1:00 AM

Mark awoke in a bed, white sheets hung all around it. He couldn't remember falling asleep or how he'd gotten here. Strangely, he couldn't speak or move. It felt as if his body were detached, like he was still asleep. And his head felt weightless, like he was just a thought without any physical attachments. This detached feeling didn't make him feel happy, but it didn't hurt either. He thought it wouldn't be so bad to stay like this forever, surrounded by white curtains and a white ceiling. Nothing would ever bother him again.

Maybe that hopeful thought was what caused the white curtains to separate and dim the white world he was laying in. Suddenly the feeling of weightlessness was replaced with a feeling of growing cold, and suddenly he realized he had a body. It ached.

When he tried to move his arms, he found his wrists were bound. And when he tried to move his legs, his ankles too. The white curtains separated and he suddenly remembered Raccoon City. He couldn't make out the figure over him. His back twisted and wanted to crawl down through and out of the bed as he felt hands touching him. He could have sworn he screamed, but as soon as he thought he had, he could make out her face from the darkness.

Stacey was untying his hands and feet. She pulled something out of his arm, a needle and a tube. She bent over his side and untied them and he felt as if he wanted to cry. Where had she come from? How had they gotten here?

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"I… eaah…Slll…tacey…"

She looked down into his dark-circled eyes. His mouth had been open the whole time he was asleep, and he had apparently forgotten how to speak.

"Mark?" She asked, unsure of his condition.

"Huuullp…" He said.

She put her arms around his shoulders and lifted him up so he was sitting on the hospital bed. His sides felt as if they had been stabbed, and he could feel liquids draining from wherever down into his abdomen. His head was light, he felt faint. He wanted to go back to lying down on the bed.

"Here, I got you your pants, and a new shirt."

Stacey leaned down and brought up his jeans and t-shirt. She laid them on his lap, and he tried to grasp them but his hands were asleep.

"Mark, are you okay?"

He looked at her for a moment, and when he tried to form some words, it felt as if his tongue were a limp slug in his mouth. He simply tried to just stand, and he almost fell to his knees, but she caught him.

"Go in the bathroom and change." She said as she lifted him up straight and led him to the small bathroom. He went inside and shut the door.

What the hell had happened? He looked at himself in the mirror and saw he was blank white and his hair was stiff like straw. Leaning in, it looked as if his skin was dead. He looked really dead, he thought. He couldn't have really looked dead though. She wouldn't have helped him if he did. No, he wasn't dead. Instead, he leaned over into the toilet bowl and threw up. Then he washed his face and stared long and hard at it, and concluded he still looked alive. He drank from the faucet. Stacey knocked on the door and asked if he was still okay. He said yes and put on his clothes, the shirt which was too big on him anyway.

"Stacey…" He said as he had stepped out and stood staring at her.

"Does it fit?" She asked, a little uncomfortable at the silence he was leaving as he stared.

"Uh… no, not really."

"Oh, well it was the best I could find." She said, a hint of an anxious laugh in her voice.

"No, thanks." He said, and looked about the room. "We're in the hospital?"

"Yeah. You probably don't remember."

"What?"

"You got knocked out. Actually you almost got strangled!"

"What? How?"

"It's too much to go into now, but I'll tell you later. Right now we need to leave. This place has gotten really creepy."

"Why was I locked down?"

"Because they thought you might die and come back."

"They thought I'd become a zombie? Was I bitten?"

"You were pretty beaten up and sick looking, but you're okay now, right?"

"Yeah. I'm great."

She smiled.

"Yeah, let's go going." Mark said.

"Okay."

They went to the door and Stacey unlocked it. "You might want to take that thing with you. I don't feel safe around here." She said as she was opening the door, pointing to a metal pipe she'd left in the corner. He took it, and she opened the door.

The hospital corridor was in disarray with equipment and supplies knocked over in the middle of the hall. There was no one around, and things were silent except for an intercom in the distance that Mark could not make out what was being said.

"Is there anyone in the hospital?"

"Not that many, but it's like a safe house. They're all on the first floor around the lobby." Stacey whispered.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Almost for five hours."

She started walking more quickly down the hall, and he caught up to follow by her side. Mark could observe smeared handprints of grime and dried blood on the wall. The elevator had similar stains on it, more worn and torn, and it had one flickering light over the chipped beige doors.

"Let's take the stairs." Mark suggested, but as soon as he did and turned his head to them, he found a fence had been pulled down over them.

Then the elevator chimed, and the doors opened, and they turned to see a stretcher being pushed out of it. A writhing, moaning person was tied down, pale and covered in sweat, a doctor jogging and pushing the stretcher down the hall as he yelled medical jargon to a nurse lagging behind. A door down the hall was opened and the patient rushed inside.

"Jesus…" Mark said under his breath.

"Come on." Stacey asked.

They called the elevator. Waiting for it, Mark suddenly remembered just how lonely his life had been up until this last series of hours that had been burning.

He now remembered what Stacey meant about him being almost strangled. He remembered they were running through a construction project because it was a shortcut to the Police Department. He had been leading the way, feeling like this was what he was meant to do, lead them to safety, just them, together:

"The RPD is a way's off, but if we cut through this site we can make it through some narrow back streets and get there in like half an hour." Mark said as he stepped over some twisted steel rods sticking out of the cement.

He took Stacey's hand and led her over the rods and they jumped from cement patch to cement patch. Mark was getting a little winded carrying the shotgun in his hands, but he'd never felt so full of purpose like this.

"The hospital's around here too, so's the clock tower. You know this part of Raccoon?"

"No." Said Stacey, not quite feeling as talkative as her leader.

"I actually grew up in this part of town. We moved down closer to the high school when I was about eleven." He said, hopping over a low red beam.

As he was speaking he was oblivious to a string of saliva that fell down next to his elbow that Stacey suddenly caught as she saw light reflect off of it like a tendril from a spider's web. Mark looked back to her, a smile almost on his face from the childhood memories he was thinking of, and wondered why she looked so concerned all of a sudden.

"What?" He asked.

Then the eyeless thing above him let out a low hiss, and with a snap it shot out its tongue, wrapping it around its victim's neck in an instant. Mark gasped his last breath of air and was hoisted off his feet. He dropped the shotgun immediately and grabbed at the tongue, trying desperately not to suffocate or have his head pulled off as he rose into the darkness above.

"Mark!" Stacey screamed and jumped over the beam between them.

She saw him being pulled up and leaned down to grab the shotgun. Held it awkwardly in her arms and aimed it up into the darkness. How would she stop it from hitting Mark? Would she kill him too if she shot? Shotguns were shot out many bullets at once she remembered. But he was almost totally in the darkness now, his legs the only part of him still left and they were disappearing too. She aimed the barrel up into the air away from where she inferred he was from his dangling legs and pulled the trigger. Then she pumped it and shot again, and again.

Mark came falling down as there was a high-pitched screech from up in the blackness of the red beams. He hit the ground feet first and collapsed. Stacey immediately dropped the shotgun and cradled his head in her lap and tried to check if he had a pulse. His face was red and swollen, and his neck was contorted and had deep red stripes around it. She feared his neck was broken.

But there came another screech from above and she looked up and feared the monster would come down. She wrapped both arms underneath Mark's shoulders and around his chest, dragging him out of the construction area as fast and hard as she could. He was unconscious the whole time.

"Mark… Mark…" She kept whispering as she dragged him away from the skeleton of the building and along the fenced and tarped area leading down the road. She could hear helicopters passing overhead and gunshots and all the ambience of a chaotic battlefield in the distance. But she was off in some distant land from that.

She dragged him through three blocks of dirt and unpaved road until they reached the side of the hospital and the park, and she found a barricade of cars parked in front of the main doors.

"Help!" She cried. But no one came out.

She dragged Mark over the cars and to the front doors. And she banged on the front doors and yelled for help. It seemed like an eternity before she saw someone move in front of the lights shining out of the barricaded windows. There was the sound of dismantling and one door slowly came ajar, and they were let in.

Before that, Mark remembered looking back from time to time and seeing Stacey there behind him as they trekked through the streets. He was in love with her. He thought he was in love with her. He wanted to be in love with her. She was going to be the last girl he was ever this close to. Now when he looked back at her under the dim lights of the elevator, he hoped she felt something similar. But from all Mark could remember of the incident, he was climbing through some metal beams when something like a slimey muscle suddenly wrapped around his neck. He dropped the shotgun and didn't hear it hit the ground. All he heard was blood rushing into his ears and then complete silence as he brought his hands up his neck to try to pry at this thing cutting off the air and blood to his brain. From there on he only remembered his eyes feeling like they would burst, and darkness.

Now as the elevator doors opened, Mark and Stacey saw a few people scattered about the small front lobby, most wounded. They lay in any place they could find, and the few nurses and medical personnel attending to them were not enough, because as he stepped out of the elevator Mark could see one boy, his age, lying seemingly dead in a corner. His skin was a greenish-pale white, and his arms were pulled over the top of his head, his eyes closed. No one else seemed to notice him.

"That's… Jimmy Tansel." Stacey said, looking at the boy.

"He was in my Chemistry class." Mark replied, as he walked toward him.

"Jimmy." Mark said, bending down in front of him. "Jimmy." Mark touched his shoulder.

Jimmy suddenly lowered his arms and looked straight up at Mark, his light blue eyes pinkish and watery. Mark almost felt his heart skip a beat as he jumped.

"Who're you?" Jimmy asked.

"It's Mark."

"Mark…" He said, his voice trailing on the name.

"You look pretty sick man."

"I feel like shit."

"How long have you been here?"

"I dunno… I really can't remember."

Mark looked back up to Stacey.

"Hey, Stacey's here too."

"Stacey…" Jimmy said faintly. "I… I can't see you guys. You're all blurry."

"We've gotta get you a doctor. I can't believe they haven't given you a room." Stacey said. She turned and called for a doctor.

"No! No, I don't need a doctor. Hey, Mark, stop her."

Mark turned and walked to Stacey, who was talking to a man over by the lobby's main desk.

"He says he doesn't want a doctor." Mark said to Stacey and the man who must have been a doctor.

"Let me take a look." He said anyway.

"He's over there." Stacey said, and she pointed to Jimmy in the corner.

The man walked over to Jimmy and pulled out a pen-flashlight. He kneeled down in front of him and introduced himself.

"My name's George. Just hold still for a moment."

"I really don't need any help." Jimmy said as George tilted his head back, and lifted back one eye-lid and shone the light into it.

"It's fine." George said. He held up Jimmy's wrist and felt his pulse. It was weak and his skin was cold. "You need rest. Come on we've got to get you to a room."

"No!" Jimmy snapped and yanked his wrist free.

"Jimmy, he's a doctor." Stacey pleaded.

"I don't need a bed. I'm fine right here!"

George leaned in close to talk low to Jimmy.

"Look, you're showing symptoms of the disease. I want you in a room for their safety just as much as yours. You can be treated more easily through an IV."

"No!" Jimmy yelled and weakly pushed away George.

"Hey!" Mark barked as he approached the doctor. George stood there for a moment and sighed.

"He doesn't want treatment."

"Why don't you just leave him here then." Mark quipped defensibly.

George sighed again.

"Fine. Fine…"

Stacey held her hands up to her chest as there was nothing she could do to make Jimmy understand, and she wanted to say something as George walked by. He made quick eye contact with her then looked off and went on.

"Mark!" She hissed.

"What?" Mark asked. Then he sat down next to Jimmy.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"No way… I'm dying man… But I'm not gonna die in some hospital bed like that. And I don't feel like getting up. It just hurts less if I don't move."

"Alright then."

"Can you guys just stay here for a little while? Till I fall asleep or something?"

"Alright."

Mark wasn't feeling so great himself. He leaned back against the wall next to Jimmy, and watched as his friend closed his eyes and his mouth slowly came open. Mark could hear him breathing heavily. He looked up to Stacey and she looked pretty upset, her hands folded over her stomach. He frowned and shrugged his shoulders, and she looked off and sat down on the lobby's bench.

There must have been a moment when he dozed off, because Mark suddenly found himself sitting next to Jimmy and feeling panicked. Looking around with his mind buzzing as if he'd just been pulled out of a dream, he saw Stacey asleep on the bench, and the few others in the lobby asleep also. All he could remember was the last instant when he'd saw her sit down on the bench. He looked over to Jimmy and didn't hear the loud breathing he had before. Oh, no, he thought. Slowly, he held a hand underneath Jimmy's open mouth and nostrils. He could feel faint warm breath.

He quietly got up and besides his sore body, he felt hungry and empty. He put his hand underneath Stacey's shoulder and sat her up. She opened her eyes and hit him across the face.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" She said with her hand over her mouth. She was terrified at realizing she'd hit him, and was trying not to laugh.

"It's okay…" Mark replied, rubbing his cheek.

"You scared me!" She said.

"Shhh… let's go find some food." He said, and took her hand.

"How could that have been him?" Mark stated in the dark back office. He bit into the apple and found the first bite to be brown and rotten.

"Mark…" Stacey began. She stopped.

"What?" He asked as he spit out the mush.

She tensed her brow, and sucked in the edges of her lips. She didn't want to say what she was going to say.

"I had to give up finding my parents to bring you here."

"When I blacked out you mean?"

"Yeah."

She remembered him being pulled up into the darkness, something like a worm wrapped around his neck. His legs were shaking back and forth and he was holding onto the worm pulling him up into the red beams and the pitch black. She screamed for Mark, but he was being pulled farther up into the darkness, and for a moment he was going to be lost. She picked up the shotgun he had dropped and aimed it up at the darkness and shot as many times as she could before he fell down. It was only a few seconds, and no more than three shots, the last that were left, but the thought of him being lost made her realize.

Mark, the quiet guy from school, a guy she had been curious about, but never really paid much attention to. She didn't know who he was, or what he was like, and never thought much more beyond that little question mark. But now the last hours, when she was in the room with him, and he put his arm around her and tried to quiet her when they were just outside the door, when she saw him staring solemnly at the wall, unaffected by their terrifying cries and scratching at the door, when he was ready to lead her to find her parents and they stepped out of the shop's broken doorway, and when she thought she would suddenly lose him to some fiend hidden up in the depths of some half-constructed building, she realized.

"Mark."

"What?" He asked again, staring at her over the apple he was biting into. She felt weak at his matter-of-factness.

"I love you."

Tension and fear filled his heart at those words.

"I love you, Mark."

The words he'd longed to hear. They weren't true. They couldn't be.

"You dragged me to the hospital?" Was all he could muster in response, dropping his food on the desk he was leaning back on.

She stared at him, the dark green corneas in her eyes perfect circles and the hair around her face the darkest and brownest it had ever been. Words were useless now.

"Mark, you saved me."

"But you couldn't get to the Police Department."

"But we can. We can still go. I know you now Mark. I know you're strong, and you don't like to admit it or talk about how you feel, but I know who you are." And she knew he wouldn't kiss her first. So she came in next to him, and put a hand behind his ear and kissed him.

He was scared, but he didn't stop her. He let her kiss him, and then when he felt her arms around him and her body in his hands, and felt his heart beating fast and his body tense, he remembered he was himself. Why should he be scared of this?