Chapter 3: Night of the Living Dead
October 1, 1998
6:00 PM
West Raccoon City Barricade
Sergeant Jacob "Tubbs" Foster, commander of the 24th Precient's SWAT team, strolled p and down the frontline of the west blockade. Tubbs had earned his nickname due to his short stature and portly figure. The officer stood only five feet tall and just over two hundred pounds, making his high rank in the SWAT unit comical to some and unbelievable to others. Jacob's Kevlar helmet matted down short locks of black hair, making them itch almost as badly as the thick beard upon his mahogany colored face.
Having lived in Raccoon all his life, Jacob had gained a reputation among the townspeople as a dependable and dedicated family man. To his teammates he was a brave, intelligent, friendly and determined police officer. Foster had spent twenty of his forty-four years on the force and could never imagine having done anything else with his life. The job bothered his wife, Tessa, but she understood that each day her husband went to work he was making the world a safer, saner place and despite the dangers involved she was proud of him.
Jacob paced up and down the blockade of vehicles in full body armor, carrying his MP5 slung across his chest. The squat sergeant tapped the other weary officers on the shoulders and gave them an encouraging smile, congratulating them on the great job they were doing even if it involved simply trying to remain awake.
Officers stationed at the various barricades throughout the city were pulling double shifts, some working up to fourteen hour shifts a day. The long hours could drain both one's physical and mental energy so Jake did what he could to boost morale. His men returned his smile with a nod and he moved on up the row.
The chubby officer wandered down to where a pair of squad cars had been parked so that their front ends formed a "v" and sat his rump down on the trunk. The cruiser shifted a little closer to the pavement under his added bulk. Gazing down at one stubby finger, Jacob absently spun the beautiful gold ring that rested there and thought about how much he missed Tessa at that moment.
When the mysterious illness had first broken out in the city, Jacob had pushed his wife to leave town and go stay with her mother in Florida until things had gotten back to normal. Tessa, stubborn as usual, refused to go anywhere. However, when the situation had escalated and the cops had been ordered to quarantine Raccoon, Jacob once again pressured his beloved wife to head somewhere safer. The police had set up crisis centers in the 24th, 10th and 14th precients for any citizens seeking refuge from the rioters, she would be in better hands there Tessa Foster's husband had argued. Once again, she refused.
Tubbs had been determined though and continually chipped away at his wife's resolve, encouraging her to go and stay at the 24th Precient where his life long friend, Captain William Brown, would take care of her while he was on assignment. After the constant barrage, Tessa had finally listened to her spouse and left for the police station with everything she could carry. That had been two weeks ago. Since then, Jake had seen his wife – with her gentle smile and even gentler hands – only a handful of times for a few short visits. Not long enough for anything more than a kiss, a few words of encouragement and another kiss goodbye.
Of all the cops working at the barricades, he was forced to work the longest hours, the rigors of command and all that. Often times the chubby cop was forced to catch a quick nap in the back of one of the SWAT vans while his second in command, Sergeant Sam Brocket, looked over things.
'Man, I miss her.' Foster thought solemnly, starring down at his wedding band. 'I miss being able to come home late at night and just lay down next to her in bed. I miss the way she used to laugh when I'd reached for seconds at dinner and say that she felt guilty her meals were the cause of the spare tire I had to lug around. I miss how even when she wasn't wearing any perfume or make-up her hair and skin always smelled of spice and soap. I miss the light of her smile, all there is here is darkness.'
Sighing, Jacob glanced around his gloomy surroundings. Night had fallen and brought with it a biting chill that he could feel crawling into his bones even beneath the heavy Kevlar flak jacket. Pressing his hands against his puffy cheeks to keep them warm, the sergeant gazed down the lines of police vehicles.
Uniformed officers and SWAT personnel paced back and forth, keeping vigilant watch on the eerily silent streets in front of them. Out in the quiet darkness abandoned vehicles and assorted junk lay forgotten upon the roads of Raccoon City. No lights were lit in any of the homes or shops lining the streets. Only the overhead lamps shed pale light down upon the tired officers who looked as if they desired nothing more than a warm blanket and a soft pillow at the moment.
While the guard duty sucked the life out of him Jacob still counted himself lucky that there did not seem to be much activity in this section of town. Rioting had been much more severe in the east and south ends of Raccoon. Tubbs and his loyal unit of law enforcement had only been required to break up a few small looting raids. Again, Jacob counted himself lucky at how small the skirmishes had been and that there had been no cause for his subordinates to use deadly force. Yet, still, there he was away from his cherished wife, minding the watch of his meager host of troops in the bitter cold.
"Looks like it might rain." A youthful yet mature voice said casually to the somber looking commander.
Foster knew immediately that the voice belonged to his right hand man, Sam Brocket. Ever since being assigned to the west barricade Jacob's second in command had been nothing but helpful. Often he would stroll around to the other men and women standing guard to crack jokes and talk sports, doing what he could to keep the mood light. More than once the twenty-eight year old cop had offered to take over for a few hours and let Jake take a break when he noticed the stocky officer nodding off at his post.
Samuel Brocket stood an entire head taller than his commander and sported an athletic frame in comparison to Jacob's rolly-polly one. Thick black hair sat closely cropped atop his head, nearly matching the color of his dark brown eyes that were surrounded with a friendly cheerfulness and a patience that denied his young years. Jacob liked the kid as if he were his own son.
In Foster's opinion, Sam was everything a good cop should be: courageous, quick-witted, calm, aware and not afraid to put his own neck on the line when the situation called for it. Furthermore, Sam was a good friend and had been since the day Jake met him eight years ago. He was the type of guy that would literally give you the shirt off his back or gladly step on a landmine as long as it meant someone else wouldn't have to.
Unfortunately, it was this same generosity and over zealousness that made Foster worry about the young man from time to time. He worried that if Sam kept putting everyone else's well being before his own it could wind up getting him into some serious trouble. For now though, Tubbs was just glad to have his old friend by his side to help keep his head in the game.
"Rain huh?" Jacob said, forcing a tired smile. "I wouldn't be surprised. It would certainly top off this wonderful night shift. Some guys have all the luck eh?"
Sam chuckled. "Amen. So how you doing, chief?"
Sergeant Brocket clenched his gloved hand around Foster's shoulder, squeezed hard, and then took a seat next to him on the cruiser's trunk. The younger, not to mention slimmer, man was decked out in the same gear as his superior but carried his helmet beneath one arm. Sam refused to wear the atrocious thing unless it was going to be an integral part of his safety.
Whenever he would don the protective garment it would afflict him with a wretched condition he referred to as "helmet head". Despite the constant criticism from his squad members to just wear the damn thing and avoid being shot in the head, Sam continued to carry the thing rather than wear it. He would simply laugh and tell them that if he died as a result of a bullet through the brain then at least he would leave this life with wonderful looking hair.
"Feeling a little homesick I guess," came Foster's reply. "You?"
"I've had more fun from being hung over." Sam said ejecting the clip from his weapon, checking it over, and then sliding it back home. "And, believe me, I've had some pretty nasty hangovers."
"Tell us something we don't already know, Sam." A light, female voice quipped from behind the two SWAT team officers.
Approaching the pair with her long, midnight black hair blowing in the breeze was Officer Kathryn Ward. She was close to her twenty-eighth birthday but looked much younger. Strands of dark hair poured over her slender shoulders and around the soft white skin of her neck. Kathryn's hazel eyes, while clouded with fatigue, were aware and twinkling with mirth. In addition to her uniform, a navy blue jacket with the R.P.D. insignia on it also cloaked her lithe figure, keeping the autumn chill at bay.
"Your drinking stories are practically legend around the station." Kathy grinned, standing in front of the young man. "Why I remember Keet telling me that you nearly trampled Detective Montez making a bee-line for the bathroom at the department's Christmas party last year."
A deep chuckle resonated from Sam's throat and smile crossed his lips. He admired, and just plain out liked, Kathryn more than any human being he had ever met. She had endured her fair share of discrimination during her quest to join Raccoon's finest and had still managed to graduate from the academy with flying colors. Every day she came to work during her two-year career she came to work with an upbeat attitude and an unmatched dedication. Kathryn was one of the few cops who still believed in making a difference and cleaning up crime, which Sam couldn't help but respect. It was an easy task becoming friends with Officer Ward.
"Yeah," Sam retorted, "it's too bad you had to miss that party. I mean, you said the stories were legendary after all, you could have been a part of history."
"The Battle for the Toilet Bowl, you mean?" Inquired a new voice, this one as rough as sandpaper being dragged across a rock.
"That's a better name than any I could have come up with, Tredd." Sam replied, half-grinning at the new addition to the conversation.
Sitting a top the roof of cruiser 257, to the trio's left, was the scruffy figure of Officer Benjamin Tredd. Clasped firmly in his scarred hands was the solid weight of a Mossburg twelve-gauge shotgun. The bangs of his greasy dirty-blonde hair fell above thin eyebrows, shedding shadow on his dark beady eyes, hinting that he had not slept well in several days. His sunken cheeks and thin appearance suggested that he had not eaten well in that long either.
Within the walls of Precient 24 Tredd's reputation preceded him. He was the polar opposite of Kathryn in nearly every respect. Known neither for his dedication or tireless pursuit of justice, Ben Tredd was recognized more easily for his cruelty to the lawbreakers he did catch and the corruption that seemed to waft off him like a choking stench. Most, if not all, of his co-workers suspected Ben of being in the pocket of more than one drug dealer or crime lord. Unfortunately there was no hard evidence to tie Officer Tredd to any illegal activities and thus, the anti-social officer was able to stay on the force. This could be considered rather unpleasant news for his new partner.
Due to the shortage of able-bodied officers caused by the outbreak, the Raccoon police were dangerously understaffed. As a result the mayor passed a bill to have thirty new officers, most a day out of the academy, hired on at full pay. Many of these new recruits were instantly assigned to man the barricades constructed around the city. Eddie Gabbor was one of these men and Ben Tredd had been delegated as his training officer.
Eddie stood at the base of the car his partner was sitting on, also clenching a shotgun in a death grip. His bald, dark-skinned head and cheeks were flushed from the cold October air. Fear and anxiety twirled and danced about in his murky green eyes. The baby-faced officer sucked in harsh, uneven gasps, his breath forming a mist in the cool atmosphere before dissipating.
Officer Gabbor was twenty-four years old, a child by police standards and two weeks out of the academy. He had been as green as a stump of broccoli when the Raccoon cops sent for him. The money they offered him had simply been too enticing to pass up and Edward immediately made his way to the city, ready for his first day of work as a boy in blue. Only upon reaching the town did he realize he was not ready at all.
Raccoon City looked to him like the ghost towns he had seen from the historical documentaries he had been forced to watch during grade ten history class. Rarely did he see anyone walk the streets, day or night, during his two-week stay. All around there was a sense of foreboding and anxiousness. Eddie could feel these emotions dripping off his fellow officers like water off a ledge.
His assignment to the west barrier could be described as horrible at best. There was always little time to eat and nearly none to sleep. The new recruit's eyes were bloodshot from the constant watching and his ears hurt as he strained to listen for the signs of the next riot to wash over him like a wave.
By far, the riots were the most dreadful part of this duty. Always fearful of when the next one would spark to life, bringing with it the unruly shouts and violent curses hurled at him along with bricks, stones and liquor bottles. It had been only his third day at the barricade when the newbie had been injured in one such altercation.
Eddie's right hand had been severely cut by the jagged remains of a thrown bottle. A thick bloodstained bandage was now wrapped tightly around the wound. It was his first assignment since leaving the academy and every moment of it made Eddie more and more terrified.
'I always thought the first couple of months after graduation would be nothing but writing traffic tickets and filling out paperwork.' The rookie thought remorsefully, wishing he could have had the option of refusing the duty. 'I guess this is my wake-up call. Looks like the R.P.D. found the need to put a little more faith in the abilities of their new recruits. Funny, I never thought I would actually resent that.'
The only emotions running through Eddie's mind other than fear and despair were annoyance and irritation. Both were directed at his grumbling, sarcastic, weasel of a partner. Ben had shown his charge the basics of policing but other than that he was nothing more than a pain in the neck. A constant, knifing, ache in the neck.
Ever since Captain Brown had given Tredd the chore of looking after Eddie and showing him the ropes, the more experienced officer had done all he could to amplify his student's discomfort. Tredd put down Eddie ever chance he got, making an almost heroic effort to show his flaws and inexperience. Some of Ben's favorite names for his partner were "greenhorn", "yellowbelly" (Tredd had been less than sensitive towards Eddie's fright at the current situation), and "brickhead". His partner did little to improve the situation but the rookie enjoyed feeling annoyed more than he did feeling scared so Tredd was a mixed blessing in some regards.
Eddie had been paying scarce attention to the conversation going on behind him, all his attention focused on the street in front of him, and was the first to spot it. Walking around the corner, about twenty feet down the road was a lone figure. Cloaked in shadow, Eddie was only able to discern that the person was tall, muscular and definitely male judging by the broad shoulders and short hair. The mystery man stumbled towards the barrier, tripping over his own feet several times along the way, making low unintelligible noises as he came forward.
'Must be hammered.' Eddie thought. 'What better way to forget your troubles than by getting wasted? He still shouldn't be out wandering around this late though, it's after curfew.'
In an effort to keep citizens from getting injured and discourage looting, Mayor Michael Warren introduced a city curfew. Any citizens caught outside after dark were to be detained. Unfortunately this was a rather difficult law to enforce. The Raccoon police barely had enough personnel to man the barricades, let alone patrol the entire city.
"Hey!" Eddie blurted over his shoulder, leaning across the cruiser for a better look at the subject. "I've got something – someone I mean. Looks like he's drunk or something."
Jacob, Sam, and Kathryn turned around at Eddie's shout. The squat S.W.A.T. commander mounted the top of the squad car he had been leaning against and squinted out into the darkness. It took him only a moment to spot the shambling man. The darkness around the figure broke for a moment as he shuffled beneath a streetlight. Jacob watched and felt his heart miss a beat.
Damp brown hair was matted to the man's skull and large muscles bulged under his skin. He wore the tattered remains of blue jeans and a black t-shirt, now stained with blood and what appeared to be vomit. Pale green eyes sat sunken deep into his sockets. The civilian's face was deathly white; loose chunks of skin hanging by a thread here and there. The shambler let out a soft moan, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.
"He's not drunk" Jake mused, more to himself than anyone else, "he's hurt. Someone get a first-aid kit here pronto! Jenkins get over here with that loudspeaker! Sam, get on the radio and tell the dispatch to send an ambulance up here A.S.A.P. Tell them we've got a wounded man."
"You've got it, Tubbs." Sam raced around and pulled open the door of the cruiser he had been resting on.
The trooper reached in for the car's radio – and stopped. Through the cruiser's passenger side window he saw one, two, then three more people in street clothes limp around the corner. More seemed to be coming every second: Tall and skinny, fat and squat, men and women. They all came into view, grunting mindlessly as they bumped into one another then continued towards the barricade. As each one passed beneath the row of streetlights Sam felt his chest tighten and heart quicken its pace.
Pale flesh hung loosely from their faces and arms, revealing slimy muscle and glistening sinew. They wore all manner of clothes: t-shirts, jeans, business suits, hospital uniforms, all drenched in crimson fluid and torn to shreds. White, dead eyes peered out at the officers, instilling them with sheer, icy terror. The shambling horde extended their arms as they shuffled forward, moans emanating from their throats. Wet, hungry moans.
"Monsters." Sam whispered to himself as the word came to mind.
"What the fuck is wrong with them?" Tredd spat, voice shaking a bit as he cocked his shotgun and rested the butt against his shoulder.
"Hold your fire! Nobody shoot!" Foster ordered to the assembled officers, many had also turned their weapons on the rapidly forming crowd. Another of the black clad S.W.A.T. troopers charged down the row of cars and handed a white megaphone up to Jacob.
Sam looked up at his friend and superior, listening as Foster's voice boomed out over the loudspeaker. Normally the stocky sergeant's tone was calm and gentle, now it was filled with the force and authority of one twice his stature. More of the creatures continued to join the mob as Foster spoke, their numbers growing to at least forty or fifty.
"This is Sergeant Foster of the R.P.D!" He barked at the crowd of rotting Raccoon citizens. "Please refrain from approaching the barricade! Do not come any further! If you require medical attention please let us know and we will contact ambulances for you."
Jacob's uncharacteristically authoritative tone of voice did nothing to halt the ever-expanding crowd. They continued to hobble forward, less than ten feet from the police blockade. The chilling moans and groans of the monsters filling the air.
Sam unslung his MP5 and leaned across the cruiser, taking aim. Many of the other officers took up similar positions, readying their weapons while others stood frozen in place. They starred out over the swarm of creatures with shock and disbelieving expressions painted across their tense features.
"Hold your fire!" Foster screamed to his troops once more, then brought the megaphone back to his lips again. "I repeat: Do not come any closer. If you refuse to stop we will be forced to take action against you! Please disperse."
The Raccoon citizens seemed not to hear or care and stumbled forward. Closer and closer the horde came, their mouths gapping and hands reaching. Wails of hunger and torment traveled through the October night, carrying with it the putrid stench of spoiled fruit. The amassed officers looked to Jacob with askance etched into their faces.
Foster felt sweat trickle down his brow as he repeated his warning to the throng of civilians once more. Ignoring the husky S.W.A.T. commander the crowd continued its advance. They were no more than five feet from the barricade.
"Sarge?" Jenkins asked beside his superior.
"Jake?" Sam's voice leapt into Foster's ear.
"H-holy shit!" Eddie stuttered in panic. "They're getting closer!"
"Put a lid on it, brickhead." Tredd scolded his partner who seemed on the edge of hysteria from his wild-eyed expression. "They can't hear you, chief. This might be a good time to hand out some orders to us grunts."
'Shoot!' Foster's mind screamed. 'Give the order to shoot!'
Jacob stood frozen atop the roof of the squad car. He gazed out over the sea of monstrosities and felt his courage breaking. A mob of armed rioters would be better than this walking nightmare, he thought, but how could he fire on them? They were still citizens of Raccoon City, people he had met at the supermarket, seen shopping in the malls or riding the bust to work in the morning. How could he bring himself to hurt these people?
"Tear gas!" Tubbs belted out the words at last. "Fire a volley of tear gas. Aim for the center of the crowd."
From either end of the police barrier came the whump of a grenade launcher. The tear gas canisters left smoking trails behind them before crashing down on the pavement, in the midst of the seventy-person cluster. Thick white clouds rose up from beneath the walking horrors but left the officers on the whole untouched.
The creatures did not slow down an inch. On the contrary, to the amazement and terror of the police, they pressed forward through the blanket of chemical fog. All of them, Sergeant Foster included stood in dumfounded shock as the mutants reached the outer edge of the barricade.
"Well," Officer Tredd muttered to himself, unusually calm. "Time for plan B then."
From his vantage point atop the cruiser, Benjamin centered his shotgun on the nearest of the mob, a man in a torn blue business suit whose nose seemed to have disintegrated. The man looked up at the scruffy officer who only winked and pulled back on the trigger. The blast from the Mossburg brought the others out of their dazed stupor. All eyes moved to the man Tredd had just blown a hole through.
Crimson blood erupted from a heinous wound in the businessman's chest, spraying the road. Flesh peeled away as the shell's pellets tore his torso apart, leaving areas seared by gunpowder burns. The man exhaled a pitiful sigh and crumpled to the ground – then let out a mighty groan and rose to his feet once more.
"What the..." Ben starred in awe as the corpse, or at least what should have been a corpse, continued towards him.
"My God," Foster muttered, feeling panic squeezing his heart, "what are they?"
The S.W.A.T. commander was in a daze. The horde of monsters or demons or whatever they were continued to close in. They were so close that Foster could smell them. His nostrils were filled with a pungent, foul stench. The odor of urine and rotten garbage; a smell of death. A smell of disease. Yet, despite all this, he could not react, it was all too surreal. Too much like a dream – or a nightmare.
"Chief!" Sam Brocket shouted, pulling at Foster's pant leg with one hand, snapping the older man from his trance. "We're about to be overrun!"
With a quick look Jacob saw this to be true. The mass of creatures was no more than two feet away. Non-lethal measures had failed. Jacob did not understand why but they had and that left him with only one other option.
"Fire!" He bellowed from the squad car's roof. "Everything you've got!"
The frightened officers needed no further prompting. It took only a moment to snap the safeties off their weapons and pull the trigger. A hail of hot lead ripped through the ranks of the rotting residents, punching bloody holes through their chest, bellies, arms and legs. Blood trickled down their decaying forms, flowing freely into the streets. Metallic casings clattered onto the pavement. The noise of the heavy shotguns drowning out the smaller weapons. The stench of gunpowder and stale blood filling the senses of every officer, making many feel as if they would be sick. Still the creatures came, pressing through the barrage of gunfire as if it were nothing but a stiff breeze.
The army of walking dead had reached the barriers. They struggled and crawled across the hoods of the vehicles and concrete blocks barring their path. Bullets slapped into their flesh. Shotgun rounds tore massive sections out of their sides and still they came, breaking upon the west barricade like water upon rock. What had once been the decent, hardworking citizens of Raccoon City reached the officers struggling to keep them at bay.
The squad car beneath Jacob's feet rocked violently as the creatures slammed against it. They moaned their displeasure at this thing impeding their path. Fighting off the primal terror brewing in his gut Foster lowered his weapon and pumped three rounds into one of his attackers chest. Three holes punched across the man's dirty sweatshirt, spilling rivulets of dark blood. The man groaned a sticky, wet noise but did not seem to care about the mortal wound he had just suffered. Instead he continued his assault against the police cruiser, shattering the passenger side window with his bare hand.
"What the fuck are these things!" The portly officer demanded, firing another three round volley from his MP5 into the same man with the same, useless effect.
This time the man focused his attention on Jacob. While he did not have an answer to his question it seemed he did not take kindly to being shot six times either. The man snarled, revealing dirty yellow and brown teeth, then wrapped his peeling hands around Foster's boot. With surprising strength the man – the living corpse – yanked the S.W.A.T. commander off his feet.
Jacob let out a gasp of surprise as he felt his feet leave him and then one of pain as his back connected with the roof of the cruiser. His brain scrambled from the fall, it took the chubby sergeant a moment to realize he was being drug across the top of the car by a pair of the rotting citizens. The two gnashed their teeth in eager anticipation, saliva dripping over their cracked lips.
'Holy shit!' The thought raced through Foster's mind at light speed. 'They're going to eat me.'
The chubby officer's first instinct was not to fire but to find a suitable handhold. He had had to find something to grab onto. If the two walking corpses were able to pull him out into the perpetual sea of their fellows it would be all over for Jacob "Tubbs" Foster.
'They'll eat me whole.' He thought. 'They're going to rip me limp from limb while I scream bloody murder. Their teeth ripping through my skin and there's enough of that to go around for sure. My blood running out into the street...'
"I've got other plans!" Tubbs cried defiantly, latching onto the cruisers flashers with every ounce of strength he possessed.
Whatever the residents of Raccoon City had become they would have to earn their meal. Summoning up his might, Foster managed to pull one foot free and drove his boot firmly into the face of one of the creatures. He felt the man's nose crush under the sole of his Nomex boot. The zombie – what else could those things be – fell to the ground with blood streaming down its ashen face. Another quickly moved in to take its place, sinking its teeth into the thick leather heel of Jacob's boot. He screamed out in disgust as the battle raged on around him.
The S.W.A.T. commander felt his grip on the squad cars flashers weakening. Pain raced up his legs as the monsters pulled frantically at him, trying to dislodge his hold, their powerful, grasping hands nearly crushing his ankles. Slowly, one by one, his pudgy fingers began to loosen around the casing of the car's lights. Foster knew his death was certain and struggled to get a better handle on his MP5. If he would die it would not be without a fight.
Foster managed to wrap his hand around the weapon's pistol grip when felt what at the time was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Two hands, two warm, living hands, latched onto his wrists and were pulling the stocky commander in the opposite direction. For a moment, Jacob feared he might be ripped in twain but then he began to feel the grip of the undead breaking. The pale, decaying fingers released their hold on his feet and the two hands were dragging him back to safety. Foster hit the pavement and then Sam Brocket was helping him up. Next to him was a wild-eyed Kathryn Ward, firing her sidearm at Foster's attackers.
"You okay, chief?" Sam asked, shouting to be heard above the chaos.
"I'm fine." Jacob replied, feeling anything but. "Thanks for saving my bacon."
"No problem, Tubbs." Sam cracked a smile, which quickly turned into an expression of terror. "Get down!"
Without another word, the second in command shoved his superior to the floor and raised his sub-machine gun. One of the monsters had climbed his way over the cruiser after taking four rounds from Kathy's 9mm pistol. The zombie staggered toward Sam with startling speed and would have taken Jacob by complete surprise if not for his sub-ordinates keen eyes. Sam reacted on instinct, bringing the MP5 up and releasing a short three-round burst. The shot was an incredibly lucky one.
During training Sam had always been taught to aim for the target's center mass as it was much easier to hit than any other part of a subject's body. This time though, the rounds found their way to his target's head. The 9mm bullets tore through the creature's forehead. Blood flowed down over the man's face from three small holes. His carcass sagged lifelessly to the ground – and did not rise.
At first Sam was stunned, having fully expected the man to get up and keep on coming. Yet the body just there, blood pooling beneath the skull. Finally he found his voice.
"The head!" He screamed, uncertain if anyone could hear him above the torrent of painful screams and the thunder of gunfire. "Shoot them in the fucking head!"
Officer Benjamin Tredd dumped his last shotgun shell into the upper body of a rotting bearded fellow before he heard Sam's urgent shout. Tredd immediately abandoned the Mossburg, letting it clatter down onto the road and drew his Beretta instead. Taking careful aim, he popped off two shots into the man's peeling cranium. The body dropped and stayed down.
Tredd felt no relief though. The monsters – whatever the hell they were – had him surrounded. They had the police blockade overwhelmed. He did the only thing he could and continued to fire into the decaying, puss covered faces that were closing in on him from every direction at once.
Just as the thought entered Ben's mind that he was running low on ammunition, below him Eddie Gabbor screamed. Then, everyone was screaming.
"Get back!" Eddie cried in a panic, unloading shot after shot into a group of the approaching undead. "Stay away from me damn it!"
His eyes wide with fear and disbelief Eddie continued to fire, taking quick steps back as he did. This was all some kind of bad dream to him. One where the dead had risen and were reaching for him with blackened hands and white, cataract eyes set into their emaciated faces. Yellow teeth dripped with gooey saliva as the smell of his warm flesh awakened their inhuman hunger.
"Get away!" The rookie screamed again, pumping another twelve gauge round into the group with little effect.
The creatures continued to press forward. Blood dripped from the buckshot wounds in their torsos but they seemed not to mind. Moans escaped from their bleached lips. Ravenous moans underlining their need to feed.
"For God's sake someone help me!" Officer Gabbor had learned during training never to loose your cool in the face of danger. Usually that meant when someone pulled a gun or knife on you, not when you were besieged by hordes of the living dead. He was finding it rather difficult to remain calm and focused.
All the young cop could hear was screaming. It took him a moment to realize they were coming from the other officers. While he screamed in fear they seemed to be screaming in pain and agony. The steady crack of gunfire grew softer as the wailing of the Raccoon police grew louder.
Eddie fired another shogtun blast, tearing apart one of the creatures bellies. Dark fluids splashed onto the asphalt as a piece of intestine snaked out of the shattered stomach. Eddie thought he might be sick from the sight alone. He backed up one more step and tripped over something. With a grunt and a twist of his head, Eddie turned to look at what it was he had just slipped on. The feeling of being sick intensified.
"Oh...oh God." Officer Gabbor murmured, unaware that he had spoken at all. Beside him lay the remains of what had once been a fellow officer.
The man lay face up on the road, his eyes wide but sightless, starring at the sky with an empty look Blood flowed from a gaping wound in his neck, staining the blue collar of the uniform he wore. The officer's throat had been crudely torn out.
It was only now that Eddie got a chance to survey his surroundings. The creatures had overwhelmed the barricade through sheer numbers, driving the officers that stood guard back. The cops continued to fire into the mob but the stumbling, groaning horde of the living dead seemed not to feel the sting of the hot lead tearing through their bodies. Eddie watched in horror as the monsters grappled with the frightened police, digging their teeth deep into the soft flesh of their necks. The cops shrieked in pain and then fell to the road as the cannibals piled on top of them to continue their feast. Eddie saw the decaying monsters sink their teeth into the bellies, arms and legs of the police officers who struggled weakly before going limp. A deep moaning noise brought the dark-skinned back to his present predicament.
He was laying on his backside as three of the wretched things tumbled closer with outstretched arms. Fearing that he was about to meet the same fate as his peers, Eddie brought up the heavy Mossburg once more. He pulled the trigger and heard the worst sound of his life. Click. The weapon was empty.
"That's just great fucking timing!" Eddie swore, scrambling away from the hungry creatures. "Help! Fucking, help me!"
With the shotgun empty the logical thing to do would have been to switch to the 9mm sidearm the force carried. Edward Gabbor had abandoned logic long ago though, tossed it aside when walking corpses had begun to devour his co-workers. Panic gripped his mind and heart, causing him to forget about the pistol strapped to his hip. All he could focus on was what was in his hands.
Fumbling around in the pocket of his jacket Eddie felt the cool metal of the twelve gauge shells almost instantly. Withdrawing a pair of them he hastily tried to thumb them into the chamber of the Mossburg. The panic began to spread even further now, reaching his hands and making them tremble as the creatures drew ever closer, the smell of death and disease washing over the panicked officer, threatening to choke him it was so strong. Try as he might, the shells simply would not fit into the chamber.
"Fuck!" He exclaimed, desperately trying to force in the ammunition, risking a glance at the trio of rotting figures. "God! Get the fuck away from me! Help me! Someone fucking help me!"
To his left came the steady pop of a handgun. Two rounds punched through the head of the nearest creature and he crumpled bonelessly to the ground. There was a single pop this time and the second of the three fell, a bullet ripping through its right temple. Running footsteps slapped the road by Eddie's ear and the sound of a handgun echoed three more times. The third creature hit the ground, one eye obliterated by the 9mm.
"Ben?" Eddie said, half in elation and half in surprise as he looked up at his savior. His training officer was not someone he ever thought he would be looking to as a hero.
"Yeah, it's me." The stern-faced Tredd seemed to be having no problem keeping his cool as he ejected the spent magazine and slapped in a fresh one. "You scream like a fucking pussy you know that, newbie?"
'Oh good,' the rookie thought sarcastically despite the situation, 'he's got a new one for me.'
"Get on your feet, brickhead!" Ben snapped sharply at his partner, hauling him up by the scruff of the neck.
There were more moaning noises as the creatures continued to climb over the barricade towards the frantic officers. Towards their meal. Ben yanked Eddie backwards with one hand and fired at the mob of undead with the other, not trying to kill them only trying to hold them off so that the brickhead and himself could get to higher ground.
The crack of gunfire so close to his ears stirred Officer Gabbor back to action, the shotgun barked twice in his hands, the heavy rounds knocking a pair of the rotting citizens to the ground where so many other bodies already lay. Once again the Mossburg clicked on empty and Eddie remembered he had no spare shells left. Luckily the rookie also had the presence of mind to remember the pistol holstered at his hip. Tossing the shotgun aside Eddie drew his Beretta and opened fire as the two shambling corpses regained their feet and stumbled forward.
"Put one through their damn heads and they stay down!" Tredd bellowed in Eddie's ear, still dragging him up the street.
Benjamin took a moment to aim and then fired a single shot through the forehead of a woman with one arm. The lady hit the ground with a brief grunt. Blood pooled beneath her head and she did not rise. Taking this as his queue Eddie took aim and fired, too overwhelmed by what was happening to care that his partner was dragging him backwards like a dog on a leash.
Eddie's shot was sloppy, he fire two rounds into one of the creatures necks, swore and sent his third shot through the monster's nose. The man he shot fell and did not get back up.
"I just killed someone." The rookie mumbled as the magnitude of his actions finally hit home.
Ben Tredd heard what the yellowbelly said and opened his mouth to firmly chastise the young man but another voice drowned his out. A shaky, panicked voice. Jacob Foster's voice.
"Retreat!" Foster screamed, firing his MP5 full-auto into the wall of creatures pressing its way towards Sam, Kathy and himself. "Retreat!"
"Last one!" Kathryn shouted, slapping a new clip into her pistol and pumping five rounds into the chest of a man in a bloodstained jacket. He groaned, almost irritably, and kept coming.
"Damn it!" Sam yelled, opening up on the group of freaks with his sub-machine gun. He hoped the suppressive fire would keep the monsters at bay but he was sadly mistaken. The horde of gore stained men and women were knocked around by the spray of nine-millimeters but barely halted their clumsy advance. Foster's spray had the same effect. "There's too many of these guys! We need a place to run, chief. Where to, Tubbs?"
"That's a good question." Foster muttered, quickly changing magazines. He heard screams cut short by sickening crunching and chewing sounds. His men were being eaten alive for God's sake! He had to do something and it had to be done fast.
They needed to get back to the precient, rearm and regroup, but how? Jacob surveyed the street as quickly as he could. Tall buildings stood on all sides, closing them in. Escape seemed slim... and then he saw it.
"That alley over there!" He thrust a chubby finger in the direction of a small alleyway between a shoe-repair store and a paint shop. "It leads out onto Maple then goes all the way up to Eaglehead. We can get to the station from there."
"On foot?" Kathryn sounded dubious as she unloaded another pair of bullets into the mob. All she could hear was the crack of her Beretta and the pain-filled screams of her comrades.
"Got any better ideas?" Foster replied firing another suppressive burst as Sam paused to reload. Kathryn was forced to admit that she did not and shook her head.
"Alright then," Jacob said, huffing and puffing, trying not to panic. "Everyone make for that alleyway!"
It was then that he realized that there was no one left to order. Looking around Tubbs could see it was down to Kath, Sam and himself. The others were dead. Now they served as meals for these monsters that tore their flesh from the bone and swallowed it whole. He heard gunfire but it was too distant and there were too many of the cannibals in the way for him to tell where it was coming from.
'Oh Jesus,' the commander thought, guilt seeping into his eyes, 'it's all my fault. I was in charge. They were counting on me. Oh no, why? We all just wanted to go home!'
Jacob's second in command read his face. "It's not your fault, chief!" Sam shouted in his senior's ear, firing another quick burst. "Operational losses, Tubbs! We have to worry about keeping us alive now, okay?"
Foster nodded. He did not believe in the concept of operational losses and knew Sam didn't really either. These were all people with families and friends. People with hopes, dreams and futures. You could not just write them off as a casualty and just forget about it. Sam was right though, Foster had to worry about keeping them alive now. There would be time to mourn after they got back to safety.
'Fight now, cry later.' His mind told him as Tubbs trained his weapon on the crumbling skull elderly-looking man. The creature moaned as the barrel pointed his way. Jacob pressed the trigger and sent the last five rounds in his clip through the man's head. A section of the skull blew away in a gory display and the undead abomination fell to the ground.
"I'm out!" Kathryn said, firing off her last pistol round.
"Make for the alley!" Jacob screamed, he could hear shouting and the crack of pistol fire in the distance. "Kathy, you first, then Sam and then me. Go now and run fast!"
Needing no further prompting the young lady shot a final glance at her friends and took off towards the alleyway. She leapt over the body of S.W.A.T. member Chuck Jenkins. He had one arm nearly torn clean off and there was a huge gash in his neck. Choking back tears Kathy continued to run.
"Go yellowbelly!" Ben shouted, giving his partner a shove up the sidewalk. "Run you bastard!"
The two of them had been cut off from the rest of the group – what remained of it at least – by the bloodthirsty creatures. Benjamin was vaguely aware that they were on Trestville Avenue, the opposite side of Maple. That didn't matter to him all that mattered was to put as much distance between the hungry freaks and themselves.
"Where are we running to, Ben?" Eddie screamed, sounding like he was about to lose it.
"Away from them!" Came the reply as Officer Tredd fired three more rounds through the face of one of the undead that relentlessly pursued them.
"Ben, we need to..."
"Don't tell me what we need!" Tredd silenced his partner, turning his back on the creatures and forcing the rookie cop up the sidewalk at full speed. "Just beat your feet!"
Too confused and frightened to do anything else, Officer Edward Gabbor did as he was told.
"Go, Sam! Now!" Foster ordered, still firing bursts from his MP5 into the tireless mob.
"Got it, buddy." Sam hollered and turned to run.
Samuel could see Kathryn was well ahead of him already and he hurried to catch up. Slinging the sub-machine gun around his neck, Sam started pumping his legs. So focused on the haven of the alleyway was he that he didn't notice the pool of blood he was about to step in. The wet, slippery fluid knocked him off balance and sent the trooper tumbling to the asphalt.
Feeling a sharp pain in his knee Sam glanced over to see that the blood he had just stepped in belonged to Sergeant Chuck Jenkins. Chuck's face was closed and there was a terrible wound in his neck. For a moment, looking at the corpse, Sam wanted to throw up. Chuck was a good guy, a single father and now he was dead. Chuck was dead and Foster was yelling at him.
"Sam! Fuck, watch out kid!"
Sergeant Brocket twisted his head to see what all the commotion was about. He felt his heart stop. One of the creatures, a man in dirty jeans with a peeling forehead and brown finger nails, had broken past Jacob and now stood over him. Sam managed to swing his MP5 around but then the creature was on top of him, pushing him to the ground.
He was strong for a dead guy Sam had to admit. The man's decaying hands held the struggling trooper firmly in place. He could feel the creature's warm, putrid, foul smelling breath against the skin of his neck. The man's tongue snaked out and pressed against Sam's flesh. The young trooper cried out in fear and disgust, pressing the barrel of his weapon into his attacker's abdomen and held the trigger down.
The close proximity of the shot tore the man's stomach to pieces. Cold blood washed over the barrel of Sam's gun, down his hand and onto his uniform. It smelled so pungent, so rotten that Sam thought he might be sick. His assailant however, seemed unaffected by his shattered stomach. The gun clicked empty, forcing Sergeant Brocket to try and push the man off of him. He managed to get the walking cadaver halfway off, grunting with exertion and found himself starring the man right in the face.
A moment later, the horrid visage of death was removed from Sam's view. With a mighty war cry that betrayed his small stature, Foster hauled the creature off Sam and slammed it to the ground. It was now his turn to engage in a wrestling match with the man. Sam took the opportunity to quickly get to his feet and draw a bead on the monster's cranium and fire.
Click. Click. Click.
"You're fucking kidding me!" Sam screamed in frustration, realizing his weapon was empty and he had no more ammunition for it. Releasing his hold on the MP5, Brocket drew his Heckler & Koch .40 from his holster and took aim. It was too difficult to get a clear shot with the struggle going on. The man had Jacob pinned down and Sam couldn't pull the trigger for fear of hitting his boss.
"What are you waiting for?" Foster demanded. "Shot him! Shot him in the head, Sam!"
"I can't get a clean shot!" Sam responded, afraid for his friend but also aware that the horde of walking corpses was closing in on them.
Grunting and groaning Foster struggled with the decaying man. He was toast if he couldn't get Sam a clean shot but doing that was easier said than done. Dead or not the creature on top of him was eerily strong. Digging deep Foster summoned up every ounce of physical might his five-foot frame possessed. With a final grunt he managed to push the man's head up, trying not to look at its dead, disgusting face. The stocky commander placed a hand under the cannibal's chin to prop the man's face up, sliding another hand over the creature's face to keep him steady.
Foster bellowed in anguish as he felt teeth sink deep into his palm. The hand he held over the man's face had proved a mistake as it gave the creature an easy opening to cause some damage. The man tore off a hunk of flesh from the side of Foster's meaty palm and, to his dazed horror, swallowed the skin whole.
Abruptly there was the thick crack of an H&K .40 and the side of the monster's head exploded, splattering blood and brain matter across the ground. The carcass sagged limply onto the S.W.A.T. commander and, with a repulsed groan he shoved the body off him. Then Sam was lifting him up with one arm and dragging him towards the alleyway.
"Sorry chief," Sam apologized, sounding rather pissed off with himself. "I couldn't get a fucking shot at the bastard. Thanks for saving my ass back there. Can't believe I frigin' tripped. You alright?"
"Yeah," Foster winced, holding his injured hand close to his body. It stung and there was blood but it didn't look too serious. "Took a bite out of me but nothing a band-aid or two won't cure."
"That's ironic isn't it?" Sam actually cracked a smile. "Something trying to eat you for a change."
"Tell me about it." Jacob replied with a nervous chuckle.
The two reached the alley where a concerned looking Kathryn inquired about both men's health. Each assured the female officer they were fine.
Behind them the creatures, citizens of Raccoon seemed more content to feast on the newly dead they chase targets that ran and shot at them. Jacob saw this and quickly mentioned that they should keep moving. None of them wanted to watch the feeding frenzy about to take place. The trio hastily made for the other side of the alley where the buildings were dark, empty and cold.
"What the fuck!" Sam bellowed, panting to catch his breath. "Tell me those weren't zombies. What is this, The Night of the Living Dead? Someone please tell me what the fuck is going on here!"
"I wish I could kid," Foster panted as well, his face flushed, "but I'm still in the dark about this too. None of this makes any sense. Everyone back there was just eaten! Like in that cannibal murderers case last year. Maybe there's a connection or something, I don't know."
"I thought the papers and Chief Irons discredited the S.T.A.R.S. findings though?" Asked Kathryn. "They said they were a bunch of drug addicts or something."
"Yeah, well, I don't know what to believe anymore." Sam sighed.
"Okay, okay." Jake said, trying to keep a lid on things. "We are in a very bad situation but we can't get all crazy. We can worry about conspiracy theories later, for now we need to focus on the present and staying alive. That means we need to radio into the precient and get back there pronto. I'm sure William and the Assistant Chief will know what's going on and how to handle it."
Sam tried his radio then swore when he got nothing but static. "Radios are out." He said simply.
"Maybe we're out of range?" Kathryn suggested.
"Doubtful." Foster replied, feeling his uneasiness growing. "These things are designed to keep us in contact with the dispatchers at the station no matter how far we are from the department."
"Okay, so we've got no radio and no car." Sam stated somberly. "What do we do now?"
"We walk." Tubbs answered, knowing it wasn't the response either of them wanted but it was the only one he had to give. "Except I'm willing to bet a dollar to doughnuts that the streets are crawling with those things by now and we have a lot of ground to cover. Before we go any further, how are we set for ammo?"
"My MP5 is dry." Sam replied, frustrated, tapping the empty weapon. "I've got my pistol though, right rounds in the clip plus another two magazines after that."
Jacob nodded. "Kathy?"
"Fired every bullet I had." She shook her head. "I'm pretty much defenseless since I doubt pepper spray is going to do much good against those things and I don't really want to get close enough to use my night stick."
"Alright, take my sidearm then." Foster handed over his H&K. 40 to Officer Ward along with a pair of clips. She thanked him and stuck her empty Beretta back in its holster.
"I've got fifteen rounds left in my MP5 and then an extra clip after that. It's not great but it'll have to do. One hit, one kill. Put it through their heads if you have to."
"They aren't too fast," Kathy commented, "we can probably dodge them if they're spaced out enough."
Foster nodded. "Good idea. Still got your flashbangs, Sam?"
"Yeah, all three." His subordinate nodded. "You actually think they're going to do any good against those freaks? Shit, bullets didn't even slow them down!"
"Maybe but they still have to see us to get us," said the chubby commander, "maybe a flashbang will scramble their circuits a bit. Anyways, enough chit-chat let's get going."
"Not a moment too soon either." Kathryn said drearily as the hungry moans began to sound again. The zombies were done with the main course and were now looking for some dessert.
"Let's go." Jacob said and the trio began to jog up the street.
Overhead there was the crash of thunder followed by the steady drizzle of rain. 'Perfect.' Jacob thought. 'That's just perfect.' Without a word they continued to move up Maple Street.