Sergeant Hawkins looked out of the window again, watching the slow advance of zombies. The surviving scientist, Al, cowered over towards the wall, a small squeal of horror coming from his frigid figure.
"You!" Shouted Bill from across the room. "You stay better stay out of the way!"
The scientist winced as Bill yelled at him, the words striking him like a hot chain. Bill turned and looked out from the window, his hand propped up to the boards. He knew the man would cowar without being told to get out of the area.
"Greg, get your men, round up John from out of the generator room and take them to the garage; keep it secure!"
The creatures lurched out into the open, mouths agape as their soulless appearance became visible in the pale, dimly lit sky. Their colors were stained and gleaming as they moved towards the house with rotten open arms. A soft thud resonated through the hallway; gunfire sounded off in the entrance area, followed by a loud slam! of the front door.
Greg had past through there, clearing the room of the first threat that breeched the house. Chatter over the radio could be heard confirming this. John had been contacted before-hand and was already securing the garage door, more faint gunfire echoing through the large house coming from John, who spoke through the comm. System.
"Holy crap, there're like fifty of them coming out from the – I can see the suburban street on the other end of the forest, about 80 meters away! Sarge, if it gets too risky we can dash through the suburbs towards Blockade D, on 77th Avenue!" John had spoke with a short, mechanical click! coming after his words.
"Roger that! Hold your position until hostility action settles down!"
A loud bam! thudded on the front door as the decayed hands of the destroyer approached Hawkins' unit, and he thought of an apocalyptical vision that conjured within his head. He cocked his gun and kicked out a board from the window to which he could fit his rifle muzzle through. He took aim into the crowd as more guns began to aim out.
Jackson gripped his rifle tightly, teeth clenching, hearing the first sounds of automatic rifle fire sound off all around him. A sight to behold, but a sight that would undoubtedly be burned into his cranium for a very long time.
The elevator doors flung open with a soft ding! after following a low hum that resonated through the room. Jackson craned his neck towards the elevator, eyes growing wide in horror. He began to yell, but his voice was lost in the commotion of the general uproar. He swung his rifle around and squeezed the trigger as several undead creatures flooded into the lounge room. Bullets tore through clothing, lab coats, and guard uniforms, taking out some of the soft flesh that deteriorated over time.
Some of the soldiers glanced over once, then did a double take as they turned towards the oncoming threat. By now, the zombies from the elevator had come full force into a barrage of semi-automatic gunfire. Smoke filled the room, along with that sickly sweet smell of cordite. Most of the gunfire by then had been concentrated on the nearest threat, that being the elevator that had ascended onto their level. This had caused an advance in the small undead army, and they began to tear at the hard oak and exterior of the house. The radio clicked once, followed by screaming.
"Sarge, they've breached the house! We've got to go they're everywhere.. !"
"Damnit!"
Just then the hallway filled with shadows… then the shadows took the form of solid bodies, slowly followed by that unearthly stench. They had knocked down the front door, one of the only barriers between the living and the dead.
The group of soldiers began to back up towards the elevator, which dripped of blood and was littered by bodies. The line of fire was concentrated away from the window and towards the entrance of the room.
It seems that for every downed zombie, two would take its place, eagerly rushing forward into the room in a chance to taste living flesh once again.
"In the elevator – now!" yelled Sergeant Hawkins.
Jackson backed up, tripping over bodies as he stumbled towards the elevator, his rifle kicking with each trigger squeeze. Somewhere, somewhere in the house Hughes was with the other group who were now cut off from them.
"Sir, we're making a run for the suburbs now. I'll send help for you when we get there! They're all behind us; hundreds of 'em! Be careful!" breathed John as he took pauses in between breathes, telling Hawkins that he was in the process of running for his life.
He knew the rest of his men, including the other AWOL soldier, Mike Hughes, was in a desperate situation, and there situation wasn't looking so hot either.
Jackson pulled a grenade of his harness and chucked it towards the far side of the room, connecting with the collapsing skull of a pale teenager. He began the count down in his head.
Four, three, two…
The rest of the men backed into the elevator as the room took on an overwhelming stench, hundreds of the creatures dashing for their position. Someone raised their rifle and squeezed the trigger in rapid succession, the automatic feature spraying bullets into the oncoming crowd, but to little avail. A split second later the grenade went off, dousing the crowd with debris and smoke. That's when the blood-smeared elevator doors came to a close, postponing the soldiers'
inevitable death.
Jackson breathed a sigh of relief, as did most of the others. The elevator began to descend into an unknown darkness, taking them not two, or three stories beneath the surface, but down into the bowls of hell, or so it seemed. Reloading took place in the elevator as the men began to talk amongst themselves, trying to see if anyone was hurt or out of ammo. Sergeant Hawkins pressed the button and began to speak into his communications set.
"John, you there?"
Silence. Static. A small click somewhere from the other end, and then; "Any… anyone there?"
The voice was loud and audible over the radio. Jackson recognized it as Hughes. He began to speak, to ask him what the hell had happened to him, but Hawkins beat him to it.
"Identify yourself."
"It's Hughes… Mike Hughes… Damn, they're everywhere! Gimme another clip, I'm almost out…"
Mike had lowered his voice down to a small whisper, as if he was hiding somewhere.
"Mike, what is the current status of the squad? Where's John?" asked Hawkins.
"John? Oh, the Hawaiian guy…" Mike went silent for a second. "He… He didn't make it."
Sergeant Hawkins closed his eyes and clenched his fist. Several other soldiers began to look distraught as well. This was a tight-knit unit, and everyone seemed to know each other in some form or another.
Mike continued; "We're in some house – I don't know where. We ran into the neighborhoods and then they just started pouring out of the houses. I think they were waiting for someone to come through Sarge…"
"Who's all with you? Anyone high enough in rank to take the lead?"
Mike sat in silence for a moment, words being exchange between people on the other end.
"There's nine of us. We lost half of the men on the way over here. It was horrible, sir! To tell you the truth, I
outrank every one of these men."
Hawkins tilted his head back, the sweat rolling off the side of his dark-complected skin. He was a large black man, his arms being about the size of Jackson's head, Jackson thought. He was also an extraordinary leader, and his efforts thus far had kept their casualties to a minimum.
"Okay son, listen," Hawkins voice was stern over the radio. "You're going to have to lead those men out of there to Blockade D on 77th Avenue. Can you do it."
A small pause once again, and then; "Yes… Yessir, I'm up for the challenge. I… I won't let you guys down."
"Good. Stay in touch. We've had to retreat into the elevator for now. Over and out."
The radio clicked. The elevator display read "Research & Development", the elevator coming to a rest.
Great, now we're in Umbrella's sanctuary, facing their demons thought Jackson as he reloaded his rifle.
He checked the clip on his Smith & Wesson, making sure the ammo was full, locked and loaded.
"Research & Development. That's my department!" yelled Al, the Umbrella scientist.
He said it with a kind of excitement at first, but horror spread across his face thereafter.
"Oh god… Oh god no! Take me up! Take me – "
Slam!
Someone had hit Al Jenkins upside the head with the butt of their rifle, causing him to fall down. A few moments later, he issued to his feet, glasses askew and a puzzled look of disorientation playing across his features. He kept his mouth shut tight, his eyes beginning to water. He seemed to eye the red, florescent letters that stood up above the doors, nervously shifting his posture as his glance shot back and forth between the lettering and the man who hit him.
Elevator doors opened into blackness, bathing a small portion of the room with soft light. Soldiers peered into the darkness, Hawkins engaging his flashlight on his M4. The flashlight shot a beam into the room onto the soft, red slimy flesh of a creature that jumped into the air with razor-sharp talons. A loud screech rang out as saliva and blood dripped in the creatures wake. The reaction speed the licker had was astounding. Jackson's heart jumped a beat as he began to raise his rifles, as did everyone else.
Ratatatatat-atatatat!
Automatic gunfire erupted along the elevator as flashes danced across the walls of the room. Bullets ripped into manlike flesh, severing the creature in several places.
Raaar!
The creature fell in mid-air, taking the barrage like a champ. It quivered and shook as it lay on the ground still taking in 7.56mm bullets. Shaking, the licker convulsed violently on the ground in a pull of blood, its screech slowly dying down to a low wheeze; then nothing more.
"Holy fuck!" breathed someone.
They stepped out into the room, flashlights beaming to life. Light poured over every part of the room, the men searching for any hostilities. That's when the loud screeching shot out from a ventilation shaft.
Private Daws had no time to act. A ventilation cover blew off its hinges from the ceiling, slamming into the guy as he fell to the floor, his rifle flying five feet away from him.
"Oh my godAHHHHHHHHH!"
The thing landed onto his mid-riff before anyone could act, its tongue shooting out from its mandibles and wrapping around the mans neck.
Sluuuurp – SNAP!
The licker reacted with lightning-like reflexes, the quick figure of the red flesh being a blur as it worked its devilish magic. The tongue had wrapped around the guys neck and tightened quickly, followed by a jerking motion as the things mouth closed around its tongue. The resulting motion had ripped the Private's head off his shoulders, blood pouring out of where his head should've been. Rifles were raised simultaneously as triggers were squeezed at the same instant, causing another loud ass crackle of gunfire. The creature rocked, convulsed, and then fell onto its side, tongue hanging out as it gaped for air, riddled with bullet holes in every orifice on its body.
"FUCK!"
That seemed to be the word out of everyone's mouth as they surrounded the man's corpse. Jackson stood there with a look of disbelief on his face. Did I really just see that? Jackson clinched his rifle, the scene replaying itself in his head over and over. Something deep down inside seemed to be bending; breaking. The human mind bends and twist to deal with the horrors of reality… but sometimes, when it bends too much, it just snaps.