Tie the Noose Chapter 40

The roof of the power plant was exposed and wide, the frigid winds whipping past the three as they piled out of the control room, the rooftop access slamming shut from a sharp gust behind them. The pyramidal bulk of the structure loomed behind them, the flat rooftop stretched out with a helicopter pad painted into the surface, scuffed and half obscured by grime and windblown debris, but the heavy snows conspicuously absent. The night sky sat heavy above, clouded and thick with the promise of more of the frozen white, but the air itself was clean enough that Jill and Rebecca had pulled their masks off to get a clear look at the looming pillar of pitch black smoke in the distance.

He walked to the lip and crouched, careful with his footing on the slick surface. The edge dropped away clean, and the plant’s outer wall ran straight down, the path illuminated by a mounted floodlight off the back of the building. The gloom beyond was broken only by occasional utility fixtures, most of which were dead despite the restored power. He'd hoped that there was some kind of external access down from where they were, but there was no such luck. No ladder. No external stairs. No convenient fire escape that just so happened to reach the roof. Just a long drop and the faint suggestion of ground far below.

Daniel’s eyes tracked the distance, aided by the suite of sensors in his helmet, the world bathed in hazy green. Four stories, maybe a little more, with a sudden, hard stop at the end. The snow looked hard enough that it was concrete all its own, and densely packed with fresh surface snow. Just their luck that it was the end of the cold season, where the sun was warm enough in the day to soften the surface, only for the cold nights to solidify the trapped water into pack ice.

Jill’s eyes were only focused towards one thing: the glow in the distance, her hands right enough around the grip of her P90, tight enough to make the polymer creak. “We need to get over to that burning building,” she said, voice tight with focused urgency. “That has to be the guys. If Chris and the others are still there, they need help now.”

Rebecca moved closer, her breath visible in short bursts when she spoke. “We need to make our way back down,” she said, and her eyes flicked to the empty edge before returning to Daniel. “There’s no way we can get anywhere from up here.”

Daniel stayed crouched another second, then rose and stepped back from the drop. He glanced over the rooftop again, before checking the power levels on his Exoframe, noting that he was still on the first battery, if barely, so he swapped to the backup. More than enough juice, unfortunately. He turned to them, and with a resigned sigh, before saying, “I’ve got another idea."

Jill frowned, the expression tightening with tired irritation as she shot him a look. “I'll take anything at this point, but I can hear how much you like it from here.” Jill hummed, a sharp tilt to her lips. "I already know I won't like it, but let's hear it, Carter."

“I'm going to need you to trust me.” A big ask, he knew. Especially with how Jill had been shooting him looks since they'd met up, and he couldn't blame her. Jill didn’t answer immediately, nor did he expect her to. She held his gaze, and Daniel could almost read the running dialogue going through her mind, the reluctant assessment of whether she actually could. Finally, she asked, “What’ve you got in mind, Carter?”

Rebecca was the exact opposite, and didn’t hesitate. “I do,” she said, and frankly the sound of her sheer willingness to back that statement floored him after everything, but he'd take it. She looked him dead on, as if reading his incredulity at her almost reflexive response, and met his eyes. “I trust you, Danny.”

Daniel nodded once, acknowledging both of them. He looked back to the edge and then to the open expanse behind the pyramid. “The best way down is to jump.”

Jill stared at him like he’d just slapped his ass and told her he was Santa Clause. “Are you more crazy than I already thought you were?” she asked. "Because that's a forty foot drop, Carter. At least. And as much as I want to go help the guy, I need to be able to walk to do it."

Daniel kept his voice steady. “My exoframe can handle a drop like this,” he said. “It’ll be rough, but it’ll take the impact.”

Rebecca and Jill asked almost simultaneously. "“Your what?”"

“It’s what’s on my legs,” he said, as he patted the metal chassis that was wrapped around his waist. "It's designed to handle drops like that, among other things. makes me able to jump higher, run faster, carry more, the whole deal. It can handle the drop.” Probably, he didn't say.

Jill looked back to the edge, then to the rooftop, then to the distant fire again. The urgency on her face didn’t fade, but it shifted into a grim acceptance that routes didn’t appear just because she wanted them. "I was wondering how you jumped two stories earlier. Forgot about it, but if that's true... then it could work,” she said, and the words sounded like they hurt to admit. “Are you really sure, Carter? Because if you fuck this up, at the very least you're going to turn your legs to mush. Along with both of us, more likely.”

“It can handle the drop,” Daniel repeated, sounding more confident than he felt. It would be a first, to be sure, but he had grown more confident in using its more exotic features. Either way he kept his face and voice confident. He didn’t give Jill a reason to doubt him more than she already did.

Rebecca’s mouth tightened, and she glanced at the edge again. “I want to believe you,” she said. Her voice carried some hesitation, but she seemed firm enough in her conviction. 

Jill let out a sharp breath through her nose and looked Daniel up and down, weighing the math. Going the long way would take at least twenty minutes, assuming they could get out some other way, didn't get lost, and found a way back towards the burning building in the distance... the math wasn't mathing for her. “Fine,” she said at last. “We’re doing it. But if you get us all killed, I swear to whatever god you believe in I will shoot you.”


000


He stepped back far enough to get a running start, then checked on both of them, making sure he had a firm grip. “Hold on tight,” he said, as the two women hugged close in, a dream any other day for many a man, but in this particular case he was even less thrilled than they were at this particular prospect. Quietly he swore he'd get something with a rope and a hook in the future. Assuming there was one after this.

Jill’s expression said she hated every moment of this. Rebecca, on the other hand, had a bit of that breathless excitement that he knew by sight, almost, her head so close to his helmet he could hear it even though the metal and padding. She wrapped both, shifting her weight so she’d be tight to his center. Daniel tightened his hold, the woman practically molding to his side with her legs wrapping around his waist.

Jill swore, loudly, and then swore again. “Oh, fuck me,” she said, absolutely not whimpering as she glanced down at the man who held her with some big strong arms- “Nope. Absolutely the fuck not.” She whispered as she abruptly cut that train of thought off and hoped that the armored man hadn't heard that little slip up. Instead she decided to cover by rapping him on the helmet. “You better not drop me, Carter. You hear me? Don’t you fucking dare.”

That was when both of them heard the whine of his servo-assisted legs, and while a smile slowly crept across Rebecca's face, Jill's dropped precipitously. And the worst part? It wasn't her first drop, or her fifth, or her fifteenth. It was her first drop over an open pit though, with little more than a hope and a prayer as she clung onto what she was vaguely sure was a high-functioning psychopath before he flung himself into the open void, and fuck did four stories suddenly feel like a whole lot higher than it sounded.

“Carter, I swear to God,” Jill snapped, voice rising as she clung to him, suddenly discovering a brand new phobia. “This is not happening.” she added, words tumbling out fast. “This is insane. This is absolutely fucking insane. I’m going to kill you for this. I’m going to kill you, then I’m going to kill you again.”

“It’s happening,” Daniel said, as his foot crunched under the concrete, the impact rattling up his body as he dug in. Jill’s grip tightened, and she didn’t care that she was being carried. That was far and away a distant concern.

“I’m going to regret this for the rest of my life,” she almost whined, glancing at Rebecca and seeing a look of raw, untempered excitement. Then Jill remembered that for all of her youth, her darling protege was an adrenaline junkie of the highest order.

Rebecca, pressed close against his chest, let out a breathy laugh that sounded sharp with adrenaline. “Relax Jill,” she said, voice too bright for the situation. “What is it you like to say, Danny? Trust the process?”

"Trust the process." He affirmed, his entire focus on the task ahead. Then, without another word, he was off. Jill felt the sudden burst of speed, the sudden, unhindered, unstoppable jump from zero to what had to be a hundred miles an hour rip the breath right from her lungs.

The rooftop edge came up fast, and it came up faster than Jill could imagine. Daniel’s pace didn’t slow. His steps hit with heavy, controlled impacts, and the exoframe around his legs whirred in sync with each stride, reinforcing joints and driving power into the sprint. Jill clamped down on his shoulder plates and shouted something that became an unintelligible stream as the edge filled her vision.

Daniel jumped.

For an infinitely long few seconds, there was nothing under them.

The wall dropped away, and the cold air hit hard. Daniel felt the weight of both women drag at his center of mass, and he kept his arms locked, holding them in close while he kept his spine braced. The exoframe motors gave a faint, rising whine as they fell.

Rebecca couldn’t help it. She let out a whoop that rattled across the night air, barely resisting the urge to toss her hands into the air. Jill made a sound that started as a curse and turned into a full yelp of terror. Her fingers dug into the armor like she could anchor herself to the man under her through sheer grip force.

The ground rushed up in the dark. Daniel’s legs angled down, and the exoframe took over at the last instant. The servos hit hard, absorbing the fall with a violent, mechanical resistance that ran through his knees and hips. The impact still punched up through all three of them. Daniel felt it jolt his teeth, and his breath was knocked out of lungs, the impact pulling him down like gravity itself had taken offense to his blatant disregard of it, but the shock absorbers in the armor did their job shockingly well. They landed in a heavy crouch that almost made his knees buckle, but the frame held. Daniel let the momentum bleed off through the reinforced joints, then forced himself upright.

Rebecca hopped down first, feet hitting the cleared path and slipping for half a second before she caught her balance. Jill didn’t move right away. She stayed in Daniel’s grip with her eyes wide and her jaw clenched, breathing in tiny pants like she’d forgotten how to do it mid-fall.

Daniel lowered her carefully.

Jill’s boots hit the ground, and she stood there for one beat, shoulders rigid, then she stepped forward and jabbed a finger into Daniel’s chest plate. “Shut up,” she said.

Daniel hadn't said a thing. Hell, far as he was concerned, he was still catching his breath as his legs throbbed from the impact.

Jill swung the finger to Rebecca. “You too. Shut up.”

Rebecca lifted both hands as if surrendering. “I wasn’t going to say a word,” she said.

Jill held their gaze a second longer, then exhaled sharply and looked away as if she was forcing herself to move on. “Good,” she said. “Because I don’t want to hear it.”

They were on a path behind the power plant now, and the air was full of steam from the defrosting system that ran along the sidewalks. The warmth had cleared only a narrow strip beneath it, leaving a thin layer of wet snow underfoot. On both sides of them, ten foot walls of slowly melting snow rose high, packed hard and cut straight where the scalding heat hadn't managed to penetrate. The result was a trench that funneled them forward with no lateral escape.

The steam reduced visibility to a dozen feet at best, thick as it was. It came in rolling sheets that rose constantly from a thousand tiny vents in the pavers. For how cold it was, it made the air unbearably wet and muggy, clinging to them like a second skin and soaking their weather gear. The ground was slick with it, the constant stream leaving droplets crawling down their weapons and carriers.

"It's a bog down here." Rebecca observed, as she checked her rifle, wrapping the strap around her arm for better control as she walked over to Danny, her hand resting against his upper arm, "Thanks for the ride down." She gave him a grin, and though she couldn't see it, she knew it pulled a smile from his lips as his hand came up to hold hers, just for a moment.

"I would say that was one of the dumbest things I've ever done but we made it." Jill hummed, wiping some of the water from her face before striding up to the two lovebirds. "Still stupid though." The words were flat, as she checked her own weapon, along with the dozen magazines she's wedged into her rig. She was still front-heavy, and the water was just making it worse. Ultimately she pulled the carrier forward, letting some of the heat out. The smell was less than pleasant, but she could live with that.

"If it's stupid and it works..." Rebecca hummed at her, but Jill just clapped the younger woman on the shoulder.

"Then it's still stupid and you got lucky." She snorted, before turning to Daniel. "Carter, do you know where we're going here? You're the one with the map."

“I'm looking now. The path here loops the long way around the center then doubles back. Not sure why, but there's a big patch of space that's been left empty, which would be good if not for the double-high snow walls,” Daniel answered, as he scrolled. "It's about three quarters of a kilometer. I'll take the lead, but stick on my tail. There's a lot of side paths here that are dead ends."

"Lovely. If you got point, I'll run tail. Rebecca, you're in the middle. Make sure you check your targets before you fire, okay? While Mr. Big, Tall and Armored over here can take a round to the back I can't. Got it?" She asked, and Rebecca nodded, even as she made a face. She knew Jill didn't mean anything by it, but still, rude. She might not be a crack shot like Chris or Forrest, but she was still damn good.

Things started out passingly well, as Daniel’s map guided them. The steam was a thick constant, as was the slick concrete, but it had been passingly smooth as he took them around one corner, then the next, his pace steady, but rapid. They all felt the clock ticking down, and now that they were clear of the building, they could also hear the crack of gunfire over the snow. It was distant, more so than any of them thought it would be, but that was likely the acoustics of the snow distracting them.

It still made Jill want to push on harder, knowing her team, her friends, their friends, were fighting, possibly for their lives. It was a mistake, getting too eager, too driven, and it cost them. Things went bad, as they always do, all at once. It started with a narrowing of the path. It was subtle at first. The snow walls here were uneven, and strange lumps bulged from the ice at shoulder height, irregular shapes trapped beneath a thin sheen of the melting snow. As he approached, they kept looking more and more out of place, and he raised his Saiga.

That was when the ice next to him exploded out in a gout of slimy runwater. The only warning the rupture gave was a sharp crack as a massive crack split the side of the wall like the hatching of an egg, followed by a spray of black slush and brittle ice. A partially defrosted monster burst free, its bony hands reaching for Daniel, its upper body split wide and still partially frozen, the long rib-teeth trying to close on his shoulder. Talons scraped against Daniel’s armor and clawed for purchase, and one flailing arm grabbed at his Saiga, fingers locking around the shotgun’s forend with a wild, hungry grip.

“Fuck!” Daniel cursed, sharp and involuntary as the creature tackled into him, his boots slipping on the slick, icy ground. His back hit the ground hard, as the headless abomination tried to rip at him, its barbed tongue shooting out to wrap around his neck, the armored cowl preventing the thing from snapping his head clean off as it wrenched him.

“Danny!” Rebecca shouted behind him, as her rifle came up, but she couldn't get a clean shot. Intellectually, she knew he could take it, the armor should hold, but seeing it happen right in front of her caused her to choke. Jill had no such compunctions.

“Goddamn it, Carter!” Jill swore, loud and vicious, as she spun, the P90 letting loose with a burst of the 5.7, to little effect as Carter rolled, trying to get above the monster only to have it roll him back, sharp claws trying to find purchase in the armored vest.

Daniel got his hand around the tongue, thick, writhing and covered in a thick, wet slime, his gauntlets creaking from the pressure as he dug his fingers in. The barbs dragged against the collar seal as it strained, and the pressure around his throat spiked as the thing tried to cinch him tighter and pull him up into the rib mouth. He shoved his forearm higher under the loop to buy a fraction of space, then he braced his elbow, using his own body as a fulcrum as he started loading on pressure, feeling his bones start to ache under the strain. The creature below him thrashed, flailing violently as he felt something begin to give, begin to pull. He kept wrenching, chunky blood weeping from between his digits, the metal biting deep into the muscle, and he pulled harder, inch by inch as the muscle began to give. He could feel it, even as the creature's claws continued trying to find purchase.

The tongue tore free with a wet snap, nearly throwing him off from the sudden loss of the pull. Gore sprayed across his chest plates and the ice beside his head, and the severed length slapped wetly against his armor before it fell aside. The creature jerked back, tongue stump whipping, and the rib mouth gaped open and closed, like the thing was in pain. Daniel took the opening and surged into it with brute force, arm coming down like a sledgehammer as he planted his fist into the rib teeth with everything he had.

The punch hit like a hammer, and the bones cracked with an audible pop. Chips of shattered white sprayed out across the trench floor as the creature recoiled, stunned, its flailing hands losing coordination for half a second. Again and again he brought his hand down then his other, and with each strike more of the ribs broke, until the creature sagged back, brutalized.

His right hand ripped his combat hatchet from its holster, the blade sharp and gleaming in the dim light, and with a roar he brought the hatchet down into its chest with a vicious chop. The blade bit deep, again and again. He didn’t stop, the heavy blade ripping and tearing until the core was left exposed, and with a single, final cut, the brackish orange thing that looked far too much like an eye split, spilling its fluids in a phosphorescent mess. The monster went slack as if it were a puppet with its strings cut.

Daniel dragged his hatchet free, breathing hard as he forced himself to his feet, unwinding the tongue that still sat coiled around his throat and tossing it away with barely a thought. In that moment, a thought hit him and he let out a low chuckle. "Glad we could bury the hatchet."

Neither woman laughed as he wiped the axe off on the snow, and sheathed it. Both were looking at him with complicated expressions as he cracked his neck, but before either could comment, the sound of ice cracking filled the air. Ahead of them, and behind, the sound of blocks of frozen water and the sluice of slimy goo pouring over the concrete, and the hissing of far too many of the headless freaks. The sound ran down the trench like a chain reaction as more of the creatures stumbled free, half thawed and steaming, talons clacking against wet concrete as they surged toward them.

“Fuck me,” Daniel all but groaned. "I've got the front!" The announcement was immediately followed by the thump-CRACK of the grenade rounds flying free, the steam parting as the light explosives began carving a path forward.

Jill didn’t argue. She raised the P90 and started firing short bursts into the closest monsters as they charged from behind, Rebecca coming beside her and opening up with her rifle, the sharp cracks of the 7.62 drowning out the rattle of Jill's 5.7 as the two swapped fire, tight on Daniel's back as he emptied one magazine of shells and hot-swapped to another, the weapon barely breaking between shots as more than a dozen of the undead horrors charged in with reckless abandon.

It was barely enough, and Daniel knew it. The grenades were killing the creatures in ones and twos, but they were getting closer and closer, and three mags in they were getting danger-close. He glanced back and saw that Rebecca and Jill were holding the ones coming from the back off, but if any made it past him, they were all dead.

Somewhere deep inside, something hummed within his mind. It was subconscious, almost a phantom of a thought, but it resonated through the primal parts of his conscious mind, his blood roaring in his veins and the adrenaline like lightning across his nerves. In an instant, he knew what he'd need to do, what the best option was. The only option.

He let the shotgun fall from his hands.

In an instant his hands were at his sides, one wrapping around his pistol, the other, the handle of his axe.

Rebecca’s Samurai Edge sat heavy in his hand, familiar, warm, a reminder of the woman now fighting at his back. It felt like home, an extension of himself, and he smiled sharply under his mask. The first shot cracked louder than a standard nine, and the recoil didn’t matter. He couldn't feel it as the round punched through the nearest creature’s upper torso and blew a fist sized hole through the mass beneath its rib cage. It staggered, more annoyed than anything, even with the high-power round. Then another, and another, and then he was on them.

Daniel moved forward into close quarters, pistol up in his right hand and hatchet in his left. He fired twice into the next creature’s chest to stop its rush, then hooked the hatchet into its collar area and tore downward, opening it. The core inside hung exposed, staring at him with what felt like uncomprehending shock. He slammed the blade into it and twisted until it burst. It tried to claw at him while it died, talons skating off plate and webbing, and he shoved it away with an almost casual disregard.

A second one lunged at his side, and he stepped into it, driving his shoulder into its sternum, and fired point blank into the central mass. The impact snapped it back, and he finished it with a brutal chop that split it open. The moment the body slackened, a third surged through the steam behind it, hands out, mouth ribs flaring as it tried to bite at his shoulder, and Daniel used the dead weight as a shield while he pivoted.

He fired once through the corpse, the +P+ round punching through softened meat and into the next creature’s chest. It staggered, but it didn’t fall, so Daniel charged it and jammed the hatchet head into the opening he’d made, levering the ribs apart with a hard wrench. The creature thrashed, claws scraping sparks off his shoulder plate, and he didn’t give it space. He drove his knee up into its midsection to break its balance, then he planted the hatchet with a short, brutal chop and ripped sideways until the core split.

The trench kept spitting them out in uneven bursts. One came low, trying to tackle his legs, and Daniel let it hit his thighs so he could trap it. He caught the back of its spine with his left hand, then he hammered two shots down into the torso, blasting out its fluorescent lifeblood. Another came in from the right wall as a fresh rupture sprayed ice, reaching for him. The blade flashed, severing its arms before he buried the blade into its chest with a downward chop that stopped it mid lunge.

He kept moving forward while he killed, forcing each body down and off the path before it could become an obstacle. Steam thickened, then thinned, each breath disgorging more silhouettes that kept rushing into the narrow lane, but with every new threat he felt more and more excited, his heart hammering harder and harder with every execution. More than once he had to slow down, wait for the girls to catch up, then push forward again.

Behind him, Rebecca kept firing over his shoulder when she could, supporting him as best as she could between keeping the horde behind them under some semblance of control. Jill’s bursts from the rear chewed into a pair that tried to close on them from behind, and she pivoted smoothly with the P90, changing targets without hesitation.

“Carter,” Jill shouted, her tone sharp as she slammed a fresh mag home, “Running low!”

"We're almost there!” Daniel snapped back as he brought the axe down again, cleaving through another headless as they pushed on.

Another rupture popped at their flank, and a creature hauled itself out of the snow wall too close for comfort. Its claws caught Daniel’s shoulder plate and scraped hard, dragging a line of sparks across the metal. He hooked the creature’s wrist with his axe, then ripped. The limb tore free in a spray of brackish blood, tissue and hardened growth snapping under his pull. The creature recoiled, off balance, and Daniel shot it twice into its chest while it flailed. Daniel ended it with a fluid stroke downward.

It felt like hours, the fluidity of each strike, the flow of each cut, even as his focus slowly narrowed, like a monomaniacal need for more. The pistol eventually ran dry, a half dozen magazines spent killing three times that number of the creatures. Then the knife came out, and then things started to get very, very personal. It felt good though, to him. It felt natural, right, even, to get in closer and closer, to feel the muscles tearing and the bones breaking, like a drug, an adrenaline high and a mainline of endorphins all at once, leaving him feeling euphoric.

The more he cut, the more he chopped, the more he felt them rend and scream as he grabbed them with his own two hands, the better it felt, the more natural it became. With every passing moment it got easier and easier, like he was developing a muscle memory for where to cut, where to stab, to get the most out of each movement. There was no wasted energy to spare. All of it was efficient, all of it delightful. He could feel the rictus grin on his face as he carved, and he couldn’t quite stop himself from enjoying it. Enjoying the thrill of the kill, even if these… these pitiable things weren’t much of a threat at all.

No, he had to focus. Even as he buried the long trench knife into the heart of another of the zombies, leaving its glowing innards across the ground, he had a job to do. People to protect. Getting too lost in the sauce wouldn’t be good for any of them. The strange, intrusive thoughts quelled, just a bit. Just enough for him to keep his head in the game. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. To his Becca, not now, not after suffering so long alone, without her. That too was unacceptable. Just the thought of it was like ice rolling down his spine. He wouldn’t allow it.

They were still making progress though. It felt like miles, but Daniel’s increasingly terse callouts kept them on the right path. It was a long, bloody road, but they were making good time. That was all that was good about it, though. Jill had swapped to her shotgun, then her pistol as the numbers kept coming, and Rebecca had long since emptied everything she had, Daniel’s lever-action sitting in her hands after he’d almost dismissively tossed it to her after the fact, the weapon kicking like a mule but the rounds undeniably lethal.

The numbers were thinning too, mercifully. It felt like they’d killed a hundred of the things, but it was probably closer to a couple dozen. Not small numbers by any metric, but as Daniel carved the path forward, it was clear more were coming his way than they were theirs, but despite that, he didn’t seem to care. He just kept cutting, like a mower blade across the grass, his armor coated in the fluorescent blood and brackish guts of the headless zombies coming at him.

Rebecca had known, intellectually, that Danny was a skilled fighter. He took down her friends easily enough, but seeing him now, it was a bit terrifying to behold. It was like watching one of those silly wuxia flicks her dad used to like, all flashy choreography mixed in with seemingly impossible feats of strength and agility. It felt like that, watching him, except far, far more bloody. The monsters themselves were fast, tough, dangerous, and had almost killed her and the others a dozen times over in the underground, but compared to him?

He was almost dismissive in how he was disassembling them. She didn’t remember him ever being so strong, but there he was, right in front of her, swinging that tomahawk with enough force to cleave clean through the ribs and spines of the monsters, the cuts shockingly clean, even as he stabbed and punched and carved away, his armor seemingly impervious to the talons of the monsters. She couldn’t understand it, almost didn’t want to, seeing this side of him. She knew he had to be desensitized to it, if the little bit of insight she’d gleaned from him held true.

But he was like a different person. He felt like he’d detached from the things that made her Danny hers and replaced it with some kind of hyper-lethal automaton. There was still some part of her that thought of these things as people, as tragic victims to whatever happened here. Did he? His casual disregard earlier had bothered her, and she knew Jill had caught it too. Maybe it was just him trying to decompress with a bit of gallows humor, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt… deliberate. Callous.

Rebecca tried not to let her thoughts show as the steam began to thin, the path widening as she stepped around the bodies that had been stacked along the path like chordwood. Danny wasn’t slowing down, and she needed to keep her head in the present. Chris and the others were close now, the sounds of gunfire and the terrible roars of some new nightmare. Her boots slapped harder against the concrete as the three began sprinting. She could hear the shouts of the others, and Jill was shouting back.

“Hold on! We’re coming!” She screamed at the top of her lungs as she slammed more shotgun shells into her M3. Rebecca still had a dozen shells left for the compact rifle in her arms, and Danny had grabbed his shotgun again, a fresh magazine set in place. The clouds parted, revealing a heavy security gate, maybe ten feet tall, with thick mooring bars and a complicated looking lock that stopped them cold.

“Fuck!” Shouted Jill as she rattled the gate. They couldn’t see anything past the thick bars, the space beyond bathed in thick black smoke, but they could hear the chaos unfolding behind it. “We need to get this gate open!”

“Can you pick it?” Rebecca asked as she moved up beside Jill. The woman was already looking, but let out a curse a moment later.

“No. It’s some kind of magnetic latch. Probably needs a keycard or something.” Jill spit the words, kicking the metal barricade impotently. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything, do you Carter?”

“I do.” Danny hummed, as he reached into a side pouch and pulled a package wrapped in wax paper. Holding it up, he unwrapped it, revealing a glob of white putty, along with an inert initiator. “Think this’ll work?”

“Is that fucking semtex…?” Jill asked carefully, and he nodded. “Why do you… wait, not important. Give it here.” She took the glob, and with a level of skill Daniel could only wish he had, she shaped the charge and molded it to the lock. A second later the ignition spikes were plunged in, and Jill ran the length of it back.

The three put some distance between them, and Jill hit the switch. An instant later there was a sharp crack as the charge went off, followed by an earshattering crash as the gate doors slammed open so hard that they warped the heavy hinges they rested on. Jill was already moving, Daniel and Rebecca hot on her heels as they charged in, and the battle was met.


000


Chris had never hated a crate more than he did in that moment, cowering like a whipped dog as the giant outside crashed around, hunting them, looking to finish the job it started. His knees burned against cold metal and grit while he braced Barry’s shoulders and tried to keep pressure on the gash that ran across his friend’s side. Barry had been caught across the chest with a wild swipe that came out of nowhere, ripping through his vest and catching on his plate carrier. It was the only reason the older man didn't have his heart carved out from the impact.

Barry’s breath came shallow and fast, blood pooling against the bandages despite the anticoagulant that Chris had spread over the four inch long hole. He desperately wished he had the surgical staple gun that Rebecca carried, if only to stymie the wound. He didn't even have any herbs on him, not that the last two green tablets seemed to make much of a difference. Out of desperation, he'd been talking to the man, trying to keep him conscious. Chris kept his voice low as Barry wheezed hard, trying to keep the air in his lungs. “Listen to me old man, you aren't done yet." He whispered quietly, as Barry's face twisted into a rictus of pain. "You can't afford to die here. You got too many people who need you.”

Outside the crate, he could hear the sounds of combat, the roaring of the monster, the sounds of things being tossed around and the impossibly heavy impacts of the Grafted as it chased the Captain. Chris heard Wesker’s rifle crack, controlled pairs spaced out like it was a shooting exercise, which the Grafted answered with a battering slam into something or other as it chased him, leading it away from the two. Not that there was much space to work with.

Chris risked a peek through the crate’s slit and caught a brief, ugly glimpse of the Grafted towered over the yard, a giant made of fused bodies and eyes, its outer surface charred black from fire damage and still steaming in places where the blast had hit it. Its fluids glowed a sick orange, leaving streaks and droplets that splattered wetly across the ground. It moved too fast for its size, shoulders rolling as it drove itself forward with brutish momentum. Three foot claws carved at the air when it swung, seemingly wildly, but Chris knew that wasn't true. It moved with a primal cunning, something they'd realized too late when Barry paid for their complacency.

Wesker stayed out in front of it, a lone silhouette shifting between whatever he could put between himself and the creature, even if the hardiest cover barely slowed the lumbering bastard. He fired, moved, fired again, pulling the monster’s attention away from them without letting it close enough to pull a repeat of the STARS armorer. Chris couldn’t see his face, but he knew the man was a tight mass of control, and could almost imagine his razor-sharp grimace as he emptied round after round into the beast, for what little good it did.

"Easy,” Chris said. “Stay still. I’ve got it.” Chris pressed harder on the dressing and knew the words sounded hollow. He didn’t, not really. All he could do was slow the bleeding, but Barry had already lost a lot just from him manhandling the big man into their hiding spot. His friend was dying, and there was fuck all he could do to stop it.

That was when he heard it. A boom, loud, sharp, not as heavy as the tank explosion, but far more concentrated. He didn't know what it was, but he hoped it was a good thing. It wasn’t a grenade, he knew that for sure. It was a heavier, deeper thump that shook the crate wall, followed by a crash of something massive slamming against something metallic. Chris flinched, and Barry jerked with him, the wound bleeding fresh.

"Fuck! Fucking- Barry, listen to me, focus on my voice!" He pressed urgently as he ripped another roll of gauze out, pressing it into the wound, hands slick with blood and frozen under the aching cold. He forced them to work, as he shoved the last of the rolls against the injury, and despairing as it filled up with blood far, far too quickly.

Gunfire followed, heavier than Wesker’s cadence, and it came in a sharp, almost deafening series of rhythmic cracks. Not automatics, that much he knew for sure, but something deeper. A shotgun, and maybe a high power rifle? It almost let him feel hope, that someone had come, some rescue from somewhere, but then he paused, because he didn't know who might be out there. He knew for certain that the girls were still out there, but they didn't have the kind of ordinance he was hearing. Worse, he knew they hadn't managed to get a message out yet, and even if they did, nobody would be here this fast.

He grabbed his pistol, checking that he had a round loaded, and waited. The monster let off a titanic scream of rage, then more shots followed, and shouting. He could barely make out the words, much less anything else over the cacophony, except for Barry's moaning. Then he heard the steps, the sound of boots unmistakable against the concrete, and the pistol came up. Then he heard her voice, and all the tension bled out of him in an instant.

“Chris! Chris, where the hell are you?” Jill. It was Jill! Holy shit, he'd never been happier to hear the surly STARS specialist. His response was half-tinged with panic and the other half relief as he called out to her.

“Jill! In here! Crate on the east side, by the wrecked loader!” He knew it was risky, shouting like that, but he had to hope the Grafted was too busy with whatever was firing what sounded like some kind of cannon round at it.

There was a thunderous crash, and Chris’s pulse climbed while he kept his eyes on the slit, looking for her. Jill sprinted into view from behind a stack of barrels, shotgun up and tracking, hair loose, mask gone, moving with the speed of someone hell-bent on finding them, no matter what. Behind her, Rebecca appeared a beat later, her handgun up, breathing hard but evenly, back to back with Jill and bringing up the rear.

Jill snapped her head toward the crate. “Chris!”

“In here!” He called back, the relief in his voice obvious.

Jill reached the crate and yanked it open enough to wedge herself in, shooting Chris a relieved look, before her eyes fell to Barry and her face paled. Her eyes cut from the soaked bandage to Barry’s face, then to Chris’s hands, and she turned and shouted over her shoulder. “Rebecca, now! Get over here!”

Rebecca was already moving. She slid into the crate and around Jill, her pack coming off with a single, fluid twist. In an instant she had her overfull medkit propped next to her as she dropped to her knees beside Barry, and got to work. Her face looked pale under grime and sweat, but her hands were steady as she seemed to triage the big man with barely a glance, ripping compresses and powder packets from the big bag. Chris shifted back to make room, as the little medic slammed some kind of injectable into Barry, fed him half a dozen pills, then replaced his ad-hoc covering with a proper cover.

"Hold him." She snapped, and Chris grabbed Barry by the shoulders, before Rebecca asked, "What did this?" Her tone was entirely no nonsense, a far cry from the woman of just a few hours ago. Chris scrambled to give her an answer.

“He got clawed,” he said, voice clipped. “Deep. He's been bleeding heavily for several minutes, and he's having trouble breathing. I think there's blood in his diaphragm.” He forced himself to keep it short, but he added what mattered as Rebecca worked. “It tore through the vest, and I didn't have a way to clean it.” Rebecca nodded once and didn’t look up.

“I'll get it.” She tore open another packet of powder, a general antiseptic that hissed and bubbled when it hit the hole, and Barry jerked, letting out a pained scream that Chris blocked with his hand. She packed the wound with practiced pressure, then snapped a pressure wrap down with a hard pull that made Barry grunt. Chris held him steady through it, jaw tight, and he kept one hand ready with more gauze in case the wrap failed. “Barry, I need to give you a chest tap. It's going to hurt, but if I don't you're going to drown in your own blood. Do you understand?”

Barry’s eyes flicked open, glassy with pain. “J-just do it, Chambers...” he rasped. Rebecca nodded, and pulled a needle that looked like it was a foot long from her kit. Without another word she slid it in, and a spray of foamy crimson shot out, but almost immediately after Barry took a single, full breath. The shallow panting was gone.

There was a moment of relief, as Barry settled, Rebecca feeding him an herbal pill, one of the heavier variants, a three color mix that hit the older man's system like a sledgehammer. Barry's hand clamped onto her arm as the Green/Red/Blue mix began purging his system and flushing through his veins. Almost immediately the bleeding slowed, but it was still pushing through the bandages. She had to stay with him.

"I've got Barry. He's stable for now but I need to monitor him." She said, looking up to Jill, then Chris. Both knew what she was saying, and they shared a look. It was time to get back on the clock. Jill unhooked Barry's rifle, and started grabbing his magazines, before handing the shotgun to Chris. He had the ammo for it, and was better with them anyway. Then she grabbed the grenade launcher, and the handful of loose rounds that hung from Barry's bandoleer.

“Let's go.” Jill said, and Chris followed her out into the open yard with his head down and his breathing tight. Smoke and heat hit him as soon as he cleared the crate's doors, and his eyes watered under the sting of it. He'd long since lost his mask, knocked loose and discarded in his desperate attempt to get Barry to safety. He forced the thought down and set his attention on Jill, following in her shadow as they circled the yard. His eyes traced a gash in one of the crates, marked with four long lines, and then another, and another, along with the remains of several blasted-apart barrels, and what looked like a portable generator that had been chucked into the roof of one of the cargo containers.

The closer they got to the sounds of combat, the more treacherous the ground became. Crates, barrels, mining machinery, and a toppled rock-hauler broke the yard into hard angles and short lanes, with far too many ending in steel fencing topped with barbed wire. That didn't seem to stop things from crashing into them, or, if one path of destruction indicated, through.

The fence shook when something heavy struck it, and the vibration ran along the bars in a loud, ugly rattle. Chris tracked the sound as the two STARS moved around another toppled barricade, and it wasn't long before they spotted their prey. The Grafted had entrenched itself at the center of the ring of destruction, towering over the scattered equipment, charred black and weeping its strange blood but no less hindered for its giant size. It moved with a speed that felt wrong for something so big, bursting into action with its powerful limbs, hunting, chasing, its claws scything in long arcs that cut the air with a whistling hiss.

Wesker kept it occupied near a stack of machinery, distracting it, his shots precise, digging into the many eyes that dotted its body with pinpoint precision. Every shot would pull the creature's attention, opening a gap in its defenses, one that was ruthlessly exploited as Wesker shifted position to come at it from another angle. It was there that Chris saw that even the Captain had suffered some kind of injury. There was a hitch in his step, not much, just enough to slow him down another fraction of a second. He was still in the fight, but he moved rougher than Chris had ever seen him, his body posture showing he was absolutely livid about the fact that the monster had managed to touch him. It would have been funny, if he wasn't sure that Wesker was one bad hit away from an early grave.

Of course, it seemed like the monster had a newer, bigger problem to deal with as an absolute tank of a man slammed into it shoulder first, sending it stumbling back as the walking block of armor raised what looked like a compact cannon and opened fire on the thing, peppering it in explosions that ripped meaty chunks from its arms and torso. The Grafted let off a hideous roar as it got its footing, ignoring Wesker in favor of swinging a massive clawed hand at the man. A clawed hand that the man blocked with his arm, an arm that should have shattered like glass, yet somehow held, stopping the swing in its tracks before cold-cocking the monster with a fist that caused several of the eyes on its head to burst from the impact. The massive titan reared back, almost as if it were shocked, like it had never imagined that could happen.

Chris snapped his eyes to Jill. “Who the hell is that?”

Jill didn’t look at him as she slid up to the edge of the battlefield. “That’s Daniel,” she said, after a moment's hesitation.

Chris blinked, and with a tone of disbelieving incredulity he asked, “Are you bullshitting me?”

“I don’t have time to explain, but no, that's him.” Her tone was flat, clearly unhappy, and not at all amused. "We found him at the power plant and... no, it's not the time. For now just shoot that big bastard before it kills him."

Chris didn’t like what was left unsaid there, but Jill was right. Now wasn't the time, and if that was indeed Daniel, regardless of how he was holding his own, he needed their help. He raised his weapon and picked his targets, then opened up, firing in tandem with Jill as they moved across the field towards Wekser, who had spotted them as he shifted from his last position, angling to keep the giant between them and Daniel.

"Good to see you alive, Valentine!" Wesker shouted as he slid in next to them. "What of Chambers?"

"She's working on Barry now! We left her to take care of him while we came to help you out, Captain!" Jill called back over the raucous clash. "We found Carter!" Her voice carried as she pointed to two duking it out in the middle of the ring, like two gladiators of old. For all the speed and low cunning of the Grafted, Daniel seemed to be having little trouble with beating the life out of it. The three watched as he deflected a wild swipe from the staggering beast, the impact flowing into a combination of punches that rocked the creature in its tracks.

The Grafted roared and charged Daniel with a roaring hate that slapped a stack of barrels out of its way. Chris felt impacts through the soles of his boots, and the monster’s claws cut forward in a wide kill arc that would’ve shredded a man, only to be deflected with a screeching scrape against Daniel's combat tomahawk. Jill fired short controlled bursts into its back, Chris and Wesker joining her, putting rounds into the leaking seams that seemed to mark weak points, or so they hoped. The rounds sank in, bug bites compared to the battering the armored titan was giving it, yet it was enough to keep it distracted. Daniel used the momentary lull to steal some distance from the slashing strikes, then answered with another string of grenades. It was danger close, almost reckless, but he didn't seem to mind the proximity of the blasts as he retreated back.

The monster pushed through the detonations and kept its attention on Daniel, ignoring the three STARS as if they weren’t worth the effort. The shotgun in his hands clicked empty, and he let it drop, his hand dropping to his side with lighting speed and drawing a massive revolver from his side. There was a thunderous boom as the weapon discharged at his hip, the shell slapping into the monster's leg, ripping a chunk clean out of it.

He put three more into its hips and torso, the thundercracks lighting up the two as the rounds blasted holes straight through it. It ignored the damage, letting out a wicked hiss as its jaws opened wide, its head splitting vertically to form an angry maw that snapped at Daniel's head, forcing him back as he fired the last two rounds into the monster's body. The crossfire from the three STARS was also starting to show some effect, the thick hide of the monster beginning to perforate under the withering fire of the three. Still, it chased after Daniel with an almost singular hate, swiping and slashing at him as it built up momentum into another charge that sent it into what looked like a bulldozer of some kind. The machine crumpled under the force of the impact, as Daniel loaded a fresh speed loader of shells into the big revolver.

“It’s locked on him,” Chris said, his voice a mix of concern and awe. "How is he doing that?"

“No idea, Redfield!” Jill snapped as she quickly reloaded. “Carter's gotten weird, but it doesn't matter! Keep the pressure up, it's starting to flag!”

Chris nodded as he slammed more shells into his shotgun, before joining the fight once more. His eyes widened when Daniel stepped in close, and Chris didn’t understand why. Then the creature swung, and in a feat of sheer, naked strength, Daniel caught the arm mid swing. The monster tried to pull its arm back, but it couldn't. It tugged again, and again, uncomprehendingly. It shouldn't have been possible, Chris had seen those same blows crush steel and shatter rock, yet he stopped it dead. His fingers sunk into charred tissue, digging in as the creature tried to bat at him with its other arm, but he forced the limb aside with almost contemptuous ease. Then the first impact hit. His fist slammed into the Grafted's head, then again, and again and again and again. He began battering it with hammerblow after hammerblow, like he was playing a drum.

Chris swallowed hard. “That’s not normal.”

“Welcome to my night,” Jill snapped, and Chris heard strain in her voice. The Grafted tried to batter him again, and Daniel answered with a shoulder check that knocked the monster off balance for half a step. The outer seams started to loosen under the combined punishment, and the Grafted’s chest split wider than before. Multiple glowing cores pulsed inside the mass, showing what had to be dozens of the things implanted throughout its entire body. In an instant, Daniel rammed his fingers into the spreading gap, and like he was splitting a clam, tore the creature open, leaving the thing split wide, a great gout of orange fluorescence pouring down its body like a waterfall that splattered all over the man.

Daniel ripped his axe free from its holster, and raised it with malicious intent. The blade came down, time and again, like a lumberjack hacking down a tree, chopping core after core into pieces with each vicious swing. Five, six, seven hits were what he managed before monstrosity recovered and swung a claw across Daniel’s body with enough force to send him flying. Daniel hit the ground, rolled, and came up on a knee with the magnum in his grip. The monster used the moment to pull itself together, seams tightening as bodies re-fused, sealing away its most vulnerable spot.

Too little too late as Chris and Wesker closed in, Jill still peppering the creature, Wesker having swapped to his own shotgun, and the two ripping rents across the monster's body, seeking to dig into the juicy middle. The Grafted ignored them and stayed locked on Daniel, and he met it again without giving an inch. He stepped into its bubble, shoving the magnum right into its face, pulling the trigger in one smooth motion, and blasted a gaping hole clean into its skull. The monster swung downward with both claws, trying to clap him in half, and Daniel was forced to drop the heavy revolver in order to catch both arms before they could eviscerate him. Trapped, he let out the first sound they'd heard from him the whole fight, an enraged roar tainted by the mechanical speakers of his mask tearing across the field. His arms flexed, holding the wrists of the boast in a fight to keep it from ripping him in two, armor or no armor.

Bracing himself, he held on with all the strength he could muster, the low angle preventing him from putting his all into it. It was then that Chris and Wesker came to the rescue, the steady, constant effort they'd been putting into piercing through the Grafted's thick back armor finally bearing fruit as the glow of its cores illuminated the smokey dark around them.

"Now, Valentine!" Wesker shouted, putting his all into it as he and Chris fell back. He didn’t need to explain the plan at that point, and Jill hefted the handheld artillery in a single smooth motion. There was a thump as the grenade launcher barked, once, twice, a third time, and a fourth, each round impacting the back of the creature, a massive target a blind man couldn't miss, in Jill's opinion. In an instant fire exploded out of the hole, the napalm compacted into the gash, spewing out like a geyser, gouts of flame exploding out the rents and holes the four had torn into the nightmare.

Daniel slammed his shoulder into the monster’s midsection and drove it down to the ground, and the impact cracked the concrete and sent a shudder through the ground. The Grafted split open again, this time it's steaming guts hemorrhaging out as its innards boiled. With a single, smooth draw, he yanked his axe loose, and without any preamble, he began chopping at the exposed cores once again, this time his other hand pulling and wrenching over and over again. He wouldn't let it seal itself again. It was time to end this thing once and for all. The monster thrashed with an almost animalistic fear, its claws swinging upward in desperate, jerking attempts to dislodge him. It almost succeeded, too, as it clipped him in the head, the force of the strike catching his helmet and nearly taking his head with it as the seals failed, sending it skittering across the ground and exposing his face. Daniel didn't seem to care, and just kept ripping, kept tearing, his hair falling around him in a dark curtain as he cut.

He severed the offending arm with a vicious chop, axe biting through fused muscle and bone, and the arm fell away in a spray of orange. The Grafted tried to stab him with the other claw in a weaker thrust, and Daniel pinned the limb down with his boot, leaving the thing to flail and struggle beneath him, weaker and weaker with every cut. Gouts of orange covered him, coating his body as splatter prayed farther and farther as the pulpy mass was reduced to goo. But it wasn't enough.

He dropped the axe and pried the creature’s chest open with both hands, forcing the mass apart until the true core showed itself. A huge bulb sat at the center, pulsing bright through gore and shredded tissue, the living, beating heart of the nightmare that had hunted them all, at one point or another. An apex predator, a monstrous creature, reduced to this. Daniel let out a roar, buried both hands in, wrapped around the core, and ripped it clean out.

Smoke and dust rolled across the yard and smothered the last echoes of the fight. They'd done it, but the sudden quiet set Chris's nerves on edge. A wet crunching sound carried through the haze, slow and thick, and Chris felt every muscle tighten while he moved forward with Jill. His rifle stayed up and steady, Jill and Wesker following a step behind, slowly moving in. The smoke thinned as they closed, and Daniel stood over the ruin, front drenched in bioluminescent orange fluid that dripped from his face and chest to the ground.

"Dan?" He tried, hesitantly. There was something wrong, something that made him not want to drop his weapon, like the air was still charged. Jill kept her weapon up too, and Chris saw the same tension in her shoulders that he felt in his own. Daniel turned toward them, and Chris finally laid eyes on the man he'd called friend, once, through the thinning smoke. His skin looked ashen under the orange glow, deep circles sat under his eyes, and long dark hair hung loose and oily. He looked so different from when they last saw him, his pallor almost corpselike compared to the vibrant man he'd been, and there was something else, too. Something in his eyes, that set his instincts on fire. It reminded him of how the big cats he sometimes found in the wilds looked at him. Like it couldn't decide if he was lunch or not.

Daniel Carter stared back at them, before a single word fell from his lips.

“What?”