THE WORDS RANG LIKE ALARM BELLS . i hope that’s not an experiment they didn’t put out of its misery all the way … somewhere , eveline reaches her cold , bony fingers forward , placing them like death sentence upon his throat . it could have been you too . he barely registers the hobbling thing crushing its way towards them , despite the foul stench or rot and old gore , his eyes only remain focused on the flooring of the barn . jackie’s arms were wound around him , as if holding him tight enough could save them both from the thing .
finally , his eyes flicker up , & they freeze upon the mass of monster creature twisting its terrible head around . it was the same . the same things that crawled around the basement of the baker house , —– he’d seen lucas pit them up against the other potential ‘family’ , & most of the time , they never made it through , always being torn apart to gory meat shreds in a pool of their own blood . but this one was . . damaged , for whatever reason it was . its head wasn’t crushed in enough ? didn’t have bullets punched through it ?
he could take it down . he could , if the thing was in this weak enough state . but it also meant that he would lose his consciousness , & there was the risk of harming jackie while his mind was no longer his . eveline’s . . & she wanted them both back . he couldn’t take the chances . instead , he turns his head away , closing his eyes for a long moment before managing to whisper out shakily . ❝ gun – your gun . ❞ when he opens his eyes again , the rotting thing was hovering closer to them , limping its leg in a pitiful manner as it continued to drip black sludge against the hay stacks . ❝ aim for the head , that’s how they die . the head . ❞
“Shit, I-I don’t know if I can-” Her eyes are fixed on the creature like she’s hypnotized by its jerky movements, and for a split second Carson’s words don’t even register in her mind. Gun. GUN. Her hands shoot down to the waistband of her pants, arms and hands trembling with absolute terror, coupled with pressure to get this right, there was only so little time.
She can see it in Carson’s face, the dilemma waging in his mind, the shaky decision of whether he should fight against the monster, but at what cost? So, she takes the choice from him, makes the fight her own cross to bear to save him the fallout of such an action. She rips a small gun out from her belt, only a bit bigger than her hand, but with enough punch to get what needed to be done, well, done. With shaky hands she attempts to aim the weapon at the creature’s head, and she notices that it’s stopped advancing, and is simply standing in place, trying to keep its disfigured body upright as best it could. She couldn’t handle the fact that it seems to be staring right at her, and again, her aim falters. She fires a shot that whizzes past the monster’s head, and she hears it groan, guttural and low, rising from the depths of its gut.
She wipes her hand across her forehead, whisking the sweat off of her brow. The scenario is too familiar; it pains her to remember, but the memories keep flooding back anyway, crashing through the dam of her mind and drowning her consciousness in unwanted photographs of a time best left in the past. She sees her father, looming over her, black-dripping smile as he grabs her by the collar of her shirt, slams her back against the living room wall. A family portrait falls to the ground and cracks, all-too-brilliant symbolism of a family literally cracked apart at the seams. Through the tears she puts a bullet between his eyes, and he’s down, thudding on the floor like a toppled brick house.
Carson was right, she knew the observation all too well - they did always go down with a calculated shot to the head.
“Just like zombies, right?” She takes a breath, forces it in her nose and out of her mouth, and tries to steady her grip as best she can. She squints one eye as she aims, and even has it in her to release a bitter laugh as she remembers just how many zombie-themed comic books and movies she used to consume, during the old times. “Zombies are really played out for me, personally. Kinda silly now that we have the real thing.”
She takes her shot, and fires the shot in the monster’s head. It lurches backward, groans again, louder and sounding like it was in some sort of twisted agony. It staggers for a moment, stump-like arms flailing as though it wanted to reach up and touch its fatal wound, but was physically unable. Then, it collapses, falling to the ground in a cloud of dust and hay that flies into the air, causing Jackie to cough.
She’s quiet, lurching closer to the monster, nudging it with the toe of her shoe, before she nods to herself. “Dead as a doornail.” In any other situation, her analytical mind would have wanted to study the creature, figure out why it was so different than its more violent peers. But she doesn’t get that luxury, not right now, in the middle of their own personal warzone.
It’s then that there’s a horrid knocking on the door of the barn, the wood sounding as though it were being beaten in by a large number of furious fists.
“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck…!” She looks down in horror at her weapon, still smoking at the tip, then at Carson with her mouth hanging open. “They must have heard the bang!” She rushes over to Carson, hands back on his shoulders as her eyes scan the perimeter of the barn, trying to find somewhere, anywhere to hide, or escape, the latter much preferable to the former.
“It’s gotta be the Umbrella fuckheads, I know it… Either that or some more skittering, black goop freaks. Either way, we gotta move, or we’re just as dead, if not deader, than that poor bastard I just put down.”