Chapter 27: Fire, Pain and Blackness
October 2, 1998
9:58 PM
Arklay Forest
Eddie Gabbor had never thought of any animal as man's best friend, let alone mangy, disobedient dogs. Maybe that was not such an objective opinion based on the fact that a German Sheppard had mauled him quite severely when he was ten but he thought it was true for the most part. In his book, all dogs were mongrels fit for the pound so he had no qualms about being the first to shoot when the red-eyed little monsters had started jumping out of the bushes on all sides. Dogs, why did it have to be dogs?
There was a gruesome eruption of blood and bone as the buckshot burst the creature's head like an over-ripe melon. Smiling smugly as the headless body stiffened and fell limp, Eddie chambered another round and opened up another canine skull to his left. Sorry mutts but I don't plan on being turned into puppy chow tonight.
A harsh crack to his right drew Eddie's attention. Swiveling on one knee, the young officer watched as another of the skinned pooches bounded towards him from out of the snake grass. Eyes of flame burned into his with such intensity it was as if the hellhound was trying to bore a hole straight through to his soul. Canine teeth flashed in the moonlight, the stench of rotten meat wafting over the rookie in nauseating waves. He raised the Mossburg, knowing it was too late, the mongrel was too close, but instinct had taken over and he was powerless to stop it. A moment later it hit him.
Muddy ground gave way beneath Eddie with a disgusting wet squishing noise as the crazed Doberman pounced on his chest, driving the air from his lungs in a painful rush. The smell of the beast was simply intolerable but the young cop reminded himself to throw up later. For now, he decided that if he lived long enough to wretch then he would consider it a good day.
Eddie had only a second to react and used the moment to its full potential. Gripping the Mossburg by either end he wedged the slide between the Doberman's strong jaws. Metal and wood groaned in protest as the frustrated creature tried to chew through the weapon. A second slower and it would have been his face the flea-ridden mutt was gnawing on. Lucky again but what would happen when that well ran dry?
You might be as lucky as a leprechaun with a rabbit's foot, brickhead, Ben Tredd taunted from inside his skull, but this hairy mother fucker has you pinned and more of his buddy keep on springing out of the hedges like weeds. What are you going to do now, newbie? Can you answer that?
Eddie shut the voice out, focusing on keeping the twelve-gauge where it was as the dog trashed its head violently from side to side. It couldn't be Ben anyway – Ben Tredd was dead – and Eddie didn't think he was crazy – not crazy enough at least – to be hearing his dead partner rag on him from beyond the grave. Dead or not though, Ben did have a point: Eddie Gabbor was in some incredibly thick stew.
Again the beast shook its head with a muffled growl, attempting to wrench the shotgun from his grip and Eddie had to grit his teeth to keep his aching arms from letting the Mossburg drop. It was the only thing standing between him and a very messy end, the rookie was sure. Saliva dripped from the canine's mouth in thick strands, splattering across Eddie's forehead and cheek. The creature's spit was revoltingly warm and smelled as badly as the Doberman itself – reeking of spoiled meat and dry blood. Eddie fought to urge to gag and growled nearly as loudly as the dog trying to make a meal out of him, though his cries from between clenched teeth came from abhorrence and the desire to survive.
"I'm not going out like this." He seethed at the beast, trying to push its bulk off his chest but it was no use. The muck he lay in gave no traction and the hellish dog was too strong besides. "I am not going to die here in the dirt! I am not going to let some fleabag have me for dinner! Now get up, Eddie, get up!"
Despite his reassurances there was nothing for it. His elbows slipped in the mud and wouldn't lock. The creature pushed him flat on his back every time he tried to rise, nearly tearing the twelve-gauge from his hands every time he so much as shifted. Those wicked red eyes locked with his and Eddie saw his own death reflected in their depths.
You could call for help, Tredd suggested with a short, snarky laugh, just like you did at the barricade. Shit, I don't think even a little girl could scream that loud! Still, it was funny I'd never been paired up with a total chicken-shit before.
"Shut up, Ben!" Eddie snarled and the dog he grappled with snarled back. So much for not being crazy, now he was talking to the voices in his head. So much for good luck at that. "I don't need any help!"
Not that there was anyone available to give it in any case. He couldn't see Zeke and the others but he could sure as hell hear them. The clatter of gunfire around him was so loud Eddie was astounded his eardrums hadn't popped yet. They had their own problems to deal with and he had his. Cripes, and I used to think that doing my taxes was a problem!
Jesus, yellowbelly, you are one sad sack of shit, you know that? Eddie ground his teeth so hard together he thought they might snap; silently wishing Tredd would be quiet. The dead shouldn't have the right to taunt the living. Fuck, greenhorn, you could at least make it look like you were trying to fight the furry fucker off.
Even dead, Benjamin Tredd was a total prick and Eddie felt fear turn to blistering hot rage in the blink of an eye. At that moment Eddie Gabbor hated his former partner more than he had ever hated a single human being before. He despised Ben for making him despise him – and then saving his life back in that alley by giving up his own. Why had he done it? Eddie suspected that even should he survive the night that one question would haunt him for the rest of time. Why had Ben done it?
"I'll show you." The rookie whispered from between gritted teeth, not sure if he was speaking to the dog or the voice of his deceased partner. "I'll show you."
Allowing the rage that burned in his veins like acid – the rage Tredd had birthed with his insults and put downs; the rage Eddie felt towards himself for letting the man die – to feed him strength, Officer Gabbor began to rise up. The dog snarled and fought back but its madness was no match for the might of the young man's anger and with a berserk cry Eddie made his elbows lock in the thick soup of mud surrounding him. The Doberman growled deep in its throat, Eddie did likewise.
Push the fucker! Tredd urged frantically from the shadows of his mind. Get on your feet and break the bastard's head open, newbie!
There was no need for Eddie to do anymore though. Strong, calloused hands, caked in dry blood, were lifting the weight of the killer hound from his chest. Those hands – more akin to a bear's deadly paws than man's hands – wrapped around the Doberman's neck and the animal barked madly, biting at the air and shadows. There was a resounding snap as those massive paws pulled in opposite directions and the hound's limp body fell at Eddie's feet dead as a post.
The flames of Eddie's fury cooled as quickly as they had been kindled and Shank came into view, breathing hard. The big man stood outlined by the moon, his dirty face streaked with rain, his coarse braided beard dripping with water. He looked tired – exhausted – but a thin grin still managed to touch his face. Only then did the young officer become aware that the sounds of gunfire were beginning to dwindle, growing blessedly quiet but escaping Raccoon City deaf still would have been a cause for celebration.
"Wrestling with a rabid dog?" Shank mused, offering a hand to the younger man. "Hell, even you ain't that lucky, kid."
"Tell me about it." Eddie grumbled, grasping the other man's palm and allowing him self to be pulled back up. "I guess I owe you one…another one, I mean."
Shank laughed, "Well, I just hope you make it up to me by buying the beers when we get out of this joint. I've had my life saved enough times for one n – " The Psycho cut off with a sudden look of wild surprise and passionate hate, staring at something over Eddie's shoulder, "Burke!"
A terrified shriek reached Eddie's ears as he turned to watch the doc running like a bat out of hell back the way they had come. The chatter of an assault rifle next to his head made the young officer cringe, turning to see Shank holding the M4 he now wore around one shoulder, holding the trigger down. From what Eddie had seen of the man the past two nights he was a decent shot but automatics apparently weren't his forte as the rounds ripped up the dirt at Burke's feet but left the man himself untouched. With another fearful squeal, the underhanded, conniving, greasy – since Saint Jude's Eddie had thought up at least twenty other adjectives to describe the man – crashed through the tree line.
"Damn it!" Shank cursed, scowling. "When I get my hands on that son of a - I'm going after him!" That last was directed to the lieutenant who glanced up at the big man as the last of the hellish mutts fell to his rifle.
"Alright," Zeke said, hastily looking in the direction Burke went. "Pierce and Wes, you go with him. Stay sharp!" He added as the three men lopped into the dense wood.
The wait was not long but it seemed like years to Eddie before the trio reappeared. He had never been all that good at waiting and not knowing what fresh new terror lurked out in the dense woodland, waiting to rend you in half and chew on whatever fell out did not make things a great deal easier. Eventually the three men did return though and the young officer felt his chest loosen – a small bit anyway.
They came crashing through the wet brush wearing a myriad of expressions. Shank looked pale but smugly satisfied at the same time, he even wore a slight grin. Pierce was solid as stone and grim as death like usual. Wesley Creeks appeared like a man who had just stepped off the deck of ship in a squall, that is to say he looked two steps from throwing up everything he had ever eaten. Burke was not among them though and while Eddie had never been a genius at math it did not take a genius to put two and two together and come up with the reason for Shank and Wesley's apparent discomfort.
"We found the doc," Shank said a moment later, raking a thumb across his throat, "pieces of him at least. Whatever got a hold of Burke apparently doesn't trim its nails. I'm not going to lose any sleep over it though – that rat got what he had coming to him. Shit, seems like the universe is actually starting to balance itself out."
Eddie noticed that the others did not share the biker's enthusiasm. Kathryn scrubbed a hand across her eyes and sniffed deeply. Scott took to studying his feet as if they interested him a great deal and even Tech, Shank's man to the end, scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. Sure, Burke had tried to use their trust in him against them but you could hardly feel glad that a human being – whatever his convictions – had just been torn to bits by something that for all rights should never have existed. Unless you were Shank, of course.
"Great," Skip sighed, using his shirt-sleeve to mop a reddish-black stain – Doberman blood probably – from his cheek, "so he's dead then. Now how the hell are we supposed to get into this AM-thingy? Didn't he say something about us needing his password?"
"Don't worry about that, kid." Tech said, the smile on his weasely face a shocking sight after all his scowling. "There isn't an electronic lock in the world to date that can keep me out if I don't want it to. Lieutenant, if your guys can keep whatever is running around in this forest off my back for five minutes then I guarantee I can crack the lock and get us the fuck out of here. Shit, it used to be my job."
Well, the man had confidence, Eddie had to give him that. Confidence or hubris, depending on your outlook. He had just said that he could beat the encryption on a system he had most likely never seen before.
"Alright," Lieutenant Wilcott said and Eddie realized that all eyes were fixed on the Ranger – including his own. Zeke had become their leader, their captain, almost since their first meeting but the rookie hadn't really noticed it until now, it had just seemed natural that the man should be the one calling the shots. Still, Eddie could not help but wonder how the man must feel with so many strangers looking to him for guidance and direction in a crisis like the one they had been thrust into. "I'll give you all the time you need once we reach the place, Tech, but first we need to get Rachel back – and I think I know how to handle that. Let's move it out, keep your eyes open and your ears sharp, I don't want whatever got Burke getting the drop on us."
The lieutenant led the way and the others followed, trusting the man to take them down the right path, to escape and safety. Above, the sky unleashed its full fury. Lightning sundered the sky, thunder shook the air and rain fell in blankets. Eddie barely noticed though, his eyes already looking past the night and the storm to clean clothes and warm food – or his own death. Either way, he promised himself not to feel surprise when the time came.
"Nice night, huh?" Shank said, falling in at his side with a sardonic grin.
"Tell me about it," Eddie sighed, "I'm beginning to think that getting out of bed today was a big mistake."
Shank laughed, "I hear that."
It was strange what nearly dying together could do to foster the growth of a friendship, Eddie thought as he ran alongside, joking with a man whom under normal circumstances he would have avoided like a leper. Strange or not, it was really of no import. All that mattered was getting out of Raccoon City alive.
Will you though? Eddie wondered as Zeke called for the group to double-time it from up ahead. Or will you just wind up dead, peeled like a ripe piece of fruit or eaten alive? Will you just wind up another lifeless sack of flesh and bones like Sam Brocket, William Brown and poor ol' Howard Peterson? Well, brickhead, got an answer? Scowling, Eddie blocked the voice out when he realized it was Ben Tredd speaking again.
Maybe he would die here and maybe he wouldn't, either way he would not be surprised by the outcome – Raccoon City could do wonders for ridding a man of feeling surprise. If he was going to die here though, Eddie hoped it happened soon. He had never been al that good at waiting.
Page Break ----------
Fire, pain, blackness. That was all Rachel Parker could remember. Fire, pain, blackness. Somehow she managed to find the strength to open her eyes and found a starless sky looking down on her, rain pelted her face, soaked her clothes. Fire, pain, blackness.
Trees surrounded her, the pilot saw as she rose to a sitting position, might oaks and tall firs all painted silver in the light of the moon. Grass and dirt turned to a muddy stew, rested beneath her. Orange and red and brown leaves covered the ground in a blanket of dead foliage. From somewhere up ahead came the soft babbling of a stream.
Where am I? Fire, pain, blackness. How did I get here? Fire, pain, blackness. It hurt to think, to remember. Rachel's whole body hurt, her leg most of all though she could not recall why. She could not recall anything but her own name and the fire, pain, blackness.
"About time we got a chow break." A man's voice thick with an Australian accent said from beside Rachel. "Feels like I haven't had bite in a month."
"You had better use that mouth for chewing instead of talking then." Said another man from close by, his accent distinctly Irish. "Smith said we couldn't take any longer than ten minutes and after that little…skirmish…the major didn't seem much for arguing."
The voices drew Rachel's eyes. Seated on the grass only two or three feat from her were two men dressed from head to toe in black, eating from thin packets that she knew contained military rations. Slung across either man's back was a heavy looking rucksack, laying in their laps was a gas mask and automatic rifle. Fire, pain, blackness. Memory flare like a sunburst.
Everything came back to Rachel in a rush, the images playing like a film reel behind her eyes. The chopper crash, Sullivan's death, the zombies, those horrible skinned creatures in Skip's garage. Saint Jude's hospital came last, she lay in a hallway feeling weak and tired, resting her head on Zeke's strong shoulder and then nothing but fire and pain and the blackness.
"No." She whispered, realizing that these must have been the group who assaulted her friends back at the hospital, rolling a grenade into their midst. How many had they killed? Was Zeke still alive, was he injured? Both heads swiveled her way and Rachel thought that speaking might have been an error.
Whoever the men were they meant her harm, had tried to kill her companions and she did not much care to see what their reactions would be to find her conscious. Rachel bounded to her feet – then collapsed with a scream as fresh pain bloomed in her leg. She fell; mud and grass forcing their way into her mouth as the pain almost blinded her. Then strong hands were rolling her over, pinning her down.
"Hello, my lovely." The Australian said, pressing his knee into her stomach. Rachel screamed and he smiled. "Awake are we?"
He was a hard faced man, his features looking carved from stone with a scar running down the right side of his face that turned up the corner of his lip in a cruel sneer. A thick coat of stubble clung to the Australian's chin, amplifying his wild look. His eyes were a vibrant shade of green, aflame with what Rachel could only think to describe as lust – she feared what the subject of that lust might be.
"Who are you?" She groaned, the weight on her belly seeming to increase the fire in her leg. Rachel tried to struggle but the Aussie held her tight. It was no use anyway, her injury made her about as fearsome as a newborn kitten. She knew the wound would kill her, she could feel it draining the life from her every second.
"Sergeant Rodney Foller," he said, drawing a knife from behind his belt and pressing the edge to her throat. He looked at her as a starving man might look at a slab of beef. Rachel realized with disgust that Foller was licking his lips. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Now, Mick over there is going to keep watch while you and I get better acquainted – I think we have enough time. It's been a long while since I had a woman, love, but I'll try and show you a good time."
Rachel cringed and cried out with equal parts horror and revulsion as she felt Foller's free hand crawling up her inner thigh. Desperately, she tried to fend him off, to kick and punch and struggle but it was no use. He was a strong, healthy soldier; she was bleeding to death.
Hating herself for being so weak, Rachel could only weep as she felt the Australian's weight atop her, the smell of his sweat making her gag. She cursed Foller to hell and prayed that Ezekiel Wilcott was still alive to send him there.
Hurry, she urged her friend silently, please hurry, Zeke. All she could do was hope he could somehow hear her thoughts. Foller grunted something as he undid his belt and for the first time that night Rachel wished the blackness would crash over her again and shut out the sound of Foller's lewd, taunting laughter. Hope, there's no hope left in Raccoon City.
Rachel knew it for the truth and wept all the harder because of it.
Author's Note: Here's the new chapter, Readers and I'd personally like to thank all of you that have read and reviewed my work. I hope that you will enjoy this installment and stay tuned for a new one in a week or two. Please drop a review if you can, I'm hungry for your feedback as always. What/who do you like/dislike? Let me know. Enjoy!