Chapter 4: Welcome to the Jungle

The monster had lunged straight for the unfortunate busboy's face, but had been blocked by the busboy's arms trying to fend the zombie off. The creature hadn't been deterred and kept swiping at him even with the busboy's hands on the zombie's shoulders keeping him at a distance. The zombie's jaws stretched inhumanly wide showing yellowed teeth and grayish saliva dripping from the rotting lips. Time had slowed to a crawl in my mind and I began to move.

That's it; I have seen enough George Romero movies to know how this ends. No one deserves that.

I slowly picked up the knife that had come with my meal, taking care not to make any noise that could draw the zombie's attention to me. I slipped noiselessly out of my chair and I quickly crept up behind the creature. The busboy was starting to lose his grip on the zombie, and I could clearly see the panic and desperation in his eyes.

Now!

I pounced onto the rotting corpse and the sharp knife in my hand slid messily into the space between its skull and spinal cord. The undead creature stopped moving and stopped breathing. The busboy was gasping for breath as he shoved the still corpse off of him. He looked at me, then at the body in disbelief.

"What the fuck was that?" he shouted.

At this explosive inquiry, the other employees and customers came out their collective shock and started to panic. Meanwhile, I furiously wiped off the hand that had gotten zombie goo on it on a handful of paper napkins.

Eeeeeeeeewww! Dead guy smell!

"Well, I'm pretty sure, and please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that may have been a zombie."

I will be honest and admit that my voice broke a couple, oh all right, several times saying that sentence. My hands were shaking and I was taking long, deep breaths to try and keep myself calm. I was both excited and terrified.

All of a sudden, the body of the thing that had attacked the busboy, started to break down and fizz into nothingness. The only thing left of it was the clothes it had been wearing and oddly enough, a couple of hundred dollar bills.

That is weird and gross and I'm not touching it.

"Anyway," I asked, "Are you alright? It didn't bite you, did it?"

"N-Nah, I'm alright." He seemed to be getting a grip

I threw down a couple of dollar bills for my coke. I took one last look at the fluffy golden waffle and the crispy strips of fried chicken on the plate. The little bottle of maple syrup was clear and I could see the sweet, shining amber colored liquid. My cold coke had just gotten a refill and would have been a good contrast with the hot, fresh chicken and waffles. I mean, come on, the waffle had powdered sugar lightly sprinkled over it. It would have tasted so good. It was a shame I wasn't going to get to eat it and not just because of the dead-guy smell.

If there was one zombie here, there could easily be more around. I didn't want to hang around and wait for the possible hordes of undead to come find me. I needed a plan and fast.

Oookay. Weapon, weapon, need a weapon. The knife I just used is a bad idea; the grip on it was horrible. The one I have in my backpack is better. Still need another option, though. Fighting in close quarters will probably end up with me bitten and infected. I need to be smart about this.

I had noticed Wesker tensely watching the wide windows on the front of the diner. He suddenly snapped his head around towards me when he heard the zipper from my backpack opening. He watched me rifle through my bag for my knife and its sheath. I swiftly attached it to my belt and I pulled my knife out of its sheath. The five inches of stainless steel with a purple handle and a dragon etched in the flat of the blade, faintly gleamed in the fluorescent electric lights of the diner.

I could see the busboy watching me inspect my knife, stunned.

He asked me incredulously, "You had that and you stabbed it with one our knives?"

"The zipper on my bag would have made too much noise. That knife was closer and available so I used it."

My knife was a present from my grandfather as a "just because". I also suspect it was so I could defend myself from muggers and other people trying to assault me. My grandfather tends to give my uncle and me the seemingly random stuff he finds at the flea markets, thrift shops, and gun shows he frequents.

It's a knife with a pretty dragon on it. Who wouldn't want one?

I sheathed my pretty weapon and pulled out my lighter from my backpack, shoving it into my pocket. I zipped up my backpack and threw it over my shoulders.

Meanwhile everyone else was still panicking. Family and friends were arguing over what to do and some people were starting to cry. Wesker was still waiting and watching, for what I didn't know. I started looking around the diner for anything I could realistically use as a weapon.

Well, I don't see anything that I can use to defend myself. I guess I'm using Mr. Stabby after all.

I took one look at Wesker and started to make my way to the door. The busboy saw me start to leave and got in my way.

"Where are you going? There could be more of those things out there!"

"Exactly! This place is making so much noise that they'll be drawn straight here. I'm leaving before more zombies show up. This place isn't exactly secure. I mean, look at those huge windows. They could just smash their way in," I explained flatly.

"How are you so damn calm? Everyone else except for you two is freaking out?"

You two?

I looked at my side. Wesker was there and he looked back at me with his eyebrow raised, as if to say "What?"

"I heard rumors about something like this happening a few months ago. I just never thought they would be real or could happen here. Look, I'm leaving this place. You can do whatever the hell you want, but if I were you, I'd get off the island or barricade myself somewhere safe."

I headed out the door and I broke into a run for the docks, Wesker keeping pace. I could have sworn there was a gun store around here somewhere. I didn't hear anymore undead, but I hadn't heard the original one until it had been practically in the same room as me. There were people milling about on the docks and on the streets who probably didn't have any idea what was going on. The ferry was starting to take on passengers and I could see the Busboy and a bunch of the diner customers running towards the ferry trying to make it on before it left. I turned the corner to the street with the gun store, away from the ferry, and then my world exploded into an all-encompassing sensation of pain and heat.

The first thing that registered to me was that I was blind. I couldn't see and I couldn't hear anything except for a dull roar. I could feel the rough gravel and grit of the road digging into my face, hands, and knees. I sensed little bits of debris raining down on me like tiny, hot pieces of hail. I groaned, struggling to get to my feet and got onto my knees. I could feel parts of my arms and legs stinging from what would be commonly termed "road rash". In short, I felt like crap and it probably wasn't going to get better.

My vision slowly came back hazy at first and along with it came the screams and cries of the terrified and confused people around the area. I shakily stood up and tried to turn around. I could see the vague outline of Wesker on his knees steadying himself, hastily fiddling with something on his face, his sunglasses perhaps. I stumbled, swaying like a leaf in the wind. What I saw chilled me to the core.

The ferry had been reduced to a charred shell by the same booming explosion that had knocked me on my ass. The remains of the boat were still burning along with part of the dock and the fire seemed to be spreading along the wooden planks. There was smoke and ash rising into the sky and drifting through the air. The kiosk where people had paid their fare to cross had been flattened. There were several injured people who were closer to the ferry starting to move and-

Oh my god! There were people and cars on the ferry weren't there?

Then worst sound possible hit me, a low guttural moan, and then another. Yet another moan joined in and I realized that undead like the one from the diner were getting near to where I was. I needed a weapon, now. I clumsily rushed over to Wesker and almost tripped and fell on my face. There in the middle of the road was a crowbar. It was painted orange for visibility and somewhat scuffed and scratched from the explosion and use, but it was about three feet long and heavy.

This'll work for now. I shall call you Mr. Smashy!

"Wesker" I said helping him up, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he stated stiffly.

"Just shaken?"

He gave a curt nod in affirmation and winced.

Poor guy must have gone down hard. Huh, you'd think he would have had some injuries, but there's not a scratch on him.

"Okay, we have to keep moving I heard moans coming from the direction of the diner. We should keep away from the main roads to avoid those things."

"And the crowbar is for?"

"Smashing heads," I stated bluntly. I didn't see any point in mincing my words. The moans were getting louder and closer and we were out in the open like sitting ducks. I wasn't even about to comment on how scared I was. Dwelling on how helpless and trapped I felt would not help me at all. The crowbar and my knife made me feel somewhat better, but I knew the odds were against me in a situation like this.

No, what did we just decide on? We are not going to die here. We are going to that research lab. Then, we are breaking into the research lab. Then, we are getting the hell off of this island. That is what is going to happen, no matter how many undead skulls we have to smash open. We will survive this.

I hustled my way towards the gun store keeping an eye on my surroundings and an ear out for trouble. I could still hear the horrible moaning and I could smell the smoke from the burning pier. It was like a church bell to me, loud and incessant. I couldn't block it out or else the things could get the jump on my blonde companion or me. We were steadily making our way on our unsteady legs when we saw the undead.

We had been passing by an alley when the rotting thing had stumbled out of the shadows, surprisingly quiet until it had noticed us. I quickly swung my crowbar like a baseball bat and caught it in the face knocking it to the ground. Its facial structure collapsed like a smashed pumpkin made of rotting meat, the bone audibly cracking. I could hear it trying to groan and it started to try to rise. I raised the crowbar up and swung it down on its head again, turning it into a bloody mess with visible bone fragments. The body then proceeded to rapidly decompose in front of our eyes leaving a shiny silver key with a fish engraved on one side of it. I ended up grabbing it before noticing it had a messed up version of the Umbrella logo on the other side. If anything, I could probably use it to pick a lock or I could just end up pawning it.

Well, that was pretty damn random.

After that random encounter, Wesker and I finally reached the gun and ammunition store and ran in before securely locking the door. Wesker went through the place, making sure it was secure before stocking up on ammunition. It made me wonder if he had a gun or if he was planning on taking one from here. I vaguely remembered him taking the diner zombie's two grand. Maybe he was going to leave some money behind to pay for what he took. On the other hand, this was a time of emergency. Wasn't there a clear and present need clause or something for times like this?

Tuning out the distant screaming and moaning that was happening outside I began searching the shelves for something I was familiar with. As soon as I had found a nice double-barreled shotgun like the one grandpa used, I noticed that the glass cases that held the guns were locked tight. I examined the lock and it didn't seem like something I could pick. I also didn't think that the owner of a gun store would be irresponsible enough to just leave the key to a gun case just lying around where anyone could find it. I decided to check out the office on a lark just to give it a once over. The owner could have the key hidden in his office or something in there could be useful.

It was locked, that was something I had expected. I had a solution though, and its name was Mr. Smashy. I wedged my crowbar in between the door and the frame and used my weight to pry the sucker open and in doing so fell flat on my ass. I stood up holding my crowbar up in victory and came face to face with the undead owner of the store.

"Gahhhhhh!"

Before the thing could jump on me and eat my face, I heard a loud gunshot and it fell forward. As I backed away, still holding my breath and my crowbar, I could see the hole where a bullet had exited its skull. The thing started to do that speed decomposition and I looked behind me. Wesker was holding up a handgun, some sort of modified Beretta.

"Are you injured, Miss West?"

Okay, he might be kind of a creep, but he is a sexy creep and he just saved my ass from being eaten or turning into one of those freaks so he really isn't that bad I guess.

"Yeah, I was just startled. Startled, and almost eaten. Nice gun, is it custom?"

"Yes, it is. You are accustomed to handling firearms?"

"I have a membership card at my local shooting range and my grandfather made me learn how to clean and reload a gun before I got to learn how to fire one in middle school. Yes, you could say I know my way around a gun."

The gun storeowner had finished decomposing and all that was left was some bills and a small key. I picked up the key and put it in my pocket after using a few Kleenex to wipe it off. I turned and looked around the tiny office. I saw an unfinished last meal consisting of a sandwich and coffee. On his desk next to his meal was an unfamiliar looking potted green plant.

Trust me, it wasn't weed. I have seen weed, mainly because at the last family reunion, we realized my older cousin Theodora, who lives with my grandmother, was growing it in the backyard. My dad was the one who noticed it and angrily identified it. The highlights of the reunion were my cousin Roderick not keeping his bratty kid from sticking their gum in my hair, and someone in the family calling the cops on Theodora. It wasn't me, I swear. If I had done it, I would have waited until my parents and I had left the house. On the bright side, grandma got a few months in county for punching an officer of the law, which made her lay off of criticizing everyone for about half a year.

I was very surprised though, when Wesker started to examine and remove the plant, roots and all, from its pot.

"Um, what's with the plant?" I asked bemusedly, tilting my head to the side in confusion.

"This is a very valuable plant that is native to the city I used to work in. It's known for the fact that it relieves pain, speeds up the body's ability to regenerate, and boosts the body's immune system," Wesker said while holding it up for closer inspection.

"That sounds suspiciously like that really expensive health spray that Umbrella came out with a few years ago," I said offhandedly while digging through the office desk. "Hey, speak of the devil."

I held up the three, silver cans of health spray I had found in the bottom drawer of the old, beaten desk. "These will probably come in handy."

I slipped the cans of health spray into my backpack and also the unopened bottle of vodka that had been next to them. Wesker raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't make a comment. I got up off the ground and headed out of the office back to the front of the store. I pulled out the small key I had found in the owner's remains and tried it in the gun case's lock. It was a tough fit, and I had to jiggle the key a little, but it opened up the case. I immediately pulled out the shotgun I had seen earlier and checked chamber to make sure it wasn't loaded. I also grabbed a handgun that looked like one that my grandpa's army veteran friends used, taking time to make sure it was unloaded.

So sue me. It's a gun safety thing.

I grabbed the ammo Wesker had set aside, picked up a good amount of shotgun shells and handgun bullets and shoved the lot of it into my backpack. Wesker stashed more of his gun's bullets in his pants and trench coat while I got holsters for my guns. I also pulled my black jacket out my backpack to make room for more ammunition. Anyway, more coverage and layers between me, and the jaws of an undead could only be a good thing.

I hefted my backpack up a few times to make sure that it wasn't too heavy for me to carry. It wasn't over my capacity to carry and the amount of ammunition would probably lessen over time and undead encounters. I attached Mr. Smashy to my backpack with a leather strap I had attached to my backpack. The crowbar made for a good melee weapon and who knew if I might need another locked door opened.

Lock and load, baby! Watch out zombies, I'm armed and oh so dangerous.

I kept an eye out for any zombies that could be lurking and slipped out of the door, Wesker following right behind me. There were more moans from undead off in the distance and screams from people who were probably trying to survive. Unless I was mistaken, we and everyone else on the island part of the town were trapped here with the zombies.

Even though tomorrow was supposed to be a celebration for the anniversary of the town's founding, because of the date there were Halloween decorations everywhere. It made the fact that there were dead people roaming around attacking people somewhat mocking and surreal. It was like I had dropped into one of the cheesy horror movies that my grandfather, my uncle, and I liked to watch.

The sky was nearly pitch black with how many storm clouds were blocking out the sun. It had been merely overcast when I had arrived in the town. Now it seemed like nighttime even though it was only about four in the afternoon. This would make it harder to detect the undead in the surrounding area. The streetlights hadn't come on and the streets were dark and foreboding.

Damn it! I should have grabbed a flashlight.

Grinning paper jack o' lanterns and bats were everywhere. There was even a large statue of Frankenstein's monster outside one of the shops. There had been fake blood in one of the store windows when we had first passed by, but so many storefronts were bloody and flame-singed now, I wouldn't be able to pick it out of a lineup.

The number of undead had probably increased while we were in the gun store. There were dead bodies strewn about the street and I was making an effort to stay away from them. I had no way of knowing if they were dead-dead, or only mostly-dead. If they were dead-dead, then they were safe (for us), and the only thing to be worried about was the smell and looking through their pockets for loose change. The people who were dead-dead were those who had gotten a mercy kill or died before the undead had even gotten to them. However, if they were only mostly-dead, then they could be undead waiting to get the jump on us and infect and/or eat us.

Was I being paranoid? Probably, but then again, zombies aren't supposed to be real. I saw no reason to underestimate the things and every reason to play it safe. For example, Wesker and I were currently navigating our way through the back streets and alleyways of Morris' Point to avoid the undead that were swarming the main streets of the island. Wesker and I kept stumbling across more ammunition and other odd but useful things like hand grenades and spray cans of pesticide, just left on top of trash cans and dumpsters.

I know that this is Texas, but this is insane. Who the hell leaves a bunch of hand grenades in an alley?

The grenades were in my bag and the thing was starting to get very heavy. I slipped Mr. Smashy out of the leather strap and eased it onto my shoulder. I could hear some noise coming from the other side of the buildings and some moans coming up ahead. Wesker went a few feet ahead of me, his gun held pointed up in his leather-gloved hands. He hesitated at the intersection to the next alley. I was wondering what had made him stop but then I heard the moaning.

That is the worst sound ever, and not just because it means that something is going to try to eat my face.

I peeked around the corner like Wesker had, and I saw the undead. There were three of them, slumped over a human corpse, stuffing their faces with what was left of the poor guy. I transferred Mr. Smashy to my left hand and pulled out the handgun I had holstered to my belt. I aimed my gun at the back of the zombie who was eating the poor dude's arm. I pulled the trigger, and the bullet went straight through the back of the skull into its brain. Wesker let off two bullets that quickly took out the other two zombies with headshots. I stared down at the body the undead had been eating.

I had heard the rumors about what had happened during Raccoon City. There had been stories about how the chief of police had gone insane, and of a hulking zombie in a trenchcoat carrying a rocket launcher. The stories that were coming to my mind however, were the ones of people that had been attacked by the undead, being bitten or scratched, and coming back to life as an undead. I holstered my gun and brought down my crowbar repeatedly on the dead man's head. The other bodies had finished doing the weird decomposition thing that I had come to expect by the time I was done turning the dead guy's head into paste. If this didn't stop him from becoming an undead, nothing would.

I stepped back from the body; gore dripping off of my crowbar. I looked back to see that Wesker was looking at me like I had grown another head.

"What? I didn't want him rising from the dead."

He seemed to acknowledge this and as he passed me, the sky started to open up. The slight sprinkling rain was leaving tiny spots of dampness on the alley's brick and concrete. The temperature seemed to drop about ten degrees in my mind and goosebumps broke out all over my body.

After Wesker went through the alley's exit he stopped and grit his teeth in frustration. I hurried to his side and saw what had put him on edge. A swarm of undead was slowly drawing near to where we were. I didn't feel comfortable fighting off the twenty to thirty undead in the crowd. I would probably die in that sort of conflict. Then I saw our way out of this mess across the street.

The blue neon sign of the aquarium glowed in the hazy drizzle and mist of the rain. The crowd of undead was coming closer and closer. The only way out of this that I could see was to get into the aquarium and blockade the heavy steel doors. The aquarium had no windows save for the large glass dome on top of the aquarium's butterfly garden. Unless the zombies could climb, we would be safe and could just make our way to one of the aquarium's fire exits.

I quietly pointed out the aquarium to Wesker I motioned to him that we run. At least I thought I did, he could have thought I had lost my mind and had decided to flail my arms around like an idiot. He did seem to the idea though.

I held up a hand with three fingers while I got into a sprinter's stance. 'On three' I mouthed to him.

I dropped my fingers on:

One

Two

Three fingers and we bolted for the aquarium's double doors. The undead horde began to moan but I barely registered them with the roar of adrenaline in my ears. We cleared the doors before the swarm of zombies came within thirty feet of the aquarium. We hurriedly flipped over a table and shoved it against the heavy metal double doors. I wedged a pipe between the door handles to keep them from opening and I took some time to breathe. We were safe.

For now, at least.

AN: Sorry about the green herb and pot joke but I couldn't resist.