 
Resident Evil Legends Part Five: City of the Dead

By Andreas Leachim

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 Andreas Leachim

Cover art and design by Andreas Leachim
This is a work of fan fiction based on the Resident Evil video game series. All characters and names and related trademarks are the property of Capcom. The author of this work receives no financial compensation from it and does not seek to infringe upon Capcom's copyrights in any way.
Chapter 1

At approximately 12:45 in the morning, more than three days after he left, S.T.A.R.S. Bravo team member Richard Aiken finally returned to Raccoon City. He did not go there intentionally; he just followed the train tracks and that's where they led. The distant sounds of civilization and the dim glow in the sky at night attracted his attention, and he spent the past three days walking slowly toward the source of the light and sound. He lost his balance and fell down a few times, but he always got back to his feet and continued walking, not stopping once to rest in the entire three days.

He could no longer see where he was going. One of his eyes was gouged out and the other was filled with blood, completely blinding him. Most of the left side of his face was gone as well, leaving tattered shreds of skin and flesh hanging off his jaw. As he walked unsteadily forward, the dangling remains of his intestines swung back and forth like miniature pendulums, hanging from his gaping stomach cavity. His ripped and dirty clothing was caked with dried blood and gore, spread from the middle of his abdomen all the way down to his knees.

Distracted by the sound of a car engine nearby, he staggered away from the railroad tracks and moved through a sparse wooded area to a dirt road heading uphill. He stood for a moment, wavering back and forth, and moaned softly, his head tilted back. A car door slammed, and Richard immediately stumbled in the direction of the sound. He walked up the dirt road, further attracted by voices in the distance.

The men at the top of the hill did not see or hear him. Clouds in the sky blotted out the moon, and it was nearly pitch dark outside. They chatted casually as one of them pulled out his keys, jingling them loudly, and unlocked the door to the maintenance building. It was for one of the water storage tanks operated by the Raccoon City water utility company. Located on very edge of the city limits, the storage tank contained water directly from the city's water treatment facility, over a million gallons worth. It was positioned at the top of the hill to allow gravity to create the water pressure necessary to bring the water to the residents of the city.

"I can't believe I was stupid enough to leave my cell phone here," one of the men said as he turned on the lights.

"You probably won't need it when we go hunting anyway," the other said. "I don't think you'll get any reception up in the mountains."

Their voices were like a homing signal. Richard staggered toward the building, a low groan escaping his lipless mouth. His arms lifted slightly, as if reaching for the sound.

"Well, I want to call Jack if the hunting is good."

"Did you find it yet?"

The man found his cell phone sitting on top of a small table beside the water meters and pressure gauges along the wall. "Yeah, here it is. I called my boss when I checked the meters this afternoon and left it here."

"What is this place again?"

"One of the city water cisterns."

Richard reached the doorway, sensing the men nearby. He tripped on the concrete steps and stumbled just outside the doorway, his knee cracking hard against the edge of the steps. Feeling no pain, he got back up and stepped up into the doorway.

"Really? My water comes from here?"

"Probably does. I can show you the tank if you want."

"Sure, that sounds cool."

In another large room was a large concrete pad with a metal tank lid on top. The two men walked toward it as Richard made his way into the building. The first man undid a pair of large metal clamps holding the lid on and lifted it up. Richard heard the sound and walked forward.

"Right down there is the city water supply," the man said, his voice echoing down the wide metal tube leading to the water tank underground.

"Wow, I'm surprised you can just open it up like that," his friend said. "Someone could come here and take a piss right into the city's water."

"I hope not," the man laughed.

Richard's foot scraped on the floor.

"Did you hear that?"

"What? Is someone here?"

"I thought I heard –"

"Oh man, do you smell that?"

The man walked off the concrete pad and to the door just as Richard got there. His eyes opened wide and he took deep breath to scream, just as Richard grabbed his shoulders and lunged forward, digging his teeth into the man's soft throat. The attempted scream turned into a bloody gurgle as the two of them fell to the ground, the man's head striking hard on the concrete. Richard bit down hard on the man's neck and blood spurted up like a geyser from his severed jugular vein.

The other man screamed hysterically and ran to Richard, kicking him hard in the side, his foot sliding off the slimy gore of Richard's eviscerated stomach. Richard reached out violently and grabbed the man's foot. He stumbled off balance and fell to the ground as well, screaming his head off. He scrambled backwards and grabbed a broom leaning against the wall.

Richard chewed on the flesh of the dead man's throat as the other man got to his feet and swung down the broom as hard as he could. The long handle broke right in half, turning it into a jagged spear. Richard barely reacted, and the man frantically jammed the long handle into his back. It pierced Richard's heart and burst through the front of his chest, coagulated black blood spilling down the sharp end.

Richard reached out again, grabbing the man's sleeve. He screamed again, trying to bat Richard's filthy hand away, but he slipped on his friend's spilled blood and fell back to the floor. Richard pulled him close and took a bite out of the man's arm. The man screamed over and over again, striking Richard in vain. He tried to get away but his sneakers found no traction in the widening puddle of blood on the floor.

Richard lunged at him and bit his face, tearing away a bloody chunk of his upper cheek. The man shrieked helplessly as Richard bit down on his throat as well, tearing through the soft tissue. In another ten seconds, the man was dead. Blood drained out in all directions, as if the two dead men were floating in a pool of it.

Richard feasted for several minutes until the bodies began to cool off. The entire front of his body was now soaked with slimy blood, his entire face smeared with it. He stood up, the two corpses no longer interesting, and his attention focused on the weird sounds coming from the area in front of him.

He stepped forward, his feet making bloody footprints up to the lid of the water tank. He bumped the edge of the opening with his knee and could hear the faint echo down the long metal tube. He could hear the sound of water far below.

He leaned forward, the top half of his body over the edge. Reaching forward, his blood-smeared hands scraped against the inside of the tube. Drawn by the strange sound of the rippling water below, he leaned farther over the edge, and his bloody feet slipped. He toppled over and plunged inside, his body sliding down the tube for fifty feet until he fell from the tube opening and splashed into the cold water of the tank.

As he sank down into the depths of the tank, unable to float or swim, a red mist of blood emanated from his body. It took less than two hours for the entire tank to become completely infected.

Chapter 2

"Man, it stinks down here," Charlie said, stepping away from the ladder. He sniffed the air and made a disapproving face, shining his flashlight around as his partners came down after him. A rat scurried along the other edge of the sewer tunnel, disappearing into darkness.

Steve and Benny came down the ladder. All three of them wore dingy orange overalls and white hard hats. A leather satchel hung over Steve's shoulder and a tool belt full of wrenches clanged at his hip. He shined a flashlight into the recesses of the dark tunnel.

"You always say it stinks," Benny said, rubbing his hands together. "Figure you'd be used to the smell by now."

"I'll never get used to it, man."

"It's not so bad," Steve said. "You ever been to the sewage treatment plant? Now that place smells horrible. I can't even describe it. It just smells like mildew down here."

"You're just cranky cause we got stuck on third shift," Benny said.

"Tell me about it," Charlie said. "Should be asleep in my bed right now."

Together, they walked down the tunnel, their dirty work boots scuffing loudly on the wet concrete, their flashlights piercing the damp darkness. Charlie kicked a stray soda can into a puddle of murky brown water.

Two hundred feet down the tunnel, they came to an electrical box with rusted edges and a huge padlock hanging on the door. Benny dug out his keys and jingled them loudly in his hand while Steve pointed his flashlight on them.

"You always do this," Steve said. "Why don't you label the damn things?"

"No fun in that," Benny said, flipping through the huge ring of keys.

Charlie sniffed again, still thinking that it stunk down in the sewers no matter what Steve said. The combination of stagnant water, mildew, mold, rotting garbage, and rat droppings just seemed overpowering to him. He swung his flashlight left and right, aiming the beam of light down the long, curved tunnel. Water glistened on the walls, dripping in places.

"You hear that?" he asked.

Benny found the key he wanted and stuck it into the padlock. The door to the electrical box opened with a rusty squeak. "Hear what?" he asked.

"I dunno," Charlie said. "Sounded like somebody splashing in the water."

Steve chuckled. "Wouldn't want to splash in this water. Who knows what might be floating in it?" He pulled a voltage reader out of his satchel and traced his finger on the electrical diagram on the inside of the box.

"Yeah," Benny said. "This place ain't exactly a public swimming pool."

Charlie was about to say something when all three of them were shaken by the sound of a tortured scream echoing down the entire tunnel. The sound echoed in their ears and froze the blood in their veins. Charlie staggered backward, his flashlight shaking in his hand, making the light seem to flicker as if the battery was dying.

"Jesus, what the hell was that?" Steve asked, stepping away from the box, aiming his flashlight as well. Benny looked over his shoulder and then glanced back behind them.

"I don't know," Charlie whispered. He took a step backward, nervously pawing at his chin. "Listen, let's get out of here. Let's call the cops."

"You heard that scream?" Benny asked. "Maybe somebody got hurt."

"That wasn't no person screaming."

Steve walked a few steps down the tunnel and shouted, "Hey! Is someone down there?" His voice reverberated down the tunnel, repeating the question half a dozen times before it faded into eerie silence.

"I'm out of here," Charlie said, turning around and walking quickly past Benny, who grabbed his arm.

"Come on, man. You're freaking out."

"Damn right, I'm freaking out. I'm telling you, that scream did not come from a person."

"Then what was it, the boogeyman?"

"I don't care, I'm leaving."

Steve ignored the two of them and squinted his eyes, trying to make out a strange shape far down the sewer tunnel, just at the edge of his flashlight's effectiveness, barely illuminated but still visible. The shape moved slightly, and the faint ray of light revealed something. Steve's breath caught in his throat and the beam of light wavered as his hand began to shake. Steve was no biologist, but he knew with a terrifying certainty that the creature faintly outlined by his flashlight was not something natural. It wasn't human, it was something else, something that belonged in a horror movie.

"What the ...?" Steve whispered, his eyes growing wide. He backed up and stumbled right into Benny and Charlie, before trying to push past them. "Go, go," he insisted. "Let's get out of here."

"Why?" Benny asked, annoyed. "What did you ..."

The creature loped out of the darkness like a nightmare bursting forth into reality, its human shape distorted by the long arms, shredded clothing, glowing eyes, and a huge pulsing eyeball on its shoulder. It shrieked madly, saliva streaming from its twisted mouth, and its huge arms swung toward the three workers.

"Jesus Christ!" Charlie screamed, pushing Benny aside and taking off down the tunnel. His work belt clanked hard on his thighs and his hard hat toppled from his head, clattering to the ground behind him. Water splashed under his feet as he ran, his lungs gasping for breath.

Screams behind him, human screams. He dared not look back, running toward the ladder that led to the surface. He screamed himself then, over and over, praying that the other workers atop the sewer entrance could hear him.

"Help!" he screamed. "Help me!"

Something huge landed directly behind him, shaking the ground, and then he was propelled into the air as if struck by a speeding car. He cartwheeled through the tunnel, cracking his head against the concrete ceiling, the tools in his belt flying in all directions like pieces of shrapnel. With a sickening crunch, he landed in a heap, limbs twisted at grisly angles. He gurgled helplessly, feeling blood in his mouth. Gasping for air, he could no longer feel his legs. Blood seemed to flow freely out of his mouth, down the side of his face, his labored breath making bubbles in the torrent of blood.

"Help me ..." he breathed. But no one was there to help him, and even if someone heard his cries, there was nothing they could do anyway.

***

Johnny Tuesday had only just gone to sleep, but he was awakened by the sound of scratching on the floor underneath his bed. He rolled over on the old, stained mattress and sighed. He had no blanket, just the shabby coat he usually wore, but he wrapped his arms tighter around himself and tried to fall back asleep. The scratching sound continued, more urgent than before, and he finally gave in and sat up in bed.

He walked over to the edge of the loading dock and flipped a switch on the wall, turning the large overhead lights on. He didn't like using the lights, because he was worried the building owners would know someone was there if they saw the electric bill go up. Of course, Johnny had been staying there for over eight months now, since the company went bankrupt and the building became abandoned, and no one had shown up to evict him yet. He hoped no one ever would, because he had nowhere else to go.

The loading dock was empty except for a stack of old wooden pallets and some metal racks, empty now. The only other piece of furniture was an old mattress on a plain metal frame, which Johnny found leaning against a dumpster a few months before. He brought it here and it was the nicest bed he had ever owned. It was much better than the pallets he previously slept on.

When his eyes became accustomed to the bright lights, he could see a pair of rats running around under the bed. He found rats in the building all the time, and he usually paid them no mind. But they usually did not interrupt his sleep.

"Go away, rats!" he yelled at them, but they did not listen.

He picked up a broken plank of wood from one of the pallets and smacked it against the floor a few times to scare the rats off. Normally, that did the trick, but for some reason, these rats did not seem scared by him.

Johnny got onto his knees and swung the piece of wood under the bed, knocking one of the rats clear out from under it. The small animal slid a few feet away from the bed and scratched at the floor. Johnny went over to it and hit it with the piece of wood.

To his amazement, the rat barely seemed to notice. It just sat there on the floor, scratching over and over like a broken toy. Johnny could see cuts and bite marks along its back and down its tail.

He walked back over to the bed and reached down to swing the plank of wood at the other rat. It squeaked at him angrily and jumped onto the piece of wood, climbing right up to his hand before he could pull away. He shouted in surprise as the rat jumped onto his hand and sunk its teeth into his thumb.

"Ow! Let go!" Johnny shouted, swinging his hand. The plank of wood flew from his grasp and clattered to the floor. He swung his hand left and right frantically as the rat held on, biting deep into his finger. Finally, with a scream of pain, he shook the rat off and it flew across the room, smacking right into the wall.

Blood poured from the torn skin and dripped onto the floor, and Johnny winced in pain, pinching his thumb with his other hand to try and stop the flow. The rat took a piece of his flesh with it when he shook it off. He looked over at the rat, and to his amazement, it was still moving around. In fact, it was scurrying towards him.

When he glanced back at the other rat, he saw that it too was coming in his direction. So were the four other rats that appeared from behind the pallets. Suddenly, Johnny felt very outnumbered. He ran to the door and left the building, not even bothering to turn the lights off after him.

"Stupid rats," he muttered. He took a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around his thumb, wincing again in sharp pain. He would come back in the morning, when the sun was out, and find whatever holes the rats were coming through and fill them up. The stupid rats weren't going to bother him again.

He walked down an alley adjacent to the building and found a blocked off doorway that he could snuggle down in to catch some sleep.

***

Thomas Duckett came awake as his wife Carla gently shook his shoulder. He mumbled sleepily and looked at the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock on their nightstand.

"Honey, wake up," Carla said, shaking his arm again.

"I'm awake," he muttered. "It's two-thirty in the morning, honey."

"I hear someone on the back porch."

"What?"

"Listen," Carla whispered. "Someone is on the back porch."

Thomas listened carefully and heard a quiet thump and the unmistakable sound of someone stepping on the loose board right behind their back door. He sat up in bed and was immediately awake. There was someone out there.

"Do you hear it?" Carla asked nervously.

"Yeah," Thomas replied. "I hear it."

He slid out of bed and crept over to the window. Their bedroom was on the back side of the house and the window looked into the back yard. Very carefully, Thomas slid the edge of the curtain aside and looked toward the back porch. The rear porch light was on, as always, and Thomas could clearly see someone standing right next to the back door. The intruder faced the other way, so Thomas could not see his face, but he wavered unsteadily on his feet, as if a slight breeze might tip him over.

Their house was on the very edge of Raccoon City, and his backyard ended where the Arklay Forest began. None of his neighbors lived very close by. He didn't know anyone who would have any possible reason to trespass on his property at this time of night. With that in mind, Thomas moved away from the window and walked over to their bedroom closet.

"Is someone there?" Carla asked, holding the blanket up to her neck.

Thomas opened the closet and dug around quietly in a small plastic chest on the floor, taking out a small wooden box containing his personal firearm. "Some guy standing on the back porch. Looks like he's drunk or something."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going outside to scare him off. I want you to call the cops right now."

As Carla fumbled with the phone, Thomas loaded a clip into the pistol and flipped off the safety. While surely no expert with guns, he bought it for home safety a few years before and fired it a few times at the local shooting range, so he knew enough to use it properly.

Wearing just a pair of loose pajama pants, he walked through the house and went out the front door as quietly as possible. The front porch light was on as well, and there was no one in front of the house. In bare feet, he walked across the lawn and around the side of the house.

He took a deep breath and held the gun firmly in his hand. If the trespasser was a burglar, he would have already broken into the house. He wouldn't just be standing stupidly on the back porch. Thomas assumed he was some homeless drunk or maybe a drug addict just wandering around. He was prepared to just scare the man off, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

He edged around the side of the house and aimed the gun at the man standing on his back porch. The light above his head illuminated his blue work shirt and trousers, like the outfit a mechanic or janitor might wear.

"Don't move," Thomas said loudly.

Right away, the man on the porch jerked up at Thomas' voice and turned around to face him. His face was filthy dirty, smeared with grime, and the look on his face was completely blank, like some kind of store mannequin. He opened his mouth and let out a soft groan that raised the hairs on the back of Thomas' neck. The man took one step down off the porch.

"I said don't move," Thomas said louder, the gun trembling in his hand.

The trespasser did not seem to her him, or if he did he just ignored it. He staggered forward on clumsy legs, staring blankly forward like a robot, mouth agape. Thomas took an unsteady step backward.

"I said don't move!"

The man kept coming, one awkward step at a time. When he had traversed half the distance to Thomas, he lifted one arm and moaned again.

"Don't come any closer!" Thomas shrieked.

The gun went off suddenly, and the trespasser jerked sideways as the bullet ripped into his shoulder. He almost lost his balance but quickly regained it, wobbling back and forth and staring down at the hole in his shoulder. He said nothing, and then returned his attention to Thomas and took another threatening step forward.

Thomas held the gun in both hands and pulled the trigger, the gun jumping up, the recoil hurting his wrists. He fired again and again, each bullet hitting the man in the janitor outfit right in the chest. Fabric split apart and spurts of liquid burst from the bullet holes, but the man just kept walking forward, barely even noticing the gunshots. Each burst of light from the gun barrel reflected on his lifeless white eyes and illuminated the grime on his face, which Thomas realized was not dirt at all, but dried blood.

When the gun clicked empty, Thomas was too afraid to move. The trespasser came at him, arms outstretched, and lunged right at his throat. Thomas screamed as the man bit into his throat, and tried to fight him off. But it was far too late for that. He fell backwards, the man falling down right on top of him, biting further into Thomas' neck, tearing into the flesh and splashing blood.

***

The paramedics pushed a gurney through the doors and into the emergency room, the motionless body of a city utility worker lying on top, his entire body splashed with blood. Nurses pulled the gurney to a hospital bed and quickly moved the body. The man's shirt was ripped open to show several long gashes across his torso and on his arms as well. One of the nurses placed an air pump over his mouth and began squeezing it, taking his pulse.

"Hey, can you hear me?" the nurse asked, touching the side of his face. "Anyone know this guy's name?"

"Benjamin. That's what the medics called him."

"Ben? Ben, can you hear me? What happened to him?"

"No idea. They said he was attacked by some kind of animal."

"What kind of animal did this? A mountain lion?"

Dr. Gary Winslow came into the room, pulling on his rubber gloves. A white face mask dangled from around his neck. "What do we have here? Tell me what's going on."

"We have blood loss and tissue damage, maybe internal injuries as well," one of the nurses said. "Pulse is weak and breathing is shallow. They said it was an animal attack."

"Get him an IV drip, stat. Get him hooked up."

Winslow ran a finger across Benny's bloody chest and did a quick visual examination of his external injuries. "No head trauma, just the cuts here. They don't look very deep, but he may have broken ribs though. Once we get him stabilized, we can –"

Just as they attached him to the life support equipment, the heart monitor beeped loudly and then blared its alarm for cardiac arrest. The nurse with the air pump put her hand to Benny's throat and cried out, "No pulse!"

The nurses scrambled as Winslow rushed over and began emergency CPR, putting his hands together and pressing hard on Benny's chest. The blood made it slippery and Winslow's hands slid unsteadily across the gashes.

"We got nothing!" a nurse shouted. "No pulse, no breathing!"

"Get the defibrillator ready!"

They pushed the tray next to him and he grabbed the two paddles in bloody hands. Winslow shouted, "Clear!" before pressing the paddles to Benny's chest and hitting the trigger, blasting a shock of electricity into the body. Benny jerked up off the bed and landed flat, the heart monitor still blaring its high-pitched alarm. There was no response, so Winslow hit him again with the paddles, but the result was the same. Someone finally hit the silence button on the alarm.

Winslow leaned against the edge of the bed as the nurses looked on in dismay. He shook his head and set the defibrillator paddles back on the cart.

"Okay," he said slowly. "I'm calling time of death at exactly two-forty-nine in the morning."

"What do you think happened?" a nurse asked.

"I have no idea. Cardiac arrest caused by severe bodily trauma. I wish we had some idea what caused these injuries."

"There are some police here," a nurse said. "I think they might know more."

The doctor glanced at the body. "Too late for him." He shook his head again and walked out of the room, pulling his gloves off and tossing them into the wastebasket.

One of the nurses pulled the sheet up from the bed and covered Benny's body. The other two nurses disconnected the life support monitors and tried to start cleaning up. One of Benny's arms slid off the bed and dangled over the edge.

"Poor guy," the nurse said, gently taking the arm to put it back on the bed. As soon as she touched it, Benny's arm twitched and he grabbed onto her hand.

She screamed and tried to pull away as Benny's jerked upright, the white sheet fluttering to the side. He stared at her with insane eyes and pulled her arm toward him, groaning with his teeth bared. The other nurses shouted in surprise and ran to the bed to push him back down.

"Doctor! Get back here!"

Benny shoved the nurses aside and bit down hard on the other nurse's arm. She screamed and tried to pull away, but he grasped the front of her white uniform and tumbled off the bed, pulling her to the floor with him. He groaned and bit down on her arm again as she tried to scramble away.

Dr. Winslow ran back into the room, followed by the two police officers. They grabbed Benny and tried to pull him away, but he jumped to his feet and turned on the doctor, grabbing his neck and lunging toward him. They skidded across the floor and smashed into the tables of medical equipment, knocking the tray with the defibrillator over. The nurse with the bitten arm shrieked in pain and crawled away as blood dribbled across the front of her clothes.

Benny pushed against Winslow and bared his teeth, trying to bite him. The police officers pulled him back, but he shook them off and roared furiously, blood spitting from his mouth. Winslow managed to lift one foot and kick his attacker in the chest, knocking him back. Benny staggered backward but didn't fall over, and soon rushed to the side to attack one of the police officers.

"Stop! Freeze!" the other cop screamed.

Ignoring the warning, Benny rushed the cop, and suddenly a loud gunshot rang out. Benny spun sideways, blood erupting from his chest, and crashed into the wall, sliding to the floor with a streak of blood leaving its mark across the wall. He got his feet back under him and lunged for the cop again. The next bullet hit him right in the temple and he fell straight to the ground, landing in a heap on the white tile floor.

"Jesus ..." the cop whispered, lowering his pistol.

Winslow tried to catch his breath, staring in disbelief at the body lying on the floor. Five minutes earlier, the man at his feet was unconscious and unresponsive. Two minutes earlier, he was legally dead. And then ...

"What the hell is going on here?" Winslow asked to no one in particular.

***

The east side Wal-Mart was open twenty-four hours. Late night to early morning, from around one o'clock to four o'clock, was always the slowest time, and most of the employees working that shift were either cleaning up or stocking shelves. Kelly and Debra worked as cashiers, and when no one was in the checkout line, they stood beside one of the registers near the front doors.

"Oh God, look who just came in," Kelly muttered.

Debra turned around to see someone walking slowly toward the inner door. He reached out weakly as the automatic door opened for him, and then half-stumbled into the building. He was a dirty-looking young man with a shabby brown jacket and dirty blue jeans. He took awkward, jerky steps forward and looked around as if walking in his sleep.

"Who is he?" Debra asked.

Kelly snapped her gum. "Some guy who lives around here. I've seen him before, he comes into the store sometimes. I think he's homeless, actually."

As if hearing them, Johnny Tuesday looked in their direction with an empty expression and began to walk unevenly toward them.

"He must be drunk or something," Kelly muttered.

Debra sighed and wandered over to her regular register. She watched as Johnny walked in her direction, and tilted her head, looking at him suspiciously. She knew what drunk people looked like, and he didn't look drunk.

"Hey, mister," she asked. "Are you sick or something?"

Johnny did not respond, but at the sound of her voice he seemed to speed up. She walked towards him, trying to get a better look in his eyes. "Hey, what's the matter?" she asked as Johnny came up to her. He moaned something and swayed on his feet, fumbling weakly at the sleeve of her shirt.

"Hey Kelly, get security over here. I think this guy's sick or something. Maybe we should call him an ambulance."

As Kelly dialed on her phone for store security, Debra reached up and put her hand against Johnny's damp forehead. He reached and touched her hand and seemed to grumble something, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"You feel cold," Debra said, and then turned to say something to Kelly.

Johnny grabbed her arm and stuck her hand into his mouth, biting down on her fingers. Debra shouted and pulled her hand away, looking down at the bloody mark across her knuckles, as Johnny stumbled towards her.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" she shouted, stepping away.

Two security guards, Walt and Kevin, came rushing toward the registers. Debra waved them over as she ran from Johnny, who continued to stagger towards her. She showed them her hand and said, "The crazy son of a bitch bit me! I think he's sick or on drugs or something."

Kelly leaned against her register, stunned at the sudden turn of events, and looked at Walt and Kevin, not knowing what else to do. She heard Johnny come up beside her and flinched as he grabbed her arm as well. She screamed and the guards ran to pull Johnny away, but he managed to bend down and bite onto her forearm before they could get him off of her. He struggled against the guards and bit down on the shoulder nearest to his mouth, but the shirt was too thick and he didn't break skin.

Kelly put a hand on her bleeding arm and grabbed the phone again to call the police. As the guards tried to subdue Johnny, he groaned loudly and pushed Kevin away, lunging at Walt to bite down on his shoulder again. Walt shouted in surprise and pushed him back, slamming him into the wall.

"Don't move!" Kevin yelled, drawing his gun. Some of the Wal-Mart employees had been upset to learn that the security guards carried firearms, but now all their complaints and worries seemed irrelevant. Kevin pointed the gun at Johnny and shouted again for him not to move, but he thrashed wildly and knocked Walt away.

"Don't come any closer!" Kevin shouted again.

Johnny growled and ignored the order, rushing forward. Kevin braced himself and pulled the trigger. He hit Johnny directly in the center of his chest. Johnny toppled over backward and fell to the floor. Kelly screamed and ran away as Debra stared in horror at the scene in front of her.

"Jesus," Kevin mumbled, lowering his gun.

Walt shook his head and looked over at Debra. "You called the cops, right?"

"Kelly did," she whispered.

"Alright, good. When they get here we have to –" he said, and then suddenly shouted in surprise as Johnny grabbed his leg and bit down on his ankle. Walt tried to shake him loose, but he lost his balance and fell down with Johnny still gripping his leg. He fumbled with his own gun as Johnny sat upright and reached for his throat, groaning horribly.

Walt managed to pull his gun out and shove the barrel directly into Johnny's mouth as he lunged for his throat. Reflexively, in a moment of panic, he squeezed the trigger and a geyser of blood blasted out the back of Johnny's head, splattering against the wall behind them. Johnny gasped and tumbled to the side, a thin trail of smoke coming from his mouth.

Debra raised her hands to her face and screamed.

"I shot him!" Kevin shouted frantically. "I shot him right in the chest! How could he still be alive? How?"

***

When the police pulled up in front of Thomas Duckett's house, the red and blue lights on their patrol car flashing across the entire street, they immediately saw someone standing in the front yard. The driver, Officer Dan Howard, radioed in to the police station that they were on the scene, while the other cop, Officer Paul Simmons, immediately got out of the car.

He placed one hand on his weapon and held his other hand out. "Don't move," he announced loudly at the figure, who stood in front of the house, his face obscured in shadows. The front porch light was on, but the figure stood in the long shadow cast by tall bushes next to the porch. The cop car's flashing lights flickered red and blue across the figure's body.

"Come toward me, very slowly, with your hands in the air," Paul said.

The figure took a hesitant step forward, and then another, his hands at his sides. It stepped out from the shadow and into the light of the front porch.

"I said put your hands ..." Paul started, and then went silent.

The man, wearing dark blue pants and a blue shirt, walked toward him. His face was drenched in blood, and it was spilled down the front of his shirt almost down to his waist. He stared with wide eyes, his mouth open, with saliva and blood dripping off his chin. The police lights seemed to entrance him, the light glinting off his eyes and teeth, making him appear to be smiling gruesomely.

Paul drew his gun, and Dan, still standing by the patrol car, drew his as well. Paul said, "Don't move. Put your hands in the air right now."

The man lifted his arms up as if to follow orders, but he merely reached out and groaned, more blood drooling from his mouth. He staggered forward, his pace quickening.

"Jesus, look at him," Dan said nervously.

"Do not take another step!" Paul shouted. "Or I will open fire!"

The man paused and took one more step. Paul pulled the trigger and shot him square in the chest, but he only leaned back with the bullet impact instead of falling over. He groaned again and suddenly staggered forward in a rush.

Paul fired three more times, hitting him in the chest and throat. He backpedaled quickly as the man came at him, arms outstretched. Dan shouted something and opened fire as well, striking the man in the shoulder. The man stumbled back, the bullets knocking him off balance. Dan fired again and the bullet struck him in the side of the head. He gasped and pitched over to the side, falling into the grass.

"God," Paul whispered, staring down at the body. "I don't believe this."

Dan immediately sat back down in the car and picked up the radio. "This is car twenty-nine, please send backup. There's been an officer-involved shooting. We approached a suspect and he attacked us."

"Backup is on its way, twenty-nine. Emergency services have been notified," the radio announced.

"Thank you," Dan said, hanging the radio back up. He got back out of the car and walked around to where Paul knelt beside the dead body. He didn't smell it before, but he suddenly got an overpowering whiff of decay.

"This is all wrong," Paul said, as if to himself. "This guy smells like he's been dead for a week. And he walked right through four bullets. I don't understand this."

"I called for backup. You gonna be okay?"

Paul nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."

"He came right for you. We didn't have a choice," Dan said supportively.

"I know that. But look at all that blood on his face."

Dan looked up as the house's front door opened slowly and a middle-aged woman poked her head out. She wore a blue nightgown and slippers, and took one step out the door before stopping, covering his mouth with her hands. "Oh my God," she squeaked.

Dan rushed over to her. "Ma'am, it's okay ..."

"I heard gunshots," she whispered, staring past the officer to the dead body lying in her front lawn. "Where ... where is Tom?"

"Who?" Dan asked.

"My husband," the woman said, her voice unsteady. "He came outside and he ... I heard gunshots ..." She swayed on her feet, as if about to faint, and Dan grabbed her shoulders to keep her from falling over.

"Over there!" Paul shouted, and Dan looked up to see a man stumble out from around the side of the house, wearing nothing but thin pair of pants. Before he could react, the woman pushed him away and ran off the porch.

"Tommy!" she cried. "Honey, are you –"

The man turned to face her, and she screamed when she saw the huge gaping rip across his throat and the torrent of blood spilling down his bare chest. He grabbed her arms and she screamed desperately, trying to pull away, her feet slipping on the wet grass.

"Freeze!" Paul shouted, running forward with his gun out.

Thomas Duckett growled and bit down on his wife Carla's arm, his teeth sinking hard into her flesh. She screamed even louder and managed to pull away when Thomas opened his mouth to take another bite. She fell to the ground, blood oozing from the gory wound on her forearm.

Paul and Dan opened fire simultaneously, blasting Thomas with bullets. He jerked backward as bullets tore through his chest, twitching left and right with blood spurting from the wounds. Carla's continuous, agonized scream was drowned out by the sound of rapid gunfire. One of the shots got lucky and struck Thomas in the eye, and he toppled over backwards.

Dan pulled Carla to safety as she continued to scream, blood from her arm smearing across her nightgown. Paul looked in disbelief at Thomas' body and the jagged wound across his neck. He slid his pistol back into its holster.

A few minutes later, the backup arrived.

***

"Kelly? Kelly, can you hear me?" the nurse asked, gently touching her face.

Kelly, lying motionless on the hospital bed, managed to nod slightly, her eyes glassy and her mouth hanging open. Each breath seemed shallower than the last, and her vital signs were dropping like a stone.

"She was absolutely fine an hour ago," another nurse said. "We've tried calling her family, but I guess they don't answer their phone this early in the morning."

Dr. Gary Winslow looked down at the young woman on the bed and spied the bandage on her arm. He looked up at the nurse. "She was treated for the bite mark on her arm, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And all the blood tests came back negative?"

"Yes," the nurse sighed. "We checked her records too, and her medical history is clean."

Winslow frowned. "Who bit her?"

"The police told me that a homeless person came into the store where she worked, and attacked her and another girl as well."

"Is that other girl here?"

"No," the nurse said. "She went home, I guess."

Winslow nodded to himself and looked down at Kelly. "What happened to the homeless man that attacked her?"

"He was killed by security guards," the nurse said, somewhat uncomfortably.

Kelly moved her head and took a laborious breath, looking up weakly at Winslow, who could do nothing but put his hand reassuringly on her shoulder. Since Kelly's arrival, her condition had steadily worsened. She started complaining of dizziness and weakness soon after arriving at the emergency room, and soon could barely stand up on her own. By the time they got her into a bed and hooked up to the life support monitors, she was too weak to talk. The monitors told a frightening story; her vital signs were all rapidly deteriorating, and no one could figure out why.

Kelly took another slow breath and moved her lips. Winslow leaned over and put his ear directly over her mouth.

"Debra ..." Kelly whispered. "... bit her too ..."

"Is Debra the other girl?" Winslow said, and Kelly managed a barely perceptible nod.

"She was bitten as well?" Kelly did not nod this time, but she blinked. Winslow squeezed her shoulder and nodded himself. "Okay, try to conserve your strength, Kelly. We're going to find Debra, okay?"

Winslow and the nurse walked out into the hallway. "I want you to contact the police and tell them to find that other girl. Her name is Debra. And find out if anyone else was bitten by that homeless man, or had any contact with him at all."

"You think he was carrying something?"

"Seems likely. We don't have anything else to go on."

Winslow went back to the emergency room lobby to talk with the staff there, when there was the sound of tires screeching just outside, and a few seconds later the doors burst open and a man wearing a security guard uniform ran inside. "I need help here!" he shouted frantically. "I got a real sick person out here!"

Winslow called down the hallway for help, and soon several nurses were running outside to the guard's car to help the person inside. It was another man in a security uniform, and he was awake but completely unresponsive. They got him onto a wheelchair and quickly wheeled him into the emergency room as Winslow held open the door.

"What happened?" Winslow asked.

"He just started getting sick, man. I don't know. He said he was feeling kinda dizzy and sick, and then he just got worse and worse," the security guard babbled. "It happened so quick, I just drove here as fast as I could. I thought maybe he was having a heart attack or something."

"Did he have chest pain?"

"I don't think so, he just said he was dizzy. And he got real tired and was like, slurring his words. Some crazy stuff just happened to us and I thought maybe it was too much for him."

"What are you talking about?"

"We work at Wal-Mart," the guard explained. "We work security. This crazy guy came into the store and attacked some of the cashiers a little while ago. He attacked us, and we ... we had to shoot him. I mean, we killed him. It was just crazy, you know? I never thought something like that would ever happen. I thought maybe Walt was having a heart attack because of the stress."

Winslow quickly led the guard down the hall as he talked, and brought him to the room where Kelly was. The guard stopped in mid-sentence. "Oh man, that's one of the cashiers. What's wrong with her?"

"I was hoping you might know," Winslow said. "What's your name?"

"My name? My name's Kevin."

"Well, Kevin, the police told us that Kelly was bitten by the man that attacked her."

"Yeah, I remember. I think he bit both of them."

"What about your partner?" Winslow asked. "Did he get bitten?"

A shadow of dread passed over Kevin's face. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, he did get bit."

Winslow went to the other room, where the nurses were already hooking the wounded guard up to the life support machines. They opened his shirt and placed electrodes on his chest to read his heartbeat, which bleeped weakly on the monitors. The man looked half-dead already, his face pale and his breathing so shallow his chest barely moved.

"Where were you bitten?" Winslow asked him. "Can you hear me?"

Kevin stood in the doorway, his arms hanging at his sides. "It's on his ankle. The guy bit Walt on the ankle."

Winslow pulled up Walt's pant leg and saw a large adhesive bandage on his ankle. He pulled it off and looked at the two semi-circular lines of teeth marks. It looked like any other superficial bite mark, nothing that would indicate how infectious it might be. It wasn't even a deep bite; it had barely drawn blood.

"It doesn't even look infected," Winslow said to himself.

"There's something else," Kevin said, still standing in the doorway. "That guy we shot, he was insane or something. Like he didn't even act like a person."

"Listen," Winslow said. "Go out and wait in the lobby. I'll be out to talk to you in a few minutes."

"I shot him right in the chest," Kevin blurted out. "And it didn't kill him. We thought he was dead, and then he just jumped up and bit Walt's leg. He was insane or something, he tried to bite him again. He went for his throat, like a wild animal."

Winslow led Kevin back to the lobby and pointed to a chair. "Take a seat. I'll be back here to talk to you soon."

He went back to Walt's room and the nurse just shook her head as soon as he entered. "It's got to be the same thing," she said. "Some kind of infection. His vital signs are all low and they're dropping fast. We put him on an IV but I don't know if it will even help."

"Do whatever you can," Winslow said, but he knew it was a hollow statement. Without more information on what they were dealing with, any kind of treatment was just fumbling in the dark. "I'm going to call the police and find out about that homeless person. Let me know if anything changes, or if you get a call back about that other girl."

"Yes, Doctor."

Winslow paused on his way out the door. "Oh, have you seen Sandy anywhere?"

"I think she went home. She was kind of freaked out ..." The nurse paused and then glanced down at the man next to her. "You don't think that ...?"

"You better call her house," Winslow said. "Make sure she's okay. And tell her to get back here as soon as possible."

The nurse nodded and then hurried out the door to the front desk. Winslow took a deep breath and glanced between the two rooms, one with Kelly and the other one with Walt. Both of them were bitten by a strange man, and within two hours they were both barely holding on to life. Winslow would have given anything at that moment to know just what in the world that homeless man had contracted.

He walked into Kelly's room and looked down at her. Her skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat and her eyes fluttered behind her eyelids, her breath short and raspy. Nothing Winslow had ever heard of, no illness or disease known to man, worked so fast. To become so sick in such a short time was a symptom of poison, not disease. And her range of symptoms was astounding and terrifying. It seemed like her entire body was shutting down all at once.

Winslow looked at the heart monitor and could almost watch as her heart beat slowed down. Her internal organs were suffering; both her liver and her kidneys were slowly failing. Even electrical activity in her brain was decreasing. Her body was working overtime just to keep her breathing at this point. And apparently, all this had transpired in the course of an hour.

Sandy was the nurse that the utility worker attacked. Winslow didn't blame her for going home early. It was such a frightening experience, being brutally attacked by a man who was pronounced dead just moments before. But as he watched Kelly fade away, Winslow began to wonder if Sandy should have gone home after all. She had been bitten as well.

Kevin mentioned that the homeless man attacked them like an animal and tried to bite Walt in the throat. The utility worker did the exact same thing to Winslow, just after biting Sandy on the arm, just as Kelly was bitten. The utility worker acted like a raving lunatic, growling and groaning, attacking anyone who got near him. Winslow felt lucky at the time that he got away uninjured, but now he felt twice as lucky.

After all, if the homeless man was somehow infected with an unknown disease, then how could he manage to violently attack anyone? Kelly was exposed to it for less than two hours and she was practically on her death bed. And at no time during her stay did she become violent or agitated.

The homeless man, and the utility worker, seemed to be connected. But the utility worker was attacked in the sewer by some kind of animal. Was homeless man attacked as well? Winslow couldn't shake the feeling that somehow the two events were related.

"Dr. Winslow," the nurse called out from the lobby. "I called Sandy but no one answered the phone."

Winslow only spent a second thinking about it. "Call the police. Tell them to check her house and make sure she's okay. And tell them to find that other girl named Debra."

He paused then and cast a worrisome glance back down at Kelly. "And after that, I want you to call the Health Department. And see if you can contact Dr. Russell and Dr. Singh. I think we need someone else to take a look at this."

"Good idea," the nurse said.

All of the hospital beds and stretchers, even the ones in the emergency room area, came with tough nylon straps that could be used to tie down violent or unstable patients, or just to secure patients who were likely to fall out of their bed. Winslow took out the straps and carefully tied Kelly to the bed. He decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

Chapter 3

It took several hours for the T-virus to spread throughout the Raccoon City water system and down all the thousands of miles of pipes spreading like a spider web all across the city. Like all viruses and bacteria, the T-virus thrived in a water environment, and it multiplied and grew each second, spreading deeper and deeper into the water system, originating in the huge water tank where the body of Richard Aiken remained floating in darkness.

And then, at around five o'clock in the morning, the city of Raccoon began to wake up. All across the city, people began to turn on their water faucets to make their morning cup of coffee, and within minutes it seemed that half the city was suddenly turning on showers, or flushing toilets, or running water in the sink to brush their teeth. Such tremendous usage of water brought the T-virus right into people's homes.

Everyone who took a shower, everyone who washed their hands or faces, everyone who brushed their teeth or swallowed a mouthful of water to take some medication, everyone who used water to make oatmeal or other breakfast food, everyone who filled a water bottle to drink from during the day, everyone who washed their dishes after breakfast. All of the people who woke up in the morning and did any of the daily activities that so many people do. Anyone who used water that morning was at risk of getting infected with the T-virus.

Mechanics getting ready for a day of changing people's motor oil in a car garage, teachers preparing their lessons plans and work sheets for the students, dentists and doctors getting ready for another long day of treating the flu or filling cavities, bus drivers and grocery store clerks and secretaries and even police officers, all getting ready to start their day. And even all the people who worked third shift and were still up, or self employed and simply preferred to be awake at night. More than two-thirds of the city used water at some point between five and seven in the morning, and almost all of them were exposed to the T-virus as it made its way through the water system.

And within an hour, all those people began to get sick. And the vast majority of them started getting sick at the exact same time.

Chapter 4

Sherry Birkin wished she knew where her father was. She had no idea why her parents changed their plans at the last minute, and when she tried to ask, her mother told her not to worry about it. Annette had come home the other day, her face red and puffy from crying, and told Sherry that their plans to leave the city were on hold. For some reason, they needed to wait a little longer, but Annette refused to give Sherry any more information. Her father did not come home that day as planned, and now Annette behaved as if nothing was wrong.

Sherry guessed that her father got arrested and was in jail. It was the only thing she could think of to explain why they were not leaving Raccoon City. If he was just staying at work, like he always did, Annette would just say that. The fact that she stayed so silent was evidence that something much worse had happened.

They were supposed to be gone by now, but instead, she was going to school like any other day. Annette gripped the steering wheel tightly as she drove to the school, with Sherry sitting in the passenger seat, looking out the window with a bored expression on her face, her bookbag in her lap.

She looked up as an ambulance, its lights flashing and siren blaring, roared down the street in front of them, rushing through the intersection as the other cars on the street politely came to a stop. Sherry could not remember a time when she saw so many ambulances, but that was the third one they saw this morning. She looked at Annette and started to say something, but her mother stared forward obsessively, leaning forward and holding onto the steering wheel for dear life. Sherry sighed and though better of it. If her mother didn't want to talk, then Sherry wouldn't talk.

There was less traffic on the street, she noticed. Normally there were plenty of cars, since so many people drove to work at the same time Annette drove Sherry to school, but today it seemed like there were many less than usual. Sherry didn't bother to comment on that either, she just rested her head on the side of the car seat and looked out the side window.

When they arrived at the school, Annette drove into the semi-circular driveway and pulled up to the curb. As always, there were tons of other cars already there, since most of her classmates were driven to school by their parents, but it seemed like there were less cars than usual. Sherry undid her seat belt, lifted her bookbag, and opened the door.

"Have a good day at school, honey," Annette said robotically.

"Sure, mom," Sherry muttered as she climbed out of the car. She closed the door and lifted her bookbag onto her shoulder, casting one more glance back at Annette, before turning and walking quickly across the sidewalk up to the doors to the school.

A massive luxury SUV was parked on the curb a few spaces down. A young boy stood next to it, holding his stomach. He wasn't in Sherry's class, but she recognized him from lunch period. "But mom, I don't feel good," the boy said.

"Just go to school, honey. If you still feel sick, go to the nurse," the boy's mother said from inside the car.

Sherry pushed the doors open and walked down the hallway, her bookbag bumping against her shoulder. Her black dress shoes clicked on the marble floor as she went down the hall toward her class. She could see a teacher standing outside his classroom, holding a hand to his head.

"Hi, Mr. Rawlings," she said as she walked by.

The teacher nodded and made a pained face. "Good morning, Sherry," he mumbled.

"Are you sick or something?"

He nodded. "It seems like lot of people are sick today."

Sherry wondered if there was some kind of flu bug going around. It was the season for it, but she felt completely fine. Of course, if everyone else at the school was sick, she was probably bound to get sick as well.

She got to her classroom and stopped in her tracks as soon as she stepped into the doorway. Mrs. Gaffey, her teacher, was frantically dealing with half a dozen students who were sprawled across their desks or even lying on the floor. Several other students, apparently not the sick ones, were looking on nervously.

"Sherry?" Mrs. Gaffey asked. "Are you okay, dear?"

"Yeah," Sherry said. "I'm fine."

"You aren't sick or anything?"

Sherry shook her head. "No, I feel fine."

"I sent Joshua to the office to get some help, but he didn't come back yet. Would you please go to the office and tell them they need to call the hospital?"

Sherry tossed her bookbag onto her desk and glanced across the faces of her sick classmates, suddenly feeling very cold. "Yeah, sure I will," she said.

She ran out of the classroom and hurried down the hall. She glanced briefly into the next room as she passed and saw the exact same scene, a room full of sick children and a desperate teacher trying to help them. Several students were gathered outside the class, looking inside with worried looks on their faces.

"What is going on?" Sherry asked.

"I don't know," a kid said. "Everybody is getting sick. My dad was sick when I got up this morning, and now everybody here is too."

One of the other kids sighed heavily and slouched against the wall. "I don't feel too good either," he said nervously.

Sherry continued on down the hall and turned the corner to the main lobby where the front office was. She heard the commotion before she even got there, and entered the lobby to see a crowd of people already there. Teachers, students, and parents alike all were gathered outside the office, trying to shove their way inside. Sherry stopped, watching the crowd in nervous fascination, and found her heart beating faster and faster. Her breath seemed to come in sharp gasps.

"I don't know what's going on!" a teacher shouted angrily.

"Hasn't someone called the police?" someone else said.

"The damn phone lines are down!"

Sherry saw Joshua standing at the edge of the mob, trying helplessly to make his way through, but the mass of bodies blocked him completely. He was shorter than Sherry, with big brown eyes and a mop of brown hair. She ran up beside him and pulled him away.

"You'll never get through," she said.

Joshua was crying, his cheeks wet with tears. "She ... she told me to get help. But there's too many people. I don't know what to do."

"Let's get out of here," Sherry said. "We'll just tell Mrs. Gaffey that someone else is already getting help."

The front doors swung open and two police officers came inside, looking around with tired, overwhelmed looks. The crowd immediately shifted and began inundating the two hapless officers with questions.

"We need ambulances here! Can't you call someone and get help?"

"Why are the phones down?"

"Has anyone called the CDC? We have an epidemic on our hands!"

"Even my cell phone won't work! What is going on?"

"I have a room full of sick kids!"

Sherry left Joshua standing by himself, and quickly ran to the office, since most of the people blocking her way were now surrounding the cops. She pushed her way past a teacher and looked into the office.

It was a disaster area. The main waiting area in the office was full of children lying on the floor, all of them so sick they could barely move. Secretaries and teachers ran around frantically, trying to call for help on phones that didn't work, doing whatever they could to help the sick students. It looked like a makeshift hospital after some terrible natural disaster, like an earthquake or tidal wave.

The front desk secretary, a friendly old woman named Mrs. Callenby, angrily tore her phone off the desk and hurled it across the room. "Nothing!" she screamed. "The phones are totally dead!"

"What about the radio?" someone asked.

"It doesn't work either! I get nothing but static!"

"Where is the Principal? Why isn't he here?"

"He didn't even come in today!"

The kids lying on the floor weren't even moving. Sherry stared in horror as she recognized at least one person from her class, a girl named Jessica. She was against the wall near the benches in the waiting area, lying on her side as if asleep, but her eyes were wide open. It didn't even look like her chest was moving.

"We need to get the buses back here and take these people to the hospital," one of the office people said desperately. "We don't have enough supplies in the nurse's office."

"Enough supplies for what? We don't even know why they're all sick!"

Sherry felt the world closing in on her. She pushed away and made it back into the lobby, as the crowd grew in size. More people were showing up every second, and soon the entire lobby would be totally full of people. Sherry stumbled back out and grabbed Joshua's hand, pulling him away. "Come on!" she shouted.

"Sherry, what are we going to do?" Joshua cried.

"I don't know," Sherry said. "But I don't think we should stay here at school. If everyone is sick, we might get sick too."

They ran down the hall, passing more groups of students, some of them sick and some still healthy. She heard people shouting, and at least one teacher screaming for help, even though there was no help coming. Someone tried to ask her what was going on, but she rushed past without answering.

They made it back to Mrs. Gaffey's room and pushed their way through the students blocking the door. Mrs. Gaffey was shaking a cell phone in her hand, tears streaming down her face. Sherry stared in horror at half of her class lying weakly on the floor, some of them groaning in pain, and others completely immobile.

"I can't get anyone on the phone!" Mrs. Gaffey cried.

"The phones don't work," Sherry told her. "There's a whole bunch of people at the office, but no one knows what's going on."

"What about the police?"

"There are some police here, but I don't think they can help anyone."

The windows in Mrs. Gaffey's room looked out onto the main street in front of the school, and Sherry could see outside as she talked to her teacher. She was about to say something else, when suddenly she watched as a truck zoomed down the street, skipped the curb, and crashed head-on into a tree in the school's front yard. She shrieked at the sight, and flinched at the grating sound of tearing metal and shattering glass.

The truck tilted sideways and slammed to the ground, rocking back and forth on its side. The tree shook violently and leaves fluttered to the ground like confetti. Two more cars flew down the street, totally oblivious to the accident.

"Oh, Jesus," Mrs. Gaffey whispered, her hands at the sides of her face. She stared at the truck and then looked back down at the sick children, her whole body frozen in the panic of indecision. She shook like the tree outside, and the cell phone slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor.

"What are we going to do?" Joshua asked, his voice trembling.

"I don't know!" Mrs. Gaffey screamed. "Someone has to go get some help!"

Sherry didn't know how anyone could get help now, especially if the phones weren't working. If the rest of the city was facing the same epidemic that the school was, then she doubted that phones would even help, since everyone would be calling at the same time and all the phone lines would be tied up anyway. But she knew one thing for certain. She did not want to spend another minute in this school with all these sick people. She was going to go back home if she had to walk there herself.

She left the classroom and went back into the hall, ignoring the other kids in her class, who just stood around uncertainly. They asked where she was going, but she just ignored them. It didn't matter where she was going, she was just getting away.

"Sherry!" Joshua cried, coming after her. "I'm coming with you!"

"I'm not staying here," Sherry said.

"Neither am I," he replied, wiping his face with his sleeve. "I want to go home."

"Well, come on."

Instead of heading toward the office again, they went down the hall back to the doors that Sherry entered from. More students were standing around in the hallway, and Sherry saw Mr. Rawlings sitting against the wall, his head drooped to the side. His students were worriedly standing around, unsure what to do.

"Where are you going, Sherry?" one of them asked.

"I'm going home," she said simply.

Before they made it to the outside doors, a teacher stumbled out of her classroom and stood on unsteady legs, looking around sleepily. Sherry recognized her as Mrs. Carter, the kindergarten teacher. Since the kindergarten class did not start until later, Mrs. Carter would not have any students yet. She staggered out into the hall and looked toward Sherry and Joshua, her mouth hanging open stupidly.

Sherry stopped and grabbed Joshua's arm as he almost ran past her. They looked at Mrs. Carter, and Sherry felt herself take a step backward. She didn't understand how, but she knew instinctively that something was wrong.

"Are you okay?" Sherry asked.

Mrs. Carter did not respond, she only staggered forward, her eyes wide open with a frighteningly hollow stare. Her mouth seemed to open and close without her saying anything except a raspy groan.

Sherry ran to the nearest room, Mrs. Mason's first grade class, where she was not surprised to see more sick children lying around. The teacher was kneeling over some kids, nervously fumbling with a thermometer.

"Mrs. Mason!" Sherry shouted from the hallway. "There's something wrong with Mrs. Carter!"

Mrs. Mason glanced over her shoulder at Sherry, then got up and sighed heavily. She shook her head and went to the doorway. "Listen, just go to the office, okay? I have sick children here."

"Look!" Sherry demanded.

Mrs. Mason reluctantly glanced up at Mrs. Carter and her expression changed from mild annoyance to real concern. "Elizabeth?" she asked. "Are you alright? Don't tell me that you're getting sick too."

Mrs. Carter said nothing, she only took a few more steps forward, staring intently at Sherry, lifting one arm as if to point at her.

"Elizabeth, are you okay?" Mrs. Mason asked. She walked toward her and reached out to take her arm. Mrs. Carter paused for a moment and looked at her coworker, before suddenly lunging forward and biting down hard on her neck. Mrs. Mason screamed and slammed her hands into Mrs. Carter's chest, pushing her away. She took a chunk of flesh away, still in her teeth, and blood gushed up from the gory wound on Mrs. Mason's neck. She stumbled back, trying to stop the flow with her hands, but it squirted between her fingers like a hose, splashing blood everywhere.

Sherry was already running for it, with Joshua close on her heels. Mrs. Mason's screams echoed relentlessly down the hallway like a skipping record, and then stopped abruptly. Suddenly, it seemed like everyone else was screaming at the same time. The whole world seemed to erupt into panic. Sherry and Joshua sprinted past a rushing flood of students and made it back to their own classroom.

Just as they arrived, children burst from the doorway, followed by Mrs. Gaffey, who was screaming herself, one hand gripping a bloody wound on her arm. She ran out into the hall, shaking her head in terrified denial, her hair whipping around her face as tears poured down her contorted face.

Sherry's classmate Bobby jumped from the classroom, his mouth smeared with blood, his teeth bared in a horrifying grimace. His eyes were wide open and frantic, as if he was on drugs. He hurled himself at Mrs. Gaffey and bit down on her arm again, swung from side to side as the teacher frantically tried to shake him off. Screaming students ran in every direction, trying to get away from the violent scene in front of them.

Amber, one of Sherry's friends, ran from the room as well, her eyes wild in a psychotic frenzy. She growled and jumped on another student, sinking her teeth into his shoulder like a lion attacking a zebra. More terrified screams filled the hallway, so loud that it seemed like the entire school was screaming at once.

Sherry ran past the carnage, knocking one of her classmates to the ground. She bolted away and ran as fast as she could back toward the office, not knowing where else she could possibly go. She could hear Joshua crying out behind her.

The lobby was overrun with a frantic mob of people, desperately trying to claw and fight their way to the doors. Sherry ducked past the surging crowd and ran down the next hallway, toward the gymnasium and cafeteria. People ran past her, going the other way, and one of them tried to stop her.

"Don't go that way!"

Sherry ignored him and kept running. The hallway ended in a wide foyer that split off with several large doors, one set leading into the gymnasium, and the other leading to the cafeteria and the music room. Just as Sherry and Joshua made it to the foyer, one of the school's janitors stumbled out in front of them. His face and the front of his blue work shirt were splattered with blood, and both his hands were covered in blood as well. He turned awkwardly, his arms swinging loosely at his sides, and saw Sherry and Joshua standing there.

The janitor groaned and staggered toward them, his legs jerking up and down like a malfunctioning robot. Sherry prepared to just run around him, but Joshua screamed in fear behind her, and Sherry glanced back.

Another child came shambling toward them, his arms outstretched, his mouth open in a moan of hunger. Like all the others, his eyes seemed to shine with intensity. Sherry backed away from the janitor and grabbed Joshua's arm, trying to pull him away, but he seemed stuck to the floor, his whole body frozen in terror.

"Hey!" someone shouted.

Sherry turned back around to see her gym teacher, a man named Mr. Tyson, come running out of the gym swinging a hockey stick above his head. Like always, he wore a pair of gray sweatpants and a gray t-shirt, but there was a large bloody stain down one of his legs. He rushed into the foyer and swung the hockey stick down right across the janitor's face. With a loud crack, the end of the stick broke right off, and the janitor's head jerked backward, blood spurting from his jaw. He tumbled over with a groan and fell onto his back, blood splashing from the ragged slash across his face. He groaned and tried to get to his feet.

Mr. Tyson ran past Sherry and Joshua and kicked the other student directly in the chest, sending him sprawling. Joshua covered his eyes with his hands and continued to cry, but Sherry just stared in surprise at the gym teacher.

"Are you both okay?" Mr. Tyson asked quickly.

"Yes, we're not hurt," Sherry replied.

The janitor rolled over onto his stomach and began to push himself up. Mr. Tyson ran back to the gym doors and called out, "Come on! Hurry up!"

Sherry grabbed a hold of Joshua again. Three more people came out of the gym, and Mr. Tyson led them past the bleeding janitor. There was the assistant gym teacher, a young woman named Natalie, and two students whose names Sherry didn't know. They all joined up in one group, and together the six of them made their way down the hall near the cafeteria.

"We can go out the back doors and make it to the teacher parking lot," Mr. Tyson explained. "If we can get to my car, I can drive us out of here."

There was a sudden crash of dishes as they passed the entrance to the kitchen, and the doors burst open as one of the lunch workers, a young man wearing black pants and a white shirt, staggered out into the hall. Blood spread down the front of the man's shirt, gushing from a brutal bite wound on his neck. One hand gripping his bloody injury, he stumbled forward before falling to one knee and reaching for the group, blood pouring from his mouth when he tried to speak. Behind him, Sherry could see one of the lunch ladies coming toward them, bloody hands reaching forward, her mouth a dripping mess of blood.

They all hurried after Mr. Tyson, who led them down another hallway, one that Sherry had never been to. It led back to the janitor supply closets and to a staircase leading downstairs to the boiler room. Past the stairway was the rear exit that led behind the school and to the loading dock and the parking lots.

Mr. Tyson opened the door and took a quick glance outside before holding it open wide for everyone to go out. Sherry, Joshua, Natalie, and the other two students went outside and down a set of cement stairs to the rear lot. They ran across the grass to the teacher's parking lot around the other side of the school.

Just as Natalie led the students around the side of the building, a man wearing a brown suit jumped out in front of them and attacked her, biting hard on her hand as she tried to push him away. She screamed, and her scream was followed by the screams of the students, Sherry included. Mr. Tyson rushed forward and slammed his shoulder into the attacker, who was thrown off balance and fell down onto the cement at the edge of the parking lot.

It was the principal of the school, Mr. Colberson, Sherry realized, staring down at him. He must have come to school after all, but got sick like everyone else, and decided to stay in his car. As Mr. Tyson got to his feet, Mr. Colberson groaned and tried to get up as well, glaring at them furiously, baring his blood-stained teeth.

Mr. Tyson grabbed a loose chunk of concrete off the ground just as Mr. Colberson came at them again, and swung it as hard as he could, cracking the concrete right into the principal's temple. He groaned, eyes rolling back in his head, and collapsed to the ground.

Mr. Tyson dropped the bloody piece of concrete and helped Natalie to her feet. She whimpered, cradling her injured hand.

"Come on," Mr. Tyson said, his voice weak. "My car's over here."

They all climbed into his dark blue minivan, which was thankfully large enough for all of them. He drove with Natalie in the passenger seat, while all four students got into the back seat. Joshua clutched Sherry's shirt for dear life.

They drove out of the parking lot and to the street, and Sherry looked out the window with an empty expression. She couldn't even think any more, she couldn't react to what she saw.

Out in front of the school, there must have been a hundred people milling around. Some of them had blood on their faces. Others lay motionless on the ground. Even in the car, she could hear the sounds of screams within the school, combining with the screams and thoughtless moaning of the people outside. As the minivan pulled onto the street, some of the people noticed them and tried to give chase, arms outstretched and eyes blazing with madness. She could almost hear them moaning hungrily as they drove away.
Chapter 5

The command center at the Arklay mansion exploded into action, with hundreds of soldiers running around like ants in an anthill. A line of huge black Humvees sped away from the mansion like a macho funeral procession, and massive transport helicopters rose up from the side yard, tilting forward like an armada of attacking wasps. The rush of air from the spinning blades bent down the trees along the edge of the yard and blew a torrent of leaves across the front lawn like a hurricane.

Nicholai shoved the tent flap aside with a swing of his arm and strode out onto the wide front parking lot, followed by half a dozen soldiers wielding assault rifles. All around them, troops grabbed equipment from long tables and supply cases, and hurried to the remaining choppers still waiting to take off.

"All the communication lines in the city are down," one of the soldiers said.

"And the roads?" Nicholai grunted.

"Blocked."

Damascus Kelly burst from the front doors of the mansion. He wore a white t-shirt underneath his unbuttoned dress shirt, and his hair was uncombed. He jumped down the front steps two at a time and ran up to Nicholai and the others.

"What's going on?" he asked breathlessly. "I thought we decided to wait."

"No time now," Nicholai said, not slowing down. Kelly hurried to keep up with them as they went to the line of Humvees. "The disease has struck the city. We got word a quarter of an hour ago."

"Oh, Jesus," Kelly muttered.

"I am sending all available men," Nicholai said. "Every soldier under my command is being sent to the city as we speak."

Two more helicopters roared over their heads, causing Kelly to flinch and look upward, trying to button up his shirt. Nicholai ignored him and snapped at the other troops, "I want a report as soon as I get to the control station."

"Yes, sir."

"And I want status reports on all the assault teams every half an hour."

"Yes, sir."

"Are you going to the city park?" Kelly asked. "Should I come with you?"

"Of course not," Nicholai scoffed. "You will only be in the way."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Contact your superiors. Tell them the situation."

"And what about you?"

The soldiers accompanying them ran off and boarded one of the Humvees. Nicholai kept walking forward with Kelly trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

A black helicopter rested on the very edge of the lawn, blades slowly spinning. A helmeted pilot sat at the controls, and four more armed troops were strapped in, assault rifles cradled over their chests.

Nicholai stopped a few paces from the helicopter and turned to face Kelly. "I am going to do my job, Mister Kelly. I will try to save your city."

Kelly nodded but said nothing. Nicholai stepped backwards and turned to walk to the helicopter, slapping the pilot's window with his hand as he climbed inside. The chopper lifted up into the air, leaving Kelly standing along in the parking lot, staring up into the air.

Nicholai leaned back and clicked his seat belt, glancing out across the Arklay Mountains as the chopper soared upward. He put on a black headset with ear muffs to muffle the deafening sound of the rotors. He spoke into the mouthpiece.

"Take us around the city," he said. "I want to see what is happening."

When they reached Raccoon City, the pilot obediently flew the chopper on a long arc around the whole city. Nicholai leaned out, casting a harsh, calculating gaze down to the city below.

Most of the streets were packed with cars, the heaviest traffic jams on the roads heading out of the city. All three of the major arteries through the city were completely gridlocked, the roads all effectively blocked just at the limits of the city by UBCF troops, keeping anyone from entering or leaving the city. Nicholai had already given the orders to shoot on sight any individual who tried to avoid the roadblocks. For now, they had enough manpower to maintain the roadblocks, but Nicholai wondered how long they could keep them.

He could see people below, running loose in the streets. He could not hear gunshots, but with the roar of the blades above his head, he was not surprised. But he knew that shots were being fired, either by his own troops or by residents in the city. He could see bodies in the streets, lying motionless on the pavement, sometimes surrounded by others. From this height, it was almost impossible to tell who was infected and who was not.

He could see hazy towers of smoke here and there, from random fires breaking out across the city. There were smashed cars, some of them blocking roads and some of them wrecked in yards or wrapped around trees. As Nicholai watched the carnage unfolding underneath him, he could see groups of people roving through the wreckage, some of them armed.

Perhaps it was not so hard to tell the difference between the infected and the non-infected after all. Nicholai watched the violence with a strategist's eye, trying to get a better idea of how to best command his troops against such an erratic foe.

"Take me to the central command post," he said.

The helicopter soared over the city and descended into Raccoon City Park, taking Nicholai to the command center. He jumped off the chopper when it was still hovering a few feet in the air, and landed on the soft grass. The helicopter landed as he walked away, and the armed troops on board came after him.

At the command post, he took possession of an assault rifle like the ones his men carried. In order to effectively organize the defense of the city, he needed to see things from ground level. The only way do to his job was to go out and see the zombies himself.

Chapter 6

The huge black helicopter hovered forty feet above the street as long nylon ropes dropped out like silk from a hovering spider. One by one, soldiers rappelled down the ropes and landed warily on the street, assault rifles strapped over their backs. They wore green and brown camouflage fatigues, not much use in an urban environment, with red and white umbrella patches on their shoulders.

Carlos Oliveira unlatched his rappel line and shouldered his M4 carbine assault rifle. The team was being dropped off in the middle of a residential area, a friendly neighborhood with streets full of small homes with well manicured lawns and family cars parked in driveways. The hovering chopper made the trees bend and shake, creating constant movement for Carlos to watch, his index finger resting nervously on the trigger.

He carried a small pack filled with spare ammunition, grenades, and other extra equipment like night-vision goggles. He also carried some emergency medical supplies, but those would probably not be useful. If anyone in the squad was wounded by the target of today's mission, first-aid would not help them very much. Carlos, like all the soldiers in the UBCF unit, were fully aware of the dangers of a biological outbreak, and knew exactly what it was they were dealing with.

Carlos wore body armor to protect his torso, and the heavy fabric of his uniform was resistant to both tears and punctures, giving him reliable protection against anything that might try to bite. Black fingerless gloves were on his hands, and he wore a snug black combat helmet with a chin strap. Desert Eagles were holstered on each thigh. Short brown hair poked out from under the helmet, and his almond skin glistened with sweat.

"Calm down, Carlos," a thick accent said from behind him.

His squad Captain, a burly Russian named Mikhail Victor, stood beside him, looking up as the helicopter rose into the air and flew away. Six other men crowded around, forming a tight circle to scan the entire street. Like Carlos, they were all from countries other than the United States. Marco from Cuba, Timon from Nigeria, Yuan and Chen from China, Yuri from Russia, and Kovald from Sweden.

Mikhail merely waved a hand at the row of houses in front of them. "You know the procedure. Check each house. Look for infected ones," he grunted. His red hair was tinged with gray and his pudgy cheeks gave him a deceptively friendly appearance. He pursed his lips and scanned the street, lifting his gun.

The soldiers spread out, each man going to one house. Carlos walked up a smooth asphalt driveway and to the front door of a small blue house with rose bushes out front. He swallowed hard, glad for the gloves on his hands. They were sweating so much the gun would have slipped right out of his grip.

He tried the door and found it locked. He took a step back and then kicked hard with his booted foot, kicking the door open with a crash. He walked inside, his gun against his shoulder, aimed straight forward.

He heard a scream. Not from an adult, but from a child. He rushed forward through the middle-class living room, his boots stomping across the beige carpet, passing pictures on the wall of a husband and wife and a young boy. He turned down the hall and stopped.

Two people approached him. A man wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, his feet bare. Slimy blood smeared across his face, and his bright blue eyes stared forward with manic intensity. Beside him was a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair, her throat torn out. The entire front of her blue nightgown was soaked with blood, sticking to her body. Her hands were coated with blood as well, from when they tried to stop the flow of blood from her own neck.

Carlos took a deep breath and opened fire. His M4 carbine roared like a cannon in the narrow hallway, and the two zombies flew backward with the impact, their heads blowing apart, spraying the hallway with gore.

The screams continued, and Carlos made his way down the hall to a door at the end. Bloody hand prints from the woman were all over the door, and it was half broken off its hinges. Carlos could hear the young boy inside crying hysterically.

"Hey!" Carlos said. "Hey, get out of the way, okay? I'm going to open the door."

He slammed his shoulder into the door and it buckled. One more time and the latch broke, letting the door easily swing open. Inside was a typical boy's room, with a few sports posters and action figures all over the floor.

A young boy wearing pajamas was crouched inside his closet, his hands over his ears. He looked up in terror, tears streaked down his cheeks. Carlos slung his gun over his shoulder, keeping his voice calm. He could only imagine the horror the boy had gone through, hiding in his room as his parents went mad.

"Listen, I'm here to help you, okay? I'm a soldier. I'm gonna help get you out of here."

"My ... my parents ..." the boy mumbled.

"It's okay, they're gone now. They ain't gonna hurt you, okay?"

He picked the boy up and carried him out of the room. "Listen, just close your eyes, okay? Keep your eyes closed and I'll take you out of here."

The boy's body trembled uncontrollably as Carlos carried him out, stepping over the corpses in the hall, trying not to touch either of the walls, which were coated with infected blood.

Back when he joined the UBCF two years before, Carlos did not know exactly what kind of work they did, but they paid well and offered advanced military training, so he said yes without asking too many questions. After being kicked out of the Mexican Army, he thought he had run out of opportunities to fulfill his dream of a military career. He had no job skills, no high school diploma, and was basically a twenty-year-old washout. He almost accepted a low-paying job as a security guard when Umbrella contacted him with an offer to join the UBCF.

Carlos recognized the organization for what it was, a mercenary outfit. But his recruiter said that Umbrella was looking for ambitious people with a military background, and Carlos fit the bill quite nicely. He never figured out how his name wound up on their contact list, but he accepted their offer immediately. They offered decent pay, international travel, specialized combat training, and all they asked in return was that he sign a non-disclosure agreement so iron-clad that he felt like he was signing over possession of his soul.

Although Umbrella fulfilled their promises of training and travel, Carlos wondered if maybe he should have learned a bit more about the company before signing his life away. If he had known beforehand about the kind of work Umbrella did, maybe he would have said no. But probably not. Working as a mercenary soldier for an international chemical company was not exactly what he had in mind, but it was the closest thing he could get to being a real soldier.

And now, being dropped off into some random American city to help fend off an invasion of the living dead? Well, he hadn't exactly planned on that either.

He heard more scattered gunfire as he carried the young boy out of the house, and someone shouting in Russian. Not Mikhail though, it was Yuri, the other Russian member of the squad. Carlos went out the front door to the sound of several guns being fired all at once in the houses around him. None of his fellow squad members were outside.

"I'm gonna put you down now, okay?" he said to the boy. "Just sit here. I'm gonna have a look around."

The boy sat silently on the porch, his hands still over his ears. Carlos looked at the boy nervously, and then lifted his gun as someone came stumbling around the side of the house.

It was an elderly woman wearing a shabby dress with yellow flowers on it. Blood dripped down her bare legs under the dress, and one side of her face was missing. Carlos squeezed off two shots, blowing off the entire side of her head.

The boy screamed frantically and ran back into the house. Carlos tried to grab him, but the boy slid out of his grasp and ran inside. He turned the corner to run back to his bedroom, but stopped and screamed hysterically at the sight of his dead parents.

"Carlos!" someone screamed. "We need help here!"

Leaving the boy behind, Carlos ran across the street to see two of his squad members barreling out from behind one of the other houses. There was more gunfire from two houses down. The soldiers turned and opened up with their guns, spraying bullets all across the side of the building.

Carlos was half way up the driveway when he saw them coming. There were too many to count, but he guessed at least a hundred of the zombies were shambling across the back yard, coming from the next row of houses on the other side of the block. No fence separated the two adjacent back yards, and the zombies came across like an invading army.

" _Mierda_ ," he whispered.

He raised his gun but hesitated. He didn't have enough ammo to take them all down anyway, and he had the feeling that wasting ammo might be a bad idea. He quickly ran back down the driveway to the street.

Mikhail came out from one of the other houses, shouting into the small microphone wired into his helmet. Regular radio and cell signals had already been jammed throughout the whole city, but the UBCF used special communications hardware linked with satellites. "Where is the next squad? There are too many of them here! I said there are too many! Hundreds of them! We need to join the next squad!"

Their squad had seven men, not including Captain Mikhail, but now Carlos could only see five others. Each of them had his gun ready, facing a different side of the street. Carlos looked around nervously, sweat dripping down the sides of his face.

The last squad member, a Chinese man named Yuan, stumbled out the front door of a nearby house, gripping his hand, which dripped blood. He grimaced and came across the lawn to the sidewalk, shaking his head bitterly, his face a mask of anguish.

Mikhail looked at the soldier's arm impassively. "You are hurt?"

"Yes ... yes, sir. I'm sorry. One of them bit me."

"You know what it means."

"Yes."

Yuan looked away and took a deep breath. Carlos watched him in disbelief, knowing what it meant as well. Their uniforms were supposed to protect them, but Carlos suddenly realized that being resistant to punctures didn't mean that much against the threat they were facing. One bite on the hand was all it took, and the zombies unerringly went for the hands or the face.

"Look!" one of the others shouted, pointing down the street.

Carlos turned to see a crowd of people materialize, seemingly out of nowhere. It was like a huge mob of rioters, only instead of bricks and molotov cocktails, they wielded bloody fingernails, gory mouths, and insane eyes. Men in business suits, women wearing nightgowns, one man in front wearing just a pair of underwear, a young boy in jeans and a flannel shirt, a teenage girl wearing a tight t-shirt with the word "Sexy" written on it in glittering letters. They came forward as if in slow motion, the trees at the end of the block casting a shadow across their bloody faces.

Carlos looked back to see the first few zombies from the other crowd making their way coming around the side of the house. They were trapped in between two growing mobs of the undead.

Yuan let go of his wounded hand and flexed his bloody fingers. He winced in pain but gritted his teeth and let his gun slide off his shoulder. He gave the other squad members a final nod, and walked away toward the oncoming mob from behind the house.

"Let's go," Mikhail said.

Carlos and the others ran off down the other side of the street. Two zombies appeared from behind a house and Mikhail shot them both down with barely a sideways glance. Carlos looked behind him just as Yuan opened fire on the crowd of zombies. He stood in the driveway and aimed head high at the crowd, mowing them down with a sweep of his arm. When Yuan's carbine ran out of ammo, he pulled out a pistol and continued shooting.

Mikhail led his team down the street and around the corner. Carlos didn't know where they where going, but he hoped Mikhail had some kind of plan. With a sickening thought, he realized that they had lost two men already. How long could they survive out in the open, with an entire city of zombies to deal with?

Carlos stopped at the corner and looked back toward Yuan. He watched Yuan take down several more zombies with his pistol, and then use the last bullet on himself.

Chapter 7

Annette slammed on the brakes and lurched forward as her car skidded to a stop, missing the other car by inches. It sped past her and slammed head-on into an oncoming truck, and the two vehicles spun around like ballroom dancers, broken glass and smashed metal flying into the air. The truck rolled into a telephone pole, the driver slumped over the steering wheel. The other car slid to a halt in the middle of the street, its entire front end crumpled up like a discarded piece of paper. The driver side door, ripped off in the collision, lay on the ground, rocking slowly back and forth.

The driver of the car fell from the mangled wreckage, flopping to the street. Annette stared in horror, frozen in her seat, her hands clasped together. She heard a scream somewhere, and it forced her into motion. She fumbled for her seat belt latch, and glanced up to see the driver somehow standing up.

Blood drenched the left side of his body, and his left arm hung at his side like a wet noodle, obviously broken. He limped awkwardly forward, groaning in pain, his head tilted sideways. Annette's hand grabbed the seat belt but stopped as the man walked toward her car. His right eye stared forward aimlessly, the left side of his face slick with blood. Black hair stuck to his forehead.

"No," Annette heard herself whisper.

Another scream came from nearby, and a woman in jeans and a blue sweater came running from around the corner. She almost lost her balance as she saw the aftermath of the car crash, and shrieked in terror at the sight of the man standing in the street. Annette glanced at her and then back at the crash victim.

He groaned again and began to shamble toward the woman. She ran off, screaming in fright, waving her hands in the air.

Annette glimpsed flashing lights in her rear view mirror, and heard the sirens just as a police car roared up and swung around her car, its lights flashing and siren piercing the eerie silence. The crash victim staggered out from around her car just as the police car roared through the intersection, and Annette watched in sick fascination as the car slammed right into him at full speed. He smacked into the hood and careened off the windshield, flying up into the air and spinning like a rag doll. He tumbled to the sidewalk across the street, a bloody mass of broken limbs.

The cop car's brakes screeched as it slid down the street, white smoke erupting up from the locked tires. Finally, Annette seemed to awake from her stunned reverie, and pulled out her cell phone to call 911. There was no signal.

She shifted her car into reverse and backed up from the scene of the accident. Turning around in a nearby driveway, she looked out the passenger window to see an old man walking toward her with his thin arms outstretched. His toothless mouth moaned horribly, bulging eyes staring thoughtlessly in her direction.

"No," Annette said again. "No, no, no."

She put the car in drive and sped away, leaving the old man grasping empty air. Two more people staggered out into the street, one of them a young man with his shirt covered in splattered blood. He stumbled off the curb as Annette zoomed past, reaching for her car.

"This can't be happening," she whispered.

A woman ran into the street, holding out her hands and screaming for Annette to stop. Her face was streaked with tears and the front of her shirt was ripped open, revealing her bra. Annette slammed on the brakes once more and her car skidded to a halt.

"Please help me, please help me," the woman babbled, pawing at the driver's side window. There were bloody scratches across her shoulder, where the shirt was ripped. "You have to help me, please."

From out of a nearby house, a young man stumbled forward, almost losing his footing on the front steps. He moaned hungrily and bared his teeth.

"Help me!" the woman cried out.

Annette slammed on the gas pedal and sped away, leaving the woman standing in the middle of the street. She did not look in the rear view mirror.

She ran the next red light, spinning the wheel to slide through the intersection and turn left, barely taking her foot off the accelerator. Two abandoned cars sat in the other lane. Half a dozen people wandered along the sidewalk or edge of the street.

She didn't understand how it could have happened, but she must have been blind not to realize it sooner. The ambulances, the lack of traffic, the dazed-looking pedestrians. If she was thinking clearly, and not been so burned-out from her discovery at the lab the day before, she would have noticed the signs. Birkin told her it would happen, but she could not believe it could happen so soon.

Her only question: How? How could it spread so fast? She expected a news bulletin about sick people randomly attacking others. It should have been an isolated cause, a single person getting infected and spreading it to everyone he came in contact with. For so many people to seemingly be infected at once just didn't make any sense.

As she tried to think clearly, she jerked in her seat and hit the brakes because the street ahead was blocked with parked cars. She saw someone crouching down next to one of the cars, and realized with a sickening visual that there were actually two people. One of them on the ground, and the other chewing on the body. Two more people shambled to the corpse, one of them already coated with blood all around his face.

Annette backed up and turned around again, taking the next street to try to make her way around the blockade of abandoned cars. She had to get back to the school and find Sherry, and it was still a ten minute drive away. Neither she nor Sherry experienced any symptoms that morning, so Annette felt safe that neither of them were infected, but if there were infected people at the school, then Sherry was in terrible danger.

Every way she tried to drive, she found blocked streets. She zoomed down the next street but once again was forced to stop and try to turn around because the way was blocked. She pulled into a fast food restaurant parking lot and drove around to the other entrance to get around the blocked intersection. A small mob of infected people were outside the building, pressing against the large glass windows, trying to get inside.

Her car skipped the edge of the curb as she drove out of the parking lot. The intersection was partially blocked this way as well, but Annette pulled up onto the sidewalk to squeeze past the cars. Half a dozen more infected people stumbled near the car, getting their hands on it just as she drove by.

She realized she was crying, and angrily wiped her face with the back of her hand. There was no time for that now, she had to focus on finding Sherry.

She made it almost halfway to the school before running into a huge traffic jam on one of the main streets. Thirty cars were jammed around the intersection, across all four lanes. There was even an ambulance sitting in the middle of the crowd of cars, its lights flashing but siren turned off. Before Annette could back up, two more cars came up behind her, blocking her way and trapping her there.

Suddenly, she heard gunshots being fired, and ducked down, covering her head with her hands. She glanced up over the steering wheel to see a man firing a pistol at a crowd of infected people standing in the intersection. Blood spurted up from their chests as they jerked back but did not fall over. The shots were like claps of thunder. More screaming erupted from all around.

The infected were everywhere. They surrounded one of the other cars and pounded savagely on the hood and windows. Annette glimpsed a woman in the car, frantically screaming and trying to get her car unstuck from the traffic jam. It slammed back into the car behind it and then slammed forward into the car in front, crushing the legs of the infected man trying to climb onto the hood.

Behind Annette's car was a large pickup truck. The driver jumped out of the vehicle and ran down the street, abandoning it there. Annette shouted angrily and got out of her own car, just leaving the door open. She would never get anywhere in a car, there was too much gridlock, too many infected people crashing the cars they drove, and too many panicked people just abandoning their vehicles in the street in the hopes of escaping on foot.

The driver's side window of the woman's car shattered, and the infected people reached in to grab at her. Annette could not watch as they dragged her kicking and screaming from the car and tore her apart.

The man with the guns gave up and ran away, leaving his empty pistols lying on the sidewalk. He managed to shoot a few of them in the head before he ran away, killing them for good, but many of his shots missed their mark. The infected people walked toward Annette as she ran by. She wove in between the mass of abandoned cars and continued down the street, running as fast as her legs could carry her.

There was a huge mob of them marching across the other side of the street, at least fifty of them. Each second it seemed like more and more of them showed up. For a brief moment, Annette wondered how she had been spared. If all these people were hosts, they must have been infected almost two hours ago at the least. Some of the infected people showed wounds that indicated they were killed by a host, and then came back due to the transmitted infection. The initial spread of the disease must have started several hours ago for it to reach an epidemic stage by now. But several hours ago, most of these people were just getting out of bed. What could have infected them all ...

"Oh, Christ," Annette whispered. The water supply. Something must have gotten into the water supply. Annette realized that she and Sherry had not used any water that morning. Annette usually made coffee, but she neglected to do so this morning. And Sherry did not brush her teeth even though Annette had told her to. Both of them could have been infected by now. If either of them used any water, they might have become one of the mindless hosts wandering the streets right now. The thought of how they avoided infection totally by accident made Annette sick to her stomach.

When she was only a couple of blocks from the school, she heard a helicopter overhead. She ran through someone's yard to cut across the block, avoiding the growing undead in the streets. She emerged within sight of the school.

The helicopter lowered towards the ground almost directly above her. The powerful blast of wind made her back away, shielding her eyes. When it was twenty feet off the ground, long black ropes dropped from inside, and soldiers slid down the ropes to the street. They wore green and brown camouflage uniforms with Umbrella logos on their shoulders, and wielded long black assault rifles. One of them immediately drew his weapon and pointed it at Annette.

"I'm not infected!" she screamed, waving her hands. "I'm not infected!"

"Get down!" he shouted back.

Annette fell to the concrete and the soldier opened fire, blowing away the two zombies that were coming up behind her. They collapsed to the ground, their heads split open like melons. Annette gasped for breath and got back to her feet.

The soldiers ran down the street in the direction of the school. By now, Annette could make out a crowd of people there, more than a hundred of them. She ran after the soldiers and saw that the crowd was half made up of students. Her stomach twisted at the thought of so many children being infected.

She could not see Sherry. All of the students wore uniforms, and it was too hard to tell the difference between all the girls wearing identical blue blouses and blue checkered skirts. She tried to look for brunette girls, but there were too many of them.

The soldiers formed a semi-circle facing the crowd of infected students and faculty. Annette realized what they were doing and screamed for them to stop. But her voice went unheard.

The soldiers opened fire on the crowd of infected children.
Chapter 8

Dr. Gary Winslow crouched on the floor in the supply closet next to two nurses, one of which was sobbing uncontrollably. The other nurse put an arm around her shoulder and quietly tried to sound reassuring, her voice stretched thin.

"It's going to be okay. The police are going to come and we're going to be okay. We just have to stay here until the police arrive."

Winslow looked forward at the supply closet door, listening to the sounds of the diseased bodies scratching around out in the hall. There were more of them out there now, he was sure of it. When he had finally abandoned the emergency room and come upstairs two hours ago, there were already more than fifty of them. When they began to outnumber the staff, Winslow did the only thing he could think of. He found a place to hide.

There were probably hundreds of them downstairs, maybe as many as a thousand of them surrounding the hospital, standing around with dazed expressions and wide open eyes and mouths, groaning and growling like animals. The entire emergency lobby had been overrun a long time ago as more and more people showed up with the same symptoms. Dizziness, slurred speech, muscle weakness, shallow breathing. They arrived by the hundreds, and within an hour they were all dropping like flies, only to come right back minutes later.

He didn't even know what to call them. He thought of them as the diseased, but he knew there was a more accurate description, and he was simply afraid to say it.

"It's going to be okay," the nurse whispered.

Kelly, the wounded cashier from Wal-Mart, was the first. She died and then came back to life. Winslow tied her down to the bed before she died, and his hunch paid off. The moment she was pronounced dead, she tried to climb out of the hospital bed, craning her neck forward and snapping her mouth open and shut as if trying to bite. Her hands grasped at the bed and she writhed around, trying to get loose. All of her monitors still were flat-lined. No heartbeat, and yet she was moving around, trying to grab and bite anyone who got near.

The security guard named Walt was next. Not long after that, the phones all went dead, as well as television and radio. Then sick people started pouring in to the emergency room.

And then the real trouble started. Some of the first shift nurses and orderlies started showing symptoms as well, even though none of them came into contact with the sick patients. It was a total mystery, and Winslow was at a loss to explain it.

By seven in the morning, the entire emergency area was just packed with sick people, and nowhere near enough staff to handle them all, since half of first shift called in sick or just didn't show up. Not enough beds meant that people were just left lying in the hallway as they died, and when they came back to life there were no straps to hold them down. Winslow abandoned the emergency room right around that time, sensing that the situation had finally tipped against him.

There was nothing they could do. With the phones down, there was no one they could call for help. Right before he escaped the emergency room, he heard one of the ambulance drivers say that many of the streets were blocked with unmoving traffic, and sick people were just wandering around in the streets. The entire city was infected with a mystery disease.

Something bumped into the supply closet door. The sobbing nurse cried out before the other nurse slapped a hand over her mouth. Winslow heard the sound of moaning outside, and suddenly the door rattled as someone pounded against it.

"They heard us," Winslow said softly.

The nurse cried out again, grasping at her hair, tears rolling down her face. Outside, the mob pounded against the door and it thudded on its hinges. Once more and the wooden frame cracked.

Winslow stood up with a sigh and picked up a plastic mop, the only thing in the cramped supply closet that they could possibly use as a weapon. The only other items were nurses' smocks and shelves with towels and blankets. The door smashed inward, bending down at the top, breaking off the hinge. Winslow did not even flinch.

The nurses cowered on the floor, holding each other. Winslow made a silent prayer to whatever Gods might be watching him. Normally, he did not believe in God, but he felt that a disease that brought the dead back to life could only have been made by God. An evil, vengeful, malevolent God.

The door cracked off the frame and crashed downward as a flood of zombies surged into the tiny space. Moments later, Dr. Gary Winslow drowned in his own blood.

Chapter 9

The crowd got larger every second, as more and more desperate people arrived at the police station seeking help and shelter. By now there were people packed all the way across the street, pushing forward like rowdy fans trying to get closer to the stage at a rock concert. Bodies surged forward like the tide, pressing against the huge front doors. Shouting, screaming, begging, the crowd was like a single organism seeking entry.

But there was no room. The inside lobby was packed with people as well, all the way down both sides of the main hallway. People, young and old, whole families and by themselves, crowded into the police station like refugees running from a war zone. They sat along the edge of the huge central fountain, and more than a dozen people opted to stand right in the water, since there was no room anywhere else.

Marvin Branagh pushed his way into the lobby, breathing heavily. His police uniform was wrinkled and a sheen of sweat stood out on his forehead. Five more officers stood at the doors, looking even worse for wear. The last two hours were the most hectic of Marvin's life, and he knew right away that things were only going to get worse.

"We've blockaded the back doors," he said, shaking his head. "There's just too many of them out there."

"The crowd is getting violent," an officer said. "There must be three hundred people out there. How in the hell can we fit them all in here?"

"We can't. That's all there is to it."

"Do you think they'll go away if we tell them that?"

"We need more cops here," another officer said. "Has anyone been able to contact any of the cops on patrol?"

"No, the radios are still totally down."

The front doors shuddered as the crowd outside pushed against them. Marvin swallowed hard, still trying to catch his breath. He looked around at the people in the lobby, scared and helpless, some of them having escaped the danger so suddenly that they were still wearing their pajamas. He saw one man sitting on the edge of the fountain with blood splattered all across the front of his white dress shirt. A woman in the back wearing a pink bathrobe, her feet bare. An older man wearing a blue business suit, clutching his briefcase to his chest as if it was the most important thing in the world. Two teenagers seated against the wall, the distraught looks on their faces telling Marvin all he needed to know. The whole crowd of people was terrified and traumatized, most of them crying or holding onto the people near them. Some of them just looked gone, their eyes just staring blankly forward.

There was not enough food at the police station to feed this many people. Marvin realized this far too late, just as he realized that at the moment, he was the senior officer here on the main floor. The five officers were actually awaiting his orders, or at the very least his advice.

Before he could say anything, there were gunshots. Several of them in rapid succession, coming from the hallway Marvin had just come from. Some people shrieked or cried out in fear, and some of them backed away from the sound of the guns, but the majority of the people in the lobby just looked up disinterestedly and seemed not to care.

Marvin ran back down the hall, stepping over people sprawled right in the middle of the floor. Two more police officers met him at the end of the hall.

"They broke the windows!" one of the officers exclaimed. "It was some of the crazy ones, they just smashed right through the windows and climbed inside."

"Did you block the windows back up?" Marvin asked.

"We pushed a bookcase in front of it."

Marvin shook his head. "Try to get some help, and block off the other windows."

"Sure thing."

Marvin rubbed his eyes. It was like trying to fight off an invasion. Hundreds of normal, innocent people tried to get inside, hoping to find some kind of safety here. But they weren't the problem; there were also hundreds of violent lunatics roving the streets as well. Marvin saw enough of those today, the crazy ones who stumbled around like drunks and then attacked at random. They were like monsters, not even remotely human anymore. Marvin witnessed some of them attack a woman in the street a just an hour before, and the recent memory made him sick to his stomach.

Screaming dragged his attention back to the lobby. He ran back to see a young woman in the back of the room, surrounded by other refugees, pointing at someone down the rear hallway toward the detective offices. People scrambled for cover, some more of them shouting or calling for help.

Marvin waded through the sea of bodies to the back of the lobby. Down the hall he saw one of the senior detectives standing by himself, as everyone nearby backed away. His face was pale and his eyes stared intensely forward. He took a step forward and reached out.

"He's one of them!" someone cried out.

Marvin raised his gun and did not even say anything, because there was nothing to say. He had seen it happen a dozen times already. One more of them coming to life to attack anyone who came close. Threatening them was pointless, warning them was a waste of time. They didn't listen to warnings, if they even understood them.

He closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger, the bullet hitting the detective right in the forehead, knocking his head backward as he fell to the floor. His legs spasmed once and he went still. Marvin lowered the gun and let out his breath.

"Marvin!" someone shouted. "Marvin! Look out!"

He looked back toward the front door. The officers there were backing away from the door, and Marvin barely had time to realize what was happening before a wooden bench came flying through one of the front windows, shattering it with a crash, sending a barrage of broken glass into the crowd of refugees. The bench crashed into a woman sitting on the floor, knocking her flat.

People jumped through the window and rushed into the lobby like a torrent. Marvin ran and tried to scream for them to stop, but it was far too late once more. One of them unlocked the doors and they exploded open, letting a flood of people into the building.

"Get out of my way!"

"Let me in!"

Marvin tried to be heard over the rabble. "It's not safe here!" he cried, waving his hands. "There's too many people! We can't protect all of you!"

No one listened. They flooded into the building and the whole crowd just rocked backward under the force. Marvin was shoved backwards and squeezed tight against the sea of refugees, struggling to push his way forward. All around him, people screamed and shouted, trying to keep their balance as the crowd surged.

"Get the doors closed!" someone screamed.

Marvin hated himself for it, but he raised his gun into the air and fired a shot into the ceiling. Immediately, people around him backed away, giving him a chance to jump forward and shove his way through the crowd. Someone elbowed him in the back and he staggered forward, trying to stay on his feet. If he fell down, no one would help him up. He wondered if anyone was already trampled, fearing to feel a body underneath his feet.

The other officers tried to force the doors closed, but people still streamed in like an out-of-control stampede. Marvin wanted to fire into the air again, but this time he wondered if the crowd would even react. They might rush him and overpower him. They were too scared, too panicked, and he wasn't about to take the chance.

More screaming. He turned and felt the whole world fall apart, as the one thing he feared most came true. In the center of the crowd, a middle-aged man in a gray business suit thrashed around with his mouth clamped down on an older woman's arm, blood splashing across his face.

Everyone seemed to scream at once and the entire crowd exploded into motion. Marvin was thrown backward and he managed to push sideways so that he wound up near the broken window as the crowd surged past him and down the hall.

Gunshots roared in the cramped space. Marvin couldn't see who was shooting or who was being shot at. He looked out the window and saw more people coming, normal and crazy alike. The crazy ones just shuffled forward like an army of sleepwalkers. Half a dozen dead bodies were littered across the wide walkway up to the front doors, their blood staining the concrete. Marvin looked despairingly down at his gun. There were not enough bullets in the entire police station to shoot that many of the maniacs.

More shooting at the front door. As the crowd thinned out, forcing their way down the two main hallways, Marvin had room to move. The first crazy person he saw was a teenage boy wearing a t-shirt that read "Raccoon City Warriors." He charged with his mouth open and arms raised, and Marvin shot him directly in the face. Blood splattered like a fountain and his body sprawled right in the middle of the floor. Two people stepped right over the corpse on their way inside.

Marvin slammed his shoulder into the door and managed to move it a foot or two. To his astonishment, a man came and helped him, but there was another body crumpled on the ground, blocking the door.

There had been five other police officers before, but now Marvin only saw two. They pulled the corpse away and the door slammed shut. They tried to get the other door closed, but two men stormed inside, knocking one of the cops over. As he tried to get up, another crazy person, this time an attractive young woman wearing a jogging outfit, fell through the doorway and attacked the cop. Marvin swung his arm out and shot her in the side of the head.

They forced the other door closed and dropped the lock. A crazy person was trying to climb through the window, the jagged glass on the bottom tearing into his stomach and spilling his guts down over the windowsill. Before Marvin could even react, some of the other people still crowding the lobby picked up the wooden bench and held it like a battering ram. They charged and smashed the bench right into the crazy person, knocking him out of the window.

"We can't close up the window! There's nothing to block it with!"

Above the deafening screams, Marvin heard more shooting, but far away this time. He tried to focus, but too much was happening. He stood there, dazed, as the others tried to somehow prop the bench up in the window. Another crazy person jammed his body in the window, reaching for them, glass slashing his arm.

"Marvin! We have to get out of here!" one of the cops yelled.

"And where can we go?" Marvin shouted back. "We can't get upstairs with all those people in the way!"

"What about the balcony?"

Marvin glanced up at the second-floor mezzanine that ran around the inside of the lobby. He waved his arm and shouted for help, running over to the underside of the balcony on the right side of the lobby.

"Come on!" he shouted, holding his hands into a stirrup. One of the other cops stepped into his hands, jumping up with his other foot, and Marvin helped hoist him upward. He watched in dismay as the wooden bench fell out of the window. Two crazy people were starting to climb through.

The cop grabbed the ledge and pulled himself up. He climbed over the railing and reached down as Marvin and the third cop helped one of the refugees up. They helped up seven people, the ones who helped them try to keep the crazy people out, before things got too dangerous. Marvin hoisted up the other cop and the people above pulled him to safety.

"Marvin! Jump!" They extended their hands down for him to grab onto.

He looked over his shoulder and saw a dozen crazy people stumbling toward him, their arms and hands slick with blood, their eyes fixed on him. He raised his gun and opened fire, emptying his clip into the heads of the crazy people, dropping six of them.

"Now! Jump!"

Marvin leaped up, but they could not get a solid grip on him. Each time he grabbed hold, he slipped right out of their grasp. And he could not jump high enough to grab onto the ledge and pull himself up. Each second, more and more maniacs flooded into the lobby. He could see a mob of them through the unbroken window, and a steady stream of them came in through the other one. Marvin tried until the maniacs were only a few feet away before he ran for it, taking off across the lobby and to the rear hallway, toward the detective offices. There were still people jammed in the hallway, and bodies strewn around the floor, those who were trampled by the crowd in their furious stampede. People were just climbing over each other, trying to get away.

Marvin had no choice. He climbed.

Chapter 10

Ada Wong, also known as Vanessa Cooper, also known as Agent Takashi, spent most of the previous night trying to make contact with her informant, to no avail. She was up until the early hours of the morning, spending time at half a dozen popular nightclubs in the city, getting plenty of attention from a variety of single men, but failing to locate the man she was supposed to get information from. She gave up at four-thirty in the morning and came back to the hotel. She took the time to doff her evening dress and remove the tiny pistols from the holsters on her thighs, before flopping onto the bed and falling asleep.

Ada rarely slept for more than five hours. Being a light sleeper was a benefit in her line of work, where it was necessary on occasion to wake up immediately at the slightest sound. She opened her eyes, her whole body tense, before relaxing and closing her eyes again. She rolled onto her side and looked at the clock. It was almost nine-thirty.

The blinds were closed, but thin slivers of sunlight slipped between the blinds, invading the warm darkness of her room. She sat up in bed and turned on the lamp by the bed. She also flipped open her laptop computer and got out of bed while it booted up.

Until her informant contacted her, there was little she could do. Money had already traded hands, promises had been made, and all that was left was for the informant to come through on his part of the deal. Ada hated waiting, as she hated being vulnerable, but she didn't have many options.

She used the bathroom and took a moment to look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, and her face needed a thorough cleansing to remove her makeup from the night before. She felt hungry, but breakfast could wait. A shower was a definite priority after a night of hanging out in nightclubs full of cigarette smoke and sweaty strangers.

She reached into the shower stall and turned on the water. While she waited for it to get hot, she wandered back out into the main room and stripped off her underwear, tossing it into a pile with her other dirty clothes. As she was about to return to the bathroom, she glanced down at the laptop screen.

The words "Log-In Unsuccessful - No Connection" flashed on the screen. Perplexed, Ada pressed a button on the keyboard and the log-in screen blinked twice before reverting back to the previous message.

Ada frowned and sat on the edge of the bed, bringing up the laptop's internet browser. As soon as she tried to go to the homepage, the screen flashed an error. "The website is not available. Please check your internet connection."

She picked up her cell phone and flipped it open. The screen showed no bars. She looked at the cell phone screen for a few moments, as if she expected it to magically start working again just because she wanted it to.

"What the hell?" she muttered.

Shaking her head, she started to walk back to the bathroom. After she took her shower, she would go down to the front desk and find out why her laptop and phone weren't working. There must be some reason. She could understand if the internet was just down, but it didn't make sense for her to not have any cell phone reception. Last night her phone had worked just fine.

She paused at the window and opened the blinds by pulling on the string hanging from the top of the frame. The long vertical strips of plastic slid along the top of the track, clicking together like beads on a billiards score string, and swayed gently back and forth at the end of the track. Bright morning sunlight flared across the hotel room. Ada squinted her eyes and briefly looked out the window before turning away to walk to the bathroom.

Something stopped her. She halted abruptly in the doorway and stood there for a moment, her brain going over her brief glance outside. She looked over her shoulder, and took a few hesitant steps back to the window. Her eyes grew wide at the view and her breath caught in her chest.

Raccoon City was in ruins. Long columns of smoke rose up into the air from a dozen places across the city as fires burned out of control. Looking straight down at the streets in front of the hotel, Ada could see smashed cars scattered across the crowded intersections. People far below her ran in frenzied groups. Others stood around stupidly, or staggered unevenly down the sidewalks. Ada thought she heard the distant pop-pop-pop of gunfire.

She stared out the window in absolute shock for only a few seconds. Then her training finally kicked in, and she bolted to her suitcases, which were lying on the floor by the bed. She pulled on some clothes as quickly as possible, dressing in black leather pants, black boots, and a long sleeved red shirt. She flipped the smallest of her suitcases upside down, dumping everything onto the floor. Then she quickly loaded all her important equipment into the case. Her modular assault rifle and other weapons, the metal cylinder containing the syringes, her purse, and her laptop. She pulled out the suitcase's long nylon shoulder strap to carry it over her shoulder, even though it was too large to carry comfortably.

It was definitely time to go. Ada pulled her hair up, twisted it into a messy ponytail, and grabbed her small guns off the nightstand, sticking one in each of her pants pockets. On her way out the door, she grabbed her black leather jacket as well.

The hallway was eerily silent. Ada didn't even bother to close the door to her room before she left. She crept down the hall, her arm against the suitcase to keep it from bumping too much against her hip. She encountered no one on her way to the elevator, and pounded on the down arrow with her fist.

The elevator doors opened with a chime and Ada got inside. She reached for the button for the bottom floor, and then reconsidered and pressed the second floor. The doors closed and she felt the uncomfortable shift in her stomach as the elevator descended.

She pulled out one of the pistols and held it in her hand uncertainly. It only held two bullets, and it was not a very powerful gun. If she came up against anything serious, she didn't know if it would do much to protect her. She licked her lips nervously as the elevator doors opened up, revealing another empty hallway.

She went to the stairs and went down to the bottom floor. There was no door at the bottom, just an open entranceway to the front lobby. Ada poked her head out and looked around, seeing no one. As soon as she stepped out from the stairway, though, a man emerged from around the corner.

He wore a respectable gray business suit with a red tie. Leaning to the side as if drunk, he gaped at her with an open mouth and wide eyes. He took an awkward step towards her.

Ada aimed her gun at him. "Get away from me," she ordered, her voice as sharp as a knife. Her finger rested lightly on the trigger.

The man seemed not to hear her, and walked forward like a man sleepwalking. His mouth twisted into a grotesque parody of a smile, and he emitted a soft groan.

"I'm not joking," Ada said fiercely. "Take another step and you're dead."

One more step, and she fired. The bullet hit him right on the bridge of the nose, shattering the soft cartilage and penetrating the skull. He tilted over backward and fell like a downed tree. The gunshot echoed around the open lobby and Ada lowered the gun with a sigh.

As she stared down at the dead body, another figure appeared in the lobby, coming slowly towards her. She brought the gun up immediately, but this time it trembled in her grasp.

It was the desk clerk. She recognized him from his outfit. But this time it was covered in blood from the horrific wound on the clerk's neck, a wide open gash with flaps of loose skin hanging down. The side of the clerk's face was ripped up as well, and one of his eyes was missing. He limped forward, leaving a trail of blood drops along the floor back to the desk. His arms hung limply at his sides and his head tilted to the side, exposing more of the wound.

Ada managed to pull the trigger again, and the bullet struck the clerk on the edge of his cheek. He jerked off balance but did not fall down, his arms flopping uselessly against his torso. He opened his mouth to groan grotesquely, and more blood spilled down the front of his shirt.

Ada tossed the empty gun aside and pulled out the other. This time she took more careful aim and shot the clerk right in the face. He tumbled to the ground, his head smacking into the marble floor with a sickening wet sound.

She wasted only a second standing there in fear. She ran out into the lobby and ignored the blood spilled all across the top of the front desk and puddled on the floor. Another man emerged from the back offices, his mouth covered in gore. Ada ignored him and ran outside.

There were more of them outside, lots more. Some had blood on their faces and others ignored their serious injuries, wandering around like gruesome sleepwalkers. They looked around dumbly until they noticed Ada, and then they began shuffling towards her. She ran past all of them and hurried into the parking lot.

She ran to her red Corvette and tossed her suitcase into the passenger seat. She got inside and started it up, the engine roaring to life. Slamming her foot onto the gas pedal, the cars tires spun and blew out white smoke. The Corvette squealed out, rocketing from the parking lot and to the hotel's central driveway.

There was an old woman standing in the driveway, oblivious to the Corvette, her eyes wide open and staring blankly. Splatters of blood marked the woman's flowered dress. Ada drove right into her, the woman's body crunching against the hood and flipping up over the roof, cracking the top of the windshield. She spun into the air, cartwheeling wildly, her tiny shoes sailing off in different directions, and crumpled to the ground.

The Corvette skidded out into the street and sped away from the hotel.

Chapter 11

Jill Valentine was lost in a winding hallway without windows. Blood covered the floor almost up to her ankles, and when she walked it splashed all the way up to her knees. She looked down at herself and was surprised to see that she was not wearing her police outfit. Instead, she wore a sleek black dress with a shockingly low neckline. Large rusted manacles were locked around her wrists, a heavy length of chain between them, weighing her arms down.

She turned a corner and saw Barry Burton lying on his back in a huge puddle of blood. She ran up to him and knelt down to hold him up. He was completely unharmed, but he was not breathing. She tried to talk, but could not hear her own voice.

Suddenly, Barry's eyes popped open and a gun appeared in his hand. He pointed it at Jill's face, and she backed away as Barry got to his feet. He smiled wickedly, and took a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. Placing them on his face, he magically morphed into Albert Wesker. He pulled the trigger and Jill screamed.

She rolled off the couch in her apartment and fell to the floor, slamming her elbow against the edge of the end table. She shouted in pain and rolled onto her back, shoving away the tangled blanket wrapped around her legs. She rubbed her elbow with her other hand and took a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling.

A nightmare. A stupid, meaningless nightmare. So far, Jill had been spared nightmares of her experience in the Arklay Mountains, so it surprised her that this one was so vivid. Of course, last night was the first night since she came back that she went to sleep relatively sober, so she guessed that had something to do with it.

She stood up and tossed the blanket onto the couch. She was still dressed in the wrinkled pair of jeans and blue t-shirt she had fallen asleep in. The clock on the wall said it was only nine-thirty in the morning, earlier than she expected. She guessed that she would have slept in much later if the nightmare hadn't woken her up.

Actually, what woke her up was the scream. She looked around her apartment curiously, as if searching for something. She screamed in her dream, but now she had the strange feeling that she was actually awakened by a real scream.

Just then, she flinched when a terrified scream erupted out in the hallway. It was a real scream after all, Jill realized with a start. She stumbled around the couch and ran to her front door, pulling it open.

An elderly woman was at the end of the hallway near the stairwell, slumped on the floor. It was Mrs. Calloway. She and her husband lived down the hall. Her arm was bleeding freely, and she gripped the wound with her other hand. She sobbed and stared into the stairway.

Jill ran down the hall. "Mrs. Calloway, what's going on?"

The old woman shrieked when Jill came up, holding her hands in front of her face. Before Jill could ask what was wrong, someone stepped out of the stairwell. Jill recognized him as one of her neighbors on the first floor, although she didn't know his name. He was a handsome African American man, wearing a pair of jeans and a Pittsburgh Steelers jersey. Jill staggered backwards and cried out in surprise when he stepped into the hall.

His face and neck were covered in blood, and the side of his mouth and cheek were ripped away, exposing his teeth in a horrifying grin. His eyes stared wildly ahead, and spots of blood dotted his forehead. He groaned and reached down for Mrs. Calloway.

Jill jumped forward and kicked him right in the chest. He went backward and tumbled over the edge of the stairs, crashing down limply. He flopped to the floor at the bottom of the flight of stairs, blood splattering out when his face struck the floor. Jill stared down at his twisted body in disbelief, watching as the man awkwardly got back to his feet, one arm bent brokenly. He groaned again and went up the first step.

Jill grabbed Mrs. Calloway and pulled her to her feet. She sobbed uncontrollably, grasping to Jill's shirt like a lifeline. Together, they ran back to the old woman's apartment, which was two doors down from Jill's.

Jill slammed the door shut and slid the deadbolt across. Mrs. Calloway, still crying as blood dripped down her frail arm, slumped to the floor.

"What's going on?" Jill demanded, kneeling down and placing her hand on Mrs. Calloway's shoulder. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, it's horrible," the old woman sobbed. "I can't reach anyone on the phone. I was ... I was going to drive to Norman's job to make sure he's okay. But that ... that man attacked me. There's so many of them outside ..."

Jill's head was pounding. She walked away from Mrs. Calloway and went to the window. She held her breath and pushed away the blue curtain, looking out at the street in front of the apartment building.

"No," she said. "No. I'm still dreaming."

There were at least fifty people out in the street, meandering around drunkenly, some of them with their hands stretched out. Some of them were wounded, their necks or arms sporting ragged wounds. Others sported smears of blood across their faces, and when they groaned, Jill could see their teeth outlined in gore.

"Norman said he felt sick this morning," Mrs. Calloway muttered. "But he went to work anyway. And then the television stopped working. And the phones don't work either!" she cried. "Why don't the phones work?"

"This can't be happening," Jill continued, not listening. "Not now. Not today."

But this time, she wasn't having a nightmare. She backed away from the window, letting the curtain fall back into place. Her heart was beating so hard it felt like someone was punching her in the chest. She tried to slow her breathing to no effect.

Their worst fears had been realized. The disease had reached the city. Somehow, it didn't hit the edge of the city first, like Jill expected it to. She assumed it would reach the outskirts of Raccoon City first, and the police would deal with it long before it spread to the inner city. But it was here now, and so soon. How had it infected the city so fast?

Mrs. Calloway was still talking. Jill turned to look at her, and then down at the bloody bite mark on her arm.

"Jesus," Jill whispered.

"I have to find Norman," Mrs. Calloway said plaintively.

Jill went over to her and pulled her to her feet. "Come on," Jill said. "You're hurt. You have to rest. I'll go and find some help, okay?"

"But what about Norman?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure he's fine."

Jill led Mrs. Calloway to her bedroom and sat her on the bed. She asked where to get some bandages, and went to get them. She quickly came back and wrapped the old woman's forearm with gauze and then a large bandage. Carefully, she made sure not to touch any of the blood.

"Listen," Jill said, her voice strained. "Just stay here, okay? I'll go find some help and bring them back here."

"Why is this happening?" Mrs. Calloway whimpered.

"I don't know," Jill said. "But it's going to be okay. You have to stay here. It's not safe out there."

She left Mrs. Calloway sitting on her bed, and rushed back out into the hallway, quickly looking down each direction to make sure it was empty. She hurried to her own apartment and ran inside.

It was too late for poor Mrs. Calloway. Jill knew she was basically leaving the woman to die alone, but what else could she do? There was no way to help her now, since she was bitten. The truly humane thing would be to kill her now and put her out of her misery, to prevent her from coming back as a zombie. But Jill was not going to do that.

Right now, Jill had to get the hell out of there. Out of the apartment, and out of the city completely. She knew the roads were probably pretty jammed up, but she had to take the risk. There was no way in hell she was staying in Raccoon City if she had anything to say about it.

She quickly pulled on socks and shoes, and grabbed a dark blue jacket off the back of one of her kitchen chairs. She didn't know what else to really take with her, since almost everything was already packed in her car. All that was left in the apartment were a few small bags of loose photographs and other random mementos.

Her personal firearm was packed in the car already, buried inside one of her suitcases. She never expected to need it so soon, and she cursed herself for it now. There was no way she was going out there without a gun. There were too many zombies outside. She would be mobbed by them by the time she made it to her car. Where in the world could she find a gun?

One of her neighbors down the hall, a man named Larry, was a hunter and a gun enthusiast. Jill had seen him leave for hunting trips before, and she knew that he owned shotguns and rifles. It only took Jill a minute to make up her mind.

She went back out into the hallway and saw the man in the Steelers jersey down by the stairwell. She ignored him for now and went to Larry's apartment. She swallowed and pounded on the door.

"Larry! It's Jill from across the hall! Are you there? Please let me in!"

She slammed her fist into the door but could not hear anything inside. The man in the Steelers jersey slowly walked down the hall, his broken arm swaying from side to side. His wide open eyes stared hungrily at Jill as he gradually made his way towards her. She kept one eye on him, pounding on the door repeatedly.

"Larry! Please let me in!"

She took a deep breath and backed up until she was against the opposite wall. She glanced at the Steelers fan, who was now halfway down the hall, moving faster as he got closer. She braced herself and rushed forward, tensing the muscles in her leg and slamming her foot into the door. Her leg quivered painfully and the door rattled, but it remained firm.

Usually, someone like Chris or Barry was the one to kick open doors, but Jill had seen it done enough times to know the basic principle. The door frame was just wood, and if she could hit it hard enough right near the doorknob, it might break. She wished she was wearing something sturdier than sneakers, but she didn't exactly have time to change her shoes. She kicked at the door two more times, and on the second try, she heard a satisfying crack. The Steelers fan was fifteen feet away now, groaning loudly, broken arm dangling at his side.

Jill rushed the door and slammed into it with her shoulder, putting all her weight into it. The frame cracked again, but the deadbolt held firm, so Jill backed up once more to try again, panting for breath, her shoulder throbbing in pain.

When the Steelers fan was almost within reach, she launched herself at the door and this time the deadbolt broke away from the frame, throwing the door open. She stumbled through the doorway and fell to the floor of Larry's living room. Getting up as quickly as she could, she slammed the door shut, but of course it would not stay closed now. She grabbed a chair from the kitchen and propped it up under the doorknob just as the Steelers fan reached the door and began pushing against it, moaning angrily.

Jill looked around quickly but it seemed like no one was home. But since the deadbolt had been latched, Larry must be there. Jill walked anxiously down the hall toward his bedroom and glanced into the bathroom. Larry was lying face down on the tile floor, dressed in pajama pants, one arm up onto the rim of the bathtub, as if he died trying to pull himself back to his feet. His eyes stared at the wall unblinkingly, his mouth open.

Jill went into his bedroom and opened his closet. Breathing a sigh of relief, she saw his guns there, propped up against the wall in protective cases. She unzipped the cases, set aside the rifles, and placed a twelve-gauge shotgun on the bed. It was a basic Winchester hunting shotgun, the stock and barrel covered in camouflage tape, and it came with a shoulder strap, also camouflaged. Shotgun shells were in a box on the floor, and Jill grabbed them too. Back in the living room came the sounds of continued banging on the door.

Jill spied a box of nine-millimeter rounds on the floor under some dirty laundry, and she immediately began looking around for the pistol Larry surely owned. It was not in the closet, so she began opening drawers and fumbling through his clothes.

"Come on, where is it?"

She found a black Beretta pistol stuffed between the mattress and box spring of his bed, and quickly ejected the clip. It was already loaded, so she slid it back in place and stuffed the pistol into her back pocket. She filled her side pants pockets with bullets, and put the remainder into her jacket pocket.

Suddenly the front door crashed open. She looked up to see the broken kitchen chair slide across the floor. She grabbed the case of shotgun shells and slid as many as she could into the shotgun. It took seven shells, and she pumped the handle to load one into the chamber. A handful more went into her jacket pocket. When the Steelers fan did not come out into the open, Jill pressed the stock into her shoulder and walked down the hall to the living room.

The zombie stood in the doorway. He groaned and took one step forward when Jill came into view. She pulled the trigger, and the shotgun boomed loudly, the recoil pounding into her shoulder, almost knocking her over. The zombie's head exploded, and the body tumbled over backward. Blood and brains splattered across the open doorway.

Jill lowered the shotgun. She had fired shotguns before, of course, but this one had way more kick than she was used to. She winced and rubbed her shoulder.

From the bathroom, there came a noise. She glanced back to see Larry step into the hallway, his hair sticking up and mouth hanging open, looking around as if the gunshots woke him up from a peaceful sleep. He glared at Jill and walked towards her, baring his teeth, reaching out.

"Sorry, Larry," Jill said softly.

She raised the shotgun again and blew Larry's head off.

She stepped over the Steeler fan's dead body and went out into the hallway. It was still empty, so she went back to her own apartment quickly to get her bags of pictures. She did not want to leave them behind.

The source of the infection was obvious now. Larry became infected inside his locked apartment, so it did not take long for Jill to figure out how the disease reached the city. It must have gotten into the city's water supply. That would easily explain how so many people became infected all at the same time. The thought made Jill shiver. If she had gotten up earlier, or not realized what was happening, she could easily have turned on the water to get a drink, and become infected herself. It was really blind luck that she stayed up so late the night before and slept through the morning. Blind luck saved her this time.

She made her way out of the apartment building, slinging the shotgun over her shoulder and carrying the Beretta because it had more bullets and she felt more comfortable using it. She ran down the steps and pushed open the door at the bottom, exiting out at the side of the building. Her car was parked in the lot out back, and she ran across the lawn, ignoring the half-dozen zombies she saw along the street.

The parking lot, however, was packed with them. Jill looked out in dismay at the cars scattered on the street, abandoned and clogging the whole avenue. She ran around the side of the parking lot to where her Corsica was parked, raising the gun to shoot a female zombie standing too close to the car. She opened the door and tossed the shotgun and bags of mementos onto the passenger seat.

Two zombies approached the car from the rear. Jill started the engine, put it in reverse, and slammed on the gas pedal. The car jerked back and knocked one of the zombies aside, but plowed right over the other one. Jill felt the car lift up as the rear tire ran right over the zombie. The zombie that avoided getting run over pawed at the open passenger side window. Jill stuck out the gun and shot him right in the forehead.

She put it back in forward gear and drove down the row of cars, slowing down just barely as she drove up over the curb, across the lawn, and then back over the curb onto the street. The front of her car scraped against the curb and rattled as she turned the wheel to speed away.

The streets were jammed with cars, but Jill felt confident that she could maneuver through the city streets and find a way out. Only a few main roads led out of Raccoon City, and at least one of them had to be open. The RCPD was probably trying to locate people who hadn't been infected, to herd them safely out of the city, so all Jill had to do was ...

Mrs. Calloway's comment about the phones not working suddenly popped into her head. With a growing sense of dread, Jill reached down and turned on her car's radio, but all that came from the speakers was crackling static. She turned the dial but got no reception at all.

That didn't make sense. In an emergency like this, the radio stations should have been blaring warnings and instructions. Jill turned the radio back off, suddenly wondering if she was going to find a safe route out of the city after all.
Chapter 12

Denise and Jared huddled against each other, hiding in between two parked cars in an underground parking garage a few blocks from the high school. The only light was from a few dim bulbs hanging from the low ceiling, giving the garage a cold, shadowy ambiance. Denise's jacket was ripped at the shoulder from when a zombie grabbed for her. Jared's jeans were splattered with blood from when he smashed a zombie over the head with a baseball bat, cracking its skull.

"Oh God, why is this happening?" Denise sobbed, her eyes puffy and red. "It's the end of the world. We're never going to make it out."

"Shhhh," Jared whispered, his arm around her shoulder. "We're still alive, aren't we? They can't get us down here."

"We can't stay here forever."

"We can stay until help arrives. They have to call the National Guard or something. By tomorrow, everything will be okay."

"It won't be okay," Denise sobbed. "My dad turned into one of those things." She gripped Jared's sleeve and cried. Jared rested his head against the hard concrete wall and closed his eyes.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence. The doors were all blocked, and they felt confident that no zombies could get inside. But there wasn't much to say. They managed to escape the high school purely by chance, but what they witnessed there was best left unspoken.

"Do you hear that?" Jared whispered.

Denise wiped her eyes. "Hear what?"

"Listen."

From somewhere nearby, there was a low growling sound. Denise tilted her head, and could just barely hear it. It almost sounded like it was coming from every direction.

Her hands started to shake. "Oh God, what is it?"

"I don't know," Jared said. He pushed her hands away and slowly got to his feet.

"No, no, please don't go," Denise begged.

"I got to check it out. Maybe one of them got in here."

Denise shook her head and scooted along the floor until she was crouched behind one of the cars, squeezed in between the car and the wall. She nervously put the edge of her sleeve into her mouth and chewed on it.

Jared stood up and looked over the row of cars. Nothing moved in the garage, nothing that he could see. He stepped out from the cars and stood in the aisle, clenching and unclenching his small fists. If one of the zombies did somehow make its way into the garage, Jared had nothing to fight it with. His pulse pounding, he walked down the aisle toward the garage door that led outside. It was closed, and the regular door beside it was still closed as well.

He could hear the growling noise more clearly now. On the ground in front of him was a small circular grate that drained to the sewers. He realized the sound wasn't coming from inside the garage, it was coming from ...

Suddenly, the floor underneath his feet buckled with a crash, and he flew into the air, landing on his back with a gasp as the wind was knocked from his lungs. The concrete smashed upwards like an erupting volcano rising from the ground, and Jared scrambled backwards as chunks of concrete rained down. A massive shape emerged from the ground like a corpse rising from the grave, but Jared could see that this was no corpse.

He screamed, frantically trying to get to his feet. The monster jumped from the rubble, the remains of its shredded white coat trailing behind it like a ragged tail. One side of its body was grotesquely overgrown, the shoulder and arm massive and misshapen. A shining eyeball emerged from the exposed muscle on the monster's bicep. Its face, perhaps once human, was sunken into the bulging torso as if being swallowed.

Jared managed to get up and tried to run. Immediately, the creature jutted its massive arm, and the huge bony spikes at the ends of its fingers burst through Jared's chest. Blood splashed across the cold concrete and Jared quivered, blood gushing from his mouth. The monster shook its arm and Jared sailed through the air, crashing onto the hood of one of the cars. He bounced sickeningly, blood splattering across the windshield, and landed on the ground right where he and Denise had been sitting just moments before.

Denise got up and ran for it, her wailing, terrified scream echoing throughout the small chamber. There was only one other door in the garage, a locked maintenance door that led to a supply room. She ran as fast as she could for the door, the only place she could hide, even though she knew it was locked.

It didn't matter. The monster reached her in three huge loping steps, and viciously slashed her with its claws. Denise's screaming abruptly stopped. Her upper torso continued onward and landed with a thump a few feet from the door, while her legs fell to the ground, still twitching. Blood geysered from the severed torso, intestines spilling out.

The creature roared and smashed down on one of the cars, crushing the front end with a gigantic fist. Metal twisted, glass shattered, and oil spilled to the ground beneath the demolished engine. The beast pounded on the wreckage furiously, turning the car into a crumpled head of scrap metal.

The dead girl was not its quarry. Her blood was not the same as its own, it did not contain the same DNA that the monster searched for. It hunched down on all fours and its demonic growl seemed to make the entire garage tremble.

It could have easily smashed through the garage door and escaped out into the open, but something held it back. Somehow, it knew that its prey was not outside. For now, the creature needed to remain hidden, until it could locate its target. It smashed down the door to the maintenance room and squeezed inside, knocking apart the shelves packed with empty gas cans, orange traffic cones, bags of cement mix, and gardening equipment. The supply room split off to another hallway leading to the right, which ended in a narrow stairway heading down.

The beast squeezed its way down the stairs and crept along the dark tunnel at the bottom, its eyes able to see in pitch darkness. The maintenance tunnel led to a connecting series of subterranean hallways beneath the rows of apartment buildings on the surface, running parallel to the sewer tunnels. These rarely used maintenance shafts led to many of the buildings in the surrounding blocks. The floor was coated in a fine layer of dust.

The creature continued onward. Its offspring was still to be found, and every step it took brought it closer to its goal. Deep inside the creature's body was a growing embryo, destined to be implanted. When it finally found the object of its search, the young female offspring, the embryo would be implanted, and the next phase of its evolution would begin.
Chapter 13

Shoulder to shoulder, the zombies crammed along the entire length of the huge staircase leading up to the second floor of the police station, fighting and clawing their way upward. The hallway at the top of the stairs, overlooking the waiting area on the main floor, was blocked off with anything the remaining police officers could find. Benches, broken doors, large potted plants, a couch from one of the detective's offices. Everything was piled up like a Jenga tower, the stacked furniture reaching all the way to the ceiling. Zombies crawled up the pile, their bloody mouths snapping open and closed, their bleeding fingers trying to break though the makeshift barrier. Arms reached through gaps in the precarious pile, grabbing and reaching for the officers on the other side.

Half a dozen officers braced themselves beyond the barricade, trying to conserve what little ammunition remained. Occasional gunshots rang out, and zombies tumbled over the railing down to the main floor. There was a pile of dead zombies there, already six feet high. More undead wandered around the main floor, making their way to the stairs.

Chief Brian Irons stood in the middle of the hallway and wiped his sweating forehead with his sleeve. His breath came in ragged gasps, his lungs burning like a furnace. This was only one of several such barricades scattered across the police station, trying to keep the raving hordes of zombies limited to the first floor. But the barricades were going to fail, Irons knew. He knew it because it was already starting to happen.

"I'm out of ammo!" one of the cops shouted, waving his empty gun.

Another cop grabbed Irons' arm. "We need more ammunition! We can't fight them off if we don't have bullets!"

"Then go find some!" Irons shouted. "Most of our ammunition is downstairs in the armory! Do you want to go down there and get it?"

"We must have more somewhere! What about the temporary storage lockers?"

Irons had forgotten all about the temporary weapon storage room, which was located conveniently here on the second floor. "I don't know," Irons said, shaking his head. "Maybe there's something there we can use."

"I'll go and check."

Irons swallowed hard and nodded. "All right. But get back here as fast as –"

An office chair propped up at the top of the barricade came loose and tumbled over the railing, leaving a gap for a zombie to climb through. As if waiting for the chance, a male zombie wearing a blood-soaked chef's apron crawled over the top of the barricade and fell off, landing on the floor a few feet from the police officers. One of them screamed in dismay and ran off. The zombie got onto his hands and knees, and another officer ran up and shot him right in the temple. Even as he did so, another zombie crawled through the opening and fell down right on top of the officer. He jumped away as the zombie bit down on his foot, and swung up his pistol to shoot the zombie in the eye.

"He didn't bite me!" the cop shouted. "I'm okay! He didn't get me!"

"Block that goddamn hole!" Irons shouted.

The zombies surged forward and the whole massive pile of furniture buckled. A door broke loose and crashed down, and a dozen zombies climbed up, pushing a desk right out of their way. It crashed to the floor, and the cops backed away, opening fire with whatever bullets they had left. Zombies jerked and fell aside, but more filled the space before the officers could even reload their guns. The zombies flooded through the barricade like a swarm of insects.

Irons did not wait. He turned and ran. Behind him, he heard more desperate gunshots and screams, but he did not look back to see if anyone was following him.

He moved as fast as he could to a side hallway that led to a narrow staircase to the third floor, where his office was. There was a door at the top of the stairs, held open with a rubber doorstop. When he reached the top of the stairs, panting for breath, Irons kicked away the doorstop and slammed the door closed. The foyer split off into a few other hallways, leading to other offices. Irons pushed a desk from the nearest office in front of the door to block it. He didn't think it would hold for long.

He heard a foot scrape against the old tile floor and turned to see a zombie coming at him from the side hallway. It was one of the administrative secretaries, a young woman named Melinda. Irons knew her name although he did not know her personally.

The bottom of her modest red skirt was ripped up, and her leg was a mass of bloody bite marks. Her blouse was dotted with blood as well, and a bloody handprint was smeared across her pretty face.

Irons pulled a small revolver from the worn leather holster strapped at his back. He shook his head again, knowing how few bullets he had. The revolver only held six shots, and two of those were already spent.

Melinda stepped forward, and Irons put a bullet between her eyes. She hit the floor and sprawled out, her arms spread out at her sides.

One more victim. One more death on his conscience.

Irons did not encounter any more zombies on his way up to his office, but he knew they were there. At first, his fellow officers thought they had succeeded in keeping the zombies at bay on the ground floor, but that victory was doomed to be short-lived. The entire station was full of zombies now. Some of the refugees who had escaped to the second floor and higher were infected, and so many of them found places to hide that no one knew exactly how many people were even there. Some of the supply closets and bathrooms and small offices were now crowded with survivors, but they were sitting ducks for the zombies wandering through the station. The police could offer them no help. There was no safety here.

Irons went to his office and closed the door. Three bullets left. Sooner or later the zombies would make their way to his office and try to get inside, and he would use two bullets, at most, to defend himself. But when it came down to it, the last bullet would be for himself.

Chapter 14

Jill thought that she could make it out of the city, but she only made it twenty blocks. The side streets were all packed with abandoned cars and huge mobs of roving zombies, so she stayed to the main city streets. When she encountered yet another blocked intersection, she drove her car over the grass covered median in between the opposing lanes of traffic and tried to turn around.

A huge blue pickup truck roared down the street after her and slammed on the brakes when it almost reached the intersection. It skidded off the road, skipped the curb, and smashed into the back of Jill's car, spinning it around. Her head smacked against the driver's side window as the car spun around, stars flashing in front of her eyes. The car wound up facing the intersection once more, with the back bumper ripped off and trunk popped open. For a moment she was dizzy and disoriented, still gripping the steering wheel.

The pickup truck continued forward, sliding back off of the median and into the other lanes of traffic, skidding out of control and smashing into the side of the building on the corner. Glass shattered and flew up into the air like sparks, and the truck blasted through the corner of the building, crashing onto its side, dust and rubble scattering around it.

Barely thinking straight, Jill fumbled at the gear shift to put the car in reverse. She backed up right into the edge of the guard rail facing her lane of traffic. She tried to pull forward again and the car groaned ineffectively. Her dizziness passed and she shook her head to clear it. She hit the gas more forcefully, but the car just squealed its protest, refusing to move.

One of the rear tires was smashed inward from the impact, and the car's frame locked up against the guard rail. Jill slammed her hands against the steering wheel and screamed, desperately trying to get the car moving. But the bent wheel made it impossible. Her car wasn't going anywhere.

Zombies appeared all over, slowly coming in her direction, attracted by the sound of the crash. She glanced out the windshield and saw at least thirty of them converging on her car. She kicked the door open and got out, swinging her shotgun out in front of her. She squeezed the trigger and the gun boomed, knocking her back. The first zombie, a man wearing a fast food restaurant uniform, flew backwards, his head caved in.

Some of the zombies went to investigate the crashed pickup truck. Jill glanced back to see them drag out the limp body of the driver and begin to bite down on it. But most of the zombies were more interested in her, preferring live prey.

Jill had no choice but to leave the car behind. There was no way she could possibly attempt to carry any of her possessions, even the pictures and mementos she wanted so much to save. She abandoned her entire life and ran across the street. A female zombie reached for her, and she cracked the stock of the shotgun against the zombie's face, knocking it away.

As she ran, she pulled a few shells from her jacket pocket and tried to load them into the shotgun. The last thing she wanted was to run out of ammo at the wrong moment.

She ran down a city street lined with shops and stores. Brightly colored awnings flapped in the breeze, and neon signs flashed "We're Open!" in the large windows. Some of the windows were broken, some of the doors knocked down. Jill hurried past a barber's shop, glancing inside to see a herd of zombies inside, feasting on the dead bodies sprawled on the floor.

A zombie lurched out of an alleyway right in Jill's path, and she jumped out of the way to avoid its grasp. He clutched at the edge of her jacket and held on as she tried to rush past him. She pulled but the zombie held fast, his bloody hands holding the jacket tightly. Jill pulled and lost her balance, falling onto the street. One of her arms pulled out of the sleeve and she scrambled backwards, letting her other arm slide out. The zombie, pulling hard on the jacket, suddenly stumbled back when Jill let go, and tripped over the curb, the jacket flapping up over his head.

Jill pulled the pistol from her belt and shot him in the face, then quickly aimed her gun at two more zombies coming at her. The first one went down, but the second amazingly continued forward when she shot him in the head. She shot him again and he fell face first, only a few feet away from her.

More of them appeared, as if they just materialized out of nowhere. Jill wanted to grab her jacket to get the extra bullets and shotgun shells in the pockets, but four more zombies were already coming off the curb, in between her and the jacket.

She was almost relieved to hear more gunshots coming from down the street. She got up and grabbed the shotgun, turning quickly to shoot two more zombies reaching for her. But for every zombie she killed, five more appeared to take its place. By now there were at least fifty of them pouring into the street, all of them coming right for her.

She used the shotgun to blast a path in front of her, using two more rounds to knock down a trio of zombies. Only two more shots remained in the gun, since she had no more shells. She slung the weapon over her shoulder and ran for it, jumping past a zombie that still moved.

Up ahead there was another huge crowd of zombies, more than a hundred of them. On the corner was a large warehouse building, two stories tall, with five numbered dock doors facing a parking lot jammed with zombies.

She saw two men in the parking lot, standing back to back, each armed with a shotgun. As the zombies pressed in, they opened fire, blasting zombies like it was a gruesome shooting gallery. Behind them, four people cowered on a short set of steps around a narrow dock entrance door, one of them trying in vain to kick it open.

Jill ran across the sidewalk and drew her pistol. She didn't know how many shots remained in the gun, and though her pockets were full of bullets, she didn't think she had time to reload the clip out here in the open.

She aimed carefully and shot four zombies right in the head, giving her room to run around the edge of the crowd. She hurried past more zombies, shooting one more that was a little too close for comfort, and jumped up onto the dock entrance ramp. The people there helped haul her up as zombies tried to grab her legs.

"Move!" she shouted at the man in front of the door. He quickly backed away and Jill shot the door lock until the pistol clicked empty. She slammed her shoulder into the door and it broke open.

"Get inside!" one of the other survivors cried.

They all ran inside the warehouse and held the door until the two men wielding shotguns managed to get up the ramp and make it inside. They slammed the door shut and blocked it for the moment by shoving a broom through the door handle.

"This ain't gonna hold!" one of the men shouted.

Jill looked around for something heavy to block the door with. One of the other men ran across the warehouse to a large yellow forklift parked on the other side of the building. The keys were already inside. He drove it over to the doorway and backed the forklift up right against the door. The crowd of zombies outside were banging on the door, but there was no way they were getting in now.

Jill leaned against two pallets stacked with cardboard boxes and allowed herself a moment of relief. She leaned forward, placing her hands on her knees, and took several deep breaths.

"What's your name?" someone asked.

Jill looked up and brushed stray hair from her face. "Jill Valentine," she said, holding out a hand.

"Eddie Thorne," the man said, shaking her hand. He wore dirty jeans and a red flannel overshirt with the sleeves rolled up. His brown work boots looked as if he had walked through more than one puddle of blood. His face was drawn and unshaven, and a black trucker's cap was tilted on his head.

One of the men carrying a shotgun came over. He was overweight, wearing gray sweatpants and a dirty green t-shirt. "Hey, you got more bullets for your shotgun?"

Jill slid the gun off her shoulder and handed it to him. "I think there's two shots left. You can have them."

"Thanks," the man said, taking the gun.

"That was some pretty risky stuff you did out there," Eddie said. "I mean, running through them like that. One of them could have gotten hold of you."

"I was willing to risk it," Jill said. "I'm just glad I found some other survivors."

"Yeah, well," Eddie rubbed his chin and looked around at the few people who made it into the warehouse. "Half an hour ago there were twice as many of us."

"Does anybody have any idea what's going on?" a woman asked, sitting down on some five gallon buckets stacked by the wall. She was an African-American woman wearing a blue blouse and large golden hoop earrings. "I heard it was some kind of disease, but how could anyone know that? I mean, this isn't like any disease I ever heard of."

"It's got to be some kind of disease," the overweight man with the shotgun said. He stood up on some pallets and looked out the window next to the door. "If you catch it, you get real sick and then you come back like one of those things."

"How do you know?" the woman asked.

"Because my wife is out there somewhere," the man said, his voice flat. "She was sick this morning. I tried calling an ambulance but the phones were dead. She just kept getting sicker and sicker and then she ... she just went crazy. She attacked me so I ran out of the house. That's when I found out that it was happening to lots of other people to."

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Jill looked around and took account of the group of weary survivors. There were six of them, four men and two women.

The other woman was a thin, frail-looking blonde wearing flip-flops, a pair of flimsy shorts, and a white undershirt with no bra. They were probably the clothes she slept in the night before. Her hands trembled slightly as she sat down on another stack of pallets, and Jill wondered how she had managed to stay alive so far

There were two other men aside from Eddie and the overweight man. One of them was a young man in jeans and a blood splattered t-shirt, carrying the other shotgun. He was the one who drove the forklift into place, and he was currently at another window, staring out into the crowd of zombies. The other man was a middle-aged man with thinning reddish hair, wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt. He was out in the middle of the warehouse floor, pacing nervously back and forth.

Eddie looked around uncertainly and leaned toward Jill, speaking in a low voice. "Listen," he said, "you seem pretty good with a gun. Looks like you might even have some training. I don't mind saying this, but none of us are really that great. I was wondering if maybe you want to take one of the shotguns. Kyle over there ain't a great shot," he said, gesturing toward the young guy.

"No, that's okay," Jill said. "I'm better with a pistol."

"Okay. How many shots you got left?"

Jill reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a handful of bullets.

"Great," Eddie said, allowing himself a smile. "We need as many as we can get our hands on. I don't think we'll be making a run to the gun store any time soon."

"Probably not," Jill said. "I had more shells for the shotgun, but they were in my jacket and I had to leave it behind."

"Jesus," the young man named Kyle said. "Just look at that."

No one moved, and Jill guessed that none of them really wanted to see what he was looking at. The two women sat by themselves, and the red-haired man ignored them all, pacing to himself. Eddie frowned and stuck his hands into his pockets.

Jill got up and walked to the window, sticking her pistol into her belt. She stood next to Kyle and stared out the dirty window, taking a deep breath.

The parking lot, which minutes ago was half-full of zombies, was now completely full, as was the street beyond it. Crowded in front of the warehouse was a gigantic gathering of several hundred zombies, maybe more than a thousand. The building was completely surrounded.

"Get comfortable," Jill said. "I think we're going to be here for awhile."

Chapter 15

Raccoon City was falling apart right in front of his eyes. He knew it was going to happen, of course. In fact, he had planned on it, but watching it in real time somehow felt different than he had expected. Many things felt different these days.

Wesker lowered his binoculars and let them hang by their strap around his neck. He stood on the corner of the roof of his warehouse, looking out across the slowly deteriorating city. He could smell the smoke drifting from the numerous fires, and he could hear scattered pops of gunfire here and there. From his vantage point, he could only see a small section of the city, but he knew that the scene was the same everywhere else. Zombies running wild. Pandemonium in the streets. Utter chaos tearing the city apart.

Hearing a familiar noise, Wesker looked down toward the next warehouse and saw a zombie appear from around the corner. He almost smiled. As the wayward zombie wandered across the empty parking area beside the other warehouse, Wesker pulled a gun from his belt. He didn't really bother to aim, he just swung his arm up and pulled the trigger. More than thirty yards away, the zombie's head jerked back as the bullet struck it right in the temple, and it slumped to the ground.

Wesker sighed, somehow disappointed at how easy it was. A few days ago, he would have had to aim carefully to make such a shot, and been pleased with himself for making it. Now he barely had to try at all. It took all the fun out of shooting things.

He glanced back up and lifted the binoculars to his eyes. He heard the helicopter coming long before he saw it, and he needed to make sure it was Nicholai and not another Umbrella chopper just passing through. They were all over the sky, transporting troops to all the hot spots and trying to rescue survivors. But there were surely few of those at this point.

Wesker stepped off the roof and landed in a balanced crouch on the ground twenty feet below. His feet stung a bit with the landing, but otherwise he was fine.

As the helicopter swung over the warehouse and lowered down to the parking area, Wesker went over to the large shipping container sitting just outside the dock doors. He had already double- and triple-checked to make sure it everything was secure inside. The interior of the container was packed with dozens of cases of samples and boxes of supplies. Wesker had previously packed these absolute essentials into the container for transport out of the city. Everything he saved from the Arklay lab was here, all his samples and various strains of the virus, along with all his other projects and lab work. His entire professional life was packed into the metal crate.

Everything else here at the warehouse would be left behind, having served its temporary purpose. The growth tanks and other equipment would all be abandoned, along with any equipment that Wesker knew he could replace.

Three other shipping containers were sitting outside as well. Each contained one of his three recently-grown experiments. The two Tyrants were average specimens, certainly not as perfect as the one he set free to kill the S.T.A.R.S. members back at the lab, but they would work well enough.

The Nemesis was another story. Its unchecked growth of muscle tissue in the growth tank forced Wesker to some rather extreme measures. He used a butcher knife to slice away mounds of excess tissue and muscle from the Nemesis's body, and then dressed the creature in a huge black trenchcoat, leather pants, and a massive pair of boots. It was either that bizarre option, or simply kill the Nemesis off. Wesker didn't want to waste the experiment, so he did what he could to keep it from growing so unpredictably. With the clothing to give its body some kind of form, Wesker hoped it would not continue to grow like it had in the tank.

He didn't know if the Nemesis would work out at all, but kept his hopes up. It was a more interesting creation than the Tyrants in many ways, and he planned on doing more research with the N-strain once he was set up again. If the makeshift leather outfit kept its muscle tissue from growing out of control, Wesker had a feeling that the Nemesis would be faster, stronger, and perhaps even more durable than the Tyrants. It was a shame he wouldn't be here to study it in the wild.

The helicopter settled to the ground and Wesker walked over to give Nicholai his instructions. He was there to take Wesker, and the container with all his work, to a safe place outside Raccoon City. Then he would come back and transport each container to a specific location in the city. After that was done, Nicholai could go back to being the Commander of the UBCF forces and do as he pleased. At that point, Wesker couldn't care less.

Nicholai lifted the helicopter slowly back into the air as Wesker walked back over to the shipping container. He grabbed the top edge of the container and prepared to lift himself up on top of it, and then thought otherwise. Instead, he just jumped ten feet straight into the air and landed on top.

Nicholai hovered overhead and lowered a cable from the helicopter's cargo winch. Wesker attached the cable's metal hook onto the huge bracket welded to the container's roof and then waved up at Nicholai. The helicopter rose up into the air and the container went up with it. Wesker stood on top, just holding the cable with his hand. Even though the container swayed back and forth at the end of the cable like a yo-yo at the end of its string, Wesker felt confident that he would not fall.

Up this high, he could really take in the view. He saw cars packed in the streets and mobs of zombies walking around. There were probably hundreds of car accidents, and he saw a few smoldering piles of wreckage blocking a few streets. He took off his sunglasses with his free hand and squinted to see what appeared to be a crowd of people on the roof of a building nearby, waving a large white sheet. He knew that Nicholai wasn't going to pick them up, but he wondered if one of the other pilots would. Rescuing survivors was part of the UBCF's mission, after all, although a secondary part.

The shipping container swayed in the wind, but Wesker's hand gripped the cable like a vise. He returned the sunglasses to his face and casually continued to observe the city as Nicholai took him away.

A few minutes later, the helicopter slowed down as it passed over a low mountain ridge on the far edge of the Arklay Mountains. Wesker looked down to see a small building surrounded by trees on the opposite side of the ridge. They were far beyond the city limits now, and beyond the roadblocks Umbrella had set up on the main highways.

The helicopter lowered to the ground, setting the container down with a heavy thud. As the tow cable grew slack, Wesker knelt down and unhooked it. After a few seconds, it wound back up into the winch, like a fisherman reeling in an empty hook.

Wesker hopped down from the container and looked around. The weathered home sitting on the property was probably some family's hunting lodge and was not currently occupied. The grass was not mown and all the windows had shutters drawn. As Nicholai promised, a plain white van was parked in the driveway, ready to be loaded with the contents of the container. The winding dirt roads that led through the mountains would take Wesker far away from Raccoon City. All he needed to do was quickly transfer everything into the van and he would be gone. How Nicholai had brought the van there was a question Wesker let simmer for the moment.

Nicholai flew the helicopter away and it disappeared from sight. Wesker stayed where he was, looking along the wild lawn and the line of trees just beyond the old house. Then, making up his mind, he walked across the tall grass to the driveway. He opened the van's driver side door and looked inside.

No keys. He should have known.

The soldiers hiding on the other side of the house didn't know that he could hear them. There were at least two, perhaps three. He could hear them whispering into their microphones, presumably talking to Nicholai.

Wesker sighed. And he had hoped this would be easy.

Casually, he walked around to the other side of the van. He could almost hear the soldier's finger press gently on the trigger, and then the peaceful quiet of the wilderness was shattered with a burst of gunfire.

Knowing that the shots were coming did not mean Wesker knew where they were headed. He jumped to the side as one of the shots tore through his back right under his shoulder, and burst out through his armpit. Blood splattered across the white side of the van, and Wesker was immediately turned around, pistol in hand. He squeezed off five shots before he even hit the ground, and then emptied the rest of the clip as he bounced back up and dove behind the van.

The soldier shrieked as bullets, at least three of them, ripped into his chest right above the collar of his bulletproof vest. Then his scream turned to an abrupt gurgle and he pitched over with blood gushing from his mouth.

The other two were on the move. Wesker could hear one of them talking rapidly as they ran around to the back of the house.

Wesker covered the thirty feet to the house in two steps, bounding into the air as if he was on the moon. He moved like a blur, the wound on his shoulder already healed.

One of the soldiers peeked his head around the corner and Wesker slammed into him like a speeding train. He felt the soldier's body crunch satisfyingly and then sail another twenty feet backward, his assault rifle flipping up into the air.

The other soldier raised his own gun just as Wesker snatched the other one out of the air. He got off a burst that blasted through Wesker's chest before Wesker returned fire, aiming right for the head. The soldier's head exploded and his body launched backward, a gore-covered helmet tumbling to the grass.

Wesker gasped for breath and gritted his teeth. It took a second for his breathing to return to normal. He reached into his shirt and wiped his hand across the front of his chest, feeling no wounds. There were three bloody holes in the front of the shirt.

Wesker tossed the assault rifle aside and walked over the third soldier, who was curled up on the ground in the fetal position, whispering into his microphone with an agonized look on his face.

"I'll take that, thank you," Wesker said, plucking the radio headset off the soldier's helmet. He put it on and adjusted the mike, clearing his throat.

"Nicholai," he said, "I'm very disappointed in you."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then, "What are you going to do now, Mister Wesker? Come back into the city and kill me?"

"No, I don't think I'll do that," Wesker said. "Unless the van doesn't work. In that case, I'll have little choice."

"It works. My men drove it there. You must have figured that out."

"Yes, I realized it as soon as you flew away."

"No hard feelings, then?"

Wesker chuckled at that. "Tell you what, Nicholai. You drop off those containers like you promised, and we'll call it even."

The soldier on the ground gathered up enough strength to pull a pistol from the holster on his hip. Wincing with the effort, he raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit Wesker in the stomach and passed through his abdomen, ripping out his back near his kidney. He groaned in pain and reached down to grab the gun. The soldier fired again, shooting Wesker in the arm.

Wesker grabbed the soldier's wrist and squeezed. The bones crunched and the soldier cried out in pain, the gun slipping from his hand. Wesker took it and shot the soldier three times in the face. He should have done that in the first place.

"Mister Wesker?" Nicholai asked hopefully.

"I'm still here," Wesker grunted. The pain in his stomach passed and he took a deep breath. The pain was always temporary, but still very intense. He barely felt the bullet hit his arm, and it was now healed as well.

"I heard shots," Nicholai said.

"Yes, your man here shot me twice. That makes six total."

"Six?"

"Yes," Wesker said. "Keep that in mind. Now just drop those containers off like I told you to, and you won't ever have to see me again."

"I like the sound of that," Nicholai said. "Goodbye then, Mister Wesker."

Wesker took off the headset and tossed it on the dead soldier. He frowned and wiped his bloody arm on his shirt, which was ruined now anyway. He would have to change clothes before he left, as he didn't want to be seen in a bloody, bullet-riddled shirt.

He found some spare clothes in the hunting lodge. A couple hours later, he finished packing everything from the shipping crate into the van. He took a few pistols and spare ammo from the dead soldiers, just in case he might need them. The keys to the van were in one of the soldier's pockets as well.

He got in the driver's seat and started the van up. Then he pulled out of the driveway and headed down the dirt road.

Chapter 16

Out of the eight men in Carlos's squad when they began the mission, only four were left. Yuan was the just the first to die. Marco lost his life when a stray zombie walked through his panicked gunfire and took a bite out of his cheek. Kovald, the big Swede, died when his rifle jammed at the worst possible moment, and a trio of hungry zombies took him down and ripped out his throat. Chen, the other soldier from China, took a moment to rest against an abandoned car, and the zombie hiding inside jumped out and got him.

But considering what Carlos had witnessed and heard in the past four hours, he thought his squad was doing pretty good. According to Yuri, some of the other squads had been annihilated completely. All morning, Mikhail led them from one dangerous situation to the next, until it felt like they had killed thousands of zombies. But no matter how many they saw, there were always more. So far, they had been remarkably fortunate, but every minute they stayed in the city, Carlos knew his chances of survival dropped a few percentage points. But he refrained from asking Mikhail if they were going to be airlifted out of the city any time soon, because he was worried about what the answer was going to be.

They ran full speed down a garbage-strewn alleyway with Mikhail in the lead, only to stop dead when more zombies appeared at the other end. Carlos could not open fire because his own weapon was jammed as well. He desperately tried to get it unjammed, but a spent bullet casing remained fully stuck in the chamber. He slung the useless weapon over his shoulder and drew one of his Desert Eagles.

"Back!" Mikhail boomed. "Get back!"

"We can't go back the way we came!" Yuri said.

Carlos dared look behind them, and at the far end of the alley, more zombies were stumbling after them. They just managed to escape a huge mob crowded right in the middle of the street, but everywhere they ran, they found more zombies.

"Damn it!" Mikhail roared. He pushed past Yuri and the others and kicked at a narrow door leading to an adjacent building. It smashed open, the deadbolt ripping off a chunk of the wooden frame, and Mikhail ushered the men inside. He grabbed Carlos by the shoulder before he could go inside.

"Come, help me with this," he said, pointing at a nearby dumpster.

They pushed the dumpster in front of the door and then climbed over it in order to get inside. They were in a narrow entrance to the kitchen of a restaurant. Propped up by the door were some boxes as well as a bag of rock salt and a snow shovel for use in the winter. Mikhail propped the shovel up under the broken doorknob and braced it against the opposite wall.

"Won't hold for long," Mikhail muttered. "But the bastards won't be able to push on the door with dumpster there."

"Are we gonna hide here?" Carlos asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

"Not for long," Mikhail said.

They went into the kitchen, where Yuri and the other remaining soldier, a Nigerian named Timon, were waiting. Timon was taller than the other soldiers by several inches, and he bumped his head on the bright silver pots and pans hanging from racks on the ceiling. The kitchen looked clean and unused, so Carlos guessed they only served dinner. Sadly, they would not be getting many customers this evening.

"Clear?" Mikhail asked.

Yuri nodded bluntly. "Yes, clear."

"What are we gonna do?" Timon asked, his voice harsh. He gripped his assault rifle like a drowning man clutching a life preserver, his face dotted with sweat.

"Come on," Mikhail said, walking out of the kitchen and into the dining area. Yuri cast a suspicious glance at the others and followed him, and then Carlos and Timon followed as well.

Mikhail paused by the doorway into the waiting area and peeked around the corner. Carlos crept past Yuri and Timon and looked out as well. Through the restaurant's large front windows he could see more zombies outside. Middle-aged men and women, teenagers and even children, most of them wounded and bloody, with open mouths and deranged eyes. They moved past the restaurant like curious window shoppers.

"We cannot stay here," Mikhail said quietly.

"It's safe here," Yuri argued. "You think we should go back out there? You're out of your mind."

Carlos was surprised that Mikhail allowed Yuri to say something so directly insubordinate. They were soldiers after all. It was their duty to obey their commanding officer. As long as Mikhail did not instruct them to do something insanely stupid or obviously suicidal, Carlos was willing to follow orders. But with half of their squad killed off and no reinforcements coming to relieve them, maybe Mikhail was willing to let Yuri's insubordination slide for the time being.

"If we stay here, we are trapped," Mikhail said calmly. "If they see us and come in, we cannot get away from them."

"Then all we have to do is make sure they don't come in," Yuri said.

Mikhail scoffed. "They will come in. If we stay here, we will die."

"He's right," Carlos said. "Can't you hear them?"

Already, there was muffled banging noise coming back from the kitchen, as the zombies tried to force open the door, partially blocked by the dumpster. It might take half an hour, but Carlos knew that the zombies would eventually get the door opened up and come flooding into the restaurant. And when they did, there was nowhere for Carlos and the others to hide.

"We're trapped here already," Carlos said. "How are we gonna get out without getting killed by those things?"

"The roof," Yuri said quickly. "We can get on the roof."

Within minutes they found access to the roof, through a horizontal doorway built into the ceiling of one of the numerous supply closets. Yuri knocked over and pushed away cardboard boxes full of napkins and tablecloths and climbed up on some pipes along the wall. He reached up and yanked on the lock.

"Just shoot it off," Timon said impatiently.

"The zombies will hear it."

"Who cares? They already know we're here."

Yuri climbed back down and raised his rifle. He took careful aim and fired at the lock. It took two shots to blow it apart.

One by one, they all climbed up through the narrow doorway. Mikhail was the last to come, and he closed the closet door before he went up. As he did so, they heard the back door smash open, the shovel clattering to the floor. Mikhail quickly lifted himself up, and the others pulled him through the doorway to the roof.

The roof was flat and covered in white gravel, dotted with a few metal tubes and large exhaust fans from the kitchen. The gravel crunched under Carlos's feet as he walked to the edge and glanced carefully toward the surging crowd of zombies below.

He could smell them. It was still bright outside, and the sun beating down on their dead flesh did not help. Carlos guessed that he should be thankful that it wasn't the middle of summer. Even so, he detected the faint whiff of decay coming from the crowd. He wondered what the crowds of zombies would smell like in a few days, or even in a few hours. Then he wondered if he would even be there to notice, or if he might have already joined them by that time.

He tried to put that thought out of his head. Mikhail, meanwhile, trudged to the other side of the roof and looked out across the street. Yuri joined him.

"You think we can get to it?" Yuri asked.

"Might be able to," Mikhail said. "I don't want to stay up here."

Carlos and Timon walked over to them and saw what they were looking at. Parked across the street at the next intersection was a city trolley car, sitting empty. The trolley rode on metal tracks embedded in the street, and large rods on the top of the car hooked onto power cables strung up on telephone poles parallel to the street. It looked like the trolley had stopped to pick up passengers and then been left there. For the moment, the zombies were not close by the trolley car, having moved closer to the restaurant.

"I don't know, man," Timon grunted. "That's a long way from here."

"It's just across the street," Yuri said.

"Tell that to all those zombies down there. It might as well be five miles."

Mikhail rubbed his chin and looked at Carlos. "Are you out of ammunition?"

"No," Carlos said. "The rifle jammed."

"Let me see it."

Carlos handed over his assault rifle and Mikhail spent a few moments trying to unjam it. Giving up, he dropped it onto the gravel disgustedly. "Give Yuri and Timon the rest of your rifle ammunition. Timon, give Carlos your pistols."

Timon gladly took two magazines from Carlos's backpack and then handed over his Desert Eagles. "With pleasure, sir."

Suddenly, there was a steady hum from up in the sky above them and then a loud thudding sound. Carlos looked up, shading his eyes from the sun.

"There!" Yuri said, pointing.

An Umbrella helicopter flew toward them, soaring over the rows of buildings, with a huge freight container hanging below it from the tow cable. Yuri waved his arms but Mikhail merely reached out to stop him, staring grimly at the flying chopper.

"What is it carrying?" Carlos asked.

Mikhail shook his head. "Don't know. I don't like it, either."

They watched the helicopter soar over their heads and off in the other direction until it disappeared behind a tall building and went out of sight.

Yuri shook his head and busied himself with reloading his rifle with one of the magazines taken from Carlos. He took out all his ammo and tucked the magazines into his front pockets for easier reach. Mikhail, meanwhile, continued to look toward the abandoned trolley car.

"What if we distracted them?" Carlos asked. "We could go over to the other side and just start yelling to get their attention or something."

Mikhail shook his head. "No, I think there are too many. If we make noise, we will only attract more and more. They would come from everywhere."

"Yeah," Yuri said. "I already thought of that."

"What then?"

Carlos was happy to stay on the roof for a little while, if he had to be completely honest. The last thing he really wanted was to climb back down and face all those zombies again. But the longer they stayed on the roof, the more zombies would come, and pretty soon they would have a crowd of thousands to deal with, instead of just a few hundred. If they wanted to make a break for it, now was the time.

"Grenades," Mikhail said simply.

Each of them took out all the grenades they had left, which did not amount to many. The squad members were only equipped with five grenades each, and Yuri had already used several of his. Twelve grenades remained among the three of them. Mikhail added two of his own and they crouched down to make their plan.

Timon knelt down along the roof edge and aimed his rifle down into the crowd. Carlos and Yuri held their breath as Mikhail pulled the pins on the grenades and tossed them one by one down to the street below. Just as he finished, he swung his own rifle up.

The grenades detonated like an enormous string of firecrackers and Carlos flinched as the building seemed to shake with the proximity to the impacts. The entire sidewalk was immediately cleared of zombies as they were blown up or blown away. Bodies launched across the street and a grisly spray of body parts flew into the air. Smoke and blood hung in the air for a moment as debris and gore rained down on the street.

Carlos and Yuri were over the side in a moment, hanging themselves off the edge of the roof and then dropping to the demolished sidewalk below. As soon as he hit the ground, Carlos whipped out his pistols and opened fire on anything that still moved. Dozens of zombies were lying on the ground nearby, their bodies smashed but their brains intact, and some of them were trying to get to their feet or crawl in his direction. He shot them all in the head.

Gunshots rained down from above, blasting the zombies who were far enough away from the explosions not to be knocked over. The covering fire gave Carlos and Yuri time to move away from the restaurant and run out into the street. Yuri blasted into the thinned crowd with his rifle, while Carlos tried to take more careful shots and conserve his ammo.

"Come on!" Yuri shouted.

Mikhail slung his gun over his shoulder and jumped down off the roof, not bothering to climb halfway as Carlos and Yuri did. He hit the bloody pavement and rolled to his feet. Timon came down right after him, but he did not land as well. His foot struck the edge of a broken section of pavement and bent his ankle when he landed.

He cried out in pain and stumbled to his feet, limping badly. Mikhail grabbed him and hauled him forward as Carlos and Yuri provided covering fire. Together, they managed to shoot down most of the zombies that got anywhere near Mikhail and Timon.

"Go!" Mikhail yelled. He shoved Timon off to Yuri and spun around, blowing away a zombie that managed to get close. The body lurched backward as a spray of bullets tore through its head and neck. Mikhail walked backwards, firing until his gun clicked empty. He ejected the magazine, snapped a new one into place, and continued firing without missing a beat.

Carlos turned and opened fire on a smaller group of zombies coming down the street near the trolley car. Yuri dropped Timon and swung his gun up to blast a few of them as Carlos reloaded. He snapped clips back into both pistols and continued to fire. He tried to shoot each zombie in the head with one shot in order to use as little ammo as he possibly could.

He ran forward and kicked open the trolley car door. Yuri pulled Timon back to his feet and blasted a path for them. Mikhail came up behind and continued firing. The entire street seemed to echo with the sound of constant gunfire.

Yuri pushed Timon into the trolley car and he managed to crawl up the steps. Yuri jumped on and just stepped over him, running to the back of the car to shoot any zombies coming in that direction.

Carlos stayed at the door, shooting more zombies as Mikhail got on board as well, and then jumped into the car, closing the doors behind them.

They must have killed more than a hundred zombies, but there were hundreds more where that came from. Within seconds, a huge crowd of zombies was surrounding the car as Mikhail fidgeted with the controls, trying to get it running. Zombies swarmed around the trolley car and began pounding on the door. Some of them began reaching in some of the open windows.

Yuri raised his gun to just open fire through the windows, but Carlos stopped him. "Don't shoot the windows," he said. "Just close them to keep the zombies from reaching inside." He and Yuri went through the entire car and slid closed all of the windows, pushing out the zombies' clawing hands.

Mikhail pulled the throttle back and the trolley car roared to life, lurching forward so fast that Carlos fell backwards into one of the seats. Zombies standing near the front were either knocked aside or just run right over, their bodies cut in half and then crushed under the rails.

"Oh, man," Yuri said, looking out the back window at the disgusting trail of gore left behind. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Timon leaned back in a seat and breathed a sigh of relief, holding his injured ankle up. "After everything we've seen today, you're just gonna be sick now?"

Carlos walked up to Mikhail. The trolley car roared down the avenue, running over any zombies that dared to get in front of it. Cars and trucks parked on the tracks were smashed aside by the roaring trolley car.

"So where are we going?" he asked.

Mikhail shook his head. "Anywhere but here."
Chapter 17

Every few minutes, Sherry heard gunshots or screams. She couldn't tell where they came from, if they were near or far. She just closed her eyes and tried not to hear them, tried not to hear the sounds of people dying. But people were dying everywhere, and she could not stop hearing their final screams or their final shots.

She didn't know what happened to Mr. Tyson or the rest of the people from school. Even little Joshua, who had been so afraid, was gone now. Sherry had no idea where he was, or if he was even alive. Sherry was all by herself now.

They didn't made it all the way to the police station in Mr. Tyson's minivan. The roads were blocked with cars and dead people, so they ran on foot for the last few blocks. There were so many people, both alive and dead. Crazy people just roamed the streets, attacking anyone who got near them. Sherry never ran so fast in her entire life.

By the time they reached the police station, the young girl Natalie and one of the other students were gone. Sherry didn't know what happened to them, if they were attacked or if they fell down and couldn't catch up in time. Mr. Tyson looked back the way they came and just kept pushing forward, leaving them behind.

They didn't go in the front door, they found a side entrance and managed to push through the crowd of people in order to get inside. Sherry held onto Joshua's hand and pulled him through after her. Mr. Tyson called to them to follow him, but the crowd was so tight that Sherry soon lost sight of him in the mass of bodies. She tried to go forward, but she wasn't strong enough to push through the crowd of adults, who barely seemed to notice her.

Joshua cried hysterically, and Sherry and the other girl tried to calm him down. They waited in the cramped hallway for a while, and Sherry wasn't really sure what happened after that. There was screaming and suddenly the entire crowd surged forward. In the shifting crowd, Sherry lost Joshua's hand.

She didn't have any choice. If she tried to stay where she was, the crowd would just trample right over her. So she ran, pushed by the flowing mob. And then the people around her screamed and the crowd seemed to just evaporate. Sherry scrambled away as two people in the crowd went insane. She ran for it as gunshots echoed in the corridor and more screams followed. She felt like her ear drums were going to break, the screaming was so loud.

She didn't really remember how she got away from the crowd. She just ran through the scattering mob as people ran in every direction. She saw more insane people, their bloody mouths and glaring eyes burned into her mind. There were bodies everywhere, and blood on the walls. Sherry just ran. She didn't even know where to.

Now, she was sitting on the floor in a cramped, stuffy little storage room on the second floor, surrounded by cheap metal bookcases stuffed with folders and notes and other paperwork. A naked yellow bulb hung from the ceiling, and the room smelled like dust and mildew. Sherry sat in the corner, her arms wrapped around her legs, trying not to make any noise at all. She was hungry and needed very badly to go to the bathroom, but she was afraid to move. According to the clock on the wall, she had been hiding there for more than three hours.

She tried not to think about Joshua and the rest of them. She hoped that they were all okay, but deep down she knew they weren't. There were so many crazy people running around, she didn't know how anyone could have gotten away. The only reason she managed to escape was because she was small enough to avoid notice. There were so many adults around that all the crazy people noticed them first. Sherry slipped among them without drawing attention to herself. But if she stopped running, they probably would have attacked her too.

Sherry had to stay silent. If there were any crazy people out in the hallway, they would hear her and come after her, she was sure of it. The door was just a cheap metal door like a screen door, and it would not stop them if they wanted in.

But how long would she have to stay there? She couldn't wait there forever.

There had to be help on the way. The National Guard was probably in Raccoon City right now, killing off all the crazy people and coming for the survivors. They had to be. Sherry locked onto that thought and just waited for them to come into the police station and rescue her.

But she hoped they got there fast.

Chapter 18

The brick red Jeep Wrangler bumped over an uneven section of dirt road and the front driver's side wheel splashed into a large mud puddle. Inside, Leon Kennedy glanced down as the cup of coffee in his cup holder tipped sideways and spilled hot coffee down the side of the center console. The cup holder was too short, and his tall cups of coffee always tipped over. The side of the center console was permanently stained brown by now. Leon just frowned, shaking his head, and picked up the cup to take a drink.

He wore a pair of dark blue jeans and a snug, black long-sleeved shirt. His brown, fur-lined jacket lay draped over the passenger seat. On his feet were a pair of black hiking boots. A silver watch was on his wrist, his only decorative item he wore, and it currently read 2:13 in the afternoon.

Leon glanced in the rear view mirror. He sometimes got razzed by his friends for his hair style, but he never heard any complaints from the women he dated, and that was all that mattered. His reddish-brown hair was grown long, parted down the middle, and his bangs on one side hung down to eye level. He had maintained the same basic hairstyle since high school and did not see the need to change it now.

The Jeep hit another bump and the coffee cup tilted over again. If he stayed on paved roads like a normal person, he would not have that problem. But he preferred to take the long way around when driving through the Arklay Mountains. Instead of just jumping on the highway to get to Raccoon City, Leon liked to head up and around the rarely-used dirt roads crisscrossing the mountains. He knew all the back roads, even the ones not officially listed on any maps, because he grew up in the area and spent most of his teenage years exploring the woods with his father.

It was nice to get a chance to drive along the twisting, winding dirt roads of the Arklays once again. It was the perfect time of year for it too, and Leon took in the sights as he drive along the rutted, abandoned roads, his reliable Jeep bumping and rolling along.

Despite his excitement at being accepted for a position in the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. team, his enjoyment was spoiled by knowledge of how the opening came about. It was all over the news. More than half of the S.T.A.R.S. team tragically lost their lives during a mysterious mission a few days before, and even now they were still trying to piece together what happened. The local news told a scattered story, and Leon sincerely hoped that when he joined the force he might learn more details. If anything, it would at least ease his guilt at taking the place of someone who died in the line of duty.

Leon had graduated from the Police Academy just in time to send his application to join the S.T.A.R.S. team. Before that, the past eight years of his life were spent in one of the most prestigious military units in the United States. He joined the Army right after high school, and from there, joined the Rangers.

His time with the Rangers guaranteed that he would be more than prepared for anything he might encounter in a place like Raccoon City. The missions the S.T.A.R.S. units went on would pale in comparison to the kinds of missions he experienced while a member of the Rangers. Of course, Leon didn't know enough about the mission that killed so many members of the team to really judge.

He was currently on his way to find an apartment in Raccoon City, and would start work at the beginning of the next week. Once he got his apartment finalized, he would move in as soon as he could. It gave him a few days to get settled, at least.

The Jeep rolled down a slight incline and splashed through a huge puddle at the bottom, and then emerged from the trees at the back end of a large field. The road leading along the edge of the field was almost completely grown over, with only two narrow muddy ruts in between waist-high weeds marking it. Leon drove the Jeep along the edge of the field, putting down the sun visor to block the mid-afternoon sunshine.

The unused dirt road led past a few old homes nestled at the very edge of the city and then onto a regularly-maintained dirt road that circled past some large rural properties. Leon drove past casually and turned right when the dirt road ended on a paved road. As his tires rolled across the smooth, flat surface, Leon almost missed the bumpy ground.

There were no other cars on the street, but it didn't seem strange. He was still on the outskirts of the city, after all. Most people were probably still at work, and the kids were probably still in school. His Jeep was the only vehicle on the road as he drove into the city.

Leon turned on the radio absentmindedly and found nothing but static. He turned the dial all the way in each direction, but there was nothing on the airwaves at all. That was the first strange thing he noticed.

He slowed down at a stop sign and rolled through the intersection, continuing down the street. Nice houses lined each side of the street, with a few cars parked in the driveways, but nothing else was around. No other cars on the street, no one walking along the sidewalk.

Just as Leon noticed how quiet everything was, he spotted something in a yard up ahead. He took his foot off the accelerator and the Jeep slowed down and came to a halt right as he came up to the house. He quickly put it in park and jumped out, running over to the yard and then stopping in his tracks.

"Oh, my God," he whispered, turning around. He took a deep breath and faced forward again, taking a few steps, bile rising in his stomach.

The body of a young man lie in the middle of the yard, sprawled in a twisted position, bloody from head to toe. His shirt was ripped open, revealing brutal gashes across his neck and upper chest, and more savage wounds along his upper arms. At first glance, they almost looked like bite marks, but Leon barely had time for that first glance.

Leon knelt down near the body and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, staring in disbelief at the mangled corpse lying in the grass. Right in the middle of a nice neighborhood, right in the middle of the day.

He dialed 911 and got no response. Looking at his phone, he saw that he had no reception. That didn't make any sense.

Leon stood back up, his breath coming faster. What in the hell was going on here? He turned around and took one step toward his Jeep, when he saw someone standing across the street.

It was a middle-aged woman wearing a flimsy blue nightgown. Leon took a few hurried steps to the curb. "Hey, you gotta call ..."

He stopped when he saw the smear of blood running down the side of the woman's face, across her neck and down under her nightgown along her shoulder. The thin fabric was stuck to her shoulder, dark red underneath. The woman's eyes stared at him blankly, her mouth hanging open. She took a step forward and almost fell over the curb.

Leon held out his hand. "Lady, just stay where you are," he said. "Don't come any closer."

The woman didn't seem to understand him, but she increased her pace when she heard his voice. She garbled something and a thin line of blood dripped from the edge of her mouth. She managed a few more unsteady steps until she was only a few feet away. Almost by instinct, Leon swung his leg up and then slammed his foot right into the woman's chest in a forward axe kick. She sailed backwards and crashed into the curb, blood sputtering from her mouth.

Leon heard a noise behind him, and spun around to see three people emerge from the side yard of the nearest house. A man wearing a Nascar t-shirt, an elderly woman in a bloody pink blouse, and a teenage girl in pigtails and a t-shirt with a rock band logo. All of them stepped forward awkwardly, gazing at him with disturbing expressions. The man in the Nascar shirt was in front of the others, and he staggered unevenly off the sidewalk and lurched forward with a psychotic look in his eyes.

Leon spun around and crouched down, sweeping the man's legs right out from under him. He flopped to the pavement, his head cracking hard. But he only groaned angrily and reached for Leon's leg. Already, the other woman was groggily getting to her feet.

"I don't think so," Leon said to himself, and went to his Jeep. He looked across the street again and there were five more people walking toward him. Then ten, then fifteen. They seemed to just appear from nowhere, all of them taking jerky steps and staring with insane eyes. More of them were behind him now, they were coming from all directions.

Leon reached under the passenger seat and pulled out the pistol he kept there. It was a standard 9-millimeter Glock in a black leather holster. Leon slipped off the holster and turned around, only to find himself facing a crowd of thirty strangers, all of them walking unsteadily toward him.

A shirtless man in blue jeans, flaps of skin hanging from the jagged wound on his neck. Another young woman wearing a pink shirt, blood splashed across her entire face. A young kid wearing a blue t-shirt with bits of gore in his hair, baring his teeth. A soccer mom in a flowered shirt, one arm hanging useless at her side, coated with blood. The man in the Nascar shirt was already on his feet, groaning and reaching out.

Leon shook his head and backed away. He got into his Jeep, slammed it into gear and pressed his foot onto the gas pedal. The Jeep jerked forward, tires squealing on the pavement, and then it zoomed down the street, leaving the crowd in the dust. When he was at the next intersection, he slammed on the brakes and the Jeep skidded to a halt.

His breath was still coming fast, but his heartbeat was slowing down now. He was in control, he was okay. Leon looked in the rear view mirror and watched as the crowd of people followed after him.

"No," he said to himself. "No, this isn't right."

He looked back in front of the Jeep and there were more people coming out of nowhere, stumbling out of open front doors or appearing from side yards, all of them dazed and unsteady on their feet, some of them wounded, some not. People from all walks of life moved into the street, drawn to Leon as if following a beacon. There were a hundred people in the street, slowly surrounding his vehicle, before he even had a chance to count them all.

He turned the wheel and drove down a side street, leaving the crowd behind. He started driving slowly and then picked up speed as he began to see more and more destruction. Dead bodies in the street, along the sidewalks. He finally noticed the long columns of smoke coming from the city. He drove twenty blocks, seeing more crowds of people, abandoned cars, burning wreckage, and scattered corpses.

He slowed down to drive around a three-car accident in the middle of an intersection. A brown sedan had T-boned a red sports car, and a then pickup truck apparently crashed into both of them. The driver of the sports car was still in the vehicle, his mangled body hanging from the driver's side window.

"Stop!" came a scream from nearby. "Please! Stop! Help me!"

Leon hit the brakes and was stunned to see a woman running toward him, waving her arms. She was wearing a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a red tank top, and her feet were bare. "Oh God!" she cried, "Thank you!"

Leon stared at her in disbelief as she opened the door and climbed inside. Her long blonde hair was tangled and uncombed, and her pretty face was wet with tears. Specks of blood dotted her shirt and bare arms.

"Drive!" she shouted. "We have to get out of here!"

Leon grabbed her arm. "Tell me what's going on here," he demanded. "Just what the hell is happening to all these people?"

"We have to go!" she cried. "They're coming!"

As if she had called to them, more crazy people began coming into the street and reaching for Leon's Jeep. The woman cried hysterically and grabbed the steering wheel. "Drive! Just go!" she screamed. "We have to go now!"

Leon sped away from the intersection and the woman fell back into her seat, her whole body trembling, whether from fear or relief, Leon wasn't sure. He kept a constant speed and looked to the woman.

"What's happening?" he asked again. "I just got to town, okay? I don't know what's going on. What's wrong with them?"

"How should I know?" she said, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "I got up this morning, and they were just like that. They were all acting like zombies. I tried to go outside, but they ... they attacked my boyfriend ..."

She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. "Oh God, they killed him," she sobbed. "I saw them do it, they just attacked him and ..."

Leon shook his head. If this was some kind of strange disease, then how had this woman been spared? Nothing he saw so far made any sense. How in the world could something like this effect so many people all at the same time? Was it some kind of bioterrorist attack, some kind of drug that drove people insane? It didn't explain how this woman wasn't affected. And it didn't explain the man with his throat ripped out.

"No," the woman said suddenly, "No, you're going the wrong way."

"I have to find out what's going on," Leon said. "There has to be someplace safe, like the police station or the hospital or something. Did they announce anything on the radio about this?"

"No, the radio doesn't work. Neither does the television."

"Well, there has to be a safe place to go," Leon said. "They must have set up some kind of safe area. The police station is probably a good bet."

"No," the woman insisted, grabbing Leon's arm desperately. "Just get out of the city, there's nowhere that's safe. You don't understand. These zombies are everywhere. Please, just turn around and go the other way."

"I have to find out what's going on," Leon said, looking at her. "I'm not just running away. There has to be some kind of explanation for –"

"Look out!" she screamed.

Leon slammed on the brakes, but it was too late, and his Jeep smashed right into the man who jumped in front of them. He crumpled against the front and his body swung up over the hood and crashed right into the windshield. The Jeep skidded sideways and spun around, ending up facing the other direction. The man was thrown off the hood and he landed in someone's driveway, his body twisted almost in half. The windshield was cracked in a spiderweb pattern, and Leon smacked his hands against the steering wheel in anger.

"Damn it!"

"Oh no," the woman whimpered, pointing with a trembling finger.

There was a huge crowd of people coming for them, way more than Leon saw before. At least two hundred of them. Old men, young women, even a few children. They were like a hive mind, surging as one thinking unit right for the Jeep.

"They're coming," the woman sobbed, covering her eyes.

Leon drove the Jeep up onto the sidewalk and sped across several front lawns, bypassing the crowd completely. He bumped over the curb and continued on, the broken windshield partially blocking his view. The woman beside him continued to cry.

He drove for blocks, seeing nothing but more death and destruction. He turned the steering wheel and drove past another pile of smoking wreckage. A man staggered near the vehicle and reached out, his arm smacking off the side mirror. Leon ignored it and continued down the street. He knew where the Raccoon City police station was, but he wasn't sure how to get there, since so many streets were blocked with cars.

The woman in the seat next to him was still crying. "Listen," Leon said, trying to sound calm. "What's your name?"

"Laura," she said quietly.

"Okay, Laura," Leon said. "You have to help me out here. What happened this morning? Just tell me everything you can remember. There's got to be some kind of reason that everyone is going insane."

"I don't know," Laura said after a few moments. "I don't know what happened. My boyfriend and I work second shift. We only got out of bed a little while ago. He went outside to check on the mail, and I started to make breakfast."

She paused, and Leon gently urged her to continue.

"He went to get the mail," Laura repeated. "And I heard him say something. And then ... and then he shouted, like he was in pain. I ran outside and he was fighting with our neighbor, this old retired guy."

"Your neighbor was acting like one of these crazy people?"

"Yeah, he was totally out of control. He just bit Tommy on the arm, just like that, like he was an animal or something. And then there were a whole bunch of them around. We ran inside and tried to call the cops ... but the phones were all dead. And when we looked outside, there were like, dozens of people outside our place, and they were trying to get in. They started banging on the windows and ..."

Leon shook his head and tried to understand how something like this could have happened. Most of the people crowding the streets were dressed in regular clothing, not pajamas, so that meant that they went insane after they got dressed in the morning. It wasn't something that affected him in their sleep. They came into contact with something, or were infected with something, after they got up.

What if it was something in the air? Something that infected their body once they went outside? Of course, if that was the case, then Leon was already infected. Laura would have been infected as well, but perhaps it took a little while to show symptoms. She might start acting like the rest of them any moment now.

But that didn't explain how some of the people were able to walk around with such savage wounds. Leon saw numerous people with their faces and throats torn up and ripped apart, but they all still moved around as if nothing was wrong. And of course, nothing explained how all the radio stations were dead, and why Leon's phone got no reception. Something else was going on here.

"They ... they broke the door down," Laura said. "And we ran for it, but they grabbed Tommy and just pulled him down. They just attacked him, and they bit him. I heard him screaming, but I ... I just ran for it. I kept running until I saw your truck."

Leon looked at her, but there was nothing he could say. There was no way he could comfort her, so he wasn't even going to try.

He drove up over a slight hill and slowed down when he saw the scene in front of him. The entire street, four lanes wide, was completely jammed with traffic. Cars were sitting in the grass median, left abandoned. At least three cars were on fire, sending ragged trails of smoke up into the air. Looking across the sea of vehicles was like looking through fog, the air was so thick with smoke.

And among the traffic jam, there were more people meandering around, hundreds of them walking aimlessly in between the jumble of empty cars. Most of them were bloodied, their faces and necks and arms all smothered in blood and gore.

"Holy shit," Leon said.

"I told you," Laura said quietly. "You can't make it, you can't get anywhere. There aren't any safe places, the entire city is full of those people."

"You don't know that," Leon said. "There have to be other survivors. There has to be some kind of safe place."

"Even if there is, we'll never find it. Our only hope is to get out of the city. Just turn around and drive back the way we came."

Leon glanced in the rear view mirror to see a handful of people coming toward them. He put the Jeep in reverse and backed up, slamming right into them. Laura barely seemed to notice as the Jeep lurched up as the tires ran over one of the people. Leon kept going in reverse until they were clear, and then he turned down a side street, trying to find some other route downtown to the police station.

"You're just wasting your time," Laura muttered.

Chapter 19

Traffic was backed up for at least five miles, sitting motionless on the winding mountain highway heading into Raccoon City. Occasionally, cars drove past in the other direction, all of them vehicles that turned around rather than wait in complete gridlock. No traffic came from Raccoon City, and no traffic was able to get in. The two-lane highway was a standstill.

Claire Redfield shook her head and pulled her motorcycle out of the line of parked cars and drove slowly along the side of the road up to the front of the line. She was sick of waiting, and wanted to see just what in the world was the hold up. She'd been waiting for almost two hours now, and barely moved ten feet in that whole time. She wasn't going to wait all day.

Frequently, guys who were trying to sound clever asked her why she was riding her boyfriend's motorcycle. But the Harley Davidson Fatboy she rode was all hers, and it was the only vehicle she owned. When Claire turned sixteen, she opted for a motorcycle instead of a car, much against the wishes of her parents, and she had been riding bikes ever since. Sometimes her brother Chris teased her about it, but deep down, she felt that Chris was just jealous.

Chris was the reason she was trying to get to Raccoon City in the first place. The cryptic message he left for their parents worried the whole family, and Claire took it upon herself to go and talk to Chris personally. They knew about the failed police mission, since it was all over the news, but Chris didn't give them any details. He said that something bad happened and he would be gone for awhile, but Claire had spent most of her life looking out for her older brother, and she could tell that he needed her help.

She was dressed in dark blue jeans, brown boots, and a pink denim vest over a plain black t-shirt. The weather was chilly enough that she wore a black leather jacket while riding, but it was currently folded up and stuffed in one of the Harley's travel bags. Of course, she also wore a black motorcycle helmet, and black motorcycle gloves were on her hands. The back of her pink vest was decorated with a painting of a woman with angel's wings, leaning over a large bomb, with the words "Made in Heaven" written in fancy yellow script.

Her motorcycle rolled slowly along the side of the road, and she let her feet drag on the gravel. Some of the people in cars gave her dirty looks, but she ignored them.

She rounded a long curve in the highway and saw a roadblock up ahead. There was actually a line of concrete road dividers stretched across both lanes, and flashing red lights and signs warning that the road was closed. Claire somehow expected a tractor trailer jack-knife or some other major accident. But she didn't see any police cars or ambulances, just the blockade. As she rolled closer, a few more cars turned around and drove the other way.

Half a dozen men in white and orange emergency hazmat uniforms could be seen far beyond the roadblock, next to some parked trucks, but none of them seemed to be doing anything except standing around. But they were not the only people on the scene. Standing near the roadblock, facing the traffic, were a pair of armed soldiers.

Claire rolled forward until one of the soldiers caught sight of her and then squeezed the brake. The Harley slowed to a stop and she planted her feet. As the man came up to her, she lifted the helmet off her head and set it in her lap. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tied into a messy ponytail.

"Sorry, honey, the road's blocked," the soldier said, his assault rifle dangling off his shoulder. He wore a green and brown camouflage uniform, but it was unlike any U.S. military uniform Claire had ever seen. There was no rank insignia on his shoulder and his gun was not standard issue.

"I'm not your honey," Claire said evenly. "Why is it blocked?"

"There's been an accident. A truck hauling hazardous waste crashed about a mile down, so they stopped all traffic."

"For how long?"

"Indefinitely. It might take days to clean up the spill."

"No one can get through?"

The soldier nodded bluntly. "Nope, the road is closed." A whisper of a smile came to his lips, and he added, "Sorry, honey."

Claire looked at him and said nothing. She casually backed up the motorcycle and turned it around. She heard the soldier chuckle behind her as she began to drive away.

Claire learned long ago that a man will underestimate a pretty woman in almost any situation. The bigger the man's ego and the prettier the woman, the more he will underestimate her. Claire was hardly the prettiest girl on the block, but the soldier apparently felt that her intelligence was worth insulting just the same. He probably thought that it was cute that she drove a motorcycle, as if she did so in order to be taken seriously.

If he hadn't been holding a gun, Claire would have knocked him on his ass. He wouldn't be the first guy to make some snide, sexist comment and wind up with a black eye for his trouble.

Claire slowed the bike and took account of her surroundings. She'd visited Raccoon City enough times to know the general layout of the city. She'd even gone riding in the mountains once or twice when she came to visit her brother. She tried to think about how the highway came into the city. If she remembered correctly, it came down along the western side and swung up to bring commuters into the southwestern corner of the city. She tried to envision where she was in relation to the city, and what direction she needed to travel in.

She looked into the trees off to her right. The highway twisted through the Arklay Forest, and there was nothing but trees on each side of the road. If her guess was right, she could reach the city by going straight in that direction.

She looked behind her and saw the soldier talking to one of his partners. They were probably talking about her. Her guess was proven correct when they both chuckled about something and then looked right at her. Claire smiled and put her helmet back on, although she left the visor up.

She hit the gas and drove right off the highway. Her bike bumped down and up over the gully, kicking up dirt and leaves as it drove up through the grass into the trees. She slowed down enough to glance back over her shoulder, and was not surprised to see soldiers pointing at her and shouting.

She could not drive very fast, but she could move fast enough to keep ahead of them. Motorcycles, even Harleys, were not meant to drive on an uneven forest floor covered in branches and roots and full of hidden holes and gullies. Claire laughed as her bike bumped and bounced across the ground, gunning the engine to speed across open sections, trying to keep as far as she could from the trees, since their gnarled roots would cause a problem.

She eased up on the gas and held herself firm as the motorcycle rolled down a hill, sliding down the wet leaves and grass. It crunched into a rocky section of ground and then splashed through little streams here and there. Claire hoped that her suspension didn't get damaged.

She kept in a general straight line for about fifteen minutes, although she had to circle around dips and small ravines and downed trees. But she managed to stay on the bike the entire time, avoiding anything that might get her stuck or knock her off.

She drove up a hill and slowed to a stop when she saw the city greeting her through the trees a little ways ahead. When she got close enough to get a clear view, she stopped and slowly removed her helmet.

There was smoke in the air, she could smell it. There was something else in the air too, something she couldn't quite place. She overlooked a residential area, and could see down to rows of houses lined up along quaint little streets. But something was wrong, something didn't look right.

She squinted at what appeared to be a crowd of people milling about in the middle of the street. They were too far away to see clearly, but Claire got chills watching them. They were just standing around for no particular reason. She spied along the yards and houses, but saw nothing out of place. But it just looked strange, she couldn't explain why.

Very carefully, she drove her motorcycle along the edge of the ridge until she found a spot with a flat enough area for her to drive down into the city. Her bike slid down a slight hill and bumped up onto the street. Claire let it roll to a stop and looked around.

The house right in front of her had its front door wide open. Both cars were in the driveway. Claire looked at them for a moment and then shrugged. She flipped her visor down and hit the gas. Her bike roared to life and zoomed down the street.

She turned at the next intersection and headed for the city. She kept her head down and eyes forward, and when she approached a stop sign, she slowed down enough to glance to see if any cars were coming, and then she drove through without coming to a stop. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed someone walking down the sidewalk in her direction, but she didn't look too closely. She had wasted two hours sitting in traffic, and now she was anxious to get to Chris's apartment as soon as possible.

She went about six blocks and left the residential area for a four-lane street packed with gas stations, supermarkets, fast food restaurants, and strip malls. It was also packed with cars.

Claire stopped the bike and pulled off her helmet, staring in disbelief at the wreckage strewn across the entire avenue. Smashed-up cars, burning wreckage, shattered storefront windows. The entire street was a scene of mayhem and destruction.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

There was a dead body lying in the street, curled up against one of the wrecked cars. Before she could even get off the bike, she suddenly spotted another body slumped against one of the gas station pumps, blood pooled around its motionless body. And another dead body lying on the sidewalk. Claire could see them everywhere she looked.

She realized what the smell was. It was the smell of death.

Sensing movement off to her left, she turned her head and saw someone coming towards her from a fast food parking lot. It was a man wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, but the collar was ripped open to reveal a bloody gash across his neck. His skin was so pale it was almost white, and his eyes were wide open and staring at her. He reached out with a hand covered in gore.

There were more behind him. An entire crowd of people spilled out from behind the restaurant, all of them looking half-dead. Claire's helmet slipped from her hand and clattered to the pavement.

She hit the gas and sped away, weaving in between wrecked cars in the street. She didn't know where she was, so she picked a direction and drove up onto the sidewalk to avoid the gridlock of abandoned cars. Bodies were everywhere, just sprawled in the street or crumpled up lying in the grass. All of them were mutilated, chewed on or mauled up, their faces and throats covered in blood. A few of them started moving when she drove by, as if reanimated by the sound of her motorcycle. Bloody figures emerged from the traffic jam, lurching in her direction as she sped by.

She saw more people walking around, all of them stumbling like drunks, their faces pale and eyes unblinking. They moaned or grumbled when they noticed her, and immediately began to stumble in her direction. Claire rode right past them, barely able to concentrate on what she was seeing.

The blockade. There was no hazardous truck accident at all. The roadblock was there solely to keep people out of the city, but it also kept people in. And the soldiers guarding it weren't regular soldiers like the National Guard, they were an independent military force. Some kind of mercenary outfit. Hired to block access to the city and keep whatever was going on here contained.

Some kind of disease? Claire could not even imagine what kind of disease could do this to people. Some kind of drug, maybe? Something sprayed over the residents to drive them insane and ... and what? The people she saw had mortal injuries and they were still on their feet, still walking around, still alive. But you couldn't live with your throat completely torn out or your face half ripped off. These people shouldn't be alive, they couldn't be alive.

But then what? What was the alternative?

"Chris," Claire whispered. "Where are you?"

She kept going down the street, passing more wrecked cars, blocked intersections, and destroyed storefronts. And everywhere she went, there were more people milling around. In one crowd she saw a man wearing a green and brown camouflage uniform.

She wasn't going very fast because there was too much in her way. When she found an open stretch of street she sped up, but most of the time she was barely able to keep her speed above fifteen miles an hour. Instead of watching in front of her, she kept looking to the side at all the destruction and at the crowds of people, unable to look away from the devastation that surrounded her.

She didn't see the open manhole until the last second. Her front wheel fell right inside and the bike smashed into the opening, throwing Claire over the handlebars and down to the street. The bike flipped upside down, the front wheel a mangled wreck, and smashed down onto its side.

She'd only been going about twelve miles an hour, so her fall to the street wasn't much worse than if she'd fallen while running as fast as she could. But the abruptness of it made her feel as if she'd crashed while going over a hundred. She landed flat on her back, knocking the wind out of her, and her body tumbled across the pavement, her arms up to protect her head. After it was over, she groaned in pain, trying to get onto her hands and knees. She winced in pain as she got onto her knees, her head spinning. Luckily, her pants and jacket took most of the contact with the road, leaving her arms free of scrapes and abrasions. She didn't even think she was bleeding anywhere.

Unsuccessfully, she tried to regain her balance. After a few tries, she managed to get onto her feet, but she could not stay upright. Her legs wobbled and she fell back down. Blinking away the blurriness in her vision, she looked up to see people coming toward her.

"No, no, no, no," she whispered frantically, struggling to get to her feet.

The bike was totaled, she knew it immediately. Riding away from here was out of the question. She gritted her teeth and got up, pushing herself upright. Her head pounded and her legs felt like wet noodles, but she staggered away from the encroaching crowd and limped down the street.

Even limping, she could move faster than they could, but there were so many of them that there was nowhere to go. She hurried down the street, past a few two-story buildings with convenience stores and appliance rental stores on the main floor and apartments above. There was a dance studio and a realtor's office and a payday loan store. Claire limped down the street as more people emerged from alleys and from behind wrecked cars.

She turned down another street and saw an entire city bus on its side, fire flickering from the shattered windows. Two smashed cars were up against the bus, and several dead bodies were lying around. Claire looked down and saw that one of the corpses had a bullet hole in its head.

She slowed down and limped up to the sidewalk to get around the bus, when a woman wearing a police uniform suddenly lunged out from an open doorway. Claire screamed and swung her arm up to knock the woman away, and they both fell to the ground. The woman groaned and her fingers scraped against Claire's boots. She crawled away and tried to get to her feet, screaming for help, but the woman grabbed her leg and pulled her back. Claire kicked out and struck her in the face.

Rolling onto her back, Claire tried to scramble away, but she smacked the back of her head against a fire hydrant. As she lay there stunned, the woman got to her feet and took a step forward, reaching out for her. Claire looked up into the dead woman's bloodshot eyes and felt as if her life was about to flash in front of her eyes.

A loud gunshot rang out, and Claire flinched as the woman's head jerked back and she flopped over. Claire felt a strong arm pulling her to her feet.

"Come on, let's go," a rough male voice said urgently.

Claire let herself be pulled forward and shoved through a doorway into one of the stores nearby. She looked around and saw an entire wall full of guns. She felt dizzy and sick and wanted nothing more than to just lie down.

"Hey," the man said, suddenly suspicious. He grabbed her arm. "You ain't been bit by any of them, have you?"

Claire shook her head. "No," she said wearily. "I crashed my motorcycle. I'm still kind of dizzy."

"Oh, alright then." The man was shorter than Claire, with a pudgy build and a scruffy brown beard tinged with gray. "That makes sense. I didn't think there was anyone left running around outside. I heard you scream and came out to check."

Claire shook her head and felt as if the weight of everything she had seen was about to knock her down, and her repressed emotions about to come spilling out like a torrent. But instead, she just asked desperately, "What happened to this city?"

The man put his hand on her shoulder supportively and leaned forward as if to give her a secret. His voice was low and threatening. "I'll tell you what happened. It's the end of the goddamn world, that's what."

Chapter 20

Jill looked at the clock on the wall. It was past two o'clock in the afternoon. She'd been holed up at the warehouse for four hours now. Once they checked out the entire building to make sure there was no easy way for the zombies to get inside, there wasn't much for anyone to do except sit around and wait. They propped up some of the wooden pallets in front of vulnerable windows, made sure all the doors were locked, and raided the vending machines for anything to eat or drink. Her pistol lying beside her, Jill perched up on top of a pile of pallets and looked disinterestedly at the mismatched group of survivors she found herself grouped together with.

The only one she felt had a chance was the man named Eddie Thorne. The rest of them would, at best, merely slow her down if they needed to run for it again. Eddie spent some time talking to her when they first found safety in the building, but he had since wandered over to one of the windows to keep watch. He seemed like he could keep his cool in a dangerous situation, and that meant a lot at times like this.

Jill wondered how the rest of them managed to survive this long. The young woman named Kayla was an emotional wreck who barely spoke, the overweight man named George was clumsy and slow, the redheaded man named Dario was totally antisocial and was apparently scared to hold a gun, and the black woman named Miranda seemed frantic and easily panicked. The last member of their group, a young man named Kyle, seemed like he would get killed trying to take on the zombies all by himself. He was angry and kept fidgeting with his shotgun, as if he wanted to just start shooting at will. Thankfully, Eddie spoke to him and warned him not to waste ammo.

Jill didn't know how long they could stay at the warehouse. Once the candy bars, tiny bags of potato chips, and soda cans from the vending machines were gone, they would have nothing to eat or drink. The sink in the bathroom still worked, but none of them were willing to drink the water.

Eventually, the zombies would find their way inside, Jill was pretty certain of that. She didn't say so, however, because she didn't want to panic the rest of them. For now, let them catch their breath and calm down a bit so they could think straight, and then maybe they could work on a plan to get out of here. Of course, that was easier said than done.

First, they required a vehicle. And not a car that would get stuck in all the blocked traffic, they needed something that could smash right through the gridlock. A semi truck, perhaps. Or even better, a bulldozer. Something they could just drive right out of the city with, running over anything in their way. But something like that would be hard to find, especially here in the middle of the city.

And every second they waited, more zombies showed up. She glanced out the window a little while ago and there must have been a thousand of them outside, just wandering around the parking lot. Jill didn't understand it, but the zombies seemed to flock together naturally. As more zombies would come down the street they would join the crowd and just remain there. The crowd didn't disperse, even though many of the zombies there hadn't even seen Jill and the others go into the warehouse. Jill expected that some of them would wander off randomly, but none of them did.

"Hey!" Eddie shouted. "Hey! There's some people out there!"

Jill sat up quickly and grabbed her pistol. She hopped down off the pallets as the others ran to the window where Eddie was pointing. He suddenly ran from the window and toward the back side of the warehouse. "They're going over here!"

Jill, Eddie, and Kyle made it to the door on the far end of the warehouse first, and Eddie braced himself against the door. Jill stood behind him, gun ready, and Kyle stood directly in front of the door, his shotgun against his shoulder.

Eddie shoved the door open and Kyle immediately blasted the zombie standing a few feet from the doorway. It flew off its feet and flopped to the ground, a smoking crater in the center of its chest. There were a few other zombies along the back side of the warehouse, which faced the back of a strip mall with an alley in between them.

Eddie waved his arm at the two men who were running along the edge of the strip mall, ducking behind a pair of dumpsters. At the shotgun blast, they looked toward the warehouse in shock. "Come on!" Eddie shouted. "Hurry up!"

Jill pushed Kyle out of the away and edged into the doorway, putting two more zombies down with careful shots. The two men ran hurriedly to the door, past a couple stray zombies who reached for them as they ran past. They both jumped through the doorway and Eddie quickly closed it after them.

"Thanks man, thank you so much," the first man babbled, slapping Eddie on the shoulder. He was a thin man with graying hair, wearing brown slacks and a blue button-down shirt, now stained with sweat and splashes of blood. "I can't believe there's other people still alive. Thank God you saw us."

"It's okay," Eddie said. "We're safe in here, at least for now."

Jill walked over to Kyle, sliding her pistol into her back pocket. "Listen," she said, "If you're going to shoot one of those things, aim for their head next time. Shooting them in the chest isn't going to kill them."

"Yeah, I know," Kyle said nervously. He flipped the safety on. "I just got surprised. I didn't think to aim."

"Well, think next time. We don't have many shells left."

"I'm sorry, I'll shoot them in the head next time. I promise."

Miranda and George came over and met the two new members of their little group. Jill spied Dario standing among the aisles of shelves at the side of the warehouse, but he didn't come over. She had no idea where Kayla was.

"Thank God you saw us. I didn't know if we were going to make it," the gray-haired man said rapidly, holding onto Eddie's arm. He was a nervous wreck, so happy that he was still alive that he couldn't calm down.

The other man kept quiet, leaned over with his hands on his knees, just catching his breath. He wore a pair of dirty jeans and a black t-shirt, his long greasy brown hair hanging down over his face.

"Listen, my name is Harold," the gray-haired man said.

Eddie carefully pried the man's hand off his arm. "My name's Eddie. This here is Jill, Kyle, George, and Miranda," he said, pointing at all of them in turn. He glanced at the other man, who was running his hand through his greasy hair. "And what's your name?"

Suddenly, Miranda's eyes went wide and she pointed at him, shrieking, "He's bit! He got bit by one of them!" she screamed, backing away.

The man's head shot up, a look of panic in his eyes. He lifted his hands defensively. "Hey, it ain't nothing. It's just a little bite, it ain't nothing serious."

George lifted his shotgun, glancing nervously at Eddie and then at the man. "If you got bit you got to get out of here," he said.

Harold jumped in between them. "We're safe here! You can't make him leave just because he's been hurt!"

"Let me see," Eddie said, pushing Harold out of the way.

The man lifted his arm and there was a clear bite mark just below his elbow. It was a minor wound, but it was bleeding just the same. There was already a crusty smudge of blood across the bottom of his forearm.

"See?" the man said, trying to shrug it off. "It ain't serious, it don't even hurt. I'll get a band-aid on it, and it'll be fine."

"No," Eddie said. "You're infected now."

"You're gonna turn into one of them!" Miranda shrieked. And then she turned and ran off, as if just standing near the man exposed her to infection as well.

George kept his shotgun up and jutted it at the man. "You gotta get out of here! You're not staying here if you're gonna turn into a zombie."

Kyle lifted his shotgun as well, but Jill grabbed the barrel and pushed it back down. She glared at him and he backed away, keeping the gun pointed at the floor.

"I ain't gonna turn into nothing!" the man shouted. "It's just a little bite!"

"You're infected," Eddie said, his voice calm. "I'm sorry, man."

"Only the dead ones come back!" Harold cried. "He's not going to die from that little bite!"

"Yes, he is," Jill snapped, and her voice shot through them like a bolt of ice.

She walked up to the man and grabbed his wrist. She lifted his arm and looked at the bite mark. It was just a small one, as if the zombie barely closed his mouth before the man pulled away. Given what the zombies were capable of, he was lucky to still have his arm. But he did not pull away fast enough.

She stared hard into the man's eyes. "How long ago did you get bitten?"

"I don't know, maybe half an hour ago."

"Well, in a couple of hours, you're going to get sick, and you're going to die. And then you're going to come back as one of those zombies. You have two hours, probably less than that."

"Yeah," George said, the barrel of the shotgun shaking slightly. "So you have to get out of here, right now."

"Put the gun down, George," Jill said, not looking at him.

"He's dangerous!" George blurted. "I'm not gonna let him–"

"I said put it down!" Jill shouted.

George jumped backwards, and the shotgun slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. Harold stared at Jill and then picked the shotgun up, cradling it in his arms. George stepped away from her, his fear evident in his eyes.

Jill looked back at the bitten man. He hadn't even given them his name yet. "You want to stay here?" she asked, trying to keep her voice down. "That's fine. You can stay. But you're going to stay in a room by yourself. I don't want the others to see you when you start to get sick. And when you turn, we're going to kill you. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."

"You ... you don't know that," Harold said.

"Yes, I do," Jill said. "And you know it as well."

The man stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth trembling. He gradually looked down at the bite mark on his arm, his breath coming fast. He looked up despairingly at Harold, who could only shrug his shoulders and return his pleading look.

"Where can he stay?" Eddie asked after a few moments.

"The front office," Jill said. "He can stay in one of the office rooms."

"All right."

Eddie took hold of the man's arm and gently led him away. Jill and Kyle followed, with Harold coming behind them. George stayed where he was, watching them go. He fumbled with his hands, as if unsure what to do with them now that they didn't hold the shotgun.

It occurred to Jill that somehow, in the past two minutes, she became the leader of this group of survivors. Until then, Eddie acted like the one in charge, but he didn't like making decisions. He had just been waiting for Jill to take authority. It was inevitable anyway, since Jill was going to have to lead them out of the warehouse shortly, since she knew that no one else could do it.

They entered the office area to the warehouse, letting the door swing shut behind them. There were half a dozen cramped little cubicles with outdated computers, with a large printer and copy machine in the corner. Three small private office rooms with nametags on the doors were to the left, and to the right there was a bathroom and a supply closet. A door in front of them led to the tiny lobby and secretary's desk. They knew the office was free of zombies because Eddie and George checked it out earlier.

"Come on," Eddie said, leading the man to one of the offices. "You can stay in here."

"I'm not gonna turn into a zombie," the man said, but there was little confidence in his voice. "I'll be fine. You guys are just ... you're just overreacting."

"Then you can wait in here for a couple of hours," Eddie said. "If you're still okay after that, then you can come out and join the rest of us."

The man said nothing as he walked into the small office. He turned around and looked pathetically at them as Eddie closed the door.

"I wish we could lock it," Jill said quietly.

Eddie nodded. "Yeah, but I don't think he'll try anything."

"You're both being unfair about this," Harold said, shaking his head nervously. "That bite doesn't mean anything."

"It's a disease," Jill said simply. "And if you get infected, it kills you. That's what that bite means. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to risk the other people here. He's infected now, so he stays in that office."

"He'll be fine," Harold muttered, walking away.

Jill looked at Eddie, but he just shook his head. It wasn't worth arguing about now. Harold would figure it out on his own.

Kyle wandered over to the door leading to the lobby and paused, listening. He lifted his gun and reached for the door handle.

"Kyle, don't–" Eddie started to say

Kyle opened the door curiously and suddenly backpedaled, swearing loudly and raising the shotgun. Eddie shouted for him to stop.

On the other side of the door was a small waiting room and a secretary's desk, and a glass door and two full-size windows looking outside. And standing in the middle of the little lobby was a female zombie wearing a bloodstained sun dress. Most of the flesh on her face was stripped away, including her eyes, and she stood wavering in the waiting area, tilting her head as if listening to something.

"Kyle! No!"

Kyle pulled the trigger and the shotgun boomed loudly in the enclosed office, a flash of light erupting from the barrel. The female zombie jerked backwards as the spray of buckshot tore half of her head off. Behind her, one of the glass windows shattered. The zombie tumbled over and crashed through the bottom half of the window, the jagged glass slicing through her torso as she broke through. Immediately, the other zombies outside started walking toward the now-shattered window.

Eddie slammed the door and yanked the shotgun away from Kyle, who stood there petrified, pointing feebly toward the door.

"But ... there was a zombie ..."

"It was blind!" Eddie shouted. "It couldn't see you or hear you!"

"Why didn't you shoot it before?" Jill asked, listening beyond the door.

"I was afraid of hitting the windows behind it," Eddie explained. "And I didn't want the zombies outside to hear the shot. I didn't tell anybody it was there cause I didn't want to freak them out."

Jill understood, although she didn't think Eddie would believe her if she said so. Shooting the zombie with the shotgun would have resulted in the same thing. Some of the buckshot would have inevitably missed and broken the window. Even with a pistol, Jill understood how Eddie might have worried about the bullet could have passed through the zombie's head and hit the window, or even missed completely if Eddie hadn't aimed carefully enough. And if the zombie was blind and deaf, then maybe it posed no threat.

"You should have told me," Jill said, looking at him.

"Yeah, I guess it slipped my mind," Eddie muttered.

Jill backed away from the door when she heard noise on the other side. Something bumped into the door, and she heard a muffled groan.

"They're here," she said, backing away from the door.

Suddenly, the door shook as something on the other side pounded on it. Kyle backed away to the middle of the office, while Eddie stood his ground, shotgun raised.

"Kyle, go find Henry and tell him to get back here with the shotgun," Jill said. "Get George too if you see him."

"We've got to block that door," Eddie said.

The door to the private office opened up and the bitten man looked out at them, his face covered in sweat. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"Come on," Jill said to Eddie. "Let's get the desk out of there and block the door."

The bitten man stood aside uselessly as Jill and Eddie ran into the office and carried the large wooden desk out into the office. Kyle returned with George, and they helped shove the desk in front of the door. When the desk thumped against the door frame, the pounding from the other side increased in intensity.

"I don't know where that other guy went," Kyle said.

"He has the other shotgun, so go and find him," Jill snapped.

With George's help, they took the desks from the other two office rooms and stacked them up in front of the door. The door shook with the force of the pounding on the other side, and part of the frame around the hinges splintered.

Eddie stood back and shook his head. "That ain't gonna hold," he said, wiping his brow.

"There's got to be tools around here," Jill said. "They've got all those crates out there. There must be a hammer and nails around somewhere."

"I'll go look," George said, and hurried out of the office.

For a few moments, Jill and Eddie stood together, watching as the door banged over and over again. The desk on top shook a bit each time with the pounding, and in a few minutes would probably fall right off the stack.

"Looks like we're shit out of luck," Eddie said quietly.
Chapter 21

Leon turned down another street and drove through a small industrial neighborhood with machine shops and factories, hoping there might be less traffic and less people. Laura remained angrily silent, not anything for quite awhile.

Again, his mind wandered to the possible cause for the wave of insanity. If it really was something in the air, then both he and Laura were infected. And if they were, then Leon could not risk spreading the infection out of Raccoon City. Until he was absolutely certain that he was not carrying the disease, he was not going anywhere.

He slowed down at the next intersection, looking down the avenue to see if the other street was clear yet. And then he slammed on the brakes when he heard a very familiar sound coming from somewhere nearby.

"Did you hear that?"

Laura shook her head, looking away from him. Her arms were crossed fiercely over her chest. "No," she said.

"It was gun shots," Leon said. "I'm sure of it."

"Whatever."

Leon drove the Jeep down the street, trying to guess which direction the sound of gunfire came from. All around were small machine shops and other industrial businesses. He glanced at a crowd of people surging down another street, and hit the brakes again, the Jeep skidding to a halt. Immediately, he heard more shooting this time, coming from near the crowd. He opened his door and started to get out.

"No!" Laura screamed, grabbing his arm. "No! You aren't leaving me here!"

"Don't you hear that shooting?" Leon snapped. "That's an M4 carbine. I'd recognize that sound anywhere."

"Who cares? They'll kill you if you go out there!"

"Someone is fighting them off! I'm not just going to drive away if there are other survivors out here!"

"You're out of your mind!"

"Just stay here!" Leon shouted back. "If some of them come after you, just drive around the block or something."

And with that, he shook off her arm and jumped out of the Jeep. He pulled out his pistol, tucking the holster and spare clip into his back pocket. He jogged down the street, out in the open, getting closer to the back of the crowd.

He heard the Jeep's engine roar to life behind him, and turned around to see Laura in the driver's seat, driving in a fast circle and speeding away in the other direction. Leon started to run after her but gave up after only a few steps. He lowered his gun as the Jeep disappeared around a corner.

"Shit," he said, and cursed himself for being so stupid.

Back at the building, none of the insane people seemed to have noticed that anything had happened. They all seemed totally intent on the building in front of them, a square white structure with a small, empty parking lot. A faded sign on the front of the building said "McHenry Tool and Die."

Leon stood on the sidewalk for a few moments and then resigned himself to investigating the building. He had little choice now. He ran forward and then ducked along the edge of the parking lot, which was surrounded in a rusted chain link fence. Overgrown brush and piled garbage were on the other side of the fence, and Leon snuck past it to get around to the other side of the parking lot.

The crazy people centered around one of the side entrances, forcing their way forward and groaning as they pushed on the door. Leon guessed there must have been seventy or eighty of them at least, most of them men dressed in dirty work clothes. They must have all worked at one of the companies in this area, and gone insane after they arrived at work.

Leon jumped the fence and ran around to the back of the building, where there was another door. There were a few old wooden benches and a picnic table with a couple of ashtrays on it, full of crumpled cigarettes. Leon braced himself and grabbed the door handle, and then eased it open.

It was dark inside, the doorway edged on both sides by tall metal shelves full of plastic cases of bolts, screws, and other metal fasteners. To the left of the doorway were a pair of cheap plastic tables with a couple of old chairs. Bits of metal and other equipment lay on the tables, surrounded by dirty rags.

"They're going to break the door down!" someone shouted.

"Try to block it with something!"

"Oh God," someone else groaned.

Leon crept forward out into the main shop floor. The building was full of drill presses, huge industrial lathes, and other machining equipment. The floor was covered in metal shavings and grease.

"He's been bit! You know what that means!"

"What do you want me to do? Just leave him out there so they can eat him alive?"

"He can't stay here! I'll put a bullet in him myself!"

"Can someone help me with this door, for God's sake?"

Leon saw three men wearing brown and green camouflage military uniforms, but it wasn't any uniform that Leon recognized. There was a fourth man on the floor, cradling a wounded arm and moaning in pain. Two of the men were busy trying to push a large table in front of the door, and the third man was standing near the wounded one, an M4 carbine in his hands.

Leon had the sneaking suspicion that if he tried to get their attention, they would panic and shoot him on sight. So instead, he stayed hidden behind one of the lathes, and said out loud, "Hey, do you need any help?"

"Jesus Christ!" one of the men shouted. "Who said that?"

"I did," Leon answered. "Don't shoot me, alright? I'm not insane like those people outside. I heard you shooting and came to help."

"Fine, come out in the open."

Leon stood up and walked casually toward them, his gun still in his hand. The man with the M4 carbine looked down at Leon's pistol and said, "You're armed. That's good."

"How did you get in here?" one of the men by the door snapped. He looked frantic, with a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Back door. It wasn't locked."

The one with the carbine said, "Go check on it, Paulo."

They all wore similar uniforms, lacking any rank insignia, with a red and white octagon emblem on their shoulder, which Leon recognized as the logo for the Umbrella Corporation. They were clearly not U.S. soldiers, so they must have been some kind of private security force, but their presence in the city made no sense at all. The only possibility was that they were in the city to deal with this epidemic of insanity, but how could they possibly been mobilized so fast?

"I'm Victor Belinski, and I'm the Captain of this squad," the man with the carbine said. An unruly mop of black hair sat atop his head, and his chin was rough and unshaven. "So who are you?"

"Leon Kennedy."

"And how did you manage to stay alive so long, Mr. Kennedy?"

"I just arrived in the city less than an hour ago," Leon said. "I have no idea what's going on, and I was hoping that you could tell me."

The people outside were still banging heavily on the door. The table the soldiers pushed in front of it rattled each time the door shook. Leon glanced at the top of the metal frame on the doorway and saw that it was breaking loose. The door shook violently as the mob outside slammed against it.

"How did you get into the city?" Victor asked. "All the roads are blocked."

"I drove through the mountains, on an old dirt road."

"What happened to your vehicle, then?"

Leon sighed. "Let's just say I'm on foot now."

"Sure," Victor muttered. "Paulo," he said over Leon's shoulder, "You secure that door?"

"Yeah, boss," the soldier answered. He was a young man in his early twenties, with dark skin and a Spanish accent. He carried a Desert Eagle in his hand, and looked suspiciously at Leon.

"Can you tell me what's going on here?" Leon asked directly. "What's causing those people to go insane?"

"They ain't insane," the third soldier said, glancing out one of the dirty windows. "They're dead. They're all dead, man."

"Shut up, Erik," Victor said.

Suddenly, the man named Paulo pointed toward the front of the shop and shouted, "Boss! Look!"

There was a crash, and suddenly one of the front windows shattered as a body fell through it, flopping down across the windowsill as a gush of thick blood poured down the wall. All of a sudden there were tons more people right in front of the windows, banging on them relentlessly. Another window smashed open and one of the people crawled through the opening, the jagged shards of glass tearing open his arms and chest.

"Go!" Victor shouted, raising his gun. Paulo and Erik rushed forward, guns drawn, and opened fire, blasting bullets across the front of the shop, striking the people trying to crawl in through the broken windows. They fell limply through the windows and onto the floor. A few of them managed to get to their feet before being shot down.

Just then, the door finally broke open, and the people outside shoved forward, pushing the table aside as they flooded into the building. Victor turned to the side and opened fire with his M4 carbine, riddling the first few people through the door with bullets. They shuddered with the bullet impacts and staggered back, slumping to the floor as more people trampled right over them.

Leon raised his gun in shock and pulled the trigger, shooting a middle-aged woman in the center of the chest. She barely noticed, coming right forward with a glazed expression in her eyes.

"The head!" Victor cried, fumbling with a new clip. "Shoot them in the head!"

Leon raised his aim and fired again, striking the woman in forehead. She tipped over and was knocked aside by half a dozen more people surging through the doorway. Leon fired again and again, backing away as his shots seemed to have little effect. For every person he shot, three more poured into the building.

Paulo threw his empty pistol at the maniacs coming through the windows and ran for it, heading toward the back door. Erik kept firing, laughing the entire time as more and more people came through the windows.

"Come on!" Victor shouted, running after Paulo. "There's too many of them!"

Erik shook his head and walked over to the fourth member of their team, who was still lying wounded on the floor. Leon watched as the man reached feebly up at Erik, who then aimed his gun straight down and shot the man directly in the head. As people started to surround him, he then stuck the barrel of the pistol right into his mouth and pulled the trigger again, blowing the top of his head right off. The crazed people were on thrashing at his body before it even hit the ground.

"Now!" Victor screamed.

Leon tore his gaze away from the horrifying situation in front of him and followed Victor out of the building, through the same door he had entered from. Paulo was already long gone. Victor headed around the other side of the building, running full speed. As he reached the corner, a man in a gray mechanic's outfit jumped at him and attacked, biting down hard on Victor's cheek. They fell to the ground, and Leon swung his gun up and shot the mechanic right in the side of the head. He flopped to the side and Victor pushed him angrily away.

Lying on the ground, Victor reached up and touched the ragged flesh of his cheek, moaning to himself.

"Come on," Leon said, sticking out his hand.

"It doesn't matter now," Victor said, his voice flat. He stared at the blood on his fingertips, devastation in his eyes. "He bit me. Now I'll turn into one of them."

"What are they?" Leon finally asked in desperation. "They aren't just insane, are they? They aren't even human anymore!"

"They're zombies," Victor said matter-of-factly.

"Don't," Leon said fiercely. "Don't say that. Zombies aren't real, they can't be real."

But Victor merely shook his head. "They're the dead come back to life. We were sent here to try and contain the infection, but we didn't have a chance. We never had a chance against so many."

"There has to be somewhere in the city that's still safe," Leon said. "Somewhere that the survivors can go."

"Our command center is in the city park," Victor said. "But I don't even know if its safe there either. I don't know how to get there anyway."

"Are you just going to stay here?" Leon asked. "You can come with me if you want."

"In half an hour, I'll be too tired to move," Victor said slowly, rubbing the pistol in his hands. "In an hour, I'll be dead."

Leon didn't know what to say to that, so he just looked Victor in the eye and said, "I'm sorry."

Victor reached into a holster, pulled out another Desert Eagle, and handed it to Leon, who took it reverently. "I don't have any more ammo, I'm afraid."

"Are you sure you aren't coming?"

"Just go," Victor said.

Two zombies stumbled out of the door and shambled forward. Victor raised his pistol and shot them both in the head, but more of them were coming through the doorway before the first two even hit the ground.

"Go!" he shouted at Leon. "Maybe you can make it out of this hellhole alive!"

Leon stepped away and then ran for it, heading across the adjacent parking lot and back to the street. He heard three more shots in quick succession, and then one more shot a few seconds later, but he didn't bother to look back because he knew what he would see.

His only hope now was to make it to the city park, or to some other safe location if he could find one. He still felt that the police station was his best bet. It was only a few miles away, if he remembered how to get there.

A clip in the Glock, another full clip in his back pocket. Plus the Desert Eagle. He was pretty well armed, but he had a feeling that he would run out of ammo soon enough if he came upon another huge crowd of insane people.

Zombies, he thought. They weren't insane, they were undead. The whole concept was ridiculous, but he realized now that he knew it long before, just refused to admit it to himself. He saw Erik and Paulo hit some of them with five or six shots to the chest before they went down with a bullet to the head. There was really only one word for people like that. And the way they viciously attacked Erik's dead body ...

Leon saw more of them as he ran down the street, but they were in smaller groups and he ran past them easily. He crossed another street and found himself in a more commercial area of the city; instead of machine shops, there were banks and restaurants around.

In another couple of hours it would start getting dark. Leon definitely did not want to still be stuck outside when the sun went down. Even if he didn't find more survivors, he wanted to be safe inside a building. The soldiers had the right idea by trying to hide in one of the industrial sections of the city, since there would be fewer zombies around. In the residential neighborhoods, which were full of homes, and the more commercial districts, there were bound to be more zombies, since there would naturally be more people. Leon considered turning back around and heading to one of the other factories, since it might be safer there.

And then he heard another familiar sound, that of a helicopter. He looked up to see a huge black chopper fly low across the city, towing some huge container on a cable underneath it. Leon tried to guess what was in the container. Some kind of vehicle? It seemed too small for that.

There were zombies on the street with him, so he ran off down the sidewalk, keeping a careful eye on the doorways and alley entrances to make sure no zombies would jump out and attack him. Glock in one hand and Desert Eagle in the other, he kept a steady pace down the street. He only fired a few shots, when there were larger crowds of zombies and some of them got too close for comfort.

Maybe if he reached the police station, he might find some safety. At least he hoped so, because right now there wasn't anywhere else for him to go.

Chapter 22

"I got up this morning and didn't know anything was wrong," Robert Kendo said, leaning against a glass display case full of pistols. "I spent the night here at the shop cause I was up late last night doing some custom work for a customer. I got a little cot in the back room that I sleep on sometimes. Anyways, everything was fine this morning, far as I could tell."

Claire held a cup of coffee steadily in her hands, sitting on a low wooden stool. It was reheated coffee from the day before, but Kendo didn't have much else to offer her, and she drank it gratefully. If Kendo hadn't come after her, she'd be dead right now, and she knew it.

"I went across the street to pick up a newspaper and get some breakfast," Kendo continued, "and I kind of noticed that there were a few sick people around. A couple guys at the bus stop were saying how they both felt sick. I didn't think much of it at the time. I came back to the shop and was listening to the radio, when all of a sudden, the radio just goes dead."

"What time did that happen?" Claire asked.

Kendo shrugged and rubbed his bristly beard. "I guess around seven this morning. I was still here in the store, just fiddling around, you know. Then I heard the screaming outside."

He paused and his face became grave. He picked up a revolver off the display case and held it in his hands, as if for comfort. "I ran out there to see what was going on, and there was this guy just ... he was attacking this poor girl right in the street. And not just him, there were two other people just going crazy. I heard folks screaming all around."

"Did you try to call the police?"

"Sure, I did. But the phones were dead, too."

"So what did you do?"

"I shot a few of them, in self-defense, you know. But it didn't kill them. You have to shoot them in the head to really kill them. I mean it's crazy, right? You saw what they were like, didn't you?"

Claire closed her eyes, the vision of mutilated bodies still fresh in her mind, and the sight of walking corpses a very near memory. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I saw them."

"They're the walking dead," Kendo said emphatically. "Zombies, right? That's the only name for them."

He shook his head and leaned heavily against the display case, looking toward the front of the store. There was a large front window, but he a tall curtain was pulled across it so no one could see inside. He glared at the curtain and lowered his head.

"Anyways, I holed myself up in here once things got real bad. I heard screaming and car crashes and all sorts of stuff, all morning long. I didn't know what else I could do. I didn't want to leave, cause I didn't know if there was anyplace safe to go. Plus, I got weapons here, and probably enough food and water to last me a couple days at least."

"Do you have any idea how the disease spread so fast?" Claire asked.

"No," Kendo said. "I don't know. But I know that if one of them zombies bites you, then you'll turn into a zombie too. That's why I asked you if you got bit."

Claire sighed and sipped her coffee, even though it was getting cold. For the moment, she didn't know what else to do. She wasn't about to go back outside any time soon, she was sure of that. She didn't think she'd make it ten blocks before one of the roving crowds of zombies caught her.

"There was a young guy," Kendo said, as if to himself. "Name was Paul. He worked at the gas station across the street. He got bit and ... and I let him stay here in the store. I wrapped up his arm and he stayed here for a little bit. But he ... he got sick real fast. And I just knew that he was gonna turn into one of them, you know?"

"You don't have to tell me this," Claire said.

"I had to kill him."

"It's okay. You did what you had to do."

Kendo fidgeted with the pistol. "I mean, I knew him. Talked to him a few times at the gas station. But he was gonna turn into a zombie, like all those others. I mean, I had to put him out of his misery, right?"

Claire got up and set the coffee aside. She walked up to Kendo and put her hands on the pistol as it trembled in his grip. He looked toward the front window, shaking his head, his eyes frightened.

"Listen," Claire said. "I know you didn't have a choice. You can't feel guilty about it. I'm sure that if Paul had the chance, he would have told you to shoot him before he changed into ... into one of those things. You did the right thing."

She didn't know if Kendo believed her, but he seemed to calm down a bit. There were probably dozens of people in the city who had faced a similar choice, Claire had no doubt. Kendo was probably lucky that the man he killed was only a passing acquaintance. Claire wondered how many husbands and wives were forced to kill their spouses rather than watch them turn into zombies. How many parents were forced to kill their own children to spare them such a fate? If given the choice to die or become undead, Claire also had no doubt that the infected people would have welcomed a quick death.

Her thoughts strayed to her brother. How many people in the city were still alive, hiding, as Claire and Kendo were, in their homes or some other safe location? There were hundreds and hundreds of zombies in the streets. Claire couldn't imagine that there were all that many survivors, given the massive extent of the epidemic. How many people had escaped infection?

One percent? Raccoon City probably had a population of somewhere around 100,000 residents, so maybe 1,000 survivors? Claire did not like those odds.

What were the chances that Chris was still alive? If the disease struck randomly, then the odds were not good to begin with. But even if he somehow avoided infection, Claire knew that Chris was not the kind of person who would cower in his house and wait to be rescued. He would be out trying to save people or fight off the huge crowds of zombies, putting himself right in harm's way. And if one bite could turn you into a zombie, then Claire wondered if there was even a chance Chris was still alive.

Unless Chris had already left the city, which was a possibility. His cryptic phone message didn't say so, but Claire hoped it was true. She could only pray that Chris left Raccoon City before the infection broke out.

"Do you think we're gonna get out of here alive?" Kendo asked.

"I know there are soldiers in the city," Claire said. "And if they're here, then they're trying to kill off the infected people. They must be looking for survivors."

"Yeah, you're right. I heard shooting a few times a little bit before I found you. You think that they can kill them all?"

"I'm sure they'll try to. If they call the National Guard and just sweep through the city, then maybe they can do it. But I know they're not just going to abandon us. It might take a couple of days, but I think we'll be safe."

Kendo sighed heavily. "You really think so?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, that makes me feel better. It really does."

Claire decided to get Kendo talking about something else, anything to get his mind off the situation outside. She returned to her seat and said, "So, how long have you owned this store?"

"Twelve years," Kendo said, smiling. "Before this, I worked in a sporting goods store in the gun department. I've always been interested in guns, you know? Well, the store went out of business, and I figured I could start my own place, selling weapons and doing custom work. Still in business to this day. Well, till today, anyway."

"What kind of custom work do you do?"

"Oh, I do special designs for pistols and shotguns, mostly. I do etching, personalizations, that sort of thing. Sometimes I design custom grips, custom holsters. People like to have their guns with a little personal touch, you know? I've even done some work for a couple of local cops."

"My brother is a police officer," Claire said without thinking, and then frowned to herself, thinking about him again.

"Really? What's his name? I know a bunch of the guys on the force."

"Chris Redfield."

"Chris is your brother?" Kendo asked with a smile. "That's great! Chris is a great guy, I know him and Barry. Well," Kendo's expression changed suddenly, and he looked at the floor. "I mean, I guess you know about Barry."

"No," Claire said. "What do you mean?"

Kendo hesitated and said softly, "Barry died a few days ago. He was killed, I mean."

Claire jumped up in shock. "Oh my God, what happened?"

"It was all over the news," Kendo said. "The team went on this mission, and ..."

Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the window, making both of them jump. Kendo staggered back away from the display case, his pistol still in his hands. Claire stepped towards him, staring at the front curtain, her eyes wide. There was another loud bang, as if someone was outside and slamming their hands against the window.

"Oh man," Kendo said. "It's got to be the zombies."

"But they can't see us," Claire said desperately. "How do they know we're in here?"

"Do you think ... do you think they could hear us talking?"

Claire was about to say something when the entire front window shattered, sending a huge sheet of glass down inside the shop, where it exploded into shards of glass. Immediately, bodies tumbled inside, and one of them must have grabbed the curtain. With a tear, the entire curtain was pulled down, and it fluttered to the floor to reveal a huge crowd of zombies outside the shop.

Claire screamed and backed away as Kendo shook his head in dismay and opened fire. His pistol boomed in the small shop, and the first zombie flopped to the floor with a bullet in its head. But there were already a dozen zombies climbing through the window, and more behind them.

Kendo tossed the pistol onto the floor and ran to a wooden cabinet against the wall. He fiddled with the combination lock as Claire frantically picked up the pistol and fired its remaining shots into the crowd. She killed three zombies, but more of them were already coming in and getting to their feet.

"What are you doing?" Claire cried.

Kendo tore open the cabinet and pulled out a compact black submachine gun with a tall handle and a folding metal stock. Claire recognized it as a MAC-10 machine pistol. Kendo snapped a clip into the handle and pulled back the bolt to load a bullet into the chamber. He snagged another pistol off a shelf and stuck it into his belt. As the zombies surged forward, Kendo came out from behind the display case and opened fire.

The gun roared, a bright orange muzzle flash erupting from the barrel. The zombie nearest him fell back, bullets blasting across its chest and face. The Mac-10 rattled like a lawnmower engine spitting fire, and Kendo pushed down to keep the recoil from kicking the gun upward. He gritted his teeth and continued to fire, riddling the zombies with bullets. As he fired, the spent bullet casings ejected from the gun and sailed up over his shoulder.

When the gun finally clicked empty, there were a dozen dead zombies sprawled inside the shop, the floor a gory mass of bodies and blood. But more zombies were already coming inside. Kendo yanked the clip from the gun and grabbed another.

"Are any of these other guns loaded?" Claire shouted.

"Yes, over there!" Kendo shouted back, pointing into the back room. "There's a couple pistols back there!"

The door smashed open and zombies rushed inside. More of them fell through the shattered window and crawled through the mass of dead as Kendo snapped the new clip into the gun. He edged along the side of the display case and walked backward as he opened fire.

Claire grabbed two Beretta pistols off the table in the back and ran back to help him. Just as Kendo reached the doorway, he stepped right onto some of the spent casings, and his foot slipped out from under him. He fell backwards and smacked the back of his head right against the corner of the doorframe, and collapsed to the ground.

"Kendo!" Claire screamed. She braced herself and opened fire as zombies came forward. She dropped two more as Kendo tried to get up. Claire knelt down and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him up. He slid back and fumbled with the Mac-10.

There were just too many of them. Claire pulled the trigger again and again, but the zombies were like a flood, and within moments they were upon him. Kendo blasted a few of them, but several more swamped him and bit down on his legs and his outstretched arm as he tried to push them away.

"No!" Claire cried.

Kendo shot the zombies at point blank range and then tossed the Mac-10 at Claire's feet. "Take it!" he shouted. "You'll need it!"

He pulled out the other pistol in his belt and shot three more zombies. Claire grabbed the gun off the floor and backed away, crying out in fear.

"Go! Just go!" Kendo shouted. "Run for it!"

Claire turned and ran through the back room and to the rear exit. She carried the Mac-10 in one hand, and a pistol in the other. Kendo watched her go, and then as the zombies came upon him one last time, he stuck his pistol into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Chapter 23

Ada Wong held her breath as she pushed the bathroom door open a fraction of an inch, just enough so that she could see out. The convenience store was empty except for one zombie standing by the cooler, staring stupidly into the glass doors, apparently studying the numerous plastic bottles of Pepsi and Coca-Cola.

Outside, however, was another matter. There were at least five zombies that Ada could see meandering around the parking lot and the gas pumps outside, and who knows how many that she couldn't see. One zombie, a man wearing a gray business suit, was standing right outside the door.

Ada let the door close, cursing herself for her stupidity. She was too careless, too much in a hurry, and – she had to be honest with herself – too scared. While trying to drive out of the city, she turned a corner too fast and skidded right off the road. The Corvette struck a parked car and she barely managed to crawl from the wreckage before the zombies converged on the scene. The suitcase with all her equipment and supplies was left behind.

When she ran from her car, she only had one remaining bullet in her small pistol, and she used it almost immediately, so now she was completely defenseless. She ran for dear life and made it to the convenience store, but now she was stuck in the bathroom. That was hardly an improvement. She needed to get out of there, and the sooner the netter.

There was a plunger behind the toilet. Ada leaned it against the wall and then kicked down hard on the end of it. The wooden handle cracked and broke, and Ada knocked off the broken half with the rubber piece, leaving herself the broken wooden handle with a jagged spike on one end, the closest thing she could get to a weapon.

What she really needed was a gun. Sometimes gas stations and convenience stores concealed firearms underneath the counter for clerks to use in case of a robbery, but Ada didn't expect to find one there. For now, a sharp stick was the best she could do.

She opened the door again and peered out. The zombie in the business suit was still standing right outside. If Ada wanted out, she would have to go through him. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself and focused on her hand-to-hand combat training.

She snuck out of the bathroom and took a few fluid steps across the convenience store, the wooden handle braced against her arm. The zombie turned and noticed her just as she pushed the glass door open and swung her arm up to jam the handle straight into its eye socket. She felt the handle scrape against bone, and pushed harder as the zombie fumbled for her, driving the handle right into its brain. It gurgled, blood gushing from the wound, and fell to the ground. Ada held onto the handle and it slid back out, coated with gore.

She looked around for the easiest escape route, and took off as the other zombies noticed her and started walking forward. She ran across the parking lot and jumped the chain link fence like an Olympic hurdler, and ran across the street, where there were fewer zombies.

All she wanted was to get away, she didn't have a destination in mind. As she ran down the street, she tried to recall the layout of the city, which she had studied before going out to meet her contact the night before. There must be somewhere nearby that she could find a gun. A gun store, a sporting goods store, a shooting range ...

The police station. She wasn't far from the police station. She even remembered driving past it the day she arrived in town. There would certainly be guns there.

There would also be lots of zombies, if she guessed correctly. The police station seemed like a logical place to go for help, and would have drawn a huge crowd of people seeking shelter from the epidemic. Ada doubted that it was safe there at all, but she had little choice.

She stopped in her tracks when she heard a helicopter hovering overhead, and looked up to see a huge combat chopper sailing low across the city. It was a military helicopter, but she could see no Army insignia on it.

As it passed from view, she continued on past storefronts and fast food restaurants and more gas stations. Zombies loitered in the street, reaching feebly at her as she ran past. She considered checking nearby cars to see if the keys were inside, but decided that getting weapons was her first priority.

The police station was a giant square building, four stories tall, squeezed in between a bank and a small office building. It loomed over the avenue like an enormous church, taller than any other building within several blocks, so it was kind of hard to miss. Ada saw it long before she got there.

She ran down a side street, intent on entering through a side door. The front door was probably not the safest bet. Zombies meandered here and there in the narrow street, but she ran right past them.

But when she made it closer to the building, she stopped again. A crowd of fifty zombies clogged the alleyway leading behind the station, blocking her way. Ada climbed a chain link fence and dropped down on the other side, squeezing along the even narrower alley right behind the nearby bank. The zombies on the other side of the fence moaned and tried to reach for her, their fingers poking through the fence. Ada carefully ignored them.

The zombies were congregated around one of the doors, which were broken down, so Ada could not enter there. In fact, it might be better if she didn't enter on the main floor at all, since the zombies were surely all over. She expected the station to be full of zombies, and it looked like she was right.

She turned the corner down the alley, walking in between the police station and the bank, edging past a pair of empty dumpsters by the bank's side door. Some of the zombies followed her, although they were still separated by the fence. The groaned and snapped their mouths open and closed, trying to stick their arms through the fence to reach her. Ada caught herself looking at them, almost feeling sorry for them, and then forced herself to look away and to focus on the matter at hand.

The Raccoon City police station was not a modern building constructed of glass and stainless steel. It was a hulking architectural behemoth, oozing with gothic style, out of place in a bland American town like Raccoon City. It looked like a museum in medieval Germany. All the windows were decorated with large windowsills, and each story had a thick ledge going all the way around the outside of the building. Halfway down the side of the building, maybe fifty feet from the door, there was a corner recess with a long metal pipe leading up the side of the building. That pipe, Ada decided, was going to be her way in.

She pushed one of the dumpsters against the fence and climbed on top. With the small crowd of zombies reaching for her, she took a breath and concentrated hard. Taking one last deep breath, she took a step onto the top of the fence and then leaped across, jumping right over the zombies. She landed on the pavement and immediately scrambled across to the police station, heading right for the corner. She grabbed the metal pipe and braced her feet against the wall, pulling herself up. Her boots gripped the wall perfectly and she climbed right up the drainpipe like a telephone worker scaling a telephone pole. By the time the zombies managed to reach her, she was already out of their grasp. Of course, if she lost her grip and fell, they would be waiting for her.

When she reached the second floor, she put her foot out onto the ledge and braced herself. She pushed away from the drainpipe and grabbed the edge of the nearest windowsill, teetering precariously on the ledge, a mere ten feet away from the hungry zombies below.

She crawled to the window and looked inside. It was a small office room, and it was empty. Ada laid on her side, inches from the edge, and swung her foot into the window. It took her a full minute of banging on the window with her boot before it finally broke. She kicked away all the glass and crawled inside.

She tumbled to the floor and laid on her back among all the broken shards of glass, breathing heavily, staring up at the ceiling.

But she barely had time to catch her breath. She glanced up at the office door and saw a face on the other side of the glazed glass window, staring in at her. The zombie outside smashed his arms through the glass and pushed against the door. Ada shielded her face as more broken glass showered into the room.

She scrambled behind the desk, crawling along the broken glass. The door smashed off its hinges and fell over, the zombie coming inside, groaning after her. He was an overweight man with a blue dress shirt and cheap black clip-on tie. Ada kicked the desk chair at the zombie and it bounced harmlessly off his legs.

She yanked open the side desk drawers and tossed them aside, looking for a gun. She found one in the top drawer, a small revolver in a worn leather holster. She pulled it out and aimed it just as the zombie was about to grab her legs. She put two bullets into his head and he flopped over backward.

Another zombie stumbled into the room, this one a female wearing a police uniform. Ada lifted herself up, kicking away the dead zombie's legs, and shot the other zombie as well.

She leaned against the desk and waited for her breath to slow down, keeping her eyes on the doorway in case any more zombies came to investigate the gunshots. She tucked the revolver into her jacket pocket and went to the dead female cop, taking her service Beretta and the extra bullets stored on her belt.

Thus armed, Ada poked her head into the hallway and saw no zombies. However, she didn't think her current weapons were going to be enough. She needed something a bit more powerful than a pistol, especially against the crowd of zombies waiting for her outside. The armory was her best bet at finding an assault rifle, or at the very least some shotguns and more ammo for the pistol. Of course, Ada had no idea how many zombies were between her and the armory, or even where the armory was.

It occurred to her that getting out of the police station alive might be even harder than getting in.
Chapter 24

Eddie Thorne pounded in a few more nails, securing the last board of wood across the door to the office. They decided to just abandon the office, since the zombies were bound to make their way in eventually. Instead of trying to block the door to the lobby, they nailed shut the door to the office itself. Jill felt certain that the zombies would not be able to break the door down, now that it was completely boarded up.

Eddie shrugged and tossed the hammer onto the floor. "Guess that'll have to do," he said, his voice low. He gestured behind Jill. "So what do we do with him?"

The infected man, who finally gave his name as Keith, was seated on the bottom step of a metal staircase beside the office, which led to a storage area directly above it. He breathed slowly, his face covered in sweat, and his eyes were closed.

"He's not going anywhere," Jill said coldly. "Let him stay there."

"What about later, when he changes?"

"We'll deal with that when we have to."

Eddie nodded and looked around the warehouse. The two of them were basically alone, as everyone else went off to find hiding places and be by themselves. Kayla hadn't been seen in over an hour, and Harold, the older man, was missing as well, which annoyed Jill because he possessed one of the group's shotguns. Miranda, George, and Dario were all off somewhere, and Kyle was sitting up by one of the windows, keeping watch outside.

"So," Eddie said. "You think we're getting out of here?"

Jill stuck her pistol into her pants pocket. "Depends on who you mean by 'we'."

"I mean all of us," Eddie said.

Jill shook her head, secretly hating herself for it. "I don't think so," she said. "There's too many of them outside, and we don't have enough bullets. If we had some kind of vehicle, like a bulldozer or something, then maybe. But if we have to get out of here on foot, there's just no way."

Eddie nodded, staring down at his shoes. "Yeah, that's what I thought too. Looks like we're stuck here for now, I guess."

"We can't stay here, though," Jill said. "We're still not safe. We don't have any food or water. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not spending the night here."

"So you're gonna leave?"

Jill walked up to Eddie until they were only a foot away. He glanced up at her with weary, knowing eyes.

"I'm sorry," Jill said. "But I'm not waiting here to die. If there was a way to get all these people out of here, even if it was incredibly dangerous, then I would do it. I used to be a cop, Eddie. I don't want to abandon anyone. I feel like shit about it. But I'm not going to sit here and wait for those zombies to come in and get me."

"It's more dangerous out there than it is in here," Eddie said.

"The longer we wait, the worse it's going to be," Jill said.

"Yeah," Eddie said, rubbing his chin. "I know. I'm just trying to think of a reason to stay myself. You think that just the two of us might have a chance?"

"Sure, even three or four of us. Kyle might be able to make it out, maybe even George or Harold. But I don't see the others being much help. I think we should just tell everyone that we have to leave, and they can come with us if they want. If they want to stay, then that's their choice."

Harold appeared from around the other side of the office area, the shotgun dangling from his hand, the end of the barrel scraping against the concrete floor. He looked tired, wiped out, and looked at Jill wearily.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

Jill crossed her arms. "I think we have to leave," she said. "We're not safe here."

"Leave?" Harold said. "What are you talking about? Of course we're safe here." He looked at Jill strangely, wavering on his feet. "You can't expect us to go back outside."

"If you want to stay here, that's your decision," Jill said. "But I'm going to ask everyone, and let them decide for themselves. They can either stay here or come with me."

Harold wiped his brow with his sleeve, which was already damp with sweat. "I think you're crazy," he said, shaking his head. He licked his lips and glanced across to Keith, who remained motionless except for the slow rising and falling of his chest. "Is he ... is he okay?"

Jill shook her head. "We told you, Harold. He was infected when he was bitten. We'll leave him alone for now, but it won't be long before he turns."

Eddie edged away from Jill and casually reached behind him, where his pistol was sitting in his back pocket. "Actually, you don't look so good yourself," Eddie said. "You feeling kinda sick at all?"

Harold looked at Eddie, his eyes wide. "I'm just kind of tired," he said. "I've been through a lot today, like we all have."

"Why don't you go lie down or something?" Eddie suggested, reaching for the shotgun. "Let me have that gun, and you can go rest somewhere. Me and Jill can take care of things here."

Harold lifted the gun with some effort and clutched it in his arms. "No, I think I'll hold onto this, thank you very much."

"I think you should give it back to George," Eddie said. "You took it from him, after all. He's probably better with the gun than you are."

Harold backed away, shaking his head. "No, that's alright. I don't need to lie down, I'm fine. I'll keep this."

Jill found herself reaching for her own gun as well, the situation finally dawning on her. Harold clutched the shotgun in sweaty hands, his skin a bit paler than it was before, his eyes bloodshot, his face slick with sweat. He glanced between Jill and Eddie nervously, stepping away.

"You sure you're okay?" Eddie asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine."

"It's okay, Harold," Jill said quietly. "Give Eddie the gun and you can go lie down. I know you're just worried, but everything will be fine."

"No," Harold said bitterly, shaking his head. "No, it won't be fine."

"Give me the gun," Eddie said firmly, reaching for it again.

Harold clenched his teeth as his eyes darted between the two of them. He suddenly raised the gun to his shoulder, and Jill immediately drew her pistol and aimed right at him. "Put it down!" she screamed.

"Get away from me!" Harold cried, backing away, waving the gun unsteadily. "Just get away!"

"Drop it, Harold, just drop it," Eddie said, keeping his hands in sight. "No one's gonna hurt you. Just drop the gun and I promise we won't do anything."

"Back off!" Harold screamed, stabbing the gun forward, his finger on the trigger.

"You pull that trigger and you're a dead man!" Jill shouted.

"Just get away from me! Leave me alone!"

Suddenly Kyle was there, aiming his gun forward, switching from Harold to Eddie and Jill uncertainly, completely bewildered. "Jesus, what in the hell is going on here?"

"They're going to leave us here!" Harold cried. "I heard them talking about it! They're going to take all the guns and leave us here to die!"

"He's been bit!" Eddie snapped, pointing at Harold. "Just look at him! You can see he's been bit!"

"That's a lie! You're lying!"

But thankfully, Kyle wasn't an idiot. After one long look at Harold, he stepped over to Eddie and Jill, his gun aimed squarely on Harold. "Jesus," he muttered. "I don't believe this."

"Just leave me alone!" Harold shouted again.

"We ain't gonna hurt you!" Eddie promised. "Just drop the gun!"

"And then what?" Harold asked angrily, waving the gun. "You'll just stick me in a corner with Keith and wait for me to turn into one of those things? And then you'll shoot me like a dog? To hell with that!"

He kept backing up until he was almost up against one of the large garage doors. He stepped into the loading area and looked around, realizing that he had run out of room to retreat. He bared his teeth, eyes wild, and waved the gun around again.

"You have no choice," Jill said, staring right down the barrel of her pistol. "Put down the gun, or I swear to God I will shoot you."

At that, Harold's mouth curved into a twisted, psychotic smile. "Oh no, you won't," he said grimly. He quickly lowered the shotgun and swung the barrel up under his chin, his hand on the trigger. "I'm not going to let you kill me!"

Eddie shouted once as Harold pulled the trigger. The gun went off and Harold's head exploded like a melon, spraying blood and brain matter across the entire garage door. The blast tore a hole right through the door as well, the edges of the hole smeared with gore. His body slumped to the ground and the shotgun tumbled from his head fingers.

Kyle turned away, and then gripped his stomach and vomited violently, although there wasn't much in his stomach to come up. Eddie covered his eyes with his hand for a moment and then lowered his hand, sighing deeply.

Jill lowered her pistol slowly. "That son of a bitch," she whispered. "He was bitten too, and he didn't even tell us."

"That's why he tried to defend Keith like that," Eddie said. "He wasn't worried about Keith at all, he was worried about himself."

"He probably didn't tell Keith either," Jill said, flicking the safety on and sliding her pistol back into her pocket. "Or Keith would have told us."

Eddie just shook his head. "Poor guy."

George appeared from the rows of shelves on the other side of the warehouse, hurrying over to them. "Hey, what's going on? I heard ..." He stopped in his tracks when he saw Harold's dead body slumped against the garage door.

Eddie walked over to the corpse to retrieve the shotgun. He looked away as his hand closed on the handle, carefully pulling it from Harold's dead grasp.

And suddenly, an arm jutted through the hole in the door and grabbed Eddie's collar. It pulled him forward and he fell right onto Harold's body as another hand pushed through the hole and grabbed his hat right off his head.

Jill and Kyle ran forward and helped pull Eddie back as the hands clawed at him. The entire garage door seemed to bend inward, and another arm squeezed through the hole, fumbling for anything it could touch.

Kyle ran over to his perch at the window and looked outside, his face lowering in despair. "Oh no, they're right outside there," he said. "They're all pushing on the door."

Eddie got to his feet and swallowed hard, touching his neck numbly, as if to make sure the hands hadn't scratched him. Jill pulled him backwards, staring at the large garage door as it bent inward, unable to hold back the combined strength of hundreds of zombies.

The zombies could have pushed the door down at any time in the past few hours, but they left the doors alone since nothing directed their attention to them. But the shotgun blast attracted them, and once they detected their prey beyond the door, it would only be a matter of seconds before they managed to push the entire door down.

The side of the door buckled and two of the metal wheels snapped right off the track. Zombies tried to push through the opening, stick their arms through, grasping for anything within reach.

"We gotta do something!" George cried out. "We gotta block the door!"

"We don't have time!" Eddie shouted back. "There's nothing to block it with!"

Jill drew her pistol and forced herself to remain calm. There was no stopping the zombies now. She held her ground and took careful aim.

"Take the shotgun," Eddie said, holding it out to George.

George hesitated and then backed away, shaking his head regretfully. "I ... I can't, I can't do this again. I'm sorry."

"Go! Find the others and warn them!" Jill shouted.

George gave them one last pitiful, guilty look and ran off. Kyle ran over to them, shotgun at the ready, his eyes wide with terror. Eddie nodded sadly and raised his gun as well.

"I guess this is it," he said. "There's not much point in hiding, is there?"

"No," Jill said. "We could climb up those shelves and the zombies could never reach us, but what good would that do? We'd probably die of thirst in two or three days."

"You don't think anyone will come and rescue us."

"No, I don't."

Tears dripped down Kyle's young face, but his voice was surprisingly firm. "Well, I'm gonna take out as many of those damn things as I can before they get me."

The door buckled again, and one whole side broke free of the track, leaning heavily inward. With the ear-piercing sound of tearing metal, the garage door snapped loose and crumpled to the floor like a huge sheet of paper. It fell like a curtain, revealing the actors on a stage. But instead of actors, they were zombies.

Hundreds of them. They were packed in so tight through the dock doorway that it was impossible to miss them as Jill and the others opened fire. Kyle's shotgun boomed first, and a young female zombie's head exploded. The headless body fell to the floor and was immediately trampled. Eddie fired twice, taking out two more. Jill kept her gun at head level and squeezed the trigger, hitting four in a row right in the head. But the seven zombies they killed were like a handful of sand on a beach. Zombies flooded into the warehouse like a wave.

Jill grabbed Eddie's arm and ran for it. Kyle stood his ground, firing shot after shot, blasting a half dozen zombies. He was able to kill two with one shot, they were so packed together. But his shotgun soon clicked empty. He grabbed the stock and swung the gun like a baseball bat, cracking it against the skull of the nearest zombie. They converged around him, circling like sharks around a wounded swimmer, smelling blood in the water.

"Kyle!" Jill screamed. "Run!"

But he ignored her, and swung the gun again, striking another zombie. They pushed in around him and he struggled in vain, swinging the gun desperately.

"Kyle!"

The zombies went in for the kill and attacked him from all sides. They bit into his arms and his neck and pulled him down into the center of the mass of bodies. He didn't even cry out, and kept fighting right until the very end.

Jill ran backward, shooting the zombies as fast as she could. Finally, the gun clicked when she pulled the trigger. She had more bullets in her pocket, but she didn't think the zombies would wait for her to reload.

"Come on!" Eddie shouted, running for the office. Jill ejected the clip in her gun as she ran and fumbled in her pocket for her extra bullets. The huge crowd of zombies lurched after them relentlessly, more and more of them pouring into the warehouse every second. Pretty soon the entire building seemed full of the walking dead.

They ran to the metal staircase next to the office, where Keith was still sitting. He was slumped against the steps and looked up weakly at them, his eyes glazed over.

"I'm sorry, man," Eddie said, "I'm real sorry." He grabbed Keith's shirt and pulled him away from the steps, and he slumped to the floor, motionless.

Jill managed to snap two bullets into her clip. She glanced up to say something when suddenly, the nailed-up office door broke right off the hinges without warning. The boards of wood pulled free of the wall and the door fell right over, and more zombies came reaching for them.

One of the zombies snagged Eddie's collar and pulled him right to the ground. Jill frantically snapped the clip back into her gun and yanked back the chamber. Eddie shoved the zombie away as Jill put a bullet into its skull. Lying on his back, Eddie lifted his shotgun and blasted the next zombie that came through the door, blowing a hole right through its stomach. It flopped to the ground, its spine severed by the blast.

Jill grabbed Eddie's arm and pulled him to his feet and together they ran up the metal staircase. Below them, some of the zombies surged on Keith, who didn't have the strength to fight them off.

The storage area above the office was dark and dusty, full of thin metal shelves stocked with boxes full of receipts, shipping orders, and other paperwork. There were some metal cabinets full of cleaning supplies and bathroom supplies.

"So what do we do now?" Jill asked, breathing heavily. She ejected the clip again and began to load bullets into it once more.

Eddie grabbed the metal frame of the staircase where it was bolted to the wall. He shook his head. "No, this is too solid. I thought maybe I could use the shotgun to blow it apart, but it would only be a waste of ammo. I only got two shots left."

"These cabinets," Jill said. "Knock them down the stairs."

Eddie and Jill pulled the tall cabinets away from the wall and tipped them over the edge one at a time. They crashed down onto the staircase and the zombies already starting to climb up, but they didn't effectively block the way. When they fell to the side, the zombies just continued to ascend the stairs.

One zombie almost made it to the top, but Jill found a broom and used it to knock the zombie right over the railing. But more and more were coming, and soon they were out of objects to stop them with.

Jill ran to the back of the storage area, looking for anything they could use as a possible weapon. She glanced up at the wall above her and noticed a sliver of light.

"Eddie!" she cried. "It's a window!" She stood on some boxes to push a large piece of plywood out of the way, revealing a small window, about two feet by a foot and a half. She grabbed a piece of wood off the floor and broke the window with it, swinging it around to break away all the little shards of glass around the edges.

Eddie pushed over one of the metal shelves and it toppled over at the top of the staircase, boxes full of paperwork breaking open and spilling paper everywhere. It would block the way for a few seconds at least.

"Come on!" Jill cried. "All the zombies came into the office! There aren't any outside on this side of the building!"

Eddie ran over and handed Jill the shotgun. "All right then, I guess you better be going."

Jill stared at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Eddie smiled weakly and said, "I'm afraid I ain't coming with you, Jill."

"No," Jill said, shaking her head. "No, you have to ..."

Eddie pulled the collar of his shirt down along his shoulder and Jill could see the ragged bite mark there, already oozing blood down the side of his chest.

"The one that knocked me down got a bite of me," Eddie explained. "I was too slow, I guess. Wasn't careful enough."

Jill exhaled heavily, the wind knocked out of her. "Oh Jesus," she whispered, her legs feeling weak. She almost tipped over, but Eddie grabbed her and held her up.

"Listen," he said. "It's alright. Don't even worry about it."

"Eddie," Jill said helplessly, her voice trembling. "I'm so sorry."

A strange, peaceful look came over Eddie, and he brushed his hand along Jill's cheek, smiling at her warmly. "You know, I never put much faith in religion. My wife though, she was a big believer in God and Heaven and all that stuff. I'm thinking maybe it's time for me to see if she was right after all. Maybe I'll get to see her again."

Jill could not think of anything to say. She put her arms around Eddie and embraced him, closing her eyes. She wanted to escape the warehouse, but not alone. She didn't think that she would be the only one getting out. That's not what she wanted. But it felt like nothing ever happened the way she wanted.

"You go on, now," Eddie said softly.

Jill backed away and went to the window. She looked outside to make sure no zombies were waiting for her, and then tossed the shotgun out, where it fell to the grass below. Jill turned back to look at Eddie. There were already zombies climbing over the shelves, making their way into the storage area. Eddie just stood there peacefully, smiling at Jill.

"Good luck, Eddie," she said.

"Good luck to you too, Jill," he replied. "I hope you make it out."

Jill hopped up and climbed through the window. She grabbed a hold of the window as she slid her legs through, and then dangled for a moment before letting go. She fell to the ground almost fifteen feet below, the soft grass cushioning her landing. She rolled to her feet and grabbed the shotgun.

There were a few zombies in the street, but none of them close to her. She clenched her teeth and ran off down the sidewalk, away from the warehouse.

She tried not to think about the others she left behind, Miranda and George and the rest of them, still hiding in the warehouse. She hoped they were still alive, but she knew that they were all doomed. There would be no help coming for them, and they would stay in the warehouse until the zombies found them. In a way, Kyle and Eddie were the lucky ones, the ones who went down fighting.

But it all felt so pointless, like it had all been a huge waste of time. In the end, they were all going to die anyway. And Jill escaped, leaving them to their fate.

She tried to clear her head and get her bearings. Pistol in one hand and shotgun in the other, she ran down the street, trying to focus on the matter at hand. She didn't have time to blame herself for their deaths. She did the best she could, no one could have done any more for them.

She paused at a corner and realized that she was only a mile or two away from Brad's apartment. Of course, there was no reason to think he was there, no reason to think that Brad was alive at all. The only reason Jill was alive was because she had slept in. Brad was almost certainly dead. It would be stupid and reckless to go to his place and look for him. She didn't even like Brad.

Behind her, the warehouse was still barely visible behind a line of trees. She stopped and looked back at it, guilt churning in her gut. She couldn't save Eddie, or Kyle, or Miranda, or the rest of them. Those people were little more than strangers, but she would have saved them if she could have. Brad might not be a close friend, but he wasn't a stranger. He might be the only person left in all of Raccoon City that Jill knew personally.

She turned and ran down the street in the direction of Brad's apartment. If he wasn't there, then she could accept that, but she was going to check. And if Brad was there, then Jill was going to make sure that he got out alive. She wasn't going to leave anyone else behind.

Chapter 25

When placed into a volatile, unpredictable situation, the single most important thing that a soldier has to do is to remain calm. Fear is usually more dangerous than your actual enemy. Fear makes you distracted, fear makes you clumsy, fear can make you waste valuable ammunition and run into a situation without taking everything into account.

Hunk learned long ago to control his fear. So it seemed fitting that while all the other members of his squad were now dead, Hunk was still alive.

He methodically removed all the bullets from one magazine and clicked them into another, combining two half-empty ones to make a full one. He was hiding, for the moment, in a garbage-strewn alley, backed up against a dumpster. Two dead zombies lay on the concrete about fifteen feet away. A screen door hung open across the alley, and Hunk used the reflection in the glass window to see if anyone was coming behind him.

Luckily, he ran into another UBCF soldier a few minutes earlier, but his former teammate had already turned into a zombie. Hunk shot him down and looted his body for ammo, getting the half-empty magazine, as well as a full Desert Eagle. Hunk had been down to his last four bullets at that time, so the ammo was very much appreciated.

He could hear scattered gunfire somewhere nearby. Yanking back the bolt on the M4, he stood up and walked around the side of the dumpster.

There was no reason to be afraid. The zombies were slow, stupid, and unarmed. You could run right through a crowd of them and barely get touched if you were careful. Hunk had already escaped several large crowds and gotten out of a few tight places without having to waste a single bullet. The members of his team, the ones who were all dead now, had panicked in those situations. They freaked out and started shooting, wasting all their ammo, and they ran blindly away, not watching where they were going. Seeing how easily his squad got killed almost made him angry, because he thought that Umbrella trained their men better than that. Hunk's original squad was certainly trained better, but of course, his original squad was dead too.

He walked out to the street and easily slipped down the sidewalk, past a dozen or so random zombies. There were fewer and fewer of them on their own, he noticed. Most of the zombies gathered in huge crowds that blocked entire streets. Hunk would be sure to mention the peculiar behavior to the Umbrella scientists if he ever got the chance.

In a few hours it would be dark. Hunk sincerely hoped that he was out of the city by then. If fighting the zombies during the day was too much of a challenge for the UBCF, trying to fight them in the darkness of night was going to be impossible. The people in charge at the Arklay mansion must have realized by now that trying to fight the zombies on the ground was a lost cause. By Hunk's guess, at least fifty percent of the UBCF troops brought into Raccoon City were now dead, perhaps even more than that. And each one that died just became another zombie the rest of them had to fight. At some point, the losses would be unacceptable.

Hunk continued down the street, only firing his rifle once, at a zombie that emerged from a doorway a few steps in front of him. He went down another alley behind a small car dealership and found himself watching a huge mob of zombies surround a gas station across the intersection. He could see a small UBCF transport helicopter parked on top of the gas station. Occasional gunfire erupted from the gas station, but Hunk could not see clearly inside because there were so many zombies standing around out front.

There was a self-service car wash next to the gas station, so Hunk went farther down the street until he was past the crowd of zombies, and then crossed the street and walked cautiously to the car wash.

He climbed up on top of the car wash building and walked to the edge, staring out across the sea of undead bodies that surrounded the gas station. Peering into the convenience store, he could see a handful of UBCF troops there, blocking the windows and guarding the doors. Judging by the size of the crowd, Hunk guessed that they would break through the barriers and infest the store within half an hour.

There were two soldiers on the roof, standing near the helicopter as if they were guarding it, and Hunk called to them to get their attention. "Hey!" he called out. "Who is in command over there?"

"Holy shit!" one of the soldiers shouted when he saw Hunk. "How did you get over there?"

"I flew here," Hunk snapped. "Now who's in command?"

"Commander Ginovaef."

"No, I mean who's in command over there right now?"

"Commander Ginovaef," the soldier repeated with a shrug. "He's down in the store right now."

"You've got to be kidding me," Hunk said.

A door on the roof flipped open as if on cue, and Nicholai came through the hole and climbed up. It was like he knew that someone said his name, so he came up to investigate. He walked over to the edge of the roof and looked hard at Hunk, his hands on his hips.

Hunk saluted. "Good to see you alive, sir."

"Yes," Nicholai said. "I take it the rest of your team is dead?"

"Yes, sir."

"That is becoming a habit," Nicholai said. "But I am glad to see you. I am putting you in command of the troops at this location."

"Thank you, sir."

Nicholai smiled grimly. "Do not be so happy."

"Should I come over there?" Hunk asked.

"No," Nicholai said, waving his hand dismissively. "This place is not safe, as you already know. There are too many infected ones."

"So what's the plan, sir?"

Nicholai glanced back at the chopper. "I am needed at the central command station, in the city park. But I will not stay there long. You are to withdraw from this location and regroup at the streetcar station six blocks west of here. There is already a team in place there."

"And then what?"

"Just wait for me to come back," Nicholai said. "Can you handle that?"

Hunk did not bother to look offended. "Of course, sir."

Nicholai walked back to the helicopter and spoke briefly to the two soldiers there. They both got inside and Nicholai said to Hunk, "I will provide a distraction for short time to allow the men to retreat. Do not waste any time."

He got into the pilot's seat in the chopper and slammed the door. In a few seconds, the rotors began to turn, and when they reached full speed the chopper rose steadily into the air. It hovered over the station and slowly drifted to the side, until it was directly above the crowd of zombies.

The zombies followed the chopper as it drifted away from the gas station, stumbling away and reaching up as the rotors blasted them with wind. All of them were preoccupied with the helicopter, and soon there was a space open on one side of the gas station.

Hunk climbed down from her perch and quickly ran across the side lot. "Come on!" he shouted, his voice barely audible above the roar of the chopper. "Let's go!"

Once the coast was clear, the soldiers opened the side door and hustled out. Hunk led them through the back lot and across an alley to the next street. No zombies blocked their path, as most of the undead in the area were congregated at the gas station.

"Where are we going?" one of the soldiers asked nervously.

"A safer location," Hunk answered simply.

They ran non-stop for six blocks, barely stopping to catch their breath, and much to Hunk's relief, the streetcar station was right where Nicholai said it would be. It was a long rectangular building built like a train station, with the streetcar rails running along the open side of the building, with a set of four attached cars already parked right against the station. The station itself was a much more solid structure than the convenience store, with small windows and large, heavy doors.

The open end beside the streetcars was on a raised platform about four feet in the air, too high for any zombie to easily climb, and a tall fence lined one side of the railway for half a block. The zombies would congregate behind the fence, too stupid to go all the way around it so they could get to the platform. There were already a few zombies outside the building, harassing the small team defending the location. They banged on the doors but Hunk saw little chance of them getting in.

He led his team around the opposite side of the parked streetcar and they climbed one at a time up onto the platform. Two members of the other UBCF team helped them up and handed out bottles of water from a vandalized vending machine.

"Who's in charge here?" Hunk asked. While the other soldiers collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath and taking a much-deserved rest, Hunk barely felt winded after the six block run. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and waited for an answer.

"I'm the Captain of this squad," a burly man with reddish hair said, speaking in a grumbly Russian accent. "Where is Commander Ginovaef?"

"He went to central command," Hunk said. "He said he would come back here soon."

"So we're just supposed to wait here until he comes back?"

"That's the plan."

The squad Captain shook his head, disappointed, "All right then. We wait."

Hunk looked at the other soldiers in the squad. There was another man who looked Russian, and a young Mexican. The fourth member, a black man, was reclined on a long bench, his ankle wrapped in a bandage.

"Has he been injured?" Hunk asked, pointing at him.

"Sprained his ankle," the Captain said. "Don't worry, he wasn't bitten."

"Are these men from your original squad?"

"Yes, we lost four men."

"I'm impressed," Hunk admitted. "Most of the other squads lost all but one or two men, or were wiped out completely. I didn't catch your name, Captain."

"Mikhail Victor."

Chapter 26

At the rate he was going, Leon was never going to make it to the police station. He didn't know if he was going to make it another ten blocks. For the moment, he hid inside a car repair shop, crouched down behind a huge toolbox, trying to catch his breath. It wasn't the best place to hide, since the main garage doors were wide open and he couldn't get them closed, but at least he was momentarily out of sight.

Out in front of the repair shop, half a dozen zombies meandered around the sidewalk, like normal pedestrians waiting for a bus. Leon had enough bullets to take them out, but he wasn't about to waste his precious bullets unless he had to. There were two cars parked outside, but when Leon did a quick search of the office, he didn't find any keys.

He needed a vehicle. Unfortunately, hot-wiring a car wasn't as simple as movies made it seem, and Leon didn't know how to anyway. The keys to the cars outside were probably in a zombie's pocket, but that zombie might not even be nearby. Leon was tempted to kill the zombies and check all their pockets, just to make sure, but he couldn't bring himself to waste his ammo just yet.

When he got sick of hiding, he crept around the repair shop and exited out the back door. The zombies saw him when he sprinted across the narrow parking lot, but were too far away to be a threat. The next street over was lined with two-story buildings, with commercial businesses on the ground floor and apartments above. There was a bank and a diner, but Leon didn't think either place would be safe. Maybe the bank would be, if he could get into the vault and close the door behind him. Then he could die of thirst in a couple days. He wasn't sure if that would be worse than becoming a zombie.

He didn't want to just hide, though. What he wanted was to locate some other survivors. There absolutely had to be living people somewhere in the city; he refused to believe that everyone else in Raccoon City had succumbed to the zombie disease. He ran over to a line of cars parked along the curb and tried all the doors. He found one that was unlocked, but of course the keys weren't inside.

His head jerked up when he suddenly heard a the pop of gunfire somewhere nearby. But it wasn't M4 gunfire he heard this time, it sounded like pistol shots. It was hard to tell how far away it was, but it had to be less than a few blocks. He began moving in the direction of the sound, when more gunfire erupted, this time definitely a machine gun of some kind, and he broke out into a run.

He made it to the next intersection and stopped in his tracks when he saw the huge crowd of zombies about half a block away down the other street. A city bus lay on its side right in the middle of the street, and a surging mob of zombies congregated along the sidewalk, pushing at the front door of one of a building in the middle of the block. The gunfire came from there.

There was no way Leon could get to the front door, so it looked like his only option was the back way again. He crossed the street and kept going until he reached the alley along the back side of the row of buildings. The alley was narrow and dark, in the shadow of the buildings on each side. There were a few dumpsters and piles of garbage. There was also a bicycle chained to a concrete post, but Leon doubted the owner would ever return for it.

He headed down the alley, Desert Eagle drawn. He made it halfway down the street before he realized he didn't know which door was the right one. He heard shouting and more gunshots, very close by.

The door nearest him flew open and he swung his gun up by reflex, backing away. He had no idea what might come through the door.

A young woman burst through the doorway and halted in surprise when she saw Leon's gun pointed at her. Her face was frozen in a look of fear and desperation, loose strands of her brown hair dangling in front of her wide open eyes. She stared at Leon, frozen in shock.

"Get down!" Leon shouted.

The woman did not have to be told twice. She dove to the ground and Leon pulled the trigger, striking two zombies coming up behind her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back to her feet.

"Come on, let's get out of here," he said quickly.

Already, more zombies were coming through the doorway, stepping over their dead companions and stumbling into the alley. Leon and the woman ran down the alley far down to the other end of the street.

"Please tell me you have a car," the woman said, out of breath.

"Sorry, hate to disappoint you," Leon responded.

They exited the alley and found themselves on the next street over. It was littered with abandoned cars, one of them a burned-out husk. The street was lined with more two-story buildings, and most of their front doors were either broken down or left hanging open. A few scattered zombies in the middle of the traffic jam came shuffling towards them. Together, they ran down the street until they were clear of the zombies, at least for the moment.

"Where did you come from?" the woman asked, stopping to gasp for breath. She leaned over and put her wrists on her knees, because her hands were full. She carried guns in each hand, a Beretta in one and a Mac-10 machine pistol in the other. She was about the same age as Leon, if he had to guess, with strong blue eyes and brown hair tied in a ponytail.

"I heard shooting," he said with a shrug. "So I came to investigate."

"Pretty brave of you, given the circumstances."

"Yeah, well," Leon said. "I'm looking for other survivors. I'm trying to find someone who knows what's going on around here."

"You mean you don't know?"

"I just arrived in town about an hour ago and it was already like this."

The woman shook her head. "Looks like we're in the same boat, then. Did you drive through the roadblock too?"

"No, I took the back roads through the mountains. They have the highway blocked?"

"Yeah, there's soldiers keeping anyone from entering the city. But they aren't Army soldiers, I can tell you that."

"I think they work for Umbrella," Leon said. "They're in the city too, trying to fight off the zombies. I ran into some of them earlier."

"Okay," the woman said, standing back up straight, having caught her breath. "Listen, my name's Claire. I don't know if it's safe, but I'm going to try to get to the police station to look for my brother."

"My name's Leon. Nice to meet you. The police station sounds like a good idea. I was thinking about going there myself, but I'm afraid I'm a bit lost."

"I know the way," Claire said. "It's not even that far from here."

"Sounds great," Leon said. "But first, why don't you hand me that Mac-10? I think I might be able to handle it better."

Claire gave him a disapproving look. "What, just cause I'm a woman, you think I don't know how to handle a gun?"

"Have you ever fired a Mac-10 before?"

"Well, no," Claire admitted.

"Then hand it over," Leon said. He took out his Glock from his back pocket and held it out for her. "Here, I'll trade you."

"Deal," Claire said.

They traded guns and Claire pointed back over Leon's shoulder. "We'd better get moving. Here they come."

Leon turned and saw a crowd of zombies coming slowly down the street. There were a hundred of them, easily. More zombies than they had bullets to shoot them with.

"You know where we're going," Leon said. "Lead the way."

Claire ran down the street with Leon close behind. They ran down the middle of the street, to avoid any zombies that might come unexpectedly from doorways along the sidewalk. They passed more wrecked cars, more dead bodies, and more zombies wandering loose in the streets.

"So what do you know about what's happening here?" Leon asked.

"Not much," Claire said. "This disease, or whatever it is, started affecting people early this morning. I think they must have blocked the roads after it first began to spread."

"Any idea how it infected so many people at once?"

"I don't have a clue."

"How much longer to the police station?"

"Not far. Maybe two miles."

Leon laughed, although there wasn't much humor in it. "Well, that's not far at all. Do you think we'll actually make it there?"

"No, not really," Claire admitted, and slowed her pace. "Wait a minute, you said you just came here an hour ago? You must have driven here, so what happened to your car?"

"Someone stole it, believe it or not," Leon said. "Stupid, I know. What about your car?"

"I ride a motorcycle. I wasn't looking where I was going and drove into an open manhole."

"You're lucky you didn't get hurt," Leon said seriously.

Up in the street ahead of them was another crowd of zombies, maybe only fifty of them meandering around the avenue. Leon could see a burning car behind them, sending a trail of flickering flames up into the sky. Together, they stared at the crowd of zombies, who were paying attention to the burning car.

"Jesus," Claire whispered to herself. "What are we going to do?"

"We have to find a car," Leon said. "Hopefully one with the keys still in it."

There was a guttural growl behind them, and Leon spun around to see a large dog coming in their direction. It looked like a German Shepherd or a Husky, but it was hard to tell because the dog's head and face were smeared with gore, and its fur all around its throat was wet with blood. The dog lowered down and growled again. It was a sickening, wet sound.

The dog jumped up and bounded toward them, snarling and snapping its jaws. Claire screamed and Leon backed up, aiming his gun. He pulled the trigger when the dog was barely fifteen feet away, and the bullet blew straight through its skull. The dog let out a whimpering yelp and flopped to the sidewalk, tumbling to a stop right in front of them.

"Oh my God," Claire said, lifting a trembling hand to her face. "Look at it."

"Yeah," Leon muttered.

The fur and skin on the dog's face was peeling right off the muscle, like paint peeling off an old wall. The blood all over the dog's face was not from something the dog had killed, it was from the dog itself. Leon nudged the dog's shoulder with his foot, and the fur and skin wiped away like wet paper, exposing muscle and tissue underneath.

"It's got to be the same thing," Leon said. "The disease affects dogs too."

"We have to get out of here," Claire said, grabbing his arm. The zombies down the street heard the gunshot and were now walking towards them.

Down the street, there was a large gas station on the corner. Sitting in the parking lot beside the gas pumps was a tanker truck, with long black hoses already hooked up to pump gasoline from the truck into the gasoline tanks underground. And parked along the side of the convenience store were two cars.

They ran down the street, with a crowd of zombies following slowly behind them. When they reached the convenience store, Claire shouted, "What are you doing? We can't hide in here!"

"No, but we can get a car," Leon explained, pushing through the doors.

Almost as soon as they were inside, a zombie stood up abruptly from behind some shelves of snack chips and candy. It was an older man wearing a dress shirt that was soaked with blood. He groaned and staggered forward, and Leon shot him in the head.

Claire stood in the doorway and looked nervously back at the crowd of zombies. "Come on, what are you looking for?"

Leon crouched down and reached into the man's pockets. "I'm looking for his car keys. One of those cars outside has got to be his." But he didn't find anything when he searched the body.

"Maybe that guy lives next door and just walked here," Claire said. "We don't have time for this! We have to get moving!"

Another zombie rose from behind the cash register. It was a young man wearing a shirt with the gas station logo on it. He was the clerk, and his throat was ripped out, most likely by the zombie lying at Leon's feet.

"We'll get moving faster if we have a car," Leon said. He shot the clerk as well and ran over to the body, but there were no keys in his pockets there either. "Damn it!" he shouted in frustration. "Those keys have got to be somewhere!"

By now the crowd of zombies was just across the street, and some of them were already in the gas station parking lot. The crowd picked up a few stragglers on the way, increasing its size. They numbered about sixty now, coming closer every second. Claire stood uncertainly in the gas station doorway, nervously holding her Glock, unsure whether or not to start shooting.

"I'm leaving you here!" she shouted. "I'm not waiting!"

"Here!" Leon cried, grabbing the clerk's jacket from off the back of a chair in the supervisor's office behind the desk. A set of keys were in the jacket pocket.

They ran outside and over to the two cars parked beside the store. Leon tried the keys in the first car and the door opened. He jumped inside and unlocked the other door, allowing Claire to get into the passenger seat. The engine roared to life when he started the ignition.

"Alright, time to go," Leon said, putting the car into reverse. He looked behind the car as he started to back up.

A zombie slammed its bloody hands on the trunk and scratched at the rear window. There were already half a dozen zombies behind the car, grabbing at the windows, trying to reach the people inside.

"Let's go!" Claire screamed

Leon pressed his foot on the gas and the tires screeched as the car sped backwards. The other zombies fumbled after the car, but the zombie behind them fell onto the trunk and was taken for a short ride. Leon slammed the rear of the car right into the tanker truck parked there, smashing the zombie right against it. The car broke the hose off the pump and suddenly, gasoline began splashing from the broken valve, spraying like water from a garden hose.

Leon put the car back into gear and drove the car right through the growing crowd of zombies, knocking some of them out of the way and running two of them over. The car bumped over the bodies and skidded out of the parking lot to the street. Claire screamed and grabbed the dashboard for support as the car spun sideways and peeled out as it drove away.

"Man, that was too close," Leon said, glancing in the rear view mirror.

There was a flash of light, and then the entire gas station exploded in a massive ball of swirling fire. Flames burst out in every direction like a shockwave, and a ball of fire spread upward and out like a mushroom cloud. The convenience store was engulfed in fire and blew apart like a house of cards, flaming debris flying everywhere.

"Holy shit!" Leon shouted, slamming on the brakes. He and Claire turned around to see the massive tower of flame dissipate in the sky, turning to a dense column of choking black smoke. The entire gas station was now a blazing inferno. There were no zombies to be seen.

"Jesus, the gasoline must have ignited," Claire said in shock.

"I don't believe it," Leon said.

After watching the flames for a few moments, Claire faced forward in her seat and wearily patted Leon's arm. "Come on," she said. "We have to get to the police station, remember?"

They drove off, leaving the wreckage of the gas station behind them, still able to see the rising tower of smoke. Leon carefully drove the car through several jammed intersections, driving up onto the sidewalk and across front lawns a few times. Claire gave him directions and within a few minutes they were almost to their destination.

"Do you think it will be safe there?" Leon asked.

"Who knows? But I have to find my brother. He's a cop, so that's the best place to start looking."

Leon turned the wheel and drove the car halfway down the street before coming to a stop when he saw the police station up ahead. He could see dead bodies littered around the long front steps and near the wide open front doors. Even the front windows were completely smashed out, and as the car sat in the street, two zombies wandered along the steps.

Leon looked up at the windows on the second and third floors, but no one was there. If there were survivors inside, he would expect to see people looking out the windows to signal for help.

"I guess that answers that question," he said. "When people started turning into zombies, everyone probably came here for help. I guess I'm not surprised."

"There might be people alive inside," Claire said firmly.

"Maybe," Leon agreed. "But we'd have to fight our way through who knows how many zombies to find them. Do you really want to risk that?"

"I came here to look for my brother Chris, and I'm not leaving until I know for certain that he isn't here. If you don't want to come with me, then that's fine."

"I didn't say that. I just want you to realize the danger you're putting yourself in."

Claire put her hand on the door handle. "I'm going to look for Chris. Come with me or stay here, it's your choice."

She looked at him, waiting for an answer. When he didn't give her one, she opened the door and got out. The street was empty for the moment, but the two zombies on the police station steps noticed her when she closed the car door.

She carried a Beretta and a Glock, and maybe twenty bullets total. Ten times that many zombies would be waiting for her inside the police station. Leon was sure of it. But he wasn't going to call Claire stupid or foolish for trying. He had already put himself in harm's way more than once today, and he wasn't even looking for a family member.

He opened his door and stepped out, leaving the car running.

"Claire, stop for a second."

"I'm going to look for him, Leon," Claire snapped.

He held up his hands to fend her off. "I understand that, but walking in the front door is probably the worst possible thing you could do. That's where the zombies probably broke in, and most of them will be right on the first floor. Let's go around the building and try to find another way in."

"Okay," Claire said, sounding relieved. She was trying to muster up the courage to go in the front door, so Leon's suggestion was a welcome alternative. "We could try the fire escape."

"Alright," Leon said. He closed the door and walked around to Claire's side. He had his Desert Eagle, and the Mac-10 barrel currently tucked through his belt, where it hung at his side.

"Are you sure you want to come with me?" Claire asked, looking toward the desolate building, where an army of zombies most certainly waited for them.

"I don't have anywhere else to be just now," Leon said.

Chapter 27

Jill reached Brad's apartment complex and put her hands on her knees, panting for breath and looking around nervously. She ran almost the entire way, too afraid to slow down. Far too many stray zombies still roamed the streets, although there seemed to be fewer than before.

Her stomach growled angrily. Back at the warehouse, she ate some candy from the vending machine, but that had been a couple hours ago. She felt dizzy after running for so long, and guessed she must be dehydrated as well. Maybe she could break into one of the apartments and get something to eat and drink.

Brad's building was part of an apartment community with several rectangular two-story buildings arranged in a square. Jill hurried in between two of the buildings and then slowed when she saw the wreckage up ahead. At first, her mind did not even register what she saw, and it took her a few moments to react.

The edge of the building was completely destroyed, the entire outside wall collapsed in on itself, leaving a huge pile of scattered debris and wreckage. It looked like the aftermath of an explosion. The entire apartment on the edge of the building was gone, crushed and reduced to nothing but rubble. The second floor was gone, and the first floor was now buried. Lying in the center of the wreckage was a huge square metal container, like the kind used for shipping cargo on ships. It looked like it fell out of the sky and landed right on the edge of the building.

Jill looked around quickly when she heard noise coming from around the side of the crushed remains of the wall. She edged closer and saw two zombies crouched over a body, making sloppy chewing noises. She backed away, feeling sick. The body wasn't Brad, at least.

But she came here to find him, and wasn't about to leave without at least trying. She knew his apartment faced the open yard in between all the buildings, but she couldn't actually remember which building he lived in. She'd only ever been to his apartment once. And she wasn't going to try to go into all the buildings, it would be far too dangerous. Instead, she decided to do something crazy.

"Brad!" she shouted as loud as she could. "Brad Vickers! This is Jill! Jill Valentine! If you can hear me, please let me know!"

Immediately, the two zombies jumped up and stared at her, their faces coated with fresh blood from the body they were busy devouring.

Jill's heart raced at the thought of announcing her presence to every zombie within a hundred yards. But it was the fastest and easiest way to try to get Brad's attention, if he was anywhere nearby.

"Brad! Brad Vickers! Can you hear me?"

The two zombies drew closer, and Jill drew her pistol. Four more appeared from around the side of the building, and she could see two zombies staring at her from different balconies. She waited for an agonizing minute as the zombies got closer. She finally shot at them, putting a bullet into each of their heads. The gunshots echoed between the buildings.

Jill tried one more time. "Brad Vickers! This is Jill! Please come out!"

She turned around to see another small group of zombies coming behind her. Plus the four others, it made too many for her to waste ammo on. She lowered her gun.

"Sorry, Brad," she said to herself. "I tried."

She ran off in another direction, away from the two groups of zombies, out of the inner yard and through the complex's parking lot. Brad's black Grand Prix was parked along the street, and Jill ran past it, only glancing at it for a moment before continuing on.

She knew that Brad was probably dead, but she needed to know for sure. If he was around to hear her shouting his name, he would have to answer. If he didn't respond, then he wasn't here or he was already dead. Jill was too stressed out to feel sad about it now. She didn't have time to mourn, when there were already so many others weighing on her conscience, like Eddie Thorn and poor old Mrs. Calloway. Sometime, much later, Jill would find the time to mourn for them.

She headed down the street, feeling exhausted. Her stomach still growled its hunger, and she knew she would have to get something to eat soon if she wanted to have any strength left by the end of the day. She was lucky she wasn't diabetic, or she'd have slipped into a coma by now.

Cars ahead blocked an intersection, and a tractor trailer with a Pepsi logo on the side was parked along the sidewalk, a smear of blood across the driver's side door. A dozen zombies grouped together in the middle of the street, one of them wearing a shirt with the Pepsi logo on it, the driver of the truck.

Jill took a short cut through the parking lot of a family restaurant on the corner. A neon "Open" sign still burned in the window, and a few stray cars were in the lot. As Jill ran past the building, she suddenly heard a scream and a pair of rapid gunshots from within.

She ran up to the side door and tested it. It was unlocked, so she crept inside, her gun drawn. She paused in the doorway and walked silently through the foyer, looking around the corner to see a large, empty dining area and doorway to the kitchen area. There were modern art prints on the wall, and little scented candles burned on the dining tables.

"Hello?" she asked cautiously. "Is someone here?"

"Who is that!?" a familiar voice cried out frantically. "Show yourself!"

Jill crept around the corner and looked toward the other side the restaurant. There was a row of booths on one side, and a long bar on the other, lined with bar stools. Behind that was a long glass case full of alcohol bottles. And standing at the end of the bar, aiming a gun at Jill with one hand and clutching a bloody wound on his shoulder with the other, was a man wearing black jeans and a yellow fleece jacket.

It was Brad Vickers, staring at her in absolute disbelief.

"Jill?" he whimpered plaintively. He lowered the gun, his arm dropping to his side, as if he no longer had the strength to hold it up.

"Brad!" Jill cried, running over to him.

He slipped to the ground and sat down on the floor, his back against the side of the bar. Jill knelt down and saw blood seeping between his fingers as he clutched his arm. When Jill got closer, she could see a body lying on the ground in the doorway to the kitchen, a dead zombie wearing a cook's white uniform. The situation finally dawned on her, and she looked down at Brad, her eyes opening wide.

"Oh no, Brad," she said, her voice trailing off.

He looked weakly up at her. "Sorry, Jill. You got here a minute too late."

"You've been bitten ..."

"Yeah, I know. You don't have to say it."

She reached out and touched his arm. "I went to your apartment," she said, her voice flat. "I looked for you. I didn't think you'd still be alive, but ... but I had to check."

"You did?" Brad asked. For a split second, he almost smiled. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I mean that."

"Come on," Jill said, pulling Brad to his feet. "We can't stay here, we have to keep moving. I'm trying to get to the station. It might be safe there."

"I'm not going anywhere," Brad said sadly. "You know what's going to happen to me now. And that ... that monster is still out there somewhere. I'm not going to risk running into it again."

"What monster?"

"You mean you didn't see it?" Brad asked. "Didn't you see one of the other apartment buildings all smashed?"

"Yeah, it looked like a big metal crate fell right on it."

"That's what happened. A helicopter dropped it."

"That doesn't make any sense," Jill said.

"Listen," Brad insisted. "There was some kind of monster in that crate, okay? It's not a zombie, it's something else, and it's –"

He was interrupted by a loud, blood-curdling roar right outside the restaurant, and almost jumped into the air when he heard it. Jill spun around to catch a glimpse of something through the front windows. She drew her gun and stepped back toward Brad.

Brad shook his head in despair and went to the doorway to the kitchen, staring out toward the front windows. "No, no, no, there's no way it could find me ..."

"What the hell is it?" Jill asked urgently.

"I don't know!" Brad cried. "But it came after me before!"

There was another roar and the front door crashed inward, breaking down off its hinges, the entire wall shaking with the impact. Framed pictures fell off the wall and one of the ceiling tiles near the door broke loose, clattering to the floor. The door wavered loosely in the frame, and Jill could see a large black shape just on the other side.

Brad ran for it. He turned and bolted into the kitchen and out of sight, leaving Jill alone. She braced herself as the front door smashed right off, sailing into the room and spinning through the air. Jill felt the breath knocked right out of her chest as the creature outside stepped into the doorway and leveled its hideous gaze right at her.

It was shaped like a man, but it was twisted and distorted like some kind of hallucination, hulking through the door at over seven feet tall. Its mouth was like a gaping wound in the center of its face, a hole of scar tissue exposing long teeth and blood red gums. Puffy, mottled beige skin covered its face, with one large yellow eye and a smaller black one half-concealed by a fold of skin over its brow. But it must have been a man, because it wore clothing. Barely containing its massive frame was a huge black trenchcoat, black pants, and huge black boots.

"Jesus Christ," Jill gasped, her gun trembling in her hands.

The monster hunkered down, arms spread wide, and roared inhumanly at her, its tremendous voice making the walls shake. Jill seemed as if the sound would knock her over, and she staggered backward, barely able to keep her balance. She nearly tripped over the dead zombie as she ran into the kitchen.

The monster came at her like a charging rhino, swiftly knocking over two tables in its way, just swatting them aside like they were weightless. One of the tables struck the far wall and broke right in half. Jill ran through the kitchen as the monster came at her, swinging its massive arm like a battle mace. It tore a chunk out of the wall and howled its fury, the sound amplified in the narrow space, pounding into Jill's brain.

When she reached the corner only to find a stairway heading down to the basement, Jill turned and ran the other way, going the long way around the kitchen. There were three large ovens and long cutting tables along the wall, and rows of stainless steel pots and pans hanging above her. She managed a glance over her shoulder to see the monster smash right through a tall row of metal shelves, tossing bowls and cooking utensils everywhere. It jumped into the air and Jill dove for cover, scrambling under one of the tables as the monster flew past her and smashed into the wall, plowing right through a large sink.

The monster was now in between her and the exit. She turned and ran back the way she came, and the monster came after her again. It swept its arm along the wall and tore loose the ovens' huge exhaust pipes, blasting dust and smoke out. The entire stove was knocked out of place and it crashed onto its side, blocking the narrow aisle. The monster kicked it out of the way and it crashed end over end, taking out more shelves stacked with boxes of ingredients.

One of the shelves clipped Jill on the shoulder as she ran past, knocking her off balance. She fell and slid to the floor, her head smacking against the wall. Dazed, she stared up at the monster, and then looked past it to see the pipes it knocked loose when it smashed the oven. She managed to recognize the oven's natural gas line sticking up into the air, spraying gas into the kitchen.

She scrambled up and ran back around the other side of the kitchen as the monster flipped up one of the tables, once again charging after her. Up ahead were a pair of refrigerators against the wall. Jill dove headfirst to the floor as the monster ran past her and smashed into the wall, its arm punching right through. It furiously tore its arm loose and knocked over one of the refrigerators. Jill managed to crawl away and ran for the exit door just ahead.

She barreled through the door and jumped clear of the wooden deck. She could hear the monster howling furiously behind her.

And then the growing haze of natural gas in the kitchen area seeped into the dining area, and reached one of the scented candles burning there.

The entire building rocked on its foundation as a ball of fire surged through the restaurant, blowing out all the windows in a tremendous, thundering whoosh of flames and flying glass. The shockwave hit Jill in mid-air and launched her all the way past the edge of the parking lot. She landed on a strip of grass in between the restaurant and the building next door. She hit the ground and rolled with the impact, ending up on her stomach, facing the building.

Flames spilled from the windows, belching black smoke into the air. The whole building looked tilted, as if the sudden blast lifted it up and then set it back down at an angle. Jill stared through the back doorway as she tried to catch her breath, but there was nothing to see but a wall of swirling flames. The monster, if it was still in there, was burning alive.

After a few moments, she managed to get to her feet. Brad was nowhere in sight, having left Jill to face the creature by herself. She didn't know where he went, unless he decided to follow her advice and head for the police station. Brad's apartment was only a five minute drive to the station, but Jill was on foot and it would take a bit longer. She still felt it was the safest place they could go, but safety was a relative thing now. There was a high probability that the police station was overrun with zombies as well. Maybe if Brad chose to go there, Jill could catch up with him.

She dusted herself off, cast one final glance at the burning restaurant, and headed off after Brad. The monster in the restaurant, whatever it was, was certainly dead by now.

Chapter 28

Leon wondered distractedly what the police station might have been like before the epidemic struck. Twenty-four hours earlier, he imagined the station being bustling and busy, full of officers working at their desks and filling out reports, with cops and civilians alike walking down the wide, spacious hallways.

Now, it was nothing but a tomb. Leon and Claire silently crept through one of the side entrances, avoiding the two dead bodies sprawled near the doors. As soon as they were inside, the smell of decay reached them, turning their stomachs. It was thick in the air, the penetrating smell of death and corruption.

Leon was no stranger to dangerous and violent situations, but this was even beyond his experience. He had gone up against soldiers and terrorists and walked right into danger dozens of times during his service with the Rangers. But this was different. He would rather go up against a squad of guerrilla fighters than face another crowd of undead zombies. The two guns he carried were no defense against something that was already dead.

He glanced at Claire and was almost surprised to see that she didn't seem any more frightened than he was. If anything, she seemed even more composed. He still didn't know anything about her personally, except that she was looking for her brother. There hadn't really been an opportunity to get to know her, given the circumstances. Leon wondered if he would have an opportunity in the future either. It was entirely possible that neither of them would get out of this building alive.

They walked through the small foyer and out into the hall, looking in each direction first, but there was no one there. Trash and other items lay scattered across the hall, left behind by the desperate crowds that must have tried to find shelter there earlier. Food containers, empty coffee cups, pieces of clothing like ripped jackets and solitary shoes, abandoned purses and plastic bags, crumpled newspapers, and anything else that the survivors might have brought with them. Leon spotted a Barbie doll lying in the middle of the floor.

There was also blood. Some was smeared on the wall, but most of it was on the floor. A few drops here and there, small puddles in a few spots. One of the torn jackets lying against the wall was soaked with it. The larger puddles of blood were like grave markers.

Leon and Claire stood in the foyer for a few minutes, taking in the desolation and the remains of what must have taken place.

"Do you still want to go look for your brother?" Leon asked carefully, keeping his voice very low. "If he's here, do you really want to find him?"

"Yes," Claire answered immediately. "I've come this far. I'm not about to quit now."

"Okay, just thought I'd ask."

Claire glanced at him uncertainly. "You don't have to come with me. I mean, I don't expect you to," she said, almost apologetically, as if she felt guilty for Leon being there with her.

"I'd feel like a real asshole if I let you go in here by yourself," Leon said simply. "Now, does your brother have an office or something where he might be?"

"Yes, his unit's office is upstairs."

"You know how to get there?"

"Yes, I've visited here before."

"Okay, lead the way."

They walked carefully down the hall, trying to make as little noise as possible. The putrid smell of decay got stronger the farther they walked into the building, and Leon resorted to breathing through his mouth.

Claire made sure to avoid stepping in any of the blood, although Leon did not bother to be so dainty. They passed more discarded items littering the hall. A pink purse, a laptop computer, a baseball bat with blood smeared across it, a white t-shirt stained with blood, a pair of thin framed glasses with one of the lenses cracked. Leon tried to envision what terrifying events had transpired here, perhaps no longer than a few hours before. People seeking refuge, lining the entire hallway, suddenly breaking into a riot when one of them turned into a zombie. Or maybe zombies broke into the building and everyone just ran for their lives, abandoning their belongings, trampling those who got underfoot.

Leon shook his head, focusing on the present. As they reached the end of the hall, they could see down the next corridor. A large potted plant sat in the corner, and glass cases lined the walls, filled with newspaper clippings. The hallway continued, but there was a wide staircase with a thick wooden bannister leading up to the second floor, a balcony above them looking down onto the first floor.

Piled underneath the balcony were bodies. Dozens of them. Men and women were sprawled in a disgusting pile of corpses, their limbs sticking out in every direction, their mouths open and eyes staring up into nothingness. Each one had a bullet hole in its head, giving Leon no doubt as to their condition before they died. They were all zombies.

Claire turned toward the wall and vomited, leaning over and coughing a few times afterward, shaking her head in dismay. She turned and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking at the pile of bodies.

"Jesus," she whispered. "I knew it would be bad, but ..."

"Yeah," Leon said. "They must have tried to make a stand here. Look up the stairs. They tried to block the way."

At the top of the stairs, they could see overturned benches and stacked filing cabinets knocked to the side. The police, or whatever survivors were left, had tried to keep the zombies from getting onto the second floor, and the pile of dead were the ones they killed. But their makeshift barricade was incomplete. The zombies got through anyway.

Farther down the hall, a zombie appeared from out of a doorway. He was an overweight man with a blue dress shirt and black tie, and a police badge could be seen hanging from his belt. He groaned and came in their direction.

But as Leon lifted his gun, suddenly there were more of them coming out of the room. Two, three, four, then six, then eight, then fifteen. Leon backed up as zombies began flooding out of the room, a crowd of undead surging into the hallway.

"Let's go," he said, grabbing Claire's arm.

They ran up the stairs, almost slipping on the blood puddled on each step. They reached the top and quickly stepped over the remains of the barricade.

"Oh shit!" Claire cried.

More zombies were on the second floor, the hallway was full of them. Claire looked over the railing to the first floor and saw that now there were dozens of them filling the entire hallway, coming toward the stairs. They were trapped in between two crowds of undead.

Leon stepped forward and raised the Mac-10, bracing his free hand under the main body of the gun. He knew that once he pulled the trigger, the gun would kick up, but he didn't want to waste a single bullet.

He squeezed the trigger, holding his breath, and the gun opened fire, spitting out a blast of bullets, a bright muzzle flash erupting from the barrel. Leon kept his aim at head height, and the bullets smacked right into the zombie's faces as they came at him. The first row went down like a line of dominoes, their bodies flopping to the ground. Leon forced the gun downward and continued to fire, blasting into the crowd, hitting all of the zombies right in the head. A dozen more slumped to the floor, causing some of the others to trip over them.

Claire stood at the top of the stairs and pulled out her Glock. She shot at the zombies who made it to the stairs, shooting several of them in the head. But she held off, not wasting to waste all her bullets.

A fat woman toppled over backward as Leon fired at her, and she took out four other zombies as she collapsed to the floor. Leon kept firing until the Mac-10 clicked empty, smoke pouring from the hot barrel. Maybe thirty zombies went down in one concentrated blast of gunfire.

He tossed the useless gun to the floor and drew his Desert Eagle. "Claire! Come on!"

The gun had paved a way for them. They ran through the carpet of corpses, dodging the dozen or so zombies that Leon missed in his barrage of gunfire. They made it through what was left of the crowd and continued down the hall. It was lined with small offices and supply rooms, and more zombies appeared here and there, but Leon and Claire ran right past them.

The hall split into another hall going to the left and right, with a pair of double doors at the intersection leading into what looked like a conference room.

"Which way do we go?" Leon shouted as they ran.

"I don't know!" Claire admitted. "I never came this way before!"

Leon spotted motion ahead of them. Something in the conference room moved between the office chairs and came into view through the doorway. But it wasn't a zombie like the others. It wasn't even human.

Claire skidded to a halt and screamed, and Leon had to grab her to keep her running. They ran past the doorway and turned right down the other hall, as the creature in the room jumped after them.

It was the size of a mountain lion, but it was nothing like any natural animal on Earth. The creature's body was a rippling mass of red and pink muscle, wet and glistening, and its face was a long, distorted snout with black eyes and an exposed line of jagged yellow teeth. Huge claws on its feet cracked loudly against the floor as it ran after them, snarling and howling, saliva streaming from its twisted mouth.

Up ahead of them, there were a couple more zombies standing around. They turned when they heard Claire screaming. Leon didn't even bother to slow down. He jumped into the air and stuck both his feet out, slamming one of the zombies right in the chest with such force that Leon felt the zombie's ribs crack. The zombie sailed backward as if struck by a cannonball and knocked two others to the ground.

Leon landed flat on his back, holding his breath to keep from getting the wind knocked out of him. He rolled onto his side and waved Claire away as she tried to help him up.

"Go!" he shouted. "Run for it!"

Claire did not hesitate. She bolted past the zombies and kept going down the hall. Leon jumped aside as one of the other zombies reached for him. The creature chasing them howled furiously and jumped right at the zombie, knocking it flat. The creature's huge claws slashed the zombie's torso open, spilling its intestines. The creature then spun around and headed for Leon, who dove out of the way.

As the creature skipped past him, he jumped into one of the supply rooms nearby and swung the door closed. It was a plain wooden door with a glazed window, and the creature jumped up and smashed one of its arms through, showering Leon in bits of glass. He slid backward across the floor, fumbling for his Desert Eagle.

The creature howled, snapping its jaws as it tried to struggle through the broken window. Its claws scraped the doorway, slicing into the wood. Leon backed against the wall and swung his gun up just as the creature managed to get the top half of its body through the door.

He fired twice at its head and it squealed in pain so loud that Leon slapped his hands against his ears. The beast thrashed in the broken window, and the whole door broke free of its hinges. Leon managed to shoot the creature once more, right in the head, as it fell to the floor, the door crashing down on top of it. It thrashed once more and then was still, its last breath hissing from his mouth.

Leon didn't waste any time. He got up and jumped over the creature's dead body, going back into the hallway. The zombies were already getting to their feet, and more of them appeared farther down the hall in the direction Claire had run.

"Claire!" Leon shouted. But he didn't hear her call back, and soon there were more zombies in the hallway than Leon had bullets to kill. He backed away as the zombies approached, and then ran back the other way. He went back to the intersection where the conference room was, and looked back down the hall toward the stairs. The entire hall was packed with zombies now, dozens of them, all coming for him.

With nowhere else to go, Leon was forced to go down the left side of the hall. It was the only way not blocked by zombies, but a hundred of them might show up at any moment. Leon only had his Desert Eagle now, and with just a handful of bullets left. He didn't stand much of a chance, unless he could find some more weapons.

He tried not to think about Claire. When she ran down the hall, there were no zombies there to stop her. All the zombies appeared in the minute afterward, when Leon killed that mutant creature. Maybe she made it down the hall, but there was no way for Leon to catch up with her now.

For now, he just hoped that she was still okay.

Chapter 29

Claire ran as fast as she could down the hall, only daring to glance over her shoulder one time, catching a brief glimpse of Leon as he dove into a room and slammed the door behind him. The twisted creature howled and jumped at the door, going after Leon instead of Claire. She realized that he must have intended for the monster to go after him, giving her the chance to escape.

Zombies were everywhere, coming out of almost every room. Claire must have been suicidal to come to the police station, and she made it worse by bringing Leon with her. Coming here was an awful mistake. She would never find Chris with so many zombies on the loose. If Chris was alive, he certainly wasn't here, and if he was dead, Claire would never find him anyway.

She turned and ran down another hallway, hearing gunshots behind her. It was Leon shooting at the creature, and Claire dared hope he would manage to kill it. But she could not go back, not with so many zombies between them. So she kept going down the hall, finding that it led to a dead end with several cramped corner offices, and a narrow staircase heading up to the third floor. She darted up the stairs two at a time.

A zombie appeared at the top of the stairs, an elderly man wearing a blood-stained blue business suit. Claire shot him in the head and ran past him before his body even hit the floor. She expected to see more zombies, but the top of the stairwell was empty.

Up ahead of her was a small waiting area, complete with plastic chairs and end tables covered in old magazines. There was a secretary's desk with a sign-in sheet, and beyond that was an open area lined with desks. It was the main police area of the station, with rows of cluttered desks, where most of the police force did their paperwork on a daily basis. It was a disaster, with stacks of paper dumped onto the floor, chairs tipped over, and other items all over the floor, as if a whirlwind had blown through recently. She could smell burnt coffee lingering in the air.

Claire walked carefully through the remains of the disaster, stepping over discarded files and folders, around puddles of spilled coffee, telephone receivers hanging off the edge of desks like lynching victims, and black computer screens staring blankly forward. She tried to envision what had happened here in the early hours of the morning when the scale of the disaster first started to become known. At what point did the police realize that they had a full-scale pandemic on their hands?

A zombie stood up from behind a desk, only ten feet away, and she swung her gun up and shot him instinctively, the gun kicking in her hand. He slumped over backward and fell against a computer monitor, knocking it over as he collapsed. The monitor rolled off the desk and crashed to the floor. Claire stood in place, her breath coming fast, and scanned the rest of the room. If there were any zombies nearby, she expected them to get up at the noise, but she seemed alone for now.

She maneuvered through the room and looked into the side offices for higher ranking officers. Some of the offices were small conference rooms, with tables and projection screens, and they were all empty.

Claire knew that the S.T.A.R.S. offices were on the third floor, so all she had to do was keep going until she saw something she recognized. If she could make it to Chris's desk, then maybe she could at least learn a clue as to his whereabouts.

She had the Glock in her hand and the Beretta stuck in the back pocket of her jeans. She still wore her black fingerless motorcycle gloves, and her hand gripped the gun's handle tightly as she made her way through the office area.

She stopped suddenly, catching a glimpse of a newspaper buried under a stack of papers, part of the headline getting her attention. She walked to the desk and pushed the others papers aside, pulling the newspaper free. The sound of crinkling paper was loud in the empty area as Claire lifted the paper up and scanned the headline on the front page.

Mysterious Tragedy In Arklay Mountains: Police Officers Feared Dead

"Oh my God," she whispered as she read the article. It was woefully short of useful information, but what few facts remained were enough to tell a horrible story. Claire remembered that Kendo was just about to tell her about Barry Burton when the zombies attacked them. This was the story he was going to tell her.

Barry Burton, Enrico Mancini, Forrest Speyer, and almost the rest of the entire S.T.A.R.S. unit was gone, killed in the mountains during some secretive mission. The news seemed to strike Claire right in the chest. She knew several of those officers, had been friends with them. Even Chris's team leader Wesker was killed. According to the newspaper, the only ones who survived were Chris, Jill Valentine, Brad Vickers, and a new member of the team named Rebecca Chambers.

No wonder Chris sounded so strange on the phone. Somehow, Claire began to understand what he must have been going through.

She dropped the paper and walked away from the office area to the hallways at the other end of the large room. There was a large posting board on the wall, covered in notes and newspaper clippings. Claire looked to the left and right, unsure which direction to go. She headed right, holding her gun firmly in front of her. There were more offices and supply rooms, and Claire walked past them very carefully, glancing inside to make sure there were no zombies about to jump out at her.

The hallway turned to the left and Claire continued slowly, until she saw a break room and kitchen area up ahead, with a refrigerator and a few microwaves. She hurried to the room and glanced around. She recognized the break room from one of her other visits to the police station, and suddenly she felt more confident.

The S.T.A.R.S. command center was just down the hall. Claire hurried down the corridor, noticing smears of blood on the floor, ignoring them for the moment. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the S.T.A.R.S. insignia on the large set of double doors, and stopped in front of them, listening carefully for any noise on the other side.

She held her breath and pushed open the doors with one hand, her gun in the other, aiming into the room. But it was empty, thankfully. Claire knew that there wouldn't be anyone alive in the command center, but it might have been full of zombies.

Chris's desk looked untouched. She walked up to it, her hand running along the back of his desk chair. There was nothing in the room to indicate that anyone had been there since the zombies invaded the police station. Everything seemed in its proper place. There was a framed photo on the desk of Chris and Claire with their parents, taken a few years ago. Claire smiled sadly at the sight of it and then focused her attention on the rest of the command center.

There were four other desks besides Chris's. They belonged to Enrico, Richard, Barry, and Wesker, the four other senior members of the team. They also looked untouched recently. Claire noticed a crumpled cigarette on Wesker's desk, as if he had crushed it into the desktop to put it out. Claire wondered how long ago that happened.

Chris wasn't there, so Claire decided there was no reason for her to hang around. She poked her head back into the hallway and continued onward. To get back to the main floor from here, she had to go down a few halls to the elevator. If the elevator wasn't working, she would have to take the stairs, but since there was still power in the building she had no reason to think the elevator was out of order.

She reached an intersection, where the hallway continued straight ahead and also split off to the left. Up ahead there were some supply rooms and evidence lockers, and down the other hallway were more offices and then the elevators. Claire turned to the left and then swung her gun up.

Zombies, several of them. Two men in police uniforms and two women wearing civilian clothes, one of them in a blue blouse and the other wearing jeans and a tank top. One of the women staggered forward and Claire put a bullet in her head. She turned the gun to shoot one of the zombie policemen, and the gun clicked empty.

The zombie lunged forward to grab her hands and she screamed, breaking free of its grasp. She knocked its arms aside and swung up her leg to kick it directly in the chest. The zombie reeled backwards but did not fall over. Claire hurled the empty pistol as hard as she could, hitting the other female zombie directly in the forehead. The gun cracked into her skull and flew off to the side, breaking one of the nearby office door windows.

Claire yanked her Beretta out and shot the policeman in the face as he reached for her again. She aimed the gun up at the other two zombies, and felt her hopes sink as more zombies began to shuffle into the hallway from the adjacent offices, at least a dozen of them.

She shot the two closest zombies and then knelt down, desperately fumbling at the policeman's belt, yanking his gun from the holster. She ran to the other cop and did the same, and then emptied her Beretta into the growing crowd, killing three or four more with head shots. But more and more were coming from farther down the hall, until the entire corridor was packed.

Claire gave up with an annoyed scream turned to run in the other direction. She debated going back in the direction of the command center, but knew there was nothing for her there. Instead, she went to the main hallway and continued straight down the hall. She passed a few supply rooms and the evidence lockers, and then stopped when the hallway went off to the left again.

She peeked around the corner and saw a wide foyer area with a set of double doors with large glazed windows. There were a few benches and some potted plants, and a pair of stairways, one heading up and one heading down. Beyond the doors, she could see blurred bodies milling around in the hallway on the other side. She very carefully crept across the foyer to the stairs and walked down them with soft steps, back to the second floor.

She stuck one of the police issue Berettas into her back pocket and flipped off the safety on the other. She made it to the bottom of the stairs and looked around the hallway. There was another zombie wearing a police uniform bumbling around, and Claire shook her head as she raised her gun. She tried not to think about the fact that she was killing former police officers. These men used to be Chris's friends.

She squeezed off a shot and the zombie's head jerked backwards, the bullet hitting him directly in the eye. The zombie tilted over and fell against the door of another small supply room, breaking the window on the door as it fell.

Claire flinched when she heard a shriek coming from the room, and she stood there stunned for a few seconds. Zombies didn't shriek or cry out. Amazed, Claire rushed forward to the room, looking in through the broken window. Inside the room was dark, so Claire pushed open the door, seeing a small room lined with metal bookcases covered in cardboard boxes packed with folders and dusty sheets of paper.

Claire crept into the dark little room and reached up for the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. When she pulled the chain, the light popped on. Suddenly, something scrambled away from the corner and tried to dart past her. A small child wearing a blue shirt and a checkered skirt, with dirty blonde hair obscuring her face.

Claire grabbed the child as she rushed past, and together they stumbled into the hallway, over the dead policeman lying in the doorway. The little girl screamed frantically, pulling away from Claire.

"No!" Claire said, grabbing her arm. "It's okay! I'm not a zombie! It's okay!"

"Let me go!" the girl screamed.

"I'm not going to hurt you!"

"We have to go! We can't stay here!" the girl cried. "There's more of them! They're everywhere! Look!"

Claire looked over her shoulder and saw zombies appearing at the end of the hall, attracted by the sound of the girl screaming. The girl managed to yank her sleeve out of Claire's hand, and immediately bolted down the hall, her black dress shoes clicking loudly on the linoleum floor, her hair flowing behind her.

Claire got up and ran after her. The girl headed down another hallway and Claire heard a scream as soon as the girl was out of sight. When Claire turned the corner, she saw the girl scrambling away from a tall zombie that was reaching for her. Claire slammed into the zombie and knocked it to the floor.

"Come on!" Claire shouted, grabbing the girl's hand and pulling her to her feet.

They ran full-tilt down the hall, and Claire saw another pair of staircases at the other end. But before they got there, a zombie lurched out of a room and into the hall, turning its bloody face in their direction.

Claire stopped to draw her gun, but the girl kept running. As Claire shot the zombie, the girl ran right past and headed for the stairs. The girl glanced toward the down staircase, but instantly ran upstairs instead.

"Not that way!" Claire shouted, running to catch up with her.

Suddenly, a creature bounded up the stairs from the first floor and landed with a howl, facing Claire. It was another of the bizarre, mutated monsters that she and Leon ran into earlier, just before getting separated. This one was not as large as the other, but it was still a terrifying sight, about the size of a large dog, its body rippling with exposed muscle and tissue. The creature opened its jaws and roared, saliva spewing from its mouth. Its huge claws scraped the floor as it jumped towards her, its long whip-like tail lashing back and forth.

Claire had nowhere to run. She drew her other pistol from her back pocket, flipping the safety with her thumb, and aimed both pistols right at the creature. Standing right in the middle of the corridor, she braced herself, locked her arms, and squeezed the triggers, her guns blasting repeatedly in the hallway like the sound of a machine gun. Muzzle flashes lit up the barrels, lighting the hallway like a strobe light.

The twisted monster howled as bullets ripped into its glistening, muscled hide, tiny bursts of blood and clear fluid erupting from the flesh. It charged at her and then cried out and flopped to the floor, sliding a bit and stopping just a few feet away from Claire. She breathed heavily and pulled the triggers again as she aimed down at the beast, each gun clicking empty, smoke pouring from the barrels.

She dropped the guns and ran for the stairs. When she reached the top, she ran down the closet hallway and stopped when she saw the little girl peeking at her from a nearby doorway. The girl waved her over and Claire gratefully went inside.

They were in a little conference room with an old table and a few rickety wooden chairs, and a dry erase board on the wall covered in multi-colored scribbles.

"We can't stay here long," Claire said, gasping for breath.

"Is that so? Where do you think we can go?" the girl asked. "There's too many of those crazy people out there."

"We've got to try to get out," Claire insisted. "It's too dangerous here. If we can get out, we can try to leave the city."

The girl looked at her, almost hopefully, and then shook her head. "No, if we stay in here, we're safe. As long as we stay quiet, they won't hear us."

"Listen," Claire said, kneeling down. "We can't stay here, alright? Maybe a few minutes, enough to rest for a little while. I know you're scared and everything, but we can't stay. We have to try to get out of here. Do you understand?"

The girl's expression hardened. "You don't have to talk to me like I'm an idiot."

"Then don't be an idiot," Claire snapped. "You really think we'll be safe here in this room? If we stay here much longer, we'll be trapped and we'll never get out."

The girl shook her head and turned her back, and then sat down against the wall, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. She stared forward and narrowed her eyes. There were smudges of dirt on her face, and blood splattered on her shoes and socks. One of the sleeves of her school uniform was ripped at the shoulder.

Claire didn't want to know how the girl managed to survive, but she figured she could make an accurate enough guess. The girl must be awfully tough to have lasted this long. The hard-bitten look in her eyes told Claire all she needed to know.

Claire leaned against the wall and stretched out her legs, looking down at herself. There were bloody fingerprints on her arm from a zombie's grasping hand, and her black boots were soiled with blood from the puddles she splashed through. Her hands shook just a little bit, and she convinced herself it was from shooting the guns and not from fear.

"My name is Claire Redfield," she said.

The little girl did not respond for a moment, and then said softly, "I'm Sherry Birkin."

Chapter 30

She was close, the prey was close. The creature could not smell her or detect her, but somehow it knew. It could feel her presence nearby, like a heat-seeking missile homing in on its target.

The creature loped down the pitch black corridor, in a long-abandoned underground maintenance tunnel beneath the streets of Raccoon City. It ran with two legs and one arm in a lopsided gait, its whole torso twisted, its other arm like a massive growth on the side of its body. Its fingers ended in claws like massive razor blades. A shining, blinking eyeball decorated its upper arm, the vertical pupil dilated. Filthy tatters of clothing hung on its body, the remains of a white lab coat and black trousers.

The creature was not complete. It was still growing, still evolving. The G-virus coursing through its veins was still mutating and changing its monstrous body, continually altering his DNA to suit its needs. The creature would continue to grow and mutate as time went on, becoming less and less like the human being it had once been.

Sensing a change in the tunnel ahead, the creature stopped and swung its bestial head to the left and right, streams of saliva dripping from its open mouth. There was a stairway ahead, leading up to a building on the surface. An old building, one that connected to these old tunnels.

With a growl and a lurch of its massive body, the creature ran down the corridor and to the stairs, jumping up them several at a time, its claws digging into the crumbling walls as it climbed.

An old, rusted metal door was at the top of the stairs. The creature did not slow down, it slammed right into the door, ripping it from its frame with a screech of metal. It crashed into a dark, empty room lined with dust and grime. Lifting its head as if smelling the foul air, the creature felt its prey nearby. She was just ahead, it could almost smell her now.

With a roar, the creature flung itself at the wall of the tiny room, smashing through with ease. The wall was not an original part of the building's basement, it was cheaply made from boards of wood and drywall, built decades ago. It crumbled like sheets of styrofoam. The creature broke through to another room, but this one was illuminated by a few tiny yellow light bulbs. Crowded shelves of machinery and car parts were along the walls. The floor was slimy with oil and clumps of old sawdust.

The creature crashed through the room and out into the main garage area underneath the Raccoon City police station. The large parking area was home to a few police cars, some of which were in for repairs, their hoods raised and tires lifted up on jacks. The parking area and garage led to a ramp at the other end of the room, which headed up to a street behind the police station. Right now, huge metal doors were lowered across the ramp, blocking the entrance to keep out the hordes of undead in the streets.

It would not be long now. The embryo growing inside the creature would soon be implanted into the prey, the female with shared genetic material. Since the G-virus bonded with the host's DNA, it needed another host with the same DNA, and there was only one such host. And she was close now, so close.

It would not be long now.

Chapter 31

When Brad Vickers first heard the horrific story of what Jill and the rest of the team went through in the Arklay Mountains, his immediate reaction was not to feel guilty about abandoning them there. Guilt came later, and it threatened to overwhelm him, but it was not the first emotion he experienced when he learned of what his teammates had faced.

His first reaction was to be relieved that he did not have to face those horrors himself. As guilty as Brad felt over his actions, his guilt was tempered with a sense of gratefulness that he was spared those horrors. Even when he came to terms with the deaths of Barry and Joseph and almost the entire Bravo team, he was secretly happy that he was still alive.

And even after Jill and Chris told their story to Chief Irons, even after Brad himself witnessed the giant albino and chained woman battling it out in the open courtyard, Brad could not really believe the truth about what happened that night. A sense of unreality lingered over the whole situation. He didn't doubt what happened, but he could not adapt it to his knowledge of the world.

And then all of Raccoon City went straight to hell in less than a few hours, and Brad found himself fighting his way through the same sort of nightmare that Jill and Chris faced a few days earlier. Brad developed a much deeper appreciation for exactly what they went through.

He ducked down in between two parked cars in a fast food restaurant parking lot and tried to catch his breath. He had been running non-stop for blocks, and felt as if his chest was going to burst. Peering out over the hood of one of the cars, he saw two lone zombies standing across the street. The zombies were not as numerous as before, as far as he could tell. Hundreds of them seemed to populate the streets before, but now it seemed like only a few zombies were left meandering around. It was late afternoon now, getting close to nightfall, and long shadows spread across the streets as the sun dropped down behind the mountains. It would probably be dark in an hour, and Brad knew for a fact that he wanted to be indoors and safe when that happened.

The police station had to be safe. If any building in the entire city was prepared to face off an invasion like this, it was the police station. They had weapons, they had training, and they had plenty of room. Brad was only a few blocks away now, he could practically see the top of the station above the other buildings. If he could just make it to the police station, he would be okay.

Well, maybe not completely okay. His shoulder throbbed, and he dared lift up his sleeve to take a peek at the ragged bite wound one of the zombies gave him. He was bitten, and he thought that meant he was doomed to become a zombie as well. But so far, he felt fine. He was tired from all the running, but he didn't feel sick. It was just a minor injury, nothing too serious.

Once he got to the police station, he could get bandaged up and take some antibiotics or something. He was exposed to the disease, but that didn't necessarily mean he was infected with it. If he got medical attention in time, he would be okay. Getting bitten one time didn't mean he was going to turn into a zombie any more than getting sneezed on by someone with the flu meant he was going to catch it. Jill acted like there was nothing he could do, but she wasn't an expert on the disease. She didn't know how the infection worked, none of them did.

As he thought about Jill, he turned to look back down the street, hoping to see her coming after him. He didn't know where she was now. When he ran out of the restaurant, he thought Jill was right behind him, but when he turned to see, she was nowhere to be found. Brad waited for as long as he dared before continuing on to the station. She must have escaped the restaurant, but maybe she just took another route to the police station and he would meet her there.

He didn't even consider the possibility that the creature killed her. Brad knew his limitations. If he managed to get away, then Jill must have been able to as well.

The creature was like nothing the others had talked about in Irons' office. Chris and Jill talked about zombies and giant snakes and monsters with their skin stripped away, but that creature wasn't like the others. It was almost like a man; it was dressed in that long black trenchcoat, and it didn't stumble around like a zombie. It moved with a purpose, with a desire. Brad saw its eyes, and they were not the eyes of a zombie. They were the eyes of a monster with a very clear goal in mind, and as far as Brad could determine, that goal was to kill him.

When he finally caught his breath, he snuck around the edge of the parking lot, avoiding the two zombies, and hurried across the street. Once more, he turned around to look back the way he came, hoping to see Jill coming after him.

Amazingly, that is exactly what he saw. Jill came from around the corner, running slowly, seemingly out of breath. Brad ran towards her, waving his arms to get her attention. She looked up and waved weakly at him.

"Jill! Thank God you're okay!" he cried.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jill panted.

"I'm sorry I ran away! I thought you were right behind me!" Brad apologized.

"It's alright," Jill said, waving him off. "We have to keep moving."

"The station is just ahead. Come on. Is that thing still chasing us?"

"I don't think so, I think it's dead."

Together, they ran down the street, barely taking the time to catch their breath. The two zombies down the street began to shuffle in their direction, but they easily ran past them. They saw a few more random zombies as they made their way to the police station.

"I wish we could find a car to drive," Brad panted.

Jill shook her head. "Most of the main streets are all blocked. We wouldn't get very far before we'd have to get out and walk anyway."

They finally made it to the station, coming up the back way to the employee parking lot at the rear corner of the building. The lot was currently half full, the cars belonging to the officers who worked third shift or arrived for first shift before the epidemic struck. Brad leaned heavily on the hood of a car while Jill walked forward a bit, breathing hard, her hands on her hips as she scanned the parking lot.

She looked back at Brad and frowned. "How are you doing?"

"I'm just tired," he said, shaking his head. "A little dizzy too, I guess. I haven't eaten in hours. I'm okay."

Jill chose to say nothing about it. She wondered how long before he got too sick to move, and what she would do when that happened. Somehow, she didn't think Brad would be willing to take his own life when the time came.

She could see across the parking lot to the side door that led into the building, a door that she had passed through thousands of times in her life. She had never been afraid to walk through before, but things were different now. What had once been a place of safety and security was now an almost certain death trap.

"Brad," she said quietly. "Look."

He walked over to her and looked where she was pointing. The door to the station was broken right off its hinges, and was lying across the steps. Even from here, Jill could see a red splash of blood across the side of the doorway.

"We can still check it out, right?" Brad asked. "Maybe they just broke in there, but the rest of the station is still safe."

"Take a look up at the place, Brad," Jill said. "If there was anyone in there, they'd be looking out the windows, trying to see other survivors. They'd be on the roof trying to signal a helicopter or something."

Brad looked up and saw that all the windows were empty. Windows on the upper half of the station reflected the setting sun, glinting orange, as it made its way down behind the mountains. The lower half was already bathed in the long gray shadow from nearby buildings. The station was tall and silent, and no sign of life was visible. For all they knew, Jill and Brad were the only living people with miles.

"So what are we supposed to do now?" Brad asked weakly.

"I don't know. I can't think of anywhere else that might be safe."

"We should find a car."

"I already said that most of the streets are blocked. We'll never make it through all the abandoned cars."

"What if we drove to the outskirts of the city?" Brad asked. "Like farther out toward the mountains? Most of the jammed streets are here in downtown, right?"

"Yeah," Jill said. "But we can't get out of the city that way."

"Sure we can," Brad said, suddenly optimistic. "There's a ton of old dirt roads leading into the mountains. We can find one of those and get out of the city that way. And besides, there's bound to be less zombies out there, right?"

"Jesus, Brad," Jill said, grabbing his arm, a smile spreading across her face. "That's brilliant. That's a great idea."

Brad smiled back, but Jill could see how tired he still was. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, and his breathing was labored already. How long did he have? Hours? Less than that?

"Okay, let's find a car," she said.

They methodically began to check all the cars in the parking lot, testing to see if they were unlocked and if any of them had the keys inside. Jill doubted they would actually find one, but it didn't hurt to check. And there didn't seem to be any zombies around, which was a relief. She kept glancing over her shoulder, expecting to see a sudden crowd of them surrounding the entire parking lot, but there weren't any around at all. It was likely that most of them had gone into the police station and were now just staying inside.

She yanked on door after door, finding all the cars to be locked. Very few people left their cars unlocked, of course, but some people did. Brad was at the other side of the parking lot, checking other cars.

Jill came up to a rusted blue pickup truck with a large tool chest behind the cab. She tested the door handle, and it was locked as well. But almost as soon as she wiggled the handle, someone jumped up in the driver's seat and mashed their face against the window. Jill shrieked and jumped back defensively.

"Jill!" Brad cried. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Jill said, her heartbeat returning to normal. She lowered her arms and looked pitifully at the man inside the truck.

He was an elderly man with graying hair and thin glasses that were crooked on his face. Gasping horribly and scratching uselessly against the glass, the zombie tried to claw his way through the window. Glassy eyes glared at Jill and a mouth lined with yellowed teeth snapped open and closed. He wore a police uniform.

It was one of the older officers on the force, a man named Ned Collins. Jill didn't know him that well, but she saw him occasionally working in the auto garage. He must have contracted the disease that morning and then come to work, but was too tired to get out of his truck by the time he arrived.

"I'm sorry, Bud," Jill said, raising her gun.

She pulled the trigger and the zombie jerked back into the vehicle, the side window cracking into a spiderweb pattern but not shattering. The zombie sprawled across the front seat, blood pouring from the bullet hole above its right eye.

"I need your help, Brad," Jill called over to him.

Before Brad could respond, an ear-piercing roar suddenly burst out across the parking lot, echoing off the police station. Brad froze in place and looked around frantically, fumbling with the gun at his belt.

"No!" he cried. "It can't be!"

Jill quickly swung the door open and grabbed the Ned's feet to pull him out of the truck. She pulled hard and stumbled back as the body slipped through the door and flopped to the pavement. Another bestial roar erupted somewhere nearby, and Jill drew her own gun, looking around.

"Brad!" she shouted. "Come on!"

Just then, from across street, a huge black shape emerged from an alleyway and barreled right toward the parking lot. It was the creature, coming at them like a charging rhino, the edge of its black trenchcoat flapping wildly behind it. Brad screamed and fired his gun ineffectively at the monster as it leaped across the sidewalk and landed right on top of the nearest car. The entire roof crumpled in like a sheet of aluminum foil, caving in under the monster's weight.

It hunched down and howled at them, spittle flying from its crooked mouth, its one large eye seeming to glow red in its inhuman fury. It jumped off the car and sailed into the air, landing on the ground with such force that the pavement cracked.

"Brad!" Jill screamed.

He was frozen in place, paralyzed in fear, firing his pistol helplessly until the gun clicked empty in his hands. Jill couldn't tell if any of the bullets struck the creature or not, but it didn't even seem to notice the shots.

It crossed the lot in a few loping strides and grabbed the side of a small sedan, flipping the car up into the air with a guttural growl, as if tossing aside a toy. The car flipped upside down and crashed on top of another car, the windows exploding outward.

Jill tried to run forward but she felt as if her feet were stuck to the ground. Brad trembled, unable to move or run, the gun slipping from his hand. Raising her own gun, Jill aimed and fired off a shot, and saw the creature's head twitch as the bullet struck it right in the temple. It turned to look at her and roared again.

The sound shook Brad from his paralyzation and he finally managed to scramble away from the monster. Jill ran forward and fired another shot, but the monster moved in a blink, jumping up into the air in Brad's direction. It landed right in front of him and lashed out, grabbing Brad by his wounded shoulder and lifting him right into the air. Brad screamed in agony as the monster's huge fingers crushed his shoulder in a vise-like grip.

Jill ran as fast as she could and fired two more times, striking the creature in the back of its misshapen head. It turned and swung its arm out so fast that she barely had time to dodge before she went flying into the air, her pistol spinning away from her. She landed on the hood of another car, cradling her head in her arms and holding her breath as she landed, so the impact didn't knock the wind out of her. Stars swam in front her eyes, and her back twisted in pain as she slid off the hood, trying to get back to her feet.

The creature clenched its long, sharp teeth and looked at Brad, who writhed in its grip, crying in pain. It held Brad up and reared its other arm back, as if preparing to punch him.

Jill stumbled away from the car, gritting her teeth in pain, trying to find her pistol. She wound up on her hands and knees, her head still spinning. She looked up and managed to meet Brad's frantic eyes as he struggled in the monster's unbreakable grasp, his face pale and contorted in pain.

The creature roared victoriously and thrust its arm forward. With the sound of tearing flesh, a writhing purple tentacle burst from the creature's muscled arm, splashing pinkish fluid across the front of Brad's body. The tentacle squirmed like an eel and shot forward, striking Brad right in the face, cutting off his horrified scream.

Jill found her feet and staggered away toward Ned's blue pickup truck. She climbed inside, wincing in pain, her nausea rising. She clenched her teeth and fought the urge to vomit, fumbling with the keys to the truck, which were still in the ignition.

The engine came to life with a grumble, and Jill slammed her foot onto the gas. The tires spun, fighting for traction, and the pickup lurched forward unsteadily.

The creature tossed aside Brad's limp body and turned to face the oncoming truck, squaring its massive shoulders and leaned forward. It roared in defiance as Jill braced for the impact, pushing herself back into the seat. She closed her eyes.

The truck smashed into the creature, knocking it up into the air. It howled in pain and grabbed onto the hood as the truck almost skidded out of control, its legs dangling in front. Jill pulled hard on the steering wheel, her foot still pressing the accelerator to the floor, and the truck skidded past the row of parked cars. The creature roared and smashed its huge fist right through the windshield, showering Jill in bits of broken glass. She braced herself again and drove the truck right for a large black SUV. The creature reared its arm back once more to smash through the windshield, its monstrous howl pounding in Jill's ears.

Its howl of anger turned into a deafening screech of pain as the pickup truck smashed into the other truck, crushing the monster's legs in between the two vehicles. The pickup truck smashed with such force that the back end lifted into the air and then fell back down, knocking Jill around in the cab. Her head smacked off the steering wheel, causing her to see stars again. The black SUV rocked back and forth, its entire side caved in.

The monster tumbled off the hood of the pickup truck, and Jill immediately put it into reverse and backed up. Steam rose up from the cracked radiator and one of the front tires rubbed against the inside of the caved-in wheel well. The truck was barely able to drive at all, but Jill was not done yet.

She backed up halfway across the parking lot and put it back into gear. Ahead of her, the monster tried to get back to its feet, but it could not stand with broken legs. It howled angrily and tried to crawl, dragging its twisted legs behind it. Jill hit the gas again and sped forward, aiming right at it.

The monster managed to get onto its knees just as the truck slammed into it, a split-second before Jill crashed straight into the black SUV again. One arm hung limply across the mangled hood of the pickup, but the rest of its body was crushed in between the two wrecked vehicles.

Jill opened the door and carefully got out, her legs trembling and her head still spinning. She took a deep breath and glanced down at the creature, seeing its massive body lying motionless, pinned between the pickup and the SUV. Watery pink blood dripped from its body and pooled underneath. Jill stepped away from the wreckage and walked unsteadily back to Brad's body.

She didn't have to get close to see that he was dead. The creature's tentacle, or whatever it was, smashed right through his skull. There was nothing left of his face except a bloody, gaping hole.

Jill went down to her knees. Her whole body ached, although the nausea had passed and she no longer had the urge to vomit. There was nothing in her stomach to throw up anyway, since she hadn't eaten in so long. But she was so tired, so incredibly tired. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and just fall asleep.

Her gaze drifted to Brad's body, although she couldn't bear to look at what was left of his face. She didn't even know if she felt sorry for him. He was infected, and was doomed to die anyway, so what difference did it make how he died? Would it have been better if he grew sicker and sicker, until Jill was forced to put him out of his misery? Was that a better way to die?

What would Jill choose, when the time came? So far, the only reason she was still alive was unbelievably good luck, but she held no illusions that she was going to make it out of Raccoon City alive. She was absolutely exhausted, and pretty soon she would get careless, and some stray zombie would catch her when she wasn't paying attention. As if expecting one to come up behind her right then, she looked up around the parking lot, but there were still no zombies in sight.

And if one of the zombies didn't get her eventually, there were other things to be afraid of, as she already knew. A creature like the one that killed Brad. Another albino monster like the one they faced back in the science lab. A huge snake like the one in the mansion. Or maybe some other new monster, something she hadn't seen yet. She glanced over at the dead monster and wondered if any more of them were running around.

The monster's body shifted, and its arm slipped off the pickup's hood and flopped to the ground. And as Jill watched, its fingers moved, clenching into a fist. And then the monster moved.

Jill stared in absolute disbelief as the monster moved again, slipping down from in between the two trucks. Its head lifted up to reveal its scarred, hideous visage looking right back at her. It tried to push itself upright and slumped back down.

"God, no," Jill whispered.

The monster groaned and lifted its arm to grab the twisted front fender of the pickup truck, and with a grunt, it pushed the truck back a few inches.

Jill got to her feet and wearily looked around for her pistol, but it was nowhere in sight. It probably slid under one of the cars. She looked back at the monster and realized that bullets wouldn't kill it anyway.

She stood there for a few moments, unable to decide what she could possibly do. There was no way she could run away, she was too tired already. She would collapse if she tried to run anywhere. And every second she waited, the monster got closer to getting up and coming after her. She walked away from the parking lot, looking around in futile desperation.

Suddenly, she heard something and turned around, looking up into the air. A steady thrumming noise in the sky revealed a helicopter soaring over the buildings a few blocks away. Jill caught a glimpse of it as it disappeared over the rooftops, flying away from her.

She went down the street, walking as fast as she could. Her legs felt like wet noodles, and her back hurt so bad she could barely concentrate, but she kept going down the sidewalk to the next street down, going in the direction the helicopter was flying.

If there was a helicopter, then maybe that meant there were other survivors. Maybe there was some kind of rescue effort going on. She only saw it for a moment, but it appeared to be a military helicopter of some kind. Maybe the National Guard was in the city.

Jill stopped at the next corner and leaned forward, placing her hands on her knees and taking a few deep breaths. She wasn't going to make it on foot. What she needed was another car, but what were the odds that she would find another one with the keys inside?

She was on the street in front of the police station, and from the corner she could almost see the wide front steps that led up to the front doors. Sitting right in the middle of the street was a small white car, probably abandoned by someone when they drove to the police station. But there were no other cars on the street, and it seemed strange to be parked right there.

Jill went over to the car and found that not only were the keys still inside, but the car was actually still running. Someone drove it there and just left it running. Jill looked up at the police station and wondered if whoever left it there thought they might be coming back for it. She didn't have time to worry about that now. She got inside and closed the door, taking another deep breath as she put it into gear.

She drove down the street, slowly at first. When she reached the corner, she looked in the rear view mirror. Standing by the side of the street, limping in her direction, was the creature in the trenchcoat. When it saw her car, it roared at her, trying to run but barely able to stay on its feet.

Jill kept going and left the monster behind her. In a few minutes she was already blocks away, and she couldn't see it in the mirror anymore. Driving around jammed intersections and weaving in between more abandoned and wrecked cars, she made her way in the direction the helicopter had flown.

But she couldn't quite get the monster's deafening roars out of her head. It was almost as if the monster didn't just scream, it was actually saying something. Its bestial roars almost sounded as if it was saying the word, "Stars."

Chapter 32

Hearing the sounds of gunshots, Ada went over to the window and glanced outside. The window faced an alley behind the police station, so she couldn't see anything. But she heard the gunshots, and then flinched when the sound of a horrifying scream reached her ears. She didn't think a human being could make a sound like that.

At the moment, Ada was still stuck on the second floor. She wanted to go downstairs, where she suspected the armory probably was, but all the hallways that led to staircases seemed to be full of the undead. She was forced to retreat back in the direction she came from, and now wasted valuable time looking through offices for spare weapons.

It was a mistake to come to the police station at all, she now knew. She should have focused her energy on finding another vehicle and getting out of the city. She wasn't trapped in the police station, not yet anyway, but she suspected that every second she wasted there would make it ten times harder when she finally decided to leave. Other survivors were trying to get to the police station as well, if the gunshots outside were any indication, and more survivors would just draw more zombies to the already-massive mobs of them roving the building.

She had to escape, but escape to what? She failed her mission, rather spectacularly. Her employers rarely tolerated such astounding failure, even in situations like this, so she doubted she would have much to escape back to. Her mission in Raccoon City was meet up with a man from Umbrella who possessed information about their secretive experiments, and now it seemed those experiments had taken over the entire city, and Ada had literally nothing to show for it.

Ada stood by the window for a little longer, wondering what exactly she was going to do next, when she heard another inhuman scream coming from outside. She didn't know what could possibly make such a terrible sound, but she was glad it was out there and not inside with her. It was hard enough just facing zombies, she didn't need anything else showing up.

She walked back out into the empty hallway, standing uncertainly, looking in each direction. The hall was lined with small offices and supply rooms, the whole police station seemed to be a never-ending maze of tiny rooms and twisting hallways. She would need a map to find her way around at all.

She walked off, Beretta in hand, although she knew that there were no zombies in the immediate vicinity. The hallways were deserted and silent for the time being, although Ada heard other muffled gunshots occasionally. That meant there were other survivors in the building as well.

The last thing Ada wanted was to run into other survivors. Her mission was already a disaster, and she didn't need to compromise her cover on top of that. If she ran into more survivors, and they managed to escape the city, they would surely mention her whenever they talked to the authorities. And then authorities would try to figure out who she was, but Ada Wong and Vanessa Cooper were just aliases. Ada preferred that no one see her in the city at all.

The other problem was that she didn't have the time, or even the patience, to try to help anyone else. If she ran into other survivors, they might want to rely on her to keep them safe, and Ada had no interest in anyone's safety but her own. It put her in an inconvenient position. She was simultaneously trying to avoid any contact with both the living and the undead.

She walked down the long hallway, looking around for a map of the building. Usually, large buildings like this displayed maps showing the fire exits, but she couldn't seem to find one. She stopped when she saw the label "Temp Storage" on a nearby door.

She tried the doorknob, and to her surprise it was unlocked. She pushed and let the door swing open, aiming her gun through the doorway. The room had no windows, and was furnished with filing cabinets and a small desk right in the middle of the room. Ada leaned inside the doorway and saw a caged-off area from the rest of the room, with a large safe behind it. She smiled at her good luck and walked into the room.

As she walked inside, the door moved and began to swing shut behind her. She turned to glance at it and screamed suddenly, lifting her arm up as a zombie dove at her from behind the door. It was an old man dressed in a police uniform, and it grasped her neck, opening its mouth to bite down hard right on her forearm.

Ada struggled and lost her footing, and the two of them tumbled to the floor. Her hand struck the corner of the desk and the gun went spinning. The zombie lay on top of her, its mouth attached firmly to her arm, biting down on the sleeve of her black leather jacket, its cold hands fumbling at her neck and face. She desperately pushed away, but the zombies jaws were clamped down hard, like an attack dog unwilling to let go. Lifting up, keeping the zombie's face as far away from hers as possible, she struggled to get her free hand into her jacket pocket.

She found the revolver there and stuck it up under the zombie's chin, pulling the trigger. The blast blew a hole through the zombies neck, splashing blood up into the air. Ada turned her face to the side and closed her eyes tightly as two drops of blood landed on her cheek.

The zombie fiercely bit down on her arm again, apparently undamaged by the gunshot. The bullet went through its neck and missed the brain. Ada pulled the trigger again but the gun just clicked, and the zombie pushed down on her, groaning through its clenched teeth.

Ada forced her leg up and kicked the zombie off of her, although it kept its mouth tightly attached to the sleeve of her jacket. She tossed the revolver away and reached with her free hand to grab the Beretta. The zombie let go of her arm and lunged at her face, and she swung the pistol up to shoot it right between the eyes.

She gasped for breath and quickly unzipped her jacket, yanking her arm out of the sleeve, terrified of what she was going to see. Her arm hurt from the inhuman pressure of the zombie's jaw, but she felt a surge of relief when she saw no blood. Her hand brushed over the bite mark, but all she saw was a white mark from her sleeve indenting her skin. The leather jacket was too tough for the zombie to bite through. It bit down so hard that she would probably get a bruise, but her skin was miraculously unbroken.

She got up, her legs unsteady, and went over to the caged area. It was locked, but the key was conveniently attached to a keychain hanging from the zombie's belt. It had probably been the guard on duty here, she thought. Inside the caged area were several locked drawers that probably contained pistols. But for the moment, Ada was not concerned with those.

She was more interested in the large safe. It was locked with a combination lock, but a thorough search of the desk revealed the combination written on the back of a notepad.

"Great security, guys," she said to herself, opening up the safe door.

She took out a combat shotgun and a plastic belt of shells, slinging it over her shoulder. There were several shotguns inside the safe, but she could only effectively carry one. She loaded the shotgun with ammo until it was full, and then racked one into the chamber. Behind the other shotguns in the safe, she spied another weapon.

"Oh, I like this," she said to herself, gingerly pulling it out.

In her hands was a M79 grenade launcher, its gray barrel scuffed up and wooden stock scratched and worn over years of use, its dark green shoulder strap frayed at the edges. It looked like a relic from the Vietnam War, but it still worked. It wasn't a very complicated weapon. The launcher was built like a break-action shotgun, with a hinge that opened up the chamber, which held one round at a time.

Sitting on the bottom of the safe was a small belt of four explosive grenade rounds, also linked to a shoulder strap. Ada grinned and slung it over her shoulder as well. She didn't think that she would find much use for it in an enclosed area like the police station; an explosive round at close range would probably kill her as well if she wasn't careful. But once she got out in the open, such a weapon would be a wonderful way to clear out a mob of zombies.

She stuck her Beretta into her back pocket and took the dead zombie's Beretta as well, sticking into her belt. With the grenade launcher, grenades, and the belt of shotgun shells, she walked out of the room, feeling a little bit more confident about her chances.

There were zombies in the hallway, coming from around the corner down at the end of the corridor. Drawn by Ada's screaming earlier, a group of eight or ten zombies shuffled toward her, arms outstretched, fingers grasping empty air. Most of them wore police uniforms, the others were dressed in office clothes.

Ada considered her options. Shoot them all, wasting ammo she might need later? Or just run away from them, leaving enemies behind her to get in her way if she came this way again? She opted to just go the other way, rather than use up ammunition.

She turned and went down the other side of the hall, shotgun held tight to her shoulder, the grenade launcher bumping against her backside as she walked. She passed more empty storage rooms and offices and came to a T-intersection, the hallway splitting off to the left and right.

"Damn," she muttered, stopping when she realized she had left her leather jacket back in the storage room. She didn't want to go around in just the red long-sleeved shirt she was wearing, in case another zombie tried to take a bite of her. The jacket saved her life once already, and she didn't want to leave it behind.

She turned and hurried back down the hall, only to see that the crowd of zombies had already reached the room, blocking her way. More zombies joined the crowd as well, increasing their number to more than twenty.

Ada raised the shotgun, aimed carefully, and pulled the trigger. In the enclosed hallway, the loud blast from the gun rang in her ears, and the kick from the gun knocked her shoulder back. Three of the zombies fell over backward, two of them with heads blown apart. Ada racked another shell in, the spent shell flipping into the air, trailing a thin line of smoke. She gritted her teeth and fired again, blowing two more zombies away, the spread from the buckshot taking several out at once.

From the corner of her eye, she glanced quick movement down the left side of the hall from the intersection. Spooked, she turned and fired quickly, shooting before she got a close look at what she was aiming at.

But it wasn't a zombie coming up behind her. As she pulled the trigger, she saw an uninfected person standing there, and lifted up the gun just enough to miss her shot. The person jumped for cover and the shotgun blast took out nothing but a corkboard attached to the wall. Ada only got a glimpse, but it was a man with reddish brown hair and black clothes.

"Jesus! I'm not a zombie!" he shouted. "Don't shoot!"

"Shit," Ada muttered, lowering the shotgun. She backed away from the oncoming crowd of zombies, glanced down the hallway, and decided to abandon her leather jacket after all. She turned and took off down the hallway to the right, leaving both the zombies and the fellow survivor behind her.
Chapter 33

Leon pressed his back into the wall, his heart racing. "Jesus!" he shouted, "I'm not a zombie! Don't shoot!"

He waited for a moment and then poked his head out. But the woman was no longer standing there, she was all the way down the hall, running away from him. He got to his feet and ran out after her.

"Hey! Come back! I said I'm not a –"

He jumped out of the way as a pair of zombies lunged at him from the adjacent hallway heading off to the right. Leon scrambled along the wall, past the oncoming crowd, avoiding their grasp. He only had a handful of bullets in his Desert Eagle and couldn't afford to waste them.

As he dodged the zombies, he felt stupid for running after the woman without looking. She was firing the shotgun down the hall, so he should have known that there were zombies there. But he was so stunned to see another survivor, he ran out without thinking.

Of course, the first thing the woman did was try to shoot him. He had no idea why she was running away from him, but it didn't matter.

She was out of sight already, having turned a corner. Leon ran after her, and saw that the hallway turned off to the left, past a break room with vending machines and plastic tables, and ended in a pair of staircases. Leon paused momentarily before heading up to the third floor. The woman must have gone upstairs, he decided.

Leon reached the top of the steps and looked around. There was a long hallway heading in front of him, and two more leading to the right and left. The woman was nowhere in sight.

"Hey!" Leon shouted. "Where are you?"

There was no reply, so Leon went forward cautiously. No zombies came when he shouted, so for the moment he felt reasonably safe. He walked to the end of the hall, passing more small offices and a photography lab. Unlike the lower floors, the third floor seemed fairly undamaged by the infestation. There was no blood all over the floor and none of the rooms seemed to be trashed. If there were any survivors, they would certainly be on the upper floors.

Leon ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck, looking around disappointedly. The woman, whoever she was, had disappeared. She must have gone down one of the other halls, or maybe even to the first floor. Why she ran away in the first place was a mystery though. She probably was just surprised, or scared because she fired the shotgun at him.

Leon didn't hold it against her. He had been shot at plenty of times when he was a Ranger. Of course, he was wearing body armor those times, and was actively shooting back.

The hallway opened up to a wide foyer with some plastic chairs lined against the wall and a large mural on the wall, some artist's rendering of the Raccoon City skyline. Right ahead of him was a stairway heading back down to the second floor. Leon walked through the foyer and turned left, where the hallway continued, and stopped in his tracks.

There was a dead zombie sprawled on the floor, dark red blood staining the gray floor tiles. Leon stepped forward, glanced at the dead zombie, and then looked around nervously, as if expecting an ambush. He knelt down and looked at the body.

The zombie was a young woman wearing a red skirt and white blouse, her arms spread out at her sides. Her legs were chewed on, blood pooled around her knees. But there was also a small bullet hole right in the center of her forehead. The blood around the bullet hole was already dry, so the zombie must have been shot a few hours ago at least.

Leon slowly stood up and looked around again. There were only three directions: down the stairs, down the hall in front of him, or back the way he came. The dead zombie was shot facing the stairs, so Leon guessed that whoever shot it came from that direction. And if they were as low on ammunition as Leon was, they would not have wasted a bullet unless they absolutely had to.

Leon walked down the hall, glancing into the rooms. There was a multimedia room with a large projector screen, a communications room with a radio and several computers, and a pair of lavish conference rooms. This part of the police station was clearly for the higher-ranking officers and distinguished visitors. All of the rooms Leon checked were empty.

There was another room with several cubicles for administrative work, and a long glass case along the wall that displayed newspaper clippings and several plaques commemorating outstanding service. At the end of the hall were several large offices, which Leon guessed belonged to the Chief of Police and other high-ranking commanders.

The first office was empty, as was the second. The third office actually led into a small waiting room with a desk for a secretary and several chairs. The name card on the inner door read "Chief of Police, Brian Irons."

Leon stared at the door for a moment, unsure what to do. Whoever killed that zombie almost certainly came this way, and this was the last room to check. If no one was in there, Leon was out of luck. And if someone was inside, they might have been infected already, and all the office contained now was another zombie.

Leon tried the door, but it was locked. He rattled the doorknob for a second, and then banged gently on the door, opening his mouth to ask if anyone was there.

A gunshot rang out and a tiny hole blasted through the door right above Leon's shoulder, inches from his face. He frantically jumped backward as another bullet blasted through the door at chest height, little splinters of wood fluttering into the air.

"God damn it!" Leon shouted, bracing himself against the wall. "I'm not a zombie! Put the gun away for God's sake!" His heart pounded so hard he thought he was going to have an aneurysm. What are the odds he would run into two other survivors and both of them would immediately shoot at him?

There was silence for a few moments and then the lock on the door clicked. Leon swallowed hard and said, "I'm not infected or anything. You're not going to shoot at me again, are you?"

There was no answer, so Leon carefully turned the doorknob and allowed the door to swing open, although he remained partially hidden behind the edge of the doorjamb, against the wall.

The office was surprisingly small, dominated by a huge wooden desk that stretched almost all the way across it. There were two upholstered chairs in front of it, and the rest of the office was crammed with pictures and statues and artwork stacked on shelves along both side walls like a supply room at a museum.

Behind the desk sat a huge man with a scruffy reddish beard and small, intense eyes. His forehead was dotted with sweat and his hair stuck out in all directions. The man glared suspiciously at Leon, a small revolver in his trembling hand.

"Who are you?" he rasped.

"My name's Leon Kennedy. I'm just another survivor, that's all. I saw a dead zombie down the hall and came this way, hoping to find another living person."

"Kennedy?" the man said, tilting his head. "I know that name. You just transferred to the S.T.A.R.S. unit, didn't you?"

"Yes," Leon said, surprised. "I came to Raccoon City today to look for an apartment and ... well, I found all this. How did you know that?"

"I'm the Police Chief," the man grunted. "I'm Brian Irons. I signed your transfer form just the other day."

Leon came into the room, holding his hands out, still worried that Irons might twitch and pull the trigger again. He closed the door behind him and sat down on one of the chairs. Irons watched him like a hawk.

"I'm trying to get out of here," Leon said. "Do you know if there is any place in this city that's still safe?"

"No," Irons said with a jerk of his head. "The city is overrun. You shouldn't have even come here. This building is a death trap."

"Tell me about it," Leon said. "I came here with a woman who was looking for her brother, and now we're separated. I was hoping to maybe find some other survivors though."

"Who were you looking for?" Irons asked.

"Someone named Chris. The woman's name is Claire."

A strange, creepy smile curved Irons' mouth. "Little Claire is here? She's a nice girl, I met her a few times. If you see her again, you can tell her that Chris left Raccoon City already. He got out when he could. If I was smart I would have joined him."

Leon leaned forward. "Listen, just what in the hell happened? Do you know anything about this weird disease?"

Irons' vacant stare seemed to bore right through him. He wasn't even looking at Leon, he was staring into nothingness. His breath came in short, sharp gasps as a bead of sweat trailed down the side of his face.

"Yes, I know what happened," he said softly, looking down at the surface of his desk. "Maybe it's a good thing that you showed up here. I'm not going anywhere, but maybe if you get out alive, you can tell them what really happened." Irons swallowed hard and wiped his face with his hand, searching for the right words.

"A man named Albert Wesker was the commander of the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team," he began, "but he also worked for the Umbrella Corporation. He was one of the scientists at their laboratory out in the mountains. For years, he worked at both places, but no one knew about it but me. I knew about it because I helped him fake all his transfer forms and records when he first came to work here. He ... he was paying me, you see. He paid me bribes for years to keep it a secret."

"Why?" Leon asked. "Why did he work here?"

"I don't really know," Irons admitted. "A couple of reasons, I guess. He wanted to know about any investigations that involved Umbrella or the facility. That way he could direct the investigation to keep the work they did there a secret. They did illegal things there, stuff I don't even know about. But I know they disposed of dead bodies more than once, and Wesker handled the investigations."

"And you kept all this quiet?"

"Yes," Irons said gravely. "At first I didn't really know what I was involved in, but I took all those bribes for years. If I tried to expose Wesker, he would expose me as well. I was ... I was afraid, and I'm ashamed of myself for it ..."

"That's not important now. How did all this happen?"

Irons swallowed again and took a deep breath. "It started a couple of days ago. Wesker came to me and said that he needed the Bravo team to go on a mission, but he ... he wouldn't tell me exactly what was going on. He said there was an incident at his laboratory. So we faked a distress call and sent Bravo team out into the mountains. We lost contact with them almost immediately, but we couldn't tell anyone what was going on. Wesker came up with some story about a secret government facility, and the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. team bought it, at least for a little while."

"What happened to them?"

"Wesker didn't tell me. But we never heard back from them. Our regular protocol is to send backup after 24 hours, so the next day, the Alpha team went out as well. Right before they left, Wesker came here and told me that I would never see him again. That he was finished working for Umbrella. And he ... he implied that the S.T.A.R.S. team wasn't coming back either, although he didn't come right out and say it."

"Did they come back?"

"A few of them did," Irons said hesitantly. "Four members of the team made it back, and they told me what they witnessed at the laboratory."

After a moment, Leon urged him on.

"They discovered an outbreak exactly the one that's happening here," Irons said emotionlessly. "They found the whole place full of ... full of zombies. Umbrella was doing some kind of medical research there, and they made this disease that turns people into zombies. I don't understand any of it, I don't know how its even possible, but the whole laboratory was full of zombies. And there were other creatures as well ..."

Leon didn't want to ask what he meant by that. Instead, he asked, "How did the outbreak reach the city? Did the officers bring it back with them?"

"I don't know how it spread so fast, it all seemed to happen at once. We got a few scattered calls in the early morning about strange behavior and people being attacked, but all of a sudden people just started to change. I think the disease must have gotten into the city's water supply. It's the only way it could have infected so many people at the same time."

"Jesus," Leon whispered. It made sense. He originally speculated that the disease was spread through the air, because it seemed like the only way so many people could have been infected at once. But if something got into the city's water supply, then everyone who used water in the morning would have been infected. That's why most of the zombies appeared to be people who were dressed for work, like all the zombies in the industrial park. They got infected and then went to work, where they turned into zombies a short time later.

He glanced up to see Irons crying. "I've been a police officer for thirty years," he said, his voice cracking. "And I've lived in Raccoon City my whole life. I never thought I'd see my home destroyed. And it's all my fault ..."

"No, stop that," Leon said. He didn't need Irons to blame himself for all of this, although for all he knew, Irons was right. "You said that other guy did all of this. What was his name?"

"Wesker."

"Do you know if he made it out alive?"

"He's dead," Irons said, gritting his teeth. "When Chris and the others came back, they said they saw him die. Saw it with their own eyes. If they hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it. He probably had some desperate plan to escape. I guess that son of a bitch finally got what was coming to him. He got killed by one of his own creatures."

"Listen, you have to come with me," Leon said. "I'm totally lost in this place. You know how to get out of here, you can get us to safety. If we can get out of here, I'm sure that we can get out of the city."

"I'm not going anywhere," Irons said, his hand resting on the revolver on his desk. "I know that. I'm to blame for this whole disaster, so I don't deserve to make it out alive. I'm going to die here."

"Don't say that."

"If you can make it out, you can tell the world who's responsible for this. But I can't go with you. I can't live with what I've done."

He picked up the gun and raised it to his face. Leon realized what he was doing a moment too late, and jumped out of the chair, reaching out to grab the gun.

"No! Stop!"

Irons stuck the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. His head snapped back and he flopped over to the side, blood gushing from his nose. The gun tumbled to the floor and Irons' body slumped down across the desk

Leon turned away and closed his eyes, shaking his head sadly.

He came to the police station to look for survivors. The first one he found ran away from him, and the second one committed suicide. He wasn't having very good luck. He looked down at Irons' body and had to feel sorry for the man. Irons survived the infestation, only to be overwhelmed by guilt in the aftermath. Leon wondered what Irons would have done if Leon hadn't showed up. Would he have just sat in his office until the zombies found him, or would he have eventually taken his own life anyway? If someone like Claire found him, would he still have killed himself?

Leon picked up the revolver and saw that there were no more bullets. Irons had saved the last one for himself. Leon set the gun on the desk and left the office.

He walked down the hall until he made his way back to the dead zombie in the red skirt. He considered going down the staircase nearby, but chose against it. If Irons came from that direction, it probably meant zombies were on his tail. Instead, Leon walked all the way back to the staircase he came from. He hadn't checked the hallway that headed to the left and right of the stairs, so he picked a direction at random and tried to find another way out.

Chapter 34

"How long have you been here?" Sherry asked quietly. "Did you come here this morning before things got really bad?" She sat in the corner, arms wrapped protectively around her legs, her eyes peering out over her knees.

Claire sat against the wall near the door, wishing that she still had a gun. "No," she said. "I just got here a little while ago. I came here to look for my brother. He's a police officer."

"Did you find him?"

Claire shook her head. "No, I don't think he's here."

"You mean you hope he isn't."

"I guess I do mean that."

Sherry nodded a bit and said hesitantly, "I came here this morning. I went to school today and it was really bad there. One of my teachers took me and a few other kids here, but we could barely get in because it was so crowded."

"There were a lot of people here already?"

"Yeah, lots and lots. Hundreds of people." She paused and said, "I got separated from my friends right when people started going crazy. I don't know if anyone else is alive now, I might be the only one."

"How did you escape?"

"I'm small," Sherry said. "The crazy people can't catch me. Even if they grab me, I can get away before they have time to bite me. I stayed in that room a long time, though, because the crazy people are everywhere."

"Yes, they are," Claire agreed. "There are even more of them outside."

"Did you come here by yourself?"

"No, I came here with a man named Leon, but we got separated too."

"Do you think he's still alive?"

"Yes," Claire said immediately, and found that she meant it. "He had a gun too, and he knows how to take care of himself."

Sherry stayed silent for a little while, and then said softly, "I used to think that somebody would come and rescue everyone who was still alive. Like the Army or something. But no one is going to rescue us, right?"

Claire wanted to lie to her, but she had a feeling that Sherry would know if she was telling the truth or not. "No one is going to rescue us," Claire admitted. "If we want to get out of here, we have to do it ourselves."

"I don't think we're going to make it."

"Me and Leon drove a car here. If we can get out of this police station, we can get to the car and just drive away. We can make it, but we have to get out of this building first."

Sherry sniffed and took a deep breath. Then she slowly got to her feet, brushing dirt off the back of her blue skirt. She wiped her hand across her forehead, pushing stray strands of hair out of her eyes. "Okay," she said. "I'm ready to go if you are."

"I'm ready," Claire said with a weary smile. She got up and went over to the door, listening for any noise on the other side. Sherry came up behind her, and together they opened the door and peeked into the hallway. It was deserted in both directions.

"Which way do we go?" Sherry whispered. "I don't even know what floor we're on."

"We're on the third floor right now," Claire said, thinking back to how many staircases she had gone up and down so far. There must be a million stairways in this enormous building, she thought. Chris once joked that the police station was built like a maze, and right now Claire felt that way as well, although this time it was no joke.

"Let's go this way," she said, pointing to the left. "I don't want to go back down those stairs, there are too many zombies back that way."

"You go first," Sherry said.

Together, they walked out of the room and headed slowly down the hall. Sherry walked directly behind Claire, as if using her body as a shield, and every time Claire stopped, Sherry practically bumped into her because she was following so closely. Claire glanced into each room they passed but there didn't seem to be any zombies in this part of the building. She wondered why, and guessed that as people got sick or tried to escape, they inevitably went to the lower floors, where they became zombies. The only zombies they were likely to find on the upper floors were people who became infected and then retreated up here to hide. Many of them would probably be inside rooms, not wandering the halls. Of course, Claire had run into a crowd of zombies on the third floor earlier, so maybe they weren't as safe as she hoped.

But they saw nothing as they went down the hall, turning left and then right as the corridor twisted and turned. They picked directions at random when they came to intersections, and neither heard nor saw anything out of the ordinary.

Claire was starting to get frustrated. Now that they were actually looking for a staircase, they couldn't find one. She and Sherry turned another corner, and suddenly they both stopped in surprise at the scene in front of them.

The hallway was partially collapsed, with large planks of wood littering the floor, along with insulation and chunks of ceiling tile. Part of the ceiling and one wall were smashed apart, and debris was littered everywhere. And in the middle of the destruction, lying crooked in the center of the hallway about thirty feet away from where they were standing, was an enormous metal box like a shipping crate. Its dark gray, corrugated steel surface was dented and scratched, and the entire box was tilted sideways, one corner smashed right through the floor and the sides half-embedded in the walls.

"What is it?" Sherry asked in amazement. "How did it get here?"

"I don't have any idea."

Claire stepped forward cautiously and managed to look up through the ceiling above the huge crate. It apparently came right through the ceiling, but Claire didn't think anything like that was stored up on the fourth floor. She could see part of a room on the floor above them, but couldn't see higher than that.

"It looks like it fell right out of the sky," Claire said. "Or maybe it was dropped here."

"Like by a plane or something?" Sherry asked incredulously.

"I don't know."

Sherry stepped closer to the edge. "Maybe we should try to open it. Maybe it has weapons or food in it or something."

Claire considered it, wondering if the soldiers had tried to airdrop supplies to any survivors still in the city. If so, that seemed an awfully dangerous way to do it, in a gigantic metal crate like this. And just dropping it right on the police station didn't make much sense either. Maybe the crate had a parachute that didn't deploy correctly, but Claire didn't see one. The whole thing didn't make any sense.

She stepped closer, and suddenly the front side of the crate smashed outward. A huge dent appeared, and Claire jumped back as the side of the crate broke free. It tipped right over and fell to the floor like a castle drawbridge slamming open. The floor shook with the impact of the huge piece of metal, and Claire was knocked off her feet. More pieces of debris rained to the floor from above, and the entire hallway seemed to shake.

Sherry started screaming, and Claire managed to glance upward. Something was inside the crate, obscured by shadows. It stepped out into the light, and Claire felt her blood freeze right in her veins.

It was shaped like a person, only its skin was a sickly grayish color, and it stood almost seven feet tall, its head almost touching the ceiling. Its eyes were uneven, one red and one yellow, and dark red marks lined one side of its torso like cancerous growths. One of its hands was twisted and misshapen, like a deformed limb. The creature took one step out of the crate and stared down at her.

Sherry was at Claire's side, grabbing her shirt and screaming for her to get up, desperately trying to pull her to her feet. Claire managed to scramble backwards, but her legs felt too weak, the sight of the monster above her draining the strength right out of them. It leaned forward and took another slow step, its large gray foot stepping off the metal and onto the floor.

The floor trembled and an ear-piercing crack came from below them, and then the entire floor collapsed right under their feet. The huge metal crate tipped forward and crashed right over, tumbling down to the second floor below them in a huge blast of broken wood and other debris. The monster barely seemed to notice as the floor caved in, and it simply fell over and disappeared into the rubble and the huge cloud of dust and smoke erupting from the floor.

The floor broke right in half, part of it tipping down and slanting to the lower floor at a forty-five degree angle, rubble and other wreckage tumbling down into the destruction below. Sherry lost her balance and fell over, sliding down the slanted remains of the floor, her small hands grasping for purchase. She screamed frantically as she slid down.

Claire twisted her body and managed to grab one of Sherry's hands a split-second before she disappeared into the wreckage. Part of the wall collapsed, wood and plaster crumbling and crashing down. Claire rolled into her stomach and grabbed Sherry's other hand, holding her as she dangled there, screaming for help.

The floor buckled again and Claire almost tipped forward. She got onto her knees and pulled Sherry up so that she could get a foothold. Just as Sherry managed to push herself up, the slanted portion of the floor finally broke away and collapsed on itself.

Sherry jumped free and fell to the floor beside Claire. She buried her face in Claire's chest and sobbed uncontrollably, wrapping her arms around Claire's neck.

Claire just laid there for a moment, and then sat up a bit to look down at the wreckage below them. Through the haze of dust and debris, she could see the monstrous creature standing down there, staring up at them with its discolored eyes. The huge metal crate had apparently continued all the way down to the ground floor, but the creature remained on the second floor.

"Come on," Claire managed to say, coughing with the dust in the air.

"Oh God!" Sherry cried, not letting go of her. "I was so scared! I was so scared! I thought I was going to die!"

"Come on, we have to get away from here," Claire said. She got to her feet and practically carried Sherry away from the destroyed hallway. They would have to find another way out.
Chapter 35

It was getting dark outside now. Not completely dark, but twilight had fallen, and scattered streetlights flashed on to illuminate the city. As frightening and dangerous as the city had been before, now it was even worse.

Carlos sat by one of the windows at the streetcar station, his assault rifle propped up against his leg. He watched disinterestedly through the windows out into the street, keeping an eye out for any stray zombies. There were still plenty of them congregated on the other side of the fence that ran parallel to the station, but they were too stupid to come around the fence, so the soldiers left them alone to conserve ammo. But if any zombies came up to the doors, however, they were shot. Mikhail and the other commander didn't want zombies blocking the doors in case any survivors showed up, or in case they needed to leave the station in a hurry. A few dead zombies were hauled away from the doors and piled up near the corner of the building.

There were eleven soldiers there now. Four from Carlos's original squad, and seven others, including the commander who called himself Hunk, who was not UBCF at all. He was technically from another military organization within Umbrella, but he was now in command under the authority of Commander Ginovaef. Carlos didn't know how many other UBCF troops were still alive in the whole city, but he didn't think it was very many. Currently, Hunk was up on the roof, watching guard like a tireless sentinel.

Carlos sighed and glanced across the small parking lot, through some sparse trees that were planted along the sidewalk. He noticed two lights shining through the trees, and it took him a moment to realize they were car headlights.

"Sir!" he shouted. "There's a car outside!"

As soon as he spoke, Hunk's voice boomed down from the roof. "We have a vehicle coming! Send someone out there!"

Mikhail trudged past Carlos, slapping him on the shoulder. "Come on then. Let's go and see who it is."

They went out the front doors and jogged out into the parking lot. Carlos held his rifle at his shoulder, but Mikhail didn't seem as worried, and held a pistol loosely in his hand. They walked out into the street just as the car, a white sedan, came slowly in their direction. It stopped and Mikhail put his hands on his hips.

"You can come out," he said. "There are no infected ones here."

The driver's side door opened and a young blonde woman in a blue t-shirt and jeans exited the car, looking at the two soldiers with a mixed expression of hope and suspicion on her face. She looked exhausted, Carlos thought.

"Is it just the two of you?" the woman asked wearily, leaning against the car.

"There are more soldiers inside. But you are the only civilian. Let's get out of the street. More of them may show up."

Carlos shouldered his rifle and walked toward her. The woman nearly fell over when he put his hand on her shoulder, she was so tired. He took her arm and helped her walk over to the station. Mikhail looked around, seemed satisfied, and followed them.

Carlos helped the woman walk over to some of the benches and let her sit down. One of the other soldiers already had a bottle of water and some candy bars ready for her, taken from one of the vending machines. She happily took the food and immediately began to gulp down the water.

"Who are you?" she asked when the bottle was half empty. "You're not National Guard. I don't recognize your uniform."

"We're UBCF," Carlos said. "Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Force," he added.

"Umbrella? You work for Umbrella?" the woman said, staring at him.

Carlos shrugged. "Yeah, I know."

Mikhail came over and crossed his arms over his thick chest. "And what is your name? We haven't seen a living person for several hours. You must be very lucky or very brave to have survived this long."

"My name is Jill Valentine. I'm a cop."

"I am Mikhail Victor, the Captain of this squad. It is a pleasure to serve you."

"You people work for Umbrella?"

"Yes, does that bother you?"

Jill seemed to measure her words carefully. "You must know that your employer is responsible for what's happening here. Umbrella is to blame for all of this."

Mikhail pursed his lips and nodded a bit. "Well, perhaps 'responsible' is too strong a word, yes? But I think I know what you mean."

Jill seemed to accept that as an answer, and began unwrapping the candy bars. She wolfed them down as if she was starving, and then finished off the bottle of water. She looked to Carlos, wiping her mouth. "Can I get some more?"

"Sure thing," Carlos said with a smile. "There's lots over there. My name is Carlos, by the way. It is good to see another person out here. I was beginning to think maybe we were the only ones left."

"I've been driving around for more than an hour," Jill said. "I saw a helicopter awhile ago and tried to follow it, but I lost track of it. So I just drove around, trying to find a way out of the city, but so many of the roads are blocked. I was almost out of gas."

"Well, you're safe here. I'll go get you some more to eat."

Just then, Hunk came in through one of the side doors. He set his assault rifle on one of the nearby benches and walked over to them. "Well, it looks like we actually have a survivor. Congratulations on staying alive this long."

Jill took a bite of a candy bar and chewed gratefully. "I can't be the only person who has survived. There must be others."

"Not too many, I'm afraid," Hunk said. "I heard that less than a fifty civilians made it out of the city on their own. We were able to rescue perhaps a hundred more, but the last of those was probably three hours ago."

"Only a hundred and fifty people?"

"Give or take a few. Two hundred, tops." Hunk said it so casually, it sounded as if he was giving Jill the local sports scores. He didn't seem the least concerned that only two hundred people out of a population of more than 100,000 had survived.

Jill stared up at him as she ate. She wolfed down six candy bars before she began to feel sick. She washed them down with another bottle of water.

Mikhail walked over to Hunk. "How much longer are we waiting here? Nicholai said he would be back by now."

"I know," Hunk said. "We can wait a little longer. We're in no danger here."

"Not right now," Mikhail agreed. "But I would rather be safe than sorry, yes?"

"Let's wait another hour," Hunk said, looking out the open side of the building at the streetcars waiting to take them away. "If Nicholai isn't back by then, we can leave." He drew his pistol and walked over to the platform.

Jill looked past him and saw a zombie on the other side of the streetcars, coming in their direction. Hunk stood at the edge of the platform and shot the zombie in the head, and it keeled over and slumped across the tracks. Hunk looked around and stuck the pistol back in its holster.

"What are you doing about the epidemic?" Jill asked. "When you say that we're going to leave, do you mean leave the city?"

"Yes," Hunk said.

"What if there are other survivors still in hiding?"

Hunk walked back over to her. "That's not my problem," he said. "My problem is the fact that my men barely have any ammunition left, and they are tired and hungry, just like you are. We've rescued as many people as we can. It's time for us to get the hell out of here."

"Are more soldiers coming to take over? Are there any reinforcements?"

Hunk just shook his head. "We've lost seventy-five percent of our men so far. I don't think Umbrella is prepared to lose any more."

"So you're just going to abandon the city?"

"What else is there for us to do?" Hunk asked, crossing his arms. "Should we start going door to door, looking for survivors? We already tried that. The only thing we accomplished was finding thousands of zombies and getting our troops killed. There are simply too many of them. Do you seriously think we're going to search every single room in every single building?"

"Well, you can't just leave the city like it is," Jill said. "The infection will just keep spreading."

Hunk looked down at her. "Well, I hope that Umbrella has a plan to deal with that. All I know is that it isn't my concern right now," he said, effectively ending the conversation. He walked over to the door and picked his assault rifle back up. "I'm going back on the roof. Hopefully Nicholai gets here soon."

Carlos came back over to Jill, having stood to the side while she argued with Hunk. He sat down and handed her some small bags of potato chips.

"Thanks," Jill said softly. "I was already sick of candy bars."

"Yeah, we don't have much else."

"Do you have any spare weapons? I'd like to have a gun to defend myself if something goes wrong."

"Sure thing," Carlos said, pulling a Desert Eagle from his hip holster and handing it over to her. "You said you were a cop, right? I guess you know how to use it." He smiled awkwardly and opened some chips for himself.

"How old are you, Carlos?" Jill asked.

"Twenty-two."

Jill laughed shortly. "Jesus, you're younger than I am." She rested the pistol in her lap and leaned back on the bench. The food was finally settling in her stomach and she felt immeasurably better than she had half an hour before. She almost felt good enough to walk around, but she decided not to risk it.

She perked her head up when she heard the telltale thrumming of a helicopter above them. Carlos got up and ran to the window, some of the other soldiers seemed relieved to finally hear the familiar sound. Jill looked outside and watched the helicopter lower to the ground out in the parking lot.

"Okay," Mikhail said from beside her. "Nicholai is back. Now maybe he can tell us what we are supposed to do next."

Chapter 36

Two zombies in police uniforms staggered forward, their arms reaching out. Leon felt a pang of guilt as he raised his gun and shot them both in the head. He then tossed aside his useless Desert Eagle, which was now empty, and retrieved the Berettas from the dead officers' holsters. Another zombie, this one a middle-aged woman wearing a pair of dirty jeans and an oversized sweater, was behind the policemen, and Leon killed her as well.

How many more zombies would he have to kill before he got out of here? He resigned himself to the fact that the zombies were already dead, and putting them out of their undead misery was the truly humane thing to do, but it still bothered him when he was forced to kill police officers. These were the men who would have been his coworkers if things had worked out differently.

Thus armed, he made his way down the hall and finally found something that he had been seeking for quite awhile. A map of the building, or at least a map of the second floor.

"Finally," he said to himself. He took the time to glance around the hallway to make sure no zombies were coming up behind him, and inspected the emergency exit plan. He put his finger on the map where the red X was, indicating his position, and traced a line down the hallway to his left and the stairway shown there, which would lead him to the ground floor.

Of course, simply going downstairs was not enough. After all, the ground floor was probably the most infested part of the entire station. When he and Claire arrived at the police station, they encountered a huge mob of zombies almost immediately. What Leon really needed was to find a way downstairs that was not completely packed with hordes of the undead.

At this point, finding Claire was a secondary goal. He had not seen or heard anything to indicate she was still in the station, or even if she was still alive. Right now, Leon had to focus on getting out, and then he could worry about finding Claire.

Leon walked purposefully down the hall and found the staircase a minute later. He passed an elevator on the way but opted not to use it. An elevator was just too dangerous. There was no way to know what waited beyond the doors on the main floor; if the elevator opened up right in front of a crowd of zombies, Leon would have nowhere to run. Stairs were a much safer option.

He stepped as quietly as possible down the wooden stairs, crouching down to look out to the hallway beyond, one of the Berettas firmly in his hand. The stairs led to a large foyer with several potted plants and a bunch of plastic chairs. The hallway was partially blocked off with a desk and some filing cabinets, and blood was splashed all over the floor nearby. The floor was covered in a mess of bloody footprints.

Someone had tried to stop the zombies, but they had clearly failed. As Leon stepped down the hall, he glanced beyond the makeshift barrier to see bodies in the hall, about a dozen of them. He was so focused on the scene out in the hall that he didn't notice the zombie standing along the side of the staircase until it grabbed his foot.

Leon jumped back and swung his gun down to shoot the zombie in the head. Immediately, two more zombies appeared from the corner and Leon killed them as well. He waited in the middle of the stairs, but no other zombies showed their faces. Peering over the railing to make sure nothing else was waiting for him, Leon went down the rest of the stairs and stopped at the bottom.

He could see clearly down the hallway now. It was like a battlefield after the war, with bodies strewn everywhere. The entire floor was covered in a sheen of wet blood, and the walls were splashed with it as well. Maybe fifty dead bodies were littered down the long corridor, men and women, police officers and civilians alike. Leon swallowed hard, the sight making him nauseous despite all he had already seen today.

He could almost imagine what happened. The mob of zombies came down the hallway, and a group of desperate survivors tried to get away. Someone tried to block their path, and the unlucky ones got trapped there to be killed. But the zombies broke through the barricade anyway. Whatever survivors remained here earlier were probably all dead by now.

At the base of the stairs was another smaller hallway leading back in the other direction. It was empty, but bloody smears on the walls showed that it had not always been so. There must have been zombies down the other hallway at some point, probably a huge number of them, but they weren't there now. And although the floor was covered in bloody footprints, it didn't seem as if they were all headed in the same direction. The zombies appeared to have loitered there for some time and then left for some reason. The smaller hallway didn't have as many footprints, so Leon guessed that it was safe to go in that direction.

"Safe," however, was a relative term down here.

He walked down the hall, his gun always facing forward, and passed a few dusty storage rooms. The walls were lined with framed paintings. He turned a corner and almost smiled in relief when he saw windows along the hallway. Now that he was on the main floor, he could escape out a window.

His smile disappeared when he saw the crowd of zombies on the other side of the window. They were packed into a narrow avenue along the back of the station, dozens of them, milling around aimlessly. There was a tall chain-link fence on the other side and another narrow alley, but Leon could never make it there with all the zombies in his way.

One of them noticed him and slapped a hand against the glass, groaning loudly. Immediately, the other zombies noticed him as well, and began gathering against the building, pounding on the windows.

"Shit," Leon said, backing away.

Before any of the zombies could break the windows and get inside, he ran off down the hall, turning a corner and finding himself in a wider corridor with a row of offices along one side. There was no wall, just a thin divider with a glass top section, allowing people in the hall to look directly into the office area, which was full of haphazardly arranged desks and tables. It was also mostly full of zombies.

Leon froze for a heartbeat, snapping out of his indecision when he heard glass shattering behind him. He ran forward and then skidded to a stop when someone appeared at the other end of the hallway, running toward him.

It was the woman he saw earlier. She stopped suddenly, glaring at him suspiciously, before her gaze traveled to the side and she noticed the crowd of zombies packed into the office area. She raised her shotgun to her shoulder and then glanced behind her.

On cue, the zombies in the office finally noticed them, and the crowd began to surge forward in jerky steps. There were maybe fifty of them, and they moved forward like a flock of birds. The woman braced herself but did not fire her gun. She lowered it and swore loudly.

Leon ran up to her and she pointed back the way he came. "What's back there?" she demanded angrily.

"More of them are coming in," Leon said. "They're breaking the windows to get inside. What about the way you came?"

"The main lobby is back that way. There's probably two hundred of them back there. I don't have enough goddamn bullets."

"Neither do I," Leon said.

The main hallway branched out just past the offices, and another hallway led in the opposite direction. Leon shrugged and pointed down the hall with his gun. "I guess we're going that way," he said uncertainly.

The woman clenched her teeth as the zombies in the office began to shuffle into the hall, and made up her mind. "All right," she snapped, "but try to keep up with me."

She ran down the hall, with Leon following closely on her heels. He decided to ignore for the moment the fact that she hadn't given her name yet, or bothered to explain why she ran away from him before. If anything, she seemed thoroughly annoyed that he was there at all, as if finding another survivor was some kind of hassle. He kept up with her as she ran down the hall, and neither of them said anything.

They turned down another hallway, and suddenly the floor buckled underneath their feet. The woman went flying and crashed to the floor, her shotgun slipping from her hands. Leon stumbled and fell against the wall, although he managed to hold into his pistol. The floor lifted up, planks of wood snapping and splitting, and then it slumped back down again with a crunch. The woman crawled across the floor to retrieve her shotgun and sat up, looking around frantically.

"What in the hell was that?" she asked.

"Well, it wasn't an earthquake, that's for sure," Leon said, looking around. "Come on, let's get out of here before it –"

His words were drowned out by an ear-piercing, inhuman scream that echoed down the hallway like a shockwave. Leon almost fell over at the sound, and the woman cried out and jumped to her feet, the shotgun immediately braced against her shoulder. She spun around, her long hair whipping back and forth.

"What the hell was that?!" she screamed.

A few yards farther down the hall, the floor suddenly buckled up with a crash, chunks of wood and tile flying into the air. The entire hallway rose up with a shuddering crunch, as something huge tried to burst its way through. The walls on either side trembled, plaster and dust trickling to the floor.

The woman shouted something else, but Leon didn't hear her. The entire floor section broke upward and exploded, and he had to shield his face from flying debris. He scrambled backwards and gazed forward through the cloud of dust and wreckage to see something standing there, something that almost looked like a man.

A shotgun blast rang out and the creature jerked and twisted to the side, another deafening scream emanating from its bestial face. It swung a massive, misshapen arm and smashed it into the wall, more plaster and debris raining to the floor. Ripped, shredded remains of clothing hung on its body like cobwebs, and a bright yellow eyeball peered out from a bloody orifice on its upper shoulder. The creature reared back as if to jump.

Leon swung his gun up and opened fire in a panic, squeezing the trigger as fast as he could. The gun spat out bullets and the creature lifted its arm to protect itself, the bullets striking its mottled, warped body. The creature slammed its arm down and Leon was thrown backwards as the floor shook underneath his feet. He skidded across the floor and wound up against the wall.

He managed to glance back at the woman and was somehow surprised to see her still standing there. She dropped her shotgun and slid her other weapon off her shoulder. In disbelief, Leon recognized it as a grenade launcher, and called out for her to stop.

She ignored him and raised the weapon. Leon got to his feet just as she pulled the trigger and the gun fired with a muffled "whump," the grenade bursting from its gray barrel with a puff of smoke and a spray of fire.

Leon jumped and grabbed the woman, pulling her down as the grenade smacked into the wall a few feet away from the monster. Together, they fell through an open door into one of the side offices as the entire hallway exploded in a thundering burst of fire and flying wreckage. The entire building seemed to shake with the concussive force of the blast, and a shockwave of debris and flame roared down the hall. The door was blown clean off the frame and smashed down on top of them, partially protecting them from the force of the explosion.

The sound of the blast was equaled by the unbelievably loud scream of the monster as it flew down the hall in the other direction, partially engulfed in flames. The wall was reduced to a gaping crater of burnt debris, and the ceiling above it was scorched black as well. Bits of wood and paper were scattered about, burning slowly. The entire hall was black with smoke.

Leon coughed and rolled onto his side, his ears ringing. The woman pushed the door off of them and got to her feet unsteadily. She looked out into the hall and picked her shotgun up, brushing debris off of it.

"Thanks," she said. "I owe you one." And then she ran off down the hall.

By the time Leon got to his feet to go after her, she was gone.
Chapter 37

When they heard the explosion, Sherry jumped into the air and grabbed onto Claire's arm for support. "What was that?" she cried out.

"I don't know," Claire said, putting her hand on Sherry's shoulder. "I don't know, but it must have been close by."

At Claire's insistence, they gradually made their way down to the ground floor. Sherry was too scared at first, but after their encounter with the creature inside the huge metal crate, she agreed readily to go wherever Claire suggested. She wanted to stay hidden when Claire first met her, but now she was anxious to get out of the building as soon as she could. And she held onto Claire's arm tightly the whole time, as if afraid that Claire would disappear if she let go.

"Come on," Claire said. "We're almost out of here. We just have to find a door, or at least a window."

"What are we going to do once we make it out?" Sherry asked nervously, looking around the hall as if expecting an ambush.

"We'll get back to the car and drive somewhere safe," Claire replied. She wrapped one arm around Sherry's shoulders. Her other hand held a Beretta she had taken from a dead officer upstairs. There were only four bullets in the clip though, and Claire expected she would run out if they didn't make it outside quickly.

They made their way down a couple of twisting hallways, finding them to be mysteriously abandoned. Claire expected hundreds of zombies down here, and so far they hadn't seen any at all. Maybe the zombies left the building for some unknown reason?

Her question was answered as they walked down another hallway, passing a set of large double doors. Claire paused for just a moment, tilting her head as she heard something on the other side of the doors. Her breath caught in her throat and she quickly urged Sherry forward.

The doors smashed open in a rush and zombies poured into the hall like a flood, dozens of them squeezing through the double doors and spreading into the hall. Sherry screamed and ran for it, and Claire chased after her. They outran the zombies and turned the hallway, only to discover that there was another doorway into the same room, and more zombies were meandering in the hallway on that side. Sherry shrieked and kept running, zipping past the zombies before they had a chance to grab her. Claire ran forward and shot one of the zombies that blocked her path, running along the side of the wall, just out of the zombies grasp.

"Sherry!" she shouted.

There was a door at the end of the hall, and it was the only place they could go. Sherry opened the door and rushed inside, leaving it open behind her. Just as Claire made it to the doorway a few steps behind, she heard another scream from Sherry.

She burst into the room to find that it was one of the large detective offices. There were desks and cubicles lined down the center of the room, with chairs scattered around, and computer terminals lined along the wall, with papers and garbage lying everywhere. At the other side of the room was a separate office with a window on the door. The line of desks went right down the center of the room, and a crowd of zombies were standing on the other side, coming toward Sherry, who ran back toward Claire.

Claire slammed the door, although she knew that it wouldn't hold the zombies for long if they tried to break it down. She had three bullets left, and had to use them wisely. Sherry ran behind her and cowered in fear as the zombies came around the line of desks.

Claire shot the first two zombies right in the head and they slumped to the ground. The zombie directly behind them tripped over their bodies and fell to the ground as well. The walkway in between the desks and the wall was too narrow for the zombies to walk around, and they stumbled past the fallen ones.

Claire grabbed one of the plastic desk chairs and hurled it right at the zombies, striking the one in front right in the face. He groaned and tipped over backwards, one of the chair legs cracking him right in the side of his head.

"Claire! Stop them!" Sherry screamed frantically.

"Come on!" Claire snapped, grabbing Sherry's hand and pulling her away from the door. They ran around the line of the desks to the other side, keeping the desks in between them and the zombies.

"I need a gun!" Claire shouted. "See if there are any on the floor!"

Sherry ran toward the separate office and glanced inside before opening the door. Claire took aim with her remaining shot and squeezed the trigger, killing the zombie closest to the office. She took the empty gun and hurled it at one of the zombies, hitting it right between the eyes, although it wasn't enough to knock it over.

"Claire!" Sherry cried.

She ran to the office as Sherry backed against the wall, her hands over her mouth. Claire rushed inside and was stunned to see a man sprawled on the floor behind the desk, propped up against the wall. Lying on the ground near his hand was a combat shotgun. Claire didn't waste any time. She grabbed the shotgun and spun around as the crowd of zombies made their way around the desks, and began to surround the office. She braced herself in the doorway and opened fire, the gun recoil slamming into her shoulder.

The closest zombie's head disappeared in a red blur and its body keeled over. Claire swung the shotgun and blasted away, killing seven more zombies before the shotgun was empty. Four more zombies still remained, though.

"Claire! Here!" Sherry cried, handing her a pistol.

Claire gladly took it and finished off the rest of the zombies. She took a deep breath and lowered the pistol. The floor was littered with bloody corpses and the air stank of blood and decay. Claire's heart hammered in her chest, and she felt so nauseous she thought she was going to throw up. But she swallowed and turned back around to look at the man lying on the floor.

He gazed up at her with weary eyes, his face dotted with sweat, his chest rising and lowering with his labored breaths. He was an African-American wearing a blue police uniform. There was a strip of cloth wrapped around his forearm, indicating where he'd been bitten, blood seeping through the cloth and dripping down his arm.

Sherry backed herself into the corner of the small office and held her hands up to her face, staring down at the man in disbelief. "It's Officer Branagh," she said, her voice trembling.

"You know him?" Claire asked, looking down at the policeman's body.

"My school came here on a field trip a few days ago. He talked to my class."

"Do you know his first name?"

"Yes," Sherry said. "It's Marvin."

Claire didn't know what else to do, so she knelt down by the man and reached out to touch his shoulder. He looked up at her but said nothing, his eyes squinting weakly, his breath coming in long, agonized gasps. Claire glanced down at his bloody arm and then back up at his face, unsure of what she could say. He must have known that he was going to die, and he surely realized that he was doomed to become one of the undead. What could she say to him?

She took a breath and leaned close. "Listen, Marvin," she said, her voice heavy, "I'm sorry, but we can't stay here with you. We're leaving as soon as we can. I would take you with us if I could, but you know that's not possible."

Marvin blinked at her and then managed a short nod. "I know," he whispered, his mouth barely moving.

"You know what's going to happen to you, right?"

He nodded again.

"I'm so sorry. I wish I could help you."

"You ... can ..."

Claire swallowed hard and clenched her teeth. Her eyes flicked down briefly to the pistol still in her hand. Marvin stared right in her eyes and blinked slowly.

"Sherry," Claire said, not looking at her. "I want you to step outside for a little bit, okay? Go to the other side of the room and wait for me there."

"Okay," Sherry said. She stayed in the corner for a moment, and then stepped toward the door. She paused in the doorway, her hand on the wall, and spoke without looking down at him. "Goodbye, Marvin," she said. "I wish things were different. I wish you could come with us." Her breath caught in her throat and she ran out the door, past all the dead bodies to the other side of the room, the muffled sound of her crying barely audible.

"Do you have a family?" Claire asked sadly.

Marvin's head moved down, but he didn't have the strength to go complete the nod. His gaze fixed on the gun in Claire's hand. "Wife ... Jessica ... daughter ... Alesha ..."

"I'll try to find them if I can," Claire promised. "Maybe they made it out of the city too. I won't tell them about this, I'll tell them you were helping people."

"Thank ... you ..."

"I need to ask you something," Claire said. "My brother is Chris Redfield. He was on the S.T.A.R.S. unit. I came here to look for him. Do you know if he was here in the building at all, or do you know where he is?"

Marvin blinked. "Not ... here ..." he breathed. "He ... left ... town ..."

"Okay," Claire said quickly, touching Marvin's arm. "That's all I wanted to know."

She took a deep breath and got up. Marvin's breaths came slower, his eyes barely able to focus, the sight of him making Claire's heart break. She remembered how Kendo told her about the man he tried to help, only to put him out of his misery in the end. Is this what Kendo went through? She didn't even know Marvin personally, but it took all her courage and strength to raise the gun.

She felt absolutely helpless. One little bite mark was all it took to spread the disease. If any of the zombies she encountered so far had managed to bite her a single time, then it would be her lying on the ground, slowly waiting to die. She wondered why Marvin hadn't taken his own life, but what would she have done in his situation? By the time it became clear what was going to happen, he was probably too weak to pick up a gun.

"Are you sure?" she whispered.

Marvin said nothing. He took a shallow breath and his eyes managed to focus on her. He didn't have long, and there was nothing else Claire could possibly do. If she didn't do what had to be done, then she would be dooming Marvin to rise as a zombie himself. And nothing in the world could be worse than that.

Claire aimed the pistol and closed her eyes. She pulled the trigger.

Chapter 38

The lab was empty now, truly empty this time. Annette Birkin stood in the middle of the hallway and listened wearily to the ragged sound of her own breathing. Strands of limp blonde hair stuck to her forehead, the rest of it a wild tangle on her head, uncombed and sticky with blood. The front of her white shirt was covered in dried blood as well, and the thighs of her jeans were marked with bloody hand prints, although none of the blood was hers. She didn't even know who the blood was from at this point.

She was so tired. After the bloodbath at Sherry's school, she traveled with the soldiers, who she quickly realized were from Umbrella. The men were from a special commando force, ready and waiting for the outbreak, although how in the world they anticipated something like that was beyond her. It probably had something to do with the release of the virus at the Arklay lab.

She didn't stay with the soldiers long, since they got caught up in a crowd of zombies soon after that and most of them were killed. Annette managed to escape that time, and other times, all throughout the day. She encountered more zombies than she thought could ever exist, and avoided getting killed more times than she cared to count. She found a few other survivors, other soldiers, but she was the only one still alive now. All the others were dead, as far as she knew.

And what about Sherry? Annette tried not to think about her.

She walked slowly through the lab, finding some of the dead soldiers from before, their bodies now cold and stiff. How long had it been since Annette came here and found all her coworkers dead? Thirty hours? It seemed like a year ago.

She half-expected to find her husband still there, lurking the white corridors like a ghost haunting a castle. But Will was gone, although Annette didn't know where he went, or how he managed to get out of the lab at all. But if he was there, she was sure that he would have made his presence known by now, and she'd most likely be dead.

She wondered vaguely what he looked like. Her last glimpses of him before escaping the lab revealed a bestial new form, almost simian, although his humanity was still evident. Had his physical form been altered further? She didn't know enough about the G-virus to know for sure, but she guessed that the mutative cycle of the virus would keep changing Will's appearance as it molded his DNA. It was entirely likely that his physical form was drastically different now, maybe not even remotely human.

Annette walked through the lab, going around the central lobby room where all of her coworkers were slaughtered. She had already seen that once, and didn't want to look again. She looked around in all the labs, not really sure what she was even looking for. She was just tired and emotionally drained, and needed time to think, time to understand what was going on. That's why she came back to the lab in the first place.

She couldn't do anything for the people in Raccoon City. But she knew that the epidemic was going to spread, despite what she assumed were Umbrella's best attempts to stop it from doing so. Maybe there was something here in the lab that would help them fight the spread of the virus. At the very least, there had to be something to help her understand what happened to Will.

She found another dead soldier near one of the secondary lab rooms, and walked inside to see blood splattered all over the floor near one of the lab tables. She paused for a moment and wondered why there was blood and no body. She crouched down and looked at the dried blood, which was smeared around as if someone had rolled around in it. Traces of blood were dripped here and there all the way to the door. Annette scanned the floor, not knowing exactly what she was looking for until she found it.

A tiny glass vial, broken now. She knew right away what had been inside that vial, and suddenly understood what must have happened.

"They shot him," she whispered to herself.

She wondered if he resisted and fought the soldiers when they showed up, or if they simply shot him on sight. Either scenario was equally plausible. But Annette was certain that her husband was shot right here, in this very spot, and infected himself with the G-virus before he died.

"Will," she said sadly, shaking her head.

She stood up and left the room, wrapping her arms tightly around her, as if trying to shake off the cold, even though the lab wasn't cold at all. She couldn't seem to shake the vision of Will chasing after her earlier, his body warped and twisted, his face contorted into a bestial grimace, killing those soldiers so brutally.

Will must have considered the possibilities. He must have known that the G-virus was incredibly unstable, and infecting a live host would have totally unpredictable results. Maybe he felt that even the slightest chance of survival was better than no chance at all, that the possibility the virus would save his life was worth the risk that it would destroy him. But how could he have anticipated something like that?

Annette didn't know what she could do, so she just kept walking.

Chapter 39

The hallway was packed with undead, and Leon ran past them at fast as he could, just barely staying out of their grasp. They surged after him and he outran them easily, but he was running out of places to escape to. He turned a corner only to find more zombies, and had to shoot half a dozen of them in order to get through. He tossed the empty gun aside and pulled out his other pistol, which was still fully loaded. He had wasted too many bullets shooting at the strange monster earlier and was now down to his last clip.

At the end of the hall, there was another small area leading to a staircase, with a wooden door under the stairs. To the right, the hallway continued in a straight line before turning another corner. Across from the stairs, a large statue rested on a marble pedestal. It was of a roman soldier wielding a spear and tower shield, and seemed incredibly out of place in a police station. Leon ran forward, panting for breath, his gun aimed in front of him.

The woman, whatever her name was, had disappeared again. Leon tried to follow her, but she either ran too far ahead of him, or she took some other way. It was also equally likely that she was killed by zombies, but he believed she was still alive.

A "Maintenance" sign decorated the door leading under the stairs. Leon checked the door knob but it was locked. He looked around, down the other side of the hallway, feeling as if he had been walking in circles all day. He wished he had taken the map he found earlier. Shaking his head, he started up the stairs, not really wanting to back up to the second floor, but figuring that it was safer than down on the first.

Gunshots nearby got his attention. He raised his gun and hopped back down the stairs. As he hurried down the hall, he nearly opened fire on the first two people who came into view. He swung the gun up and came to a halt, staring in disbelief.

Claire stood there, an equal look of shock on her own face, as she aimed a shotgun right at him. She lowered the gun and broke out in to a desperate laugh.

"Oh my God, Leon?"

"Hey, Claire? How have you been?" he said stupidly, glancing down at the other person with Claire. It was a little girl wearing a tattered school uniform, and she clung to Claire like a lifeline, staring at Leon in confusion and distrust.

"Claire!" the girl cried. "Come on!"

Leon glanced down the hallway they came from, and saw another mob of zombies coming toward them. The entire hallway was packed. There must have been more than a hundred walking corpses shambling in their direction. Leon backed away and cast a desperate glance behind him.

"Is it safe that way?" Claire asked, her voice begging him to say it was.

"No, but come on anyway," Leon said quickly. He led them back to the staircase, but the zombies coming in the other direction had already surged forward like a flood and reached the corner. In seconds, they began to swarm around the staircase. Claire wielded her shotgun but didn't open fire just yet. Her face dropped at the sight of so many more zombies.

"Leon!" she screamed.

There were too many of them. Completely blockaded on both sides, they could never hope to shoot their way through without an infinite amount of ammo. Claire began to gasp for breath, swinging her gun around helplessly, while the little girl behind her cried out, cowering behind her.

Leon ran forward and slammed his foot into the maintenance door underneath the stairs, just above the doorknob. The door broke open with a crack, the wood around the lock splintering, and swung open to reveal a dark staircase heading downward. Heading underground was the last thing Leon wanted to do, but it was their only option.

"Let's go!" he shouted.

Claire and the girl bolted past him, the zombies almost able to grab onto them. Leon killed three of the closest ones, giving him just enough time to back up into the doorway and swing the door shut. But the edge of the frame was broken around the doorknob and it wouldn't stay closed.

"Leon! Here!" Claire shouted, handing him a mop. At the top of the stairs right behind him were some custodial supplies, a mop and broom, and a few empty buckets. Before Leon could even get the mop into position, the door buckled forward, almost knocking him over. He braced himself and pushed back, and Claire jumped up to help him. But the zombies on the other side were stronger, and they would never get tired.

Leon jammed the mop into the corner and pressed the handle into the door, but it was too long. Desperately, he swung down on the handle with his forearm and the wood cracked, sending a agonizing tremor of pain all the way up his arm. He forced the broken end of the handle down and managed to wedge it right under the door knob. The door pressed inward, but the wooden mop handle somehow stayed put.

"This won't last long," Leon warned. "We've got to get out of here, right now!"

"Then let's go!" Claire replied, running down the stairs two at a time. The little girl was already at the bottom of the stairs waiting for them, a tiny yellow light bulb shining above her. Either Claire or the girl must have found a light switch. Leon winced in pain, cradling his arm, and went down after her. Above them, he could hear the door rattling as the zombies pounded against it.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Leon took a moment to consider their new situation. If anything, they were no better off than they were before, save for the fact that they were no longer in direct danger. But being underground was much worse, since it would be even harder now to find a way out.

The dim corridor stretched forward into darkness, the tiny bulbs over their heads providing only the smallest amount of illumination. Claire looked hopefully at Leon, but he could not return her gaze, and merely sighed, cradling his arm.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Leon shook his head. "I hurt my arm. It's not broken or anything, but I'm not doing too great right now."

"What are we going to do?"

He shrugged. "Just start walking, I guess. We don't have a lot of options, do we?"

Claire had nothing to say to that, so she took a deep breath and began to walk down the corridor, with the little girl still huddling against her for protection. Leon didn't bother to ask her name. It wasn't important now.

He could smell mold and dust in the air, and rubbed his nose absentmindedly. There were two small supply rooms up ahead, full of cardboard boxes and dusty shelves of plastic bottles, containing things like floor wax and bug spray. The boxes were full of paper towels, spare mop heads, and packets of urinal cakes. The ceiling was lined with spiderwebs and rusty metal pipes, and the floor was filthy with dirt and small puddles of stagnant water.

The corridor extended forward and then branched off to the left and right. Two more supply rooms were empty except for some piles of trash. A few of the light bulbs were burned out as well.

"I don't think anyone came down here very often," Claire said.

"Doesn't look like it," Leon agreed.

"At least we won't have to worry about any zombies."

They picked at random and headed to the right. A little ways later, they came to another downward staircase, and hesitated for a moment. It was only about half the length of a regular set of stairs, sending them maybe six or eight feet deeper underground. Metal pipes on the wall dripped water along the steps, and the walls were discolored and crumbling.

"Maybe we should go the other way," Claire suggested.

"Yeah," the little girl said, looking down the stairs nervously.

In the silence that followed, they all heard a loud but muffled noise come from somewhere behind them. The noise, a sudden thump like a loud impact, echoed lazily down the dirty corridor, and Claire grabbed Leon's arm reflexively.

"What was that?"

"What do you think it was? It was probably those zombies smashing the door down."

"Oh, Jesus."

They went down the stairs and kept walking down the dimly-lit hall for a few minutes, none of them saying anything. Leon's boots splashed through puddles of foul-smelling water, and the light bulbs over their heads were covered in dust, some of them flickering randomly, as if on the verge of going out. The corridor was like a deserted tunnel in an abandoned mine shaft.

"Where does this lead?" the little girl asked, holding onto Claire's hand.

"I have no idea," Claire said. "But it must lead somewhere, right?"

"What if it leads to a dead end?"

"Let's just hope it doesn't."

After a short pause, the girl looking up at Leon and asked, "Your name is Leon, right?"

He nodded. "Yes. Claire told you about me?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't catch your name."

"I'm Sherry."

Leon managed a weary smile, but his heart wasn't in it. He didn't think this hallway led anywhere at all. It was probably some old access tunnel between buildings, and when they reached the end of it they were going to find a boarded-up door with a rusted padlock on it, if they even found that. They would probably find nothing but a wall. And frankly, Leon didn't feel like investigating a bunch of abandoned basement corridors that didn't lead anywhere. The zombies had probably broken down the door by now, which meant that their way back was blocked.

"Do you think we're still under the police station?" Claire asked.

"I don't know," Leon said honestly.

"Where do you think this leads?"

"At one time, it probably led to one of the buildings nearby. A lot of these old buildings used to be interconnected with these underground hallways."

They discovered some long-abandoned rooms on each side of the hall, now coated in dust and grime. This portion of the underground hallway hadn't been touched in years, probably decades. Leon was surprised the place even had electric lights. The rooms were stacked with boxes and wooden barrels, now rotted and decayed. They heard scratching, and Leon guessed the place was infested with rats. They didn't stay to sight-see, and quickly moved on.

"More stairs," Claire said, gesturing forward.

They descended once again, deeper underground. But the next hallway did not go very far. It ended in a large metal door, its edged coated with rust. The tiny light bulb above the doorway flickered and wavered.

"Should we try the door?" Leon asked.

Claire looked at Sherry, who clutched her arm tighter and stared straight ahead. Claire sighed and held her shotgun forward. "Do you think it will even open?"

"We can give it a shot."

Leon grasped the large metal handle and turned it with a grunt, the metal scraping and grinding. He braced his feet and pulled as hard as he could, and the massive metal door slowly opened up. Claire pulled the shotgun to her shoulder and aimed it through the opening as Leon pulled the door all the way open. Bits of rust drifted to the floor.

Leon drew his own gun and aimed it into the inky darkness beyond. He made a sour face and covered his mouth with his hand.

"Oh, it stinks in there," Sherry said as soon as she smelled it.

"Smells like sewage," Claire said with a frown, pinching her nose closed.

Leon looked into the area on the other side of the door, but couldn't see very much because it was so dark. "Yeah, I think it is sewage," he said. "That's the good news."

"Why is that good news?"

"Because if this leads into the sewer system, it means we can find our way to get back up to the surface." Leon stepped through the doorway, the smell not as bad as it first seemed, but still pretty strong. Through the gloom, he could see that the doorway led into a large room lined with machinery and shelves. He fumbled along the wall for a light switch and found one, and the room blinked into view as a line of yellow bulbs came on.

The room, like the hallway, had apparently not been used in a very long time. All the machinery was coated in rust and dirt, and the ceiling was covered cobwebs, except for one spot in the center where water dripped intermittently from a large crack above them.

There was a door at the other end of the room, and they quickly went to it and opened it as well, discovering a wide hallway lined with more rotting machinery. After a few more minutes traversing a series of short corridors and cramped chambers, they finally made their way to a section of the underground complex that seemed as if it was still in use.

It was still dusty, but the electrical boxes along the wall were much newer, and had new locks placed on them. Leon led Claire and Sherry to another wide corridor, illuminated by long fluorescent lights that looked like they were installed much more recently.

For the first time since they went into the basement, Leon felt a little bit of hope. As they continued down the sewer maintenance tunnel, he looked at Claire and managed a smile. She smiled back and patted Sherry gently on the shoulder. There were no zombies down here, and at the rate they were going, it could not take them very long to find their way out of the sewers entirely and back up to the city.

Maybe they were going to make it out alive after all.

Chapter 40

Jill stood up and slid the Desert Eagle Carlos gave her into her pants pocket. Her legs still felt kind of sore, but at least she wasn't starving and thirsty anymore. As the Umbrella troops walked over to the door, she followed them casually, crossing her arms.

Outside, a large black military helicopter sat in the middle of the street, the rotors slowing to a gradual stop. The pilot's door opened and a tall man dressed in fatigues stepped out of the vehicle. He was stocky and mean-looking, with a short hair cut and a scowl written across his gruff face. He strode over to the streetcar station, barely even glancing around to acknowledge his surroundings.

Jill watched from a window as Mikhail opened the doors and stepped outside, giving the man a short, half-hearted salute. "Commander, it is good to see you."

Nicholai walked up to him. "Give it a rest, Captain."

Mikhail's arm dropped. "Yes, sir."

"How many men are here?"

"Eleven."

"Only that many?"

"Yes. Plus one civilian."

The Commander seemed surprised. "A civilian? Interesting."

"She just arrived a little while ago."

Nicholai walked into the building, Mikhail following behind him. All the other soldiers made room for him, although none of them asked the questions that they surely had on their minds. Jill stayed out of their way, watching as he looked them over with a harsh glare. Right away, Jill disliked him.

Hunk showed up at the side door, having climbed down from the roof again, and walked inside, carrying his assault rifle in one hand. "Commander," he said. "Welcome back. What's happening at headquarters?"

Nicholai looked at Hunk. "Our superiors do not believe that we can succeed in our mission," he said.

"So what are our orders?"

"We are evacuating."

Relief washed over the faces of the soldiers, some of them breaking out in smiles at the good news. Jill didn't smile at the news, though. Beside her, she heard Carlos mutter, " _Gracias a Dios_."

Hunk kept his expression neutral as well, as if he was suspicious of what Nicholai told him. "The helicopter won't carry all of us," he said. "Are we making two trips?"

Nicholai looked over his shoulder at the helicopter. "No, I am afraid not. There is not enough fuel left. We will use these vehicles to travel to the city park," he said, motioning to the streetcars.

The soldiers waited expectantly, and finally Hunk snapped, "You heard the Commander. Get the trolley started. Let's get the hell out of here."

The troops jumped up and ran over to the streetcars, going inside to start the engine on the first car. The other three cars would be pulled behind it like a train. They took up positions to keep guard, making sure there were no zombies sneaking up on them, while some other soldiers grabbed whatever food and drinks were left from the vending machines to take with them. Jill let the soldiers do their job, watching Hunk and Nicholai carefully.

Hunk stepped closer to Nicholai and said something that she couldn't hear, which Nicholai responded to in a hushed tone. Both of them turned their back, facing the streetcar, so Jill couldn't even try to read their lips. Hunk gestured with his hands, agitated by something, and Nicholai merely shook his head.

Jill casually walked in their direction, and Mikhail cut her off, putting a hand on her arm. "Commander," he said, "this is the survivor we found."

Nicholai turned around and looked briefly at her, not really caring. "It is good to see another survivor," he said insincerely. "You must have had a hard day. Well, I can promise that it is almost over."

"Why are we going to the park?" Jill asked.

"Our central command post is located there. There are helicopters we can use to leave the city."

"And you're all just abandoning the city like this?"

"Of course," Nicholai said. "You do not expect us to remain here, do you?"

"Actually, yes I do," Jill said.

Mikhail spoke up, glancing sideways at Jill. "She suspects that Umbrella maybe partially responsible for this incident," he explained. "She says we should stay here and try to save as many civilians as possible."

"Well, she is not in charge," Nicholai sneered. "I am, and we are not staying here any longer. We cannot hope to fight the infected ones. There are too many."

Jill brushed off Mikhail's hand on her arm. "I know that they did this," she said forcefully. "Umbrella might be able to justify leaving the city if they were honestly trying to help, but they caused the infection in the first place. If you leave the city to be overrun, you're just abandoning your responsibility."

"The city already is overrun," Hunk snapped. "Or haven't you noticed? And besides, you have no evidence that Umbrella is responsible for this."

"I know about the lab in the mountains," Jill snapped back. "I know about the outbreak there. I know about everything."

Hunk's eyes popped wide open in surprise, and Mikhail actually stepped back in disbelief, staring at her. Nicholai was the only one to not openly reveal his surprise, but his eyes flickered for just a moment, giving it away. He tilted his head down and looked at Jill, inspecting her as if he recognized her but he couldn't figure out where he had seen her before. Jill glared back, daring him to deny it.

"And just how do you know about that?" he asked carefully.

"Because I was at that lab a few nights ago. I was one of the cops that got sent there to help clean up your mess."

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Hunk said, looking away. He took one glance at Jill and then turned and stalked away from them.

"That is a very interesting coincidence," Nicholai said, his voice flat. Jill met his gaze and saw something in his eyes that she couldn't quite place. It seemed as if there was a bit of fear in his eyes, but he had no cause to be afraid of her. Jill got the distinct feeling that Nicholai knew something about her, although she had no idea what.

"Sir!" one of the soldiers called. "The streetcar is ready!"

Nicholai broke off their staring contest and began to walk over to the streetcar. "Everyone get on board so we can leave," he ordered.

Before Jill could even follow him, a loud noise came from outside the station. It froze Jill's blood, and she instinctively drew her pistol and spun around, facing the front doors. It was a scream, but not any scream that a human being could make. There was no motion through the windows, and Jill knew that her gun was useless anyway, but that scream was incredibly close.

Sensing her fear, Mikhail drew a gun as well. "What the hell was that?"

"It's a monster," Jill said. "I've fought it before. It's not a zombie, it's something else. How did it get here already? It was miles away last time I saw it."

"Come on!" Nicholai bellowed.

Mikhail grabbed Jill's arm again and dragged her away. They both ran onto the last streetcar just as it started to move forward. Jill watched fearfully out the back windows, expecting the creature to show up any second. The last car carried two other soldiers, who held their assault rifles intently, and Nicholai, who looked out the windows as the streetcar began to pick up speed.

"What made that sound?" he asked, a gun in his hand as well. "That was not a person yelling."

"It's a monster," Jill said again. "I don't know what it is, but it came after me before. It's not a zombie, it's something new. I couldn't kill it, no matter what I tried."

Mikhail suddenly pointed out the back window. "There it is," he said.

Standing fifty yards away from the escaping streetcar, the creature stood right along the tracks, the edge of its black trenchcoat flapping in the breeze. It hunched over and screamed again, the hideous roar sounding as if it was standing right beside them. It jumped forward and began to run after the streetcar as it traveled along the tracks.

Nicholai ran to the other end of the car and opened up the narrow doorway that connected it to the next car. The streetcars were not connected with an open doorway like a train, because passengers were not supposed to walk from one car to another. In order to get to the next car, Nicholai had to step over the large metal clamp that connected the two cars, balancing carefully on the bumpers of the two adjacent cars.

"Where are you going?" one of the soldiers asked.

"I have to tell them to speed up," Nicholai said, jumping into the third car.

The two soldiers, whose names Jill didn't know, ran to the back of the car and aimed their guns out the back window.

"What are you waiting for?" Jill asked desperately. "Shoot it!"

"We do not have very much ammunition," Mikhail said. "We cannot waste it. And I do not think it can catch up to us now."

The creature bounded forward, its huge strides making it appear as if it was running on the moon. Its twisted face was stuck in a horrific grimace, its long teeth clenched, strings of saliva streaming from its mouth. Its arms pumped back and forth like pistons as it ran.

"It's gaining on us," Jill said, backing away. She took one last look at the creature and bolted for the other end of the car. The streetcar was going thirty miles an hour at least, and the monster was somehow catching up to them.

"Open fire!" Mikhail shouted, and the soldiers' guns lit up, flashes bursting from the barrels. The creature outside seemed to shiver with the impacts, but it didn't slow down at all. Bullets smacked into its torso, opening tiny holes in its trenchcoat, but it barely seemed to notice. More bullets missed their mark and sparked against the tracks or kicked up puffs of dirt on the ground under its feet. It ran right through the gunfire like the bullets were no more bothersome than a swarm of flies.

The creature roared again and leaped into the air, sailing upward and directly at the streetcar. Mikhail and the soldiers jumped back in shock as the creature soared up over the streetcar and landed above them, the roof partially caving in with its weight. The entire car rattled with the impact, and one of the soldiers fell onto his back, opening fire into the ceiling.

There was another hideous scream, and a massive fist punched down through the roof, tearing away the thin sheet of metal. The creature ripped off a chunk of the roof and hurled it away. The soldiers held onto their triggers in utter desperation, and the constant blast of gunfire in the small area practically deafened them.

Jill turned once more before climbing through the doorway to the third car. The soldiers there held their guns expectantly, but none of them were willing to go to the fourth car. The wind whipped Jill's hair across her face, and she glanced down as the rocky ground underneath the streetcar flew by underneath her feet. If she lost her footing, she would be crushed under the streetcar's wheels.

They sped through a business district, the streetcar increasing its speed up to at least forty miles an hour, zooming past abandoned cars and more wreckage. Jill made it to the third car and the soldiers pulled her inside, and she immediately kept going toward the second car.

Mikhail ordered the two soldiers back, as the creature fell down through the jagged hole in the ceiling, turning to the side and shielding its face with its arms. Its body rippled as a torrent of bullets perforated it, but the creature merely shrugged them off. The first soldier's gun clicked empty, and he frantically tried to load a new clip.

The creature jumped forward in a blur and slammed its thick arm into the soldier, smashing him sideways. The soldier crashed through the window, his body broken and limp, and sailed out of the streetcar. Before they could react, the creature grabbed the other soldier by the neck and swung him around, smashing him into the inside of the car, shaking his body like a dog shaking a chew toy in its mouth. The soldier's gun went flying away.

More gunshots blasted into its huge body, as the soldiers in the third car opened fire. The windows in between the two cars shattered, glass flying everywhere. Mikhail ducked down in front of the seats as bullets flew over his head.

The creature just roared angrily and hurled the dead body forward. It crashed through the doorway and into the soldiers. Mikhail jumped up and ran for it, but the creature grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. Mikhail screamed as the creature's fingers dug into his shoulder like the teeth of a bear trap, lifting him into the air. The soldiers didn't dare open fire because Mikhail was now directly in their way.

Holding him up with one arm, the creature lifted its other arm, and from the ripped folds of the sleeve of its coat, a writhing tentacle emerged. Mikhail screamed and swung his arm up, a combat knife held in his hand. He stabbed the knife directly into the tentacle, pinning it to the creature's arm. Whitish fluid squirted from the tentacle as it spasmed, impaled by the knife.

The creature bellowed furiously and tossed him backward. As he crumpled to the floor, the soldiers opened fire once more, another volley of gunfire striking the creature's body. It roared and tossed the combat knife away, its inhuman face twisted into a horrendous mask of rage. Mikhail managed to crawl forward, one of his arms now dangling limply at his side. His face was covered in a sheen of sweat, his teeth clenched against the excruciating pain.

Suddenly, the entire streetcar rocked forward and to the side, throwing everyone to the floor, even the creature. A line of cars were parked right across the tracks, and the streetcar just plowed through them at full speed. The cars were smashed out of the way, but the entire streetcar rocked with the tremendous impact.

Jill fell forward and smacked her head on the floor. The gun in her hand went skittering under some of the seats as she got onto her hands and knees, her head spinning. She felt someone hold her shoulder and try to pick her up. It was the soldier named Carlos. He knelt over her and helped her to her feet.

"Come on," he said urgently. "Let's go to the front."

Mikhail got to his feet, grabbing one of the poles for support with his good arm, and staggered through the doorway to the third car. As he stepped over the clamp that held the cars together, he kicked down on the lever that disengaged the clamp. There was a loud blast of air and the two cars separated.

The soldiers pulled Mikhail across as the fourth car began to pull away from them, no longer being pulled with the rest. The creature inside roared furiously and ran to the front of the car. It smashed right through the doorway and sailed into the air, jumping across the open space between the cars. The soldiers opened fire again as the creature landed right on the back end of the third car. It smashed its fist through the doorway and knocked some of the soldiers out of the way.

Jill and Carlos made it to the second car and Jill turned back around, watching in horror as the creature just smashed his way into the other car and battered the soldiers effortlessly out of its way. All of the soldiers on the third car were killed in a matter of moments, as the creature lashed out in the cramped area, killing them with brutal punches of its massive arms, as the soldiers had nowhere to hide. It grabbed them and threw them out the windows of the speeding streetcar, or simply beat them to death. In a few seconds it was all over.

The only soldier that remained was Mikhail, who crawled along the floor. Jill and Carlos watched helplessly from the second car as the creature strode forward and stepped over his body.

Mikhail rolled over onto his back and stared up at the creature as it loomed over him, a line of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He opened his hands as if finishing a prayer. One hand held a grenade. The other hand held the pin.

Mikhail chuckled softly, blood on his lips. " _Dosvidaniya, ty sukin syn_ ," he whispered.

Carlos grabbed Jill and pulled her to the floor as the grenade went off. The explosion tore apart the entire car, ripping the walls in half and blowing the roof off. The creature flew backward and smashed through the demolished side wall, tumbling through the air and crashing to the ground in a heap. It rolled across the ground like a broken and shattered doll, its limbs flailing limply as it tumbled to a halt.

The doorway between the two cars was blown to pieces, showering Jill and Carlos with debris and broken glass. Jill's ears rung with the deafening sound, the shockwave knocking the wind out of her. She gasped for breath and tried to get to her feet.

"Come on," Carlos said, pulling her up. She glanced back at the third car and shook her head sadly. All that was left was the basic frame and most of the floor. Sparks shot out from underneath, and they heard the sound of squealing metal. The explosion blew out the floor and something was jammed in the wheels.

Jill and Carlos stumbled to the other side of the second car, and Jill looked outside. The streetcar track swerved to the left up ahead, and Jill could see that there were more cars blocking the tracks. But not just one or two cars, there were a dozen of them parked all across the street, an impenetrable barrier. Even going as fast as they were, they could not hope to smash their way through.

"We're going to crash!" Jill cried out.

"Commander!" Carlos shouted. "Look out!"

Nicholai and the other remaining soldiers tried to stop the streetcar, but they were going too fast, and the brake was applied far too late.

Carlos grabbed Jill once more and together they crouched down on the floor. Jill pulled herself completely under one of the seats, hoping to shield herself from debris, and Carlos followed suit. Jill closed her eyes and prayed.

The streetcar slammed into the vehicles blocking the tracks at almost fifty miles an hour. It punched through the first two rows of vehicles, but the streetcar tilted sideways and broke free of the tracks. It tipped over and smashed through more cars and trucks, the ear-splitting roar of the collision sending sheets of twisted metal flying in all directions.

The three connected cars broke loose of each other almost as soon as they derailed, the first car continuing through the traffic jam, knocking a row of cars aside and crushing them underneath, sending a wave of metal and wreckage in front of it, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. The third car, which was already destroyed from the explosion, ripped free of the tracks and swung sideways, slicing through a brick wall and into a convenience store on the corner.

The second car, where Carlos and Jill were, spun in the other direction and tipped over, rolling down a slight embankment before crashing right into the side of a building near the tracks. The streetcar smashed right through the building's outer wall, sending a blast of smoke and bricks flying. It teetered onto its roof before crashing back down on its side among a choking cloud of dust and debris, half of the car lying inside the building and half outside. It tipped back and forth before finally coming to a complete stop. The dust and smoke began to settle.

Just beyond the range of the catastrophic collision and derailed streetcars, an enormous mob of zombies began to lurch forward. The zombies filled the street, over a thousand of them, and after watching the crash, they all moved slowly forward to investigate.
A note from the author

Resident Evil Legends is a seven-part series that was originally posted online from 2007 to 2012 on Fanfiction.net. The entire series has been completely revised and edited for this new Smashwords Edition. The author would like to thank all of the readers on Fanfiction.net who posted comments and feedback. Without their help and support, this series would never have been completed. The author would also like to thank Capcom for creating such wonderful and memorable characters and making such entertaining games.

Resident Evil Legends
Part One: Welcome to the Umbrella Corporation

Part Two: The Arklay Outbreak

Part Three: The Mansion Incident

Part Four: Calm Before the Storm

Part Five: City of the Dead

Part Six: Escape from Raccoon City - COMING SOON

Part Seven: Aftermath - COMING SOON
