THREE
JILL'S PLAN WAS TO SKIRT THE TOWN TO THE
southeast, sticking to side streets and cutting through
buildings as much as possible; the main streets weren't
safe, and many of them had been blocked off in an attempt
to corral the zombies, before things got too bad.
If she could make it far enough south, she should be
able to cut across farmland to Route 71, one of the
feeders to the main highway.
So far, so good. At this rate, I'll make it to 71 before
it gets completely dark.
It had taken less than an hour to make it from the
suburbs to the apparently empty apartment building
where she now stood, shivering a little from the damp
chill that pervaded the poorly lit hallway. She'd dressed
for ease of movement rather than protection from the
elements - a tight shirt, a miniskirt, and boots, as well
as a fanny pack to hold extra magazines. The bodyhugging
outfit clung to her like a second skin and
would allow her to move quickly. She'd also brought a
plain white sweatshirt for when she made it out of the
city, which she now wore tied around her waist - for
the time being, she'd rather suffer the chill and have her
arms free.
The Imperial was a slightly run-down apartment
building at the southern edge of uptown Raccoon. Jill
had discovered from her earlier excursions that once infected,
the T-virus zombies went in search of food as
soon as they could, abandoning their homes and taking
to the streets. Not all of them, of course, but enough so
that cutting through buildings was generally safer than
being out in the open.
A noise. A soft moan coming from behind one of
the apartment doors farther down the hall. Jill froze,
gun in hand, straining to hear which side it came
from, and realized in the same moment that she could
smell gas.
"Shit," she whispered, trying to recall the layout of
the building as the oily, pungent scent filled her nostrils.
A right turn where the corridor T-ed ahead,
and...
... and, another right? Or is the lobby right there?
Think, you were here two days ago, Jesus, that's gotta
be a massive leak...
There was another groan from up ahead, definitely
coming from the apartment on the left. It was the mindless,
empty sound that the zombies made, the only
sound they could make as far as she knew. The door
was cracked open, and Jill almost imagined she could
see the shimmering waves of gas-thick air pouring out
into the hall.
She gripped the Beretta tighter and took a step backwards.
She'd have to go back the way she'd come, she
didn't dare risk firing and she didn't particularly want
to fend off one of the carriers bare-handed; a single bite
from one of them would pass the infection on to her.
Another step backwards, and...
Creak.
Jill spun around, instinctively raising her weapon as a
door swung open perhaps five meters back. A shuffling,
stoop-shouldered man lurched out into the gloom, cutting
her off from the back entrance. He had the sallow
skin and dead eyes of a virus carrier, as if the fact that
one of his cheeks had been ripped off wasn't proof
enough; zombies felt no pain. As this one opened its
mouth to moan hungrily at her, she could see the base
of its gray, swollen tongue, and even the reek of gas
couldn't entirely overwhelm the sickly sweet odor of
its decaying flesh.
Jill turned, saw that the hallway ahead was still clear;
she had no choice but to run past the apartment with
the gas leak and hope that its resident was too slow to
try for her.
Go. Now.
She took off, staying as close to the right side of the
hall as she could, feeling the effects of the gas as she
pumped her arms for more speed - a soft distortion of
light, a sense of dizziness, an ugly taste at the back of her
throat. She ran past the cracked door, distantly relieved
that it opened no wider, suddenly remembering that the
lobby was directly to the right. She rounded the corner -
- and bam, collided with a woman, knocking her
down. Jill careened off her, hitting the stucco wall with
her right shoulder hard enough that a light powder settled
over them. She barely noticed, too intent on the
fallen woman and on the three figures still standing in
the small foyer, shifting their dumb attention to Jill. All
of them were virus carriers.
The woman, dressed in the tatters of a once white
nightgown, gurgled incoherently and tried to sit up.
One of her eyes was gone, the red, raw socket shining
in the overhead light. The three others, all male, started
toward Jill, moaning, their gangrenous arms raising
slowly; two of them were blocking the metal and glass
wall that led into the street - her way out.
Three on foot, one crawling, reaching for her legs, at
least two behind her. Jill scuttled sideways toward the
security door, weapon pointed at the peeling forehead
of the closest, less than two meters away. The wall of
mailboxes behind him were made of metal, but she had
no choice, she could only hope that the gas fumes were
weaker here.
The creature lunged and Jill fired, simultaneously
leaping for the door as the semi-jacketed round tore
into his skull...
... and she felt as much as heard the explosion,
sssssh-BOOM, a displacement of fiery air that shoved
her in the direction she'd jumped, hard, everything
moving too fast to separate, to understand chronologically
- her body, aching, the door dissolving, the world
blotted out in shades of strobing white. She tucked and
rolled, hard asphalt biting into her shoulder, the horrific
smells of flash-fried meat and burning hair washing
over her as shards of blackened glass peppered the
street.
Jill scrambled to her feet, ignoring all of it as she
spun around, ready to fire again as flames began to eat
the remains of the Imperial. She blinked her watering
eyes, widening them, trying to see past the swimming
flash spots that covered everything around her.
At least two of the zombies were down, probably
dead, but two others stumbled around in the burning
wreckage, their clothes and hair on fire. To Jill's right
and rear were the remnants of a police blockade, barrier
rails and parked cars; she could hear more of the human
carriers on the other side, shuffling and moaning.
And there, to her left, already turning its slack and
rolling head in her direction, was a single male, his
ripped clothes slathered in drying blood. Jill took aim
and squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet through its
virus-riddled brain, walking toward it even as it crumpled;
there was a Dumpster just past the dying body,
and past that, several uptown blocks of shopping district,
now her best choice for escape.
Have to head west, see if I can work around the
blockades farther along...
With the immediate danger past, she took a few seconds
to catalog her injuries - abrasions on both knees
and a bruised shoulder speckled with grit; it could have
been a hell of a lot worse. Her ears rang and her vision
still suffered, but those would pass soon enough.
She reached the Dumpster and did her best to lean
over it, to see down either side of the overcast northsouth
street in front of her. The bin was wedged between
the side wall of a trendy clothes shop and a
decidedly crunched car, limiting what she could see.
Jill listened for a moment, for cries of hunger or the
distinctive shuffling sounds of multiple carriers, but she
heard nothing.
Probably wouldn't be able to hear a brass band at
this point, she thought sourly and hoisted herself up.
Straight across from the Dumpster was a door that she
thought led through a back alley, but she was more interested
in what lay to the left - with any luck, a
straight shot out of town.
Jill jumped down, glanced to either side, and felt tendrils
of real panic wrap around her brain. There were
dozens of them, left and right, the closest already moving
to cut her off from the Dumpster.
Move, Jilly!
Her father's voice. Jill didn't hesitate, took two running
steps and threw her uninjured shoulder against the
rusting door straight ahead. The door shuddered but
didn't give.
"Come on," she said, unaware that she'd spoken, focusing
herself on the door, doesn't matter how close
they are, gotta get through...
She rammed the door again, the cloying scent of
their rotting flesh enveloping her, and still the door
held.
Focus! Do it, now! Again, the authoritative voice of
her father, her first teacher. Jill gathered herself, leaned
back, and felt the brush of cold fingers against the side
of her neck, a rush of putrid, eager breath across her
cheek.
Crash, the door flew open and slammed into the
bricks behind, and Jill was through, running, remembering
a warehouse ahead and to the right, her pulse
racing. Behind her, rising wails of disappointment, of
frustrated hunger, echoing through the alley that was
her salvation. A door ahead.
Please be open, please...
Jill grabbed for the handle, pushed, and the metal
door opened into silence, into a well-lit, open space,
thank God...
... and she saw a man standing on the main floor, just
below the landing she'd stepped onto; she raised the
Beretta but didn't fire, quickly assessing him before
lowering it again. In spite of his torn and blood-spattered
clothes, she could tell by his desperate, fearful expression
that he wasn't a carrier ... or at least not one
that had changed over yet.
Jill felt relief course through her at the sight of another
person, and suddenly realized just how lonely
she'd been. Even having an untrained civilian with her,
someone to help who could help her in turn...
She smiled shakily, moving toward the steps that led
down to the main floor, already making changes in her
plans. They'd have to find him a weapon, she'd seen an
old shotgun at the Bar Jack two days before, unloaded,
but they could probably find shells and it was pretty
close -
- and together, we can probably get through one of
the barricades! She only needed someone to keep watch
and to help her push some of the cars out of the way.
"We have to get out of here," she said, forcing as
much hope as she could manage. "Help isn't going to
be coming, at least not for a while, but between the two
of us..."
"Are you crazy?" he interrupted, his fevered gaze
darting around. "I'm not going anywhere, lady. My
own daughter's out there somewhere, lost..."
He trailed off, staring at the door she'd come through
as if he could see through it.
Jill nodded, reminding herself that he was probably
in shock. "All the more reason to..."
Again, he cut her off, his panicky voice rising into a
shout that reverberated through the open space. "She's
out there, and she's probably dead like the rest of them,
and if I won't go out there for her, you gotta be insane
to think I'm going to go out there for you!"
Jill jammed the Beretta into the waist of her skirt,
quickly holding up both hands, keeping her tone soothing.
"Hey, I understand. I'm sorry about your daughter,
really, but if we get out of the city, we can get help, we
can come back - maybe she's hiding somewhere, and
our best bet to find her is if we get some help."
He backed up a step, and she could see the terror beneath
his anger. She'd seen it before, the false fury that
some people used to avoid being afraid, and she knew
that she wasn't going to be able to get through to him.
But I have to try...
"I know you're scared," she said softly. "I am, too.
But I'm ... I was one of the members of the Special Tactics
and Rescue Squad; we were trained for dangerous
operations, and I truly believe that I can get us out of
this. You'll be safer if you come with me."
He backed up another step. "Go to hell, you, you
bitch" he spat, then turned and ran, stumbling across
the cement floor. There was a storage trailer at the far
side of the warehouse. He crawled inside, panting as he
pulled his legs in. Jill caught just a glimpse of his red
and sweating face as he pulled the doors closed after
him. She heard the metal clink of a lock, followed by a
muffled shout that left no question as to his decision.
"Just go away! Leave me alone!"
Jill felt her own burst of anger, but knew it was useless,
as useless as trying to reason with him any further.
Sighing, she turned and walked back to the steps, carefully
avoiding the depression that threatened to take
over. She checked her watch - it was 4:30 - and then
sat down, going over her mental map of uptown Raccoon.
If the rest of the streets out were as thoroughly
overrun, she was going to have to veer back into town,
try from another direction. She had five full magazines,
fifteen rounds in each, but she'd need more firepower
... like a shotgun, perhaps. If she couldn't find
shells, she could at least club the bastards with it.
"The Bar Jack it is, then," she said quietly and
pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, wondering
how she would ever make it.
0 comments
Post a Comment