Essence of Irony, a resident evil fanfic

Resident Evil

ESSENCE OF IRONY

PART I

"Investigation"

On a normal day, anyone you passed would kindly say hello, or tip their hat as they smiled and nodded. On a normal day, the sounds of daily life would fill the air, bringing a sense of harmony to the small town of Essence Creek. But unfortunately, today wasn't exactly normal. It hadn't been normal since July, when news of that incident in Raccoon City put everyone on edge. Rumors had spread, which wasn't unusual considering the speculation. While some believed it openly, some of the older residents denied it, saying it was bullshit while they locked their doors at night.

There was no proof.... the U.S. Government came up with the necessary means to cover it up. Nuclear means, to be exact. The city was completely destroyed, though there was no one who could confirm it. Those that drove through the mountains to the where the town used to be were all met with the same resistance. The military had a roadblock set up 15 miles from the city limit; far enough away to keep the public from seeing the waste that was Raccoon City. Several reporters from the surrounding areas tried their best to get past them...some tried to talk their way through, some tried to run. The ones trying to talk were turned away, and those that ran were shot.

Excuses claimed that the radiation was too high. The crosswinds off the mountains would keep the fallout airborne, scooping it up as it came down to earth and shooting it back up again. The explanation was scientifically accurate to the average person, with small bits of inconclusive data to make it seem as though research had actually been conducted. In time people would just accept the facts and get on with their lives, and Raccoon City would be nothing more than a memory. Life would get back to normal.

But there, amidst the rubble and smoldering buildings, along the gutted streets of the decrepit structures, nothing could ever be normal again.

The smoke rose here and there, puffing up from under rocks and spewing through the wasteland into the morning sky. Gerald Schwantz shuddered, his breath fogging the thin glass of his helmet. The grim scenery reminded him too much of a movie. The desolate landscape, fuming smoke, and the tattered, beaten buildings echoed the likes of Terminator or Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. He took a deep breath and signaled to his men, then started down a lonely street that led into town. It wasn't long before he was surrounded by the smoldering skeletons of the once thriving city. Those that still stood were barely hanging on. Some with only one wall, stilted and braced by the buildings on each side.

"Jesus Christ," he said, looking down the road. Bodies were everywhere, blackened and charred. They lay scattered, in disarray, tossed by the blasts. Gerald was sweating. Through the rubbery gloves he held a pistol, and he gripped it nervously. His orders were clear. Survey the area, look for any signs of life, and if he found them, kill them. His common sense kept telling him it was impossible; nothing could survive the explosions. But, in his heart, in his spine, he knew better.

"Holy shit. Someone better call headquarters and tell them we ain't gonna find any survivors. But Col. Sanders might be interested, cause these muthafuckers are extra fuckin' crispy, am I right?"

The high, whiney voice of Clifton Gild chirped into Gerald's ear, and Gerald couldn't help but wince. Dear, God, the man was an ass. Clifton was almost 36 years old, and still acted like he was in high school. His cockiness and loud mouth were what got him put on this assignment. Gerald guessed some of the higher-ups at Umbrella were hoping he wouldn't make it back.

"Shut it, Gild, or I'm sending you back to the chopper. It is, indeed possible that we'll run into survivors out here. And if we do, it'll be your job to take care of them."

Gild let out an annoying chuckle and looked around, patting his waist and legs. "What do you want me to do? Give 'em a fuckin' band-aid? Wait, wait, lemme see if I brought 'em." He giggled at his own humor and walked over to one of the bodies. "Careful, ma'am. That could leave a scar."

Gerald fought off the urge to shoot him. He let out a tolerant sigh. They didn't tell him shit. What Gild didn't know was that any moment that damn charred woman could reach up and grab him. Gerald kind of hoped she would. Maybe then ol' Cliff would realize what Gerald meant when he said, "take care of them".

The only other one out there was Stewart. She was a good 30 feet behind them, but he could still hear her over the comlink. "Oh, my God. These poor people. How could someone fire upon so many people?" Apparently, Robin Stewart had been kept out of the loop just the same. Frustration welled up inside Gerald as he listened to the pity in Stewart's voice. These weren't people. They were monsters.

He signaled both Gild and Stewart to him, and told them to stay close. "We're going to make our way from east to west. We have to try and locate the rendezvous point and see if anyone managed to survive. If not, we'll move on into the lab and see what we can salvage." He handed them both a small photograph. "This is what the rendezvous looked like before the explosion." Gild looked down to the picture. It showed a single clock tower against a darkened sky.

Jill Valentine stared into the mirror at her naked body. It was beautiful, tight and athletic, but she was horrified at the sight of it. Her skin, once soft and flawless, was now bruised, aching. She traced her fingers over her body, flinching at the tenderness of her wounds. When her hands reached her shoulder she stopped, and a tear forced itself from her eye. It was a long, slender cut. The one that almost killed her, that almost turned her into one of those things. Almost. If it hadn't been for Carlos she'd be one of the nameless bodies that no doubt filled Raccoon City.

She slowly turned from the mirror and glanced at the tub. It had filled enough, so she reached over and gently turned off the faucet. She slid into the water, sucking in her breath as her body adapted to the temperature. She thought about the bath she took when she'd gotten back from the mission. She remembered that shower, how good the water felt as it sprayed against her face. She remembered squeezing her eyes shut, gritting her teeth as she cried. Everyone was gone. S.T.A.R.S. was no more. Only five of them managed to make it out of that damn place alive. She slid further into the bathwater and leaned her head back. She closed her eyes. Those images were burned into her mind forever.

Her, Chris, Barry, and Brad were the only ones from Alpha Team to make it out. Bravo Team had one sole survivor, Rebecca Chambers. Jill smiled to herself in the dimmed light. She couldn't help but marvel at the rookie's survival. She was a shy, puny little girl… yet she seemed to know what she was doing, almost as if she'd done it before.

The only reason Brad lived is because the chickenshit took off in the chopper and left them there. A brief anger rose up in her, but she quickly dismissed it. She couldn't be angry with Brad. If it wasn't for him she might not have known about that creature until it was too late. The image flashed into her head, and she broke into tears. Raising her hands to her face, she cried.

"Oh, Brad," she spoke softly, almost in a whisper. "I should have done something. I should've shot at it, distracted it or something. Then you might still be alive." Saying that didn't relieve her much; she knew Brad probably would've died anyway. He never had the willpower.

She lowered her hands and opened her eyes. It seemed like so long ago. The mission was back in July, almost three months ago. Now the calendar showed pictures of skeletons and witches, black cats, and jack o' lanterns with huge eyes and grinning, glowing mouths. She raised herself from the water and squeezed the excess from her hair. She wrapped a towel around herself and another around her head, then stood in front of the mirror again. She thought back to that night in September, when she stood in front of the mirror in Raccoon City. Smiling half-assed at her blue halter-top and black mini-skirt, she had kicked herself for sending her combat fatigues with Chris. 'What would I need them for?' she thought. 'I'm only gonna be here for another couple of weeks, and then I'll be joining up with him anyway. The more I give to him, the less I have to carry.'

Jill turned her back from the mirror and walked out of the bathroom. The motel room was small, with one bed and little television mounted to the wall. It wasn't much, but it was all she could afford. When Umbrella found out that she had survived and escaped the city, they made their phone calls and pulled their strings. Jill's bank accounts froze, and her credit cards were cancelled. She knew that was only the beginning, too. Umbrella wanted to put the pressure on her, to bend her until she broke. A bad feeling poked at her side, mockingly reminding her that they would only try harder the closer she got. Despite the worry, she sank into the cheap blankets and flicked on the tube. She smiled softly to herself. She was a deep, loving person, capable of giving with all her heart. But also, if she wanted to, she could be a real bitch.

It was mid-October, two weeks since Raccoon City was obliterated. Halloween was growing nearer, and it was cool enough for a sweater outside. Horror movies filled the prime time television slots, showing anything from Abbot and Costello meet Frankenstein to Fright Night. Jill had to change the channel several times; she sat now staring at the screen. From the small speaker there were sounds of men shouting. They argued back and forth, one shouting they should hide in the basement and the other saying it was suicide. The camera cut to a woman sitting catatonic on a couch, staring motionless into limbo. Jill used to love this old, black and white movie. But as she stared at it, heard the moans in the background, she froze. The moans were horrible. If there was one thing she'd never forget, it would be the moans. The juicy, shuffling sounds they made as they walked. The pungent smell of the rotting flesh, eaten and devoured by the G-virus, lingered and floated on the slightest breeze. The sight of them was disgusting, the smell unbearable, but nothing compared to the sounds of their mournful cries. The sad, sorrowful wails crept up from their needlessly retracting chests, and in their voice she almost found pity.

She reached up and clicked off the TV. 'Why were the women in those movies so worthless?' she thought.

She unwrapped the towel, tossed in on the floor, and slid into the bed. But before turning off the light, she reached her hand under her pillow until she felt the hard metal of her pistol. Reassured, she clicked off the lamp and closed her eyes. Outside her room the crickets chirped softly, echoing in the darkness as they played their tune. The moon was nothing more than a crescent, hanging at an angle in a twisted, crooked smile. It was a dark night.

Schwantz breathed heavily in the silence. It was quiet here, and dark. A full moon would've helped. It took longer to set up camp than they had originally anticipated. They were investigating a shopping mall most of the day, digging their way through the bowels of its basement. When they emerged they found it was already getting dark, and they had yet to set up base camp. It took roughly two hours, but now it was all said and done, and he sat amidst a wall of scrap iron and rubble. Now he just sat and listened. There were no sounds, no crickets, no frogs, no life. He was sitting in a graveyard miles wide, with a population he couldn't imagine. Gild mumbled something in the background, probably to himself. He was loud and cocky when the mission started, but as they trudged for miles, passing body after body, his mood became more solemn, grim. Robin Stewart had been quiet most of the way, though he could hear her gasp now and again.

He stood and stretched, then walked back to the other two. He didn't speak; the less noise they made, the better. He squatted beside them and sat. "Best get some sleep," he whispered. "Tomorrow's gonna be a long day."

By 8:00 a.m., Jill was already awake and dressed. She had on a pair of blue jeans and a large, baggy sweater. Her hair was noticeably longer, and it hung slightly past her shoulders. She wasn't used to it. She usually kept it short, but with the shortage of cash and a new set of priorities, getting her hair done didn't seem all that important. It was cool outside now, so the extra hair hanging down wouldn't be so bad. She walked out into the parking lot, took a deep breath, and exhaled, seeing her breath escape in wispy, pluming puffs of steam. She flung the long strap of her duffel bag over her shoulder and shoved it behind her. Thanks to her hasty escape from Raccoon City, and the oh-so considerate actions from Umbrella, she found herself hitchhiking and using what little cash she had to eat with. As she set off down the road, she wondered how Chris was doing, and whether or not Barry had succeeded in his goals.

Barry had tried to get his family to Canada, but he only got them as far as Colorado before returning back to Raccoon City. He put them up in a safe house that he and Chris had prepared before Chris had left for Europe, and that was where he took her and Carlos. After spending a few days weighing their options, Carlos decided to return to his family in L.A., and Barry resumed taking his family out of the country. He gave Jill a couple hundred bucks and wished her luck, saying he too was going after Umbrella, but not until after he had secured his wife and kids.

Jill frowned. Car after car had passed her by, kicking up mist from the wet street and swiftly blowing it against the side of her face. That was tolerable, but she promised herself that the next guy who pulled over and asked 'how much' would taste a bullet. She wished for a ride from a gentleman; one who'd stop and give her a lift, asking nothing in return. Hell, why not go all the way and make him tall, dark, and handsome, with a day's growth on his face and lot of money? Jill laughed to herself, but stopped abruptly as a pickup truck sped past and locked its brakes. The mist spewed up into Jill's face once again, but she didn't notice. Slowly, the pickup backed toward her.

Clifton Gild stood on a chunk of concrete and stared at the sunrise. After a night spent in the most horrible place on Earth, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Dr. Schwantz and Dr. Stewart were still sleeping. It was half after eight, and he supposed they should have been up already. With the sun making a late sunrise due to the mountains, it was hard to tell exactly what time of the day it was. He figured once the sunlight kissed them on the eyelids they'd come around.

He took his hands from his pockets and trotted down the rubble toward them. Indeed, they were stirring. Schwantz rolled over and felt for his glasses. After sliding them onto his face and adjusting to the light, he stared up at Gild. "Jesus, what time is it?" he said, wiping a layer of dew from his forehead. Gild stared down at him and smiled. "Eight thirty, Chief. I recon you overslept a bit. HQ wouldn't be too happy to hear about that, now would they?"

Schwantz stood and looked him eye to eye. "Well let's see," he said. "Seeing as how you were the one on watch, and you were the one already awake, it was therefore your duty to wake us on time. How 'bout we call HQ and see what they say?"

"Whoa, easy Chief. I didn't mean nothin' by it, I was just fuckin' with ya." Gild backed away from Schwantz, and decided to change the subject. "We still making for the rendezvous point?"

"Yes," Schwantz said as he slumped to pick up his gear. "We gotta make sure there's no one left over there." He slung on his pack and slid out his pistol. Gild was already prepared, so as soon as Stewart was ready they set out once more for the rendezvous.

At one o'clock they stopped to have lunch. They sat on a bench amidst the barren wasteland that used to be Raccoon City Park. Stewart had found that even though she saw body after body, it was becoming easier for her to eat. She sat and stared into the park. Its burnt trees stood withered and bare, and the soft grass had disintegrated under the intense heat of the blasts. The ground was gray, covered in ash and charred by coals from the trees. Her gaze wandered to a small playground, and she stared. A swing set stood alone, itself blackened against the horizon. An image flashed in her mind of a playground on fire, seesaw's burning with an intense flame, and merry-go-round's spinning slowly, churned by the winds of heat. She'd seen this part before, when Sarah Connor had a dream about Judgement Day.

Stewart squeezed her eyes shut as tears began to force their way to the surface. My God, she thought. What if there were children playing on this playground when the bombs hit? What if they looked up and saw the wall of flame rushing toward them? She put her hands to her face and sobbed. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and a soft voice floated down to her. "I know what you're thinking about. You're thinking about the children. Were they playing when it happened? Did they die alone? I know it hurts, but try not to relate to them. I know it sounds cold, but it only makes your job harder."

Stewart took her hands away and slowly raised her head. The face of Clifton Gild lowered to meet her. "You just gotta swallow it."

Stewart hadn't known Gild for very long, and at this time yesterday she could've strangled him. But now, sitting there on the park bench, she watched him slowly turn and walk away. She saw almost an overnight change in him. What was once a snobby, obnoxious human being now seemed almost handsome, and refined. She shook off the brief second of attraction and told herself that the distress made her think like that. She wiped her tears and quickly joined the other two on the street.

By four o'clock they still had quite a few miles to go, but they agreed together to stop for the day and make camp. They had come across a spot that was too perfect to pass up, no matter how early in the day. So, after a few minutes weighing their options, they decided to stay there and limit their search to the surrounding area. If they got to sleep early and got a quick start in the morning, they could be at the clock tower by tomorrow afternoon.

By five they had base camp set, and Schwantz wandered off to investigate a building that hadn't completely fallen yet. Gild sat staring into space, a goofy, thoughtful expression passing over his face from time to time. Stewart stooped low to the ground, examining a body that lay hunched and deformed. She had been noticing something awkward about each of the bodies she examined. Skeletal structures were slightly awkward. Skulls were cracked, teeth were missing, and quite a few of the bodies she saw around were missing a limb or two. She could understand that the skulls may have been cracked by the fall, and maybe some of the teeth were knocked out at the same time, but missing arms and legs just didn't make any sense. A select few didn't even have heads. She hadn't mentioned it to the others, but she was beginning to feel that something was terribly wrong.

Stewart was called in from Umbrella's Canadian offices just two days prior to their coming here. When told of the destruction of Raccoon City, it was explained that there was an outbreak of Ebola, and due to certain complications a simple quarantine was impossible. But now, looking down at this body, with its cracked skull and missing arm, she didn't think they had told her everything. She crouched there thinking, when a slender shadow loomed over her. It was Gild again. "I think you're gonna want to see this," he said in a low voice.

He led her down what was once an alleyway to the rear lot of a broken restaurant. She stared down at yet another crumpled body. Also burned, this one seemed quite different from the others. "What the hell is this?," she whispered in amazement. "I dunno," Gild replied. "But whatever it is, let's be glad it ain't moving." She squatted to examine it. The skin was mostly charred, with hardened sinew and bone showing, but still it was obvious that the thing wasn't human.

"The arms are way too long, but the size of the bicep and forearm are proportionate to its length," she said. "And its legs are short, but seem very stout, very powerful. The skin is badly burned, but you can see here the texture of it seems almost reptilian, or maybe an amphibian of sorts." She stood and shuffled her feet closer to the head, which faced the sky. "The eyes are gone, probably boiled and popped due to the heat. The head looks very much like that of a frog, the only difference being that frogs don't have teeth this large. Now let's see. If I move to the other side of the head maybe I could….oh dear. Hmm. I see." She was almost whispering to herself now, and Gild leaned over to see what she was looking at. "What ya got, Stewart?" he asked. She pointed to small punctures on the side of the creature's head. "Bullet holes."

When they returned to camp, Schwantz was still off exploring. "Ebola," Stewart said as she smiled slightly. "What?" Gild said, turning around with an odd look on his face. "Ebola," Stewart repeated. "That's what I was told when I took this assignment. That Ebola was the reason for the quarantine, the reason for the decimation." She shook her head. "Ebola couldn't do that. To human or amphibian. Ebola doesn't have that kind of effect on a living organism."

Gild frowned. "Ebola my ass. I was in Essence Creek for three days before we came to this damn town. The people up there got some crazy stories. They said that there was a virus, but it wasn't Ebola. Said it turned the people into monsters, and that it spread like a wildfire through the city. They said this city was blown up to get rid of them, keep em from spreading."

Stewart sat. "Why didn't you mention any of this sooner?"

Gild paced around, pointing his finger at her. "Hell, would you believe a story like that, told by a man well more than twice my age? Them old geezers in little piss ant towns like that ain't got nothing better to do than sit around and tell stories anyhow. I figured they was pullin' my leg. And I sure as hell wasn't gonna say anything in front of Dr. Schwantz." He leaned forward and whispered to her. "He knows shit that we don't. We were left in the dark for a reason, and I think it's a good idea to pretend like we still are. At least until it's unavoidable. You with me on this?" Stewart nodded, and Gild backed away and winked. He walked over to other side of the camp and sat. He spoke no more of it.

About a quarter of a mile away, Gerald Schwantz stood at the bottom of a rusted ladder. Before him a large sewer pipe stretched away into the darkness. In his hand he held a large rat, ugly and filthy, but very much alive. He gripped it firmly behind its neck, and despite its squeals and protest, he did not let go. With his other hand he reached behind him into his pouch. After fumbling blindly, his fingers felt the soft leather straps of a small bundle. He pulled it out and with his teeth yanked on the strap that held it tight. As the thin piece of leather fell from the bundle, the wrapping unrolled to reveal a row of small syringes, all neatly capped and tightly held in place. He slid one of the syringes from its holster and carefully slid the cap off with his teeth. Then, tilting the rat belly up, he jabbed it under its skin. The small creature squealed, and struggled desperately to get free. Schwantz only needed a few seconds, and soon he had extracted a small amount of blood. It looked black in the dim light. He tossed the rat to the ground, and it hurried noisily into the sewer, where it joined with rest of its kind. Schwantz took the cap from his teeth and slowly put it back on. He placed the needle back into the wrapping. He rolled it, tied it, and threw it back into his pouch. With a slick smile he climbed his way back to the surface. His face hit the fresh air, and he was surprised to see the sun going down. Oh well, he thought. At least the day wasn't a total loss.

Jill awoke to the slamming of a vehicle door. She blinked her eyes and squinted, focusing in on a bright glowing object. The object came into view, revealing itself as a neon sign, flaming red and buzzing with electricity. She was laying crumpled over in a small pickup, her face resting on the passenger door. Her legs were bent, but still stretched almost to the driver's side. She sat up and winced, a searing pain shooting down her neck and into her spine. She was stiff, and felt as though she'd been folded in half for a year. The small pickup truck sat in the parking lot of a cheap diner, accompanied by several other cars, none of them looked new. Beyond the glow of the diner's neon signs there was nothing. Darkness as far as she could see, meaning Boulder was long gone. A flash of headlights zipped behind her and she could see the freeway was not too far away. Must be a truck stop. She unlocked the door, opened it, and was halfway out when the diner door flew open and Andrew stepped out, carrying a paper sack. "Food's here," he said.

"My God," Jill said. "I feel like I've been beaten with a stick. How long was I asleep?" She was rubbing her neck from the crick that jolted pain up into her skull. "About an hour and a half," Andrew replied, a small smile creeping across his face. "I thought about waking you several times, but you just looked so peaceful I didn't wanna bother you."

Jill rolled her head and shrunk back into the truck. "Well I wish you would have. Now I have no idea where we are or even where we're going. And no offense but I still don't trust you. I shouldn't have lowered my guard." Jill felt stupid for that, and even more so for telling him her mistake. She had to be more careful than that.

"Look, Jill, we're about a hundred and twenty miles away from where we were when you fell asleep. We're about 15 miles outside of Essence Creek, and I figured that's where we'd stay for the night. Then in the morning we'd pass on through Raccoon City on our way to Texas. That's my plan anyways." Andrew pulled himself into the seat and started the truck. "Just thought I'd stop and grab a bite to eat though."

Jill looked at him oddly. She couldn't decide whether or not to say it. After a small debate in her head, she knew it was better to tell him now than wait until later. "You can't go through Raccoon City."

"What? Why not?" he said, with a puzzled, but almost mocking tone of voice. "You just can't." Jill said, running her hand through her hair, trying to act casual. "There's a detour. I came from there before I went to Boulder. We'll have to go east around the city." Andrew's face grew annoyed, and with a whiny tone of voice displayed his irritation. "East? Hell the road to Raccoon City is the only one I know of that goes through the mountains. How far east would we have to go before we came to another one?" Jill shuddered when she thought of the Arklay Mountains. "I don't know," she answered. "But you said we were going to spend the night in Essence Creek, maybe we could ask someone there in the morning. Or maybe we could buy a map or something." Andrew agreed, and shuffled his way into the pickup. They pulled out of the driveway of the truck stop and got back on the highway, the cab of the small truck darkening slowly as the large neon sign drifted away in the distance.

After ten minutes or so they passed the city limits of Essence Creek, and lowered their speed to 45 miles an hour. Jill looked though the passenger's side window at the small buildings that lined the main street. A barbershop, gas station, drug store, café, and two small clothing stores stood among some of the smaller shops that nested themselves along the road. As they slowly passed the darkened, lifeless buildings Jill could almost see tattered curtains, blowing halfway through broken windows. This town was so much like Raccoon City. The likeness brought back memories of a dead city, sprawling out before her in a hopeless portrait of disaster and gore. She could see what Essence Creek could be like; Cars on fire, power outages, and the undead creatures lumbering around looking for something to feed on. Tears forced their way out of Jill's eyes, and she hunched towards the seat to keep Andrew from noticing. She softly wiped the tears away and pushed the images from her mind.

Andrew pulled into a small motel and stopped the truck. Jill had felt a bit uneasy about sharing a room with him the entire time they were on the road, and now that the time had come the butterflies in her stomach were making her head spin. She didn't know this guy, much less trust him. Andrew turned and looked at her. He could see the nervousness on her face. "If you want, you can have a separate room. I'll pay for it." "No I couldn't make you pay extra," Jill replied, mentally cursing her own kindness. "Relax," Andrew said as he unfastened his seatbelt. "You don't think I was planning on making it all the way to Texas on 50 bucks and my good looks, do you? It's covered, so don't worry about it." With that he opened the door and slid out of the pickup, not waiting for Jill to reply. Jill just sat and watched him swing open the door to the front office and step inside. She didn't know what to think. Either she'd just met the man of her dreams, or something wasn't right. She was betting on the latter.

Despite her fears, Andrew kept his word and tossed her the key to her own room. He explained that they were two doors down from each other that that her room was 204. Jill glanced down at her key and saw the number scratched across its face. She turned the key and was surprised to see a nice, tidy little room, much different than the outside of the building. She closed the door and turned the deadbolt, then slid the chain across to its lock. She pinched the tiny lock on the doorknob and turned it. She was taking no chances. If she was going to sleep tonight, she was going to sleep soundly.

Gild lay stiff, unable to move. The creature that stood before him stopped at his feet. The full moon shimmered on its slick skin, reflected in its eyes. Its shoulders were muscular, and they rose and fell as it took slow, deep breaths. It made no sound. It just stood there and stared. Gild slid his feet away from the creature. It stood still. Gild slowly pushed himself away, sliding on the ground. He dared to take his eyes away for just a second, and glanced toward Schwantz and Stewart. They were both still sleeping. Gild quickly shot his eyes back to the beast. It still stood there, silently. It's only movements the heaving of its chest and shoulders. In the moonlight Gild could see the frog-like head and the long, extremely sharp talons at the end of its fingers. Gild very slowly went for his gun. The creature growled a low, gurgling warning. He could beat it. He shot his hand toward the gun and grabbed it. He turned to fire. A force slammed against his chest with unimaginable weight. He fell back, his eyes widening with pain. In the moonlight he saw the creature standing on him, its leg pressing down on his stomach, its arm raised over its head. The glimmer of its claws sparkled as it swung down hard, slashing across his throat.

A flash of white light flooded Gild's eyes as he screamed, sitting up straight and grabbing at his throat. Stewart was sitting in front of him, her hand on his shoulder. Schwantz was beside him, holding Gild's gun. "Jesus, Gild, are you alright?" Stewart asked, her soft voice easing Gild's frantic breathing. Gild looked around. It was morning, and Stewart and Schwantz were already dressed. "Oh my God, it was a dream. Thank God it was a fucking dream. Holy shit. Holy shit." Gild slowed his breathing and wiped the sweat from his brow. He didn't need that kind of dream in this place. He was in a dead fuckin' city for crying out loud. This is what horror movies are made of. He calmed himself down and grabbed his boots. He wanted to get this over with so he could get the hell out of here.

"This is the last leg of our journey, folks," Schwantz announced, sounding like a tour guide. "We get in here and do what we gotta do, and since we've already explored our route, we can get out of here by dusk." "Thank God," Stewart said. "Amen to that," added Gild, still shaky from the nightmare. They marched on, imagining a warm shower and a soft bed. Stewart noted how nice it would be to be surrounded by live people.

They reached the rendezvous point at noon. The tall, crumpled mass of what used to be a clock tower loomed before them. The large metal gears were strewn about the ground, imbedded into the dirt by the force from the blast. There was nothing left of the building's tower, and the second floor of the place was nearly gone as well. If it wouldn't have been for the gears and the shattered, blackened clock face at the base of the building, they wouldn't have recognized it. Gild walked to the door and peeked inside while Schwantz and Stewart surveyed the area. Gild slid inside the door of the building and looked around. It looked as though there had been a war in there as well. Bodies were everywhere, slumped across each other and scattered around the room. He passed through a doorway and entered another large room, this one empty except for a large piano crunched against one wall. This part of the building was sturdy, and most of the structure survived the blast. Entire rooms were still intact, and it made Gild a little nervous. What else could've survived? He slowly made his way across the room and reached another door. He grabbed the knob and pushed. The door creaked and splintered, then finally cracked open. Gild shone his flashlight into the dark room and held his breath. It was a chapel, small and quaint, but virtually untouched by the fires. Gild made his way to a small altar, and with the hairs crawling on the back of his neck he examined it closely. There were blankets spread across the altar, and a bunch of cloth and material bunched up on one end. Someone slept here.

Gild stepped around the altar, still dumbfounded at the fact that this room survived. Just then his foot kicked something, and he heard the soft tinkle of glass roll across the floor. He shone his light down and saw a syringe sitting near his foot. The needle was bent, and there was nothing in it, so he reached down and carefully picked it up. A bed and a hypodermic needle. Someone was being treated in here. Gild hunched over and peered underneath the altar. He shown the flashlight around the floor. He kicked something else besides the syringe, and he had to find out where it rolled. He swung the light around and caught the shimmer from a small round object underneath a cabinet. He reached down and grabbed it, quickly retrieving it and getting his arm back where he could see it. Gild smiled to himself as he brought up the small jar into view. Whatever was in that syringe came out of this jar, and there was still some left.

When Gild finally emerged from the building he saw Stewart rounding the corner. "Find anyone?" he said, but he could tell the answer by the look on her face. "No," she said. "But someone decided to drive a train car into the rear side of the building though. I doubt the blast could've thrown it there." Gild walked over to her and pulled the syringe and jar from his pocket. "Nah, someone was definitely here. There's a chapel in there completely intact. There's evidence of someone sleeping in there, and I found these on the floor." He handed the two to Stewart, and she examined the jar closely, a look of interest on her face.

"I was thinking penicillin. Insulin maybe. The person could've been diabetic."

"No label," Stewart added. "I don't even think this is the original container for it. It's impossible to tell right now. I'll have to get it back to the lab."

Schwantz appeared from behind a wall, and Stewart secretly placed the jar in her pocket. She dropped the syringe to the ground and walked toward Schwantz. He seemed more annoyed than usual. "I can't find it," he said. "Find what?" Stewart asked. "The tower is right here, we've already looked into it."

"Fuck the tower!" Schwantz shouted, losing his temper and startling both Stewart and Gild.

Schwantz had been getting more and more antsy the closer they got to the tower, and now that they were there had hadn't the slightest interest in it. "I don't give a rat's ass about the tower, I need the box!"

Gild was confused. "Box? What the hell are you talking about? I don't know anything about a box. Our orders were to get to the clock tower and search for survivors."

"Why are we here?" Stewart asked, her tone low and demanding. "It was obvious the minute we set foot in this hell we weren't going to find any survivors. Why were we ordered to find this place?"

Schwantz didn't answer her. He was lost in thought, staring at the sky with a disgruntled look on his face. He whispered to himself, pointed his finger towards the sky and slowly lowered it, until it was pointing east of the tower. "There," he said, and trotted off in that direction.

"Now wait just a damn minute," Stewart demanded, following after him. "If we didn't have to look for survivors out here then why the hell did we have to find the tower?" At that Schwantz spun to face her. "Because, you bitch, the helicopter had the box on it, and the helicopter crashed near the fucking tower."

Stewart stared at him in rage. "Why weren't we informed?"

"Because you didn't need to know."

Schwantz turned and continued walking, and Stewart and Gild followed close behind. After about sixty yards they found the remains of a downed helicopter. Gerald Schwantz's spirits raised, and he jogged toward the chopper's skeleton and dove inside. He emerged a short time later with a charred black box in his hands. His excitement came to a halt as he heard the click of a weapon.

Gild stood there, his weapon drawn and aimed at Schwantz. "What's the box for, Gerald?"

Schwantz looked disgusted. "Oh what, I suppose you're gonna shoot me no—"

Schwantz didn't have time to finish his sentence as Gild fired. The bullet connected with the side of the helicopter, chipping off paint and shooting sparks dangerously close to Schwantz's face. "Alright, alright!" Schwantz screamed. "This is a flight record in this box, and its contents are very important to our employers." "I'm not satisfied, Gerald," Gild said, cocking his pistol. "Better rewind a little bit, and fill in some details."

Gerald Schwantz slid to the ground, and rested the box between his knees. He wiped the sweat from his brow. "The survivors we were sent in to find were part of a special forces group sent into the city by Umbrella. Their main mission was to look for survivors, but with them was a Supervisor. Because all of the other Supervisors were killed, his job was to collect data on Umbrella's new B.O.W. He was to get the data and meet here at the rendezvous point, then take the data to Umbrella. This helicopter was waiting to retrieve him and whatever soldiers were left, but it was shot down during extraction. There was a video camera with an uplink to Umbrella's headquarters onboard the helicopter, and immediately before the transmission ceased there was an image captured of the exact B.O.W. they were trying to get the combat data on. The transmission was cut off, but the camera still would've recorded enough to get some decent information from. And that footage was stored digitally inside this box."

"What's a B.O.W.?" Stewart asked, her anger fading in exchange for curiosity. Schwantz sighed and reluctantly told them. "B.O.W. stands for Bio-Organic Weapon."

Gild lowered his weapon and turned away, cursing Umbrella. He took a few steps away and then turned to Schwantz again. "We saw something yesterday. It had long arms and a small head, and it looked kinda like a frog. Whatever it was it wasn't human. Is that the B.O.W. you're talking about?"

"No. That was a hunter. Look, I can't sit here all day and explain these things to you. I'm not even supposed to be telling you this in the first place. We must hurry if we wanna get out of here today."

Stewart's stomach was turning. Her head spun. It was all so unbelievable. An entire city wiped out because Umbrella wanted to play God. Thousands of people died here, and Umbrella just shrugs its shoulders and walks away. She'd been a doctor for almost ten years now, and in that time she's saved hundreds of lives. Looking out over the decimation of Raccoon City she realized how small and unimportant she was. Her hundreds of lives saved was nothing compared to the thousands taken by her employers. She swallowed the knot in her throat and looked at Schwantz. "What about the virus? I was told it was Ebola…Gild said the people in Essence Creek had another theory." Schwantz shrugged it off and got to his feet. "We better get going if we want to leave before dusk. I can't sit here all day and play 20 questions."

Gild looked at him. "Then we'll talk on the way." Then he walked over to where the black box sat at Schwantz's feet, bent over, and hoisted it up onto his shoulder. Then he winked at him. "And I'll carry this."

Robin Stewart was lost in thought. Her mind kept playing scene after scene of a merciless slaughter. Hundreds of frog-like creatures flooded her mind, running rampant through the streets, swiping down innocent people. People screaming as the razor sharp claws ripped through their skin, disemboweling them. Eating them. A hand slapped down on her shoulder and she snapped out of it. She turned and saw Gild staring into her eyes. "We gotta go," he said. Then he turned and started around the helicopter to the front of the clock tower.

They walked in silence for a half an hour before Stewart asked again. "What about the virus?" Schwantz explained that there was actually a virus, but it was much stronger, and more volatile than Ebola. After an incident in the lab, the rats spread it through the city at an alarming rate. By the time they learned of the outbreak, it was too far along to stop. "The virus has some very unique abilities. Sometimes it mutates the host, but mostly it reduces its brain activity to the most primal functions, namely aggression and hunger." Stewart looked at Schwantz. "What's unique about that? A lot of viruses mutate the host to some degree. And brain damage is a risk of any illness." Schwantz chuckled to himself. "Yes but this virus carries one capability that makes it the most dangerous you'll ever see." Stewart stared at him for a few seconds until it was obvious he was waiting for her to ask. "And what is it capable of?" He looked at her with a gleam in his eye, and she could tell he was almost proud of it. "Reanimation," he said as he smiled.

Stewart's blank stare told the scientist that she was trying to figure out how a virus could do that. Finally she asked. "Not alive in the sense. The human is not aware of him or herself, there is no conscious thought. The virus stimulates the brain, but only for movement. A lot still needs to be learned about them. While we've had the virus for some time now this is the first time it's infected an organism outside of our lab. We've created the B.O.W.s using this virus, but under very controlled circumstances, and with DNA manipulation." He pointed to one of the charred bodies as they passed. "Those poor bastards were an accident."

This was too unreal. Stewart walked on, amazed and half unbelieving. "So you created a virus that turns people into…. zombies?" Schwantz hated that word. It was so inaccurate, but sometimes it was the only thing you could call them. She shivered. "Just the thought of these things grabbing me with their cold, stiff arms gives me the creeps." Schwantz raised his hand to his chin and scratched. "Actually they're not cold. They're very hot in fact. The virus stimulates the brain's electrical charge, and that causes a lot of heat. That heat keeps the tissue soft, preventing rigor mortis. It's an amazing task, really."

Robin couldn't understand how he could smile while talking about this. He was happy. Happy that his company created killing machines. Happy that his company was responsible for the death of a city.

"Is there a cure for it? An immunization?" she asked.

"A vaccine, yes, but it's still experimental. I've considered using rat blood to try and create immunity to the virus, but right now that's still a theory."

"Rats?"

"Sewer rats. They carry a number of diseases. Some of them affect them, so of them don't. Their lifestyle requires a very strong immune system, and in some cases the rats we injected with the virus never showed any signs of illness. They just carry it in their bodies for the rest of their life." He winked at Stewart. "Another one of its perks."

When he saw that she didn't find it amusing, he lowered his head and stared at his feet as they stepped over downed power lines and rubble. They traveled in silence for another fifteen minutes, retracing their footsteps, looking to the places they had looked before. It was the same. Nothing was changed, and that was good. Schwantz looked from side to side, noticing the destruction with a newfound sense of awe. It tugged at his stomach. Until now he had been able to keep himself distant, detaching himself from the reality that was Raccoon City. It was now about 4:15 in the afternoon, and the sun was beginning to sink to the horizon. The shadows seemed longer than normal. The buildings loomed over him, their spines and ribs jutting out from crumbled concrete. They seemed to whisper to him, to urge him on. They wanted him out.

He couldn't take it any longer. He looked over to Stewart and noticed the grim look on her face as well. "I, uh, I apologize for calling you bitch earlier. I didn't really mean to say it, it just kinda popped out. I don't know what came over me. All I wanted to do was find the flight recorder so we could get the hell out of here." Stewart accepted his apology with a forced smile. "It's ok, Gerald. I think this place is getting to all of us. The things we've seen here we were never meant to see. You'll never be prepared for something like this. It takes its toll. Just look at Clifton up there." She pointed at Gild as he walked ahead of them, his face solemn and stern, and slightly lowered. "He hasn't been the same since yesterday. Now some people would leave this place and go on with their lives. But I don't think he will. He's changed, and I could bet that it's permanent. He hasn't muttered a single smart-ass comment since yesterday morning, and I can even see it in his eyes." She stared ahead at Clifton Gild. He stopped, turned to look at them, and smiled. Then he pointed straight ahead. "The extraction point is only two hundred yards from here. It's not even five o'clock yet. If you ask me we made some pretty good time." Stewart was glad. Only two hundred yards, and she could finally get the hell out of here. She could see the dust rising up, swirling around as it rose into the sky. The helicopter was ready and waiting. She was almost there.

"We wasted a day, I hope you know that," Andrew said as he threw his bag into the back of his pickup. "It wasn't wasted," Jill replied. "I waited some tables and made a few bucks. More money than I've had since I left Boulder anyway. Besides, what's your hurry? You got a woman waiting for you in Texas?" She smiled at him and winked, but he didn't seem to share her sense of humor.

"I just want to get there. I don't like it up here. I have some bad memories that I'd rather forget about." He ducked into his truck and Jill slid into the passenger seat. "But why Texas?" she asked. Why not New York, or Boston? Hell, I could use a trip to California myself. I could stretch out on the beach in my thong." She smiled over at him and waited for a reaction. She got none.

"Because those places are too crowded. I want to go somewhere I can get a ranch and have 20 miles of country on all sides. I don't like people quite as much as I used to." He started his truck and backed out, and Jill couldn't help but agree. She didn't like being around a lot of people either. Viruses spread quicker that way.

She decided to leave him be, and slid down in her seat. She let her eyes droop, until the passing barbershops and drugstores were no more than faceless blurs floating past the window. The low hum of the tires on the pavement lulled her to sleep as they sped out of Essence Creek.

As she slept she dreamed of the peaceful town of Raccoon City, bustling during the holiday seasons. People rushed about, cars honked, and children ran and played. She would smile as she looked out the window of the police station, imagining a city without crime, a city that doesn't require her services. Then she would sigh and walk back to their dark, windowless office, with its scattered papers and cluttered desks. How she wished she could go back there, and walk through the door to see all her friends. Enrico, Barry, Brad, Forest, and all the others laughing and telling bullshit stories. All of them alive and well.

She opened her eyes and saw darkness. She glanced at Andrew and saw him staring forward solemnly. He was lost in thought, but obviously very tired. "You want me to take over?" she asked, but the softness of her voice went unnoticed. She repeated herself, this time a little louder. "Andrew, do you want me to take over?" He jumped in his seat, then glanced over at her. The dim glow of the dashboard threw a pale green light on her face. She smiled at him in the gloom. "Uh, yeah, you better," he finally said. The calm look on her face reflected his own, and for a moment their eyes locked. Suddenly there was nothing else around them. No sounds, no humming of the engine, no buzz of the radio interrupted his attention. Sitting there, sinking into her eyes, nothing mattered to him. The world could collapse around him and he wouldn't even- "ANDREW LOOK OUT!!"

Andrew jerked his head forward and saw a figure standing in the street. He slammed his foot on the brake and the tires locked up, sending them screaming forward. The momentum carried the pickup and it connected with the figure, sending it tumbling and bouncing upwards through the windshield. Andrew yanked on the wheel and the car veered off the road, digging its front tires into the soft dirt. The rear end went shooting past them, spinning them about face. Jill had her hands pressed to the dash, pushing herself against the back of the seat. In front of her a limp body draped, half in, half out of the windshield. Andrew was bracing himself as well when the truck came to a stop. They both sat there, panting. They looked at each other, then at the body.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell just happened?" Andrew asked, even though he knew perfectly. "We hit someone," Jill said, the tremble in her voice becoming more apparent. "Is he dead?" Andrew asked, and Jill answered. "I don't know, but he's bleeding pretty badly." They both opened the doors and slipped out of the vehicle. The victim was dressed strange fatigues, something closely resembling the army. Jill climbed onto the hood of the truck and pulled on the soldier's waist. Glass crumbled and bounced as she carefully scooted the body towards the front. The soldier moaned. "Holy shit," Andrew said. "He's alive. Thank you God, we didn't kill him."

"Well he's not dead yet anyways. I think the helmet kept his skull from turning into jell-o, but no telling what else is broken." Jill pondered for a moment, then moved to one side of the soldier and rolled him. "Interesting." she said. Andrew walked to the other side of the truck. "What is?" he asked. "Well for one," Jill replied, and removed the helmet. "He's a she. And two," she ran her hand down the soldier's torso. "She's been shot."

end part I