September 28th. Daylight. The monsters have overtaken the city. Somehow, I'm still alive…
Chapter One
A chilly autumn wind crept in through the open window. Tattered newspaper clippings pinned to the aging walls fluttered in the breeze. They detailed the Spencer Estate incident, and the subsequent outbreaks of a deadly sickness that had reached the surrounding community of Raccoon City.
"Survivors of the Mansion Incident Search for Missing Albert Wesker, Former S.T.A.R.S. Captain," "Sickness Linked to Arklay Mountain Incident Sweeps the City," the headings declared from their spaces on the wall.
Across the sparsely-decorated room, Brad Vickers sat on his unmade bed, phone in hand. The cord spiraled evenly from the phone to the receiver. He idly plucked it with his free hand.
"Pick up, Jill. Please," he said in a low voice. He had been trying to get a hold of her for the past couple of days, but he never got an answer. After what had happened to their team back in the mountains, the remaining members had decided to work together to expose the Umbrella Corporation and their horrifying experiments. Of course, Brad had left them there. He couldn't let himself forget that. Bravo team needed their help, and he flew away from them all like a fucking coward. No, there was no forgetting such a thing.
But he wanted to do what was right this time around.
He dialed once more, hearing only empty ringing in his ear. She must have left by now. She had to have left. Brad slammed the phone back down onto the receiver and stood up. He clenched his fists and walked briskly across the bedroom. With his right hand, he threw open a sliding door, revealing a small musty-smelling closet. He eyed his S.T.A.R.S. uniform with the yellow vest and camouflage trousers. Wearing it back when the team was still something that mattered had always made him feel powerful, tough. He knew it was kind of ridiculous. Sure, the vest could serve as protection, but this outfit gave him no extra strength or anything. Still, he reached his hands into the closet, grasping the clothing and yanked it from its place on the wire hanger.
After examining himself in the mirror above his bathroom sink once more, he was startled by a heavy thud on the door to the apartment. He approached the door with caution, and looked through the peephole. No one seemed to be on the other side.
Another thud caused the door to vibrate, and Brad leaped back, grasping his nine millimeter and taking aim. The action seemed a bit dramatic, but he was on edge.
"Help me, please!" a voice cried. It was a woman. She did not sound familiar, but her scream left tingles in Brad's knees. He put his gun down and went to open the door.
A young woman, looking about sixteen, burst in through the open door.
"Close it! They're out there!" she yelled at Brad. He stared at her in confusion, and was only brought back to reality when a strong hand wrapped around his ankle. The woman shrieked and dove to the far side of the room. Brad looked down to see a man's body sprawled across the hallway floor. His green tee shirt was torn in several spots and was stained through with dried blood. His arms were ashen and covered with eerie purple and blue veins. Brad stared into the man's eyes, which were vacant and icy gray. Brad shook his leg violently, breaking free of the man's grasp just before he had tried to bite his ankle.
"Kill it!" the woman cried out after she had calmed some.
Brad readied his pistol, knowing all too well what was afflicting this man. He took aim at the man's head. But he couldn't fire.
"What are you waiting for?" the woman said.
"I-I…damn it." Brad muttered. He recalled all those times in training where he'd messed up and gotten hell from Wesker. All the names his so-called teammates had called him. Even on that day in the forest, Joseph and Chris had heaved insults at him throughout the whole flight. He was a chickenshit, an idiot, a child. And now he couldn't even shoot this diseased bastard in the head to save this woman. This woman who had picked his apartment to come to for help. And now they were both going to die because of him.
Without warning, the woman grabbed the gun from Brad's frozen hands. She said nothing, merely took aim and fired a single shot into the dead man's face.
"There," she said, handing him back his pistol.
"I'm sorry. I… Where did you learn to shoot like that?" Brad said. He placed the gun back in its holster with shaking hands.
"My dad taught me. Look, thanks for letting me in." she said.
"Yeah. Name's Brad." He offered his hand.
"Lucia," she said, turning to face the door. Brad let his hand fall back to his side, and walked up to her.
"The shit's hit the fan, all right," Brad said.
"I knew people were getting sick, dying even. But I didn't know they'd…come back." Lucia said, crossing her arms and staring at the corpse in the doorway.
"Didn't you say there were more out there?" Brad said nervously, reaching for his gun.
"I thought it would convince you to help me," Lucia spoke with a smile. "He was the only one on this floor. We got lucky."
"Lucky…Right." Brad walked toward his open window, looking down at the street below. It had been empty, devoid of everything except some parked cars. Now there were people. Many were walking quickly, some had started running. Others were trying to pack things into their vehicles.
"They're evacuating the city?" Brad asked.
"No. People just started realizing that the dead were getting up and attacking, so they thought it'd be best to go." Lucia said. She sure was handling what seemed like the end of the world with a sense of humor. Brad eyed her, waiting for her to continue speaking.
"All right. Brad, is it?" she began. "Brad, my father and I live a few doors down. We want to leave the city, but we need some help."
As soon as she had finished speaking, a heavy-set man in a brown suit entered the apartment. Brad turned to face the man, forcing himself to gulp down the anxiety that was steadily creeping up on him. Of course they had come to him for help. Brad Chickenshit Vickers.
"I don't recognize you," Brad said.
"We don't live here. My mother does…did," the man muttered. He looked at Brad with red eyes. This man had already seen some hellish things judging from the look on his face.
"We've been staying at the Apple Inn downtown. We came to visit family." Lucia offered, shifting uncomfortably. Brad looked from her to her father, biting his lip. The three of them stood in the small, shabby apartment for a few moments. Dario Rosso, Lucia's father, explained how the two, along with his wife, had come into the city only two days ago. Dario's mother had been sick. That morning, she had died in her sleep. But she hadn't stayed dead.
Now, they needed to evacuate the city. But not before going back by the hotel they had been staying in to pick up Maria, Dario's wife.
Lucia stood by the window. She ran her fingers through her blonde bob. She sighed and turned back to Brad with tears in her eyes.
"She is still alive, and we need to get her and get the hell out of here. With or without your help." She walked past Brad and out into the hall. Dario stood awkwardly by the door, looking uncertain of what he should do. He waited.
"I'm not the guy you want, but I can try." Brad said after a moment. He secured his gun and walked to the door, turning to look at his former home one last time.