A Robbery Gone Wrong
[Time Has No Meaning'ed to early December, 2006]
The goons spread out, herding everyone in the gas station's convenience store into a single area. They weren't moving like a gang of robbers, though; they were covering each other's backs, and keeping a tight formation. There was also no way that a place like this had enough cash on hand, even if they robbed all the customers, to make it worth the time of a twelve-man gang.
It was going to be simple. They would demand that nobody move, then accuse her of moving and shoot her: Claire Redfield, age "twenty-seven," dead in a senseless robbery.
Claire realized that in a couple of seconds, then moved back in the direction of the bathrooms. The gas station was wall-to-wall short shelves and display cases, full of bad food and worse knickknacks. Even with a couple of the guys coming directly towards her, it was easy to get lost in the ground clutter.
She managed to get back into the ladies' room without anyone shouting, which seemed like a good sign. Claire briefly entertained the idea of standing up on one of the toilets and waiting them out, but if they were a kill team, anyone with half a brain would just start shooting through the stalls' doors.
Claire opted for her next best option, then. The ladies' room had a window, but it had been shut for so long that it had become stuck that way. She tried to force it for a few seconds before taking off her jacket, wrapping her hands in it, and breaking it out with both fists.
She drew her SOCOM Mk 23 and climbed up halfway out of the window. When a "robber" to come into the bathroom to investigate, Claire fired three times. It was suppressive fire, which she knew was stupid even as she did it, but she did it nonetheless. Either way, it did the job; the goon fell backward out of the bathroom, giving Claire time to fall out the window.
Claire hit the ground on her shoulder and rolled, shrugging her jacket back on as she ran around the side of the building towards her rental car. She unlocked it with the gadget on her keychain with one hand, then dropped her keys back in her jacket pocket, dropped into a shooter's crouch behind the car, and emptied the nine rounds left in the SOCOM's clip into the parked SUVs' tires. Two of them jerked and sagged down suddenly, but she just didn't have a good firing angle on the third.
The gunmen were already on their way out the front door, and they reacted to being under fire in the textbook way; don't panic, find cover, get ready to shoot back. Claire had rolled over the hood of her rental car before they got to the last stage of that reaction, and was pulling out of the lot in reverse, leaning down across the passenger seat, before they started to shoot back. They were using buckshot rounds that didn't have the range and nine-millimeter slugs that didn't have the power, though, and all they managed to do was spiderweb her windshield.
Claire did a halfway decent bootlegger's turn out of the gas station's parking lot, dropped the car into drive, and got back on the highway with her pedal down. Trying to reload her forty-five and drive at ninety at the same time was kind of stupid and silly, but she did it nonetheless.
By the time she finished that particular operation, Claire looked into her rearview mirror to find the last of the SUVs barreling down the road towards her.
The goons spread out, herding everyone in the gas station's convenience store into a single area. They weren't moving like a gang of robbers, though; they were covering each other's backs, and keeping a tight formation. There was also no way that a place like this had enough cash on hand, even if they robbed all the customers, to make it worth the time of a twelve-man gang.
It was going to be simple. They would demand that nobody move, then accuse her of moving and shoot her: Claire Redfield, age "twenty-seven," dead in a senseless robbery.
Claire realized that in a couple of seconds, then moved back in the direction of the bathrooms. The gas station was wall-to-wall short shelves and display cases, full of bad food and worse knickknacks. Even with a couple of the guys coming directly towards her, it was easy to get lost in the ground clutter.
She managed to get back into the ladies' room without anyone shouting, which seemed like a good sign. Claire briefly entertained the idea of standing up on one of the toilets and waiting them out, but if they were a kill team, anyone with half a brain would just start shooting through the stalls' doors.
Claire opted for her next best option, then. The ladies' room had a window, but it had been shut for so long that it had become stuck that way. She tried to force it for a few seconds before taking off her jacket, wrapping her hands in it, and breaking it out with both fists.
She drew her SOCOM Mk 23 and climbed up halfway out of the window. When a "robber" to come into the bathroom to investigate, Claire fired three times. It was suppressive fire, which she knew was stupid even as she did it, but she did it nonetheless. Either way, it did the job; the goon fell backward out of the bathroom, giving Claire time to fall out the window.
Claire hit the ground on her shoulder and rolled, shrugging her jacket back on as she ran around the side of the building towards her rental car. She unlocked it with the gadget on her keychain with one hand, then dropped her keys back in her jacket pocket, dropped into a shooter's crouch behind the car, and emptied the nine rounds left in the SOCOM's clip into the parked SUVs' tires. Two of them jerked and sagged down suddenly, but she just didn't have a good firing angle on the third.
The gunmen were already on their way out the front door, and they reacted to being under fire in the textbook way; don't panic, find cover, get ready to shoot back. Claire had rolled over the hood of her rental car before they got to the last stage of that reaction, and was pulling out of the lot in reverse, leaning down across the passenger seat, before they started to shoot back. They were using buckshot rounds that didn't have the range and nine-millimeter slugs that didn't have the power, though, and all they managed to do was spiderweb her windshield.
Claire did a halfway decent bootlegger's turn out of the gas station's parking lot, dropped the car into drive, and got back on the highway with her pedal down. Trying to reload her forty-five and drive at ninety at the same time was kind of stupid and silly, but she did it nonetheless.
By the time she finished that particular operation, Claire looked into her rearview mirror to find the last of the SUVs barreling down the road towards her.