Chapter 24: Snake In The Grass
October 2, 1998
7:05 PM
Saint Jude's Hospital, 5th Floor
Smoke and dust clouded Zeke's vision, stung his eyes and choked the breath from his lungs. Everything spun in a dizzying pattern as he coughed and tried in vain to wave away the gray haze. What happened? Who dropped the fucking mortar on us? Then he remembered hearing someone shout about a grenade and everything made a little more sense.
Groans and hacking coughs reached the lieutenant's ears as he tried to climb to his feet. A hissing crack sent Zeke back to the ground as bullets zipped past overhead, riddling the wall behind him. Cursing, the lieutenant scrambled on hands and knees to the opposite wall, putting an office block between himself and the unseen attackers. There was no time to worry about who was dead and injured, it was time to circle the wagons and hold the fort.
"Sound off!" Zeke shouted above the chatter of automatic fire pounding into the wall at his back. The smoke began to thin enough for him to make out the vague silhouettes of other people, some crouching nearby others lying scattered across the tile floor like a child's dolls. "Sound off!"
"Wesley here!" The Brit gasped, hacking and wheezing somewhere to Zeke's right.
"Cooper here, boss!" Joe shouted from further behind Wes.
Scott and Ryan called out a moment later as well, coughing and sounding rattled but at least they were close by. No one else raised their voices but Zeke could still hear the groans of the injured – maybe there were more lives he could save. I was careless, I should have been watching the other way. Rachel. Rachel's out there now, fragile, hurt, I have to get to her. How many others are out there – hurt or dead – because I was so careless?
Finally the clouds of dust and smoke weakened enough for the lieutenant to see the other Rangers – Scott and Ryan ahead of him, Wes and Coop a few feet behind. All four men were covered in small cuts and bruises but their eyes were sharp and aware, crouching low as they held their weapons ready. They were his men – and one of them was a traitor. No time to think about that now. We have to get to the wounded, have to get to Rachel.
"I don't know about you blokes but I'm out of bloody ammo." Wesley said looking more frustrated than frightened.
"Me too." Scott said, ducking back from the corner as a round of gunfire blew chunks of plaster up into his face.
Zeke checked the magazine in his rifle – empty. Perfect, he thought with a scowl. He still had a full pistol and three extra clips but at this range he might as well have been armed with a tennis racket.
Then the image of Haag's bulging rucksack around Shots' shoulders flared in his mind and Zeke felt his hope rekindled. He looked around and for the biker and found him lying across the hall from their current position. Most of Shots' clothing had been burned away in the explosion; his exposed skin angry red or deep black from a multitude of burns and blood coated the man's face like a crimson mask. A gruesome sight and Zeke felt a stab of guilt for getting the man killed but he had living bodies to worry about now and the man still had Haag's pack on his shoulders.
"Ryan, cover the left side; Coop you've got the right!" The position they were forced to defend was not a good one, open on both sides but at least their assailants options of approach were fairly limited. They would be unable to flank and that gave Zeke an advantage to work with. "Scott, Wes, see if you can gather in any of the wounded. I'm going to try and get us some more bullets. Cover me!"
Drawing his Colt, Zeke jumped out into the hallway. Ryan swung around the corner, firing his rifle as fast as he could work the bolt, the noise of Cooper's SAW picking up at his back. Zeke landed on his stomach with a grunt, the hiss and pop of rounds passing through the air above him making the lieutenant cringe.
Zeke fired thrice into the smoky haze at the other end of the hall, aiming for muzzle flashes, and was rewarded with a startled curse. Maybe pistols weren't so useless at this distance after all, he thought, keeping his eyes locked on the bloody mess that was Shots as he crawled forward.
"Unnhg. H..he…help." The biker groaned weakly as Zeke unstrapped the rucksack from his back. The lieutenant's eyes widened with surprise, he had been sure the man was dead. Without another thought he grabbed Shots by the wrist and pulled him hastily back behind the wall where his men were taking cover.
Leaning back against the cool concrete, Zeke took a second to pray that the pack contained Haag's ammunition and not his rations before tearing open the flaps, the roar of gunfire near deafening now. He sighed with relief when he saw the stacks of clips and hand grenades it held, more than Haag himself should have been carrying but that hardly mattered to the lieutenant now. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.
"The others?" Zeke asked Wesley, shouting over the din of the firefight as he slid three M-4 clips and a grenade to his friend. Wesley popped in a fresh magazine before pointing behind him to his right.
Lying behind the cover of the office block were the forms of Skip Francis, Greg Burke and Officer Eddie Gabbor. Skip and Burke were marred by purple bruises, bright red burn marks and small lacerations but they were both alive, groaning as they tried to reach their knees. Eddie was breathing too though obviously unconscious. His eyes shut tight the rookie lay on his side, shotgun still clenched in one hand, a thick gash across his forehead leaking rivulets of blood down the side of his face.
"Is this it?" Zeke asked, reloading his own weapon. "What about Rachel? Did you see her?"
"No." Wesley said, flinching as another volley of gunfire shook the office block they crouched behind, shards of glass raining down on them as the windows exploded.
"Damn it." Zeke seethed between clenched teeth as the Brit rose to his feet and began firing over Coop's head. Rachel was still out there, wounded and fragile, as breakable as a crystal figurine. Shots was certainly dying and maybe Eddie too. The rest were missing. He was in command. They were all his responsibilities. They had trusted him to get them out safely.
"Lieutenant!" Scott called from eight or nine feet behind Zeke, his words nearly swallowed in the ceaseless bursts of gunfire. "Lieutenant, I – we need your help over here!"
"Conserve your ammo!" Zeke ordered before taking off to where Scott knelt by two other figures in the foggy corridor where another office block began. Bullets whizzed by overhead but the voice of his conscience was too loud for Zeke to hear them. My command. My responsibility.
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"Keep your head down." The Ranger – Scott Owens – said and Kathy obeyed, pressing her face into the material of Sam's vest, not caring that there was blood on it. Her tears had washed some of it away in any case.
When the grenade had landed at her feet Sam had jumped on her, pushing her away, shielding her with his own body. What seemed like a second later the grenade had detonated, sending them both sailing across the hall.
Now, Sam rested with his back to the door of an office in the center of the corridor, his deathly white features mercifully cloaked by the sooty tendrils of smoke billowing about them both. He breathed in ragged, irregular gasps, coughing lightly as the dust and ash entered his lungs. Blood formed an ever expanding pool beneath his left leg – what was left of it anyway. It had been severed at the knee when the blast hit.
"I…I promised." He muttered, sounding half-asleep and Kathryn wished he would stop talking. "I promised…to keep you safe."
"Please, Sam, be quiet. Don't say anymore." She cried into his chest, unable to meet his glassy eyes. The fool, the stone-brained fool! How could he be so selfish, throwing his life way for hers? She had never asked him to promise anything. Why did he have to do it? He's dying and there's nothing I can do to save him.
Kathy could hear approaching boot steps but she didn't look up, only gripped Sam's vest harder, weeping till her eyes hurt. Zeke's voice spoke beside her. "Scott what is…oh, Christ." That was enough to tell her he had seen Sam's leg.
"Scott," Zeke said after a moment, "get back with the others and lay cover. Save your shots though, make sure you hit what you aim at. I'll…I'll handle things here." The other Ranger muttered an affirmative before moving off.
Kathy raised her head just enough to see Zeke come around and study Sam's leg with a grim expression, his face nearly as pale as the man bleeding to death. "Hang on, Sam," the lieutenant said, clapping the other man on the shoulder, "I'm going to get you out of here."
Kathryn studied the man harder, a little surprised. The way Sam acted around the soldier one would have thought he liked to tear the wings of insects. He hardly looked like some kind of sado-masochist though, Zeke Wilcott was just another man trying to survive and do his job to the best of his ability at the same time.
Sam shook his head as if dismissing the possibility and Kathryn whimpered. The man that had been her friend – her partner – for so many years, the man she had come to feel for so deeply this night was drifting away from here.
"The paramilitary team?" Sam said in a rush and Zeke nodded meekly, looking torn as he gazed at the severed appendage.
"That's my guess."
"The others?" Sam half-closed his eyes and Kathryn gripped his chest harder, oblivious to the crack of automatic weapons and shouted voices, even as plaster fell onto her shoulders.
"Burke and Skip are alright, my guys too." Zeke answered. "I don't know where Shank and Tech are but I'll find them if I can. We…we might lose Shots – and Eddie."
Kathy choked back another sob. She liked Eddie Gabbor – she liked all the newbies that came into the station but she couldn't grieve for him yet. Sam was all that mattered now besides, the lieutenant had said there might be a chance that Eddie would survive.
"Look, Sam," Zeke said slowly, his tone unnaturally soft. "I-I'm sorry."
"Nah," Sam said, a tiny smile spreading his lips, "I'm the one…who should be…sorry. I was an asshole. You're…an all right guy, Wilcott. Take care of…Kathy for me."
"I will." He nodded.
"Sam?" Kathy asked, unable to think of a time she had sounded more hollow and broken, taking the young man's cold cheeks in her hands. He couldn't leave her, not yet, not like this.
He turned that weak smile towards her, his lips trembling as if it took all his remaining strength to keep that grin in place. "Sorry to die on the first date like this." He laughed lightly and sighed. "I love you…Kathy." Sam's chest fell and did not rise again.
A broken, tormented sob rocked Kathryn's body. New tears streaming down her hot cheeks, she cradled Sam's head to her breast and smoothed his hair. She couldn't speak, couldn't think, all she could do was hold him and weep. She wept for the friend she had lost, for the man she had loved. He was gone now, never to know what her heart held for him.
A warm, strong hand touched her shoulder lightly and she looked up through the mist of tears to see Zeke staring back at her. She had never seen a man look so determined.
"I'm going to get us out of here." He told her firmly, looking past her now. "I've got an idea.
Kathryn frowned at the Ranger. She didn't see any way out of this quagmire that was for certain. Then again, Zeke had gotten them out of some tight spots before but – she couldn't help but wonder what his plans had to do with the fire extinguishers strapped to the wall behind her that he was staring at so intently.
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Yet again, Rico Da Silva found himself feeling demoralized and frustrated. Strangely enough, Smith was not the cause of his negative feelings this time.
When he had tossed the frag from around the corner he had expected the group of survivors – so much for Waters' computer projections – to die like good boys and girls. Unfortunately it seemed he had thrown the grenade a second or two too early because they had all had ample time – well, time enough anyway – to get behind cover. And now they were firing back at him and his men. Rico was just about to order Foller and Petrovsky to send out a frag each when panicked cries reached his hearing above the barks of automatic weapons fire.
"I'm out!" One voice cried in a British accent.
"Fuck, me too!" Another called and then another and another: all reporting that they were out of ammo. The chatter of assault rifles from the other end of the hall suddenly fell silent.
So much for elite government troops, Rico thought contemptuously with a small smirk, feeling better than he had all night. Don't even know to keep their voices down when the enemy is close by…let alone shooting at them. Not all that surprising though really. Rico had always suspected that, on the whole, Americans were quite stupid.
"Advance." Rico said, he remembered to keep his voice low, to the four men by the wall across from his position.
"No!" Smith whispered harshly at his side and the four B.O.N.E.S. troopers stopped dead at his word. Rico sneered behind his mask. "It's a trap. They want us to leave our cover."
Rico turned his sneer on Smith not caring that the man couldn't see it. He was tired of the supervisor's needless caution, his intolerable indecisiveness. The brass had sent him along to evaluate the performance of Rico's mission, not hinder it.
"We're moving on them." Rico told the man matter of factly. "You can stay here and guard the sample if you want, Smith."
A dangerous thing to say to any supervisor, "Smith" most of all, but it had felt good. Rico was sick of holding of holding back while the man's incompetence compromised the integrity of his mission. It had felt good – but why did he get the feeling that Smith was smiling again?
"As you command, major." Smith said. Oh yes, he was smiling again but why?
No time for that now, Rico thought, giving the signal to advance. He stepped around the corner with Foller and Murphy at his side. Petrovsky and Sven would take the right side while they took the left. He'd deal with Smith later, for now he had some pests to deal with first.
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With Ryan on the left side and Wes on the right, each man gripping a dull red fire extinguisher in his hands, all there was left to do was wait. Zeke knew his plan was risky – it depended wholly on the other commander's gullibility – but it was the only one he had been able to come up with in a clinch. It might very well be Rachel's only chance as well.
He had spotted her while moving towards where Sam and Kathy had been. The explosion had thrown her forward and she now lay in an alcove a great distance up the hall. The trouble was Rachel lay closer to the men shooting at them than to him. From the distance he couldn't tell if she was alive or dead – she wasn't moving but that didn't mean she wasn't breathing – but it hardly mattered now. He had already left too many of his people behind already.
"Looks like they took the bait, boss." Ryan said peeking around the corner and Zeke could hardly believe his luck. It would come in small doses he reminded himself. "I've got three coming up on this side."
"I've got a pair of the buggers coming up on this side." Wesley whispered from his corner. "Gas masks and black clothing just like Shots said."
Zeke nodded, the paramilitary unit then. "Get ready to roll those canisters out when I give the order." He whispered back and his men tensed.
Zeke started to count to ten in his head, figuring it would take the troopers that long to get close enough. Across from him, huddled with Kathy, were Burke and Skip. Both men were wild-eyed and looked ready to bolt. Burke did anyway – Skip just looked ready to curl up into the fetal position. Nine…ten.
"Now!" Zeke ordered but his words were swallowed up by a frightened cry. At first he thought it was Skip but then turned to see Burke leap to his feet, face painted with horror, and dart around the corner. Straight into the line of fire. "Burke! Get back here!"
"Don't shoot!" The physician yelled, throwing his hands up. "I'm with Umbrella, I was manager for this area of the Raccoon Project!"
Too shocked for words, Zeke could only look on dumbly and wonder what the doctor was babbling about when Shank and Tech seemed to come out of nowhere. Racing through the gray fog, each man looked like a train wreck – covered in bloody gashes and dark burns – but their eyes were aflame with a passionate hatred. A hatred that seemed to be directed at Greg Burke.
"Fucking snake in the grass!" Shank bellowed as he and Tech threw themselves towards the man.
Burke cried out in pain and surprise as the two men tackled him to the ground beneath a hail of gunfire. The three men rolled to where Zeke crouched, an order-less tangle of arms and legs. When the pile of bodies came to a halt, Shank sat on Burke's chest and with a feral roar slugged the doctor across the face. There was a sickening crack as Burke's nose gave way and he fell limp.
Zeke stared at the men, positively dumbfounded by the events of the last five seconds and then remembered where he was. "Now!" He shouted and Wes and Ryan wasted hardly a second in pushing the extinguishers down the hall towards the approaching gunmen.
Tapping Ryan on the shoulder, the sharpshooter rolled out into the hallway as planned with Zeke at his back. Head down, Zeke didn't spare a glance for his attackers but kept his eyes fixed on Rachel's helpless figure, feeling his hope rise as he saw her chest do the same.
Beside him Ryan dropped to the ground, his rifle making its report almost instantly, synchronized with the blast of an M-4 from the other side of the hall. There was an audible pop as the two rounds punctured the steel casings of the extinguishers. The pop turned into a violent, hissing explosion as the compressed gas was released in an eruption of noxious white clouds.
Zeke couldn't see the troopers as he darted across the hallway, sliding the last few feet to where Rachel lay, but his ears told him the men were enveloped in the burning mist of the CO2. Screams of outrage and agony filled the hallway followed by the sound of boots scampering backwards over the tiled floor. Somewhere in that choking fog a voice shouted with a Latin accent. "Fall back! Fall back, damn it!"
Dimly aware that his plan had succeeded, Zeke wrapped his arms around Rachel, pulling her into his lap. She didn't look any worse for the wear than normal – just unconscious with a bluish welt forming on her forehead. She was breathing and had a pulse, if a weak one but she was alive and Zeke had her. He had her and would get her out of this nightmare at all costs. Even if the price was his own life.
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Watching Rico and the fools he called soldiers stagger around screaming and flailing their limbs was comical enough but Smith couldn't bring himself to laugh. Tightening his hand around the sample case, he felt like screaming himself. His mole was out there and those B.O.N.E.S. idiots were shooting at anything that moved – well, had been at least. Granted, his mole was shooting back but that was integral to maintaining his cover. Besides, if he happened to eliminate Rico Da Silva in the process of maintaining his cover Smith would consider it a fair trade.
Rico and his buffoons were wasting time though. There was a mole to be collected, one with data valuable to the Raccoon Project, and perhaps the fellow who had come out shouting that he was a project manager. If his identity could be confirmed of course. In all this chaos though – Smith winced. Accomplishing those tasks seemed akin to climbing a mountain naked now.
You'll never get him out of there now, not without taking a bullet to the head or something equally unpleasant. Smith sighed, in truth he did not fear being shot – he was fairly certain he could kill all those Rico's goon squad had failed to but "fairly" certain still left a margin for error. I need leverage now or we'll never reach the AMRS intact. It was regrettable that he required Rico and the rest of his men to survive this engagement but they still had a role to play: A small but important one.
Rico and his thugs were retreating now, diving for cover behind an alcove down the way. Smith sighed again. If you want something done right do it yourself. An old adage but one he knew to be wholly true.
Setting the sample case down behind the wall where he crouched, Smith proceeded to add his rifle and rucksack to the pile as well. He would need to be able to move fast and freely and the extra gear would only encumber him. Besides, firearms had lost their flare for him since the…incident.
Flattening himself against the wall, Smith peered around the corner. His keen eyes cut through the clouds of white gas as if they were not there at all and…zoomed in…on the spot where he had seen the blonde girl go down after Rico threw the grenade. Even after the incident Smith wasn't sure how he managed the zooming technique with his eyes – he just chalked it up to instinct.
He caught sight of the girl quickly, being dragged out of the alcove by a rugged-looking fellow in army fatigues while another, similarly dressed man covered them with a bolt-action rifle. Only two of them stood between him and the girl. Smith smiled to himself.
Drawing in a deep breath, Smith lowered his head and raced down the hallway, arms pumping at his sides. The clouds of gas were beginning to thin now but there should still be enough to cover his advance – he doubted their eyes were as sharp as his. He charged forward, the corridor blurring at the edges of his vision, growing close enough to smell the sweat and blood on the trio. Close enough to smell the fear radiating out of the two men in waves. Smith's grin widened, he was a predator and they had stumbled into his jungle.
The fellow with the bolt-action rifle looked quite shocked as Smith emerged from the mist, no doubt wondering how he failed to notice him earlier. The soldier rose to his feet quickly, the rifle useless at such close range he struck out with the stock but Smith wrapped both hands around the weapon as it came down, halting the blow. Holding the rifle with one hand, he balled the other into a fist and punched the soldier in the solar plexus with enough force to send him crashing into the wall five feet across the hall. Eyes closed, he sunk to the ground limply. Smith's newfound strength rarely surprised him anymore.
The sound of boots shifting behind him caused Smith to whirl just in time to see the other Ranger rising to his feet, bringing his weapon to bear. Without losing a beat, Smith back-flipped into the air as the rifle made its report, a trio of rounds slapping into the wall behind him. The Ranger's mouth hung agape as Smith's feet found the floor but he had no time to spare reveling in the other man's surprise. Springing off the wall, beside the stunned soldier, Smith drove his elbow hard into the side of the man's head, sending him sprawling.
Two more of the soldier's comrades sprang around the corner – a black man and a fellow with a mustache – raising their firearms but Smith was already moving again, hefting the girl over his shoulders and tearing away back up the hall. Bullets ate up the ground at his feet but Smith knew not a one would find him He would have appeared like an insubstantial blur to them. His own speed did catch him off guard from time to time: the whole episode of knocking out the two men and grabbing the unconscious girl had taken less than ten seconds.
Rounding the corner, Smith saw that Rico and the other four apes had regrouped. Ignoring their startled postures at finding him holding a captive, he snatched up the sample case and rucksack roughly. The AK could be left behind.
"Blow the charges now!" Smith demanded angrily – and perhaps a bit too loudly. "We're moving to the AMRS!"
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"What happened?" Zeke groaned, struggling to regain his feet and wondering where the freight train that had run him down had come from. All he could remember was a blur, pain and then darkness. Strong hands pulled the lieutenant to his feet and Wesley's face came into view, looking grim as death.
"We have to get out of here." The Brit said in a rush. "I heard one of those buggers yell about setting off charges. They must have rigged this place to blow."
Charges? God, the surprises never end around here. Who the hell hit me? Zeke shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs that had settled in his skull. No time to think about that now.
"Alright," he said groggily, managing to stand on his own, "get the others together. I'll carry Rach – " memory flared in the lieutenant's mind and panic seized his heart. He had been holding Rachel when that…blur…knocked him into next week. "Rachel! Where's Rachel?"
"One of those paramilitary guys grabbed her." Pierce said, limping over holding his stomach with one hand. "Guy moved like a whirlwind."
"N-no." Zeke shook his head, vehemently refusing the possibility that she had been snatched out from under his nose. He hadn't come this far just to lose the girl now. "Why the hell would they take her – no, nevermind. We have to get her back, which way did they take her?"
Zeke took a step forward but Wesley shoved him back roughly, his face creased with frustration. "Are your bloody ears clogged? I said they're going to blow this place. We have to get out of here now!"
"Not without Rachel!" Zeke protested, writhing in Wes' grip but his friend held him fast. Rage boiled in the lieutenant, he wanted to lash out at Wesley – at anyone – why were they trying to hold him back? Didn't they see she needed help? He had to find her, he was supposed to be protecting her.
"We're no good to her if we're still in the hospital when it goes up like a bloody tinderbox!" Wesley shouted and then his tone and face quickly smoothed. "We'll find her, Zeke. Shank told me something…rather interesting and if anyone knows where those bastards are taking Rachel I have a feeling it's Burke."
Burke. Burke who had been acting so strange earlier, Burke who had jumped into the middle of a firefight screaming that he was with Umbrella. What the corporation had to do with the events in Raccoon City, Zeke couldn't say but the troopers hadn't shot the man dead on sight. Did that mean they were from Umbrella too? A far fetched idea perhaps but logical in a way.
Zeke turned his head to where the rest of the survivors stood. Skip and Kathryn were helping a now conscious Eddie Gabbor back to his feet. Blood dribbled down the side of the rookie's head but he appeared healthy and lucid otherwise; grumbling about his luck. Shank and Tech held Burke by either arm, the doctor gripping his bloody nose in one hand and looking a great deal like a caged rabbit – desperately searching for a direction to scurry away in but finding only bars wherever he turned. Shots lay near Shank's feet, the Kevlar helmet pulled down over his face. With a defeated sigh, Kathy reached down and dropped her jacket over Sam Brocket's lifeless form.
Two more deaths. Two more deaths because I was so damn careless.
"All clear, boss." Coop said, jogging back with Scott from up the hall. "Those guys turned tail pretty fast and – if I can speak freely for a second, sir – I think we should follow their example before this place turns into the world's largest firecracker."
Zeke nodded and gave the order to move out, the others racing to the emergency exit while the bikers dragged a sobbing Greg Burke along. How the man could know where the paramilitary team was going, Zeke had no idea but Wesley had sounded quite convinced and in spite of everything, he still trusted Wes. All he knew was that if Burke did have information that could help return Rachel to him then the man would be made to give it up – or Zeke would give him a mouth where his nose used to be. Lieutenant Wilcott's patience was at its end and it was time for some answers.
Just hold on, Rachel, he pleaded silently as he tore down the stairs with his team ahead of him. I'm on my way, just hold on. Just hold on a little longer. Zeke hoped that, somehow, she was listening.
Author's Note: Here's the new chapter my Readers. Please read and review, I crave your feedback, good or bad, as always. I hope you enjoy and stay tuned for another update within a week or two. Enjoy!