Solemn Hour

May 16th, 1998
6:20 AM
POV: Mary

The moment the door opened to reveal his figure, a wave of relief swept over me.
We said nothing, at first. We merely looked at each other and smiled. You see, our affection for each other wasn't the sort that we flaunted or showed in public. That would seem indecent.
The rumors had been true, though, of course. We'd been together several times, though we never even dared to hint at it (especially not around our colleagues). Morioka would've been furious if he'd found out, and no doubt both of us would've lost our jobs in a heartbeat. Then again, Morioka had seemed so distant and careless lately that if probably wouldn't have mattered either way.

"Are you three listening to me!?" Catherine asked sternly. "We need to leave this mansion!"
"We can't, Catherine," Jon replied. The brunette gave him a cruel glare.
"What are you talking about?" She questioned. "Everyone down there is already dead!"
"What if you're wrong?" Michael suddenly began. "You're not a soothsayer, you're only a person."
Catherine didn't reply. For all the time we'd known her, we'd practically treated her like she was a prophet. This was the first time someone had ever even remotely spoken down to her. However, she soon exhaled, and continued on.
"I know that everyone down there is dead." Catherine repeated.
"How?" My voice cut in.
"Because that light hum of the elevator has stopped, and the floor shook beneath me when the iron gates in front of the staircases were closed ten minutes ago."
"You sick bitch…" Michael hissed, shaking his head. "It's as if you wanted all of those people to die."
Catherine replied expressionlessly, "Maybe it's just my cynical nature."
Michael gazed at her in pure disdain, as I tried to ignore her. "What about Jason?"
"Who?" Catherine asked, yet received no answer.
Jon looked down at the ground, and Michael just leaned against the door.
"I'm sorry, Mary." Jon suddenly said, looking at me. "But we need to leave now."

6:30 AM

As we made our way to the mansion's courtyard, avoiding the central areas with my hand in Michael's, I couldn't help but think back to my childhood, clinging to another familiar thing.
It'd been simple enough, I suppose. I was born and raised in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in an apartment building over near the Art Museum. There, the days were always long, and the sound of the wind always amplified. Maybe it had something to do with having so many tall structures in one place?
My father, a tall man with just about the darkest complexion and the warmest skin, was an English teacher at one of the High Schools in the city. My mother was also a teacher, but had always preferred small children to teenagers, which probably had something to do with my older brother at one point. She taught second graders at a little elementary school that I myself went to so many years ago.
Her skin tone was much lighter than my father's, and heredity granted me the same. She, like my father, was always kind, though she was much more patient than him.
Now, my older brother…his name was Charles, but we always called him Charlie. He was mostly like my father. However, at the age of fifteen (when I was only nine), he became involved with these older boys that he seemed to spend a large portion of his time with. He stopped coming right home immediately after school, and even started failing a few of his classes.
One night, or perhaps I should say morning…four o'clock in the morning to be exact…he came home drunk at the age of sixteen. Needless to say, my parents were furious.
It was around this time that I found the garden outside of my apartment building. There were all sorts of plants growing there, and I became fascinated with them.

For a moment, I awoke from my daydreaming to witness Jon cock the shotgun, and then relaxed, realizing that he was only loading it. Needing comfort from something, even if it was only memory, I sank back into my time as a child.

I started spending most of my free time in that garden, and my mother even started helping me when she wasn't too busy worrying about Charlie.
However, one day, when we came back from the store where we'd purchased some sunflower seeds and potted hydrangeas, my mother's eyes widened. There was a police cruiser parked outside of our building.
We left everything in the car, and she raced up the stairs far faster than my short, thin legs could carry me. When I'd finally caught up with her inside of our little apartment, I saw that she was in tears. A nice, young policeman asked my father, who was also crying, to take me into a separate room.
It was only later that I'd learned that my brother had been shot four times in the chest, and that a zip-loc bag full of heroin had been found under his shirt.

6:35 AM

"Mary," Michael said, "Pay attention."
As soon as he said it, we reached the end of the path that led from the Residence to the main Courtyard. Through the iron bars, we could see several Dobermans that looked as though they had been severely burnt all over their bodies, though they did not seem to sense our presence there. They shook as though they were rabid, and rotted flesh hung grotesquely from their bellies.
"What'll we do?" Michael mouthed to Jon, releasing his grip on my hand.
Jon looked at the shotgun in his hands.
"But there's more than one…" Michael added.
Suddenly, Catherine ripped the shotgun from Jon's arms, pushing him back into a bush near one of the tall cement walls.
The Dobermans suddenly looked over at us, and I felt as though my entire world had frozen at that exact frame in time.
"Catherine!" I shouted. "What have you done!?"
One of the Doberman's leapt at the gate, baring its teeth. Catherine's face was expressionless, but by now it seemed that she operated best without expression.
She aimed the shotgun between two of the vertical iron bars, and pulled the trigger.
I had never heard a gun go off before, and it sent a sensation through my skull that was fairly painful.
The dog fell to the ground, blood flowing in rivers from a large wound at the center of its chest. It almost seemed to convulse for several seconds before its movement ceased at last.
The other Dobermans lunged at us immediately, and even though we were protected by a gate, I was still frightened beyond belief as more gunshots sounded.
Catherine, whom I had hated only several minutes before, had now practically become my savior. Michael looked at her in utter terror, as though he were more afraid of her than the dogs that had become infected with the T-virus themselves.
At last, Catherine kicked open the gate and handed the shotgun to Michael, whom replied with a very hesitant, "Thank you…?"
Jon stood from his spot amongst the bushes and shrubbery, completely dumbfounded.