Epic: The Third Survivor

By. Indigo Siren

Disclaimer: Resident Evil is to Capcom. I do not own any of the characters and situations depicted from the games. They are merely being used for entertainment purposes only. I do however own this story and any characters and scenarios that were not featured in the franchise. All rights reserved.

A/N: And my next piece for the Resident Evil category is a story following Sherry Birkin through her own exploits in Resident Evil 2, hooking them up to the main game scenario (you shall see which of the two I will be following as it progresses). As we don't know what is happening with the future of the Sherry character for certain, I decided to explore her character through RE2, as I've wanted to sit down and write about her for quite a while. Such an overlooked character - I hope to do her some justice. Anyway, don't hesitate to review, though, no flames (of any kind). If you don't like, don't review, as simple as that. Hope you enjoy!

Prologue

Calendar date: 25th July 1998

"… An investigation is still being launched into the incident that occurred out in the Arklay mountain region involving the Raccoon City Police's special forces team, S.T.A.R.S. Police Chief Brian Irons has yet to release a formal statement regarding the unsolicited destruction of Umbrella property and the deaths of eight members of the team, including an RPD pilot who was temporarily drafted to the team for that single mission. More information on this tragic occurrence is expected to be made public by tomorrow morning…"

The news broadcast ran down a list of recent happenings in the Midwestern Raccoon City, some stories being tragic, some triumphant, though mostly focused on the current hot topic - the episode involving the S.T.A.R.S., which had garnered a whole lot of speculation and over-rated opinions. Though, these in part were ignored by the viewer knelt in front of the low coffee table, nestled in the small, cosy lounge.

The flickering images across the television screen only now and then peaked the interest of young Sherry Birkin, whose attention lay in the book open before her on the tabletop - Diana Wynne Jone's, 'Castle in the Air'. The television was just background noise, bringing life into her rather lonely suburban home. She needed it so she could feel that she had some form of company. She'd had the set's volume on low when she'd first started to read, but when the news had taken over her screen, she'd turned it up a notch, just to keep up with local news. If it was boring, she'd carry on reading and block it out, and if it was appealing, she'd raise her eyes from the page to take note. Not that she was doing that very often. She'd briefly allowed her attention to follow the news about the S.T.A.R.S incident, for a moment wondering how such a well regarded team had botched up their mission and killed more then half their group. It was an interesting story, a little more refreshing if not just as morbid as the string of murders that had been plastered all over the TV and in the papers over the last few months. Though, there had been no new cases in the last week, so it was a wait and see matter whether or not another one would occur.

The news ended and Sherry went back to her book, not bothering to change the channel as highlights from a recent baseball game began blazing across the screen in an overly dramatised showcase.

It was a warm summers evening, lacklustre and uneventful. The temporary curfew for under eighteens had set in an hour ago at nine o'clock and there was no juice left in the house. She'd had to settle for the last of the milk. If she'd had more enthusiasm, she might have called around next door and asked for some, but she felt like too much of a burden to them already with how they looked out for her while her parents frequently worked late into the night.

Her mother and father were very important researchers for Umbrella Inc., and they spent little time outside of the office, and were rarely around at home, even on weekends.

Or with Sherry.

But she was used to it, even though it was a pretty depressing way of life - especially as an only child playing master of a large, uncommitted house. If she'd had a lot of friends, she'd have been out a lot more, especially making the most of her summer vacation. But she didn't, and the few she did have already had plans with their families. She couldn't help but feel envious of them for what she didn't have. Anytime they moaned about their families being unfair on them, she'd always tell them to be thankful for the attention they got.

Her ears pricked up to the sound of keys jingling on the porch and the front door unlocking, followed by the sounds of voices. Her parents were home. Sherry glanced towards the lounge door and then to the antique clock above the fireplace. Just after ten. It was odd her parents were home at this hour. Midnight or after was the time they came back if they did. She placed her marker inside her book and closed it, going to greet her parents, whom seemed to be arguing in hushed voices. They paused mid-sentence when Sherry stepped out into the hall. They tried and failed to look as casual as possible as they tiredly hung up their coats.

She could see her father looked awful. His sandy hair in disarray, chin thick with stubble, and work clothes creased and grubby. He'd not been coming home very often and when he did, he was in an agitated mood.

William Birkin shared the briefest of glances with his wife, Annette. A look that only she could read. Rubbing his tired eyes, he headed on towards the kitchen, offering only a fleeting smile to his daughter though his heart wasn't really in the expression. The young girl wished she could have heard what they'd been saying. Something was going on at work - something that was really upsetting her father to the point the he looked nervous, but she didn't ask. Anytime she'd ever tried to pry important information from her parents she'd be scolded for snooping into private affairs. She didn't want to make the same mistake again.

Her mother had been holding her breath for a short time, her gaze following after her husband. Finally, she sighed tucking her short, blonde hair behind an ear absentmindedly. At least she was in a better state of personal appearance, which only marginally eased her daughter's brimming concerns, though she knew with hidden irritation that her mother was going to pretend that nothing was wrong.

"Hello, sweetheart," her mother greeted softly. "Had a good evening?"

"Yeah…" She shifted between her bare feet as she leaned against the doorway. "We're out of juice and milk. Can you leave me some money to pick up some groceries tomorrow?"

"Of course, of course. I'll leave it on the kitchen table before I go to work. If you need anything else, ask Sally from next door and I'll reimburse them later."

"Thank you." Nothing more was said between them. Most of the time is was like this. Small, practical conversations. No meaningless chit-chat. Even when she wanted to they were either too busy or never there. She watched her mother disappear into the kitchen after her father and decided to return to the lounge and her book.

Whatever conversation her parents were having didn't reach her ears, even though she could still hear a faint mumble of their words through the wall. She'd turned off the television, bored with the unappealing choice of shows. Even with that amount of sound cut out, she knew that her parents were making sure that she didn't overhear them talking.

It had to be work related. Their lives in Umbrella was all a big secret.

Twenty minutes later, they had gone upstairs to bed, though not before her mother popped her head inside the lounge to briefly wish her goodnight and telling her not to stay up too much longer.

Sherry was mature for her age. Other kids left to their own devices would have run riot and gone to sleep at ridiculous hours. But not her. She'd had to take control of her life, like it or not.

She placed her bookmark in around about the halfway point of her book and headed up to bed about ten minutes after her parents.

The house she walked through was not quite a 'home' by any means. They lived there, ate there, slept there, but there was no real love inside those four walls. Her parents spent more time at work then trying to create a cosy family life. The home was efficient, with all the necessary implements to making life run smoother. But the things that made a home a home were absent. There were very few pictures up, and the ones that were didn't depict the family in any way. The picture on the front of the fridge was one that Sherry had put up herself, just to add that certain something to the household. Her parents wouldn't have thought to do something like that.

Everything was so prim and proper. Neat and tidy to the point it felt like a show house on sale in an auction. The magnolia walls throughout the house made it feel more empty then it already was.

After washing up in the bathroom, the twelve-year-old stepped towards the doorway of her bedroom, glancing down the hall to the far end where her parent's room was. They were mumbling away again, keeping their secrets well and truly to themselves. The young girl sighed. She felt excluded from their world. She only wanted to be a bigger part of her parents life, but she figured that would probably never happen.

It was only Sherry's room that showed any colour. The fine candy floss pink walls were covered with pictures and posters of all kinds. This is where all the good family memories were stored in every framed photograph decorating the child's room. She loved her parents very much, and understood that they cared for her the best they could even with their busy schedules. She strongly recalled those few times they put work aside just for a short while to spend time with her.

The picnic down the park, the visit to the zoo, the camping trip in the Arklay mountains when she was still quite little… She had pictures of them all - to remind her that there was time in their lives for little Sherry Birkin.

This room was the room where she never let herself feel unhappy. Decorated with teddy bears, dolls, and souvenirs from family and school trips - this was her haven. She would never let the good memories fade in here, even if she did feel trapped in a box with nobody to rescue her.

She slipped into a pair of blue cotton pyjamas, and jumped into bed, settling under the thin duvet cover decorated in pink and yellow posies.

She listened to the night through her open window. An owl hooted from the tree in her neighbours garden, and tiny crickets chirped in chorus somewhere on their front lawn. The air was crisp and clear, a gentle breeze jostling her curtains and removed the last of the swamping heat from the air.

Carefully, she placed her book on the nightstand and turned off her lamp, plunging her colourful room into darkness. Tugging her duvet up to her chin, she closed her eyes, the grasp of sleep not too far away.

Her last thoughts before drifting off into blissful dreams were of her parents. Maybe when the stresses of work had lifted, they could all take a trip together again. She'd always wanted to go the ranch just outside of town and ride the horses there. Great stallions and beautiful mares with coats that glistened in the sunlight.

But she'd have to wait and see, not only with her parents, but what was happening with the bizarre murder cases.

They'll stop eventually. They can't go on forever… She couldn't imagine things getting any worse in her peaceful town of Raccoon City.