A Chronicle to downfall

by Sapfarah

Claire Redfield, survivor of Raccoon City, must visit the corrupt Sutacora Sassa and prevent the revival of the Nightmare.

1. Life, Death or somewhere in between

A Chronicle to Downfall
A fanfiction mainly based on Resident Evil
by Sapfarah ( sapfarah@geocities.com )
http://www.geocities.com/sapfarah.geo/chronicle.htm


Chapter 1 - Life, death, or somewhere in between.
"Think of eyes that open without will, without desire..."

Recorded message of June 12th, 2002
(accompanied by written record found in the files of Umbrella)
Tape signed by Ms Claire Redfield, Sergeant.

"This is Sergeant Claire Redfield of the S.T.A.R.S. giving
report on the events that occurred in Raccoon City on August the 16th,
in the year 1998.
A sudden raid of man-eating, biologically unidentified, human
resembling creatures plagued the city. The outbreak came without a
warning and the impact of the devastation was alike enormous. Of the
citizens, very few survived, of those survivors more died later,
infected by what seemed to be ultra developed bacteria and related
infections.
The connection of the chief of Raccoon City Police Department,
mr Brian Irons, is still under investigation. It appears the chief had
deeper connections with Umbrella Co. Ltd. as well as more associations
with underground groups.

[Descriptive report is given...]

Having studied the evidence taken from the province of Sutacora
Sassa, the deduction leads to confirming similarities of the current
epidemic, causing suspicions that we are regretfully dealing with
Umbrella and its experiments yet once more...
Investigation will be immediately ordered in which I will
personally travel to Sutacora Sassa and find out the extend of the
possible danger."


To: Ms Claire Redfield, Sergeant of the S.T.A.R.S.
Date: June 19th, 2002.
Regarding your demand concerning the Sutacora Sassa events.

Dear Ms Redfield,

I have gone through your letter demanding to be in charge of the
investigation over the recent events of Sutacora Sassa, to discover
whether there is indeed a similar biohazard outbreak.
To your demand the approval is given. You will be booked on a
flight to Sutacora Sassa on the coming Thursday the 20th of June. The
authorities have been contacted and you will be received and given all
help you should require.
On behalf of the entire S.T.A.R.S. personnel, allow me to wish
you success in accomplishing your mission.

Sincerely,
[signature]
[name]


"It is so weird that I'll be occupying myself with those things
again after all these years... but I suppose, you don't mess with
Umbrella once and expect to get just as easily away with it...
It isn't over... Just as I had told Leon back then, when we
managed to escape a factory about to blow up in our face with that
train and away from a Raccoon City more dead than alive, it wasn't
over... not even close. Only, even my frightful experiences in that
brief visit to my once beloved and very beautiful in its way hometown,
could have never prepared me for this...
And Leon...
I still remember the events vividly from that day when I locked
my apartment in the campus and with just a change of clothes I rode my
bike, heading for my hometown...
I was a tomboy. I have always been. Well, with a brother like
Chris there isn't much alternative. If Chris intended to practice his
chokeholds on me, I could either shrill until my throat hurt, which
would anyway, or fight back. In a place like Raccoon City, most girls
fight back. You see, where I come from, we don't grow up with Barbie's
model. We play hide and seek, chasing and even soccer with the guys,
in the same mud. It's not common for a girl, especially with a brother
to have a doll that is still in playable condition. I surely didn't,
therefore my games were respectively modified to receive less damage.
I was a tomboy before I knew and by the time my friends
dismissed their zip quilottes and loose T-shirts for womanly dresses
and fancy hairdos, I found myself standing on my own, surrounded by a
bunch of soccer and pinball addict teenage boys who no longer wanted
little Claire kicking the ball around with them. Yes, it was a pretty
lonely age but what was I to do? I reformed gradually and got a couple
of close girlfriends of my own as an act of survival but somehow, I
still was different. While other girls went frantic at the hint of a
mouse in the room, I could only find curiosity to see if mice are
really as cute as they are said to be and I didn't like the new way my
old playmates regarded me when I showed up in a neat dress.
Gladly, by then, Chris had gone over the 'tease-your-lil-
sister' era and became more than the brother my friends confessed they
longed for, making an irreplaceable friend. He was understanding where
my father was at loose ends and my mother even regretful and with his
support I learned not to try and mould myself to fit in a model that
wasn't me. On my eighteenth birthday, he went as far as gifting me
with a combat knife that I still have and a gift that was meant to be
the greatest I was given all my life, for it really found its good
use, when it was mostly needed. Sometimes I ponder that this gift
resembles my brother to perfection. Perhaps making no sense in the
daily course of events but making a strong support, irreplaceable at
times of need. The day when he gave me the knife, on my eighteenth
birthday, he only stayed a little in my party and then spent some time
out in the porch with Alicia, under the stars. I saw him only the next
day but from the moment he had left, the party had been of no real
significance.
That brother was whom I was looking for that day, a great friend
of life and one who happened to be amusing too, without knowing the
newest jokes around, even though he fell in the same situation I hated
upon my father, of saying a joke he would laugh at by himself,
although very few really noticed. He had his way with women, but he
was scared of commitment, so I understand why he argued with Jill all
the time, even though I falsely believed he wasn't serious about her,
as he wasn't serious for plenty things in his life, college being one
of them. While I chose to continue my studies, he didn't give it a
second thought before amazing our parents once again by declaring his
decision to join S.T.A.R.S.. Not that he wasn't bright or anything,
for to be a STARS member a certain reasoning ability is required. It
was what he wanted to do. Perhaps just a boyish infatuation about guns
and dangerous missions, leftovers of childhood, were his reasons but
whatever they were, he still had it his way. Undaunted, he took the
exams and was accepted in the STARS and might I add, with flying marks
too.
Parents act funny at such situations... They are anxious in the
beginning but how they swell with pride when their children are
successful... When Chris got his results mother screamed from joy and
father invited the entire family of uncles and cousins for a huge
dinner. As the time was going by and Chris got ever more distinctions,
he was always mentioned at least once every day and every time mother
went for groceries she would have another thing of her son to tell.
Dad was as proud as a father could be and I was struggling with my
marks for college. Photography, my own aspiration, was out of the
question yet I developed my skills in it whilst studying later on and
it is funny that it came of use during that period of time... I didn't
care to be a STARS member then, so I could only study. Well, I made it
to college but I still feel a distant taste of envy. My success was
not greeted with the same gladness Chris's acceptance to the STARS
was. Perhaps since for him, not only did they consider STARS as a bad
choice but his success was not even expected, so the joy was greater,
or perhaps since he fought more to get his goal... as though I hadn't
studied. No matter. I had been taken into college. I was in my senior
year and with a weekend ahead, I decided I wanted to spend some time
with Chris. My roommates had gone to San Francisco bay, leaving me
alone for the weekend; not my idea of having fun. So, I jumped on my
bike with a change of clothes, that being all I needed and off I went
for the longest weekend I was to ever face...

I reached Raccoon City by twilight and for someone wearing
shorts, it was rather cold. It wasn't wise to travel the highway on a
1000cc motorbike, dressed like a baby doll, but I intended to pass
Chris a message. It had been long since we spent time together. That
was thanksgiving three years ago and during that time, we only
received a scarce letter once every now and then with a picture
occasionally enclosed and he would only visit briefly, for a day the
most and as it happened, most of these times, I would be in college.
It was a good time to remember a few things...
My clothes, a pink denim vest and a matching, very short pair of
trousers, despite their sweet colour were fit for a marine even; the
vest had buckles especially designed to hold a combat knife and the
whole outfit was a reminder of that last time Chris and I were
together, where we even walked together downtown, maybe for the first
time since we were one and four respectively and our battles hadn't
started yet. By then he had had a big change of character. He was more
confident, more composed and even sensitive and caring - must have
been the effect of spending time away from home. We were actually out
for shopping and ended up in a unisex Lois Jeans department... It was
the most popular store around then. Chris bought himself a brown
leather jacket and I had that pink outfit, for the sole reason that
both garments bore on their back a female fairy-looking angel and
above, in calligraphic letters it read 'Made in Heaven'. Previously,
even a tiny similarity in our dressing would have had us both berserk
only this time, we had actually chosen the clothes for the exact
reason. Chris said nothing, just cast a shy smile to me and I answered
back. It was a silent commitment and after so long, it was a good time
to bring it back.
I took off my helmet as soon as I locked the bike and with a
deep breath, I looked around to see how my beautiful hometown had
changed... only at that first glance, not even the emptiness was
foreboding. New buildings had spawned, ones with large fronts of glass
and iron and the streets were covered in new asphalt. The signs on the
roads were replaced by new ones and the cars had dramatically
increased... I was about to step down, only then it seemed like the
silence, lurking around, watching had drained my will to do so.
I had stopped before a Diner, a newly built one too, leaving my
things on my bike... I didn't take a look back at her. I don't know if
it was a signal, but strangely I remember a distant sound of
clattering metals, right as I was about to open the glass door before
me. Now, I don't even know why I remember it.
The Diner greeted me with more emptiness, greatly uncommon for
my hometown. Naturally times change but not so drastically in a place
like Raccoon City where a weekend night out definitely included a stop
by the Diner and that evening, the Diner was empty. It was the right
time for people to rush in for their coffee and chit chat and yet,
there wasn't one soul. That's when I first sensed the taste of fear.
The Diner wasn't just empty but had apparent signs of being abandoned
and in great hurry too. The tables were messed up, napkins and spoons
thrown at all directions and everywhere the situation was the same,
the more I advanced inside.
My investigating greeting was even muffled in that silence and
by that time I noticed that the smell in my nostrils wasn't one of
coffee or those delicious apple pies they baked over there but
something horrible, something repugnant, much like what smells when
one suffers a stuffed nose. It is only now I know that it was the
scent of rotten flesh but then I had no idea where I was getting
into...
After all this time, the memory of the next moments has turned
vague but I can recall the fright very clearly. I think I walked
towards the counter, I'm not certain if I indeed heard a slurping
noise that directed me to approach, only that as I could peak beyond,
I had literally froze to place. My legs didn't obey me anymore and I
nearly lost consciousness and there was nowhere I could get a grip
from. I thought I had seen the limit of cannibalism - for what do you
call it when you see a man bent over a corpse, voraciously chewing at
the dead flesh? - but for once more, I would be wrong. Right now... I
keep an open margin for further fright...
I stammered one more greeting, to get the cannibal's notice and
when he lifted his head from his meal... Will I ever come to recall
that moment, one of the many without my heart skipping? Although the
man was bald and all his visible skin was of an awful shape, as if he
suffered from leprosy, it was only as he faced me that I realised this
thing, whatever you call it, was not human. I merely restrained a
scream to a loud inhale as I stepped back for this thing, with its
mouth spoiled with blood and yellowing eyeballs hardly contained into
his sockets turned all its attention on me. I don't know if it could
sense my fear but I doubt he realised I was too a human, as I don't
believe he either cared of what I thought. It just walked on,
stretching two decaying hands towards me and a faint voice left his
probably perforated lounges. I know now it wasn't the sight it
presented that scared me so deeply, as the intention to get me, no
matter what. It had no will, I could see his eyes to be deprived from
any life or emotion but it would get after me with even despair, to
suck up my blood the moment it could.
I was walking away, trying to even reason with it and the closer
it walked, the uglier it appeared, less human if it ever was before. I
had my combat knife fastened on my pink denim vest, attached for the
sole intention of impressing Chris when he would see me and remind him
of so much we shared, but not for a moment did I even think of pulling
it out and defend myself. It was only as my back was stuck on the big
window that in a startle I turned to poundings coming from outside.
God, there were more. More zombies, starved for living flesh, ramming
their deadened hands, leaving stains of decomposing skin as they did,
hollering lowly at me. Panic seized me right there and I fleeted as
fast as I could to the distant door I thought I'd never reach.
The worse thing about that day was the repeated shocks I
received. Just as I pulled the door open, I stopped out of my mind...
I never expected to see anyone or anything behind it, I didn't
particularly wish for it but neither did I have the gap of reasoning
to be glad it wasn't a monster...
There he was and he had a gun pointing right on me, just as
startled perhaps, aiming at what could be another opponent. How I wish
I could look back at our first meeting and say 'oh my, wasn't he such
a god!' but then, with a hungry zombie at your hind, you don't come to
think that a stranger pointing a gun at you has beautiful hair of
crimson that a ray of light would be reflected as gold upon them, nor
do you notice his divine blue eyes, even if they are intensely staring
at you, twice as seductive when the basic instinct of survival
enhances them. You only put up your hands, shouting not to shoot you
and when he orders you to get down, understanding that he is your only
possible rescue, you just do as he says and hope he doesn't miss. I
fell on four and over my head, the gun exploded. A thud told me the
monster chasing me had fallen. Perhaps not for too long either.
I looked once at the lying mass that used to be a living human
and then at him. His face was resolute and comforting, in the way a
policeman's face ought to be as he stretched his hand at me... I
didn't realise then he was only a young boy of my age, just as scared
as I was but I knew how courageous he was to take the responsibility
of engaging himself with the protection of my life. He told me to
follow him and nodded with his head. He didn't have to tell me twice
and immediately as he helped me up, I ran with him outside and into no
safety.
Coming to think about it, we were doomed. How long could we keep
running and how far could we go? Supposing we could be faster than the
plodding zombies, how were we to cope with fatigue, increased by
fright? One thing I hate about zombies. They feel no pain and no
exhaustion. They do have limited stamina but until they reach their
limit, they don't lose endurance or persistence at the very least.
They give a desperate chase and you almost think they are pleading for
you to hold back and serve them meal, yet without malice nor with any
intent other than survival... They could wear us out and although they
weren't conscious of it, they would.
We were fortunate to find a police car nearby, unlocked and with
the keys in, as it is so common in Raccoon City, where criminality
rates are next to nothing but I don't think it was good faith that had
the poor officer leaving his car unlocked. I sat on the second
driver's seat, trying to find some breath, even that of air diluted
with decompose, not knowing if it was time I started believing in
fate.
During that break I was blabbing incoherently, foolishly trying
to get Leon's attention, only to understand immediately that he wasn't
one to lose it so easily in a tough situation but neither was he
interested in a talk. He cut me off abruptly and I found myself
confused. He seemed embarrassed at his harshness but then in a time
like that, courtesy is completely forgone. Later on, both of us would
lose more humanitarian feelings when our guns would be pointed against
living dead and monsters, firing with no regret and as fast as it
went.
It was thanks to Leon that I searched the glove box, finding a
loaded handgun inside. Right then I was grateful to Chris that I
wasn't an ordinary girl to whom guns are a mystery if not a
reprehensible agent of death and took it. Not before time either. One
of those zombies had managed to creep into the car and dormant while
we took off, woke up by the smell of flesh and attacked us. It was the
living cadaver of a youth, with the strength of the last despair but
Leon acted fast, shooting it to proper death without smashing the car
and us on a wall. It wasn't as lucky either. He crushed on a road
sign. Was it irony that the sign read the direction to the Police?
The car being damaged, we hadn't gotten off, afraid to step
outside, not until in the rear view mirror I saw in the distance a mad
lorry running out of control towards us. I still don't know how we
managed to both bounce off the car and right before it was shattered
to pieces but as I got up, looking behind me to see a fire wall and
hear Leon's anguished voice calling me behind it, I realised I was on
my own. The flaming lorry had blocked us apart and our only hope was
the police station. There was no time for desperate attempts and
farewells so with a trembling heart, I tried to sound assuring as I
said I would make it there, hoping that I was to reach there as one
still among the living... To that moment I completely forgot Leon and
the reason why I was here but not the urge to run like hell and hurry
too, before any zombies would meet me and now I think about it, before
the lorry might have exploded. The nightmare had just begun...
To think that I shut my eyes during those cheesy horror movies
or when there was a scene of slashing flesh... What I was faced with
was a street with hungry zombies, all coming at me from all
directions, even from the burning cars. Their dehydrated bodies caught
the fire but their pace was steady, their hunger unaffected. 'Don't
shut your eyes now,' I whispered to myself and begun running to avoid
them.
It wasn't that hard if I come to think of it now that I know and
even then, if I had clarity of mind to see they were way slower than I
was, this ought to have been easy but not with a beating heart and
senses in red alert. One more thing. Don't go too close to zombies.
When that happens, they get a burst of speed, since they don't care if
they will fall and throw all of them upon you. Their nails dive into
your flesh and they prepare for a full bite. It's not easy to get away
once they get you for their hold is desperate and they throw all their
weight upon you. They stink badly too and all you think of is getting
the hell away. I shook violently until they let go and fortunately,
they didn't balance too well. Once I got rid of one holding me, I
pushed it upon another and they fell like a game of domino, only to be
caught by another... the damn things never came at one... They never
give up and if all desire was gone from them, it was entirely replaced
by the will to follow their prey anywhere.
There were times I saw my flesh being torn away and times when
bits of their rotten tissue stuck upon me and once a nearly decomposed
hand still clung from where it had clutched, even as it was torn off
the body carrying it... That was enough to hamper my courage, even
without the intolerable pain from the wounds I received... The pain of
a zombie scar is not only the scar itself but the stinging filth that
enters your tissues. It's acidulous and even as it hurts, you have to
scratch it until you rip the entire piece off and along is the fear of
infection or even slow death, should no other zombie find you and
consume you while you're still fresh... Right now, thinking that the
zombie's body is all covered with itchy wounds... I understand why
Chris insisted they should be shot at once. We Are doing them a favor.
I soon had got me a few wounds and I was exhausted when I
reached a gunshop. I opened the door and shut it behind me, falling
breathless upon it. My lounges hurt and my skin itched awfully. I was
this time startled by a human being... He was the shop's owner, aiming
a bowgun at me... Poor fellow... he had already been bitten and he was
frightened to death...
He was the common type of man you find around in Raccoon City.
Sturdy with evident signs of plentiful eating and beer drinking, with
his crude courtly manner, even into danger. I still don't believe he
had actually called me 'baby' as he apologised for pointing his bowgun
at me, but he wasn't in a better shape either. I told him where I was
going to and when he stated that he wasn't going anywhere outside his
shop, I asked for any help he could get me, bullets, medication and he
was so kind as to allow me and take ammo from his shelves... 'Take
them now and pay me later, darling' he had said...
He had gone to lock the door where I came in from. I gathered
some boxes of ammo when the windows shattered and all of the glass
collapsed right before him... I jumped in surprise- it was when I
realised that zombies feel absolutely no pain, for the damn things
practically used their bodies to break in. I saw the poor man attacked
by what, five, six zombies? His bowgun didn't help him either, for he
was too frightened and lost his shot as he too was too close to run
away. I screamed but they had already fallen upon him and heard him
yelling while starved claws and teeth ripped him off alive...
I pointed my gun at them and shouting I begun shooting. I hit
some while they plunged their face into warm pools of blood that was
splashing up, others that didn't want to fight over food moved towards
me. I moved back and shot at them, there actually was blood still
running through their rotten veins and when the last of them was on
the ground I ran to the man...
God what a horrible sight he was!
I don't know what I find the most horrendous of it all, the
prospect of possibly having ended up like that or the fact that the
poor guy had offered me shelter and now was gone. That moment, I
thought of nothing, just grabbed the bowgun and pulled it, his grip
upon it was still strong and I had to shake it off... I was tired and
frightened to death but I went on through the back door.
The narrow passage of the back exit was filthy and echoing the
desperate calls of those zombies... How many were they? Facts told me
later that a good forty-seven percent of the population had become the
living dead and only a good four percent survived... The rest were
either consumed or ended their lives one way or the other. The entire
city was wide awake for zombies hate daylight and have excellent view
at dark as well as fine olfactory senses... how do they make it with
that stench? This was the road I had to take. A route of life or
death... or somewhere in between.
It was a long way to the police station and I never believed I
would actually see those gates before me... I ran through that narrow
street, past a basketball court, tried all ways in guess or die
frantic attempts, struggling against hungry zombies who no longer felt
the pain and the exhaustion that had come over me. When I reached
there, I was a complete wreck, staggering close to fainting, only
walking from a faint desire to survive... 'Let me live, let me live',
I was mumbling to myself behind trembling teeth, blood running over my
hands and even legs, blinding me as it poured before my face. I still
don't know where I found the strength to push open the gates, stagger
all the way to the courtyard and make it to the entrance. I pushed the
door to the police station open and found myself into the big front
hall, enormous and majestic, entirely forsaken. There at the doorstep,
I fainted.
I don't know how long I've been unconscious but it hadn't been
much, or I would have mutated myself... I woke up by a loud blast and
leaped in a startle. My teeth were clattering and my entire body was
viciously trembling and I didn't dare to imagine what that explosion
was. I used all my strength to resume myself. 'No... I cannot let
myself!' I mumbled and forced myself up. I was all alone. In despair I
realised Leon wasn't there. No one was there. I dared not call out
because the echo of my voice as a reply in the emptiness would kill
me. For a moment I stopped just looking at that impressive building
that could have been anything but a police station. Enormous halls
dressed in marble and luxurious wooden embroidery, fine staircases and
even a statue of a maiden, a splendid piece of art. This place could
even remind of medieval castles, such as can be seen in Europe, or so
my memory tells me.
In truth, the building of the RPD wasn't always a public place.
It used to be the house of a senator from the time when telegraph only
started spreading throughout the land and slavery was the major issue.
Many stories went between us children about ghosts in this house,
Chris always said he had seen ghosts through the windows and even
though he never admitted it, his friends and himself never came
anywhere closer to the mansion than their hideout behind the fence,
where they spied. It had been abandoned for a long time, until, almost
eight years ago, the major decided to restore it and move the RPD
headquarters there. I always wondered how Chris should feel, having to
work in the place he dreaded as a child... I could have had such fun
reminding him...
A reminder of those memories was swirling in my head then and I
prayed I wouldn't leave my last breath in this place. Anywhere else,
even in the streets would have been better. As I dragged my steps to
the main desk over some steps, I heard a faint moan behind a door... I
halted shivering, until I realised this was someone still living...
Someone who might be able to help...
I entered an office and I saw someone indeed alive... A young
black police officer lying against a closet, his clothes doused in
blood, reeking of zombie's saliva, his skin a carved pattern, far
worse than I was. I ran to him but he didn't have strength to even
raise his head... His voice was feeble as it stammered about zombies
and survivors, pleading I should help them. My head was spinning
knowing there were more of them around, realising that not even here
was safe. But I had to go on, while I still could. In this discussion
that none of us was fit to comprehend, the young officer pointed his
gun at me, in a desperate attempt to force me start the seeking of
survivors and any kind of help. I wished I could just sit beside him
and stay together, although that would have been the slow transform of
both of us into zombies, where the first would consume the other...
Clenching my heart, I moved out as fast as I could get. The door
behind me was locked and I had no other alternative but move on...
Sometimes I keep telling myself in regret... If he hadn't locked
up, maybe I would have managed to cure him... That is perhaps the most
devastating part... It's a thought I realised all of us the survivors
are haunted by... It's one belief you can never get over, that perhaps
you could have saved this one too, that you could have saved even one
more... The constant chase of that thought, that maybe there was a way
to have rescued one more living and you hadn't, that thought just
won't perish and the memory remains in your head as one more face you
do not see and do not recognise, just like the numberless more
others... One more soul, doomed to that curse, one with no face,
residing into your head and although you cannot see it, their wails
are constantly roaming your mind.
There was a very dizzying period of time afterwards, during
which, as I fought to order my weakened steps to the main desk from
where I could unlock the doors, I learned first hand the full
experience of the living death. It was nauseating, I was urged to
throw up but somehow the disgusting savour was swallowed back and
stuck into my stomach, the floor lost orientation and the head was
swelling as though the brain was a bubble increasing and it would blow
up. My skin was searing badly, worse than when I went through 'the
chicken pocks' and I had them badly, I had 'spots' literally
everywhere, inside my throat even and on my butt; I couldn't sit, my
fingers and toes were swollen but this was far worse. The weakness was
even worse; I stumbled dragging every step. I still don't know how I
managed to pull it through to the computer and unlock all doors
fastened as the last means of security, enclosing dead and alive
equally.
Heading for the closest door, the gun was nearly slipping from
my hand and surely I couldn't use it if I had to, I made it open and
found myself in something like the waiting room, where there were some
desks, where tickets and minor penalties are being paid or negotiated.
I nearly fell upon a small desk on a corner and I don't know what
urged me to open it but when I did, I was more than grateful for the
long hours I spent on lockpick training, another skill I taught myself
when I was supposed to be studying, bored out of my mind and unable to
concentrate on my notes, which proved useful.
Distorted as my vision was, my eyes wetted at the sight. In the
drawer I found, what joy, a cool spray container... I grabbed it with
shaky hands and as soon as I made out 'First Aid' upon it, I uncapped
it and succeeding on the second attempt, I showered myself with it in
great hurry, more on the shoulders and legs where refractory bites
were contrived. The cold gas stung but fell soothing upon my wounds
and in a few minutes I could breathe again without effort. At that
moment, I sat back and cried from joy. I was still alive...
When I stood up again I was no longer tottering. I was alive and
planned to remain so, at least for a few more years. I immediately
started looking at everything that might be of any help. No telephones
or anything telling people had been here anytime recently. Strangely,
fear had left me by then... I was once more confident at myself, armed
and ready for everything, partly because I thought zombies would never
get me here, but because I had a fully loaded gun at hand. I guess I'm
much like Chris and I realise it only now, certain that it was the
same sensation of confidence he pursued when he joined the STARS, the
perception that if he had to face a tough situation, he would be
ready.
It turned out that I was not.
As I walked on and started looking for any survivors like that
police officer had suggested, or for any reason that would state the
RPD a more favoured place to stay than the streets... all I remember
was a swift move of something passing outside the window. It looked
like a grotesque mass of disgusting colour, moving very fast, like air
even, as if it was a mountain of flesh streaming by.
It wasn't as big, but I guess, if you're under anxiety and the
scenes change so fast, you don't get a clear perception. I saw what
that was, when I walked on a little more, in a long, deserted
corridor. The windows were shattered; not a good sign.
I remember what made me walk to find it... A constant dripping,
seeming to change position. Indeed something dripped. Blood. My first
guess was that the watering system had soaked blood and that a pipe
was leaking... but as I looked up, I saw that the blood trickled from
the mouth of a monstrous thing.
Whatever it had been previously, it now had four limbs like a
human, the correspondence comes to mind since the creature had almost
the same size as an average man, but it moved like a huge spider with
the help of claws that kept it attached to the ceiling from where it
surmised me... It also had a head and that too more or less reminded
of a human one but the real horror of it was that the brain was
visible... In fact, the muscles, the bones and intestines, everything
that should be interior was visible. This thing had no skin covering
it and neither did it have eyes now that I recall. It was disgusting
in every way you looked at it.
A long trail of slobber poured through a wide mouth of jaws and
no lips and I would have gladly retched, as it missed me for an inch.
I walked backwards when the disgusting creature fell from the ceiling
and landed before my feet, certainly saving myself from its attack
from above.
At times of need the most amazing amounts of bravery and
smartness tend to jump up and am I glad my case was not an exception.
I moved away as the freakish creature reached a long clawed hand-like
protrusion for me, in time to avoid. Fastening myself, in a snapping
movement I ran by it and nearly stumbled on my feet, luckily I didn't
fall. A horse-like fearful shriek told me that it wouldn't give up on
me and with my heels reaching for my head I dashed to the far end
door. I made it just on time to the next room and now I don't want to
think what would otherwise happen had the door been locked... I had a
gun and a bowgun, but no courage to use either of them.
I fell heavily upon the door immediately as I slammed it close,
I heard behind me the banging of the creature falling upon it and its
maddened shrieks, then claws scraping it. My heart was beating
insanely and my trembling hands grabbed the bowgun hanging at my
shoulder. I wouldn't be fit to use it as I blocked the door with my
weight, silently praying. After a short while, the beating ended...
and I looked up ahead to see a long dark corridor stretching ahead,
the windows hastily boarded up...
I couldn't go back. I didn't dare to move forward. I checked my
ammo and it was little if I intended to survive, but I had no
alternative. I equipped my weapons and in a heartbeat I moved on,
cautiously so I would notice a feather falling should I have to,
hoping what I had seen before would be the last I would ever see. The
funny thing is... I once more thought it was the worst I ought to
fear.

The quietness of the corridor was more frightening than any
shriek could have been. The windows were meagrely shuttered in a last
act of despair. I walked on, gun at hand, cursing my feet for making
noise on the dust and splinters on the floor. This whole thing was
like those corridors that have leaped out from the most successful
horror movies... Somewhere there I came across the briefing room. It
was in the same discarded disorder as the Diner: chairs thrown down,
papers all over the floor, a fan pointlessly rotating... no survivors
here and nothing but a logbook, describing in perfection the monster I
had encountered a little before. Those poor souls didn't know that
they had just witnessed the effects of the G-Virus on a human being.
Being a far more powerful mutilator than it's predecessor, the T-
Virus, when subject came in contact with it, underwent a biological
cancerous evolution, in which the body inflated and produced limbs
clawed in large bony fangs. In the 'licker's' case, it had given the
poor soul fangs on hands and feet and alike, for some reason unknown,
it had turned the tongue in a powerful weapon that could tear into
flesh... The centre of balance was disordered and the mutated person
had to walk on four whereas it had gained the ability to climb walls
and ceilings. Yet, the mutilation had made its effect clear. The skin
was entirely gone from the body and the brain, although as tissue had
too strengthened, was open to view. That much I had learned later on,
as I had learned that the brain's exposure was the reason that drove
those creatures to being so aggressive as it was the reason of their
brief living. When I just had at hand that report, desperately written
by an officer as means of warning, I had merely laughed in despair at
a warning given only too late... Licker... Yeh, thank you very much.
Yet I took the report with me and later it provided enough evidence
for the case.
What I had no way of knowing then was that the existence of the
licker indicated connection of the RPD building to the sewers and
ultimately the very laboratory where the experiments of Umbrella were
carried out. Everything, from the mansion where the outbreak started
to the building of the RPD were ingenuously connected through the
sewers. Once the first laboratory was contaminated and blown up, all
that happened was to actually let the viruses go loose around. Mice
and inferior beings transferred the virus and soon the entire city
suffered... The monsters broke loose, eating one another and people
alike. Through the sewers the G-Virus surfaced, the world turned into
Mayhem and I was right into it.
I found nothing more in either of those rooms, other than a few
bullet cartridges and taking a deep breath in the foul air, I took the
decision to walk back outside in the corridor. No surprise greeted me,
not that it meant much either. I knew by then how danger was still
lurking in the building of the RPD, the weak shelter I had picked for
my life and the only reason I kept on walking in those corridors was
the hope of finding Leon alive and together we could plan our escape.
Or at least more weapons, any means of survival at all...
I really needed my bike right then... Sometimes I still miss it
now...
My steps were marked by the debris on the floor and the gun at
my hand was ready to fire... I soon realised I had better made good
use of it, as there were zombies trapped in the building of the Police
station. I thought I would be able to hear them but I was wrong. No I
did hear them but I didn't realise it wasn't just the wind coming
through broken windows I was hearing.
I don't know how they found their way inside in the first place
but I believe I'm not wrong to assume they broke in through the
boarded windows and crept inside. A zombie is surprisingly strong and
even if not the evidence of the ease with which they broke in, not at
all discouraged when splinters or glass fractures penetrated them, as
I have also seen their hands smashing windows and reaching out for me
as I ran in the corridors, having struggled against them, told me
about it.
It was only as I came into the room they started their moaning,
reminders of once humanly voices, begging for help, a plea that I
should let them eat me... I had come into a faintly lit anteroom to
see them lingering at their feet close to exhaustion and their
attention turned at me immediately as I was at sight. Hands stretched
towards me yet I had no second thought, I felt no fear at their sight.
I aimed and fired. Again and again and again, watching my bullets
cutting off pieces of rotten flesh, hearing anguished woes of pain as
they lost their means of perseverance but... I knew I enjoyed the
sight.
It's a feeling I cannot ratify, yet under the circumstances, I
know there was no other way I could have reacted and survived as well.
The counsellor I was advised to visit once I came back to the society
told me that it was but a normal reaction to defend myself but I
didn't need to get 'professional' affirmation to be convinced,
although those sessions had helped me a lot. And still, when I was in
there, surrounded by those monsters, I had too turned to a monster
just like them and it was a matter of the survival of the strongest. I
felt pure joy when shooting at the creatures I met, I even swore aloud
as I caught them leaping on me in the air, spitting out as I killed
them, enjoying the sight of them turning to incoherent masses of
mutilated biological tissues... I can't believe myself then, even if I
understand there was no other way I could have gone, as I know that if
faced with an alike situation again, I'll do just the same. I'll grab
a weapon and yell at those creatures when blasting off their heads.
Chris had once said we were the same and it was only then that I
discovered in me the same fascination of making my way through tough
situations with a gun. As brutal as this state seems to me at present,
I realise that I wasn't a human anymore when I was in it. I was but a
beast, fighting for survival and I was no less than thrilled at seeing
how I could protect myself.
I wandered more within the abandoned building of the RPD, in
seek of anyone living, only to find nothing other than desolation...
The more I walked, the more I enjoyed the silence which was certainly
more favourable to an encounter with anything moving, knowing that
this would be a zombie, at best. I strained my ears to catch the
faintest sound, a droplet falling, a wisp of wind, feet being dragged
with unwilling despair, breath through pierced lounges and when I
noticed them, I cautiously approached and aimed right at them. I
didn't know until then that I had such a good targeting... or that
firing could be so enjoyable... but then, I was following the law of
survival however heartening as it was, I hope I will not have to
experience ever again...
I had already tired and wished to find somewhere to lie down. My
eyes were sinking in my skull and the bowgun weighted on my shoulder.
Still I walked on, the distant moans of zombies of the city now being
persistently inside my ears... the faintest flicker of a shadow made
me start and point a gun. How long have I been wandering in the police
station? It should have been very late, perhaps even close to
midnight, when I found myself at the second floor, where the planning
underwent... before the entrance to the S.T.A.R.S. office.
I found the door open and I went in... there was no sign of
life... and then, I halted, almost losing it. Next to a desk near the
far end, I saw Chris's brown leather jacket, the one with the little
fairy, reading 'Made in Heaven'...
I had only closed my eyes with my heart beating and weakly
breathed out as I lost every hope to find Chris here anymore... at
then I knew something really bad had happened, for Chris to leave
without his jacket... I knew he took his jacket everywhere, even if he
never told me. Besides, the thing had evident signs of being
frequently used.
I walked to his desk. I knew this was it at sight. It wouldn't
be too hard to distinguish it anyway, since it reflected his
personality to the detail: Disorder and a multitude of all sorts of
things... His guitar was leaning nearby and I dragged up the memory of
him, among the circle of friends, mostly scratching a rhythm to the
tune, not that it wasn't effective, singing with passion even and
there was no way he wouldn't get the rest to join him. I remembered
him playing all the famous ballads like 'Stairway to Heaven' and
'Nothing else matters', all those things self taught guitarists know
and wondered if I would ever hear his notes again...
I sunk on his chair, lingering upon it for some time, until I
realised that a little more and I would submit to my tiredness. Just
as I stood up I decided to pick a small notebook dressed in a verdant
plastic cover. I recognised Chris's handwriting in it...
Diary? I had never thought Chris would be keeping a diary, I
always considered this habit to be strictly feminine, but it so seemed
that I didn't know of the sensitivities boys learn very well to
conceal... and of all the places in the world to be left here... Was
he so disorganised or... had he really left in such hurry that he
couldn't hide even the most significant things? Or was he so naive,
thinking no one would realise what this plainly dressed booklet was?
I started flipping through the pages, not without a distant
sentiment of sweet revenge for his excavations through my personal
things... I read what he had foolishly perhaps written down, enough
details to incriminate, events I too recalled from hearing in the
news, about brutal deaths in the mountain range in the vicinity of
Raccoon City, events that were a fright for all of the world... but
only now I was learning how Chris was into these events, how he too
had experienced the unknown horror in those forests and later in the
Mansion outside the city limits...
All this time he went through these conflicts on his own, with
no one to rely on and no one to tell... I understand now why he chose
to keep it a secret far from harm's reach for his family but I wish he
had at least told me of what he met. Probably things would have been
different then but I doubt it would be safe for him to transmit such
confidential information but I wish he wasn't acting so overprotective
or maybe he had no way of contacting us, supposing he had wanted to.
Chris never said to me or anyone else about zombies, neither
that he had met them in his last mission, after which we heard nothing
of him and his long absence being one more reason I intended to visit
him. But I don't blame him for this. I have blamed him for several
other things, like the decapitation of Molly, my huggable fat bodied
doll with the two pink bobs of woollen hair and that innocent fibre
thin smile, dressed in pink tartan dress, my childhood's bedmate, I
have blamed him for snatching my candies when I was away and twisting
my wrist when I cried my protests, that also being the reason hand
locks have few if no effect against me, but I haven't blamed him for
this. Had he transferred as much as a single word, then perhaps it
would mean extermination of all of us...
There was one more thing I found in this room and never detached
from during that time. A grenade launcher. I was only at loss when I
found it, but took it without second thoughts. At the first time I
took it, I was weak to hold it and unaware of how to use it.
Fortunately, it wasn't as hard as I thought. I found ammunition for it
and took it. I felt a little more confident then...
That was until the sound of activity startled me and my heart
leaped in fright. I'm not sure if I was relieved it was just the fax
machine, but I took the sheets that came out. Oddly enough, it was a
fax directed to Chris...
I took it all when it arrived and was completely shattered to
read. It was the first time I ever heard of chief Brian Irons.
The chief of the Raccoon City Police department was extensively
described in these three sheets of paper that made me wonder exactly
how much sense my brother had to request such information. The fax
confirmed Irons's connection with the activities of Umbrella in the
remote mansion dating one month ago and along it attached a warning
when dealing with him, describing him as extremely dangerous... It
stated that Irons had underwent psychological therapy for
schizophrenia during college but I had especially marked the part of
him being accused of two rape cases... I don't know why even during
the hardest times every woman dreads rape the most but I really wished
I would never come to meet him. In fact, I thought he was too wicked
to be around Chris as well.
Chris had lately verified my suspicions and for one thing, I am
glad Brian Irons was dead. People like him shouldn't be left wandering
freely about...
I might have stayed there forever, had it not been for a scream
outside the room. It was the shrill voice of a small girl but I knew
at hearing it, it was someone still alive... I ran outside the room
and that's where I first met Sherry.
She was pursued by a zombie when I met her. Her left leg was
scratched; that zombie must have grabbed her as she walked by it,
thinking it was dead, like zombies sometimes do. They lie down from
exhaustion, I don't think they're smart enough to feint, as it is very
hard for them to get up once they fall down.
The zombie was wearing the clothes of a policeman... maybe
Sherry had believed it to be a helpful one instead but it so turned
out that it wasn't. I heard Sherry's desperate call for help and
thought it was a good time to try the launcher...
"Hey you!" I shouted and even now I don't believe at the
strength of my voice. Sherry ran off and the zombie turned back at my
direction... His long, nearly skinless hands reached out for me, it
moaned in despair and the grenade launcher faced it...
I pulled the trigger and while using all my strength to resist
to the push, I saw right before my eyes, the thing blasting to rotten
pieces of flesh. I stood still looking before me at sizzling pieces of
decomposed human parts and then, filled with the power of the
cognisance for the weapon at hand, I looked for the little girl. She
was gone.
There were few ways to go and I went ahead. I didn't find
Sherry, but I was certainly very glad when after going through a door
I met Leon...
He was alive and well, startled at having heard the sound of the
shooting... His eyes met mine and yet... however happy as I was to
meet him, I had nearly ran and embraced him, he retained his
composure... but for one thing he looked pleased himself... He had
seen Sherry running past him but she must have been too scared to stop
at another standing entity that had really few chances of being a
human and the loud blast of the shooting startled him and he didn't
manage to see where Sherry had run to.
We talked some more but... neither the atmosphere or the
closeness helped build a romantic atmosphere and therefore, all we
talked about were our worries... I told him about my brother and how I
knew how I wouldn't find him and he was encouraging... We then decided
to go on. I had to find Sherry. He would find any at all survivors and
an exit... in a last act, he gave me a radio and we parted... I didn't
want to keep on alone, not right when I found him, but we would have
better chances apart... and off I went to find Sherry.
She was mighty lucky to make it through those halls unarmed and
being so small, tired and frightened... Zombies everywhere, lickers
lurking in the shadows and every other animal, dogs, cats, even crows
and rats being transformed to ferocious beast... As I walked in the
rooms of this fortress hosting the RPD that now revealed all its
secrets as it was unguarded, I was constantly more amazed and at the
same time horrified at the mastermind behind all this...
It was a long time after when I met Sherry once again. By then,
I had seen more of the RPD than I wanted. Going straight ahead,
following the direction I thought Sherry had most likely followed,
after running along the first floor balcony, crowded with zombies, I
reached at the far end and saw what was the explosion that had
awakened me... A helicopter had crushed on the wall and its burning
bulk blocked the way. I wouldn't care to stay any more, doubting
Sherry would be around, had I not heard a desperate scream...
It was the voice of a woman and it hollered with such anguish it
tore right through my heart, mostly because it was a voice of someone
still alive... I knew it couldn't have been Sherry, it sounded too
maturely deep to be hers, but it was one more living, nonetheless.
Therefore I made it my aim to find her as well...
Survivors, that's all that mattered. I had promised that young
policeman to do my best with the survivors and I would. I made it to
the other end of the empty corridor and opened the door...
A forlorn silence received me and I walked ahead, taking the
turn I considered would take me around the helicopter. A cold drift
hit me through a broken window but I knew there were no zombies who
could climb up the wall and break in... or was I wrong?
I skipped before the sight of a corpse lying in the corridor...
the corpse of a policeman, his shirt red with blood... But then...
only as I reached at him, bowing above his body...
The sound of a crow snapped me and I realised the dead body was
pecked to death... then, before I had a second thought, all at once
the windows shattered and crows broke in, cawing, attacking me, mad
like the birds of Hitchcock and I'm glad I didn't lose it but kept
running, or I'd end up lying next to that other policeman... I made it
safe to the end and though a door, out in the open. Sometimes I
ponder, what would happen if I met a dead end instead? I'm surprised I
managed to find an exit. I had run blindly, shaking my hands over my
head, screaming, hardly looking where I went.
For a little I panted with my back against the door when I
realised I shouldn't stay much longer there either. I was outside and
those crows could show up any moment. I had to act fast, unless I
wanted another bout of pecking.
I looked up. Ahead was the helicopter wreckage, still burning. I
was at the roof of the RPD and looking up, I saw a water deposit, very
common around Raccoon City. The idea came as a flash to my mind and,
with all precaution and aching, pinched legs, I went towards the
safety valve... As I had planned, turning it increased the pressure
and the water spurted, showering the roof and the burning wreckage.
Soon the fire was extinguished and though I didn't expect any
survivors, I knew I had cleared my way.
Curiously, I approached to see the damaged helicopter and the
charred remains of the pilot... but it was no time to mourn over him.
At least he hadn't turned into a zombie... I took whatever ammunition
I found intact on him and a deep breath before deciding to go through
the crows again.
Most of the pesky birds had gone, for now. I ran past those
left, over the dead body and went through a door I had neglected
before, shocked at having seen the corpse... and found myself again
out in the open. I went down some stairs and what a surprise, I found
pots of a certain herb...
I distantly remember my mother when Chris or I as children had
chills or scraped our knees yet once more, powdering leafs of that
herb and rubbing them upon the concussion or on our bare back... For
the treatment of wounds it was horribly painful. It seared worse than
iodine and secreted a nasty greyish pus but it healed fast and had
saved us from many infections, regarding where we used to play, among
old rods and all kinds of dirt... Alike effective it was for fever but
somehow it made the lounges burn and even my father was hesitant when
mother insisted he should let her wrap his neck with a plaster dipped
in it. Mother's fingers ached whenever she prepared the most effective
medicine of Raccoon city and I was really glad I had watched her
making it...
I picked up the herbs and it ached just to pluck them. But if it
meant my survival, there was no question.
Back in the building, the familiar moaning of zombies greeted
me... I pushed the door open, blocked by the corpse of one of them,
fortunately dead for good. The smell was horrible and with the sound
of a lowly turning fan, came the susurration of dragged steps, nails
scratching off skin and that hollow moan...
I loaded the gun and advanced to the open door from where I
heard the sounds. It was the main office, where all the penalties
were arranged, where the calls were taken and even whatever few
testimonies one could take for a crime in Raccoon City... and in
there, tottering on their feet were the zombies... depraved human
beings with their clothes torn off, if not by other zombies, then by
themselves...
Their agile noses scented me and immediately with fresh vigour
they staggered towards me... They had no power to walk outside the
room and yet at seeing me, new courage seemed to be born within them...
I raised my gun and as I cleared the path, noticing how they
were all wearing clothes of policemen, I realised that... the horde of
zombies was... not anymore, but that horde was what had become of the
survivors, those whom that young officer pleaded me to seek and
rescue... Time had surely passed since they were attacked by the other
unfortunates of the city, probably those whom they had taken in as an
attempt to protect and what became of them now was something that by
no means represented something that had survived life but... death...
I didn't get second thoughts about firing at them. They weren't
human anymore. There was no way they could ever be... I wouldn't
sacrifice my life for some briefly living monsters who once might have
had names like Robert, Henry, David, Jack... Instead I grabbed the
bowgun firmly and aimed at each and every single one of them. Sorry
Robert. I don't think your wife will see you for dinner. Henry, my
regards to your possibly late fiancee but you won't see her again. And
David, I'm sorry for your new-born baby. Goodbye Jack. The guys at the
club will always be missing you... if they are still able to remember
you...
When the last of them was on the floor with the spasms of death,
I ran over them, carefully not to step too close as they might still
have strength to grab me. The more I walked, the trail of blood I left
behind me only increased. I wasn't at all unhappy. Not even at
thinking I hadn't saved survivors. They weren't very alive when I
found them anyway.
With my mind on Sherry and the scream behind the wreck I kept on
going. On my walk I met again the licker that startled me earlier...
That beast was in that long corridor, swaying closer to me on the
floor. It looked like those small lizards that are found in houses,
the ones with skin so thin you can see their veins and the back of
their eyeballs and if you slam them and miss the tail it'll vibrate
for a while... This thing moved similarly towards me, hissing at each
cautious step towards me, I almost believed it was smiling...
I wasn't the scared person anymore and had a grenade launcher
hanging on my shoulder. I dismantled it cautiously and turned it upon
it.
"Heeere baby!..." I hissed and aiming once, I shot it and hit
right on it... I was amazed at its resistance. It was thrown away but
even if much of it was seared, it still advanced blindly towards me,
faster again and its hand scratched me. I staggered away in pain and
horror, for I doubted it could last... In a horrible shriek it leaped
in the air and... I fired the launcher.
The licker landed heavily upon me.
I screamed and struggled to remove its weight. I was out of
mind.
I managed to throw it off, only to understand that my last shot
had killed it... I had been really fortunate but still its claws had
scratched me... But I was properly on my feet, picking up my weapons,
dirty with harmful organic fluids and hurt. I coughed and took out one
green herb... I rubbed my wounds and then my hands. It hurt like hell
but knowing it was the only way to remain alive, I applied it with
gladness and then, when I was done, I took the rest of it with me.
Sherry should have a few injuries that needed treatment as well... and
surely fast too.
With these in mind I begun the search for something to break
down the wreckage. I knew how to make explosives, crazy Chris had
shown me how... We had been really reckless children, I'm amazed we
didn't blow anyone or ourselves apart...
It was such irony that I found the explosives in the office of
that young black policeman... and he was there as I came in... only...
He wasn't human anymore.
I saw him having lied against the wall... he tried to get up and
I walked closer... only to see the horrible face of his mutilated, the
skin having started to erupt in nasty bluish bubbles... He reached out
for me, moaning in forlorn despair...
I shut my eyes and fired at him. I heard him suffer but he had
fewer options otherwise... as did I. Soon he went down for good.
I went back to the wreckage with a makeshift bomb. On my way I
met nothing but dead corpses I had shot or perhaps others Leon had
successfully dealt with, but like I said, I preferred the silence. I
placed the bomb by the wreckage, not knowing if it was a wise thing to
do, as it might only release worse monsters but I had to see if anyone
was still alive behind it. Therefore I placed the bomb, hid behind the
wall and covered my head clinging to the wall to shelter myself from
the explosion...
I had been surprised to find an unlit corridor behind that
wreckage, fortunately empty. Gun at hand I walked along, not knowing
what to expect. The wooden floor had suffered and creaked awfully at
my steps. A cold drift made me shiver as I walked to reach at the very
end before a door that oddly enough had a mat before it...
The door didn't resist when I turned the handle and I stepped
inside. There was light on in the large office I found myself.
Everything blared of luxury. Carpets, furniture, every ornament... but
none of it was the reason of my horror.
I dragged my steps towards the other end, at a large desk, but
the one sitting behind it on a large chair with his back facing the
door hardly attracted my notice as I saw before me the one who had
screamed laying dead...
She was wearing an evening dress with her hair done in lustrous
curls up to her barren shoulders. A fine, lace-perfect cutting along
her neck bled down her skin and on her golden hair... I recognised her
as being Belinda Carlton, daughter of the city's doctor... We went in
the same school and she was the mrs perfect. She had top marks and
with her golden hair and blue eyes, she had secured the attention of
all boys. Even Chris liked her and seeing it annoyed me, he kept
bringing up the subject as often as he could, either by directly
asking me if I had seen her or by startling me, having stealthily come
up to me and jut forth her name... I bitterly hated her for having
nearly everyone's attention, for smiling that grin whenever a mob of
admirers ran to her aid, carrying her books or just starting a false
fight for her...
The feeling was pungent and for a little I felt as though I
partially was to blame for it... not for any reason other than wishing
the worst for her when I was young... Although I too made some heads
turn, I remember hating her in my years of adolescence, maliciously
speaking about her with my friends, as her premature femininity
bloomed, so much that her mother would have envied her, but never have
I wished for such an end for her... Yet there she was, Belinda or even
'Belle' Carlton, Raccoon city's beauty, lying dead and it begun coming
to perception that it was her makeup preserving her healthy colour...
Such was my horror at the sight that when the other person in
the room behind the turned back of a big chair turned around, I was
completely startled. He was pointing a gun at me and right now I'm
only glad he hadn't fired.
I nearly skipped at facing him but having been able to compel
that startle had probably saved my life. I don't want to think what a
spasmodic reaction might have initiated. I had been paralysed instead
and fixed my eyes upon chief Brian Irons in person.
Narrow, nearly emotionless, yet absolutely sentient eyes looked
at me behind his glasses. He did indeed look like a psychopath who
enjoyed tying women on a bed and torturing them with his sexual
fancies... I don't know if it's us women thinking of this for any man
who's looks don't fit in our approval or, whether these people have
lost respect for even themselves and therefore, because of neglecting
their appearance, turn to look at something like Chief Irons but then,
it was beyond this. I've seen many fat, even greasy people, father was
fat too but it was on Chief Irons's face. It had this strange cold
look upon his small eyes and that gluttonous firm anger upon his plumy
face, I'm not a psychologist of psychic but I shivered from something
that was like a warning. It was something about him that thoroughly
frightened me and even if I couldn't explain it, I couldn't deny it
either...
The gun lowered but the stare remained and I wasn't sure if I
ought to breathe out. There was still room for one more corpse beside
Belinda. I was caught in surprise to hear him talking to me as if I
was someone who had come to the office for a routine matter, as if the
living death wasn't crawling around the building.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry..." he had said... "I thought you were
one of them."
Trying to appear similarly casual I regained my speech.
"Are you chief Irons?" I carefully asked. He lied back on his
chair.
"Yes, that's me..." he replied. Something about his voice was
too out of place... it had that insane quiver, compelled before taking
over and making the speech an insane ranting like the last time I had
heard it... Still you couldn't trust it. You just... you couldn't.
"And who might you~..." he started but immediately he got a
change of mind. "But never mind. You'll soon die like all the rest..."
Such was the confidence of his words that despite all my will to
resist it, it repressed me greatly...
I had no words to say as my head sunk from sorrow. Before me I
had the body of Belinda Carlton. There was serenity in her features
and I know someone had wiped off the last face of agony she had
brought...
"That's the mayor's daughter." snapped me the voice of Irons,
having noticed I was looking at her. I took my eyes from the dead girl
back to him... So doctor Carlton had his ambition to become mayor
fulfilled, I had thought and Irons regarded me with inimical
indifference... as it wouldn't befit a death, as it wouldn't befit the
situation we were faced...
"I was assigned to protect her..." he had started, "...but I
failed!... miserably..." he ended in a whine...
Yeah, right.
Not that it wasn't so obvious the poor girl had her neck cut
through from a calculated blade and I only hope that whatever Irons
did to her was after she was dead so, if nothing else, she wouldn't
feel it... but then, I think I ought to be glad he wouldn't shoot me
as well...
I struggled to hold back my disgust at that pathetic acting of
amenability, even at such a moment as I shook my head in grief but
mostly to convince Irons that I bought his story. My life depended
upon it.
"Just look at her... nothing but sheer beauty... Her skin
nothing but perfection..."
I had nearly retched at his description and only hoped he
wouldn't get a maniac rush of honesty and declare, before shooting me,
his fascination about her to the detail... I wouldn't be able to take
it...
"But she will soon putrefy... and end up just like All the
rest..."
I snared my forehead.
"There must be some way to stop it..." I said, hoping that
perhaps somehow he knew indeed...
He rested back on his chair, his insanely calm eyes studying me
and I feared he could sense my fear...
He took a breath like a doctor before speaking.
"Theoretically speaking... yes. Either... by putting a bullet
through her head..." he said and pointed his gun at Belinda's temple
but without intention to spoil the face of his sleeping beauty... "or
by decapitating her." he ended, turning back at me.
'Yeh... you had almost been there... Sorry to interrupt you',
was all I thought. Belinda's blood hadn't dried upon her skin yet.
His eyes deviated from me to the wall where stuffed animal heads
gazed blankly at us... I followed his stare...
"To think that taxidermy used to be my hobby..." he mused and I
sunk in cold worry at realising what exactly his plans for the poor
girl were... Now I'm only glad I didn't get to see it!
"But not any longer!" his voice snapped me back and his lips
quivered as if ready to cry in this paranoid way. I gulped in anxiety.
"Please..." he said with a tone of royal decadence. "I want to
be left alone."
Not that I really minded either... I slowly took a step behind
and left the room, never turning my back at Irons who sat on his
chair, looking distantly but each second watching my moves.
I swear, when I got out, in the heartbeat and difficult
breathing I had, I started running.
Only as I left the corridor did I stop, afraid to try either
turns, considering. Still I hadn't realised what Brian Irons had meant
by 'one of them' when he had pointed his gun at me or why he didn't
shoot me at once. He surely didn't expect a zombie, as zombies cannot
open doors facilely and even if they do, they can't clear a wreckage
blocking their way with a bomb... Irons surely meant someone living,
someone intellectual...
Someone like Umbrella.



[ To be continued ]