Chapter 22: Reunion

October 2, 1998

5:03 PM

En route to Saint Jude's Hospital

The world had turned to blackness, nothingness. It was much like a dream, though one lacking any color or sensation. Formless, Zeke floated in that dark void outside time and space.

He wondered what had happened to send him to such a strange place. Was he dead? He didn't think so and if he was it had certainly been a non-dramatic death: no white light, no choir of angels, no nothing. What was he doing here then, in the world between worlds?

Voices came from somewhere outside the void. They were dulled though and somewhat muffled as if he were hearing them through a pane of glass. Still, they were familiar and Zeke was grateful for their sound after drifting along alone in the dark for what seemed like ages.

"How is he?" The voice was Rachel's and she sounded frightened. Frightened for him, the lieutenant thought. If he had had a mouth in the void he would have smiled.

"Unconscious." Burke replied, cool as ever. The man could have been discussing whether or not he thought it likely to rain. "There's blood in his ears, I'd almost guarantee that he has a concussion, especially after a fall like that."

A concussion? Well, at least I'm not dead. A fall though? That didn't sound right. Zeke remembered the garage, he remembered the bodies hanging from the ceiling, he remembered fighting for his life with Wesley at his back, he remembered…well, after that it got a little hazy.

"Is he going to live?" That sounded like Scott, his tone more collected and steady than the last time they had spoken. In hindsight, Zeke regretted chewing the other man out as he had done. Scott was a good soldier, he had proved himself countless times already.

"I'd say so," Burke answered, "but he could always have a hairline fracture to the skull, maybe some internal bleeding, something I can't pick up by feel alone. We'll just have to keep his feet and head elevated for now. He needs to be kept warm too…Mister Tech, please pass me your jacket."

"Come on, lieutenant," Coop's baritone voice made the void shake. "You can't leave us hanging like this, boss. You've got to wake up. Come on, boss, open your eyes."

Why did they have to insist on calling him that? The void, its walls darker than night, shook again, more violently this time. The voices grew closer as the void shrank and a new sensation was sparked inside Zeke, an awareness that consciousness lay just over the horizon. So close he could almost touch it. The awareness grew and as it did the void trembled, quaking as its hold gave way then shattered as Zeke found the horizon and, with it, the strength to open his eyes.

Everything was a hazy blur at first, like a mirage dissipating in a gust of wind. Slowly, the shapeless colors melded into familiar, dirty faces, all peering down intently at him. Burke's was the first he recognized, looking down at him with that birdlike quality he took on when lost in thought. Zeke realized his head was propped up in the man's lap, something warm was draped over his chest, and – not wanting to be coddled any longer – tried to rise to a sitting position. It proved to be a very bad decision.

Someone locked his head in a vise and then proceeded to tap dance on it…in steel-toed boots. Well, that's certainly what it felt like anyway. Sagging back with a groan, Zeke waited for the throbbing in his skull and the nauseas currents in his gut to subside before opening his eyes again. He touched a finger to the back of his head and it came away sticky with his own blood. A concussion huh? Well, there was always room for things to get worse in Raccoon City it seemed.

"How are you feeling, Lieutenant Wilcott?" Burke asked, his voice as dry and dusty as century old parchment. Burke seemed like a good enough physician but his bedside manner left something to be desired.

"Like Coop broke a lunch tray over my head." Zeke said wryly and heard the muscular corporal bark a laugh. "I'm fine, really, just a bump on the head. Where are we? What happened?"

"We're in the back of one of the SWAT vans, headed for Saint Jude's." Rachel explained with a gentle smile and an equally gentle hand on his shoulder. The warmth of her fingers was a Godsend after the banality of the void. After his stay in Raccoon, Zeke thought he had almost forgotten how to feel anything but cold and damp and hungry. "There was…an attack…in the garage." She swallowed thickly and her smile vanished. "Do you remember any of that?"

"Unfortunately." Zeke grunted. He remembered everything: The golden-eyed monsters that fell from the sky, the screams of dying men, the bodies glued to the ceiling bleeding all over him. Oh yes, he remembered everything. "I'm glad to see you guys made it out alright though. How many of the others made it?"

Silence and downcast eyes were the only answer the lieutenant received and he felt his chest tighten. Rachel stared sadly at the floor, Coop stamped his boots and frowned. Eddie went about checking his shotgun and even Ryan shifted uncomfortably on the bench. Finally, with a great, defeated heave of his shoulders, Wesley spoke up.

"We're it." He said concisely. "We lost Captain Brown and the SWAT lads." The Brit glanced over to where Shank and Tech sat with their heads bowed, staring at their hands with no expression. "And Slugger."

"Shit." Zeke whispered, feeling what little energy remained in his body evaporate. Eight more deaths. Eight more men dead and he had been in charge. It had been his plan, he should have anticipated an attack from above. He should have thought things through longer, in more detail. He should have – he should have done something.

Should have, should have, should have! You sound like an old geezer bitching about all his regrets. The voice in his head chided. What you should do is suck it up and think about what comes next on the checklist for getting out of Dodge. There's still a lot of people depending on you to see them through this mess so you can't call it quits yet, Lieutenant Wilcott. You can piss and moan over what you should have done after you get everyone out of here. It was hard to admit but the voice did have a point.

"Any word from command?" Zeke asked hopefully but Scott only shook his head somberly.

"Nothing." He said. "Face it, boss, they've written us off back home."

That figured. Zeke didn't blame General Bosa and the others at command though – not with his whole heart at least. No one could have known how badly things would get buggered up – or how bloody they would get either. Captain Sullivan had said himself that it was supposed to be another routine operation which meant the guys back at HQ had to be doing back flips right about now trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Then again, they could have at least made an effort to stay in contact with the grunts in the middle of the whole debacle.

"Alright, help me up, Doc, my ass is going numb laying here." Zeke said and with Burke's assistance managed to sit up. His head still felt like someone had a jackhammer going full blast inside his skull but at least everything stayed in focus and he didn't feel the need to purge every meal he had ever eaten.

Shrugging off the blanket that was Tech's jacket he handed the stained garment back to its owner and inadvertently locked eyes with Shank. The big man was seated across from his friend, turning his hands over and over in his lap, his face as smudged and filthy as everyone else's. Dower hardly touched the surface of all the emotions storming in his dreary gaze.

"Look, Shank…Tech," Zeke began unsteadily, "if it's worth anything, I'm sorry about your friend. I know we're all sorry."

The others nodded and Shank looked up, perhaps a little startled to be pulled out of his brooding by the sound of his own name. He studied each face in turn with puffy, red-rimmed eyes then fixated on Zeke. With an exhausted sigh the biker shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

"It ain't nothing," he said, going back to examining his hands for a moment, "my fault I guess. He's dead and we're alive, it's as simple as that. Let's just get to the hospital so we can find the rest of my homies and fly the coup." He sighed again. "Besides, the last thing Slugger would want is for all of us to sit around crying over his ass."

Tech turned red at that for some reason but Zeke hardly paid it any mind. The man had seemed quirky from the beginning and he had just lost a close friend to top it all off. Unexpectedly, the van lurched to a sudden halt, forcing those seated to grip their benches to stay upright. Eddie swore beneath his breath and Sam Brocket stuck his head into the back from the driver's seat.

"We're here." He said flatly, then climbed out of the driver's side door followed by a concerned looking Kathryn Ward.

There came the sound of something being slid from the door handles – as if they had been barred – then both were promptly flung open by Sergeant Brocket. Sam looked the worst of all, Zeke thought, the trooper's face white as a sheet beneath all the dirty and blood smudged with tears. Haunted, reddened eyes peered back at the lieutenant, surrounded by dark circles of purpled flesh. Sam's mouth was a grim line.

Tread lightly, Zeke reminded himself as the others climbed out ahead of him, helped down by Kathy while Sam kept watch. When it came Zeke's turn he scooped his rifle up off the floor, hopped down and prepared to walk past Brocket – then halted and tapped the man on the shoulder.

"What do you want?" Sam spat, all but growling when he saw who it was trying to attract his attention.

"Listen," Zeke said, meeting the man glower for glower. Sam made him nervous but he was hardly going to allow the young cop to intimidate him. "I realize that I'm not your favorite person for some reason, and that's cool, but I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry about what happened to William too. If it counts for anything – "

"It doesn't." Sam snarled, drawing several wary glances. Wesley half raised his rifle before Zeke waved him off. "You're sorry? You didn't even know, Will! What do you have to be sorry for?" Fresh tears began to brew in the younger man's eyes at the name of Captain Brown and despite his own feelings for the man, Zeke felt a pang of sympathy for Sam. "You're right about one thing though, I don't like you and I don't trust you. Good men died today because of you. Now, let's get off the streets before more of the…things… in this city sniff us out."

Zeke shook his head as Sam stalked off. That could have gone better. Zeke certainly reciprocated the younger man's feelings of dislike and mistrust but he also felt that Brocket had a point: men had died because of him. Sighing, Zeke jogged to catch up with the others.

Page Break

"Blaze!" Shank called in a broken voice, racing towards the lone, prone figure on the ground in the lobby of the emergency room. "Blaze!"

Zeke stopped short at the sight of the body and grimaced. The man had died hard. His barrel chest was a bloody mess, a ragged hole punched through the space between a pair of eyes that stared unseeing at the ceiling above. Those eyes would never see anything again. Judging by the numerous puncture marks dotting his upper body, whatever had killed Shank's friend wasn't one of the creatures infesting the city. Zeke had seen enough war to recognize a gunshot wound when he saw one.

He doesn't look infected though, the lieutenant thought as Shank and Tech sank down next to the lifeless form – Blaze – and shut his glassy eyes. Tech cloaked the dead man's face with his jacket. Zeke could sympathize with the pair – he knew what it was like to lose friends. Another trigger-happy yahoo maybe? Lord knows anyone with a weapon has to be jumpy enough as it is and if Blaze came up behind them – startled them – well, that'd be all she wrote. But why pump him full of bullets and then cap him? Or vice versa? Better not risk it.

"Secure this area," Zeke said to the Rangers at his back. "Check around and see if you can find any clues as to who lit up our friend here."

"If you find the fucker, I've got dibs." Shank said hollowly as Wesley and Ryan moved around the corner to investigate the alcove by the elevator while Coop and Scott walked down the hall to where a deserted nurse's station lay. He removed something from Blaze's jacket then, what looked like a pair of nine-millimeter pistols, though custom made with a purple finish. Shank tucked the firearms into the waist of his jeans and stood up, scrubbing at his nose. With a sigh, Tech followed suit.

Shaking his head, Zeke took a final look at Blaze's body before glancing over his shoulder to where Skip and Burke stood holding Rachel upright. The man was just another casualty, another life waster in this horrid place. How many more, Zeke wondered, how many more would have to die before the day was through?

"Skip, Doc, set Rach down on the bench over there." Zeke gestured to a wooden-slated bench propped against one corner with his rifle. "Here, give her some water." He handed Skip his canteen and the younger man gingerly set Rachel down on the seat, she smiled and nodded her thanks, taking the canteen from him. She was still too pale, too wan, to give the lieutenant any sense of security about her health. How long had she been fighting the pain? How long had it been sapping her strength – her life?

"Lieutenant Wilcott?" Burke asked beside him. Zeke's eyes snapped up from Rachel to the physician and he was surprised to actually see some expression on the man's face for a change. He looked…almost eager, though perhaps anxious would have been a better word. "I really think that it would be advisable not to have your men dilly-dally with um…securing…this area. We should get to the helipad as quickly as possible." Burke finished, dry-washing his hands.

Zeke quirked an eyebrow, scrutinizing the doctor. Who was this man, he wondered, and what he had done with the immovable mountain that was Greg Burke? He had never seen the man look so unnerved – rubbing his hands together, licking his lips, shifting his eyes – what had brought on the change? Perhaps it was just being back at Saint Jude's, the epicenter of the outbreak and the start of the doctor's own personal nightmare but coming back there had been his idea.

"Look, Doc, I'm just as eager to leave this place behind as you are." Zeke said. "I am, but that's no reason for us to get hasty. We might have a gunman on the loose now who doesn't have our best interests in mind and I'd rather not stumbled into him or her with my pants around my ankles. My guys are going to check around and make sure everything is kosher, then we'll get the show on the road." Zeke softened his voice before continuing. "Listen, Doc, I know this is the place where the shit hit the fan but if you're worried about anyone getting infected…don't be. You said it yourself, that direct contact was the only way to contract this thing now, right?"

"Well, yes." Burke replied, nodding, but he didn't seem any less anxious to be off. "The chances of it still being airborne are slim but I still think it would be best to be on our way. I know Major Parker is injured but…just look around. It's far too quiet. Something is not right here."

Quiet was the word for it all right, Zeke thought as he surveyed the lobby. The only sounds aside from shifting feet and low murmurs was the hum of the overhead lights, casting illumination down on the cream colored tiles. There was little else to see aside from the elevator and disaster area of the nurse's station where papers lay strewn about the floor like confetti at a wedding. Near the front entrance was what was left of a former barricade that had taken the collective strength of Shank and Coop to push through from the other side; a jumble of benches and chairs and even a soda machine. Everywhere the pungent scent of detergent and dried blood assailed the senses. Zeke found the aroma ironic to say the least.

Burke had a point though, when things got this quiet in Raccoon City something was up. Silence had led to nothing but tragedy so far: It had been quiet before the Scuttlers made their appearance at Skip's apartment. It had been quiet before Eddie and the Psychos came charging towards the station with those hairless gorillas chasing them. It had been quiet in the garage at Precinct 24 before those yellow-eyed terrors showed up and stole eight lives – nearly including his own.

Zeke was about to tell Burke that he understood his concerns – all too well, really – but now was not the time to get sloppy when Wesley and Ryan returned. Sergeant Creeks carried a handful of metallic bullet casings, frowning down at them as he moved them around in his outstretched hand for Zeke's examination. Ryan just looked on silently, grim as always.

"Assault rifle," Zeke said after a cursory look at the shells and he, too, found himself frowning, "an AK or some version of one I'd say."

"We also found this." Ryan added holding up another casing, a .45 round by the looks of it. "Either we had more than one shooter or this guy was ready for war."

Startlingly, Skip laughed from his position beside Rachel. "Dude, this is America," he said with a wide, all encompassing gesture, "are you really surprised? Cripes, one guy can own a small arsenal provide he's got the right paperwork."

"Fair enough," Sam said, dropping onto the bench next to Skip with Kathy plopping down next to him. Skip eyed the trooper warily – he had seen his outburst back at the station. After a moment, he edged a few inches away from the officer. "The only gun store in the entire city is Kendo's though and that place doesn't sell anything automatic, I can tell you that. I doubt it was an ordinary civi packing that kind of hardware."

For a change, Zeke found himself agreeing with the other man. An AK and a .45 pistol…that sounded like a paramilitary kit to the lieutenant even if it made no real sense. Why would the government send in another team after the first four got torn to bits? A rescue squad maybe? Ha, who am I kidding, that'd be too much to ask for.

"Whoever he is," Shank spat, "he's getting up by his nuts for what he did to Blaze and that's a fucking guarantee!"

While he did sympathize with the man, Zeke hoped the biker was just venting. He doubted he could stop a man like Shank from running off and doing something rash in the even that they did stumble across the shooter.

"All clear, lieutenant," Scott said as he came running up alone. "Coop is still back there, said he saw something he wanted to get a closer look at. Wouldn't say what though."

The double meaning in Owens' words was all too apparent and Zeke felt his own inner alarms begin to jangle. What exactly had been so important for Coop to want to check out alone – in a deserted hospital of all places? A certain jamming device maybe? No, no, Joe Cooper was good people but…

"Go back and get him." Zeke said quickly. "I don't want anyone wandering around on their own." He hoped the double meaning in his words was just as clear. It seemed to be as Scott nodded emphatically before running back to the nurse's station full tilt, calling out for Coop.

Trust is another name for death, Martin Wilcott's words rang through his head like a warning chime, trust only those you have to and them only half as much as you trust yourself. After tonight that didn't leave a whole lot of trust to go around.

A cheery ping from the elevator brought all weapons up, the letter G highlighted above the doors with a yellow glow. Wondering what new horror lay on the other side, thirsting for warm blood, the lieutenant was more than a slight bit surprised when the doors parted to reveal a plain-looking man with a braided red beard staring back at him. As a measure of his astonishment, Zeke didn't notice the rifle – an M4 – in the man's hands until he drew the bolt back.

Upon a more detailed inspection, the fellow wasn't so plain looking after all. He could have passed for Shank's twin in terms of height, weight and facial hair but the strangest thing about the newcomer was his clothing. He wore a Ranger's flak jacket over a tight black t-shirt and a Kevlar helmet held down locks of grungy, unkempt hair. Resting on the man's broad back was a rucksack bulging with contents.

"You know," The stranger said in a gruff, gravely tone like rocks rolling down a hill, "I'm getting real tired of you G.I. Joes sticking guns in my face. Now, if you wouldn't mind, how about we put the weapons up and have a civilized conversation?"

Zeke stared deep into the other man's blue eyes. There was no madness there, just bright sparks of fear and agitation and exhaustion. All normal emotions for someone lost in Raccoon City tonight. Nodding, Zeke gestured for the others to lower their firearms then did so himself – not too low but enough to make the other man feel secure enough to follow suit as well.

"Who are – " He began but was cut off as Shank and Tech burst out in unison.

"Shots!" They exclaimed. "You son of a bitch!"

What followed next was a ponderous reunion to Lieutenant Wilcott. The three men erupted with laughter and smiles, embracing one another roughly – and then they each took turns slugging each other in the gut or upside the head – all the while chuckling like it was improv night at the Apollo. After the last fist had been thrown the trio stood around wiping tears from their beards and waiting for their laughter to subside.

"White boys." Eddie muttered with a disapproving shake of his head.

"Loons." Wesley nodded agreement.

"Where's Slugger?" Shots asked, tone suddenly serious. "He was with you guys right?"

"He…he's dead." Shank stuttered, his face falling and Tech took to staring at his bootlaces with his hands in his pockets. "Something…he…he got killed on the way over here. It's a long story, man."

"Blaze is dead too." Tech added sadly, not looking up from his feet but thrusting a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the biker's body.

"What about Boomer?" Shank asked hopefully – hoping against hope maybe.

Shots took one look at the bloody figure wrapped in Tech's jacket and swallowed thickly. "He didn't make it either." Shots closed his eyes and shook his head. "Some fucking spooks carrying serious firepower wasted him."

More casualties, Zeke thought soberly as Shanks bellowed an oath and struck a wall. Then something Shots said registered. "Wait, what was that? Who killed him?"

Shots gave a small start when he realized the question was meant for him, apparently having forgotten about the Ranger's presence momentarily. "These spooks," he repeated, "came out of fucking nowhere and tried to grease us both. Packing pistols and Aks and grenades and God knows what else. Nearly zapped me too but I guess Lady Luck was on my side of things – can't say the same for Haag or Boomer though."

Captain Haag too? Jesus! "How many of them are there?" Zeke asked coldly, if these so-called spooks had killed a Ranger then they weren't U.S. government operatives. If they had killed a Ranger he wanted blood. At least it explained where Shots' attire had come from. "How long ago was this?"

"Hours ago." The biker shrugged, adjusting the pack on his back. "They've been hunting me ever since. Crafty fuckers too, nearly nailed me once or twice." As if for proof, Shots raised his right forearm, wrapped in a bloody bandage. "I've been trying to find a way out of here but wandering the halls in this place is like being a rat in a maze. Every exit I've found has been barricaded up pretty solidly too."

"Good thing you happened upon us then," Zeke said gesturing to Burke who now stood perched at the corner, studying Shots in that birdlike way of his – still dry-washing his hands. "Doc Burke over there used to work here. He said there were some medivac choppers here we could take to skip town. Right Doc? Hey…Burke…snap out of it."

Zeke snapped his fingers and Burke gave a sharp start, nearly gasping with surprise. Lieutenant Wilcott hoped the physician wasn't starting to lose his mind this late in the game. Maybe being back in Saint Jude's was just more traumatic for the man than he had first suspected. Zeke prayed that was the reason for his odd behavior.

"Yes…yes, of course, just like you said, Lieutenant Wilcott." Burke said licking his lips. He was actually sweating now. "Tell me, Mister…um….Shots, what did these men who attacked you look like?"

Shots shrugged, propping the M4 against one meaty shoulder as the others watched quietly. Out of the corner of his eye Zeke could see Scott pacing back with Coop in tow. Good.

"They wore gas masks so I couldn't tell you what they looked like, really, " Shots said, "but they were dressed all in black – vests, boots, pants – and didn't seem to have any issues with gunning down a bunch of people just minding their own business. About four or five of them as far as I could tell – might be more as far as I know though – seemed like military types to me."

Another puzzle, Zeke thought irritably, one involving a paramilitary unit armed to the teeth and equipped with orders to eliminate any survivors – civilian or otherwise apparently. How do I solve this one?

"Wes, go get Rachel and Skip." He ordered. "I'd rather not have to deal with these guys if it's possible so let's get moving. Burke, you know this place best so you're my navigator. Lead the way."

The man flinched at that – as if someone had struck him across the face! Zeke narrowed his eyes at the doctor and he gave a shaky nod but it did nothing to rid the lieutenant of the icy feeling in his stomach. What was going on with Gregory Burke? Who can I trust? Can I trust anyone at all? Zeke wished he knew but all he could do was give the order to move out.

Page Break

"Why are we still here?" Rico demanded angrily, throwing his arms up angrily but Smith only stared back at him, his body language giving away nothing. Smith never gave away anything he didn't want to. " You already found the sample case and if your mole was going to contact you he would have done so by now! You're wasting time having Sven and Boris and the others searching for that bearded freak. He's just one guy and besides it won't be long before the White House decides to press the button and wipe this place off the map. Which – I might add – is another reason we should be headed for the AMRS already!"

In truth, Rico would have liked a peace of the man with the beard – he had nearly taken them all out with that frag – but the hours it was taking to find the bastard were simply not worth it. Dead was dead, either way, and it would not be long before the president decided to turn Raccoon City into the world's largest pothole. Did Smith see it that way though? Of course not.

"Calm yourself, major, you're making a scene." Smith said coolly as if chiding a misbehaving child and Rico decided then and there the man would have to die – and stay dead this time. "I assure you we have plenty of time and while I do have the sample," he raised the steel briefcase, carved with the red and white Umbrella shield, that he carried in one hand, "it is still possible my mole may try and contact me. If he was unable to radio in then his orders were to pass suspicion and rendezvous at the alternate extraction point – the AMRS. As for the survivor your men are looking for now…well, I prefer not to leave any loose ends."

Rico scowled. The man wouldn't be a loose end after he was bombed through the pavement. "I still think – "

An electronic beeping emanating from Smith's utility belt cut the major off in mid-sentence. The supervisor unclipped a sleek midnight black handheld computer from his belt and studied the screen for a moment before tapping at the keypad. For some reason, though he could not see the man's face, Rico would have sworn Smith was grinning.

"What's with the gizmo?" He asked, nodding towards the device.

"It's a GPS locator." Smith explained, still looking at the screen. When he spoke again his tone was amused – a bad sign. "It seems my mole is alive after all, Major Da Silva, and has activated the transponder he was given for an emergency such as this. Radio your team, major, tell them to report back here on the double." He had to be grinning. "We're going hunting."

Author's Note: A new chapter for you, my Readers and delivered ahead of schedule since the last one was so long in the making. Please read and review. I carve the feedback good or bad, just tell me something. I hope you enjoy and stay tuned for future updates within another week or two. Enjoy!