Author's Note: It's Demon Heart's first birthday, so here's an update as a present! I really hope you like this, I had to go through several re-writes.

Blam!

The zombie collapsed onto the rough pavement. A small, round bullet hole engraved in its forehead. Its jaws were opened in hunger and its eyes stared up at him blankly, as if him snuffing out its life didn't bother it the slightest bit.

Joseph wiped the sweat from his forehead as he lowered his gun. He was breathing hard and his head was pounding. Moans came from only a short distance away, along with the sound of faint shuffling.

How many more are there?!

Ever since he fled from the police station, things had gotten increasingly bad. He ran as far as the main downtown area in hopes of getting across town and out of the city, but it hadn't been easy. The closer he reached the heart of the city; the more monsters he encountered. It wasn't surprising. Most of the riots had taken place there.

He couldn't help but wonder what became of James, the either very brave or very idiotic man who volunteered to explore the police station by himself. Joseph had left before he came back, after witnessing that…that…

The door rattled as Joseph watched it intently. He backed against the marble statue that remained in the center of the police station, desperately hoping that the thing would give up and go away.

"James," his voice barely reached above a whisper, but there was no sign of him.

A chunk of door came flying off, startling Joseph nearly to death. Gleaming, sharp claws were slipping through the slit. Something was growling on the other side.

He felt a sudden pain in his arm. When he looked down, he saw that he had dug his fingernails into it. Blood seeped out from the tiny puncture marks he made. He glanced up at the monster attempting to get inside.

The claws were gone. In fact, upon closer inspection, the whole door remained perfectly intact.

Against his better judgment, he approached the large, oak double doors. He stood before them waiting for any kind of movement, but the only movement in the room was his swaying body.

'What the-? What just happened-'

The door jerked violently, causing him to jump back. He could hear soft mumbling from the other side. Was it trying to say his name?

A scream erupted, and he watched in horror as the door convulsed uncontrollably. The scream sounded like it was by a child, a young girl-

"Help me…! HELP ME!"

He opened his mouth, words frozen in his throat.

"It's going to get me!"

"I-I-I-don't-"

"JOSEPH! JOSEPH! HELP ME! IT'S GOING TO EAT ME UP!"

He turned and ran. He ran and he didn't look back.

He felt guilty for leaving James to fend for himself. Not as much as he probably should have, but the feeling was still there. James had probably left the police station by now, figuring him for dead.

Or maybe he wasn't going to come back for me at all. Yeah, that's right. Leave the crazy bastard behind to die. He would have killed you all anyway.

He supposed it was rash of him to think that way, but he couldn't dismiss that expression he saw on James' face. It was like he thought he was some kind of maniac, or madman. He had only seen that look on the face of one person before, though the man's name escaped him.

He didn't know whether James' motive for leaving him was to help him or ditch him, but he was sure he wouldn't be seeing him again.

He sneezed a couple of times and stopped to rub at his nose. It was probably his allergies acting up.

He was only allergic to dogs.

His ears picked up the sound of several, low growls. He turned slowly towards the source of the noise, his knuckles white from clenching the gun. A pack of dogs had followed him; five of them in total. Blood was caked around their muzzles.

I can't fight ALL of them!

He sneezed again, loudly. One of the bigger dogs lunged at him. He turned to run, but the beast knocked him over, pinning him on his back. The gun flew from his hands and landed a few feet away from a nearby trashcan. He struggled frantically, grasping the dog's wet throat with both hands. The animal snapped viciously at him, trying to free itself from his grip. The other dogs moved forward to help take down their newest kill.

Tears obscured his sight, and it became clear to him he was going to die. Even if he did manage to get the large dog off him, the rest would be on him in a heartbeat.

I…don't…want to…die…

He heard a gunshot, and the dog cried out as the bullet caught its side. He pushed it off of him, scrambling back as the remaining dogs began closing in on him. Another bullet slammed into the dog on the rear, and it fell too.

He looked behind him to see who was firing the gun. It wasn't James, like he previously thought, but a police officer. He was muscular, with the figure of a football player. Medium-length, reddish brown hair brushed against the back of his neck. He wore a dark blue uniform and a bullet-proof vest. "R.P.D." was written across it in white, bold lettering. In his hand, he held a .45 pistol.

He glanced at Joseph, who was cringing in fear.

"Get out of here! Let me handle this!" he said. Joseph nodded, eager to get away. He got to his feet and started running towards him. The police officer took aim and missed, swearing loudly as he did.

The three dogs gave chase as Joseph ran, but the other man remained still. He wiped his forehead and muttered something Joseph couldn't hear. He then took his gun in both hands.

"One," he said.

Joseph watched as the cop started to rear back the gun, in the same way one would pitch a baseball.

"Two."

Joseph ran past him and heard a barely audible "three". He spun around the corner of a building as several gunshots came from behind. It was soon followed by silence. He didn't bother to go check if the cop was still alive. More than likely, he wasn't.

The dogs weren't following him anymore. Either the cop had killed them or they were feasting on what was left of him.

'Where do I go now?' he wondered to himself. He slowed down his pace, growing tired of running. He heard moaning up ahead and stopped, examining his surroundings and trying to figure out what to do next.

He was at an intersection. Several stores lined up next to each other, many of which he had been in before. A lot of them had been boarded up, ruined. He thought he could see faces in the windows, but he wasn't sure. Most the street lights were out, and the sky was too thick with smoke for the moon to shine through. His main light source was the burning wrecking of a car across the street from him. Was something trying to get out of it?

Maybe I should go through the park. It seems like it'd be the safest route and it's not far.

It had to be better than going through the zombies.

His head throbbed painfully as he started across the barren street. He stopped halfway across the road and rubbed his aching forehead. The pain was making his eyes water. He felt a cool breeze against his skin, like icy fingers moving along the back of his neck. A piece of newspaper fluttered by.

Why did things go wrong?

The pain dulled, enough for him to think clearly. So many people were gone now. People who he had talked to just a few days ago. People he'd seen smiling and laughing and living their lives the best they could.

Why did they have to dieWhy did he have to be all alone?

He realized then how desperate he was for human company. He wanted someone beside him to share his pain, and help him through the terrible loneliness he was feeling right now.

He saw a light out of the corner of his eye. It was bright, rapidly illuminating the dark corners of the road. A small glimmer of hope rose from within him. Maybe it was someone coming to rescue him.

Then the deafening blare of a truck horn rang through his ears. A truck was speeding towards him, with no sign of slowing down. His legs were frozen as he looked upon the fast-approaching vehicle.

Doesn't he see me?!

He dove out the way as the truck flew past. His body slammed into the pavement and rolled a couple feet away. The cement scrapped painfully against his skin and the world spun around him in a colorful blur. He struggled to sit up, expecting to see the fading tail lights moving away from him.

Nothing.

What? It couldn't have driven away that fast…

It was gone, not a trace of it was left. Even the newspaper that had floated past him was in the exact spot it landed. He grunted and pushed himself back onto his feet, shaking off the dizziness that lingered.

He made it to the other side of the intersection, this time sticking to the sidewalks. Up ahead, he could clearly see the Umbrella Inc. building that loomed over the city. In a way, the building carried an air of superiority in regards to everything else in the city.

He frowned, his dislike of the company distracting him from the potential dangers around him. In his humble opinion, they were nothing but a bunch of screw-ups who pranced about like they owned the whole world. Like most multibillion dollar companies.

Like that one time I went in for a prescription. Morons gave me the wrong medicine and had me on the crapper for a week.

They had been real assholes about it when he came back too. They gave no apologies, made him pay full price again, and if that wasn't bad enough, they treated him lower than dirt.

We're here to help you my ass. More like we're here to help you empty your wallet.

Then there was that one time a few years after that incident, and-wait, no. He lost his train of thought. Where was he going again?

The park.

Something to the left caught his eye. A lone building stood behind an old, rusty fence. The gate hung wide open, as if beckoning him to enter. Trees lined up near the building, blocking his view. A sign was posted to his right.

"The Carter Museum of Mental Therapies."

He shivered at the sight of the old, creepy building. It had quite a history, though he didn't remember all of it. Before it became a museum, it was called the Carter Institute for Mental Correction. It had been closed down in the early eighties, for reasons no one knew. Some said it was because of the not-so-ethical practices there, but that was only a rumor.

Still, it bothered him. He was deathly afraid of asylums, or anything associated with it.

'That includes this museum,' he thought. There was no chance in hell he was going in there. Besides, he had to get to the park. He had no business snooping around a museum. He turned around-

"Help me!"

He whipped his head around, trying to located the source of the faint voice. It sounded like it had come from the museum.

That's ridiculous. No one would be in there.

Something was approaching from further up the road. He took a couple of steps forward to get a better look.

More zombies.

There were a lot of them this time, probably had come from the main road that led out of the city. That road was always busy with traffic.

"HELP ME!" the voice cried again, louder this time. It sounded deep, male. It sounded like-

James?

The saliva caught in his throat and he swallowed it down. It couldn't possibly be James, there was no way he would've gotten this far ahead of him.

The zombies stumbled into each other, knocking one another to the ground as they clumsily made their way down the street. Joseph could either try to go through them, get across the street and take a detour, or-

Save that man.

His legs were shaking. He knew what the right thing to do was, but he didn't want to do it. Lord, he didn't want to do it. He was afraid, he didn't have the courage or strength to approach the building.

That man might already be dead.

He took a step forward.

What if he needs help?

He took a step back.

It's too risky, you might be killed! Then what good are you? Besides, you have to take care of yourself.

He took a step forward.

What if it's James?

What if there's a monster inside, one tougher than all the others? James was going to abandoned you anyway, right?

What if what if what if what if-

He clutched the sides of his head. A choked cry escaped his lips.

"Please! Someone help!"

He looked back again, and took a deep breath. He started running towards the building, keeping his head low. If he looked up, he might lose his courage to go inside. He felt like something was watching him from the trees. He staggered up the stone steps, past the huge, marble pillars that stood on each side of him. He briefly looked behind him to see the zombies moving past the gate.

He turned his attention to the large, metal doors in front of him. He held back the fear that was threatening to overtake him. He pressed his hands against the door, and they came open with an eerie groan. He slipped inside.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. It was small, damp, and it had a musty smell to it. There was a desk right next to him, with a light illuminating the wall behind it. He peered over the edge of the desk, and saw the corpse of a young woman. A lit flashlight was beside her, and her facial features-what was left of them-were twisted into a look of horror. He moved around the side of the desk, snatched up the flashlight, and backed away from the corpse. The sight of her was disturbing.

He shined his flashlight down the hallway.

"James?" he called loudly. He waited for a response, but there was none. Had he been killed?

It was tempting to turn back and run right about now, but he had to make sure if that person he heard was really James. He was desperate to have someone help him get through Raccoon City. The streets were too dangerous for just one man alone.

He walked further down the hall, and the floorboards sighed as he disappeared deeper into the asylum.