"Of course we help. Everyone, work with Alpha Team—fight and fall back." Sheva finished the sentence as she raised her assault rifle and shot the sprinting villager dead.
The Man in Sunglasses roared, "Those despicable outsiders—kill them!"
Almost every black resident in the district rioted, howling as they charged, clutching every weapon imaginable: baseball bats, iron bars, butcher knives—even brooms.
For the fully-equipped assault squad, facing these villagers parasitized by Plaga was practically a massacre.
Brass from the assault rifles rained down; every bullet fired killed a villager.
Soon the villagers who'd been head-shot sprouted parasite limbs from their skulls, waving razor-sharp bone blades as they rushed the BSAA squad.
"Las Plagas—stronger than the strain we met on the Iberian Peninsula," Eddie explained.
"Shoot their heads!" Sheva shouted, opening fire again.
When in doubt, aim for the head—best policy. If that doesn't work, switch to the Grenade Launcher; if the launcher fails, bring out the rocket!"
Simple math: if you bring enough firepower, even a Tyrant will drop to its knees and sing 'Conquered'!"
Chapter 528: Public Displays of Affection with Jill
"Any idea what their weak spot is?" Sheva asked, closing in while still firing.
"Headshots pop the parasite out. These look less primitive than the Iberian strain—clearly modified. Try the spine; maybe the worm won't burst." Eddie answered, then blew a charging man in half.
Sheva was speechless—at this power level, who needs headshots? A random round shredded the target.
In the stands Fisher quickly slipped his restraints and sprinted for cover.
Chris moved to meet him, assault rifle cracking as he popped rioter heads. "This way—move!"
Fisher was still running when a whoosh of air warned of an enormous axe about to split him.
Chris, quick-thinking, shot Fisher in the leg; the agent stumbled and crashed to the ground.
An axe the size of a door hissed overhead, missing him by inches.
Two squad members hauled Fisher up; he glared at Chris. "Thanks—really—for that shot."
"Don't mention it," Chris answered, deadpan.
Fisher almost exploded, but bit it back—better a bum leg than no life.
Chris soon linked up with Eddie. Odd as it was to see his brother-in-law again—and wonder what shape Claire was in—he still greeted him.
"Command to Chris and Sheva: fall back to the village gate. Local militia's infected. Air support launching—acknowledge," O'Brien's voice crackled.
"Copy that!" Chris and Sheva answered in unison.
Both squads pulled back toward the gate; now even the villagers were ramming them with cars.
A Rookie beside Chris hefted a Grenade Launcher and pumped a 40 mm round under an oncoming sedan.
BOOM! The grenade detonated beneath the chassis, the fuel tank exploded, and the fireball devoured nearby rioters.
Eddie kept firing single precise shots; his custom Desert Eagle hit so hard the slug usually punched through two or three bodies before stopping.
One round could wipe out a whole file; watching torsos erupt was brutal—and addictive.
A mob armed with brooms and toilet plungers against modern weapons? Mismatch. Any sane force would retreat.
But the parasite-driven rioters knew no fear; under machine-gun barrels they howled and charged like ancient mummies.
More kept coming—even archers. Had the snipers not dropped the ranged threats first, the teams would've taken losses.
Grenades and 40 mm rounds thundered as the two squads fought their way to the gate.
A rioter slipped through; Eddie spun, heel-kicked him, snapped the man's neck sideways—death without the parasite burst.
"Hold the line—reinforcements incoming!" Chris roared, raking legs with his rifle.
Jill joined her husband, close-combat style: a single side-kick launched a hulking rioter ten metres, bones shattering.
The squad stared slack-jawed—this slim beauty was a human artillery piece?
Brown hair fluttered as she fought; battlefield Jill looked drop-dead gorgeous, even Eddie stared wide-eyed.
Seeing her husband gawking, Jill chuckled, "Dummy, haven't you seen enough after all these years?"
Eddie grinned, "Never—how could I get tired of a view like that?"
Jill rolled her eyes, then wheel-kicked another rioter into a pile. "I'm your wife—of course you've seen it all, dummy."
She said it, but his praise still lit her smile—happy marriage equals happy life.
Their public display of affection irked Chris; he'd once nursed a crush on Jill back in Raccoon City. Fate handed her to Eddie during the Arklay Mountains investigation.
Sometimes destiny's just like that—inescapable.
While the love-birds flirted, rotor-wash thundered overhead.
A minigun poured rounds from the sky, shredding rioters into red mist.
A door-gunner hoisted a Rocket Launcher and sent a warhead straight into the mob—one shot, one soul.
BOOM! The blast hurled nearby tin shacks sky-high.
"Support's here!" Chris barked, hating every second of their PDA.
"You look… awkward, Chris," Eddie needled.
Chris coughed. "Just wondering how these people got infected—something's off."
With the helicopter's help the teams burst through the gate and advanced toward the next village, its Western-style church proof that whites still lived here.
"Help! Help me!" a pretty white woman screamed from a balcony while a black assailant yanked her back.
Distance blurred the scene into silhouettes.
Jill unslung her Sniper Rifle, snapped off a no-scope shot purely by feel.
The bullet crossed nearly a kilometre and drilled the man mere centimetres from the woman's head.
"Someone called ahead—we'll secure her; catch up!" Eddie called, parkouring across tin rooftops and vanishing.