Tales From the Necropolis

by Jammer69er

Witness the destruction of Raccoon City from the viewpoint of its various citizens. Runs parallel to my other story, 'The Fall of Raccoon'. On hiatus.

10. Stranded

Chapter 10: Stranded

September 27th 1025 hours

Little was said as the officers from the Raccoon County garrison entered the large command tent and took their seats, one by one, shuffling their papers before them. Lieutenant Fletcher was sat to the left side of the head of the large conference table which had been set up just minutes prior. Corporal Greene was sat to his immediate right, having come along at the Lieutenant's personal request. Captain Petrucci of the 12th Company was sat directly opposite, head lowered, propped up on one balled fist, looking as though he were on the verge of having a nervous breakdown.

Taking a decision to gun down a load of civilians would do that to any military commander, though Fletcher sadly. Petrucci was a good man, a little hot headed, but with good intentions at the end. No-one deserved to be pulled through the wringer like that, be portrayed as some jackboot-wearing Nazi officer who cared little for spilling innocent blood.

Green squirmed in his seat. "What's the matter, Corporal?" asked Fletcher with genuine interest.

"Nothing," replied Greene. "Just that it's not every day a Corporal gets invited along to a briefing for senior officers."

"You should feel honoured, Corporal," replied Fletcher, as another officer entered the tent, putting his coffee cup down before shuffling his papers. "And besides, you are the one who always acts on my orders, so you at least deserve to know what's going on as well, don't you?"

"I...guess so," said Greene quietly, looking around at the large TV screen at the far end of the tent, hanging from one of the canvas walls, whereby the commanders would converse with the other party involved in this briefing.

A few more officers entered, and then a few minutes later, Colonel Richard Adams, overall commander of the relief and quarantine effort, entered the tent, followed by a pair of armed MP's, who took up flanking positions on either side of the entrance flaps as the Colonel sat himself down and sighed a little, running a hand back through his hair.

"Officer on ground," stated one of the MP's prompting the others to rise to their feet and issue a sharp salute.

Colonel Richard Adams was a bullish-looking, balding man in his fifties, with a notoriously short temper, known for coming down hard on the soldiers for the most minor infractions imaginable at the barracks. Most of the rank and file men respected Fletcher at a much higher capacity, since he knew most of their strengths and was willing to give each of them another chance if they messed up. Then again, one couldn't change how the bureaucracy of the high command worked.

"First of all gentlemen, thank you all for coming at such short notice," began Colonel Richards, opening a file before him and flicking through a few sheets of paper. "And hopefully, we'll be connected through in a few minutes," he then added, glancing over towards the large screen as a pair of technicians fiddled around with it, one of them switching in on, revealing a screen of black, the words 'No Transmission' displayed in the top left corner in green blocky letters.

"Can never rely on this modern technology," muttered one of the officers under his breath, but luckily his remark went unheeded by the others, even as Colonel Richards spoke up once again.

"While we're waiting, perhaps you can enlighten me on the current situation at each of your assigned stations," he said, a request, not a question. "Lieutenant?"

"So far Colonel we're catering for nearly a hundred refugees from the city," replied Fletcher without missing a beat. "Our initial venture into the city found many survivors, and the Blackhawk insertions are finding more, but in much smaller numbers. It's safe to say that most of Raccoon City has been reduced to chaos. All attempts to contact the R.P.D or any other emergency services have been fruitless. Either their radio links are down...or there's no-one else left to pick up the phone."

Adams just nodded at that grim remark, before turning towards Captain Petrucci. "Captain?" he then asked, but Petrucci didn't even acknowledge the question initially, he just kept his head down, one hand across the back of his head.

"Captain Petrucci!"

"I'm sorry," said Petrucci, looking up suddenly, his face somewhat pale. He rubbed his head a little more before replying, causing a few of his fellow officers to whisper amongst themselves in concern

"Uh...recon patrols lead by Corporal Davis and Sergeant Leland have confirmed that most of the population of Raccoon City has come under the influence of what appears to be...mass insanity."

"Insanity?" asked Adams quietly.

Petrucci nodded. "I saw it myself, at the checkpoint before I authorised those patrols," he explained, slowly and deliberately. "When the refugees were trying to push through, a few of them attacked everyone else, biting and tearing at them with their bare teeth...it was like something out of a nightmare...That's why I gave the order for my men to open fire"-

"Captain, you had to make a decision in the heat of the moment," replied Adams, quoting a line that had become common amongst CO's for justifying their junior officers making rash decisions that ended with a loss of civilian life. "If you hadn't acted, then the loss might have been much higher." Petrucci lowered his head, not looking fully convinced.

"Petrucci has a good point," noted Fletcher as he piped up suddenly. "When my men came back from their initial entry, they said most of the population showed symptoms similar to what Petrucci has just described. Impossible to reason with, heightened pain resistance, you name it."

"Yes, my men reported seeing the same," piped up another officer, sat across from Colonel Adams. "They say one of them took nearly 30 rounds to the torso to go down. And these were 5.56 rounds, not 9 mils! You can imagine what that person looked like at the end."

"Interesting," whispered Adams, nodding slightly. "Perhaps the toxic waste is having an adverse effect upon the people"-

The same officer who had just spoken before scoffed loudly. "Somehow I seriously doubt that Colonel. Sure we only covered a small area when my troops went in, but we found no evidence of a toxic waste spill! Just a lot of destruction, dead bodies and those 'people', whatever you want to call them."

"We're good to go," announced one of the technicians suddenly, turning to face the officers, even as the words on the screen changed to 'incoming transmission', and the black was replaced with a screen of crackling static.

"We can discuss that later, gentlemen," responded Adams as he shuffled his papers again and looked up towards the screen, the static clearing somewhat.

"Here we go," whispered Fletcher, and the image cleaned up entirely to show the image of what looked like a corporate boardroom, a massive oak table taking up most of the space, half a dozen figures sat at each side of the table, each of them dressed in suits that probably covered at least three months worth of Fletcher's pay. The far wall had been replaced by a plate glass window, showing a panorama of countless skyscrapers and other tall buildings. In the background, the unmistakeable outlines of the Empire State Building could be seen.

There was a brief spell of chatter from the other end of line as the suited men spoke between one another, until the man sat at the head of the table raised his hand, and they all quietened down. Though he looked ancient, what little hair he had on his head snow white; he was clearly someone of great importance and authority, earning the utmost respect from the other suited men.

"Colonel Adams, I presume?" asked the old man, his hoarse voice carrying well despite his age.

"That is correct," replied Adams, as he and all the other officers rose to their feet. From the opposite end of the transmission, Lord Ozwell E. Spencer, CEO of Umbrella Incorporate, nodded in confirmation, as the other men in the boardroom, each of them directors of one of the company's major facilities throughout the world, followed suit. They were currently in New York to hold crisis talks regarding the Raccoon City incident, and had requested this conference to see how things were on the ground.

"On behalf of the Raccoon County Garrison, I'd like to thank you all from taking the time to hold this video conference," stated Adams coolly, reeling the words off with years worth of PR and media-handling experience.

"Of course Colonel," replied Spencer, before pausing to let off a few wracking coughs. "How goes the quarantine effort?"

"We've secured the borders of Raccoon City, which includes the freeway and all major traffic entry routes into the city, and we have checkpoints set up at regular intervals," explained Adams. "No-one will be able to get in and out of the city without us knowing about it first."

"What about survivors?" asked one of the other directors, hand rested on his chin. To Fletcher, he looked bored stiff out of his mind, despite everything that was at stake.

"So far we're catering for just under a few hundred refugees from the city and more continue to trickle in over the hour, partly thanks to regular Blackhawk patrols initiated by some of our troops," continued Adams, indicating towards Fletcher, amongst others. "You can thank Lieutenant Fletcher for the idea."

"That is very thoughtful of you, Lieutenant," added another voice, bearing a New York accent that dripped with barely-disguised contempt and arrogance. The camera feed turned towards a man with white hair and a well-trimmed beard, one leg crossed over the other as he leaned back slightly in his seat. "But what about the chance that any of them could already have been contaminated by the waste?"

Tobias Greene was just about able to disguise the fact that he flinched at the sound of that voice, his stomach tying itself into knots. It was that voice. That exact same voice that he had heard the day beforehand, contacting him out of the blue.

It's him! But why a director with Umbrella?

"-they are humans in the end, Mr Lindeman, not pieces of meat or stock that you can just stick in the corner and leave to gather dust," retorted Fletcher, keeping the sarcasm from his voice. After all, it wouldn't help matters much in sassing one of Umbrella's directors. "We're doing strict testing on each person we bring out and offering them the utmost medical attention. Trust me, if there was anyone contaminated, we would know about it."

"Enough," said Spencer sharply, before Lindeman could offer another waspish reply. Instead the bearded man just shifted in his seat a little and fell silent, leaving the air clear for others to speak.

"Yes, we didn't come all this way just to take snipes at one another," added Colonel Adams, and a few of the other officers assembled settled down too. "Now, we've got a lot of ground to cover, Mr Spencer, and we all have other things to get back too, right?"

Tobias Greene didn't register the multitude of replies that circled the tent, as he was too fixated on that damned voice from before, now sounding directly in his ears from the other end of the country. He could even feel those eyes on him, a trace of disgust and contempt prickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

He'd been dragged into doing something he had no love of, through sheer desperation, and now he was beginning to dread exactly what he had been pulled into, even as all the other voices continued to drone on.

---

Peyton Jessop groaned as his eyes flickered open briefly and all he saw as a random mesh of grey and other muted colours. He blinked a couple of times, clearing his vision somewhat, and he found himself staring up at the ceiling of the prison bus, heavily dented from where he had been thrown against the ceiling.

He tried to sit up, but immediately a great pain shot through the back of his head and his ribs in general, and he fell flat again, gasping in pain, cradling his stomach with his hands. He blinked again, and this time his view cleared up entirely. He could hear nothing, save for his own breathing and the gentle thud of his heartbeat.

Wh-what happened? We were taking the mountain road-

-and then they plunged off the road, down into the trees, when they realised far too late that the road was just gone beneath their wheels. It was a small miracle that he wasn't killed outright by the impact, but then his thoughts turned to everyone else on the bus with him at the time.

He managed to ease himself into a seated position, and shook his head a few times, before reaching around and touching the back of his head. He felt something sticky and warm, and bought his hand back around to see a smear of blood on his hand. He'd cracked his head open during the crash, but luckily not enough to kill him outright. Still, it would probably be an idea to get it checked out when he could.

Which in this current locale, seemed to be no time soon.

He rose to his feet shortly afterwards, and wiped his left hand across his face, seeing that there was blood trickling from his nose too. He stared at it for a while, before turning around, seeing that all of the other seats were totally bare, a few of them just gone entirely from where the bus's steel frame had been ripped clean from the chassis, either from the rock face or from the trees during the fall. He looked around in a daze, and then turned again towards the front, to see an orange-clad figure slouched in the driver's seat.

"Harrison," he whispered, moving over towards the front, feeling his vision fade a few times, and he stumbled once, shooting his arm out to grab for the seat beside him to steady himself. He was soon just behind the driver's seat, and he stopped in his tracks.

Harrison wasn't alive, that much was certain. A massive branch had speared through the bus windscreen and impaled Harrison through the centre of his torso like a lance, punching right through to the back of the seat itself and into the one behind it. His mouth was locked open into a never ending scream of agony, his spectacles lying on the floor a few feet away, shattered utterly. Jessop sighed and turned away, towards where one side of the driver's compartment had been sheared off by the fall, giving him a clear escape into the morning air.

He currently stood in a small clearing, the mountain and the bus wreckage to his back and the tree line in front of him, a light wispy fog drifting through the tall grass and shrubs he could also see. He also saw the twisted wreckage and the bodies which littered the ground. He counted at least three in orange jumpsuits, and another four in plain clothing, the other prison staff. They all lay in broken and twisted positions, arms and legs at awkward, stiff angles. He then glanced up, and saw another body dangling high up in one of the trees, speared on a thin tree branch.

"Ugh," he sighed, shaking his head. "What a damn waste," he added, looking about to see if there was any other sign. But he saw none, and he was beginning to piece together what had happened.

The others were gone, having left him for dead. They had taken all the remaining weapons with them too, and a quick search of the bus showed that included his M14 rifle and Barges shotgun too- hell, even his Beretta, tucked into the waistband of his pants, had been taken too. He was glad they didn't take the shirt off his back as well. And since there were no other CO's with the remaining survivors...it meant there were a number of inmates running about with lethal weapons and a number of other non-com personnel as potential prisoners. Any prison governor would see that as the worst possible case scenario.

He was the only one left alive that could possibly do anything about this entire mess, but considering the state he was in, what could he possibly do to salvage things? He was in no state to be on his feet, let alone chasing after armed inmates through rough terrain-

-and yet Warden Salt had given him this responsibility to look out for the others, and he would be damned if he was going to allow the warden's last command to go unheeded. He turned back towards the crumpled remains of the bus chassis, looking to see if it contained anything useful to help him on the journey ahead, even if it lead him towards a violent death.

A quick search of the glove compartment and the vehicle's portable first aid kit turned up a .38 revolver and 18 spare rounds for it (better than nothing), along with a few rolls of bandages, one of which he wrapped around his head carefully, in order to cover his wound, and also a small bottle of painkillers. He emptied a dozen red oval-shaped pills into his pocket, and swallowed two of them down to help ease his aching body. He took a few more moments to gather his bearings and to allow his pains to ease and his bleeding to clot somewhat, before he clicked the revolver opened and checked that it was clean and would work properly when he fired it. Last thing he needed was for his only means of defence to fail him out here, in the middle of nowhere.

That taken care of, he began to circle the edge of the clearing, looking for any sign to show him where the others had gone, taking his time. There were at least two dozen of them, so it shouldn't have been that hard to track them. He noticed some broken bracken out the corner of his eye and moved in for a closer look, crouching down. His father had once shown him the tricks for tracking animals through woodland, and the sight of broken brush at ground level showed that someone had clearly walked through here. He could also discern the odd impression of feet in the somewhat soft soil, leading into the trees. He stood up and looked in the same direction, feeling his uneasiness building.

The fog had increased somewhat since he had first stepped out of the wreckage, giving a somewhat ominous appearance to the towering trees and the thick undergrowth which surrounded his feet, as though something dangerous was just waiting out of direct sight, ready to strike. He thought of the skinless beasts that had killed Barges once more, and he tightened his grip on the revolver, wondering what other horrors lurked out there.

Well, I won't accomplish anything by just standing around...

He took a step forward, and a dry twig snapped underfoot. He cursed his rookie mistake and winced, but he heard nothing in response. Taking a short breath of relief, he stepped forwards again.

There was an abrupt burst of movement to his left and he nearly jumped out of his skin as a small number of crows took flight from a tree about 100 yards to his left, and he watched them as they ascended into the sky, trailing a few loose feathers, before circling in the sky a couple times and then departing towards the distance, cawing as they went. Jessop briefly remembered Pierce's fate, and shuddered. At least these crows didn't come after him, going for his juicy eyeballs.

He turned back towards the foreboding Arklay Forest, and then plunged onwards after a few more moments of hesitation, his feet crashing through the undergrowth.

---

A lone man in the uniform of the U.B.C.S wandered down one of Raccoon's numerous side streets, his Benelli shotgun acting almost as though it were an extension of his own body, sweeping to and fro as it scanned for danger. But there were none, aside from the odd maddened crow which pecked at fallen corpses, but easily scared off as the figure drew closer.

Mac sighed and wiped his brow with the back of his left glove. Gary was still asleep in the upstairs apartment when he had set out 10 minutes ago, to give their immediate surroundings a scope out, to see if he could find anything of use that could aid them: food, medical supplies; although ammunition was the main concern, as last he remembered Schaffer was out of ammo for his M4, and if he could find the fallen corpse of a fellow comrade, then perhaps he'd be able to secure something for both of them. Right now, anything would be a blessing for the lone mercs. It was likely they were the only ones still alive in the entire regiment.

He paused when he saw a dead body lying within a shadowy doorway just a few yards ahead of him. Not wanting to take any chances, he reached around and clicked on his shotgun's flashlight attachment, illuminating the doorway. He could now see that the body used to be a young man wearing grey pants and white sneakers, the rest of his features practically unrecognisable, having been eaten away by zombies or some other unknown horror long ago. The skin and flesh had been stripped away, leaving only a bloody mass of muscle behind.

Mac grunted in disgust and raised a hand to his nose to cover the overwhelming stench of blood and decay. He stepped away, positive that the threat had long since moved on, and glanced around to decide on his next course of action-

-when he saw the Alsatian canine standing just a few yards away from him, in the middle of the street, one of its eyes hanging loose from its socket, clutching a hunk of bloody meat in its jaws. It fixed the human with a blank glare from its remaining eye, a growl rising in the back of its throat.

"Easy boy," whispered Mac, extending one arm out slowly. "Easy now"-

The dog dropped its current meal and then launched straight at Mac, its growl rising up into an abrupt bark as it prepared to sink its blood teeth into the live human, but Mac was much faster in bringing the barrel of his shotgun round to bear, pulling the trigger as it came within a few inches.

BOOM!

At such extreme close range, the dog's head simply popped like a blood-filled balloon, showering Mac in blood and other bodily fluids, and dropping the rest of its body to the tarmac with a dull 'thump'. He continued to look down at the corpse for a while, and then sighed in disgust once more, wiping his hand across the breast of his flak vest and flinging it to the ground at his feet.

"Shit...it was bad enough being covered in that green shit," he grumbled, remembering their fight with that unknown monster in the utility plant the previous day.

What the hell was it supposed to be? It was unlike anything he had seen throughout his career in the U.B.C.S. And the fact it showed such sheer power and resilience, even after growing to a massive size from being only two feet long was a major cause for concern. Umbrella's bio-weapons were constantly improving: every mission showed him some new way for a man to be killed, whether it was bones that shatter, flesh that was torn-

What did Umbrella intend to use their creations on? His time in the U.B.C.S had told him very little directly, although some of the veteran members had said they had been constantly improving their bio-weapons for years. Apparently some of the higher researchers saw humanity as inferior to these test-tube bred creatures.

He was broken out of his reverie by the sight of a small brick building just ahead of him, set into the corner of another apartment building which was identical to all the others he had seen in this damn city so far. As he drew closer, he saw the small white sign hanging just beside the open entrance, a black square against the deep red brick. The simple, blocky depictions of a man and a woman displayed upon it.

It was a public restroom. And it looked practically untouched by all the madness and chaos in the city, making it stick out like a sore thumb, and catching his attention as a result. He came closer still, and finally saw something on the ground a few feet away from the entrance, a thin tube-like object that was emanating a few red sparks and a trace of smoke from one end. It was a signal flare used by U.B.C.S, and red meant that a previous squad, or maybe even a lone survivor, had deployed the flare as a means to show any fellow comrades they had passed through this way.

Some survivors may be close...can't pass this opportunity up.

He raised his shotgun once more, and began to pick forward slowly and steadily, his eyes scanning left and right frequently, searching for anything just within or outside of his peripheral vision.

He entered into the restroom and finally felt the sound of the wind outside drop out, muffled by the brickwork surrounding him. He moved forwards, where he saw two separate entrances, one for the woman's restroom, and the second, further along, for the men. He came up beside the women's entrance quickly, adopting the classic entry position that had been drilled into his head during his training days in the S.A.S.

One thing that's served me well since...can't say the same about that damn Selection though: that was hell.

He returned to the present quickly, and held his breath, before he spun around into the open doorway, shotgun raised.

He saw nothing and no-one. The restroom was completely abandoned, its space instead filled with abandoned stepladders, piles of un-laid tiles, rolls of electricity wiring, and other building detritus. Most of the lights were also out completely, and it was only then he realised that the women's restroom was currently being refurbished, hence the generals disarray.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice shattering the silence abruptly. "I'm not a threat," he then added, in case anyone hiding out of sight was armed and looking to blow his head off. It had happened before on previous missions- human or U.B.C.S survivors driven insane by the horrors of an outbreak and turning on one another.

Sometimes the darkness inside the human body is more dangerous than the zombies...

When he received no reply, he gingerly stepped inside, clicking on his shotgun's flash light, nosing the bright cone of light into dark corners and crevices, into the open cubicles, searching for any sign of life. But he found none, and wasted no more time, moving on to the men's restroom instead.

He knew that this second half of the restrooms wouldn't be as simple as the women's side when he heard the sudden bzzt of an electrical source sparking every now and then. He slowed right down this time, clicking off his light as he came within two feet of the doorway, the almost sheer darkness beyond the threshold more ominous than anything he had seen so far in Raccoon City. He could feel his heart rate begin to pick up somewhat as he detected the stench of blood and sweat, but he began to take a few deep breaths, feeling his pulse start to slow down somewhat. Then once he felt as though he were ready, he swung around and snapped his light on, ready to blind anyone or anything that was directly on the other side.

To say the men's restroom was a mess would be the understatement of the century.

Almost all of the lights were out, like in the women's restroom, sparks emanating from the ruptured fitting, shards of glass from light tubes littering the tiled floor, combined with reflective shards from the long mirror along the far right wall, long broken by some unseen force. As if that weren't enough to add to the space's state of disarray, there was blood splattered everywhere. The walls, the floor, even the ceiling. But he could see no bodies in the immediate vicinity, which begged the question where the blood had come from originally. With so much of it splattered about, it was certain the original owner(s) were dead.

"Hello?" he called out again, sweeping his light back and forth. No-one replied, and he took a few tentative steps inside the doorway, into the general centre of the restroom, keeping his ears and eyes peeled, paying particular attention to the central row of cubicles, all of them shut currently, but anyone or anything could be lurking just out of reach behind one of the flimsy doors.

He circled the edge of the cubicles, and his torch fell across a blood-splattered corpse at his feet, the first of at least haf a dozen bodies that littered this side of the restroom, all of them dressed in the uniform of the U.B.C.S. Mac's face was grim and set as he looked around at each body in turn, all of them having been killed while still holding their weapons.

"Damn," he whispered, as he guided his light over the faces of the nearest bodies. He didn't recognise their faces per se, but he recognised the emblem of Bravo Platoon on their right shoulders, and he also saw the face of Bravo's platoon leader, Captain Emmerich, at the far side of the room, slumped up against the far wall, his forehead marked with a single perfect gunshot wound. Mac frowned as he drew closer to the body, casting a quick glance down towards the third body he stepped over, seeing his clavicle was marked with a pair of gunshots. In fact, he noticed that all of the bodies were marked with gunshot wounds.

"Zombies didn't do this...but who did?" he whispered to himself as he crouched before Emmerich's body, the man's eyes rolled back into his skull, skin beginning to pale, his blood already somewhat sticky as it pooled beneath his form. Some time had passed since his death, but he guessed that the murderer could still be lurking in the area-

As if to prove his point, he immediately heard a noise behind him and turned as quickly as he dared, rising to his feet and hoisting his shotgun to eye level, ready to blow away anyone who had any thoughts of butting a bullet in his skull. His light illuminated the silhouette of a figure standing just behind the corner of the cubicle he had come from, somewhat unsteady on their feet. He could discern that the figure was holding one arm out towards him, and he could hear very faint breathing too.

"Hey there, sorry about that," said Mac as he lowered his shotgun somewhat. "Are you"-

"Your fault..."

Mac furrowed his brow. "Excuse me?"

"Your fault...all your fault..." the voice continued, oblivious to Mac's question.

"Look, I'm putting my gun down," said Mac diplomatically as he lowered his shotgun fully, letting it hand from its strap behind him, raising his open hands to show that they were empty. He also finally got a chance to get a good look at his aggressor.

It was yet another figure in the uniform of the U.B.C.S, his tactical vest missing, along with one of the sleeves on his olive green shirt, blood splattered all across the rest of his person, mostly emanating from the bite wounds to both his left thigh and torso. As a result the man seemed to be favouring his right side to stand on, showing a noticeable slouch. He was holding a blood-soaked SIG Pro handgun too, aiming it directly at Mac's sternum.

"All your fault," the man continued, half-whisper, half-scowl, "it's all your fault..."

"What's my fault?" asked Mac in response, playing along with the man's delusions. Not doing so could get him killed easily...much like the poor souls surrounding him right now.

He could see the man's face now: black hair shaved very close to the scalp, young face, and blue eyes that once were quite bright, but were now somewhat faded in colour, a clear indicator the T-Virus was working its insidious corruption on his body. His left cheek was largely gone too, from where a set of bare teeth had ripped most of the skin and flesh away. His mouth was twisted up into a deranged sneer.

"Your fault...it's all your fault this happened..."

"Hudson...it wasn't my fault what happened to you and the others," he said, trying to reason with Bravo's pointman. Garth Hudson was a decent enough man at the barracks, even though he was very quiet and focused too when needed. But now it looked as though he had gone right off the deep end.

"-Umbrella's fault!" hissed Hudson, taking a shaky step forwards, ignoring Mac completely. "Umbrella's fault we were sent into...Raccoon...doomed us all"-

"I had nothing to do with this!"

"-company doomed us all...look at me! I'm as good as dead," continued Hudson, taking another step forwards. "Did...did them all a favour..." he then added, indicating the corpses surrounding them. "We all know a bullet's...the only way to stop...zombification..." Mac cast a wary glance around at the bodies littering the restroom, his mind piecing together exactly what had happened.

Hudson had turned on his fellow comrades, gunning them down as surely as they were zombies themselves. And he would do the same to the Scotsman if he was provoked the wrong way. He turned back towards Hudson, trying to reason with him further.

"No, that's not always the way," said Mac quietly. "I haven't been bitten, look," he then added, indicating the unbroken flesh on his bare arms and his torso, but Hudson was too far gone to be reasoned with. That deranged smile had never faltered once, and he seemed to be lost miles away. He took another shaky step, blood gushing out from his facial wound in a gruesome display that the point man didn't seem to acknowledge.

"...I'll set you free Mac," he muttered instead, raising the gun to head height. "I'll set us all free...save the last for myself, of course..." His grin seemed to grow even wider at the prospect, and Mac knew then and there that he couldn't talk Hudson down from his deranged stance.

He'd have to get physical to take this madman down. But with a gun in his face, he'd have to think on his feet and use any opportunity given to him by the general surroundings-

The lights dimmed, only for a moment, plunging them both into darkness, and Mac knew he would never get another chance like this. He lunged forwards, swinging his fist towards Hudson's face from the left, towards his bloody cheek, as it happened.

Thwack!

He felt the warm sensation of fresh blood on his bare fingers, and then Hudson was flying to the side, crashing against the nearest cubicle door and barking out a cough, the SIG Pro dropping from his hand to the tiled floor. Mac stumbled back in surprise, gasping in shock at what had just transpired, staring at his bloody fist. Hudson's smirk had finally faded now, replaced by a look of blank resignation. He stared ahead for a few seconds, before breaking out into another fit of coughs, blood bursting from his lips. Mac just watched him, as Hudson remained slumped over, before reaching around to find his sidearm after what seemed like an eternity.

His fingers groped around uselessly beside one of the fallen bodies, before searching in the other direction. He began to mumble to himself.

"Set you free...set you free...set you free..."

He managed to find his sidearm, curling his fingers around the handle awkwardly, bringing it back around.

"Set you free..."

He slumped up straight against the cubicle, and looked Mac right in the eye, his own eyes almost entirely glazed over now. It wouldn't be long before he turned.

"Set you free..." he continued, raising the gun up a few inches, as far as he could manage. "Set you free..."

Then, his strength ran out and he dropped the handgun to the tiles, gasping for breath as he did so. Mac continued to watch in silence, even as Hudson managed a soft chuckle, from somewhere in the depths of his blood-choked throat. Finally, he glanced up at his 'saviour', his eyes just looking very sad and empty.

"Set me free...Mac," he whispered. "Set me free...please...before"-

Mac was already lifting his handgun from its holster as Hudson begged for his life to be ended. He kept it hanging at his side for a while longer, looking down at the broken shell of what was once a good man; a good, quiet man who always did what was asked of him. And the pitiful thing he had been reduced to, begging for his own life to be ended then and there.

"Set me free..."

Mac slowly raised the handgun to around level with Hudson's chest, and then pulled the trigger.

Sometime later, Gary Schaffer was only beginning to arise from his slumber, unaware of just how long he had been out, when he heard a door open and went for his handgun instinctively, sweeping around to face the entry passage, as Mac came into view. There was a rather subdued look on his face, and he was holding what looked like a bandolier in his arms. After a few moments of tense silence, Schaffer lowered his weapon.

"Where have you been?" asked the younger man.

"Went out to scout the general terrain," he replied, swinging the bandolier around and opening one of the pouches, dumping a few objects onto the wooden floor with noticeable 'thuds'. Schaffer sat up when he saw that they were ammunition clips for an M4 assault rifle.

"Where did-?"

"I found a few of our dead comrades," explained Mac, as he set about strapping the cloth around his own torso, parts of which glinted in the light from where 12 gauge shotgun shells were displayed, along with a few other items. "They didn't need it anymore, so why let it go to waste?"

"Right, of course," replied Schaffer, somewhat sheepishly, as he retrieved his bone-dry M4 and slapped a fresh clip home, pulling the bolt back. "Thanks."

"Get yourself ready, we're moving on soon as," stated Mac, turning away towards the entrance and checking his shotgun.

"Hey Mac," asked Schaffer as he set about storing his new ammunition in the pouches of his tactical vest, "did you find anything else when you were out there?"

Mac was glad that he was currently facing away from Schaffer, so the younger man wouldn't see the fact he nearly flinched at that question, or the somewhat downbeat look on his face. It had been a long time since he had last killed a man, an actual human rather than one of Umbrella's screw-ups. He had forgotten the maelstrom of emotions that came with such an act, from the initial act of pulling the trigger in the heat of the moment and the adrenaline kick, to the realisation that you had just taken a precious human life away: something only though possible through God's hand.

Last time, he had killed because he had no choice. This time, part of him still felt as though he could have resolved things peacefully with Hudson, if only he had tried a little harder to reason with the man, tried to ease his pain a different way. But the look in his eyes was downright terrifying; and since he had already killed six others before Mac had arrived, it was an unlikely outcome anyway.

"Mac?"

He bristled when he realised that Schaffer was still waiting for an answer.

"No, nothing. Let's get going."

---

Located in downtown Raccoon, Jefferson Essentials fulfilled the stationary needs of practically every business in the Raccoon County area, holding contracts and deals in most of the neighbouring towns, and even a few in the neighbouring states. One of the more recent additions to the town, its graffiti-free walls stood out as a stark contrast to the red-bricked structures that surrounded it, 10 stories above street level.

Normally a bustle of activity, the entire building was starkly silent and devoid of life. Well, human life at least. A few of the former employees lingered, shambling back and forth through the lines of office cubicles or along the carpeted corridors, leaving crimson smears behind them. Others simply stood in place, moaning hauntingly or just staring dead ahead, even if it was just at the nearest wall. More still crouched over the remains of those unfortunate enough to be caught up in the madness, feasting on the flesh and internal organs that spilled from their ruptured stomachs.

Somewhere up on the 5th floor, the door into one of the supply closest creaked open, and the face of a fairly pretty girl in her early twenties, her raven black hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing black dress pants with a white shirt, her green eyes red and sore from a fairly recent bout of heavy tears. She squinted slightly in the light, surprised to see that it was daylight. She must have been cooped up in that tiny space for at least a day, she reckoned.

Kelly Preston was a bright, charming girl from a fairly well-done family in Chicago, and now she had been dumped into the middle of a living nightmare. That was the only thing she could think of to explain the people who had swarmed in through the front doors of the building the day before hand, killing anyone who was within range.

This wasn't how she expected her life to turn out. Gaining a first-class degree in Medicine at university, she had never expected to find herself working a 40 hour week in an organisation that sold pencils, pens and paper to all kinds of larger businesses, earning a wage which barely covered the rent on her tiny uptown apartment, but she guessed it was somewhat naive to expect to fall into a great job as soon as she had left university. She knew it would be a hard slog to achieve her ambitions, but she never expected to end up working in a role so far from her intended profession.

Though of course, she never expected a wave of sick-looking people to come crashing through the front doors the previous day, mowing down and killing anyone in their path. And then...eating what was left. She had almost been sick the first time she had seen the horrific scenes, even her 3 years of working in medicine and seeing a few live autopsies doing little to prepare her for the sickening sight of her colleagues being devoured like they were just pieces of meat. She had been practically standing at the doors to the stairwell, on her way down to the canteen for her break, when they had come piling in through the doors.

She had ran soon after they had killed Malcolm, the security guard stood beside the door, and the two receptionists, Gina and Karen, had been dragged down. She had pounded up the steps to the fifth floor where her desk was based, in time to see the woman who sat beside her, Anna, tearing out the throat of one of the young interns with a feral savageness. And her once blue eyes had been reduced to a pale off-white colouration, resembling dull glassy marbles rather than parts of her human body.

Kelly had somehow managed to lock herself inside one of the supply closets on that floor, ignoring the screams of her co-workers and the haunting moans that came from the people who had forced their way into the building in the first place. She had thought for several terrifying moments that they would find her and tear her apart like all the rest, but somehow she had evaded a messy death. Was she just that damned lucky, or was God just having some sick joke at her expense? It was hard to tell.

She carefully peered left and right down the corridor, seeing that it was clear, though the crimson splatters across the carpet indicated the gruesome scenes from yesterday. She closed the door behind her lightly and moved towards the window, peering down into the street below. Even from here she could see the figures walking around below at street level, surrounded by car wrecks, shattered shop fronts and other signs of general chaos.

What happened...?

She had no explanation so far. Hell, maybe there was no explanation for what had transpired so far. History was full of strange events that had never had a direct explanation for their origin and wider meaning, and this looked to be one of them. There was no logical explanation as to why so many of Raccoon's citizens had turned to mass insanity. Insanity being the key word here.

And the cannibalism. Ever since July the city had been held in the grip of fear caused by the gruesome cannibal cult murders that had occurred as far back as June, petering out by July, and then suddenly starting up again last month with no explanation whatsoever. Though the R.P.D's elite S.T.A.R.S team had been decimated following an ill-fated operation a few months back- with the truth still not fully confirmed- the case was declared closed.

How wrong they had been, and now the madness had engulfed the entire town.

She took a few steps away and nearly toppled, realising that she still wore her black work shoes, complete with heels. Hardly the most practically footwear in most cases, but it was part of the work uniform, no matter how much she had protested, even with calluses the size of Kansas. With a soft sigh, she reached around and slipped them off, leaving her barefoot, but somewhat less afflicted in her general movement. She began to make her way down the corridor once more, towards the staff rooms, making sure to step over any puddles of gore she saw.

She paused for a few moments at the edge of where the corridor opened out into one of the office spaces, and saw a figure standing at the far side, facing away from her, blindly staring out of the window and swaying lightly on the spot. A soft moan issued from the figure as Kelly started to make a move, pausing in place when she heard the sound. She stared straight towards the figure for a while longer, before she began to move again, once she was certain that the person hadn't noticed her being there.

Her foot nudged against something and she glanced down to see a severed arm just in front of her, the spot just above the elbow badly chewed away by human teeth, blood still pooled around the jagged stump.

She quickly brought her hands up to her mouth just as she let out a scream, muffling the sound. She glanced over towards the swaying figure again, eyes wide, but thankfully he hadn't noticed the sudden sound and remained staring out the window. Leaving her hands where they were, she carefully circled the arm, keeping one eye firmly on the figure's back, before making a hurried walk towards the corridor a few feet away, just as the figure groaned and turned in her general direction, exposing the muscle tissue across his chest as he did so.

Further along the corridor, Kelly had to suppress yet another scream when she almost tripped over the body of Robert McKendrick, one of the senior managers on her floor. The man was a prick frankly, treating all the other staff as his personal slaves, and not averse to trying to touch up a few of the females as well (despite being 'happily married', like that counted for anything nowadays). But despite all that, he hadn't deserved the fate before Kelly now, one of his eyes gouged out and most of the skin and flesh around his neck and chest eaten away. She swallowed lightly, dispelling the taste of bile from the back of her throat, and skirted around him, heading towards the staff locker rooms.

She found them without any further difficulties, and quickly found her own locker, her name printed across the stark white of the front label, and dug the key out of her pocket, turning it in the lock with a metallic 'clunk'. There was little inside, save for her casual clothes in a carrier bag, left over from when she had first arrived at work the previous day, her black jacket, and a pair of white sneakers that had been her favourite pair for the last 3 years, even though they were beat up and starting to come apart at a few of the seams. But she was at least glad to have something to put on her feet.

She spent the next few tense minutes changing into her sneakers, constantly glancing over her shoulder to check for anything trying to sneak up on her. That done, she took a few moments to check her appearance in the mirror, her eyes showing dark circles beneath them, but also a sore quality, reminding her of her tears following her initial moment of taking cover in that closet.

She could still hear the screams of her co-workers in her ears as they were torn apart like strips of meat being thrown to wild dogs. After living through the misery and sorrow of these last 18 months, she was sure that she was strong enough for whatever else life could throw at her, just as she was finishing her final year at university.

But this...she wasn't so sure. Could she keep going, through the insanity and all the death?

She shook her head, knowing that those kinds of thoughts wouldn't help her current predicament at all, as she began to mentally repeat her personal mantra.

I can get through this. I will get through this...

She left the changing room shortly afterwards, making her way over towards one of the nearby desk units, rifling through one of the over-flowing pen holders until she found a large pair of scissors, complete with bright red grips. She opened and closed the blades a few times, before palming them in her hand. They weren't much, but it was better than nothing to defend herself with. She bit her bottom lip anxiously as she glanced around once more, before heading towards the passage that would lead to the stairwell and- more crucially- freedom.

She rounded the corner and quickly slowed to a halt when she saw the figure standing only a few scant feet away from the stairwell door. Just like all the others, he just stood there initially, staring into the distance, moaning lightly. What was worse to her was the fact that she recognised the black jacket the figure wore.

"Billy...?" she asked in a hoarse whisper, and barely a second later, the figure swung around to face her. "Oh no..."

Billy was one of the young interns who had started at the company recently, barely out of college, but he was likable and polite enough, always willing to help out around the office, even with the most mundane tasks, such as carrying boxes of paper up 6 flights of stairs when the elevator was out. And he was pretty nice towards Kelly and the other females in the office as well, always willing to talk about various subjects rather than focus on sexist banter and jibes.

Except now poor Billy was just a shadow of his former self. His eyes had glassed over, almost like white marbles, while one side of his ribcage was exposed, the shiny white surface of the bone glistening among the slick red of his exposed flesh and muscle tissue, where more than one person had eaten away at him. His shirt was dangling free in ragged strips of cloth from around the wound, his pants smeared with deep red as well. He let out a weak groan as he took a shaky step towards Kelly, his jaw hanging loosely, blood smeared around his lips.

Billy was probably one of the nicest people Kelly had ever known, except now he looked a hollow shell of his former self- almost as though Billy Magner's soul and personality had been sucked out of him, leaving some shade wearing his blood-stained skin.

But that would soon be the last thing on Kelly's mind as he suddenly made a stumbling dash towards her, and she let out an abrupt scream at his sudden movement, before he barged into her, and they stumbled back into the wall before tumbling to the ground in a less-than-graceful fashion. She let out another scream as he suddenly lunged down, teeth bared, and she had just enough time to get her hand underneath Billy's chin, pushing him away as his teeth snapped at thin air, a single droplet of blood dripping onto her cheek instead.

He growled and snarled as he tried to lunge in once again, sounding more like an enraged animal than the young intern she used to know, and she shirked once again as he drew in even closer, almost taking a bite out of her fleshy cheek. She managed to turn her face away in time to avoid the attack, but she could still feel him trying to push in closer to tear her throat out, with incredible strength- inhuman, almost.

It took her a few more seconds of staring wide-eyed into her gaping maw to realise that she was still holding the scissors in her right hand, and she tightened her hold around the grip, before making a sharp motion towards his ribs, plunging the blade into his flesh. It sank in without any form of resistance, almost as though she were stabbing a ball of plastecine.

She ripped them out almost as easily, though Billy offered no sign of being hurt, despite the blood which spurted out onto the carpet. She thrust the scissors in twice more, each stab withdrawing even more blood from Billy's cold body, but doing little in knocking him off of her prone form. Realising that a different approach would be needed, she turned the scissors around, so the blades were pointed down towards the floor itself. Billy's mouth drew even closer than the last time.

I'm sorry Billy-

And with that, she bought the scissors around towards the side of his head, where they punched through his temple with frightening ease, along with the tearing of muscle and the breaking of bone, lancing his brain.

Billy let out some kind of strangled gurgling noise as his entire body seized up, finally showing some indication of being injured by the attacks from her makeshift weapon. He continued to gurgle for about another second, and then he finally went still, slumping like a discarded marionette, right on top of Kelly. She remained still for a while longer as the implications sank in, and then she finally let off another choked scream, before pushing back with all her might, shoving Billy's corpse off of her. He just rolled to the side without any form of resistance, the motion causing the scissors to slip out from the wound in the side of his head, blood and chunks of some pink fleshy matter falling out as well.

She scuttled backwards against the nearby wall, clutching her hands to her open mouth as she dry sobbed, horrified at what she had just done. Billy had been a good kid at heart, but whatever it was that had gripped all those insane people had turned him into the thing that lay before her, something that would have ripped her throat out in an instant if she had relented just a little-

This is insane! Why is all this happening? Why is it always-

The sound of feet shuffling across the carpet prompted her to glance up, in time to see another familiar face round the corner. It was Ruby from the floor below this one, her lower jaw as slack as Billy's had been, her eyes showing the same glazed-over appearance, almost as though she had cataracts, but she knew exactly where Kelly was as she took another step forwards.

Kelly sprung into action as swiftly as she dared, snatching up the scissors (still soaked in Billy's blood) and making a dash towards the stairwell door, crashing through and leaving it swinging open on its hinges, even as Ruby reached out pathetically with one hand towards her former co-worker.

Unfortunatly for Kelly, the horrors in this building wouldn't end there, even as she finally reached the lobby. Almost as soon as she was through the doors, she hopped back and let out another scream as the thing that used to be Derrick Proudfoot reached out for her from his crawling position, his legs and lower torso simply gone from below his waist. Behind him came one of the security guards, half the flesh on his skull eaten away.

She tasted bile on the back of her tongue, and that was enough. She turned and almost ran into the waiting arms of Malcolm, one of his eyes gouged out and hanging freely from its socket, swaying back and forth from his bodily motions. Kelly let out another shriek as she stumbled sideways around him, avoiding his outstretched arms, and she sprinted for the doors, slamming through them and outside, the hollow moans chasing her out.

---

Frederick Briars of the U.B.C.S was feeling a bit fed up, to say the least.

It hadn't even been 10 hours since they had touched down in Raccoon City, and yet now Delta Platoon had been reduced to less than a single squad. He'd fought through hell in Bosnia, Kosovo and other hell holes, but none of those had matched what he had seen during his tenure in the U.B.C.S. Good men dragged down and eaten alive by twisted former humans, cut apart by razor sharp claws and other viscous weapons, entire squads killed in a heartbeat...

But this was far beyond anything else he had witnessed in his life. Some of the others had called it hell on earth, and he was inclined to agree.

Sergeant Price and his entire fire team, Biel the point man, the snipers- all gone. He still couldn't believe it. It was like a bad nightmare- a highly vivid one, but a nightmare all the same. Seeing the zombies pressing in from all sides, far more than their ammo stocks extended to, had left him permanently on edge, even if everyone else around him seemed to be coping just fine.

There had been the one shred of good fortune though, when Taylor had found a civilian survivor- a police officer, to be exact, which may have explained how he was able to have stayed alive for so long, utilising a S.P.A.S 12 shotgun. And his story had been expected amongst the U.B.C.S survivors: the R.P.D had been practically wiped out to the man in the initial stages of the infection, meaning that he could have very well been the last surviving member of the police force in the entire city. Despite that, his local knowledge had been vital in getting through the city undetected by the larger zombie hordes.

And then they had hit another snag. A rather large one, to be exact. After finding what looked like a shattered transport pod in that parking lot, the apprehension in his gut kept on building, and then it had appeared. Whatever it was, it was unlike anything he had ever seen in his career with the U.B.C.S: towering at least eight feet tall, endowed with incredible strength and endurance, and armed with a friggin' rocket launcher to boot. Though Benson and Setzer had managed to knock it onto its ass, it had gotten to its feet moments later, killing Benson shortly afterwards- impaling him through the head with a lance-like tendril that had erupted from its forearm.

And so they had ran, though Taylor and their new cop buddy had been cut off from the others by a blazing fire, and the massive creature had gone after them rather than the others. Though Briars hated to be a pessimist, it was highly likely they were as good as dead, considering everything else. If they had managed to elude the creature, then they would have ended up going through Raccoon Zoo...and he hated to think what the T-Virus had done to the animals kept there.

Since then they had been keeping low, staying to the shadows. Raccoon may have been a fairly small city, but its network of close, interconnecting streets and alleyways meant there was still a lot of ground to cover. Nick didn't even have any specific goal in mind, it seemed, just leading them from place to place, trying to find somewhere safe to bed down for a while. But there were no safe havens left, why didn't he realise that?

And to top it all off, they were currently under attack in one of the city's alleyways by a pack of what seemed to be the hellish spawn of a cockroach and a demon, complete with sick limbs bearing sickle-like claws, and sickly green flesh. He unloaded his M4 into the one clambering the wall in front of him, and it fell to the floor, its legs curling in on itself. He dumped the emptied magazine and snapped a fresh one home, realising that he only had a couple left in his vest pockets.

He had made sure he had packed a decent amount of ammo before they had set out from the barracks the day previous, but even his careful preparations had helped little in the face of the chaos which faced them now. Though the squad had spread out enough to let them cover every approach and each other, he still found himself hard pressed to keep the creatures away from himself and the others.

And Lee Myung was nowhere to be seen. Far as Briars knew, he was already dead. That fact wouldn't surprise the blonde-haired man at all.

"Damn it," he cursed, swinging around and setting the iron sights on another grotesque being that clambered out of a partially boarded-up window.

But as it happened, the demolitions expert wasn't too far away, though he wasn't in any position to provide cover against the nightmares scurrying out of the shadows and abandoned buildings. He was currently crouched behind a large dumpster, his lap top laid out before him, showing the live feed from the small webcam he currently held with one hand, aiming it towards the action ahead of him, finding himself striving to try and keep up the sheer speed of the new creatures, as they scaled up and down the bare brick walls at speeds far beyond human capabilities, their wickedly sharp claws easily capable of tearing through skin, flesh and bone.

Though he initially had some reservations about undertaking his supervisor duties, he had fallen into them soon afterwards, becoming somewhat fascinated by what else could be lurking out of view, waiting to strike. He prided himself on knowing the strengths and weaknesses of the previous B.O.W's created by Umbrella- which the U.B.C.S subsequently had to fight against- and the prospect of facing new creatures did excite him somewhat. It began with that massive one-eyed creature they had faced the previous day; the one that had taken incredible punishment without wavering, and had risen to its feet even after being knocked down.

It was a B.O.W none of them recognised, but Devlan had referred to it as the 'Nemesis', citing the whispered stories he had heard back at the home barracks regarding a B.O.W project that rivalled that of the Tyrant series- an ambitious claim indeed. Though of course none of them could have expected it to actually be real.

And as for these bug monsters in front of him: they had a brief taster of them earlier on, when Taylor had gone running off after nearby gunfire he could hear. Lee hadn't seen them himself, but the descriptions had been vivid enough to disturb him, and now seeing them with his own eyes for the first time had sealed the deal for him. He just had to get some footage of these things in action.

He kept the camera trained on one of them as it leapt off of the wall, slashing at Briars with its claws, who hopped back in time and booted it in the face, forcing it backwards a little, before firing his M4 at close range, blowing its head into chunks of skull and flesh. Further along the alleyway, a second was blown from its perch when Devlan filled its torso with three bullet holes.

After a few more seconds, he turned the camera around so he could record his own thoughts on the creatures.

"I'm fairly sure Umbrella's never created things like this before," he noted, his eyes wide with delight. "They resemble the Chimeras developed at the Spencer estate, but these look as though they were born from cockroaches, not flies. This is incredible!" The glee in his voice would be very apparent to whoever watched this video later.

"And it seems as though they feed by draining the blood from their victims…like a mosquito would. It looks as though the virus can infect practically everything it comes into contact with, so chances are we've barely touched the tip of the iceberg with regards to potential B.O.W species."

Close by, Briars unloaded into the torso of yet another creature- at least ten bodies littered the ground, but more continued to crawl out of the woodwork- spraying his pants with more blood. It staggered backwards from the impacts and screeched, before charging straight at him, flailing its remaining arms. Letting his M4 hand loose by its strap, he ripped his handgun free from its holster and unloaded two shots into its disfigured skull, blowing it apart in a spray of green gore. The body's momentum carried it forwards, slamming into him and knocking him to the ground, the handgun flying out of his grasp.

He gasped in shock as the heavy load pressed him against the rough tarmac surface, and could feel the creature's warm vital fluids leaking out of the ruptured corpse and soaking him through and through. He tried to heft it off of him, but it was heavier than he was, and his efforts did little save for dropping it back onto him in a more awkward position.

"Damn it!" he screamed, his voice barely audible over the storm of gunfire and monstrous shrieks all around him. He stretched around for his handgun, but it was way too far out of reach for him to get- he couldn't even brush it with his fingertips. He heard another shriek and looked about to see it towering over him, drool dripping from its sharp mandibles, his own terrified reflection staring back at him from its silvery eyes.

"Shit," he cursed flatly, raising an arm high to defend himself from the inevitable deathblow-

-that never came, when he heard the rattle of an M4 rifle, and then the monster stumbled backwards, blood spraying from the recently-opened wounds on its body, until its head erupted and then it slammed to the floor with a wet smack sound. Briars continued to stare towards it for a few more moments, before he saw a gloved hand reach down and prise the corpse pinning him to the ground away slightly, giving him the space to use his own arms to push it off of him fully.

After a brief period retrieving his handgun and wiping some green slime off of his M4, he finally saw who it was who had saved him, and he felt his anger return to him.

"And where the hell where you, eh?" he yelled at Lee Myung, who just adopted a crouched aiming stance and opened fire upon a creature trying to drop onto Devlan's head.

"Had some trouble of my own," replied the demolitions man, indicating a pair of ruptured corpses behind him- both zombie and bug monster. "Sorry that I didn't have your back," he then added, and in response Briars just turned away and sighted down the barrel of his M4.

"I'll let you off this time then," he replied, just as he heard Nick yell a curt order. He and the others were covered in a slick layer of green blood and other unmentionable fluids.

"Let's go! Now!" he barked, slapping a fresh magazine home into his M4. "Lee! Drop some grenades into that building, burn their nest to a crisp!"

"Will do!" called the Asian man back, as he and Briars began to jog forwards to regroup with the others, hearing the piercing screams and the steady clicking of claws upon brick and other materials as the creatures closed in from nearby. It seemed they had built a 'nest' of sorts in the building directly beside them- why else would so many of them come crawling out of the exact same place?

As the two of them passed underneath one of the smashed windows, Lee unclipped a pair of grenades from his vest and pulled the pins, dropping them through the window with an over arm motion, while the others continued to move on, keeping their comrades well covered. The clicking of talons drew closer and closer, building in tandem with the maddened shrieks of the creatures.

A few seconds later, there was a deep rumble as the grenades went off, blowing out a few more windows on the top floor of the building, sending glass, wooden debris, and chunks of green flesh flying out of the windows, though by then the U.B.C.S survivors were already on their way towards the nearest safe point- if there were any left, that was.

---

Kelly skirted around an abandoned car, its trunk left wide open and devoid of any sign of human life. Its front doors had been left open too, the keys still in the ignition and the headlamps left on. Though she wanted to take a closer look, the blood splattered across the driver's seat and window compelled her not to.

She was just outside of the Wallmart that was around 2 blocks away from her workplace, and it looked as dead and desolate as the building had on her journey out. Several cars had been abandoned on the spot, doors left wide open, most of them with the engines still running and all the lights on, small personal items such as handbags and wallets left lying around as well- clearly abandoned while. Raccoon had been reduced to a ghost town over the course of half a day- whereas before these streets were always bustling with people, it was now totally abandoned.

But what unnerved her the most was the lack of bodies. Sure there was the odd splash of blood here and there, but no bodies. There was nothing to indicate that they had been dragged anywhere, but after what she had seen in the office, had they just gotten up and walked away? Billy had been standing on his feet when he had lunged at her and tried to tear her throat out, though considering the state he had been in, he shouldn't have still been alive.

It was clear that this had something to do with the cannibal murders from over the last few months, but on a much, much bigger scale. Even the logical side of her brain couldn't wrap itself around what was happening right in front of her. It was like something out of her worst nightmares, but vivid enough to be real. Hell, it was real. The blood on her clothes and face- from Billy- was real enough.

Though there may not have been any cannibals in the immediate area, she could still hear the faint moans of those that lingered somewhere close by. Mixed in with the howl of the wind blowing through the abandoned streets, it gave a somewhat foreboding atmosphere. She looked behind her at the way she had come, but saw nothing else of interest, save for shattered store fronts and abandoned vehicles. There was no point in going back, so she turned back and headed towards the front doors of the store.

She peered through the glass, fingers tightening around the grip of the scissors she held. She couldn't discern anyone inside, though she could see where a lot of stock had been knocked off of the shelves, left scattered across the recently-shined flooring. But much like outside, there were no bodies, no blood, so sign of death or decay that she had already come to attribute to these cannibals.

She inched closer towards the automatic doors, and watched silently as they suddenly opened of their own accord, giving her easy entry into the store. She stood at the threshold, just watching. Every time in the past there would be someone here to greet her, without fail. Now there wasn't anyone else, though at the far side of the aisle directly in front of her she saw an abandoned shopping cart almost filled to the top, just standing there idly. A few cans of tinned food were left lying on the floor just beside the cart.

She remained standing in the doorway for a few more seconds, before taking tentative steps forward, checking for any signs of a threat. But as she glanced down each aisle, they were completely bare of any sign of life- friendly or otherwise. She swallowed slightly and moved on, peering over towards the registers. She stopped cold when she saw someone's feet peeking out from behind the edge of the counter, deathly still.

Oh no...

She began to move forward to examine the scene more closely, but then she discerned something out the corner of her eye, and turned as quickly as she dared in time to see a sight she never expected to see at the moment.

Outside on the street, a police cruiser trundled past, almost as though it was just on a routine patrol of the city. She watched it continue on for a few more yards, until it was almost out of sight. And then she finally kicked into gear again, running back out the way she had come, out the sliding doors, not even noticing the lone tin of beans which slowly rolled out of one of the aisles and came to a rest out in the centre of the floor.

"Hey! Over here!" she cried, waving her arms frantically, as the police cruiser casually vanished around the corner of a neighbouring building, and she lowered her arms as she felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. Part of her wondered if it was all just some cruel vision she had been subjected to, her mind broken by the horrors she had been forced to watch.

But then she heard the screech of tires on the tarmac, and she looked around in time to see the cruiser come reversing back into view at high speed, before it swung around so that it was facing towards her, before she heard the parking brake being applied, and she finally saw the two figures sat in the front, their exact features disguised through the windshield.

Yes! Things are starting to look up-

Though her thoughts were soon cut off when the doors popped open and the two men inside clambered out, dressed in the uniform of the R.P.D, the driver wearing the familiar peaked cap of the force too. But what was more attention-grabbing was the fact that both of them were carrying guns- and both of them were aimed right at Kelly at that very moment.

"Drop the scissors!" the passenger barked, a man with short brown hair, wielding what looked like a machine gun, his face smeared with dirt, blood and sweat. His companion meanwhile was aiming a pistol towards her, his blonde hair concealed beneath his cap, his blue eyes wide with a frantic energy.

"Hey, I'm not one of those people!" she called out, trying to reason with them.

"Shut up!" the officer with the machine gun screamed. "Drop the scissors, or I swear to God I'll ventilate you where you stand!"

Seeing that she didn't really have much of a choice, Kelly slowly stooped down, laying her scissors down on the tarmac, making sure to maintain eye contact with the man in question, who was constantly thrusting his machine gun towards her, looking on the verge of snapping completely.

"You hurt?" he then barked, loudly. "You scratched or bitten? You got a lot of blood on you!"

"No, I haven't"-

"Don't fucking lie to me!" he screamed harshly, causing her to flinch. "I swear if you're lying to me, I'll blow your fucking head off your shoulders!"

"Gray, that's enough!"

Suddenly the other officer wearing the peaked cap (who had so far remained totally silent throughout this entire meeting), had suddenly stepped in front of his partner and batted his gun away, staring him down and pointing a finger into the centre of his chest.

"Knock it off!" he growled angrily, sounding low on patience. "We've been through enough shit already, and we don't need you adding to that by gunning down every single person we come across, treating them like those damned monsters!" His fellow officer continued to glare at him for a few more moments, and then finally turned away.

The blonde officer turned away too, shaking his head slowly, before approaching Kelly slowly, being sure to put his pistol away to show that he meant no harm. He then held his arms out either side as a further showing of non-threatening. "Look, I'm sorry about him, he's been through...a lot. We all have." She cast a quick glance over towards the other officer, who just stood facing away, running a hand through his hair.

"I can imagine," she sighed, before the man readjusted his cap and offered a weak smile.

"What's your name, miss?"

"K-Kelly," she said after a moment's hesitation. "Kelly Preston."

"Well, Miss Preston, you're pretty lucky to have survived this long," he said, before holding a hand to his chest. "I'm Officer Davian, but you can call me Max. And this is Grayson, but everyone calls him Gray." He thumbed back towards his partner, who was looking around frantically now, his machine gun nosing in every direction imaginable.

"Yeah, nice to meet you," he said after a few moments, "now how about we get the hell out of here before anymore of them show up?" He went back to looking about shortly after that.

"So anyway, what's your story?" asked Max, turning back towards Kelly. She lowered her gaze somewhat, trying to find the best way to relate her story of how she hadn't joined her co-workers in death.

"Well...I work at the stationary company not too far away from here," she began, "and one minute it was business as usual, and the next thing I know there are these crazy people coming in through the front doors and killing everyone they could reach. I was able to lock myself in the supply closet...until not too long ago."

"Well you might have been better off staying inside," replied Max, shaking his head. "Yesterday it was just another day, and then next thing we knew these bastards were pouring out of everywhere, killing anyone they could get their hands on- men, women children..."

"My God," was all Kelly whispered in response.

"This is nothing to do with those cannibal murders from a few months ago," Max added, shaking his head. "This is something else...something on another level. It's almost like a scene from a Biohazard movie," he finished, causing Kelly to blink. She knew little about that movie series save for the fact that it involved an outbreak of a man-made virus that turned people into ravenous monsters. It seemed too similar to what had transpired in the city now, but that was impossible to imagine any truth in that scenario- this wasn't a movie after all.

"Well, we can sit around and talk about this all day," said Gray suddenly, pushing back into the scene with his manic eyes looking set to burst out of his skull at any moment, "but right now, I would like to get out of here!"

"OK Gray, we'll head out in a minute," replied Max, maintaining his composure, while Gray looked set to explode at any minute. The brown-haired officer turned away, before he noticed Kelly watching him cautiously.

"The fuck are you looking at?" he screamed suddenly, making her flinch, before walking around the side of the police cruiser they had originally arrived in, muttering something under his breath, before kicking the tires harshly.

"Don't hold it against him," whispered Max once he was out of earshot. "He saw a few of his good friends get killed over the last day and a half...Couldn't do anything about it either."

"So...what happens now then?" she asked. "What about any other officers? What about anyone left from city hall?" When she received nothing but a rather downtrodden look from Max in response, she pushed further. "There has to be someone left over that's in power! There just has to be!"

"I'm sorry," Max said quietly, "but we were at a barricade in the Cider District, trying to hold them off...but there wasn't a damned thing we could do to stop them coming. We barely got out of there ourselves. And we've spent the last day looking around all of the shelters in the city- they've all been overrun."

"And besides," said Gray, breaking his silence, "City Hall's been overrun as well. Who knows where the Mayor is- he's probably dead just like all the others too."

"But...that can't be possible"-

"Well it is!" he screamed suddenly, getting right into her face, making her flinch visibly. "While you were hidden away in your cosy little cupboard, we were getting massacred left and right! You have no idea, no fucking idea what we've been through out there, up to our knees in blood, and guts, and body parts! You ignorant little"-

"That's enough Gray!" barked Max, suddenly stepping in front of his partner and pushing him backwards. "Yelling at her will not help anyone!" he then added, as Kelly backed away slowly, wary of Gray snapping completely. The fact that he was holding a gun didn't make her feel much better either.

After a few more tense moments, Gray finally scoffed loudly and turned away, muttering something under his breath. Kelly averted her gaze for a few seconds, just in case he took exception to being stared at. Frankly, she was considering turning and running like hell then and there, away from this unstable man with a very itchy trigger finger.

"I'm sorry," said Max as he turned back. "I swear, he's not normally this...outspoken. But you need to try and understand, what we've seen, what we've been through...shouldn't have been seen by any man." Kelly was about to open her mouth to say something else, when Grayson was suddenly right in front of them again, shoving her aside forcefully and raising his weapon to bear. She hit the ground roughly, scraping her exposed forearm against the tarmac.

"Heads up! More of those fucking gutbags coming this way!" he barked harshly, before pulling the trigger, the weapon burping in response as it spat out a three-round burst of gunfire.

The bullets punched through the face of a Walmart employee with his face wasting away, reducing what was left to a bloody mess. He hit the ground hard shortly afterwards without another sound. Behind him came at least another eight people, all in a similar condition, all dressed differently and of a wide range of gender, age and race. They advanced from the direction of the opened store doors, drawn out by the commotion from before.

"Oh fuck!" cursed Max as he raised his own weapon and fired off a few shots, the sharp retorts providing a contrast to the sustained rattle of Gray's machine gun, though each sudden sound still forced Kelly to clamp her hands over her ears, screwing her eyes shut as the shots felt as though they were trying to burrow their way into her skull. Though she had heard the gunfire from her hiding spot the day prior, those sounds had been far away and muted by the walls surrounding her. Hearing it close up was a whole new experience- one that she wasn't enjoying so far.

Three of the insane people lay on the tarmac now, their heads busted open like ripe watermelons and leaking blood, chunks of brain tissue, and other fluids that she didn't bear to think about. The others continued to close in, not concerning themselves with the fact that they were either missing limbs or showed signs of recent injury, either from blades or guns- the blood still dripping from the wounds and leaving a trail behind them as they shambled forwards.

Why? Why are they still walking after taking all that damage?

"Come on, come on!" yelled Grayson as he dumped the empty clip from his weapon and reached for a new one somewhere at the back of his waistband. Most of the lunatics that had appeared from the store were dead on the ground now, although plenty more of them were beginning to close in from the surrounding streets and junctions, no doubt drawn out by the gunfire and Grayson's frantic shouting and screaming. Kelly could only guess at how many more were just lurking out of view, ready to strike when they least expected it.

"Heads up!" yelled Max suddenly, "here come a couple of those red bastards!"

Kelly followed his gaze towards the Walmart once more, where two more figures came into view suddenly, racing towards the small group at high speed. When they came closer Kelly saw they looked as though they were covered from head to toe in blood, but looking closer she now saw that their skin was in fact a deep crimson colouration, their eyes burning fiercely inside their skulls, finger digits replaced by what looked like claws.

Gray turned and shot one of them in the sternum a few times, the blood-skinned figure stumbling somewhat from the impacts, but not falling. The second one received a shot to the shoulder and its arm was forced back, but it continued its forward charge, growling and snarling like a rabid beast.

"Stay back!" yelled Max as he suddenly put himself in front of Kelly, shielding her from the first monster as it closed the final 10 yards in an instant and made a grab for her. He aimed his weapon into the figure's face and pulled the trigger, the sudden retort causing Kelly to let out an involuntary scream as the thing's head snapped back, the momentum of its forward charge letting it fall to the ground in a mangled heap.

But he was too slow to take out the second one as it lunged close behind, its claws cutting through his shirt and his Kevlar vest with ease, throwing up a small cloud of blood as it continued on, barging into him and knocking him backwards onto the hood of the police cruiser, knocking Kelly onto her rear once again. The creature was still growling like a rabid beast as it lunged forward towards Max's face, claws digging into the flesh on his torso.

Gray's machine gun fired in response, making the creature flinch and withdraw from its current position, before he shot it once more, the back of its skull collapsing like a wet paper cup, and letting it fall to the tarmac without another sound. Kelly scuttled away further on her back, though she stopped when she realised that Gray hadn't bothered to ask if Max was OK.

Instead he was glaring towards his partner, who remained sprawled across the cruiser's hood, clutching a hand to his right cheek, his face slashed with fear and uncertainty. Kelly slowly rose to her feet, so she could see the scene in its entirety.

Now she could see the blood that seeped from underneath his clenched fingers, see clearly the gleaming red wounds that had been carved into his flesh by the clawed fingers of the red-skinned creatures, staining his shirt and his pants. But he didn't show any sign of feeling the pain, as he continued to stare towards Gray's set face.

"Grayson," he said, quietly, his hand finally moving away to show the faint but unmistakable signs of a bite wound. "Don't...for God's sake don't...It's just a scratch, just a scratch. I swear...I feel fine, I feel absolutely fine!" His words were becoming more rushed and hysteric as he continued.

"Sorry, but you know what happened to the others," was all Grayson said, shaking his head.

"For fuck's sake man!" seethed Max suddenly, almost looking as though he were trying to grind his teeth together. "I feel fine! Don't even think of treating me like I'm one of those freaks!"

"Sorry, but I'm not taking any chances," replied Gray in a cold manner.

And then he pulled the trigger.

Kelly let out another shriek as Max's body shuddered, blood erupting from his face, before his limp body rolled off onto the ground, joining the other broken corpses in death. She stared down at him for a while longer, and then finally glanced up at Gray, whose face remained stony as he stared impassively down at the body of his partner for a while longer, and then he turned to face her, his face retaining the same expression.

"Don't give me that damn look," he spat harshly. "He'd been scratched. We both knew fine well what would happen if you get scratched or bitten- I didn't have a choice!"

He took a step forwards, and she scuttled backwards on her hands, her expression remaining fearful.

"Don't!" he warned, his face now being crossed with a hard frown. At that she flinched again, before her fear overtook her fully, and she scrambled onto her feet, fleeing in the opposite direction as fast as she could manage.

"Dammit, wait!" Gray yelled, running after her, but Kelly showed no signs of giving him any grace.

Her fear and her adrenaline had already been sent pretty high during her dash from the building not too long ago, it had peaked with what she had just witnessed: instead of trying to help his partner, a police officer had just shot him in the face at point blank range. And she thought she would be safe with someone in law enforcement. Clearly not, especially considering how unhinged his behaviour had been in general.

And now she was fleeing from him as fast as she could manage, crossing the street and heading towards who knew where. Ahead of her, more of the crazy people closed in slowly but implacably, while Grayson yelled at her from behind.

"Get back here, bitch!"

The nasty emphasis on that last word compelled her to run faster. As did the realisation that she no longer had any means of defence on her person.

She headed straight for an alleyway dead ahead, skirting around a woman that was wearing only a soiled red dress, her feet and lower legs caked in dried blood and other filth. She could hear Grayson's feet coming up behind her, but she kept herself moving forwards, her heart thundering on overtime. She entered the alleyway and kept on going towards a door she could see in the near distance, praying that it would be unlocked-

-but all of those plans faded in an instant when she felt a heavy weight slam into her from behind, throwing her against the wall and forcing out a scream. A moment later, Grayson's hand clamped around her jaw tightly, and she glared straight into his brown eyes, that shone with nothing but murderous thoughts.

"I told you...not to run..." he whispered, his voice low and deadly, forcing out each word through gritted teeth. "You know...doesn't matter if you've been bitten or not"-

He suddenly drew his pistol, and pulled back the hammer, chambering a round. Kelly let off a whimper, tears gathering in her eyes.

"-but the way I see it, we're all going to be fucked sooner or later. So I've decided I'll help the process along a little, do my part, y'know?" He leaned in close until he was practically in her face, his hot breath washing over her face, a leering smile starting to spread across his features.

"Don't worry," he crooned, pushing the barrel of the pistol against her cheek. "It's only last an instant."

Kelly had heard enough.

Letting out a scream, she raised her leg and kneed Grayson in the groin, forcing him to exhale a loud of air from his mouth and release his hold on her somewhat. She then dug her fingernails into his fleshy cheek and dragged them down his face.

"AHHHH!"

He screamed and stumbled back, clutching a hand to his bloody face, as she turned and made a run for the door once again, only a few yards away.

"You fucking bitch!" he screamed behind her, staggering after her, raising his pistol and preparing himself to pull the trigger. Kelly had reached the door and grabbed at the lock, jostling it in her sweaty palms.

It was locked.

"No!" she yelled, part in frustration and part in despair, when she saw Grayson closing in on her from the side. She turned and tried to run again, but her foot caught on something and she tumbled to the floor, scraping her arms once again on both the tarmac and some shards of broken glass. She looked up to see Grayson towering over her, lips twisted into a murderous sneer, blood streaming from the nail cuts on his flesh.

"Fucking bitch. Maybe I'll shoot your joints out first."

He raised the pistol and aimed at her shoulder.

Crash!

The door suddenly crashed open from the inside, and a large man with a bulbous, whale-like gut shambled out, ramming into Grayson and almost knocking him off his feet. The two of them wrestled with one another for a while, ending when Grayson let out a cry of pain and rammed his pistol into the large man's eye, blowing his brains out the back of his skull and dropping him onto his back.

Grayson fell back against the opposite wall, cupping a hand to his right forearm, where blood was bubbling out from underneath his fingers. Kelly didn't even need to guess what had happened to him. He'd been bitten.

"God-damn it," he cursed, glaring towards her for an instant and then turning away, muttering a few more curses through his gritted teeth. "Fucking A!" he then added, looking back towards her.

"You see? You see what happens when you go running off like that, you stupid bitch!" he then screamed, returning to his manic persona. "You see? Now I'm fucked no matter what I do!" he ranted, before stopping himself, taking a few breaths to remain calm. After a few more moments of Kelly watching him cautiously, he suddenly straightened up and looked dead at her.

"Well then I'll just say one more thing. I want you to know that whatever happens in the future, you'll always have my face engraved into your brain whenever you close your eyes."

And with that, he raised the pistol to his head, put the barrel into his mouth, and fired.

BANG!

Kelly flinched from the sudden noise, and a moment later Grayson's body hit the cold tarmac hard, blood pooling out of the massive hole in the back of his skull. She stared straight into the widening pool of red and pink fluid, mixed in with pieces of spongy material that must have been what was left of his brain.

Everything went out of focus, even as she turned away, retching and coughing as her stomach did a triple somersault again and again.

The next few minutes were a blur. Pained moaning, a blurry figure approaching, towering over her. Footsteps approaching rapidly, the sound of something whistling through the air, and a meaty sound as something heavy made contact with soft tissue. A moment later, a body hit the ground next to her, its head hanging off by a few strands of flesh and muscle.

"That's no way to treat a lady."

The voice wasn't familiar, and the context of the statement was so out of place, just like everything else. A second later, she felt a pair of hands raise her up gently, guiding her away, further down the alleyway, up a set of cold, steel steps, and towards some semblance of safety. The hollow moans faded away, replaced by a voice whispering reassurances in her ear, saying it would be OK.

Then all of a sudden she remembered Grayson leering over her, hot breath washing over her face, threatening to blow her brains.

Then she was struggling for freedom, beating at someone's chest with her bare hands, nails raking at clothes, trying to tear at bare flesh, screaming and shrieking in a mad effort to get free.

"Stop it! I'm trying to help!"

"No, get off me! Leave me alone!"

"That's enough!" yelled the mystery voice again, and then a pair of hands took hold of her by the wrists, restraining her gently. She was finally forced to look into the face of her saviour, and she saw a dark haired man in his thirties, with a well-trimmed beard. He was wearing a fine blue dress suit over a white dress shirt, the clothes tattered and frayed in places, also marked with splotches and stains of blood.

She continued to stare into those eyes, until he released his hold on her wrists.

"You're safe now," he assured her.

That was it for her. Her defences finally broken down by everything she had witnessed in her journey to this point, she allowed herself to break down, tears streaming from her eyes as she buried her head in the centre of his chest, pained sobs wracking her entire body. After a few more moments, she felt a hand on the back of her head, just remaining there.

"It's OK," he whispered. "It's OK."

---

Jessop stumbled along the narrow trail, the pain in his head and ribs returning to him once again, the painkillers beginning to wear off. He grunted in pain, before he fell back against a nearby tree, allowing himself a moment of rest as he reached inside his pockets, searching for the spare pills he had bought with him before he passed out.

He palmed a couple of the capsules in his hand before swallowing them down like M 'n' M's. The pain faded away once again, though he worried how much longer he would be trudging through the undergrowth, swallowing down a couple of capsules every few hours- would be keel over from fatigue and his injuries sooner or later, or would he keel over from an overdose? Neither option seemed very reassuring, out in the middle of the forest.

But he had to keep going, had to find the others and try to restore some semblance of order. He still had his duty to uphold.

He had been following their passage for the last few hours or so, looking for fresh footprints in the spoil, broken twigs and other bracken at ground level, torn fragments of clothing on dry twigs, and anything else he could think of- the same tricks and tips he had been taught years back by his father and uncle. Sure, the others may have had a significant head start on him, but he guessed they would be slowed down in their passage through the trees and thick bracken, giving him the chance to catch up.

And they have to stop and rest sometime.

He continued along the trail, which suddenly opened out into a small grassy clearing, about 30 feet in diameter and featuring little of interest, save for a lone tree in the centre- and a few abandoned sleeping bags.

Jessop approached the small campsite cautiously, making sure that his revolver was close at hand. After what he had witnessed outside the prison walls, he wasn't taking any more chances. He was within a few feet of the bags now, one red and one blue, empty of any human occupation or otherwise. He then moved right up to the nearest bag and used his boot to nudge the covers aside-

It was completely empty.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he repeated the process with the second bag, turning up nothing once again. He stepped backwards, lowering his weapon and sighing. Aside from these sleeping bags there was no other sign of human life in this clearing- no tents, no sign of a fire- hell, not even any sign of recent litter. It was enough to make him more than a little unnerved, especially considering that he hadn't heard any other sign of life since he had first awoken from the crash- no insects, no birds calling (though he could hear the occasional caw as crows circled overhead).

The forest was dead, literally and figuratively. It was almost as if the disaster engulfing the city had prompted the wildlife to flee, fearing for their own lives. He didn't blame them- if he himself had known what was going to happen, he would have skipped town in a heartbeat.

No use worrying about that now though, he thought, as he made his way towards the path on the opposite side of the clearing now, hoping to pick up the trail of his companions once again. Somewhere behind him, he heard the faint caws of a flock of crows taking flight. A short while after that, he heard a few dull thuds from somewhere far behind.

---

"Get out of the fucking way, scum!"

The crows took flight as Frederick Doyle waved his arms frantically, scaring them away into flight, though they circled above his head a few times before finally vanishing from sight. He watched them go for a few moments longer, before finally looking back down onto the dirt path he had been following since escaping the prison.

The crows had been gathering around what looked like the remains of a butcher's inventory- chunks of unidentifiable meat littered here and there in the tall grass, along with strips of skin all covered in a thick carpet of blood. He couldn't tell exactly what it was meant to be, or where it had come from exactly, but all he knew was that it stunk to high heaven, assaulting his senses, making his eyes water.

Perhaps he was better off staying back at the prison, but he brushed that thought aside quickly, knowing that he would have died if he had stood his ground back there- died alongside the warden and the others. This was the better choice, even if he was exhausted, stuck in the middle of nowhere, and had no compass or other means of finding his way.

So, in short, he was pretty much screwed.

"Damn it," he muttered to himself, somewhat shakily, "damn it all to hell and back!" He walked forward, picking his way through the grass carefully, being sure not to tread in any of the fleshy chunks at his feet. He knew that following the trail would lead him towards some form of civilisation sooner or later, though he had been walking for at least a couple of hours now, with still no end in sight.

"I don't deserve to go through this shit," he muttered, stepping around a particularly large hunk of flayed meat. Looking at it reminded him briefly of the crazies that had poured into the prison, dragging down everyone in their path, eating them alive as though they were at an all you could eat buffet. He felt the bile rising in his stomach as he remembered the scene of Plainview falling to the ground; his face and throat eaten away by acidic vomit spewed all over him.

Hope I don't go the same way-

Though his thoughts would soon be interrupted, as he heard the brief fluttering of feathers from somewhere behind him, and then he heard a caw just as something sharp sliced into the flesh on the back of his skull.

"Ah!" he cried, turning and flailing his arms, scaring away a crow that had come back for seconds and had decided to go after the much larger human currently walking around.

"You son of a"- growled Doyle, as he swung his shotgun around towards the bird, which was still flying somewhat low as it circled around the path's clearing, looking to dive in once again.

BOOM!

The thunderous retort of his pump-action screamed through the relative silence of the forest, causing the crow to let out a startled squawk as it faltered in mid-air, trying to wheel about to head in a different direction. The buckshot missed it entirely, chipping through the undergrowth behind it instead. But Doyle wasn't finished as he fired again, missing the damn bird and stripping away the bark from a tree behind it instead.

"Fucking bird!" he yelled as he fired a third round, this time hitting the crow dead on and causing it to erupt into a spray of feathers and chunks of flesh. The sight might have been somewhat comical, were it not for the fact that he was pretty pissed off right now.

"Damn...damn it," he sighed, stumbling a little as he tried to remain on his feet, the fatigue starting to catch up with him more than ever. He wiped a hand across the back of his head, staring at the smear of blood he could see. Not a particularly fatal wound, more like a deliberating one, but still it could cause problems if it wasn't treated properly- he remembered how one of his old cellmates had taken a large gash to his arm from a shiv and didn't tell the guards about it- a few hours later, the poor guy's wound had gone septic and he ended up in the infirmary for two weeks.

"Fat chance of good help out here," he muttered to himself, before making his way down the path once more, heading towards a destination that he had no clue about. Little did he know that minor wound would come back to trouble him in the near future.

---

"And what damage has been done to the city's infrastructure?"

"We've been unable to contact the R.P.D, or any of the other emergency services based within the city, so either most of the power lines are down, or there's nobody left to answer our requests. And the few patrols we've deployed into the city have reported that many of the main avenues have been blocked off by fire damage or traffic pile ups..."

The words seemed to go over Greene's head, as he remained rooted to the spot, mulling everything over in his head. He'd been contacted by one of Umbrella's main directors, but for what purpose exactly? The directors all claimed that they had Raccoon City's best interests in mind, but he couldn't help but pick up on the contempt behind the words of some of them: in particular Lindeman and Spencer himself, almost as if it was all a minor inconvenience to them.

I never liked those big corporate types...maybe I had a good reason to.

"Lieutenant, do you really believe those patrols are justifiable in light of the current circumstances?" asked one of the other directors off screen.

"I find them perfectly justifiable," replied Fletcher with measured firmness, keeping his hands clasped on the table in front of him. "We've managed to extract civilians from the city with each pass, and we're confident we can enjoy further successes in the same field. The way I see it, sirs, is that I'm not going to just leave those people to their fates: I'll do whatever's necessary to bring them out in one piece."

"But surely you wouldn't want to risk exposing your own men to the waste spillage?" replied the director. Fletcher opened his mouth to say something else.

"That's enough, Ramsay," said Spencer flatly. There was a moment of consternation off screen, and then the man in question was silent once more. "Lieutenant, I commend your actions in that regard, and the Board has no compunctions of your on-going extraction patrols into the city. Isn't that right gentlemen?" he then asked, looking on either side of him.

Utter silence greeted him in response. Despite his advanced age and withered frame, he still held a tremendous amount of power it seemed. The other directors hung on his every word, whether it was through respect, or fear.

"Speaking of that, sirs," said Major Pullman, looking over a report on the table in front of him, "my men, and men from the other regiments aiding with the relief and quarantine efforts, have relayed some...uh, disturbing reports from what's happening inside the city."

"Disturbing in what respect?" asked a Russian-accented voice off-screen. Though the other military officers knew fine well what Pullman was referring to.

"Well, they say that there's still a lot of Raccoon's citizens wandering the streets," began Pullman, choosing his words carefully. "Walking around as though in a trance, not responding to one another- and attacking all of a sudden"-

"That's likely a side effect from the waste spillage," replied a female voice out of view, holding a trace of French accent. Lieutenant Fletcher shook his head slowly.

"I'm sorry, but I find that highly debateable," he stated plainly. "So far we've seen no evidence of a toxic waste spillage inside the city, and considering that the nearest waste disposal facility is nearly a hundred miles outside of Raccoon City"-

"What are you getting at, Lieutenant?" asked Lindeman suddenly. Fletcher paused for a moment to gather himself before continuing.

"And then you all call us here to ask for an update on the situation, but if I'm being honest, I can't help but feel as though you're trying to sweep something under the carpet."

"That's enough, Lieutenant!" snapped Colonel Adams forcefully, which caused a deafening silence to descend upon the tent. The other officers glanced back and forth between one another, unsure if they should have said something or maintain their silence. Even the board room on the other side of the screen, inhabited by Umbrella's most powerful figures, remained deathly silent.

Until that silence was broken by a light chuckle from the speakers surrounding the seated officers. "Come on Lieutenant, I highly doubted that a man of your integrity believed in crackpot conspiracy theories."

That remark prompted a couple more chuckles form the other end of the conference video, but Fletcher didn't pick up on the joke, as he promptly shuffled his papers together, closed the file, and rose to his feet.

"Lieutenant, where do you think you're going?" asked Colonel Adams in a prickly tone. "All of your fellow officers have taken the time to be here at this time, to discuss these important matters. What's different in your case?" Corporal Greene looked up expectantly at his superior, waiting to see what his next move would be.

"Well Colonel, no disrespect towards either yourself, or our gracious guests," he said diplomatically, indicating towards the conference screen, towards the silhouettes of Spencer and the other directors, "but I have more pressing matters to attend to. Like the people still stranded in Raccoon City."

And with that, he turned and walked away, briefly pausing to call Greene after him. "Come on Corporal, we've got work to do." With that, Corporal Greene quickly gathered his own papers up and hurried after his superior, after giving the other officers assembled a quick glance. Once they had both disappeared through the tent flaps, Adams gave an annoyed sigh.

Guess I'll need to deal with Fletcher later...

"Uh sir, what now?" asked Greene as he hurried after Lieutenant Fletcher, rapidly heading towards a transport humvee in the near distance. It was clear that he wasn't in a very good mood at the moment.

"What's wrong Corporal? Don't you believe in these crackpot conspiracy theories?" asked Fletcher instead as he slowed his pace. Greene didn't say anything in response. "Never mind that," he then said, "but this doesn't sit right with me at all. They seem to be very eager to write this all off as a standard 'waste spillage', but I think Corporal Parkman would eagerly say otherwise."

"Well the directors of Umbrella haven't set foot in the city, we have," said Greene. "It's pretty clear they would jump to conclusions."

"Well whatever they think, I'm sure Colonel Adams is going to come down on me sooner or later," replied Fletcher, "and before then I want to try and figure out exactly what we're dealing with. There could still be people stranded in the city that need our help."

"Of course," nodded Greene, pre-empting what Fletcher was about to ask him about. "I'll make sure that Parkman's ready for any future patrols. Every little helps, right?"

"Good man," nodded Fletcher, turning and walking away once more, though Greene's thoughts turned back towards his connection with Daniel Lindeman, New York director. That fact proved Umbrella was up to no good, though he couldn't exactly speak up about it without implicating himself- he was fairly sure he had already effectively betrayed his comrades by agreeing to act as a go-between.

This has to remain secret. This is my burden, not theirs.

A/N: Phew. Sorry after the mega-long update between updates for this fic, but I guess that I just ended up running into a brick wall when it came to trying to think of situations and set-pieces to have in this chapter. Chapter still feels a little pedestrian in my opinion though.

I've been working on other fics for Dead Space as well, as I recently played through and completed Dead Space- cool game, better and longer than the first one, and its got plenty of cool moments in it. Not as scary as the original was, but it's based a lot more around intense combat and fightingt off aliens coming from every direction, which isn't really a bad thing. And the Severed DLC was pretty cool too, and with a shocking ending (that I won't spoil).

Anyway, for the upcoming chapters, some old characters return and we'll have a few large-scale fights thrown into the mix as well, so hopefully the next couple of chapters should be a bit more exciting to read (and for me to write). Until then, R & R as normal please.