Get those stones going boys and tomboys, we need to get those numbers up!
If you want to discuss the story or just meme about join my discord server:
We are falling so far behind on our target for weekly reviews, comments, and power stones. If you want me to continue this work, I would appreciate your encouragement. đ #NeedMotivation
Please help make this novel well-known! If you have any advice for me, please comment so I can improve.
*****
"Okay," she nodded, taking a deep breath. "I'll check the east wing. You take the west."
"Be careful," Atlas said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
"You too."
They separated. Rebecca moved cautiously toward the dining room entrance. Atlas turned left, heading toward the tea room and the bar.
Atlas moved quietly. He wasn't too familiar with this mansion since it was nothing like Spencer Mansion, but he trusted his instincts.
He reached the end of the hallway. There was a heavy wooden door slightly ajar.
He pushed it open. The hinges creaked loudly in the silence.
The room was a small sitting areaâa tea room with a fireplace and a few sofas. It was dimly lit by a single flickering lamp.
There was a figure sitting on the sofa, facing away from the door. He was wearing a S.T.A.R.S. uniform.
Atlas lowered his gun slightly.
"Sullivan!" Atlas called out.
It was Kenneth J. Sullivan, the point man for Alpha Team. The man who, in the original timeline, was decapitated by the first zombie within minutes of entering the mansion.
Upon hearing a man's voice, Sullivan slowly raised his head.
He didn't turn around. He just tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling.
"Help..."
The word was a wet rasp.
Atlas stepped closer to the sofa, his boots making no sound on the Persian rug. He circled the furniture, his weapon lowered but ready.
"Sullivan, it's Atlas. I'm withâ"
Atlas stopped mid-sentence.
Kenneth J. Sullivan, the Bravo Team's point man and chemical protection specialist, was slumped against the cushions. But he wasn't relaxing.
He was clutching his left forearm. Bloodâdark and arterialâwas pulsing between his fingers, soaking his bright yellow tactical vest. His face was a mask of shock, pale and drained of color, sweat beading on his forehead.
He looked up at Atlas. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, filled with the primal fear of a man who has seen something that logic cannot explain.
"Who..." Kenneth wheezed, his free hand fumbling for his sidearm, which lay on the cushion beside him.
"Easy, officer Sullivan," Atlas said, his voice a low rumble designed to de-escalate. He holstered his Magnum deliberately, showing his hands. "I'm a friend. Rebecca Chambers and I came here together. We entered through the east window but split up to sweep the floor."
Kenneth blinked, struggling to process the information through the haze of blood loss. He looked at Atlasâreally looked at him.
He saw the trench coat. The heavy ordnance strapped to his legs. The sheer, unnatural width of his shoulders and the way he held himself not like a rescue worker, but like a predator who had decided to be benevolent. This was a man who ate danger for breakfast.
"Rebecca?" Kenneth rasped, the name acting as an anchor. "Is she... safe?"
"She's alive," Atlas confirmed, stepping closer to inspect the wound. "Edward Dewey is dead. We met your Captain, Enrico, in the tunnels below, but we got separated. As for the others... I don't know."
Hearing the status report, delivered with such clinical precision, Kenneth slumped back. He sighed, the air leaving his lungs in a shudder.
"Dewey... damn it," Kenneth whispered. "We have to find a way to get out of here. My radio is dead. We need to contact the R.P.D."
"We will," Atlas said. "Let me see that arm."
Kenneth jerked his hand back.
The gash across his hand was deep and jagged, blood spilling in steady, pulsing streams. The skin around it was already swelling, angry and red.
Not a bite. Not a scratch, Atlas noted. Just a cut.
But the bleeding was arterialâtoo much, too fast. If it wasn't treated soon, shock would come first⊠then fever.
Hours, he judged coldly. At best.
"It hurts like hell," Kenneth gritted out. "Something... something followed me in a hurry . I cut myself..."
CREAAAAK.
The door to the pantry, located behind the dining table, slowly pushed open..
The sound of wet, slapping footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor.
Kenneth's head snapped up. His eyes went wide with terror.
"It's back," he hissed, grabbing his pistol.
A figure shuffled into the dim light. It was wearing a lab coat, stained brown with dried fluids. Its skin was grey, sloughing off the bone. It turned its head slowly, the neck vertebrae cracking audibly.
Its mouth was a ruin of gore. It hissed, fixing its cloudy eyes on the fresh meat on the sofa.
The First Zombie.
"Die! Just die!" Kenneth screamed.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Kenneth fired three rounds. The 9mm bullets hit the zombie in the chest and shoulder. The creature stumbled back, black ichor spurting from the wounds, but it didn't fall. It didn't even slow down.
It lunged, arms outstretched, hunger driving it forward.
"Don't you know how to kill these monsters?" Atlas asked, his voice bored.
He stepped in front of Kenneth, blocking the creature's path. He didn't even draw a weapon at first. He just raised a hand, catching the zombie by the throat as it lunged.
The zombie snapped its jaws, inches from Atlas's face.
Atlas looked at it with disdain.
"Dinner's over," Atlas growled.
He drew the G19 with his free hand. He didn't bother aiming; he just pressed
the barrel against the creature's forehead.
.
Bang!
The sound was loud in the small room.
The zombie's head had a 9mm hole in it. The body dropped to the floor like a sack of wet cement.
Kenneth lowered his gun, his mouth agape. He looked at the corpse, then up at Atlas.
"These things," Atlas explained, wiping a speck of blood from his cheek, "must be shot in the head or the spine. Or burned. Body shots are just a suggestion to them."
Sullivan stared at him. He realized that if Atlas hadn't walked in, that thing would have been chewing on his throat right now. In the original timeline, Kenneth J. Sullivan died here. Today, he was just an injured witness.
"Right," Kenneth swallowed hard, holstering his gun with a trembling hand. "Headshots. Got it."
Atlas looked at the corpse. 'Isn't this the same zombie that killed Sullivan in the game?' he thought. Unexpectedly, his presence allowed Sullivan to safely navigate this unfortunate situation.
Good.
"We better leave quickly," Atlas said, offering a hand to haul Kenneth up. "It's not safe here. The smell of blood will draw more of them."
He grabbed his radio.
"Rebecca, please answer."
A moment of static, then: "I'm here! Atlas? How's the situation? Did you find anyone?"
"I found Sullivan," Atlas replied. "He's wounded, but mobile. What about you?"
There was a pause on the line. Heavy. Sad.
"I found Forest," Rebecca's voice came back, quiet. "On the terrace. He... he was pecked to death by crows. He's gone, Atlas."
Atlas closed his eyes briefly. Forest Speyer, the Bravo Team sniper. Another one down.
"I'm sorry, Rebecca," Atlas said softly. "Come to the Dining Room. First floor, west wing. We'll join up and find a way out."
"Copy that. On my way."
Atlas helped Kenneth to his feet. "Can you walk?"
"I can run if I have to," Kenneth gritted out.
"Let's get the hell out of here."
They met in the Dining Room.
When Rebecca burst through the door and saw Kenneth standing thereâpale, bandaged, but aliveâshe nearly collapsed with relief.
"Kenneth!" she cried, rushing over to check his vitals.
"I'm okay, Rebecca," Kenneth managed a weak smile, patting her shoulder. "Thanks to your friend here. He... he blew that thing's head off."
Rebecca looked up at Atlas. She didn't say a word, but her eyes said everything. Thank you.
She quickly set to work, restitching Kenneth's bandage with professional efficiency.
"Who is he, Rebecca?" Kenneth whispered, nodding at Atlas, who was keeping watch by the door. "He's not S.T.A.R.S."
"He's..." Rebecca paused. She looked at Atlas's broad back. She was unable to reveal to Kenneth that he was something different, something more than merely human.. Strength, power, bone clawsâshe had no words for that level of understanding. "He's a private contractor. I found him on the train. He saved my life, Kenneth. A dozen times. We can trust him."
Kenneth looked at Atlas's frame, the weapons, the calm demeanor.
"Yeah," Kenneth nodded. "I believe it."
"Done," Rebecca said, tying off the bandage.
"Let's move," Atlas ordered. "The Main Hall is central. If anyone else made it inside, they'll head there."
They moved out, passing the grandfather clock and entering the Main Hall.
It was magnificent. A three-story atrium with a grand staircase, marble floors, and a massive chandelier. But the silence was oppressive.
They sat on the steps of the grand staircase to catch their breath.
"Now we have to get in touch with the others," Kenneth said, clutching his arm. "And then everyone gets out of here together."
"The Captain and the others cannot be contacted," Rebecca said, her voice frustrated.
"The radio interference is getting worse. The situation is truly dire."
Atlas stood at the bottom of the steps, watching the main double doors.