"Rex! Come out boy!" A grizzled voice echoed into the darkness. "Rex!?" The voice shouted again. Standing on the edge of a highway blanketed by night, no lights for miles, a shroud of pitch blackness enveloping everything but the dim cone of the flashlight hooked on his front jacket pocket, stands a man. Taller in stature, with a thick army coat, gloves, heavy brown boots and a black wool beanie. … There should be some traffic. Highway 68 is the fastest through-route, from Portland to Seattle, cutting straight through town. You could almost see the frown of concern through his bushy beard.
He raised his 12 Gauge Shotgun, just slightly, the tension stinging at the back of his mind- screaming that something was wrong. Not to mention, for early Autumn, it was particularly cold. He breathed out as slow as he could, his hot breath visible in the chilly air, not a sound to accompany him but his own thoughts and heartbeat.
And then the silence was broken. In a garbled screech, a bizarre mockery of a bark, shrill and hoarse, bellowed out from across the highway. Without hesitation he lifted his shotgun, aiming it towards the source of the noise. And then the noise rang out again, this time accompanied by the sound of crunching fall leaves and shifting brambles. He aimed carefully, his eyes squinted ever so slightly, the air seeming more still than it ever had. Nothing else mattered in that moment but being prepared to fire, his hand locked onto the now warmed steel of the trigger, and wood of the pump.
Within just a fraction of a second, a beast leapt from the brambles, and within even shorter of a time, he pulled the trigger. The loud sound echoed down the winding highway, the dense forests aside acting as walls to funnel it. The beast collapsed immediately, but continued to twitch, as it dragged its mangled body towards him. You could see the anger plastered across his face, as he aimed the gun again at the slowly inching creature, mangled with grey furs, matted with blood, a massive gaping maw in its chest, a hole where the neck would be leading into a fleshy cavern, eyes protruding like cysts on the tails and misshapen legs that flowed together in a carnage of blood and viscera like a daisy.
He racked the shotgun. His teeth gritted so hard he could feel the aching in one of his crowns. And yet again, pouring out into the highway, the sound of the shotgun echoed, and with that resounding performance away, the beast moved no further. He looked over the corpse, kneeling down to view something reflecting his flashlight. The metal of a collar, where a name tag would've been attached, soaked in blood. He shook his head, tearing the collar off, before stuffing it into his coat pocket.
He stood for a while. The moonlight glistened above, as he stared at the corpse before him. No cars came. Blood from the beast slowly seeped underneath his boots, staining them a bluish red. Underneath the light of the moon and his dim flashlight, the blood almost appeared navy blue, thick and coarse. He breathed in, clearly lost in his own thoughts.
He sighed.
Quickly, he turned and looked left down the highway. That's a no go. And then right. Don't see that I have much choice anymore. A chagrin began overtaking his face. Not quite winced in malice or fear, anger or frustration, but mild annoyance, contempt, and a tinge of concern.
Racking the pump on his shotgun, he threw the strap over his shoulder, pulling it so that the shotgun would always be at his side, as he began to take steps going rightward down the highway. With the first dozen or so, he left the deep pounding impressions of thick blood, the almost sliminess of it squishing under his just outside of town, he raised his shotgun quickly, letting the strap fall to his side. The sign on the outskirts, "Welcome to Oakmont, the happiest little town in Oregon!" had fallen backwards onto the hood of a minivan. Inside, a rotting corpse sat, its head twisted and mushed into the ceiling by a tree branch, smolders bellowing out from the engine. His pace slowed, as he took careful steps on the asphalt, buildings beginning to appear on his left and right, sidewalks forming in place of wooden posts or trees. Adorning the city streets like Christmas decor lay the corpses of dozens, and a magnitude of carnage he hadn't seen in years. Cars lit ablaze still, or smoldering ruins. Buildings reduced to rubble and boarded up, streetlights collapsed onto the ground, the bases sparking with electricity, fervent persistence at completing the basic task it could no longer complete.
And then the screams. From there it was a flash. He turned a corner, and there stood dozens of people. Eyes bulged and crazed, bluish veins nearly popping from their eye sockets, crazed stammering and nonsense, chasing after him with everything from wrenches to pens, guns firing off into the air.
He didn't even bother to shoot, dodging past the impromptu obstacles and barricades made by the embers of conflict that he'd missed by maybe a day. Dodging past the ruins of a school bus, he slipped, falling onto the ground. The crowd gained behind him, a gun ringing out as a bullet ricocheted just a foot above his head. His head began to ring like it had never rang before- not like in Africa, not like in Arklay. NO! He thought, biting his lip to keep from screaming it out, his face enveloped in a wince of pain as he looked up. The collar lay on the ground in front of him, next to the shotgun. He looked back one more time. He had maybe ten seconds to grab and go.
He lifted himself up, grabbing the shotgun as he went, his other hand trying to grab the collar- and it slipped. But his legs already began to carry him away, gaining speed, and he didn't have the luxury of looking back. On the side of the street, cresting a hill, a large brick building- sturdy, mostly boarded up, sat with its door open. The crowd had gained massively on him, and he didn't have time to think. He pushed into the bar, slamming the massive oak door closed, quickly swinging a nearby metal bar over an insert, locking the doors. He swung around as quickly as he could, looking the bar over with his light. Almost all the tables had been removed and put against windows, and the bar remained lit by a fading oil lantern.
Sat atop the bar, a single cassette tape recorder. He carefully walked to it, noting the three doors in the back, and the blood strewn about the room, before inspecting it. A deep sense of malaise overcame him.
It's Arklay all over again…
The pristine white room bustled with activity. Men and women in thick lab coats and glasses danced across the room like it was a ball, passing paperwork and studying through microscopes, taking notes while observing massive glass test chambers full of small creatures, some in the facsimile of rabbits or house cats, covered in jagged teeth, limbs stretched to the point of musculature atrophy, and matted fur caked in blood. The through line always being a mouth larger than normal- or a gaping maw in place of a head. Inside an office nearby, a man, clean shaven and well kept, sits across from a blonde man in a wheelchair, as they look over two copies of seemingly identical papers. Above them, a ceiling fan slowly spins, the faux wood office walls and brown carpet illuminated by the lights in the laboratory just outside. The scent of ammonia is almost overpowering, but not a soul seems bothered by it.
"Do you really think it's true?" The man in the wheelchair asks.
"I hope not. It's going to make our job so much harder if it is, Edward," The clean shaven man replies.
"This 'Icarus' is already proving to be a headache. The chairman wants it so badly but I just don't think we can-" Edward is interrupted, "We don't have a choice, amigo. It's not our job to ask questions, remember?" The clean shaven man says, gently placing the file back down onto the desk. The room grew still for a moment, a tension briefly sparking between the two. Edward squinted harshly, before sighing, and relaxing.
"Yeah, I remember," Edward nods solemnly in agreement. "Still baffles me, though. From the dream team in Europe, to this?" Edward purses his lips, leaning back. "Not my problem. I got a pay raise, my name's going to be on way more than just some pills now. I loved the team, but, in truth I really got in this gig to make a difference, you know?" Luis chuckles. "Maybe once upon a time it was to make a good difference. I still think this is a good difference. Even with what happened in Raccoon- it is better in our hands than theirs. Look at what's going on right now," He said, leaning in, gesturing to the documents.
"I know what you mean, Luis. Same for me. I just... I can't help but ask questions. My nature, you know?" Edward smiles softly, his eyes winced in a hint of sorrow.
"You wouldn't be as good of a researcher if you didn't ask questions, Edward. Promise. What'll you say to a round of drinks for us and the team tonight? On me." Luis replies with a hearty smile.