Escape from New Detriot

WARNING! This story is technical intensive and may be hard to follow for some. If you have questions, ask me through my e-mail, [e-mail]. I envision this work to become a trilogy someday. Below is a shortened version. Enjoy...

Day One, 1200 hours
On the only road leading out of town, a lone figure sauntered into its depths. The figure walked with an almost arrogant confidence, and from the look of his long overcoat, his body armour wasn't the only thing bulking up his form. Over one shoulder, the elongated barrel of a long rifle protruded, and over the other, the half-again length of a sword made itself known. This was no ordinary man, as one might imagine. This man had been trained by the best in the world, and had hunted the most dangerous men in that same world. He was no stranger to working alone, as he in fact preferred it that way. The briefing had told him little of the city, the surrounding terrain, or his target. All he had was a general location and a destination to download from. Time to find a hotel to use as home base.

Day One, 1213 hours
He'd found a suitable hotel on the outskirts of town. It was empty, obviously, so there was no fooling about with lying to the manager, using fake IDs or paying only with cash. He found a room that he liked and began unpacking. First, his sword was removed from its sheath and placed on the bed. Next, he unpacked all of his weapons and equipment. He shucked his greatcoat, and stripped his assault armour and vest off. Well, on to preparation...

Day One, 1415 hours
After cleaning, oiling, and sharpening, in some cases, his weapons were ready. He checked the rest of his equipment and spent a few minutes meditating. Meditating had a calming and cleansing effect on him and helped to clear his mind before a major mission. He had been taught to do so by his guide, an escaped assassin from MI6, years ago. Those long years had taken a toll on Sinclair Domingo, but he had endured.

Day One, 1456 hours
The biting cold could be felt through his heavy gear. The autumn in Montana was notorious for its chill and this season was no exception. With his old tried and true Vietnam-era M-14 clenched tightly in his hands, he stalked down the street toward the inner workings of the city. He ran from four-way to four-way, checking his surroundings each time. Seeing no threat, he reached into a pocket in his assault vest and pulled out a paper that had been handed to him at the briefing. The drawings on the page had shown him just a mite of what he might face within these streets. Repocketing the paper, he looked at his watch. It would be getting dark in about two and a half hours. He had better get his night-op gear ready.

Day One, 1710 hrs
After combing through the industrial area, Sinclair had to mount his low-light scope on his M-14 and put on his dark-glasses. The dark-glasses looked much like a normal pair of sunglasses, but these had been specially built for him. Nightvision technology had been a bulky system for the longest time, but Sinclair had hired an expert to construct him a pair that could easily sit on his head and allow excellent mobility. The scientist had even incorporated an infared system into the glasses. Donning his dark-glasses, he shouldered his now-suppressed M-14. Moving in a low crouch, he worked his way into one of the residential areas. He had expected to find more resistance through the industrial section, but instead he had found none. He was almost afraid to enter the Commercial section of the city but he had to head there sooner or later. The main labs had been housed underneath that section of the city and the only entrance or exit was behind the police department. It would be a long walk.

Day One, 1725 hours
The first house that he sighted chilled him to the bone. A shabby little single floor affair, similar to the one he had grown up in. He entered the house slowly and quietly, sweeping his raised rifle left to right and back again. The house was eerily quiet and only the creak of the frame was proof of his presence. He turned to leave when a low moan was emitted from the back of the house. He froze and his eyes swept left-right, left-right. Turning ever-so-slowly, he moved into a low crouch and stalked into the kitchen. Dishes lay on the table gathering mold, as if the family living here had just packed up and left. He doubted very much that had happened. Moving into the living room, he saw the first sign that people had indeed lived here at one time. A teenage boy lay on the floor and it looked as if the upper section of his skull had been ripped completely off, exposing his brain to the open air. Sinclair felt a sour taste enter his mouth and he fought the desire to vomit. Upon further examination, the kid's brain seemed to be missing several chunks, and it looked like someone had bitten into the gray matter. Sinclair backed away from the body. This had not been in the briefing. The young man had been very athletic from the look of it, a high school wrestler perhaps, and he had been...eaten. Sinclair shook the thought from his mind. Keep your mind on the mission, he thought. He had just taken up his low position again when the low moan sounded again, this time from behind him. He sprang out of his crouch and dived across the living room, rolling on his shoulder and bringing his feet under him to face the groaning whatever it was. He lowered his weapon when he saw that it was a human form. "Let's get you out of here." He moved toward the other person, but it did not answer. Instead it shuffled toward him with a slight limp, silhouetted by the light coming from the front hallway. Sinclair's eyes narrowed suspiciously and he said "C'mon, don't fool around. I need to get you to safety." Again no answer. It limped forward again, and this time it had come into the pale light of the static-tuned television. Sinlcair jumped back at the sight of the thing. It was human at some time, but that ended in its general shape. A raged hole was slashed across its throat and the flesh on its left arm was hanging off by small threads of muscle tissue. Worst of all were the pale, milky eyes that burrowed into Sinclair's soul. It moaned again, and this time he understood the words that went with the moan. "H-e-l-p M-e." He remembered back to the briefing that the host's consciousness was not destroyed in manifestation, but the host lived within its old husk and felt the neverending pain of its body decaying. Sinlcair felt revultion and pity for this poor man. He brought up his rifle and shot it twice in the head. The creature fell to the floor bonelessly and heavy. Sinlcair sighed and leaned against the wall. This assignment was getting more interesting by the minute.

Day One, 1930 hours
After sweeping all of the houses in the area, he had found twelve more victims and put them out of their misery. Each carried the same message of hope of salvation and each received it. Each time Sinlcair shot one, it felt less and less like elimination of an enemy as much as it felt like a humanitarian mission. He shook his head again and started to head to the commercial district. The streets were two-laned and poorly lit. One would think that a city this size could afford more street lights, he thought without the smirk that would accompany such thoughts. He was moving past a large apartment building when he heard the tell-tale moan. It sounded from the next left turn and he creeped around the corner to get a look. It was there that he saw a small group of the creatures slowly surrounding a man wearing a NDMF SWAT uniform. The man was carrying a suppressed H&K MP5 and was pointing a silenced H&K USP .45 at the closing forms. Sinclair sprang into action and ran toward the other man in his ever-present crouch. He brought his rifle to bear and squeezed out two double-taps. His first stitched one of the subjects with normally fatal heart wounds and the other ripped open its head like a mushy peach. The SWAT cop turned and yelled, "I need a weapon, I'm almost out!" Sinclair let go of his rifle, leaving it to hit the ground, and unholstered both of his silenced Beretta 9mms. He threw one to the cop and turned to shoot three of the monsters in their foreheads. The cop caught the gun and brought it up into the Weaver stance. He quickly double tapped another three of the hosts in their heads. Sinclair shot four more and his pistol clacked dry. He drew his sword and fighting knife, taking up a fighting stance. He kicked the first host to come near, snapping its head back, and bringing his sword down to cut one of its legs off cleanly. He turned and threw his knife and a cubit of cold steel buried itself in the target's neck. He slashed his sword around, decapitating two and eviscerating another. By that time, the cop had shot the last host to resist. Sinlcair sheathed his sword and extended his hand. "Sinclair Domingo, United States Government." The cop accepted his hand. "William Trenton, New Detroit Special Weapons And Tactics unit". Sinclair nodded, "I know. I need to get you out of here." Will shook his head, "I'm staying until I find out who killed my friends. And I'm not too sure that the United States is innocent of the crime." Trenton's eyes narrowed as he raised the pistol to aim it at Sinclair. Sinclair raised his hand defensively, "Hey, just because I work for them doesn't mean I killed your friends." Trenton's frown deepened, "You might have been sent to clean up." Sinclair smiled disarmingly and said, "Do I look like I would clean something up well? I make messes, not hide them." Trenton lowered his borrowed gun, "I believe you, but I don't know why." The man's eyes narrowed again. Sinclair rummaged through the inner pockets of his great coat. "Here, you need them. I also have a feeling that if we stick together, we've got a better chance of finding what we're both looking for." He held out three magazines of MP5 9mm ammo and two .45 clips for a USP. "Will, you've obviously seen some crazy shit here, and I need to know if I can trust you in a pinch." Trenton nodded and handed Sinclair his Beretta back. "You can. Thanks for the rounds." Sinclair nodded. "I've got to go back to my base camp." He smiled at that. "You can come with me. It's clean." Will nodded. "Let's go then."

Day One, 2005 hours
Sinlcair flipped his M-14's fire selector switch to SAFE and threw it onto his bed. "The shower works if you want to use it." He motioned toward the bathroom. "Thanks." Will headed toward the bathroom and Sinclair waited until he could hear the water running to pick up the phone. He dialed the previously agreed upon number and received an answering machine. "I found approximately thirty subjects today. Unknown numbers of the infested. Also rescued a local cop, a William Trenton, Caucasian, approximately seventy one inches tall, athletic, SWAT. Awaiting instructions. On a more personal note, my price just increased to a quarter million. The price of poor intelligence, gentlemen." He hung up without saying goodbye and turned toward the kitchenette in the back of the room to find Will pointing his USP at Sinclair. "What the F-" He began. "Shut the hell up. Who was that? Who are you really? And why the hell are you here?" Sinclair was careful not to move his hands, "That was my superior. I'm who I say I am and I work for who I said I do. I'm here to find out why this town suddenly died. The United States Government is very interested in it. They just needed to investigate with an outside operative. Thus, I was hired. Good enough?" Will was visibly taken back by the agent's openness. Why is he telling me all of this? "Why are you so free about this information? You're just planning to kill me before you leave. I've seen it before. Strangers enter the town, leach onto a survivor to guide them to their objective, and waste them when they aren't needed anymore. All of them from the Company and claiming to be from the government. I'm not going to buy that bullshit." Sinclair shrugged. "Okay, if you're going to shoot me, get it over with. I DO work for the government, and I can prove it." He walked over to his overcoat and pulled out a small folded packet of papers. "A hard copy of my contract. You'll find that everything checks out, at least you would if you had access to the net." Will was still skeptical. "I still don't trust you, but we'll stick together for now." Sinclair nodded slightly and began to clean his weapons. "Take your shower, tonight will be a long one."

To be continued...