Chapter 3: It'll heal but it won't forget
"Times like these it's not the zombies and mutated monsters that scare me the most, it's the normal people. It doesn't take a nasty case of bioterrorism or any other actual disaster for people to lose their minds, no. The thing is, that mob-mentality is already built in. Humans are, by nature, beings that tend to go with the flow. All they need is one person who gives them a reason they agree with and believe in," Hunnigan chatted as she boiled water in the mess hall's kitchen. When it was hot enough, she poured it into the large sink she'd plugged up.
"I can't tell you how many peaceful protests I've witnessed turn into violent riots. And once civil unrest begins, it's easier for anyone to join and before you know it, a protest against a certain cause turns into a legion of people looting and destroying things just because the opportunity is there. People who had nothing to do with opposing of defending the original subject that caused the protest in the first place," she said and took off her clothes before tossing them into the water.
One crucial feature the HQ that was otherwise so well-prepared for events like this lacked was modern means of doing laundry. Granted, the place was meant to set up temporary shelter when necessary, not to house people for long periods of time.
"A terrorist attack, involving biological weapons or not, is a great way to jumpstart chaos. It's amazing really when you think about it. It honestly doesn't take much, sometimes any actual action isn't necessary, the mere threat of taking away one of the luxuries we've become to consider a necessity is enough. Hell, I've seen people threaten to riot if their favorite character in a TV show gets killed off," Hunnigan spoke as she left her clothes to soak, crossed her arms over her bare stomach and leaned her back against the counter. The stainless steel was cold against her naked skin.
"Don't even get me started on religion or cults. All it takes it one charismatic leader and the herd of sheep will gladly do what they're told. They'll give away their possessions or take their own lives even."
"What's your point, other Hunnigan? You're boring myself."
"My point, and I do have one, is that humans are their own worst enemy. Humans are so self-destructive, we gladly ruin our own planet to the point of it becoming inhabitable, and all for what? For convenience and profit. What we don't just ruin, we try to exploit. Take these viruses we engineer. What kind of a person looks at a virus that can mutate people into monsters and says 'hey, I want to make this deadlier'?" Hunnigan shrugged and reached to feel the water with her fingertips.
It had cooled down enough for her to sink her hands into it and proceed with scrubbing her clothes clean. Thank goodness for the summers spent at grandma's cabin where the only means of doing laundry was scrubbing them by hand, just like now. Grandma's cabin was also where she'd learned that baking soda can be used to wash your hair and teeth (among other things), another little bit of practical knowledge that had become extremely useful and valuable in the current situation.
"Why would you do something like that if you didn't profit from it somehow? Either it's money or just an obsession to make an impact, to leave a mark, a legacy. I think if the motive for doing something like this is simply to make more money, it's pathetic. An obsession I can understand. Barely," she huffed, wringing the water from her shirt and then hanging it on the back of a chair in the mess hall before proceeding to clean the rest of the clothes in the sink.
"Then there's those with some noble cause. Those who believe they're doing the right thing. I can understand them too, I've been known to make some questionable choices myself just because I believed it was the right thing to do."
"Yes, like the time when you helped out two agents who were prime suspects in the terrorist attack that claimed the President's life in Tall Oaks."
"I wasn't denying that, other Hunnigan, but at least the questionable choices I made didn't get anyone killed. As far as I know."
"You made the right choice... that time. However, the fact that you let your personal feelings for your favorite agents cloud your judgment remains."
"You're in no position to judge me or question my actions, I did the right thing... and just like that I think you just proved my point. Well played, other Hunnigan."
"Why thank you, but you did kinda walk right into that one."
"Oh, God. I've gotta stop talking to myself before I start taking myself seriously," Hunnigan sighed deeply and hung the rest of her clothes to dry. She was getting kind of tired of the suit and made a mental note to stash something more comfortable to wear in her locker in case she'd be stuck out here like this in the future.
"And before Helena gets here. She'll think you've lost your marbles."
"Good point, other Hunnigan. Now shut up and go away."
Speaking of Helena and Tall Oaks, Hunnigan had to pause to wonder why she'd trusted her. She'd known Leon for almost a decade and they'd built a mutual trust and respect through all the action they'd seen together during that time, putting her faith in him was understandable. But believing Helena wasn't, not as much. Granted, when first hearing about what had happened in Tall Oaks, Hunnigan had asked Leon to confirm what Helena was saying.
Leon, is that true?
But the truth was, even if he hadn't been there, Hunnigan would've allowed Helena to proceed. Probably. Most likely. Helena had a certain aura of determination about her that made her very convincing. The difference between her and a charismatic dictator was that she didn't abuse her ability to make people want to follow her lead. At least nothing Hunnigan had witnessed Helena say and do implied that.
"But of course, if she were... say... a sleeper agent working for some terrorist organization like Neo-Umbrella, surely she should come across as trustworthy and loyal... until she turns on you."
"Okay, no, enough, you're out of line, other Hunnigan."
"Am I? Why is she coming back to the HQ? If she was a part of the recent attacks, obviously her mission failed and she still has work to do here. Maybe she's covering her tracks. I mean, honestly, do you seriously believe she's literally walking over a thousand miles just to keep you company? Don't flatter yourself."
As much as Hunnigan hated even giving paranoia a chance to plant any seeds of doubt into her mind, she couldn't deny that there was a certain logic to what she was thinking.
"But why would she?" Hunnigan asked herself and not surprisingly, she had a quick answer for that too.
"Why does anyone do these things? For money, for a cause, or who knows, maybe sometimes you don't need a special reason. Just because there's no obvious answer for the why, it doesn't mean I should just ignore the possibility."
"Helena wouldn't do something like this, I know her," Hunnigan shook her head as she continued arguing with herself.
"Do I?"she paused, stood still, leaning her palms against the edge of the steel sink.
Drip, drip, drip, drops of water slid down along her fingers, falling from the tips and into the sink.
"Don't I?"
Helena was making her way toward the HQ and was about to cross Pennsylvania avenue when a group of people stepped in her way. Reluctantly, she stopped, got off the bike and brought her hand to rest on her holstered pistol and raising the Hydra a little in her other hand.
"That's a mighty fine lookin' shotgun you got there, little lady," a young man commented as he moved to stand in front of Helena and stopped there, eyeing her from head to toe. Helena weighed the Hydra in her hand and smirked. She had two shots left and she sure as hell wasn't going to waste them on a looter and his friends that were circling her. But while she wouldn't shoot them, she didn't shy away from beating their heads to pulp with the shotgun if they insisted on turning this into a brawl.
"Why, thank you. It's my favorite," Helena responded.
"I'm an impatient man, so how about we cut to the chase. Hand over the weapons and any ammo you have, and I promise I won't do bad things to you before I kill you."
"What a generous offer, but I have to respectfully decline. As I said, this is my favorite shotgun, and I'd rather die before I let some common marauder have it," Helena scoffed.
As she'd expected, he lunged at her and she side-stepped the assault easily. As she slid past him, she swung the Hydra, the solid wood fore-end of the shotgun impacting heavily, sending him crashing face first into the ground with a deep dent in the back of his head. His body convulsed for a few seconds before eventually going limp and still.
"Who's next?" she inquired slowly. The rest of the group didn't hesitate and decided to jump her all at once. She counted five, two of them unarmed as far as she could tell. Then there was the woman with a knife and the man with a machete, and the lucky guy holding a lovely revolver, hopefully out of bullets. Helena drew her handgun and pointed it forward, steadying it over the Hydra's barrel as the shotgun pointed to her side. With her arms crossed like that, she managed to keep the two with the blades in her sights as she stared down the man with the revolver.
"I bet you don't have any bullets left in that," the guy with the machete muttered, voicing out what she'd been wanting to ask the man with the revolver.
"Well, even at the risk of sounding like a cliché, ask yourself... do you feel lucky, punk?" she responded with a smirk. He weighed the situation, hesitated for a second... then lunged at her. She pulled the trigger and the bullet pierced his forehead, ripping through the bone and brain, exiting gracefully and delivering a large splash of red, gray and white onto the beige wall behind the man like some display of grotesque modern art. The sudden sound of the shot seemed to startle his friends a little, and they stepped back.
"Next," Helena huffed. It was mostly a bluff, the handgun was empty. When no one moved for a while, Helena backed to the corpse of the man who'd held the machete. As she took half a second to glance down to see where the weapon was, the woman with the knife decided to try her luck.
She made it to Helena and managed to even get a decent attempt at stabbing her before she reached the machete and thrust it through the attacker's throat. Then Helena heard the revolver fire, but judging from the fact that she wasn't in pain anywhere, he'd missed.
Not his gun, he took it from someone and doesn't even know how to use it. How disrespectful, Helena mused as she swiveled around and aimed the Hydra at his head.
"Don't be stupid. You missed when I had my back on you, what chance do you think you have when I'm aware of your cowardly attempts?" she told him. He held the revolver pointed at her, its weight beginning to wear on him; his arms were shaking a little.
"I wasn't shooting at you, and I didn't miss," he murmured and Helena frowned. She'd almost turned back around to see who he'd supposedly shot when she realized she was about to fall for an old trick known as "hey, look behind you!"
"Nice try," she smirked and shook her head. He was about to respond when another shot exploded in the distance, blew past Helena and impacted in his chest. Helena could feel the bullet as it rushed to its target barely a millimeter from the skin on her neck. Either the shooter was really good or she'd just gotten lucky. Helena holstered the pistol and the Hydra before slowly raising her arms a little and turning to face the shooter who'd chosen to spare her... at least for now. She couldn't see anyone and judging from the fact that there was no hail of bullets flying at her, the shooter was either gone or not interested in her beyond having possibly saved her life just now.
Wait... The guy said he hadn't missed, Helena then remembered and scanned the surrounding area. She glanced up at the windows the buildings surrounding her, but couldn't see anyone and dismissed the idea of a sniper being there then; she'd felt the bullet, it had come from behind her in an angle that suggested the shooter had been on higher ground, but not that high. After looking around for a while, the statue of Brigadier General Casimir Pulaski caught her attention. Someone could've climbed on the base she supposed, but she couldn't see anyone.
"Anyone still alive?" she called out as she began making her way over to the statue. No response. No bullets flying at her either. Helena walked across the area, moving to circle around the statue and the wrecked car lodged by the statue. The shooter must've climbed on it to be able to reach the base.
Unless they're really tall or part grasshopper and able to jump that high, Helena thought amusedly. She paused when she discovered her helper lying on the ground by the blood stained base of the statue, a generous stream of dark red pooling on the ground.
"Oh, Christ," Helena breathed and knelt down.
"I knew getting shot would hurt, but God, this is worse than jogging!" Hunnigan grunted through clenched teeth.
"What are you doing here?"
"Bleeding!" the older woman answered matter-of-factly and impatiently, this was not the time for playing twenty questions.
"Don't be such a drama queen, it's not that bad... probably," Helena muttered. She couldn't say for sure really, she couldn't see the wound, only the general location. Hunnigan moved her hands from over the wound and the way Helena sucked in a hissing breath through her teeth was a pretty devastating diagnosis on its own.
"I know it hurts, but I gotta see the back," Helena said and urged Hunnigan to turn to lie on her side. She then pulled the bloody shirt up and inspected the wound on Hunnigan's side more closely. The exit wound was surprisingly neat which was good at least. The wound was just a little above Hunnigan's waist, in the spot between her rib cage and the hip bone.
"I don't think it's deep enough for there to be any injury to your internal organs," Helena assessed in a mutter. It looked more like the bullet had pierced the flesh and possibly fractured a rib, but nothing worse... Helena hoped.
"That's nice, but I'm a hemophiliac so unless you happen to have a bottle of Advate or a few blood bags handy, it's bye-bye Iggy."
"You're not gonna bleed out, you're not fucking allowed to bleed out, you hear me?" Helena ordered as if simply refusing to give Hunnigan the permission to die would actually prevent it from happening.
"Okay, let me think, let me think..." she then mumbled, standing up and pacing back and forth with her hands on her hips.
"The HQ is, what, about six blocks from here? There are military grade medical supplies there, right? I can get there and back in ten seconds flat," Helena exaggerated. Maybe not ten seconds, but fast enough to still do something. Hunnigan didn't respond, she was unconscious. There was no time.
"Shit. Okay, all right..." Helena muttered, knelt down and turned the other woman to lie face down before slipping her hands underneath Hunnigan's shoulders and pulling her up. She then leaned forward, pulling Hunnigan's arm over her shoulders, wrapped her arm around the backs of Hunnigan's knees and gripped her wrist with the same hand, locking her in place over her shoulders.
Don't die. You can't, you're not allowed... Don't, just don't, Helena chanted in her mind as she began rushing across the plaza and toward the HQ.