Chapter 7: Running Blind
October 1, 1998
8:40 PM
Bauer Street, Raccoon City
Physical exertion had never bothered Zeke Wilcott. Like any Ranger his morning began with running at least five miles, followed by a few hours of weight lifting and light stretching. The exercise never failed to leave him feeling energized, awake and alive. Not once had he ever felt fatigued because of it but now, running through the streets of Raccoon City with the rain slapping him in the face, the lieutenant felt beyond fatigued. Zeke felt drained and defeated.
He knew such feelings were not a result of the hour long run he had made with the others, supporting Rachel with one arm as they charged up the dimly lit road. Nor was it as a result of the merciless rain or harsh, biting winds or even the heavy rucksack strapped across his back. His reasons for feeling washed-out went far beyond the realm of the physical and into that of the emotional. It was fear and confusion like none he'd felt before that was sucking his strength from his body like a leech. Fears, confusion, sorrow; all were present, weighing his heart down.
Captain Sullivan, a man Zeke had greatly admired and respected, was dead. As were five other people Zeke had worked beside for years and considered good friends. Looking around, the lieutenant saw his gloomy thoughts written across the faces of the others: their eyes clouded with grief, lips curled tightly together, chins sagging towards each man's chest.
Zeke knew it was selfish, but he was also aware that part of the reason why he was moving so slowly was because of the responsibility now placed on him. With Sullivan gone he was now in command. The success of the mission and, more importantly, the lives of his teammates now rested squarely on his shoulders and was weighing him down heavily.
'How can I do this?' Lieutenant Wilcott wondered as the group passed underneath a streetlight, somewhere in the distance a chorus of hollow, soulless moans rose up on the night air. 'I've never had to lead an entire detail in a real life situation in my whole life before. What am I going to do if anyone else gets hurt, if anyone else gets killed? What would I tell Ryan's wife or Wesley's parents? What…'
"Lieutenant?" Rachel muttered, drawing Zeke out of his dark thoughts, he noticed she looked alarmingly pale.
"What is it, Rachel?"
"It's my leg." She replied weakly. She was breathing weakly as well now that Zeke thought about it. "I hate to sound like a cry baby but do you mind if we take a breather and patch me up."
"Good idea." Zeke said with a small smile as he felt a pang of guilt for dragging the girl along so far with a broken leg. Some leader he was, getting so wrapped up in his own worries that he forgot about the injuries of his own people. "Everyone hold up."
The other Rangers came to a halt behind their commander, sucking in heavy breaths. The lieutenant took a moment to survey the street they were on. Cars, dark and empty, dotted the wet road. There were several small homes lining the cracked sidewalks but all looked as lonely and abandoned as the vehicles did. Moans, pathetic and empty, drifted over from nearby and Zeke shuttered in spite of himself, they needed to get moving again. He spotted an apartment complex a few feet up the road, the windows on the first floor were boarded up but the front door hung wide open, dangling precariously on its hinges. The building looked just as forbidding as any of the others but Zeke knew they had to find a place to get out of the rain and bandage Rachel's leg lest run the risk of letting the wound become infected. Besides, he didn't plan on staying there any longer than a few minutes as it was.
"Up ahead." Zeke said, gesturing towards the tall, brick structure of the apartment building. "Wes and Scott, I want you two to move in and secure the lobby. We'll follow when you say it's clear."
Nodding, the two men dashed forward. When both Rangers reached the front door they raised their weapons and cautiously moved up the front steps, Zeke could see Wesley move left while Scott scanned to the right before the pair disappeared through the shadowy archway. The lieutenant pressed himself up against one side of the door frame as his men began their search of the lobby, he could scarcely hear the sounds of creaky floorboards and crunching glass as Wesley and Scott moved about inside. Rachel's head dropped wearily across his chest.
"It's okay," he whispered gently in her ear, "just hang on a little while longer. I'll have you dancing on that leg again in no time."
Wesley poked his head back through the doorway giving a steady thumbs up with one hand. "All clear, lieutenant. Looks like even the roaches decide to pack up and skip town."
Zeke nodded to the others and the group hastily climbed the front steps. The hardwood floor of the lobby was littered with dust and broken glass; dried bloodstains appeared in abundance. A toolbox and several loose planks of lumber also lay haphazardly strewn across the filthy floor. Set against the wall on the right side of the door was a reception desk. The desk's surface was blanketed in a coating of dust to rival that of the floor and the computer screen atop it was black and lifeless. There was a directory list screwed into the wall on one side but the Plexiglas frame that encased it had been smashed to bits. There was a single wooden door in the corner of the wall opposite the reception area with the label 'Maintenance' stenciled across the top in flowing script against a metal plaque. At the far end of the lobby on the left side rested a pair of stainless steel elevators.
Zeke set his rifle down under one of the windows and proceeded to carefully lower Rachel down beside it. The lieutenant did his best to make sure he didn't set her down on any of the shards of glass that snapped underfoot but it was rather difficult to see in the almost pitch black of the apartment's lobby – someone had taken the liberty of turning out all the lights - and he waited, with a great deal of dread, for a cry of pain and indignation to erupt from the pilot at anytime. Rachel groaned sharply as she sat down and jerked her broken leg awkwardly.
"Sorry," Zeke mumbled sincerely, "try and take it easy. Coop, watch the door, give me a shout if any of those…things…start to come our way."
"Yes sir." Cooper replied, turning to watch the streets, his massive frame filling up the doorway and blocking out the electric glow of the streetlights. At the same instant Scott entered through the maintenance room.
"You didn't happen to find a bloody light switch while you were back there did you?" Wesley asked, turning from his position across the lobby to face the other man.
"I'm afraid not." Scott shook his head. "But even if I had it wouldn't do us much good."
"What do you mean?" Zeke asked, turning his gaze from Rachel to glance over his shoulder at Scott. The sergeant gave a deflated sigh.
"I found the circuit breaker," he answered, "the whole thing is totally FUBAR. Beyond repair. Looks like someone clubbed it to death."
"Bloody spectacular." Wesley grumbled, sagging back against the reception desk.
"Relax Wes, it's not like we plan on spending the night here." Zeke said then turned his eyes back to the injured pilot. Her soft skin had turned from a healthy color to a milky shade of white. Beads of sweat slowly rolled down her forehead and dotted her cheeks with moisture. The pilot clenched her jaw and sucked in gasps of air through her teeth. Zeke could see the pain mirrored in her watery eyes.
"Let's see what we can do for you." He said cracking open Kirk Judge's med-kit with one hand and used the other to smooth back Rachel's damp bangs. "You're tough as nails, major."
"I'd say I'm made of steel," She chortled lightly then grimaced with the effort, "but it feels more like dry twigs at the moment. Ah God!" Rachel cried out, arching her back and squirming where she sat as the lieutenant doused the bloody, broken fabric of her leg with anti-septic. Part of the bone had gone through the skin, leaving the area an angry, raw looking red. "Oh man, that hurts like a bitch!"
"Sorry, but we can't let this get infected." Zeke said, sympathy and guilt forming dark storm clouds in his eyes. "Now I'm going to have to tighten a split around your leg. It's going to sting more than a little bit but you'll be able to walk better, okay?"
"Get it over with." She said and, for the briefest of moments, the lieutenant thought she looked a great deal like she wanted to say more.
'Probably wants to tell me that what happened isn't my fault.' Zeke thought, his jaw forming a grim line as he fished out a splint and pair of bandages from the first-aid kit. ' She'd tell me that it's not my fault Sullivan and all the others are dead. That it's not my fault she's hurt. Maybe it's not but I still could have done something more to have prevented it all. I could have done…something. There must have been something else I could have done.'
All in all, Zeke was glad Rachel had remained silent he needed to focus now more than ever. He watched apologetically as she closed her eyes and bit down on the inside of her cheek. When he tightened the splint around her shattered leg the pilot exuded a muffled shriek and tossed her head back hard enough to stir the dust resting on the boards behind her. Lastly Zeke wrapped a bandage around her exposed skin and made sure it was flush against her wound before sitting back on his heels and placing a supportive hand on Rachel's trembling shoulder.
"All done." He said with a rueful smile, hoping it touched his eyes so she would know he was sincere.
"I am so kicking your ass when we get back home, lieutenant." Rachel laughed, sharing Zeke's smile.
"Sounds fair." The lieutenant chuckled then his face grew longer, more serious. "I could give you something for the pain if you'd like."
"No," Rachel replied immediately, removing Zeke's hand from her shoulder as she struggled to sit up straighter. "No drugs. I'll just think of my happy place to keep my mind off it."
"Al – " Lieutenant Wilcott was cut off in mid-sentence by a soft chiming sound from the elevator, a noise that was mocking cheerful in a city consumed by death and insanity. Zeke groped for his rifle with one hand as the others spun and trained their weapons on the steel doors. Lazily, the two panels split apart, revealing an interior cloaked in blackness.
His rifle aiming into the shadows Zeke entirely expected to see a horde of the creatures – the zombies, he felt it was important to accept them for what they were no matter how impossible it was – spill out of the lift. He expected to see them climb over one another in a mindless frenzy, the scent of warm blood and sweating flesh fueling their bloodlust. He expected to see the ragged monsters stumble forward, blood and saliva staining their dirty clothing and peeling skin. Once again, Zeke Wilcott's expectations were not met.
Instead, what he saw was a thin ray of light knife through the darkness suffocating the lobby. The beam traced left then right then left wavered hesitantly for a moment. There was the sound of shuffling, cautious footsteps and a single figure entered the lobby.
The light from the flashlight the newcomer was holding provided enough illumination for Zeke to see the man's features clearly. The newcomer had searching, tired, suspicious looking brown eyes that were rimmed with red tissue. The newcomer's chin and upper lip were covered with thick, dark-colored hair, scraggly and unkempt. The man's pale skin as well as the black sweatshirt and tattered blue jeans were painted in a heavy coating of dust and grit. The man traced his light to the right, passing it over the group of soldiers, pausing as it illuminated each of their faces, and only then did Zeke become aware of the baseball bat the man – no the boy, he couldn't have been older than nineteen or twenty – held in his other hand.
"Who the hell are you guys?" The newcomer asked bravely, seemingly unaware or unphased by the number of automatic rifles pointed in his direction.
"We're with an Army Rangers detachment." Zeke replied, lowering his weapon a hair. "Our orders were to assist the local police with maintaining peace and order until the doctors here could get this crisis under their thumb. Unfortunately our helicopter malfunctioned and we were forced to make a crash landing. Five members of our unit were killed shortly after that, I needed a place to patch up my pilot here and this place was the closest. I'm Lieutenant Ezekiel Wilcott and I'm in charge here so, if you don't mind, put that bat down and tell me your name."
The newcomer hesitated at first. He swung the light over each soldier once more as if the confirm their identities, Rachel blinked weakly as the beam hit her eyes, noting their weapons, uniforms and gear. Finally the young man must have reached the conclusion that the soldiers were, in fact, soldiers as he lowered the flashlight with a mighty sigh and a grin spread across his grungy, unshaven face.
"Thank God you guys are here," he said jovially, taking a step forward, "I was starting to think the cavalry was never going to show up. Oh, right, my name. I'm Skip Francis."
"Nice to meet you, Skip," Zeke replied lowering his weapon and gesturing for the others to do the same. "Mind telling me what you were doing in that elevator?"
"And how you got it open, considering the circuit breaker is toast." Scott added, propping his M-4 across one shoulder.
"Oh, I found the keys to it in the maintenance room a few days ago." Skip said, regarding Scott a little nervously. "It let's you open the doors manually. It's a fail-safe in case the power goes out. As for what I'm doing in there," Skip glanced over his shoulder at the elevator, "well I was sleeping in there until I heard you all come in so I thought you might be more rioters and maybe I should check things out. I'm glad you're not though they came in here last week and turned the whole building inside out and upside-down. Totally wrecked my room, smashed the locked on my door even, so I figured it'd be better to hide out in there," the young man thrust a thumb over his shoulder, "since I'm the only one that's got the keys to it."
Zeke moved past Skip to investigate the dim hovel where the kid had been hiding for the past seven days. Even in the darkness the Ranger could make out the wrinkled, dirty blanket on the floor and the candy bar wrappers that surrounded it. There were also several empty cans of Pepsi littering the ground. The strong, warm scent of sweat and body odor hit the lieutenant hard in the face and he jerked his head out of the elevator.
"Looks like you've been eating well." Zeke said sarcastically, picking up a Mars Bar wrapper.
"I've been living off what I can find in the vending machines." Skip shrugged. "No way am I going out into the streets until I have to…maybe not even then."
"That's a pretty good plan, kid." Joseph Cooper said from over his shoulder as he stood keeping watch on the streets. "I hate to break it to you but there are worse things out there than the rowdy buttholes who messed up your crib."
"Wh-what's he talking about?" Skip turned to Zeke, his smudged face clouded with anxiety and confusion. Zeke regarded the young man for a moment then sighed.
"After we crash landed," The lieutenant explained, "our squad was…attacked by a large number of civilians."
"That doesn't surprise me." Skip snorted. "They've been looting the city for weeks now."
"No, these weren't rioters." Zeke said, shaking his head, and saw Skip's face fall. "They were…" he paused, "…they were…"
'They were sick." Wesley finished for his friend, eyes flickering dangerously. "Let's accept that and move on, alright? They looked like walking death, Skip. In fact, they were dead. They had rotting skin and tattered clothes and milky white eyes and everything else you see in those bloody stupid zombie movies!"
"Wes, take it easy on the poor guy!" Rachel snapped from where she sat resting. "We could use the kids help in figuring out what's going on here and you freaking him out is not going to do use any favours." The Brit grumbled something to him self then slumped back against the reception desk.
"The-these zombies," Skip's voice cracked, switching his twitchy gaze from Wesley back to Zeke. "Wh-what did they do?"
"They ate half our fucking chalk." Scott said, crossing his arms bluntly. "They walked right through everything we threw at them and started feasting like it was half-price night at Denny's."
"Oh…oh man." Skip breathed as he placed one hand on the edge of the reception desk to steady himself. The hand that held the flashlight shook rapidly.
"Look," Ryan chimed in, startling the others who had almost forgotten he was there. Zeke decided he would need to have a talk with the man – he was simply too quiet. "Let's not worry about that now. We need to figure out what to do next."
"Would getting out of Dodge happen to be anywhere on that list?" Wesley asked, looking askance at the lieutenant.
"Afraid not, Wes." Zeke said, giving his friend a rueful half-smirk. "Alright, everyone listen up, this what we're going to do. Scott, I want you to try and get Alpha, Bravo or Delta Company on the horn."
"Yes sir." Sergeant Owens set to work unslinging and setting up the field radio.
"Wesley," Zeke continued, "you and Ryan go help Rachel to her feet and see if she needs anything else. I want us to be able to move quickly."
"Aye, aye cap'n." Wesley said with that crooked smile of his and hasty salute before walking over to where Rachel sat slumped against the wall with the team's sniper in tow.
"Corporal Cooper?" Lieutenant Wilcott asked, turning to face the burly heavy gunner.
"Yo?" Cooper replied without taking his gaze off the street.
"How are things looking out there?"
"Nice and quiet, lieutenant. Not a creature stirring."
"And to think, that used to just be an expression." Wesley chuckled, the grunted as he slung and arm around Rachel and hoisted the young woman to her feet with Ryan's assistance.
"Sir," Scott said, holding out the radio to the lieutenant, "no one is answering on Alpha or Bravo's frequency but I'm getting something coming in from Delta Company. It's pretty scrambled though."
"I'll take what I can get." Zeke said, snatching the radio from Scott's outstretched hand and placing it against his ear. "This is Lieutenant Wilcott of Charlie Company, come in, over."
There was a long silence on the other end, then the crackle of static. Zeke listened intently, feeling hope kindle in his breast as he scanned the faces of his companions and saw the same tension and anxiousness painted across their features. Even Skip looked rather worried at the lack of response.
"I repeat," the lieutenant said, "this is Lieutenant Wilcott of Charlie Company, please come in Delta, over."
On the other end of the receiver came another long hiss of static. Suddenly a voice came on the line, an urgent, frightened voice that was punctuated by the steady crack of automatic gunfire, shouting, running footsteps and screaming. Rising above the terror filled wails was the sound of dragging feet and low, pathetic, hungry moans.
"Lieutenant!" The poor quality voice cried. "This…Captain Haag. Our helicopter…had to crash land. My team is under attack…some kind…monsters! Only three of us left now. The radio…damaged. We're…make for…24th Precient…shelter for…citizens." The signal died, slowly fizzling out into an endless hiss of static.
"Captain Haag!" Zeke yelled frantically into the mouthpiece. "Captain Haag, come in! Do you read me? Do you read!"
There was nothing but silence and that mocking hiss on the other end of the receiver. The lieutenant handed the radio back to Owens and sagged his shoulders. Never had he felt more helpless in his life. Zeke was defeated, Captain Haag and his men could help but they were out of reach and headed towards the police station.
"Damn it!" Zeke bellowed, giving his frustration voice as he drove a fist into the right wall hard enough to chip the plaster from it.
"Wh-what do we do now?" Skip asked timidly.
"Haag said that there was some kind of shelter set up at the police department for civilians. If we get there we could regroup and find someone who might know what's going on in this nuthouse." Ryan suggested, the Remington cradled across his chest.
"What do you say, boss?" Scott asked, packing up his radio again.
For a moment Zeke was silent. He just stood with both hands pressed against the crumbling wall, his face hard and set. He knew now just how hard it was to be in command; to have everyone looking to you to make not only a decision but the right decision. What he told them to do now could mean the difference between whether or not they went home in one piece of in body bags. So much could ride on what he decided they should do. 'Face it you're scared to make that decision. Right now you couldn't even decide between paper or plastic.'
"Lieutenant," Wesley said, the word sounded strange to Zeke's ears after hearing the man refer to him by name for so many years. "Whatever you decide to do we'll back you up one hundred percent. Just do whatever you think is right."
Zeke twisted his head and regarded the sergeant intently. There was a great deal etched across the shaggy features of Wesley Creeks: trust, compassion, empathy, hope. There was a great deal of fear reflected in his eyes as well but Zeke could see that greater than despair in his friend's eyes was an even larger amount of faithfulness and loyalty.
The lieutenant knew, quite firmly, that no matter what decision he made, no matter what orders he gave, Wesley would follow it through to the very end. A wave of thankfulness washed over Zeke but there was an undertone of concern with it as well. He prayed that Wesley's steadfast loyalty would not get him into trouble.
"Okay," Lieutenant Wilcott said at last, pushing away from the wall to face his team. "Our destination is the 24th Precient. Skip, do you have a car?"
"Well, I had a car." The young man replied, looking thoughtful. "I don't know what kind of shape it's in now. The looters might have taken it or busted it up or who knows what else but I don't know for sure. I can take you down to the parking level to find out."
"Alright." Zeke said. "Scott, get the map out, I want you to plan the fastest route to the station, by car and by foot. Rachel, how are you doing?"
"Good to go, sir." The pilot nodded but Wilcott remained unconvinced. He had picked up on the note of strain and anguish she had tried to keep hidden in her tone.
"Wes, stay with Rachel…just in case." Zeke added as Rachel fixed him with a sharp glance.
Skip jumped halfway to the ceiling as Joe Cooper fired a short burst from his SAW. Even during the riots the lieutenant doubter Skip had heard a firearm go off so close. After the gunshots ceased, Skip lowered his hands from his ears, opened eyes previously clenched tight and looked ready to shit a brick when the pitiful, lost wailing groans from outside began to filter in.
"Better get moving, lieutenant." Cooper said with urgency, firing another short burst. "I think they sniffed us out, thirty of those rotting bastards are closing in on us from every which way."
"Everyone get to the elevator." Zeke said, surprised at how calm he kept his voice, already feeling the adrenaline flowing through his system anew.
Skip, apparently, needed no further prompting and took off for his sanctuary with an astounding zeal. The anguished, tortured noises from outside seeming to be drawing closer every moment. Wrapping one arm around her waist, Wesley helped Rachel limp over to the lift. There was another report from Coop's weapon and then both Scott and Ryan lunged headlong into the elevator.
"Come on!" Skip shouted to those still outside the relative safety of his hovel, as he reached for the manager's key and gave it a twist, instantly the lights in the elevator hummed to life and the machine groaned it's awakening.
"Get out of there, corporal!" Zeke ordered, training his rifle on the doorway as Cooper fired one last burst then turned and raced over to the lift.
The empty, hungry moans grew nearer and nearer, now joined by the sounds of shuffling, drunken footsteps as the creature's dragged their feet up the front steps. Zeke pressed the stock of his M-4 tight against his shoulder as the first of the cannibals reeled through the doorway.
The man's – the zombie's – dead white eyes caught sight of the lieutenant and slowly the thing staggered closer. Blood and gore stained the man's white shirt, was caked to his black slacks and scuffed shoes. The creature's face was devoid of any emotion, it's ashen skin a testament to its death but still it came closer. The zombie's mouth opened eagerly, rimmed in saliva and filth, revealing nubs of broken yellow teeth.
Cold sweat rolled down Zeke's forehead. 'Can't be real.' Another, jerking, awkward step brought the monster closer. 'Can't be but is.' Starring into the creature's lifeless eyes, Zeke pulled back on the trigger. A grouping of three ragged holes punched into the man's forehead, spraying the doorframe with crimson liquid and bone fragments. The zombie reeled backwards, rolling bonelessly down the steps. Four more of the living dead stumbled over the carcass – 'Not a carcass. He was dead before I shot him.' – and shouldered their way through the door.
"Let's go, lieutenant!" Rachel screamed behind him. The terror, fresh and awful, in her voice got Zeke's feet moving again. He charged headfirst into the elevator as more of the zombie horde pressed its way inside.
"Shut the doors!" Lieutenant Wilcott bellowed at Skip…and felt his heart turn to ice as he saw the look on the young man's face. Wild fright danced crazily in his eyes, his lips trembled as the ragged mob of nightmarish creatures lurched forward. Zeke had seen the look in men before, when they had frozen up on the battlefield.
Skip Francis, like any normal person, had experienced some rather bad dreams during the course of his life, however, they had never featured mindless, bloodthirsty undead from beyond the grave. Maniac clowns and fearsome piranhas, maybe, but never the undead. What he bore witness to standing in that elevator was worse than any nightmare he had ever had.
The zombies looked at him with their milky white eyes, their peeling faces covered in a blanket of crusty bloodstains and grime. Skip felt his heart constrict as he gazed into all those dead faces – 'So many of them.' – listening to their wretched moaning as they extended grasping hands. He could smell the scent of the creatures – a putrid, diseased stench that made him want t gag. Skip's mind screamed at him to take action: 'Closethedoorsclosethedoorsclosethedoorsclosethedoors!' Yet still he was unable to move, he felt as if his limbs had turned to stone, forcing him to watch the horror in front of his eyes.
One of the rotten faces pushed into the elevator, its cold, lifeless eyes penetrating deep into his frightened ones. The young man could see rows of decayed teeth lining the blackened gums of the cannibal's mouth – it seemed to be all he could see – watched as they parted to reveal a blackened tongue. Skip shivered as one, flaking hand close around his arm with crushing strength.
Skip's scream of pure, undiluted terror echoed in the elevator, rising far above the wails of the creatures that sought his life.
Lieutenant Wilcott saw the rotting man wrap his hand around the kid's shoulder, saw the wild fear flash brighter in Skip's eyes, and raised his rifle. Zeke took aim at the side of the cannibal's head as it lunged forward and pulled the trigger. The click sound his weapon emitted seemed louder than Skip's panicked cry or the eager groans of the monsters that came seeking a warm meal.
"Shit," Zeke said, yanking the spent magazine out of his weapon. "I'm out! Pierce!"
Hearing the lieutenant's urgent shout, the sniper leapt into action. With a single deft movement Sergeant Pierce drew his pistol with one hand then, using his other hand to support his wrist, the sniper fired twice into the face of Skip's attacker. Two holes opened up beneath the zombie's right eye and it fell limply to the floor. Ryan shoved the startled young man aside and fired twice more, dispatching another of the monstrous things before slamming down the button Skip had been standing next to. Slowly, the doors started to close.
Another of the zombies staggered forward, its decaying arms desperately grasping at the air in front of it. The creature pressed onward, managing to get one foot inside the elevator but Zeke Wilcott was back on his feet. His weapon reloaded, it took the Ranger only a moment to aim and pull the trigger. The creature's head disappeared in a puff of red and pink. The doors slid shut with a dull thump.
Closing his eyes, Zeke sighed and fell back against the elevator wall, sliding to the floor. Next to him, Skip lay huddled in one corner, eyes wide, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm. A pang of sympathy ran through the lieutenant's body as he looked at the poor, dazed, young man. He had probably just graduated from college or university and had come to Raccoon City looking for a career and a little freedom. Too bad for him the place was overrun with the walking dead.
"Oh man, oh man." Skip whined, bringing his knees up to his chest and hugging them like a long lost relative. "There is no way this is happening!"
"It's happening, kid. Better accept that and move on." Ryan said, hitting the button marked "P" and the elevator began its steady descent.
"He – that thing – was going to bite me wasn't it?" Skip said, the pitch of his voice breaking every other word. "It was going to try and eat me alive."
While Skip had been looking at Zeke when he said that it was Joseph Cooper who answered. "Well, if that's the worst thing that happens to you tonight then consider yourself lucky."
Cooper's reply did not seem to encourage the younger man. Skip squeezed his eyes shut and rested his head against the elevator wall, rocking back and forth like a madman.
"This can't be happening." Skip repeated the words over and over to himself. "This can't be happening."
Zeke glanced over at Skip as he rambled on and on, repeating the phrase over and over as if denying the truth would change their situation. "This can't be happening. This can't be happening." Zeke wished he could agree.
Author's Note: Here you are my Readers. I hope you enjoy this chapter and for those of you reading Come Clean as well a new chapter should be up some time this week. Enjoy and thank you for all the kind reviews.