Chapter five
"We've got to check for survivors." Stated Sergeant Bill Hawkins. "Those are our orders, regardless of you two being AWOL."
Jackson sighed, not wanting to press the matter further. Besides, it made him look unprofessional. He was eager to join his unit, but their recent encounter with the undead had changed his mind about ruffing it alone. Hughes stood beside Jackson, just happy to still be alive.
"Eddy. I just remembered that I dropped my radio back their when they attacked me."
"Yeah, I lost mine when we made the drop." Replied Jackson.
The dark skies began to give why to the rising sun in the east, and storm clouds began to circulate around the area, causing the sunrise to disappear and reappear regularly.
The National Guard unit stood on the edge of the forest, looking into the clearing towards the mahogany-colored cabin. Undoubtedly made for a person with a lot of money, the house seemed to be bigger now that the faint light shone upon it with a ghostly appearance. Jackson stepped into the clearing, following the other soldiers as they approached the house. Sergeant Hawkins began directing orders, examining the house.
"Greg, take ten men with you and go through the back. John, you take five and go around the side."
One guy, obviously Greg, took his men around back. John took his five around the side, through the parking lot and into the garage. Hawkins stepped forward, his men following him.
"You two can tag along with us. Keep your eyes open." He said, turning his head towards the both of them. They replied with a slight nod, their weapons at the ready as they approached the blood-stained, half-opened front door.
Sergeant Hawkins pushed the door completely open with a gloved hand, exposing the foyer inside the house. He stepped forward with caution, his M16 leading the way. The room was filled with a bright, white light, the overhead bulb shining with the capacity that could only be fueled by a generator giving off a soft hum perhaps somewhere under the house. The overall effect was creepy, because the whole building seemed like it was stripped of life.
"Garage, kitchen clear!" a faint voice sounded off somewhere in the house.
The radio clicked; "This John. Generator room clear."
"Roger, bravo team." Replied Hawkins.
Hawkins examined the room. Pure chaos is what he thought. There was an overturned couch; a TV without a stand, projecting static, and a young woman slumped in the far corner, her head staring into her lap with a trail of blood seeping from an orifice on her face, and a man clutching a handgun spread-eagle on the floor near the hallway. He walked towards the darkened hallway and looked down the corridor, where he saw it resting on the wall straight down from his face.
The creature was at least the size of an average man, but stripped of any flesh that was ever on its body. Its skull seemed to have lost its purpose in the creature's transformation, because it didn't have one. In its place was its exposed brain.
"What in God's name…" whispered Hawkins, not believing what was actually there.
The thing didn't look like it had ears, but his whisper was perceived by the creature. It threw its body back accompanied by a loud, unearthly shriek and landed at the end of the hallway.
It's a pure incarnate of Hell, because nothing like that exist!
By now the other soldiers flanked Hawkins in the hallway, alerted by the screeching demon. Whosoever was directly beside the Sergeant raised their weapons simultaneously with his, each cursing their hesitant behavior. Weapons jerked in a rapid fashion, spraying bullets into the hallway and hitting the creature with devastating results. The hallway filled with smoke and consumed the limp figure of the creature, which was left gasping for air. Hawkins walked slowly down the hall, through the smoke and next to most disturbing site he'd wish he hadn't seen.
The creature was breathing hard, it's bony, bloody and exposed ribcage rising and dropping in long increments. The thing seemed to sense his presence, because it began to snap at him with its razor-like teeth, a humanoid face structure yearning in misery.
Hawkins lowered his weapon towards its head and squeezed the trigger, his gun kicking once as the round shattering any remnants of bone and sinew on its head.
Gunfire erupted somewhere on the second story, causing everyone to jerk their heads upward.
"Greg. Major, report!" Hawkins spoke into the comm.
A few seconds went by as more gunfire reverberated through the house, then; "Man down, man down! Holy shit what the fuck were those!"
"Patterson, take Leonard and Brown with you and proved assistance with the Major's group."
Three of the men nodded and ran down the hall, disappearing after a door could be heard opening and closing.
They sat in silence for a second, the hallway filled with equipment-heavy soldiers. Sergeant Hawkins broke the silence by refocusing on the situation at hand and reaching for the door at the end of the hallway. He stepped into another room, large like every other. Another chaotic scene was presented, this one much worse than the last. It seemed to be a lounge area, with overturned, blood-splattered furniture.
Jackson turned his head toward a door that was adjacent from the entrance and saw it move a bit.
"There's something in there." Whispered Jackson to Hawkins.
The Sergeant nodded and grasped the door with his hand, nodding. An unfamiliar soldier ran towards the door, holding his weapon out with both hands. Hawkins swung the door open just as a muzzle flash lit up the closet. The soldier standing in front of the door took the heavy, hollow-pointed bullet in the chest, recoiling from the shot, face twisted into a scowl, then slumping into a heap on the floor.
"STAY AWAY FROM ME! STAY AWAY FROM—"
Ratatatatatatatatatat!
Sergeant Hawkins M16 blared out the noise of the man's scream, who convulsed violently; the 7.75mm bullet's tearing through his white lab coat and the live tissue and organs. He fell back against the wall of the closet, has hands closed around a large revolver that smoked from the tip of the barrel.
"Fuck!" Hawkins screamed, running over to the downed soldier. "Who in the hell was that!"
The man was already dead before he hit the ground, and his mouth was leaking large amounts of blood. Hawkins tore off his dog tags and stuffed them into his pocket and closed the man's eyes, laying him down on the floor softly.
He stood up and examined the room he was in. There was a bar at the far end and next to it an elevator door stood somewhat uninviting, the doors smeared with the popular look of crimson that seemed to be everywhere these days. Hawkins walked through the two sets of bullet-laden pillars, towards the elevator door. He began to touch the door-open button when a voice stopped him;
"Sir, I would not open that door if I were you!"
A chubby, middle-aged man sporting a lab coat and name tag with an approached from the entrance of the room, flanked by Greg's group of men who seem to have recovered the survivor upstairs.
"You do not want to open that door. Because there are more of them down there. More zombies and lickers. It's horrible!" he yelled the last word, shuttering with a look of pure agony and sorrow that bloomed across his face.
"Who is this?" asked Hawkins.
One of the soldier's began to speak, but the scientist interrupted him;
"Al Jenkins, Research and Development." He put out his hand to shake, but Hawkins gripped his weapon with intent.
Sweat grew across Al's brow, causing his pudgy features to look more piggish.
"They overtook our labs below and then—"
"Wait a minute. I wasn't aware of any U.S. army laboratories within the area—"
"We're not Army. Umbrella, as a matter of fact." Al said that punctually, as if stating his lifetime accomplishment.
"Now we must get out of here before they breach the surface further more!" the scientist looked around the room nervously, his eyes coming to rest on the elevator doors.
Hawkins stared at the elevator for a moment, aware that the uneasy scientist was deathly afraid of whatever hell-spawned demons roamed around down there.
"Brown, go get John out of the generator room and bring him here."
Jackson noticed that Hawkins grew uneasy himself, pacing over toward the window and peeking between the boards.
"Ah hell." He breathed, eyes staring into the yard.
Jackson approached the window, looking through the cracks.
At least forty zombies ambled out into the clearing, attracted by the gunfire. It wasn't much of a surprise either, because the suburbs lay not but a quarter of a mile in LA's direction.
"Lock 'n load boys, I think we're in for a fight."
Chapter six