Chapter 21: To See The Sun Again
October 2, 1998
12:41 PM
Precinct 24, Parking Garage
"Look, Pierce, if you can't handle this then now would be the time to let me know." Zeke said in the strongest no-nonsense tone he could muster, staring the expressionless sniper in his cold, dark eyes. Those eyes were much like the corridor in which they were now standing, cool and dark and foreboding.
The hall leading to the precinct's parking garage was a dark, narrow stretch of gray concrete with white arrows painted on he walls and floor pointing in the direction of the lot. A frigid, biting draft swept through the corridor and Zeke could hear Skip's teeth chattering from down the way but the Ranger hardly noticed the chill himself. His whole attention was focused on Ryan's icy gaze. He did feel the chill from that.
"I'm good to go, sir." Sergeant Pierce replied with a definitive nod. "I won't let you down again. Lieutenant." Why had he paused before adding the last? Had it sounded a little mocking, a little disdainful? Well, the man could be as disdainful as he wanted and say Zeke's name as if it tasted sour to him as long as he did his job and didn't get anyone killed. Or take anymore hostages, of course.
The police officers – with the exceptions of Eddie and Kathryn – had taken off upon reaching the basement. William had all but demanded a quick sweep of the level be made in case any members of the team he had sent down to restore power were still alive. Zeke had failed to see the point in it but after William's actions upstairs and his overall personality change the lieutenant was desperate to avoid another argument with the man and had reluctantly agreed to allow him to conduct the search with the other members of his team – save Ryan of course. That had been another reason he had lent support to Captain Brown's sweep, it gave him and Pierce some time to chat.
"Good," Zeke said plainly, "see that you don't, sergeant." After his actions upstairs Zeke wasn't sure how far he could trust his sharpshooter anymore. After what Scott had told him he wasn't sure how far he could trust anyone in the unit anymore – maybe not even Wes or Rachel. And he couldn't forget William Brown and his men as well – especially Sam Brocket – all looking half mad and ready for a fight. Why they regarded his team like a pack of rabid dogs that needed nothing more than a few bullets Zeke couldn't say but he was about as ready to trust one of them as he was ready to stick his hand in a garbage disposal with the switch turned on.
Trust is just another name for death. The words belonged to the lieutenant's grandfather, Martin Wilcott, whose time working for the CIA had made him more than a slight bit paranoid. While Martin's sayings did hold a kernel of wisdom from time to time Zeke wasn't so sure if he was ready to believe that one just yet. Trust seemed to be the only advantage he had on his side – or had had anyway. Without trust how could any of them expect to make it out of Raccoon with a whole skin?
I can still trust some of them, Zeke thought, leaving Ryan and pacing over to the others, his eyes passing over those he named in his head. Skip, for one, he's just the wrong guy in the wrong place at the wrong time. Burke, too, I doubt he has any hidden agenda – not to mention his plan is the only one we've got to work with right now. What about Eddie Gabbor though? He's one of William's but just a rookie and I doubt he would have given everyone a tongue lashing like that if he was planning on throttling me like the charming Sergeant Brocket. I have to believe I can trust Rachel too, she wouldn't…I just have to believe I can trust her. Well that last might be true but it was also possible that he was thinking with his pants again.
"How you holding up, kid?" Zeke asked Skip who stood near the wall where Rachel was leaning supported by Burke.
"No sweat." The young man said with a shaky laugh and a nervous smile, then frowned down at the pistol in his hand as if confused which end was which.
Smiling ruefully, Zeke shook his head. You could not help but admire Skip Francis. Here he was, stuck in a city overrun by living nightmares and the walking dead and he was still trying to chuckle and grin as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on – even if it was a poor façade. The kid could not have been more than nineteen or twenty and yet he was managing to hold his fear in check while hard men like William Brown and Ryan Pierce were cracking like dry twigs.
"You should have been a Ranger, Skip." Zeke said, a small grin touching his face. The younger man gave a violent start at that, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.
"Are you kidding?" Skip laughed hoarsely. "I'm scared out of my mind. The only reason I haven't pissed my pants is because I don't have another pair on me!"
Rachel giggled weakly much too weakly, "My father told me once that being brave doesn't mean never being scared – everybody's scared of something – but it means still being able to do what's necessary even when you do feel like pissing yourself."
"Wise words." Burke mumbled absently, though he sounded a little doubtful himself, saying something just to contribute to the conversation. If there was anyone Zeke could believe feared nothing it was Doctor Gregory Burke. The physician didn't seem to be suppressing his horror the way Pierce was rather he seemed to be letting it slide off him like water. He reminded Zeke a great deal of a mountain in a thunderstorm. The mountain, unshakable, would weather the chaos of the here and now and then go on about the rest of its existence.
"Captain Willy is on his way back with the rest of your boys, LT." Shank said from the end of the hall, peeking his head around the corner as the sounds of approaching boot steps echoed through the hallway. Tech and Slugger stood at the big man's side as always, Skip's baseball bat sheathed in Slugger's belt. Zeke wondered what had possessed the kid to give it up, the biker hardly seemed above extortion but the lieutenant had seen the pair talking and the conversation had almost seemed…friendly. In any case, it hardly mattered now.
William Brown stepped around the corner accompanied by his entourage of SWAT troopers and the remainder of Zeke's squad. Captain Brown looked sour faced and half crazed as always but all the other faces were pale and grim. Whatever fury had been burning in Sam Brocket only minutes ago was extinguished now and he stood staring at his bootlaces as if they had become a great mystery to him. Even Wesley looked particularly downcast, shaking his head and shifting from foot to foot. Scott simply looked as if he might puke at any moment.
"More good news I take it?" Eddie snorted, sagging against one wall.
"Did you find them?" Zeke asked cautiously, directing his question to Wes since William was preoccupied with glaring a hole through the young Officer Gabbor.
"Oh, we bloody found them alright." Wesley scowled and Cooper grumbled at his side, "What was left of them anyway."
"Zombies?" Kathy offered hesitantly, crouching near Eddie.
Sam shook his head. "I doubt it. We didn't find any bodies…not exactly at least." Swallowing deeply, he went on. "We found some blood trails leading into the boiler room along with a few dozen shell casings. When we got there…well… let's just say someone decided to redecorate."
"Yeah," Coop grunted, looking almost as ill as Scott and as sour as William, "with blood and guts. All that was left were some empty weapons and a helmet split down the middle like it was made of cardboard."
"And an arm." Sam added with a grimace. "It had a tattoo of a falcon on it so I think it's safe to say that even if the other guys got away – which I doubt – Danny Thompson probably wasn't among them."
Tech laughed then, a nervous, near hysterical laugh but one that earned him several piercing stares from the SWAT troopers as he threw his hands up. "What did I tell you?" He howled, his question aimed at no one in particular. "We're all fucking screwed!"
Scowling, Slugger slapped the weasel-faced little man across the back of the head, pulling a startled shriek from the fellow. Zeke sighed and silently thanked the man. There was a time to tolerate fools and a time to drag them back into line by their bootstraps. As cold and tired and hungry as he was, Zeke was not so sure he could be trusted to do the latter without causing someone serious harm.
"It doesn't change anything." William said, his face carved from ice, his voice tinged with frost. "We clear the garage and make for the vans then truck on over to Saint Jude's and leave this shit hole to the carrion birds. There's enough death here to make a nice buffet for them. Now get your crap together and let's move."
There came the sound of clips being loaded and weapons being cocked, many of the troopers eyeing their captain warily now. Adjusting the bag hanging around his neck, Eddie rose to his feet and Zeke thought he could hear the man humming under his breath. Wesley caught the lieutenant's frown and simply shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing for it, his gesture said, and while Zeke knew it was true he did not have to like it.
Here goes everything, he thought, pulling the bolt back on his rifle, time to run the gauntlet. I just hope to God we've got the Holy Spirit in us.
"Alright, here's the plan." Zeke said as the others huddled around him in a ragged circle, Rachel held up by Skip on one side and Burke on the other. "We go in hard and fast, my guys will take the front and carve us a path straight to the vans. Will and Sam have the keys so they go in first while we give cover. Stay in a tight circle, my guys up front, the cops in back. Skip, Doc, you keep Rachel in the center of that circle. Shank, your guys watch their butts…just in case something unexpected happens."
The biker barked a bitter laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure there's a real small chance of anything like that going down, dude."
Ignoring Shank's somewhat prophetic words, Zeke took up a position on one side of the steel doors leading into the parking garage while the others moved into formation around him. Wesley took up the spot across from the lieutenant, rifle clutched tight against his chest, sweat beading down into his mustache but the Brit looked more determined than ever as he gave his friend a reassuring nod. Nodding back, Zeke sucked in one last deep breath of the stale, chill air and then drove his boot into the heavy steel doors, sending them crashing open with an echoing clatter as his team exploded into the parking lot. Weapon up and searching Zeke braced himself, ready to turn the first rotting horror that stumbled into his sights into fertilizer but something was wrong. Something was off.
"It's empty." Kathy breathed somewhere behind the lieutenant, her voice so soft he barely heard her at all if not for the echo.
Officer Ward was not entirely correct though. The garage was nearly pitch black, poorly illuminated by the ominous red glow of emergency lights hanging from concrete support struts lining the huge, wide-open area. Light from the Rangers and SWAT troopers weapons cut narrow swathes through the shadows crawling across the lot like a black ichors, glinting off the metal of the occasional police cruiser or the reflective paint of a parking space. At the far end of the lot rested a pair of bulky navy blue paddy wagons, positioned at awkward angles in front of a steel gate resting halfway to its peak, allowing the sun's pale rays to leak in but the darkness in the cavernous garage was too thick and complete to relinquish its hold so easily.
"Christ, it stinks in here." Tech said, coughing into one fist before pulling his shirt up over his nose.
Zeke peered back oddly at the little man – and then caught a whiff of it too. The acrid, sickly sweet smell of spoiled fruit tinged with the coppery undertones of dried blood. Funny, Lieutenant Wilcott thought, that he was becoming so used to the stench of death that he hardly noticed it anymore. Funny and a little disturbing.
"Bloody hell." Wesley mumbled at Zeke's side, pointing with one hand. "Look, lieutenant."
Zeke glanced at where the other man was pointing, at where his light lay and felt his stomach turn. Forming a wide pool around the two vans was a disgusting crimson stain, one with trails snaking off in every possible direction. A discarded helmet or weapon or shoe stood out among the red tarn like morbid ornaments. There had to be enough blood for fifty bodies…at least. Somewhere behind Zeke someone wretched.
"So much for the welcoming committee." Coop muttered, the red light making him look even more sickly somehow, his dark features drenched with sweat.
"This is impossible!" William bellowed, giving everyone a start. The captain's eyes were as panicked and frantic as his tone, his face tight and heavily creased as he started at that horrid lake of so much blood. "They couldn't have just vanished like this. There were dozens of them, dozens! They wouldn't have taken the bodies away with them, those things aren't clever enough for that. This can't be, it can't! They were here, I swear it."
"Keep your voice down!" Zeke admonished, raising a hand to quite the near-hysterical man's ranting. The last thing he needed now was William Brown cracking up, however he reminded himself to dread lightly. The only thing he needed less than a breakdown was Sam Brocket's hands around his neck again. The man certainly looked ready to go another round. "I believe you. Are you really surprised though, after all you've seen? This place loves turning logic and expectations on their heads. Now stay quiet and keep moving."
William's upper lip curled back in a rictus snarl and he looked as if he wanted to say more but an outburst from one of his troopers shut the captain's lips and drew all eyes his way.
"What the fuck?" The tall, stocky officer named Mitch Pommer said, wiping the front of his vest with gloved fingertips. He gasped when they came away sullied with a viscous black fluid.
"The hell?" Tech said, scrubbing a hand across his forehead and looking startled to find it smeared red.
Puzzlement lasted only a moment for the lieutenant. His heart turning to a lump of stone, the Ranger raised his eyes upwards as black and crimson droplets dripped down the front of his uniform with a steady plip-plop sound. Slowly, the ceiling came into view – and all the bodies that lay there.
There were dozens of them – William's dozens – men and women, all held in place by what Zeke could only think of as spider webs though the strands were far too thick and solid to have been spun by any spider he had ever lain eyes on. That the figures were all dead was no question, judging by the deep gashes across their faces or the tears in their necks – only the heads were visible among the mass of cobwebs holding them in place. Blood dripped from empty eye sockets and open mouths, some of it congealed so badly that it had turned as black as night.
Transfixed by the image from a nightmare Zeke stood helplessly frozen in place, the collage of all those dead faces burned into the backs of his eyes. Even if he survived Raccoon he would never live to forget this, never. One of the women was crying, someone had thrown up again but the lieutenant was unable to lower his gaze and see who. He could only stand there as if his boots had been welded to the ground, hypnotized. That is, at least, until the shadows cloaking the bodies began to move.
"Ah crap." Shank said absently from close by and Zeke didn't think he could have put it better himself.
The shadows grew and elongated, taking on individual shapes as they separated from one great black mass. Each was about as tall as a man of average height but slender and bony with knobs of spinal cord exposed beneath a thin layer of taut skin that was dark as coal and covered in a sheen of some nameless black ooze. Glowing yellow eyes peered out from above a lipless mouth of razor-sharp teeth. The creatures skittered across the ceiling, down the support struts, on scythe-like mandibles that flashed blood red in the haze of the emergency lights. A rattle echoed through the garage, rising on a steady crescendo to a squealing trill and only then was Zeke able to realize the noise was coming from the monsters and not his own mind.
"Fire!" He screamed, raising his M4 and loosing a short burst into the writing black flood racing along the ceiling but his order came too late. Everyone was already firing.
It was too late. The creatures were already snaking down the concrete struts, dropping from the ceiling like deadly black rain. The overwhelming scent of gunpowder filled the lieutenant's nose as the sound of so many shells skidding across the floor stole away his hearing but it was too late. The creatures – living shadows – were already upon them and people were dying. It was too late.
Page Break
Clutching at his ruined throat, Pommer staggered past Sam and hit the ground, spasming violently at his feet. Sam's first instincts were to go to the dying man but he forced himself to stay his ground and keep firing. There was nothing for it anyway, Pommer was already starting to grow still, his spasms subsiding as life flowed from the wound in his neck. Gritting his teeth Sam tore his eyes away from his dead teammate and held down the trigger of his MP5.
Within minutes of the attack Lieutenant Wilcott's brilliant formation had fallen into disarray. The survivors now stood scattered in a loose ring, firing indiscriminately into the horde of yellow-eyed beasts that were rapidly overtaking them. Every so often Sam could hear a shout of pain or fear rising above the din of gunfire as one of the mutants got close enough to score a blow of its own. Maybe the situation wasn't entirely Wilcott's fault but Sam felt someone should take the blame and Lieutenant Ezekiel Wilcott had yet to show himself as an expert strategist.
There was a flicker of movement to the trooper's left and he turned just in time to duck beneath a curved mandible. Shrieking the creature whirled and stuck out again and again Sam hardly had enough time to sidestep the attack. The little bastards were quick but he was quicker. Rolling up to one knee, Sam unleashed a three-round burst, popping the creature's head like an oil-filled balloon. Grimacing with disgust, Sam rose to his feet and looked about hurriedly.
That he had to get to one of the vans was a given but he couldn't leave without Kathy and William. They were the only friends he had left and no way was he going to let them wind up dangling from the rafters like those other poor bastards. He had failed to protect Foster back at the barricade but he could still protect them. No, he would protect them.
Even in the dimly lit lot, with battle raging all about him, the young trooper was able to see Burke and that Skip kid along with the Ranger pilot at their backs, huddling alongside one of the vans for cover. Burke had found a pistol somewhere and was firing like a man possessed as one of the monsters streaked towards him on spindly legs. Wide-eyed, his mouth hanging to his knees, Skip opened fire beside the doctor, the 9mm nearly leaping from his grasp with each report. Rachel, waxen-faced and sweating, was still able to pull the trigger and looked quite steady as she planted a shot through another piercing yellow eye.
Wilcott stood in the thick of it all, near the center of the garage, fighting back-to-back with that British pal of his. The two men fired wildly but with the practiced grace and accuracy of their profession. Surrounded as they were, the two Rangers made an impressive show of holding their own, swiveling and adjusting as new threats leapt from the darkness. Impressive, though Sam was reluctant to admit it even to himself.
He was unable to see any of the others but with all the muzzle flashes and angry shouts emanating from the corners of the garage more still had to be alive, fighting for their lives. Kathy and Will had to be among them, they had to be. Sam didn't know what he'd do if anything happened to them while he was still – and then he saw her. Kathryn Ward hit the ground not a yard in front of him, seeming to materialize from the shadows themselves, scuttling backwards as one of the squealing beasts slashed savagely at the air before her face.
"Kathy!" Sam cried, bringing his weapon to bear. Another three-round burst and the creature fell away.
"Sam!" The young woman called back with a startled expression, half-crawling half-running to where her savior stood. She clutched his forearm, staring into his eyes – her own a wildfire of uncontrollable panic and horror. "We have to get out of here! They killed Montigo, those things. I saw three of them drag him down. Please, we have to go now!"
Kathryn pulled hard on his sleeve but Sam managed to keep his feet planted, shouting to be heard above the never ending thunder of gunfire and the creatures inhuman screams. "Where's the captain? We can't leave without him!"
"I – I don't know." Kathy replied, still tugging on his arm with all her strength, her grimy face a tortured mask of fright and anguish. "We got separated. I don't know what happened to him. Please, Sam, please we have to go!"
"Damn it." He swore beneath his breath. William had to be alive, no matter what had happened the man was still made of iron and he'd give these squealing freaks what for. He had to be out there somewhere – fighting for his life in that writhing sea of swiping claws and blazing yellow eyes. Sam thought about telling Kathy to head for the van while he went in search of Will but dismissed the idea immediately. Kathy would hardly allow him to attempt something as suicidal as that on his own and what good would it do to find William – alive or dead – only to lose Kathryn in the process? Cursing under his breath again he turned to face the girl.
"Alright, make for the van where Doc and the others are holed up, I'll lay cover." He said but Kathy only stared back with that "oh no you don't" look written across her features. Sam sighed. Women were impossible. "Just go Kathy! Someone has to cover your butt and I'll need you to cover mine. Now go!"
Still looking as if she had eaten something bitter, Officer Ward simply squeezed Sam's arm then tore off to where Skip and his two companions were making their stand. Ejecting the spent clip from his submachine gun, Sam slapped a fresh one home and opened up again. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to the trooper that it was his last magazine.
Thirty rounds and a long way to go yet. Sam wondered if anyone would make it out to see the sun again.
Page Break
"I'm out!" Slugger cried next to Shank, squatting behind what meager cover one of the support struts provided against the creatures endless onslaught. It truly did seem endless to Shank. For every one of the yellow-eyed freaks they killed two more sprang up out of the ground – well, dropped from the ceiling actually but it had the same effect. Annoying, but annoying don't quite cut it when your life is at stake.
"Shit." Tech grunted, his pistol clicking dry at the same moment Slugger threw away his empty Mossburg and pulled out his Smith & Wesson. "I told you we were all going to die here!"
"At least we'll leave beautiful corpses – well, I will anyways." Shank hollered, ignoring the other man's snort as he sent a load of buckshot into one mutant's chest, sending it sprawling. He trained the weapon upward quickly and fired again, bringing another of the bug-eyed bastards screaming to earth. "Running low!" He bellowed, firing his last round into another of the black skinned nightmares. The blast tore away half of its face. See you later, ugly.
"Where the hell are the other guys?" Slugger asked, the deep boom of his revolver making Shank's ears pop.
"Everywhere." He replied wryly, drawing his King Cobra.
Indeed, they did seem to be everywhere. The chatter of automatic fire droned on and on without end until one of the shadowy creatures screeched and someone shouted their last. Truthfully, Shank could have given a shit and a shake about where everyone else was, his only concern was to get his boys on one of those vans before the commandos or the five-oh decided that the second class citizens could take the bus instead and took off.
Easier said than done though, the big man reminded himself as five of the trilling beasts surged forward, mandibles waving and striking at nothing in particular but still attacking with a horrifying zeal. Bloodlust fueled the golden fire in their eyes.
"Things are about to get hairy!" He shouted, pulling the hammer back and sending a .357 missile through one demon's throat, nearly tearing its head off.
"This is not what I had planned my afternoon would be like!" Slugger shouted back, firing twice and managing to down another of the screeching monsters before he clicked empty. "Fuck! This was so not on the brochure!"
"Get used to it." Shank snapped back. The creatures were no more than ten feet away when Tech leapt into the fray. Firing his Glock with his one good arm he peppered the closest of the trio with 9mm rounds, the bullets ripping through lean flesh but not slowing the thing down a step. Shank fired once, popping the beast's skull like a can of soup. He shifted position, angling for another headshot, the creature so close now that he could smell the reek of its chemical musk, a scent that made him desperately want to sick up. He pulled the trigger and clicked dry.
Stick a fork in me, I'm done, Shank thought sardonically, spinning the revolver in his grip so that he held the barrel. It was a poor excuse for a weapon really but Edgar "Shank" Chaffer's mamma hadn't raised no quitter and if that gooey little bastard was going to kill him he'd have to do it with the teeth knocked out of his skull.
The creature shrieked its bloodthirsty cry, vaulting into the air, winding back for the killing stroke. Shank bellowed in defiance, rearing up, preparing to club the thing the moment it landed. A dark blur darted in front of the hefty biker, a shotgun held out in both hands, driving the stock into the beast's chest and sending it to the ground. Stunned, Shank watched dumbfounded as the figure spun and fired, turning the second creature into a mass of mangled flesh and oily black blood, before leveling the Mossburg with the beast below him and taking its head clean off with a second shot.
"Looking at something?" The snarky voice belonged to Eddie Gabbor who stood staring down at Slugger and Tech. The grizzled bikers returned his gaze with wide eyes and hanging jaws.
Officer Gabbor certainly looked worse for wear; there were criss-crossing tears in his bulletproof vest and he was practically covered in the thick black soup that ran through the creature's veins but he was intact and looking in possession of a whole mind at least. Hell, the kid had saved Shank's bacon and as far as he was concerned the man could have been screaming about purple elephants for all it mattered.
Saved by a pig. Just when you think things can't get any more ironic. Well, ironic or not, Shank owed the kid one now. For a brief, fleeting instant, looking at Eddie gripping the Mossburg as if he had been holding one since he was in the crib Shank almost though the kid would have made a good Psycho – had the circumstances been different. Despite everything the thought made Shank laugh harder than he had remembered doing so in a long while.
"What's so funny?" Eddie asked, cocking an eyebrow as Slugger and Tech clambered to their feet, glancing at Shank as if he had grown a second head.
"Nothing," he replied with a dismissive shake of his head, grinning wide and clamping the officer on one shoulder, "just didn't think you had it in you, kid."
"Whatever." Eddie frowned and shrugged. "Let's get the hell out of here."
Drawing one of his long-bladed boot knives, Shank and his two companions took off after the young officer towards where the vans lay. Maybe he was a little crazy but Shank began to laugh again and the more he did so the less chance fear had to take hold of him. Better to die laughing than crying. A good though – all things considered.
Page Break
"Move, Wes, go now!" Zeke yelled over his shoulder, dropping another of the yellow-eyed monsters with a quick double tap.
"What about you?" Wesley shouted above the bark of his rifle.
"I'll be so close behind I'll be knocking your boots off now get to the van!"
Without another word of protest, Wesley was on his feet and charging full throttle to where the SWAT vans lay, leaving his commander to watch his back. For Zeke, the heat of battle consumed him, the carbine like an extension of his arm. Burning yellow eyes and glistening fangs reared up before him, black blood poured from the wounds he inflicted and he was oblivious to all but the thunder of his weapon and the chilling shrieks of his attackers. The fear that death, quick and violent, could come at any moment was like a fist gripping his heart so tight it might burst. It was fear like nothing Zeke had experienced before but with the fear came a sense of life and vitality, like a wonderful drug flooding through every cell in his body and reminding him that in this moment he was alive – truly alive.
Another of the screaming nightmares hit the floor in a bullet-riddled heap and Zeke's rifle was empty. Time to go. No sooner had the thought come than the lieutenant was on his feet, running, adrenaline lending him speed even as the icy hand that held his heart tightened its grip.
Sweat streaming over his face, breath burning in his lungs Zeke caught sight of the others, those that were left anyways. Relief swept over him when he saw Rachel among the small group, her face painted with equal parts agony and determination, fighting through the pain. She was a fighter – his fighter. And there was Skip, Zeke could have smiled, the boy's eyes showed the terror storming in his mind and still he held his ground, placing his shots with a measure precision that took some soldiers years to master.
It seemed Burke had found a sidearm as well and held it in a way that made the gun seem to fit him – as if he had been meant to carry a weapon. The pistol jumped in his hands with each pull of the trigger but a surgeon had strong, practiced hands and he kept control of it. He fired again and again, never wincing at the sound of the report or the flash of the muzzle, as if gunplay was all in a days work for a Saint Jude's physician.
Wesley lay on the ground next to Burke, picking off targets with short bursts, he waved frantically with one hand when two figures darted out of the shadows. Sam Brocket and Kathryn Ward shouted something unintelligible to those gathered before climbing in on either side of the van. Where were Scott and Joe, Zeke wondered, or Eddie Gabbor and the biker trio? No matter, knowing Sam he'd probably take off before anyone had a chance to so much as grab onto the bumper. He had to make the man stop, had to make him wait for the others to catch up.
"Lieutenant!" Wesley cried urgently, his voice alive with panic and fright, then, inexplicably, there was no more ground beneath Zeke's feet. He ran on air for a moment – though it seemed a great deal longer – and then the ground came back up to meet him, the impact making his ears ring and his eyes roll.
Groaning, Zeke managed to roll onto his back. What had happened, he wondered, everything seemed suddenly fuzzy, his thoughts diluted and murky. Like a smudged mirror it was hard to receive a clear image from them. Where was he? Why was there wetness in his ears, on the back of his neck? Who had taken a hammer to his skull?
Ears still ringing, colors dancing and swirling before his eyes, the lieutenant looked down and found his legs bound to the knees in a coarse, white substance. Spider webs perhaps? No, that didn't make any –
Something shrieked a ferocious, hungry cry overhead. A woman screamed his name. A heavy weight fell atop Zeke's chest, pushing out what breath remained in him. The last thing he saw before the darkness came to take him was a pair of yellow eyes – like burnished gold. The eyes of a demon.
Page Break
Ryan Pierce, his uniform blood caked and diced up neatly, was almost to the vans when he saw one of the creatures drag the lieutenant down. A horrifying sight, that, watching as jets of webbing poured from the monster's mouth like spun thread, wrapping Lieutenant Wilcott from ankles to knees. It was like something from a nightmare, something that simply could not be…but was. Nightmares had become cruel reality in Raccoon City.
Halting in his steps, Ryan drew his .45 and charged towards the lieutenant. Zeke lay sprawled on the floor, eyes shut, blood trickling from his ears, as helpless as a newborn after the tumble he'd taken. The lieutenant needed help and Ryan was already indebted to the man. Cocking the slide, he pushed forward, ducking and dodging the scythe-like claws that struck from all around, seeking flesh.
He hadn't meant to react the way he had back in the precinct when that asshole Brocket attacked the L.T. – not really. What he had done was shameful and inexcusable – taking a young woman hostage like some low life criminal – but he had spent the whole night running from things that could only in existed in a madman's mind, fighting off mindless cannibals that had once been ordinary men and women with families and jobs and dreams. Death lurked around every corner, hid in every shadow and then Brocket had tried to kill the L.T. and he…he just snapped. Still no excuse but it was the truth at least.
My own fault, Ryan though bitterly as the creature – a Chimera, a thing of the dream world – sprang up onto the lieutenant's chest. He fired three times, each round landing within an inch of each other above one fiery eye. Blood sprayed from the ragged holes and the Chimera fell away.
What made the act so shameful was that Pierce had allowed his emotions to creep through and take hold. Emotions were powerful things, which was precisely why they had to be kept in check during a mission – fear most of all. Fear was a furtive, fleeting emotion – there one minute and gone the next but if allowed to take over it could cost lives – and nearly had in Ryan's case.
Feeling fear was one thing – no one could truly control how they felt – but letting it show was another matter. Showing that you were scared was a waste of energy, it didn't make you any less frightened, didn't change the situation for the better, it only allowed your fear to take hold more easily. But Ryan didn't even know if what he felt was just simple fright, rather it was like blind terror, white hot and nearly deadly. And he had allowed it to overwhelm him, to consume him and let raw emotion influence his actions.
Never again though, Ryan thought, reaching Zeke's side at last, barely registering the sound of one of the vans roaring to life. He fire the last few rounds in his clip into another of the approaching flood and unsheathed his boot knife with his free hand. I'll never be that weak again. Nodding inwardly, Ryan began to saw through the bindings around the lieutenant's legs.
"How is he?" Wesley asked, suddenly at his side, the chatter of his M4 nearly swallowing his words. Through all the dirt and blood coating the Brit's face, Ryan could see the anguish etched into his tight features. He and the L.T. went way back from what he heard.
"Alive." Ryan said coolly though he felt anything but. He had control of himself, of his fear. This was no time to show concern: to give that fear a crack to crawl through, a crack was all it ever needed. The lieutenant was breathing and that was good enough for the moment.
"Buggers have us surrounded." Wesley muttered. "There must have been hundreds of them nesting in the ducts and corners. Bloody hell! That bastard already has the van started!"
Horror welled up in Ryan at the thought of being left behind in the cavernous abyss of the garage. Left behind to be clawed to death by the endless horde of Chimeras. Devoured, ripped to shreds –
No. I am in control. I am the master, not the fear, now think Pierce. Find a way out. Swapping pistol magazines, Ryan started to fire. There had to be a way out. No matter what though, he wouldn't leave the L.T. He owed the man a debt and he meant to pay it in full.
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"Almost there!" Eddie shouted from ahead of Slugger as the vans came into view, one with its headlights flaring and engine rumbling. Some of the others had the back doors open and were climbing in though Rachel seemed to be protesting quite vehemently as Skip and Doctor Burke tried to bundle her into the back, kicking and screaming and swatting at the two men. A puzzling sight but Slugger knew that chicks were the strangest thing God had ever invented – well maybe next to all the monsters running around Raccoon tonight but he strongly doubted God had any hand in their creation.
"Where's everyone else?" Slugger asked upon reaching the vehicle where Burke and the Francis kid were still trying to subdue the frantic pilot. He had to shout to be heard above the storm of gunfire and dying cries of the creatures that infested the lot.
"Out there!" Skip called over his shoulder, his arms wrapped around Rachel's waist to keep her from leaping out of the van. "One of those things took Zeke down. I – I think Ryan and Wesley went back for him."
"We have to help!" Rachel wailed, her pale face contorted with worry and streaked with tears. "We can't just leave them out there!"
"No one's getting left behind." Slugger nearly jumped through the roof at the sound of the voice behind him. Turning he saw Captain Willy and the other two soldiers at his back. All were in various states of disrepair, their clothes and faces caked in oily black blood, their vests tattered and torn, faces pale and eyes wild. Sergeant Owens looked ready to empty his stomach at any moment. "I'll get the gate," Brown said evenly, his voice like winter's heart, "you go get the lieutenant." With that he dashed off to the entranceway firing his MP5 into the darkness as he ran.
"You heard the man," Eddie said to the two soldiers, cocking his shotgun. "Time for a rescue mission." Scott and Cooper nodded gamely, tearing off after Eddie into the center of the chaos, the eye of the storm.
"That mother fucker is crazy." Slugger sighed, staring after the young cop. No way would you ever catch him risking his neck for someone he barely knew. No-damn-way, especially when the odds were a thousand against one. Well, it was the kid's funeral not his. "Hey, Shank, you listening to me or what?"
The other Psycho sure didn't seem to be, staring off into space as he was. That meant he was thinking and when a goon like Shank set the rusty gears spinning in his head it usually meant bad news for Kyle Madigan and anyone else with the misfortune to be close by. Then the big man turned his way, his plans carved into the dirty flesh of his face for all to see and Slugger's fears were confirmed.
"Oh no," he said, warding the man off with his hands, "oh hell no! No way are you thinking about going after them! We're lucky to be alive as it is. No fucking way am I going back out there."
Shank only scowled, drawing a long-bladed knife in each hand. "We're only alive because that pig pulled our bacon off the fire. We owe him one and I'm going to return the favor, you two gimps can do whatever the hell you please."
Slugger tried to call after his friend but it was no use. Shank was already gone, his knives flashing in the darkness.
Well, fuck him. Slugger thought bitterly and then to his immense surprise, Tech took off after the man as well. Who would have thought that little weasel had any balls? Fine, they're both idiots then. Let them die together for it, none of my concern. I'll just hop in the van and let those two dinks get greased, it's no more than they deserve for being so thickheaded. Morons. Yep, that's what I'll do.
Slugger glanced back into the van where Burke and Skip had finally gotten Rachel settled and then out to the circle where his friends held off the growing tide of screeching, yellow-eyed monstrosities. With a mighty sigh, he hung his head, shrugged his shoulders and took off to join them.
"Hey, wait up!" He hollered, hefting Skip's bat, the only weapon he had left. "Wait up, I wanna die too!"
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Funny, Wesley thought, slinging his empty rifle around his neck and opening up with his sidearm. Never in a hundred years would I have figured I'd go out this way. I was supposed to die a grandfather with more hair on my back than my head. I suppose it bloody well figures though.
Maybe it did and maybe it didn't but there was no way he was going to leave Zeke to the mercy of these things. He was lost in a sea of burning golden eyes, a river of gnashing teeth and the horror alone should be enough to kill a man but it was nothing that could have taken him from Zeke's side – even to save his own neck. They were brothers, family, and family never gave up on each other even when the chips were down.
Wesley was just beginning to contemplate what death would be like – he had never believed in God, not really, and an eternity of nothingness seemed rather drab and boring – when he discovered that he and Ryan were no longer alone with the fallen lieutenant. Joe Cooper was suddenly beside him, covered from his head to his bootlaces in greasy black fluid, the SAW in his hands tearing creatures apart, cutting their lithe forms to ribbons. Scott Owens was there, too, crouching next to Ryan and looking absolutely mad with fear but still in enough possession of himself to use his M4 to full effect.
More fellows were coming as well, taking up the rear, forming a protective ring around Zeke. Eddie Gabbor knelt at the back, the Mossburg in his hands turning the charging, shrieking beasts into fertilizer. The bikers were with the lad as well, one with a pistol, another with a pair of knives and the third with a baseball bat. Together they shot and slashed and clubbed any of the ravenous buggers that came into range. Good show, bloody good show. Wesley could almost have laughed, maybe he'd die a hairless old man after all.
"Though you could use a hand, Wes." Coop said, the fire from his SAW knocking down a line of the horrid monsters, sending some scuttling up the struts for safety. "How's the boss?"
"Unconscious." Wesley answered, sending a pair of rounds through a glimmering eyeball. "We need to get him out of here now."
"I'll take him." Shank said, hurling a blade through the neck of an approaching – what was it Pierce had called them moments ago? Chimeras. "If I can lug Boomer's fat ass out of a bar when he's stone drunk I can handle the G.I. Joe like a sack of flour."
Well, he could have put it a tad bit more respectfully but the lad had volunteered to carry a man who for all intents and purposes was a stranger to him and that did take honor. Wesley felt his respect for the burly, unshaven, unkempt man – probably a criminal of some denomination – growing. Just a little bit mind you.
"Take him." Wes said, slipping a fresh clip – his last one – home. "We'll cover you."
Shank gathered Zeke into a fireman's carry, laying his body across broad shoulders and holding his rifle in one massive paw – the fellow looked a great deal like a bear – before falling back to the van with his head down. The sound of metal grating on metal, rusty hinges being forced into labor and the whir of machinery filled the air and light, pure golden sunlight, flooded the area like water. The Chimeras shrieked as the beams fell across them, stumbling back into the shadows as if scalded. Someone had opened the gate. Someone had given him an opportunity.
"Go now!" Wesley ordered, jumping to his feet as the creatures retreated to the darkness again. The others needed no further prompting or sigh. They were up and running in an instant, towards safety, towards the sun. How long had it been since he had last seen the sun? Too long. Far too long.
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Sunlight, beautiful, glorious sunlight poured over Slugger, nearly blinding him after so long in the dark but he hardly cared. There was hope in that wonderful light and the promise that danger could not touch him amid all those golden beams. The sunlight had been comforting to him as a child when his young mind had invented creatures that dwelt in the dark of night. Tonight he had discovered that all those childish terrors were real. So was it not logical to assume that protection lay in the sunlight? Almost there. Ten more steps and I'm there.
Ten more steps and he was home free, just ten more steps – and then it hit him. Something dark and heavy and…slimy… landed across his shoulders, pulling him down. Pain came, hot and sudden, before surprise could register, filling his veins with fire. Screams filled his ears and it took the Psycho a moment to realize one of them was his own.
Without thinking he writhed and lashed out wildly at the thing on his back, the bringer of the pain. He swung his arms and kicked his legs, anything to stop the pain. Oh, the horrible, burning agony of it! Finally, his elbow connected with what felt like bone and the weight fell from his back with a strangled, animalistic cry. Dazed, Slugger rolled onto his back and felt fresh waves of biting ice crawl up his spine. Yellow eyes met with his, a chemical stench invaded his nostrils, making him want to gag. Bellowing – in rage or pain he did not know – he struck out with Skip's bat and the left side of the creature's head seemed to burst.
The pain, still like an inferno in his bloodstream, clouded the biker's thoughts. Tenderly, he pressed his hand to his neck, ran the other down his back where the fire burned the hottest. Both came away dripping with blood. Realization hit him like a kick in the gut.
Bit me. It bit me. With that knowledge came fear, terror hotter than the pain screaming in his neck and back. Infected, Burke said everyone that gets bit is infected. Oh God, oh Jesus!
"Slugger!" Tech called and he looked up to see the skinny man staring at him with wide, horrified eyes. He had seen what had happened. He knew what the doc had said. No one that's infected can be allowed to leave the city.
His blood on fire, his mind a murky bog of confusion and fear, Slugger wrapped on bloody hand around the grip of Skip's bat and climbed to his knees, panting hard. They have to leave me behind. I'm infected. They have to abandon me here, in the dark.
Tech looked on, frozen with fear as Slugger stared back at him mutely. Shank was loading Zeke into the back with Burke and Wesley's help. Eddie was there as well, all but throwing himself into the back with Coop and Scott. Only Tech had seen him go down it seemed. Good, maybe it would be easier that way.
"Go!" Slugger snarled, spinning just in time to crack another obsidian skull with a powerful swing. "Get out of here!" Still Tech hesitated, eyes wide, mouth gaping, too horrified to even raise his weapon. "I'm already dead!"
Without sparing another look for his friend, Slugger climbed to his feet. Another of the stinking shit heads leapt for him and he struck it hard across the ribs. Another came to take its place and with a defiant cry, Slugger split its head open with a downward stroke. Again and again they came, slashing and screaming, an endless wave of death incarnate. All was lost to Slugger in a haze of fury, the fire in his blood lending him strength now as he swung over and over, shouting challenges at the beasts that sought his life – at the beasts that had already taken it. Soon, the bat was too slick with blood – his and theirs – to hold.
"Come on you fuckers," he wheezed, dropping to his knees, "finish it already. I don't have all fucking night."
Trilling, bloodthirsty cries filled his ears as a claw raked across his chest and took his breath away. Another tore through his right arm and Slugger would have cried out if he could have. Then a third mandible took him in the temple and he didn't need to fight anymore. It was finished and the last thought Slugger had was that he had lived long enough to see the sun again.
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After opening the gate, William rounded the corner of the van just as one of the Psychos – the thin, weasel-faced one who was always scowling at something – came running up. Oily black blood and grunge formed a layer on the man's face but still William was able to see there was something different about him. He wasn't scowling anymore, he looked quite scared, horrified in fact, and…were those tears burning in his eyes? It seemed almost impossible on such a sour looking individual.
"Is everyone here?" William asked in a rush.
"Yeah," the skinny fellow snapped venomously. There were tears cutting through the dirt and blood on his face. "Yeah, everyone's fucking here!"
The biker bounded into the back of the van and William ducked his head inside for a quick look. The others were all gathered around Lieutenant Wilcott, who lay stretched out on the floor with his head cradled in Burke's lap as he searched for a pulse. Rachel knelt at his side, clutching the Ranger's shoulder and shaking him gently as if trying to rouse him from a light doze. Wilcott's men all looked just as solemn, just as pained as the young woman. Even Skip, huddled near the lieutenant's feet, looked on the point of tears himself.
"Captain?" Sam called from the driver's seat, stirring William's attention. The young trooper looked confused and frightened and angry and a hundred other things but at least he was alive. The rest of William's men hadn't been so lucky. They had followed him, trusted him, and now they were all dead because of it. "Captain, let's go!"
Feral, animalistic screams rose to a deafening pitch behind William. Glancing over his shoulder he saw that the creatures had overcome their fear of the sun and were pushing forward in full force now. Hundreds of them were coming forward, golden eyes ablaze with the thrill of the hunt, the anticipation of the kill. Bits of nameless gristle hung from outstretched mandibles, fell from open jaws. All that was left of the men he had commanded – men who had been his friends – now all dead. All dead.
"Get out of here, Sam." William said coldly, calmly, trying to ignore the younger man's sudden panicked expression as his captain slammed the doors shut. Will wedged his MP5 between the handles, unholstered his pistol and let it clatter to the ground. "Get out of here."
All that's left to do is die. The thought had become like an old friend to William and he had even spoken it to himself many times throughout the morning for the reassurance that there would be an end to all the guilt, all the shame. Jacob Foster was dead. Pommer and Montigo and the rest were all dead. His wife, his beautiful Ellie, was years dead. All dead and all that was left was William Brown.
"Not anymore." He whispered to himself, taking a step to greet the ravenous horde of teeth and claws, barely hearing when someone called his name. When he spoke, he spoke to Death. "I won't fight you anymore, I won't resist. Come and take me back to Ellie and Jake." He stretched his arms wide in greeting, ready to embrace his end, his destruction. "Take me back home."
Death answered him. One of the beasts shrieked and threw itself forward, digging its talons into William's chest. The pain was a momentary, fleeting instant though as pointed teeth sank into the tender flesh of his neck and wrenched his throat out. All that's left to do is die.
The creatures cries fell away, sound itself faded to nothing. William smiled as Death came to claim him. He was going back to his Ellie and Jake and the rest. He was going back home and there was no need to be afraid anymore.
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Tears streamed down Sam's cheeks as he pressed down on the accelerator, speeding out into the afternoon light but he barely felt them. Kathy gently lay a hand across his lap and squeezed his knee but she might as well have been touching a statue of ice. He felt just as numb.
Jacob Foster and William Brown, men he had known and respected his entire adult life were gone now. His teammates were all gone now, lost to the insanity of Raccoon City. How much longer, he wondered, before it claimed him? He hoped he died before Kathy. He had promised to protect her – but he had promised himself to do the same for William as well.
Overhead the sky was slowly fading from blue to gray. Clouds were rolling in, suffocating the sun. Darkness was coming. Darkness was the lord of Raccoon City now.
Sam drove on, oblivious to everything, scenes of horror playing behind his eyes. He was back at the barricade, fighting hopelessly against the tide of undead overwhelming his friends, killing them in the most horrid fashion. He was back on the streets, desperately seeking haven with Kathy all the while Jacob was stumbling against him, telling him that he felt sick. He was back in the garage, watching helplessly as William offered himself up and one of those strange creatures ripped his throat out.
The road stretched out ahead of him. He had to get everyone to Saint Jude's, Burke's plan had to work. Not for himself but for Kathy and the others. Definitely for Kathy. Sam thought that even if he did survive Raccoon he would only live long enough to eat his gun a few days later.
Deep gray clouds obscured the sun completely now. Shadows grew wider in the desolate streets. Darkness was coming.
Author's Note: I have a confession to make, Readers…I am a filthy liar. I said I'd try and have this up soon and yet I seem to have failed. Nevertheless here it is and I hope you will enjoy it. I also hope you will continue to read Three Days In A Nightmare, even if my updates are a bit spotty. I will try and have another one up within a week or two so please stay tuned. Please read and review when you get a chance. Tell me what/who you like/don't like but tell me something. Oh and if you want some murder and mayhem, check out my man E-Z B's fic "Darkness Arises." Peace out and stay tuned.