Damned Are We

by Durman, Jason

  she was trying to attract its attention –

  "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

  A gargling scream rent the air as a horrific, green and boiled-covered face appeared over roof

  directly overhead, its features twisted and contorted, its mouth opened impossibly wide.

  BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

  Three rounds from Samantha's SIG-Sauer pierced the infected man's face and left eye, causing him

  to violently implode in a Corvoowing cloud of green gas. The two of them coughed and spluttered,

  but they also heard two more sets of coughs nearby.

  "Guys!" Markus cal ed between hoarse fits of coughing. "We're over here!"

  "You two alright?" Corvo's voice drifted through the smoke.

  "One dead Smoker later," Samantha replied.

  "Nice work. Let's get inside. These are the stairs we needed to get to, and fol owing them down

  should take us right to the safe-room."

  They careful y made their way into the stairwel , closing the door behind them and sealing the place

  in pitch darkness, broken only by four cones of flashlights dating about the place.

  "Fol ow me, and stay close," Corvo whispered.

  He led the way down the stairwel , the slightly-echoed scuffling of four pairs of shoes and boots the

  only sounds to be heard. That quickly changed when a throaty snarl echoed upward through the air

  from further down the stairs.

  Samantha shone her flashlight over the side of the railing, but the darkness was too absolute for the

  light to penetrate very far. We're not alone in here…

  "There it is!" Markus hissed, angling his light on a familiar red steel door on the next landing down.

  Movement could be heard from further down the stairwel , but everyone's attention was fixed on that

  single beacon of shelter in the gloom. Corvo pushed the door open, motioned everyone inside, and

  then swung it shut, the iron door-bar falling into place with a CLANG of finality.

  Chapter 48

  14 HOURS UNTIL FAILSAFE

  Unlike the pitch-black stairwel , the boardroom-converted safe-room was lit up in various places by lamps, rigged to a car-battery which sat in the far corner of the room. The lights showed the scene of

  a massacre. A host of slumped bodies lay throughout the room, some riddled with bul ets, others

  horrifical y mauled and missing limbs.

  Samantha's eyes widened in horror. She bowed her head in a sign of respect and silently offered a

  prayer to the countless dead of Newburg. Even with the military making a stand for the city, the signs

  of death and carnage were everywhere. Was there no limit to the destruction of the Green Flu?

  The stench was overpowering, and she crinkled her nose inadvertently. "We can't stay here."

  Jacob scowled as he threw down his weapons and holster, stretching his arms over his head until he

  felt the joints pop. "We've been haulin' ass for the past few hours, and this is the first real shelter

  we've found in a while. Suck it up, princess."

  "…Excuse me?"

  He made to reply, but was reduced to a surprised grunt when Markus elbowed him in the gut.

  Samantha's normally-cool green eyes were alight with fire.

  The tension in the group was waylaid by Corvo's voice. "Found somethin'."

  On the long, polished-wood table, next to the slumped body of a first lieutenant (judging from the

  shoulder stripes), sat an inert radio, the static of dead air hissing from its speakers. It started to make

  funny and unnatural noises as Corvo tuned it, trying to find an active frequency. Everyone looked on

  eagerly, but their hopes gradually waned after a good ten minutes of nothing but static. Jacob and

  Markus gradual y found the food in the Hel o Kitty backpack far more interesting.

  "Son of a bitch," Corvo growled. "No one's pickin' up. We saw the planes. So why isn't anyone on the air?"

  "Maybe they just aren't broadcasting constantly," Markus said in a quiet hopefulness.

  "Or they're al fuckin' dead," Jacob added oh-so-cheerfully.

  "Don't be like that, man."

  "I'm sorry, are you blind, or have you not been seein' the fatigues on half the corpses and Infected

  around here?"

  There was a sombre silence, broken only by the crinkling of energy-bar wrappers and the clinking of

  camping spoons against tin-cans.

  "What's the plan, Corvo?" Samantha final y asked, coming to sit down on the table next to radio.

  "Hasn't changed – we're stil heading for the airport," he replied stubbornly as he searched the

  lieutenant's body, humming in satisfaction when he found a grenade in the soldier's webbing. Seeing

  the appal ed looks of the others in his group, he grunted, "What? We might need this. He certainly

  won't anymore." With that, he stowed the grenade in his belt, along with his pistol and pipe-bomb.

  Jacob snorted as he shrugged off his leather vest, revealing his muscle-bound shoulders and a once-white undershirt. It was not so white anymore. "I gotta wash al this Spitter crap off me."

  "Not yet, you don't," the war veteran said.

  "Sorry to tel you, Gramps, but you ain't my old man. I don't need your permission for shit."

  Corvo got up, getting right in the younger man's face. "In case you've forgotten about all that

  growling we heard further down the stairwel , let me remind you that there are Infected al over this

  hotel. You aren't going anywhere without someone accompanying you."

  Tension sparked in the air, and no one spoke for a moment.

  "We need a game-plan," Markus finally said, in an effort to defuse the situation. "Are we just going to keep going over the rooftops or what?"

  "Samantha, you said that you used to visit your aunt here when you were younger," Corvo said,

  directing his steely gaze onto her. "How much further have we got to go to the airport?"

  She was momentarily taken aback by the spotlight being thrown onto her. "Um, I'm not too sure. I

  remember there was some sort of power-plant right near the terminal."

  The old man nodded. "Alright. We'l take the ground route then. It's impossible to go any further

  along the rooftops anyway. That route was only set up for safe passage to the safe-room." He

  checked his watch, making note of the time: ten minutes past four. "If the army is stil making

  broadcasts, they'll most likely make them every hour, or every couple of hours. We'll see if we can

  pick up anything on the radio then. Enjoy the downtime in the meantime. God knows I need some

  after that shit-storm of a run."

  While the others took to cleaning their weapons, checking the safe-room for supplies, or just plain

  kicking back, Samantha found herself drawn to the walls like usual. Like al of the other safe-rooms

  they had been in, they were covered in hastily-scrawled messages.

  This is our punishment, one person had written.

  It's just Dead Air, another replied.

  With the hiss of static from the radio in the background, the former col ege student could not help but

  see the appropriateness pertaining to their current situation.

  NO ZOMBIE IS SAFE FROM CHICAGO TED

  Some enthusiasm this guy has, Samantha thought, smirking to herself. Maybe he managed to clear

  a path al the way to the airport for them. Wishful thinking.

  WHERE IS CEDA?

  This message in particular stood out to her, and it was a question she had been asking herself ever

  since they had escaped from Fairfield –

  "Oof!" she squeaked, walking right into the biker. She'd been too absorbed in her head-game to notice he was standing right in her path. God, he was built like
a brick shithouse.

  "Didn't know you liked it rough," he teased.

  "Knock it off, Jacob."

  "There something wrong?" When Samantha did not answer him, he smirked. "Aw, is someone stil

  mad at me because of a little name-cal ing?"

  "Maybe," she replied, trying to pout indignantly as playfulness crept into her tone. She could not stay mad at him for long, even if he was a jerk. They had saved each other's lives so many times now,

  and been through so much together, she almost saw him as the annoying brother she never had.

  "Tell you what, I'm sorry for cal ing you princess," the biker said coyly. "But for the record, I never saw you as a prissy dress-wearing princess. Hel naw, you'd be one of those feisty, spunky gun-princesses, who rebels against her royal ass of a father and joins the band of heroes on their world-

  saving quest."

  The young woman stifled a laugh. "I never had you pegged as an RPG nerd."

  He shrugged nonchalantly. "I might have played a couple back in the day."

  She nudged him playfully, and he gently bumped her back ('gentle' by his standards, although she

  was stil nearly sent flying across the room). Samantha paused when she noticed Corvo giving her

  another one of those looks – one which she knew meant he thought she was up to no good. She

  raised her eyebrows questioningly, but the older man instead turned to address Jacob.

  "Come on, let's see if we can find a change of clothes, or at least somewhere to wash this bile off."

  "About fucking time, oh fearless leader," he muttered sarcastical y, brusqueness immediately

  seeping into his tone. "Where to?"

  "Nearest hotel room," Corvo said, marching over to the far side of the room, where a second steel

  door was set into the wal . "Let's go."

  "Aye', captain," the biker spat.

  The veteran practical y threw the door open, Jacob directly on his heels. The others stared as the

  two stalked out into the dark hal way, before silence fell over the safe-room.

  "…What did I miss?" Markus final y asked.

  Samantha just shrugged and shook her head in annoyance at them, before rummaging through the

  backpack for a slightly healthier option than granola bars. The pickings were slim.

  Aside from the occasional "All clear" and "No Infected", Jacob and Corvo said not a word to each other at first. While he aimed his rifle and light down the dark carpeted corridor, the stocky biker

  picked the door into the nearest hotel room.

  Dead silence. A quick sweep of the pitch-black suite revealed that it was empty of any would-be

  attackers. The pair of men made sure the entry door was closed and locked behind them to prevent

  anyone from sneaking in, and they then took to searching the bedroom for a bile-free change of

  clothes.

  Apparently a couple had been staying in this room before the Green Flu struck Newburg, and the

  two survivors found a pair of suitcases, filled with men and women's clothing.

  Corvo discarded his entire set of army fatigues, on account of them being completely covered in

  Spitter guts and bile. Nothing was going to get that out. Thankful y, his green beret had been spared.

  He was able to replace the rest of the clothes with a ransacked pair of jeans, a clean blue shirt and a

  dark jacket.

  Apparently Jacob loved his biker vest a little too much, although he did change his undershirt and

  jeans.

  Neither of them noticed – or expected, for that matter – the window in the living room of the hotel

  suite sliding up – slowly, careful y, silently.

  13.5 HOURS UNTIL FAILSAFE

  "They sure are taking a while," Markus commented as he ran a wire-brush through the barrel of his

  Glock machine pistol. "How long does it take to find some new clothes?"

  Samantha smirked. "Maybe those 'manly' men are real y just a pair of frustrated fashion models? All

  the signs are there."

  The young man snorted back some laughter. There was a moment of silence, before Samantha

  picked up her SIG-Sauer pistol and headed for the far safe-room door.

  "I'm gonna go check on them."

  "Whoa – wait. Is that a good idea?" Markus piped up.

  "Relax, they're not far – only across the hallway. Besides, we need you to stay here and unlock the

  door for us when we want to get back inside."

  He final y nodded in agreement, and the steel door groaned as Samantha pul ed it open. The light

  coming from inside the safe-room faded as the door closed behind her, leaving the hallway in

  darkness. Samantha sJaguared on her flashlight and looked around briefly to see that there was no

  one nearby. The power was out, but she had an inkling that the two oldest members of the group

  were in the hotel suite just across the hal .

  Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw periodic blinks of flashlights through the crack under

  the door. She was making her way toward it, but then paused when she heard voices.

  "…What the hel 's your problem, Corvo?" Jacob' voice could be heard through the door.

  "Stop eyein' the girl's ass like that. We've talked about this before."

  "Kiss my ass, Corvo. I can do whatever the hel I want, and I sure as hel don't

  need your permission."

  "Don't. Test me. Boy."

  Corvo's tone of voice caused Samantha to stiffen, and the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on

  end. He must have cowed Jacob some too. The biker's next words were filled with decidedly less

  aggression.

  "…Look, Corvo, it's not like that, alright?"

  Samantha face flushed red with humiliation, and she was taken aback at just what the hel they were

  talking about. They were having an argument – about her. Her, of al things. Samantha was no

  stranger to embarrassment – there were countless incidents throughout high-school and col ege that

  she cared not to remember. But this just about took the cake.

  She thought back on the way Jacob had been acting toward her recently – a huge improvement over

  the way he had treated her when they first met, that was for sure. She figured he was just gradual y

  warming up to her. Samantha then recal ed his crack about getting her into a skirt back at the gun

  store. At the time, she had chalked it up to him just being a smartass.

  But had he actually started developing feelings toward her?

  If so, it would hardly be an ideal situation. From what Corvo implied, the biker was mostly physically

  attracted to her. Although maybe her personality was appealing to him as wel – she was, after all, a

  sassy, confident young woman, who cal ed him nicknames and did not put up with his bul shit.

  But it was definitely not a relationship Samantha could see happening.

  Ugh, what the hel is wrong with me? I'm thinking about this sort of crap in the middle of

  the apocalypse ?

  She shook her head in disbelief. They could not afford this… distraction. Not now.

  Her train of thought was interrupted by the soft sound of pattering feet coming from somewhere

  down the hallway. Her flashlight immediately snapped toward the sound, but there was nothing to be

  seen.

  Absolutely nothing.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

  Oh, this is so not good.

  The group could deal with all this unnecessary drama later. Right now, all that mattered was getting back to the safe-room. She quickly covered the distance between her and the room, only to find that

  the door was locked. She hesitantly raised a hand and quietly knocked.

  That was when al
hel broke loose.

  Chapter 49

  13 HOURS UNTIL FAILSAFE

  "…Look, Corvo, it's not like that, alright?" Jacob said.

  He stumbled over his next words, but was interrupted by the soft sound of knocking on the hotel

  door. Corvo frowned and made his way across the bedroom toward the doorway into the living area.

  With no warning whatsoever, a large and stocky figure appeared in the doorway. The cone of

  Corvo's flashlight il uminated the bared teeth, the wild eyes, the blood splattered all the way down his

  front.

  The large man screamed in blind rage and tackled Corvo through the doorway, back into the

  bedroom with a crash.

  "Holy fuck!" Jacob shouted.

  He shone his light back toward the doorway to see two more gaunt figures appear. Before he could

  squeeze the trigger, the nearest infected woman knocked the MP5 out of his hands and then

  scratched him across the face.

  "Ah, you bitch!" he roared.

  Before he knew what was happening, the attackers were al over him.

  Samantha just about jumped a mile in the air when she heard sudden shouts and screams on the

  other side of the hotel door. However, before she could do anything about it, two doors burst open

  further down the hal . She snapped her flashlight up to see a man and woman bearing down on her,

  their faces contorted with rage. They hauled themselves down the hallway at her, leaving bloody

  handprints on the once-pristine white wal s.

  The young woman whipped up her pistol, and the subsequent muzzle-flash il uminated the

  forerunner's brains splattering across the wall as his body crumpled face-down. However, the

  offender behind was on her before she could realign her aim and, to her horror, the gun was

  knocked from her hand.

  The infected woman screeched in rage and her hands closed in around her prey's neck. Samantha

  gasped in pain as she was hauled to her feet and then thrown against the wall, the hands around her

  neck tightening.

  Corvo lay on his back on the floor of the suite bedroom, pinned under the immense weight of a man who, at that moment, was doing his utmost to sink his teeth into the war veteran's jugular. His M4

  carbine had been thrown clear across the room, and he was unable to reach for his sidearm,

  courtesy of his arms being otherwise occupied holding the insane man back.