Chapter 23: Donovan Winters' Journal
October 2, 1998
6:35 PM
Saint Jude's Hospital, 5th Floor
The elevator had stopped working on the fifth floor – simply cut out – and for a moment Zeke feared his party might be trapped in the dark shaft. Coop and Shank had laid his fears to rest though when, grunting and groaning, massive biceps flexing, they had managed to pry the doors apart through brute strength alone. After climbing up to the floor above Burke had explained that they would be forced to take the emergency stairs from now on and recommended taking a short rest so that he might tend to Rachel while Eddie doled out the rest of the ammunition. A strange request, coming from a man whom only minutes ago was insisting that they proceed with all due haste but Zeke needed to take only one look at Rachel's pale, damp face to agree that a break would be a splendid idea.
So he now stood in a twisting labyrinth of winding corridors, secluded alcoves and deserted rooms. Overhead the lights flickered on and off in a dizzying display. The sour reek of industrial strength cleansers was nearly overpowering and one had to watch where they set foot for fear of broken shards of glass from office windows and light fixtures.
On the ground beside him, Rachel lay stretched out with Burke squatting beside her, unwrapping the bandage around her leg for a better examination as they spoke in soft voices. Not far away, Eddie sat handing out nine-millimeter clips to Skip, Sam and Kathy while the two officers gave the younger man tips on firing and reloading the weapon that still seemed a puzzle to him even after the episode in the garage. The Rangers formed a tight, protective ring around the group of survivors, watching the empty hallways and occasionally putting their heads together to exchange a few words.
Zeke eyed the men suspiciously, his paranoia like a second being inside his head now. Which one of them was working against him and why? Did it have something to do with this paramilitary team or Burke's odd behavior? Too many questions, not enough answers.
Shank, Shots and Tech returned within a few minutes after announcing that they were going to "site see" – whatever that was supposed to mean, possibly something to do with their deceased comrades though Zeke could not even begin to imagine what. Apparently, the bikers had managed to locate an employee lounge and raid its fridge of a few untouched lunches and several sealed bottles of water. Zeke hadn't realized how hungry he was until Shank raised the subject of food.
The group of survivors was sitting around eating their small meals and quenching their thirst when Burke knelt down beside the lieutenant. Whatever had the doctor all shook up before seemed to have lost its grip on the man now as he was all cool-eyed serenity once again. That his news concerned Rachel's health was a given – Burke rarely spoke to him of any other matter – but with that face of smooth planes and angles Zeke had no idea if the news would be good or bad this time. Like you have to guess. Face it, you know what he's going to say.
"Lieutenant Wilcott?" Burke said, continuing after Zeke met his eyes. "I have some troubling news to report." Surprise, surprise. "It seems Major Parker's fracture may be more complicated than first though. I looked under her dressing and the skin around the affected area is starting to blacken ever so slightly. I can't be certain for sure but an educated guess tells me that a bone fragment may have severed tendons – possibly even an artery – and it's causing her internal bleeding now. It doesn't seem too severe at the moment but it will be lethal if she doesn't receiver surgery in the next twenty-four hours." Burke spoke loud enough for the Ranger's ears alone and Zeke was grateful to the man for it.
Internal bleeding. She'll die without surgery. The words thundered in his skull. If everything went according to plan then they would be out of Raccoon within an hour tops – but Zeke knew better than to trust his luck in this place. He had zero examples of anything he tried having gone exactly the way he planned it would.
"You're a surgeon, can you operate on her here?" Zeke whispered back, hoping his voice was not as anxious as he felt. Rachel had fought so hard to keep up, to not slow them down. For her to die now…he refused to even consider it.
"No." Burke said with a shake of his head, rubbing at tired red eyes. "I can't be sure any of the instruments here are completely sterile nor am I confident enough in my own abilities to try an operation that complicated – and risky – on my own."
"Shit." Zeke swore, clicking his teeth. There was always something. "Is there anything we can do for her in the meantime? There has to be something."
Burke shrugged, directing a glance to where Rachel sat. "Make sure she drinks plenty of water, keeps from overexerting herself…and get her out of here as soon as possible."
Zeke nodded, staring at where Rachel was slumped as well. Everything Burke said was obvious enough but it was still too little. There had to be something more he could do for her – too many times tonight there had been more he could have done, should have done, and yet he had lacked the foresight to see it done. Not this time though, not this time.
I can talk to her, even if it is just a few words of encouragement to keep her spirits up. Zeke thought as he took a seat beside the major, leaning his back against the wall.
Rachel sat with her head tilted up taking long sips from his canteen. She was as white as fallen snow, coated in a blanket of sweat that gave her a sickly sheen in the light of the hallway. Her sandy hair hung limply about her shoulders, damp with the moisture leaking from her skin. Setting the canteen down she offered Zeke weak smile in greeting.
"Hey," she said, "come to visit the cripple?"
"Nah," Zeke answered, returning her smile, "just a pretty girl."
"Smooth." Rachel chortled, trying to conceal a wince as laughter and failing miserably. Zeke frowned. Keep her talking, he told himself, keep her thinking positive.
"We'll be out of here soon," he said, "we can fly to somewhere nearby – New York maybe – get you patched up at a hospital while the rest of us can rinse off with a hot shower and fill up with some warm chow. In an hour you'll be feeling like yourself again in clean clothes and a warm bed. Sweet deal, huh?"
"Mhmm…can't wait." Rachel said drearily and Zeke felt his concern for the woman grow as her head lolled to one side. She was slipping away from him too fast. Everything was happening too fast.
"Rachel," he said softly, "how do you feel? I mean…how do you really feel?"
"Tired." Was her exhausted reply, as she nuzzled her head against Zeke's shoulder. Her eyes fluttered before drawing closed, her breath steady and even.
Zeke looked over at the girl dozing on his shoulder and sighed deeply. After a moment he reached out and gently began smoothing back her wet hair. Somehow he had to keep Rachel alive, just long enough for them to reach the helicopters, but in the pit of his stomach he knew that would be much more difficult than it sounded.
Page Break
Swallowing the rest of the tuna sandwich he had been eating Shank licked his fingers clean and belched heartily. In truth he was eager to be off on a one-way trip to Anywhere Elseville but he didn't see the need to make that journey on an empty stomach. Besides, everyone was sagging in the saddle a bit and Rachel was dinged up pretty bad so maybe taking a breather wasn't such a terrible idea. Speaking of the girl, she seemed to be getting pretty snug with Lieutenant Wilcott.
Now there's a true player for you, Shank thought with a smirk as the pilot rested her head on Zeke's arm and he ran his fingers through her hair. He's surrounded by bloodsucking demons from beyond the crypt and he's still trying to get some! Well, maybe that wasn't exactly true – Zeke seemed like the boy-scout type – but it still gave him a good laugh.
With the Rangers watching the hallway ahead, the others had formed a tight circle nearby, eating and drinking and talking softly. Kathy and Sam seemed to be getting pretty snug too, come to think of it – they hardly tried to disguise it when they made eyes at each other or held hands anymore. Cripes, who would have thought this disaster would be such a bonding experience? Well, they were young let them make their own mistakes. Edgar Chaffer knew broads were nothing but trouble – expensive trouble at that.
Eddie caught Shank's eye and nodded. Shank nodded back – he couldn't say why but a mutual respect had begun to develop between the pig and himself – but nevertheless turned on his heel to seek out the two men who sat separated from the larger cluster.
Shots and Tech were crouched about five feet away from the others; Tech drinking from a bottle of water with his good hand while Shots flipped through a leather bound notebook. Squatting next to his companions, Shank unsheathed his Bowie knife and went about picking his fingernails clean. It was a nervous habit but one that he found helped to pass the time.
"What's that?" He asked, nodding to the book in Shots' hands.
"A journal I found in the employee break room," the other Psycho responded without looking up. "It's written by some guy named Donovan Winters. Looks like he worked in neurology here."
"The dipshit say anything interesting?" Tech asked, chugging back his water and proving he could not got more than a sentence without throwing in a curse.
Shots shrugged, flipping another page. "For the most part its just him whining about how everyone he works with is a peabrain when held up against his sparkling example of genius – and he's even less merciful when it comes to describing his ex-wife. For a genius he sure has crappy penmanship though."
Shank chuckled lightly, digging the blade under his index finger. "He mention anything about what a lovely bloodbath his fair city is becoming?"
"Just that he's scared basically." Shots replied and then his eyes nearly leapt from his skull. He traced a finger across several of the handwritten pages once, twice and then a third time, mumbling to himself silently as he re-read each word. "Mother fuck."
"What is it?" Shank asked hurriedly and saw Tech sit up straighter, looking around as if expecting an attack. Shots wasn't known to panic and seeing him so perturbed was, well, deeply unnerving. "Damn it, Shots, what is it?"
"Read from here to the end." Shots said thrusting the journal into his face, marking a spot out with one finger. Tech peered over his shoulder as he began to read.
The entry was undated and penned in a sloppy hand: Things are out of control. The level of infection is rising faster than anyone – maybe even the Inner Circle members themselves – could have anticipated. Not many of us are left now only twenty, and at least ten of them are already symptomatic. All Project personnel too. How did this happen?
Burke was the smart one he fled the second Project personnel started coming down with the Tyrant Virus. Personally, I wouldn't go out into the streets with an army at my back but wherever that bastard is it has to be better than here. He ordered us to terminate all current test subjects and dispose of their remains in the basement incinerator but people are still getting sick. Burke, that bastard must have done it…he was a project manager after all. Maybe he thought escaping with all the data for himself would make Umbrella fork out a heavier paycheck. Greedy, greedy bastard, he never knew what the real purpose behind the Raccoon Project was.
I can hear some of them banging at my door now – my people, what used to be my people. I wonder who it is. Heartman and Jordan for sure, they were the most far gone the last I checked but it sounds like there's four or five of them at least.
Not that any of that matters now. Nothing matters but escape now. I tried to get in touch with White Umbrella Security Forces yesterday but all the phones are out. They'll send a team though – B.O.N.E.S. probably – to clean up this mess but I can't count on them coming here – or taking me to safety if they do. I'm running out of options.
I need to get away but I can't leave without the variant sample in the sub-basement. I'm as good dead without it but if I can return with it, deliver it to Jackson myself, maybe Umbrella will overlook my failure here. Maybe.
What was the combination to the storage room though? Only Burke and the development staff knew it, not supervisors like myself, but Burke is gone and all the developers are dead now.
No matter. I'll figure it out, that bastard must have written it down somewhere. I've got a gun and nothing but time. I just need to get down there and pick up the sample.
Gregory Burke might be the one to deliver all the Project results but it'll be Donovan Winters who delivers the crown jewel. Serves the bastard right.
The rest of the pages were blank but Shank wasn't looking at the book anymore. His eyes turned to where Burke said with the others, smiling politely at something Skip was saying. The man looked about as suspicious as a farmer in a corn patch but Winters' diary read like a bad spy novel and Greg Burke seemed to occupy a central role in the drama.
The Raccoon Project? The Tyrant Virus? The Umbrella Corporation? Jumping holy shit but I really don't like where this is going.
Umbrella Incorporated, the name itself was power. The company was every entrepreneurs dream come to life, the success story of the century. Almost overnight the Umbrella Corporation had evolved from a fairly small, homegrown operation to the worldwide leader in pharmaceuticals and bio-technology almost overnight. The company had officers all over the globe and the influence it wielded could rival that of the White House – or so Shank had heard. It was said that some politicians had their careers built up or torn down based on their dealings with Umbrella Inc.
"Tyrant Virus?" Tech said incredulously and Shank was relieved to see that his friend had the sense to keep his voice down. "Shit, it sounds like he's talking about Raccoon Syndrome…the zombie virus. What the hell is White Umbrella? He's talking about the drug company right?"
"I've never heard of them either," Shots said, tucking Winters' journal away into the rucksack before hoisting it back over his shoulders, "but the way he was going on about it, it almost sounds like this city was some kind of experiment. They called it the 'Raccoon Project' for Godsake."
Shank shook his head but kept a wary eye on Burke. He doubted the man would try anything cute in front of so many armed people but…well, he had seen greater acts of stupidity than that in his life. "An experiment like what?" He asked. "Cooking up a virus that turns people into flesh eating monsters and release it in a small city for shits and giggles? Think about everything they'd have to lose if word got out!"
"Think about everything they'd have to gain if it didn't." Shots replied, spreading his hands. "Think about it, you engineer a viral strain that doesn't kill its host but mutates them, changes them into a killing machine – and one that can stand up to a shitload of bullets. It's the perfect soldier: no sense of morality, no beliefs, no way to question orders – they just kill. You'd have every nation on the planet ready to buy, you'd be taking in dough hand over fist!"
"Then why bother with an…experiment…like this at all?" Tech said, waving a hand in a vague gesture. "Why not just start selling the shit to the highest bidder?"
"Every product needs a test run," Shots shrugged dismissively, "cars, computers – even biological weapons. You need to see how well your product performs under certain conditions and then work out the kinks accordingly. The things we've seen tonight might be the perfect soldiers physically and emotionally but they're still just animals, there's no way to control them and a soldier you can't order around is totally useless. Maybe this was just a test run…to see how things would go." Shots turned his mouth up at the last as if he might like to spit.
"I see what you mean." Shank said and felt his own mouth twist into a sneer. He heard about cases of big business gone bad before but pollution and creative bookkeeping didn't quite compare to turning a city of people into the living dead just to see how long it would take everyone to tear each other apart. "Do you really think Burke could be involved though? I mean, sure, the dude is a little flaky but he's just a pencil neck dweeb right? Hardly looks like a mass murderer."
Shots shrugged again, rising to his feet with Tech. "My pops had a saying that 'If it's not in writing then it's just bullshit,' well, his name is down in writing. Besides, a lot of Nazis looked like pencil-necked dweebs too." He sighed. "Listen, I say we should tell the army guys about Donovan's journal before we go and strong arm Burke though I do plan on having a word or two with him."
"Semper fi to that." Shank grunted. If the doc had anything to do with something that had cost three of his buddies their lives then he planned on having a word or two with the man himself – in private.
Shank opened his mouth to say as much then frowned in puzzlement. A strange sound filtered into his ears, the rapid clackclackclack of something traveling across the tile floor. Turning around, towards the source of the noise, Shank felt his heart climb into his throat at the sight of the black metal sphere skipping across the ground towards where the other survivors were now standing, coming to an abrupt halt at Kathryn Ward's foot.
"Grenade!" Shots called before Shank had a chance, pushing forward to warn the others. At the sound of the biker's urgent cry, Sam threw himself at the female officer. The others jumped at the word, leaping for safety, stun written across their faces.
Shank prepared himself to do the same but then white hot light flashed before his eyes and he could no longer see which direction to jump in. It hardly seemed to matter though as intense heat prickled his skin and shards of burning metal slashed at his face and opened up the old wound on his forearm. He had been too slow and now he would die. The concussion of the blast lifted the Psycho and sent him crashing into something tall and incredibly solid.
Blinded by the blast, deafened by the explosion, Shank slipped away into unconsciousness, wondering what he had done to deserve such a very, very bad day.
Author's Note: Here's the new chapter, my Readers. Please read and review when you get a chance, as always, I crave your feedback – positive or negative. Tell me something. I know, it's a bit of a cliffhanger but hopefully it will lead well into the next chapter which is the shootout at the O.K. Corral…well, not really but you get the idea. Anyways, stay tuned for another update in a week or two. Thank you for reading and enjoy!