Late summers in Raccoon City were warm in the day, and at night. The difference of a few degrees didn't matter much. But in the days that led to the final destruction of Raccoon City, it seemed as if all forms of energy were being sucked from within the city limits; the lives of countless innocent people and animals, the electricity that ran the city leaving it bathed in a dark shadow, and now even the summer heat. Cranky shivered from a chill running the length of his spine. His black cotton shirt was no longer enough to keep the warmth in. After his run-in with Jake Cavanaugh the career criminal, Cranky had been pumped full of adrenaline even after the fight, the very same adrenaline that kept him warm. But now he was getting a little too comfortable in the mess that was Raccoon City. The zombies didn't surprise him anymore. He wasn't even afraid of them. The initial fear he felt upon first laying his eyes on a zombie was now replaced by sorrow, sympathy for every single soul that had been turned into the undead, every soul that once had a life, family and friends, an identity. And now they were nothing more than mere rotting shells of their former selves, stalking the streets like viral cannibals.

"You've gotta be outta your mind," Cranky said to himself, as he turned out from one of the side streets and onto the main road. He didn't know why he wanted to see Cindy again. Was she really worth risking his life over? Cranky came into the city to see Kenny. After finding out how dangerous this place was, he knew he had to get Kenny out of here. But now that his brother was in safe hands, he'd split up with them and went off to find the nice little waitress he couldn't have spent more than ten seconds talking to. But perhaps ten seconds was all he needed for his womanizing ways.

The main streets were an even bigger mess than they first appeared when he'd entered the city. Cars were thrown every which way, their metallic shells folding into each other to the point where they'd become nothing but giant hunks of twisted metal. The streets were littered with paper from office buildings, cars, stray newspapers and fliers. But what caught Cranky's attention was the pavement. There were four giant craters, each with a diameter as long as the width of the street. The smell of burning, infected flesh and thick, choking black smoke permeated the air, making it hard to breathe. About two or three blocks down the road, Cranky could see the orange light of fire. Something huge must've fallen from the sky to cause these craters. But that scenario seemed unlikely. The danger came from the zombies and the virus, not from strange missiles falling overhead. Whatever created these crates could've also come from underneath the ground.

"Hey!" someone shouted, catching Cranky's attention. He silently thanked whoever was listening that he'd finally found some another human. He was just starting to regret parting with Kenny and his friends. He spun around to get a better look at the speaker, coming face to face with a tall, pale skinned man with a crop of dark brown or black hair. Judging by the way he walked, he was an authority figure – if the blue uniform shirt didn't give that away already. His steps were wide, confident, and his arms swung by his sides rigidly, signifying strength.

"I'm glad I found you, officer," Cranky said, extending a hand.

"I could say the same," the officer replied as they shared a handshake. "My name's Aaron." He glanced down at his uniform. "I … mean, Officer Aaron …"

"Don't worry about the formalities," Cranky said, shrugging it off, "I think whatever this city's going through, the situation's come to involve more than whose duty it is to protect who."

"It's boiled down to basic human survival," Officer Aaron agreed, "but there are those of us who still feel it's our obligation to the citizens of Raccoon to protect them."

"Understandable," Cranky nodded. Changing the subject, he cocked his head over at the giant craters that had been dug into the ground. "Got any idea what happened here?"

"We'd set some detonators just beneath the surface of the road. We had a plan to lure those creatures down the main street and then barricading it off at the other end." He pointed down towards the opposite direction from where the fire burned, where Cranky spotted more of the craters for the first time. "But the creatures …"

"Zombies," Cranky corrected.

Officer Aaron smirked in approval. "The zombies broke through the barricade before we could get the detonators set off. We lost two valuable officers as a result." Officer Aaron hung his head in defeat. Cranky was about to put his hand on the Officer's shoulder, tell him that they weren't going to lose any more, but as quickly as that moment of shame had come, it disappeared into the air with the rising smoke. "A group of survivors ended up activating the detonator. Can you believe it? A ragtag group of survivors?"

"Must be kind of a blow to your ego that a bunch of ordinary citizens could pull off what you guys couldn't, huh?" Officer Aaron looked slightly hurt by Cranky's remark, who took it back quickly. "That was inappropriate. I'm … very sorry, I'm sure it must've been a terrible loss."

"The eight of them were determined to survive," Officer Aaron said, ignoring Cranky's comment, and his apology. "As cops, we know we are trained to survive tough situations. But after a majority of the city's population had contracted the virus, we started to doubt our own chances of survival. But these survivors, eight of them, I could see determination in their eyes. They did whatever they could to live through this nightmare, backing each other up in the heat of battle against those zombies. And their weapons weren't even Grade A. Manufactured by one of the group, a guy by the name of David. Looked like an auto mechanic, or a plumber, something like that. And the girl that was with them seemed to be some kind of herbal expert, mixing up these herb cocktails that worked wonders on the others. She was from J's Bar."

Cranky nearly choked on his tongue. "H…how would you know?"

Officer Aaron looked at him with an expression of bewilderment. "All the cops go to J's Bar for a good time! We know what a J's Bar uniformed waitress looks like!" he exclaimed, the subliminal question posed to Cranky being, "Where the hell have you been?"

"Sorry, I'm not from around here."

"Oh, that makes a difference then," Aaron said, scratching the back of his head. "What a great time to come."

"Yeah tell me about it. But hey, Officer, were you able to catch the waitress' name?"

"Oh I already know her. That was Cindy. But I have no idea where she learned to make herbs like that."

"Where did they go!" Cranky asked, seizing Officer Aaron by the shoulders, his green eyes wide with hope. The cop looked uncomfortable having Cranky in his face. "Sorry," the latter said, "It's just that I've been looking for Cindy, trying to make sure she's alright." He released the Officer from his grip.

"Don't worry about it. From the looks of how she handled herself tonight, something tells me their going to make it out of the city – that is, if the damn government hasn't quarantined us already. As for where they went, I have no idea. But I remember Kevin saying something about heading towards the industrial district before they took off. Kevin's one of our own who happened to be with the group of survivors so we entrusted them to him. Don't worry, even in the unlikely situation that Cindy can't protect herself in, she's in good hands."

"That's always good to hear." Despite his words, Cranky wasn't satisfied. It was at that moment when he knew it was more than just a concern for Cindy's safety. He hadn't even known her long enough to be concerned to the point where he'd put his own life on the line for hers. The more he thought about it, the more Cranky became disgusted with himself. "I want to fuck her." Time stopped for a moment. He was almost certain that he'd just said the words. But when Aaron didn't respond, he breathed a sigh of relief. It must've just been his mind speaking.

"We've gotta get you to a hospital," Officer Aaron said. "You arm and shoulders are bleeding." Cranky hadn't even noticed his own wounds received from the battle with Jake. He didn't wan tto go along, but realized that it would be better if he did. Officer Aaron, who seemed to know Cindy pretty well, said that he was sure she'd be alright. And he would know more than Cranky did. It made sense to him not to endanger himself any further than necessary.

XXXXX

"We could put up here for the night. They've got enough beds for us all."

From behind a thin veil of blonde hair, a sparkling blue eye stared in disapproval at Dr. George Hamilton, standing in front of the other survivors, waving his arms around at every ridiculous suggestion that spilled forth from his mouth. Alyssa Ashcroft wanted to tell him to shut up. His bad ideas were a waste of time to listen to and quite frankly, she didn't have the time to waste. The sooner they could get out of the city, the better. But Alyssa had a conscience too – one that she'd spent many years trying to fight. Such menial things got in the way of getting the real story. And as a journalist, the real story was what she was always after. And people won't talk unless they are pushed to. She had an impressive arsenal of insults and considerable skill when it came to putting her thoughts into words, whether down on paper or in a verbal context. But right now, her conscience was winning. Dr. Hamilton may have been socially inept and his ideas just plain stupid, but the guy seemed to have a good heart. From the few hours they'd spent together since the viral outbreak reached its peak last night, Alyssa had decided was George was too good natured to be the victim of her yelling.

"That makes sense," a short statured, oriental girl said. She unstrapped a black knapsack from her shoulders and placed it on one of the hospital beds before sitting in it, as if to emphasize Dr. Hamilton's point. "We can't continue running like this forever. We have to rest and continue our escape tomorrow."

"And we can also be sitting ducks for his zombified co-workers looking for their next hot meal," Alyssa said, jabbing her finger in George's general direction. She couldn't hold it in any longer. "We should've just continued running. If the situation gets any worse, we might not even be able to escape through the lobby. We might have to jump out this fucking third story window!"

"The hospital windows are secure," George assured, "you'll never break through."

"So you led us into a death trap!" Alyssa screeched.

"Now, hold on a minute," a deep voice said, one with a bass so powerful that it commanded immediate respect. "The Doc's right. We need our rest if we want to have the energy to escape this place. The doors to the hospital are barricaded and we can even put an extra obstacle in front of the door that leads to this room for extra safety. It's not like we're short on ammunition, right?"

"Mark," Alyssa said, toning her voice down a little bit as she approached the big man. "I know you're an experienced soldier and I don't doubt your advice. But we're not fighting soldiers this time. We're up against hordes of rotting cannibal corpses at don't feel pain! Every person that dies becomes one of them, or something worse. How much death have we seen since our ordeal started? And don't you think the same deaths are occurring all over the city? By the time tomorrow comes around, there will be even more to contend with."

"Alright, I'm sick of this arguing." Sitting in an isolated corner of the room, Officer Kevin Ryman had been sitting and watching the drama unfold before his eyes. But Alyssa was a hothead and with her involved in any debate, the intensity level didn't need much time to escalate to unbearable heights. "You guys are both right. We need our rest, but we don't have the time for a good eight our sleep. So why don't we just nap instead?"

George, Mark, and Alyssa stared at the young officer for his casual deliverance. He looked back at them and shrugged. "Did I say something wrong?"

"It just … makes so much sense," Alyssa said, putting a hand to her temple. "Fine, we'll nap for a bit but I want to be out of here by nine tonight."

"That gives us three hours," George said, glancing at his watch. "It won't be enough for a full night's rest, but I'll settle for what we can get."

"Yoko," Alyssa called out, "think we can put all our ammunition in that handy knapsack of yours?"

"Better keep yours," the oriental girl suggested. "If any of those zombies break attack us, you'll all be left defenseless."

"Good point," Cindy added, the only surviving employee of J's Bar, the place where this whole nightmare started for the eight survivors. Alyssa couldn't help it, but she liked the girl. Cindy came across as weak and submissive initially, but during their time spent running around the city trying to survive hour after hour, Cindy had managed to pull herself together and face the zombie hordes with surprising courage. With a herb kit she'd dug out of her locker back at the bar, she was able to store the healing herbs that grew naturally in the Raccoon City region. Another element of surprise that Cindy delivered was her expertise at mixing the healing herb cocktails, even in tense situations, giving Alyssa the impression that she'd done it before. It was amazing. Her level of skill, Alyssa could've sworn, was only possessed by Raccoon City's best, like the doctors and the S.T.A.R.S.

"Keep that thing close," Kevin said, nodding his head at Cindy's herb case.

"Here," Cindy said, opening the case up, extracting the dried herb powder wrapped in a piece of paper. "I'll give each of you one of these to hold on to when you need to use them."

"Use them sparingly," Mark Wilkins, the security guard reminded them. "Those things may grow in the area, but they're usually more abundant in the forests, not in the middle of the city."

"If we ever run out," George offered, "I can make some medicinal pills from the blue ones. They'll lose some of their potency from the conversion, but I guess it's better than nothing."

"Good, so you guys can work together to produce medicines," Kevin said. "Mark and I will be the sharpshooters. Only shoot when it's inevitable, right buddy? We can't risk wasting what little bullets we've got."

"That's the plan," Mark replied.

"Ugh, men," Alyssa scoffed out loud. "Give me a gun." She meant for it to be more of a request, but it came out sounding like an order instead.

"Alyssa, you're the one that gets us through locked doors, remember?" Mark said.

"I can fuckin' help you shoot when I'm NOT getting us through doors, you know," she snapped.

"Okay, okay!" Kevin said, handing an extra handgun over to her gently, as if any sudden movement would cause the hard-edged journalist to rip his head off.

"David," Mark called out to the plumber, David King, who sat quietly on a bed, watching the action unfold, but not interacting. The man was quiet, only speaking if it was unavoidable. Though he struck Mark as being socially challenged, he was with no question a powerful asset to the group. His creative ability to conceptualize and make weapons out of almost any household item they came across was responsible for the fact that they still had ammunition to burn. "See anything you can make weapons out of to arm the rest of us?"

"I've only got a few knives," the plumber admitted with a deep, rough voice. "Just give me a … a stick or something. That way we could stab at those infected freaks without having to go near them ourselves."

"I've got one in my bag," Yoko offered.

"That's fine," Mark insisted. "You need something to protect yourself with."

"You guys get to bed," David said, "you'll need your rest. I'll stay up and keep watch."

"But what about you?" Cindy asked, her voice laced with concern, typical of her to put someone else's needs ahead of her own.

"I'll be fine," he replied, staring blankly out the third floor window, as the sun started to dip down below the horizon, spreading its last orange rays of light before it vanished for good, and the creatures of the night took over.