The locals driving me here are nothing short of useless, I think to myself. I’m only vaguely listening as I try to ignore the driver. Did he just call me a cowboy? Racist…I flick my hair to the side as I rest my chin on my fist.
I’m here to find President Graham’s daughter, Ashley. The locals don’t understand – that’s the reason I’m in this lonely, rural part of Europe. According to our intelligence, there’s been a sighting of a girl who looks very similar to Ashley in this area. She’s being held by an unidentified group of people, and it’s my job to find her. I think back to the incident in Raccoon City a few years back and shudder. At least it’s not zombies this time.
The car drives over a poorly constructed, rickety rope bridge. “Just up ahead is the village…” mutters the driver.
I look up at the police officer riding shotgun. He looks back at me in condescension. He’s been talking this whole time, but I’ve been ignoring him. “I’ll go and have a look around.” I reply.
Useless this pair, I think to myself, absolutely useless.
“We’ll stay and watch the car.” I’m not even remotely surprised by the apathy they show. It may be their country, but they seem to have no love of Americans. They seem to resent the job of driving me here.
“We don’t want to get any parking tickets.”
“Good luuuuck.” The driver sings. I step out of the car.
I’m already in a bad mood as I look around. I’m in a heavilly forested area, but the leaves are already on the ground. Everything around me looks dead. I look at the trees. Crows. They may not be zombies, but I’m still not fond of the beasts. I stand my ground and raise my pistol at the crow at the tree directly above me. I spot three of the black beasts and dispatch each one in rapid succession. The murder of crows hit the floor, dropping the jewels and Pesatas they had collected over the years. They’re mine now.
There is a house to my left, which I approach cautiously. There’s no front door, so I let myself in, pistol drawn. I creep forward, looking for signs of life. I round the corner, and spot a man bent over, stoking the fire; I hold my pistol.
“Uh, excuse me… sir?”
No response. I step forward, reaching for a picture of the young Ashley Graham. She’s mid-to-late teens, blonde. A nice-looking young lady, but not really my type. The man turns towards me. “I was wondering if you might recognise the girl in this photograph?”
“Que carajo estas haciendo aqui? Largate cabron!”
Well that wasn’t exactly pleasant. Shocked, I put the picture back into my pocket and turn away. “Sorry to have bothered you…” I notice just in time that this local has grabbed an axe, and is swinging it towards me. I dive to the right, drawing my pistol as I roll.
He doesn’t freeze.
“I SAID FREEZE!”
He swings again, but I am well out of his reach. He almost seems drunk as he lurches forward, recovering from his poor excuse of an attack. I raise my pistol and quickly deliver two rounds to his head.
I hear an engine start and run to the window to see the police officers speeding away. I see a few more locals advance towards me. They seem pretty pissed off. “Shit…”
I look down at the corpse behind me. At least he’s not a zombie. I look around quickly – there’s some stairs to my left. I run up and spot a box of ammo on the side table – I grab it and dive out of the window. The locals turn to face me, raising their weapons in anger.
A bullet each dispatches each one.
I step out of the house. The dead forest is quiet. I run back to the car, but the bridge is no longer there, and there is a burning wreck at the bottom of the canyon which I can only assume is what’s left of it. I turn and run in the opposite direction along what seems to pass for a road around these parts.
Less than a dozen meters up the road I come across a little shack to my right. I stick my head in, spotting an old typewriter on the table. Bemused, I clack a few of the keys.
This is a seriously old typewriter, I think to myself. I check the ribbon – there seems to be enough to last a long, long time. I resume my mission, and continue up the road.
I spot another pair of crows. I grimace, and I take a second to dispatch them. One of them somehow managed to stash a grenade in its nest; I have no idea how a crow managed to haul that thing up there, but I’m thankful for the artillery all the same.
Whimpering distracts me from my thoughts – I look up to see a wolf caught in a bear trap. Damnit, I knew these locals were hostile, but I wasn’t expecting…do they even have bears in this part of Spain?
I look at the wolf. It looks back at me, and it looks hurt. I approach the struggling animal, and crouch down to pry the trap back open. The animal runs off, blood dripping down its hind leg. I wonder if I’ll see it again as I continue down the road once more.
Who the hell put a trip mine here? This is certainly no ordinary village. I look away from the pair of trees hosting this poorly hidden IED as another local bellows at me, raising his pitchfork in attack. I run backwards up the road, not taking my eyes off him. He trips the mine as I grin. I dodge another villager as he swings his weapon towards me, leaving his back exposed. A swift roundhouse kick to the head knocks him down. My knife flashes as his life ends.
There is another shack to my left, just a little further up the road. A farmer with a sickle sees me, and runs towards me cursing in Spanish as I duck into the shack. I turn around and spot what’s left of a woman pinned to the wall with a pitchfork. I suddenly feel less guilty about cutting the farmers throat as he runs into the shack. That could have been me…Jesus, that could have happened to Ashley.
I press onwards, quickly. A large gate with an intriguing design stands before me. This must be the village the officer mentioned before. I push the doors open and enter, wondering if either officer made it out of the ambush alive.
I creep forward. There is a bonfire ahead with what appears to be one of the officers hung up in the middle of the burning mass. I hunker down behind a tree and raise my binoculars to confirm my suspicions. I’ve been here 10 minutes and I’m already sick of this place. My thoughts are cut short as a farmer sees me hiding behind the tree and raises an accusing hand, screaming in Spanish. I run at him, dropping the grenade at his feet. I see a church ahead of me, but opt to dive into the building to my left instead, slamming the door behind me as I hear the explosion. I was hoping to avoid a firefight…
I look out the window to see them organizing themselves. They’re certainly not zombies…I find myself almost wondering if that’s a good thing or a bad thing – of course it’s a good thing…
That’s when I heard the chainsaw. Shit, shit shit…
I look around, almost panicking. There’s a chest of drawers to my left. That is going to the block the door, I think as I shove it forwards. I hear a window break upstairs. Shit.
I fly up the stairs to see a villager climbing through the broken window – they must be throwing up ladders to get in. I can’t tell if the locals are stupid or not as I plunge my knife into his face, and shove his ladder back to terra firma. The villagers look up at me, and I look down on them. I wish I had a second grenade.
A dirty stained bed lies to my left. There is a small green box at the foot of the bed.
I turn around, and spot it, framed on the wall. I grin as I rip the shotgun from the frame.
I hear the chainsaw rip again as it comes crashing through the door downstairs, I hear swearing – they must have noticed the chest of drawers. I laugh, quelling my terror, as I dive out the window onto the veranda and run around the corner. I stand on the roof of the building at a dead-end – perfect.
I hear the the locals screaming “Mátalo” as I check if the shotgun is loaded. It is – perfect.
A farmer rounds the corner, sickle raised. He hisses in anger, and throws the weapon. I duck – perfect.
I raise my new shotgun, and smile. He growls and lunges forward, unarmed – perfect.