Chris wheezed, trying to catch his breath. I've gotta stop smoking.

As the adrenaline ebbed, Chris began to truly register what had just happened. He fought back panic as his mind combined the images of the dog he'd seen the other night with that of Joe being pulled apart by a whole pack of them. He tried to stuff the images away so he could focus.

He wanted desperately to rest, but wariness as to what might await them in their temporary safe haven kept him focused as he took in their surroundings. The mansion's main hall was massive. A thick, burgundy runner of carpet ran along the tile floor and up the staircase dominating the center of the room. Ornately carved, hardwood pillars held up a balcony that spanned much of the space above their heads. Beyond that, the vaulted ceiling disappeared high into the darkness above the dim but nonetheless harsh glow of a silver chandelier. Even with the additional light cast by a few sconces designed to look like old oil-fueled fixtures, the deeply shadowed nooks and corners still pressed in upon Alpha Team with an oppressive weight.

"What the hell is this place?" Barry said in awe.

Wesker turned to the rest of the team. "Injuries?" After a quick check, everyone confirmed they hadn't been injured. "Good. We can't go back out the way we came, and even if I could get ahold of Vickers on the radio, there's little point if there's nowhere for him to pick us up. Burton and I will head to the second floor to see if we can find better signal. Redfield, Valentine – check out the first floor then meet us upstairs. Look for anywhere that we could use as a temporary landing pad, or any supplies we could use if it takes a while to get help."

"Captain," Barry began hesitantly, "wasn't this place supposed to be abandoned?"

"Back in the seventies, yes."

"Then why are the lights on, and who left the door unlocked?"

Chris agreed. "It's like someone rolled out the red carpet for us."

"Literally," Jill scoffed under her breath, referring to the burgundy runner at their feet.

"If I had the answer to that," said Wesker, "maybe we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place."

"Maybe some of the Bravos made it here first," Barry optimistically suggested. Chris hoped so, but with how the rest of the night had gone wasn't willing to stake anything on it.

"It's possible," Wesker conceded, but didn't sound convinced. "Either way, we probably aren't alone in here. Check your weapons and ammunition and be careful. I don't need to remind you that we are already down at least three people tonight. I would rather that number not increase."

Chris swapped a full magazine into his Beretta, leaving him with a total of seventeen rounds. He still had a full magazine for his rifle, but without the gun it was pretty much useless. Jill fared only slightly better at twenty-two rounds. Hopefully they wouldn't need to use any more. Wesker and Barry trudged up the steps.

"Hey," Jill said, quietly enough that the other two wouldn't be able to hear as she turned to Chris. "You good?"

Chris breathed in deep and let it out slow, still fighting the images in his head. "Yeah. Good as I'm gonna be, anyway. You?"

They walked towards a set of double doors on their left. "What the hell just happened, Chris? The helicopter crash was one thing. But this… it's just fucking nuts."

"You're telling me. I've almost been puppy chow twice now." They got into position on either side of the doors. "Ready?" Jill gave Chris a nod and they simultaneously shoved their doors open. Chris grit his teeth at the prolonged squeak of one of the hinges, knowing that any element of surprise they had was now lost. They entered, weapons up and ready.

Luckily, the large dining room they were now in was unoccupied. It was only slightly better lit than the main hall. A loud ticking seemed to come from everywhere at once. Chris quickly identified the source of the noise – a large grandfather clock about halfway down the wall to their right. Its metronomic rhythm filled the space and pounded into Chris' skull, drowning out any of the more subtle sounds they may have been able to notice. A long dining table stretched out in front of the partners, layered in fine dust that grayed the tablecloth and dulled the shine from the plates and silverware. Most of the room's light came from a number of candelabras spaced along the table's length, using small incandescent bulbs in place of actual flame atop the candles. There were twelve place settings, he noticed, knowing that Joe would've likely made some joke about the last supper.

He stifled any thoughts of Joe quickly.

Up above them was what Chris guessed to be a continuation of the main hall's balcony, wrapped around the entire room. All the way at the end of the room was a fireplace with a large, embossed coat of arms mounted on the wall above it. There was also yet another door in the back corner. They pressed ahead, one on either side of the table. Jill made it to the end first.

"Chris, I've got a lot of blood over here."

He saw the dark puddle on the floor. Streaks of the dark red fluid led under the door, as well as a few partial footprints. There was also a partially congealed handprint on the door itself. Chris reached for the knob, seeing that it too was smeared with blood. He grabbed a cloth napkin from the table in his left hand, holding his Beretta in the other. Tension grew in his stomach. Chris looked over at Jill. She stood back a couple of feet, ready. Jaw held tight in anticipation of whatever they were about to find, she gave him another nod.

Light from the dining room only illuminated a small, rectangular patch of the hallway on the other side as he opened the door. Beyond that was nothing but darkness. He popped the snap on the belt pouch containing his flashlight as quietly as he could manage, only to realize it wasn't there. Shit. Must've dropped it on the run through the woods. Chris reached out one hand and whispered for Jill to hand him hers. She shook her head, opting instead to take point herself. She clicked the light on, the harsh beam almost blinding against the pale wallpaper. The sharp contrast was such that anything outside the cone of light was even harder to distinguish. Chris covered right as best he could while Jill went left. Realizing he couldn't see shit in the dark, he turned and followed Jill's silhouette.

There was a faint rustling up ahead, followed by a wet crunch.

The hall opened up into a small chamber just ahead. Jill took two steps in and froze in place.

There was a man a few yards ahead, back turned to her, hunched down in an almost animal-like crouch. His business suit was tattered and dirty, crusted a ruddy dark brown in places. His bald head was so pale in the direct light as to almost be translucent. The skin of his scalp had dried out and begun to crack.

"Raccoon PD. Sir I need you to show me your hands." Jill's voice was calm, but her growing apprehension gave the words a slight edge.

The unidentified man leaned down. There was a slurping sound, then a soft grunt.

Chris ran up beside her. "Oh Jesus."

Jill realized what – or rather who – the man was crouched over. Ken Sullivan lay motionless on the wood floor. His eyes stared lifelessly up at the ceiling. There was a large, seeping bite wound on the side of his neck.

Jill felt her hands tighten around the grip of her gun, and moved her finger to the trigger. "Sir! Show us your hands, now!"

"Hands, asshole!"

The man drunkenly turned his head toward them, as if just noticing the two STARS officers. His milky, inhuman eyes settled on them and he started to rise, completing his about-face. Blood and bits of meat dripped from where his lips should have been, from where his bare teeth seemed to almost grin at them. He inhaled through the hole where his nose was no longer attached to his face, making a rattling, raspy wheeze.

"What the fuck…" Jill breathed, barely a whisper.

In the man's shadow, Jill could see Ken's gut was torn open, tangles of intestines spilling out around the hole. His right hand was also missing, bone jutting out of the muscly stump.

With a lurch, the man took an unsteady step in their direction. Both Chris and Jill continued to yell for him to stop, to put his hands up, anything, but he remained undeterred. His arms raised with the odd stiffness of a marionette. They both took an unintentional step back.

One word stuck in Jill's mind, a word from the classic horror movies she enjoyed watching late at night – zombie.

The man lunged at Jill, jaw dropping open in a hungry snarl. She fired.

Blood blossomed from the puckering hole torn in his chest, but the man didn't falter. He closed the distance as Chris also fired, once, twice. Both shots connected with little to no affect. His knobby fingers grasped for Jill's vest as she and Chris backpedaled in hopes of returning to the dining room.

They practically tumbled back into the incandescent glow of the fake candles. Jill saw Chris almost slip in the blood, but he managed to catch himself.

Seconds later, the man reappeared in the doorway.

Jill took one final shot. The bullet impacted almost dead center of the man's forehead, and he toppled to the floor. His blood began to intermix with that already on the checkerboard tile as it spread.

Neither Jill nor Chris said anything, still staring at the body on the floor, not yet willing to accept that it was actually dead and that they could lower their weapons.

Zombie.

"Chris?" Jill called shakily.

Chris sounded just as freaked out. "Yeah Jill?"

"Was that guy eating Ken?"

"Yep."

"I think we might have found our killer."

"Killers," Chris corrected dismally. "Doubt there's only one of whatever it is these are." He quickly went over and shut the door. "I guess headshots are the way to go, huh?"

Jill was still in shock, staring at the dead zombie. "Nothing else seemed to be working. Made the most sense." She looked at Chris. "Here I was thinking the dogs were crazy. Didn't expect tonight to go full-on 'Night of the Living Dead' on us."

"This is fucked." Chris ran a hand through his hair. "We need to go back in there, check on Ken. Maybe if we can get him some help…" He trailed off when he saw the look on Jill's face. "Was it that bad? I couldn't see very well from my angle."

"Yeah. It's that bad." She fought to keep her emotions at bay. "Ken's gone, Chris."

Chris nodded slowly. "Let's check if he has anything on him we can use – more ammo especially."

It was macabre, but Chris was right. Jill offered him the flashlight. "I can do it if you cover me."

Chris looked ready to argue with her but must have decided it wasn't worth the trouble. He grabbed the light. "Alright. Let's go."

It had all happened so fast. Rebecca leaned against the wall, trying not to hyperventilate.

You could have saved them. It's your fault they're dead.

There was nothing you could've done.

Edward had been the first. Richard was working on getting the helicopter's radio back up and running, but was having no luck. Ed had taken Enrico's smaller radio while Rebecca worked on getting the captain's arm into a sling, hoping to find somewhere in the clearing with just enough signal to get ahold of someone, anyone back in Raccoon.

It wasn't long before the screaming started. Rebecca could still hear it ringing in her ears.

Most of the next few minutes was a blur. She knew Ken had grabbed her by the arm and told her to run, practically dragging her behind him. She knew she'd dropped her gun, probably when she had tripped, scraping the hell out of her hands as she tried to keep her head from hitting the ground. She also knew Ken had instinctively held up his arm to block one of the nightmarish things attacking them only to lose his hand in the process.

Rebecca didn't know where the rest of Bravo was, or if they'd even survived. Ken hadn't. He'd sacrificed himself so she could get away, all the while still yelling at her to run as his attacker struggled with him, sinking his teeth into Ken's neck.

She'd stupidly taken a different door than they'd entered through, shutting it behind her, waiting until she heard the thing on the other side thumping against the wood in an attempt to get at her before latching the deadbolt.

Her situation had quickly deteriorated even further from there. Another man like the one who had attacked Ken wandered out of a side passage and began shambling toward her just as she turned back around. Unarmed, she sprinted past, ducking its grasping hands and continuing to the end of the hallway. Two more blocked her path to the right. The hall to the left, as far as she had been able to tell, was clear. There was a staircase at the end, but as she got closer Rebecca could see another of the homicidal monsters descending the steps. Spotting a door to her left, she flung it open and ducked inside.

Now she was stuck in a tiny room with no way out but the way she'd entered. The long, hungry moan that came from just outside told her that she'd likely lost that option, too. Rebecca guessed she'd been stuck in the room for about the last ten minutes.

Realizing she needed to come up with a plan sooner rather than later, Rebecca pulled herself together and began looking around the room for a weapon. She wasn't the strongest, but anything she could swing or stab with would be better than nothing.

From somewhere nearby, she heard the muffled sound of a gunshot. Three more followed in fairly quick succession. Rebecca stopped and listened, but gave up after a few long seconds. Whoever it was who was doing the shooting, she hoped they had fared better than her and especially Ken.

There wasn't anything that immediately stood out to her as useful – no baseball bat or two-by-four, broken table leg or broom. The one thing there were plenty of was books. A long shelf covered one entire wall of the room, jam-packed with what must have been hundreds of them. Somehow, though, she didn't see carrying around a stack of them to chuck one by one at the ghouls having the desired effect.

Focus, Chambers.

There was a loud POP from the hallway and Rebecca heard what sounded like someone collapsing to the floor just outside. She thought the initial noise was too quiet to be a gunshot, but was fairly certain the second was the monster outside falling over.

Is there someone else out there? she hoped, but had a sudden, sinking realization. What if they aren't friendly?

She scrambled for an idea, any way to protect herself. Ripping open her medical kit she fumbled out a bottle of antiseptic spray and held it out at eye level, pointed at the door with shaking hands, all the while thinking this had to have been the dumbest idea she'd ever devised. You just had to go and lose your gun. Some kind of elite police officer you are.

Bootsteps drew closer. The door opened. She didn't recognize the man who began walking through.

"Freeze!"

"Huh?"

Seeing the large, suppressed pistol and panicking, Rebecca depressed the sprayer, covering his face with antiseptic.

He dropped the gun and covered his eyes. "Oh God, oh Jesus, what the FUCK!" He swung his fists at open air, hoping to make contact.

Rebecca leapt for the gun on the floor, scooping it up and putting as much space between herself and the man as she could before he recovered. She aimed center of mass and demanded, "Who are you?"

He held up his hands, eyes bloodshot and watery. "What the fuck was that!?"

"Answer the question!"

"Billy Coen. Jesus that stings."

"Oh yeah, that explains everything," she remarked sarcastically. Rebecca tried to sound tough despite her voice cracking. "Why are you here?"

"Listen, ma'am, I don't want any trouble. I have had the worst few days like you would not believe, and I just want to get the fuck back to town." He wiped some of the tears and spray from his eyes with his muscular forearm, making sure not to lower the other. Billy easily stood a head taller than her, and clearly spent more than his fair share of time at the gym. Rebecca noticed the cuts and blood all over his hands and wrists, as well as the marks where it looked like his hands had been recently bound. He was covered head to toe in dirt, scrapes, and bruises. "Who're you?"

"Officer Rebecca Chambers, Raccoon Police Department."

He seemed to relax a little. "Oh. That's a bit of a relief, at least."

"Where'd you get something like this?" she asked, suspicious, gesturing with the heavy gun. Rebecca wasn't knowledgeable enough about firearms to identify the model by looks alone, but was well aware that the average person didn't usually mount a light or suppressor to their pistol.

"Even if I explained it, you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

Jill crouched over Ken's body in roughly the same place the zombie had earlier, fishing through the pouches of his torn-open vest, feeling nauseous. Ken, for his part, continued to stare blankly past her at the ceiling. She tried not to look at his face.

"Any luck?" asked Chris, still watching down the hallway.

Bingo. Jill extracted two full magazines for their Berettas from one of the pouches. Pocketing one herself, she held the other out behind her for Chris. "Some. Here."

She felt him take it from her hand. "That's something."

There was a noticeable bulge in another pocket. "Do you know why Ken would've brought a flare gun?" Jill opened the action of the bright orange pistol to find it loaded.

Chris looked back at her. "No, but it might come in handy if we run out of ammo."

"And burn this whole place down around us?"

"Don't tempt me," he said, not entirely joking.

"I was thinking more for signaling Brad if Wesker and Barry can get ahold of him."

"I guess we could do that, too."

Jill finished up and stood. "That's everything. Ready to keep going, partner?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

The first door on their left was locked, with no apparent spot for a key. That ruled out Jill lockpicking her way through. The next, however, opened to a surprisingly bright-lit bar. There was even a full size grand piano in the center. A quick search revealed nothing of use, though. They moved on.

The hall wound to the left and down a set of stairs into a commercial-style kitchen. The slightly warped stainless steel that seemed to cover almost every surface reflected the flashlight back at them in all sorts of strange ways. Once again, though, there was nothing of interest to see.

"I guess that means it's time to try door number two," Chris remarked, referring to one of the other doorways on the first floor. They backtracked, carefully skirting around the fallen zombie in the dining room. Luckily it seemed like nothing had snuck up behind them during their search. The main hall was just as empty as they had left it.

They picked the closest door and entered.

Jill snapped her Beretta up, relaxing as she realized the human shape in front of her was just a statue. Carved from marble in a Greek style, it depicted a woman carrying a water pitcher over one shoulder atop a round pedestal. The spotlights illuminating it and a handful of oil paintings on the walls did little for the rest of the room. It was far darker in the miniature art gallery than the main hall, and Jill watched the shadows like a hawk.

"What do you suppose they used this place for, anyway?" Chris whispered, he and Jill moving around opposite sides of the statue toward the next door.

She shrugged. "Corporate retreats maybe? I can't believe they would go to this much effort only to abandon it a few years later. I don't even want to guess how much the art in this room cost."

"All left to rot, too," Chris remarked disdainfully. "I guess you can just kinda do whatever you want when you have that much money to burn."

She scoffed. "Wouldn't that be nice."

Again they got into position, and this time Jill took point. The door opened into a bright hallway lined with waist-high display cases on one side and large windows on the other. Jill looked out one, but could see little beyond her own reflection. She suddenly felt as if something was watching her and moved away from the glass.

The hall turned sharply left up ahead. She took the corner carefully. There was nowhere to go if someone burst into the hallway from the next door, about fifty feet ahead, and Chris covered her advance from the corner. Jill was almost at the end of the hall when she heard a low rumble, almost like—

CRASH!

One of the window panes shattered inward, shards of glass smashing into even smaller pieces as they impacted the floor. Jill spun in time to see one of the hellhounds from outside skid into the opposite wall, glass embedded in its mangy skin, before finding purchase with its paws and scrambling toward her with a gravelly bark. She and Chris fired until it collapsed in a pool of blood on the tile, twitching.

Jill lowered her gun.

"You okay?" Chris called.

She took a deep breath. "I'm good. C'mon, lets go before—"

As if on queue, three more of the dogs jumped into the hall between them. Two slunk toward Chris while the other faced her, teeth bared, snarling.

"Jill – go! I'll find a way around!"

He fired twice to catch the dogs' attention. It worked. All three charged him, baying for blood. Jill practically threw herself through, catching a final glimpse of Chris disappearing around the corner back toward the art gallery.

I hope Chris got out of there fast enough she worried. He was too good to be taken down that easily. Then again, less than an hour ago, she would've thought the same thing of Joe and Ken.

Jill looked at the peeling wallpaper around her and realized she was in another hallway. It was probably the first time in her life she'd been glad not to see any windows. There was a tangy, pungent odor hanging in the air, not unlike the smell of rancid meat – faint, but definitely noticeable. I have to find a way back to Chris. Steeling herself for whatever she might find around the next corner, Jill pushed on.