Resident Evil - Z-Day +3

[quinn]

Huff, huff, huff, huff... all Robert could hear was his breath as his lungs struggled for oxygen, the pounding of his own heart. His feet hurt from the running since loafers were not meant for comfort of any kind. He was bent over against a wall in an alley, using it for support as he tried to gain his breath. His suit's jacket was torn in several areas and his loafers were scuffed.

He heard the moaning and groaning maybe about fifty feet away and his heart felt like it froze for a moment as his body dumped adrenaline into his system for a third time that day. Robert whipped his head around down the alley and saw a chain-link fence barrier. He bolted for it, the flapping thuds of his feet hitting the ground attacting attention with inhuman screams as a small crowd followed him down at a run.

Robert however was blitzing down the alley in an adrenaline-fueled sprint, his legs carrying him at incredible speeds. He reached the fence a full thirty feet before the zombies did, vaulting up onto the fence, clambering up as he did. Robert's fingers dug into the fence, using the momentum he had to scale the ten foot fence. He was at the top when the Infected reached him, hitting the fence. The impact of the bodies hitting the chain link made the fence flex and whip Robert to the ground on the other side.

Robert hit the littered pavement with a rush of air escaping his lungs. He would be bruised later, but his mind was still in the fight for flight routine. He stumbled to his feet and kept running. His lungs burned with the exhertion, but he didn't feel it in the slightest. He leapt for the fire escape ladder to get away from street level. Robert climbed to the roof, sitting down in the gray gravel and relaxing with a heavy exhale.

That was three days ago.

[quinn]

And now he was hunkered down on top of a roof, sorting through the supplies that he'd managed to gather on his first scavenging trip. He didn't go far, as there were still zeds moving through the streets. He'd found a local liquor store and picked it over as best he could. Snacks for the most part, all high in calories. But that's what he would be needing in the next few days he imagined. He'd gotten as much water as he could carry, and two bottles of Everclear. He didn't drink liquor, but the high alcohol percentage meant that he could use it to disinfect any cuts or scrapes he incurred. He'd also managed to find what he guessed was the shopkeep's twelve-gauge shotgun. It had been cut down for handling and concealability, but still had room enough for seven shells. It wasn't what he was used to from the military, but it was better than nothing.

What he knew about zombies came from popular culture and the video games that he had played. So them biting him in any way was probably bad. And headshots would probably be best. Legs to slow them down.

He looked over the total haul, then out at the horizon at the approaching weather. It was hot and with no sign of clouds. It was hot and he needed to get under cover. Which meant going into the hotel whose roof that he'd managed to perch on and head for the basement. It would be risky, but it had to be done. He couldn't risk heatstroke, not alone.

[poignant]

-Chris Redfield was the one who had foreseen all of this. From the Raccoon incident, to the American crisis, Grimm knew precisely what needed to be done and where. The President and the Joint Chiefs of Staff where a bunch of talking heads hell bent on looking good to the public. It was up to men like Redfield and the S.T.A.R.S unit in Raccoon city to shield the rest of the world from the depravity of Umbrella Corporation. While publicly the Government (largely corrupt officials) didn’t believe the files sent by the S.T.A.R.S operating in Raccoon city prior or after the event, there where high ranking officials in the Department of Defense who largely believed Umbrella responsible for the outcome and the latest outbreaks of the T-Virus.

They along with fellow members in the CIA decided that major cities representing critical population mass would need their own S.T.A.R.S operatives. Quickly drafting a plan and acquiring resources it was deemed too expensive to replicate a team located in several large cities. Instead it was more cheaply (And thus under the radar as far as expenses went) to create two separate mobile bases in the Atlantic and Pacific area. These mobile bases would be fully manned and staffed by trained professionals from the United States Military branches. It would be made up of volunteers with the top security clearance designated, with a special aptitude in both espionage and the cutting edge technology needed to both deter and remedy any possible contamination outbreak scenarios.

Thus it was that the wasp-class aircraft carrier was situated precisely 8 miles off the coast of New York City when Commander Grimm issued the prime directive from overhead. They where to begin evacuation of the Manhattan island, blow the bridges from the island to the mainland and attempt sterilization procedures on civilians taken from the infected area, as well as procuring the top scientists in the area to begin combating the infection that had brought America to her knees.
Working with in close coordination with the Pentagon, Commander Grimm found himself ground zero with a recon team under the moniker ‘Team Firebat.’ Four specialists, one medic and the Commander himself had brought their helicopter in on an old, crumbling hotel. Intelligence suggested there may be survivors hiding among the wreckage of the building. So far they had only found and charred the infected, zombies as the team had become to call them.

The hulking mechanical form of their transport helicopter was situated on top of the hotel. The markings on the tail designated it as a S.T.A.R.S Bell 204B/UH – 1 helicopter. Stripped of armaments and armor, the helicopter was designed for one purpose – rescue civilians. Dressed as all S.T.A.R.S members where, Grimm flicked the flashlight on his Samurai Edge and begin the descent through the hotel, floor by floor. Behind him came, Medusa, Squint, Ball and finally rear guard Rowan. Medusa and Squint carried specialized flamethrowers designed for an urban environment (Which really just means the packs where smaller) while the remaining team members carried sub-machine guns.
Rooting the infected out and burning them to a crisp, Grimm was about to call a halt to the search when he spied the pried open door leading to the basement level. While his overall objective had been to quickly locate and rescue any civilians, he had found nothing and had already gone five minutes over the mission clock. Pointing to either direction of the door, Squint and Ball took up either side. Grimm kicked the door inwards until the hinges broke and sent the door skidding down the stairs to a resounding halt at the bottom. When the cacophony of sound ended, they waited, each pointing their weapon down the steps. When nothing happened, Grimm called out, “Anyone alive down there?”

[quinn]

Robert had cleared out one of the stairways, locking all of the doors with a length of rope tied in intricate knots. He had heard movement up above and feared the worst. The basement floor had multiple rooms and contained machinery that was still pumping, causing a good deal of noise.

He'd barely had enough time to secure the perimeter with basic tripwires and concussion grenades that he'd liberated from a SWAT van, when the door above started resounding with kicks. He grabbed his shotgun and scrambled out of the stairwell, being careful to not hit the tripwire.

He bolted back into the basement proper to grab his backpack with his three days worth of scavenging for provisions. He'd barely had it slung when the door slammed open and went tumbling down the stairs. There wasn't the sharp bang of a concussion grenade, so it couldn't have tripped the booby trap.

"Anyone alive down there?!" a voice called down into the basement, and Robert was taken aback. He wasn't expecting there to be anyone left alive.

"Who the hell are you?!" he yelled back, keeping his shotgun trained on the open doorway at the bottom of the stairs.

[poignant]

-Thankfully no one had triggered anything. While the trap itself miraculously hadn’t been sprung, it was soon spotted by Commander Grimm. Though easily missed at first, he suddenly grew weary as the voice answered from below. “We are here to pick up any civilians that may have survived. Are you alone? Are you bitten? Are you running a fever?” The voice would call right back down. One flamethrower peaked over the edge as Grimm took a step back. A tiny blue ember lit the end of the nozzle was the only thing that could be seen besides the blazing light from above.

No telling who was sulking around in the shadows down there. Perhaps some old Vietnam vet who decided it best to wire the whole basement with explosives. No way were his men going into that. Using his shoulder vest, he radioed to the medic. “We may have a live one. Meet us section C, floor one.” Looking from Squint to Ball, he nodded towards the step, awaiting any sort of answer. They knew their orders; don’t shoot unless it was a confirmed hostile. Stupid ROE’s, but they’d have their chance soon to strike back at those who created this nightmare.-

[quinn]

Robert bit his lip in frustration, but they sounded more like cops than military. Military didn't have any responsibility towards anyone but their own. He saw the small pilot light of a flamethrower and he felt something akin to ice run down his back. If they used that in here, he'd be charbroiled so fast, he'd be lucky if he got a shot off.

"I have not been bitten, and I feel fine. You still haven't answered my question. NOW WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!" he bellowed back. He pulled his second concussion grenade from his hip pouch and set it on the pipe in front of him that he was using for cover. Keeping the shotgun gripped in one hand, he crooked a finger through the pin, ready in case they tried to rush him. He didn't pull the pin, since the slightest movement of the spoon could set off the fuse, and he didn't feel like having a concussion grenade go off in his hand.

[poignant]

-It made no difference whether the man found out now or later who they were. “We are the Special Tactics And Rescue Service – STARS for short. I can see you have the place wired and it’s lucky us beating the door down didn’t kill someone.” Pausing for a bit as he gave another nod to the men on either side of him, they lowered their weapons.

“I understand you don’t trust anybody – probably seen a lot of things you wish you hadn’t. Come along with us and we’ll get you out of here.” They weren’t military, they weren’t really cops either. Their designation hadn’t really been decided as of yet and probably never would. They filled a gap in the arsenal of the military. “My name is Commander Grimm. Now if you’ll come up very quickly, we need to get out of here before the infected smell us out.” Grimm didn’t want to hand over more information than he had too, not until he could see this man’s condition. -

[quinn]

Robert, with shotgun in one hand and concussion grenade in the other, moved up to the doorway at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at Commander Grimm. His face had some Hispanic features, but the STARS team could see the apprehension written all over his face. He had the fear put into the fight or flight, and at the moment, he could swing either way. What was probably the most interesting was that he was fairly young, and not an old veteran. In his thirties, maybe.

He watched them for a moment, then bent over, pulling out a Leatherman multi-tool slowly and carefully after setting down his other concussion grenade and shotgun. He held in the pin of the taped concussion grenade that was taped to the wall and clipped the wire. There was a metallic TWANG as he did so, then ripped off the duct tape that held the weapon to the wall. He slipped both grenades into pockets on his vest, ring down into the pocket so it couldn't be pulled from the weapon in close combat or be ripped off by a particularly murderous zombie.

He picked up his shotgun, carrying it at the ready and stood at the bottom of the stairs. His stance was not threatening, and his finger was off the trigger, although that could change at a moment's notice.

"Robert Dunn, U.S. Army retired." he stated to the team above the stairs.

[poignant]

Commander Grimm:
-Grimm was well past forty and looked it. Looking seasoned, Robert would be able to see that he wasn’t military nor where the people with them. Their tactical vests alone spelled the difference. The emblem in the form of a badge with S.T.A.R.S written across it gave evidence to his words. Their weapons lowered at once seeing that Robert posed them no threat.

With the world gone to hell it would be a shame to shoot another fellow human being. The ones responsible however would have a different fate. Both men to either side of Grimm stood down, weapons pointed at the ground but still held just in case something more sinister followed Robert up. Grimm immediately took charge of the situation holstering his Samurai Edge within easy reach of his right hand, turned to his left and took a few steps to give Robert the hallway. “Those two are Squint and Ball; behind me is Medusa and Rowan. The medic is on his way down.” All of this was formal as Grimm’s eyes where stern and constantly moving at any hint of a sound. While the situation had been tense and still was to some degree, it began to ebb away as Grimm turned his head towards the way they had come. “We can wait here if you’d like for the medic or we can meet up on the way up to the roof. We have a helicopter and I’d like to leave as quickly as we can if you’re able. The infected are everywhere and we could be swarmed in a second.” Grimm gave no order to move out and made no motion to move himself, just rested his eyes on Robert’s to be sure the man understood that the decision was his to make.-

Robert:
Robert let a sigh out and moved towards the team, walking up the stairs. He nodded at the suggestion to leave, his eyes still darting from member to member as Grimm introduced them. "Leaving sounds good to me." he said, racking the pump back on his shoutgun to check for a shell in the chamber, and upon seeing one, racked it forward again.

Commander Grimm:
-Grimm noticed the weapon and the way the man used it. Certainly was military, even smelled military. Nodding to the man, he pointed at the gun, “Keep it loaded.” Looking over Ball who stood closest to Robert, he nodded at the taller man, “Give him your spare.” Robert would be presented with a specialized berretta commonly referred to as a Samurai Edge. “I trust you know how to use those, so lets get going. We’ve got about five floors to the medic and several more after.” Nodding he led the party through the abandoned ruins of the complex, collecting the Medic, Julian as he was called and moving up onto the roof with little to stand in their way. There they stopped again, barring the door as the pilot went through the pre-flight checks and the medic fussed over Robert.-

Robert:
Five flights of stairs had winded Robert, and he stopped for a moment. It had been a long time since his time in the Army.

Tim Cook: He handled the Samurai Edge easily, as the gun it was based from was standard Army issue since 1985. He slipped it into a pocket on his vest for lack of a holster. He knew from experience that it held fifteen rounds, but without spare magazines it was a weapon of last resort. He continued to the roof and he slumped against the wall trying to get his breath as the Medic looked him over.

Commander Grimm:
-Checking the temperatures gave normal readings, though slightly elevated due to the rapid ascent. No bites or scratches could be seen and Robert didn’t seem to be complaining of anything. With that said, the equipment was packed into the helicopter and soon was mounted by the STARS team.

“You can catch your breath on the ride out.” Grimm pointed towards the sea. “Home is out there, well away from this.” Hopping into the chopper last, he would wait for Robert to join them. Given the all clear the pilot would clear the hotel and set an unobstructed path towards the waiting carrier. The devastation turned into a blur below as the whirring of the rotors filled the cabin. Taking the better part of an hour the carrier became visible in the fog that appeared at dusk. Chatter filled the air between the pilot and the air traffic controller as they made their descent and eventually made a smooth landing.

Waiting for them was a contingent of men. Two of them in bio-hazard suits. Grimm turned to Robert. “They will take you. Just going to do a more thorough check for infection, they will take your weapons and clothes and give them back after the scanning is complete.” This was the hard part. They couldn’t risk an outbreak on this ship. This was one of the remaining bastions of humanity.

Putting a reassuring hand on Robert’s shoulders, he moved a bit closer, “You are not a prisoner here. You will be able to go where you please and if you’d like we can fly you out to the mainland. But everyone must go through these screenings, even us. If you’d like I will accompany you.”-

Robert:
Robert held on tightly as the chopper lifted off, the dull thudding grating on his ears until a set of headphones were handed to him. He kept a tight grip on his shotgun as the helo whirled around and headed out to sea. An hour later, the chopper came to a carrier, and Grimm could hear Robert mutter over the radio "Get chased by zombies, only to be surrounded by sailors. I don't know which is worse."

The chopper landed, and he spotted the two men in biosuits. He instantly tensed up and gripped his shotgun tighter instinctively. But Grimm reassured him that it was just a check for the virus, and Robert exhaled slowly. He wasn't infected, so he didn't have much to worry about. He stepped out of the chopper, his scuffed and beaten loafers setting down on the deck, and he went with the two men. One took his weapons, the other guiding him to an open hatchway. As he walked away, he looked over his shoulder at Grimm, and disappeared into the bowels of the ship.