Resident Evil – Nemesis

Perhaps dying is too strong a word, considering…

Nicholai had pla

He found himself getting angry, too – how dare Mikhail run from his just punishment? Who did he think he was, wasting Nicholai's precious time? To frustrate him even further, Mikhail had covered quite a distance and was leading him back into town; another block or so and he'd be at the RPD building again. Nicholai opened another door, sca

He stepped out into the dark, cavernous garage, the cold air thick with the smells of gasoline and grease and something else. He stopped, breathed deeply. A weapon had been fired recently, he was sure of it. He moved quickly and silently across the cement, edging around a white van that blocked one of the rows of cars, and saw what appeared to be a dog sprawled in a puddle of blood, its strange body curled in a fetal po-sition. He hurried toward it, disgusted and thrilled at once. They'd warned him about the dogs, how quickly they became infected, and he knew that research had been conducted on their viability as weapons at the Spencer estate…… and they were deemed too dangerous when they turned on their handlers. Untrainable, and their decay rate higher than the other organics.

Truly, the half-ski

U.B.C.S. soldier, unless they'd brought their own weapon, probably a handgun… Nicholai heard something. His head snapped up, his attention on the exit door, ahead at two o'clock. A soft sliding sound, an infected human brushing against the door, perhaps – or perhaps a wounded man, slumped and dying against the exit, too exhausted to press on. Nicholai moved toward the door, hopeful and gri

"No… get away!"

Nicholai eagerly pushed the door open, wiping the smile off his face as he assessed the situation. A vast wrecking yard, gated, vehicles piled in a useless barri-cade, two more dead dogs limp on the cold ground. Mikhail lay next to the garage door, partially propped against the wall and trying desperately to lift his rifle. His pale face was beaded with sweat and his hands shook wildly. Five meters away, half of a person was pulling it-self toward the downed man on shredded fingertips, its rot-sexless face corrupted into a leering perma-grin. Its progress was achingly slow but constant; it seemed that having no lower body – certainly not a complete diges-tive system – didn't stop the carrier from wanting to eat.

Do I play the hero, save my leader from being gnawed to death? Or do I enjoy the show? "Nicholai, help me, please…," Mikhail rasped, rolling his head to look up at him, and Nicholai found he couldn't resist. The idea that Mikhail would be grateful to him for saving his life seemed extraordinar-ily… fu

He dashed forward and jumped, slamming his boot heel into the carrier's skull, grimacing as a large section of its matted scalp sloughed wetly away from the bone. He brought his heel down again, and a third time, and the once-human died in a thick, splintering crunch, its arms spasming, its fleshless fingertips dancing briefly on the asphalt. Nicholai turned, hurrying back to kneel next to Mikhail. "What happened?" he asked, voice heavy with con-cern as he gazed down at Mikhail's bloody stomach.

"Did one of them get you?"

Mikhail shook his head, closing his eyes as if too ex-hausted to keep them open. "Somebody shot me." "Who? Why?" Nicholai did his best to sound shocked. "I don't know who, or why. I thought someone was following me, too, but – maybe they just thought I was one of them. A zombie." Actually, that's not so far from the truth… Nicholai had to stifle another grin; he deserved an award for his performance. "I saw… at least a few men got away," Mikhail whispered. "If we can get to the evac site, call in the transport…"

The St. Michael Clock Tower was the alleged evacu-ation site, where the soldiers were supposed to take the civilian survivors. Nicholai knew the truth – that a re-co

"It's not that bad. Hurts like hell, and I've lost some blood, but if I can just catch my breath, rest for a few minutes…" "No, it looks very bad," Nicholai said. "Mortal. In fact, I think…"

Creeaak. Nicholai shut up as the door to the garage opened next to them, a slow and even motion, and one of the

U.B.C.S. soldiers stepped out, his eyes lighting up when he saw them, his assault rifle lowering, but only slightly.

"Sirs! Corporal Carlos Oliveira, A squad, Platoon Delta. I'm… shit, it's good to see you guys."

Nicholai nodded briskly, a