Chapter two: On the Hunt

10:27 PM, May 17th, 1996

Virus continues to run rampant across Raccoon City … mysterious plague continues to sweep across the city of Raccoon … possible evacuation may be required for all inhabitants of the city … hundreds dying each passing day …

The articles and headlines kept flashing out at John as he swept a hand over the pile of newspapers. He was sitting on the floor in the middle of his apartment, with the shades drawn, the lights out, and a flashlight pointed down at the papers. His hair hung over his eyes, and he was raptly staring down at all of the newspapers with lines of frustration and worry creasing his face. Claire crouched down beside him, put her small arms around him and rubbed his back comfortingly.

"Still the same?" she asked in a small voice. He wordlessly nodded. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, which seemed to bring him out of his state. He looked up at her, his eyes full of concern.

"It's my fault," John said. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't kissed you …"

"Don't blame it on yourself, baby," she said soothingly, "it was as much my fault as yours. I kissed you right back. And I loved every second of it. It was an accident, nothing more."

"Do you think Raccoon City will have to evacuate before they find a cure?" whispered John. She shrugged.

"Not much we can do if they don't find a cure," Claire pointed out. "But we gotta stay hopeful. And out of the virus's way."

"We've been in here for three days," said John with a slight wince. "We'll run out of food eventually. We've fucked six times already, and that's basically about all we can do in here."

"So you're saying that we should go after the virus? That's impossible; it's already spread too far! And we don't even know the side effects yet! It looked pretty damn powerful, yes, but I wasn't able to analyze its true capability. Now my mistake could be the downfall of Raccoon City."

"A mistake? All that research you did is more than anybody else would have done. You were the best person to look at it. So you didn't figure out what it did, you discovered it before some dirty bum found it out on the street and purposefully released it. At least this way it prolonged it … slightly."

"You're probably right," Claire said. "But it doesn't make me feel any better."

John pulled her close and kissed her, putting all of his care and feeling into that kiss. The flashlight flickered on their cheeks as they closed their eyes. John felt her sigh and fall into his arms. He knew she was exhausted, and wanted to comfort her as best as he could. He figured this was the best way.

They pulled apart, but their faces remained close together. "I hope that made you feel just a little better."

She smiled, and put her head on his shoulder. As he held her there, listening to her breathing, he thought of their possible courses of action. They had three choices: either they could stay in the apartment until they ran out of food, leave Raccoon City and seek help, or investigate the goings-on of Raccoon at the moment. He knew even before Claire lifted her head up which one of those things he was going to have to do, and he was weary when he looked down at her to tell her.

"I have to go and investigate," he said without delay. He tried to ignore her crestfallen face as he said this, and continued. "There might still be cops out there caught up in the outbreak, and if that's true, then I have to help them. And I have to look at the symptoms and figure out just what is happening to the citizens. We can't stay in the dark. I have to go … now."

"Now?" she cried with dismay. "John, don't, please! I'm begging you! I don't want you to get caught up in the outbreak, too!"

He got to his feet, and she jumped up with him, a fierce look of determination on her face, all signs of sadness and grief swept away in that single second.

"If you're going, then goddamn it, I'm going too."

"No."

"Don't even try to keep me here, baby. I refuse to stay here and play victim. You know that I'm a registered cop, too."

"But you haven't even seen action for two years," began John, but Claire cut him off.

"It doesn't matter! I haven't forgotten any of my skills or teachings. And besides, if there's anyone you want to give the virus symptoms to, its me. I'm coming with you, and you aren't stopping me."

John had to force back a smile at her pure determination. He nodded, and said "okay. But get a few guns, too."

"Of course, of course."

They both took several guns from John's kitchen cabinet, stuffing them into their belts and inside coat pockets. When they each had at least five pistols each, they slung two clip holsters over their chests, ready for action. He had to help Claire get hers on over her chest, but for the rest, she knew just what she was doing, loading the guns and setting them to safety while holstered.

"Are you ready to do this?" John asked her sincerely, drawing her close to him again, pressing her warmth to his chest. "This is a real virus, nothing we've ever seen before. I may not even be ready for this."

Claire said "no, I don't think anybody is ready for this. But I'm as prepared as I'm gonna get."

"Right, then lets go."

Police Chief Hobbes walked down the barricade of police cars and SWAT trucks, checking for a single break in the formation. He ran his hand along the smooth, cold metal of the outer interior automobiles, and found not a single space. Satisfied, he withdrew his hand, and went over to Tony Bondence, a new recruit for the RCPD.

"How ya holdin' up, kid?" asked Hobbes in the friendliest tone he could muster with his intimidating appearance and strong, low voice. To most officers of Raccoon City, he was their teacher, the one they all looked up to and hoped they could be like when they eventually got promoted. If that. Hobbes was a nice guy on the inside, but if need be, he could show no mercy whatsoever if the time arose. Which was why he was the chief, and why he was running the units of cops that night. The new recruit – Tony – looked up with fright at the monstrous chief, but his voice was steady and controlled.

"Fine, thank you sir," he replied. Hobbes nodded, and turned, walking back down toward the other side of the barrack. The police were everywhere around the blockade, some sitting, some standing, some walking around like Hobbes, and others talking to each other. Nobody really knew what was happening – all they knew that there were reports of civilian unrest north of the blockade, and they needed to have the cars blocking the streets at all times to prevent any rebels. There were at least four more barracks lined up on different streets close by.

"Think this has anything to do with that 'virus' thing?" asked one cop to another. His name was Robin Antino, a member of the RCPD for five years running. The cop he was talking to was his best friend, Taz Raleigh, a member for three years.

"Whatever the fuck it is, it means that we ain't goin' nowhere until mornin'," snorted Taz. Robin nodded with a smirk on his face. He didn't care much about the hours since he didn't have anything better to do, but he was curious as to why they had to set up the blockades anyway.

Hours passed with not a single change in circumstances. No infected civilians from the north showed up behind the barracks, and reports from the other blockades said the same exact thing over and over –– no, nothing has happened so stop fucking calling us over these goddamn radios!

It was nearly one in the morning when two people ambled up to the blockade through an alleyway. They had pistols in their hands, but had no RCPD wear on them. Chief Hobbes was the first one to spot them, and he drew out his own pistol, aiming it threateningly at both of them. One was a woman, the other a man. They showed no signs of hostility, but with the headline articles going up everywhere for the past three days, the police were ready to shoot anything that came near them that could possibly be infected.

"Who the fuck are you! State your names or get ready to taste lead!" threatened Hobbes. More cops turned, and seeing them, aimed up their own guns.

"Relax assholes, RCPD." Claire and John both flipped out their badges beside each other. Hobbes lowered his pistol. "I'm John Tessman and this is Claire Redfield."

"Ah, yes sir, you killed the fisherman bandit three days ago," said Hobbes, lowering his gun to shake John's hand. All the others lowered their guns as well and went back to talking in a bored tone. "I heard all about it … quite a show."

"Is Steve Sanchez here, do you know?" questioned John. Hobbes nodded, and pointed a finger toward the far end of the blockade.

"Over there, been snoozin' for the past hour. Nobody gives a shit, course, nothin's happenin' here."

"Why is there a blockade set up here?" asked Claire.

"We ain't the only one; there are a few others couple streets over. There've been reports of civilian unrest just north 'a here …"

"It's the virus," said John at once. "Thank god it hasn't hit here yet!"

"Well if you're right, we won't be safe for long. The unrest is headin' this way," said Hobbes matter-of-factly.

"What!" shouted John. "Fuck! We gotta evacuate the area, now! The virus spreads far too quickly; we have to get everyone out –"

"Can't, I'm afraid," interrupted Hobbes with a grimace. "They're all cooped up in their houses, won't even open their doors. And if we force the doors open they'll blow our fuckin' brains out of our heads. Not a surprise, they've had a rough history."

Damn it! Raccoon City is falling to the virus and our only hope of saving the others is fucked! We gotta do something ... I gotta talk to Steve.

John hurried over to Steve who, sure enough, was sleeping against the hood of an old police car, his eyes squeezed shut. John nudged him gently, and his eyes popped open. His hand shot toward his pistol, but he saw who it was a second later, and said "John, thank god! Where the fuck have you been? I thought you might have been dead!"

"Dead! The virus hasn't even hit this area yet. Somehow it traveled up north despite the fact that it originated here."

"What? How do you know that?" spluttered Steve, looking at John with an eyebrow cocked. John froze. He remembered now that Claire and himself were the only two people alive who knew how the virus had broken out. He rushed to make up a quick white lie.

"I don't! I'm just assuming it. The accident a few days ago I connected with the virus, he was Claire's boss and he looked a little sick before he crashed. Maybe the virus made him crash, who knows."

"Aye," he replied, and John was relieved to see that he swallowed the lie. Claire gave his arm an extra squeeze to let him know that she knew what he had done. "We've been here too fuckin' long! I want to go home, not stay out on the street where I could catch the virus."

"Well if it makes you any better, I think we can stay out here with you until the RCPD calms the fuck down," answered John. He looked over at Claire, and she nodded in agreement. They sat down next to him, and were asleep in mere minutes.

It was almost a half hour later that John's eyes sprang open, drenched in cold sweat. Every fiber of his being was thrilled and vibrating. A terrible premonition gripped him as he saw all of the police around him on top of the barricade cars with their machine guns and pistols drawn. He jostled Claire and Steve, and they awoke with sharp gasps.

"Get your guns out, now!" ordered John, drawing out one of the pistols he had brought with him and flipping the safety switch off. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Claire and John do the same thing, shooting looks of worry at each other.

John dashed quickly over to the nearest car, took a running leap onto the hood, and tapped the shoulder of Chief Hobbes. The large man turned and stared at him with hardened features, his face set into a solid grimace.

"What's going on, chief?" asked John.

"Civilians, it looks like. They're headed this way. Here, take the binoculars, see for yourself."

John seized the binoculars that Hobbes handed him, and pressed them to his eyes, staring through the darkness ahead of them. For a few seconds, he saw nothing but a dark, abandoned road stretching as far as he could see into the night.

Then he saw a flicker of movement. He froze, fear jostling his heart roughly. Goosebumps rose on his arms and legs, contrary to the now cold night around them.

First an arm … then a leg. Then several more arms and legs. Heads began to become clear, as well … with taut, white skin dripping with congealed blood. There were varying wounds on all of the people. Some were missing arms and legs, hopping on mere stumps. Many were missing eyeballs as well. Blood caked their ghastly white skin. They lumbered steadily toward the barricade with a disconcerting air of determinedness. As John watched the numbers grow quickly, as the army continued on, as his horror rose, only one word leapt into his mind, one thing that could describe terror that now lumbered toward them, their numbers increasing by hundreds every second …

Zombies.

He passed the binoculars back to Hobbes, his hands shaky. Raccoon City was doomed …

"Hey, John!" shouted Steve's voice, as if from far away, and he turned to see both he and Claire running over to him. Claire hopped up beside him, and grabbed his arm, whispering in his ear, "what's happening?"

Steve jumped up between him and Hobbes, and repeated the question. John simply replied in a voice equivalent this shaking hand, with just the one word that had jumped into his head. "Zombies."

Steve gaped at him, as though hoping he was playing some sort of sick joke.

"Zombies?" laughed Hobbes beside him, which surprised all three of them, for after the realization that zombies were now on the hunt for their flesh, they were slightly curious as to how anyone could laugh, "those aren't zombies. Zombies were wiped out years ago, with the v––"

Realization seemed to strike the chief, as he saw the destroyed and tattered bodies walking toward the barrier. His eyes grew twice as huge, and his gun suddenly began to shake in his grip.

"The virus …" he whispered. "Th––this is the virus?"

"Afraid so, chief," muttered Steve. "And we're caught right in the middle of it."

Evidently horrorstruck, Hobbes seized his radio, and called every single barricade simultaneously, shouting the same words for each. "FIRE AT THE SHITS! SHOOT THE FUCKERS!"

As this command rattled through the street, the police all around them raised their weapons, lining up the shots expertly, and fired off. Muzzle flashes lit up the streets and the tapping of gunfire echoed everywhere, filling up the sound so that no voices could be heard. John, Claire and Steve saw the zombies, who were now only twenty feet away from the barricade, jerk as the bullets hit them, but they did not slow their pace. They persisted onward, their moans clear even over the roar of the guns. Hobbes fired with his gun as well, which made them all jump as the sharp sound erupted so close to their ears.

"What the fuck are you doing! Shoot!" yelled Hobbes to them, and he fired several more rounds out at the crowd.

Still not a single zombie fell. Bloody streaks shot into the air when bullets hit them in the chests and shoulders, guts spilled out when too many bullets hit their stomachs, but none stopped and gave any sign of pain. They were now only ten feet away from the cars, their moans now louder than ever, their bloody faces upturned, looking hungrily at the RCPD …

Claire suddenly lifted her gun, and let the gun roar. Boom.

The miniature missile struck the closest zombie, who looked to have once been a middle aged, dark haired woman, but now her hair was matted down, most of it missing, strings of it hanging over her gaunt face, in the head. Bloody brains and chunks of her head exploded out the back, and she toppled to the ground, screeching. Then she went silent.

John and Steve stared at the corpse. Hobbes hadn't noticed. He was furiously jamming a fresh clip into his gun. Then, without waiting for the chief to see this, Steve shouted "THE HEADS! SHOOT 'EM IN THE HEAD!"

This cry went out to everyone, it seemed. They all seemingly as one lifted their weapons slightly, and shot faster and faster. Now several corpses flew backwards, screeching in pain. Blood and entrails flew everywhere, splattering the ground, walls and cars with the gory mess. But still, the army was hardly deterred. It quickly reached the barrack, and began swiping desperately at the feet of the cops. They were the first to be blown open by the guns. Claire, Steve and John shot whenever a head appeared near them, pumping a single round into each one, making sure not to waste ammo. They would need it. The crowd of undead stretched for as far as they could see … women, men, and children alike, all inhabitants of Raccoon City now twisted by the terrible, disgusting design of the virus.

More moans punctuated the night, even over the now steady hail of gunfire. Looking left and right, the new recruit –– Tony –– saw a group of about ten zombies placing their rotted, decaying hands under one of the police cars. They seemed to be straining, trying to do something to it …

They're tipping it over! He thought, alarmed. Rushing forward to the end of the car he crouched on, he set his pistol in its holster and drew out his pump action shotgun, firing it as high as he could. Several undead toppled to the ground with the tendons of their necks flapping uselessly in the air, but still more undead joined the group, and the car began to rock slowly as they worked at it from underneath.

A cold icy grip encased Tony's ankle. He let out a scream of fear, and without thinking, without pausing to consider his options, he kicked out hard at whatever was holding him, a split second before he looked at it.

The zombies head crushed inward when his foot made contact with its destroyed nose and face. Both its eyeballs were hanging by the optic nerve from their sockets, which were still oozing a steady stream of blood. Half its face was rent open by what must have been the claws of another zombie. He could see through it … could see its pumping, shriveled brain …

"AAH!" bellowed Tony, and brought the shotgun barrel down right in front of its destroyed face. It leered at him for a second, then he pulled the trigger … and it exploded into crimson, showering him in bloody brains. The hand let go of him as the zombie flew backward, detaching itself from its own legs, which simply stood there, alone, the bones broken off just below the kneecap. He was so startled by this release, that he slid forward and toppled off the car, right onto the ground in front of the crowd of zombies.

He scrambled to his feet, yelling out a war cry, and let the shotgun roar into the crowd whenever one tried to approach him, pumping the trigger as fast as he could. Gory meat was tossed everywhere, becoming increasingly disgusting by the second as bullet after bullet rammed hard into the undead around him.

Then he tried to pull the trigger again at an approaching zombie … but it simply clicked. Fucking useless gun! Always out of goddamn bullets when I need them!

Yelling in fear, he launched himself backward, over the roof of the car, but another hand seized his ankle, and began dragging him backwards. Tony raced to find a grip on anything, but found none. As he was dragged backward, his mind zipped into overdrive. His only chance to live … he had to live …

His hand automatically flew down to his still loaded pistol, and he aimed it wildly behind him, and fired. Once. Twice. Three times he shot whatever was holding him. The grip loosened slightly, and he wriggled out of it, sliding across the car, and down onto the road on the other side of the barricade. Shivering with fear and anxiety, drenched in sweat, he huddled into a ball behind the tire, and sobbed quietly.

John and Steve stood together, holding a pistol in each hand. They stood on one of the many police vans, and were shooting rapid fire. Below them, Claire was shooting just as fast, but with only one pistol. She felt it easier with just one.

Kevin Burns and Rachel Sirel, both close friends of John and Steve, hurried up onto the top of the van with both of them, and Kevin said "they're not stopping, there are too fucking many! We gotta evacuate the streets as fast as we can!"

"Are you fuckin' insane!" shouted John, still firing the pistols at a group of increasingly rabid looking undead, "this is our only chance to defend southern Raccoon City! If we leave now, we're all totally fucked!"

"No shit! We're already fucked as it is!" yelled back Rachel angrily. Both Steve and John looked at her hard, determined face, surrounded by long red hair.

She's right …

A sudden screeching sound, louder than anything they had heard so far that terrible night, sounded to their left, along the barracks. This was not the sound of a zombie. Everyone turned to see what had happened.

The car that Tony had been trying to first off defend had finally tipped, and was now crashed open on their side of the street. Zombies were lurching into the street around them, lunging at unprotected cops.

"Now would be a good fucking time to get our asses outta here!" screamed Claire, up to them. Steve and John looked at each other, then gritted their teeth, and nodded.

A group of cops were now all situated on top of the barricade. They were the only one's still left alive. Tony, who had gotten up onto the cars as soon as they tipped over the car, Robin, Taz, Rachel, Kevin, Claire, Steve, John and Chief Hobbes. Nine survivors.

"How the hell do we get outta here now!" shouted Taz over the shouting of the undead below them, and the distant gunfire from the other barricades.

"That alley, over there!" bellowed Hobbes, pointing to the alleyway that Claire and John had first arrived from. "That's the only way out! Come on, jump over them, shoot any who try to get near you!"

The RCPD did not waste any time in questioning their commanding chief. As one, they all made running leaps across the cars, jumped as hard as they could, and landed on the open street, behind the army of zombies, cars, and more zombies. Almost immediately after they landed, the army began lumbering toward them, moaning incoherently, muttering dry, crackled words.

"Go! Go! Go!" urged Robin, and they took off as fast as they could across the street, all seemingly close together, shooting the heads of the zombies who came close. They soon were sprinting down the dark alleyway together, but their guns were still in their hands, ready to fire at whatever came at them.

When the alley opened up, they found themselves on a quiet, unknown street. All was dark and silent. They were surrounded by apparently abandoned houses.

"I think this is Charles Blvd," offered Taz.

"I think you're right," responded Hobbes. "If you're right, then we have to go as far south of here as possible and gather as many surviving recruits as we can. Those fuckers have taken over everything north of here. So south would be down Schaller Avenue over there. Come on, lets go."

The nine men and women started off. Dark figures behind them began emerging, not making any sounds, but lumbering on jellied flesh, their eyes, or no eyes, fixed on the running backs. Their destroyed minds only had one thing set and craving: Flesh.

However, even as more began appearing, they only lumbered, and never caught up to the group, as they continued to move down Schaller, and out of sight.