Part II : Dead Silence
38
9:23 P.M., Las Vegas, Nevada
Whenever Barney rolled three snake eyes in a row, he knew something bad was bound to happen. It always did. And he knew it since he had just rolled his third losing roll.
"Mr. Shlaggby," the woman behind him asked, "someone wants to talk to you."
Barney sighed. "Regina, can't you see I'm in the middle of a game?"
Her face grew urgent. He saw her eyes widen before his own. "It's very important, he needs you over there now, I mean it."
The dices were still in his hands when he began to leave the table. Before he turned around and walked off, he flicked them with his wrist and watched the two cubes hop around the table and land out another losing hand.
Shit.
Sweat began to roll off his forehead as he made his way through the gaming area of the casino. He followed Regina as she made her way through the slots and some old women hoping to score a jackpot before they hit the casket. The jingles of slot machines and sounds of coins going cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck against their trays was all he could hear. The noise around the place was, thankfully, hectic. It helped calm him down. Inside his head, he was screaming, screaming at a figure that was more threatening than anything he came to imagine.
No—PLEASE! I'm sorry, I am very sorry! Please don't kill me! I am sorry!
There was a particular name Barney Shlaggby feared, and that name brought terror whenever it was uttered.
Aden
His hands began to shake.
SodomAden Sodom.
He trembled violently. His breathing became labored.
Where is she
He remembered that day very well. It came to haunt him daily.
I'll give you to the count of three, Barney
He could feel the muzzles of both guns pressed against his eyeballs. The holes at the tips of both barrels became new sockets for his eyes. It felt cold, like the bullets inside the magazine, waiting to spear through his eyes. Barney tried to blink, but he couldn't, since his eyes were forced open before the guns. He couldn't see.
"Where is she," the low voice demanded. It was the lowest voice Barney had ever come across. It sounded omnipotent, like some kind of Greek god.
The guns were deeply fastened in his eyes. One moment, he was staring up at Aden's furious face—the next, he heard a slap from his wrists, and the guns were pressed into his eyes. Barney could feel his eyelids wrapping around the fore sights of the guns. The pain was excruciating.
"I don't know!" he cried, "I don't fucking know!"
The pressure against his eyes increased.
"I'll give you to the count of three, Barney. Where is she!"
"Aden," he begged, "for what I did, I'm sorry—can't you see that? Won't you forgive me?"
He heard the hammers on both pistols cock back. "One"
"No—PLEASE! I'm sorry, I am very sorry! Please don't kill me! I am sorry!"
"Two"
He knew where Aden's niece was. He knew all along. He was just too afraid to tell this demonic specter in his face. Deep in his mind, he knew that if Aden found her remains, he'd probably kill him in a worse way. The militant hit man didn't know she was dead yet. He was still assuming she was alive.
But Barney was about to die right now if he didn't tell him.
Tell him! Barney's thoughts shrieked at him, tell him, you fuck-head!
Suddenly, Barney grew terrified with the idea of two bullets mashing through his eyes and into his brain. Even though he wouldn't feel too much, the thought made him speak out. He was sure to die, anyway.
"All right, she's under the staircase downstairs! Look under the mattress and open the door to the basement. She's in the closet down there! Now please don't kill me!"
The silver Berettas slid back into Aden's sleeves. He was good at that weapon-in-the-sleeve thing, too good. He then grabbed Barney by the collar and dragged him down the basement. He led the hit man down there, trembling and crying as he opened the doors. He killed his niece, and he was gonna die.
Once Aden saw her, roped to the chair—her throat slashed open, his face slowly turned to seize him with his dark gaze. The pistols appeared from his sleeves.
"No, Aden!" Barney pleaded, getting down to his knees. His eyes crossed over Kate's body as the dim lamp over her swayed and caused her shadow to move. Her dead eyes stared down on him.
Aden raised both pistols to his face as he tried to kiss his feet, sobbing over them. One of his tears came down and splashed on the floor. "Aden!"
And then Bartowen walked in.
He was like a ghost—some kind of evil apparition that preyed on bad things. One time you saw nothing before you died—the next, there was Bartowen, walking casually into the room like the grim reaper himself.
When Aden first saw him, only his eyes shifted. He knew the man in the white suit and knew what was going to happen. Bartowen came to take him into the Circle.
When a special person in your life diesyou enter the Circle. The only way out of the Circle is death itself. You give your life to Bartowen. If you fail, you die. If you refuse, you die. If you don't like it, you die. Simple, just like that.
Barney was frozen on his knees when he saw El Diablo pat Aden's shoulder. He was speaking to the hit man in a language that he couldn't understand. It sounded a bit like Israeli, but he wasn't sure. He kept his eyes on them. He noticed Aden's aim hadn't moved, and the pistols were still in the same place they were before. Damn, was the guy calm. But he wasn't calm enough to be entirely heartless. A small tear rolled down Aden's cheek as he listened to Bartowen speak. He never saw Aden utter a reply to Bartowen. That was another thing about the characterhe was so silent. Silent, but deadly. Real deadly.
His heart leapt when Bartowen turned his head to look at him.
"Normally, I'd kill lowlifes like you," he said wearily, "but I find there is something special about you, Shlaggby, and because of that, I am eager to let you live."
Eager to let me live? Barney thought in surprise. I was worthy to?
Barney Shlaggby was a child molester. He was convicted of three previous offenses with other children, including a toddler and an Elementary student. Kate, Aden's niece, was his latest victim. Really, he was supposed to have died, but the devil saved him. And that devil was named Bartowen.
"Eager to let me live?" Barney asked, a smile beginning to appear on his face.
"Yes."
"Butwhat is this special thing that I have."
"You work for Umbrella"
Barney was surprised. "H-How did you know that? I'm just a janitor there. I work three days a week—what do want? I can give you anything from there. Money, their soda cans, informationjust ask me and I'll promise you it'll be there."
The thin line over Bartowen's mouth creased upwards, a portion of his teeth appeared in the smile. "Good, that is all I needed to know."
Before Barney could say anything, Aden whipped a Beretta across his temple and his life started over. That was five years ago. He never knew why Bartowen was so interested in Umbrella in the first place. It was just a soda company.
"Barney, are you all right?" Regina's voice lulled him out of the dream, "You look like shit, talk to me."
Barney shook his head. Sweat dripped from his face. "I'm fine, just a little something I remembered, that's all."
"Well, whatever it is, you look like you've seen a ghost."
He pursed his lips, staring into her face. "I have."
She shook her head, nodding off the idea. "That person I told you about is waiting for you behind this door, so if you need anything, I'll be out in the game room."
Barney nodded, watching her leave. He stood before the door.
Aden Sodomthe hit men
The scary thing about Barney rolling straight snake eyes was the fact that he'd always see Bartowen when it happened. It was creepy. Something about that man wasn't right, and he didn't like it at all.
And then there was Aden beside himwatching Barney's every move.
He took a deep breath before the door. He opened it and walked in.
The door locked itself behind him.
Bartowen was sitting before him in a large desk. An unlit cigarette was in his mouth.
He wasn't alone, either. There
"It's nice to see you again, Shlaggby, sit down," Bartowen said.
Barney took a seat—the only seat that was situated in the middle of the semi-circle. He was nearly surrounded by the hit men. His left hand began to tremble, but he tried to hide it, keeping it under his right, which also began showing signs of his fear.
Bartowen took a match and placed it in between his front teeth. It was one of the kinds with the wood stems, and it protruded from his mouth like a toothpick. He snapped it from his teeth and the match lit, giving out that fwisss sound.
"Something has happened to Raccoon City," he said as he lit his cigarette. "It is something that involves Umbrella, and it is something destructive."
"What do you mean?" Barney asked, letting out a burst of breath, "that's impossible, Umbrella's nothing but a soda companythere's nothing they could've done that could possibly destroy an entire city."
Bartowen reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handgun. It was one of those silver kinds that had a laser on it. It produced a red dot over Barney's leg.
Barney's calf burst open in a rush of blood. The pain tore him apart, paralyzing his leg. He screamed, snatching the wound with his hands before falling off his chair. The hard floor came up and slammed into his face. The blood from his wound stood out on the white floor. He began to wail. "What the fuck?! What the hell was that for!"
"I believe you misunderstood what I just said," Bartowen replied calmly, bringing the red dot toward his other leg. "You see, Barney, the point is you knew about Umbrella's secretsyou lied to me. I didn't spare you just so you could run around and fuck with me while you got away in trying to improve' your life. I wanted something from you, Barney, and you disappointed me."
"Forgive me!" Barney begged. "They tortured me, they knew I was associated with you! They didn't want me tell you! Please understand! I did what I had to do!"
He shot him in his other leg.
Barney let out a second scream, which echoed and reverberated across the room. "Please, please, BartowenI'm sorry, I'm sorry. Don't kill me! Please!"
"Now, doesn't a lot of this look familiar," Bartowen smiled. He nodded to Aden, who quickly stood up and rapidly fired at Barney, hitting him in nonfatal areas. Red holes exploded all over his body, missing his vital organs. They wanted him to feel as much pain as possible.
"You see," Bartowen said over his screams, "your time has arrivedyou should've been dead already, Shlaggby. I'm here to return the favor you deserved for murdering Aden's niece. You molested children, Shlaggby, and that's a no-no. I'm sure justice even has its home in the underground."
Barney choked under his labored breaths. Blood welled up his mouth and flowed down his chin. "No" his dying voice rasped, "no, I'm a changed man"
"I don't care if you found the cure for cancer," Bartowen said with the cigarette still in his mouth. "You have molested and murdered children—and along with that, you betrayed me, Shlaggby. You have every right to die." He then waved a hand out and the seven hit men came alive.
Before they all stood up and pounded his body with dozens of bullets, Barney identified them. He knew all of them.
Aden SodomButch CastilloSeiji KurosawaMartin VelvetLouie DinerosEthan Combsand Tyrone Phillips.
They all shot him afterwards, sending off hails of bullets down his soft flesh.
Before he saw the guns blazing, he still wondered what Bartowen wanted with Umbrella—the soda company that secretly worked with biological weapons.
39
11:12 P.M., The Barn
It was hard for him to concentrate with Kyle's body behind him. Leon tried to sleep earlier, but was instead shaken awake by the thought of a bloody, dead serial killer sitting behind him. He had his hands on his pistol the whole time, just in case. Leon wasn't superstitious, but he had heard a fair share of ghost stories in the past. His whole childhood was surrounded by tales of evil corpses coming alive to eat the living, just like in Romero's flicks about the living dead.
Living deadwhat bullshit, Leon thought, snickering. How could it be possible for a bunch of dead guys to rise up and start walking around, chewing people's limbs off?
It wouldn't hurt if you could prove it wrong. Leon switched the light on and took a glance at the dead guy behind him from his rearview mirror.
Kyle's skin was dead white—nearly purplish from his death. His eyes were closed. All over his chest, the ten bullet holes from Leon's VP70 made his torso look like Swiss cheese. Blood was everywhere. It darkened the area around his mouth in a shady red—like gruesome make-up on a clown. The nose was crushed, with a bit of the white cartilage appearing from the crumpled skin. The eyes, opened, were streaked with a redness that looked as if blood oozed from its pupils.
Waitwasn't his eyes closed when he last saw them?
Leon bent his head forward and looked more closely into the mirror. He scanned Kyle's face. The body looked terribly alive—as if all that time, while Leon was sitting here, thinking about resurrected spirits and things, it was back there watching him. Leon continued to study the corpse in silence.
The eyes were closedthey were never open. Kyle was really dead.
"Whew," Leon sighed, shaking his head. "Shit, I knew I should've held back on the acid during High School. That stuff really screws with your head in the long term."
He checked the body behind him once more, making sure again that the living dead did not exist, and that the opened eye was just a figment of his imagination. The living dead didn't exist. Kyle's eyes were still closed. He hadn't moved since Leon threw him back there. Good, very gooood.
"I've been waitin my ass here for too long," Leon said to himself, "I'm just gonna head back to the stationbastards too busy with that contamination to come up here."
When he started his car, the engine roared through the silence of the barn, interrupting the crickets and the other animals in the night. Leon turned on his high beams and tried maneuvering his way through the pitch darkness. There was no light over the barn, not even from the moon. "Goodbye, Carlos," he said as he drove away from the barn. "I'll make sure you'll get recognition from this, since you deserved it more than I did. Goodbye." He rode off onto the road and sped back home.
When he made his way toward the Raccoon City Limits, something familiar came back to bother him. It was the air. The smell of the air.
The dead scent he had smelled earlier before walking into the police station was back, and it was stronger than ever. Leon coughed, and thought a little about it.
Damn, what's the problem with the air all a sudden, it smells so, so
Evil. That was the only word he could associate it with. Evil.
40
Nobody came to wake him up.
Nathan slowly uncovered his eyes to the dimmed lights in the elevator, tiredly attempting to reorient himself in such a strange environment. For a moment, he didn't know where he was—he still thought it was all a dream. But he liked the dream he had, and he wanted to go back into it. He dreamt he was trying to protect Fiorella from this strange horde of monsters, and he managed to kill off all of them. After that, she hugged and kissed him, while taking off her shirt
Felt good, didn't it, a part of his head asked, well, I don't care if you were in the middle of great sex in there. Something's not right here, Nate, and I encourage you to quit thinking about that shit and start concentrating on what's going on right now!
Nathan nodded—okay. He then groggily got to his feet and looked around, noticing the eerie, dimmed lighting of the elevator. It was like being in a room where the fluorescent lights were almost dead. The lighting was hardly sufficient enough to read anything. It was that dim.
What time is it, he thought, stretching, it feels like nighttime.
Actually, the scary part was, he didn't know exactly what time it was.
And where's everybody? Shit! I'm supposed to be home right now! Wonder what my parents are gonna think about me not coming home this lateif it's really that dark out there.
Nathan was always afraid about the possibility of waking up only to find himself in a large building alone, with the time being way over the end of his shift. Whenever he thought about it, it usually frightened him. I mean, here you were working when you suddenly slept and found yourself in a dim place where everybody has leftand you were alone.
He was in the ground floormy God, he was still down here.
Nathan's heart began to race in his chest as he tried to find a way out of this place. He was practically stuck here. It was probably late at night and everybody must of left the building in some kind of emergency evacuation while forgetting Nathan behind. Oh shit, was this scary. He had to get out of here fast!
He quickly calmed himself down, noticing the elevator door before him. It was closed, but Nathan saw that the slit in between the doors were marginally wider than they were before his long nap. In fact, they were wide enough for him to open with his bare hands.
At first he tried the buttons to see if the power was strong enough for them to slide apart, but they didn't, so he came up and tried prying them open himself. He slid his fingers through the crevice and gripped around the edges, trying to pull them apart. He then grit his teeth, adding a foot in for extra leverage and tugged harder. The opening slowly widened, letting in more light into the elevator. He pulled more, adding more pressure to the door until his arms grew sore from it.
Eventually, the door was widened enough to fit his body, and he sat back, resting as he saw the rolling countertop behind the doorway. It was the same as it was before, with its curved lettering that said: WHEA ACTIVITY CENTER, and its meshed lottery device on top. It was pretty much the same, except there was blood splattered over it.
Nathan froze, sitting there while watching it on the countertop. He saw the thin lines formed from the blood trails as it laced around the T and the R in the word CENTER. More blood was on the floor. A small river was winding from the countertop's wheels and away from Nathan's view. His heart jumped.
Shaking a bit, he crawled out the opening and left the elevator doors. He looked around.
What he saw almost made his hair turn white.
A dead body—actually, the remains of a dead body—was sitting adjacent to the elevator doors under the panels. All its limbs were missing, and its chest was clawed open. Nathan took a few steps back as he studied the corpse. The headless torso was split apart, its organs were mashed around, spilling from the opening like a bundle of fruit from a basket. The white walls behind it were red from the damp smears, and the smell filled Nathan's lungs with a thick odor of rust. Teeth marks were decorated over the withered skinproving to Nathan that something was devouring the body while he was asleep in the elevator. Something.
The fluorescent lights on the ceiling flickered, causing a strobe effect over the body. It caused the image of the mutilated corpse to blink a little. Nathan noticed the hall was now as dark as ever—its lighting about as dim as the elevator's. He gulped, losing some of his breath. He studied the nightmare before him.
The hall was now a mess—everything was out of place and strewn about while the weak lighting tinted everything light gray. The CHO CHO COLA vending machine was tipped over to the side of the wall, broken open with bits of glass all over the floor. A wheelchair with IV tubes twisting around its metal post stood to the side of the hall. Its seat had patches of blood on it. Another body was lying in the middle of the hall ten feet behind him. Papers covered the floor...most of them unimportant material. Blood was smeared around the walls, sometimes forming what looked like handprints. Some of the handprints ran around up towards the ceiling.
At first Nathan lost his mind, losing his knowledge of what to do under these circumstances, but he soon figured out what to do.
Get out. Get out while you can.
Something's awfully unsettling about a lot of this, and I don't think most of it was an accidentsomething down here killed everyone, and whatever it was, it did all of it while I was asleep. The elevators don't work anymore, so I'm going to have to try escaping through the stairs.
Nathan turned and ran through the dim ground floor, searching for the door leading to the stairway. He nearly tripped over the other body that was behind him. The tip of his shoes made brisk contact with its face, which was shredded apart. Teeth appeared from where it's lips were torn off. Nathan continued to run. He ran until nothing else mattered to him—not even Fiorella, he was sorry to say.
The darkness made it very difficult for him to orient himself around the maze of the ground floor. The dead bodies strewn around the corners made it even more difficult. He made steady strides around each turn while eyeing the reflective security lenses mounted high up the wall to make sure he was alone while making those turns. After making several detours around the various halls, he stopped short, realizing what had just happened. He was lost.
Nathan kept turning around, spinning his body in every direction, causing the whole scene before him to spin and twist until it blurred. He frantically shot his eyes from one place to the next, unable to pinpoint where he was exactly. It all looked so different.
A dead woman sitting on a wheelchair stared at him. Her head was tilted to the side, with dozens of IV tubes trailing from her face. Her mouth was gaped for Nathan to see. From the darkness she continued to stare at him, threatening to come alive and stick her own set of tubes into his face. But Nathan wasn't really sure if she could do that once back from the dead. He noticed all her limbs were torn apart, along with her torso cleaved openjust like the first corpse he saw. Her long bundle of intestines hung low in the dim light, stretching down the wheelchair's seat until it touched the floor. From the darkness, her calm, dead eyes stared at him.
Nathan heard a noise behind him. It was the sound of some object hitting the wall. He spun around and looked down the hall at where it originated from.
A wheelchair had bumped into the wall. The plastic pouch suspended over it swayed a little from the impact. Nathan stood there and continued to watch that plastic pouch as he wondered what moved the wheelchair.
A faint shadow appeared on the floor behind the chair. It stretched, growing thin until a dark figure made its way around the corner. It moved slowly, dragging its foot. Nathan saw that its head was tilted to the side—just like the dead woman behind him. He continued to stand there, frozen at what he was seeing down the dark hall. As the figure grew nearer, Nathan began to see more of its features.
At this point, he was positive that the figure was an average-sized man of about 5'9", but whatever it was, he wasn't exactly acting like a normal man. He was struggling his way up to Nathan in a drunken swagger, nearly hitting the wall at some times. At first, Nathan thought the man was drunk and badly injured, until he noticed the amount of blood on him. And the facethe impossible face.
The man was missing half of it.
That's fucking impossible, Nathan thought, how—how could anyone live with most of their face gone like that? Pink flesh, slimy in texture took over most of the man's facial features. Except by now, it didn't look like a man anymoreit looked more like a thinga monster.
Its lips were gone, revealing a whole set of its teeth as it neared Nathan. Its eyeseyes that were no longer human shone out in the darkness as white spots. As it stood several feet away from Nathan, it opened its mouth and moaned, letting a rush of air from its opened mouth. Its arms then came forward, reaching for him as their distance narrowed. Nathan tried to run, tried to let his gut instincts take over, but all he managed to do was back away a few steps, frozen as his heart slammed against his chest. This wasn't happening, no, it wasn't happening. The thing ahead of him, hissing and wailing, came closer. Its hands now tried to grab for him, swiping around as he missed.
Nathan felt a pain in his right leg. A surging, excruciating kind of pain. He spun his head around, looking back with terrified eyes.
The dead woman that was sitting in the wheelchair was biting him in the leg. He had stumbled too close to the wheelchair. Her face, protruding with those tubes, was stuck against the back of his leg. She bit him. It bit him!
Nathan screamed, wildly shaking the thing off him. The wheelchair rolled back, causing the thing to slide off it and onto the floor as it remained firmly attached to his calf. Its intestines stretched across the floor, sliming whatever it touched. Its voice came out, wailing uncontrollably while it was muffled behind Nathan's leg.
The other thing—the lip-less man—was closing in behind him
Suddenly, rage took over Nathan. "You fucking bitch!" he yelled, swiping his leg around while the thing still held on. A couple drops of his blood flew into the wall. Her oral grip over his calf slipped off. Helpless, the corpse shook around, snapping her teeth as the tubes on her face wiggled. Nathan then brought his foot up and repeatedly slammed his heel down the monster's face, crushing it in as all the tubes mashed with it. Blood came up and drenched the bottom of his shoe.
A hand seized over Nathan's arm. The other thing had got him. It jerked his body into its opened mouth. It bit down onto Nathan's left arm and quickly pulled back, ripping only a piece of his shirt. Nathan was left undamaged. It then suddenly let go of his arm. Nathan fell back.
He got to his feet and hastily limped away, pursued by the man-thing behind him. It was now almost as fast as Nathan, taking brisk steps as he painfully dragged his leg. The wound in his leg wasn't too serious, but it was deep, and Nathan could feel the blood flowing down his leg as he quickly strode down the hall from the thing's grasp, passing more dead bodies along the way. They were all lying on the floor beside the wall. Nathan wondered if any of them would come alive like they did back in that hallway. His answer was yes. A hand grabbed his ankle, and he fell.
41
It has been a couple minutes since Claire took the exit into Raccoon City. Even though the whole trip was consisted of her driving in a straight line, it was nice to feel the wind smash against her face again. It was also nice to cruise at speeds over a hundred again as well. Claire liked the empty roadsthere were no limits, and she liked the idea of incorporating the "sky's the limit" attitude into her life.
The city lights began twinkling from the black void before her as she neared the destination. The city where her brother lived. Oh gosh, here she was faced with a chance to reunite with him, and she hadn't really prepared herself for any of this. What was she going to say? Hi Chris, sorry to bother you in the middle of the night? No way.
Claire sighed from under the intense drone of her motor. She was going to let time handle that. She usually fared well under impulsive situations that called upon quick thought and action. She was going to do that.
And what about your little associations with Bartowen?
Claire sighed again—this time, it sounded less casual, as if it were smothered with dread. She didn't know how to handle that secret for him. If it ever came out, she'd simply sayactually, she wouldn't know what to say. She didn't want to involve Chris, nor his S.T.A.R.S. friends in her personal vendettas. This was her matter, and she was to take care of it herself. She was going to take care of it all tonight.
The Master's comin to town
She slowed her bike when her eyes caught a few silhouettes on the road. She didn't know what it was exactly, but it looked like some kind of barricade to prevent cars from coming in and out. The barricade was made up of a bunch of police cars parked together, with cones, road blocks, spike strips, and every other road obstacle imaginable. Yet, no matter how foolproof it looked, it couldn't stop whatever broke through it.
Claire slowed down until she was at a sluggish 10 mph. She studied the wreckage in front of her. A large breach was centered in the middle of the barricade. Crushed squad cars and bullet-holed vehicles littered the road. Nobody was in sight. She remembered what the hit man on the phone had told her earlier, and it sent chills up her spine. He was right.
Today's gonna be a special day for Raccoon City—it'll be easy for you. No cops, no securitynothing to get into your way.
Claire bit her lip and sped through the breach in the barricade, entering the city limits. Her motorcycle's engine rumbled the silent night, causing dense reverberations. The city's first buildings would soon arrive, and Claire was feeling pretty hungry. Maybe before she went off to her job, it wouldn't hurt to go to some 24-hour diner where she could safely sink her teeth into some nighttime meal. That felt like a good idea, since she was starving her ass off.
Ahead of her, a diner by the name of Emmy's caught her attention. Maybe she'd go stop there to give her stomach something to do. Despite the time, (was it midnight?) she was guessing the store was open, since the lights inside were still on. Although from her perspective, Claire didn't see anyone in there. The place looked emptywhich was actually good, since she had to keep a low profile—couldn't risk it by going to larger restaurants like Burger Kong or other fast food chains.
She parked outside the diner, sighing contentedly to herself as she took off her helmet and stepped foot onto Raccoon City soil. She was finally here! With what should have taken five hours ultimately took the entire day to get here. What a shit on her part. But all that was behind her for the moment. What she needed now was something to eat, and here it was right in front of her.
Claire Redfield then walked into Emmy's diner, pushing open the door.
Leon yawned as he crossed the city limits. What annoyed him most about the city was how boring its outskirts came to be. The city was in the middle of nowhere, with forests, plains, farms, and hills spreading in all directions from it. That made entering and leaving the city a huge bore, since it was all nothing but a stretch of asphalt for the next hundred miles. For a bustling city like Raccoon, why did it have to be so secluded?
Ah, c'mon, Leon, what were you expecting around here? Overpasses and traffic? Go to the LA, you fuck-head! It's nice living the quiet life here!
"Yeah, quiet life," he said to himself, "sounds rather pleasant for a noisy guy like me." He chuckledand then abruptly gasped.
A body was lying in the middle of the street.
Leon put his foot on the brake, and the car skidded, stopping a few inches from the body. It had a flock of crows all over it. They fluttered off once his car stopped. Leon got out of the car, checking the body.
It was a womana dead, mutilatedwoman.
Leon grimaced at the sight on the road, nearly growing pale. He crouched to examine it. She was lying face-down on the asphalt—her face shredded away. A chunk of her waist area was missing. It made the rectangular shape of her torso look more like a puzzle piece than what it normally had been. A dark-red heap of opened flesh stood out from her side. It was about the size of Leon's head.
Shit, he thought, shaking his head, who the Hell would do something like this? Besides The MeatHook Manglerwho, or what?
And that was when Leon heard the noises—the moaning across from him.
"Hello!" Claire called out while looking around the corner, "is anybody here? Can somebody help me real quick? Hello!"
No reply. Geez, every place she went to always seemed to be so devoid of people. First there was the trailer, then there was the empty barricade; and now, here she was in the middle of an empty diner! What was the problem around here? Did Bartowen scare everyone off with his piss-sucking hit men? (No offense there, Ethan)
A pan sizzled behind the counter. Wavering bands of steam rose from the oil in it. It produced a fountain of grease raining over the stove. Nobody came to tend itnobody.
"Hello!" Claire yelled, making her way around the diner. "Is anybody here?!"
She was beginning to feel afraid now, just like the time when she found the trailer. Something wasn't right in here. It was like one of those old Twilight Zone episodes where you knew something wasn't right, and then the eerie music would come on before a very young Rod Serling walked into the picture. But this was not The Twilight Zoneit was something else. This was reality.
Claire began to form her curious steps into careful ones, slowly peeking around corners with wide eyes. Her ponytail nicked the back of her neck as it swayed. She made her way around another corner before the tip of her ear flinched from a noise in the room. She stopped, tilting her ear to where it originated from. It sounded like munching.
Well, that's probably where all the food's being served, Claire thought, following the noise. She walked to where it was.
A man was on the floor bent low over a dead body. His back was facing Claire. His face dug into the body's stomach, slurping, and sucking the large hole in the corpse's abdominal region. The man was eating the dead body.
Eating himeating the corpse. Oh my God
Claire stopped short, her eyes widening until it nearly filled her whole face. Her hands suddenly came up to her mouth. She let out a squeaky gasp.
Oh Godwhat is going on hereoh Godcannibals?
The man turned around.
His face was red in bloodand twisted, twisted beyond possibility. His eyes didn't have pupils in them, nor any form of life whatsoever. This wasn't a man she was looking it atit looked more like a monster. Like a zombie.
Claire took careful steps back—her legs shook as she did so. Her breathing began cutting away into stuttered breaths. The man ahead of her moaned, opening his mouth wide while blood dribbled off his chin.
"Look," Claire winced, putting her hands before her. She grimaced at the thing approaching her. "I don't want any troubleI just—just"
The man groaned, letting the blood gurgle up his throat. Claire wasn't entirely sure he understood what she said. He continued to lurch toward her with those pupil-less eyes that had no life in them. His arms came up, trying to grab her.
She backed away toward the window with terrified eyes locked on the cannibal. If she wasn't careful, the man—or thing—was going to sink its teeth into her belly and tear her flesh out like what it did to that corpse back there. She reached and grabbed the string to the blinds, pulling at them to make them go up. She hoped for someone out there to see her—a cop, or even some lowly bum—anybody.
The blinds came up, revealing two faces pressed against the window. Their faces were grey—pale from death. Their mouths opened, screaming through the glass and into Claire's petrified ears. She voiced out a small cry and shot back from the window.
They were all deadthe people, they were allzombies.
The zombie caught up to Claire and seized her, bringing her into its sharp, opened jaws. It was a real dead personit was a real zombieIt was all so real.
Claire?
What, Teresa.
I thought you told me there were no such thing as monsters, that they were nothing but manifestations' from Hollywood and crazy writersthey never existed.
I know, Teresa, I thought so too.
Then how come you are seeing one now, Claire. How come?
I don't know, honey, I just don't know
42
Leon pulled out his gun, surveying the crowd scuffling towards him.
Noises that lived in his childhood nightmares filled the street. From under the streetlights, several figures were struggling to reach Leon as he aimed his pistol at them.
"I want all of you to hold it right there!" his quivering voice shouted. Really, he couldn't believe what he was seeingthey all looked like zombies. "Freeze, I say! This is no fucking joke, I mean it! I will fire unless all of you stop right there!"
They all continued to move on and lessen their distance between him.
Beside his foot, the woman on the ground abruptly opened her eyes.
"I said freeze! I'm warning all of you! Stop in your fucking tracks before I open fire!" They didn't listen. The bodies still came at him.
Suddenly, Leon heard something beside his legs. At first, he thought it was a scream, but he soon felt the nudging against his leg. The woman was alive. She was grabbing Leon's ankle while sinking her teeth into his leg. He grimaced, gritting his teeth as the thing bit him. His arms sprang to life.
Leon's arms dove down, aiming at the woman's head. He shot her twice. Her arms immediately sprung away. Blood splattered from under the blazes of the gun. The blazes flashed over and caused mini-explosions rupturing her brain. A pool of blood developed over the twitching body. It spread out in an almost perfect circle within the body of the zombie.
The zombies ahead of him made indistinct sounds, moaning into the air.
Leon rose his pistol at them. The crowd was closing in. He estimated there were at least seven of themseven things weaving through the street trying to get him. The intensity of his breaths increased. His hands began to shake.
Just clear your mind, Leon, just clear that fucking mind—don't let it go shitty!
The things stood before him, moving slowly, while eager to tear him apart. Leon sidestepped around, backing away. He controlled his breathing, calming himself down. One of them was already a few meters in front of his face. Several more were trailing behind that particular one. Leon's only answer to this perplexing problem came down to this: Let em have it.
"All right," Leon said quietly to himself, "I've warned all of you..."
He then let go a flurry of bullets at the corpses.
He pulled the trigger furiously, aiming at one while swerving to pick out another, sounding out one long continuous click! click! click! click! In truth, he hadn't fired a single shot. Leon had spent most of the bullets back at the barn.
Oh shit.
He frantically brought his thumb at the magazine catch, sending the spent clip diving toward the ground. The sounds ahead of him were growing louder. He could smell their pungent odors now. His hand wildly dug into the pockets behind his vest, desper-ately searching for the 18-bullet magazine. When his fingers found it, the zombie's fingers found his uniform as well.
Its teeth came down onto the shoulder plate of his uniform, gnawing it while leaving a shine of saliva over the badge. Get the Hell off of me! Leon's eyes screamed. He could already feel its canines piercing his skin like a hypodermic syringe bent on releasing poison. But the thing was practically stuck there over his uniform, trying to chomp through the material. It never made it past the plates. Thank God for Kevlar.
Leon now had the clip in his hand, grimacing from the thing chewing at his shoulder. He slapped the magazine up the butt of his VP70. He yanked the slide, pulling his head away from the zombie as he pressed the barrel into its grimy face. The pressure caused a nib of flesh from its face to squirm from the gun's tip.
What the HELL are you doing, Leon?! They never taught you this in Acade—!
Hush up.
He shut his eyes and pulled the trigger.
Its head burst in a sea of red. The force of the shot snapped it across the street and left it dead on the asphalt, twitching helplessly. Leon shook his head from the effect the gunshot had on his ears and quickly wiped the blood from his face. He looked up.
And fired away at the approaching bodies while backing down toward Emmy's diner. He held them off as the bullets began to run out.
Claire had enough of this.
When she felt the arms reel in, pulling her face into its menacing jaws, her right hand grew furious. It reached over to the handle of her foot-long knife and yanked it free from its sheath. Claire Redfield then brought it around and swung the 8-inch blade across the zombie's throat, splitting it apart. She split it wide open.
This time, it was backing away, clawing its throat as the neck opened up in a rush of blood. The cut was deepdeep enough to cause half of the neck to go limp and bend back like the stem of a dying rose. Its head fell back—the neck became a hinge as it folded with the head's fall. The zombie's tongue wiggled out from the slit in the throat. Blood gushed all over the floor as the thing crashed to the ground.
Claire swallowed hard when she saw more zombies stepping towards her.
They filled the diner with mourning noises. Their heads were permanently tilted to the side. Limbs stiff with death, their bodies lurched clumsily. Already, they were getting closer to where Claire was.
She backed away, taking small glances behind her to make sure she wasn't surrounded. She saw a door back there. Maybe she could just escape through that door and get the Hell away from these things. She neared it, quickly backstepping toward its position. But just when she managed to do it, so did the zombies facing her. Claire lashed away with her knife, watching it slice a few fingers off while bringing red lines all over their arms. Blood flew in all directions. It laced the walls with the red liquid. It left a portion of the wall speckled in blood.
Can't hack them to pieces forever, her thoughts swarmed, get out, now! Break through that door before its their turn to hack you to pieces! She then quickly leapt back and twisted the knob to the door behind her and burst outside, spinning around to ready her escape. She suddenly froze in the middle of her steps. Her eyes widened in horror.
Claire Redfield found herself staring down the barrel of a handgun.
43
"Get down!" Leon shouted.
The girl wearing the funky biker outfit suddenly broke out in a silent scream as her
arms rose to shield her face. Leon saw it all in slow-motion. Her slender body dropped,
diving as her nice legs bent low. He saw her ponytail fling upward as if she had been
falling down—every brown strand silky as they rushed right through the air. As he
watched her descend into a crouch, he
Leon looked down at the girl, whose face was wrapped beneath her arms. Actually, she was more a woman than a girl. She had a huge Bowie knife in her right hand. Damn, the chick must know how to fight. He held out his hand when her face came out from under her arms.
"Sorry about that," Leon said stiffly, "but look—we gotta head to the station where it's safe. With the number of those things around here, you're not gonna make it without me. So you in or not?"
The woman blinked a little as she looked up at him. Her blue eyes were terrified, but pretty. Actually, she was damn pretty. She looked like one of those types that always got the cover of YMwhich Leon didn't mind checking out this very moment. This one was like an angel. But for the moment, angelic looks and sexy goddesses were things that had to be kept afar—they had to get out of here, fast.
She suddenly took his hand and he hoisted her up.
"You try anything stupid that can us killed" she threatened, "and I'll gut you like a fish, understand?"
Leon lifted his eyebrows at her. "Sure thing, ma'am."
They then left for his car.
44
Before Nathan lost his footing and crashed to the ground, he saw dozens of those things filling up the hall ahead of him.
He shot his hands out toward the linoleum coming up his face. His body impacted with the ground. Nathan wriggled helplessly as the swarm of corpses inched closer. He looked back at what grabbed his ankle.
The thing opened its mouth and bit down into Nathan's right leg, drawing blood. His blood smeared all over its lips as it groaned aberrant noises. Nathan screamed again, feeling the pain spread through his leg and debilitate his movement. He kicked at it weakly.
"Get your fucking mouth off me!"
Nathan felt it bite down harder, tearing the flesh from his leg. The pain in this leg was now beyond anything he could withstand. He let out another cry of pain that echoed past the hall without reply. He was alone down here, and nobody was going to help him.
The horde was now a few yards away
His hands groped around the shadows for something—anything he could use as a weapon. Surely, if his hands could find a pole or something
The monster's jaws drew away and came down over his shin.
Nathan grit his teeth, kicking up into the monster's face, marginally hurting it. The pain weakened his attacks. The thing then grasped his leg once again and tore a strip of skin from his shin, bringing more blood around the area.
"No!" Nathan screamed, bringing his fingers around a post used for hanging pharmaceuticals. The metallic pole tipped over and fell onto its side. Nathan seized it with both hands, bringing it over him and gripped it in the same manner a plumber held a plunger. He aimed for the thing's head, yelling in blind fury before ramming the post through it.
The tip of the pole mashed into its head, lancing a red hole through it. He pulled it back and rammed again, madly jabbing the same spot with overflowed frenzy. He speared it through its eye, its nose, its cheeks, its throat, and its brain. Blood splattered against Nathan's legs as he rammed it again—and again—and again—and again—and—
Fucking again!
He continued with the movement, showing his teeth in delirious rage as he bloodied the thing's head into a pulp. When it ceased to harm him, he slowly got up and faced the oncoming threat ahead of him. It was consisted of at least four more.
Nathan panted, bringing in shallow breaths as his heart hammered his chest. He held the post in his hands, eyeing the monsters.
Orzombies they looked like.
The zombies, each drenched in blood, lurched toward Nathan's position. The blood colored many of them red. Their faces were distorted beyond comprehension. They were all here for himhere because they were hungry, hungry for live human flesh.
Nathan's hands squeezed hard against the pole, adding more grip to it. The blood from the zombie dripped from the pole like mucus from a runny nose. He took a few steps toward the zombies and winded back, swinging up into their faces.
The tip contacted with one of them across the mouth, detaching the lower jaw in a cascade of blood. It spun away and bounced off the wall. The zombie flew sideways several feet, knocked off its footing for a while, before continuing towards Nathan again—its mouth leaking with blood.
Nathan drew a breath of despair. He had to decapitate them in order to kill them. That was what he had to do. It worked in the moviesit'd probably work here too. But shit, he couldn't do all that using this slim pole!
He brought the pole back and swung again.
One of them caught it. One of them actually caught it!
Nathan pulled back at the pole, tugging at it with dying strength. The pain in his leg was killing him. He tried pulling the pole back from the zombie's grasp, but the thing had its hands firmly put onto the thing. It yanked it out of Nathan's hands.
They were frail, but they were strongquick in a few of their movements
"Y-you can have it," Nathan surrendered. He backed away and forced himself around and tried to run. The pain in his legs screamed up his head again. He bit down, attempting to force away the pain using his will to survive. He dashed back down the hall to where the woman with the tubes in her face laid. His dashes became pathetic hops.
Gotta rungotta get out of here
The lip-less zombie that had almost killed Nathan appeared around the corner.
He gasped with widened eyes as he ducked under its swiping arms and ran past it. For the moment, it was wonderful to be short. If Nathan had been taller, the thing would have had him seized by the neck.
He now limped through the darkness of an empty hallway, hearing more moans echoing from across him. It was as if they were all picking up his scent. From every corner, he saw several shadows appear. The sight of them made him change directions around the place.
He had to find the door that led to the stairwayhe had to get out of here.
A few doorways passed him. Nathan tried all of them. They were locked. He tried searching for the door leading to the stairs, but the damn entrance was hidden some-where. He should have studied this floor more thoroughly during his volunteer days. The sounds of the dead began to intensify, sounding closer than they really were. It came from all directions. Nathan was trapped.
He limped into a space in the middle of the hall, resting his back against a wall as the sounds increased. He let himself slide down, sitting on the floor while the zombies went around the corners after him. Some of them moved fast—others moved as slow as frozen molasses. Nathan waited. He pressed his palms against the wounds, adding pressure to them. His hands filled up with blood. It filled the spaces between his fingers and ran off the back of his hand, dripping onto the floor.
The moans grew louder. Nathan continued to wait.
He continued to wait until this bad dream came to an end. He wanted to wake up from all of it. This wasn't happening—it was all a nightmare he was having. It had to be. He was still in the elevator, and everything was going by as normal as it should be. There were no living corpses walking around eating live people, and Washington Hospital was just going through another routine emergency that was to end now. Nathan Lieu was going to wake up from this silly dream to the real world where the power was back on, and he was to go home and get ready for school tomorrow. There weren't any zombies, and Nathan hadn't killed two of them—they were all part of the nightmare he was having now
Nathan squeezed his ankle, grimacing from the pain. If the whole thing was a dream, why couldn't he just wake up once he "pinched" himself? Why, dammit, why?!
Shadows appeared in front of himseveral seconds before they came.
Nathan didn't care. He simply sighed, sitting there.
He saw a heap of flesh in the corner of the space he sat in. A man's head—probably some guy in his forties—protruded from the bloody mass. His eyes were widened in terror, and his mouth was opened, locked in a scream. Nathan remembered seeing the guy a few times during volunteer work. He was a doctor. Across his short beard, blood moistened the fur-like hair on his face. His name, Nathan tried to think, was Dr. West—that was the name. He liked it when people just called him West. He had a girlfriend named Nina, who was a nurse on the third floor. They both loved each other very much. Nathan wondered where she was now.
They appeared before him, scuffling slowly while watching him with their whitened eyes.
Nathan sat there, allowing the distance between him and the zombies narrow down until it became a slit. He continued to wait.
They grabbed him and pulled him up, biting at him and tearing his flesh.
Nathan closed his eyes.
45
When they arrived to the car, Claire took the passenger side while the cop hopped right into the driver's seat. They were running out of time. The zombies were approaching the car in increasing numbers. Once Claire was inside, she took a disgusted glance at the backseat of the car. There was a dead body lying in the back. Its eyes were open, silently staring at her with dead eyes.
"Um," Claire mumbled, "there's a dead body in your—"
"Oh," the man shrugged, slamming the car door, "don't worry about that. He's one of mine."
She threw a questioned glance at him. Was he insane or something? Maybe he was one of those rent-a-cops that had too many bumps on the head during duty—shit, she didn't know. She'd best ask to make sure.
"You're a cop, right?" Claire asked, raising her eyelids at him. "I mean, I was just wonder—"
"Yep," he replied, strapping on his seatbelt, "first day on the job—pretty fucking great, huh? Name's Leon Kennedy."
Claire stared at him dumbfoundedly, widening her eyes. Guess he was a cop all right—a rookie cop, but a police officer of some sort by the least. She buckled her safety belt, nodding. "Claire RedfieldI'm looking for my brother."
"Well," he said while shifting gears, "it's a damn pleasure to serve you, Claire, you hold on tight."
The car then accelerated, running over the dead woman and nicking a zombie on the hip, hurling it off the side of the road. It landed with its hipbones disjointed. The others reached out with their arms, trying to grab the car as it sped off toward the Taxago station.
So Claire was her namenice. Leon swerved around a corner and missed a zombie trying to grab the car. Damn were they fast whenever it came to grabbing things. It almost scared him half to death to find them crowded around places chasing them. It seemed as if they were all tuned together to hunt the both of them. He passed the Taxago station to his right before noticing something ahead of them. The road leading into the Northeast Section—the safe route—was blocked off by dozens of cars. Smoke rose from the vehicles as flames cooked the barricade. There was no way they were going to get through. Shit. He was now forced to take the route leading directly into the Northern Section—the most crowded, congested area in the whole city. And Downtown Ryuken Street was filled with cars
Leon braked, causing the car to skid to a stop in the middle of the street.
Claire let out a gasp beside him. "Why the Hell did you stop?"
"That road up there is blocked," he pointed. "We gotta take the other route back there—it leads to the Northern Section, which I don't think will be very pretty."
She looked in the direction he pointed to. Around the gas station, hundreds of zombies were making their way down towards the car. Hundreds. For them to get on that road, they would have to drive through that area. Oh my God.
"There is no way we're gonna get past that," Claire shook her head, "there's justtoo many of them!"
"Never enough to get in my way" Leon replied, his eyes gleaming. He punched the stick to D and slammed the gas pedal. The car roared to life—its tires skidding the street. It accelerated, gathering more speed as it closed in on the horde of corpses ahead. The needles on the instrument panel rose. Leon held the wheel firmly, concentrating on the opening within the crowd. He saw a small gap and focused the car into it. He was gonna make it; they were gonna make it. This car was gonna ram through it.
"You know, if you fear the sight of blood," he said while turning to face Claire, "I suggest it'd be best you closed your eyes."
She took a deep breath under the drone of the engine and shut her eyelids.
The car zoomed through the open street, slicing the air and narrowing its distance from the gas station. The living dead loomed ahead. They quickly expanded in size as they neared. Leon turned his head away to brace the impact. A crowd of at least twelve stood in the waythen behind them, twenty—and beneath that, he didn't know.
The Chevy Caprice slammed through the bodies, splashing blood all over the windshield. Leon kept his foot on the gas. He heard a crash as the glass cracked. Blood oozed through the spider webs appearing over it. Another crash rocked the car. It jolted Leon's body as he grit his teeth to keep the wheel in place. They hit four more, sending their burst remains from the raging automobile. A detached arm spun off the roof. A head rolled from the hood. A pair of legs struck the headlights, shattering them. Leon then stomped on the brake. The car skidded off, stopping in a vacant space in the middle of the road that lead to the Northern Section. Claire opened her eyes, noticing where they were.
"We'vemade it," she said, her eyes lighting up, "Leon, you just remind me, the next time you try anything stupid, I won't have to gut you, okay? I owe you one." She squeezed out a smile. For a moment she didn't believe she actually did that.
Leon smiled back. "You got that." He then stepped out of the car.
Below Taxago's glowing sign, the zombies changed courses, turning around to limp in the direction of the car. They all saw him exit the vehicle. A small gap in the crowd was visible from where the car plowed through. The army of corpses continued to make their way down to the car from the gas station. They were unwary of the gas leakage behind them, where gasoline had been spewing from a broken pump for a while. The yellowish liquid splurged from an opening that ultimately lead into the tank underground. It splashed everywhere, trailing off in various directions. Some of the fuel formed a river snaking down toward the car, forming a thick puddle. The zombies continued to moan through the night as they advanced. They wanted the two survivors; they wanted to devour and feed off their bloody remains.
Leon dug into his pocket and pulled out his lighter. Over its gold body, his initials were embroidered over it. He flicked open the cap and sparked the flame from its port-hole. It wavered around the small nozzle searching for something to combust. Leon bent down and lit the puddle of gasoline by his foot.
When it lit, he saw the bluish aura spread from the flame. The flame followed the trail of gasoline, moving past the shuffling feet of zombies toward the leaking pump in the station. Leon had several seconds to leave. He turned and hopped into his car.
Claire watched him. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. He—this cop— was about to ignite the whole station.
"I hate Taxago," he said while shifting the transmission and putting on his seat-belt, "their prices are too high."
"I see," she nodded in agreement. Crazy cop, her thoughts added.
The flames scoured the ground, zooming closer to the source. It reached the vomiting pump, crawling high into the air and catching the liquid afire. Before it dove down into the gas pump, exploding the entire station, it formed a brilliant, fizzled decoration over the spewing gas that looked like the top of a palm tree.
Claire squinted from the explosion brightening the night sky. She saw the gas pump ignite in a ball of flames. A thunderous rumble followed that. As the car sped away, the whole ground suddenly came up in an eruption of rolling fire. The concrete from the station came up also. Zombies were thrown in the air while being engulfed from the rush of flames. A few of them emerged from the inferno coated in licking flames, looking like the human-torch character from The Fantastic Four. Claire drew a deep breath.
The station exploded again. The towering Taxago sign swayed upon its base and fell over the station, slamming into the ground in a shower of sparks and debris. It crushed a couple zombies along the way, smothering them as the serrated edges slashed them to ribbons. An enormous mass of rising flames came up, forming a mushroom cloud that filled the sky.
The car rushed past the Raccoon City limits sign. Claire saw bullet holes along with patches of blood decorating the sign. She stared at it, wondering what was left of this city. She heard another thunderous roar from behind as the station lit up in another fiery explosion. The windshield wipers came on, swiping blood from the glass.
"Oh, and I forgot to mention" Leon said while keeping his eye on the road, "welcome to Raccoon City."
Claire gave him another perplexing look. "Thanks."
46
Sherry Birkin was aware of the fine line between fact and fiction. It was easy: fact was what's real; fiction was what's fake. She was old enough to tell the difference and was able to distinguish them apart like night and day.
But what she was experiencing now blurred everything.
She remembered watching zombies on television. She once came upon a movie called Night of the Living Dead, where dead bodies came alive and began to eat the living. She watched the black and white version, and had trouble falling asleep that night. She just couldn't live with the possibility of being eaten alive by thosethings. (They're coming to get you, Sherry!) Just imagining them lumbering around, waiting for you to screw up disturbed her. The way their tilted heads stared at you through the windows at night, watching you, made her tremble. Watching them eat other helpless, screaming victims was worse. Knowing they were real, along with the fact that they were stronger and faster than the ones played by actors on TV completely reduced her to a state of trauma.
Her hands shook as she heard the moans from the hallways. Even though she was in the ceiling vents, they somehow knew she was up there. They crowded around areas beneath her, staring up as the taller ones tried reaching for her. Whenever she saw them, they made eye contact. It seemed as if she could never hide from them. They were always looking for her.
The Aid Spray's contents sloshed while she crawled through the tunnel. Her mother had always told her to spray herself whenever she got hurt, and the infection would go away. Not only would it do that, but it actually sealed the wound together like magic. She remembered watching the cut on her finger vanish when she first tried it. Sherry often wondered why the spray never became popular, since whatever in it was so useful.
The noises followed her from belowwavering around the halls, encouraging her to screw up so they could consume her. She moved faster, squeezing her intense breaths to wheezes. She saw dozens of dead bodies strewn all over the ground floor as she passed over the meshed vent ports. The sight of them made her crawl faster, creating that buh-bump, buh-bump sound as the sheet metal supporting her bent inward and outward.
She began to see a faint light nearing the end of the tunnel. It looked like a well-lit room was down there. If it was what she thought it was, then she could just make her way and slide down the hole in the vent and into that room. That sounded like a good idea.
Sherry then crawled to that destination, keeping that idea in her head. Her hands were sweaty; they were slippery against the smooth, aluminum sheeting. Her knees were beginning to ache from being in this crawling position for so long. She hoped to sit herself down somewhere before her pain got any worse.
The vent uttered a creak! beneath her. She stopped, turning her head around.
It was starting to give away
Sherry winced, breathing heavily as she looked around. Oh please, not now, not now, don't break away now
From under her frightened self, the aluminum sheeting burst open, causing her to slip out and fall in the air. She let out a short scream that was cut short as her twelve-year-old body smashed against the ground. Her knees hit first, engulfing her legs in icy pain. Once she felt that, her hands came down and cushioned her fall.
Sherry gripped her knees, gasping from the fall. She looked up.
The zombies shot their hands out and tried to grab her. Despite the pain, Sherry leapt to her feet and ran back down the hall, screaming. The gnarled hands missed her. Sherry screamed again, raising her voice to a gasping shriek. She hoped for someone in this godforsaken hospital to hear her. She hoped for it real bad.
When Nathan felt the pain tearing through his flesh, he was positive this was no dream. In fact, he was so sure, it jolted him awake from his suicidal behavior.
The fuck were you thinking, his conscience cried out, stupid—so fucking stupid of you to trap yourself here while saying hey, it's all a biiiig, baaaaad dream.' Not only are you gonna die, my boy, but you're gonna die because of something stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Wake up, dammit!
And that was when he heard the scream.
You hear that, you suicidal son of a bitch? That's the scream of life calling your name. Life! Stop gluing your ass to the floor while the undead are tearing you up. Get to work! Go find some weapon and answer that call of life!
"That ain't the scream of life," Nathan groaned to himself, "it's a little girl."
He opened his eyes and burst to his feet. He was up.
But they were up around him also.
The things had already tore a considerable amount of skin from his left arm. One of
their jaws came down and scooped a large patch of skin to
He screamed again, trying not to die from shock. He let his adrenaline become his painkillers. Nathan shook the zombies away, madly swinging his arms. Blood from his wounds stretched in the air and shattered into little droplets.
One grabbed his left hand and bit into his fingers. Nathan shrieked, drawing his other arm back and ran his fingers through its eyes. His fingers squished through the rotting eyeballs. He hooked it back, bringing out blood and clear liquid from its eyes. Its jaws let go of his hand. Nathan pulled it back and quickly glanced at it, making sure he hadn't lost any fingers in the process. Blood sluiced down his arm. He was nearly covered with it.
More of them grabbed him; they now filled the entire space he was trapped in. Nathan had to get to where that scream came from. He shook them off, pushing them away as more walked forward to replace their fallen brethren. He groaned furiously. He dropped to the floor. Out of all the things he could think ofhe simply dropped to the floor.
Actually, it was a good idea.
Using leverage from the wall behind him, he pushed with his foot and slid under the zombies, squeezing his way through their legs. A few of them caught his ankle, but for some reason they let go once he made it farther through them. Nathan left a trail of smeared blood on the floor as he slid over it. He tried not to lay eyes on it.
Once he freed himself, he got up and tried to run, noticing there were five zombies trailing behind him. Nathan was now moving as slow as ever—he was limping like an old man, dragging his leg as he clutched his shoulder and arm. In terms of speed, he didn't have much in him. He wouldn't be surprised if a few of them caught up to him and snatched him away.
He heard more of the girl's screams from down the hall, Nathan limped to it.
As he neared its origin, he began to feel dizzy, as if he was about to pass out. The world spun around him. Wherever his wounds were, it made his limbs numb. Whatever it was, he continued on with it until he saw the girl appear from around the corner. Her face was pale beyond fear, but had enough color to be human-looking. After studying her face a bit longer, he noticed it was the girl with the dog earlier in the day. The quiet girl named Sherry.
Nathan reached an arm out, leaning forward. "Hey," he groaned, "Sherry"
She stopped in front of him, eyes widened as she saw the zombies behind him. Behind her, Nathan could see her own pack of zombies pursuing her as well. They were surrounded.
She took his hand. "Q-q-quick," she stuttered a bit, "go down this way, I-I think it'll be safe." She then pulled him, leading him down the hall forking from the one they were in.
Nathan wearily followed wherever she led him. He limped terribly.
"C'mon," she cried, tugging harder, "fasteror they'll get us!"
He widened his limps, nearly hopping as he went along. He looked back and saw their pursuers come together and turn, facing their position.
He felt Sherry adding more to her pulls. The gold locket suspended from her chain bobbed rhythmically. Her short, blonde hair swung in the same way.
"Hurry!"
Nathan pushed himself harder; it seemed like he lost feeling in both legs already. The zombies were now nearing a few feet away. Nathan could already feel the touch of their cold fingers against his neck.
Sherry found the door to the lounge. She grasped the doorknob with her fingers and pushed the door open, dragging Nathan in with her. His weight was immense—it felt more like pulling a horse than an actual person. His body crossed the threshold of the doorway once she made it through. As he entered the lounge, shadows began appearing before the entrance. Sherry gasped, running to the door. If they made it through, the both of them were goners.
"Close the door!" Sherry shrieked, jittering wildly, "help me close the door!"
Nathan frantically brought himself behind the wooden surface, bringing his hands over its edges. He leaned against it, pushing it forward. The heavyset door swung back on its hinges. Nathan could hear the moans as they closed the door. Between the narrowing slit of the doorway, he could see them peering inside.
An arm shot through the gap, knocking them back a little. It probed for something to grab. Sherry screamed, pushing against the door with a reddening face. Nathan pulled his lips back, showing his teeth. The skinless arm hopped around and landed on his left shoulder. Its fingers gripped his shirt and pulled, stretching the linen.
"Oh, Hell no!" Nathan clamored. He jerked the door back, knocking Sherry off in the process, and slammed his body against the door. It let go of him. He then drew back again and threw his shoulder back into it, ramming through. Blood ran off the door's side. Nathan repeated the movement. More blood oozed off, trickling down. The arm pulled itself back, and Nathan slammed the door closed. He fell to the floor, gasping for air. They did it. They were away from themfor now.
"We mustn't stay here too long," Sherry said quietly, "they could break through that door."
Nathan widened his eyes at her. "What, they can do that?"
She nodded. They then looked at the door.
Hammering thuds trembled it. A faint crack bellowed from the wood.
47
"So you're telling me you don't have the faintest idea of what went on around here," Claire asked skeptically.
Leon cursed as high-pitched static screamed from the intercom. "Radio ain't workin," he scowled. He then nodded while bringing his eyes to the road. "Yeah, all I heard before I left was something about a contamination caused by this silly fuck behind us. Other than that," he shook his head, "I don't know."
Claire looked behind her and saw the corpse. Its blank eyes watched her. She heard about The MeatHook Mangler on the news the other day. They said on their report that he was responsible for several crimes including manslaughter and terrorism. There were even rumors of him having connections to some soda company. Claire never imagined she would actually find herself face to face with his dead bodylet alone chased by actual zombies.
"Do you believe what's going on in this town," Claire asked without looking at Leon. "You know, about the zombies everywhere."
He sighed. "I wish I didn'tthen it could all turn out to be some dream."
Claire nodded a bit, looking down. She then looked at him, noticing his features.
Despite his floppy hairstyle, Leon looked a bit cute. She knew she was going to regret ever thinking about that, but she really thought so. He didn't look as good as Ethan, but he was desirable in a few points. He wore a strange uniform, though. It was this tight, blue outfit with some bulletproof material over it. On both his shoulders, she saw what looked like some insignia of the department badge sewn there. Under that silly uniform, she could make out a built, somewhat muscular frame. Claire then took her eyes off him.
"So I take the both of us agree that we're against zombies, right?" Leon asked, turning his head at her.
"Yeah, I guess," she nodded. "I mean, they walk like they do in the movieseat human fleshdie by decapitation."
"How bout if you get bitten, would you become one?"
They remained silent for a while. It was evident they didn't know.
"Did any of them get to you?" Claire asked.
Leon shook his head. "No, one of them almost had me, but it never made it past my clothes. How bout you?"
Claire examined herself, checking to see if any of them left stray marks around her. "Nope," she answered.
"Then we're both set," Leon said, "just don't get yourself bitten. Simple, just like that."
Simple, just like that.
A sneer suddenly appeared behind Claire's lips. That was Bartowen's phrase. He always said that whenever he addressed the rules. Whenever the phrase came up, she felt like slitting the speaker's throat. But she knew Leon had no part with Bartowenshe doubted the cop even heard of the name. She tried to cool herself down.
He looked at her. "You all right there? You look a little tense."
Claire shook her head, plastering a fake smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"Well whatever it is, you tell me, since I can't afford to have any secrets. We're in a tight situation here, and if we keep anything big from each other, it'll bring nothing but trouble. So no more secrets—you gonna keep your word?"
She stared at him for a while before replying. "Yeah," she said, "I will."
"Good, because I can't live with thatit's just intolerable, you know?"
Claire nodded. Beside her legs, far from his sight, she crossed her fingers. There were a few exceptions to her promise with him. He was never going to know about Bartowen. She was to keep that secret for as long as possible.
The Caprice braked, swerving around the corner headed toward Downtown Ryuken Street. The sound it made as the tires skidded the ground echoed through the silence of the city. Zombies picked up the sound from blocks away. They turned their heads and slugged their way down its direction.
Far behind the Caprice, a gas truck cruised past the signs of the Northern Section, heading toward the black and white squad car. The driver, whose name was Bill Mud-stone, (Dey chall mhee tha stoned mudsta!) sat behind the wheel with his arms to his side. He hadn't touched the wheel for sometimesince he was dead, momentarily. As Mudstone began to change, he remembered his incident at the Taxago station.
Bill hadn't known about the incident in Raccoon until he witnessed the odd behavior of the people up there. Here he was, a forty-five year-old trucker with six kids, a nagging wife, three appearances on Springer, and a trailer that was about as old as he was. How strange could the life of "tha stoned mudsta" get? Speaking in absolute sarcasm, Mudstone had the most average life of any American fat-ass. He was the county drunk, being one of the few who enjoyed cussing his wife out in public. He had bacon and rare eggs every morning despite his doctor's warnings. He never saw his kids—in fact, he never even met his sixth runt! He was a monster to housewives across America, but he was a hero to his Monday Night Football friends back at the bar.
What more could Mudstone want besides a big bite in the arm?
Bill had fond memories of Taxago. Working in part for Exxon, he enjoyed stopping by late at night to piss over Taxago's flashy sign. He never really had much against the gas station, but what the Hell, there was nothing like a little corporate rivalry behind enemy lines.
And it so happened that the shit got him killed.
When he arrived to Raccoon, the burning sensation in his ass increased. Bill suddenly found to his horror that he needed to take a shit, quick. He snickered at a thought of actually shitting at the Taxago station looming ahead of him. He didn't mean shitting there, as in going to their fucking lavatory or anythinghe was gonna shit right on their station! What fucking fun!
So Bill held his crap in and stopped in the middle of the station, getting out the car before pulling down his pants to shit beside their gas pumps. He swore to himself, out of all the fucking times he's taken a shit, this particular shit was by far the best shit in his life. It was probably better than sex, but any form of shitting was better than sex with his wife. That was how far the bitch had edged over in the ugliness department. The sad woman aged by the minute.
Once Bill finished taking his shit, eyeing around for any spectators, he ran to the other side of his vehicle and suddenly happened upon the ugliest store clerk to ever walk the face of the earth. I mean, this guy was a freak. His face was missing so many patches of skin, it wasn't even funny. The color of his face was a stark white, and his eyes were, it looked like, clear. Another thing about him was that he was probably mentally retarded or something as he kept moaning whenever he came near.
And along with that, he bit a good-sized chunk off of Bill's arm.
"You crazy fuck!" Bill hollered, swiping his body off.
He threw the guy—or thing—back, losing a fist-sized piece of his biceps in the process. Blood squirted in a spray of droplets. Bill growled—not the same growl when he got kinky in bed, but a furious roar. He got the crazy gas manager flying off, shattering a window before falling on his back. The son of a bitch soon got back to his feet.
At the sight of that, Bill just leapt into his car—he didn't know what the Hell he was dealing with here, but it was some scary shit. The gash on his arm threw blood all over his shirt. It was a white shirt too, damn.
"Bastard, fucking maniac," he growled, starting the car, "why'd he bite me?!"
He slammed his foot down the gas pedal and aimed his truck for a gas pump—he wanted to do a little "return of bad service." He nicked it with the front fender. The gas pump burst open, spewing the shitty Taxago fuel all over the street. Bill just wished he had a lighter so he could combust the station, but whatever was back there scared all the shit from him he couldn't even think about it.
After that happened, he began to feel dazed as if he had several shots with the bong—and moments later, voila! Here he was, sitting dead with his hands at his side as he speared straight through the street toward the black and white squad car.
48
"Could you open that case real quick," Leon said, throwing a glance over to Claire.
She looked at him. "You mean the glove compartment?"
"Yeah."
Claire pulled the lever, bringing down its hinged door. The light came on in the space, lighting up what she saw inside. It was a guna handgun.
"There's a gun inside," she said, eyeing the silver weapon.
Leon smiled. "No shit there's a gun insidebetter take it with you, might increase your life expectancy. Have you ever used one before?"
Claire took it out, holding it before her eyes. She checked both sides of the firearm. It was a Browning HP. It had a capacity of thirteen 9x19 parabellum rounds—less than the eighteen in Leon's Heckler & Kotch. She flicked off the safety and pressed the magazine catch with a stroke of her thumb. The clip slid out. Claire held it, making sure there were thirteen bullets before slapping it back in place. She pulled back the slide and let go, snapping the bullet into the chamber. It made a metallic slapping sound.
"Whoa, so I take you can shoot pimentos from olives at ten meters as well?" Leon asked, amazed.
"Fifteen meters," Claire answered, holding the gun out before her. She closed one eye and stared down the fore sights, making sure everything was aligned and straight. Perfect. Looked as if he hadn't given her a piece of shit as she thought so at first.
"I'm impressed," Leon commented, eyeing the road. "So I can call you Lara Croft, right?"
Claire lowered her gun and smirked. "Just call me Claire Redfield," she said. "I hate that Euro bitch—her breasts are too big, and she doesn't look a thing like me."
"Oh, you know I was just joking—no offense there."
"None taken," she said, staring at the gun. "And by the way, thanks for the Browning, Leon. I enjoy your hospitality, really."
Leon smiled again. This Claire was charming up by the minute. "Actually, I thank you for being there at the right time," he said awkwardly. He didn't really get what he just said, but he hoped it was enough to make her feel better—she was looking a bit too grim already.
"Um, thanks," he heard her say. She simply gave him one of those puzzled looks.
"Well, I actually meant" Leon paused, sighing. "Never mind," he chuckled.
A pair of arms grabbed him from behind. They felt cold and bloody.
"No!" Leon lost control of the car, swerving it off the road to speed through a trash can. The aluminum cylinder flipped over the bumper and flew into the windshield, spreading bits of glass all over them. Once he knew the zombie was Kyle Somers resurrected in some miraculous way, he floored the car. That's right, he floored the fucking car!
The wheels spun faster, pushing the hunk of metal to top speed.
The mouth that belonged to Kyle opened wide, diving over Leon's neck. Claire leered back and watched in horror. She was paralyzed in fear. The two struggled as Leon shook away the ravenous jaws.
The Caprice entered a wide alley, zigzagging within the space. It swerved left, then rightinto the wall, grinding its side against the brick building. Sparks showered off in brilliant cascades. The passenger window shattered. Claire shielded her face from the flying glass. Leon yelled, pulling out his pistol. Claire raised her own pistol at Kyle. She aimed for his head. The car rocked, throwing them in various directions. The zombie's arms struck her, knocking her gun off. Leon screamed, swinging the wheel around. He stomped on the brake, swiping the wheel around as far as he could.
The car spun , dizzying the both of them as the world momentarily blurred. The back of the Caprice struck a sign, throwing everybody back. Leon and Claire crashed backwards against the cushioning of their seats. Kyle flew from the back window of the car, shattering through the glass and into the tabs of the street sign, where it impaled him across the stomach. He hung there upside down. Protruding from his abdomen, covered with blood, the sign read: Downtown Ryuken Street.
Leon shook his head, touching his neck. He turned and looked at Claire.
"You all right?"
Claire swiped some glass off herself. "Still in one piece," she voiced. "How bout you?"
"Holy shit!"
Claire gasped. "What—what?!"
"That fucker's gonna ram us!"
Bill Mudstone's truck headed straight for the police car. He was no longer "tha stoned mudsta." He was technically referred to as a zombie. His frost white face stared from behind the windshield in an eerie calm. Full of Exxon fuel, (and not Taxago's) the tanker moved like a train, zooming unscathed toward its destination. It struck a two-door along the way, sending the cheap car spinning off. Nothing was going to stop it from reaching the squad car. Nothing.
"Get the Hell out!" Leon clamored, shoving his car door open. From the side of his eye, he saw Claire doing the same. He just hoped she was faster than he was, since that gas truck was heading fast.
The truck grew larger, revealing its flame decals that resembled the ones on Claire's bike.
They parted ways from the car, going their own respectable directions. Leon rolled off from the driver's side; Claire leapt from the passenger side. And the truck smashed into Leon's beloved car.
The black and white Caprice crushed together like an aluminum can in a trash compactor. Leon saw it in slow motion. The gas truck ran into it, flattening the car as it rolled off and fell over to its side, mashing itself against the building. The two large tanks of gas rammed each other, still traveling as objects in motion tend to stay in motion. Obeying the laws of physics, the tanks crashed into the truck.
And exploded.
Leon dove forward, leaping as far as possible from the explosion. Flames burst from the tank, filling the sky with raging heat. The noise rumbled the silence of the street. The entire area lit up. It cast a red-orange tint all over the corner of Downtown Ryuken Street.
Leon took a few steps toward the wreck. He couldn't see anything but a wall of flame. "Claire!"
It took a few seconds for her to reply.
"Leon!" a faint voice answered.
"We're sealed from each other—there's no way I can get over there! Head to the station where it's safe, I'll meet you there!"
After a few seconds, he heard her voice again. "Where's the station?! "
"You're close to it! Just pass the shed and the retail shop!"
"Okay, I'll do that! I'll see you there, then!"
Yeah, if only I can make it there also, Leon thought. He then backed away from the burning cars, which brightened the dark street. To his left, a tailor by the name of ARUKAS welcomed him, along with Yuki's Electronics Boutique on the corner to his right. He had his gun in his hand now. It was fully loaded with 18 slugs. He had an extra clip to go along with that. He was alone now.
Alone with strange noises surrounding him.
49
Claire rose her gun at the man approaching her. He was wearing a black, hooded sweater and some blue jeans. Typical clothes, despite being a bit outdated. But he was missing an arm. Claire studied the zombie behind her pistol sights. The whiteness from its bone glowed from within the red of its socket. Its remaining arm reached for Claire, hands opened, splaying its fingers. Spots of gnashed flesh and muscle tissue dotted the zombie's skin. It lurched for her, inching its way like a wounded animal.
Claire kept her aim on it, realizing she only had thirteen bullets.
They moved so slowyou could just run right past them.
And that's what she did. She ran from them.
Its arm swiped for her and missed, knocking itself off balance. Two more were lumbering ahead, reaching out to grab her. Their hands didn't even come close. Claire zipped by all of them as if they were nothing but statues. She continued to run, staying as far away from them as possible. She still couldn't believe the entire city was full of these thingsthese zombiesit just didn't seem right.
She passed a hotdog stand advertising the new Blue Coke. It was crushed in the midst of two cars. The light from the fires helped orient her more. She kept on running until a motorcycle lying on its side appeared. Road blocks were positioned behind the bike, along with an old car that had stopped before a lamppost. A gate was to her right.
Claire immediately opened it, hearing it creak around its hinges. She slammed it back in place. The dead followed her, but were trapped as they tried beating down the gate. All they did was shake it. She then found herself in the back entrance of some store.
A crushed Mack truck stood in ruin against the store. It looked like a giant wad of aluminum foil. To her left, another doorway stood there. Claire ran to it, noticing what it was. It was a shed.
You're close to it! Just pass the shed and the retail shop!
Claire tried the door, noticing it was unlocked and opened it before going in.
She then slammed it shut and rested her back to it, panting like crazy. What a day.
50
"Here, spray yourself with some of this," Sherry said while offering Nathan the Aid Spray. "It should make you feel better."
Nathan groaned, his hand shook as he took the canister. Blood from his fingers smeared all over it. "This stuff really work?" he asked, studying the green cross on its labels.
Sherry nodded. "I've tried it on myself already. Go ahead."
He sighed, grasping the Aid Spray in his hands. The pain was causing him to see spots all around him. If he wasn't treated immediately, he'd die within the next hour. But what the Hell was this stuff? He remembered packing one of these into the pharmacy folder, along with hearing about it being "easily contaminated." It was also made by Umbrella—how could he trust this shit when it was made from a company he hated so much?
"You sure there isn't any long-term effects from using this?" Nathan asked.
"Well how should I know," she shrugged, "I'm just a kid!"
"Yeah, well what if it gives me cancer or—"
Something beat against the door, sounding out a sharp thud. The zombies were still out thereand they still wanted to get in.
"All right," Nathan finally gave in. He didn't have much of a choice anyway. He held the spray can firmly over his left arm. His heart beat faster when he saw it. Over his forearm, a bite-wound the size of a small egg gaped at his eyes. Blood squirmed from spaces in his muscle tissue—it was still bleeding. Nathan sprayed it, closing his eyes.
A fine mist fizzed from the tiny nozzle, hissing in one long sssssssssss! Nathan felt sharp pain where the mist hit—it felt like pouring a bottle of alcohol over it. A few seconds later, the pain vanished, and was replaced by a euphoric feeling that made Nathan want to spray in more.
"Please," Sherry begged, "don't use it all!"
He released the button, taking a deep breath. He opened his eyes, dropping his jaw as he looked at the results.
It was dried up. It deteriorated to nothing but a scab.
"My gosh," Nathan laughed. "How—how did it do that!"
Sherry just looked at him, blinking. "See, I-I told you."
"Hey, thanks," he smiled. "Mind if I use some more?"
She shook her head. "Just don't be stingy."
Nathan Lieu then sprayed the rest of the wounds, bringing him from a dangerous condition back to a fine one. The can worked like a miracle drug—why hadn't it become popular? It could replace any form of disinfectant. Some things just worked in mysterious ways. Once he was finished, he handed it back, noticing its contents were almost gone.
"You know," Nathan said, moving his arms and legs around. The pain had disappeared. "You saved my life there, Sherry. Thank you."
She simply nodded, wiping the blood off the can. "Thank the can."
Nathan chuckled a bit, feeling the scabs around him. He was feeling wonderful.
The door to the lounge cracked, throbbing like a heart. After a few minutes, the door would give in.
Nathan got up and rummaged through a bag on the table. He found some First Aid material, including a roll of bandage and a small sidepack. He was about to abandon them until he noticed something about his scabs. Some of them began cracking open, letting out blood. He grabbed the roll and the pack, quickly wrapping his opened wounds with bandages, and stuffed it into the pack. He then stood up, looking around.
They were trapped here. All he saw was nothing but walls and tables.
Sherry stood aside, looking up at him. "What are we going to do?"
Nathan stared at the tables, then looked back at the collapsing door. He turned around and crouched so he stood shorter than Sherry.
"You think you can help me push those tables against the door, so those things won't get in here?"
Sherry looked at him with sad eyes. "But what are going to do after we do that?" her frightened voice asked. "I-I don't feel like s-staying here!"
Nathan sighed. He was just a volunteer here. "I don't know. I guess we'll have to find something along the way"
"I'm scared," she said with a grim face. "We're going to die, aren't we?"
Nathan stood up, taking deep breaths. He rested a hand over her shoulder. "Not if you help me bring those tables back there."
From the crack in the door, a pair of eyes peered from the opening. Moments later, skinned arms squirmed through, shoving their way in like night crawlers.
51
Leon raised his gun and shot the zombie ahead of him. He shot it five times. Its body rocked from each bullet, falling down. It got up again.
"Godammit, how many shots does it take," Leon clamored, taking a few steps forward. He added three more to its chest, throwing it back a few feet. Cartridges flew all over the place, bouncing off cars and buildings while uttering clink-clinks wherever they went. The thing continued at him, raising its arms again. Blood gushed from the holes on its chest. It moaned, opening its mouth at him.
Leon fired again, rapidly pulling the trigger until the corpse fell back, convulsing on the floor. He brought his foot to its chest, pointing the pistol to its face.
"Live through this." He then pulled the trigger until his ears screamed from the deafening reports. Red gore splashed in all directions. The thing's head mashed in a flurry of flying meat. With every flash from the VP70, blood splattered. Leon madly jabbed the trigger, bringing down more lead over its eyes, nose, mouth, and brain. Smoke rushed from the tip of the barrel once he was finished. Half the monster's head was gone—the other half was a bloody mess of smoldering flesh.
Twelve bullets spentLeon shouldn't have wasted so much. He looked up.
Six more were slouching his way. If he spent twelve bullets on just onethen how was he going to take on six?!
Leon fled. He ran forward, trying to dodge the hands reaching for him.
Arms, arms that used to belong to average men, appeared from all directions snatching and clawing his body towards their grimy selves. A bunch of these grimy things looked familiar. One of them was a cop. He had his chest impaled by three bullets that were not Leon's, but he was still alive. Except he was hungry. His teeth came out, rushing into Leon's arm. He bit him.
"No!"
He shook them off, receiving another bite on his shoulders. The crowd had caught him, and the six then surrounded him, grasping him before sinking their teeth down a new area. He screamed. He shoved one, tossing it into a few of them. The force knocked them off like bowling pins as they fell onto their backs. Leon took this opportunity and leapt over them, running. His foot landed on one of their faces, shearing its skin off.
Blood leaked from where they bit him. As he ran, he left spots trailing in the street. He groaned in pain, showing his teeth between his stride.
He entered an alley, where he saw more of them. One of them was on fire. It was struggling to walk as the flames consumed it. Its face made that sizzling noise. It gurgled from the boiling liquids running off. It reached for him, missing as he ran past it
And into the arms of another.
He yelled, struggling with its arms. Leon pressed his gun to its chest and blew its heart away. Its remains flew into the wall. Leon stepped back, watching the thing fall over and twitch to death. A pool of blood formed around it. He turned and ran.
In the middle of this, Leon was beginning to lose his mind. He hadn't registered the fact at first, but he was, at this point, killing people. People that he dreamt about making friends with. People that he'd serve and protect. He was becoming a killer without even knowing it. What if those people actually felt what he did to them? What if they weren't really zombies? What was happening around here?!
Leon, cool it, or you'll lose it—dammit, get your shit together!
Leon stopped, staring dumbly at the person ahead of him.
The man had his head tilted, fixed on him. He was wearing a cream shirt with greenish pants. He stood there for a moment and began to walk.
He didn't walkhe just lurched around, clumsily dragging both legs.
Strands of tissue stuck out his face, and Leon tried to look past ittried to see the real person behind the grotesque visage. He focused as hard as he could. He tried to see the man with the smile; the man with the American dream; the man coming home to his kids after a long day's work; the man he'd laugh and share jokes with; the manhe saw nothing. He just couldn't.
He saw nothing but blood and rotting flesh—the remains of some disturbing transformation. He saw nothing. When he tried to see something, Leon Scott Kennedy saw a ravenous appetite bent toward human flesh. He saw something evil, and that evil was to end right now
I'd be damned if there's still a trace of that man's soul left in there
He rose his gunmetal VP70 at it, shooting wildly. The corpse—a blank part of that man—convulsed from the impact, spewing blood. It fell to the floor.
Leon then stepped up to it and finished it off, ending its short life by crushing a bullet through its brain. The head burst open.
And a spent casing fell to the ground, dancing wildly around its face.
52
It was a moment before Claire realized she was in a dark roomalone.
For the last couple seconds she was going over what had happened since she arrived in Raccoon, which already felt like eons ago. It all happened so fast. I mean, she had, in fact, encountered zombies; she had stumbled upon a cop that almost shot her; she had witnessed an entire gas station explode; she had narrowly escaped a freak accident from a gas truck—and along with that, she had been sure she wasn't dreaming. Was she in the right city?
Oh, and I forget to mentionwelcome to Raccoon City
Welcome to the World of Survival Horror
She shivered. She should of kept that note for proof that she wasn't hallucinating when she last read it. The thought of everything fitting together that way kept her from thinking straight. She was much more afraid now, now that she was alone. Alone in the dark.
Claire didn't want to move. In the pitch-darkness of this shed, she was afraid of what could hear her if she so happened to stand up. She felt like she was being watched by something. Along with that, she felt like Heather Donahue from The Blair Witch Project—at the part where she's screaming inside the old house with handprints on the wall. Sitting alone in this dark room, Claire felt like she was being hunted—stalked, like those three from the movie (couldn't open her eyes, nor close them). She could just see the silhouette of some dark beast standing in the corner, waiting for her to turn on the light before pouncing her.
I mean, what if we're dealing with more than just zombies here?
Claire fought with herself. She couldn't stand with the fact of being trapped hereshe had to meet Leon at the station before God knows what happens. Which meant she had to moveand turn on the light. She looked up at the ceiling.
After her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she saw the dark outline of the bulb, and the chain switch dangling from it. The small string of beads loomed above, waiting for her to pull it. Claire carefully rose to her feet, grimacing as she readied her pistol for anything out of the ordinary. She reached up, her hand nearing the chain.
Her heart began to race as she thought about seeing some beast once she pulled the switch
Her hand caught the chain. Claire looked around in the dark, noticing anything before pulling it. She saw nothing but large shapes that looked like a bunch of shelves. Other than that, she didn't make out much. Claire yanked the switch, quickly raising her gun at anything that might appear before her eyes.
The room lit up, straining her eyes. It cast a faint yellow on everything.
The large shape she saw in the dark was a large shelf. Behind it, a rusted door caught her attention. Claire gave out a sigh of reliefshe was alone here. There wasn't a beast or anything that was stalking her. She let out another sigh, placing her hand to her chest.
Claire heard something from behind the shelf. Something like a thud.
A dark, round object rolled out from behind the shelf.
The object kept rolling until it hit the wall, bouncing back like a tumbleweed. It then rolled a little toward Claire's direction, slowly revealing itself. It was somebody's head. Oh God, he was decapitatedsomething must of sliced it off.
The man had black hair, a mustache, and was looking at Claire with widened eyes. His head smeared a trail of blood from where it rolled from. She jumped, almost firing her gun before hearing another noise.
Something hissed from behind the shelf.
Whatever that something wasit wasn't a zombie.
Her hands began to shake. She just prayed that rusty door back there wasn't locked. She was going to make a run for that door—even though she could risk getting killed by thatthing—or whatever it was—back there. And she couldn't go back through the other door—those zombies out there were waiting for her, and there was no other way to the station but through this shed. Everything was blocked off. And that left Claire with only one option.
Claire rushed to the door, darting around the shelf. She heard a strange clacking sound as she did so, and felt something brush against her legs. She leapt for the door and grasped the knob, tugging at it. It wouldn't open.
Twist it before you tug at it, you stupid bitch!
Claire panicked, frantically turning the knob as she heard a bloodcurdling scream behind her. Her heart leapt from her throat. She pulled open the door and lunged out, shutting it behind her. She felt something strike the metal door, causing a small lump to appear over the surface. The door shook violently. The thunderous sound grabbed her heart.
Claire then ran from the shed as fast as she couldwhatever she encountered back there, she didn't want to go through again.
53
Leon heard some hip-hop playing from the alley he was walking into. He stopped short, showing his teeth in pain from the wounds. They were still bleeding. He raised his gun and released his magazine clip, replacing it with his last one. Now he had only eighteen bullets to spend on whatever he came across
The music grew louder, and Leon recognized some of it. It was that underground, hardcore rap that people like Kobe liked to listen to. In fact, this particular track was good ol, Kobe Kani's best shit. Whenever Leon heard this, he knew Kobe was around. Kobe liked to bust up some beats while fucking up those skinheads. He particularly liked doing that—he once told Leon that it helped him to "fuckin express himself in a muthafuckin constructive way." Leon always chuckled when he thought about that jokeKobe was always full of that irony. And he was here in this alley.
Leon saw him sitting on the hood of his '69, roofless Impala, Cuban-looking and all, while he nodded to his loud music. He had a light grin on his face. Looked as if his best "hoodlum buddy" had no idea about the zombie thing. But that was okayit was cool enough for Leon to stumble upon him this very moment. Things could always be worse.
A smile appeared from him as he neared the top-down Impala. The throbbing lyrics of X-Rated sounded to him like home, sweet home. Leon could already smell the distinctive odors of his apartment.
"Yo, Kobe!" Leon yelled from under the loud music, "manwe gotta get outta here! You know what's going on in this place?"
His friend just sat there, staring at the flaming barrel behind Leon. He chuckled, laughing continually. The tips to his dreadlocks shifted.
Leon paused. A concerned look appeared over his face. "I'm serious, Ko, some shit's been takin up Raccoon. I'm gonna need you to come with me to the stationunless you know a safer place—"
He continued to chuckle, laughing harder. His tall body heaved from each laugh, causing him to shake a little.
"Hey Kostraighten yourself up, my man. This ain't no time to be playin around. I gotta get this straight with"
Leon stopped before finishing. He gazed into Kobe's face. He then backed away, slowly shaking his head as he did so. Noit couldn't be. No
Kobe stood up. An evil grin was on his face. An evil grin.
No
The skin on his face began to flap away as he got to his feet.
Leon's gonna try to be a cop! We gonna get his ass tonight!
Leon took more steps back, shaking his head as he went along. He felt a tear run up one of his eyes. Nono!
As Kobe began slouching toward Leon, the skin on his face fell off. It crumpled to the ground like a rubber mask. He moaned, bringing his arms up. The white eyes on his Freddy Krueger face shone out and focused on him. The dreadlocks continued to hang there. Kobe was still wearing that grinthat disturbing, malicious grin. He uttered another chuckle.
Leon took steady steps back, his hands shaking as he raised the gun at the thing that used to be Kobe. His face contorted, and his lips trembled as he tried to aim.
Just go to workor I'll go Rookie-Cop Killah on yo ass!
"Oh Jesus," Leon voiced, trembling, "h-how Kobeh-how can I do this, my manhow can II-I just can't."
Kobe opened his mouth wide, showing his teeth as he limped closer. His head tilted in multiple directions. He groaned, letting out air from his mouth.
Leon shot him—every shot that hit Kobe felt like it was hitting him also. The gun spattered bullets that tore at his best friend's chest. Every shot knocked him back until he fell to the ground. Leon then aimed for his friend's head as he got up, fighting a tear. He paused.
No, I can'tI just can't.
The thing that had been Kobe struggled up again, with four 9x19 bullets blown through its chest. It continued at Leon—its appetite unscathed. It moaned again.
Leon closed his eyes and shot him in the forehead. A tear fell to the ground. Leon sniffed, shaking his head as he heard the body thud to the ground. Rest in peace, my manyou take care of yourself up thereyou take care of yourself—
Oh, God, Jesushelp me
As he opened his eyes, Leon heard more noises from behind him. Dozens of shadows stretched from the walls, enshrouding him. Leon threw his body around, looking back at what came from the corners. It was Kobe's friendseach and every one of them. They broke their way through the fence and were making their way to Leon—eager to eat him just like Kobe did. Leon pushed a sigh through his mouth, trying not to lose his sanity.
Remember Leonthey are all zombies. They're not your friends no more.
No!
Leon desperately tried to fight that thought as his sights rose to aim at them.
He was losing his sanity.
54
With help from Sherry, Nathan managed to tip the table over and slam it against the wall. It crushed some of their arms, making them pull away.
"Great," Nathan said. "Now all we need to do is keep this table from tipping over. Got any ideas?"
"I think we better find some nails," she said, "but I don't think that's a good idea, since we can't find any right now."
"No—actually, that is a good idea, but as you said, we need to find some nails. Let's go check out those boxes."
They ran to the far side of the lounge, letting the table stand vulnerable. After a while, it tipped over and slammed back to the floor. It was to be several more minutes before the door gave away.
Nathan dragged some boxes from under the tables, ripping the top off before pouring into the contents. Sherry did the same.
"You have any idea of what happened here?" Nathan asked. He had the question on his mind since he met her.
She pulled out some styrofoam. She shook her head, keeping that grim look on her face.
Nathan sighed. He wished he knew somehow, then at least they'd know what they were dealing with. So far, he was pretty sure they were against zombiesbut if zombies were walking around, what else could be out there?
Nathan found a vent hole behind some of the boxes. It looked as if it led to a tunnel someplace. The hole was big enough for someone to squeeze through and crawl out. But the only problem was, it could only fit someone smaller than Nathan, more like a child. More like Sherry.
"Sherry," he called out, gesturing at the vent port. "You crawl through these a lot?"
She quickly dropped the stack of papers from the box and ran to where Nathan was. "Yeah!" she exclaimed, nodding her head. "You found us a way out!
"Yeah, I did, but it's only for you. You see, I can't fit throughI think you're going to have to go without me."
Sherry stopped short, sitting down before the venting gate. "But, are you going to be okay once I leave?"
Nathan smiled. Of course, it was a fake smile. He was scared to death. "Oh yeah, definitely. You'll be headed to a much better place than this one. From what I remember, I think that tunnel leads into the furnace area—and right around there, you'll find the exit out of here." He smiled again. The hospital's layout was coming back to him. "Once you get out, Sherry, I want you to contact the police—or anybody that you find—I want you to do that, okay?"
Sherry nodded. Her blue eyes seemed to hold much hope, despite the morose face she wore. She wrapped her fingers around the meshed gate and tried pulled at it. Nathan helped her, peeling the malleable sheet off. From the darkness, the vent looked forebo-ding. Sherry got down and looked through. She gasped in surprise.
"The tunnel's really short! I can talk to you when I'm on the other side!"
Nathan bent down and peeked through the tunnel, widening his eyes. It was only around ten feet long. "Wish I was smaller" he said before pulling back. "Sherry, let me know if you find anything useful down there, okay? After that, I want you to get out of here—this is no place for you."
"Will I ever see you again?" she asked warmly.
Nathan smiled. "Yeah, you will. I promise that." Yeah, hopefully, his thoughts added. Everything he now said was masked with the opposite emotions.
"Oh, and what's your name again?" she asked, eyeing Nathan's name tag.
"NathanNathan Lieu, I'm a volunteer here. Now go, Sherry, get out of here."
"Okay."
She left after that, disappearing through the hole.
Nathan looked back and stared at the door. He dragged and stacked as many tables in front of it as possible. The boxes behind him were full of nothing but stationary. Nathan was trapped here now. Trapped here alone. His heart was hammering him with each thud the zombies made against the door. He was unarmed and afraidhe was aware of that. He was just so damn scared.
"God" Nathan prayed amidst the sound of moans and banging, "if you can hear me, please—oh please, help me in some wayI am so afraid."
The tables tipped over, crashing down as arms and moans pushed through. The door shook side to side, creaking as it began to give away.
Leon dove onto the seat of Kobe's car, twisting at the ignition with panicking fury. He screamed, nearly passing out as he realized the car wouldn't start. The engine kept on hacking away, failing to start. Leon screamed again.
There were at least ten zombies pouring from the alley before him.
Leon rose his pistol and shot at a few of them, throwing them back. His single clip was running dry—he could feel it. And the moment he ran out of bullets, was the moment they overwhelmed him and tore him to pieces. Oh shit!
He tried the ignition again, failing to bring life into the car's engine. What did he have to do to start this thing?! Leon kicked at it. He then kicked it continuously.
He heard something shuffle in the glove compartment. Something heavy.
Leon forced the case open, awing at what came tumbling out. It was Kobe's uzi.
Why you gotta be pullin that hard-cop shit with your lil VP70? You know who got the bigger gun.
And yes, Leon was happy his friend had the bigger gun.
Leon stood up on the seats of the car, overlooking the crowd before him. He cocked the submachine gun, aiming down at their swiveling heads. They looked up.
He squeezed the trigger, holding the sputtering animal with both arms.
Leon sprayed them, electrifying their bodies with several bullets he sent from the single squeeze from the trigger. Blood blew from their chests as a few of their heads opened up in flying parts. Leon tried not to see their former selves. As he brought the stream to one after another, his sanity desperately hung from sweaty palms.
The loud, rolling rat-tat-tat-tat continued until it became monotonous. The flames jetting from the barrel flashed in rapid successions. The zombies rocked from the impact of several bullets hitting them per second. Leon kept his finger on the trigger until the bullets ran out. He yelled down at all of them.
"How do you like that, you fuckers!" He threw down the uzi and picked a few more off with his sidearm, aiming at the head. A few of them fell back with holes gushing with blood. Leon shot all that he could, covering the ground with twitching bodies. He fired until his last clip ran out.
More bodies were making their way from the fence.
They poured out as if there were no end to them. They just kept coming and coming and coming
Leon dove down, rushing through the crevices of Kobe's car with his hands. He tried to find ammoor some kind of weapon. His hand found a survival knife from under the car seat. It was around a foot long.
I can't take them all out with this he thought, noticing the zombies he laid waste to rise back up. Almost all of them came up. Leon searched harder, throwing the knife away.
His hands fell upon a heavy box. As he pulled it out, he noticed it was red and the label "Tony's Arms" was on it. He quickly opened it and found six clips of ammo specially made for his VP70! Leon noticed a small note was attached to it. It read:
A special gift for that first day on the job. Keep shootin the sky! —yo' bud, Ko
Leon smiled. He took all six clips and reloaded his pistol.
He stood back up and fired a gap in the crowd, narrowly escaping the arms as he ran through.
Thank you, Kobe. I will always shoot the sky for you, my man.
While he ran, he let out five shots in the air, shattering the silence with bitter reports. It was for good luck.
55
Claire looked up as she heard five gunshots fade into the city air. Before those consecutive reports, she heard several more that sounded like submachine gun and pistol fire. A faint, hopeful smile came to her face. Leon was still alive.
She carefully entered the confines of the retail store, quickly darting her eyes around the dim lighting. The place was looted. She noticed it the first time she stepped past the broken-through doorway. The store she was in was probably some general store that sold about everything. Everywhere her foot stepped, bits of glass and packaged goods appeared beneath her soles. Claire raised her gun, stepping through aisles bare of supplies. Again, like the shed back there, the place was creepy. It was so quiet. Claire's footsteps sounded like the loudest thing in the world. She kept on walking.
She stepped over a few cans of Coke and some packages of Power Bars. Claire bent down and picked them up. She was so hungry. But the thought of actually eating in this dark place sounded unsettling after experiencing what had happened in the shed. Oh well. She found a corner to sit back on. Claire then opened the can and drank it, unwrapping the Power Bar and ripping a bite from it. The energy snack was hard like thick taffy, but it was enough to suffice. She ate three bars while taking sips from her second can of Coke.
She looked around.
From the dim, fluorescent lighting, the store lost color from its ghastly appear-ance. The place had the look of an apocalyptic setting. Silence made the munches of her food sound a lot louder. It filled the air like Leon's gunfire.
Claire continued to chew through her food, eating while throwing her fair lady manners out the window. She wolfed the food down in dead silence. Nothing came from the corners looking for her, nor did any severed limbs come rolling from aisles. She was safe here. No doubt was the place creepy, but it was a safe place—she was sure of that. Once she finished eating, Claire got up and walked toward the back exit of the building.
Once she went outside, she found herself in an alley with debris littered everywhere. A section was fenced off, large road blocks sat against buildings unused, a crushed car protruded from a cleft in the blockade, and cones were scattered everywhere. But through all of it, a passage still bore through; and Claire walked down it.
As she did so, she noticed a black shape move behind the fence. From the darkness it made a light scampering sound. Some sounds of breathing came out from the void, and her grip on the pistol tightened. She kept her eyes on the blackness while walking on, being very careful not to make any noise.
She didn't want whatever that was back there to hear her.
The Doberman lashed into the fence, barking. It shook the barrier, causing some of it to pulse toward Claire's direction. It tingled intensely.
Claire leapt back raising her gun at the animal. Orwas it an animal?
The thing, with its dark skin peeled off, was missing a portion of its head. One of its ears were gone. It was nothing but a snarling hunk of flesh with sharp teeth. Around its face—under its missing eye and over its decomposing nose, two eruptions took place. The explosions were fatal to the dog, and it slammed it back, yelping wildly. Blood splurged forth in small, mid-air waves. The Doberman then found itself lying on its side, dead from two bullets forced through its head.
Claire lowered her firearm. Smoke thinned from the barrel as she turned to walk away. Eleven bullets left. She looked back to make sure the thing hadn't came up again.
It lay dead on the pavement—a silhouette in the alley.
Leon pushed a gate forward, throwing it against a wall. He strolled through and entered the Midtown Area, still grasping at his wounds. They began to numb his entire arm. As he left the alleys, he took his hand off his shoulder and rested it against a wall, panting. When his hand pulled away, it left a red handprint over its surface.
A strange noise echoed from the street Leon was headed to. It sounded like a giant was squishing something through its fingers. It also sounded like it was happening in rapid successions.
Squish, squish—squish—squish, squish—squish, squish, squish
Leon ran closer to where the noise wasfinding a slain police officer centered in the middle of snapping jaws and devouring teeth. Leon stopped, taking slow steps around the circle as they ripped and gnashed their way through him. The dead Sergeant's head moved from the bloody feast—it shook and turned left and right. His chin was speckled with blood. His eyelids were gone. Large bug-eyes stared up the sky.
Squish, squish—squish—squish, squish—squish, squish, squish
The zombies suddenly stood up, trailing behind Leon as he rushed past them. He noticed a transit bus ahead of him. It was situated in the middle of an area that was blocked off by cars, creating a natural barricade. The bus was the only way through this. He tried pushing its door open, slamming at it. They were closing in, stretching their hands for him. The door didn't budge. Leon then stepped back and threw his body against it, splitting the doorway into two halves. He rushed up the steps and turned around, kicking the door closed. The dead stood trapped outside, beating against the door with no avail. Leon was safe from them. But it wasn't time to rest yet.
A scuffling noise was dragging its way down the bus's floor.
The noise was caused by a womana dead woman. It was a dead woman that was frighteningly familiar. Leon gasped, trying to push the words out of his mouth.
The large breasted, (and rather pretty) blonde woman clawed down the aisle, moaning with a light voice that once belonged to Trisha Lockney. Her DD breasts flattened against the metallic floor, sliding along with perfect firmness.
I think you're sexy.
Leon watched the leftovers of the pick-pocketing beauty struggle her way to Leon's legs. The closer she pulled up to him, the more hideous she became. The skin on her cheek flapped as pink tissue appeared from beneath. Rows of molars were visible as well. Her skin was no longer smoothit was rugged with lacerations all over portions of her legs and thighs. A bald spot of brain situated itself over the top of her head.
I'm a thief, just one buxom little girl trying to make a living here.
Leon readied his gun at Trisha, beginning to shiver. Maybe he could just jump over her body and leavethere was no sense in shooting this helpless corpse.
SureLeon's conscience seethed. Why couldn't you just run from Kobe when you had the chance? Shoot her!
"I guess you won't be pulling dollar bills outta my pants," Leon said, aiming over her back. He filled her fleshy back with screaming lead, hitting her where her heart was, along with her neck. Her face fell to the ground. Leon then stepped over her.
She grabbed his ankle.
"Dammit!" Leon screamed. He kicked his foot around, feeling her teeth pierce the skin of his leg. She rolled onto her back, her face hanging below Leon's lower calf. The pain made him want to vomit. He shot her in the face, blowing off her lower jaw. Bits of flesh flew everywhere. Her head came off his leg, landing against the hard floor. She gagged from the missing portion of her mouth.
Leon closed his eyes and brought his foot up, stomping hard over Trisha's face.
Her head mashed against the sole of his shoe. It felt rather soft, despite feeling the bone give away. Noises that sounded like the snap of cracking shells whooshed through the bus. Blood rushed from the head that once streamed with brilliant hair. The once-pleasant face crushed together in a heap of spongy material. Leon screamed when he saw the mess under his foot. He ran, trying hard to fight off the nausea enveloping his head. Before he sped off, passing the next zombie, and kicking open the entrance to the bus, he had one final glance of Trisha Lockney. It was the white of an eyeball protruding from a flattened, pink mass.
Leon ignored the dead bodies (which were really dead) around the aisle as he ran through. At the moment, he became unaware of the nightmarish bus he raced across. Cracks milking the windows white were appearing from all over the bus. Tiny bits of glass crunched underneath his footsteps. He didn't even pay any attention to the zombie at the far end. Leon simply placed the gun to its forehead, pulled the trigger, and ran off. It was blind luck it hadn't grabbed him when he did that. He kicked open the door on the other side, leaping away from the bus.
Outside, Leon saw the gate leading into the police station. Like the rest of the city, the gate was the only way through the entire mess of crushed squad cars and road blocks. Bodies of fallen cops lied dead from the cars—with faces that made them look like they were gagging. Beside the row of cars, a fire truck blocked the way to other portions of the city. It was on fire.
A pack of zombies stumbled around the street, throwing their sights on Leon.
He reloaded his pistol, letting his clip fall out. He aimed.
Leon downed the first one that came up to him. It fell back with four bullets in its chest before coming right up again. Leon cursed and ran through the six remaining members of the pack, outwitting their swipes. Despite his condition, he managed to make it past all of them without too much difficulty. The bite Trisha had given him was slackening his running speed. Leon burst through the gate and slammed it behind him.
As he rushed down the stairs leading into a short tunnel, he heard them beat at the gate, sounding out screeches and clangs. They weren't going to make it through.
A stairway leading up to the station's courtyard appeared from the shadows. Leon soon made his way up the steps, stepping carefully. The pain was beginning to numb his leg now. Every step he took with that leg, it threw him closer to a limp.
When he reached the top, he grunted as he threw himself down onto a spot of elevated area reserved for growing plants. Leon rested himself there, catching his breath while clearing his shattered mind from the demons occupying their vacancies. He turned his head around and saw the grand entrance into the police station. The police station. The large sign above the doorway welcomed him the same exact way it did the morning Leon last visited it. Except there were a few things missing. Around the gold-colored borders and the fat, nice symbol, it now read:
R. .D.
Ra c n City Police Departme
Leon drew out an exhausted breath, placing a hand on his hip. Oh Godwhat happened here. He let his body rest into the green bush on the elevated ground. Its leaves touched his wounds. If the station was down alsohe didn't want to know what was behind it all.
What the Hell's the deal hereis it ghosts? Is it really because of that contam-ination? Did some intergalactic beam hit Raccoon and "zombified" the citizens?
Leon just wished this was all a bad dream, really. He just wanted to wake up in his car at the barn and call it a day. But instead, he heard something sizzle beside his arm.
The leaves on some plantit dissolved over Leon's wounds.
He leapt back, feeling the plant against the gash in his arm. It stuck there, melting away. After the painful sting, it felt pretty good. Leon tried searching for more of those plants in the bush—unfortunately, those green wonders didn't make up the entire bush. Leon managed to find another, where he pulled it out and applied it to his other wounds.
The leaves on them dissolved over his cuts, sealing them shut. It was amazing! Leon had heard stories of hikers in the Raccoon Forest discovering some "magical herb" in the past, but he never once believed them. Everyone in Raccoon thought it was all a bunch of bull also. That was a few days ago. Leon searched for more of those herbs and managed to pull out another, stuffing it into his leg. The feeling was so gratifying. Once he was finished, he noticed he couldn't find more and left.
He ran up the stairs leading to the R.P.D. station. They were the same stairs he once compared to the Lincoln Memorial. Groans haunted the courtyards, traveling with the air. It made it seemed as if the entire city was moaning like those zombies. The smell Leon sensed earlier in both the morning and evening was now right under his nose. He never knew that dead stench would grow since he first came upon it.
An opened gate appeared at the end of the alley. The wind coming from the other end moved it back a little. Claire walked past it, shivering to herself. This new area she walked through was darker than the rest of the alley. There was no question as to what lurked in these shadows. Claire stepped through it, putting her gun up in hopes to guard herself. She was greeted by near pitch-blackness.
On the far end, Claire could see some light shining down on some staircase that led to the roof of some building. After taking some time to study it, she came to conclude that it was the police stationand she was here.
Something rushed from the dark and grabbed her arm. She screamed.
The black shape moaned beside her. It released a pungent odor that made her grow weary. She felt teeth bite down her left shoulder and puncture her skin. Claire felt some warm liquid drip to her left hand. It smelled like rust. Like the menacing rust that devours iron, leaving a smell as horrid as those things.
She then felt another pain—this time coming from her leg.
Claire screamed from the darkness, pressing her gun at the zombie's chest. She fired away, lighting up the area around her. The Browning rocked in her hands as she sprayed furiously. Blood splattered all over her. In the middle of each shot, Claire could see the zombie from under the flash of her gun. While the shadows lit up, its skinless face appeared for a nanosecond before the darkness draped it again. The image continually blinked until it had a strobe effect. Once it fell to the floor, she aimed lower and pounded the other body crawling beside her foot. The alley flashed again.
From the corner of her eyes, Claire could see two more stumbling their way down the alley. She'll run from those.
Smoldering cartridges rolled from the top of her boots. Claire soon heard a rustling from beside her as the first zombie she downed rose to its feet again. She gripped at her shoulder and ran from it.
The other two down the alley swung their arms to grab her. Claire dashed from the first, allowing the second to seize her red vest. Her body suddenly jerked back, stopping in between her escape. She heard a woman moan beside her.
Welcome to Raccoon City, Claire, the woman's grisly face voiced in her mind, except it wasn't the voice of the womanit was the voice of the hit man on the phone. Welcome to a city where we eat bitches like youbitches that like to cross Bartowen—haven't you forgotten, my pink little peach, you, that you have something to do? Don't you forget your master, Claire. Do your shit and we might not try to bring you closer to the dead. And speaking of the dead, I'm sure Teresa and the gang are quite excited to dine on that voluptuous body of yours
Claire screamed. Raising her voice in the air while unloading the rest of her parabellum rounds into the zombie's face. The woman's head scattered away. It blew open, jetting streams of blood all over Claire. She kept on pulling the trigger until nothing but metallic clicks! sounded from the barrel. She grunted loudly, throwing her body around and leapt up the stairs. Pain was searing her leg, as well as her shoulder. Blood trickled over the steps. Claire wiped some off her.
When the bottom of her boots contacted with the second floor of the station, she quickly ran to the nearest doorway, wincing in pain from the wounds. She approached a metallic dooras if she hadn't come across enough of those already. Claire opened it and stepped inside, closing it behind her.
She was in another dark place.
Okay, Claire thought, eyeing the area around her, now I'm in the police station. So what did Leon say was so safe about this? And Chris is somewhere around hereChris! Can I just imagine that?! I'm about to meet my brother!
Orwill I?
Claire looked around the deserted hallway. All of the windows were broken through, filling the floor with glass shards. Claire stood frozen in the dark hall. There were only dim lights in this placeit barely looked as if there were any at all. The walls were dank from stains of moisture filling them. The ground she stepped on was made of wood, and there was a dead cop lying in the middle of the hallway.
Small, black figures were huddled around the corpse. Claire carefully stepped toward it, feeling her heart increase in beats. The glass under her footsteps cracked and brought some sound in the room. The black figures moved, leaping into the air.
They were crows. Large onesjust like the ones from the highway.
They cawed as Claire neared them. She was out of bullets, and she was desperate to survive this—which wasn't going to be easy.
They flew around the hallway, darting out the windows while diving down at her head, claws stretched out. They all screeched at her.
56
The door burst openand they came inside.
Nathan just stood there, backing away as they filed into the room, entering one by one. As each of them crossed the threshold, their eyes locked with Nathan's, groaning. Some of them were missing skin all over their body, while others did not. They limped around the room, moaning. One of them vomited. A trail of brown liquid appeared from its mouth and splashed over the linoleum. It caused a hissing sound against the floor. Drizzles of vapor came up.
Now, I'm not going to let that get all over me, Nathan thought, widening his eyes at what the vomit had done. He took more steps back.
The whole area was filled with those long cafeteria-type tables. Nathan hoped that by simply maneuvering around them, he could trick them into stumbling around the tables while he leapt over and made his way out.
Actually, that won't work.
More of them pushed through, filling the room with six of them. They spread apart and tried to corner him. Nathan backed near the vent hole that Sherry had gone through. His heart beat faster. His hands began to sweat. He couldn't run past them—they built a form of wall before him. He couldn't trick them and just dash around—there was not enough space in the room to do that. Their arms would just grab him like that! Nathan was trappedeven if he made it out of here, he wouldn't last long without a weapon of some sort.
Suddenly, Nathan heard something slide from the vent hole, and a red object appeared. The sight of that object was equivalent to the sight of an oasis to someone dying of thirst in the desert. Actually, maybe that object was even better than that. It'd seem more like the sight of a royal palace, than just an oasis.
What Nathan was seeing was a weapon, or something that could be used as a weapon. It was an axe—those big, red ones that firefighters used. It simply slid from the tunnel as if it came to the rescue.
"Nathan!" Sherry's voice trail from the vent port, "I f-found this in the furnace place you told me aboutI hope it'll help you! I'm going out to find some help right now!"
"Sherry, good job, girl—damn, good—good job!" Nathan shouted with overflowing enthusiasm. "You go rally the police—get out of here! I'll be fine, now go!"
"Okay!"
That was when Nathan felt a few hands grab him. He snatched the axe, holding it firmly in both hands. Around the tip of the red blade, a sterling, silver strip gleamed from the edge. Nathan spun around and swiped the blade through the zombie's shoulder.
He hacked its arm off.
The force of the swing flung it back, blood pouring from its missing arm. Its arm still clung to Nathan—he tried forcing it off as the blood continued to spurt from the opened end. The zombie came back at him. Nathan drew back the axe and brought it down its chest. Blood spread from all directions of its impact. The zombie fell back to the floor, twitching as blood squirted from where the axe dug in. Its missing arm clutching at Nathan's shoulder fell off, thudding against the floor. He then tried to pull away the axe from the corpse. The blade was buried beneath the zombie's heartstuck there.
It grabbed him again, sitting up to bite him in the hand.
"Oh no, you don't!" Nathan hollered, kicking its head back. He took another step forward and slammed his foot through its head, smashing it. The face smeared away in an explosion of blood and squirming flesh. Nathan grimaced from it, trying not to vomit as he pulled the axe from its chest.
More hands seized him. One of them had him by the neck.
Nathan swung over and contacted with its head, cleaving its skull in half. He felt a mouth bite down his right arm. Once the zombie with the cleaved head fell back to the floor, he swung wildly. The blade dug into some flesh, clinging there as Nathan tried to pull it free. He received another bite to his other arm. Blood—both Nathan's and the dead—flung around the air. He yelled in agony, closing his eyes. He yanked the axe off, running away. He had struck down enough of them to escape the room. Nathan sprinted, jumping over fallen tables and boxes full of stationary. He rushed and got out of there, making the floor screech the same way basketball players do when they skipped around the court.
He didn't know if it was the adrenaline that was causing it, but he now remem-bered his way around the ground floor. He knew where he was headed now. Through the dimness and the objects strewn about, he managed to find the door that lead to the stairs. He ran up to it, hearing more moans from down the hall, and tried the door.
It was locked. Nathan twisted it again.
The door wouldn't openit was locked.
He yelled in frustration, swinging the axe at the door. The steel door deflected the swing, throwing the blade off. A line of missing paint appeared on the its surface.
"Why, dammit, why?!" Nathan fumed, clutching the axe with a bloody hand.
The moans continued from behind himNathan could now hear scuffling noises making their way to where he was at.
57
It was Leon Kennedy's first day on the job—and it was also his first night on the job
He scanned the main hall of the station, noticing how different it was earlier. The station was now devoid of people. Hundreds of officers and nameless agents were no longer milling around. Dense chatter was replaced by dead silence. Leon stepped down a stairway and walked to where the statue of the woman was, noticing how loud his footsteps echoed around the three-story station.
Stains left from disgruntled cops remained on the statue's surface. Marks ranging from mildew and bits of gum spotted the woman. Leon took a step closer and realized she wasn't holding a bucket over her shoulder like he once thought she didit was a megaphone. Inscribed over a tablet at the statue's base, he made out an inscription:
WWH : Of all celestial beings, I await my return from the fifth star orbiting the cross. When I am in unity to my place, will the exit to the abyss emerge.
Leon blinked, scratching his head. He didn't get it.
What he did understand was that something was missing below the tabletsome kind of medallion or token of some sort. Was this some kind of a puzzle? Where the Hell was this medallion? The "fifth star orbiting the cross?" What kind of sick joke was this?
He rested against the marble base, caught in intensive thought.
When I am in unity to my place, will the exit to this abyss emerge.
Maybe if he found this missing piece, and placed it right where this space was, some great big answer to all his problems would appear. But what did "WWH" stand for? World Wide Harassers? Leon had to know what that stood forand he was in no mood for mind games during this time of zombies and magical herbs. He left the statue, checking out the entire station. He was going to crack that brain teaser when he had the time. But for now, he was going to—
He heard a noise from one of the doorslike a scratching noise.
It sounded like the kind of noise a dog would make when scratching the door. The noise clawing the wood door became the only thing Leon heard in the station. He walked up to it, hearing the scratches against it. It had that carving quality to it, as if a chisel ran continuously at it. But once he neared the door, he heard a grunt, and the noise stopped.
Leon paused, staring at the door. His breathing increased in frequency. His hand reached over and felt the doorknob, running the decision in his mind of whether or not to open it. Should he? He stepped closer and listened.
Something was breathing in there. It sounded like a dog, but it could always be something else. Something that could just burst out and attack him.
He decided not to open it, walking away.
He had to find Claire—if she already made it here, and gather some information regarding this whole situation. Whatever it was, Leon only knew less than half of what really went on. He surveyed the main hall, noticing there were four doors leading into different areas. Two he was sure led to the West Wing of the station, while one connected to the East Wing. The door where the clawing noises were coming from led to some supply closet. Leon stayed as far away from that door as possible.
He took the door to the West Officemaybe he could find some paperwork in there regarding some information as to what went on.
Once he made it inside, he heard someone groaning from across the office. The groaning sounded so familiar.
Claire shielded her face from the diving claws. Her arms came up, absorbing the furious beaks. They pecked at her, hitting her head and bringing blood from her arms. Claire unsheathed her knife.
She caught the first one on top of her, slashing off its wing. Ebony feathers fluttered about. It fell to the floor, screeching. The other two dodged the knife, flying amidst their scattering feathers. Claire swiped again, hitting only the air. She crouched, noticing herself face to face with the corpse lying beside her. His pecked face was full of torn skin and loose tissue jutting from an overflowing heap.
Okay, okay, her thoughts cried under the ambience of cawing crows, just don't try to get squeamishuse this opportunity to find something.
Claire bit her lip and probed the body, reaching into its pocket to pull out a red box. Written over it, soaked in blood, it read: Tony's Arms. Beneath the dread consum-ing her face, Claire managed to smile when she saw the package was full of 9x19 par-abellum rounds. She took the box and dashed down the hall—her feet kicking back pieces of glass from behind. The birds trailed behind herthe flap of their wings sounded like noises from jet engines roaring after her. Once Claire made it to the door, she disappeared right out of that place.
Nathan threw a quick glance at the door. A keyhole was keeping the entrance locked. Somehow he had to find this key someplace—but where?
A figure appeared in the hall in front of him. It moaned at him.
Nathan grit his teeth, dashing up to it. As he did so, he rose the axe over his head and slammed it down the zombie's forehead, causing its head to split open in torrents of blood. It sprayed, tossing mutilated bits of brain tissue on the walls. Nathan yanked the blade back, watching its body fall. So the motherfuckers wanted moreno problem!
He leapt at the next one and made a horizontal swipe for its neck. If only Nathan had swung hard enough. The blade disappeared into its jugular, throwing a geyser of blood straight in the air. Nathan tried hard not to let the sight weaken him. It clawed at the axe buried halfway through its neck, groaning helplessly. It grabbed Nathan's shirt, pulling him in as blood continued to squirt over the walls. Nathan drew back his foot and thrust it into the monster's chest while holding onto the axe. The weapon pulled free, and Nathan darted over the zombie. It soon came back up—its neck still squirting blood.
The sight of mutilated bodies caused Nathan to grow nauseous. He tried fighting it again while rushing down the hall. He felt some saliva filling his mouth, but the bile never managed to rush up. He had to find the key to the stairways. He had to, but where was a place he could find them?
Security, Natesecurity guards need those keys. Go to Security.
Nathan nodded to himself, thanking his gut instinct and ran across the halls. Blood trickled off him in several placeshe had to find more of that Aid Spray!
Before heading to security, I gotta tend to my needs first, he thought.
Nathan leapt to where the elevators were, sliding into the one he came from. He propped himself beside the pharmacy folder and searched inside, feeling for something that felt like a canister. He felt the bag, pulling it out with eyes filled with content.
The Aid Spray was in his hand now. Nathan plugged it into his sidepack and left.
He rushed to where the hall ended, stopping at the door of the security room. He was to get out of here at last! He tried the doorand his smile disappeared in a furious swirl. It was locked. Locked like the staircase! Fuck! Nathan stood there trapped in desperation and fear. What was he going to do now?
The zombies began filing in toward his position now. They were anxious for his flesh, as usual.
Claire crept through another hallway—except this time it was well-lit compared to the crow-infested one. The cuts over her arms stung, and the bite wounds immobilized her movements. She held them, letting out grunts as she tried to walk.
She heard an echo of someone's voice from some far corner. She shivered. It sounded low, stretching through the air while sounding articulate enough to belong to a human being. Actually, it felt more to her like the call of a ghost.
A shadow appeared from the far end, bending over the corner. It looked like it belonged to someone overweight or massively built. Claire crept beside a door beside her, wondering if she should stay and meet up with the personbut something about that figure made her rush through that door, avoiding it. She closed that door quietly.
She had seen his face.
Although the face's eyes did not catch her, Claire detected a guise of insanity from that face, which was drenched in blood. A malicious grin was on it as well.
She rested her back against the door, taking deep breaths at what she saw. Maybe it wasn't some psychopathperhaps the guy just looked that way and needed some help. Claire shook her head at that idea. No way. She had a very bad feeling about thisthat man was definitely insane. Claire had to get out of this room soon if she didn't want her own blood joining with the blood on that man's face.
She propped herself over a comfy couch, filling her clip with the newly-found bullets. Her hands shook a bit. She tried keeping the rounds from slipping out her fingers. Once the thirteen rounds filled the magazine, she noticed there were enough left in the box to fill up another clip once she was done with this one. Real swell, despite the fact it takes about half a magazine to keep just one zombie away. She searched the room for other things. For a secretary's room, (or what she was assuming it was) some strange items caught Claire's attention. For one thing, there was a box of ammo on the seat in front of her. Oh well, no time to explain. Claire could always use some moreeven though it came in the form of three full magazines totaling to thirty-nine bullets. That left her with sixty-five lead bits to spare. That almost wiped the grim reality of the entire situation.
But then again, they were only bullets to her pistol
Claire left the room without knowing what lurked behind the door. Former cops filled what looked like the second floor to the main lobby. She looked over and saw the first floor, where it had a statue and a few other doors leading to various places she had no idea of. She noticed four zombies in the narrow walkway, stumbling to reach her in both ends. So the police station wasn't as safe as she thought it was.
Head to the station where it's safe!
Yeah, sure.
Claire drew her gun up, pummeling the two zombies ahead of her. There were two behind her as well as before her. She had to make it around this walkway and somehow reach the first floorshe was guessing the remainder of the cops were bunched up in those rooms. And that included Chris and his S.T.A.R.S. gang—along with Leon.
The first one flew back, falling to the floor. The other advanced, but Claire mowed that one down, tearing its head apart by several bullets. She replaced the empty clip with a new one, placing the old one in her pocket. When the first cop she pummeled got up again, she made sure this one was to stay dead. She unloaded half of her bullets into where its heart was, sending red splotches everywhere. It fell back, convulsing as a puddle of blood formed beneath it.
She heard two other moans behind her—the other pair closed in. She ran.
Claire rushed from them, gripping her wounds until something in the middle of the
walkway caught her attention. It was a ladder leading down to the first floor. It was one
of those emergency ones that extended to the floor when needed. She pressed the button and
watched as the ladder
Claire saw four doors in the main lobbyshe chose the one in the far end, running through and opening it. She noticed a sign that read: East Wing, beside the double doors. She hoped she was headed the right way.
58
"Willie?" Leon ran past the blood soaked walls and overturned tables. The Will Smith lookalike winced, groaning from pain as he sat there, looking up at him. Under all this, he still had Willie—the man was alive!
Leon was simply amazed at the sight. "Oh shityou do not know how glad I am to see you," he chuckled. It was his first chuckle after what seemed like years. I mean, here he was: Willie! After almost everyone was gone, Leon still had him in the end. But what he saw now didn't seem to emulate much of what he was feeling.
Willie didn't laugh, nor did he show any sign of satisfaction in seeing him. His face was pale, and he had large gashes across his stomach. Some of them looked a few inches deep. His uniform was drenched in blood. Leon felt so insensible for feeling so content—all he thought about was seeing Willie alive while he ignored his friend's critical condition. He crouched and put a hand to his friend's shoulder.
"What happened here?" Leon asked, his face growing serious. It almost sounded like a demand. "I arrive here and find that it's infested with zombiesjust tell metell me what happened, Willie. This shit's starting to freak me out."
Willie had his hand pressed against the gashes over his stomach, coughing while struggling with his words. "Leonyou gotta get outta here," he groaned, wincing. "Find the basement to this station and get your ass to the Hospitalthere's an escape route located in the underground laboratory"
"Wait, wait, slow down, my manwhat happened to everyone else? Where's all the backup and survivors. I can't just let all this go like th—"
"Everybody's dead," Willie interrupted. His eyes were bloodshot, staring back into Leon's. The eyes reeked of despairing horror. This was a very different Willie—it was more of an afraid version that was so unlike the fearless one Leon came to know. The difference was so drastic, it was terrifying. Whatever made him act that way must of either been unspeakable or relentlessly powerful.
"Don't try to find anyoneyou're gonna waste your time," Willie said, slowly shaking his head. "Don't try to be a hero, Leon, just forget about meIn a while, more of those freaks are gonna breach whatever we've put upit's important you leave soon"
Leon breathed a sigh. "NoI can't just leave you here—"
"You refuse to listen, and I'm gonna shoot you," Willie said, his eyes widening. The tone of his voice made the hair at the back of his neck rise. "