Chapter 6
Chris collapsed onto the concrete balcony, gasping for breath. Below him, two of the monstrous dogs barked frantically and jumped up, unable to reach him. They knew he was there, though, and wanted him for dinner.
Somehow, he managed to kill the first one. When he tripped over a stray branch, he thought that was the end. He turned onto his back just in time to grab the dog that jumped on top of him and hold its mouth away from his neck. The dog scratched madly at his chest and growled and snapped furiously at him, but he somehow grabbed its throat and pushed it away. By some miracle, the other two dogs continued after the others. He rolled over until the dog was under him, and then he pinned it with one arm while fumbling for his gun with the other. He pressed the barrel of his Beretta right under the dog’s chin and blew its brains out.
By the time he reached the mansion, everyone else was already inside. The other two dogs saw him immediately and came running, so he went around the side of the mansion, running as fast as he could. There was a small, fenced-off area along the side of the mansion, and Chris climbed the thick, black iron fence, balanced on top, and jumped to the second-floor balcony. With the dogs jumping up and biting at his dangling legs, he managed to pull himself up, and there he was.
He laid on his back and caught his breath. The dogs, getting bored or finding something else to go after, left him alone. He patted his vest and belt to see if he dropped anything. His Beretta was back in its holster, but the clip for his walkie-talkie was empty. It must have snapped off when he was rolling around on the ground. He wouldn’t be making any calls for help.
He touched his forehead and discovered that his lucky red bandana was gone as well. It probably came off during the struggle with the dog.
Well, that’s just great, he thought. Now I’m really in trouble.
He knew that Wesker, Barry, and Jill made it inside the mansion. All he needed to do was go inside and find them. One of them must still have a walkie-talkie. They could call Brad and have him come down and pick them up.
That is, if Brad was willing to do it. He abandoned them back in the woods and he certainly knew it. They would never forgive him for that. If Chris made it out of here alive, he was going to beat the crap out of Brad until there was none left. Of course, Chris knew that Barry and Wesker were probably thinking the same thing. They would take turns, then.
There were some large windows and a glass door on the other end of the balcony. Chris didn’t see any lights on. He got to his feet and glanced over the balcony to the ground below. The dogs were gone, but Chris didn’t like the looks of those woods. Who knew what else might be lurking around out there?
He went to the door and shook the handle. It was locked, so he used his gun as a hammer and smashed the glass right above the handle and reached inside to unlock it. Inside, the room smelled like stale cigarette smoke and air freshener trying to cover it up. Chris snuck to the other end of the room in the dark and found a light switch by the door.
With the light on, the room looked pretty impressive. It was full of expensive-looking wooden furniture, and an ornate colored rug decorated the floor. A large antique globe dominated the center of the room, surrounded by several plush seats and some coffee tables. The walls were lined with bookshelves stuffed full of old hardcovers with scientific titles. Chris browsed the selection, but didn’t find any murder mysteries.
Whoever lived or worked there, they lived in style. The room looked like some kind of recreation or reading room, and would not look out of place at an old-fashioned wealthy gentleman’s club, the kind of upper class social club that went out of fashion more than fifty years before. But one thing was certain, it was not something the government would set up.
Something made noise out in the hall. A quiet thump, like someone bumping the wall gently with their fist.
Chris went to the door and put his hand on the door handle. He thought a moment and then pulled out his pistol, deciding that it was better safe than sorry. It was entirely possible that one of the diseased dogs was in the building. Chris opened the door a crack and peered out into the hallway.
Immediately, he raised his gun, leaving the safety on. It wasn’t a dog, but a man standing down the hallway, his back turned. Chris stood up straight and returned the gun to his holster. No sense in scaring a civilian unnecessarily.
“Sir?” Chris said.
The man wavered on his feet as if he was drunk, and turned around to face Chris, who flinched when he saw the man’s face. His skin was so pale it looked gray, and his eyes were so bloodshot they looked completely red in the dim hallway light. He wore a rumpled blue suit and slacks, with expensive looking shoes and a gold watch glittering on his wrist. He opened his mouth and groaned, taking an unsteady step forward.
Chris’s gun was back in his hand in an instant. “Sir?” he said again. “Are you all right? I’m a police officer.”
The man groaned again, the sound making Chris’s stomach turn. He staggered forward, raising his arms robotically, walking with his knees stiff like a parody of Frankenstein. As he walked forward, he passed under the ceiling light and Chris saw that his eyes were not just bloodshot, they really were almost completely red, filled with blood. His skin was a sickening pallor.
“Don’t move,” Chris ordered, raising the gun. “Don’t take another step.”
But the man took another step, and another, and another until he was only a few yards away, and the closer he got, the faster he moved. Finally, Chris had no choice but to fire or get out of the way, and he chose the latter. He jumped back into the room and slammed the door shut.
Immediately, the man outside began groaning loudly and banging on the door. Chris looked for a way to lock it, but it locked with a key and he didn’t have one. He leaned on the door to keep it closed as the man pounded against it. It didn’t have a doorknob, just a simple handle that even a child could push down. But the man didn’t seem to know how to open it, so he just banged on it with increasing fury, groaning like a wild animal.
Chris’s heart hammered in his chest, but he remained calm. The man in the hall was obviously very sick, but what could cause something like that? Some kind of drug? Certainly no disease Chris ever heard of made people behave that way. The man acted like ... well, he acted like some kind of zombie.
Suddenly, the door handle went down and the door pushed inward. Chris had to brace himself to shove it back closed. The man groaned even louder, and Chris pushed with all his might.
“Stop!” he shouted. “Step away from the door! That’s an order! I’m a police officer!”
The man ignored him. He moaned horribly and slammed the door so hard it buckled open a few inches, nearly knocking Chris back. A hand stuck through the opening, clawing at the doorway, and Chris pushed the door closed right on the man’s hand. But the man didn’t even seem to notice. He just kept banging and pushing and moaning a sickening, hungry moan.
Chris couldn’t hold the door closed forever. He was already getting tired, and the man on the other side showed no signs of stopping. Finally, Chris jumped away from the door, drawing his gun as he retreated back against the globe. The door swung open and the man almost fell over when he staggered inside, his awful red eyes looking around blindly.
“Freeze!” Chris shouted. “Don’t come any closer!”
The man headed right for him. Chris braced himself and aimed low. He squeezed the trigger, hitting the man squarely in the thigh, intentionally missing the femur, shooting to wound only.
Normally, a bullet to the meaty part of the thigh was more than enough to drop someone. But the man was delayed for only a second before he took another step. Chris stared in disbelief and ducked around a chair as the man reached for him, grabbing nothing but empty air. He groaned hungrily and stumbled right into the chair, knocking it to the ground.
Chris ran to the other end of the room as the man regained his footing a
nd turned around to come after him a second time. Chris automatically raised his gun and fired again, striking the man squarely in the center of the chest. At such close range, the bullet easily shattered the breastbone. Anyone, no matter how strong or drugged up or insane they were, would drop immediately with a bullet to the chest like that.
But the man barely seemed to notice. The impact disrupted his balance, but he came forward without even blinking, his mouth open and arms reaching desperately for Chris.
Chris pulled the trigger twice more, hitting the man once in the right shoulder and once right in the heart. The bullets knocked him backwards, threatening to knock him completely off his feet, but they did not quite do the job. The man stumbled at Chris until he was barely an arm’s length away. Chris’s back was to the wall.
His arm and hand acted independently of his brain, aiming higher and pulling the trigger to bury a bullet in the man’s eye socket at almost point blank range. His head jerked back, his arms dropped, and he fell to the floor like a bag of rocks.
Chris slid to the floor as well, his gun resting in his lap. He clicked the safety back on.