Chapter 11: The Hunted
October 1, 1998
8:37 PM
Streets of Raccoon City
"You know," Shank said to Slugger who was examining his revolver for what must have been the fifth time since leaving the Lucky Clover, "I could almost enjoy this night – if I had my bike I mean. It's cool out, there's a nice breeze and a rain to wash the sweat from your face. I could almost enjoy this night."
"Yeah," Slugger agreed with a nod, holstering the Smith and Wesson in his coat and pulling out a cigarette instead. "Except for the fact that we're stuck in a city where everyone is going apeshit because of some disease that no one even knows what it is, we just had all our worldly possessions either stolen or blown up and now we're driving through the fucking rain in a stolen truck with one of our buddies laying in the bed all fucked up! Yeah man, I could almost enjoy this night too."
"I don't think," Boomer said weakly from where he lay clutching his side, "that this is…the best time to…get all sentimental boys." He coughed a thin, strained noise and Shank patted his friend's thick shoulder.
"Hang on, dog." He said reassuringly "we'll get you patched up soon."
"Yeah, yeah." The wounded biker replied stifling another cough as Slugger lit the cigarette dangling between his lips. "Just make sure to send a fruit basket to my widow if I don't make it alright?"
"You mean your ex-wife?" Shank said with a grin, wiping rainwater out of his eyes.
"Hey," Boomer replied, managing a small grin of his own, "why do you have to go and attach a label to everything, man?"
Shank laughed, a deep booming sound and eased back, looking up at the sky that mercilessly pounded them with rain. Feeling his own clothes beginning to stick to his skin, the big man noticed that Slugger and Tech were in similar shape. His concern for Boomer began to rise. The crudely bandaged wounds running up his side had to be susceptible to infection and the way he was laying exposed in the back of the truck could not have been helping matters. Without another though Shank pulled off his jacket and draped it across his friend.
"Gee, thanks for…tucking me in mom." Boomer said with a chuckle that quickly became a groan.
"Shut your hole." Shank replied, hugging his arms around his thick body in an attempt to seal out the cold. Now he only had to worry about his arm becoming infected, it seemed a fair enough trade off. "We wouldn't want you to catch pneumonia and cough your fat ass to death."
"Yeah," Boomer conceded, "that'd be…almost as bad as taking ten pounds of shrapnel in your…side."
"We don't want you to do the same either." Slugger said to Shank, leaning over to offer his compatriot a cigarette.
Shank accepted the cigarette as well as a light offered by his friend then inhaled a deep drag, letting the hot smoke fill his lungs and calm his nerves. The truck sped up the rain slick road as the storm continued to assail the streets of Raccoon City. Homes and shops lined the sidewalks, all standing dark and deathly silent; ghosts in a city of madness. Off in the distance Shank could see fires raging, could see thick tufts of smoke rising above the city's rooftops accompanied by the peel of sirens and the ring of gunshots. What had once been a peaceful American community was rapidly dissolving into a full-blown war zone.
As Blaze turned off of Borne and up Royce, nearing the center of the city, Shank noticed a good deal of people wandering the menacing streets. They stumbled about aimlessly, seemingly without care or purpose, as if oblivious to the chaos consuming their city. Shank had been on more than one bender in his day and knew what the after effects where like – these people looked wasted hardcore: bumping into one another, groaning, and stumbling over their own feet. Moaning – in pain or frustration, the biker wasn't certain – they plodded along.
Even with sheets of rain streaming through his long hair and into his eyes the Psycho could make out blood on some of the pedestrians clothes and tears in the fabric. There was a dead look spread across all those pale, grimy faces. The riots had clearly touched these people – their blood stains and tattered clothing was evidence enough – yet they did not seem panicked or frightened in the least, just despondent, maybe in shock.
"What the fuck is wrong with them?" Tech's squeaky, high-pitched, voice said from beside Shank. "Why aren't they running away or screaming or something? Don't they know what's going on?"
"Maybe they're drunk." Slugger said, taking a drag and blowing out a cloud of gray mist. "Maybe they're treating this thing as some kind of party since John Law is a little busy trying to maintain order to keep them from drinking in public and hitting the pipe."
"Maybe it's the virus." Shank suggested absently, watching as a woman in a tattered pair of jeans tripped over a fire hydrant before stumbling on up the street again. "Maybe it disorients you or something, messes up your wiring." He took another long drag on his cigarette, studying the young lady as she continued her slow crawl up the street. 'And maybe we're already infected with whatever these poor fuckers have.'
"Fuck." Tech spat, running his uninjured hand through his wet hair. "How can we be sure that we don't have whatever the fuck these people do? It must be some serious shit for them to have sealed off the city. How can we be sure we didn't just get it by riding through here? Fuck man."
"Chill out before you work yourself into a conniption fit." Slugger said irritably, taking one last drag before tossing his smoke away. "If we had the damn thing I think we would have showed some sing of it by now, so just stay cool. Just don't touch any of the nuts in this city or lick the hospital floor and you'll be fine."
Tech nodded but did not look at all reassured. Shank certainly didn't feel reassured by Slugger's comments. "I just don't like it is all."
"No one's asking you to like it," Blaze hollered into the back from the driver's seat, "and believe me, none of us do. Now stick a sock in it. I want to be ready for –"
Whatever the Psycho's Inc leader wanted to be ready for was lost amid the sound of squealing tires, flaring headlights and the crunch of metal. Bright lights blinded Shank and his world turned upside down, flinging him through the air like an uprooted tree in a twister. Something hard raced up to catch his body and pain hit the big man like a hammer wherever he had feeling.
With a grunt, the biker managed to lift his head off what took him a moment to recognize as concrete. He felt blood running down his face, could taste its coppery flavor in his mouth. Turning his head from side to side Shank noticed that his leather gloves had saved his hands from injury but his exposed arms were covered in scrapes and brutal lacerations. The fiery liquid of pain coursed through his body anew and the big man groaned, wishing everything would stop spinning.
Eventually it did and the world came back into focus once more. The truck came into view with Blaze slumped over the steering wheel and a dazed looking Shots climbing out of the passenger side door. Slugger lay splayed on his back about five feet from Shank with one hand pressed over his forehead, blood seeping through his fingers. Miraculously Tech and Boomer had not been thrown from the truck bed, the former already leaping over the side with pistol in hand.
After what felt like an eternity Shank managed to regain his feet and discovered what it was that had thrown him about like a rag doll. Embedded in the pick-up's driver side was the cab of a big rig. The two vehicles must have collided as the approached the intersection, the biker realized. Each truck's windshield was destroyed along with one headlight apiece. Glass littered the street. 'He must not have been going too fast or we'd all be decorating the road with our insides now.' Shank though woozily, stumbling over to the crash site.
"Damn it, boy!" An angry voice called in a thick Southern twang and Shank watched as the big rig's operator hopped out. He was a tall man with a chubby red face, thinning brown hair and a considerable pot belly poking out from a white T-shirt drenched with sweat and rainwater. A pair of fat thumbs were tucked into the straps of red suspenders. "Don't you look where you're going? I coulda killed –"
"You almost did you son of a bitch!" Tech bellowed, spittle flying from his lips as he shoved the barrel of his Glock into the trucker's startled face. "I should plug you right here you fucker!"
"You alright?" Shank asked, helping a groaning Slugger to his feet as Shots grabbed hold of Tech's arm, trying to calm the younger man.
"I've got a mean fucking headache." The former baseball star complained, touching the gash on his forehead and wincing. "I think I'll live though. What hit us?"
"A Mack Truck."
"Shit," Slugger said, steadying himself, "I thought that was only supposed to be used as a metaphor."
"Live and learn," Shank shrugged. "Wait here, I think Tech is about to do something we're all going to regret."
Running around the mangled pick-up truck, Shank could see that a tense situation had indeed sprung up. Tech stood waving his pistol around wildly, spitting out every curse word known to man. Shots attempted to pull at his comrade's shoulders, urging him to calm down but meeting with little success. The trucker danced nervously from foot to foot, trying to maneuver wherever the gun was not pointing and looking scared half to death all the while.
"Put the gun down, Tech." Shank said, stepping in front of his enraged companion. "Don't do something stupid."
"Shut the fuck up Shank!" Tech retorted, trying to aim his weapon around the bigger man. "That piece of crap could have killed all of us, I've got to teach the punk a lesson."
"Calm down, boy!" The trucker said, shielding his face with his hands in a feeble attempt at protection. "It was an accident. Just relax."
"Fuck you, relax!" Tech fired back, his eyes burning with a violent passion.
"Chill out!" Shots said, grabbing for the man' arms but was batted away.
"Fuck off, Shots!" Tech was practically screaming. "Just let me bust on in his kneecap and we'll call it e-"
All fell silent at the sound of a hammer being drawn back, the metallic click instantly causing tongues to be held and lips to be shut. Shank looked over shoulder in the direction of the noise and watched as young man – not out of his twenties by the looks of him – climbed out of the big rig's passenger side door holding a snub nosed .38 in one hand wrapped with a bloody bandage.
The young man's blue uniform and glimmering badge marked him as one of Raccoon's finest. The youthful cop's dark skin and bald head were covered with small cuts and beading rainwater. The coat bearing the insignia of the Raccoon Police Department, along with the uniform of the same color, was thickly covered in caked blood and nameless grime. There was a hollow look in the officer's eyes, a slight twitch that pointed to deep-seated instability beneath the surface of this man's features. A very dangerous look indeed.
"Drop the gun." The cop said, leveling his revolver with Tech's brow. His tone was as cold and unforgiving as his eyes. As dangerous as his eyes.
"Fuck you, pig!" Tech shouted, switching his target from the frightened trucker to the stone-faced officer.
"Cripes Tech," Slugger said, limping around the truck to stand beside Shank, "he's a fucking cop. Put your gun down and chill."
"Fuck him, he's just another pig." The weasel-faced biker said, taking a step forward, his weapon unwavering though his tone sounded a little more uncertain than before.
"Put your weapon down." The officer said coolly, his tone and eyes steady. "Put your weapon down or I'll put you down. Your choice."
There was another metallic click, this time that of a slide being cocked and once again all conversation ceased. All heads turned to the wreck of the pick-up and there Blaze – a yellow bruise under one eye and a bloody gash above the other – saw with both custom finished Browning HPs pointed squarely at the wounded policeman.
"Looks like you're at a bit of a disadvantage, kid, unless your buddy over there has a piece hidden up his pant leg." The Psycho's Inc commander nodded to the trucker who looked ready to run if only he could decide on a direction. "Shot's get over here and make sure Boomer is okay. Tech, you and the kid put your pieces down now or I'll pop one in both of you."
Tech curled his upper lip and made a short grunting noise but obeyed, lowering his Glock as Shots dashed into the truck to look over Boomer. Only after Tech had put away his weapon did the hollow-eyed officer lower his own. Blaze nodded his approval and holstered his pistols as well.
"Now," he said, "mind telling me who the hell you both are?"
"H-Howard Peterson." The trucker stuttered awkwardly, fixing Tech with a wary eye.
"Eddie Gabbor, with the Raccoon City Police." The officer answered, looking at the Psycho's leader with a great deal of suspicion.
"Good," Blaze nodded, "I wish I could say that it was nice to meet you folks but circumstances would have it otherwise. Where are you headed, shouldn't you be helping your buddies mace crowds and make arrests, Officer Gabbor?"
"I should," the cop replied and Shank was more than a little surprised to see a smile tug at his lips, "but circumstances would have it otherwise."
"We're trying to get to the 24th Precient." Howard said, scratching absently at his considerable gut. "Eddie here said that they have an emergency response station set up there. Since things are what they are I'd say it's one damn big emergency. Eddie says that since the barricades have been overrun all his boys have probably fallen back to HQ to regroup and rearm anyways."
"Overrun?" Shank chimed in, raising an eyebrow. "A bunch of yahoos with shotguns and pipe bombs overran a police blockade? Shit, I thought you guys were better trained than that."
"It wasn't the rioters." Eddie replied, shaking his head and sighing deeply. "It was those…those things out there." The officer nodded vaguely towards the empty street behind them.
"What things?" Slugger asked, looking confused as he wiped blood from his eyes.
"You mean you haven't seen them?" It was Officer Gabbor's turn to look puzzled.
"All we've seen are a bunch of two-bit goon squads and thieves." Shank answered with a shrug. "They hurt one of our guys pretty bad. We were on our way to Saint Jude's until you fellas railroaded us."
"Forget about that." Eddie said, shaking his head. "It'll be safer if you come with us to the station. They can help your friend there…not to mention it's probably the only safe place left in this city."
"Go to the cop shop?" Tech sounded incredulous, as if the officer had just suggested the most ludicrous thing in the world. "No fucking way! They'll lock us up with some phony charges – they'll say we helped incite the riot or some shit. You know how pigs are."
"Look," Howard broke in, nervously fingering his suspenders again as his eyes darted up and down the streets uneasily. "Whatever we're gonna do we better do it quick, before those things come back. We can't stay on the streets either, that's a given."
'No shit.' Shank thought. 'But what is all this other crap he's babbling about?'
"What things?" Shank narrowed his eyebrows at the stocky trucker, giving voice to the question in his head. "Wha…"
From overhead there came a feral, piercing, animalistic cry and the biker lost hold of what he had been about to say. The sharp, ear splitting, scream seemed to go on forever, Shank shut his eyes and clamped his hands over his ears against the screech but it did nothing to halt the bestial wail. A moment later another cry echoed the original. And then another.
"What the fuck?" Tech mumbled, turning around as the screams went on, seeming to grow nearer and come from every direction at once.
"Oh God." Howard's voice was tight with panic his stocky body quivering like jelly. "Oh God! We have to get out of here now!"
Movement to the right caught Shank's eye and he whirled in time to see a dark blur lunge through the rain from the rooftop of a hardware store. The blur – whatever it was – fell twenty feet and landed in their midst with the sure footing of an alley cat – no – the deadly grace of a panther. Shank's head spun to recapture the thing in his field of view and when he did, the big man knew he had to be dreaming. What he saw was too impossible to be real.
'It looks like a gorilla.' He thought in a dazed stupor, staggering back a step instinctively. 'A gorilla covered in green scales with a snake's head. A snake's head with red eyes and eight inch claws on each hand. Claws as thick as my thumb and sharp as steel.'
The nightmarish creature – it had to be a nightmare – threw back its reptilian head and unleashed another bone jarring shriek. The men staggered back, clamping hands over their ears, feeling as if their skulls might burst from that terrible bawl. A moment later when they re-opened their eyes all wore the same expressions of fright – of impossible bewilderment – and Shank knew what he was seeing had to be real. All of them could not have imagined the same horrible beast.
"Holy shit." Tech murmured, eyes wide, as the scaly monster spun and locked gazes with a petrified Howard Peterson. The creature made a quick grunting sound before lashing out with one clawed hand. There was an audible slicing sound as its talons cut through the air, reaching for the trucker's throat.
"J-" was as far as Howard got into his sentence before a pair of red lines appeared across his neck. The trucker's eyes widened then rolled backwards, showing white. The red lines traced about the circumference of Howard's throat, leaking blood down over his shirt. Abruptly, and with a sickening snap, his head slid to one side then promptly dropped to the pavement. A moment later the rest of his body fell down beside it.
"Holy shit!' Tech repeated, his face a pale mask of blind panic.
All around the circle of bikers more glass-shattering peels split the night air. From the rooftops the wails went on, hulking, muscular silhouettes outlined in moonlight. The thing that had just beheaded Howard Peterson spun and locked its red eyes with Shank's green.
"Ah crap." The big man muttered unaware he had spoken.
Forgetting the Colt in his shoulder holster, Shank reached for a throwing knife tucked into his belt. Reacting on instinct the biker drew and released the blade in the same smooth motion. The knife slide deep into the creature's throat, spilling dark blood down its chest but the beast only threw back its head and let out a gurgling cry. It seemed more annoyed than injured.
Within seconds the dry crack of gunfire filled the air, followed by the inhuman scream of the strange creatures. Shank watched as the mutant with his knife embedded in its throat took another plodding step forward, then began to jerk awkwardly as Blaze emptied his pistols into its broad back. The creature took every round, let out another burbling squeal, and turned to face the Psycho's leader.
"Shit." Blaze muttered, reaching into his jacket for another pair of clips, still seated in front of the steering wheel.
Shank stood frozen for a moment, dumbly watching as the nightmarish beast advanced slowly towards his boss and friend, unable to move a muscle. He felt cool metal against his chest and suddenly remembered his revolver. Once again acting without really thinking, Shank slid the heavy gun out of its holster, cocked the hammer and fired point-blank into the back of the monster's head.
The result was instantaneous. The King Cobra's muzzle flashed and the back of the reptilian skull seemed to erupt. Scales, fragments of bone and bits of gray matter splattered across the pavement in a gory shower. Dark blood running down its back, the creature took one more lurching step then collapsed to its knees and hit the floor in a dead husk.
Shank looked at the thing he had just killed, deaf to the gunshots and shouts echoing around him, watching the rain wash oily blood into the sewer drains. It's talons glistened wet with Howard's blood and the falling rain. It was an impossible looking thing, one that could not and should not exist – except in the mind of a madman perhaps.
'But it does.' He thought numbly, unable to pull his gaze away. 'It does. It's a demon – that's what it's got to be. It's Judgment Day in Raccoon City and there's demons out on the hunt for souls.'
"Shank, look out!" Blaze cried out, slapping in another pair of clips.
Shaken from his thoughts, the big man turned just in time to dodge a clawed swipe that seemed to materialize from the shadows themselves. He stumbled back and nearly fell as another pair of scaled demons leapt into his path, cutting him off from the truck. There was a thunderous report and he saw one of the monsters drop out of the truck bed, its skull opened up by Shot's double-barreled twelve gauge.
The creature falling to the pavement was the last sight Shank had of the pick-up truck and his three other friends. Suddenly he found himself retreating up the street the big rig had come from. Tech and Slugger were at his side along with the black cop, all firing their weapons at the four creatures – the four demons – pursuing them.
"Get your asses to Saint Jude's Hospital!" Shank heard Blaze shout from the pick-up and then there came the sound of tires squealing up the street. The light crack of Blaze's pistol and the deep boom of Shot's shotgun fading away into the night.
"They're leaving us!" Tech cried in dismay, firing three more rounds into one of the creature's chests, drawing blood but not slowing it down a step. "They're fucking leaving us!"
"They've got no choice!" Shanks shouted back, sending a .357 bullet through one demon's thick shoulder and knocking it back a step. He was barely able to keep a lid on his own panic, Tech freaking out would be more than he could handle. "Save your breath for running. We need to get out of here now!"
"Know any short cuts off this street, pig?" Slugger asked as he pulled the trigger on his revolver and one of the monster's fell out of line as a .44 magnum round tore through its right eye.
"Follow me." Eddie said coolly – too coolly – before dashing up the street and into an alley wedged between a pair of apartment buildings. Tech clicked empty a second later and took off after the young officer with a curse.
Shank fired once more, grimacing as another reptilian head blew apart in a spray of blood and skull fragments. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Officer Gabbor just entering the alleyway's opening with Tech close behind, running in a mad dash. It wasn't a long distance to the opening but there were still two of those demonic abominations left and Shank was not too keen on turning his back to them to run – even with Slugger covering him.
He leveled the King Cobra with one of the demon's heads and drew back the hammer. Cold metal pressed against his fingertip as he wrapped it around the trigger, ready to fire – and then his target seemed to take flight. With a screech the beast took to the air, its powerful legs closing ten feet of distance in a single bound.
The monster fell on top of the big man with the force of a hammer stroke, sending his shot wide and the Colt skittering across the slick pavement. To his right he heard Slugger give a startled cry that turned to a pained shriek. The creatures shrieked as well – triumphant cries of victory, the biker was sure.
Shank twisted left and right keeping his face away from the demon's gnashing jaws that were lined with rows of yellow daggers and spilled fetid, chemical smelling breath across his face. With one hand wrapped around the creature's throat to keep his face out of reach, Shank used the other to grasp desperately for his boot knife. His heart skipped a beat with relief as he felt the solid weight of the handle slip into his meaty palm.
Foul smelling air filled his nostrils. Frustrated screeches filled his ears. Decaying teeth nipped at his flesh. Shank unsheathed the twelve-inch Bowie knife, driving the blade up to its hilt in the demon's skull and then all was silent.
Grunting in disgust, Shank pushed the heavy carcass off of him and wiped its viscous black blood off on his jeans. Slugger shouted to his right and the big man was on his feet in a second, turning to see his fellow Psycho using one hand to keep the demon's mouth from closing around his head, while he reached for the Smith & Wesson that lay just out of his grip with the other.
Shank climbed to his feet, ignoring the pain in his back and racing up his arms, reaching down to retrieve his own revolver. Taking a moment to aim, the biker lined up the barrel of the .357 with the side of the creature's struggling face. The hammer locked into place and when he pulled the trigger the demon's head seemed to disappear.
"Damn it!" Slugger bellowed indignantly, wiping black fluid from his face as he climbed to his feet. "That's fucking disgusting."
"You alright?" Shank asked, tossing the man his firearm back.
"Yeah, never better." The baseballer replied sarcastically. "I think I twisted my ankle when the bastard leapt on my ass but at least I didn't wind up like Howard back there."
"Hurry up you fatasses!" Tech called from the alleyway, his voice skittish with wild terror. "There are more of those freaks out there!"
As if to confirm the computer wizard's panicked shouts violent, bestial cries began to sound in the darkness of the night sky. A cry that no animal in the world should be capable of making. Shank felt his heart speed up as he caught sight of shadowy figures springing from rooftop to rooftop in the moonlight. Supporting Slugger around the waist, the two darted for what refuge the alleyway had to offer.
'We're being hunted.' The sudden realization hit the biker hard and his heart did miss a beat this time. 'It's Judgment Day in Raccoon and they're hunting for souls.'
On through the darkness and torrent of rain the two men ran, Shank silently urging his friend to pick up the pace.
Author's Note: Here's the next update. I hope you enjoy it so far, my Readers. Please read and review when you get the chance. Your feedback keeps me inspired and writing. Stay tuned for a new update soon. Come Clean is also complete for those of you reading that as well.