The original "Claire's Path" got deleted by ff.net, and I am PISSED!!!! The chapter numbers are a little screwed because I omitted a note to readers, which may have been why it was taken down in the first place. Please bear with me. Anyway, enjoy!
OK, here goes the drill: I don't own anything in here, Capcom does. I make no money off this, I only lose a few hours of my life writing it.
If you read it, I'd like reviews. Thanx!
Weird was the operative word, thought Claire Refield as she slowed to a stop on her Harley-Davidson outside a small diner. She looked around her. She was near the Suburban part of Raccoon City, and it was late. Maybe that was why no one was out tonight? she asked herself as she glanced around. The whole area looked dark, and felt as if no one was there any more, the way a house looks when its got no people in it. However, the diner was lit up, so there must be some staff in the kitchen, even if she couldn't see anybody through the glass. She locked up her motorcycle and headed for the diner.
"Hello?" she asked as she pushed open the door of the diner, a small bell hung over the door-way announcing her prescense."Um...Is anyone here?" she felt tense. There was no sond at all; not even water in the pipes. Not even footsteps. It was as if time was something solid, or rather, as though it were like water someone had frozen so that it couldn't move. And even more unsettling, half eaten food sat on a few tables, and handbags were shoved against some boothes walls. Like everything had been abandoned. Like everyone had run.
She took a step forward. "Hello? Anyone?" she asked again, her voice getting softer instead of louder. She suddenly didn't want to know. She was beginning to feel that if someone, anyone, something saw her, than she wouldn't be safe anymore.
However, she kept walking forward until she turned a corner. "Uh..hel--"
She gasped. In front of her was something that only existed in movies like Day of the Dead and Zombie. Or really not at all.
It looked as though a man--well, not a man, really, but a vapid shadow of one--were eating a woman. The woman's hair was matted with gore and her eyes stared blankly towards the back wall. Sticky blood flowed over those eyes-dead eyes.
The thing that was almost a man was tearing at her stomache, ripping chunks of flesh and kidneys and stuffing them into his mouth. His skin was white, his eyes were white. His body had dried blood splayed on it, and his skin hung off in thick, dry layers. He was rotting. But moving. A zombie.
Claire didn't scream. Didn't even speak, for a moment. She backed up, and nervously said, "Hey..Hey! D-don't come any closer..." as the thing was now standing and moving towards her. "Hey...HEY!" She banged into a wall. The door out!
She turned, only to see hordes of zombies clawing at the thin glass windows. "No--!" Claire cried, then turned to see another door. She didn't know where it went, but it was the only way out. She dashed for it, threw it open--
"FREEZE!" a man's voice ordered her. She saw the nozzle of a gun, and drew her hands up to her face. "Don't shoot!" she said, closing her eyes, afraid the man would blow her away anyway. Instead he yelled "GET DOWN!"
She let herself half-fall to the ground, and heard the crack of a shot being fired. Then the empty moaning of the zombie. She stood up, saw a man with hair near the colour of hers and wearing a police outfit.
He offered her his hand. "We can't stay out here," he said, offering her a hand up. "Let's get to the police station--it'll be a lot safer."
She followed him out into the alley-way, and towards a sqaud car. Around her she heard cries of the undead. She jumped into the car after him, and buckled her seatbelt on habit.
hey sped off. Static came from the radio, and the man cursed about the radio being out. "Who are you?" asked Claire apprehensively. Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to follow this strange guy, but she hadn't had a lot of options.
"Leon...Leon Kennedy. I came here to join up with the R.P.D.--you know, the Raccoon Police Depatment. This is supposed to be my first day on the job. Great, huh?" he asked sarcastickly, chancing a look at her as he negotiated the streets. "And you? Who are you?"
"Claire. Claire Redfield. I came to look for Chris. My brother, Chris."
Chris. Her brother, Chris. Part of the special S.T.A.R.S. Team here in Raccoon City. She looked out the window. Zombies--so he'd been right. A few weeks ago he'd called her, explained in his words the event at the Spencer Mansion. Ok, Chris. She had said. I see, Chris. She'd thought he was insane. Now she knew he wasn't, unless she was too. But where was he? She watched two zombies tear at eachother. Was he even still alive?
"Chris?" Leon asked. "Chris Redfield? It sounds sorta farmiliar."
"It should. He's in--Oh my God!" she screamed suddenly. "LEON! THERE'S A TRUCK COMING FROM BEHIND US! HE'S GONNA CRASH INTO US!"
"HOLY--!" Leon pressed as far to the left on the steering wheel as he could, and pressed down on the brake. They tore off there seat-belts and kicked at the doors. As they got furthur and furthur from the patrol car, the 18-wheeler zoomed towards it, and made a devasting crunch sound when it hit it.
Shockwaves hit Claire's back, and hot ash sailed past the side of her face. She crashed into the ground, and shakily turned around to see the huge tanker fallen to the side, crushing the car, the whole thing ablaze and sending off horrible heat. "L-cough-LEON!!" she screamed as loudly as she could, even though the purple-gray smoke from the collision burned her eyes and her mouth was so dry it felt like she was eating sawdust.
Over the flames she could hear him shouting to her, telling her to go to the station. "I'LL MEET YOU THERE!" she called.
Suddenly, behind her, came the sound of dragging feet. She turned, saw veritable crowd of the undead. She cussed, and her hand went to the knife on her shoulder by instinct. No, she thought suddenly. I don't think I should fight them. I can dodge them. They're slow! She saw a gap in the horde, and ranfor it, hearing the blood gush in her ears. Around her were smashed businesses, wrecked cars stacked on each other like bricks, and mangled bodies and scattered glass. Abandoned remnents of civiliazation.
She came to a dead end, then turned and headed for an undamaged door. It was a gun shop the door belonged to, she saw. She clawed at the wooden entryway, and finally her sweating fingers managed to turn the slippery handle.
Tingl-a-ling. A bell above the door rang again, as in the diner. She clutched at her knees, doubled over, gasping for breath. Each gulp of air burned her lungs, but at least she was alive to feel it. Finally she stood up-and stared down the barrel of a shotgun.
A heavy man with black hair and suspenders barked at her. "Who are you?!"
"I-I-I am..." she stuttered, shocked to see another human. "Claire Redfield..." she could have smacked herself. She shouldn't give out her name like this! But she figured it didn't matter. Rules of society didn't apply here.
Finally, the man lowered the gun and met her gaze. His was even. "Kendo," he said. "Robert Kendo. I own this gun shop. And..." he came around from the counter, where behind him glass shelves were empty and shattered. "...Are you related to Chris Redfield?"
"Yeah..Yeah, I am. But where is he? And what's going on here?!" she said, suddenly yelling. "I got here, and everything went--insane! Totally haywire!"
"You've got that right," Kendo said, nodding grimly. "I don't know where Chris is. Hell, I don't even know what's going on here. But I do know that you won't survive long around here without a gun. Do you have one?"
"No. I have a knife."
"A knife? Honey, step outside this door with only a knife, and if won't be long before those undead mothers are stuffing an apple in your mouth and putting on a platter. Here," he said, handing her the shotgun. "I have another, so I'll be fine."
She took it wordlessly, staring at him. "I--"
Suddenly, she was caught off by a cracking, splintering sound behind her. The glass windows and wooden door were shaking, being torn apart and smashed. Hungry moans filled the small and cluttered store as gore-splattered zombies filed in.
"Damn it!" Kendo screamed, then thrust Claire towards a metal door. "To the alley, we ave to run! At the R.P.D.--AUGGHHH!"
She heard a thud behind her as she raced for the door, and screams. She turned, and saw the man fagged down by a few zombies. "Go!" he yelled at her. "If you find Barry...Tell him we can't go fishing after all." Suddenly a ghoul gripped hi neck and tore a good chunk out, and Kendo fell limp. Claire screamed, and shoved open the alley door.
Cool night air hit her face. She saw a small dumpster ahead of her, but she ran around it. The shadows in the small stone alley were horrible, looking all gnarled, seeming to chase her. Hey, who knows, she thought. Maybe they are. Who knows anymore.... Her thoughts stopped abruptly when she felt a hand pull at her hair. She turned to her right, and saw two zombies banging at a cold steel gate that let t a basketball court, there hands reaching for her, their moans bounding off the alley walls. She backed away, thanking god the gate was locked. She raised her shotgun to point at them, but knew the alley went on. Why waste bullets when there might be another way out? She turned and fled ahead, the darkness obscureing her view. She collided with something cold, and her face smacked against it. "Oww..." she mumbled, looking up at what had hit her.
A car door. KENDO'S GUNSHOP, it read. It was the back of a van. She clawed at the doors, and pryed one open. Inside were ragged card-board boxes, full of shells and clips. She dug threw themm looking for shotgun shells. "Damn! All for Glocks and Berettas...I'm not a S.T.A.R.S. member here..." She looked through to the front of the van, wondering if it was safe enough to spend some time in. Not really. The glass windows in the front led into the back. If she fell asleep....But she didn't really want to face the zombies in the basketball court behind her. She didn't even have more than the five rounds in the shotgun.
Exasperated, she smashed an empty cardboard box with her hands, but stopped. KENDO'S GUNSHOP, the bottom of the box read. Tell Barry. Barry Burton, of S.T.A.R.S.? she wondered. She tried to think back to Christmas last year, when she had visited Chris here in Raccoon City.
She remembered the faces of all the ALPHA Team members. Chris, Jill, Joseph, Brad, Barry. Yeah, he had been wearing a GUNSHOP shirt of some kind, Barry. All a sudden her eyes stung. Was Barry alive? Were any of them alive? She knew Joseph wasn't...the pressure behind her eyes built.
Don't think about, she ordered herself. You'll find out later, when you find them. When you find Chris.
She backed away from the truck, the world suddenly around here rematerializing. The bashing on the gate was geting louder, she realized. They smelled her. She shivered. She wiped her damp eyes, then raised the shotgun as she turned around. Suddenly, the gate crashed open. The undead shuffled towards her. She tried not to look at their faces. After all, hadn't they been someone? Well, she didn't know that for sure. She shot one, than the other, and the fell.
And twitched. She twicted too, when she watched them.
Calm down! Death spasms, that's all. She told herself. She stepped over their bleeding corpes, already very decomposed. She walked into the court, and saw a bench, graffiti-scarred walls, and a trashcan with a note tha remined her to keep the city clean. Everything was dirty.
Well, maybe not so physically dirty as much as phycologically dirty. It all had the same unwholesome feeling covering it, like a layer of dust. So, in a sense, it was dirty.
She walked through the court, and went through another damp, cold steel gate, this time unlocked. She ascended up an old green fire escape, her footsteps ringing out as though she were the only one in the whole city moving in an active way. It was so quiet here.
Finally, the ramp ended and she jumped on top of a dumpster. It was gray and had old garbage bags hanging out of its partially closed mouth. It, too, had a notice reminding her to keep Raccoon City clean. Her eyes widened as she surveyed the alleyway ahead of her.
A female zombie lurched toward her, her skin dripping with gitty blood and gore. Her arms were stretched out, and she was watching her with horrible white eyes. "What a clique!" Claire mumbled, shooting her with the shotgun.
Some other zombies crowded the passage, but Claire didn't have enough ammo for all of them. She only had two shots left, and she figured she could dodge them if she was quick enough. So she sped past the stumbling figures and toward the next gate. She threw it open and a wave of heat hit her face.
A bus was on fire in front of her, crashed into smaller cars. Glass ans plastic and steel covered the street. RACCOON CITY BUS NO. 33 it read on one side. "Does everyone crash in this town, or what?" Claire asked herself. But her body stiffened as she saw the group of zombies beside the bus, partially hidden by a bright red corvette, or what was left of it.
They were near a small, desimated open-air cafe, filled with still bodies of people. The pack of undead were all hunched over, mouths tearing at something that looked like it had, at one time, been human. At least, the only untouched body part it had, a foot, was wearing a cowboy boot. "Oh...man..." she said softly, in a trance. There was no other way out of the area besides the way she had come, and she certainly didn't feel like retracing her steps. They were near the entrance to the bus, but they were slow...stupid....
She dashed towards them, and swerved at the last possible second towards the bus door, snaping her limbs close to her so that the once-human creatures couldn't tear chunks out of them. She shoved on the bus doors, and fell through the entryway. She got up fast and headed towards the exit at the other end. Withered bodies of dead passengers sat on the seats beside her, some splayed onto the floor. Some mouths were open in silent screams or gasps. Eyes were open wide in surprise. Skin was punctered by thick debris. Claire forced down the gurgling in her stomach and burning, choking feeling in her throat.
Finally, she reached the other end of the bus. She pressed on the other shot door, and fell to the ground, a chorus of moans greeting her. She looked up, to see flaming police cars stuck into each other and overturned. Burning zombies, their flesh rolling off in fleshy waves and driping down their bodies, reached for her. She didn't even think to scream. She got up and ran around them, zigzagging past their smouldering, animated carcases. Ahead of her was the one farmiliar thing she'd seen all day. The gate to the R.P.D.
SECTION TWO
THE R.P.D.
She shoved the gate closed behind her, decayed limbs pushing through the bars and screaming dryly with rage. She ignored them, shut them out, and instead looked up at the huge building in front of her. This she remembered. This she trusted.
She took a step forward, and gasped when she looked at the wall to her left. Bullet holes marred it. Rounds from a Beretta and a SIG Sig Pro. And something else; a smashed section, as though a huge fist had crushed the old bricks.
But what did it matter now? Anything could happen here. Probably some people just like her, trying to stay alive. Maybe they still were. Or maybe they had failed and lost whatever battle they were fighting. She shrugged, despondently.
She took a step into the courtyard like section in front of the building. She could hear the monsters bashing and clanging on the gate, wanting to be let in. She covered her ears with her gloved hands.
She reached the front door and tugged it open. A huge, ornate door.
A blast of fresh air greeted her. She smiled, recognizing the smell. The R.P.D. used to be an art museum, and it still had that odd smeel that exhibits have. Like old and new blended together. She looked around her.
The same as she remembered. In front of her, a huge statue of a maiden bearing a water vase, carved in granite and with a weighty look. The woman had the same sad expression she had had last time.
Behind that was a computer desk, where all the electronic stuff in the main hall was controlled. A ladder behind that led up to the second floor, and all around the first floor were doors leading off to different places.
She walked down some steps and strided towards the door which led in the direction of the S.T.A.R.S. office, although it came after numerous hallways. Her heart was pounding and she was sweating beads, her breath coming in painful heaves, but her hopes rose as she put one hand on the handle of the door and turned it.
It rattled. It was electronically locked.
She reddened, anger burning her chest. Wait, Claire, she told herself. If it's locked, it could mean Chris is in there. Like a defense barrier. A barricade....
For some reason, she couldn't help but feel as though the barricade was against her, even though she knew that was silly. She looked around at the other doors. One was to the right of the main door, on the same elevated ground it was on. Going that way could lead to the basement and the roof. Then she smacked her forhead. The other was a short-cut to the S.T.A.R.S.office.
She ran for it, even though her body cried out in protest, her muscles unbearably sore. She yanked at the handle excitedly. The door swung open, and she stopped in her tracks, openmouthed.
Compared to the quiet and tidy (albeit dusty) hall, this room looked as though it had literally been torn apart.
It was the Western Office, she knew, where rows of cops desks and some offices were. But all the desks were overturned, scratched, out of place and covered with a smeared amber coat of something that smelled like blood. Furniture was torn apart, dripping with the same reddened amber, and lockers were smashed in and dented severely. Glass and papers crunched underfoot as she took a step forward, hands to her mouth, shoulders tense and her bodie was frozen in that pose. Her eyes were popping. "Wh...What??" she gasped, her voice cracking. "Ch-chris...!"
A moan tore her out of her shock, and she aimed the barrel of the shotgun towards the noise. A black man. A real, living man. She ran and dropped next to him.
"Are you OK?" she cried, already knowing that he wasn't. His stomach and abdomen were torn and twisted, his face contorted in agony. His clothes were soaked with darkened, blackish blood. "What happened here?" That of course, she didn't know.
"Uhnn...I heard you say...Chris...." the man moaned. He looked farmiliar to her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Melvin? Martin? "Chris...Redfield? Are you...Cla-Claire?" His eyes rolled towards her.
"Yeah--but you have the advantage here. Your name--"
She was cut off. "Marvin Brenaugh....Chris isn't here...He and the other S.T.A.R.S. members...J-Jill...Barry...Rebecca...Brad...They've all dissapeared...over two weeks ago...after the Spencer Mansion incident...."
"I know that!" The blood rushed to her cheeks. "So you don't know where they are?! I've gotta find them! Chris...."
"I don't...know....But you'd best escape if...you can....Unggh! But wa-wait...."
"Hang in there!" she already knew it was hopeless, but she didn't like to think like that. Maybe there was a way. "What is it?"
"Rescue the survivors, in the other rooms. Take this keycard...you can unlock the hall d-doors... Go--"
"But I can't! You're bleedi--"
"GO!" He aimed a handgun at her face. Standard issue, but strong enough to kill. "Ok," she said calmly. "But I'll come back." She backed up and walked to the door. It clicked behind her. Locked.
She walked to the computer desk, and held up the silvery blue card. BRENAUGH it had engraved upon it in inpersonal black lettering. She sat down at the computer desk and entered the code on the card. An audible click from several doors rang through the hall from several doors as they were unlocked.
The R.P.D. was open to her now. She got up and looked around her. Better head to the S.T.A.R.S. office first, she decided. I've gotta find out what happened to them!
PART THREE
THE S.T.A.R.S. OFFICE
She went back to the door she had opened first, a tall wooden door with a thin frame. She tugged on it once again, and this time it slid open easily.
A meeting room, she guessed, as she stepped inside. But she didn't really remember this place. A desk with a dividing wall, glassy boothes that led to another office, Wanted posters, and a bench podium and chest. Maybe she could ditch stuff in that chest.
She walked past everything, but as she turned the other side of the wooden divider, her eyes caught sight of something darting across the window. She stood still for a second, then backed up a little.
It was too dark to see clearly, she rationalized. There were zombies here, nothing more. Nothing more. Nothing more? Was she so sure? What about the impact mark outside where it looked as if a huge clenched hand has smashed the wall in? Was she so sure of anything now? Her head hurt. She wanted to curl up on the bench and pretend she was safe. But her adrenaline was pumping and she was scared out of her mind. Besides, she was realistic. And resourceful. She walked forward, next to the window, and turned the handle of the next door.
A hallway. Dingy green paint separated from a harsh off-white by a boring divider made of something cheap. Columns smeared with dirt clung to the walls, and cracked windows showing nothing but blackness, rooftops and a pale, vapid moon. Next to her were broken carts filled with useless reports describing all manner of things from murders to accounting checks to pickpockets. Painfully slender chunks of glass were imbeded in a bulletein board and littered on the floor. She stepped over the largest piles and moved ahead, heart in her throat, strangling her.
That something darting across the window. Was it waiting?...waiting....She could have smacked herself for thinking of it, for she began to shake nervously, sweat plastering her brown bangs to her face. She turned a corner and stared in horror at a police officer's headless corpse. The skin was the colour of sandpaper, and thick blood soaked into the gaps in the tiles under it. She shivered, her sweat going cold from the breeze coming from the windows. A rank breeze. Disgusting. Decay....
She slowly became aware of a driping sound after a few minutes of staring at the dead man. A horrible sound that terrified her more than zombies, which in truth did not seem so frightening to her for some reason. Perhaps because if Chris could do it, she knew she could. Not because she was better than him, rather, because they were so similar. But the dripping made her back freeze up, her eyes stick to the corpse. She couldn't move.
It was coming from the ceiling. A wet sound. An odd smell, the kind of smell that accompanies an animal hit on the road. But she knew she couldn't stare at the mutilated human forever. She raised her head--and a scream stuck in her throat, even though her mouth was open.
A monster with a distubingly human form was crawling along the ceiling. It was almost like a person turned inside out, although alot of the muscle tissue was cloaked in thick scabs and crossed veins. It had no eyes, only empty amber sockets. Instead of hands, long distended claws scraped the plaster above her, and it shot an unbeleivably long tongue out of its mouth every few moments. Maybe it was like a snake, smelling the air, searching for the scent of prey. In any case, Claire didn't care as she watched its body sway rythmically, than still. It let itself fall, and turned perfectly in midair, landing on its underside. It paused, its tongue shut out, and it hissed. A long hiss, almost like a kettle boiling in its muted intensity. And then it screeched--so loud that cardboard boxes spilled behind her, and so shrill that she cried out and covered her ears as windows cracked even more. Stop! she thought. Or my head will--
And then it stopped, and the thing was lunging towards her, claws outstretched.
She screamed then, and clawed at her shotgun, aiming it at the approaching monstrosity. One shot it took in the head, and its neck made a horrible snapping sound. It stopped, shook itself. Then the hiss again, and it lunged, even though pink blood flew from its skull. No way! Claire thought, too shocked to duck. She held the gun in front of her like a lance, squeezed her eyes shut. The blood rushed to her cheeks again, but the rest of her felt weak.
OK, if you've read this far, I would really appreciate reviews. Constructive criticism, whatever. I'll update it when I get a chance....But scary high-school entrance exams are coming up for me! Aggh! Thanx! ;)
S.T.A.R.S. Girl
OK, here goes the drill: I don't own anything in here, Capcom does. I make no money off this, I only lose a few hours of my life writing it.
If you read it, I'd like reviews. Thanx!
Weird was the operative word, thought Claire Refield as she slowed to a stop on her Harley-Davidson outside a small diner. She looked around her. She was near the Suburban part of Raccoon City, and it was late. Maybe that was why no one was out tonight? she asked herself as she glanced around. The whole area looked dark, and felt as if no one was there any more, the way a house looks when its got no people in it. However, the diner was lit up, so there must be some staff in the kitchen, even if she couldn't see anybody through the glass. She locked up her motorcycle and headed for the diner.
"Hello?" she asked as she pushed open the door of the diner, a small bell hung over the door-way announcing her prescense."Um...Is anyone here?" she felt tense. There was no sond at all; not even water in the pipes. Not even footsteps. It was as if time was something solid, or rather, as though it were like water someone had frozen so that it couldn't move. And even more unsettling, half eaten food sat on a few tables, and handbags were shoved against some boothes walls. Like everything had been abandoned. Like everyone had run.
She took a step forward. "Hello? Anyone?" she asked again, her voice getting softer instead of louder. She suddenly didn't want to know. She was beginning to feel that if someone, anyone, something saw her, than she wouldn't be safe anymore.
However, she kept walking forward until she turned a corner. "Uh..hel--"
She gasped. In front of her was something that only existed in movies like Day of the Dead and Zombie. Or really not at all.
It looked as though a man--well, not a man, really, but a vapid shadow of one--were eating a woman. The woman's hair was matted with gore and her eyes stared blankly towards the back wall. Sticky blood flowed over those eyes-dead eyes.
The thing that was almost a man was tearing at her stomache, ripping chunks of flesh and kidneys and stuffing them into his mouth. His skin was white, his eyes were white. His body had dried blood splayed on it, and his skin hung off in thick, dry layers. He was rotting. But moving. A zombie.
Claire didn't scream. Didn't even speak, for a moment. She backed up, and nervously said, "Hey..Hey! D-don't come any closer..." as the thing was now standing and moving towards her. "Hey...HEY!" She banged into a wall. The door out!
She turned, only to see hordes of zombies clawing at the thin glass windows. "No--!" Claire cried, then turned to see another door. She didn't know where it went, but it was the only way out. She dashed for it, threw it open--
"FREEZE!" a man's voice ordered her. She saw the nozzle of a gun, and drew her hands up to her face. "Don't shoot!" she said, closing her eyes, afraid the man would blow her away anyway. Instead he yelled "GET DOWN!"
She let herself half-fall to the ground, and heard the crack of a shot being fired. Then the empty moaning of the zombie. She stood up, saw a man with hair near the colour of hers and wearing a police outfit.
He offered her his hand. "We can't stay out here," he said, offering her a hand up. "Let's get to the police station--it'll be a lot safer."
She followed him out into the alley-way, and towards a sqaud car. Around her she heard cries of the undead. She jumped into the car after him, and buckled her seatbelt on habit.
hey sped off. Static came from the radio, and the man cursed about the radio being out. "Who are you?" asked Claire apprehensively. Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to follow this strange guy, but she hadn't had a lot of options.
"Leon...Leon Kennedy. I came here to join up with the R.P.D.--you know, the Raccoon Police Depatment. This is supposed to be my first day on the job. Great, huh?" he asked sarcastickly, chancing a look at her as he negotiated the streets. "And you? Who are you?"
"Claire. Claire Redfield. I came to look for Chris. My brother, Chris."
Chris. Her brother, Chris. Part of the special S.T.A.R.S. Team here in Raccoon City. She looked out the window. Zombies--so he'd been right. A few weeks ago he'd called her, explained in his words the event at the Spencer Mansion. Ok, Chris. She had said. I see, Chris. She'd thought he was insane. Now she knew he wasn't, unless she was too. But where was he? She watched two zombies tear at eachother. Was he even still alive?
"Chris?" Leon asked. "Chris Redfield? It sounds sorta farmiliar."
"It should. He's in--Oh my God!" she screamed suddenly. "LEON! THERE'S A TRUCK COMING FROM BEHIND US! HE'S GONNA CRASH INTO US!"
"HOLY--!" Leon pressed as far to the left on the steering wheel as he could, and pressed down on the brake. They tore off there seat-belts and kicked at the doors. As they got furthur and furthur from the patrol car, the 18-wheeler zoomed towards it, and made a devasting crunch sound when it hit it.
Shockwaves hit Claire's back, and hot ash sailed past the side of her face. She crashed into the ground, and shakily turned around to see the huge tanker fallen to the side, crushing the car, the whole thing ablaze and sending off horrible heat. "L-cough-LEON!!" she screamed as loudly as she could, even though the purple-gray smoke from the collision burned her eyes and her mouth was so dry it felt like she was eating sawdust.
Over the flames she could hear him shouting to her, telling her to go to the station. "I'LL MEET YOU THERE!" she called.
Suddenly, behind her, came the sound of dragging feet. She turned, saw veritable crowd of the undead. She cussed, and her hand went to the knife on her shoulder by instinct. No, she thought suddenly. I don't think I should fight them. I can dodge them. They're slow! She saw a gap in the horde, and ranfor it, hearing the blood gush in her ears. Around her were smashed businesses, wrecked cars stacked on each other like bricks, and mangled bodies and scattered glass. Abandoned remnents of civiliazation.
She came to a dead end, then turned and headed for an undamaged door. It was a gun shop the door belonged to, she saw. She clawed at the wooden entryway, and finally her sweating fingers managed to turn the slippery handle.
Tingl-a-ling. A bell above the door rang again, as in the diner. She clutched at her knees, doubled over, gasping for breath. Each gulp of air burned her lungs, but at least she was alive to feel it. Finally she stood up-and stared down the barrel of a shotgun.
A heavy man with black hair and suspenders barked at her. "Who are you?!"
"I-I-I am..." she stuttered, shocked to see another human. "Claire Redfield..." she could have smacked herself. She shouldn't give out her name like this! But she figured it didn't matter. Rules of society didn't apply here.
Finally, the man lowered the gun and met her gaze. His was even. "Kendo," he said. "Robert Kendo. I own this gun shop. And..." he came around from the counter, where behind him glass shelves were empty and shattered. "...Are you related to Chris Redfield?"
"Yeah..Yeah, I am. But where is he? And what's going on here?!" she said, suddenly yelling. "I got here, and everything went--insane! Totally haywire!"
"You've got that right," Kendo said, nodding grimly. "I don't know where Chris is. Hell, I don't even know what's going on here. But I do know that you won't survive long around here without a gun. Do you have one?"
"No. I have a knife."
"A knife? Honey, step outside this door with only a knife, and if won't be long before those undead mothers are stuffing an apple in your mouth and putting on a platter. Here," he said, handing her the shotgun. "I have another, so I'll be fine."
She took it wordlessly, staring at him. "I--"
Suddenly, she was caught off by a cracking, splintering sound behind her. The glass windows and wooden door were shaking, being torn apart and smashed. Hungry moans filled the small and cluttered store as gore-splattered zombies filed in.
"Damn it!" Kendo screamed, then thrust Claire towards a metal door. "To the alley, we ave to run! At the R.P.D.--AUGGHHH!"
She heard a thud behind her as she raced for the door, and screams. She turned, and saw the man fagged down by a few zombies. "Go!" he yelled at her. "If you find Barry...Tell him we can't go fishing after all." Suddenly a ghoul gripped hi neck and tore a good chunk out, and Kendo fell limp. Claire screamed, and shoved open the alley door.
Cool night air hit her face. She saw a small dumpster ahead of her, but she ran around it. The shadows in the small stone alley were horrible, looking all gnarled, seeming to chase her. Hey, who knows, she thought. Maybe they are. Who knows anymore.... Her thoughts stopped abruptly when she felt a hand pull at her hair. She turned to her right, and saw two zombies banging at a cold steel gate that let t a basketball court, there hands reaching for her, their moans bounding off the alley walls. She backed away, thanking god the gate was locked. She raised her shotgun to point at them, but knew the alley went on. Why waste bullets when there might be another way out? She turned and fled ahead, the darkness obscureing her view. She collided with something cold, and her face smacked against it. "Oww..." she mumbled, looking up at what had hit her.
A car door. KENDO'S GUNSHOP, it read. It was the back of a van. She clawed at the doors, and pryed one open. Inside were ragged card-board boxes, full of shells and clips. She dug threw themm looking for shotgun shells. "Damn! All for Glocks and Berettas...I'm not a S.T.A.R.S. member here..." She looked through to the front of the van, wondering if it was safe enough to spend some time in. Not really. The glass windows in the front led into the back. If she fell asleep....But she didn't really want to face the zombies in the basketball court behind her. She didn't even have more than the five rounds in the shotgun.
Exasperated, she smashed an empty cardboard box with her hands, but stopped. KENDO'S GUNSHOP, the bottom of the box read. Tell Barry. Barry Burton, of S.T.A.R.S.? she wondered. She tried to think back to Christmas last year, when she had visited Chris here in Raccoon City.
She remembered the faces of all the ALPHA Team members. Chris, Jill, Joseph, Brad, Barry. Yeah, he had been wearing a GUNSHOP shirt of some kind, Barry. All a sudden her eyes stung. Was Barry alive? Were any of them alive? She knew Joseph wasn't...the pressure behind her eyes built.
Don't think about, she ordered herself. You'll find out later, when you find them. When you find Chris.
She backed away from the truck, the world suddenly around here rematerializing. The bashing on the gate was geting louder, she realized. They smelled her. She shivered. She wiped her damp eyes, then raised the shotgun as she turned around. Suddenly, the gate crashed open. The undead shuffled towards her. She tried not to look at their faces. After all, hadn't they been someone? Well, she didn't know that for sure. She shot one, than the other, and the fell.
And twitched. She twicted too, when she watched them.
Calm down! Death spasms, that's all. She told herself. She stepped over their bleeding corpes, already very decomposed. She walked into the court, and saw a bench, graffiti-scarred walls, and a trashcan with a note tha remined her to keep the city clean. Everything was dirty.
Well, maybe not so physically dirty as much as phycologically dirty. It all had the same unwholesome feeling covering it, like a layer of dust. So, in a sense, it was dirty.
She walked through the court, and went through another damp, cold steel gate, this time unlocked. She ascended up an old green fire escape, her footsteps ringing out as though she were the only one in the whole city moving in an active way. It was so quiet here.
Finally, the ramp ended and she jumped on top of a dumpster. It was gray and had old garbage bags hanging out of its partially closed mouth. It, too, had a notice reminding her to keep Raccoon City clean. Her eyes widened as she surveyed the alleyway ahead of her.
A female zombie lurched toward her, her skin dripping with gitty blood and gore. Her arms were stretched out, and she was watching her with horrible white eyes. "What a clique!" Claire mumbled, shooting her with the shotgun.
Some other zombies crowded the passage, but Claire didn't have enough ammo for all of them. She only had two shots left, and she figured she could dodge them if she was quick enough. So she sped past the stumbling figures and toward the next gate. She threw it open and a wave of heat hit her face.
A bus was on fire in front of her, crashed into smaller cars. Glass ans plastic and steel covered the street. RACCOON CITY BUS NO. 33 it read on one side. "Does everyone crash in this town, or what?" Claire asked herself. But her body stiffened as she saw the group of zombies beside the bus, partially hidden by a bright red corvette, or what was left of it.
They were near a small, desimated open-air cafe, filled with still bodies of people. The pack of undead were all hunched over, mouths tearing at something that looked like it had, at one time, been human. At least, the only untouched body part it had, a foot, was wearing a cowboy boot. "Oh...man..." she said softly, in a trance. There was no other way out of the area besides the way she had come, and she certainly didn't feel like retracing her steps. They were near the entrance to the bus, but they were slow...stupid....
She dashed towards them, and swerved at the last possible second towards the bus door, snaping her limbs close to her so that the once-human creatures couldn't tear chunks out of them. She shoved on the bus doors, and fell through the entryway. She got up fast and headed towards the exit at the other end. Withered bodies of dead passengers sat on the seats beside her, some splayed onto the floor. Some mouths were open in silent screams or gasps. Eyes were open wide in surprise. Skin was punctered by thick debris. Claire forced down the gurgling in her stomach and burning, choking feeling in her throat.
Finally, she reached the other end of the bus. She pressed on the other shot door, and fell to the ground, a chorus of moans greeting her. She looked up, to see flaming police cars stuck into each other and overturned. Burning zombies, their flesh rolling off in fleshy waves and driping down their bodies, reached for her. She didn't even think to scream. She got up and ran around them, zigzagging past their smouldering, animated carcases. Ahead of her was the one farmiliar thing she'd seen all day. The gate to the R.P.D.
SECTION TWO
THE R.P.D.
She shoved the gate closed behind her, decayed limbs pushing through the bars and screaming dryly with rage. She ignored them, shut them out, and instead looked up at the huge building in front of her. This she remembered. This she trusted.
She took a step forward, and gasped when she looked at the wall to her left. Bullet holes marred it. Rounds from a Beretta and a SIG Sig Pro. And something else; a smashed section, as though a huge fist had crushed the old bricks.
But what did it matter now? Anything could happen here. Probably some people just like her, trying to stay alive. Maybe they still were. Or maybe they had failed and lost whatever battle they were fighting. She shrugged, despondently.
She took a step into the courtyard like section in front of the building. She could hear the monsters bashing and clanging on the gate, wanting to be let in. She covered her ears with her gloved hands.
She reached the front door and tugged it open. A huge, ornate door.
A blast of fresh air greeted her. She smiled, recognizing the smell. The R.P.D. used to be an art museum, and it still had that odd smeel that exhibits have. Like old and new blended together. She looked around her.
The same as she remembered. In front of her, a huge statue of a maiden bearing a water vase, carved in granite and with a weighty look. The woman had the same sad expression she had had last time.
Behind that was a computer desk, where all the electronic stuff in the main hall was controlled. A ladder behind that led up to the second floor, and all around the first floor were doors leading off to different places.
She walked down some steps and strided towards the door which led in the direction of the S.T.A.R.S. office, although it came after numerous hallways. Her heart was pounding and she was sweating beads, her breath coming in painful heaves, but her hopes rose as she put one hand on the handle of the door and turned it.
It rattled. It was electronically locked.
She reddened, anger burning her chest. Wait, Claire, she told herself. If it's locked, it could mean Chris is in there. Like a defense barrier. A barricade....
For some reason, she couldn't help but feel as though the barricade was against her, even though she knew that was silly. She looked around at the other doors. One was to the right of the main door, on the same elevated ground it was on. Going that way could lead to the basement and the roof. Then she smacked her forhead. The other was a short-cut to the S.T.A.R.S.office.
She ran for it, even though her body cried out in protest, her muscles unbearably sore. She yanked at the handle excitedly. The door swung open, and she stopped in her tracks, openmouthed.
Compared to the quiet and tidy (albeit dusty) hall, this room looked as though it had literally been torn apart.
It was the Western Office, she knew, where rows of cops desks and some offices were. But all the desks were overturned, scratched, out of place and covered with a smeared amber coat of something that smelled like blood. Furniture was torn apart, dripping with the same reddened amber, and lockers were smashed in and dented severely. Glass and papers crunched underfoot as she took a step forward, hands to her mouth, shoulders tense and her bodie was frozen in that pose. Her eyes were popping. "Wh...What??" she gasped, her voice cracking. "Ch-chris...!"
A moan tore her out of her shock, and she aimed the barrel of the shotgun towards the noise. A black man. A real, living man. She ran and dropped next to him.
"Are you OK?" she cried, already knowing that he wasn't. His stomach and abdomen were torn and twisted, his face contorted in agony. His clothes were soaked with darkened, blackish blood. "What happened here?" That of course, she didn't know.
"Uhnn...I heard you say...Chris...." the man moaned. He looked farmiliar to her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Melvin? Martin? "Chris...Redfield? Are you...Cla-Claire?" His eyes rolled towards her.
"Yeah--but you have the advantage here. Your name--"
She was cut off. "Marvin Brenaugh....Chris isn't here...He and the other S.T.A.R.S. members...J-Jill...Barry...Rebecca...Brad...They've all dissapeared...over two weeks ago...after the Spencer Mansion incident...."
"I know that!" The blood rushed to her cheeks. "So you don't know where they are?! I've gotta find them! Chris...."
"I don't...know....But you'd best escape if...you can....Unggh! But wa-wait...."
"Hang in there!" she already knew it was hopeless, but she didn't like to think like that. Maybe there was a way. "What is it?"
"Rescue the survivors, in the other rooms. Take this keycard...you can unlock the hall d-doors... Go--"
"But I can't! You're bleedi--"
"GO!" He aimed a handgun at her face. Standard issue, but strong enough to kill. "Ok," she said calmly. "But I'll come back." She backed up and walked to the door. It clicked behind her. Locked.
She walked to the computer desk, and held up the silvery blue card. BRENAUGH it had engraved upon it in inpersonal black lettering. She sat down at the computer desk and entered the code on the card. An audible click from several doors rang through the hall from several doors as they were unlocked.
The R.P.D. was open to her now. She got up and looked around her. Better head to the S.T.A.R.S. office first, she decided. I've gotta find out what happened to them!
PART THREE
THE S.T.A.R.S. OFFICE
She went back to the door she had opened first, a tall wooden door with a thin frame. She tugged on it once again, and this time it slid open easily.
A meeting room, she guessed, as she stepped inside. But she didn't really remember this place. A desk with a dividing wall, glassy boothes that led to another office, Wanted posters, and a bench podium and chest. Maybe she could ditch stuff in that chest.
She walked past everything, but as she turned the other side of the wooden divider, her eyes caught sight of something darting across the window. She stood still for a second, then backed up a little.
It was too dark to see clearly, she rationalized. There were zombies here, nothing more. Nothing more. Nothing more? Was she so sure? What about the impact mark outside where it looked as if a huge clenched hand has smashed the wall in? Was she so sure of anything now? Her head hurt. She wanted to curl up on the bench and pretend she was safe. But her adrenaline was pumping and she was scared out of her mind. Besides, she was realistic. And resourceful. She walked forward, next to the window, and turned the handle of the next door.
A hallway. Dingy green paint separated from a harsh off-white by a boring divider made of something cheap. Columns smeared with dirt clung to the walls, and cracked windows showing nothing but blackness, rooftops and a pale, vapid moon. Next to her were broken carts filled with useless reports describing all manner of things from murders to accounting checks to pickpockets. Painfully slender chunks of glass were imbeded in a bulletein board and littered on the floor. She stepped over the largest piles and moved ahead, heart in her throat, strangling her.
That something darting across the window. Was it waiting?...waiting....She could have smacked herself for thinking of it, for she began to shake nervously, sweat plastering her brown bangs to her face. She turned a corner and stared in horror at a police officer's headless corpse. The skin was the colour of sandpaper, and thick blood soaked into the gaps in the tiles under it. She shivered, her sweat going cold from the breeze coming from the windows. A rank breeze. Disgusting. Decay....
She slowly became aware of a driping sound after a few minutes of staring at the dead man. A horrible sound that terrified her more than zombies, which in truth did not seem so frightening to her for some reason. Perhaps because if Chris could do it, she knew she could. Not because she was better than him, rather, because they were so similar. But the dripping made her back freeze up, her eyes stick to the corpse. She couldn't move.
It was coming from the ceiling. A wet sound. An odd smell, the kind of smell that accompanies an animal hit on the road. But she knew she couldn't stare at the mutilated human forever. She raised her head--and a scream stuck in her throat, even though her mouth was open.
A monster with a distubingly human form was crawling along the ceiling. It was almost like a person turned inside out, although alot of the muscle tissue was cloaked in thick scabs and crossed veins. It had no eyes, only empty amber sockets. Instead of hands, long distended claws scraped the plaster above her, and it shot an unbeleivably long tongue out of its mouth every few moments. Maybe it was like a snake, smelling the air, searching for the scent of prey. In any case, Claire didn't care as she watched its body sway rythmically, than still. It let itself fall, and turned perfectly in midair, landing on its underside. It paused, its tongue shut out, and it hissed. A long hiss, almost like a kettle boiling in its muted intensity. And then it screeched--so loud that cardboard boxes spilled behind her, and so shrill that she cried out and covered her ears as windows cracked even more. Stop! she thought. Or my head will--
And then it stopped, and the thing was lunging towards her, claws outstretched.
She screamed then, and clawed at her shotgun, aiming it at the approaching monstrosity. One shot it took in the head, and its neck made a horrible snapping sound. It stopped, shook itself. Then the hiss again, and it lunged, even though pink blood flew from its skull. No way! Claire thought, too shocked to duck. She held the gun in front of her like a lance, squeezed her eyes shut. The blood rushed to her cheeks again, but the rest of her felt weak.
OK, if you've read this far, I would really appreciate reviews. Constructive criticism, whatever. I'll update it when I get a chance....But scary high-school entrance exams are coming up for me! Aggh! Thanx! ;)
S.T.A.R.S. Girl