Resident Evil. Retribution

by John Shirley

  “We feel the same way about that!” Uncle Chung said, at once both friendly and noncommittal. Jack noticed that Uncle Chung had taken his M1 off his shoulder, and was holding it in his hands. Reflexively, Jack did the same.

  For all the world like a neighbor strolling over to talk to the fellow next door, the big man with the gold teeth started toward them. He had the Desert Eagle dangling in one hand.

  “Best wait there, please!” Uncle Chung said, smiling—and he tucked the rifle to his shoulder. He pointed it at the stranger. The big man came to a halt, raising his eyebrows, as if surprised.

  “Hey, que pasa, Chinese bro!”

  “Yeah!” the woman piped up. “We come in peace to your new world and shit!”

  The lanky man laughed at that. He slowly but deliberately brought the submachine up so it pointed in the general direction of Uncle Chung—but wasn’t threatening enough to spur anyone to open fire.

  “You are welcome here!” Uncle Chung said.

  “Well, chrissakes I fuckin’ hope so!” the lanky, greasy-haired guy said. “We got to stand against the Undead!”

  “You are welcome,” Uncle Chung said, “as long as you leave your guns on the boat! Just toss them onto the deck. We will escort you in, give you dinner, tell stories, learn much from each other! We can trade supplies.”

  “Suppose we want to stay on this island?” the big man asked, his voice lower, flat, and dangerous for some reason Jack couldn’t quite fathom.

  “If the others here agree,” Chung said, “you can stay—but only after we get to know you. Starts with dropping weapons!”

  “How about if we start by introducin’ ourselves?” the big Hispanic man said. “I’m Paco. This guy here is Roper. The lady there is his woman, Sandra!”

  “Ya’ll got any speed?” Sandra asked suddenly, licking her lips.

  Paco turned and must’ve given her a dirty look. She scowled at the pier.

  “One thing at a goddamn time, puta!” he told her. Then he turned back to them. “Sandra, she pick up bad habits, sometime. So—who are you?”

  “I am Chung—this is Jack, this fellow here is Bim.”

  “Any more?” Paco asked, his eyes roaming over the island.

  “Perhaps,” Chung said. “Where do you come from?”

  “Us?” Paco shrugged. “San Diego. Cabo. Lots of places. We can’t stay in one place long. The Undead smell us and come…” He sighed. “So, we stay on the boat, mostly. Go in here, go in there. Was six of us but—we had to shoot three. They got bitten.”

  Chung nodded at that.

  “Perfectly understandable. We had to kill many on this island, too.”

  “Any left? Is this island really free of the Undead?”

  Chung hesitated.

  “Not that I am aware of,” he said.

  “Got a lot of ammo here?”

  Chung answered noncommittally once more.

  “Some.”

  “They ain’t trustin’ us, Paco!” the woman said, and she chortled.

  “Drop guns, that will add a kilogram to the trust side of the scales,” Chung responded.

  Paco just chewed his lips and looked at them. The wheels were turning in his head—so it seemed to Jack.

  “How about we toss our guns down,” Roper said. “All at the same time? You ’n us? We all just put our guns down! I mean—why you got to greet us this way, anyhow?”

  “This is our island,” Bim said. “We defend it. There are a lot of people took advantage of the chaos, got crazy out there. I heard a lot of reports about that on the short wave.” He hesitated. “Back when there were reports on the short wave, anyhow. It’s been a while.”

  “We don’t put down our guns,” Uncle Chung said with finality—but his voice was calm, reasonable. “Not at all. Not till we learn to trust you. That starts with tossing your weapons down.”

  “Well, sir,” Paco said, “we got no more reason to trust you than you do us. And it doesn’t seem right you should hog this island to yourself. It seems like a shame. We could all help each other, comprende? But no, huh? Okay. Okay. Come on, Roper. You too, woman. We’ll get in the boat and go.”

  “What?” Sandra said, looking cross-eyed with confusion. “We going to go just like…”

  “He said get in the fucking boat, bitch!” Roper said, back-handing her.

  She blinked, hardly registering the blow, and muttered something to herself Jack couldn’t hear.

  They all piled onto the boat, Paco last as he cast off. He murmured to the others, and they moved around the pilot house as he went inside. The engine started up, and he swung the vessel around in a wide circle, as if heading back out to sea.

  Jack hadn’t had a lot of experience with people, but he knew they weren’t leaving that easily. There was too much useful stuff here. And no sign of the Undead. The island was a great prize…

  Paco’s boat picked up speed and was quickly out of the harbor, headed out to sea—ostensibly toward Los Angeles.

  27

  “Jack,” Uncle Chung said. “You see those binoculars, hanging on the nail there? On the mast? Yes? Take them up to the masthead. Can you climb up there?”

  “Sure…” Jack fetched the binoculars and slung them over his neck. He climbed the mast, using the small rungs, and when he got to the top—surprised at how queasy he felt up here—he held on with one hand and put the binoculars to his eyes with the other.

  “Look to see where they’re going!” Uncle Chung called. But Jack was way ahead of him. The boat was a pretty good distance off, and it was hard for him to get a clear image in the binoculars, at first. But there they were—

  Dammit! The boat swayed as the waves picked up in the rising wind, and the top of the mast yawed sickeningly. His stomach lurched, but he held on, waiting for it to settle… and finally caught the cabin cruiser, almost lost in the haze. It took him a moment to be sure—yes, it was turning.

  “It’s heading north!” he called.

  “Come on down, Jack! And be careful! The wind’s picking up.”

  “I noticed!”

  In a minute he was down, stepping gratefully onto the deck.

  “You may as well keep those binoculars, if no one objects,” Chung said.

  “Where you think they’re going?”

  Bim snorted.

  “Those sons of bitches? Seems pretty obvious to me…”

  Chung nodded.

  “They’re going to head north, till we can’t see them, then west. They’ll wait till dark, cut their lights, and come in from the north to flank us. They’ll probably see that beach over there, on that side of the island, and the path going up. They’ll work out about where we’re likely to be. Could be they’ve been observing us before now…”

  Chung led the way back to the bunker, on the north side. It was on the rocky hillside below the palm-lined, run-down estate of Lony’s father, where they made their home. They’d fixed up the bunker in case they had to live in it—if some fresh incursion of the Undead came to the island somehow. It hadn’t happened yet. But they were ready.

  Lony was waiting for them on the concrete steps leading up to the mouldering old imitation-Frank-Lloyd-Wright estate. He was still muscular, but he was also developing a sag around the middle. He had long blond hair with graying streaks, a weathered face graced by small blue eyes, and a tan—except for the perpetual sunburn on the end of his nose. He had his rifle over his shoulders, and a pair of binoculars in his hand.

  “I saw the boat,” he said. “And I saw you guys take a defensive post. We in trouble?”

  “Maybe,” Bim said. “They didn’t want to disarm, so we sent them away. We think they’re going to circle around and hit us tonight.”

  “They seem like rough characters?” Lony asked. “You know, even before the Big Mess, I never would’ve trusted a one of them.” Now, of course, no one trusted anyone they didn’t know like a blood brother.

  The day wore on. Lony went hunting, and the rest of them stood watches. Chung a
nd Jack played chess. Chung pretended to lose. They ate a light lunch of pickled fish and turtle’s eggs. Jack kept scanning the sea with his binoculars, but didn’t see the cabin cruiser, or a submarine. He was looking for both.

  He helped Chung repair the wall around the lower part of the bunker, and Chung read to him, after, from the Dhammapada.

  They ate dinner, though Jack had a flutter in his stomach that wouldn’t let him eat much of the duck that Lony had shot, or the fish, or the spinach from Chung’s garden. Soon as he could, just after sunset, he went out on the deck of the blocky, angular mansion, and sat out there on a folding aluminum chair, watching…

  So it was that he was the first to see the dark shape against the glimmering water. Just as predicted, the cabin cruiser was coming in without its running lights. Coming slow and quiet.

  They’d already worked out what their positions would be. Chung and Jack would be in the concrete bunker, with their guns pointing out through the halfcrumbled old observation slits. Lony and Bim were positioned behind the rocks on either side of the path.

  They’d left the solar-powered lights burning on the mansion, above the bunker, to draw the pirates’ attention away from the bunker, where they waited in darkness.

  Pirates. That’s what Chung called them. He spoke of having to defend his father’s fishing boat from Malaysian pirates, off Shanghai, decades before.

  They sat in chairs, near the slits, smelling the sea air, watching and waiting…

  “I hope Bim doesn’t do anything dumb,” Jack whispered.

  “Yes.” Uncle Chung knew what he meant. Bim was known for reckless acts of bravery. He liked to be the lion defending his mate… Lony. Although really, Lony was stronger and faster and a better shot.

  The pirates used the predicted entry to the island, coming up the zigzag path, hunched low, but visible in the waning moonlight.

  “I only see two of them,” Jack whispered.

  “Yes. We must be vigilant. Perhaps that is his strategy…”

  The woman came first, walking with birdlike steps, almost hopping sometimes, while Roper seemed to weave along like a snake, curving this way and that on the path as he looked around. The submachine gun in his hands caught the moonlight—the woman still had the shotgun.

  Then the shout came.

  “Drop your weapons. You’re covered!” Clearly Bim’s voice.

  “Drop your weapons and you can go in peace!” Lony shouted.

  “Hee, fuck you!” Sandra shouted, and she fired the shotgun where she thought the shout was coming from. Shotgun pellets ricocheted from the rocks, striking sparks visible in the dimness.

  Bim returned fire, pop pop pop with his rifle. The woman yelped. Roper fired that way with his submachine gun, a short spurt.

  “Should we fire?” Jack asked. He’d never killed a living person before.

  “Not yet—give them chance to be discouraged,” Chung said. “Don’t want to give away where we are. Watch for the third one…”

  “One last chance! You can have peace in your lives!” That was so Lony, his saying that. “Get back down to your boat!”

  “Where is that third one?” Chung wondered aloud. “Wait…”

  He aimed his rifle carefully through the slit. Jack looked, trying to aim, to find the target…

  Chung fired, twice, and someone yelled.

  A big crack, that pistol of Paco’s, Jack guessed, and Lony yelled, “Shit!”

  “Out on the wall!” Chung hissed.

  He and Jack emerged from the bunker’s side door, ran to the wall they’d shored up that day, knelt behind it. Jack didn’t wait for permission—bullets were humming by over his head, a spray of them from the submachine gun. He could see the muzzle flash as Roper backed down the hill, firing as he went.

  Jack aimed and fired, his heart thudding louder than his rifle. He squeezed off three semi-auto rounds—and saw Roper stumble and go down.

  A shotgun blast—and a bee-swarm of pellets buzzed over their head. Chung returned fire—and Sandra went down, crying and groaning.

  “He’s over here!” Lony yelled, firing his rifle—they couldn’t see what he was shooting at.

  “I can’t shoot—I’ll hit Lony!” Chung said.

  Then they saw Bim running through the brush, shouting, “Lony! Lony!”

  The tongue of flame from the Desert Eagle and Bim shouted in pain. They lost sight of him as he fell. Another tongue of flame from behind the Desert Eagle. Two more. Definitely an Ml—Lony firing.

  Then silence, except for muffled groaning…

  “I think… I think Lony got him,” Chung said. “You wait here.”

  Not a chance. Jack let Chung go on ahead, down the hill, then followed, a little ways back, a round chambered, ready to shoot to protect his uncle, if he had to.

  But the woman was dying and Roper was dead. Shot through the chest, one bullet for each lung.

  Paco, who’d used his friends to draw out the gunmen, had tried to flank Lony—and had succeeded, but he’d missed his shot, and gotten distracted by Bim. He’d shot Bim through the upper thigh—just missing the bone.

  Lony had shot Paco…

  The woman died before dawn, though Chung did try to save her.

  Jack couldn’t sleep. He stood watch for a while, then came in and kept an eye on Bim while Lony rested. Chung came in just after the woman died.

  At about dawn, Bim stopped groaning and slept for awhile. When he woke, he was a little feverish, but Chung felt sure he’d live. The bullet had missed the artery, but the round was so powerful, on the big pistol, that the shock of the impact had knocked him out, then kept him yawing between consciousness and waking. Finally, he sat up in his bedroom— ignoring Chung who told him to lie back down—and spoke raspily.

  “I made up my mind about something,” he said.

  “What, babe?” Lony asked.

  “We don’t let anyone come anywhere near this island. We see them—we shoot at them before they get near. Anybody alive out there—what’s the chances you can trust them? Most of them are going to be scum…”

  Lony nodded. Chung said nothing.

  Jack went outside, blinking blearily around in the first gray light. Chung joined him.

  “Kind of scared?” Chung asked.

  Jack shrugged. “More disappointed.”

  Chung nodded. “First people—bad people.”

  “And I killed one. Never killed a real person before.”

  “All this is a reminder,” Chung said, “That there is more than one kind of living dead. There are those who are not infected. Who are not mad cannibals. But they, too, are soulless. They surrendered their soul—it was eaten by their selfishness. We try to have compassion for them, but we must preserve life—good human life. We must preserve those who have not abandoned their souls…” He shrugged. “You did the right thing. It is not so Buddhist, to kill such men. But it is what I believe we had to do. It’s not always possible to be perfectly compassionate.” He said, again, “There is more than one kind of living dead…”

  Jack was staring out to sea. Was that another boat, out there? Or some kind of big flotsam?

  “What’s that? Sticking up out there?” He raised his binoculars to his eyes. “Oh, man! Chung—I think that’s a submarine!”

  28

  “We’re on the ground again?” Alice asked, waking up. The quiet of the helicopter, the muting of its engines, had awakened her.

  She had said it aloud, but Becky—sitting on the cot’s edge—had watched her lips.

  “More fuel,” she signed.

  “I hope it’s safer than the last place…” Alice unstrapped herself from the cot and got up, not feeling as much pain as the last time. She stretched, and the girl handed her a can of chocolate-flavored nutritive fluid. She drank deeply, looking out the port.

  They were up high—perhaps a rooftop. Curious, she went to the hatch, down the ramp, and they walked out into the cool morning. Wind blew across the ravaged buildings of a city. Sh
e heard a muted growling, the moaning of the Undead, far below.

  They were on an aluminum-sheathed surface. A circle was painted there—a helipad, she suspected. Fuel tanks stood to one side. The guards in paramilitary togs stood near the tanks, and a technician was monitoring the refueling at the rear of the helicopter.

  “This was an old Umbrella building,” Jill said, smiling wryly as she walked around the back of the helicopter. “Wesker’s helipad in this area…”

  “We’re in D.C.?

  “Not yet. We’re going to wait here a while, refuel, and then go to the LZ in Washington. This is Baltimore.”

  “Why the wait? It doesn’t take that long to fuel.”

  “There have been developments, and they’re trying to establish a safer LZ for us. We might be here an hour or two, even three, but we’ll be heading over there today.”

  “Jill…” Alice stepped up close, and lowered her voice. “Look—do we really want to follow through on this?”

  “Ada’s up and about. Leon, too. You want to get into it with them? Especially her—she’s a pretty tough chick. Not to mention…” She looked at the guards.

  Alice shrugged.

  “I like Ada. I don’t want to fight her unless I have to. But if I have to…”

  They were speaking in low tones, barely audible even to each other.

  “She’s determined to take us to Washington, D.C, Alice,” Jill said. “I know how you feel. Wesker’s there. But supposedly he wants to be an ally.”

  “Until he doesn’t need us,” she replied. “Then what? Jill, the guy tried to eat me. Tried to actually, physically, consume me.”

  “I know. I heard.” Jill laughed softly. “Yeah, that’ll put you off a person, alright. But think of it this way—what’s left out there?” She gestured vaguely to include the whole world. “Where would we go? We’d be up against hell, wherever we went. At least there’s some kind of base to work from in D.C. And maybe if Wesker’s there, we’ll find the opportunity to take him down for good. If we wait for the chance, you know?”

  Alice thought about it. It was logical. But the revulsion she felt was strong.

  Becky walked up to them then.