost to the point it hurt her.
"I'm so sorry," Alyssa said between sobs. "Mark, I'm so very sorry…"
"Ah killed him," Mark wept. "Ah killed him Alyssa. It's mah fault…it's all mah fault…"
"No," Alyssa said. "Please Mark, no. It's not your fault…"
"Ah left him here…he died because of me…his own father…ah only wanted him ta' learn…ah wish….ah was…"
Mark reached for Alyssa's gun and clasped his large, thick hand around it. Alyssa grabbed it tightly to stop him.
"No Mark, please," Alyssa said warmly. "Please don't."
"Please Alyssa," he said. "It hurts so bad…ah don' want ta' live anymore…don' want ta' feel…please…"
Alyssa squeezed Mark tighter, her grip on her own gun loosening from Mark's much stronger, bigger hands.
"You can't die Mark," Alyssa said. "You can't kill yourself. Jerome won't come back. Please, you're still alive."
"Jerome…"
The very sound of his son's name built up a furious torrent of emotion that shot through Mark's entire body, almost like adrenaline, and Mark screamed his son's name again, but he let go of Alyssa's gun. She wrapped her arms around him and caressed his head and back.
Mark screamed Jerome's name out in pain as David looked down at the two of them. He then looked at the gun in his hand. He felt sick. He dropped the gun on the floor and walked out of the cell, then stood with his back against the wall and slumped to the floor, his arms slung in front of him over his knees. His stomach did cartwheels and he felt unbelievably sick, nearly to the point of vomiting. That had never happened before. He covered his face with his gloved hands as if to fight off invisible tears. He had forgotten how to cry, and now more than ever, he wanted, he needed to. The words he had said to Mark. He wished he could take them back.
"Jerome…."