Chapter 4: Unhappy Landings
October 1, 1998
6:10 PM
Outskirts of the North Barricade
Pain screamed through his head, swiftly and abruptly. His eyes felt heavy. The pain made his thoughts convoluted and erratic. For several moments he had no idea what had happened or where he was. For several long moments he had no idea who he was.
Then, as swiftly and abruptly as the pain had passed through his head, it all came back to him. The mission. The helicopter. The explosion. Captain Sullivan yelling and finally the crash. A moment later, still stuck in darkness, identity returned to him as well. Yes, it was certainly a glorious day to be Ezekiel Wilcott.
With no small deal of effort the lieutenant opened his eyes. He surveyed the crumpled remains of the Night Hawk's cabin and saw that the chopper had taken quite a beating but all his teammates appeared alive and healthy – if a little shaken up. Zeke was not the least bit surprised to see Captain Sullivan checking on the other Rangers, making sure they were alert and ready for action. It gave Zeke a great deal of relief to know he was in the hands of such a capable and competent leader.
With the captain looking after the others, Zeke turned his attention to himself. Luckily he didn't have any serious cuts or lacerations and nothing felt broken. He did have a monstrous headache though and soon discovered why.
During the crash the wall behind him had warped, jutted out and smacked him upside the cranium. There was a considerable dent in his helmet for further proof. Groaning, Zeke removed the uncomfortable thing and let it clatter to the floor. While he was grateful that it had probably saved his life he still hated the damn thing.
Reaching behind him the lieutenant felt a thick bump forming on the back of his skull. It stung a bit but he was conscious and knew his name so he probably didn't have a concussion at least. Across from him, Wesley grunted his displeasure.
"What the bloody hell happened?" The Brit asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
"We dropped like a fucking rock is what." Corporal Joseph Cooper replied, unstrapping himself.
"Everyone alright?" Zeke asked, removing his straps and checking his weapon, aware they were now in hostile territory and rather vulnerable.
"My back hurts but I'll survive." Ryan Pierce answered, loading his Remington rifle.
"Good to go." Sergeant Owens reported, sounding anything but. The other Rangers gave similar answers.
"Pilot, how are you doing up there?" Sullivan hollered, moving towards the cockpit.
"Not good." Rachel replied, her tone shaky and upset. "Greg – he's, he's dead captain."
Rachel removed her trembling fingers from the neck of her co-pilot. There was no pulse. The young man's face was pressed up against the shattered windshield and dripping blood. Zeke could plainly see the look of anguish and remorse written across the woman's face. Captain Sullivan came up behind and checked Greg Harris' pulse himself, just to make sure, then shook his head and turned to Major Parker.
"I'm sorry," he said in a tone that was stolid and steady, "but we're going to have to leave him here for now. Don't worry, we'll send a team back for his body ASAP but we need to get organized and to higher ground first. Okay?"
Rachel nodded. "Yes, sir."
Sullivan turned back to his troops. "As for the rest of you," he began, "I want your gear ready and weapons checked in the next minute. Then we're heading for the north barricade on foot. We'll figure out what went wrong with the chopper later, for now I want to get us someplace safer than the middle of the damn street."
Zeke took a glance out one of the chopper's windows. They had, indeed, crashed down in the middle of the damn street. Precisely they had landed in the middle of an intersection that split in four directions. There were small shops and homes lining the sidewalks, all cold and dark inside. Streetlamps dotted the area, shedding illumination on – 'People?' Zeke thought, looking at the human shadows spreading across the ground.
"Captain!" Zeke shouted, trying to keep the uneasiness he felt out of his voice. "I think we've got some company on this side."
The captain stalked over and peered out the cabin window. The others on that side of the chopper did likewise.
"What the hell are they doing out here?" Sullivan murmured, increasing the unease of Lieutenant Wilcott. If Curtis Sullivan didn't know what was going on, something bad had to be in store. "I thought there was supposed to be a curfew in effect. Everyone saddle up! Possible hostiles approaching from the west side of the intersection."
"Make that on both sides, captain!" Wesley called, point a finger out what was left of the window on his side.
"They're boxing us in, sir." Scott added from beside Wes.
"Coming from the north too!" Rachel Parker said from up front, her voice a harsh gasp. "Oh God, something's wrong with them. Something's wrong with their faces."
This report, coupled with the edge of fear in the pilot's voice, made Zeke's blood run cold. In an instant all the newscasts he had heard returned to him. Everything about the mysterious skin disease. Everything about the madness it drove those infected with it to. Everything about the cannibal murders five months ago.
"Everyone stay calm." Sullivan ordered, the authority in his voice helping to soothe the nerves of the assembled Rangers. "Cooper, get the door open on your side, Zeke do the same on ours. We file out in lines of five to the front of the bird. Weapons are tight unless action is taken upon you. On my signal...now! Go!" Sullivan dropped his hand, Cooper and Zeke yanked the chopper doors open and moved fast to the front of the Night Hawk with their fellows in tow.
"Line!" Sullivan shouted when the company of Rangers reached the nose of the crippled helicopter. Immediately the soldiers formed a rigid row around the Night Hawk. They brought their weapons to bear, training them on the shambling figures that converged in the darkness. The captain took aim at one of the shadowy figures and spoke in that calm, sturdy, authoritative voice of his. Each word powerful and clear.
"This is Captain Curtis Sullivan of the United States Army Rangers speaking to you!" He said, there was no hint of fright in his words. "This city is under curfew, return to your homes at once or you will be subject to arrest!"
"Good luck doing that." Zeke whispered so that only he could hear. "There must be dozens of them."
"I repeat!" The captain yelled. "Return to your homes at once or my men will place you under arrest! I will not warn you again!"
The mass of citizens did not seem to care about Sullivan's warning. They did not even seem to hear the Ranger captain at all. They hobbled forward, closing in on the line of soldiers. Their feet dragged the pavement, making soft whispering sounds.
"Cripes," Wes spoke in Zeke's ear, looking down the sight of his M-4. "You think they would have noticed the ten people pointing guns at them by now."
Zeke gulped. It appeared they did not. The bystanders wandered closer, oblivious to the automatic weapons centered on their bodies. The ones nearest the row of Rangers extend their arms and moaned. The sounds they uttered brought back images of every zombie movie Zeke had ever seen.
'Someone pinch me.' He thought, taking aim at a man in a wrinkled windbreaker who seemed to have taken a particular interest in the lieutenant and shuffled his way.
As the men and women pouring into the streets drew closer, the shadows that surrounded their bodies grew thinner. Pale, decaying flesh hung loosely on glistening white bones. A milky fluid filled cold, dead eyes. Stains of dirt and blood clung to the tattered remains of their clothes. Sinew and muscles tendons were revealed in a sickening display. The scent of spoiled fruit and week old garbage invaded Zeke's nostrils, making him want to gag.
"Their eyes," he choked out in a whisper to Wesley, trying to keep his hands from shaking, "look at their eyes, Wes."
"I know." Came the reply and Zeke did not like the tremor he heard in his friend's voice.
"Are they infected with that virus, captain?" Pierce asked, crouching at the front of the line.
"I don't know." Captain Sullivan began and that was enough to make Lieutenant Wilcott even more nervous. He didn't think the captain was even aware those words existed. "There's blood on their clothes and we saw heavy rioting on our way in. Maybe they got caught up in one."
"This many?" Owens sounded incredulous.
"Yes, this man, Owens." Sullivan snapped back, looking annoyed that one of his subordinates had questioned his judgment. "Sergeant Judges?"
"Yes, captain?" The team's medic, Kirk Judges, said from his spot in the formation.
"Get your first-aid kit ready and go check on Parker," replied the Ranger leader. "We'll take care of things here."
With a nod, Judges lowered his rifle and jogged around to the pilot's seat. The mob of Raccoon civilians continued to encircle the Rangers. Sweat was beginning to crawl down past the brim of Sullivan's helmet, trickling steadily over his face. Zeke did not find the sight very encouraging.
"Attention citizens of Raccoon City!" Sullivan shouted, his voice steady and firm as always despite the moisture running through his eyebrows and over his cheeks. "I order you to move away from my unit this instant! If you choose not to your actions will be considered hostile and you will be fired upon!"
The group of walking corpses came closer. Pathetic grunts and gurgles escaped their flaking lips.
"This is your final warning!" The captain cautioned the group. "Return to your homes now or I will give my men the order to fire."
They continued to close the gap. The mob was no more than five feet away. The stench of death and rot became even more pungent. Zeke felt the back of his throat lock up.
"Hostile enough for you yet, sir?" Cooper asked, his finger touching the trigger on his SAW.
'He's hesitating.' Zeke realized with horror, keeping the barrel of his weapon trained on the man in the windbreaker. 'Give the order, captain, give the damn order!' As if reading the younger man's mind, Sullivan hollered at his troops.
"Weapons free!" The Southerner yelled. "Open fire, one burst across the front!"
There was short, steady crack of automatic fire, punctuated by the lower boom of a bolt-action rifle. The bullets tore across the crowd, knocking the residents around as holes suddenly erupted across their upper bodies. Then Sullivan gave the order to stop firing.
Zeke expected to see those in the front of the group stagger and hit the floor. He expected those behind them to scatter and run at the sound of gunfire or the sight of their fallen comrades. Zeke Wilcott did not get what he expected.
The entire crowd continued to press forward as one, save for the middle-aged fellow Sergeant Pierce had shot in the head, even those cut up by the initial spray. All marched towards the Rangers, arms outstretched and moaning a wet sound. Zeke's heart began to pick up, his mind telling him that this was impossible. No way, people did not keep walking after that. The soldiers looked on in surprise as the rotting residents drew nearer, their foul odor thick in the night air.
"No bloody way." Wesley muttered, his target had taken three rounds center mass and didn't seem to be feeling the hit.
"Captain!" Cooper shouted, no doubt thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him. "What do we do now, sir?"
Sullivan wished he knew. Nothing in his training or field experience had prepared him for situations like this. He had always been taught that when you shot someone they keeled over and didn't come looking for more. This group had just proved that knowledge inaccurate, sending the trusty captain for a loop. For once in his life, Curtis Sullivan was unable to make a decision.
'Ah hell.' Zeke thought, watching as uncertainty and doubt danced across his superiors face. The things were practically right on top of them now. "Suppressive fire!" He shouted, snapping the captain out of his daze, not wanting to have to make the decision himself but wanting to be torn to pieces by a ravenous horde of the undead even less. "Coop, hold the center group back with your 249, you five take the left side, we'll take the right! Pump everything you have into them, send them running people!"
Not hearing any better ideas from their captain the Rangers followed Zeke's advice. A moment later gunfire was the only sound to be heard. The acrid smell of gunpowder masking the odors of rotten flesh. The ring of shells hitting the pavement and the bark of automatic rifles drowning out the hungry wails of the creatures that besieged them.
Seconds later, the screaming started.
Rachel Parker was trapped, her body wedged between the smashed controls and her seat. The pilot shifted her weight, trying to squeeze out of the chair burning pain ran up her shin and stopped at her knee. Letting out a sharp gasp of anguish Rachel sagged back against the seat.
"Major Parker!" Sergeant Kirk Judges said, appearing in the window on her left.
"Kirk!" She called back, feeling some small degree of relief at the medic's arrival. "Get me out of here!"
"Hang on!" Judges replied, wrapping his hands around the mangled door handle. It didn't budge. "It's stuck! The crash must have jammed it."
The clatter of automatic fire pierced the quiet of the street. Both soldiers exchanged fearful expressions. This had not been part of the original plan. Rachel eased her head back and closer her eyes. In tense situations taking a moment just to breathe helped her stay calm and collected. The chopper's aft doors were open Kirk could get in that way.
"Kirk, I'm stuck in here. You'll have to come in around the side and..." Rachel opened her eyes and felt her breath catch in her chest. "Kirk, fuck, behind you!"
The medic whirled around one hand on gripping his assault rifle but it was too late. A man, his face ashen and body riddled with what looked like bullet holes, reeled toward Sergeant Judges and grabbed hold of his shoulders. With one rapid move of the neck, the man snapped his head forward and bit into Judges' throat. The medic let out a soft gurgle, his glazed eyes wide and disbelieving as the cannibal dragged him to the ground.
Rachel uttered a choking sob as Kirk fell out of sight. In front of her she could see what remained of her team fighting for their lives. Four other members of the squad lay on the ground, the creatures devouring their flesh and blood. Those that still remained continued to fire upon the citizens of Raccoon but barely holding them back. Rachel watched them grow closer around the body of the Black Hawk and drew her sidearm, a Colt M1911. She knew already that it was useless but had no better defense at the moment.
They had crash-landed in a necropolis, in a city of the dead where corpses walked the streets looking for fresh meat to satiate their endless hunger. It was here, in this nightmarish place that seemed too terrible to be real, that they would die. Die and join the monsters they now battled.
Of this, Major Rachel Parker was certain.
It was easiest for Ryan Pierce. As a sniper he had been taught to make every shot count. What that boiled down to was one shot, one kill. That always meant you aimed for, and hit, your target in the head because no one was much of a threat after a 7mm Remington magnum bullet tore through their skull.
He and the other five survivors continued to back up as the creatures pressed in closer. Ryan took careful at the nearest through the optical sight of his rifle. The sniper kept his breathing slow, hands steady and the stock tight against his shoulder before centering the crosshairs on the creature's peeling face. Slowly squeezing the trigger, his rifle announced its report, coughed fire, and his target's head blew apart like a can of tomato soup. That brought his kill count to four.
"Hey," he shouted to the Ranger beside him, "you seeing a pattern developing here?"
"Yeah!" Joe Cooper said, yelling to be heard above the chatter of his SAW. The large rounds tore across the line of citizens in front of them and knocked the cannibals to the asphalt. Some stayed down but many more continued forward, crawling on hands and knees towards the soldiers. "Just hold them back! We need to buy the boss some time to think."
"That's the bloody ironic thing," Wesley commented, sliding a new magazine into his rifle. "We need the one thing we don't have."
"Grenades!" Zeke ordered as the surviving Rangers bumped up against the nose of the Black Hawk.
Each man stopped firing and reached into his belt pouch. They removed one of the three anti-personnel grenades they had been issued before take off. It took only two seconds to remove the pins and lob the explosives into the midst of the undead horde. Five seconds after that the ground shook and a column of fire sent the darkness into retreat. The blast sent blood and body parts raining down from all directions. The front lines of the cannibals were knocked to the ground by the concussion as the explosion went off behind them.
The unit – what was left of it – raced around to the side of the chopper only to be cut off by another platoon of the ravenous flesh-eaters. They extended their arms and drew closer, the bloodthirsty abominations no more than five feet away now. Behind them was nothing but open road. Nothing but safety.
"Again!" Sullivan bellow, yanking a grenade from his pouch. His five subordinates did the same, rolling the grenades into the closing mob of ashen-faced monsters.
"Now hold them back!" Lieutenant Wilcott yelled, opening up on the cannibals with his M-4. Soon the others joined him and all that could be heard above the din of automatic fire was the determined moans of the Raccoon civilians. The zombies.
The force of the collective gunfire kept the cannibals in place. Unable to press thought the torrent of molten lead they had nowhere to go when the grenades went off. The explosion ripped the monsters apart, taking off arms, legs and even tearing some in half. The path ahead was clear – spattered with bits of gore but clear all the same.
Zeke felt the heat of the blast, the shockwave knocking him up against the pilot side of the helicopter. He grimaced in disgust as stale blood and gust spattered across his uniform. Behind the lieutenant, whose adrenaline levels were at an all time high, someone was calling his name.
"Zeke!"
"Rachel!" The lieutenant cried in response, seeing the terrified pilot beating her hands against the bullet proof glass. He tried the door but it was jammed. Only then did he notice the body of Kirk Judges laying on his back, starring up at the sky with unseeing eyes. His throat had been wrenched out and much of his right arm had been mangled. "Oh fuck. None of this was supposed to happen. None!"
"Zeke!" Rachel screamed again, snapping him back to reality. "The door's stuck and my leg is broken. I need your help."
"I'm coming!" He replied, looking the frightened woman in the eye. "Just hold on!"
Slinging the rifle around his neck, Lieutenant Wilcott raced around the side of the crippled Black Hawk to the open aft door. He had just enough time to notice the cannibals who had been knocked off balance by the grenades were starting to recover and then he was in the chopper's cabin.
Zeke charged up to the pilot's seat, well aware that the things outside were pressing in on both sides of the helicopter. Rachel turned her head to look at the lieutenant and opened her mouth to say something. Her words were muted by the sounds of gunfire from outside.
"I'm getting you out of here." Zeke told the pilot plainly, surveying the leg that had been crushed between the control panel and her seat. Wrapping his arms around her waist, Zeke pulled Rachel up hard. She screamed, sending a wave of guilt through the Ranger for having to cause her further pain but they didn't have time for him to do this gracefully. With a final tug, and scream from Rachel, the lieutenant managed to slide her body up and squeeze her mangled leg out from the control consol. Blood had soaked through her pant leg, he would need Kirk's medical kit to patch up the wound.
"Ah shit!" Rachel groaned as Zeke slung her arm around his shoulders. "Did you have to try and rip my leg off?"
"Sorry," he replied sincerely, "you can kick my butt around all you like after we get out of here."
Zeke dragged her back out of the chopper the way he had come in. As soon as their feet touched the road the cannibalistic residents of Raccoon began to filter in through the opposite door of the chopper. Rachel had her pistol out and fired into the skull of the closest. Two holes erupted above the man's eyebrow and his body clattered to the metallic floor of the chopper's cabin. Zeke helped her limp away and felt a strong hand close around his shoulder.
"Come on, son!" Sullivan hollered, his uniform caked in gore.
"Rachel's hurt, sir!" Zeke said, ashamed of how panicked his voice sounded. "Her leg's busted. I'm going to need Kirk's medical kit."
"Stay calm, Wilcott." His superior ordered. Behind him Zeke saw Wes, Scott, Coop and Ryan running past the bed of charred bodies and up the open street. When they were a safe distance away the four stopped and turned to lay covering fire on the mob of creatures closing in on Zeke's left. "Grab the medical kit – Judges' won't be needing it. I'll handle things here." Sullivan fired into the group of cannibals coming through the chopper.
The panicked lieutenant and injured pilot hobbled over to the mutilated body of Kirk Judges. Zeke couldn't help but feel guilty for what he was about to do as he starred into his comrade's lifeless eyes. He still knew he had to do it though, they needed the medic's gear much more than he did.
Zeke rolled Kirk over and removed his backpack, which contained a variety of emergency medical supplies in addition to the standard Ranger gear. Zeke passed the pack up to Rachel who quickly donned it. Next, the lieutenant removed Kirk's holster and utility belt, which would help their ammunition last a little longer if they were forced to use their weapons again. Zeke had a feeling they would, just as he had a feeling that this was not going to be another routine mission.
"Captain!" Zeke cried. "Let's go!"
Sullivan turned his head. "Do you have it?"
"Yes! Now let's get the fuck out of this death trap!" Zeke screeched, his heart thumping in his ears so hard he thought going deaf might be only a step away.
"Captain!" It was Rachel who yelled this time. "Watch out!"
Curtis Sullivan realized, with no small degree of horror, his mistake. When he shifted his attention to check on Zeke and Rachel he lost focus. He let his guard down and now it was going to cost him.
He turned back just in time to see one of the walking nightmares come barreling towards him. Before he could pull the trigger on his rifle the cannibal, an emaciated image of the grave, batted the M-4 aside with such strength that the weapon jerked out of Sullivan's hands and clattered to the ground. The creature wrapped its fingers, gray and peeling, around Sullivan's chest. Acting quickly the captain pushed the monster back hard, sending the man reeling into the Black Hawk's chassis.
Another of the things lurched forward and Sullivan whirled to duck out of the way. Turning he planted a boot across the back of its head, the leather treads crushing the rotten cranium like a piece of fruit. The captain cried in surprise as a pair of pale arms draped across his shoulders. Grabbing the cannibal's thin wrists, which felt sickeningly cold and palpable to touch, Sullivan flipped the creature over and dispatched it in the same manner as the last.
So busy was he dealing with the attackers coming at him he failed to notice the one crawling across the pavement, reaching for his feet. The creature's lower body was gone, torn apart by the grenade blast but that had done nothing to deter the hunger that drove it. The only impulse the unfortunate soul still possessed.
The pathetic figured pulled himself towards the captain as he drove his elbow into the temple of another cannibal and sent it to the ground. The creature came closer and closer, so close that it could smell the warm flesh of Curtis Sullivan. The smell drove the living corpse into a frenzy, saliva running out the corners of its bloodstained mouth.
Zeke, Rachel and the others fired at the cannibal monsters coming through the chopper as Captain Sullivan shrugged one off after another but none noticed this figure. The crawler inched ever closer. Soon enough it was close enough to reach out and wrap its grimy fingers around Sullivan's boot. Close enough to pull its face forward. Close enough to bite deep into Sullivan's ankle and chew through muscle and tendon. Feeling the sweet taste of blood pouring down its throat in a vain attempt to satisfy a hunger that would never end, the creature was oblivious to the screams of agony coming from its victim.
There was the crack of a rifle and a round punched through the cannibal's head, ending what semblance of life it still retained. Captain Sullivan fell to the ground, still screaming. The smell of blood was in the air and the cannibal monsters that had once been Raccoon citizens felt that wonderful stench fill their nostrils. They pressed forward.
'Pain is a thing of the mind.' Captain Sullivan remembered the phrase from training as he looked down at the glistening white bone of his ankle poking out of a mess of shredded tendons and skin. 'It doesn't really hurt as much as I think it does. Focus on something else other than the wound. Think about something else and I won't even feel it at all. My leg is toast but I still have two working arms. That means I'm not through yet so focus on that. Focus on staying in the game."
Trying to forget the knifing ache in his foot Sullivan kept his attention on the creatures coming through the body of the helicopter and drew his pistol. Not allowing the fiery sensation, an almost itchy feeling, in his leg to throw off his aim, the captain carefully drew a bead and sent a round through the brow of a portly man in a black t-shirt. Blood sprayed the metal walls of the chopper and the body hit the floor. The captain pulled the trigger three more times and three more of the cannibals hit the ground.
Those that still stood crawled and climbed over the bodies of their fellows, the stench of blood and gunpowder seeming to heighten their lust for human flesh. The sight of the creatures giving into reckless, mindless bloodlust chilled the captain to his very core. And nothing in the known world frightened Captain Curtis Sullivan.
Suddenly, Zeke and Rachel were standing beside him, pressing the cannibals back with their weapons. The lieutenant assessed the captain's wound with a cursory glance. It was nauseating to see bone sticking out like that and, judging by the surrounding damage, nerve endings must have been torn. Even if the foot was still functional walking would be torture for the sturdy captain.
"We're getting you out of here, sir." Zeke said, having to know it was probably impossible to fulfill that statement but not willing to leave a Ranger behind. Ranger's never left a man behind.
"Forget it." Sullivan winced, dropping another creature. "Get yourselves outta here now."
"We can' leave you here, captain." Rachel protested, slapping in a new clip. "No one deserves to die this way."
"I'm afraid you don't have a choice." Captain Sullivan said, setting his empty Colt down, his voice as calm and collected as always. "I can't walk."
"I'll drag you." Zeke replied.
"And support the girl at the same time?" Sullivan snapped and saw a pained look cross the lieutenant's face. "No way, Wilcott, you aren't Superman. Even if you could drag me I'd only slow you down and give these freaks a better chance of having all our asses for supper. Besides, don't worry about me, I'm going out of this game my own way."
The captain reached into his pouch and pulled out his last hand grenade. He pulled the pin and watched the ravenous mob approach.
Zeke hesitated. "Captain..."
"Are you deaf, boy?" Sullivan snarled, glaring at the younger soldier. "I'll bow you to kingdom come with me, Wilcott! Don't think I won't. Now get your butts out of here! Your in charge of the chalk now, son, get my boys home alive."
Zeke's face was somber and frustrated. He looked like he wanted to say more, to tell the captain he didn't care if they all got killed as long as it meant he had done his duty as a Ranger; to never leave a man behind. But part of Zeke Wilcott's duty was also following orders and Sullivan had ordered him to go. Ordered him to get everyone back safe. As much as it hurt, Zeke would not disgrace this great leader by ignoring his final wishes. Nodding to his superior, the lieutenant wrapped his arm around Rachel and the two started down the street towards the others.
Captain Sullivan watched them go, everything would be all right. His lieutenant was a good guy, had some problems when it came time to make a decision but in the end he would always do the right thing. Sullivan trusted him to handle the rest. There was no one else he would have trusted more.
The mass of cannibals came closer. Their dead faces flashed with eager anticipation. Withered hands reached for him. Diseased breath spilling out over yellow nubs of teeth. When they were less than a foot from him Captain Sullivan released his hold on the safety catch of the grenade.
"Dinner's served assholes." Sullivan whispered through his teeth.
He only had to wait a moment for the blast. Curtis Sullivan was sent from this world and he didn't need to worry about anything anymore. Zeke would handle the rest. He was sure of this.
Author's Note: Here you are Readers. I hope you enjoy and stay tuned for a new chapter to Come Clean soon.