Hey guys, so I saw the Resident Evil movies recently, and didn't care for the nudity but loved the movies themselves. Especially Carlos. So, naturally, I was mad when they killed him. So I wrote this. I left it so it could end like it is, or it could continue, I haven't decided yet. Enjoy!
Carlos drove deftly through the mass of zombies, his hands gripping the wheel to keep from shaking. This sucked worse than charging into them bare handed; at least then he had a chance of survival. He glanced down at the cluster of dynamite on the seat next to him, taking a deep breath as he focused back on the makeshift road ahead of him, his heart hammering against his sternum, adrenaline making him acutely alert, unaware of the affects of the virus for the moment. Maybe he would be allowed to die feeling remotely human.
Zombies hit the windshield like grotesquely giant insects, splattering gore as they went. He gritted his teeth, suddenly jerking the wheel to the left, throwing the gas truck onto its side, destroying monster after monster as the truck slid over their mangled bodies. He took a strange satisfaction in the feeling of the creatures hitting the truck like a tidal wave, glad that he was taking so many with him. No one would be able to say that Carlos Oliveira went down without one heck of a fight.
The tanker finally came to a grinding halt, and he fell back into the far side of the cab, fumbling for his lighter as ragged panting surrounded him. He'd be ticked if he couldn't light the smoke he had found before he went.
Crap. The hands were appearing, and now so were their ugly as heck heads. He'd have to light the explosives first………..
He took a long drag on the smoke, closing his eyes as he inhaled, feeling much calmer. It was already done. The bomb was lit, and he was taking who knew how many of these hell-spawn with him. His eyes opened to stare at the monsters crowding in through the window with a triumphant, lazy glare, breathing out the smoke in a satisfied sigh. It was over for him. He leaned back, nestling his muscled shoulders against the corner, the disease pumping though him or the one crowding around him no longer a concern. He closed his eyes again, drawing another breath of the drug before the fuse burned to the end.
He only heard the faintest boom, almost like he was watching it from afar. Then it was just dark. He wasn't even remotely in pain, and he hadn't felt the explosion. Well, at least death was pleasant. His awareness was minimal, like it was when you were just on the edge of sleep. He didn't care. He was laying face down in something soft and warm, and he was comfortable. He moved just the slightest bit, nestling deeper into whatever it was, but a sharp pain lanced through him.
Pain? That wasn't right.
For the first time he tried to open his eyes, and found that he could.
He sat up, slowly, trying to take in his surroundings. He was pinned under a sheet of metal, probably from the truck, and it was dark out, save for the strangely contrasting lights from the facility in front of him. How was he not dead? Or maybe he was.
He looked around, the sheet of metal still laying across his legs. Maybe his body was around here somewhere…….
Or maybe he was a zombie.
He looked down at himself, gasping suddenly as he saw a large piece of one of the truck's pipes sticking straight out of his chest. He marveled at it a second, not daring to move. Why wasn't he in more pain?
He traced a finger down his own sternum, stopping right were the pipe had penetrated it. The area was only slightly swollen, but that wasn't what bothered him.
He traced down the bone again, still amazed. There was no mistaking it; the pipe was straight through his heart. And it was not beating.
So how was he so alert?
Or alive for that matter.
And how was he not in about five million pieces?
Grasping the pipe with both hands, Carlos took a deep and painful breath, suddenly pulling.
It slid out much easier than it should have. He dropped the pipe, gasping again, looking down at his own chest in a kind of detached horror. There was a hole clean through him.
And it was healing.
The flesh closed in over the wound like it hadn't been there, and he felt the same strange sensation all through his chest where the pipe had been. Sort of a slimy, crawling feeling. He was too amazed to feel disgusted.
He pressed fingers gingerly to the spot, feeling the hard bone of his sternum as it solidified from its liquid healing state. The he felt a sharp contraction and he buckled over as his heart began to beat again.
After the first few pumps the pain faded and there was only the familiar feeling of his heartbeat in his chest.
What on earth had just happened?
Shoving the metal off of his legs, he stood, finding his clothing mostly undamaged. Apparently, and he had no idea how, he had been shielded from the blast enough that his flame-retardant pants and weapons had survived. So had most of his shirt.
Still marveling over how he had survived, he turned in a circle around him, finding that he was close to where the explosion had happened, and completely surrounded by zombies.
So why hadn't they attacked him?
Carlos inched forward, gazing at the nearest monster, one hand gripping the pistol on his leg, ready to draw. The creature just stared ahead, continuing its relentless journey towards the laboratory, in search of food.
One decaying foot ahead of the other.
Morbidly curious, Carlos walked blatantly in front of it, waving his warm, fleshy hand in front of its face. Something that would have normally been an absolutely un ignorable target.
The thing just waved at him with its arms absently, as if annoyed that he was in its way. It leaned into him, much like they did when they were attacking, but not in a forceful way. Its gore encrusted teeth snapped near his neck, not trying to bite him, more like it was trying to speak.
Carlos stood frozen, staring down at the rotting mess, trying to make sense of its behavior. It continued to walk against him, pawing weakly against his chest with its hands, trying to get him to move.
Numbly, he stepped aside, and the zombie let out a satisfied moan as it continued its march towards the most promising food source.
Carlos stumbled over to a nearby piece of twisted metal, watching the endless stream of undead as they tottered right by him, not seeing him at all.
So was he a zombie, or wasn't he?
He couldn't be. He had complete control of his body, didn't especially feel hungry for anything but a decent meal and a beer, and he was warm with a pulse.
On the other hand, he had survived an explosion, being stabbed straight through the heart, and the zombies completely ignored him.
No, that was impossible.
Or was it?
Alice had bonded with the T virus, maybe by some stroke of luck he had done the same.
But his luck was never that good. Why would he, out of billions of people, bond with the virus in a good way and have immunity from the zombies? Even Alice didn't have that.
But there was absolutely no other explanation.
He looked around again, trying to decide what to do next. The most profitable thing would be to try and find survivors, but his convoy was long gone, and so was anything useful to him. Unless he had lost the need for food and water too, he wouldn't survive more than a day in the desert with out supplies. Still, getting supplies would be much easier now that he seemed to have no enemies. Attacking him anyway. Now he would probably have to be on the run from the Umbrella Corporation. He would almost rather take the zombies. At least they were brainless and weaponless.
Not really knowing why, Carlos made his way towards the lab, walking in through the door that he had blasted open with the truck.
Alice was still here.
He stopped, wondering how he knew that. He could sense her. She was here, somewhere down in the bowls of the cursed place. Walking through the doors, he found the elevator shaft, taking his knives out and stabbing them into the side of the wall, walking down it with them, stab after stab. It was surprisingly easy to force the metal into the shaft walls. The T virus apparently had made him quite a bit stronger as well.
When he was half way down the shaft, he got an idea. What would happen if he just dropped? He had already survived two lethal situations, what was one more?
He looked down over his shoulder, feeling a surge of adrenaline coarse through him as he thought of letting go. Then he did.
He yanked the knives out of the wall, dropping fast, gaining momentum as he fell. Bracing, he hit the ground hard, rolling as the impact sent a wave of pain through all his joints. He rolled onto his back, gasping. It felt like he had broken his legs.
Soon the pain began to abate and he sat up, gingerly testing his flexibility. He was still slightly sore, but seemed to be healing already. Within another ten minutes he stood, staring down a ruined and dark hallway. It was smeared with blood and completely wrecked. He knew that it was pitch black, but he could still see; sort of a bluish tint to the wrecked forms that spanned out in front of him.
Still wondering what else he could do, he set off in a jog down the corridor, heading in the direction he determined Alice was in.
Crappy? Great? Reviews are my favorite!!!! This is my first RE fic, so just know that. Also know that I have only seen each movie once. Gentle opinions and constructive criticism are welcome, but flames will be used to combat lickers.