Apocalypse - Keith R. A. DeCandido [43]
Nemesis picked up the rocket launcher. About seven feet in length, it had a shoulder strap. He slung it over his shoulder as easily as he might a backpack.
What the fuck did they do to me?
The second case contained a rail gun.
That’s one of those things they mount on helicopters.
Nemesis picked it up with one giant hand.
Then he proceeded to the egress.
DIRECTIVE: PROCEED THROUGH RACCOON CITY.
Nemesis saw a few people in the hospital, but they gave off no heat, so they were obviously undead who had been animated by the T-virus. They were not threats, and he had been given no directive to engage them.
So he ignored them.
He briefly caught sight of two men being attacked by a third. The two men were alive, the third was not. But again, he received no directives to engage them, so he ignored them and continued to the streets.
What the fuck is going on? Those guys down there are wearing the same outfits that Rain, Kaplan, and the rest of them were wearing. They’ve gotta be more of Umbrella’s goon squad.
Nemesis walked outside.
He saw several abandoned, damaged motor vehicles of a variety of types, ranging from trucks to sport-utility vehicles to buses to sedans to motorcycles, and others. Many windows had been compromised, and broken glass littered the streets, as did blood.
He looked around and found no indications of life beyond a rat or two.
I don’t believe it. The fuckers opened the Hive back up and let the zombie workers out. Just when I thought Umbrella couldn’t possibly get any more despicable…
Nemesis continued down the street. Any impediments, regardless of size, were brushed aside or crushed. Nothing stood in his way.
Nor could it. He was Nemesis. Created by the Umbrella Corporation to be the perfect fighting machine.
He turned a corner from Johnson Avenue onto Main Street. In the distance, he saw several of the deceased people animated by the T-virus. He could also hear a human voice speaking.
“Come and get it.”
One of the deceased people was hit with a bullet fired from a shotgun.
“Plenty to go ’round.”
Another deceased person was hit with a bullet. Neither deceased person had much of a head remaining.
“That’s right, roll up, roll up.”
Nemesis found the source of the voice by triangulating the sound with the trajectories of the bullets. It was a man standing on the roof of an establishment called Grady’s Inn. His uniform identified him as a member of the Special Tactics and Rescue Squad of the Raccoon City Police Department, though he also wore a large ten-gallon cowboy hat that was not officially part of the dress code.
Even as Nemesis moved closer to the S.T.A.R.S. sniper, the sniper also saw him.
“What the fuck is that?”
Jesus Christ, asshole, get off the damn roof before I kill you! And why the fuck are you up there playing duck shoot with the zombies? This is your idea of protecting and serving? I can’t believe I pretended to be one of you RCPD asswipes.
Nemesis detected several more heat signatures in a nearby store called Mostly Colt, an emporium that specialized in the sale of hand weaponry. As he walked past, he saw that most of them also wore the uniform of S.T.A.R.S.
A shotgun bullet hit him in the chest.
Holy shit. I just got shot, but it felt like a mild tap on the ribs. What the fuck did they fucking do to me?
“I must’ve missed,” said the sniper from his vantage point. “I never miss.”
You didn’t, jackass, now get out of there!
DIRECTIVE: SEEK AND DESTROY MEMBERS OF S.T.A.R.S.
Fuck, no. No, don’t make me do this.
He could hear the shell being placed into the breech, the clack of metal on metal as the sniper loaded the fresh ammunition.
“Son of a bitch! You’re going down!”
Nemesis raised the rail gun, holding up the massive weapon like it was a six-shooter.
It’s like it doesn’t weigh a thing. God…
The sniper hesitated at the sight of the rail gun being aimed at him.
Yeah, I’d fucking hesitate, too.
“Shit!”
Hundreds of shells exploded around the roof of