Thomas Shore stumbled through the woods. He was alive.
The woods were dark, and littered with leaves. He throbbed from countless bruises he had suffered over the past two days, but, thankfully, he had no cuts. No slashes. No bites.
He was alive.
And so was the zombie. He'd been chasing it for the past five hours. Somehow it had led him around the army brigade that was enforcing the Raccoon City Quarantine. Somehow it had led him through the woods, feeding off of small rodents that had forced him to use half the shots in his magazine.
Shore had spent a year in Vietnam before the war ended, and that had prepared him for the horrors of Raccoon City, and the survival of those horrors. He'd stockpiled weapons and ammo in his apartment, outwitting his landlord. He'd done it as a hobby, but it had come in handy.
Now all he had was a pump-action shotgun with two shells and a 9mm handgun with half a clip left. And he had to stop that son of a bitch before it got to Bison. Already the roads were getting wider.
The pale shadow of the moon hung over the road that the zombie had taken to over the past two hours. Shore had seen it but once, shot it in the back, but since then all he'd seen were its bloody footprints. And he'd been jogging the whole way.
A light from a nearby house shone through the thick forest, and Shore cursed-he'd been too late. He rounded a corner and saw the house. It was empty. There were no obvious marks of abuse.
Then he saw the ambulance. Its windshield was completely shattered and spattered with blood. Redness corrupted the black of the street's paving beneath. A single man-shaped silhouette stood motionless next to it.
Shore didn't bother thinking about ethics. He saw two more houses down the road-those had been broken into. He unholstered his handgun and fired once. A geyser of red flew from the figure's head, and then it collapsed.
Shore started to jog. He reholstered his handgun and checked that his shotgun was firmly strapped to his back and that his first aid kit was at his side. He jogged faster. He could make it to the center of town before the zombies, and he could fight his way through them.
The woods were dark, and littered with leaves. He throbbed from countless bruises he had suffered over the past two days, but, thankfully, he had no cuts. No slashes. No bites.
He was alive.
And so was the zombie. He'd been chasing it for the past five hours. Somehow it had led him around the army brigade that was enforcing the Raccoon City Quarantine. Somehow it had led him through the woods, feeding off of small rodents that had forced him to use half the shots in his magazine.
Shore had spent a year in Vietnam before the war ended, and that had prepared him for the horrors of Raccoon City, and the survival of those horrors. He'd stockpiled weapons and ammo in his apartment, outwitting his landlord. He'd done it as a hobby, but it had come in handy.
Now all he had was a pump-action shotgun with two shells and a 9mm handgun with half a clip left. And he had to stop that son of a bitch before it got to Bison. Already the roads were getting wider.
The pale shadow of the moon hung over the road that the zombie had taken to over the past two hours. Shore had seen it but once, shot it in the back, but since then all he'd seen were its bloody footprints. And he'd been jogging the whole way.
A light from a nearby house shone through the thick forest, and Shore cursed-he'd been too late. He rounded a corner and saw the house. It was empty. There were no obvious marks of abuse.
Then he saw the ambulance. Its windshield was completely shattered and spattered with blood. Redness corrupted the black of the street's paving beneath. A single man-shaped silhouette stood motionless next to it.
Shore didn't bother thinking about ethics. He saw two more houses down the road-those had been broken into. He unholstered his handgun and fired once. A geyser of red flew from the figure's head, and then it collapsed.
Shore started to jog. He reholstered his handgun and checked that his shotgun was firmly strapped to his back and that his first aid kit was at his side. He jogged faster. He could make it to the center of town before the zombies, and he could fight his way through them.
