Chapter 29: A Handful of Sand

October 2, 1998

11:57 PM

Arklay Forest

"That bastard, that goddamn bastard." Foller seethed between clenched teeth as he pulled himself through the wet grass and thick mud on his belly. His leg was sticky and soaked with blood, his boot filling up with the crimson fluid. "Rico-fucking-Da Silva, you stinking twat!"

The current circumstances hardly seemed all that fair to the Australian. Moments ago he had been crashing through the brush on his way to the team's last objective, virtually home free and then some bloody bint sent a bullet through his thigh and he was facedown in the muck. His commander had taken one look at him – little more than a fleeting glance – before deciding that abandonment was the wisest course of action and rushed off to save his own tail. Rodney was really quite astounded at how quickly things could go from bad to worse.

The Arklay Forest was a living nightmare now. The woods were practically black as pitch, the only illumination provided by the constant flash of gunfire or the occasional burst of lightning. Rain fell in sheets, churning the ground into a dirty brown soup and obscuring everything two feet in front of Foller's face. Shrill, piercing screams rose above the claps of thunder and burning red eyes moved within the shadows as if the trees themselves had voices to cry out with and eyes to watch.

Foller knew he was dead, knew it as well as he knew his own birthday and again it seemed wholly unfair that he should meet his end wet and crawling through the brush like a crippled animal. Still, he was able to look at the positive side of things as well. At least he would be able to save Rico a choice place in Hell.

How did it come to this? Foller wondered, groaning as he inched forward through the snake grass, something stirring the canopy of leaves overhead. I was supposed to be home free. We were all on our merry way back home. Then a sudden realization hit the Aussie. The girl. It's all her fault! We were doing just fine until Smith decided to drag her along for the ride. She's a bloody hex; she's a witch! She's evil itself.

Maybe Rodney Foller would die tonight but at least he would not be going alone. He'd take that horrid little chit with him. Foller had already taken her once that night but maybe he would get lucky and still have enough energy for another go once he caught up to her again.

Scanning the woodlands for any sign of the pilot's passage, Foller froze stiff when a tall, lean shape with fiery eyes and gleaming talons landed in the high grass directly in front of him. Foller felt his heart turn to ice, his breath catch in his chest. For a moment, an incredibly long moment, the B.O.N.E.S. trooper thought the sudden cold terror might be enough to kill him all on its own.

The creature was slender and hunchbacked but covered with rippling muscle. To put an exact shape to the beast was nigh impossible; it blended into the night so seamlessly as to become a living shadow. Hellish red eyes, like pure fire, stared through Foller, penetrating flesh and bone to view his soul. A cold, lipless smile twisted the monster's face into a vicious sneer that revealed rows of pearl-colored fangs.

"Fuck." Foller cursed, sweat breaking out across his forehead as he struggled to bring his rifle to bear.
Not fair, not fair! He thought frantically, cocking the bolt back. I can't die yet, not until that little bitch learns her fucking lesson! It's not bloody fair!

With a final, frustrated cry, Foller raised the AK already knowing it was too late. In the time it would take him to steady his aim and pull the trigger the Chameleon would lower its clawed hand and open his skull up like a soup can. He had been dead from the moment the mutant landed in his path and it was not fair.

Shrieking at the top of its lungs the Chameleon gave the sprawling Australian a withering, almost outraged look then sprang away into the treetops once more. Foller watched with numb disbelief as the screaming shadowy Hunter darted from branch to branch, heading towards a muzzle flash about forty meters away. He lay there even after the beast had vanished from sight in pursuit of its prey, frozen with fear and incredulity.

It made no sense; it was impossible. No one got that close to a Hunter and didn't come back unless he was in three different pieces. The Chameleon had him dead to rights, why would it give up the meal lying at its feet to chase after another so far away? Why –

Foller's train of thought came to a crashing halt as he caught sight of movement only a few yards to his right. The rustling bushes slowly gave way to a slender, shapely shadow and a bolt of lightning played across the frightened, confused features of a young woman with sandy blonde hair. It was the witch. The bloody witch.

Then, Rodney Foller's mind cleared and everything made sense once more. Only an act of God could have spared him from that Hunter's claws. God wanted him to complete this mission. God wanted that awful woman dead as much as he did. The task was now bigger than Foller could have ever imagined it to be: his mission was holy now, sanctified by God. Maybe Hell wasn't to be his destination after all.

With a grunt, Foller staggered to his feet and drew the K-Bar knife in his boot. This time he would not use the blade merely as a threat to keep the whore civil. She'd be receiving the business end this round. Smiling, Foller crashed into the brush after the witch, suddenly feeling much better about him self. He was still going to die, most assuredly, but at least he'd have some company when he went.

Page Break ----------

Where is she? Zeke thought as another of the springing, red-eyed shadows fell to a lengthy burst from his rifle. Where the hell are you, Rach?

The lieutenant had sent the rest of the ragtag party of survivors ahead with Wesley but he couldn't leave without Rachel. It had nothing to do with his personal feelings for the pilot – not entirely – he had simply left behind too many good people already: Curtis Sullivan, William Brown, Tessa Foster and even more. He had left them all behind to die and that made him a killer. A murderer of innocents. No one else would be left behind tonight though, Rachel Parker least of all.

Which way did she go though? Zeke wondered, taking a moment to catch his breath and gain his bearings. The storm soaked him from his hair to his toes but the Ranger paid it no mind. Rachel was his only concern, his only thought, now. Which way did she go? I could have sworn I saw something moving out this way. Maybe it was just another one of those - A flicker of movement to his left got Wilcott's feet running again.

Zeke raced forward, only vaguely aware that he was headed north. Wet leaves slapped at his face, branches tore at his clothes and clawed death fell from the sky all about him. The Ranger ducked and dodged and rolled out of harm's way, refusing to allow himself to be distracted for even a moment. Rachel was all that mattered everything else was just background noise. Whatever happened he would not leave her behind. She was his redemption. His salvation.

Zeke ran through the dense woods for what felt like hours, his lungs burning as he strained to keep up with the shadowy blur ten yards ahead of him. Every so often the lieutenant was forced to duck beneath a spiked hand or fire quickly as a pair of glowing crimson eyes reared up at him from out of the darkness. He had no idea what the strange beasts were but he did not particularly care anymore either. Zeke was past the point of surprise now, all there was left to do was grab Rachel and go home. Let the insanity of Raccoon City devourer itself.

"Rachel!" The exhausted Ranger shouted and felt unadulterated joy when the blurry shaped ahead of him skidded to a sudden halt.

Lightning flared in the clouds overhead, a fork of light knifing through the choking blackness. A wave of relief crashed over Zeke as the shadows around the figure were pushed back and Rachel Parker stood before him. She was wet and dirty and pale but she was alive. She was alive, she was beautiful and she was smiling softly at him.

"Zeke." Rachel said, just loudly enough for him to hear. It was almost as if she sighed his name, releasing all the grief and pain and fear festering in her heart with that one word. Slowly, unsteadily, she took a limping step towards him.

Again, brilliant blue lightning cut a path through the sky overhead and Zeke felt his heart freeze. Rising from the snake grass behind Rachel was a figure clad all in black, nearly indistinguishable from the night itself if not for the bright red goggles of a gas mask. Just before the lightning faded, casting everything back into darkness, its glow played across the blade of a long knife clenched in the figure's hand, striking on a downward arch for the oblivious woman's back.

"NO!" Zeke screamed, propelling himself forward but knowing it was too late already. There was the sickening wet crunch of flesh being rent and then Rachel's anguished cry followed by the sound of something heavy sliding to the dirt floor.

Zeke came upon the masked man – one of the Umbrella B.O.N.E.S. troopers certainly – as Rachel's body settled to the ground, a gaping wound right where her kidney was located. The startled trooper whirled to face this new threat but proved too slow and the lieutenant fell upon Rachel's attacker with all the wrath of a hurricane. Together they stumbled to the ground, rolling through the mud as they punched and kicked at one another savagely, scraping for every bit of advantage in the battle for control of the knife dripping with Rachel's blood.

Zeke grunted and cursed as he wrestled with the Umbrella thug, all sense of rationality lost to an animalistic bloodlust as the fight dragged on. This man had stabbed Rachel – murdered her – and now Zeke was going to return the favor. It was as simple as that in the lieutenant's mind. This man would die, this man had to die. He would tear his throat out with his own teeth if he had to but Rachel's killer would bleed. He would die here in the mud like a wild beast.

Even with vengeance lending him strength the Umbrella soldier still had him outmatched through pure physical power and gained the upper hand after a few minutes struggle. He rolled Zeke onto his back and pressed one knee into the Ranger's chest. The knife came down quickly, giving the lieutenant only a second to wrap both hands firmly around his opponent's wrist and pause the downward stroke. The tip of the blade halted an inch from Zeke's wide eyeball.

"Give it up mate." The trooper encouraged in a thick Australian accent, his hand shaking with the exertion of trying to carve Zeke a new orifice. "Make it easy on yourself."

"Go to hell." Zeke spat back, ignoring the B.O.N.E.S. soldier's laughter, his face turning red as his own hands began to tremble.

Too strong, he's too damn strong. The words sounded rushed and desperate in his mind and Zeke felt shame well up in his heart: Shame at being afraid to die even now; shame at being unable to avenge Rachel. Shame at being unable to save her. Could he not save just one life this night?

His grip beginning to break, Zeke caught sight of something just on the edge of his vision. Standing out on his attacker's thigh like the twisted imitation of a flower blossom was a ragged puncture wound, still dripping blood. Without another moment's hesitation, Zeke brought his boot up and drove the heel mercilessly into the deep gash, eliciting a howl of pain from the Umbrella trooper. The hand wrapped around the knife went suddenly slack and the Ranger tore the blade from his hand.

He killed Rachel. The thought was cold and hollow. Zeke sank the knife up to its hilt in the side of the Aussie's neck, blood spurting like a fountain as he severed the jugular vein. He murdered her. Tears burning in his eyes, Zeke slid the steel deeper into his choking victim's throat. You loved her. Sobbing, Zeke pulled the knife free and drove it home again. And again. He murdered the woman you loved! Again and again he stabbed, unable to hear the Australian's gurgling above the sound of his own bitter weeping.

Finally, the handle became too slippery with blood and gristle to hold and as it tumbled from the Ranger's quivering fingers, Zeke snapped back to his senses. It was much like waking from a dream, his mind seemed covered in a dense, murky fog and memory was a chilly and distant thing. He felt wetness on his face and pressed a hand to his cheek. It came away stained with blood though he could not recall why. He was crouched over a body dressed all in black that lay twitching before him, the neck little more than a tattered hole of exposed tendons and dripping tissue. It all seemed surreal, as if it were happening to another person and Zeke was merely observing, his mind somehow removed from his body.

There was a groan behind him, soft and feminine, and the lieutenant turned to see Rachel sprawled on her back, a trickle of blood seeping steadily from the corner of her mouth. She was as pale as fresh fallen snow, tears glittering in her soft eyes, making them sparkle like crystals in the dim moonlight. Choking back a sob, Zeke gathered the girl tenderly into his lap, smoothing back her long hair. Her skin was cold beneath his fingers, very cold and when she looked up at him with those wide eyes that could capture and hold a man as if he were encased in amber, it was through a mask of pain.

"Don't move," he told her, not noticing how badly his voice broke with each word, "just lie still now. I've got you. Just lay still."

"I'm…sorry, Zeke." Rachel said weakly with desperation in her eyes, clutching his hand securely in her own, holding on with such force that it seemed his grip was the only thing keeping her in this world. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't talk," he replied softly, brushing more hair out of her eyes, "I'll think of something. Just – just lay still and give me a second to think. I'll get us out of here."

"I guess…things don't always work out the way you plan them." Rachel said with a wan smile, coughing lightly. "I figured that when we got home…I'd make you take me out dancing – and for dinner too, of course." She swallowed thickly, a blood bubble bursting on her lip. "You're still a little older than I usually go for…but…at least you've got a good head on your shoulders – even if it's a bit thick and not all that pretty." She laughed then, an exhausted, rueful laugh.

"Please, Rachel, don't talk anymore." Zeke begged, tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks. How had it come to this; how was it possible? How could Rachel seem suddenly so frail and fragile, like a handful of sand seeping steadily through his fingers? It was worse than the darkest of dreams. "I'll get you out of here, I promise."

"Too late for that, Zeke." Rachel protested, struggling to shake her head. "I'm dying…I've been dying ever since the chopper went down."

"No," the word sounded very tiny, very small, as it escaped his lips. "I'm going to save you."

"You can't save everyone, Zeke." Her fingers tightened around his hand suddenly, pulling him in with an unusual strength. Rachel fixed the lieutenant with a look of profound resolve and when she spoke she did so slowly, driving each word into his mind like a railroad spike. "You…can't…save…everyone."

From somewhere in the darkness of the forest a shrill, inhuman scream echoed between the trees. It was joined a moment later by a second and then a third. On and on the screaming went until Zeke lost count of all the voices. Looking around anxiously, he let one hand stray from Rachel's cool cheek to the grip of his rifle.

"You have to…go now." She said, barely above a whisper.

"No," Zeke choked the word out, "I'm not leaving you here. If they want you then they'll have to take me too."

"Don't be stupid," she scowled irritably, "the others need…you now. Go on." Rachel sighed heavily, her eyelids fluttering shut. "Get out…of here." Gently, she brushed his grizzled chin with her palm. "Go…go for me."

A crushed, broken sob wracked Zeke's body as he bent forward to press his lips gently against Rachel's damp forehead. "I love you," he murmured quietly, tasting the salt of his tears mingled with that of Rachel's sweat.

"You know," she said, that breakable grin blooming on her face once more as her head lolled to one side, "I'm really going to regret never…getting that dance with you." She exhaled once and her chest did not rise again.

It's your fault. The dry voice in the back of Zeke's head told him as he lowered Rachel's head to the earth gingerly. She's dead because of you. She had faith in you – and now she's dead. She was counting on you, Zeke, and you let her down. They were all counting on you – Sam and Shots and Slugger – and they're dead because of it too. You're a murderer, Lieutenant Wilcott, nothing more. You are nothing.

A numbness, unlike anything he had ever experienced before settled over Zeke as he scooped up the M-4 and rose to his feet. It was as if his entire body, every fiber of his being, was suddenly infused with ice and granite. Again he was filled with the sense of wandering in a dream, aware of the events around him but viewing them with a casual indifference as if they were happening to another. His body was on autopilot and he was merely an observer.

Then, abruptly, the ice filled his veins turned to water as the flames of a passionate rage welled up inside him. Rachel Parker was dead. Curtis Sullivan was dead. Sam Brocket was dead. How many more would he have to watch die before the night was through? How much longer would he be forced to watch good men and women be cut down by nameless terrors lurking in the dark and a unit of mercenaries hired to clean up the consequences of a company's greed? Did God find something amusing, Zeke wondered, in watching his friends struggle and suffer and die?

Hate burned in Zeke's heart with such intensity that it threatened to reduce him to char. The time for grief and regret could come later, if he survived the hell of Raccoon City. Now was the time for vengeance and the shrieking, crimson-eyed shadows would be the first recipients of Ezekiel Wilcott's fury.

"Come on!" Zeke bellowed, face red and tear-streaked as he raised the M-4 to his shoulder. "Come on you mutant fucking apes! Come and fucking kill me!"

A dark, hunchbacked blur stirred in the bushes to his right and Zeke whirled, squeezing the trigger. There was a short screech followed by the sound of something heavy crashing to the ground. Red eyes pierced the darkness ahead of the lieutenant and again he opened fire, punching a hole through one of the glowing orbs. Claws raked through the air to his left and Zeke felt warm blood splash his face as he sent three rounds into his shadowy assailant's face. On and on they came shrieking as they plowed through the thick brush, a virtual tide of death incarnate.

Zeke dropped four more of the nearly shapeless creatures before his rifle clicked empty and he was forced to retreat. Though he was covered in the oil black fluid that pumped through the beasts' bodies it still was not enough. The lieutenant's mind cried out for him to do more violence, to spill more blood in Rachel's name and the names of all those who had perished in this Godforsaken place. Only through destruction could the sin of their deaths be atoned for; only revenge would slake the thirst of his grief.

Not now though, Zeke though as he threw away the empty M-4 and darted between the trees as fast as his legs would carry him, later but I have other responsibilities now. First, I regroup with the others at the stream and get them out of here then…then I'll burn the whole goddamn world if I have to, to make these bastards pay for everything they've done here. Every last fucking one of them.

Forward, Zeke ran through the dark woods praying with heart and soul that if anyone else had to die this night then it would be him. Let his blood be shed to amuse God for a change.

Page Break ----------

"Something's wrong," Coop said from beside Wesley, "the L.T. should have been back by now."

"Just give him another minute." The Brit replied, surveying the surrounding tree line intently from the opposite bank of the rushing stream they had just crossed. Don't keep me waiting, Zeke, you know patience just isn't a word I understand all too well.

The woods on the other side of the stream were quiet for the most part, save for the occasional rustling of leaves and snapping of branches but the red-eyed monsters prowling in its depths were no longer interested in harassing Wesley's band. Apparently after seeing fifteen or so of their siblings fall to the party of dirty survivors the skulking beasts had learned to be wary of firearms. It was a slightly scary thought, that such seemingly mindless creatures could possess the capability for learning. Right then though Wesley was only grateful that nothing was trying to have him for its midnight snack.

At least they were still altogether, Wes thought as he glanced at the assembly behind him. Skip and Officer Ward had collapsed onto their backs after charging across the stream and now lay red-faced and panting hard, thoroughly exhausted by the scrambling dash. Eddie Gabbor and the two rough-necked bikers crouched not far away, hands on their knees also struggling to pull in air while Eddie grumbled for the hundredth time about his luck. Scott held one edge of the perimeter while Ryan and Coop watched the other. Wesley stood ankle-deep in the rapids of the stream, straining to see any sign of his friend.

Concern for Zeke mounted in the sergeant as the woods maintained their silent vigil. If he didn't show up soon Wesley would be forced to move on. It was less than seven hours before a rather nuclear powered sunrise turned Raccoon City into a crater and they still had a long way to go. It had been a fool thing to let Zeke run off on his own like that but he was the lieutenant after all and stubborn as a mule with lead feet as well. If Ezekiel Wilcott possessed even a single shred of good sense then Wesley would eat his boots.

Then he saw him and a wide grin split the sergeant's face. Zeke came stumbling through the edge of the tree line, without his rifle and running fast. Greasy, reddish-black stains covered the front of his vest but at least he was alive – and alone. So elated was he at the sight of his friend alive and whole that Wesley hadn't noticed Rachel's absence at first. The whole purpose of Zeke going off on his own had been to recover the girl, if she wasn't with him then…

"She's dead, Wes." Zeke said as he splashed across the stream and Wesley felt his face fall, his heart clench. "They killed her."

There was a deep, haunted look in the lieutenant's eyes and Wes could only guess at the magnitude of the battle raging inside his companion. He knew how strong Zeke's feelings had been for the spitfire little pilot. She was dead now though and while that thought made Wesley's stomach tighten with anguish it had to be a thousand times worse for the lieutenant. He had been in command when Rachel died and the guilt that went along with such a realization was more than the Brit was willing to guess at.

"Zeke, I'm so sorry. I know how much she meant…" Wesley trailed off. The haunted look covering his friend's face dissolved as his eyes passed across Ryan Pierce. Fire filled his gaze, a scorching inferno of anger and hatred.

"All because you missed!" Zeke seethed and Ryan looked up, his face unreadable as always. "Tell me something, Pierce. How does a veteran sniper miss a shot like that? You had a clear line of sight so how did you miss? You son of a bitch…Rachel would still be alive if it wasn't for your fuck-up!" Without any warning, Zeke seized the other man and proceeded to strangle him with an animalistic ferocity. "You're working for them aren't you! You're the fucking plant! Tell me the truth, goddamn you!"

"Lieutenant!" Wesley and Coop cried in unison, grabbing Zeke roughly about the shoulders, desperately trying to break his hold on the gagging sharpshooter's neck.

Chaos ensued. Zeke screamed curses and accusations as the two Rangers finally managed to pry his hands apart, fighting like a cornered fox to weave his way out of their hold. All Pierce could do was cough and splutter as Skip, Kathryn, Eddie and the two Psycho's pulled him away from the raving lieutenant. Suddenly everyone was yelling and thrusting fingers under each other's noses, apparently deaf to Wesley's cries for order. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Ryan's voice rose above the endless din.

"My target moved!" He shouted, rubbing his throat absently. "I had a shot but he moved at the last second, sir. It wasn't my fault! I'd never try and do anything to get Rachel hurt, you have to know that, lieutenant." The last was delivered almost as a plea.

Judging by the expression Zeke's face he certainly did not seem to. Scowling, he pushed his way back into Pierce's face. "Maybe," he said through clenched teeth, his eyes blazing, "but we'll see Pierce. I'm watching you though and if you make one more convenient little screw up then, so help me, I will come down on you with all the force of a shitstorm straight out of – "

"Uh, guys," Skip said, scratching at the back of his neck as he always seemed to do when agitated. "I don't mean to uh interrupt or anything but uh I was wondering…" he glanced nervously over either shoulder before turning back again, "…did you guys see where Sergeant Owens went to? It looks like he just up and ran off."

Author's Note: I'm back! I apologize for the prolonged hiatus and short chapter but Three Days In A Nightmare is back up and running again. I hope my loyal readers will stay tuned and check out this new edition. Please read and review as always and expect another update soon.