Resident Evil_ Extinction - Keith R. A. DeCandido [43]
The road took her past the convention center, but before she could reach that, she saw a barricade staffed by armed guards. The number of bodies and skeletons got considerably higher the closer she got.
Jill took a glance at the Prius’s passenger seat, which held her own weapon collection. The only one she couldn’t use was the MP5, as she hadn’t been able to find any proper rounds for the thing. However, the MAC-11, the nine-millimeter, the sawed-off shotgun (which always made Jill think of Alice), and the rest all were fully loaded.
She stopped the car about fifty feet from the barricade. Two of the guards ran forward, their own guns at the ready. After a second, Jill recognized them as police-issue nine-mills, much like her own. Probably used to belong to the Balto City Police.
One took aim at Jill’s head, while the other, shorter one spoke. They were dressed shabbily but seemed much better fed than most of the living people Jill had encountered lately.
“This is how it’s gonna be!” the short one said. “You give us y’car and everythin’ in it, we letcha go on y’merry! You don’t give us y’car and everythin’ in it, we shoot your ass and take the shit anyhow! We’re only bein’ so considerate on account of how we don’t wanna be makin’ more zees, but we will shoot y’ass down if you don’t—”
Whatever else he might have said was cut off by Jill shooting him in the head. She only waited that long because she had been moving her arms toward her weaponry slowly under the dashboard so neither of the guards would notice.
After she shot the short one, she shot the tall one. His finger spasmed on his trigger, but his shot went harmlessly into the air.
Jill turned the steering wheel around as she slammed her foot on the accelerator and headed back the way she came. Her route was a bit more haphazard this time, and skeletons and bodies cracked and squelched under her tires as she ran over the remains that she’d carefully avoided on the way down.
Gunfire reports sounded behind her, some ricocheting off the Prius, but they stopped after a few seconds. Whoever these assholes were, they didn’t seem interested in giving chase—or didn’t have the means. That may have been why they wanted her car.
Now the large number of bodies made sense.
After she made it to a street corner far from the harbor, she stopped the car.
The street was deserted, of course. Up and down each block were brick row houses with the three-step stoops that Baltimore was famous for.
No, wait—not deserted. Three zombies were shuffling out of one of the alleys.
Jill took aim and shot each one in the head in succession. They all fell to the ground.
The reports of the nine-millimeter echoed down the quiet street like thunder.
Flipping down the sun visor, Jill looked at herself in the mirror. Her dark hair had grown down to her ass, as she’d had no inclination to cut it. She kept it tied back in a ponytail that was more like a horse tail at this point. The bruise on her cheek from that run-in with the zombie dogs in Virginia Beach was finally starting to heal. She wore the battered Umbrella Security Division uniform that Carlos had given her in Atlanta, body armor that served to protect most of her. Her thighs were a bit more exposed, as the now-deceased previous owner was apparently much taller than Jill. He was likely bulkier, but the torso piece still fit fine. Jill had abandoned the pants, though she kept the boots, which were a size too big, but tissue paper solved that problem.
Once, she would have tried to look her best—not out of any vanity but because it made people underestimate her. Look at her; she’s gorgeous; she’s wearing a miniskirt; she’s wearing a tube top; she’s some ditz, a pair of tits whose brain was there just