When the Man Comes Around: Survive? Yeah, we survived the apparent end of the world. But, there's a lot more to surviving than just staying alive. When the world tries to take a bite out of you, you either fight back with everything you have or you don't fight back at all. There's no half ass way to make it, not anymore. RE-inspired, no OC/CC pairings.

Disclaimer: I do not claim to have any ownership to any of the characters that may be recognized throughout this story. Several characters from the Resident Evil Universe are portrayed in this story, but they are in no way the main characters. However, the storyline does borrow from concepts presented in the Capcom creations, so please do not sue me! In addition, Kurt Morgan is a creation of a good friend of mine; I'm merely borrowing him.

Rating: This story is rated M+ for Mature Audiences only. Adult content including coarse language and a great deal of violence and gore. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with zombie-related things!

Author's Note: This story is a zombie fic, obviously, and it does include several Resident Evil characters. I completed the story several months ago and I've been working on its sequel. It should be noted that the sequel is a crossover with TWD, but there are no real relations between TWD-verse and this fic. Any feedback is, as always, very much appreciated. Thanks for reading.

"Even if you fall on your face, you're still moving forward." - Victor Kiam

Chapter One

(Natalie)

"Nat, you're hogging all the hot water."

I leaned against the warm tiles weakly, eyes closed as the water sluiced over my skin. A knock sounded at the door again and I groaned internally as the familiar voice pierced through the thin wood, urging me to hurry the hell up. I ignored them, as was customary, and merely rolled my eyes when I heard the door open and then close.

"You okay in there?"

Sure, the shower curtain was dark, but I could still make out their imposing figure as I turned on my heel, back against the tiled wall and water pelting against my side. "Fine," I managed. "Go away, Coop."

He chuckled, the sound warm and throaty. "We were supposed to head out an hour ago, Nat - you're holding us up. You know better than anyone that -" he cut off suddenly as I pulled back the shower curtain enough to stick my drenched head out. "What? No free show?"

"Fuck off, Coop." I snarled, but it didn't seem to have any effect on him. Sure, the man had faced down an entire army of undead and walked away unscathed, but every now and then I liked to think that minor things could get under his skin. I was wrong. "I'll be out when I'm out."

Eric J. Cooper, or Coop as he preferred to be called, was one of those types of guys whose age was indiscernible. There were a few lines around his eyes, but nobody exactly looked young anymore. Some days he looked to be in his early thirties, and other days he looked to be in his mid-forties. His hair was kept short, was a dark blonde, and went well with his sea green eyes. There were a few scars on his face, all of which he claimed he'd gotten during his tour of duty with the Marines. He was tall, real tall, and more than imposing standing there, arms folded over the front of his black t-shirt.

"Nat, Ranger's getting pissed."

Ranger didn't have a real name, not that anyone knew. He was quiet and dark and foreboding and even more dangerous than the undead mother fuckers that hunted us at every turn. While Willie, the former Air Force Commander, had been officially appointed as our rag tag group's leader, Ranger was the backbone. Between him and Coop, we had all the weapons, explosives, and defense tactics training that we'd ever need.

Between the shower and me, Ranger scared the bejesus out of me.

"Fine." Moaning, I shut the curtain and stuck my head under the cooling stream of water. I'd already washed and done the whole routine so to speak, but I wasn't in any hurry. Eighty seconds later, when I'd stuck my head out of the curtain, Coop was perched on the vanity, hands folded in his lap. "Fuck off, Coop!"

With a chuckle, he slipped out of the door and left me in peace. I waited a beat before hopping out of the shower and wrapping myself with a slightly stiff towel. The mirrors were fogged over, which saved me from seeing my less-than-pleasant appearance. I knew the self-haircut didn't do much for my curly brown locks. But, the bruise that covered most of my left cheek and left eye was probably worse, not that my hazel eyes held much appeal.

As I pulled on clean underpants and a bra, my mind started wandering back to Coop's appearance. He usually made a joke or two and pulled open the shower curtain before teasing me about climbing on in. Ironically, the lack of teasing made me wonder if I'd lost my appeal, if my slim five and a half foot build had lost all of its zing.

Wouldn't be surprising, I admitted mentally as I paired on a pair of long johns and then a pair of jeans. Layers are key - always. A few layers of clothing aren't enough to always stop penetration, but unless they're really going at it, chances are you'll walk away okay. Layers aren't as safe as the gear we'd rigged up for the kids, but it was enough.

Besides, if one of those undead fuckers got close enough to actually take a bite out of me, I'd fucked up royally any hows and probably deserved to get a chunk removed.

By the time I'd dragged a comb through my hair and slid on my socks and boots, I felt somewhat better. Showers were my escape from the world, and I didn't get them often enough. Not anymore. We moved around every couple of days, and we tried to stick to smaller houses that weren't connected to the city water system. Since we never had any way to judge how full the well was, we'd conserve what we could.

Which meant Willie was probably going to chew my ass off.

Groaning, I shoved my dirty clothes into a small bag, along with my personal products, and slammed open the bathroom door. I bypassed the two boxes that were propped alongside the wall in the hall and hurried down the corridor to slip into one of four bedrooms. It was cozy (which is just a nice way of saying small as hell), and the bed was at least reasonably comfortable. As was usual, the window had been boarded over, so the only light came from the lantern sitting on the night stand.

"What adventure are you off on today, baby?"

"Harry Potter," she responded softly, heavy-lidded brown eyes meeting mine. A smile curled her lips as she sat up, her back braced against the headboard. "I found it. It's okay, right?"

Somehow, the soul and spirit of a meager six year old had been transported to the far beyond. There was no other way to explain how my little sister could read at a middle school level, could already do long division, and had picked up a shit load of Spanish from Cortez, our resident security specialist.

Her brown eyes made me think, as always, of my mom. I managed a weak smile as I tucked my gear away and waited a beat before peeking over my shoulder at her. She'd lucked out in the genetic department and had our mom's strawberry blonde hair. Sure, she didn't like wearing it short, but it was easier to take care of. It always amazed me how small and compact she was - despite the fact that she was tall for her age.

Then again, not all six year olds were riding shotgun while trying to live through the fucking Zombie Apocalypse.

"Ranger and I did more target practice."

Wincing, I looked at the open door, half expecting the giant of a man to be standing there with a blank expression upon his face. He wasn't there, of course. The man was a fucking ghost. "Oh yeah?" Trying to look supportive, I sat down on the edge of the bed and eyed her thoughtfully, wondering if it was normal for a six year old to spend her evenings practicing shooting and then snuggling up with a book and a dictionary-slash-thesaurus. "How did you do?"

"He said he found something small enough that doesn't have a lot of kick." Her voice was soft and gentle and while she sounded like a little kid, her words were perfectly enunciated, as though she thought long and hard about every syllable before she even opened her mouth. "He said it's just for safety, Nat."

"Yeah. I know." I blew my hair out of my eyes as I stood up, swinging on a worn denim jacket over my long-sleeved shirt. I wasted no time slipping my Beretta 9mm into the holster at the small of my back. I tied a strap onto my left thigh and slid a combat knife into its sheath before adding several extra rounds for the pistol into my back pocket. And last, but not least, I slid the Colt Double-Action into the holster on my hip. There was one in the chamber and the magazine was full. I didn't plan on using it - but the firepower might be needed. "I have to head out for awhile."

I watched her face as she absorbed the news, but she managed to hide her distress pretty well. "Bring me back some ice cream." It brought a smile to my face - somehow the gibe had become a private joke between the two of us whenever we had to separate, even for the shortest amount of time.

Her eyes flashed with sadness as I rounded the side of the bed and knelt down, pulling her into my arms. She smelled like baby lotion and strawberry - it was probably just the shampoo she had used, but it made me think of a nearly forgotten time when she was still just a baby. She'd always be a baby, at least to me.

"Jo, you going to be okay?" I asked softly as I pulled back, watching her face for some sign.

She managed a weak smile as she tucked the book against her chest, drawing my attention to the fact that she'd long ago given up wearing pajamas to bed. Joanne was dressed in jeans, a light t-shirt, and I had no doubt that her boots were unlaced and tucked next to the bed within reach for an easy escape. "I'll be fine, sissy." Her voice softened toward the end and I felt both guilty and relieved that she was still around, that she was still mine. "Be seeing you."

I swallowed thickly as I slipped out of the room, leaving the door open. Sure, there were four bedrooms in total, but we numbered at a dozen including the kids. Which meant that we'd have at least one or two roommates for the duration of our stay. The bathroom door was shut but there were still boxes and crates stacked in the hall, probably filled with supplies. Not that I cared.

"Coffee?"

I blinked at Eve as I stepped into the kitchen, ignoring the way my stomach clenched in hunger. She'd clearly managed to find enough supplies to whip up something, probably some kind of soup. It smelled okay, but I had a feeling the kids hadn't eaten yet. "Yeah, thanks." I took the proffered travel cup and offered her and Cortez, who was lounging nearby, a quick nod as I slipped out of the kitchen and stalked through the sitting room, ignoring the kids' probing gazes and the mutters from the others.

They could all kiss my ass as far as I was concerned.

"About time," Coop muttered in annoyance as I slipped out onto the covered porch. Willie was perched on an old chair, a shotgun laying across his lap. One peppered brow lifted in question in my direction, but I ignored his gaze as I glared up at Ranger. "We were beginning to think you'd done chickened out."

"Fuck off, Coop." I shoved what was left of the coffee at him, smirking inwardly when his eyes lit up in wonder. "I'm here. Can we get this show on the fucking road?"

Ranger inclined his head slightly, the closest he'd probably ever get to a nod. He was decked out in boots, cargo pants and a heavy jacket - and probably enough artillery on his body to make a military base shit its proverbial pants. Ranger was a man of few words, very few words. Sure he was tall and broad as a barn and there was something vaguely appealing about his tanned skin and black eyes - but there was something just as off-putting about him.

"Be back before dawn," Willie ordered, voice deep and husky from years of smoking stogies. "Keep the two-way on at all times."

No words were said as I trailed Ranger down the porch steps and to the large heavy duty pick-up truck parked in the yard. Fred, a newcomer, was behind the wheel, and offered me a grim smile as I clambered into the cab. I slid across the seat and grimaced as Ranger slid in beside me, squishing me between the two men. Sure, Fred was a beanpole, but Ranger took up more seat than he had a right to.

"Let's get going then." Fred cleared his throat as he made sure the pistol clipped to the dash was loaded. A moment later, we were on the road.

The silence was deafening, and it was strange to be moving through the dark street without the headlights on. But, it was the safest way to travel. Sure, some of the undead would be attracted by the sound of the running vehicle but, more often or not, it was the lights that really drew their attention. After five minutes of slow and quiet travel, I cleared my throat.

"Anybody seen any good movies lately?"