Sword and Shield

FUBAR. "Fucked up beyond all recognition." Right now, it was the acronym that came to Carlos Oliveira's mind. Because while he couldn't say the situation in Raccoon City was "beyond all recognition," he could say that it was fucked up. Cities had been warzones throughout human history. The UBCS had been deployed to clean up Umbrella's messes on more than one occasion. Back when he'd been fighting to bring a "Communist utopia" to El Salvador, he'd done his fair share of killing the living. But, combine a burning city with the undead with the UBCS, and…yeah. FUBAR. The city was FUBAR, the unit had been FUBARred, and chances were that he'd become FUBAR as well. Torn to pieces and left to shamble around the city to make more people FUBARred.

"This is fucked."

He looked over at one of the last surviving members of UBCS Delta Platoon, Alpha Team – Randall Adams. Chances were there were other survivors as well, but ever since the drop-off, the UBCS had been fighting a losing battle. Any illusions of containing the outbreak had evaporated within hours. Within days, any sense of normality had collapsed within Raccoon City – the police were gone, the fire department was gone, and there was no sign of the US Army moving from the barricades that surrounded the city. For all he knew, he and Ryak were the last soldiers in the city. For all he knew, he, Randall, Ryak, and the trio of children that were now sitting on the ground, as if dead already, were the only living human beings in the city.

Randall looked at him. "You know we're screwed, right?"

"I know you shouldn't use such language."

The two soldiers' eyes turned to Ryak. The last member of their own trio. The one who barely spoke, and the only who was cleaning blood off his machete, as if that even mattered anymore.

"Yeah, right," Randall said. He looked over at the children – ages three to five, lifespan remaining in the hours, and if by some miracle they did survive, doomed to have nightmares for the rest of their lives. "Don't worry kids – there's monsters out to get you, but we'll make sure not to use any naughty language."

One of the children, a three year old girl, began crying. Not the soft, broken crying that Carlos had seen from the few civilians he'd managed to 'save' (if by save, along the lines of "run while I hold them off"), the type of crying that only a child could manage. The type of crying that drove parents insane.

"Shut her up," Randall hissed.

Crying that could be done without any parent coming to find them. Crying that could draw the undead to their location.

"Seriously, shut her up," Randall repeated. He looked around the alleyway they were in. Safe, for now, but potentially a death trap.

"For Christ's sake, I-"

He drew out a pistol. Carlos raised an arm, but Ryak grabbed Randall's. That shut him up. And a moment after that, he was kneeling down at the children. Singing a song in Bari. Slowly, the girl began to calm down, and her brothers listened as well.

"Well," Carlos said. "That worked."

"Right," Randall snorted. "Worked."

Carlos gave Ryak and the children a look. He didn't know how a man who'd survived up until now by decapitating zombies with the same machete he'd used to amputate Sudanese civilians had it in him to be a babysitter, but somehow, it was working. He picked out a map from one of his uniform's pockets and paid it out on a dumpster. He beckoned Randall over and they took a look.

"So," Randall asked. "Plan?"

"You think I've got a plan?"

"You're a corporal, right? It's up to you to make the plans."

"Plans." Carlos snorted. What plan was there left? Plan A had been to contain the outbreak and get as many civilians as possible to St. Michael's Clock Tower. Plan A had gone up in smoke. Looking at the map, he could see that-

"The clock tower's too far. We're not going to make it. So we head to City Hall Station."

"City Hall?"

"It's the closest RV point."

Randall frowned as he traced a finger over the map. A map that had multiple areas shaded in black, and certain structures circled in red – no-go zones and RV points respectively. Both soldiers could see that there was an awful lot of black, and a lot of circles had been crossed out.

"Still too far," he said.

"You got a better idea?"

"Well, we frag the kids for starters."

Carlos stared at him. He slowly turned his head round to Ryak, who'd somehow got a laugh out of the children. And just as slowly, he turned his head back to Randall.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

"Why?"

"Because-"

"You think the original mission is on? You think Umbrella gives an arse as to how many people we bring to the evacuation zone?"

Carlos opened his mouth, but closed it. He didn't think that at all, but he wanted to find a middle ground between the Good Samaritan and King Herod.

"Let's say this works," Randall said. "Let's say that despite the undead, and despite our lack of bullets, we survive long enough to make it to the train station. Let's say we're really lucky, and there is an RV point. What happens then? We still need to make it to the clock tower."

"Your point?"

"Point is our chances of doing that are next to nothing. If we're bringing dead weight, they are nothing."

Carlos looked back at Ryak and the children. They'd returned to just sitting down, and Ryak was holding his rifle, looking down the alleyway. Could Ryak hear them, he wondered? If so, would he buy it? The man had killed men, women, and children alike in Sudan's civil war, before Umbrella had decided that his skills could be put to better use. And Randall? Randall had spent ten years of his life planting bombs on behalf of the IRA, not caring how many people he killed, or what type of people? And he? He liked to think that he'd fought for a good cause in El Salvador, but he had killed people. Sometimes, innocent people. He'd hated it, but he'd done it. So in all of that, what were three children who were probably dead anyway?

"Ryak." Carlos called him over.

"What?" he asked.

"We have to move." Carlos pointed at City Hall Station. "The RV point. We rendezvous there, and then…"

"And then?"

"Dunno. But, Randall's thinking…" He trailed off, looking at Randall. He didn't want to say this. He could only hope that Randall would be the one to play devil's advocate.

"We ditch the kids."

Ryak remained silent, so Carlos continued. "Listen, I don't like it either. But-"

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"No." Ryak stood there above both of them. "We won't leave them. That's not what we were sent here for."

"Christ on a pogo stick, you think that matters anymore?"

"What does matter?"

"What matters?" Randall was turning a shade of red. "My fucking life matters for starters."

"And the lives of the people you killed didn't?" Ryak smiled. "Tell me, how many died when you set off the bomb in Manchester? When-"

Randall shoved Ryak against the wall and drew a knife to his throat. "Don't lecture me you black fuck."

"I am lecturing you."

"Yeah? Well, how many people did you kill?"

"At least twenty-two."

Randall fell silent.

"At least," Ryak. "I counted. Probably more – AK-47s have good range and accuracy. They're good for wounding people, and not all of them would live long enough to be treated." He trailed off, tapping the hilt of his machete. "This thing gets far more guaranteed results."

Carlos had to give him that, least as far as the undead went. The bastards were slow, but they kept coming, no matter how many rounds were pumped into them in locations outside the head. The machete on the other hand had downed the zombies left, right, and centre, and even simply decapitating them, while leaving nibbling heads around, still effectively neutralized the threat.

"Fine," Randall said. He sheathed his knife. "Fine. You want to develop a conscience now? Go ahead. Just don't waste my fucking time."

"Better to develop a conscience now, because when else am I going to develop it?" Ryak smiled. "What's on the back of each of our fatigues?"

"What?" Randall asked.

Ryak turned around and tapped the back of his uniform – an Umbrella logo with two swords crossed over it. "Sword and shield," the trooper said. "I'm sure Umbrella thinks of us as their sword – good for killing, and little else. If we're to be killed here, we-"

One of the children screamed. Another one cried out "monsters." The third? Carlos didn't hear the third. That one was clutched in the corner, hands over his ears, rocking back and forth as if in a war zone.

It is a war zone.

A war zone where the enemy outnumbered them by the thousands. An enemy that was shuffling towards them down the alley. Dozens of them. Very, very slowly, but coming to them all the same.

"Shit," Carlos said.

Ryak grabbed the children and drew them behind him. Randall pointed his rifle at the zombies, but Carlos put a hand on its muzzle and lowered it. They had the ammo to take the bastards down, but gunfire would attract more of them.

"Shit."

It was Randall's turn. Carlos turned around, and cursed as well – zombies coming towards them from the other side of the alley. The side that led onto the main street.

"Guys, we're surrounded," Randall said.

Carlos bit his lip. The zombies were getting closer.

"Carlos?"

Randall was afraid. He could tell it.

"Orders?"

He quickly ran the scenario in his mind – the main streets of Raccoon were death traps half of the time, but getting onto them could provide them with more room to dodge the undead.

"Carlos!"

They had to take on one group and fight their way through. But go out, or go in? They-"

"Fuck this!"

Randall began firing in short controlled bursts. The zombies on the main street side staggered. Some dropped. But they kept coming, and-

One of them lunged at him, grabbing his arm. Cursing, Carlos kicked it back, drew out his pistol, and popped a round in its forehead. It fell to the ground. Dozens more shambled forward to take its place.

"Shit!"

The children were screaming. Randall was firing. Carlos holstered his pistol and drew up his M4A1. One burst after another went into the undead. One after another, they kept coming. He saw Ryak step beside him, and open fire with his own rifle. 5.56mm NATO rounds tore into rotting flesh. Dark blood splattered the alley walls and floor. And still the dead kept coming. The zombies groaning. The children screaming.

"We can't stay here!" Carlos yelled. Ryak looked at him. "Out or in, we have to move."

"We can try-"

"Fuck!"

It was Randall's turn. Carlos glanced back and saw that the initial wave of zombies that had come at them from the main street side were dead. He could also see more surging in from the street itself. Far too many for them.

"You want some?" Randall yelled. Carlos saw him pull out a grenade.

"Randall, don't do-"

"Eat this!" he yelled, stepping out onto the street. "Die!"

The grenade was thrown. Carlos looked at Ryak.

"Get down!"

The grenade went off. Shrapnel hit shops, cars, and the undead. Many of them fell down. Through the dust and smoke, Carlos could see many of them getting up again. He saw Randall stagger back in shock, looking at the corpse of one of them. Burnt. Still 'alive.' Still moaning. Still-

A zombie lunged. Ryak plunged his machete into its skull. He kicked the zombie back into the horde, knocking them over like bowling pins. Carlos glanced back at Randall. He was reloading his rifle, when one of the zombies bit his arm.

"Fuck!"

Randall kicked it away. He wielded his rifle like a club, hitting a second zombie. A third lunged at him, and he held his rifle in a defensive posture. A fourth bit his leg. A fifth his stomach. Carlos fired his pistol, killing one of them. But they kept coming. Kept biting him. A wave of undead, forming a hill above a living man. Then a dying man who kept screaming. A man Carlos knew he'd soon join. Because if time was on his side, he could clear out the zombies coming at him from inside the alley. But the ones from the main street were still surging in, and-

"Go."

He looked at Ryak. His hand was on his shoulder. In the other was a collection of rifle and pistol magazines.

"Ryak, what-"

"Go in. I go out." He got to his feet, machete in hand. And in a moment of horror, Carlos realized what he was going to do.

"Ryak, don't-"

"Twenty-two," he said. "Let's see how many I can kill this time."

The zombies were coming at them from the street. Ryak charged them. One swing after another, his machete ploughed through them, cutting them as a farmer would his corn. Corn that kept growing. Corn that kept biting, clawing, moaning. Corn that Carlos picked off the last of with his rifle.

"Come on," Carlos said to the children. "Move."

"The monsters-"

"I'll keep you safe," he said, and to his surprise, he meant it. "I'll get you someplace safe."

"The monsters-"

"Go!" he yelled.

The children moved forward. Carlos pocketed the clips Ryak had given him. He turned to look, and-

"Ryak!"

It was too late. He could see blood pouring out from Ryak's right arm – the same arm he'd held the machete in. Now he was swinging with his left arm. Doing less damage, as the machete made contact with arms and torsos, doing little damage. Ryak looked at him. Nodded, before a zombie tore out his jugular vein. Preventing him from screaming as like Randall, the undead collapsed on top of him.

Why?

Why now, Carlos wondered? Ryak was a killer. Most of the UBCS was composed of killers. He was a killer. Umbrella had indirectly killed 100,000 people. Why would Ryak give up his own life just to save three people he'd never met? Why would he possibly read into the UBCS logo as being anything but a fancy icon to denote Umbrella's grunts as being expendable foot soldiers – swords, not shields?

He didn't know. He might never know, even if by some miracle he survived this city.

All he knew was that he had to move. Be a sword and shield.

And keep himself and his wards alive for as long as possible.

A/N

Y'know, I have to question Umbrella's dress policy for the UBCS in Raccoon City. I know that they were cover for the supervisors to gather data, but in the event that they did bring people to the evacuation zone and got the hell out of dodge...what then? What about other people who might observe a paramilitary force with the Umbrella insignia on the back of their uniforms? Discretion is the better part of valor, and let's face it, Umbrella ain't got much of the latter.

Anyway, drabbled this up, because if anything, the UBCS logo at least looks good, and I discussed around the time of writing this that RE3RE2, so, um, yeah.