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3:00 PM

Mark followed the shopkeeper and the teenage girl down into the basement of the convenience store. The entire store had been looted ahead of time already, and the shopkeeper didn't do anything to stop it. Aisles and displays were knocked over. Bottles, plastic wrappers, empty boxes, and various junk lay all over the wooden floor. In addition to the disarray, there was a strange thickness to the air that was heightened by the yellow overhead lights and dead heat inside. Mark had been on the street when he'd seen the girl go into the store, and he knew her so he followed her inside. The shopkeeper had a shotgun in his hands and he was telling them there were no more supplies. The girl was crying that she couldn't find her parents, and Mark couldn't speak he was so bewildered by everything that was happening. The shopkeeper kept telling them he couldn't help them, that they should leave while there was still time, but someone began screaming outside, and there were gunshots. The shopkeeper said that the dead ones had finally come and found the people on this street. He told Mark and the girl that they had to get downstairs quickly, but the girl was crying and she tried to leave, so the shopkeeper took her arm and forcibly took her into the back of the store and down into the basement. She didn't put up any violent resistance but she was very distraught and confused as she was forced down into the dark hallway. She kept looking back to Mark, and past him to the stairs leading back into the store.

"Get in this room and lock the door. There's food and water, and you can stay inside until the military comes. Don't let anyone in, anyone! You hear me? Hey, are you listening?" The shopkeeper was holding the girl by both arms and talking to her face to face, but she wasn't looking at him. He put her inside the storage room, and then took Mark by the arm and pushed him in.

"You take care of her. Don't let anything happen! Don't let anything open this door!" He said to Mark, as if the girl were his own daughter. He stared right into Mark's eyes… scaring Mark more shitless than he already was. And then the door abruptly shut in Mark's face.

After what had to be an endless couple of minutes in the small room, there were gunshots from upstairs, followed by screaming. The screaming lasted for several seconds and heightened, then stopped suddenly. That was the end of the shopkeeper.

In the small, dimly lit room the girl was silent, and so was Mark. They could only hear each other's rapid and shallow breathing, each trying to make it as quiet as possible, but not succeeding. Mark worried his heart was going to pump its way out of his ribcage.

From upstairs, there was the sound of things falling over and faintly, very faintly, of moaning. Though he hadn't seen any yet, Mark knew what those things upstairs were. They were corpses that could walk, and see, and couldn't be bargained or reasoned with. They were monsters, and they spread their disease like wildfire.

He stopped, finally realizing the situation and where he was. Quickly leaning towards the door and fiddling with the knob, he locked it and breathed a sigh, though a cold sweat was still present all over his back and forehead. The door was metal, and looked like it was strong. Mark turned around and faced the girl.

She was staring at the ground, and when she noticed he was looking at her she looked up. She was Stacey, Stacey Parks, though Mark didn't like to admit to himself that he knew her last name, too. They only had one class together in RC High, and they had never spoken, but he knew her and he thought about her. She had dark brown hair that came down to her shoulders, and she never wore it in a ponytail. Her eyes were dark green, and they reminded him of looking down at the tops of a forest of pine trees. Her dark features and fair white skin were what made her stand out to him. She was his height or a little below it, but she seemed tall anyway. She had many friends that Mark did not like, that he felt alienated from, that he couldn't approach, but he tried from to time. Stacey was beautiful to him, though he could never speak to her or be close to her. He just couldn't, he was too shy and too weak around girls he liked. His liking of her eventually turned to longing, which turned into regret. He knew he could never approach her and just strike up conversation. He knew he couldn't just 'handle it' like his handful of friends told him to. And now, and now here he was with Stacey in this room. They might die in here, together, but he couldn't even bring himself to speak.

"Is that man dead?" Stacey asked. Mark was standing stiffly, his hands like lead pipes down his sides knowing she was staring right at him and judging his looks, what he would say, how tough he was.

"Yes."

"I… I've got to find my mom and dad." She said, getting up and putting her hands on the doorknob. Mark didn't know what to do. She unlocked the door and opened it ajar before he pushed it back shut.

"Don't go out there!" Mark's voice cracked, his hand on the door. Suddenly he realized he'd kind of yelled. "P… please. I'm sorry."

Stacey's eyes narrowed slightly and it looked like they'd grown darker as she turned the doorknob and pulled the door open again. "I have to find my parents! They might be in trouble!" She said, agitated at the stiff and skinny looking boy in her way. Mark was getting distressed, and he slammed the door shut this time before she opened it half way.

"The zombies are right outside! If you go out there they will fucking eat you!"

Stacey stared at Mark for a moment, not knowing what to make of the boy, and then she pushed him. "Fuck you! I've got to go find my parents!" She tried to open the door a third time, but Mark slammed it shut again and kept his arm on the door, his anger overtaking the self-consciousness.

"Your parents are dead!" He said, his entire body tensed like a balled up fist. Stacey looked up at him and her eyes were glassy and wet. She quickly looked away and down, turning Mark's tension to nothing, as he felt terrible. He opened his mouth to say sorry, but he knew it wouldn't mean anything. So he didn't say it. She turned around and sat on one of the boxes of supplies, folding her arms and looking at the floor, her facial very taught as she tried to control herself and not cry. For a few minutes her gaze went right through the concrete, as Mark's words sunk in. Her parents were dead.

"Maybe they aren't… maybe they're somewhere." Mark said, uncomfortable with the silence now. He leaned against the door like an uprooted tree against a building. Stacey didn't respond. Things stayed like that for a while before Mark heard noises in the hallway outside the room. Stacey looked up slowly. Mark quickly stood up straight and turned around, remembering to lock the door again. He'd forgotten all this time that it wasn't locked.

They listened as they heard footsteps pass by, uneven steps. One leg dragged behind the other slightly, but not uniformly. There wasn't a set pause between each step. Not like conscious human footsteps. They didn't stop as they walked by, and subsequently went by again and then stopped right in front of the door. Mark stared at the door, every nerve ending in his body buzzing as his balls literally shrank. Then he felt Stacey's arm brush his as she stood up. He felt panicked, and looked around for a weapon, anything blunt or sharp. But there was nothing in the room, just boxes and aa couple of crates. They didn't have anything to defend themselves with if the door didn't hold.

Stacey quickly turned and bent down, putting her arms around a wooden crate. Mark turned from the door and saw her trying to pull the crate away from the wall. He leaned down and took grasp of it, seeing Stacey's desperation as her arms shook trying to move the crate. Together they moved it in front of the door, and immediately there was a rasping. It was human fingernails scraping against an unpainted steel door. Mark moved back away, and so did Stacey. They stared in silence. A moan came from the other side, a long, sad and very uncomfortable moan that went right through Mark's bowels. It made a stream of cold sweat suddenly fall down from his armpit and it lifted the hair on the back of his neck. It was the moan of someone that wasn't alive, wasn't thinking, wasn't aware of anything. For what must have been half an hour, they stood there as the rasping eventually stopped, and the footsteps went away.

"Who are you?" Stacey asked, as they had been sitting in silence again.

"Mark."

"I already knew your name, I mean I wanted to know who you are. What are you doing now? …What were you going to do I mean."

"I was… going to go to college. A college in Wisconsin, I was going to leave Raccoon City. How did you already know my name?" Mark brought up his head from his chest and his elbows from his knees.

"We had Algebra together. I remember you were always so quiet, I never saw you outside of class."

"Oh, I didn't know you saw me in class."

"Yeah…" Stacey said, her voice trailing off. Mark didn't want to stop talking.

"Your parents, you said you had to find them."

"My parents… oh God…" She leaned forward. Mark suddenly felt bad for bringing them up.

"You don't-"

"I was supposed to meet them, cause dad called up and told me to wait for him at the Police Department. I was about to leave from my job when he called. But I got lost, and there was a ton of people going in every direction so I stopped and began asking people for directions, but no one would stop to tell me. Everyone was panicking…" She paused. "Then I came in here to see if the store owner could tell me how to get to Police Station from here, and he just took me downstairs and I looked back, and saw you. But that guy wouldn't…"

Mark nodded while staring at the wall, the only thing he could really do.

Stacey sighed, looking up at the ceiling and rubbing her palms on her knees. Mark noticed she kept doing that, rubbing her palms on her knees. Her voice sounded more hurt as she started again,

"My brother is with my parents. He…" She stopped to swallow as her eyes and nose were running. "He's ten now… I didn't know which street it was on. I wish I'd…" Her voice broke as she began crying. She leaned down and held her face in her hands, her back shaking as she cried. Mark didn't know what to do, he held a hand over her back, but didn't know if it was alright to touch her, what she might do.

Suddenly there were sounds in the hallway. It sounded like a group of people coming down the stairs. Mark felt his stomach drop, and he quickly put an arm around Stacey's back. He whispered into her ear,

"Shhhh… shhhhh… its ok. Please, stop crying. Please, don't cry. Your parents are ok, you're worrying too much. Your brother too. They're ok. Just please stop crying, it's ok. Shhhhhh… just be quiet. Please, please don't make any noise."

Stacey swallowed and sniffed, and Mark kept his arm around her and his head close to hers. He could hear her breathing through her mouth, trying not to make any noise. There was moaning outside the door, it sounded like several people. One person moaned, followed by another and another. They walked down the hallway, dragging their feet and dragging themselves against the walls. Neither Mark nor Stacey looked up toward the door. Mark was still whispering ever so silently into her ear,

"Its ok… they won't find us. Its alright…"

"Stop." Stacey whispered back. "I'm done now. Stop talking to me like that."

"Sorry." Mark said, woken out of his comforting mode. He let go of her and gave her some space. The moaning outside in the hallway eventually stopped, though they could still hear the footsteps and the movement out there.

"You do realize we may never get out of here?" Mark whispered. Stacey raised her shoulders and head to respond, but with her eyes planted on the ground, she didn't.

The room was gray and dim, and the walls were damp, as several piping fixtures seemed to be leaking where they met the concrete. There was a small clipboard attached the wall that kept track of inventory, but it was useless now. The light yellow wooden crates and brown cardboard boxes were the only furniture for the two teenagers. The steel gray door was their only protection from the outside, which was reinforced by a solid wooden crate that stood about three and a half feet off the ground. They were safe, virtually, and what were on the other side of the door seemed to have given up. There were only the uneven footsteps now, and the occasional stumble, as two must have walked into each other.

Mark sat on his side, in the corner. Shadows cast down on his face from the overhead light as his head was leaned back against the wall but stared forward at Stacey. She was eating a package of crackers. Mark had never, in his life, spent this much time alone with a girl. It wasn't how he had envisioned it, though. He imagined smiling, kissing, touching, falling asleep together, happiness. He imagined it would happen someday. The perfect girl would find him, or would he find her? They would go on dates, she would find him humorous, he would find her beautiful and flattering, and they would love each other… or something. Would that actually ever happen for him? It sounded like a fantasy, like many other things he thought happened to everyone and would happen to him, but later found out to be a lie.

"I want… I wanna ask you something." He began to Stacey, and she looked to him. "I want to know what you think of me."

"You're a nice guy… I mean, you never really talked much." She paused to think for a moment. "A few times I tried to ask you something during class, but you seemed like surprised. You would just answer the question as fast as you could and go back to what you were doing." She finished. That was more than Mark expected her to say.

"I did? Was I an… an asshole?"

"No! No." She laughed at the seriousness in his tone. "You were never an asshole, you were just… different. You never wanted to be with the rest of us. I didn't think you did it to be mean."

"I didn't." Mark said, and he noticed he was shaking his leg. It was a habit he had. "I know now, we can say anything now. Before I was scared anything I said to you, or any girls really, would make me look stupid, or you wouldn't like me if I said something."

"Oh." She said, sensing why he asked what she thought of him. "You shouldn't worry what other think about you."

"I know. People say that all the time, but I can't just change. I am scared…" He stopped. He had admitted something he didn't want to by mistake. "I'm scared of just asking a girl out, or even talking to her. I'm scared I'll be stuck like this."

"Don't worry Mark. You won't." After Stacey finished her sentence, the moaning and rasping at the door was back.

Mark looked to the door, almost indifferent to it now. He knew they couldn't get in. This was going nowhere though. The rasping and moaning had woken him up again, woken him up from his anxiety with Stacey and his inability to share any of his feelings. He wondered how long he would be down here with her, talking to her, her not suddenly falling in love with him, with the constant threat of flesh-hungry zombies on the other side of the door. It wasn't as hopeless as it was aggravating now.

"Stacey." Mark said over the moaning, still sitting with his knees up to his chest in the corner. She looked to him, her face scared.

"Do you like me?"

"What? Why are you asking me this?"

"Because this is a life or death situation. And I want to know if you like me."

"How can I answer you now? Don't you hear them?"

"Did you like me back in school?"

"Yeah, a little."

"But I wasn't like someone you could approach?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Ok."

Mark didn't say anything else, and Stacey just watched him as the moaning and scratching at the door continued. He didn't seem to be affected at all by it as he brooded in his corner, one hand over his mouth as he stared at the wall. All this time, she realized what it was now. In school it was his weakness, but here it was his strength. He could detach himself from everything but his own thoughts.

The episode eventually passed as the moaning and panic behind the door stopped.

"They won't leave now." Mark said. "We can either stay in here till they rot, someone comes and kills them, or we go out there and die. Which one do you think is better?"

"We're not going to die."

"Sure. I'm sorry Stacey."

"Why?"

"I just am, because I can't do anything."

Stacey got up and sat next to him after he said that. She handed him her package of crackers and he took them. They sat still there together for so long they fell asleep.

There was the sound of gunshots from far away. They woke up Mark from his dreamless sleep, and he noticed Stacey was asleep against him. Something felt different, as if it were midnight and everything in the world were still. Except he could hear gunshots far away, what sounded like a small army. He whispered to Stacey to get up, but it took a shaking of his shoulder to wake her. She let out a drowsy yawn and her eyes were squinted. Mark got up and stood in front of the wooden crate reinforcing the door. He placed his hands on one board making up a rim on the top, and with all of his might, grunting, he slowly ripped it off, nails and all. Stacey's mouth opened. Mark then pulled the crate out from in front of the door and put his ear against the cold steel door. It was too cold though, and he immediately recoiled back. Instead of placing his ear to the door, he just stood there listening to the silence between him and the gunfire. After a minute he decided he couldn't hear any footsteps in the hallway.

"We can leave, those gunshots attracted them somewhere else."

"Are you sure? What if they're still out there?"

"They aren't." Mark said, though he wasn't convinced himself. He knew this was a chance, and if they waited it might go away. He wasn't going to let it go.

So with nail and board in-hand, he slowly unlocked the door and pulled it open a crack. He prepared himself for a ghoulish face to press itself in through the door, for something to attack. Nothing greeted him though, not a sound but the hum of the pipes overhead in the hallway. He took Stacey's hand, he didn't think to ask her, and she didn't object, and they walked upstairs.

Upstairs was even more of a mess than before. Now aisles lay completely toppled, and Mark and Stacey had to climb over them. The thick mist that had permeated the shop before was gone, now everything was crisp and focused. Everything Mark though about was how he was going to make it the next two minutes, how he was going to hold onto Stacey and get wherever they were going.

They found the shopkeeper by the door, which was just a frame that had been completely ripped apart and bent. The man was a mangled mess, and Stacey had to keep her hand over her mouth as she almost dry-heaved. Mark stared down at the shopkeeper's body, apathetic mostly. He thought he felt bad, but then at the same time, he just leaned down and picked up the shotgun beside the old man's body. It had blood all over the handle, which he wiped off on his shirt.

"Where are we going?" Mark whispered to Stacey, not moving his head as he examined the gun. She looked up from the body at him. He was standing there with a bloodied shirt, holding up and observing a large black shotgun that he'd taken from the mutilated body of a man who'd spoken to him only a few hours ago.

"I want to find my parents." She responded quietly.

Mark glanced at her, then down at the shopkeeper's body. He took Stacey's hand as they carefully stepped over the corpse, and leaned down to get out of the shop's twisted and destroyed front door.