Path of Jen: Bloodborne (32 page)

“A hotel?" I think you have a big old brain,
and I like the way you use it!” teased Jen as she unbuckled and
climbed out the passenger door.

“Why don’t you stay with Nathan while I run
in and get a couple of rooms,” said the Sergeant.

Jen nodded and stretched her legs before
climbing back inside the Suburban to wait. She didn’t mind a few
more minutes in the truck if it meant a chance at sleeping in a
real bed for a few hours, or maybe for the night. Her stomach
rumbled, and she realized how hungry she was.
“I hope they have
good food here,”
she thought. She snorted and changed her mind.
“Good or bad, I just hope they have food."

Across the street, near an open doorway, a
dark haired, dark skinned man pulled a cell phone from his pants
pocket and dialed quickly. He half turned away from the Suburban
parked in front of the Hotel, but nervously glanced at it every few
seconds as he spoke into the phone. After a few minutes, he put the
phone back in his pocket and walked inside the door. A few seconds
later, another man stepped out onto the sidewalk and took up the
same position next to the door.

Sergeant Lynch knocked on Jen’s window,
startling her. “Come on in,” he said with a smile. “I got us
adjoining rooms." He reached back and knocked on Lance Corporal
O’Bryan’s window too. “Come on,” he said. His smile faded and he
scanned up and down the street. “Let’s get inside where we have
some cover.”

Jen and Sergeant Lynch helped Lance Corporal
O’Bryan into the hotel and up the stairs. They made two more trips
to bring in all of their belongings, including weapons and medical
kit. Once they had everything in the rooms and Lance Corporal
O’Bryan was resting on the bed in the main room, Sergeant Lynch
said, “Why don’t you take advantage of the shower and get some
sleep? I’m going to see if I can get rid of the Suburban, and maybe
make us a few bucks doing it." He looked at the Lance Corporal and
added, “I’ll see if I can find a doctor too."

“Just be careful,” Jen said with a worried
look. She felt awkward, not sure if she should say more. The gruff,
all business Sergeant she was afraid of was finally giving way to
someone that seemed to care about her. Jen wasn’t sure how she felt
about that.

Sergeant lynch fixed her with a look that she
didn’t recognize. It was softer than any other look he had given
her before. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Just keep the door locked and
don’t open it for anybody but me.” Jen nodded and he pulled the
door closed behind him.

Jen closed the door to the adjoining room
where O’Bryan was resting, but left it unlocked. She walked into
the bathroom and turned the knob in the shower all the way to hot.
Steaming water sprayed out of the shower head and splashed happily
into the tub. She quickly stripped out of her clothes and placed
the stuff from her pockets, including her pocket knife, on the
counter. After testing the water and adjusting it to a slightly
cooler temperature, Jen stepped into the tub. After a moment’s
consideration, she stepped back out and gathered up her clothes.
She brought them into the tub with her to wash while she
showered.

The cuts Jen received in the IED explosion
with Deep South didn’t sting or burn this time. They were closed,
and many were nearly healed. Her muscled were sore though. Her
shoulders ached as the hot water pounded on them. Jen hung her head
and rolled it side to side slowly. Jen used the hotel soap
liberally on her body and then on her soiled clothes. After twenty
minutes of scrubbing, Jen stepped out of the shower and wrapped
herself in a towel. She gathered up her wet clothes and took them
to hang dry in the main room. Lance Corporal O’Bryan was snoring
soundly.

Jen made sure the outer doors were locked in
both rooms and then went to the other room to rest She left the
door between the two rooms open just in case O’Bryan needed her,
and then she slipped under the covers to get some sleep.

A knock on the door woke Jen from a deep
sleep. It took her a few seconds to realize where she was. There
was another knock and Jen threw back the covers and swung her legs
to the floor. She stood up and adjusted her towel.

“Jen,” came a low voice from the hallway.

Jen hurriedly unlocked the door and stepped
behind it, peeking out and opening it just enough to let Sergeant
Lynch come in.

“Thanks,” he said as he walked in with a
paper bag under his arm. “I think somebody knows we’re here,” he
said in a quiet voice.

“What?” asked Jen, confused and suddenly
frightened. “But how?”

“I don’t know…maybe the vehicle?” he guessed.
He handed Jen a Coke and a warm piece of bread from the bag. She
took it gratefully. “It’s just a guess, and it doesn’t matter
anyway. The good news is, we can leave immediately. There’s a boat
leaving for the Suez Canal in an hour, and they will take us
aboard. They might even have a medic,” he said looking to the other
room.

Jen was already moving to retrieve her
clothes. They were still wet, but that wasn’t important right then.
She’d rather be uncomfortable for a little while than be held
captive again. Jen got dressed while Sergeant Lynch woke O’Bryan up
and gave him some bread to eat. “Let’s just take what we need,” she
said looking at their scattered gear. “How far is it?”

“It’s a hike, but not too bad,” Sergeant
Lynch promised. “We’ll make it in fifteen minutes if we hustle,
even with gimpy here.”

O’Bryan glared at him while he tore another
piece of bread off and chewed it. “Gimpy?” he said, pretending to
be insulted. “I prefer Disabled-American, thank you. Now give me
one of those Cokes before I make an EO complaint.”

Sergeant Lynch grunted and pulled another can
out of the bag. “Take it and shut up, already,” he said.

“Okay, I’m ready,” said Jen. Her hair was
still wet, looking darker than usual, and her light hazel eyes
stood out against the suntanned skin of her face. Both men
swallowed and stared unconsciously until Jen threw her hands up in
frustration. “Well? Are we going?"

“Oh. Yeah, of course,” said Sergeant
Lynch.

“Well, yeah…I mean, sure,” added Lance
Corporal O’Bryan.

Jen fought to control the uncomfortable
feelings their stares brought. She didn’t know why the attention
triggered her irritation, but it did. Feeling embarrassed and
awkward, and more than a little angry over her lack of control, she
stepped out of the room to wait in the hall.

Sergeant Lynch helped O’Bryan to his feet and
supported his weight as they waked out of the hotel. They left
through a side exit into a fenced alley. Jen kept slightly behind
them as they made their way through the port city. Sergeant Lynch
carried his service pistol concealed under his shirt, as he led
them in a confusing zig-zag of side streets toward the water’s
edge. Jen carried Lance Corporal O’Bryan’s pistol concealed in her
own waistband. They walked as quickly as the Lance Corporal could
hobble on his good leg, which was not fast.

A small white car pulled up to the front of
the hotel and two men got out. One of the men looked across the
street, where a man standing next to an open doorway nodded and
pointed with his chin toward the hotel. The two men by the car
exchanged a few words and then entered the hotel.

“The clerk said they are in room seven and
eight upstairs,” said the first man in Arabic. “On the left,” he
said as they climbed the lone staircase. The second man drew a
handgun and held it ready.

“I’ll take the first door,” said the second
man. “You take the second. We’ll go at the same time.”

The first man nodded and drew his own
handgun. They stood outside the two rooms and listened. There was
no sound from inside. The second man gave the first man a nod and
tried the door knob in front of him. The first man did the same.
Both doors were locked. They shared another look before each man
stepped back and got set to kick his door.

The second man was able to kick his door open
on the first try. It was a weak, light framed door, and nearly fell
completely off the hinges when he kicked it. The first man had more
trouble.

The first man kicked his door to no effect.
The door was light weight like the other door, but it was hung in a
solid frame. The lock held for two more powerful kicks. He stepped
back again and threw his body weight into the door, leading with
his shoulder. The door splintered and broke causing him to fall
into the room. He dropped his pistol and cut his hands on the
splintered wood, trying to break his fall.

He jumped to his feet and scrambled to
recover his pistol. He scanned the room frantically, pointing his
gun toward every corner and expecting someone to be there, ready to
shoot him first. There was no one there.

He dropped the muzzle of his pistol and
wondered at the two other doors he could see. One door almost
certainly led to the adjoining room.
“The other door must be for
the bathroom,”
he thought. He raised his pistol again and
walked toward the bathroom. His hands felt sticky on the pistol as
he adjusted his grip.

With one hand he gently pushed the door open
and waited. When there was no movement or sound from inside, he
reached in and flipped on the light switch. There was no one in the
bathroom either, but there were signs that someone had been there
recently. There was a wet towel on the floor near the tub, and a
pocketknife on the counter.

The man picked up the pocket knife and turned
it over in his hand. He saw then that his hand was bleeding. There
were red smears on the handle of the knife as he turned it
over.

The second man entered room eight without any
excitement or trouble. He methodically searched the room, and he
did so quickly. He heard the first man pounding on the other door,
and then he heard him crash into the room with a thud. He chuckled
to himself as he imagined his accident prone partner stumbling and
falling into the room. The noises next door quickly subsided and it
was quiet as he reached for the door knob to open the adjoining
door.

Just as he was about to open the door he
heard a strange noise. His hand hovered above the door knob for a
second as he listened.
“What is that?”
he wondered.
“A
dog growling?”

He opened the door and raised his pistol.
“Amon? Are you okay?” he asked. His partner was kneeling on the
floor and glaring up at him through his bushy eyebrows like a wild
animal. He lowered the pistol and stepped toward his partner. “You
don’t look well Amon.”

Amon leapt to his feet and sprung toward the
second man before he could raise the gun again.

“Amon!” he cried as his partner tackled him.
He squeezed one shot off into the floor as Amon sunk his teeth into
his arm. He screamed and fired another shot into the wall as he
fought against Amon.

A few seconds later, the second man stopped
screaming and began growling. The change was instantaneous and Amon
raced out of the room toward the nearest audible or visual
stimulus. The second man followed.

Doors slammed shut, only to be knocked off
their hinges by men overcome with vicious and brutal rage. Screams
and shouts of warning only brought them faster, and every attack
birthed new attackers.

Five minutes later, there were screams
throughout the hotel. Panic spread outside and onto the street as a
woman, covered in blood, ran out of the hotel and attacked a man
sitting in his car. Other crazed men and women, enraged beyond
reason, erupted from the hotel and spread into the community,
attacking indiscriminately.

Police cars screeched to a halt in front of
the hotel, finding what they thought must be the aftermath of a
terrible terrorist attack. There were ravaged bodies and wounded
everywhere. Those that were alive were writhing in agony, as if
suffering a terrible fever of some kind. Some of them had blood
spilling from their mouths, making the scene even more confusing.
The police and paramedics assumed they were hemorrhaging due to the
mysterious fever.

The first responders tried giving aid to the
victims, and the unthinkable happened. One paramedic screamed as he
was pulled down on top of the woman he treated. Another didn’t want
to take the time to put on his gloves before examining an injured
child, and he was infected. He succumbed suddenly and ferociously
attacked the woman police officer attending to a victim nearby.
Policemen and paramedics began attacking their comrades, killing
them with their bare hands, teeth, and nails. More shots rang out
as those unaffected tied to protect themselves.

Throughout the city the same scenario played
out, over and over. Sirens blared, and screams echoed from the
alleyways. Gunshots rang out, and some of the infected were killed,
but too often they charged through the ill-aimed bullets and the
infection spread. Vehicles crashed and fires erupted, causing more
panic and confusion, and ultimately, hastened the spread of the
horrible disease.

Fouzia held a hand over her mouth and the
other over her heart as she stared at the nightmare broadcast on
live television. Aerial footage from a port city in Jordan showed
the utter destruction of the previously peaceful community. Columns
of black smoke rose dramatically into the air from all corners of
the city. The helicopter that was filming the scene circled slowly
from a safe distance as Jordanian fighter jets dropped fire bombs
on their own citizens. Tears streamed down Fouzia’s face as she
watched the horror unfold in front of her.

A spokeswoman for the World Health
Organization was being interviewed as the footage played. She
argued that, “Military action of this sort is an abomination, and
an extreme overreaction to a viral outbreak they don’t understand.
Doctors on the ground could have made a difference if they were
only given a chance."