Author's Note: I don't really like to use profanity but I also wanted to keep to the original character of the story as much as possible. This story takes place at the very end of the first movie, written from Alice's POV.

Warning Definitely some major spoilers in here. This is my first fanfic so please review and let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, except Sherry, who is my own creation. Most of the plot is mine, as well.

I cocked the shotgun, enjoying the sound as the shells slid into place. I glanced around again, amazed at the destruction in what was former Raccoon City. What was my next move? Everyone was gone, Rain, J.D., Matt, even Spence. All were victims of the Umbrella Corporation. I tried to think. How long had I been in that place, their guinea pig? My hair was only a little longer but they could've and probably had trimmed it. My next move, I decided, would be to get out of the city. Someone had to be warned that there was an army of walking dead underground. I walked past the destroyed police car, glancing on all sides, checking the perimeter. Something else had happened, to explain my surroundings. I stopped in the street, numbness spreading to my entire body. I heard low growl and the click of nails on asphalt. Something had happened. The zombies had escaped their underground prison. I turned quickly, pulling the shotgun up even as the skinned-Doberman leapt towards me. I let off a shot, the blast taking the dog full in the face. It hit the asphalt with a dull thud, whined once and then didn't move. The shot had taken the Doberman's face off, blood oozing slowly from its wound, pooling in a crimson spot on the ground.

"Crap."

I needed to get out of this place. It was even starting to mess with my vocabulary. I tried to remember where the gates were. But everything, every landmark, lay in ruin. Or almost everything. I had come out of the Mansion, the house I had lived in with Spence for more than six months. I knew it was east of my position. East of my position? When had I started talking like a freakin' commando? I reloaded the shotgun and started walking north-west. The Mansion had been built on the outskirts of Raccoon City to discourage visitors, so, obviously I wanted to go further into the city. I started walking again. I was in a subdivision, the houses cut exactly the same in their cookie cutter way. But the houses didn't look the same anymore. Most of them had been torn apart by fire or other...hands. I needed more ammunition, a hand gun, maybe a flamethrower if I could find it. Yeah, a flamethrower would be awesome. Well, most people kept guns in their homes. Seemed as good a place as any to start looking. I went past the first few houses because they were still on fire. I walked into the next house. This house was nice and generic. The only thing that made it interesting was a dead tree in the front yard. It, too, had caught flame as had the grass around it. I could still smell the burnt debris. I walked past the tree's skeletal remains and pushed open the front door all the way. I listened for the shuffling walk of the zombies and heard...nothing. Even so, I brought the shotgun up, sighting down my arm. There weren't any signs of anything. The television was on but the picture contained only static, the endless march of the black and white ants. The living room was connected to the dining room and between the two was a hallway. The one good thing about the zombies is that they were stupid. They couldn't think to hide and jump out from under a table or a doorway. I looked at the kitchen. There were dishes in the sink, papers on the table. Everything seemed so nice and normal. So unlike my life. Or theirs now. I searched through the kitchen cabinets and drawers. There was silverware, plates, bowls, the normal kitchen stuff. The knives weren't big enough to be useful. I continued down the hall, listening carefully. There were two rooms to my right, one on my left. These people had kids. The children's names were stenciled on the door. I compartmentalized the emotion and the horror and kept moving. More than likely the parents wouldn't keep a gun in their kids' room. I moved to the last door on the right. I listened by the door. If something was in the room, I wanted to know about it. There was nothing in the room. I was sure of it. I turned the knob and went in. There was no one in the room. There was a made bed in the center of the room, an armoire and a chest of drawers. I dismissed each piece of furniture and the bed and moved to the closet on the opposite side of the room. I paused on the side of the door but I knew nothing was waiting. I pulled open the door and looked inside. The closet was a huge walk-in number. Expensive clothing lined each side, shoes stacked neatly underneath the corresponding outfit. I glanced down at what I was wearing. The lab coat and the shielding I had woken up in. Not exactly good for fighting the undead, or really, for walking around. I went to the woman's side of the closet and started looking through the clothes. I found a shirt that looked like it would fit me. It was black and hung off the shoulder. There was a shelf that ran the length of the closet. I knew where the gun was. I reached up and pulled down a Skecher's shoebox. Inside was a black Sig-Sauer .45, two loaded clips, a box of ammo and a shoulder holster. The holster would chafe my exposed skin. And I couldn't carry the other clip or ammo in my hand the entire time. I found a black leather jacket. Underneath the jacket were a pair of black Merrell boots. I smiled to myself and grabbed both items. I put everything on the bed and grabbed a pair of jeans from the chest of drawers. I kept looking. So far this woman had everything in my size. I grabbed a pair of under things and put them on, followed by the rest of the clothing. I put the jacket on. It fell to my thighs and had deep pockets, perfect for the clips, gun and ammo. Now, to get out of here.

I went back outside, now noticing the garage. I went inside. The only vehicle left was a black Honda Super Hawk motorcycle. Oh, yeah. Hanging on a handlebar was the matching helmet. I put it on and revved the engine. I smiled again as I busted through the garage door and out onto the street.