Claire swerved one step to the right upon seeing the sprinter zombie on the way to lunge at her. She instantaneously swiveled back and threw a punch at the back of its head when the zombie whirled past her. The moment it staggered she finished it by gouging a bullet to its head. She sighed in relief since it was the last of them, but her heart gave a lurch and her stomach churned as she spotted Marco collapsed to the ground.
"Marco!" Her voice graveled with concern, yet, she was prudent as she paved her way to him.
Still lying on the hard-cemented floor, he suggested nonchalantly, "It would be much appreciated if you pointed your gun away from my face."
"You human?"
"I look like one."
"No bites?"
"Yup. I think so."
"Or maybe we can strip-search him just to be sure?"
A quick grin formed across his face upon hearing Ripley's calm measured voice. Ripley got a knowing smile playing on his lips as he helped Marco to stand.
His smile broadened and said, "Sparky. Good to see you again."
"Likewise, brother.", said Ripley. Marco clasped Ripley's hand and gave him a one-armed hug. He then turned to Taggert who just arrived and did the same greeting.
"It's good to see you again, Marco. You hanging?", said Taggert, pointing at his bandaged lower body.
"Yeah. Got some help." Marco furnished Claire with an assuring smile, hoping it would comfort her. In return, he received a firm nod from her.
"We thought, we lost the two of you.", said Taggert.
"I could say the same with you. I saw you got domed in the head."
"Yeah, luckily it grazed the helmet."
"He's one lucky bastard.", chimed Ripley in between their exchange.
"James?"
"Gone."
A hunted look was apparent in Marco's eyes. He knew Ripley was fully aware of the weight he had to bear in regard to Mendoza and Hoffman.
"I'm sorry you had to do it.", said Ripley, conveying his regret for the situation. Taggert clasped Marco's shoulder to share his sympathy.
He solemnly replied, "Had no choice."
Momentarily, he diverted his line of sight away from the scrutinizing eyes of his teammate. His eyes trailed Claire, who was walking around checking the corpses that were on the ground. She seemed to be looking for something.
Marco looked back to his teammate and asked, "So, all perish? The survivors."
"Believe so."
"Negative, Tag. Not all are dead. I saw Mustache Guy made a run."
"Son of a bitch. He is a slippery one."
"He's not alone." Ripley wanted to explain further but was cut off by Claire's remark as she returned to their location.
Her eyes were fixed with worry as her quiet voice relayed her concern, "I couldn't find my female colleague among them."
"Black girl with braided blond hair?" Ripley added more when Claire nodded, "I believe your reporter friend slipped with Mustache Guy."
Marco noticed a tinge of surprise on Claire's face. "Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure. The last time I saw they were running to East. Why?"
"Hurmm... because I remembered seeing her going West."
"You think so? I could be wrong about where your friend heading to. Since it was plain chaos."
Now, they are both clouded with uncertainty. Marco agreed with Ripley inwardly. It was chaos. The moment the monkey got Hoffman, he did not see much else.
"Maybe we can sweep first? West then East.", suggested Marco to Taggert. He could sense Claire's eyes on him, shining with gratitude.
Marco knew Taggert was contemplating because his team leader still grasping the pistol grip, had his index finger out of the trigger and softly tapped on the trigger guard of the assault rifle that pointed downward slung by his chest. His guess was Mustache Guy still had the virus and Taggert definitely was weighing to succeed the mission objective. Nonetheless, due to the unpredictability of what was to come, it was too dangerous to move around the compound at this point.
"Claire, are you sure your friend is not conspiring with the enemy?"
"I did think so. And also, she wasn't supposed to be on this trip anyway. I'm the one who invited her.", answered Claire
Yet, Ripley countered. "Erm... she could be a turncoat."
"Could be."
"But this is all speculation. Can I just say that she's innocent until proven guilty? Cause the fact that she wouldn't be in this mess if I hadn't invited her was proof that she might not be in cahoots with them.", exclaimed Claire with all eyes zeroed on her. However, she did not cower resulting in inwardly Marco applauding her tenacity.
"Alright. We do West first, then East. Ammo count."
Ripley replied, "Approaching red."
"Approaching black.", said Claire.
"I'm red."
Taggert passed the three magazines of Glock-19 from his assault pack and handed them to Claire. "Marco, I got your pack and Mouser's by the gate. You can refill your mags later. Sparky, try to locate James's pack. We cannot waste any ammo. Plus, he got the radio. It might be useful later."
"Roger that.", confirmed Ripley and then started moving executing the order.
"I was about to C4 the front gate until you came crashing with uninvited guests."
"All wired?"
"Yeah, just need to blow it up. Where's your rifle?"
"I not sure. Got chucked somewhere."
"I think I spotted it near the prison cell to the West just now. I'll go get it for you.", said Claire, already running off in the direction of Southwest.
"Go with her. If not, just find and use James's. I gonna finish up the job that I left by the gate."
Taggert's voice started to diminish as he made his way to the main gate leaving Marco to sort himself. Now, when the chaos has subsided the pain of his wound revisited him again. The adrenaline had worn off, and the intense pulsing pain was enough for him to let out a hiss as he plodded between the dead bodies. Not only his boots were soiled with blood and guts, but also his fatigue. He could feel the wetness started to seep in when he was lying flat on the ground.
If he were given the chance he wanted to get out of the grimed clothes, he would take it in a heartbeat. Not because of the dirt and guts, but because of the stench that he could not stand. It followed him, that nauseating gamy and rotten stench. Every time he moved, the smell intensified making his bile threaten to projectile out from his stomach. This was even worse than the mission 2 years ago where he had to footslog the swamp in South America hunting some wanted drug kingpin. Usually, he was unbothered by the hassle and the discomfort. Every hiccup he has encountered during his mission previously passed by like the wind. Cause he was trained to find comfort in complications. But tonight, every single thing ticked him off. And the worst part was he did not know the reason why that his emotion got so derailed by the whole situation.
"Goddammit!", cursed Marco silently when he tripped into one of the body parts that scattered on the floor.
His grievance however was interrupted by a whacking sound of metal that reverberated through the whole courtyard. The four of them turned heads looking at the source of the noise with their respective firearm aiming in the direction South. The second whacking came with the doors of the isolation chamber catapulted into the air.
"Sparky covers East. Marco, secure your 5.56."
Taggeret's command was crystal clear to both of the soldiers as they moved with proficient promptitude. The first shot of gunfire was deployed by Claire, as she had a clear sight of the South by standing closer to the West corridor. Around a couple of dozen mutated monkeys ran to the courtyard. Marco was the first to throw the grenade, followed by Taggert. They were not dead at least the explosion retarded their movement and provided them easy targets.
"Get the monkeys.", ordered Taggert on comms. As if the command was directed to Sparky specifically.
But there was no such thing as easy targets in their situation. Between the whimpering and crying for pain of squeaky voices, there was a shrieking wails. The dissipated dust revealed the BOW that they had seen in the secret basement.
"What the fuck is that?"
Replying to Taggert's question when he heard his question through the radio, "The living proof."
Ripley chimed through the radio, from his position. "This is straight from a bad dream. Look like a giant porcelain doll."
"Fucking hell.", cursed Taggert.
"Be advised, Dolly is moving to the West. These monkeys are waking up.", reported Ripley through comms.
The empty magazine that she thumbed hit her combat boot. It was a pinch of pain, yet could not compare the pain in her right shoulder. Due to endless usage, it started to become a bother. Her face grew cold as she felt a rush of fear upon watching the BOW sprint toward her. Claire shifted her gunfire but the bullets sprung back without penetrating the skin of the mutated creature. In a split second, it snagged her by the throat with the sharp nails digging her skin. I'm not gonna fucking die tonight... Her Glock-19 thudded onto the floor and her both hands grappled to find leverage onto its extended arms. She tried to haul her leg up, but its skin was slippery, duplicating the porcelain glass.
"CLAIRE!" A note of desperation in his voice when he screamed her name.
Adrenaline shot through his system as soon creature from the Titan Project seized hold of Claire's throat. Marco forewent his rifle retrieval and diverted his direction to Claire's location. He saw Claire's bullets ricochet from hitting its skin. Ultimately, Marco came to the conclusion that his handgun was useless.
"ONE, my 9-mil ineffective to Dolly. Redhead needs help."
"Affirm.", responded Taggert. The rounds from the assault rifle from Taggert broke its skin but did nothing to the BOW.
Marco said, "ONE. TWO. Crossing."
His M9 Bayonet was back in her hand again. Marco ran straight to BOW's flank and plunged the combat knife at the back near the spine. He was aiming for the spinal cord however the blade skewed to the left. In response, Claire's body dived to the cemented floor as the BOW released its grip on her and drove its attention to Marco. Its hand pulled out the assaulting blade and carelessly threw it aside. Marco's assault did not immobilize it. Subsequently, it began to clobber Marco on the head, resulting in a ringing sound in his ear. While bracing for the incoming onslaught, he was grateful that he managed to hear Claire's forceful inhalation of air near him.
The sudden access to air caused her to dry-heaving on the floor. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Marco was taking a hard pummeling from the BOW. The crushing sound of clashing bones was deafening to Claire's ear. And then, it clasped him by the armor plate and angled its other hand so high simulating that its hand was the weapon. It all made no sense until its nails unfurled long enough to cause death to the opponent, from the very same hand. Her face bleached white.
NO!
The claws were inches from Marco's bloody face when Taggert shot the BOW in the knee causing it to drop one knee to the hard floor. It released its iron grip on Marco as its cheek was grazed by the incoming bullets. Her palms printed with sand indentation as Claire clambered toward Marco when the creature moved to its new interest.
His helmet was nowhere, half his head was bathed with blood. The new sharp pain in the chest drove Marco to wheeze for air. At the same time, he was abusing his lips enduring the gnawing pain from its earlier wound.
"Marco, you-"
He spat out the blood in his mouth, "I'm okay. I notice this one gets easily distracted."
"He aiming something. The main gate. Freedom."
"No fucking way I gonna let that happen. I wanna frag him.", growled Marco, somehow his response crackled with anger.
Claire quickly helped him stand, "You did last time. It not gonna penetrate."
"No, Claire. I gonna shove the grenade inside him. Don't care if I have to push my hand down to his throat. If I have to."
Then, she remembered what happened to Jason, "How bout cut in half?"
"Explain."
"Abdomen is not armored. Rip the stomach, shove the grenade into it."
"No legs. Nowhere to move."
"And we can put the bullet right in the forehead."
"Instead of the stomach, do it to the lower back. You too exposed if you attack him on the front."
"Okay."
"And I gonna make sure my grenade lodge into its fucking body.", snarled Marco, as he passed the combat knife to her.
Marco compressed his offensive plan in comms. The BOW noticed the main gate when Taggert shot him. Limping with one leg, it made a beeline to Taggert. Both Marco and Claire tried to catch the distance to close engagement, currently, Taggert had to jam his rifle between the small gap of its chest armor preventing it from ripping the gate. And continuously shot to its stomach, sparing Ripley the time who was on set coming toward them to assault its rear. This infuriated the BOW, who seized Taggert's arm and dismembered the limbs apart while the rest of Taggert's body was thrown across toward East. Just then, the BOW got side-kicked by Ripley at the back of the knee. Its goliath body dropped to its knees. It pivoted to face Ripley, armed his hand with its claws, and clipped Ripley in the face.
Arrived at the malee took place, Marco took the opportunity of the ruckus and charged its head, driving its body face down to the cemented floor. He stomped its neck assuring it to stay down. Both hands knuckled white gripping the hilt, Claire jumped and plunged the blade dragging it a little too wide horizontally on its back. Caring was the last in her mind. She had to make sure Marco had enough space to deliver the grenade. Red blood splurged out painting the white porcelain skin, once the blade was pulled out. The manacing shrieks had tuned to howling pain.
Marco released the pin of his last M67 grenade and thrust the explosive into the horrid slash flooded with gouts of crimson blood. His glove was wet with the icky fluid, yet he ignored them. Claire clutched the shoulder strap of his plate carrier and hazardously tugged him out of the place when she saw the grenade disappear inside the BOW's flash. Marco instinctively enveloped his body over Claire to bring them down together to the ground, whereas behind them exploded to smithereens.
The grenade tore asunder the BOW's lower abdomen from its upper abdomen. Nevertheless, not dead yet. The explosive sound was by now accustomed to Claire as she was on her feet, already recovered from the explosion. On the way to the remains of the mutilated body, she harvested Taggert's rifle. Entrails vomited the exposed orifice of the lower abdomen. The sight of the upper abdomen was gruesome alike. Its stomach was on the dusty floor that was freckled with blood, with trails of bloody damaged viscera.
"Claire..." Her name slipped passed its odd-shaped lips and its razor teeth. It learned her name.
As Claire stood beside the white creature, she was corrupted with remote coldness as her eyes became icy and dark. Deep in her heart, she knew that this lying soul was once a human being who was caught innocently and became a victim of -his- own kind's greed. Yet, that feeling did transgress her of resting the buttstock of the rifle against her numbed right shoulder, dead aiming between the creature's eyes, and delivered several acute shots until its skull cracked open.
"Claire."
Remained stationary, her brow furrowed as she stared intensely at the disfigured head. The rifle still pointed downward, she bestowed a diligent search for any movements. After one hot minute only to realized that it was Taggert who slumped against the nearest wall whispering her name to ask for assistance. She darted toward Taggert, immediately trying her best to stop his mangled limb from hemorrhaging blood. Her hand shook whilst reaching for Taggert's IFAK when a single gunshot sound echoed through the currently quiet prison compound. They both turned in the direction of the sound, finding Marco stared Ripley's lifeless body.
The weight of Marco's head felt doubled, he wished to continue lying due to the comfort that he found for his bludgeoned head. However, his wish was forsaken sensing Claire dislodging herself from him to pursue further their offense. As Marco lifted his heavy head, he discerned Ripley slouched beside the main gate. A couple of slashes on the neck dripping blood, Marco could not guess how deep it was. His perception was muddled by the fog therefore he trudged his way to Ripley.
What happening around him was muted. His battle buddy's face was cut to ribbons, his left eyeball hanging in front of his face. The nose cartilage was gone and what remained was the nasal bone. His perforations on his left cheek extended to the corner of his mouth murmuring something inaudible. Crouching in front of him, Marco clearly noticed the hand movement on the handgun.
"I refused... to turn into... that fucking thing." Ripley let the space collected around his words within his voice that was above a whisper.
"Spark-"
His name was stuck midway with his hand hanging to reach the handgun as Ripley brought the handgun under his chin and shot himself dead. The fear had poisoned Ripley, not the virus. A pining melancholy tugged his heart as he gazed at the lifeless Ripley.
Marco remembered to breathe again when he heard his name being called on the radio. "Marco." His head swiveled to the East. "On me."
Just then, he sighted Claire who crowded Taggert with a hand lifting his mangled limb upward, the other had IFAK in hand. Without any time to waste, he raced out hoping he could make it and bring home his one last teammate alive.