Chapter 9: A Transmission From The Living

October 1, 1998

7:40 PM

Mill Street

"Hold up." Kathryn gasped, falling behind the two men ahead of her, placing her hands on her knees and drawing in deep, labored breaths. "I just need…a second to…catch my breath."

"Alright, we'll take a short break here. We've been running for at least an hour and a half, I don't see any of those things around so hopefully that means we've put some distance between them and us. We should be okay for a few minutes anyways." Foster said to the others, leaning heavily against the side of a Home Hardware store with them and mentally thanking Officer Ward for speaking up first and calling for a breather.

Jacob was exhausted too and while he was far from being in peak physical condition he knew it was more than the run that was sapping his strength. It was something much worse than mere tiredness. It was all the realizations that he had been too frightened, too panicked, to have processed at the barricade coming back to him now.

Each revelation overwhelmed the stocky officer in a fresh wave of grief and regret. Each new thought hitting him as hard as a punch to the gut and leaving him feeling as if he might vomit. Foster shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on his heavy, steady breathing but it was no use. The memories and thoughts continued to assault his mind, the pictures dancing around crazily behind his closed lids.

Images of the battle played through Jacob's mind, a twisted, perverse slideshow of blood and pain and things that could only exist in the darkest of dreams. There was no escape from the horrifying theatre of his mind, the projector that flashed scenes of his friends being torn apart limb by limb, and devoured by creatures that had somehow eluded the grasp of death, had no off switch. The SWAT team leader was forced to watch, numb with terror, his heart weighted down with sorrow, loss and worst of all responsibility, as he saw the expressions his comrades had worn during their last moments play past his closed eyes.

Some of the faces were young and smooth others were more mature and creased with the lines of experience. All the faces had the same eyes though, wide and full of incredulity that turned into sharp, knifing pain as the zombies grabbed hold of them and sank decaying teeth into warm flesh. Finally, the eyes glossed over, the light within them dying, then the eyes themselves served merely as a gateway into the deceased's mind and the impossible fear they had felt during their last moments.

The events continued to play through Foster's mind, making his head buzz. It all seemed so real to him: the gunfire, the screams, the empty, soulless moaning of the creatures and their diseased scent. Tears rolled between the sergeant's shut lids and suddenly he could no longer hear. Foster tried desperately to breathe but no air would fill his lungs. He could feel his heart beating frantically against his ribs, so violent and rapid that he thought it might burst. Spots, white and yellow, flashed behind his eyes like small fireworks localized inside his skull and Jacob felt his stomach churn and roll over. His knees buckled and turned to water. Sergeant Foster staggered, doubled-over and wretched a thick puddle of putrid smelling bile. Almost instantaneously his hearing returned and his lungs began to function once again. Foster gulped in large amounts of air, savoring its sweet taste, as he starred into what had once been his dinner.

"Damn it." He gasped, wiping at his eyes.

"Shit, you okay Tubbs?" Sam asked, immediately moving to stand at his friend's side, an arm around the other man's shoulders.

"I killed them." Jacob said, not really hearing his subordinate, a sob shaking his stout form. "I killed all of them."

"No you didn't, chief." Sam said. "You didn't kill anyone. You tried to save all our guys back at the blockade. You tried to protect them, remember Tubbs?"

"No," Foster shook his head angrily, still unable to look up at the younger trooper, fearing all the accusation that Sam's eyes would contain despite the words he had just uttered. "I killed them. I was in command they were my responsibility. It's my fault they died."

"Jacob," Kathy said soothingly, walking over to lay a gentle hand across his back. "It's not your fault, none of it. We weren't prepared for what happened. We had no idea what we were up against, shit we still don't!"

"We should have been prepared!" Foster bellowed, enraged at how helpless he felt now, angry at how many lives had been lost needlessly. 'My responsibility. My fault.' "I was in charge, it was duty to make sure we were prepared for anything!"

Foster jerked suddenly, gasping and shoving Sam away. The SWAT team leader stumbled awkwardly and fell to the sidewalk, furiously scratching at his injured hand. The spot where the creature had bitten him was raw and covered in a film of dried blood and tendrils of skin. The wound looked insubstantial but for Jacob it felt as if someone hand lit a small fire in his hand. He scratched at the injury, tearing it open with his fingernails, desperately trying to smother the fire inside, blood running down his palm and across his wrist. There was no relief to the sensation though and Foster continued to claw away at the wound, feeling the heat crawl up his arm and into his head, making his ears buzz and eyes blur. Groaning, a sound that made both Sam and Kathryn shudder in remembered horror, Jacob continued to rake his fingers across the raw flesh of his hand until a set of strong fingers wrapped around his wrist and yanked his arm back.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Tubbs?" Sam demanded, his voice cracking with barely contained fear. It took Jacob a moment to realize that it was Sam who was holding his arm pinned against the wall of the store. After a moment of looking up at his friend blankly Foster saw Kathy step into his vision…at least he thought she stepped into his view, maybe she had been standing beside Samuel all along. Her gentle face was covered in creases and lines of stress and concern.

"My hand," Foster replied slowly, the buzzing in his ears making it difficult to think in a straight line – to concentrate on his words. "It's itchy. It's hot."

Taking his superior's chubby hand, Sam examined the injury. The young man cringed when he saw the loose clumps of skin hanging from the cut that Jacob had further aggravated. Gently, he set Foster's hand down and gripped his commander by the shoulders, forcing the older man to look him in the eyes.

"I won't like to you man," Sam said, and Jacob didn't think he could remember a time when Sam had sounded more intense. What was his last name again? Brocket. Of course, he should have known that. "It looks pretty nasty so don't pick at it alright? We'll make sure you get patched up once we get back to the station. They must have tons of medical supplies for all the civilians that went there. Just hang on, okay chief?"

Foster nodded and Sam began to rise. He stopped when he felt a hand pulling him back in, a hand that suddenly felt unnervingly cold. Turning around he saw Jacob's fingers and only then did Jake realize he had grabbed hold of the man's pant leg in a vice-like hold. It was so hard to focus, to think right. Those bees buzzing away inside his brain were making things so very difficult.

"There's…something else, Sam." Jacob said heavily, wishing the bees would give it a rest.

"What's wrong, chief?" The younger man asked, the fear flashing in his eyes saying that he already knew the answer. Sam's face dropped a little as Foster exhaled in exertion. Breathing had become difficult as well.

"I think I'm sick." Tubbs replied, his eyes passing over Sam and Kathy. 'Ward. Kathryn Ward.' "That guy that bit me – back at the barricade – I think he had something. He had to have had something, they all must have."

"That skin disease?" Kathy suggested, swallowing hard. If it really was the mysterious skin disease that had ravaged Raccoon City then Jacob was in big trouble, and he knew it. At least they could fight against the monsters back at the barricade they had no way to combat something only seen through a microscope.

"Yeah." Jacob nodded somberly. "They couldn't figure out how it spread so fast since they had ruled out the idea that it was airborne. I think I found out first hand how the virus gets transferred from person to person. One poor bastard gets infected and bites another and then they bite another and the chain just keeps on going. Fuck, I should have been more careful. I can't believe I was this careless!" Foster leaned his head back against the wall and let out a sharp breath. 'Should have been more careful. Going to end up dead now…or worse, like one of those things out there.'

"No, Tubbs, it was my fault." Sam said, snapping Foster's eyes open once more, sounding sincerely distraught and sincerely angry with him self. "If I hadn't tripped you wouldn't have had to come back for me. I'm the one that fucked up."

"Forget about it, Sam," Jacob shook his head and smiled ruefully, "doesn't matter who fucked up. The point is that we're in this situation and we're going to have to deal with it one way or the other. We'll see what we can do for me soon enough, first we need to get off the streets. The station is only a few more blocks from here, only another hour or so away…I think an hour…no maybe longer. Sorry, anyways, once we get there we can –"

Foster trailed off in mid-sentence as his radio crackled to life. It spit static for a moment and then a voice, clear and familiar, came over the receiver. "Sergeant Foster? Sergeant Brocket? Damn it, someone come in! Is anyone receiving this?"

"This is Sergeant Foster," Jacob said excitedly, stabbing down the button on his radio. "I was starting to wonder what had happened to you, Billy. Damn, I'm glad to hear it's you. We tried calling home but no one picked up the phone."

Police Captain William Brown, whose voice seemed to originate from somewhere in the soles of his shoes, breathed a heavy, relieved sigh. "Thank God it's you, Tubbs. I thought you might have bitten it out there."

"Nice choice of words." Foster mumbled, looking at his ruined hand.

"What's that?"

"Nothing man." Jacob said, looking at Sam and Kathryn he saw newfound hope and energy glowing in their eyes. "Look, we've got big problems. The town is crawling with, and I swear to you I'm not going crazy, zombies. They overwhelmed us at the blockade. They…those things…they killed everyone. They…they fucking ate them Billy!"

"My God…" William replied, his tone shaking and unsteady. "Are you alright, Jake?"

"I'm a little worse for ware," Foster admitted, wiping cold sweat from his forehead, "but I'm alright for the time being. Sergeant Samuel Brocket and Officer Kathryn Ward are with me too. Don't worry they're fine, just a little shaken up. We're all that made it. Billy, listen carefully you need to trust me on this and warn the other barricades about what happened. I know it sounds crazy but – "

"I believe you, Jake." William interrupted, his voice sounding heavy, weighed down with remorse and a torrent of other emotions. "Trust me, I believe you. I've seen what you're talking about. Those things – the zombies – they attacked the station. I didn't know what was going on, it was so surreal. We were totally unprepared. Jake, I…I lost a lot of good people."

"Shit." Sam seethed, clenching his fists as he overheard. Beside him Kathy blinked away her tears and sniffed.

Foster closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to keep from breaking down where he sat. None of what had happened was possible none of it was sane. People were dying all around him, people who were his friends and co-workers. People he cared about. They were being eaten alive by creatures that could not possibly have existed outside the dreams of a madman and he was powerless to stop the insanity of it all. Looking down at his hand, he also realized the possibility that he might soon become one of the twisted abominations that fed on the living.

"Jake? Jake you there?" William asked frantically, bringing Foster back to reality.

"Yeah, I'm here, sorry. You have to warn the other teams, Billy."

"I wish I could." The police captain sighed heavily. "We lost contact with the other blockades a few hours ago. When these things attacked the station our power went out, we still don't know why, and we lost contact with the other teams. My people just managed to get the back-up generator running but we haven't been able to reach anyone at the other posts. You guys are the first I've talked to."

"Damn it." Jacob cursed, tears stinging the back of his eyes. "This is all wrong, Billy. All of it."

"I know man, I know." William replied, subdued. "How far are you from the station."

"Only a few blocks." Jacob said. "Little over two hours. Maybe."

"Okay, get here as fast as you can, alright? Call back on this frequency if anything goes wrong."

"Okay," Foster replied and started to put the radio down when a sudden thought clutched the sergeant's mind with wild panic. "Wait! William, what about the survivors there? What about my wife? Are they all okay?"

At first William said nothing, silence filtered through the radio. Foster felt his heart tighten painfully, filled now with fear for his wife rather than for himself. Tessa was his everything, the one person he would have sacrificed all he had for. His friend's silence gave him a feeling of such terrible dread that the chubby officer thought he might die of it well before he succumbed to whatever disease might be running through his veins.

"Tessa's fine, Jake." William said in a voice Foster didn't recognize. His tone was low and quiet his voice sounding choked and warped. Somehow Jacob knew the man on the other end was struggling, with great difficulty, to keep from sobbing. "Just get back here fast, alright?"

"We're already moving." Foster said and replaced his radio then turned to face Sam and Kathryn. "Something's wrong."

"A lot is wrong, chief." Sam said, nodding his head for emphasis.

"I mean with William," Foster replied, "he's not telling me something."

"What could he be hiding?" Kathy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know but we'll find out soon enough." Jacob said and felt his heart pick up its pace as a chorus of lifeless moans drew closer from down the street. "Besides, I don't think now is the best time to discuss this. We're almost there, let's get going."

Without another word the trio continued its trek up the street.

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As they ran, Sam took a moment and glanced over at Jacob. His friend's skin was unnaturally pale and coated in a thin blanket of sweat. Sam hoped that it was just a consequence of the lengthy jog but part of him knew better.

'Hang on, chief.' He thought, looking back up the street again. 'We'll be out of here in no time. We'll find a helicopter or something and just fly away. We can get you fixed up along the way and before you know it you and me will be chugging back a few brews in a bar somewhere watching the Giants game on TV.' While these thoughts were comforting and encouraging to the young SWAT trooper, once again part of him knew better.

Author's Note: Here you are my Readers, another installment. Stay tuned for yet another chapter later this week. Also, for those of you reading Come Clean as well I should have the final chapter up later this week as well. Review when you get a chance, it's your feedback that keeps me inspired and writing.