The New Haven Incident - Part Forty-Five

Sebastian dove to the side for the third time as the hellhound, on fire again, lunged for him. It was prepared this time, swiping with its enormous bear-like paws. Its claws caught Sebastian’s shoulder, sending Sebastian tumbling along the road. Before he had a chance to get to his feet, the hound pounced, jaws wrapping around his waist. Sebastian unsheathed his knife and thrust up into the soft palate of the beast before it could apply damaging pressure. It yelped, dropping Sebastian.

Agent Connors grunted as he hit the ground hard. He looked up, momentarily unable to move as the hound lifted a paw to strike again. A small burst of semi-automatic fire hit its rump. Forgetting Sebastian a moment, it spun.

Sebastian turned his head at the unexpected sound. Mendez stood in the middle of the street, his rifle up. He pulled the trigger again, sending another short burst of bullets at the hellhound.

“Come and get me, you ugly mongrel,” he barked.

“For fuck’s sake,” Sebastian muttered. He rolled to his feet, ignoring the ache in his shoulder and sprinted after the hound as it bounded towards the warrant officer.

Mendez dived out of the way, but the beast turned its head at the last moment. It caught Mendez by his left boot. With a sharp whip of its great head, the hound tossed the man into the air, opening its jaws wide. Oliver stared at the hound’s gaping maw as he plummeted.

Something hard slammed into his side, forcing him out of the way as the rancid jaws snapped shut, denied their prize. Then Oliver was on the ground, rolling, tangled in whatever had intercepted him. They stopped, Mendez on his back with something hard and heavy on top of him. He opened his eyes.

“I told you to stay,” Sebastian hissed in his ear.

Mendez groaned as Sebastian scrambled off him. “I’m not very good at leaving my friends in a fight,” he said, coughing. “Ugh. I think I broke a rib.”

He looked around when Sebastian didn’t answer. The agent had already left him, drawing the hound away from him with dodging so agile, Mendez was certain he’d do well as a circus performer. Looking around, he located his lost weapon and, not trusting his legs, crawled to it.

Sebastian slid beneath the hound, letting his knife flick out to cut the tendons of the front right paw. It was a temporary victory, he knew, as he felt the knife bite and cut. It would heal itself, but this would at least give him time to light the last of his Molotovs. 

He rolled free of the hound, whose tendons healed with such speed, Sebastian could hear them whip and creak. He withdrew the last of the bottles. He had managed to use only one of his stock before now. The others had shattered, covering him in alcohol. He lit it quickly and spun, throwing it hard. It broke on the hound’s back, covering the beast in blue and yellow flames.

“Well, if it didn’t look hellish enough,” Mendez noted, limping to Sebastian’s side as the hound writhed.

“It’s not going to kill it,” Sebastian noted. He glanced at Mendez. “How good is your throwing arm?”

“High school basketball champ. Never miss a shot.”

“Good.” Sebastian handed Mendez a canister. “You throw this at its head as hard as you can when I say so.”

“Yes, Sir.” Mendez took the canister.

“This time, stay put.”

“Well, we’ll see.” Mendez grinned at Sebastian’s unimpressed glare. He hefted the canister as he watched Sebastian run forward, lifting his pistol and firing. The hound stopped squirming and focussed its blazing eyes on the agent. Yowling a challenge, it jumped forward.

Sebastian dodged, dancing around the mutant beast, looking for his opening. Tooth and claw came at him fast. Twice he barely missed a gruesome decapitation, the hound’s crooked fangs scraping across his neck hard enough to leave welts in their wake. One swipe caught his pants leg, tearing the fabric, but leaving his skin, thankfully, untouched. Another nearly tore out his guts. Each time he pulled away just in time to escape with little more than a hair’s breadth between him and evisceration.

Mendez swallowed, his heart in his throat as he watched Sebastian’s remarkable acrobatics. It was clear what the man was trying to do. Every half turn and back step was a deliberate move to try and manipulate the hellhound into the optimal position for Mendez to throw his canister at the thing without blowing up all three of them. He winced as Sebastian was tossed by the snout, seemingly distracted.

Staring, he watched as Sebastian rolled to a stop and reached beneath the car that had stopped him. Grabbing something, he was up and dodging again just in time. In his hand he now held a crowbar. Still dancing, Sebastian split his attention between the hound and affixing his canister to the crowbar with a spare carabiner.

Unable to understand what Sebastian was doing, Mendez contemplated running in to buy him some space and time. As he made the decision to move, however, Sebastian had finished the attachment and was once again fully focussed on the hound. Frustrated, the hound snapped out. In an uncharacteristic move, Sebastian did not dance away. Instead, his hand flashed out, jamming the crowbar against the top and bottom teeth at the back of the beast’s maw. He wheeled back as the hound violently shook its head back and forth, momentarily forgetting its opponent as it tried to dislodge the rigged crowbar. Unable to dislodge it with the violent head shakes, or remove it by opening its jaw wider, the hound opted to use its considerable bite force.

“Oh shit,” Sebastian said as the solid metal bar began to bend. Then he yelled, “Throw it! Throw it now!”

Mendez hefted the canister and threw. He stepped back as he watched Sebastian follow the arc of the canister with his pistol, firing just as it reached the hound’s head. The canister exploded, sending fuel and shrapnel right at the hound. A piece of the burning shrapnel hit the canister bound to the crowbar in the creature’s mouth. It exploded, taking half the hound’s head with it.

Too close by far, the blasts caught Sebastian full in the chest, throwing him up and back. His back slammed into the side of a parked car, and he fell forward onto the ground, unmoving.

Mendez saw it even as he turned away to shield himself from the sudden flare of light and heat. He straightened and stared at Sebastian.

“Fuck!” he spat. He ran forward, amidst a rain of falling pulped bone and brain matter, to kneel by Sebastian’s side.

The force of his impact with the car had caused considerable trauma to the back of Sebastian’s head. It bled heavily. Knowing the explosion would probably attract every infected thing in the area, Mendez quickly checked for breath. Finding it - faint but steady - Mendez rolled Sebastian up and onto his shoulders.

“Sorry,” he muttered, hoping the movement wouldn’t cause more severe damage to the man’s spine. He turned and ran as fast as he could to the nearest door he knew was open - the liquor store - and barged through. He laid Sebastian gently on the ground near the door.

“You’re a heavy bastard for someone so short,” he muttered as he rose and shut the door, sliding his knife through the handle to ensure it wouldn’t be opened from the outside.

“Fuck you,” Sebastian said from the floor, his voice muffled. “Five ten is not short.”

Mendez laughed as he returned to Sebastian’s side. The agent’s eyes were still closed, but a small smile hovered around his lips. 

“You okay?” Mendez asked.

“I hurt,” came the muffled response.

“No shit. Hang in there, I’m going to grab a few supplies and get you patched up.”

A grunt was all that answered Mendez. The mercenary rose and ran to the one of the many countertops. He checked each one, not finding what he was looking for. He spied the door marked ‘Staff Only’ and barged through it. It had not been locked. Expecting more resistance, he tumbled forward, landing on his hands and knees.

“You okay?” he heard Sebastian ask, the words still slurred.

“Fine,” Mendez answered. “That was… uh… that was the office chair.”

A soft chuckle brought a smile to Mendez’ face. Perhaps the damage was not as severe as it had looked. Head wounds did have a tendency to produce blood out of proportion to the wound itself. He scrambled to his feet and went in search of his target. He found it fairly quickly - a med kit; larger and better stocked than his own field kit. He grabbed it and ran to Sebastian.

To his surprise, he found Sebastian sitting upright by the door. There was a concerningly large puddle of blood where his head had previously rested. His eyes were closed, but he held his pistol across one knee, his fighting knife in the other hand, as if ready to spring into action should anything come through the door.

“Hey,” Mendez said, dropping to a knee beside him. He placed a hand on Sebastian’s right shoulder. It was damp, covered in sweat and blood, and there was a slight tremble.

Sebastian opened his eyes and swivelled them to regard. Unable to focus, the younger man blinked rapidly in an effort to have them function properly.

“That was a nasty knock,” Mendez said, pulling out a pen light from one of the pockets of his tactical vest. He flashed the light on Sebastian’s right eye.

Grunting, Sebastian closed his eyes and pulled violently away. He immediately regretted it. It sent a sharp pain through his skull and down his neck.

“You were too close.”

Sebastian grunted. “There was no time. The thing was going to break that bar.”

“It was reckless as hell,” Mendez growled. “The whole thing.” He snapped on some rubber gloves emphatically, making his displeasure known, and conducted a full body check. The blood from the head wound trickled down the back of Sebastian’s neck. There were a few bruises, but nothing seemed broken; surprising, given the force with which he had slammed into the side of the car. There was also a considerable amount of blood soaking the torn cloth at his right shoulder, but when Mendez checked, the wounds looked too small to be responsible for it all. He scowled as he examined the jagged cuts.

“Yeah. I might have lost my temper a little bit.” Sebastian smirked a little, his eyes still closed. “But we got the bastard, didn’t we?”

“You’re lucky you haven’t broken anything, near as I can tell, in any case. In fact, considering the idiocy of it all, you’re in good shape.”

Sebastian grunted.

Mendez shook his head. He dug through the first aid kit. “Let’s get that head wound looked at.” Sighing, he swallowed all further admonishments and set to task. He pulled out a squeeze bottle of saline solution and set about cleaning the blood away from the gash in Sebastian’s head. He scowled. It already looked smaller than his initial assessment had led him to believe. Shaking his head, thinking perhaps the cleaning helped, he wiped away the blood as best he could, then placed a large, folded square of gauze against the wound and applied pressure. Sebastian grunted in pain, but that was the extent of his complaint.

“Hold this,” Mendez said, lifting Sebastian’s left arm and placing it indelicately on the gauze. “Apply pressure.”

Sebastian did and Mendez turned his attention to threading a small suture needle. Sebastian opened his eyes and watched. He grimaced.

“You won’t need as many as I thought at first,” Mendez noted.

“Oh good.” Sebastian’s droll tone tweaked at the corner of Mendez’ lips.

“Still mad at you,” Mendez said even as the threatening smile won and his lips split.

Sebastian laughed softly. He yielded his hand to Mendez, who applied a small amount of numbing gel to the wound and then stitched together the widest regions of the wound. It had stopped bleeding.

Mendez then turned his attention to Sebastian’s right shoulder.

“Honestly, I thought this would be worse than it is. You’re a lucky bastard.”

“Define luck.”

Mendez chuckled. “Fair point.” He cleaned the wound at Sebastian’s shoulder, noting that though the wound was wide, it wasn’t deep enough to warrant stitches. He placed a non-stick gauze covered in antiseptic cream against the wound and carefully taped it down.

The wounds treated, Mendez removed the gloves and stuck them in a little Ziplock bag. There was no real point to this precaution. The bloody gloves would soon be incinerated with the rest of the city, but it was a habit.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Sebastian noted. “Lots of practice?”

“I was the company medic in the army, remember,” Mendez answered. “Alright, Agent, let’s see how your brain is feeling.” He pulled out the pen light again and flashed Sebastian’s eyes once more. “Pupils are behaving normally.” He slid the light away and held up a finger. “Follow,” he commanded. He moved the finger from side to side and up and down across Sebastian’s face. “Looks good.” He looked Sebastian full in the face. “Name?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Really?”

“Name.”

“Fine. Sebastian Connors.”

“Date of birth?”

“I’m legal, if you’re asking.”

Mendez pressed his lips together in an effort not to laugh. Instead, he glared at Sebastian as best he could. Smiling, Sebastian answered, “April 29, 1991.”

“Taurus baby, are you?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I guess. Never paid attention to that kind of thing.”

“No? Huh. It’s fun.”

“It’s idiotic.”

“Oh, come on. How else are you supposed to judge whether or not to pursue a relationship? Take you and me, for example. You’re a Taurus, I’m a Scorpio. We’re destined to get along.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same. “You always such a flirt?”

Mendez grinned, his dark eyes twinkling impishly. “Only when they’re cute.”

Sebastian laughed.

 Rocking back onto his heels, he stared at Sebastian. He appeared to be recovering quickly. “How did you get into this shit, hm? What made you become an agent?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I didn’t really have a choice. The Department pulled me out of the rubble of Cedarwood City. I was put into quarantine, given a medical evaluation, and dragged into meetings with all these men in uniforms and suits. I don’t remember most of it. I know I signed some papers. I don’t remember what they said, or even if I actually read them. But I do know that it means that The Department basically owns me. Then they put me on a bus, threw me into training and then… well… Here I am. A government-sanctioned murderer.”

Mendez sat in silence for a moment, processing what Sebastian was saying. “That’s… barbaric!”

Sebastian shrugged. “It’s not like I could return to a normal life after… after everything that happened. What was I supposed to do, flip burgers?” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I was the only one who made it out. Out of everyone in the precinct.” Shaking his head again, his tone turned bitter. “I was a coward.”

“Hey,” Mendez said, sharper than he intended. “You were just a kid. None of what happened was on you.”

Sebastian scoffed. He opened his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

Deciding a change in conversation was needed, Mendez said, “Well, you appear to be more or less okay.” Mendez packed away the first aid kit and stood, extending a hand out for Sebastian. “On your feet, then.”

Sebastian took his hand and let the mercenary help him to his feet. He noticed Mendez wince. “Are you okay?”

“Broken rib, I think.” Mendez shrugged. “Not much I can do about it right now. Breathing will be a bit uncomfortable for a while, that’s all.”

“Christ,” Sebastian said, rolling out his left shoulder. “I could really go for a burger right about now.”

Mendez turned to him in disbelief. “Seriously?!”

Sebastian’s answering smile was small, but bright. Shaking his head, Mendez turned and located his rifle.

They both gathered their weapons and turned to the door. A shadow zipped through the shop, indicating something moving past the window. Both Mendez and Sebastian dropped low.

“Infected, I’m guessing. We made a lot of noise that fight,” Mendez noted.

Sebastian nodded. “There should be a back door. This way.” He led the mercenary through the staff-only back room to the door there. It opened easily from the inside, letting the pair out into a narrow alley behind the building. They moved quietly down to the far end and slipped out, moving quickly away from the site of the fight without being spotted by the gathering infected.

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