Resident Evil: Resurrection

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“Say that again Violet, I didn’t hear you.” Dr Abel tapped the side of his headgear, and frowned over at the wide open door on the side of the helicopter. It was hard to breathe in here with the winds rushing in his face, but the pilot had insisted that the door stay open. Their gunner needed the door open to shoot down the walking departed and Dr Abel was in no position to object, since he had been the one to request a lift with them on their standard rounds over the mountainside.

“I said that you’re getting very near to the place where I detected such powerful activity,” Violet’s comforting voice crackled in his earpiece. “Keep a watchful eye out for anybody moving with purpose other than rage or hunger… anything that has reasoning and strategy should be suspected as the source, it might not necessarily mean Alice is nearby.”

He nodded to himself and looked out over the mountainside, thankful for the buckles and straps keeping him seated safely in place… that was quite the fall should he lean too far during a moment of freedom from his harnesses. Dr Abel pushed the communications button on the side of his helmet so that he could use the frequency for intercommunication on board the helicopter and speak directly to the pilot and soldiers. “Keep watch for anybody living,” he called out. “Don’t shoot them, we need them all alive. That’s an order from Umbrella of the highest authority.”

The pilot nodded before turning the helicopter around for another sweep along the mountainside, this time a little higher up; they were working their way up and then would work their way down the other side, and that would take most of the day. Dr Abel had been warned that it was rare to never when they saw anything still healthy and completely alive in the sense of the word they meant, but that didn’t keep him from having the eager look of a child on the morning of his birthday written plainly across his face.

This was the third helicopter run he’d accompanied in the last few days, but the other two hadn’t made it this far into the mountains; they’d become preoccupied with shooting down swarms of undead in the flat countryside instead and hadn’t listened to his pleas. It took an order from Dr Abel’s superiors to convince these trigger happy STARS-wannabes to go right for the mountainside, and even that had barely done it, but only because Dr Abel hadn’t been entirely forthcoming with his superiors as to what he was going all the way to America to research.

If Umbrella really knew what he was doing, perhaps they would have supplied him with a whole battalion of tanks, choppers and real soldiers, but that wasn’t what he wanted at all.

“There!”

He was torn out of his inner thoughts by the outcry of a man to his left. “Where?” he demanded, his accent getting thicker in his excitement.

“Down there, ten o’clock!” The man pointed way down into the trees.

Dr Abel squinted, leaning to the left and trying to see what the man was pointing at, and his heart leapt up in his chest when he too saw the movement and a flash of something silver. “Go down!” he demanded of the pilot. “No reanimated corpses carry briefcases! Hurry!”

His stomach rolled and a wave of nausea washed over him as the helicopter turned about and began a steady descent towards a clearing right in the fleeing man’s path.

“Kill the walkers!” the pilot barked over their frequency when they all saw what exactly the man with the briefcase was running from.

All the soldiers aboard filed off the helicopter, leaping down to the ground below and already firing their weapons before their feet hit grass and snow. They roared out noises of aggression and excitement no better than the undead they were killing as limbs and bloody, rotting bodies were filled with bullets. When the flying powdered snow from the helicopter’s rushing blades and the steam from so much hot lead warming dead flesh had settled some, only the fleeing man was left standing in the face of the Umbrella soldiers, his hands high in the air and the metal case fallen to his feet.

“Don’t shoot!” the doctor called out loudly. “He’s not one of them!”

Dr Abel finally got out of his harnesses and jumped down off the helicopter, his polished shoes landing in the snow. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself and looked the man over. It wasn’t Alice, but it was still a survivor… one more virile male to possibly help keep the human race going. He stayed a good distance away from the man, but was also looking him over rapidly; the soldiers still had their weapons trained on the man and it was a comfort to Abel. “Have you been bitten, scratched, or infected in any way?” he asked over the noise of the thrumming helicopter blades. “It’s better to tell us now, because we will find out regardless of your answer, and to die of a headshot at this point is a much better and more honorable death than thrashing in an experiment chair, hungering for living flesh.”

The man didn’t answer.

“Very well then,” the doctor said, while taking his glasses off and rubbing them against the fur lining of his sleeve before putting them back on, his view much clearer now. “Restrain him if you will, please, gentlemen; he is coming back to the base with me.” He watched as the soldiers cuffed and bound the man, but when they lifted up a gag to put into his mouth for precaution, the doctor lifted a hand. “Wait,” he said urgently. “Before they put that foul thing into your mouth… what is your name?”

“Carlos Olivera, soldier of the highest honors, STARS,” the man replied firmly, unblinking.

Dr Abel nodded, though no maliciousness or recognition passed over his face upon hearing the name. If anything, he seemed to brighten upon hearing just what this man was… which quite aptly explained not only why he was dressed in tattered combat fatigues, but also why he had survived this long and how he had not succumbed to illness or the harsh weather up here despite the nasty wound he had on his head. “Alright, you may finish restraining him,” the doctor said with another nod. “My apologies Mr. Olivera, but we simply cannot be too cautious… you understand. Once you’ve been cleared for infection you will be treated with utmost respect and given a hot bath, warm meal and new clothing. Please come with us; Umbrella is always eager to welcome one of its flock back into the fold.”

Carlos nodded back, and was escorted onto the helicopter with a deadened expression on his face. Dr Abel sighed quietly as he bent down and picked up the case the man had been carrying. The poor man, alone all the way out here while the world went to hell… it was no wonder that he seemed so nonchalant and bland even in the face of a dozen high powered rifles aimed his way, he’d probably dealt with far worse in whatever city he had fled from. The doctor looked the case in his hands over for a bit, before turning it round and examining the underside. His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw the Umbrella Corporation’s logo stamped large and obviously into the metal, and his curiosity about this man grew. Whatever was inside here, the man had protected, and had found valuable enough to keep on his person while running from the undead, regardless of it likely weighing him down and creating an obstacle for easier getaway. Well, he would examine the case later… for now, he was more interested in this little treasure. Maybe Mr. Olivera could be used back in London for training special forces for combating those that were infected? He obviously knew how to handle himself since he was still alive after all this time. Best of all, perhaps this Carlos fellow had seen Alice at some point during his travels through these mountains! No, Dr Abel couldn’t get his hopes up too high… that was just about impossible, and never mind training soldiers, there was still a good chance this poor sod was infected and would have to be put down. He sighed. A find was a find, which was good, but it still wasn’t Alice.

“Back to base then,” he said congenially to the soldiers. “We have a survivor on our hands and he needs tending.” Dr Abel strapped himself in and tossed the metal case into the netting beneath his seat for safekeeping as they took off from the mountainside and made a beeline back towards their point of origin. Still, he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder at the STARS elite seated between two soldiers, bound and gagged like a violent prisoner. The man had blood trickling down the side of his face and it was caked with dirt and grime, one of his eyes sealed shut under the layers of blood that had washed out of him and frozen in place with each reopening of his wound. He had cuts – several severe – up and down his bare arms and likely more where his clothing covered them, he looked starved, dehydrated and sleep deprived, and his whole body language spoke of not one but ten thousand too many horrors seen by one man to bear. He looked defeated somehow, even though he was quite the rare creature to have lived this long on his own, and the unblinking stare he returned towards Dr Abel was – if anything – bland. The man might have been handsome once, but under all that blood, sweat, dirt and the heavy waves of a hardened survivor’s aura were effective masks to hide such fleeting fancies. A chill went down the doctor’s back and he turned to face the front of their transport again, unable to stay locked in gazes with the man immediately behind him. “Hurry,” he urged the pilot. “He should be tended to as soon as possible.”

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Author's Note: Yes I realize that last we all knew, Hung was left with the briefcase. It's supposed to be written & read this way; don't worry, it will make sense later I promise. For now, please review and leave comments, suggestions, critique, or anything else you'd like to, I truly appreciate all of it! (Also, it's a fun idea, but I just don't see rabid tiny forest animals coming into play in this fic. Sorry, guys.)