Apocalypse - Keith R. A. DeCandido [41]
“Down here! We’re down here! Down here!”
But the helicopter just flew on by.
Nicholai shot Carlos a look. “What are they doing?”
Carlos, however, kept his eye on the helicopter. “They’re landing over there.”
Without even having to consult each other, they each took one of Loginov’s arms and wrapped it around their respective shoulders. The trio then hobbled in the direction the helicopter was moving.
As they turned the corner of Main onto Johnson Avenue, Carlos realized where the helicopter was probably going: the Raccoon City Hospital. The company had donated a wing to the hospital, and used it for some of its medical work.
Nicholai was trying to cheer up his countryman.
“It’s going to be okay, Yuri. We’re going to fix you up, then we’re going to get drunk. We’re going to party.”
Carlos snorted. Yuri Loginov might be a devout Catholic, but he had the drinking habits of a devout Muslim, to wit, none. Not for lack of trying on Nicholai’s part, of course.
Just as they came within sight of the hospital, Carlos saw that the helicopter was hovering over the hospital’s atrium, shining a light into one of the windows.
Nicholai started waving again, leaving Carlos to support Loginov alone.
“We’re over here!”
Someone inside the helicopter tossed two heavy-duty flight cases through one of the windows. The crash of the glass was barely audible over the rotors of the helicopter, which then turned and flew off.
“No! Don’t leave!” Nicholai was now jumping up and down, still waving his arms. “We’re coming! We’re down here!”
Once the helicopter was out of sight, Nicholai turned angrily toward Carlos.
“They dropped something inside the hospital. Did you see it?”
Carlos nodded.
“Maybe a radio? One that works?”
“Worth looking,” Carlos said. “Let’s go.”
They entered the hospital, Nicholai and Carlos once again supporting the injured Loginov.
The place was deserted. No doctors, no nurses, no patients.
At least the power was still on. The hospital’s own generators were probably still functioning, even if Raccoon’s grid was mostly down.
They worked their way to the atrium. In the midst of the potted palms, giant ferns, and other ugly plant life that someone inexplicably thought would soothe the sick were two heavy-duty weapons cases.
Big heavy-duty weapons cases.
They set Loginov—who was drifting in and out of consciousness—against one of the palms.
“What the hell is this?” Nicholai asked.
The cases were empty.
“Looks like weapons cases.”
“We don’t need weapons, we need an evac!”
“This wasn’t for us.”
Carlos looked at Nicholai. Someone had already opened these massive cases and taken out whatever was inside them.
Someone who was probably still there.
Instinctively, Carlos looked up.
For a brief instant, he saw a massive silhouette of what looked like a tank on legs.
Then it was gone.
Carlos looked at Nicholai.
Nicholai looked at Carlos.
Then Carlos felt massive pain, as Yuri Loginov—or, rather, Yuri Loginov’s corpse—bit into his shoulder.
Carlos punched his subordinate in the face, which got the biting to stop. Then he grabbed Loginov’s head and twisted.
The snap of bone followed a second later.
The Russian fell to the floor in a twisted heap.
Nicholai looked sadly down at the corpse.
“I guess I won’t be getting him drunk.”
“Let’s go,” Carlos said.
“A pity—I bet he’d have made a good drunk.”
More urgently, Carlos repeated, “Let’s go.”
“I’ll have to get drunk for both of us.”
Putting a hand on his second’s shoulder, Carlos said, “Nicholai! Focus! We’re in a hospital, they’re bound to have a first-aid kit or three that’s better than our field pack. Let’s find it before I bleed out here, okay?”
“Yes—yes, right, of course.” Nicholai shook his head. “Let us go.”
It didn’t take long for them to get to the ambulance bay and start rifling through an abandoned ambulance for supplies. Most of the supplies in the hospital itself had turned out to be either stolen, damaged, or tainted.