by Evans, Mike
Pat’s daydream was interrupted by a flashing light on one of the lab screens, and what he saw on the screen shocked him to the core.In his mind’s eye he was 18 again in the killing fields of Vietnam.He had seen his share of violence, had killed some people—some of which he never knew if they were on his side or the enemy’s—and he had gotten out alive.To this day any loud yells or sounds similar to a helicopter would set Pat’s heart racing and his body wanting to run with it.
What Pat saw in front of him set every bit of adrenalin in his body pumping.Kiley was laying on the floor covered in blood and gore.Dr. Fox was attacking Rogers with an axe.Both were covered in blood.Pat could feel the scene playing out as much as he could see it.It took him a moment to pull his eyes from the screen long enough to use his shaking hands to call for help.
“Gutenberg!We’ve got an incident!Get out front and meet the police, I’m going to call them now!”Pat immediately followed through with his statement and tried to keep his thoughts collected as he dealt with a myriad of questions from 911.Pat wanted to scream at the man on the other side, but his training demanded he stay calm.“No, I don’t know her condition…”“…With an axe!”“Assaulted a nurse!”The sentences sounded like gibberish in his head but it was apparently enough to convince the police.
Pat stared at the video footage after hanging up the phone.“He’s going to be a real killer,” some of the last words Pat had said to Kiley kept running through his head, over and over, as he stared in disbelief.Guilt was starting to overwhelm him as he stared at her prone and bloody body.Through the haze of guilt he thought he saw movement.He tried to focus.It was Kiley, she was moving.Death throes?Kiley certainly looked to be spasming—until she pushed herself straight up off the ground.
Pat’s posture straightened and he squinted his eyes at the screen watching in horror as Kiley started ripping into her own flesh.“…Kiley…?”Pat whispered before looking to Gutenberg.
“You see this, Gutenberg?How the hell did she get up?What is going on here?” Pat demanded to a silent audience.
Gutenberg wasn’t paying attention.He was busy looking for the police.Gutenberg wasn’t a bad guy, just a guy with a goal, and a security job wasn’t his goal. Gutenberg heard his name repeated and turned to see a very pale security guard with a very blank stare.Gutenberg looked past Pat and gasped in surprise.
“Wow!She looked like she was a goner!” Gutenberg exclaimed.Visions of medals and awards flashed in his mind as he considered saving her from this terrible situation.“We need to get up there!” He exclaimed.
Pat, still in a state of shock was sobered by the ignorance of the man standing in front of him.“Son…There is no way she is alive.We need to wait for the police…” Pat’s sage advice fell on deaf ears as he watched Gutenberg start himself on his final course in life.
Pat decided on another course of action.He had already fought in a losing war once.Fighting against an enemy he couldn’t see and couldn’t predict.He remembered very clearly watching pleasant civilians pull guns, and innocent children calling for help until they set off the bomb that damned any compassionate soldier.Pat knew he wasn’t in Vietnam, but he also knew things weren’t what they seemed.If that really was Kiley then he would start writing a Newer Testament as soon as she proved herself.Until then He was going to be prepared.
Pat rushed out to his car and pulled a revolver from his trunk.He attached it to his side and hid it, just to avoid any suspicion from the police when they showed up.There were enough problems to deal with right now.Pat went back inside and watched the screens for Gutenberg.He didn’t have to search long.He watched Gutenberg enter Dr. Fox’s office, and then he heard a table shatter.Gutenberg came running out, bloodied and wide-eyed.
“Run, Kid!Run!” Pat yelled and prayed simultaneously as he watched Gutenberg’s plight.Pat watched as the person who was Kiley tore at every end of flesh available, ripping and sucking, pulling and throwing.It was as if she were burrowing through Gutenberg as opposed to attacking him.
Pat heard the EMT pull up and he ran outside to get help.His calm had completely burst and his adrenalin had brought him back to boot camp.Looking back all Pat could remember was swearing.He cussed at the paramedic from one side of the parking lot to the other even as the police officer drove up.
The paramedic and police officer were too focused on Pat.Pat couldn’t deal with it anymore.In a surprising show of force he grabbed the paramedic and pushed him inside the building.“Get the FUCK in there and I will SHOW you what I am talking about!” He exclaimed, his patience and sanity pushed to the brink.
It quickly became obvious to the paramedic and officer exactly how far Pat’s sanity had slipped when they looked at the video footage and saw nothing but empty hallways.Pat remembered trying to convince the men to wait.Counter to Pat’s instincts he remembered leading them upstairs to the carnage.That was the last thing Pat remembered of E&T.
***
“I have been all around my old home town
I have searched everywhere I know
I can't find any trace of my girl in this place
Now there's nothing to do but go”
Pat came back to consciousness in the front seat of his car.He looked around, confused.“How the hell…” Pat asked himself, looking in the rearview mirror.
Blood.Pat’s face was covered in blood.With the blood came the memories.Screaming, running, shooting.“Oh my Holy God.” Pat said, running his hand down his cheek, wet blood moving and streaking under his fingers.“What the hell is going on?!”
Then another thought, a more important thought, came to Pat’s head.“Christy!”Pat picked up his phone, hands shaking so much he could barely open it.A new voicemail flashed and Pat thanked God for small mercies.He opened his voicemail and listened, it was Christy.
“Hey Grandpa!Mike’s car broke down on the way to town, we are totally going to miss the game!We are stuck in the middle of nowhere, some backroad Mike said was a shortcut from Des Moines to avoid traffic.It’s creepy out here, call me back!”
Pat took a moment to breath.He breathed in deep, and breathed out slow.His hands were still shaking but he needed to sound calm.He dialed Christy’s number.
“Grandpa?” Christy answered.Again, Pat thanked God as he turned down his music.
“Hey baby, yeah, I know where you are.It sounds like you might just need a new battery or something.I’m on my way.” Pat said as calmly as he could, which was not easy.He wasn’t as close to jumping out of his skin as his skin was jumping off of him.“Just give me a few minutes to get my stuff together.I’ll be out there within the hour,” Pat paused, “And baby?Stay in your car, okay?Lock your doors and don’t open them for anyone, okay? No, everything’s okay—just better to be safe than sorry, you know?”
Pat hung up, almost in tears.He then put the car in gear and drove straight for his house.No, he remembered then.He needed to get to his house, but first he needed to visit Andy.
As Pat drove from E&T he noticed odd behaviors immediately.People were running.That wasn’t too odd of a behavior, if it weren’t for the bloody people chasing.“Oh god,” Pat thought.“It’s happening everywhere.”
Pat sped up.He drove around cars and people.If anyone covered in blood got too close he clipped them, making sure not to get anyone stuck underneath his car.If he saw anyone walking and looking impervious he would roll down his window and yell.This was only semi-effective, however.They definitely ran away from the blood-covered mad man in the car, but they didn’t hear his warning.Eventually Pat gave up and drove straight for Andy’s.
Pat ran into Andy’s with the grace of a bull.Andy, not one for excitement, cocked an eye at Pat.“Pat…” Andy greeted, polishing a gun.
Pat stared at Andy for a moment, thankful someone had survived the insanity, and then Pat let the story of all the insanity out of his mouth to wash over Andy.
Andy’s eyebrow remained cocked.“Well, sounds like you’ll be needin’ some weaponry then.I got lots of great new stuf
f you’ll want to check out!”
Pat cut him off.“No, Andy, no thank you.I’ve seen these things.I’ve seen these in my nightmares for years and I tried to hide.Now my nightmares are coming to life.I need a gun I know and trust.You remember the type they gave us.We got in a line and handed a rifle before we left it.You got any laying around?”
Andy cocked his other eyebrow, apparently starting to believe the severity of the situation—though the large quantity of blood had been a good tip.“Yeah, I got one in the back.Lots of ammo, too.”
Andy watched as Pat gathered up his gear.“No charge, Pat.” He said, with a note of respect in his voice.“Where you going?” Andy asked curiously.
“I’m going to war.But first I gotta save my Christy.And my dog.” And with that they said a silent goodbye.
The End
By Shaun Phelps
Continued Adventures
By Shaun Phelps
Pat walked out of Andy’s shop feeling a dark peace settle over him. He had his trusty weapon and said his goodbyes to an old friend. The blood covering his clothes and hands were a constant reminder of the world he was about enter. With every step he slipped between awareness of today’s events and the events of yester-year in the jungle. Always on his toes, watching--waiting for the monsters hidden in the trees to come out and slaughter.
Pat checked his perimeter as unconsciously as many people check their rearview mirror when driving. The coast was clear, but he knew that wouldn’t last. He made a lap around his car, gently setting his pump-action rifle in the passenger seat and the case of extra bullets in the back seat.
Pat needed to get to Christy. He could feel her desperation pulling at him and his heart felt ready to explode with every moment; But Pat couldn’t go to her just yet. If he was going to save Christy he would need all the help he could get.
He climbed into his worn-down Mustang, and started the engine. Again Pat checked the perimeter and saw no evidence of the creatures who seemed so avid on mutilating everyone in sight. He started down the road and drove cautiously toward his home. His house was a few blocks past the Raccoon City High school and Pat unknowingly drove a little too close to the carnage.
One moment the streets were clear, Pat took a left turn and found himself surrounded by the Turned. He slammed on his breaks and stared at the street full of blood trails, gore, and monsters. Pat only had a moment to decide his plan of action, and his only real weapon was his car. Pat revved the engine, drawing the attention of every Turned on the street. Pat swore under his breath and made a mental note to make less noise in the future. It was a silly mistake. If Charlie, the name Pat had now given the Turned, had a car and revved it Pat would have gone in for the kill as well.
Pat tore down the street, clipping any Charlie that got close enough to touch with his car. Pat was careful to protect his undercarriage. In the back of Pat’s mind he remembered the saying: “Any dead Charlie is a good Charlie,” but Pat also knew that enough dead Charlies stuck under his car would be counterproductive.
Pat swerved to the left and took out one of the Turned and a headlight at once, as one of the Turned bounced off the side and fell to the ground. Pat swerved right to much the same effect. After a couple blocks and a few turns the amount of Chas had decreased substantially and Pat was home free.
The rest of the drive was calm, except for the screaming in Pat’s soul. He pulled into his driveway, but then cut across his lawn to park in front of his door. Pat had prided himself on maintaining a nice and green lawn. He didn’t figure tire-treads in the lawn were going to be a big deal at this point. When Pat got out of the car he could hear Muffin barking a “hello.”
Pat opened the door and his wolf dog, about half the size and brawn of a horse greeted him with enough force to knock him back into his car.
“Easy there, Muffin! You know I wouldn’t leave you!” Pat exclaimed, rubbing Muffin behind the ears and making sounds most people would make at a newborn baby. Muffin finally calmed enough and un-pinned Pat from the car. Pat pulled Muffin inside the house and started making a mental list of priorities.
Priority 1: Save Christy. That was the priority screaming in Pat’s head. Pat had to take a step back from this priority though. He couldn’t save Christy if he didn’t plan well. Pat had been sent into more than one boondoggle in Vietnam and he was not about to send himself and his granddaughter into one now that he was in charge. Pat decided to create prior-priorities so he could save priority 1 as quickly as possible.
Priority .1: Wash face, change clothes. Pat ran through his house, tripping a couple times over Muffin, grabbing at clothing and wiping his face. When it was done it was obvious he wasn’t planning to attend church, but it was passable.
Priority .2: Gather supplies. Pat rummaged through his house for anything useful. He filled a few backpacks with necessary items such as canteens (which he filled), canned goods—and a can-opener for good measure, knives, a revolver and all the bullets he had stocked, wet wipes, a couple first aid kits and a 20 pound bag of dog food for Muffin.
Priority .3: Get out of the house alive. Pat looked out the window of his house to see if Charlie had overtaken the neighborhood. Things looked normal at first, the street was quiet with just a single person taking a walk down the street. Pat took a closer look at the person, it was Giles. Giles was a nice enough guy, he was British, but no one is perfect.
Pat was about to call out to Giles when he realized Giles’ usual over-confident stride had an unnatural limp. That was enough to put Pat back into paranoia-land. Pat watched silently from his window as another neighbor, Denise, made the same mistake Pat had. She opened her door and waved to Giles.
Pat couldn’t hear the conversation but he predicted the outcome even as it played out. Denise spoke some sort of pleasantries at Giles and Giles limped toward her with an odd throaty groan. Denise’s face changed from pleasant to confused. She took a step further out of her house just as Giles’ pace increased. He was on her before she could cry for help.
Suddenly Pat had a flashback to the scene at E&T. To watching the paramedic and the officer die. He remembered them coming back to life. This is how the world worked now. Pat made it his official business to understand the world. He swore after he survived Vietnam that he would always know his enemy. He was never the best or bravest of soldiers, but he knew a losing battle when he saw one. That was not going to be Pat’s demise. It could NOT be Christy’s demise.
Instead of helping Pat watched the dismal scene. He watched as Giles tore through Denise’s belly like she was a turkey made of crack-cocaine. Pat kept an eye on his watch from the first bite. After Giles had finished attacking what was left of Denise’s body he became suddenly…bored? Bored wasn’t the right way to describe it. He went from fixation to a look of emptiness. He stood and continued his trek down the block.
Within about twenty seconds of Giles walking off, almost exactly a minute after Denise was first bitten she began to spasm. Pat looked at his clock to mark the time once the spasms had started, when he looked back up Denise was siting straight up. Pat watched closely; this was the enemy.
The thing that was Denise, now named Charlie in Pat’s mind, stared incomprehensively for a moment and then moved both her right arm and her face together. Denise took an uncomfortably large bite out of her forearm, Pat could feel it from his perch inside the house. Denise’s teeth cut through flesh and any ligament that remained was ripped out as she pulled her face back from the damage. Muscles snapped and retracted into her arm as the blood left in her body flowed down her arm. Pat held his breath, this is a technique he learned long ago: Hold your breath before you think you will vomit—then try to cross your fingers.
Priority .4: Know your enemy. Check. Pat got up, grabbed his packs, ran out the front door and threw everything into his car as quickly as he could. Muffin seemed to understand the dilemma, as he jumped directly into the passenger seat. If Pat were thinking realistically he would have realized that Muffin tried to do this
every day. Instead, Pat took it as a sign of comfort. He was on a team. A team helped keep each other alive. Pat needed that.
When Pat had finished packing the car he heard a disturbing noise. It was almost incomprehensible, and nearly impossible to explain. It was a mixture between a scream and a death rattle. Pat looked where Denise was chewing on herself and saw her running in his direction. Pat checked his watch. It had been about two and a half minutes.
It was good to know your enemy, Pat congratulated himself on that. The fact the enemy only took two or three minutes to kill was another story. Pat jumped in his car, and started driving toward his Christy. Screw priority .5-.9. He was just going to have to improvise.
***
Somewhere on Route 12.
Christy and Mike had been sitting in his beat up Pinto for the last hour, maybe more. Christy, dressed in her volleyball outfit can’t see herself in a mirror or even by looking down or to the side without the blatant and constant reminder that she is missing the game. Christy may not be the star player but she is damned good. Way too good to be stuck on some god-forsaken backroad with Mike, who seemed to be taking every opportunity to try to turn this discouraging venture into a porno.
“Mike, back off! I said I’m not in the mood. Either you cut it out or you can walk home!” Christy half-yelled.
“What the hell, Christy? It’s my damned car! Why they hell would I have to walk? I’m just trying to make the most of our time!” Mike rationalized for Christy. Emphasizing that the only person walking was NOT going to be him.
Christy mimicked her mother’s award-winning eat-shit-and-vomit-it-up-and-then-eat-it-again look. Christy’s mom had capitalized on this look in her time, rumored to have actually killed a man once. The effect from Christy’s face was only sub-par. Mike pulled back and looked disappointed. Christy also looked disappointed. At this point she wanted him to die—at least until some came to save them. She loved Mike, but she was mad at him.